Jonas and I were meant to go to the Arnold Classic this weekend but unfortunately I’ve got the world’s worse ear infection from diving on Palau and so I’m not allowed to fly.  I’m very disappointed to miss the show as we hope to start the casting process soon and I know that we would have met some great talent in Ohio.

Jonas has been meeting with actors to play the male lead, Charles Worthington.  I can’t mention names at this point but I’m dying to.  It’s all so exciting.  I will update this page with news as it develops but hopefully we’ll begin the actual casting of Aurora, and other bodybuilder rolls, soon.

Stay tuned.

Palau is in Micronesia, a small country made up of thousands of islands with a population of just 21,000, and it is one of my new favorite places on earth.  It is extraordinarily beautiful, the people are lovely and the scuba diving is the best I’ve ever seen.  Water temperature is about 82 degrees and the visibility is outstanding.

I saw lots of car-sized manta rays, hundreds of sharks, turtles, beautiful fish and coral.  I went diving in Jellyfish lake and contracted the worst ear infection in the history of mankind. (I am currently on my second course of antibiotics.  Recovery time–unknown).  But the highlight of my trip was my dinner at a restaurant called Little Bejing where I had the privilege of eating Fruit Bat Soup, a local delicacy.  We had to call ahead so they could go out and capture the little bat and when we arrived promptly at 7:30, it was waiting for us.

After touching our bat, getting to know our bat, we were shown to a private room and supplied with plenty of Red Rooster beer, the local favorite.  While waiting for our soup, they served us coconut crab, also caught that day especially for us.  The crab was delicious; I enjoyed eating the claws and legs dipped in a delightful ginger vinegarette.  I did not particularly enjoy the stomach content that came with the crab.  It is apparently considered a delicacy but I found it oily and there was a vague peanut butter smell that was off-putting. But I ate it.  And then, after pounding a couple more beers, our main course arrived.

Fruit Bat Soup

I was surprised to see that our bat came complete with all its hair or fur or whatever that is and it’s little eyes and teeth.

Fruit Bat sticking out its tongue

The waitress graciously served us some broth then removed the bat from the soup and disappeared into the kitchen.  The soup was oily with a hint of pork but not overly disgusting and I got a great sense of accomplishment from swallowing three or four spoonfuls.  There, done.  Not so bad.  I drank another beer and felt that it had been a successful evening, ready to go back to the hotel, when the waitress returned with the grand finale.

Gourmet tidbits of Fruit Bat

The kind chef had dissected the bat so that we could enjoy the meat of the little bat wings and legs.  As you can see, he left the head intact. Apparently some people enjoy Fruit Bat brain.  This writer stuck with ONE BITE of bat thigh.  Gamey.  Beyond Gamey.

I woke up the next day feeling great.  The Bat Soup agreed with me and I would recommend it to anyone who visits Palau–one time.  Once is enough.

Art Linson, David Fincher and Newline optioned Chemical Pink in 2001. I was offered the opportunity to adapt my novel and, even though I’d never written a screenplay, I assured everyone that of course I could handle the job. In fact, no one else on this planet could possibly adapt Chemical Pink given the rarefied subculture. No problem.

I’m not going to discuss the differences between the two forms. I can’t do that because I still don’t fully understand the novel or the screenplay. But what I can talk about is my process and how fricking hard it was.

Anyone who knows anything will tell you that the first thing you have to do when adapting a novel is take the story down to the bare bones and then slowly rebuild it. That means cutting, cutting, cutting. Seemed easy enough. But when I sat down and tried to figure out what was essential to the story and what could go, well nothing could go. Every time I considered eliminating a character the story became unbalanced and meaningless. Leaving someone out was like killing off one of my children. I couldn’t even think about it. So my first draft of the screenplay kept a little bit of everything and was 187 pages long.

Art Linson is a great producer. He’s also a writer. He really knows what he’s doing and if you ever get a chance to work with him, well you’re a lucky person. You will learn a lot and your life with be changed forever – probably for the better. I mean it.

Here’s how it went when I turned in my first draft:
Art threw the pages down on the table and yelled, “Do you think this is fucking funny? Do you? Cause if you think this is fucking funny we’re in a whole lot of fucking trouble. This is fucking shit. Have you ever actually watched a movie?”

I don’t know why Art didn’t fire me. He certainly should have because my script really did suck. But he rolled up his sleeves, sat down at his big producer desk and tried to teach me how to write a screenplay. It was a long process and almost everyday he told me how fucking unfunny my shit was. But we both hung in there and eventually came up with a workable draft.

There is a character in my novel called Skip. He’s a Vietnam vet who lives in his car outside the YMCA. He’s missing his front teeth, is obsessive and frankly unbalanced. But he truly loves my main character Aurora and he acts as a protector to her daughter Amy when no one else seems to care. In my mind Skip is a hero and an essential part of Chemical Pink. Skip was the first thing to go once I got out the pruning shears. His entire story line was thrown in the trash. I realize now that he was not absolutely necessary to the essential story, but I loved him and it was very painful to let him go. He left a hole that was hard to fill.

There were other cuts, too painful to relive here. I changed personalities and brought in brand new characters. It took close to a year for me to produce a working draft. The screenplay is different than the book but I think it stayed very true to the spirit of the novel.

Art Linson and David Fincher had a parting of ways and did not make Chemical Pink. The original director, Jonas Akerlund stayed loyal to the project and has sworn to make this movie someday. Jonas is my hero. And now Ted Field has bought the project from Newline. It looks like this might actually happen and so I’ve decided document the process.

Tuesday Sept. 25 2007

I couldn’t figure out what to wear. This project is so important to me–I want Chemical Pink to be a movie so badly–that it somehow seemed really important to get the outfit right. Of course I know that’s nonsense but that’s how I felt. Jonas always wears black, lots of leather. He’s Swedish and very fair but dyes his long hair jet-black and wears it in two braids. There’s usually a black hat to finish off the ensemble. I’ve decided that I’m going to dress like Jonas for the duration of this project in an act of solidarity so I wore tight black pants, biker boots (real ones), black tank top and black horn earrings that look very tough. I felt ready for anything

Ted Field, Paris Latsis, Terry Douglas and Jonas were scheduled to arrive at my place in Venice at 11:30 so they could see the gym and get a feeling for the Venice area where we plan to shoot the movie. Jonas assured me that he’d arrive early and I was glad because I hate making small talk. But 11:30 came; the door rang and in walked Ted, Paris and Terry–no Jonas.

I’d met Ted a couple of months ago at his office. At that first meeting, he said that he thought CP could be the next Crying Game. He likes the gender confusion and thinks Chemical Pink will really surprise people. I like the idea of confusion and surprise and I like Ted so I was happy to see him. I’d not met Paris and Terry before and would guess that they’re both in their early twenties “I could be wrong about that but they look about 23. They both seem very nice, very passionate and energetic. And so young” I kind of had to watch myself and make sure the maternal thing didn’t slip out. We sat around and made small talk until Jonas showed up. It was fine. Everyone was very enthusiastic. It’s a nice feeling to sit there and have people tell you how great your story is and what a fantastic movie it will make. I don’t really get tired of that part.
Jonas arrived and we walked a half block up the street to Gold’s Gym. Unfortunately the Olympia is this weekend so most of the big bodybuilders were already in Vegas but the guys got a sense of the place. It is an enormous gym with room after room of equipment, exercise machines that vaguely resemble torture devices and allude to the very fine line between pleasure and pain. There are mirrors on every wall, plenty of opportunities to admire oneself. The guys seemed impressed. As we were about to leave I noticed a tight, cute, fitness girl standing by the front door in a tiny pair of shorts and a sports bra. She was tanned and very sexy and she stood next to an extremely muscular bodybuilding woman with long frizzy blond hair. Seeing the two of them standing there together was like a before and after shot “a visual warning about the hazards of steroid abuse. I pointed to the girls and said, “That right there is exactly what I’m talking about.” I think actually SEEING the extreme physicality of the two women, one sexy and one freakish, really clarified my vision for Ted and the boys.

We walked down the street to Joe’s restaurant and spent the lunch talking about the importance of this film and how it was going to mine the fertile territory of gender identification. We also threw around ideas of who could play Charles Worthington. I’m not very good at that because I’m not familiar with a lot of the actors today so I just sat there quietly during that part. All in all it was a good meeting and I really believe that Chemical Pink is finally going to happen.

Next step: The first choice for Aurora is Jessica Biel. She has the script and we’re just waiting to hear if she’s interested. It could be a week or a month. I’ll keep you posted.

Wednesday Sept. 26 2007

I got an email from Jonas this morning saying how excited he is and how well he thought the meeting went. It’s funny because I was about to write and tell him the exact same thing. It really does feel like we’re finally on the right track. Jonas also said that he liked my outfit.

Monday Oct. 8 2007

Still no word from Jessica Biel. I have a novel called The Wentworths that’s being published in March and another in the works. Writing takes up most of my time, so really I didn’t even notice that Jessica Biel hasn’t responded to Chemical Pink. Nope, didn’t notice at all. And when I’m not working on my next novel I spend my time surfing” although now that surfing has become the “new golf” I find the water filled with yoga enthusiasts who talk too loud and take up way too much space and it makes me grumpy—or swimming or hiking. I like to do solo backpacking trips at high altitude in the Sierras and Southeast Utah so I stay in shape by throwing on a forty-pound pack and marching up and down the Santa Monica mountains for three or four hours a day. There are cougars up in those hills and all my backpacks have quick-release knives mounted on the straps. So you see, I just don’t have time to worry about Jessica Biel.

A few years ago, Patricia Arquette was interested in playing the lead character, Aurora. It was a big deal because she’s such a great actor. Jonas and I were very excited. She’d done a movie called Human Nature in which she was naked for a good part of the picture. I rented it, not to assess her dramatic abilities but to study her genetics. Was she symmetrical enough? Were her shoulders wider than her hips? How about her mid-section? I rewound and froze-framed her physique, over and over, and decided that she definitely had the right body type for the part. Never mind that she’d just had a baby and was still nursing. She was perfect.

Jonas and I had lunch with Patricia and her manager at the Ivy at the Shore. I came armed with photos of myself in my underwear when I was very fat and pregnant with my first child. I also brought the photos of my bodybuilding contests that were taken after I gave birth – a very dramatic before and after. I showed her what I’d done to my body and assured her that she could do it too. She could get rid of that baby fat in no time and, in fact, look better than she did before children.

Patricia had a great attitude. She dove into preparing for the role with unbelievable energy and she handled her training and diet program like a true bodybuilder. She immediately cut out all the junk food, upped her protein, and ate six tiny meals a day. She started training at Gold’s Gym with the best bodybuilding trainer in the world, Charles Glass. She did cardio twice a day to shed the extra baby weight. She was a champ and I think eventually she would have made a good Aurora. But whatever producer was involved at the time – and I swear I don’t remember who it was, or even if there was one – didn’t come up with the funds so everything fell apart after about a month. That was a disappointment for everyone, a real blow. Patricia went on to other projects and Jonas accepted a job with Madonna to make a documentary of her world tour. I headed off on an extended backpacking trip near Kings Canyon–just me and my knives, the coyotes, and a whole bunch of California black bears.

Friday Oct. 12 2007

Still nothing from Jessica Biel. But there’s another actress who’s interested called Rosario Dawson. I looked her up. She’s spectacularly beautiful. Sure, she’d be great. Looks kind of skinny but hey, we can work with that.

Thursday Nov. 1 2007

Everyone has heard the horror stories about agents in Hollywood. The typical agent is portrayed as legless and slithering, cold blooded and completely lacking in moral fortitude. It’s a clich to talk about these talent brokers as scum-sucking sleaze-bags, but hey, if the shoe fitsx However there is at least one agent in Hollywood who does not fit the mold and lucky for me, he’s mine.

David Unger was one of the first people to read the Chemical Pink screenplay when I finally finished writing it. He called me immediately and was so complimentary that I instantly fell in love with him. He said he would personally do everything in his power to get the movie made. For a while it looked like David had an easy job with Art Linson and David Fincher involved – of course the movie would get made. But then everything fell apart and people walked away, everyone lost interest, everyone except David Unger (and Jonas, of course).

David has spent the last six years quietly sending out Chemical Pink to various producers, trying to find someone with money who would make this movie. Jonas and I have been up to bat with several different companies only to have the project fall through. I can’t tell you how many times we thought we’d found a home and then the producer would change his/her mind and decide that the subject matter was too controversial. It was incredibly discouraging but David never gave up. He was our cheerleader, constantly reassuring and insisting we have faith. He is loyal and he is a true friend. Without David Unger there would be no movie.

So, I called David this morning to find out what’s happening. Jonas has been in Sweden for a few weeks working on a commercial project and I haven’t heard a word from Ted and the boys. David took the call right away – he always does – and in his usually cheery voice told me that everything is going great. Rosario Dawson is very excited about the project and dying to work with Jonas. It came out, in course of conversation that Rosario hasn’t actually read the script yet but I’m sure she will. I’m sure everything will be fine. Jonas is due back next week and David has set up a meeting for the two of them. I’ve got my fingers crossed.

Nov. 12 2007

Jonas looked great. I hadn’t seen him in over a month. His braids are longer and he was well rested after his trip to Sweden. What I love most about this guy is his perpetually positive attitude. He has ALWAYS believed that this movie will get made. I try and rub up against him as often as possible.

Ted Field asked Jonas to make a “book” about Chemical Pink. I envision it as a sort of photo album that will illustrate the tone and character of the film. I guess it’s easier to make people understand what the movie is about when there are visual aids. Jonas said he makes these books for all his projects and the Chemical Pink one is almost done but he’s having trouble coming up with good photos of current day Venice. So we set out for the boardwalk to see if we could find material.

It was a warm day and there were tons of people around, checking out the freak show. The sidewalk vendors offered an eclectic array of products but the predominant theme was definitely tribal. Bones, horns, feathers, handmade knives and spears. There were a whole lot of shirtless guys walking their pitbulls. Turns out you can make just about anything out of hemp: collars, healing salves, shower curtains, socks, varnish, crayons, backpacks and wallets. There were drummers and solo musicians playing for tips. It’s a thriving place, more so now than ever before, and so it’s puzzling to me why no one seems interested in documenting the vital culture of this place TODAY.

We walked to Small World Books, which has been a fixture in the area for well over twenty years, and asked for photo books of Venice. I assumed they would occupy a couple of rows, probably towards the front of the store. No. There were maybe four books on Venice, and the most current pictures were taken in the late seventies, early eighties. Vintage Venice. There was absolutely nothing that could help us with Chemical Pink. I went back up to the front desk and inquired about body building books “Venice being the Mecca of body building” and was shocked to find they didn’t carry a single volume. Apparently people have lost interest in the subculture that fuels Chemical Pink. Well, that’s great news. It just means the time is ripe for a magnificent comeback.

We had lunch and Jonas gently informed me that Rosario Dawson is no longer interested in playing Aurora. He didn’t know why she dropped out but I suspect she read the script. No matter, there are other actresses out there. Someone will want to be Aurora.

Nov. 13 2007

Jonas emailed this morning with good news. He found a bunch of material on Venice and the Chemical Pink book should be done soon. He also brought up the idea of us doing a Chemical Pink coffee table book when the movie is finished, his photos, my commentary. I think it is an excellent idea.

January 13, 2008

Just before Christmas I was told that a casting company was going to start auditions right after the first of the year. They were still looking for the lead girl but in the meantime they decided to get the rest of the cast in order. Of course this was exciting news for me. I went off on my vacation expecting to come home to a whirlwind of Chemical Pink activity. But I returned to find that Jonas is in Chicago re-shooting scenes for his movie Horsemen. David doesn’t have any news. I haven’t heard a word from Ted Field. To be honest it was getting a little hard to maintain my usual cheerleader stance. Maybe the subject matter just isn’t all that compelling. Maybe I should just give up. No one’s going to want to see a story about freakish bodybuilders anyway. But then I went for a walk.  It was a beautiful afternoon so I headed down to the Venice boardwalk and who should I run into but my old friend Bill Pettis. In the seventies and early eighties Bill sported 231/4 inch biceps–they were thought to be the largest guns in the world. In those days he trained at World Gym and you could see him wandering the streets of Venice in sweat shirt and pants, feeding on protein, patiently waiting for his body to recover from the morning workout so he could hit the gym again in the afternoon. I lost track of Bill when World gym closed a couple of years ago. It was a devastating blow to him. Bodybuilding is his life and that gym was his home but he rallied. He moved to the Weight Pit which is an outdoor gym right on the Venice boardwalk where spectators can watch bodybuiders pound out reps. At first I didn’t recognize my old friend. He has replaced his baggy sweats with a custom designed Tarzan-like loin-cloth fashioned out of leopard print velour. He’s leaner now but still in amazing shape, especially for a man of 61. But what struck me about Bill, what really delighted me, was his intense animal magnetism. He’s very dark from training in the sun, his muscles are still hard, and somehow his incisors have come forward in his mouth in a fang-like manner.  He’s an amazing character and I realized that hell yes people are going to be interested in a movie about the world where Bill Pettis lives. There’s nothing better. So, even though nothing has happened lately, I still have faith that Chemical Pink is moving forward and tomorrow I’m going to get on the phone and make something happen.

Sunday January 27 2008

No news. I made all the phone calls I could think of and wrote emails. I had drinks at the Polo Lounge with my wonderful agent David Unger but he didn’t have anything to report. Nothing is happening. The writer’s strike has really brought everything to a stop. As the publication date for my new novel The Wentworths approaches, I had hoped to be consumed with Chemical Pink business–casting, rewrites, tricky wardrobe decisions–so that I wouldn’t even notices reviews (or lack there of) and sales figures for The Wentworths. No such luck. Well, I hope to have something to report soon. Jonas is back in town this week. Maybe he can re-ignite this fire.

Saturday March 15 2008

Well apparently none of the actresses in Hollywood want to take on the job of becoming Aurora.  I guess I can’t blame them as it would be a HUGE and very difficult job.  I don’t have a list of the women approached but I get the feeling it was extensive–it sure took a long time.  So now we’re onto plan B.

Plan B involves a reality show entitled something like, “In Search of Aurora”.  It would be modeled after American Idol with Jonas, Ted Field and me as the judges.  We would go around the country auditioning bodybuilders for our leading lady.  I envision endless discussions about muscle insertions and glutteal mass.  It’s in the works.  Jonas comes back from Sweden next week and we’re meeting to discuss.  I’ll report back but I’m feeling very excited about this new idea.

May 2008

Here’s the problem: It’s impossible to keep writing entries on the making of my novel into a movie when NOTHING happens. I could probably go on and on about what I would like to have happen but that would be boring and frankly pathetic. I haven’t heard from anyone in quite awhile. Jonas made an amazing two minute film to give the producers an idea of the tone of the film–it had lots of body building footage and vintage Venice stuff–but that was a couple of months ago. Since then, I haven’t heard a word.   I’m going to put this story on hold until there is something new to say.

Evergreen Cemetery, El Centro, CA

Evergreen Cemetery is in El Centro, California.  It is a nice little graveyard.  There are trees and well tended grave sites where family members congregate.  But if you drive all the way to the back of the property, you will come to the county lot where they dispose of all the John and Jane Does—or as some call them, Juan and Juana Does.  I knew that over 500 people had drowned trying to swim across the nearby All American Canal, which separates Mexico from California in the area east of Calexico.  I knew that many of the migrants were not identified, their families never notified, and that they were buried under concrete markers, acknowledged only by a number.

Unidentified Migrant Graves

But I was not prepared to see them all together in one place, row after row of bodies—hundreds of anonymous dead.  It literally brought me to my knees.  I’ve been told that the Evergreen county lot is full to capacity and I believe it.  Now officials are scrambling to find a new site because the number of dead bodies continues to grow.  There are “No Trespassing” signs all around the migrant area of the cemetery but I ignored them and stayed for quite awhile, trying to imagine the lives of these people and the loved ones they left behind.  Then I got back in the car and drove to the All American Canal which is basically a huge irrigation ditch that runs along our border.

All American Canal near Calexico, CA

In some areas the canal seems like a peaceful, calm river.  There are birds and fish.   I could imagine jumping in for a swim on a hot day.  If not for the border fence in the background it would be an ideal place for a picnic. But the water is very cold and deep with a strong current running just below the surface. The All American Canal functions in our country much like the moats surrounding medieval castles.  It is the first line of defense against invasion—sound the horns, pull up the drawbridge, drown the enemy.  All that’s missing are the serpents and crocodiles.

Catch Drop All American Canal

Along the canal, there are a series of drops and it is here that the bodies are most often found.  The dead tend to get caught up in the hydraulics. They have to be plucked out of the water by a special crane, built specifically for the purpose.  There are no buoys, no safety nets or ladders to help save those in trouble.  If you’re not a strong swimmer, chances are you’re not going to make it.  You will drown.  This is our U.S. border.  These people are dying on our land.  Our government knows.  In fact, our government had the special crane built to pick out the bodies, and our government pays to bury these poor people when they die.  But our government does nothing to stop people from jumping in.

I had planned to spend the night in El Centro but after seeing the graveyard and the canal, I needed to get out of there so I drove the extra hour to Yuma, Arizona.  Along the way I saw Border Patrol zooming around everywhere.  I saw several of the trucks dragging tires along the back dirt roads.  This is a technique used for tracking.  They smooth the roads and then later are able to read the dirt for signs of migrant footprints moving through the desert.  Typically they’ll have five tires chained together and attached to the back bumper of the Border Patrol truck.  They drag the roads all along the border and throughout  the desert and have a high success rate of catching migrants and deporting them back to Mexico.  But the arrests are a mere drop in the bucket in terms of numbers because hundreds come across every night, drawn by the promise of work and a better life for their families.  The tragedy is that many of them get lost forever in that unforgiving desert and are baked alive by that brutal sun.  During my time on the road, I saw hundreds of crosses marking the spots where these poor souls had fallen.

I went to bed early that first night, exhausted by what I’d seen.  Next day would be the Tohono O’odham Indian Reservation.

I’ve had him living in the Tijuana dumps, scavenging in the huge mountains of trash, eating rancid food and drinking foul water.

At the end of his long workday, he returns home to his cardboard lean-to where he struggles to stay warm on the long cold winter nights.  He does not have electricity.  There is no source for clean drinking water, no doctor when he gets sick.  I’ve had him grapple with despair and turn to sniffing glue or paint thinner as an escape.  He is hungry and sick and desperate.  My current dreams make the life I gave him in Point Dume seem like a luxury vacation.

I know that no one wants to listen about my bleeding-heart nightmares but this stuff is keeping me up.  I went to Tijuana recently for research and the place scared me.  I realize that an outsider like myself can’t even begin to understand the scope of the problem in a quick drive-by visit.  But I can say with authority that it is a dangerous place and I had no business wandering around.  There is an angry desperation that, at this point, I don’t have the tools to understand.

So I’ll stay back on my safe side of the border and continue to read about the issues until they starts to make some kind of sense to me.

I had not visited the new wall, which the Bush administration signed into existence, nor spent much time in that area, and so I jumped into the car and drove down to Border Field State Park to see where the whole thing starts at the Pacific Ocean.

California/Mexico border

Border Field State Park is a beautiful wildlife habitat that consists of sand dunes and salt marshes in the Tijuana river valley.  It is closed to vehicles due to budget issues and so I had to leave my car outside the park and walk a couple of miles to get to the actual fence.  The place is swarming with Border Patrol agents, zooming around in their trucks, searching for illegal aliens.  Years ago this was a hot spot of illegal activity but it’s been a long time since anyone was shot here due to the double and triple fencing that defines this area.  And yet there is no shortage of law enforcement.  During my two hour visit I must have seen at least fifteen patrol cars, maybe twenty.

Triple fence in Border Field Park

As I walked down the beach I saw that there was a  patrol vehicle parked on the sand at the border, guarding the area and making sure that no one tried to swim around the fence.  When I approached his truck, I noticed he was sleeping and, not wanting to disturb him, I continued right up to the wall where I started taking pictures.  Apparently that was against the law.  The agent woke up, threw the truck in gear, drove forward twenty feet to where I was standing, and announced in a loud voice that I had to move back TEN FEET because I was breaking Federal law.  He was quite rude.  Unnecessarily rude. When I tried to question him about the lack of signage defining that particular law, he threw the truck in reverse and retreated to his original parking spot, then glared at me and pulled out his radio.  I took one more picture then dutifully followed orders and stepped back.

Border Patrol

I was confronted by several other agents during my visit.  One of them threatened to arrest me when I politely asked him some questions about the wall.  “Don’t make me mad lady.  I will arrest you.”  It was interesting to be treated so badly by so many people in authority.  Unpleasant but interesting.  I felt quite powerless.   I saw evidence of those who had crossed illegally and wondered about their fate, wondered how they would be treated if they were caught by these Border Patrol agents.

a doll's arm

a shoe lost in the mud

I’m going to Tijuana next to see this from the other side.  Somehow I think it will look much different.

First I’ve got to say that not all characters will allow themselves to be put down. Charles Worthington, from Chemical Pink, showed up in The Wentworths and he insisted on being included in Point Dume. I don’t think his character is ever going to go away and to be honest that’s okay; he’s like a favorite older son and I don’t mind making room for him. He is sick and twisted and endlessly fascinating to me so if he asks to be included, I say by all means. Norman Wentworth—of The Wentworths—still sneaks out and frequently checks in with me. He would love to go another round or even have an entire novel devoted exclusively to him. Judith Wentworth pops up for a chat now and then. And of course I was in love Jack Belmont (also a character in The Wentworths) and I still dream about him at night.

All my characters are alive and well but I have to keep them locked up in the cage. It’s not really a cage. It’s more like a basement with a sound proof door. I can sense movement down there, hear things being dragged from one end of the room to the other, objects being thrown, raised voices, but I can’t really tell exactly what’s going on unless I open the door. And I try never to do that. I have to lock my people away because there just isn’t enough room for everybody. My brain is a modest single story dwelling—just big enough to accommodate one saga at a time. I’d like to remodel and expand, maybe put in a second story, a three-car garage, perhaps a pool and a gazebo–maybe someday, if I win the lottery.

So now I’m in the sad process of herding my Point Dume characters together and throwing them down the basement stairs. Ellis and Pablo went without much fuss–which surprised me. Frank argued but Janice told him to shut up and he listened to her. He’s following his wife down there right now (I let him take his watch collection). Felix and I hugged and cried. I’ll miss him the most of all. He wants to take Rigoberta, the Sacapunta Kitties and all his friends. That’s fine. Whatever makes him happy.

They’re all in the basement now, the door bolted and locked. I’ve got some heavy housekeeping to do—scrubbing, mopping and vacuuming—and then I’ll get started on the next book. I’ve already met the main character. Her name is Delilah.

MY WEEKEND IN THE HYPERBARIC CHAMBER
AND OTHER MISADVENTURES

A friend once said he thought there was a little gender confusion in my physiological make-up.  I had just climbed off the leg-press machine where I completed a set of twelve reps with eighteen forty-five pound plates.  Without factoring in the machine itself, I had pushed 810 lbs and I weighed no more than 115 at the time. My legs were pumped; I felt strong.  I jumped off the machine, turned to my 250 lbs male training partner, and said something like, “Let’s see what YOU’VE got, pussy motherfucker.”  He muttered about hating macho assholes, climbed on the machine and finished his workout. Shortly thereafter he quit training with me, citing excessive intensity and lack of sensitivity.  I was sorry to see him go but found other willing partners who were inspired by my good-natured banter.  I continued to push the limits of my strength until sadly I ended up in surgery with a herniated disc (L5—S1).  That was the end of my bodybuilding career.

Was the low back injury MY fault?  Was I reckless in the pursuit of strength and fitness? Was my need to SHOW the guys somehow misguided?  Could there have been a smarter way to go about achieving my goals?  These are all excellent questions, and ones that never crossed my mind.

Sometime around 1996 I was down in Costa Rica on a surf trip to the Osa Peninsula with my husband and three other guys.  We were staying at a remote camp deep in the jungle—a two days drive from the nearest hospital. There wasn’t much surf when we arrived but then a swell rolled in.  The current at Backwash Bay is very strong in triple-overhead waves and there’s a danger of being pushed into the rocks if you don’t kick-out soon enough.  I’ll admit now that I was nervous about the size but you wouldn’t have guessed it that day on the beach when I paddled out with the rest of the guys. I think I might have been the first one in the water but I got stuck inside for a long time, and when I finally made it to the line-up I was exhausted.  I knew from prior experience that the longer I sat with my nervousness, the harder it would be to take-off, plus I felt the need to prove myself, so I instead of resting, I paddled into the first big wave that came through.  I was tired, I dropped in late, and I ate it.  I think it was my ear slapping down on the ocean surface that knocked me out.  Water can be as hard as concrete. I must have come to immediately because I was able to get on my board and paddle to shore but once there I had no idea where I was—complete and total amnesia.  It was terrifying.  Luckily I recognized my husband, who was on the beach, and he was able to fill in the blanks.  It was short-term memory loss; the kids, the year, and the president still held their place.  I had a monster headache for a few days and my eyes didn’t really track that well, but I could walk and talk.  Eventually I felt better and was able to remember most of what I’d lost.

Now, head injuries like that can be very serious, even life threatening.  Was it wise of me to go out in surf that was probably beyond my ability in an area where there was absolutely no chance of receiving medical help?  Should I have sat in the line-up until I felt rested and ready to attempt those extra large waves instead of trying to prove myself?  Was I at fault?

cliff hanger

I took a ten day survival course in the red rock canyons of Utah.  Off trail, minimal provisions.  Each day you’ve got to get from point A to point B, and find water along the way.  Map, compass, and basic survival skills.  I have a tiny issue with heights but of course that was not something I felt the need to share with my knowledgeable guide.  There was a lot of climbing up and repelling down.  All I can tell you is that I got stuck over a ledge, hanging by a rope, with what looked like thousands of feet below.  My backpack was too heavy—again I didn’t want to complain—and it caused me to turtle so I was unable to get my footing.  I might have frozen up in fear but I’m not sure because I blocked out the rescue.

Photo Safari

There was the head injury in Tanzania up in the northern Serengeti plains on the Kenyan border when I got launched out of the safari vehicle because I ignored the instructions to hold on.

Safari Accident

While out on one of my solo road trips through Southeast Utah last spring, I got stuck at the very top of this mesa.  The road had washed out but I have a Land Cruiser, that it will go anywhere, and an unrealistic view of my driving abilities. I almost toppled off the side near the top.  It was bad.

And then there was that little dive trip to Australia this last September.

I spent a week on a live-aboard boat, diving up to five times a day all along the Great Barrier Reef, as research for my next book.  I had expected the water and air temperature to be warm but we hit a cold front and I was freezing for eight long days.  Didn’t stop me from diving though.  I kept jumping in with my blue lips and dropping as deep as I could go.  I am a very careful diver, I really am, and I watch that computer closely.  I do my safety stops, I never ascend quickly.  But apparently the lack of surface time between dives, the cold conditions, and the scalding hot showers that I took every time I got out of the water, caused nitrogen bubbles to form in both of my thumbs.  A normal sane person would have spotted the bends immediately; stiff joints are one of the first indicators that you’ve got a problem.  But I got certified twenty years ago and forgot that key bit of information. Plus I’m been blessed with this infantile notion that nothing bad can happen to me.  Of course I didn’t mention my thumb problem to anyone.  I just thought that it was some sort of arthritis, a result of too many hours at the keyboard.  (I bash that space key hard when I’m all wound up. But if I’d really thought about it, I would have realized that the left thumb is not an active participant in my writing life.  It just sits there quietly, cheering on all the other fingers.)  I didn’t really think.  I got off the boat and the thumbs got worse.  I took the fourteen-hour flight home and happened to mention the thumbs to a diving friend who insisted I call the doctor.  Bam, I was sent directly to the hyperbaric chamber.  Bent.  After a couple of sessions lying still under pressure, the pain in my thumbs resolved.  I’m fine.  Nothing happened.

Katie--Bent

I don’t want to talk about nine lives–silly, silly concept.  All I’m saying here is that the life of a writer can be treacherous. One should consider the dangers before heading down this particular career path.

Cover for the new Novel

David Shoemaker has once again designed the perfect cover for my novel.  The image perfectly captures the tone of my new book.  I’m thrilled.  Thank you, David.  The book will be out in May 2010.

David is also responsible for The Wentworths cover, which is excellent.

And the reprint edition of Chemical Pink.   He’s a genius.

In my first novel, Chemical Pink, there is a male character that likes to masturbate while playing with, and talking to, his vegetable dolls.

I have never found these dolls even remotely exciting but Charles Worthington does. The vegetable doll scene was generated from deep within the character’s mind. It was behavior that only he would understand based on a complicated maternal relationship. The details of his life in no way mirror my own. Nevertheless, many of my readers believed they knew a little secret something about me after they read about Charles and his dolls. And there was nothing I could do about it.

The Wentworths is filled with sex because sex drives interesting behavior and I believe most people are either running towards or away from it for a good portion of their lives. Again in this novel, I have a male character, Norman Wentworth, who thinks and does some unusual things. HE’S A GAY MAN. I am a heterosexual woman. But as with Chemical Pink, many of my readers thought they were joining me in my bedroom when they read about Norman’s escapades. No point in arguing.

Yep, Point Dume has got sex. Of course it does. And one of the main characters resembles me. She’s a woman who shares many of my beliefs; she does stuff. Those readers who are looking for clues into my personal life are going to think they’ve hit the jackpot with this new novel. I can just see the smug, knowing expressions right now.

So how do I handle this? I laugh–because it is pretty funny, if you think about it. For every reader who believes I put on a silkworm costume and writhe around on the floor while someone tries to squash me, I say, “Oh, you’re so clever. You figured me out.” And for those who feel they can confess their deepest darkest fantasies to me because they think that I’ll understand now that they’ve read a particularly lurid spanking scene? Well, I plead with them to please NOT SHARE. The reader can think they know my secrets but really, I absolutely don’t want to know their secrets. I’ve already got enough stuff in my head and I try and keep a very firm line between fiction and nonfiction.