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Inkabout L. Darby Gibbs

Science Fiction & Fantasy author

personal experience

Creativity: Using your own experiences to authenticate your writing

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 My last post was about brainstorming with my writer pal Marcy on a novel idea involving dementia and Alzheimer’s.  Much of what is going into the book is based on my experience with my mother and my father-in-law who are both suffering from this kind of memory loss.  Every phone call I have with them or chat with my mother-in-law or my sister, who also keeps contact with our mom, is a source of inspiration and information. But it is also disheartening because it will only get worse.

I tell myself that as painful as it is to watch and keep up with the changes they are going through, it is part of life, part of loving someone and part of the truth that must be in what I write. What we experience is our greatest source of originality and authenticity.

I know this book is going to tax me and pull hard at my heart, for every wall my character must climb will echo a difficulty my mother is going through. I have long since given up having those chats with my mom that always left us laughing. For many years I would unload my disappointments through the receiver of my phone, and my mother would be on the other end listening.  But it was never a sad event for I would find myself giggling over those troubles because she brought that out in me.  They were fodder for humor instead of tears or anger when I shared them with her.

But I cannot do that any more. She cannot hold onto the same conversation for more than a couple of minutes. Sometimes she thinks she is talking to my daughter or worse me back when I was in high school.  It is much harder to make her giggle and much harder for me to find the humor in the troubles that come with the changes she is going through.  Nowadays, she is sharing with me her difficulties, and I am the one hoping to bring humor rather than sorrow to her experience.

What life experiences feed your writing and give you hope that you will find peace in the effort?

#creativity
#Alzheimer’s

There are advantages to being a 50something writer

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50+ years of experience

I’ve been gathering experience for 50+ years

  1. I have already been told numerous times I was wrong and proved that I was right.
  2. I have been wrong before and survived and I will again
  3. I have paid my bills, and when I didn’t, I learned to pay them the next time.
  4. I found out I don’t have to answer any questions I don’t want to.
  5. I have learned how to ask questions so people want to answer them (they don’t always, but they want to).
  6. I refuse to sit in the corner and cry about it.  But I know some times a good cry works wonders.
  7. I know what my body does when it is terrified.
  8. I know what my body does when it is tired.
  9. I know what my body does when it hasn’t slept for three days. (My husband and I laughed our heads off about nothing funny, but it was a blast) Not recommended more than once a year.
  10. I know that how I react is not necessarily how another person will act.
  11. Now I decide what I am going to do about it and do it.
  12. I wrote a book.
  13. And then I wrote three more.
  14. I published a book, and then I published three more.
  15. So I am writing another book.
  16. I plan to publish it.
  17. Creativity is in the mind, of the mind, doesn’t always mind, but mind you, it never really leaves.
  18. There are days I don’t want to write.
  19. There are not many days I don’t want to write.
  20. I love my parents despite and in spite of all they did, tried to do and never got around to doing.
  21. I am a parent, and I think she’s going to love me in spite of and despite of all of it.
  22. I married the right man, and he agrees.
  23. What I really know, really experienced and really care about can be a great help with writing about the things I didn’t know until I looked it up, didn’t experience but have an idea about, and don’t care much about but can see how someone would.
  24. I know that crying is not proof that someone is hurt 
  25. I know that not crying is not proof that someone does not care.
  26. I know that silence is not agreement, and taking a stand is far more reliable.
  27. I know my opinion needs to matter to me more than it matters to anyone else.
  28. I have learned that opinion is not fact.
  29. I know that some believe opinion is enough to hang a hat on.
  30. I rarely wear a hat.  Don’t have the head for it.
  31. I can wait a long time, I already have.
  32. I will not wait long for things not worth waiting for or things that should not be allowed to wait.
  33. I have learned that criticism can hurt, but even that sort can be learned from.
  34. I have learned to give criticism that teaches.
  35. Nothing is forever except ideas.
  36. Escapism is not a bad thing.  Writers depend on it. Readers need it well done.
  37. Every day I need to seek out knowledge.
  38. As often as possible I need to share knowledge.
  39. I know how to say I am sorry and mean it. 
  40. I have learned that some of the closest friends a person can have shed, and their only flaw is the amount of hair that can accumulated in the corners.  Dogs, kindness in the warm, occasionally wet-nosed package, that renews itself every morning and sometimes numerous times in the course of the day if you step outside enough times and make a big deal every time you come back in.
  41. I have been an infant, a toddler, a pre-teen, a teenager, a lover, a newlywed, a pregnant woman, a new mother.  I remind my daughter I am old enough to be a grandmother, but I am not ready, nor is she ready to make me one.
  42. I have struggled with self-consciousness and reached a point of mostly not caring what people think about me.
  43. I have found meditation has numerous benefits
  44. I have struggled with achieving a pregnancy, giving up, gone a decade believing and accepting that it was not possible.
  45. I have lost a pregnancy, and helped a friend deal with losing her own pregnancy.
  46. I went preterm and held out for a full term delivery.
  47. I have had a child remind me to pay attention. And I listened. I held her sitting in the crook of my arm.  She placed two chubby hands on either side of my face, turned me to share an eye-to-eye look, and she said, “Momma?” with the firmness of a drill sergeant. 
  48. I know how to hide the fact that I am a shy person. (Head up, chin up, eye steady)
  49. I know how to say no and mean it.
  50. I found out why mothers are never shy when a child is involved.
  51. I learned how to give orders so students do what I say (but don’t ask me to explain how it works).
  52. I have made friends and lost friends and will forget neither.
  53. I have been lied to and lied, and carried the burden of both.
  54. I have fallen in love and worked hard not to climb out because holding onto love is not an easy thing.
  55. I know how it is to lose a parent to cancer.
  56. I know how it is to lose a parent to unexpected death.
  57. I know how it is to lose a parent to dementia.
  58. I have petted the family dog and felt her life flow out and cried for the loss. And I have explained to my daughter why she will not be coming back.
  59. I know how it is to watch my sister lose a child to a brain tumor.
  60. I know how it is to witness a miracle of survival.
  61. I have lived on the East Coast, the West Coast, the Northwest and South Coast.
  62. I have hiked the beginning of the Narragansett Trail and the end of Oregon Trail.  Missed the middle.
  63. I know the reality of not doing something now.  Do it now or it will never happen.
  64. I have graduated high school.
  65. I have graduated college, three times, different degrees.

I figure I still have plenty to learn, and all of it will be useful to me as a writer and a person.

Things my dogs do that make me laugh

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Life with the ladies
  • Lacey (the chocolate) jerks up, ears alert and forward, nose twitching.  Cagney  (the blonde) runs through the kitchen with deep questioning growls.  How could she even know what the other one was doing in the living room.  And nothing was happening anywhere.
  • My husband is out and will be gone for several hours with no definite time of return.  Three minutes before he pulls into the driveway, my dogs start running from window to window, pushing the blinds aside in front of the sliding glass door and all around noisily announcing that he will be home soon.  They don’t stop until he has walked inside the door.  How will I know if there is going to be an earthquake if this is how they behave when he just pulls into town?
  • When Lacey wants to go out, she sits next to me, taps me with her paw, and when I look, she leaps straight into the air, flips both rear feet high up on one side and lands like a bucking bronco.  No matter how many times I ask if she has to go out, she will just sit and look at me like I am deranged.  Apparently, she does not believe in repeating herself.
  • Outside Cagney is the aggressive dog.  Inside Lacey takes control.  What did they do, draw up a contract?
  • Cagney runs around the backyard with her bottom tucked nearly beneath her, tail practically non-existent, a regular golden blur.  Lacey races the same track, legs flying out to her sides, tail out like a flag tail deer, ears flapping and beats Cagney to the door.  How?  She has so much wind drag she should be taking air and circling the yard.
  • When asked if she wants more water, Lacey gives me her paw.  Cagney shoves her nose in her water dish. If I ask Lacey again if she wants water, Cagney will put her nose in Lacey’s water dish.
  • Lacey sleeps with my daughter.  In the morning, if my husband or I try to let her out, she will not exit the bedroom until our daughter climbs out of bed and walks her into the hallway.
  • We know who pooped in the wrong place because one stays in one place and the other walks around leaving a trail.
  • Lacey will not use the back steps, even if it means taking a header every time she goes out and must leap from the doorway to the brick pathway below, avoiding the three steps down that would be so much safer.
  • My daughter’s bedroom is up a flight of thirteen steps.  It took Lacey six months before she learned to go down the stairs without ending up a ball of tumbled dog at the base.  Going up was no big deal, even exciting, but heading down in the morning, well, it was a good thing Cagney was willing to catch her at the bottom.
  • Cagney gets the greatest kick out of my husband. All he has to do is grab the back of the dining room chair and lean it toward him.  Cagney will spring to her feet and go into attack mode, a wide-mouthed grin spread across her long snout.  Don’t get me started with how she reacts if he pulls his t-shirt up to cover his face below the eyes.
  • When Cagney pretends my husband is a burglar (t-shirt collar pulled up to his eyes), Lacey will nip at Cagney’s feet until she agrees to play with her instead of him.

So what are your four-pawed friends doing to keep you content and entertained?

Researching Boston streets adds credibility to a time travel scene

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The third book in my series Students of Jump is in
redraft.  The addition of scenes to complete several jumps back in time
required some research.  My current endeavors involve determining which
streets were in existence in 1851 in Boston, whether or not they were paved
with “cobs” (round stones commonly annoying the farmers in those
parts) or setts (rectangular cut-granite stones) considered to be the better
street paver for use by horses, carriage wheels and pedestrians, and where the
major newspaper publishers were located.

I had originally assumed the
roads would be dirt, but after looking at pictures, I saw the streets clearly
indicated pavers.  So I had to find out
what kind and when they were in use. 
This is what I have learned so far.

Cobblestones were used but not throughout Boston and were
often replaced with the flat sett granite stone for ease of rolling carriage
wheels over, otherwise horses tripped and wheels broke more easily.
There were several papers in existence, the Boston Globe, the Boston Herald and the Daily Advertiser,
to name a few.  Fine, but when?  Well, the Globe
did not exist until the 1870’s, so that threw out that paper.  The Boston
Herald existed but had several names over the years and had the frequent
habit of purchasing other papers and incorporating their names into its
own.  But when and under what incarnation
was the name in 1851?  The Boston Herald
bought out the Daily Advertiser but not until the 1880s.  So that means I could use either the Herald
or the Advertiser for my purposes. 
But that hardly made things easy.  There was a section of town known as
newspaper row, but it was located in two different sites due to movement of
paper publishers over a period of years.  I finally
had to accept that there was no definitive address for either paper until the
latter part of the century.   So I settled
for Washington Street because it bisected both areas that went by the designation Newspaper Row.
I settled on the Daily Advertiser in the end (Sorry Boston Herald. I know you are still in
existence, but I needed to be sure there would be an advertisement of the
nature I wanted.  And the name sold me.)
I have been staring at maps of Boston from 1847 and 1950 using
magnifying glasses and my daughter to confirm my reading of the nearly
unreadable print to make decisions on how my characters are moving through the
streets to perform the task they must complete. 
The latter map made it possible to read the street names of the earlier
one.  (My mother loved books and had the
foresight to purchase an amazing Atlas printed in 1950, which was given to me
when I married.)  You would be surprised
how many times I have turned to it. 
(Save old atlases and dictionaries if you are a writer.  Words evolve and roads change names.  My classroom has two sets of dictionaries, a
brand new set and a 1980s set.  There are
times when my class is reading from an old text and that 1980s set comes in
handy even when the work is Middle English. The words are missing from the new set or have taken on new meanings
that don’t apply in the old texts.)
By the way, the most useful site turned out to be the South
Boston Historical pages.  The site had
several clear pictures labeled with useful information.  I even got a nice glance at the fashion of
the day for ladies and men as well as the building architecture, types of
wagons and carriages likely to be seen and some history.

Hours of research for a 1000 word scene.   I even spent my childhood in a suburb of Boston. The sound of the wind still stirs memories, so I have the feel of the place just not the details.  I was busy chasing a dachshund and riding my bike.

I wonder what the ratio of research is to writing.  Has anyone made a point of figuring this out.  Hmm, maybe I don’t want to know the answer to that question, or not until I finish the book.  But I am curious, so tell me if you have.

I’m off to research the trees in Boston Common in the 1850’s.  And I learned to write “Commons” with the “s” is incorrect.

Personal experience (loss of a loved one) provided direction and depth

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Love is a foundation: loss a process

One of the main issues in the first two books of the series Students of Jump is loss of a loved one.  This is an area I have some experience in.  Though my original plot did not include a death, the events grew naturally out of the interaction of characters and circumstance.  My own mother died when I was a baby, and I was at first unaware of the effect it had on my father or myself. As I grew older, I realized he never allowed himself the time to adjust to losing his wife.  He buried himself in his work and in raising his children.  It was a new experience for him to be the sole parent of two small children. 

He shared a story with me about the first months he found himself caring for us.  He knew that my mother had always kept us fed and clean.  He had been guided on feeding us properly by the ladies in the neighborhood, and my father was always a good cook, but the requirements of keeping children clean was never addressed.

He bathed us night and day.  We were not particularly dirty children, both of us under two years old.  When he took us to our yearly check up, he asked the doctor if he was caring for us well, as he feared being gone during the working hours meant he could only bath us twice a day.  Our skin was a bit flakie, but the doctor set him straight relieving quite a bit of tension and reducing the bathing to a more manageable level, and our skin and hair returned to that shiny, moist quality inherent in healthy children.  When I had my own daughter and spoke to my father about her potty training not going well, he gave me just the information I needed to have a smooth process for my daughter.

Talking to and observing how my father dealt with his loss and my own later frustrations at not having my mother around during my teenage years helped when I worked through the changes my characters dealt with and their challenges dealing with loss.

What parts in the writing you have done is a reflection of your own experiences?