Playlist (or Music as Inspiration)

I'm not the most musical person. I like music, don't get me wrong. But I don't hum incessantly. I'm perfectly content to sit in a car with the radio off and only my thoughts for company. I don't even have a stereo in the house and I don't own an ipod.

That said, it always seems that as I close in on the end of a book, I start to find inspiration in different songs. And boy am I eclectic! Country, rock, pop. Hip hop. There is no genre safe from me.

I'm at that point, it seems. I hear songs and I start thinking of my characters.

So, I made a playlist, as I always do. And I figured, what the heck? Maybe you guys might want a little view into the insanity that is my musical inspiration. So, on the right, I've included my playlist.

Beware. The Ice Cube song has offensive lyrics. I couldn't find the clean version in Playlist's archives. Also, the Death Cab for Cutie song is one of my favorites right now.

Yes, that's Ice Cube and DCFC on the same playlist.

You've been warned.

Little Boys as Muses

I'm one of those writers who has always wanted to write. Not only have I always wanted to write, I've always wanted to write romance. Since I read my first Sweet Valley High and sighed as Elizabeth and Todd got together, I've been hooked. Then I read my first historical, in middle school, and I'd found true love.

But I always thought I wasn't ready to write a romance. I was in high school. Or I'd only had one major relationship. Even after I'd had a few relationships, they didn't feel like they'd been substantive enough to base a novel on. Then, I got married... then a kid. After I had my first child I realized I was making excuses. Fiction didn't need real life experience. I could take what I saw, what I knew, and lie through the rest.

For the most part, that's proven true. There are, however, times when real life experience has helped me write.

An example. There's a little boy in my current WIP. His name is Gregory. I've got two little boys. I may not know a lot, but I know little boys. (At least my two little boys.) So when I started writing Gregory, I leaned on my knowledge.

Here's a snippet:

"Gregory Richard." She cast him a warning look.

Gregory's mouth snapped shut and he recovered in time. "Excuse me, mother. Good evening, sire." He executed a bow worthy of court. Then, he ruined the entire picture by stepping forward and bending over to get a better look at Cass's wound. "You're bleeding."

Belle was sure he meant to temper his enthusiasm but such glee was hard to contain. "Gregory…"

"Well, he is, Mamma," Gregory informed her.

"I know, sweetheart," she said patiently. "But it's not polite…." She let her voice trail off. It's not polite to what? To point out the obvious? She sighed. "It's just not polite."

Gregory cast her a glance that was pure pity. Then he turned back to Cass. "So, does it hurt much? Because with that much blood, I suspect it stings quite terribly."

"Gregory."

"No," Cass told her with a pained smile. "He's right. It is bleeding and it does sting. Quite a bit actually."

"I can't wait to tell Bobby. He's going to be so jealous." Gregory practically squirmed with joy.

"That's enough." Belle gestured toward the door. "It's time for you to find your bed."

"Mamma…." The whine was familiar but at least he'd stopped questioning Cass about his wound.

"Please. I'm exhausted. I'll be up in a little while to kiss you goodnight."

"If you insist." He deflated and trudged out of the room. At the door he turned back, though, and waved at Cass. "Goodnight, sire. I hope you don't die."

So, tell me. Do you think real life experience is needed to write good fiction? Has there ever been a time when real life has helped with your writing?

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