Day 302: The Summer of Soda Pop.

The rec center and central area in the complex where I lived in the summer of '77.

When I'm waiting in limbo - as I am right now with regards to the future of The Falling Joys - I have a tendency to sit on my thumbs and obsess. The concept of letting go and starting a new project isn't exactly a kneejerk response.

However, with a little convincing, that's exactly what I've started to do.

As I did with The Falling Joys, I've decided to revisit a script of mine and turn it into a book. And, like The Falling Joys, it's young adult fiction ... I think. By that I mean it's a whole lot grittier.

The story is somewhat autobiographical, inspired by the summer of 1977. I was 13 years old, living in a small town in Upstate New York. My parents were still in academia at the time (Mom was working on her second PhD and my then-stepfather was getting his first), and the university they taught and studied at was only 20 minutes away.

Unfortunately, there's not a lot for kids to do in small towns, so they wind up getting into trouble out of sheer boredom. If you've seen the movie Over the Edge (and if you haven't, you should), you know what I'm talking about. Smoking pot, drinking, sex ... they were all commonplace by the 7th grade.

There are two experiences that define that summer for me. One was my infatuation with Carrie, a 19-year old girl who worked at the drugstore across the county highway from my housing complex. I used to spend hours upon hours sitting on the soda pop chest that sat next to the register area. I was awkward and insecure, and I thought Carrie was the shit - beautiful and wise and nurturing and utterly feminine. She in turn thought I was a smart, funny, innocent little kid. To be honest, I can't really remember what we I talked about, but I know I hung on every word.

The other experience that summer was much darker. I'd gotten in over my head with pot, alcohol and boys, looking for validation and acceptance in all the wrong places. The bad path I was on culminated in an ugly incident in which a few older boys caught me fooling around with a boy my own age in an empty apartment. We weren't really doing much, but the older boys threatened to tell everyone at school I'd been doing far more if I didn't agree to do them a few favors. They didn't make me "do it" (as kids would say), but what did happen wasn't pleasant.

I never told Carrie what was really going on in my other life. I was still a child when I was hanging out on the soda pop cooler; I pretended to be - wanted to be - the sweet, innocent kid she naturally assumed I was. I guess you could say it was my first experience with compartmentalization. (It should also be noted that I was a terrific little actress. There's no way in hell anyone - even my parents - could have possibly known what was going on.)

When I wrote The Summer of Soda Pop ten years ago, it was a cathartic experience. I put a few demons to rest, and it didn't hurt that in the script, the girl winds up making good choices in the end and gets to unleash her anger on the boys who'd damaged her. There's also a fictional resolution in which the girl and the Carrie character realize the inherent danger that comes from seeing people as we want them to be and not as they really are. The script remains the best and most personal thing I've ever written.

I've only written a few chapters of the book, and it surprises me how intensely it takes me back to that time. Sure, some of it is painful, but more than you'd expect - particularly my relationship with Carrie - is actually quite sweet.

It feels good to be writing again.