I need to finish this book, so I'm casting my lot with NaNoWriMo. 50,000 words should finish Adam & Eve.
I need to make things bad and worse for Adam & Eve, as they date in the modern world. Any suggestions for things that would be plain awful or plain funny? I have a handful of ideas, all leading back, of course, to Adam and Eve falling back in love with each other. But I really, really want a BLACK MOMENT. Right now, though, it's in the vague category...I guess like all true NaNos, I'm going to have to go on faith that when I get there, it'll be as godawful as I'm hoping. Godawful for the characters, not the book....
One hour into NaNo and I haven't any new words yet. I better be off to get cracking at this...it's nearly 1700 words a day.
If you're NaNoing, good luck, and I hope to cross the finish line with you!
Saturday, October 31, 2009
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Banter
I read books for the banter. It's why I love Jennifer Cruisie books so much. You can practically roll in the banter.
Basically I write dialogue for women to say all the cheeky, clever things I'd either wouldn't have the guts or think of in time to say; and I write all the stuff I wish men would say. *LOL*
Okay, maybe that's not dead romantic...but does feel like it might at least be true. *LOL*
What do you look for in dialogue? Funny and bantery; or the "You are my favorite form of heroin" romantic whatnot?
Basically I write dialogue for women to say all the cheeky, clever things I'd either wouldn't have the guts or think of in time to say; and I write all the stuff I wish men would say. *LOL*
Eve scoffed. “You couldn’t get me.”
“I got you once.”
“You’ll recall the options were limited.”
“Maybe you’re right. Maybe if we’d had all the options in the world, we never would have ended up together. Then again, maybe we would have. Come on, Evie, what’s so bad about me you wouldn’t have picked me again?”
“I assume you’re looking for an answer other than: you’re an asshole.”
“Babydoll, all men are assholes. We just have varying degrees of it.”
Okay, maybe that's not dead romantic...but does feel like it might at least be true. *LOL*
What do you look for in dialogue? Funny and bantery; or the "You are my favorite form of heroin" romantic whatnot?
Sunday, September 13, 2009
Cute Meet, Again
We know the hero and heroine of this book have been married before--so really the cute meet is hard to do. How do you make something old new again?
Nyiah—the dusky brunette from downstairs—was talking to a potential Mrs. Smith. Just the right height—maybe 5’4—and the right build, a pert ass and reach-to-Heaven legs. She wore a pair of heels that made her look vulnerable and kick-ass at the same time. Ass, legs, strategically placed clothing. This girl was intriguing.
She looked like a girl, a real girl, much more so than any of the other half-naked females in this room, and she did it without so much as removing a shoe. Her short blond hair was frayed into something that looked like she’d spent quite a bit of time making it look like she’d just climbed out of bed. And with her little sunflower halter sundress that looked like it was one string tug from falling off altogether, he was very much tempted to invite her to bed.
Of course, he was going to have to find out her name first.
He took another long drink of tequila, wobbling a bit, but not bad. He wasn’t really drunk. He never got too drunk. He’d always been able to hold his liquor.
Although he was curious how he suddenly found himself behind the little blond vixen. He was only just across the room—then again, the room was small. Maybe that’s how he got here so fast. He just didn’t remember such a short expanse.
She smelled like apricots.
Funny, apricots are what he always associated with….
“Eve!”
His perfect woman turned and Adam gaped down into the familiar lines of his ex-wife. But not his ex-wife. His ex-wife was wholesome, round, and had honey-brown hair. This woman was all sophisticated and sleek lines and bald. And blond. He’d loved Eve’s hair, the way it felt in his hands, the way is trailed down her back and tickled his thighs when she rode him.
The room spun upon that thought. Concentrate, old man.
Eve’s aqua-blue eyes widened between their thick lining of black stuff women put on their eyes to make them look bigger, which only made her look more fragile, more seductive. Why was she wearing makeup? She didn’t need makeup. She didn’t need to look anymore seductive. Her nostrils flared, and her gaze narrowed. “Are you drunk?”
He’d be the one asking the questions here.
“What the fuck happened to your hair?”
Then a funny thing happened. The room swirled so fast around him, it went black, and he didn’t remember Eve answering his question. Typical.
So be honest--he knows too much about her hair right? How does a guy-guy describe hair? 'Cause the guy I'm dating would possibly describe it this way, but he also painted his kitchen "terracotta"--so he could be a secret fan of Judy Garland too...
Nyiah—the dusky brunette from downstairs—was talking to a potential Mrs. Smith. Just the right height—maybe 5’4—and the right build, a pert ass and reach-to-Heaven legs. She wore a pair of heels that made her look vulnerable and kick-ass at the same time. Ass, legs, strategically placed clothing. This girl was intriguing.
She looked like a girl, a real girl, much more so than any of the other half-naked females in this room, and she did it without so much as removing a shoe. Her short blond hair was frayed into something that looked like she’d spent quite a bit of time making it look like she’d just climbed out of bed. And with her little sunflower halter sundress that looked like it was one string tug from falling off altogether, he was very much tempted to invite her to bed.
Of course, he was going to have to find out her name first.
He took another long drink of tequila, wobbling a bit, but not bad. He wasn’t really drunk. He never got too drunk. He’d always been able to hold his liquor.
Although he was curious how he suddenly found himself behind the little blond vixen. He was only just across the room—then again, the room was small. Maybe that’s how he got here so fast. He just didn’t remember such a short expanse.
She smelled like apricots.
Funny, apricots are what he always associated with….
“Eve!”
His perfect woman turned and Adam gaped down into the familiar lines of his ex-wife. But not his ex-wife. His ex-wife was wholesome, round, and had honey-brown hair. This woman was all sophisticated and sleek lines and bald. And blond. He’d loved Eve’s hair, the way it felt in his hands, the way is trailed down her back and tickled his thighs when she rode him.
The room spun upon that thought. Concentrate, old man.
Eve’s aqua-blue eyes widened between their thick lining of black stuff women put on their eyes to make them look bigger, which only made her look more fragile, more seductive. Why was she wearing makeup? She didn’t need makeup. She didn’t need to look anymore seductive. Her nostrils flared, and her gaze narrowed. “Are you drunk?”
He’d be the one asking the questions here.
“What the fuck happened to your hair?”
Then a funny thing happened. The room swirled so fast around him, it went black, and he didn’t remember Eve answering his question. Typical.
So be honest--he knows too much about her hair right? How does a guy-guy describe hair? 'Cause the guy I'm dating would possibly describe it this way, but he also painted his kitchen "terracotta"--so he could be a secret fan of Judy Garland too...
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