With Hurricane Ike headed to another part of the Gulf Coast, my life shows signs of being even. We're back to scheduling play dates and working on a carpool for a gymnastics/creative dance class for one of my daughters. I'm considering calling a tree removal company to take the pile of debris that Phill cleared from our yard, our neighbor's yard, and one more yard down the street. Besides from needing some non-mental activity, he wanted the street to look inhabited. That's a good thing when most of the people who evacuated wanted to get back to prevent any possible looting. The NOPD and LA National Guard can only be so many places.
Phill and I are back to discussing a romance that he wants to help write. We have two, actually, but one is much more involved and calls for some science finagaling. He's rather busy lately, so that thriller will have to wait as a synopsis for now. The one we chatted about last night deals with some culture clash--Alabama girl turned city girl takes a job in a small city in Mississippi. She meets a master electrician who looks very comfortable on a Harley, and I'm not talking about the executive-druing-the-week motorcycle rider. This guy fits the bill. A mullet that's not too terrible, a full mustached that reaches past the sides of his mouth, and a home that's a trailer.
The story line bloomed when we saw a man of the above description in a restaurant. "Could you write a romance about him?" Phill asked.
"Uh, no. I mean, well, probably, but it would have to really delve into his character, 'cuz the outside's not that much to talk about."
"Oh, c'mon. He could be a great guy. You could do it."
For the 30 minute drive to my sister's house, we plotted. We know who she is. We know what he likes. We have even written a scene that will make you laugh--I promise. "My Electric Lover" will be the next on the writing docket.
That means that I have to finish "A Man of Few Words". This is the entire reason that I wrote this post, to let you know that I posted Chapter 9. There's something wrong with it, but I just can't put my finger on it. Or, maybe it's fine as is. Well, no, nothing is ever just fine as is. Room can always be made for improvement.