The career of an author is not all angst and loneliness. Some of the time.

I am not a starry eyed author. I expect little from my publishing career. When I published my first novel, Something Missing, in 2009, I was not under the illusion that I would be quitting my day job anytime soon. I saw that book as a small, uncertain, precarious step into a new career that came with no guarantees.

image

With each successive book, my attitude has changed very little. My most recent novel, Memoirs of an Imaginary Friend, has sold well and has been translated into more than 20 languages worldwide, and I still view every book as possibly my last.

image

There are no guarantees. If I don’t write an excellent book every time, this career could end tomorrow. 

This pessimistic attitude means that I am rarely disappointed by my writing career and occasionally surprised and elated about truly unexpected surprises that my writing career brings. This week has been just such a week.

On Monday I made arrangements to Skype with a book club in Saudi Arabia about Memoirs of an Imaginary Friend. Saudi Arabia! The fact that people around the globe are reading my stories never fails to excite me. 

On that same day, one of my former students told me that her college roommate was discussing my most recent novel in her English class.

That same night I drove to New York City to compete in a Moth StorySLAM, and I won. My fifth won in  a row! I wouldn’t be nearly the storyteller that I am today without my writing career. 

On Tuesday I scheduled meetings with two local book clubs to talk about my my books and my writing career.

Yesterday I received updates on the film options on two of my novels. While there are absolutely positively no guarantees when it comes to Hollywood and movie deals, the fact that talented people are working hard to adapt and  develop my material is thrilling.

Last night a college student sent me a book trailer for Memoirs of an Imaginary Friend that he created for class.

This has been an unusual week in terms of happy publishing moments. Most of the time, I am sitting at a table, fighting with words, struggling to find a few more minutes in my busy day to write. It’s hard, it’s lonely, it’s frightening and it’s always uncertain.

That said, weeks like this help a lot.

For almost a day, I almost thought of myself as an honest-to-goodness author. Then they took all the books away.

On Wednesday afternoon, I walked into my local Stop & Shop to pick up a few things. I was feeling grumpy for a number of reasons (some legitimate) and plowing through the aisles like I wanted to hunt down and kill someone.

My local Stop & Shop has a large, wide, well stocked book aisle, placed gloriously in the center of the store.  Ever since 2009, when I published my first novel, I have walked down this aisle every time I entered the store, hoping to one day spot one of my books on the shelves.

As a result of my especially foul mood, I didn’t spend the usual minute or two staring at the books in this aisle. For the first time in a long time, I walked up the magazine side of the aisle, head down, mind on other things, ignoring the books entirely.

But then I stopped short. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted it. My book. Memoirs of an Imaginary Friend, on the shelf, flanked by two books that I had read and loved.

image image

I couldn’t believe it. I stared at it from across the aisle with my mouth hanging open.

Days later, I still can’t believe it.

My books can be found in bookstores throughout the country. I find my novels in independent bookstores and big box stores like Barnes & Noble all the time. Memoirs of an Imaginary Friend has been translated into more than 20 languages and can be found worldwide in more than three dozen countries. Readers send me photos of my books on the shelves in stores as far away as Australia, South Africa and Southeast Asia. They find my books in airports, museums and retailers like Target.

I am very fortunate. If you want a copy of any of my books, they are not too hard to find.

But until Wednesday, I had never seen my book in my local grocery store, and for some reason, this was a big deal to me.

As the author of three novels and a fourth on the way, I have yet to feel like I’ve arrived. Despite the success that I have enjoyed, I continue to feel like an outsider. A rookie. An interloper. I continue to worry that every book will be my last. I fear that readers and publishers will soon discover that I am a fraud. A trickster. Someone who has gotten lucky a few times but lacks the literary chops for a sustained career.

I can’t imagine not feeling like this. Perhaps it’s a good thing.

But seeing my book on the grocery store shelf was something special for me. It’s the place where I see books being sold most often. It’s the place where I stop most frequently to see who is on top. Which books are selling. Which authors are worthy of these prized spots.

To find my book on this shelf was a sliver of validation that I might actually make it as an author someday.

I went back the next day because my bank also happens to be inside the grocery store. After making my deposit, I headed over to the book aisle to enjoy another glimpse of my book in all its glory. Instead, I discovered that the once-glorious book aisle at the center of the store was gone. Just one day after finally finding my book on its shelves, all the books were gone. The shelves were gone. The entire aisle was in rubble.

I turned to an employee and asked, “What happened to all the books?”

“Oh,” she said. “They’re remodeling the whole store. I think they’ll be back in about a month. At the end of aisle 8, I think.”

The end of aisle 8. No longer in the epicenter of the store. No more wide aisle. No more expansive selection.

Just like that, my book and its shelf were gone.

So much for the validation.

Bare-breasted women are perfectly fine but Dicks was offensive?

Though my most recent novel, MEMOIRS OF AN IMAGINARY FRIEND,  is published in England (and doing quite well), I’ve never had the pleasure of visiting the country.

But it has come to my attention (through its publisher's recent defense) that The Sun, a popular British tabloid newspaper, publishes large, color photographs of topless women on Page 3 (so ubiquitous that it is routinely capitalized) every day.

When I say popular, I mean popular. The Sun has the ninth-largest circulation of any newspaper in the world and the largest circulation of any daily newspaper in the United Kingdom.

Other interesting facts about Page 3:

  • After polling its readers, the Sun also instituted a policy of only featuring models with natural breasts.
  • Up until 2003, The Sun could legally publish photographs of 16 and 17-year old girls.
  • The Sun also has an official Page 3 website, Page3.com, which is one of the most trafficked websites in all of the United Kingdom.

After reading all this, I am confounded.

This the same country where I was required to change my last name because my publisher feared that Dicks would be considered too offensive.

Bare-breasted women intermingled with the important news of the day is apparently just fine with British audiences, but a book with the word Dicks on it, even if it’s clearly a last name, would be too much for them to bear.

I don’t pretend to understand the British psyche, but I’m also not sure if it’s even possible to understand.

image

Where do you get your ideas?

I am often asked where I get the inspiration and ideas for my stories, especially considering that I’m fortunate enough to have so many ideas from which to choose.

A few years ago I wrote a post explaining my process. Since I continue to be asked this question almost more than any other, I thought I’d update that post here. I’ve completed two more books and a short story since then, so I have more to share on the subject. 

It’s rally the kind of question that is impossible to answer with a single sentence, because I never know when I might stumble upon an idea that could make a great book. I tend to be the kind of person who asks a lot of “What if?” questions, and through these questions, many of my ideas are born.

But since that is a relatively meaningless answer, I thought I’d give you some specific examples of how some of my stories were born.

SOMETHING MISSING: Over dinner several years ago, a friend bemoaned the loss of one of her earrings. She opened her jewelry box and could only find one of the two earrings that made up the pair.

In an attempt to make her smile, I asked, “What if someone broke into your house and stole your earring but left the other one behind so you wouldn’t suspect theft?” As I gnawed on a dinner roll, I found myself trying to imagine the kind of person who would break into every home in America and steal just one earring from every woman’s jewelry box.

Although I didn’t know it at the time, that was the moment that Martin Railsback and his story were born.

UNEXPECTEDLY, MILO:  For a long time, I wanted to be a film director.  At one point I had the idea for a movie in which three less-than-savory characters steal a video camera from a family on vacation in New York City.  After watching the videotapes in the privacy of their cockroach-infested apartment, the trio realizes that the memories captured on the videotape mean more to the family than they could have ever imagined, and they decide to return the tapes to their owners. They watch the footage in order to glean clues as to the owner’s identity, and in doing so, they become uncommonly attached to the family as a result. This idea served as the basis for UNEXPECTEDLY, MILO.

However, I also dipped into my own life for major pieces of the plot, including:

The separation and divorce from my first wife in 2003.

The two months spent in fourth grade helping a friend plan his escape to an uncle’s house in the Midwest. Chris wanted to run away from home, something he had done before, and though he never made the journey that we planned in the back of the classroom, I often wondered what might’ve happened if Chris had run away from home and had disappeared in the process. How would I have felt knowing that I had a hand in my friend’s disappearance, and how might that have impacted the rest of my life?

This became a major plot point in the story.

CHICKEN SHACK (an unpublished manuscript): There was once a potato chip factory in my hometown of Blackstone, Massachusetts that produced a brand of potato chips called Blackstone Potato Chips. The factory closed years ago, and on a trip back to Blackstone, I noted that the factory was now a funeral home. “Wouldn’t it be great if they still sold potato chips and embalmed dead people at the same time?” I said to my wife as we drove by. A moment later, the idea of a funeral home that also sells fried chicken landed in my mind and CHICKEN SHACK was  born.

Once again, I dipped into my own personal life for other key elements to the story, including:

The disappearance of my brother, Jeremy, who I had not seen for more than five years after my mother died.

A public, and in the words of many attorneys and law enforcement officers, unprecedented attack on my character and reputation by an anonymous source several years ago.

My occasional forays into amusing and ultimately meaningless forms of vigilante justice, mostly as a teenager but occasionally as an adult.

MEMOIRS OF AN IMAGINARY FRIEND:  This book began with a simple conversation with my student-teacher about an imaginary friend that I had as a child. In the span of about four sentences, the idea for Budo and his story was born.

I also managed to take advantage of my experience with autistic children when writing my book, and on an unconscious level, my constant, persistent existential crisis became a key element in the story as well. 

THE PERFECT COMEBACK OF CAROLINE JACOBS: My next book began with a conversation that my wife and I had in bed one night. We were talking about her childhood home, and she told me about something cruel that a friend had said to her during a sleepover.

“Wouldn’t it be great if you could find that girl today and finally tell her off?” I asked.

Just like that, the book was born. 

My next book is the story of a woman who suffered at the hands of a bully in high school, and much later in life, decides to finally do something about it. I used some of the bullying and hazing that I experienced in high school as inspiration, but most of the story was born from that simple question asked to my wife while lying in bed one night.    

BETTY BOOP:  The idea for this manuscript, which I am still tinkering with on the side, was born after reading about a 2009 law outlawing prostitution in the state of Rhode Island.  Prostitution was actually legal in Rhode Island between 1980 and 2009 because there was no specific statute to define the act and outlaw it, although associated activities, such as street solicitation, running a brothel, and pimping, were still illegal. With the passing of the 2009 law banning prostitution, I found myself wondering what a prostitute in Rhode Island might do now that his or her previously legal means of earning a living were suddenly forbidden. I came up with an solution for my theoretical prostitute, and that is the basis for this book.

Farewell to Arms: I recently wrote a short story that is currently under submission to several literary journals. It is an uncharacteristically dark story of an armless soccer team.

It was written on a dare.

Someone at work commented that soccer is so popular around the world because you don't need anything to play. Even a crumbled-up bit of newspaper can serve as a ball.

"You don't even need arms," I said. "That would be a story. Huh? A soccer team with no arms."

"Even you couldn't write that story," my friend said. 

I took up the challenge and wrote the story in three days.

The friends who have read the story like it a lot. I’m waiting to see if the literary magazines agree. 

The bar for demonstrating support of my work has officially been set.

An email sent to me from a reader yesterday included this sentence:

I handed out 15 of your books at a fundraiser last night. And I personally autographed them with my name, which everyone was delighted by.

Fifteen books is great.

Even better was her decision to follow in my shoes by signing other people’s books.

Let this a lesson to you all. The bar for demonstrating support of my work has officially been set.

Resolution update: May 2013

In an effort to hold myself accountable, I post the progress of my yearly goals at the end of each month on this blog. The following are the results through May. 1. Don’t die.

I remain perfect on my most important goal.

2. Lose ten pounds.

I gained a pound. Three pounds down. Seven pounds to go. This is a clear refection of my lack of focus on this goal. Seriously. Ten pounds should be simple.

3. Do at least 100 push-ups and 100 sit-ups five days a day.  Also complete at least two two-minute planks five days per week.

Done.

4. Launch at least one podcast.

The hardware is ready. We designated a location in the house and set up the mixer and the microphones. I am working on understanding the software now. Basically, I understand how to record a podcast and can use the recording software fairly well. I am unsure what to do after I have the recording. How do I get my podcast onto the Internet? Into iTunes? Anywhere else it needs to go? Also, I may need a website to host and promote the podcasts, though this blog may serve this function. Still, a page will need to be created. A logo created. Other details I’m not even aware of yet, I’m sure.

5. Practice the flute for at least an hour a week.

The broken flute remains in the back of my car.

6. Complete my fifth novel before the Ides of March.

Done!

7. Complete my sixth novel.

Work had begun on the sixth novel.

8. Sell one children’s book to a publisher.

Work has begun on all three manuscripts. I’ve decided to revise them all and then choose the one that I think is best to send to my agent.

9. Complete a book proposal for my memoir.

Work on the memoir proposal has begun.

10. Complete at least twelve blog posts on my brother and sister blog.

Seven blog posts published during the month of May. More than halfway to the goal. Two more written by my sister awaiting publication. Kelli finds herself in a position to write consistently for the first time in her life. I’m trying to convince her to write a memoir. The last twenty years of her life have been extraordinarily difficult and would make a great story.

11. Become certified to teach high school English by completing two required classes.

I am now just one class and an inexplicable $50 away from achieving certification. That class will be taken in the summer.

12. Publish at least one Op-Ed in a newspaper.

I’ve have now published three pieces in the Huffington Post and one in Beyond the Margins. I am waiting response on an Op-Ed proposal from a major newspaper as well.

13. Attend at least eight Moth events with the intention of telling a story.

I attended one Moth event in May, bringing my total to seven. For the first time ever, I attended a StorySLAM in Boston at the Oberon Theater. I told a story about the day I lost a bike race to my friend and his new 10-speed bike. I finished in first place. It was my fourth StorySLAM victory.

14. Locate a playhouse to serve as the next venue for The Clowns.

The script, the score and the soundtrack remain in the hands of the necessary people. Talks continue on a new musical as well.

15. Give yoga an honest try.

Though I’m ready to try this whenever possible, the summer might be the most feasible time to attempt this goal.

My daughter, by the day, is taking yoga at her school. She demonstrated several poses to me the other day. This yoga stuff seems strange.

16. Meditate for at least five minutes every day.

I missed three days in May because my son is a pain-in-the-ass and wakes up before 7:00 AM.

17. De-clutter the garage.

Work continues. Nearing completion.

18. De-clutter the basement.

Work has begun. I installed the air conditioners this week, which eliminated three large objects from the basement. I also installed a rolling coat rack for the winter coats and have begun throwing away and donating baby paraphernalia that we will no longer need.

19. De-clutter the shed

Work has begun thanks to the work of a student. I will explain in a subsequent blog post.

20. Reduce the amount of soda I am drinking by 50%.

I failed to record my soda intake in April. I will begin tomorrow.

21. Try at least one new dish per month, even if it contains ingredients that I wouldn’t normally consider palatable.

I tried a new food in May but honestly can’t remember what it was. Also, I liked it.

22. Conduct the ninth No-Longer-Annual A-Mattzing Race in 2013.

No progress.

23. Post my progress in terms of these resolutions on this blog on the first day of every month.

Done.

“Book club date night” is probably not the most romantic way to spend an evening with your wife

Since publishing my first novel in 2009, I’ve visited with more than one hundred book clubs throughout Connecticut and beyond, oftentimes in person and many times via conference call, Skype or a similar platform. I’ve video chatted with books clubs in Canada, Finland, Australia and the UK as well as clubs throughout the United States.

Last week I joined 23 women in my home state who had read my first novel, SOMETHING MISSING.

This particular meeting took place on a late Wednesday afternoon, but when the book club meets on a Friday or Saturday night, I make every effort to bring Elysha along and declare it “book club date night.”

Don’t try this at home.

Essentially, I’m asking my wife to join me at a stranger’s home and spend two hours listening to women (it’s always women) ask me questions about my books and my life while telling me how much they enjoy my work.

It’s rare for someone to tell me that they did not like my book. I try to arrive about 15 minutes late to every book club in order to allow any detractors to have their say before I arrive, but there have been a couple of women over the years who have been less than enthusiastic about my work and not afraid to tell me so.

I always admire these women for their moxie while simultaneously questioning their taste in literature. 

I’m always honored to be invited to attend a book club, and it’s fun to be able to talk to people who have read my novel already. The conversations tend to be deeper and more specific, and the food and drink is always surprisingly elaborate and good. Book clubs have even gone so far as to decorate the space in the theme of the book and design games for us to play related to the story.

It can be a lot of fun.

But still, asking your wife to join you for a stranger’s book club meeting on a Friday night might not be the best way to win points with your spouse. To her credit, Elysha almost always agrees to join me and always seems to have a great time.

Many times she almost becomes a part of the book club, sitting apart from me and chatting with the women like she’s known them all her life. Occasionally questions will be directed at her as the spouse of the writer, and sometimes she will even direct questions at me as well.

At the book club pictured below, the love seat was set aside for the two of us, but Elysha refused, choosing instead to sit amidst the ladies on the soda and chatting them up all night long.

I complained about her unwillingness to sit beside me, but I shouldn’t.

Getting her to agree to join me is always a victory.

077

Another Yes Man

Back in January, Andy Mayo and I debuted our rock opera, The Clowns, at The Playhouse on Park. During our two weeks of workshop with the actors, musicians and director, there were three performances of the show.

At the Saturday evening show, a man named Kevin Eldridge was present in the audience.

Kevin grew up with me in my hometown of Blackstone, Massachusetts. He was a year or two older than me, but we lived on the same street and took the same bus to school everyday. Kevin and I were the only male flute players in the school system at the time.

Despite our geographic proximity, we were not friends. Acquaintances, perhaps, but we did not spend any time together.

Kevin went to a private school for high school and I continued my journey through public school. For more than twenty-five years, I did not see or hear from Kevin. In truth, I didn’t see or hear much from Kevin when we were kids, either.

Then Kevin heard about my writing career and read one of my novels. He began following me on the Internet. He discussed my book on his podcast.

flopcast

In reading my blog and becoming a Facebook friend, Kevin heard about The Clowns and surprised me by driving with his wife from their home in Massachusetts on a Saturday night in January to see the performance.

The clowns

Three hours on the road to see the workshop version of a musical written by a kid who he used to ride the school bus with in elementary school.

Last month Kevin surprised me again by showing up for our first Speak Up storytelling event, this time with his podcast co-host, Cornflake.

Once again, I was both honored and stunned.

speak up

It turns out that Kevin and I are cut from the same cloth.

Kevin does not know me well. He did not know what to expect from either event. He was potentially driving three hours from his home to watch a failed attempt at unproven, experimental  entertainment.

But what were his options?

He could’ve stayed home on Saturday night, as so many others did, watching television or going to bed early.

Or he could’ve taken a chance on something new and far away and potentially entertaining and memorable.

Kevin said yes when so many said no.

I like to think that people like Kevin will find themselves with considerably fewer regrets at the end of their life.

Budo and Graham

A reader posted this drawing on Twitter that I loved. It’s a picture of Budo, the protagonist of MEMOIRS OF AN IMAGINARY FRIEND, and his friend, Graham.

I can’t tell you how thrilling it is to know that my story inspired something like this.

I also think the artist, Alisson Peña, did an amazing job of capturing this moment from the book. It’s almost exactly what I envisioned when I wrote the book. 

Thanks, Alisson!

Budo and Graham

Memoirs of an Imaginary Friend: The paperback release

Today is the paperback release of MEMOIRS OF AN IMAGINARY FRIEND!

Memoirs paperback

Since my first two novels were originally published in trade paperback, this is my first actual paperback release. It’s not quite as exciting as the book’s initial release, but it ain’t bad.

Also some amazing news: Target has chosen MEMOIRS OF AN IMAGINARY FRIEND as their May 2013 Book Club pick. It even appeared in their circular this past Sunday! 

photo 5

Yesterday, my wife and daughter just happened to be spending some time in our local Barnes & Noble when they stumbled upon my book, on the table a little early.

“It’s Daddy’s book!” Clara shouted. I wish I had been there to hear her.

photo 3 photo 4

Booktopia blurs the lines between author and reader.

Booktopia is a series of literary retreats organized by Ann Kingman and Michael Kindness, host of the podcast Books on the Nightstand. For the past three years, my wife and I have been coming to Vermont in April to attend these retreats, and last year, I attended Booktopia Santa Cruz as well.

image

I was a featured author at the very first Booktopia for my novel UNEXPECTEDLY, MILO, and last year I was a featured author again in Santa Cruz for MEMOIRS OF AN IMAGINARY FRIEND.

In addition to Manchester, Vermont, this year’s Booktopias will also take place in Bellingham, Washington and Petokkey, Michigan.

As this most recent Booktopia weekend comes to a close, I am reminded of an email I received a week ago from a reader in California. It was titled “Will we see you in Bellingham?” and it read:

Hi Matthew.  Your friends from Santa Cruz would like to know... Will you attend again?

I was flattered by the thought that someone far away was hoping I would be joining them in Washington later this year, but in truth, I wasn’t sure if this person was asking me this question as an author or simply as a lover of books.

Unlike any other literary event that I have attended, Booktopia mixes authors and readers into one big melting pot, and the distinction between who is writing books and who is reading books is rapidly blurred because we are all reading books. Authors and readers alike. As often as I find myself talking about one of my books with a reader, I am just as likely to be engaged in a conversation about another book that I did not write. As honored as I am to speak at Booktopia, I attend these gatherings first as a reader who wants to hear from an author rather than an author who wants to meet readers.

I suspect this is the case with almost all of the Booktopia authors as well. Within a very short time, you find that you are less of an author at a Booktopia event and more of a reader who happens to write from time to time as well.

The answer to my friends in Santa Cruz is probably no. The dates to the next two Booktopia events don’t line up well for me, and travel to Michigan and Washington can be expensive. But I haven’t ruled out either trip yet, simply because even though I am almost certainly not going, to admit that reality would make me too sad.

An interview with my not-so-fictional character

In case you didn’t know, Mrs. Gosk, the third grade teacher in MEMOIRS OF AN IMAGINARY FRIEND, is a real person. I’ve worked with her for the past fifteen years, and when I started my teaching career, she served as my mentor. When it came time to choose the best teacher possible for Max and Budo, I couldn't help but use Mrs. Gosk.

She is essentially a non-fictional character in a fictional story.

Mrs. Gosk and I recorded an interview that appears at the end of the audiobook, but in case you didn’t listen to the book and wanted to hear a small portion of the interview, it’s available here.

If you want to hear the interview in its entirety, you'll have to buy the audiobook.

Amazon’s new policy on book reviews did not impact me thanks to the quality of my friends and family.

You may have heard that Amazon has a new policy when it comes to online book reviews. From a piece in The New York Times:

Giving raves to family members is no longer acceptable. Neither is writers’ reviewing other writers. But showering five stars on a book you admittedly have not read is fine.

After several well-publicized cases involving writers buying or manipulating their reviews, Amazon is cracking down. Writers say thousands of reviews have been deleted from the shopping site in recent months.

Upon reading this,I immediately clicked over to Amazon to see the damage that this new policy had inflicted upon the reviews of my books.

Then I remembered: 

My friends and family don’t review my books on Amazon. Or anywhere else.

MEMOIRS OF AN IMAGINARY FRIEND currently has 131 reviews (a 4.3 average), and with the exception of my mother-in-law, I don’t think a single review came from a personal friend or family member.

SOMETHING MISSING currently has 81 reviews (a 4.1 average), and I don’t think  any of my friends or family members, including my mother-in-law, reviewed this book.

UNEXPEXTEDLY, MILO currently has a slightly anemic 25 reviews (a 4.2 average), but since there were so few reviews, I took the time to scroll through them all and did not recognize any of the names as being friends or family. 

While it may seem like I’m complaining about the loyalty and support of friends and family (and I sort of am), I also take a lot of pride in the fact that none of the reviews of my books on Amazon, Goodreads or anywhere else have been given by friends or family members, nor have I ever solicited a review from anyone.

It’s great to know that I’m doing just fine on my own, since I am apparently doing this on my own.

There is always a reason for an imaginary friend

Someone invented Manti Te’o’s imaginary girlfriend. Whether he was the victim of an elaborate hoax or the perpetrator of the scheme, the fact remains: Te’o professed to loving a woman who did not exist. He had never held her hand, kissed her on the lips, or assured her that she was the best looking woman in the room. How could he? He had never laid eyes on her. Yet Manti Te’o had called Lennay Kekua “the love of my life.” She was an imaginary girlfriend in an imaginary world.

Only in an imaginary world would Te’o’s grandmother and girlfriend die within five hours of each other at the onset of a possible Heisman Trophy winning season. Only in an imaginary world would a star football player skip his girlfriend’s funeral, defeat an arch rival, and dedicate the game ball to her memory. And only in an imaginary world would the captain of a football team use the death of his grandmother and girlfriend to lead his team to an undefeated season and a shot at the national title.

This is the stuff of fiction, the stuff of invention. But it doesn’t come out of nowhere. There is always a reason for an imaginary friend.

I had an imaginary friend as a child. His name was Johnson Johnson. A friend and confidant, Johnson Johnson spent hours riding on my back, whipping his cowboy hat into the air and firing his pistols at traitorous Indians, the Lone Ranger to my loyal Silver. When my parents fought (which happened a lot), Johnson Johnson hid in the basement with me, keeping me company, keeping me safe.

It wasn’t until I was ten that I discovered that he wasn’t real. My parents occasionally took in foster children and I had made what I considered to be a natural assumption—that Johnson Johnson was just another temporary sibling. My mind had created Johnson Johnson and conveniently bestowed upon him all of the attributes that my younger brothers and sisters were lacking. Johnson Johnson didn’t depend on me. He didn’t insist that I wear a house key around my neck every day or that I make sure my siblings boarded the school bus safely. Johnson Johnson was the one person in my life who gave me what I wanted: the opportunity to be a kid. I wanted to ignore my parents’ battles and my siblings’ needs and just think of myself. Johnson Johnson allowed me to be irresponsible, unkind and selfish, and I loved him for it.

There is always a reason for an imaginary friend.

Twenty years ago, I knew a woman I’ll call Nancy. Nancy was a small in stature, high energy, uncommonly tolerant woman who called everyone she met “Honey.” Nancy was also gay and very much in the closet. In order to avoid the inevitable questions about boyfriends and marriage, Nancy invented an imaginary fiancée who had died in a car accident years before. This imaginary, deceased fiancée silenced nosy aunts and well-meaning acquaintances, and gave her a graceful excuse when it came to occasional offers of set-ups and blind dates. Her tragic loss kept the curious at bay.

There is always a reason.

As an elementary school teacher, I’ve known many children with imaginary friends. Some children possess an overactive imagination that requires an outlet. Others have a difficult time making friends and require close companionship. Imaginary friends fit the bill Always present, always supportive, they are allies and accomplices, that safe person to whom a child can always turn.

Imaginary friends serve many needs and they take many forms: small animals, paper dolls, ghosts, spots on the wall. Real children, too. Some of kids have adult-sized imaginary friends. These imaginary adults typically fill the roles of absent fathers and mothers. They’re often dressed in formal wear and carry umbrellas, handbags and briefcases. They’re called Mr. Bruno and Mrs. May—names that suggest authority and a certain order.

Imaginary friend exist for a reason, and it’s often a good one. But not always.

In September of last year, American voters watched Clint Eastwood invent an imaginary version of President Obama in order to debate him at the Republican Convention. Speaking to a chair, Eastwood created a stir by posing questions that Imaginary Obama could not answer. Like any good imaginary friend, Imaginary Obama served his master well, refusing to refute any of Eastwood’s claims. He just sat there, invisible and agreeable.

Hardly surprising.

After all, imaginary friends serve their imaginers at all times. That’s their job. They fill the gaps in our lives. The spaces of discomfort. In Eastwood’s case, Imaginary Obama served as the mute prop that he required. Lacking the courage to debate the real President Obama. Eastwood chose a straw man over the real one.

An imaginary president.

In the coming days and weeks, the reason behind the creation of Manti Te’o’s imaginary friend will likely be revealed. For Te’o’s sake, and for the sake of an American public that does not need another sports villain, I am hoping that Manti Te’o was naïve and gullible rather than nefarious and calculating. As tragic and mystifying as it may seem to fall in love with an imaginary girlfriend, at least there is innocence behind this idea. An understanding that we all want to believe in something. Perhaps Manti Te’o simply needed this more than most of us. Perhaps he needed something else.

There is always a reason.

Making a defeat look like a win

MEMOIRS OF AN IMAGINARY FRIEND did not win the 2012 Goodreads Choice Award. Being nominated was an honor, of course, and making it to the finals was thrilling, but the book finished ninth behind such bestselling authors as JK Rowling, Junot Diaz and Emily Giffin.

However, it  also beat books by bestselling authors like Barbara Kingsolver, Michael Chabon and Peter Heller.

Overall, this is what is known as a defeat.

However, Little Brown UK has made my defeat look more like a victory with this sticker that they have placed on the British e-book.

If someone could make yesterday’s unsightly New England Patriots loss look equally appealing to me, it would be greatly appreciated.  

image