Windshield Time

I like to write and read science fiction. However, my dad has been after me to write a mystery novel, and, after many false starts, I've decided to do one based on a murder in a small town. Since I grew up in an routinely visit a small town, this has certain advantages in the "lack of research required" department.

It also has some advantages in that stories I've heard at home can factor into the novel. I was downstate for Easter, at at the Easter dinner I heard of a distant relative of mine who, at the age of six, managed to steal a penguin chick from the Indianapolis Zoo and smuggle the chick all the way home. This despite the boy having apparently fallen into the penguin pond.

The theft was discovered when the boy's mother heard her son talking to somebody in his bedroom. (The chick, of course.) The capper to the story is that the Zoo sent a helicopter to retrieve the chick that night.

During the three-hour drive back home last night, a way to incorporate this story into my novel presented itself. It also showed the way forward for (at least part of) the rest of the novel, currently sitting at the end of Chapter 2.