Social Interaction by Christine DePetrillo

So it’s August already. Sigh. Summer is slipping away so swiftly.

I’ve re-watched the Twilight Saga, binged on new Netflix shows, read my way deep into J.R. Ward’s Black Dagger Brotherhood world, and fallen into the go-to-bed-at-1:00 AM-and-get-up-at-9:00 AM schedule that appears to be what my body will do naturally if given the chance. This is all characteristic of my typical summer leisure experience, but one thing I’m trying to change up is the social interaction.

An introvert since birth, I tend to prefer staying at home instead of going out into the world. When my parents would say, “Go to your room,” I’d skip down the hallway, happy to hide away in my safe haven. I loved being in my room and never saw it as a punishment. If my parents had told me to go talk to people instead, I would have felt far more inconvenienced.

Let’s face it – it’s scary “out there.” Social events also require getting ready. Doing one’s hair. Putting on makeup. Wearing clothes. Ugh. So much work. Chilling in the backyard requires none of these things.

Well, except wearing clothes. Probably.

I’m trying this summer, however, to push myself to interact with more people. I recently saw something online that said social interaction was the number one thing that led people to live longer. Even more than diet and exercise! Needless to say, when I saw that, I panicked. According to that study, I’m going to kick the bucket like… tomorrow!

I also listened to a show on the radio where it was stated that talking to people for as little as ten minutes a day boosted memory. The DNA in my family suggests that boosting one’s memory is definitely something I want to be doing. I felt compelled to call someone up and chat on the spot. (Of course calling people on the phone is an entirely different phobia I’m not ready to deal with at the moment.)

So, yeah… social interaction. I’m trying. It’s kind of exhausting though. The orchestrating schedules. The planning what to do/where to go. The gathering of stimulating conversation topics.

The relinquishing of time with my fictional characters to see real people…

I have to remember, however, that each social interaction has its benefits. Living longer. Boosted memory. And my favorite, story ideas. The more people I spend time with, the more tidbits I pick up and add to my writing notebook. Setting, plot, and character ideas have come to me as I surround myself with different people. I’m amassing quite a collection of words, one-liners, and character traits just by hanging out with my fellow humans.

Hopefully, by the time the summer is over, I’ll have filled my notebook and have reaped the benefits of getting social. If not, I’ll just go back to having full conversations with my dog at home. That has to have benefits too, right?

What tips do you have for me about social interaction?

Toodles,

Chris

www.christinedepetrillo.weebly.com

Where I Find #Inspiration by Christine DePetrillo

As an author, I’m constantly searching the world around me for ideas. When my students grumble that they have “nothing to write about,” I quickly arc my arms out and say, “Study your surroundings. Ideas are everywhere.” I then usually pick up random things around the classroom and generally act like a semi-crazy person.

“See this pencil?” I’ll ask as I brandish a very ordinary school supply. “What if it remembers everything about being the tree it once was?”

“See this box of crayons here?” I’ll ask as I wiggle the brand new box of twenty-four bold colors. “What if everything you draw with them comes to life?”

“See your best friend sitting at his desk across the room?” I’ll ask as I point to another student. “What if he’s keeping a really BIG secret from you right now?”

Inspiration. It’s everywhere if we ask those what if questions. True writers make a sport out of wondering about the people, places, and objects we come into contact with everyday. We also wonder about those people, places, and objects we’ve never seen in person.

I have a few tricks I use when I need a little help in the inspiration department. Here they are in no particular order.

1    1. Surfing the Web – The internet literally puts the world at our fingertips. I often spend some time (not too much) just hopping around online to see where I end up. A news article on the ancient Aztecs could result in a historical fiction story idea. A classified ad could give a character an interesting job. A review about a new car model could lead to a high speed chase in a book. The internet is ripe with inspiration… if you don’t spend too much time stuck on Pinterest browsing recipes, that is. Actually, even that could lead to story ideas if you remember you were looking for story ideas.

2    2. Eavesdropping – This sounds like an invasion of privacy—and maybe it is—but I listen to people in line at the grocery store, while waiting for food at a restaurant, as I sit in my backyard while the neighbors are outside fighting with each other. I study the way people say things, what they talk about, how they address one another. Bits of conversation give you a window into different personalities, all of which could help develop more realistic characters. Don’t be afraid to eavesdrop. Just don’t get caught because that gets awkward.

3    3. Walking in the Woods – Sometimes I just need to be away from everyone. I need to power down completely and push aside all the stimulation living in the modern world throws at us 24/7. Walking in the woods centers me. It allows me to empty the clutter that builds up in my mind and be more receptive to inspiration. I find that sitting on the leaf-covered ground, sunlight warming me, reboots my system. It’s important to take time to reopen your creative channels however works best for you. When I try to go, go, go, I often don’t go anywhere. Retreating to the woods gets the creative juices flowing again.

4    4. Listening to Music – Songs stimulate visual imagery for me. I listen to a song and imagine the video I’d put with it. Music works best for me when I’m actually already writing a story. I’ve found that the right music makes all the difference in the word flow. Sometimes a simple station change from one genre of music to another opens the flood gates protecting the words. Music also helps me block out any noise happening around me while I’m trying to write.

5    5. Advertisements – You know, the ones that come in the Sunday paper? I sometimes page through those to find outfits for my characters. As a victim of twelve years of Catholic school uniforms, I have absolutely no fashion sense. Dressing myself is a challenge, never mind clothing my characters. When I read, I like to know what people are wearing so I try to incorporate that into my own books, but it isn’t easy for me. I don’t know what is currently in fashion. I pretty much like men in flannel shirts, jeans, and work boots, but I realize men do wear other things. I just have no idea what. The advertisements help me get inspiration so my characters don’t make the same fashion mistakes I do.

These are just some ways I find inspiration when I’m writing. They don’t always work all of the time, but they are in my writer’s toolkit for those emergency situations when the words get stuck.

Do you have any suggestions for me in terms of where to go or what to do when seeking inspiration? I’d love to hear them.

Toodles,

Chris

www.christinedepetrillo.weebly.com

When the #amwriting voices aren’t just in your head ~ by Leah St. James

Piggy-backing off Jannine’s post the other day about how BURIED TRUTH came about, I thought I’d share something that happened to me a few years ago at my day job. It hasn’t made its way into a published book yet, but it’s definitely in the works.

As I’ve mentioned a few times, I work for a local news organization. We publish the daily newspaper for our area. It’s not uncommon for visitors to stop into our lobby to get help with their accounts or to share “news.” (Once a woman stopped by to tell us she saw a cloud formation in the shape of Jesus. Another time a woman brought by an oddly shaped sweet potato.)  But sometimes the messages visitors bring really make me think. Like this instance...

Receptionist on the phone: "Leah? There's a ... gentleman in the lobby. He wants to speak with someone in the newsroom about a...uh...a story he wants published."

Me (sighing, not too subtly):  "Really? I'm so busy. Can you take his name and number? Or tell him to leave a copy?"

Receptionist:  "He won't leave until he speaks to someone personally." (Big pause while I tried to figure out a way to squirm out of the request.) Then she whispered, "He said God told him to come."

Me: "God? As in, you know, the guy upstairs...in heaven, I mean?"

Receptionist: "Yes. God. THE God."

Me:  "I'll be down in a minute."

I'm not sure why I gave in so easily, relatively speaking, but I went downstairs and introduced myself to the man. He was maybe in his mid-60s and called himself "Golden Boy." He proceeded to tell me he'd done terrible things in his life. Because of his choices, he'd lost his wife and his children. (Thankfully he clarified that they were estranged, not dead.) He'd been to jail and served time for serious crimes.   

While he spoke, his eyes remained on mine, steadily, without a blink. 

In his hand he held a laminated sheet of pinkish-purple notepaper. At the top of the sheet he'd written, "God said," followed by a series of sentence fragments, prophecies of the end of the world by means of cataclysmic natural events, exhorting the reader to publish. He handed it to me and watched while I read it.

My insides churned.  I looked up from the page. "I don't understand. Why did you bring this here?"   
   
Man: "The word needs to get out."

Me:  "I'm sorry, sir. We can't publish this."

Man: "I didn't say I wanted it published in the paper. I said I wanted the word to get out. I don't care what you do with it. God told me to bring it here. I'm looking in your eyes. I can see you understand. You do with it what you will."

With that, he turned to leave, looking back as he shouldered the door open. "God put it in your hands now. You're the one."

Even now as I think of that moment, shivers skitter up my spine.

When I told the editor about it, she asked me why I hadn't called security. I said, "He seemed harmless enough. It's not like he was going to kill me with paper cuts."

"Leah," she said with a kind of tone she typically reserves for a misbehaving puppy, "if someone comes in the lobby and says God sent him and that you're the one, call security."

I know she's right. And I know I'm terribly gullible at times. But the writer in me loves those encounters, the ones that wrap themselves around our imaginations and form the roots of our stories. The encounters with strangers that make us ask, “What if?”

What if God had sent him?

What if it was God's nudging that made me go down that day?

What if there is some message in there we were  supposed to impart to the world? (See my imagination running amok here!?)

I haven’t heard from him since, but judging by the natural disasters that have taken place in the years since, he might have been on to something.

Just thinking about it now, my brain is going in a dozen different directions that make me want to start writing, start shaping those thoughts into a story...enough so I’m tempted to put aside my long-suffering WIP to get started! Maybe I’ll use it as incentive instead: Leah, you can work on the “You’re the One” story ONLY WHEN you finish your current WIP.” Who knows, it might work!

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Leah writes stories of mystery and romance, good and evil, and the power of love. She blogs here on the 6th and 22nd of each month.  Learn more about her writing at leahstjames.com or visit her on Facebook.

Happy reading!

What the heck do headlights, trains, and little girls have to do with romance? by Mackenzie Crowne

One of the most commonly asked questions a writer receives is, Where do you get the ideas for your stories? The quick answer is, Everywhere. That’s because life provides the seed for every story, whether it be a song lyric that hits your ears at just the right time, a news headline, a funny comment overheard…

Photo © Adobe Stock 

Or something as simple as an elderly man holding a small valise and a bouquet of flowers as he waits for a train.

Last summer, I had the opportunity to attend the RWA convention in Manhattan. With thousands of romance authors roaming the city, I found myself grinning as I imagined how many romance seeds were planted that weekend. I did a little HEA farming myself, in Penn Station, no less. As I stood waiting for my train, my gaze was drawn to an elderly man waiting several feet away.

I smiled at the colorful flowers clutched in his thin hand and couldn’t help wondering, where are you going? Who are the flowers for? He looked adorable and quite dapper in his button down suit, complete with bow tie, a fedora tugged low on his brow. Of course, he must be meeting a woman. Who was she? And would she be charmed by his interest, or would she break his heart?

I write romance, and my characters are typically in their early thirties, so of course, my mind quickly slipped a young heroine into the picture. She’d sit next to the old man on the train and…

The possibilities are endless.

On the road to the compound

For me, at least, those seeds normally sprout sideways, never taking me where I first thought they would. Like the idea that came from the flash of headlights, believe it or not. My husband and I have a getaway cabin on the side of Mt. Graham east of Tucson. We call it our compound...long story. We were headed to the property late one night. It’s pretty rough terrain, with lots of sharp dips and steep climbs on the dirt road leading in. With no moon to guide us that night, the sky was pitch black. As we topped a rise, far off in the distance on another peak, a bright beam of light suddenly appeared, shooting straight into the sky.

Now, I live in Phoenix, and many here in the southwest would have immediately thought ALIENS! Because, you know. It’s the desert. That’s where the aliens always hang out. Seriously. Roswell isn’t far away. Anyway, I didn’t go the alien route. For whatever reason, I imagined the beam more like the light shining through a door that had suddenly been opened. A portal of sorts. One that could transport someone from one spot to another, anywhere in the world, and maybe, any time in the world. Oh, the possibilities...

You’re probably thinking, ah, Mac found the seed for a sci-fi time-travel romance set in the mountains of southern Arizona, but you’d be wrong. In the end, that seed bloomed into a contemporary fantasy romance set in Ireland. Yeah, I know. The odd path the story took threw me a little too, but that flash of headlights was the birth of my first published book.

Just over a year ago, a pair of twin girls I saw one day while shopping became the seed for what eventually morphed into Players, my sports romance series. Don’t ask me how I went from those cute little girls to an MMA champion finding his HEA with country music’s “It Girl” in book #3 in the series, To Win Her Heart. Even I can’t explain how my imagination works, but these days, I’m not fazed in the least when the seeds grow sideways. Instead, I embrace the possibilities and remember…they’re endless.

In order to protect her, they’ll both have to let their guards down…

Country music’s It Girl Jessi Tucker is fed up with her family’s stifling security measures. The threat of a dangerous stalker has gotten the men in her life—including her football star cousin, Tuck Tucker—monitoring her every move. To get the freedom she yearns for, Jessi hatches a plan to recruit Max Grayson, Tuck’s sexy brawler best friend, to play the role of her new boyfriend. But if her scheme works, will she be forced to hide her true romantic feelings for the sake of her independence? Or will she finally steal the heart of her dream man?...

Max has been pining for Jessi for years and would do anything to protect her, but a professional cage fighter with too many skeletons in his closet has no business being with one of America’s sweethearts. Yet while Max does his best to keep Jessi at arm’s length, the Tucker family persuades him to accept her offer.

Max believes he can keep Jessi safe from danger, but can he shelter her from his own dark secrets, the media’s unforgiving spotlight—and a mutual desire that’s harder to resist each day…

Players Series titles available in all formats at Kensington Publishing

Mackenzie Crowne writes contemporary romance with a side of sass. 

Her friends call her Mac. She hopes you will too. 

Visit her website at mackenziecrowne.com, find her on Facebook, or follow her on Twitter twitter.com/MacCrowne.

I See Stories Everywhere by Alison Henderson

This morning while I was driving down Carmel Valley Road on my way to the grocery store, I drove alongside a pair of black BMW X5s with New Jersey plates traveling in tandem. Now coastal California is a LONG drive from New Jersey. I immediately wondered what their story was. When I mentioned it to OG when I got home, he suggested they might be here doing some road testing on behalf of the manufacturer or maybe getting ready to film a commercial on the Bixby Bridge in Big Sur. He’s probably right, but how mundane. My hypothesis was much more colorful. Can we say gangsters on the run, anybody?

Because we live in a tourist destination, I see cars with license plates from all over the U.S. and Canada all the time. And I always wonder the same thing: what’s their story? Does anyone else do this? I can’t help it. When I was little growing up in Kansas, I wondered about the story behind every abandoned farmhouse along the highway between home and my grandparents’ house in Junction City. I imagined all kinds of romantic and/or tragic scenarios. I was disappointed to later learn the answer was simple economics: they were likely victims of the Great Depression.

Many writers use bits of strangers’ conversations as inspiration. I don’t seem to do that. I’m more visual. I see people like the young woman in the shopping center parking lot wearing a zipped up ski parka and rhinestone encrusted flip flops in fifty-six degree weather and wonder: what’s her story? Or I drive past a lavish mansion or dilapidated shack and speculate about the lives of the occupants, both past and present. My first book, a historical romance set in 1866 Missouri, was inspired by an antebellum house in Kansas City I’d driven past hundreds of times.

I blame my active imagination for my becoming a writer. I need an outlet for all these conjectures—otherwise my head might explode. Sometimes I wish I could call up orderly ideas on demand, but alas, that rarely happens. And when it does, it’s never as much fun.

I might never be any good at creating a strong, consistent author brand, but at least I don’t have to worry about running out of ideas. I see stories everywhere!

Alison

www.alisonhenderson.com

Thoughts from a Newbie

By Betsy Ashton

Yes, I'm a newbie to this group. I'm honored to be here and share my weird sense of the world with you all. Two seconds of commercial: I'm a published author of Mad Max Unintended Consequences. I'm involved in three writers groups. Two are critique groups, one at Smith Mountain Lake, the other in Roanoke. And I didn't duck when asked to be the president of the state-wide Virginia Writers Club. Commercial over.

I think about where we get ideas for stories all the time. Nothing new for those of us who write because we must. I must breathe. I must write. But, sometimes stories pop up where they're least expected.

I'm testing the best way to market my novel. Book signings. Social media. Book fairs. I don't know what works best yet, but I'm learning with each venue. Last weekend I went to a two-day book fair. I sold some books. I signed some books. I don't think this was my audience, though. Still, I was fascinated by the insularity of the people who came to the book fair.

Without telling you too much, the fair was part of a street festival in Appalachia. Most of the buyers were from the local area or the mountains of North and South Carolina. Many were transplants from the North. They were like me and were interested in my story. I didn't find much new material from them, though.

What was of interest were the stories from the locals. Most spoke about living on the mountain or down the mountain. Most lived within 50 miles (or less) of where they were born. High school teachers caught up with students who had books for sale. Lots of mountain music, with a dulcimer-and-banjo-playing couple who were joined by a writer who played fiddle. Lots of writers flat-footing in the open space between rows of tables. What got me to thinking was what would it be like to leave one of these insular communities, only to return later after having seen the world.

What would the escapee learn? Why would she return? What would she bring back to her community? Would she be an outcast? I used the windshield time coming home to think about how to weave this into a plot. Since I'm working on a serial killer piece in my spare time, many of the sounds and smells from the weekend can make their way into this WIP. Some of the phrases will, no doubt about it.

Will I return to the venue next year? I don't know. Maybe if I need validation for the WIP. Probably not with the idea of selling tons of books. Maybe to keep my name in front of potential readers. Probably not for both days, though. That was a huge investment of time.

My current book is about a socialite who returns to Richmond to care for her injured daughter and decide if she's going to help raise her grandchildren. Not Appalachian at all. Book two in that series takes the socialite and family to post-Katrina Mississippi. Not Appalachian at all. But the serial killer work might sell well. What do you think? Ideas, fellow Roses?