Blog 111 Break Time

Well, here I am again, a lonely writer perched on a squeaky office chair that has more creeks than Florida. It’s “break time,” which means I’m officially allowed to take my eyes off the CCTV camera's, sip the office’s questionable coffee, and quietly pretend the theme-park isn’t a black hole swallowing my sanity. My brain, however, has other plans. It’s a bustling crossroads where the mundane meets the marvellous, where spreadsheet formulas merge into questionable plot twists and the CCTV Footage becomes a film-noir trailer for my next chapter.

You’ve probably heard me spin this tale before—characters popping up at my desk like uninvited coworkers, plot twists spilling over coffee mugs, and character arcs flickering across my subconscious like a never ending PowerPoint slideshow. I’ve mentioned it a hundred times, but I never actually explained how this literary traffic jam affects my day to day existence. So, pull up a chair, grab a brew, and let me give you a front row seat to the chaos that is my mind.

It always starts innocently enough. I might be out on a patrol, or trying to quietly watch the CCTV monitors, when she'll walk in: Eleanor, the stubborn heroine from my unfinished mystery. She'll sidle into my brain and whisper, “If you’re going to kill off the CFO, you need a better alibi.”

It's a frightening experience; I can tell you. There are times when I can almost feel a character's grip on my shoulder as they tug me toward the breakroom. It usually ends in a furious debate where they try and plead their case for more chapters; Them- “Don’t let the bar be the climax! Build tension—let the reader taste the suspense!” Me- "The bar is the perfect place for the chapter climax, no matter what you die in chapter 12!"

Now, I’m not saying I literally see every character in the breakroom (some come through at home, when I'm out for a walk, anywhere really). I'm kidding...what actually happens is my brain inserts a character’s voice into the background noise of wherever I am. It’s like having an internal director who won’t let a scene end until the props are perfect. So, when I’m filing a report, I’m also filing a subplot. When I’m feeding the cat, I’m drafting a scene where the protagonist must choose between a steak or plate of stew; Either way the result is always the same: I become a multitasker on steroids. My to do list changes to include “Brainstorm character motivations” alongside “Pick up dry cleaning.” It’s exhausting, but it also means I never run out of material. Even at work my coffee break is never just a break; it’s a writer’s workshop with a side of sandwich.

Believe it or not, Security Officers do a ton of paperwork, so If like me, you’ve ever waited for the office printer to spew out a stack of reports, you’ll understand the thrill of anticipation. The printer we have at work, has become my personal plot twist generator. Yesterday, as I queued up a batch of CCTV Review sheets, the machine sputtered, jammed, and sputtered again—exactly the sort of “just when you think it’s safe” moment that would make any thriller writer shiver. In my head, the jam became a dramatic interlude: The toner cartridge suddenly became a hidden villain and the paper tray morphed into the damsel in distress. I imagined a daring rescue, a heroic figure(Me- don't laugh) springing into action and darting across the control room wielding a rubber band as a makeshift grappling hook, before defusing the jam with the precision of a highly skilled bomb squad.

The reality? I pulled out a stubborn piece of paper, cursed the “low toner” warning, and the printer finally coughed back to life and printed the last page with a triumphant whirr. The small victory felt like the end of a chapter—complete, satisfying, a little cheesy, but oh so necessary. Now, I see every office malfunction as a storyboard opportunity. A coffee spill becomes a “slippery slope” metaphor; a broken chair transforms into a “fall from grace” scene. My coworkers think I’m odd, but I’m secretly saving the universe—one plot device at a time.

Doesn't sound too bad, does it? Okay, now imagine it as a slideshow that never stops, each slide a different character, each transition a subtle shift in attitude. That’s how my mind processes the day. As I walk from the breakroom back to my desk, I’m not just moving through the office—I’m moving through episodes.

Take Dale, the mis-understood martyr from my sci fi saga. He’s perched on the edge of my thoughts as I drive round on patrol. Each clock point is a moment of reflection, a chance for him to change the course of his destiny. And just like that, my mundane task morphs into a wormhole of possible character arcs. Meanwhile, Rosa, the stoic detective from my noir piece, follows me daily into the bathroom. I won't go into the reasons why, but you get the picture.

These arcs don’t just entertain; they shape my reactions. When someone asks me for a favour, my initial thought is instinctively, “What’s your character’s motive?” When the micro-wave finishes nuking something with a ding, I cue the dramatic music in my head—because even the micro-wave is a stage for tension building. My emotional responses are now colour coded by narrative function. Joy becomes “the triumphant resolution,” frustration turns into “the antagonist’s meddling,” and that vague fatigue after lunch? That’s just the “mid act lull” before the final showdown. It’s a little exhausting, but it also means I’m always aware of my own story—my personal arc—right alongside the fictional ones. I’ never get bored because my brain is constantly asking, “What’s the next beat?”

You might think this mental mash up is a recipe for burnout. And you’d be right—not too long ago I had a mild heart attack but that was before I discovered the two things that saved my life: writing and coffee. That liquid gold is the real hero of this saga. A good cup grounds the spiralling plotlines, gives the characters a pause, and lets the brain reboot. I’ve learned that a 12 ounce Americano is essentially a “reset button” for the brain, and the writing lets everything spill out like a pressure valve that opens before the boiler explodes.
Another perk? Ideas. While most people use break time to scroll mindlessly through cat videos, my breaks are taken up by compiling subplots, polishing dialogue, and fending off character intrusions. The cat videos only come into it when I sit down to actually write something (See the blog post about procrastination)

There is a downside however, occasionally, I forget that my characters are fictional. The other day I was on patrol and shouted, “No, we can’t let the villain walk away with the data!” for no apparent reason, and then I realized I’d been narrating the entire patrol as if it were a heist film. It's a damn good job I work nights; the only thing that heard me was an errant badger and a few bunny rabbits.

So, what does a writer’s life actually feel like when the characters are constantly crashing the party? It’s a bit like trying to enjoy a quiet stroll through a park while a marching band, a circus, and a thriller film crew set up right beside you. It’s noisy, it’s chaotic, and it’s absolutely exhilarating. My day becomes a living manuscript, each printer jam a plot twist, each coworker a cameo role, all interspersed with the occasional break where each coffee sip is a blessing. If you ever catch me staring off into space, tapping my pen against the desk, or muttering to an empty coffee mug, know that I’m not daydreaming. I’m simply editing the world around me, making sure the story stays compelling, the arcs stay true, and the climax always lands with a satisfying crunch.

Well, my break is almost over, it's time for me to leave this little distraction and head back into my chaotic world: cat videos wait for no man!