Broken Heart Blogfest Entry

As usual I'm *fashionably* late ;-) My apologies boys and girls. I got a little side tracked--trust me, it wasn't my fault, it's just that there were all these Buffy reruns on and, well, you can't pass up good Buffy...

So I wrote this scene as part of a character-sketch for one of my House of Reinhardt characters, Alessandra. Alessandra is a secondary character who has a major crush on her ex (my protagonist), Erik.
**This scene is a rough draft and will never actually be written into the book. It exists to help me see who Alessandra is and where she is 'now'.

*******

Alessandra doubled over, unsure whether she was going to vomit or scream. Her stomach turned over and over, twisting like a wrung towel. Twin lumps rose up in her chest just above her lungs until she could barely suck in the air her lungs needed. A slow burn crept its way through her throat and she realized her mouth was open, trying to take in great lungfuls of air, but it wasn’t working. Slowly, Alessandra realized she wasn’t inhaling. Placing a hand over her throat, she focused and took one shaky breath.

Oh God, what had she been thinking? She’d had such a great thing going with Erik; why did she have to screw that up by getting together with Collin? She didn’t even like Collin. Sure he was good looking. And yes, he came from a great family. And okay, sure, he was going to be an important leader one day. But Erik trumped him in all three areas.

So why had she been cheating on him for over a month, having Collin up to her room as soon as Erik went out on patrol? Why hadn’t she been more careful? Dammit. The look on his face when he’d walked in on her and Collin had been terrifying. He’d gone through shock, hurt, anger, and hatred in five seconds flat.

Just remembering that look brought tears stinging to her eyes. There was an actual pain in the center of her chest. If felt like someone had frozen her heart, then smashed it to bits with a sledge hammer.

He would never actually hurt her-- she knew that better than he probably did. But he’d wanted to, God he’d wanted to. She could see it in his eyes. Of course, the way he clenched and unclenched his fists was a dead giveaway too. Collin hadn’t been so lucky. Erik had exploded into motion before Collin could pull himself off the bed. A few minutes later he’d turned on her, and, after a few choice words, Erik had said it was over. He’d told her they were done.

Now Collin was cradling his broken nose, screaming at her to call a doctor. But Alessandra stood frozen, holding a sheet to her bare chest, standing in the doorway, and watching Erik walk away. The pressure in her chest grew heavier and she gasped for breath as hot tears streamed down her cheeks.

How could this be happening? Erik loved her. He was just angry right now, but he couldn’t stay mad at her forever. He’d forgive her. He’d take her back. He had to. It couldn’t be over. They were meant to be together. She just had to show him.

Drama on Steroids

I'm supposed to be writing in my WIP but, as you can see, I'm not. Instead, I've been procrastinating by blog hopping. Originally, I was looking for a good writing exercise--notably a topic from a blogfest. But I just couldn't find anything that struck up a quick idea. All the ones I found required too much thinking on my part, and I'm more in the mood for "new-character, please invade my brain" kind of ideas. Not to worry, I'll keep looking for more exercises. What I did come up with was a pretty nifty new blogfest to sign up for.

Dawn Embers over at It's in the Book is hosting The Broken Hearts Blogfest from March 13th-15th! Now, is it just me or does this fest look like something you could sink your teeth into?? I don't have any new characters coming out of the woodwork just yet, but I do have a few sparks of oh my God, this is going to be soooo good! so I'm pretty excited to participate in this one. Truth be told, it's been a while since I last took part in a fest, but I'm assuming--praying--it's like riding a bike.

This uber awesome pic was created for this fest by Mia Hayson. Pretty fab, don't you think??

So be a sport and run on over to Dawn's blog and sign up! With all the drama that will be flying around, it's going to be like a soap opera on steroids. Oh, yes. There will be blood, sweat, tears, screams, sarcasm, and maybe--hopefully--even a bit of revenge! All I'm saying is you'd better take advantage of the turmoil and be there on March 13th, 14th, or 15th, or you can no longer call yourself a writer. There, I said it. You miss this fest and you are no longer a writer! *adds alarm to iPhone calendar so I don't forget and end up relinquishing my sparkly writer's tiara.*

Flirt Fest Scene

So I'm having technical troubles with the drive that holds all my goodies.I have everything backed up, but that's at another location, and I don't feel like driving out to mom & dad's just now. The only scenes I currently have access to (that contain a bit of flirting) are a) Dark Goddess at her General getting groovy, and b) Kate & Caleb's first kiss.

I've decided against the NC-17 rated scene I was tweeting about with some of you earlier. Call me a chicken, but I don't think my Dark Goddess was ready to make her appearance just yet--and on a PG-13 blog, no less. Instead, I've decided to use Kate & Caleb's first kiss scene.

And yes, I do love to write scenes specifically for blogfests (scenes that have nothing to do with the WIPs I'm working on), but if you haven't noticed, I've been a little preoccupied lately and completely ran out of time to whip up a good Flirt-Fest-worthy scene.

For a long moment, she didn’t think he would answer. She wouldn’t answer if their positions had been reversed. She would probably kick him out. Truthfully, she kind of hoped he would kick her out. At least then, she could stop thinking about him—and he’d stop looking at her like he wanted to lick every inch of her body.

As it turned out, she wasn’t that lucky. Caleb leaned forward to set his drink on the coffee table then shifted his body toward her.

“That you’re beautiful,” he finally answered.

And there’s that look again. He has the eyes of a predator—a very hungry predator.

“That I want to touch you,” he went on, raising his hand and brushing his knuckles over her cheek.

Holy freakin’ shit…is this actually happening?

“That I want to kiss you.”

I’m dreaming. I’m in a coma and I’m dreaming.

As he leaned closer to her, she felt the stirrings of heat and desire well up deep inside. She wanted him to kiss her—wanted to kiss him.

As his lips brushed hers, she let out a soft whimper and caught her breath when his fingers found their way to the back of her neck. She felt his tongue stroke her lips and, wanting more, she parted them, meeting his with her own. He kissed her deeply and passionately, one hand entwined in her hair, the other, slinking around her waist, both pulling her against him. Kate was melting, her body fighting to fuse itself with his.

Yes, yes...

Caleb was warm and hungry and everything she wanted. But he was also too much; his lips felt too good, his body too inviting—too real.

Abort! Abort!

The thought assaulted her, overwhelming her body’s reaction to this Adonis who held her so close. He was dangerous—she felt it down to her bones. Caleb’s embrace was too keen; his lips, too ravenous. He showed her passion that she’d never seen before and she reacted to his touch far more than she wanted to admit. No one had ever made her feel so wanted, so needed, and she had never felt that passion for anyone…until now.
Instinctively, she pulled him away as she fumbled to her feet. She had to get away from him—far away. If she stayed a moment longer, he’d destroy her. She didn’t know how he’d do it, but she had no doubt he would.

“I—I have to go. I’m sorry…I have to go,” she stuttered, not looking to him for a response. Before she could change her mind, she strode for the door. She could hear him stand, heard his footsteps as he followed her, but he didn’t respond or try to stop her.

Neither of them said goodbye. As she walked past the statue of Aria, she heard the click of the door as it was closed.

What had she been thinking? Caleb was too intense, too passionate. She should have known better than to get involved with him—not that she was involved. It was just a kiss.

An amazing kiss…

And she had known almost immediately what a mistake it had been. If she got any more involved with Caleb, he would break down every wall she’d ever built to protect herself from getting hurt again.

She didn’t do relationships. She couldn’t. Attachments weren’t an option; they left room for failures, disappointments…for abandonment.

That was what it all came down to. Knowing that her father hadn’t abandoned her was one thing, but it didn’t help the way she felt. His death had crushed her. For years, he had been everything to her, and then, in less than a minute, he was gone. She couldn’t go through that kind of loss again, it would destroy her.

And Caleb had what it took to get there.

Critique_This Presents Flirt Fest

I love blogfests! I really, really do. What better way to test your skills than to write a scene specifically for a fest? They’re awesome, they’re fun, they’re BLOGFEST, baby!
My critique group feels the exact same way, so we’ve decided to host the Flirt Fest Blogfest on May 16th. Run on over to CritiqueThisWIP and sign your blog address to the sign up list.
Get your blogfest on and write a fun, flirty scene and post the scene to your blog on May 16th. See you there!

*Photo by Ophelias_Overdose

Bar Scene Blogfest

Today is the official day of the Bar Scene Blogfest, hosted by Tara Fouts over at her blog, Secret Story. My weekend has gotten away from me, and while I planned to write a brand new scene for this fest, I've run out of time. Actually, I did write a scene for blogfest, but it's posted on my critique group's blog, Critique_This_WIP. I was hoping to write a second scene to be posted on my personal blog, but...it is what it is.

Murder Scene Blogfest

I just wrote this scene for Anne Riley’s Murder Scene Blogfest, from the point of view of a home intruder. I’d say “enjoy” but I don’t think that’s appropriate for a murder scene.

**I also wrote the murder scene for my critique group’s tandem story on our blog, Critique_This_WIP.**

---

Honest people don’t think in terms of dishonesty. They think any old lock from Home Depot will do; might as well buy the cheap one. A lock was a lock, right?

Wrong. Any thief will tell you they can pick any-old-lock, and most of them can even pick a decent one. But honest people just don’t think that way. They don’t expect to be the victim of a home invasion. Robberies happen to other people. They’ve got their guard dogs and a faux, home security sign posted in the window. They’ve got their flood light over the front door—a “deterrent” to keep away robbers.

Ha. These people don’t know the first thing about real safety. Bluffs, all of it.

I’ve been casing the place for three days, now, not that I needed to wait that long. I learned everything I needed to know on day one. First, those guard dogs were three, prized Pomeranians. I saw them in the backyard chasing squirrels around the swimming pool. Second, that Brinks Home Security sticker was from at least ten years ago. The corners had started to peel back from the window, but even if I hadn’t caught that detail, the residents of 722 Briar View Lane never paused long enough in their doorway to enter a code into a key pad. They were probably in too much of a hurry to bother with their alarm.

The flood light was the hardest part to get rid of, and even that was child’s play. I printed out some door to door fliers and slipped them in the doorjambs of all the houses on the street. When I got to 722, I made sure no one was looking, then reached up and unscrewed the bulb, just enough to cut the power to the light. Easy as pie, and two nights later, the bulb above the front door was still dark. Fools, they probably thought the light had burned out—if they even noticed.

But tonight was the night. I’d make a nice score off of 722. This was a wealthy mark; not too rich as to have the sense to buy a working security system or proper guard dogs, but wealthy enough to keep plenty of expensive jewelry around Mrs. 722’s neck.

Pulling the ski mask over my face, I said a prayer to the God of Thieves, then screwed an illegal silencer onto my 9mm pistol. After slipping it into a holster at my side, I grabbed the black cloth bag and slipped into my waistband, then slid from my van into the cold, dark night.

The lock was an embarrassment to Kwikset locks everywhere. I’d picked it in under ten seconds. It was so easy, I actually thought about trying to find a different point of entry, just to give myself a bit of a challenge. Poor 722; these marks were naïve, childlike in their trust of a fifteen dollar lock. Pitty. My next job would be tougher, I promised myself.

I entered the house and closed the door behind be, but no dogs awaited me on the other side. Of course, I thought, the prized Poms would be sleeping with mommy. I passed up the faux artwork on the walls of the living room, passed the plasma screen TV, and made my way stealthily to the master bedroom at the end of a long hallway.

The dogs had heard me coming and were barking on the other side of the closed door.

“Jim, let them out to pee, will you?” Mrs. 722 groaned, sleepily.

“I told you not to feed them table scraps. Christ, my stomach can’t handle your cooking. Why would theirs?” Mr. 722, Jim, growled.

Mrs. 722 came back with an insult, but I couldn’t hear it over the barking of the dogs. Not wanting to wait any longer, I drew my pistol and opened the door to their bedroom, shooting a hole through the first little beast to lunge at my leg. It went down in a ball of bloody fur. The silencer’s pif didn’t scare the other dogs away like a loud shot would have, and the second and third dogs followed their friend to doggie-heaven in the next moment.

“Scream and I’ll shoot your husband next,” I threatened the wife in a cold, calm voice, as I pointed my gun at Mr. 722.

“Who are you? What do you want?” Mr. 722 demanded as he tried to jump out of bed.

That’s the thing with men; they don’t like another dog pissing in their food dish. They feel some kind of unstoppable need to muscle the intruder out. They always tried to get up, to negotiate with the person who’d just broken into their house and shot their three prized pooches.

As usual, I was ready for this insanely male reaction and fired a warning shot…right into his left leg. He fell to the ground in a scream of pain, clutching his injured leg. Mrs. 722 screamed with him, then jumped off the bed toward her husband. She let out a string of profanity directed at me, but I ignored it, giving them both time to absorb the gravity of their situation. After a few seconds had past, I cleared my throat and looked to the Mrs.

“I’m a good shot. I think I’ve proven that by killing your dogs and wounding your husband. But I’m not that good. I might have nicked his femoral artery—there sure is an awful lot of blood there. If I did, he’ll bleed to death in a matter of minutes. The faster you get me what I want, the faster I’ll be gone and you can call for an ambulance.”

“Just take what you want,” she spat. “Take it and leave and get out of my house!”

“No, I’m not doing the taking. You’re going to take this bag and go empty your jewelry box into it. Then you’re going to open that safe I know you have, and dump its contents into my bag. If you try anything, I will kill your husband, then you. Do you understand?”

She looked at me with a hatred I’d seen from others before her. It didn’t faze me; I didn’t care what they thought of me. They would cease to matter once my job was done…once she’d opened the safe. The wives always opened the safes while their husbands lay in a pool of their own blood.

In a matter of minutes, she’d done what I asked—had completed her task and was now, once again, kneeling beside Mr. 722 on the bloody carpet beside their king sized bed.

I didn’t warn her, didn’t tell her to say goodbye or tell her I was sorry. I’ve found, over the years, that it’s much more compassionate to just shoot them, not letting them know they were about to meet their maker. It had to be this way and I accept that.

Two shots later, Mr. and Mrs. 722 lay slumped in a heap on their blood stained carpet, a matching bullet hole in each of their foreheads. Now I'm free to move about, collecting the rest of the valuables in the house.

---

Question for the readers: Is the intruder a man or a woman?

Blood, Sweat, & Ink

Writing is a craft. It is something that requires time and dedication…and more time. You must practice, learn, and eventually, you will grow as a writer.

It isn’t always easy. It will, at times, suck. But practice will make you a better writer and, in the end, you’ll be grateful for all of your hard work.

So, how does one “write better”? There are several ways. Some will have you shell out some cash. Others will leave your wallet intact.

Option 1: Join a local writers group. In the DFW area, we have this nifty little thing called Writer’s Workshop. Now, I haven’t exactly attended a meeting but Tiffany Neal and ChristaCarol Jones have, and they assure me, it’s worth the $100 a year, membership cost.

Option 2: Grab yourself a nice, grammar-wise Critique Partner. This is one of my favorites! Critique Partners, as well as Critique Groups, are invaluable. They provide help with plots, characters, writers block…oh yeah, even grammar. It isn’t always easy to find a compatible CP/CG, though. Sometimes,  it just doesn’t work out. Maybe your writing just doesn’t mesh well enough for your partner to properly critique your baby. Or, maybe you write different genres. Maybe (and this is a big one) your time/dedication differs from your partner's. Do they have 5 kids, a full time job, and an weekly PTA meeting to plan? Are you single with nothing but your WIP to keep you busy? Yes and yes? Then you have a potential problem, honey.

When picking your partner, go in knowing that you might not be on equal footing. Remember to be patient and understanding. And remember that opinions are just that—opinions. Maybe your CP thinks you should leave out the part about your MC’s dead grandfather’s tragic demise, but you think it helps to explain why your MC is the way she is. Opinions, opinions.

Option 3: Instead of the tried and true “edit, critique, and revise” method, try a different way to perfect your writing: Writing Exercises. Exercises can help you to improve your skills while keeping your creativity active. Casey McCormick has some great exercises on her blog, Literary Rambles. You can also find more “creative excercises” at PoeWars.com.

That being said, I’ve saved the best for last. Blogfests. Yep, that’s right—blogfests. Here’s how it works: Some awesome writer/blogger puts out the word that they are hosting a blogfest. They tell you what you’re supposed to write about, and you sign up on their blog, then go off and write a scene based on the parameters of the blogfest. On the date of the big event, you post your scene to your blog and *ta da* you’re done. People will see your name on the sign up sheet, then come to your blog to check out what you wrote, and leave comments telling you what they think of your entry. How simple is that? Did I mention it’s TONS of fun? True story.

So get to it, Anne Riley and Tara Fouts are hosting two Blogfests this weekend that are sure to be phenominal!

What— How could you have missed this?!

Ahoy there! Just ignore my absence—it’s nothing personal. I have a lot going on right now, sue me.

So, if you missed the memo (I know…what memo?!) my critique group has started a new blog where we talk about the how to’s, the dos & don’ts, and the ups & downs of writing. If you’ve missed out, shame on you! We’ve have some terrific posts—and, because we are all about our readers, on Fridays, we have a special treat for ya’ll called Friday Fiction.

Friday Fiction is (AWESOME) a serialized story we do on duh Fridays. Each week one of our group members writes a scene, and the next week, someone else adds to it. Because it was Margaret’s idea, she got to cut the ribbon, fire the gun, kick the donkey and write the very first scene of our Friday Fiction story. If you haven’t read it—well, I’m sorry. It’s fantastic (because Margaret is just cool like that) and you’re totally missing out on some awesomeness. All I’m sayin’ is, you may not be cool if you don’t read it… Just saying. So head on over to CritiqueThisWIP and follow*follow*follow check out the scene from today’s, first ever, Friday Fiction.

Hold up! I’m not done.  Like blogfests?! You’ll love these!

Anne Riley is hosting the first ever (at least to our knowledge) Murder Scene Blogfest on April 10th! Head on over to her blog and sign up using the Linky box on the right column of her blog. Again. I’m not sure if you like to be part of the in-crowd, but if you don’t want to be a complete outcast, sign your butt on up!!  ;-)

Hey there, I know you’re all excited to sign up for blogfest and to read the awesomeness that is Friday Fiction, but hold up!

Tara Fouts is hosting the Bar Scene Blogfest on April 11th! Seriously—a Bar Scene Blogfest…a Barfest, perhaps? I foresee many a drunken bar brawls coming up. And come on, who doesn’t like sitting back and watching a bunch of drunken fools fight for their manhood while smashing their way through stools, tables (WATCH THE BEER!), pool tables… Well, at least I do. So, what are you waiting for?! Run (or click, whichever you prefer) on over to Tara’s blog and sign yourself up for a kickass (literally) blogfest!

Remember, April 10th (Murder), April 11th(Bar Brawl). Can you imagine all of the blood, sweat, and tears that will be going down on this bloody weekend?! I can!

Now, dear readers, you may link-surf to your hearts content. Have a good weekend, lovelies!

It’s Okay—not everyone will like it

When I wrote my Middle Grade PG Love Scene Blogfest post, I had an idea in my head. First off, I though, “when have I ever read a love scene in a middle grade book? Oh, that’s right. Never.” Would Judy Blume have her MC fall victim to uncontrollable lust and go bang her best friend’s brother? I should hope not—otherwise, Ms Blume would not be writing for kids 8-12, and I would have a few more of her babies on my bookshelves. So I tweaked the prompt a little—and came out with my entry. Overall, I was pretty happy with it. It was a little-kid-love-scene, and it suited me just fine.
Before I go any further, I’d like to tip my hat to those of you who write MG. In a way, it’s very simple—kids don’t read complex sentences, so when you write it, the simpler, the better. Emotions are raw and character behavior is almost animalistic. But for someone who usually writes for adults…wow. It sure ain’t easy to switch writing styles.
For my entry, I took a fairly common scenario, and put my story to it (in a format fit for ages 8-12, of course).  When I had finished, I asked J to read it over and tell me what he thought.
One paragraph later, J looks up and says “I don’t like it. It’s choppy…simplistic. Elementary. Nothing like your usual stuff.”
And I proceeded to panic. No lie; my first thought was I’m losing it! But then, in a rare moment of clarity, I realized that *ding ding ding* it’s okay. I’m writing a completely different genre than what I usually do. Of course it’s going to be different. And I’m writing for kids, so duh it’s going to be “elementary”.
So, is it a good thing that J didn’t like it? Considering he’s not a 10 year old girl, hell yeah it’s a good thing. He likes my adult, paranormal stuff, and this may be a stretch, but I consider it a success that my eleven year old protagonist didn’t resemble my two hundred year old vampire warrior that stars in Nightlings. Hurray! I think I can count the MG/PG Love Scene Blogfest as a successful writing exercise, because that’s what blogfests are—interactive, writing exercises.
It’s not easy for us writers to remember that not everyone is going to love our babies like we do. In fact, it’s even harder for us to appreciate that fact. How do you take your criticism? What do you do to keep from letting it get you down?

MG/PG Love Scene Blogfest

Late as usual…here’s my Middle Grade PG Love Scene for Simon’s Blogfest. To view the other entries, check out the sign up sheet.
I’d like to apologize in advance for the grammar and spelling errors. I’m off my game today.

---

The rain pounded the bus from the moment they left school to the moment they pulled out of the Glen Eagle Estates subdivision. The houses here were huge, with pools and three car garages. The students, all popular, had brand new shoes and their jeans had designer made holes scratched into the denim. They didn’t worry about stepping in the mud or kicking puddles of water at their friends. If they got their clothes dirty, their parents would wash them. If they ruined their shoes, they would buy new ones. The kids of Glen Eagle Estates were rich. Hope Arnold was not.

Hope looked away from the window and down at her ratty jeans—jeans with holes made from falling onto the black asphalt on the playground. The jeans were too short, but Hope didn’t complain. Her mother wouldn’t like it if she complained about her clothes. They didn’t have money for luxuries, her mother would say.

Past her too short jeans, Hope wore her only pair of shoes, a pair of Keds sneakers. They used to be white, but now, they were so old that they had grass stains and rub marks from where her toes were straining against their bindings.

She heard the laughter from the kids in the back of the bus. Now that the Glen Eagle kids were gone, the bus had come alive and the poorer kids shouted and tossed paper airplanes from one end of the bus to the other. Hope could have gone to sit with them in the back of the bus, but she didn’t feel like it. She was tired. Ian had been sick with a stomach ache, and she’d been up with him for most of the night. The three year old had thrown up twice before her mother had returned her calls.

“Don’t let him puke on the linens, Hope, or you’ll be the one to wash them,” Mother had said, annoyed. “Give him extra cough syrup so he’ll sleep. I’ll be home after my shift.”

Hope hadn’t given her brother the extra cough syrup. Instead, she fed him saltines and water, and stayed up to rub his back until he’d fallen asleep on his own. Ian had woken up three more times before their mother came home from her shift at the diner, and by then, it was past five and Hope was running late for school.
By the end of the school day, Hope was dead tired and dozed as the bus made its way out of town and into the country. Thirty minutes later, it stopped at the entrance to the Shady Oak Trailer Park and the remaining kids stood up from their seats.

Hope was at the front of the line and so busy looking up at the sun peeking between the clouds, that she stepped straight off the bus and into a mud puddle. The mud shifted beneath her foot and she lost her balance. She started to scream as her mind flashed to images of mud soaked jeans and ruined Keds—her mother would be furious. But faster than she could fall, an arm shot out, grabbing her by the upper arm and hauling her backward into to the bus. She fell back against the hard steps, and against him—the only boy strong enough to have saved her. Shaun Preston.

“Jeeze, Hope, you know better than to step in a mud puddle in Shady Oak. They’ll swallow you whole,” he said with a laugh.

“I didn’t…see it. Thanks Shaun,” she said, staring at the mud covering her right sneaker in dread.

“Archie,” Shaun called to the bus driver. “You gotta watch where you park this thing. You know Shady Oak is full of pot holes. She could have broken her ankle just stepping off the bus.”

“Whole Park is a pothole,” Archie muttered and he put the bus in gear and pulled up another two feet. “Happy, kid?”

“Thanks, Archie,” Shaun said, helping Hope to her feet. “Come on, Hope, I’ll carry your backpack. We can hose off your shoe by the front office.”

Hope looked back at her muddy shoe before nodding. She wanted to get home to check on Ian, but she had to clean her sneaker before her mother saw it.

And she wanted to spend an extra minute with Shaun. He was the cutest boy in Shady Oak—maybe even the cutest boy in school. Even the Glen Eagles kids liked him. He was tall and tanned with blonde hair and blue eyes. Her mother said he looked like a young Brad Pitt but Hope didn’t think so. Shaun looked like…Shaun. He was cute and funny and really nice. Especially to her.

The other kids teased him when he talked to Hope or hung out with her in the park, but Shaun just smiled and told her that he’d rather hang out with her than with his other friends. He was a year older than Hope but he didn’t care. And whenever he looked at her, Hope got butterflies in her belly.

Shaun took her backpack and together, they walked to the front office to an old, ratty looking hose. Shaun helped her wash off her muddy sneaker and wiped the excess water off on his shirt tail.

“We heard Ian crying last night,” Shaun said, timidly. “Mom thought he might have been sick or something.”

“Oh, sorry. He wasn’t feeling good.”

“Didn’t you call your mom at the diner?”

“Yeah, but they were really busy...she couldn’t leave.” Hope said, feeling uncomfortable. Shaun’s mom was nice and worked during the day so she could stay home with her kids at night.

“My mom said that you can come over tonight, if you want…if Ian’s still sick. She said she thought you were up all night with him. Her room is close to yours and Ian’s so she hears him through the walls.”

“Oh, that’s nice of her. I think he’ll be okay tonight…”

“Sure,” Shaun said. “But if you need help, you know where to find us.”

Hope felt her cheeks heat up as a blush spread across her face. She looked at the ground so her hair fell down around her face. “Thanks.”

“Hope! Get in here now and get dinner started for your brother,” her mother yelled from their trailer in a gravelly voice, caused from a lifetime of heavy smoking.

“See you later, Hope,” Shaun said, handing over her pink backpack.

“See you later,” she replied.

Hope walked into the trailer and past her mother, to the small kitchen. Dropping her backpack by the table, she went to the pantry and pulled out a box of Mac and Cheese.

“Why was he walking you home?” her mother asked, coming into the kitchen as she tied a new red scarf around her neck. She was dressed up in a red mini skirt, black tank top, and high heels.

Must have a date before her shift starts, Hope thought.

“Shaun? I fell getting off the bus and he offered to carry my bag for me.”

“Hmph,” Mother sighed. “Boys are trouble, Hope, even boys like Shaun. Stay away from them. They only like girls like you for one reason and I’m too young to be a grandmother.”

“Shaun’s not like that, Mom. He’s nice.”

“Of course he’s nice. He wants something that the girls at Glen Eagles won’t give him, so he’s looking to you to scratch an itch.”

Hope ignored her mother’s lecture. Shaun wasn’t like the men she dated. Shaun was different. He was special.

Whoops! Blogfest

Blame it on school. Blame it on spring cleaning. Blame it on writing. Or life. Or the weatherman. Hell—blame it on me, but I didn’t get around to writing a scene for the Whoops Blogfest. Whoops…
Instead, I’ve decided to link to a YouTube video with I find perfectly whoops worthy. Seriously, what’s funnier than Jackie Chan bloopers?! Nothing. That’s right—nothing!

Oh yeah!

Wow! Blogfest was wonderful! So wonderful, that I’m still reading through all of the posts. There are some incredibly talented writers out there. Thank you to everyone who participated. It was a blast!

Also, I’d like to say a BIG thank you to Kelly R Morgan and Ashelynn D. Sanford for passing on the Bold Faced Liar Creative Writer Award! Check out their blogs because both of these ladies rock!

Here are the rules:
1. Thank the person who gave this to you.
2. Copy the logo and place it on your blog.
3. Link to the person who nominated you.
4. Tell up to six outrageous lies about yourself, and at least one outrageous truth.
5. Nominate seven “Creative Writers” who might have fun coming up with outrageous lies.
6. Post links to the seven blogs you nominate.
7. Leave a comment on each of the blogs letting them know you nominated them.

Rather than go easy on you and only have 1 truth, I’ve changed the rules a bit. So, here are your 5 lies and 2 truths. Which is which? You’ll find out on my next post.

1. I played volleyball throughout high school.
2. I have six toes on my left foot.
3. I wear wedding rings on both my right and left hand.
4. I love watching golf.
5. I’m allergic to shellfish.
6. I have a tramp-stamp.
7. I’m majoring in psychology.

I’m passing on this award to…

• Embee over at Musings of a Would-Be Writer (That’s what you get for being a great crit parner!)
• Merissa at See Merissa Write (Muahahaha! Critique partner victim 2)
• Sherrinda at A Wannabe Writer (another fabulous critique partner!)
• Julie at The Little Pink Clubhouse (my last super talented, CP victim…lucky girl!)
• Wendy Sparrow at Where Ladybugs Roar (seriously—did you see her Blogfest entry?! AMAZING!)
• Tiffany Neal (my newest stalkee)
• Ashley Tenille at Things She Says (and new Twitter friend, writer, and Survivor-lover!)

Enjoy blogfests? Laurel over at Laurel’s Leaves is hosting the Whoops! Blogfest on February 22. Post your Whoops! scene on 2.22 and check out the other scenes through the McLinky list on her blog.

I’ll make my own rules…

Is it wrong to change my Love at First Sight Blogfest scene? Originally, I posted a snippet from my brand spankin’ new romantic/suspense WIP, based in Canada. But now that I’m looking it over, it isn’t as romantic as I’d like. Sorry, but I had just finished writing the scene and (of course) I thought it was perfect for Blogfest. Upon hindsight, I have changed my mind. Instead (because I enjoy making up my own rules) I have submitted a scene from Nightlings, my paranormal romance series. Like I've said, I don't actually have a love-at-first-sight scene with these characters, but I'm rather fond of this scene, and it's plenty steamy for Valentine's Day. You’ll notice this post is significantly shorter than the last snippet :-)

Want to see the other LaFS Blogfesf entries? Check them out here.

A little backstory: Two vampires, Caleb and Kate (you may have already read their author/character interviews) have been fighting their growing attraction for one another. Unfortunately, current events keep bringing them together. The scene below is one such scene. While at an annual ball involving the three different Nightling races, Kate is dancing with the Vampire King, Gabriel—who also happens to be Caleb’s cousin. A little family rivalry, perhaps?

Note: This is an excerpt from a never before seen chapter—meaning, it is unedited by both my critique group and my partner. As always, feel free to comment and critique.

---

Caleb had managed to distract himself from Kate by mingling with their foreign dignitaries. Unfortunately, he’d only made it halfway through the First Dance when his eyes betrayed him and honed in on Kate like a magnet. She was drop dead gorgeous tonight, just like every night, but tonight, she was in Gabriel’s arm. As they twirled around the dance floor, she laughed at something he’d said.

Damn it, Gabe.

He was probably using his charm on her.

The bastard.

It had been hell watching Kate dance with his cousin. The First Dance was similar to a waltz—very classy with no real sexual undertones, but Gabriel still managed to make his dance with Kate look intimate.

Fucking pervert…

Caleb had to stop this. His cousin was seriously crossing a line, even if he didn’t know there was a line to be crossed. As if scripted to piss Caleb off, Gabe leaned in and whispered something against Kate’s neck. Son of a bitch. He had to stop this and he had just the opportunity.

The First Dance opened with only the three Immortal King’s and their dance partners. As the dance continued, members of the royal families were expected to chime in, followed by advisors. By the end of the dance, anyone could join in; the ball had officially begun. Luckily, it was halfway through the song, and time for the royal family to join the dance. It wasn’t exactly proper to steal the dance partner of a king, but Caleb didn’t care. If Gabe wanted to bitch about it later—big whoop; there wasn’t a rule against it.

Caleb didn’t remember making his way onto the dance floor. One moment he was standing near the head table, and the next, he was placing a firm hand on Gabriel’s right shoulder.

“Cousin,” he said, glancing at Gabe before looking to Kate and offering her his hand. “You can’t expect me to do work of finding her if you’re the only one who gets to dance with her.”

Gabe chuckled and stepped away from Kate. “Be my guest, Caleb,” he said. Then, so that only Caleb could hear, “Take your prize.”

******

What was he doing? Was he crazy? Did he not understand that she’d put a stop to…to whatever was going on between them, the night before? She didn’t want this. Well, she did but she couldn’t—shouldn’t—want this. But here he was, taking her hand in one of his and pulling her against him with the other.

Electricity sparked in her arm when she placed her left hand on his shoulder and settled her body into his hold. His muscles were hard, his steps confident. Her mind began a picture show of last night’s highlights. His touch. His kiss—it was all too much, too good.

“You’re blushing,” he said, his voice deep. Stepping into motion, he forced her to dance with him.

“I’m pissed,” she spat at him, then looked around to make sure she hadn’t attracted any unwanted attention. She hadn’t; the other dancers looked only at their partners. When she looked back at Caleb she was annoyed to see he was trying to hide a grin. “Is something funny?”

“Just wondering why you’re upset…”

“Because of you!”

“Me? What did I do?”

“You’re dancing with me!”

“And dancing makes you mad?”

“Dancing with you makes me mad. You make me mad.”

“Why’s that? I thought we got along well last night…”

“Why’s that?” She repeated, angry that he seemed so have forgotten that she’d put a stop to their…encounter. “Last night’s why’s that!”

“You didn’t enjoy kissing me?”

“What?” She stumbled but he pulled her harder against himself to keep her from falling. “I…it was...last night was… It doesn’t matter. It happened, now it’s done with. I won’t happen again.”

“Won’t it?”

“I thought I’d made it clear—

“By running off? I suppose it could be taken that way. Of course, it could also mean other things…”

“Other things? Like what—no! Nevermind, don’t answer that; I don’t want to know.” She breathed in deeply to try to clear her head of the images still flashing in her head, but she only managed to breath in the scent of him and that only made the images stronger. “Caleb, I can’t do—

“Shh,” he said softly. “It’s just a dance, Kate. I’m only dancing.”

His eyes were so kind that she felt hypnotized—lost in their depth. He was right. They were only dancing. It wasn’t like she’d make some crazy mistake like falling in love with him, right here on the dance floor. This was safe. Two people, dancing, in a room filled with people. There was no danger in that.

She didn’t reply; only nodded her head once in acceptance, then followed his lead as they danced.

The longer they danced, the more the music entranced her. Kate didn’t fight the images of the night before; rather, she indulged in them. And she couldn’t keep her eyes off of Caleb. His face was a work of art: a chiseled perfection. He had a strong jaw, and straight, white teeth framed by full, soft lips—lips that she couldn’t help but want to suck on. Again.

The song ended but neither of them released the other. His eyes…she was lost in those pools of blue and green.

How had she missed the flecks of silver that were sprinkled atop the blue and green? The silver specks added an icy, cool hue to the irises, but, as if watching them transform, the silver turned to gray, and his eyes grew dark with…something. Desire, maybe?

A couple brushed past them, exiting the dance floor, but still, they didn’t separate. His gaze was so intense; she licked her lips and started to pull away, but Caleb held her firm.

“Not yet,” he breathed, so quietly that only she could hear him. The music started again, this time a deep, lusty rhythm that matched her beating heart. “Try to relax this time; let go and enjoy it.”

She didn’t respond. She couldn’t. Letting him lead her into the next dance was natural—like breathing. It wasn’t as if she could have said no. For some reason, her damn throat couldn’t seem to muster up the energy to even try to speak. She simply gave in, and did as he asked: let go and enjoyed it.

Scene for the Love at First Sight Blogfest

Wow—I’m a bit late in submitting. I wasn’t feeling good last night and took some Nyquil…and slept all day. But here it is now, ready for posting.

My scene isn’t exactly a little scene…its a bit long, and I apologize ahead of time. This is a snippet from my new WIP—the romantic/suspense based in British Columbia, Canada. It’s a first draft (and unedited) so it may be a bit messy. Feel free to comment and critique. If you’d like to see the other submissions for the Love at First Sight Blogfest, click here.

---

This was a mistake. What was I thinking?

She hadn’t been thinking, obviously, or she wouldn’t be here, in Canada of all places, running a dude ranch with her two elderly housekeepers. She’d picked up her life in Texas and had dropped it like a nice little care package in the middle of the Canadian wilderness.

“Hello, my name is Abby Bennett, and I’m an idiot,” she muttered, rubbing her palms across her face, her voice seeming to echo in the emptiness of her new home office. Halfway expecting to feel the lines of stress this last six months had hurled at her, Abby brushed her fingers over the soft flesh, circling and massaging at her temples.

Damn her ex-husband for chasing her out of the country.

Damn her housekeepers for encouraging her crazy delusions of running a ranch.

Damn Connor Murphy for trying to steal from her.

And damn this damn Canadian winter.

Shuffling with double socked feet across the large room, Abby plucked a piece of wood from the top of the stack and pushed it into the fireplace. A cloud of embers erupted in objection to the new piece, but quickly quieted and began licking at its latest victim, the fire rising up and brightening the darkened room.

She’d been freezing since she’d flown north of the Rockies and couldn’t seem to get warm. It wasn’t cold for a Canadian winter, but it was cold for a native Texan. Not wanting to move away from the warm glow of the fire, Abby curled up on the hearth and stared into the flames, searching for the answers to her current problems—her lying, stealing ex-ranch manager, Connor Murphy.

He’d tried to steal from her. The bastard had actually tried to steal from her. Now he was gone, and she was short one ranch manager.

“Uhh—damn you, Abby Bennett, for being so stupid,” she moaned, banging her head into her open palms.

“Are you done pouting, or are you going to need a few more minutes?” said the crisp, accented voice of her elderly housekeeper and friend.

Surprised, Abby flung her head up so fast that it banged against the brick backing of the fireplace. Stunned for only a few seconds, she quickly recovered and glared at the small Austrian woman. Heidi was white haired and in her mid-sixties, but had the presence of a live grenade—when she wasn’t stalking in the shadows of her employer’s private study.

“What are you— How long were you there—stalking…creeping around in the shadows like some sort of…stalker.” Abby flustered for self control but it didn’t work. Rubbing the back of her pounding head she pushed off of from the mantel, needing to walk off some of her nervous energy.

“Long enough to know you’re pouting again,” Heidi replied, standing from the red cushioned armchair she’d been lounged in. In a brisk motion she reached up and jerked the heavy curtain away from the nearest window, letting in the midmorning sunlight.

“Agh—don’t do that!” Abby cursed, shielding her eyes from the sudden, blinding light.

“It’s after ten. Did you not sleep?” Heidi scolded, ignoring her boss and flinging open the next heavy drape. Not waiting for a reply, she went on. “Of course not. Because you do not let my sister and I do our job and find a new manager for the ranch. You stay up and pout and add lines to your pretty face.” Another quick jerk and a third window was unveiled, pouring light into the room with all the subtlety of a forest fire.

“Stop that! I don’t want them open,” Abby snapped. The sunlight bore though her closed eye lids, making her painfully aware of just how long she’d been awake.

“Come here,” her housekeeper commanded, suddenly standing in front of her. Her strong bony fingers clamped down over Abby’s wrists and pulled them away from her face. “Open your eyes, Bӓrchen. Let me see you. Ach! Horrible, just horrible. You look like death.”

“I’ve been working,” Abby said, pulling away.

“No, you’ve been worrying all night when you should have been getting a good night’s sleep.”

“Someone has to decide what we’re going to do next. We might have to sell the ranch—there’s no way I can a fill the position. I don’t have the slightest clue how to run the working side. I only have experience on the guest and financial ends of ranch life.”

“No, your job is to sit back and manage. My sister and I work the inn, and the ranch manager will work the land.”

“But we don’t have a ranch manager,” Abby said, exasperated. “I fired him, remember? He was stealing—”

“You think I forget?” Her accent came out thicker than usual; Heidi was beginning to lose her temper. “Elsa and I were at the town pub for three hours last night, looking for a new manager. We even started interviews…in a pub—like hillbillies!” Her distaste for hillbillies was obvious by the way her eyes bugged on the word.

“And no one was interested, were they?” Abby said, tempted to push the old woman from the room and slam the door behind her. “I know what they think. A writer from the states has no business owning a ranch when she can’t even work it. I’ve heard the rumors too, Heidi.”

“I’ll take care of the rumors. They don’t know you or your experience with ranches. If anything, it only makes them look stupid. You were raised on your grandparent’s ranch. It is in your blood, Bӓrchen.” Heidi said, placing her hands on Abby’s cheeks. “You will not fail what it already yours.”

Wanting to cry, Abby closed her eyes, letting the old woman pull her into a soft embrace. Over as quickly as it had begun, Heidi jerked and grabbed Abby by the arms.

“Oh! We must hurry—you don’t want to meet him looking like that, do you?”

“Meet who?” Abby said, furrowing her brow in confusion.

“I was going to tell you, but you were pouting—”

“Tell me now,” Abby interrupted, pulling her wrist from Heidi’s viselike grip. God, please don’t let her have to meet anyone today—looking like this, as Heidi said.

“Last night at the pub, Elsa and I kept hearing talk of a man called Morgan. They spoke of him like a god, both idolizing him and fearing him. They say he does not come to the town much; that he lives in an old cabin near the river. He hunts for his food and drinks from the waters, and only come to the town for supplies.”

“Sounds like a lot of the men around here,” Abby said.

“No,” Heidi snapped, abruptly. “He is not. They say he could lead the sun. That men stand in awe of him and would follow him over the edge of a cliff.”

“It doesn’t sound at all like you’re making this up,” Abby said, skeptically, one eyebrow raised.

“I’m summarizing. Pub patrons are crass.”

“Oh—so you’re embellishing. Then by all means, go on,” Abby replied, sarcasm dripping from each word. Heidi scowled at her, but continued.

“We did not see him but left word—and incentive—for the pub’s owner to spread the word that we were looking for a new manager.” She paused, and looked to the ground briefly before going on. “We didn’t stay late, you see...and I couldn’t sleep. I came downstairs to check to locks and pour myself a cup of warm milk, when I saw the light on in your study. I peeked inside, saw you were not sleeping either, nor were your working on your computer, and I knew you were worrying too…about the ranch. So, I decided to get dressed and go back to the pub.”

“Alone? In the middle of the night? Are you crazy?”

“It was not that late and I am a grown woman. I will do as I please,” she replied.

“You’re a crazy, old woman,” Abby muttered, rolling her eyes.

“I went to the pub and paid a man to take me to where Mr. Morgan lives—”

“You what?” Abby shrieked. “You don’t know anyone here! He could have killed you and we wouldn’t even know where to find your body!”

“You write too many crime novels, Bӓrchen. Some people can be trusted…when money in on the line,” Heidi said, nonchalantly. Waving her hand in dismissal, she went on with her story. Open jawed, Abby listened. “My guide did not know exactly where Mr. Morgan’s cabin was; only that it was off of the old logging trail. We drove up and down the trail several times before we found the dirt road that led to his cabin. I explained to Mr. Morgan who I was, why I was there, and asked if he would be interested in the job.

“He is here now, interviewing with my sister. After she’s finished with him, he will come to interview with you—for a final approval, of course.” Heidi finished.

Abby narrowed her eyes at the elderly women. Something was off; Heidi had wrapped up her story rather quickly, and the Austrian was not the type to skimp on details.

“What about the meeting at his cabin? What happened there? What did he say?” Abby probed.

“He said,” she explained slowly, “that he would think it over, and get back to me. And he has.”

Abby blinked, knowing there was something that her housekeeper wasn’t telling her. “What’s wrong with him? Is he old? Gimp? Cross-eyed? Toothless?” She ticking off the traits of every rural, mountain man she’d seen in movies. “Hairy? Ah—he’s hairy, isn’t he! You know how much werewolf-men creep me out—”

“He’s not hairy. Or old, or gimp. He sounds like the perfect man for the job.” Heidi said as she turned and walked around Abby’s large desk. Opening the drawer, she pulled out a small cosmetics bag. “Now come here so I can make you look presentable. Elsa will be done interviewing him by now. Ach—look at these hideous bags under your eyes! ”

In less than five minutes, Heidi had brushed out Abby’s tangled red hair, smeared concealer on the dark, sleep deprived bags, blushed and mascaraed, and, finally, smeared a tinted lip gloss across her dry lips. “Blot, Bӓrchen. There, much better. Not your usual beauty, but nothing that a man will not appreciate.”

“Appreciate? Since when do I care if ranch hands appreciate me?”

A knock on the closed office door brought her head up. Heidi dropping the cosmetics and their bag back in to the desk drawer. “Ahh, Bӓrchen, I told you that Mr. Morgan was not old or hairy,” Heidi said, timidly. “But, he is…rather attractive. I believe you will want him to…enjoy the view.”

Suddenly, it all made sense. No wonder Heidi hadn’t said anything about her visit to Morgan’s cabin—she hadn’t wanted to give anything away. This wasn’t about hiring a ranch manager, so much as it was about setting her up.

“No, no, no,” Abby said, deciding to stop whatever matchmaking attempts the two sisters had planned, but the old woman had already started to walk away. “I need a manager, not a boyfriend. Tell him to go.”

“You need both, and we need to stay in business. He is the best candidate we could find. Even Elsa is impressed. Why do you think I am here and she is with him?”

“Because you’re both evil and want to put me in an early grave,” Abby muttered under her breath.

“He’s in his thirties, blond hair—and those broad shoulders that you like. Umm, if I were not an old woman…”

“You’d still be trying to drive me crazy.”

They were to door and Heidi was reaching for the knob when Abby grabbed her arm. Hissing in her ear, she said, “I mean it Heidi, I don’t want him. Find someone else.”

Heidi must have heard the panic in her employer’s voice, because she turned and patted Abby’s arm. “You must forget about Andrew, Bӓrchen. Not all men are the same, after all. Do not be afraid; today, we are hiring a manager, not a husband.”

Before she could respond, Heidi had opened the door and Abby had to clench her jaw to keep it from hitting the floor. Standing in the hallway was a man, over six feet tall with blond hair and ice blue eyes.

Abby took an involuntary step back as he mind went wild. What was he doing hiding in the deep forests of the Cariboo? He should be on the cover of Men’s Fitness or GQ…or Playgirl.

“Abby, this is Jake Morgan,” Heidi’s older sister, Elsa, said as she stepped into the room. “Mr. Morgan, this is my employer, Abigail Bennett.”

The living, breathing Adonis followed Elsa into the room and extended a hand to Abby.

“Ms. Bennett, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” he said in a voice that dripped honey. “Thank you for seeing me.”

Grabbing his hand, she nearly jumped. He was warm—God, he was warm—and she had the sudden impulse to sink into him and absorb his heat, getting rid of the winter’s chill once and for all.

“Oh—uh, thank my housekeepers. They’re the ones that found you.” Did she really just say that? “I appreciate your coming, Mr. Morgan.”

“Call me Jake.”

“Of course. And I’m just Abby.” Really? Just, Abby? “I mean, just call me Abby.”

Behind Jake, Abby could see her two housekeepers squirming, little grins on their wrinkled, old faces. The little Brownies—Gremlins!

Realizing she was still clutching his hand, she jerked it free, startling her housekeepers.

“Abby, my notes on Mr. Morgan,” Elsa said, handing her a clipboard. “I believe you’ll be quite impressed. He’s more than qualified for the job.”

“I’m sure he is,” Abby said, thinking that her maid was full shit. Jake Morgan looked more likely to be seen on a Hollywood red carpet, than on a working dude ranch.

“We’ll leave you both to it,” Heidi chimed in, a smile on her face as she grabbed her sister by the arm and towed her from the room.

“Thank you, ladies,” Abby said, automatically. “Mr. Morgan—”

“Jake.”

“Uh, yes—Jake, have a seat,” she corrected, leading him over to her desk. Her socked feet swished across the carpet, the only noise in the room.

“Cold?”

“I’m sorry?” She asked, turning to him on wobbly knees.

“Are you cold?” He said, eyes going to her feet. “Your feet are double socked and you hand felt like ice when we shook.”

“Ah, yes. I’m not used to these long, cold winters. I’m from Texas. Our winters are shorter and, generally, warmer.”

“It’s nearly over. Only about a month left. How long have you been here?”

“Um, about three months,” she said, wondering how on earth he had this effect on her. Making it behind her desk, she sank into the soft chair. At least now she didn’t have to worry about her knees giving out. Following her lead, he sat down opposite of her.

“What about you? Did you grow up in Clinton?” she asked, continuing with the conversation.

“No, I didn’t. I was just passing through and decided to stay a while,” he replied, not answering her question.

Looking at the clipboard Elsa had given her, she read the first line.

Gorgeous, it read, scrawled in a small, slanted print. One the next line was he’s the one. The third line was a bit more promising.

Experienced rancher.

“You’ve worked on a ranch before?” she asked, hoping to God it wasn’t true. If he was qualified, she’d have to hire him. And if she hired him, he’d be around...distracting her with his Brat-Pitt-meets-Channing-Tatum good looks.

“Yes. My father’s family owns a ranch up north. I spent quite a bit of my childhood working it, as well as good few years in my twenties. It’s quite a bit cooler up there,” he added half grinning, a twinkle in his blue eyes making her squirm in her chair.

Averting her eyes, she looked everywhere but at him. It was embarrassing; did he know what that look was doing to her?

“And did the cold drive you south?” she asked.

“No, the cattle did. I’m not all that fond of cows. I understand you prefer horses?”

“Yes. Our guests don’t come for cows. They come for horses…and the countryside.”

“Vacationers.”

“Umm. This ranch is meant to be an escape. Wild open country, warm fires, horseback riding, fishing.”

“Beautiful,” he said from low in his throat. His tone was different from before…creamier, like whipped chocolate. “The view is…breathtaking.”

Were his eyes boring into her, or was she just imagining it? Feeling her face flush, she looked back to the clipboard.

Broad shoulders. Long, agile fingers. Strong jaw. High cheekbones. Muscles atop muscles. What’s under the hood?

Damn it—what was Elsa thinking? Heidi must have put her up to this. Skimming further down the page she saw carved from marble and if I were forty years younger…

At last, she read dual citizenship.

“You have dual citizenship?”

“Canadian and American,” she said, shortly.

“Care to elaborate?”

“My father is Canadian. My mother was American,” his voice had dried out, no longer the tempting honey from before. He didn’t want her prying, and he was letting her know it.

“Will you be sticking around for long?” she asked instead as a shiver raced down her spine.

“A while. I’m in no hurry to go anywhere,” he said, his voice creamy again. “Especially now, with this…opportunity knocking at my door.”

“Oh, yes. Sorry about Heidi. She can be...direct.”

“She was more that direct,” he said on a laugh. “Nearly drug me out of bed to come meet with you. Said the job and the owner were, how did she put it? Intoxicating.”

He was drinking her in—that was the only explanation for what those blue eyes were doing, flicking from her eyes to her lips to her breasts. Gazing back up, into her eyes, he smiled that sumptuous half smile, captivating her so that she couldn’t speak. Lingering like a lover, the silence stretched for an electrified moment.

“Yes…the land is spectacular. I’m quite pleased with the area,” she said, hoping this attraction was all one sided. Preferably, her-sided. Surely she was imagining his interest. He couldn’t be flirting with her…

“Elsa had mentioned a trial period. Three months, I believe is what she said?” Jake said, bringing her attention back to business.

“Yes, three month,” she said, stumbling over her thoughts. This is a business meeting, Abby. An interview. Get your mind out of the gutter. “After that, benefits and bonuses will be arranged.”

“Excellent. I’ll start tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” she repeated.

“And if you have doubts at the end of my three months, we’ll go our separate ways. No hard feelings,” he added, standing and extending his hand to Abby.

Mechanically, she reached to take his outstretched hand, shaking it while wondering what had just happened. He’d stood, reached the door, and closed it behind him before she’d even realized what she had just done.

She’d just hired Jake Morgan.

Roadtrip & a Reminder

It’s 3:30 on Saturday morning and I’m getting ready for a road trip! I usually love taking trips, but today…not so much. J and I are going to Wichita Falls (Texas, not Kansas) with both our fathers to visit Midwestern University. It isn’t that I don’t want to go, I just don’t want to amble around campus with a couple hundred other prospective students, all looking for admittance. Even worse, my cold has started to come back with a vengeance. Hopefully the road trip part will be fun.

♥This is the last reminder for the Love at First Sight Blogfest. It launches tomorrow, Valentine’s Day, and will be an all day event! Post your love at first sight scene to your blog and add your name to the sign up list. Before you spend a romantic evening with your sweetheart, spend a lazy Sunday reading through some of the other LaFS submissions. ♥

See you at Blogfest!

*Cough, Cough* Plot

I’m sick. Both literally and figuratively. So sick, in fact, that I skipped my classes, but not sick enough to shut off my overactive imagination. So, not-sick, that when I should have been sleeping, my creative bastard of a mind decides that it has the perfect idea for a new novel. That’s right—a new novel. 

Sorry, Professor Grooms, I’m too sick to come to English class. No, no—don’t bother e-mailing me the assignments; I’m busy creating another novel.

Oh yes, I’m a sick, sick mother.

Picture me, swathed in a bundle of warm, fuzzy clothes, cup of hot Theraful at my side, thermometer in mouth, while sitting at my desk (because my laptop is also sick), researching the perfect setting for my knew book … and my mother-in-law pops in to see if I’d like some dinner. Hmm.

The good news is, I found the perfect setting and my fever broke. Yay! The bad news — Theraflu sucks. Really, the shit tastes awful, but it does help a sore throat.

Despite the bad timing (and the whole being-sick-thing) I’m pretty excited about my new plot. It’s a romantic suspense that takes place in British Columbia, Canada.

I just love the countryside. Who needs over crowded, pollution filled cities when you can have wide open spaces and crisp fresh air—air so fresh it would burn my unworthy nasal passages? Sure it may get a bit chilly up in the mountains, but at least the summers wouldn’t reach 110° and an ozone watch of level red. Okay, maybe I wouldn’t survive the winters but I can always dream, can’t I? And come on—there’s wildlife! Real, honest to God wildlife! The only wildlife I’ve seen in Dallas are the coyotes on the golf course, the rabbits that my cat kills, and the blasted owls that hunt small cats and dogs in my neighborhood. Not that a bear would be any better, but…

Moving on…

I’d like to make a SHOUTOUT to Leslie! Leslie posted a comment on my blog Monday, Feb. 8 wishing me a great week and giving me a Sunshine Award. Unfortunately, the link to her profile (and blog) didn’t work, so I can’t get to her blog ;(  

Leslie, I’d love to give you a proper thank you and support for your blog. I hope you get this shoutout. Can’t wait to hear from you!

Valentine’s Day is coming up, and if you’re like me, you’ve sorta…dropped the ball on the I-love-you chocolates for your special someone. Hmm. I’ve been so busy getting ready for the Valentine’s Day Love at First Site Blogfest that I actually forgot about Valentine’s Day. Whoops. I should probably get started on my Happy V-Day honey present. Have a good week everyone!

Let’s Write a Story

I’ve had some people ask me about the different kinds of scenes that can be submitted for Blogfest. Now, this may sound crazy, but—any good old scene where one, or both, of your characters realizes “Wow, I love this person” will do.


I like to see where my characters take the scene. Initially, I may have some sort of rough draft or outline about what’s going to happen, but the characters are the ones that get the final say. If they end up taking the story somewhere else entirely…so be it. They know what they want more than I do (consciously, anyway).

13 days until the Love at First Sight Blogfest and I’m still shuffling  different ideas around in my head. There are so many potential characters that are battling for my attention, and even more that keep popping up to say “how’d’ya do?”. So how’s a girl to chose one scene to post?

There are ways to form the barebones of a story. The Story Architect by Victoria Lynn Schmidt is a great place to start. In her book, she lists 56 “classic” story themes that are used in every genre of fiction. If you want to take a look inside, you may view a bit of it here. While I love this book (and recommend it to anyone writing fiction), it isn’t exactly cut and dry for a romance scene for the LaFS Blogfest. We don’t want a whole plot do we? Some people may be inspired to create a novel around their LaFS scene, but for now, I just want a scene—a hot and steamy scene. 

So, in lieu of anything better, I’ve decided to write my own list of themes—themes for Blogfest.

Blogfest Architect: Types of Love

• Opposites Attract: the wrong people with the right feelings. Love against all odds.
• Holy cow—I love you!: Some personality types fight the whole love-at-first-sight experience. Instead, write the scene where your character(s) realize that they are in love.
• Head Over Heels: Do your characters steal little glances at each other when no one is looking? Do they blush when the object of their infatuation speaks to them? If so, they may be head over heels .
• Infuriating Infatuation: ‘The woman drove him nuts! Pompous and bossy—a pigheaded know-it-all. He thought he’d always wanted a nice girl with a pretty face. Now, he wasn’t so sure.’ This is another of the holy-cow-I-love-you themes.
• Forbidden Love: Romeo & Juliet is a classic for a reason. Who doesn’t love the idea of breaking the rules for love? How can something so wrong feel so right?
• Unrequited Love: Taylor Swift’s Teardrops On My Guitar says it all. Pining after someone who’s in love with another person is a hell of it’s very own making. No one said love at first sight has to be mutual.
• Fairy Tale Love: The stars align and falling in love feels so easy. Talk about a fairy tale…
• Childhood Love: Jack and Jill have been in love since the day they went up the hill. Jack may have broken his crown but Jill stayed by his side while he healed. After all these years, he’s never forgotten her. Now, it’s time to track her down and confess his love. Maybe she feels the same way…
• Hero Love/Damsel in Distress: Need I explain?

Want to challenge yourself?

• I’ve read that some people are going to switch point of view Blogfest. If you usually write from the female perspective, try writing your scene from the male POV and vice versa.
  
  
• Try writing a “historical” love story based on characters that already exist—or existed. Take advantage of creative license! There are plenty of time periods to chose from. Try on of these stories or find one of your own.
  
  
  
  • Lancelot & Guinevere
  • King Henry VIII & Ann Boleyn
  • Napoleon & Josephine
  • Ferdinand & Isabella
  • Marc Antony and Cleopatra
  • Eurydice & Orpheus
  • Adam & Eve
  • Samson & Delilah
    
    ♥ Want more historical romances to choose from? Consider your wish, granted— Top 20 Most Famous Love Stories in History & Literature.
    
    
• Retell a classic and make it your own.
  
  
  
  • Cinderella
  • Gone With the Wind
  • Ariel the Little Mermaid
  • Aladdin
  • Jack & Jill
    
    
• FanFic. Is there a book, TV show, or movie that messed something up? Fan Fiction lets you fix it…
  
  
  
  • Lost
  • Burn Notice
  • Weeds
  • Desperate Housewives
  • Vampire Diaries
  • Twilight
  • Outlander
  • Werecats Series
  • Avatar
  • Bones

Have I forgotten a good one? Anyone have any other themes to add to the list?

I hope I’ve stuck a creative nerve. If not, there’s always the next blog posting. Don’t forget to sign up for the Love at First Sight Blogfest!

Happy writing!

PS. If anyone needs additional inspiration, I have some terrific poems on my inspirational blog, To Keep it Going.

Honest Scrapper—I mean Scrap

I must have done something right—or people just feel really sorry for—because Valerie at I Should Be Writing has awarded me with the Honest Scrap Award! Seeing as how my blog is not only honest but is also scrap, I humbly accept this award. Thank you for thinking of me Valerie, and for passing on this award. And for those that don’t know Valerie,  she’s a writer, a reader, an indie filmmaker, and more.  Click on over to her blog to dig into her mind—she’s awesome and her blog is super cool.
So check it out!! Isn’t it pretty?!
Needless to say, I’m pretty excited about it. But seriously, what part about getting a pretty blog award isn’t exciting?!
For this award, I need to list 10 “honest” facts about myself. I’ll try to come up with some stuff you might not already know about me, but I can’t make any promises—I’m not the most interesting person in the blogosphere.

1. I’m usually very reserved. I like to sit in the background and observe people (which makes me either a people watcher or a voyeur. Maybe there isn’t really a difference, but I like to think of myself as a people watcher. Voyeur just sounds so dirty…) At first, some people mistake this as shyness or even snobbery. And maybe I am—the former, (hopefully) not the latter—but people say the same about Steven Seagal, and he’s done pretty well for himself.
2. I’m adopted—on my dad’s side, anyway. I don’t know my biological father but my adopted dad has been with me since I was an infant. He’s a great dad and I love him to death.
3. I’m German, French, and Scottish, with a bit of Native American (Iroquois) thrown in for good luck. Like many Americans, I’m a mutt.
4. I love camping but hate bugs. Trust me, it is possible to camp with a minimum of bugs—it just requires hellovalotta bug spray and you must buy citronella candles in bulk.
5. I’m an “old soul”. I’m certain I was born in the wrong century.
6. I’m sensitive, emotional, compassionate, fiercely loyal, mama-bear protective, and an avid dreamer.
7. I believe in justice, not vengeance, though the two are often confused.
8. I love colorful, funky socks. And legwarmers.
9. I’m a total nerd who loves to “info-gather”. Discovery, History Channel, Crime & Investigation, Animal Planet = my playground.
10. I believe that Science and Religion are not mutually exclusive.

Okay, that wasn’t too bad. I think I’ve managed to hold on to most of my dignity. Now to pass it on. Hmm…who gets to be my victims today?

• Jamie Harrington at Totally the Bomb 
• Elizabeth Mueller at Elizabeth Mueller
• Eva at Screaming Whispers
• DL Hammons at Cruising Altitude
• Alan Davidson at Conversations From Land’s Edge 
• Kelly Reese at Rants, Observations, and other Remarks

☆★☆ And now for an update on Blogfest!
The Love at First Sight Blogfest is 16 days away and my “Mr. Linky’s” sign up widget has decided to go completely haywire. After some blood, sweat, and tears, I had given up on the POS and created a new and improved sign up widget, using “Simply Linked”.
And, like all things technology, as soon as I moved on to another program, Mr. Linky started working again. So for now, we’re going to stick with Mr. Linky (even if he is a defective piece of crap). But if he goes out again, so help me, I will boot his ass right out of Blogfest!
If that happens, there is no need for anyone to re-sign up. I’ll take care of transferring your blog link to the new sign up sheet.
♥For those that would like to sign up for Blogfest, simple click on the Love at First Sight link above and add your name to Mr. Linky’s list. ♥

Need an idea for Blogfest? On Monday, Feb 1st, I’ll be blogging about different kinds of love-at-first-sight moments. Swing by to get some ideas.
You can also find some writing-inspiration at my other blog, To Keep It Going.

Happy Award x2 & some inspiration for the LaFS Blogfest ♥

I've won the Happy Award...twice! I am definitely feeling the love!

♥ Thanks to Tiana Lei over at Spilled Ink for this awesome award! Tiana has a great blog. She's an aspiring writer who is kind enough to blog about her writing ups and downs. OH, and she she has a really cute layout. ♥

♥ Thank you, Rhonda at Snarktastic Ramblings for being kind enough to pass this one on to me! For those that don't know, Rhonda is one of the funniest bloggers out there. She delivers snark of a colorful variety. Swing by her blog and check her out. ♥

The Happy Award (which is really, really cute!) is very simple and pretty darned cool. First, I'll pass on the award (my favorite part of receiving awards--besides getting to post the pretty pictures on my blog)  then state 10 things that make me happy. Hence, the "Happy 101" picture.

But before I forget — and yes, I know I'm interrupting a perfectly good train of thought — I want to remind everyone about the Valentine's Days Love at First Sight Blogfest. Sign your name and blog address to the Mr. Linky's sign up list and post your Love at First Sight scene to your blog on February 14th. ★ Don't forget to sign up, or people won't know how to find your blog ★ If you're having trouble with your muse, head on over to To Keep It Going, a blog of inspirational tidbits. I'm doing a series on love poems and other romantic paraphernalia, in honor of Blogfest.

Now—back to business. First, to pass on this award I've searched my blog reader for blogs that have not (at least to my knowledge) already received this award. It's nothing personal, I just wanted to spread the love to people who didn't already have it. And if I messed up, and you do already have this, please forgive me ;-) This task was not as easy as I thought it would be...

• Valerie at I Should Be Writing
• Denise Swank at There's Always Room for One More
  
• Angela Corbett at her self titled blog Angela Corbet 
• Terresa Wellborn at The Chocolate Chip Waffle 
• Margot Kinberg at Confessions of a Mystery Novelist
  
• Angie Kate at Always Write 
• Michele Emrath at Southern City Mysteries
• Natalie Murphy at The Sound of Rain 
• The Blogger Girls at The Blogger Girlz 
• Elspeth Antonelli at It's a Mystery

And now for the 10 things that make me happy —

1. My beautiful family.

(brothers, sister, myself, and cat, Leo)

2. My incredible fiance', J. 

(Me & J on my birthday, last year.)

3. My religion

4. Writing

5. Reading

6.  Photography

7. Music

8. Movies

9. Nature

10. Rainstorms

Have a great week everyone. I'll see you next time.