The Black Dagger Brotherhood_ An Insider's Guide - J. R. Ward [93]
Everything’s a team effort. And I couldn’t get the time and space to write like I do without the help of these folks.
Usually my days end around nine at night, when my husband and I get to spend a little time together before we pass out and get up and do it all over again. The truth is, I’m actually kind of boring. I’m mostly in my head all of the time—writing consumes my life, and the solitary existence nourishes me as nothing else could or has: I’m happiest at the computer by myself with my dog at my feet and it’s been that way since day one.
I kind of believe writers are born, not made—but that’s not specific to writing. I think it’s true of athletes and mathematicians and musicians and artists and engineers and the hundred million other endeavors that humans pursue. And in all my life, I believe the single best thing that’s ever happened to me, aside from having the mother I do, is that I found my niche and have been able to make a living out of doing what I love (my husband has had a huge hand in this whole publishing thing, so I thank him for that).
Now, before I nancy out completely and get all mushy with gratitude, let’s talk about Phury.
I have always seen Phury as a hero. From day one. I’d also been aware all along that his book was going to be about addiction—which was going to be tricky. To be honest, I was very concerned about the heroin thing. I remember, when I got the image of Phury passed out next to the toilet in that bathroom, going, Oh, God, no . . . I can’t write that. How are people going to be able to see him as a hero if he shoots up and ODs? And my problems weren’t just about him doing it, either.
The thing is, heroes are not always right, but they are always strong. Even if they tear up or break down, the context that brings them to that state is so overwhelming that we excuse them for their brief unraveling. With Phury abusing red smoke and exhibiting an addict’s need to protect his habit (with all the lying that implies), I was really concerned that if I didn’t portray him correctly, readers would view him as weak, instead of tortured.
Tortured is okay for heroes. Weak, in terms of constitution, is really not.
I think it’s understandable that Phury has some serious problems getting through the day. Considering all the stuff with Zsadist, and the complex interweave of guilt and sadness and panic that Phury’s had to live with all these years, the red smoke was a way of self-medicating his feelings. The first step to depicting him sympathetically was bringing the Wizard out before the readers so they had an idea of what Phury was trying to shut up with all the blunt rolling and lighting. Once again, like V’s actions at the war camp, it was all about context.
The Wizard is the voice that drives Phury’s addiction, and it lives in Phury’s head:
In his mind’s eye, the wizard appeared in the form of a Ring-wraith standing in the midst of a vast gray wasteland of skulls and bones. In its proper British accent, the bastard made sure that Phury never forgot his failures, the pounding litany causing him to light up again and again just so he didn’t go into his gun closet and eat the muzzle of a forty.
You didn’t save him. You didn’t save them. The curse was brought upon them all by you. The fault is yours . . . the fault is yours. . . .
—LOVER ENSHRINED, pp. 5-6
The next thing that needed to be shown was Phury beginning to realize that he is an addict. For him to be a hero, he had to conquer his drug use, and the first step of recovery is recognizing you have a problem. The initial inkling for him comes when he and a lesser are looking for some privacy to fight downtown and they interrupt a drug sale. When it looks as if the transaction won’t go through, the desperate buyer ends up attacking the dealer, killing him and cleaning him out before taking off: