imagination | imagination
Mar.06.2011
As if arising from the echoing darkness of metal gutter pipes, a sudden din of raucous crows resounds along streets and off of fences. A cat creeps, hoping to go unseen. The birds have spotted her and sound the alarm. Gulls join the bedlam and shriek in exaltation. Then all is silence; the...
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Mar.04.2011
Ever have an idea ignite to suddenly reveal a new dimension of a character or story? It could be the light at the tunnel's end or an oncoming train. Here's how to vet sudden inspiration.
As an editor, I get queries from writers saying they were suddenly inspired on how to fix a complex character...
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Feb.28.2011
As an athlete, I've learned that if you want to be better at something, you practice. Repetition makes the necessary physical moves automatic, freeing the brain to make good decisions.
I’ve tried to apply that to fiction writing, putting in the hours at my desk even when it was a struggle,...
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Feb.27.2011
All my life I’ve suffered from an overactive imagination. At six years old, sitting in our station wagon outside Herndon’s Market, I became convinced that the tattooed men getting out of their truck were on their way to kidnap me. Leaning over the console, I slammed down the driver’s side lock and...
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Feb.15.2011
I needed some crunch in my life. You just do every so often. Too much is mush, too many sounds are very close to squish, and not enough has the defined snap of this being different from that.
Decisiveness can be very refreshing. You know what you're dealing with when a decision has been made...
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Jan.12.2011
Glass walls don’t change anything. We can see and helplessly wring our hands. We can mock, we can sulk, we can laugh and cry, and we can see. We are voyeurs more than ever before because of these darned glass walls. Animals, people, even plants die and the cameras follow, the microphones, the...
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Jan.07.2011
The Scribes are coming to New York with me. Or am I going with them? In a sense I feel that whoever I was and whatever I felt during three years of writing have disappeared inside a book. At some point the story took over and my job was to finish it. And then I finished it and the story stood on...
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Jan.03.2011
A round chocolate truffle stood on the glass shelf. It seemed alone, but it wasn’t. There were others with strawberries and pineapple slices and whipped cream. This one looked ready to crumble. It wasn’t a chocolate truffle. It was gingerbread. A voice in my head said it. I listen to the...
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Dec.27.2010
I used to love saying influenza…it sounded lyrical, like the name of a woman with wavy hair, standing on a hillock, the gust of wind so strong that she had to shut her eyes and cross her arms across her chest. She is wearing a peach-coloured dress scrunched-up at the waist with a ruffled...
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