On Sunday I was awakened in the wee hours by the roar of rain thundering down.  I stepped out onto my porch with it’s metal roof and stood under the clamorous power, breathing in the clouds and wet. And then it took hours to get back to sleep, but that’s another story.

Later, after tracking most of the Packer game on ESPN.com since it wasn’t broadcast here, I drove to a nearby farmer’s market before they closed. And dashed back to my car with my loot just as a hard-to-drive-in deluge began, and hail started blasting my car. Yesterday the skies were undecided. But in what are called  ‘sun breaks’ around here I walked in a park with a friend, and it was just what I needed to clear my head. An hour later the hail returned.

Photo by Tim Heckmann

This is about the height of my excitement lately–I wish I could write to you from a Greek island–heck, I’ll settle for one in the San Juan islands in Washington state–but I’ve been buried under house renovations and editing projects and other matters. And my latest editing project involved extensive research into what would be left of the planet after a nuclear war. Hint: not much.

The story is wildly creative with an ending I didn’t see coming. Oddly–or maybe understandably–I found the research and analysis a welcome respite from worrying about the election. And  the more I learned about nuclear winter, the more I’m goaded to volounteer in these final days before November 5.

But the Green Bay Packers are 6 and 2, I’ve been hanging out with friends, rustling up hearty meals and soups {I’m about to invent a roasted caulifower, potato, and bacon one, with fresh dill or thyme} and  digging back into a devishly difficult book I’m writing, as my fall yard cleanup is progressing, my house is now a lovely shade of sage, and a formerly hideous and worn {to put it mildly} guest bathroom is being refurbished.

Last week I took a few days off after turning in the aforementioned dystopian manuscript and enjoyed that sense of relief that feels like exams are behind you or the school year is over.  Meanwhile, it’s almost November, the leaves are still turning here, spectacular skies have been floating overhead,  and  I’m trying to remain calm as the election approaches and sometimes even succeeding.

So, with distraction in mind, I started reading another Marian Keyes novel, The Mystery of Mercy’s Close. Keyes is an enormously successful author and  has written a series about the five Walsh sisters, and this one is told by the oddest of the sisters, Helen. In fact, Helen Walsh is broken.  I could call her an antihero, but that doesn’t go far enough. She’s antisocial, selfish, opinionated, sometimes cruel. And describes herself “quite narky by nature.” 

And wickedly, darkly hilarious. I laughed out loud at least three times last night reading it and the sounds coming from my throat made me realize I haven’t laughed much lately. A barrage of lies and disinformation, racist, hateful, strident,  and dangerous speech masquerading as electioneering wears me out. And enrages me.

The book finds Helen in reduced circumstances since she’s just moved out of her flat because the Irish downturn in the economy has affected her private investigator business. My ex-flat wasn’t much. It was just a one-bedroom box on the fourth floor of newly built block but it meant a lot to me. It wasn’t just the pleasure of living alone, which for an irritable person is a price beyond rubies. Or the pride of being able to pay a mortgage. Sadly, she can no longer pay her mortgage and many of her possessions–including a beautiful bed that came from a convent and the telly–have also been repossessed by the bank. So she’s moving back in with her parents who are less than thrilled about this turn of events, and struggling with depression. She’s not sleeping or eating much, imagines a flock of vultures at the petrol station,  and has what her doctor labels ‘sucidal ideation.’ It’s not that she’s about to slit her wrists it’s more like hoping for an aneurysm to take her out.

Throughout the first half of the story I’ve consumed so far she’s working hard to banish dark thoughts by taking action. As fictional characters must.

Now I realize this doesn’t sound like a cheerer-upper, but I’ve been curious about this series character and why Keyes added her to the family from the get-go. Obviously she’s a contrast to the more wholesome cast members, but wholesome  doesn’t exactly apply to this family.  Chaotic. Cynical. Interfering. The whole series is snarky, but Helen is the Queen of. Whip smart dialogue is a hallmark of Keyes fiction.  It turns out that the author has also suffered from crippling depression and managed to write this novel during a severe, prolonged bout.

As the youngest and prettiest sister Helen understands she’s not everyone’s cup of tea. It’s Ireland and tea is mentioned in the series, but Helen doesn’t like hot beverages and prefers Diet Coke. So let’s just stop right there. Who the heck doesn’t like hot drinks? I’m a rare noncoffee drinker in these parts, but I start my day with Earl Grey and stock a brimming drawerful of  other varieties. She also has a habit of taking an instant dislike to people because it saves time.

The stakes are high because Helen had finally found her niche as a P.I. after trying school and bailing and getting fired from every job. So now what? Well, naturally the past comes calling in the guise of a former beau. File him under B for Bad ex-boyfriend.  Naturally her family adores him and doesn’t understand why she dumped him. So far neither do I, but it must have been especially horrific. Here’s the night she met him at a party neither had been invited to: It was blindingly obvious we had a lot in common: short attention spans. Basic irritability. Fundamental existential dissatisfaction. 

A brief conversation had established further points of agreement: a dislike of children and animals. A desire to make lots of money without doing the necessary hard work. A fondness for Hula Hoops.

As we were leaving, a woman had stepped into our path, her face lit with delight. “You two are adorable. You two look like twins. Hansel and Gretel, but evil.” 

Twins indeed. Jay and I were together for three fun-filled months, and then I found out what he was really like and that was the end of that. 

Keyes is meting out the backstory like a fly fisherman teasing a line in a mountain stream. These days the bad ex named Jay manages an aging Irish boyband, Laddz who are staging a comeback. Soon. A lot is riding on the gig. And one of the members, Wayne Diffney, has gone missing. But has he done a runner?  I forgot to mention since Helen is skint,  she’s demanding double her usual rate, in cash, up front. But mostly she knows better to get involved with Bad Jay. A voice in my head was saying over and over, Jay Parker is a bad man. 

In my book Bullies, Bastards, & Bitches: How to Write the Bad Guys of Fiction I included a chapter on unlikeable protagonists and another on anti-heroes. Because both types can be tricky to write. They require layers of complexity and a weighty backstory.But when done right it might sound like this as Helen grasps at straws to find the missing Wayne:  “Digby, it’s Helen.” I made myself smile while I spoke, a hard thing to pull of in the best of times, but worth it. When you’re cold-calling a stranger, act as if your already know them, it often fools them into thinking that you’re friends and that they have to help you. A very hard job for the likes of me, but the thing is if I really did have a sunny pesonality, I wouldn’t be a private investigator, I’d be working in PR, wearing high heels and a white smile, making everyone feel special and getting paid appropriately. 

I’m mentioning another Marian Keyes story because she’s good at creating lifelike, complicated characters and messing with their already messy lives. And they’re often desperate. In another book in the series Helen’s sister Rachel ended up in rehab because her drug addiction was so bad she nearly died of an overdose.  Keyes herself ended up rehab for addiction.

Helen is teetering towards a crash and her last depressive episode took two and half years to crawl out of. Fiction typically provides a worst-case-end-of-the-rope scenario. If the protagonist doesn’t succeed all is lost. Or whatever is most dear to them is lost. Something big is on the line, including life itself. Every part of Helen’s life is at stake–including her stabiity, sanity, and possible future happiness. Then add in painful memories. So it’s all personal.

Quirky, not likeable, and anti-hero types often have more to lose then most characters. Because they likely don’t fit in they can carry more emotional baggage. Make more mistakes that they cannot bounce back from. Have burned too many bridges. After these last two paragraphs, I’m running out of cliches, here.

Quirky characters are more vulnerable, might possess fewer resources, have fewer allies. And like Helen, are memorable.

Readers are hungry for story people they’re not apt to meet in real life. Bring them on.

Thanks so much for stopping by.

Keep writing, keep dreaming, have heart

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