An Irresistible Bachelor (An Unforgettable Lady #2)(2)

For a credible surprise to work, it absolutely must be believable in the context of the world you’ve created. Set your book in the Adirondacks and have a massive L.A.-style earthquake wipe out a town: Surprise? Yes. Credible? Ah . . . not so much. Assuming you’re not in a paranormal world with some bad guy who’s got a really powerful wand up his or her sleeve.

When it came to Bachelor, I can remember feeling really stumped at the big, fat nothing I’d whipped up. For Jack to go against what he’d promised Callie (namely that he wouldn’t make up his mind about his candidacy before she decided if she could trust him fully with her secret) would be totally unheroic. So he couldn’t be the one to blow the whistle. And his close friend Gray Bennett was set to be a hero in a future book (assuming I ever got published again). Callie would never say a word. . . . What the hell was I going to do?

At this point in my career, I was still trying to “think up” books, i.e., I was trying to manufacture specific endings and force characters into places I thought they should go (as opposed to just letting them do what they’re going to do and getting out of the way). (P.S. I’ve had much better luck NOT thinking.) Eventually, however, it dawned on me: Jack’s mother, the evil witch, could blow them apart. Perfect! The first credible surprise I ever tried. Not a big one, granted. But her announcing his candidacy before he was ready was exactly the kind of obstacle that Jack and Callie’s story needed. Was it believable? Yes. Did it come out of nowhere? Well, for Jack and Callie it sure did.

And yes, they worked through it, and they did get their happily-ever-after.

Man, do I remember feeling out of control as I came up to that announcement scene. And I guess that’s why I’m such a careful outliner now. I can’t write well if I’m not really grounded in the levers and pulleys of a book’s inner mechanics. Now I know that the better prepared I am, the more I can let myself go . . . if that makes any sense.

After I was released from my contract, which happened, just as I had suspected, shortly after I turned this manuscript in for production, part of my restructuring myself as a writer focused on how to identify, magnify, and resolve conflict between characters. Which, in retrospect, is ironic. I spent a lot of time and money getting and reading books on the craft of writing. . . . I even ended up sitting down and deconstructing, chapter by chapter, the plotlines in some of the books that I loved the most . . . and yet I ended up as a writer taking all that formal stuff and all the “rules” out of my process and my plots.

It’s weird, though. Courtesy of all that studying, I changed my game big time. I used to hate conflict. Now when I write, I wallow in it. Big emotions on the page used to scare me. Now I’m addicted to them. And finally, going dark used to be something that I was steered away from. Now that’s where I’m most comfortable—because I know that the inevitable redemption at the end burns all the more brightly for the contrast.

I truly hope you love Bachelor as much as I do. I think it’s a very solid book, and rereading it now makes me see a lot of where I eventually ended up. This was the big turning point where everything changed for me, and for that alone, Jack and Callie will always have a special place in my heart.

And, well, I still love a hot guy in a suit—whether it’s made of worsted wool or black leather. . . .



Happy Reading,



J. R. Ward

January 2011





1


THE WOMAN came to him from the shadows and he knew her by the red of her hair. She moved slowly, deliberately, toward him and he released his breath with satisfaction. He wanted to ask her where she’d been because he’d missed her.

But the closer she got, the less he felt like talking.

As she stopped in front of him, he reached out and ran a finger down her cheek. She was achingly beautiful, especially her eyes. They were spectacular blue, a shade that perfectly complemented the auburn waves that fell past her shoulders. He wanted her. No, he needed her.

Her smile deepened, as if she knew what he was thinking, and she tilted her head back. Staring at her upturned mouth, at her parted lips, a wave of urgency shot through his body. Giving in to the hunger, he put his hands on her shoulders and pulled her close, wanting to take what she was offering quickly before she disappeared again.

Bending down, he felt anticipation and something else, something that made his heart pound with more than lust.

Jack Walker’s eyes flipped open. Caught up in the raging hunger in his body, he wasn’t sure whether he was truly awake. Or where the hell he was. He knew the bed wasn’t his own, but not much else.

He looked around at the dark shapes in the room. After a few deep breaths, the patterns made sense to him. He was at the Plaza Hotel in New York, in the suite he always used when he was in town.

And the woman he still wanted so badly it hurt had disappeared into thin air. Again.

He stared up at the ornate ceiling in frustration. He hadn’t slept well the last two nights and he needed some sustained shut-eye soon. He didn’t have much patience to begin with and lack of sleep wasn’t getting him any closer to Mother Teresa territory.

The dream was driving him crazy.

Every time it was the same. Just as he was about to kiss her, right before he knew what she would taste like, he’d wake up slick with sweat and in a hellacious mood.

Jack pushed a hand through his hair. Without a suitable target for his frustration, he seethed in the darkness.