In my story, The Freedom To Rock I thought I had a character in mind. Okay, I’ll let the cat out of the bag and say it’s one of the main character’s future husband. If you really want to know, it’s Tina. If you’ve read the story you know who her husband is. It is Charleston Danvers. But, did you know who it was supposed to be before that? Mark Sutter. Obviously! Ah, but did you know there was somebody before that? That distinction would be bestowed upon a gentleman by the name of Russell. I can’t even remember his last name. That’s how memorable he was. Russ was a character I culled from an actor who’s personality I couldn’t quite figure out how he might work in the story. This was before any of the main characters were developed (Brendan or Jerome). He was a roadie who was supposed to be part of a different sound crew than what was later developed as McEvry Productions. So, as I couldn’t gauge a perspective on how things would happen in the ensuing years of MTH Records, Russell was soon dropped and the band which he was to be touring with The Silver Sardines/Highrise only got a slight mention in the first chapter of the story.

Then there was Mark. Luckily Mark stayed in the story. He was another roadie…this one being with McEvry Productions. I had based him off of somebody else. Most of my characters are based on somebody who already has or does exist. Chances are they’re an actor. You can draw a lot from someone’s characters they’ve portrayed or how they are in interviews. Writing is a lot like theatre. It’s about storytelling. So, getting back to Mark. I had a whole back story about him. He was in the story a lot more than what he turned out to have. It worked great for a time until the story and his character became too contrived simply because I didn’t know where to take him. Mark was already familiar to the way MTH worked. Maybe too much. I had to take a step back and say, “What is the goal of this guy?” “What makes him tick?” His relationship with Tina had been taken for granted on his part. So, how does an author make someone like that have a more redeeming quality? The natural answer would be, have a time-out and reassess lives. Does Mark really want to stay with Tina in the long run? Can he put up with her if they were to get married. I got that far and saw the outcome. Forced dialog and situations which were uncomfortable ensued. Tina became too strong-willed and Mark let her do whatever she wanted because he knew that’s how she was. This became a problem for me. There was one thing missing from this relationship. Conflict. Every great story needs conflict. It’s what helps propel a story from flipping pages to savoring them. The can’t-put-down type. So intriguing, one has to read further and see what happens. Instances where one minute everything is hunky dory and the next there’s a fight , a personality clash. When writing about the mechanics of ‘80s music industry, Mark sort of got lost in the story. He was seen less and willing to bow down to pressures the record label had given his wife. Not good storytelling. Mark Sutter had become too much of a yes-yes man. He had no vision of his own, only that of what was right for his wife. Therefore Mark was weak and rendered helpless. Mark had to go. Attractive and knowledgeable as he might be, he wasn’t going to cut it with the rough patches of conflict.

I found myself cringing at parts of the story and hating what I had written.

That slowly led to me discovering British culture and some fine talent from it. There’s one thing British actors rely heavily on is conveying emotions. I came upon a gentleman who would make his way into my story and fit in perfectly, eventually becoming Charleston Edward Danvers. He is the man who would eventually capture the heart of one Tina Merrick while her band The Unconventional were touring Europe. Instead of being simply a roadie, Charleston would have a higher position in the stage engineering of a live show. He has a certain look that’s rather regal. Tall, shaggy haired, and astute. His words and pronunciation is that of  being posh but never snobbish. He doesn’t take himself seriously. Many English men share this trait. Charleston has a very dry sense of humor but shows a myriad of emotions. He’s one of the most satisfying characters I have ever put pen to paper. Like the story itself, he’s not what people would expect him to be. He’s not yes-yes like Mark had become. Charleston is very much his own man. He has a background that would shock people sprinkled throughout. As the story unfolds and those times of conflict happen, you see how he reacts to situations. Some of which he handles differently as he is an outsider and not knowledgeable about how MTH Records is run or the philosophies it taught its artists.  He is a rabid Queen fan and tries to assimilate his tastes on his wife, but he’s flexible The fun is when the reader learns things, Charleston learns more about his wife, what makes her tick, and what the freedom to rock really is about and why it’s so important.

One of the largest problems for an author who is struggling with character is that they don’t have the slightest clue of how to create them. For me there is a very specific way and that is to analyze somebody. Whether it’s someone from the entertainment field or a family member. You study their quirks. How they talk. How they move. Do they speak with grand gestures of their hands? Is there that certain look they give which inspires you or makes you say, “That’s them for sure.” Do they get excited by something? Has their been a particular outfit you thought they looked great in that characterized them? Or if it’s somebody like an actor and they play a part which fits your own character to a T. The most important question is, can you see them as a character you can feel for? For myself, I need strong details that set them apart. Although I wrote three men that would serve the same purpose in the story. They are not the same. They can’t fill in each others spot.

So, not every man is created the same.
Nor are they created equal.
Just as individual.

I had a friend named Debbie Howieson. She was dedicated to her family. Her husband John, and two children, Rachel and John Jr. (J.J.) I met her through the good old internet. She was a breath of fresh air. Debbie always kept both feet firmly planted on the ground. She didn’t believe in the make-believe world of putting people on pedastals. There were those of us who really appreciated her outlook and sometimes got a little frustrated from her popping that bubble some surrounded themselves in. Yeah. I got caught up here and there. She had a fun side. Maybe that oh-so-seriousness came from her learning the ropes of journalism. To keep ones distance from their subject matter. She had told me one day that she got cancer. The big C had come for her, but she wasn’t about to let it curtail her strength. She fought it. She got a mastectomy and went about her everyday business. She soon found herself feeling ambitious and expressed to me that she had recently talked with Shirley Douglas. Ah, you may not know who Shirley is but I’m sure you’re familiar with her ex-husband and son. They are none other than Donald Sutherland and Keifer Sutherland (Jack Bauer of 24). Ms. Douglas is known for her work with the Canadian health care system as her father was the founder of Canada’s Medicare. I don’t know if Debbie’s reason for wanting to work on this autobiography was because of her own condition or remission. It was something she wanted to do. My mom and I met her and her daughter, Rachel in Toronto. Over time, Debbie had another tumor. Her doctor wasn’t around and by the time she had it checked out, the cancer had spread like wildfire. She had to quit her job. Quickly she deteriorated from April 2002 to the inevitable. I was going to lose a friend to cancer for the first time. I was lucky up to this point. I hadn’t known anybody who was diagnosed with this deadly disease. I tried to stay in contact with her as much as I could. She would get tired fast. Sometimes various family members would answer the phone and tell me she was sleeping. In August I found out she was bed-ridden. Weakened, she still tried to keep her spirits in a losing battle. I felt bad. I had hoped against all hope I could have that one conversation to tell her “Thank you” for all the chats, laughter, and reflection. I never got that opportunity. I tried calling and John answered. Debbie was sleeping. A few days later, I wasn’t around to pick up the phone but I checked the messages. Debbie’s voice was different than all the other times. She was weak. Her voice had cracked with each word she spoke. I could hear the tears and pain through that message. She was saying, “Goodbye.” Four days later she was gone.

Debbie was a great person. If one needed a reality check, all you had to do was talk to her. I recall our talks over the phone how she expressed to me about her high school days and listening to a little known rock’n roll band that blew the rafters off in that gym in Detroit, Michigan (where she was from). How that music spoke to her and everybody else unlike anything. There were times I would tell her about favorite musicians of mine and she would admire a guitarist’s wife with much enthusiasm. “Wow! She’s gorgeous!” Music spoke to her soul in simplicity. No. She didn’t believe in the seduction of celebrity but she knew the power of words and a spirit that music provides.

I still miss her to this day, especially when I’m having a moment of wanting to ask her about something. Something that hit me hard. Whether it’s music or something personal. I’ll never forget her.

The dedication in my book is a token of my gratitude. It’s my way of saying, “Thank you dear friend for the chats, laughter and reflection. This is for you, Deborah Ann Golden Howieson.”

The very beginning was cut out but I made a remark which I soon regretted since there was a fellow author who happened to be a priest/chaplain to my left. I started out with “Hello, my name is T.L. and I’m nervous as hell.”

Oops!

Enjoy watching the human stove in action.

No. No. No. A thousand times NO! Don’t write a book just for Oprah’s show!

Chances are though that somebody of notoriety who has a salacious past that didn’t write one word of their own book will pop up on her show. That’s only because they are in the entertainment business such as herself. So either keep on dreaming of being on Oprah or somehow finagle your way onto a red carpet event by sucking up to somebody in the entertainment world.

You never know though. Stranger things have happened and Oprah’s sheeople (followers) can be easily led.

In the meantime, have a Plan B.

The fact of the matter is, traditional publishing with all its so-called perks, snobby agents, exclusivity entitlement and possibilities won’t give you one thing which should matter, but in business it’s all about the bottom dollar. What is that one thing? Freedom. Traditional publishing has the rights of your story. That gives them clearance to edit it which way they please. Not tiny edits. Chunks. You wrote five or ten years worth slaving over that story and somebody else gets to dictate how it will wind up. A cover? The publisher assigns somebody to do that. Whether you like it or not.

I weighed these options. I didn’t want to become mummified or worm food before my dreams were realized. I wanted my four years of work to be untouched (retouched by a proper editor) not chunks taken out and remolded to fit a more marketable commercially viable product. I had ideas of my own for the cover too. There is no way I remotely consider my book simply as a product. It’s a piece of me. It’s a piece of me that took a lot of hard work in reflecting, researching, developing, writing, self-editing (I’m very tough on myself). The Freedom To Rock is about artistic freedom. So, it stands to reason the process should as well.

In the end, I am proud of my story. It’s just the way I wanted it. The way it was intended to be.

Thank God for self-publishing.

Now that I’m back, I’ll have plenty to say. Perhaps even some subjects or opinions a few people might not like. I will be honest about the process of writing. How it’s my passion. How I feel about other authors. Etc.

Let the chatting begin!

Family members are of no help. They might be blood related, but that’s as far as it goes. This is especially true if they’ve never felt motivated to tackle something so important. There are some generations that feel you have to be an important somebody for something special to happen. Important or privileged. As if you absolutely have to be known for some other important success. Mom? It’s a prerequisite that she be nice to her own child. In this case, only child. Her assurance of saying, “I’m proud of you” only masks her lack of knowledge as to the reason why. She just is and that should be enough. The same way she would hang up those God-awful looking kindergarten drawings on the refrigerator that anybody knows is to assure the child they are doing a great job. Nothing changes. Nearly 34 years old with publishing woes and it’s still the same.

Yeah. I know. Woe is me.

Everything I might want to do or say about my journey through Book Hell could be misconstrued as being utterly insane, nice intentions but it won’t happen, cute but won’t happen. Marketing is nice but as long as I don’t set my sights too high. Yeah, seems as though wanting to get published is setting my sights too high. I already know what’s going on with my business cards. They’re getting thrown away in the trash.

I’m not a selfish person.

There are reasons I need this. To be published. Some are very personal and then there is that wanting to feel validated. Still, I can’t help but feel intimidated, annoyed, anxious, excited, terrified, nervous, worried, sad, mad, tired, delirious, confused, restless, alone, uncertain, frustrated, wondering, waiting, and fearful of failure.

I know this: If anything should happen with The Freedom To Rock, I will be celebrating…

…alone.

This has been happening since I finished writing The Freedom To Rock in late March. Every dream I’ve had, has had to do with the book. Whether it’s personal satisfaction dreams (the type where you dream about somebody). It could be something as innocent as a nice quiet picnic or in my case sitting on a dock looking out at the ocean in an Adirondack chair, a lovely drink, a fantasy companion capturing the moment on film and a damn balloon with the words The Freedom To Rock scrawled across in thick black Sharpie marker.

Oh, the life of a writer!

There are others, mostly dreams about promotion. Finding billboards and windows. Walking in stores to convince folks to give The Freedom To Rock a chance. Meeting some music heroes at their own book signings just to give them a copy of mine. I’ve even thought of this extravagant book launch with a bunch of people. Music from the story blasting away in the background. Signing books here and there. A nice book tour even. Merchandising items with the simple message of the title emblazoned across T-shirts. Some other things, but I won’t get into that yet. I’m still wondering what all of it means aside from an active imagination.

Maybe it’s just restlessness.

My book is my baby.

It will be a dream come true when it is released.

A novel approach to rock’n roll.

That’s what it says. See? Tongue in cheek yet oh so true.

My aggressive approach in selling myself is something I’m unsure of though. I try to hand it to people who might know me by my enthusiasm or personality. Then there is the professional side in which I give it to people who have something to do with entertainment. Rock’n roll is entertainment. So are actors. Hey, they have to interpret stories for a living. They also have their  own network of people. Music coordinators? No different. Although, that’s a big step higher on the plateau of promoting. The only type of people I won’t promote to are music executives. I just don’t think they subscribe to the same theory of freedom depicted in my own story.

I found myself recently in a place I don’t usually go to. I’m not an overly artsy person and in all seriousness it wasn’t my kind of crowd. I’m not a stuffy person. I did immediately bond with a fellow guest whom I knew of. It was the first time I ever ran into him and it surprised me. We talked. Once again, I only went by my own personality (I’m a Leo. For you to get a better idea). When I had enough of laughs with him, it was guts and glory time. I gave him my business card and a spiel about how I believed that the best storytelling remains in books. That’s the best I could come up with. Simplistic as that might sound. Hey, I tried! For added humble flair, I told him, “You can toss it out if you want. I don’t usually whore my book like this.” Immediately he lit up and said, “No. I’ll keep it…and check it out.” I don’t know if he was simply being nice. I really don’t take myself seriously and truly I have no idea what becomes of these little business cards. Hope for the best. I guess. I did manage to slip a card for his friend whom I made no mention of my book to. I barely had enough time to talk with him. Damn. I liked him too. Ah, he probably threw that one away immediately. At least I was honest in all my efforts.

After all that, I  make sure I’m armed with some business cards in my card case that I carry in my purse. Credit cards? Not good with those. Make up? I can take it or leave it. Don’t wear much of it anyhow. Business cards? A MUST!

Oh boy, now that I’ve passed along a card to somebody prominent in the entertainment industry, I better get crackin’ on building a website!

There is much whoring needed to be done!

You never know who hangs around the World Wide Web!

I try and think of the four years Hal has tried to find an agent for his own endeavor. Four years. It’s hard for me to swallow. Maybe I have a chance? A little bitty bitty chance?

“Don’t quit.”

Hmm. I’ll see where that takes me.