It begins with the mussels


I’ve always got a bunch of stories waiting around for the exact right moment to write them – sometimes just a piece, sometimes a whole story, sometimes just a title. I type them out and save them and then, if I’m stuck trying to decide what I’m going to write next, I troll my Word files.

 That sounds easier than it actually is. I have Word files in quite a few places: both of my offices, my home computer, two or three separate thumb drives, including the one I carry with me that contains my current manuscripts.

 So depending on where I’m trolling, I might find something that really excites me. This single paragraph was one of those things. I want to wade right into this story, I want to get to know these characters – but mostly? I absolutely love this voice.

It’s so sensual and tactile and I love the fact that it’s in present tense. I’d like to finish this story so that, in the end, even I don’t know the names of the characters or what they look like, so that it ends as mysteriously and as erotically as it begins.

But this lovely little snippet is going to have to wait. I’m in the middle of revising a novella, writing a short novel and another longer one. That doesn’t stop me from waiting it. I really really really want to start it.

I won’t. Not quite yet. But knowing that it’s waiting for me? That might help keep me going on the other things.

 “It begins with the mussels.

Soft, sweet and succulently orange, their moist petals peeking through the hard dark shells protecting them. He offers them to her on a silver fork, a piece of warm bread held beneath to catch each droplet of juice.”


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