Apparently There is Nothing That Cannot Happen Today...

Enzio Rinaldo stopped at the door and thrust his hand to Salvatore, “It’s been a pleasure, Giancomo.”

The snarl on the capo’s lips, the fury that flashed in the deep-set eyes, sent prickly heat to the back of Salvatore’s neck. Hesitant, knowing the man rooted for trouble, he met Rinaldo’s gaze and took the proffered hand.

The meaty claw slowly tightened around Salvatore’s hand in a vice-like grip, so tight that Rinaldo’s hairy knuckles turned white.

“That really hurts.” Salvatore smiled through gritted teeth.

The pressure of Rinaldo’s grip increased until the skin on Salvatore’s hand twisted and burned like a million bee stingers.

“There’s really no need for you to do this.” Salvatore maintained a calm tone although his internal pressure cooker had begun to hiss. “You’re the stronger man, obviously.” How that lie struggled to keep from coming to his lips. How difficult to restrain himself while DiPaolo studied them, sized them up like a cool Nero. “You don’t have to keep on.”

“Rinaldo.” DiPaolo finally broke his curious stare. With a sigh, he rolled his eyes and tugged the elegant dove gray coat about his slender shoulders. “Stop.”

Rinaldo tossed a sideways glance at his boss, but ignored the command. His eyes—teeming with unbridled hatred—remained fixed on Salvatore’s.

“I’m going to ask you one more time. Enzio,” Salvatore whispered.

When the clasp didn’t slacken, Salvatore took a deep breath, bored, resigned. With the speed of an adept magician, he formed a fist with his left hand and brought the knuckle of his middle finger down onto the straining muscles on top of the capo’s hand. As Rinaldo cried out in agony and sank to his knees, Salvatore grasped his fingers and bent them back with such strength the poor man crumpled, prone at his feet, moaning, grimacing.

Grinning, still clenching Rinaldo's hand in an excruciating grip, Salvatore asked, “Do you want me to let go, you son of a bitch?”
Rinaldo, his forehead pressed to the rose-and-ivy carpet, whimpered, “Please."

Salvatore released his hold, grabbed Rinaldo’s wrist and pulled him to his feet. He lent him a gentle smile and lightly brushed the lapels of the man’s coat and cooed, “Tsk, tsk. You’ve mussed your clothes.”


The above scene—very early in my writing and very rough, mind you—was…well…it was stolen. Yes, I stole it.

No, I didn't steal the words from another writer. I 'borrwed' them from a friend.

My buddy, Jay, and I hang out often on weekends in what we call Green Apple Summit Meetings. The name for these meetings came from the film, Stranger than Fiction, where a best-selling author, played by Emma Thompson, breaks a long spell of writers’ block by simply seeing a green apple roll across the street and stop against the curb at her feet.

During one of our frequent GAS meetings, Jay recounted to me a story of how he had been bullied by a fellow at a bar. He told me how he politely tried to avoid a fight as the man—exactly as depicted in the scene above, almost word for word—tried to engage him in a juvenile bout of hand wrestling. A battle for supremacy over some misunderstanding. Jay didn’t want to fight and remained calm, forfeiting his own pride for the sake of peace. That didn’t suit the drunk contender. So, when the pain became too intense to bear, Jay let loose and brought the challenger to his knees, then calmly walked away.

I listened, mesmerized, to Jay’s story. I was intrigued by his calm, quiet handling of the situation, and by his surprising strength which ultimately sent the bully crumpling at his feet. And my writer’s mind immediately incorporated this incident into my WIP. With his blessing, Jay’s scuffle with the bully became one of my favorite scenes in my story.

No matter how severe my own writer's block might be, I can sit with Jay, listen to him, and without fail will hear something--a word, anything--that will trigger a thought to clear my writing bottleneck.

I LOVE infusing real-life situations—whether they’re my own or told to me by friends—into my work. My friend Jay has lent many scenarios, words and phrases to my writing cause. He was formerly a truck driver, has been everywhere imaginable, has encountered countless colorful episodes like the one I ‘copied’ for my story. In fact, Jay shows up a lot in all my work.

And hardly a day goes by at work that I don’t overhear something interesting, something that grips me, something that ends up in my work. It just so happens that the Hispanic fellows at my job are all, in one way or another—whether it’s bits of tales they share or simply Spanish words they teach me—in my current contemporary work. They know this, too, and think it’s fun.

It happens sometimes at the grocery story, at Wal-Mart, at the park, just driving down the road. Somebody or something will cross my path and, before I know it, finds its way into a story. I love that.

Mark Twain said, "Apparently there is nothing that cannot happen today." Damn, I love that, too!

Life, every little morsel of it, is and adventure, or can be turned into one. And, half the time, as with the writer in Stranger than Fiction, you don’t even have to be looking for it.

How many of your real-life experiences show up in your writing? Do your friends pop up in your stories? Do you see interesting people on the street and, before you know it, find yourself weaving them into your work? Do you overhear interesting dialogue in your daily life, even while standing in the check-out line at the store, and transport it to your book?

I'd love to hear just how much of your everyday life is reflected in your writing. How many 'green apples' roll up to you and end up on your written page?