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One of my friends commented some time ago that Max was "obviously a sexual fantasy character for [me]". This assessment upset me at the time, though I couldn't quite put my finger on why.

Eventually, I figured it out. Max, like all significant characters I have ever written, is primarily me. When I write her, I don't write her as other, I write her as another interpretation, another version of myself.

Max is my id. Which means, I suppose, that Jamie is my ego and Ellen is my superego.

I think it says a lot about me that my id is vegan, my ego was initially introduced in a neck brace and cast, and my superego used to be a Satanist.


(Friday evening, INT: MH's apartment)

MH (getting a pill bottle): Alright, Jamie, you want to have sexual intercourse with me? Fine. This is how we're going to do it.
MH: Step one: you're going to go home, you're going to call your employer, you're going to LIE to your employer, you're going to tell him that you have explosive diarrhea and you can't make it in tomorrow. You are going to turn off your alarm clock.
MH: You are going to take this one pill. You are going to take it with food, and not with alcohol. This will cause you to experience eight to ten hours of restful, dreamless sleep.
MH: You will wake up, shave, shower, put on fresh clothes, and come back here.
MH: When you return, you will look me in the eye, and you will say "Max, I'm happy, I'm healthy, I love my life, and I would like to experience an orgasm, please."
MH: Once you have done this, I will subject you to a sequence of sexual techniques so incredibly potent and sophisticated that you will have spontaneous jizzing flashback episodes for the remainder of your natural life.
MH: I am an unapologetic hedonist and a nymphomaniac, Jamie, but I am neither the bottom of a bottle nor the barrel of a gun, and I refuse to take part in any action, however harmless and pleasurable, that you interpret as a form of self-destruction.
MH: You are my friend and I care about you. Now get the fuck out of my apartment.