AFTER ALWAYS back story
Sometimes the kids' books are tougher to read (and to read) than the adult books are. Such was the case with this book, but I thought it needed to be written.
Sometimes inspiration isn't necessarily positive, as well. Again, that was the case with this book.
Sometimes a character crawls under your skin. Ralph Waldo Carpenito is deep in my DNA.
The story: we all hear horrendous stories about pedophilia and other types of horrendous sexual abuse in the media all the time, but you always believe it will never come to your doorstep. It has come sniffing around my house three times. In one year. That was too much.
The first time I heard about a man I knew who'd been brought in for questioning about a child he'd molested, I was shocked. He was a very good friend's husband, we'll call her Jane, and father to their three ginger-haired girls. I couldn't believe it, particularly because my friend seemed almost too calm when discussing it. But it was true, and he went to prison in another state, losing his rights to be a husband or a father ever again.
Mid-year, the same year, and I'm on the phone with my best friend. Her live-in man had been with her for twenty-three years. I'd worked with him on some creative projects. We all knew each other well.
I guess I should have been more intuitive, but I neglected to pick up on the fact that she was quite upset. Probably was too interested in telling her a story about my own life. My bad. But I could never have predicted what she would share with me.
The man she'd spent her adult life with, the man who'd raised her two girls, and the man with whom I'd had a creative relationship was arrested as they came home from a vacation. He'd been keeping indecent photos of children and had coerced several into the basement of their Boston shop.
My friend, we'll call her Mary, lost it. She was normally the friend I pointed to as an example of the type of brilliance I admired. She had incredible confidence, a dynamite sense of decorating with antiques, and an unflagging curiosity about life. She was the woman I wanted to be. To see her totally disintegrate after the arrest and resultant jail sentence made me question my own sense of human beings. Did I really know people at all?
The third man to be arrested that year was a family in-law. Too close for comfort. He'd spent time with my two nieces. Too much time. And this time, my family members were harmed by the situation. Again, the man ended up in jail. Again, the family was torn asunder by gossip and accusations. Again, little girls had their lives completely changed by a man they trusted.
Everyone I knew at that time was involved with one or more of these men. Stories about what had been done and to whom seemed to appear with the rising of every sun. Women lost their sense of self. Both of my friends now live alone and have absolutely no interest in having a man in their life. All of their children have no contact with the father figure. Thankfully.
But the writer in me thinks about the story that's going on behind closed doors. I thought about writing from the point of view of the pedophile, but I couldn't. I toyed with some stories from the woman's point of view, but at one point or another, the woman fell apart. Just like in real life. I couldn't finish them.
I kept playing the writer's game: what if? What if the child affected by the actions of the father was male? What if the father was wrongly accused? What could happen to the family who underwent a traumatic event that might have been avoided?
Then I wondered what kind of kid could make it through such an event unscathed. R.W.'s voice immediately came to mind, and though the original version of the story was written in third-person, R.W. pushed his way through. I had no choice but to write the story from his POV. And it was the right thing to do.
I gave R.W. all the strength I wish my friends and family had. He's a powerful little sucker and the only one who can show that, while the family is breaking apart, life still continues.
Still, the uneasiness of living with someone you don't quite believe anymore makes even the strongest family member question their own beliefs.
I must admit that one of the reasons I followed R.W.'s voice is that I couldn't find another way--a safe place--from which to tell the story. The women's stories were far too painful for me to tackle, though I do hope to incorporate some details of their emotional expressions of pain in a future novel.
I haven't written many books for this age group, but I do have a couple of others I'd like to work on. I hope that I can nail a character like R.W. again. He definitely got under my skin.
peace
DawnAfter Always
Sometimes inspiration isn't necessarily positive, as well. Again, that was the case with this book.
Sometimes a character crawls under your skin. Ralph Waldo Carpenito is deep in my DNA.
The story: we all hear horrendous stories about pedophilia and other types of horrendous sexual abuse in the media all the time, but you always believe it will never come to your doorstep. It has come sniffing around my house three times. In one year. That was too much.
The first time I heard about a man I knew who'd been brought in for questioning about a child he'd molested, I was shocked. He was a very good friend's husband, we'll call her Jane, and father to their three ginger-haired girls. I couldn't believe it, particularly because my friend seemed almost too calm when discussing it. But it was true, and he went to prison in another state, losing his rights to be a husband or a father ever again.
Mid-year, the same year, and I'm on the phone with my best friend. Her live-in man had been with her for twenty-three years. I'd worked with him on some creative projects. We all knew each other well.
I guess I should have been more intuitive, but I neglected to pick up on the fact that she was quite upset. Probably was too interested in telling her a story about my own life. My bad. But I could never have predicted what she would share with me.
The man she'd spent her adult life with, the man who'd raised her two girls, and the man with whom I'd had a creative relationship was arrested as they came home from a vacation. He'd been keeping indecent photos of children and had coerced several into the basement of their Boston shop.
My friend, we'll call her Mary, lost it. She was normally the friend I pointed to as an example of the type of brilliance I admired. She had incredible confidence, a dynamite sense of decorating with antiques, and an unflagging curiosity about life. She was the woman I wanted to be. To see her totally disintegrate after the arrest and resultant jail sentence made me question my own sense of human beings. Did I really know people at all?
The third man to be arrested that year was a family in-law. Too close for comfort. He'd spent time with my two nieces. Too much time. And this time, my family members were harmed by the situation. Again, the man ended up in jail. Again, the family was torn asunder by gossip and accusations. Again, little girls had their lives completely changed by a man they trusted.
Everyone I knew at that time was involved with one or more of these men. Stories about what had been done and to whom seemed to appear with the rising of every sun. Women lost their sense of self. Both of my friends now live alone and have absolutely no interest in having a man in their life. All of their children have no contact with the father figure. Thankfully.
But the writer in me thinks about the story that's going on behind closed doors. I thought about writing from the point of view of the pedophile, but I couldn't. I toyed with some stories from the woman's point of view, but at one point or another, the woman fell apart. Just like in real life. I couldn't finish them.
I kept playing the writer's game: what if? What if the child affected by the actions of the father was male? What if the father was wrongly accused? What could happen to the family who underwent a traumatic event that might have been avoided?
Then I wondered what kind of kid could make it through such an event unscathed. R.W.'s voice immediately came to mind, and though the original version of the story was written in third-person, R.W. pushed his way through. I had no choice but to write the story from his POV. And it was the right thing to do.
I gave R.W. all the strength I wish my friends and family had. He's a powerful little sucker and the only one who can show that, while the family is breaking apart, life still continues.
Still, the uneasiness of living with someone you don't quite believe anymore makes even the strongest family member question their own beliefs.
I must admit that one of the reasons I followed R.W.'s voice is that I couldn't find another way--a safe place--from which to tell the story. The women's stories were far too painful for me to tackle, though I do hope to incorporate some details of their emotional expressions of pain in a future novel.
I haven't written many books for this age group, but I do have a couple of others I'd like to work on. I hope that I can nail a character like R.W. again. He definitely got under my skin.
peace
DawnAfter Always
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