Inspiration at the Polls

A few years ago someone in my polling district got sick or moved or retired or whatever. As a registered voter of the minority party in my county, I received a phone call from the election boards asking if I would be willing to work at my local election poll. Little did I know this would become a fulltime gig.

For a writer always on the lookout for material, manning the polls is pretty good fodder for the old idea mill. Since I seldom leave my house, I don’t hear much local gossip that could inspire a fiction work. Once a year this changes radically. Discussing the election or candidates and issues is off limits so we talk about the way things used to be, former residents and those we only wish would move away, unresolved scandals, and the bleak condition of the economy. Or rather, they talk and I absorb like a sponge.

The one thing all writers have in common is an insatiable curiosity. We’re not satisfied knowing something happened. We need to know why and how. If no one can tell us, we fill in the blanks. It’s how fiction writers are born.

Filling in the blanks is a habit I picked up as a child. When adults discuss the really good stuff around children, they speak in code they think the child will not be able to follow and leave key sentences hanging. Covertly listening in on these conversations is what encouraged the writer in me so many years ago.

Born and raised in a small town I heard stories, new and old, about unrequited love, jealous quarrels that ended in gunfire, robberies, back stabbings, cheating, lying, and coveting thy neighbor’s wife. It wasn’t long before I began writing stories that satiated my curiosity and allowed me to end them however I chose. The power over the lives of adults was intoxicating. Before I even knew how to write the stories down, I was addicted. I suppose writers never outgrow that love for the unknown, the unsolved. It’s what keeps us tapping away on our keyboards even when publishers are stingy with contracts and our agents consider another line of work.

It is my hope that my job tomorrow at the polls will deliver some interesting, intriguing tidbits that start me tapping away on some new material. I’m taking my Dana with me for when inspiration strikes. Who knows, I might even start my next bestseller. So get out and vote tomorrow. If you see old neighbors and friends with their heads together discussing the latest local scandal and a lone woman nearby tapping away on her keyboard, come over and say hi. I always like meeting readers.

What writers can learn from a friendly turkey and family reunions

Our neighbors have a pet turkey. Turkeys make better pets than you might think. This one is rather amusing to watch. He pecks around the yard, talking and garbling and intent on making friends with everything in sight. Unfortunately my dogs are not nearly as congenial with him as he is with them.

The other day while trying to enjoy a leisurely walk with the dogs, the turkey caught sight of us and ran out to greet us. While he saw potential friends, my dogs saw an early Thanksgiving dinner. As my husband and I tried to deter the turkey and keep my Lab from latching her jaws around his straggly turkey neck, my fingers became entangled in the retractable leash. If you’ve ever used a retractable leash, you know why they come with labels warning against getting your legs or fingers near the rope. The fingers of my left hand are seared top to bottom with rope burns that made writing nearly impossible all weekend.

The pain has subsided for the most part and I have mobility back in my digits. But Saturday and Sunday were a wash as far as accomplishing much with my writing. Losing a weekend writing and figuring out how to someday work a turkey encounter into a novel made me realize once again how inspiration can strike at the most unlikely times.

Sometimes a writer need go no farther than his front yard for ideas. Saturday before the turkey attack, we attended a family reunion. A niece talked with me about whether or not her boyfriend would propose and what she would say if he did. She loves the guy, and is pretty sure he’s the one, but what if she’s wrong. A husband and wife spent the whole time sniping at each other and drawing unwanted attention. I overheard a conversation about a cousin who disappeared about forty years ago. The family finally tracked her down in another state a decade or so back. She has children of her own and a life none of us know anything about. She emphatically stated she did not want contact from anyone in the family. Someone whispered about rumors of “incest” and knowing glances were passed around the table. The conversation quickly shifted to layoffs and unemployment and of family members who had died since the last reunion.

I’ve heard it said the best way to repair the sagging middle of a novel is to throw in a dead body. Since that scenario doesn’t work for every piece of fiction, you may want to pay attention to what the old folks talk about at the next reunion, wedding, or funeral. Or just walk your dogs around the neighborhood and see what kind of exotic pet captures their attention.