Fat Chance

Well?  What do you think?

This is the cover of my second book, which at first I thought might become a thriller.  It's not really.  It's best described as fiction, in spite of the snippets of truth woven between the pages.  (Those are the parts that landed me in the dog house with friends and neighbors.)  The book has a few unexpected plot twists, multiple murders, cheap sex and a lot of booze.

There are a number of people who aren't speaking to me because they are unhappy with the way their character was portrayed.  Um...perhaps they've forgotten that it's fiction!  There are three or four real-life scenes scattered throughout the book, but I embellished the hell out of them.  Only those who were actually in those scenes would recognize them as slightly familiar.  To the rest of the world, those scenes are just part of a fictional novel; they don't stand out as being more of less realistic than the rest of the book.

I've tried to explain that "Fat Chance" is make-believe.  It's not real.  It didn't happen.  I've failed miserably because some are convinced I've done them wrong by painting them in a less-than-perfect light.  It's funny because those people didn't mind when I showed my true colors (and they aren't pretty) in my first book.  It didn't bother them when I aired my dirty laundry, bared my many flaws and let the world see me for the imperfect human that I am.  But when a fictional character uttered a phrase they often use or was described as wearing an outfit similar to one in their closet, they became deeply offended.

A good friend summed it up best when she asked, "I wonder if Carrie is speaking to Steven King after the way he portrayed her in his fiction novel?"  Well said, Kate.  Well said indeed.

"Fat Chance" takes place in the Florida Keys and is laced with my kind of humor.  I suppose that explains why so many people were offended by it.  The book wrote itself.  The main character, Daphne Schneider wouldn't leave me alone until her story was written.  She was a persistent little gnat who kept me awake at night, insisting that I get out of bed to write down whatever it was she had to say.  After the last page was written, I never heard from Daph again.

I've wondered if the fact that I heard a fictional character talking in my head makes me crazy.  I've decided I really don't care.  There's nothing I can do about it except write another book.

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