I know it sounds cheesy, but many of my ideas come from dreams. I don’t dream the entire story or anything, but I will remember a nugget of something from a dream and just go with it. I have a very active imagination so it’s often easy to make it grow into something bigger. It doesn’t hurt that I have years of TV crime dramas and mystery novels under my belt to keep the creative juices flowing.
I write my stories from start to finish, just like you read them. So whenever I’m at a place where I need to figure out what happens next, I meditate. I sit or lie down in a quiet place, notebook in hand, and just veg out. I don’t get a lot of relaxing time during my day so sometimes it’s difficult to force myself to chill out, but it’s nice. Once my to-do list stops popping into my head, I can usually relax enough to concentrate on my story.
During those times when I’ve had particularly difficult plot problems that I’m trying to work out, I’ve found ideas sometimes come to me as I’m waking up in the morning. Solutions just kind of pop into my head, which is much better than when I get ideas as I’m falling asleep. That does happen sometimes, but if they come in the evening, forget about it. I’ll never remember them. In the morning I can just hop out of bed and run to my computer.
Something to Lose
by Tamra Lassiter
Everyone has something to lose.
Camden Piotrowski is justifiably upset to find her boyfriend in the arms of another woman. But it’s not the end of her world and definitely not something that a bubble bath, good wine, and cookie dough won’t help. Her pity party is interrupted when handsome Seth Vendetti bursts into her bathroom. She soon discovers that her world and those in it are not as they seem. Can she trust Seth’s version of the truth and make him realize that even he has something to lose?
Read an excerpt:
There are his shorts, lying on the floor. I kneel in the doorway as I reach my arm into the bathroom and stick my hand into the right pocket of his discarded clothing. I can’t even breathe for fear of making a noise. Plus, I need all my energy focused on this task. I wrap my fingers tightly around the keys and pull them out. I slowly stand and then close the door with my other hand.
I expel my breath as a wave of relief surges over me. I turn and take the stairs two at a time. I run through the house, out the kitchen door and straight to the truck. I probably should have tried to find some shoes, but I don’t know how much time I have, probably not much at all.
The key slides effortlessly into the door and then I’m sitting on the bench seat. It’s very dark, but I locate the ignition with my fingers. Before I even register my own movements, the key is in and turned. No trouble at all. If my breathing would work as effortlessly, then I might have a chance at pulling this off without fainting.
I have to back the truck out of its parking spot in order to get it turned in the right direction. My movements are shaky, but I accomplish the task. I find the switch for the lights as I turn onto the road at the end of the driveway. I’m not sure where I am and it’s a fifty-fifty chance at turning in the direction closest to civilization. I steer the truck to the right and congratulate myself at noticing the house number on the mailbox before I leave. I need to get away for sure, but I need to know how to get back, too.
AUTHOR Bio and Links:
Tamra Lassiter lives in Northern Virginia with her supportive husband, two lovely daughters, elegant Great Dane and not-so-elegant, but very sweet, English Bulldog. She enjoys spending time with her family, reading and of course, writing.
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