My Vein, My Blood – 12


Okay – “romance” for men.  Let’s think about this.  Authors who are making it have an unusual idea or an unusual twist.  Who’s doing love story type stuff from a man’s POV?  Romances are written primarily from a female POV.  For a primarily female readership.  Why not put the man back in ro-man-ce?  I seem to write male characters better than I write females, so maybe this is my forte?  What if you wrote from a man’s POV only.  Like this idea I had—okay it was a dream.  Title – The Escort (?) Hero is a professional escort/trouble shooter—hired to travel with high risk security clients.  So in this one he’s hired to escort a little rich (?) girl à make her like that Greek shipping fortune orphan only younger à and her nanny/bodyguard somewhere.  They’re attacked/come under attack in a parking garage by 3 guys.  Nanny is Asian, martial arts expert.  Holds her own, fiercely protects little girl.  Have to alter travel plans to foil kidnappers.  Cross country trip.  Action/adventure/sex.  You go with a James Bond kind of guy, but the twist is in every book he meets a woman who’s his match and they end up monogamous together (no not married) at the end.  But you’re in the guy’s head for his sexual escapades and code of ethics and sense of humor.  Sports.  Gambling.  Action/Adventure.  Sometimes—no guy can be a regular Joe unless he rises to some extraordinary occasion to be all he can be.  Sexual exploits but you could also teach guys what women really want.  Skier.  Gambler.


I’d like to not be bitter and cynical but I think it’s too late.  In the Publix parking lot tonight this couple got out of the car and the woman put her arm around the guy’s waist and sort of patted him just below the waist and he put his arm around her and sort of returned the gesture.  They weren’t young or terribly attractive as far as I could tell from a distance.  But I see it and I think, “Yeah, right.”  Is it a real gesture of affection?  Probably not.  Maybe I want everyone to be as miserable as I am.  I don’t believe in marital happiness any more.  I used to wonder why people got divorced after 25 years.  Now I know.  I don’t believe anyone is genuinely happily married.  I think they all just settle.  Learn to survive.  But inside they’re bitter and angry and disappointed.  Can I live this way for 5 or 10 or 20 more years?  The emptiness?  The silence?  The lack of caring or interest?  I guess we’ll see.  I’m so sick of it right now.


I think I should journal more.  Get my mind straight before I try to do anything else.  Then I sit down to write and I can’t think of anything else to say.  Although supposedly it doesn’t matter what you write about.  Any drivel is fine.  This whole flirting thing has been on my mind. A lot.  I don’t know why.  Maybe because on those rare occasions when I feel sort of good about myself I want to be found attractive.  Maybe I actually feel attractive and not like I’m invisible.  I’ve spent so much of my life wasting what I had at the time.  Or not knowing what I had.  Not using it correctly.  It is dreary out today.  Gray skies.  Rainy.  Cool.  I have to finish my book.  #1 Priority.  I am worried (already) about taking a week off in February.  Especially after I see T cut my hours next week.  Will I have to use vacation time to make up the shortfall?  I hope not.


I am so frustrated with my computer.  Why can’t I copy to a CD?  I don’t understand what the problem is.  I’ve done it before.  But even when I do it I’m not sure what I did to make it work.  This isn’t rocket science.