Writers are not normal people.
I’ve been at the ACFW (American Christian Fiction Writers) Conference for the last several days. 675 like-minded people. The Hyatt Regency in Dallas wisely locked us in the basement held all our classes on the lowest floor.
A friend of mine told me that once at her daughter’s gymnastics class she suddenly asked, “If I shoot a man in the chest, will he necessarily die? I mean, I want him hurt really bad, but I don’t want him dead.”
Another wanted to know who to call to find out how to sabotage an elevator without ending up on Homeland Security’s watch list.
I’ve been trying to find out how many lashes of the whip a man can take before he will pass out or die, but I keep ending up, accidentally but repeatedly, on S&M sites. I get out right away … usually. One time I stayed because they actually had some good medical information. (Go figure.) As well as “ads” for “friends.” One guy said, “I usually like to receive the lash, but I can handle a whip when needed.” I thought, “Dude…” As my daughter Emma says about one of her favorite writers, that man needs many things. He needs Jesus. Therapy. Maybe medication. A hug. (That’s when I got out.)
Now we’re all back home, and we have to be careful, because, as Brandilyn Collins says, “There be normals out there.”