Every writer calls on friends, most of them imaginary. This is neither good nor bad. We all need friends we can imagine, and some we can dismiss.

One takes the rudder, one takes the wheel, and many — I can’t explain it — jump overboard. I warn them, of course, in my imaginary way, but usually from a distance. I confess that I’m afraid: The railing is low, the waters deep and choppy, and the others on board — would they rather pull or push?

These are questions for a campfire, tales among old friends — the ones on the boat, the ones in the water, the ones watching from the shore and those not watching at all but simply huddling, seeking warmth around imaginary flames.