Idea Generators

Someone recently asked me how I center myself for writing. It's a good question. Actually I spend way too much time dinking around with Facebook and emails. So by the time I get around to working, I simply kick myself in the bum and tell myself to quit wasting time and get to work. Myself sounds a whole lot like my dad...;o) 
Seriously, I generally play a game or two of Beleaguered Castles or Solitaire to loosen up my brain and then I'm good to go. Actually sitting down and opening the program works wonders.

I get most of my ideas and inspiration when I'm lying in bed in the morning. I rarely get to do that, however, because I'm incredibly busy. So the stories have to unfold while I'm doing other mindless things. I also rumble through scenarios while hanging clothes, especially at night. (I have six kids and several volunteer jobs. Lots of mindless jobs in there.)
I read like a freak--almost anything I can get my hands on. I take a book or my Kindle everywhere. I even read while I walk. Mostly I don't bump into things unless it's dark and I'm reading with a flashlight while walking. If you're looking to generate ideas, you've got to read a great deal. Stuff the time you don't spend writing, with reading.
I try to keep current on information as much as I can. All kinds of scientific breakthroughs catch my fancy (Bucky balls, Aerogel, polymers, etc). The list is endless.

At any given time there's usually a traffic jam of ideas in my head. Scenes and ideas for new novels are all backed up at a light and waiting for me to bring them to the public. It's the editing that takes me the longest.

I come up with ideas several different ways:
*Sometimes I come up with a kickin' character first. People like Vari Faro or Larkin will bang at the inside of my head and beg me to let them out. Then I plunge that character into as much trouble as they can stand. Sometimes it's more than they can stand. At times they've revolted and made me change the story. 
I recently tried to kill off one of my characters at the end of the book and she came and kicked me and told me she wasn't dying. So I let her live.
*Sometimes it's a story that unfolds. I have one I haven't written yet about a brother and sister who live under London Bridge and pick through the mud for abandoned or lost goodies. That story nearly sprang full-fledged from my head. I'm pretty much waiting until I make enough so I can actually go to London to do research for this book. Sigh.....
*At times it's just an idea that begins like a little seed and takes over. My WATCHERS series grew from my latent rebel tendencies. It ended up being a five-book series, which I'm still polishing between writing three other books.
*I like to take two disparate ideas and crash them together and see what emerges alive. FIRETHORN was like that. I wanted a character that was wildly out-of-the-ordinary without being the same old vampire or werewolf. Kerry was born in all her woodiness. Then I stuck her in high school with all the regular witchy cheerleaders and geeks. I'm hoping it'll appeal to teens and tweens by the bus-load.
*I've gotten ideas from dreams. I have a picture book I haven't written yet, that was such a vivid and color-splashed dream, that it's indelibly ingrained in my mind. I will write that book when I can scrape up time to paint the pictures. It's going to be breath-taking. Someday.
*My first published book SMALL DECEPTIONS grew out of a wish for more books like Jane Austen's. I'd run out of hers and most of the good spin-offs and wanted something more. I'm always looking for a well-researched historical romance with some meat to it. SUMMERHOUSE was another book like that. It's a paranormal Regency romance.
*It also helps to do a loose outline. I plug things into that outline and keep fleshing it out. That helps me keep the book on track so it doesn't stray off into murky byways.
*Write something every day, whether it's on your W.I.P. or a limerick about lawn gnomes. Keep the generator primed and oiled.

My main goal is not to swipe from anybody. Ever. If it's already been done, why write it? Same with movies. Why all the re-dos when there are perfectly good brand new stories out there screaming to hit the big screen? It annoys me that publishers look for books that are current but they also want fresh. That's a knife-edged line. I write what I want to and hope.

My main trouble is in getting books sent to publishers. I never feel they're polished enough. I do have one in submission (PIVOT POINT is the title so far) and A TERRIBLE MAJESTY is nearly out of the polishing stage. FIRETHORN is going to Beta today (thank you Courtney).

That said, it's time to get back to editing. Cheers!

A Smackerel of FIRETHORN

I was the new girl at Edgemont high and I was going to die. Of embarrassment; I was timing it. Any second, now, someone was going to stop gaping and start with the names. I'd heard them all: Twiggy, Woody, The Tree, Plywood Face, Pinocchio. There were boat-loads more, but I couldn't bring myself to dredge them up out of the basement of my soul.

I tried to keep my shoes from squeaking as I followed my dad, Lysander, into the office and sat down to wait while they decided my fate. I didn't need the extra attention. I generated that all by myself. The frozen glances of the other students hanging around waiting for hall passes were why I'd always been home-schooled. I checked them out as they stared at me, unblinking, insatiably curious.

I wanted to tell the blond cheerleader she'd better shut her mouth or she'd drop her gum. Still, it would be so entertaining watching her try to get bubblegum off her skimpy uniform skirt. I saw her confusion as she tried to catalog me. If I'd had hair instead of twigs, and skin as soft and pink as hers was, she might have decided I could breathe her oxygen. I saw the exact moment when she dumped me into the “freak” box. She took out her phone and began to text. She was still texting when the receptionist handed her a hall pass. Cheerleader girl texted clear out the door and was probably still at it when she got to class.

The receptionist was greenish as she smiled at me, pretending she was a better woman than she is. Her type was everywhere I looked. I was sure she'd splash me all over her social media sites. She was probably trying to figure out a way to sneak a picture with her phone.

Then I saw the Imagine Dragons CD on her desk and I couldn't keep her in my Superfluous Adults drawer anymore. She was an ally. I smiled at her, feeling just a bit sad that she was stuck in a job like this, ferrying disgruntled young people across the River Styx and into the Underworld of Edgemont High. Maybe someday she'd earn a reprieve. Until then, I would save a smile for her every day—one bright spot in the flood of grumbling lost souls.

The other students woke up from their staring stupor and trickled away in ones and twos, like missionaries off to spread the word. “There's a whole new kind of freak at Edgemont School for the Terminally Dorky,” They'd say. And they were right. I couldn't get freakier if you painted me pink and tied toy poodles in my twigs.

I could hear Lysander arguing through the closed door, which read, “Principal Capoletti”. No clue why my dad didn't just take me in there with him. It's not like he was sparing my feelings, what with all the shouting. I knew he'd win the debate. My dad's in a whole other world of brilliant. He'd have been cool chilling with Einstein. He'd had to take precious research time off to battle for me against unfeeling, narrow-minded creeps, people who would have stuck me in a lab, and paparazzi who were in it for the big bucks. It was completely amazing to me that they'd never managed to get my picture into the tabloids.

Now with mom gone, Lysander Mason, the famous bioengineer, had even less time to be my knight-in-shining-armor. I could hear the impatience in his voice as he tore Mr. Capoletti into tiny shreds. I sunk down in my seat, annoyed that I was again the the cause for Dad's unwanted break from the research, which was his oxygen and his cake. At least he only needed to come down once to admit me to school.

I snickered to myself, remembering mom's insistence that I stay home, where I could grow into a nice tall tree in peace. The joke might have been on her, but I was going to reap the rewards. I felt like a baby eagle being shoved out of the nest and forced to fly. A wooden eagle. That would be something to watch. Step right up. Get your geek tickets here.

I debated whether to just wander in or hunker down and take a nap. Sleep would have been nice, since I knew today was going to take everything I had to survive sane. But somehow I knew that if I let myself actually lose my iron grip on the situation, I'd wake up with my twigs on fire or some loser would carve his name in my leg.

I turned around and watched the blurry image of the principal gesturing wildly through the window. It sounded like he thought I was some kind of wooden android. Like Lysander would ever make something he'd endowed with AI, out of something so perishable as wood. My snort brought the receptionist's equally wooden face up from her texting.

“Can I help you?” she asked. I was amazed she thought I was human enough to ask. Maybe it was a test.

“Not likely,” I mumbled, hoping she wouldn't press me to speak up.

She pressed.

I bent over and rubbed at my forehead. I tend to get rugged bark there. It's always a struggle keeping it polished smooth. One good thing about having a wooden face was the lack of expression when I wanted to lie. Otherwise it rotted. I could barely smile or move my eyebrows. I was constantly having to massage the cellulose on my face to get it to be more supple.

I lied now. “I was saying I sure hope my dad can get me into this school.”

She gave me that green smile that said she hoped something totally different. “I'm sure we can work it out. What grade are you in?”

“I've been home-schooled, so I don't know. I'm almost sixteen. I'm actually at college junior level, but Dad won't let me up there until I can handle being in high school.”

I could see the cogs cranking creakily in her head. She was thinking “Android.”

I debated whether to set her straight. It gets tiring always having to explain myself. Maybe I could sneak over to the P.A. System and just toss all the beans on the table at once.

Just as I'd decided to do it, Dad won his debate and the two men came out into the office. Lysander went straight to the counter to deal with paperwork, brandishing my birth certificate like a baseball bat. The principal disappeared back into his cave with a nod to the receptionist.

Dad glanced back at me and there was a triumphant light in his eyes—something he always got when he prevailed against lesser mortals. “I am going to watch you copy that. I need it back for every time I have to prove my daughter is human.”

I silently begged my dad to let her live. He could flay an unsuspecting person's skin off with just a couple of words. Since Mom died, he did it all the time, and we were losing colleagues. Friends had gone the way of the dodo long before.

The secretary copied the necessary papers, frowning at the immunization report. I could see Dad gearing up, like we were coming to the edge of the eye of the hurricane. The secretary looked up and was going to say something but decided, it seems, she liked life too much. She handed everything back and gave me a packet. “Take that down to Mrs. Mendoza's office two doors on your right. She'll help you get started. And here's a hall pass for you. Welcome to our school, Karyatis....”

“That's Karry. I won't answer if you call me Karyatis,” I said before she could label me forever with the name I detested. What had they been thinking, those brilliant two who had spawned me? You'd think that being wooden would be enough of a pain-in-the-rear. Why had they thought it would be so funny to name me after a column at the Greek Acropolis?

“Well then, Karry. Would you like me to make a note of this for your teachers?”

“Please.” I hoped she'd play nice. Otherwise it would be open season on her car. Except that she liked Imagine Dragons. I think I'd always think of her as Charon in my mind. Charon, the ferry-woman.

“I must go.” Lysander said stiffly. He gave me a pat on my arm, and left. He'd never been one for displays of affection, even with mom, who wasn't a tree. I stood for a second, bracing myself for the gauntlet of stunned faces. Too bad my wooden skin wasn't strong enough to keep out the verbal barbs. Those would sink deep inside and fester.

Firethorn

The editor to whom I pitched my adult-aged sci fi book A TERRIBLE MAJESTY at the ANWA conference politely indicated that they didn't do adult Sci fi. I decided that I should have gone to LTUE (Life, The Universe, and Everything--a sci fi writer's convention in Utah), much more in my genre. But as my funds are low and ANWA was only two hours away, I went where I could.
Said editor told me to go home and write something spectacular and send him two chapters of it and they'd find somewhere to plug me in. So I decided that, since they didn't do adult, I might as well write them something they could use. So now I'm nearly ten thousand words (and four chapters) into FIRETHORN, my brand spankin' new teen novel.

Karyatis (Karry) Mason's genetic engineer parents have screwed up big time. While developing a new Super-pesticide, Karry's pregnant mom inhales a potentially lethal dose of a mutant strain. The pesticide works its way through the uterine wall and plays havoc with the fetus. Karry is born with a genetically impossible defect. She's part tree. Her skin is wooden and her joints are a softer form of cellulose. She has twigs instead of hair, which sprout leaves and blossoms in the spring. She sucks up water with her toes and thrives on CO2.

To top it off, because her mother has died, Karry comes to Edgemont high in the middle of the school year from being home-schooled all her life. She suddenly has friends and enemies and a confusing relationship with Rafael Greenwood, who makes it his business to help Karry find out what her father is doing in his lab behind the house. Despite being brilliant, Karry has no tools to handle what Rafe does with her heart.

Anywho, I'm really enjoying it. I like putting myself in Karry's head and coming out snarky. I like that I was going to write her beaten down by life, but she took my pen and threw it against the wall and shouted, "I'm a survivor, for cryin' out loud! Make me strong!"