Valerie (valeriejoy) wrote,
Valerie
valeriejoy

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A fictional conversation...

Blue eyes was getting impatient.

“Look, either you want to write my story or you don’t,” he said flatly.

She frowned. She did not like his tone. Of course she wanted to write his story. But nagging her wasn’t going to help.

“I thought you get inspired when you read those romance novels,” he went on. “Maybe you should have read one that was less fantasy.”

“Aren’t all romances fantasy?” She interjected.

“Not all romances involve mermaids,” he reminded her. He swiveled in the chair beside her. “Come on, just start. What’s the phrase that keeps going through your mind?”

“’His kiss was soft at first,’” she replied automatically.

He gave her that slight turn of his lips. A half smile. “And?”

“I’m not sure,” she admitted.

He cocked an eyebrow. “You’re not sure? You know you want me to do more than softly kiss. And can you do something about your dog? She’s got a loud bark for a little thing.”

She sighed. After a quick break to let her dogs out, she sat back down, staring blankly at the computer screen.

“I hate writing ‘intimate’ scenes,” she said.

“But they’re so much fun to do,” he commented.

“Right, fun for you. I have to sit here and describe things without sounding like a manual. I have to figure out how to infuse emotion into a physical action without sounding passive. Or worse, sounding cheesy!”

“It’s going to sound cheesy,” he said matter-of-factly. “It’s a romance novel. It will have a certain kind of cheesiness.”

“And I’m still not sure how to spin your character. Do you want to be with this girl? What makes you take the first step to wooing her? What do you see in her?”

“Yes, she smiles at me, she’s the other part of my soul.”

She gazed at him, wide-eyed.

“And what does she see in me?” He asked.

“You are what she thinks she doesn’t want, but inside she already belongs to you.”

He smiled, his blue eyes twinkling. “Same for me.”

“You’ve gotten more talkative these days,” she mused.

“Just promise me you won’t actually put us in a country bar. You know I don’t like country music,” he pleaded.

“But I do. I mean, she does. So live with it.”

He shook his head. “I can’t be that desperate for the girl.”

“Oh, you are,” she assured him.

“So start writing,” he ordered.

“Just worry about winning your next game,” she retorted.
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