“See ya.”
“Bye.” He shut the door and glanced down at the cake. Was there anything to that cliché about drowning your feelings in chocolate? He was about to find out.
Four
The best ideas often come when you least expect them.
—Romance Writing 101
“You can totally do this. You just need to focus.”
Sadie glared at the cursor blinking on the blank document of her laptop. She sat at the counter, facing the kitchen. She had her favorite handy-dandy guide to writing romance novels. Her box of novels. A folder with a writing schedule she’d printed out at home. A pencil. A highlighter.
What she didn’t have was a plausible plot. Or a plot of any kind, really.
Come on, God. I need an idea. And since there’s three of You and You did create the entire universe, I’m sure it’s within Your skill set to give me just one tiny idea.
It wasn’t as if Sadie hadn’t plotted a novel before. She had, three and a half times. This was just a different genre. Instead of a lone cowboy, a trusty steed, and shoot-outs, there would be analpha hero (apparently the best way to go), a spunky heroine, and a happily ever after.
Some of the books recommended starting with characters. In a western the hero was focused on the antagonist. His job was to rescue the victim by defeating the villain. In a romance the plot revolved around the relationship of the hero and heroine. Very different things, though the hero of both genres might demonstrate some of the same positive traits.
She rubbed her eyes. Maybe she should just start with a good trope instead. Friends to lovers seemed to be a reader favorite. Or enemies to lovers since it came with inherent tension. Marriage of convenience also held some appeal. She rapped her fingers on the white granite countertop. Once. Twice. Three times.
Music.
“That’s what’s missing.” She dug out her phone and started her romantic playlist. The slow melody of “Can’t Help Falling in Love” came on. There. Now she was ready to write. Ready to create. Ready for an inspired light bulb of an idea to flash on above her head.
She stared at the cursor. Tapped her fingers in time with the blinking.
Her phone buzzed with an incoming text. Caroline. Sadie grabbed at the lifeline.
How’s it going?Caroline asked.
Great! I love it here. Everyone’s so friendly. I met three people at the grocery store alone. But don’t worry, I’m already hard at work.(She was trying to think positively here.)
I’ll leave you to it then. Have a productive day. Wish me luck. I have theBernards’ dog all week.
The terrier had unfortunate tummy troubles.Good luck!
“Please don’t go,” Sadie said to the empty house, still staring at her phone. “I need an idea. Stay and help me.”
But the three dots were gone and so was Caroline.
“What kind of friend are you anyway?”
Elvis crooned on with that velvet voice. Sadie frowned at the screen and returned to her list of songs. This was very romantic but it wasn’t conducive to brainstorming an idea. She needed something more up-tempo, something more exciting, and... She scrolled through her playlist, stopping at “Baby Love” and tapping the screen.
She nodded as the tune filled her kitchen. “Much better.”
Twenty minutes later she was digging through the novels she’d enjoyed, trying to figure out which trope appealed most. She had to be invested in this story if she was going to spend all summer writing it. If she was going to put anything on paper her editor and readers would actually want to read.
She grabbed a familiar book. She’d liked the spunky heroine. She was a bit of a tomboy and ran a ranch, which made her kind of a modern-day cowgirl, didn’t it? Sadie could write about a woman who owned a ranch—no, inherited a ranch. But the property was... in default. Because bad guys had been rustling the cattle, and the heroine could do a stakeout and catch them. A gunfight would ensue and...
She dropped her head to her keyboard. No, no, no. She had to stay far away from anything that smacked of westerns. She had to starve this line of thinking. “No more westerns—books or movies. You’re banned for the entire summer, Sadie Goodwin!”
Come to think of it, she hadn’t read a romance novel in morethan a week. Probably best to keep the romantic train of thought going. Which meant she needed to find the local bookstore and purchase more.
Her soul perked up at the thought of doing something else—anything else. “No, you’re working,” her more mature self admonished. “Or trying to work or something.”
