(Writing – Depositphotos)
I’ve had a rather productive writing week, and am hoping for another one. I did take a break on Friday for good music, food and wine with a friend, but am back at it now. One thing is troubling me, and that is a title for this novella I will have out later this year for the Common Elements Romance Project. Sometimes titles come easy. Other times, they don’t come at all. This one is harder, but I need to figure it out, because I have my cover picked out and need to get that wrapped up. How awful is it that I’m having a harder time with the title than the story blurb?
I took a little break from this yesterday to read through one of the shifter stories that’s been nagging at me this week. One of my brain’s ways of either a) telling me I need to stop looking so hard at what I’m working on, or b) procrastinating. Could be either in this case. In any case, I have a little snippet from that to share with you today.
India shifted in place, wishing that for once she’d picked the slightly more reasonable heels instead of the killer, fuck-me shoes. Maid of honor duties included dancing at the reception, and her toes had begun protesting several hours ago.
“You should dance some more, India,” Tessa said, sliding her arm around India’s waist. “For both of us.”
India glanced down at her best friend. “You’re not too pregnant to dance your wedding night away, you know, Mrs. Wentworth.” She put her own arm around her friend’s shoulders.
“But too tired.” Tessa’s smile was still radiant. “You didn’t bring a date.”
India thought she hid her wince pretty well. “Too much work to find dates right now.”
“Uh-huh.” Her friend slanted a doubtful glance up at her. “What about Jon?”
She shook her head. “I haven’t seen him since before you moved down here.” Hadn’t thought of him either.
Tessa bit her lower lip, and India sighed.
“I was just thinking…” The other woman hesitated. “There was an Irish shifter you used to see a few years ago.”
India’s chest squeezed painfully, stealing her breath. Trust Tessa to remember him. “That was a long time ago,” she managed after a moment.
Tessa caught her gaze and held it.
India forced a smile. “Why don’t you enjoy your own wedding day before you start planning mine?” she teased.
Her friend laughed, and India relaxed a tiny bit.
“Excuse me.” Harley pushed between them. “I want to dance with my wife.” He didn’t wait for a response, just guided Tessa away.
India smiled and took her champagne glass to the nearest empty chair. The table’s occupants had abandoned their seats for the dance floor. Or maybe the bar. She kicked off her shoes with a sigh of relief and propped her feet on the chair beside her, watching her brother and her best friend swaying together, completely absorbed in one another.
She was not jealous of her best friend and her brother.
It had been a beautiful wedding, and India had cried happy tears for them–and a few regretful tears for herself, if she were honest.
She sighed and reached up to rub at the ache that started at the base of her skull and spread upward to squeeze around the rest of her head. She considered undoing the sleek twist of her hair to alleviate a tiny bit of the pressure, but decided to wait a little longer.
Her mother sat down a minute later with a sigh. “You’re not dancing.”
India tipped her head to look over at her mother. “My feet hurt. Stupid new shoes.”
Lareina laughed. “And you’re alone.”
“Please let’s not go there. Tessa already did.”
Her mom’s smile faded slightly. “I’m sorry, baby.” She reached over to touch India’s cheek. “Are you all right?”
India caught her mom’s hand. “Of course. Just busy with work.”
Lareina studied her for a few moments, seeing too much as she always did. “Come and see me this week.”
“I’ll be in New York a couple days this week, Mom. I’m sorry.” She was sorry–and she wasn’t, because it meant she avoided a grilling on her lack of love life for a few more days. “When I get back, I’ll stop over.”
Her mother didn’t look satisfied with that, but she didn’t protest, just tightened her hold on India’s hand.
“Ah, Lareina.” Boyd Wentworth cleared his throat from behind India. “Would you like to dance with me?”
India’s eyes rounded. Her father asking her mother to dance?
Her mother gave India’s hand a squeeze. “Certainly, Boyd.” She stood again and released India to head for the dance floor.
Boyd stared after her for a few seconds, then trailed along behind her.
India stared after both of them, wondering if she’d fallen into another dimension. Her parents had been divorced for a long time, and acrimoniously. What the hell?
Now that I’ve taken a short break, I’m back to work. For my writing friends, how often do you have trouble with titles? For my reading friends, how much do titles draw you in?
Have a great week!
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