Red Shirts

So I was pondering in the shower yesterday, (Oh please, as a mother and wife sometimes it's the only damn place quiet enough to ponder anything more poignant than my navel.) when it occurred to me that I write heroines and fabulous stories because I'm not so sure put in the same situations that I wouldn't be the "red shirt" for a lack of a better phrase.

We all know the term from Star-Trek.  He's the guy in the red shirt with the main cast that will inevitably be eaten by the monster, because lets face it he's just not the hero.  He won't rise to the occasion and face down the dastardly extraterrestrial.  We won't pay attention to the fact Scotty called him Steve.  Hell we don't even care that he has a name.  More than likely the only reason he will save anyone is he will give the main cast the time they need to get away while the alien chomps away at his tasty bits.

Which brings me back to my deep thoughts shower moment.  I really was wondering am I the red shirt?  Sadly, as much as I'd like to say HELL NO in all reality, lets face it, more than likely.  I don't really see myself as the hot heroine that tames a wild vampire.  Nope, I'm the idiot who gets eaten in chapter three as filler.

So there it is the stark reality of the situation.  Lets face it there's more of us "red shirts" out there than Heroes, more lambs than lions.  Maybe that's why they say the meek shall inherit the earth.  Our sheer numbers alone are staggering.

I'd share more of my shower pondering with you, but to be completely honest it wasn't as interesting.  I think I made a mental note of a few bills, ran some dialogue for my new book through my head, and had at least one good sexual thought before turning off the water.

So which are you?  Red Shirt or Hero...Be Honest.