I Need to Erase a Few Images, Thanks

 This week we're supposed to talk about an iconic scene from a book or movie or show that galvanized us and influenced our writing. I'm going to make it easy. It's the fight scene from The Princess Bride. Okay wait. Maybe the Iocaine Powder scene. Okay. Maybe the whole movie. (It really is the fight scene - the fight choreography and the quick quips and one-upsmanship.)

Then I'm going to leave it there to relay the images etched into my brain after Hurricane Ian came ashore yesterday. The family and I are fine. We were incredibly lucky. Ian came over us as a weak Cat 3 and we never got hit with the eye wall where the strongest winds were.  Still, we're shaken. The torrential rain and the wind we had (top gust clocked at 97mph nearby) was more than enough to cast fear into all of us. The worst part was watching the news streams of the monster storm destroying places I know and love - long ago, we declared the key lime pie at RC Otters on Captiva Island the best we'd found in Florida. The Ding Darling Wildlife Reserve on Sanibel Island was unmatched for wildlife spotting hikes. Yesterday, I watched those islands vanish beneath 18' of the Gulf of Mexico in real time. Yesterday, in real time, I watched while water swept into Fort Myers up to the roof line of single story homes. The friend who lives there and I checked in with one another just as Ian was approaching. She and her elderly mother hadn't been able to leave the area. They were at 11' of elevation. Storm surge was 18'. I haven't been able to raise her.

The worst part (for me) is that storm shutters turn homes into dark, blind boxes. It's as if you've taken shelter inside a ready-made tomb. You know weather is going to hell in a hand basket, but you can't see anything. If you can't see anything, you can't begin reacting until it's already far too late. Maybe that would always have been true - that even if you did see something bad coming (storm surge, for example) you aren't likely to be fast enough or have the option to change the situation. This may be one of those 'tell me you're a boater without telling me you're a boater' cases - I'm trained by boating to live with the illusion that if I see a bad situation developing I can mitigate it if I think and act quickly enough. I'm not sure storm surge has gotten a copy of that memo.

I'm privileged.

I slept in a dry bed last night in a house where the power never went out. Entirely. The worst privation we suffered was losing internet and cable TV. That felt bad enough because we couldn't go on keeping tabs on the storm and the people out there in it. But this morning, I could go outside. It was still windy. The rain had stopped. My climbing roses had beaten themselves to shreds. All the leaves are gone. The canes are shreds. A neighbor lost a tree. My oak tree is leaning and will have to be removed. The plants at the front of the house are all laid down to the south. The plants on the south side of the house are all laid down pointing due west. Part of our downspouts ended up in a neighbor's yard. My feral cat (who I desperately tried to catch before the hurricane came ashore) showed up for breakfast this morning. There are bright spots.

Because there was so little damage, I left to salvage what remains of the vacation that Ian nearly preempted. As we drove north out of the swath of Ian's destruction, vast caravans of rescue equipment and supplies passed us, heading south into the heart of the devastation. My chest hurts. I want to help, too, and have no skills to do so. I want to find my friend. And I have no skills to do so. And I'm afraid of what I'd find. It's a very mixed up place to be: Aware that but for the grace of the gods there go I, because if Ian had drifted a few miles north . . .; sad for all that's been lost, guilty for going on vacation, and relieved that my extended family in the area are all safe. There's no good or easy way to make the early part of this week okay. It won't be okay for a very long time. For some people, it will never be okay again.

Three of the four of us in the  house had never been in a hurricane before and the one who had admitted that his previous experience had left him with an offhand attitude about what hurricanes were. Until now. For context, Hurricane Charlie - the last hurricane to take the same path ashore. It hit in 2004. The entirety of Hurricane Charlie fit inside the eye of Hurricane Ian. 

 

Stu Ostro, a senior meteorologist at The Weather Channel produced this image. He published it to Twitter during that time that everyone was holding their collective breaths about whether or not this Godzilla parked off shore would ever move. Check out the original.

The Same...Yet Different Scenes

Writing inspiration comes from many places—as many as there are people in the world! But does an author have an iconic recurring-scene that inspires their writing?

I had to give this topic some thought. Even though I only have one book (audiobook) out in the world I have a number of complete manuscripts and to add to that, some are science fiction and some are fantasy. Each book was inspired by a different emotion, character, or scene. And they all, save for two of the fantasy ones, take place in different worlds. 

Despite all the differences, they do all share an iconic scene. Inconceivable, you may say. But these pivotal scenes are all rooted in my author purpose, that moral-of-the-story theme that’s at the heart of every tale I weave. 

So, my iconic scene and my author theme are aligned: it’s the moment you face an incredible terror and instead of looking to the side or reaching out for help, you face it head-on and discover the true depth of your own strength.

In The Mars Strain that happens when Jules realizes she knows how to defeat the strain and that, as much as she depends on her team, she knows the key and won’t stop, no matter how much she looses, until she has it. Yes, a little ambiguous, but I can’t spell it out too detailed in case you haven’t listened yet! 

Do you have an iconic scene that keeps showing up? Is it tied to your author theme? 

Jeffe and her Iconic Scene

SHADOW WIZARD releases tomorrow!! Preorder price of $4.99 will be good into tomorrow, then it goes up. (Along with my grocery bill, alas!) The audiobook is being recorded now and should be available in about 2 weeks.

       

 

This week at the SFF Seven, we're asking: Do you have an iconic scene that inspires your writing?

 

I think most of my stories arise from certain pivotal images. For most every book I've written, I can almost certainly identify what the core image was. It's more than visual, however, and feels more like a snippet of a moment: a character in a situation. For a long time I have had an iconic scene. I started drawing it when  was a little girl and it's found its way into any number of stories over the years. I've never quite felt like I fully wrote the story of it, though it's haunted me less recently, so maybe I've come close enough for it to leave me alone.

 

The scene:

 

A woman stands on a cliff overlooking the ocean. Waves rise in whitecaps, dashing themselves against the rocks below. A wind off the water blows back her hair and gown. She's waiting...  Perhaps for an enemy to arrive on her shores? That's my usual feeling. Sometimes a large wolfhound is with her. Sometimes I think she's a sorceress, other times a queen.

 

If you've read a lot of my books, you'll probably recognize ways that this scene appears in various forms. I might've finally worked it out of my system with the Forgotten Empires trilogy, although it still didn't feel precisely like that iconic scene. Maybe I'll wend my way back to it someday!

 

For the time-being, however, I've been in the marshes and woodlands with the denizens of the Renegades of Magic world. SHADOW WIZARD takes us to a new high house (if you're familiar with the Bonds of Magic trilogy), and increasingly wild adventures. In this book, this snippet of a scene is one of my favorites:

 

She flung herself against him, embracing him with fierce tenacity, face buried against his neck, her chin digging rather sharply against his collarbone. For a slender, barely-there wraith, Seliah possessed a surprising amount of tensile strength. And she smelled of water in the moonlight, her tough, tense, thin little body vibrating with spiky silver magic, her breasts surprisingly—and distractingly—soft and full pressed against his chest. He couldn’t help a tiny fantasy of how it would feel to be buried inside that intensity, to have that passionate body surging against his, embracing and engulfing.

It's never going to happen, he told himself firmly.

Are you sure? part of him whispered back slyly.

Yes. Ruthlessly banishing the image, he refused to touch her any more than he already had. Holding his hands out, even more awkward than ever, he kind of waved them around as he waited for the hug to end.

It didn’t. Instead she held on, a buzzing bundle of intoxicating magic and tempting woman. Jadren tried patting her back, thinking maybe that would satisfy her enough to encourage her to go away, but she only purred, snuggling closer, like a cat who’d found the one cat-hater in the room and had no greater goal in life than encamping on his lap forever.