Again you get to grade my homework from my Master Class. James Patterson asked us to think of a story in our personal life and set up a chapter based on that experience. You could do the same thing for your writing spark.
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Driving home half a sleep is no good on the best day, let alone when a single engine plane is heading in your direction. I had to keep my eyes on the road, straight ahead. That’s what they teach you, right? What they don’t teach you in life, in J-school, anywhere, is what to do when death is literally looming overhead, plummeting at you at lightning speed.
Who needs caffeine with an adrenaline rush? My reporter instincts kicked in and I grabbed for my cell phone on the passenger seat. Fuck “hands free” when your mind is racing. I was short on patience and called the newsroom, snapped at the desk assistant who answered to get me the damn producer.
“Nick, I’m on the Saw Mill and there’s a damn plane about to go down.”
“Where?”
“In front of me, what the fuck. Gotta go. . .”
“Malone, Malone. . . “
Funny, but there was no noise. You would think there’d be noise, lots of noise when someone’s life is about to end, when your life’s about to end.
I tossed the phone back to its co-pilot position and looked up. The plane was gone. All that remained was the plume of smoke rising from the treetops to my left.
The end of my all-nighter was just beginning.
