I started novel-writing when chick-lit was “the thing.” It’s not “the thing” anymore, but I miss those quirky characters. Bridget Jones in granny panties. The Finland-loving Rebecca Bloomwood. And, of course, Kristin Billerbeck’s Ashley Stockingdale.
Why? Because I relate to them. I’m not angst-ridden like Bella Swan or strong and silent like Katniss. I’m more of an accidentally-falling-backwards-out-of-my-boyfriend’s-truck-into-the-snow-so-all-he-sees-when-he-opens-his-door-are-my-legs-sticking-straight-up-in-the-air kind of girl. And I refused to be ashamed of it. There’s a great deal to be said of quirky characters. We are:
1.) Memorable. Who stole the show in Pirates of the Caribbean?
2.) Lovable. Who was your favorite character in Back to the Future?
3.) Entertaining. Ever watch The New Girl?
As much as I wish I could write beautiful, deep stories like Francine River’s Redeeming Love or Tamara Alexander’s Rekindled, I can’t keep my characters from sock-skating on hardwood floors or rolling down the windows on each other in the car wash. They split their pants (instead of the pins) when bowling and sneeze violently in the sunshine. And…you know…if my character is beautiful, then naturally I’m sending her to a climate where her curly hair will frizz like she’s a 80s rock star.
Yep. When I sold my first book Love Finds You in Sun Valley, Idaho on the proposal alone, I was pretty excited, but I got even more excited when I read the proposal to remind myself of what I’d planned to write. See, I’d included a chubby, unicycle-riding 12-year-old named after Superman’s dad. Talk about a quirky character.
Jor-El brought heart to my story as well as hilarity. It wouldn’t have been the same without him. Really, he defines what I want my writing to represent. It’s fun but not fluff. Charming yet challenging. Light-hearted and life-altering.
Maybe I grew up watching too many Meg Ryan movies. Or maybe I learned to embrace the nonconformity of a childhood where my little sister was allowed to wear two dresses to school at the same time if she couldn’t decide between them and my dad was guilty of riding a bike through town with an inflatable pool floaty (in the shape of a frog) on his head. Or maybe I was just gifted with the ability to “make the tragic entertaining” as an agent once told me.
Whatever my excuse, I’ve decided that you can take the chick-lit away from this author, but you can’t take this author away from the quirkiness of chick-lit. From Lizzie Bennett to Elle Woods, my favorite characters all learn to be themselves despite the embarrassing situations they encounter—a lesson that is sure to serve me well.
