'Although I write about it, I can't prove that there's life after death,' I said to the man I was talking to.
'What made you write about it then?' he asked.
We were sitting on a train, on the way to London. We'd got chatting about books and he was asking me about The Deadliners.
'I'm not sure to be honest. I just had an idea and went with it.'
He sat back in his seat and looked at me. His eyebrows were pulled low, but I just smiled at him. He could question me as much as he wanted. I believed in life after death and would stick to my beliefs.
'Do you think it happens your way?'
'I have no idea how it happens. The Deadliners is pure fiction about spirits that play fate with human lives but I have no idea if there are any spirits up there trying to help us. I believe there is in a way, but I don't know.'
He smiled then and shrugged his shoulders. 'Do you think I should believe that too?'
I shook my head. 'No way, you need to believe whatever you want. I'm just a fiction writer.'
He nodded and I could tell that he'd accepted me. Beliefs and all. I loved debating with people, but as long as the other person respected my views as much as I respected theirs. I didn't believe that any one person was right. I believed that none of us knew anything in the whole scheme of things.
'Well, I would love to read your book,' he said, winking at me as he left me on the train. I sat and thought about him for a while. He'd made me question myself and my creativity, but in a positive way. I loved when a stranger made me grow from just one exchange. It was something that I'd always taken advantage of in the past. Now I had another story to tell.