“Because even when he’s not angry — at least I don’t think he is — he has that thin-lipped, chin-stuck-out expression. There must be a term for it . . .”
“In love with himself?”
She snorted. “Yeah, that, too. But I meant the expression. Pouty. Like a toddler.”
“That works.”
“But the way he was with Lucifer . . . That was the worst.”
“Worse than the tension between him and Bryon?”
“Oh, yeah, because the dog can’t talk back.”
“No, but it can refuse to sit.”
She chuckled. “That was rather enjoyable. What do you think about that makeup Zoley had on? I mean she wears a lot, but that was wild.”
“Uh-huh.” As we arrived at my house, I felt my interest shifting from the Gang of Four back to my characters.
Clara followed me inside and, as promised, made me an omelette while I fed Gracie. LuLu and Murphy tugged on a toy in the living room.
Clara waved off my thanks when she served the omelette, then whisked LuLu and herself out the door.
I took the plate upstairs and ate as I wrote.
DAY FIVE
FRIDAY
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
After a few hours of sleep, I woke while it was still dark, with words in my head.
I got those down, but as daylight strengthened, the good writing stretch ended.
Done.
Kaput.
Gone as fast as it had arrived.
I tried reading over what I’d written, without spotting any inspiration for what came next.
I tried jumping ahead, except I produced only scraps of ideas.
I tried typing out questions to the characters — mostly the main character, Alex — asking what was holding her back. She wouldn’t answer. Maybe she couldn’t. Maybe that was her whole problem.
But if she couldn’t and I didn’t have the answers, what did that leave me with?
That was when my earlier thoughts about the character’s past and my past and Teague’s past resurfaced.
That naturally reminded me of a little research I’d done during a writing break yesterday.
Or the day before.
Reality’s timeline during my good writing stretch was murky.
Plus, I’d been distracted by having Kit’s voice in my head at the time from a previous conversation.