Ask the Author: B.C. Dee
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B.C. Dee
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B.C. Dee
If I'm not on a schedule, I put down the work and let it tickle the back of my mind while I move (walk/run/ride/drive/play)
If I'm writing on a schedule, there are several questions I ask myself:
At its heart, what is this book/chapter/paragraph/sentence about?
What would be the opposite of what you're trying to write?
If you were a child/dog/ant, what would this look/sound/feel like?
Or, if the block is because I can't hang on to all of the threads:
I go back to my story arc and my outline so that I can focus on one little step without having to incorporate everything at once.
If I'm writing on a schedule, there are several questions I ask myself:
At its heart, what is this book/chapter/paragraph/sentence about?
What would be the opposite of what you're trying to write?
If you were a child/dog/ant, what would this look/sound/feel like?
Or, if the block is because I can't hang on to all of the threads:
I go back to my story arc and my outline so that I can focus on one little step without having to incorporate everything at once.
B.C. Dee
For me, writing is a chance to realize who I am. I immediately quit my earlier career when I read "don't die with your music inside of you."
B.C. Dee
I'm working on two books simultaneously--they are both written and polished, so I'm busy with book layout and cover design. I expect to release them at the end of July.
One is a story about shame and redemption through love/friendship. It's called The Celebrated Jumping Frog (yes, I did borrow from Mark Twain).
The other is a counting book called How Much Does a Whale Weigh? The design on this one is tricky because I want it to be useful for subitizing (knowing how many without having to count, like we do when we hold up fingers or roll a die).
One is a story about shame and redemption through love/friendship. It's called The Celebrated Jumping Frog (yes, I did borrow from Mark Twain).
The other is a counting book called How Much Does a Whale Weigh? The design on this one is tricky because I want it to be useful for subitizing (knowing how many without having to count, like we do when we hold up fingers or roll a die).
B.C. Dee
I find inspiration everywhere, but particularly in my daughter's words and play. My first book, The Girl Who Drank the Moon, was inspired by the birth my close friend's daughter.
I've always had an active imagination, daydreamed profusely, and liked to spin a yarn. This is particularly true when travelling. Taking my daughter on a trip is a winning combination.
I've always had an active imagination, daydreamed profusely, and liked to spin a yarn. This is particularly true when travelling. Taking my daughter on a trip is a winning combination.
B.C. Dee
Isn't it funny that when you have the hiccups, everyone turns into an instant hiccup expert? Strangers will try to scare the hiccups out of you, wait staff will bring you a cup of water without you asking.
In Thailand, I was given a hot pepper by a sympathetic street vendor. In Mexico someone brought cayenne pepper with salt out of a restaurant and into the town square where I was hiccupping. In Kazakhstan one helpful stranger did a good job scaring me, unfortunately the hiccups persisted. Someone else, unbidden, pounded me on the back as if I were choking. I suppose that hiccups are a universal experience that bridges ages and cultures.
When my wife was pregnant with our daughter, I felt her belly bounce more often from hiccups than from kicks. Before she was born, Isabel hiccupped so much that we nicknamed her "pipoca," which is "popcorn" in Portuguese. That image didn't fit after she was born--the popcorn was out of the pan. So I started calling her hiccupopotamus.
It turns out that there are two books that are called "hiccupotamus," but I can't get my tongue around the syllables in a way that makes me feel like I did something other than mispronounce "hippopotamus." I could either get "hiccup" or "hippopotamus," but not both. Hiccupoptamus conjured both images in my mind at once.
Isabel is now three, and she still hiccups a lot, even though she knows at least ten ways to cure them.
In Thailand, I was given a hot pepper by a sympathetic street vendor. In Mexico someone brought cayenne pepper with salt out of a restaurant and into the town square where I was hiccupping. In Kazakhstan one helpful stranger did a good job scaring me, unfortunately the hiccups persisted. Someone else, unbidden, pounded me on the back as if I were choking. I suppose that hiccups are a universal experience that bridges ages and cultures.
When my wife was pregnant with our daughter, I felt her belly bounce more often from hiccups than from kicks. Before she was born, Isabel hiccupped so much that we nicknamed her "pipoca," which is "popcorn" in Portuguese. That image didn't fit after she was born--the popcorn was out of the pan. So I started calling her hiccupopotamus.
It turns out that there are two books that are called "hiccupotamus," but I can't get my tongue around the syllables in a way that makes me feel like I did something other than mispronounce "hippopotamus." I could either get "hiccup" or "hippopotamus," but not both. Hiccupoptamus conjured both images in my mind at once.
Isabel is now three, and she still hiccups a lot, even though she knows at least ten ways to cure them.
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