Career Hazards: Writing is a Dangerous Business

I know…I know, I don’t run into burning buildings. I don’t try to decide if it’s the red or blue wire that needs to be snipped while the seconds are counting down before the building blows. But hey…over the years, I’ve learned that every career has its’ own hazards.

When I first decided to pen stories, I never dreamed that there would be risks to this career. I mean…come on, I sit in a chair all day for pete’s sake. How dangerous could that be? Oh, sure, I’d heard about carpel tunnel, and shoulder pain, and the oh-so-dreadful condition called asshideous—when certain body parts grow to hideous proportions.

Okay, I’ll admit, my wrists tingle some times, my shoulders hurt on occasion, and my backside is larger than I care to admit, (although, I’m working on getting it smaller.) Nevertheless, this isn’t the hazards I’m talking about.

I’m talking about researchits—the condition in which research leads a writer into embarrassing, relationship damning, and some times dangerous predicaments. Case in point: I have a writer friend who is writing about a character who is a glider. Now, Colleen did one glider flight several months ago and is about to go on another. No offense to Colleen, but is she an idiot or what? (“What” being that she’s brave.) There is no freaking way I’m going to be pulled up in the air like a kite in a flimsy fiberglass faux airplane with makeshift bird wings attached. Not even to give a scene in my WIP that feel of authenticity. And her response to my remark was… “But you’re strapped in and you’re in a seat.” My reply… “Oh, great, so when they come to scrape up what’s left of the fiberglass, the bird wings, and the seat, my body will obviously be underneath?” Uh huh, not me. (Okay, just rack this up to another one of my deep, dark secrets you’ve uncovered, I’m basically a coward.)

So my researchitis condition leans more to the embarrassing and relationship damning issues. Have you ever dialed poison control and asked exactly how much Liquid Drano it would take to kill a medium-size man? Well, I don’t recommend it, unless you would like to speak to the large-sized chief of police, who by the way had no sense of humor! (I’m killing him in my next book.) Have you ever lost a maid because they didn’t like your chosen reading material? 101 Ways to Kill Someone and Getting Away With Murder. I guess the fact that my son stepped on his tube of Halloween-appropriate fake blood and squirted it across the kitchen before he went to school that morning didn’t help. But come on … like I would have killed her! Heck, I loved her, she cleaned my house.

How about trying to explain to your husband the message left on your message machine from a local “Find Your Love Connection” manager that says, “Christie, I’m so excited that you want to know more about our dating services. Please call, and I’m sure I can answer all your questions. This is going to be so much fun.”

Duh, it was research and Ms. Love Connection knew I was a writer just wanting info for a book’s possible plotline. That was why it was going to be so much fun.

But I think my favorite research story happened a few years after the dating guru message came in. My husband, who admittedly is slow at catching on to the whole research process, got another message. This one from a degreed marriage counselor/relationship fixerupper. “Ms. Craig, I got your message and wanted you to know that I checked my schedule and I’m open the day you wanted me to come and talk about marital relationship dysfunctions. I generally charge a $200 fee per hour. However, from what you’ve told me, there seems to be a lot you’ll need covered, and I have a feeling this might take longer than an hour. ”

Of course, I had called to get the good doctor to come talk to my Romance Writers Group about relationship issues between men and women. But when I got home that night after an all-day critique group I had a very worried hubby. To be honest, I’m not sure if it was the whole marital dysfunction issue or the $200 dollar charge that spurred him on. Either way, they were nice roses.

Okay, so there you have it. The dangers of writing. What do you do to keep the wolves off the front porch? Do you face career hazards or at least have some funny situations arise at work? And working at home, motherhood, and housework counts. Come on . . . share.

Crime Scene Christie