What inspires you? For me, inspiration is the dark of night, the silence of the house, and the wee hours when the phone never rings. I keep motherly vigil till I can lull the new idea to sleep and tuck him into a Word Document. That's how Saint Sullivan's Daughter came into being. Melatonin anyone? It will be the morning caffeine that will do me in, but how else to function after such a night?
The pheromones of a new place whet my appetite, when my eyes are innocent and unsated, and suddenly I'm in love and young again. A trap door opens atop my head and, if I'm lucky, a story sneaks in. Throughout the workday the story haunts me, and whispers in my ear as I stir the soup at dinner time. When at last I pull the blanket up to my chin, the story awakens me.
Sometimes, rarely, the morning after dreams have done their stirring, inspiration might emerge bright-eyed and bushy-tailed--a squirrel in a chef's hat, brandishing a wooden spoon, ready to cook me up a plot.
If the night would just let me sleep, I might meet this squirrely creature more often, and take down her words verbatim. Until then, I depend on the owl's slower storytelling.
The pheromones of a new place whet my appetite, when my eyes are innocent and unsated, and suddenly I'm in love and young again. A trap door opens atop my head and, if I'm lucky, a story sneaks in. Throughout the workday the story haunts me, and whispers in my ear as I stir the soup at dinner time. When at last I pull the blanket up to my chin, the story awakens me.
Sometimes, rarely, the morning after dreams have done their stirring, inspiration might emerge bright-eyed and bushy-tailed--a squirrel in a chef's hat, brandishing a wooden spoon, ready to cook me up a plot.
If the night would just let me sleep, I might meet this squirrely creature more often, and take down her words verbatim. Until then, I depend on the owl's slower storytelling.
Squirrels, beware of owls!
