GETTING SUED OVER A CHARACTER

by Haywood Smith

I find it amusing, the number of people who think that making the New York Times Best Seller list means I must be a millionaire.  After I made the list, my son said, “Mama, you’re famous.”  I laughed and replied, “I’d rather be rich.”

Back in 1994, my then-husband convinced me to put the house into trust for our son, ostensibly for inheritance tax purposes, but in fact, to avoid tax liens (that’s another story).   The trust turned out to be both a blessing and a curse. The good news is, my ex couldn’t hock the roof over my head when he went middle-aged crazy; and when someone sued me over a character in my books, the house wasn’t an attachable asset.

Yes, I was sued over a character, by a friend of my sister’s who thought my sister had betrayed her confidences. In fact, the stories I used either came from the plaintiff, herself, or other sources. My so-called “friend” had once said she wanted to write a book, and I encouraged her, but many years later, there was no book. So I called her and asked if I could use some of her clever true divorce stories for one of my characters. She thought for a second, said okay, then went back to her other call.

Word of caution: If a “friend” says you can use some of her true-life stories, GET IT IN WRITING.   My so-called friend conveniently “forgot” giving me permission, and sued, turning down a $150,000 settlement from our liability insurer, and asking for $1,300,000 from me and my publisher over my favorite character (ironically, named SuSu) in The Red Hat Club. And another suit for The Red Hat Club Rides Again.

Because of the litigation, my publishers asked me to “erase” that character from Wedding Belles, the third book of the series.  I hated to do that to my readers, but if I so much as mentioned that character’s name, the plaintiff would have sued us for that book, too.  What a mess.   I write my books to bring humor, hope, and healing to my readers.  I have never written a word to harm or injure anyone.  But in Georgia, malice is not a requirement in the defamation

Three years after I was served, I ended up sitting with my editor in court for ten days (most murder trials only take four!), hearing her lawyers paint me every shade of black. News flash: the papers only publish the accusations, never the rebuttals.

As it turned out, more than 2/3 of the “similarities” her lawyers pointed out would have applied to anyone who grew up in our neighborhood and went to my high school.  Were there real similarities?  Of course.  She’d told me I could use her stories. Did she have a financial motive to “forget”?  Of course.  It’s always about the money.  The truth is, I gave my character all the annoying habits and rule-breaking behaviors I could think of, because she was the archetypal Goody Two-shoes gone bad who challenged the
ensemble’s friendship, faith, and morality, making them prove their love for her, over and over.

Who knew, the plaintiff had all those annoying characteristics?  And, hand to my heart, I had no idea the plaintiff had had a facelift when I wrote that my character had. It just fit for a character who was trying so hard to be younger as she aged.

During the trial, the plaintiff revealed herself to be a very sad, troubled, litigious person whose many problems originated long before I even thought of writing.  When the defense rested, the judge charged the jury that if anyone could recognize the character as the plaintiff, if there were any “sexually objectionable” behaviors (by whose
standards?) by the character, and if the plaintiff’s “feelings were hurt,” they must find for the plaintiff.  I asked my editor why we’d even bothered to come.

Two hours later, the jury came back and awarded her $100,000 and no legal fees, well within our coverage. Then the jury asked if they could keep their books! I laughed and said yes, but I wouldn’t autograph them.

As for the plaintiff’s award, her lawyers had run up huge fees, taping depositions, having forensic audits of my computer, so I doubt they’d let her keep much. I hope she did get something so she can get the help she needs.  In the end, everybody lost.  I can’t imagine what life would be like seeing the world through her eyes, and I’m deeply grateful that I don’t.

So take care, Georgia writers who are writing romance:  When you draw from life, as we all do, make sure the physical description, life particulars, and history of your sexy characters are different from reality.

Now, when people tell me they have a great true story for me to write, I make the sign of the cross and back away. (Well, mentally, anyway.) Actually, I tell them that they need to write their own stories, for their families, if nothing else.  And when I create a character, I have to search my brain to try to remember of anything I’m using originated from someone real. But I don’t want to harm anyone. I never did.  I put this experience in my folder with getting bitten by a rabid raccoon, finding out my
husband of thirty years was engaged to a stripper and had run up $100,000 in debt for strip club bills that I was liable for, and discovering that I’m a host organism. No matter what, God takes care of me.

But others can learn from my difficulties, as I have, so be careful with those romances.  Especially erotica.

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Haywood’s latest release (January 2013)  OUT OF WARRANTY (St.  Martins Press)  is available now on Amazon.  

More About the Author:   http://www.haywoodsmith.net/

To view all her books:    http://www.haywoodsmith.net/books

If you ask me what I came to do in this world, I will tell you: I came to live out loud.

~ Emile Zola

March was a roller coaster kind of month. I battled illness, first strep throat and then a stomach bug. Week before last, my 16yo broke his arm, requiring surgery a few days later. Shortly after we arrived home from the hospital, my 20yo called to tell me his car had stalled out completely on the interstate; miraculously, he was able to coast through four lanes of traffic to safety on the shoulder and call for a tow. My spring break started Friday; Thursday night, my home air conditioner stopped working. The repairman’s diagnosis? Rusty copper coils were leaking coolant everywhere; the compressor was shot. The bottom line? $3800. Thankfully, I have good credit. The new unit goes in today.

Now, there was a time in my life when a string of bad luck like that would throw me into the brink of despair. I would question every decision I ever made that brought me to this place, consider the possibility that it was all the consequence of evils committed in a past life, make myself sick with worry over so much responsibility and the ever mounting bills.

But I have been too busy to wallow in self-pity. Because in March I also got to visit the great city of Savannah, Georgia and attend a writer’s conference in Pensacola, Florida. I met with Haywood Smith and received some valuable feedback on my novel. And my vacation in Tahiti is confirmed; a friend of mine won an all-expenses paid cruise for two, including airfare, and invited me to be her travel companion. It’s an opportunity of a lifetime.

What I have come to realize is that every moment of our lives, no matter what is going on around us, we have a choice. We can live in fear, trapped between regrets about the past and concerns about the future, or we can live in joy, letting go of both the past and the future and simply BE where we are, safe in the moment, regardless of the challenges we might be facing.

Now, there are times when fear is a good thing. Like when instinct tells us that we are in a dangerous situation and we need to run, fast. Or when we reach a crossroads in our lives and the fear of things staying the same outweighs the fear of making a change, prompting us to create something better for ourselves.

But I am talking about that everyday, mind-numbing fear that can become a way of life. We accept our roles as helpless victims, unwilling to take action because we cannot guarantee a particular outcome. We drift like seaweed on the ocean, battered by every wave that passes, tossed eventually onto shore to wither in the sun, effectively dead though our hearts are still beating.

I continue to meditate on the word RELEASE, deliberately letting go of painful memories as they surface, forgiving myself for past mistakes, tossing aside concerns about possibilities that I cannot influence. And I keep reminding myself that every second of every day is precious, to pay attention with all my senses no matter what I am doing, to be fully engaged when I am in the presence of another human being, however insignificant that person’s role might seem to be in my life.

I have stopped flogging myself in penance for things I cannot change; I have stopped asking myself, “what if?”  Instead of imagining a future fraught with loneliness and peril – and why is that always my default? why don’t we envision futures filled with unicorns and rainbows? – I choose to focus on the many blessings I have in right here, right now. Yesterday is gone; I have little, if any, control over much of what is yet to be – besides, of course, what I can do in the present moment.

And I’m going to play that moment for all it’s worth.

New York Times Best Selling author Haywood Smith has published six critically acclaimed historical romance novels, slated for e-book re-release soon, and six humorous Southern Women’s Fiction novels with St. Martin’s Press, a division of Macmillan.  Haywood has also taught and spoken about writing, women’s issues, and the writer’s life all over America and Canada.  She lives in Buford, GA.  Her seventh hardback, Wife-In-Law, goes on sale Sept. 14, 2011.

Last evening, I attended a wonderful meeting of my local American Fellowship of Christian Writers.  Our speaker was Tiffany Coulter of Writing Career Coach.  Tiffany is a vibrant young woman who weathered some really difficult times, but found opportunities in the darkest moments of her life.  She shared that as an example of how the current changes and panics in the writing business can present us writers with many new opportunities, if we’re only willing to seek out and embrace those changes.

For the past year, I’ve seen lots of people on loops arguing about whether or not the publishers will survive, or whether there will still be bound books when E-books “take over.”

What do I think about that?

First, I wonder where these writers find the time to argue about such things, online or otherwise.  As a self-employed writer who relies on my books for my sole support, I already need at least three extra hours in the day to get everything done.  I don’t have time to debate the future.  What I can do is make time to grab hold of the E-pub wave and get my historical novels out there to generate some income, so I can then offer them in Print On Demand for readers who still want actual books.

It’s been a steep learning curve.  In addition to editing and rewriting the original manuscripts (usually adding back in some of the color and history that was cut because paper prices went up, so I had smaller and smaller word counts with which to tell my stories), I’ve had to have someone adjust the formatting and tweak things to satisfy the e-marketers.  Then I’ve had to hire someone to “platform” the text for the various readers.  Plus, I’ve had to have new covers made.  And buy a bundle of ISBNs from Bowker, which my Mac computer doesn’t want me to format, unless I install Firefox, which I tried to do, but couldn’t.  Sigh.

But I haven’t given up.  When all that’s done, and the books are out there, I’ll be in a position to get my books to readers no matter what happens with the publishers or the formats books may take.

Meanwhile, I’m also writing my new book for next year: Out of Warranty, the story of a 55-year-old widow who falls apart and spends all she has on health care, so she has to marry somebody for health insurance.  With the help of a one-legged curmudgeon, she goes through a series of disastrous courtships, then ends up with a most unlikely solution.  As always, there will be plenty of laughs and lots of heart as I send up the medical profession, the health insurance industry, and midlife Internet dating.

Who knows where things in the book business will shake out?  The question is, what are we all going to do about it?

I’m grabbing hold for the ride.  And going back to college for spring semester.  And doing blogs.  And editing historicals.  And writing my humorous Southern women’s fiction.  And thanking God for every bit of it.

It’s an exciting time, even for a sixty-two year old like me.

Haywood has graciously offered to give away  a copy of her latest release, Wife-In-Law, to one lucky commenter.

Thanks, Haywood!

Well, I’ll tell you, mine is nothing like oh, say, Christina Dodd’s. I have no moveable bookshelves, my windows don’t overlook sweaty muscled men laboring in my yard (unless I happen to catch hubby mowing the hillside) and I have nothing that in anyway resembles a customized desk.

As you can see from this first picture here, my writing space has blue walls. I chose this particular color when I was writing women’s fiction and I wanted to imagine that when I looked up from the computer, I was staring at endless blue water. I still love the color, even though I’ve switched to historical romance set in the late Victorian Era.

My writing space is small, it only occupies about one-third of a room that is about 12’X 11’. But for me, it’s home. I have all the essentials that every writer needs—a computer, a light source (don’t you love the frog?), a window with a view (sort of, if you count the neglected hillside in our back yard), plenty of desk toys to help me think and an emergency stash of alcohol.

Since I believe that writing should never be done in a situation where one is physically uncomfortable, I have chosen to fore go the traditional desk and secretarial chair and follow the example of my mentor, Haywood Smith, and write in a recliner. This particular chair belonged to my father. He sat here to watch the news, MASH, and the occasional program on PBS. In this chair he rocked his fussy grandbabies to sleep, and took more than a few naps himself. This chair has history, it’s comfortable and comforting.

On the antique side table I keep a kitchen timer, a clock, a cup full of pens and pencils (the cup was bought in England and says “Lady of Manor”), a replica of an antique Scottish butter mold, a tiny antique picture of a Victorian antecedent cutting up with a couple of her friends, reading glasses, paper for jotting notes and a foam chicken, compliments of my dear friends at the now defunct, Squawk Radio.

In the open drawer you’ll spot a giant, fold-out map of Great Britain, a couple containers of yogurt because I forget to eat when I go on a writing binge, and a tube of pain relieving hand cream.

And down in the corner, leaning against the window is my portable office—a capacious backpack that holds just about everything I need to write away from home.

There’s even the requisite cat. This particular one is named Junebug. Other residents include her mom, Kit-kat and her sisters, Felina and Gin Blossom (Ginny to her friends). Occasional visitors also include Roxy (aka Rockhead the yarn stealing dog) and Pepper Ann, the world’s most cowardly rat terrier.

In this second picture, you’ll see a bookshelf. It’s not nearly big enough, but for now, it suffices. On the top is a replica of an antique beer bottle, a couple of shells I’ve accumulated over the years and a delicate candle holder my sister gave me. There’s also an interesting little pottery jar I bought in Honduras.

On the second shelf, I keep a few historical romances—whatever interests me at the moment. If you look very carefully, the first book on the left is a 1st Edition copy of Ashes In The Wind by the venerable Kathleen Woodiwiss. This was a gift from my daughter, Alana.

On the third and forth shelves are just a few of my reference books. Everything from People of the British Isles (1870 to Present) to James Michener’s Writers Handbook. I even have a tattered copy of John Lust’s (don’t you just LOVE that name??) The Herb Book.

So, there you have it, a virual tour of where I spend not nearly enough time, where I angst over every word I write and where I question the sanity at pursuing this longshot dream of becoming a Published Writer.

So, what about you? Do you have a Sacred Space? What, if I may be so bold to ask, do you do there? Do you meditate? Do you write? Read? Knit? Cook?

Oh, and there’s a ten point bonus for anyone who can tell me the significance of the part about Kathleen Woodiwiss and the person who gave me the book.