“So what was the inspiration for your book?” I was sitting next to an editor during a gathering of romance writers. Don’t even ask. Let’s say it was kind of a dare. Give me a medieval unicorn hunt any day, I used to say. A little fantasy, a bit of magic–now that’s a story!
So guess what I was pitching to the editor while the friend who dragged me to this luncheon kept pinching me under the table. A love story, set against a backdrop of a family severed by their principles during the civil rights era.
How did that happen?
Stuck for inspiration while sitting at my laptop on a Saturday morning, I took off for a ramble and an hour later found myself waiting for the walk light at a busy intersection in Flushing. The older woman standing next to me leaned on a cane, and one of her legs was in a cast. She looked the picture of old-school civility: carefully coiffed grey hair topped with a hat that matched her demure, conservative suit. I, on the other hand, wore a scruffy down vest and frayed jeans. We must have been quite a picture, standing side by side at the curb.
The walk light came on. I offered her an arm, knowing it was a quick light and she probably wouldn’t make it across before it turned. We chatted as we inched our way across the street, stopping traffic on both sides three times before we made it to the other side.
In an effort to distract her from the impatient drivers leaning on their horns as we walked, I started a conversation. “What happened to your leg?” I asked.
She told me about her accident and the operation that followed. Rehab was not going well. To make it worse, she ran out of groceries that morning and had to pick up milk and eggs.
We neared the other side. “And I just lost my husband,” she finished. “Fifty years.” And despite it all, she smiled.
“Want me to walk you home?” I asked. She declined, saying she could manage just fine with the cane and it wasn’t far. We parted company then, me turning around frequently to make sure she was walking okay. She was. Before she rounded the corner at the end of the block, she turned to wave at me. I never saw her again.
As I meandered through the streets in my usual Saturday fashion, her story followed me home, growing in detail and depth as I pondered her smile after losing the love of her life on top of all her other challenges.
I never got her name, but that afternoon the memory of her beautiful face compelled me to my laptop, where her love story began to grow under my fingers. Like most stories, it became more intricate and intriguing with time, and now The Circle Unbroken is ready to be shared.
Your turn: Add to the story! What happened to you last week that became an inspiration?
