Comfort Zone

Recently, there was a very good blog on MP’s site about his comfort zone, and what happened when he stepped out of it (kind of like Superman whipping off his glasses and suit and donning his Superman outfit - which reminds me - since there are so few phone booths, does he have to use the men’s room?) . MP has always written crack female characters, and has quite a following for two of his characters, Tess and Abby. But he decided he wanted to deepen character, and found himself hating where he was: at a coffee place with two women jabbering about their boyfriends while sipping cappucinos and eating something with watercress in it. Probably, they had their lowfat dressing on the side.

Being the pro he is, MP knew immediately that his little experiment didn’t work, and he consigned the chatty Ferragamo-shoe-wearing fashionistas to the circular file where they belonged.

Now I’m contemplating being a little out of my comfort zone. For the first time, I’m thinking of writing a book that has no Arizona ties. Because I see myself as an Arizonan first and an American second, this is going to be pretty tough for me.

I’m not going nuts, however. I’m not setting a book in New York. I can’t even conceive of setting a book in New York. Although I’d love to write about Saratoga in the summer, I just don’t have the depth of experience to do it. Sure, I could send an Arizonan to New York. But think like a New Yorker? Nuh-uh. I saw enough “Seinfeld” episodes to realize I’d be hopelessly out of my depth.

I do understand small towns and rural places. And I love that stuff. I figure the more I can do with that stuff, the better. It’s in my comfort zone. A book can still resonate, still be big and have big issues, even if it is a manhunt on the Gulf Coast and dead people at a Cash N Run. Look at Mystic River. Look at James Lee Burke’s New Iberia.

But I have to have been there. I’ve been on the Gulf Coast of Florida and talked to people and gotten some ideas about feelings there, like the friendliness quotient, which is generally, say, higher than it would be in Laguna Beach. (Sorry, Laguna, but you know it’s true.)

When embarking on a new experience and a new challenge, I think it’s wise for writers not to take themselves completely out of their game. (Racehorse Rule number 3: don’t try to change a horse’s running style in the middle of a race.)

From what I can see in the writing biz, what you want is this: the same, only incrementally different. The same, only bigger. Or even just: the same, but suddenly a light goes on and the people publishing see it differently. As Red Pollard said in the movie “Seabiscuit”: “Brick by brick, my son.”