So I'm having lunch with an editor friend one day and I tell him the story. The ins and outs of it. The complexities of it.
When I stop, he prompts "And then?"
"There is no 'and then'. That's all I know."
I begin to get angry. Isn't the guy listening?
"Look" I say "I've told you everything that happened. "
He sits back in his chair and considers me.
"Sure, he says, that's the end of the real life stuff but you're a fiction writer so you can keep going past this point."
"I could but I don't write in that genre. I'm into the serious stuff the lit fic. I'm not a thriller writer. why couldn't this story go away and bite Robert Ludlum or Dan Brown or John Le Carre on the leg. They could do it justice. not me."
Some times there's a story that won't go away.
you try to ignore it
but it keeps on yapping and yapping
so you push it away
then it comes and nips you on the ankle
and you say 'go away'
and throw it a stick
"i'll think about it" but you never do
but then it comes back
and bites you on the bum
so in the end you have to get nasty with it
i don't know how you end
i have no interest
i don't write in that genre
i'm into literary fiction
go bite dan brown or john le carre
they'd get it right
go find an investigative journalistic
who claims moral high ground
bu no, the story wants my lap
my fingers on the computer