I am experiencing something new with Don't Touch. It is not panning out to be as long as I want, so I am going back and adding more in... It is very different from On Loan - that just flew out of me, I guess you could say that Pru was very talkative. Ella is quite different. She is not so quick to open up, but that is part of who she is. It is great to be able to flush her out with someone else. Michael was doing it this morning and it has left me with a lot to think about. It is hard sometimes though, I want to talk to other romancers...he is a sci-fi/horror - not exactly the same stuff or the same format really.
I am very excited this week - I have two writer's group meetings. This will be the first time that I have any contact like this since High School. Thursday is for a local group that is made up of all kinds of writers. They sound pretty fun loving, so we will see...I just don't want to go to a "pity me" or "I can do better than you" meeting. It needs to be more of a support group - I can see it now - Hi, My name is Robin, I have been writing for 2 years." No, not the aa thing...I hope!
the second one is with my Romance Writer's group and I am so psyched about it. I have talked to a couple of ladies via email and can't wait to meet up with them. I am thinking about sending the first Chapter of Don't Touch to a couple of them for input....we'll see.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Monday, February 16, 2009
Write brain exercise day ten
Use the directional words as you get them. Start with:
Just like the little red caboose my son is slowly making progress. I don't think he'll give up easily. Each day his speech gets a little better, a little clearer. We have battled aproxia for over two years. Two years of special school and speech therapy. It doesn't seem right, to put a little boy through all this, to rob him of some part of his childhood. What's left is struggle, attempts to be understood, to communicate with others who don't know him. Some times he is stronger than me. He continues to try, to repeat himself, communitcate in different ways. They say he'll learn somewhere down the road. he'll be like the others; he'll play and talk like the others. Someday, like the little red caboose, he'll say I know I can.
Just like the little red caboose my son is slowly making progress. I don't think he'll give up easily. Each day his speech gets a little better, a little clearer. We have battled aproxia for over two years. Two years of special school and speech therapy. It doesn't seem right, to put a little boy through all this, to rob him of some part of his childhood. What's left is struggle, attempts to be understood, to communicate with others who don't know him. Some times he is stronger than me. He continues to try, to repeat himself, communitcate in different ways. They say he'll learn somewhere down the road. he'll be like the others; he'll play and talk like the others. Someday, like the little red caboose, he'll say I know I can.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Write brain exercise day nine
What is the defination of Ecdysiast: Write your own
Ec-dys-i-ast (eckDIZeeAST): (1) A person with an unhealthy obsession with ecstasy. (2) Addict of the drug ecstasy
It all started when Detective Samuel Jameson entered the night club, Elightenment. The room was full of ecdysiasts, pawing over the various waitresses and performers on the stage. All eyes momentarily stopped pouring over the women to look in his direction. Jameson did not frequent this type of place, nor did he care to. He walked past men who were drooling over the scantly clad women taking orders and others who are hanging on the edge of the stage, hoping for a peak at something they could never have. Jameson sat down at the bar and ordered a sparkling water. Grateful for the on duty status, he did not feel compelled to partake in any of the activities, nor was he looked at strangely for not drinking at 5 o’clock in the afternoon. He was here to meet an informant, an ecdysiast of ecdysiasts.
Raymond Krugel bellied up to the bar beside Jameson. Without looking at the other man, Jameson said, “What have you got for me?”
“Is that anyway to greet a buddy? No ‘Hey, how’s it going?’”
“Save it Krugel. You better make it worth my while.”
“Your man has his girls working the west side streets this week. Emma is the best of the best, taking men to ecstasy time and again.
“Which corner does she work?”
“It varies, but you can’t miss her – red head and legs to die for.”
Jameson threw a ten on the bar and walked away without another word.
Now the sting would begin. By the time it was done, the man would be in jail and the girls off the streets, at least for a while.
The real defination is a strip tease artist; guess I wasn't too far off...got the idea.
Ec-dys-i-ast (eckDIZeeAST): (1) A person with an unhealthy obsession with ecstasy. (2) Addict of the drug ecstasy
It all started when Detective Samuel Jameson entered the night club, Elightenment. The room was full of ecdysiasts, pawing over the various waitresses and performers on the stage. All eyes momentarily stopped pouring over the women to look in his direction. Jameson did not frequent this type of place, nor did he care to. He walked past men who were drooling over the scantly clad women taking orders and others who are hanging on the edge of the stage, hoping for a peak at something they could never have. Jameson sat down at the bar and ordered a sparkling water. Grateful for the on duty status, he did not feel compelled to partake in any of the activities, nor was he looked at strangely for not drinking at 5 o’clock in the afternoon. He was here to meet an informant, an ecdysiast of ecdysiasts.
Raymond Krugel bellied up to the bar beside Jameson. Without looking at the other man, Jameson said, “What have you got for me?”
“Is that anyway to greet a buddy? No ‘Hey, how’s it going?’”
“Save it Krugel. You better make it worth my while.”
“Your man has his girls working the west side streets this week. Emma is the best of the best, taking men to ecstasy time and again.
“Which corner does she work?”
“It varies, but you can’t miss her – red head and legs to die for.”
Jameson threw a ten on the bar and walked away without another word.
Now the sting would begin. By the time it was done, the man would be in jail and the girls off the streets, at least for a while.
The real defination is a strip tease artist; guess I wasn't too far off...got the idea.
Thursday, February 5, 2009
Write brain exercise day eight
Use the underlined words in a story starting with:
His taste in women was usually simple, she thought as she stood at the condiment counter. As she added mayonnaise to the bun of her hamburger, she stared across the room at Dave. He sat there and paid no attention to her, as he usually did in the college cafe. He told her last night over salsa and hot peppers that she was complicated, yet Abby, the most complicated woman she had ever met was sitting next to him. Jennifer grabbed two packets of ketchup, one of mustard and one of relish before walking over to the booth where her best friend Jason was sitting.
“Can you believe him?” she said.
“Will you give up on Dave? Are you going to eat your pickle?”
Jennifer absently handed over her pickle and stared down at her hamburger. She suddenly wasn’t very hungry.
“I just don’t understand him. Can he be so blind as to think she is simple? Though I suppose her shallowness could be confusing.”
Jason looked at her as she played with her fries.
“You ever tried soy sauce on your fries?”
“You are so gross. Do you ever stop thinking about food?”
“I only do it when I am sitting with you, ‘cause you are just so sweet. Sweet enough to eat,” he grinned. “Maybe that is the problem. He likes his girls sour not sweet.”
She couldn’t help but laugh and smacked him across the table. On the other side of the room, Dave looked up to see her with the other man.
He turned to Abby and said, “What does she see in him? He is so simple.”
“Will you give up on her? She obviously likes them that way and you are far from simple.”
His taste in women was usually simple, she thought as she stood at the condiment counter. As she added mayonnaise to the bun of her hamburger, she stared across the room at Dave. He sat there and paid no attention to her, as he usually did in the college cafe. He told her last night over salsa and hot peppers that she was complicated, yet Abby, the most complicated woman she had ever met was sitting next to him. Jennifer grabbed two packets of ketchup, one of mustard and one of relish before walking over to the booth where her best friend Jason was sitting.
“Can you believe him?” she said.
“Will you give up on Dave? Are you going to eat your pickle?”
Jennifer absently handed over her pickle and stared down at her hamburger. She suddenly wasn’t very hungry.
“I just don’t understand him. Can he be so blind as to think she is simple? Though I suppose her shallowness could be confusing.”
Jason looked at her as she played with her fries.
“You ever tried soy sauce on your fries?”
“You are so gross. Do you ever stop thinking about food?”
“I only do it when I am sitting with you, ‘cause you are just so sweet. Sweet enough to eat,” he grinned. “Maybe that is the problem. He likes his girls sour not sweet.”
She couldn’t help but laugh and smacked him across the table. On the other side of the room, Dave looked up to see her with the other man.
He turned to Abby and said, “What does she see in him? He is so simple.”
“Will you give up on her? She obviously likes them that way and you are far from simple.”
Hello? is Robin out there?
Can you say lazy???? no post in the last week, honestly Robin. Seriously, I have been spacey, I admit it. I have been working on my two latest novels and let me tell you, the two characters are so different, but they like to harass me the same time. And of course there is still that loud mouth Pru. Actually Ella, from Don't Touch doesn't talk all that much. She is stand offish with me almost as much as she is with her counterpart, Jameson. I never thought I would have to coerce a character to talk to me...Pru was certainly never that way and Belle from Happy Holidays isn't either, though she is very different too. Happy Holidays started as a contest entry, that is due on Feb 14, not sure if it will get done by then now...It takes place between Thanksgiving and New Year's and so far I am only one week into it and Belle has been busy. It is not easy to write two books at once, though I admit, I seldom have writer's block!
One the agent front, I have now sent out 27 emails and am about to start the snail mail - I have a list of 13 of those. I have gotten 11 rejection letters...If I am going to get 99 rejections, I need to find 60 more agents...So it you know one, let me know!
I am trying to do the Write Brain exercises, but I got stuck on the last one and really need to push myself on that one though. maybe tonight, if Belle and Ella don't feel like talking - speaking of which, Belle wants to go by a dress for that wedding her mom RSVP'd for her...
One the agent front, I have now sent out 27 emails and am about to start the snail mail - I have a list of 13 of those. I have gotten 11 rejection letters...If I am going to get 99 rejections, I need to find 60 more agents...So it you know one, let me know!
I am trying to do the Write Brain exercises, but I got stuck on the last one and really need to push myself on that one though. maybe tonight, if Belle and Ella don't feel like talking - speaking of which, Belle wants to go by a dress for that wedding her mom RSVP'd for her...
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Write brain exercise day seven
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.
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.
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
