A Castle by the Sea

November 22, 2015November 22, 2015 / Susan Örnbratt / Leave a comment

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In the wake of all that’s been happening in the world over the last week, the atrocities, the deluge of grief, anger and compassion, I was reminded yesterday of simpler times. I was reminded of the beauty that sits just down the road from me when my daughter asked us to go to Tjolöholms Julmarknad (Christmas market) at a nearby castle by Gothenburg’s archipelago.

As we strolled through the barns, I watched regular folk who had lovingly crafted their art; beautiful pendants made with glass, earrings and necklaces made from old silver cutlery, knitted garments, and baked goods made that morning. I watched little Swedish children scurry through the crowds, some crying because of this or that, some chasing their siblings, toddlers on their dad’s shoulders. Roasted almonds and cashews filled the air with sweetness outside where the frost was sparkling on the ground.

The old carriages that stood proud in another barn hooked me straight away. I imagined myself a hundred years ago stepping into one—stepping into history. For a writer, this is such a wonderful feeling. The seeds of a story get planted whether we want it or not.

Christmas lights festooned along the walkway toward the castle, and the cold breath puffing from our mouths as we weaved in and out of visitors, pulled us toward the grand castle that was once home to several distinguished families. A truly remarkable building.

Christmas music sounded in the air and people were happy. As I wandered the halls of Tjolöholm, I couldn’t help but imagine a child running through the corridor, playing hide and seek in days gone by. Petticoats and crinolines whooshed through my mind. I could almost touch them.

As we rounded the corner outside, heading toward the sea, the sunset met the arched bridge under which the carriages must have stopped all those years ago. It was magical.

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On our way out, we stopped in one of the barns for a little evening fika (snack), sipped on warm glögg (mulled wine), ate pepparkakor (gingerbread cookies) and Lussekatter (saffron bun) and always some julmust (Christmas pop), beloved by Swedes.

Just three hours there, but it was enough to enchant me once again. It was enough to remind me that we need to enjoy simple moments. A grand castle perhaps, but what lay within its walls, was the ability to stir my mind into tiny stories that may one day make it into one of my books. It carried me into a time that I’ve always wanted to visit. It made me look at my family and appreciate a lovely Saturday outing with the people I love most in this world.

Finding Inspiration

November 1, 2015November 1, 2015 / Susan Örnbratt / Leave a comment

Writers find inspiration in the most unlikely places. For me, yesterday, I found it when Halloween fell over the sunset in Sweden’s west coast archipelago. Although Halloween isn’t celebrated in Sweden in the way that it is in North America, (no trick or treaters, no witches or ghosts or candy), the orange sky melted its way over the small fishing village of Grundsund as a truly lustrous charm. It was as though all the pumpkins turned Jack-o-lanterns in my childhood had flickered their flames across the water, bringing me home once again. I was grateful. It felt as though the sun had given me alone something special to remember Halloween by.

I’d had a lovely day trip with my family up the coast with lunch at Brygghuset in Fiskebäckskil, where I was once again faced with the dilemma – to reap the rewards of the sillbord or not. In plain old English, herring buffet or no herring buffet before the main meal? That was the question. Please don’t get me wrong, I have the utmost respect for my Swedish family, friends and their Viking ways but “sill” is not one of them. Not for me, not ever. I may have dual citizenship now, but I am Canadian through and through when it comes to keeping some order to my plate of food. Let me present my husband’s appetizer plate: pickled herring (stekt inlagd strömming), boiled eggs, pickled fried herring, pickled red cabbage (rödkål), pickled mustard herring (inlagd senapsill), pickled in a different way herring (matjesill), herring cake (silltårta), herring potato salad (potatissalad med sill).

Are you inspired?

That’s what I thought.

How about my son’s plate?

No, didn’t think so. Whereas my very Viking boy was licking his lips when he sat down to eat this feast for the eyes. His eyes, I reiterate. In fairness, I have to add that the food at this restaurant was otherwise absolutely delicious and I would recommend it to anyone. And who knows, I’m sure there is a herring lover somewhere in Canada, too.

Now where is this all going you might be asking yourself? A writer’s inspiration. How can a plate of Swedish food inspire a writer? Well, all I will say is that I am absolutely certain there is a writer somewhere in Sweden who is inspired by this food enough to win a Nobel prize in literature, but not me.

As we sat in Brygghuset mulling over our options for the afternoon, I peered out the window to find inspiration headed straight toward me—a twenty-three meter luxury yacht from Norway. All that oil, you know. Before it made it to the dock, I was already conjuring up my next novel, taking place on a tiny island in the South Pacific and arriving on that.

A few photo bursts later, we were walking along the newly built dock in Grundsund, the one that wraps around the shoreline hugging yet another of Sweden’s lovely fishing villages. The orange sunset was the crowning glory to a perfect day. How could it not inspire you? As we drove off, not exactly into the sunset, but rather in the dark to the ferry to Orust, a sea of flickering lights all over the local cemetery, on all the graves of loved-ones, reminded me how Halloween is Allhelgona (All Hallows’ Eve) here in Sweden. It is a “gentle remembrance of the saints and of those loved ones who (have) died.” Once again I felt inspired and know that somehow that sea of candle light will work its way into my writing.

What I love about writing is how those lovely moments of inspiration seem to come when you least expect them. As I sat writing this post, my son shouted across the house for everyone to look at the sky. What had been unusually and completely orange on Halloween, tonight on November 1, the sky was a stunning purple. No, not just purple, it was amethyst! I’ve never seen anything like it. Click, click went the mobile phone. It was something I simply had to capture—a moment that was gone as quickly as it came. But what a jewel!

I would love to know where and when and even what inspires you. Please feel free to comment below.

A Writer’s Fleeting Moment? Maybe or Maybe Not. – believe in yourself and be happy for others

September 11, 2015September 11, 2015 / Susan Örnbratt / Leave a comment

As I watch the writing career of a childhood/high school friend fall beautifully into place – her books gracing shelves in bookshops around the world and translated into multiple languages – I thought I might feel envious. Strangely, I don’t. I think as writers, we know and understand the grueling, painstaking work behind what we do. Yes, there are those perhaps who are in the right place at the right time. On the other hand, I believe we make our own luck by being prepared, hence “when preparation meets opportunity.” What we see (the readers looking in) is that silver lining, the joy of those authors in the public eye, representing their work and their publishers. My friend, Susin Nielsen (author of We Are All Made of Molecules), who is currently at Festivaletteratura in Mantua, Italy, is living that life. She was invited there and even had two representatives meet her at the airport. What writer wouldn’t enjoy that? But she has worked hard to get where she is. For most of us in this business, nothing is given on a silver platter.

It’s true, good fortune can come more readily to some people but persistence is something in which I strongly believe. I have only recently stepped into the publishing industry officially, but unofficially, I’ve been at it for years. Rarely does it happen overnight. I know what it’s like to watch that mountain of rejection letters grow into something that looks an awful lot like humble pie. You go in feeling high, and so you should. You’ve finished writing a book! How many people can say that? Slowly reality surfaces when you realize what you’re up against – the ever-growing number of daily submissions. There’s a staggering amount of competition out there. So we, as writers, need to revel in our moments of success.

I am thrilled for Susin Nielsen. She deserves this success. I am equally as thrilled that I’ve managed to climb to the top of my rejection pile and see a glimpse of what’s out there for me. Writing is the most creatively challenging pursuit I have ever taken on, but it remains a very natural part of me. I like telling stories. I always have. I like making up names and places and characters and describing them so all my reader or listener has to do is close her eyes and see for herself.

I wanted someone to believe in my writing as much as I believed in it. When the time was right, when my right place and my right moment came, as prepared as any top-selling author, that’s when I was offered a contract. Ever since, I have reveled in those lovely moments of success. Success perhaps on a different scale. But isn’t it simply a question of how we measure success? On the other hand, our goals are ever-changing! I first wanted to complete a book – I did. Then I wanted it to be published – it was. Then I wanted someone whom I didn’t know to buy the book and genuinely enjoy it – they did. And now, yes it’s true, I hope to sell it many times over.

I was invited to speak at a book club in New Delhi, India two nights ago via Skype. One member even joined us online from home since she was ill. What a joy it was to see women in another part of the world reading my book and sharing their thoughts and feelings about it! They were expats from various parts of the world, all of whom could relate easily to the characters and places in The Particular Appeal of Gillian Pugsley. All of them have experienced the feelings of adventure, isolation, thrill, camaraderie and a sense of homelessness about living abroad – a rather sacred and oddly lovely confusion that rests with expats. These feelings are no stranger to my main character, which resulted in this book club bonding with Gilly on an intimate level. How marvelous was that? Yes, it was one of those moments in which to revel.

I have been invited to speak at The American Women’s Club in Gothenburg, Sweden next week. I am honoured and very excited about it. I am a local author yet will likely understand these women before I even meet them. They, too, are experiencing living abroad, just as I have done for many years.

When we work hard at our craft, we feel validated when someone sits up and notices. Recently, I was bowled over to learn that my book was in the top ten bestsellers in historical fiction on Kobo Books and was running alongside Kate Morton’s, The Distant Hours. I couldn’t believe my eyes, KATE MORTON! Okay, so my ranking wasn’t quite as sustainable as hers but I’ll take what I can get.

These may all be fleeting moments in any writer’s life. Do we shout from the rooftops or quietly soak in these moments? I rather like the idea of a bit of both. After all, we writers have to claw our way through the slush pile and make ourselves noticed. Trumpet to the world if that’s what it takes. We need to believe in ourselves and stand by our writing, even when the odds are against us.

I am over the moon for my friend and her success. It’s inspirational at the very least. Yet, I am grateful beyond words to have even a taste of it myself. All the fluff is wonderful—cotton candy at its best. But what matters in the end is that we write. And if someone reads our books and is touched by them, I don’t know a purer form of success. I may not have representatives greeting me at airports to take me to this event and that, but a writer can dream. After all, that’s where it all started—this thing we call writing—it started with a dream.

What inspires writers? My Favourite Read this Summer

August 22, 2015August 22, 2015 / Susan Örnbratt / Leave a comment

The Secret Keeper by Kate Morton – Please note this is not a review.

It was both my editor, Elizabeth Turnbull at Light Messages and the below statement by a Goodreads reviewer about my recent release of The Particular Appeal of Gillian Pugsley,

“This is Susan Ornbratt’s debut, reminiscent of Kate Morton and Susanna Kearsley, I highly recommend.”

that drove me to find out more about Kate Morton. Susanna Kearsley is next on my list. Nonetheless, I was curious, so I purchased one of her books, The Secret Keeper.

Within the first page, I was taken, held hostage willingly. I kept asking myself how my name could be in the same sentence as this gorgeous writer. I was completely smitten and could only dream of writing this beautifully. I adore descriptive language that can paint a picture around me, pulling me into a story. This is precisely what Kate Morton does, at least for me. I understand from researching that she weaves different time periods into all of her stories, suggesting that the past and the present are tethered together – an unavoidable connection really. They are multilayered, rich with characters and different places.

When I started looking at this more closely, that’s when I was able to draw some similarities between my work and hers. After all, my writing is descriptive to its very core. I often close my eyes imagining a landscape or a scene, then translate my images into words. A current storyline is often rooted in the past, where my present-day characters set out on a journey – one that connects the generations. My instinct was to suggest that the calibre of Kate Morton’s writing was out of reach for the mere mortal, when I reminded myself of those lovely moments we writers have – those moments when we read something we’ve written and ask, “Wow, did I write that?” The best writers always make it look easy.

In realizing the sprinkle of similarity Morton’s work held with mine, it gave me renewed hope and a kick to my stride. It reminded me how we writers are our own worst critics. We’re tough on ourselves and need to step back from time to time to look at the fantastic writing we’ve done – the product resulting from our initial inspiration – and forgive ourselves for the not so fantastic writing. It goes without saying, yet needs be shouted from the rooftops every day to the hurried writers scribbling at their desks, “Read. Read every day.” Choose authors who inspire you. Choose authors whose writing forces you to re-read sentences, because those sentences make you melt or think or feel something you haven’t felt before or haven’t felt in far too long. Then breathe… Our own words will come.

I’m only discovering Kate Morton’s work now, but I regard it as good timing. As writers, we draw inspiration from a variety of sources. We improve (one hopes) with every project. To avoid becoming stale, we must soak in inspiration whenever and wherever possible. I tend to be inspired by the environment, more specifically, the sea, shapes of clouds, the smells and sounds that come with the coastline, blue skies and green grass – the greener the better. I have a close friend who knows my taste well. She is as English as they come and enjoys sending me photos of country villages and family from years gone by. There are stories in those photos – I can feel them every time.

I love to watch people. Who doesn’t? All the quirky, behavioural tidbits a writer can absorb just by sitting on a park bench and watching. Inspirational indeed! I enjoy using people in my own life as inspiration for characters. I’ll never forget good ol’ Irish Auntie Essie, a mock Texan with her Jesus Loves spread across her suitcase. I could write a book about it. As my grandmother would have said, “Bless her”.

Films have been known to captivate me. As a teenager, I was wild about classics, including musicals. The actors and time periods fascinated me, especially the 1940’s. Fred Astaire, Greer Garson, Elizabeth Taylor, Vivien Leigh, Doris Day, Cary Grant, Jimmy Stewart, Hedy Lamarr – I couldn’t get enough. I think I knew just about every word to the film, Funny Girl with Barbara Streisand (though that came much later in 1968), and oh… how I loved to mimic Lady Beldon in Mrs. Miniver. I used to tape scenes of my favourite films with my audio cassette player and play them back endlessly. It was their voices, I think, that inspired me.

Certainly as writers, we could probably build a mountain together with all the ways we are inspired. Films were my escape when I was young (still are in many ways), but I grew into reading and understood there was a magic in words that couldn’t be captured on film. It’s important to read books from a variety of authors, but I tend to swim in a pool of one author’s work before moving on to the next – pool hopping of sorts. It works for me and for now, it appears that Kate Morton is my summer and autumn pick. I am itching to get to another one of her stories. So imagine the joy I felt in seeing my book on the same shelf as The Secret Keeper in Barnes and Noble. What an honour!

Although this is not a review of The Secret Keeper, I believe writers touch us all in different ways. Kate Morton’s rich language has modesty about it. It is not frivolous or garrulous but rather dynamic and vivacious. It has a certain melody that rises and falls, carrying its reader along the storyline. As a writer, I can only benefit from reading literature like this. It moves me, and in the end, isn’t that what we all want from a good book? I urge lovers of historical fiction to scoop up one of Kate Morton’s books. For me, I plan to indulge in more of them, take what inspiration I can and write whenever I come up for air.

So read, writer, read!

Then tell me, what book inspired you this summer?

photo credit

It’s All About the Stairwell – or So I Thought – A Gift for any Historical Writer

August 4, 2015August 4, 2015 / Susan Örnbratt / Leave a comment

Just over a year ago, my brother in-law and his family bought a bed & breakfast in Malta. Naturally, I was both thrilled for them and as green as any ripened avocado. For the time being, they are renting it out as a single family home until one day, they can bring back to life the charm of a B&B’s revolving door, filling it with guests from around the globe once again.

I had only seen photographs of their new home away from home until recently – photos that were enchanting. But there was one image that stood out – one I found rather captivating. It wasn’t the towering rooms that bathed in light or even the hideaway courtyard in the back that whispered “Susan’s future writing nook” (provided I’m a good sister-in-law) or even the fabulous roof deck that dons a healthy slice of the Mediterranean only meters away. No, it wasn’t any of that. It was the stairwell that connected all those bits together – the heart of their new home.

A recent invitation to Malta for some holiday fun was an opportunity for the family to share in their new adventure. I was curious about the country and excited to step into those photographs. When I walked through the skinny blue doors that rescued me from the sweltering heat of the street, what welcomed me was more than I’d expected. Instead of the stairwell I had remembered from a photograph, it was something truly incandescent. I was immediately drawn to it as it curled upward like a thirsty plant trying to reach sunlight. As I followed its winding treads, my hand floating along the wrought iron railing, I found my eyes were drawn to the bath of light at the top.

I hadn’t yet noticed the beauty of the limestone, how some treads hung like a falling wave in the centre – held heavy by the footsteps of a hundred plus years of life. All I wanted to do was reach the top so that I could peer down at the spotted tile below and… imagine.

I was so taken with the stairwell and how something this grand could sit so gently in its space, that it took several trips up and down before I had noticed the gem waiting patiently on its walls. Following the curve from the ground floor to the second, a quiet beauty hung in four frames. Actually, two beauties – both draped in easy fabric – one sheer falling to her bare feet. Both images conjured up a handful of romantic stories, or more accurately questions.

As a historical writer, I wanted to know the time period, why were they dressed this way, what social class were they from, was this leisure time in the garden or simply posing, did they have a love-interest and what, pray tell, could they be thinking. Whether or not they were paintings was insignificant to me. It was about how the images made me feel. And that feeling was romantic. All those questions melted away as tiny stories took their place. I was hooked.

When I had arrived in Malta, I imagined that a new story and possible project would jump out at me by watching the people and life on the small island. I thought the colour of limestone that covers the isle in beige would bleed a fiery red love story. Maybe the salty sea would taste of the next great beach read or the passionate Maltese way of speaking would somehow write a new story on its own. Certainly, the evening was intriguing the way it brought out the older generation to socialize along the promenade. It was wonderful.

In the end, it wasn’t any of these marvelous things that captivated me, it was an old staircase with four hanging picture frames. Before I left, I took photos of them. I didn’t want the details to escape me. What I didn’t realize until I returned to Sweden, was that in each photo that I took, the reflection of the staircase had become part of each image. Look carefully at them. Somehow, I think they enhance the pictures – fit together nicely. How appropriate I thought since it was the stairwell that drew me to them.

So will a story emerge from these images one day? I would hazard a guess that most historical fiction writers can and do easily get inspired by photographic images, old paintings and definitely old staircases. We love to imagine what could have taken place, what love story might have happened as we swirl our pen into making it reality. So the answer is unequivocally, “maybe”. A writer’s got to leave an audience with a little bit of wonder after all.

Please share something that has inspired your writing. I would be thrilled to hear from you.

The Battle Between Reader and Writer

June 28, 2015June 28, 2015 / Susan Örnbratt / Leave a comment

How many writers out there have shelved full manuscripts? Not even shelved them, but somewhere in the hidden crevices of their laptops sit dusty novels that have been loved and painstakingly brought to life, only to be rejected for likely a multitude of reasons. It is quite incredible how we slave over a work for months (maybe years) then succeed in completing it only to be read by a few pairs of eyes. Why? Why do we do this to ourselves? During the writing process, are we consciously thinking about how our readers will feel? Is the reader in the driver’s seat here? Is the reader more important than the writer?

This question has weighed on my mind recently—in part because I haven’t been able to let go of my second novel. It’s one that in retrospect and after gruesome dissection, I came to the conclusion that it is too real. How real should fiction feel? Well, that all depends on the reader. To those who are close to a writer, it can be the case that they see too much of themselves or others they know in the characters. That alone can be painful even if the story is fictional. Note of interest – As I sit here writing this post, the song I often listened to while writing that novel, just came on the radio—a song I haven’t heard in three years. Amazing how the stars work! It is a song that permeates through that novel. It is gut-wrenching. At the time, it helped feed my novel with the tone I was looking for. Being the writer, it satisfied my need to tell this story through my eyes.

Three years later, I understand now that it is a novel I wrote for me, not for my readers. With this realization, I was able to be objective and look critically at my work. Clarissa Harwood, a writer of historical romance recently examined her own past work with the same raw need to bring some clarity to a project that didn’t necessarily deserve to be tucked away for eternity. On Happy Endings And Why The Reader Matters More Than The Writer, Clarissa eloquently states, “I’d allowed the struggle of writing it to colour the finished product.” This statement is profound in its call to writers to heed their objective—to ask themselves, “Why am I writing this story and for whom?”

Reflection is a necessary part of who we are as writers. I see now how unlikeable my main character is in that novel. It’s true. What’s lovely about this, is that I’m not bothered. It has taught me an important lesson. It has made me read other authors works more critically. It has made me reflect on the novels that drew me in as a young adult and those that carried me through my university years, my years as a young mother and my years living abroad. Without a doubt, it is those novels whose main character captivated me, the ones with whom I connected and made me smile or laugh out loud, those who touched me and the person I aspire to be, that made me read to the end.

Yes, I confess, I’m one of those readers who needs to be lured and fed in order to finish a book. I like liking the main character. I want substance of course like any reader, but if I like the main character then I won’t want the story to end. The best indicator for me is when I find a desperate need to read the book as slowly as humanly possible—fighting the urge to gobble it up. I simply want the story to last. HELLO Susan! So, if I, as a reader, want to like a main character then how could I expect anyone to want to read my unlikable main character? A costly but important lesson learned. The joy in writing the main character in The Particular Appeal of Gillian Pugsley enabled me to honour that lesson. Gillian is a character so real to me. As I created her, I grew with her and never cast aside the needs of potential readers. She is one I care deeply about and if I feel that way about her, then I have a greater chance of my readers feeling the same.

There’s no question that with every book I write, I learn a valuable lesson or two. My writing improves with each novel I write. I don’t think we ever stop developing as writers. As a newly published author, I take well-intentioned, constructive criticism seriously. I want to learn from readers’ reactions and try to understand their point of view. Point of view and tense and time lapsing are often aspects in our novels that readers feel passionately about. What jars our readers? What makes them want to scream or shake their head? What makes them want to reach into the pages to hug our characters?

I am much more aware of this now than ever before. I can consciously sit back, pinpoint a trouble area and ask myself, “How would the reader feel about this?” I have come to realize this is something all writers need to do. Perhaps, Clarissa Harwood worded it best for all of us who love to write, “I will fight no longer. I’ll certainly always try to stay true to my characters, but I’m not writing just for me.”

We all need to learn through our own process of writing. It can be clear from the start for some writers. For some of us, it takes writing a few novels, growing thick skin in the process, before it really hits home—before we come to realize that there doesn’t need to be a battle at all. We are crafting our novels to be read by readers. The reader needs to come first. I suggest we revel in the process, write passionately, love to love our characters and love to hate some of them and never stop reflecting on our work. The more we write, the better writers we become. The better writers we become, the more readers we will attract. No battle!

Photo source

Is Midsummer a Writer’s Dream?

June 21, 2015 / Susan Örnbratt / Leave a comment

Now that Midsummer celebrations are winding down here in Sweden, it gives me time to reflect on the weekend. Swedes cherish Midsummer festivities, an occasion to celebrate the longest and lightest day of the year. This is not to be taken “lightly” in Scandinavia since much of the year is dark and dare I say dreary. Although it was calling for rain, that never stops Swedes from a having a fabulous time. If that means dancing in a downpour in rubber boots, flower crown and traditional blue and yellow dress around a May pole then so be it.

This year, my family decided to try to outrun the rain and head to the islands in the west coast archipelago where the clouds are often pushed aside just for us it seems. Smart decision. The weather was glorious, not hot but pleasant—so pleasant you could go without a cardigan and feel the sun on your skin. We borrowed farmor and farfar’s (grandma and grandpa’s) boat and headed north, first to Mollösund—a seaside town that never disappoints. From the distance, you can actually feel it pulling you toward it. It is a happy fishing village with white or red houses with traditional clay tile rooftops. People are friendly. What I’ve always liked about Swedes is that you can trust their behaviour. They are either genuinely happy to greet you or they’re not. And if they’re not, you’ll know it straight away. Believe it or not, there is some comfort in that. They mean what they say and don’t put on a front. Mollösund is no exception—only in its case I have yet to meet a miserable soul.

Truth is, Midsummer brings out the best in Swedes. In a country where it’s the norm to walk right past a person on the street and not only not greet them, you dare not look into their eyes. What will happen? Well, that’s another blog post altogether. But on Midsummer, boaters are waving to each other from a distance, shouting “Hallå” and smiling from yacht to rowboat or even from water scooters. National flags are flapping in the wind and people are people-watching. Oh, the people-watching is so much fun. Children are racing around with their friends, jumping into the freezing sea and laughing like true little Vikings. There is a feeling that I truly love about Sweden during vacation time. You simply know that everyone is relaxed and happy. Yes, of course there are always exceptions to the rule, but in Sweden’s case, vacation time is met with sheer, utter glee. It is cherished in this country and you can feel it in the air.

In our case, albeit happy, we were on a mission to find the perfect island to stop for the night. Of course, one island looks like the other. The archipelago is a series of scattered islands that look like giant sleeping walruses. Don’t you think? The writer in me sees it anyway. We weren’t disappointed either. We have always managed to find just the right spot. This time, we were tucked into a lovely bay with only a few sailboat neighbours moored on the opposite side. We didn’t discover them until we hiked to the top of the rocks to get a view of paradise. And boy, were we met with a view—the brightest rainbow I’ve ever seen. We stood in awe as it slowly wrapped around a lovely seaside town called Lysekil. I’m sure our neighbours in the distance we watching it, too. Of course being Canadian, I enjoyed for a few moments kidding myself that we could go without Swedish traditional Midsummer food being on our own out at sea. NO! Forget that, Susan! As soon as we set the anchor, had our little trek, there was hubby, boiling his beloved potatoes and pulling out the herring. Yes, herring of every kind and flavour. Our son, clearly inheriting the dominant Viking genes, later licked up the herring juice that was left over! Seventeen years married and it still makes my skin crawl. That said, I reveled in the smoked mackerel and devoured the fresh shrimp. Shrimp in Sweden is truly the world’s best!

Apart from the gnats enjoying their Midsummer feast on us later that evening, we enjoyed our engångsgrill and summer sausages as we watched the sun set on the horizon. Well, I just added that for full effect. The truth is the sun doesn’t really set this time of year in Sweden – but I could imagine it. So the boat lulled us to sleep in the land of the midnight sun.

The morning scooted along those gnats and they were nowhere to be seen. The sea was calm and it was stunning weather. We spent the day visiting other islands and seaside villages—Smögen being one we like in particular. Although it is a party place during Midsummer, it brought happy vacationers. To me, that’s what Midsummer is about—the people. And if the sun shines, there’s no one happier than me.

So is Midsummer a writer’s dream? It’s certainly a time when the senses are on overdrive; the smell of the sea, the glittery swells, the taste of tradition, and human behaviour that explodes with joy. What better way to observe tiny moments that one day may work themselves into your next novel? In ways, Midsummer is a writer’s dream, but here in Sweden, it is very much a writer’s reality, too.

walrus photo source

Writing in the Face of Tragedy

June 14, 2015June 14, 2015 / Susan Örnbratt / 4 Comments

A few years ago, I had a colleague say to me that when most people wanted to stay away after tragedy struck a mutual friend, I ran toward her instead, and that would be something our friend would never forget. At the time, not even the Atlantic Ocean could keep me from her and I found myself on a plane two days later. I couldn’t bear to think of the pain she was going through and somehow felt that my presence would be of some comfort. Over three years later, I sometimes wonder whether I did it for her or for me. After all, maybe I could be a shoulder, maybe I could be of some use, maybe it would make me feel needed. Was I being selfish? Perhaps, though my intentions were honourable. Perhaps others were right to give her space and come only when she reached out. In the face of sudden tragedy, my actions were reactions. Reacting out of love for a dear friend.

I didn’t know how to deal with such a life-changing event. Even though she fell into my arms at the time, I suddenly felt useless and intrusive. I hadn’t suddenly lost a child – she had. I had never been faced with grief – she had. I couldn’t possibly feel the depth of her pain. All I could do was be there. One week later, I had to go back to my life abroad – to take care of my family. A string of emails would have to suffice until I could see my friend again during the summer and try to be that little bit of a crutch for a few weeks until I had to go away again and again and again.

This is where writing comes into play – for me at least. How can a friend truly understand another’s pain? Our heart breaks for them, but unless we have experienced such a tragedy, we cannot come close to understanding, not for a millisecond. I’ve come to realize though, that as close friends, we hurt too. We hurt because we feel some of their pain. We don’t know the pain, but we do feel it. Our tendency is to brush off how it affects us, because we’re not the important ones here, our suffering friend is. It’s taken me these three years to understand that we do matter, our pain matters, too. It hurts to know that I can never heal my friend. I can’t bring back her son. But I can do something. I can write.

When I began writing my novel, The Particular Appeal of Gillian Pugsley, I had already developed the premise of the book. But as fate or the gods or whatever one wants to believe in would have it, her son found a place in my heart through my writing. It was through his inspiration that I was able to heal as a friend. It was through him and weaving his personality into my character, that I became stronger. I felt as though I was doing something worthwhile. It was as though my character, Christian Hunter wouldn’t exist without her son. And he wouldn’t. I needed a charismatic young man in my story. I needed him to be someone people felt good to be around. I needed him to be the kind of character that made others feel as though they were the most important person in the room. I needed him to be a good listener, inquisitive and down to earth. He needed to be someone who didn’t care how much money others made but still appreciated the finer things in life. He needed to be comfortable in his own company, sit and read a book in a crowded restaurant and thoroughly enjoy it. He needed to have strong morals and be deliciously easy-going. Only one person could fill my characters shoes and that was my friend’s son. He gave my character life and I will forever be grateful.

We are fortunate as writers to be able to use our passion to help heal us or in many cases, help ease the pain. Through writing, I was able to recognize my own pain through my friend’s experience. It helped me validate it and give it a voice. The result was a character of whom I am immensely proud, one who reminds me every day of the incredible son that my friend raised. It reminds me of the incredible parents he has and will always have in life and in death.

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My 6 Things About Writer’s Block – what are yours?

May 30, 2015May 30, 2015 / Susan Örnbratt / Leave a comment

1) RESEARCH.

For me, I find that writer’s block often stems from a lack of research. When I have a pile of research behind me, I can actually feel it driving me forward. Go little red caboose! Or is it the little engine that could? Either way, the one drawback is that research can go on and on and on. There are times when I don’t know when to say, “Enough! Time to move forward.” What I need to do as a writer is find the clues within that pile. I know it needs to be taken apart in pieces – what works for me, what doesn’t. I can do more research later if need be. But that pile – I think about it endlessly, to the point it becomes a cyclone of information whirling in my head. That might be all well and good, but at some point girl, you need to sit down and write!

2) EXCUSES.

Yes, any number of them. They come in hoards. When I’m staring at a blank screen, it’s quite remarkable how easily they come; I need to pick up my daughter from school, it might be better to get groceries early in the day to avoid crowds, the garden slugs need to be taken care of. Here I come to the rescue – rubber gloves and bucket in hand. Stop with the excuses – just write!

3) THE KITCHEN.

The number of times I get out of my chair, leave my desk only to go make yet another cup of tea or peruse the fridge for something healthy to nibble on. How is it that I’m so gullible, kidding myself that I need something at all? Finally I reach for that one thing I know I shouldn’t eat. Did that help? NOOO! Sit back down and write for goodness sake. It doesn’t matter what – just write!

4) HOUSEWORK.

How did such a dreaded thing as housework ever become so desirable? There is absolutely a direct correlation between how clean my house is and how much writing I’ve accomplished. It’s amazing how I suddenly realize the importance of wiping the soot off the fireplace glass surround, when the only eyes to see it belong to the ever-present chirping bird outside my window – the bird that is no doubt castigating me for leaving my writing desk in the first place. Think of your writing as housework if you must – and write!

5) WEEKENDS.

Is there such a thing for this writer? The answer is easy when my writing is going well. But when writer’s block hits, weekends suddenly become very, very appealing. The family is off. No school. No work. Two days of pure, unadulterated freedom – from what? My own mind, that’s what? It’s like wanting to take a vacation from my own brain for two days, when I know full well, I can’t, shouldn’t, MUST NOT. So, get up early, before everyone in the family – and sit down to write! Yes, write!

6) BETWEEN PROJECTS.

For me, I tend to experience writer’s block between projects, when I’m undecided about the route I want to take. This is particularly painful for me. I might have ten ideas that I’m developing at once, all falling into a deep abyss of nothingness. In actual fact, it’s not nothingness – far from it, because I am writing. Maybe my course is shaky but I am doing what I insist above, despite any excuses, despite the kitchen, despite the housework and weekends. I am toying with possibilities. I am creating new characters and ideas. Perhaps I use as little as a name in the project that actually develops into something, but writing nothing would be a far more serious crime in my eyes. So, I say to myself, “keep writing, for something is bound to come of it!”

Now that I’ve got that off my chest, here are two productive ways to help with writer’s block.

Read as much as possible, within your genre and outside your genre, but read good literature. Surround yourself with quality. You might just be surprised at how easily it rubs off.
Give yourself permission to write badly. Now this one I’m still coming to grips with, especially given the sentence above. I tend to be very picky, fighting to find just the right word as I go along. I often ask myself, “Do I need to be so picky?” “Is it serving me well or is it hindering the process?” and alas, “Would my story be further along if I relaxed and just wrote whatever came to mind?” I recently read an article, 5 Creative Cures for Writer’s Block that put it into perspective. It is certainly something I want to consider as a writer and put into better practice.

“The first draft requires a show of sinew, not nuance. We write badly because we need our early drafts to show us, in broad strokes, what we’re actually supposed to be writing about. We write badly because we need to focus our energy on the larger story and structure, and can’t possibly attend to all the elements that make up a developed or refined work. We write badly because, even if we revise as we draft – and, mea culpa, many of us do – either we can’t revise with a complete manuscript in mind or we’re too close to that manuscript to have sufficient perspective…”

The point is to write, be it badly or not. Our writing will improve the more we read. Once we have something written, it’s then that we can revise, change, improve, whether it’s the plot, the characters, the POV, the grammar. It’s all part of our own editing. Writer’s block is real and it’s painful and frustrating beyond any writer’s words. BUT, it can be manageable. The key is to write – and through our writing, eventually, the right words will come.

What are some things about writer’s block for you?

What is a Lucky Writer?

May 23, 2015May 23, 2015 / Susan Örnbratt / 2 Comments

How a Grandmother’s Secret Words Became a Granddaughter’s Treasure – a gift to publication

Note: This post was first published as a guest post on Women’s Fiction Writers on April 21, 2015.

What is a lucky writer? Is it one who attends the best school with the best writing programme? Is it one who starts telling stories before she learns how to write? Is it one who writes her first novel and manages to get pulled from the slush pile, noticed and offered what we all want – the opportunity to publish? Or can it be as simple as a gift of words from one generation to another?

I like to believe that grandmothers see something that we cannot. It’s as though they have an ability to wash away all life’s bits—the dirt that clouds our vision. When we doubt ourselves as writers, somehow they never do. Grandmothers see the heart of it, what’s really there.

I can imagine my grandmother standing in a field of life’s debris, everything scattered around her; her mistakes, her worries, her indulgences, her vanity, her moments of envy and her need for approval, maybe even self-satisfaction and courage. The only structures still in tact are her passions; the people whom she adored, her dogs and The Lord. She was a devout Catholic. Yet standing tall on the horizon are her poems, one after another like city skyscrapers untouched yet powerful.

In 2003, I was an on-again-off-again writer. I had written several children’s books and had completed my first novel a few years before – none of them garnering results. I hadn’t realized at the time the immense value in their training ground. Each writing project was overshadowed by a demanding career as a teacher. With all of my life’s debris floating around me, I couldn’t have known that my grandmother was waiting for the right time to shoo it all away.

All along, when I thought no one had noticed my writing, what I enjoyed most in this world, there was someone in the wings watching every move. That’s what grandmothers do, just as I have a sneaking suspicion that every writer out there has someone watching. Whether you dabble in prose on weekends or coffee breaks in the staffroom, whether you submit that extra writing piece along with your art project at university, someone is noticing. I am sure of it.

When my grandmother gave me the incredible gift of her poems just weeks before she died of cancer—cancer that she wasn’t actually aware of at the time, I remember holding them feeling bewildered and full of questions. These were poems that she had spent her life writing, yet all she would tell me was that no one had ever known about them. It was an incomprehensible treasure. Before handing them to me, she cradled them against her chest, holding them like a newborn child, and said, “You are a writer, Susan, maybe you can do something with these one day.” I wasn’t sure why, but I shelved her gift and didn’t look at them for ten years. Perhaps it was grief. I simply didn’t know. It took finishing my second novel before it occurred to me, “It’s time. I have to read those poems.”

It was in seeing her handwriting that her words flooded every part of me. Seeing the bits she had scratched out and replaced, were telling of her love and commitment to her writing. Each poem told a story about her, about the times, about young love in the face of war and the trials of a woman, a wife, a mother on the home front, waiting on British soil, praying that he will walk through the door again. Seeing the rough drafts worked into a finished product made me appreciate the written word on paper, the handwritten word.

These poems were in essence the letters of her life, and oh, how romantic they were! So I weaved my grandma’s poems into a new novel, a story inspired by her exquisite poems in her beautiful handwriting, The Particular Appeal of Gillian Pugsley. The exciting part is, even after death, my grandmother’s poems combined with my storytelling made a publisher sit up and notice. Together, we did it. It wasn’t until I was knee-deep in my novel that I understood why I had waited so long to read her poems—I wasn’t ready to write this story.

We, as writers, find inspiration in a myriad of places. It can be found in the tiniest droplet of water on a twig whilst taking a walk, and still we feel lucky for being given that moment. So what makes for a lucky writer? I think we should all ask ourselves that question from time to time. Can it be as simple as a gift of words from one generation to the next? When I think of my grandmother and the treasure trove that her words unfolded in my imagination, the answer is crystal clear. Yes.