Writing Inspiration

My First Epigraph
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My First Epigraph

This post is about a 5-minute read.

What’s an epigraph? If you’re a regular reader, you’ve seen a page that quotes a poem, song lyrics, or other meaningful sentiments. The author chose it to set the mood, foreshadow, or elicit a reaction from readers. The epigraph page lives in the front matter of novels. Oh. Front matter is all the pages at the front of a book that you skip over. Y’know, the copyright page, dedications, foreword, etc. However, if you enjoy that stuff, this post is for you.

As a supporting task to my writing, I’ve been collecting song lyrics and other quotes that evoke the same feelings I’m expressing in TILDY SILVERLEAF and the STARFALL OMEN and future books. As I mentioned above, I had specific reasons for choosing each of these:

Photo of the Epigraph page from Tildy Silverleaf and the Starfall Omen. Text starts in the 3rd paragraph of the post.

Come closer and see, see into the trees.
Find the girl while you can.
—A Forest, by the Cure

Come closer, Sen. What would you like?
Just name it.
—No-Face to Chihiro, Spirited Away

This is my favorite book in all the world,
though I have never read it.
—William Goldman’s 1972 introduction to The Princess Bride

A Forest echoes a feeling that other characters have when they see Tildy in the trees. Spirited Away is foreshadowing. The Goldman quote represents my homage to that wonderful book. If you’re a curious bird who wants to learn more, read on!

Psst…as long as you’re here: Tildy Silverleaf and the Starfall Omen is available October 1, 2026! If you’re looking to support independent bookstores, check out Bookshop.org, who’s currently offering 10% off preorders. It’s also listed in the usual online retailers (B&N, Amazon, Kindle, Smashwords, Apple). Thanks in advance for your support!

A Forest was an obvious choice. One day, I was paying particular attention to all the lyrics on my playlist, as writers do, and when this came on, I sat upright. It was like they were singing the thoughts of the people who caught a glimpse of Tildy within her haunted forest home. I wasn’t considering the epigraphs at the time, but I immediately made a note to add this one.

Black and white photo for The Cure's "A Forest".
Come closer and see
See into the trees
Find the girl
While you can
Come closer and see
See into the dark
Just follow your eyes
Just follow your eyes
I hear her voice
Calling my name
The sound is deep
In the dark
I hear her voice
And start to run
Into the trees
Into the trees
Into the trees
Suddenly I stop
But I know it's too late
I'm lost in a forest
All alone
The girl was never there
It's always the same
I'm running towards nothing
Again and again and again and again...

Songwriters: Laurence Andrew Tolhurst / Robert James Smith / Simon Gallup / Matthieu A. Hartley
© Fiction Songs Ltd.

I’ve loved Studio Ghibli movies for thirty years, and Spirited Away has always been my favorite. The setting and accompanying mythology was different from anything I’d seen or read. I still believe it, and I often write with that in mind. Another consideration is this: Studio Ghibli stories don’t end with the killing of the antagonist. Compassion often saves the day. I really like that idea…

Ahem. Segueing from one bit of foreshadowing to another, I chose this quote to foreshadow the temptation heroes often face. I also liked using a movie quote because it reflects my diverse interests in storytelling.

No-Face: [offering a bowl of food] “Try this. It’s delicious. Want some gold? I’m not giving it to anybody else! Come closer, Sen. What would you like? Just name it.”

Image of a book page that reads, "This is my favorite book in all the world, though I have never read it." —William Goldman’s 1972 introduction to The Princess Bride.

Late in the writing process, I still had a Prologue no one liked. Trusted Readers told me the heavy, formal tone wasn’t working, even if it achieved my goal of contrasting the lighter style of the rest of the novel. And if that wasn’t enough feedback, a professional reviewer had this advice:

The author of TILDY SILVERLEAF AND THE STARFALL OMEN might consider shortening the prologue in order to get to the main plot more quickly. The prologue is interesting, and has vital information, but could be trimmed significantly for the sake of allowing readers to access the most integral parts of the book more easily.
–The Blacklist

Message received: “Murder your darlings.” So I axed 90% of one of the first chapters I wrote and created a new problem. How do I quickly engage Readers and convey critical info with just a fraction of that original Prologue? I found inspiration in Peter Falk’s wonderful grandfather portrayal in the movie version of The Princess Bride. Not wanting to appear to be ripping off Goldman, I riffed instead, changing the nature of the relationship between the Golden Narrator and the Child, as well as the tone of their interactions. They also serve as a stand-in for the Readers, perhaps echoing some criticisms they had. And so, this quote provides the bridge between that work and my homage.

If you read this far, thank you! I hope you found this behind-the-scenes look interesting. A writer has so many considerations when writing a story, the logistics are often staggering. And so, putting this much thought into a few quotes might not appear to be the best use of time. However, the Reader experience is important to me, so I consider as many things as I can to deliver a enjoyable activity.

Mike

Enjoy this post? Please give us a like or leave a comment, and we’ll share more like this!

(C) Michael Wallevand, September 2026

decorative image of twisting ivy vines and leaves

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Writing Exercise – An unexpected prompt

“Mike, try to think of one of the most insane things that could happen…” the text conversation began.

Turns out, that’s EXACTLY the kind of writing prompt I LOVE. And even better, he didn’t want to share the experience until our next call.

“You should write a three paragraph story of what you think happened.”

It’s like someone gave him a manual for hacking my writer’s brain.

Front page of the Roswell Daily Record, reporting a UFO crash in 1947.

I replied that writing was the easy part, but expected I wouldn’t be anywhere near the mark for what actually happened. In much of my writing, I tend to drift into fantastical situations or absurdity, and I’m usually not interested in reining myself in.

I was waiting for the school bus, so I started telling myself a story similar to the 1947 Roswell UFO crash, but in his neighboring state instead of New Mexico. However, it immediately became clear that he was bursting to share, even if he was keeping the full story secret until we could talk.

“It involves death, prison, and six hours at the animal care center.”

WOW. OK, no aliens. For now.

I’ve had conversations like this before, if not with details as intriguing as this, and I’ve found that including some personal info is a great way to draw the person into the brief story I’m crafting for them. It’s same reason I first considered a regional event like Roswell. I set the aliens idea aside and let those three details form a kind of movie for my mind’s eye.

Fifteen minutes later, I had this.

A Day of Troubles

Saturday. Bright. Warm but not too hot. One of the best kinds of days to say goodbye. Little did we know, God had more than one kind of farewell on the agenda.

Scratch that. There’s no way we could have had even the smallest inkling, but I get ahead of myself.

The day of my mother-in-law’s funeral had finally arrived. I say ‘finally’ because the disease had taken a long, tortuous route toward the final conclusion. But as I stated above, it was a good day – the kind she would have liked. One where we might have had lunch as a family in the park, or perhaps spent some time hiking in the desert foothills.

We were both drained and energized in a way that only funerals make a person feel. You reconnect with so many people and share so many wonderful stories. You also laugh more than you anticipate. And yet, you have to be on the whole day. It’s like you’ve adopted a persona that people expect to see: someone strong and well-adjusted. They don’t want to see behind the mask you wear, even though they wouldn’t be surprised because they’ve worn that mask, too.

Afterwards, we enjoyed the weather like she would have wanted us to: my wife, myself, and our dog, Trouble. He’s quite empathetic for a dog, and he seemed to be behaving out of respect for us. Until he wasn’t.

On our way home from the park, he caught me off-guard as he chased a rodent or something under a car. Before I could blink, I lost the leash, he scurried under the car, and disappeared on the other side.

We searched for hours, considering ourselves fortunate that we could follow the occasional bark or curse words that chased him as he scampered through people’s yards.

Dusk approached, heralding more than the night. Ahead lay the state prison, and it was lit up like a city under siege. We’d later learn that Trouble had discovered a hidden tunnel under the fences, and that three inmates had discovered Trouble.

What happens next? I have no idea. It’s an unedited draft of an idea that simply flowed from brain to page. It might never be fleshed out. Despite that, conscious writing decisions were made.

The story begins with a mix of emotions and proceeds at a slow pace, which was deliberate so I could ramp up the action or whatever absurdity my writer brain could conjure. I’m building toward something, even if I don’t know that is.

This brings me to another decision: while there’s nothing particularly profound about these 350 words, I’ve left myself an intriguing mystery to help spark inspiration, should I ever go back to it. It’s a writing technique I developed to help me on those days when my creative tank is running low. To learn more, check out Set Yourself Mysteries.

Cover of a Mad Libs book

It reminds me of another creative exercise I did in college after I changed my major from computer programming to writing. I’d tell someone to give me three details, usually something like a name, a place, and an event, and then I’d spend ten or fifteen minutes telling a story I was making up on the spot. Call it “reverse Mad Libs”. In hindsight, I was teaching myself a way to organize my thoughts around a few key details.

I share these techniques as examples of the tools in my writer’s toolbox. Even when I’m enjoying a simple writing exercise, I’m using these tools without having to think about them. It means the creativity flows better and the effort of writing is more joy than work.

Good luck with your writing!

–Mike

(C) Michael Wallevand, June 2026

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Sharing is caring…and inspiring

In my last post, Collaboration like peanut butter and chocolate, I described a serendipitous connection with a coworker that seemed to be leading toward a musical partnership.

In hindsight, we were kinda dancing around the topic of collaboration, feeling each other out to determine whether we could work together. Instead of the direct approach – just saying it aloud – this oblique route felt more organic as it developed. Unforced.

As we talked, the conversation was effortless and meaningful. We shared our passions and several creative projects. One that I shared was a novella I started….ooof, twenty years ago. The manuscript still waits patiently in the mezzanine of my brain: I’m not actively working on it, but I haven’t yet relegated it to the dusty attic purgatory where abandoned ideas are stored until the Muse drags them back into the daylight.

Well, that metaphor was certainly well-mixed.

Goo Goo Dolls meet and greet at Best Buy

The novella Healed tells the story of an outcast who has the ability to heal others and take away their pain, but in exchange, those ills manifest in him. He is cursed to bear the physical and emotional scars of each person he saves. Disfigured and burdened beyond what a person can carry, he wishes for nothing but to die. Except he can’t. The inspiration for the story was a lyric from Iris by Goo Goo Dolls, and we enjoyed a laugh as I recounted the disastrous story where I shared that with the band: My Writing Freaked Out a Rock Star.

As I described the protagonist’s torment, generosity, and selflessness, my colleague was enthralled in that way storytellers hope their audiences will be. He pulled more detail from me, asked probing questions, and was otherwise highly engaged. The experience was rewarding in a way that makes you feel better about your creative projects.

The next day, I got this message from him.

I couldn’t stop thinking about your characters, especially the guy who cuts himself. Well it definitely inspired me. I wrote something to capture how I feel, the image of him cutting himself over and over, falling over and over, until he falls for the final time, only to finally be lifted up. So last night I wrote The Law of Gravity.

Seriously, THE NEXT DAY I received a song based on a short discussion about a story I wrote. It was one of the most meaningful gestures of my life, and it told me everything I needed to know about his creative process.

As you can probably imagine, it sparked my writing brain and I knew I had to return the favor. As I listened to 8 tracks from an album he was finishing, I wrote lyrics that I think captured the mood and style of his music. I’ll share them in the next post!

Good luck with your creative projects!

Mike

(C) Michael Wallevand, June 2026

twisting vines footer
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Collaboration like peanut butter and chocolate

gif of a famous 1970s-1980s era Reese's commercial in which a young man accidentally dunks his chocolate bar into a woman's peanut butter. And the rest was advertising history.

Recently a colleague and I connected over lunch about our creative passions. To my surprise, his are music composition and arrangement. To his delight, writing is mine.

It wasn’t quite as legendary as this seminal Gen-X moment in advertising, but maybe it’s close.

There’s something freeing about sharing your creative passions with others, especially those who have their own. The conversation evolves and builds momentum in a way that doesn’t happen when only one person is sharing.

And let’s be honest: most people enjoy the back-and-forth dialogue. They don’t want to feel like a talk show host who’s there to keep a guest talking. Or worse still, simply be an audience for someone who loves to hear themselves talk.

We shared our projects and the things that fired our creativity. We delighted in finding someone who was mutually respectful, energized by the creative process, and with whom the conversation was never forced. We discussed the craft, each from our own experience and through the language of our chosen medium.

We had two creative passions moving in parallel directions, and while we didn’t know where we headed, we knew there would be an intersection. Personally, I love this approach because it prevents us from putting up artificial guardrails that stifle creativity. We were just talking about the ways words and music could come together.

It was simple, casual, spontaneous.

Freeing.

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Writing Exercise – The An-Teak Desk

A writer never knows when inspiration will arrive or from where. Because algorithm, I stumbled upon the podcast of a friend’s wife. It was a clip in which she discussed junk drawers with her friend. They laughed in delight at the idea of the drawer opening up like the wardrobe to Narnia.

An hour later, I had 1,700 words.

Jammie, so nicknamed for her love of footie pajamas, followed her brother Matt up the dim creaking stairs, her eyes fixed on the close-cropped black hair that had earned the slender boy a moniker of his own. “Gramma missed a spot, Matchstick,” she teased, pointing at the tuft on his head.

He reached back and felt for the place, his lips hissing a derisive sound when he found it. “That’s my lucky spot. She says if you find one of those, you’ll be lucky ‘til your next haircut.”

“I think that’s one of those things grown-ups say to hide their mistakes,” she retorted.

He looked over his shoulder as they neared the top of the stairs. “With all that reading you do, I can’t believe you’ve never heard of that.”

“You read as much as I do and I bet you’ve never heard of it, either.”

The dark shape of the heavy oak door emerged from the shadows before them, a dull brass doorknob reflecting the oil lamp at the bottom of the stairs. Instead of reaching for the knob, he turned and looked down at her. “You read way more than I do.”

“Yeah, but you read en-cy-clo-pedias,” she replied, drawing out the enunciation as a sign of reverence. She’d always wanted to enjoy them – knowledge was important, her daddy advised – but she just didn’t have the head for it, her grandma said.

“I didn’t have a choice, you know.”

“But you like them now, right?”

He stared at his sister, her face aglow with wonder and curiosity. Her eyes could drink in all the details of the world, and still her inquisitiveness would not be sated. “I guess. They’re now like reading an old story you know by heart.”

“I know all about that. My books never showed me that symbol you found, though. My stories are all made up, and writers are liars.”

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Writing Exercise – Say Meaningful Things
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Writing Exercise – Say Meaningful Things

On May 25, 2020, a police officer murdered George Floyd, a suspect in his custody. As a reminder to Americans, we are all innocent until proven guilty in a court of law.

On May 26, peaceful protests began.

On May 27, peaceful protests continued. Eventually, rioters and outside agitators burned a Minneapolis neighborhood.

On May 28, I wrote this piece. Then I put it aside, unwilling to work further on such a heavy topic.

On November 20, 2024, I rediscovered it. I’m now sharing as part of my month of gratitude and my greater commitment to writing meaningful things.

Sometimes, there are no words.

You want there to be, but they fail.

You hope that you can say that genuine thing to alleviate someone’s pain.

Put an end to suffering.

Quell the madness.

Turns minds away from bigotry.

But there are no words

Tonight as Minneapolis burns.

The writer prides himself on turns of phrase

On vocabulary

On finding the perfect way to state a thing

But the practice, the tools, the tricks

They fail because there are no words.

A word typed

A thought, aloud.

These things are too small for a situation too large.

They are noise.

They are nothing.

Worthless thoughts shouted into the face of the heedless storm.

One day again

The words will come. But today, there are no words

Many of us are grateful that events like this are not part of our world, though we are too ashamed to say it aloud. We need to find our voices. The world becomes a better place when the meaningful things drown out the oppressors’ noise. Please take this encouragement to contribute your own meaningful things.

Thank you for reading. Hug your loved ones this holiday weekend.

–Mike

(C) Michael Wallevand, November 2024

How Do You Honor a Life #3 – Ace
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How Do You Honor a Life #3 – Ace

A few years ago, I was invited to join a bunch of dice-rolling, whiskey-swilling hooligans at an annual tabletop gaming retreat called Whiskey Weekend.

Bunch of guys around a large table playing games.
Hooligans, amiright?

I was amazed how quickly I fit in and bonded with the group. With my neurodiversity, I don’t make friends easily or often, nor am I comfortable in social situations. One of the people I connected with quickly was Ace. I suspect this was a combination of our similar senses of humor and my willingness to play any game he rolled out. On a future weekend, I gave him some 3D-printed token holders for Everdell, one of his favorite games. His gratitude became delight when I revealed I’d bought my own copy of Everdell because of him.

About two years ago, he shared some rough news with us. Cancer. In the time leading up to our 2024 weekend, he told us he had chemo scheduled the first Saturday of our retreat. He was going to come up briefly and then jump into the treatments. He was in good spirits, and I could tell he enjoyed even that brief time with us. He offered us silicone bracelets as part of his journey – mine disappeared after Benji snagged it for his stuffies to wear – but I believe it conveyed Ace’s philosophy of staying strong and seizing the day.

Knowing how much he loved the event, I wanted to do something special. I wanted to help him feel like he could still experience some of the weekend, even from a distance. So I did two things.

The first was for the group. I 3D printed tabletop minis for everyone to paint and wrote little stories so people could mix and match. More info here. I gave Ace first pick and he was able to make his selection before he had to leave. I later heard he painted it right away and had a fun time. I wish I could have seen the results.

The second was for Ace himself. The whiskey part of Whiskey Weekend involves a double-elimination tournament where we do a blind taste test every hour. I brought little empty bottles for each entry so Ace could sample the same selection he would have gotten with us. It was perhaps a small comfort, considering Ace looked forward to the weekend more than anyone, but he seemed truly touched. I hope he was able to enjoy the drinks and think fondly of Weekends past. I didn’t know that would be the last time I saw him. I never got a chance to ask.

Friendship is wonderful, strange, magical thing. I think I’d been together with Ace less than 10 times, and yet, I quickly, easily considered him a good friend. I don’t think I knew his actual name for two years.

And so, I found myself at my first Jewish funeral today.

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Writing Exercise – Gratitude

It’s very easy in a job – in any job – to get hung up on all the things you’d love to change. Or to get dragged into negativity when simple commiseration with colleagues descends into toxic complaint sessions. Having worked in a wide variety of roles, including food processing, lab assistant, retail, and several corporate jobs, I can attest that it happens everywhere.

My work division (FindLaw, a part of Thomson Reuters) is being sold to another company, and the watercooler talk runs the gamut of perspectives and opinions, which means if we’re not careful, we could spiral into endless negativity. The stress is high, and many have an irrational fear of the unknown.

What’s helpful for me, and what I’m recommending to all my mentees, is a pros/cons list. It perhaps sounds cliché, but it’s still incredibly effective. While pay, merit increases, and advancement opportunities are important, they’re not the reason I stay with a company. For me, a flexible working schedule is paramount.

My younger son, Benji, has severe autism. Sleep is a recurring issue for him. Some nights, he’s just awake. He’s somehow powered through his nighttime meds and can’t fall asleep again. One night becomes two becomes a week or more. There’s a compounding effect to this, meaning some of his behaviors are worsened, which creates difficulties at school or elsewhere in public. There have been days where I have to drop everything and run to school to bring him home.

At a recent social hour at the office, several colleagues asked how our family was doing.

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Writing Exercise – Don’t Write Yourself Off

Mike Wallevand on high school graduation day at 135 pounds

I hadn’t worked out in 28 years.

I graduated high school a skinny 5’11”, 135-pound basketball player who’d spent his childhood with a ridiculous metabolism. For many of us, things changed in college. Four years later, I’d gained 30 pounds. It wasn’t muscle. Those size 32 pants were a bit snug.

Fast forward nearly twenty years – around 2015 – I stopped checking my weight. A scale displaying 220+ pounds wasn’t something I wanted to see any more. I had more willpower for that than to make any meaningful lifestyle change, and my weight continued to increase.

Collage of Mike at his heaviest

In fact, the only real change I would make was cutting out soda and trying to walk the dogs more. From 2012-2017, I lost maybe 10-15 unremarkable pounds. I certainly didn’t feel any better, physically, mentally, or emotionally.

My wardrobe also remained the same: layers of bulky clothes to hide rolls, folds, and not-quite-manboobs. My shirts were XL and my pants were 38 waist. The collars of dress shirts were hangman’s knots and suitcoats were sausage casings.

Five years ago, in early 2019, I was invited to a class at a local boxing club. Did I mention I hadn’t worked out in 28 years? I found workouts boring. Or intimidating: I didn’t want to be the fat bald guy in a massive fitness center who was wheezing on a treadmill or struggling under weights. And if that were true, punching something for an hour was certainly far outside my interest, not to mention my personality.

Coming into the class, I didn’t expect anything to change, even if a small voice between my ears told me that I really, really needed an exercise routine. But I’d been ignoring that guidance my entire adult life.

In that first 1-hour class, I thought I was going to die.

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Chapter One available
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Chapter One available

As I mentioned in a previous post that announced the Prologue, I’ve started working on publishing my book, Tildy Silverleaf and the Starfall Omen. As I release chapters, I plan to write an accompanying post that provides a behind-the-scenes look at the work. To skip right to reading the new chapter, click here: Chapter One – Spring in Dappledown.

I started my writing with Chapter One, not the Prologue, because getting a feel for my protagonist and her home were crucial to understanding whether I had a story worth pursuing. I needed to establish my unnamed hero, her home, and the witch she reluctantly called “mother”. The ideas flowed effortlessly from thought to word, and Tildy, as she would became known, nearly flew from the page into life.

I had something.

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