The Chrysanthemums by John Steinbeck was the third of the trio of books that made such an impression on me that I nearly burst into tears in front of my Brit Lit prof. It’s not my favorite of the three, but I still don’t think I’ll ever plant chrysanthemums in my garden.

Waiting For a Girl Like You available now.

Marc is smart. Very smart. But he’s not the musician he wishes he to be. Much to Marc’s great misfortune, Jason is the musician he wishes he to be. Every damn day he has to wake up to the fact that he’s never going to have the gift that Jason does. Or even the gift that Brian does. He’s clever, but he’s not brilliant. He’s good, but he’s not great, and no amount of hours spent practicing or studying other great musicians is going to change that. On his darkest days, he believes that he’s the weakest link in the band. But he’s accepted what he considers to be his handicap and he’s making the best of it. His talent, whether he likes it or not, is business.

How can you not love a guy like that?

Marc is a tall, struggling ex-smoker. He’s older than the other members of the band by a few years so he’s always been the elder. There’s a lot of Joe Elliott (Def Leppard) in him, but without Mr. Elliott’s terrific case of foot-in-mouth disease. There’s also a smidge of Jonathan Cain (Journey). I tried to mix in a little Paul McCartney (do you need his resume?) which comes out in his defensiveness though. I know, I know, Paul McCartney? Defensive? Trust me. Or don’t and dig into the story behind “Silly Love Songs.” Lennon makes a smart ass, bitter remark in the press and Paul writes a hit song in his own defense.

OMG, Joe Elliott, Jonathan Cain and Paul McCartney all in one. I may faint.

Waiting For a Girl Like You available now.

The root of the dynamic between Jason and Marc had its roots in two guitarists I happened to know. One of them is an extremely gifted player. The other is not so gifted, but extremely determined. I haven’t seen him for many years, but I’m sure of two things. One, he’s probably single and two, he’s still plugging away.

Player One* managed to screw up his life in the most shocking turn of events I’ve ever lived through (and if you watched my highlight reel, you’d be really horrified by that statement.) He was at the top of his (admittedly small) field. The best blues guitarist in our city. Taught <famous guitar player> of the <well-known, current group> to play guitar. Standing gigs that went for years. Many fans who were friends. Lots of guitar students. Married to a beautiful woman. Gorgeous house in the country, yet still close enough to everything, which he had bought from his parents for, most literally, a song. And then. You knew there was going to be an “and then,” didn’t you? And then he cheated on his wife. He didn’t want children and his wife had been willing to forego children for him. His mistress got pregnant. Divorce. He lost the house to his ex in the divorce mostly because his parents were pissed at him. Those friends who were fans and students? Well, when you do something so awful as to cheat on your wife, whom everyone loves, and have a child with your mistress, whom everyone recognized long ago as smarmy, you tend to lose those friends slash fans, who are the bulk of your audience. When you lose your audience, you lose your gigs. Poof.

Player Two was always a good guy. Reliable as the sun. I doubt Player One ever realized there was any rivalry between them, but Player Two did. He was acutely aware of every gig the other one got, every fan, every time someone stupidly opened their mouth in his presence to compare them and he came up short. (He had a little twitch at the corner of his mouth that gave him away.) He practiced constantly and researched. Last I heard, and I haven’t been around for a long time, he had a girlfriend, but it was a very low-key affair. Before that he had been in a serious, monogamous relationship with his craft. He was always good looking, in a tall, serious way. Not as flashy as Player One. No drama for him.

Personally, I can see the appeal of both sides. (Obviously, I wrote books using both character types.) Big drama, big loss. No drama, less risk. Of course, poor Marc ends up with big drama anyway, but that’s because he chooses a chick with baggage. In the end, that means he gets the big love after all. What would you choose?

*Names withheld to protect the innocent and not so innocent.

Waiting For a Girl Like You is available.

Funny story. As my editor and I were gearing up to edit this book the marketing department sent us an email saying that the original title didn’t really fit with the rest of the books in the series. (It didn’t, but writers get myopic that way. That’s why we need marketing departments.) So I sat down with my very large iTunes catalog and started going through titles to see which one fit next best. I sent them five and they picked this one.

I was relating this story to a friend over lunch shortly thereafter and what do you suppose came on overhead play? It was destiny.

Waiting For a Girl Like You  available now. (My book, not the song. You can find the song on your own.)

When I took Major British Writers II in college, it was in a small meeting room and we sat around two six-foot tables shoved together. Oddly, I had three classes in that same room that semester and I was only taking five. Somehow I always ended up being late for that stupid class, which meant, lucky me, I got to sit right next to the professor. This professor was a nice man. No Roger by any stretch of the imagination. But he was very socially awkward. Most of the time that wasn’t an issue. We were discussing literature not attending a tea party.

Until the fateful day when we were discussing The Love Song Of Alfred J. Prufrock, Steinbeck’s The Chrysanthemums and Joyce’s The Dead. Don’t ask me how Steinbeck ended up in the conversation. I was explaining this brilliant insight I’d just had about the shared theme of lost opportunity to the professor who was sitting immediately to my right when, horror of horrors, I choked up. Like tight voiced, blinking fast to keep from crying, choked up. My professor, who was the only one who could see my face and knew what was happening, got this wild-eyed panic. I stammered off into nothing and he carried on with class as if I hadn’t just been moved to tears over literature right in front of him.

I had to sit next to him every single class after that because it was still the only seat available when I got there. I got an A in the class and I have loved Prufrock and The Dead since. Steinbeck, not so much.

Waiting For a Girl Like You available now.

When I was in college one of my requirements was Modern American Writers. Not a big fan of dead white American men, I signed up anticipating twelve weeks of Hemingway, Steinbeck, and maybe Miller if somebody got a little crazy.

Boy, was I wrong. The first day of class I walked in and there was this little man who looked for all the world like a schnauzer. He introduced himself as the Assistant Dean of the English Department, congratulated us for taking his class in the fall because that was Jewish Party Season (his words) meaning a few classes would be canceled, and then he handed out the book list. Potok, Henry Roth, Philip Roth. I was in heaven. Raised in a WASPy household and having attended a Catholic I knew nothing about Judism. Call It Sleep was a watershed experience for me. I grew up reading everything I could get my hands on including (or should I say especially) science fiction and fantasy, but that was by far the most alien story I had read to that point and I loved it!

So when I needed a Dean of English for Alex to encounter, I did my best to honor my Modern American Writers professor right down to his vaguely foreign accent. I hope I succeeded.

Waiting For a Girl Like You available here.