Ask the Author: Ingrid Foster
Answered Questions (10)
Ingrid Foster
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Ingrid Foster
When I was a young teen growing up in Pennsylvania, I was walking through the woods one slightly overcast day when out of the corner of my eye I saw someone coming up the path behind me. He was dressed in clothes like nothing I'd ever seen before, later I would described them as coming out of the 1940s. An old work jacket, baggy cotton trousers, dark work shoes and a flat hat on his head.
He walked fast but even on the gravel, his footsteps made no sound. And though at one point he must have seen me he never acknowledged my standing there. I guess in his world I didn't exist.
He had walked on up the hilly path about twenty feet when I decided to follow him. There was a meadow at the top of the path and even though I wasn't far behind him, when I reached the top no one there. The meadow was open, the grass recently cut and no one was anywhere around.
I walked down the hill to other side of the meadow, hoping to see where he went. In an overgrown clearing near what had once been a busy state mental hospital, I found a graveyard. it was too overgrown to explore.
There were a few times that I retraced my steps but I never saw him again.
Still, every once in a while I wonder, was he real or a ghost and if a ghost, why did he walk that path?
He walked fast but even on the gravel, his footsteps made no sound. And though at one point he must have seen me he never acknowledged my standing there. I guess in his world I didn't exist.
He had walked on up the hilly path about twenty feet when I decided to follow him. There was a meadow at the top of the path and even though I wasn't far behind him, when I reached the top no one there. The meadow was open, the grass recently cut and no one was anywhere around.
I walked down the hill to other side of the meadow, hoping to see where he went. In an overgrown clearing near what had once been a busy state mental hospital, I found a graveyard. it was too overgrown to explore.
There were a few times that I retraced my steps but I never saw him again.
Still, every once in a while I wonder, was he real or a ghost and if a ghost, why did he walk that path?
Ingrid Foster
If I could go back in time to any Fictional World, I'd go to the San Francisco of the 1930s so well described by Howard Fast in his Immigrants Series. The state was largely unpopulated and there was room to grow. I would probably have gotten a job working in the library with May Ling.
Ingrid Foster
Wow, it's early here and I haven't had my first cup yet, but let me give this a stab:
Whoa, what was that?! A turn of the switch, no lights!
Whoa, what was that?! A turn of the switch, no lights!
Ingrid Foster
Hi Michael,
Please forgive the delay... Okay, to answer your question, I'm a task oriented person. So when I start a new project, it literally consumes me until I'm done, usually writing everyday as close to 1500 words or more as I can get. Then I continue on to the 2nd draft and the revising/editing process.
As for notes, that's a continuous part of my process and never stops until I feel my book is ready for my editor.
Thanks,
Ingrid
Please forgive the delay... Okay, to answer your question, I'm a task oriented person. So when I start a new project, it literally consumes me until I'm done, usually writing everyday as close to 1500 words or more as I can get. Then I continue on to the 2nd draft and the revising/editing process.
As for notes, that's a continuous part of my process and never stops until I feel my book is ready for my editor.
Thanks,
Ingrid
Ingrid Foster
I am currently working on a dark desert novel called, "The Gathering."
The idea developed while living in an apartment complex in southern Arizona. The air around the buildings was laced with cold pockets and sometimes while walking our dog, I'd hear what sounded like someone racing up behind us. But when I turned to confront the attacker, there was no one there.
The idea developed while living in an apartment complex in southern Arizona. The air around the buildings was laced with cold pockets and sometimes while walking our dog, I'd hear what sounded like someone racing up behind us. But when I turned to confront the attacker, there was no one there.
Ingrid Foster
My first four years of grade school were difficult due to an even more difficult home life. In fifth grade, my life at home changed with my parent's divorce and at school, I developed a love for English and reading. Soon I was reading EVERYTHING in sight. The more I read, the more I felt the desire to create stories of my own. Even to this day, the more I read, the more I write.
Ingrid Foster
Write, every day, even if it's just a sentence or two. Like all skills, writing requires practice.
Also, read, and not just books in your preferred genre. The more you read, the more you will be inspired to write.
Also, read, and not just books in your preferred genre. The more you read, the more you will be inspired to write.
Ingrid Foster
Writing is my passion, it's what I was born to do. For me, there is no greater joy than the fulfillment of that passion and the knowledge that people are enjoying my stories.
Ingrid Foster
I go for a walk, read, or just find some other non-writing activity to do for a while. Eventually, my creative mind takes over and I'm back inside my story.
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