Harvesting Inspiration - IWSG May 2026

 

Welcome to IWSG Day. The goal of this blog hop is to share and encourage. Writers can express doubts and concerns without fear of appearing foolish or weak. Those who have been through the fire can offer assistance and guidance. It’s a haven for insecure writers of all kinds. IWSG is the brainchild of our ninja leader Alex Cavanaugh. Thank you to this month’s co-hosts, Jenni Enzor, Jemima Pett, Jamie of Uniquely Maladjusted but Fun, and Kim Lajevardi. For links to all contributors, click here.

Optional May question: What was the most inspiring feedback you received from readers, including agents, editors, and beta readers?

While not necessarily feedback, a writer, author, teacher I know once offered this inspirational phrase: “Thinking is writing too.”

These days, I can’t muster up the energy to work on a new novel, but that doesn’t mean words and images don’t continue to spin their little kaleidoscopes inside my brain. It comforts me to acknowledge them, knowing they’ll be there if I decide to call on them some day.  

It’s still cold here. An east wind off the ocean delivers a damp chill, but even so, free-form forsythias wave their yellow arms, and “PJM” rhododendrons bloom fuchsia.  Still bundled in my winter jacket, this morning I walked the sidewalks in our downtown under a bower of Bradford pear blossoms. I looked up through them, unable to tell where the flowers ended and the white sky began. That picture resides in my brain now, ready in case it’s called to the page.

Crossing the street, I strolled through the town common. Beyond me, out for his own walk, a man wearing shorts above two prosthetic legs zigzagged the path. I caught myself wondering what had happened to him. Had he been in the military? Was he in a car accident?  What kind of courage had it taken for him to get to a point where he could jaunt across the common on this damp spring day? I’ve stored those thoughts for future retrieval.

Our county Sherriff's office brings in a shredding truck for a few hours once a year. After my walk, I sorted through old papers to dispose of and found insurance documents from when our house was robbed over twenty years ago. At the time (and still now), the only things I owned of marginal value had been handed down, or marked a significant occasion, and those were the things the perpetrator went for. Entering via an unlocked back door, they helped themselves to a ring that had been my great aunt’s and then my mother’s, who handed it down to me when I was sixteen. A necklace my husband gave me for our first Christmas together disappeared. They took our daughter’s gold christening bracelet, earrings my husband gifted me on our fifth wedding anniversary, and another pair he gave me years later for reasons I won’t go into here, but which made me treasure them. The lost items scored higher for sentimental value than anything else, and that meant while they were theoretically replaceable, they could never be replaced. To add proverbial acid to the wound, the thief stole a digital camera, filled with pictures I hadn’t downloaded or printed. Of course, we were grateful no one was home when it happened. No one was hurt. The lost items were just things. For a long time afterwards though, I felt vulnerable and violated. The intruders had taken pieces of my history. It felt like they'd taken part of my heart.

So, what has all this got to do with today’s question? Inspiration can be found anywhere. On my way back to my car after dumping a cardboard box of papers into the shredding bin, long forgotten anger and frustration stemming from that robbery percolated inside me. It took a few minutes sitting in my warm car to realize I could restore a feeling of control by harvesting those old emotions to use the next time a story pops up.

Where do you get your inspiration?