Sadly, lots of us authors are, however talented in some ways, not good at the Darin Strauss constructions. Some of us are introverted or shy enough that even interaction through electronic media is a little iffy. Don’t wish to evoke the author as recluse in the attic image, but there is a smidge of truth to it. Maybe it’s also partly a generational thing. I’m old enough that all this electronic media makes me feel like there is a swarm of bees buzzing my head. My phone will take pictures, which is miraculous, but I don’t need my phone to take pictures. I never remember it will do it if an occasion for pictures arises. And the main factor for me is that I imagine the millions of people out there engaging in electronic media and feel overwhelmed and inadequate. So I guess this is a post about why I don’t post more. It’s because I’m introverted, old enough to remember Ma Bell and party lines with nostalgia, and also because I’m so very humble, and of course proud of that.

Kind of pitiful. Especially when you consider that this impulse occurs immediately after the first draft of that scene. I know very well that in a few hours or days I’ll look it over again and smack myself in the forehead. This thing needs revisions, big time. So I’ll fix it and wish again I could show it to an adoring someone who’ll pat me on the back and say Good Job.

Some people hire secretaries and assistants to help them with research and what not. Maybe I should hire someone to sit in the next room until I’m ready for praise and cookies. She, or he, would then come in and read my pages and murmur or chuckle and then pronounce me a very clever girl indeed. What’s the going rate for a grandmother these days?

2. Thank heavens I’m not so smart that I can’t find anybody else to talk to. Whew.

3. Thank heavens I’m not one of those rich people who pay less income tax than their secretaries. Couldn’t bear the guilt.

4. I don’t live in a flood zone.

5. I’m cured of my caffeine addiction.

6. I don’t have to wear high heels.

7. If my washing machine conked out, I could afford to go buy a new one today.

8. No one in my family is in jail or in the hospital.

9. Next summer I’m going to see the Grand Canyon.

10. My standards are set low enough that writing lists gives me a sense of accomplishment.

Myron’s best friend Win is, hmm. Many things. Filthy rich, enormously gifted physically and mentally. Perhaps, however, stunted emotionally. Hard to say. His own buddy Myron describes him as a sociopath, yetWin has a real affection for Myron, would protect him with his life, all that. Win also has a vicious streak and enjoys the violent encounters when he can decimate a bad guy, but they are always bad guys whom he decimates. And unlike Dexter, bless his heart, he doesn’t seem to go looking for the bad guys. He’s just ready and willing to erase them when he gets the chance.

One aspect that interests me about Win is this idea that he’s a sociopath. The profile of sociopaths/psychopaths indicates these people are so entirely self-centered, malignantly narcissistic, that loyalty and adherence to a code of ethics is not possible. But in many stories the authors present a complicated character like Win or Dexter Morgan. They are entirely believable killers with, somewhere in there, a sort of goodness.

Which leads to one of my life-long fascinations: how do people manage to split their lives, their psyches, so that you have, maybe, a Nazi prison camp guard who is brutal to the prisoners but goes home at night to a cozy family life? Or a Tony Soprano who ices his competitors but seems to love his wife and children? The text books I’ve read indicate the sunny, loving side of those personalities is a façade. That’s not what I see in Dexter or Win, however. And who could not believe Dexter Morgan’s angel side is real? And Win’s sense of justice and commitment to his friend? Ah, the mysteries of the human mind – and of great fictional characters.