Today I was engaged in working on book number four in the Happy Valley series while sipping on a latte at one of my favorite coffee shops, when a sharp rap on the window beside my table took me completely out of the groove.
I rededicated myself to the task of figuring out what the hell my characters were going to do and say next, when a rather nice looking gentleman of about my age brought a coffee around to my table, pulled out a chair, and took a seat.
“How have you been?” He asked.
Now I struggle with recalling names and faces, but I was fairly certain I didn’t know this guy.
“I’m sorry. Do we know each other?”
“Sure. From the neighborhood. You know…”
“Which neighborhood would that be?”
He told me the name of the rather upscale Tallahassee neighborhood, and I said, “Sir, I live in Havana. So I think you’ve mistaken me for someone else.”
His eyes narrowed and for a minute I thought he was going to challenge me—that he thought I might be messing with him.
After a moment he said, “Well, you have a doppelgänger, then.”
I said it wasn’t the first time I’d been mistaken for someone else in the area. Out of curiosity I asked who it was he’d thought I was. “Oh, it’s ________ __________. You look exactly like her.”
When I didn’t recognize the name he explained that the woman’s a lobbyist for some organization and asked if I, too, was a lobbyist. Now, that was the darndest question, wasn’t it?
“No sir,” I said. “I’m a writer.”
“Oh, then I suppose you aren’t who I thought you were.”
He went on his way and I thought, I should write this down. So I did.
I still don’t know what my characters are going to do or say next, though.