I’m finishing the last few chapters of my sequel Streaming James. I’m so excited! I took way too long to finish this novel.
I’m laughing as I finish the chapters. Not because they are funny. It’s a paranormal murder mystery, after all. I’m laughing because of the old joke, If found dead, delete my browsing history.
As a writer, I look up some crazy stuff. You’d think I’m a serial killer or suicidal. My protagonist can stream the dead after a failed suicide, so there was lots of research on depression and suicide. To finish the last chapters, I’m googling behaviors that can mitigate a murder sentence, the average sentence for murder, and what type of drugs can be slipped into a drink that causes hallucinations leading to murder. My husband would be very nervous, looking over my shoulder right about now.
Any thing on your browsing history you would want deleted?
I learned a valuable technique for writing quite by accident. I invite you to try it. It will take your novel writing to a whole new level.
I am a project manager by day and my first PM job was to work with our IT department to transfer our data over to a new platform. This was my first experience as a PM and I worked under a senior project manager that was very difficult to work with. She would make grown men cry. I kid you not.
I’ll call her Sybil and yes, I am referring to the movie about a woman with multiple personalities. I wasn’t sure if this PM was bi-polar or if she suffered from insecurities or mood swings but she would run hot and cold in the same meeting. She could start off attacking and then switch to supportive or start off supportive and switch to attacking. Every session was like walking on eggshells.
The example I am going to give is the event that set me off on my Netflix binge of watching documentaries of people with mental illness. I needed to understand her and was hoping to glean insights as to how not to take it personally and learn how to communicate with her in a way that wouldn’t trigger an attack. I was operating on the “look what you made me do” principal that I had to have done something to trigger the change.
I waited in the foyer for the wedding march to start.
“Friend of the groom or bride?” The usher asked as he held out his arm to walk me to my seat.
“Neither” I responded. I’m here for the father of the bride.” He looked confused but didn’t argue. I moved back to let him know I wouldn’t be taking a seat. He turned his attention to another guest.
His confusion was understandable, the bride’s father had passed away ten years ago. I guess in a way; I was here for the bride. My employee Harold was going to be a host body for her deceased father, Jeff Patterson, so he could attend his daughter’s wedding and walk her down the aisle. I thought back to my wedding and the picture of my mother holding space in the front of the church as a poor substitution for the woman that raised and loved me. Mom had passed when I was twelve. Her photo was the only way I could involve her in my wedding.