And while decades elapsed before I seriously pursued publication, the stories were always there. As a child, when I played dolls or "house" with my friends, it wasn't just the normal mommy home with a baby and daddy at work kinda game. Things happened in my make-believe worlds. Characters lived and died on my whim. We had veritable soap operas in Debbie's basement! By the time I was a teen, I was reading constantly and often considered how I'd deviate from the author's plot. I'd go to movies and rewrite the ending (I still do this--or guess the ending, which explains why no one wants to go to the movies with me).
Since I became an author, the creative part of my brain has grown stronger. These days, ideas zip around my skull like cars on the Autobahn. Or one of those wind booths where people try to seize dollar bills and stuff them into their pockets. Or maybe a Hydra, because once I grab an idea and work it into a story, two more take its place in my head. There seems to be an endless supply of story ideas, just in my day to day living.
I have a notebook and pen at my bedside for ideas that pop up in my dreams. I do crossword puzzles and a specific word can inspire a scene. Television shows, news programs, talk radio conversations all provide fodder.
Flowers, birds, dogs at the park, the Eiffel Tower, a bank, a restaurant--any location, any prop can find a place in one of my stories.
What can I say? It's a curse. Or a blessing. Or probably both. But it's all I know. What do you have in your head?
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