The idea for Mermaids in the Basement came in December 1989, when my parents spent the winter in Perdido Key, Florida. While I was visiting, the temperature plummeted and the bay froze. As I listened to the news, a character wandered into my mind, Shelby DeChavannes. She quickly introduced me to her heart surgeon husband, Louie, and their daughter, Renata. I drove down to Al's dime store, bought several notebooks, then came back to the condo and started writing.
Told in chronological order, the DeChavannes family (and friends) took turns narrating. It was a novel-in-stories, which was in vogue during the late 80s and early 90s; however my manuscript was too episodic, and it lacked narrative arc. Not knowing how to repair it, I stuffed the thick pages into an old Cain Sloan shopping bag and shoved it into the attic, thinking I might someday write a book that could use a bear-killing man or a pill popping actress or a young wife and mother who visits the Gulf Coast during a freeze and falls into a frozen bay.
Many years later, when I was working on my fifth book, Mad Girls in Love, I remembered the DeChavannes family and thought it would be fun to introduce them to Bitsy Wentworth, a feisty character in Crazy Ladies and Mad Girls in Love. I pulled the heavy, ink-stained manuscript from its resting place.
When I finished Mad Girls, I started working on the old stories in Mermaids, playing with the chronology. But something was still wrong. Almost two decades had passed since that long ago frozen winter—and novels-in-stories had fallen out of fashion. My editor suggested that I outline the manuscript—and to give it a bit of a plot, for heaven's sake. Because all of the characters were willful and competed with each other, my editor suggested that I decide which lady would 'own' the novel.
It seemed like an impossible task. To distract myself, I decided to make a big pot of gumbo. While standing in line at the grocery, I browsed through the tabloids. Then it hit me--I needed to open and close Mermaids with a faux tabloid story. In fact, I could use tabloids as a metaphor for the book. I could tell it in tabloid style, with titles and short chapters. Sure, I'd have to kill off Shelby, but that's the way it goes sometimes. Her daughter, Renata, was already taking over, telling me that she was a writer, too, and she completely understood the shopping bags.
The moment I finished that book I started another. I wish I could say that it will be published next year, but it ended up in a Gap bag. It might end up revised; Lord knows it needs it. Then again, it might find its way to the city dump. In the last year, I've added several new bags to the attic stash. That's the way it goes—at least, that's how it goes for me. But there's just no telling what will happen tomorrow. Meanwhile I hope you enjoy spending time with a new group of Crazy Ladies.
Told in chronological order, the DeChavannes family (and friends) took turns narrating. It was a novel-in-stories, which was in vogue during the late 80s and early 90s; however my manuscript was too episodic, and it lacked narrative arc. Not knowing how to repair it, I stuffed the thick pages into an old Cain Sloan shopping bag and shoved it into the attic, thinking I might someday write a book that could use a bear-killing man or a pill popping actress or a young wife and mother who visits the Gulf Coast during a freeze and falls into a frozen bay.
Many years later, when I was working on my fifth book, Mad Girls in Love, I remembered the DeChavannes family and thought it would be fun to introduce them to Bitsy Wentworth, a feisty character in Crazy Ladies and Mad Girls in Love. I pulled the heavy, ink-stained manuscript from its resting place.
When I finished Mad Girls, I started working on the old stories in Mermaids, playing with the chronology. But something was still wrong. Almost two decades had passed since that long ago frozen winter—and novels-in-stories had fallen out of fashion. My editor suggested that I outline the manuscript—and to give it a bit of a plot, for heaven's sake. Because all of the characters were willful and competed with each other, my editor suggested that I decide which lady would 'own' the novel.
It seemed like an impossible task. To distract myself, I decided to make a big pot of gumbo. While standing in line at the grocery, I browsed through the tabloids. Then it hit me--I needed to open and close Mermaids with a faux tabloid story. In fact, I could use tabloids as a metaphor for the book. I could tell it in tabloid style, with titles and short chapters. Sure, I'd have to kill off Shelby, but that's the way it goes sometimes. Her daughter, Renata, was already taking over, telling me that she was a writer, too, and she completely understood the shopping bags.
The moment I finished that book I started another. I wish I could say that it will be published next year, but it ended up in a Gap bag. It might end up revised; Lord knows it needs it. Then again, it might find its way to the city dump. In the last year, I've added several new bags to the attic stash. That's the way it goes—at least, that's how it goes for me. But there's just no telling what will happen tomorrow. Meanwhile I hope you enjoy spending time with a new group of Crazy Ladies.
