Shooting a gun for the first time was definitely an experience every crime writer should have.

So my wife and I went out to celebrate, and for some reason we decided to go to the scariest bar in our town. You know the one you don’t see because your mind automatically blocks out dangerous and threatening things. (It’s the same phenomenon the keeps us from remembering alien abductions). But we decided to try something new.

It was dark, rainy, the kind of night when unsuspecting lesbian professionals are abducted by modern day slave traders masquerading as drunk men loitering around trucks.

We had our beer and were headed to the safety of our fuel-efficient sedan, when two men stepped out of the shadows and stopped us.

I was beginning to regret my fashion choice: pinstripe skirt suit. Wife was wearing a tie and a fedora. We did not fit in. The man looked at me, look at her, and tapped his cigarette. It was too late to drop her hand and pretend we were “just friends.” He eyed us again, squinting.

“Hey, can I ask you something?”

 That never bodes well.

He paused.

“Are you in some kind of band?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I said. “It’s like a band.”

And we headed happily home.

An Early Fascination

I have been fascinated by conjoined twins since I was about twelve and first saw a picture of a pair of dicephalic parapagus twins (two heads, one body) in Life Magazine. This is the kind of early adolescent fascination that my friends claim not to have shared. Apparently they were interested in boys and music.

How could one not be interested? Conjoined twins challenge the most fundamental feature of human existence, the rule that says we get one mind per body. I confess, I lose all interest in conjoined twins when they are separated. It may be a medical miracle, but it’s so mundane.

As I work on the sequel to Dysphoria, I am finally able to give voice to my life-long interest. However, people seem to think this is a strange topic choice.

I silenced a whole dinner party when someone asked,

“What are you writing about?”

“Conjoined twins who get abducted by human traffickers,” I said.

It took several beats before someone said, “You seem so normal.”

Who wouldn’t want to write about conjoined twins? I am only surprised that this theme has not been explored more thoroughly. Ah well, I live to provide material on which beleaguered English graduate students can writer their theses.

“Everything you write should bring something new to the field of English literature,” my graduate adviser told her students.

Don’t worry, Dr. Patterson. I got this one!

Great Ideas Are Everywhere

I am always flattered when someone asks where I get my ideas. It makes me feel like I might have some special idea-generating gift. I don’t even mind when the question is followed up with, “You seem so nice and well-adjusted.”

But great ideas are everywhere.

Take this stairwell for example. This is located on my very safe and attractive campus, but no one I know has ever ventured down it.

Ask any passerby.

“What’s down there?”

“Duh. The back door to the auditorium.”

"What is the black stain running down the stairs and into an unmarked drain?"

"Soda."

“If I give you five dollars, will you go down there?”

“No! What am I supposed to do about the minotaur?”

That’s an idea.