Have you ever found yourself in a situation where you had the urge to get back at someone because they either inadvertently (or maybe intentionally) insulted you or did you wrong? Where you start to imagine all the things you would say or do if only society and laws didn’t prevent you from actually carrying them out?
No? Just me?
Here’s what happened. As an author, I get invited to book clubs a lot, whether on Zoom or in person. I logged into a virtual book club one day right on time, only to find that several members had already logged in. One woman was talking about how she hadn’t read any good books lately, that they’ve all been so bad (she actually used the word “sucked”) and why couldn’t someone just write a good book already?
I sat there listening, kind of frozen, knowing she had no idea that the author whose book they were discussing that night and who they’d invited to join their book club HAD LOGGED IN and was listening to her trash all the books she’d read recently. Including said author’s book.
I also saw that some of the other members had noticed me and their eyes widened, one woman clapped a hand over her mouth, and someone else tried to tell the offending woman to shut it. The woman finally realized I’d logged on, gasped, and then promptly turned her video off.
Dude, you can turn your video off, but I can’t unhear what you already said. To her credit, the organizer jumped right in to warmly welcome me and tell me what a GREAT book I’d written and how they’d all LOVED it and REALLY enjoyed it and everyone on screen nodded, chiming in with compliments.
Meanwhile, I was left floundering inside, in parts embarrassed and now thinking they all hated the book and wanting to log off or run away but also seething inside at those harsh words. How was I to stay on the call for the next forty-five minutes and answer their questions as they discussed the book that the one member had thought was so bad?
Somehow I did, but inside I was planning all sorts of revenge. I wanted to speak up and tell the woman what I really thought of someone who would be stupid enough to bash an author you’d invited knowing most likely she’d log in on time as any professional author would.
I imagined all sorts of unfortunate (but not life-threatening) accidents happening. I envisioned telling them all what I thought of their book club and then slamming down the receiver (well, clicking the Leave button which really doesn’t have the same effect as a good old-fashioned phone) and getting the heck out of the meeting.
But I did none of those things. I stayed and I was pleasant. I smiled. I said thank you. I answered questions. And when the offender turned her video back on and told me earnestly about a part of the book that she really liked, I wanted to throw the words back in her face and say something sarcastic but all I said was, that’s great.
Meanwhile, an idea for my next thriller was brewing in my head. What if a group of women who all had something to hide and who all do terrible things that maybe we all wish we could do in real life but would never because it’s not appropriate, gather for a book club meeting that then goes terribly wrong?
Their videos all cut out but their audio stays on and they hear one of their own being brutally attacked. Who was killed and why? Was it one of the other women? And just like that, the idea for The Deadly Book Club was born.
It was a bonkers of an idea, born from my humiliating experience with that book club. The five members of my fictional book club all have secrets to hide and all do bad things, things that most normal well-adjusted people probably wouldn’t do because of societal expectations. I let my imagination go wild, concocting scenarios that wouldn’t really happen in real life (well, maybe they would—that’s where a lot of true crime comes in), letting the words on the page become my revenge for having to live through that book club meeting.
There was murder, there was a woman who got paid a lot of money to be a high-end escort, a spoiled brat who thought the world revolved around her, a female Dexter who hurt or killed people who were cruel to animals, a well-known chef who used insider trading information to make a lot of money, and an ex-actress whose cruel words and actions took another life.
Yes, it was farfetched, yes, the characters were all unlikeable at the beginning, but I felt better after writing the story. And isn’t that what fiction is for? An escape from our daily lives where we get to be submerged in a different world?
I think this is why thriller and mystery writers are some of the nicest people in the world. Because if someone pisses us off, or something bad happens, we get revenge on the page, and then we feel better and are much more pleasant in real life.
If you ever meet me IRL, you’d think I was a very friendly, kind, well-adjusted human being. And I am. But on the page, well, that’s a different story.
Have you ever had an experience like mine? What did you do about it? And what did you really want to do about it? I’d love to hear your stories, if only to know that I’m not the only one who plots revenge on the page.
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