Writing Like the Outcast

I couldn’t tell you the date my washing machine last broke down. But I remember the day I dragged a colicky baby into a coin-operated laundromat—frazzled, short on one-dollar bills, and already two steps behind the rhythm of the place.

There was a woman who seemed to rule the space. She looked like she’d lived there long enough to have earned the crown. She gave me a withering look—clearly I didn’t know the unspoken rules: watch the machines. Move fast. Bring coins. For Pete’s sake, bring something to read.

There I sat—clueless, exhausted, and very much out of place.

One day, queen of all I survey; the next, an outsider on a cracked vinyl chair.

That’s why I can write like the outcast.

Maybe the story you're writing is waiting for the outcast to enter—to bring light to a world your readers long to see into. Our most meaningful characters often emerge from the moments when we, ourselves, were on the outside looking in.

Think back:
When did you feel like the outsider in a world you didn’t understand?

I’d love to hear your story. When did you feel like the outcast?

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