About Me

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Sandi Underwood was born a PK (Preacher’s Kid) in the beautiful East Tennessee Mountains, where family stories were passed down, generation-to-generation. Her love of writing was cultivated at an early age when family get-togethers and Church dinners-on-the-grounds provided an idyllic backdrop for memories that fuel her stories. Sandi’s early career included working with children in both the public and private sectors. Later in life, her path took a different direction, but her love of books was ever-present. Today, she shares a home with her rescue dog, Gus, and draws inspiration from her grandchildren as she continues to write for both children and adults. Learn more at www.sandiunderwood.net and track her writing journey at www.sandiu.blogspot.com, follow her on Twitter @SandiGCY, and like her Facebook page at Sandi Underwood/gcywriter or email her at sandiu@comcast.net.

Monday, March 11, 2013

Week 10:

This has been a crazy week at work. Yes, some of us (those of us who are ASPIRING writers) have real jobs—totally unrelated to writing fiction. When the real world comes calling, very little writing happens—or that’s how it is for me. Inspiration and creativity don’t have on & off switches. I think I can honestly say, though, my current WIP never totally leaves my mind. Even when I’m not writing, I’m working on the plot or a conversation or a twist. It’s always good to have pen & paper handy. Ideas need to be written down, because sometimes, they go as quickly as they come. Just writing down bullet points can keep the thought alive. Later on, I can flesh out the who, why, when and how; but without that initial idea, I often spend precious time trying to recreate it.

My challenge this week: My writing buddy, Nancy, gave me some great tips on my last chapter. She said I needed to use more sensory: taste, smell, feel, etc. What a great opportunity to bring the Smoky Mountains alive! Instead of only telling how something looks, I can paint pictures about the gauzy mist that often drifts down to the treetops. I can feel the sting of the frosty dew on the tender green grass. I can smell the distinct odor of wild onions that lingers on your hands when you tug a few of the early sprigs from the thawing ground. Thanks, Nancy!



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