Many of the pieces of my novels come from personal experience and stories told by the world around me. I spend a lot of time simply watching birds, animals, people, clouds; each has a story to tell.
This morning, as I walked my wife, Bri, to her bus stop, we spied a box sitting on the corner of a street. On the way home, I stopped, carefully opened it, and took a handful of photographs. Something as simple as this box weaves a much larger tale when I look at it through a writer's eyes. I thought I'd share part of my writing process with those of you who enjoy putting words on a page.
What story does this box offer you? What secrets does each item in the box - crayons, a vase, the books - whisper to you? How do those secrets form a single tale? How did the box come to rest on this particular corner?