Since I stubbornly refuse to ever employ a simple storyline in my romances, I inevitably stumble upon a kink in the plot. You know, a twist in the old garden hose that makes the water sputter and cough.
In the case of my books, this kink is usually a jump between one event and the next, a leap that is just a little too long or a little too wrongly angled to allow the reader to traverse it comfortably.
Yesterday, out of nowhere, the kink in The Clockwise Heart suddenly worked itself out beautifully. No effort on my part, either. It just magically unknotted itself and the storyline once again flowed.
Hello, unkinked after-glow!