The Fun and Trials of Being a Writer

I often wonder what other people do--those not equally blessed and cursed with a need to write. Can they sit and have a meal without picking out details of their fellow diners' dress and gestures? Do they ignore the chit-chat around them? Can they just have a ice-cold beer and blackened grouper sandwich without imagining some story about the blond senior biker woman sitting two seats down?

Well, I can't. And a trip to a local waterfront eatery/cantina yields so much material for future Southern fiction novels, I nearly hurt myself entering snippets on my smartphone's notepad. Why do I need to invent dialogue when I can borrow it for free?

Here you go...

"We have only the finest Walmart wine. The kind with the screw-off cap."
"She's not listening. She's back on the crack again."
"Hey, you're not the only woman in my life."
"Sorry I was lookin' down your shirt."
"I don't know how your liver still functions."
"Gonna be a good day. Most of the staff's still sober."
"You sure are hanging out here a lot. What, did you piss off your wife again?"

Add to this: a rousing conversation about Duck Dynasty--with said biker lady and her, I think, granddaughter. Then, there were the signs...the "no pissin' off the dock" sign (above) and the one suggesting you not leave food unattended because of marauding seagulls. Lord help.

See, this is why I love the South. May hate the heat, the humidity, and some of the narrow attitudes...still...it is a breeding ground for my writing.

Plus, remember...I can poke fun. I'm from here.