“We never agreed. You dictated and eventually I swallowed my own objections. I’ve been choking on them ever since. Joy is here now and she stays.” Marcy tugged Joy’s hand and Joy followed her to the kitchen feeling her father’s stare of disapproval like bullet holes in her back.
What I discovered is writing truly is a journey. The more I wrote (rewrote) the more involved I became with the story.
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?
Her eyes narrowed. “What’s next? A strip search?”
He tamped down the mental image that question conjured. The woman was no stranger to working out. And there were some serious curves under those clothes. But he wasn’t a cretin. “Nice of you to offer. But you can keep your clothes on. For now.”
Almost all of the female responders’ first instinct was to flee and call for help.
Almost all of the male responders’ first instinct was to confront/attack.
In the midst of her telling me what she liked, (the opening, the “dreamy” hero, the evil “best friend”) and that she couldn’t wait to read the rest, she said, “It sort of reminds me of books by Colleen Hoover.”
I wasn’t seduced. I wasn’t forced. I made a mistake.” Then why doesn’t it feel like a mistake? She had asked herself that question over and over again. How could a baby be a mistake?
Maybe that’s why I go on the scary rides. I’m hoping it’ll take me back to my childhood and I can be that blissfully ignorant and fearless again.
Is $10 per book unreasonable? That’s equivalent to two Venti white mochas at Starbucks. A movie in the theatre costs almost as much. But these senior citizens probably aren’t going to movies. Or buying white mochas.
It’s a big investment for 12 people to read one of my books once I get it published. What’s the point? I always come back to that. What’s the point?