On Writing & Publishing by Robin D. Owens

Personal notes on writing techniques, writing a novel, my writing career and threading your way through publishing a book.

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Location: Denver, United States

RITA Award Winning Author -- that's like the Oscar, folks! Futuristic/Fantasy Romance and Fantasy with Romantic Subplots.

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Tuesday, September 15, 2015

Ghost Killer End: Zach's Point of View...

He strode through the building and out, stopped a minute to let a couple of cars go by and admired the lavender painted hotel a block down and across the street. The right hand door to the balcony opened and Clare came out, carrying her tablet and a keyboard. He figured she'd be writing up her notes and cross-referencing everything six ways from Sunday. He pointed to the restaurant in the bottom of the hotel and she nodded.

He had no clue what she felt for him, and his insides twisted. After he got food for the trip, he opened the door to their room.

She'd tidied it up and the place looked nearly unlived in. Unloved in. As if they hadn't experienced so much as they had when they'd been there.

She sat on the balcony, her gaze toward the gap and the upper canyon. Her hand rested against her side. When he stood at the threshold, her head turned, but she didn't smile and he'd expected one. She gestured at the chair beside her and he came, shoved it closer to her, and sat.

"I'm ready to go." She sighed. "Such a pretty town, and a historic one of my time period that I could actually experience and appreciate, since there aren't any ghosts." She waved. "Like this hotel. I should like it more."

"We can always come back," Zach said. He didn't like this depressed Clare. He was the brooding one of the pair of them and didn't like seeing it on her. He took her free hand. Her fingers were cool but not cold. With a jerk of his head, he indicated the road up the canyon. "All the ghosts from your time period are gone, right? We can come back anytime you want."

"Oh." She blinked. "You're right." A small line set between her brows and her eyes went distant once more. "All the mines up around Bachelor Loop, the site of old Bachelor, too. No one's there."

"So we can come back. We'll always have Creede."

She looked at him askance. "Are you making a joke with regard to the film Casablanca?"

He nodded. "Lame. I know. Creede isn't Paris."

There was the hint of a smile. "No, but it's still beautiful in its own way."

"Uh huh." She hadn't taken her other hand from her side. "Are your ribs bothering you?"

Her gaze met his. One of the things that first attracted him to her were the shadows in her eyes that might match his. Like she'd suffered through darker things in life and he wouldn't have to explain himself too much. Now the hazel had darkened, and there were more than shadows, there was torment. "I think she wounded me. Inside. It feels like I have a hole, or a lack . . . just some aching emptiness . . . " She shook her head. "I can't explain it."


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