Research: Romance

darlin'

Walking into Desi's office, I flopped onto her couch where I had left my laptop open. The space bar, the whole reason I left to get snacks, was still blinking at me vacantly. I hadn't written anything. Not even a frowny face.  However, at that thought I reached over and typed :( then pulled the blanket hanging over the arm of the couch onto my face. A long groan was what followed. 

"Ooh, Darlin'," Desi chimed from behind her desk. She was rapidly typing like her fingers were barely keeping up with her brain. "That is not the noise I want to hear." 

I huffed under the blanket crushing it further into my face and shaking my head. 

"So, I take it the characters didn't talk to you while grabbing snacks either." 

I let out a noise that sounded like a whine as a response. There were a few clicks, typed with finality, before I heard her laptop shut. Desi cleared her throat, and I could imagine her taking off her glasses and folding them neatly off to the side. 

"Why are you torturing yourself?"

 Her voice was gravely in that comforting sage-old-woman way. I often daydreamed about Desi being like Circe on her island, crafting spells, attaining wisdom beyond her years, and turning despicable human beings into pigs. I figured it was the round wire glasses, or the fact that she always wore her hair in a neat braid at the back of her head that made it impossible to shake the image. That and the fact she always steepled her fingers in my direction when she was trying to make a point, it felt like spell casting. 

 "I don't want to lose my touch." 

"Ahh, very quippy." Desi was tapping her foot against the side of her desk. "Now if only you could write a character so quippy." 

I threw the blanket down, trapping it under my arms as I glared at her.

She smiled slightly before taking a sip of her coffee. No matter how long the cup sat on her desk there was always a ribbon of steam floating off it. Either she had a very pro-active intern or... again... witchcraft. 

She sipped, licked her dark red lips, and the fingers steepled in my direction, "You wouldn't struggle so much if you just let the words come to you instead of forcing them." 

"So, you've said." Rolling my eyes I pulled the blanket back over my head, "Is this not letting go? Look at me. I'm desperate, pathetic, dying for a semblance of a story and nada, nit, nothing." 

The chair at her desk thudded and she moved over to sit on the side of the couch by my side. Gently she pulled the blanket down to look at me. Only my eyes were visible to her. Affection poured out of her in a gooey look. It was like having an indie-punk-inspired labrador pouting at you. "What happened?" 

Narrowing my eyes, I mumbled in the most convincing nonchalance, "Nothing." 

The labrador-look quickly shifted into feline judgement, "Are we going to play coy, or are you going to tell me what happened?"

Surrendering to her powers, I sat up and pushed my hair down. It took a minute of me fiddling with the lint balls on the blanket before meeting her eyes. She was stern. So irritatingly stern it drove me to trust her every word. "I had a panic attack at the convenience store." 

She didn't say much, just lifted an eyebrow and took a drink of her coffee. However, I knew what that eyebrow meant.

Continuing, I took an irritated breath, "I thought they were supposed to be getting better with meditation and practice... but I can't stop stressing about this book. My ulcers are getting ulcers."  Playing with my fingers, I thought for a moment about what happened, and then took her coffee mug and had a sip. "If it weren't for the guy there, I would still probably be frozen in the candy section." 

Desi furrowed her brows, and we took turns sipping her coffee. "What guy?" 

"This guy," I shook my head, at a loss to even explain him to her. "You won't believe me, but he was like... I don't even know. Just---" I made a vague hand gesture, attempting to express what I was talking about. I settled for: "Nice." 

"Wow. You really are blocked if you can't describe someone at a gas station..." She looks at me like she hardly recognizes me for a moment, then trails off. Desi stands up moving to the door and opening it. My signal to go back to work. "Well, maybe use this guy to your advantage. Write about what happened today. It may stir something up. Regardless, I want an outline by the end of the week. I don't care if it's incoherent, I just want an idea. Need I remind you that you are quickly running out of time." 

"Oh, am I? I hadn't noticed." Grabbing my laptop, I tucked it under my arm and headed toward the door when I stopped, suddenly, "If I fail, and don't get this movie deal, are you going to fire me?" 

"Publishers don't fire their favorite authors., Desi rolled her eyes. "Besides you're like a stray cat that won't leave my porch... how could I not take you in?" 

I snorted, "Such a way with words." 

"Yes," She smiled meanly, "Now find your way to yours. Out there." 

A half-growl sounded from the back of my throat before turning and walking back to my desk. The wooden surface was covered from front to back with photo inspiration, romance novels, notes, failed attempts at a hook and premise. It was also chalk full of coffee rings I had forgotten to wipe off. Setting up my computer again, I gazed out the window and down the street toward the convenience store. Briefly, I wondered what I would be writing if it weren't for this stupid book. I could be researching anything in the world, authoring the next Great American Novel (a girl could dream), or even just relaxing and typing with the same ease and joy I started my career with. 

 It took a half hour of folding paper cranes and balancing pencils before Desi flipped her curtains to glare at me directly. Her eyes narrowed into pointed blades of jade. I almost flipped her off, but she slowly ran her finger across her neck and pointed at me. Chastened, I focused and stared at my computer again. Stock photo and Pinterest inspired couples crammed the back wall of my desk, all smiling happily. I rested my chin in my hand and stared at them for a long time. 

"Please, talk to me. Anything. Something. A name, a job, a city." There was, of course, no response. So, I sighed and sat back. "How am I supposed to write your story if I don't know anything about you?" 

 Then, like a little spark flying off a match trying to strike, I shot up.  A little writing exercise couldn't hurt, right?... So, I started to jot down notes, thoughts, and feelings as they came. I wrote down the encounter at the convenience store and drafted how the panic attack felt. Pretty soon, I was putting in my headphones, hunkering down, and starting on an idea.

 When Desi flipped her curtains again, she smiled pleasantly to see me giving her a thumbs up, eyes only leaving my screen to notice her for a second. 

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Good day (or night) my lovely readers! 

Uggh writers block is the absolute worst. I really feel Leah's pain sometimes. However, it looks as if she has a little something brewing in that noggin of hers again ;) Exciting! 

Leah is reading a lot of romance books to get inspiration, and it got me wondering: do you have a favorite romance novel or trope? 

Let me know in the comments, and don't forget to vote and share! :) 

With love, 

e.g.