I'm exactly like my characters, but…

by Kris

Sister Femme, Donna Andrews, recently blogged, "No, I am not my heroine," in which she confessed to being less organized than her series protagonist, Meg Langslow.

I must admit to being at the other extreme — I'm too much like my madcap characters. I write a number of them, including Tracy Eaton and the wacky gang in those mysteries. And making appearances in recently published short stories, there's Lorna Doone, the unemployed actress who delivers dancing cookie-grams and gives graveyard tours, and in other stories, Samantha Brennan, the scattered scam psychic, fake ancient deity, and bogus spiritual advisor to the stars.

I've created a diverse collection of characters. But I must admit it's the off-the-wall ones whose lives most resemble mine.

Offbeat things always happen to me. Wherever I go, if there's a person who merely flirts with the periphery of sanity, he gloms onto me like I'm his long-lost twin. My husband always asks if I send out a homing signal the wackos. I don't know. Do I?

Here in Sedona there's a spot off a hiking trail, where I like to meditate. I close my eyes, let my breathing slow…until someone marches right up to me and just plunges into speech. Once a couple climbed up there and said, "We sure don't have anything like this in Dallas. Where should we go to dinner tonight?" We? Was I invited? How in the #&$% would I know where they should eat?

Then there was the little boy who said, in a most aggrieved voice, "My grandma wants to know how far it is to the car. She's been walking four hours and she's pretty tired." As if I made her walk that long. I must wear a sign that reads, "Tour Guide — Free Advice for Nuts."

I went to a party recently in a gate-guarded community, The road that leads to it is a tough-to-navigate, narrow S-curve that takes a sharp dip where it crosses a creek, which is heavily studded with boulders.

When I stopped beside the gate speaker box, I realized I couldn't remember the code to open the gate. No problem. There were instructions for dialing the houses. Too bad that didn't work. Again, and again. In six tries, I got mostly busy signals, although I also hit the voicemail a couple of times. I didn't feel too helpless babbling, "Uh, I'm here, but…"

Okay, Plan B. I decided to call my husband at home, since he wasn't coming. If he didn't know the code, he could call our friend and get it. Why do we have cell phones if not for emergencies? Oops! No network.

Hmmm. There was no way I could back out of there. I must have played hooky the day they taught reverse in driver's ed, and I've never learned it since. I could barely navigate that entry going in. If I lived there, I'd just park the car in the water and get it over with. And the road was too narrow for a k-turn. Maybe a hundred tiny k-turns would do it, but I'm not too swift on those, either.

Since I arrived late, I wasn't sure when someone else would pass that way. I ended up staying there until a woman walked near the gate and shouted out the code. I was the only partygoer who didn't just breeze in.

Turns out the gate-phone connection stopped working sometime before I showed up. But that kind of thing always happens to me. I can't be the only one who's out-of-synch with virtually everyone else. There must be others marching to the un-syncopated beat of goofball drummers that nobody else can hear.

If I were writing that experience for a character, I'd make it read funny. Tracy's always wrecking her vehicles, so that would be perfect. I'd just send the car off the road, where it would float along, crashing into boulder-after-boulder, like Mother Nature's own bumper car ride.

Only in real life, I make payments on that car, and I pay for insurance. I'd be the idiot whose claim the folks working at the insurance agency would laugh themselves silly over — right before the company cancelled my coverage.

Yup, I'm living my wackiest characters' lives. I'm just not having as much fun as they are.

Comments

[Sue Kamm]

Maybe I look like someone who has all the answers. Frequently when I've been at the ballgame, people will ask me where their seats are. (The woman who manages the ushers said I should put on the uni and go to work ) Some years ago, I was at the laundry mat and someone came in and asked me for directions. And last night at the bus stop a woman wanted to know where the DASH (local shuttle service) stop was.

[krisneri]

I guess we all send out signals, whether we know it or not. Some must be more subtle than others, though. Well, now you know who to go to when you want to experience something goofy, and I know where to go to get directions! Thanks, Sue.