Honestly, you try to make a small suggestion and you get your head bitten off. Ingrid just needs to calm the fly down. I know she gets all triggered whenever someone mentions sci-fi, because the entire genre is mysteriously offensive to her, but I barely even scraped the concept. I just said that MAYBE her short story could be improved if perhaps it was set five years into the future, where phones could project holograms. And suddenly, I’m the bad guy.
Look, if she wants to write stories about the adventures of Melbourne buyers advocates, I’m right behind her. I’ll read anything, and I really do mean ANYTHING. Last week I read a story about tax cuts. It was actually a steamy romance, but still…tax cuts.
So actually, buyers advocates are very exciting by comparison. Going from house to house, finding wonderful luxury properties and reporting back? Pounding the pavement, searching for top-grade houses with pools, chandeliers, marble banisters and the whole affluent package? I’d read all of it. I’d get a hold of those rights and sell them to a premier network, for a premium price, and I’d make the prettiest of packages because everyone would lap up the adventures of these marvellous advocates.
But my *tiny* suggestions to make the whole thing an easier read was shut down. I just thought some sections of the dialogue were quite dry, so why not have holograms representing the virtual house? Then the advocates could walk their clients through, and it would be more interesting for the reader to read about the visual…part. And maybe the property advocates in Melbourne could take note, and she would be responsible for starting a technological change.
But no. Ingrid is triggered beyond all reason. Didn’t help that she brought a whole container of gingerbread men and Sheila ate the lot. I did think she was in a bad mood…