Writers are
often asked where they get their inspiration. What led you to write
that scene that changed my life forever? That moment when all the
planets aligned and the readers saw that you had planned it from the
very beginning. Was it divine intervention? Was it your love of
research? A pivotal moment in your life?
Who
knows? I am often surprised by what causes my best stuff to appear. It
is normally a moment that is so inconsequential to every one around me,
but yet, sends my poor little brain on a tailspin. A trivial little
glance that balloons into an entire chapter. A scent that makes my
typing fingers ache under the need to get it down before it leaks
through my pores.
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| http://craniumbolts.blogspot.com/2009/09/tiny-iridescent-green-fly.html |
One
night, I was laying on the bed and working on a scene that was severely
lacking. It needed something to give it depth. Something to show a
sense of symbolism for how different this particular character sees the
world. I gave up and moved on, knowing that I would come back to it
later. I knew that if I try to force it, well – it will seem forced. And we don’t want that, now do we?
So as I moved on, I heard this buzzing--the
very distinctive hum of a fly. I watched the annoying critter in his
confusion of trying to locate the best place to sit. Have you ever
really watched a fly? I swear it is like the perfect illustration of
ADD. "I think I will sit here, oh wait, blinds."
I slid from the bed and went to the kitchen to retrieve the flyswatter. I
came back to find that he has disappeared. Now, I have played this game
before. So instead of wasting my time – I sit down on the bed knowing
that as soon as I begin concentrating the insect will begin his annoying
song once more. He does not disappoint.
I
ease from the bed and watch him as he dances from one surface to
another, teasing me as he hovers over a surface and then takes flight
once more. I track him like an avid hunter. He rests on
the door frame. I lift the flyswatter mere inches from his little body,
trying my damnedest not to disturb the air, and in a swift movement I
flick my wrist and watch his lifeless body fall to the floor.
I
do my victory dance and look up to see my husband staring at me like I
have lost my mind. My only response is not to admit that I am crazy, and
instead, sing a song about murdering this poor critter.
After
I have celebrated my kill, I use the flyswatter to scoop up the stiff
remains. When the fly is at eye level, I catch a glimpse of the insect
in the light. I take a closer look to see how beautifully painted this
insignificant little bug is. When you see a fly, they
appear black and you never notice their iridescent wings, the green
covering with gold flecks, and the details of the gigantic eyes (better
to see you with, my dear). And in this moment, I have found my answer.
The death of a fly gave the depth to the character for which I was so
desperately searching.
And
if you ever read Iron Thirst, I hope when you reach that chapter you
are not too distracted by the image of me chasing down a fly--ninja
style.
