This is a snippet from the novel I’m writing this month. Here, our protagonist fields the question “what do you do for fun” from a pretty girl:
“I like skiing.” (Tom skied about once a year.) “It can be a little tough to get up to Tahoe, though – the skiing is always best right after a snowfall, and it’s hardest to get there when storms are coming through. Plus there’s the rocks … one time I missed a rockslide by only seconds. The car in front of me ran into, and high-centered itself on, a boulder. It was kind of inspiring, though — me and some other guys who were stuck by the slide got out and cleared a path by hand, before the CHP even got there.” (The essentials of this story were true, but Tom had, in fact, missed the slide by several minutes, and it was pretty small as these things go.) “It was worth it; the skiing was great.” (This was a complete fabrication; this had happened in the fall, there was not yet any snow to speak of, and Tom was in fact going to Tahoe to fight a speeding ticket.)
