Spring Writing

April 28, 2017April 28, 2017 / Susan Örnbratt / Leave a comment

Sometimes I forget how lucky I am to live in a coastal city with the sea only steps away. It is something I longed for as a child and although I long for more sun as an adult, the west coast archipelago of Sweden is undoubtedly something to be treasured.

Its riches for me come in the form of stories. How easy it is to set the imagination adrift whilst sitting on the rocky shore gathering a hot cup of tea into my hands. Those beaches of rock, more like walruses lazing about after a good meal! The blustery winds that catch my breath until it all settles once again. The sunset of surprising colours!

I’ve been working on story ideas for my new novel while my latest work of fiction is out there trying to find its way across the North Sea. My hope is that it will settle into the right hands so that one day readers will be taken away to 1917 maritime Canada and a lost girl from the Borough of Lambeth during WWII, yet still be connected to the present. Three storylines weave in and out of each other like tapestry woven over generations—each silk thread knotted until the next colour is introduced. When you step back, the whole picture is revealed.

My new novel will also be set in a few places, rugged in their geography (by the sea, of course) and historical. I’ve been debating whether to bring Scandinavia into this one in some form, since I have lived here for nearly twenty years and know it rather well. The possibilities are intriguing to me.

Yet as I watch two (skator) magpies building a nest in my raggedy old apple tree, those possibilities become clearer. I am fascinated by the birds’ ingenuity, vision and communication skills. They’re not bothered by the dreary weather today. They do what they need to do to get the job done. They targeted my apple tree, my ugly yet beloved tree in which my children’s swing still hangs beneath and decided that it would be the perfect home for a new baby. So, I shall go to the seaside for my cup of tea where my inspiration lies, build my new story and make it a home.

Wishing you a happy spring with wonderful reading and writing!

Susan

A Source of Inspiration

November 5, 2016 / Susan Örnbratt / Leave a comment

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I’m afraid Nicholas Sparks was teasing when he said that he grew an idea tree in his garden. Ideas can be painful to conceive yet plentiful if you know where to look. They all start with inspiration. The question is, what inspires you? More to the point, how do you get inspired to start your next project as a writer when your last is sitting in the hands of fate? Yes, nature is inspiring. The sun certainly has a profound affect on me, my energy, my enthusiasm, my drive. Likewise the sea.

But it’s those dreary days of grey on grey as the Scandinavian autumn darkness swells into the landscape that I find inspiration elsewhere – mainly through people. Over the last couple of years, perhaps none has inspired me more than artist, Danielle van Schooneveld. I’ve known Danielle for years but never knew the talent she possessed, the talent she was harnessing quietly in her own way, in her own time. Perhaps I’ve been living in a box until now, not realizing that she’s been painting all along, the way I have been writing all these years, but only recently sharing my work and taking risks.
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Danielle has clearly worked hard to achieve the success that is now gracing her life—an art degree, exhibitions and churning out one painting after another. Though I watch this rise in her career from afar (since we are living in different countries), and celebrate her achievement through social media along with all of her friends, I feel directly affected by her work. I have always been partial to paintings of children and have a number of framed Nancy Noel prints from years past.

I am not an art critic. All I can express is how Danielle’s work affects me. Apart from the obvious, her incredible talent, how thoughtful her portraits are, her portrayal of people, there is something calming in her work, something raw. Perhaps it’s her use of colour. Perhaps it’s in knowing the calm, elegant person that Danielle is. What she achieves is not only a breathtaking finished product, but making one see the value of persistence, the importance of honing one’s talents and driving them forward to create a more fulfilling life.

danielle6 As a writer, I can see a story begin to unravel as I look at her paintings. They cannot help but intrigue me. In the top painting, at least five stories scramble over each other to get my attention. A slew of questions instantly formulates. What is the little girl looking at? Her reflection? A fish? Something glittery caught between two rocks under the surface? How did it get there? What is it? Did she drop it? Was it her mother’s? Where is her mother? Is she still alive? Are the girls sisters? Twins perhaps? The questions and answers can grow dark, mysterious or be the seed to a loving, family saga. What the painting affords a writer is possibility. Regardless of the artist’s intention or what inspired the painting, everyone is likely to see something different. The feelings generated are likely to vary as well. In any case, Danielle’s painting above provides a starting point. It is incredible how quickly a web of ideas grows based on that starting point or seed. For that, I am grateful. SONY DSC

All the pieces seem to be fitting together nicely for Danielle, but while traveling the creative road myself, especially the last couple of years, I am under no disillusionment that it’s been a smooth ride. The painstaking work involved in creating her pieces, accompanied by the skill needed to market oneself in this incredibly competitive world and the uncertainties it bestows, requires agility, thick skin and exceptional talent. Danielle possesses these qualities and is carving out her future one painting at a time. I am excited to see where it heads.

In the meantime, if she doesn’t mind, I will use Danielle as a source of inspiration while delving into my next project. Sometimes all a writer needs is a painting.

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Please visit Danielle:

Website http://www.kunstinzicht.nl/portfolio/werk/daniellevanschooneveld/index.html

Facebook https://www.facebook.com/daniellevanschooneveld

Pinterest https://www.pinterest.com/dvanschooneveld/

Isle of Mull, Scotland – Sometimes Words are not Enough

July 18, 2016July 18, 2016 / Susan Örnbratt / Leave a comment

A sure fire way to get the inspiration you need – just go there!

For months, I had been trying to sort out the ending to my new novel. Forcing it was clearly not working. It needed to come naturally, in its own time, at its own pace. What I needed was a change of scenery and though the Isle of Mull is only a memory in my novel, it has proven to be worth all the words in the world to me.

Staying in a remote area on the mainland this past week, with the sea in my garden and the highlands wrapped around me, I was able to soak in this magical place. Just across the water was the Isle of Mull and it was in my two day trips there by ferry that inspired my writing – the ending that I needed. Here are some of the photos I took on the west coast of Scotland and Isle of Mull. Indeed, sometimes words are not enough.

Honouring Our Creative Selves

May 15, 2016May 15, 2016 / Susan Örnbratt / 3 Comments

I found myself at a dinner party last night talking to two very creative men. One who has followed his artistic passion and developed an outstanding career in exterior car design. The other is a physician, whose personal passion lies in music and has submitted several of his songs to Melodifestivalen over the years. The conversation drew me back to my earliest passion and made me question, Where did that little girl go?

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From as early as I can remember, I was drawing floor plans. Not just a handful of floor plans, but reams and reams of floor plans. They were stuffed in draws and under the bed. I sat in front of the television drawing floor plans. I drew floor plans on rainy days at the cottage. Floor plans were part of my every day life at a ripe old age of eight or younger. I simply cannot remember. Paper was always needed and well used. I was building floor plans with books for my Barbies to live in, filling the basement floor, always changing the design. At eleven years old, I submitted my first project at school on architecture and started designing corporate building floor plans. In high school, I took drafting, a year-long project that culminated in my first completed house design, model and all and ready for building.

So what happened? I know that rowing dominated my time through my teens and early twenties and satisfied all of those worldly dreams that crept into my life the more I competed. I was hooked. I loved crossing the finish line first. Rowing was an addiction and I couldn’t get enough of it. Yet a little further past the finish line, beyond the stands and well into the forgotten banks down river, if I squinted just so, I could still see my little creative self cheering me on.

She’s still there, a little weathered perhaps from popping out of the reeds for visits over the years, but she’s there.

Through my career in teaching, I’ve always done my best to tap into my creative side in the hope of bringing out those unique nuances that make each student special. Despite the intrinsic rewards of helping to develop others’ creativity, a part of me yearned for more, to be true to that side of me that was born creative. I wanted no boundaries, or at least as few as possible. I wanted the vision that I’d dreamed of as a little architect in the making. I was a designer then. Looking back over the years, I realize I’ve always been one. I just wanted to be fully creative again. But did it have to be in designing buildings?

Our creative selves might manifest in unexpected ways throughout our careers and personal lives, but they need to be honoured and given a chance. It is creating something from nothing that can give us some of the greatest joy in life. Where would this world be without music and art after all? Whatever steers us in another direction, I believe a part of us will always want to find that forgotten or neglected path again. It will nag us until we do something about it. For those who wait until it is too late, I am certain regret is painful. I believe we need to listen to that little person we were once, tugging at our sleeve.

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At university, I wrote a children’s book on the side and showed one of my professors. Her words have never escaped me. “You should do something with this one day,” she said. It was her earnest expression that triggered something inside me. She was the first person to validate my writing apart from my high school German teacher who was apparently taken aback when I translated and illustrated The Night Before Christmas for fun. But alas, this story was my design, my creation and there was something remarkable in that realization—that I could write.

I had always enjoyed talking. Anyone who knows me knows this well. Then something grew in the sweet storytelling after I tucked my children in bed at night. I reveled in the stories. They would choose the characters and setting and I would create a story, every night for years, a different story for each of our two children. Soon that rolled into writing down stories on my own then reading those stories to them. Stories were coming out of the woodwork and the kids couldn’t get enough of them. I adore those memories. Now they’ve grown up, young adults in the making.

The designer in me is adjusting to those life changes as I write novels now, creating something again from nothing. Only that nothing is far from empty. I am one of the lucky ones to have grown creatively, even though I couldn’t see it fully at the time. It is through all of these life experiences that I have built a foundation on which to generate new stories. A close-knit family, friends, travel and education have all played a role in keeping that little creative me cheering from the riverbank.

I may not design houses for a living, but I’m finally giving my creative me a voice. I am a writer. I am a storyteller. It took me many years to believe that was true, many, many stories to believe in myself as a writer. I’m thrilled to be nearing the final leg of a new novel, at least the first draft. Honouring the commitment I made to writing this novel is precisely the reason I haven’t posted recently on my blog. At first I felt guilty about that, until I not only saw how much more productive I had become, I felt better about myself and my work.

It’s not the end of the world if we acknowledge our creative selves later in life, having built a career in another field altogether. Once we do, though, once we let it out the gates, free to run as it will, be prepared for a never-ending journey, but one that feels right. If we don’t honour our creative selves, our lives become a series of short breaths. And don’t most of us really want to breathe deeply, and take in life to its fullest?

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Novel Setting vs. Writer Personality

February 20, 2016April 18, 2017 / Susan Örnbratt / Leave a comment

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Everyone knows the right setting can anchor a novel and its characters, don’t they? If you have intimate knowledge of a place, the story will be richer, right?

I’ve been thinking lately that perhaps a better question to ask is, how does the setting make an author feel as he/she writes? In other words, how does the author connect with the setting emotionally regardless of whether or not he/she has intimate knowledge of the place?

Recently, I read a very good post in Women’s Fiction Writers written by Yona Zeldis McDonough titled, A Sense of Place. In her view, the setting of a book can function very much like a character. I couldn’t agree more. She writes;

“To make that “character” come alive, you have to know it well—the sights, sounds and smells of a place, the nuances of the neighborhoods, the landmarks and the hidden spots that are off-the-beaten track.”

When I read this, I immediately knew exactly what she was saying. I understood those nuances, the smells and how they made me feel. Yet I can’t help but wonder how a character in a book comes into being. We might have an idea of their personality before that character is written. Perhaps we model the character after someone we know in our lives. Even if that’s the case, characters tend to evolve as we write the story. Their layers begin to unfold, often surprising writers. At least they do me. When I think I know them well, they turn a corner on me and something changes. Sometimes that change is minor and sometimes it can shift the storyline completely.

We don’t always know our characters thoroughly and intimately. We don’t always know their nooks and crannies until we discover them through our writing. Can that not be said of our setting as well?

For me, personality, my personality comes into play here. Over the last half year, I have struggled with the issue of setting for my current novel. I knew that I wanted the story to encompass Canada and England. I have been drawn to the east coast of Canada since I was a child but have never actually been there. Of course, growing up in Canada, I was familiar with all the provinces. Prince Edward Island has always been on my to-do list and I was convinced that I should write a story that took place there. I’ve read countless books about PEI. Of course, Anne of Green Gables has special meaning, being set in a time period I love, in a place that I’ve imagined many times over, and a story revolving around the life of children. Being a teacher, I can relate intimately to all the bits and pieces of children that make such a story magical.

There are parts of the history of Prince Edward Island that I knew I wanted to encompass in my story, but the more I researched the more I started to see how the Maritime Provinces connected. In ways, a shared struggle and hardship they have endured through history and specifically in the time period of my novel. As I researched, I became more drawn to Newfoundland than I had expected. The pull was something I couldn’t ignore, leaving PEI ever so slightly in its wake. The idea of shifting my story to another province seemed altogether crazy, but somehow the idea grew on me. Fortunately, I was early enough into the writing to begin to play with the idea.

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As I began, there was a nagging question that hadn’t been answered. Why? Why did I feel pulled toward Newfoundland? Why didn’t I want to set my story in PEI like I had planned? When I read Zeldis McDonough’s post, I had agree with everything she wrote. Of course, you should know your setting intimately. But hold on! There is something I know intimately, and that’s myself. I know what inspires me. I know what makes me tick as a person and as a writer. I know what makes me feel passionate. I know what makes me feel alive and driven.

When I wrote The Particular Appeal of Gillian Pugsley, and learned that there were internment camps on the Isle of Man during WW2, I knew I needed to investigate this, since my gut feeling told me this would be the perfect setting for my character. What I found was something altogether unexpected. I was pulled there, to this small island in the middle of the Irish Sea. I was spellbound. All of this from pictures and books and copious research. I wrote that novel having never stepped foot on the Isle of Man, yet I felt a passion for it that was inexplicable. I knew, however, that I couldn’t release the book into the world without having been there. I wanted… No, I needed to prove to myself that those nuances and smells and feelings were real to me. Did I connect with the real island or was it all in my imagination?

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What I found was something quite remarkable. When I arrived on the Isle of Man for the first time, during the editing process of my book, immediately, it felt as though I was coming home in ways. I felt instantly as though I knew the island intimately. I realized that through my research and writing, the character that the island had become in my novel had developed and grown. I had nurtured it and when it was time to meet the Isle of Man for the first time, it was as though I had met my twin, separated from birth but joined later in life. As I turned corners on the island, I knew what was there. Somehow I knew what to expect. I actually saw Gillian Pugsley walking down the pier to meet Christian as she does in my story—a ghost-like Gillian. Hard to explain perhaps except to say that it just felt right.

So the question still lingered, why? Why was I drawn to the Isle of Man? And why am I equally as drawn to Newfoundland? Landscape.

There is a similarity between Newfoundland and the British Isles—a rugged, brutish landscape, sensual, almost carnal, particularly the coastline. It is a landscape that makes me feel alive. This kind of beauty evokes feelings that at least this writer needs in order to write with passion and conviction. Prince Edward Island is known as a province with outstanding natural beauty, but the pastoral landscape was not captivating me quite like I thought it would. Strangely or not, the coastline of Newfoundland seems to mimic my personality. I haven’t been there yet I know it, just as I did with the Isle of Man.

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So, isn’t it possible that if our personality resembles a setting, and after a great deal of research, we can as writers become familiar and even intimate with that setting? And if so, isn’t it possible that that setting can grow and function as a character even if we haven’t set foot there except in our imagination? After all, had Lewis Carroll intimate knowledge of his fantasy world of Wonderland prior to writing Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland? Probably not. What is likely, however, is that Wonderland mimicked a part of his personality. That can be argued no doubt. But I do tend to believe that personality comes into play when writers choose a setting. I believe some people would describe my personality as vibrant. I know I’m not shy and truth is, I rather like being noticed. I love to smile. I can even say I’m fiery at times. For me to choose a dull, lifeless setting would be a painful writing experience I’m sure.

I’ve always said, “Put me by the sea with crashing waves and I could write a book.” It’s true. My personality comes alive by the sea so why wouldn’t I want a setting there? It reminds me of my on-going love/hate relationship with Sweden. I’ve lived here for nearly two decades. I live ten minutes from the sea. In sunny, warm weather, I can think of nowhere else I’d rather be than floating in a boat in the west coast archipelago. But it’s more or less flat water kept in check by a series of rock islands. It’s truly beautiful when the sun shines but most of the time, the skies are grey and as drizzle fills the air, the water and islands sit lifeless to me. I know my husband, having grown up here, feels quite the opposite. It is paradise to him. I do understand and appreciate that. But I need movement. We had taken a walk on a small island called Amundön a couple of weeks ago. It was an unusually windy day and the sea was on my side this time. I was in heaven as we sat with a hot cup of tea on the rocks watching the waves crash against the rocks. Just the way I like it.

I don’t think many people would argue that setting is important to a novel, but I am curious if other writers also feel as I do; that a writer’s personality can be a factor in choosing a setting. The wavering I’ve experienced regarding setting with my current novel has finally settled into something that makes sense to me, that makes sense for me. If I feel passionate about my setting then surely it will show in my writing and ultimately draw my readers into the story and captivate them.

How does your setting match your personality?

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.

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?

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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.

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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