Also while at the mall, prior to buying the dress, I bought some bubble tea and we sat down next to a fountain while I drank it. We commented on the number of coins in the fountain, and I said something along the lines of "I wonder what all those people wished for," to which Erica replied, "Sounds like a movie plot". We sat quietly for a little while before agreeing that it would be a cheesy sentimental-type film, obviously. And then we discovered that our instantly developed movie concepts were completely different. Mine was about a few, initially unconnected, people who made their wishes and their stories ended up intertwining and some got what they wanted and some didn't and some got what they needed because they didn't get what they wished for, and everyone eventually had a happy ending. You know, standard sappy fare. Erica's, on the other hand, was about the supernatural creatures who grant the wishes.
If I was a successful literary type I could take that question- What were all those people wishing for?- hand it out to all of my literary friends, collect the results, and publish a book of them. I think that would be fun. Because I know that everyone would have a different interpretation of how such a story should go, and it would be cool to have a wide range of answers to the question. Some would undoubtedly focus on a single wisher, some would look at a bigger picture, some would have the wishes granted haphazardly, some with design, some only for the deserving. At least one person would write about a horribly evil wish being granted and how that changed the world. There would be a comical one about a single mother in a 40th-story apartment whose daughters' pony wishes suddenly came true in the kitchen. That beautiful girl would fall madly in love with the loser guy, and he'd discover that she wasn't what he'd imagined. The computer system of the wishing-well dwellers would break down and they'd have to revert to the old-fashioned way of doing business- face to face. Middle schools would explode, horrible bosses would be demoted to file clerks, an aged woman would find on her front porch a mysterious box that contains the doll that she wanted with all of her heart when she was four, or the perfect prom dress that she couldn't afford when she was seventeen. Saturday would follow Saturday would follow Saturday . . .
Of course, I'll never actually write one of those things. My vague ideas rarely, if ever, translate themselves into full-fledged stories. And I don't ever take the effort to make them do so. This is why the disjointian style is perfect for me. Just wait till it's established, I'll be a big name!
But now I need to go make a lunch for tomorrow. Ah, the mundane life of a working woman.