Monday, April 24, 2017

Where Writers Work their Magic


Does it matter where you write?

Think about J.K. Rowling sitting in the back room of The Elephant House looking out over Edinburgh Castle writing Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone. I don't know about you, but I think looking at that magnificent castle everytime she sat down to write must have been like turning on the creativity spigot.

And what about D.H. Lawrence? I've read that his favorite writing spot was outdoors in nature, leaned up against a pine tree in New Mexico or a great fir in Nottingham forest. He said trees made the best writing companions because they were alive but didn't interrupt his thinking with a lot of chatter. (I may have paraphrased that just a bit.)

And of course there was the eccentric British poet Dame Edith Sitwell who wrote while lying in a white coffin. Pretty sure it was an open casket . . .

Whether it's on a train like thriller author John le Carré or walking to the office like poet Wallace Stevens, or even in a revolving writing shed like George Bernard Shaw (or one of my faves, Roald Dahl--whose shed remained stationary), it seems we like whatever it is that gets our creativity flowing. For me, it's my desk beside the fireplace early morning or late at night.

What is it that gets your creative juices flowing? Post a picture if you have one. I'd love to see you!





Thursday, April 6, 2017

3rd Annual Brain to Books Blog Hop


Welcome to the 3rd Annual Brain to Books Blog Hop



http://amazon.com/author/annswann
Below is an excerpt from the first book in my bestselling Stutter Creek trilogy:



from 5 Prince Publishing

Beth went in search of an old flame, but she found a serial killer instead.

Mandy was on her way to work the evening shift at the Waterhouse Bar & Grill when she spied a small boy standing beside the road, alone. She immediately decided to pull over and check on him.

This is what happened next:

            The setting sun made the trees appear as black-paper cutouts in a landscape collage.
            After checking her mirrors to make sure no one was behind her, Mandy pressed the button to lower the passenger-side window. It was almost all the way down when a man yanked open the door and exploded into her world like a tornado into a trailer park.  Her hand flew to the gearshift, but she couldn’t engage it.  Even as her flight instinct kicked in, part of her mind was telling her this was almost certainly the same strange guy who had requested her section at the restaurant the night before.  His eyes had seemed to follow her all around the crowded dining room, and his oily stench had made him stand out like a spot of mold on white linen. 
            Mandy drew in breath to scream, her hand scrambling across the console for her phone or the gearshift, whichever came first, but he was too fast.  With lightning speed, he dove across the seat and slapped a rectangle of duct tape across her mouth.
            He buried his free hand knuckle deep in the thick blonde braid at the base of her skull even as his other hand slid down to her windpipe and began to squeeze.
            Mandy’s fight instinct kicked in then, and she whipped her head back and forth in an effort to dislodge his hands. His stench, and the oily filth of his unkempt hair, was sickening. She clawed at his eyes, ripped at his skin, but it was no use.  The psycho laughed and simply leaned his head back out of her reach.
            That’s when Mandy began to claw at her own face, attempting to scratch the silver tape off her mouth. It didn’t matter. There was no one around to hear her scream even if she could have gotten it off.
            Mandy wasn’t a quitter.  She did her best to get her feet out from under the steering column to try and kick him off. But he was pressing down on her with his entire weight. 
            She was trapped. 
            Calmly, the psycho took one hand off her throat, doubled up his fist, and hit her so hard the back of her skull struck the driver’s side window with an audible whap!
            Then he went back to her throat. Mandy’s grip on reality began to loosen.  Tiny strobes flashed inside her skull.

            He squeezed even harder, the tips of his fingers disappearing into her flesh.


To continue the hop, click the link below