Something about my face says that to people. Tell me about yourself, I want to hear. My face is nicer than I am.

This past weekend in the grocery store, a little old man pushing a big old cart overflowing with food confided in me that he thought it was time to stop shopping but, never fear, he'd left some food for me.

Yesterday, a woman standing outside the office building revealed that that hostage situation that ended so badly (here) was taking place across the street from her home and that she was concerned that the 5 year-old that was killed might be a friend of her son's.

Last week a semi-stranger (someone I've seen around the building occasionally), informed me all about how Grandma Barbie got fired for being incompetent. (Grandma Barbie, so-named because of the unfortunate juxtaposition of a hairstyle and wardrobe suitable for a 20-something in 1976, combined with a face that was nearly seventy-six, used to corner me in the foyer of this building and tell me about her son who was fighting in Iraq.)

And a complete stranger knocked on the office door to tell me he was looking for someone in a different office suite and went on to say that he figured I probably didn't care, but.... He went on to fill me in on all the details of the well-paying job he lost last year, the poorly paying job he's had for the last eight months, and the new, well-paying job he was starting this week, but he had to complete his work ticket for that office suite before he could leave that job and did I have any idea when they'd be in?

Check-out clerks tell me about their meal breaks, the UPS guy tells me about his route, the bi-weekly snack man tells me about his wife, clients I've never met and barely e-mailed with tell me about their vacations four years ago, people I see in the elevators tell me about their pet's illnesses or cutest tricks--what is it about me that says, "I crave to know about your life?"

If I were really a writer instead of a fake (remind me later to tell you about my novel), I'd probably be garnering nuggets o'fictional gold from all of this. As it is, they're more like stones of stress. I'm sorry everyone you work with is crazy, okay? I can't fix it. Everyone I work with is crazy too. It's the law. Only crazy people can get jobs. (While you're agreeing with that, don't forget to look in the mirror.)

I'm glad you had a great vacation four years ago that was almost but not quite entirely unlike the vacation of mine you pretended to be asking about. I wasn't going to inflict my vacation on you, okay? No need for a pre-emptive vacation blocking strategy.

I'm really happy that your wife approves of your career choice and I'd like to think that that kind of supportiveness isn't really rare. I'd like to fantasize about a society where everyone makes a career choice based on personal happiness and not just financial rewards.

I'm sorry for your tragedies and I'm happy for your successes but before we part, can you explain to me why it was me, out of the six people standing here, that you chose to confide in? I'm not Empathy Gal, honestly. I'm famed for my indifference to the welfare of random passersby. (Seriously, if this turns out to be my superpower, I'm going to have to rethink the costume.)

I guess my face says, "open for chatting at this location" but I'm not. I'm thinking about my novel. (I told you we'd get to it.)

I have to yank out at least 30,000 words, now that it's developed a plot that isn't what I thought it was, and I'm not sure how many of the remaining 20,000 are going to be viable. I need a whole new opening and the hero's character and history need to change. Also, I'll need a new subplot.

How many sidekicks does a hero need? I'm thinking two. One for comic relief and one with a Mysterious Past. It's hardly original but that's one of the benefits of not writing for publication. You can use as many clichés as you want.

Also, should there be romance? Or, failed romance? (Probably not failed romance, no. I'm not much for angst.)

I already know there will have to be Familial Ramifications somewhere, but I hadn't thought about a girlfriend. He might need a girlfriend, although I can't yet think of what plot-related purpose she'd serve. As it stands, there really isn't any rhyme or reason for it to have a romantic subplot, so maybe I'll pass.

I guess I could make one of the sidekicks female? (Or, both of them?) Of course, I well understand that by Contemporary Fantasy Standards, I'm required to make my hero female and endow her with brains, sex appeal, an unusual facility with weapons, and the physique of a 6'4" male bodybuilder hyped up on synthetic testosterone injections, but Contemporary Fantasy Standards make me tired sometimes.

Besides. As the plot stands now, females would have to be second-class citizens to make the story work, and the world I've created really doesn't have a place for that kind of bigotry.

I do have a lot of world here. I need a story that will use all of it. Maybe I should start with some short stories? They could even comb out the back-story of the main character(s)?

Or, I could just keep thinking about it all for another five or six years, until the mood passes.