Through different eyes, I found these people funny and interesting, and for those among them who felt frightened and alone, I became their guardian angel. My best friend was a drug addict recovering from his eighth relapse who had lost his job, savings, car, home, wife and family because of addiction. That mindset allowed me to befriend people who were toothless, foul-smelling, crippled, rude or unable to communicate-people I would never associate with before. A mysterious process had freed me from judgment, expectations, worry and fear. Instead of feeling terrified, I felt at peace, and at times, blissful.
A normal person in my place would feel frightened and alone, and many of the experiences I described are from a solitary perspective. In Detour from Normal, I was thrust from normalcy into a life of cold, heartless professionals and the tragically mentally ill. Joined at the hip in many regards, these novels are nonetheless as different as night and day in a certain respect: one is about being alone and the other is about being together. This morning, I pondered the differences between my two novels: Detour from Normal and The Road to Amistad.
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