It’s funny the things we think of while in the powder room (loo, bathroom, toilet, shower, etc).
I was trying to figure out, again, how to get myself back into writing when all of my motivation and drive has died a horrible death. The first unfinished project which popped into my head was His & Hers, a present day romance that touches on redemption and moving beyond fear… appropos? Anyway, in this storyline a reclusive writer meets a photographer who is, also, hiding from his past. In the process of helping him find his way back, she must face her own demons and overcome them so that they no longer control her and her future.
Now, in the original story she has been constant in her writing endeavours and simply living away from her public. I believe it should be changed that she is actually struggling to find her next story idea, as well as the drive to write till the end. Also, in the original storyline, the love-interest is a widower with two boys and the main character is single. My time brushing my teeth in the powder room (bwahahahah) led me to a sudden conclusion: I think I want to write romances that deal with repairing broken relationships.
My husband and I have been happily married for almost 15 years, so I have my ‘happy ever after’ and don’t feel the need/want/desire to write more. But writing a redemptive romance? That is definitely intriguing me, especially since I already (on a previous occasion years ago) revamped my Romantic Comedy outline to be about two ‘exes’ getting back together.
Relationships are hard, and not just romantic ones. Sometimes it seems the art of communicating and compromising in a relationship has been lost. Perhaps the stories I have left to tell can help someone figure out how they can work things out in a relationship, whether they are in one now or simply hope to be someday.
I cannot begin to explain how nice it feels to begin to figure things out, at least in part. Putting it into practice will, of course, be the biggest challenge and the self-discipline required will be tremendous. Growing up, I always used my writing to help me work through challenges and feelings. Why did it take me so long to realize this current difficulty should be approached the same way, even if just at first.
Actually, I’ve suspected it for a while but simply hadn’t worked out the first step. This may work out into something good.
They thought she would only last a day outside the walls of the colony. Instead, Cressida Elliot thrived and made a name for herself as the best ‘extractionist’ in the Belsir moon system.
Now she is determined to uncover the truth about her parents’ death and her own miraculous survival–and bring justice to the guilty regardless of how impossible that might be.
The folder slipped from her fingers, dropping to the floor of the shuttle with a dull splat. She couldn’t believe it, any of it, to be true. How could it be? Her loving mother, who protected her with every fiber of her being, was…. Cressida couldn’t finish the thought. Could not even grasp the concept. It went against everything she remembered.
She swiped up the folder and sought out a date, any date, to signify a beginning or an end to the experimentation. But there were no clear dates, not even on the logs of each project as it ran its course. The dates were all in code, and she didn’t even have a clue as to how to find the cypher. Cressida shoved the folders back into her bag and kicked it away from her, digging her fingers into her hair and squeezing her eyes shut against the words and what they meant.
But what would she – no, what could she do with this information? What was the point of it all? There was no one to question or seek out, certainly not if this was the reality of her mother’s work. There was nothing to be done. No question. No answer. No end to the nightmare. If anything, this would weave in a very different face. A different place. A different ending. One that held no room for a loving mother.
Cressida whimpered, mourning the loss of her childlike reverence for her parents. Perhaps this is why she had put off, so long, the task of asking her parents’ friends and colleagues about that day? The pedestal upon which she placed her parents stood too tall for too long. Now it lay in ruins around her, scattering her pleasant memories until they were too scarred to be recognizable. Skewed. Tainted.
And now she had to move on, unable to love nor hate her parents? Unable to seek out more of the truth?
She lowered her hands and stared at the bag, the corners of the files peeking out from the slightly open center. There was no way to stop here, half known. Now she had to learn it all so that she could judge her parents against the entire history and not simply a fraction of it; they both deserved that. But could she talk to Noah about what she discovered? Would he even want to hear about the research? Would he care to hear any of it at all?
It didn’t matter. This journey had begun the moment she accepted the files, and she couldn’t stop here. She had to continue and find the reasons why. Her mother and father wouldn’t be a part of something like this without a logical reason! Perhaps that very reason caused their death?
Cressida drew the bag closer and sealed it closed. There would be no more reading done today, not if she expected to keep herself on the task at hand. But she would pick up where she left off as soon as this job was done.
Yesterday I stayed up until after 11:30 p.m. to make certain I hit the targeted word-count of at least 1,667 for NaNoWriMo.
It felt like pulling teeth, for the most part, until I quit thinking so much about what the character needed to get done and just let her do what she wanted.
Now I’m staring at the pages and wondering if I can do it for a 2nd day in a row! Definitely out of my element, because usually it isn’t a problem to generate words. But now I need to grab my butt and force myself into the chair [which I should have been doing all day today] to get something accomplished.
Well, good luck to us all participating in this month of mayhem. Let’s hope we have fun during the torture.