CHRISTIAN BALE, BEEFSTEAK TOMATOES, AND METHOD WRITING

If I were an actor, I'd be a method actor. Because it's always been important for me to get deep inside the skin of all my characters. I eat what they eat, drink what they drink (but not to the excess some have been known to do!), listen -- both in the car, and the house -- to the music they'd listen to. Which got to be a problem while I was writing my Callahan Brothers trilogy. I mean, there's only so many months of Zydeco any person should be subjected to. Which is when I changed to a CD of swamp sounds, which included an alligator slipping into the swamp.

Before I write even the first line of a book, I'll have spent months reading everything I can find about my characters' careers, their backstory, whatever, so I can instinctively know how they'll react under any given situation. I'm also big on the idea that setting is partially responsible for character, so I try never to write about a location I haven't spent a significant amount of time in. (Afghanistan and Iraq were obvious exceptions, which is why I have a bookcase filled with research on those countries. And why I begin most days reading blogs written by deployed troops.)

This may be admittedly carrying things to extremes, but I can only drink my coffee out of a mug that matches my character's story. When I was writing Legends Lake , I drank from a mug from the Thoroughbred Breeders' Association. For Magnolia Moon , since the heroine was an LA homicide detective, I bought a mug from the LA police department that has an outline of a body and reads, "Our Day Begins When Yours Ends." For Blaze, I had a bright red firefighters' mug with a metal logo. For Freefall and Crossfire , I had a SEAL mug, then a SOAR Army Nighstalker mug for Shattered, and an Air Force Combat Controller's mug for Breakpoint . Now, for High Risk book #5, which is sexy Cajun sniper spotter Sax Douchett's story, I've dug out my SEAL mug. Though it has crossed my mind that since this is a new book, perhaps I need a new mug.

In trying to explain how I write, I've often pointed to the following scene from Tootsie, where Dustin Hoffman insists that he wasn't just playing a tomato. He was a juicy, sexy, Beefsteak tomato. I so identified with that moment the first time I saw it, and it still makes me laugh.



It's not always easy being a "method" writer, because unlike a movie set, where the director shouts "Quiet!", writers live with, well, real life. When I began writing, I worked in an extra bedroom I'd painted a calming blue and turned into an office while my son and his friends blasted away at video game aliens on the other side of the wall or shouted out "Marco Polo" from the pool. I deal with plumbers and painters, guys with chainsaws cutting up fallen trees, and barking dogs warning me of all these people who keep insisting on interrupting my muse. (There's nothing like hearing a construction worker say "Oh, oh" to yank me out of a story!)

Writers tend to say we tell our kids not to bother us unless it involves blood or fire. Or that our neighbors have learned not to ring the bell during writing hours. And wouldn't it be great if dogs never needed to go out. But we live and work in the real world, so it doesn't matter if we're inside an insane serial killer about to blow people away -- if a child has a fever or the Fedex guy needs a signature, the murder has to be put on hold as we're dragged back into reality.

This isn't always easy. There have been times I'm sure the person on the other end of the phone suspects I'm either drunk or brain dead. On those occasions I actually realize how disconnected I sound, I go ahead and tell them that I'm sorry, that I'm currently in Afghanistan, or some other place, and it'll take me a second to get back.

I was watching The View after the infamous Christian Bale blowup that was all over the tabloids and talk shows, and it was interesting to me that the women were, for the most part, willing to give him the benefit of the doubt, because it's difficult, when you're in character, to be interrupted.

Which is when I realized how much easier it must be for an actor. This is in no way diminishing what they do, and they've certainly given me tons of entertainment over the years, but it must be really cool to be treated with such kid gloves at work and have people give you a pass when you lose your temper because you are, after all, a "creative" person. And, I guess, that means, more emotional. Which may be true. But should emotional automatically be a synonym for undisciplined?

While I know nothing about Christian Bale personally (and prefer to keep it that way), he's one of those must-see actors for me. If he's in a movie, I'll watch it. Even The Prestige, which got pretty bad reviews, but hey, Hugh Jackman and Bale in a movie together? What's not to love?

But I still think "creative" people should be held to the same standard to which we hold the workers who repair our cars and our faucets, write our insurance policies, hand out speeding tickets, and operate on our appendix. If blowing up on a job would be considered unprofessional for them, why shouldn't we expect performers, or even writers, to just suck it up when they're frustrated or having a bad day?

I still love Bale's acting, believe his apology (and his embarrassment) was sincere, and I'll certainly continue to be a fan of his acting. But, while I'm glad there aren't people with microphones following me around all day, I also believe there was more than a little prima donna in this rant against his director of photography. Which, btw, if you have any trouble with the F word, I'd suggest you pass on.