A writer’s greatest resource, in my opinion, is the awesome clout of human brain power–millions of furiously-blinking electric impulses zinging along nerves and neurons, dancing in a heady soup (heh, I said head) of hormones, fed precise doses of cerebral chemicals of near-magical influence, apt to spill glory in a blink, surging with readiness like a cock at a strip club. I do not refer now to the writer’s own brain, no. I’m talking about the collected pool of human knowledge and behaviour available to the writer through connecting with other people. Watch. Listen. Ask questions.

Writers are, as a species, first-class listeners and observers. In a crowd, you will find a writer sitting back, silently training their phenomenal focus and attention on other humans, as though the gathering were an interesting zoo exhibit, noting behavioural quirks, body language (our stare is not in any way lascivious, she lied smoothly), actions and reactions, picking up dialogue (also known as eavesdropping). Watch. Listen. Ask questions. That guy over there scribbling on his napkin? Unless he’s taking down the phone number of some hot chick he just met, he’s a writer, and he just noticed how you clandestinely wriggle-scratched your junk; likely he’s trying to come up with a better term for it than wriggle-scratch, and wondering if you’ve got crabs.

Many writers–like yours truly–are far less comfortable being noticed, than noticing. The VERY best information cannot be learned in a book, or school, or online course. The VERY best information is harvested from people, and once you’ve tapped those closest to you, you’re left with strangers: educated strangers, street-smart strangers … dangerous strangers?

Yep, I went there. You know I’m right. Some of the most terrifying criminals are scary for the simple fact that they’re clever and resourceful. All those little grey cells, zinging with incredible versatility, may be flipped over to take-or-be-taken by circumstance or biology … yet the fact remains, they have plenty to teach as well, if you’re brave enough. Watch. Listen. Ask questions. 

As a horror writer, I have no choice in that matter. I go where the subject matter leads me. In the past, this has lead me to some dark corners of the human psyche, where morality lines are a little (or a lot) blurry. I cannot afford to flinch or turn away. The best research is complete immersion, but when the subject pool gets too murky to plunge head-first, one must be prudent. Watch. Listen. Ask questions. I’ve watched some pretty horrible shit–things I wish I could un-see, pictures that made me reach for the brain bleach. Having read all I can get my hands on, in books and online, all that remains is to explore the predatory mind up close and personal. Ask questions (blerg). The way I see it, a close encounter can only benefit my knowledge pool, and I will not shrink away from it when it presents itself, which (if I’m real lucky and all goes as planned) should be any day now. My toes curl with nervous anticipation.

Until then, I seek to overcome my shy demeanor by seeking out new minds to question, forcing myself to not only watch/listen from afar but to reach out to them. That’s my challenge, as an introvert. 

 To that end, there are a myriad of suitable places to do this.  I think an ideal place in the region to watch/listen/ask questions of men in particular–although the female reactions in this place are also noteworthy–is a little place called Peppermints in Niagara Falls, Ontario. Peppermints is a strip club featuring male exotic dancers. Who (because this is Canada, and we Canadians are raging pervs) take it all off. All of it.

All. Nude. Male. Revue. *happy sigh*

Those are four very nice words. As a writer, I approve of those four words. Big check mark of approval, right here, in the air. They’re poetry, in fact, when placed side by side like that. Aren’t they lovely, girls?  And like I said before: as a writer, I’ll just be noting behavioural quirks (right) body language (uh hunh), actions and reactions (suuure I will). Hey, I might be required to do more than watch. I mean: maybe I’ll listen! To some heavy-on-the-bass heart-thudding music (nice save). Maybe I’ll harvest the company of one of these flexible athletic fellas and “ask questions”. Professional questions that could, somehow, sorta, maybe have something to do with a story. Cool, calm, intelligent questions, posed in a “writerly fashion”. I’m pretty sure that “writerly fashion” means no drool. I can manage that. (Riiiiight.)

Now, did I just write an entire blog today to justify my intention to go watch completely naked men dance on stage (yes) and maybe grind their hard, sweaty bodies against mine a little while I tuck fivers in their palms? (yes) Did I lay down a whole line of bullpuckey about watching, listening and asking questions as an excuse to ogle some strange? (oh, yes.) Would I do that? (Yes. Yes I would.) That’s borderline crapweasel of me. (Your point?)

OK, that’s exactly what I did. And you fell for it. I thought you knew me better than this. Brains? You thought I was writing about brains? ME? How could you have read all that without noticing that my mind is so far into the gutter that it couldn’t see daylight if I climbed to the top of the sludge pile and jumped up and down? 

Brains. Ha! Folks, I said “cock” and “strip club” in the very first sentence. Sillyheads.

Right! Now that we’ve determined I’m a total degenerate, and kind of a jerk, where’s your favourite place to watch/listen/ask questions? What are the worst questions you’ve ever had to ask? What are the best answers you’ve ever received?

(Editor’s note: AJ Aalto is a bipolar biologist, bookseller-bookworm, stalker-eavesdropper, peeper/groper,  unrepentant pervert, amateur writer and professional doofus. Fair warning: if she asks to “harvest” you, she might be talking about your intellect … orrrrr she might be talking about selling your organs on the black market to pay for a Mini Cooper. )