In less than week, I’ll be in Hawaii (yay!), which of course evokes memories of the one and only other time I was in Hawaii on a family vacation when I was 8 years old. Travelling with my family is always a bit National Lampoonish, so I’m sure there were all kinds of shenanigans (I have a vague recollection of tasting beer for the first time and, like many other kids who give it a try, feeling fairly certain that bodily fluids would taste the same way). But when anyone mentions Hawaii around my family, there’s only one thing that comes up: The Glowing Red Dot.

We were staying on the big island and my parents wanted to see Kilauea. I was into it, but my older brothers and sister had zero interest in the volcano. I hopped in the rental car, sure that they would all regret missing out on a big adventure. Mom, Dad, and I drove for hours, late at night to catch the peak activity. It was an epic journey…for them. For me it was an epic nap. While I snored in the backseat, my parents drove on, through the night, through the rain. They drove as far as possible, right up to where the road ended at the lava field. After waking me up, we all peered into the darkness at the awesome natural power of an erupting volcano. Across the craggy lava, in the distance, we saw a red dot, barely larger than a laser pointer, a pulsating glow (that would be the fiery awesomeness…or perhaps just the haze of weariness distorting our vision?) bouncing along the horizon.

I wanted it to be a cool experience - I was THERE! In the presence of a LIVE VOLCANO! – but there was no way to spin a red dot into something that would inspire envy from my siblings, who had the night to themselves instead of hours in the car with Mom and Dad. All the anticipation and excitement led up to disappointment so absurd that all we could do was laugh. The experience was memoriable for everything it wasn’t.

See the writing connection? Tension and conflict is not always about action. Sometimes it’s about what isn’t there or what’s not happening. It’s about what people want versus what they get. It’s about competition for bragging rights and whether there’s more value in laughing at the truth or telling an impressive lie. That’s what made the story of the red dot survive in my family.

If anyone is hoping for a sequel to The Glowing Red Dot, sorry to disappoint. It usually takes my dad to plan epic journeys; my friend and I tend toward relaxation, not adventure.

Though, there was the excitement on our last cruise when the ship picked up a boatload of Cuban refugees that ruined the Captain’s anniversary dinner with his wife…

Octavia Butler once wrote about herself:

“I am a fifty-three-year-old writer who can remember being a ten-year-old writer and who expects someday to be an eighty-year-old writer.  I’m also comfortably asocial – a hermit in the middle of Seattle – a pessimist if I’m not careful, a feminist, a black, a former Baptist, an oil-and-water combination of ambition, laziness, insecurity, certainty, and drive.”

 I think that’s one of the best descriptions of being a writer I’ve ever read…