There’s a great saying in writing circles. It goes something like this: You’d better be nice to me, or you could end up in my next novel. It’s been on mugs. T-shirts. All kinds of paraphernalia.

It’s a hilarious but fair word of warning. If you’re my friend, or the friend of any other writer, you too could end up in a novel. Names changed to protect the innocent, of course.

Many of my friends are great storytellers, and they say the most amazing things. Which means that I take mental notes as I listen to them—or rush home to write it down, or sometimes write it down as soon as I get to the car, or even jot it down on a napkin wherever I’m eating. By now, I have quite a collection of phenomena I can weave into stories of my own. In fact, I have some real doozies. To read more, click the button below.

Merry Christmas . . .

Here’s one: my old roommate and dear friend traveled to Louisiana to attend her father’s funeral, clean out his house, and help settle his affairs. When she opened a closet, she found every gift she had sent him over the previous thirty or so years—all still tightly wrapped, all still bearing their bows and tags. Never opened. Not one. And when she and her husband trekked across the country to do the same following his 90-something-year-old mother’s death, they found a neat stash of sanitary napkins in her closet. Guess you never can be too prepared.

 

Fly the Friendly Skies

Or how about this one? My friend who sat next to me in our criminology class at BYU decided to hijack an airplane. Just like that. If you’re old enough, you’ll remember it from the news. Richard Floyd McCoy—until then, not exactly a household name (and fading even now with the passage of time)—hijacked the plane from Denver to San Francisco, demanded half a million dollars (which they gave him in marked bills), and told the pilot to fly back to Denver. Halfway back, Richard parachuted out over a desolate area of Utah, ala D.B. Cooper. (In related news, here’s an intriguing side note: lots of people, including people in the know, thought Richard was D.B. Cooper, whose nefarious crime had taken place two years earlier. I don’t know if I buy that; for someone who was supposed to have snagged $200,000 in the episode, Richard wasn’t exactly living high on the hog.)

Just like D.B. Cooper, Richard probably never would have been caught, but he couldn’t resist bragging to his brother-in-law, who promptly called the feds. (Another reason I don’t buy the notion that he and D.B. Cooper were one and the same; he probably wouldn’t have kept his mouth shut earlier, either.) When law enforcement arrived, there he was in his ramshackle basement apartment with his wife and $450,000 in marked bills. What about the other $50,000? No shopping spree here. He had given that to the bishop. His tithing. Not to cast aspersions on anyone, but if you were the bishop and a financially struggling member of your ward suddenly paid $50,000 in cash as tithing, wouldn’t you think there was more to that story? I’ve never been a bishop, but I’m guessing I’d be a bit skeptical.

And this was awkward: as a reporter for the Daily Universe, I was assigned to cover Richard’s trial. We ended up in an elevator together in the federal courthouse: just the guard, Richard (wearing manacles and an orange jumpsuit), and me, his old buddy from class. What does a girl say at a time like that? So, Richard, how about them Yankees?

Pass the Beer Nuts and Pretzels

Here’s yet another. My friend, recently divorced from his wife, went to a gay bar one Saturday night, as you do. There at the end of the bar sat his brother, who had made all kinds of nasty comments about my friend being gay—had even punched him a time or two in a couple of bullying episodes. You know the old saying, While the cat’s away, the mice will play? Well, the brother’s wife and four daughters had gone to girls’ camp for the week, and he was just out . . . um . . . enjoying some beer nuts? Let’s just say it was a Kodak moment for both.

It Looked Like the Real Thing to Him

And what about this unfortunate brush with fame? My friend and co-worker, who had been a bodyguard to several Latter-day Saint prophets, got involved as a document examiner for the now-famous forger Mark Hoffman—without, of course, realizing the valuable documents were forgeries. When Hoffman started using pipe bombs to kill people and one of them accidentally exploded in his own car, the cops confiscated his hit list. My friend’s name was on it. With that, my friend and his wife were summarily sequestered in a condo in Park City, Utah, for nine months, where they were not allowed to leave (the cops brought them groceries and other supplies) or even open the blinds until Hoffman was convicted and imprisoned. Some sort of makeshift witness protection program. After all that enforced closeness, they ended up divorcing. And Hoffman? He got slapped with two counts of murder and fraud. Now there’s some inspiration for a terrific novel!

Oh, No . . .

For the grand finale: One of my best friends was called in a panic and had to clean up the carnage (mostly emotional) when her church-going father—still married to her mother—died in the bed of his mistress, who was taking a shower at the time (and you can fill in the blanks on that one).

What’s In It for You

The moral of this story? There are several.

You never know where the catalyst of a great story might generate. See these kids? I’m the tall blonde one in the rick-rack-festooned dress, obviously enamored with the boy next to me on the back row; I was five, and it was my birthday party. (The squinting girl on the far right is my age; I was freakishly tall, even then.) That photo was snapped sixty-two years ago last week. These people have stayed in my life—at least, news of them has—and today, almost every one of these kids has at least one or two real-life stories/adventures (good and bad) that would make your jaw drop. You’ve probably got a similar circumstance. And all of it’s there for the taking; just handle with care.

There are plenty of great stories to go around, and you don’t have to personally experience them all. Just give them to a character in a novel or short story; don’t pass them off as being your own in a memoir.

Remember, too, that you have literary license. This is your book. While you’re changing the names, you can change some of the details too. In fact, the true story can be the mere spark that ignites an imaginary one of your own. After all, you’re writing fiction, not history.

Pay attention to what your friends tell you. There might be some great fodder in there that you can use in a variety of ways. Just make sure you change names and any identifying info (especially if you want to keep said friends).

In addition to all the things your friends say, be alert to the rest of what goes on around you. Take notes (J.K. Rowling did it in restaurants using napkins and on airplanes using airsickness bags). Use your imagination. Don’t forget the nightly news or the daily internet news feed; there are all kinds of amazing stories in both.

And, of course, here’s the real moral to the story: if you’re my friend, watch out—anything you say might end up on a bookstore shelf, where we can all enjoy it!