Hidden Pieces

Yesterday I was cleaning. I was also transferring clothes from Boy #1's bedroom to Boy #2's new bedroom (we did a shuffling of rooms now that Oldest is off at college). As I opened Boy#1's dresser, I was suddenly struck with a pang of grief so sharp, I had to sit down, literally. You see, Boy #1 uses my grandfather's dresser. It's old and makes a certain sound when you open the drawers because it's all wooden pegs--no screws, no metal tracks like they do now. But given the dresser must be 70 years old, at least, sometimes the drawers stick a bit. And something about the sound, that precise wood against wood drag, just conjured up my grandfather--the sound is so distinct and took me back to when I would watch him put his change on his dresser after work and open the drawers. I am amazed, still, how grief is one of those human emotions that fades, but then comes back to life, clear as day, when it wants to, or when you see, hear, or smell a reminder. I miss him.

I miss a lot of people, actually. And grief often finds me at unexpected moments.

But I suppose one of the great things about being a writer is the ability to hide people I love in my books. It's never overt. You would have to really, REALLY know not just me, but my whole life, in order to find them. It's enough for me to know they are there.

My characters often play rummy (my grandmother taught me that game), for example, or poker (same thing). They adore Neccos (grandma again). They like diners (grandpa AND grandma).

In the Magickeepers, there are Cossack swordsmen. This stems from my father's mother dragging me to their shows when they came to Carnegie Hall and Lincoln Center. Somehow, then, I was supposed to appreciate my heritage. I suppose, vaguely, I did. But mostly, I was hot and bored sitting in my seat. I was nine. What did I know. Now they are in a book.

So tell me, what hidden pieces are in your book for someone to find?