I have not yet reached page 77 of my work in progress. The process for this particular novel has been painfully slow and, rather than punish myself, as I have been known to do, I've decided to embrace my snail pace. So you get page 7. You get the 7th line and the 7(-ish)
When I got to the page, when I set myself up to copy and paste and follow the rules, I was thrilled. I didn't expect to come across one of my favorite moments and I wanted to give you more of the exchange. So I won't follow the rules or do as I'm told. Because it's my blog.
Anna kicks up her laced boots next to the tea cup and I see a vase crash on screen, crushed flowers, a woman, on her hands and knees, sobbing while a door slams and I can’t bear the thought of watching anymore. “This is absolutely ridiculous.”
“You’d care. If you watched all the time,” Anna says.
“I can’t even stand to watch fifteen minutes.”
“Well, Claire, if you knew these people the way I know these people, you’d realize how pivotal this scene really is.”
“But only if I knew them.”
“The way you know them.”
“Exactly. You’d know that the flowers are forsythias. Her favorite flowers. The first of spring. You’d know that she told him they were her favorite flowers the very first time they met. And you would know that he picked them. Plucked them. From the earth. After she told him about the brain tumor. While they danced in the rain.”