Clicking Publish

I have a whole lot of nothing to post about. Usually, when that's the case, I don't post. Of course, I've built up some momentum again in terms of posting regularly, and I like that. I've been at this for more than four years, and I think the five friends who initially read it are still with me. And then there are the couple people I don't even know who read here. Whoa.

It's like a miracle, that.

But lately, I've been both over and underwhelmed. I have a new job to post about. Felix is forever being cute, annoying, goofy, and miserable--easy material. And yet. Stymied.

Also stuck on the baby novel. I was on fire for a few weeks, and I cranked out a lot. Then. Nada. Zip. Zero. Naught.

I had a very wise writing professor at Middlebury who asked us, as part of a non-fiction writing course, to write a certain amount of words every day. Let's call it 500 (since I don't really remember the exact number). We had to turn in these manidtory, pen-to-paper, stream-of-consciousness ramblings to prove we were doing them, and the exercise actually led to some of the essays I write for the proper class assignments.

That's one of the reasons I started blogging. To make myself write. To see if I still had a voice. So, today, I started with what was in my head--writer's block--and began to type. Instead of turning it in, I'm going to hit Publish when I get to the end of the last coherent sentence that falls near 300 words.

I always wonder what other bloggers/writers/essayists/authors do when they hit a wall. Step back? Listen? Crank out five pages of awkward garbage in the hopes it will undo the clog between brain and fingertips?

Yesterday, I unplugged after starting two useless posts and watched three episodes of Glee.I could have been doing dishes, working out, or researching things I need to get done before I start my new job. I ended up feeling guilty about not doing those things, and not blogging, and watching television.

Guilt is so not productive and I ended up in a worse funk.

So, today, I publish. It's a step.

Real Life Romance Novel: Late NIght Dance

This one speaks for itself, I think.

She was researching on her computer, trying desperately to avoid procrastinating through social media. The work light over her desk cast long shadows across the kitchen. Her little dog slept near her feet, snoring a counterpoint to her breathing in the late evening stillness.

He was maybe twenty five feet away from her, engrossed in the evening news. The television volume was no more than a murmur. She glanced at the clock; in five minutes the weather would be over, and he'd get up, turn off the TV and let the dog out. She closed her laptop and slid off her stool. She stopped at the refrigerator for a swig of seltzer; straight from the bottle. Her mother might be appalled; she knew he wouldn't care. Frankly, so what if he did?

She was unsure what to do with herself. They had established a tentative routine in these early days together, and she was torn. Should she go up to their bed alone, disappointed and silent, or pretend that nothing was wrong? Should she confront him, call him out for his bad behavior, and risk the raw wounds they could no doubt inflict on one another?

She had held her tongue all day, waiting for an apology that never came. She wasn't even sure how much to say when she finally asked for one.

She was caught up in musing about about the strange dance that was loving someone and living with them when she crashed into him. He'd come out to the kitchen on exceptionally quiet feet for so substantial a man.

He picked up her left hand, and circled her waist with his other arm, and whispered, "Listen."

She was about to ask why, but he stepped her back, in time with the music. Music? And then she listened. It was an unlikely slow dance, an old Johnny Cash tune, but it brought prickly tears to her eyes.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"I love you," he said.

For the rest of that three minutes, they were a universe unto each other, turning to the straight four rhythm of the Man in Black.

Real Life Romance Novel: Alone With Her Thoughts

Into every romance some tension must fall, and even once the love story is established, there are often moments of doubt, self loathing, anger... And loving someone can be a complicated business. This one went in a different direction than I'd thought when I started. far more introspective, and a little darker. Again, though the sense of reality is something I'm really trying to achieve in my fiction.

Time was crawling. In the twelve hours since he'd left with his brothers, she'd emptied the dishwasher, switched the laundry, walked the dog; she'd done a hundred tasks, and not one of them took her mind off his absence.

It wasn't that he didn't deserve a day out, a baseball game in the city with the boys. It wasn't as if she resented not being included. Did she? With twilight falling, and the cell phone sitting quiet beside her, she wasn't so sure anymore.

When had he become so necessary to her mental health? She had always prided herself on her independence, her strength. They were the perfect foil to her vivid, romantic imagination. How had this man not only taken up residence in her heart, but benevolently undermined her sense of self?

Or was she only worried because it was hours later than she'd expected to have him home beside her, warm and solid on the sofa? She wanted to lay her head on his shoulder and have him tease her about having a sharp head, digging into his collar bone. She craved the extra warmth of his arm around her, the rhythmic rise and fall of his breath.

And then she understood the black mood for what it was. He had gone off to spend the day with his brothers, and rather than come home to her as she desired him, he would, more likely than not, be exhausted, a little drunk, and oblivious to her inner turmoil. Not what she needed from him at all, and through no fault of his own. He would arrive home, later and different than she wanted, and she would be angry with him; even more so if she chose to keep the feelings to herself. She was, in short, jealous of something far more dangerous than another woman or a bad habit. She was jealous of her own secret needs.

A headache clawed at the space between her eyes, seeking to blossom into something more vicious. She inhaled against the throbbing, and got up to find some Advil.

Real Life Romance Novel: Getting Ready to Go Out

So, I almost decided not to go ahead with this. But I'm feeling stupid brave, so here you go. A short vignette of the heroine in the hours before a date night. The idea being that the best romance novels can find the romance in any situation, without pirates, Edwardian costume, torn bodices, oiled pectoral muscles. That's what I'm striving for here.

She'd spent more money on her hair than she'd meant to, but didn't the mahogany highlights make her eyes looks darker? Her freshly cut hair swung along her jawline, shiny and sleek. She offered another silent thank-you to whatever fate had directed her to her stylist. There was nothing like feeling pretty to kickstart the evening.

She had four hours to kill before their date. She decided to indulge in a Blues mix on her iPod and the psychological thriller she'd started earlier that day at the salon. The gray skies and cool April temperatures drove her under her favorite blanket for the afternoon.

When she surfaced three hours later, she felt blurry. Her overactive imagination always sucked her so far into a novel that she had a tough time disengaging. She dove into her closet to pick an outfit, and shake off the story. Tonight, especially tonight, she didn't want fiction to interrupt her real life. She'd be with him in an hour.

She chose her clothing carefully, from the new lingerie to the sexy peep-toed wedges.

She turned on the hot water, rummaging around for a shower cap to protect the new hair. Through the noise of the spray and the bathroom fan, she heard his keys in the front door lock. She'd never known exactly how to tell him that just that jingle of metal sent shivers down her spine. He'd be dirty from work, the toasty smell of sawdust and machine oil clung to him after a day on a job site. She imagined running her fingers through his sawdusty curls and smiled.

She finished in the shower and shut herself in the bedroom to dress and primp.

When she came down the stairs, he was coming out of the second bathroom, hair damp from his own shower. She leaned in and stood up on her toes to kiss him, the welcome promising and affectionate. She closed her eyes and inhaled the clean aroma of shaving cream.

"Hi," she said.

He put his arms around her and held her tight. She rested her head on his chest, and sighed, content.

What Do You Guys Think?

Inspired by my recent decision to actually finish the romance novel I started at the end of last summer, I was toying with the idea of devoting a week of the blog to the Real Life Romance Novel.

For me, the best romances:

• are well written and edited.
• have believable and engaging characters.
• only push the limits of real life so far. Paranormals and sci-fi have their own rules, and they're not my genre. This one goes back to believable characters, too.
• make you fall in love with both main characters a little bit.
• show you a glimpse of a life that could be real.
• get you in the mood for some Real Life Romance
  

So, would you all run away if, for five days, I turn one scene from real life (we'll keep it G-rated, this is a *family* blog) into a scene from a contemporary romance novel? Just as an experiment. For five days. Then, I'll return to regularly scheduled programming. Like goofy toddler pictures and culinary rambling. Promise.