In my previous post, I chatted about my madness as a writer. I may, perhaps, have another writer’s flaw. My non-writing friends consider it far worse than voices that wake me in the night. After all, my characters don’t disturb their sleep.
Latest hunky hero says “Hey.”*
This flaw strikes anytime, anywhere. It favors inopportune moments; a sob-broken eulogy, a co-worker’s tale of woe, over crème caramel in a romantic restaurant. Something catches my writer’s fancy.
Suddenly, I’m scrounging for notepad and pencil. Really, a writer should come with a built-in version.
It happens so often, the Loving Husband coined a phrase for this special spasm of my mine: Fodder Alert.
I confess. I hang my head in shame. I apologize in advance and arrears. Not only am I a mad writer, I’m a scene spy.
Family, friends, acquaintances; all are surreptitiously propositioned for story ideas. But strangers are better. They never find out they been—OMG—used.
Before you all shun me, please know that the final result seldom mirrors the originating incident. My peculiar madness bends and twists the original beyond recognition. Innocent contributors are protected by a thick veil of privacy. I do, after all, want peaceable relations with my family and friends.
When and where do your Fodder Alerts sound? Which was your favorite?
*Ryan Chisholm, hero of Above Scandal (my romantic women’s fiction work-in-progress) informed me, “I am not idiot enough to use a little girl against her own mother”. He and Carter of The Painted Ladies must be gossiping behind my back.
© Joan Leacott 2011