TV makes me feel bad about myself.
Everyone on TV works twenty-four/seven, on razor thin deadlines and loves every minute of it. Yes, yes, I know it’s TV. I know it’s fiction. No, I don’t believe everything I hear on television or read in a book or hear on the street, so you can just stop your pitch of that beautiful ocean side property in New Mexico.
Just like logical people know that not everyone is a toned size two, I know that most people aren’t crazy-awesome crime solvers. But since the people in my post-work TV world are, I’m beginning to wonder why I’m not. Why don’t I work twenty-four hours a day and have no personal life? It looks like fun. And just look at how satisfying it is to find that final clue at the last minute?
Turns out, when I screw up at work, no one gets killed and no murders walk free. I just get a talking to and feel like crap. Life is better for all involved if I stay on this side of the thin blue line.
But I’m just so good at yelling out plot lines twenty minutes in.
Except when I try and create those plots from scratch. As has been pointed out to me, I watch way more cop dramas than is recommended by the FDA, yet my writing doesn’t touch mysteries with a ten foot pole. Why not? Aren’t you supposed to read what you write and write what you love. OK, so TV viewing and reading are different (I enjoy watching sci-fi, but can’t stand reading it), but doesn’t it say something when I’m so invested in a genre that I can tell when shows start ripping each other off or that show C is way behind on the theme trends…and yet can’t create mystery plots of my own?
Since NaNo is nearing, I’ve been jumping from plot to plot every other day. I keep landing on “should write a mystery.” Then I try to figure out who would get killed, what would be stolen, or what other crime would be interesting to sort out in 50,000 words and my mind goes blank.