Fiction author Robin Brande talks about writing, reading, and other vital matters

I love my brothers. I have two of them–one older, one younger–and I think they’re both the most charming, talented men I know. My older brother (also known as BG–the Brother God–according to my husband who has heard way too many of my stories over the years where my brother is clearly out of line, but in my eyes he can do no wrong) has a normal math-brained job, but also has this whole creative side to him that I can’t even begin to duplicate. He’s a photographer, an artistic welder (seriously–he makes the coolest statues), and he is one of the funniest guys I know.

My little brother (a full-grown adult with children, but still my little brother) is a professional musician of such talent and skill it makes me want to cry when I hear him play. Last night at a family party he and his kids put on a concert for us, the three of them playing African drums, then moving on to their jazz trio numbers on piano, bass, and drums. The kids are 8 and 11, and they play like adults. My brother has his own Partridge Family going.

But (you knew there would be a “but” in there) last night was also a demonstration of one of those oddities of grown sibling relationships. I swear, the BG and I will both be in our 80s, and he’ll still be giving me crap. He never misses a chance to tell me I dance like Elaine from Seinfeld, or that my picture in a magazine made me look like I had three chins, or that I’ve acted like a dork in one way or another (which, I’ll admit, is usually true). On the other hand, I’ve heard he also brags about me to his friends and sometimes he’ll even tell me to my face he’s proud of me, so go figure. It’s a classic big brother-little sister relationship, as far as I can tell.

Last night during dinner I made my announcement about all the things I found out in New York last week about what will be happening with my novel. And I was really excited to tell them all, but I could barely get a sentence at a time out without the BG heckling me.

Me: ” . . . so then they’re going to send me on tour–”

BG: “You’re not going to dress like that, are you?”

Me: ” . . . and there will be dinners–”

BG: “What should I wear? Something backless?”

Me: “. . . and they’re hoping for a lot of early positive response–”

BG: “Yeah, I read it and I can honestly say it doesn’t suck.”

Me: “Gee, can I use that for a cover blurb?”

BG: “Sure. ‘This doesn’t suck.’”

Sigh . . . .

It didn’t even bother me, other than the fact that it took me about fifteen minutes to get out a story that should have taken five. I know it is the actual, defined job of big brothers to pull you back down to earth. I also know there was no malice afoot. Later, secretly, the BG gave me the “Atta girl!” I was looking for. All is well.

And just so you know, my little brother was the complete opposite, just beaming with excitement over everything I told him. If he weren’t a grown man I would have squeezed him until his little brother guts fell out.

A friend of mine who shall remain nameless because I’m about to dis her sisters has an entirely different relationship with them than I do with my brothers. Her sisters actually wish she would fail. My friend is the baby of her family, and her sisters can’t seem to adjust to the fact that she is smart and successful and–worst of all–happy. Every time they see her they try to bully her and tear her down, and for a lot of years she took it, but now that’s over. There comes a point in your grownup life when you get to decide for yourself whether you would be friends with your family members if you weren’t actually related. And if the answer is no, then you get to stop torturing yourself by flying across the country to spend an awful Christmas with them. These are among the benefits of being a grownup.

So life goes on. As the saying goes, “Before enlightenment, carry water. After enlightenment, carry water.”

In other words, no matter what cool things happen in your life, it’s still your family’s job to help you keep it in perspective. If they think you’re a loser no matter what you accomplish, then maybe it’s time to give them the boot. If they love you and cheer you no matter what–even if that involves some good-natured heckling on the side–then consider yourself blessed.

And I do NOT dance like Elaine. You take that back.

Technorati Tags: Writing, Publishing, Brothers, Sisters, Siblings, Family, Families, Family Relationships

Posted on Monday, September 11th, 2006 at 12:39 pm under Life, Writing . Subscribe to responses: RSS 2.0 Comment Feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.