What books inspired you?

Whether you read fiction or non-fiction, I believe books inspire. They inspire you, the reader, to learn something new, or to reinforce something you already believed, or maybe, just maybe they open your mind to explore. Books give us an opportunity to not just escape from our everyday lives, but to give us an opportunity to experience new places, new theories, and new people without leaving the comfort of your favorite chair.

However, I think a good book will also introduce you to and inspire you to want to explore and experience something in real life. Not just while sofa surfing.

What do you think?

What books have made you get up out of the chair and try something new or to learn something more?

There are several books that stand out in my lifetime of books that have inspired me to expand my horizons, go in search of new adventure, or just to experience something new or different.

Nora Roberts book, Born in Fire had a character who was a glass blower. I had never heard of such a thing so of course I had to look into it and then proceeded to take two classes. The result is I created several glass paperweights that I still have today, and a glass rose.

While reading every book I could get my hands on written by romantic suspense author Linda Howard, I decided I wanted to write a novel. Talk about inspiration, not to mention aspiration! Well, not only did I do it, but I wrote six novels, five of which have been published. This experience gave me the opportunity to explore a creative side I didn’t know I had, made me some great friends along the journey, and learn more of the craft of writing and the publishing industry.

Another book that got to me was a book written by Carla Neggers. The timing of me reading this book was so amazing that I swear to you it was a sign. I wanted to go on an adventure. I wanted to go to Ireland. I just didn’t know where in Ireland. I started searching and one day while online I saw this cottage, this stone cottage in Kenmare, Ireland. Hmmm…where is Kenmare, Ireland? I discovered that Kenmare was in southwest Ireland and is beautiful.

Then I opened the book I had been reading, The Whisper by Carla Neggers, and turned the page to Chapter 26 where the first thing I read were the words; Kenmare, Ireland.

Seriously! If you do not believe in signs then you should. My fate was sealed. I made my reservations that day to stay in the stone cottage in Kenmare, Ireland. I’ve gone back for a second visit where I explored even more of Ireland, ran a half marathon in Dingle and took a one day photography class. Yes, there will be a third visit to Kenmare, Ireland, my home away from home.

One day two years ago a woman in my office gave me a book titled Born to Run by Christopher McDougall. She gave me the book because I love running. Well, it’s actually a love/hate relationship. Depending on the day it can be painful, but when you are out there the mind clears and the feet just like to move. Anyway, at first I was not going to read this book. Sorry, Christopher McDougall, but it’s true. I didn’t want some book to change my new found love. I could not have been more wrong!

There. I admit it. I was wrong. (Don’t get used to it.) Born to Run expanded my horizons. I learned not just about a tribe of amazing runners called the Tarahumara, but I learned about ultra running. What is that you ask? That is a run any distance longer than a marathon. What?! Yeah, exactly my point. I became fascinated. And this book led me to read more books related to long distance, endurance running. And of course…my first ultra marathon. This year I will make my first attempt at a 100-mile run.

Another friend recommended the book American Sniper: The Autobiography of the Most Lethal Sniper in U.S. Military History written by retired Chris Kyle, Scott McEwen, and Jim DeFelice. The book is the memoir of CPO Chris Kyle, U.S. Navy Seal. If you have not read it, I highly recommend American Sniper. You will get a feel for what our men and women of service go through, and how they struggle to deal with “normal” life when they return home, not to mention what it is like when deployed and on the battlefield, plus a whole lot more. It was this book and the tragic death of Chris Kyle that inspired me to spend the next year running to raise funds for his foundation, Guardian for Heroes Foundation.

Guardian for Heroes Foundation provides free, in-home fitness equipment, facilitation of donated health club memberships, individualized programs, personal training and life coaching to in-need veterans with disabilities, and those suffering from Post-Traumatic Stress (PTS) from combat deployment. With this mission, it seemed only natural that I, a runner, a supporter of our Veterans, find a way to give back.

I encourage everyone to give back. Find a way.

I have always donated to various charities, none more than our Veterans and children’s education. Every year I donate to a local business various gifts that our retired military men and women who live in a home need. They ask for the simplest of pleasures; a new comforter, a tin of cookies, sugar free candy, and everyday toiletries. It is my mission every year on Veteran’s Day to grab several names from the Veteran Tree and make certain those folks get their Christmas gifts.

As I reflect back, American Sniper: The Autobiography of the Most Lethal Sniper in U.S. Military History inspired me beyond just that one year of fund raising, which by the way I am not good at. It inspired me to do something more, to want to make a difference in this world.

That’s where my next book comes in play.

I have been having health issues and it has become more than obvious that much of it is related to stress. Stress on the body whether mental or physical is still stress and the body does not like it. In my case, the universe and my doctors are telling me that my job is toxic. How do you like that word? I’d say that is very descriptive. And I agree, but I’ve known this for four years and have not done a thing about it. Well, I have, but not the right thing. Not the thing that is going to go after the root cause. Not the thing that is going to change my life and put me on the happy path.

Part of that is fear, because let’s face it; we all have to pay bills. But fear is not usually something that holds me back. As my friends and family will attest, I like to go. I like to try new things, new adventures. Part of what is holding me back is the people that work for me and our accomplishments. We do perform some work-related miracles and make a huge difference. But that difference is only affecting the organization for which we work. Not making a difference in the world. Not making us happy.

So here sits me, or maybe it’s running, and I contemplate, and think, and consider, and search…for that thing, that passion that will help me make a difference, help me find my calling. After a ten-miler last Sunday I was sitting in my house or should I say bouncing off the walls. I couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t focus. Since I had already gone for a run I didn’t want to do that so, when all else fails I went to the bookstore.

BAM! That’s when the title of this book hit me in the face. Okay, not literally, but seriously, how can you not pick up a book titled Do Cool Sh*t by Miki Agrawal.

I read Do Cool Sh*t in three days. It would have been one if I did not have to work. And wow! I resonated with Miki. At one point in her book she started having stomach pains and I knew exactly how she felt because I have the same thing. Gosh darn processed foods!

Anyway, because of Miki’s book, Do Cool Sh*t, I have new inspiration to go after my dreams and it is not to work for anyone else. It is to jump tracks and start something that will make me happy and make a difference…even if only in a small corner of the world. Her writing inspired me to the point that I signed up for a class this morning in the hopes that this class will help me shift my focus and learn something new that will benefit me in my search for my passion.

To the authors mentioned above and to all the others I've read but could not possibly list, I thank you! Thank you for inspiring!

What about you? What books have influenced and inspired you? Why? How?

 

 

Writing Prompt Wednesday

Got a little writer's block? Need a little inspiration for your writing or just to kick off your day? Try a writing prompt.

Start with the beginning of the sentence below and just have fun with it. Let your mind go and write as much or as little as comes to you.

Feel free to share what you write back here. Have fun!

Writing prompt: She turned the key in the ignition. . .

From great reading, comes great inspiration

Don't you think that is an accurate statement?

Me, personally, I think it is absolutely perfect. A good book should inspire you to want to learn more, to read more, maybe even do more. It doesn't even have to be a book, it could be a well-written article in a newspaper, in a magazine, or online maybe in a blog.

I once read an article on diamond computer chips. Yeah, okay, I'm a geek by day and this was fascinating. Beyond the use of diamonds to make computer chips it inspired me to go out and learn more about nanotechnology. I even invested in a nanotechnology fund. Hey! I know a good thing when I see it.

I read a fiction book where the heroine was a glass artist. The details and descriptions were so wonderful I had to go look into what exactly glass-blowing was. It intrigued me so much that I signed up to take a class. I have since taken three classes. Gotta love art!

Right now I am reading the book Lone Survivor: The Eyewitness Account of Operation Redwing and the Lost Heroes of SEAL Team 10 by Marcus Luttrell and Patrick Robinson. I'm only halfway through the book and just getting to what I know will be the worst and best part of the story, but this book is inspirational.

Navy SEALS are amazing human beings who put their lives on the line for us, for our country. It's what they do. Not only do they do it, but they want to do it. You see, these guys literally go through hell to become a SEAL. Not that every military person doesn't, but these guys go through something beyond your wildest dreams. At least beyond my dreams.

Some of the strongest men entertain the idea of being a Navy SEAL and they may even get a shot at it, but it's not strength that makes a man a SEAL, it's determination and endurance. Determination to succeeed and achieve something not everyone can, and endurance to get through hell just so you can go through it all over again in the real world when they are fighting to save our freedoms. They have to want this beyond anything they have ever wanted in their entire lives.

What Marcus Luttrell describes in his book is only bits and pieces of the real deal, of that I am sure. But what he does describe is enlightening and inspiring. Just to get indoctrined into the SEAL training program these guys have to achieve the following:

1. Run 1.5 miles (while wearing boots and long pants) in 11 minutes, 30 seconds
2. Swim 500 yards (breast stroke or side stroke) in 12 minutes, 30 seconds
3. Minimum of 42 push-ups in 2 minutes
4. Minimum of 50 sit-ups in 2 minutes
5. Minimum of 6 dead-hang pull-ups

This is just the beginning. It gets a heck of a lot worse from there. And that only gives you a taste of the physical stamina required. It doesn't even touch on the strategic and tactical skills that have to be learned, retained, and tested. Without those skills you can't be a SEAL.

I'm not suggesting that I'm inspired to go out and be a Navy SEAL, because let's face it, I don't have the right equipment. I do, however, have the personality to set myself some goals and achieve them.

Since I've already achieved my goal of running 3 road races this year before I messed up my knee, I'm thinking I might set new goals for myself. Yeah, no, I cannot do all of those 5 points a potential SEAL has to complete, but I can shoot for some of them. After my knee heals.

The road to fame

I saw a quote this morning that touched me. I won't share all of it, but a brief bit to inspire you.

"'for sitting on a cushion
Is not the way to fame, nor staying in bed;
And without fame, a man must spend his life
Only to leave such traces upon the earth
As smoke leaves in the air; or foam in the water."

~Dante's Divine Comedy
Inferno XXIV 43-60

Funny thing happened on the way to work...

I stopped at the gas station. Okay, that's not the interesting part, but what happened to me at the gas station put a smile on my face.

While standing at the pump in my funny lime green hat with pink and brown flowers on it trying to keep warm while the pump did its thing, a guy I had seen at the gas station before walked over to me, introduced himself, and gave me his business card. We shook hands as I introduced myself and he told me that if I ever needed any plumbing or heating to give him a call then he moved off to finish up at the pump.

I didn't have a business card handy, but let's not forget that I am a writer so what do you think I gave this man with the nice smile?

When I finished with the gas, I reached into the trunk of my car and pulled out a copy of Connect the Dots then walked over and handed him the book. The wide-eyed expression on his face made a little spurt of laughter bubble up inside my chest. I love seeing that surprised look on people's faces.

Then this tall, smiling man asked me if I was single and if I would have dinner with him sometime. Now who was grinning ear-to-ear?

That's right, me. I walked away from our brief encounter with a kick in my step and a smile on my face that warmed me more than any hat or jacket could.

All this this took place before 6:30 in the morning and set the tone for a very nice day.

Practice Makes Perfect

Practice Makes Perfect is a short story I wrote for a children's writing class. I thought it a story any writer could relate to. I hope you enjoy this and it inspires you.

Sam was never great at anything. In everything she tried, she never came in higher than second, runner-up, the next best thing.

The day of the big track meet, her friend Craig, with his tall body and long legs came in first. Sam squeaked to the finish line shortly after Craig, barely able to breathe. Sam was bent over with her hands on her knees and sucking in air trying to get her wind back when the announcer came over the loud speaker.

“The winners is Craig Zeller.” Shouts and claps went up all over the stadium, and Craig bounded around as if he had just walked from his house to his mailbox and back.

“Coming in a close second is Sam Spenser.” Still bent over her knees, Sam waved a hand to fewer shouts and claps from the audience.

“Second again,” Sam mumbled and kicked the ground.

In the math contest at school, her brainiac friend Tom answered all the problems correctly on the chalkboard in five minutes while Sam struggled with the last two questions. She would never be best at math.

“How do you do that so fast?” she asked Tom.

He shrugged. “When I look at math equations the answers just appear to me, kinda like art does to an artist.”

Sam wrinkled her nose. Math as art? “Ew.”

When it came to art, Sam’s friend Andrea, was the best. It seemed to Sam that Andrea’s hand had an artist’s brush or pencil attached to it, like an extension of her arm. She won every contest she ever entered.

At the spring art festival, Andrea’s watercolor of a colorful chocolate fairy won first prize and was placed for display on an easel all by itself. Sam’s painting of a bunny rabbit riding a snowboard was hidden among all the other runner’s up.

There was nothing Sam was best at.

Sitting on the steps of her front porch, hands on knees, Sam sighed.

“What’s wrong, Sweet Cheeks?”

Sam smiled at her father and the use of her nickname he’d given her.

Her dad sat down next to her. “What’s got you so blue?”

Sam looked at her father dead in the eye. “I’m not good at anything.”

“What? You’re good at everything.”

She blew out a breath. “I mean I’m not the best at anything. I never come in first in any contest. How do I move past good and become the best?”

“First of all, just trying anything is good. A lot of people are too afraid to try. You’re not. And placing in a contest is fantastic. You don’t have to be first.”

“Dad,” she sighed, “I know all that, but I want to be the best at something.”

Her father wrapped an arm around Sam’s shoulders and hugged. “Okay, no lecture. How about some advice?”

Sam nodded.

“If you want to be the best at anything you have to practice, not just the day of the contest, but regularly. The real key to being successful at something is doing something you love. If you love what you do then practicing is easier, and when you enter a contest your heart is in it.”

Sam thought about her dad’s words. Do what you love. Her friend Andrea loved to draw and paint, Craig wanted to run marathons and loved running, and Tom thought numbers were art, so he must love math.

Sam’s dad kissed her on the cheek and ruffled her hair. “Feel better?”

Jumping to her feet, Sam kissed her father back. “Much. Thanks, Dad.”

She started down the steps of the porch and her father yelled after her. “Good luck!”

In her treehouse, Sam pulled out a pen and paper and made a list. She wrote down the things she could do. On the paper, she wrote math, drawing, running, poetry, soccer, volleyball, and gardening. When she finished her list, Sam put the pen down, and reflected. Which of those things did she love?

Finger to her lips, brow furrowed, Sam thought. And thought. She liked all of them, but she didn’t love any of them. What did she love?

Excitement bubbled up inside her. Sam knew what she loved. She loved telling stories. She liked capturing an audience’s attention with her words. She loved seeing pieces when she described a different world to them and could see their minds picturing what her words described.

But how did she become a great storyteller? She’d never heard of any storytelling contests.

Elbows on knees, fists under chin, Sam considered. There had to be something she could do to become a great storyteller.

“Aha,” she said, holding a finger in the air. “Writing contests.”

Sam climbed down from her treehouse and went inside the house. There, she used the family computer to search the internet.

“Wow.” Sam couldn’t believe her eyes. There were tons of story writing contests.

She clicked on a few links to get ideas and found one that sounded interesting. She had to write two to five pages about a trip to see the circus.

“No problem. Piece of cake.” She could write that story. And she did. She wrote it right then and submitted it via email to the contest. When she was done and walked away to go play with her friends, Sam felt good about what she’d written.

A week later, Sam received an email from the contest telling her that as much as they liked her story it didn’t win, but she should try again next year. Depressed and dejected, Sam hung her head.

Sam’s father walked in. “What’s got you down?”

“They didn’t like my story.” Sam pointed to the computer monitor.

Her father came up behind her, bent over her shoulder, and read.

“They liked your story. It says so right there,” he pointed. “Did you read the attachment?”

Sam perked up, lifting her head and straightening her spine. “Attachment?” She clicked on the file and opened it. Inside there were red marks and comments showing her what she needed to fix. Lots of red marks, she saw, her eyes widening in disbelief.

“See, Sweet Cheeks, it wasn’t the story, it was your writing style. You can fix that and do better the next time.”

Next time? Was he crazy? She sucked. Sam stared at the computer screen and her heart beat fast, intimidated by all the red marks. She couldn’t do this, Sam thought, her shoulders slouching. She would never be good at anything.

“Keep trying. You’ll get it. One of these days I wouldn’t be surprised to see you published.” Her father kissed the top pf her head. “My very own author,” he said as he left Sam sitting in front of the computer feeling lower than pond scum.

“Author,” she murmured. “That would be so cool.” Yeah, she could do this. She would do this. She wouldn’t give up. She needed to do what her dad had said. Practice.
So she did.

Everyday Sam came home from school, and after her homework and chores were complete she would write a story. The next day Sam would take her story to her creative writing teacher, Ms. Kopera, and they’d go over it together.

“You see here, Sam.” Ms. Kopera pointed to a sentence on the paper with a red pen. “You missed a period between a list of items in the sentence. But you only missed one, that’s a great improvement.”

Sam smiled. “Thanks. What do you think about this sentence? Is it too long.”
Ms. Kopera looked at it, sat back in her chair, and rubbed her chin. “Hm. How many commas are there?”

Sam counted them. “Five.” She frowned and knew the answer herself as soon as she counted. “Yeah, it’s too long. General rule of thumb is no more than three commas for each sentence.”

Ms. Kopera gave Sam a pat on the back. “See, you answered your own question. You’re learning.”

Sam found out she was a good speller, but her grammar was a bit of a problem. Her story was good. It was just that she would forget commas, or she would mix past and present tense, or she would write a sentence in a different point of view. Sometimes she just wrote sentences that were too long.

All of those things could be fixed. It just took practice.

At every meeting with her teacher, Sam’s writing improved. There were less and less red marks as she learned and understood the different grammar concepts.

One day, after weeks of practice writing, her teacher encouraged her to try another contest.

“I think this one would be a perfect contest for you,” said Ms. Kopera. “You have to write a story on what you did to make yourself better.”

“Better at what?” Sam asked. Her face scrunched up.
Ms. Kopera smiled. “Better at anything. You choose.” Ms. Kopera handed Sam the entry form. “Go on, give it a try. The worst that can happen is that you don’t win, but you see how much you’ve improved, and you learn even more.”

Sam took the form from Ms. Kopera. “Thank you. I’ll think about it.”

On Sam’s walk home from school, she thought about it. What if she didn’t win? Could she take rejection again? She was just beginning to feel good about her writing and enjoying it.

Sam thought about the contest all day Saturday.

Then on Sunday morning, she woke up and was inspired to write. Before she even cleaned up and dressed, Sam was sitting in front of the computer typing her story. Overwhelmed by her need to write the story, she didn’t stop until her mom made her stop for lunch.

“You need food. It’ll give you fuel to finish your story,” her mother told her.
Just before bed on Sunday evening, Sam leaned back in her chair, and gazed at her final words. ‘If you want something bad enough you have to love it, practice it, and go for it.’

She thought she had written the best story she could. She had written the tale, then went back and edited the grammar remembering the techniques Ms. Kopera had taught her. On the last edit, Sam made certain the story was polished and ready to go.

Monday morning, Sam mailed her story and the entry form to the contest Ms. Kopera had recommended.

For weeks after Sam had sent in her story submission, she would check the mailbox. She kept on doing her practice writing with her teacher, and when she arrived home after school, the first thing Sam did was see if a letter came for her.

Finally, four weeks later, it arrived.

When Sam saw the envelope addressed to her, her hands shook, her heart skipped a beat, and her stomach dipped like on a roller coaster. She carried the letter into the house, sat it on the table, and stared at it, biting her lower lip.

“What if they hated it?” Sam murmured.

“You’ll never know unless you open it,” her father’s voice boomed from the kitchen doorway. “I’m sure it won’t bite. Go ahead,” he encouraged.
Sam nodded, took a deep breath, and ripped open the envelope. She slipped the letter out, unfolded it, and read it to herself.

When she was finished, she exhaled, and stared at the piece of paper in stunned silence. She couldn’t believe it.

Sam’s father took the letter from her hands and read it aloud.

“On behalf of Storytellers of America, we want to thank you for submitting ‘How I Became the Best Storyteller I Could Be’, and congratulate you on placing first in the contest. Your story was truly inspiring and your writing demonstrated your enthusiasm and hard work. The award for first place is to have your story published in our ‘Young Writers Anthology’ to be released next spring. Congratulations and keep up the great writing.”

Sam looked up at her father’s face, and saw unshed tears in his eyes. Then he smiled at her, and Sam’s eyes teared up.

“You did it, Sweet Cheeks,” he exclaimed as he grabbed her up in a bear hug. “I’m so proud of you.” He set her back on her feet. “I knew you could.”

Sam laughed. Yeah, her parents always supported her. “All because you told me to do what I love. And I practiced. Thank you, Dad.” Sam hugged her dad again.

Inspired to write. . .Independent Aphrodisiac

This morning when I left my home to drive in my very traffic laden commute to work, I sent out a message on Twitter and said maybe the commute will inspire my writing creativity. Well, it did, only not in a way I had imagined.

The following is a poem I wrote in traffic, but was truly inspired from a conversation I had a few weeks ago over breakfast. I hope you enjoy, laugh, shout.



Independent Aphrodisiac

Independence is an aphrodisiac
Yet you want me to need you
Or is it that you need me?

You encourage me to make friends
Yet you want to tag along
Or is it that you want me at home?

You cheer me on to chase my dream
Yet you have to tell me how to do it
Or is it that you want my dream?

Are you certain independence is an aphrodisiac?
Or is it a goal. . . for you?

Dreams and Writing

Last night I had the weirdest dream. For the record, I am not a teenager. I know you could not tell by my photo. :-) HA!

Anyway, I dreamt about going to the senior prom. How weird is that? I don't remember all the details just that it was about the build up to the dance. I even picked out a dress which the guy in my dream said was perfect. Like a guy on prom night would say otherwise?

But of course, I can't remember who the guy was. Actually, I remember the dress better than the guy. Some slinky, silk thing that hooked over one shoulder and left the other exposed. I think that's because I like my shoulders and consider them one of my better features. Yeah, yeah, who cares what Freud would say to that.

So here's the thing. Dreams are very important to me, especially in my writing. Many times I will get a clear vision of a scene and yes, it will end up in a book or it is the beginning of a book as in the case of my current WIP. But, what was the senior prom with an unnamed guy supposed to mean? How am I supposed to use that in a book? No, it will not fit in my WIP nor my next story that is already drifting in and out of my head like a nagging man. :-)

What dreams have you used in your writing? Do you write them down as soon as you wakeup or do you let the images percolate?

Editor/Agent Pitches - Feel the pain

Last night, I returned from my long weekend at the Expo - exhausted. But, I did manage to read some of my email. In it was a message from one of the writers who attended the NEC conference this weekend. Apparently, she gave a pitch to an agent and it did not turn out well.

I have no details other than she never wants to do it again. :-)

How many of you have ever felt the same way? Maybe the agent/editor did not ask for anything? How about the editor/agent asked for a submission only to reject you via letter?

This writer's answer to her pain is to never pitch in person again. Can you sympathize or what?

How do we boost her and any other writer's confidence and get them prepped for taking on the in-person task of sharing her passion with the ultimate being YES - GIVE ME YOUR WORK but the scarier response being THANKS BUT NO THANKS?

Being a person who used to spend her time in front of classrooms teaching computers to business folks and more computer literate people than myself, I know how it feels to put yourself out there. Maybe I'm immune to rejection because I know I can never be 100% to everyone, not even myself. But I don't think that's how I survived getting rejections on my manuscripts.

So how do you survive the pitches?

Here is one theory. Know this. . .There is always someone who won't like you or your manuscript. In opposition to that there is always someone who will like you or your manuscript. Believe me!

Look at the pitch as an opportunity to learn from it and go in with no expectations. It used to take me 3 times teaching a class before I was comfortable and good at it. Each time I improved and enjoyed it more. Pitches and queries are the same. Take away from each meeting/response how you could improve your pitch, if at all. Also, remember that it could be that the particular agent/editor just does not like your kind of story and it has nothing to do with your pitch or writing. No matter what you do, you would not succeed with the wrong agent/editor.

With that in mind, research the editor/agent you are going to pitch to. If you write cozy mysteries, don't waste your time or the editor/agent when all they do is historical romance.

Remember, that even big-time published authors still get rejections. Yup, it is true.

What else? Anyone want to add their 2 cents??

Inspiration

Where do we get our inspiration?

I was reminded the other day by a friend of mine (who I have known since high school) that I used to leave him notes on his car and now I'm writing fiction novels, in particular, romantic suspense. He thinks it is hysterical and awesome. :-)

That same high school friend is also my inspiration behind the spy side of my stories. I love the intrigue and suspense.

I also incorporate the technology side of my life into the stories as well. Think about all the cool gadgets that intelligence people use nowadays.

Then, I leverage the places I've been and the adventures I've tried, like scuba diving with my ex. My first book's adventures take place around Florida and Hawaii where we did some amazing diving!

So. . .if you're stuck on a story idea take a look around you and at yourself. What have you done, seen, experienced? What have your family and friends done? Know anyone in the military? Get a copy of their resume and then do some research on what all those acronyms mean. :-)

Then figure out how you can take that New Hampshire amusement park worker and turn her into an undercover agent tracking . . .what? HA! You tell me.

New Story Idea

Hello everyone!

As you know, as of yesterday I finished my second manuscript. Yippee for me, right?

Yes, well, now I need to write the next story. And when I say need, I mean "lookout honey, where's the chocolate before I shoot you" kind of need. It's an addiction!

That doesn't mean I didn't get up this morning and write. As a matter of fact, I wrote 1200 words this morning, the start to my new manuscript. The problem is, I don't have a clue where I want to go with this story.

I have 2 great characters and they just met, but what is going to happen? Here's the other thing, I write romantic-suspense. I really like to read and write romantic-suspense so it needs to be one of those kind of ideas. Plus, my hero has already been seen in my two previous books and he works for a secret government agency.

Now, I did just skim through a bunch of gosh-darn (midwest accent showing through) articles on the net about how to sit down and come up with several ideas. HA! Are they kidding or what? I can't force an idea. Kinda isn't the definition of "idea" if I can PLAN it. Sheesh!

So what I need is inspiration and brainstorming. Any suggestions?

What do writer's drink?

I'm sitting at Panera waiting for Nora so we can critique our work and hopefully brainstorm me through the ending of my WIP. As I sit here drinking my Mountain Dew, I started to wonder what do other writers drink when they're in the creative spirit. For me, there are only two things that boost me along. Mountain Dew during the day or a lesser caffeine soda if MD is not available, and a Corona Light when I'm writing at night.

Occasionally I'll drink a Caramel Apple Spice from Starbucks when I can get it, but that's not as often.

What do the rest of you drink when you lock yourself away to write?