I am PUMPED about my new plot. It is the coolest thing with so many caveats and depth-elements and possibilities. Okay, yeah. We're just dating. But still.
This plot is so HOT!
I've played with the story ideas today. My harshest critiquer (who also happens to be the LoML) nodded his head in appreciation when I read it to him. I know it's full of holes and GMC issues (Goal/Motivation/Conflict) but it has passed its first hurdle. If my incredibly insightful Life Partner/Husband can see the possibility . . . well. . . hello? Can one hope for anything more?
This plot and I will be getting married very soon. I can feel it. Come on, you know what I'm talking about. It's more than just heat. There's substance there. A future. A promise. There's little doubt I'll say, "Yes!"
We'll get hitched and before long, the real world will blast into our lives. Did you think about This? This is going to cause a problem. And That responsibility lurking over in the corner is going to bore into your world with the intent of killing your entire fairy tale. Or suspense novel. Whatever.
Boy (I will think), did I make a wrong choice.
It won't be very long before intervention is called for. Serious intervention. Word Shrinks (a/k/a critique partners) who don't hold back. Who will tell me that if I want this relationship to survive, I need to do a, b, and c. If necessary, they will threaten to take away my Twitter account. Block me from email. Make sure I know that unless I get back on track, my fairy-tale romantic suspense novel is going to bite the dust. And, they will smirk gleefully, they will stuff that dust down my throat. My cps do not take hostages. (Shhh . . . between you and me, I love them for that.)
I begin to believe that filing for divorce is my only option for a satisfying future. I'm pretty disgusted with the whole turn of events. The relationship is boring, predictable. The heat is gone. Everything is in such a muddle that nothing can be resurrected. And there is simply no way I can go a day without email.
The story I'd begun with a loving spirit, totally psyched about and seeing only potential in, has disintegrated and become something obscene. I'm staring Irreconcilable Differences in the face. And I'm ready to kick this entire venture to the curb. What was I thinking?
I know that day will come. But for today?
Well . . . he paid for dinner and gave me a good-night kiss. He promised me he'd call me tomorrow.
And I believe him.
So this time, with this relationship, I will take preemptive action.
And continue to believe.
CR: Heartsick by Chelsea Cain on my Kindle.
It's all better with friends.
