Guest post by author Stephanie LaVigne
Stephanie LaVigne is a bestselling mystery and romance fiction author. She frequently appears in the media, including podcasts, tv, magazines, and online author interviews. Connect with her on your favorite social media platforms and sign up for her Newsletter at www.StephanieLaVigne.com to hear about things going on in her part of the world! You can find Stephanie on Instagram, Facebook, Bookbub, and Goodreads.
Have you ever wondered whether your favorite books are creations of the author’s imagination, or if the stories are a reflection of their lives and experiences?
It’s a question I often get asked in interviews. Initially, I would answer that my books were purely fictional, based on situations that I found interesting. For example, I have never been a cowgirl or faked my own death. (Surprising, I know.) These are aliases I get to take on, so I can play in a make-believe world and make a living from it.
Then one day, suddenly, wham!
I realized that I’ve been lying this whole time. Worse, I don’t think anything in my life has ever been safe from being stolen, and then subsequently snuck onto the pages of my books!
Stranger still, it turned out not to be that simple. My life and stories began to resemble a deep, philosophical chicken-and-egg situation. Could it be the Law of Attraction at work? Some sort of witchy magic I didn’t know I possess? I’m still unsure. But here’s where my theory begins…
Stranger Things
Life mimics art, which mimics life, which mimics art…
Here’s my most recent example:
It happened last week at the coffee shop near my house. The day I realized that my “real life” and my “writing life” had formed into a perfect self-perpetuating figure eight.
My best writer friend and I had gone to the café to work. Normally we each work from our home offices, but in an effort to keep each other on our toes, we decided to change it up.
The perfect, tucked away “don’t talk to us” work table was already occupied. Undeterred, we made our way to the set of overstuffed armchairs that sat cozily across from a smoking-den inspired couch. What it lacked in anti-social boundaries, it made up for with style.
Minutes into setting up, a handsome young guy settled into the couch across from us. Polite nods led to attempting to ignore the proximity. He enjoyed his lunch as my friend and I quietly launched into a discussion about our current and upcoming book series. We spoke of quirky detectives; we spoke of enemies-to-lovers romance; we spoke of sexy shirtless shifters, magical cats, and other fodder that we have become desensitized to, considering it normal everyday conversation. With nothing but his sandwich and good looks to focus on, our couchmate finally jumped in to ask, “What is it you two do for work?”
With no reason not to, I began to tell him about the story I was working on where my heroine has hidden herself away in women’s prison to stay safe from the “big bad.” However, she quickly finds herself sprung free by a well-meaning socialite-turned-lawyer, so she has to come up with plan B. A change of identity and need to hide in plain sight leads my plucky heroine to uncovering FloridaMan crimes alongside a stoic, yet lovable detective.
And that’s when it began to happen; my brain began to somehow channel my heroine. When our new coffee house friend got up to grab a napkin, I spied a tiny key ring hanging from his hip.
“Do you work for the city?” I asked.
“Yes, I do,” he returned with curious seduction in his eyes.
I continued to dance around my interrogation. My questions were playful and leading, taking hints from things he said and did, using new in-lines to lead him down avenues that told more than he probably intended to share. It was fun and intriguing, and dare I say, a little badass. Everything I aim for in my female detective main characters to be.
As I spoke, my brain was on fire. Had I become a female detective? Was I am morphing into my characters through sheer willpower?
When Fiction Begins To Infect Real Life…
When local alerts hit my phone, or I drive past a taped off crime scene, or I see a helicopter circling the neighborhood, I immediately dive into my limited online resources. I’m trying to figure out where the suspect may be afoot, or what crime may have been committed. Then my mind runs through every scenario of how it could have unfolded.
This year I signed up for an online class in forensics and profiling, and I’ve have started the process of getting my private investigator’s license…just like the main character in one of my book series. But I no longer know where the original motivation first came from. Did I secretly want to become a PI, so I created a character to live out that life? Or did I think a lady detective would make a cool character, and then the idea started to appeal to me in real life?
In fact, that particular character’s life has begun looking an awful lot like my own. (Minus the part where her husband goes mysteriously missing and she ends up getting to live on a houseboat, which is my dream. The houseboat part, not the disappearing husband bit. My spouse already gets nervous enough because he thinks too many of my characters are widows.)
Then Real Life Inspires Fiction…
The final turn of my fiction brain figure-eight was right after I left the coffee shop while I was driving home. I’ve been working building a new romance series, with multiple characters, who will find love over several books. Suddenly the handsome guy from the coffee shop popped into my mind. Through a few foot-in-mouth comments by me, I’d found out he was a city building inspector. A person that not everybody likes, especially those trying to get a permit to finish their construction project or home renovation. What if…
…a trio of friends in my upcoming books suddenly came into vision. Book 1. The coffee scene unfolded. Two women, not completely unlike my bestie and I, sat at a coffee shop chatting. Our future heroine’s wedding ring was removed because the ladies had just gotten paraffin wax manicures. An inquisitive stranger sparks up a friendly conversation with the duo, leading to a flirty exchange. When the hot guy leaves, her friend teases her that he liked her. It was fun, but our girl is married. She lets the random encounter be one of those tiny ego boosts that everyone deserves to have occasionally.
Fast forward to Book 3. Our heroine is back! Between Book 1 and Book 2, her failing marriage ends in divorce. By Book 3, her very own love story, she’s fixing up an old house, ready to start her new life in singleland. However, some infuriatingly dumb, idiot inspector has denied some of her permits. Amidst her casual beratement of the faceless inspector, he walks up, a sly grin spreading across his face. “You talking about me?” he asks with amusement.
Cue the return of our handsome coffee shop stranger from Book 1. And there begins their very own home renovation-themed rollercoaster of a love story.
Round and Round It Goes…
And so it will continue.
Parts of my current and upcoming books will continue to manifest into my own life and provide subconscious inspiration to creep back into the stories. And round-and-round, up-and-down it will go.
So when you see me next, ask how my private investigator license is coming along. And if it’s ten years from the writing of this article, don’t be surprised if I have a full-blown private detective shingle hung over my office door.
If I do, you will likely find me shaking my head wondering how life so strongly mimicked art, which mimicked life, which mimicked art.
So think a moment. What mischievous, aspirational, or surprising things have made their way into your life from unexpected sources?
Enjoyed reading this article Stephanie Villeneuve