The cinema of my dreams – Was it just another surveillance job – Episode 42

I’m back home and this story has been sitting on the back burner for a few months, waiting for some more to be written.

The trouble is, there are also other stories to write, and I’m not very good at prioritizing.

But, here we are, a few minutes opened up and it didn’t take long to get back into the groove.

Chasing leads, maybe

A second later the light came on and I was temporarily blinded.

The woman had to be on the other side of the door, and coming into the room, I must have passed her. Her voice sounded quite old, so it must be the mother.

“Turn around, slowly.

I did. By that time my eyes had readjusted, and I could see a woman, still dressed, with what looked to be an Enfield WW1 rifle. Just as dangerous now as it was then, particularly at this close range.

“Mrs Quigley, I presume,” I asked. Remain polite and conversational and keep her from getting nervous.

“Who are you?”

“Sam Jackson.”

“Is that your real name?”

“Why would you presume to think it wasn’t?”

“You’re breaking into my house which means you’re a criminal, and criminals by nature are also liars. Why would I think you any different to the rest?”

Good question. “I knew your son.”

“Which one?”

“Adam.”

“He’s not here. He hasn’t been around since he gallivanted off overseas a few years back.”

“I saw him only a few days ago, in London. Not gallivanting, by the way, but with feet firmly planted on the ground.”

“He’s not here.”

“Do you know where he is?”

She didn’t know he was dead, and I didn’t think it was my business to tell her. That was Dobbin’s job, and I was surprised he hadn’t. Or, I only had her word for it he hadn’t.

“Are you hard of hearing.” Get into the middle of the room.”

I moved slowly into the middle, watching her edge slowly towards the writing desk while keeping the gun aimed at me. If I tried to run for it, and if she was any sort of shot, I’d be dead before I got three, possibly four paces. If I could get a shred of surprise.

I hadn’t seen the phone on the desk, and watched her pick up the receiver, and, with the same hand, started dialing a number.

“Put it down.” Another voice, another woman, coming from the doorway.

Jennifer.

With a gun in hand, pointed at the woman.

“What if I shoot him, or you?”

“You’ll be dead before either scenario happens. Just put it down. I’m not here to shoot anyone if I can help it.”

Of course, this was just like one of those scenes out of a comedic spy film. Guns pointing in all directions.

And, true to form, a click, and a voice. “You put your weapon down.”

He appeared out of the shadows and had the gun pointed straight at Jennifer’s head at very short range.

Adam Quigley, aka O’Connell, and very much alive.

Jennifer dropped her gun, but Adam didn’t take his gun off her.

“Hello Sam. How did you find me?”

© Charles Heath 2020-2021

365 Days of writing, 2026 – 36

Day 36 – Obsessions become inspiration

Turning an Obsession Into Art: How Watching Soap Operas Can Fuel Your Next Story or Play


Introduction

What if the very thing you can’t stop binge‑watching—whether it’s a daily soap opera, a true‑crime documentary, or an endless stream of cooking shows—could become the secret weapon behind your next compelling narrative?

Obsessions are often dismissed as distractions, but for writers, they can be information goldmines. The key is learning how to harvest the patterns, emotions, and structures that keep you glued to the screen, and then re‑engineer them into something fresh, resonant, and uniquely yours.

In this post, we’ll explore:

  1. Why obsessions work – the psychological and creative science behind them.
  2. What soap operas teach us about drama, pacing, and character.
  3. A step‑by‑step framework for turning a viewing habit into a polished story or stage play.
  4. Real‑world examples of writers who turned their fixations into masterpieces.
  5. Practical tips & pitfalls to keep you on track.

Grab a notebook (or open a fresh Google Doc) and let’s turn that guilty pleasure into a creative engine.


1. The Power of Obsession: Why It’s a Writer’s Secret Weapon

A. Cognitive Magnetism

When you repeatedly expose yourself to a particular genre or medium, your brain builds schema—mental frameworks that help you predict what will happen next. This predictive ability frees up cognitive bandwidth for higher‑order thinking: spotting the gaps, subverting expectations, and layering new ideas onto familiar structures.

B. Emotional Hook

Obsessions aren’t just intellectual; they’re emotional. The excitement you feel when a cliff‑hanger resolves, the empathy you develop for a long‑running protagonist—these feelings stick in your memory. Emotional resonance is the lifeblood of any story, and an obsession supplies a ready‑made well of feeling to draw from.

C. Knowledge Accumulation

Every episode you watch deposits data: character arcs, dialogue cadence, set dressing, pacing cues, and even the “rules” that govern the fictional world. Over weeks or months, this repository becomes a research library that you can reference without ever opening a textbook.

Bottom line: An obsession turns you into a subject‑matter specialist while simultaneously priming you to think like a storyteller.


2. Soap Operas as a Masterclass in Drama

If you’re sceptical about using soap operas—a genre sometimes dismissed as “lowbrow”—look closer. The format is a compressed drama laboratory:

ElementWhat Soap Operas Do WellHow It Translates to Writing
Character DepthLong‑term arcs let characters evolve over years.Gives you a model for layered, believable growth.
Cliff‑HangersEvery episode ends on a hook that forces the next viewing.Teaches you how to structure tension and release.
Dialogue RhythmRapid, overlapping conversations mimic real speech.Shows you how to craft snappy, realistic dialogue.
Plot InterweavingMultiple storylines intersect, diverge, and reconverge.Provides a blueprint for complex, multi‑threaded plots.
Emotional CoreStakes are amplified (family secrets, betrayals, love).Demonstrates how to raise emotional stakes without melodrama.
Production ConstraintsLimited budgets force creative staging.Inspires resourceful world‑building on a modest scale.

Even the most cynical critic can acknowledge that soap operas are engineered for maximum emotional throughput—exactly what you want when you sit down to write a story that grabs readers from the first line.


3. From Viewing to Writing: A Practical Framework

Below is a six‑step workflow that turns any obsessive viewing habit into a solid narrative foundation. Feel free to adapt the timeline to fit your schedule (the steps can be compressed into a weekend or stretched over months).

Step 1: Log the Details

  • Create a “Soap‑Log” spreadsheet with columns for episode title, air date, key conflict, main characters, and standout line of dialogue.
  • Tag recurring motifs (e.g., “secret twins,” “return from the dead,” “corporate takeover”).
  • Note personal reactions: what made you laugh, cringe, or feel a pang of sympathy?

Why? The act of recording forces you to observe rather than consume passively, training you to spot narrative mechanics.

Step 2: Identify the Core Mechanics

  • Pattern‑hunt: Which plot devices appear most often? (e.g., “misunderstood love letters”).
  • Structure analysis: Break down a typical episode into beats (inciting incident → rising action → climax → resolution). Use Dan Harmon’s Story Circle or a three‑act template as a reference.

Result: A toolbox of building blocks you can mix, match, and remix.

Step 3: Extract Universal Themes

  • Even the most outlandish storylines tap into fundamental human concerns: power, love, betrayal, and redemption.
  • Write a list of theme statements, such as “the desire for belonging can drive people to deception.”

Why it matters: Themes give your work depth beyond plot mechanics, ensuring it resonates beyond the soap fan base.

Step 4: Subvert and Re-Contextualise

  • Choose one familiar soap trope (e.g., the “evil step‑mother”) and flip it: perhaps the step‑mother is the heroic caretaker in a dystopian future.
  • Change the setting dramatically: move the drama from a small town in Texas to a floating city on a gas giant.

Goal: Keep the emotional pull of the original while delivering something fresh.

Step 5: Draft a Mini‑Pilot

  • Write a 10‑page pilot (or a one‑act play) that incorporates at least three of the identified beats, one subverted trope, and a clear thematic thread.
  • Use the soap‑log as a cheat sheet for dialogue rhythm and cliff‑hanger placement.

Tip: Aim for a tight inciting incident in the first 5 pages—this is the hook that made you binge‑watch the soap in the first place.

Step 6: Iterate with Feedback

  • Share the draft with a mix of soap fans and non‑fans. Ask: “Did the stakes feel real?” and “Did any moment feel cliché?”
  • Revise based on the overlap—what resonates with both groups is the sweet spot where niche expertise meets universal appeal.

If I only had one day to stop over in – Stockholm – what would I do?

One Day in Stockholm: The One Place You Must Visit for an Unforgettable Day

Stockholm is a city of islands, innovation, and timeless beauty—but what if you only have one day? Whether you’re en route to another destination or squeezing in a whirlwind visit, a short stopover in Sweden’s capital can still be magical. With limited time, the key is to focus on one standout experience rather than rushing between sights.

So, if you have just one day in Stockholm, make it memorable by visiting:

Gamla Stan – The Beating Heart of Stockholm

Gamla Stan, Stockholm’s Old Town, isn’t just a historic district—it’s a living storybook. Founded in the 13th century, this island neighbourhood weaves together medieval charm, royal history, and vibrant culture in a way that captures the essence of Sweden.

Why Gamla Stan?

  • Timeless Atmosphere: Wander through narrow cobblestone lanes, past buildings in shades of gold and rust, under lantern-lit passages that feel frozen in time.
  • Compact & Walkable: Perfect for a day visit, you can explore key highlights on foot without feeling rushed.
  • History at Every Turn: From the Royal Palace to Stortorget square (home to the iconic colorful merchant houses), history isn’t behind glass here—it’s all around you.

Must-Do in Gamla Stan

  1. Stortorget Square – Snap a photo by the iconic row of old merchant houses, and soak in the atmosphere of the oldest square in Stockholm.
  2. The Royal Palace – Even if you don’t go inside, witnessing the daily Changing of the Guard (at 12:15 PM on weekdays, 1:15 PM on Sundays) is a spectacle of tradition.
  3. Mårten Trotzigs Gränd – Walk down Stockholm’s narrowest street (just 90 cm wide) and feel the medieval pulse of the city.
  4. Fika like a Local – Pop into a classic café like Chokladkoppen on the square for coffee and a cinnamon bun—fika is a ritual here.

Make It Memorable

  • Get Lost on Purpose: Put away the map for an hour. Discover hidden courtyards, antique shops, and artisan boutiques.
  • Listen to Stories: Join a short walking tour—many are free or tip-based—and hear tales of kings, legends, and Stockholm’s rise from the water.
  • Sunset Views: End your day by walking to the water’s edge for views of the surrounding islands. In summer, the golden light over Gamla Stan is pure magic.

Practical Tips for Your Stopover

  • Transport: From Arlanda Airport, take the Arlanda Express (20 minutes) to Central Station, then it’s just a short walk or metro ride to Gamla Stan.
  • Luggage: Use left-luggage services at the airport or Central Station to travel light.
  • Timing: Arrive early to beat crowds, especially in summer. Even with just 5–6 hours, you can experience Gamla Stan fully.

One day in Stockholm doesn’t have to be a checklist. By choosing Gamla Stan, you immerse yourself in the soul of the city—where every corner whispers a story, and a single afternoon can feel like a journey through centuries.

So, on your next stopover, step into the charm of the Old Town. Sometimes the most memorable travels aren’t about seeing everything—but about fully experiencing one perfect place.
Hej då and happy travels!

What I learned about writing – What will you do to finish that book?

Me? Well, I’m not that dedicated but…

An organised writer will set aside time for all the processes he or she needs to do in a day, in order to get the job done.

We’re talking time management, or a scale I couldn’t even begin to imagine. But if you want to write a book in a reasonable timeframe, then you have to plan.

To me, if I was going to go down that path, I would need to know the following:

Book genre, a working title, approximate length in words, break down the parts of the story into what will eventually become chapters, know most of the characters and their functions, and spoiler alert, what a possible ending might be.

For me, for instance, the book is a thriller, it is about 80,000 words, and it will have between 80 and 100 chapters. From there, if I plan to write 2,000 words a day, it would take 40 days, but more realistically, if I write 500 words a day, it would be 160 days or six months. Taking time out, the average time it would take to write would be about one year.

Then, there’s that little matter of what you are prepared to do to finish it.

Will you go at it, day after day, until the first draft is finished? Having a plan, setting out the plot lines and writing to them, perhaps.

If you write like I do, by the seat of my pants, then all that goes out the window.

I use the NANOWRIMO method, of writing 50,000 words in a month, with no breaks, and providing the ideas keep coming, which they generally do. My books often start as short stories, and then carry on. I have done this once a year for the last seven years.

The thing is, once you start, you have to finish. If you don’t, that germ of an idea that starts turning into words will stagnate, then become impossible. And if those around you cannot support you, I’m sure you can find an attic somewhere on the internet where you can lock yourself away until it is done.

“The Things we do for Love”, the story behind the story

This story has been ongoing since I was seventeen, and just to let you know, I’m 72 this year.

Yes, it’s taken a long time to get it done.

Why, you might ask.

Well, I never gave it much interest because I started writing it after a small incident when I was 17, and working as a book packer for a book distributor in Melbourne

At the end of my first year, at Christmas, the employer had a Christmas party, and that year, it was at a venue in St Kilda.

I wasn’t going to go because at that age, I was an ordinary boy who was very introverted and basically scared of his own shadow and terrified by girls.

Back then, I would cross the street to avoid them

Also, other members of the staff in the shipping department were rough and ready types who were not backwards in telling me what happened, and being naive, perhaps they knew I’d be either shocked or intrigued.

I was both adamant I wasn’t coming and then got roped in on a dare.

Damn!

So, back then, in the early 70s, people looked the other way when it came to drinking, and of course, Dutch courage always takes away the concerns, especially when normally you wouldn’t do half the stuff you wouldn’t in a million years

I made it to the end, not as drunk and stupid as I thought I might be, and St Kilda being a salacious place if you knew where to look, my new friends decided to give me a surprise.

It didn’t take long to realise these men were ‘men about town’ as they kept saying, and we went on an odyssey.  Yes, those backstreet brothels where one could, I was told, have anything they could imagine.

Let me tell you, large quantities of alcohol and imagination were a very bad mix.

So, the odyssey in ‘The things we do’ was based on that, and then the encounter with Diana. Well, let’s just say I learned a great deal about girls that night.

Firstly, not all girls are nasty and spiteful, which seemed to be the case whenever I met one. There was a way to approach, greet, talk to, and behave.

It was also true that I could have had anything I wanted, but I decided what was in my imagination could stay there.  She was amused that all I wanted was to talk, but it was my money, and I could spend it how I liked.

And like any 17-year-old naive fool, I fell in love with her and had all these foolish notions.  Months later, I went back, but she had moved on, to where no one was saying or knew.

Needless to say, I was heartbroken and had to get over that first loss, which, like any 17-year-old, was like the end of the world.

But it was the best hour I’d ever spent in my life and would remain so until I met the woman I have been married to for the last 48 years.

As Henry, he was in part based on a rebel, the son of rich parents who despised them and their wealth, and he used to regale anyone who would listen about how they had messed up his life

If only I’d come from such a background!

And yes, I was only a run away from climbing up the stairs to get on board a ship, acting as a purser.

I worked for a shipping company and they gave their junior staff members an opportunity to spend a year at sea working as a purser on a cargo ship that sailed between Melbourne, Sydney and Hobart in Australia.

One of the other junior staff members’ turn came, and I would visit him on board when he would tell me stories about life on board, the officers, the crew, and other events. These stories, which sounded incredible to someone so impressionable, were a delight to hear.

Alas, by that time, I had tired of office work and moved on to be a tradesman at the place where my father worked.

It proved to be the right move, as that is where I met my wife.  Diana had been right; love would find me when I least expected it.

lovecoverfinal1

If I only had one day to stop over in – Copenhagen – what would I do?

The One Place to Make Your Copenhagen Stopover Unforgettable

Have you ever found yourself with just one day in a city you’ve always dreamed of exploring? That’s exactly the magic of a Copenhagen stopover. Whether you’re en route to another destination or squeezing in a quick European getaway, this Danish capital offers a taste of hygge, history, and vibrant culture—all in a compact, walkable city.

But with limited time, how do you choose just one spot to capture the essence of Copenhagen? You could wander through colourful Nyhavn, explore the historic Tivoli Gardens, or marvel at the futuristic architecture of the Opera House. Yet if you’re looking for a truly memorable experience—one that blends history, culture, and breathtaking views—there’s one place that stands above the rest: The Rundetårn (The Round Tower).

Why The Rundetårn?

Built in the 17th century as an astronomical observatory, The Round Tower is more than just a historic landmark—it’s a journey through time. Unlike most towers with steep staircases, Rundetårn features a unique, gently sloping spiral ramp that winds its way to the top. As you ascend, you’ll pass historical exhibitions, an atmospheric library hall, and even a glass floor looking down into the core of the tower.

But the real reward awaits at the summit.

The View That Steals Your Heart

When you step out onto the rooftop platform, you’re greeted with a 360-degree panoramic view of Copenhagen’s rooftops, spires, and bustling streets. From this vantage point, you can spot iconic landmarks like the Christiansborg Palace, the Church of Our Saviour, and the distant silhouette of the Øresund Bridge. It’s the perfect place to orient yourself, snap unforgettable photos, and simply soak in the city’s charm.

A Stopover Moment to Remember

What makes Rundetårn especially perfect for a one-day visit is its central location. Just a short walk from Strøget, Copenhagen’s famous pedestrian street, you can easily pair your visit with a stroll through the city’s vibrant heart, a bite of smørrebrød (Danish open-faced sandwiches), or a quick coffee in a cozy café.

Whether you visit in the morning light, under the blue afternoon sky, or during the golden hour before sunset, The Round Tower offers a moment of reflection and wonder—a chance to pause and appreciate the beauty of Copenhagen from above.

So, if you find yourself with just one day in this Nordic gem, make your way to Rundetårn. Let its spiral ramp lead you upward, and let Copenhagen unfold beneath you. It’s not just a sightseeing stop—it’s a memory in the making.

Pro Tip: Arrive early to avoid crowds, and don’t forget to look up at night if you’re in town after dark—the tower’s observatory still opens for stellar views of the cosmos.

Happy exploring, and may your Copenhagen stopover be filled with wonder!

An excerpt from “Sunday in New York”

Now available on Amazon at:  https://amzn.to/2H7ALs8

Williams’ Restaurant, East 65th Street, New York, Saturday, 8:00 p.m.

We met the Blaine’s at Williams’, a rather upmarket restaurant that the Blaine’s frequently visited, and had recommended.

Of course, during the taxi ride there, Alison reminded me that with my new job, we would be able to go to many more places like Williams’.  It was, at worst, more emotional blackmail, because as far as Alison was concerned, we were well on our way to posh restaurants, the Trump Tower Apartments, and the trappings of the ‘executive set’.

It would be a miracle if I didn’t strangle Elaine before the night was over.  It was she who had filled Alison’s head with all this stuff and nonsense.

Aside from the half frown half-smile, Alison was looking stunning.  It was months since she had last dressed up, and she was especially wearing the dress I’d bought her for our 5th anniversary that cost a month’s salary.  On her, it was worth it, and I would have paid more if I had to.  She had adored it, and me, for a week or so after.

For tonight, I think I was close to getting back on that pedestal.

She had the looks and figure to draw attention, the sort movie stars got on the red carpet, and when we walked into the restaurant, I swear there were at least five seconds silence, and many more gasps.

Even I had a sudden loss of breath earlier in the evening when she came out of the dressing room.  Once more I was reminded of how lucky I was that she had agreed to marry me.  Amid all those self-doubts, I couldn’t believe she had loved me when there were so many others ‘out there’ who were more appealing.

Elaine was out of her seat and came over just as the Head Waiter hovered into sight.  She personally escorted Alison to the table, allowing me to follow like the Queen’s consort, while she and Alison basked in the admiring glances of the other patrons.

More than once I heard the muted question, “Who is she?”

Jimmy stood, we shook hands, and then we sat together.  It was not the usual boy, girl, boy, girl seating arrangement.  Jimmy and I on one side and Elaine and Alison on the other.

The battle lines were drawn.

Jimmy was looking fashionable, with the permanent blade one beard, unkempt hair, and designer dinner suit that looked like he’d slept in it.  Alison insisted I wear a tuxedo, and I looked like the proverbial penguin or just a thinner version of Alfred Hitchcock.

The bow tie had been slightly crooked, but just before we stepped out she had straightened it.  And took the moment to look deeply into my soul.  It was one of those moments when words were not necessary.

Then it was gone.

I relived it briefly as I sat and she looked at me.  A penetrating look that told me to ‘behave’.

When we were settled, Elaine said, in that breathless, enthusiastic manner of hers when she was excited, “So, Harry, you are finally moving up.”  It was not a question, but a statement.

I was not sure what she meant by ‘finally’ but I accepted it with good grace.  Sometimes Elaine was prone to using figures of speech I didn’t understand.  I guessed she was talking about the new job.  “It was supposed to be a secret.”

She smiled widely.  “There are no secrets between Al and I, are there Al?”

I looked at ‘Al’ and saw a brief look of consternation.

I was not sure Alison liked the idea of being called Al.  I tried it once and was admonished.  But it was interesting her ‘best friend forever’ was allowed that distinction when I was not.  It was, perhaps, another indicator of how far I’d slipped in her estimation.

Perhaps, I thought, it was a necessary evil.  As I understood it, the Blaine’s were our mentors at the Trump Tower, because they didn’t just let ‘anyone’ in.  I didn’t ask if the Blaine’s thought we were just ‘anyone’ before I got the job offer.

And then there was that look between Alison and Elaine, quickly stolen before Alison realized I was looking at both of them.  I was out of my depth, in a place I didn’t belong, with people I didn’t understand.  And yet, apparently, Alison did.  I must have missed the memo.

“No,” Alison said softly, stealing a glance in my direction, “No secrets between friends.”

No secrets.  Her look conveyed something else entirely.

The waiter brought champagne, Krug, and poured glasses for each of us.  It was not the cheap stuff, and I was glad I brought a couple of thousand dollars with me.  We were going to need it.

Then, a toast.

To a new job and a new life.

“When did you decide?”  Elaine was effusive at the best of times, but with the champagne, it was worse.

Alison had a strange expression on her face.  It was obvious she had told Elaine it was a done deal, even before I’d made up my mind.  Perhaps she’d assumed I might be ‘refreshingly honest’ in front of Elaine, but it could also mean she didn’t really care what I might say or do.

Instead of consternation, she looked happy, and I realized it would be churlish, even silly if I made a scene.  I knew what I wanted to say.  I also knew that it would serve little purpose provoking Elaine, or upsetting Alison.  This was not the time or the place.  Alison had been looking forward to coming here, and I was not going to spoil it.

Instead, I said, smiling, “When I woke up this morning and found Alison missing.  If she had been there, I would not have noticed the water stain on the roof above our bed, and decide there and then how much I hated the place.” I used my reassuring smile, the one I used with the customers when all hell was breaking loose, and the forest fire was out of control.  “It’s the little things.  They all add up until one day …”  I shrugged.  “I guess that one day was today.”

I saw an incredulous look pass between Elaine and Alison, a non-verbal question; perhaps, is he for real?  Or; I told you he’d come around.

I had no idea the two were so close.

“How quaint,” Elaine said, which just about summed up her feelings towards me.  I think, at that moment, I lost some brownie points.  It was all I could come up with at short notice.

“Yes,” I added, with a little more emphasis than I wanted.  “Alison was off to get some study in with one of her friends.”

“Weren’t the two of you off to the Hamptons, a weekend with some friends?” Jimmy piped up, and immediately got the ‘shut up you fool’ look, that cut that line of conversation dead.  Someone forgot to feed Jimmy his lines.

It was followed by the condescending smile from Elaine, and “I need to powder my nose.  Care to join me, Al?”

A frown, then a forced smile for her new best friend.  “Yes.”

I watched them leave the table and head in the direction of the restroom, looking like they were in earnest conversation.  I thought ‘Al’ looked annoyed, but I could be wrong.

I had to say Jimmy looked more surprised than I did.

There was that odd moment of silence between us, Jimmy still smarting from his death stare, and for me, the Alison and Elaine show.  I was quite literally gob-smacked.

I drained my champagne glass gathering some courage and turned to him.  “By the way, we were going to have a weekend away, but this legal tutorial thing came up.  You know Alison is doing her law degree.”

He looked startled when he realized I had spoken.  He was looking intently at a woman several tables over from us, one who’d obviously forgotten some basic garments when getting dressed.  Or perhaps it was deliberate.  She’d definitely had some enhancements done.

He dragged his eyes back to me.  “Yes.  Elaine said something or other about it.  But I thought she said the tutor was out of town and it had been postponed until next week.  Perhaps I got it wrong.  I usually do.”

“Perhaps I’ve got it wrong.”  I shrugged, as the dark thoughts started swirling in my head again.  “This week or next, what does it matter?”

Of course, it mattered to me, and I digested what he said with a sinking heart.  It showed there was another problem between Alison and me; it was possible she was now telling me lies.  If what he said was true and I had no reason to doubt him, where was she going tomorrow morning, and had she really been with a friend studying today?

We poured some more champagne, had a drink, then he asked, “This promotion thing, what’s it worth?”

“Trouble, I suspect.  Definitely more money, but less time at home.”

“Oh,” raised eyebrows.  Obviously, the women had not talked about the job in front of him, or, at least, not all the details.  “You sure you want to do that?”

At last the voice of reason.  “Me?  No.”

“Yet you accepted the job.”

I sucked in a breath or two while I considered whether I could trust him.  Even if I couldn’t, I could see my ship was sinking, so it wouldn’t matter what I told him, or what Elaine might find out from him.  “Jimmy, between you and me I haven’t as yet decided one way or another.  To be honest, I won’t know until I go up to Barclay’s office and he asks me the question.”

“Barclay?”

“My boss.”

“Elaine’s doing a job for a Barclay that recently moved in the tower a block down from us.  I thought I recognized the name.”

“How did Elaine get the job?”

“Oh, Alison put him onto her.”

“When?”

“A couple of months ago.  Why?”

I shrugged and tried to keep a straight face, while my insides were churning up like the wake of a supertanker.  I felt sick, faint, and wanting to die all at the same moment.  “Perhaps she said something about it, but it didn’t connect at the time.  Too busy with work I expect.  I think I seriously need to get away for a while.”

I could hardly breathe, my throat was constricted and I knew I had to keep it together.  I could see Elaine and Alison coming back, so I had to calm down.  I sucked in some deep breaths, and put my ‘manage a complete and utter disaster’ look on my face.

And I had to change the subject, quickly, so I said, “Jimmy, Elaine told Alison, who told me, you were something of a guru of the cause and effects of the global economic meltdown.  Now, I have a couple of friends who have been expounding this theory …”

Like flicking a switch, I launched into the well-worn practice of ‘running a distraction’, like at work when we needed to keep the customer from discovering the truth.  It was one of the things I was good at, taking over a conversation and pushing it in a different direction.  It was salvaging a good result from an utter disaster, and if ever there was a time that it was required, it was right here, right now.

When Alison sat down and looked at me, she knew something had happened between Jimmy and I.  I might have looked pale or red-faced, or angry or disappointed, it didn’t matter.  If that didn’t seal the deal for her, the fact I took over the dining engagement did.  She knew well enough the only time I did that was when everything was about to go to hell in a handbasket.  She’d seen me in action before and had been suitably astonished.

But I got into gear, kept the champagne flowing and steered the conversation, as much as one could from a seasoned professional like Elaine, and, I think, in Jimmy’s eyes, he saw the battle lines and knew who took the crown on points.  Neither Elaine nor Jimmy suspected anything, and if the truth be told, I had improved my stocks with Elaine.  She was at times both surprised and interested, even willing to take a back seat.

Alison, on the other hand, tried poking around the edges, and, once when Elaine and Jimmy had got up to have a cigarette outside, questioned me directly.  I chose to ignore her, and pretend nothing had happened, instead of telling her how much I was enjoying the evening.

She had her ‘secrets’.  I had mine.

At the end of the evening, when I got up to go to the bathroom, I was physically sick from the pent up tension and the implications of what Jimmy had told me.  It took a while for me to pull myself together; so long, in fact, Jimmy came looking for me.  I told him I’d drunk too much champagne, and he seemed satisfied with that excuse.  When I returned, both Alison and Elaine noticed how pale I was but neither made any comment.

It was a sad way to end what was supposed to be a delightful evening, which to a large degree it was for the other three.  But I had achieved what I set out to do, and that was to play them at their own game, watching the deception, once I knew there was a deception, as warily as a cat watches its prey.

I had also discovered Jimmy’s real calling; a professor of economics at the same University Alison was doing her law degree.  It was no surprise in the end, on a night where surprises abounded, that the world could really be that small.

We parted in the early hours of the morning, a taxi whisking us back to the Lower East Side, another taking the Blaine’s back to the Upper West Side.  But, in our case, as Alison reminded me, it would not be for much longer.  She showed concern for my health, asked me what was wrong.  It took all the courage I could muster to tell her it was most likely something I ate and the champagne, and that I would be fine in the morning.

She could see quite plainly it was anything other than what I told her, but she didn’t pursue it.  Perhaps she just didn’t care what I was playing at.

And yet, after everything that had happened, once inside our ‘palace’, the events of the evening were discarded, like her clothing, and she again reminded me of what we had together in the early years before the problems had set in.

It left me confused and lost.

I couldn’t sleep because my mind had now gone down that irreversible path that told me I was losing her, that she had found someone else, and that our marriage was in its last death throes.

And now I knew it had something to do with Barclay.

© Charles Heath 2015-2020

Sunday In New York

365 Days of writing, 2026 – 36

Day 36 – Obsessions become inspiration

Turning an Obsession Into Art: How Watching Soap Operas Can Fuel Your Next Story or Play


Introduction

What if the very thing you can’t stop binge‑watching—whether it’s a daily soap opera, a true‑crime documentary, or an endless stream of cooking shows—could become the secret weapon behind your next compelling narrative?

Obsessions are often dismissed as distractions, but for writers, they can be information goldmines. The key is learning how to harvest the patterns, emotions, and structures that keep you glued to the screen, and then re‑engineer them into something fresh, resonant, and uniquely yours.

In this post, we’ll explore:

  1. Why obsessions work – the psychological and creative science behind them.
  2. What soap operas teach us about drama, pacing, and character.
  3. A step‑by‑step framework for turning a viewing habit into a polished story or stage play.
  4. Real‑world examples of writers who turned their fixations into masterpieces.
  5. Practical tips & pitfalls to keep you on track.

Grab a notebook (or open a fresh Google Doc) and let’s turn that guilty pleasure into a creative engine.


1. The Power of Obsession: Why It’s a Writer’s Secret Weapon

A. Cognitive Magnetism

When you repeatedly expose yourself to a particular genre or medium, your brain builds schema—mental frameworks that help you predict what will happen next. This predictive ability frees up cognitive bandwidth for higher‑order thinking: spotting the gaps, subverting expectations, and layering new ideas onto familiar structures.

B. Emotional Hook

Obsessions aren’t just intellectual; they’re emotional. The excitement you feel when a cliff‑hanger resolves, the empathy you develop for a long‑running protagonist—these feelings stick in your memory. Emotional resonance is the lifeblood of any story, and an obsession supplies a ready‑made well of feeling to draw from.

C. Knowledge Accumulation

Every episode you watch deposits data: character arcs, dialogue cadence, set dressing, pacing cues, and even the “rules” that govern the fictional world. Over weeks or months, this repository becomes a research library that you can reference without ever opening a textbook.

Bottom line: An obsession turns you into a subject‑matter specialist while simultaneously priming you to think like a storyteller.


2. Soap Operas as a Masterclass in Drama

If you’re sceptical about using soap operas—a genre sometimes dismissed as “lowbrow”—look closer. The format is a compressed drama laboratory:

ElementWhat Soap Operas Do WellHow It Translates to Writing
Character DepthLong‑term arcs let characters evolve over years.Gives you a model for layered, believable growth.
Cliff‑HangersEvery episode ends on a hook that forces the next viewing.Teaches you how to structure tension and release.
Dialogue RhythmRapid, overlapping conversations mimic real speech.Shows you how to craft snappy, realistic dialogue.
Plot InterweavingMultiple storylines intersect, diverge, and reconverge.Provides a blueprint for complex, multi‑threaded plots.
Emotional CoreStakes are amplified (family secrets, betrayals, love).Demonstrates how to raise emotional stakes without melodrama.
Production ConstraintsLimited budgets force creative staging.Inspires resourceful world‑building on a modest scale.

Even the most cynical critic can acknowledge that soap operas are engineered for maximum emotional throughput—exactly what you want when you sit down to write a story that grabs readers from the first line.


3. From Viewing to Writing: A Practical Framework

Below is a six‑step workflow that turns any obsessive viewing habit into a solid narrative foundation. Feel free to adapt the timeline to fit your schedule (the steps can be compressed into a weekend or stretched over months).

Step 1: Log the Details

  • Create a “Soap‑Log” spreadsheet with columns for episode title, air date, key conflict, main characters, and standout line of dialogue.
  • Tag recurring motifs (e.g., “secret twins,” “return from the dead,” “corporate takeover”).
  • Note personal reactions: what made you laugh, cringe, or feel a pang of sympathy?

Why? The act of recording forces you to observe rather than consume passively, training you to spot narrative mechanics.

Step 2: Identify the Core Mechanics

  • Pattern‑hunt: Which plot devices appear most often? (e.g., “misunderstood love letters”).
  • Structure analysis: Break down a typical episode into beats (inciting incident → rising action → climax → resolution). Use Dan Harmon’s Story Circle or a three‑act template as a reference.

Result: A toolbox of building blocks you can mix, match, and remix.

Step 3: Extract Universal Themes

  • Even the most outlandish storylines tap into fundamental human concerns: power, love, betrayal, and redemption.
  • Write a list of theme statements, such as “the desire for belonging can drive people to deception.”

Why it matters: Themes give your work depth beyond plot mechanics, ensuring it resonates beyond the soap fan base.

Step 4: Subvert and Re-Contextualise

  • Choose one familiar soap trope (e.g., the “evil step‑mother”) and flip it: perhaps the step‑mother is the heroic caretaker in a dystopian future.
  • Change the setting dramatically: move the drama from a small town in Texas to a floating city on a gas giant.

Goal: Keep the emotional pull of the original while delivering something fresh.

Step 5: Draft a Mini‑Pilot

  • Write a 10‑page pilot (or a one‑act play) that incorporates at least three of the identified beats, one subverted trope, and a clear thematic thread.
  • Use the soap‑log as a cheat sheet for dialogue rhythm and cliff‑hanger placement.

Tip: Aim for a tight inciting incident in the first 5 pages—this is the hook that made you binge‑watch the soap in the first place.

Step 6: Iterate with Feedback

  • Share the draft with a mix of soap fans and non‑fans. Ask: “Did the stakes feel real?” and “Did any moment feel cliché?”
  • Revise based on the overlap—what resonates with both groups is the sweet spot where niche expertise meets universal appeal.

Skeletons in the closet, and doppelgangers

A story called “Mistaken Identity”

How many of us have skeletons in the closet that we know nothing about? The skeletons we know about generally stay there, but those we do not, well, they have a habit of coming out of left field when we least expect it.

In this case, when you see your photo on a TV screen with the accompanying text that says you are wanted by every law enforcement agency in Europe, you’re in a state of shock, only to be compounded by those same police, armed and menacing, kicking the door down.

I’d been thinking about this premise for a while after I discovered my mother had a boyfriend before she married my father, a boyfriend who was, by all accounts, the man who was the love of her life.

Then, in terms of coming up with an idea for a story, what if she had a child by him that we didn’t know about, which might mean I had a half brother or sister I knew nothing about. It’s not an uncommon occurrence from what I’ve been researching.

There are many ways of putting a spin on this story.

Then, in the back of my mind, I remembered a story an acquaintance at work was once telling us over morning tea, that a friend of a friend had a mother who had a twin sister and that each of the sisters had a son by the same father, without each knowing of the father’s actions, both growing up without the other having any knowledge of their half brother, only to meet by accident on the other side of the world.

It was an encounter that in the scheme of things might never have happened, and each would have remained oblivious of the other.

For one sister, the relationship was over before she discovered she was pregnant, and therefore had not told the man he was a father. It was no surprise the relationship foundered when she discovered he was also having a relationship with her sister, a discovery that caused her to cut all ties with both of them and never speak to either from that day.

It’s a story with more twists and turns than a country lane!

And a great idea for a story.

That story is called ‘Mistaken Identity’.

In a word: Stern

It’s what I’d always expected of my teachers, having to stand up the front of the classroom and look like they were in control.

These days, not so much, but back in my day, teachers, and particularly the men, were to be feared, and stern expressions were the features of an effective teacher.

So, in this context, it means a hardness or severity of manner.

Whilst in a sense that was frightening to us kids, another form of the word also can be used to express a forbidding or gloomy appearance.

Grandfathers also have that stern look, but it’s more forbidding, more authoritarian, more severe, more austere, well, you get the picture.  A six-year-old would be trembling in his or her boots.

There again, in facing up to either possibility above, you could stand firm with a stern resolve not to buckle under the pressure.

Of course, not a good idea if you’re facing a tank (with a stern-looking tank master)

Then…

If you’re standing at the end of the boat, not the front, but the rear, you would be standing at the stern of the boat, or ship.

Oddly, when issuing instructions to go in reverse, not something you would say if you were on the bridge, you would instead say, or possibly yell, full speed astern, because you’re about to hit an iceberg.

Or some idiot in a jet ski who likes to think he or she can beat the bullet (or 65,000 tonnes of a ship that has very little mobility).