Please give a warm welcome for our guest today, author Aida Brassington!
Many thanks to Crystal for inviting me to guest post here at Writing Between the Wines – it’s inspiring! And speaking of inspiration…
Inspiration can come in a million forms. For some of us, that’s wine (believe me: a good Pinot Gris inspires me to cook up a delicious fish dish). Most writers will tell you they’re inspired by music or art or their characters – and while I’m inspired by all those things, too, I find my creativity stimulated in other ways.
Between Seasons, my first novel, is a story about a nineteen-year-old man who dies in 1970 and falls in love with the woman who buys his house forty years later. A difficult relationship, to be sure. Paranormal romance is big right now, and there are many writers. People advise “write what you know,” but can you really do that with the paranormal? How many sexy vampires or lovelorn mermaids are running around? In my case, I really was inspired by real life.
I live with a ghost. His name isn’t Patrick (that I know of), and he’s not helplessly in love with me (again, that I know of). My husband and I have lived in this house for quite a few years, and we’ve both seen the ghost of a man appear on the stairs. Really, that’s all he does – he pops in and out. It’s fairly benign as far as hauntings go, right?
Yet I found myself wondering who this guy was. Could he actually be living in my house with me all the time – watching me shower and cook and write? Who was he before he died? What would happen if he fell in love with me? And that’s how Between Seasons was born.
Of course, not all my novels are about ghosts or even the paranormal (although there is a sequel to Between Seasons titled North of Frost due out in spring 2012). Where else does inspiration come from?
I get a lot of my ideas while I’m driving, exercising, and showering – the activities I do every day where my mind zones out. Does an empty mind make room for idea generation? Well, maybe. My husband has threatened to buy shower crayons for me after I nearly broke my neck trying to get out of the bathtub to type a potential plot into my phone.
We suffer for our art, don’t we? :snicker:
Inspiration can really come from anywhere – the spooky clump of trees on the side of the road on your way to work, the way sunlight filters through the tree in your yard, or the crazy check out girl at the local market. I’ve written short stories influenced by all those things. Keep your mind open, and stories are everywhere!
Thanks again for having me at Reading Between the Wines!
Want to meet the ghost who may or may not live in Aida’s house? Buy Between Seasons (or enter the giveaway below): Amazon US | Amazon UK | BN | Smashwords
Find out more about Aida and her works on her website!
Find out more about Aida and her works on her website!
Excerpt from Between Seasons:
Her fingers arced through the air between them. “Yeah,” she answered, her voice halfway between wonder and excitement. Her hand jutted forward, touching his arm. They both gasped and sprang apart.
“Whoa!” Her fingers hadn’t actually passed through him, although it didn’t feel the same as a regular touch. It was lighter, more delicate, like the flutter of eyelashes against his cheek. And he could feel the warmth of her skin even though his shirt. “That’s…”
“… different,” she finished, taking a step forward and touching his hair. “You know you’re in style again.”
“Huh?” he asked, staring, his jaw hanging open. He could barely think of anything except for the feel of her hands stroking his hair. It felt… freaking amazing.
“Your, uh… your hair. It’s… well, you look like every emo boy in the world.” Her grin stretched across her face.
“What’s an emo boy?”
“Oh, just… it’s a hipster.”
“Sara, what is going on? Why are you being so… and why can I feel you?” Patrick’s mind was blown, shattered into a million pieces, and each piece seemed to be shouting a different question. Maybe he was still dreaming? He’d had fantasies about Sara like this, but he had never been a ghost when she ran her fingers over the planes of his face, like she did now. He’d been a man, flesh and blood.
“Beats the Hell out of me. Are you afraid of me? You look… like you’re going to shit your pants.”
“Yeah, you know, those things covering your legs?” She smirked and ran her hand over his shoulders. “And yeah, I’m convinced I’m full-on, loony bin, butterfly net nuts, but it doesn’t matter. I’m just going to ride it until someone figures it out and has me committed. I seem to be functioning fine on every other level.”
“Can I… ?” Patrick’s own hands shook as he reached for her, ignoring her confession because he had no idea what to say to that, and Sara watched in fascination as his palm drifted across the space between them.
Aida Brassington is a writer who lives in a haunted house in the suburbs of Pennsylvania with her husband of five years and a Great Dane named Patrick. She loves all things related to Halloween and spooky movies, but not because she shares her house with a ghost (and it should be noted her ghost does nothing more than occasionally appear in the second floor hallway and hide her keys) — she just likes being scared.She is a former political junkie with a deep interest in artisan food, reading, and scuba diving. She has never spent time in a mental institution but often questions her mental health.
Aida is giving away one digital copy of Between Seasons! To enter, just leave a comment on this post and then enter your name and email address in the raffle copter below! Additional entries are available but not required.
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