What Should I Write About?
When Rosanna offered me the chance to appear on her blog (thank you for this opportunity, btw :-) I said “Yeah, all right, awesome!” And then I realized that meant coming up with a topic. My brain went “Dur…sugar please.” Which is stupid, because my brain never gives me good ideas on sugar, but it keeps trying to convince me it can learn, and I keep listening.
So here I am, and it made me realize, the entire thing is real similar to the cliff-notes version of how I pick which book to write next. At any given time I have dozens of story ideas bouncing in my skull and nagging for attention. And sometimes one screams really loudly, and sometimes none of them really speak up much at all. They’re more like “Eh, you could pick me, or not. Whatever. I don’t need you. I’ll write myself.”
Which they have never done. But like with the sugar, I keep hoping.
And frequently I’ll sit down and start a kind of stream of consciousness writing. If I can get a synopsis type summary spit out, I’ll head into outlining. If I can make it that far, I’ll give writing a scene or two a try. But that still doesn’t mean that idea wins for the week.
The ones that haunt me even after I walk away – both character and story – those are the ones I stick with. Conflict of Interest for instance. The original idea was simple. Two people with stress in their live meet in a coffee shop, and over time and the occasional “accidental” meeting, random venting becomes more.
The idea wouldn’t leave me alone. Next it wanted to consume (sorry, incorporate) two characters I created eons ago, for very different purposes, who I love so much I’ve never been happy with their roles in their stories.
Suddenly (okay, it actually took a little more work than that), just a little while later, I had: Scott’s sick of his board of directors dictating his behavior. Kenzie’s job is to make him like it. Talk about Conflict of Interest.
And now, as a result of the loud, nagging story about the couple who meets in the coffee shop, I’m writing this blog post. And off to find more sugar. Hey, it might work this time.
What inspires you?
Kenzie propositions a sexy stranger in a coffee shop to prove to herself she’s capable
of taking a risk. She doesn’t expect him to be sitting across from her the following
Monday as her newest client. Even worse, she can’t stop thinking about what might
have happened between them on a personal level if it weren’t for their professional
relationship. He knows how to push her buttons, and she doesn’t want him to stop.
Scott has built his software company from the ground up to escape things like stuffy
old men telling him how to behave, so he loathes his board of directors ordering him to
make the public forget he doesn’t have a verbal filter. When his new publicity manager
is the almost-fling he never expected to see again, he seizes the opportunity to have fun
and still pretend he’s complying with the board’s edict.
Giving in to desire could mean both their jobs, but each “one last time” always leads to
another. Now they have to decide what they’re willing to sacrifice to indulge this conflict
Kenzie twisted in the leather seat to face him, sinking into the oversized jacket draping her shoulders and wiping the rain from her face. The faint scent of his cologne swam through her thoughts. She studied him, soaking wet, shirt accentuating every line of definition on his chest.
He laughed and raked his fingers through his brown spikes, pushing the dripping strands off his forehead. “So you’d rather take your chances in the love van than the rain? At least now I know your limits. You’re not worried I might be bad news?”
“I know you’re bad news.” The way he didn’t filter his thoughts, but was still gentle and polite. The hint of mischief always lurking in his smile and promising something unknown. It was making her giddy, and nervous, and tingly all over.
She worked her fingers into the elastic holding her hair back and yanked it free, letting the loose strands fall around her shoulders. The ponytail had kept it from getting soaked, and it was nice to have the almost-dry warmth against her skin. She’d rather it was his hand again, but the moment seemed to be gone.
How had she ended up in this man’s car in the pouring rain, toeing the line of indecent conversation and fantasizing about stripping off his wet clothes? “The barista knows me. She saw us leave together.”
“So they’ll come after you when they find my body dead and mangled in a gutter?” His teasing smirk never faded.
She batted her eyelashes. “Yes. And the police will track me down, bringing my long string of kidnapping devastatingly sexy men to an end.”
“Sexy?” He leaned closer, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
Crap, she hadn’t meant to say that. No, wait, this was perfect. She wasn’t being frigid anymore. She could do flirting. Especially when he made it so easy. Her voice was husky when she replied. “Definitely sexy.”
“And you’re going to devastate me?” His fingers lingered on her ear, tracing light lines, eyes searching hers. She inhaled sharply when he trailed down to her earlobe and then brushed the hollow behind it where her neck met her jaw.
Her heart hammered against her ribcage, and her mind argued with itself—half insisting this was grossly inappropriate and the other half saying she was thinking too much. He was a random stranger, not a client or an associate. Just a guy whose rough palm against her neck was driving her thoughts wild. “I wouldn’t mind trying.”
Wind howled against the vehicle, rain slamming into it from all sides and drowning out the rest of the world. She could get lost in those eyes.
“Don’t you need to get home?” He didn’t pull away, and his skin was hot against hers.
The same argument she’d had with herself when Riley called echoed in her thoughts, but this time she was leaning toward continuing to swap one-liners with the sexy stranger instead of trudging back to her condo.
She shifted her weight in the seat and leaned into his hand, her voice almost lost in the storm outside. “Right. I should do that.”
The corner of his mouth twitched, fingertips gliding along the back of her neck. “You’re not convincing me.”
She exhaled at the light touch, currents of anticipation flowing through her. “I haven’t convinced myself.”
Allyson Lindt has been telling stories since before she could put the words on paper.
She was lucky enough to marry her muse and soul mate. Their cats are their children,
and when they’re not spending way too much time gaming, they’re building new worlds
together. Her short stories have appeared in several anthologies, and she made
her authorial debut with a racy, erotic short story on a popular porn site for women.
She loves a sexy happily-ever-after and helping deserving couples find their futures