
Saturday, July 14, 2012. A true story …
Me, sitting at kitchen table with notebook and pen: “Help me with my ideas for my next book. Susan’s going to Chicago to enter a cooking contest.”
Hubby, rummaging in kitchen cupboards for a chips and salsa snack: “Ok.”
Me: “Well, I have an idea for a sub-plot in the condo where they’ll be staying, but I need a doorman. What kind of doorman should I have?”
Hubby, setting bowls and snacks on the table: “It’s just a doorman.”
Me: “Ooh, maybe a female doorman, and she’ll get all snappy on Darby’s fine ass.”
Hubby: -blank stare in my direction-
Me: “Ok. Maybe not. I’ll think about that later. I don’t think they should do a lot of sightseeing, do you? They’ll only be there for a weekend, so there won’t be much time for sightseeing.”
Hubby: “When I’m out of town at trade shows, the last thing I want to do is sightsee before the show. They should have their thoughts on the cooking contest.”
Me, slightly whining: “But it will be a few weeks before Christmas, and Susan has to go shopping in Chicago. Ooh, I have to work a Santa into the story. And they have to go out to eat, and they should go to the top of the Hancock Building.”
Hubby: -blank stare in my direction-
Me: “I think I know how this can go. The Santa will be a detective in disguise watching and following my criminal. I need the criminal’s crime. What’s he into?
Hubby: “He’s a pedophile.”
Me, shocked: “Absolutely not. I’m not going there.”
Hubby: “Well, if you’re going to have a detective following him, it needs to be a felony.”
Me: “Yes, but it doesn’t have to be so serious. My books are fluffy. I need something easier.”
Hubby: “There are no fluffy felonies. He runs illegal weapons.”
Me: <sigh> “No, that’s not it.”
Hubby: “He sells body parts on the black market.”
Me, disgusted: “Oh my gosh! What is wrong with you?”
Hubby, gathering up snack to take to the den: “Have you got a better idea?”
Me, smiling: “He’s an art thief. Thank you so much for your help. I think I have the whole story now.”
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