This isn’t a typical post for me in that I have a few thoughts today instead of one theme.

Today I wrote in a large whelping box, with a pig pile of three-week-old Irish Wolfhound puppies scattered on and around me.  The quiet was warm and soft, not like the quiet when writing at the table at home.  The air smelled of goat’s-milk belches, and that clean distinctive scent of new puppy.  For two hours it was a peaceful place, and words flowed.  Of course that was followed by a frenetic, charged, insane fifteen minutes of bottle feeding those same puppies, as they scrambled to gobble as if afraid I was going to take the bottle away too soon.  But once the tummies were distended, they made their grunting way back to sleep, and gave me back the quiet inspiration to write.  Who would have thought any writing could be productive in such a place?

Lisa, from the satsumaart blog listed on the sidebar here, sent me a writing prompt today.  I agreed to be on a list and when I opened the email I saw, in huge letters, ‘Write Lisa!  It’s what you’re here for’.  Okay then.  Something that strong begs to be answered.  The prompt was ‘salvation’ and I was only supposed to write for 10-15 minutes.  I remembered that twenty minutes later.  I’ve never been a huge fan of prompts, as mentioned in previous posts, but who could ignore that opening.  Write Lisa!  It’s what you’re here for.  I need that branded in a place I’ll see every day.  On the back of my hands, maybe, visible as I stretch for a pen, or a keyboard.

Titles are challenging.  I have one story that is in its final critique phase, and I have started a sequel.  In the sequel, I wrote a description of Burke, Idaho, that read like this (remember, the sequel isn’t finished or edited):

‘Back yards were canyon walls, and front yards were littered with rocks eroded away from the cliffs above.  There were even stones scattered over pitched roofs, like some weird mountain rain. Some day the canyon would simply topple over on top of the houses.  Cody thought that dreams under those roofs would speak of being buried alive.’

When I wrote that, there was this epiphany moment, ‘Mountain rain’! There’s the title.  It would mean more than just the expected.

The problem is, I can’t come up with a title for the first story.  Initially I called it Left in the Dark because of the theme of the story.  A girl left in the dark about her life, a grandfather left in the dark about his parentage, a town in the dark about murders, a woman left in the dark at the bottom of a mine shaft.  The title would mean so many things.

I didn’t get favorable comments on it though, and someone suggested Blood Bonds because of the bonds of family.  Those who didn’t like the first suggestion liked the second.  But since then, Twilight has come along, and every time I see that title, I think vampires are going to fly out of the laptop screen.  Yet I can’t come up with anything else.  To be honest, I still like the first one.

Titles.  Blah.  Back to writing and listening to new music suggested by friends.

It’s strange the places you discover ideas to write about.  And not just story ideas, but snippets of characters, too.

There are the usual places I’ve talked about before, like the coffee shop.  Or today, folding clothes at the laundromat and listening to the young woman who works there tell another about the stress in her life.  She talked non-stop about her troubles during the time it took me to fold three loads.  And while I eavesdropped (what else is there to do when folding?) I wished for a way to move her dialog to the page because there was so much character in her words.  And drama, and over reacting, and angst.

Then there are the unusual places.  I was reading a Freshly Pressed blog tonight, waiting for enough weariness to go to bed.  I noticed the long list of people who had commented on a woman’s blog, and then I noticed those funny little hover cards.  Gravatars?  I tried changing mine to a photo but it only changed the email one and not the blog one.  But I digress.

I hovered over one, and saw this: ‘An artist living with mental illness.’  Wow.  What a story there must be in those words.  I moved up to hover over another one.  ‘Writer and mother of an autistic child.’  Some talked about hopes and dreams, some were humorous, and some sad. All of them contained some sort of story or description, but all were written in only a few sentences.  It was like reading a synopsis of a life.

Those vignettes open up possibilities.  They brim with questions that the writer in me wants to answer.  They hint at characters to be created, at situations to be faced, at internal turmoil, at subplots and main plots.  Think about it.  The next time you need a dilemma, or help building a believable character, or even inner conflict for a character, skim those hover cards.

I suppose that kind of sounds like coldly monopolizing on someone’s troubles.  I don’t mean to sound that way.  These things I read today tugged at my heart.  I want characters who tug at a reader’s heart. I want characters who are real.  I can see how skimming hover cards will give me a touch of humor here, a conflict there, a self-description from somewhere else, resulting in a whole that hopefully resonates as believable.

What do you think?  Is it cold to pull from a stranger’s comments?  Or is it common for writers to drag stories home with them?  Try hovering over those little squares and let me know your thoughts.

There are a few tunes that cause a deep melancholy to well up inside.  I’m not talking about sadness, although I think it’s related.  And melancholy isn’t quite the right word.  That overwhelming tide when I hear certain songs includes awe, reverence, a sense of connection to place, something beyond what some would label holy. Spiritual yes, religious, no.  I sense a recognition of something, that I’m at the same time unsure of.

Sometimes, if these songs catch me unaware, I break into sobs.  Sometimes the joy stops me in my tracks.  Sometimes all I can do is close my eyes and breathe.

But always, afterwards, I realize these emotions, whatever they are, comprise what I strive for in writing.  Can you imagine placing down words that, when read, give birth to these same reactions in the reader?  Oh, to be a writer like that.    That is a goal that makes the struggles to write worthwhile.  And occasionally I need to listen to these songs to remind me what I struggle for.

The songs that do this for me? Sometimes it’s the words, sometimes it’s an ageless melody, sometimes it’s a connection to history.  But for me, the list includes the traditional versions of ‘Scarborough Fair’ and ‘Greensleeves’, ‘The Sound of Taransay’, the voice of Lisa Gerard or Loreena Mckennit, songs by Ulali, Anonymous Four, and I’ll stop there before the post becomes nothing but a list of songs.  Oh, wait, there’s also songs like ‘One Tin Soldier’, ‘Where Have all the Flowers Gone’, and ‘Both Sides Now’, but I think those are because of the memories attached to the oldies.

And now I’m curious.  Does music impact your writing?  If so, what music stirs your soul to catch words?

Oops.  One more that I’m listening to right now: ‘The Mist Covered Mountains’.