It was early one Saturday morning. My friend Britta and I were having a yard sale. A couple of hours and many cups of coffee into the yard sale we were kicking back in our lawn chairs staring at all the junk that no one had bought. We were silent, and in fact hadn’t muttered a word in probably thirty minutes. She was most likely thinking the same thing as me, Let’s just haul this off to Goodwill and hit the beach.

So this is how the conversation went:

Britta: Wouldn’t it be cool to be a spy?
Me: Yeah.
Britta: Just like Sydney Bristow we could travel around the world under aliases.
Me: Yeah.

Britta: So what’s your next book about?
Me: I dunno. Something teen, definitely.
Britta: (long pause)How ‘bout teen spies?
Me: Hmmm...

Slowly, I sat up, ideas starting to ping pong around in my head. Teen spies...that really was a cool idea. Then I ran and got a notepad, and here’s the conversation continued:

Me: Oooh, oooh, we cold totally have like...
Britta: And, and, oh my God, what about...
Me: Wait a minute. I have a better idea...
Britta: No that sucks. You need to do this.
Me: Hey, who’s writing this anyway?

Hours went by. Literally. And when we got done, we looked up and saw all of our junk was gone. And this was how the conversation went:

Britta: Where’s all are stuff?
B’s husband: Some lady came, offered fifty bucks for it all, and loaded it up.
Britta: Cool.
Me: Cool. (long pause)So what now?
Britta: Hello? Go write the freaking series.
Me: (sigh)