Meet the Real Phillip Jackson and Learn Colonel Jackson’s Link to Autism
Naming characters in a novel is an interesting exercise. It is one of the first things you must contemplate when you set out to write fiction. Should you name your characters something simple to remember? How about after someone famous? Or maybe you should name them after a person in your real life—a person you have much admiration for. I chose a mixture of these techniques while naming the dozens of characters throughout the four books in the Survivor Diaries Series, but the name that meant the most to me personally was derived from someone I look up to, enjoy learning from, and respect greatly. His name is Phillip Jackson, and his dream was to become a soldier.
While Laura Patton was named for one of my favorite writers from childhood—Laura Ingles Wilder—and is the main character and the first person narrator of my novels, but Colonel Phillip Jackson’s moniker was the most personal to me. His name was inspired by a petite, blue-eyed, blonde-haired boy I was lucky enough to meet when he was just ten-years-old.
Our introduction was memorable. I was working from home when this little nymph walked into my house, and my life, through the garage door. He was all smiles. After I recovered from the surprise guest’s unannounced entry into my home, I recognized him from the neighborhood where he often played outside while his mother sat on the front stoop of their home, watching and smiling at her beautiful child.
Phillip has some speech impediments, and when he spoke with me that first day I wasn’t sure exactly what he was saying. I thought that he might be deaf, but I soon found out that he could hear me just fine. He spoke so emphatically and with such passion that I found myself nodding my head in agreement to whatever it was he was talking about.
Worrying that his family would be frantically searching for him, I tried to lure him out of my house and back to his own. But Phillip wanted to play with my dog, Hershey, and he was—to put it mildly and lovingly—stubborn! I tried everything, but he would not come. I finally opted on leaving him in my house and going to find someone to fetch him.
Phillip’s concerned step-father and I jetted back to my place quickly, only to find my living room empty. No child, no dog! We started to search anxiously for him, but he was nowhere—not in the closets, not under the beds, and not in the basement.
I was concerned both for the boy’s welfare and that—by the fact that I was the last person to have seen him—perhaps his father was beginning to think that I had done something to the missing child. The two of us stood befuddled in my living room when something caught my attention from the corner of my eye. I ran to the window, and sure enough, there was Phillip and Hershey, thick-as-thieves, playing in the backyard.
Our relief was palpable! We found him! And I soon learned that Phillip was a funny, creative, energetic child who happened to be autistic.
A few days later, early in the morning of September 11, 2011, I woke to find my husband watching the ten-year anniversary memorial of 9/11 on the news … not at all surprising. What was surprising was the small blonde head that sat next to him on the couch, petting Hershey as if his presence in our living room at 5:45 AM was the most natural thing in the world. A huge grin took over my husband’s face as he took in me, taking in them.
“He was here when I woke,” my husband informed me with a shrug.
I quickly dressed and went to fetch his mother. At this point, we had talked and she was more comfortable with us, but certainly not with the Harry Houdinis’ her son was pulling-off in order to visit our house.
Over the next months and years, Phillip became part of the family. He and my step-son played together and taught each other many lessons. My step-son—who has always been tall for his age (he is presently thirteen and stands at six-foot-one), and Phillip—always small—one child of mixed race, and the other as light as they come—came to play, fight, and laugh together like brothers.
So, how did this little man come to lend his name to one of the Survivor Diaries most beloved characters? When I sat down to write my first book, I knew I needed a military-man for the plot and the real Phillip Jackson had a love for all things military. The memory of how this boy would rush from his house and chase my husband’s car down when he returned from his Reserve Duty weekends, just to see him in his uniform and respectfully salute him, made the name selection easy.
Phillip Jackson’s dream, his mother once shared with me, was to become a US Army Soldier when he grew-up. It hurt us all deeply that Phillip would never be able to see his dream come true—but there was something small I could do. I could name the factious Army Colonel of my novels after this loving, lively, and caring boy who decided one day to become one of our family.
I have often said that Jackson, the colonel, was never intended to have such a major role in the series, but thankfully he was loud enough, not to mention tenacious and stubborn enough, to make sure that I could always hear his voice loud and clear! I like to think that it came from the seed planted from the true hero—the real Phillip Jackson.
Naming characters in a novel is an interesting exercise. It is one of the first things you must contemplate when you set out to write fiction. Should you name your characters something simple to remember? How about after someone famous? Or maybe you should name them after a person in your real life—a person you have much admiration for. I chose a mixture of these techniques while naming the dozens of characters throughout the four books in the Survivor Diaries Series, but the name that meant the most to me personally was derived from someone I look up to, enjoy learning from, and respect greatly. His name is Phillip Jackson, and his dream was to become a soldier.
While Laura Patton was named for one of my favorite writers from childhood—Laura Ingles Wilder—and is the main character and the first person narrator of my novels, but Colonel Phillip Jackson’s moniker was the most personal to me. His name was inspired by a petite, blue-eyed, blonde-haired boy I was lucky enough to meet when he was just ten-years-old.
Our introduction was memorable. I was working from home when this little nymph walked into my house, and my life, through the garage door. He was all smiles. After I recovered from the surprise guest’s unannounced entry into my home, I recognized him from the neighborhood where he often played outside while his mother sat on the front stoop of their home, watching and smiling at her beautiful child.
Phillip has some speech impediments, and when he spoke with me that first day I wasn’t sure exactly what he was saying. I thought that he might be deaf, but I soon found out that he could hear me just fine. He spoke so emphatically and with such passion that I found myself nodding my head in agreement to whatever it was he was talking about.
Worrying that his family would be frantically searching for him, I tried to lure him out of my house and back to his own. But Phillip wanted to play with my dog, Hershey, and he was—to put it mildly and lovingly—stubborn! I tried everything, but he would not come. I finally opted on leaving him in my house and going to find someone to fetch him.
Phillip’s concerned step-father and I jetted back to my place quickly, only to find my living room empty. No child, no dog! We started to search anxiously for him, but he was nowhere—not in the closets, not under the beds, and not in the basement.
I was concerned both for the boy’s welfare and that—by the fact that I was the last person to have seen him—perhaps his father was beginning to think that I had done something to the missing child. The two of us stood befuddled in my living room when something caught my attention from the corner of my eye. I ran to the window, and sure enough, there was Phillip and Hershey, thick-as-thieves, playing in the backyard.
Our relief was palpable! We found him! And I soon learned that Phillip was a funny, creative, energetic child who happened to be autistic.
A few days later, early in the morning of September 11, 2011, I woke to find my husband watching the ten-year anniversary memorial of 9/11 on the news … not at all surprising. What was surprising was the small blonde head that sat next to him on the couch, petting Hershey as if his presence in our living room at 5:45 AM was the most natural thing in the world. A huge grin took over my husband’s face as he took in me, taking in them.
“He was here when I woke,” my husband informed me with a shrug.
I quickly dressed and went to fetch his mother. At this point, we had talked and she was more comfortable with us, but certainly not with the Harry Houdinis’ her son was pulling-off in order to visit our house.
Over the next months and years, Phillip became part of the family. He and my step-son played together and taught each other many lessons. My step-son—who has always been tall for his age (he is presently thirteen and stands at six-foot-one), and Phillip—always small—one child of mixed race, and the other as light as they come—came to play, fight, and laugh together like brothers.
So, how did this little man come to lend his name to one of the Survivor Diaries most beloved characters? When I sat down to write my first book, I knew I needed a military-man for the plot and the real Phillip Jackson had a love for all things military. The memory of how this boy would rush from his house and chase my husband’s car down when he returned from his Reserve Duty weekends, just to see him in his uniform and respectfully salute him, made the name selection easy.
Phillip Jackson’s dream, his mother once shared with me, was to become a US Army Soldier when he grew-up. It hurt us all deeply that Phillip would never be able to see his dream come true—but there was something small I could do. I could name the factious Army Colonel of my novels after this loving, lively, and caring boy who decided one day to become one of our family.
I have often said that Jackson, the colonel, was never intended to have such a major role in the series, but thankfully he was loud enough, not to mention tenacious and stubborn enough, to make sure that I could always hear his voice loud and clear! I like to think that it came from the seed planted from the true hero—the real Phillip Jackson.
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