Lara D. Elliott - Inspirations

I'll let you in on a little secret. Several of my novels are set in or near the little town of Mecklenburg. While this town exists, it has a different name: Shepherdstown, West Virginia. Mecklenburg was actually the name of the town way back when. The Mecklenburg Inn still stands on German Street. The Christmas parade scene in my novel-in-progress was inspired by the many parades I have marched with my students in this very town.

If God were steampunk we’d all have gears, Sound receptors in place of ears, Hands with multifunction parts, Steaming boilers instead of hearts, And scopes for eyes to see ten miles. (We’d still have teeth ‘cause God likes smiles.) His perfect mechanical innovations: Like clockwork would run God’s creation. Another piece written for a picture prompt in my writing group. (Originally posted February 20, 2016) If you like this poem, check out my other related poem:  http://laradelliott.blogspot.com/2017/07/the-mechanic.html Would you like to read all of my poetry? Check out more  here !

Want to know a cool fact about me? I was named after a song! My mom absolutely loved the song "Somewhere My Love" also known as "Lara's Theme" from the movie Doctor Zhivago. The character's full name is Larissa (my full name too) but her nickname is Lara. When my husband and I named our sons, their first names didn't have any special meaning other than we liked the names. Their middle names, however, are after my father and grandfather. Bonus Fact: "Lara's Theme" includes accompaniment on a balalaika, the Russian folk instrument similar to a guitar but with a triangular shaped body and typically only three strings.

I had to cut it--the prologue to my novel-in-progress. It was a great scene, but didn't start the story in the right place. I still love it, so here it is for you. “He posted it!” Maddie shoved her phone back in her pocket and grabbed her bag. “What? The list is up? Already?” My heart thumped up in my throat.   Maddie shot off down the hall. “Come on, Aria!”  I slammed my locker shut and threw my book bag over my shoulder, nearly toppling with the heavy load.  “Slow down!” I chased after her. Our pace slowed to a race-walk as we passed the office, but then we sprinted down the last hallway. I started wishing that my locker hadn’t been on the opposite side of the building.  I rounded the corner to the band room just after Maddie and spied a crowd of people huddled around the bulletin board. As I approached, my steps slowed and my ears were muffled with the blood pumping through my body. My nerves took hold and the scene in front of me became a blur.   Maddie grabbed

The doors to the “Reverie Repository” whooshed open and Azlyn stepped into the candle-lit lobby. The moonlight from the atrium barely reached this level, providing only a strange blue-ish glow. Madame Penelope sat behind the counter, grinning like the Cheshire Cat, the flicker of candlelight glinting off her teeth. “Welcome back. May I help you find something or would you like to pull from the ‘Random’ bin?” “I think I’ll browse around tonight." Azlyn nodded and turned to face the grand array of choices. Madame Penelope sank back onto her stool and began filing her nails. “Don’t take too long.” The old oak floors creaked under Azlyn’s feet as she passed the first set of shelves.   Each dream sat bottled and waiting. Some dreams were housed in tiny vials. Others, large urns. The purple ones always drew her eye, but she never hesitated to select a yellow one or a nice teal. The placards posted on the ends of each display were starting to yellow with age: “Recent

I finally finished the sonnets for my novel-in-progress. The first is from the main character, Aria. She is quite the poet, and later turns that talent into songwriting. The second "sonnet" is from Zed, the goof-off character, as you can see by what he wrote. His full text didn't make the cut for the novel, so this is the only place you can see it in its entirety. Enjoy! Aria's Sonnet: When e’er the land is wrapped in ice and snow,  My heart does long for days of sun and warmth, But Winter hides from me the dear sun’s glow And forces me to warm beside the hearth. When Solstice turns the nights to longer days, New promises of warmth in Spring do rise, But Winter’s winds and cloak of snow still stay, Delaying fields of green and bluer skies. When e’er at last the friendly melt does come, My weary heart is slow to beat again, But Spring’s warm smile brings love under the sun, Reviving me, restoring life within.

Perhaps love is in the air with Valentine's Day just around the corner. Anyhoo, I finally had a wave of inspiration for the love sonnet which I needed to put in my novel. One of the characters wrote it for his English assignment. Funny thing is, my real life student was writing a sonnet for class just the other day as well. I love a challenge when it comes to rhyme schemes and syllable counts.  “My heart beats like a drum when she is near. Each part of her a wonder to behold: Her voice a tune that is so sweet to hear; Her laugh a melody that won’t grow old; Her face a perfect canvas for a smile With eyes that warm and sparkle in the sun. I cannot gaze but for so short a while, For she departs too soon when day is done. My heart sings out a song of endless love Though only stars do hear it in the night When darkness wraps around me like a glove And hides my love for fear she won’t requite. I dream of days when she at last loves me A

Have you heard the song " My   Story " by Big Daddy Weave? It has been  my  anthem this past year. The fall of 2015 was when I was called to write seriously. There was a period when I was questioning whether to put God in  my   stories . I pondered this often in the car while I listened to Christian radio. Every time I had the question in  my  heart, the song " My Story " came on which basically says "If I told you  my   story , I would tell of Jesus." God was answering  my  question. He wanted me to put Him in the  story .   Flash forward a year. This week has been trying. Lots of struggles in home life, work life, and writing life. I asked God for a song to be played on the radio to help me through ("Thy Will" by Hillary Scott). He didn't give it to me. On the verge of depression, I considered throwing in the towel with  my  writing. I have too much to learn to be good. I have too much else in  my  life that needs  my  attention. What is

Gazing out the window, waiting, Bated breath and pulse soaring, Blowing steam and sipping coffee, Only biding time, clock ticking. Then, when hearing steps approaching, Croaking, losing air, and choking, Lifting gaze to his bright smile, All the while can’t keep still. Will he say the words so loving? Hugging, kissing, and embracing? Blood racing through her veins, Then he speaks love’s sweet refrain… The poem was this week's writing prompt response winner on Google+ in the"Writer's Discussion Group" as voted by my peers. I couldn't think of a story to go along with the picture prompt, but I knew I wanted to evoke something positive and sweet. (Originally Posted December 7, 2016) Like my poetry? Check out more  here !

“Help! Help, please! Help!” the man cried out. Onlookers gasped, phones poised to record. The construction workers tried to throw lines out to their man, now dangling forty-seven stories above the pavement. Cynthia looked high above her head at the broken crane. “Of all the days for me to visit the city,” she thought. She debated what to do. She didn’t want to let this man die, but she knew that once she was outed she couldn’t go back. She had tried so hard to keep her gift secret for so many years. The crane creaked and popped. The man screamed as his bucket dipped and swayed. “I feel like I’m in flippin’ Metropolis,” she muttered. She stashed her bags of fancy city purchases in the most out-of-the-way nook she could find. “If this guy is the reason for all my hard earned vacation money to go down the drain, so help me.” Cynthia glanced around. Maybe if no one saw her, she could get far enough out of view that she could keep her identity hidden. She pushed o

Smile. (No, really.) Smile. Did it hurt? Did it make you sad? Angry? Did it take very long to do? Did it take much thought? Smile again. (Bonus points for raised eyebrows.) Show some teeth. Did someone see you do it? Did they smile too? Maybe? Did you brighten their day? Did you brighten yours? Laugh. (Out loud.) Really guffaw. Now how do you feel? As I get ready to start a new school year, many teachers and students are depressed about returning. I'm trying to get through the endless meetings and paperwork and stuff that comes with returning to school. I'm trying to stay positive. I let my students know I'm trying to stay positive. They're smiling at me when I forget to smile. We're reminding each other to stay positive. It's funny how smiles are contagious. (Yawns are too, but lets not try spreading those around at the start of the school year.) *Edited to add final stanza. This was in the original version, but I had taken it out. It d

So this blog is supposed to be about my writing life and not about my music life. But what if I'm writing about music? Ha ha! I've begun work on a new novel. It just so happens to be about a girl in high school who's in the band, who writes music, whose name is Aria... So, yeah. My alter ego is a writer, but I write about characters who love music. I guess I just can't get away from it. After all, it is what I know. I have some imagination, but I'm not  that  inventive. In an earlier post, I mentioned some lyrics that I was using in another novel. Well guess what... My new songwriter girl novel will also have some original lyrics! I love poetry. I love music. I guess writing song lyrics would be a logical progression for me. I have written song lyrics a couple of times in my past for imaginary songs (that went nowhere other than being jotted down in on scrap paper and jammed in my poetry portfolio). I'm tempted to go one step further with the current lyric

Such early waking Shake it off with coffee making Shuffling feet Aching back and lack of sleep Then time to go In traffic, sick of driving slow The daily grind The stress that presses on my mind A thankless job Stuck in muck, an endless bog World caving in Trapped and have to go again Rinse, repeat Rinse, repeat Rinse, repeat Another response for a picture prompt in my writing group.  (Originally Posted May 7, 2016) Like my poetry? Check out more  here !

Every month Perhaps it's the moon I turn into a beast Raging I snarl and growl I gnash my teeth My enemies flee I snap The demon leaves me Under the blood-red moon I return to the woman I was Monthly This is one of my favorites from the old blog. ( Originally posted April 26, 2016) Like my poetry? Check out more  here !

As a musician, I learned to seek perfection. One wrong note can ruin a performance, so musicians seek to perform with 100% accuracy. Not just good. Perfect. On the other hand, I have heard that perfection is an ever-receding goal. It's like chasing the horizon. So, I have ingrained in me a desire for perfection without the ability to reach it. What a bummer! I think we all have some sort of desire to be perfect. One of my "friends" online posted her before and after pics. She went from skinny to skinnier! Sheesh. If she can't be happy with her size 1 body, how can I be happy with my (much bigger) size? I hear teenagers talking all the time about how they're fat or ugly or dumb or untalented. In my writing life, I have surrounded myself with peers who are in the same endeavor--to write a great book. So many authors talk about how their work stinks! Even famous writers of books studied in English class have fallen into the belief of "my books are rubbish.&q

Have you ever heard a song at just the right time and the lyric was something you needed to hear at that exact moment? It happens to me a lot. This past fall when I was debating what direction to take my novel, I heard the song “My Story” by Big Daddy Weave. A line from the song states “to tell you my story is to tell of Him.” I knew I had to make it a Christian novel. This impacted me so much that I actually included a scene where the male protagonist hears a song that changes him. Unfortunately, there are all kinds of rights and permissions you need to print song lyrics in a novel so I went the easy route: I wrote my own. Below are the lyrics to the song from my first novel. It was just what the character needed to hear at just the right time. (The character is blind which makes the lyric even more meaningful). Why are you questioning me? Everything has been for a reason. I control the tides of the seas. I command the changing of the seasons. You are broken and y

Elias tucked his little brother into bed then stepped out of their hut and looked westward like he did every evening. No sign of them. He closed his eyes and prayed that they would finally come home. “Elias,” his mother had said, “watch over Matta. We will return at sundown.”  It had been nearly two months since that day. Elias knew his parents’ journey beyond the wall would be dangerous, though people did not talk to children about what was out there. His mother was extremely calm when she left. She must have known it would be all right.  Elias knew she would keep her promise to return. Not long after Elias lay down, there were screams from outside the hut. Elias woke, bleary eyed and confused. He shook Matta. “Wake up! Matta! We must leave!” The screams continued. Shadowed figures ran past the window. A flickering orange glow emanated from down the road.  Matta rubbed his eyes then sat up suddenly at the noise. His frightened eyes met Elias’. Elias grabbed

The date had gone well. Jason enjoyed the feast Robbie had prepared, but a couple of glasses of cheap red and Jason went out like a light. Robbie watched him snooze a while, his broad shoulder rising slightly as he took in each breath.  How did I get so lucky? Robbie had several boyfriends over the years. High school boys were hard to find when he first came out his junior year, but the college scene was more tolerant and more guys were brave enough to come out.  Jason was the dream catch—a friend of a friend that he met at a Halloween party. Robbie showed up dressed as Frank N. Furter, fishnets and all.  Jason came as the Dread Pirate Roberts with a drawn-on mustache.  Jason had never been flamboyant. Robbie liked that about him. He was just a regular kind of guy who would kill a spider for you in the middle of the night, and—for some reason—accepted Robbie despite all of his crazy flaws.  Robbie sat in bed listening to Jason sleep and pondered over what this was. Wa

When she came to their school they noticed her. “You’re pretty,” the boys would say. “You’re hot,” the boys would say. They whistled as she walked through the cafeteria. When she stopped eating they didn’t stop.  “Nice rack,” the boys would say.  “Nice ass,” the boys would say. They touched her as they passed in the hallway.  When she cut herself they didn’t stop. “Why are you wearing long sleeves in the summer?” the boys would ask. “Show us some skin,” the boys would say. They attacked her in the parking lot. When she looked in the mirror she saw a monster. “I’m ugly,” she said to her reflection. “I’m nothing,” she said to the face staring back at her. She dressed to the nines and left. When the train blew its whistle she didn’t move. “This is the only way out,” she said. “This is the only way to end the pain,” she said. The whistle blew again. When her body was found it was a shock. “It’s a shame,” the policemen said. “She was so pretty,” the policemen said. Her

#myliferightnow   (written Jan 28, 2016) Indecision Insecurity Indigestion # shadow  (written Mar 10, 2016) I am his shadow, lying on the pavement. He is the only one who notices me at his feet, but doesn't realize he walks on me with every step. Like my poetry? Check out more here !

You may say I'm a little old to be such a big Harry Potter fan, but really I'm only thirteen days older than the boy who lived. I was watching one of the movies on TV as I often do, and one of Albus Dumbledore's infinite bits of wisdom stuck out to me: "Words are, in my not so humble opinion, our most inexhaustible source of magic, capable of both inflicting injury and remedying it." I think this is why I am a writer. I feel my words have a power to affect someone. They may not affect every reader, but someone someday will read something I wrote and it will change their life for the better. (Originally Posted March 8, 2016)

Swyx and Hannah rounded the corner and bolted down the hallway. Somewhere in this labyrinth of a building was the last egg of Lotana, the powerful serpent goddess. “There! Stairs!” Swyx burst through the door and descended. “We need to go as deep as we can. It would be somewhere cold, dark, and damp.” Swyx had tracked the egg for many seasons. Every time he thought he was close, the egg was moved. Finally, he was one step ahead of the Temtumi guards.  Three flights down, Swyx and Hannah reached the lowest point of the building. The smell of damp earth filled their nostrils. Before opening the door, Hannah closed her eyes. “No signs of life, but there is a presence somewhere nearby. I think this is it.” “I don’t trust it.” Swyx cracked open the door. Immediately, their ears rung with a piercing alarm, echoing through the hallway. “Run!” He ran left down the hallway.  “Wait! I feel it. This way!” They swung around and dashed up the hallway in the other direction.