Page 22 of Elevator Pitch

“I have an idea.”

Chapter 7

[Vee]

After an amazing week with my girls, they each depart Arizona with a hint of sunshine on their skin and melancholy in their eyes. The week has been filled with late night movies, loads of alcohol, a little retail therapy, plus copious time together. Saying goodbye is always difficult.

Cassandra flies back to Chicago with them.

Hannah will return to college where she is studying physical therapy. Laurel goes back to her classroom. She’s a fifth-grade teacher. Their spring break week lining up on the calendar was a small miracle. We haven’t had this kind of time together for years, and I treasured every moment.

As for me, I plan to stay behind in Arizona for another few weeks. Nearly a full month without interruption in hopes of inspiration to write a damn book.

However, on day one, I found myself staring longingly out the window at the sunshine and decided I’d write outside, where I promptly took a nap in the shade on an outdoor two-seater. Suburban Scottsdale is blissfully quiet compared to Chicago.

The next day, I told myself I couldn’t leave the house without writing one chapter. Instead, I cleaned out my email inbox and organized the photos on my computer.

Day three, I intended to escape the house and visit a local coffee shop, like I often do back home, but I stepped into a breakfast café and enjoyed a meal heavy enough to warp my focus.

By mid-week, I’d given up and decided to attend a baseball game, hoping something completely unrelated to writing might trigger creativity.

I’ve never attended a baseball game solo, but I am comfortable doing things alone. Plus, I’m a people watcher. Sitting among strangers, I often mentally sketch out their lives. Their hangups and heartbreaks. Their loves and laughter. And sometimes, my fictional creations prompt an idea, that turns into an obsession, that becomes a story.

Yes, an overcast sky and a midday baseball game might do the trick.

Surprisingly, my seat is roughly in the same spot as the game I’d previously attended. The Anchors are on a tough losing streak.

With a cold drink in a souvenir cup and a small bucket of popcorn, I settle into the atmosphere, mindlessly staring out at the field.

Who is Gee Scott? What is Caleb Williams’ story? Why is Ford Sylver so angry?

Ideas . . . concepts . . . scenarios . . . and a slow build.

Pulling my phone from the pocket of my Anchor hoodie as bags are not allowed in the stadium, I quickly type my random fictional thoughts about each of the young players in the Notes app.

Small town hero.

Hawaiian vacation mishap.

Heartbroken family.

When a person nearby groans and abruptly stands, I finally lift my head.

How have I missed most of the innings of this game? The Anchors are tied in the ninth. Ford Sylver is up to bat.

“He fucking sucks this year,” someone behind me grumbles.

“He’s an unsung hero,” someone else replies. “His stats are impressive.”

“I’d be more impressed if he did something here.”

As the first man finishes his complaint, Ford’s bat cracks against the ball which soars for the outfield and lands in the lawn seats.

Homerun!

The crowd goes wild as the players on second and third base hit home with Ford on their heels.

With the Anchors at a sudden seven-to-four advantage, their opponent is quickly struck out with only three at bats. The Anchors have their first W since the previous game I attended.