Yep. Today I started a new book for Harlequin, one I’m titling for my purposes, The Greek Tycoon’s Trembling Captive Virgin Bride. I think it pretty much sums up the story and characterization and should fly off the shelf.
I sat down to write early and am still at my desk at 8:43 pm and today I’ve made remarkable progress on my new book.
Let me share what I accomplished in a day of working:
His name is Zale Kavanos. (Zale is a Greek name for those of you who think I do not research).
Her name is Calla. Or Carla. No, Calla. Well, or Cloe. Good.
Oh? Calla Carla Calla Cloe’s last name? Gosh. You’re not going to believe this, but I didn’t get that far.
I do have a setting. Greece.
I have a conflict. They’re going to have to get married.
She’s poor. He’s rich. She’s just lost her grandmother and her home and everything she knows and he well, gets it all. Including her home, and everything she lost. Grandma, however, goes in the grave. Or vault. Or urn. I don’t have that part figured out yet.
And that’s really what I have.
That’s not a chapter you say. Not even a page. Huh.
Not even an opening sentence?
Excuse me. It takes a long long time to name characters. Seriously, give a character the wrong name and the book doesn’t work. I’ve battled for chapters in a book only to change a character’s name mid-novel and suddenly it all works. So naming is crucial. Naming requires research, analysis, application, and meditation and can easily take weeks. I feel incredibly successful having managed to name chracters in a day.
What’s that you say? I only had to name two? And I didn’t even name her completely? Well, there’s pressure. Fine. I’ll name her. Right now. I’m thinking, I’m visualizing the right name and for some reason I’m channeling….Shipley. That’s right. Calla Cloe Carla Shipley. Done.
And okay, you’re right. I need an opening line, just to say I’ve started chapter 1.
Close eyes, picture home following funeral in remote Greek village. Mist shrouded mountain, unseasonably cold, winter. Heroine standing outside closed library doors.
Here goes, fingers poised, ready to type…
‘Poor thing. She doesn’t even know yet. Her grandmother didn’t just leave her. She left her a million pounds in debt.’
Cut to Calla. Poor tender young thing. She’s stunned.
Wow. Good work, Jane. (Jane heartily shakes her own hand, claps herself cheerfully on the back.) You’ve done it again. Unbelievable. Sensational. You amaze me every day.
And now that my work is finally done, and it’s 8:59 better dash downstairs to watch the Bachelor in Paris finale.
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