When Real Life Follows Fiction

If you follow this blog, then you know by now that I’ve had been holed up writing my third novel, Emily’s Heart. Emily’s Heart is set in an Apocalyptic America. To get a grip on the world building for the book, I began to write short stories. I play with different ideas, all a variation on the theme “What if?” Like, “What if a growing number of people were psychopaths?”, or “What if the police stopped caring?”
As I make the mad push to get this story out by February, I’ve shunned most media. I came up for air today and saw this story in the news.  Strangely, it contains the essence of one of “What ifs” that sparked one of my short stories. And even weirder, it happened in my home town of Tucson, Arizona!
Check it out:
And here is a snippet of the short story that relates to this video. Is it art imitating life? Or life imitating art? Do you see the correlation? Or have I just been spending too much time in my cave?
From Emily’s Heart, arriving February 1, 2014!
.     .     .

0
0
1
305
1276
Natalie Wright, P.C.
25
14
1567
14.0

96
800×600

Normal
0

false
false
false

EN-US
JA
X-NONE

/* Style Definitions */
table.MsoNormalTable
{mso-style-name:”Table Normal”;
mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0;
mso-tstyle-colband-size:0;
mso-style-noshow:yes;
mso-style-priority:99;
mso-style-parent:””;
mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt;
mso-para-margin:0in;
mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:10.0pt;
font-family:Cambria;}

Sophie
felt tears well in her eyes. What should she do? What had my dad said? Why hadn’t I paid closer attention? There was
something about getting the driver’s insurance information. But that would
require her to get out of the car. Fat
chance!
Call
the cops. Yes, she was supposed to make a report. That she could do. She didn’t
need to leave the safety of her car to dial.
Her
fingers shook as she pressed the three numbers, 911. She put the phone to her
ear and heard it ring three times, then five, and six. Isn’t anyone going to pick up? I have an emergency here!
Finally
an operator came on the line.
“911,
what’s your emergency,” he said. The operator sounded as bored with his job as
she was with folding clothes at her job.
“I
was just in a car wreck,” she said.
“You
and half of L.A. Welcome to the club,” he said.
Sophie
didn’t know what to say to that. He
doesn’t even seem to care!
“Okay,”
she finally said. “That’s great, but I really need a cop to come here and
help.”
“What’s
your location?” the operator asked.
“Ummm
. . .” What’s my location? She hadn’t
paid attention to street signs as she texted and listened to music and
otherwise tried as best she could to pass the time in the traffic jam without
being bored out of her skull. She looked up and around for exit signs or other
markers, but she was in a spot without any signs. Shit, I don’t know where I am.
“I’m
not sure exactly. I’m on the 405 between Culver Boulevard and Santa Monica
Boulevard.”
“How
the hell am I supposed to dispatch someone to you when you don’t even know
where  you are?”

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s