Tangled up in ivy: Writing Process Revealed Part II
Friday, January 14, 2005 at 12:21PM When last I visited the story behind the story of Lost in the Ivy, I had just moved into a $500-a-month studio apartment in what I will describe as a grey area on the edge of both Wrigleyville and Boys Town. Like the main character in the novel, Charley Hubbs, I had a minimalist approach to interior decorating and furniture. There was a futon, a chair, a side table, a halogen lamp, a stereo and a TV. All except for the TV were black. I guess I also had a dark side.
I was sandwiched between two single females. On one side was an oversexed, usually unemployed accountant who always wore black and seemed intent on trying to bed me (she didn't succeed). She was quite complimentary, by the way, of my interior design. On the other side was a mousy wannabe actress whom I didn't meet until one day she knocked on my door and asked me to catch a mouse that was loose in her apartment (I succeeded).
Across the hallway from me was Jimmy. Like the character Jimmie Dart in my book, the real Jimmy had an eviction notice posted on his door. This came to symbolize his personality for me. Truth be told, I know even less about Jimmy than I know about the single women who lived next to me. I came to realize that he was gay but I know nothing of what he did professionally or if he was employed at all. I never stepped inside his apartment. We exchanged no more than a few words in the short time that I knew him. Few of those were kinds words. I do know that he threw some seemingly wild parties. These kept me awake many a night, even on work nights. Through the walls I'd hear bits and pieces of things but not enough to know what was really going on. I imagined many things and these things I imagined spilled out in Lost in the Ivy and turned into the fictional character Jimmie Dart.
One day I came home from work to learn that Jimmy was dead. Turns out he had died from an overdose of drugs. My overactive imagination, however, got me wondering about other scenarios. What if Jimmy had really been murdered? And what if signs began to point to his quiet, unassuming, new neighbor as a suspect in his murder? With those thoughts in mind, the seed was planted for what would become Lost in the Ivy.
Reader Comments (2)
Nice Blog. I mean that.
Picture this, guy falls in love, with academia. After fits and starts eventually departs the hallowed halls and takes a few stabs at reality. These stabs include; believing the Cubs will field a team good enough to elevate Wrigley Field to something beyond the world's best bar with a steep cover charge, and visiting Ft. Lauderdale for many Spring Breaks ('cause it's always just a little different isn't it).
In this full embrace of reality an entire familial unit is established. It's got the look of promise. But wait...
The burden of reality creates a hunchback. Another should is needed to balance the load. A novel! That's the ticket (without the gate fees and other surcharges). Intrigue. Fantasy. Non-reality.
The novel is a success. This of course means another novel, which will requiring attaining new skills, which necessitates more college. But what of these new skills. They need a soul. A place to speak from. Life experiences to be woven into a believable tale. This entails traveling, perhaps to many National League ballparks, certainly to Ft. Lauderdale to soak up more out of that life experiecnce fire hose that is Spring Break.
Reality you query?
A persistent and now balanced component. There is now art. The rejection of a life unfulfilled and all that.
Man Rand Man. You're smart. Maybe too smart. What a plan. And no one, but me, saw it coming.
I'm looking forward to the book. You know, the new one about the Cubs visiting Fr. Lauderdale after their trip to Disney when they win the World Series (unfortunatley it might be against the Maui Onions expansion team in 2525). I think there might be some deep background that takes place in Madrid. Or was that Munich. Better cover both just to make sure a plot angle or motive doesn't suffer for details.
"All except for the TV were black". That is "bachelor" black! EVERY guy has this stuff. Ha! The scary part is I can picture this like it was me a few years ago.