One of my favorite parts of writing is when little stories pop up in the narrative--unexpected detours that color the world as the lines play out. I don't always know where those stories come from. Some of them are so far from anything I've lived that I'm shocked as the words tap out on the keyboard.
But sometimes the setting jogs a vignette into being. I'm lucky that New Braunfels is a colorful town; it's fun to occasionally put my characters into places I've been. We've eaten breakfast at the Union Street Station, and I might have seen a group like the one gathered around the table in the following excerpt.
She stayed with her folks during the renovations, which took twice as long as she’d planned and cost twice as much as she’d budgeted. Selby worked on the renovation like a job, riding her bike up to the house by eight in the morning, lunch sack in her basket. She wanted to do most of the work herself, hiring help only when she needed it. And when she started on the kitchen, she needed it.
Her father kept his weekly breakfast group updated on her progress and pitfalls. The guys met every Friday morning at Union Street Station, home of “56 Varieties of Omelet and Don’t Ask for a Substitution” fame. Evan Schwartz, a stout, red-faced Rotarian who kept up with everyone else’s lives and never tired of his own opinions, thought she ought to hire his son-in-law, Lucas. “So he can afford to send my granddaughter away for camp.” The group guffawed since the son-in-law’s inadequacies were one of Evan’s favorite themes. However, after the huevos rancheros and
And with that, one of the most important characters--and one of my favorites, gained entrance to the book.