Since I started writing books, there are two questions I repeatedly get asked. The first—How do you have time to write? My answer is typically short and simple. Writing is my favorite hobby, so I make it a priority. Or my other go-to answer—I don’t sleep much. Both are equally true.
The other question people often ask is—How do you get your ideas for your stories? That answer is a little more complicated, but usually begins with: “It depends.” I’ve woken up from odd dreams that have inspired at least pieces of my stories. Other times an idea pops into my head while I’m in the shower or while driving in my car to work (pre-pandemic when I actually used to drive myself to work). Nowadays, when in order to “get to work” I only have to stumble from my bed to the coffee pot, then to the desk in my bedroom, I find these random ideas come less frequently. It’s a shame but one of the only downsides of working from home, which I love, love, love.
Okay, so back to how I get my ideas. Many times an idea will come to me based on real-life experiences. But perhaps not in as cut and dry of a way as you might think. One of my favorite examples is when I wrote, “After the Climb” (one of a collection of short stories in my fourth book, “Taken by Storm”).
This story came to me while I was out Jeeping with the family. My husband wanted to take me and our girls up a tall hillside in the middle of nowhere so we could see the lights of our town below. The Jeep was a semi-new purchase so he and the girls were excited to take it out and see what it could do. I smiled and pretended to be excited but frankly I found the thought of being stuck in the middle of nowhere without food or a bathroom sort of terrifying and the reason why I camp in a motorhome versus a tent—the fridge and cupboards are stocked and the bathroom is wherever we travel to.
But I digress…
So we piled into the Jeep and drove to the trailhead where our adventure was to begin. It was growing dusk, which was perfect because we could still see the trail but it would be just dark enough when we reached the top to appreciate the glow of the lights far below. As we made the slow crawl up the trail, I started thinking about how going on such an adventure takes a certain amount of trust. I rode shotgun, having full confidence in my husband of almost nineteen years that he knew where we were headed and would drive at a pace that was safe for the family. But goodness, what a steep trail. As we ascended halfway up the trail, I noticed a car or two parked on the side. Nobody in the driver’s or passenger’s seat. Windows suspiciously foggy. I smiled to myself and thought, hmmm, did we just drive by a make-out spot? Needless to say, we didn’t look too closely (just in case).
But as we drove past those cars, I thought about what I would have done in my younger days if someone had suggested taking me up such a hill to see the view from the top. What if they didn’t have the best intentions? Then I thought about how, as humans, we get into situations and often face that inner struggle between sticking up for ourselves and being polite as not to hurt the feelings of others. At that moment, a story popped into my head, so I pulled out my phone and started typing out notes as not to forget. And from those hasty notes was born the story, “After the Climb.”
The crew cab truck ascended the remote road at a crawl, the gravel crunching beneath the pickup’s oversized tires. Leah felt her pulse quicken as she studied her pink nail polish and agonized over her situation. How could she have been so stupid? She’d been a teenager once. She knew what it meant when a boy asked a girl to take a drive out to the middle of nowhere. She also knew what Erik’s expectations would be once they reached the top.
She’d grown quiet and her palms had begun to sweat but Erik didn’t seem to notice. His voice was smooth and rich as he continued to talk in detail about growing up in his hometown. Back at the restaurant Leah had found his tone soothing, but now her heart raced as she searched for double meanings and innuendos behind his every word.
She wanted to ask him to turn the truck around, but she didn’t want him to think she was a tease. At every twist and turn in the road, in her head she was screaming for him to go back. Back to the cozy diner booth they’d been sharing when he’d suggested coming up here; and where she, for reasons that now escaped her, had jumped on the idea. But she didn’t scream. Instead she sat silently beside him as the vehicle continued to climb…
… To find out how that story ends, I encourage you to read the book. You can find “Taken by Storm” on Amazon in paperback or as an eBook. And if you’re on a budget, I’ve got you covered. It’s free on Kindle Unlimited, or you can request it at your local library.