Not Great Writers Steal Too

Here’s another entry in my work diary – which, I guess, this is. (My inner editor comments: ‘awkward phrasing.’ But whatever.)

Over the last month or so, waiting for the edits on Camp FUNdament, I’ve been working on a fable about the arbitrary yucky things that happen: illness, baldness, bad service, getting mugged or pooped on, acts of God or strangers, that moment of inattention when you walk into a tree or back your car over a toddler. (Inner editor says: ‘too extreme.’ But whatever.)

My story hangs on a friendship between a kid who’s lost his family and another who’s lost her life. They become a kind of Quixote and Sancho, except he’s the only one who can see her.  

Pretty good hook. But where does the story go?  I tried a couple of ideas that went in different directions and dried away, rivers running into sand. I didn’t want to give up on the story, so I did something that sounds easy but isn’t. I did nothing. I waited.

And then, on the plane to Vancouver, I read Mohsin Hamid’s  Exit West in one sitting (literally) and perked up.  Exit West is a take on the world refugee situation, brilliantly plotted, stylishly told, blah blah blah, and the way its heroes move to various European countries gave me an idea for where my heroes can go and how they can get there. 

There’s a thin line between inspiration and stealing. I may cross it. But I don’t mind and Mohsin won’t either, even if he reads this, which I’m sure he won’t.  (Inner editor: ‘more awkwardness.’)  Cervantes won’t mind either.

Next week it’s back to Camp FUNdament. Earnest Erin has finished her work. We’ll all have our in-baskets full.

And my inner editor can suck a lemon.