Want to know a secret? My father found them in the trash at his work. Well, not all put together and not painted blue, but he looked in and saw the pieces that somebody else just couldn't be bothered with and he pulled the out. Put them on the back of his truck and brought them home. He worked on getting the chairs together for a couple of months during the weekends, the odd afternoon after work. He presented them to my mother and she promptly decided they were perfect...save for the fact they needed paint.
Everyone loves these rockers now. I wonder if the person who threw them away because it wasn't worth it to fix them has ever seen them?
My childhood is filled with memories like this. We never had the newest gadgets or flashiest stuff, but what we had was solid, we valued it, and we were proud of ourselves. And we were always on the lookout for what people threw away. Because ya never know, do ya?
My brother came down from the city this weekend for a visit and I had left my notes for a WIP in the bathroom (don't judge me, they were in my hand and I set them down to get something for someone...you know how it is). He came out with a pensive look on his face.
"Couldn't help notice your notes there, Sis"
I braced myself. He pokes fun at what I write all the time. "Yes?"
He cocked his head at me. "Suggestion. The Acadia expulsion wasn't just about being French." And he walked away.
I think I stood there for about five minutes with my jaw on the floor. One line, one throwaway line from him and a WIP that had been stalled for months, floundering, missing something that I just couldn't quite find was red-hot and pulsing in my brain. Research lists sprung up, road trips I'd have to take, people to call, maps to draw, houses to plan for sprawling families, it all fell into place from a single sentence that my often-derogatory (when it comes to my writing anyways) brother. Something he might have seen as rubbish and he turned it into gold. Maybe I should show him my ideasore often.
Ya never know.