Or often, in my case. Why do other people make me feel like a nut? Is it the questions I ask? Like for Hero Needed, released Oct. 22nd from Crimson Romance, “Can a train traveling 30 mph kill someone pushed in front of it?” After wide-eyed stares, the most common response was, “Why would somebody use a train to kill instead of a gun?”
Or for the brain spore in my novel Mating Urge I asked a neurological nurse. “He’s got this infestation in his brain. Where would it lodge?” I described my hero’s imaginary symptoms. The nurse walked away without answering to hold a non-imaginary conversation with someone else.
Or the question for my July, 2013 release from Crimson Romance, Counterpoint. “How large does a shoulder bag have to be to hold ricin and how would a person carry it so that when they dump it on someone a rooster tail cloud flies up over their head and poisons them too?” I had to bribe a friend’s teenage son with candy to let me knock him down sufficient times to get the “ricin” (flour) to make a rooster tail. The younger son wanted nothing to do with me, even for candy!
Or the question for my novel J’Tar. “Where do his clothes come from when he shapeshifts from jaxtar cat to man?” “Would these imaginary clothes move in a breeze?” “If they’re imaginary, why can’t other people see through them?” I got big-eyed, vacuous stares from several people. Thank God I know other people who love paranormal!
Then there are the questions I ask myself. I have a working title for one novel, “Sliding on Flannel.” I asked, “CAN you slide on flannel?” Since I own flannel sheets, I experimented. The answer: difficult, but not impossible. It was the underlying premise of the novel.
There was, “Can a ghost get a flash drive out of a buried casket,” for Grave Secrets, my July, 2013 release from Lyrical Press. I had to return to the movie Ghost with Demi Moore and Patrick Swayze for a possible answer. Not that anyone needs a reason to see that movie again!
Or the question for my story Chameleon’s Secrets about whether electrical tape could hold a stone carving affixed to a man’s chest and how many times the tape would have to wrap around to be secure. Hubby gave me the large-eye stare but did submit to the electrical tape. I believe his chest hair has grown back.
I have fun writing my novels, researching them and making up imaginary things that I ask other people about. So people think I’m a nut. So what.
What about you? As a writer, do you ever feel like a nut?