Now it's no secret that I don't do romance. I like blood, religious undertones, dragons, swords, magic -- everything that doesn't scream contemporary romance.
So doing the romance is making me think more than any other element of my book. We have Bryce Bourbon. He's a womanizing prick. We all know the type. The one we watch on the other side of the bar and roll our eyes at; in fact, I don't even know what bothers me more, the guy being that arrogant or the girl giggling with each lying, flattering word that spews out of his mouth.
Womanizing pricks go after the gullible or the slutty. So how exactly am I supposed to make my little Brycey Pooh fall in love? And I'm talking about real love.
There's lots to consider.
How does he treat this girl different than the other twenty bimbos he's slept with?
Does the girl start off being a superior, an equal, or someone that Bryce feels the need to save?
How does she act to demand his respect? How does she catch his eye? What makes her instantly better?
Will it be love at first sight? Love in denial where they won't actually "hook up" until the very end of the book? A friendship that blossoms into love?
While I don't write romance, I'm quite the romantic thinker, and I love anything that has to do with love at first sight. I love love that is out of control. But, I like love to feel as if it's going to last forever -- not just some freak obsession. Let's face it -- there's a really fine line between some undeniable love at first sight and a freak obsession.
Aside from trying to feel out that particular fine line, I also have to think about what is keeping the two from riding off on a white horse? Let's say it's love at first sight. It's undeniable. She turned this womanizing prick into a lifetime partner. What keeps them apart?
This is one of those times where I can't just do what I want. I can't just write what I want. I have to do what's true to the characters. No love at first sight for Bryce.
Ever been in this situation? How did it work out for you?
So doing the romance is making me think more than any other element of my book. We have Bryce Bourbon. He's a womanizing prick. We all know the type. The one we watch on the other side of the bar and roll our eyes at; in fact, I don't even know what bothers me more, the guy being that arrogant or the girl giggling with each lying, flattering word that spews out of his mouth.
Womanizing pricks go after the gullible or the slutty. So how exactly am I supposed to make my little Brycey Pooh fall in love? And I'm talking about real love.
There's lots to consider.
How does he treat this girl different than the other twenty bimbos he's slept with?
Does the girl start off being a superior, an equal, or someone that Bryce feels the need to save?
How does she act to demand his respect? How does she catch his eye? What makes her instantly better?
Will it be love at first sight? Love in denial where they won't actually "hook up" until the very end of the book? A friendship that blossoms into love?
While I don't write romance, I'm quite the romantic thinker, and I love anything that has to do with love at first sight. I love love that is out of control. But, I like love to feel as if it's going to last forever -- not just some freak obsession. Let's face it -- there's a really fine line between some undeniable love at first sight and a freak obsession.
Aside from trying to feel out that particular fine line, I also have to think about what is keeping the two from riding off on a white horse? Let's say it's love at first sight. It's undeniable. She turned this womanizing prick into a lifetime partner. What keeps them apart?
This is one of those times where I can't just do what I want. I can't just write what I want. I have to do what's true to the characters. No love at first sight for Bryce.
Ever been in this situation? How did it work out for you?
My second Teaser Tuesday! This is the first part of the second chapter, right after Gabe's mother and father are killed. First Teaser Tuesday is here!
I couldn’t begin to explain the pain in my chest. Not because of the wounds from the bullets, but from my mother and father’s death. Old people talk about regret all of the time. I wonder if they ever told their mother to fuck off twenty minutes before she died. I wonder if they ever stood there weak as an infant while both parents were shot to death.
I wonder if they would do what I did. Run. Hide. Take the easy way out? Regret did have a positive, though. Nothing is final until you’re dead. Not a damn thing.
I never looked up to my father like every other American boy does. I resented him. Once upon a time, he was the American father. He taught me how to throw a baseball, catch a foot ball, and shoot a basketball. Then he changed. His easy going life as a salesperson wasn’t enough. He had to open a business and work close to fifteen hours a day.
His death hit me harder than my mother’s. I was surprised by that fact. I guess regret makes you do some pretty crazy things. Perhaps it wasn’t just his fault that things changed between us. Maybe I forced him to give up trying. Actually, there was no maybe about it.
I was fourteen years old when I overdosed on cocaine. That’s right. Fourteen. Numerous things happen when you get into that particular situation. You get high blood pressure; heart problems cause internal bleeding, and then the convulsions which cut off the air supply start. There are lucky idiots that don’t have all of that happen to them.
I wasn’t considered lucky, though. After my breathing had completely stopped, I was considered dead by the time the EMTs got me to the emergency room. Everyone around me ignored the science behind my saving. They called it a miracle. After the biggest trip of my life, I called it fun.
That was then. This was now. Pain electrocuted me with every breath I sucked in. I guess multiple bullets through your torso would do that. I didn’t call this fun. And I didn't give all the credit to science either. I didn’t have the nerve to lie to myself. Or the morphine. I’d call this a miracle.
I've done some Teaser Tuesdays before, but I've dramatically changed my manuscript since. So. Here I am, with a Teaser Tuesday. This is the end of my first chapter. It's the first time Gabe has met the devil, and after their not so nice introduction, she (the bleach blonde devil) stops by Gabe's house. While this is going on, his body is literally disintegrating before his eyes. A mysterious voice is warning him, and the devil is trying to take the only two people Gabe loves.
She aimed the gun for my parents’ legs first. Simultaneously the two hit the floor, knee first. Blood splattered across the stainless steel refrigerator. My jaw quivered as I felt the bitch’s eyes on me. The screams were blurred out. The whisper came once more to me.
“Let me take you, before you have to see," the Asian said.
“I – I can’t leave them!” I yelled aloud. My muscles were finally able to move under my command. Before my first step hit the floor, the gun’s shot rang in my head. Fear halted my entire body, I knew what that last bullet meant as my mother’s deafening scream was suddenly silenced. I saw the perfectly round bullet hole in the middle of her forehead before her limp body crashed into the floor.
My father began to mumble uncontrollably. I couldn’t make out if he was mourning or praying, but what I could make out was the feel of cold metal as my hand pushed the gun out of the way. The bullet sounded, but before I could look to see if I was the least bit successful, the blonde woman hit me in the nose with the hilt of the gun. I ignored the blood. I ignored the pain. My eyes simply fell heavy on my father.
The bullet had been shoved off of its path. What would have been a quick clean death, like my mother’s, turned into a painfully gruesome death. I had pushed the gun out of the way, only to make things worse.
The hole was to the left side of his throat. The sounds of gargling blood churned my stomach. I watched my father die – helplessly. “Let me take you,” the whispering woman said once more.
“Anything you want,” I whispered back. The cold metal forced my fingers to flinch while a tear trailed down my cheek.
“You can either make him suffer and try to save the dead man, or you can make his death quick and painless,” the blonde said coldly as she handed me her gun. “There’s only one bullet left.”
Acid began to burn my flesh. Shit. I looked down at the flaking skin. Not now. Don’t take me yet. I focused back onto my objective. My father withered in pain. He had lost too much blood. He would die one way or the other. I closed my eyes for just a second. I turned the gun from his body to hers. I would rather take revenge than attempt to stop fate.
