I really need a title for my sweet contemporary, even if it’s just a working title. I think I’ll add a Regency tang and call Clare’s story, “Marry Me, Sir”. Not that Clare wants to marry. But honour requires her to ask Evan, and desperation causes him to accept because how else is he to woo a shy Amazon? It’ll be spades and rakes at twenty paces as they duel it out in the spring sunshine of a Cornish garden.
I’ve written and rewritten the first chapter. I’m not sure why it was so hard to find Clare’s voice or why Evan stayed silent so long. But he’s talking now–and he’s a knock out. I love his story of his great-grandparents’ marriage.
It sounds bizarre to write it that way, but sometimes I truly am surprised at the plot twists and dialogue that flows from the back of my brain through my fingers to the computer screen. Surprised, and this time, delighted.