You receive an envelope in the mail that says "you may have already won." What is in it and what did you win or not win...start with:
Life takes some funny twists and turns. Samantha had been living the same routine for nearly 4 years. It was a simple existence. Being a teller at the local bank did little to promote her career. She had begun the position believing that with time she would move up in the firm. She had a finance degree from a prestigious university that should have given her an edge. Apparently the edge she was lacking came in the form of good looks. Not that she wasn’t attractive. Her mousy brown hair bounced around her pleasantly round face. Her hazel eyes caught the attention of many men, with the green and gold specks floating around the center. The men even found her quaint dimples pleasing. She was not blonde and blue eyed, which was what the president of the company seemed to prefer in his personal bankers and loan officers. She either continued on where she was at or she looked for a new position with another bank. The problem was that she was well paid after four years. The pay would not be easy to match. So she continued on in her mundane existence.
She walked into her apartment, flipping through her mail, separating bills from junk mail. For some odd reason, she paused, looking at one of the many envelopes that should be thrown away. The standard lettering splashed across the front. “You may have already won.” Shaking her head, she opened the envelope out of curiosity. She had received numerous envelopes that promised the same thing, but for some reason this one seemed different. Dropping the rest of the mail on the kitchen counter, Sam pulled the paper from the envelope.
She stared at the piece of paper in disbelief. Surely there was a catch. Searching for the fine print, she discovered that the bottom of the front and the back side were blank. No fine print. How could that be? She tore open the rest of the envelope, searching for an entire page of tiny words. The only other page in the envelope had only her name and address printed on it. She returned her attention to the first page and reread it.
The statement was simple. “Samantha St. James, you have been selected to participate in a full body make over on the Saturday following the day you open this letter. A limo will pick you up at 7:30 am. Please do not apply make up or hair products and wear comfortable clothing.”
Sam suddenly laughed at herself for being so naïve. This surly was some sort of practical joke. Still what harm would it do to wake up on Saturday morning a bit early…
Saturday morning was bright and clear with only a slight breeze. It was unusually warm for a late autumn day. Sam had showered and dressed in casual clothes by quarter after 7 and was sitting patiently in front of the television watching the Saturday morning news program. The doorbell rang and Sam’s heart began to pound. There had to be some explanation for someone coming to her door so early. She strolled across the living room and peaked through the peephole. There before her door stood a man dressed in a black suit with a strange hat on. Sam carefully opened the door.
“Can I help you?”
“Ms. St. James, I presume.”
“Yes…”
“The limo is waiting downstairs. If you will please join me, we have an appointment that we can’t be late for.”
Sam ignored her logical warning that this could be dangerous and grabbed her purse. She cautiously walked through the door with the gentleman and locked it.
“We are glad that you finally agreed to open you envelope. We have been trying to arrange this day for nearly two years.”
Sam thought back to the numerous envelopes that she had receieved and realized that they all had in fact looked the same.
“We hope that you have given some thought to how to you wish to change your looks. It will make things go much quicker, though we are fairly certain we know your wishes.”
Sam slid into the back of the limo and watched as the driver moved around the car to get into the front seat. Her mind immediately turned to the image of her as a blonde. They surely couldn’t change her eye color, but perhaps she would get colored contacts. Here was her chance to move up in the banking world.
The limo stopped before a glamorous salon that she was certain had not been there the day before when she walked down this street. The driver came around and opened the door for her, offering a hand to assist her. As Sam entered the salon a mass of people crowded around her and began talking all at once.
“Hair will be blonde. Her eyes blue. Thin out her cheeks, raise her cheek bones, pout her lips. She will be our greatest creation yet.”
Sam was whirled into the group of people as frenzy unraveled. Four hours later, Sam stood before a mirror, looking at an unrecognizable reflection. She wondered if anyone else would know who she was. Certainly work would be an issue.
Monday morning came and to Sam’s amazement, no one made any comment on the change. Her coworkers acted as if she had always looked this way, the customers paid no attention to her. Even the men, who used to flirt with her, ignored her now. But it didn’t matter when she was called into the president’s office. She would get the promotion that fueled her desire to be different.
“Samantha, come sit down, dear.” The president was far from attractive, in his late sixties and balding. “I have been meaning to talk with you about an opening that we have for a loan officer. I am sure you understand the importance of meeting the qualifications for such a position. We can’t have just anyone approving loans for the bank, can we? I do believe that you will be able to meet those qualifications. It will of course be discussed over dinner with me tonight.”
Unsure of what dinner had to do with the new position, Sam hesitated. “Sir, I am sure we can discuss them here in your office. I would hate to take up your personal time.”
“Nonsense, dear. That is precisely where we need to discuss the new expectations of the position.”
Reality dawned on Sam. It was not just the blonde hair and blue eyes that all of the loan officers had in common. They all were paying personal favors to this horrid old man. She suddenly felt as if she was in a Twilight Zone episode. Her dreams had become her worst nightmare. Sam carefully stood up and looked at the powerful man in front of her.
“Sir, I am sorry but I don’t think I am qualified for this position.”
“But dear you are. Now that you have been offered the position, you cannot turn it down unless you choose to find a job elsewhere and I can assure you that it would be impossible. So why don’t we discuss your new duties at lunch on Friday. Your desk is waiting for you.”
Sam walked cautiously out of the office and found her way to her new desk. What had she done? What had she gotten herself into? If she had only paid more attention, would she have realized that this is what it took to move up in this company? Now she had no choice. There was no where to go. She had to leave the town, maybe even the state. She would pack tonight.
Exhausted from packing what she would be able to fit in her car, Sam fell back onto her bed. Mumbling to herself, she dozed. She could think of nothing but ending the nightmare. If only she had not had that makeover.
The sun seeped into the room through the curtains on the west facing window. Sam sat up, rolling her stiff neck. She remembered why she had fallen asleep in her clothes and examined her room. All of her important items had been packed and were ready to go into her car. Stretching, she went into the bathroom to wash her face. Sam froze, staring in the mirror. The blonde hair was gone as well as the blue eyes. She smiled and saw her dimples again. Her heart began to race as she quickly unpacked a suit and dressed for the day. Would the president still be interested in giving her the new position or would he take it back?
Sam walked through the back doors of the bank 5 minutes before the start of her shift. Other tellers greeted her as they did everyday, paying no attention to her change in appearance yet again. Purposefully, she walked to the president’s office and knocked on the door.
“May I help you?”
“Yes, sir. I wanted to talk to you about the offer you made yesterday.”
“What offer? My dear, I don’t even know who you are. Are you one of the tellers? I can never keep track of all of you.”
“Never mind sir, I actually just wanted to give my notice.”
“Well, that is lovely. Please talk to your supervisor about it. I don’t handle that sort of thing.” The president returned to the paperwork sitting in front of him.
Relief washed over Sam as she walked back to the teller booths. It has surely been nothing more than a nightmare.
Thursday, January 29, 2009
writer's block???
My appologies, I have not written for a few days. I have not written a single word. A friend of mine was tellling me today about a book she read. The author stated that there are three types of happiness - the first is euphoric - instant gratification. You know the buzz from coffee, the enjoyment of a movie. That kind of thing. The second is more of a contentment from a good day. Nothing went terribly wrong, had a pleasant day with kids or whatever it is that makes you happy. The third is long term - you sacrifice the other two happiness states for this one. it is the reaching of a goal that will bring you lifetime happiness. Sometimes though, you have to let the third one go for a bit to enjoy one of the others. I had voiced my concern to her about my "slacking" with my writing and she pointed out that my writing is more along the lines of the third kind - I make myself sit and write for an hour or so each day...not everyday to I want to do it, but still I sacrafice that time, that maybe I could be reading or doing something that I get the instant gratification from. But the last few days, I had to sacrifice that for some of the good days and hours, for some of the first two kinds of happiness. I did have those - I read and slept and enjoyed my kids. Well now, I am ready to focus again on my writing everyday. I have actually spent quite a few hours today and my writebrain activity shows it... here is to happiness - all three kinds.
Saturday, January 24, 2009
My reading obsession
Ok, so I can hear my mother now..."Put that book down and do your chores." That was just last week actually. She always is on my case about how much I read...I admit I can finish two novels in a day if the kids would let me. (and those aren't little novellas either - talking full fledged 300 page novels) So today, I was good. In the morning, I paid bills, cleared out the family email box (1200 messages) and even did a bit of cleaning. So when I sat down after lunch to read an entire novel, I thought nothing of it. I did my chores.
The family gives me a hard time because I insist the reading is research...Now I admit that I love my novels and I read to relax, but seriously, it has become a form of research...Once you become a serious writer, no book is ever the same. I notice descriptions and how they are created, if they create a realistic image in my mind. I look at sentence structure and plot progression...Reading is not what it used to be for me. It is not bad though, I find it much richer now. I do have a confession - please don't hold it against me - I sometimes pick up novels by no name authors that I am sure will not be the best written just so I can say - "Mine is way better than this...If they can be published, so can I." I then read one of my favorite authors - my inspirations and think "Someday, I will be like this."
So I have read two novels today by one of my favs and I am now off to read one of the others...if Karen (won't use a last name) can do it, so can I.
Have a great night.
The family gives me a hard time because I insist the reading is research...Now I admit that I love my novels and I read to relax, but seriously, it has become a form of research...Once you become a serious writer, no book is ever the same. I notice descriptions and how they are created, if they create a realistic image in my mind. I look at sentence structure and plot progression...Reading is not what it used to be for me. It is not bad though, I find it much richer now. I do have a confession - please don't hold it against me - I sometimes pick up novels by no name authors that I am sure will not be the best written just so I can say - "Mine is way better than this...If they can be published, so can I." I then read one of my favorite authors - my inspirations and think "Someday, I will be like this."
So I have read two novels today by one of my favs and I am now off to read one of the others...if Karen (won't use a last name) can do it, so can I.
Have a great night.
Write brain exercise day six
I am a slacker - no actually it has been a busy day...Today's assignment was to write a story that began "back in 1938, before..." So since I am no history buff and research was not on the top of my list today (especially for something other than my novels.) here is my interpretation:
“Back in 1938, before the war,” my grandmother began. “It was a time before tragedy and time before the death.”
That is how she always would start her stories about the way she and Grandpa spent their time. Grandma was only 17 that year. She believed that the world was good and the United States was strong. The two of them would spend evenings sitting on the beach watching the sun set. Perhaps my favorite story is the one she always tells when she starts to miss Grandpa, the story about the night he asked her to be his wife.
The sun had just touched the water, filling the sky with magnificent colors of warmth, oranges, reds, yellows and even purples. They sat on the beach, my grandmother with her knees pulled up under her chin, thinking of everything the future held – the many more sunsets that they would see together. Grandpa turned to her and pulled her hands to make her look at him. He professed his love and how he feared that the disasters of the world would soon reach that very shore. He begged her to make his life complete and to be his bride. Tears rolling down her cheeks, she insisted there would be no wars in their lifetimes. The worst war had been fought and peace would reign in the United States for ever. He smiled at her optimistic, though naïve ways and pulled her closer.
“Still,” he said, “marry me; make me the happiest man in the world.”
She smiled again and nodded, unable to find her voice.
A few weeks later, in a simple white suit, she stood beside him in front of a minister and took her vows – to love and to cherish, through sickness and health, until death do they part. She took those vows very seriously, waiting for him on the shore when he left for Germany, to fight that war she swore would never come. She bore him his children and grew old with him, watching their family expand, added son-in-laws and grandchildren and then even grandson and daughter-in-laws. When finally they saw the beginning of their great grandchildren, he found his time slipping and soon said goodbye.
Grandma always pauses to wipe her eyes and continues to remind us that her vows and should ours extend beyond this world. Her devotion to him will never end. As so shall my mother’s, mine and my daughter’s.
“Back in 1938, before the war,” my grandmother began. “It was a time before tragedy and time before the death.”
That is how she always would start her stories about the way she and Grandpa spent their time. Grandma was only 17 that year. She believed that the world was good and the United States was strong. The two of them would spend evenings sitting on the beach watching the sun set. Perhaps my favorite story is the one she always tells when she starts to miss Grandpa, the story about the night he asked her to be his wife.
The sun had just touched the water, filling the sky with magnificent colors of warmth, oranges, reds, yellows and even purples. They sat on the beach, my grandmother with her knees pulled up under her chin, thinking of everything the future held – the many more sunsets that they would see together. Grandpa turned to her and pulled her hands to make her look at him. He professed his love and how he feared that the disasters of the world would soon reach that very shore. He begged her to make his life complete and to be his bride. Tears rolling down her cheeks, she insisted there would be no wars in their lifetimes. The worst war had been fought and peace would reign in the United States for ever. He smiled at her optimistic, though naïve ways and pulled her closer.
“Still,” he said, “marry me; make me the happiest man in the world.”
She smiled again and nodded, unable to find her voice.
A few weeks later, in a simple white suit, she stood beside him in front of a minister and took her vows – to love and to cherish, through sickness and health, until death do they part. She took those vows very seriously, waiting for him on the shore when he left for Germany, to fight that war she swore would never come. She bore him his children and grew old with him, watching their family expand, added son-in-laws and grandchildren and then even grandson and daughter-in-laws. When finally they saw the beginning of their great grandchildren, he found his time slipping and soon said goodbye.
Grandma always pauses to wipe her eyes and continues to remind us that her vows and should ours extend beyond this world. Her devotion to him will never end. As so shall my mother’s, mine and my daughter’s.
Friday, January 23, 2009
Write brain exercise day five
Use you imagination - the page has a shape of a sail boat the job today is to fill it up with words, starting with "The ship's Sail:"
So here is mine and it barely fit...
The ship’s sail is much like the creative part of the brain. It is anchored carefully to the rest of the ship but it is also very flexible. Depending on which way you turn it, it will give you a lot of wind and speed or none at all. The outside influence of the wind also plays a part. Creativity is driven by both the outside influence (take this book for instance) and by the direction within. If you don’t open yourself up and look inside, the creative part of you will never blossom. Controlling the ship and sail also takes skill and practice. So does creativity. You may have it in you, but if you can’t get it out, then what’s the point? Take me – I can see beautiful images in my head, but please don’t ask me to draw them – no skill and no desire to practice. Now ask me to describe it….Give me a pen. We all have creativity within us. We just need to figure out how to adjust the sail to pick up the right amount of wind.
So here is mine and it barely fit...
The ship’s sail is much like the creative part of the brain. It is anchored carefully to the rest of the ship but it is also very flexible. Depending on which way you turn it, it will give you a lot of wind and speed or none at all. The outside influence of the wind also plays a part. Creativity is driven by both the outside influence (take this book for instance) and by the direction within. If you don’t open yourself up and look inside, the creative part of you will never blossom. Controlling the ship and sail also takes skill and practice. So does creativity. You may have it in you, but if you can’t get it out, then what’s the point? Take me – I can see beautiful images in my head, but please don’t ask me to draw them – no skill and no desire to practice. Now ask me to describe it….Give me a pen. We all have creativity within us. We just need to figure out how to adjust the sail to pick up the right amount of wind.
Write brain exercise day four
ok so I slacked - here is what I should have done yesterday.
Pretend you are a 2 year old and start of with "Here I am stuck in my crib':
Name: Cathleen Abigal Thomas
Nickname: Abby
Eye color – green yellow hazel
Hair color – pale red
Favorite food – animal crackers
Siblings: 1 sister – 7 years old; Heidi
Treats me like a baby doll
Toilet training takes too much time out of my playtime
Here I am, Cathleen Abigal Thomas, or Abby as my sister calls me, stuck in my crib again. It is 2 PM and I was in the middle of building a really big tower with my blocks.
“It is time for nap,” Mom said.
“But I am not tired,” I tell her.
It didn’t matter. Here I am in a quiet room forced to sit here for 2 hours. I should be grateful that Heidi is not home from school yet. She seems to think I am a baby doll and always wants to pick me up and play with me, feed me, burp me. I sit down and look at the toys on my crib. For some reason mommy still seems to think I like watching fishies go by and listen to bubbles. Of course there is the mirror. At least I can make faces in the mirror. I look at myself, my big green/yellow eyes. I can’ remember what mommy calls it – Hatsall or something like that. My dad says I have his hair – all thin and red. I start making funny faces, my eyes wide or my lips scrunched together. All the work makes me yawn. Maybe I will lay down for just a bit. When mommy finally comes back in she’ll take me down for some animal crackers, so I may as well just close my eyes and listen to the bubbles. They. Sound. So..Nice…
And I sleep
Pretend you are a 2 year old and start of with "Here I am stuck in my crib':
Name: Cathleen Abigal Thomas
Nickname: Abby
Eye color – green yellow hazel
Hair color – pale red
Favorite food – animal crackers
Siblings: 1 sister – 7 years old; Heidi
Treats me like a baby doll
Toilet training takes too much time out of my playtime
Here I am, Cathleen Abigal Thomas, or Abby as my sister calls me, stuck in my crib again. It is 2 PM and I was in the middle of building a really big tower with my blocks.
“It is time for nap,” Mom said.
“But I am not tired,” I tell her.
It didn’t matter. Here I am in a quiet room forced to sit here for 2 hours. I should be grateful that Heidi is not home from school yet. She seems to think I am a baby doll and always wants to pick me up and play with me, feed me, burp me. I sit down and look at the toys on my crib. For some reason mommy still seems to think I like watching fishies go by and listen to bubbles. Of course there is the mirror. At least I can make faces in the mirror. I look at myself, my big green/yellow eyes. I can’ remember what mommy calls it – Hatsall or something like that. My dad says I have his hair – all thin and red. I start making funny faces, my eyes wide or my lips scrunched together. All the work makes me yawn. Maybe I will lay down for just a bit. When mommy finally comes back in she’ll take me down for some animal crackers, so I may as well just close my eyes and listen to the bubbles. They. Sound. So..Nice…
And I sleep
Stalkers
Ok, so I was on one of my facebook groups this morning and one of the other writers was talking about her "stalkers". Let me start by assuring you that every writer has stalkers, whether they will admit it or not. My first one was Pru. Sound familar? Yes my main character of my first book...To a writer, a character is much more than you realize...They are a friend, coworker and muse. Any writer can tell you this, if you can get them to admit it. (I have no problem, but then I am a little unique I am told :P) So let me explain about Pru...She started out in my dreams...and let me tell you she was a real pain then, because I tried to ignore her. There is nothing worse that ignoring a character - especially one like Pru. When she finally got me to write her down, it got worse. Then she haunted it me stores, at work, during meals and most of all in the shower...They all seem to like the shower.
I have come to value their opinions, even if I don't follow them all the time (and that pisses them off!) We argue a lot, but you see Pru and I are very similar. Some of her is me, some of her is part I wish I was and some of her is just her. She's short and fiesty (sound familar to some of you) But she is also lonely until she meets the man...Now on that note, her man is drop dead gorgeous. It took me a long time to explain to Michael that part of her has nothing to do with me...Don't get me wrong, Derrick is hot, but he knows it and can be a real pain in the ***, if you know what I mean.
Now, even though Pru's story is done, she still has a change of heart sometimes and I am forced to go back and fix something...Of course even after she gets published she will not go away...she has become my dear friend who is not afraid to tell me when Ella is right or tell Ella to shut up...I worry that Ella is taking after Pru. She was just harassing me in the shower...must be Pru's day off.
So call me crazy if you want, but I don't always write the whole story, those girls do a lot of it too.
I have come to value their opinions, even if I don't follow them all the time (and that pisses them off!) We argue a lot, but you see Pru and I are very similar. Some of her is me, some of her is part I wish I was and some of her is just her. She's short and fiesty (sound familar to some of you) But she is also lonely until she meets the man...Now on that note, her man is drop dead gorgeous. It took me a long time to explain to Michael that part of her has nothing to do with me...Don't get me wrong, Derrick is hot, but he knows it and can be a real pain in the ***, if you know what I mean.
Now, even though Pru's story is done, she still has a change of heart sometimes and I am forced to go back and fix something...Of course even after she gets published she will not go away...she has become my dear friend who is not afraid to tell me when Ella is right or tell Ella to shut up...I worry that Ella is taking after Pru. She was just harassing me in the shower...must be Pru's day off.
So call me crazy if you want, but I don't always write the whole story, those girls do a lot of it too.
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Write brain exercise day three
today's task was to think of someone that drives me nuts and to send them somewhere and then talk about a postcard they would send me. Now, despite the fact that some people may know who I am talking about within this little exercise, I have changed the names to protect the innocent. Ok, maybe they are not so innocent, but still I value my life.
The postcard arrived on Monday. I was rather surprised to receive one at all. After all, Jamie was not the type to send postcard, let alone to me. She was however in a precarious situation. She somehow had been volunteered to endure the hardship of caring for 7 young girls between the ages of 9 and 12. This may not have been a serious issue if the girls had not been the 7 they were and where they slept. Now understand, I like camping probably better than the next person, but not in a tent with 7 girls who most of which had never slept away from parents let alone outside of a building. My daughter was the one exception and to be honest I regretted sending her with, but she wanted to go.
I think Jamie was truly pissed at me, to say the least. I had managed to come up with reasons, such as the fact that I had no one to watch the boys, since Michael had to work over the weekend. Thank God for retail management. After saying hello and you suck she went on to tell me everything that was happening. It started with her favorite camper – Jasmine. Now Jasmine is not a bad kid. She is just…unique. I think that would a good word for her. Jasmine’s mother is an interesting woman who likes to talk on the phone a lot and tends to have several physical problems that require drugs that make her “loopy” as Jasmine puts it. This woman loves to complain about Jamie almost as much as Jamie loves to complain about her. It is always a difficult situation when I have to listen to both sides and being the wimp that I am, agree with what ever both of them say. Apparently Jasmine is talking nonstop like her mother and telling her usual stories.
Then there was Sarah, the other leader’s daughter. I, of course have no idea how Lori got of it, but I can assure you that she came up with something good, despite the fact that she had planned the entire thing. You have to understand that talking to Jamie and Lori is almost as bad as Jasmine’s mom. They both have plenty to say about each other, but then unite when they are together. The difference between the previous situation and this one, is that I have to see them face to face and know exactly what they are thinking when they talk to each other. Sarah is spoiled to put it mildly. She once was extremely shy and after some therapy has come out of her shell and left the nest completely. She was complaining about being there, wanting to be home playing with her best friend.
The others I didn’t know so well, but she had an issue with each one, except for our daughters. She knew better than to complain about mine and hers never did anything wrong despite the fact that Jamie often threatened to beat her at the meetings.
So you can see why I nearly fell of my chair laughing when I received the postcard. All I could think about was that it was sweet revenge to read about her perils. Someday I may swallow my pride and go with her on a trip, but then I do value my sanity and the thought of spending more than one night with her and the other children is more than I can bear.
The postcard arrived on Monday. I was rather surprised to receive one at all. After all, Jamie was not the type to send postcard, let alone to me. She was however in a precarious situation. She somehow had been volunteered to endure the hardship of caring for 7 young girls between the ages of 9 and 12. This may not have been a serious issue if the girls had not been the 7 they were and where they slept. Now understand, I like camping probably better than the next person, but not in a tent with 7 girls who most of which had never slept away from parents let alone outside of a building. My daughter was the one exception and to be honest I regretted sending her with, but she wanted to go.
I think Jamie was truly pissed at me, to say the least. I had managed to come up with reasons, such as the fact that I had no one to watch the boys, since Michael had to work over the weekend. Thank God for retail management. After saying hello and you suck she went on to tell me everything that was happening. It started with her favorite camper – Jasmine. Now Jasmine is not a bad kid. She is just…unique. I think that would a good word for her. Jasmine’s mother is an interesting woman who likes to talk on the phone a lot and tends to have several physical problems that require drugs that make her “loopy” as Jasmine puts it. This woman loves to complain about Jamie almost as much as Jamie loves to complain about her. It is always a difficult situation when I have to listen to both sides and being the wimp that I am, agree with what ever both of them say. Apparently Jasmine is talking nonstop like her mother and telling her usual stories.
Then there was Sarah, the other leader’s daughter. I, of course have no idea how Lori got of it, but I can assure you that she came up with something good, despite the fact that she had planned the entire thing. You have to understand that talking to Jamie and Lori is almost as bad as Jasmine’s mom. They both have plenty to say about each other, but then unite when they are together. The difference between the previous situation and this one, is that I have to see them face to face and know exactly what they are thinking when they talk to each other. Sarah is spoiled to put it mildly. She once was extremely shy and after some therapy has come out of her shell and left the nest completely. She was complaining about being there, wanting to be home playing with her best friend.
The others I didn’t know so well, but she had an issue with each one, except for our daughters. She knew better than to complain about mine and hers never did anything wrong despite the fact that Jamie often threatened to beat her at the meetings.
So you can see why I nearly fell of my chair laughing when I received the postcard. All I could think about was that it was sweet revenge to read about her perils. Someday I may swallow my pride and go with her on a trip, but then I do value my sanity and the thought of spending more than one night with her and the other children is more than I can bear.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Write brain exercise day two
I got a head start on today's excercise. Given a lined area I had to create a passage around already typed in letters - they are underlined below. Also the passage had to begin: New Year's resolutions make me...
...nervous. They close in around one like an elevator to a claustrophobic. The expectation to fail and the desire to succeed wear down your ego and excitement for life. Lose weight; stop smoking; eat better. All are superficial goals. No one ever even hopes to survive such rediculous hop. Look deeper. If new year's resolutions are to succeed they need to be real. Read more books; call home more often. The simple things may seem easy but the tradional outlandish resolutions are set up for failure. For many true thought leads to enlighted resolutions. Find a new job; go back to school; complete a novel. All are extrememe goals but are attainable if the movivation is present. No one but the resolution setter can make it succeed. It is not nessary for it to be New Year's to create a resolution. Don't wait for a new beginning; make it yourself.
...nervous. They close in around one like an elevator to a claustrophobic. The expectation to fail and the desire to succeed wear down your ego and excitement for life. Lose weight; stop smoking; eat better. All are superficial goals. No one ever even hopes to survive such rediculous hop. Look deeper. If new year's resolutions are to succeed they need to be real. Read more books; call home more often. The simple things may seem easy but the tradional outlandish resolutions are set up for failure. For many true thought leads to enlighted resolutions. Find a new job; go back to school; complete a novel. All are extrememe goals but are attainable if the movivation is present. No one but the resolution setter can make it succeed. It is not nessary for it to be New Year's to create a resolution. Don't wait for a new beginning; make it yourself.
Monday, January 19, 2009
Write brain exercise day one
Day one:
Using these three words: banister, massage and harried in a scene, starting with "sometimes I feel just like a gerbil running around and around in his wheel."
“Sometimes I feel just like a gerbil, running around and around on his wheel,” Abby thought while she absently listened to the accounting presentation. This was the fourth meeting of the day and it was only 11:00. The rest of the day loomed in front of her, full of more meetings, including a lunch meeting. There would be no break in her harried schedule.
“Miss Allan, did you have any questions or concerns with the new budget?” the VP asked, pulling her out of her contemplation.
“Uh no, sir. I went over the numbers last night and everything appears to be satisfactory.”
“Well then, if there are no other concerns, let us wrap up this meeting, I have other things to attend to.”
“That would be a golf outing and his afternoon massage,” Abby thought to herself.
He was the first to leave the room and was nearly halfway down the grand staircase toward the lobby when he turned around and called up to Abby. She leaned over the banister and replied.
“Yes, sir?”
“Abby, girl, do me a favor won’t you?”
“Certainly sir.”
“Call the country club and push my tee time back an hour.” Without another word, he turned and walked the rest of the way down the stairs and vanished out of the lobby.
Abby froze, stunned by his gall to ask her, the financial analyst to handle such menial things, but then his secretary was out of town and she was the only other female in the department. She balked at the thought of being stuck working in a good ole’ boys company.
With new conviction she vowed to start looking for a new job tomorrow.
Using these three words: banister, massage and harried in a scene, starting with "sometimes I feel just like a gerbil running around and around in his wheel."
“Sometimes I feel just like a gerbil, running around and around on his wheel,” Abby thought while she absently listened to the accounting presentation. This was the fourth meeting of the day and it was only 11:00. The rest of the day loomed in front of her, full of more meetings, including a lunch meeting. There would be no break in her harried schedule.
“Miss Allan, did you have any questions or concerns with the new budget?” the VP asked, pulling her out of her contemplation.
“Uh no, sir. I went over the numbers last night and everything appears to be satisfactory.”
“Well then, if there are no other concerns, let us wrap up this meeting, I have other things to attend to.”
“That would be a golf outing and his afternoon massage,” Abby thought to herself.
He was the first to leave the room and was nearly halfway down the grand staircase toward the lobby when he turned around and called up to Abby. She leaned over the banister and replied.
“Yes, sir?”
“Abby, girl, do me a favor won’t you?”
“Certainly sir.”
“Call the country club and push my tee time back an hour.” Without another word, he turned and walked the rest of the way down the stairs and vanished out of the lobby.
Abby froze, stunned by his gall to ask her, the financial analyst to handle such menial things, but then his secretary was out of town and she was the only other female in the department. She balked at the thought of being stuck working in a good ole’ boys company.
With new conviction she vowed to start looking for a new job tomorrow.
Don't Touch
Pricella Watson has been given a gift, but to her it is a curse. With just a touch, she can see the past. Pain, joy, fear and lust, the extreme emotions. At the age of 32, she has managed to avoid physical contact with anyone for 11 years, ever since the first and last traumatic incident, when she came in contact with a rapist. Detective Jameson, who has known her since high school comes to her for help to catch a murderer/rapist by touching a girl in a coma. Scared to death she touches Jameson after touching the girl and finds a calming reaction to his touch, but no vision. As time goes on, the murderer discovers she knows about him threatens her life. Jameson must protect her and still solve the case. Can he do it without falling in love?
Ok, so here we are Monday morning - one kid off to school and three to go (2 children + 1 husband) one child is dressed and ready to go - one just woke up and DH is looking for pants - own fault (didn't finish laundry) And today, I have a lunch date with three old friends, and need to get the oil changed. Sounds like such an exciting day, doesn't it? As promised, I will post "Don't Touch" preview in a few minutes, hope you enjoyed the peek at "On Loan" I have several little projects I am working on for contests and what not, that I will post as I go. I also have a new project. Yesterday when having brunch with the family for my birthday, my sister gave me a gift card to B&N - I immediately used it to pick up a book I have been wanting - The Write Brain. It is a workbook with a prompt for each day. - So I am going to post my answers here each day. So later today look for that. Well, I have to get off to get the children to school and do some laundry...
Saturday, January 17, 2009
My First Grand Novel
OK, so as I promised, here is On Loan:
In a dead end job, overworked and underpaid, all Pru wants is a little excitement, but she didn’t bargain for this. Derrick shouldn’t be intriguing and dangerous. After all, he is just a computer geek, right? Alright, he’s a hot computer geek, but still. Improving a computer program puts the two of them in close contact, where the heat begins to rise. They are forced to face a conspiracy that is close to home and solve a mystery to save his reputation. Pru quickly finds herself falling hard for Derrick, but she has to wonder if she is merely giving her heart out on loan during the hot steamy nights. Being with him means she will leave her boring life, but is it worth the risks?
or at least that is what I am trying to tell the agents...Want to learn more go check out my WeBook page - linked on the previous post.
In a dead end job, overworked and underpaid, all Pru wants is a little excitement, but she didn’t bargain for this. Derrick shouldn’t be intriguing and dangerous. After all, he is just a computer geek, right? Alright, he’s a hot computer geek, but still. Improving a computer program puts the two of them in close contact, where the heat begins to rise. They are forced to face a conspiracy that is close to home and solve a mystery to save his reputation. Pru quickly finds herself falling hard for Derrick, but she has to wonder if she is merely giving her heart out on loan during the hot steamy nights. Being with him means she will leave her boring life, but is it worth the risks?
or at least that is what I am trying to tell the agents...Want to learn more go check out my WeBook page - linked on the previous post.
Real Quick - here is where else you can find me -
http://www.webook.com/member/RJRhodes - all my writing that is online
http://www.facebook.com/inbox/?ref=mb#/profile.php?id=1454733881&ref=profile - me on Facebook.
http://www.webook.com/member/RJRhodes - all my writing that is online
http://www.facebook.com/inbox/?ref=mb#/profile.php?id=1454733881&ref=profile - me on Facebook.
I've joined the world of blogging
I'm writer so I should have a blog right? For those of you who don't my writing side here is the rundown. After taking some time off from work this summer, I begin to have an idea form in my head. The first scene ran in my mind for months until finally my dear friend Shelly convinced me to write it down. 70,000 words later I have a novel. I sit on it for a while, write short stories, submit to magazines and e-zines - get one published - check it out - http://www.alongstoryshort.net/roommates.html Now, for those of you who know me, you know my genre. For those who don't - it's romance all the way.
So here is the status of my writing career, which I must say has taken on a new life since I kissed the pain in the **** job of mine good bye (not by choice though) I have completed one novel - ON LOAN and have submitted it to several agents - hard to keep track and have thus far recieved three rejections - you would think I would be disappointed, but guess what? I am not - I am excited. Everything I read, everyone I talk to says it takes a massive amount of rejections to get to that acceptance - so here is my view - I am three more closer. Did you know that the Harry Potter books were rejected by hundreds of agents? Bet they are kicking themselves now. I look at it the same way. Have no fear - I will autograph everyone's book.
Ok, so maybe ON LOAN won't get published. That is ok, cause DON'T TOUCH will. book number two is well under way. I am still reading book number 1 and constantly making changes. I submit it to an agent and then go "Crap, missed that mistake." I'll give you a run down of both on a separte entry - don't want to write too much here.
So I need to deal with three kids, a broken car and edit a novel - AGAIN.
So here is the status of my writing career, which I must say has taken on a new life since I kissed the pain in the **** job of mine good bye (not by choice though) I have completed one novel - ON LOAN and have submitted it to several agents - hard to keep track and have thus far recieved three rejections - you would think I would be disappointed, but guess what? I am not - I am excited. Everything I read, everyone I talk to says it takes a massive amount of rejections to get to that acceptance - so here is my view - I am three more closer. Did you know that the Harry Potter books were rejected by hundreds of agents? Bet they are kicking themselves now. I look at it the same way. Have no fear - I will autograph everyone's book.
Ok, so maybe ON LOAN won't get published. That is ok, cause DON'T TOUCH will. book number two is well under way. I am still reading book number 1 and constantly making changes. I submit it to an agent and then go "Crap, missed that mistake." I'll give you a run down of both on a separte entry - don't want to write too much here.
So I need to deal with three kids, a broken car and edit a novel - AGAIN.
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