Some Rambings on Inspiration
By Julie Anne Long
©2005 Julie Ann Long. All Rights Reserved.
Inspiration can be as capricious as romance itself. If you court it too aggressively, you might frighten it away; if you play it cool—say, signal your interest with a coy smile and a wink, then strategically ignore it again—it might just tap you on the shoulder with an: “Ahem—remember me?” It might just buy you a drink. It might take you home to meet its parents. It might—
Ok, now that I’ve driven that metaphor into the ground…
Oh, wait. Turns out I’m not done with it.
Let’s say you’re a single woman, and you’ve just walked into in a noisy, crowded bar (a metaphor for the mind of an author) full of interesting strangers, whom we’ll call “ideas.” Some are tall, dark and smoldering; some are short, shy and enigmatic; some sport mullets, polyester, and leers. Which ones do you make meaningful eye contact with?
Well, all of them—at least a first. And then you’ll want to chat up a few of the more intriguing ones. You’ll discover quickly which ones are shallow, or completely incompatible, or have attention deficit disorder. You might even find yourself obsessed with a particularly attractive idea for a time, but if it doesn’t return your calls—in other words, doesn’t yield up anything beyond your initial attraction, no matter how much time you spend thinking about it—drop it. Move on to the guy with a mullet and see what he has to offer—he might just surprise you. Because, like the truest, most genuine of love affairs, you won’t have to torture the right idea to get it to open up to you—given a little time and attention, it will unfold naturally, revealing its range of potential a little at a time. Eventually it will introduce you to its friends and family—other characters and subplots—and before you know it, you’ll be building a life (otherwise known as a “book”) with it.
Of course, the honeymoon phase won’t last forever: you might find yourself in the middle of writing the book and begin to simply hate it (Why does it always leave the lid up? Why won’t it share its feelings with you?) But step away: give it some breathing space. You’ll come back to it in a more reasonable frame of mind; if it’s truly meant to be, you’ll come back with a fresh new appreciation for it.
And ideas beget ideas: when you settle in with an idea with the objective of turning it into a book, it will, like a romantic partner, take you on a journey, show you new things about yourself, and inspire you (and irritate you). For example, I’ve only written two books so far (well, almost three, as I type this). The Runaway Duke began with an image in my mind of a girl crouching down behind a shrub at midnight to catch her sister in the midst of a tryst. I liked the idea; I spent some time with it, and little by little, the rest of the story spiraled from there. Subsequently, one of the themes in The Runaway Duke inspired To Love a Thief: I was intrigued by Duke’s villainess, Cordelia, and wondered what would motivate someone who isn’t essentially a bad person to do bad things—how would he or she justify it? I carried the themes of moral gray areas and ambition into To Love a Thief. The theme of sisters, found in both Duke and Thief, found its way into my next book, too: Beauty and the Spy, which will be out in March 2006.
And, um, speaking of that next book…I find deadlines very inspiring, too. Inspiring the way a cracking whip is inspiring. So off I go…Beauty and the Spy awaits.
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