New plot ideas
I’m trying to come up with a new plot idea and have so far come up with this:
Set in the western world, a right-wing government sells off all its manufacturing plants and factories and closes the coal mines. It builds an economy on the service industry and its main demand: fuel. All fuel is imported, including gas from a major overseas player.
Tradesmen in white vans patrol the streets and cities, eagerly buying up diesel-powered vehicles due to the tax-breaks, supplying the demand for new boilers and central heating, emergency plumbing, electrical work – repairs, additions, extras and remedials – and roofers with larger vans and larger ladders to fix the rooftops in a country that’s suffers dismal rain for most of the year. And then comes the news; the government decides to scrap any tax breaks and hits the tradesmen in the pocket. Their customers moan the prices have gone up – of course, overheads are passed on to the end user – and fewer tradesmen take up the mantle. It becomes difficult to get a plumber for an emergency leak or a roofer for slipped or broken tiles or slates, and the wet patch on the ceiling is growing ever larger by the day.
And then, the real bombshell hits. They cannot get the fuel to the people, the pumps locked off like a yellow-and-black striped chastity belt. It seems, the incompetent government cannot even provide for its people, cannot perform and carry out the very thing it built its economy on. People begin to panic. They take to the roads in cars they barely use, filling up gerry cans – even jam jars – with every last drop of fuel.
They sit smugly at home, with nowhere to go. But soon the smug grins fade as reality sets in and the smiles turn upside-down. Why?
Because their children have been told not to attend school because the teachers have been unable to get petrol. The leak in the toilet that they meant to get fixed months ago overflows and starts filling the house, but the plumber cannot get his van out of the drive because, he too, has no diesel. There are others – a freak storm takes roof tiles off – and a deluge of rain is dumped in the corner bedroom, but the roofer has broken down in a layby, with his fuel light aglow, a beacon of, well, nothing in the cruel dark day. And then the horrible happens. Someone’s elderly mother takes a fall, breaking her ages-old osteoid hip, and then a man drops to the ground clutching his chest. Frantically, the families – their petrol and diesel vehicle still sitting in their drives, unused and, now, almost forgotten – dial 999. And yes, you guessed it – the paramedics are unable to attend purely because they are still sitting in a miles-long queue on a major A-road trying to fill up and even if they were able to get a few drops of the old go-go juice they would still be unable to navigate their way out of the tight knit traffic jam.
Because you guessed the end, it’s probably not a good script and as a whodunnit would be all too obvious – perhaps I should try something else?!
WIP
