Character Sketch: Delta

Delta is in her late-20s. She is what might best be described as a child of nature, sort of a throwback to the 60s. She's thin, about five-two, has long dark-blonde curly hair that frames her head like a lion's mane, brown eyes and freckles across her nose. She's also rather spacey...

Lonny and BB pushed open the door and stepped into the blinding sunlight. As they walked around to the side of the building, BB saw the young woman again, playing fetch with her dog near Lonny's car. She scooped up the dog and walked up to them.

"Hey guys, all done with your ASAP?" she said. "You aren't headed south by any chance are you? Say down to Miami?" she asked.

"Yeah, we are," BB said. "How'd you know that?"

"I'm psychic," she said mysteriously, peering over her sunglasses. "Delta's got the gift."

"Delta?" BB said.

"That's me -- Delta Dawn LaCroix to be exact. Yes, I was named after that country song, but now I go by just one name, like Madonna, or Cher, or... or whoever else goes by just one name..." her face went blank for a second, like a light had flickered off and then back on. "Liberace I guess. This little fella is Boo, short for Boo Boo. I guess he goes by just one name too." 

She extended the dog's paw to Lonny, who shook it. 

"So you're a psychic, huh?" he said, humoring her.

"Oh yeah, I've got the gift," she said. "Yes, yes I do." She thought for a second. "At least I think I do."

BB rolled his eyes, a gesture that didn't go unnoticed.

"I know what you're thinking," she said. "You're thinking this girl's crazy, or she did one too many hits of acid when she was in high school, which may or may not be true -- either or both. But, see, I know this... deep within me I have this power." Delta closed her eyes and made a fist that she pressed against her forehead. "I just know things."

"And you psychically sensed that we were going to Miami, huh?" BB said.

"Yep," she answered brightly, her eyes open again. "Well, that and I kind of peeked and saw the open road map of Florida in your car."

"That's cheating," Lonny said. "That doesn't prove you're a psychic."

"Yeah... I know," Delta said. "But see, ever since I was a kid, I've had these super clear moments when I knew that I was, you know, different -- not Michael Jackson different, but different because I had a little extra mojo going on in my life." 

BB and Lonny glanced at each other. "Different," they said in unison.

"Yeah. It's kind of like I always had an awareness that other people didn't have. I was born in New Orleans, down in Creole country. My mother and I lived above an old storefront that had been converted into a church where they practiced voodoo. When my mother was pregnant with me, the resident voodoo priestess read her fortune and told her I'd be different. I was finally born during one of the worst lightning storms they ever had down there."

Delta reached into her pocket and pulled out a small leather pouch tied shut with a cord. "When I was just a few days old the priestess gave me this -- it's called a gri-gri -- to protect me from evil spirits and such. And then later, when I was about six, she pulled me aside, looked deep into my eyes and told me I had the gift."

"And what, exactly, is 'the gift'," asked BB.

"Well, I don't honestly know," Delta said. "At least not yet. The priestess was never really clear on that part of it, plus neither my mother nor I spoke Creole. But I've always had a feeling it has something to do with psychic abilities and such. Or not. But I know that someday I'm going to do something big, and lately that feeling has been getting stronger and stronger. I don't know what it is yet, but I can feel it coming. Sometimes I hear a voice that kind of guides me and keeps me out of trouble."

"Lately I can relate to that," Lonny said sheepishly.

"Uh huh, see?" Delta nodded, looking at BB and pointing her index finger at Lonny. "Anyway, it's something that's been building, and somewhere there's someone who can tell me what it is and what I'm supposed to do with it. I've been traveling around the country seeking out different spiritual teachers for the last year or so trying to learn more. That's why I'm here in this dump of a town."

"You thought you'd find the answer in New Jersey?" BB teased. 

"Weird, huh? But I heard there was a really far out guru here, a guy who went off to live in a cave in the woods for two years until he found enlightenment. Then he came out and told everyone he had found the meaning to life and stuff by communing with nature. I had to come here to see what he was all about. I found him here almost a week ago. It wasn't too hard really. He had a certain air about him, if you know what I mean."

"You mean an aura?" Lonny suggested.

"More like an 'auroma' -- he smelled like he hadn't bathed once in those two years," Delta said, wrinkling her nose. "It didn't really help him blend in too well with the locals.

"Anyway, he turned out to be more of a psycho than a psychic. He kept talking about some massive government conspiracy to make us all into zombies -- and I'm thinking 'television, duh!' you know? Plus he kept looking sideways at poor Boo here, like he would have eaten him for dinner if he could get away with it. A real loser. So now I'm on my way to Florida because rumor has it there's a voodoo priestess living in the Everglades who can see into the future and stuff."

"And you believe that?" Lonny asked.

"Who knows? Maybe this voodoo priestess can finally tell me what my voodoo priestess was trying to say. I don't know, I just feel compelled to go to Florida. It's that feeling that something is going to happen, you know? Anyway I want to check it out for myself. Maybe she can tell me what I need to know, maybe not. I'll eventually find the answer. And when I do -- watch out world." 

What am I reading? The Soul of a Chef

Like a lot of people I know, I usually juggle two or three books at a time. Just finished Michael Ruhlman's The Soul of a Chef. I am a die hard foodie. In fact at one point in my life I seriously considered quitting my job and going to culinary school. Ruhlman's book, the follow up to The Making of a Chef , allows me to continue to live out that dream vicariously through Ruhlman, who actually did go to culinary school. In this book he searches for what it actually means to be a chef. Along the way he understands that all the classical technique he was taught at the Culinary Institute of America represents just one aspect of cooking. The great chefs have a unique quality that sets them apart. Most interesting to me was Thomas Keller (owner/chef of the famous French Laundry) who treated the food he cooked with great respect, almost in a Buddhist style. The food had been, after all, a living thing and "gave its life" or, in the case of, say, a grain or vegetable, you must respect the farmer who cared enough to grow the food. Interesting concept.

Now THAT'S a long title

According to Mental Floss magazine, the full title of Charles Dickens' book David Copperfield is The Personal History, Experience, and Observation of David Copperfield, the Younger, of Blunderstone Rookery, Which He Never Meant to be Published on Any Account.

Behind Character Development

This is a question I've always wanted to ask other writers: "Do you have a real person in mind when you are creating and describing a character?"
I don't mean the character's personality or motivations, but their physical attributes. I think it might be mildly interesting to know who some of our favorite authors were thinking of when they were creating their characters.
In my case, the answer is yes. My characters' physical appearance is based on people I know or have seen on television or in movies. I'm a bit reluctant to identify any of those people now, because a) I often don't know their names, and b) if I did, I know the reaction would be, "But she's nothing like the person you described."
To which I would reply, "Yes, that's the point."
When I needed to describe BB Hughes' appearance, for example, I had in mind an actor I had seen on television (but whose name I don't know). The actor became, for lack of a better term, the "body model" for BB Hughes. It doesn't matter that their personalities are different, this actor had some of the physical attributes that I imagined for BB, so he became the visual model.

Character Sketch: BB Hughes

Here's another character, who goes by the name of BB Hughes. He makes his first appearance a bit earlier where he is described as very large, about six-five, with long dark red hair and a beard. In this scene he is on the run. (Why? You'll have to read the book to find out.)

In an alley beside a convenience store, a very large man was crouched down behind a dumpster. He was breathing hard and sweating profusely. The sour stench of decaying food seared his nostrils, and his sneakers and socks were wet with garbage water--that's what his father used to call it--but that was the least of his worries. 

He'd been in this spot for the last hour or so, having eluded his pursuers by dodging into alleys, climbing fire escapes and scrambling over fences before finally winding up here—wherever here was—but at least he didn't hear the sirens anymore.

Benjamin Bradley Hughes hadn't run that hard since he played high school football, and even then it wasn't much of a physical challenge. All he had to do was shove aside some of the offensive team's guards to reach the quarterback who usually withered at the sight of the behemoth lumbering toward him. 

If the quarterback was facing BB for the first time, it wasn't uncommon for him to let out a frightened yelp. If the two had faced each other before, the quarterback knew better and usually tried to run away, forgetting his receiver, forgetting the play--hell, just forgetting the game altogether. The fans screamed, urging the quarterback to run faster, faster, before the human tank gaining ground behind him made the tackle and pulverized him, but it was no good.  

For his size, BB, as he had been known since childhood, was very fast on his feet, a fact that frightened the opponent even more-imagine running for your life and turning to see a locomotive bearing down on you. It didn't take more than a few large steps for BB to catch up to and overtake the terrified quarterback, a frightening scene that was invariably met by shrieks from the horrified fans.

But BB never hurt them. He simply made the tackle, firmly, persuasively--and legally--to be sure, but he stopped short of purposely inflicting injuries. That wasn't part of the game as he understood it. His size worked to his advantage, psyching out the opposition, but that's as far as he ever took it.

The passage of ten years and the addition of twenty pounds, however, had made his escape enough of an effort that his lungs burned. Worse, every time he took a deep breath he could taste the acrid odors of the dumpster at the back of his throat. He tried to get his breathing under control and pulled his denim vest up over his mouth and nose as a makeshift air filter. Now he waited another five minutes, listening for... anything... sirens, cars, footsteps, conversation, barking dogs... but all was quiet. 

Character Sketch: Lonny Pace

This is a quick sketch of a character named Lonny Pace. Briefly, he's in his late 30s, married with a young daughter, and going nowhere.

  Lonny Pace never thought his own life would turn out like it did. In fact, now, in the phosphorus glow of the television, Lonny had to admit that he couldn't even recall a time when he actually had a conscious picture of what course his life might take. He never knew his father, who was lost overseas in the closing days of the Vietnam conflict when Lonny was still an infant. Lonny was raised by his grandparents after his mother, distraught over the death of her husband, moved away to try and start a new life. She intended to send for her son when things settled, but as time went on and the distance grew greater, all agreed that it made more sense to leave him where he was. All, that is, except Lonny himself, who was never even made aware of any of the behind the scenes negotiations over his future.
        His grandparents were loving, caring people, but they were too advanced in years to connect with him in the way that other kids' parents did. His grandfather was often ailing from  one chronic condition or another, and the household was kept quiet so as not to disturb him too much. Although Lonny sometimes had the vague feeling he was watching life from the sidelines, he accepted it because he knew no other way.
        As he grew, Lonny continued to accept things as they came his way. He had no inkling that his life could be, should be, any different. Things always seemed to "just happen" to him.
        Like Sarah.
        Lonny wasn't looking for a girlfriend when he met Sarah Sanford; he was looking for his car. Sarah had just finished her part-time shift at Chik-Filet in the food court at the mall and was headed to her car. She spotted Lonny, walking up one aisle and down the next, climbing the aisle divider and straining his neck to look over the sea of cars. She recognized him as the guy who bought a chicken club sandwich with the bacon on the side and no mayonnaise an hour earlier. His food order was unconventional, but he seemed nice, and she liked his smile.
        "Hi there," she called to him from her car. "Are you okay? You look like you're lost."
        "I, umm, I can't find my car," he replied, sheepishly. "I have no idea where I parked it. I guess I wasn't paying attention."
        She laughed. "I've been there myself. Well, you look harmless enough--hop in and I'll give you a hand looking for it."
    As they drove around Lonny told her he had come to the mall to buy a new shirt and a pair of jeans for a party that weekend.
        "The clothes you're wearing look okay to me. What's the matter, your girlfriend doesn't like the way you dress?" Sarah asked coyly, sipping from a Chik-Filet soda cup.
        "No. I mean--I don't have a girlfriend."
        "So you're going to the party by yourself?"
        "Yeah, I guess," Lonny replied.
        "Well I'm not busy Saturday, why don't you bring me?" said Sarah.
        "What? Umm, okay, sure."
        Lonny was floored. No girl had ever asked him out before, especially one as pretty as Sarah. Then he reevaluated that thought: in fact, no girl had ever asked him out at all. He sure wasn't going to say no.
        When they did find his car—on the fourth floor, not the third—Lonny told Sarah he'd pick her up at eight-thirty and opened the car door to leave.
        "Wait, let me see the shirt and jeans," Sarah said.
        "Oh, yeah, sure." Lonny reached around the floor of the car but found nothing. He looked over the back seat and saw... nothing.
        He sat back in the seat and furrowed his brow. Then he smacked his forehead with his palm.
        "Crap! I must have set it down when I climbed the aisle divider. And then you came along and I totally forgot about it. What an idiot!"
        Sarah laughed so hard she spit her soda out. "Not too swift Sherlock," she said. "Come on, let's go find 'em before they wind up in the Goodwill bin."

Questions, Questions, Questions

Two things people ask most often are: "What is it called?" and "What's it about?"
The title is A Half-Empty Glassful of Optimism.
Why? One of the characters says that in the story, and I liked it. That's the odd thing about writing fiction. Sometimes your characters say and do things that come out of left field. They really do have lives of their own. I think of the phrase as a sort of malapropism, like "A Hard Day's Night."
And what is it about? This is how I describe it: "It's a comic novel disguised as an adventure, masquerading as a self-help book."
Yes, I know it's confusing, but it will all become clear in succeeding posts.
A third question I'm asked is, "When is it coming out?"
Ahhh... that's the question without an answer at this point. I hope, with this website, to begin building some interest in the book, get some buzz going. And you can come along for the ride.