Where Do You Draw Your Inspiration?

As we approach the holiday season, I often wax nostalgic. Maybe you noticed this in Monday’s post.

I suppose it’s because  my childhood and where I grew up are the inspiration for my stories. I’m drawn to those comfy places and I long to recreate them.

When we’re children, I don’t know that we can fully appreciate our roots. In fact, I’m sure we can’t.

Things like culture, heritage, family history, and geographic locale aren’t on our live-in-the-moment radar.

Children live in the now.

A child’s world is immediacy. It’s Mama’s smile at breakfast and Daddy’s hug as he leaves for work. It’s macaroni and cheese, crayons and coloring books, and laundry fresh off the clothesline on a summer day.

Little ones don’t think in terms of tomorrow. They understand the concrete—the tangible. The things adults so often take for granted.

I once heard it said: “I loved being a child. Though I didn’t realize it then, those years were the best years of my life.”

As I’ve matured, I understand that statement and I fully embrace it.

In the present, I have a full and happy life. I know Jesus. I have a loving family, my health, and a beautiful home.

Despite this, life hasn’t always been fair, kind, or easy.

I’ve worked hard.

I’ve survived loss.

I’ve known heartache.

Just like you.

I’ve grown from where I’ve been and I can reconcile how it’s shaped me.

As a youngster, growing up in the Ozarks was an interesting mix of old and new. Life meandered along at a steady, but snail-like pace. “Change” in some areas was slow to come, while in larger towns, transformation was more obvious.

I grew up in one of those smaller regions where “new” and “different” were mulled over and left to simmer for a while. A long while.

At the little elementary school I attended, most of us shared similar backgrounds and breeding. There was a rump roast sale on Fridays at our local market, and church on Sundays was the town norm. Our mamas and daddies were hard workers who knew the value of a dollar and waste was a foreign concept.

Where I lived, summer was less about boredom and more of an adventure. There was always a bike to be ridden, dirt to dig in, a swing at the ready, and cousins to visit.

We had a drug store that had a real soda fountain, a hardware store that sold everything from A to Z, and a department store that boasted bib overalls for the men and dresses and aprons for the women.

And each business establishment was locally owned and operated and closed on Sundays. Big box stores and shopping meccas hadn’t arrived yet and neither had the hustle and bustle of life in the fast lane.

In the Ozarks, along the expanse of old Route 66, the hills and hollows were lush, green, and scented with honeysuckle. Folks who lived in the nearby, little niches were self-made, salt-of-the-earth, not-afraid-to-get-their-hands-dirty kind of people. They were passionate about God, country, family, and friends.

Though I no longer live in the same town I grew up in, my little neck of the woods is still a subtle blend of yesteryear and today. Time has given way to progress, and our growth and change reflect this, but our culture is still unique and our heritage the same.

I use my beloved Ozarks as the backdrop for my stories and I can’t wait to one day share them with you.

 

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How our past shapes our present and influences our stories:

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Why our life experiences make the best writing inspiration:

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Why an Interesting Setting Enhances a Great Story

From China to the Ozarks: A Girl, A Dream, and Sweet Sixteen

Where do you draw your inspiration?

Is there a particular childhood memory that would make great story fodder?

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Blessings Always,