says, “I think you’ve got some serious problems.”
But it was all a ruse by Angle, a way to deny the vague sexual tension that had existed between us for months. Without thinking, I lunged for the former Olympic champion, drawing him into my warm embrace, not caring how many WWE Superstars were witnesses to our forbidden…What the hell! Yes, I’m kidding.
I think that lunchroom loquaciousness was actually my first public expression of my ideas. Before that, it had just been a seed in my brain, which over the course of the next year or so seemed to flower and grow, until all that remained was to take all the visions and inspirations that had kept me awake on so many occasions, and put it down in words.
Quite frankly, I was scared. Exaggerating to wrestling stars was one thing. Creating characters, plots, and dialogue was something altogether new. If I’d taken Judith Regan’s offer, I guess I would have been forced to. But without a contract to bind me, I bided my time, never quite finding the courage to enter the bold new world of fiction.
If not for the events of September 11, 2001, I may very well have chosen not to enter that world at all. But after mourning the loss of lives, the loss of humanity, and the loss of our country’s sense of safety for a month, I felt the need to sit down and write. Really, it was an act of escapism. Because for six weeks I retreated from the world (although much of Tietam was written on the road), finding great comfort in my long hours of solitude, telling the upbeat, optimistic tale of redemption that was Tietam Brown.
Unfortunately, I was about the only person who saw it as optimistic or upbeat. The word most used to describe it was dark. Another common adjective was disturbing. I remember checking my messages while I was in England, filming Robot Wars for Spike TV, and hearing Barry Blaustein’s voice. Blaustein was the director of Beyond the Mat, the acclaimed wrestling documentary that wasn’t all that popular with Mr. McMahon. But Barry and I have remained friends—I’m even staying with him when I go out to California next week—and he was one of the first people to read the original Tietam manuscript. Barry is a well-known Hollywood scriptwriter, so I trusted his opinion, and looked forward to his feedback. What I heard was a little surprising.
“Hi, this is Barry. I just finished your book. And it’s really good, but it’s really dark. I’ve been having trouble sleeping. Okay, bye.”
Dark? Was he crazy? Didn’t he see the hope?
But as it turned out, he wasn’t crazy. It was dark. But I’ve come to see the book as a microcosm for my worldview at the time: a pretty bleak place with just a little light shining through.
My literary agent, Luke Janklow, had sent the book out to several publishers, many of whom were enthusiastic, but all of whom had the sense to comment, “The girl’s got to live.” At first I fought it, saying some pretentious artist thing about “sticking to my vision,” but the more I thought about it, the more I came to see the enormous power such a change afforded me. I was bringing someone back from the dead. I was like James Caan in Misery, Dr. Frankenstein in—um, what was the name of that movie?—like Vince McMahon resurrecting Mark Henry’s career.
Besides, I really liked the girl in the story—maybe even had a crush on her. As far as I can tell (and I have asked for some female opinions on this), even as a married man, it does seem to be permissible to have a crush on another woman, as long as the woman is fictitious, and you are the guy creating her. Pretty cool, huh?
One morning, I received a phone call from Luke, who had sent out the revised manuscript (the one where the girl lives) and had gotten a couple of firm, respectable offers. Neither were quite as high as Judith Regan’s original, sight-unseen offer, but they were nonetheless pretty substantial.
“You’re going to think I’m crazy,” Luke
But it was all a ruse by Angle, a way to deny the vague sexual tension that had existed between us for months. Without thinking, I lunged for the former Olympic champion, drawing him into my warm embrace, not caring how many WWE Superstars were witnesses to our forbidden…What the hell! Yes, I’m kidding.
I think that lunchroom loquaciousness was actually my first public expression of my ideas. Before that, it had just been a seed in my brain, which over the course of the next year or so seemed to flower and grow, until all that remained was to take all the visions and inspirations that had kept me awake on so many occasions, and put it down in words.
Quite frankly, I was scared. Exaggerating to wrestling stars was one thing. Creating characters, plots, and dialogue was something altogether new. If I’d taken Judith Regan’s offer, I guess I would have been forced to. But without a contract to bind me, I bided my time, never quite finding the courage to enter the bold new world of fiction.
If not for the events of September 11, 2001, I may very well have chosen not to enter that world at all. But after mourning the loss of lives, the loss of humanity, and the loss of our country’s sense of safety for a month, I felt the need to sit down and write. Really, it was an act of escapism. Because for six weeks I retreated from the world (although much of Tietam was written on the road), finding great comfort in my long hours of solitude, telling the upbeat, optimistic tale of redemption that was Tietam Brown.
Unfortunately, I was about the only person who saw it as optimistic or upbeat. The word most used to describe it was dark. Another common adjective was disturbing. I remember checking my messages while I was in England, filming Robot Wars for Spike TV, and hearing Barry Blaustein’s voice. Blaustein was the director of Beyond the Mat, the acclaimed wrestling documentary that wasn’t all that popular with Mr. McMahon. But Barry and I have remained friends—I’m even staying with him when I go out to California next week—and he was one of the first people to read the original Tietam manuscript. Barry is a well-known Hollywood scriptwriter, so I trusted his opinion, and looked forward to his feedback. What I heard was a little surprising.
“Hi, this is Barry. I just finished your book. And it’s really good, but it’s really dark. I’ve been having trouble sleeping. Okay, bye.”
Dark? Was he crazy? Didn’t he see the hope?
But as it turned out, he wasn’t crazy. It was dark. But I’ve come to see the book as a microcosm for my worldview at the time: a pretty bleak place with just a little light shining through.
My literary agent, Luke Janklow, had sent the book out to several publishers, many of whom were enthusiastic, but all of whom had the sense to comment, “The girl’s got to live.” At first I fought it, saying some pretentious artist thing about “sticking to my vision,” but the more I thought about it, the more I came to see the enormous power such a change afforded me. I was bringing someone back from the dead. I was like James Caan in Misery, Dr. Frankenstein in—um, what was the name of that movie?—like Vince McMahon resurrecting Mark Henry’s career.
Besides, I really liked the girl in the story—maybe even had a crush on her. As far as I can tell (and I have asked for some female opinions on this), even as a married man, it does seem to be permissible to have a crush on another woman, as long as the woman is fictitious, and you are the guy creating her. Pretty cool, huh?
One morning, I received a phone call from Luke, who had sent out the revised manuscript (the one where the girl lives) and had gotten a couple of firm, respectable offers. Neither were quite as high as Judith Regan’s original, sight-unseen offer, but they were nonetheless pretty substantial.
“You’re going to think I’m crazy,” Luke
Similar Books
