Megan and I occasionally get into a discussion about the differences between writing short stories and novels. She doesn't understand why I wouldn't want to take a character from one place to another--go the distance with them.
But right now I am in the head of a a forty-something guy in an auto-shop in the midwest, worrying about a woman who's getting pounded.
Two weeks ago, I was a neighborhood in 1960s Philly, watching a black man have an affair with a white woman.
Two weeks before that I was a fourteen year old girl who was convinced the man who was having her deliver drugs and take her mother's money was the love of her life.
Before that I was a female-vice president of a corporation who had to insure their new product line would be successful.
Now maybe these people do not have the depth of characters in novels but how can you deny that sitting in a 6 by 9 foot room and going to these places is not pure bliss?