Real life offers inspiration when we least expect it.
That moment can also be awkward, especially if you forget to mention one crucial distinction between you and a psychopath: the word writer.
A service person comes to your home.
While you’re watching her — yes, a woman — do her job, a brainstorm strikes you out of nowhere; it rounds first base, second, and third, and charges at full speed for home plate.
But you need more information to flesh out the idea, mentally draft the story from beginning to end to see if the premise has merit.
So, you drill her with questions, lots of questions, dark probing questions, and then you feel like you have to explain, but you’re so focused on the story — the story is all that matters — you blurt out, “It’s for a murder.”