“Where do you get your ideas?”

Sometimes you hear writers complain about being asked this question. I never understood why some writers find that annoying.

Maybe revealing the source of inspiration doesn’t make for an exciting story. Still, it’s not like that undercuts the excitement of the story it inspired the writer to write.

Either way, it’s a pertinent question. Especially if the person asking it wants to write too and is simply looking to demystify the process a bit.

So ask me, go ahead. Where do I get my ideas?

Like many of my characters (and a few of my family members) I steal what I need.

Another way of putting it—pay attention. Not just to the world around you but to the things people tell you (and what they leave out), stories in the news, and small moments between strangers that you witnesses from across the room.

Because here’s the real truth about inspiration for stories: There isn’t one single source of inspiration. Often it’s a few unrelated events and observations and incidents taking place over varying amounts of time that one day suddenly coalesce into a story that the writer just has to take the time out of their life to tell.

In fact, that’s the case for my new crime novel, All Debts, Public and Private. Years ago, back in the late 20th Century, a friend of mine also from a small Kansas town was telling me a story about a death in his hometown. I don’t even remember the details, whether it was a murder, suicide or natural death.

The part I remember is my friend telling me how the local deputy sheriff was letting people come in and out of the trailer so they could take a gander at the dead body all sprawled out and hardening fast.

The deputy was essentially inviting people in to step all over the place before it had been ruled out as a crime scene.

That story got me to thinking – off and on for more than two decades – about being a small town officer of the law. About the relationship you would have with the people you’ve known all your life, people that you now protect and serve. About how (un)qualified you might be to do the job.

So right there, I had an interesting scene and some broad issues for a protagonist to deal with on a regular basis. These were broad enough that they gave me an inkling that I might have the foundation for a series on my hands.

But who was this person, my small town sheriff? How did he or she get the job? Did he or she always want to be in law enforcement?

Enter the baseball player, Joba Chamberlain.

I remembered that when he first came into the major leagues he was young, in his early 20s, and started off with this ridiculous scoreless innings streak. You knew it couldn’t last but while he was riding it out it was phenomenal. How did that feel, being so young, living your dream and kicking everyone’s ass doing it.

Like I said, it couldn’t last and it didn’t. How did that feel when phenomenal run ended? Joba went on to carve out a nice career for himself and good for him.

Still, it gave me an idea for my protagonist. First, it was a he. And for my protagonist, the path had to turn darker than Joba’s journey. I gave him an injury and a struggle until eventually my guy landed back in his hometown. Who better to be elected sheriff under dubious circumstances than a former local high school sports hero?

This was more than a device to bring him back home—his reaction to being forced from the game he loved, that had defined him most of his life, is an indicator of his temperament.

He misses it. He has resentments, his what-ifs. But also he feels that it’s a remarkable, beautiful thing. He’s amazed and grateful that it happened at all.

Still, he’s young and a little lost.

There it was, layer upon layer upon layer, story and character.

All because years ago some kid had a hell of a run for the Yankees and years before that a friend told me a story about some idiot deputy in a small town trailer park that I’ve never been in.

That right there told me who he was and how he would react to adversity.

Which is a good thing for him and me, because I plan to put that poor bastard into some twisted situations.

Hope all is well in your world!

— Mr Chad