Writers read too…

Well, some of us do…

On the third round edit of my current work in progress, I stalled out about half way through, I’d read it so many times, I couldn’t remember if my character really DID buy a new car, or just needed one. I needed to figure it out. But I needed to know before I flipped through three hundred and twenty-seven pages again. I closed the book and set it aside.

I’d been working so long it had gone dark since I started.

I gazed out the window and watched the lights of the city flicker and fade in the fog. Rain drops splattered against the window and I closed my eyes.

Morning came with the delicious sound of rain still pelting the windows, thunder rolling occasionally and random flashes of lightning splintering the skies. There would be no visible sunrise in this sea of dark and heavy clouds.

I reached for a book, one of the many that littered my night stand and opened it to a center page. I started reading. It didn’t matter where. I just needed to interrupt the constant story that I’d been reading for days.

I pulled the blanket up close and cuddled into my pillows, my book was just interesting enough to keep me reading as the rain kept splattering the windows. The words seemed to keep time with the rain. And thunder crashed at all the right moments.

Three chapters in and I was hooked to the end of the book. I’d found my solution, and it didn’t come from the book I was reading, but rather from the stilted phrases that intruded on the chapters…

My character needed a new car but hadn’t bought one yet. He would need transportation, and somehow, part of the story had to include him buying a new vehicle.

That was the story.

And that is why writers read.

To write.

Where Do You Read?

Woman in a libraryI stood at the door and waited a moment for someone to answer the bell. The curtains were open and I’d seen someone sitting back in the corner of the room as I walked up the narrow brick path from the street.

One leg looped over the corner of the desk and the other propped on a file cabinet, she was leaned back in her chair with a book in her hand and two more on her lap. Surrounded by book shelves stacked to the ceiling, her desk was piled high with more, and even more books were stacked neatly around her desk on the floor.

I knew Jen was a writer. I’d been editing her most recent venture. We were having coffee in her garden this day. At least, that had been the plan, before the cold front, fog and snow clouds crested the mountains to the west.

If I’d been counting seconds, they would have turned to minutes before I heard feet padding across the tile floor to unlock and open the door. “Jan, I forgot. We’re having coffee! Come in. I’ll put it on. Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry. I got caught up in reading a novel and I totally forgot to put the coffee on to brew.” She pushed the door shut behind me and took my coat and hat. I dropped my shoes near the closet door and padded through the house behind her in my stocking covered feet.

“Oh my, I have cinnamon cake with walnuts. Mom brought it over early. She must have been thinking of us…” Jennifer started the pot of coffee and cut two thick wedges of what appeared to be the most decadent apple cinnamon cake I might ever have an opportunity to taste. (No diet would prevent me from tasting that much decadence.)

She served the cake on delicate china plates with real silver, at a table covered with linen and lace. After the initial discussion of coffee and cake, she lit a fire and we got down to the business of writing…

“I saw where you read, but where do you write?” I asked. I’d been overly anxious to see her writing corner. (I’d heard stories.)

“Oh, you’ll love it!” She stood up, leaving her cake and coffee, “Follow me.”

I walked behind her up the twisting staircase to the round room at the top of her house, above the library that spanned a whole two floors. She stopped in a round room with windows looking every direction and pointed to a desk near the middle with her computer set up, waiting.

“That’s where I write. Nothing to distract me but the view, from which I get much inspiration.” Her voice trailed off as she gazed toward sunlight streaming through a cloud bank, sending golden rays toward a distant mountain peak. “That could inspire a poem, or an entire chapter, born of light rays dusting the peaks with crimson ad gold…”

She sat down at the computer and I let myself out through the front door.

ACE Writers

and life comes back

and life comes backThe saga of death takes a toll on any relationship. No matter how firm a foundation you stand on, together, when one fades from life, the other must go on living.

The story that unfolds when one young mother becomes a widow three days before Christmas will scar your heart forever. You’ll laugh, you’ll cry, you’ll die a little and then life comes back… slowly.

Ever so slowly the panic attacks will subside and each day, every single 24 hour period that passes, you’ll realize… it’s only a day. Life will come back and you’ll be complete. Not that you won’t always have a hole in your heart, a space where love leaks out, or a tiny spot that always and forever aches for that one person who is no longer part of your life, you will. But life, the living moment of existence sparked with joy that once held you captive will come back and the moment will surprise you. It will delight you. It will overcome you and you will know that your bright light is shining again…

So the story goes –

A young widow, madly in love with her husband, holds him in her arms as he takes his dying breath. This moment captures her, yet she fights her way to freedom, unapologetic asking questions, questioning God, and struggling to reclaim the portion of herself that commands each breath of life to be taken, even through the pain of losing the love of her life. She tells her story of reclaiming life in fresh, revealing quips and stories that allow the reader inside the secret world of pain, agony and desperation that she feels and shares best in her story.

From a parenting moment shared with her husband to the delicate story of his death and those moments after when she struggled back from the edge, the emotional pilgrimage in these pages will captivate your heart, bring tears to your eyes and encourage you to go one step further and care with all that is inside you. A non-fiction, reality brings you in so close you can taste the tears…

Be sure to grab your copy of “and life comes back” by pre-order – HERE.

Tricia Lott Williford shares her heart almost daily on her blog.

Tricia Lott Williford

As a writer she will stir your heart, remind you that the words you put on paper are more than just words on paper, they are your words, written from the heart, shared from the soul and revealed before the world, open to hurt, pleasure and greatest pain… As a reader she will open your heart and fill you up with words your soul must hear.

Click the the link and go visit her blog for more of her story – you’ll be glad you did.