Watching

We're all watchers. When I go to Provincetown I enjoy walking down to the town hall—usually with a frozen yogurt—and finding a seat on one of the benches facing the street. People watching is a sport that requires a minimal amount of time to learn.

Always have a book or magazine in case you appear to be idly staring. Eating something is a good excuse to be sitting on a bench and being in the act of observation. If someone looks your way and says, "Good afternoon," you're being too obvious. Your observations have dipped into ogling.

I practice the discreet art of observing wherever there are crowds. My preferred season is whenever it's warm enough to be outside. Indoor cold weather observing is far more complex and I am not skilled because I am too obvious.

How else can writers populate their stories with minor characters? Recently, even though this is winter and I was indoors, I managed to engage in active observation and remain discreet.

I watched a young woman spread a cloth napkin on her table, remove two pieces of bread from her purse, open a packet of ketchup, spread the ketchup on the bread, and begin to eat. When she finished that course she got up and ordered a mocha latte and a muffin for dessert.

Someday I may have a story for her.