Though he desperately refuses the conformities of modern novel tropes, George acknowledges he's just the same as every book character. A side character that is. Studying his way into writing a hit novel George has to master the ups and downs of his...
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"Oh no, there you go. Making me a liar." Liar Camila Cabello
George
"Writing love is complicated and simple. When writing love between two characters you always want to have what?" My professor pauses. "Yes, someone said it. Sexual tension! When you give characters sexual tension it creates this want, not only between the characters, but the readers as well."
My creative writing teacher is my favorite out of all the years I've spent at this forsaken school. He has ten published novels as of last year. Five are mysteries and the other five are romances. I've read all of his mysteries, and two of the romances. His writing makes you feel what you're reading. The heartbreak, the yearning, the tension, the love. It's such a revelation to be able to study under someone with such talent.
"Now, someone tell me the difference between like and love." It's like crickets my professor chuckles. "Ah, I've stumped ya, haven't I? That's a problem in a lot of book relationships and well, real relationships. A lot of people can't tell the difference between being in like with someone and being in love. So, has anyone in here ever been in love and it fall apart, but a month later you weren't upset about it anymore."
Several hands go up. I'm sitting in the back of the classroom with my hands stuffed into Dream's hoodie. It was pouring down raining this morning and I forgot my jacket, Dream the ever hero he is, had an extra in his jeep. So here I am warm, out of direct sight, but an active listener, drowning myself in a smell I only occasionally have.
"I don't want to tell you what you were feeling wasn't love," my professor raises his hands in surrender. "It very well could have been, but if it takes a month or less to get over it and never think of it again, I call it fervent like."
The class is whispering now, quiet exchanges and tired comments. I'm taking notes on this because it might be useful for whatever he has to tell us next. My professor never goes into these details unless it'll be important, that's another thing I like about him.
"Now, has anyone here ever had someone they are so fond of it takes over." Hands go up but as he speaks the hands come slowly down. One by one. "That you'd go anywhere for them. Do anything for them. And I don't mean in a cheesecake way. In a way where if they asked you'd let them break your heart. If they betrayed you, you'd still be yearning for them. If they left, you don't think you'd be able to breathe without them there. It's not over in a month, or six, or a year, they will stain your soul forever. If they weren't with you or part of your life you'd fall apart. This is someone you would put their life before your own."
And maybe it should be sickening to say. Or stupid. Or insane. Or something heavy. There is only one hand raised in the classroom. My own. Only by the elbow, because I'm not a nark, but it's still up on the table.
The entire class is looking at me like I've lost my mind and maybe I have. The hand drops immediately when my professor raises a brow at me. Sinking into Dream's hoodie I beg the heavens to let me melt away right here in this seat. Burn into a puddle on the floor and evaporate.
