I always think life experiences are invaluable when writing. Even subconsciously we leave a little bit of ourselves on the page whether it’s our outlook on life, as exhibited by our characters, our needs and wishes (cue swoony descriptions of alpha males) weird dreams which we scribble down frantically when we wake up before they disappear from our memories altogether or those spookily bizarre things that happen to us which make ideal retelling in a story, even if they need toning down to make them believable.
Cue my recent experience with the crows.
Fifteen years ago when I brought my daughter home from the maternity hospital we were greeted by unceremonious cawing as a huge black bird waddled magnificently across the front lawn to declare his presence, complete with baby crow in tow, as if in some moment of solidarity we were proudly showing off our mutual offspring to each other. The crow had a few feathers missing from a wing so we christened him “gappy.” Each year thereafter we saw Gappy and various generations (Son of Gappy, Grandson of Gappy) flapping about the house, cawing down the chimneys, punctuated by jackdaws who have an altogether different style of caw – aptly named because they sound as if they’re screeching “Jack!” to each other all the time.
Over the years, the Jacks and the Gappies have multiplied, to the point where this year they have taken over. The thing about summer in Scotland is that it’s light pretty much all day long – many a time I’ve driven home gone midnight and there’s still an orange glow on the horizon. This also means the dawn chorus comes way before 4am. This summer, rather than the melodious tweeting of larks and finches, the alarm clock provided by Mother Nature is more reminiscent of the love children of Axl Rose and Bonnie Tyler after a night on the town, several cigarettes and a few sessions of having gargled with a cheese grater. Rather than scare them off, drawing back the curtains only reveals several glossy black faces with steely grey eyes peering inside, curiosity and fortitude overwhelming any fear of humans.
It made me realise that my subconscious had been picturing this all along. In my recently-finished draft, my second foray into the world of Regency Romance, the main character suffers a childhood trauma involving being pecked at and mobbed by crows. At the time of writing – over Christmas – there wasn’t a crow in sight at home; but the image must have come from somewhere, dredged up from my subconscious to be used when needed.
I’m fortunate enough to be able to work from home a lot of the time. But yesterday, concentration was at a premium. My office looks out onto the front lawn and during the afternoon Gappy and his chums indulged in what can only be described as the crow equivalent of a rock festival, lining up on the branches of the trees, strutting over the roof of my car to create some form of Hitchcockian visual storyboard. But it didn’t end there – in true Daphne-Du Maurier style, Gappy sent one of his emissaries on a mission and after half an hour of indulgent flapping, a visitor flew at me from the fireplace. Cue something out of Benny Hill where my younger daughter and I ran round in circles trying to catch said visitor, while my pet snake (Twinkle the boa constrictor) hung on for dear life round my neck which, only moments before, he’d seen as a safe haven around which to curl up and sleep. We managed to get great-great-great-grandson of Gappy out and the funny thing is, though we can hear the odd caw, there’s not a bird in sight now.
So if you’re stuck for ideas or looking for inspiration for stories three tips are:
+ If the idea comes from a dream- write it down as soon as you wake up!
+ Don’t forget your own life experiences…
+ …but where the truth is stranger than fiction, you might need to tone down your experiences for them to be believable.
My Regency heroine might have been mobbed by crows, but she didn’t have a pet snake round her neck at the time. Saying that, I have named her after one of my other pet snakes- but that’s another story…
Em x
