Tristi Pinkston, Secret Sisters, Grocery Stalkers and Being Hit in the Head with a Cucumber
Tristi Pinkston is my guest blogger today. She and I have known each other for years. We worked together at a certain online community along with Heather Long and several others you may soon see drop in for guest blogs. I’m normally far too blunt and offensive for sweet ladies like Tristi but somehow she managed to put up with me.
Please welcome Tristi Pinkston – a great writer with the patience of a saint.
I’d heard about the phenomenon before, but I wasn’t sure what I thought about it. At first, I chalked it up to schizophrenia. “Oh, sure, I know what you mean,” I would say, nodding in understanding, then walking away as quickly as I could. But now I know. I know all too well.
I was grocery shopping when understanding hit me. I remember the moment all too well. I had an open plastic sack in one hand and I was shoveling cucumbers into it with the other. A voice came over the intercom.
“Grocery stocker, line one. Grocery stocker, line one.”
And then it happened.
Tansy, one of the main characters from my work in progress, popped up and stood right next to me. “There’s a grocery stalker!” she exclaimed. “What will we do?”
Ida Mae, one of my other main characters, popped up on my left. “That’s stocker, not stalker,” she said consolingly. “Everything is just fine. The groceries are safe.”
And I stood there and laughed, holding my cucumbers.
Writers often talk about those voices in their heads that won’t leave them alone. I’ve known about those voices for years. But I never understood what those authors meant about their characters following them around, making wry commentary out of the blue, until that day at the grocery store.
What is it with authors? Have we somehow opened ourselves up to an alternate universe? Are the metal fillings in our teeth acting as transmitters to far-off radio stations? How is it that we can function in a world of reality, feeding our families and doing our jobs, and yet existing half in a world that no one can see but us?
I imagine it’s much how an artist sees the world in brush strokes, or how a dancer feels rhythm all around them. We each have talents and abilities, and it’s through the lens of those talents that we perceive our surroundings. It’s no stranger for me to talk to my characters in the shower than it is for a dancer to start rocking out to the beat of the water hitting the side of the dishwasher. We are each connected to this earth through the heartstrings of our talents.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I left Ida Mae in the middle of a chapter and she wants to tell me what happens next …
Tristi Pinkston is a stay-at-home, work-at-home mom. She is also the author of five books, the most recent titled “Secret Sisters.” She’s an editor, a blogger, a media reviewer, and on most days, a headless chicken.
Tristi’s Blog: http://www.tristipinkston.blogspot.com
Tristi’s Website: http://www.tristipinkston.com
Valor Publishing: http://www.valorpublishinggroup.com