Today is an official day in our nation for honoring a great man, Martin Luther King, Jr., but because of the personal loss of my father last week, this post will instead celebrate another great man, Leslie William Wright, Jr.
Yesterday I drafted Dad’s obituary; today I can focus on the fun and even the fantastical. Because in my seven Other Worldly novels and counting, I have already immortalized Les Wright as Rowan’s dad, Gene Layne, with the very same middle name.
Dad’s middle name is just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to similarities with Gene Layne. Or I should say, tip of the ice cream cone. I was hoping to find an accompanying graphic for this post that depicted a cone with an ice cream scoop resembling a golf ball, but no such luck. Both objects are, after all, orbs, also featured in my OW novels.
Let’s just say that golf, or unrelenting snark about my dear Dad’s love of the sport—as well as his penchant for sweets, including cookies, ice cream, and a “bar of candy,” as he called them—provides unlimited humorous fodder in novels that also address serious issues involving human rights.
Both Dad, and therefore Gene, pilfer sweets whenever possible to escape Mom’s eagle eye (and bat ears), and they use old-fashioned British terms like commode for toilets and lavatory for sinks. Leading Rowan Layne to say in Alienable Rights:
“When I was little I thought he meant ‘laboratory,’ imagining chemistry experiments conducted in the sink that could change me into a superhero like Batgirl.”
Lest anyone wonder about the impetus for Luna Moth Woman, Rowan’s superhero alter ego with extrasensory hearing.
But here’s the downright uncanny kicker, as Rowan would say. The conversation she has in Monterey with her dad in Alienable Rights, about them both being plagued with tinnitus and otherwise hearing weird things? Not only did I not entirely make it up, it was inspiration and a revelation for my OW storyline about aliens being both “out there,” as well as communicating directly with us.
When I told my dad while in Monterey in November 2017 about the novel I had just begun drafting, wherein my main character might possibly be hearing alien voices, we really did discuss the strangeness of our persistent “tinnitus,” and it was nearly verbatim to what Gene Layne tells Rowan in Alienable Rights:
“Dad’s eyes widened as he leaned towards me. ‘I’d like to know if what I’m hearing makes sense. Because it sounds like what I used to hear in the radio room aboard ship.’”
Rowan’s response:
“You mean like Morse code?”
Because, you see, both Les Wright and Gene Layne proudly served in the Navy and navigated aboard ship by the stars.
Human rights issues covered in my OW novels include racism and inequality unfortunately still festering throughout the world, which is why we must continue to honor and heed the message of MLK, Jr. This vitriolic and violent hatred is addressed via bigotry toward the extraterrestrial kind of alien, much like our nation’s senseless labeling of immigrants of other races as both alien and illegal, not to mention the focus within certain hatemongering groups on nonexistent racial and/or genetic purity.
But when it comes to humans who fail to treat all entities with respect, my dad, like Gene Layne, was more likely to enthusiastically and amicably inquire of the first alien he meets in Alienable Rights, “Were you in the Navy?” and “Do you golf?”
I’m pretty sure Dad is now golfing somewhere out there in the galactic universe, because the sport was—as addressed in my OW novels—invented on one of Jupiter’s moons (with apologies to Scotland). Not only that, but Gene Layne gets to golf with aliens known as Red Orbiters, including on the famous Old Course at St Andrews in Being Alien. Something my dad never got to do, though he really did once shoot a 79, as well as a hole-in-one, on a golf course in Oregon.
That’s the magic of fiction, being able to make dreams a reality. Hence, Les Wright aka Dad will keep right on golfing as Gene Layne in my ongoing otherworldly tale. Dad’s loving legacy will therefore live on, even as those of us who loved him are mourning his loss and already miss him, including family members for whom this post is especially written: My mom, Laura, aka Audrey Layne, and our other two golfers, my sister Geri, aka G or Gwynne, and her husband, my brother-in-law John, aka Phil.
Now let’s all have some ice cream. Dad’s favorite was butter pecan, what’s yours? Rowan Layne is, of course, partial to pistachio, what with their distinct, alien-green hue, not to mention those spacecrafts shaped like their shells.
Anchor’s away, and fair winds and following seas, Dad. I love you.