A Big Bag of Inspiration

My big bag of inspiration (Thanks, Jude).  This has carried over 800 picture books back and 

forth from the library this year.  A dependable bag indeed.  (Image © Lori Gravley)

I had waited until the last minute to write my monthly picture book.   I found one idea, then discovered a  picture book about her had already been published.  I hadn’t finished the research for the book I thought I would write.  I was starting to feel panicked. 

To assuage the sense of writer’s anxiety, I looked at the picture books I had just collected from the library.  A big bag of inspiration.

I sat down, pulled up my Goodreads account (LoriGravley), and immersed myself in this amazing world we picture book writers and readers live in where pictures and stories live together in joy and wonder. 

I read a book about pirates.  I read a book about a pharaoh’s cat.  I read a few books by Dianna Hutts Ashton and Sylvia Long.  I read some other books (46 total for yesterday, though I stopped to write half-way through).

Then I got up to get a cup of coffee, opened a Word document, and wrote a draft.   Doing a quick first read through this morning before I send it out to my new critique group, I could see all the books I read yesterday in the words I had written: an attention to a very specific detail, a conflict inspired by a little snippet in the pirate book, a detail inspired by a period in history in one of the books.  I had to go online and look some things up, so research is in there, too. My trip to Arizona last month is in there, too.  Something I found in Arizona set the story off. 

The book is nothing like the books I read yesterday, except that it’s a picture book.  However, the books I read yesterday showed up in my book in small ways. 

I am almost done with my picture book challenge (956/1000 books read, woot!).  My librarian asked me what I would do when the challenge was over, and my reply was immediate.  Keep reading.  I may not commit to reading 1,000 picture books next year, but I will still read picture books.  Because I love them.  Because I write them. 

Because they inspire me.

Gathering In

The view from the drying room window in Tuscany.

I can't believe how long it's been since I last posted.  Right now, I'm sitting Accra, Ghana.  Three weeks ago I was on a Vespa tour in Tuscany.  In between, I managed the contractor's working on our house, hosted out-of-town guests, and celebrated my belle fille's graduation from Ohio State's graduate schools (MSW and MPH, go Sam)!! So, I've been a little busy.  But, still, I travel frequently for work, and I find time to write when I travel (usually).

But Italy was for vacation.  With my husband.  I had every intention of setting aside to write everyday; instead, I walked for miles on ancient streets (an average of over ten miles a day), ate gelato every afternoon, and spent nearly every waking minute (and the sleeping ones, too) with my husband of almost twenty-five years.

I wish I could be like Nora Roberts who is rumored to write several thousand words, even on vacation.  Some day, maybe vacations will be so commonplace that I can do that, but this was my long delayed honeymoon with my husband and our first big trip together, so I told myself that the trip was for gathering in.  I thought it was Jane Yolen who I first read talking about gathering in, but I can't find the essay now to share with you.  Instead, I'll give you my understanding of it.  

Gathering in is that time for a writer when they aren't actually writing but are experiencing the world, gathering in images, sensory data, information, emotions, conversations, and experiences that will someday inform their writing.  Frequently, I'll use my phone to capture things as photos, sounds, or texts.  Sometimes, I'll make notes in my daybook or journal.  Sometimes, I'll just soak in the world, let it wash over me and leave me new.  

In Italy, I did all of these things.  I have new ideas for picture books, for poems, and for a mid-grade or adult novel.  I've got more ideas for my Christine book.  I saw the Alps from the area in Italy Christine likely crossed over to France.  I saw medieval bridges that still contained the shops that were there in Christine's time but are no longer present on the bridges that link Paris and the Ile de France.  

Now, I'm back at work in Africa for a two-week class, and I'm enjoying my time alone.  I don't have to clean my room or cook dinner, so there's plenty of time to work and write, and now, that gathering in has left me bubbly with words waiting for a page.  Including these. Keep an eye out for some of the photos I took in Italy, some with writing prompts, that I'll be posting over the next few weeks.  

And enjoy your time writing and your time gathering in.

Unexpected Gifts

Gathering in requires just the right baskets, an attentive
mind and an open heart. 

We writers know that reading feeds writing.  It’s one of the reasons we read.  (Did I mention I’ve read over 400 picture books this year.  And at least ten verse novels. And over twenty mysteries [This number would not be so high had I not discovered Inspector Gamache. Thanks, Jude.])

You get the picture.  Every book I read reminds me of  experiences I’ve forgotten, thoughts I’ve kept shuttered.  Books remind me of sights, of smells, of the way things feel when I hold them in my hands or against my cheek. Writers read, and reading is the food of writing.

So I shouldn’t be surprised that yesterday as I read through the pile of picture books my husband had collected for me from the library while I was in Thailand, a memory came floating back, like a little boat on a small lagoon. 

Inspiration.  But, oh, I thought to myself.  Surely someone has already written that story.  A quick search of the internet, the library catalog and Amazon told me that no one had.  Incroyable! (Pardon my French ;-).

So, I sat down to write it.  Really, I think the story had been hiding there in my mind, writing itself for the past eight years.  It had been waiting for me to see its potential (I can relate).  And then, when I finally opened my eyes, it was there, nearly fully formed.   Well, okay, it needs a lot of revision, but it’s a start. 

A start I wouldn’t have had if I didn’t live broadly in the world, gathering in its sights and sounds.  Noticing the daily miracles. 

And it’s a start I wouldn’t have had if I hadn’t sat down to read just the right books at just the right time.  A gift. 

Thank you, world.  Thank you, books.  Thank you.