A word about Buchanan...

A word about Buchanan:

The city of Buchanan has a rich history, and I have had the pleasure of getting a firsthand recounting of it from my much loved client, who has lived most of his ninety-three years here. This small town was once a bustling place, with several large industries, five major grocery stores and shopping opportunities that made it possible to never have to drive to Niles or South Bend.

That has changed; there are two small grocery stores and a hardware store, barber and beauty shops, a single chain drug store now that the last independent has been driven out by the rising cost of insurance and processing, a few nice eating establishments and a great coffee shop. Hardly the bustling city of past days, but still a nice place to be, and really, does anyone miss the several “houses of ill repute” that Bob told me used to thrive here?

We might not have big box shopping opportunities, but we do have a few treasures here. We have a great library, an amazing coffee house (The Union) which offers live music, Slocum’s (for that unique gift you won’t find at those box stores… which is a good thing) and of course the Buchanan Art Center. Yes, that’s right, an art center. Not only does it showcase regional artists (a very talented bunch!) but it offers classes for those wanting to develop a talent, and a great little gift shop featuring local artists.

I would be remiss if I didn’t put here a note about our police department. It’s possible my readers might assume from reading the Rainie Series that I don’t like the Buchanan cops. That simply isn’t true. Please remember, first of all, that these books are works of fiction, and the characters are figments of my imagination.

That being said, I have witnessed firsthand the part about small town cops being either the bullied or the bullies from school; I grew up in what was once a small town (although it seems to be sprawling and crowded now) and I knew several of the police officers from school. Yes, they were past bullies, or past bullied. This does not preclude them from being good officers, but it can make dealings with them difficult. Just ask the woman I knew from school who was hauled away in handcuffs after a domestic dispute with her halter top untied and falling to her waist. Yes, by her own admission she was being obnoxious: it was an emotionally charged scene. But did that give them the right to strip her of all dignity, to literally expose her?

As for the Buchanan police, unlike Rainie I have had few reasons to deal with them directly, but when I have, or when friends and family have (traffic stop, medical assistance) they have always been professional and competent. In fact, I did have to report a very scary incident that I feared would be laughed off; that was not the case. My concerns were taken very seriously, and the police department left me feeling protected and watched over in the days following. I won’t recount the details here, as the story will probably surface in a future Rainie book.

I would also like to point out that I have never heard of meth labs exploding in town or gunshots being fired in the business district. Again, remember that these books are works of fiction.

Just know, if you come to Buchanan, don’t expect the danger and excitement Rainie experiences to break out… but if it does, be assured our police department can handle it.

Want to know more? Go to www.cityofbuchanan.com

Come on over and see us some time!

                                                  

Who Are Those People?

Since I seem to be having difficulty concentrating on writing again today, I thought I’d write a little bit about writing.

Often, people ask me about where my characters “come from.” Sometimes it is a family member or friend who thinks they have recognized themselves or another person in one of my characters. Other times the question comes from aspiring writers looking for a few tips.

I don’t know if I can fully answer the question, but I will try.

Rainie is not me. Sure, we share some characteristics; that’s only natural when writing in first person. But she isn’t supposed to be me…

That being said, when I read back on books I wrote much earlier than Rainie, it is odd that the main characters also have many of my characteristics and quirks, and their thoughts seem to reflect a bit of what my life was like at the time. I read what Natalie and Katrin and even (in a book probably never to be published) Ilsa are thinking, and I can see my own evolution as an adult human being. The way I thought and felt and behaved thirty years ago (Ilsa) is a far cry from the person I am today (Rainie.)

I am not saying my novels should be read as autobiographies; quite the contrary. My main characters might share my opinions and fears, but they tend to behave much better than me in most cases. They are braver and stronger than me… and they certainly have far greater adventures. In many ways, they are what I wish to be, maybe even what I aspire to be.

Then we have all the peripheral characters. For instance, Rainie’s friends. The best way I ave found to explain where they came from: I took all of my friends and some acquaintances (past and present) and threw them into a big pot. I gave it a good stir and scooped some out a bit at a time, and each scoop was another character. So one of Rainie’s friends might look like one of my friends, but be married to a totally different acquaintance, and behave like two or three others.

I assume all writers do this, to one degree or another. After all, fiction, while “made up,” is really just a construct of our thoughts and memories, which in turn are constructs of our experiences and dreams. So whether I’m putting my characters in a fictional world like Shivan or the real (but still fiction-distorted) world of Buchanan Michigan, they are the product of what I know and feel.

Some things are easy to identify: for instance, Rainie’s pet iguana, George, is just my old pet, Iggy, who yes, was a very large iguana who lived in a very large cage, who loved his fresh veggies and would show his displeasure with a whip of that magnificent tail.

Thelma, Rainie’s outrageous elderly companion, is based on my own wonderful mother. My mom’s true nature, I believe, was often suppressed by circumstances and health issues, but that spark of mischief was there, and she was one of the bravest people I ever had the honor to know.

Rainie’s siblings might seem to be based on my own in some respects, but actually they are just other aspects of myself at different stages of my life, exaggerated for a bit of comedy and drama. If my actual siblings happen to also have some of those characteristics, well… genetics might play a part in that.

And the bad guys in my books? Well, they are all around me, and while I choose to exclude them from my actual life as much as possible, it is rather amusing to let Rainie get revenge on them. The funny thing is, those people will probably never recognize themselves if they chance to read the books, but that is just the nature of bad people, and a philosophical discussion I don’t plan to get into here.

I don’t know if this clears anything up for you, but it is the best I can do. Feel free to leave a comment on this blog… but also keep in mind that I often wear the sweatshirt my editor gave me which says “careful, or you’ll end up in my next novel.”

It's not the end of the world....

Well, well, well. Here we all are. So the Mayans had it wrong, and the world didn’t come to a crashing, spectacular halt.

I’m not really surprised, but I am a bit disturbed by how many people seemed to be looking forward to it. I mean, some people seemed to be looking forward to the world’s end with something like glee!

I’m not sure why this would be. Maybe they see the world through such cynical eyes they think everyone deserves to die? Or maybe they are just depressed and want to die, but can’t bring themselves to do themselves in?

Of course, I am sure there are some out there who believe that the “end of the world” just means that most people will die, but a chosen few will live, and they consider themselves part of that elite group. Some religions believe that; some survivalists do. Imagine if they are both right, and the world is suddenly plunged into a dark age of primitive living with nothing but religious nuts and rabid survivalists left to repopulate. What would future human beings evolve into? I’ll give you a minute to contemplate that…

Okay, now that I have caused you to shudder in horror, I would like to point out that our race probably already evolved from just such types.

Take the survivalists: they are really just practical (albeit often paranoid) folks who are prepared for just about any eventuality. Paranoia is not necessarily a bad thing, especially when the world is a scary, unpredictable place. (Wait, it always is, isn’t it…?) Besides, as someone once said, “Just because you’re paranoid, that doesn’t mean they aren’t out to get you.” And in a post-apocalyptic world, that is probably even more accurate. Or, for that matter, back when human beings were first coming into their own, fighting for a place in a wild world, paranoia and preparation was surely the difference between who survived and who didn’t. Just ask Noah. (Now there was the “original survivalist.” Can you imagine the way his neighbors made fun of him?)

As for religious nuts, we’ve also had them from the beginning, when people were worshiping the sun and the moon, desperate to find meaning in what must have seemed to be a chaotic existence, where storms could blow away their fragile shelters, the moon would grow and recede, the sun would blaze down and burn their skin one day and hide behind cloud cover for weeks at a time…

Having faith that the proper behavior would keep those frightening phenomena from destroying you would be a great comfort. I think the same holds true today; we might have a better understanding of weather and the phases of the moon, but there are still plenty of forces in the world that seem bent on our destruction… many of them fellow human beings. Nice to think someone is watching out for you, and that in the end they will take you to a better place… in the meantime, the true believers will treat their fellow humans better, so that isn’t a bad thing.

I think what I have just described here is a basic division of human beings: those that believe helping their fellow man will keep them safe, and those that believe they have a right to anything that allows them to survive.

I think I had a point here, but now I have just depressed myself. So I leave you to consider this on your own…

And hope that the Mayans didn’t mean midnight tonight….

I Can See the Headline Now...

I haven’t blogged for awhile. Actually, I haven’t written anything for awhile. I’ve been doing something I don’t usually do a lot of: sleeping. I mean, actually going to my bed and slipping into the world of dreams for as many as eight hours at a stretch. In my whole life I have only done that when I was sick or pregnant.

At the moment, I am not ill, and I am certainly not expecting a child. I’ve passed the procreation torch on to my children, and trust me, they are doing a fine job at the task.

But I don’t really want to talk about babies or sleeping. Those were just random thoughts I needed to get out of the way so I could talk about my real subject: self perception, and how it is affected by those around you.

I don’t think everyone is affected by other’s opinions equally. In fact, from my observations, it seems there are some people in the world who are pretty much oblivious to other people’s opinions about them.

There are times I wish I was one of them. Especially times like this, when it is three o’clock in the morning and I can’t sleep because other people’s words about me keep running through my head, making me doubt myself. I had thought I had reached an age where other’s opinions no longer bothered me much, but then today came along…

First there was a very harsh criticism of my book, “Rainie Daze.” Well, it wasn’t actually a criticism about the book; in fact, the lady in question said it was well written, the characters well developed, and that it was worth the read. But before she said all that, she made a personal attack on me.

Now, I can take personal criticism okay; I don’t like it anymore than the next person, but the truth is I spend plenty of time criticizing myself, so there isn’t much another person can say about me that I haven’t already pointed out. But this lady said something about me that simply wasn’t true: she called me a liar.

Okay, that hurts, because like Rainie Lovingston (yes, I know, there are many similarities between me and Rainie… it’s just coincidence, I’m sure) I am a lousy liar. For one thing, I don’t have the self-confidence to lie. The mere thought of getting caught telling a falsehood makes the heat rise in my face, so if I actually try it… well, you can imagine. People will either immediately know I’m lying or call an ambulance because they fear I am about to stroke out.

Also, there is the fact that I detest liars. Once a person lies to me, after that pretty much everything that comes out of their mouth is suspect; the trust factor is crushed, destroyed, maybe never to be regained. So this lady didn’t just call me a liar; she called me detestable and untrustworthy.

What did she say, you ask? Well, for one thing, she said I “really wanted to sell that book.” Anyone that has ever witnessed me trying to self-promote is probably chuckling to themselves over that statement. It is ridiculous in the extreme, and if it weren’t for my family and friends telling people I’m a writer, probably no one would know it even now.

Secondly, she said I misrepresented my book, that I deliberately told her it was not exactly what it is. Really? I did that and didn’t burst out laughing or faint? Sorry… didn’t happen.

So anyway, I know I am not a liar, and therefore I know that her criticism of me is unjust and… well, a lie. So it shouldn’t bother me, right?

The problem is, she said it in a public forum, where people who know nothing about me (just as she clearly doesn’t) will read it, and then other people will believe I’m a liar, and therefore detestable and… well, you see where I’m going, right?

So there I am, my shaky self-confidence now wobbling like a top running out of steam, and I have m next encounter.

I am not an accomplished public speaker, as you might guess. And I am bad at self-promotion, as you might also guess. But nonetheless, when I was approached with the idea of giving a talk about my writing, after some consideration I realized that yes, I could do that. Writing is one subject (caregiving being another) that I am passionate about, and I can absolute talk about it.

But then I spoke to the woman organizing the event, and she seemed somewhat determined to talk me out of it. I’m not sure why, but I think it’s because she has been made aware of my difficulty speaking in public. Perhaps she is concerned that I will be a spectacular failure at it and embarrass her, since she is the one presenting me. Or perhaps she is being kind, and doesn’t want me to humiliate myself. I’m not sure, but the thing is, the phone call started with me only expecting details about the presentation, and ended with me realizing that it was crazy for me to even consider giving a talk. Of course I will fail; of course I will make a fool of myself and her and everyone will laugh or be uncomfortable or I will forget what I wanted to say or simply pass out from the stress and they will have to call an ambulance and there will be a big write up in the local paper with the headline “LOCAL WRITER MAKES A FOOL OF HERSELF” and…

Whew! Give me a minute… I think I’m having a panic attack…

So, I handled the first lady with an email, telling her in my most diplomatic manner that I did not believe I had done those heinous things, but that if she was dissatisfied I would gladly refund her money. (Even though at the end of her attack she said she would probably go on to read the rest of the books…)

As for the second lady, I have about twelve hours yet before I have to give my final answer on whether or not I will give the presentation. I am leaning strongly toward taking her advice and chickening out. She is probably right, it will end in disaster.

Then again, there is that headline, and the possibility of a pic of me being stuffed into an ambulance… and really, there is no bad publicity, right?

Don't Make Me Hurt You

I am having difficulty writing the second book of Shadow, and I was trying to explain to someone why I had to set it aside.

George, the main character, is not a nice man, as all who have read “Shadow” already know. The problem is, in book two, he does something so heinous, that I am disgusted with him, and I simply cannot continue to write his story.

“Wait a minute,” this someone says to me, “What are you talking about? You invented George, you can have him do whatever you want him to do.”

Well, that’s only true up to a point.

Once a character is created in my head, they do take on a sort of life of their own. No, I am not Sybil, with multiple personalities struggling to come to the forefront. I promise you, I have never thought of myself as a six foot six inch male with a broadsword who goes around slicing up whoever gets in my way. The thought has never even occurred to me... well, there was that really bad bout of PMS I had back in July 1980, but that’s another story.

So anyway, I created George, and I set him down in a particular scenario that I also created. And then I pretty much turned him loose.

In order for my characters and scenarios to seem real, they must follow the paths set before them, but also have some “free will.” I throw myself into their world, and I “go with the flow.” I usually have a basic idea of where a scene is going, but once I really get into it, the characters often surprise me. Most of them, Like Rainie and Thelma and Nate, make me proud. They have good instincts and ethics, and they tend to do what I would do in a given situation.

But then there is George. Is he my hidden evil twin, like in Stephen King’s “The Dark Half?” I don’t think so. I think it is more that George is representative of the potential evil I see in the world. He represents those people (and we have all encountered at least one in our lives) who seem capable of almost anything so long as it benefits themselves. You know, the ones that you hear about on the news that make you just shake your head, wondering how in the world they could behave the way they do.

So, I put George in a situation and let him go, and he did something so awful that even I can’t believe he did it. I should have seen it coming, I suppose. I should have known he would be pushed to the edge by circumstances, but nonetheless, it really made me angry.

“Well, change it!” This person I was explaining things to said to me. “It’s your book.”

True, and George is a mere product of my imagination. However, if I just “change it,” it will be obvious that I did just that. If I force my characters to do something, the whole thing comes across as stiff and unnatural, like a Yuppie at a biker bar.

So I’ve set George aside for the moment. I have him sitting in a dark corner in my head, a “time out,” if you will, where he can think about his actions and maybe decide that he should handle the situation differently.

I hope he can do that, because right now I’m so angry with him that I could hurt him. And in truth, I do have the power to do that...

Just sayin’, George. Just sayin’.