Inspiration

Inspiration can really come from anywhere. I've had ideas come to me from dreams, from songs, from a place I've visited. There is no wrong place to get inspiration. Take last night, for instance. My husband and I went to a bar to watch a friend of ours play. My current WIP has a male lead who, among other things, is the lead singer for a band. He also has a younger brother in the band. I had no inspiration for the younger brother; what instrument he played, what his personality was like, what he looked like (outside of some basic parameters), nothing. Then I was watching the people in the bar, seeing who was talking to who, what everyone was doing as the bar filled up. I saw our friend talking to a younger man. He was smiling, outgoing, friendly, and seemed to be just living in the moment. When the friend came back to our table, his wife asked who he was talking to. He told her the other man's name, and that he was the bass player for the band he was in.

Now, let's step back a moment and explain. Our friend had signed up to play with a group of people he'd never met before, signed up for which instrument he wanted to play, and which band he wanted to play with. The group of strangers got together a few times over the next four weeks, then performed for the first time last night. That was it, a one time shot. This is why his wife asked who he was talking to because they'd never met before.

Anyway, back to my moment of inspiration. I've always been a fan of bass players, even dated one in high school. As a general rule they are much more quiet than the other members of the band, except perhaps the drummer. Perhaps that's why I gravitated toward them. But I digress (a lot). So this guy was smiling, watching the other bands playing, just really enjoying the entire experience. When it was their turn to set up and play he was all kinds of serious, focused on getting the other band's gear off and his band's gear on, setting up the amps and mics, prepping for the show. Once they were all ready, he was on. And I mean, "ON". He played very well, and I could tell he really enjoyed performing. He was smiling, engaging the audience, and having a great time. That was when I realized that I could see my character in him. In that moment, Lucca was up there, playing bass with his brother singing, engaging the audienced, and having a great time. After their set was over there was a special guest. The Spoonman, of Soundgarden fame, played with the group, and then he did a little set himself. The bass player sat on the floor in front of the stage and watched with childlike enthusiasm as the Spoonman did his thing. That was another piece of my character that fleshed itself out. While the music wasn't the same as what will be in my book, and  he doesn't look anything like the character, the essence was there. The spirit of what I saw made it clear that Lucca and this other man would get along great.

After the gig was over, I had to have a picture with him. I walked up and asked if I could take a picture with him. Of course he said yes. I snapped a picture, then thanked him and told him that he gave me inspiration for a character in my novel. He told me he was also writing a novel, which competely blew my mind.

Anyway, that's why inspiration can come from anywhere.

Guest post of sorts

I came across this story, and thought I would share. It is very impressive, and really makes you think. Hope you enjoy it and learn something form it.

The Egg

By: Andy Weir

You were on your way home when you died.

It was a car accident. Nothing particularly remarkable, but fatal nonetheless. You left behind a wife and two children. It was a painless death. The EMTs tried their best to save you, but to no avail. Your body was so utterly shattered you were better off, trust me.

And that’s when you met me.

“What… what happened?” You asked. “Where am I?”

“You died,” I said, matter-of-factly. No point in mincing words.

“There was a… a truck and it was skidding…”

“Yup,” I said.

“I… I died?”

“Yup. But don’t feel bad about it. Everyone dies,” I said.

You looked around. There was nothingness. Just you and me. “What is this place?” You asked. “Is this the afterlife?”

“More or less,” I said.

“Are you god?” You asked.

“Yup,” I replied. “I’m God.”

“My kids… my wife,” you said.

“What about them?”

“Will they be all right?”

“That’s what I like to see,” I said. “You just died and your main concern is for your family. That’s good stuff right there.”

You looked at me with fascination. To you, I didn’t look like God. I just looked like some man. Or possibly a woman. Some vague authority figure, maybe. More of a grammar school teacher than the almighty.

“Don’t worry,” I said. “They’ll be fine. Your kids will remember you as perfect in every way. They didn’t have time to grow contempt for you. Your wife will cry on the outside, but will be secretly relieved. To be fair, your marriage was falling apart. If it’s any consolation, she’ll feel very guilty for feeling relieved.”

“Oh,” you said. “So what happens now? Do I go to heaven or hell or something?”

“Neither,” I said. “You’ll be reincarnated.”

“Ah,” you said. “So the Hindus were right,”

“All religions are right in their own way,” I said. “Walk with me.”

You followed along as we strode through the void. “Where are we going?”

“Nowhere in particular,” I said. “It’s just nice to walk while we talk.”

“So what’s the point, then?” You asked. “When I get reborn, I’ll just be a blank slate, right? A baby. So all my experiences and everything I did in this life won’t matter.”

“Not so!” I said. “You have within you all the knowledge and experiences of all your past lives. You just don’t remember them right now.”

I stopped walking and took you by the shoulders. “Your soul is more magnificent, beautiful, and gigantic than you can possibly imagine. A human mind can only contain a tiny fraction of what you are. It’s like sticking your finger in a glass of water to see if it’s hot or cold. You put a tiny part of yourself into the vessel, and when you bring it back out, you’ve gained all the experiences it had.

“You’ve been in a human for the last 48 years, so you haven’t stretched out yet and felt the rest of your immense consciousness. If we hung out here for long enough, you’d start remembering everything. But there’s no point to doing that between each life.”

“How many times have I been reincarnated, then?”

“Oh lots. Lots and lots. An in to lots of different lives.” I said. “This time around, you’ll be a Chinese peasant girl in 540 AD.”

“Wait, what?” You stammered. “You’re sending me back in time?”

“Well, I guess technically. Time, as you know it, only exists in your universe. Things are different where I come from.”

“Where you come from?” You said.

“Oh sure,” I explained “I come from somewhere. Somewhere else. And there are others like me. I know you’ll want to know what it’s like there, but honestly you wouldn’t understand.”

“Oh,” you said, a little let down. “But wait. If I get reincarnated to other places in time, I could have interacted with myself at some point.”

“Sure. Happens all the time. And with both lives only aware of their own lifespan you don’t even know it’s happening.”

“So what’s the point of it all?”

“Seriously?” I asked. “Seriously? You’re asking me for the meaning of life? Isn’t that a little stereotypical?”

“Well it’s a reasonable question,” you persisted.

I looked you in the eye. “The meaning of life, the reason I made this whole universe, is for you to mature.”

“You mean mankind? You want us to mature?”

“No, just you. I made this whole universe for you. With each new life you grow and mature and become a larger and greater intellect.”

“Just me? What about everyone else?”

“There is no one else,” I said. “In this universe, there’s just you and me.”

You stared blankly at me. “But all the people on earth…”

“All you. Different incarnations of you.”

“Wait. I’m everyone!?”

“Now you’re getting it,” I said, with a congratulatory slap on the back.

“I’m every human being who ever lived?”

“Or who will ever live, yes.”

“I’m Abraham Lincoln?”

“And you’re John Wilkes Booth, too,” I added.

“I’m Hitler?” You said, appalled.

“And you’re the millions he killed.”

“I’m Jesus?”

“And you’re everyone who followed him.”

You fell silent.

“Every time you victimized someone,” I said, “you were victimizing yourself. Every act of kindness you’ve done, you’ve done to yourself. Every happy and sad moment ever experienced by any human was, or will be, experienced by you.”

You thought for a long time.

“Why?” You asked me. “Why do all this?”

“Because someday, you will become like me. Because that’s what you are. You’re one of my kind. You’re my child.”

“Whoa,” you said, incredulous. “You mean I’m a god?”

“No. Not yet. You’re a fetus. You’re still growing. Once you’ve lived every human life throughout all time, you will have grown enough to be born.”

“So the whole universe,” you said, “it’s just…”

“An egg.” I answered. “Now it’s time for you to move on to your next life.”

And I sent you on your way.

NaNoWriMo

I am excited to be participating in NaNoWriMo this year. What is that? It is a web based community of authors who encourage and assist each other to write 50,000 or more words during the month of November. I have never participated in this, and am excited and nervous all at the same time. Doing the math, I plan to write about 2,000 words each day. That sounds like a lot, but it actually shouldn't be too hard. My daughter was looking for ideas for a short story and had asked people to help. I spent only about 30 minutes thinking of ideas and writing out some thoughts. In that time, I wrote 725 words. This means I should be able to do the needed writing each day in about an hour and a half. I will be able to devote time each weeknight to this project (except the night I meet with my writing group) because my husband will also be studying (for a test). I will also be able to devote time on the weekend to, hopefully, get ahead of the game. The most difficult part leading up to this is trying to decide on which story I will be focusing on. I have several stories to choose from, and I am not sure if I want to focus on one or bounce between a few. I am also hoping to plan my time so I can get as much writing done as possible, as well as keep up on the every day stuff. I will likely try different times of day to write, and may even do some writing at lunch. I am hoping to complete one story so I can work with my writing group and get edits done on it as well. I would love to publish by the end of the year, or early next year. Of course this also means deciding on the cover image and design, and working with someone on that. Perhaps I'll be able to get a story out by spring of 2015.

My biggest distraction will likely be the football games on Sundays. I am quite the sports nut, and do love to watch football (and yell at the TV). The other concern I have is that I've had a migraine for about a week. It ebbs and flows, some days worse than others, but constantly there in the background. I just hope my visit to my doctor will shed some light on what is going on. My eating habits haven't changed, my sleep habits haven't changed, my schedule hasn't changed, and I am not feeling more stressed than usual. I have a feeling I'll likely be doing some medical visits in the next few weeks, but it will hopefully result in no more headaches.

Exciting News

It's been a couple of weeks, and I am still amazed. I submitted a short story into a contest to be included in an anthology, and my story was selected. This will be my first published work, and I can't believe how excited I am. The story started as an idea I got from a song, but not one I had really written anything on. I got the info for the contest on January 1 and by January 31 I had a completed work, with several edits with my writing group, ready to submit. Granted it was a short story, about 7,500 words, but it showed me that I can get a completed work done. Now to get to work on my longer projects. I have an artist challenge that I am working on with my writing group to break up the monotony of any specific works that I choose to do, but my biggest problem is choosing one.

As you know, I am part of a writing group, so I also work with other writers to give critique and comments on their work. This means that my writing time is divided. I work on my projects, I read and give comments on my friends work, and I do the artist challenge. I don't have much time for writing, so need to spend it wisely. I also have a full time job outside the house, as well as a family to love and care for and a house to keep, with all that goes with it. And I try to post on my blog, more than I have in the past. This means I need to spend more time writing and less time watching TV (which I absolutely love to do). Of course, I spend my time watching TV with my husband, so I would have to give that up (which I don't want to do). I think I am going to have to schedule time to write and just make it part of my day. Maybe I should try getting up early again and writing in the morning. I am not at my best in the morning, though, so it may not work.

With all the things I have during my regular life, I am also in the process of getting our house and yard ready for a wedding. My daughter is getting married in less than 3 months and I have a lot of work to do, so that will take away from my writing time as well. Maybe I will give up sleeping, then I'll have time to do everything. Guess I should figure out my schedule and get to it, which means I need to end this blog post.

Happily Ever After Endings

I know lots of people like to read stories and have a "Happily Ever After" ending. I don't mind those, but I am always impressed when authors choose to not make things end with all well, everyone who you love  happy, etc. When you can have an ending that is not what someone might expect, it adds intrigue. I love to have everyone happy, but life doesn't work that way. People leave, loss happens, death occurs, and the world continues to move along.

When you experience loss, you expect everyone to experience the same break you do. The truth is, you are the only one to experience the loss. I am not saying that when someone dies, you are the only one who experiences a loss. What I am saying is that your loss is unique. The person you lost is special to you in a way that is unlike their relationship with any other person.

I recently lost my father. I am not an only child, so I am not the only one who lost a father. My 6 siblings lost a father as well. The difference is that my experience with my father is unlike any of my siblings. I am not saying my loss is greater, nor is it less. It is just different. It was interesting to watch my siblings experience the coming loss. We all had different reactions, different experiences, and different places where we were at any time during the week long process of loss. I attribute this to each of our relationships with dad.

With this recent experience, I realized that I appreciate the realistic portions of books. I want to write real life, real experiences, and reality. I don't mind having some things be unrealistic, but for the most part, I want someone who is reading this to believe that this could happen. I find that when I can put myself into the story and believe that what is happening to the main character is happening to me, I enjoy reading it much more. I do like to read fantasy, though, which has so much based in the unrealistic world. With those stories, I have to suspend my real life experiences, and believe in the unreal. I can do that, as long as the "world" I am reading does not break it's own rules.

I don't know if I could write fantasy, but I do like to read it. I would love to know how others feel about the "Happily Ever After" endings. I've asked some people and they love them, and don't want to read stories that don't end that way. I want to know if anyone else likes the unsuspecting endings.

Simple Treasures

I spent time going through my writing notebook this morning. It's a three ring binder with lined paper. I like to write with pen and paper more than by typing on the computer. Anyway, I found a nice little gem I'd like to share:

"Writing is creating something out of nothing, sort of God-like. One of the beauties of writing is that words become your servants. They are at your command to communicate information, convey feelings, entertain, and cause people to think and perhaps act on what you have written. There is power--and, thus, responsibility--in how you use them. Use them wisely and they will serve you well."  Sue Miholer

I love that such simple things, words, can be used so wonderfully. The problem I find is I am scared  someone will use what I write in a way that is not how it was intended, and that I will be blamed for the chaos that comes from it. I need to remind myself that even God's words are used in a way He did not intend. People will use any means to further their own ambitions. All I can do us use these words in a way that is beneficial. If someone else chooses to maliciously warp them to mean what they want, I cannot stop them. If the God of everything cannot stop man from warping His words, how am I supposed to?

I do not in any way compare my writing to that which is God breathed. I just take solace in the fact that if He cannot stop man from misusing His good intentions, why should I expect to be able to. Not that it has happened, I just hate the idea of the possibility.

I guess it is time to get to work, using letters to form words, words to form sentences, and sentences to form a story. It's time to put my "god" hat on and create a world.

Why do they have to be happy?

It's the time of the year when you hear the words "Happy Holidays" all over.  But why does everyone need to be happy?  Why is it the "Most Wonderful Time of the Year"?

I understand that we all want to celebrate, get together as families, spend time with loved ones.  I just wonder if we have to put the pressure on everyone to be "happy."  What defines happy, anyway?  Is it a joyous feeling in the heart?  Is it the feeling of peace with everyone we are around?  Is it sucking it up and spending time with family, even if it isn't who you want to be with?

Don't get me wrong...I am very happy with my family and friends.  I love this time of year.

But why do we have to put pressure on people who don't have the best of relationships with their family?  Why do we insist that it is a wonderful time of the year if there are people who are always reminded of loss at this time?  What about those who are away from their love because of circumstances?  I'm not talking about just the distance between two people in miles, I'm talking about the distance emotionally between two people who are sharing the same house, the same couch, or even the same bed.

Doesn't it seem cruel to insist on happiness at this time of year?  Some people can barely make it to compatible.  Others have no relationships they can even pretend to be happy about.  And if you can muster enough emotion at all, sometimes it is just enough to get through the day without wishing harm to someone who is standing next to you.

Then you have all the financial restraints of the "Holiday Season" to deal with.  The pressure to get something for everyone.  The requirement of gifting all the people who are a part of your life.  What happened to the times when the gift of time was the most important?  When giving someone your time was the most precious gift you could offer?  When showing kindness to a stranger was all that was ever expected?  When something you created with your hands and your heart were the greatest gifts anyone could receive?

Now it's bobbles and whatsits and trinkets to fill up the empty space that is within each of us.

I say we need to take back the season that is supposed to be wonderful.  Give graciously of yourself.  Make something, anything, and give it away.  Bake cookies with your kids and take them to your neighbors or to work with you for everyone to share.  Knit or crochet a scarf, or ten, and take them to a senior center or assisted living facility or even a shelter.  Make up coupons good for one hour of undivided attention and give them to your kids, then follow through and take that hour to devote solely to whatever they want to do, even if it is simply watching them play a silly video game and cheering them on.

Whatever you decide to do, do it wholeheartedly.  Don't skimp on these gifts, but make them count.  Who knows?  This may just become the most wonderful time of your year!!!