N.C. Reed doesn't really exist. He's just a figment of someone's imagination. But if he was real, they would imagine him as a gray haired curmudgeon who likes pecan pie entirely too much. He would be a constant source of annoyance to a loving and doting wife. Despite that, the mutant Doberman would spend much time in his company as he writes. Or as he pretends to write in order to get people to leave him alone. Or as he sits by the window and wonders who that is driving down 'his' road. Or when he just locks himself in his study and pretends no one is calling his name. He would enjoy hunting and fishing if he could do it comfortably and only in good weather. He would enjoy working in his yard, except when it was cold. Or hot. Or he didn't want to. Or if it weren't so much actual work. He would enjoy field trips of a historical nature such as Civil War battlefields and Colonial settlements, if they weren't so far away and require an overnight stay to visit. Being an avid Tennessee fan, he would enjoy games at Neyland Stadium, if there weren't so many steps. Or if there was an escalator. Or a hover board. A big one. Most of all, he would enjoy creating stories that interest others. Stories that people would want to read again and again. That they would want to share with others. He would enjoy entertaining others and creating a world outside of reality to relax in, even if it were just for a few hours. And he would be grateful to those who followed his works and were kind enough to tell him so. It would be those people that he wrote for. If he was real, that is. . . .
