Skip to main content

The Writer’s Brain: A Chaotic and Sometimes Furry Inspiration Machine

 
I once read that inspiration strikes like lightning. That’s a lie. At least for me. Inspiration sneaks up on me like a cat deciding whether to knock over a glass of water. It circles, it considers, it waits until I’m in the shower with no access to a notebook and then it pounces.

So where does my inspiration come from? Well, buckle up, because it’s a weird and wonderful mix.

First, there’s nature. And not just in a “how poetic, the whispering pines” kind of way. No, I mean nature nature. The kind where I go on my daily walks and see a squirrel making direct eye contact with me while committing crimes against a bird feeder. Or when a branch creaks ominously in the wind, and I’m instantly imagining a Victorian ghost lady pointing toward a hidden clue. Or that one time I saw a crow drop an acorn directly on a jogger’s head, and I started wondering if animals hold grudges.

And speaking of animals, let’s talk about the real queen of my inspiration: my Papillon dog. My tiny, fluffy, big-eared mastermind. She struts around the house as if she’s solving crimes (and let’s be honest, if she could talk, she’d probably be out there interrogating suspects and running a full detective agency). She’s the direct inspiration for Pixie, the magical dog in my cozy mystery series, because let’s face it—if any creature was going to have supernatural powers, it would be a Papillon.

Then there’s the everyday oddities of life. You know that moment when you hear someone say something bizarre in a coffee shop, and you absolutely need to know the rest of that conversation? Or when you see a completely normal house, except for the one weird detail—like a single antique rocking chair on the porch, just rocking itself in the breeze? Those little “huh, isn’t that something” moments? That’s my fuel. That’s the stuff that sends my writer brain into overdrive.

And of course, books! I grew up devouring mysteries, enchanted by authors who could make me gasp, laugh, and occasionally yell, “I KNEW IT!” at the pages. (Or sometimes, “HOW DARE YOU?!” which is the ultimate compliment to a good twist.) The greats—Agatha Christie, Dorothy L. Sayers, and all those incredible storytellers—taught me that a well-placed clue is like a breadcrumb trail for the delightfully nosy.

So there you have it. My inspiration isn’t just a lightning bolt—it’s a storm of squirrels, suspiciously intelligent dogs, eerie rocking chairs, and the small everyday moments that make life just strange enough to be magical.

And now, if you’ll excuse me, I just saw a raccoon confidently strolling down the sidewalk with an entire sandwich, and I need to know where he got it.

Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The Absolute Madness of Naming Characters

  Let’s talk about one of the most ridiculous struggles of writing a book. No, I’m not talking about the part where you stare at the blinking cursor like it personally insulted your ancestors. I’m talking about naming characters. It should be easy, right? Just slap a name on them and move on? Oh, my sweet summer child. If only. See, naming a character is like naming your kid—except worse, because nobody is going to complain if your kid and their cousin both end up being named Liam. But if your main villain is named Liam and you accidentally give the quirky coffee shop owner in book three the same name? Cue the existential crisis. Let’s walk through the madness. The Overthinking Spiral of Doom You start writing, and there’s that moment: your brand-new character walks onto the page, full of potential. All they need is a name. A simple name. Something strong, something fitting, something— Oh no. Nothing sounds right. This one is too complicated. That one is too simple. ...
Post a Comment
Read more

A Labour-Free Labour Day? Yes, Please!

Hello and Happy Labour Day to all my lovely North American readers! Now, isn’t it just a little bit ironic that a holiday with the word labour baked right into the name is universally observed by doing absolutely none of it? Zero. Zilch. Unless, of course, you count the rigorous work of flipping burgers, casting fishing lines, and chasing wasps away from the potato salad. Then yes—we are a nation of highly skilled, recreational labourers. Olympic-level loungers, really. This year, I’m wholeheartedly leaning into the contradiction. After an exceptionally busy summer filled with writing deadlines, creative misadventures, and one unfortunate incident involving a Papillon, a pie, and a squirrel (don’t ask—Pixie is still refusing to discuss it), I’m embracing the art of not doing much at all. My Labour Day weekend plans include: Reclining in my favourite chair like a dramatic Victorian heroine recovering from a fainting spell. Watching the endless activity in the harbour just outs...
Post a Comment
Read more

The Art of a Well-Timed Swear

There comes a moment in life when frustration bubbles over, and the only logical response is… well, a good, solid, soul-cleansing swear word. I’m not talking about casual, everyday muttering under your breath. No, I mean that moment when nothing else will do. The kind of moment where dropping your toast butter-side down feels like an act of war, where technology conspires against you, or when you stub your toe so hard you briefly see your ancestors. Now, I was raised in a house where we had a rule: Use your words, not you hands. This was my dad’s way of preventing sibling-induced concussions, and frankly, it worked. We weren’t an inherently violent bunch, but three kids in one tiny household meant tempers flared, and so did elbows. The logic was simple—if you had time to yell, maybe you’d have time to think twice before swinging. Or at least give your victim a solid head start. This philosophy stayed with me, though in adulthood, I’ve adapted it to use a well-placed expletive now a...
Post a Comment
Read more