A little book-line-love for Valentine’s Day!
Writing inspiration comes from everywhere. It brushes my cheek on a wind-filled walk, warms my tongue in a sip of wine, and swirls the air with conversation and wood smoke from a summertime firepit. When I open myself to the world around, inspiration always comes. Though, that doesn’t always mean I know what to do with the bits and stirs of possibility, and sometimes I don’t quite recognize each gift as it is intended. But eventually, when I sit down to do the work of writing, embers ignite.
In the meantime, I read!
When inspiration seems lost in the back of my mind, simmering into the something wonderful it might become, I read the creation of others…in books.
I admit it. I am a page-corner-creaser, an underliner, a highlighter of lines that pull my attention. I can’t help myself. When I stop to acknowledge the word-work creations from other authors, the way each writer finds the natural shape for his or her message, or curve for a story; I am moved.
This makes me want to create my own world of words, like patterns in rows of corn, or a secret message in a sky full of clouds sent only to the observant. I know I won’t affect everyone with my writing, but if I can rouse the few waiting to taste a little more than a February chill or spring sunglow; then my inspiration has gone full circle.
And what a glorious shape that can be!
Keep your eyes open, your ears perked, and your senses ready for the drips and drops of creativity. And as you wait, soak in the inspiration from others.
Here are a few book-lines I am in love with…Happy Valentine’s Day!
“March is such a fickle month. It is the seam between winter and spring—though seam suggests an even hem, and March is more like a rough line of stitches sewn by an unsteady hand, swinging wildly between January gusts and June greens. You don’t know what you’ll find, until you step outside.” ~ Page 20, The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue, by V. E. Schwab.
Sidenote: I use the words, June green, in the opening of my own book, Seam Keepers (coming Spring 2021), although I had no idea I would come across them here. It warmed my heart to read because I like to believe good minds think alike. Or it could be the glint of green at the start of summer affects many of us the same way. As with my poetry, I tend to fall head-first into seasons and the colors that reflect in their afterglow. So, her description of March touched me deeply.
“My heart feels full and empty with all of the beginnings and endings. Tomorrow is the races with all of their strategy and danger and hope and fear, and on the other side of it is Gabe getting into a boat and leaving us.” ~ Page 357, The Scorpio Races, by Maggie Stiefvater.
“Until at last, at some unclaimed moment, the heart-pain seeped away like water into sand. Still there, but deep. Kya laid her hand upon the breathing, wet earth, and the marsh became her mother.” ~ Page 34, Where the Crawdads Sings, by Delia Owens.
“And the grandmother and granddaughter faced one another with thin, brittle smiles. Each lie they told fell from their lips and scattered on the ground, tinkling and glittering like broken glass.” ~ Page 194, The Girl Who Drank the Moon, by Kelly Barnhill.
“There’s a sadness in this house—a fireplace overflowing with soot, counters littered with orange pill bottles, and the kind of quiet that feels less like peace and more like absence—but the warmth isn’t entirely gone.” ~ Page 287, A Million Junes, by Emily Henry.
“But that water was warm like the smell of Mama’s rice. As warm as the glow of her smile. Baba followed me in and lifted his head to the sky. It was like he could taste the sun.” ~ Page 1, Children of Virtue and Vengeance, by Tomi Adeyemi.
“That night I smelled moss, dried leaves, and damp soil in my apartment of plaster and concrete, blocks and blocks from anything green or growing.” ~ Page 254, The Language of Flowers, by Vanessa Diffenbaugh.
“Silently, I dipped warm toast in drippy orange-yellow yolks, and tried not to notice the clumsy quiet. Neely was a serious coffee drinker, like his brother, and they both downed three cups of espresso by the end of breakfast. They drank holding the cups in the palms of their hands, rather than grasping the handle. They both narrowed their eyes before sipping. They drank like brothers.” ~ Page 212, Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea, by April Genevieve Tucholke.
I could go on and on and on…
Happy Writing, my Valentine friends (because at least you’re writing),
Celaine Charles, February 14, 2021
Image and Content Credit:
Book images from Amazon
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