Writing-wise, I'm staring at a synopsis that I have no idea how to tackle. I thought Synopses were supposed to get easier to write as time goes by, but it turns out, while that might be true for a synopsis written after the book is done, it is still NOT true for the synopsis meant to PITCH the book to begin with, before the writing has happened. And if this weren't a book based on myth, I'd be TOTALLY screwed. As it happens, I at least have the mythic framework to help me get my bearings, but knowing in advance where I'll diverge is... challenging. Sometimes I don't know how I'm going to make something work until I get there. This is definitely one of those times.
I'm also still picking at this contemporary romance. A couple hundred words at a time, sometimes more, most often less. Just playing, really. And since I've been in vacation mode on the blog, I thought I'd give you guys a little peek. Meet Methuselah "Sully" O'Sullivan and Kate "don't call me Kay-Kay" Knight:
“It’s hilarious,” he said, grinning, now. “The look on your face when he said it, too, later on. It was the definition of glaring daggers, I swear.”
“Well at least nobody ever tried to nickname me Meth-head.”
“Mock all you want, Katelet, I know it’s only because it drives you crazy that I’m not bothered when someone messes with my name.”
“You know that just makes me sound like some kind of flapjack, don’t you? It doesn’t even make sense.”
“How does Katelet make you think of flapjacks?” he asked, his eyes crinkling at the corners, the way they always did when he was utterly at a loss. “For that matter, who even uses the word flapjack?”
“Plenty of people.”
“If you can find three right now who even know what a flapjack is, I’ll buy your first three drinks tomorrow night.”
“Game on, Sully-O.”
He snorted. “Sully-O? Is that really the best you can do?”
“Short notice,” I mumbled, setting my coffee down on the table. “If you’ll excuse me.”
“Of course, Kay-Kay, take all the time you need.”
I glared, mostly for effect, as I stood, and then climbed on my chair. “A hand?”
Sully put down his cup and rose, giving me a theatrical little bow, before offering his hand with a flourish. “Forgive me for leaving my gloves at home.”
“Shut up and don’t let me fall.”
But it was one of the things that I liked most about Sully – he never questioned. Never hesitated to participate, even when he really should. It was what won him the prize in the roommate awards, more than anything else. All those late night over-tired-and-possibly-one-too-many-drinks-drunk adventures that you could only have if the person you lived with was willing to indulge you in your obvious insanity. Sully had yet to so much as blink in the year and a half we’d lived together.
“Excuse me!” I called out, once I’d hauled myself up onto the tabletop – a high-top, no less, and it wobbled pretty disconcertingly, if I was being honest. “Just a moment of your time, please!”
All eyes in the coffee shop turned to me and I didn’t miss Eric’s groan from behind the counter, either. I’d apologize on my way out and make Sully tip him. He always had cash, though I could not for the life of me figure out why he bothered to carry it.
“This fine gentleman below me has agreed to buy me a whole night of drinks if I can find three other patrons who know what a flapjack is!” I went on, once I had their attention. “Who among you has the wit and wisdom to challenge his insulting assumption regarding the use and abuse of the expression in question?”
Tune in next week for *fingers crossed* the conclusion of the New Floors of Doom adventures, and um... I have no idea what else. I guess we'll all just have to wait and see.
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