Back in 2013...
In the
course of my writing my contemporary romance series, The McCauley Brothers, I describe my characters as real people.
No psychics or shapeshifters, no monsters, aliens, or fetish enthusiasts. In
the first book, The Troublemaker Next Door, an interior designer meets a sexy plumber. And in book two, How to Handle a Heartbreaker, the plumber’s business partner—also a plumber—falls for a
romance writer. (Yes, her job is cliché, but work with me here.) I understood
her easily. The plumber I needed more information on.
And now to
the funny story…
A great guy
referred by my mother worked on my house. The guy owns a landscaping and
construction company. Therefore I felt safe asking him for a plumber to get
some reference material from. Now the friend knows I write romance, so I
figured he’d tell the plumber this. I got a phone number and called said plumber.
I wanted to do the interview in person, but this guy wasn’t having it. From
what I gathered, he was an older fellow. When he mentioned he was a busy man
and would rather do the interview over the phone, because he worked for a
living and didn’t “do computers,” I should have taken the hint and run.
Did I? No. I
mean, the guy had agreed to answer my questions, so he couldn’t be too against
helping me, right?
Uh, no. Not
exactly. Not at all.
I called him
last Sunday. The “interview” lasted all of three long, painful minutes. It was laughably horrible.
I rang him
and cringed when he barked a hello. I reintroduced myself, and he then asked
why I needed the information. When I told the older gentleman, who’d been in
the plumbing biz for forty years, that I write romance, there was dead silence
on the other end. Not to be discouraged, I was my normal cheerful, thankful
self and asked my questions. What is common language for what plumbers do? What
are the tools they use most? What types of jobs are more common than others? What
are some common misconceptions about what he does?
For each
question, I received short answers that didn’t tell me anything I didn’t
already know. He wasn’t pleasant—at all—just
curt and acting as if he wanted to be anywhere but talking to me on the phone.
So after yet another of his one word answers, I again thanked him for speaking
to me and told him I had finished. He hung up without another word.
Immediately,
several thoughts went through my mind. None of them even remotely polite. That &^%^$$#$@!! What the @!#$!!!!??
But after I
settled down, I shared the awful mess with a few friends, laughed at the
absurdness of it all, and through another friend, contacted a nicer, younger professional
who was more than willing to sit down for coffee and explain the ins and outs
of plumbing.
This whole
experience has taught me something. Not everyone is happy to share what they
do. Of course, I had thought that since the guy had agreed to let me ask questions,
the interview would proceed without issue. But I was wrong. However, even terrible
events make great stories. I know I’m going to work Mr. Mean in some story of
mine in the future. I have to. He was just too awful not to write about. J
And hey, he
even gave me this blog post. I should thank him. But I won’t.
~~~
And now I'm writing about assassins. I really don't want to find someone to interview, you know? I think I'll stick with my imagination on that one.
