Breaking Up Is Hard To Do

Divorce is hard. 

Sometimes it’s messy, sometimes amicable. But never easy.

No, I’m not baring my soul here, or sending out cyber tears, I’m talking about a different kind of divorce.

The kind you go through after writing, editing, and thoroughly vetting a manuscript. For months you bleed onto the page, through the written word, giving the world a little piece of your soul. And when its over ... you can't let go.

To me, my characters are REAL people. People that live in me wee noggin, but people nonetheless.

Crazy? Sure, but I've been called worse.

And while said MS is in the hands of several awesome agents, and queries are being bounced around cyber space, there are still times – almost everyday – that I think of something to add, change or edit.

These are the times I pick up the phone and call 911 ... er Charli. Usually she’s doing the same thing … no, not contemplating taking over the world with me, much to your dismay.

She’s adding a wee piece of dialogue here, taking away a smidgen of a scene there. So whilst I’m hoping she’ll give me a dose of, cut it out and move on sister, we chuckle and talk about the changes.

I know what your thinking, daft wenches.

You’re not far off the mark, but I digress.

The characters in my next MS are secondary characters from my first MS, and though I know them – we’ve met, chilled out, had a few beers – we’re not best buds yet.

I don’t know if my hero chews and talks at the same time, or whether or not he likes to bath

regularly – I write medieval historical’s.

I’m not yet at that point where I can comfortably sit for hours inside their heads, as I crave to be.

I’m hoping this divorce settles soon.

However, I suspect such things may continue for years, for when is a writer ever truly done?

I Lift Things Up and Put Them Down...

Every time I see this commercial I laugh. I laugh so hard I snort. His voice follows me on the train to work and I think about how can I put him into one of my stories. He is the epitome of  a character archetype.

It's kind of contagious too. Anytime I ask the hubby to get me this or that he says, "I lift things up and put them down." At least he's moved on from quoting Antoine Dodson. Anytime I'd ask a question or do something very Charli-like he'd say, "You are really dumb, for reals."

What characters from commercials make you laugh, stick with you, or even influence your writing?

Can I get a side of Lafayette? A Secondary Character Spotlight.

"Well you go ahead on, hookah, with your badass. Good for you." Lafayette says, holding his coffee.

Can lines in a book or movie get any better than this? Lafayette of the True Blood Series is TRUEly a fine example of a great secondary character.

HBO got it right when they went off track from the Sookie Stackhouse novels and kept Lafayette alive. As an aspiring author I usually frown upon such changes, but this time it worked.

He is completely three dimensional. Spot on for what you want in a supporting role. To be honest, I'd totally watch the show if it were all about him. Lafayette has all the fun.

And the man surely can mash up the stereotypes. Gay, hood, and flashy. He'll throw a do-rag on just for show, a gold la may one at that. Check out his bling, a cross and some rims, holla! But that lipstick and eyeliner, I am impressed. What a tank top. Butch, yes, I can see his muscles but the rope like straps- fabulous!

That baseball cap is a wee bit adjacent, crooked. He got game, he hood, and all kinds of saucy at the same time. I'm not sure if I should give him three snaps up in Z formation when I greet him or a fist tap-man back slap combo. Maybe both. Yes! Lafayette would definitely do both.

Are your secondary's this evolved, interesting, unmistakable, and memorable?

Not familiar with the Poet Laureate of Bon Temps? Here are some of his best lines:

"B**ch, you come into my house ,you gonna eat the food THE WAY I F***IN' MAKE IT! Do you understand me? Tip your waitress."

"If she talked any more sh*t, she'd look like a turd."

"That boy is sex on a stick!"

"Don't get it twisted hunny, I'm a survivor first, a capitalist second, and a whooole bunch-a otha' sh*t after that, but a hooka' dead last..."

"Now Jesus and I agree to see other people that doesn't mean we don't still talk from time to time."

"This sh*t is goin' faster than fritters at a fat farm."

"You're a witch. You're a witch, who's a nurse, who's a dude. I guess I lucked out then, huh?"

Please tell me...WHO IS THIS GUY?

I use Google Images for my blog posts. I love finding funny and intriguing photos for you to check out while reading my musings.

Sometimes I come across an image that makes me wonder. Like, who are these people? Then I think about what kind of character they could be.

Below is a artistic photo. You know, one of those ones where it's a photograph than drawn over. So flippin' cool.

The man's face intrigues me. I wonder what he is  thinking about while taking a drag of his cigarette. The band aid on his finger tip, his face etched with wrinkles, a cool ponytail of salt and pepper hair, and his workman's uniform are all tell tale signs of what kind of life this man leads. So, I made up a character and a scenario. You can do the same.

Dimitri Petrov is fifty-nine years old. Russian by birth, he became an American citizen in 1962.

He married his hometown sweetheart, Ana. They have been married for forty years and have two children, a boy and a girl.

He has worked in his cousin's auto body repair shop for the past thirty-five years.

To most, he has lived the American Dream. If they knew what secret he's been keeping they would agree whole heartedly that he IS the American Dream.

Dimitri would disagree with the same fervor.

He thanks God everyday for Ana's laryngectomy a year ago. The sound of her voice used to induce instant nausea. Cause of its tone? No. She nagged him incessantly about how he never amounted to much of anything.

His children took after their mother in that sense. Never making much of his life. The sixty hour work weeks to put food on the table, send them to Catholic school and even to college. Money he could have saved.

Mikael, his son,  is a degenerate gambler who's been in jail more than out.

Katrina, his daughter, is a gold digger who's been married three times- to men older than him.

The coffee in his cup has long been finished but he can't seem to move from his seat.

He won the powerball two weeks ago and never told a soul. Technically he is a millionaire.

The whole country wants to know who the winner is.  

And he doesn't want to give his ungrateful brood a dime.

Will he cash in and leave Detroit forever?

Thus giving his wife and offspring their shares and be done with them?

Or will he keep the ticket in his wallet, basking in the ways their lives will continue to be miserable. Miserable not because he is withholding riches from them, but miserable for the types of people they really are. With the money they would still be rotten children and she still would be a rotten mute wife.

At some point the ticket will expire. He envisions leaving it for them in his will. Laughing from his grave.

With a drag of his USA 100, he makes his decision. One they will have to live with, not him.

I challenge you to find a picture that speaks to you and do the same.