Writing date scenes takes patience, perseverance, and let’s face it: humor. First dates can quickly turn to seconds, thirds, and marriage; or they can end at the door…or in a restaurant with say, the heroine tossing a drink over the not-so-hero’s head.
A great deal about first dates is communication. How the two potential love interests speak to one another can be a key factor in how the story-and their romance-moves forward…or dies a gristly death.
A lot of what I write is made up from my imagination. But not all. I’ve had a few (read A LOT!) pretty horrible first-and subsequently last -dates. One of the worst ended right in the restaurant when the guy I was sitting across from asked me – after we’d ordered, mind you – “So, my friend told me nurses put out ‘cause they’re horny from seeing naked people all day long. True?” The jerk actually wiggled his eyebrows up and down like Groucho Marx when he said it. Speechless is something I almost never am, but I couldn’t put a sentence scathing enough together at that moment, so I just grabbed my purse from the chair next to me, stood, and stormed out. Damn. I really wanted the steak I’d ordered, too.
Second worst line from a first date came a few months later. The guy was fairly nice, if not a little boring as he droned on and on about the Yankees. I was a die-hard Mets fan back then…but anyway. At my apartment door he leaned in and gave me the most disgusting kiss I’d ever received. Truly. His breath smelled like the pepper and sausage pizza he’d just had, mixed with beer. Stale and overpowering. I was so surprised, I opened my mouth in dismay and his snake-like tongue forged right in, dancing a serpentine tarantella in every corner of my mouth.
Yuk.
My eyes were watering from gagging, and I felt a ball of intense nausea undulate up from my stomach. Fearful I was going to vomit on my front door step I pushed against his chest and broke the contact between us. Ever so suavely – not! – he leaned against the doorjamb, grinned smarmily and said, “So, let’s together for breakfast.” Before I could tell him I had to work; have a root canal; or even an appendectomy (all of which would have been preferable to seeing him again), he grinned and added, “what time should I roll over and kiss you awake?”
Holy Mother of God, I never knew I could move so fast. I bolted into my apartment, slammed the door in in his astonished face, ran to the bathroom and gargled with Listerine for an hour.
Double yuk.
From girlfriends, I’ve heard some of the worst first date lines ever. They include:
“Don’t worry, it’s not infectious anymore.”
“My real hair is brown.”
“Do you know a good tax lawyer?”
“Wow, your cousin described you as much hotter. And way thinner.”
“I’ll be right back. It’s my check-in time with my PO, and he’s a dick if I miss a call.”
“I’ve got a two-for-one coupon, so don’t order anything it doesn’t cover.”
“The anti-depressants have really been working.”
I can safely say none of these lines earned a second date. I think one even lead to a punch in the face from the girl it was spoken to. I’ll let you figure out which one.
So…worst lines you’ve ever heard on a date. Let’s discuss…
I don’t even have to think about this one. As soon as I saw the question, Elizabeth Bennett’s name popped into my head faster than you could say…well…anyone else!
So here’s the set up. I’m on the elevator and by some time warp bend, Elizabeth Bennett gets on with me. I’m me, she’s…her. Because she was written over 200 years before I came on the scene, we’re a little differently dressed. I’m in jeans and an old Dartmouth hoodie, she’s in the typical garb of her day, parasol and reticule in hand. She nods and smiles pleasantly at me, then turns to face the elevator door forgetting I exist.
No way, Liz.
First and foremost, we need to have a little discussion about Wickham. For someone drawn as the “smart” one in the family, how come you were so blind to his narcissism? I read Pride and Prejudice for the first time at age 12 and even then I could tell he was a loser. You were a whole lot older than me when you first met him. You should have been able to see through his pretty-boy looks and brown-nosing ways. Think of all the heartache you could have saved your family if you’d told them all what a creep he really was.
Second, why oh why didn’t you tell Charlotte Lucas what a humongous mistake she was making by marrying Mr. Collins? You told the world she was your best friend, a compadre for life, and yet you let her lower herself by hooking up with one of the most unlikable, stupid –and by stupid I mean REALLY not smart – characters ever penned. Yes, I understand she felt he was the best she could do in life given her “advanced age and inadequate social status.” But Lizzy, a REAL friend would have told her to stand fast and never settle. Ever. Was it really so horrible she remain unmarried for the rest of her life? I know she didn’t want to be a burden to her parents, but really, Liz, you should have tried hard to convince her to reject his proposal.
Third. Okay, here we’re going to go a little deep. I have always wondered since the first time I read the book, did you fall in love with Darcy because you saw him for the man he really was, or because you wanted Pemberley? I know that’s a mean question because it puts into doubt your feelings for the man, but I really have been in a quandary about your motives. Seeing Pemberely for the first time, and Lydia’s defection, happened pretty much simultaneously. Can you separate the two occurrences? Did you ultimately fall for the man because he truly was the kind of man you wanted? Ask yourself, if Pemberely had been falling into ruin, would you still have wanted Darcy? If you had never seen Pemberely, would you still have wanted Darcy? If Pemberely were say, half the size, would you still have wanted Darcy? If Darcy had been the village cobbler, would you have wanted him? I know these questions are harsh, but I seriously have always doubted you truly loved him for just him and not all that he possessed.
Last, but surely not least. Your mother. Really? Did it never occur to any of you Bennetts to simply slap the s**t out her when she got into one of her ( daily) tizzies? I know medication was sparse back then, but I’d have been slipping laudanum into her morning tea every day and then in a toddy at night. How your poor father didn’t go insane with this woman is beyond me. Divorce was never an option back in your day, I get that. But seriously, she could have been sent away to Bath or anywhere where she could be hidden from public view.
With the advent of boy bands, teen heart throbs, and movie bigger than life superheros, do any young girls-commonly called TWEENS- read nowadays? Other than the Twilight series, I mean? I remember vividly, long summer days spent on my bed or on a blanket at the beach, reading book after book. Summer was my favorite time as a tween because it meant no reading list from school. I could read what I wanted, when I wanted. I binged read Nancy Drew Mysteries like people binge watch on-demand television shows these days.
My first ever fictional school girl crush was Brian Beldon from the Trixie Beldon books. Trixie, a pre teen like me, had two brothers, the oldest of who was Brian. Jet black hair and a winning grin, Brian wanted to be a **sigh** doctor. He was frequently the voice of almost-grown-up reason when Trixie got caught in her hair-brained snooping mysteries and I just thought he was “it” for me. I had no real-life boyfriends until I graduated from college, ( I know: late bloomer!) so I had to live vicariously through my fictional one.
And of course, this got me to thinking: Who are some of the most popular and beloved boyfriends in fiction. This could potentially be a hot button issue because true fans are devoted to the boys they feel are the absolute best, so here goes. In no best-to-least-best order
All these boyfriends are good guys, do-gooders, love their girls, and treat them well. They love their girls so much they put up with mood shifts, dangerous jobs, evil warlocks and vampires, societal restrictions, financial setbacks, and even terminal cancer.
But through all the foibles and follies of dating, the end result is they simply love, support, and respect their girls.
We live in a society that for some reason values LISTS. My Google search this lovely father’s day morning was for the BEST DADS IN LITERARY FICTION. I had upward of 20,000 links I could have clicked on to. I chose a random 1o, and from those I whittled the names down to the dads who showed up on each list. I must admit, I was impressed – but not really surprised.
1. Atticus Finch, To Kill a Mockinbird. I’ll admit this even though it’s embarrassing, but I don’t know a great deal about Harper Lee’s background. I don’t know if this fictional father was based on her own, someone she knew, or a total compilation of her imagination of what she wanted in a father, but Atticus Finch, for me, is it. If I could have personally ordered a dad from God, this is the man I would have selected. Calm, patient, kind, smart, fair…the descriptors could go on and on, but the aspect of Atticus Finch that I took away from the book was his incredible sense of morality and Godliness. He not only believes all men are equal, he lives and breathes it. He walks the walk, talks the talk, and backs up when he says with his every action. This, this, is the man I would have gladly thanked God for daily, if he were my father.
2. Mr. Bennett, Pride and Prejudice. Some people describe him as a sad-sack, a man married to a harpy who disappears from the world to his solitary library whenever the pressures of his wife, daughters, and life in general get too hard for him. Well, maybe that’s true. But it can not be denied Mr. Bennett loves his daughters and simply adores his second girl Lizzy. My favorite line- hands down-he delivers to Lizzy is this, and it shows how much he truly values her not only as a daughter, but as a woman as well: “I can not believe that anyone can deserve you.” Call him what you will, but the man loves his daughter to no end.
3. Matthew Cuthbert, Anne Of Green Gables. While not exactly, biologically her father, Matthew is the first male during Anne’s formative young life who shows her kindness, acceptance, and ultimately the unconditional love of a “father.” It’s not often you read or hear of a confirmed, lifelong bachelor, set in his ways, who has an orphan thrust upon him and learns how to be a better person for it. As Anne tells him, they are kindred spirits who found each other among all the people in the world.
After writing this, I realized the men listed above all had daughters. (Atticus had a son as well, but the book is Scout’s.)Maybe the reason why I am not surprised these three are top rated is because I am a daughter as well, and what daughter wouldn’t want a father with all the qualities of character these men possess. To be loved unconditionally; to be valued as a person; to be treated with respect and love in equal parts; to be guided through and into life; and to know there is always, always, someone right there who will protect, love and support you, is tantamount to my thought of the perfect person.
On this day we celebrate our fathers, the men who would be dads, and the special men who are as close to being fathers as can get, take a moment and think about what your dad means or meant to you. What qualities made him the man he is(or was) and for what kind of man do you think he would like to be remembered.
And then…call him, talk to him, give him a physical or spiritual hug. But most of all, acknowledge all he has done for you, simply because you are his little girl.
I have 3 favorite books. They are all different genres, cater to different age groups, and I’ve read each one at least 5 times ( one waaaaaaay more than that- you’ll see why in a minute.) I tend to reread them because they are such central, integral parts of the themes of my life and of what I write about.
As a child, I read The Little Engine That Could probably close to 500 times. When my daughter was born I read it to her an equal number. This is truly -in my humble opinion- the best book EVER about self actualization. Whenever I think I can’t do something in life, whether it be get a book published, or learn a new tech savvy maneuver, I remember that little train, the mountainside, and the end result of his journey, and I KNOW I can do whatever I put my mind to.
The Wizard of Oz was quite simply the perfect book for me to read as a child because I had the same wanderlust and wishes to find my heart’s desire Dorothy had. I never appreciated what I had, and I was frequently on the look out for something better. It was only when I was married with a child of my own did I realize the truth of this statement: there’s no place like home.
So, Gone With The Wind was the first complete romance novel I ever read – and I don’t think it was marketed as such when it was published. But it has everything a true romance reader loves: an amazingly strong, conflicted, beautiful heroine; a rakish, devilish and debonair hero who truly loves the girl; a sweeping cast of characters who live to show the H/H why they should be together, and a plot that continually pulls our main characters apart. Couple that with the heightened emotions of war, poverty and death and you have an historic epic of love and loss. Now, the H/H don’t end with their HEA, but like the last line says, while putting hope in the mind of the reader that they will, “Tomorrow is another day.”
So, each book has the same facets and themes that I love: a strong, central character; an internal need coupled with a struggle for acceptance; a journey or task that needs to be accomplished; a lesson ( or many) learned about self; and an ending where the main character is a better person(or in one case, a better engine!)
A while back I wrote a blog about the pressure of getting the first lines in a novel as good as you possibly can. You want them to be perfect, to engage the reader, to encourage people to buy your book if they are casually thumbing through it in a bookstore. First lines are imperative in selling that book.
But it’s been said by everyone I know in publishing that the last line of your book is equally as important because that last line sells the next book. It makes the reader want to read more of what you’ve written.
True? I’m a little skeptical. Here’s why.
These are some last lines in novels that have been arbitrarily voted THE BEST LAST LINES in literature according to 10 sites I Googled.
“Tomorrow, I’ll think of some way to get him back. After all, tomorrow is another day.” Scarlett O’Hara in Gone With the Wind by Margaret Mitchell.
“He loved Big Brother.” 1984, by George Orwell
“Don’t ever tell anybody anything. If you do, you start missing everybody.” The Catcher in the Rye, J.D. Salinger
“It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest that I go to than I have ever known.” A Tale of Two Cities, Charles Dickens
“A good man is hard to find.” The Complete Stories, Flannery O’Connor
“I’m so glad to be home again.” The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, L. Frank Baum
The creatures outside looked from pig to man, and from man to pig, and from pig to man again; but already it was impossible to say which was which. Animal Farm, by George Orwell
It is not often that someone comes along who is a true friend and a good writer. Charlotte was both. Charlotte’s Web, by E.B. White
The scar had not pained Harry for nineteen years. All was well. Harry Potter and the Deathly Hollows, by J.K. Rowling
Now, I could have listed a bunch more, but time – and my knowledge of the books – prevented me.
So, for these nine, I’ve read them all. It’s comical to me how George Orwell is listed twice for two books I absolutely hated. The only reason I read them was because it was required in high school lit. I would never have read another of his after the first one if it hadn’t been required; these two last line examples perfect reasons for that.
Now, breaking these down. There’s one romance (although I know it wasn’t called that when it was written, but in my mind, GWTW is the ultimate Civil War romance), three books aimed at children and teens, two sci-fi’s and two literary classics.
Two adult authors for whom I would have bought another book are Margaret Mitchell and L. Frank Baum.
Everyone who knows me knows I lovelovelove Gone With the Wind – movie and book, and The Wizard of Oz – movie and book. I can quote pages of dialogue and exposition for both. And based on the last lines of both books above, I would have run out and bought the next thing each author wrote.
But the others? Not so much.
I did read all the Harry Potters. They were fabulous, but the last lines of the book had nothing to do with wanting to read the rest of the series. I wanted to know what happened to Harry. The line above tells it all and when that book was published, I was done. I haven’t read anything else by Rowling, including anything written under her new pen name Robert Galbraith.
Dickens, although being a master writer, is just too much for me. Now, I happened to like A Tale of Two Cities – the story line, not the execution of it (too verbose!), but I wouldn’t have read something else based on the last lines in the work. If I read anything, it would have been because I liked the story or the way in which it was told.
Now, E.B. White I have read as a child and as an adult and have enjoyed. Charlotte’s Web was my first introduction, and I actually love the last line of the book. Stuart Little, the Trumpet of the Swan, and even his work On Dogs, are all favorites of mine. They are well written, easy to read and interpret, tug at heartstrings and deliver their messages subtlety. You are not whacked over the head with their themes, but you can identify them readily.
I never did get Catcher in the Rye. I actually think – and don’t send me hate mail because of this – it’s just my feeling – the book is hard to get unless you’re a teenage boy. I never connected with the character and most of the plot seemed way too contrived. Has Salinger ever written anything else that came close to this book’s popularity? I don’t know. And believe me, I really don’t care, especially based on that last line.
So, how important is that last line, last sentence, last paragraph, for the reader to want to pick up something else you’ve written? I don’t know about other readers, but for me, it’s the whole story and how it’s told that really makes me want to shell out some cash for another work by the same person. If I’m disappointed in the nuts and bolts of the story, the last line could be the best line ever written and I still wouldn’t read something else by the same author.
I know manymanymany people are going to disagree with me about this and that’s fine. This is still America and we are allowed to– supposed to!- have differences of opinions. I personally just think the entire story is more important in my choosing another book by the same author, the last line be damned.
Today, Author Joanne Guidoccio is my guest. She has new book coming out this week that promises to be a winner! She’s also having a giveaway – read on down to the end for a RAFFLECOPTER chance at an Amazon gift card.
Joanne, I’m so excited to have you here today.
4 More Days!!
Peggy, thanks for participating in the countdown to A Season for Killing Blondes.
I consider protagonist Gilda Greco to be my literary twin. She’s approximately 70 percent of me and shares many of my interests. As non-athletes it took us a while to find a preferred physical activity, but once we discovered yoga, we were hooked.
In my case, it took over three decades of yoga trials…
March 1984
The blonde willow was out of her comfort zone.
As she removed a borrowed parka, four sizes too big for her perfectly toned size zero body, she sighed deeply and tossed her Farrah Fawcett curls. The California yogini was not impressed by winter in March and seven less-than-enthusiastic students in Sudbury, Ontario. She spoke eloquently about her personal journey, and then demonstrated her pretzel-like ability to contort her body in unimaginable poses.
Impressed and intimidated, we dreaded the short lesson that would follow.
She did not consider our beginner status. Instead, she continued with her favorite poses, and we struggled to follow.
Within minutes, I developed a tickle in my throat and started coughing uncontrollably. I quietly left the room and closed the door behind me. I had a drink of water, but my cough still persisted. I assumed the walls were soundproof, but I was wrong. I found out later that my loud and persistent bark was heard throughout the remainder of the short yoga session. When I re-entered the room, I received several looks of concern and pity. As for the blonde willow…she had transformed into a blonde oak.
Fast forward twenty years.
After sharing the usual advice about portion control, exercise and stress management, my oncologist urged me to take up yoga. Memories of the blonde willow/oak still lingered and I tried not to show my frustration. But my oncologist persisted and I agreed to give yoga another try.
I bought the clothes—sleek, black yoga pants from Roots and several Life is Good t-shirts—and signed up for a weekly yoga class with a very charming (and highly recommended) instructor. He gave each of us individual attention during the first class. At the beginning of the second class, he distributed business cards and chatted about his multiple sideline businesses. By the third class, the other students were writing checks for his wonder products. I was not impressed and did not return.
A few months later, I heard about a new yoga instructor who was offering classes in her own home. When I called, she assured me the course was geared for complete beginners with no previous experience. She sounded surprised when I asked if she had a sideline business and stressed that yoga was her main focus.
Reassured, I showed up and was pleased to see only two students in the room. Within a few minutes, an active and poorly trained Boston terrier joined the class. She eyed me with interest: I was the new girl, fresh meat. The dog spent a lot of time circling and sniffing me throughout the hour-long class. As for what happened during Downward Dog…I shall leave that to your imagination.
Three yoga trials. Three strikes. Yoga was out.
All that changed during the second summer after retirement.
I had just picked up Wayne Dyer’s latest book, Excuses Begone! and read the entire book in two sitting. I was drawn to his suggestion for practicing yoga and imagined myself having a conversation with the motivational guru.
“You must give it another try, Joanne. I’ve been practicing ninety minutes every day for the past four years and I’ve noticed a lot of positive changes. I got rid of all those aches and pains I inherited from three decades of running and tennis.”
“That’s wonderful, but I can’t see myself doing yoga every day. For one thing, I would have to take lessons. I don’t like following DVDs or books.”
“Take a few lessons. What’s the big deal?”
“I’ve tried that before.” I gave him a brief summary of my three yoga trials.
He shook his head. “You have to give yoga an honest thirty-day trial.”
“Thirty days!” I couldn’t imagine lasting that long. “Do you know how expensive that will be?”
He repeated, “Give yoga an honest thirty-day trial.” He added, with twinkle in his eye, “You’ll feel better and you may just stop making so many excuses.”He pointed to the cover of his book.
I was skeptical, but I had to admit he was right. I had not given yoga a fair trial, and I had a tendency to make excuses. I decided to wait until the fall and then investigate the different yoga studios in town.
A few days later, the following ad appeared in a local paper:
Unlimited Yoga during the months of July and August for $160
I imagined Wayne Dyer laughing and whispering, “The universe has spoken. No more excuses.”
I planned to attend three classes a week and see how I felt by the end of the summer.
I was hooked after the first week.
The classes were small and the instructors were able to work with me on an individual basis. I test-drove all the instructors and then zeroed in on my favourites: Amy, the social worker from Newfoundland who had completed her training in India; Claudia, the young mother who offered a structured class that appealed to my left brain tendencies; and Lisa, the quintessential (and kind) willow.
It was reassuring to discover that all my body parts were working and reporting faithfully for yoga duty. I felt myself growing healthier and stronger with each stretch, breath and positive thought. And I didn’t feel pressured or frustrated when I struggled with a pose. I kept repeating Lisa’s mantra: A yoga pose is a journey, not a destination.
I still have my personal challenges, but I am less reactive and more inclined to let things go. Instead, I gravitate toward that beautiful place where I can step out of time and leave all my concerns behind.
Namaste
A Season for Killing Blondes
Hours before the opening of her career counseling practice, Gilda Greco discovers the dead body of golden girl Carrie Ann Godfrey, neatly arranged in the dumpster outside her office. Gilda’s life and budding career are stalled as Detective Carlo Fantin, her former high school crush, conducts the investigation.
When three more dead blondes turn up all brutally strangled and deposited near Gilda’s favorite haunts, she is pegged as a prime suspect for the murders. Frustrated by Carlo’s chilly detective persona and the mean girl antics of Carrie Ann’s meddling relatives, Gilda decides to launch her own investigation. She discovers a gaggle of suspects, among them a yoga instructor in need of anger management training, a lecherous photographer, and fourteen ex-boyfriends.
As the puzzle pieces fall into place, shocking revelations emerge, forcing Gilda to confront the envy and deceit she has long overlooked.
In high school, Joanne dabbled in poetry, but it would be over three decades before she entertained the idea of writing as a career. She listened to her practical Italian side and earned degrees in mathematics and education. She experienced many fulfilling moments as she watched her students develop an appreciation (and sometimes, love) of mathematics. Later, she obtained a post-graduate diploma as a career development practitioner and put that skill set to use in the co-operative education classroom. She welcomed this opportunity to help her students experience personal growth and acquire career direction through their placements.
In 2008, she took advantage of early retirement and decided to launch a second career that would tap into her creative side and utilize her well-honed organizational skills. Slowly, a writing practice emerged. Her articles and book reviews were published in newspapers, magazines, and online. When she tried her hand at fiction, she made reinvention a recurring theme in her novels and short stories. A member of Sisters in Crime, Crime Writers of Canada, and Romance Writers of America, Joanne writes paranormal romance, cozy mysteries, and inspirational literature from her home base of Guelph, Ontario.
Where to find Joanne…
Website: http://joanneguidoccio.com/
Twitter: https://twitter.com/joanneguidoccio
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/authorjoanneguidoccio
LinkedIn: https://www.linkedin.com/in/joanneguidoccio
Pinterest: http://pinterest.com/jguidoccio/
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7277706.Joanne_Guidoccio
I recently visited the Roses of Prose blog-site (http://bit.ly/1Rq2ph8) and talked about how Fall has been a big factor in my romance novels. It’s the season I love the most because of the beautiful changing patchworks of colors, the cool crispness in the air, and the notion the world is slowing down, getting ready to rest and hibernate for the winter months ( much like I do!) I love the symbolism of falling in love in the Fall. It just feels good to me. This got me thinking: what do the other seasons represent to writers?
Would the Legend of Sleepy Hollow been as good a read if it had taken place in the summer? I don’t think so. The symbolism of the darkening and shortening days, and the cold, harsh descriptions of the dying foliage add to the utter creepiness of the story of the Headless Horseman. It wouldn’t have the same effect on the reader if took place during an 85 degree day at the beach.
Does the children’s book How the Grinch Stole July 4th make any sense? No, it’s How The Grinch Stole Christmas, which takes place in the winter with it’s cold, frigid air – much the same as the Grinch’s tiny heart, and the joyous spirit of the season helping him to find his love and kindness again. It wouldn’t feel the same if the Whos were giving out firecrackers instead of Christmas gifts. That’s just wrong.
Think of other stories where a specific season was highlighted. Would the story have been as good or rewarding if the season had been switched? And in your own writing. Do you favor a season more than others? If so, why. What does that time of the year bring to your story that enhances it?
I’d really be interested in hearing responses to these questions,so please, feel free to comment and pass the link on to other you think might be interested.
I saw this question on a blog recently: what Literary character(s) would you like to have dinner with and why?
This is a great question to actually ask at a dinner party. Responses can be all over the board depending on how well-read your guests are and what age. I can see people in their very early twenties wanting to break bread with Katniss Everdeen or Ron Weasley. My literary tastes are somewhat more dated.
First and foremost, I’d like to sit next to Elizabeth Bennet, because I’d like to ask her to truthfully tell me, once and for all, did she fall in love with Darcy for Darcy, or for Pemberley? I’ve always been a little suspicious she really did love Darcy and that her opinions of him could change so abruptly just because he helped Lydia and the Bennet family. What, exactly, made her see him in such a different light, from the first time they were introduced, Pemberley aside?
I’d like to sit down next to Scarlett O’Hara and smack her in the head. What was she thinking? Here she’s got the original bad boy himself, Rhett Butler, all but drooling after he and she wants nothing to do with him. She pines for Ashley Wilkes, one of the most boring characters ever penned, and doesn’t see the hunkadoodle right in front of her pixie little face. What gives, Scarlett?
Breaking bread with Atticus Finch would be memorable. I’d really like to know how he came to be such a liberal thinker in a surrounding chock full of uber-moralistic and conservative viewpoints on race, color, and gender. I’d like to discuss his upbringing and ask about his parents. Did their opinions and beliefs help form him to be the man he was, or was there some internal moral compass driving him?
Sherlock Holmes is such a fascinating character that there are no fewer than three television shows devoted to him at the present time. In an age where police work was in its infancy, his brain and desire for truth at any cost can be viewed either in a positive light, or as the most simplistic narcissism imaginable. He truly believed he was the smartest man in any room, hands down. Humility didn’t exist in his vocabulary. I would love to discuss his toilet training, to discern where his total control evolved from.
Nancy Drew was the coolest character I ever read when I was 10. I wanted to be beautiful and smart like her, drive a Corvair, and just have everyone love me. She had the neatest dad, the handsomest boyfriend and the most loyal friends – in truth, she had everything I didn’t. I’d like to ask her how it felt to be so perfect. And I’d really like to hear her tell me she was far from it!
Jane Eyre. The original drama queen. Tragedy and misery follows poor, plain Jane everywhere she goes. A lousy childhood morphs into an oppressive adolescence that ends in a pitiable adulthood. Even the guy she pines for is a pain in the neck. I’d like to talk to her and ascertain if she’s one of those people who simply thrive on the drama. A day can’t pass without some sort of emotional deluge.
Holly Golightly seems to be the girl you’d love to sit next to at dinner. Witty, bright and light conversation would abound from her and I’m sure if you were a man she’d make you feel as if you were the only one in her sphere. She is named so perfectly – go-lightly – which is how she flits through life, moving without stopping or settling down, flitting from person to person, relationship to relationship. I’d probably ask her about her toilet training as well. That fear of not holding on to anything or anyone had to come from somewhere!
Madeline. Ah, sweet Madeline. Never having attended one, I’d really like the low down dirt on what it’s like to live in a boarding school. You hear so many unseemly things about them, such as the abuse, the sexual escapades, the bullying. Did our poor, little Parisian girl go through any of these things? Or was life really how it was written for her – all unicorns, butterflies, and sunbeams? And what about Miss Clavel? There’s a hidden understory there and I’m just dying to know it!
Truly, if I sat next to any of the folks at a dinner, I don’t think I’d touch a bit of food. They’re all fascinating in totally individual and diverse ways.
How about you? Who would you like to break bead with if you could?
Peggy Jaeger, Author 