Where does my inspiration come from? I get
asked that question quite often, and sometimes the answer is simple and broad. The story came to me because… But more
often, inspiration comes in little bits and pieces. I might have a general idea
for the heroine but be stumped on the hero. I might have an idea for a story
and my editor might tell me half my idea doesn’t work and I have to go back to
the drawing board again. Or the brainstorming group.
For an upcoming story, my editor thought
I’d picked the wrong hero for the heroine. So I took part of another idea and
borrowed it for a different hero. The problem? That hero is the brother of
another character and so I ended up having to make adjustments to the first
books in the series to keep continuity intact. Still, once I revisited the
story, everything seemed to fit so much better.
In Somebody Like You, which is out next
month, the heroine once dumped a milkshake over a boy’s head. That actually
happened in my high school (I won’t mention names). It was one of those
gestures that raised eyebrows and got talked about, and so the town of Darling
hasn’t forgotten that Laurel got pretty ticked at Aiden one day when they were
seventeen, dumped a vanilla milkshake over his head, and they haven’t spoken
since. For me, the best research technique is simply life.
In Someone To Love, the heroine, Willow, is
big on meditation and yoga. It helped her rebuild her life. I’ve done yoga in
the past, but to really do it justice in this book, I signed up for a series at
my local studio. And I’ve stayed there, because it has helped me SO much with
my stress level and putting my life in perspective.
Sometimes bits of dialogue, articles of
clothing can be inspired by something small. For example, in Someone To Love,
Willow wears a pretty top on her first real date with Ethan. That top is
modeled after one my daughter wore on her first date – very pretty and with
butterflies on it; a bit whimsical and something that would suit Willow
perfectly.
The little things, the small details, are
often what makes a book really come alive. I like to think of those small
details as being particularly a part of me, and the world I inhabit, and the
people I love. And I like to think that my readers get to know more about me
and who I am by living through my characters.
Here’s
a small snippet from SOMEBODY LIKE YOU, when cop Aiden Gallagher responds to
Laurel Stone’s call about a break in at her garden center:
“Something like this happens everywhere,
Laurel. What, you didn’t think crime happened in Darling?”
Well, no. Or at least, not until today. The
fact that she’d already come to this disappointing conclusion, and then he’d
repeated it, just made her angrier.
Coming home was supposed to be peaceful.
Happy. The town was small, friendly, neighborly. Even after years away, many of
her customers remembered her from her school years and recalled stories from
those days. Darling even had a special “Kissing Bridge” in the park. There were
several stories around how the bridge got the name, so no one really knew for
sure. But the stone bridge and the quaint little legend to go with it brought
tourists to the area and made Darling’s claim to fame a very romantic one. In a
nutshell, those who stood on the bridge and sealed their love with a kiss would
be together forever.
She should know all about it. Her
picture—and Aiden’s—hung in the town offices to advertise the attraction. Just
because they’d only been five years old at the time didn’t make it less of an
embarrassment.
“I’m not naïve,” she replied sharply. “Is
there anything else you need or can I get back to cleaning up?”
“Can you think of anyone who might want to
give you trouble? Someone with a grudge or axe to grind?”
Other than you? she thought darkly. This
was the first time they’d actually spoken since she’d poured vanilla milkshake
over his head in the school cafeteria in their senior year. “No,” she replied.
“I can’t imagine who’d want to do this.”
“I don’t suppose you have any video cameras
installed.”
She shook her head, feeling inept and
slightly stupid. Maybe she was a little naïve after all. She hadn’t lived in
Darling since she was nineteen—nine
years. Things had changed in her absence. New people, new businesses.
“I’ll have another look around. It looks
like a case of vandalism more than anything. Probably some teenagers thinking
it’s funny, or after the cash for booze or pot, and smashed some stuff for
show.” His gaze touched hers. “Kids can be really dumb at that age.”
Her cheeks heated. He hadn’t had to say the
actual words for her to catch his meaning. “You never know. They might have
been dared to do it. Or some sort of stupid bet.”
He held her gaze a few seconds longer, and
she could tell by the look in his eyes that he acknowledged the hit. He’d
kissed her because of one of those bets . . . more than kissed her. They’d been
parking in his car and he’d rounded second base and had been headed for third.
And then she’d found out about the wager and lost her cool. Publicly. With the
milkshake.
The only thing she regretted was saying yes
to going on that drive in the first place.
“So you still haven’t forgiven me for
that.”
Laurel lifted her chin. “To my
recollection, you haven’t asked for forgiveness.”
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1 comment:
Fabulous cover, Donna, and the story looks wonderful! So interesting to read some of your inspiration behind the new book.
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