The Tapestries We Weave

A few weeks ago I posted about the Judith McNaught novels I was re-reading. If you read that post and asked yourself if I write like her, then I have to tell you the answer would be "no". Too often lately I've seen books advertised as being "inspired by" the works of others. Or the covers promise: "If you loved So-and-So, you'll love this book." This is all well and good for marketing, I suppose, but I don't ever want to think I'm writing trend fiction, or copycat fiction, trying to keep up with a pace some other writer has already set. I have an eclectic taste in books - reading everything from Regency romance to high fantasy, to horror, to general fiction. I've been deeply in awe of some fantastic writers. Had my confidence bolstered by other writers. And while I have a background in classic literature study, I think, more than anything, my writing style has been shaped by the patterns of my daily life. I like to write about real people - or, rather, fictional people who feel real.

Last week was shrouded in fog.

The sunsets were stunning.

 

 

A tornado skirted around the edge of town, leaving a river rushing through the middle of the pasture.

I wrote and I got rained on and I ate and I laughed and I spent ten minutes cowering in the back hall with the dogs, a quilt, and a weather report while I waited for the storm to pass. Saturday brought with it a successful trip to stock up on hay - which is now a mountain that the cats love climbing.

Exciting plots twists and big, dramatic moments are easy enough to imagine. But it's hard to fabricate the little things. I think all the little things in my life have given me a greater appreciation for details and realism. And I think nothing complements an exciting, passionate story like a healthy shot of realism. That's the tapestry I try to weave. The browns and grays are just as important to the overall picture as the reds and blues.