The question this week is whether life exists outside of writing. For me, the better question is, does writing exist outside of life? Without life experiences, is there anything upon which to base a short story, novella, or novel? I doubt it. Even a splendid imagination needs some comparison in order to work. If you only know one place or one type of person, it would be much harder to develop a well-rounded story line.
How does my life contribute to writing?
- Jack and I have traveled all over the country so I can draw on what various states look like. Even a WIP that takes place in Europe is made better by our having been there.
- We have a small family, but fortunately, they are all nutty as fruit cakes, and I often draw off them to provide story lines and character definition.
- In our travels but even more by our living in a variety of places—from
cities like San Francisco and Chicago to small places like Appleton, WI and Greenwood, SC—we’ve met and made friends with people from all walks of life, helping me to give depths to my stories and characters. - I’ve worked in a lot of places and in a lot of different career paths, so my imagination has an easy time making comparisons to other lines of work as well.
Does this all mean that someone who’s lived in one place all their lives without a great deal of change can’t write a great book? Gosh no. In fact, maybe it means I don’t have a good imagination and need all that outside stimuli to help me write. It’s all made life interesting, and I hope it’s helped me write better and deeper stories.
Read the next blog in the blog hop by going here.
Dee
Only a Good Man Will Do: Seriously ambitious man seeks woman to encourage his goals, support his (hopeful) position as Headmaster of Westover Academy, and be purer than Caesar’s wife. Good luck with that!
Naval Maneuvers: When a woman requires an earth-shattering crush of pleasure to carry her away, she can’t do better than to call on the US Navy. Sorry, Marines!
Churchill, so that’s who we’re going with. Well, actually, he first said that there is no one he would kill or be willing to die to have dinner with. That’s my literal husband.
again but he persevered. He was not one to say, “I hope I will survive this,” he was one to say, “I will prevail. I will have victory.” And he did.
never, never, never—in nothing, great or small, large or petty—never give in except to convictions of honor and good sense.
I really don’t care for the term bucket list. I’d rather think that my wishes of things to do reside in a basket full of flowers. “Bucket” is a little too rustic for me. I prefer something like this basket of cheery daffodils, each one labeled with something I want to do before I die.
Nicholson and Morgan Freeman. Of course, the movie was about self-discovery, and not just doing things you’ve always wanted to do before the Grim Reaper says your time has run out. Since I feel like—for the moment—that I’ve discovered everything about myself I care to, my Basket of Flowers List is about doing things for the sheer desire of doing them.
an eighteen wheeler. When our friends were older and dangling grandchildren on their knees, we were moving around the country chasing consulting jobs. We seized the day in every way we could. But there are still a few things I’d like to do someday. (Someday implies hope and not “better hurry up.”)
exploring it each time I’ve had the chance. Do I have a shot at doing it again? Sadly, probably no.
Carol Schoenig used to joke with co-workers that when she retired she was going to sit on a beach and write scintillating romance novels.
of marvel, a bit of mystery. Now it felt much more scientific. A big rock-like entity to be explored. It had nothing to do with romance and love and everything to do with accomplishment an changed perceptions. It’s impossible to explain to someone who didn’t watch it that day the pride that filled all of us. Or the thrill. Or the fear that something would happen to keep our guys from coming home.
I think it would be very hard to write and never put yourself in the story. I mean, who knows us better than us? And even if we don’t want to, little bits of ourselves find their way into what we write, almost whether we want them to or not.
because that’s more fun, and strangely, enough, looking back, I write heroines most often who look like what I’ve always thought I’d like to look: taller, slimmer, red hair and green or bright blue eyes. Sometimes real life is not so magical but we all have dreams and I like to add mine to my books.
I sit writing this on the day we Americans celebrate our independence from the British. Jack and I spent the day with friends, eating fruit, barbecued pulled pork on a bun, cole slaw and fries. We enjoyed iced tea—both sweetened an un- —and that most American of desserts, apple pie. Like many of you, we celebrated the Fourth of July unmindful of the heat, concentrating more on the coldness of the watermelon.
sipping a wonderfully warm, bracing blend such as Darjeeling while nibbling on tiny sandwiches, cake and biscuits (cookies to us Yanks). And when you ordered tea in a restaurant they would be faster to recognize when you need more hot water. Now you’re basically ignored. 🙁
pride.) Anyway, if we’d remained British, we could point to things like Stonehenge, York Minster, and Beatrix Potter’s house and say to the rest of the world, “Look what we have, nyah, nyah, nyah!”
I thank the men and women who have fought—and still fight—to allow us our bar-b-ques and our arguments and celebrations. Without you, we would be driving on the left and eating bangers and mash instead of hotdogs. Thank you for your sacrifice.
There was a time in my life where I wore a dress or skirt every day and dressed up for going to the theater or out to dinner. When Jack was at VMI, we attended five formal events a year. And I loved it. Then I got real.
town either. The last time I suggested he wear a tie to an event he looked at me as though I had two heads.
A few years ago, my daughter Jeanette hit a couple of brick walls in her life and decided to take a break and travel to the USA. She wasn’t to know that meeting and falling in love with an American named Joe would be the beginning of a complete sea change for her. With that sea change came obstacles – a huge ocean separated Australia and America and her three months tourist visa demanded she return home. After a lot of soul searching, she decided to pick up sticks and stay in the U.S. with Joe.
serious about living there permanently. To obtain a conditional green card, she had to be married to Joe for one year, have a co-sponsor and not break the law. After that she could apply to have the conditions removed to become a permanent legal resident. And then, she faced another three years before she was eligible to apply for citizenship. Last year the process began, and in April 2019 she travelled to Detroit for the test on American history and government. She passed all the hurdles and finally, the citizenship ceremony was held on 20 June.
concerned, Jeanette is Aussie born and bred and now America is her home. Becoming a citizen was absolutely the right thing to do. Each time I visit, her American family and friends make me very welcome. And, the nicest compliment of all, my son-in-law Joe hoists the Aussie flag up on the flagpole. I feel very much at home there.
wide as the church aisle, all satin and with beads and sparkly doodads. And I’d have ten bridesmaids and a groom in a tux, and the church would be full of friends and family. Wow! Cinderella would have been envious.
around to his way of thinking and each year we dated my wedding dreams became more conservative.
at Jack’s parents’ house. We went camping for our honeymoon. The whole wedding, pictures and all, cost less than $500. And it couldn’t have been more perfect. For us.