I’ve been thinking a lot about my writing lately. This probably stems from the fact that I’m currently writing a book. Go figure. Anyway, my main character needed something to drive. No biggie.  There’s only like a million cars I can choose from. But he needed something different. Something quirky. Something unexpected.

 

So he got a Vespa. No problem. I picked a model, picked a color scheme, I even made it relevant to his family history (it belonged to his grandfather back in the day). But then I ran into a minor issue. You see, I don’t know how to ride a scooter. I never learned. I never needed to. But readers can tell when you’re lying. If you don’t believe me, try picking up a book about something you enjoy doing, be it a certain car you’ve been fantasizing about since puberty, a hobby that’s overtaken a corner of your garage, or even what you do for a living. Now read it. Find any mistakes? Were they intentional, or the result of the author not having a clue as to what they were talking about?

 

Which brings me back to my scooter problem. Realism, especially in fiction, can’t be faked. I know; I’ve tried. So what’s a boy to do, you ask? He signs up for a motorcycle training program. And for some unknown reason, I passed. I tried to fail, I really did. But I had WAY too much fun. So much, in fact, that I’ve been perusing the used bike ads. Michelle will never let me buy one. Ever. But it’s fun to think about it. And now that I’ve got the endorsement on my license, I might even be tempted to rent a bike now and again to keep my skills up. I have no need to do this. I just want to.

 

But this little bit of knowledge has changed the way I write. Today I wrote a scene where my character is being chased while riding that scooter.  While I still haven’t ridden a Vespa, I can now describe the feeling of the wind whipping my jacket around. How my arm ached after that first day of riding because I spent so much time thrashing the clutch. Proper turning technique. What it feels like to almost wreck, but to pull it off at the last possible moment.

 

Let this serve as a warning to all of you who might want to go on vacation with me in the near future. Plan on hang gliding. Or scuba diving. Or wind surfing. Why?

 

Why not.