Yesterday afternoon my husband lay down for a nap. When the puppers woke him with their frenzied barking, he looked out the front window and saw a honking big steamroller parked in our front yard. We don’t know who brought it, don’t know who it belongs to, don’t know what it’s doing there. It’s just there.
(And they didn’t even have the courtesy to leave the keys and operating instructions so I could use it to tamp down some gopher/mole hills. Considering they just left it there between my plum tree and my apple tree, you’d think that was the least they could do.)
We didn’t call the neighbors or the county or the sheriff. In fact, other than noting that it’s there, we didn’t do anything. That’s life out here. Sometimes people mow your yard while you’re gone. Sometimes they put boulders in (or take them out). Sometimes they leave steamrollers.
Sometimes that’s how my writing goes. A character shows up, something totally unexpected happens (by me, at least), or someone will spout a line or thought that seems totally out of place. I learned a long time ago to just go with it and see what happens, and it almost always turns out to be important to the end of the story.
I’m sure that steamroller’s in my yard for a reason. I just have to wait to find out what it is.