On Inspiration for Works In Progress

On Nathan Bransford's blog, he asked the question: How Did You Come Up With the Idea for Your Work-in-Progress?

I found the post interesting since my ideas pop up in the strangest of places. Like Nathan said, inspiration happens without conscious thought. For me, its like each idea is a fireplace waiting to be lit. I simply need one idea, or a piece of kindling, to get the fire started. As sub-plots form the fire builds.

I briefly blogged about how I store and build ideas, but I never went into how they came about. For me, ideas just pop in. And 90% of them start with the lead character. A year ago, my witch matchmaker popped into my head while watching the Bravo! television show The Millionaire Matchmaker. As I watched I was like, I wonder what would happen if she was witch with powers and had to match warlocks who were superficial about witches. And thus my story was born. Of course at that point of inspiration I didn't have the objective, conflict, or what her ultimate confrontation would be, but most books need a main character you want to sympathize with and follow.

For the past book I finished, the process began again with a character but it was based on an article about OCD from a medical journal and a book by Ronda Thompson called Confessions of a Werewolf Supermodel. How did these two ideas come together? Well, I read the blurb about Ronda's book, which has great reviews by the way and I'm dying to read it, and the spark came. What if I had an OCD werewolf? And that's where it began. More research, more thinking about my character and how they would react to the world around them. Then I had to take it to the next level and come up with the conflict they face. (And it has to be more than what happens if she has a panic attack.) The whole process to me is about asking those what if questions. Ask them again and again whenever you see something cool. Write it down! The idea may not be sellable right now for a particular market, but it may be in the future. When inspiration hits, store it away for another day.

I've never had the entire plot of a book appear out of thin air. I either have the lead character or I have an interesting scene that grows into a plot. If you're one of those people who has the whole thing fall into your lap, you are so lucky!

Excerpt Monday

Here is the fourth part of my series which I started three months ago. I normally don't write about vampires, but the madness at Harlow's family fun center continues. If you would like to read Part I, Part II , and Part III, they are available as other Excerpt Monday postings.



Once a month, a bunch of authors get together and post excerpts from published books, contracted work or works in progress, and link to each other. You don’t have to be published to participate–just an writer with an excerpt you’d like to share. For more info on how to participate, head over to the Excerpt Monday site! or click on the banner above.

----------------------------

Part I | Part II | Part III

After the short drive home to my cubby hole apartment, I settled into a Saturday night with an unwatched, overdue movie from BlockBuster. But before I could cuddle close with a bag of popcorn to whisper sweet nothings, I had to take care of my ritual shower and make up removal.

With an adjustable mirror in place, I prepared to clean off my foundation. Now some folks would simply wash their face off with a face cloth, but like my mother I had clogged pores similar to those old glass bottles of Pepsi. I scrubbed my face down to prevent any future similarities to the crusty pizza sold at Harlow's.

My supply of makeup removal resembled the stash the Avon lady hauled around my neighborhood. When I reached for the container of swabs amongst the various bottles, I noticed my right hand was cupped. What the hell? My hand trembled as I turned it over slowly. The subtle increase in weight left me momentarily breathless. Like a suave magician, I revealed a silver necklace. The same necklace my boss had tossed in the trash.

I distinctly remembered when I stood in the office and picked up the necklace with its missing gem. I fingered the broken clasp with my left hand. This had to be some kind of delusion. Perhaps I'd fallen down in the rain on the way home and this entire sequence of events was a dream. I peered into the mirror and snorted. Not with that pimple on your forehead.

I got ready to place the necklace in the medicine cabinet, but the compulsion to wrap it around my neck and fasten the clasp overwhelmed me. I should be frightened. Somehow this thing leapt from the waste basket into my hand and traveled home with me. In my hand. But putting it on would be so simple. Like taking half a foot of fattening chocolate from a package and thinking to myself, Gee, I could eat this. No biggie. A few calories.

My hands moved in slow motion to wrap the necklace around my neck. Somehow the jewelry fastened--broken clasp and all. I released my hair from a messy pony tail and started the shower. Then I finished undressing from my uniform and entered the narrow stall.

Scalding water hit my back, but I didn't move. Something held me in place as the steam enveloped the room and clouded my vision. Pale hands reached around my waist and stroked my belly. I wanted to flee, to shake myself out of this strange set of events. Instead, I moaned as the hands descended to grasp my hips and pull me back against a solid wall of muscle. Slick from the water, one of the hands rubbed the skin under my breasts while another caressed my shoulder. Lips kissed my right shoulder where the hand once before rubbed. As the lips crept toward my neck, I couldn't stifle another gasp. Those delicious swirls from that tongue. Absolutely divine.

Edgar.

The hand under my breasts descended between my legs. Yet as he brought me closer to a passionate peak with each caress of his fingertips, his mouth continued his assault on my neck--kissing and licking. My legs quivered as I leaned closer. My trembling fingers reached behind me to explore the hard muscles of his legs up to his buttocks. Should I turn around? Should I end this torture in order to bring him to my bed? When I thought I would climax right then and there, sharp fangs plunged into my neck.

My head suddenly snapped up. Whoa. Shivering, I held the necklace in a death grip as icy water beat on my back. How the hell did I go from a freaky vampire make out session to a cold shower? Somehow, I pried my hands from the necklace and touched my neck. When I checked my fingers, there wasn't any blood.

Stunned, I escaped the shower and wrapped myself in a terry cloth robe. I sat on my couch for a few minutes but the images remained. The sensation of his body behind me. Hell, inside me. How could I face him at work knowing what I'd imagined?

By the time my damp hair soaked the back of my robe, I headed back into the bathroom to blow dry my hair. Perhaps after an hour or two of my cheesy movie, I should be back on track with reality. Then the door bell rang. I closed the bathroom door and tried to hum a lively tune. The sounds of the blow dryer didn't drown out the incessant ringing. Based on my past experiences living here, I knew a few drunk college kids stumbled to my door a couple times a year. After five minutes of madness, I headed to the door prepared to call the campus drunk bus for the unruly student.

I threw open the door, prepared to release my fury, but I didn't expect to see Edgar standing there. Rain water soaked his clothes, but he stood there with his dark-blue eyes roaming over my body as if he knew what had happened to me twenty minutes ago. He waited for me to speak.

Oh, boy.

Links to other Excerpt Monday writers
Note: I have not personally screened these excerpts. Please heed the ratings and be aware that the links may contain material that is not typical of my site.

Switching Mindsets: From Writing to Editing

Right now, I'm neck deep in edits before I send my next baby over to my agent. During all this mad deleting and rewriting, I noticed one thing in particular. My brain rewires itself while I edit my work. I outlined my process below:

Stage 1: Chapter 1 = What?
This is where stare at the screen and barely get out a word. The first chapter is my Achilles heel and takes the longest. But from what I've learned, this is an important place where your work needs to shine. It has to be just right. And well, you can't move on until you give it your all. I gave this part a stage of its own since its like placing a Wendy's Frosty in front of yourself and commanding yourself to simply stare at it. Go ahead, you see if you can hold back taking a bite. Yep, that's what chapter 1 feels like to me.

Stage 2: Write Like Mad
This is where I turn into a writing demon. This is the point where you let your characters take over. (Some at gunpoint if necessary.) I think this is a mindset for some writers. Where you turn off the internal editor and everything is about the words. Of course you may think about how you structure them and make sure your characters guide you and not you guiding them, but, all in all, its the point where I let it all go. If I spent time worrying if everything is right and all sparkly, happy I'd get nothing done! Whoever said writing is about rewriting hit the nail on the head with a resounding whack. *Thunk*

I've met writers who agonize over every word. (I even read an interview where the fabulous author Dean Koontz wrote that he doesn't advance to the next page until the previous one is perfected.) And then there are those like myself who have to get it out before they come back later to mop up the bodies after the word massacre occurred. But no matter how you approach writing, its about getting the words out so you can move on to editing. The whole process kind of reminds me of the song, "Let Go" by Frou Frou.

Stage 3: Edit This Sucker
Editing my work as I write it feels weird. I can do it as necessary but I notice my mindset is quite different when the book is done. I think this is due to the fact that my mind is focused on completing on the work. If I thought about what was wrong with the darn thing I wouldn't finish it so I could reach stage 3. Stage 2 takes the longest, but it would take longer for me if I dwelled on every weak verb and poor sentence structure.

I do meet with a critique group once a week and I check over my work with them, but like I said before my focus to edit isn't there. I wrote up a list when I know I'm livin' in editville:

1. When I'm reading published books, my mind scans sometimes as if I'll find an error. (Once in a blue moon I actually find something.)
2. Any sentence I thought was perfectly good after the first draft needs a complete overhaul.
3. As I read I'm constantly asking myself questions about the storyline.
a. Does my hero have the same eye color from beginning to end?
b. Did I really use a Nissan Altima for every single car in the first half of the book?
4. I feel a strong urge to refresh my memory on semi-colon usage. (No semi-colons were harmed in this blog post.)
5. Shiny, pretty new projects look so interesting right now. Stage 1 is looming down the road. Away with you new scenes! Leave me be while I lurk in the bowels of the bat cave.

All in all, writing is about finding the process that works for you and using it to your advantage. I only hope that as I finish this book, I will have perfected the process of completing and editing a manuscript.

Great Book - Life As We Knew It

This past weekend, I fell in love with a book by Susan Beth Pfeffer called Life as We Knew It. These days, I try my best to get in some reading between editing and writing. Well, once I picked up this book on Friday I couldn't put it down. (Ok, well the kids had to eat so I did have to stop.)

But the book is one of those where you keep saying to yourself--what happens next?

I have the next book in the series and I will let you know if its any good. Feel free to pass along any recommendations since I do not stick to one particular genre. A great book is a great book in my opinion.