A Change of Character

A Change of Character

Forty years ago, I spent four wonderful months in Tullahoma, Tennessee.  Between long intense stretches of work on the space program, I was able to sample the flavor of the South's hospitality, culture and women.  (Well, one woman at least, Gail.)

Over time, the accuracy of my memories of those days has waned, and in part, been replaced or embellished by images from movies and books I've read.

Last year I invented a character, Sally, by combining memories of several people I've known with purely fictitious qualities I've always wanted in a character.  She is blonde (with a little help), not too thin (tight size twelve), professional (a government project analyst) and in her early thirties.  Her biological clock is ticking but she is hung up over a married man (through several of his wives).

It was fun creating the backstory that put her into my novel.  Bible toting, backsliding, cheating parents chasing money and moonshine in the hills of Alabama.  I also added several make-believe features, too.

I wrote 'Wines of Winter' for my 2006 NaNoWriMo effort.  I produced 62,374 words for the first draft in November, but it remains unedited and will probably never be sold.  It was fun, enlightening, and quite a learning experience.

Sally began talking to me at around 20,000 words.  Wow, what a woman she turned out to be.  "Daddy didn't play around as much as Mommy said he did.  He was really a God fearin' man.  Don't put it like that!"

Ah, okay, Sal.

"And, I really don't see why you think it's pathetic that I still love a man who's had several... still has... wives.  You don't understand real love."

No disrespect Sal.  I just don't have the writing skills to show that, without it coming out sort of pathetic.

"Well, work on it, dang it!"

I will, I will... maybe next year.

"Next year?  Yeah, next year, sure.  You never finish anything.  Not even me!"

* * *

Well, this last September, I had planned to pick up where I left off last year.  A follow-on story with Sally and a few other recycled characters in it.  The months before NaNoWriMo you can plan, plot, and project the story theme so that at midnight, November 1st, you can start writing the body of the story.

But by October, I was having trouble getting into the groove of the new tale.  Sally wasn't talking.  And the story wasn't coming together.  I reread my stuff from last year, toyed with a little editing here and there, and created a new MMC  to work with Sally.

But, it wasn't there.  The mood was gone.  I've lost Sally.

So, I switched gears and decided to edit a memoir about my daughter into a story.  A huge task.  And 2007 NaNoWriMo helped me produce 101,000 words of text.  About half of what the eventual first draft will be.

* * *

But...

My wife was out of town during one of the Red Sox play-off games with the Indians in mid October.  After working all day on organizing the memoir, I went down to a local lounge to have dinner, a beer, and watch the game.  In the middle of the first inning, 'Sally' walked in and sat on the stool next to me.

She said her name was Heather.  But, she was blonde (sort of), was in the habit of eating (but healthy), worked for the DMV (in the back office), and was thirty-two (no, she didn't tell me that, I had to calculate it).  She matched my character Sally perfectly, from her choice of clothes, the color and set of her hair, all the way down to her nail polish and perfume.  Facial features too.  Her voice had that hint of the South so much a part of Sally.

"You seem to have a touch of a Southern accent.  Where are you from originally?" I asked.

"I grew up in Mississippi but moved ta Windham with my dad after they divorced."

"When was that?"

"In ninety-two, my last year of high school."

"So, you're an 'outsider' even though you've been here half your life."

"Tell me about it.  Windham is so cliquey it makes the South look liberal."

"Been back to the South any?"

"Oh, yes.  I see my mom almost every summer.  Daddy's job in New England was one of the reasons they split.  She refused to leave the South.  She's still in Natchez."

"Boy, Natchez to Windham, what a difference," I said.  "Still live with your dad?"

"Are y'all kiddin'?  No.  I moved into a dorm when I started St. Anselm's.  Then, had my own place ever since.  Well, with roommates."

"A college graduate?"

"Yeah.  But it took a spell.  Had ta work."

"Doing what?"

"Accountin'."

I nursed my Guinness, until it got warm, just listening to her.  During the first few innings of the game, even though she had told me her name, on more than one occasion I mistakenly called her Sally.  How embarrassing.

She smiled and said, "That's my mama's middle name."  Then inquired, "What makes y'all keep mistakin' me for Sally?  An old lost love or somethin'?"

"Very much... but, it's a special kind of love.  Not the kind you're thinking of."

"Well, what kind might that be?"

"The make-believe kind.  An author's love.  She's a character I invented for a story I did last year... still working on her, in fact."

"You're an author," she said, not asking.

"Trying to be.  I'm not published though.  So, I'm really just a writer."  I had just had business cards printed, I handed her one.

"... Well..."

"Huh?"

"Com'on, tell me about Sally."

"Oh.  She looks a lot like you.  Maybe a few years younger."

Heather frowned.

"No, no, maybe not... ah, lets just say she's twenty-five."

The frown remained, "You're gettin' deeper."

"She's not like you at all.  How's that?"

The frown lifted.  "Go on."

"She's smart, professional, has a bit of money, and can handle men," I said.

The frown came back, "Not like me at all, huh?"

"... Ah... She's a bad girl," checking the frown, "sort of bad," still there, "she's good at being bad though," her smile came back.

"Just when an' where'd this yarn take place?" she asked.

"About forty years ago down in Alabama."

"Y'all trying to tell me I look dated by forty years?"

"... This story is about Sally, not you."

"Okay, not me, or my mama.  She's from Tennessee anyway."

My heart stuttered, oh, no.  I swallow hard, God, Tennessee... Gail?  I started to open my mouth, don't even ask...

I now truly understood Rick's immortal words, and they terrified me:

'Of all the gin joints in
all the towns in all the
world, she walks into mine!'

I want Sally to remain fictitious.  Don't ask!  Don't ask.  Don't ask?

I summarized "Wines of Winter' for Heather.  Sort of like the pitch I prepared when I had dreams of selling it.  After I was done, she said, "Sally doesn't sound like Mama, she wouldn't know no spies or rock musicians."

* * *

Heather's ride arrived and she left in the sixth inning.  I sat for a while nursing a fresh Guinness.  I hadn't noticed before how that lock of hair covers one ear completely but doesn't exactly cover the other.  I wonder if that's intentional?  Either way, both earrings are clearly visible.  The garnet against her blonde is fitting.

On my way to my car I was musing about maybe remaking 'Wines of Winter' with a New England setting.

"Don't y'all even think of it," Sally said.

Sal?

"You think I'm going to let that little tramp change me?"

I smiled.  Welcome back Sally.


Pages:    8
Words:  1300