Pardon a brief rant. I just want to get this off my chest. I don’t do this on here very often….
To a slug “relation” (by marriage):
Last year, I lost someone I loved. You think I give a rat’s you know what about you at all? And if you actually imagine you are ever going to get my wife and myself to humilate ourselves by bending to your will, well, dear, I got news for you: I’m a novelist:
Suddenly Bill chose to mention that, out of the blue, Nora had called him. “I heard from your father’s cousin’s second wife,” he laughed disparagingly toward James. “I made the mistake of answering my phone, instead of letting the machine pick up. Married to that dip brain, uh, Charlie. Like I want to know her better? Seeing her maybe at a wedding once every decade or so is enough for me.”
“She is a bit of a handful,” James replied diplomatically.
“I remember once hearing from your mother that she was drunk and crying and yelling in the middle of the night outside of Charlie’s mother’s house about how she’s so misunderstood,” Bill recalled. “What a flaming nutcase.”
“I heard that too,” James answered softly.
“How does she get through doorways? She weighs about a thousand pounds now,” Bill ridiculed her. “How many brothers, and half-brothers and half-sisters and crazies in one bunch. The one brother I hear about from your mother the most is in trouble with the cops half the time. Babies all over the place. Got himself beat up in a bar recently. He didn’t start it? Of course he did, and got knocked on his ass. Typical American shanty….”
“Uncle, before you insult me, you do remember I’m half Irish too,” James smiled and interrupted.
“It’s not about nationality,” Bill backpedaled and clarified. “I once knew an actual Irish woman, from Ireland. Soft accent, vibrant smile, gorgeous, I really wanted to….”
Isabelle and James both sat amused as Uncle Bill now turned to waxing lyrical about another European woman in his life they had never heard of before.
“You just knew her?” Isabelle giggled. “I’m sure….”
“You wanted to what?” James chuckled. “Have a cream soda with her?”
“Never mind. What I mean is it’s about class and style,” Bill emphasized. “Nephew, the Noras of this world, and her family, they’re the dregs. They never rise to a better level. They’ll always drag you down to theirs. It’s catching. Keep well away from that at all costs.”
Indeed we will NEVER be dragged into some Eastenders-style confrontation in front of everyone else to satisfy your drama queen desire always to be the center of the universe. We won’t get pulled down into your gutter. You aren’t worth us sinking to your level.
We will just continue to ignore you as we’ve done for a decade…. oh, and I’ll take a few paragraphs here and there to fictionalize you, your nasty idiocy, and your appalling relatives. I’ve got a third book underway; and I’ve got quite an imagination.
Lots of people around the world are reading about “you” already.
That’s how a novelist “fights” back.