Inspiration- Like a Brick Through a Window

Hello Lovelies,

If you have “liked” my page on Facebook, you might have seen I was struck by inspiration again in the early hours of the morning. This time it was a definite ‘hit’, like a brick through a window, it literally was a brick that inspired me, but thank goodness it did not actually go through a window, or any window that I am aware of.

It happened when I was driving this morning at around 5:55am, I saw a brick in the middle of the road and I had to drive closer to the kerb to avoid driving over it. I starting wondering why there was a brick in the middle of the road, had it been used for something mischievous, even illegal? Or was it simply dropped there by mistake? At this point new characters popped into my mind, I saw them throwing the brick at an ‘enemy’s’ window in an attempt to “send a message” and the attempt hilariously failing. That is the moment when WIP #3 was born.

Since these characters popped up, I have written a plot summary, some brief character profiles, a prologue and almost the entire first chapter. It seems I have a comedic piece of work on my hands, consisting of a group of dimwitted characters aged form 17 to 25 who long to be members of a bikie gang, but don’t have licences, motorbikes or any idea of what “real bikies” do. The “Diamondback Rebels” (“diamondback” named after the brand of bicycles they ride) set out to make themselves known to the various bikie gangs and to prove themselves to be “real bikies”.

This WIP does contains coarse language, but it is used in context as the “Diamondback Rebels” believe that all real bikies swear. Except, of course, not in front of their wives, girlfriends, mothers or grandmothers. The WIP is not serious at all and is not supposed to bear any resemblance to any person. Please keep in m ind the excerpts I am sharing are unedited.




Picture from Flickr Creative Commons Copyright Joanna Bourne

Excerpt from Prologue

The theme from the bikie show on the TV, “Brothers in Arms” is playing in my head and we’re running. We’re running from the cops, running from the bikies and running from our mums who already have the wooden spoons ready, pretty much running for our lives. Pretty much everyone seems pissed at us right now, but we’re not really that bad. We only wanted to be part of a bikie gang, but none of them would let us join. So what if we didn’t ride a Harley or even have a licence, it’s about being brothers in arms and not what you ride. Well that’s what we thought anyway, now I realise how wrong we were……

…we were getting fed up with their excuses, “You don’t even have a licence”, so we failed a few times, we would have licences eventually, “You don’t even know how to ride”, yeah, that was true but we’d pick it up pretty quickly I reckon, “You don’t own a decent bike or have the money to buy one”, well you see that’s where they were wrong, me and Azza worked our butts off for a whole month, on the weekends, to buy an awesome pair of Diamondback Overdrives, got them for a great price too from Big W. Sure they were mountain bikes, not motorbikes, but they were still pretty awesome and they could go pretty hard too. Even with our awesome bikes the excuses still kept rolling in, “You dumb shits don’t even know what being a bikie is about”, well that was it, these words set the wheels in motion, me and Azza decided that if we were gonna be bikies, then first we had to prove we knew what being a bikie was all about, this is when the Diamondback Rebels were born….

Excerpt from Chapter One “Show Them Who’s Boss”

There were now six members of the gang, me (Darren “Dazza” Brown) and my best mate Aaron “Azza” Williams, as the founding members and ideas guys. Then there was the eager 17 year old Garry “Gazza” Johnson who was the nerd of the gang and liked all that chemistry and science shit, there was dopey Larry “Lazza” Anderson who we kept around for a laugh who liked to hit stuff and was the oldest member of the gang at age 25.  Lastly there were the Jones boys, Harry “Hazza” Jones and Barry “Bazza” Jones who were twins who liked making things blow up.

The plan was to meet on our bikes at the 7eleven on the corner at 11pm, where we would give the guys the ski masks to cover their faces and we’d ride past Nicko’s house and “deliver” the brick straight through the lounge room window. It was perfect, Azza and I would lead the gang, Hazza and Bazza would stick behind a bit and look out for cops armed with some crackers to distract the cops if they showed and  Lazza would take care of the delivery while Gazza kept an eye out for Nicko and the rest of his family. Everything was set and ready to go. Azza and I got to the servo at about 10:55pm and waiting for the rest of the guys to show. Of course Lazza was late because the dumbass forgot we were meeting at the 7eleven and went to the Caltex down the road instead. Lucky he actually remembered his phone and Azza texted him asking him where the bloody hell he was. “Right boys everyone ready?” Azza looked like he was preparing to give some inspirational pep talk to the guys when Lazza interrupted him, “hey guys, these mask things kinda suck balls, I can’t even firggen see out of it.” At the same time we all looked at Lazza and started pissing ourselves laughing at him, the dumbass had put the mask on backwards; no wonder he couldn’t bloody see out of it. As Gazza fixed Lazza’s mask for him, Azza quickly went through the plan. “Righto boys, settle the hell down and listen to me. Nicko’s place in on the corner of Woodstock and Bougainville. Ranga and I will lead the way, with Hazza and Bazza looking out for coppers. You’ve got the stuff ready don’t you boys?” The Jones boys nodded, “Now Gazza you hold onto the brick until we get there, and then hand it to Lazza who will chuck it straight through the lounge room window. Everyone got it?” Once we were sure everyone understood the plan we started heading to Nicko’s place. We got there without running into any problems and Gazza and handing the brick to Lazza while Azza and I held onto their bikes so we would be ready to take off as soon at the brick went through the window. My guts felt weird and I don’t know if it was excitement or if I was scared shitless, but if anyone asks I’m gonna go with the first one. I held my breath as Lazza held up the brick and heaved it towards the window, as he hurled his arm forward he slipped on the wet grass and his arm on the garden edge. The brick bumped off the wall and landed in the garden, “You bloody idiot! You were supposed to chuck it through the window not into the firggen garden!” Azza was more than furious, “Pick it up and do it properly before someone comes out and catches us!” Lazza rubbed his elbow and looked sorry for himself, this bloody big baby was gonna get us all caught, “But my elbow hurts, I can’t do it.” Gazza picked up the brick, “Oh, harden up princess, I’ll bloody do it!” Gazza hurled the brick towards the window as I held my breath again, the brick hit the window this time but it didn’t go through like we had planned, instead the brick cracked the window and fell back into the garden. “What the bloody hell was that?” Nicko’s dad’s voice boomed from inside the house, Lazza and Gazza jumped onto their bikes and we all hauled our asses out of their before anyone saw us.

So things didn’t go exactly as planned, but surely once they see the cracked window, they’ll find the brick in the garden, read the note and then they’ll know that the Diamondback Rebels mean business, for sure.

© Katherine A. Kovacs and The Writer Within, (2013-2015). Unauthorised use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Katherine A. Kovacs and The Writer Within with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Words From the Heart

Hello lovelies,

I’ve realised that my writing has become more “romance” than I had anticipated. It’s not something I consciously planned but it definitely seems to be the direction my writing is taking and there’s nothing wrong with that. After all, my characters are telling me their story, I am just the one writing it down. Some people may roll their eyes and think the world has enough love stories. Whilst there may be some truth in that, I believe even the same story can be told over and over again, the difference is the WAY it is told and the WAY the writer connects with its audience.
After seeing a writer friend’s status, expressing her concern that her ‘original’ idea, might not be as original as she initially thought, I have realised that throughout literary (and film) history, there are stories that have been told many times. Yet each time, if it is done well, the story is told differently, perhaps from a different perspective, reaching a different and new audience. Consider how many, “Cinderella” stories exist, some are well written and it is only when you look deeper that you realise what you just read was essentially a “Cinderella” story. In all seriousness, is anything truly original in this day and age?
I have been told that my WIP is slightly reminiscent of Downton Abbey. While I have never seen a single episode of this show and I have no idea what it is about or who the main characters are, it seems that the writer and the reader each have their own set of influences, whether we realise it or not. We cannot realistically expect our ideas to be 100% original and whether we realise it or not, our writing is influenced by something, someone, our experiences.
While the idea or concept may not be free from influence, the words we write are our own. These words come from the heart, even if your work is not of the romance genre. Every word you write is from the heart, the words on the page are pieces of you. Writing is a labor of love, if your words don’t come from the heart, then I honestly believe that they won’t be any good. If you don’t believe your words, how do you expect your reader to believe?

“There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at the typewriter and bleed.” Ernest Hemingway

“Fill your paper with the breathings of you heart.” William Wordsworth

While I admit I am relatively new to the world of writing and I am not an accomplished, published or professional writer, I do believe that if our words are from the heart, then they are our own. Words from the heart are not words of romance, but words that are ours, words that we use to tell the story of our characters. So it doesn’t matter if our idea is not 100% original, we cannot shut ourselves off from all the influences of the world. However, we can make sure our words are 100% our own, if they are words from the heart. So I say, fellow writers, write the story that’s inside of you, give your characters a voice with your words.

Happy Writing!

* I am in no way encouraging plagiarism in this post, I am merely acknowledging the influences that the world has on writing and creativity. Plagiarism is stealing and robbing someone of their words from the heart. The words must be your own, otherwise they are not from the heart.

© Katherine A. Kovacs and The Writer Within, (2013-2015). Unauthorised use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Katherine A. Kovacs and The Writer Within with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

The Masks We Wear

Photo from Flickr Creative Commons Copyright © Photomiqs – Anders Eriksson

Hello Lovelies,

The past week I’ve been working on two different pieces of writing, but as I explore the characters further, I am beginning to discover that there are some similarities between them. In the novel I am working on, Thomas presents himself as a confident, masculine and strong person who knows and gets exactly what he wants and cares little for the feelings of the women he used and left behind. Yet, on the inside he is just a lonely and scared little boy who craves affection, comfort and most of all he wants someone to love and love him in return -unconditionally. This is similar to the female lead in the (not so) short story I’m working on, “she” hides her feelings from everyone around her as she is afraid of being hurt. Both of these characters wear a metaphorical mask, hiding their true self from the world and even hiding from those closest to them, for fear of being hurt, embarrassed or even as a way of feeling confident.

These are not just fictional character traits though. All of us at some point in our lives, in one situation or another, have worn a mask, hiding our true self from the world. Think about the time when you smiled politely and nodded in agreement with someone, when really on the inside you were thinking that they were a complete and utter moron and you really wanted to tell them what you truly thought. Or perhaps, it was a friend you had feelings for, but you never did anything about it, for fear of rejection. Instead you wore the mask of ‘best friend’ and even listened to them talk about someone they were smitten by, telling them how ‘awesome’ the person sounded and that they should ‘go for it’, while on the inside you are screaming at them, “what about me? Aren’t I good enough for you?” Perhaps it was a work function or event you were practically forced into attending. You smile, mingle and make polite conversation but on the inside you are thinking that your ideal Friday night is curled up on the lounge with a good book not spending time with John* from accounts who is a complete and utter tool and needs a good whack across the face and Jenny* from the front desk who really should have dressed a little more modestly for a work function unless her aim is to sleep her way to the top. The point is, we all wear masks and often we posses the ability to wear many different masks. Sometimes our masks are to meet societal expectations, other times they are for self-preservation, but at some point we’ve all worn a mask. The question is though, do we constantly wear some type of mask and do we ever, really, let our true self shine through? Is there that one person who is “The One” who knows every emotion, thought, desire and physicality of our being? Or do we present different facets of our true self to a few select people who are closest to us?

After providing some food for though, I have two small excerpts to share with you today. The first is an excerpt from the (not so) short story, where the male character is talking about “her” and the mask that she wears. The second is an excerpt from my novel I’m working on, where Thomas is discussing one of the many masks that he wears.

Feel free to post any comments and thoughts about today’s post.



I know her well enough to know that the way she is behaving is a coping mechanism and the mask she wears is to shut everyone out, even those she cares for. As those who we care for the most, are the ones who can also hurt us the most, but I would never hurt her in any way.  -“Him”

By nothing short of a miracle, I managed to make it through dinner without telling my grandmother exactly what I thought of her and the way she was treating Rosie. Thankfully I was able to make polite conversation with the other people dining with us and I maintained my mask for society, you know the one with the polite smile and the perfectly timed compliments? Rosie is worried though, not because of the way my grandmother is treating her or worried that she might not fit in, but worried because she can see the fine lines that are becoming cracks in my mask. She is the only one who would see these cracks forming, the only person who knows the real me. –“Thomas”

*”John” and “Jenny” are not based on real people

© Katherine A. Kovacs and The Writer Within, (2013-2015). Unauthorised use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Katherine A. Kovacs and The Writer Within with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Creating a Connection

Hello Lovelies,

Over the past week I have taken a step back from my novel and have been working on the short story that I mentioned in last week’s post. Well, I thought it was a short story, but now it seems it is only the beginning of something much, much bigger. This current piece of writing came a time when I was in a ‘questioning’ type of mood. I began asking; who am I? Am I doing what I should be doing? I also began to wonder, if I hadn’t made the conscious decision to start writing finally, would my stories and words find another way to manifest themselves? This is when ‘she’ came to life. the woman who stared at the stranger in the mirror, my newest character. At this point in the writing process this character does not have a name and honestly, I’m not sure if she will ever have one. While this woman is not a representation of myself, she is not even an alter-ego, I do feel that she represents all those who are not following their dreams and those who are not true to their nature. I believe that if we do not consciously choose to embrace our true nature, then the world has a way of pushing us in the other direction. I’m not saying we all have a predetermined destiny that cannot be changed, I am simply saying if we do not remain true to ourselves, then we will never be truly happy with our lives, even when we think we have everything we need and want in life.

While writing ‘her’ story, I developed an incredible connection with this character. I’m feel as though she is telling me her story and I am watching it unfold before me. I do not know exactly where her story is heading, in fact I didn’t even know where it was heading as I was writing it. ‘She’ is the one telling the story, I am merely the one following, putting her words into writing. People who do not write, may not understand the emotional connection that writers develop with their characters, that’s why it is crucial for writers to find the right words to convey these emotions to the reader. As said by Robert Frost, “No tears in the writer, no tears in the reader. No surprise in the writer, no surprise in the reader”. As ‘she’ told me her story and I wrote down the words, I unashamedly admit, at times I was close to tears, I felt her pain, her heartache, her loneliness, confusion and frustration. I was shocked when I learned of the true nature of her ‘accident’ and the events that lead up to it (something I feel needs to be explored further), I just hope that I have found the right words to convey these emotions to the reader.

You see, a writer naturally forms a connection with their characters, it is a bond that forms on its own, it is not created. However, it is the writer’s job to help create that same connection for the reader, through the use of words, if they are going to truly appreciate and understand the story written.

Today I have a brief excerpt from my (not so) short story, showcasing the rainbow of emotions experienced by the lead character. Again, remember this is unedited work.




Image copyright Katherine A. Kovacs/The Writer Within

The endless frustration of having no recollection of her life before the accident was so physically and emotionally exhausting that sometimes she simply wanted to lash out. 

Within the last few days she had pretended the loss of her memory did not bother her, she had screamed and yelled like a crazy person, told the doctors that she would give them anything if they could just give her back her life as it was before the accident and she had sobbed like a heartbroken teenager for hours on end. She moved back and forth through the stages of grief, but at this point she had not experienced the final stage of acceptance. She could not accept that the person in the mirror was a stranger, she could not accept that it had been three months since she was found and a week since she regained consciousness and in that time, not one person came looking for her, no one had reported her missing, not a single person had questioned her whereabouts. What had she done in her life before that would cause her to be utterly alone in the world? 

She glanced across to where she had hurled the pen just moments before, she stepped towards it and bent down to pick it up. As the twirled the pen between her fingers, her anger began to subside. Again, she sat down on the edge of the bed and picked up the notebook she had thrown in her moment of frustration. As she moved the tip of the pen across the page she wrote four simple words, “live, love, laugh, write.” 

© Katherine A. Kovacs and The Writer Within, (2013-2015). Unauthorised use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Katherine A. Kovacs and The Writer Within with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

When Inspiration Strikes

Hello lovelies,

This week I’ve been working on a couple of new projects and also uni semester has started unfortunately. With the start of two (or three if you count uni) new projects, I began to wonder should writing occur when inspiration strikes or should the writer continue writing whether they feel inspired or not? I guess what I am asking is, what comes first the inspiration or the writing?
I think that inspiration comes in many different ways. Sometimes our inspiration is obvious, like a light bulb moment when we get a very clear idea of a new piece of work and the writing seems to flow. Other times we have to search and keep writing and rewriting until the words fit.

Some days, inspiration finds us and it hits us in the face, yelling at us to take notice and to do something about it! That is what happened to me twice this week and as a result I have the beginning of a short story and also a rewrite of the Bruno Mars song, “Billionaire” about wanting to be a writer. The song rewrite was like the hit in the face I was just referring to, I was singing in the shower (I mean, c’mon who doesn’t?). When I came to the line, “a different city every night” I accidently sang, “a different story every night” and BOOM, that was the hit in the face resulting in myself rewriting half of the song in less than 2 minutes.

Other times, instead of inspiration finding me, I have to go digging for it. Sometimes I sit down and reread some of my previous work, other times I do some research, but what is important is that I do not only write when I feel inspired. Of course it is important to write when inspiration strikes, but it is not by any means the only time or way to write.

A good writer not only writes when they are inspired, but also when they are not. Inspiration will not always come knocking on your door, or hit you in the face commanding you to listen, sometimes you are the one who needs to search for it, to dig until it materialises. We should live to be inspired and be inspired to live. Read and write at every opportunity, not simply when inspiration strikes. Remember all writers have the weapons of reread, rewrite and review and if that doesn’t work there’s always a delete button. It doesn’t matter if what you write seems like complete rubbish, the point is that you’re writing, hold onto that and keep doing it every chance you get.

Be inspired to write and write to be inspired.

Enjoy your week,

© Katherine A. Kovacs and The Writer Within, (2013-2015). Unauthorised use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Katherine A. Kovacs and The Writer Within with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.