When Art Influences Art

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As I edit through the filter of my voice I smile.

The source of inspiration coming to mind in vivid color. 

I don’t know if this is because I have a photographic memory or if all creators vividly remember the inspiration that led to artistic release.

Consumable output.

In my case more often than not it’s a visual – an image – that inspires the written word.

Case In Point

From Bishop Pair

She had to admit, she was intrigued.  Senior cadets carried side arms that looked nothing like what she’d seen on Earth.  They also didn’t look like anything from any science fiction movie she’d ever seen.  They were much smaller and sleek in design.  Of course, she’d never seen one in use so she had no idea how they worked or performed but the confidence with which the senior cadets carried themselves left her guessing the weapons worked as they were meant.  To protect.

How I worded this was inspired by a visual from Patriot Games.

This scene – having been to Anapolis as well as the Citadel – translated in unique ways that allowed me to visualize military students through the eyes of one of their newest cadets.

Each time I read this scene images associated with the influence appear on what Jose Silva calls the mental screen.

The mind’s eye.

Life

When art influences art.

Music: The Food of Love

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Life can be so weird.

Eating lunch and reading The Isle of Future Past, a Dragon Core novel. 

And smirking as I note how easily I’m taken back to various moments of fingers to keyboard for this story.

It’s as if I slip inside my former “writing” self to feel see understand everything felt, seen, and understood at the exact moment I typed the scene.

What’s in a Name?

More than you might think.

For this particular reflection I’ll point out that for me one of the more challenging aspects of the novel is coming up with character names.

First names, surnames, nicknames.

Scenes and character characteristics are easy. 

Say that ten times real fast.

 Imagery of both flow into my consciousness, sometimes before the plot does.

As happened with the Hangover Series.

What stirred this hoopla of cognizance?

Anika.

What’s in a Name?  Seriously?  A lot!

While Anika is a common enough name in certain circles it never was in mine.  

So, where did it come from?

Transitions and the Band.

There came a time when my parents separated.  

My mom, brother, and I moved into a rental townhouse in an incredible school district.  Across from an auto factory it was – I learned from new classmates – the place where the poor people lived.

Wasn’t that kind of them to clue me in?

As I played b-flat clarinet I was more than happy to join the band.

Where along with the other musicians I could tune out life.

So, Anika?

We were a pretty small band.  What I noted immediately, other than the fact we were crammed – an obvious junior high afterthought – into a tiny room barely bigger than a storage closet…

Looking back I suspect it was a storage closet.

was that we had a saxophone player who was a female!

I started band in 4th grade playing drums but the nuns were adamant girls didn’t play drums and went on the war path until I capitulated and switched to clarinet.

I’d wanted to play saxophone after coming to physical exhaustion fighting the nuns but apparently that too was sacrilege and such is how I ended up – thanks to help from my dad – playing b-flat clarinet.

Emotionally and physically exhausted – and a bit heartbroken about not being able to play drums – I was ready to quit band altogether.  Upon hearing this my dad who’d won awards playing piano and who played drums zipped out that night to a music store and brought home a clarinet he put together and handed to me to give a try.

No Nuns But Same BS

Though a public school our conductor was less than enthusiastic about a girl who played saxophone.

When she refused to switch to clarinet or flute like the rest of us girls he tried dissuading her by putting her in the percussion section instead of with the woodwinds.

I will never forget that chin thrust out in defiance even as she was drowned out by the percussionists that included the lone brass player.

Or how succinctly she told him off for doing so.

Her name?

Danika.

I wanted to honor her spirit but didn’t feel comfortable using her name.

Go figure.

Each and every time I read the name Anika in my story I’m taken back to that day and that woman’s spirit

Being different and made to be an outcast not by our self but by someone else’s choice.

A spirit that helped me through a challenging time in my own life; a challenge she had no idea I was going through.

She was like a prickly cactus. We never got to be friends.

It’s a good memory because I still remember her telling him it was a load of shit putting her with the drums and a tuba so she couldn’t be heard.

Note:  I don’t feel I let myself down switching.  I weighed the reality of what I was dealing with and decided my dad’s advice – given years earlier when the nuns were calling me the devil’s child for being left-handed and threatening me if I didn’t switch to right – to pick and choose my battles – was best

My ambidextrous self approves.

After 13 years playing clarinet including Tchaikovsky in orchestra I took up piano and – for a very short time as balm for my soul –  tenor sax. Today I prefer to listen to music than play.

Expressing my creativity with the written word.

A Smidgen of This: Writing Real Life

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Just reading Redemption, a Dragon Core novel,and appreciating a scene.

Brought back memories.

I wrote from experience for this one.

In the scene the heroine is explaining to the hero she’s taking a “staycation” to do a bit of painting.

Gilotti’s – core to the plot of the series – are some of my favorite characters to write!

She elaborates she’s behind in unpacking because she spent Thanksgiving and Christmas holidays working.

So colleagues with families could spend time with them.

As did I

Once upon a time.

I drew from this experience for a plot device that fit nicely into the bigger novel picture.

Lived It

It started as a great way to earn money.

I was doing the work of a salaried professional while paid hourly wages.

I didn’t mind.

It was good money!

I was single; they had families.  

I had a lot more flexibility.

It was a great way to learn on the job.

I had to do some quick thinking for some of those emergency (sometimes middle-of-the-night) customer calls.

It became a wonderful yearly tradition.

I connected with customers and coworkers who were in the same boat including some out-of-the-country or from cultures that didn’t observe our holidays.

It played a significant role in becoming a Supply Chain expert.

I fielded calls from people across the globe – including C-suite folks – flabbergasted if not outraged the automotive industry as a whole followed GM’s mandatory 2 week shutdown and that it bled over into tech – and a number of other industries and companies.

When I told my boss at a subsequent employer I was more than happy to work holidays he was thrilled.

Then called me at home to ask what the deal was. There had to be a catch, right? Nope.

Plot Device

Though my character’s industry, along with the region she lives/works in, are different, it was easy to tap real life experience to create a believable scene.

Believable in the explanations if not arguments she gives as to why she’s spending her vacation working.

I have fond memories of those days.

Memories that live on in my work.

And maybe – just maybe – someone somewhere on our big blue marble remembers “that woman” who picked up the phone over the holidays.

And saved their sanity.

I worked Halloweens too.

So they could be home to take their kids Trick-or-Treating

C’est la vie.

Cool song by Emerson Lake & Palmer.