Cathy’s health had a hiccup this past week. She had some nausea and abdominal pain. We thought it was the chemo catching up with her, but it turned out to be a case of diverticulitis. She spent four days in the hospital, getting IV antibiotics. Everyone here, especially Stanley the Cat, is glad to have her home today.

While she was gone, Stanley was all out of sorts. He looked for her everywhere. He wanted the special head rubs she always gives him. He looked for her in her office where he likes to curl up on the floor with the handmade bunnies and bears. He looked forlorn when he took his spot at the foot of the bed each night. Normal life had disappeared.

If you’re looking for an idea for a short story, a novel, or a piece of creative nonfiction, you might think of situations that take us out of our ordinary lives. Such situations can make it difficult for us to remember who we were before everything changed. So often we talk about narratives taking us to a place where an irrevocable change occurs, but sometimes stories can be about what happens after the change.

Ordinary things usually don’t make for good stories, but they can if we know characters have gone through life-altering changes that have affected the way they respond to the mundane. A neighbor’s call, for instance, can have no dramatic value in the regular come and go of our lives. Maybe that neighbor only wants to borrow something, or maybe they just want to chat. What happens, though, if some significant event has left us atypically impatient, sad, angry? We might snap at the caller, and that might lead to a sequence of events that will make an excellent story.

An inciting event like a rude word to a neighbor can require an action on the part of the main character. An attempt to apologize, maybe, which might cause the neighbor to say something particularly hurtful. Our responses to even the most mundane things can have rich dramatic value as long as we know what the characters are carrying with them. Our histories can put pressure on the way we behave, and an ordinary phone call can create a significant story.

Don’t get me wrong; I love a story that builds to a point beyond which nothing will ever be the same. I equally applaud the story that begins in the aftermath of some sort of radical event. I like watching how characters act because of what they’ve experienced.

To return to Stanley for further illustration. One evening while Cathy was in the hospital, I was talking to a friend on the phone. Stanley was on the couch beside me, and I was absentmindedly stroking his tail. Without warning, he swiped at me and caught me with his claws. When I told Cathy, she said, “He only lets you pet his tail twice.” I hadn’t known there was a limit. I also hadn’t taken into consideration what Stanley was carrying with him because Cathy wasn’t home. As I said, he was all out of sorts. His normal life had been disrupted, so he lashed out, drew blood, and thus our story began.