I am miserable, people. I’m blaming the Husband’s company picnic. Or the antibiotics my doctor gave me. Or maybe this kefir I was told to drink because it would help my perpetually nervous stomach. But whatever inanimate object/event is to blame, it’s pretty clear that nothing I eat really wants to have anything to do with me.
And unfortunately, I’m behind on my word count (Picnic, I’m looking at you again!). Double unfortunately, I was pretty psyched to finish up this scene. Trouble is, it’s kind of a…erm…an interpersonally dynamic scene.
Okay, fine: it’s a very sexy scene.
And you know what? Those are really hard to write, period. It’s like humor. Everyone’s version of what’s funny or sexy is different. If this is going to work, I have to sell you on this character and that character and make you really see that, yes, this is hot.
And when I want to throw up or die? NOTHING IS HOT.
Now scouring my outline for scenes where characters are miserable and whiny…