I’ve had a bit of a dry spell ever since that whirlwind production of The Barbary Lion. It was satisfying to write and publish a novella in such a short time, but also drained the old brain. Over the past several weeks I’ve been reading … and, in doing so, slowly replenishing the well of imagination.

So, I’ve been thinking, but not writing. It’s a step in the right direction. I usually mull over a story before transferring it to keyboard. I would have said “paper,” but who uses paper anymore to compose stories?

I’ve gone back to jot down a few words here and there on a new adult romance tentatively titled Monterrey Salt. I’m thinking that a better fitting title may be Impulse. Really, the whole story launches from the impulsive act of the main characters.

As I’m trying for a bit of a less hackneyed story in this sub-genre, the main characters:

  1. Aren’t “broken.” Neither one is battling demons lingering from wretched childhoods and neither is a victim of abuse.
  2. Communicate. Yes, they make love. Frequently. Passionately. But they also talk. I dislike stupid misunderstandings that get blown completely out of proportion because the characters didn’t simply sit down and actually talk to one another.

Sure, we’ve got some archetypes going on. The rock star hero is a “manwhore” and his love for the heroine reforms him. Our heroine isn’t a squealing, promiscuous, shallow twenty-something with a drinking problem; in fact, she’s pretty darned level-headed and mature, ready to embark upon a challenging career. I put her at the beginning of her career, because no young adult fresh out of college starts at the top. Our hero is no slacker, either. He’s older than our heroine because that’s how I like ’em. He’s affluent, but then, he’s a rock star.

Right now my hero and heroine are humming along. I need to think up some sort of conflict, some obstacle, some disaster that will challenge them and prevent the reader from getting bored. There’s a possible love triangle (quadrangle?). Two of the band members are very attracted to our heroine; one could make a play for her, foment mistrust and doubt between her and our rock star. Of course, that would break up the band. Or perhaps our hero could do something cosmically stupid, like get sucked back into his old manwhorish ways, thereby destroying his marriage and leaving our heroine open for the other band member loves her.

Choices, choices. I’ve got some mulling to do.