Desire Plus Danger Equals Drama: a Bedtime Story

The most compelling fiction follows Murphy's law: if anything can go wrong, it will.

One of my favorite parts of writing is the challenge to make my characters' lives worse with every chapter. Who wants to read a novel about the cheerful folks of Happy Town? 

Unless Happy Town is actually kind of creepy.
Image credit: Lindsay Koch

That's precisely why I'd never want to jump into the world of even my most beloved story. I'd likely die within a week.

Compared to characters like Mo LoBeau or Jimmy Kudo, I'm a total softy. While they're out there solving crimes and having drama, I max out on suspense just putting my kids to bed.   

In my defense, though, bedtime can get seriously intense. And, like any novel, it can also illustrate the useful "3D" writing technique: Desire plus Danger equals Drama.

For example:

After yesterday's Labor Day activities, my wife and kids and I got home in time to rush into pajamas and set alarm clocks extra early. My wife had a meeting to attend this morning, so we hoped everyone could fall asleep quickly.

Except the boys fell asleep in the car.

The frustrating thing about toddlers is that no matter how exhausted they may seem before they fall asleep, they get more energy back in a ten-minute nap than I get in an entire night. If you wake them up, it's all over.

So you can understand the threat this situation posed to our plan.

Image credit: James Valeii

Unfortunately the local bomb squad told us to stop calling them, so we had to extricate our sleeping children from the car ourselves.

My wife took the two-year-old. I took the one-year-old.

The car seat buckle clicked free. One strap over--don't catch those fingers--good. Next strap. Slide it off slowly . . . no, no, no, stop squirming! I'm not here! I'm not here!

Good.

At our front doorstep I fumbled in my pocket as the one-year-old crinkled his forehead against the cold breeze. Don't wake up. Don't wake up. 

My fingers trembled on the key ring then let go, sending the keys to the ground with a clatter. I stooped to pick them up again. The child flailed his arms.

Don't wake up. Don't wake up.

The boys remained asleep as we shed shoes inside the house and sneaked back toward their room. I lowered the little one into his crib and waited.

Waited.

Just when I thought we had succeeded and could finally retreat, the two-year-old whimpered.

He begged for a drink.

He demanded a story.

He insisted on brushing his teeth.

Then he screamed.

The one-year-old jerked awake. Red alert. Red alert. Red alert. I rubbed his back and did my best impression of sea waves. I sang. I bartered with the Universe.

But it was too late.

The boys didn't sleep again for hours.

Image credit: Bundoo

Of course, since I can't turn off my writing brain, I mentioned to my wife at some point during this ordeal that the tension there could go into a book. I thought specifically of the 3D formula: our desire to get to bed on time was endangered by the boys' transition from the car.

And that's all the drama I can handle right now, thank you very much.

I'm just glad I don't live in a book.