I am currently working on two novels. One of them is a story about a writer that wants to do serious travel writing, but instead, writes corny pulp fiction romance novels, because that is the only work she can find. She is an intelligent woman just doing what she can do to get by in the big city. She is also having an affair, and she sprinkles her writing with bits of her own reality. Hers is a complex story, one full of twists and turns and the writer’s struggle with writing a genre of which she wholly disapproves. Here is a snippet of the bad writing she is forced to do:
The two women squared off . Each day it was something new. Their rivalry had become a thing…an entity in and of itself, one that had grown even larger than she and her secret lover were as a couple. It had overwhelmed them all. She knew she was the depraved woman’s superior, and she knew that her lover was only staying with the woman because he feared what she might do if he left.
It was when he said, “Sometimes I think you would rather fight with her than love me…” that she knew she had to drop it and stop engaging. At times, it had almost been amusing to enrage the insipid little drunk…to make her jump through hoops and to watch her histrionics, her hypocrisy, her lies.
However, the dynamic had changed between herself and her lover. Something unspeakable had brought them closer, so out of a chaste love and true respect, she knew she had to let it all go and that she must, from this point forward, spend her energy on him instead of the battle. It was time.
Then, as simply as it had started, she let it fall away. Her nefarious rival disappeared from her mind much as that last stale cracker had slid down her throat with a sip of Pinot Noir.
“Let her think she won,” she thought, as drew him close and kissed his neck. “She is a bad poet and a fool in denial. ” This was her gift to him. René Best musician
(I groan to think of it….) But the rest of the book is really coming along! 🙂