With the incredible success of my new novel, The Man Who Loved Too Much - Book 1: Archipelago, released only two weeks ago but already peaking at #11,496 on Amazon's Fiction/Coming of Age/Fantasy/Zombies /High School Cheerleader/Romance best-seller list, people often ask me:
"John, how do you come up with your characters?"
First, I drive my Mercedes to a local ramen restaurant, where not only do they
have great meals, but I can get my kitchen knives sharpened.
I walk in and sit down. I say something in Japanese. They just roll their eyes.
An eighty-five-year-old lady is across from me, slumped over at her table.
She might be breathing but I don't see how, with her face immersed in
the bowl of noodles.
I picture her as a twenty-year-old university student, dressed in either sexy
lingerie from Fredericks of Hollywood, or a Lycra fetish costume
purchased from an online store in the West Village. There's a tennis
ball strapped in her mouth.
Now . . . what is she feeling?
Suddenly, an off-duty Japanese police officer drives through the front of the
restaurant on a Harley Davidson. There is broken glass and disposable
chopsticks everywhere!
Inspiration!
And the plot thickens.
I thought the police officer had tattoos on his arms but they are just temporary removable sheer hosiery tattoos he picked up in Thailand, while on his police precinct's annual sex tourism holiday.
He orders the lunch special, Salty Miso Beef Ramen with Deep-Fried Pork Dumplings
on the side. Of course, all the rice you can eat is included . . . and it's free!
Now I hear the sound of a helicopter hovering overhead. Understandably, my first
instinct is that it must be Navy Seals either conducting exercises or
mounting a raid. There are so many suspicious people everywhere you look
these days. Especially here in Japan!
But no, it's a medical rescue team. Four paramedics tethered to long nylon ropes
drop down onto the street out front. They rush into the restaurant. The
first medic through the door grabs the old lady's hair. He violently
yanks her head out of the bowl of ramen, then gagging, gives her
mouth-to-mouth. But it's too late. Her wind pipe is clogged with
congealed noodles. She is dead.
While they drag her body out of the restaurant to hoist it into the helicopter,
some young boys, probably elementary school age, are passing. Several of
them are taunting a pathetic little guy, who unfortunately is
cross-eyed and suffers acute lymphedema. His legs look like pontoons,
very unusual for someone his age. The other boys are mocking him by
chanting: "Dalai Lama! Dalai Lama!"
Hmm. I don't get this. Dalai Lama? But I can use it! Sometimes you need
something a little off the wall to keep a reader's attention.
All this time I've been slurping away. The food here is truly amazing! My bowl
is just about empty, when a huge stabbing pain shoots through my gut. I
feel like someone has stuck a samurai sword in my belly button, twisting
it like they're wrapping pasta around a fork.
Food poisoning!
I don't know why I keep coming here. Every time I eat here __ I mean every time!
__ it's the same thing. I get food poisoning and spend the next six
hours . . . well, you know.
My only excuse for this habitual self-sabotage is that this place has been so good for
my writing. This is where it all starts. The huge cast of misfits and
miscreants that populate my stories are all denizens of the social
tapestry of this little hole-in-the-wall soup shop.
I'll tell you something else. No way am I giving away my secret.
You can try Googling "ramen shops Japan" if you like.
Ha! Good luck finding it.
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The Man Who Loved Too Much - Book 1: Archipelago
Apple (iBook) . . . bit.ly/1ycltFD
Amazon (Kindle) . . . amzn.to/1tyIRiw
Barnes & Noble . . . bit.ly/ZDnQVO
Smashwords . . . bit.ly/1w62HOX
Direct from printer . . . bit.ly/1r6qWYQ
[ This originated at the author's personal web site . . . http://jdrachel.com ]
