On writing (about a girl)

When I first started designing the framework for this novel, I had every intention of writing from a man’s point of view (the working title was Nowhere Man), not just for the obvious reason, but because it seemed the conflict between the three focal points—the witness, the government, and the Mafia—would be more congruous.

But as the story took shape and the pages accumulated, the man-as-witness seemed to be bothered less about his circumstances than I’d intended.  Men, stereotypically-speaking, would be less likely to mind some of the inevitable consequences of life on the run: isolation, change, the potential for violence.  And they’d be more likely to try and manipulate the system to their advantage.  The issue crystallized: A woman in witness protection would have far more at stake; the loss of friendships, the instability, and the compression of self-expression would cut far deeper, especially when introduced in childhood.  So, with several chapters completed, I knew I must start anew—this time from the point of view of a woman.  Further, I knew it had to be written in first person, to emphasize her urgency and longing.  With that, Melody Grace McCartney was born.

Easier said than done.

The immediate challenge was understanding the underlying thoughts, motivations, and needs of a woman, then how they would be diminished (or enhanced) by an identity-stripped lifetime in witness protection.  I was blessed by being armed with one crucial tool: a very close, nineteen-year relationship with my wife.  Having met when we were twenty-one, we’ve experienced the gross of life-altering events, grew through them, and grew to understand each other better with each iteration.  I could, to some degree, run each of Melody’s scenarios through the aggregate of my experiences with my wife, and anticipate how she might respond.  Though distinctly disparate in personality, those thoughts and words and emotions helped define and form Melody.

The next level—what I would define as the romantic element—was predictably daunting.  Told in first person, the story demanded the details of her intimate experiences.  A great deal of time was spent on her actions and desires, like what she would crave in a kiss or the way her hand might traverse the shape of a man’s body.  Those were brow-pinching moments.

In the end, the challenge equated to the enjoyment of producing the novel.  The exercise of writing THE GIRL SHE USED TO BE not only helped me to grow as a writer, but as a man, husband, and father, and ultimately became a catalyst to my better understanding—and genuinely appreciating—the differences between men and women.