Inspiration’s a Funny Thing

One of my favorite things about different writers is where they get their inspiration from. I once read in a book that J.K. Rowling got a lot of her inspiration and ideas for Harry Potter from childhood memories. Games she used to play with friends and experiences during school. Her characters were even based off those old friends and experiences. It makes me wonder, whenever I pick up a book, where did the author get their ideas or why did an author choose one character arc over another? Setting? And so on and so forth.

Then, it got me thinking of my own work. When I started writing my current fantasy novel, I just wrote. I decided on four main heroes and I built the story around the main character. Next thing I knew, I had quite the rough draft–over 300,000 words long. Years after I started writing, I wondered where some of the races, characters, and ideas came from. The setting is simple: I love The Chronicles of Narnia, so of course I’m going to have a fantasy land similar, but made as my own. As you read in Writing Prompt: Snakes, I have a reptilian species in my novel that stemmed from a video game. I even have a character that I based off of Sheik from The Legend of Zelda game series. Yet, with all these ideas, there was one specific character in my story that, for years, I couldn’t figure out where he came from. He’s just a humble, serving chef. In most fantasy stories, servant characters are either main characters rising above their roles, casualties, or they aren’t acknowledged at all. Yet, I’ve got this chef that shows up the day I start writing my novel and he just won’t let himself get cut from the story–not that I could cut him anyway. So, where did he come from?

I started writing my novel as a freshman in high school and it took until my 3rd or 4th year of college for me to figure out where this chef came from. There was a TV series that my brother and I used to watch everyday after we came home from junior high (or middle school. Whichever term you use). Two episodes always played in a row and we’d watch them both before doing chores. As many episodes of that series we saw, we never actually saw it all the way through. The channel we watched stopped airing them when I got into high school. Fast forward to college and Netflix was a thing. The TV series my brother and I always watched was on it. So, I decided to watch the entire series when I was avoiding studying. The series was Star Trek: Voyager and I saw my chef within the first couple of episodes.

If you’ve ever seen the series Star Trek: Voyager, you know there’s a character in it named Neelix who’s played by Ethan Phillips. Neelix came aboard the Voyager crew with helpful information about the Caretaker. He was very versatile, and though some people think him annoying, he was one of my favorite characters in the show. He was an ambassador, a morale officer, and a chef. I was kicking myself when I finally put two and two together. My humble chef stemmed from Neelix. Yet, as similar as the two seem, they have a lot of differences. Neelix grew up with sisters and traveled as a merchant while my chef grew up with an adopted family. Plus, Neelix got himself into a lot of fights and conflicts that my chef would happily leave to someone else’s more capable hands. Let’s not forget the biggest difference is that Neelix is a Talaxian that lives in space while my chef is a faun living in medieval times.

I love the fact that my chef stemmed from a character I completely forgot about. Their smiles are even the same when I compare Neelix with my chef. They both have a twinkle in their eye and a good heart. Realizing where my chef came from, it makes me want to pick a part other aspects of my novel to see if there are any other character inspirations I don’t know about. J.K. Rowling based her novels off childhood games and her own school experiences, and here I am basing things off my favorite aspects of other peoples’ stories. That just goes to show how powerful stories are, ya know? One book, one character, can make a big enough impact on someone that they use that to forge their own way. My chef wouldn’t exist without Neelix from Star Trek. Other aspects of my story wouldn’t be without what inspired me to create them.

It’s a funny thing to think about. So, what inspires you?

Message by Train

A couple weeks ago, I was stuck waiting on a train. We’ve all been there. We get to a railroad crossing, the lights light up, the bars go down, and all you can do is wait while a train goes by. Trains are very cool. I like to look them over as they go by. Try to see things I haven’t seen before. It never fails, though. There’s one thing I always see on the side of the trains: graffiti.

Up and down the cars of the trains, there’s the elaborate painting of people’s tags. These artists sneak into the railyards and make their mark on the trains. Some are pretty cool, but others you can tell they were rushing because they didn’t want to get caught. Yet, cool or rushed, I must admit. I always struggle with reading them. Whether the word doesn’t make sense or all the letters are big and bubbly, I stare at them for the colors most of the time since I can’t interpret what it’s trying to say. A friend of mine suggests most of the tags are people names–pen names, artistic names, what they want to be known by. It got me thinking.

These trains travel all across the nation. Thousands of people get stopped by them at these railroad crossings and watch them go by. So, these artists tagging the trains reach a wide audience of people with their work. And yet, all they put on the trains is their calling card?

I am–by no means–promoting the tagging or graffiti on trains. People work hard to take great care of the trains. Most of the graffiti on the side, doesn’t help their appearance, in my opinion. But, if someone is going to break the law by breaking into a train yard to leave their mark on one of the cars, they might as well give it a purpose. I doubt anyone cares about the bubbly letters they can’t read or the tag names that have no meeting to them. With as wide of an audience that sits on the railroad tracks, you could send a message–preferably something that the train workers aren’t going to power wash off right away. You could spread encouragement down those rails. Share what you believe. Just think, if someone is having a bad day and gets stuck at a train track, they could look up and see whatever encouraging message is tagged on there and that could change their whole day. Something like that would definitely make a bigger impact than a random name on the side of a train.

Again, I am not promoting graffiti on trains. Don’t give the hard working train workers more work to do by washing away your art. Go find yourself a more permanent canvas you actually own. But, if you must tag a train, and can’t stop yourself. At least try to spread a little hope. You stand a better chance of making a difference that way.

Use your Voice

Use your Voice
Say what’s on your mind
Tell them how you feel
Your running out of time

Use your Voice
Speak up for what comes next
Don’t hold it all inside
They know you do your best

Use your Voice
Don’t care what they will say
Be honest with your truth
If they matter they will stay

Use your Voice
You follow your own dream
Speak up for destiny
Only you can make it be

Use your Voice
Don’t be silenced by the doubt
Speak up for your intent
Don’t be afraid to let it out

Use your Voice
No one can read your mind
Be clear and be precise
You can help you shine

Use that voice.

Flow

Write. Just write.
Don’t think what’s on the page.
Don’t let the pen stop.
Just write. Get it out.
Whatever it is.
Whatever you’re holding back.
What you’re trying to hide.
Write it down.
Don’t let the pen rest.
Don’t think of what you’re saying.
Do this for your best.

Words on the page,
help the soul flow.
Words on the page,
help you let go.

Keep writing.
Keep going.
Let the words spill out.
When you find yourself a pause.
Wonder what you’re writing about.

My writings end up as poems.
I guess that’s the way I think.
Keep words in a rhythm.
Until they flow with beat.

I don’t let the pen stop.
Only to cross out wrong words.
I wrote ‘the’ twice
and scratched out misspelled words.

I’m a writer.
I keep going.
Until I reach the end of the page.
I’m running out of things to say.

The morning is early,
my brain is waking up.
I feel a lot thoughts at the bottom of my cup.

What I should do.
What I need do.
What I’m putting off.

Right there was a pause.
I’m nearing my send off.

Just write on the page.
Write a little bit more.
I’ll write up burdens later.
Time to focus on what’s in store.

I’m at the end of the page.
Finally.
It’s time to go.

Good morning, everyone.
Let the words flow.

Fun exercise of putting the pen on the page and writing nonstop. You never know what will come out of you when you try it.

Alternate You

Describe your life in an alternate universe.

In an alternate universe, I’d have given into pressure.

In an alternate universe, maybe I have found treasure

Whatever the universe, I’d be on a different path

Probably the one I’d pick last

Maybe in one, I’d be a lot stronger

But in another, I’d be no longer

The long road is life

So many choices along the way

One difference makes a difference

On what happens. What’s fate

For me, I know,

I’d have crumbled pleasing others

I probably would have fallen

My dreams gone to the gutters

What a curious thought: the alternate lives

Some would be better. Some only bring strife.

Look back at your life, the big choices and small

What difference would they bring? Would it matter at all?

They say something’s are set across all universes.

What is it for you? Love? Career? Hearses?

For me, I can’t say.

There’s too many possibilities

But, I guess if I picked one way,

Out of all the activities

I’m a dreamer at heart

It’s really that simple

It’s how I play my part

It’s how I cause a ripple

So no matter the universe,

Good, bad, and ugly

The core of you still matters

And that’s what’s lovely

Heated Dawn

Bolts of lightning flash through the thunderhead on the horizon. The early morning is painted a desert blazing hue, but the storm marches forward with thundering blues and heavy grays. A bolt of lightning dispels the colors in pinkish light, yet vanishes a second later.

Across half the horizon, the storm lays its claim. Atmospheric gales carry it forward like a streaking river. A single column stretches out to the desert painted sunrise. Meanwhile, the crescent moon observes quietly overhead.

Slips of clouds hold the line to keep the sun from breaching the horizon. Yet, heavenly orange light catches the clouds aflame. It’s fiery touch wisps upward and lightning crashes through the storm with its pain.

With every inch of the sun, the storm burned. Yet, when it peeked on the horizon, the sun allowed the storm to cool. The blue-gray shadows of its thunderhead faded a gentle white and the lashes of lightning became sparks of treasure hidden within.

The melancholy dusk of the heated dawn cooled to the brightness of the day. The storm took its leave, white clouds swaying with surrender as the sun reclaimed the sky once more. Life awakened and the world moved on.

Sound of Change

You never know how much a sound affects you until it’s gone. You hear the same thing over and over that when it stops, you look for it.

For me, that sound is my cat’s collar. My putty tat of 18 years passed away a couple weeks ago. After she was gone, I wore her collar on my wrist in her memory. Unfortunately, I had to take it off. Every time it jingled, I found myself looking for her. I expected her to come trotting in the room, jumping on the bed, or simply being there. Her collar lives on my nightstand now and it’s strange for it to be so quiet.

The sound of the collar isn’t the only change in the house since my kitty cat passed away. All my routines are different. She used to wake me up, follow me to the bathroom, hangout while I got ready for work, watch shows with me, go to bed with me, steal my cheez-its, and share my ice cream. It’s strange how everything feels different with her gone, but I guess after 18 years you can expect that. She’s been around for more than half my life, if that tells you anything.

It makes me wonder what other noises, routines, or life moments change when loss is involved. Whether it’s an animal or a person. There’s change involved. It’s hard to adjust to and we try to fill the void with other things. Yet, nothing can replace the nose licks in the middle of the night or the way her fur shines in the sunlight.

I miss my pretty girl everyday and it’s still hard to believe she’s gone. Whatever you’re missing, whatever loss you’ve endured, you’re not alone in your grief. It’s a pain we all feel when loss rears its head. It’s how we know we loved and made a difference.

As an animal caretaker, I like to believe that the greater the pain in the loss of an animal, the greater the difference you made for that animal. I hope to build strong bonds with the animals I stand for, earn their trust, and help them enjoy life. If that means losing them causes me pain, then it’s worth it. I’ll feel like I accomplished my goal of making a difference.

That doesn’t mean the pain is easy. That doesn’t mean the change isn’t noticeable. The gap where they were is real and accepting it is difficult. Make sure you grieve. Make sure you take care. Let the loss run its course. Then, when you’re ready, get back up again. There are more differences to be made.

You can make a new, brighter sound of change.

Blast to the Past

About a week or so ago, I pulled out an old tub that was full of old school stuff. Mostly high school. It was all my notebooks, notes, some homework, old tests, articles, projects. Pretty much everything I ever collected throughout high school with a little bit of jr. high and elementary mixed in.

It ended up taking me over an hour to go through that one tub. A lot of it, I looked at and thought “why am I keeping this? I don’t care what grade I got on that history homework and I don’t really care about these notes from math.” I ended up recycling a lot of papers and trashing my old, fallen apart binders and folders.

Goodbye tests. Goodbye homework. Goodbye math notes.

Now, I probably could’ve kept my notes for reflection purposes. Reteach myself what I learned in school back then. Be the wiz I used to be, but let’s face it. I’m not going to go through the chemistry and biotechnology notes or reflect on the lab we did counting these little stem thingies on a plant. Sure, the anatomy stuff, I’ll probably save, but algebra’s gone out the door a long time ago.

I had several piles surrounding me as I went through this tub. Trash, recycle, undecided, keep, random non-school thing, etc. You want to know what ended up in my keep pile?

Art. Poems. Doodles. Creative writings I did outside of Class. And most importantly, the unused pages of the notebooks.

Looking through my school stuff, what I valued most was the creations I made instead of the knowledge I learned. I even got frustrated when flipping through my notebooks. I had some subject notebooks that were only used for a few pages or still had half the notebook unused. It drove under my skin that these perfectly good notebooks weren’t used all the way through because they contained school notes.

I like to say “There’s nothing scarier than a blank piece of paper,” because a blank piece of paper is untapped potential and these notebooks were full of them.

So, I ripped out the notes.

I took out every page that didn’t have something I cared about on it and fed those pages to the recycle bin. All that’s left of my school tub is a stack of art. The notebooks are sitting on my desk, ready to have purpose again.

Do you have anything from your high school days? Any notes or tests or projects you held onto? Why did you keep them? I thought it was interesting how I cared more about my doodles and creative writings than I did my notes. I’m sure there’s probably people out there who would be the opposite. Maybe some of you only kept one subject and trashed the rest?

Kind of a cool reminder that we’re all unique.

Heart of American Marching Band

I was going through old school stuff the other day and I found this former story I wrote. Based off true events. Please excuse the writing. I was but a wee freshmen.

09/30/10

“The band with the highest score in the 2nd division is!”
The announcer’s voice boomed over the stadium. Nikki squeezed her friends’ hands. This is it, she thought. She watched her drum majors on the field below with bated breath. Did we beat the other schools?

It was the Heart of America competition at the University of Kansas, KU. Marching bands from across the midwest came to compete. Nikki played the flute. It was her first year marching with it out on the field and she enjoyed it a lot more than she thought she would. She glanced over at the other schools in her district: the hawks, the ravens, and the falcons. So often, she felt they looked down on her school of eagles. The ‘getto’ of the city was what they were nicknamed, she hoped this competition could turn it around.

Hand in hand, each eagle in Nikki’s band waited with bated breath as the announcer drew out his pause. “We sacrificed so much,” Nikki whispered. “Worked so hard.”

“The winners are the hawks from Overthere High School!”

Shock slapped Nikki in the face. Her friends beside her froze as one of the other schools roared with cheered. Disappointed settled like a blanket on the eagles.

One of Nikki’s friends shook her head. “I don’t understand. I was sure it would’ve been us.”

Nikki frowned and stepped up on the bleacher seat in front of her. The hawks were jumping up and down on their section of the bleachers, instruments raised in the air, and laughter on their faces. Nikki clenched her fist. Out of the four schools from her district, the hawks were the most stuck-up. The most boastful about all the competitions they won. “Just wait.” She turned to her friends. “They couldn’t have beaten us by that much. So, just wait for the next competition. We’ll wipe the field with them.”

In the KU competition, the hawks beat the eagles by a mere .5 points. They faced each other again a month later. This time, the eagles became Grand Champions by beating the hawks by a full 7 points. They brought home pride for their school and burned the fires of rivalry that much hotter between them and hawks. Until the next competition, we bid ado.

Was today typical?

Date: 7/31/2023

I have not laughed at a writing prompt for a good while. Go figure, today–of all days–this would be the question. The answer:

Absolutely not.

I had such high hopes for the day. I was going to get things done. Then, around 9 o’clock a curveball big enough to fit in the palm of my hand blows all my plans away. It wasn’t a bad curveball. In fact, it was cause for celebration, but it was one of those days where I was finally at a place where I could take care of what I needed to do, but not anymore.

So, what do you do when a curveball smacks you in the face? I’ve learned for a long time now that you can’t expect things to go according to plan. It’s good to have a plan, but when the plan goes off the rails, you can’t allow yourself to get bent out of shape about it. When my curveball was thrown, I waved goodbye to most of my plans and shifted gears to the new priority. Some of the stuff I wanted to get done still got done, so my plans weren’t a total loss. Overall, I’d say the day was a success.

If you find yourself with a not-so-typical day, I hope you see the positive that comes out of it. If plans get ruined, or curveballs get thrown at you left and right, I hope you keep swinging, because even a wild swing can hit a homerun.