8:31 pm January 5, 2009Meet
I have this fantasy:
I am published. My fiction is a smash. My memoirs are fabulous. I am witty and poignant and thought provoking and, frankly, genius. People talk about and quote lines from my stories. My novels win awards. I am invited to speak at writers’ conferences and schools. And when I speak at these engagements, I am articulate and hilarious and people take notes on what I say. Seriously, I’m, like, totally brilliant.
And who do I have to thank for the shaping and molding of my (imagined) success?
My fake family.
Yes, in my fantasy I have a fake family. Not that I replace anyone in my existing (real life) family… I just add some people.
Like Wil Wheaton. Wil is my brother. We sit up until all hours of the night talking sci-fi and borderline nerdy stuff and he cracks me up while he regales hilarious stories of his childhood. A childhood which we shared. So of course I have hilarious stories for him as well. He also thinks I’m very funny. We chat about his books and he encourages me to write witty memoirs about my childhood, too. I do it. They are successful. People can’t stop buying my memoirs. I’m on the New York Times Best Sellers list. I have book signings at Borders. I finally realize my dream of having my own ISBN numbers. And its all thanks to Wil. What a brother!
Another of my awesome brothers is Mo Willems. He teaches me all about simplicity. Simple words, simple pictures. Simply hilarious. He teaches me to draw. He shows me how he does it; how a small change in one line here and another line there makes a cartoon elephant’s countenance go from elated to puzzled. He lets me listen as he fleshes out ideas for pigeon hijinks and piggie conundrums. I grin because my inner five year old self is in heaven. Then again, so is my outer 32 year old self.
My cousin is M. Night Shyamalan. We meet at Barnes and Noble on occasion and have decadent drinks and cheesecake in the cafe and chat about weaving twists and intrigue into a storyline. I mostly shut up around him, which is a weird thing for me. But I do it. I just keep my mouth shut and listen to him. He’s a smart guy. His creativity is spot-on, even if sometimes his brilliant ideas fumble a little on the big screen. I see what he was trying to do. I get it. I applaud him for his efforts. As we leave the bookstore, I pay for his steamer with irish creme. He assures me that it’s okay that I’ve never read a book by Stephanie Meyer. We are vampire purists, the two of us. We make up a hand shake for it. He then tells me he will be happy to direct my story when it’s made into a movie. Even if it only ends up on Lifetime. Then we do the hand shake and part until next time.
On the weekends I like to visit my aunt and uncle, Dave Barry and Mary Roach. They didn’t even realize they were married until I told them. But now they have a very happy life together. They live in a lake house somewhere in New England. They make me laugh and keep our visits light-hearted. They teach me how to condense hilarity into 500 words or less and send readers along on their merry way, their days brightened. I put this knowledge to use on my blog. It becomes a sensation! More than 30 people read it! More than 6 people comment! I put ads on my blog and make 48 cents a month! Score!
C.S. Lewis is my grandpa. There is no end to what this man has to teach me. He knows things. I mean, awesome things. Life changing things. He lets me in on the secret that Narnia is real, and there are other places like it. He shows me how to find my own place, go there, explore it, and write about it. A magical place is easy to write about once you’ve spent any real amount of time there. Also, Grandpa Lewis always remembers my birthday. He sends me books that he’s written. Ones that no one has read before. And they are dedicated to me. I am inspired to write. Write! Every day, without fail.
Now before you freak out, I should assure you that all of these relationships stay firmly in my brain. They never bleed over into real life. Jon never finds me in front of a mirror, having a conversation with my ”cousin” M. Night about whether my current book would be best in first person or third. However, I often find that more time spent in my head often equals less time spent with fingers on the keyboard. So maybe it’s time to take a little break from my fake family and get back to the meat of what I imagine they tell me:
Write, Suz. Write.
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So when you are having your chat in your mirror with M. Night make sure you take the advise to not write in the 1st person. I’m not a huge fan of it, unless of course your novel is in 1st person than I love it!
Comment by Diana — January 6, 2009 @ 9:34 am
@Diana- Crud, yeah it’s totally in first person. It needed to be, though. Much of it is in journal entries and letters (which are of course first person), so I figured the rest of it should be first person as well. Just for consistancy.
Comment by admin — January 6, 2009 @ 11:59 am
Can I come for Sunday supper? Because that’s quite a line-up.
Now: Write, Suz, write. Between raising those beautiful babies, of course.
Comment by Lisa Milton — January 6, 2009 @ 4:54 pm
You’ll do it. I know you will. You’ll make it. *spirit fingers*
Comment by Nerak — January 7, 2009 @ 4:01 pm
You are hilarious!
I have a fantasy that I’m on American Idol and I sing “I Remember You” by Skid Row and Sebastian Bach is a guest judge and he’s so awed by my performance, he joins me on stage and we sing together. It’s pretty amazing, although it doesn’t really do anything for helping me reach my real life goals. At least your fantasies are productive!
Comment by Leslie — January 7, 2009 @ 8:17 pm