Inspiration Time

Every author, at one time or another, gets asked the question of where the ideas for their stories come from. And most authors have a simple, generic answer that family, current events, or television shows are the inspiration. For me, most of my ideas come while I'm floating mindlessly in my health club's pool. I prop some floating devices under my arms and rotate my hips while I begin to think of my next book. 

Right now, I'm writing Christmas novellas for my ghostwriter. If I have to think of Christmas in July, I want to be lying in a bed of 85 degree salt water, suspended weightlessly while my thoughts drift.

Today, there was a gentleman in the pool near me, helping his two young daughters with their swimming. He was covered from head to toe with tattoos, which normally you'd think would belong on a surly, motorcycle-riding gunslinger of a guy, but the way he interacted with his girls was very sweet. He was young, good-looking, clean-shaven, and a perfect hero. Just covered in artwork. As I watched him playing with his daughters, and he watched to make sure they didn't get in my way, I thought about a hard-boiled hero with a heart of gold. One who thought Christmas was a useless holiday until he met a woman who could stand up to him and change his mind. 

Were tats even a thing in 1870? 

I need to do my research before I begin the story, but at least it's a grain of an idea. Or should I say a drop of an idea, since we were in the water?

Finally, March!

Maybe it's because of the extra day in February, which only happens every four years, but it seems like February was longer than normal this year. While I shouldn't complain about the weather in NC, since I keep seeing weather reports of white out conditions and massive blizzards in other parts of the country, still I wish the weather would level out.

And I guess because I had an extra day in the month to think about things, I couldn't help but think about an old boyfriend of mine, who happened to be born on February 29. Even though he was really 24 when we were dating, more often than not he acted his true age of six.

Need I state the obvious? We broke up very quickly.

But since he acted like a child most of the time, and I'm writing a book that includes five children, I'm trying to remember some of the most foolish things he did so I can incorporate them into my book. Since my experience with small children is limited, I'm drawing on whatever I can.

Maybe the experience with the old boyfriend will finally be of some use.

So, where to you get your ideas?

Where Does My Inspiration Come From?

Right now, I'm working on a Revolutionary War trilogy. All three books are interconnected as the war began in earnest. Most folks don't realize the first protest against the British was the Boston Tea Party in 1773. The Declaration of Independence was written and authorized in 1776, but the war waged from 1773 to 1783, when the Peace of Paris Treaty finally signaled the end of the war. So there were a lot of battles and confrontations to choose from to highlight.

Fortunately, there are great characters in each book, and even though each book can be read as a stand-alone, some of the characters appear in all three books. Which makes things easier or more difficult, depending on your point of view. On the one hand, the setting (Rev. War in the northeastern US) and the major opponents (Sons of Liberty and George Washington, the British) are consistent from book to book, so I don't need to drown myself in research. But then, the downside is how to dovetail the characters together from book to book.

Hey, if writing were easy, we'd all be doing it, right?

One thing I've noticed about these books is even though they are grounded in the Rev. War era, I use modern day music as my inspiration for the first two–the boat in Book One is named Gladys Maria, honoring Gladys Knight, since the boat is bringing a woman named Pip to the colonies. Get it?















Book Two has a heroine who changes her name each time her circumstances change, but she began her life as Fancy. Her mother dressed her in a red gown and told her to be nice to the gentlemen and they'd be nice to her. Thank you, Reba McIntire, for that inspiration.













And Book Three was inspired by one of my favorite movies–Seven Brides for Seven Brothers. My hero is a widower with five children--Adam, Ben, Caleb, Daniel and Elizabeth. Except for the girl, all the names are compliments of the brothers in the movie.

Only a handful of readers will get the connection to any of these, but they are my inspirations and make me smile.

So what inspires you?

Finding Inspiration

Lately, my life seems to be a series of inspirational quotes. 

In the first three months of this year, I've moved five states away from Ohio.  It did take three months to get from one house to the next. Then, no sooner did I get my furniture delivered than I was told my publisher was shutting its doors and I was losing my connection to those editors and authors. So, where does that leave me?

As Terry Goodkind, best-selling fantasy author, so eloquently said, "If the road is easy, you're likely going the wrong way." 

So my publishing road has hit a few bumps. My latest book baby, the second in a new series, has been abandoned. Until I can figure out what to do about it, I've slid it under the proverbial bed and turned my attention to my Mail Order Brides book, which is halfway done. My road so far this year hasn't been easy, but I'm now at the picture-hanging stage in my house and I'm figuring out on a publishing level where to go from here.

My second favorite quote came via my nephew. "Throw me to the wolves and I'll come back leading the pack." Although the weather is more agreeable than the North coast, I miss my fellow authors from one of the better RWA chapters in the country. And with the closing of Crimson Romance, I miss my daily interchange with my fellow authors. I feel like I've lost my pack, my tribe, on two fronts. Thanks to the internet, Facebook and email, though, my tribe is only a click away. It may not be as good as face to face, but it'll do.

I'll meet other authors–there are a lot of us in North Carolina–and life's road will smooth out a bit more. My losses will turn into blessings and I'll wonder why it took me so long to make a move–on both fronts.

Character Studies

This weekend was our big garage sale. Initially, I opposed the idea of a three-day event, thinking it was too much time away from my writing and I was getting to a really good part of the WIP. But by the end of the first day, I realized it was a great opportunity for studying characters. Who knows? Maybe one or two of them will make their way into an upcoming novel.

There was the mother/daughter tag team who looked so much alike it was eerie.

They finished each other's sentences, acted as a team to load the heavy objects into their cars, kept the two little boys with them under control, even though they were escape artists, and were very sweet together.

Then there were the two men, one black, one white, who kidded each other the entire time they were here. They were middle-aged, and acted like they'd known each other for years. They came back three times to see if there was anything they missed. Gives me hope that someday we can all get along as well as those two did.

Next came the Blonde family. Mother and her three kids. The two little girls sported thick blond braids to their waists. The boy wore a t-shirt proclaiming "Kindergarten--2017." All had the exact same shade of blond hair and the mother spoke to her well-behaved children in a foreign tongue. Swedish? German? Pennsylvania Dutch? We couldn't tell.

The very sweet woman who lives up the road spent 1/2 hour or so here, not buying anything, but talking our ears off and helping herself to our free books.
Anyone who loves to read is okay in my book, so to speak.

The man from across the street who never fails to say hello when we walk past the apartments dropped by. His mother lives in the unit, but he drives over every morning to check on her. He's retired, and I think he hangs out at Mom's just to have something to do. But he's nice and friendly and obviously a loving son. He'll be a welcome addition to a future manuscript.

All in all, it turned out to be a good way to pass the time. We made a few dollars, got rid of a lot of stuff we didn't need or want, and met some real characters, who may someday be fictionalized. This weekend was proof that you never know where inspiration will come from.

The Best Laid Plans...

At the end of last year, with the knowledge that my long commitment to the Cotillion Ball Series and Crimson Romance was at an end, I decided to come up with a list of book project ideas for this year. I listed the book and thought about everything in terms of red, yellow and green lights. Red was what roadblocks were in the way of the project, green for things that would help fast track the project and yellow for the things that needed further consideration.

My list included seven potential books. To date, three of them have been completed. I'm on track.
So now, what do I do? Start on the fourth? Oh, hell no. That would be too easy.



My restless mind came up with an idea for a YA historical novel–not on my list, not in my wheelhouse. But it's a great idea, so I'm going to run with it.

Then, today, as if that weren't enough, I had a wild idea for a contemporary story combining an event that actually happened to me along with an event that happened to a friend. All I have at this point is shoelaces and coconuts. I'll start on that one tomorrow.

Sometimes not having any deadlines to meet frees you up to explore new options in your writing career. And sometimes being so free can lead to ADHD tendencies in your writing, and you have to have three projects going at once. Even if you try to be sensible and make plans for the year and set goals for yourself, the best laid plans can be shoved aside when a great idea gets into your head.

At least I'll never be bored.

Bleddyn Hall–Amanda Shalaby's New Gothic Romance

Gothic romance. Just those two words send a chill down my spine. Spooky, breathtakingly scary stories with a splash of romance are among my favorite genres, but they aren't as prevalent today as they were in the past. Susan Elizabeth Phillips tried her hand at it with Heroes Are My Weakness, an homage to the greats of the genre: Mary Stewart, Anya Seton, Charlotte Bronte, Daphne du Maurier, Victoria Holt and Phyllis Whitney. With Amanda Shalaby's latest novel, Bleddyn Hall, we have another gothic romance author to consider. Today, she shares with us how she came up with the idea. 

An hour and a half.  That’s all it took.  I remember sitting at my writing desk that night.  The vision was sudden, it was out of nowhere and all I could do was sit there – a captive audience to the story unfolding before my mind’s eye.  My husband appeared in the doorway at one point – probably wondering about dinner.  “Not now,” I managed, shooing him away with a dismissive gesture, my attention fixed on a visualization playing out before me which he could not see.  Fortunately, he understood.  An hour and a half.  And Bleddyn Hall was born.

After I recovered from my vivid hallucination, I was elated.  In the enthusiasm that came with my hour and a half epiphany, I wrote a few thousand words of dialogue between characters I was just getting to know.  I continued in this manner for several weeks as small snippets of scenes and snappy comments emerged, but there was one, small hiccup.  The story had a very clear English Victorian era setting.  My English historical education both began and ended with Regency and post-Regency.  Research was necessary.

Soon, my enthusiasm to write the story dwindled and then faded to match the backgrounds and clothing that I could not fully envision, much less write about.  The nagging voices of my characters were a constant, but not enough to force me to bring them fully to life.  I was overwhelmed, disheartened, and left to wonder: What could be done to reignite that initial zeal I felt in that hour and half of my story’s birth? 

There were occasions, naturally, where I would click around on the internet for information on Victorian life.  I would feel a spark, write a few more thousand words – only to have said spark fizzle out once again.  What I realized was I needed to fully immerse myself in the era – as much as a 21^st Century American girl can do. 

Suddenly, the speakers in my car played an endless playlist of classical music, my Kindle was stocked with the popular novels of the times, (as well as a number of gothic classics my heroine would have enjoyed), and non-fiction books arrived on my doorstep, one after another.  Actual paper, ink and glue books that I could strew across my couches and pile high on my tables – a constant, visual reminder of my goal.  Was there any one thing that did the trick, above all others?  I couldn’t tell you.  But the ballpoint pen was figuratively rolling, and Bleddyn Hall came together just a few months later.

Really, what it all came down to was making it happen.  What worked for me may not work for you.  What mattered was doing whatever it took to push aside life’s time-suckers and anxieties, and forcing myself to remember what was important.  And what I found in the end – and what I’m sure you will also find – is when you set your mind to make the effort, your initial enthusiasm is never really that far off. 

Amanda L. V. Shalaby's passion for all things Jane Austen was inspired by her mother and grandmother. She now writes her own English historical romances, and is the author of Rhianna, Audra and Bleddyn Hall. When Amanda is not writing, she enjoys spending time with her husband, Matthew, her Shih Tzu dogs, Bella and Huntley, and her Persian cat, Sebastian.

You can find Amanda in a variety of places, www.facebook.com/amandalvshalaby, www.twitter.com/amandashalaby and www.pinterest.com/amandalvshalaby among them.  But the best place to find her is at her WordPress site, www.amandalvshalaby.wordpress.com.  From there, you can learn more about her, view all of her books, catch up on upcoming events and news, and links to buy her books at the major ebook retailers.

Where Does Your Inspiration Come From?

I'm so pleased to have as my guest today, MK Schiller! I asked her to write about anything relating to writing, and she picked one of my favorite topics--Where Do You Get Your Inspiration? Here's what she has to say:

I want to thank Becky for welcoming me to her lovely site.  I’m often asked where I get my inspiration.  Ideas – where do they come from?  For me, a finished story is like a tapestry. It contains threads and strings woven together in a unique pattern.  The raw materials come from real-life experiences, snippets of overheard conversations, or that funny tale you hear at a party that remains interesting long after the cocktails have worn off.  I change the sequence of events and characterizations to suit my plot, but the best stories are the ones with an element of truth. 

My first novel, The Other C-Word, starts with what I hope is a humorous airport mix up.  I took this story from my own life. My dear sweet dad agreed to pick up a friend’s son from the airport.  I didn’t like the idea of him driving such a great distance alone so I insisted on accompanying him, but this is not something you can just voice to a stubborn man like my father. I deceived him by feigning a newfound interest in basketball and suggesting we could discuss it.  I don’t like or watch basketball, so in hindsight this wasn’t the brightest strategy. 

We were about ten minutes into the drive when my dad gets frustrated and calls out my sham, explaining that it’s apparent I don’t know the difference between a Quarter Back and a Point Guard (FYI, these are different sports).  This resulted in a not so pleasant conversation about his penchant for doing favors and my concern about his driving habits.  By the time we reached the airport, we were in raised voice mode – neither one wanting to give an inch, but horde a mile at the same time. 
Now, I should explain my father had never met the man we’re supposed to pick up.  We knew his age and his ethnicity only.  My dad takes out his cell to call Mr. Late Night Airport Pick Up.  My dad introduces himself and explains we are parked at the Delta arrivals terminal. Mr. Airport Pick up tells dad he’s outside waiting for us. ‘I see him,’ I say, pointing to a young man on his cell phone a few feet from our car.  We wave at him. He waves back.  I get out of the minivan my dad insists on driving even though his minivan years are behind him.  I open up the hatch and the man places his bags in the trunk and off we go.

“So, how was your flight?” dad asks.

“Not bad. Thank you for picking me up on such short notice.” he answers.  At least he’s polite.

“Not a problem.”  Yes, it was a problem, but I kept quiet about it, and we continued to make small talk as we headed to the loop that led to the expressway on-ramp.

“Do you like living in California?” dad asks.

There’s a noticeable pause and then he finally says, “I live in Montana.”

Realization dawns in the dark interior of the vehicle as we all do a rapid double-take.  Yep…we picked up the wrong man!

A big loop around the interstate, which must have depleted at least a gallon of gas, and we’re back where we started.  It turns out Mr. Wrong guy was on his cell at the same time as my dad, but they weren’t talking to each other. In fact, Mr. Wrong guy was talking to his ride who he’d never met either.  Mr. Right guy, meanwhile was still standing outside the gate, freezing his butt off wondering where the hell we were.
 
Dad and I were so mad at each other at the time, but that incident cracked us up so much that Mr. Right guy had reservations about getting in the car with two laughing loons.  Eventually, dad and I had a real conversation about my fears.  Even now, when I think about what my family refers to as the airport debacle of 2001, I giggle.  Humor has an amazing way of opening up conversations and creating comfort where none exists. 

Although the scene is much different, this was the inspiration for Marley and Rick’s first meeting.  My daughter always says, ‘be careful what you say around mom, it might end up in a book.’  That’s true.  The best stories are the ones that feel real.  My new novel, A Girl By Any Other Name, is available for sale now.  Although it deals with serious subjects, humor is a prominent thread in Cal and Sylvie’s story.  Thank you for reading, and feel free to drop me a line. I’m always up for a funny story!

LINKS
Author’s Website
http://www.mkschillerauthor.com/

Facebook
https://www.facebook.com/MKSchillerauthor
Twitter
@MKSchiller
Amazon Author page
http://www.amazon.com/M.K.-Schiller/e/B00FE0FGDM/ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_1?qid=1388851375&sr=8-1
Publisher’s sitehttps://www.totallybound.com/a-girl-by-any-other-name-print?search=a girl by any other name
Goodreads page
https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/19231810-a-girl-by-any-other-name



Author Bio
MK Schiller is a hopeless romantic in a hopelessly pragmatic world. Writing is her passion, but with a full time life and two busy teenagers, it proves difficult. But in the quiet dark of night, she sits by the warm glow of a computer monitor, and attempt to conjure up passionate heartwarming stories with plenty of humor.

She started imagining stories in her head at a very young age. In fact, friends started making requests for stories where they were featured as the heroine and the object of their affection was the hero. You've heard of fan fiction... this was friend fiction.

Even with that, it took many years to realize her dream. She hopes you enjoy my stories and always find The Happily Ever After in every endeavor.

Blurb –
Everyone tells him he needs to move on, but how can a man function without his heart?

Ten-year-old Caleb Tanner wants nothing to do with Sylvie Cranston, the annoying weird girl who moves next door to him and gets him in trouble for swearing. But at twelve, they become friends when he teaches her how to hook a fishing line and she shows him the value of a selfless act. At fourteen, he falls in love with her.

At sixteen, she dies.

Or so he’s told. But Cal never believes it. Sylvie has become part of his soul. He knows her like the steady beating of his own heart. He’d know if she was dead. Cal looks for her, prays for her and finally he just waits for her.

Nine years later, she walks into the community college English class Cal is teaching. Only this girl claims her name is Sophie Becker and she doesn’t know him. Cal knows better. He’s determined to get the girl he loves back—and protect her from the danger that took her away all those years ago.

EXCERPT Cal and Sylvie age 12

She put her hand on my arm. Her voice wavered, shifting into a soft whisper. “I can’t sleep at night and it helps me. Sometimes I get so scared that it actually hurts. I feel it in my bones, like they might crack open any minute, breaking my insides apart.”
I shifted my pole and reached for her hand. I hadn’t quite comprehended the value of hugging. “Maybe you should pray on it. Pastor Morrison says that prayer can solve a lot of problems.”
“You really think that will work?” she asked dubiously.
I shrugged. “I wouldn’t know for sure. I don’t pray right myself.”
She frowned, wrinkling her nose. “How can you pray wrong?”
“Momma says I do it wrong all the time.”
“I don’t get it.”
I sighed, staring up at the blue sky. “She always asks me what I prayed for. The first time she asked, I told her it was for a new bike and football cleats. She got real mad and said ‘Son, you are praying to God, not Santa Claus’.” I used my best Amelia Tanner impression, and the edges of Sylvie’s mouth curved upward.
“That sounds like your momma.”
“Yeah, but I guess I didn’t learn my lesson because I asked her what I should pray for then. She said I should pray to be a better person.”
“That’s a good idea.”
“That’s what I thought too. I started praying that I could throw the football longer and run faster so I could make the team in high school.”
Sylvie cupped her hand to her mouth to cover her laugh. I didn’t care. I wanted to make her laugh, even if it was at my expense. “What did she say?”
“She got pretty mad and said that’s not what she meant. She told me I was being selfish and since I couldn’t pray for myself correctly, I should pray for someone else.”
“Who did you pray for?”
I stared down at the lake. “I prayed for Mandy.”
“That’s so sweet.”
“Yeah, I asked God to make her less annoying.”
Sylvie cracked up so much I was sure she’d run all the fish away, but I didn’t care. It was one of the best feelings in the world to make this girl laugh. “You didn’t.”
“I did, but at least now I know what I need to pray on.”
“What’s that, Cal?”
I squeezed her hand, noticing how hypnotic her eyes were. “I’ll pray that you’re not scared anymore, Sylvie.”