The things that have been happening in Japan are so horrific that I can't wrap my mind around it. I just keep wondering, is Takahisa alive? What happened to his family? I'll never know. It's a very strange feeling. And that's all I'm going to blog about that.
I'm running out of plot. I'm only at thirty eight thousand words and I see the end of the story ahead of me. This is not good.
I keep trying to come up with variations on my plot, things that will spin it out, and I have glimmers, but the closer I get to where they would curl off and do their thing, the less I like them.
Besides that, I am clearly writing a Harlequin Romance.
Exhibit A:
As he came swiftly back to the car, he eyed it balefully. He opened the creaking door, awkwardly folded himself in beside me. Suddenly he seemed much, much taller. There was hardly any room for his legs, his head was a bare inch from the ceiling.
“There’s a lever down there,” I said faintly, not liking the look on his face. “It’ll slide the seat back.”
He groped about between his jutting knees, found it, and was slung backwards. God help me, I couldn’t help it, I burst out laughing. He glared at me, I tried to sober up, but I just couldn’t. Then the dark look on his face broke up and he grinned.
“Oh, go on, laugh then,” he said. “You’ll get yours. Wait and see.”
“Fair enough,” I said, turning the car around. “I suppose I looked rather foolish that first night already.”
“Come to think of it, you did. On your backside, kicking my door.”
“Your memory must be such a comfort to you.”
Exhibit B:
“I hadn’t planned on a Gala dinner in the Faerie Realm when I was packing,” I said, rueful.
“Dress up if you wish. I won‘t be.” He lay flat on the bed, his hands behind his head, still barefoot.
“It’s not the same for you. You’re a guy.”
“Thank you for noticing.”
“You’re welcome. I’ll wear that dress I wore this morning.”
“You will not.”
I put my hands on my hips. “Look mister. You may be all big and bad in your shiny red armor, but you are not the boss of me.”
“Is that so?” he asked, grinning.
“It is so. Ceallach, if I don’t wear that dress, I’ll have to wear jeans.”
“Well, and who cares?”
“I do. Look. Lesson number two about the female of the species… and don’t you roll your eyes at me. Looking good is very important.”
“If that was all that was necessary, you may as well not bother with any clothes at all.”
“Ceallach.”
“Well, if it means that much to you.”
“It does.”
“I guess you’re a girl after all.”
“Thank you for noticing.”
****
I don't need any more proof, right? That last is pretty conclusive. But, oh, I just can't help myself. This is the drivel that I write, when I write fiction. What can I say? I love it. I love how my characters banter. They do it all through the story and I love them for it.
