Inspiration for stories comes from the most unexpected places. You imagine you'll come up with ideas while walking in the woods, wading along the seashore, listening to beautiful music or looking out at the view from the window of your study. Sure, all these situations are where one would expect enlightenment to show up. But for me inspiration comes at the oddest times in the strangest places.

For example, I had just arrived at my boyfriend Claudio's home in Italy a few years ago to shocking news. His other girlfriend was pregnant, and that very afternoon her parents had kicked her out of the house and she had no other place to go except Claudio's. It all seemed like a bad dream. And, because I was planning on spending a week with him, I hadn't made arrangements for a hotel. It was already evening when I arrived, so I agreed to stay the night. I tossed and turned in the master bedroom at the top of the house while Claudio and the other girlfriend slept in the twin beds one floor below.  

It wasn't one of my favorite memories. However, the next morning in a fit of inspiration and frustration, I began to re-work my novel, "Sono Claudio." I had already decided to change it from a memoir to a fictional story and with the new situation my imagination caught fire. I spent the entire day writing and plotting and drafting the story all the way to the end. Yes, I used the pregnant girlfriend bit, but from there on, the story is completely fictional. I turned the other girlfriend into a lying venomous bitch who would stop at nothing to trap Claudio into a relationship with her.  

Another unlikely muse appeared a year or so ago when I was lying flat out on a gurney in the emergency room, so dizzy I couldn't walk. There were countless medical people swirling around, poking at me, and asking questions. While they were waiting for my lab tests to be completed they moved on to other emergency patients and left me alone. Well, you can imagine I was scared. I thought I might be dying--I certainly felt like I was. My usual meditations and methods of relaxing weren't working, so in desperation an idea for a new novel began to form and I started plotting the story as I lay on the gurney.  

I decided that my heroine--I named her Julie Taylor--would be dying of a rare disease and was given six months to live. The more I thought about Julie and her story, the more I began to relax. Making up Julie's illness and problems and figuring out what she was going to do completely took my mind off my own situation.

As medical people passed by me, I told them I was working on a new novel and asked them questions about Julie's possible illness. What kind of disease might she have that would be deadly, but wouldn't incapacitate her? She shouldn't have any physical signs of her illness and be able to function quite normally while her ailment was slowly killing her. The concept ignited as we talked about all sorts of exciting topics like pancreatic cancer and leukemia. One of my doctors referred to pancreatic cancer as "peek and shriek" because that's what happens when they open someone up and find that type of cancer. It is quick and deadly. But I wanted something that could magically be healed or misdiagnosed or just go away to provide more freedom with my plot.  

Well, you can imagine the reaction from the medical staff to my constant questions.   They were captivated. It got so that various staff members would stop by every so often to hear more about the story.

One sleepless night, when my usual getting-to-sleep aids weren't working at all, I tried using what had always been a foolproof way to doze off. I imagined I was in Venice, and I was walking from the apartment where I usually stay near the Campo San Giacomo dell'Orio to the Piazza San Marco. I visualized the entire walk, all the little bridges, all the restaurants and houses. I checked out the wares in all the shop windows. I pictured myself in front of my favorite antique jewelry store. The shop keeps the lights on all night to illuminate the windows where the collections are displayed by stone: rubies in one tray, sapphires in another, emeralds and diamonds and pearls in yet others. I always like to play a game with myself that if I could choose one of the trays, which one would it be? The only rule was that I could select just one tray, and all the jewels on that tray. But even the total concentration of remembering each treasure in the collection didn't put me to sleep. I was getting nervous because I was almost to the Piazza San Marco and still wide-awake.

In desperation, I imagined a totally new shop, one I had never seen before. Although it was late at night, the lights were still on, shining on exquisite silk garments shimmering in the window.  The door was open so I went inside to look around. Almost hidden on a rack of garments, I discovered an incredible strawberry red silk dress. On impulse I tried it on, and magically it fit perfectly. As I twirled around in front of the mirrors I felt that I had never been more beautiful. Every detail of the dress burned itself into my memory and I happily fell asleep wearing that dress. I couldn't forget about it.

The dress haunted my thoughts and I constantly saw myself dancing in the Piazza San Marco wearing the strawberry red dress. It wasn't until a week later, while driving my car across town, that I finally realized that I had to give that dress to Susan (the heroine in "Sono Claudio). I stomped and raged about it for days and finally agreed that I would give "my" dress to Susan. It was another turning point in the writing of the story. From there I virtually flew to the ending--the happy, romantic ending.

Years ago I read a book that recommended for those of us whose families never supported our dreams or offered the kind of encouragement we wanted, to create a fantasy family. They could be living or dead. So I did. It is a wonderful family and I still call on some of them sometimes to help me. There was Uncle Vincent Van Gogh who helped me with color. Uncle Fred Astair who danced with me and thought I was very graceful. Grandmother Eleanor Roosevelt who encouraged me to be who I am. I chose Jane Fonda as my workout leader but she was a little hard on me so I replaced her with Dolly Parton who always called me "honey" as she coaxed me into exercising.

I got myself into a bit of trouble with my real family over my fictional family. I telephoned my daughter one day to say that I had a wonderful conversation with Uncle Vincent and he had inspired me to create a new painting. I went on and on about how excited I was.  

"Who's Uncle Vincent?" Laura inquired.

"Vincent Van Gogh," I replied.

"Mom, isn't he dead?   How could you have a conversation with him?"

I tried to explain about my imaginary family but I could tell Laura thought I'd stepped off the deep end.

A day or so later my son Tim called and asked in a very serious voice, "so Mom, do you want to tell me about Uncle Vincent?'

I was pretty much amused by the whole incident but I know for certain that I had them worried about my sanity for a while.

Months later on Laura's birthday I gathered a big paint box with brushes, canvases, and various other art supplies. I wrapped it all up in a plain brown package and tied it up with string. In what I hoped looked like Van Gogh's handwriting, I wrote: "To Laura, Happy Birthday, Love, Uncle Vincent." Laura's long-time roommate took a look at it and asked, "Who's Uncle Vincent?"

Well, I thought if that idea worked so well, why not a literary group? I had had a falling out with my normal support group and had spent a couple of days on the pity-pot feeling like no one understood me. So I created a new group. I call them the Board of Directors. They consist of:   F. Scott Fitzgerald, who helps me weave romance and magic into my stories. Annie Lamott, who keeps me realistic about story and pacing. Charles Dickens to help me with memorable characters. Rosamunde Pilcher for her sense of place and ability to bring surroundings alive.   And Maeve Binchy for her ability to weave magic around normal, everyday people. I added Isabel Allende because she is so full of love and good will that she brings a healing energy over the whole group.

When I was much younger my real family worried over my active imagination. My mother thought I spent too much time daydreaming. At one point in high school, I thought I was crazy because of all the characters I created and situations I made up. As an adult I realize that those voices were telling me their stories so I would write them. Susan Paige and Julie Taylor are extensions of myself, I know that. But I also know that they are my best friends and will guide me in telling their stories.  

But I've got to run, because right now the Board of Directors is pressuring me for the next chapter and Dolly is sweet-talking me into going out for a walk.