Given my recent boredom, I have begun to contemplate writing another novel. Though it’s not an easy task to first conceive an idea and it requires tons of research to add elements of truth to fiction, it is a great exercise of my twisted imagination. Over the last year, I’ve been collecting interesting characters, interviewing experts, and mulling the plot. But like with any writing, there’s a lot of rewriting and massaging that goes into the finished work. As Hemingway so eloquently said, “The first draft of anything is shit.”

Certainly, it helps if I personally experience an event. If it happens to me, I can easily describe my emotions, actions, and the event itself. Recently, I was the victim of a crime–courtesy of a pick pocket. Of all the crimes, a good one. In fact, according to research, it is one of the oldest and most lucrative crimes that is rarely prosecuted because the victim doesn’t even realize something’s been stolen until after the fact. The victim doesn’t know who, where, when, nor how it happened.

Now, no one has ever accused me of being Pollyanna, but I find all this information fascinating. Yes, I lost some money, but I gained an intriguing angle to add to the plot. Life deals me blips on my radar screen–health issues, accidents, losses, ad infinitum. What matters most is my ability to cope with and benefit from those blips. As my grandma always said: it does NO good to cry over spilled milk! Ain’t nobody got time for that!