Several people have asked, how much research I did to write about these teenagers. None. Or, not more than the osmosis that comes with driving Hollywood Boulevard every day for 18 years. But they are real to me, and have been for a long time. There was a point when I did not know whether I would finish the book. I kept the manuscript at the time in a shoebox, off in a corner of my office to which my back was turned. I would be writing something else, and be struck with the idea that these kids, about four inches tall, had crawled out of the box and were watching at me, wondering what I was going to do with them.
I feel they are doing the same thing today, except now I am standing with them watching.
–Nancy Rommelmann, on today’s publication of her novel, The Bad Mother, which seared my brain and whatever passes for my heart. The imagery of the book is so intense that it splattered my dreams for two nights this week. I was sad to leave the characters behind on the last page.
(Photo: Nancy during one of my trips to LA, at the Farmer’s Market on Fairfax and 3rd, where we ate Singaporean food before waddling back to the Farmer’s Daughter.)