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Published on 2 Comments on To Eavesdrop, or Not To Eavesdrop?

So I'm out to dinner with the hubs (in a happier time when it was both safe and normal to go 'out' to dinner), looking forward to a casual evening on the lake. My needs are simple: enjoy a hot burger (that I did not have to cook myself) and some cold beer without being disturbed. Is this too much to ask? Apparently, sometimes it is.

We were at a local joint, outside on their lakeside deck. Unlike the dank restaurant proper, the deck was quite pleasant, perfect for watching sunsets and the boat traffic traveling thither and yon.

I didn't need ears this big for this one

Although it was a weekend evening, the weather had been a little sketchy earlier in the day, so the place was less crowded than usual. The deck was not large, maybe the size of a two-car garage. There was a family group over at one side, but they appeared to be finished with their meal and were busy watching a pastoral vignette of ducks and turtles in the water below. Another foursome sat at one of the tables. That was it. We chose the nearest empty table, which happened to be adjacent to the foursome, and waited for our waitress.

My first clue that my wish for a peaceful evening was a little overly optimistic: when one of the foursome retired to the deck rail behind us for her cigarette break. The cigarette was no big deal. I mean, we were in South Carolina. Just about the last place in the country that is clinging to the Right To Bear Butts with both gnarled, tobacco-stained hands. But the friends Smoking Woman had left behind at the table across the deck were loath to leave her out of their conversation. So their convo continued, shouted across the deck so that Smoking Woman could still be included.

Okay, this was annoying but I could handle. Makes it way easier for me to eavesdrop! Plus, how long could it last? About the time it takes to smoke one ciggie, right? Plus plus, this group had high potential for My Personal Amusement. Let's just say although their table had been cleared, we didn't need their pile of Bud Light bottles to figure out they had been there for a while.

I honestly don't recall much of what they were saying. Part of me was trying to be considerate and block it out, like that one time I was in the grocery checkout line and the gal on the phone behind me was relating (in full voice, mind you) that she is freaking out because her boyfriend is demanding a paternity test and she knows he won't be happy with the results.

Ahem.

Back to the Bud Lite foursome. My initial Personal Amusement transformed into Pearl-Clutching Mortification as their shouted conversation ended when one of the non-smoking ladies yelled across the deck, 'yeah, cuz she SWALLOWS!'

As I mentioned, there weren't many of us out there at the time. Besides the foursome, it was just the two of us, and a LARGE FAMILY GROUP with half a dozen kids under the age of 10. Obviously someone at the foursome's table had forgotten they were using their Annoying Drunk-ass Outside Voice. Heads swiveled. Birds stopped chirping. I swear the massive, ancient air conditioner at the rear of the building even stopped roaring for a tick. I double-dog dare any of you out there to exercise the amount of self-control it took me not to turn and stare, mouth agape; not to mention, laugh out loud. My husband, bless his heart, chose this moment to excuse himself on the pretense of going to retrieve our sunglasses (we had left them on the boat since the skies were overcast). So foolish of us. Who knew I would soon need them to camouflage my facial expression and keep me from getting rousted by the locals for laughing at their drunken antics?

As that eternal few seconds of silence stretched on, someone in the foursome chastised the other three, reminding them about the little kids in the audience nearby, and so forth. Things calmed down. I thought I was home free.  With any luck, they would be gone baby gone by the time the hubs returned with the sunglasses, and we could enjoy our dinner.

Smoking Woman returned to her seat. Someone at their table had the foresight to change the subject, whatever hot mess that conversation had been. So they began discussing what half of the civilized world had been talking about for weeks - a certain best-selling trilogy featuring sex, sex, and one other thing, I think it was . . . sex. Great. Just what I want to overhear from the already-blitzed-and-a-little-bit-ticked-off foursome.

For those of you who were behind the door when 50 Shades of Grey was handed out to every over 30 female south of the 30th parallel, this is an X-rated - okay maybe R17 - book about a rich guy who ensnares an innocent young college girl and volunteers to complete her sexual education with plenty of lube, handcuffs, and things that shall not be mentioned here in order to keep me from getting kicked out of the major search engines. Couple questions:

  • I want to know which one of the brain trust at the Bud Light table thought this would be a palatable subject?  Among the gal pals, sure. But out on a double date? Okay, maybe it was their kink?
  • Do these guys look like they spend a lot of time reading?
  • and for those guys who DO spend a lot of time reading, which of you reads soft porn masquerading as romance aimed at the middle-aged female demographic?

Sweet Mother of Pearl. Talk about out of the frying pan. We were close enough and they were loud enough, there was no sense pretending I didn't hear every word. There I sat, now clearly angled away from their table so that in case my self control slipped, I didn't want them to see my facial expression. Thank dog the hubs had returned with the sunglasses by now. Innocent lamb that he is, he kept asking me questions about what they were talking about. So I was trying to run a low volume commentary for him, but he could't hear me, so everything got whispered twice. Now THAT didn't appear a bit awkward.  I dared not look over there. Might as well pull up a chair to their table and ask for clarification as the convo progressed.

It was obvious neither of the two men in the foursome had read the book. The women kept making this or that reference to this or that naughty bit. I think they thought if they kept it light and used plenty of euphemisms, the guys would have no clue. But there were no flies on those guys. They were on the scent. They knew something was up. They wanted details. The conversation went something like this. My thoughts in italics.

Man: So what's the big deal about this book? What's it about?

Dangerous question. Tread carefully here.

Woman: It's a story about a guy and a girl. It's a fantasy. If you haven't read it, you wouldn't understand.

Good answer. Way to sidestep the touchy subject of sexual fulfillment (or lack thereof).

Man: So if it's a fantasy, what's so interesting? I read technical manuals all day at work. If it isn't real, I'm not interested.

Woman: Sometimes it's nice to read about people whose life is different from yours.

Meaning, I sure wish you would read this book and pick up a few pointers.

Man: If you like it so much, how is it different from your actual life?

Oh, he is clever. Notice how he has circled back to his original question: what's it about?

Woman: It's WAY different. For one thing you would need a bigger . . . wallet.

Skate save! She almost blew it! Right now she is feeling pretty clever that she narrowly avoided the excruciatingly delicate topic of Size Matters.

Man: Oh - so it's all about the money. Well, let me tell you something: money isn't everything. Are you saying I don't make enough money?

Ruh-roh. Almost makes me wonder if the truthful answer about the 'wallet' might have been better. That might have had a bumpy start, but would have gotten them thinking about sex instead of money. At least there's a potentially mutually satisfying solution to that particular argument.

Woman: No! I said it's a fantasy.

Man: But you said you really liked it and you wished your life was like that.

Woman: Forget it. I'm going to the boat.

And . . . we're done. Off they went in a sulky huff. Thank dog - at least I could take off my sunglasses and not worry about making eye contact. They were wearing me out!

A part of me felt sorry for them. I mean, who hasn't had a wee bit much to drink and ruined what was turning out to be a pretty entertaining evening? But then I thought about what idiot brings up the topic of an awesome sex fantasy  you couldn't put down to your partner/mate unless you think they are receptive to new ideas in the boudoir? Otherwise there's only one way that comes off: you're not cutting it in the bedroom, so I am finding satisfaction elsewhere. Granted, it's harmless satisfaction from a trashy beach read, but still - that has to sting a little bit. I hope they went home and had mad makeup sex. Either that, or Googled the nearest AA meeting.

As for me, the chili burger was great and the Yeungling was cold. If it's not about beer, burgers, ducks, or turtles, I don't want to talk about it without my sunglasses.

Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this post, I hope you'll take a minute to subscribe to my blog (the subscribe box is near the top of the right sidebar).

6

Published on 6 Comments on Want Writing Success? Just Push That Button

Here at the Johnston household, we're beginning Week 5(!!) of mostly total self-isolation (by choice; no health issues, thank dog) during the Covid-19 kerfuffle. Some of us are losing our minds (yes, extroverts, I'm looking at you). Others are making hay while the sun shines, baby! I've finished the first draft of the second book in my current WIP trilogy, and have begun Janice Hardy's most excellent 31-day DIY revision workshop. I've used it before and highly recommend.

Image by @clarktibbs via Unsplash

If you're having trouble getting inspired because of all the other craziness going on, I feel ya. Here's a handy trick I use when I'm having trouble getting motivated to write: nothing brings me out of a writing funk like a great success story. Specifically, a writing success story.

I've put a few of my favorites together for you. There's a variety of genres here, but they have a few things in common - not the least of which is BIC time (Butt In Chair). So what are we waiting for? Read this, get inspired, and get busy.

Fantasy

Amanda Hocking - my favorite line from Ms. Hocking's experiences: she wrote constantly, took writing classes, and marketed her booty off, 'only to be rejected until she was already a self-made millionaire'. The self-made millionaire part resulted from her decision to e-publish her stories. They have since been purchased by St. Martin's Press and are available in traditional paper format as well.

Kid Lit

Rachel Renee Russell - Russell began writing in middle school but gave up her dream after being told by a writing class teacher she had no talent. She took his advice, got a law degree, raised a family. But after a mid-life dumping by her (now ex-) husband, she returned to her passion and submitted a manuscript. Bam! The Dork Diaries were born (Simon & Schuster).

WhoDunnit

Kerry Wilkinson - perhaps the most nonchalant backstory ever. Wilkinson's detective story e-books topped Amazon's e-book sales for 2011. Wilkinson claims he simply turned 30 and decided to do something with his life, so he wrote a story. After he finished the story he noticed a 'publish your book with us' button on his computer screen, so he pushed it. And the rest is hi$tory. Now why didn't I think of that?

Romantic Suspense

My favorite part of this podcast is at about the 41' mark where Marie Force talks about the difference switching to indie publishing made for her. 80,000 books sold. In ONE YEAR, people! Cha-CHING!

Here's hoping you are making the best use of the unexpected excess time you may or may not have on your hands now that most of us are doing our part to battle Covid-19 by staying at home as much as possible. Your Future Self will thank you.

Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this post, I hope you'll take a minute to subscribe to my blog (the subscribe box is near the top of the right sidebar).

Published on Leave a comment on A Bad Case Of The What Ifs

Ever have that thing happen where you are minding your own business, maybe in your car or doing some other mindless repetitive task and your mind just wanders, then out of nowhere something triggers your imagination, and before you know it, you have cooked up some grand paranoid fantasy that gives you a huge case of the heebie-jeebies? Happens to me all the time. I call it the What Ifs.

Example: Once upon a time, on a trip out of town to a soccer tournament, one of the other parents drove my son and some friends to the local mall. Later that same afternoon, I was wandering around the hotel after they returned, wondering where my son was. Down to the game room; no Riley. Okay. How about the arcade by the pool? A group of boys from our team was there, but no Riley. I get a little mental frisson, which is the precursor to a probable onslaught of possible horrifying scenarios of my son’s whereabouts. I keep it under control for about 10 minutes (okay, 30 seconds), but then the cranial floodgates open. Isn’t there a pool in this hotel? What If he was horsing around with his friends and fell and hit his head on the pool coping and fell in and his friends thought he was fooling around when he lay on the bottom for so long but then they figured out he wasn’t fooling and they got scared and left him there because they didn’t want to get in trouble and that siren wailing outside is the ambulance coming to haul him out?

Whoa. Deep breath. Don’t be silly. He’s probably fine. But What If he did go down to the pool, but some of the hotel guests were actually predators staking out hotel because they knew a soccer tournament was that weekend and they figured lots of teams would be staying here and they also figured the kids would be unsupervised in the closed environment of a name hotel and so they staked out the pool and waited for a kid to come along who was obviously unsupervised and used the old ‘I’m with the hotel staff would you please come with me, son, your mother asked us to come and get you’ and poof! before you know it he’s whisked away in an unmarked black sedan with darkly tinted windows.

Black SUVs always trigger a robust What If response in my brain. What are they doing in there that the windows need to be tinted so darkly? What happened to the bike's rider? Why is the mannequin missing a head?

Whoa!! Stop it! Don't be ridiculous! But What If he was fooling around with his friends playing hide and seek and was tearing up and down the stairwells and turned an ankle and flipped over the railing and landed a whole story down on that hard concrete and got the breath knocked out of him and can’t call for help and nobody missed him for so long the bump on his head put pressure on his brain and he’s still lying there?

I can go on for days with the grim scenarios, but I think you get the picture. This is an example of the kinds of things that flow through the tortured mind of those of us with overactive imaginations. Being afflicted with the What Ifs is definitely a good news-bad news situation. The bad news is, you can really get yourself worked up over the most insignificant things. That thump you just heard downstairs that no one else seemed to notice, in your mind becomes the serial killer from three states away finding that broken latch on your basement window. The good news: it is a dream come true for a writer.

Scientists believe creativity and imagination are dictated by nature; that some of us are able to conjure up the fantastical more easily than others. My husband is a prime example of the have nots, as it were. He would think nothing of leaving our son home alone with a box of matches and a Bowie knife. His response to my objections is usually something like “He’s twelve years old, for crying out loud,” or “You worry too much”. It used to anger me that he was such an irresponsible caregiver. But now I understand that his brain is wired differently, that he sees what IS more easily than what COULD be. He is an educated and literate man, but he's definitely not cut out for writing fiction.

Put to a more practical application, the talent of conjuring infinite What If scenarios can stimulate fresh plot ideas for your fiction. The key is to let your imagination run wild – anything goes.

Let’s say you have a middle grade novel in the works with a young female protagonist. You have a solid plot outlined but your story seems a little flat. Your critique group determines your story does not pass the ‘who cares’ test (“Who cares what happens to your heroine?”). Here’s where the What If talent comes into play.

Perhaps you need to build a more intriguing background for your heroine. Instead of being the shy loner, What If your character is seen as shy because she doesn’t cultivate close friendships? Common enough, but What If she doesn’t make friends easily because she is not Katie from Schenectady but Katya from Sebastopol who was sent here as a sleeper agent to be groomed throughout childhood until she is ready to be released as an adult superspy on the unsuspecting public? What If she is the other kind of alien, jettisoned from her home planet, receiving weekly communications to guide her home planet in taking over Earth? What If she is a genetically mutated fox trapped in human form until she can find the key to changing herself back and also the thousands of children around the world who are similarly trapped when their fox den was too close to a nuclear plant when a meteor struck in Timbukstan but the incident was covered up by the government to avoid panicking the populace?

Okay, perhaps some of these examples are farfetched and unwieldy. But you never know where that next brilliant inspiration will come from. Often the most outlandish brainstorming will condense into the plot twist or character trait that will take your story from flat to fabulous.

So the next time your What Ifs give you a good case of the heebie-jeebies, embrace your natural talent. Take a deep breath. Put that talent to good use. Choose a scene from your latest project and say to yourself: “What if . . . ?”

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