Category Archives: Nandy Ekle

Becoming Psychic

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POST CARDS FROM THE MUSE

Becoming Psychic

 

I have just spent the past week enjoying several trained animal shows. These have been very entertaining for the most part, but they have also given me a new thought as far as inspiration to write. What does an animal think during a performance?

A couple of the shows we’ve seen this week have had restarts and blank space because the animals decided not to perform. The trainers and other actors did a good job to cover up and fill in for the moody animal star, but the show lacked the main ingredient.

So my muse whispered to me, “Is there a story here?” What goes through the mind of the star attraction? Why did the orca whale not feel like splashing water when the cue was given? What made the beluga whale swim around in a melancholy circle instead of dance on the top of the water?

In the world of training wild animals, I would have to do some research to learn how to handle them and how they react to certain things. But beyond that my imagination would have to fill in the blanks. I would need to feel the animal’s mood and see through its eyes the events of the day leading up to the performance. In short, I would have to become psychic to the animal’s mind.

As an author, this is entirely possible, and even more important, very probable and very fun.

Congratulations. You have just received a post card from the muse.

Nandy Ekle

 

Back To Basics

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POST CARDS FROM THE MUSE

Back To Basics

Think back to the first thought you had of writing. I’m not talking about the assigned theme about how you spent your summer vacation. I’m not talking about the essay explaining photosynthesis. And I’m not talking about the lines you may have had to write declaring that you would not talk out in class.

What I am talking about is the little paragraph you put together about who said what during lunch. Think about the notes you wrote your friends telling them the latest gossip. Remember the stories you told each other during PE and recess.

 

Sometimes the best inspiration is where it’s always been, at the beginning. One of the things that used to really stir the story pot in my head was a blue ink pen and a brand new Big Chief Tablet. That was definitely one of the most thrilling things in the world. I could take that medium point pen and the paper with the newsprint texture and whole new worlds full of interesting people opened up. The beautiful blue ink nearly jumped from my pen onto the tablet forming words and sentences, paragraphs and pages. I never experienced a stuck moment as long as I had those tools.

What brought the writer out in you? Did you have a certain favorite paper and ink color? Was it a favorite song? favorite character? a fun assignment? Did you and your friends share stories back and forth? Whatever it was, find it again and feel the magic start all over again. I can almost guarantee that your words will make their way through that blockade that has caused them to huddle in a corner waiting to be pulled out and put down on that page.

Congratulations. You have just received a post card from the muse.

Nandy Ekle

Let Me Show You Something

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POST CARDS FROM THE MUSE

Let Me Show You Something

I have something to show you. Come closer, a little closer. Good Now get comfortable. It may sound strange, but you have to close your eyes to see this. Ready? All right, let’s begin.

In order for you to see the things I want you to see and hear the sounds I want you to hear, I am going to draw and paint with my words. Here goes. I’ll use lots of colors and sounds. Do you feel the wind on your face? Can you smell the new air yet? Yes, that’s it. Do you hear the sounds I hear? Yes, yes, that’s it. Okay, open your eyes.

You are now in this world I have created. I meant for this particular world to be beautiful and full of color and scents and sounds. I believe there are some birds in that tree—bright reds and blues in the branches that vibrate with green. And the color of the dirt, have you ever seen it so black? It could almost be velvet. And look at the sun—you see, in my world you can look directly at the sun and never suffer—and how beautiful it is.

And the smells! Did you know the green could smell so green? And up there are some wild flowers growing all over the hillside with the sweetest perfume in this world.

Can you hear the birds sing while the children play in the park? What? You overlooked the park? Well come with me and I’ll show you. It’s up the hill, just a ways. The children are playing on the swings and the slide and the merry-go-round. They’re smiling and laughing; oh, they have such musical laughter! They all get along and run and play together. The jungle-gym over in that corner is covered with kids climbing, hanging by their knees, and just sitting soaking up the sun.

Did you notice their parents and nannies? I think we’ll call them the “watchers.” The mothers and some dads, some nannies, some teenagers doing their homework are all over to the side of the park next to the sandbox. They visit and talk, each one lovingly mentioning the name of their child over and over again.

Do you like the world I have made here? This is why I write.

Nandy Ekle

Leftovers

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POSTCARDS FROM THE MUSE

Leftovers 

The end of the school year is coming up. I remember being a kid in elementary school and how exciting the last day of the last semester could be. Sometimes the air felt full of magic. We cleaned out our lockers and desks, threw away trash, turned in books and took home leftover supplies.

The left over supplies would sit in my satchel singing to me until I could unpack them in my bedroom. I would shut my door, crawl onto my mattress and carefully take all the papers and pens out of my bag. I had clean paper that I had not used up by \recording facts or writing notes to my friends or drawing pictures of royal women in beautiful ball gowns. I had a zipper pouch of black and blue ink pens, colored pencils and several crayons still in working order.

I would rub my hand over the smooth white surface of the paper and my mind would immediately feel words forming in my head and scramble to get to my hand, the one that had grabbed up the blue pen before I even knew it was going to happen.

Sometimes the best beginning for something new is the ending of something old. Grab some clean white paper, your favorite pen, and let your mind find “the zone.”

Congratulations. You have received a post card from the muse.

Nandy Ekle

 

Massive Chills

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POST CARDS FROM THE MUSE

Massive Chills

The words feel like velvet. The author’s voice, quiet but strong, yanks my attention and holds it in a steel grip. The plot thickens in such a tight mesh it seems all options are gone. And then, with a few simple syllables, all is revealed.

My arms are covered with bumps while my eyes react by filling with tears. Of course! How could I not have seen such a thing! Perfect sense!

And then I turn the page. Nothing. White space is all that greets me. The End.

My breath is gone. I have to blink my eyes to get my vision back from the world contained between the front cover and the back cover. For the rest of my day, reality is caught simultaneously in two worlds: the world of real life and the world I just left.

And the single thought that runs through my brain is, Give me a pen and paper NOW!

If you ever need inspiration, go back and read your favorite book. Allow the author to be your professor. Absorb the words again and feel the tone of perfection. And even fantasize about what you might have done differently.

Congratulations. You have just received a post card from the muse.

Nandy Ekle

 

Injecting Life

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POST CARDS FROM THE MUSE

 Injecting Life

The twisted little body lies on the slab. So far that’s all it is, just a lifeless rag. I’ve put a suture here and there to string pieces together in an effort to make the body whole. There are a few loose ends, but those will heal once the life begins.

I have a whole ward of these lifeless little things. Some of them could be beautiful; some of them could be powerful. All of them are mine. The only thing missing from each one is a beginning sentence.

These special little wads of bodies are ideas that I’ve had for stories. They pop in my head at random times, sometimes uncanny in their ability to find the most inappropriate moments to show up. I can be in the middle of a sentence during a conversation with a complete stranger when one of these ideas knocks on the door and says, “Guess what!” Or I can be deeply immersed in reading an amazing book, except for the split second when I hear, “Sort of like what happened to me.” Music brings them, pictures bring them, people walking down the street bring them. One time an idea spoke so loud I woke up from sleep in the middle of the night to listen.

I take the idea and lay it on a slab, gluing it down with my ink and a promise saying, “Don’t go anywhere, I’ll be right back,” and usually I do come back and fiddle with it a little more. Occasionally, though, they get tired of waiting on me and go on to find someone else with more time—but for the most part, they wait patiently.

So I look at this one particular idea and see the marks of where I have tried to find the right sequence of words to inject into its veins that will open its eyes. I see a lot of needle marks, but still the eyes have not opened. There was a flutter one time, for a split second. This poor little waif is in two parts, and the second part is set. The first sentence of that scene caused the eyeballs underneath the lids to roll in a curious REM fashion, but they did not open. The first part is not there yet.

From all the words that exist in language today, there has got to be a combination that will work to open these eyes. And so I will continue to look for the perfect fit, that special key that will give life to this story. Then I can move on to the next.

Nandy Ekle

Become the Expert

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POST CARDS FROM THE MUSE

Become the Expert

I’ve heard many many times that a writer should write what they know. If you know romance, write romance. If you know children, write for children. If you mystery and murder . . .

Well then there’s the other side of the argument which says, “Write outside of the box. Expand your horizons.” Learn space travel. Learn brain surgery or international spying or mystery and murder . . .

The point is this. You can write what you know while you broaden your horizons. The answer is at your local library, or even better, in your computer.

Research.

You have a great idea that screams for attention. But you’ve never been to a fortune teller, or outer space or a battlefield or in a failing love affair. You can learn these things by reading books on the subjects, or “google” them and add a new expertise to your ever growing education.

Congratulations. You have just received a post card from the muse.

Nandy Ekle

Become the Expert

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POST CARDS FROM THE MUSE

Become the Expert

I’ve heard many many times that a writer should write what they know. If you know romance, write romance. If you know children, write for children. If you mystery and murder . . .

Well then there’s the other side of the argument which says, “Write outside of the box. Expand your horizons.” Learn space travel. Learn brain surgery or international spying or mystery and murder . . .

The point is this. You can write what you know while you broaden your horizons. The answer is at your local library, or even better, in your computer.

Research.

You have a great idea that screams for attention. But you’ve never been to a fortune teller, or outer space or a battlefield or in a failing love affair. You can learn these things by reading books on the subjects, or “google” them and add a new expertise to your ever growing education.

Congratulations. You have just received a post card from the muse.

Nandy Ekle

 

Noisy House

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POST CARDS FROM THE MUSE

Noisy House

Have you ever played the game where you listen to a sound and then try to guess what the sound is and where it comes from?

Sometimes late at night, right before I drift away to sleep, a loud noise bursts in on my slumber. It usually is nothing more than the air conditioner or heater coming on, or the dog snoring like an old man. Sometimes the phantom noise is a creak as the house settles down for the night or a drip in the shower. Sometimes a dog barks at the moon or a car rushes down the road. Or maybe there’s a noise I recognize, such as a mouse trap snapping, but makes me wonder about what I will find if I go to investigate.

Then there are times when a noise peeps from somewhere in the house, or outside the window that is mysterious. These are times to allow my imagination to open up and grab clues and build a story.

Congratulations. You have just received a post card from the muse.

Nandy Ekle

 

Message From Mundania

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POST CARDS FROM THE MUSE

Message From Mundania

Life, moving slowly, as if the same day repeats over and over and brings to mind a phrase from the days of Flower Children: What a drag.

You get up in the morning, rub your eyes, wash your hair and drink your coffee. You go to your jobs or classes, work a while, eat your lunch, work a while, go back home. You eat supper or dinner—whatever you like to call it—turn on the TV and settle for the night. And it all starts over the next day.

But what we forget are the little adventures we have every day, you know, the little things that are different about a day. The postage machine hijacks the fax machine, the client forgot to send in the payment, or a black plastic bag scoots across the highway and reminds you of an alligator coming after your car. Once, just breaking the promise to myself that I would not eat my favorite snack that day brought a very nice story.

When something happens just the teeniest bit out of the ordinary, whether it’s frustrating or hilarious, you can write an entire story centered on this event. Let your imagination ponder and study it. Then add in some exaggeration to what you already know about the event. You’ll soon find that your ho-hum life is full of story-worthy adventures and “boring” will be for people like detectives and spies.

Congratulations. You have just received a post card from the muse.

Nandy Ekle