Story Ideas from Readers

Well before the lockdown, social distancing, and masks (which make it hard to hear conversations at other tables in a restaurant), I listened to two women talk about a circumstance that seemed ordinary until one said, "Can you imagine if . . . " With those simple words, she flipped over the situation and I saw a story.

This is how stories come to me, when I'm listening to someone else talk, or reading an article that holds a twist that isn't meant to be one. The Boston Globe regularly revisits the theft of art at the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum, a stain on our Yankee preserve that shows no sign of being removed. The story included a note on the brief interview some years earlier with one of the guards who lived very modestly in another state. Pressed with the old news that some wondered if he'd been involved, he replied, "Would I be living like this if I had been?" 

Once in a while a reader will ask a question that opens up a possibility I hadn't thought of. At a mystery conference in England a fan of the Mellingham series featuring Chief of Police Joe Silva wanted to know about Joe's family. She asked about what I was holding back from readers. She was convinced there was a secret in Joe's life because I never said much about his family. The details were scant--a Portuguese son in a large family who had fished with his father and brothers during his earlier years. His parents were alive, and he spoke to his mother regularly (as did his landlady). That was about it.

Unlike many other writers, I never did a full backstory on the main character of my series. I knew who I wanted him to be but I didn't flesh out a lot of detail about his life before he became a cop and was hired by the town of Mellingham. But her question startled me. She had read closely, she had questions, she wanted answers. I thought about her for years until an idea came to me. The result was Last Call for Justice, when Joe drives south of Boston for a family reunion that his elderly father has insisted on. The old man is convinced he has one last chance to see all his children before death comes for him, and he draws them all home. It is a story of old fears and grudges, a settling of scores, and a discovery no one wants to make.

My new series features Felicity O'Brien, a farmer who has inherited the ability to heal with her hands, a gift passed down from mother to daughter through several generations. Her gift is on display in the first book, Below the Tree Line, but plays only a small role. One editor wanted more of that part of Felicity's life, and another wanted less. In the second book in the series (now under consideration), the healing plays an important role, but in the third book, which is now taking shape, Felicity's ability to read through her hands a person's state of health plays a pivotal role. 

The difference between an acquaintance offering a story line they just know would make a good novel and a question from a reader is obvious to me. The engagement with the series means the reader is thinking about who these characters are and what they would do, how they would engage the world. They can see what I've left out, and are curious about the missing backstory, or they catch on to an inkling I've had but haven't wanted to develop just yet. I'm grateful for these kinds of reactions from readers, and look forward to them. They always lead to a good idea.

My File of Forgotten Stories

Note: Someone recently asked me how long it took to write a short story. She didn’t like my answer, so here it is, in another form.

Like most of my writing colleagues, I do a lot of editing and revising. Few of my published works have ever had fewer than half a dozen drafts, and then there are the weeks of tinkering, fussing over one particular word or phrase. In general, however, if I put a story aside for any length of time, the odds are good that I’ll never go back to it. 

This morning I opened my short story file thinking it might be time to clear out the deadwood. Some stories were not meant to be revised, salvaged and remade, no matter how much time I spent on them.

The first story I pulled up had several versions, which seemed confusing, so I went to the next one, which I liked and wasn’t sure what to do with. This went on for several stories until I pulled up one that I had enjoyed writing but couldn’t figure out a good ending. I wanted a surprise, but it couldn’t be too complicated because the narrator was an airhead and couldn’t deliver anything complex. As I read it through, I felt the story still had possibilities. I decided to analyze the working (and nonworking) parts to see where I could make improvements.

First, I considered the tone—humorous, light, satirical, just as I prefer. 

Second, I liked the characters. The narrator, Babe, is an airhead and the tone of the story reflects that. She is married to Nick. Her pal Charley, a gay man who was hired as cook and housekeeper, manages her easily, and she adores him. She often finds him trying on her clothes in her walk-in closet, and takes his advice on her wardrobe even if it means giving up a favorite item of clothing. Nick likes Charley because he minds his own business, is a good cook, and keeps Babe occupied.

Third, the plot works up to the last quarter. Babe and Charley discover a dead body, which they then have to get rid of. All of this works, and the two succeed in walking away from the corpse, safe and alive. But the story needs more of an oomph for an ending. Charley needs to be more than a quirky character, and to have more than an accidental role in Babe’s life. Once I trashed the last few pages, I could pare the plot down to something simpler and find the pressure points to build into the story a more complex series of twists. I added a character, altered Charley’s role just a little, and gave a few more hints on Nick’s “occupation.”

The key to being able to rescue this story from the slurping sound of the trash (this is a Mac—my trash basket slurps) was, first, the tone and, second, Babe’s husband’s line of work. As she explained, he spent his time talking “to the boys, whoever they are.”

Not every story will be as easy to rework, and not every story will be worth the effort. This one in particular had more going for it than not—the characters, the tone, the basic setup. With a reworking of the plot, the characters go farther and the story has a nice twist at the end. I’ll give it another polish, work up a better title, and send it out. 

After spending weeks working on a particular history article that turned out to be unnecessary for my graduate research, my professor said, “Nothing is ever wasted.” I’m not sure that’s always true, but in writing fiction, it’s a good principle to keep in mind.