I'm no longer working in a closet. Although I miss the red fire extinguisher, there is much to be said for a cubical. I attended a class taught by the New York Times Best Selling Author, Lilith Saintcrow, in which she said to practice writing dialog by listening to people around you at places like an airport, coffee shop, grocery store. It wasn't so much that she suggested eavesdropping, so much as we were to note reflections in voice, mannerisms, facial expressions, and reactions.
I'm kind of an expert at overhearing conversations. I like to think it is because I'm a writer, but there are some (most of them relatives) who say it is because I like to stick my nose in where it doesn't belong. I'm going with the writer explanation.
Being in a cubical is fodder for blog posts. Really. Even for a non-writer, one can hear every word of every conversation in every surrounding cubical. For me it is torture. My fingers itch to take notes, not on a personal level, but as copy for an article.
For instance, today the woman next to me, whom I'll call Ronnie (not that she reads this blog, but just in case someone else does who knows her) was talking to another woman I'll call Angel.
"Men and women think differently," Ronnie said.
"In what way," Angel asked.
"Well, you know how women worry about aging?"
"And men don't?" Angel clipped, ready to defend a woman's right to worry about such things.
"Yes, they do, but in a different way. Women tend to worry about getting gray hair, wrinkles and lines on the face, age spots and sagging boobs."
"Oh. Well, yeah."
"Men worry too, but not about the same things. Last night, at our baseball practice, my husband said he has been thinking about having to join the "Over Fifty" team eventually."
Angel laughed. "No kidding? My husband came home from a fishing trip this weekend and told me he's afraid he might only have 20 or 30 fishing trips left in him."
Oh please. I worry about being attacked by bears. Some day if all I'll have to worry about is where on my scooter to strap the saddlebag for my oxygen tank, I'll think of it as a plus.
And why is it that men actually look good with white hair?
Okay. Time to get back to sending out query letters.