A woman with short blonde hair smiling for the camera.

ABOUT ME Posted: January 12, 2009

I’m making spaghetti sauce. The house smells acidic with wine and tomatoes and garlic. Cooking stimulates the senses, like when you wake in the middle of the night and lay listening to the clatter of far-away night noises projecting their life into the otherwise quiet moment.

Okay, I’m old enough to have experienced life, decade after decade, which is why I can make a heck of a good spaghetti sauce. I’ve raised two great children, now married, and a zoo of animals. (Uh, I wasn’t referring to the kiddos, but ... ). Then a sweet man melted his son and grandchildren into mine, and altogether we have grown. Ours is a nest, like many in the world today, that blended our ingredients to remake life. I’ve survived, even learned from death and life and death—something that rounded me out, right?

I’m naturally curious, and think about things a lot. Like, I love to watch people at the grocery store. Do you ever invent stories of how they live and why they choose to buy that little bitty roast instead of one that would make some nice sandwiches the next day? That kind of stuff.

Like most women, I’ll ask questions that my husband, for instance, would never, even though he’ll hang close enough to hear the answer. I suspect guys just don’t want to appear unknowingly. He will spend forty-five minutes walking up and down an aisle at a hardware store looking for a 3/4′′ wood screw rather than grab the guy with the orange apron and ask him to point them out. Perhaps he doesn’t realize people love to be the ones with the answers. It’s human nature. To ask is engaging.

Inspired by Everyday Moments

A keen observer, Katlyn strives to capture fleeting moments that portray the complexities of human nature that spark her imagination.

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Katlyn Bates Author

BIO

We live beyond the clutches of a small town east of Dallas in an agricultural setting that is rapidly being eroded by encroaching developers.
In spite of all the activity, we live peacefully with three adopted dogs and a lazy barn cat who adopted us. There's other critters: birds and squirrels and once an opossum, and the seasonal raccoons that sneak in at night to eat my grapes. They watch as I work in my garden, and plot.

Sure, I’m a people watcher. Not consciously though. Until you walk onto my stage, into my line of vision. You might ensnare me on a grocery aisle where I linger a split-second too long because I note something singular in your step...maybe it's attitude or the footwork or body language. I might see you at mall, on a campus, at a park where you intrigue me with a distinctive laugh. I would jot a note on my iPhone.

A life situation might give me pause. Maybe you’re the man in the restaurant interacting with family or friends…the way you talk, the way she reacts. What did you say to covet such an expression? I can only imagine, and cannot look away.

People-watching is not unique to me. We all drag along our individual styles wherever we go, so it shouldn’t surprise you when somebody notices. Not weirdly…just casually. There’s a name for this game: Curiosity.

Then I sit at my keyboard and recall the brief encounter that triggers a scene: the couple holding hands under the table at McDonald’s, the child screaming for candy at the check-out lane--dad’s mouth drawn; he just wants it to stop! I’m not judging. I’ve been there, too. I already know the quick-study analysis of that little dress-rehearsal will humor a scene that’s already shaping in my head. “What’s your favorite flavor, kid?” Noted mannerisms are recycled onto a page that I will embellish with strengths and flaws, varnish with quirks and attributes and, Bingo! You’re in my story, kid!

A writer is like an engineer who rolls out his plans to build a house, or a painter splashing a canvas with subject or form. Writers gravitate toward the human in us: actions, reactions, emotions. Writing is wonderfully entertaining. And that’s exactly why I do it.