I've just attended the Canadian Authors Association Annual June meeting. It is thoroughly astonishing what relatively ordinary looking folk these authors are. There is literally nothing about their eating habits that would distinguish them. Their dress is different but not so different as to draw attention to themselves if they were seen alone. Together their personality is impossible to overlook. They have a distinctive author smell about them, as well.
I've read their writing though and know that fantasy, poetry, and history lurk beneath these well contrived disquises. Listening ever so carefuly it suddenly dawns on one how utterly alien they seem because they share that superhuman trait of story telling. They engage in repartee with the ease that mere humanoids belch or fart what later are deemed 'sound bites' by those who obviously only cannibalize grass. Anecdotes sneek or strut about with gay abandon. Refrains hyperbole. Bits and pieces of dialogue with, God forbid, politically incorrect originality sparkle and leap about quite joyfully. I shouldn't fail to mention that beside regular humans, the members of the Canadian Authors Association do look like Gods and Goddesses, if only in a modest sort of way. They are clearly such characters.