Finding Inspiration

Friends, do you ever struggle to find inspiration?

Whether or not you're a writer, it's important that we feel inspired at times. It might be that you find the perfect recipe to try, and that inspires you to whip up a yummy meal for your family. Maybe you see some wildflowers on a walk and pick a few to put in a vase near where you do your crafting, and that bunch of flowers inspires you to work an extra half hour on whichever craft is in the works.

For me, nearly anything can be inspirational depending on the moment.

Lately, I've been binge watching a couple of seasons of the TV show House, about a team of doctors who specialize in diagnostics. While there are some aspects of the show I don't particularly like, there are many that I enjoy. I like the quirky, damaged, manipulative Dr. Gregory House, because he cherishes figuring out the puzzles that are his patients and his coworkers. I like the cases the team tries to solve, because they're often more complex than they first appear, and there's usually some big twist I never saw coming. I like the fact that story is a huge part of every episode and that there are usually two or three threads that get woven together each time.

While I've been enjoying the show, I've also been analyzing it from a storyteller's perspective. What works? What doesn't? Which twists did I see coming? Which blindsided me? How were props used? How was House's sarcastic sense of humor used well, and when did it come off as completely rude, and how did the writers and actor find the right balance between the two?

These, and many more, are all things a writer watches for in shows, movies, books, and real life as they're contemplating the stories in their own minds that they're trying to put down on paper (or in a computer document).

These, and many more, are the things that have inspired me the past couple of weeks.

The Card {a short story}

Scalding tea wasn’t fun to wear on one’s shirt, but it was better than frying another keyboard. Marla grabbed her “It’s definitely a Monday!” mug from her lap and settled it back atop the round coaster not too far from her shiny, new keyboard on her cubicle’s desk. With her other hand, she pulled the cotton material away from her stomach, which immediately felt the relief of cool, fresh air that whooshed at her from the fan she had blowing from a corner of the desk.

Earlier, she’d been freezing and had to pull on two sweaters. Why did her hormones have to choose today to go wacky? It wasn’t like she had a meeting in—she checked her wristwatch—Goodness!—only eight minutes or anything.

She grabbed one of her sweaters and blotted at the spot on her shirt and the few clusters of damp dots on her calf-length skirt. With that task done as best she could in a pinch, she tossed the sweater under her desk to reclaim later and focused on sending the right document to the communal printer across the large room. She pulled on her other sweater—thankfully, she’d not used the one with buttons to mop up her mess—and it did a decent job of hiding the majority of the stain that might or might not come out in the wash. After sticking her swollen feet back into her two-inch pumps, she spun her chair halfway around and rose.

Two steps forward and her ankle gave out, rolling to the right. She caught her balance with flailing arms, but the pain radiating through her leg with each new step indicated she’d be grabbing ice on her way back to her desk after the meeting.

This meeting was crucial, life or death for her year's to-do list really. Yet, she was having a horrible day from top to bottom. Honestly, what else could go—

The Flower {a short story}

Would the young boy never decide? Mortimer checked his wristwatch one more time and looked to the door. He should flip the sign to Closed and lock the child in until he made his choice, but it would be unprofessional and inappropriate. Still, he needed to close down the shop for the day. His Margaretta would have dinner on the table by now. He could almost taste the rich aroma of his favorite homemade tomato and mascarpone sauce wafting down the back staircase.

Coins clinked together as the towheaded boy in the ratty shirt and hole-spattered jeans counted the money in his palm again. He eyed the medium-sized bouquet of red roses displayed atop the glass counter in front of him. Valentine’s Day was only around the corner, but surely this scrap of a boy couldn’t afford such a bundle of deep-ruby petals.

“What’ll it be?” Mortimer didn’t mean to sound so gruff about it. The day had worn him out. Four orders had been cancelled, due to breakups mere days before the most romantic holiday of the year. Poor chums. Hadn’t found a true pearl like his Margaretta. He decided to soften his tone a bit and try to encourage the lad to make a quick decision. “Have you considered the daisies? There’s a full rainbow of colors to choose from, just in the bins behind you there.”

The boy turned his torso to look for a long moment at the various shades of daisies not far beyond where he stood rooted to the linoleum tiles that had seen better days. When he turned back around, his shoulders curled forward, and his chin nearly disappeared into his t-shirt. “Didn’t sell my bike to Tommy for no stupid daisies.” He swiped a wrist beneath his nose as he sniffed.

Mortimer couldn’t miss the glimmer in the kid’s eyes.

Rainy Day Blues {a short story}

Clouds painted the upper part of the window in front of Carly, who stood staring out at the driveway that had been empty all week. When would Daddy come home? He’d been gone a long time, but he’d promised he’d be home before church day. That was coming soon, she was sure, but she couldn’t remember which day was today.

Rain streaked down the other side of the glass and pattered against the roof. Did that mean God was as sad as she was right now? It sure looked like He was crying with her, but maybe He was just watering the ground so the flowers would come up real pretty when it was springtime again. How long would that be? Probably a lot longer than Daddy would be gone, but Carly couldn’t be sure since she couldn’t tell time yet.

“Do you want a snack, Carly?”

She shook her head but didn’t look back at Mommy. Instead, she pressed her palms and nose up against the glass, leaning up on her tiptoes to see even more of the outside world.

All of it was wet.

NaNoWriMo Has Arrived!

My new computer is working great. The transition came just in time too, because this month is NaNoWriMo. Now, I'm editing on paper this year, but that doesn't mean I don't use my computer. I still have to log in my word count. And if I need to look up something in the manuscript I'm working on that might be found hundreds of pages apart, I can quickly open the computer document and do an easy search. Plus, there's research that needs to be done along the way to make sure that special layer of atmosphere satisfactorily saturates the reader in the world my MCs (main characters) are living in.

The story I'm working on is one that's been in the works for over a decade, first as a screenplay and more recently (since 2012) as a manuscript. I would, of course, love to see both the book and movie versions come to a reality that readers and viewers could enjoy at their leisure. But this writer's got more work to do on them both first.

Things I might be researching while I edit this baby:

Packing My Bags - a short story

Note: This one got a little long (just under 1,800 words), because I kind of got on a roll. I hope you like it!

He was packing up clothes in our walk-in closet. Not his clothes, mind you. Mine. I watched from the doorway, my face a complete mess from the hissy fit I’d just thrown when he told me he was kicking me to the curb. My side of the closet was nearly empty now, and I still didn’t know what I’d done to make him mad enough to talk of a separation, to force one upon me so suddenly.

Did it really matter what I’d done, what he hadn’t done, which mistakes the pair of us had made, how often, how big, how messy…?

Our life was a wreck from the moment we got back from our honeymoon and he stopped in front of his parents’ house. When he turned and said, “Honey, we’re home,” I thought I’d die of mortification. Live with his parents? I’d rather melt into the car seat like a crayon on a summer day in the Lone Star State.

The Border Between - a Christmas short story

Merry Christmas, my dear readers!

I hope you have a wonderful Christmas with your loved ones. I'll be spending the holiday with my parents and sister. Before we get to the gift-exchange portion of the celebration, we'll be reading the Christmas story about Jesus coming to earth in order to save our souls. This is my favorite part of Christmas.

Here's a short story for you to enjoy. It was inspired by YOU, my sweet readers, who participated in this contest.

Note: This short story made the finals of a contest. Further details below the story.

Copyright 2018 by Andrea Renee Cox. All rights reserved.

The Border Between

by Andrea Renee Cox

inspired by Kellyn Roth (and her brother James)

The cityscape puttered by the window. Helene Jackson checked her diamond-studded watch and tapped a single knuckle on the glass partition between the cab driver and herself.

The dark-skinned man glanced over his shoulder and gave her a smile of crooked but gleaming-white teeth.

“Can you hurry up a bit? I’ve got somewhere to be.”

He cracked the partition open a couple of inches. “Do you need more air? The air condition is broke. I’m so sorry. I think the heater work.”

Helene picked a speck of dust from her slacks and looked down her nose at the driver. “I need you to find the gas pedal.” She adjusted her handbag from one thigh to the other. “Whoever thought to use the heater on a seventy-degree day, anyway?”

“Are you happy for Christmas?” He gave her another smile, this time accompanying it with a bobble head-style nod, before looking back at the city street before him.

“Not particularly.”

“My little girl, she is so happy this morning. She tells me, ‘Papa, you bring much happy to passenger today.’ I tell her I will try.” A chuckle bounced across the space between them.

“I didn’t ask for a commentary, only a ride.”

How Much Editing Does a Book Really Need? - Guest Jody Hedlund

Not so very long ago, I read an article about the editing that goes into the making of a book. I found it interesting and thought you might appreciate this behind-the-scenes look too. Please welcome my guest, author Jody Hedlund.

How Much Editing Does a Book Really Need?

by Jody Hedlund

I just finished major edits on a book that’s releasing next summer (2019). It was a tough edit and took me a couple of weeks of full time work. Needless to say, when I got to the end, I was drained.

However, even though I’m done, I’m still in the early stages of editing and will have a lot more to do before the book hits shelves.

Here’s a brief overview of the editing process that most of my books go through:

Edit #1 (Self-Edit): After writing the first draft, I self-edit the book before turning it in to my publisher. Depending upon how much time I have (before it’s due to my publisher), I like to let the book sit (simmer) for a few weeks to a couple of months before I self-edit so that I can gain some perspective before diving back in.

Thanksgiving Disaster - a short story

In honor of Thanksgiving, here is a short story that was so much fun to pen. Happy Thanksgiving!

Copyright 2018 Andrea Renee Cox. All rights reserved.

Thanksgiving Disaster

a short story

by Andrea Renee Cox

Smoke billowed from the open oven and filled the matchbox, galley-style kitchen. With a growl, Sarah swept a cookie sheet swiftly through the air around the raging fire alarm. She’d already turned off the appliance, but she couldn’t find her broom to nudge the battery out of the alarm. If she didn’t get it shut up soon—

Bang! Bang! Bang!

She jumped, dropping the cookie sheet with a clatter. Her poor attempt at a grand jeté didn’t produce anything close to the splits she’d seen the ballerina do in that ballet she’d seen last month, but it did get her over the pan and into the living room. When she flung open the door, she stumbled backward.

Family Ties - a reading challenge

November is a time for family. We Americans gather around our tables the fourth Thursday of the month to celebrate Thanksgiving, during which we appreciate our family perhaps the most of all our blessings. When I was thinking about a reading challenge for this special month, I thought about how we could celebrate family.

What about a reading challenge called Family Ties?

No, not this Family Ties:

Though, I will admit to being addicted to that show when I was growing up. (Reruns were awesome back in the early- to mid-1990s.)

For our Family Ties challenge, our main character's family ties should be featured.

31 Italians - a short story

Here is another short story inspired by YOU (see this article for details). This one is not a complete story as it will most likely become a full-blown novel -- if not a complete series -- because it's cranked up the wheels of my imagination. So, please understand going into it that it shall end abruptly, as this is a snippet from chapter one.

This story, once completed, will touch on some tough topics, such as alcoholism and grief, yet it will also bring along some humor and lightheartedness that are so necessary to balance out the heaviness of those deeper issues.

I'm excited about this story, but I won't have time to flesh it out completely yet, because I've got other writing plans in the coming weeks and months.

Copyright 2018 by Andrea Renee Cox. What follows may not be copied, published, or used without prior written consent.

31 Italians

Inspired by CutePolarBear

I hope you’re hearing this from me first.

If any of my siblings broke the news… Let’s say this: They have little tact. That doesn’t quite sum up the whole of it. They blow things out of proportion.

Way out of proportion.

There was… an incident... a series of incidents, you see. Rather small ones.

It all started with a butterfly…

Diving In

Things are so busy around here.

I read 82 books in the first half of the year, which quite shocked me, honestly. Only two or three of those were ones I didn't end up finishing, yet they are still off of my to-be-read pile now. Of course I'm not stopping there. I would love to duplicate the awesomeness during the second half of the year.

The first month of my two-month summer session of tutoring is completed, which reminds me that summer certainly does fly. I'll get a full break from tutoring in August, and I plan on enjoying it. In the meantime, I will appreciate the moments I get to work with "my kids." They grow so fast and learn so much over the course of even a short summer session.

July is another Camp NaNoWriMo. It's hard to believe it's arrived already. I'll be diving in on several projects for it.

Giggle and Butterflies - a Short Story + Contest

Are you ready for another original short story?

I had a blast writing this one, and I hope you enjoy the lightheartedness of it. Stay tuned till the very end, because there's an opportunity for you to help me figure out what to write next.

* All material under COPYRIGHT by Andrea Renee Cox. This story may not be copied, reprinted, or quoted without prior written permission. *

Perspiration dribbled down the arm Jessica was scrubbing with. She wiped her brow with the other, just-as-sweaty forearm, and pushed herself to finish cleaning the base of the shower stall. Would the soap scum spots never come completely clean, no matter how many different cleaning products she applied, along with elbow grease? She huffed, and the puff of air flicked a few stray strands of ginger-colored hair away from her face. Unfortunately, the hair flopped back and stuck to her cheek.

A few minutes later, when she felt her arm was going to fall right out of its socket, the upbeat tones of one of her favorite classic songs tripped into her range of hearing. Fred Astaire’s voice lilted about dancing cheek to cheek with his gal. A smile spread across Jessica’s face, and she found new vigor for her chore.

Suddenly, the rag was ripped from her hand.

Ice Castles in the Sand - a Short Story

The travel-tine tile numbed Hallyn’s feet, sending chills up her shins as she scampered down the stairs and toward the back door. Howling wind had awakened her much too early, but surely Mommy wouldn’t mind if she checked on her sand castle. She’d made sure to make it far enough up the beach that it wouldn’t get washed away, but if any rain had accompanied the gusts of cold air, her hard work would be destroyed.

In the mudroom—Mommy called it some fancy name, but it was too hard for Hallyn’s four-year-old tongue to manage—she stuffed her bare feet into her rubber boots, then lifted onto her tippy-toes to yank her rain jacket from the hook that was too high for her to reach. After shoving one arm into a sleeve, she flung open the door and hurried down the stairs. She slipped a couple of times but managed to grab the rail bar and wobble into steadiness again before taking another quick step.

Once she reached the bottom of the nearly endless staircase, she grabbed the flapping half of her jacket and pulled the sleeve over her arm. A shiver scrambled through her body, making her teeth chatter, and little goosebumps speckled her naked legs beneath her silky-feeling nightgown. Scurrying across the sand, Hallyn sent wish-prayers up to Heaven. If her castle were gone, would her sister and daddy be gone for good too?

A Question of Honor by Jesseca Wheaton

by Andrea Renee Cox

DISCLOSURE: I received compensation for my honest review. Writing a positive review was NOT a requirement.

The heart of A Question of Honor was engaging, well expressed, and heartrending. While there were typos, inconsistencies, and factual and historical errors, this was a powerful, emotional story that easily gripped my soul. There is room for this author to grow in her craft, but she is already carving out space for her beautiful stories in the world of literature. I am eager to read more from her.

The way two different story lines came together was interesting. It was fun getting to know both sets of characters and their quirks, hopes, and challenges. Even more enjoyable was when their individual stories crashed together. It wasn’t always pretty – war’s an ugly thing, after all – but a thread of hope was the binding agent spreading to every page.

Pick a Name

by Andrea Renee Cox

Remember when I had you help me choose which project to work on? You ended up choosing a really fun story for me to work on. Now that I'm getting deeper into the plot, I've got another opportunity for you to help me out.

How would you like to help me choose some character names?

And the Winner Is...

by Andrea Renee Cox

Last week, I asked for your help in deciding which story to work on for the rest of June. To recap, here were the choices:

Option #1

A woman wakes up in a hospital unable to remember anything about herself, but the doctor recognizes her immediately – only he doesn’t want to tell her the truth.

Option #2

Several ladies head out on a cross-country road trip, but each one’s secrets cause problems along the way.

Option #3

A former singer hides out with her daughter in a quaint horse town, but a stranded journalist thinks she could be just the story he needs to revive his stalled-out career.

Do you have a favorite in mind?

And the winner is...

Help Me Choose

by Andrea Renee Cox

Sometimes deciding what to write is hard.

I could write an entire catalogue of articles on how many times I’ve struggled with what to write about for my blog articles. But that’s not what I’m talking about here.

How does one choose which story to focus on when there are a dozen, two dozen, a hundred ideas floating around in one’s mind?

Sometimes it’s really hard, and sometimes it really hurts, to have to choose. It hurts because once a writer has invested time and energy and precious brain cells building a particular story world populated by a bunch of intriguing characters that the writer begins to love, it’s really tough when a new idea comes along and begs for attention. Sometimes a writer has multiple projects, all with great settings and problems and characters and pets. The tough choice then gets even tougher, because in order to say yes to one set of characters and their world, the writer inevitably has to say no or not now to all the rest.

For this writer in particular, that’s really painful.

Stories and Friendship

by Andrea Renee Cox

Every story I write presents challenges.

Though the difficulties may vary from one project to the next, a couple of things remain the same. Story and friendship both take work, but they’re also both worth the effort.

Story. It could fill up a year’s worth of articles. Story is everywhere around us, but if we look really hard, we can find the best ones. That’s part of my job as a writer, to discover those hiding treasures in order to weave them into tales readers will have a difficult time forgetting. Creating something unique and special every single time might challenge the limits of my imagination, but I cherish the opportunity to craft unforgettable stories that hopefully will find a home with readers around the globe.