Inspiration: Fiction Flows from Reality

Thrill Kill by Brian ThiemBy Brian Thiem

I arrived at the city park just as the sun was rising, the mist still hanging low over the dew-covered grass. A uniformed officer in the parking lot pointed me toward a stand of trees at the back of the park where more patrol officers were clustered. Halfway there, I saw my homicide victim, hanging from a tree with a rope around her neck. One of her legs was suspended from the tree with another length of rope in what looked like a bizarre dance pose. As I got closer, I saw the woman was naked except for a piece of charred cloth stuck to her leg, which I later learned had been soaked in gasoline and lit on fire.

All fiction writers use real life experiences in their novels. It might be as simple as how a man’s voice sounded when overheard in a restaurant or the way a lover’s face looked before a kiss. After working a career with the Oakland police department, much of it in homicide, my experiences are a bit different from those of many writers.

I think the line that separates our real life experiences—those events writers draw upon in our writing—and the creative or made-up stuff is blurred. The farther back the memories are and the more we live in our fictional make-believe worlds, the fuzzier the line that separates the two becomes.

Thrill Kill, the second novel in my Detective Matt Sinclair series, opens with a fictional rendition of the scene I described above, which was a murder I investigated in 1989. That scene is permanently imprinted in my brain. Toward the end of the scene, my fictional detective fights to control his emotions—shock, anger, disgust, compassion. Did I experience similar feelings at that homicide scene years earlier? I don’t recall. Maybe I buried them to better do my job, just as my fictional detective was struggling to do, but when I wrote that passage in my novel inside the close point of view of Matt Sinclair, the emotions felt real.

As I wrote that opening scene in my novel, I set the story aside, tapped into the creative part of my writer’s brain, and created a fictional character with a rich backstory to inhabit the dead woman hanging from the tree. Still in my fictional mode, I got back into the story with the coroner’s deputies arriving and cutting the victim from the tree. My detective sees her face for the first time and my writer’s brain flips a switch.

I’m back in homicide more than twenty years ago. I was called to a motel that catered to drug dealers and hookers on a report of a dead woman in a room. She had no ID on her so I figured it would be twenty-four hours until the coroner could roll her prints and see if she was in the system. A dozen cops were there and canvasing the area for witnesses and information. They were apologetic about being unable to ID her, knowing that would delay my investigation a day. The coroner’s deputies flipped the body and I saw the face. I recognized her as Dawn Campadona, a street hooker I had arrested years earlier when I worked Vice.

I take that memory and fictionalize it so my detective recognizes her, the woman hanging from the tree, as someone he had arrested her years ago. I refer back to my character profile and change her first name to Dawn. All of a sudden, the darkness from the opening scene in the novel has a glimmer of light. Dawn was a pretty girl who had come to Oakland with a dream, only to die a death she didn’t deserve. In the novel, my detective is wondering—just as I possibly was when I saw the real Dawn lying there dead—if he might have done something differently when he arrested her years earlier that would’ve changed her fate. Real memory or fiction? I don’t know.

That is the way my novel takes form, flowing from memories of the past to make-believe—from the real world to fiction—from the familiar to the creative. As a writer, I’m successful when readers accept my make-believe story as something that feels real enough that it could have happened. Drawing on my past experiences and fictionalizing them gives my crime novels a level of authenticity—a sense of realism—that not many other crime writers can do.

You can learn more about Brian Thiem on his website brianthiem.com and his author pages on Amazon and Goodreads.

The first novel in his Detective Matt Sinclair series, Red Line, is available now from AmazonB&N, and IndieBound.

Advertisements

You either have it or you don’t know it

We’re all creative on different levels. Being creative doesn’t translate to possessing the talent to draw or paint beautiful pictures, it can mean solving complex problems using solutions no one else dreamt possible. Next time you’re about to tell someone you’re not creative: stop. Be patient. You will discover and develop your creative talents over time.

Book Review: Little Bets on Anne W. Associates Blog

Little Bets - coverIn 2012 while working with my mentor Anne Witkavitch in my pursuit of an MFA in Creative and Professional Writing at WCSU, I wrote a review of Little Bets by Peter Sims, a book I quite enjoyed. Little Bets looks at how creativity is applied successfully in various types of business ventures through creative risk-taking. Anne graciously offered to post my review on her professional consultancy blog – the link is below.

» Book Review: Little Bets – Anne W. Associates.

The Art of Nothing

Western Legends Publishing

by Ron Samul

Sometimes, the things that keep me up at night aren’t the monsters and zombies, but rather a subtle fear that comes from dark corners and empty spaces. I didn’t know what to call this kind of fear. I didn’t know where this article was going to take me, but I did know that I was probably going to write about the creepy state of nothing. And I had a few examples. My two favorite examples of creeping me out is The Color Out of Space by H. P. Lovecraft which takes the horror of nothing into a series of gruesome events described as something terrible happening, with no clear purpose. The second example is the dense and complex House of Leaves by Mark Danielewski. This visual adventure is scary, disturbing, and mind twisting. And then it hit me. I had discovered existential horror.

So, what is existential…

View original post 1,533 more words

Contributors Wanted!

Writers, musician, visual artists, performers, designers, comedians, filmmakers, and all other creatives not listed here….

HarvestingCreativity.com is looking for creative professionals to share their stories and experiences.

What drives your work? What mistakes have led to your success? How does your creative process flow? How do you get out of bed in the morning and create? What is the craziest story tied to your profession? How do current politics and economics effect your profession?Why do you bother doing what you do? What advice do you have for newcomers to your profession?

I think you get the idea.

I would love to hear from you. Email me your ideas dtgriffith@me.com and let’s tell the world what it means to be a creative.

All rights, credits, and attributions for each submission will be retained by the author. Authors will be listed as contributors to this site. All articles will be promoted equally.

Motivation is my vicious circle

D.T. Griffith

Motivation has been on my mind lately, due in large part to reading Daniel Pink’s Drive, which I recommend everyone to check out. So I’m looking at how it relates to what I do as a writer and how I can write about its existence in a professional setting. And I continue to wrestle with it.

Then I had the brainstorm when fear motivates us. What could possibly be good about a negative motivator? Are there exceptions to the rules of intrinsic and extrinsic motivation? As I felt the need for my bones to rip out of my skin in pondering this, an epiphany struck me – I’m fighting through motivational issues right now as I type these words. Feeling unmotivated to write about motivation. Not good.

Returning to my earlier question about fear motivating us in a positive way – sure, in that no one wants to…

View original post 395 more words