A Word with the Bachelor by Teresa Southwick

start.”
    He tilted his head and looked at her. “What happened to if you stared at a blank screen long enough you’ll get bored and write something on it?”
    â€œI did say that.” She thought for a moment. “But it helps if you know what you’re going to write.”
    He snorted. “Are you going to give me the pantsers-and-plotters speech again?”
    â€œThat was a definition, not a speech. But I’ll remind you what I said about talking out the plot. Discussing the hero’s goals. His mind-set since we last saw him.”
    â€œAny thoughts on that?” He all but growled those words, as if his asking-for-assistance muscles were rusty.
    â€œYes. But feel free to tell me I’m full of it. The point is to toss out ideas and see what feels right in your gut.” She slid her fingertips into the pockets of her jeans. “Mac had no emotional growth in the first book because he went into fight-or-flight mode almost right away.”
    â€œSo he’s still aimless.”
    â€œRight. Unless he’s independently wealthy, he has to have been thinking about what he’ll do to support himself since leaving the military.” Her mind was spinning. “Come to think of it, we don’t really know why he left. He was a career soldier and his reasoning could be explored in this book.”
    Jack nodded absently. “Yeah.”
    That was encouraging, she thought. An affirmative instead of sarcasm. She dipped her toe in a little further. “When we get back, it might help to just talk it through and you could take notes. Or record the conversation if you’d rather. Instead of jumping straight into the writing, you can figure out the inciting incident that sets the story in motion, then some loose turning points as a structure for the story.”
    â€œAnd tomorrow there will still be a blank screen.”
    â€œGive yourself permission to write badly,” she suggested.
    His look was wry. “Yeah, because that’s what I learned in the army. Permission to be a screwup, sir.”
    â€œMaybe it sounds crazy, but you might find it surprisingly freeing.”
    â€œAnd that’s supposed to be creative?” he asked skeptically.
    â€œWon’t know unless you try.” She thought for a moment. “Some authors start their day by jotting down stream-of-consciousness writing.”
    â€œYou mean gibberish?”
    â€œProbably not something you’d publish,” she admitted.
    â€œThen I guess you could say I’ve already done that. The pages you read are unpublishable and probably fall into the stream-of-consciousness category,” he said sarcastically.
    â€œThat’s not what I meant. You just write whatever pops into your mind,” she explained.
    â€œSounds like a waste of time if you ask me.”
    â€œIt’s just an exercise.”
    Erin glanced up at him and felt a little flutter around her heart, the one that made it hard to take a deep breath. The way his biceps strained against the material of his black T-shirt made her want to touch and find out for herself what they felt like.
    It was obvious that Jack was in excellent physical condition, which meant he’d retained habits from his time in the army that kept him in shape. She knew he ran three or four times a week. There was workout equipment in the upstairs bedroom. One didn’t just jump into a fitness regime. Maybe she could explain this to him in a relatable way.
    â€œWhat do you do before a run?” she asked.
    His gaze narrowed on her. “Why?”
    â€œBear with me. I have a point.” Their shoulders brushed as they walked. Personally she was glad the bushes and trees around them weren’t tinder-dry because the sparks would have ignited them. She drew in a breath. “What’s your preexercise routine?”
    â€œI stretch out. Warm up.”
    â€œExactly.”
    He looked at her as if she had a snake draped