No one cooks in novel.

This isn’t strictly true, but in general, no one cooks, uses the toilet (except for in middle grade novels of a certain type…), washes the dishes, brushes their teeth, or cleans the house. These are ordinary, everyday activities—who wants to read about them?

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Toby crept into the bathroom shortly after midnight. The house was dark and silent. But, wait, there was a dark form ahead of him. He flicked on the light. A bloodcurdling scream rent the air as he saw his sister on the toilet.

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Carla was chopping onions…again. She didn’t even know what she was going to cook, yet, but she knew it would have onions. Chopping them gave her time to think, to plan. But she wasn’t planning dinner. When her husband came home from work and stepped up behind her to give her his standard peck on the top of the head greeting, she turned and plunged her knife into his chest.

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Still waking up, Jason washed his face, then grabbed his toothbrush. He flicked open the toothpaste and squeezed, but what came out of the tube was not minty paste. Instead, it was foul and dark, and melted the toothbrush when it touched it.

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OK, maybe it’s good our day-to-day lives aren’t worthy of a novel. Remember that the next time you think life is too boring.