Yeah, I got my ears pierced. Now, if my dad happens to be reading this, don’t worry, Pop. I took them out a few hours ago. I have no intention of putting them back in. Five days was long enough.

 

As with getting my motorcycle license, this was an exercise in research. Or, more specifically, “How far will Wally go to get in touch with what he’s putting his characters through?” Turns out, quite far.

 

I don’t want you to get the idea that I’m going to learn how to cliff dive or take lessons in how to properly jump from a burning aircraft at 20,000 feet. Though that does sound like fun. No, I just want to know exactly what it is that makes my characters tick. Believe me when I say that, before this week, I had no idea how people view a man with earrings. I didn’t expect the reactions I got. The double-take the people at church gave me when they came to shake my hand this morning. The slight pause the people at the coffee shop I “work” at took when they handed me a mug. I certainly didn’t expect the look I got from some woman at McDonald’s (think “I’d like to ride you like a pony you bad, bad boy”).

 

So did I learn anything else? Yes. Claire’s in the mall is about the pinkest place I’ve ever been, and I look ridiculous with bits of metal in my ear. And, when my main character’s girlfriend ambushes him and puts a pair of titanium balls in his lobes, I’ll know what it felt like. And more importantly, I’ll have a better understanding of why he wants them out of there just as soon as humanly possible.

 

Seriously. Taking your shirt off when you’ve forgotten there’s something sharp sticking out of your ear: priceless.