I wasn’t prepared as a newer author for my fictional creations to feel real. This power nearly overwhelms me. Although these few years later I recognize my character Annie in Beyond the Ripples as a bit autobiographical, I saw someone on the bus one morning who I was certain was Amelia. I had to remind myself that Amelia came from my words, emotions and invention.

Earlier this week I hesitated next to a blooming wild rose while walking in a favorite neighborhood park. I closed my eyes as I took in its subtle fragrance. I recognized my thought bubble as nearly the same as the old woman’s comment in Humanity’s Grace; I nearly expected to see her perched on a nearby bench. The dialogue felt so real to me, as if I had heard it once, not imagined it.

I’m intrigued by people and am a people watcher. Maybe that’s why I enjoy creating character. I have surprised many in my life by remembering others’ faces far more often than they remember me, often it being in the grocery store, on walks or on the bus. However, if you’d asked me even ten years ago I’m doubtful I would have predicted I would attempt to write fiction. I’m grateful that I jumped in to the world of writing first with memoir in My Music Man; it was an easy leap to write about people I know and love. Bit by bit, that helped me evolve to writing characters from the beyond.

I know the fictional characters I’ve created almost as well as I know myself. Occasionally readers will ask me if my these characters are based on people I know. Of course, as most writers would respond. As mentioned, Annie as a young girl reminds me of me as a pre-teen. Ernest, her dad and especially at his life’s end in Humanity’s Grace might be what could have happened to my dad if he hadn’t found recovery earlier in life. And Gloria in Ripples is most unlike our mom as a parent; but some of Gloria’s dialogue was said first by my mom in early dementia.

And now I’m back to writing memoir again. Easier in some ways, more emotional in others. My final draft of From First Breath to Last: A Story About Love, Womanhood and Aging is nearly complete. As I drafted my first two books, I found some of my most prolific writing time often while traveling for work. I didn’t travel a lot, but leaned into those mostly two or three day conferences or meetings. My three trips to Thailand gave me hours of unconnected time to create. Other shorter excursions meant that quiet evenings in hotels gave me the private space to be alone in my world. And my close colleagues learned that, mostly, after work was done for the day, I would be alone with my computer creating stories.

Back in those days, I too embraced not only writing in hotel rooms, but coffee shops and bars. One of my favorite chapters of Beyond the Ripples was written in the bar of the Deschutes Riverhouse, a common out-of-town Bend conference location for me for more than a decade. Recently, as I near the completion of my final draft, I have felt an urge to again get out and visit nearby coffee shops and local pubs for my nearly final write. I didn’t consider that back with Humanity’s Grace, written deep in the pandemic. One late afternoon this week after work I stashed my iPad in my backpack and set out for a long walk along my favorite river. As I wound my way home I stopped at our local pub, had a beer and reread my final chapter. I am finding it sentimental and beautiful, if I must say so myself! I didn’t care that others in the pub may have spotted my tears.

In this chapter, “Seeking Calm Waters: Letting Go” is this sentence:

I begin to lose myself in thoughts until I spot a stationary heron on the shore only feet away. I cease paddling to watch; the current turns my boat back downriver. I float, my eyes fixed on the bird until it  gathers its wings and flies above the trees. 

This is something I have seen frequently when paddling and yet, did I too create my own reality? Early the next morning as I set out for a solo paddle in my kayak to the Willamette River’s Narrows, a heron flew closer to my boat than ever before. And then, it gathered its wings.

Oh my, though. It is easier to change the attitude or behavior of a fictional character than it is to change oneself. And by now I have learned I can’t change somebody else in real life, even if that heron shocked me into thinking I had! Perhaps that’s part of the beauty and the reward of writing. It allows us to see that change can be made, and reminds us that it is always possible. No matter how difficult it feels. Oh, to the power of creativity, wonder and hope.

Seeking Calm Waters: Letting Go.