My Characters are together, curled up under a warm blanket, and talking. Just talking, at the moment, although in the WIP as a whole, they’re actually lovers. They’re talking about a scar he got running on the staircase when he was a kid. It’s a twin to a scar I have on my knee. Pretty pale, now. On both of us. When it was new, it looked like somebody attacked us with a three-tined fork.
They’re talking about the factories their families ran when they were kids. His family made furniture. Hers canned fish. There are smells attached to that, and temperatures, and honestly, the whole thing reads more like a high school creative writing assignment than a real scene. Nobody’s going anywhere. There’s no conflict. Not even a tiny bit of tension.
And by the way, I’m writing this particular scene from inside a nest of pillows and blankets, myself. On real-life paper, which is a sure sign I’m looking for my own emotions in the writing. And a better than average bet it’ll wind up being forgotten in the back of a notebook within a couple of days.
My sister’s cat… which has been living with me for over a year, now… can’t resist attacking my pen while I write, and prefers, if at all possible, to do this while sitting on top of whatever notebook I thought I’d be working in.
I’m getting kinda fond of that cat.