I am in Virginia, working on various projects, attached to the Waynesboro Police Department and the Office for Youth. My visa, "alien with extraordinary talent" was approved and I hopped onto the plane, from the U.K., ready to make a meaningful contribution to literacy and the promotion of education for young people at risk of delinquency and gang membership.
I moved into a house in Staunton, Virginia and discovered I did, indeed, have an extraordinary talent. It was dropping to the floor and kissing the carpet, in a fraction of a second. All I needed was the right motivation. It came in the form of someone firing five bullets. outside the house or maybe even at the house. I am not sure. The newspaper said "in the vicinity". Vicinity sounds right. I fled to the Holiday Inn, once I had stopped shaking. Lost my appetite for three days. Was it a completely useless experience? Honestly - No. None of my characters, in my books, ever kissed the carpet, shook like a leaf, then crawled though to the kitchen and covered their head with a frying pan and their backside with a packet of Captain Crunch. A frying pan? I know, what was I thinking - well I wasn't thinking I was scaring. It's a completely different activity. The next time I write about someone being shot at I will tell it like it really is, not the way I used to think it was.
Now I live in an apartment, in another town, in a converted bank, next to the police station. I feel like I am sleeping in a safety deposit box. Works for me. A brown bear with two cubs wanders downtown. They are tranquilised and local people put out their mattresses to make sure they are not hurt when they fall out of the tree they had taken refuge in. How sweet is that. Not everyone wants to shoot at things.........or people. Now I can get to work.
One of the projects I am working on sees me involved with a group of young people, excluded from school. We go along to a church to prepare and serve meals to the homeless. I check people in and mark off their names. The priest appears. She suggests I lead the prayers. I am stunned. I have never taken a prayer in public, in my life. I swallow and do it. I forget to say Amen.
Ouch
Snow and ice everywhere. I leave my apartment to go for a McDonalds......mistake. I fail to see a patch of ice whilst I am scraping the windscreen and go flying. I knock myself out. When I come to I am in pain, a lot of pain. I dial 999. Nothing. Forgot I was not in the U.K. Dial another number. It is the pizza parlour. Hang-up. Then I ring my friends, Doug and Barbara. I get the answer machine, as I am ringing their home, not the cell number. Not sure if they will even recognise my voice. It is sounding like an Australian, not a very sober one at that either. It's the pain. Remember 911. They fly round the corner in seconds. It is not a very big town. I wail and scream like a banshee. They transport me to the hospital, wailing and screaming. They ask me questions at the hospital. What is your Social Security Number? Waaagh! is the answer. Who is your employer? Waaaagh is the answer. What's your address? You know the answer. My shoulder is dislocated. I am given a spectacular looking yellow phone, to phone Doug's cell number. He and Barb have just finished dancing. I slobber my story down the phone and drift off. They give me a general. I slip away.....wake up. No longer dislocated. I have never felt so relieved. My friends, Doug and Barb are smiling at me. They'd come straight away.....
Strapped up I go into the bank a few days later. They ask me what happened? I tell the story in full detail. A young lady looks up from her desk." I was in the hospital that night. It was you wailing........."