Development - Searching For Inspiration
What’s the best way to write a new book? I feel like the answer is completely different depending on who you ask. I’ve often heard of writers who will find a secluded cabin in the middle of nowhere to write their new novels. As I started to think about the next book in the Wardenclyffe Series, I decided to book myself a cabin and see how it worked for me. I found a tiny house up in the far-north corner of Maine, nearly nine hours north of where I live.
To break up the drive, I stopped at my family’s place outside of Boston where I caught up with my family, saw my cat, and poured over books about lighthouses and a copy of the Atlas Obscura where I looked for interesting landmarks to visit on my trip through Maine. After a couple of days there, I departed for Maine. The drive was long and filled with podcasts I hadn’t had the time to catch up on in the past few months. The only interaction I had with other people was the various tollbooth operators I paid along the way. After many hours I finally arrived at the Apple Tree Cottage, the perfect writing retreat.
The boardwalk leading up to the cottage was lit by an old red lantern, welcoming me to my home for the next few days. I stepped inside and found a warm cozy interior, built from natural wood logs and decorated with vintage tins and plates, the types of things you’d find littering the shelves of any antique store in the northeast. As I climbed further into this tiny house I found the sleeping loft and I instantly knew I was going to spend most of my time up there. The loft was separated from the rest of the space by large curtains and featured a king size bed filled with a mountain of large pillows. After many hours of driving I quickly found myself asleep in this loft.
I woke up the next day ready to start writing. I grabbed my laptop, climbed out of the sleeping loft, and set myself up at the breakfast nook with some tea and toast, ready for the words to flow. But they didn’t. Despite having the story fully outlined, the words just weren’t coming to me. Extremely disappointing considering how far I had travelled to find this location and seclusion. But instead of giving me focus it had rather the opposite effect. I found myself unfocused and completely lacking inspiration. I managed to get out a couple thousand words before continuing on to my next destination.
On my way down to my next stop on the coast of Maine, I decided to make a couple of detours along the way. While driving along the highway I saw a sign for Bangor, Maine and remembered a page I had read in the Atlas Obscura about Stephen King’s house. I asked my GPS to change the route and entered the address for his house instead. I pulled up on an empty street piled high with leaves waiting to be collected. I’ve seen a lot of houses in my day but something about this one instantly felt unnerving. Maybe it’s because it’s Stephen King’s house but in all honestly I think it was all of the Do Not Trespass signs and security cameras standing guard around the house. That being said, it was a beautiful place. The deep-red house was surrounded by a black wrought-iron fence. In the sideyard was a tall, twisted yellow wooden sculpture adding another level of uniqueness to the house.
Having been taken considerably off-course from my trek into Bangor, I found myself driving along a series of backroads through towns I had never heard of. I saw the leaves beginning to change color on the trees along the roads, random painted murals, train cars that had been converted into diners, and enough interesting things to fill a book. I saw a cool building and right across the street I drove up to a parking spot. It seemed like I was supposed to stop here. And of course, it ended up being an small library with a little gazebo next to it. I walked up to the front door and saw a sign that read “Use the bottom entrance” but as I looked there didn’t seem to be anything lower than this building.
I walked around to the back of the building but was met with another curiosity. Instead of an entrance I found old steps that had been overgrown with plants and an unused fountain with a metal statue in the center. It started to feel like something straight out of a book itself, right down to the giant marble compass on the ground near the stairs. I continued walking around but from all angles, there didn’t seem to be any way to get inside this mysterious library. I explored further and it just kept getting weirder. I found a muddy set of steps which led down to what seemed like an outdoor performance space complete with massive metal planters on top of pillars, strange brick buildings, and giant wrought-iron gates just like the ones at Stephen King’s house. I followed this new area out onto the sidewalk where I was met with the true entrance to the library.
Much to my surprise, the entire library was built underground. And the section I had encountered was actually the third floor, poking up above the ground. It’s certainly one of the most interesting libraries I’ve encountered and really felt like something out of a fantasy book. And that’s when I started to realize what I was missing up in the cabin. These experiences of getting lost and finding a cool building to explore are exactly what I want to put into my writing. So with that in mind, I continued on through the town towards my next destination.
And like all of my stories, there was a lighthouse. I remembered back to the book of northeast lighthouses I had read in my family’s house and decided to make a stop at a nearby lighthouse before settling into my next stop. I followed the road as far as it would take me before having to park and get out. I walked along a muddy path which took me along a steep cliffside full of tall trees. Beyond the trees was one of the most incredible views of the ocean I’d ever seen. Further along the path I arrived at the entrance to the lighthouse, an old coast guard building and a set of steps climbing a large hill up to the lighthouse itself. After the climb I spent some time taking photos and just enjoying the view.
My next stop was a stone’s throw away from the lighthouse. It felt like an old barn building that had been converted into a family’s house. The house was filled with eclectic decor and family photos. It was one of those houses where you stepped inside and instantly knew what types of people lived there. They were artsy, loved to travel, and had spent their lives curating a house full of objects that clearly had a lot of meaning to them, including possibly my favorite frog statue ever.
I found a comfortable leather chair in the corner of the living room which I set myself up in for the next couple of days and continued working on my book. I found the writing much easier now. The journey to get here from the other cabin had left me full of new inspiration for the story. I had visions of characters climbing rocky cliffs, exploring old lighthouses, and of libraries built into the earth. The words flowed from my hands and the new book started to come together.
After a few days of writing I moved on to my last stop on the journey, Vermont. The place I had spent a number of summers as a kid, and where I attended my first year of college. It always feels right coming back home. I stayed with my cousins at their place where we ate good food and caught up after a few years of being apart. We reminisced about old times and talked about the future. The next day we even spent some time out gathering moss and again I found myself gathering inspiration again. After two weeks of being on the road I returned home and prepared to integrate back into my regular routine again. But luckily I was returning home filled to the brim with new inspiration and the first draft of Book 3 of the Wardenclyffe Series. Now I can get ready for the journey of editing these next two books and getting them out into the world!
