FIVE THINGS FRIDAY: Finding the Write Gift

Dec 12, 2015 | 3 comments

The gift giving season is upon us and there’s always that one person who’s difficult to buy for. Am I right? And usually, it’s the write person. (See what I did there?)

On this week’s upcoming Firsts in Fiction podcast, we’re talking about that very subject. Over the last week, we (and by we, I mean Aaron, Al, and myself, along with our merry media elves) have posed this question:

What’s a great gift to get the author in your life?

Finding the Write Gift

Finding the Write Gift

While I don’t want to give away the store (err, answers) here, I thought I’d at least share some of the FIF Family’s suggestions.

So put on your Santa hat and have a ho-ho-holiday time as we count down the best gifts to get your writer.

1. A private island. (Molly)

A Writer's Paradise - a Private Island

A Writer’s Paradise – a Private Island

Seriously. How often has your writer tried to get away from it all by locking themselves in the back room, sitting in a car, or running away to a coffee shop? See No. 3, below. Seclusion is necessary for the writer. In order to create our own worlds, we have to shut out the real one. A writer’s island holds no distractions like TV, ringing phones, or ~ dare I say it ~ the occasional familius interruptus.

More practical:

  • noise-cancelling headphones
  • a gift card for a spa day or one night at a hotel
  • pocket notebooks to jot notes in when your writer can’t get to their workspace
  • GIFT BASKET OPTIONS: white noise CD, postcard, small plant, candle

2. A private jet. (Al)

A Private Jet for Your Traveling Writer

A Private Jet for Your Traveling Writer

Writing isn’t just writing anymore. Now it means book signings, conferences, marketing meetings, publicity appearances and more. A private jet is the ticket to get your writer out the door and back home faster. And with no other passengers to distract him or her, it also serves as a mobile private island. See No. 1, above.

More practical:

  • gas cards and travel expenses
  • writers conferences and retreats
  • offer to keep them company and drive them to their next writing commitment
  • GIFT BASKET OPTIONS: travel journal, map, luggage tags, small photo album

3. A cafe/bistro/restaurant of their own. (Molly, Aaron, Al)

The Write Cafe

The Write Cafe

We all know writers have ink in their veins. Let’s not ignore the caffeine IV they require. How often have you stopped into a Starbucks and seen someone leaning over their laptop, typing frantically with one hand while holding their coffee in the other? A small cafe allows someone else to be responsible for the food and clean up. All the writer has to do is write. And, bonus, when that book contract is finally signed and the manuscript published, you already have a place to invite everyone to celebrate the success!

More practical:

  • treat them (and their family) to a nice dinner
  • gift card to their favorite coffee shop
  • single-serve coffee maker and a month’s worth of coffee
  • GIFT BASKET OPTIONS: creamer, individual serving tray, souvenir mug, tea spoon

4. An office supply store. (Molly, Aaron, Al)

Endless Office Supplies

Endless Office Supplies

Solve the problem of running out of ink and paper by giving your writer full and permanent access to everything imaginable from a new computer to colored paperclips. No more moments of frustration when they can’t find their favorite brand of pen. And when they start a new project, they can supply their writing space in coordinating themes and colors.

More practical:

  • ink and paper
  • computer maintenance program
  • mailing supplies
  • GIFT BASKET OPTIONS: desk organizers, day planner, journal/pen set, stickee notes

5. A private library. (Aaron)

A private library - just what a writer needs - more books.

Just what a writer needs – more books.

Research is essential to writing a compelling story, but small town libraries (and some bigger ones) don’t always work out. Books are checked out by others. Magazines are ripped and torn. Plus, you can’t keep any of them. A private library assures your writer their much needed references will be available any time they need. When one thought rabbit trails to another, at least you’ll still be able to find your writer in the stacks. Information is King, and you just gave your writer the kingdom.

More practical:

  • new computer and software
  • Kindle or other eReader and a gift card for downloads
  • external hard drive
  • GIFT BASKET OPTIONS: books on writing, collector’s editions of favorite books, magazine/newspaper subscription, gift card to book stores

And since we’re in the season of giving, here’s an extra entry. Give. Most writers supplement their writing income by teaching, editing, and a plethora of other talents. It takes time, energy and resources away from their works-in-progress. You can help them hurdle over the starving artist syndrome by donating:

  • Time. Clean their house, run errands, be a once-a-week personal assistant.
  • Resources. Do you have connections or knowledge that can move their story along?
  • Money. It costs a lot to live the write life. Even without the big-ticket items in this post.

What gift ideas do you have for the writer in your world? Leave a comment here and join us Tuesday, December 15 at 6:30 PST for this year’s Firsts in Fiction Holiday Podcast: Finding the Write Gift.

[If you have a question for the authors visit Aaron’s website for Ask The Author and if he uses your question on air this week, you’ll get a code for a free audio download of his novel, The Bargain. You don’t have to be a writer, and you don’t have to view the podcast to participate.]

And Frankly, My Dear . . . that’s all she wrote!

Sweeten my tea and share:

Writing Prompt: Songs

Sep 3, 2011 | 0 comments

by Molly Jo Realy @MollyJoRealy

This is another Writer’s Digest Community Writing Prompt from last year.

SONGS: Take two of your favorite songs, and match up a line from the chorus of one with a line from the chorus of the other. Then, write a scene that starts with the first lyric, and ends with the second.

“What are you doing New Year’s Eve?” he asked with a smile; his smile.

“It’s too early to think about that right now.” I tried hard not to fall under his spell. I was certain, however, that my clumsy efforts to avoid his gaze made me look like a fish out of water. A giant, washed-ashore, debilitated, practically dying, fish out of water.

He chuckled as if I were a cute toddler learning to walk. Emotionally, he wasn’t too far off. But I was planets away from letting him discover my reserves. And so I played it off by opening my datebook for evidence.

Datebook. How much more oxymoronic could it be. It was a personal jab, how these bound leather-jacketed pages screamed to be opened to reveal nothing of what they promised. Grocery lists. Doctor appointments. Work assignments. Contact information. Anything and everything. Except dates.

“Here,” I poked. “See? Today’s only – ”

He refused to let me finish. He gently wrapped his strong manhand around my accusatory finger. I’m pretty sure we lit the place up all by ourselves. It was painfully enjoyable.

He sat across from me, playing with my hand atop the café table. Gently pushing and pulling information. So easily, I didn’t even realize I was giving up bits and pieces. So earnestly, I forgot to lie.

“Wait,” I breathed, gripping the table for stability. Wait, I commanded myself.

“What’s wrong?” he leaned forward in his concern.

“You’re making it worse!” I edged my chair back.

“What?” he mock-gasped; knowing full well what I meant. I looked anywhere but at him. If I let go of the table, I would certainly float beyond the neon stars above us in my bliss.

He took my hand again, tethering me to himself. I would not fly away.

“Let’s walk.” It was a gentle command; for he was already rising from his seat, taking his coat and coffee with him. I followed numbly, playing his grown-up game of Simon Says.

He led me over the concrete path, through the intermittent crowds, under the trees raining color upon us. I shivered from the all-consuming experience and he quickly pulled me to the side of the path. Under a dim yellow lamppost, he brought his coat behind me and pulled it around me. I was surrounded by the scent of him. His warm hands soothed the collar around my neck and I shivered all the more, embarrassed that such gentlemanly care could turn me to Jell-O. I knew better than to try to speak.

A red-golden leaf fell between us, startling us both into chuckles. My pent-up, heightened awareness took advantage of my fallen guard; and my body convulsed into a loud symphony of laughter, letting go of all that was in me.

He joined with me, his baritone sound in harmony with my soprano.

A tear of relief sprang to life on my cold cheeks. Still laughing, still holding me close by the collar of his own coat, he raised one hand to tenderly thumb it away. I closed my eyes to avoid showing him inside me; but I felt his presence, his touch. He was not going anywhere.

“Hey.” He whispered. I hesitantly opened my lids to see his breath on the air. He placed a gentle kiss on my lips, and the warmth flooded me, staying even after he withdrew to look at me again.

His smile was new. It was mine. “So, what does your datebook say about tonight?”

I smiled back. “It’s Autumn.” With all it’s joyously colorful experiences. “Autumn in New York.”

And Frankly, My Dear… that’s all she wrote!

Sweeten my tea and share: