An Impressionist View of Writing:

Life is made up of moments, some Van Gogh’s bright colors, some the muted tones of a Monet. Like Monet’s cathedrals, to see the form of one’s life it is best to look at it from a distance. When writing, however, I go in and select separate specks from different areas.

Some specks:

¨ Working as bin attendant on a grape picker, perching on the edge of a one-ton bin, getting covered in grape juice with yellow jackets swarming about, plucking leaves and other undesirable items out of the mechanically picked grapes as they poured into the bin.

¨ Earning my way through college as a theatre techie—working long days in paint-crusted coveralls and bandana, then transforming into the head usher on opening nights—waist-length hair clean and free, dressed in opera house black and heels.

¨ Having my wealthy neighbor give me private oboe lessons after he suffered my fledgling attempts to play it in my apartment, which perched above his backyard, and listening to the world’s top bagpiper players each year when he had them visit.

¨ Watching my older son help his little brother learn how to ride a bike, camping with the older son’s scout troop, two helicopter rides with the younger on a stretcher, riding a raft down the Colorado with their sister and watching her perform as a violinist and aerial acrobat. Making films with the younger two, having the oldest hanging around to help me years after he disappeared for six months.

And, as you may guess from my novels, most of my day jobs have involved working with at-risk families and teenagers, as a probation officer, child protection investigator, special education teacher, and reading teacher. While I never model a character after one person, many of the experiences they shared come through.

It’s all material.