It’s not like I don’t have anything to write. I’ve got a novel to finish, a wine book to update and The Bodice Rips… to finish.
But I’ve been toying with a mystery short story and found my inspiration a few days ago. My wonderful husband and I were on a road trip going from Battle Mountain to Tonapah, Nevada. Yes…an odd trip. But we’re explorers.
We saw very few cars on this lonely stretch of Nevada road. Lots of sagebrush and dirt roads that led off to the distance. Well-shot-up signs announced open cattle range, but we saw nary a cow. Desolate area and howling winds.
One lonely outpost was a welcome site — a rest stop. And there, outside the toilets, was the bottom half of a red plastic cooler. Inside were…
Do you want to know what was really inside? Would you look? What if it was something bad? Something Steven Kingish? Would you look?
And even if you saw it was a pile of books (which it was), would you touch them? There could be a rattler getting out of the sun. Or a bloody knife?
Or say…you took one of the books, opened it to page one and saw the word “Help” written in blood? And…as you dropped the book in horror…you heard a cackle from behind the dust-covered building?
Oh…the endless possibilities….