There are a couple of reasons I’m posting this on Writer Wednesday. One is that it’s something which sets my writer’s imagination on fire. Two is that I’ve had quite a few heroines driving a black Mustang of various year models. For a while, I thought that’d be my signature. It may yet be, but on with the blog!
Working in my current job, one of the things I’ve found most interesting is what people’s cars say about them. This applies to customers that come into our store and to people I see out and about around town. I’ve seen one gentleman who dressed immaculately. I could only imagine that he worked in an office somewhere and he carried a leather bag that, based on my retail observations, probably cost a minimum of $30. He drove a beat up Dodge pick-up. On the other hand, I saw a gentleman driving a very nice Lexus but he was just as casually dressed as can be, lugging two little boys around with him. It’s just one of those things that makes you wonder about people and their situations in life. It’s fascinating.
Art imitates life, and characters that carry a piece of me in them often drive a car I would drive. Like a Mustang. Since I was sixteen years old, I’ve driven a 2002 gray Ford Mustang and I absolutely love it.
Let me be upfront and say my car is a little V6. It’s not loud, it’s not particularly faster than anything else on the road, but I find it fun to drive. Being that I have driven it for seven years, it sometimes feels like an extension of myself on the road. It’s hard to explain and as a writer, it is something I’d like to capture in the written word someday in a story. Just like I’d like to write about the two seconds I had to realize that my car was going to get hit, but could do nothing to stop it. I’d like to write about the feeling I got when I got up the next morning and my dad was outside my window, revving up my busted up car so I’d know it was still alive. Now there was an awesome feeling.
My front bumper was broke in two pieces on the side and that was hanging down low as he drove it up in the yard, after taking it out on the highway to see that it was still drivable. It’s silly, but it’s like Frankenstang (what we call it now that it’s all put back together) was grinning at me with a chipped or missing tooth. “That Mercury may have knocked me into a ditch but I’m still here!”
Cars are just one of the things that inspire me as a writer, for many different reasons.