As I wrote the title, I realized I was going to pull a bait-and-switch on you. Today’s blog is not about multi-flame heat rated erotica, but about the things that go through our minds that keep us from falling sleep. And how to solve the problem.
We’ve all done it. Lay awake half the night with thoughts and worries running through our heads. Someone was rude to you during the day, and you JUST came up with the perfect retort. Or you have a busy day tomorrow, and you KNOW you’re going to forget something. Or… (the list goes on and on.)
To lull myself to sleep, I write a story in my head. I’ve been doing it for years, and a couple ideas took off into full novels.
If I’m working on a manuscript, I’ll try to visualize the next chapter in my head. But if I’m between books, I try to draw from my life, or a movie, or a story I’ve read, and create a romance novel staring…me!
Here’s this week’s idea. Saturday I went to my first country concert to see a musician I’d heard a lot of great things about, Trace Adkins. He was really good! He’s got a fabulous deep voice, and a long pony tail, and he gyrates his hips like nothing I've seen since Vegas... But I digress.
For the concert, I bought a pair of western boots, and dusted off a cowgirl hat I bought years ago. Now the fun begins! My bedtime story starts when I left my friends after the concert to meet a blind date. He’d been at the concert too, so we decided to meet at a bar close to the arena.
I told him I’d be sitting at the bar, and I’d put my red coat on the back of my chair. And he said he’d be wearing a
black Stetson hat, and a denim jacket. As the bar filled with people coming from the concert, I looked at one Stetson and denim-clad cowboy after another, but when I saw Jake (my blind date) I knew it was him. A strong jaw and confident smile. Sapphire blue eyes and short blond hair.
We shook hands, he sat on the stool next to mine, and we ordered beer. I asked where he was from, originally, and he looked uncomfortable, then drawled, “Texas. San Antonio.” Something was oddly familiar about that, but I couldn’t figure out what it was. We’d met online through a dating service for locals. He had a Minnesota phone number.
After an hour of talking about concerts and musicians, and sipping our second beer, we ended up facing each other, our knees in between each others, and he held my hand in his, rubbing his thumb over my palm. His fingers were rough, like he did hard, manual labor.
“Where do you live?” I asked him. He looked away, sighed, then held my hand tightly. “Laura, you’re not going to like this. I live in San Antonio.” I startled. “What? But your online profile said Twin Cities!” He nodded. “I know, and I’m sorry to deceive you. But it was the only way I could get to meet you.”
Totally confused, I pulled my hand from his. “I’m not following you.” He said, “Your friend Stacy. Is my cousin.” I shook my head. “No.” Damn her! Stacy’d been talking about her Texas cousin for years, telling me how perfect he and I would be together. But I was not interested in moving, and her rich cousin would never give up his ranch and move to Minnesota for a woman. After my last long-term relationship ended three months ago, Stacy had urged me to join the dating service. Now I knew why.
I’d been played for a fool. For two months, Jake and I'd been chatting online, and I had hopes that this man might be the one. And the last hour had lifted those hopes even higher. Now everything was crashing. Tears filled my eyes.
Jake said, “Aw, now darlin’, don’t think we were doing this to be cruel.” I stood, grabbed my purse, and brushed a tear from my cheek. He said, “She’s been talking about you for years, and I had to meet you. To see if she was right about us being--“
I cut him off. “Jake, I’m going to the ladies room. When I come out, I would prefer not to see you.” I stormed into the bathroom, yanked my phone out of my purse, and dialed Stacy’s number. She answered, “Don’t go insane on me, Laura, I just wanted you to--“
I cut her off too. “I will never talk to you again. This was the most horrible thing anyone’s ever done to me!” Stacy cried, “No, don’t say that! Give him a chance.” I looked into the mirror. “He’s gone, Stacy. And I’m alone. And more sorry for myself than I’ve ever been in my life.” The tears coursed down my cheeks as I shut the phone off.
I took a minute to compose myself and repair my face for the embarrassing walk through the bar, and stepped out of the ladies room. Jake stood leaning against the wall, his hands stuffed in the front pockets of his jeans. He asked, “Can we talk?”
The nice thing about creating my own bedtime stories is that I can go back and rewrite a scene, or relive my favorite parts as often as I choose. They usually star me as the heroine, and it’s a good exercise for writing in deep point of view. And the hero can be anyone I dream up, or meet, or find fascinating.
And since I’m writing this blog just before bed, I’m excited to get my teeth brushed and my night cream glopped on so I can snuggle under the covers and see what Jake will do next!
Sweet dreams!
Laura
LauraBreck.comThe Roses of Prose, Authors of Women’s Fiction and Romance
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