“…you’re the only thing in this house I really value.”
The next thing I knew, my face was kissing the counter and Thomas was bent over me, his hand at the base of my neck holding me there. I panicked. What was he going to do? Rape me? Slit my throat? Torture me? He’d seemed so…semi-normal. Hadn’t he?
Why must I always find something to mock about other people’s happiness or romantic moments? Am I that uncomfortable with genuine emotion? With love? I write romance novels. I should be applauding these moments, shouldn’t I? But instead, I tear them down and pour my caustic words on top of them. A chilling thought is maybe I don’t really buy into what I’m trying to sell.
My friend Taura and I met when we both worked at Starbucks. Taura saved her money to travel. She’d already lived in Australia and was back in the states finishing her education degree. Once she graduated, she began teaching at an international school in Chiang Mai, Thailand. I’d never heard…
I don’t know why I can’t get into the habit of asking for God’s help first instead of screwing it up on my own and then asking Him to help me fix it.
I told myself not to get attached to my story no matter how cute it was. Or to the characters no matter how adorable they were together. Because I was going to sell my little baby and no one was ever going to know this baby was mine.
She must have sounded horrified because he said, “Now who would have thought you’d find that more abhorrent than sleeping with me?”
I may have temporarily lost my enthusiasm but as I write this I’m waiting to see what my cover artist comes up with, finalizing my blurb, and finishing some minor editing on– heres’ the ironic twist–my romantic comedy, CLEO’S WEB.
Stick to the basics of reading, writing, and arithmetic. Everything else will fall in to place. Don’t feel like you have to replicate a school day.
These ladies were doing adult coloring before it became a thing