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?”
“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.