“I don’t have anything to write about.”
Which is fascinating, because five minutes earlier, you were telling me about a weird look a stranger gave you in the grocery store, your dog absolutely refusing to pee for reasons known only to her, and a sentence you overheard in line that made you stop mid-thought. But sure. Nothing to write about.
Here’s the truth I’ve learned as an author—and especially as a cozy mystery author. The big moments are overrated. The small, throwaway, blink-and-you-miss-it moments? Those are where the magic lives.
The glance. The pause. The overheard sentence. The dog who suddenly plants her feet like she’s staging a protest because the grass feels emotionally wrong today.
Recently, I was having a few drinks with my artist friend. Nothing fancy. Just gabbing, laughing, shooting the breeze the way you do when the world slows down enough for real conversation. Her house, by the way, is a living, breathing gallery. When I say there isn’t an inch of wall space left, I mean it. Every surface holds a piece of art. Paintings layered with texture, color, meaning. To me, at first glance, some of it looks like a beautiful landscape. To her, every piece has a story. A memory. A symbol. A reason it exists exactly the way it does.
And because I am who I am, I started asking.
What does this one mean? Why this color? Where did that idea come from?
She explained each piece, and with every explanation, the artwork changed. What had been “just” a painting turned into a moment. A feeling. A choice. A quiet emotional beat frozen in time.
Something clicked in my brain right then. That soft, familiar oh no, here we go feeling every writer knows. Because suddenly, I wasn’t just sitting in a house full of art. I was laying out the bones of a story. Not intentionally. Not with a notebook out. Just noticing. Absorbing. Letting my mind do what it does best.
By the end of the night, I had the basics of what would become Painted Magic, book six in the Magical Papillon Mysteries.
That’s how it happens. Not with lightning bolts or dramatic declarations. But with conversations. With curiosity. With moments that seem small until they aren’t.
As an author, I don’t hunt for stories. I trip over them.
I trip over the stranger in the grocery store who says something that lands sideways. I trip over the way someone hesitates before answering a simple question. I trip over Blueberry stopping mid-walk, staring into the distance like she’s remembering a past life as a Victorian widow.
Every single thing can end up in a story. Sometimes it becomes a scene. Sometimes a character quirk. Sometimes an entire emotional arc. And sometimes, you don’t even realize what it’s becoming until much later, when you’re writing and think, Oh. That’s where that came from.
If you think you don’t have anything to write about, I promise you this. You are surrounded by material. You’re just living it instead of noticing it yet.
Pay attention to the tiny moments. Ask one more question. Let yourself be curious about things other people walk past. That’s where stories start. Not loud. Not flashy. Just quietly raising their hand and saying, Hey. I could be something.
Blueberry says if the moment involves snacks, stubbornness, or dramatic pauses, it is definitely worth documenting.
I trust her judgment.
—
Sabine
Cozy mystery author, collector of tiny moments, and official interpreter of
Papillon opinions
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