1. In one book, I can explore the galaxy, shoot a woolly mammoth with a pea shooter and escape unscathed, romance a vampire, and escape a zombie horde by skin of my teeth. In another, I can ponder life and death. In yet another, I can spout poetry and flowery words until I’m blue in the face…I can do whatever I want to because I’m the one telling the story.
2. If I’m angry with someone, I can just send them to The Demon King and he’ll have them drawn and quartered before you can say Tiltithe Castle.
3. There is always a perfect explanation for talking to myself. I’m just going over dialogue or working on character development.
4. There is always an excuse for Googling how to bake cow brains and how to build your own mud hut in one sitting. Along those same lines, if I wander out into my yard and thrust myself face first into three feet of snow for no reason, my neighbors will just assume that I’m researching for another novel. Nothing funny about that whatsoever.
5. I finally have a good use for all those imaginary friends I made up as a kid. Who knew one day The Demon King would actually have a use? 😀
If you have anything to add to this list, please share in the comments!