Writing- Where Does It Come From Anyway?

My friend, Random Blogger, has written asking the following, very good questions:

"Ok, so how do you get to the point where you can write enough of anything to write book? I can never write more than a few pages on anything. How many irrelevant details do you add to build on the character and situation? Mentor me Nancy. If nothing else I want to tell the story behind my photos."

And just when I was wondering what to write today... ;-)

Sometimes I wonder myself where the ideas come from but I've learned to stop focusing on how the characters appear and let my mind roam along with them.

There are lots of "what ifs" in my head but few of them become novels. It seems to work like this- A thought occurs to me, or a character pops into my head. With my Sierra Lavotini books, Sierra herself appeared, fully formed and ready to tell her story. Sometimes it's an idea or a situation.

For the past few weeks, I've been thinking about the cabin and what it would be like to live there full time. Then I wonder how my boys would like me living there full-time. Would they come visit? What if it was Christmas time? Would they ever come for Christmas? I'm not so sure they would.

Then I started thinking about the characters I've met up there and how the locals say they don't like folks who "ask too many questions." I live in the heart of Moonshine country. What would I do if I met the Moonshiner? What would he be like?

I let my imagination noodle around with these thoughts. I throw in my fears, my wildest hopes and see what happens. If the idea sticks with me longer than a few days, I begin to think about how I would tell the story. Where would it start? Who would be the best one to tell the tale? What would keep the reader interested? What would keep me interested.

But I don't begin to write until I hear the main character give me the first line. So for a week I lay awake at night, waiting to hear the first line. I call it getting "creatively constipated." You can't tell the story until you're fairly bursting with it. You can't write until you absolutely have to or die. I wait until I see the opening scene as clearly as a movie and then I'm off and running.

Sometimes, like Random Blogger, despite my best intentions, I lose interest and walk away from the project. Sometimes I get excited and tell the story to a friend. That is the kiss of death for me. If I've already told the story, I see no reason to write it. It's just one of my quirks. I can't write something I've told out loud.

So, Random, if you're wanting to tell the story of your photographs- step inside them. Feel them with all of your senses. If you keep coming back to one particular picture, maybe sit down and promise yourself you'll only write about that picture for ten minutes, then you're free to let it go. If at the end of that time, you feel like continuing, go right ahead. But if not, ask yourself why. Then ask yourself what you really want to say and write that down.

Pretend you're describing your photo to someone you love with all your heart, only they're blind. Give them the gift of your words. Bring your picture to life. No detail that brings the picture to life for the reader can be called "irrelevant." To paraphrase Elmore Leonard, try not to write the parts you and your reader usually skip over in your search for the good stuff.

Or look at the picture and free associate...

"It was so cold that day, the frost clung to the pond behind my house, too shy to rise up into the gray, winter morning. It was the day after you left me and all the world was as still as death."

or

"The morning after the first night we made love, she baked cinnamon buns. I heard her downstairs in my kitchen, rattling pots and humming an old Allman Brothers song. The warm scent of yeast and coffee slipped inside the bedroom, crawled beneath my covers and reminded me of the way she'd looked in the summer moonlight. I closed my eyes and tried to pretend she wasn't leaving. But in my heart, I knew she was already gone."

I don't know the best or right way to do it other than to apply the seat of the pants to the seat of the chair and have at it.

Maybe one of my readers has some words of wisdom to offer here, Random. Maybe they'll send in a comment or two. Please....

Life With Eddie and Marion...

My friend, Eddie, is afraid of the woods. They make him feel "claustrophobic," he told me. "All that nature," he whines, crinkling up his nose. "It's just a little bit, well, creepy crawly, don't you think?"

A chipmunk rustles around in the leaves below my friend, Marion's deck, and Eddie can't stand it. "Bears live in woods!" he screeches.

"Gee, Eddie, ya think? I thought only the Pope lived in the woods," Marion snipes.

That's, of course, before he smokes a joint and the two of them break out the Wild Turkey. After that, you could roll a tank through Marion's tee-ninesy back yard and Eddie wouldn't give a rat's tail about it.

Of course they get the giggles. I listen to them laughing about stupid stuff, thinking what a giant waste of my time! And how do you really spell the sound of a giggle? Hee-hee-hee, doesn't seem to really cover it, but I type it in anyway as I'm trying to transcribe their every syllable.

I'm about to reach into the book and steal a shot of their Wild Turkey when both of them get quiet. Marion's staring into the fire Eddie built in the chimenea, but Eddie, he's got tears streaming down his cheeks.

"Poor Nadean," he whispers.

Marion stops staring into the fire and looks at Eddie. She's got that "Mom" look Eddie's so fond of, but he doesn't see her. He's too messed up to see much of anything at the moment.

I sigh, put the Wild Turkey back on the picnic table behind them and dash back to the computer.

"Who's Nadean?" Marion and I ask him but he only hears her, because after all, I'm just the book's transcriptionist.

"My mom," Eddie whispers.

"Huh?" I say, sitting up and paging back through the neatly typed manuscript. "No, she's not your mom. You said your mom was Nora. It's right here on page 64!"

Marion's on it. "I thought Nora was your mom," she parrots.

Eddie shakes his head. "I said she was like a mom."

Marion shakes her head. "Nope, on page 71 you referred to her as your mom," she insists.

I check. Marion's right.

Eddie's still shaking his head. "I lied," he says. "Now I'm too high to lie."

"That's right," I tell them, disgusted. "Make me a poet now. I don't care!"

"Did you hear something?" Eddie asks Marion. "You think them bears are back?"

That is what it's like living inside this author's head today! So, it was pizza for supper, no lipstick and frizzy hair when I did go out, and all of the Eldest Unnamed One's dark clothes crammed into one load.

But hey, at least Eddie and Marion are happy!

Goddesses, Alive and Thriving in Greensboro

Ah, it has been a full day here in bargain shopping land. Marti and I had lunch with Mertis but somehow we finished out meal and still felt like something was missing...something like...shopping.

But we don't need a thing. Between my coupon shopping and free bargain dealing, there just wasn't anything we needed, leaving us only the option of browsing Kohls, filling up our carts with deals and then "Unshopping" everything and leaving.

It's not landing the deal sometimes, it's the pursuit.

So, there we are, minding our own business in the jewelry department when I notice these two other women. Two other women about our age, dressed in funky dresses and hats, palling around just as we were. It was like seeing ourselves from the other dimension.

Frankly, Marti and I are just different. There aren't a whole lot of us wandering around...but there they were.

So, the one in the black hat stops, looks at me and says "That is a beautiful jacket! Did you get it here?"

This one is clearly the extrovert of the two, as you will see later.

I am wearing the most funky, multicolored jacket over a black velvet skirt.

"Here?" I say. "Oh, no way!"

The woman smiles indulgently. "No, I didn't mean here in Kohls. I meant here, in town!"

Duh! Of course.

So we talk for a second and go our separate ways. Later Marti and I agree if we don't pee, we'll explode. So we head for the ladies' room by customer service, and there they are again. They're just sitting in chairs between the ladies' room and the customer service counter.

There are three chairs and they are taking up two, with a purse in the third chair.

Now Marti and I have a dilemma. We hate Kohls' bulky carts, so our arms are loaded with bras and sweaters and miscellaneous do-dads we have yet to "unshop," and we have nowhere to put them whilst we tend to business.

So Marti, clearly the extrovert of our duo, says "Is anyone sitting there?" Which of course they are not. A pocketbook is sitting there. The black hat perks up, picks up the purse and says, "Oh,no. Do you want to sit down?"

I feel like we're at a ladies' tea.

Marti allows as how, no, we just have to go and have nowhere to leave our goodies.

Thus our new friendship began.

We return from the ladies room and Marti complements their outfits. And we all talk about how much we love to dress up, how important it is to celebrate our juicy, sexy, creative, wonderful selves...especially as we dance around the rim of menopause.

And that's when we find out who they are and what they do.

These two cool chicks call themselves "Joie de Vivre."

"Our mission is to unleash the creative spirit in everyone through the power of dress. It is through creativity that we can restore our souls, ignite our passions and leave the world a better place."

They sponsor Hat Attacks for cancer patients: "Adorn your beautiful bald head!" They use scarves, hats, ribbons, crowns, whatever it takes to celebrate the beauty that is our naked head. "Nourish the soul and pamper the body!" they say. There are hand massages, aromatherapy, scarf-tying workshops...it's so wonderful!

Marti and I will be volunteering soon.

They also do the Summer Solstice here in Greensboro...

"It is important we gather to give thanks for our beautiful earth. Without gratitude there is no joy! Please join our mission to keep the Solstice going... We would like the "Summer Solstice" to always remain free for our community...this year over 4000 happy souls attended. This is just one small way we can bring joy and peace to a world that needs much of that!"

These two are living all that Marti and I have been puzzling out for ourselves this past few months and they are doing it with an open-hearted generosity that pulls others into its radius and warms every spirit it touches.

Go check these chicks out!

Damn! Aren't we lucky to have true Goddess examples living amongst us?!

Procrastination in the Name of Research

Christmas Decoration Excuse # 50203

I was daydreaming...

Looking at lake property and thinking of what it would be like to live on the lake and see water gently lapping at my dock while I write the Great American Novel...which by the way I am also not doing!

While some, a lot even, progress has been made on dismantling Christmas, the house looks more like a war zone than ever! But this too shall pass.

I have written 54 first paragraphs of the Great American Novel, aka GAN, but to little avail. My characters just aren't talking to me yet.

I do have however, a cast of interesting folks to inhabit this novel, should it make it that far!

A mom not unlike me who's got 2 boys in college...She's also got an ex-husband named Kevin and found her neighbor, Heather's blue thong underwear in Kevin's briefcase...This precipitated their divorce...Well, duh!

An elderly great-aunt with early Alzheimer's and an old white Victorian in a little lake town in S. Virginia (That's how I can call browsing realtor.com for lake houses "research!")

And her youngest son has just called his mom unexpectedly because he and the mom's great aunt have just been arrested...Seems the aunt's running an adult toy store out of her home, without a permit. She thinks this is doing a public service to her fellow seniors and is incensed that the cops would think otherwise.

The youngest son is just mortified that the cops think he had anything to do with this, but on the other hand, it appeals to his revolutionary side to be in conflict with the authorities.

And our poor beleaguered mom is just looking for a simple life without complications...

Until she arrives in Snow Falls and walks smack into trouble...in the form of one deadly handsome sheriff and....well, who knows?!

What'dya think? Would you want to read about these guys?

Think of it as a bedtime story...What else would you like to see included in this tale I'm telling you? Of course, there's no guarantee it'll get in there once the characters take over!

And none of this is getting the Christmas decorations put up...But in the opening scene, that's what the main character is doing...So at least my chores get done vicariously!

Isn't it fun being a writer?