31 July 2007

From whence the inspiration comes...

If you're like me, you've wondered, more than once in your life, where some elements of your writing come from. On a few rare occasions, an answer might come back to you. It might amuse you...or it might make a shiver work its way down your spine. This past weekend, I had such a revelation.

My family and I have lived in our current house for the last 6+ years. Last weekend, my husband and I decided that the old carpet in the living room HAD to go, so we bought new padding and carpet and ripped up the old.

Now, mind you that the carpeting has been on that floor since long before we moved in. I have never seen the floor beneath it. Also, keep in mind that I have written nearly everything I've published in that room, sitting in the corner of one of our couches with a lap desk on my knees. So, how could something that I've never seen but that has been beneath me all that time find its way into my work? It did. From TYGERS (re-releasing with Under The Moon this winter)...

The furniture had changed since Grandmother's death, but little else had. It was the same beige and navy blue it had always been. The wallpaper had seen better days, and the trim needed a touchup, but it was the same old familiar place. This room, of all the rooms, held the least menace for her.

Katheryn rubbed her tired eyes and glanced around again. She shot up from the couch, now a heavy rose print. The wallpaper was in done in golds and greens and looked practically new. Gold and rose cushions were settled on the couch. The trim was a 1970s color that was halfway between harvest orange and rust. The chair that matched the couch was occupied.

[snip]

As an afterthought, she climbed on the couch and grabbed Carol's nail file off the top of the bookcase next to it. Katheryn scraped several layers of navy blue paint from the top of the window frame and stopped when the red-orange appeared.

Dammit! It was real. She wasn't crazy. Katheryn sank into the couch with her knees folded up to her chest and stared at the single streak of red she'd uncovered in the blue.


When we pulled up the carpet, I set about scrubbing down the painted floor beneath with bleach. The fact that the floor was painted blue didn't strike me as significant, until I realized that the places the paint had been rubbed away revealed a rust-red paint layer beneath.

In essence, I'd written what actually lay beneath the carpet, a paint scheme I'd never laid eyes on. Makes you wonder where the words come from.

4 comments:

Christopher said...

Downright spooky sometimes. The Muse works in strnge and mysterious ways.

Will

Aurora Black said...

Agreed. Very spooky, yet bloody fantastic!

BrennaLyons said...

Nodding. It's given me a new idea, of course. Seems to happen that way, I guess.

Thanks for commenting, guys!

Brenna

Carole said...

i love it when stuff like that happens. -C