Jeanie Franz Ransom

A couple of days ago, I got an email from a creative writing major who had a few questions about being a writer. I’m not sure whether this college freshman has an assignment to do or parents who want to know what she’s going to do with a creative writing major. Whatever the case, I thought it might be fun to share the questions, as well as the answers I’d like to give her.

I say “like to give her” because I’m afraid that if I’m too realistic with my advice, I’ll sound too pessimistic. And far be it from me to rain on anyone’s aspirations, especially not a young person’s.

But as anyone who has tried to make a living as a writer knows, it’s not exactly a cake walk to make ends meet, especially if you want to be a novelist. That’s why many authors have “day jobs.” Even J.K. Rowling had to hold down a second job while she wrote the first Harry Potter. It took her five years to write the book, much of it at a cafe in Edinburgh, Scotland. And while café writing may sound romantic to a college kid, the main reason Rowling wrote there was far more realistic. As a newly-single mom, if Rowling wanted to write, she had to get her baby daughter to sleep. And one surefire path to snoozedom was to walk to a café, where Rowling would park the stroller next to her and hope for the best.

So, without further ado, here are the questions, verbatim, from the creative writing major: 1) A general job description and specific responsibilities of a writer, 2) What is the job location/environment?, 3) What are some special competencies required (computer, language, etc.)?, 4) What is your typical schedule (hours per week)?, 5) Any advice for a prospective writer?

Regarding question #1, wow! Can you think of a general job description and special responsibilities of a writer? I don’t know if there is one! There are so many kinds of jobs for writers (good news, at least!), each with its own responsibilities – though I’m sure the top one on the list would be to come up with words in some form or other!

At the University of Missouri in Columbia, Missouri, one of the best J-schools in the country, the different types of career “tracks” journalism students can take has grown from seven to eighteen in just the past couple of years as the types of jobs requiring wordsmiths have expanded from print to broadcast to digital. (That’s good news, too!)

As for question #2, the job location/environment for a writer is more varied than ever before, from working in your slippers from home to dressing in corporate attire and commuting to wherever it is your job is located. Writers can live – and work – anywhere that there is Internet access, or at least a post office.

As far as special competencies involved (question 3), computer literacy is a must, but so is language proficiency. Writers need to be able to write — and write well. They’re confident enough in their grasp of grammar to know when it’s okay to bend the rules. And although stellar spelling isn’t required to be a writer, it sure doesn’t hurt. We all know that relying on spell check to catch errors doesn’t always end well. Consulting a dictionary makes more sense, plus there’s an app for that. Probably many apps.

Besides being a writing juggernaut, anyone who wants to make it as a writer needs to be able to edit, revise, and take direction from whomever it is they’re writing for, whether it’s an editor, a creative director, or a client. The hard shell required to withstand rejection, criticism, and countless revisions comes with experience, but it’s never too early to learn that sometimes, the other person is wrong, but sometimes they’re right. Either way, if they’re the ones writing the check, you have a choice. You can bite your tongue or bite the hand that feeds you. It just depends on how hungry you are.

On to question #4, the typical schedule of a writer. Just as there is no “one size fits all” job description for a writer, there’s no typical schedule except for writers employed fulltime at some type of company. Even then, the difference between how many hours a fulltime advertising copywriter puts in a week versus a newspaper reporter can vary quite a bit, as can the hours each of them puts in from week to week.

I can only speak from my own experience, which, over the years, has ranged from fulltime gigs in advertising and magazine writing to freelance projects priced by the hour, whether for ad clients or magazine editors. I’ve worked eight-hour days, twelve-hour days, weekends and holidays. You do what it takes to get the job done, and that’s true whether you want to make a living constructing words or constructing buildings.

These days, I don’t work eight-hour days. I don’t even work some days. At least not as a writer. (That’s where that second job comes in!) But that’s my choice. I write children’s books, which don’t take very long to write, but which take forever to edit and revise. I don’t make a ton of money. But I don’t write just to make money. I write because I love it.

It’s possible to write for love and money. Sometimes it will be more for love; sometimes it will be more for the money. Sometimes you’ll hate that you love writing so much that you have to do it for the money. But when it comes right down to it, you know you’re meant to write if you can’t imagine ever doing anything else. And that, I think, is the answer to question #5.

For my husband’s birthday a few months ago, his list included a power washer for the house (shouldn’t the house be asking for that for its birthday? After all, it turned 18 in July!), an iPad (you’re dreaming), an axe and sharpener (should I be nervous?), and, on the tippy-top of the list, a beach house in Michigan (now you’re downright hallucinating, dear husband!)

There were also two books on the list: one, a drawing book, and the second, a slim volume called No Plot, No Problem, How to Write a Novel in 30 Days by Chris Baty. Chris Baty? That name sounded so familiar to me. Old college boyfriend? Neighbor? Then I remembered.

Chris Baty is the daddy of National Writing Month, a.k.a. NaNoWriMo, the write-your-butt-off-in-November event open to anyone who is up for the challenge of penning 50,000 words in 30 days. I’d tried NaNoWriMo once, but the little rebel in me said, “I have to write 50,000 words in a month? How about zero?”

I asked my husband why he wanted the book. He said, “I thought I might write a novel, make it available on Kindle for a couple of books, and see what happens.” More power to you, baby, I thought. Maybe he’d get lucky and become the next Amanda Hocking, the author who has made millions selling her young adult paranormal books on Kindle.

So I bought my husband No Plot, No Problem How to Write a Novel in 30 Days, told him that a power washer doesn’t belong on a man’s birthday list any more than a vacuum cleaner belongs on a woman’s, and no way in hell was I was going to buy him an axe.

Then I gave him a beach house in Michigan — for a week. (Hey, you have to start somewhere!) While we were kicking back, my husband told me to check out Baty’s book. “But you can’t read Section Two until you start writing your book,” he warned. Right. He just gave the green light to my little rebel to go ahead and read the whole damn book.

Turns out there is a lot of good stuff in No Plot, No Problem. True, most writers already know much of this stuff. But for those of us who continue to shoot themselves in the foot and not complete a long writing project, this book is a great reminder of what you need to finish something, including having a deadline and writing without stopping to reread or revise until the whole thing is done. Plus, it’s easy reading and funny.

November being the official NaNoWriMo month, I thought this was a perfect time for this post. Though, for the life of me, I can’t imagine why Baty thought November was the perfect month for writing 50,000 words. Which is probably why there is now a Camp NaNoWriMo, during which participants write a book in either June, July, or August. And this is how I decided to try writing a novel again.

While I didn’t write 50,000 words in a month this summer, I did manage to write more in one Moleskine that I’ve written on any project before. Now I just have to get back to it. I’m thinking that it’s not going to happen this month. But maybe going back to Michigan this summer is just what I need to write the whole novel. I think I’m going to put a Michigan beach house on my birthday list. Even if my husband doesn’t write the novel that blows up the Kindle world, we can double our odds if we’re both kicking butt in the writing department!

Where were you when JFK was shot? Where were you when Neil Armstrong walked on the moon? Where were you on 9-11?

My answers to these three questions are the same: school, school, and school.  Given that JFK was shot in 1963 and the World Trade Center was destroyed in 2001, you may think that I am the oldest living elementary school student in America, and/or the least successful. (Yes, the educational system in our country may be broken, but it’s not that broken!

I was in kindergarten on November 22, 1963, the day the teachers hustled us into the gym to sit “Indian style” (the blatantly politically incorrect term for what is now called “criss, cross applesauce) in front of a large black-and-white TV that had been wheeled into the room. I don’t remember much about that terrible day in Dallas except watching a man on TV who talked a lot in a very serious voice, much like my parents when I was about to get in trouble for something. I do remember seeing the President and the First Lady riding in their car, smiling and waving to the crowds lining both sides of the street.  However, these probably were just still shots, since no TV stations were broadcasting the motorcade live.

I was just starting junior high (more commonly referred to today as “middle school’) when we all gathered to watch Neil Armstrong’s first steps on the moon. Technically, he’d taken those first steps the night before, on June 20, 1969, but July 21, 1969 was when we kids got to see the television broadcast of this epic event.

On September 11, 2011, I had just walked into the main office of the school where I was a guidance counselor when I heard that a plane had hit the World Trade Center.  The principal waved us into her office, where we crowded around a small TV. As soon as the second plane hit, the principal sent the other counselor and me to all the classrooms to let teachers know what was happening, and to tell them not to turn on the television. I didn’t watch TV when I went home. I never did see the Twin Towers fall. And to this day, I’m probably one of the few people on the planet who has never watched the TV coverage of 9-11.

I don’t know whether if I’ve never felt the need to see it, or whether I just don’t want to see it,because seeing, after all, is believing – and believing that something as unreal as 9-11 is real is a place that I don’t want to go.

In fact, when I found that my guest column for the suburban newspaper was scheduled to run on September 11^th, I gladly gave my spot to another guest columnist who really wanted it. “I don’t want to write about 9-11,” I told her. But with the 10^th anniversary of 9-11 , it’s almost impossible to avoid hearing – and seeing – reminders of that day. And so I find myself writing about 9-11 for this column, even though I told myself I wasn’t going to write about it at all.

Which brings me to the heart of the matter – the writing heart, that is. Writing what you want to write about is easy. Writing what you don’t want to write about ? Now, that’s where the real work is.

It’s a place I now find myself, after years of avoiding it. The elephant in the writing room, so to speak. And like that old joke, “How do you eat an elephant?,” I’m going to do it one bite at a time. It’s the only way I know to make sense of the senseless, whether it’s a president being assassinated, planes crashing into buildings, or the tragedies and losses that happen every day.

So, where were you when JFK was shot, Neil Armstrong walked on the moon, or the Twin Towers fell? How has it changed your life, your outlook on life – or death, your writing? Or has it? Maybe that last question is the most important of all.

This morning, I stepped out on the back porch of the Lake Michigan cottage we’ve called home for the past week to a sound I hadn’t heard in so long, I’d almost forgotten ever hearing it. Church bells rang out in the nearby village, and I lingered outside until all that remained were echoes, punctuated at just the right moment by the wind chimes on the back porch.

This past week, I’ve encountered something else from the past – something I hadn’t experienced in so long, I’d almost forgotten ever feeling it. I’m talking about the feeling that comes from having an idea so exciting, you can’t wait to see what happens next. It’s like a teenage crush. It’s on your mind throughout the day, no matter what you’re doing or who you’re with, and sometimes even into the night as you plan for what you’ll do when you can be alone together again.

I’ll have to wait until next month to tell you about my new crush, and how it came about (in case you’ve wondered where your own creative passion went), but I’m going to cut this short for now because  a), the only Wi-Fi available is at a coffee shop with very short hours, and b), I have to get back to my writing! Until then, let the church bells ring!

Every member of my family has a cell phone. So when the “house phone” rings, no one jumps to get it. As for the answering machine, no one pays much attention to it either, except for my husband.  And that’s only because the answering machine is on his desk, so it’s hard for him to ignore the blinking red light that signals a message.

About 99.99% of the time, the message is so mundane, my husband doesn’t even mention it. But last Friday when I got home from work, he said, “You need to listen to the messages on the machine.”

Oh, great, I thought. It was probably the dentist’s office calling to confirm my appointment, the lady down the street we all try to avoid, or someone that my husband didn’t want to talk to himself. Imagine my surprise when I heard the voice of an editor I’d submitted a book manuscript to about two months ago. “Jeanie,” she said, “I have some good news for you! Call me!”

I looked at the clock. Five p.m. on a Friday. Six p.m. where my editor is. Clearly, I had to wait until Monday to call her. Over the weekend, I found myself wondering why the editor hadn’t just sent me an email, since that’s our usual method of correspondence. I wanted to email her, on the off chance that she’d check her email over the weekend and respond. But I didn’t.  After all, I’d  had plenty of experience waiting – whether it was for an editor to respond to a query or a manuscript, or for a book to get published (three years is the average time it takes to publish a children’s picture book, but it can take as long as five years. Trust me. I know.).

On Monday morning, I called my editor, who, after a maddening five minutes of chit-chat about the weather and such, said that she would like to make an offer on my manuscript.

Okay, so it wasn’t a total surprise that the editor’s good news was about acquiring my book. Heck, you probably figured that out right away. So now I’ll wait for the contract to arrive. After selling five books, I’m used to those multi-page contracts filled with so much legal mumbo jumbo, I almost wish that my sister hadn’t divorced her attorney husband, even if he was a cheating, low-life lawyer who had a child out of wedlock with an illegal immigrant who has now been deported. But that’s another story. And proof that life really is stranger than fiction; i.e., you can’t make up that shit.

Although this is the sixth book I’ve sold, it’s been two years since my last book came out, which means the last contract I signed was in 2005. And as everyone knows – especially those of us in the world of writing and publishing and bookselling, the publishing world has been turned upside down in the past few years, and it still has a few revolutions to go before it settles back on its axis.

Back when I signed my last contract, digital rights were something I didn’t think much about. In fact, I blogged about this a few months ago. (See my archives.) And while there isn’t a Kindle edition of any of my books – yet – there are online companies who sell subscriptions to customers who want to read my book – and other children’s books – online. So there’s no telling how much of a force e-books will be when my next book comes out in Spring 2014.

Since I don’t have an agent to make sure that I get a fair royalty rate for all versions of my book, I’ve had to do some quick research these past few days. And while it is fairly standard for authors to get 15% of net proceeds on hardcovers, and 10% on paperbacks (I have to split both with the illustrator, since my art talent is fairly nonexistent), it seems that the jury is still out as far as e-book royalties. According to The Author’s Guild (www.authorsguild.org) the major trade publishers now offer their authors e-book royalty rates of 25% of the publisher’s receipts. But this is a transitional rate, The Author’s Guild says. As the sales of e-books continue to grow, it’s important for authors to make sure that they are receiving their fair share of royalties. Several sources I found during my Internet research advised having a contract clause that gives the author the option of renegotiating the e-book royalty rate in one or two years.

Although I didn’t get a definitive answer on what to ask for in my new contract researching on the Internet, it wasn’t for lack of trying.  The times, they are a-changin’, which makes it an exciting time to be an author, with more ways than ever before to deliver words to readers. The challenge is for authors to make sure that their royalty rates keep pace. I’ll let you know how this author fares.



I was all ready to write my blog post for May.  I had my notebook, my pen, and even a rough draft started.  I was going to drive straight from my morning dental appointment to my local Starbucks for a café mocha and some writing time. But then something happened.

Something called a story. I don’t know where it came from, or why it chose the very moment  I got in the car after my dental appointment to hit. Maybe it had been bubbling somewhere deep in that mysterious place where, from time to time, an idea or a title  or a character will break the surface like a fish. Or maybe it was whatever the dentist gave me before he started messing with my teeth.

Funny thing was, the dentist hadn’t given me anything – except a big bill. I hadn’t even had my morning jolt of caffeine, which, along with chocolate, formed the base of my creative food pyramid. And yet, for some reason, when I got in my car, I didn’t start the engine. I started writing. Right there in the parking lot. Not my blog post, but the bones of a story. A story unlike my usual perky children’s picture books.

I thought I’d just spend just a minute or two jotting down the basics before they evaporated.  After all, I really wanted that Starbucks! But an hour passed, then another, and I was still sitting in my car in the dentist’s parking lot. Still writing like my pen was on fire.  I felt a strange excitement that I haven’t felt about a piece of writing in a very long time.

And when I felt like I was at a stopping point, I found that I was a little disoriented – kind of like when you leave the theater after getting lost in a really good movie for a couple of hours.

Eventually, I did get my Starbucks. But not my usual drink. I got one of those new Mocha Coconut Frappucinos. I don’t know why. But I’m not going to question it. Just like I’m not going to question the source of that wave of words that swept over me this morning.

Maybe more will come to me. Maybe tomorrow, or next week, or next year. Maybe never. But, no worries. Where that story came from, there are more.  That’s the wonder of this whole thing called writing.  If I could do anything else – like be a dentist – life surely would be much simpler – I’d certainly be driving a better car.

So, although this is not the blog post I intended to write, maybe this is the blog post I was meant to write. At least for this month. I’ll be back June 10^th.

Luke and Nemo, Ready for a Front Porch Writing Session

Although I have a dedicated writing space inside my house – aka my lair – I enjoy taking my laptop outside onto my front porch. With the rough winter we’ve had – as have many – the chance to go outside without mittens and snow boots is much appreciated.

The first time I took my laptop and notebook outside to write, I invited my two dogs to join me. As I settled into one of the white wicker chairs that sit on our wide front porch, my two pups plopped down on either side of me, like two bookends that occasionally came to life when a delivery truck rumbled by.

I had a pleasant – and productive – writing session, but I didn’t think too much about it until one day, when I let the dogs out, they didn’t go straight out to the front yard to do their “business.” Instead, they veered to the right, and laid down right next to the wicker chairs. When I called them to come inside, they just looked at me. What was different about this time versus the many other times I’d let them out? Then the proverbial light bulb clicked on.

I was holding a notebook. Apparently, my dogs thought this meant it was time for a front-porch writing session.

They say it takes 21 days to learn a new habit. For dogs, the learning curve isn’t nearly as steep. It took just one time for my dogs to associate writing materials in my hand with going outside to write. Clearly, I had something to learn from my pups.

Dogs depend on routine. In fact, they thrive on it. Fresh water and food twice a day. Biscuits in the mailbox, courtesy of Ms. Sue, the postal carrier. Kids arriving home from school every afternoon. A walk each evening. A game of tug-of-war and a biscuit before bedtime.

Writers thrive on routine, too. My dogs have led me – literally – to making writing a regular habit. Now every time they see me approach the front door holding something that could be even remotely associated with a writing session, they want to go outside. And, of course, they veer right – right to where they sit when I sit down to write.

Even if I hadn’t intended to write – maybe I just walked by the front door carrying a homemade café mocha, my beverage of choice when writing – the look on my dogs’ faces is often enough to nudge me into going outside to write, if only for a few minutes.

And chances are, once I’ve sat down on the front porch with my notebook or laptop, those few minutes turn into an hour, or sometimes more. Thanks to my two office “assistants,” I’ve learned a new command: “Sit, stay, write.” I’m hoping that it leads to ME getting something good in the mail, too!

For quite some time, I’ve been suffering from something that, for lack of a better term, I’ve called writer’s block.  It’s been particularly frustrating because I have an editor waiting –salivating, even – for me to finish the manuscript for the sequel to my last picture book, What Really Happened to Humpty?.

What writer in his or her right mind wouldn’t jump to deliver a manuscript that’s virtually guaranteed a contract? This one.  But somehow, I have to believe that there are others out there.  Which is why I’m writing about this affliction that has had me in a stranglehold for longer than I want to admit.

Note that I said “HAS had.”  Because a few months ago, I found a term that fit what I’d been experiencing: writing anorexia. It came from a wonderful little book by Gail Sher called One Continuous Mistake: Four Noble Truths for Writers.

Writing anorexia is pretty much just what you’d expect. The writing anorexic writes less and less until he has withheld words from the page for so long, he can’t bring himself to write at all. Confidence begins to slip away, self-esteem suffers, and anxiety skyrockets.

You know how when you’ve been plagued by persistent physical symptoms or mysterious maladies and someone finally figures out what’s wrong with you? Having a diagnosis means that what you’ve been dealing with is real, not something you made up.  It’s validating, and even freeing, in a way, because at last, the dragon has a name. And once you know what you’re dealing with, you know what you need to slay that dragon.

Fortunately, having writing anorexia, unlike anorexia the disease, isn’t fatal. But it can feel that way. When you’re a formerly productive writer who can’t seem to squeeze out a single word for days, weeks, months, even years, it can eat away at you like a cancer until you are so creatively dead, you wonder if there is any hope whatsoever.

But when you know what you have to deal with, you can come up with a battle plan. Which is just what I did this past November. I had some help, which is essential when you’ve gotten yourself in a deep writing rut.

When someone named Anne Dubuisson Anderson emailed me to compliment me on my latest book, I noticed that she had a website. I checked it out, and learned that Anne is a former agent who is now a writing coach. One of her specialties is helping writers who are stuck for one reason or another, assessing what they need to move themselves — and their careers – forward.

For about the price of a good therapist, I got feedback on which of my manuscripts was worth marketing, and which should just go back in the drawer. Anne told me that I needed an agent, and gave me names to contact. She also helped me come up with a plan to better market myself for school visits and conference speaking engagements.

In two hours time, I went from operating on overwhelm to having a clear path of action I hoped would lead to writing again. For the first time in a long time, I felt hopeful. And little by little, I’ve started to write again.

Even if you don’t suffer from writing anorexia, you may know someone who does. I hope that sharing my struggles – and a solution that worked for me – will help a fellow writer rediscover their voice.

I always thought that the saying “Out with the old, in with the new,” referred to what happens at midnight on December 31st when the old year is ushered out and the new is welcomed in.

So I was surprised to learn that the saying was originally meant to be a slam against the mother of Lee Douglas IV, a member of the Douglas clan in Scotland. It seems that Lee was mad at his mom for working as a prostitute, so he kicked her out of the house and took a young mistress. So, “out with the old, in with the new” basically meant out with the old lady, in with the new.

I don’t know how that translated into the saying we now attribute to the changing of the year. Maybe it’s because by the end of December’s holiday festivities, the old year can seem a bit like that woman at the bar who looks pretty darn good until the lights come on. In contrast, the new year seems fresh and full of promise.

Whatever the case, I’ve decided to adopt “out with the old, in with the new” as my January 2011 mantra. It’s hard to be a productive writer when you are surrounded by mounds of unidentified papers, when your file drawers are packed with manila folders crammed full of query letters, half-completed manuscripts, ideas for presentations and workshops, and pages and pages of research for writing projects. It makes me tired just reading over this paragraph.

In order not to be overwhelmed by the task at hand, or tempted to give up, I’ve been utilizing the “How do you eat an elephant?” approach – as in “one bite at a time.” An hour looking through old correspondence here, a few hours unearthing the contents of my desk drawers there, and I’m already seeing results, and feeling them, too.
I’m now able to see the top of my desk. The whole darn thing. I can find my laptop without having to push aside towering stacks of paper, magazines, and books, hoping that I don’t provoke an avalanche. If Weight Watchers had a program for writers who are packing too much paper weight, I’ve probably lost enough to qualify as a Lifetime Member.

And what I’ve gained, besides space to work on, is space to work in. As in the space inside my head, where ideas are hatched, characters are born, and stories are written. (Yes, Virginia, there really is more between my ears than air. But you never would have known it with all the clutter and chaos going on in there.)

As I’ve cleared the clutter from my file cabinets, I’ve calmed the overwhelmed feeling inside me. I can breathe again. It feels good. I know I’m not done. My desk is a work in process. As am I.

I hope to make 2011 the year of new beginnings – new habits, new goals, new stories. Out with the old negative thoughts and the story ideas that won’t go anywhere or that I’m hanging onto, just in case. In case of what, I don’t know. An Idea Drought?

If you think about it, what Lee Douglas IV meant by “out with the old, in with the new” can be applied to writing, although metaphorically speaking, of course. I wouldn’t kick out my husband and take up with a new guy. (Really, honey, I wouldn’t!)

But if something no longer serves a purpose for you as a serious writer, get rid of it – whether it’s a critique group that takes too much time and offers too little feedback, or that manuscript you’ve been picking at for years like a five-year-old picks at a plate of peas.

Find something new, something you are so passionate about, you’ll want to spend every writing minute together. That’s what I’m looking for this year.

How about you?

You know that one question people seem to always ask writers? Not the one about how much money you make. I’m talking about the OTHER question: “Where do you get your ideas?”

It always amazes me that people think that writers have the inside track to story ideas. Like we have some source from which we score the best plots, the most carefully crafted sentences, the most interesting characters. We do, I guess. It’s called our imagination. But everyone has one (at least in theory), and as Spongebob Squarepants says, they just need to use it.

Every day, there are people we meet, places we go (even in our dreams – especially in our dreams), and opportunities galore to create some amazing stories, whether to share with others in person or on paper.

I work two part-time jobs, and in each, I encounter people and situations that make me laugh, shake my head, or humble me. My Starbucks job has proven to be the most fertile ground for character development. But you don’t have to be a barista to get the same results. Talking to people, listening to others (without being a total creeper), being open to what you hear, what you see, and most of all, what you feel, are all ways to mine your everyday life for the kind of characters and conflicts found in successful stories.

There’s a reason why authors like Jodi Picoult sell millions of books. Their plots ring true, because they’re usually taken from real life – bits and pieces of news stories, childhood memories, personal experiences, or someone else’s experiences, woven together to create a compelling narrative.

Of course, I wouldn’t recommend using your sister’s ugly divorce or your neighbor’s dirty laundry aired over the back fence as the basis for your book. And you shouldn’t need to. There are so many other opportunities for ideas, without compromising your relationships. (Unless you want to write a memoir, in which case, you’re on your own!)

Which brings me to Grandma’s story, perfect for this time of year. One Christmas Eve years ago, my family (Mom, Dad, my two sisters and me, plus my grandmother) came out of church to find that the weather had taken a turn for the worse. Snow covered the cars and the wind made it hard to keep our eyes open as we skated across the parking lot to where my dad had already started my grandma’s big new Buick and was valiantly trying to chisel through several layers of ice on the windshield. I saw my dad duck his head inside the car for a moment, just before my mom opened the passenger-side door. There was a strange woman sitting in the front seat. I thought maybe we were giving her a ride home from church. How nice, I thought. After all, it was Christmas Eve. Just as we were about to get into the car, my dad yelled at us. “Get away from the car!” The stranger shut the door, and several seconds later, took off with my grandmother’s new car.

Thankfully, someone else – not a stranger – gave us a ride home, where presents took a back seat to the police questioning and my grandmother’s panic. Apparently, the strange woman in the church parking lot had climbed into the car while my dad was scraping the windshield. When he saw her, the woman said she had a gun and that my dad was going to drive her where she wanted to go. My dad told her she could drive herself, and yelled at my mom and me to get away from the car.

Eventually, we learned that the woman had started a fire in the trashcan at a nearby hospital where she was a patient in the psychiatric unit. She drove my grandmother’s car, complete with iced-over windshield, through one of the worst snowstorms ever, from St. Louis to Oklahoma City.

You can’t make this stuff up. Well, you could. But when real life offers you so many ideas – both in your waking life and in your dream life – why not start there, and see where you end up?