Early morning at the gym

Is there anything more disgusting than some muck-sucking bovine who doesn't flush the toilet? How tough can it be to reach around and push down the damn handle? Instead, I come in, bleary-eyed at 6 a.m., and that's my wake up call. Crickey.

Is there anything more cruel than to hear "I Want Candy" blasting out over the gym music system? Why the hell do you think the gym is so crowded, Mr. 24 Hour Fitness? Geez, have a little compassion.

Is there anything more humbling than watching a reed-thin woman hooked up to oxygen working on the leg curl machine? Talk about character development; makes me want to kick my backside every time I complain about a little hip pain.

Holy crap! I am what I write

I received a lovely review of my book last night, and it made my millennium. Obviously I love the good reviews (I’m certain the carpenters will need to be called in to widen the doorways). I mean, who doesn’t? It’s that recognition that, regardless of what your job entails, someone felt you did an outstanding enough job to go the trouble to compliment you. This was special because it meant my reader wouldn't demand the bookstore return their money. How cool is that?

It got me to thinking about writing in general – particularly characters – and how pieces of us go into our characters. In my day job of editorial director, I’ve gotten to be a closet psychologist with respect to how closely our authors are actually parts of their books, and I’ve seen a real relationship between them and their main characters. Figures, since most of us write what we know. I guess that’s why the idea of meeting Steven King scares the crap out of me.

My character, Kim Donovan, is a renegade. If there’s a rule to break, she’s there with bells on. She’s not afraid to tell someone to go to hell if it’s over something she believes in, and she’ll fight tooth and nail to protect her beliefs. Admittedly, ol’ Kim didn’t fall far from the tree. I'm way too embarrassed to admit who Erik really is. That will require many mai tais. And probably money.

The reason the question popped into my head at all is because I was speaking at the Southern California Writer’s Conference this weekend, and I overheard a couple attendees ruminate about a well-pubbed author and what kind of man is he in real life. Having read his book and meeting the author last year, I could attest that he was one of the more mentally twisted people currently sucking air – as is his book – though he makes millions for himself and his publisher. If I want to know what kind of person the author is, I'm going to read their books.

For my next next party, I’m going to shun the usual gossip about the neighbors who walk naked in front of their living room windows and how Mrs. Overexposed has put on a few pounds. Instead, I’m going to play, “Literary Match Game” based on the assumption that the author and main character are soul mates. Given that, I can’t wait to get my hands on Dismas Hardy. I’ve had the hots for him for years. Sorry, Mrs. Lescroart, it’s over, I’m afraid.

When art mirrors real life

I just discovered that a major theme of my book centers on unconditional love. Odd that I would have “discovered” this. After all, who’s in charge of this insane asylum anyway? That’s the funny thing about writing fiction, oftentimes it rules our quill and moves us in different directions than we’d anticipated. How many times have I laid out the framework of a chapter only to get into the meat of writing and have my characters push me elsewhere? Sometimes I wonder if I’m channeling something going on in my life that is applicable to my characters, Kim and Erik. While they’re great surgeons, they are fatally human and make some dumbass decisions based on their, well, humanness.

I kept wondering exactly what Erik’s problem was with Kim since they were so perfect together before he went and screwed everything up. I realize how all schizoid this sounds since he is a figment of my imagination, but the sociology major in me likes to delve deeper into a character’s psyche and think about the why’s behind their actions. And that’s when the idea unconditional love came to me. What a revelation. It’s a hefty notion to love someone, warts and all. Especially in this day and age of disposable relationships. I’m not talking about hogging all the covers at night and not putting the cap on the toothpaste. Those are murderous offenses in my book.

I’m talking about the ability to overcome very big issues because the love we have for that special someone is far bigger than preconceived notions. It’s people of differing political parties, religions, or skin color to not be the Bickersons where food fights and flying dishes rule the household because they found a way to make it work. And this is what my characters knock up against in a big way with this second novel. The trick for me is to write about it convincingly.

Experiential writing is strong medicine because I’m forced to dig into my private reserve that sometimes has a “Do Not Touch” sign on it. This is the stuff that says, don’t go there, gurlfren’. It’s reeealy private and reeealy painful. But I need to tap into that in order to make my characters real. I discovered I knew about unconditional love. And boy, did it open my eyes in a most therapeutic way. So didn’t see that coming.

I learned that it’s ok to be pissed and hurt over my son’s actions or decisions and still love him anyway. I learned to give in to the fact that he beats his own drum, even if it is in dire need of a tuning. I learned to come to terms with his avoidance of our family as if we’re contagious. I learned to accept the dichotomy that, while there seems to exist this family disconnect, he’s never spoken harshly. He just floated away from us. I’ve learned to appreciate that my heart will ache and my brain will be angry. I learned that should he call me in the middle of the night in a still, small voice, asking if I still love him, that my answer will be an unhesitating, sobby “yes, of course. With all my heart and soul.”

How odd that my writing would force me to confront my private reserve and, ultimately help me understand more about me, my son, and my character. Should be one hell of a chapter.