This image is a composite of all the pages of my first comic book, Beckett’s Last Mixtape, which will be launching soon on Kickstarter.
I spent a lot of money on this. I don’t know if anyone will want it.
But I’ll have a comic book based on one of my favorite characters from Party.
Totally worth it.
It was worth it when I blew thousands of dollars to produce Ray Bradbury’s Fahrenheit 451 stage play for Chyro Arts Venue.
It was worth it driving to the tiny, antique town of Jerome with my wife a few weeks ago. Just for a few hours. (We found a great place for breakfast, and great place for fudge!)
That thing you want to do? Do it. Start today if you haven’t.
Dammit all, this is our only shot! Seize the day and all that. I don’t mean go skydiving or get a second mortgage to afford that European trip (although both of those are legitimate and entirely up to you).
That thing that sets your hair on fire. Do that.
You’ll be happier, and the world around you will be better for it.
What image comes to mind when you read the word “forge?”
It’s probably not someone lounging on white sand beach, sunning and smiling.
Work in a forge is dangerous. It’s hot, heavy, sweaty work. It takes an enormous toll on the body. It takes a long time to learn. They don’t just “let” people into forges to make stuff. You have to be trained.
It’s not easy.
When looking back upon the times I consider most joyful, they came at the expense of hard work.
At age 45, completing a 13.5 hour crucible event conducted by retired Navy SEALs. That took months of mental and physical preparation, and I bawled when it was over (in the car — I’m not cryin’ in front of those guys!). It was one of the most joyful moments of my life.
Writing and staging a one-man show in my backyard for 120 people over two nights, for free. (And the standing ovation my actor got on opening night.) We spent ten weeks rehearsing that show, never mind the time it took to write. A pivotal moment in my life, utterly filled with joy.
Writing a novel (or two, or three), trying to get an agent, selling a book for the first time, bringing it to market, and doing a launch event at my local bookstore. That journey took more than twenty years. And was a complete joy.
There’s no Joy Fairy flying around bestowing joy in your life or mine.
There are happy accidents and twists of fate that can certainly bring a smile to our faces. Sure. There’s joy in “simple things,” like the giraffe I saw at the zoo today who was leaning over its enclosure to eat landscaping trees. We are almost close enough to touch. A simple, joyful moment.
I’m not dismissing those. Not at all.
But if you’re seeking the hard-core stuff . . . those highs of triumph and joy that make you momentarily immortal . . .
That takes work. Laborious, draining, sweaty work.
We forge real joy.
And it’s worth every drop of sweat.
Work for it.
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I love all the kids in my debut novel Party, of course. And there is a little bit of me in each one of them. But I feel the most for Morrigan. My heart breaks for her.
I think it’s because she was based on a character I created who was an imagined child of mine.
Yeah. True story.
This is a mockup of promo material for the film version of Party, now called Butterflies. That’s Morrigan…and if you’ve read the book, you know that’s about how her night ends!
I was dating someone and got to thinking about what our kids might be like. I smiled as I thought about it, and started writing a short little scene. In the scene, our kid — an only child, by the way! — was a teenager. A girl. And she and I were on our back patio having a conversation.
As happens often when I write, I lost track entirely of the story and just surfed the wave of inspiration. I felt invigorated when I was finished, and CTRL+HOME’d back to the top of the doc and started reading.
My jaw slowly dropped.
Our kid was in bad shape. I didn’t even know I was writing it like that. Far from being some tender, bucolic scene of heartfelt emotion, the scene was dark and broody and kind of unpleasant.
Worst — I didn’t come off too well in it.
That was the day I knew the relationship wasn’t going to go the distance. I was right. (Thankfully for both of us.)
Commissioned fan art of Morry
So Morrigan was in many ways the first character to come to life in Party. When I had the idea to throw a bunch of dissimilar kids into a situation and see what happened, I knew the girl in that scene was going to be a part of it.
None of the actual words in that scene ended up in the published novel, but that’s her, no question.
Morrigan just wants to be seen. In particular by her dad. I know that feeling from both sides of it now. I try to remind myself of what happens to kids who get dismissed by their parents, and work harder at not letting that happen in my house.
Morrigan’s a good kid at heart. She really is.
In this homework assignment from an English class, it’s clear the student has very specific ideas about Morrigan….
I’m excited to see where she ends up in my new serialized novel, FADE INTO YOU, in which I pluck the characters from Party and plant them into the world of Zero – early 1990’s Phoenix in stead of early 2000’s Santa Barbara. She won’t be exactly the same — none of the characters will — but she’ll still be Morry, that sassy little brat who desperately seeks a connection to people.
So desperately it gets her into trouble from time to time,
But then, that’s where good stories come from, isn’t it?
If you’d like an e-book copy of PARTY, just head to my author website and I’ll email you one right away!
And if you want to learn more about the exclusive serial FADE INTO YOU, head over to patreon.com/tomleveen.
I found myself thinking about Gilligan’s Island this afternoon (for no sensible reason I can discern), and remembering watching the endless re-runs on television as a kid.
Being little, it honestly never occurred to me that they were somewhere on a sound stage in Hollywood. It was Gilligan’s Island; they’d film it on an island, naturally.
Because when you’re that age, whatever is presented to you just is. Just like I never noticed the Brady siblings had no toilet in their awkwardly-shared bathroom.
As a parent now, particularly of my nine-year-old son, I am re-noticing the things that he does . . . well, notice. We have talked more than once (before scary movies, in particular) that everything on screen is just pretend, and he always seemed to accept that. I don’t think he believes that there’s a real King Kong wandering about.
It’s the job of storytellers like me to make our worlds as real to you as that desert island was to me, no matter how old our readers or viewers. It’s no small task, writing and crafting stories well enough that you can get utterly lost in them, lose track of time, or even–from time to time–gloss over a few hiccups. (How did Ginger and the Howells store all their clothes on that tiny boat?)
With every new story, it’s a new challenge. “Worlds” aren’t just about fantasy or science fiction or horror; Zero’s 1990s-era Phoenix is just as much a world as Tanin’s magical, monster-infested land of Kassia. Each time I set out to tell a new story, I’m hoping to create a place and time that feel authentic to my readers. To forget the reality of that sound stage and just enjoy a new adventure.
There are so many more worlds to create. I think I’ll get started!
