(This is from my archives)
People often ask where I get my ideas. It usually isn’t one place and sometimes one the book is done I don’t even remember. When I thought about where A View to a Kilt came from I realized it came from different facets of my life.
I have a friend who is of Scottish descent. He plays bagpipes and likes to tell dirty Scottish jokes. He is probably my biggest source of the Scottish jokes. The other source is someone who actually lives in Scotland. We met when my husband and I lived in England. He e-mailed him one day and he sent me back a large amount of Scottish jokes.
It’s good to have friends.
The heroine in A View to a Kilt is an interior decorator. I actually know two people who have businesses as interior decorators and one person who studied it in college. One person with a business actually taught me to sew.
It’s good to have friends.
A View to a Kilt is set in Philadelphia. I grew up in the suburbs of Philly and my Dad instilled in me a love of the city. Despite not living in Eagles country, I am still a fan.
The portrait that is pivotal to the story? I have no memory of where that came from. None. Could not tell you what I was thinking when I put that in there. Wish I had a great story. That would be more interesting than having no idea why I chose a portrait.
Why does the heroine come from Montana? Because I have a friend who is from Montana and I could pick her brain about what it was like. I also have been fascinated with the West since I honeymooned in Utah.
I guess it comes down to this. No story comes from just one place. A writer takes different facts and weaves them into a fictional story.
And if I didn’t have friends I might not be able to write.
Excerpt A View to a Kilt:
Someone bumped into her as she shifted her weight, her stomach growling.
“Excuse me,” he said, from the depths of his chest.
She looked up into puppy dog brown eyes that were vaguely familiar. Then she remembered. “You’re the guy from the hospital.”
His grin surfaced like a dolphin jumping a hoop. His eyes lit up right before they scrunched into slits. “You remembered. I’m flattered. Angus MacPherson.
Her gaze raked up and down him, settling onto his hair. “You aren’t exactly forgettable.”
A flannel shirt opened onto a thick neck for such a lanky guy. Curls of hair peaked out over the first button. He wore the same jeans as earlier.
He cocked his head. “Tall with red hair. Guess I am noticeable.”
“Angus? Isn’t that beef?”
He curled himself into a bodybuilder’s stance.
“No, that’s beefcake,” she said.
Chris Redding lives in New Jersey with her husband, two sons, one dog, three rabbits. She graduated from Penn State with a degree in journalism. When she isn’t writing she works part time for her local hospital.Buy links:
Nook Store: http://tinyurl.com/3tlk2nh