The idea for my story came to me, ironically enough, in a dream. I seemed to revisit it regularly-by the light of the moon and sometimes the glare of the sun. It often occurred to me that I should pen the story, but with no audience, it seemed a pointless, vain act. Through talking with friends, I decided that, given the popularity of Hanson fan fiction, I could give my story an audience by "borrowing" Isaac as my main character.
In its original form, the story is about a family of four children, who return home over the Thanksgiving holiday. They come home to sift through belongings in their parents' house after one of the parents has a stroke. Moving their mother and father to a retirement home means they must collect all the things they've left with their parents. The other siblings make a startling discovery about their youngest brother, Samuel, who is in his last year of college, and the story unfolds from there.
Perhaps, someday, you'll see it out "there" in some form or another. But today, it is here, with "Isaac" replacing my Samuel.
It's funny how, as authors, we place parts of ourselves in every one of our characters-whether they have real-life connections to the world or are completely fictitious beings. There are pieces of me in every one of the people in this tale.
I own too many pairs of shoes, and I hate the fact that hot dogs are always shorter than the buns. (Being a Major League Baseball season ticket holder, I'm a connoisseur when it comes to hot dogs.)
I'll eat ice cream anytime, anywhere-even in winter. In fact, I'm an expert on Dairy Queen restaurants...it's a birthday tradition of mine to drive up to Atoka, OK, buying dozens of "Fudge Nut Bars," a frozen confection not available in my area!
While I don't bike like Sarah does, I run four miles every day (so I can eat hot dogs and Fudge Nut Bars like there is no tomorrow! LOL).
Going into a bookstore with my husband is a sure bet that we will be killing two hours-with me flipping through Guitar World Acoustic magazine and nursing a couple of lattes, while he special orders things like The Egyptian Book of the Dead.
My sister and I never agree on movies; I'm the silly one, while she's the drama queen.
And I'm of the firm opinion that you don't get better pizza than from those little "mom and pop" pizza joints at the mall, where you can still find huge slices and little prices.
Perhaps you've found a little bit of you in here, too. People are really not all that different in the ways that count.
This is a fictitious story. I do not know any member of the Hanson family, or any member of the group's management team. I am in no way affiliated with Mercury Records, or any of its subsidiaries. Because I have borrowed the likeness of the Hansons, I feel I must say that it has never been my intention to make them feel any disrespect or denigration of character. I hope that they would be, should they ever read this, flattered by the portrait painted here. I have nothing but respect and admiration for them and their entire family.
The quotes in the story are from a song entitled, "Could I Be Your Girl?" by Jann Arden. It is from the compact disc, Living Under June. When you listen to the song, it will be immediately apparent that I have taken the lyrics and twisted the context to suit the story. Nevertheless, it's a great CD; you should check it out.
Finally, I'd like to thank my husband, for not laughing too much at me, and for being a great editor. Other than the comment about "my" Isaac being "crazy as an outhouse rat," with regard to the journal, he did a good job offering constructive criticism. Also, I would be completely remiss if I didn't mention all my online friends, especially "Motherbird" (Julie) and "Llama" (Amanda), who spent many late nights (sometime all night) on AOL Instant Messenger, and the students in my composition classes who supported me and gave me honest feedback while I was writing this. Funny, I'm supposedly teaching them about writing, but they had lessons for me, too. I owe them all a debt of gratitude for helping me uncover the voices of each of the characters in the story. The mistakes are mine, but my literary companions share the credit for any victories found here in print.
A parting thought to all would-be authors: if you wish to write well, write often--and build for yourself a community of writers.
S.K. March, 1999
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