Eavesdropping is the meat of creative influence. It's where all the juice comes from. There isn't another relationship more satisfying and less stressful than that of the lone writer in the corner of the bar and her plethora of unknown best friends scattered around her. What easier way is there to get to know people at their most intimate and relaxed?

"She's got an answer to everything, but I've got no experience with goats."

    Eventually I'll get to know every detail of their lives, ideas and personalities without ever having to divulge any information about myself. Everything they tell their friends, their lovers, or whoever those victims are at their tables, I know too. It's kind of like passive stalking but, as far as I know, it's legal.

I guess this would scare a person.

    But, see, I don't really care who you slept with or how bitchy your boss is or where you bought that new shirt. It isn't often that I overhear a story that's worth recording or reiterating. It's not the stories... it's the characters. I love to watch how people react, what they value, how they express (or hide) their emotions. I'm not stealing private stories, I'm stealing private selves. Scarier, no?

    And I don't think I'm the only vulture who enjoys this sort of voyeurism. Some people are just, well, more neighbourly about it. Usually these types listen in for about twenty minutes and then find a way to ease over and join your table. The sleazier ones will buy you a drink, the less dangerous ones will ask to borrow your lighter. Conversations ensue and they're in. And they know you far better than you know them.

    Me, I just listen all night. However, if the atmosphere is right and the eavesdroppees are drunk enough, they tend to notice I'm alone and feel it's their civic duty to invite me to their table. The poor, naive fools think I'm lonely or something. The fun part is saying "I know" a lot as they introduce themselves.

    Now, this sort of pastime is not truly an invasion of privacy per se, as it is practiced in public areas. I'm not about to go holding drinking-glasses to closed doors or acquire a parabolic microphone and be staked out in a van outside someone's house. Words spoken in a public space are going to fall upon nearby attentive ears. I just happen to wield a mighty pen...

"...lesbian empowerment in 30 seconds."

    Of course I feel guilty! What are you thinking? That I get up each day and perform Zen exercises to clear the mind, dress all in black -complete with beret- and head off to the bar, pen and paper in hand, grab that corner table and get started? Huh? Yer thinkin' that, ain't ya, scardy cats? Yer thinkin' it's them weirdo-quiet-like ones sippin' Pernod while infiltrating the depths of your souls unbeknownst to you, then use all that juicy real-life dish to write the Great Canadian Novel, don't ya? Close, but no cigar.

    Actually, we do this because were nail-bitingly insecure. We find you fascinating but we don't want you to find out that, beneath the literary mystique, we're just joe-common-folk with little to say. In fact, we seldom even think. We're so busy concentrating on the lives of strangers that we don't give much thought to the rest of the world, including ourselves.

    Ok, perhaps it's not that serious. Maybe we do learn a lot about ourselves through analysing you to no end, maybe it does help us understand relationships, maybe your egregious social personae do lead to a good journal passage (or a good laugh), but I doubt that the Great Canadian Novel could ever written strictly in the neighbourhood bar. So relax, you can still remain anonymous to the whole of literate society -but not to me.

"Yeah, they broke up because he was abusive. He was beating him all the time."

    You too can practice this delicate art in your own local pub or coffee shop! You just need a few tips from a seasoned expert. (Call toll-free right now for your copy of The Eavesdropper's Guide to Society and receive this free gift, a stylish necessity: The Black Beret)

1) Dress only slightly different than those surrounding you. If you look too much like the people you are eavesdropping on, they will try to be your friend. If you look too strange to them, they will get suspicious and leave. Prepare a safe middle-ground.

2) Bring a book. Read it for a bit in between recording your notes on the people beside you. They will think you're a student or a nerd and never suspect a thing.

3) If your subject catches you staring at him/her, never look back down at your writing. Look to a nearby TV or sign or someone else wearing a black beret. Don't write for a while; your subject will be watching you. If he knows you are eavesdropping and therefore obviously are a writer, he will immediately behave like a chimpanzee. People who know they are being watched put on little shows -which are, however, fascinating themselves. Perhaps you ought to break this rule once in a while just to watch the little shows.

"Anyone who says the Irish are stupid is stupid. I grew up with artists and poets and TV people. It was like going to university..." "Asians understand the Irish better than the Irish understand themselves."

4) If you discover that your subjects are returning the favour, let 'em have it. Once you realise you are being watched there is no way you can act naturally, it's impossible. So play it up! Give them a laugh, a snicker, something to write home about: take a long sensuous drag off your cigarette, hold your beverage like you share an intimate, inimitable relationship with it, cock your head to one side and stare off into space contemplatively, pick your nose, write gibberish as dramatically as you can, smile/laugh to yourself. That'll get 'em. Unfortunately, this may lead to requests for lighters and, if you avoid the nasal hygiene, drink offers.

    The only real problem with eavesdropping is that it does often lead to the creation of new acquaintances. Once one gets to know most of the regular patrons it becomes increasingly difficult to listen to the conversations of strangers -since there aren't any left. This is usually a sign to, a) move to another bar, or b) go home and finally write the beast now that you've got all that material.

    Well, I've just been asked for a light and since it's close to rent-day I could use those free drinks from the claustophobic-photographer-who-bikes-30 km's-to-work-daily-and-hates-dogs who is sitting to my right...

"It's late. I've gotta go -I've got a boat to catch.