Readers of Mort Castle’s 1984 novel “The Strangers” may have noticed something familiar about the fictional town of Park Estates, especially if those readers lived in the south suburbs. “It is an exact model of Park Forest,” said Castle, a Crete resident and the author of nine novels and more than 300 short stories and novellas.
Chicago and its suburbs have been the setting for any number of books, movies and television series. The striking architecture, the vibrant nightlife, the teeming neighborhoods can provide the spark for a story and the impetus to action, and all add significant and telling detail to the narrative. But sometimes the model is not as obvious as a Chicago police precinct or Cook County Hospital. A book may be set in a fictional small town or suburb, and the reader stops at a passage–the description of a deserted strip of road, for instance–and there is a sense of knowing that exact location. The reader may wonder at the feeling but let it go until, one day, driving along a lonely stretch of Vollmer Road, it hits her. This is the spot. Not approximate, not similar, but the specific place described in the book.
It may well be. In many cases, the book’s author also has driven that same road. Not only are Chicago and its environs popular as settings, but they also are home to dozens of writers who mine their hometowns for literary gold.
“It’s no problem for us to find local talent to meet with our patrons,” said Alma DeYoung, a librarian at the South Holland Public Library. As part of an annual conference by the South Suburban Librarians Association, the South Holland library hosted Illinois Authors’ Day last weekend with three suburban writers, including “Moon Mystery” trilogy author S.A. Grant (her pen name, which she prefers to use) of Orland Park. (See story on Page 5.)
So who are these neighborhood novelists? Reclusive, unkempt scribes locked up in a basement pounding away on a typewriter keyboard? More likely they’re clacking away at a computer keyboard in an upstairs bedroom in the early morning before the kids get up for school, or they’re jotting down plot developments between phone calls at work.
Castle and Grant are just two of a dozen or so writers who make their homes in the south and southwest suburbs. Many are genre writers–horror, romance, mystery–and don’t often crack The New York Times’ best sellers list. But they have their fans. Castle’s “Cursed Be the Child” has sold 65,000 copies; Grant’s publishers have contracted for a fourth “Moon Mystery” book; Oak Forest’s Robert Weinberg was nominated for a Hugo Award, the highest award given by the Science Fiction Writers Association; and Diane Petit of Lansing is becoming a popular name in the romance category.
People tend to see writers as writers like to see themselves portrayed: as creative, eccentric geniuses. Yet most writers are pretty ordinary people.
The 49-year-old Castle published his first book when he was 19 years old, but many other writers didn’t even think of themselves as such until their 30s and 40s. Weinberg, 49, of Oak Forest has a master’s degree in mathematics and initially wrote non-fiction books related to his book-selling business, while Grant, 46, is the director of administration at a national corporation and didn’t write her first novel until 1988.
A former English teacher at Crete-Monee High School, Castle runs a language arts consulting business in addition to writing a variety of “trashy adventure, moderately sexy” stories in the horror, fantasy and science fiction genres. He works in an office carved out of an attached garage at his home in Crete with his dog curled up near his feet and a window that overlooks a pasture where a neighbor’s horses graze.
“I’m on the phone or I’m editing a book or a newsletter. I’m not always writing,” he said. It’s the same with Weinberg. He and his wife, Phyllis, run a mail-order book business out of their home, while Weinberg also serves as vice president of the 16,000-member Horror Writers Association and co-chairman of the annual Chicago “Comicon,” a comic book convention that draws writers, artists and fans from across the Midwest.
“I can’t concentrate day and night on writing,” Weinberg said. “But I’ll write seven days a week when I am working on a book.”
He has turned out 16 books since 1971, usually writing in the afternoons or evenings.
Petit, on the other hand, took nearly seven years to complete the first book she started writing–although she has published two romance novels in the last two years–because she scheduled her writing around when her three children were sleeping.
“When my kids were younger, I would write in the middle of the night,” said Petit, 39, a former school teacher. “I’m very meditative and very focused. So I write with no distractions whatsoever.”
The walls surrounding her desk are blank except for encouraging letters from her publisher and scribbled notes to herself on plotting and point-of-view. Now that her children–ages 14, 12 and 10–are all in school, Petit, who is at work on her seventh novel, writes in the daylight, with mornings her most productive times.
Lori Wilk also arranged her writing around her family. Wilk, 30, of Westmont self-published a cookbook, “1001 Ways to a Man’s Heart” ($13.95), which is available at Marshall Field’s State Street store and several area bookstores. (The book also may be ordered from Wilk by sending a check for $15.95 payable to Wilk at P.O. Box 1126, Westmont, Ill. 60559.) Wilk’s children were barely at the toddler stage when she began putting together the book. “The only time of day I could write was early in the mornings after my husband left for work and before the kids got up,” she said.
Grant also writes in the early morning before she leaves her Orland Park home for her full-time job. In addition, she uses her lunch hour to edit her manuscripts-in-progress.
“I try to write three pages every day. Or, if nothing else, at least a sentence,” she said. “If you miss a day, it’s gone.”
Grant has a specific way of putting together her mysteries. First, she sketches an outline of the plot and writes a draft of the last chapter. “I need a destination,” she said. Then Grant creates her characters, writing entire biographies–including details that may have no bearing on the story she is telling.
“It helps make the characters three-dimensional, and it dictates their action,” she said.
At this point, Grant plots in earnest, using pieces of carboard containing words and pictures. By laying the boards out on her dining room table, she is able to “see” the entire story. “I dislike every part of this, but it is where the story starts,” Grant said. “I compose with my eyes closed. I just see it happen and write what the characters say. It’s like dreaming while awake.”
On the other hand, Petit prefers not to map out the entire story. “The original idea is vital, but more important to me is the everyday inspiration, the `oh, this comes next,’ ” she said. Petit starts with a bare-bones plot–beginning, ending and several set scenes. “To know everything would rob me of my fun.”
All of the writers said they need a quiet place to work and, according to Castle, the suburbs offer a silence you can’t find in cities. And living in the suburbs doesn’t prevent them from feeling part of a larger literary community.
“The only drawback to where I live is that I’m real careful to buy all the ink I need for my printer. If I run out, it is an hour to the store and back,” Castle said.
“The new technologies make it geographically irrelevant where you live,” Petit said.
Yet the authors prefer to set the books locally and use local sources for information. Castle has interviewed suburban cops for ideas and tips to round out his stories. Petit used her husband’s experience as an emergency medical services technician as the basis for several of her novels, including “Hope to the Rescue” and the forthcoming “Street Pizza,” both of which are set in the south suburbs.
“A lot of us put blinders on and think that everywhere else is exotic and provocative. I think there is a lot to work with out this way,” Petit said.
Grant’s books are set in a fictional small town outside of Madison, Wis. “I am familiar with the area, but I have also set stories in Scotland–and I’ve never been there,” she said. In that case, her research consisted of reading books, watching videos and perusing maps. She does, however, incorporate many of her own travels into the books and uses her vacations to research various story ideas–which can have unintended consequences.
As everyone else took pictures of the stalactites during a tour of Cave of the Mounds in southern Wisconsin, Grant pointed her camera down toward the rough passageway. When her husband, Bob, asked what she was doing, Grant replied that she was looking for a place to hide a body.
Unfortunately, her voice echoed through the cavern and other visitors heard what was meant as a private exchange. The tourgoers subtly began to distance themselves from Grant and her husband. She thought that extremely funny and began to laugh; again her voice reverberated, sending gales of hysterical-sounding laughter through the chambers. By the time they left, other visitors were shooing their children away from the couple, and a few actually copied down their car’s license plate number.
Family and friends also make their way into the authors’ works. Castle has–in print–blown up his pal Tom Hysell of Crete and put a bullet through the head of his nephew who was the model for a no-brains bodyguard in a Batman comic strip. His nephew said thank you.
“It’s a little strange seeing yourself killed off,” said Castle’s nephew Brian Moore, 25, of Flagstaff, Ariz. “But not many people get a chance to read about a character that’s based on themselves.”
Although Wilk is working with recipes, her family still clamors to get into print. The cookbook started out as a Christmas gift for family members before turning into a profit-making enterprise in January 1995.
“I couldn’t tell anyone when I was writing the book because it was a surprise,” she said. “Now everyone is sending me recipes.” Each hopes to become immortalized via “Grandma’s Dumplings” or “Ragna Rasmussen’s Good Cookies.”
Castle said his fiction formula is “a whole lot of reality plus a little bit of imagination.” Weinberg, however, refrains from using family details or traits in his novels. “Modeling a character after an annoying relative is not good family policy,” he said.
Each author claims to live a pretty tame suburban existence, but every once in a while their status rises to that of celebrity. They appear at book signings, speak at writers’ groups and work with students. Weinberg has led writing workshops at Columbia College in Chicago, and Castle has worked with senior citizens and high school and elementary school children in Crete in putting together collections of poems, stories and narratives.
“The children gained a lot of good writing experience,” said Jayne Matthews, communications coordinator for the Crete-Monee Board of Education. “It’s wonderful that we can appreciate the diversity in our community and see it from a writer’s perspective.”
Castle’s work at the school has led to recognition during trips to the grocery or on errands. Petit was feted at a local restaurant after the owner’s wife recognized her from a book signing, but more important, she said, being a published author has earned the respect of her children. “Before, it was, `Mom’s writing a book. Big deal.’ Now it’s, `My mom is an author.’ They see me as a professional outside of being a homemaker.”
Weinberg said he has no celebrity status and isn’t the least bit upset about it. “You want recognition for your work,” he said, adding that he is more impressed with seeing his works on the shelves of a library or bookstore.
Petit said she cried when she saw her novels in the library, and Castle said he is amazed when he thinks that people “will maybe buy the book and spend 8 or 10 hours of their life reading something you wrote.”
Grant actually takes photographs of her books on the library shelves, while Wilk has organized outings with her friends to see her books at Field’s.
“Of course I’m not a bigwig author. I’m not the Frugal Gourmet,” Wilk said. “But I could be.”
