I’d say he was honored to be immortalized in a romance novel. I might even go so far as saying he was proud I loved him so damned much, I created this character to prove it to the world. And knowing him, I don’t think it’d be a stretch that he was moved I would so frankly share his life and his relationship as a gay man. And last, I would hope he understood how privileged I felt he was a part of my life.
The last time I saw Rick, he was lying in bed, having to go there because he’d exhausted himself from sitting in his living room, regaling me with stories and memories and making me laugh until my stomach hurt. Jimmy had put him to bed, came out and told me Rick wanted to see me one last time before we went.
I approached his bed in his darkened room and he showed me a charm bracelet on his wrist. “This is you and me,” he said, pointing to two charms on the bracelet, a high-heeled pump and a crown. “I have you with me all the time.”
He was sending me a message.
I refused to hear.
I left their home, talking to my sister in my car and sharing how good Rick looked and how hopeful I was he’d beat the cancer he’d been battling for years.
Her response was soft, hesitant, but she gave it anyway.
“Kris, you need to prepare.”
I refused to hear.
I was in denial. Rick couldn’t have hit one hundred pounds. He couldn’t even get himself to bed.
Just weeks later, Rick was gone.
I was not prepared.
I was not because there is no way to prepare. None at all.
But, actually, I had prepared. Yes, I had.
I made Tod and I made Stevie and both could live on for as long as anyone read the Rock Chicks. They would never get cancer. They would never be forced to consider the last words they knew they’d ever say to me. They would never be put in the position to say them, and worse, know that they were.
They would be happy. And healthy. And in love.
Forever.
One of the questions I often get about my writing is, “Do you do you?” or “What character is most like you?”
I write not only what I know, but what I feel.
Yes, I am in Jet. I’m in Roxie. Definitely Indy. I’m in Lauren and Nina. I’m in Tyra. And Gwen. And Julia. Also Izzy. And Greta. Not to mention Delilah, Cora, Josephine. I could go on.
My friend Jená is in Jules. My bestie Kelly is in Ally. Danae is in Annette. There are traces of my Aunt Grace in Shirleen. There is real life inspiration behind Kia. And Lily. Maddie. My darling Lucy is, well…Lucy (except American, and this Lucy is from my book Mathilda, SuperWitch). My grandmother is so very Lydia. Tex is real, and he was a Vietnam vet who sat on his porch across the street from my row house in the Highlands of Denver with a shotgun across his lap in order to keep the street safe. Mr. Kumar is real and owned the tiny corner store at the end of those row houses. He had trouble with his ears and a fear of western medicine. I worked at a neurological institute and he honored me with the privilege of holding his hand and explaining what was going on before our neurootologists did their tests.
The first is writing what I know. The Indys, Jets, Roxies, Laurens, Ninas, Tyras, etc. Times in my life I explore. Decisions I’ve made I can reexamine fictionally. Larks I’ve been on I can relive and get a kick out of them. Outfits I’ve worn (or wish I could wear). Homes I’ve lived in and decorated (or wish I lived in and enjoy the make believe of decorating).
The second is writing what I feel. My love and admiration for my friend Jená, an LCSW who died of complications of Hepatitis C. Working out my frustration at being so far away in England while my dear friend Lucy was dying of colon cancer in Denver. Giving power to and demonstrating the love and integrity I felt from my Aunt Grace, who was an African American teacher in the Indianapolis Public School system in the 60s and 70s, my grandmother’s best friend, and one of the kindest, most generous souls who ever touched mine (though she was soft-spoken, very soft-spoken, and Shirleen isn’t exactly soft-spoken, but I hope she’d love Shirleen just as much as I do).
So the answer is yes. Definitely. In my books, I do me. I share the abundance of my life freely with my readers. Sometimes secretly, sometimes explicitly. I give you the good. I give you the bad. And I give you the amazing. I ground myself in my world and experiences and share that with my readers through my words.
Mostly, I honor those who have touched my life by sharing how fortunate I am that they have.
So the answer again is…yes.
I most assuredly do me.
Mercifully.