Self-indulgent and evil (?) pleasures
We’ve all dealt with them: the guy at work who makes unnecessary busy with pointless obsessions with minutiae; the woman at the checkout line who keeps you waiting while she chats with the person in front of you, slowly bagging the 47 items in the express lane; the parent at the mandatory school meeting who wastes time by asking questions that were already answered.
The pinhead owner who manages to take a once-proud baseball team in New York and force it into a situation where its revenue stream looks like a small-market team, in spite of playing in a new stadium.
As writers, we have a unique and self-indulgent avenue to vent our righteous frustrations with such people. People with their names–or remarkably similar names–could wind up inconvenienced, imprisoned, or even dead in our manuscripts.
You have to be careful with this approach. After all, if I named a character Ed Filpon and said he was owner of the New York City team in the National League, and then had a sadistic murderer drive over him with a slow-moving steamroller, it might not be the best thing for my writing career. (Note: I’m sure Fred Wilpon, the Mets actual owner, is a wonderful individual. I use his name only as an example of what a person could do.)
At the conference, we sell t-shirts that say “Careful or I’ll put you in my novel.”
The question is, have you actually done that? If so, what have you done to them?