Enforcing the BIC Rule of Writing

I'm a strong believer in the BIC (Butt-in-Chair) rule of writing.
So, apparently, is my writing companion.
If I move my chair away from my desk (and my writing), I'm going to hear about it.

Love Those Book Clubs

It's hard to believe that two years have passed since BWLC hit the shelves. 

One of my favorite activities since publication: Meeting with book clubs. I've met in person, via Skype, on the phone, and even via Facebook Chat. 

If you belong to a book club (or two or three) and would like a copy of my book to consider for your club, let me know (and pass the word). Thanks to all for your support!

Irish Surprise

I wouldn't describe myself as superstitious, but sometimes something happens that causes me stand back and wonder: Is this a sign? a message from the gods?

When my daughter returned from a recent trip to Ireland, she brought me a nice bottle of fine Jameson whiskey, along with coasters bearing the King family crest. I was surprised that a book was part of the crest. I was also intrigued by the motto under the book, "Maireann a sgrioghtar." According the coasters' package, the words mean, "History cannot be destroyed."

Kinda boring. (Just the motto, Katie. I love the coasters!) So today, while struggling to complete a sentence and wondering, once again, what kind of nut case actually chooses to become a writer, I was staring at one of the coasters. I then Googled the King name and family motto. I found the same Irish words but with a different translation. This one read: "That which is written, lives."

I'm taking that one as a sign.

What are the signs that you are fated to do what you do?

When Words Won't Work

I've had no special desire to visit the 911 Memorial. I didn't think anything could make as great an impact on me as what I saw at Ground Zero a few days after the attacks: the ash, the smoke still rising from the rubble, the smiling faces of loved ones posted on telephone poles, on trees, on gates. The smell.

But as often happens when visitors have on their itinerary a landmark you live near but rarely if ever visit, I went to the site yesterday.


I'm a word guy. But with this, I'm not even going to try.

Where the South Tower once stood.

Freedom Tower. Hurry up and finish it, please.

Mulcho Man: Where One Writer Finds His Ideas

I love this cartoon because at almost every reading I've either attended or given, the author is invariably asked, "Where do you get your ideas?" The shower seems to be a popular idea incubator among writers.

My ideas, however, usually lurk outside. I've come to believe that they hide out there on purpose, as if to make me live up to a boast I made twenty-seven years ago when Joanne and I were considering purchasing the house we eventually did buy and have lived in ever since:  a cozy (realtor-speak for tiny) house on an acre of weedy grass, unruly bushes, and lots and lots of trees--which meant, every autumn, lots and lots of leaves.

"If we buy this place," Joanne said, "We'll need to hire someone to do all the yard work."

"No way," I said in my best Paul Bunyan. "It'll be good exercise for me."

I don't enjoy yard work--never did. But once I'm into it, my mind wanders to whatever writing project is underway. I start talking to the characters as I mow the lawn, eavesdrop on their conversations while I do the edging, play "what if" with plot lines while trimming the $&#(&***  forsythia.


 A few years ago, I came up with an idea for cutting back on the amount of lawn I'd need to cut. I created vast beds of mulch around the trees and various bushes and shrubs Joanne had planted. For some reason, she usually undertook these beautification projects while I was away on a business trip. Anyway, my brilliant labor-saving plan shaved a few minutes off the mowing, but added several days each year to increasingly (as I age) back-breaking task of distributing the mountain of mulch dumped in our driveway to their various spots on our cozy little acre.

Today I was chipping my way through a mountain of mulch when one of my major characters approached me. She'd been edited out of several scenes, and I had been considering getting rid of her entirely. She watched me shovel and sweat for awhile and then, just I was about to lug another full wheelbarrow up the hill in front of the house, said, "The story will be stronger without me."


This was not welcome news. We'd been together several years. But she was right. She knew it. I knew it. And as usually happens after an outdoors encounter with one of my characters, I was eager to get back in the house and back to the writing. I just wish that, in this case, that character had helped with the mulch before taking off.

So... where do you get your ideas?