I am honored to have a special guest blogger today, my friend Craig Lancaster.  Craig’s new novel 600 Hours of Edward is available through Riverbend Publishing.  Enjoy his post and please leave a comment at the bottom of this post!!  All who leave a comment between now and Nov. 6th will go into a draw to win a copy of this book.  Don’t miss out! :)   ~kp

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Edward Stanton, the protagonist of my debut novel, “Six-Hundred Hours of Edward,” was born from a tight deadline and literary expediency. Thus, I’ve been gratified that those who have come to know him — particularly those who have watched their own children fight the good fight against his afflictions — have seen so much to like in him.

I did the bulk of the writing of the novel in November 2008, as part of National Novel Writing Month. In the days leading up to November 1st, I sketched some outlines of a possible story. I fixated on someone who lived his life in patterns, so I would have a propelling element to the story into which I could build a dramatic arc.  That’s what led me to Edward, a middle-age man struggling with Asperger syndrome and obsessive-compulsive disorder, who records his waking times and the daily temperatures and watches the ’60s cop show “Dragnet” on videotape every night.

I also made another decision, one driven by the desire to write well and write humanely. Edward could not, under any circumstances, become a punch line or a punching bag. Certainly, his compulsions and patterns could — and did — lead to some amusing moments, but they needed to be grounded in Edward’s earnestness and general good nature. Readers can laugh at some of the situations he finds himself in, but I never, ever wanted them to laugh at him.

One of my favorite passages illustrates this well, I think. Midway through the book, Edward — who is starting to break out of his self-imposed segregation from the world — manages to wrangle himself an online date. Having never dated before, Edward wakes up fixated on the question of how, exactly, the date was going to work:

It’s an odd and embarrassing thought that stirs me from sleep:
What if Joy wants to have sex with me tonight? This is not an eventuality I have planned for, and it seems so preposterous (I love the word “preposterous”) that I am inclined to just lie back down and return to sleep.
And yet, I cannot. So I watch time peel off my digital clock in the darkness as I ponder this.
5:57 … 5:58 … 5:59 …
I keep coming back to what Dr. Buckley said: “I hope that’s not on the agenda for your first date.” No, it’s not. We don’t have an agenda. We are meeting at the new wine bar downtown, the one on Broadway. Everything after that is uncertain — including, and especially, the question of whether we are having sex.
6:00 … 6:01 … 6:02 …
I must make a confession: I have never had sex, at least not with another human being. I am 39 years old and so, yes, I have discovered self-satisfaction. There’s no need to be excessively descriptive or gross about it. I read Dear Abby every morning in the Billings Gazette, and I remember her saying something years ago about self-satisfaction: Half of men do it, and the other half lie when they say they don’t do it. That’s what Dear Abby said, and that’s good enough for me. Dear Abby is a very logical woman.
6:03 … 6:04 … 6:05 …
Since I’ve never had sex, you can probably understand why I am wigging out about it. (I love the slang phrase “wigging out.”) Setting aside the obvious questions — such as, how does one arrive at the decision to have sex on a first date; does one just say, “This is a delicious salad. I look forward to telling you more about it later, when we’re having sex”? —I am uncomfortable with the idea. It seems like an irresponsible thing to do.
6:06 … 6:07 … 6:08 …
Let’s say for argument’s sake that we were to have sex. This is a hypothetical situation. Where does it happen? Do we drive all the way back to Broadview and have sex at her house? We cannot have sex at this house; that simply is not a possibility. Among other potential problems, my father would be apoplectic if he found out. If Joy and I drive all the way back to Broadview, how do we have sex and leave enough time for me to get back to Billings to see tonight’s episode of Dragnet? I don’t see how it would be possible. I couldn’t have sex with that kind of time pressure. I’m not sure I can have sex at all, seeing as how I never have had it. I’m simply saying that, even if the physical act of love were possible, I would not be able to concentrate on it knowing that I might miss Dragnet.
6:09 … 6:10 … 6:11 …
So what? A hotel room? That still brings up the Dragnet problem. A nice hotel, like the Crowne Plaza, might be willing to put a videocassette player in the room, but then I would have to make sure to bring my Dragnet tape along, not knowing whether I would actually need it.
I think that would be awkward:
Joy: “Hi, Edward. Why do you have your Dragnet tape?”
Me: “Hi, Joy. I thought we might have sex, so I wanted to be ready. I can’t miss Dragnet.”
Also, the Crowne Plaza is not the sort of place that would rent us a room for the sole purpose of having sex. The sort of place that would rent us a room for sex — and I don’t know how to find such a place — might not have a videocassette player to lend me. It would probably just want us to have sex and leave.
6:12 … 6:13 … 6:14 …
It’s settled. We’re not having sex, even if Joy wants to. Even if I want to. There is just no way it can happen. I will have to apply the lessons I’ve learned from Dr. Buckley about saying no to this situation. I can say no to sex with Joy while still treating her with dignity and grace.
I should practice at this.
“Sex? I’m ever so sorry, Joy, but it’s just not possible tonight. I do hope you understand.”
“Under normal circumstances, Joy, I would love to have sex with you, but it’s simply not a good night tonight.”
“I am appreciative of the offer, but I cannot. Perhaps I could take a rain check.”
Yes, any of those will work.
If she’s aggressive and grabs my wiener, though, I may have to come up with another plan. I have seen that sort of thing happen on late-night cable television, and I think it’s prudent that I be ready for it.

What makes this passage work, beyond the humor, is that when you get right down to it, Edward’s worry is not unlike anybody else’s. Anyone who has gone on a first date, online or otherwise, has had a collision of thoughts that distract from the moment. What if it’s terrible? What if it’s great? Am I ready to like someone? How will I take it if he/she doesn’t like me? Edward is simply dealing with these questions within the framework of his own life.

I should say something about the clinical nature of Edward’s afflictions. I purposely wrote the story in a way that would not make his diagnosis and his treatment fundamental. His medical condition is part of his backstory; it’s not THE story. I did enough research to know that Asperger and OCD often coexist, and I made sure that I had the appropriate dosage of medicine. Beyond that, I relied on my wife, who has a master’s in mental-health counseling, to guide me through basic questions of Edward’s readiness for the dizzying changes that come at him over the course of the book. Her help was crucial, and much-appreciated.

In the end, it’s a very sweet, affirming story. Some of the responses to it that have touched me most have been those from parents of Aspergians who tell me that they see glimpses of their own children in my beautiful, fictitious man.

~Craig Lancaster