Tag Archive for: ” Characters

Out of Character

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by Linda Rodriguez

My husband and I have been binge-watching Prime Suspect on Netflix lately. Helen
Mirren is awesome, as always, but the ensemble cast is of extremely high
quality, also, and the writing is superb. Until. (You knew there had to be an “until”
hanging around there somewhere, didn’t you?)

Suddenly, one episode begins with Mirren’s character DCI
Jane Tennison doing something so out of character and just plain stupid (for a
very smart, savvy character) that both husband and I are screaming, “What? Jane
would never do that!” This out-of-character action she has taken is an obvious
set-up to provide lots of conflict later for Jane, but between us, we came up
with four different ways the author could have set up the exact same conflict
without having Jane commit an action totally wrong for her character.

Normally, I don’t even worry about this in movies or TV
shows because I usually simply can’t hold them to as high a standard as I do
books, but this series is so well-written that I do expect that kind of
intelligent writing. It’s happened before in books by excellent writers, as
well. I can understand the impulse behind it because I think there are times we
all are frustrated in our plotting and tempted by the lazy way to put our
protagonists where they need to be.

The writer of one of the strongest, best-written mystery
series around (who shall remain nameless because she’s never done it again) did
this in one of her books, causing her protagonist to violate the essence of the
character the writer had spent four books building up in order to allow that
protagonist to learn something the author needed the protagonist to know and to
create conflict for the protagonist. It was darned near a
throw-the-book-against-the-wall moment for me, and if this author hadn’t
already built up so much respect, I would have.

I finished that book, in which the character went right back
to being the person delineated in the previous books, and have continued
reading that author. Although we stopped midway in the Prime Suspect episode, the others have been so good that we will
probably give it a chance and finish it. But I have stopped reading some less-stellar
authors’ series when they’ve pulled that kind of boner. If you can’t believe in
a character’s reality, it pretty much blows the whole show, I think.

How do you feel about a major character making a move that’s
not just a surprise but completely wrong and out of character? Do you just
shrug and move on, or does it bother you as it does me?

REPLIES TO COMMENTS (because Blogger):

Mary, yes, a good editor will catch these moments, so if they show up, they’re a failure in editing, as well as in writing. It can be a temptation to force your character to do something s/he’s too smart/ethical/whatever to actually do, simply because you need it to happen for plot purposes. But there’s no sense in working your butt off to create a realistic character to turn her or him momentarily into a cardboard cutout for convenience’s sake. 

I know just what you mean about that itch, Mary S. The right motivation can make anyone do just about anything (Sophie’s Choice, anyone?), but you’ve got to show me the motivation. My Skeet Bannion is not a hot dog/cowboy cop like so many protagonists and wouldn’t normally charge in alone after an armed murderer with a child hostage, but in Every Last Secret, she does just that because the antagonist has started hurting the child.

A Life of Her Own

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My husband came home after a run-in with someone at work who
inherited wealth and who specializes in not doing the work she’s responsible
for, creating discord and trouble for/with everyone who works with her, and
then having loud, angry, public meltdowns to get her way. Husband’s the only
one at work who will stand up to her, and once again he’d had to draw a line in
the sand and tell her that her behavior was inappropriate. Our son asked how
she can possibly expect to keep her job with such incompetence and
unprofessional behavior. I told him she felt entitled because her inherited
wealth had always cushioned her from consequences and quoted someone, as I
often do. It could have been Helen Keller, Emerson, the Dalai Lama, Eleanor
Roosevelt, but this time it wasn’t. I quoted from my newest book, Every Hidden Fear, which I’d just spent
the day with as I pored over page proofs. “As Skeet says, ‘It’s
amazing the crap people will put up with from someone with lots of money.’” 
My
son looked at me with a little concern and said, “You do know Skeet’s not a
real person, right? I mean, she’s not really alive. She didn’t really say
that—you did.”
Of course, technically, he’s right. I write every word that
comes out of Skeet’s mouth. But Skeet says and does things that surprise me all
along. I can begin a book or chapter or scene expecting to write about Skeet
doing this and saying this, only to find once it’s written that Skeet’s
actually doing and saying something else entirely, something I never intended
or planned or even wanted.
Skeet’s not the only character who’s become her own person.
I have some others from the Skeet books and from other stories and books I’ve
written or am writing who have come to life and move and speak in ways I don’t
expect. It’s an extension of my lifelong reading, in which beloved characters come
alive for me and continue their adventures in my head long after the book’s
adventures are over. 
I just notice it in Skeet so much because I’ve written
three books with her and am planning the fourth, planning that she will
blithely disregard as soon as I allow her on the page again. So I quote Skeet
and other characters and ask myself what they would do in certain situations
that call for strengths they have that I don’t. And yes, I am aware that very
little separates me from the bag lady with the shopping cart who walks down the
street having arguments with the voices in her head. I just don’t do it in
public—yet.
So, tell me, am I alone in my affliction, or do you also
have these people in your head who insist on living lives of their own?


NOTE: I am still not able to reply to comments here, but I’ll respond on The Stiletto Gang Facebook page, so visit us there at https://www.facebook.com/stilettogang.

Solving My Murderous POV!

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By Laura Spinella
In the thick of storytelling, the nitty-gritty, nose-to-the-grindstone
act of putting words on a blank page, there are bound to be roadblocks. If
there aren’t, you’re not doing it right. That’s not to say there’s a magic
bullet or formula. It’s just that you can’t get from point A to point B without
hitting a few glitches and in some instances a landmine.
I am in the midst of writing book seven. Lucky seven. If all goes well, it will
be the third book to make it onto store shelves. Of course, that doesn’t lessen
the learning curve of those trunk novels. Surely, I garnered more from the misfits than the books that had legs and, eventually, a spine. The premise for
my new book came fairly easy, so I came prepared for some other sort of problem.
Perhaps my pace would be off kilter and my love story tepid at best.
But no, that wasn’t it. I sailed into midpoint, anxious as a reader to find out
how it all works out for Aubrey and Levi. My research has gone well
too. My former editor-in-chief has graciously allowed me tap into his vast newspaper knowledge. That’s a great thing, helping me fine tune character and storyline details. In fact, the biggest challenge had been physical. The mind is willing. The
body not as able as it used to be. My arthritic neck and a nagging pinched
nerve (paints a lovely haggard witch picture, doesn’t it?) have decided that sitting
for hours is not in their best interest. But physical pain is not as compelling
as mental anguish, and I was having hard time accepting it as this book’s
issue. Frankly, I worried that the process was going too well.  
Then, last week, everything changed.  I just didn’t step on my landmine, I fell face first into it. The problem came
into focus as I backed the truck up and decided to read my WIP.  There it was, crystal clear: the POV in the past
portion of the story is a hellacious mess. It truly, absolutely, completely
sucks. Seriously sucks. For the most part, my writing relies on a
back-and-forth method of storytelling. They’re not flashbacks but an
intertwining of chapters moving between two distinct periods of time. I’ve been
asked if this is intentional. It is, but only as a means to an end. It’s the
way my mind or muse conveys a story. In BEAUTIFUL DISASTER and PERFECT TIMING,
the past storyline is mostly about the romance. In this book, it chronicles the events
leading up to a murder. It also includes a darker, somewhat twisted romance. Initially,
this is what intrigued me, writing a socially unacceptable love story and
seeing if I could get readers (not to mention my agent & editor) to buy
into it. For that part, we’ll see. Right now, my problem is a murderous POV.
 I thought an omniscient telling would be the key to these in-the-past chapters.  I like the distance that an omniscient POV provides.
There’s no need to get too chummy with the characters here. But an omniscient
POV doesn’t come naturally to me, a fact proven when I reviewed my WIP. An out
loud reading left me queasy and looking for a quick exit.  The dogs, my captive audience, practically howled in protest.  I didn’t recognize the writer, the voice tip-toeing
between characters and that removed but all-knowing presence.  My go-to fix might be multiple POVs separated by scene. It
would keep things rolling along, although I don’t know if it would be admitting
defeat. I don’t like to lose. But I also like climbing into my characters’ heads, one at a time, rooting around for their side of things. This is what I’m good at.  Those
voices come clearly, and it could be that I’m shooting myself in the foot by trying to prove I can do it. For now
I’ve abandoned the problem, pursuing forward motion with what is working. But
before long I will have to revisit Missy and Frank and the ensemble that awaits
me in Surrey, Mass, circa 1993. I will have to decide.  
So I’m wondering Stiletto Gang writers of mystery—or
anyone who has a thought on the subject—what POV works best for you. Do you
venture outside your comfort zone if the story dictates? Should I stick with my
omniscient effort? Am I doing what’s best for this story, or am I only being
stubborn about mastering a skill that doesn’t come naturally to my set? Like any good editorial, opinions are welcome!         
Laura Spinella is the author of the award winning novel, BEAUTIFUL DISASTER and the upcoming novel, PERFECT TIMING. Visit her at www.lauraspinella.net. 
      

For Future Reference

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By Laura Spinella
Lucy would say to Ethel, “I have an idea!” Ethel’s eyes would bug like moon pies, the idea propelling the two into adventures that had her wearing the back end of a bull or wrapping candy with hysteria induced lightning speed. Of course, there’s the classic Harpo Marx mirror scene, and if Lucy were to get that coveted Richard Widmark grapefruit, it was up to Ethel to help her scale the wall.  Well, we all know none of those brilliant harebrained ideas came from Lucille Ball’s henna rinsed head.  They came from a staff of writers whose job it was to create twenty-two minutes of riveting, if not riotous, television.
            Even in black and white, fifty plus years ago, it was still all about the idea.  I like the concept of a team effort when it comes to television writing. It’s a natural path for a forum that thrives on timing, dialogue and the occasional pratfall.  The medium lends itself to a group effort.  Book writers, on the whole, aren’t of that nature. Of course, there is the exception to the rule, successful trends where big name writers, like Patterson, take on a protégé or sometimes an offspring. But as group, we work alone. It makes the idea portion a precious commodity.  Visualize the stereotypical writer, go ahead.  I bet we all conjure up the same scene: A haphazardly dressed, unshaven writer (man or woman, I’ll leave the hormonal issue up to you) staring willfully at a typewriter.  I don’t care if you don’t even remember typewriters,  It’s like separating Easter from chocolate. The two just go together. Inserted in the typewriter is the proverbial blank page, above the writer’s head an empty bubble. It waits with hemorrhoid like pain for an idea to insert itself.  As I said, a stereotype.
            Personally, the idea of approaching any keyboard with nary an idea scares the hell out of me.  Assuming we’ve replaced the typewriter with a computer, I’d be on Facebook in .03 seconds.  Ideas don’t come as a whole. They don’t even arrive in tasty chunks. For the most part, ideas are snippets and threads that, if I’m clever, weave into fabric.  If the scraps of ideas are good enough, eventually the fabric reveals a pattern that tells a story.
            Along with the blank page comes the proverbial author question: Where do you get your ideas?  When asked this, I tend to squirm, babbling nonsense that amounts to a message in a bottle. In truth, the answer is both so vague and tedious I find it impossible to answer.  I view it as an unfortunate fact, until I ponder people like Patrick Bourne. He’s a character in my WIP, not the main character, but the one whose presence assures me that snippets are where real ideas start.  A few years ago, I was doing a newspaper piece on a beautiful vintage property. The homeowner was there, a svelte gentleman for whom the word dashing was invented. He spoke only about his house, showing me period photographs of the Georgian manor.  He was fascinating, his mannerisms matching his bone structure, distinct and inviting.  I spent no more than five minutes with him.  He had to leave for work—he was an attorney. At least that’s what the housekeeper told me, a woman who left me to peruse the property at my leisure. I admired ornate woodwork, Italian art worth more than I made in a year, Chinese Chippendale chairs and Persian rugs.  I traveled room to room, or continent to continent, unable to get my mind off the man. I know that sounds like instant infatuation, which is plausible, as he was worthy. But that wasn’t it. There was something about him that simply captured my imagination. It intensified in his bedroom, finding his closet clearly divided and completely filled with men’s clothing. There was one photograph in the room, the man I’d met and an equally fetching African American man. I probably looked at the picture longer than I should have; it was hardly the point of my business in his bedroom.
Not long after, I went back to the newspaper and wrote a lovely Sunday feature about the grand manor and its historic ties to the community. Today, I couldn’t tell you what town it was in.  I couldn’t retrace my steps if you told me there was buried treasure in the basement. A few sentences back, I mentioned that the man had captured my imagination. For most people, that’s a disposable phrase. For a writer, it’s future reference. I won’t tell you that Patrick Bourne is the man I met that day. I didn’t learn enough about him to possibly draw that conclusion. Our conversation was not personal; I don’t recall his name. Admittedly, I had privileged information, information that had time to stew and simmer in the back of my brain. All of this led to the snippets of thread that wove into fabric, creating Patrick Bourne.  Is Patrick gay? Yes. Is he an attorney?  Well, he is indeed. Are his mannerisms identical—they’re similar.  But more than anything, the blanks of his past, present and future were completely up to me, custom crafted to fit the man in my book. So while there is no team of writers, there are thousands of random yet cataloged snippets.  With any luck, a few will turn into perfectly wonderful ideas.        
BEAUTIFUL DISASTER is an RWA RITA Finalist for Best First Book, Wisconsin RWA Finalist for Best Mainstream Title and New Jersey RWA Winner, Best First Book, 2011. BEAUTIFUL DISASTER was voted a Favorite Book of 2011 at SheKnows.com. Visit Laura’s site at lauraspinella.net 
         

I Owe, I Owe, So Off to Blog I Go!

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By Laura Spinella
Panic mode. I owe a blog. It’s two plus weeks until Christmas; I haven’t bought a single gift, and I owe a blog. My regular part-time job at the newspaper stops for no one. Ever work at a newspaper? News staffs endure worse hours than the ER at Cook County Hospital. My beat, while a tad tamer, isn’t much different with two front-burner stories slated for my byline. News stops for nothing, certainly not holidays, and definitely not a blog. But never mind that, I still owe one.

A couple of weeks ago, a dream job that is a dotted line to the publishing world fell into my lap. I’m not at liberty to spill the details, but let’s just say you couldn’t make it up. Hopefully, it will replace the newspaper gig, but in the meantime, I get to do both. Oh, yay! That and I also get to write a blog. So far, the new job is crazy hectic with bizarro hours and fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants directives. I’m okay with that. While I wait for the Lifetime people to call, I can busy myself with a cash-in-hand challenge. The perks are kind of cool. Just this week, I spoke with two bestselling authors! Very nice peeps, those mega bestsellers. I get to do the new job from home, which you’d also think would be a plus. Actually, it’s been the bump in the road. Book writing and newspaper work moves at my pace, meaning I deal with interruptions as they pop up. There’s something about a six-month old kitten flying across your keyboard while taking copious author notes that isn’t quite as cute as it sounds. Well, like anything new, glitches are to be expected. In between working the insane and fascinating new job, I owe a blog.

Add to this the endless treadmill of promoting BEAUTIFUL DISASTER. (makes a great holiday gift!)I went on a binge a few weeks back and sent copies to bloggers we’d missed during its debut. I haven’t heard back from all of them, but one did manage to put it on her radar. Happily, luckily, gleefully, she found favor with the book. And while I could have spent a good chunk of this week trading complimentary emails with her, I had zero time penciled in for self-adoration. Two, “I need it yesterday,” jobs, plus, you guessed it, I owe a blog. Of course, strategically woven into the psychedelic tapestry of my day is a WIP. This past Tuesday, I started feeling the stress of my Ringling Brothers juggling act. I was tearing through a late chapter revision, having changed the name of a minor character. I’d decided too many characters’ names started with a vowel. A seared-to-my-mind memory from a book club reader prompted this fear: “I would have enjoyed your book more, but so many of the characters names started with an M, I got confused.” (I’m sure as an author you eventually reach a place where crap like this doesn’t stick. I’m not there yet.) So along with banning the letter M from my WIP, at least concerning names, I launched a preemptive strike to keep complaints about vowel sounds to a minimum. Only after completing the change did I realize I’d given both the character and Isabel’s cat the same name. What a mess. But I couldn’t fix it, as the alarm had sounded announcing the afternoon session of musical jobs. No worries, I’ll get back to my WIP soon. There I’ll spend a chunk of coveted writing time with a 377 page, one-by-one search and replace. In fact, I’ll relish it, because despite cash flow or an incredible opportunity, that WIP is what gets me moving. It’s important not to lose sight of that. A little stressed, slightly overwhelmed, wishing Rudolph would postpone until Valentine’s Day, I’ll still be excited to sit down with it. And I’m going to do just that… You got it, as soon as I don’t owe a blog. 
Happy Holidays to my fellow Stiletto Gang and all our wonderful readers!

How to write with pickles

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by Bethany Maines

I just read a blog about a woman who bought her husband a giant 5’ chicken because they got into an argument about the need for more bath towels. It was done with a great deal of love, humor and antagonism – like a good marriage.  Or at least like my marriage.  I frequently tell my husband he has extra-large fingernails; he finds this statement bizarre and tells me I just have midget hands.  I haven’t bought him a giant chicken yet, but we’ve only been married for some amount of years under five (I’ve outsourced this knowledge to my husband and he’s not home), maybe when we get to 15 we’ll have reached the giant chicken stage.

But my point is, (stick with me here – I usually get to a point sooner or later) that relationships, even loving ones, frequently work in opposition, as well as compliment, to each other. And yet, that simple, everyday dynamic is one of the harder motivations to write into a character. Why would anyone in her right mind buy a giant chicken and leave it on their front porch to annoy their husband? That’s not logical, or as my agent sometimes says, “I’m just not seeing it – I don’t think she has significant motivation.” Um… he said the pink beach towels were good enough for regular bath towels? That’s practically an engraved invitation for giant chickens right there.

What I’ve discovered is that there are two kinds of people in this world – the chicken people and the non-chicken people. Unfortunately, I don’t get to pick which ones read my books, which means that I have to write for the non-chicken people. And they are much less willing to take that leap to chicken on the front porch ringing the door-bell with me. Which means that I have to do writerly things like establish a history of chicken type actions in my character. Sometimes I add alcohol to an incident – that seems to help readers believe the unbelievable idea of chickens. But I think the most important technique I use is to make sure the tone of my story matches the tone of my character.

I once wrote a science fiction story – very serious, very edgy etc – and at some point my character ate a pickle. Why? Because she likes pickles. But I was informed, in no uncertain terms by my critique group that pickles weren’t allowed. Apparently, pickles are an inherently funny food choice and not in the least sci-fi. I railed against the anti-pickelites, but they were right. You can’t just throw a pickle in from out of no where and expect readers to roll with it. They have to know they’re in a pickle type book.

And then it occurred to me that I must be living a pickle type life if I think 5’chickens are a good thing. I’m ok with that.

My Past Jobs and the People I Met While Doing Them

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I’ve been around a long time and have had many jobs–none that I hated, but all that have had a tidbit or a person who I’ve been able to use in a book.

Of course my first paid jobs were babysitting, which I began at the age of 10. Frankly, I wasn’t much good at it, but people continued to leave their children with me for several hours at night. Like many young girls, when I was in my teens I had to fight off dads’ groping hands while being driven home. (Never took a second job with their kids.) Haven’t put one in a book yet, but I may.

I’ve worked at a boring job filing for the telephone company, there I met some interesting people. One of my coworkers lived with a man she wasn’t married to, my first encounter with such. (Remember, this was a long time ago.) She lived in a downtown L.A. apartment house complete with a Murphy Bed. Another co-worker was a young Mexican woman who lived in East L.A. I went to her wedding, and hubby and I had dinner with the newlyweds in their apartment in the barrio. I see reminders of that visit and neighborhood in many movies. I went to my first baseball game with the gals I worked with, ladies’ night so it was free, and we spotted a couple of movie stars. I also went to a nudist camp with another of my co-workers and her family. That was an experience I’ve yet to write about–but ought to.

I worked as a telephone operator off and on over the years (between babies) and met a lot of interesting people whose parts and personalities I’ve used in various books.

When I became a teacher in a pre-school for developmentally disabled children, I not only loved the work but I loved the kids. During my ten years at this school, I also went to college (raised teens, was a Camp Fire Leader and had husband in the Seabees who finally retired). I met more intriguing people whose various parts and personalities burrowed into my memory for later use.

From that school, I taught in three different day cares in low-income neighborhoods. I not only met people who ended up in my books, but situations that were perfect fodder for plots. In my first mystery, The Astral Gift, the heroine works in a day care and I gleaned a lot of what happened to her in her childhood and on the job from many different people and gossip told me by my fellow teachers.

Hubby and I moved to where we live now and took over a licensed facility (home) for 6 developmentally disabled women. The perfect job for me. I loved it and I had time to write when the ladies who lived with us went off to work. I also was exposed to a not so wonderful state-run system with far too many leaders who have no real conception of what it takes to provide a good home for folks, and far too many regulations. A bit of this seeped into a psychological horror I wrote called Wishing Makes It So about a very bad little girl who nearly ruins a family. (I also quizzed my couple of grandkids who were young at the time about mean things kids had done to them which also appeared in the book.)

It didn’t take me long to realize our new home was in a small town with its very own and unique personality. Also close by was an Indian reservation. New fodder for my books–and of course this was where Deputy Tempe Crabtree was born. Going to Pow Wows, driving the scary, narrow, winding road to the reservation, being involved in the controversy over the building of a casino on the rez, visiting the casino in its various stages of growth, watching the good and the bad that came from the casino, hearing and learning about the many Native American legends all things I borrowed from for my Deputy Tempe Crabtree mystery series.

After 22 years, hubby and I retired from the residential care business after helping the last remaining women in our home find new places to live, taking their desires into consideration (not our responsibility but we knew we’d do a better job than those in charge).

Now instead of going off to work, we’ve gone to lots of mystery conferences and book fairs in many interesting places–still meeting the most intriguing people.

Over the years I’ve met enough people and been enough places that I have far more material for books than I have time to write them–but that doesn’t mean I’ve quit paying attention and taking notes.

What about you, have you gotten ideas from any of your jobs or people that you meet in various situations?

Marilyn

Look Who’s Talking

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This week at The Stiletto Gang, we’re exploring the writing process. Four authors, four different approaches to producing mysteries.

I’m Marian, the Northern half of Evelyn David. In the five years that we’ve been collaborating together, Rhonda and I have often had this same conversation.

Me: So then what happens?

Rhonda: I don’t know until I hear the characters talk.

It’s taken me years to realize (and I confess that I’m slow in gaining these insights) that my writing is plot driven; for the Southern half, and she’ll speak for herself on Thursday, it’s character driven. I have to start out with a general idea of the whole storyline; whereas Rhonda insists that the characters will tell her what happens next once she gets them down on paper. Actually, that’s not a bad combination. It’s probably why, despite repeating the exact same conversation at least a dozen times in every book or story, our collaboration works so well (that and the fact that the Southern half has a wicked sense of humor).

I suspect my approach is the result of 20+ years of writing nonfiction books. Publishers insist on seeing a detailed Table of Contents, as well as a sample chapter, before forking over any money. There should be no big surprises when you write a nonfiction book. Of course, you’ll learn new things as you delve deeper into the topic; the emphasis may shift a little from what you proposed. But basically you know the ending before you start.

As with any successful partnership, both halves of Evelyn David have learned to compromise (early and often). Before we start writing, we talk through the A, B, and C plots of the book, know who our villain will be and what is his/her motivation. But it’s a loose outline subject to change – which is exactly what happened in both Murder Off the Books and Murder Takes the Cake. Rhonda was right. As the characters talked to us, we learned that the murderer we thought had done all those dastardly deeds couldn’t have killed a fly. About halfway through each mystery, the characters told us who was the “real” killer. I had to put aside my careful outline and listen to these chatty characters. They knew what had really happened.

As for my daily writing process. It involves a least a couple loads of laundry, maybe an online game of Spider Solitaire, two or three tournaments of online (no money involved) Texas Hold ‘Em – and then yes, procrastination finished, I write a couple of scenes that I’ve plotted out in my head and discussed with the Southern half. But I’ve learned to listen to what the characters are telling me to do. Sometimes they say, chuck the outline, here’s the real skinny…and then I hit the delete button and start over.

Rhonda would be so proud.

Evelyn David

Murder Takes the Cake by Evelyn David
Murder Off the Books by Evelyn David
http://www.evelyndavid.com/

Hot Tubs With Judges

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Lisa Lutz grew up in Southern California. After graduating high school, she attended UC Santa Cruz, UC Irvine, University of Leeds in England and San Francisco State University, although she still does not have a bachelor’s degree. Lisa spent most of the 1990s hopping from a string of low-paying odd jobs while writing and rewriting a mob comedy called Plan B. After the film was made in 2000, Lisa vowed she would never write another screenplay. Lisa is the author of The Spellman Files, Curse of the Spellmans and Revenge of the Spellmans. She highly recommends reading her books in order.

The other day, I accidentally wandered into a dive bar with a friend. We thought we knew the owner, but were mistaken. Since we were already there, we decided to spend the night hanging out with the barflies. Shortly after I arrived, the woman to my left asked me to hold her seat. I complied, shooing away another stranger when he tried to take it. Then the bartender told me that the woman was crazy and had simply taken a seat elsewhere. Eventually, the seat next to me was occupied by a patron suffering from the common malady known as “man trouble.” I bought her a drink. In the corner was another woman, who I later learned owned the place. The bartender served her a glass mug containing three parts hot water and one part stale coffee.

“That is disgusting,” I said, wondering why someone would try to turn bad coffee into tea.

My friend assured me she had seen it before, but I continued to express my shock and horror that someone would subject her taste buds to such a hideous beverage. Especially someone who owns a bar and has limitless libational possibilities.

“I have never seen anything like that in my whole life,” I said, with perhaps a little too much enthusiasm.

“You need to get out more,” the bartender replied.

I couldn’t argue with him.In truth, I don’t get out much. I write novels for a living full-time. That has been the case since the beginning of 2006. I work from home, not in a café; I don’t have children, so I don’t carpool or participate in play dates. I’m not a member of any club to speak of. I leave my home for necessities and exercise and to hang out with friends, but I’m not a social animal and I learned a long time ago not to rely on real people for writing material. I’ll steal a line of dialogue here or there, but what I like about writing is that it’s not about real life—or more to the point, not about me. It’s the one time I can truly escape myself. The novels I write are for the most part pure fiction—I don’t generally get my ideas from the outside world. That said, I don’t want to avoid it altogether. Sometimes I want to have a real-life story to tell, just so I have something to contribute at dinner parties.

Whenever I need to experience the real world, I force myself to take the bus— a breeding ground not only for germs (so I can keep my immune system on high alert) but also for unforeseeable conversations.

Not too long ago, I overheard a delightful conversation on the 38 Geary.

A crazy man got on board. He shouted out to no one in particular, “Did you know I was in school to be a doctor?”

Another man replied, “I got news for you: You failed.”

The crazy man came back with: “I’ve been in hot tubs with judges. I got diamond rings and everything.”

He didn’t have any diamond rings on him, I should report. The conversation deteriorated from there, culminating in a lengthy monologue about the size of women’s behinds. Particularly the behind of the crazy man’s girlfriend.

But still, it got me thinking about imagination. The man with the imaginary medical training also lives much of his life in his own constructed world. I’m not so different. He tells his stories on the street; I hide out in my apartment concocting pure fiction. Then, every once in a while, I seek out reality. More often than not it encourages me to invent bolder, wilder lies. But I’d never write a character who drinks the dregs of a coffeepot topped off with lukewarm tap water. No one would believe it if I did.

Lisa Lutz