You May Think It's Funny But It's Snot

I promised an update and I have been remiss. But I have a good excuse. I’ve spent the last three weeks revising the first three chapters of this WIP, and then last week I also needed to write the synopsis. The synopsis is what I was dreading. On the plus side, I had already loosely plotted the story, loosely being the key word. On the minus side, I still hadn’t completely settled on the black moment or how I was going to make the resolution believable.

But I’m happy to report, I did it (with the help of Anne Gracie!) and the black moment is awesome (if I do say so myself) and I’m super excited about writing the rest of this story. That could all change in a matter of days, but for now, I’m feeling good!

Now, to the snippet. So Celi and Bryan had another encounter in the bar (before drinks were had) and Bryan ended up stepping on Celi’s foot. For the record, once again, it was Celi’s fault. Not that she would admit that, stubborn child (don’t tell her I said that). Anyhoo, Celi was so fed up with how her weekend was going, she drank a few Amoretto Sours too many. Okay, like eight too many.

Bryan did not imbibe and has just arrived back home to find a surprise sitting against his door.

Balancing on the balls of his feet, he couldn’t decide what to do next. He had to let her know he was there, but he didn’t want to startle her. Gently, Bryan reached over and tapped her on the shoulder.

Without lifting her head, Celi said, “What?” So much for startling her.

“You’re in front of my door.”

“Wha-,” she started but as soon as she looked up, her arms flew up to cover her head and she started screaming. “Don’t hurt me, oh God, don’t hurt me.”

Taken by surprise, Bryan lost his balance and found himself sitting on the floor with her. “Would you calm down? I’m not going to hurt you. Why the hell would I hurt you?”

The crazy woman stopped her imitation of a banshee but refused to lower her arms. Peaking under her elbow she said, “Every time I’ve seen you in the last two days you’ve hurt me. First my hip when you almost ran me over, then my hip again when I ran into that ugly chair, and tonight when you stepped on my foot.” Taking one arm down to point to her foot she added, “I think you broke my toe.”

Bryan wanted to yell back. He wanted to tell her she was out of her mind and all those run-ins were her fault. But he couldn’t. She looked so sad and lost, and he was so tired. Tired of being angry.

“I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you. I don’t even know you. What are you talking about, an ugly chair?

“This morning, when I walked out of my apartment, I nearly ran into that chair you were carrying and ended up landing on my ass. Again.” After wiping the tears from her eyes she reached her right hand inside her left sleeve and used it to blow her nose.

Bryan struggled to keep a straight face. “I had no idea. How about we start over?” Bryan thought about shaking her hand then remembered the nose blowing and kept his hands to himself. “My name’s Bryan.”

“Celi.”

“Sealy? Like the mattress?”

Going from sad and lost to angry and sarcastic in record time she said, “No, that’s my name. Celi. C-E-L-I. It’s short for Cecelia.”

“Well, Celi, if you don’t mind, I’d like to go to bed.”

“I am not going to bed with you!” Celi punctuated her outrage by kicking him in the foot.
Just when he started thinking she might be sane. “I didn’t mean go to bed with you. Just to bed. In my own bed.” Before she could kick him again he clarified. “Alone.”

Celi crossed her arms over her chest and said, “Then go. Who’s stopping you?”

“You are.”

“Am not.”

“Am too.” They sounded like four year olds and before she could keep the comedy skit going, he said, “You’re blocking my door.”

Celi looked behind her as if she’d forgotten where she was. When she turned back he raised his brows and waited for her to get up. He should have known it couldn’t be that easy.

“This is my door. Your door is over there,” and she pointed to the door behind him, her door.

Taking a deep breath then letting it out slowly, Bryan put every ounce of patience he had left into his next words. “That is your door.” Holding up a hand to cut off her argument he continued. “See, that door says 3A. The door you’re leaning on says 3D. You live in 3A, don’t you?”

Celi’s face went blank and Bryan worried she might be too drunk to know her own address. Then the dawn of enlightenment hit and her eyes became giant blue saucers. “That’s why the key wouldn’t work. I knew I had the right key.”

Basking in the joy of knowing she knew which key went to her front door, Celi didn’t seem in a hurry to get up. Leaving her out here started looking better and better.

“Do you think you could get up now? It’s late and I’m tired.”

Celi stopped celebrating with her keychain long enough to look into his eyes. “If you’re tired, why don’t you go to bed?”

Time for drinking stories. Ever been so drunk you couldn’t find your front door? Your street? Your hand in front of your face? Lets share!

And They Meet Again

First, I have to correct something. And I’m amazed Hellie didn’t correct me sooner. The character in The Holiday is named Arthur, not Walter. You’d think I’d know better than to rely on my memory at this point. Sheesh.

So, I’ve been revising the first three chapter of the WIP to send off to the writing coach by the 25th. There’s no way I can have this final-draft ready by then, but I’m sure as heck not sending her first draft crappola either. The beginning was tough, but I’m enjoying it a bit more now. Cutting things is getting easier, and what I’m adding is more powerful and maintains the quick pace I like. I think it does anyway.

So tonight I reached one of my favorite parts, the second encounter. Celi gets the last word in this one, but the entire exchange is fun. That’s one of the great parts about writing these argument scenes, you can take time to come up with that perfect comeback you’d never be able to think of on the spot in real life.

So, I give you, the next, slightly less painful (for Celi anyway) encounter…

"You."

One word pegged Celi against the door with the accuracy of a knife thrower. Yellow-green eyes reflected her own surprise and ignited half a dozen conflicting emotions. The traitorous tremor of excitement at seeing him again being the most unsettling.

Forgetting the fact she’d been admiring his ass less than thirty seconds ago and that he’d just carried a chair into the apartment behind him, Celi said the first thing that came to mind. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Moving in." The man stood with his feet planted wide, shoulders back and hands in fists at his sides.

As if her brain refused to accept the obvious Celi pointed over his shoulder and asked, "In there?"

"No, downstairs. I just thought I’d haul all my crap up here first." His southern drawl stronger than she remembered, he shifted his weight from one foot to the other and pointed out another obvious fact. "I guess this means we’re neighbors. Lucky me."

Between the pain in her hip, the now thumping pain in her head and Mr. pain-in-the-ass, Celi failed to come up with a snappy comeback. She’d probably think of one by Monday.

How she’d missed the size of him last night she didn’t know. Celi stood at 5 foot 10 so jerk boy had to be a good bit over 6 feet. A wall of muscle, his shoulders went on forever, filling the doorway behind him like a curtain. His tattered University of Alabama t-shirt appeared to have lost its sleeves long ago, the tattoo on his left bicep looked tribal, and he was no stranger to the sun if his tan skin and sun streaked hair were any indication.

Once she’d taken him in from head to toe her eyes moved back to his face to find a smug grin and one brow raised nearly to his hairline. That damn look again. The comeback showed up sooner than expected. "Yes, lucky me. I always wanted an idiot for a neighbor. Let’s just hope we can manage not to run into each. Or should I say run over?"

"As long as one of us watches where she’s going I’m sure we’ll be fine." He’d emphasized the word "she’s" and his accent turned "fine" into a two syllable word.

The nerve. "Listen, Mr. Alabama, I don’t know what your problem is but I’d say our best bet is to stay as far away from each other as possible. Now if you’ll be so kind as to get out of my way, I’ll start that distance thing right now."

Stepping back to let her through he said, "I don’t have a problem Miss stick-up-my-ass and how do you know I’m from Alabama?"

Celi started down the steps throwing a response over her shoulder without looking back. "I’d suggest you read your shirt but maybe that’s more than you can handle. When you’re done bench pressing that furniture you might want to pick up a book."

Block head may have had some snappy come back but whatever he said was drowned out by the sound of Miranda’s horn. Celi would never complain about Miranda’s honking again.


As you can probably figure out, it’s mentioned that his shirt says UNIVERSITY OF ALABAMA before we get to this part. Now it’s onto the ball field and then to the bar for encounter number three. That one involves alcohol and leads to a much funnier encounter number four. Nothing more romantic than a drunk woman wiping her nose on her sleeve, right?

The Meet Cute

If you’ve ever watched The Holiday (and if you haven’t you must watch it ASAP!) you might remember Walter telling Iris how all the best classic films started with a meet cute. That cute, usually funny, totally random moment of coincidence when the hero and heroine meet. The moment that marks the beginning of their journey to their very own HEA.

Since I am a fan of the meet cute, in movies or books, it should come as no surprise that I’ve made an effort to create a meet cute in my WIP. Mine includes a close call, an exchange of insults, plenty of sarcasm (since that’s an ingredient I can’t seem to shake), and a touch of attraction. Unwelcome attraction, but attraction all the same.

To set this up, Bryan has just nearly run over Celi in her apartment complex parking lot. For the record, and because Bryan would never forgive me if I don’t make this clear, it’s completely Celi’s fault.

Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit.
Heart racing out of his chest, Bryan ignored the rocks digging into his skin as he knelt over the woman he might have just killed. Her eyes were closed, her body still. Only when her breath brushed his cheek did Bryan realize he’d been holding his own.
She’s alive.
A glance down the length of her body revealed a magazine open across one leg and a scattering of white envelopes, but no blood or obvious broken bones. A head injury would be hard to determine through the mass of chestnut curls spread across the pavement.
Reaching to move those curls brought him nose to nose with the woman and Bryan nearly jumped to his feet when her eyes flew open. Staring into blues eyes the color of the sky before a storm, his heart not only stopped racing; it stopped completely.
"Am I still alive?" she asked calmly.
"It seems that way."
“Damn.”
The woman made an effort to sit up; groaned and laid back. Looking up to the sky once more she said, "Where the hell did that car come from? It almost killed me."
Adrenaline still pumping, fear for her life changed to irritation at the idea this was somehow his fault. Bryan sat back on his heels. "Where did I come from? Where did you come from? I only almost killed you because you walked out in front of me."
"You’re the idiot that almost ran me over?" she asked raising her head as far off the ground as she could without getting up. Her eyes grew darker and a wrinkle appeared between her brows.
"Idiot?" She called him an idiot. Amazing. "I’m the idiot? You walked out in front of me. You’re lucky I was able to stop at all." Talk about ungrateful.
"Lucky? I’m the one laying on the ground and I’m the lucky one?"
Bryan raised his voice to match hers. "You’re only laying on the ground because you walked in front of a moving car. You never even looked. How can that be my fault?"
Sure he couldn't get any angrier, the banshee proved him wrong with her next statement.
"Of course, nothing could be your fault. Typical male."

Needless to say, the scene goes down hill from here. Celi comes out of it with a broken cell phone, a broken heel (on her shoe), and a badly bruised hip. Bryan comes out of it with a damaged ego, a good dose of frustration, and pity for the man who ends up with this crazy woman. Ha! Little does he know.

This is one of the few scenes to survive the great deletion of 2008. I’m glad it did. I kind of like it. A furious exchange of insults is something with which I’m well acquainted.

Next time, we’ll move to the second run-in. Right now, I’m working very hard to turn my limited POV into deep POV. Wish me luck.