I can’t help myself, I am a writer. There should be some sort of 12-step program for fiction writers, because sometimes we need help with our imaginations.
Mrs.Greenbean’s dog, the idiot dog named Dobby, immediately investigates the same spot at the corner of the house whenever I take him to the front yard. Every. Single. Time.
This is where the fiction writer in me takes over, and I wonder what the idiot dog is picking up on with his supercharged sniffer. My goodness, the options are limitless.
A. It could be where a body is buried. I don’t know what kind of body, but perhaps before the concrete was poured for our home, one of the workers with a nefarious past dug a shallow grave and hid the body in that spot, at the corner of the house under the concrete slab.
B. That spot is where the aliens landed. Their tiny spaceship filled with tiny, but potent invaders from another planet landed in that spot two years ago. The dog can sense the difference.
C. The government has hidden invisible equipment in that spot to spy on me. The dog can sense the odor from the G-Men who come every night to check the footage and biometrics.
D. A combination of B and C could be in play. There is invisible equipment there, but it is not tended by G-Men, it is the ‘duck blind’ of aliens studying human life so they can better understand and conquer us.
E. Once every full moon witches come to this spot, hallowed from before the time of the Comanches, in the ancient days, as a place for sacrifice. On this spot they slaughter stray house cats and rogue gerbils as they make incantations to the devil.
This is the fiction writer’s curse. Even the most mundane aspects of life erupt into plot that will never be developed. The good news is, as curses go, this is a very delightful and entertaining one to have.
image from www.standard.co.uk