Yesterday, I was talking with a mutual acquaintance about a former colleague. I found out that he was a Hungarian living in Communist Romania who had escaped from that land, firing at the guards as he made his way to the border. Pretty darn thrilling. I wish I knew this about him when he worked here.
This morning, a woman sat next to me on the train. I was working on my Newby story, but it wasn’t flowing. So I said hello, and a conversation ensued. She was a Hungarian living in Romania. What are the odds?
So, if you need an unlikely coincidence to move your story forward, don’t worry. Reality is stranger than fiction any day.