Several so-called writers on Twitter troll for new followers asking questions like “Where do you get your story ideas?” Well, sweetheart, part of being a storyteller is being able to discern a good one. We are surrounded by story ideas. Even a hermit has at least one good story to tell. It is the imagination of the author that crafts it into one that will entertain, educate or provide enjoyment for readers.

In the Heaven Ride trilogy (available on Amazon.com), my co-author, John Eccleston, and I incorporated discussion of the Akashic Field – a theoretical repository for every human thought from the past, present and future all in one cosmic library. People who claim to be in tune with it access it primarily through a deep meditation. It is conjectured that Leonardo da Vinci, Ben Franklin and Deepak Chopra used the Akashic Field, or Akashic Records, to invent, create and introduce ideas and inventions for society.

So, dear Twitter troll, there’s one for you. Sometimes, other people call you and tell you their idea, as was the case with the first book of Heaven Ride. Last Wednesday, I was introduced to a story idea through one of the most bizarre experiences ever. It’s worth sharing.

I woke up early, but refreshed. I went on a cleaning spree, scouring the kitchen and I was not finished there. I cleared my desk and office area. I keep a padded bench next to my desk. I built it myself and it’s comfortable for power naps or as a seat for dining. In my current life situation, it is often just a flat parcel of real estate to stack books, or backpacks or my camera equipment. On Wednesday, I saw a stack of unread mail accumulated over several days. I sorted through the mail, and close to the top was a stapled document. I had seen it before, many years ago. At the top of the page was the title, “Descendants of FRANCIS JANOWSKI,” and the 12 pages meticulously researched by a distant aunt, Rosalie Hanrahan, contained information about our family tree on my mother’s side. I’m mentioned in there twice, once with my line of existence as the last leaf on the Gleason family tree and once in a credit because I chaperoned Rosalie and her husband Walt on a research tour of cemeteries, churches, family dwellings and workplaces in Rochester, N.Y. in October 2004. She is perhaps the most pleasant of all my relatives. I’m estimating that Rosalie sent this to me sometime between 2007 and 2009, and I have not read it or thought of it since.

What was it doing on the top of my mail stack?

I perused it and it made me wonder how Rosalie was doing. The last time we talked was after the passing of her beloved Walt in 2016. Her phone number is still on my phone, but before calling, I decided it was prudent to do a Google search to see if there might be a life event or horrors! an obituary. What I found was the catalyst for my story.

In Baltimore County, where she lived, a Silver Alert had been issued for then 79-year-old Rosalie on a Wednesday. By Thursday afternoon, it was canceled and media reported she was found.

Like an octopus, my mind sent tentacles in many different directions. I thought of my mom and the wonderful care she received for her years in assisted living. And then of my uncle Richard, who “eloped” from a terrible nursing home. He took a cab to the airport, and an alert ticketing agent delayed his purchase of a ticket, telling him all flights to Las Vegas were booked but if he waited, she would see if she could get him on standby. Then she contacted law enforcement, and they were able to return him to the horrible nursing home facility.

The travails of Rosalie and Richard made me curious about nursing home wanderers, and the story evolved from there. What inspired people to wander? What if there was an event where hundreds or thousands of elderly residents at assisted living a nursing home facilities were all inspired to wander to a specific place at a specific time for a mysterious reason? And what would – no, what could happen there?

As I read a few articles about dementia patients and wandering, a song popped into my head. It was the only song that presented itself, and it was from an era that Rosalie could appreciate. And it would not go away.

“It Had to be You.” It was originally written in 1924, and it was later covered by famed singers like Billie Holliday, Tony Bennett, Bobby Darin, Frank Sinatra and Harry Connick, Jr. I found many on YouTube and listened. The Tony Bennett version (very slow, not recommended) featured a spoken-word introduction that was especially relevant to the story I hoped to tell.

It seems like dreams like I’ve always had
Could be, should be, makin’ me glad
Why am I blue?
It’s up to you to explain
I’m thinking maybe baby I’ll go away
Someday, some way, you’ll come and say,
‘It’s you that I need’
Maybe you’ll be pleading in vain –

So that song was incorporated into “The Wanderers.”

Where would they wander to? I thought of small-town Americana, a throwback to simpler days. I once had an experience in Waverly, N.Y. after a wayward trip left me stranded there, and I needed to catch a bus back home. The bus station, I was told, was also the barber shop. The Terminal Barber Shop – makes you afraid to get a haircut. That entire story is destined to be told in another place at another time, but the Terminal Barber Shop on Main Street will forever be etched in my mind. It made sense to incorporate Waverly, with a few alterations, into my tale.

Then, I added a mysterious tall, dark gentleman as a chauffeur and some magical events that occur as seniors descend on the town, culminating in an equally mysterious climactic event.

I finished the short story in two days and am now pitching it to publications.

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