I Just Can't Do It

Write angsty stories, that is.




I've tried and tried to do the "Boy meets girl, boy and girl fall in love but both deny it, neither one trusts the other, angst ensues, someone grovels, love prevails, happily-ever-after" but I'm just not built to write it. I either wind up scrapping the project in disgust or giggling in my Cheerios over the melodrama that proceeds to spew from my fingertips. One of the rejection letters I have states that "there is not enough tension between the hero and the heroine".





Meaning they start out liking each other, still like each other in the middle and love each other by the end. Now, this was a few years ago, and I knew even then that they were right. There wasn't enough tension between the hero and the heroine. At least, not for the publishing house I sent it to.





Was I mad when I got the rejection? Nope. I considered it a learning experience. A poor business decision on my part, if you will. I still plan on revamping that novel, fixing it up, making it more the me I am now and resubmitting it to someone else.




Now, don't get me wrong, I love a good angst-ridden story every now and again. Diana Palmer is the ultimate cheesy, angst-ridden cowboy story. I know exactly what I'm going to get when I open a Palmer, and nine point nine times out of ten I'm not disappointed. Pick up a Harlequin? Angst city, but it's like a guilty pleasure: something I like to read, but know I can't write.

Now, give me a kidnapping, or an enemy the hero and heroine must band together to fight, or just a situation where they wind up working together for one reason or another and I'm your girl. Outside threats? Easy! Arguments between said boy and girl that actually gets resolved without resorting to half a book's worth of soul searching and groveling? No problem!



Sobbing into your cappucino because your boyfriend thinks you're a) cheating on him b) you're a liar c) you tried to steal his baby away from him d) an idiot or e) all of the above?


Eep.


My brain freezes. My fingers turn to mush. My three year old asks me, "Why you bangin' your head on da desk, Mommy?"





I just can't do it.



And you can't make me. Nyah.





Luckily, I don't have to, either. I enjoy what I write, and I'd like to think that comes out in the stories I make up.





I finsihed Cat of a Different Color this week and sent it to my beta readers (and already got a reply back! Damn, Stephanie, you're quick, lol!), and I'm planning on sending it in to the editor by the end of next week. Another Halle Puma, mated. Next I plan on working on Rossetti's Stone for the psychic anthology; hopefully I'll have it done quickly, since they're already starting to invade my sleep. More hopefully, the editor will like it and accept it for the anthology!





Yeah. My only angst is that my characters won't shut up.