Since January, I’ve been on a necessary writing break. Illness in the family, a new job, and a long-distance move definitely took precedence over my love affair with my laptop. I hope to never see another cardboard packing box in my life. My keyboard was idle, but my mind never was. I made the thousand mile trip to my new home by myself–my family having arrived earlier–and there was a lot of time for deep thinking and some planning of my next book. I also re-visited some of my earlier books, just to say ‘hi’ to some old friends. I still really like them. Now, my boxes are unpacked (well, most of them), the dog is almost through with his emotional collapse, and my job is winding down for the summer. That’s right, I found a job that gives me the summers off. I’m getting smarter with old age. It is time to say good-bye to the real world and delve back into the corners of my mind where new characters and new plot twists have been waiting, not so patiently. One of the nicest things about being in a new locale is the new inspirations. I’m in a place where the sun never stops shining so there are plenty of chances for people watching. Writers never stop making up stories about people they see out and about. I’ve spent a lot of nights on the beach recently just studying people and trying to figure out their story. I also found out that I live just a few miles from a world-famous author. Not that I would stalk him exactly but if I happen to see him walking along the beach…who knows what may happen next? How are we to know how a copy of one of my books just happened to end up on his front porch? Life is a mystery, right?
Tag Archives: writing inspiration
When real life invades…again
I’ve written time and time again about how writing takes dedication. It takes commitment. It takes your full concentration. Well, so do your parents. My dad became ill during my parents’ first week in their new home. He ended up in the hospital while my mom remained in the middle of stacks of boxes, unsure of even where her silverware was hiding. My husband and I headed for not-so-sunny Florida and helped set up their household in between visits to the hospital and sleeping in a very uncomfortable bed. It was a pretty bad week. Like a true writer, though, I kept filing away my experiences for later examination and use. For example, what type of person thinks it is okay to let his dog sprawl out on the couch in a hotel lobby? I want to know more about the two older women who came to the grocery store in a golf cart and bought flowers and wine. Why is the security guard at the front of my parents’ neighborhood taking his job way too seriously? Then there’s Dee, my parents’ friendly neighbor, who was raised in the Bahamas and told us the history of her home country as well as making us a pie from the oranges off my parents’ tree. My dad’s brother, Uncle Bo, was in town, too. I grew up with my dad’s family but have not had a lot of chances to see them in my adult life. Every time I spend time with them, though, I remember how quirky, funny, and downright odd my dad’s family can be. Scotch-Irish, they are born story-tellers. They are not much into watching television or reading; but they can keep you occupied for hours with their tall tales. Spending time with my dad’s family reminds me of who I am and where I come from. It reaffirms what I do. So, I didn’t write a single word while I was away, but I guess I was on a sort of a research trip. It’s nice to be home again, though, and feel the keys beneath my fingers.
Inspiration in Appalachia
During my summer hiatus from writing, I’m doing some traveling. My next book will be set in the Appalachian region so I wanted to visit the area. Appalachia has to be one of the most fascinatingly diverse areas in our country. Rolling hills grow into mountains, technology is valued less than family, and there is a depth of history that is tangible. The poverty can be overwhelming while the landscape takes your breath away. My husband and I stopped by a roadside stand–which was really a pick-up truck–to buy a bundle of firewood for our campfire. The young man and his even younger brother who sold us the wood will surely find their way into my book. The excitement from the younger boy at having a customer, the downcast face of the older brother who most certainly would have rather been out doing what teens do best——they touched my heart in a way that told me they needed a place in my story. I guess I’m cheating on my self-imposed break from writing, but it’s pretty hard to quiet the voices in your head.
Sandy Huth 