shoes.
I presented both of Sam’s ads later that morning. One sold. The other bombed. Then I sprinted to my drafting board and whipped out a quick panel.
I hoped that if I presented the germ of an idea, it might stall the client until I had time to work up a decent proposal.
Off the top of my head, I sketched a smiling computer monitor. It wore a carpenter’s apron with pockets full of computer components mingled with a hammer and nails, some screws and a screwdriver. I added the caption:
“U Build Computers Make Even U A Handyman”
I later explained to Mr. Goodledge that my plan was to present this doodle and then beg for more time. I promised to create something magical for him in a few days but he surprised me.
Mr. Goodledge loved my rough draft. He bought it on the spot and wouldn’t let me change a thing. Insisting we run it as is, he called it “a work in progress.” He said it was just like the computers his customers assembled for themselves under the tutelage of his experienced staff. The balding elderly man patted my shoulder in a fatherly gesture, assuring me it was just what he had in mind.
His simple idea took the mystery out of personal computers while making him a fortune, so he understood the strength of simplicity.
Sometimes I get lucky.
CHAPTER THREE
I sped home that night and logged on to the Internet before taking off my coat or grazing in the refrigerator. I even skipped the bills, going straight to my new email account.
Sure enough, there was a note from GQ inviting me to chat. He/she included instructions on how to download an Internet messenger. What a wonderful invention! Did you know you could talk to anyone in the world with one of these things? It’s like a chat room with a private line and no long distance charges.
GQ seemed genuinely interested in pursuing an Internet friendship. When I asked myself, “What do I have to lose?” The answer was simple.
With a handle like GossipQueen, I assumed that GQ was a female, but maybe he was something else. Well, hey, I’m a mystery writer. I should be able to figure out which is which with my new best friend; not that it really mattered.
I found the answer to my question of how a person could spend so much time on the ‘Net. Having an anonymous cyber-friend was intoxicating and I eagerly logged on every day after work to chat about the highs and lows of writing a good story. It was good to have someone who understood — someone who shared my goals and groans.
GQ was always there for me. One day she/he offered a fun solution to my writer’s block. I think that was when I decided to definitely think of GQ as her. She was sympathetic and had a creative approach to problem solving without trying to fix mine for me.
She wrote: “My old high school English Lit teacher once had our class try an exercise to help us get started on a writing assignment. None of us had any interest in writing, but the results were surprising. Got me hooked. Want to try a plot machine?”
“Plot machine? Do I have to buy it?”
“ ;-) No, you can’t buy it. You make one up. We each make lists for the different elements of a story. Like Type of Story, Plot, Cast of Characters. Here’s what you do: Make a list for each item and number them, like Drama, Comedy, and so on. Then make three lists of characters and number each. Next make a list of times, like past, present and future if you don’t care to be more specific, but put them in random order so I can’t guess which it is when I choose a number in that category.”
“Huh????? I don’t get it.”
“Yeah, sorry. I’m not explaining very well, am I? It was a few years ago and I’m trying to tell you as it comes back to me, which is all jumbled. Why don’t I give you an example? I’m putting one together as we speak. Hold on a minute.”
I’m willing to try something new. :o) Notice the artist in me had to get creative. My nose is not skinny. Well, neither is the rest of me, but we won’t get into it. That part’s always subject to change.
GQ’s typed message popped onto my screen, “You just use it to get started on a story, okay? The only rule is to have fun! Try to use all the categories listed, but it’s not set in concrete so it’s okay if you decide to leave something out. I’ll give you a list to choose from. Genre: Pick a random number from one to six, and write the number down.
“I have a long List of Characters so pick two or three numbers from it if you like. One can be the protagonist, one might be the villain and the third could be the sidekick to one or the other, whatever you choose. Add more characters if you need to, or just use one of them. This is only a suggestion! It’s your story. Do it any way you want."
I jotted numbers on a pad, confused, but engaged.
"The next category we’ll call Topic. Pick a number from one to six. And finally, pick a number from one to five for the Time Frame (that’s all I could think of in a hurry). Oh yes, add one to six for Location. Give me your numbers and I’ll tell you the story assignment that you’ve randomly selected.”
As skeptical as I was, it was just too intriguing to ignore. I had to do it. I typed in some random numbers and held my breath.
GQ wrote back, “You’re gonna have so much fun with your story, MI! Wish you had a list for me so I could write one, too! Here goes:
“You’re writing a satire about an executive, a photographer and a salesman. The story is about — Friday the Thirteenth! Ha! That should be interesting. Your story takes place in the present, in a city, and I’ve added the complication of an embarrassing moment to make you work harder. Now, you don’t have to stick rigidly to the format. It just guides you into a story, so get creative and write fast.
“Don’t think about it, just write. Good luck. See ya’ tomorrow! ;-)”
She signed off and I sat staring at the screen, thinking about the crazy assignment I’d chosen for myself. I printed the assignment and opened a new Word file.
A niggle started in my brain, then a kind of tickly, electrical current jolted upward from my stomach. My breath quickened and grew shallow; vision narrowed and my brain transformed all sounds into background babble. My hands rose to the keyboard, and began typing. And I chuckled. And I typed.
I should come up for air once in awhile when I’m under the control of my muse, but I just can’t seem to leave it alone until it’s finished. To heck with the headache, backache and floating kidneys; I live for the excitement of telling a story.
I finally fell into bed at 3:56 a.m., but was still awake when the alarm rang at six.
I bolted from my rumpled bed and turned on the computer. While it warmed up, I started a pot of coffee.
I fiddled with the file until I found a way to download the story into an email, then with fingers crossed, sent it to GQ. Hopefully she’d have time to read it before I came home from work that evening. I could hardly wait to talk about it. The story was so much fun that I sat down and created my own plot machine for GQ in case she was serious about writing a story.
While I was deep inside my mind creating interesting characters, I heard splashing and hissing noises
