Q: Many of your stories feature characters who are trying desperately to get a grip on reality—but are unsure what is reality. Do you think this is something that teens struggle with?
CP-U: I use words in my stories like "convenient reality" and "his own version of reality," and heroes accuse antagonists of "picking their truths like melons at Superfresh." Much of this is lower language expressing my higher convictions about the supernatural.
What is truth? is a question most people struggle with, especially today, when it is considered very uncool to say something is ultimately true, unless it's that nothing is ultimately true. If you're one of these people who truly believes something is ultimately true—I'm talking here about spirituality and the nature of God—you'll experience some tension. Most people still believe in an intelligent God; most people still believe in God's willingness to reveal his nature to man. However, once a person claims to have been a recipient, he's crossed a line that most will find intolerable, unless it's to do with concepts very trendy, very vague, or very convenient. We believe universally what we can't endure personally, and it gets us stuck in neutral.
I'm mentioning this because I think many teens feel the tension surrounding the pursuit of higher belief today. But art has always been the great peacemaker, the great means for us all to say all that we desire, and I've enjoyed watching rich symbolism, bearing out my favorite truths, appearing endlessly in my stories.
Q: In The Body of Christopher Creed, many characters reputations belie their true selves. Do you think it is important to second-guess our perceptions and judgments of others? What do you think we learn from stepping outside of our comfort zones and rejecting assumptions?
CP-U: This gets back to one of my favorite themes: Nothing is as it appears to be. It's a good philosophy to hold to, I think, because it prevents people from passing judgment too quickly. I have a saying a girlfriend sent to me in an email that I posted by my terminal for a while: "Remember that everyone is fighting different battles." Hence, when somebody is mean or hurts my feelings or forgets to return my call when I really need them, I try to remember that they could have problems like Bo's or Ali's. It's more to do with them than with me. It helps.
A fun moment for me in Creed was writing about Torey bringing his guitar to school one time. Bo Richardson had been standing around and admiring Torey's spontaneous concert and asked if he could play the guitar sometime. Torey responded something like, "Do you know how to not drop it?" And Bo replied, "Do you know how not to be an asshole?"
It was one of those moments where Torey went from taking a remark at face value to understanding some of the anxiety that inspired it, and it was a turning point. I think Torey became less apt that day to blindly throw out remarks that could sound condescending and proud.
We are not soothsayers. We can't often know what battles people are fighting, but we can all assume that everyone is fighting them. So, let's turn the other cheek, not because it shows some sort of remarkable charity, but because it shows that we're seeing life how it really is. And mercy tends to come back to us when we need it the most.
Q: The mystery in your stories is often deepened by a touch of the supernatural. What draws you to write about the unknown?
CP-U: I think I'm drawn to answering the big questions: What are we doing here, and what does it all mean? Certainly, the things we can see, smell, touch, taste, and hear leave clues to the meaning of life, but they are far from sufficient to answer these big questions. I'm kind of obsessed with the afterlife, which started in the funeral home when I was about eleven years old. One job of mine was to sweep up flower petals dropped by the flower shops delivering funeral arrangements before a viewing. I had to do this before the family came in, and it was a dreaded job. (Never turn your back on a corpse. Why not? I don't know. Just don't.)
One time I had one eye on the petals, one eye on the gentleman in the casket, and I realized that, for the first time, I was seeing someone whom I had known when he was alive. It took me a minute to recognize him, because people do look different when they're dead. My dad was a master craftsman at making death look dignified, but you can't put that spark of life back, no matter how good you are. So, I stood there and stared, remembering this man, the many things I had seen him doing.
Some people think that a dead body is horrifying because it could jump up. At that moment, I was seeing a different facet. Death was horrifying because the person wasn't going to move, not this day, not next week, not in this body. That got me thinking of what happens after death, and I have spent a lifetime with that in the back of my mind, my thoughts, my motivations. I guess that's logical. Whatever happens when we die, eternity is a lot longer than this life, so let's find out how we're supposed to play this one out. If this world, cranky and stubborn as it can be, is supposed to be approached like an investment, let's invest. If it's supposed to be joyful, let's find our joy.
Life is a journey, and I may not have always lived up to my ability, but I have always lived purposefully, and I guess readers get caught up with me, raising the questions, looking for the answers, looking to be a little more understanding, a little less judgmental, a little more merciful. I hope so.
Carol Plum-Ucci, The Body of Christopher Creed
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