Call me old if you wish, but I grew up watching David Letterman's Stupid Pet Tricks, which later became Stupid Human Tricks (example). As Letterman was careful to note, neither the pets nor the humans involved were particularly stupid, but they had spent significant time developing skills that were...unusual. I thought maybe the young'uns had evolved beyond finding these sorts of things amusing, but nope, apparently not: people watching America's Got Talent in the illuminated year of 2021 were treated to the guy who could crush a lot of walnuts with his butt. So, you know, I guess this stuff is still going on.
And all of it is so very, very impressive, but I'm humbled to say that I have never perfected a single applicable skill. No, I will never be invited to juggle jell-o before a live audience or ribbon dance with slinkies.
Which, as a writer, is a really hard thing to admit. I mean, we are supposed to write what we know, right? And I can neither light matches with a yo-yo nor make a bologna sandwich with my feet.
Of course, I also have limited or no personal experience with space travel, murder, being a robot, fae possession, magical prognostication, international thievery, or causing an apocalypse. So, you know, maybe that write what you know business isn't the end-all of writing advice.
Good thing, too, because, though I can no longer do it, surely no one would want to read a story about that one weird kid on the bus who could burp the entire alphabet.
