Another Wednesday, another #1lineWed theme. Things are heating up, gonna have a hot time in the old town tonight, with hot guys and gals, hot lips, hot fudge sundaes, and…well…you get the idea. Just to prove that I amworking on Roman’s story, here’s a snippet from his as-yet-untitled book. There’s a bench near Cafe du Monde that overlooks the Mississippi River. Sade and Roman have been there before. Now their roles are reversed. I hope you enjoy this hot peek at Roman’s story.
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The humid air hadn’t cooled much from the heat of day and it had been a hot one. Sade swiped at the sweat on her forehead. She stared out across the water but watched Roman in her peripheral vision. Shoving her hands into her pockets, she debated what to say before eventually moving to the bench to drop down beside the gargoyle.
“I remember a time when I sat here just like this. You had some very wise words for me then, Roman.”
He said nothing so they sat in silence. No sounds echoed around them, not from the barges sliding by on the dark river, not from the traffic or people crowding the French Quarter scant blocks away.
“Who is she?”
Roman didn’t move, didn’t blink, his human facade as stony as his real form. He knew what he had to say. Honor. Duty. Both demanded his reply. His heart had no place here.
“No one. She is nothing.” She is everything, his psyche screamed.
“Uh huh.” Sade continued to watch from the corner of her eye. Very little got past her and she knew Roman as well as he knew her. She didn’t miss the slight hesitation, the gravel sound of dismay in that first word. “I call fucking bullshit.”
He didn’t chide her for her language. Hollow inside, the on-going contest of wills seemed more effort than it was worth. Sade was her own woman now, responsible for her life and actions.
“Now I know something is wrong. Talk to me, Roman.” She’d noticed the lack of reprimand too.
“No.” He pushed to his feet. “This does not concern you or the FBI.” He walked away.
Sade jumped up, made to follow him. He shed all pretense of humanity, shifting in the blink of an eye into his natural form—a winged gargoyle with a visage meant to haunt demons. He spread his leathery wings, launched into the air. With great sweeping beats, he surged into the sky. He glanced back, recognized both anger and determination on Sade’s face.
“This isn’t over, Roman!”
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So, do any of you have heated words to share today?
One question writer’s get asked most often is: “Where do you get your ideas?” or “Where do the stories come from?” Variations on a theme. In my case, it can be a variety of factors but the most constant is “What if…?” What if…? is a universal thing among writers. It’s how we plot, how we brainstorm, how we create. The Universe got it right today.
So, after my failed imitation of a coordinated person this week, when this message from the Universe dropped into my inbox, I decided the Universe had me in its sights. 😆 But enough of real life. Let’s apply this to writing and plots.
