Saturday Writing Essential: Getting to Know Gus LeGarde

Hi, folks!

I hope this finds you thriving and healthy, and that you've all been writing up a storm, creating lightning bolts of lyricism, clouds of character profiles, and puddles of prose.

Well, that was silly. Guess I'm a little punchy. ;o)

I just returned from a week long business trip (my engineering "day job") in Atlanta, and am scurrying around trying to catch up. So forgive me in advance for being a little scatter-brained.

On top of that, I returned home to find 200 copies of Tremolo:cry of the loon on my doorstep! It felt great to hold the printed book in my hands, and now I can start autographing them and fulfilling the preorders. ;o)

If you'd like to order an autographed copy, feel free to email me either through Gather with "Tremolo" in the subjectd line, or at: aaron . lazar @ yahoo.com (without the spaces, I do this to avoid the automatic internet trolls that search for emails). Books are twenty dollars even including shipping and tax. You may pay through PayPal to mailto:aplazar@hotmail.com (without the spaces) or send a paper check to the address I'll give you when you email with your address for shipment. I'm also going to be hosting a contest for a free copy of Tremolo:cry of the loon, so maybe you'll want to try your luck there before buying one! ;o)

As a gift to potential new LeGarde fans, I'm running a special through Christmas. If you order two personally autographed LeGarde Mysteries (normally 20 each), I'll give you the third book for half price.

Last week I promised to share a little bit about Gus LeGarde, the main character in the LeGarde Mystery series. Here's a short description that I wrote when the series first started:

Gus refers to himself as "a hopeless romantic, a Renaissance man caught in the twenty-first century." No stranger to passion or heartache, Gus lavishes love on his family and dog as he mourns the loss of his lifetime soul mate, Elsbeth. He teaches music at Conaroga University, imparting the love of the classics to his young students. Gus is passionate about French Impressionist painters, gardening, and cooking lavish gourmet meals for his family and friends. His rambling, 1811 Greek Revival farm house lies among the rolling hills of the Genesee Valley. He drives an old Volvo sedan, plays Chopin etudes to clear his mind and feed his soul, and has an impeccable inner moral compass.

Of course, the best way to get to know someone is through their thoughts or words. And will you listen to me? I'm acting as though Gus is real! Of course, he is in my mind, but that's another story! ;o)

Let's take a look at this man when he was a boy. Here's an excerpt from a chapter from Tremolo. This scene takes place in 1964, at Gus's grandparents' fishing camp in Maine. Elsbeth, who becomes Gus's first wife, is a child in this book, and readers are able to meet her "in real life" instead of as a memory for the first time. (here I go again! "In real life???")

Readers also get to see Siegfried before the boating accident that robs him of his academic genius. The Siegfried we all know and love in the adult books is mildly challenged, but I often think of him as an angel on earth.

Although this chapter is out of context, I think it will give you an idea of Gus's personna. He witnessed Sharon Adamski being chased through the foggy woods by a bellowing drunk, and is haunted by the images. 

Chapter Seven

June, Annabel, and Betsy emerged from the laundry building balancing stacks of clean linen. Their carts overflowed with dusters, rags, Pinesol, and Comet Cleanser. At the top of the path, they separated-Betsy and Annabel walked briskly to the cabin just vacated by the Johnsons, and June headed down to Number Fifteen. I idly wondered about the guest due later in the day. My grandfather usually treated everyone equally, so it was unusual for him to give such special instructions.

William burst from the icehouse with a large ice block balanced on his shoulder. He wore leather gloves used ice tongs to hold it. The burlap bag on his shoulder insulated the cold and helped maintain friction.

"Wanna help?" he asked.

I ran to his side.

"Sure."

He glanced back at the icehouse.

"Close the door for me, will ya?"

I scooted behind him and latched the heavy door with a thud. He'd already started down the path toward the lake when I ran to catch up.

"Who's getting ice so early, William? Don't you usually do the ice at three o'clock? Why are you-"

He grunted and repositioned the block on his shoulder.

"A new guest is coming into Number Fifteen. Your grandmother wants everything to be all set for them."

Cabin Fifteen sat back on the wooded lot fifty feet from its neighbors on the back trail, a hundred feet up from Wee Castle, the lakefront cabin we lived in all summer. Number Fifteen was constructed of whole logs stripped of bark and it sported a full porch with a view of the lake. One of the better cabins, it boasted a sink, stove, and small bathroom with its own bathtub and shower.

I raced up the steps to open the lid of the green wood icebox beside the door. Just before William dropped the ice, I plucked the ice pick from the box, then closed the lid and jabbed the pick into the pitted surface.

"Thanks," William said.

He drew a red bandana from his dungarees and wiped it across his brow, then sprawled on the top step. I sat beside him, listening to Annabel's transistor radio blaring, "The Girl from Ipanema," inside the cabin. The sun warmed the air, chasing away the morning chill. I rolled up my sleeves and pulled out my shirttails, thinking about the loss of our boat.

As if reading my mind, William asked, "Did you get in trouble last night? For wrecking the boat?"

"Nah. They weren't mad. They know how fast that fog can come in. My dad said it happened to him once when he was courting my mother. They got stuck on the lake for hours."

"Were you scared?"

I hesitated, but told the truth. "Sure I was. I mean, we hit Big Blue an' all. Made a huge hole in the skiff. It went down wicked fast."

"Wow. And you saw that missing girl? Running away or something?"

I studied him. I'd wanted to confide in him all morning, but didn't know how to broach the subject.

"Yeah. I did. She was running away from someone, not something. He was a big guy. Really drunk, too. He almost saw us."

"Her father?"

"I guess so. But..."

"What?"

"I think she was running because he hit her. Her mouth was bloody."

He stared at me with his slate blue eyes, clearly upset. Before he was able to respond, my grandmother appeared at the top of the hill with a tray of drinking glasses and a fresh flower arrangement from her cutting garden. William and I ran to help her. I grabbed the flower vase and William commandeered the glasses.

"Thank you, boys." She leaned on the porch railing and caught her breath. "It was heavier than I thought." She ran her hands over her fine gray curls and patted them into place.

"Flowers, Gram?" I asked, confused by the flustered look on her face. She was going through a lot of trouble for this particular guest.

She smiled at me indulgently and patted my arm.

"Yes, honey. Just want the place to look nice. Now you run along. I'm sure William has plenty of work to do. Why don't you see if the twins are awake?"

I shrugged and nodded. William jogged up the hill to attend to his next chore.

"Okay, Gram."

I wandered down the hill toward Wee Castle, whistling the tune from "The Girl from Ipanema." Shadow had returned from his woodland hunt and was snoozing on the porch. He raised his head and stretched before trotting over to greet me. I sat on my heels and rubbed his soft ears, singing snippets from the song and trying hard to forget the haunting face of Sharon Adamski.

The Marggranders' shades were up. Mr. Marggrander came to the door before I could knock. Dark circles swam beneath his eyes.

"The twins left a few minutes ago. They went that way."

Before I could thank him, he went back inside and shut the door. Feeling unsettled, I headed onto the lake path, figuring he was probably mad at me for nearly drowning his children last night. A pang of guilt washed through me as I retraced my steps to the living room, jumping over the roots criss-crossing the trail. I was relieved to see Siegfried sitting on the porch glider. The sounds of a Bach fugue floated on the air, a testimony to Elsbeth's hard work over the past year. Although we both took piano lessons from the same octogenarian in East Goodland, New York, she rapidly surpassed me and already had decided her only path to happiness was through the career of a concert pianist. Her fingers flew as she coaxed the music from the old spinet my grandparents had bought at an auction the year before.

Her brother sat with his head down, pushing a stubby pencil over a booklet on his lap. I plopped beside him.

"Hey, Sig."

He looked up at me and flashed a tired half-smile, then turned back to his booklet.

"Hello."

We sat on the glider in silence for a few minutes. I waited for him to look up again.

"Doing more math?"

"Ja. Derivatives. If I want to get into advanced calculus next year, I need to master this material."

I nodded, totally confused by the exotic math topic. While I struggled with fractions in fifth grade, he had been placed in math classes with high school kids. The teachers whispered, "genius" when I walked down the halls with him. I was proud of my friend, but wondered where it all would end. Would he graduate early and leave me behind? The thought scared me.

Elsbeth's playing speeded up and the notes exploded from her fingers. Siegfried finally put the booklet away and looked over the lake. He ran his fingers through his long blond locks and groaned.

"What's wrong?"

He shrugged. "When we got home last night we were in big trouble. Papa hit us. Then Mama went crazy. You know how she does sometimes."

My insides dropped. It was my fault. I took them to Horsehead Island and didn't pay attention to the weather. I should've rowed home at the first sign of the darkening sky. A sick feeling pooled in my stomach.

"Geez, Sig. I'm really sorry. It was all my fault."

He looked at me through his long forelock.

"No, it was not. It was no one's fault. Kein Problem. (No Problem.)"

I reached into my pocket for a sticky roll of cherry Lifesavers, offering him one of the last two in the roll.

"Danke," he said.

"Is your mother okay? Was it about the war again?"

"Ja. Buchenwald. The camps. She has nightmares, you know?"

I nodded. Brigit Marggrander was held in the Buchenwald concentration camps as a young child during World War II. She lost her entire family to cruel violence and disease, emerging in 1945 to be raised by her aunt, Mrs. Frieda Hirsch. She met and married Mr. Marggrander eight years later. They were smuggled from behind the Wall in East Germany in 1959 with their two four-year-old twins and settled in the farmhouse just down the road from our place. We'd been inseparable ever since.

"Will she be okay?" I repeated.

Siegfried got up and walked to the porch railing. He leaned over and stared at the water lapping the granite boulder below.

"I hope so."

The music stopped. Elsbeth came out and sat beside me. Her shoulders slumped and she kicked her feet without saying a word. I offered her the last Lifesaver and was rewarded with a puzzled smile.

"But it's your last one," she said.

"Go ahead. I saved it for you."

She reached over and daintily picked it up, tossing it into her mouth.

"Mmm, cherry. Thanks."

***

I think one more chapter from an "adult" Gus book would be useful, too. This one is an excerpt from Double Forte', where Gus is sitting in his office at the college and his secretary, Maddy, pushes him to invite her daughter to a charity event. I'm sorry the formatting seem to change during the excerpt, that's the way they came through when I pasted into the W link.

 *** 

From Chapter Thirty-four

             Maddy had finished her conversation in the hallway and clicked back over to her desk. She flipped through my appointment book, licking her forefinger as she turned each page.

"Professor, you haven't forgotten about the WRLN fund raiser Friday night, have you?"

            I looked up at her with a blank expression. She tut-tutted and tapped her pencil on the edge of her desk as she chastised me.

"You did forget! Shame on you. Who are you going to get to go with you at this late notice, Professor? It's only two days away!"

            The tiresome decision of who to bring as a 'date' to these functions was becoming increasingly tedious. Freddie and Madelaine had both pinch-hit for me a few times, but I'd begun to feel uncomfortable about asking either of them again. I fantasized briefly about asking Camille, but decided against it.

            As if reading my mind, Madelaine suggested, "Why don't you ask Camille, Gus? She hasn't been on a date in five long years. I think it would do her a world of good."

I hadn't revealed my feelings to Madelaine, but suspected that she knew how I felt about her daughter.

           "I really don't think she'd want to go to such a stuffy old function with me. Do you, Maddy?" I asked.

"You won't know ‘til you ask, Professor. For heaven's sakes, what have you got to lose?"

She sat at her desk with her arms folded across her ample bosom and an expression that bordered on a challenge.

            "I suppose you're right, Maddy," I said reluctantly. 

            She nodded in satisfaction, scribbled Camille's phone number on a Post-It note, and waltzed over to my desk.

"Here. Call her now, I know she's home with Sadie this afternoon."

             My palms began to sweat as I fingered the yellow square of paper in my hands. I didn't want Maddy to know I'd memorized Camille's phone number the first time I'd returned one of her calls about Sadie.

            "Go on, Gus! Just do it!" Maddy encouraged from behind her desk.

            She looked at me with the devilish look of the matchmaker that she was born to be. I sighed and picked up the receiver, dialing the number with trembling fingers. Camille answered on the second ring.

"Hello?"

             I forced myself to speak calmly, although I feared the words would emerge in a pre-adolescent squeak.

"Hi Camille. It's Gus."

"Oh, hi, Gus. I was just going to call you."

I smiled into the phone.

"No kidding? Must be telepathy."

             "Guess so," she chuckled.

I laughed with her, enjoying the repartée and glad for the excuse to procrastinate.

            "So, Camille. What were you going to call me about?" I asked.

"Oh! It wasn't much. I was just thinking that Sadie might want to take a look at Sheba's puppies. She loves animals, you know. It could be good therapy for her."

Madelaine looked at me from her desk, frowning because I hadn't brought up Friday night. She lifted one hand in the air and moved her fingers in my direction as if she was shooing away a bug, urging me to get down to the task at hand. I turned away from her and kept talking.

"Good therapy, or just plain fun, Camille. I think it's a marvelous idea. Why don't you bring her over on Saturday morning? Siegfried and I will both be home. He'd love to show off the pups."

            "Okay. Sounds like a plan," she said in her musical-mellow voice.

I felt the unsettling combination of elation and trepidation coursing through my body. The sound of her voice moved me to heights of bliss that nearly doused the tremors of nerves that flitted from my gut, across my ribs, and up to my throat.

She waited a second for me to respond, and then asked,

"So why were you calling, Gus? Sorry, I kind of monopolized the conversation."

I stuttered a little.

"No, no. Don't be silly, Camille. I just wanted to ask you-" I hesitated.

"Ask me what, Gus?"

I swallowed hard and pressed on.

"There's this WRLN fund raiser Friday night. I was just wondering if you- if you don't have any plans- I mean, would you like to go with me?"

The ensuing silence felt like a knife in my heart. She sat mute on the other end of the line. The stillness drew out into a long, painful pause. I agonized through the moment, feeling as if my heart would explode. Finally she spoke.

"Gus? I think it's time I shared some stuff with you. I don't date. I'm sorry. It's not you, Gus. You're a dear, sweet man."

My heart thudded to the bottom of my feet as she continued.

"Something happened to me a while back that feels as fresh as yesterday. I'm working on it, Gus, but it still keeps me up at night and I don't feel comfortable getting close to men. I haven't starting dating yet, and I'm sorry that I really don't know when I will. Please don't take it personally, Gus. I don't mean to hurt your feelings."

I mumbled into the phone, feeling shattered.

"It's okay, Camille. I understand."

"I don't think you do, Gus. Maybe Saturday when we get together-"

I didn't respond, feeling overwhelmed with disappointment.

"Gus? Do you still want me to come over with Sadie on Saturday?"

Maddy was staring at me in concern. I turned my face away from her and answered Camille as I pulled myself together.

            "I'm sorry, Camille. Of course. We'd love to have you. They're predicting a foot of snow tomorrow night. Winter's supposed to return, can you believe it? Maybe we can go sledding with Sadie. It could be lots of fun for her."

"Okay, Gus. We'll look forward to it. And I'm really sorry about Friday night, I'm just-"

I summoned up some gallantry and made an effort to smooth things over.

"Don't say another word, Camille. Your friendship means more to me than anything. We can still be friends, can't we?"

Her voice caught in her throat as if I had completely surprised her.

"Friends? Why- yes. Of course. Friends it is, Gus."

We settled on seven o'clock Saturday morning and hung up. Maddy looked at me expectantly, one penciled-in eyebrow arched higher than the other.

            "Well?" she asked nervously, "What did she say?"

             I swallowed my pride and looked into her worried eyes, hating the fact that Camille had called me a dear, sweet man. She thinks of me as a damned uncle, I thought morosely.

"No dice, Maddy. She's not interested."

Her face fell and she looked almost as disappointed as I was.

           "Oh, I'm so sorry. But don't take it personally. Keep trying. I really think you, of all people, have a chance with her. I've seen signs, Gus. Signs of life that haven't been present since-"

Her eyes clouded over and her mouth tightened.

"Well, I suppose she'll have to tell you in her own time."

I stared at her. The feelings of deep disappointment were suddenly laced with intense curiosity. I nodded soberly in her direction.

"Okay. Thanks. I'll go solo Friday. I'd skip it altogether, but doing a short lecture on the Brahms violin concerto. Matter of fact, I'd better get busy on it. I haven't even started my notes yet."

          I turned to my computer and pretended to look through files of notes as I wondered what in the world had happened to Camille to upset her so- and what or who had been responsible for the trauma.

 ***

Okay, that's it! I hope this gave you a little glimpse into the character of Gus LeGarde.

One final word - I'm going to host a contest for a free copy of Tremolo. You'll be asked to write an imaginary conversation between Gus and you - or another character of your choice. The one that seems the closest to the "real" Gus will win. ;o) Sounds like fun, doesn't it?

Stay tuned and thanks for putting up with my self-aggrandizing promotion here. But it's tough to grow your readership when you're not hooked up with a big publisher. Don't get me wrong, I love my publisher. Twilight Times Books is the best! But they aren't made of money, and can't promote me nationwide like the big boys do their clients, so it's up to me to do the best I can to spread the word. Thanks for putting up with it!

Thanks for stopping by, and remember to write like the wind!

Aaron