Writing My Wrongs: An Open Apology to My Family

In my novels, I have a tendency to put the main characters through emotional and physical hell. They must endure such things as rapidly metastasizing cancer, the untimely deaths of loved ones, drug addiction and gunshot wounds.

In my actual life, I have a tendency to put my family through much worse.

In my defense, I’m a mean and awful person only when busy writing a book. Or rewriting a book. Or promoting a book. Or planning the next book. So, really only about eleven-and-a-half months out of the year. The rest of the time, I’m an absolute joy to be around.

Nevertheless, I’ve been meaning to formally apologize to my family—my wife and daughter, in particular—and now seems like the ideal time. I think we can all agree there’s no better way for an author to express sincere remorse and request forgiveness than through a blog post.  

So here goes ...

Dear Miranda and Leah,

I’m truly sorry for my mood swings and isolation and selfishness over the past several weeks and months and years. Please know it’s nothing personal. You’ve done nothing wrong—other than sometimes breathe too loudly or interrupt me with a sudden “Good morning” or “I love you” that totally takes me out of my writing groove. Still, as crippling as such interruptions are to the creative process, they’re no excuse for me to treat the most important people in my life with disdain.        

I’m also sorry you’ve had to endure all my loud arguments with imaginary people. And my shouting at blank pages. And me repeatedly banging my head against my desk. Trust me, it’s not like I enjoy waking you up in the middle of the night with such jarring sounds. After all, once you’re awake, you make noises that make it even harder for me to concentrate and write. So, as you can see, it’s miserable for everyone involved. But I’m willing to take most of the blame.

I’m sorry for always growling and barking at you when you step anywhere near my writing office while I’m in the midst of a critical scene or plot twist or tweet. Nobody should ever have to witness their husband or father behaving like a rabid dog, no matter how warranted such behavior might be. I hope you can forgive me. I also hope you can try not to step anywhere near my writing office while I’m in the midst of a critical scene or plot twist or tweet. (You can always go out your bedroom window to get to the kitchen, you know. Just remember your house key.)

I’m sorry for not being a very good listener in recent years. For sometimes ignoring you when you tell me about your day or your problems or whatever it is you’re always talking about while I’m trying to tell you about how the book is going. I love you guys so much and I really do want to know all about your lives. It’s just sometimes it’s hard to pay attention when what’s happening in my book is so much more thrilling. Again, I’m terribly sorry. Sometimes I wish I didn’t write such thrilling novels. It’s so unfair to you.

Please believe me when I say I’m going to try to change. We all know I won’t actually change, but it would be awfully nice of you to believe I might. One thing I am considering is moving away from such dark topics in my novels. (You were probably hoping I was going to stop that last sentence after “moving away.”) Call me crazy, but I think all the time I spend researching and writing about terminal disease and death and murder and sex trafficking might in some way be contributing to my ever-increasing unpleasantness. I was hoping my ever-increasing drinking might help with that. Not sure if it’s working.

As much as I love writing dark fiction, it’s not worth it if it means destroying our family. That’s why I’m currently toying around with a novel about a puppy and a baby unicorn who live under a magic rainbow. Trouble is, whenever I sit down to work on such a happy book, I’m overcome with the urge to throw myself off a tall building. And you don’t want that, right? Right? … RIGHT?

Okay, I need to wrap this up so I can get back to focusing on nothing but my writing. But before I do, Miranda and Leah, I need you to know the two of you mean the world to me. I’m so sorry if I’ve ever screamed anything from my office to make you think otherwise. You—along with my mother, father and brother (who make up the rest of my fan base and thus had to be mentioned)—are the most important non-imaginary people in my life. There is nothing I wouldn’t do for you. Nothing.

Except perhaps write a book about a puppy and a unicorn.

Love,

Greg/Dad 

If you’re a writer, feel free to use the comments section below to share the horrible things you regularly put YOUR family through. And if you’re the family member of a writer, now is the time to cry out for help … and to dish some dirt!     

One more thing: Sorry to self-promote so soon after an apology, but today’s the last day to get the Kindle edition of In Wolves’ Clothing for just 99 CENTS. (Amazon US and UK only.) Tomorrow I’m jacking up the price like I’m a pharmaceutical exec and the book’s a life-saving drug. You can download your ridiculously cheap copy of IWC HERE.