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I leave Spokane tomorrow, and though I have a party to go to tonight for my program, I’ve already said goodbye to quite a few people I would like to consider friends. They are people that I hope to stay in contact with, people I’d love to come and visit, but I know the base of friendship we have is weak, due to such a short period of time we’ve known each other.

I went to the mall this morning, prior to the World Cup game (which is TIED due to the craziest fluke goal I’ve ever seen at this stage), and as I was walking around, I found myself thinking about what would happen if my life were a movie. It would have happened like this: I would have been walking around, frustrated because I couldn’t find what I wanted, and when I turned around (because that’s always how it happens), I would have found myself face-to-face with one of these people (probably a male, partly because I prefer men to women, but mostly because this is a heteronormative society), and we would have had an intense bonding moment over coffee (even though I don’t drink coffee).

Sometimes it’s depressing that live isn’t more like the movies.

But then that brought me back to writing. In a book (a book of literary fiction), this would have happened instead: I’d have finished my shopping, buying sub-par gifts, not run into anyone I know, and then I’d have gone home. This is what actually happened.

Because in writing, I think it’s important that we put pressure on our characters, and pressure often means not giving them what they want. Maybe instead of running into someone I’d like to see, or not seeing anyone, the literary fiction version of me would run into someone she didn’t like, someone who made her uncomfortable or angry. Because these are the moments when we see someone’s vulnerability, and that’s more interesting than watching someone who gets what she wants.