Category Archives: Blog

What Metallica Teaches Me

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Turn the page.

Turn the page.

So I’m watching this James Hetfield video, him at Guitar Center jamming a bit and talking about his early career with Metallica. About half way through, he starts playing this riff, and I think, “Could I ever learn to play that? I’ve got a Fender Strat electric and a Gibson Epiphone acoustic electric, surely I could learn to play that.”

Yes. I could. Gimme a year and practice every day, I could learn to play that riff.

But it would never be natural. It would never be second nature.

So here’s the hard truth: Writing fiction is pretty much the same way.

BUT.

It all depends on what you want out of it and what you expect out of it.

Jame Hetfield apparently worked at “a sticker factory.” Which somehow fits, I don’t know why. He might’ve ended up staying there, maybe becoming a sticker factory manager someday. (After all, someone has to be the sticker factory manager. There ought to be pride in that. There ought to be pride in every job, but our nation currently doesn’t really support that – but I digress.) Maybe old James would’ve quit and gone on to study music in college, and become a professor someplace. But he didn’t. He went on to become Metallica. Meh tal ih KAH!

But he’d still be playing guitar. I’d bet anything on it.

James Hetfield plays guitar because James Hetfield can’t not play guitar.

I write novels because I can’t not write novels.

What is it you cannot not do? That’s the thing you should be doing. You might still have to work at the sticker factory or become a professor to fund whatever it is. (I know this because it’s what I’m in the process of doing – preparing to get paid for something other than writing novels. I probably won’t work at the sticker factory, though.)

There is a world of difference – and generally, years of difference – between “I wanna be a rock star” and doing the work it takes to get there. As in music, are there flashes of wild success in fiction? Yes. Whether these authors are “good” or not is a matter of opinion, of course, just as tastes vary wildly with music preferences. But both musicians and novelists, like any artists, can also hit a nerve in a community at a right place and time.

Most of them, however, work their butts off to get there. And then double the effort once they’ve “arrived.” That’s the secret. That’s the trick. There isn’t another.

The reality is, I may never be a New York Times bestseller. Not for lack of trying or hoping. I may never keynote at ALA, again not for lack of trying or hoping.

But I keep thinking about these musicians I know, who make crap money gigging around the world, country, or neighborhood, and can’t imagine doing anything else. They cobble together a living, maybe with some teaching on the side or as a studio back-up. They’re doing what they want to do.

There is a price for that lifestyle, of course. Only you can determine if that price is worth paying. (If you can marry rich, go for it.) (Mostly kidding, folks.*) There’s health insurance and car insurance and retirement to think about (if you have a car). Rent or mortgage. Hey, ever pay for pre-school? That’ll shock ya. Oh, and food and clothing.

Among other things.

So what are you willing to give up to do that thing you can’t not do? What path can you forge to do that thing for a little or a lot of money?

Hope is not a business plan. Luck is not the foundation of a life-long career.

Figure out what you want, then make a plan to go get it. Take yourself out for a nice long chat sometime and really ponder this thing you want to do. If you can see yourself doing anything else, you should probably go do that thing instead.

But if THIS thing—whatever it is, be it music, writing, poetry, cooking, gardening, becoming a SEAL, whatever—if this thing you cannot breathe without . . . then figure out how you’re gonna get there.

Because you can.

That’s all. Love ya.

~ Tom

 

*Oft told story: Joy and I were at a dinner with friends of her family. Someone asked us what we wanted to do as careers. We both answered truthfully. The guy laughed and said, “An artist and a social worker. You’re gonna be rolling in cash, huh?” 

Well…maybe someday. But no, prolly not. 🙂

We’re All The Backpacker

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Me, SICK, and the cosplay cast of Walking Dead.

Me, SICK, and the cosplay cast of Walking Dead.

Yes, I’m a fan of The Walking Dead. It took me a long time to get around to watching it, because that first episode with the half-woman crawling on the grass . . . how they elicited empathy from those two scenes frankly scared me. I knew, as did millions of others, that this was to be no ordinary zombie romp. I could barely handle the gore; my taste for that disappeared many years ago. But even moreso, I couldn’t handle the emotion.

I’ve not been able to pick up this current season, despite a few attempts at trying. The entire arc of Terminus and what the Termites do . . . I just can’t stomach it. I’ve watched enough Talking Dead to give up on it for now, though I dutifully record it just in case.

And I wonder:

This is what we use for entertainment now? Watching people eat each other? It’s not new or unique to this series, but man. Walking Dead pulls zero punches. Zero.

Then I wonder:

Is it all just a matter of degrees?

I’m a huge Buffy fan. I watch it (and re-watch it) for the story. I watch Walking Dead for the story. What’s the difference, if any? Buffy has combat and fighting and the best and the worst that humanity has to offer in its stories. The Walking Dead offers the same thing, but with more gore. So what’s the difference? Is it like the old joke, “I only read Playboy for the articles”?

“I only watch Walking Dead for the story and character.” “I only watch Breaking Bad for the story and the character.”

Really? You’re sure those are the only reasons?

While I enjoy all of these shows—at least, I think it’s enjoyment—I’m left wondering if Walking Dead is simply too accurate. It worries me that, zombies notwithstanding, it’s just pointing out the inevitable future of the human race. Is it showing us the truth about ourselves, and if so . . . is it our fate? I don’t mean a zombie apocalypse (believe it or not), but rather, is it our fate to treat our fellow living human beings the way these characters treat others?

I mean, I cannot envision a time or circumstance in which I would eat human flesh. I can’t eat leftovers from my favorite restaurants!  But then I’ve never been trapped on a mountain hoping for rescue. I’ve never been in a zombie apocalypse. And while I watch the show and condemn the actions of some of its characters (like what Michonne and Rick did-or-rather-didn’t do to the backpacker in season 3, episode 12), I also know that I have a three-year-old. And I know there is absolutely nothing I wouldn’t do to protect that child, much like a certain dad did for a certain son when that son was being threatened. Those of you who watch the show know what scene I’m talking about. I appreciate The Walking Dead for giving me that idea; that if I and my son were ever in a similar situation, now I know what to do. It’s disgusting. It’s inhuman. But I would do it. Would not hesitate.

So then, does the show tell us who we are at our core? In the event of a catastrophe of an apocalypse scale, is this how we would treat each other? The one time we most need to band together, are we capable of doing it?

Because here’s the thing:

The world is in jeopardy right now as I write this. The world, our world, is falling apart. Oh, the planet will be fine—Earth doesn’t need us to keep spinning and creating and sustaining life. It just won’t be our life, the way things are headed.

Even without zombies walkers, we’re at a point where we need to band together. Instead, we kill unarmed people and we crash planes into buildings and we let our neighbors starve or children go to school hungry or our veterans to die alone and frightened on the street after having killed the people we think are responsible for the aforementioned atrocities in the first place . . . can you say “vicious unending cycle”?

I’ve heard—not confirmed, and hard-core (die hard?) fans might know for sure—that the word “zombie” is never used because in the world of the show, there is no George Romero, no cultural history of “zombies” per se. Maybe that’s true.

Or maybe the creators simply know the phrase “walking dead” has many more connotations to it than “zombie” does. I guess it’s that age-old media question: Does our entertainment cause us to become something, or does it merely reflect what it already sees? Probably the answer is Yes. Yes, both.

Maybe we’re already walking dead. Maybe we are already consuming one another’s flash. Nothing new here. Nothing that a thousand online prophets haven’t already endlessly dissected. I guess I just needed to hear myself say it out loud, so to speak.

Can we be better? I know I’m trying. But it’s not easy. Maybe you can help me. Maybe we can help each other.

I’m open to ideas. All’s I know is what I’d like to do if I ever see a Backpacker—apocalypse or no apocalypse. Because that Backpacker is everywhere already.

And you and I might be him someday if we’re not already.

Be Human.

 

Things To Do While Still In High School #1 – Own the Angst

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While everyone else was out drinking, getting high, or, you know, going on dates with actual girls, I was doing this, with apologies in advance to any Depeche Mode fans:

Can you feel the angst? It drips from the ceiling. The story behind this video is not the point (it’s a good story, maybe for later). The point is, you should do this.

I don’t necessarily mean making an angst-ridden video, although I know that happens a lot on YouTube and elsewhere. (Here, I was going to post an example YouTube video, but I got too depressed reading the comments people were leaving. The shit people feel free to say online drives me insane, hence my novel RANDOM, which is inspired by real events and by events you probably have experienced yourself, statistically speaking.)

The reality is adolescent brains are cooking on overtime. You probably know that much. That’s not an excuse to do stupid or dangerous things. Don’t drink and drive, for example. Don’t get pregnant or get anyone pregnant (just trust me on that one, okay? You’ll be glad later if you dodge that).

But while I’m a huge proponent of #stayhere and not doing things your body or mind can’t recover from, I also believe you should be yourself, and experience everything there is to experience right now. Angst is good.  It can be harmful, but it can also be a lot of fun. It’s like, on the one hand, people are always telling you to grow up, and that’s fair; this is your origin story. The decisions you make today will reverb down through the rest of your life. They will. I promise, they will. Good and bad ones, they’ll stick with you. So make good ones.

But on the other hand, don’t grow up too fast, either. See, the other side of this “grow up” mentality that most so-called grown-ups won’t tell you is that this is when you should fail. You should reach for the sky and get knocked down. It’s so much better to do that now than in your twenties, and better in your twenties than your thirties, and so on. (We’ll talk about your twenties some other time. That’s a whole other mess.)

I’m not saying to be irresponsible. On the contrary, you should be exceptionally responsible, because that’ll pay off later. But go up and ask that guy that out! Ask that girl out! Go on adventures. Stay up till the sun rises once in a while. Confide your secrets. Give your heart to someone, and then survive when he or she tosses it casually into a woodchipper. Which he or she will inevitably do.

And when everything goes wrong, make an angsty music video.

Then go dance, sing, lip-synch, whatever. This is your time. Own it. Yes, be careful…but own it all the same. Life will settle down soon enough. Sooner than you can imagine. Don’t rush for it.

Maybe I’m telling you stuff you already know, in which case—good! I’m glad you’re out there kicking metaphorical ass and having a great time.

But if you didn’t know this, if you didn’t realize that this was your time to both shine and suffer, then I encourage you to try both. I’m not advising you this because I regret not doing it myself—I’m advising you this way because I did. We lived up every second of high school, good and bad, diving deep into whatever the moment brought. I got hurt. I hurt others. I regret the second one, but not the first.

I don’t write YA because I didn’t have a great time; I write YA because I did. And I want you to. All of you. All of us.

Anyway. Sermon over. Have a great weekend, huh?

And, P.S. Just in case any friends want to leave snarky comments, remember – I have your videos too. Don’t push me, man. Don’t push me.

 Take care, stay here, say words.

~ Tom

 

Transitional Period

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I’d love to sit here and tell you that Laurie Halse Anderson is a good friend of mine. But that would be disingenuous of me. That’s nothing against her, by the way; ohmygod, if you’re a fan like I am, let me just tell you right now she is exactly as cool and awesome in person as you’d think. But do we hang out regularly at those secret writers’ retreats sipping coffee and discoursing on character development? No. A very sad, sad no. 

laurie halse w fam2

Laurie Halse Anderson – a kick-ass human being.

BUT, having said that, she did give me something when we met a couple years ago that has been a huge help, and that is The Five Year Plan. 

This is–my words, now–basically a way to write down your goals for the next five years, and you update it every year. Everyone’s will be different; mine is mostly focused on my publishing goals, such as “Sell one YA contemporary novel” and/or “Sell one middle-grade adventure.” Things like that. I, personally, also keep track of speaking engagements and whether or not I got paid for them.

Let me tell you … this thing works. The first year I did it, I hit every single one of my goals. I think it’s just because there they were, waiting to be checked off. (I’m a hard-core checker-offer.) I set out to get ten paid speaking engagements; I ended up with twelve. I wanted to sell my next YA novel; did that, too. And so on.

It’s now October 2014, and I’m updating my 5 Year Plan for 2015, looking back at 2014, and I gotta say…eesh! Things did not go according to plan. I mean, big-time.

Okay. That’s what the 5 Year Plan is for, at least the way I use it. I was able to track exactly where I went off the rails, and where exactly I want to go in 2015.

 

So what’s on your 5 Year Plan? The keyword there is your. Look out a bit, what do you see? Who do you want to be next year, or in five? Write it down, brothers and sisters. Write it down. You can do anything.

No, you really can.

Take care, and say words.

Random Pulp Fiction quote of the day that’s running through my head: “Normally, both your asses would be dead as f***ing fried chicken, but you happen to pull this shit while I’m in a transitional period so I don’t wanna kill you, I wanna help you.” ~ Jules 

 

 

Best Of Phoenix, and the Transformers Soundtrack

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This is partly another Behind The Music post. So this is #3 right? Maybe it’s #4. I dunno. Anyway.

This, as they say, happened today:

http://www.phoenixnewtimes.com/bestof/2014/award/best-ya-author-4455444/

The New Times Best of Phoenix issue is sort of a state treasure. Not one person in New York publishing could care less that New Times gave me this honor (most likely, and that’s okay, I don’t read their fancyass publications either), but around my home town, this is the shit. I don’t think it means free drinks at British Open Pub or anything, but it means . . . it means you earned it. That’s the thing about New Times. This is the same publication that began a review for one of my shows with “Get the hook!” If and when the New Times says you’re legit, you earned it. They don’t pass this stuff around easily. They don’t screw around with this issue. I stopped caring what Kirkus and Horn Book had to say about me about four years ago; and in a sense, they will never matter now, because New Times vetted me. Coupled with the Best New Local Author 2012 from Phoenix magazine, I gotta say, I love my hometown critics! And, as happens so often, this nod came at a great time, neatly erasing – or at least shoving aside for the moment – lingering and ongoing doubts about my usefulness as a, you know, human. <wink!>

But seriously, New Times . . . this makes my year.

+++

270px-TFTM_Soundtrack

So Toby discovered my Transformers: The Movie soundtrack this morning. Nah nah nah, hold on, we’re talking the real movie starring Judd Nelson and Orson Welles. (Let that sink in for a minute. Orson Welles and Bender were in a movie together. This is a great card to play during any Six Degrees game.) This is the album with the bad-ass metal version of the Transformers theme song.

The thing that struck me this morning driving Tobes to preschool was this: I still know most of the words to most of the songs. And most of the lyrics are full of these standard 1980’s power anthems (not unlike “You’re the BEST/Arooooound!/Nothin’s gonna ever KEEP you DOWN!” from The Karate Kid.)

I mean, check this out:

You never bend, you never break
You seem to know just what it takes
You’re a fighter

It’s in the blood, it’s in the will
It’s in the mighty hands of steel
When you’re standin’ your ground (The Touch, Stan Bush)

Dude! That is some fist-pumping, Decepticon-ass-kicking shit right there! Or this, from Spectre General (aka Kickaxe) from a cover by John Farnham)

We won’t be denied
We know that time is on our side
We’ve got the passion and the pride
We won’t be denied

This generations
With fire in our eyes
Strong are the ties that bind us
We don’t need no alibis

Nothing’s gonna stand in our way

This is the stuff I was listening too when I was 10, 11, 12 years old. Over and over. As we drove this morning, I couldn’t help wondering…did lyrics like this actually get into my head, and into my soul? I know, I know; I’m a bona fide nerd, but even this crosses the line, right?

Still. I happen to be someone who is, shall we say, ambitious; not for money or power or prestige, but rather just for getting things done in my life that I want to get done. There are very few things I’ve wanted and not gotten, eventually. Again – not talking about an expensive new car or huge house on the mountain. I’m talking about things like, say, “I want to direct this play.” Done. “I want to publish the novel.” Done.  “I want to play out with a band.” Done. “I want to make this movie.” Done. (The movie, Endgame, aired exactly once on a Phoenix public access channel.  The band played one gig to a house of about 15 people. See what I mean? It wasn’t about prestige, it was about doing the thing you set out to do. Just, you know…’cause!)

Maybe those cheesy, cornball lyrics from the 80’s actually did make an impression. Maybe it’s why people still listen to that music in the gym. 

So yeah, my kid will be a geek like me – if I do my job right. If those sappy lyrics and hard-drivin’ synths are just one more tool in his arsenal to deal with whatever life throws at him, with whatever he wants to make of it, then I’ll take it.

Nothin’s gonna stand in your way, Tobes. 

 

That Thing You Do

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Just in case you didn’t hear me the first time, let me reiterate and post it for all the world to see:

That thing you do? That thing that actually gets you excited to wake up on certain mornings? That thing that makes you lose track of time in the best possible way?

You get to do it. You deserve to do it. Provided it’s not a three-state killing spree or some similar hobby that breaks the laws of man and gods…you get to do it.

Particularly if you live in the U.S., or any other industrialized nation. Obviously there are people struggling — trust me, I know — but the vast majority of us have roofs, food, and clothing. If basic survival is not a daily issue for you (and if you really take stock, it really probably isn’t), then you have time to do that Thing You Do.

Do not listen to anyone who tells you it’s stupid. Or you can’t. Or you suck. Do it anyway.

The trick is to work with the people in your life to whom you are “beholden.” A spouse and/or kids, for example. Your Thing may not get to come first on the week’s agenda. That’s okay. But work with those people and carve out that time. That Thing You Do makes you who you are, and you’re no good to those other people if you’re not the best You that you can be. (Someone told me that once. It helped a lot.)

Writing poetry, writing fiction, playing guitar, kicking the ball around, gardening, walking the dog, meditation, martial arts, knitting, cooking…anything that makes you the best person you can be, you deserve to do it. All people do…we just happen to live in a nation where it’s largely possible, and the only things really keeping us back are our own fears or resistance to talking to our loved one about it.

It might be an hour a week, it might be an hour a month. But you deserve it. (So do those other people!) Talk to them, keep talking to them, work something out.

You’re only going around once. Do Your Thing. When you do, it makes the world a better place.

I for one could use the world to be a better place. How about you?

 

#stayhere

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So I’m 40 today.

No, seriously. It’s true. Damn!

I was burning this old videotape to my hard drive yesterday, a video from when I was 21 or so. Know what? I look better now.

There was lot I wanted to say today, but I’ll keep it short instead:

I’m here.

This video was—and I am not kidding—a video journal, in which I was bemoaning the loss of a girlfriend. Did you know that I will never love anyone ever again? Fact! And that I will never get over what she did to me? Fact!

Yeah…except for the part where those things aren’t true.

Trust me, I am the last guy to dismiss a young person’s trauma, drama, and emotional pain. Have you read my novels? That would be pretty inconsiderate of me, to say the least. Problems and pain and angst . . . these are real at the time. Watching that video, you could see the stress and strain. You or someone you know is going through difficulty right now. Right this very moment.

Life is simply never, ever, ever going to get better.

Or so it seems. Yet somehow, it can. It does. I know it’s hard to wait a week, or a month, or a year . . . or almost twenty . . . but if I’d given up then as I very much wanted to do, if I hadn’t ended up asking for the help I obviously needed, there’s no Party. There’s no Random.

 Worst of all, there’s no Toby. C’mon, look at that! DSC_0053

I’ve done a lot of things the past twenty years: Marriage and a son, awards and talks, travel and adventures, meeting new people and making new friends. 

 …Walking the earth like Caine in Kung Fu. (Well, maybe not that part yet.)

 If I’d done to myself what I felt like doing back then, none of that happens. None of it. It’s one thing to want the pain to stop; I get that. Trust me, I do. It’s another thing to end any opportunity to see what happens later.

 I’m thrilled to be here. I’m happier than I’ve ever been. I’m glad I stayed.

 You should, too.

 #stayhere.

 Take care,

~ Tom

“Thanks for watching!”

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My heroes.

My heroes.

“DID YOU KNOW…?!” ~ The Wizard

 State Fair, early nineties. The Gin Blossoms – local boys make good! – are riding a wave of popularity rivaling the entire grunge movement of the day.  But it’s hot. Phoenix hot. And half a dozen friends and I are crammed into this indoor venue with thousands of other hot and cranky young adults. Tempers are flaring. Yeah yeah, we’re here for the band, shut up. Things are getting tense. Where the hell are the Blossoms, anyway? God but it’s hot in here.

Then this music starts. Only it’s not the Blossoms. What the hell, man? This is like…like some kind of jangly pop thing they’re piping in over the sound system, a happy dirge, if there be such a thing. Is that . . . is that a flute? What is going on here?

Then it dawns on us all. We know this song. We can sing this song. Simplest, best chorus ever:

Ho ho, ha ha, hee hee, ha ha.

Everyone’s looking around at everyone else. If this is some kind of joke, it’s in bad taste. The Gin Blossoms are from Tempe, man, they should know better than to play the theme song to the TV show every single last damn one of us grew up with. This is tacky. Tacky.

Until . . .

No way.

No way!

Down on the stage, the first thing we see is the tall gray top hat. Before we even see his face, we know who this is.

Ladmo.

“Hi, everybody!” our hero cries, and man . . . we lose it. We cheer ourselves hoarse, the roof damn near collapses. It’s Ladmo.

Then comes the greatest sentence ever spoken on God’s green earth, as far as we are concerned:

“I have a seating chart!”

I’ve seen Pink Floyd live, from the sixth row. I’ve seen Social D more times than I can remember, and loved every second of every show. I even saw them on a double bill with the Ramones once. But Ladmo’s got a seating chart, and me and thousands of other guys and girls just like me are completely and utterly losing our shit. A seating chart can only mean one thing:

Someone’s getting a Ladmo Bag.

Ladmo Bags are paper sacks filled with Twinkies, candy, coupons for Slurpees . . . everything a growing boy needs. I never got one myself – one of my great life disappointments – but not long from this night, I won’t mind so much, because history is being made right in front of me.

It’s the last public appearance Ladmo will ever make. He passed away not long after. And it hurt. It hurt hundreds of thousands, maybe even millions of us here in Arizona.

This was some twenty years ago. It was just a few month ago that I got one of The Wallace & Ladmo Show triumvirate’s autographs on an 8 x 10 black and white: Pat McMahon. It was years ago that I got to meet Wallace, the other third of this uniquely Arizonan trinity. Arizona makes headlines a lot on The Daily Show, and with good reason, but we got one thing absolutely, perfectly right: We got The Wallace & Ladmo Show.

This children’s show lasted some thirty-five years in the Valley of the Sun, and made television history along the way. My feeling has always been that if there’s a Heaven, Ladmo will be easy to find in it because that’s where all the world’s children are going to flock. And if he’s not there, then I don’t want to go anyway.

Now the show can start up again in whatever Heaven there may be. I just found out we lost Wallace. I can’t – yeah, I can’t write this without goddam bawling because these three guys – Wallboy, Ladmo, and Pat a.k.a. Gerald and a dozen other characters – they raised me. They raised a lot of us. A lot. If I want to come up with happy memories of my dad, they start with Wallace & Ladmo.

When I met Pat McMahon a few months ago, I got to tell him (and I hope he heard me) that I get to talk to young people now as part of my job, and I hope I can do at least half as good a job as he and Wallace and Ladmo did during all those years. I hope I can love those students as much as the three of them all loved all of us; kids, adults, black white and brown, smart and not so smart, rich and not so rich. Wallace and Ladmo leveled the field in a singular way, a way I’m afraid will never be seen again in my or anyone’s lifetime.

But I’m sure going to try. It’s the least I can do. It’s the only way I can really say thanks.

Thank you, Wallace.

Thank you, Ladmo.

We sure could use you around here. Now more than ever.

 

Thanks for tuning in.

 

(If you’re not a native, please take a look at this article from the Arizona Republic, which does a better job with the history than I’m doing here. To give you an idea of how big a deal this guys are, their parody band Hub Kapp & The Wheels outsold the Beatles…only in Phoenix. http://www.azcentral.com/story/news/local/arizona/2014/07/23/wallace-ladmo-bill-thompson-dies/13016035/)

Legends of Candlestick

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She rocks my world.

She rocks my world.

guest post by Joy Leveen

My dad has Alzheimer’s.

These days, it’s good if he remembers my name. He’ll be 70 in September and we’ve been living with this awful disease for nearly six years. A trip to see his favorite football player of all time—Joe Montana—is not in the cards for him.

I have been a devoted 49ers fan since I was born. I can plot my life along the Niners timeline.  There is a picture of me wearing a 49ers helmet and red footie  pajamas when I was 4 years old.  The Niners won their first Super Bowl the year I was born, and won their third the year my sister was born.  She arrived the day after that Super Bowl; I honestly don’t know what my dad would have done if Mom went into labor during that Super Bowl. Alecia has been called “Josephine” for years in honor of her almost-birthday. Each Christmas, my father, a pastor for his entire career,would tell us the Christmas story . . . with baby Joe Montana being born and wrapped in red and gold cloths by Bill Walsh. It was a strange, great blend of Christian and 49er subculture.

Now, I am going to watch Joe Montana, Jerry Rice, and other amazing 49er players play flag football in Candlestick Park!  It is their way of saying good-bye to the iconic stadium.  For me, it is a dream come true, a bucket list experience—and a way to honor my dad.

When I heard that Joe, Jerry, Dwight, and the gang were getting back together for one last game at Candlestick, my first thought was “Dad would love that!” Only he doesn’t travel much anymore, and he certainly couldn’t handle the crowds of a major sporting event. 

Living with an Alzheimer’s patient is hard. The understatement of the century. There is no break from it, no day off, no way to return to our “normal family” for a bit. The disease is so insidious because it steals my dad slowly. One day he can remember names; another day, I am my sister, my mom, and myself from moment to moment.  I couldn’t say when he stopped being able to dress himself without assistance; the days and losses blend together. But Dad can play on the floor with my three-year-old for hours—two boys for whom time does not matter. 

Watching 49ers games is hard now. Weird, right?  I get breathless, anxious, and filled with adrenaline. It’s hard to watch with anybody else. Super Bowl 2012 against the Ravens started out well. I was laughing and joking, and teasing a friend who is as devoted to the Steelers as I am to the Niners.  If we won this game, we would have won as many Bowls as the Steelers. Then the Ravens pulled ahead and stayed ahead. The joking wasn’t funny any more. The good natured ribbing stung. I had to go home before the game was over. As the seconds ticked away, I sat on our couch with my husband’s arms around me, tears rolling down my checks. A Super Bowl lost.  Inconceivable.

I knew it was the last Niner’s Super Bowl my dad would be able to enjoy.

I don’t cry much about my dad’s disease. There isn’t an event to mourn.  The diagnosis day?  I was too worried about my dad and helping my mom manage Dad’s reaction.  The losses now are so basic, so elemental; what is there to elicit emotion?  I can’t break down in front of Dad, as there is no way to explain it to him. But a game lost, a championship record broken?  That I can cry about. Watching the Niners allows me to mourn the father I knew, the relationship I treasured. The loss of my Dad is so oppressive that I can only take it in pieces. 16 pieces, usually; 20 pieces on a good year.

I get to go to Candlestick to enjoy the spectacle of legendary players playing a great game. To say I saw Joe play in Candlestick. Maybe even score a touchdown.  To say good-bye to a great stadium. And to say good-bye to Dad.  

YA Villainy!

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Guy Montag: villain and hero.
Tom Leveen: …uh, depends who you ask.

 

Are fictional characters held to a different standard than real life people?

I’m working on this YA contemporary novel, the longest I’ve ever written as a first draft. And there’s a character who, should I be so fortunate to publish the novel, will doubtless be decried as a villain. Rightfully so; the character does some pretty awful things by anyone’s standard.

But it got me thinking.

I try hard not to judge my characters. I try hard to give them concrete, sympathetic motivations for even their most grievous sins. Most readers and reviewers … (who am I kidding, I’ll just call them reviewers)…realize this. They might rail against the characters’ choices, to which I say, huzzah! Tear ’em apart. Reviewers are perfectly free to judge my characters. They are also free to judge my writing.

It’s when they judge me as a human being – based on my fiction – that I get a little, shall we say, nettled.

But I digress!

Remember that bad guys rarely think they’re doing bad things. If I told you a certain man was loyal, peace-seeking, and perhaps even ambitious, you might assume he’s a Good Guy. Ambition can be a little tricky, but properly managed, can certainly be a boon.

Except I just described Darth Vader. BOOM! Lightsaber-drop!

I mean, really — in parts 4, 5, and 6 (the ones that matter. Snap!) we have something of a tragic figure in Vader. The point, though, is he’s not out trying to rule the galaxy for the hell of it. He believes in his cause. He is utterly loyal (to a fault) to his mentor, the Emperor. He tells Luke they can end this destructive conflict and bring order to the galaxy, and I think he really wants that. That is seeking peace. How he goes about these goals, of course, becomes the issue.

So here I am with this teenage protagonist who commits horrific crimes. Is he a Bad Guy? Is he redeemable? Should readers and reviewers judge him, and if so, by what measure?

Are fictional characters held to a different standard than real life people? Should they be?

Some reviewers have criticized Anthony, or Morrigan, or Beckett’s mother in Party. Some have torn the literary flesh from Chad and Brian in Sick. Some have dismissed Tyler in manicpixiedreamgirl.  And . . . some of these reviews have been spot-on. Can’t lie about that. I’ve learned a lot from them. Others . . . well, others have frankly been pretty senseless, and a very few have attacked me, personally. But that’s a blog (or pending libel lawsuit) for another time. I’ll get more of these come August when Random is released, I’m sure; but I hope what happens more often is conversation.

I write these characters for a reason, and it’s never to be an asshole. It is to make investigations into who we all are as people, and it is to start conversations. I write edgy YA fiction, yo.  It’s been broughten! I wouldn’t be doing my job if everyone was sweetness and light on every page.

I wouldn’t be being honest.

But most readers understand that. The point here is that fictional bad guys (and, often, good guys) are prone to the same errors in judgement, petty squabbles, and rash decisions we all are. No one is all good or all bad in reality, and neither in fiction. Let your good guys have flaws, and let your bad guys have admirable qualities. I think this is the beginning of what is hoped to be “multi-dimensional characters.”

It’s not your job as the author to beg forgiveness for the actions of your villains — in-book, or in real life. Let them do their thing, and let the good guys do theirs, and most importantly, make sure they collide in the middle.

Cool? Cool.