Where do you find inspiration?

Where do you find inspiration?  

With fall fast approaching and the days getting shorter by the minute (pun intended), we have fewer hours to actually be inspired. Maybe you're the kind who wakes up in the middle of the night with an absolutely brilliant idea and rushes to jot it down on a nearby napkin or even record it on a cool device. 

I tried that once, whispering into the small recorder I kept in my nightstand drawer. My croaking whispers woke dear hubby, who sat upright in bed, demanding to know who or what I was talking to. 

As a writer, he didn't have the first clue about the rush of roping the greatest story idea in the few fleeting moments. You HAVE to get it written down or risk losing it in the vast cloud of ideas floating around forever in a lost universe. 

But I'm getting off-track.

Inspiration: Where Does It Come From?

Whether it be the dusty rural road I live on or a crowded aisle in the local grocery store, my eyes and ears absorb everything around me. One evening, while cruising the back roads in no particular hurry, out of nowhere, a car comes barreling straight at me. He whizzed past in a blur, squealed his tires at the corner, made a U-turn, and rushed up behind me, trailing my bumper frightfully close. 

My heart beat full throttle as he passed me, racing ahead and completing another turn, this time barreling straight at me. 

His actions were reckless, crazy even. Furious and without thinking, I pulled onto the side of the road. My window was already down, having been enjoying a leisurely evening ride. He slowed his car next to mine, revved up his motor as if to impress me. "What do you want?"

With a booze induced grin, he peeled gravel on the dirt road and sped off. 

Only a few hundred yards from home, I said a silent prayer when I parked beside the shed, hurried into the house, and bolted the door. 

Later, as I crawled into bed, my imagination took over. How could I be certain he hadn't followed me home? Hubby was out of town, and I'd given specific orders to my friends and family that I wanted to be alone. I had plans to write and didn't want to be disturbed for any reason. I'd repeated this so loudly that no one would even think of dropping by. What had started off as a few days of bliss suddenly became apparent how quickly the situation could change. Two full days of solitude could do some serious harm under the right circumstances. 

That became the inspiration for my suspense story, Letters From Inside. An idea so creepy it's one of my all-time favorites.

Excerpt below:

 Out of nowhere, a man appeared in her headlights riding a bicycle. His dark clothing and a knit cap made it impossible to see until her car was practically on top of him as he pedaled on the pavement. She swerved and narrowly missed hitting the guy, then looked in her rear-view mirror. The man had stopped in the road, balancing his bike against one leg, and made the lewd gesture of flipping her off. Her heart dropped to her lap, realizing how close she’d come to running the guy over. She hadn’t expected anyone to be riding a bicycle at this hour, especially without reflectors. Linda pressed the accelerator down, needing to put as much distance between them as possible. Later, as she changed into her pajamas, the frightening image surfaced again. His gaze left her feeling isolated and vulnerable. She snuggled beneath the warmth of her quilt and closed her eyes, but nothing could erase the memory of his alarming reaction. For the first time since moving back into the farmhouse, she felt uneasy and got out of bed to double-check the doors. She crept into the living room and stood in the dark, then sliced the curtains and peeked out into the yard. The hairs rose on the back of her neck, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that unseen eyes were watching her. “Mom?” Jessie came out of her bedroom, groggy from sleep. “Is somebody out there?” she asked, rubbing her eyes. “No, sweetheart. Just wondering if it’s going to rain or not. Go back to bed.” Linda moved quickly from the window, wrapped her arm across her daughter’s shoulder, and then walked her back to her room.

Available on Amazon.

Where do your ideas come from? 

 

Rocky is still the man

 As summer drags by and since hubby is retired, I find myself at a loss. I mean, the house has only so many cabinets and closets to clean. So, I head out to my little room where bliss awaits. This is my piece of heaven. My own special place where I sit and watch movies or read a good book. I usually only get an hour or two before someone comes searching for me, but I'm not complaining. Imagine how I'd feel if nobody did? 

Like the rest of the world, I'm waiting for Yellowstone to wrap up. Why it takes so long between seasons is anyone's guess. But a person can only wear so many hats, no matter how big the head. Anyway, I decided to rewatch some old movies. Since my little room is only equipped with an antenna, I usually watch DVDs. 

Yesterday, I chose Rocky Balboa. I watched it at the theater and remember thinking how magnificent he still looked after all these years. Magnificent, yes, is the right word. He is toned and determined. And loyal. I'm a sucker for a love story, which you probably already know since I write romance novels. In a previous movie, Rocky's wife, Adrian, had passed away- we only see memories of her in this movie. There's a flashback of when he first met her at the pet store and bought a pair of turtles, Cuff and Link. Love those names. I gotta tell you, I almost cried during the opening minutes seeing Rocky feeding two clunky, and very big, turtles swimming around in a tank.  The passing of time hits you hard. 

And like it or not, it's a phase in life we all reach. A whole new chapter. The silver years, which will ultimately lead to the golden ones, and on to the big finale. And like Rocky, it takes some adjusting. You know, there's still a little more inside. And he's determined to spend it all. Every last drop. 

Good advice. 

Pursue your passion. 

   

BOOK SIGNING- May 2nd, 2025

 

It's nearly time! May 2nd, 2025, when I will join several local authors from our area for their annual author book fair being held at the Marcellus Township Wood Library. 

This is a perfect opportunity to ask questions about the writing process. How does a book happen? How long does it take to write a book? And, where do you get your ideas?

There will be books available for purchase, too. 

I hope to see you there! 

INSIDE A convicted rapist out on parole. A detective determined to put him back in prison. And an innocent woman caught in the crossfire. When Tom Harrington is unable to prevent the release of the serial rapist, Carl Jenkins, from the state penitentiary, the detective follows him to the small town of Berrien. His reasons are personal - Jenkins was convicted of assaulting Tom's sister. One slight parole infraction buys him a free ticket back to prison, where he belongs. After eight years in the state penitentiary, Carl Jenkins is deemed rehabilitated. Years of hard times and no visitors. Nothing can penetrate the cynical chamber that functions as a heart. Until the smallest ray of warmth enters his cell in a flowery envelope and perfumed paper. Whispers of dreams long forgotten. And the hope to become normal.

 AND OUT There's another lure to the sleepy town, the beautiful woman who spent months corresponding with the convict. Linda Wheeler is a mystery to both men. Seeking refuge after a tumultuous divorce, all she craves is peace. Yet, single parenting is a whole other battle. Her teenage daughter is becoming a rule breaker and eventually winds up on the wrong side of the law. She's determined to keep her from becoming a name and number in the court's legal system. But what Linda doesn't know is that a name has already seeped behind prison walls: her name. And nothing can prepare them for the storm that's coming.

Leslie Stone stumbles upon her fiancé cheating with the maid of honor just days before her wedding. Determined to put distance between them, she heads to the family’s cabin in Sleeping Falls, Michigan. Unfortunately, her car barely hit the city limits before breaking down. And with no money for repairs, the scrolling marquee above the biker bar advertising a mechanical bull riding contest seems like a perfect solution.
Jay Westfield learned at an early age to avoid women who chase the limelight. After all, his mother had been the star attraction in Harvey’s Traveling show. The minute Leslie clears the door in cut-offs and skimpy tank top, things heat up. She’s on a mission and he wants no part of it. The last thing he expects is the attraction he feels seeing her on the back of Old Iron.
Add a squeezy rag doll named Mr. Jingles, the colorful antics of newfound friend, and the renowned tarot-card reader Madame Luella. Leslie’s about to discover in order to find the man of her dreams she must be willing to believe in magic.

One snowy Christmas Eve street urchin Victoria and her dog spend hours wandering the chilly streets selling ribbons and peering through the store's glass windows at grand gifts designed to fill boys and girls Christmas wishes everywhere. But Victoria has a wish of her own. A yearning for something she wants more than anything else in the world. And perhaps this year Father Christmas will find her and make all her dreams come true. When a withered old storekeeper and his gentle wife find themselves in her company, they are at a loss. The couple has long forgotten the joys of Christmas spent with a child and the magic sure to follow when they open their home and their hearts to... The Season For Miracles.

 

                                   THE LITTLE GIRL 

                I saw a girl outside today while she was jumping rope

            With tangled hair and skinned up knees,, no buttons on her coat.

            She sang in rhyme and skipped a beat to slapping 

            on the ground.

            And counted as she played the game, abandoned that, then

            found a swing. 

   

              She pumped herself into the clouds, still singing silly songs.

            I knew each word before she spoke, the lyrics loud and strong.

            I took the path she walked to school, now overgrown and small.

            The curves and hills, the rambling creek, no distance here at all.

              I strolled along her daily route and found beneath some trees,

            The tiny house where she had grown, a sacred place 

            the girl called home.

             A sagging porch with crumbling steps, through dirty window glass,

            I held my breath and peered inside, a restful peace at last.

            I heard the sound of laughter and felt a swell of love.

            With eyes yet closed, I held her tight.   

            The little girl was...me.

            

           

            

       

Remember that contest I entered over at Watershed Voice?

It’s up now! If you have a minute, check it out.

Let me know what you think. 

 https://watershedvoice.com/2024/12/20/tereasa-bellew-a-new-beginning/

You can also listen to my interview on their podcast.

https://watershedvoice.com/podcast/keep-your-voice-down/

New Books- Old Books, and characters to good to let go.

 New books. Old books. Characters too good to let go.

 

 Have you ever opened the pages of a book and discovered people you love? Individuals cut from the same cloth so to speak. You can even imagine yourself hopping in the car to drive over for a visit?

 

Certain books touch our lives so profoundly they find a forever home on our bookshelves. Books we know will be read again whenever our need to be with the characters gets so strong you simply must pull up a chair and dive back into their world. Perhaps to experience the danger or warmth we enjoyed during our time together. 

 

Today I'd like to introduce you to a few folks I’ve come to love.  Some are funny, handsome, and some just downright nasty.

  

Mr. Perfect by Linda Howard

***** 

Jaine Bright and her girlfriends create a list of qualities each woman imagines a great catch should have and come up with Mr. Perfect. Some specifications on the list are caring, warmhearted, faithful, and reliable. The list takes on a life of its own sizzling throughout the community. It even winds up in the local newspaper. 

In the meantime, Jaine's noisy neighbor cruises her quiet neighborhood in a muffler-missing Pontiac rumbling like thunder all hours of the night disturbing her peaceful slumber and keeping her awake. To top it off, he hates cats. Hates the tiny paw prints trailing the hood of his car.  

 It's fun to watch as Jaine goes head-on with the guy, who just so happens to be an undercover cop. That’s right. And it's a good thing too because this list she’s devised has pissed off a certain somebody who doesn’t think there should be such a list as Mr. Perfect. When one in the group is murdered, the list is no longer a laughing matter. 

Another is Iron House by John Hart

 *****

  I stumbled across this book while waiting for a tire rotation at a local store. Whenever there is time to kill, there's time to read, so I hit out for the book section. I picked up a thick book with a dark cover and was pulled into the story about two orphan brothers housed at Iron Mountain Home for Boys. Julian, the younger and weaker of the two survives only because of Michael's fierce protection and strong fists. When a boy is brutally murdered at the institution only one can take the blame. Michael fled the orphanage taking the blame with him and leaving Julian behind. 

This pulled at my heart so much that I returned for the book and devoured it in record time. As someone who's grown up with an older brother, I know there is nothing we wouldn't do for each other. So, despite the passage of time, sibling bonding is forever. And so it is with Michael and Julian. There's also a Mob boss who nurtured Michael through the ranks and a jealous son who goes to great lengths to destroy the life he's tried to achieve. 

This book is big, giving the author time to dig deep into the past lives of both boys, now grown men. And some of their baggage isn't nice. 

I have many, many more keepers. It's what led me to write in the first place. To be able to create my own universe, my own friends. That moment when I step into another place and time with characters who dare to say the outrageous or do the unthinkable. In other words, not afraid to step out of their comfort zone. 

My keeper shelf wouldn't be complete if I didn't include this particular book. 

Pippi Longstocking, by Astrid Lindgren

What can I say about this story? Only that it introduced to me the most outrageous character my young eyes had ever read. I was probably eight years old when I first read Pippi Longstocking. She lives in a house she calls Villa Villekulla. Her new pals, Tommy and Annika, live next door and have the most wonderful adventure's together. Pippy also has several animals like her monkey, Mr. Nillsson, and a horse she capable of lifting with just one arm! Several more books reveal Pippi's father is the king on an Island. Years later, after television progressed, we traveled with her to visit him on the island in living color! 

When Pippi first met Anika and Tommy she proclaimed herself a thingfinder. 

And years of collecting fascinating treasures I discovered that I, too, am a thingfinder, just like Pippi. 

Books find their way into our lives many times, forever. 

What do you have on your keeper shelf? 

Beautiful fall day

 

Hi Everyone! 

So much to catch up on. First, it's been a beautiful summer and even lovelier fall.

This is the rural road I live on.

Literally.

I love walking it whenever I can to the corner dairy farm.

When time and energy are on my side, I continue to the top of the hill, 

roughly about 1 1/2 miles. The road has a steep incline, very shaded and untraveled.

It reminds me of the thick forest Dorothy Gale from Kansas, 

along with the Scarecrow and Tinman dared trespass through

when they met the cowardly lion.

I have some photos of this year's fall color tour I'll try and upload. 

They're on the phone and I'm here, on the PC. I've got to figure out how 

to get them in one spot. : ) 

To let you all know I'm still writing,

I thought I'd share a heartfelt poem I wrote the other day.

                                         The little girl

          I saw a girl outside today, while she was jumping rope.

          With skinned-up knees and tangled hair, no buttons on her coat. 

          She sang in rhyme and skipped a beat to slapping on the ground.

          And counted as she played the game, abandoned that,

          then found a swing.

          She pumped herself into the clouds, still singing silly songs.

          I knew each word before she spoke, the lyrics loud and strong.

          I took the path she walked to school, now overgrown and small.

          The curves and hills, the rambling creek, no distance here at all.

          I strolled along her daily route and found beneath some trees,

          The tiny house where she had grown, a sacred place

          the girl called home.

           A sagging porch with crumbling steps, through dirty window glass,

           I held my breath and peered inside, a restful peace at last.

           I heard the sound of laughter and felt a swell of love.

           With eyes yet closed, I held her tight.

           The little girl...was me.