Write Something Every Day? But What?



A FEW SCRIBBLED THOUGHTS THAT TURNED INTO NOVELS
Crystal Lake Reunion-The Stars at Night-Wish for the Moon-Heart of a Hero

If you are an author, I believe you understand the urge to write something. Anything. This is the best advice I hear repeatedly about "finding time to write." Just write. However, even this advice doesn't always work for me, but when it does I invariably begin a new story. If I could complete each one, I'd have files filled with new novels or novellas.

If I don't have my computer nearby or even a scrap of paper, then I "write" in my head. Do you do this? No doubt, you do. My head is filled with brilliant ideas for incredibly intriguing Best Sellers.

I wish.

 

Years ago, as we drove along a very long stretch of West Texas highway on our way home from a school reunion, the monotony of the scenery and the hum of the engine almost put me to sleep. Instead, I thought about the school reunion I'd just attended and wanted to write about it. Of course, it began in my head, and after ten minutes or so, I had to get this on paper so I wouldn't forget it. I searched my purse and every nook and cranny in the vehicle for a notepad and pen or pencil. There was nothing! Not one thing. I opened the car pocket and voila! I found a blue paper towel, the kind you use at service stations to clean the windshield. Since it was thick and tough, I could write on it...but no pen. There had to be something. My husband said he had a short pencil--the kind we use on the golf course for a scorecard--in his shaving kit. He stopped and found it for me. This taught me a lesson--never leave home without a pen and notepad.

Here are examples of two story beginnings in my files:

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The Pro

        Julie clutched her printout ticket and stood in the long snaking line as patiently as she could. Whatever happened to the adventure of flying? Everything turned into a hassle—no water bottles, liquids in 3 ounce bottles, and no more than four. Or was it three? She could never remember, so if the airline personnel decided it was too much, so be it. Discount stores were on every corner of the planet.
        She could barely believe she’d snagged a seat in First-Class. She, Julie Newcastle, erstwhile lawn-mower repairman, sometimes pizza deliverer, and laid-off wedding planner assistant to the assistant had taken the offer to give up her seat in coach for the reward of sitting in First-Class on the next flight.
        Another time, when she boarded an over-booked flight, she took the deal, two hundred dollars in cash. That was a real boon, enough money to pay her phone bill and stock up on groceries. This time, though, she guessed the airlines were hurting for cash just like the passengers and the rest of the country.
        As she neared the security station, she hoisted her carry-on bag to her other shoulder, and reached down to remove her slip-on sandals. Walking barefoot to the conveyor belt, she was dropping the bag onto the moving carrier when someone bumped her from behind. One shoe and her shoulder bag dropped to the floor.
       “Ohh,” she muttered. In the process of stooping to pick up the two items, people behind her began to grumble.
       Looking over her shoulder, she said, “Okay, okay, hold your horses. I’m doing the best I can.”
       The griping didn’t lessen, but someone with a deep voice said, “Let’s give the lady a chance here, what do you say, folks?”
        She looked at the man in front of her. So far, she’d only seen his back, but now she saw his blinding, white smile from a pleasing, tanned face. Everyone hushed and muttered “sorry”, or “sure, thing.”
       Julie wondered who he was to command such attention.

~*~*~

The Kings of Texas

      Early Twentieth Century
      He looked up at the huge sign splashed across the top of a multi-story brick building in downtown Houston. King Oil Company. Looks like big brother did it right.
      With no hesitation, he walked through the enormous glass double doors in the foyer of the building. On the wall to the right was a sign behind glass listing the names of the offices, floor, and number.
       It seemed his big brother occupied the entire top floor. Unimpressed, he punched the button for the electric elevator. The door slid open and he stepped in.
       "Floor, sir?" The operator stood to the side as if at attention.
       Lee grinned at the man in the red uniform trimmed in gold braid and the round hat that topped his head.
      "Top."
      "Mr. King's offices?"
      "That right."
      "Very good, sir. Now, if you will just step to the rear, we'll be off."
      Since Lee had never been in an elevator, he held his breath while the car moved, leaving his stomach behind. The weightless feeling almost made him gasp. Now, that's impressive.
      Directly in front of him when he stepped off, loomed the main office. Polished mahogany lined the walls, and crystal wall sconces burned softly, illuminating the hall.
      Pausing, he lifted his right leg and brushed the dust off the toe of his boot. He repeated the process with the other boot. Tugging his well-worn hat down, he pushed the door open and stepped in to luxurious surroundings, fit maybe for a king. The thought caused him to chuckle.
     "I need to see Dalton King," he announced to the receptionist behind the curved counter.
     "Your name, sir?"
     "Lee King."

~*~

Oh, yes, I have a dozen more. One day, I'll select one and give it everything I have.

When I find time to write.

 

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