How Whiskey Road Came About.
In Whiskey, the relationship between a black city girl and a white small town boy takes a dark turn in rural New York post 9/11.
For a long time, I've wanted to write about a girl on a motorcycle who turns up in a small town after getting into some trouble somewhere else. I didn't know what would happen to her once she got there, but I always knew she'd meet a boy. A Tough Boy. A boy about to be in a bit of trouble himself. But she wouldn't be afraid.
The title comes from the name of an actual road I've never been to. Some of my husband's cousins are bikers. One day they were telling us about Whiskey Road, a place they go to ride. I fell in love with the name and decided to use it. (In the novel, Caleb lives on Whiskey Road.) But I didn't call the book Whiskey Road only because I like the name. It also had to do with the kind of people my husband's cousins are. Caleb and Jimi would get along with them, and they'd be completely welcomed by them as a couple. They'd absolutely ride the real Whiskey Road together, drink many shots of Jack and laugh.
(Recently, our 12 year old niece and 14 year old nephew were in New York for a visit. They live in Denmark. They went for a ride on the back of their cousin's motorcycle. When they came back, I heard them speaking excitedly about Whiskey Road. "You were on Whiskey Road?!" I asked and they nodded and told me all about it. I admit, I opted not to take the ride, but promised I'd go next time.)
I think my husband's cousins think it's cool my next book is called Whiskey Road, but I always leave out the "A Love Story" part when we talk about it.
The full idea for the book came after the 2001 terrorist attacks. After the attacks, I was a defiant New Yorker. I traveled into Manhattan every day to meet my friends and walk around the city we were born and raised in, and comment on how strange and foreign it felt. Showing ID to police officers stationed on streets we used to walk down without a second thought. Bus stations and building walls covered with photos and pleas for any information on missing loved ones. Soldiers with machine guns standing on every corner, smiling at us and saying hello as we passed them. It was weird but it made us feel even more strongly about never leaving New York City.
But there was a moment when I became afraid of the possibility of another attack. I think that fear was triggered by the government's color coded alert system. You know how some things just freak you out? And you can't explain it? That happened to me. And that fear became exhausting. I became desperate to leave New York.
I spent a lot of time trying to come up with a city/town I wouldn't mind moving to. Someplace different. I thought: How cool would it be to pack up and move to Montana. Montana. Or Colorado. (If you take a look at my Things To Do List, you'll see one of the things I want to do is "ride a bike through Colorado.") So I started thinking about all the pros and cons of living in places like Montana, Colorado, South Dakota, Wyoming...
One big con is Work. I can write anywhere. But my husband has to work in a big city. When I suggested he become a farmer or rancher, he said "Sure. Where do you suggest we begin, considering we don't know anything about either profession?" Well, it was just a thought.
Another big con is Race. I know there are Black Cowboys. Gordon Parks was a man I admired immensely. Still do. I know black people live in small towns in Middle America. But I couldn't help wondering about things like my hair. Who the hell would do my hair when it was time for my touch up? I doubt there are many black hair stylists in Montana. And white hair stylists don't know anything about black hair. (I knew a black woman who went to a white hair stylist years ago. The hair stylist put a chemical into the woman's hair and a couple hours later the woman walked out of the hair salon bald. I kid you not. Bald is beautiful, but I believe you have to work up to that when it comes to your head. I imagine losing all of your hair in a crowded salon after a bad perm job is...difficult.)
So I decided I wanted to write about a black girl who leaves New York because of this inexplicable fear of another terrorist attack, but realizes black girls can't just pick up and move anywhere in America. And not just because we'll have trouble getting our hair done.
2 Comments:
At 11:16 PM,
Kelly (Lynn) Parra said…
Hi Karen! Welcome to blogger! Thanks for stopping by my blog and for the very helpful advice on my long awaited pub date. =D
I do happen to love the name Whiskey Road too! It seems mysterious and I can see bikers riding down a dark, dusky road. lol.
The story sounds really intriguing. Thanks for sharing!
At 10:21 AM,
Karen said…
Hi Kelly,
Thanks for welcoming me!
It's really tough to spend so much time on a manuscript, finally sell it, then learn you have to wait longer than the usual 9 - 12 months before it's published.
Thanks for your kind words about Whiskey Road. I really should accept the motorcycle ride from my husband's cousin next time we visit. Then I can say I actually experienced Whiskey Road before the book comes out.
If my 12 year old niece and 14 year old nephew can do it, so can I. ;)
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