Inspiring

I can imagine a dozen scenarios to fit this image. Can you?

I is for Inspiration... I is for Imagery

I find thrilling the moment when fresh inspiration strikes. Then, there are the times when writing feels like searching, pulling, digging, tearing at bits of something, anything to fit somehow the puzzle of what I am trying to write. As for the puzzle part, my writing does tend to become a puzzle because I tend to dream up images, scenes, characters..., which I then need to piece together with a unified plot.

When inspiration does shine through for me, I find that if I don't record my thoughts, they disappear. Today, I had a moment of inspiration. Needless to say, I took the time to jot it down. Here is what I came up with:

With his trimmed blonde hair, broad shoulders, and tall, athletic posture, the frame of solid masculinity that left her consciously remembering to take a breath, he retreated down the hallway, through the golden-yellow office, the warm brown kitchen, the dimly-lit den - passed through the 4 doorways, only 1 door at the end to block, allowing a single moment of hesitation before slipping out. He was gone.

Rooted to the wooden floor, limbs heavy and unmoving, unable to follow him, she heard the resounding echoes from the plodding kitchen wall clock arm signaling the fleeting time.

In the novel I am currently dreaming up, there are three different relationships I can imagine this scene happening with, but I have yet to decide how it best fits into my plot...

A Fairy Tale: The Lake of the Lovely

Once upon a time, there was a beautiful princess who lived on an island in the center of the Lake of the Lovely. This princess lived alone, away from her family at the castle because she had a very important job - to protect her people from drinking from the lake. She worked hard day and night to watch the fisherman and the playing children and the joggers and the hikers and any other people whose activities lured them near the lake. However, many people did not appreciate her work or like her at all.

Everyone knew that the waters of the Lake of the Lovely held a magical secret. Far and wide, it was said that anyone who drinks from the lake becomes more beautiful than ever before during the next full cycle of sleep. Many believed that the princess was evil and worked to guard them from the waters so that she, herself, could remain the most beautiful girl in the kingdom.

One day, a pretty girl named Lucinda came out of the woods and stood by the edge of the Lake of the Lovely. She wanted to become more beautiful so that she could attract the attention of a boy that she liked. She talked and flirted with him frequently, but he was interested in someone else. Lucinda thought she was alone when she kneeled beside the lake until the princess appeared beside her.

"Please do not drink the water, Lucinda. It will not make you happy." Lucinda believed that she would marry the boy if he could see how beautiful she was to become.

"Don't be greedy, Princess. You can't keep all this lake to yourself," said Lucinda. The princess was sad because no one understood her. For the first time in her life, she said, "Okay, Lucinda. I will give you one opportunity to drink from the Lake of the Lovely, but you must listen to me first. There is something that you must know. There are two kinds of beauty - the kind that people see on the outside, the face of it all - and the kind that people must get to know on the inside, the heart of the matter. When a person drinks from the Lake of the Lovely, her outer beauty is transformed to match her inner beauty."

The fair Lucinda did not think twice about the princess's words. She dipped her head into the water and took a great gulp. She then ran home as fast as she could to ensure she would be tired. She jumped straight into bed and slept all night long.

In the morning, Lucinda's mother came to wake her for school but was surprised to find a broken mirror and an angry, homely girl who faintly resembled her daughter.

Surrounded

"Dude, I think they're doin' recon."

"Here in a minute we'll see a Big Mac on a string flop over into the boat," whispered Robert, flashing a sideways glance toward his fishing buddy.

"Right, man," whispered Josh, his mouth corner tightening to a half smile as a small mouth disappeared into his rippled reflection.

Relationships

One element that I would like to focus on in my writing is the parent-child relationship. Somehow I would like to present a moment between a child and parent, and then present their individual points of view about the experience. My mother-in-law once said, "I try to believe that all parents are the best parents that they know how to be." There is never enough experience or research that can prepare a parent to act or react to every situation, and in some ways, children and their parents are similarly along for the ride, coping with life as it comes, and learning myriad lessons along the way.

In my story, I have developed a variety of parent-child relationships to explore that span age and gender possibilities. I strive to create a real depiction of the human condition but with a touch here and there of the super natural. Critical pieces of human development are our relationships, especially those between parents and children beginning at, well, conception.

Spring Has Sprung!

I cannot believe the months have flown by so quickly! Last time I posted, it was January... and here we are. Easter is coming up this weekend. Wow!

Spring is a time for renewal and change, and that is exactly what is going on in my home life. My husband and I are house-hunting for the first time, and although it is quite a chore and extremely nerve-wracking, I am enjoying every minute of it. We put in an offer on a house yesterday evening, but apparently our offer was not the only one that has been put in on it. So, we are leaving everything in God's hands. If it is meant for us to buy this house, so be it, and if not, then we plan to spend all day next Saturday continuing our search... All in all, the home front is full of excitement.

As for work, all is well. The school year is wrapping up nicely. We are currently on spring break, and when we return next week, we will only have 8 weeks left... but really, who's counting?

In regard to my writing, yes, I am still writing away here at home when I get the spare time or random inspiration, but I am stuck on a few things that I need to work out. I am trying to develop conflicts for my characters because, quite frankly, a plot cannot move without conflict and characters actions and reactions to the conflict. We'll see what happens...

Quiet

House full: family, friends,
Familiar faces, and
Welcomed acquaintances tend
To the covered dishes
Flowing from countertop to table’s end.

Open gift bags followed by trails of toys,
Games, books, crayons, pencils, markers, dolls, and laughter.
Children play with looks of joy.
Time ticks to trinkets and talking.
Keeping them busy, a difficult ploy.

The house swells with visitors, cards, condolences
Leading up to the big day.
The house cat hides, winces
Until the visitors go away.
Joyful sadness overwhelms his senses.

Respects are paid.
Visitors slowly trail away.
Husband, father, brother, son, friend; to rest he is laid.
His wife and two daughters, together at the end of the day
To carry the burden, heavy, until now unweighed.

Quiet household crying
Tears of remembrance
Comforted by the housecat lying
Next to them.
A world left sighing.

Reflection

Sitting at Granna's antique vanity, Jayme admired the tiny, hand-painted roses at the top of the mirror. Her eyes drifted down to her own reflection. Her hair lay just below her shoulders. Remembering the family picture in the hall taken before the divorce when her hair had hung just below her chin, Jayme whispered, "Has it been so long?"

With a sigh, she borrowed a clip to pin up her growing mane. Then, she carried herself to her room and knelt by the bed. Beneath her bed, Jayme reached beyond the bed skirt to retrieve a box, the contents of which she had been determined to leave packed until the time that her parents would grow to love each other again and move the family back to their home.

"It's time to unpack."

On the edge

Standing there at the edge of the continent, her toes touching the sea for the first time in her life, a few strands of shiny gray glistened in the sun as it reached her wind tossed brown hair. "I still ain't satisfied," she said. "I can't see what's on the other side."

(3.18) All for the Best

Sitting on the back porch swing, Donna lifted the glass of lukewarm water to her lips. Even without the ice, it was refreshing to her on this hot, summer night after a long day's work. The girls and Granna were already sleeping, and Donna was winding down for the night. Kicking off her shoes, she lifted her bare feet onto the swing and smoothed her soft, cotton skirt over her knees. On nights like this, under a blanket of stars, Donna could let her mind roam free. Sometimes into the future, but tonight into the past.

She would never forget the day she told the girls. She feared their empty eyes would never fill with joy or hope again.

"There is something I need to tell you." Why couldn't he have been there? Why couldn't he face them?

There they were, sitting on the patio after dinner. It had been Lizzie's turn to do the dishes that night. She had the blue and white dish towel in her hands.

"Your father and I... Daddy and I... have been talking, and we have decided that we need to take some time apart. It would be healthy for all of us."

"Where are you going?" asked Lizzie.

"Nowhere. I will always be with you. Daddy is going on a trip for work, and we are going to stay together while he is away."

"You're getting a divorce, aren't you?" shouted Courtney with anger in her eyes. "He is leaving us!"

"Courtney, it isn't like that. We need some space. Sometimes couples just need space... and time... to think as individuals. Daddy works hard, and he needs to take this promotion because he deserves it. Let's support him in this. In the meantime, we'll take care of ourselves and be just fine."

Donna remembered the tear-stained faces of Jayme and Lizzie as they were comforted by Courtney on the day that their father left for his flight. They had decided not to go with him to the airport that day.

Shaking her head as she lifted the glass one more time, Donna reminded herself, Everything is as it should be. All for the best. All for the girls. At last, something also for me.

Surrender to the Night

Fires blazing in this red, hot mind.

I see the sun high in the sky.

Now, I am blind.

Stepping out of this hamster wheel,

Pain only I can produce, but why?

Only I know how you feel.

Refocus, calm the night.

Moonbeams soothe the shadows.

Wake tomorrow in new light.

8/8/2008

I’ll never forget his appearance.

“I remember the alley and the house; it all used to look so much bigger.”

Pale, blue-green house,

Locked, chain link fence

Closing in the old car with a

Tire on the hood.

Old black jeans, hanging loosely from his thin waist.

“No way! I can’t believe this!”

Cracked sidewalks,

Children pedaling slowly by on

Aged bicycles.

The high school down the street is closed.

Faded blue t-shirt pressing against the new, blue polo.

“It’s been sixteen years.”

No questions to ask.

Everything is clear.

The door is closed.

The small wooden steps can sustain the pressure of the two.

Soiled, worn, only time could know – the red and white hat.

“I want you to meet someone.”

The old truck in the driveway.

The old man sits in his kitchen, smoking.

The door is open.

He knows – we all know – about the letters she wrote.

The once-white tennis shoes must have walked miles in the well-known path - inescapable.

“You’re better off down there.” The

Search leads to honesty and truth.

No empty words. Hesitancy as

Time steals away with the meeting.

The summer sun burns the dry, brown grass.

The frail, exhausted body – sincere embrace.

“Y’all get outta here.”

Fifteen minutes slip away in the moment that does not

Last.

Ten hours into the night – a lifetime – to contemplate the profound experience - reflect.

There is no handbook for the human condition.

–WS 8/20/2008

(3.17) One-Minute Writer: Aging

It had been one week since Donna McGhee and her daughters moved in with Granna. Every night since the move-in, Granna took great pride in escorting her youngest granddaughter, Lizzie, to bed. As Granna tucked the soft, yellow sheets under Lizzie's chin, Lizzie looked up at her, asking, "Granna, what's it like to be old?"

"Well, I have a beautiful family of children and grandchildren, and I have many, many memories and stories to tell about. The only disadvantage is that sometimes my memory deceives me now, or that I may not have much time left to share my stories. But, the beauty of it is that when I tell you and your sisters my stories, I know you'll remember them and share them forever."

"Being old isn't so bad, is it Granna?"

"No, it isn't so bad, Lizzie."

(3.16) What Makes You Happy

"Where are you going?"

"I can't stay for dinner," he said as he lifted his coat from the wooden rack by the door.  

"The lab can wait."

"These grad students don't know what they're doing.  If I don't finalize these reports by Monday, we'll lose the grant money!"

"She's there right now, isn't she?  If she spends so much time shadowing you, she should be able to finish for herself by now."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Do what makes you happy."

Donna tossed the twisted dishrag onto the gray, marble countertop.  She had been wrenching the cloth in her hands as she spoke.

"Eat your chicken, Lizzie," she said as she turned the corner into the dining room.  

The kitchen door opened and closed.  The screen door smacked the frame with a metalic clack.

(3.15) The Empty House

    The Empty House

 

"Daddy!" screeched Lizzie excitedly as she read the number on the caller ID. Jayme ran to the ringing phone on the wall and pulled the receiver to her ear.

    "Hello?"

    ---

    "Just great, Dad. School has been really tough and was boring today, but that's okay because Courtney came, and we got out early, and…"

    ---
    "Well, no, Dad. She just left."

    ---

    "Well, she didn't exactly run off, I don't think. She was with a friend, and he was on a schedule."

    ---

    "She's here, and Mom's here, and Granna's here." Catching the reference to herself, Lizzie shouted, "I'm here!" She then pulled the phone from her sister and began to tell her father about her day, from eating a homemade breakfast of Granna's finest buttermilk biscuits to the excitement of skipping out on the not-so-homemade elementary school lunch. As she listened to Lizzie ramble her day's details to their father, Donald McGhee, Jayme pulled out a wooden, kitchen chair, took a seat, and watched Granna's bird feeder sway softly in the breeze outside the window.

    The bird feeder hung from a tree branch because it was more difficult for the squirrels to ravish it that way, but they still snuck down to get their fill from time to time. Granna also had a beautiful, blue bird house that was attached to the side of the same tree. Donald, her son, had helped her hang it two years ago. Jayme remembered watching her father with his hammer and nails hanging from his belt as he had climbed the ladder to reach just the right spot on the tree. It was perfect. However, although it was spring already, no birds had moved in this year. Many random birds would fly in throughout the day to peck at the food, but none of them brought their families to live in the empty house.

Be a Person on Whom Nothing is Lost

"Therefore, if I should certainly say to a novice, 'Write from experience and experience only,' I should feel that this was rather a tantalising monition if I were not careful immediately to add, 'Try to be one of the people on whom nothing is lost!"

from "The Art of Fiction" by Henry James

(3.14) The Mothers McGhee

The Mothers McGhee

 

Elizabeth McGhee greeted her granddaughters at the front door of her home, welcoming them each inside with a warm smile and a hug before they entered the living room.

    "Go on out to the back patio, girls. Find a seat, and I'll bring out some tea!"

    "Thanks, Granna," replied Courtney, as she followed her sisters out the back door. Before she took her seat at the picnic table, a voice from behind her said, "Come here, girl!"

    "Mom!" exclaimed Courtney. "I wasn't sure if you would make it or not." Donna McGhee walked around to the back of Granna's house, suspecting that the girls and Granna would be celebrating there.

    "I wouldn't miss your first visit back! You know that. Employers are understanding of these things." As the girls settled around the picnic table with their mother, Granna brought out her signature summertime sweet tea. The weather wasn't quite warm enough just yet, but according to Granna, this was "as good an occasion as any summer" to drink her sweet tea. In fact, this was cause for celebration.

    In the 7 months since Courtney left for college, Donna and Granna had been adjusting to their new lifestyle. Having just moved in with Granna 2 weeks before Courtney's big move, Donna had only just begun to acclimate to the changes. Although she knew they moved in to help Granna as she was encountering more and more physical challenges as her age progressed, there were many times that Donna wondered if somehow Granna were actually caring for her instead. At any rate, she appreciated Granna's morning and afterschool help with the girls.

    Having sent Courtney, her oldest daughter, away to college to build a strong future for herself, Donna was working hard to find her own perfect job and support her girls. Until the separation, Donna had always stayed at home with her children while Donald worked at the university. Often she thought, Remember, no time has been wasted. I spent most of the happiest years of my life with him. I have my girls. However, in the back of her mind, the pressures of finding a choice career were there. Donald would contribute financially, but his contrite efforts were unwanted. For now, she would follow her mantra that she always shared with her daughters, "Do your best." Do your best, Donna. That's as much as anyone can do.

    Donna and the rest of the inhabitants of Granna's household enjoyed having lunch with Courtney that spring afternoon, but it seemed to end all too soon.

    "Don't stay away so long this time, baby," said Granna.

    "We'll be up in a couple of weeks. Are you sure you don't want me to drive you back to the school? Why doesn't your friend come pick you up here? I would like to meet him," said Donna as she passed Courtney's handbag to her. Courtney replied, "No, don't worry about it. You'll meet him sometime, I guess. He just isn't from this area, he knows the drop-off spot at the school, and I don't want him to get lost."

    "It is only a couple of blocks away."

    "I know, Mom. He's also on a tight time schedule today, and I don't want to make him late for his interview this evening." Courtney said her goodbyes and walked the stretch back to the school building, collecting her thoughts along the way.

(Inspiration 3.13) Experimenting with Conflict-driven Plot

I continue to develop episodes about the McGhee family, but still I have yet to determine a clear plot for my novel.  So, in my notebook, I've started a list for each main character.  The list begins with Jayme McGhee, and I've developed a mini-plot outline for her including the major conclicts in her life that will move her plot thread throughout the book.  Two questions I asked myself are these: Ultimately, what are Jayme's problems and what will she accomplish by the end of the novel?  After developing this rough sketches of plot threads for each major character, I will try my best to weave them together.  Hopefully, the final product will be a unified, seamless novel with a successful plot.

(Inspiration 3.12) The Sisters McGhee

 

The Sisters McGhee

 

Her powder-pink stiletto clicking on the sidewalk, she leaned back in to peck the driver on the cheek before lifting her left foot out of the car, adjusting her patterned, silk skirt, and slipping her wrist beneath the strap of her new, Genna de Rossi handbag.

"Be back here at 3:00," he said as she stepped out of the car, holding one hand on the door. Almost as quickly as she slammed the door, the car was halfway down the block.

It had been 7 months since her last visit. Sliding her rose-tinted sunglasses above her face and into her hair, she remembered the hot, summer sun that had burned the August sky. The sky now appeared to be a frozen, winter white. Her father's house was empty.

Now, here facing the tall, brick building, she fastened her thin hair into a low, loose, pony tail and made her way to the entrance. A sign on the door was labeled: Visitors to Daniel Boone Middle School, please check in at the main office. A thin, eager smile crept across her face as Courtney McGhee opened the large, glass door.

 

­œ

 

The morning sun spread its rays through the open window and lit up the old, black chalkboard as Ms. Boring announced the morning journal topic of the day: 

 

"If I were a superhero, my superpower would be..."

 

The 13-year-old's bright, blue eyes slowly spanned the chalk-written phrase... She never knew exactly what to write about for these things, but after all, Ms. Boring explained time after time that these journals were merely practice in creative writing.

    "Expand your mind!  Tap into your creativity!  Writing takes practice... Practice, practice, practice!"

    Okay, she thought, pushing her long, blonde hair behind her shoulders. Think, think.  Super powers?  Plain-Jane, Jayme. What super power could I ever have?  

    Jayme McGhee sat in the back corner of the classroom, cloaked in the shadow of Ms. Boring's tall bookcase. As she contemplated her journal topic, Jayme stared out from her shadow and through the window on the opposite side of the classroom. After coming back to school in January, she had been watching the tall, winter-bare oak outside the window slowly evolve into a luscious, green tree. The flourishing tree had also become the springtime home to families of birds and squirrels.

    A head full of short, black hair bobbed in front of Jayme's window view. The hair could only belong to Kyle Foxx. Jayme sat up in her desk and watched Kyle consider his own superpowers. Her eyes combed through every feature of his face, which was now practically glowing by the sunlight. Jayme watched as Jessica Madison leaned over to the edge of her seat, discreetly passing a note to Kyle.

    Jessica's short, blonde hair was different than Jayme's hair. Jayme's hair was dark, caramel blonde. Sitting in the shadow of the bookcase, she twirled a lock of her own hair around her fingers, comparing it to the bright, lemony, blonde hair of Jessica, which seemed to attract the warm sun. As Kyle looked up from the secret message and flashed a quick, brilliant smile to Jessica, Jayme, her chin resting on her loosely clinched fist, released a quiet sigh, secretly wishing that she herself could have been passing the note, a note, any note, to Kyle at that very moment. Regardless of proximity, there was something else that Jessica possessed that Jayme did not – that extra something that meant during lunch time, Kyle would sit at Jessica's table – not at Jayme's table. In fact, Jayme wasn't so sure that she even had "a table." Struggling to understand this social phenomenon, Jayme thought, How does she do it? How does she attract guys like Kyle? Suddenly, it came to her!

    She began to write:

 

If I were a superhero, my super power would be the power of attraction!

~ Plain-Jane Jayme

 

Whatever it was that attracted so many friends – and boys – to Jessica, Jayme wanted that, too. She imagined the possibilities of such a power….

 

­œ

    "I watched the clock all morning. I thought you guys would never get here!" shouted Lizzie cheerfully at Courtney and Jayme as they strolled out the doors of John Battle Elementary School.

    "She had to check me out first ya know," said Jayme, putting her hand on Lizzie's shoulder. Smiling, Courtney held Lizzie's hand as she asked, "What's new in the 5^th grade?"

    "This kid laughed at me in Art today, and I counted to ten like Jayme said. Lucky for him 'cuz I was pretty mad."

    "What did he say exactly?" inquired Courtney.

    "He made fun of my title," replied Lizzie. Jayme interjected, "Explain! Details, details… Remember, we weren't there. What were you doing in Art today?"

    "Oh, Ms. Davis asked us to paint watercolor pictures, so I painted the pond. You know, the one behind Granna's house!"

    "What a great idea!"

    "Thanks, Courtney! And I picked the greatest title, too. Ms. Davis said to pick a title that represents our picture the best, and my title for my pond was Granna. And then, Arthur Morin laughed at me, and he said my picture didn't look anything like a grandma."

    "Did you explain it to him?"

    "Heck, no! You guys came in finally, and here I am!" smiled Lizzie as if her sisters had saved the day.

    Putting her arm around Jayme, who was shaking her head at Lizzie's story, Courtney looked from Jayme to Lizzie as she said, "Hey, let's go see Granna and grab a bite to eat. I think Mom might even meet us for lunch today."

    "If she gets off work," said Jayme. Stopping to kick off her pink heels and put them in her bag, Courtney said, "She'll get away. Gosh, I've missed you all! Let's go."

    

(Inspiration 3.11) Scripted Sundays: A Love Note

My Dearest Donna,

 

You have always been my best friend, and I love you with all my heart. You have been a dear wife and partner; you are an amazing mother to our children. 

 

I’m sorry, Donna, that our interests have diverged.  I’m sorry that I haven’t been the husband that you deserve for far too long than I can say.  I do not blame you for staying.  Our children will be better for it.  Please forgive me for hurting you and our girls. 

 

Although there is great distance between us now, I will hold you in my heart forever.  Our memories are dear to me, and our future, although very different than we planned, will be bright as it ever could be.  I love you always.

 

Sincerely,

 

Don

The Road Not Taken (Robert Frost)

 

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveler, long I stood

And looked down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth;        

 

Then took the other, as just as fair,

And having perhaps the better claim,

Because it was grassy and wanted wear;

Though as for that the passing there

Had worn them really about the same,        

 

And both that morning equally lay

In leaves no step had trodden black.

Oh, I kept the first for another day!

Yet knowing how way leads on to way,

I doubted if I should ever come back.        

 

 I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.