Several times a year we do these reading and signing events. And people ask you a pile of questions about your books. Most are repeat queries that you’ve heard a dozen times before. So you get pretty good at answering them.
Lately, I was asked a question that I didn’t have a pat answer to. In fact, it really made me think.
“Do you make up all your characters, or do you put some of yourself in them?”
I’d like to say that every character I write comes completely from my imagination. For the most part, they do. I can honestly say that I have never seen a real person who matches the physical description of any of my characters. (Not that I would mind meeting Pete. But I digress…)
Back to the question: are there bits of myself in my protagonists?
PROOF NO. 1 (others will follow in later posts)
“I am SO not a salad girl.”
Some people say this is one of the funniest lines in my screwball mob comedy, THE GODDAUGHTER. It is spoken by Gina Galla, goddaughter to the mob boss in Hamilton, the industrial city in Canada near Buffalo, also known as The Hammer. Gina is a curvy girl. She says this line to her new guy Pete, as a kind of warning. And then she proceeds to tell him she wants a steak, medium rare, with a baked potato and a side of mushrooms.
Apparently, that’s me. So say my kids, spouse, and everyone else in the family.
Eat a meal of salad? Are you kidding me? When there is pasta, fresh panno and cannoli about? (I’ve come to the conclusion that women who remain slim past the age of fifty must actually like salad. Yes, it’s an astonishing fact. For some people, eating raw green weeds is not a punishment. )
Not me. I’m Italian, just like my protagonist. We know our food. Ever been to an Italian wedding? First, you load up with appetizers and wine, or Campari with Orange Juice if you’re lucky. When you are too stuffed to stand up anymore (why did you wear three inch heals? Honestly you do this every time…) you sit down, kerplunk. Bring on the antipasto. Meat, olives, marinated veggies, breadsticks, yum. Melon with prosciutto. Bread with olive oil/balsamic vinegar dip. White wine.
Then comes the pasta al olio. Sublime. Carbs are important fuel, right? And I’m gonna need that fuel to get through the main course, because it’s going to be roast chicken, veal parmesan, osso buco, risotto, polenta, stuffed artichokes (yum), more bread, red wine.
Ever notice that salad is served after the main course in an Italian meal? Good reason for that. We aren’t stupid. Hopefully, you will have no room left for it.
So yes, my protagonist Gina shares an important trait with me. She likes meat, dammit.
So you can be a bunny and eat salad all you like. Bunnies are cute and harmless.
But Gina and I are more like frontier wolves. Try making us live on salad, and see how harmless we will be.
Which is what you might expect from a mob goddaughter from The Hammer.
Do you find bits of yourself sneaking into your fiction? Tell us here, in the comments.