After listening to the interview that the HBO series Big Love writers and creators Mark Olsen and Will Scheffer did with NPR's Terri Gross, who happens to be someone whose job I have always coveted, I realized why I am a such a big fan of the show. It's not because the writing is so great (Writers Guild has already awarded them this). And it's not because I have a secret—at this point, not so secret—fascination with not only all things that fall outside of the conventional, but specifically with the idea of plural marriage and the people who have to live their lives in secret to make it work.

And who better to write about this subject than two gay men? That's right. The show, about fundamentalist Mormons, the contemporary Church of Latter Day Saints, Utah polygamists, and everyday people like you and probably me, is written by two men, television writers who also happen to be life partners.

For some reason unknown to me, I'd missed this important fact about the show's creators. As a writer, I spend a good deal of time thinking about other writers and how things are written. As a huge fan of The Sopranos, the show that eventually brought me back to TV after a decade of boycotting it, I was struck by how powerful the writing was, and how much inside knowledge one would have to be privy to to write such a show. Being of Italian descent, and having spent some time in New Jersey with some of my sister's Sicilian in-laws, I got such a thrill watching some of the southern Italian stereotypes played out to perfection, written so well that I'd spend weeks thinking about some of the brilliant lines and philosophical traversing that went on, or about the extremely gifted actors who gave us veiwers the gift of compassion.

Yes,  it is a gift. And yes, I had compassion for Tony Soprano. You wanna shoot me? But that is what good writing does: it transforms you into a person with supreme empathy. At least for an hour or so. And this can't be such a bad thing, can it?

Naturally, when I got hooked on Big Love, I assumed that one of the shows creators would have grown up with LDS at least in their lives. But it turns out, no. They are two gay men who set out, initially at least, to explore the idea of the American family, of the concept of "family values" hijacked, emptied of value, and filled with hatred by the Right Wing. Big Love is a glimpse into the experience of having to live outside of society's rules, of simulatneously carrying pride and shame about your lifestyle. That is to say, one can be inwardly proud, but still have to bear the burden of lying to others about the truth of their lifestyle.

Gays do it. Polygamists do it. We all do it, a little (or perhaps a lot).

It's a fascinating topic. Coming from a Catholic family, I am acutely familiar with the concept of shame. Can't have imagined my life without it. And even though I sometimes want to imagine my life without it, I know I wouldn't be the person I am today if I hadn't had all that guilt, shame, and repression to work through. Jesus, what do people focus on in the absence of all of it, I often wonder?

So, on to Episode Two. The secrets are getting juicier. The revenge is getting bigger. The man with the three wives is trying to hook up a fourth. Who wouldn't want to see how that plays out? (They all go out on a date together!) I personally find myself laughing at the absurdity of the plot lines, finding them infinitely fascinating and occasionally profound, and finding bits of my own life in them: having turned my back on my religion, having turned my back on my family, at least for a big chunk of time, but still pulled into the drama at times, because—well, it's part of my nature.

I think this is what makes the show so successful. That even as we watch these people, who might have absolutely nothing in common with, who we might even be repulsed by, there is more than just the element of voyeurism that keeps us coming back. It's the iconoclast in every one of us that likes to watch other people struggle with being accepted.

And if a regular suburban guy who drives an SUV, runs a chain of WalMart-type stores, and has bunch of kids, and goes to church every weekend can't be accepted, then what's wrong here? Oh, right, he has three wives.

Another fascinating point that the show's creators brought up in the NPR interview is the reality or accuracy of the material. There's been a great deal of response to the show from real live polygamists. Apparently, they're pretty happy with the portrayal. They even admit to having, or at least seeing, a feminist thread running through their unconventional lives. In this sense it means having women run the show, women bonding together and having the courage to live outside the norm, women having careers, women withholding pregnancy from their husbands. What?

Yes, in episode two we find out that Nikki, the most conservative and holy of the three wives, the one who grew up on the fundamentalist compound, has been taking the Pill! Apparently, three kids is enough for her. (I can relate to that.) But of course no one knows this and we as viewers don't find out until she is escorted to the fertility clinic with her two sister wives.

In a powerful scene later with her mother, played by Mary Kay Place, Nikki admits that she has been withholding pregnancy because she has watched her own mother become too distracted by children to be a really good wife. "If you're going to let your relationship with your husband get in the way of your duty to our heavenly father, you're doing the wrong thing and you ought to be ashamed of yourself," her mother admonishes.

While most women may cringe at the idea of being a baby making machine and ceding all power to the heavenly father who makes these rules, watching scenes like these actually make me feel pretty damn lucky. To think, I never once in my life gave a thought to what my heavenly father wanted! Wow, I really am in charge of my own life. Things aren't so bad after all. What do I have to complain about anyway?