Heading down the home stretch. Almost there, I think I can….
This is more a reminder than a writing tip.
A reminder to myself that what I write is mine and what you write is yours.
Your story, your theme, your novel, your draft, your characters, or your blog.
Everything you write is a part of you and is yours.
Be true to yourself.
I learn something new almost every day from great bloggers and writers. I work and strive to polish my writing into something worth reading, welcoming constructive criticism. Everyone loves to hear how their WIP is wonderful but no one wants to hear the bad. However, we need both.
Critiques are helpful, just remember the end product is yours. Don’t let anyone take and remake your baby into another writer’s vision.
Find someone you trust to beta read your work. Take their suggestions and apply what you want.
Good or bad, freaky or fabulous, beautiful or ugly, the writing is yours.
What’s happening to Rachel?
As his right hand brushed the hair from her eyes, his left reached toward the floor. Rachel’s sidearm pointed at his belt buckle before his hand cleared the leather seat.
“I wouldn’t.” She said.
“Whoa, I was just gonna get for a napkin or something.” He said.
Sure enough, he pulled a handful of Dairy Queen napkins from under the seat. He was quick thinking, she’d give him that, but his gun lay too close for comfort. Her gut said not to believe him, not for a minute.
“That’s right gentlemanly.” Rachel said, “But I’d leave that Colt on the floor where it fell.”
She took a napkin and blotted at the cut above her right eye.
“Now why don’t you explain what the hell just happened.”
“A damn pothole back there did a number on my front tire. I pulled off too fast. Think we got a flat.” He said.
The cab filled with hot air when he opened the driver’s side door. Rachel flipped down the visor to inspect the damage to her head. The cut didn’t look too bad, but she’d have a shiner tomorrow. One more thing for the guys back at the office to tease her about. The bleeding seemed to subside to a trickle, so maybe she could avoid stitches. Rachel opened her door and went in search of a snake in Levi’s.
They both stared at the front flat tire. He kicked it, muttered a few curse words and walked to the back of the truck. Jase stripped off his chambray shirt and laid it on the back seat of the extended cab.
“Will it take long?” Rachel followed him to the tailgate.
He didn’t even bother to answer, just manhandled the tires as if they were a child’s swim ring. She couldn’t help but be impressed with the muscles straining against his white tee-shirt.
Rachel was relieved changing the tire didn’t take as long as she feared. After buttoning his blue shirt, Jase tossed her a bottle of water from a small cooler.
“You’ve got a cooler? With water?”
Jase drank the cold water down in one gulp.
“You gonna drink that or play with it?” He asks before tossing his empty into the floor.
It tasted amazing. God, she was so thirsty. Rachel didn’t understand why he hadn’t offered her water earlier. She couldn’t figure him out, but she would. They still had a ways to go. She checked for a phone signal. None.
No other options for miles, she climbed in the truck.
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