Tune on the MusicMatch: “If I Can Dream” by Elvis Presley
I’m going through writer’s block. So I’m letting two of my characters “talk” to me. It’s an exercise that hopefully helped. Well, it was fun anyway. 😉
“I’ve got so much more depth than him,” the brown eyed man scoffed. “I could add so much more humor and romance to your story than him.” He gestured toward the other man.
Blue eyes narrowed. “What do you know? She hasn’t even touched the heart or soul of me. It’s there, I swear.”
She sighed. She stared at both men, seeing their charm and appeal, knowing that she could write so much more into the dark eyes than into the blue eyes. But the blue eyes, they seemed to see more into her than she wanted.
“Dude, I can totally groove into anything you want and you know it,” brown eyes said. “That one over there can’t come close to my moves.”
She raised an eyebrow at blue eyes, issuing a silent challenge.
“I do not groove,” blue eyes frowned.
“Right, that’s going to help her with the story,” brown eyes rolled his eyes. “You need someone who can make you laugh, someone who can rock the socks of your readers. I am that man. Do it baby, you know you want to.”
She laughed. She couldn’t help it. Blue eyes looked utterly disgruntled.
“Can’t I just fuse your personality with his looks?” She asked brown eyes.
He shook his head. “Nope. He’s what he is and I am whatever you want.”
She knew he spoke the truth, but something about blue eyes tugged at her.
“I want to break that hard wall you’ve erected,” she implored blue eyes. “I want to make you laugh. I want to know what makes you tick. Help me.”
“Figure out my flaw and my passion,” he whispered.
Silence was his flaw. The thought intrigued her.
“Come on sweetie, don’t fall for him,” brown eyes tried to draw her away.
“I can’t figure out his passion,” she said.
Brown eyes sighed. “You’re dense, you know that? YOU are his passion.”
Blue eyes smiled, a very knowing light in his eyes.
She sat back in her chair. “Me?”
Blue eyes nodded. “Of course.”
“So show me more! I only get a flicker of the possibilities,” she said. “With him, I can feel his words pour out of me. But you, you’re so silent. When I try to write what you say, it sounds stilted.”
“It’s because you’re afraid of not liking what I might say. You’re afraid that I won’t be a good match. You can’t see past my guy image. You think I’m just about golf and baseball. You’ve got to figure out the rest of it.”
Brown eyes watched her. “I still think I’m a better hero dude.”
“Maybe in another story,” she winked.
