Houses
I started making little houses because I liked the shape.
Then I started knocking on the doors.
Now I know every house holds a story.
Some just haven't introduced themselves yet.
#17
Many people don’t know there is a small village in the mountains where characters live.
Think of it like Hollywood, but so very different.
On any street in Hollywood you might run into a famous actor or actress but you are just as likely to meet someone that has only ever done a TV ad and has their sights set on the big screen. A person with a portfolio of pictures, a cult following on OnlyFans but with dreams of a soap opera. Two friends living together in a third floor walk up that was once a Motel 6 who moved to California from the frozen upper midwest hoping to break out big in a sitcom that lasts the ages.
It is like that in this mountain town, but these characters are searching for their place in the next great novel. Some will only ever be illustrated on page 4 of a kids book that is only available as an Audible free book. They mark making it differently, were they in a story, will their kind continue. Main character energy but just as happy to preserve the craft.
Many people don’t know that authors count on this village to round out their flat stories. When they sit to interview a character, authors often don’t know what direction they are headed, but if you have lived in this village long enough you know you can turn the story your direction with a toss of your hair or a long deep look into their eyes. The authors are beguiled by the characters with the saucer sized eyes, or the well packed pants. These are easy pickings but the true characters hope to charm the authors with the deepness of their souls, the hidden agendas of their hearts. A story yet to fully unfold.
She has lived there since she was seventeen never wanting to know the picture book authors and too scared of vampires to set her gaze on the teen market, but once she was old enough to be featured in adult literature, she packed up her bags and moved to the hills. She shares the house with four other characters of varying ages, only one who has made it big and that was in a fantasy novel so the background played more of a role than her cheeky dialogue.
They each have their own place in the house. One room on the main floor and two each on the next floors with an attic apartment accessible from the outside. It sits empty right now because attic energy is for real and this group is trying to stay mainstream.
Most people don’t know that the space you occupy can bleed into your persona but the characters know so they plant flowers and ride their bikes, they open the windows and practice batting their eyes.
She only ever shaves her legs on the days she washes her hair knowing those days she’ll also put on make up and venture out hoping to be discovered by an author with a portfolio that has already been adapted.
She loves this time of year when the Tour de France is moving through the countryside and the heat of the day spills over until night. She dated a cyclist once and realized too late that meant she had to cycle too which means something different than the story her bike tells with its basket and cozy seat.
She emerges today for a leisurely walk to see who else has come to visit. She puts a change of clothes in the basket just in case the winter authors are in town to cast for the darker stories, but in her sundress and sandals she hopes for something lighter.
#11
"Ladies!" Annette shouted.
Nobody moved.
"Ladies!"
Barba sighed.
"Ladies, if we miss the eleven-eleven bell, the picture book authors will already be at the square."
“Sally, Sylvie, Page, Meadow, Lark, please stop in the mirror. It is time. To. Go.”
A deep sigh from Annette recognizing that half of them missed their lipstick.
She catches up with them all at the bottom of the stairs, “Here we are, now. One at a time.”
It wasn’t always this way, Annette and her husband used to house a different type of character. For a while it was an entire French family in a great variety of colors, but nowadays the pink girls love to come together to make videos at night and then it just became easier to stay.
At exactly 11:11 each day, the door opens and the lovely ladies from the pink house emerge. They are so niche they are not to be bothered for anything other than a pink cover.
Fancy Nancy lived here, and Pinkalicous. Nowadays, it is a lot of look-alikes and wanna-bes. Meadow for the love, how not pink is that, Annette thinks.
As Annette watched the girls glide down the street, all hope and happiness, she remembered Barba at that age. Barbabelle as she was called then was just a little twist of love emerging on the scene. With her brothers and sisters, the family became impossible to ignore.
However, over time, the idea of shapeshifting characters was deemed a monopoly by the mayors of the village.
So, each of the siblings picked a lane and Barba gave up her French for English and purple for pink. She put away her attitude and her very French ways of being and opened the home to those that love the color pink.
Annette was often shocked at the number of girls who would visit trying to break onto the scene. One summer she had characters for young adult romance on one floor and sports on another, she was surprised when she read, Heated Rivalry, and her characters from that summer were featured together!
That’s how it is with pink. You think you can judge a book by its cover but really pink spans the horizon. This season it is mostly young characters vying for positions with new picture book self publishers.
And you know how they are, so very predictable and cookie cutter. The characters are here for it because you just never know anymore what is going to take off.
The Brown House
In the village where the characters live, it is easy to believe you are just one type of character. Strong, urgent, caring, kind, funny, serious. But authors nowadays are often looking for complexity in their main guy that doesn’t come baked in.
At the simple brown house along the avenue you can go to learn more about all the things that an author may require. Can you climb a mountain and make it back down alive? Can you change a tire or jump a battery? Can you read a map and ask for help? What about cook on something other than a barbecue?
Over time our characters have been asked to do so many things, like survive a car accident, walk miles for help and then show up with flowers and a bottle of wine. They are asked to ignore the advances by nasty sisters and stay devoted to the girl that is conquering the world, being both the safe place to land and the maker of dreams. It can feel a bit unfair. It can feel like more than you can take on. But here the characters want to achieve, they hope to land the roles where they use their full IQ, EQ and BQ.
Body intelligence.
So, they make their way to the small brown house and read the postings for the weekly classes, they sign up for 1:1 coaching and often will even engage with their own version of book club. The man behind the door has seen so much, done so much. He is a legend among legends. He lives here now year round but once he starred in his own stories. His books out of print for now. He holds out hope for a reprint or even a new version where he can play wild old sage. He feels as though he’d be a shoe in for many roles.
But for now, he rides his bike, tinkers in the wood shop, visits our friends at the library and the wine shop. More often than not though you will find him cooking, reading about cooking, trying out new recipes and then sharing his meals with friends. Cookbooks are easy to come by, there are just so damn many, before he took the job in the brown house he thought about comparing all the different recipes for say Penne with Chicken but the differences were so minute he just couldn’t be bothered. Much more fun to inventory the climbing gear.
You may wonder about the female characters, do they come to him for training, too? And they used to come more but for the longest time the brown house felt like a direct line to romance and the girls, ladies, women, are looking for just a little bit more.
The Heart House
There are two houses that stand side by side, one is white, one is black. There is a giant heart nestled on top keeping the two together. You can actually sleep in the heart room.
When I was a kid in San Diego my best friend lived in a condo on the hill behind my house, her mom started dating the guy in the condo next door. The condos were mirrors of each other and when they got married, they knocked out the walls in between and made one giant condo. Years later they were no longer together. I wonder what happened to that condo?
But here in our village, the houses are connected through that heart. You might think that this is a wedding chapel or a venue for nuptials but no, it is a home. A cozy home even, full of color and life, full of love and other emotions as well. If you look close enough you will notice that the white on the heart looks like lace has been painted on. But really it is actual lace. The sisters that live here are lace makers and this is the house you visit when you have a special occasion. Do you need to borrow a fancy dress or learn how to use an oyster fork, this is the place. Etiquette and manners, Emily Post meets Frank Lloyd Wright. Everything is designed so you know how to enter a room and how to quietly leave. How to walk up the stairs or stand on the red carpet.
These sisters love to make things but more than anything they love to host people. They spent so many of their best days in books. Characters on the lawn in Pride and Prejudice, girls at the ball in Vanity Fair or Mansfield Park. They were never the focus of the story, just good girls decorating the room with their presence. When they wandered away from the scene, you almost couldn’t remember if they had been there at all.
What they realized early on was the flow of the story goes better when the characters can fit in seamlessly and not create a distraction for our dear authors. You hire a girl for a ball and all of a sudden she is tripping over her hem and you think she has to have a line or more of a role in the story and authors are so easily distracted. So the ladies created a space where you could come and sit, stitch a bit and along the way learn to be comfortable in your own skin.
They host parties and retreats. They ask great questions and will send you home with a lace collar or a handkerchief for your pocket. They encourage the town and sell their things as well because handmade is always better than a handmaid.
Wisteria House
"Hello! Hi. Hello."
"Hi. Have you been here before?"
Me, looking around to see how many others I'm walking up to the door with, realize, nope, those hellos were all for me.
So I take a deep breath and find my voice.
"Hello. I came once before. I was a lot younger than I am now. The wisteria was not on the roof then. Is that on purpose?"
Oh fuck, I'm already judging. She's going to hate me.
Her smile dips a bit, and then she turns to look at the house.
Oh, the wisteria, I imagine she's thinking.
Then she turns back and says, "It's always been on the roof. We have black-and-white pictures with it on the roof. Maybe you are mistaken."
I'm surprised by her formality.
I take another breath and another look, then meet her eyes.
They are kind, and she's eager. I see the lights on upstairs, and I remember the warmth of the quilts on the bed, the fresh smell of the linens, and the sweetness of the flowers. It softens me for a moment.
Let's begin again.
"Hello. I have just arrived in town, and I'm looking for a place to stay for a few weeks until my new book launches."
She smiles warmly, puts her arm around my shoulder, and guides me inside.
Her voice is calm.
"I'm so sorry. I was so excited before. We just have an empty house right now, and I've been freshening the rooms, so when I heard you were on your way, I got a little crazed. I think I may have had three espressos. Can I make you one?" she says as one long word.
I smile as we cross the threshold.
I want to know her story, but I also just want to lie down for about a month.
She is attuned and says, "Let's skip the coffee. I'll put the tea on and meet you upstairs. Do you have a preference on which view you take?"
"I'd love to look out at the mountains and the lake, and maybe away from others. You said there is no one here now, but are others coming?"
She winces.
"We've had so many cancellations lately. Everyone jumps into their next project. But yes, I do have a few more reservations, so let's go up top, and you can have the back room."
I haven't been to the top before. I was here as a young writer after my first book, and the top floor was taken over by one of those big writers and her team. They kept the door closed the entire time. I always found that fascinating because I write so I can learn more about people and their stories.
Oh, to be so famous—to have so many people read your words that you never have to engage again. Is that the goal, or is that the perfect prison?
I realize I've been doing all this thinking, and she is waiting for a response.
I'm so tired.
I turn and look at her, set my bag down, and take off my coat. I stick out my hand and say, "Hello. I'm so pleased to meet you. I think that tea sounds divine. Do you mind if I go and lie down and you bring it up?"
She smiles.
"Even better is that each room now has a refreshmentette. Not because we want you to be on your own, but so you can hydrate. It is meant for tea and wine, coffee and water, soda and bubbles. Fully stocked. There are snacks as well, and dinner is at seven. Go rest. I'll see you after your nap, and then I'll tell you my story."
What a gift.
Did she say refreshmentette? Not kitchenette?
Did I imagine that?
I giggle a bit.
Oh, I love it here.
I walk up the stairs, holding onto the handrail, and think staying on the first floor might have been a better choice as I recognize I've already forgotten my bag.
I turn to get it, and she shakes her head.
"No. You go. I've got another way."
As she goes down the hall, I see a dumbwaiter made for suitcases.
I'll meet my bag up top.
"I'll see you at seven," she says.
"Or before."
If a house feels like it's calling to you, send me a note.
I'd love to hear what you noticed.
If it's meant to come home with you, we'll figure out the rest together.