This post was supposed to go up last night but I lost track of time.  I still ended up going to bed way too late, but it wasn’t because I was trying to write an update post.

I was re-reading ZCR.  *happy sigh*

I think I’ve re-read it twice already.  I added the missing scene to get my words in for yesterday.  I picked up a few threads that disappeared.  I went back and laid a little more groundwork on the “villain” thread.  I went back and put some character traits into earlier scenes so it was consistent.  I fine tuned the “fairytale” and “dream come true” theme that I honestly didn’t plan but ended up giving the story — especially the ending — that extra oomph I was looking for.

It all came from one angry, “Wrong fairytale,” line that Yiorgos retorts about a third of the way into the book.  The book already had a “beauty and the beast” vibe, so that matched.  There’s also a “Cinderella” moment.  So it was easy to keep that idea going.

That’s one of the jobs of revision — pick up on the glimmering ideas that need to be highlighted.  Bring them forward and more important than ever.  Tone down and eliminate what’s NOT as important.  Know your theme and what you’re trying to say.

This story might have a lot of jokes and laugh-out-loud moments (especially if you know the real Mythos in Joplin) but it certainly has a lot of very real things to say too.  To be entirely honest, I think it’s my best ROMANCE I’ve written.

I finally wrote a “fireman and arsonist” kind of story.  The hero and heroine know they can’t be together for very real and concrete reasons by the midpoint of the story.  Being together will destroy them.  Yet they find out soon enough that they’re willing to do anything, sacrifice anything, to be together.

The Zombie Billionaire’s Virgin Witch is complete at 44,300 words.  If there’s anyone who’d like to beta read, drop me a note.  I won’t bother the usual suspects because it’s 1). NaNoWriMo 2). Thanksgiving and 3). I’ve bothered you many times in the past.  But if you want an early sneak-peek read and are willing to tell me your opinions (likes/dislikes not critique or line edits), then let me know.

Snippet:  This is one of my favorite scenes in the book and the fallout after this snippet took place much earlier than I expected.  At first I was worried, but then I realized it happened in exactly the right place.  Because then I had a good 60 pages left to make the characters agonize and squirm. 

“When we first met last week, you made it very clear that I wasn’t your type.”

“I said you weren’t my usual type, which, quite honestly, was a mistake in judgment.  One I don’t make very often, because you’re a tempting, sexy siren, and I’ve been finding it harder and harder to resist hauling you back into my arms.”  Whatever look had shocked itself onto her
face made him chuckle.  “Meanwhile, I believe you called me an alphahole.  That certainly doesn’t sound like I’m your type, either.”

“Not my usual type,” she conceded, trying to smile coolly.  Not as shaky as she felt on the inside.  “If it’s my cooking…”

“It’s not,” he broke in.  He leaned forward and slowly
stretched out his hand across the narrow island, giving her time to withdraw.

But she didn’t want to pull away.  She hungered for touch and warmth, laughter and passion, all the things a woman of her age should be able to have with whomever she chose.

His long, elegant fingers slid over the back of her hand, his fingertips lightly tracing the hills and valleys of her knuckles.  Such an innocent touch, but it made her voice thick in her throat so she could hardly talk.  “I thought you liked my cooking.”

“I love your cooking.  But that’s not the only thing going on here.”

“It’s not?”  Fine trembling spread across her shoulders and her eyes ached from staring so hard at him, willing, begging him to say it.

“Should I kiss you again so you can feel it too?”

She squeezed her eyes shut, swamped by the memory of his mouth, heat and wet and pressure threatening to drag her under.  Shuddering, she made herself open her eyes so he could see the truth.  “No.”

He didn’t cease stroking her hand, but his voice gentled like she’d never heard before. “Why not?”

“Mr. Michelopoulos…”

“Surely you can call me Yiorgos now that you’ve had your tongue in my mouth.”

She couldn’t help the rough moan that escaped.  “Stop it.”

“Stop what?”  He taunted, low and soft yet insistent, as
ceaseless as his fingers on her skin. Somehow her hand had flopped over like a cat stretched out in a window seat, soaking in the rays of summer sun.  “Telling you the truth?  Would you rather we walk around like two immature idiots screeching at each other because the sexual tension was destroying our control? Instead, we can sit here like two reasonable human beings and decide how quickly I’ll have my mouth on yours again. Although I admit, I’d rather not have you smashed up against the wall outside, but in my bed.”

She clutched his hand to stop the incessant stroking that was making her insane.  “I’d like that very much, but I can’t, Yiorgos.” [the first time she will use his given name]

His eyes went molten chocolate when she said his name.
Turning his hand in hers, he clasped her firmly, as though he was afraid she’d leap up and run from him.  “Why not, Clare?”

How much should I tell him?

If she admitted that she’d lose her power—and thus her ability to break his curse, assuming she found a way—he’d do the only possible reasonable thing.  He’d back off.  I’m off  limits if he wants to free Remy’s of whatever ill-will might linger here.

Exactly what I want.

Right?

 

That’s sort of how I feel tonight.  As exhausted as I am, I have to admit I don’t think I’ve ever been able to pull in these kind of numbers before.  It was like once I caught the whiff of “the end” I was obsessed.  I wrote every free minute outside of work and kid duty today.  We even grabbed a bite out so I didn’t have to stop and cook.  Between Dark & Early, lunch, before dinner, after dinner…

I netted over 9,800 words today and managed to finish the first draft of the Zombie Category Romance at 43,133 words.  I have one scene I know I need to go back and add, and I might need to fine tune the ending to get a snappy last line.  I’m not sure that what I have sings enough, and I’m too tired to tell.  There’s also a few dropped threads I need to go back and fix, but overall, I’m so very pleased with this draft.

It’s everything I love about HQ Presents and alphahole heroes mixed with zombies and a tough yet sweet woman who knows exactly how to bend the arrogant Greek to her will.  I so hope Angie wasn’t kidding when she said she was interested in something like this…  Plus it’s got a foodie theme for Alissa and pays tribute to my all-time favorite restaurant, Mythos. I’m so ridiculously pleased with everything about this story that I’m almost giddy.

Or maybe I’m just high on words. Or maybe Clare slipped me a little of that Death By Chocolate Cake when I wasn’t looking…

Now I’m turning into a pumpkin for the night.  I won’t be getting up D&E tomorrow and I plan to rest my wrists and eyes as much as possible.  Since I’m ahead, I might make the first pass of revisions while the fire is hot and then move to Phantom.  Or maybe I’ll just free write notes for Lord Regret.  He’s been nagging me lately, even if I don’t have a plot for his book.

We’ll see how I feel.

NaNoWriMo count:  36,701 words

Snippet:  Hmm, there are so many fun and touching moments I haven’t shared with you.  Shall I share the first kiss…when Clare punches him?  The word games they play in the kitchen?  The “demonstration” that Helga puts on for him that convinces him Clare is the real deal and as honest as she claims to be?

I decided to share the first tender moments when Clare begins to understand exactly how much danger she’s in.

“When are you going to start calling me Yiorgos?”  Briskly, he turned to an expensive barista-quality espresso machine that certainly had not graced the kitchen in her father’s time.  “Besides, tea is for stuffy old ladies in silly hats. I’ll make a cup of coffee that’ll grow hair on your chest, while you explain how a curse works.”  So I can break it.

He didn’t say the last aloud, but now his carefully worded contract began to make more sense.  He desperately wanted to break this so-called curse, and he suspected she might know how to do so.  Even if her father had cursed Yiorgos—which she highly doubted—she didn’t have a clue how to break it.

Of course, Michelopoulos didn’t…couldn’t…know that.  If he suspected she was of no use to him, she’d be kicked out of Remy’s so fast she wouldn’t even have time to remove the apron.  She’d certainly lose her chance of regaining not only the restaurant but the Remy family legacy as well.  If, and that was a huge if, the man would uphold the contract he’d signed, arguably under duress.

She didn’t know much about the real man behind the famous tycoon façade, but she suspected he valued his word of honor above winning this war with her father that had gone on way too long.

“If I’m going to have motor oil in a cup, then I need dessert.”  Laughing lightly at the scowl he shot over his shoulder, she prepared two plates of strawberry shortcake which she’d intended to serve at dinner tonight, assuming he allowed the restaurant to open.  When he set the steaming cup of coffee in front of her—straight jet black and so strong just the smell of it made her eyes water—she spooned some of the cream into her cup.  “Besides, you never gave me permission to use your Christian name, Mr. Michelopoulos, and according to our contract, you’re my employer.”

The furrow between his eyes deepened into formidable caverns.  “That contract is null and void.”

“Oh, thank God,” she breathed out heavily, letting her shoulders slump.  “I was afraid I was going to be stuck working for you.”

“You are,” he retorted without any real heat.  He drew up a high stool opposite her at the large island.  Sipping his cup, he closed his eyes—evidently in bliss, not revulsion.  For the first time since she’d arrived yesterday, he appeared more human and less the caricature of the billionaire playboy.  If he was deliberately letting her peek into his real life in order to sway her into helping him, it was working.

Ruefully, she dug into her cake.  The man was gorgeous and rich and brilliant. Evidently he possessed a soul, too.

“Well, then, Ms. Remy, I shall ask the most difficult question first.  Do you hate me too much to help me?”

Surprised, she searched his face.  He was trying for bland and smooth, but he kept his eyes guarded, veiling his secrets in those dark depths.  True vulnerability?  Or merely stage two of his conquest?  She couldn’t be sure.  “I never said I hated you.”  She took a sip of coffee and nearly spluttered it all over his immaculate shirt. “Oh dear.”

His lips curled in the first genuine smile he’d bestowed on her.  “A bit stout?”

“Errr, yes.  Stout.” She barely restrained herself from rubbing her tongue with her napkin to get the bitterness off.  She spooned more cream into her cup.  There’s no amount of fat and sugar I could put into this to make it palatable.

“You have every right to hate me, Ms. Remy.  I defeated your father at his own game, took his beloved restaurant which was surely to be your inheritance, and ultimately left you and your mother to face the world alone.”  He stretched out his long, graceful fingers and lightly stroked the back of her left hand. “I’m terribly sorry for your loss.  I had no idea Mr. Remy was quite so ill.”

Emotion made her throat swell shut.  So unfair. Tenderness and sincerity from the arrogant man would devastate her defenses like nothing else.  “We didn’t either.”  She raised her gaze to his.  Gleaming pools of melting obsidian didn’t flinch or withdraw from her perusal.

Because he had nothing to hide? Or because he was such a practiced liar?

Her fingertips tingled, bewildering her even more.  Why would her magic come to life when she wasn’t cooking?  She had no other gifts. But it wasn’t her imagination, because he felt it too.  His eyes flared and his stroking fingers froze on her skin.
“What was that?”

“Magic,” she whispered, as shaken as he.

“Can you break this curse, Clare?”

The way he said her name, slow and gentle, a verbal stroking of pleasure and hope, made her shudder.  This couldn’t be happening.  Just the faint touch of comfort and his voice alone had her quivering like an eager puppy. He’d already made it abundantly clear that she wasn’t attractive to him.  He might stoop to a little seduction to get what he wanted, but that was all it could possibly be.

He’ll leave me brokenhearted and powerless, while he goes in search of his next conquest.

 

A little early I guess but I might not have time tomorrow, so you get another update from me today.

Huge day today with over 4600 words.  I struggled a bit Dark & Early this morning after having a few days’ off, but once the scene started going, I knew exactly what to do.  Smexy time for the win!  Almost everything I’ve written today is smexy time.  Yes, I know this is probably too much for a true HQ Presents, and the hero is too blatantly dominant (in the BDSM sense, without saying it outright), but hey, I’ve got to go with my strengths here.  🙂

One of those days when I started writing as soon as I got off work, and didn’t want to stop for dinner.  Plotted how to get out of doing the dishes (impossible, since That Man had to work late tonight).  Wrote with football on in the background.  I don’t want to stop now but I’m tired and D&E won’t happen if I don’t get to bed.  Plus my wrists are starting to stiffen up.

I know how I want the rest to unfold, so I hope I’m not jinxing myself by saying it should be downhill from there.  Of course I need to finish this neverending sex scene…

NaNoWriMo Count:  26,877  Also crossed 33,000 in the ZCR itself (started before NaNoWriMo).  I *think* 40K is about where I’ll finish up.  We’ll see.

Snippet:  Verbal sparring between Clare and Yiorgos:

“I ate at your casino restaurant in Kansas City once.  You weren’t there, of course—too busy jetsetting around the globe on business, I guess.  My father made friends with our waiter and finally convinced him to let us see the kitchens.”

“Tell me who it was, and I’ll fire the traitor.”

She flashed a look over her shoulder at him that…  Impossible.  Had the woman actually stuck her tongue out at him?

So far I’ve made it up Dark & Early each day this week, but I admit I haven’t been the most productive today.  I wrote myself into a hole earlier than I expected last night, so I’m still sorting out whether the scene can stay where it is…or if I need to add more sparring between the hero and heroine in between.  We’ll see.  For now, I’ll embrace the words I have and move on as though it’s going to work.

This story feels like it’s going to be longer than I originally intended.  I’m guessing 40K or so, but we’ll see.  I broke 25K in the story last night (not all of that for NaNoWriMo) and I’m now into the unrequited desire stage.  I’m not sure how long this will play out yet.

NaNoWriMo count (as of last night):  19,335 words

Snippet:  this bit is just too fun not the share — the fall out the next morning after Yiorgos realizes what Clare did to him.  *giggles*

The swinging door slammed against the wall with a crash that froze the entire kitchen.

At the stove, Clare didn’t even turn around.  Her nerves sang with heightened sensation, energy leaping about her like lightning.  This morning when she’d arrived, the restaurant had welcomed her with open arms. It’d certainly alerted her to the approaching storm.

“You.” Yiorgos Michelopoulos stomped over and clamped a hand on her arm, whirling her around to face him.  “What have you done?”

She smiled brightly.  “Good morning, Mr. Michelopoulos.  I assume we’ll be open for business tonight, right?”

Unshaven and still in the incredibly tailored suit he’d worn last night, he glared down at her.  Eyes blazing, lips tight, nostrils pinched, he looked like he desperately wanted to wrap his big hand around her throat and throttle her.

“Out.”

Since he didn’t release her or look away from her face, she assumed he meant everyone else but her.  She was actually rather impressed that he kept his tone even and controlled despite the fire flickering in his eyes.

“Do you care to explain what happened last night?”

She batted her eyelashes at him.  “Isn’t that supposed to be the woman’s question when the man slips away before making her breakfast in bed?”

His eyes narrowed to obsidian slits.  “Like I’d be interested in a woman like you.”

Her heart stuttered, skewered by a pain so severe that he might as well have picked up the butcher knife and stabbed
her in the chest.  I knew it was impossible from the very beginning.  If he found me even the least bit attractive, this whole adventure would be pure hell.

She let out a little laugh that she hoped was carefree and lighthearted.  “Of course not, Mr. Rich Beyond Belief.  You were too busy devouring my cake to spare a single thought about me.”

His fingers tightened on her arm hard enough that she let the pain flicker across her face.  Not that he cared in the slightest.  “You drugged me.”

“No,” she said evenly, refusing to drop her gaze or show any alarm or concern. “I bespelled you.”

He snarled.  “There’s a difference?”

“Surely a man knowledgeable enough to approach the Wizard Council would know that there’s most certainly a difference
between a drug and a spell.  You knew exactly what I was before you ever summoned me to Remy’s.  You even ordered me to cook for you.  What did you expect a kitchen witch to do?  Skin you with my knife instead?”

“What did you do to me?”  His voice rose with each word until he roared loudly enough to rattle the stemware.

“I gave you a dose of your own medicine, Mr. Michelopoulos.  I beat you at your own game.”

He let go of her arm.  By the way he flexed and clenched his fingers, he’d released her before doing serious harm.
“What the hell does that mean?”

Wincing, she rubbed her biceps, making sure he saw exactly how he’d hurt her. “You deliberately wrote up a ridiculously meticulous contract meant to bedazzle me with terms and money, while waving the deed to Remy’s beneath my nose.  You thought I’d be too stupid to see your game.  Ply the little lady with some wine, pay a few compliments, smile seductively, and she’ll fall head over heels into your schemes, right?  Well, wrong. You picked the wrong patsy this time, Mr. Michelopoulos.”

“I didn’t agree to a modification to the terms.”

“I asked you if I could modify the agreement in front of a witness.  Shall we call Dmitri back in here?  If I need
him to testify in a court of law, I’ll subpoena him.”

“I was under duress.  No court in the world would award rights to a witch who’d deliberately bespelled her target by plying him with…with…”

“Chocolate cake?  Oh, how dreadfully sinister of me.  Seriously, do you think your high and mighty reputation can withstand such a ridiculous case, Mr. Michelopoulos?  I can see the headlines now:  Tycoon bamboozled by kitchen witch; claims the chocolate cake did him in.”

He slammed his fist down on the island so hard that a stainless steel bowl fell off and clattered on the floor, spilling sliced potatoes all over the spotless tile.  “Hear me now, witch.  I cannot…will not… give you that damned ring.  Never!”

 

A week+ into NaNoWriMo, you might be hitting a wall.  You might be falling behind.  You might be second guessing the whole commitment.  50K in a month?  Are you kidding me?  Even if you’re on track, you might be having a serious attack of the doubt monster, inspired by posts like NaNo No No.

Please don’t give up.  Don’t use the doubts and naysayers as an excuse to quit.

Does a lot of dreck come out of frantic November writing?  Sure.  If all you care about is hitting 50K and “winning” then this post isn’t for you.  Good luck and I’ll cheer you all the way to the finish line.

If you’re writing something that you want to publish, then keep doing what you know is right and comfortable for you in your heart.  Now is not the time to give up on your dream of finishing your project.

I’ll be the first to admit that I may not win NaNo this year.  I didn’t last year.  NaNo can be more than writing 50K in 30 days.  It can be a chance to commit to yourself and your writing.  If you want to work on a new, exciting project, great.  If you want to commit to finishing the current wip that you stalled on last month *raises hand*, then NaNoWriMo may be the kick in the pants that you need.

There’s no need to throw your process to the wind and write crazily without thought or preparation.  You can still plot (or however you “pre-write”) a story and start now (I have a friend who’s doing just that).  NaNoWriMo isn’t an excuse to throw out good structure and characterization just to write crap — unless you truly do just want to write crazily and wildly with joy and abandon.

That’s the beauty of NaNoWriMo.

I plotted my story extensively.  I have a mind map, a scene outline, and a synopsis already written.  Not just for this story, but also the other one I plan to work on when I finish this one.  In other years, I’ve written into December in order to finish the book — because 50K may not be anywhere near what you need to finish.

What I’m trying to say is use NaNoWriMo to succeed at your goals — whatever they are.

You might write a book that needs lots of revisions, even if you’ve plotted extensively beforehand.  (THE BLOODGATE GUARDIAN, my first NaNoWriMo book.  Please don’t ask how many times I survived Revision Xibalba.)

You might write a book that needs very little revisions and flows from beginning to end like a dream.  (RETURN TO SHANHASSON, my second NaNoWriMo book, not an outline or synopsis in sight — but I’d been dreaming the story off and on for years.)

You might finish a book that you’re having problems with.  You might finish short projects.  You might use NaNoWriMo to push through the Dark Moment of your book.  (Vicki’s YOURS TO TAKE, last year’s novel that I finished even though I didn’t win NaNoWriMo, coming soon from Samhain in May 2012).

It is possible to write a publishable novel via NaNoWriMo and we are not the anomilies.  Stay true to your process — or explore a new process.  Write by an outline — or fly in the zone, no holds barred.

In the words of Tim Gunn, “Make it work, people!”  Make it work FOR YOU.

Harness some of this frenetic energy and use it to meet your goals, whatever they may be.