“It’s a ‘prepper’ novel,” I explained. “Do
you know what a prepper is?”
That’s how I start trying to describe my novel, Beyond the Strandline, in the speech that is supposed to last the
length of time it takes an elevator to go from up to down—the elevator speech.
Inevitably, a lot of people don’t know what
a prepper might be or the act of prepping or grid collapse or even 72-hour
kits.
So I try again. “It’s a book about what
if.”
Raised eyebrows and polite interest, if I’m lucky, and then I launch
into my next explanation.
“What if the lights went out for good and the water stopped flowing?
What would the world be like? And what if your family was ready for it? You
know, prepared with food storage and emergency plans but the rest of the world
wasn’t? And what if your little sister broke the first rule of hiding in plain
sight . . .”
Deep forehead wrinkles and some consternation and maybe a question or
two and then the elevator doors slide open and the moment passes.
“It’s a juvenile action-adventure, romance
. . .”
Got it. That, they understand.
But it’s so much more.
It’s really about how you have to start
thinking when it comes to writing a book or in preparing for the future, for
that matter. It’s an exercise of the imagination.
What if the lights went out and stayed out
and the batteries died and the lamp oil ran out and the moon still waxed and
waned as it always has and what if you had to travel through a lonely jungle in
the darkest part of the moon and how would you see to put one foot in front of
the other and—What would my characters be like; how would they live; how would
they cope?
What would I be like? How would I cope?
Imagination. Writing is all about imagining
the . . . what if.
So is prepping. It’s a match made in
Heaven.
Prepping: The practice of
making active preparations for a possible catastrophic disaster or emergency,
typically by stockpiling food, ammunition, and other supplies.
So we started a blog,
my best friend and I, to talk about things we can only imagine.
It’s like writing a
book.