M.B NOVELS®

The art of a productive side-eye

There’s a misconception that writers are quiet observers. Gentle note-takers. Passive recipients of inspiration, sitting patiently with our notebooks, waiting for muses to descend.

Absolutely not. I am a vulture of human behavior. I circle. I watch. I wait for the moment someone does something so perfectly, messily human that I can swoop down and carry it back to my manuscript.

The side-eye is just my signature move.

The collection

Let me show you around my curated gallery of petty observations. These are the moments my side-eye has collected, catalogued, and converted into character development:

Exhibit A: The Coffee Shop Apology
A man, mid-argument with his girlfriend, reaches across the table and slowly, deliberately, steals a bite of her pastry without asking. She watches him chew. The silence is deafening. He swallows. Smiles. Says, “See? We’re fine.”

Ma’am, if you need an alibi, I’m right here. Also, this is now the emotional core of a breakup scene I’m writing. Thank you for your service.

Exhibit B: The Gym Monologue
My friend tells me about a woman on the treadmill next to her having a full-volume phone conversation about her “toxic ex” while running at an impressive 7.5 speed. She’s crying. She’s sweating. She’s out of breath. She’s magnificent.

This character is going in my novel. She’s getting a whole subplot. I hope she finds peace, but also I hope she keeps talking.

Exhibit C: The Elevator Power Move
Someone holds the elevator door for a person running to catch it. The runner arrives, breathless, grateful. The door-holder looks them up and down, sighs dramatically, and says, “I was in a hurry, actually.”

I have thought about this moment every single day for three years. That person is now a villain in everything I write. They don’t know it. They’ll never know it. But they’re out there, being insufferable.

The ethics of observation (a light defense)

Here’s the thing about petty observations: they’re gifts. Wrapped in awkwardness, tied with a bow of human fallibility, delivered directly to your doorstep by people who have no idea they’re performing for you.

My side-eye isn’t judgment. It’s research and development. It’s quality control for the human condition. It’s me, doing the difficult work of paying attention so you don’t have to.

Occasionally, someone catches me looking. They raise an eyebrow. They whisper to their friend. They know they’re being watched.

And in that moment, I have a choice. I can look away, embarrassed, caught in the act of being nosy.

Or I can hold eye contact, smile softly, and return to my notebook with the quiet confidence of someone who knows that their awkward moment is going to be absolutely exquisite on page 47.

(I usually look away. I’m not a monster. But the moment is already filed.)

A toast to observers

So here’s to the side-eye artists. The people-watchers. The ones who can’t turn it off, who see a minor social transgression and immediately start drafting internal dialogue for the perpetrator.

We’re not petty. We’re not judgmental. We’re not collecting grievances like stamps in a passport. We’re archivists of the awkward. Curators of the cringe. Documentarians of the deeply human habit of being a little bit ridiculous, all the time, in public, for free. Because that shit is endless. The content never stops. The universe keeps serving up perfectly flawed humans doing perfectly flawed things, and I keep my side-eye sharp and my notebook closer.

You’re not annoying. You’re inspiring.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, the couple at the next table is about to have a very interesting conversation about a shared Netflix password, and I have work to do.

— Montse