Michele E. Gwynn's Blog, page 23

World Building from Author Andrea Perno

Author Andrea Perno was our guest last week on BlogTalk Radio's Cover 2 Cover with Jami and Michele. Check out the show here: Cover2Cover, and read Andrea's words of wisdom for budding and established writers. 
If you build it, he will come. ~Kevin Costner.
                World building in novel writing: How important is it? How, where, do you even begin? If you’ve talked to me…and I mean really talked to me. More like talked me into telling you my “crazy,” you’ve probably heard me say that my characters write the story. That’s true. I don’t write it. Not any more at least. I may have started the story off with a neat little concept and designed a somewhat familiar setting as a backdrop for my characters to play in. Ultimately, when they show up, they take what loosely woven strand of fiber I’ve picked (tangled rat’s nest depending on your interpretation) and run with it.  
                That being said, once you’ve decided your genre and you’ve got that “big bag of crazy” that is the beginning of a kick ass novel, there are two main things I feel every author should consider while world building.                 Number one: This is probably the most important in my opinion. Whatever the genre is, creating a believable world is critical. A story is not a story if it’s not believable. You, the author, have to be able to creatively craft a world that can convince a reader to suspend disbelief enough to still be present and fully engaged with the tale being told. That’s a hard thing to teach, a hard thing to learn and an even harder thing to put into practice.                  Readers are smart. They’ll know when you haven’t done your homework. When you’ve built a world in the sixteenth century but your characters are magically talking, behaving and wearing a t-shirt and shorts like it’s present day twenty fifteen. Writers have to be smart when creating a world. The small details, things like culture, climate, race, history, social classes, food, are important to consider. Readers will know when you’ve left gaps. Or worse, when you’ve tried to plug those gaps with things that don’t belong. Think of your readers’ like that damn kid at the beach. You know the one I’m talking about. The one that no matter how well you think you’ve fortified your elaborately built sand castle with sharp shells and sea urchin quills…that little bastard is going to mow it down like the line backer, Terry Tate if you turn your back and leave an opening. In the case of world building and novel writing, that’s the dreaded plot hole.                   Just like your characters should act like real, fully rounded, albeit slightly flawed people to make them seem credible. Your world and setting should also be believable. I’m not saying you can’t have crazy awesome fantasy creatures with three heads and twelve inch teeth…if that’s your thing. I’m saying your character’s reaction to those creatures has to be authentic and genuine. The setting you create should match. Think of it in terms of theatre. In the world you’re building, the structures, flora, fauna etc. are your backdrop and props. The characters interact with those things moving the plot forward, backward or in some cases sideways and upside down, all while shooting a ray gun with green laser beams. The point is you have to find a way to connect with the reader, make them feel, see, smell, even taste the world you’ve built. All while allowing your characters the freedom to be who they are and tell their story effectively. That’s not too hard, right?                Number two: World building is like setting up a game board. I liken it most closely to the game, Risk, but my stories are Science Fiction and all about war so there may be a bias on my part. Sometimes I find it’s best if I lay out all the pieces first. For some this may mean verbally bouncing ideas off a couple of friends or making an outline. For me, it means using my art degree in its purest form and literally laying out the biggest piece of paper I can find. I go to town drawing what the world would look like. What color are the plants? What kind of wacked out sci-fi tech can I design out of tin foil and toothpicks? Where are the landmasses, native tribe homelands, military bases etc. located? Then I scribble out freakishly unrecognizable chicken scratch notes to go with it all.  I may not be able to read the notes later. Despite the fact that I can paint a masterpiece, I can’t seem to get a handle on basic handwriting. Never the less, it gets the wheels turning. I do everything from mapping out destinations, creating an idea of how long it would take characters to get from point “A” to point “B” and what physical, mental, environmental obstacles would pose hazards to their health. Doing all of this helps me get a feel for what the world is like and what my characters will endure.                 **There is a caveat that I feel prudent to point out. The process of “physically” drawing out a world in map, or whatever form may materialize, is very likely to change as the story progresses. So don’t get attached. I’ve found that you can do all the leg work you want up front, before even typing a single word in the book. You may find that your characters take your work of genius and turn it into something completely foreign from the original concept. This is OKAY. I’ve talked to a few new authors who fear this phenomenon. Don’t fear it. Be open to it. If you’ve created a great starting block, your characters will dive right into the world you’ve made for them and take it to new heights you’d never imagined.                 Whatever technique you choose to go about creating the world for your characters, remember to make it relatable. Building a believable world is crucial for their survival as much as it is for your story. Sometimes it pays off to sweat the small stuff in the beginning. After all, the devil is in the details. 
 Excerpt from: THE LAST DROPI stare at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, hardly recognizing myself. My dark, crew-cut hair is growing out all wrong. Even at sixteen, there’s a rough haze of stubble along my jaw and across my upper lip. I’ll have to shave before reporting. I balance my armpits on the tops of aluminum crutches and rake my fingers along my scalp, watching my hair stand on end from sweat. It would feel amazing to splash cool water on my face and rinse the dirt from my skin, but those days are gone. Water is too precious. The sink basin is dry and coated with a layer of sand and dirt like everything else in the house. I turn the knobs anyway and pretend water fills the basin before reaching for the powdered bathing substitute and electric shaver. I need to look and smell presentable today. Dad and Jeremy are returning from overseas. My older brother, Jeremy, won’t care what I look like, but it wouldn’t be acceptable for the son of a prestigious military commander and esteemed biochemical engineer to have even one hair out of place.             The thought of their return brings a nervous anxiety, which I try to evade by pressing the electric shaver into the cleft of my chin, daring the blades to cut me. I don’t want to think about what my father will do if this mission failed too. No one on base will tell me anything substantial, but rumors say diplomacy is out the window. It explains why recruitment numbers are through the roof and why Jeremy doesn’t want me along for any missions. Thanks to him, I get another few weeks off before recruitment officers force me back into basic training. “Only had three days left, now I’ll have to start all over. Least you could’ve done was waited until I finished basic,” I whisper at the mirror.            For just a moment, as the last bit of facial stubble falls into the sink, my reflection takes the form of Jeremy’s face. Striking blue eyes, prominent jaw line, he’s only two years older than I am, but all I’d need is a good haircut and we’d be twins. Sighing, I shift weight off my broken leg to ease the throbbing pain. The heavy plaster cast encasing my left upper thigh down is a cumbersome reminder of Jeremy’s loyalty and love, however misguided. He was only doing what he thought was best, the only way he knew to keep me on base, but he had no right.            “You’re a smart kid. You don’t have to be a grunt. Stay put. Go to class. Get your ass on the flight list outta here.” His voice fills my head as if he’s standing in front of me. But the flight list is a joke. Commanding officers like to dangle the hope of being hand selected for space settlement in front of students and soldiers as motivation. It works…mostly. Everyone wants out of our military base, Asik. Off Earth. I’m guessing I’m the exception. I don’t hold out much hope of a successful space settlement even though people rumor that habitable planets are out there. If we can’t fix what’s wrong with our own planet we’re doomed no matter where we wind up. Jeremy would be pissed to know I requested transfer out of the space academy, though. Too bad. He doesn’t get to choose the life I lead. Brothers are supposed to protect each other. I’m supposed to be watching his six out there. Instead, I’m stranded here nursing a fractured femur.
Excerpt from: REMOTELY UNPLUGGED            The room feels different the moment I cross the threshold and the heavy metal door closes behind me. I brace myself for the annoying computer data dump that comes with every new place I encounter. I’ve never mastered accessing it in a way that doesn’t immediately cause me to go into sensory overload. Nor have I been able to tune out the excess information like my sister insists is possible. This room, cold and starkly furnished with only a long metal table and two metal chairs, is somehow...quiet.            “Please have a seat,” the police psychologist who accompanied me says. I ignore her request and instead take a few steps toward a wall to my right. I touch the bare surface and eye the rest of the space curiously. There are no pictures, mirrors or windows in this room. My brain should be melting down with information about where I am, the history of the building, why I’m here. Nothing happens. I’m not even downloading the waste management schematics of the building and that’s supposed to be my Civilnet job description.            I let my hand slide down the smooth wall and fall to my side before acknowledging the psychologist. She’s meticulously folding her hunter green trench over the back of a chair in such a way to provide cushioning against the metal. I guess she thinks we’ll be here awhile.            I watch with growing annoyance as she settles herself into the chair and applies an obnoxious bright red lipstick to her lips. If my computer chip were working properly, it would be telling me what great taste this woman has to pair fire engine red lipstick with pasty white skin and unnaturally orange streaked hair.            I don’t want to, but I take a seat in the empty metal chair. It’s not as if there’s anything else to do in this room.            “Shall we begin?” she asks.            I know it’s rude, and this woman has done nothing to me, but I shake my head and roll my eyes anyway.            “Whenever you’re ready then,” she says patiently and folds her hands on the table.            I glance around the room again, looking for anything to capture my attention so I don’t have to talk to the woman in front of me. When I can’t find anything to look at, I rock myself back against the metal chair, letting it balance on two legs. The psychologist’s expression doesn’t change from kind and patient, which annoys me more, so I tip the chair back further. A high-pitched warning siren in my inner ear squeals. The familiar scrawl of red lettering with statistical variants temporarily obscures my vision.            I let the front legs of the chair crash to the floor. The siren and the red lettering go away. The room suddenly doesn’t feel so quiet.            “Civilnet will still let you know if you are in danger of being injured.” The psychologist smiles.            “Where’s the rest of the Civilnet crap you guys fill us with?”            “The precinct finds it easier if the rest is withheld during discussions. That way conversations aren’t diluted.”            I nod and close my eyes for a minute, embracing the silence.            When I open them, the psychologist is staring blankly, waiting for me to make my statement. I know I’m not going anywhere until I do but every time I open my mouth to say something, an uncontrollable anger causes me to lock my jaw and grimace instead. It’s not as if she actually needs to take a statement. If I’m plugged into the system, she can access all the information she wants. Even pull up the brutality on a fancy high-def, holographic screen as large at the wall next to me. She’s probably already watched it in preparation. No, she wants me to recount the incident so she can see my reaction. So she can see how fucked up it made me. That way she and her police buddies and everyone else in the world can justify being “plugged-in.”            After several minutes of shifting on the uncomfortable metal chair, waiting for the psychologist to give me an out, I shout at her, “Why can’t I just go?”            “You haven’t recounted the events that occurred on the evening of November 17, 2103,” she says matter-of-factly. Her mouth closes to a thin line. The red lipstick she’s wearing is so thick and sticky-looking that her two lips merge into one. The tip of her tongue separates them again and she says, “Once you give your statement you will be free to go.”            “Free to go.” I nod in disgust and look at the ceiling. “Right. Free to go back to what? A job I hate? The tiny little apartment in the sky that...” I let my words fall off because I’m sure admitting I’ve thought of jumping from my 351 story balcony will get me thrown in the loony bin. And if that happens I won’t be able to go through with it later.            “If you’re unhappy with your current occupation I’ll be happy to have someone assist you with re-examining your Civilnet aptitude scores and—”             “Just stop. I don’t need you or anyone or anything else to help me.” The last thing I want is my aptitude scores re-examined. I can’t bear to think what new waste management hell the computation systems will puke out for me if I have my scores re-examined.            “I feel it prudent to point out that you would not be alive today without the help of our Civilnet system.”            “Yea, well, I feel it prudent to point out psychologists are supposed to have empathy. Maybe I’m not ready to discuss what happened.” I try to sound pompous and proper like her but it comes out more like the verbal tantrum of a fourteen-year-old.            “You have been given the statistically recommended 6.342 days, on top of physical healing duration, to properly recover your mental faculties. If you refuse to make a statement today, Mr. Tom Rodgers will be released and re-inserted into Civilnet.” She leans across the cold, steel table between us and whispers, “What he did to you was unthinkable. Regardless of how you feel about Civilnet, do you really want him back on the streets where he can do it again?”            She searches my face, waiting for my defenses to crack. He hurt me, more than words can describe, but the truth is, the events of that night are completely cloudy. I know I have a connection to Tom Rodgers. I know he was the one who physically hurt me. There were other people too. People I know and yet, frustratingly, I can’t quite call their names or faces to memory when I think about them. I was a part of something big. Something important that didn’t work out and even though I got hurt, I’m not sure he shouldn’t try it again.            “You don’t need me to say it. You have more than enough evidence to put him away. Spare me the bullshit,” I tell her.            “If it were up to me this case would be closed.” She sits back, ignoring my temper, and wipes her hands clean as if it would be that easy. “But a jury will not convict this case. The feed from the chip comes in garbled. It even freezes in places. Atrocious things are happening and a jury will see that. But a good lawyer could argue that what’s going on is fictitious and fabricated. The two of you could have been making a film, for instance.”            “Right. A home movie where half my face is being burned off by industrial grade acid.” I scoff and touch the right side of my face. The skin under my fingertips is flawless and perfectly smooth. It’s not rippled and scarred like I know it will be in twenty-four hours when the medical test serum wears off.            “It was unimaginable pain. Wasn’t it?” She looks at my cheek almost curiously, and I know she’s never felt pain like I have. “It must be awful for anyone to undergo such torture.”             I swallow hard. Not sure if I should be mad at her sudden interest in knowing what it’s like to have skin melted from its bones or mad at myself for falling victim to an avoidable crime. I purse my lips. “You want me to tell you what happened?”            “Yes.” She smiles and a smear of red slime coats her front teeth. She notices me wrinkle my nose and sucks the lipstick away with her tongue. “Tell me what Rogers did to your chip.”            “My chip?” I say sarcastically.            “Yes, what did Mr. Rogers do to it?” she asks again.            My eyebrows knit in frustration. She’s supposed to be concerned about what he did to me. She’s not concerned about me at all. It’s about the chip. It’s always about the damn chip.

Fans of the Fang

Just wanted to drop in and share that I unearthed and unearthly story I began in 2009. I sat down and began to read this dark tale of a young woman who travels to Bucharest as an exchange student. There, she finds herself being stalked by two men, one on campus, and the other in her dreams. This story delves deep into the Romanian folklore surrounding the 'dark ones', also commonly known as vampires! Passed down from generation to generation in the gypsy clans, the warning is always the same; if you suddenly feel as if you're burning alive from within, run! Only the Curarya have the ability to sense the presence of these blood-thirsty demons. But for Meghan Hartley, the warning may come too late! Pursued through time by a spurned lover, Petr Petrescu is determined to have what is his, but Marku Anghelescu may have something to say about that. He has craved her and her blood for nearly eight hundred years. He saved Mihaela then from Petrescu, and he won't let the vile cur get his hands on Meghan now, not when he has finally found her again. 

Yes...this means I'll be completing this tale, so keep your eyes peeled as I veer off briefly into the underworld of the paranormal, and the mystical tales shared around gypsy campfires - stories told in the dark of night by clan elders who've witnessed horrors, and felt the presence of evil breathing down their necks, and whispering inside their heads.....

FREE erotic short; Get yours!

I love giving away a FREEBIE, and if that freebie tickles your fancy, all the better. Today through Friday (4/17) download a FREE kindle copy of The Power of Three from my wicked vixen alter ego, Xaviera Snow. 

DOWNLOAD YOUR COPY HERE  The naughty nanny balances nurturing a diplomat's children with satisfying her own desires on her off time in this scintillating erotic short story. What's a girl to do when the family is all tucked away in bed for the night? Go out with the girlfriends and find some sexy adventure! Xaviera discovers that Spanish men are hot, but no one knows a woman's body better than another woman!

The Angels have landed on Smashwords

Yes, the Angelic Hosts Series is now available on Smashwords! Yipee!

For those who subscribe, you can now get books I and II on Smashwords, and begin falling in love with the angels. Both should soon be in wider distribution to Apple/iTunes, and Barnes and Noble/Nook (and KOBO) shortly. Bookmark them. Check out the free sample reads, and then download and enjoy.

I hope you love the angels as much as I do. Book III coming in 2015.

VIEW THE ANGELIC HOSTS SERIES ON SMASHWORDS HERE!
Poster created by M. Gwynn. Background image purchased from Dreamstime.com.

The Long Walk Home

It's Friday Picture Story Day!!! What happens when you can't find your way home?

The Long Walk Home

I must've traveled the Cavanaugh Road a million times. It led from the house I lived in from the day I was born all the way into town. Town consisted of two square miles in any direction. There was a post office, a grocery store, a Woolworth's, a moving picture theater, a diner, a drive-in that served burgers and shakes, the City Hall, and of course, the police and fire departments which shared one large building.

Folks either worked their family farms or they worked in one of the in-town businesses. There wasn't much else besides a large schoolhouse in between town and my home. That's just how it was in 1951. If anyone needed anything else, and couldn't find it in town, they ordered it from the Sears Roebuck catalogue.

It was the summer of my fifteenth year, and it was hot. My brothers worked the farm with my dad, but he wouldn't let me, his only daughter, do any of the heavy chores involved in raising cows and growing cotton. So I had a lot of time of my hands. I decided maybe I could get a job. Maybe I could help serve lunch at the Woolworth's lunch counter or sell tickets for the Saturday matinee at the movie theater. That was my thought, that, and the fact that I could earn money, save it, and be able to move into the big city far from this tiny town once I graduated.

It seemed like a grand plan so I found myself walking the Cavanaugh Road, all three miles of it into town. I got lost inside my own head along the way. A great deal had happened to me over the past year. I grew taller, and a little curvier. Mama said I was a late bloomer because she had her womanly beauty by the age of fourteen. Daddy said I was just right and not to listen to my brothers who constantly told me I was the ugly duckling of the family, and had been found on the doorstep one dark night, and wasn't really their sister. Brothers!

My hair had grown down my back uncut since I was a little girl, but daddy finally relented and let me get a real haircut. It didn't really look all that much different, but it was shorter, and the lady at the beauty salon gave me a more sophisticated style. She said bangs were for toddlers, and young ladies side-swept their hair. It did make me feel a little older and wiser. That feeling translated into a new confident walk with shoulders back and my brand new bosom pointing forward. I was almost like one of them starlets from the big screen.

All of this had a strange effect on all the boys in my school. Joshua Williams, who'd pulled my braids painfully in the fourth grade, now looked at me with a really goofy grin on his face all the time. Everywhere I went, he was there, smiling at me. It was plain weird, but then, he didn't look much like he used to either. Over last summer, he shot up nearly two feet, and grew some muscles working on his uncle's ranch. His hair got a little curly on the ends, and his face seemed more rugged, and a whole lot more clear than the year before. I guess he was kind of cute, but his stare made me uncomfortable so I tried to avoid him.

My two best friends, Lucy and Claire, had grown thick and thieves while I stayed home because my parents didn't want me hanging around Claire. They said she was too wild because she rode on the back of a motorcycle with a young Navy boy who'd come through town during the holidays. Apparently, he was a cousin of one our local boys. There were hushed comments flying about as to what else Claire did with the sailor, but no one would tell her when she asked them to explain. Claire said it was all hogwash, but then she's smile to herself and stop talking.

So being kept from my friends left me bored, and my parents trying to keep me a little girl led me to thinking about a job, and here I was, walking along the side of the road in ninety-five degree heat and humidity. The clouds began gathering and turning gray. It looked like it was gearing up to rain which meant I needed to hurry. I made it into town before the first downpour. At least I had sidewalk overhangs to keep the rain off of me.

I made the rounds to the theater, the diner, and then over to Woolworth's collecting applications along the way. I sat at the Five and Dime counter sipping a large soda from their fountain, and filled out each form. It kept me busy while the summer storm raged drenching the streets, and sending folks scrambling inside or to their cars. I watched a patrol officer run across the road and duck into the police department, but not before he got soaked.

I hoped the rain would end soon so I could drop off my applications and get home safely before dark. Finally, it let up and after returning one request for employment consideration to the assistant manager at the Woolworth's lunch counter, I quickly retraced my steps to the diner down the street, and the theater two blocks over. I felt like I'd accomplished quite a bit as I jogged out of town down Cavanaugh. The rainstorm left a gentle mist in the air that clung to my hair and skin making me feel sticky, and making my skirt cling to my knees.

I didn't care.

I skipped through the grass and rocks next to the asphalt and hummed 'I Can Dream, Can't I' by the Andrew Sisters. The scent of damp earth filled my nose, and the mist thickened almost halfway home as thunder cracked overhead. Another round of rain was coming. I looked up, and briefly, the sun cut through the clouds. It blinded me, and I reached up trying to touch the rays. They felt warm, and there were shapes in the brightness that filled my eyes. It made me feel happy. Smiling, I blinked and looked ahead.

The mist was gone and it was dark. What happened to the daylight? I turned and looked back behind me towards town. All I could see were two large headlights coming up the road. As the car passed, I stopped and stared. It was small, fast, and had a sleek shape. I could hear loud music blaring out of the open window. It was grinding and the beat pounded like a jackhammer. As it receded, I noticed a sticker on the small bumper that read 'Metallica'. I had no idea what a metallica was, but I was getting scared.

I faced home and kept walking, but with each step, I never seemed to get any closer. I began to run, and the three miles that usually took me only a half hour to jog, kept stretching out. I couldn't find my home. I opened my mouth to scream, but no sound emerged. I covered my lips, but felt only cold air. Panic set in. I looked down at my hands and saw the asphalt instead.

Something had happened.....something happened that I couldn't remember. I shut down. I stood there and shut down. The strains of the Andrew Sister's song played somewhere in the back of my mind. I can dream, can't I? Thunder rolled in from the south, and lightning lit up the sky making Cavanaugh Road bright again. I could see ahead, and turned once again to make the long walk home.

Corruption meets revolution in new steampunk thriller from Holly Barbo!

I am raving mid-book over Sunstone, the new political steampunk thriller from author Holly Barbo. My review will be forthcoming, but for now, let me say that I'm coming up for air to share this amazing story with you all so you can join me in reading it! Barbo can build alien worlds so magical, beautiful, and chock full of details that she invents new words to describe everything. That's how awesome she is! So do yourself the biggest favor in the world and check it out.

Download Sunstone from Amazon Today!
Now check out an excerpt....get hooked!

Three Bargain Books from Michele E. Gwynn

As each series grows, dropping one book down to a bargain basement price is a great present to offer readers.

Now Harvest, Camael's Gift, and A Royal Scandal (from my alter ego, Xaviera Snow) are all only $0.99 permanently. Sure, sure, it's a juicy carrot to hook you all into wanting to read more. Hey, I'm not above flashing my book-goodies to get your attention. Just pretend it's Mardi Gras all year long and enjoy the view..uh, the books! Yeah, that's what I meant....Hey, my eyes are up here!

Only $0.99 Each Forever More! Because I love you! :D (Click the cover to purchase on Amazon.com)
(Angelic Hosts Series Book I - Originally published in an anthology of shorts - New Adult Supernatural Romance)
(Harvest Trilogy Book I - The horror begins in Farley, Oklahoma- New Adult Horror/Sci-Fi)

(The Erotic Diary of Xaviera Snow Vol. 3 18+ Only)

Almost, but not quite

Writers write a lot. Some of what they write gets submitted for consideration for publication by major newspapers. However due to the sheer volume of what they receive, very few get the "the nod". This is a piece submitted to the New York Times for their Modern Love segment. It didn't make the cut, but this true tale may resonate with you. Have you ever had an 'almost', someone you always wondered about?

It was fall of nineteen-ninety-something, and my friend, Amy, was getting married to her long-time boyfriend, Todd. Amy was and still is a hoot. I remember she came to my apartment to get ready for her bridal pictures. They were to be shot at the Botanical Gardens. She looked gorgeous in her dress, and she was so nervous, she picked up my bottle of hairspray instead of the can of deodorant. Well, needless to say, any armpit hair she missed shaving stayed put for the shoot! We laughed a lot that day.
Amy had asked me to sing at her wedding. I had no idea what song I should pick. I struggled over the choices. Which song would be perfect for her special day? I’d sung at her sister’s wedding, but that was easier since I had someone else to sing with who was a professional, and wedding duets aren’t difficult to find. This time around, it would be just me. Finally, I settled on the Theme from Ice Castles (Through the Eyes of Love). I practiced often, getting all the words solidly memorized. I refused to tell her what I was going to sing. It was to be a surprise, my present to her and Todd. 
The time leading up to the big day was full of activity. As part of the wedding party, I attended all the pre-wedding functions. That’s where I saw a lot of Mike. Mike was the best man. I knew of him, had seen him now and again at gatherings held at Amy and Todd’s. All the girls loved Mike. He was nice, handsome, sweet. He was also musically talented and smart. I barely exchanged hellos with him though. We knew of each other, but didn’t actually know each other. There was also the fact that I was the nerd girl. I was never the girl guys wanted to date, but always the girl guys liked hanging out with – the cool ‘little sister’ type. I also suffered wobbly self-esteem over the fact that I’d grown up with a physical handicap. An early childhood diagnosis of rheumatoid arthritis had left me with hip and knee replacements that kept me walking, but perhaps not nearly as gracefully as most.
Amy invited me over one night for an informal gathering of friends. The blue beast, otherwise known as my old Chevy truck, was out of commission. Not taking no for an answer, she picked me up and brought me over. She’d had a little too much to drink so driving me home was out of the question. She tried getting her crazy ex to drive me home, but he was in worse condition, and there was no way I was getting into a car with him. I know, Amy having her ex at the party was unconventional, but that’s a story for another day. She asked Mike. Mike said “sure”. See? Nice guy.
I actually felt nervous about this. No, he wasn’t intoxicated. No, I certainly had no fear for myself in his company. It was something else entirely. When he opened the door to his truck for me, I was hyper-aware of his nearness. I had to pass between Mike and the vehicle to get in. My head barely topped his shoulders, and what broad shoulders they were! I couldn’t help but notice his slightly curly dirty-blond hair and his bright green eyes. But what made my heart beat faster was his smile. Slightly crooked at first, and then full-blown wattage as blinding as the sun. It was the kind of smile you see in Colgate commercials, the kind of smile that makes a girl’s knees go weak. He released that smile on me at close range, and it knocked me off balance. I worried I might face-plant just stepping into the cab. 
He waited until I got in, then came around to the driver’s side. Once in, he reached over me and grabbed the seatbelt. He proceeded to pull it across my person and secure it. My brain fried from sensual overload. All I could think was “Hey, buddy, I can do that myself!”, and “Oh my God! He smells so good!” The next thought was “How sweet!” I melted. The drive home was awkward, at least, for me. We had a good conversation, but for the life of me, I don’t remember what we discussed. I do remember his car radio had a light that changed color. I remember that because he made a point of showing me. Nothing else weird happened. He dropped me off, said goodnight, and I didn’t see him again until rehearsal the night before the wedding. 
Again, that extreme awkwardness invaded me. I knew where he was in the church without looking up. When I looked up, I seemed to catch his eye more often than not. I felt completely self-conscious. I just knew it was all me, and I needed to just stop thinking about it and about him before I made a complete fool of myself. After rehearsal, it was time to decorate the reception hall. I found myself leaning on a table while everyone took a small break. I wasn’t alone on the table. I had company. Yep. Mike. 
Small talk ensued and it was painful. Really, I could do better! I’m never at a loss for words. I’m a writer, for goodness’ sake! Still, there we were, reduced to trying to figure out where the green dye came from that seemed to have found a home on his flip-flopped foot. Gripping stuff. Memorable. To make matters worse, this all happened under the watchful eye and grinning face of the groom to be. And that was that, until the wedding day. 
It was beautiful. Amy looked gorgeous. Todd was so darn cute and nervous. The church was filled to capacity with friends, family, and loved ones. Then came the moment when I had to stand before God and everyone, and sing. My heart was pounding. It’s not like I had never performed in front of a crowd before, but I was full of butterflies regardless. The music began, and I opened my mouth letting the words soar. As my voice ascended with the song, I looked toward the altar and the only face I saw was smiling from ear to ear, giving me goose bumps, and piercing me with his green eyes. I think it was the first time Mike had ever heard me sing. It looked a lot like he appreciated what he heard. That thought was confirmed later when he told me so, but we’ll get to that. My cheeks grew hot. Oh, God! He’s looking at me! I felt faint, but I sang on. I looked at Amy, and then Todd. To my surprise, Todd was in tears. As it turned out, I had picked exactly the right song. The Theme from Ice Castles happened to be the very song in a wind-up music box he’d given to Amy as a present when they were first dating. It held special meaning for him. How’s that for serendipity?
Finally, the wedding was over and it was time for the dinner and dance. When I arrived at the reception hall, Mike brought his mother over to meet me. Color me surprised! It all felt rather formal and proper. I mean, a guy doesn’t usually introduce a girl to his mom until they’ve dated for an extended period of time and he’s serious about her. So what was this? His mom had a look in her eye. I’m not sure if she’d already received an ear-load about me or if she had already hit the bar. It was a tossup. He turned to go back to their table, but left me with a parting shot, “Save a dance for me.” I was just in shock.
After dinner, I ran home to change clothes. Living nearby made it easy to quickly switch out of formal wear and throw on something more comfortable for the rest of the evening. When I got back, Mike found me. He said he’d been looking for me. I told him I had just run home to change.” His reply was “I thought you’d forgotten our dance.” I had no words - again. 
I wish I could say it was the dance of all dances, that is was magical, but unfortunately, it was awkward as heck. My friends were standing off to the side, watching us, smiling, giving me that knowing look. He knew it. I knew it. Still, we danced. That hyper-awareness thing threatened to make me spontaneously combust. I felt so overheated and stifled, I thought I was going to pass out. It was the craziest feeling of both wanting to be closer and needing to have room to breathe. Thankfully, the music ended. We parted ways. As he went about his best man duties, I went outside to get some fresh air. After a bit, I left, and I didn’t see Mike again.
It has been about twenty years since that day. I’m still single having not yet found Mr. Right. I am still a writer of articles and now, books. I’m still the nerdy chick, but older, wiser, and far more confident. Amy and Todd divorced. Both found love with another. But Mike is married, and now has a family of his own. He’s happy, and I’m happy for him. We spoke briefly online via social network about a year or two back, caught up a bit, but that moment, the one that had my whole being alert, alive, and in a state of anxious anticipation, ended that night long ago. It was left in the reception hall as a coulda-been or a maybe, perhaps as a nothing-at-all. It may have all been one-sided, but I will always wonder if, in between the space of awkward pauses, surreptitious glances, and knee-weakening smiles, he wondered too. 

To kiss a Marine...

I began something new on my Facebook fan page - Friday Picture Stories.They say a picture is worth a thousand words, and each one tells a story. I began writing short tales inspired by images. This is the result.



He turned, staring deeply into her eyes. The gray at his temples glinted in the sun. He tossed a wink her way before focusing once again on his fishing pole angling over the side of the boat. He tugged his cap down to better shade his eyes from the glare off the water. She felt again that weakness in her knees, the butterflies in her stomach. She remembered taking another hat of his once and putting it on, flirting over funnel cake at that small-town fair where he was home on leave. He told her that the Marines had a tradition. When a girl takes a Marine's hat, he has to kiss her to get it back.

"Oh," she said. "Really?"

He smiled, slow as molasses and twice as sweet. "Yes, ma'am. Really. You wouldn't want me to flout tradition now would you?"

She bit her lip and glanced down, coy, but nervous inside...or was that anticipation? He gently lifted her chin, turning her to face him. She blushed deeply, and his grin widened. "May I?"

She was touched he would ask so politely. "You may." And he kissed her. Slowly, softly, and with exquisite tenderness. She wanted so much more, but he teased her instead. As she sighed, he lifted the hat off her head and put it back on his own, pulling it down and shading his eyes. He stood back, tilted his head up and winked. "Ma'am." He left her standing there, flustered, flushed, and utterly smitten.

That was thirty years ago, and she realized she still felt as giddy in love today as she did on that warm summer evening so long ago...when she stole a Marine's hat, and his kiss stole her heart. She really didn't have any choice in the matter. It was always meant to be that she would say "I do."

Laugh and the world laughs with you

I began something new on my Facebook fan page - Friday Picture Stories.They say a picture is worth a thousand words, and each one tells a story. I began writing short tales inspired by images. This is the result.

Google Images
Danny made Cathy laugh. From the first moment they met, she laughed. She was shopping for shoes to attend a gala for her employer the very next week, and he was working the sidewalk spinning a sign that read 'Shoes to Cure your Blues'. When she approached the retail outlet, their eyes met. He smiled and began spinning the sign higher and faster. Cathy tried to ignore him, but then he did a little Texas-style boot-scoot boogie while spinning - and dropped the sign. She laughed.

She did find the perfect pair of shoes to cure her blues inside, and when she left the store, he was still standing outside with his sign, and also a bouquet of daisies which he handed to her. She accepted them because she didn't know how else to handle the awkward situation. Her girlfriends teased her all the way home, and that's when she discovered the note. The flowers had white floral paper wrapped around the stems and were tied with a pink ribbon, but there was writing on the paper. She untied the bow and unwrapped the paper and found this note.

"I think I'm in love. You smiled and my heart stopped...and I dropped my sign. I think it was a sign. No, really! The sign was a sign. It was a sign that you're the one....now if only you'd prove me right and say yes to a date. If you're thinking I'm crazy, you're probably right, but just crazy for you. I'm harmless, had my shots and everything. Please say yes. Call me and say yes. You know you want to say yes. (Are you thinking about saying yes?) This is my number.....say yes! 210-555-4343. Danny Yeager."

Cathy laughed. She knew without a doubt he was crazy. Who writes notes like this? She folded the paper and walked to the trash can, but when she popped the lip open, she paused. Instead, she put it on the counter and forgot about it.

By the end of the week, all the preparations for the annual BTB Banking Gala were complete, and she was ready to sit back and enjoy a night of good food, employee awards, and dancing. She dressed to the nines and slid into her new dancing shoes, a pair of silver sling-back heels encrusted with Swarovski crystals. They cost more than her dress, but she didn't care. She felt like a princess.

She found her table and sat down amongst her fellow workers. Drinks were served and the awards portion of the evening began. This was accompanied by a fabulous dinner. Lights, accolades, and applause dotted the dinner, but somehow, Cathy felt alone. She looked around at the people at her table. Everyone was with someone. She'd come alone thinking nothing of it, but now, faced with all the couples to her left and right, she felt like the odd woman out. Dinner and awards ended, and the band began to play. She watched as everyone got up to dance, everyone but her.

"Champagne, miss?" A deep voice asked from just behind her right shoulder.

Without turning around, she said "No, thank you."

"How about this?"

Something tickled her cheek. Cathy turned ready to deliver a swift rebuke to this person who breached her personal space and touched her without permission.

She came face to face with a bright yellow daisy. She looked up and stared into the smiling face of....Danny. He stood, holding the flower out to her, wearing a suit and tie!

"What are you doing here?" She asked.

"Same as you. Attending the company gala." He grinned at her.

"But you're a..a..sign guy." She stumbled over her words not wanting to sound insulting even though she realized she probably sounded insulting.

Danny pulled out the chair next to her and sat down. "Yes and no. I mean, yeah. I work there on the weekends, but during the week, I'm down in IT. When your computer crashes, I'm the guy you call."

Cathy's eyebrows rose as her expression grew to one of surprise. "But a sign guy? What for?"

"I'm trying to help pay my younger brother's college tuition. My parents passed away and it has been hard on him. I'd do anything for Jesse, even spinning a sign. It actually pays pretty well, and it's fun. I mean, I get to be outside, see all kinds of people, meet beautiful ladies...well, maybe just one." He looked at her, checked her over from head to toe slowly, but with respectful appreciation. "I see you got the crystal toe-tappers."

Cathy bit her lip trying not to laugh out loud at his corny line. "Yep. They are officially now my favorite pair of shoes."

"Have you tried them out yet?" He asked with an eyebrow raised.

"I wore them here, didn't I?" Confused by his question, she looked around the room.

He stood up. "That's not what I meant." He extended his hand to her. "Dance with me. Otherwise, you may as well return those shoes because they were meant for dancing."

Cathy looked at his earnest face. His dark eyes held so much mirth, and his lips looked like a smile was never far behind. She placed her hand in his, and something magical passed between them.
She stood, and he led them to the dance floor. He pulled her into the circle of his arms as the band began to play Thinking Out Loud by Ed Sheeran. As the music embraced them, his arms wrapped around her. They fit like they were made for each other. He whispered "So, does this mean you're saying yes to a date with me?"

Cathy giggled. "No. This is just a dance."

"Are you at least going to tell me your name?" His fingers caressed her lower back.

She bit her lip and turned her face away, embarrassed by the blush creeping into her cheeks. "It's Cathy. Cathy Meade."

"Cathy..." He said her name as if testing the sweetness of it on his tongue. "Cathy Meade Yeager. It has a nice ring to it."

She looked up at him. "What? You're crazy!"

He smiled down at her. "Crazy in love. I'm going to marry you, Cathy Meade. Wait and see." He spun her out, and then pulled her back in, holding her close throughout the rest of the song.

She did wait. And she did see. After that night, they went on an official date. He made her laugh. He made her giddy. He treated her like she was more precious than gold. She had no idea that guys like Danny existed. There had to be a catch, right?

The 'catch' never showed its face, until ten years later. Cathy sat staring at the massive bouquets of daisies. The scent overwhelmed her senses, but she didn't care. The blanket of flowers draping Danny's coffin took her back in time to a sign-spinning boy who took a chance and gifted her with the sweetest present she'd ever received. She looked down at the folded paper in her hand. Fighting back tears, she opened it and smoothed it out. As she read the words, his coffin slowly lowered into the ground taking her heart with it. She wondered if she would ever laugh again...

"I think I'm in love. You smiled and my heart stopped...and I dropped my sign. I think it was a sign. No, really! The sign was a sign. It was a sign that you're the one....now if only you'd prove me right and say yes to a date. If you're thinking I'm crazy, you're probably right, but just crazy for you. I'm harmless, had my shots and everything. Please say yes. Call me and say yes. You know you want to say yes. (Are you thinking about saying yes?) This is my number.....say yes! 210-555-4343. Danny Yeager."

She smiled through her pain, tears falling onto the florist paper smearing the ink. "Yes, Danny. The answer is, and always will be yes..."