Ever wonder where writer’s ideas come from?
 
So do I! I am what is known as a pantser or organic writer. So most of the time I get a kernel of an idea—a character, a setting, or a scene playing out in my head—and I start writing. I never know where that idea will take me.

My newest hero, Sam, was established as a secondary character in  The Legacy of Parkers Point , book one, in the Starlight Grille series. I loved Sam, so I decided he had to have his own story.
Logical progression of the series meant  Come Dance With Me  would take place in the winter.
I had written the first few chapters, when the title came to me from song lyrics I heard as I commuted to work. Usually I agonize over titles. Instead, the title had me envisioning the ending—a Christmas Dance—with the hero and heroine in each other’s arms. In this case, the title, and the ending, helped drive the plot, theme, setting, time of year, and character arcs.
t times, words seem to flow from my brain to my fingers without conscious thought. When I reread what I wrote, I have no memory of thinking about those words or scene. In this case, during the editing process I realized many scenes evolved from memories of my high school dances. Remember the romantic teenage yearnings of getting ready for a dance?
 
Here are some examples of where my muse took over by conjuring up memories and turning them into something to fit the story.
 
·          I sewed my own high school Christmas dance dress, floor-length, maroon velvet, sleeveless, jewel-necked, slim-fitting. I found out at a reunion that the guys still remembered that dress. My heroine wears staid colors and classic designs. I am sure my muse decided at this point that my hero wished to see the heroine in bright colors, and makes it happen.
·         My dad was a chaperone. He stood on tip-toe the entire dance, tracking my every move. I remember ducking my head as I slow-danced, praying any dance partners would not notice my dad. When one of the star football players, one of a handful of blacks in our school, asked me to dance, I nearly swooned. I had a mad crush on him. Later, when he asked me to a rock concert, my dad grilled him in the front hallway—just like he did with every date my sister and I ever had. In this story my heroine is a chaperone and invites the hero to help chaperone. They also attend a rock concert together.
 ·         A classmate of mine sent a poem to Muhammed Ali and as a result got to meet him. My hero writes a jazz piece for Muhammed Ali. As I wrote the scene, I had him writing for the Queen in mind, but my words turned into Muhammed Ali right before my eyes.
·         Our school had recently integrated (a fact I was unaware of at the time, and thought was the norm). There were a few biracial couples. In my tight-knit, progressive, and accepting Quaker school community, those who were in biracial relationships were accepted, but not in the country as a whole. My hero and heroine are a biracial couple. Hopefully the world has changed since I was a teen, but I know the truth—we have a long way to go.
Add to the memories are the impact of growing up in a city where I had access to classical concerts at the Kennedy Center, and the influence of the music culture of the 60s, including my love of Motown, jazz, and blues, and you have the seeds for a story that germinated and grew as my muse took over.
 
So, I hope you enjoy  Come Dance With Me , and the excerpt below, where I have played with facts of my life to create a modern fictional love story that culminates at the Christmas Dance.
EXCERPT She watched his graceful body climb the three steps to the stage. She sat close enough to see Sam’s fingers stroke the keys. The notes swirled around her heart and straight to her toes. Ashley closed her eyes and swayed to the slow, sensual rhythms. His tempo eased from slow to fast. Her feet tapped out the beat, the sounds coursing a hot path through her veins. The ebb and flow of jazz, like making love, engulfed her entire being. She held close the urge to moan and sigh. Unlike the night she sat with Mary Beth, now she imagined Sam played only for her.
 
To think she owned his recordings, but never imagined she’d ever meet the man. His music had been the one thing that made her feel alive these last few years, and now she knew him…like a friend. He still scared the stuffing out of her. But not in a bad way. She hadn’t expected him to like her, and treat her like a friend, when she’d agreed to this after-school partnership. But here she sat.
 
“He’s something, isn’t he?”
 
Ashley swiveled toward the voice behind her. A petite, red-headed woman grinned.
Do you have some stand-out memories of high school that might lend themselves to being part of a story or a scene?