Real Life Romance and Murder: The Story Behind RUN TO YOU

(originally posted on Writers Gone Wild 12/14/10)


It was a dark and stormy night ….

Hey! Where are you going? It really WAS a dark and stormy night, but not the thunder-and-lightning kind you'd expect from such a well-worn cliché. Although lightning must have struck somewhere, as the husband and I actually managed to escape our sizable herd of five young children, not yet aware of the sixth one on the way. (For some of you, that will be the scariest part of this story. Please continue reading anyway.)

It was October of 2009. I'd just finished and submitted my first novel to Noble and really wanted to write a romantic suspense. But, story ideas? Not a one. Which brings us back to the dark and stormy night my loving husband suggested we take a walk on the beach.

Um, what?

Don't get me wrong. I LOVE the beach. I've lived within minutes of the coast my entire life, and even though I've traveled extensively there's little to compare to standing on the edge of the world, witnessing the power of the ocean and the vastness of the sky. It's where dreams are born … in the sunlight. On a black night? Don't think so!

Here's a little secret I don't keep very well. I can talk myself into worrying about almost anything.
Husband: "Do you want to go get ice cream?"
Kids: "YAAAAAAYYY!"
Me: "No. What if I say yes and we end up in some horrible accident? It will be my fault."
Husband: "Yes, you are the controller of the universe. Now get in the car." (Note the sarcasm. He's all mine, girls!).

Needless to say, I wasn't THRILLED with the idea of walking down the beach that night. Any night, I'm worried about what could happen. Stepping on seaweed (I know people pay for those treatments, but a cold, slimy seaweed surprise under a bare foot is screech-worthy), being attacked (as if a stranger could pose a greater threat than the hubster, who can merely look at me and knock me up … besides, he's packing more than super sperm), getting lost (it's really dark, everything looks the same … which dune is the car behind, exactly?), and an innumerable slew of similar worries. But THIS night … oh, my. I'd take the seaweed surprise over this any day, thank you.

A thick layer of clouds obscured the moon, but just enough light crept through to make the whole scene terrifying. We had some sort of nor'easter blow through, and the waves were hideous. They crashed and boiled mercilessly, tossing salt-spun foam to the skies. Said foam quite literally flew through the air and smacked into us. (If you've never opened your mouth to talk only to have the universe toss gobs of sea foam into it, well, you're either living right or not living at all.)

The scant bit of moonlight was just enough to highlight the white caps, flying wave regurgitation, and the occasional shadow of a sand crab careening past. Between the noise of the waves and the silence of the sand – the bits not pelting us without mercy, anyway – I had this creepy feeling gurgling in my throat that some lunatic meaning harm could be a step behind me and I'd never know it. And it was there, in that moment, RUN TO YOU was born. The beach. A bitter night. Murder. THE plot I'd been searching for.
So, yeah. My hubby takes me for a romantic walk on the beach, and I'm killing people in my head. After more than 13 years of marriage, it's romance enough.

Run to You