ka_mitchell (ka_mitchell) wrote,

In Which I Make an Even Bigger Ass of Myself than Nature Intended

So, I was working today at a high school wrestling tournament. I keep score and keep it organized, sitting at a table on a platform in the middle of the gym. In between frantic bouts of record keeping, I was thinking about/wroking on my WIP.

So I noticed this coach, a young guy, with hair that I thought would look good on my character Mason. But as things would have it, I couldn't get a picture of him with my phone. I tried and tried, but he was too far away. Every time he got closer, someone stood in front of him. Of course, staring at him, I noticed other things that would fit Mason, an energy and a trace of temper and arrogance. I became more determined to get a few shots to jog my mental image when I needed it.

Then the finals of the tournament came. In a key match, the official made several bad calls that resulted in a wrestler from this coach's school losing. Naturally the coach was incensed, and I thought rightly so, but I only write what the officals say.

After a few more matches, I had very little work left to do. I decided I was going to get a good picture. I climbed down from my platform and wandered around the gym floor with other parent-looking people taking pictures of kids with trophies. Still, he was elusive. James Bond, I am not. I knew I had to be obvious by now, but what the hell. It was just a picture of a nameless adult for my phone that would never see the light of day.

I did the best I could and went back to the head table. A few minutes later an assistant coach approached me. "Is there a problem? Why were you taking pictures of our team?" Of course, stammering that I'm using your head coach as a model for a character in my erotic gay romance was out of the question. So I just turned beet red and said, "I'm a writer. I like his hair for my character."

Total stealth fail.

On my way out of the gym, I saw the assistant coach again. He told me the head coach didn't believe me. I said, "Honest. Do you want a business card? It's my ninth book. I'm not..." crazy? a stalker? How could I say that? I was. Both at once.

And what do I have to show for upsetting an already righteously aggrieved young man and causing myself humiliation? A couple of blurry, dark shots and a resolve that after all, he looks nothing like Mason.


I thought Mercury was out of retrograde.

Tags: fail, writing life
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