Beware - That Jaundiced View of Life is Catching

My friends laugh whenever I respond to some deliciously provocative true-life event with “I can use that in my next mystery....” or “no problem, I’ll kill him off in the next book....”

This kind of thing occurs with surprising frequency during morning walks with two of my neighbors. Like when the driver of an SUV seemed intent on running us into a ditch. When another screamed at our inconsiderate use of the road. Whenever one of us has a problem with a spouse....

Increasingly, my friends are getting into the spirit. We walk year round. The way postal workers are supposed to, you know? This spring, fair-weather walkers emerged from the woodwork, spilling onto our remote country lane in ever-increasing numbers. The newcomers triggered a territorial response in us. We found ourselves snapping our fingers and whistling a refrain from West Side Story.

So on our walk this morning, I ended a description of a near-drowning experience with, “Ah well. It’s grist for some desperate protagonist in some future novel.” My neighbor, who had just returned from a camping trip with a group of friends, responded eagerly.

“Oh!” she said. “I meant to tell you! Your view of the world’s rubbing off. Now I’m starting to see things the way writers do.”

She launched into a colorful description of a woman in their group who’d seemed way too handy with a good-sized camp knife that she wielded – with apparent deftness – while peeling endless snacks of fruits and veggies. My friend wrestled with words in an attempt to convey the nervousness the woman’s knife-handling had inspired in her as an onlooker. The wonderfully queasy impression that this person was decidedly too familiar with knives....

The what if....

I was enchanted with her tale. I sent her home with instructions to write up a scene. Because she’s the world’s worst perfectionist, I explained the importance of allowing herself a shitty first draft. I told her to let the energy from that memory propel her through writing the scene no matter how badly. Then I pushed her toward her front door.

I warn my friends, “If you don’t use this in a story, I’ve got dibs....”