Broken
In both my brand-new book, Invisible Girl and my older book, The Roofer, my heroines grapple with what 99.99% of us grapple with--FAMILY. In Invisible Girl, Maggie is dragged for the countless time into the midst of her father's secrets. She doesn't even know who he is--CIA, Air America, a gun runner, a thief, a hero or working for the other side. Her brother is her best friend--and he's in league with Daddy, making her brother a liability and a danger to her, but also her greatest and most loyal love--a theme that ran through The Roofer, too.
It's love-hate for many of us. Not all. I'll occasionally run into someone with stories of a Currier and Ives childhood, and bless them, they're lucky. For most people, relationships with family are full of land mines and secrets, complications and those things that are right there in front of you but you don't dare talk about because to do so would open a can of worms, a history so huge as to overwhelm and threaten the present.
I get more mail from people who wonder why I paint a brother and sister so interwoven they are inseparable, so close as to seem incestuous, yet so hateful to each other at times. Why are fathers inexplicable? In The Roofer, I had an uncle behave in a manner so vile--and received a letter from a man moved by the book but so upset by that because this man WAS an uncle, and it disturbed him to see the relationship protrayed so poisonously. But to be honest, I love getting those letters and emails because those letters tell me I hit a nerve. Not that the people in question have anything to hide or are bad or ugly or evil, but that family is that raw nerve in so many of us.
It's love and hate and laughter over shared meals. We break bread together and we break each others' hearts. And I suppose there is no richer minefield for a novel.
It's love-hate for many of us. Not all. I'll occasionally run into someone with stories of a Currier and Ives childhood, and bless them, they're lucky. For most people, relationships with family are full of land mines and secrets, complications and those things that are right there in front of you but you don't dare talk about because to do so would open a can of worms, a history so huge as to overwhelm and threaten the present.
I get more mail from people who wonder why I paint a brother and sister so interwoven they are inseparable, so close as to seem incestuous, yet so hateful to each other at times. Why are fathers inexplicable? In The Roofer, I had an uncle behave in a manner so vile--and received a letter from a man moved by the book but so upset by that because this man WAS an uncle, and it disturbed him to see the relationship protrayed so poisonously. But to be honest, I love getting those letters and emails because those letters tell me I hit a nerve. Not that the people in question have anything to hide or are bad or ugly or evil, but that family is that raw nerve in so many of us.
It's love and hate and laughter over shared meals. We break bread together and we break each others' hearts. And I suppose there is no richer minefield for a novel.
posted by Erica Orloff at 7:51 AM
8 Comments:
My childhood is a blackhole of secrets but for my mc, she only has one or two.
My mc refused to depend on anyone and I happy she's that way,
Hi la:
My main characters tend to share some similarities with me. Usually, they can look at the minefield of childhood and still find some redeeming reason to remain loyal. Loyalty is the big unspoken vow in both Invisible Girl and The Roofer.
E
I stood back from my latest WIPs and see that I'm channeling alot of my husband's family demons. As a spouse I've felt so helpless in watching his family inflict their damage on him. Sometimes I want to grab them by the scruff of their necks and show them the door. But it's not my battle to fight. I realize my role is to stand behind my husband and catch him when he staggers ... and try not to be too obvious who the naughty characters are in the books.
But over and over again, I see that selfishness is the root of all evils. Most of the blows aren't deliberate - althought some are. It's kind of like taking an elbow to the face because you're standing next to the person who's about to punch another person out.
Anyway, I got so caught up in my stuff that I forgot to comment that the uncle was very realistic to me. There really are people like him in this world who are that sick and vile. But my heart was with Tom. I felt so bad for the guy. He was trying to be the white knight for his sister and yet, ***SPOILER ALERT*** the blood on his hands turned him to the dark side.
Mary
Mary:
I made several appearances at book groups with The Roofer, and it seemed people assembled into two groups--those who hated Tom dragging down Ava, and those who, like me, saw him as I intended: sacrifical lamb. He was the Christ figure for me, odd as that seems.
E
Mary:
If I put in the reality of some things I see in families . . . people would say, "There is NO way that could be true!" You can't make some family sh*t up!
E
I actually had a great childhood. No skeletons in the closet. No family secrets. Nothing like that.
It wasn't Currier and Ives, but it was pretty nice all the way around.
That doesn't mean we didn't have our share of problems. But for my family, and that included extended family, we just really left everything out in the open. We generally all pulled together to help each other out.
I see "broken" as really about how you identify with "what's so" versus your story about "what should be". I'm talking generally here, and not about the book of course.
Hi Ewoh:
Well . . . I can't say such nice things about mine. BUT . . . by a certain age, if you haven't made peace, you're just lugging around baggage that is useless. Be in the NOW.
But great point about what IS vs. what should be. I was diagnosed with a serious illness 15 years ago . . . still have it . . . you live with it . . . but if you start down the WHY ME path, you'll never get off. So I don't even get on.
E
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