Road Trip

"Lovie, I don't know what to blog about. Again." With a huff, I flopped next to Nate on the couch.

"Whoa." He lifted his coffee cup to avoid being scalded. Then he looked at me from under the rim of his robe's hood.

I sighed. "I know. It's quiet morning time, but this is a dilemma. I'm always running out of things to write about for my blog. It's got to stop."

"Why don't you write about dinner last night?"

I paused a moment to gape at the coherent sentence—before 8am even. When I recovered, I said, "While I found the conversation at dinner fascinating, I doubt my readers will be as intrigued. Mulch and chicken manure are just not sexy to most people."

"True."

"I need to go on a road trip."

"You lost me." His forehead furrowed. "What does a road trip have to do with your blog?"

"I need inspiration. Do you know how long it's been since someone came up to me and—I don't know—asked to massage my feet? I need to get out and meet people so I have source material. I've run dry."

"Love, I'm not sure a road trip is the answer," he said in his beleaguered-but-patient voice.

"Oh, trust me, a road trip is just what I need." I thought about the last road trip I took and grinned.

Nate pointed at my mouth. "That is exactly why I'm saying this isn't a good idea."

I patted his hand reassuring. "Just keep your phone on you."

"My phone?"

"In case I need someone to bail me out."

Unlikely Heroes

I'm a convert. On two counts.

One: Jude Law.

I've never understood his appeal. In fact, I've always thought he was kind of swarmy looking. You know how people say be careful because the devil has blue eyes? Think about it.

But last week Nate and I rented "The Holiday" and now I get it. He was actually cute. I've never considered him witty and endearing but he pulled off those characteristics without making me scoff. I can see why women swoon at the mention of his name. Personally, I still only swoon for Nate, but to each his own.

Two: Russell Crowe.

He's another so called Hollywood hunk that I never thought was particularly hunky. When I saw him on the cover of "A Good Year," which was billed as a romantic comedy, I cringed and put it back. But then I picked it up again because it was set in Provence and I've been homesick for France lately.

And Russell Crowe as the lead? Inspired choice. At the end when he whispered to the heroine Je suis fou de tes lèvres, my little romance writer heart just melted. I mean, he was a little too buff for a workaholic British stockbroker, but hey—they have gyms in London, right?

Author Goes Insane

Because I've been working super hard lately, Nate took me away for a few days with the express purpose of not doing anything. I suck at not doing anything, but I was willing to try for my beloved.

So yesterday I was sitting on the deck of this house on a river in the middle of nowhere. Nowhere. There wasn't even cell phone reception in town, that's how remote we were.

Anyway, I was trying not to think about the proofs for PD2 waiting on my kitchen table when I saw this hummingbird perched on the tip of a tree. Every now and then it'd turn around and look at other things, but mostly it sat still at the very top of the tree. Then it'd flutter up and hover for ten seconds before it rested totally still on the branch again.

I watched it for almost an hour.

And I started to think. I've never seen a hummingbird just sit for such a long period of time. What was up with it? Was it old and tired? Where did it come from and why did it pick that tree? Didn't it have any family? And why was it just sitting? What was its motivation?

That's when I freaked out. Because if I was concerned about a hummingbird's goals and motivation I was definitely losing it. I'd slipped over the edge into crazy author territory, and if I wasn't careful there'd be no going back.

Ergo, look for more vacations in Kate's future. Or a straitjacket.

Random Sex

I read a book yesterday where the hero had sex with a random woman at the beginning of the story—after he met the heroine.

It bugged me. Big time.

I couldn't figure out why. It wasn't like he and the heroine had any type of relationship yet—he was free to have sex with whoever he wanted. I like it when the hero or heroine explores other options before choosing one mate.

And there's the reality of being a guy: if some random woman shows up ready and willing, what unattached guy would send her packing? Right.

Then it hit me. The problem was yesterday's hero had no motive. The scene could have been dropped from the book with no detriment to the plot.

Okay, I think it was supposed to up the conflict between the hero and heroine later in the story, but it didn't work. He had no reason to feel guilty—he'd made no commitment to the heroine yet. It just made the heroine look clingy and bitchy for making a big deal out of it. And it made the hero falling in love with the heroine unrealistic.

But I think it could have worked. The scene could have augmented the guy's attraction to the heroine.

I know—you're thinking Kate, how could a guy having sex with one woman show his attraction to another? Babe, you've got to lay off the crack.

Just bear with me for a moment.

There's a scene in Emma Holly's Personal Assets where the hero, frustrated by his attraction to the heroine, goes out and finds another woman to (ahem) ease his discomfort. But it works because the hero can't stop thinking about the woman he's falling in love with and, in the end, he's not satisfied by the random encounter. The scene shows his emotional growth in coming to terms with loving someone he thought he's not supposed to have.

So I would have cut the yesterday's random sex scene. Or used it to give the hero a little depth. One little sentence at the end of the scene where he wishes the he'd found the heroine on his doorstep instead would have done it.

A note from Kate: I'd like to point out that not once did I mention Lymond, though I was tempted. I finished the series—I think I can move on now. Sigh.