Do you ever wonder if maybe we make crucial life choices based on completely misunderstanding the world around us?
One of the most common questions I’m asked in interviews is: What made you decide to become a writer? I tend to talk about reading and storytelling as a kid, playing with an old typewriter, that sort of thing.
But really, I think it all goes back to a broken plate glass window.
You see, when I was about five years old, a local business (I think it was a car dealership) ran a TV commercial featuring a perky blonde woman holding up a massive sledge hammer.
With more effervescence than the situation called for, she chirped, “We’re smashing prices!”
Then she promptly swung the hammer at a sheet of glass that was rather predictably painted with the word “PRICES.” As you can imagine, she obliterated it. In slow motion, glass fragments exploded across the screen.
If I saw that TV spot today, I would think: “Jeez, what a cheesy used car commercial.” And I’d completely ignore it.
But as a kindergartner, my reaction was more direct:
“Look out! There’s a sledgehammer-wielding maniac on the loose! No one knows where she’ll strike next! Run for your lives!”
Is it any surprise, really, that I grew up to be a writer?