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2. To readers of Out of the Blue, bless your hearts one and all:
It always interests me to track down the original impulse that propels me into writing a novel. Often I don't know until after the fact. But always there's some pivotal event--maybe something overheard at a cocktail party or something that's happened to a friend of a friend. At this time, I may not be aware of any particular reaction other that a little prick of interest, but somehow that moment creeps into my brain and hangs around there until I'm forced to deal with it.
I had to go back of few years to track down the impetus for tackling Out of the Blue. We were on a family vacation in the Bahamas. Among the guests was a young woman in a wheelchair. She'd traveled all the way from San Francisco, changing planes and staying overnight a couple of times before arriving at the island hotel. I was struck by her matter-of-fact, even humorous description of her misadventures. As the week wore on, I watched her negotiate the narrow boardwalks in her chair--the faster she spun along, the brighter the glow on her face. Her malady, which turned out to be MS, was dismissed with a wave of the hand. I knew nothing about the disease at that point. We enjoyed our occasional conversations and parted company congenially at the end of the week.
A few months later, I had become so crippled by a mysterious orthopedic affliction that I could no longer walk a single block. I would up having a double-hip replacement and spent twelve weeks on a walker, then crutches, re-learning how to walk. What an education! In New York City, it was the Winter of the Eighteen Blizzards. Trying to negotiate three-foot snow banks and icy sidewalks was some challenge. But in the process I learned a whole lot about what it's like to be disabled--how invisible you are, how people clip your cane as they pass much too close, how nostalgic you feel about the activities you can never again enjoy. For me, this was only a temporary state of affairs. I was going to be back on my feet in short order, hiking up mountains and playing tennis. I felt inexpressibly fortunate. And suddenly that valiant girl from the Bahamas started hollering at me from her hangout in my brain and I began writing a new book.
There was resistance from people who thought a story about a woman with MS was sure to be a downer and that nobody would want to read it. But by this time, I had begun to attend symposiums about MS, and the people I met there did not feel sorry for themselves and they engendered admiration, not pity. I felt that if I wrote Anna's story from the inside, in the first person, she could make herself understood in a way that was interesting, funny and maybe even inspiring. I leave it to you to decide if I pulled it off.
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