THE INSIDE WORKINGS OF A WRITER’S MIND
When I was growing up, back in the dark ages before microwaves, computers and cell phones, adults warned children to stay clear of people who talked to themselves. They were “touched in the head” and liable to do all manner of harm to you with their craziness.
No doubt if these strange people were talking to themselves, they were hearing voices in their heads—a clear sign of insanity. Or maybe they were just writers. If one could only make a tape recording of the voices a writer hears, it would go something like this:
“You know that scene you wrote yesterday? It was crap. Pure crap. No way would I react like that. You made me sound possessive and, well, Neanderthal-ish,” growls my hero.
“I need bigger boobs,” whines my heroine.
“Hey, when are you going to write my story? You promised me you’d write about me next. Hey, what do you mean ‘take a number?’ I’ve been waiting here a long time,” growls a soldier from World War II.
“I need bigger boobs.”
“Why do you always write romance? I’ve got a great murder mystery I wanna talk to you about.” A man crushes a cigarette with the heel of his Italian loafers.
Heroine stamps foot. “A twelve-year old has bigger boobs than me.”
From the dark, barren outlands of my mind shines a pair of golden eyes. “Shapeshifters, babe, that’s where it’s at.”
“Hulk Hogan has bigger boobs than me. Hell, Brad Pitt has bigger boobs than me!!!”
Get the picture?
A writer is never alone. The voices in her head keep her company. And not just during her waking hours either. One night a Harley came roaring into our bedroom, or so it sounded. I sat up in bed, looked around and saw nothing. I snuggled against Calvin’s back and drifted off to sleep. Once more the Harley roared in and a muscular guy got off, removed his helmet and adjusted his stance to accommodate his prosthesis. Who was he? How did he lose part of a leg? What put that sadness into his eyes? The vision faded and I went back to sleep eventually. As I knew it would, the Harley came roaring in again, the man got off and watched a young woman with violet eyes come barreling out of the Lonesome Steer Honky Tonk.
I’d been thinking about writing a short story for the Honky Tonk Hearts line at The Wild Rose Press. But what would I write about? I wanted something different. As luck would have it, the story came roaring into my bedroom in the middle of the night. Those Violet Eyes will be released June 27th.
Here’s a sneak peek into the romance between a wounded ex-Marine and a saucy waitress at the honky tonk, or bar. Win, my hero, has just started working there as a cook. Evie’s boss tells her to go back to the kitchen and introduce herself to the new cook.
Evie charged through the swinging door to the kitchen and skidded to a stop. It couldn’t be. Although his back was toward her, there was no mistaking the height and the broad muscled shoulders. This mystery nephew of Gus’s was the guy who’d remarked on her eyes. Her stomach did a little twitchy dance, nerves no doubt. She ran her suddenly damp palms over her short skirt and cleared her throat. “Excuse me. Win?”
She took a couple steps closer and noticed he was washing vegetables under a spray of water. “Win?”
Evie rolled her eyes and stepped behind him, tapping him on the back. The man dropped the strainer, swung around and grabbed her forearms. In a flurry of movement, he snatched her off the floor and backed her against the stainless steel counter. Cold wet hands viced her arms. Her eyes snapped wide and the air whooshed from her lungs when his body slammed into hers.
“Don’t do that!” Win’s eyes were narrowed and his breathing rapid. His jaw was clenched and a vein bulged in his forehead. The man was every inch the warrior, every hard tensed inch. He held her mid-air, so close they were nearly eyeball to eyeball. As his gaze traveled over her face and awareness evidently crept in as to the sex of his attacker, several inches of his frame hardened even more.
Evie swallowed. Oh, good Lord.
He glared and his nostrils flared.
“I…I’m sorry. I called your name, but…but you didn’t answer. I was only trying to get your attention.” Her lips twitched at the humor in the situation. Hadn’t Keira told her the man lost part of his hearing? Evidently she’d startled him. Poor soul. She felt a portion of herself return. A portion she’d hidden for so long; that light-hearted part of her soul that teased and cajoled. “Honest, I wasn’t trying to attack you.” She placed an open palm on his defined pecs and patted. “You’re safe with me, big guy.” Just to rattle him some more, she winked.
Win’s hazel eyes flashed for a second. Then he slowly leaned in and whispered in her ear, “You’re not safe with me.”
Vonnie’s latest release, “Storm’s Interlude” is available now from The Wild Rose Press and Amazon.
Here’s the blurb & all-important buy links!
Nurse Rachel Dennison comes to Texas determined to prepare her new patient for a second round of chemo. What she isn’t counting on is her patient’s twin brother, Storm Masterson. Despite her initial attraction, Storm has two things Rachel can’t abide: a domineering personality and a fiancée.
Half Native American, with the ability to have "vision dreams," Storm dreams about Rachel for three nights before her arrival. Both are unprepared for the firestorm of emotions their first encounter ignites.
Ultimately, it is Rachel’s past—and abusive, maniacal ex-boyfriend—that threatens to keep them apart…and Storm’s dreams that bring them together again.
Fabulous post, Vonnie!! ALL my stories start with a voice in my head so clearly I need to be sectioned (although I've thought this before I wrote too). The trouble with those voices? I worry one day they'll disappear and then where will I be?? Not writing much, that's for sure :(
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