Writerly Wednesday- Meanderings- Of What Remains #ideas #writing #inspiration

Tucked away on one of the country byways of Kentucky is a small abandoned house with a triple window arch centered on the front side, shattered glass panes in those windows and the ones on the ground floor, the tin roof is rusted red and the exterior walls are dingy greenish gray and as weather-beaten as a grizzled old man who once worked in those nearby fields, raising tobacco or corn or cows under the blazing hot sun to supply his family with food, clothing, shelter.

The trees and shrubs and brambles are grown up around it now, huddling close as if protecting what remains. It looks as though no one has lived in it for years- decades even. A new road runs off into the distance to the right there, with power poles and electric lines, but no one notices the house or what remains of it.

All kinds of questions fill my head- Does anyone around these parts know the history of this shell of a home? Was it once embraced and loved as the "old homestead?" And if so, what happened to the family that once loved it and kept the grass cut and tended to the upkeep of the roof and windows and siding?

I see this house from time to time in our outings and I saw it and snapped this photo the other day when hubby and I were heading home after our anniversary movie and dinner date. Every time I see it, I'm filled with a sadness unimaginable- partly because it reminds me of my old homestead in Anderson County, the one that haunts me.

We didn't live there long, in that 2-story that always brought to mind plantations and the old south, but I felt a connection to the place, even as a young child. This other little house reminds me of it because I know my old homestead no longer stands, torn down a few years back, and I have no way of resurrecting it except in memory and perhaps one day I will be able to at least capture the spirit of it with the written word in one of my novels.

The same feeling comes over me in regard to this little house and a few others I've seen in passing, not just here, but often as we travel to visit my family. There's also this old house (pictured below) that calls to me. (Though I believe this one is currently someone's home.) It's at the end of a long lane that dead ends not far from the interstate and sticks out like a sore thumb. There are remnants of old stone walls out front, which again brings to mind life in the ol' South, plantations and tobacco or cotton crops and my mind wanders to that world that existed more than a century and a half ago and leaves me wondering about what remains... and whether there is a reason I am so drawn to these places (especially knowing I also might have stories to be written someday that fall into that time frame.)

These were places that once called family and kinfolk home to the warmth of the hearth and the love that existed within the walls. The large families gathered around the long dining table, horses galloping across green pastures, the kids fishing down by the creek, the animals that needed feeding at the crack of dawn, the cows needing milking.

Now, a lot of them stand destitute and weary on crumbling foundations, no longer loved and oftentimes seemingly forsaken and forgotten. They have stories hidden in their walls, dancing through the dust in the big empty rooms, buried under the rubble and tangled within the thistle and thorn that's woven around the existing structure.

They cannot tell their stories outright, but I am trying to listen when I am drawn in, because I feel them whispering to me via what remains....

A Love Story was Born- Castaway Hearts

At some point in early 2007, before Facebook had appeared on the horizon and kicked Myspace's butt to the curb, I was on there a LOT. I posted blogs daily, or just about daily. I was catching up with old friends and making new ones. It was my hangout and there were awesome backgrounds to choose from for your profile, so one day I was searching for something to suit me and I came across a profile background with this image-

I sat, staring at it in quiet amazement- feeling drawn to the picture- the sadness it aroused within me, the heartache I felt the young woman feeling. The ghostly ship was ominous and the entire picture just gripped my heart and I felt tears prick my eyes. I thought, "Wow, she's just so, so sad. She lost her lover at sea...."

The idea made my chest hurt. Love lost is never a funny matter. I set the image layout to my profile and though I went back to doing whatever it was I was doing that day, I kept going back to look at it. I couldn't shake it and every time I saw it I was moved to tears again. I went to bed that night unable to put the image out of my mind.

Then I remembered somewhere in old scribbled notes and papers I has the beginnings of a historical I started to write when I was in my late teens. Just one sheet, front and back in my very youthful chicken scratch. A girl named Catherine, boarding her grandfather's ship in England to sail away to a life she's never known.

Bit by bit, the story started to unfold as I lay in bed, listening to my husband snore while I couldn't sleep for all the thoughts and story ideas that were swirling around in my head. What if she sailed to Virginia? What if she met a young man on the ship and believed she was in love with him? But what if he sailed away once she arrived in Virginia, and left her feeling lost and alone? What if she promised herself to him in secret? And what if his very own brother, burned by the past, became her confidant? Became her friend? And what if the sea took the man she thought she loved, after she'd already fallen for another? How devastating could that be?

It would be as devastating and heartbreaking as that image above. It would move me to tears, whispering the pain, the sorrow, the madness of grief and guilt that a young woman might feel in Catherine's shoes.

And so, my Myspace background haunted me and Catherine's story began to take shape over several months. This story, that I once put aside because I lost sight of my own writing dreams, a story that had once been frozen in thought at the outset, was beginning to warm, to incubate, beneath the heat lamp of this image that was searing itself on my brain. It was fertilized by that haunting picture that branded itself on my mind and my heart. It started to grow into a story that went much deeper and had more aspects than I first intended.

I didn't just start writing it though. I began researching and reading up on the history of Virginia, of the late 1700's. I spent several months researching online and with books I ordered online. And in a search for images that I could use purely for my own inspiration, I found Catherine Barrett, Dawson's sweet sweet Cathy, in this image of a young Kate Beckinsale.

And I found Dawson Randolph, residing in a plantation home similar to this, with dark blue shutters and a blue front door. A lonely man, widowed far too early in life, I realized that I saw Dawson Randolph in James Scott's portrayal of Stefano DiMera's father, Santo DiMera on Days of Our Lives. I've been a DOOL fan all my life (I remember watching when I was like 5 year-old.) I was watching Days at the time I wrote Castaway Hearts so "Santo" fit what I saw in my mind perfectly. Handsome, sophisticated and melancholy to find real happiness in a world that had failed him and taken love away rather than given it to him.

Catherine and Dawson deserved happiness, and I knew it was up to me to find it for them- to clear the path, to make sure they weren't two "castaway hearts."

And so there you have it. A love story was born from something seemingly as simple as an image.

Happy Valentine's Day, Lovelies!
Hope its special!

WIPlash Wednesdays- Questions from Mary Ellen & Katie

Writers are not just people who sit down and write. They hazard themselves. Every time you compose a book your composition of yourself is at stake.

~E.L. Doctorow~

Mary Ellen T.- Is your book about your life or someone you may know? I wonder how you can put everything together for a book.

Everything I write is fiction, so no, my book, nor any others I release, will be about my life or anyone I know. As a writer I know that parts of who I am, and those I love, are woven into the fabric of the story, but I never write myself or others intentionally. I do think it just comes with the territory that, as a writer, our stories are who we are, without ever meaning to be because they come from the heart of us.

(the 2nd half of Mary Ellen's comment also kind of blends into Katie's below)
Katie M.- Do your plots just come to you?

Putting together a story for me is rather free form. Sometimes plots come to me freely, spinning out off something I heard, saw or imagined. Some of those ideas percolate in my dreams, but being I'm a pantser (write by the seat of my pants), I don't plot or outline the stories in great detail.

In 2006, when I first started writing with the serious intentions of getting published, pretty much every story I had started with bare bones- character names, a general idea about what they do for a living, how they might get thrown together, what kind of conflict could exist between them and a tentative title.

All the stories I've written so far stem from those. In truth, I'm still working on writing all the ideas I already have jotted down and it hasn't been until more recently that several ideas sprung from the well I thought was dry. The only problem is that until I finish some of my others, the new ones have to be put on the back burner.

How did the new ones come to me? I fell asleep one night with all the thoughts racing in my mind and when I woke up they were still there, burning into my brain, so I wrote them down. Doesn't happen often, but I figured it was worth taking notes. Some have followed me to bed and taken their sweet time to congeal over long periods. The majority of them though, I wrote in a month, taking my cue from my participation in NaNoWriMo- conforming my writing patterns to nailing down the first rough draft within 30 days. I tend to produce a lot more when I work under such tight self-imposed deadlines.

How do you keep all the back stories straight?

Keeping the back stories straight is usually pretty easy. I don't outline, but I do usually keep a list of all characters, main and secondary, in a notebook wherein I also keep track of how scenes play out, how characters are connected (family, friends, coworkers, acquaintances- I've even jotted a sketchy-at-best family tree, just to make sense of how many siblings there are), how long the chapters run, and make notes of things to come as I'm writing or even research I've done online for certain things like preparation of certain meals or dishes or decorating jargon, rodeo information, the Hollywood Walk of Fame and Grauman's Chinese Theater, or when the match came into existence, etc.

For Castaway Hearts, I was halfway through the story when I wondered if matches even existed in the late 1700s. A quick search on Bing found my answer.

Friction matches, were first invented by an English chemist in 1826, so no, my character couldn't light pipe tobacco from a match. So what did they do to start a fire? Before friction matches, also known as lucifer matches, men lit their pipes with a paper spill or carried a tinderbox with them for lighting their tobacco. This was a much more time consuming habit, but I knew I had a few places in the story where I needed to remove the match lighting and give a little insight into what would have been the norm in that bygone time.

Story timelines, most especially for those that play out in chronological order are definitely something I need to police myself over a little more. I realized at the end of January while reading through to finish my current WIP, that a secondary character, who was pregnant in a previous book, would have been due in March, but when the WIP started, it was already May, but she was due anytime...I kept thinking, wait...2 months OVERDUE? That's just not possible! And so I had to fix it. And then there's the whole, "did that couple get married in the last book, or are they getting married in this one?"

It's a juggling act, to say the least, but something I enjoy tremendously.

Thanks for the questions ladies! Tune in next week for a question from Joey R.

Feel free to leave me more questions in the comments here at anytime.
I'll be happy to answer them.

Happy Hump Day! I can see the weekend from here!

Hello! My Name is Pantser

From where I sit, I see the mist...

The other day I was checking out a blog over on Fresh Fiction.com because of an interview Joan Swan (a debut author of Fever due out at the end of February) was having with Cindy Gerard for a discussion on setting goals and having a book giveaway. I left no comment, as I'm not a registered member. I clicked the link Cindy had posted just to check out what was being discussed and though the book giveaway sounded nice, the thing that stopped me was Joan's take on writing. The very thought has stuck with me for the past few days—

Here is what Joan had to say....

Now, my goal setting techniques are a lot like my plotting techniques. I write (and set goals) into the mist. It's similar to the panster way of writing, but with a tad more structure. The best way to describe it is that I'm standing a point, looking forward. I can only see so far—to where the landscape gets a little fuzzy (that's the mist). I write (or set a goal) to the farthest distance I can see, then set out for it. I know where I am, I know where I'm headed, and if time is an important factor, I have a rough idea of how long it will take me to get there. And somewhere, out there beyond my scope of visibility, is an end point. In a story, that might be the next chapter, the next act or, if we're uber lucky, The End. It's the same with goals for me.

I really like her take on how she writes into the mist. I am a bit more structured when I write, too, though I don't plot at all but I kind of take it as far as I can see into the mist myself and her sentiment really rang true to me, so I just had to share that small gleaning of commonality. Her debut novel also sounds intriguing (title links to the amazon page for it)

Anyway, the first thing this sentiment made me think of was one of my favorite quotes about writing—

It's like driving a car at night. You never see further than your headlights, but you can make the whole trip that way.
~E.L. Doctorow~

It's amazing how often I forget that other authors out there are really, truly just like me. We all are traveling this road to reach similar destinations and I think we all enjoy our own method of getting there. Just as some cannot type a single word without a clearly defined outline, there are also those of us who want to walk into the mist, taking that mysterious journey with our characters as they make the journey as well. Either way, I think that's what is so exciting for us.

Writing revs our engines, fills us with a need for the adventures that lay ahead and whether we use a road map or just jump in the car and drive with only a few little clues as to where we're going, we still know we're going to make it to our chosen destination just the same, with all the little bumpy scenic routes along the way.

This felt very appropriate for this blog today— Into the Mystic—

Here's to lovely travels today my friends. Stop by tomorrow to check out what's on the roster for Fun Feature Friday.

A Sprinkling of Fairy Dust

Yep, I got dusted as I was falling asleep the night before last. It had been a LONG time coming since I'd seen the sparkle of inspiration and I figured I'd lose it before I got up in the morning because I was simply too exhausted to get up and find a notepad and pen. But then I awoke with not just one idea, but possibly three ideas, for new series' or stories to write in the future. I was up before 4 A.M. jotting down these fragments for later use, but I realized then, how good it was to be up that time of the morning, already thinking about writerly things and for a moment I just breathed and thought, "I've missed this."

And why is this significant? Because of my distraction. Because of my lack of concentration and procrastination. Because I have taken steps to walk away from an addiction. Yes. See, this all began a few years ago when I was first introduced to Facebook, which also coincided with my writing burn out.

At first it was nothing. Harmless little apps to "send roses" or "send a heart" or "answer a question about a friend." "Have a virtual pillow fight." "Pass a Drink." And this was great for someone looking for a little escapism from writing almost nonstop for about 3 years and producing 8 manuscripts in that time. I needed a break. My brain needed a break and I felt as though the inspiration well had run dry.

Now, those are seemingly harmless and sweet, but after a while it gets old and you end up removing them of your own free will because they just don't "fit" anymore when no one else is using them either.

They're novelty, but then came the requests.

"Come be my neighbor" or "Could you send me a bucket of mud" or "The zebra ate monkey poo and needs a vaccine" from any number of games that end in Ville or World. Most are products of a company that I shall simply call Z because ya'll KNOW what I'm talking about.

At first I thought, oh, this is easy, it's fun and I'd feel "guilty" if I don't help my friends out. I love my friends, so it's the least I can do.

I can send a couch to Jessie cause her living room is bare, or Zeke needs some pet food for Little Squeaker so he doesn't run away again. I have to grow veggies and fruit and that means in two hours, I have to come back or the crops will wither. These crops need to be shipped to that funny little eatery in the middle of nowhere, so I can cook a billion cheeseburgers or lobster with marble chocolate glaze and pears for some wedding mission that never seems to end. I can't make preserves without strawberries and Heaven help me if my homestead in the old west gets overrun with snakes, Dodo birds and other despicable varmints and brambles and tumbleweeds made of barbed wire. I don't care anymore if BillyBob Jimbo and Ethel Marmalade EVER get married.

Sadly, it's taken me at least 2 years to figure out that THIS is the source of my writing woes. I have an addiction. Since I started playing those time-(management)thieving games, my productivity has dropped, I haven't had any ideas in ages, etc. If anyone is to blame, it's....

Facebook.

No, it's me. I apparently have an easily addictive personality. But I am learning to break the habit, and overcome the worry of guilt. I still love my friends, but if I hope to produce more stories in the future and have this career in writing, it must be done. I must cut the cord. I have been weaning myself from the games recently because I'm tired of them. I probably hadn't actually played in a week, though I still accepted and sent gifts and fulfilled requests- up until 2 or 3 days ago.

And that's when I removed them. Well, I removed the ones I consider the biggest offenders. They've been sent into exile. There are a few small time criminals I'll hang onto, some for just those times when I do need a moment or two to stare off mindlessly into the oblivion and zone out a little, but as for the time-sucking vampires, they are gone. And I'm glad. I feel it when I wake up that I don't have those monkeys on my back anymore, or throwing poo at me to get my attention. My thoughts are clearer, my brain feels like it's revving up and getting back into the right gear....

And what did I get for clearing my head of the worry and constant concern over these games? For breaking away from my addiction?

Fairy Dust. (and inspiration)

Have a WONDERFUL, INSPIRING Thursday. The weekend is on the horizon!

Inspiration Through The Fog....

My head is clogged up. Sinuses. Dang Dang Dang!

But, amidst the fog that's clouding my days...I found inspiration.

As I was lying in bed last night on the verge of sleep, I thought, hey, what if my MC's cousin from the novel I just finished earlier this month, a young girl who's only 15, ran off with her beau from Virginia to Kentucky. This one would be set around 1789/1790, just a few years after ther other one ends. I have a vague idea of what I want to happen, but haven't jotted any of it down right now, but I thought maybe I could fit some "paranormal elements" into this one as well. Something tragic and a tad bit more extreme than what was in my other one.

It would be great if I could come up with another one for this though or several more, that would span down through history to the Civil War. A family tree series..hahaha!

Who knows...for now I'll just be greatful to my writing "muse" or whatever you want to call it for sending me this new idea last night. I'm just lucky I remembered it this morning when I got up! LOL My head is so clogged up and clouded, it's any wonder I remember what I did yesterday!

Happy Saturday!