It’s something new in my life—people saying, “I’m reading your book.” What does that mean? Do they think I’m some sort of lunatic for letting people read what I write? Are they impressed I even wrote a book? I’m never quite sure how to respond. “Keep up the good work!” or, “Tell your friends!” I tend to stare and grope for some entertaining comment. Those are hard to come by. I’m not really sure how to keep the conversation going or what my newfound reader expects.
It was a real treat when an old friend of my daughter’s told me she was halfway through Truer Beauty and eagerly engaged me about details. She liked the fact the Granvilles enjoyed playing hearts as our families have done throughout the years. “You have to write what you know,” I assured.
I shared the names of businesses, streets and buildings in Truer Beauty that are authentic. When Wendy asked about the Mexican restaurant, I confirmed El Paseo is still in business, looking much the same as it did in the book. It’s our favorite eatery when we visit Santa Barbara. She asked how I obtained so much information on Hollis’ Model A Ford, from what it looked like to how to drive it. I cited internet research and our recent trips to the Nethercutt Museum. They don’t have a replica of Hollis’ model but they do have an immaculately restored Model A. A helpful docent was happy to point out all the features I noted in my explanation of how to drive one.
Then, she asked about my characters. Were they based on real people? I’ve had that question a few other times. I imagine it is disconcerting to think someone you know could base a character on you or a person from your past. My characters are completely fictional, compilations of human attributes born in my imagination. I’m not sure I convinced her but I am as certain of this as I can be.
I mentioned my tendency to elaborate on TV characters and plots in my youth in an earlier blog. But imaginary beings were in my life well before that. One of my earliest memories was riding to 1st Grade in the front seat of the car. As my mother drove past North Hollywood Park, she asked what had become of Nancy and Booger. I assured her, they were sitting quietly in the back seat. I can’t remember much of Nancy and Booger, except they were my imaginary friends and Booger was naughty. In fact, now as I recall, he might be the one who drew on the carpet with my crayon when Sheriff John suggested a picture was needed. But, I digress.
I believe, as school became a constant in my life, imaginary friends slipped away but were quickly replaced with characters from TV combined with my own fantasy originals. If a new writer wants to know how to develop their characters, my advice would be, “Start with Nancy and Booger”—their own version.
My mom and me, about the time Nancy and Booger disappeared from my reality.