Creative Catalysts

I spent the bulk of the weekend organizing the attic.  Well certainly not a life-altering event, it was at least 130 degrees up there.  If I didn’t already detest summer, this certainly would have solidified it.

Attic selfie.  Still smiling because heat stroke hadn't set in yet.

This has become an annual tradition.  The holiday’s end, I wait a bit longer than I should before taking the decorations down — which is a month long event — and by that point I’m so tired of seeing assorted Christmas trees, garland, and snowflakes that everything is hurled up into the attic in no particular order. 

This isn't even a quarter of the clutter.

Eventually, summer rolls about and I pop up to get everything in order before its November migration back downstairs.  Occasionally, I’m able to get the husband to assist.  Although, if given the choice, I’m certain this is the path Cliff would choose…

Cliff choosing the lesser of two evils.

Included in the attic organizing were the hundred or so St. Nicholas Square houses used in the village each year.

The 2016 village.

Oddly enough, those houses were the reason I found myself writing again after an incredibly long hiatus.

Each one usually has some sort of window.  If you peer inside, you can catch a glimpse of…something.  It could be an elderly woman knitting by a fireplace.  A family eating a meal at their dining room table.  A child gazing out the window.  It may even be an empty room.

Simple small talk at the market or something more sinister?

Where is everyone...?

I became fascinated by the views in an almost voyeuristic way.  Who were these people?  What was going on in their lives?  What if something sinister were taking place?

I sat down and started to write.  Originally, I planned to pen a simple short story to publish on my Facebook page.  Then I had a thought!  At the time, my house count was twenty-five.  What if I wrote a short story about each of the houses?  A single self-contained tale that would occur within each building, but all set in the same town.  I could post one story each day as a sort of literary advent calendar leading up to Christmas day.

It continued to grow from there. 

Even though I was aiming for a one-off on each building, I found myself continuing the action.  What transpired in the train station carried over to the hotel.  The events there leading to adventures in the library.  From there, the local pub.  It was no longer twenty-five short stories, but morphing into one long one.

And heck!  Since this entire project was going to be online, why not make it interactive?  Each day would end with a choice – a la the Choose Your Own Adventure book series.  

I purchased two new Choose Your Own Adventure books last week.

“Should Ian (the main character) continue looking for clues at the library or follow Ms. Cooper to her bakery?"  The reader comments would then dictate where the story went the next day. The response was incredibly positive.

Eventually, the entire venture blossomed into my first novel “The Stockings Were Hung.” 

"The Stockings Were Hung"

I’m always fascinated by the catalyst or creative spark that gets someone moving.  It can be something terribly traumatic like death or as simple as a ceramic Christmas house.

What inspired you to start writing or to pick it back up if you stopped?  Let me know in the comments section below.