Using Fiction When Truth Is Too Bizarre

Today, I spoke to a friend I have been worried about.

You see, she is recovering from a rare cancer that has kept her homebound a lot.
So she's gotten on the Internet. i would, too.

Only--she had an empty nest. She was lonely. So she succumbed to a computer dating service. And kinda fell in love.

She was on a protected site. He persuaded her to go off-site. He learned her emails. He was out-of-country, he said, and wanted to come straight to her when he got back to the States. And then he started needing money.

I think he got about $5,000, maybe a little more, from her. This cuts her options. It doesn't remove a roof from her head, or a car, or well-being physically. It really cuts in to things she might have done for herself and loved ones. It cut deeply into her self esteem. And it cut deeper into her trust of her fellow human beings.

Oh, yeah, it cut into her survival funds, but she will survive. Others won't. This guy figures whatever price you pay is the cost of his performance. Destitution does not move him. Fortunately not relevant in this case.

Who is worse? The thief that leaves you destitute? or the murderer who takes your life?
Thievery is a profession. Murder often is a one-time thing. Yes, there are assassins. Not many. But so many thieves. Thieves who believe you exist for their comfortable life. Often it isn't that comfortable. That gives me satisfaction.

My friend has decided to capitalize. She's starting a fictional novel, based on truth, of her experience. She's picked a title. She's already written a successful book--a textbook in use today.

He demeaned her and cost her money. She can document it in a book, and hopefully make all her money back. Hell. It could be a best seller. I wouldn't put it past her.

I love it. He scammed her, she gave him money, saved all the transcripts and can recoup from the book.

She's made a great recovery. I can't wait to read the book.