WHAT INSPIRES YOU TO WRITE?

 

Alice Walker, Ntozake Shange, and Langston Hughes, were all inspired by spirituals, jazz, and blues. 

These writers understood that music opens up pathways to creative thinking, that can help us weave together thoughts and ideas. 

We already know that music inspires creativity––especially creative writing

 

This is a bit odd but I find Christmas music to be very inspiring for my writing, 

especially old Christmas songs from the 40s and 50s.

 I think we tend to think of the holidays, especially Christmas, as a time of joy and happiness.

 But, the reality is the holidays can be a very lonely and sad time for many people.

Of course, soundtracks

also play a big part 

in my writing.

John Steinbeck in 1909 

at the Salinas Fairgrounds.

with his sister Mary, 

sitting on the red pony, Jill,

 whom he made famous in his novel. 

A wild ride through the Swiss Alps long ago

inspired me to write a section in my troublesome, writer-blocked novel, NO RESHOOTS FOR DEATH.

An actual fiasco, Exercise Tiger, a rehearsal for D-Day in which 1000 soldiers were killed --

many by friendly fire, mismanagement,

as well as by Nazi E-Boats --

inspired me to write a chapter in my latest 

SAME AS IT NEVER WAS

Sometimes the worst enemies

in war are those who command 

without regard for the troops

under them

and

Cover-Up  

masks unmarked graves

(like the many from

Exercise Tiger.) 

What has inspired you to write lately?

Is love involved?

Tell me.

I'd like to know.

St. Patrick's NIGHT at MEILORI'S

 

It was St. Patrick's Night at Meilori's.

Hibbs, the cub with no clue, was hiding there from Ratatoskr, the Asgardian Squirrel.

As if hiding from that rascally rodent was possible.

Hibbs got smacked in the back of the head with a snowball so hard that for a moment he became TWO cubs!

Ratastoskr found that so funny he forgave the cub for trying to hide from him.

The squirrel scampered up beside the fuming Hibbs as the cub rubbed the back of his wet head.

"Why do people wear shamrocks on St. Patrick's Day, fur-face?"

Hibbs tried to think of a way to tweak the nose of this snowball ambusher and smiled, "Because real rocks are too heavy."

Ratatoskr pouted, "No fair!  You're not supposed to know the answer."

Hibbs smiled wider.  "I have one for you now.  Knock.  Knock."

The squirrel scowled, "Who's there?'

"Irish."

"Irish who?"

"Irish you a happy St. Patrick's Day,"  

And so tickled was Hibbs at the look in Ratatoskr's eyes, he fell giggling on his back.

The squirrel popped to the table to his right and snapped back his own question. 

 "How did the Irish Jig get started?"

The Asgardian Squirrel had not noticed the small man in green with murderous eyes sitting at the table who rumbled,

"Faith now, but the answer is clear: too much to drink and too few restrooms. 

And ye scrawny rodent, ye made me spill me drink. Now, I'll be spilling yer guts!"

Despite their long history of bickering, Hibbs thought of Ratatoskr as a friend so he waddled up to the table.  

"You get my pal over my dead body!"

Hibbs realized he might have possibly phrased that a bit better as the leprechaun rose evilly to his feet.

"Sure now, but that can be arranged."


A shimmer of snowflakes and stardust slowly formed into the regal Turquoise Woman, 

who held the First Hawk of Creation next to her icy heart.

Her voice was winter given life.  "Do you know why I love to eat leprechaun?"

First Hawk, later to be called Little Brother by Hibbs, cawed, "Short ribs!"

And off ran the yelping leprechaun with First Hawk flying happily after him.

Ratatoskr turned to Hibbs.  "What do you get when you cross a short-legged leprechaun with a hunting hawk?"

Hibbs shook his head mystified.

The squirrel laughed, "Not Fast Enough Food!"

HAVE YOU THOUGHT ABOUT WRITING A HOLIDAY NOVEL? IWSG Post

 

It is Mardi Gras Tuesday as I write this. For once I do not have to worry about parades blocking me delivering blood to requesting hospitals.

A good friend believes it was the cost of insurance that did me in:

1) My age made the company car insurance cost more.

2) My company pays for medical expenses out of its own pocket --

hence the older I got, the more likely I would incur medical bills.

In fact, I had my heart attack while working for them.

Enough of that.

Each of us wears a quilt woven from the tattered remains of our own personal tragedies.

Yours impacts you the most since you have lived through them ... or are continuing to do so.

Hopefully, like the quilt above, you are moving forward.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07N75DRKC

It is raining and windy as if a hurricane is visiting for the holiday. It may kill the parades but ironically save lives.

I thought to write a novel incorporating Valentine's and Mardi Gras.

The great thing about a holiday ... it comes like clockwork year after year and may birth a tradition of watching or reading.

Of course, you have to touch the heart to make your novel a traditional read.

But remember, IT'S A WONDERFUL LIFE failed at the box office ...

Which I included in my Christmas fantasy, BEWARE THE JADE CHRISTMAS.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07KQ8XMJR/

Every Christmas, I get additional book and audio sales from this fantasy.

Ghosts and murder on Christmas Eve, who knew it would be a great combination?

www.amazon.com/Death-House-Life-Roland-Yeomans/dp/151877668X/

Black History Month just left us ... and yes, I wrote a novel about it.

Or at least the first chapter about it.

I was asked by some of my readers how my long-lived hero, Sam McCord, felt about slavery during the time when it was legal.

I decided to use a trick from the movie, THE SHOOTIST, to answer that question and lend the semblance of authenticity to his legend.

In UNDER A VOODOO MOON, I brought a modern street orphan to 1834 New Orleans to detail the culture shock of modern sensibilities to slavery.

https://www.amazon.com/Under-Voodoo-Moon-Legend-Standish/dp/151419399X/

I liked the experiment so much, I added snippets to several of my fantasies as Lagniappe 

(a Creole tradition of giving a little extra to a buyer)

to add depth to my characters in THE NOT SO INNOCENTS ABROAD and AT LARGE, DEATH IN THE HOUSE OF LIFE and THE STARS BLEED AT MIDNIGHT (title taken from the old Gary Cooper movie, The General Died at Dawn.)

My writing mentor, Roger Zelazny, at end of his life (like me, he had a bad heart,) experimented with his writing style --

to grow as an author and to see if he could keep the interest of his readers with novels such as DOORWAYS IN THE SAND and ROADMARKS.

He did ... at least with me

and he signed this copy for me.

https://www.amazon.com/Roadmarks-Roger-Zelazny/dp/0345285301/

Do you experiment with your writing? Do you attempt to grow in each additional book?

Do you answer questions from your readers in your next books?

If you knew you were dying soon, would it change how you write your next book?

Why WRITING IN THE CROSSHAIRS? IWSG Post

  https://www.insecurewriterssupportgroup.com

Why the title

WRITING IN THE CROSSHAIRS?

All writers I believe write in the crosshairs.

If you have beta readers and have submitted to agents/editors,

you know the feeling of being in the crosshairs of their evaluations.

Ouch. But no pain, no gain.

But I am thinking of the imagery of the hunter.

He fixes his aim at his target, looking through his scope.

The image is hardly crisp at the beginning. He must adjust the lens to achieve crisp clarity and the best chance of hitting his target.


Writers are like that hunter.
 

At first the image of our tale is blurry.

We tighten the focus with revealing dialogue, vibrant characters, engaging crises, and creative descriptions.

Pacing and plot tighten the image even more. Sometimes we get it with dead-on clarity. Most times we don't.

No one but Shakespeare is perfect. If you don't believe me, ask Harold Bloom or any university English professor.


It is a tricky endeavor writing in the crosshairs.


How do we focus quicksilver humans into concrete mental images?


Take flames. They look like objects but are really processes.

Humans are like that as well. No human actually is complete. He or she is in the process of becoming.


But becoming what? We answer that question with our choices.

But there is more to my title than that.


We all write the movie of our lives in the crosshairs.


That endeavor is more tricky. We don't get the luxury of time to reflect, muse, or ponder at leisure.

Life is a harsh mistress. As we struggle, she flashes us that "beauty-queen" smile:

all sharp teeth and no heart. And in her games of chance, the House ultimately wins.


Like Indiana Jones we must make it up as we go along.
 

We plan and prepare.

Life gleefully throws her monkey wrench into our preparations.

We must write our lives in the crosshairs of illness, accidents, dysfunctional humans, and our own inner demons.

We are all in Life's crosshairs, and none of us know when she will pull the trigger. We just know that she will.


This is what my blog is all about:


How to maintain a measure of grace and peace in the crosshairs of Life.

I haven't figured it out yet.

Let me know what helps with you.

I am currently listening to "Follow Me" from the anime Innocence.

The romance of my haunted, undead Texas Ranger, Samuel McCord, and his immortal love, Meilori Shinseen, seem to linger among those lyrics like the ghost traces of a moonbeam.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1530302722

Here is a music video I think you may like:

EACH TIME HISTORY REPEATS ITSELF, THE PRICE GOES UP

 

On this day in 1885, General George Gordon was killed on the palace steps in Khartoum, Sudan ...

which led to needless more deaths and further European expansion into Africa. 

On this date in 1945, Soviet troops liberated Auschwitz, Poland, revealing the depths of the horrors perpetrated there.

Here is a bit of Mozart to eulogize that tragedy:

The greatest loss, however is what dies inside a man while he yet lives.

the death of genuine feeling that makes it possible to feel the pain or glory of other men than yourself.

WHERE DID THAT THOUGHT COME FROM?

 

I think of my thoughts as tumbling lottery balls rattling around in my mind.

What brings one fact into focus from the blur of so many bits of data churning in my brain?

Just now, for some reason that the ghost of Freud refuses to tell me, Charles Napier came to mind.

In what way?

And I've never been married.

I mean, marriage is tough because you have to deal with feelings ... and lawyers.

And immediately following that thought, the early life of Frank Frazetta came to mind.

Why do you think that happened?

SNOW!

 The 1st fall of snow is not just an event ...

It is a magical event.

You go to bed in one kind of world and wake up in another quite different.

And if this is not magic, where is it to be found?

Two days ago was the third heaviest snowstorm in Lake Charles' history.

I remember the first time Snowfall almost killed me.

Outside our basement apartment window, the snow fell as softly as Mother's tears

You see, in Mother's mind, I was dying.

Detroit was snowed in, no cabs allowed on the streets, no neighbors across the hall.

We were too poor to afford a phone just new to Detroit.

My fever was so high, I burned with it.

She gave me the last of the aspirin, hugged me, and started to rock me in the bed.

"Look, baby ... the snowflakes are winter's butterflies."

https://www.audible.com/pd/Hibbs-the-Cub-with-No-Clue-Audiobook/B00PZJYFO8

And not wanting me to die in the quiet dark of the night, 

Mother reached into her own troubled childhood and began re-telling me the Lakota teaching tales her own grandmother told her at night.

About Estanatlehi, whose love was warm but whose touch was cold.

But she must be near, for I was shivering so.

https://www.amazon.com/Hibbs-Cub-Clue-Roland-Yeomans/dp/1519762151/

She came up with the name "Hibbs, the cub with no clue."

Mother pointed to the frosted window and swore she saw him clinging to the tree feet away.

She tweaked my runny nose and said that meant I was going to get better, for Hibbs watched over all sick children.

I must have believed her, for I got better. 

My favorite toy was a stuffed bear ... who I kept until the house fire

I thought of Hibbs when I saw the heavy snowfall this Tuesday.

For a little over $5, you can get the audio book of little Hibbs.

By the way, Mother later showed me the claw marks Hibbs left on that tree.

Believe what you will.