Conference Sidebar

I guess I’ve just about had it with conference workshops. Reno was my fourth and, outside of a nugget here and there, the new info was scarce.

So, what’s a girl to do?

Observe, that’s what.

So, there I was, all buckled into my seat, ready to depart Reno for Burbank. After profiling the foreigner next to me (and checking for protruding wires from his shoes), I shifted my attention to the tarmac where one last guy, wearing one of those silly neon vests, tossed (and I do mean TOSSED) luggage onto a conveyor belt.

Talk about profiling. The writer in me made up a life for this big brawny male I dubbed "Chuck." I pictured him at night, haunting the local pool hall, dressed in faded jeans, a wife-beater t-shirt, and an expression that broadcast how much he hated his life. He’d chain smoke Marlboro reds, slug back Coors from a bottle, and call women “babe,” “sugar,” and “sweetheart.” He’d growl more often than he’d smile, and on the rare occasion he lost a round of pool, the bar would grow ominously silent.

Yep, I had Chuck all figured out, I decided.

Then, something strange happened. A cluster of pigeons collected around Chuck’s feet and I thought, what the hell? What would attract birds to the middle of the tarmac on a hot Reno day?

No, no...say it ain’t so, Chuck.

His hand dipped in his pocket, then scattered something on the ground, and even from my odd vantage point from inside the plane, I could almost hear the pigeons coo with glee.

Yep, my rough, tough, mad-at-the-world Chuck was feeding pigeons.

And because of the life I’d created for him, the action was extraordinarily touching.

So, there I was, courtesy of Southwest Airlines (and Chuck), learning a writing tip. Somewhere, sometime, I’m gonna create a character who has no visible redeeming qualities...with the exception that he's always got a pocketful of birdseed for his feathered friends.