One of the main reasons I write is to get the crazy out. I’m
not just talking about wild ideas, rants about the universe, or a need to share
experiences. No. I am talking about
getting to say and do all the things I would never say or do in real life.
Most writers limit the crazy to supporting characters. My crazy comes out in my
heroes. You know, the one that is secretly me.
My first novel, 66 Laps, was inspired by my desire to
throttle a model/mom who pointed out my first gray hair during a play-date for
our toddlers. I wanted to slap the bitch. Guess what the first line of that
novel is? “I slapped the bitch.” That reaction led to grave consequences for
Audrey. While I smiled and let the comment slide, but poor Audrey’s identity
issues made her the kind of character who reacted, so she was also the kind of person
who would react to larger things. In fact, when she thought her husband was
having an affair, she allowed herself to be seduced by a younger man. Unfortunately,
tragedy ensued. Poor Audrey. But me? My only consequences were a literary prize
and a contract with Random House.
Clearly, crazy was working. In my next novel, Wife Goes On,
there are four protagonists, so I spread the crazy around. There’s an
overworked mom who gets to rule the world, a ball busting lawyer who wears
designer clothes, an actress who humiliates off her cheating ex on national TV,
and a sweet young ex-football wife who sells sex toys. They become they kind of
friends we all need. And they do crazy things that I’ve only imagined.
In What A Mother Knows, I explore the impulse to kill
someone who threatens my daughter. You’ll have to read the book to find out if
I did. I mean, if Michelle did. But that’s not all. The character faces all my worst
nightmares and comes out okay. She also gets to have a makeover, a fabulous
love affair, and a new career. See the pattern?
The greatest challenge to this method is that editors sometimes
complain that my main character needs to start out more “likeable ." When they
say that, it’s hard not to be insulted – they are talking about me. Then I realize
they just need to see more of the real, boring me before they meet the hell
raiser reacting to a gray hair, a divorce, or a threatened child.
So far I’ve gotten to swear, have an affair, come very close
to committing murder, and have a happy ending.
Call me crazy, but it works.
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