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How to lose kids and murder kittens
I wrap myself in a towel, walk out of the bathroom and my brain can’t make sense of what’s in front of me.
I see cars covered in snow.
I feel the freezing wind blowing in.
Then I realise the front door of the house is wide open.
I shout for my daughter,
“Alice! Alice!!”
No answer.
A cold hand squeezes my heart.
We came to London to visit the Harry Potter Studios, that was her surprise birthday present, and we stayed the night at a friends’ place.
They’ve all left for the day.
Alice was playing with their two cats while I had a quick shower before flying home.
I run down the stairs and my thoughts race ahead:
Did someone get in? How? Did she leave? Why would she leave?? Where would she go?!?
And the one I’m not strong enough to consider:
What if I lost her?
As soon as I turn into the living room, I see one of the cats, Poppy, sitting on top of the armchair.
Alice is not on the floor where they were playing. Then I hear,
“Hey, dad.”
She’s on the other side of the room, sitting on the sofa and watching TV.
“Alice! Why is the front door open??”
“I don’t know, I didn’t open it, I swear! I’ve been here the whole time.”
The voices in my head go quiet.
But then I notice the other cat is not with her. I don’t see him anywhere.
“Where’s Pickles?”
“I don’t know. He was here a moment go.”
Oh no.
Just last night my friend’s youngest son told me about the terrible luck they’ve had with cats:
“One got sick and died, the other ran out of the house and got run over. That’s why we are super careful never to let them out of the house.”
I try to imagine telling that kid we lost his cat and I just can’t.
I’m still wrapped in a towel. It’s snowing outside. I don’t know what to do.
I hesitate for a moment, then I close the door and tell Alice,
“We need to find Pickles. Start looking!”
I check every corner of the kitchen. I run down to the basement. I look in the bathroom knowing there’s no reason the cat will be there.
I’m about to get dressed and go outside when I hear Alice shout,
“I found him, he’s under the bed!”
I rush into my friend’s bedroom, get down and see a grey pillow. It looks like the cat–but it isn’t.
Then I see where she’s pointing at.
It’s Pickles. Hidden in a corner, making himself as small as he can.
Then I remember my friend telling me that cat was terrified of the outside and never wanted to leave the house.
I breathe out.
I get dressed.
On our way to the airport, I hug my daughter until she asks me to stop.
I don’t.
Don’t talk about your feelings
I’ve told you before that one of the easiest ways to tell a great story is to constantly answer these two questions:
How did it look like?
What did you feel?
And that’s very much true, but here’s an important distinction about that second point:
Amateurs talk about their feelings - pros feel them. Instead of naming what you feel, describe the physical sensation (metaphors are ok), or the action that accompanies that feeling.
For example:
“I was confused” -> “My brain can’t make sense of what’s in front of me”
“I felt panic” -> “A cold hand squeezes my heart”
“I calm down” -> “The voices in my head go quiet” and later “I breathe out”
“The cat looks scared” -> “Making himself as small as he can”
“I feel relief my daughter is safe but I’m still shaken” -> “I hug my daughter until she asks me to stop. I don’t.”
Naming feelings is fine. Just doing that makes a story a lot more relatable.
But whenever you can, feel your feelings instead of telling us about them.
Then we won’t just understand them–we’ll feel them too 🤘
-Francisco
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Thanks for reading! Reply any time.