Writing Walks

by Carleen Brice

Need a clue? Take a hike.

I get some of my best ideas while I’m “not working.” Washing dishes, raking, weeding, walking. In fact, I often write while walking whether I intend to or not. There’s something about moving the body that gets the brain working creatively, and, for many writers, there’s something specifically about walking that works.

But I find that getting an idea isn’t the hard part. Read all the rest of the blog posts here for excellent tips on where to find ideas or how to generate them from your own life. For me the hard part is how to nourish that idea—how to keep feeding it so it stays alive and grows into something more.

For me, holding a whole story in my mind and heart is hard. With 300 or 400 pages of thoughts and actions, stuff gets lost. I can’t count the number of times (don’t even want to know!) I have written a scene only later to go back and find that scene doesn’t make sense because of something that came before it. One of the ways I know to keep the whole story fresh in my mind is to tell it to myself as I would tell it to a friend. And the best way I’ve found to do that is to put on my sneakers and start walking. As I walk, I imagine a good friend next to me, and I tell her the story like I’d tell the story of another book I read and really loved.

Over the course of a year or two or three or however long it takes to write that story, I will have to tell it to myself over and over again.

What about when I don’t know the whole thing? How does a writing walk help then? Well, I tell myself what I know so far about the people in the story and what’s happening to them. Walking while imagining my people lets me get out of my own head and my own way and immerse myself in the world of my story. On a good day I can write an entire scene in an hour walk.

Next time you’re feeling stuck or feel like you could use some fresh energy, hit the trails. (Don’t forget to take a small notebook or a smartphone!)

FYI, this is my last post as a member of the Girlfriends Book Club. Thanks Karin and all the members for the insights you’ve shared and for your support! I’ll still be a reader of the blog and hope to be back as a guest when my next book comes out. If you want to keep in touch in the meantime, please follow me on Twitter or friend me on Facebook.

The Idea Store

by Judy Merrill Larsen

A few years ago, I went to see the lovely Elizabeth Berg at one of her book signings/readings. She's delightful--kind, a little shy, funny, friendly. I love her. Someone asked her, "Where do you get your ideas?" She smiled and said, "Why, at the Idea Store!" Everyone laughed. I thought to myself, I'm betting she's been asked that same question a million times. And might be a little tired of it.



And I wondered if she'd mind if I stole her answer. Because it's perhaps the most common question authors get--along with wondering why we haven't called Oprah. (Answer: No one knows her number. And we'd probably all cut off an arm to get it.)

Because here's the thing--if I go looking for an idea, I'll never find it. And lots of really great, fabulous, amazing ideas never pan out. And, in general, I don't even know I have an idea that's going to work at first.

They sneak up on me and start nagging. I fumble around wondering what string to pull that will help the story. And I pull at a bunch of loose strings that turn into knots or are little scraps that pull out completely. But I never know until I pull.



Which makes for all kinds of fun.

With ALL THE NUMBERS, my first novel, the idea stemmed from a random conversation with my best friend as we sat on the dock at her lake house watching our kids playing in the water. One comment. And poof, an entire story.

Another manuscript started with a photograph from childhood and whispered stories about "that family next door."

Yet another came from a tiny, one paragraph news article about something found under a bed when a family was cleaning out their deceased grandma's home.

And of course, there are lots of other ideas that never survived the "string test". Or so I think now. But, down the road? Who knows what spark will bounce back to some of those strings. And that's thrilling because they are rarely what you think you'll be. Rarely where you think they'll lead. And, in many ways, the whole writing process for me is one of pulling and tugging at strings . . . a character sees something or makes a comment and before I know it, often without my consent, we're chasing down another road wondering what's around the next turn or over the hill.



Of course, all this wondering has made me wonder something else . . . just as I sometimes think I'd love to be able to pop in to an Idea Store after I've browsed the racks at J Jill, what would your fantasy store hold?

I live in St. Louis, MO with my husband, am the mom/stepmom to five kids (ages 19-27), and taught high school English for 15 years. I'm over on Facebook and Twitter . My first novel, ALL THE NUMBERS was published in 2006.

Celebrity Authors--They're Just Like Us*!!

Cindy Jones Impersonating a Celebrity Author

By Cindy Jones

Famous authors frequently stop in Dallas to promote their books and, after my debut novel sold, I began to envision myself behind a podium.  From my front row seat I took notes on subject matter, recorded how much time they devoted to each part of their talk, and filed away author jokes to appropriate later.  After listening to so many celebrity authors, I've decided a good talk is not about structure.  Instead of discovering the secret to entertaining an audience, I've discovered that—if you don't count the Pulitzer Prizes, Ivy League Professorships, and bestseller paychecks—celebrity authors are just like us*.    

  

•         They connect unlike things to create something new.  Jeffrey Eugenides connected the study of Semiotics with Jane Austen to create his novel, The Marriage Plot.
  
•          They seek obscure details.  Ian MacEwan, author of Saturday, visited an operating room—not to immerse himself in the scientific process—but to see what it looked, sounded, and felt like when doctors performed surgery.  Who knew they piped in rock music?  
  
•          They create worlds.  When asked how she conducts research for her historical fiction work-in-progress, Kathryn Stockett, author of The Help confessed that if she can't find it, she just makes up her facts!  
  
•          They're absent-minded.  Anne Lamott, promoting Traveling Mercies, apologized for wearing jeans to her talk at the Arts & Letters Live Series because--she forgot to pack her good pants.  
  
•          They get ideas everywhere.  Chip Kidd, who designs book covers for Knopf, got the idea for the Jurrasic Park cover after touring the Natural History Museum where he bought a dinosaur book.  He took a page to his copy machine, got out his tracing paper, and added ferocious claws to create the famous logo used in theme parks and motion pictures. 
  
•          They overcome obstacles.  Richard Ford, promoting his book, Independence Day, confessed that he suffers from dyslexia and had to work twice as hard as everyone else to learn to read. 
  
•          They’ve been writing since they could hold a pen.  Look who was writing before puberty:  Jane Austen, Louisa May Alcott, Margaret Atwood, and Carol Shields.  They would rather write than go outside for recess.  
•      They love the process

Take away point:  I've enjoyed learning about myself by listening to famous authors talk.  Suddenly my quirky personal traits make sense and I leave the auditorium with renewed energy to get back to work.  I've decided the secret to a successful talk is opening up enough for others to see something about themselves in what you say.  Assuming they are present because they love reading and writing, a good talk will make personal connections and inspire listeners to exercise their creative gifts.  (I still avoid recess in all its forms).  

• 
  *all creative writers 
• 
  
  Spring Break!--If you are in Corpus Christi, Texas on Tuesday, March 13, please join me for a Book Talk at Anita & W.T. Neyland Public  Library, 1230 Carmel Parkway, Corpus Christi at 5:30 pm and I will demonstrate what I’ve gleaned from observing Celebrity Authors.  For more details:  361-853-9961.

Cindy Jones is the author of My Jane Austen Summer.  Follow her:

Website
Blog

Facebook

Twitter

My Idea Bank

by Maria Geraci

The other day I went out to lunch with a good friend of mine (names changed to protect the innocent).

Friend: We're joining my friend, Annie, who loves your books!
Me: Awesome!
Friend: Yeah, she has some really great ideas for your next book!
Me: Awesome! (not)

So we went to lunch and had a perfectly lovely time. And yes, Annie did pitch her ideas to me, which I politely listened to.

Me: Those all sound great. You know, you should write your own book.
Annie: Me?
Me: Sure! Why not?

I really hope Annie doesn't take offense when none of her ideas show up in any of my books. Not that her ideas weren't funny or cute or whatever. They just weren't my ideas. And for me to spend a year of my life (between writing, rewriting, editing, revising, etc....) on a book, the idea has to be personal.

People always ask writers where they get their ideas from (probably the most cliched interview question ever) but it's still a great question because most likely, no two writers will answer it the same.

On average, all my books have stemmed from ideas that I've been spinning away in my head for at least a year. I believe the original thought comes from some place in my subconscious (yes, I'm going to get all woo-woo here). It's brought out to my conscious self by a seemingly innocent conversation, a newspaper story, an image, or something that all of a sudden makes me sit up and take notice. I then store it away and try not to think about it anymore. But... then I can't stop thinking about it. It marinates in my brain and keeps popping back to me until I feel really passionate about that idea and feel that I have to write about it.

The idea from my third published novel, The Boyfriend of the Month Club, actually came from the visual of a really tacky Florida gift shop. I envisioned that gift shop over and over in my head until it seemed that it was actually real. Then I thought about the manager of that gift shop and how she hated working there, but it was a family business and she was caught up in it, and well... you get the drift. That gift shop became the backdrop to the boyfriend club meetings and although it was a location, it seemed more like a real character.

The idea for my upcoming novel, A Girl Like You, came from a thirty second conversation on Real Housewives of Orange County (at least that's what I think the show is called because I'd never seen it before or since). I was flipping the channels and came across two women talking and one mentioned to the other that she'd just dropped her daughter off at college and how all the women in the dorm (or sorority house) were gorgeous and how was her daughter ever going to shine without an ugly friend next to her?

I immediately thought, "oh, no. What if you found out you were the ugly friend?"

I laughed, then put the idea out of my head. Only it wouldn't go away. It kept resurfacing until I saw my main character, saw her friends, saw the bar scene in which she overhears herself referred to as the "ugly friend." Those scenes wouldn't go away as well and I began to feel passionate about them. Until I felt enough passion to sit down at my computer and start to write.

So that's where my ideas come from. From my own personal idea bank where thoughts get deposited and sit and sit until I have to take them out because I can't allow them to just sit there any longer. My ideas become part of who I am as a writer, blending with my voice and my own personal themes. Because in the end, that's what its all about. You must feel passionate about your stories. You must love your story and love your characters. Because if you don't then no one else will.

How do you get your ideas? How do you flesh them out and create them into stories?

Maria Geraci was born in Havana, Cuba, and raised on Florida’s Space Coast. Her love of books started with the classic, Little Women (a book she read so often growing up, she could probably quote). She writes contemporary romance and women’s fiction with a happy ending. The Portland Book Review called her novel, The Boyfriend of the Month Club, “immensely sexy, immensely satisfying and humorous.” Her fourth novel, A Girl Like You, will be released August, 2012 by Berkley, Penguin USA. For more information, please visit her website at www.mariageraci.com

Crossing Genres—It's All Good - by Wendy Nelson Tokunaga

I was fortunate to be interviewed by Author Solutions at the San Francisco Writer’s Conference last month. The interviewer noted that, in addition to novels, I’ve written children’s nonfiction books, essays and short stories. She asked what the challenges and benefits are of crossing genres like this.

I had to think about that a bit. It wasn’t in my grand plan of becoming a published writer to consider whether crossing genres would be a good strategy—I just took advantage of any opportunity that came my way. I started out writing short stories, and was lucky enough to get a few published, and that led me to moving on to write novels. But before my novels got published, by a fluke I got the chance to write two kids’ non-fiction books—one on Niagara Falls and a bio of Christina Aguilera when she was still a teen sensation (pre Xtina!). My goal hadn’t been to be a children’s book author, but that didn’t stop me from giving this a shot.

These ended up being my first published books. My name appeared on the covers as the author, but I didn’t receive royalties since the publisher paid only a flat fee. It wasn’t the ideal situation, but I thought it was a terrific opportunity to get some publishing cred under my belt. And, not to mention, working with an editor and having real deadlines were valuable experiences that prepared me when I got my novels published later with a major house. Whether it’s been fiction vs. nonfiction or trad-pubbed vs. self-pubbed, I seem to have done it all, kind of flying by the seat of my pants.

And now this crossing genres has come full circle, with two new releases out this month.

My short story “Love Right on the Yesterday” is appearing in a wonderful YA anthology: Tomo: Friendship Through Fiction – An Anthology of Japan Teen Stories, edited by Holly Thompson and published by Stone Bridge Press. The book will benefit teens in Japan whose lives were upended by the earthquake and tsunami of March 11, 2011. Portions of the proceeds will be donated to the Japanese non-profit, HOPE FOR TOMORROW, to support ongoing relief efforts for teens in Japan.

And I was honored when the story was selected to be published in the Young Adult Review Network. You can read it HERE.

And crossing over into the non-fiction genre, my essay “Burning Up” appears in Madonna & Me: Women Writers on the Queen of Pop, edited by Laura Barcella and published by Soft Skull Press, including writers such as Caroline Leavitt and Cintra Wilson.

So I’d like to know if you’ve ever “crossed genres.” What’s been your experience? And if you haven’t yet crossed over, why not try writing a short story, a picture book, an essay, or some flash fiction? It’s all about our creativity no matter what the form or where it lands.

Wendy Nelson Tokunaga is the author of the novels “Midori by Moonlight” and “Love in Translation,” both published by St. Martin’s Press, and the e-book “Falling Uphill” under the pen name Kelly Sweetwood. She is also the author of the non-fiction e-book, “Marriage in Translation: Foreign Wife, Japanese Husband.” She teaches writing at Stanford University’s Online Writer’s Studio (her online class So Not Chick Lit: WritingNovels About Women’s Lives starts April 9!) and University of San Francisco, and also has her own manuscript consulting service. Visit her at: www.WendyTokunaga.com

Leslie Langtry Rides (Nervously) Again.

I’m working to put up my first indie novel, THE ADULTERER’S UNOFFICIAL GUIDE TO FAMILY VACATIONS, for sale as an ebook in the next few days.  I’m a bit nervous.

I’ve done this before – I got the rights to my four-book Bombay Greatest Hits series from my publisher over a year ago.  I designed new covers for them, formatted them and got them up. 

In November, I put up my first novella, PARADISE BY THE RIFLE SIGHTS, a continuation of the Bombay Saga for fans.  The fabulous Lori Devoti formatted it for Smashwords, Amazon and Barnes and Noble at the NINC conference in October.

But this is something new.   And that worries me.

THE ADULTERER’S UNOFFICIAL GUIDE TO FAMILY VACATIONS, while being consistent with the obnoxiously long titles I’ve had before, is a completely different book.  It’s not a mystery.  It’s not part of the Bombay Series.  There’s a lot more sex in it.  And it deals with the subject of adultery. 

New York liked the book back in the day – but wouldn’t come near it because of the “A” word.  Now I have the chance to do it myself.  I even had a beta reader who went through a divorce because of adultery read it.  She loved it.  In the story, the two people who have the affair are stuck in bad, beyond fixable marriages.  She got that.  And the book is still humor – so it’s in my wheelhouse (provided I’m using the word ‘wheelhouse’ correctly).

Gemma Halliday loved it and gave me an excellent cover quote.  One of my critique partners loved it – and said she felt like she needed a cold shower after reading each love scene.  I must admit – those scenes and the idea of any of my relatives reading them, makes me nervous.

And still, I worry. 

Maybe it’s because this is the first, single title book I’ll be putting up with my name on it.  Maybe it’s the potential controversy – but my series is about a family of assassins – so this shouldn’t be too new.

At any rate, I’ve got to Author-Up and do it and just see what happens.  Right?

Here’s a short excerpt:

Chapter 1

    Luggage to the right of me. Luggage to the left of me. Luggage behind me. Packed and Bursting. Too much luggage, in fact. Way more than we needed. I sighed – something I did far too often anymore. So, I opened all four bags up and started over. This was my ritual. The thing that kept me sane while I got ready for the family trip. I couldn’t wait. This vacation would be an antidote to my robotic life.

    And it kept my mind off, well, the other thing. Mike had missed dinner yet again. In fact, it was more normal than not for him to spend less than ten minutes with us a day.

I packed the first bag, then stopped to listen. Jenny and Ben were either asleep, or plotting a military junta. But silence is a rare commodity and should never be questioned. So I kept working.

    After two hours, I had it done. Down to three bags full of enough clothes for a family of four to have a wonderful vacation at the greatest theme park in the world. Unfortunately, I still had to put away laundry, grade more essays, unload the dishwasher, and so on. My list rarely changed from night to night.

    Not that it mattered, but I was a pro by this time. And it was worth it. My twin kindergartners were wonderful. I had my big dream house, a good, part-time teaching gig, and a . . . well, a marriage to a . . . man.  

    You noticed a few adjectives missing, didn’t you? After checking the driveway from my bedroom window for the twentieth time, I ran a hot bubble bath and slipped into it.

I suppose most women would consider me lucky. After all, I have the American dream, right? Hmmm. I don’t feel so lucky. I soaked until my skin wrinkled, then got out, checked the driveway again and climbed into bed with a novel. Somewhere along the line, I fell asleep. And I might note that it was the most exciting part of my day.

    The alarm went off and I found Mike, my husband, snoring beside me, reaffirming that I was actually married to a living, breathing human and not an imaginary friend. I sighed again and got up, dressed and roused the kids.

    Mike made a grand appearance at breakfast and the kids fell upon him like he was a conquering hero. I had to give him credit, he looked great. It only took him half an hour to go from sleeping hulk to well-dressed czar of advertising and all-around bastard.

He tickled the kids, grabbed a banana and winked good-bye to me. It was the only evidence of my existence. For one brief, shining moment, my husband remembered me.

I shouldn’t complain. The kids need him more. And I’m grateful they don’t feel sorry for the fact that they didn’t see him much. That’s the great thing about children – their total and complete self-absorption. In a few minutes, I’d drop them off at school and they too would forget I existed. I was a ghost with my own mini-van.

    Work was a little better. The students only singled me out if they had trouble with an assignment, and either I was such an amazing instructor that they didn’t need help or such a boring one they didn’t really care. I was only teaching one class this semester. Technically, I was on sabbatical to finish my doctoral thesis, but the administration asked me to teach one class, so like the doormat I’d become, I agreed to keep working.

    Jenny and Ben’s mom-nesia ended every day at 3pm, when they came squealing out of Rutherford B. Hayes Elementary. The drive home consisted of mostly filling each other in on their day. I just got to listen in. Once again, I thought how smart I was to insist they be put in separate classes. Of course, I was the only one who congratulated me on this.

    By four o’clock, I’d gone through their backpacks, emptied their lunchboxes, signed any permission slips, etc. The kids were outside on the swing set, laughing about our upcoming trip to Florida. They probably didn’t realize how much it meant to me too.

    I wasn’t always like this. In fact, I’m kind of surprised I ended up this way. I used to think of myself as a live wire. My old friends used to say I was funny. Mike used to molest me every minute he was in my presence. I was into the arts and haute couture (well, at least as far as handbags and shoes are concerned). Isn’t it weird how things change? Right now, I can relate to those valium wives from the 1950’s.

    I roam my own hallways as a phantom. Somehow, my family never seems to notice that the laundry gets done, the house is picked up, dinner mysteriously appears on the table, and then cleans up after itself. Instead of being my children’s idol and my husband’s lover, I’m a funny little footnote in my own life.

    Yeesh. That’s terrible. How am I supposed to write my thesis with that kind of attitude? After another Mike-less dinner, I sat on my bed with my laptop, working on page forty-four. At least I loved the theme. Adultery in Literature. It was a naughty little secret I shared with myself. Oooh.

Two more days to go. Two more days until my family had to spend every minute with me. I can let loose. Be funny. Have fun. Was I in a rut or what? Maybe that was Anna Karenina’s problem. She needed a little excitement. And with no theme parks (or any other fun aside from drinking in nineteenth century Russia), Anna vodka-goggled Count Vronsky.

Hester Prynne’s husband wasn’t around either. And Lord Chatterley wasn’t much in the bedroom for Constance. I guess I have more in common with these women than I thought.

     My name is Laura Smith. See? Even my last name is boring. I typed this on my laptop – as if writing it down would make me real. After forty years, most women would think I’ve got it goin’ on. But the truth? Well, I can’t handle the truth.

     My God. I’m not even funny anymore. I used to have a sense of humor, but it was replaced with a sense of responsibility. And don’t even ask me about passion. That’s something other people have.

     Was that true? There must be something interesting about me. I flinched instantly recalling a repressed memory. Okay, I’ve had a recent, sordid past. But I can’t think about that now. Maybe not ever.

     I know what you’re thinking. You think I’m feeling sorry for myself. Not true. That would be more emotion than I’ve allowed myself in the past few years. And emotion just ain’t worth the trouble.

     My life is safe. And that’s something I’m qualified to deal with. Safe. Yep. Just what every girl wants.

SUPERSTITION, PUBLISHING AND PANTRIES

Judith Arnold

Embarrassing true confession: I’m superstitious.

I don’t subscribe to the standard superstitions. Black cats don’t faze me. I’ve been known to walk under ladders. I can’t remember the last time I broke a mirror, but the fear of breaking one doesn’t keep me up at night.

However, I have my own good-luck rituals. If I see a swan gliding across the pond near my house during my morning jog, I take this as a sign that my day will go well. If I toss a fork onto the table and it lands on its side, good things will come my way. And if I say the word “pantry,” my new novel, Goodbye to All That, will be well received.

When it comes to publishing, so much of what happens is beyond an author’s control. You can write a brilliant book (or you can certainly try!) but once it reaches your publisher, there’s a limit to how much you can do to assure the book’s success. You can contact the newspapers and your local bookstore; you can hype the book relentlessly on Facebook and Twitter; you can schedule a bunch of blogs around when the book will be issued. Will your best efforts get your book into the hands of readers? Who knows?

Goodbye to All That goes on sale this month. I asked my girlfriends here at Girlfriends Book Club to schedule me for a March blog so I could spread the word about my book...and wouldn’t you know, my publisher is still tweaking the cover, so I can’t illustrate this blog with that cover. File under: Beyond An Author’s Control.

But I can say “pantry.”

As I mentioned, I’m a jogger. I don’t listen to music when I jog, because I run on winding country roads and I need to listen for oncoming cars. But I sing inside my head when I jog. I’ve got a whole mental catalog of songs that have energizing melodies, bouncy rhythms and inspiring lyrics. Many of the songs have titles appropriate to running: “Born to Run,” “Running on Empty,” “Take it Easy.” Some have words that work: “Friend of the Devil,” about a person who sets out running but takes his time, or “Don’t Think Twice,” about a person heading down a long, lonesome road. If I’m jogging in the rain, I’ll sing “Walking in Memphis” in my mind, with its stanza about the singer’s plane touching down in the middle of the pouring rain.

One of my favorite jogging songs is “Mrs. Robinson,” by Simon and Garfunkel, because its tune and tempo keep my feet pumping. It contains a line about hiding a secret where no one ever goes—in the pantry.

Goodbye to All That includes a scene in which the son of the book’s main character learns about a drastic decision his mother has just made. With his wife and daughters chattering away in the kitchen, he carries the cordless phone into the pantry to have some privacy while he discusses the situation with his sister. He realizes that no one ever uses the pantry. It’s filled with fancy dishes he doesn’t recognize and expensive appliances his wife never uses. It’s a place where a secret could be hidden.

So, to bring good luck to my new novel, I decided, purely arbitrarily, to speak the word “pantry” aloud whenever I sing “Mrs. Robinson” in my head during a jog. Just the word “pantry.” No other lyric. Why? Because I’m superstitious. And because speaking the word “pantry” is something I can control.

Will it bring good fortune to Goodbye to All That? So far, the book has been blessed. My editor loves it. The early blurbs from readers are better than I could have dreamed. And someday soon, I’m sure this book will have a splendid cover—with at least one of those superlative blurbs plastered across the front.

In the meantime, I’ll toss forks and watch for swans and hope that Goodbye to All That makes hordes of readers happy. And I’ll smile and wave at the people staring at that strange jogger who, every now and then, blurts out the word “pantry” as she runs by.

Judith Arnold' is the bestselling, award-winning author of more than 85 novels. Her newest novel, Goodbye to All That, will be available in late March. Feel free to visit her website: www.juditharnold.com.