Write Now #1: Find Stories Wherever You Are

"It's over," Rachel yells as she drops her fork loudly. "Why can't you get that?"

Embarrassed, Steven scans the restaurant then glares back at her in a weak attempt to preserve what little dignity he has left.

"Keep your voice down," he hisses back. "This isn't the time or place."

"It's never the time or place," she counters.

Steven rises abruptly.

"I'm going to the bathroom," he declares. "You'd better still be here when I get back."

He brushes the crumbs like bad karma from his shirt and storms off. Nine feet away and failing to mind my own business, I write down every word before tucking my note pad away and pouring two cups of coffee for table twelve.

I have no idea what their real names are or why they chose to break up on a beautiful Sunday morning at the restaurant where I work. But I'm sure glad they did. It's going to make a hell of a story.

Meanwhile, an 80-something couple sits side-by-side at a booth by the front door, oblivious to "Rachel" and "Steven" as they work their way through a crossword puzzle and flirt with all the playfulness of lovers one-quarter their age. Oh, life's crazy little juxtapositions. And another great story.

One might argue that I shouldn't stick my nose where it doesn't belong. To that I say, I'm a writer, a busybody by trade, ever in search of a good story and delighted to find one wherever I can. I don`t wish the aforementioned unhappy couple any ill will and I`ll certainly work hard to maintain their anonymity, but I'd be a fool to turn a blind eye to their misery since that's where real life happens. Real life that translates into great ideas, which in turn produce the inspiring and/or cautionary tales that guide eager readers and audiences on their own journeys.

Unless you're Paul Haggis or Nora Ephron, writing isn't a full-time gig. It's fleeting, piecemeal, by contract, part-time, and more often than not, a thankless work of passion. Which means most of us have to take whatever jobs we can waiting tables, installing home theatre systems, or hawking our store's upcoming spring collection, aching for those precious, few hours at the end of the day when we can finally drop in front of our computers to dream up stories we hope will propel us to fame and fortune, or at least to something vaguely resembling full-time work. No sympathy required or expected - we chose this. Nonetheless, in said predicament, it can be easy to languish, to second-guess, to descend into self-pity, all the while resenting an industry that seems hell-bent on picking favourites and making life for the rest of us literary hopefuls so damned difficult.

You're thinking all this, certain beyond a doubt that your day job is wasting your valuable time as it slowly sucks the last drops of creative energy from your veins, when suddenly a couple begins shouting at each on the other side of the room. Or on the other side of the store. Or at the bus stop. Or wherever you happen to find yourself.

"Wait, what's this," you mutter.

Without warning, curiosity replaces despair. Ennui gives way to "Oh my!" The sense that life as a writer is over is consumed by a killer opening scene and the seeds of a compelling first act. Hopelessness gives way to restlessness - the good kind, out of which great stories are born, nurtured, and raised to adulthood.

In other words, that which you thought life was denying you was there all along - at your disposal, ready to be tapped, mined, and organized into the beats of your next big novel or screenplay! You just needed a good, swift kick to the ankles to realize it. Imagine what would happen if you started each day with a plan to actually look for these little gems, and a grateful heart for the crappy job that provides so many of them?

Now turn to the left. Turn the right. There it is: a story waiting to happen! But for heaven's sake, stop staring!