I Call Mine The Box

As in, it all goes in the Box. I mean those concepts, sights I’ve seen, things I’ve overheard, things I’ve done or have happened to me which might, at some point, end up in a story. Sometimes they don’t stay in the Box long, and emerge almost unchanged, like the visit from a repairman that sparked the happy little tale that ended up in the HoE Valentine collection (get yours here http://www.amazon.co.uk/Be-My-Valentine-Scarlett-Knight-ebook/dp/B00I0B18ZC/ref=sr_1_6?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1390566316&sr=1-6&keywords=be+my+valentine)

Sometimes something remains in the Box for years, gets taken out, shaken about, put in a story that doesn’t work for some reason and stuffed right back where it came from. There’s a dream I had about 20 years ago that’s possibly resurfacing and revealing that what it actually needs is a bit of steampunk in the mix to make it work.

And sometimes something just happens that is a total gift, like today’s little incident. There I was, queueing to pay for the book I’d picked up in a charity shop, when I noticed what the man in front of me was buying, and the delicious dissonance between him and his intended purchase. I engaged him, very briefly, in conversation about his find and his evident joy in it. And the entire plot of a novel jumped into my head in about three seconds.

It will go in the Box. He will go in the Box, with his archetypally English upper-class face, and his Barbour, and his nice smile. And his nostalgic, wistful, look as he ran his fingertips over his purchase.

And I’m not going to tell you what he bought, because this is going to be MY story. MINE. And anyway, you can probably come up with even more entertaining possibilities yourselves. Enjoy your weekend and, if you fancy it, let me know whether you have a Box and, if so, what you call yours.

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