Nora Snowdon's Blog, page 9
June 1, 2013
sneak peek sunday--Texas Hold 'Em
Okay, I'm joining in another round of Sneak Peek Sunday, this time with six paragraphs from my work in progress, "Texas Hold 'Em. At the bottom of my blog is the link for you to go check out the other authors participating. Hope you enjoy my excerpt.
Texas Hold 'Em
“Hey Cutie.” A slurred voice cut through the general din of gamblers and horses. “Why’nt ya take that pretty little pony over to the jumping ring where she belongs?”
Megan pressed her lips together and focused on Doll who was
agitated enough for both of them. “Easy, girl. It’s just another race.” One more prancing walk around the ring and back into stall number five. “Okay Malcolm, let’s saddle her up.”
Malcolm Hebert was all business as he systematically tacked his
filly for the last time and Megan tried to ignore both the moisture in her father’s eyes and his troubled breathing. Yeah Doll was overmatched at Churchill Downs, but this was Malcolm’s first and last shot at running here and damned if she’d let anything get in his way. Besides there were other equally unqualified horses running today. The Triple Crown races brought out the dreamers in all horse owners. Doll was running in an early optional claiming race, but just to be on the same track as the big players was a thrill. She rubbed Doll’s blaze to calm her as the petite filly stomped her impatience.
“Riders up!”
Megan led Doll back to the walking ring to where Dante was
waiting.
“You know the routine.” She smiled at the wide-eyed excitement
on their young jock’s face. Dante had been riding for only a few years in their hometown of Lafayette and this was his first experience at a major track. And what a day it was. Even though the main event – the Kentucky Derby, was still a few hours away, the raw energy and excitement were palpable. Megan had to tap Dante’s leg to get his attention. “Keep your eye on number six, he should be leading the pace, keep within about ten lengths, don’t let her lag at the half,
and see if she can get a piece of the action.”
To check out more Sneak Peek Sunday excerpts click here.
Texas Hold 'Em
“Hey Cutie.” A slurred voice cut through the general din of gamblers and horses. “Why’nt ya take that pretty little pony over to the jumping ring where she belongs?”
Megan pressed her lips together and focused on Doll who was
agitated enough for both of them. “Easy, girl. It’s just another race.” One more prancing walk around the ring and back into stall number five. “Okay Malcolm, let’s saddle her up.”
Malcolm Hebert was all business as he systematically tacked his
filly for the last time and Megan tried to ignore both the moisture in her father’s eyes and his troubled breathing. Yeah Doll was overmatched at Churchill Downs, but this was Malcolm’s first and last shot at running here and damned if she’d let anything get in his way. Besides there were other equally unqualified horses running today. The Triple Crown races brought out the dreamers in all horse owners. Doll was running in an early optional claiming race, but just to be on the same track as the big players was a thrill. She rubbed Doll’s blaze to calm her as the petite filly stomped her impatience.
“Riders up!”
Megan led Doll back to the walking ring to where Dante was
waiting.
“You know the routine.” She smiled at the wide-eyed excitement
on their young jock’s face. Dante had been riding for only a few years in their hometown of Lafayette and this was his first experience at a major track. And what a day it was. Even though the main event – the Kentucky Derby, was still a few hours away, the raw energy and excitement were palpable. Megan had to tap Dante’s leg to get his attention. “Keep your eye on number six, he should be leading the pace, keep within about ten lengths, don’t let her lag at the half,
and see if she can get a piece of the action.”
To check out more Sneak Peek Sunday excerpts click here.
May 28, 2013
home and weary
I'm back home from New York, older, wiser and definitely more tired. What a fabulous city! I saw two Broadway plays--Kinky Boots and Macbeth, the former featuring great singing and dancing, and the latter starring Alan Cummings.
We visited art galleries. The MOMA left me cold but their adjunct gallery PSI seemed to be more intellectually accessible and visually stimulating to my inartistic eye. Plus they had a lovely exhibit of Ansel Adams photographs. We also visited the Natural Museum of History, Belmont Raceway (guess what? I can't pick winners any better in New York.) and went to parties. A great time was had by moi. What else is important?
I'm always impressed with the bombastic attitude of New York. Everything there is bigger, better and way more exciting than anything you could possibly see anywhere else--and if you don't believe me, check out the subway ads! I'm sure they must get a bulk discount on their exclamation marks.
On a more personal note, I went to art school and sculpted and casted the world's ugliest duck into a candle! (only in New York, you say?) Luckily I was invited to a party and found a home for Bob the Duck with the birthday boy. Since I broke the mold, Bob will be inflicted upon no other unsuspecting reveller. It is now safe to age again. You'll be pleased to hear my foray into jewellery making was more aesthetically pleasing, resulting in a delicate, new silver heart pendant.
Now I'm home again faced with a grumpy cat, bills, and the cursed white screen of death (aka what do I write now?) Ah reality, why do you stalk me so? Couldn't I have a few more days of inarticulate vacation? *sigh* I guess not...
We visited art galleries. The MOMA left me cold but their adjunct gallery PSI seemed to be more intellectually accessible and visually stimulating to my inartistic eye. Plus they had a lovely exhibit of Ansel Adams photographs. We also visited the Natural Museum of History, Belmont Raceway (guess what? I can't pick winners any better in New York.) and went to parties. A great time was had by moi. What else is important?
I'm always impressed with the bombastic attitude of New York. Everything there is bigger, better and way more exciting than anything you could possibly see anywhere else--and if you don't believe me, check out the subway ads! I'm sure they must get a bulk discount on their exclamation marks.
On a more personal note, I went to art school and sculpted and casted the world's ugliest duck into a candle! (only in New York, you say?) Luckily I was invited to a party and found a home for Bob the Duck with the birthday boy. Since I broke the mold, Bob will be inflicted upon no other unsuspecting reveller. It is now safe to age again. You'll be pleased to hear my foray into jewellery making was more aesthetically pleasing, resulting in a delicate, new silver heart pendant.
Now I'm home again faced with a grumpy cat, bills, and the cursed white screen of death (aka what do I write now?) Ah reality, why do you stalk me so? Couldn't I have a few more days of inarticulate vacation? *sigh* I guess not...
May 19, 2013
Art or Bafflegab?
After visiting the Museum of Modern Art in New York, I left decidedly underwhelmed by the majority of their pieces. Now I realize art is subjective and that what I like is not the only factor in determining artistic merit. (although it should be) But aside from the fourth floor of MOMA (housing the cubists, impressionists and not so modern, modern art) much of the art seemed to be more examples of good salesmanship than actual artistic ability.
A large number of the pieces did not require any skill or seemingly any vision. What makes this person’s white canvas with a thin blue stripe around the edges better than anyone else’s equally bare canvas? The only difference would have to be in the artist’s agent
and/or the accompanying written drivel that convinced a major New York gallery to pay out the big bucks. Another piece was a paper with a straight line in pencil indicating the length of the artist’s stride. Then he included a map showing where he’d walked through grasses for a couple of years. I had to ask, “So what?” Aside from the fact
that this artist managed to get his art (?) into MOMA, why would anyone bother to look at it?
Yes, this and the other pictures/sculptures lacking any discernible effort or skill can start conversations about what constitutes art, but with a bar that low, everything can be considered art. And again,
what makes one artist’s work worth millions and another’s not? I’d like to think art, whether to my taste or not, takes some skill to create. It'd be nice if you could go to galleries to see art work that evokes emotions and/or inspiration. But maybe I’m just too picky. Are other people enjoying the modern art exhibited in galleries today?
A large number of the pieces did not require any skill or seemingly any vision. What makes this person’s white canvas with a thin blue stripe around the edges better than anyone else’s equally bare canvas? The only difference would have to be in the artist’s agent
and/or the accompanying written drivel that convinced a major New York gallery to pay out the big bucks. Another piece was a paper with a straight line in pencil indicating the length of the artist’s stride. Then he included a map showing where he’d walked through grasses for a couple of years. I had to ask, “So what?” Aside from the fact
that this artist managed to get his art (?) into MOMA, why would anyone bother to look at it?
Yes, this and the other pictures/sculptures lacking any discernible effort or skill can start conversations about what constitutes art, but with a bar that low, everything can be considered art. And again,
what makes one artist’s work worth millions and another’s not? I’d like to think art, whether to my taste or not, takes some skill to create. It'd be nice if you could go to galleries to see art work that evokes emotions and/or inspiration. But maybe I’m just too picky. Are other people enjoying the modern art exhibited in galleries today?
May 11, 2013
Sneak Peek Sunday...
Hey All. I'm joining in with the Sneak Peek Sunday crowd and posting six paragraphs from my still-to-be-published work, The French Confection. At the bottom of this blog will be the link so you can check out the other participating authors' snippets. Enjoy!
The French Confection
A flicker of annoyance crossed Antoine’s face when he first saw Helen, soon replaced by his devastating smile. He probably hadn’t appreciated her uniform of the same cut-offs and another baggy t-shirt, but what did he expect? She stifled a grin as she followed him onto the courts. Jordana would’ve decked herself out in the most revealing tennis outfit that was legal, and that must’ve been what he expected. She may not be in the same league as the two of them, but she did know how to wind them up.
“I am glad you were available to play.” Antoine cracked open a fresh can of balls and lobbed one to her. “I fear my game may be a little rusty.”
She carefully returned it, thanking the gods of tennis that her shot
didn’t go wild or into the net. She was amazed at how this man affected her. He’d looked fantastic in his casual clothes yesterday, but now seeing him in his shorts and fitted shirt, she could barely concentrate on the game. Helen analyzed each move, ‘eye on the ball, step into position, back swing, hit and follow through,’ as if she were back at the community center in Brooklyn where she’d learned to play. She would not look at his tanned, muscular, legs,
propelling him easily across the court. She would not look at his broad chest, tapering down to a lean waist. She would not— “Damn.” Helen groaned as she bunted an easy shot into the net. She had been distracted by his beautiful, biceps.
"I did warn you, I’m not a good player,” Helen reminded him.
“Au contraire. You have a lovely stroke. Do you wish to serve?”
“Sure. A couple of practice shots first?” She placed two careful serves over the net. “Okay. Here goes.” She let loose a blistering serve to the right side that Antoine lunged to return. She ran him back to the left but her next forehand went squarely into the net. “Love, fifteen.” Antoine was ready for her second serve and returned it with ease.
Here's the link to see other authors' contributions.
The French Confection
A flicker of annoyance crossed Antoine’s face when he first saw Helen, soon replaced by his devastating smile. He probably hadn’t appreciated her uniform of the same cut-offs and another baggy t-shirt, but what did he expect? She stifled a grin as she followed him onto the courts. Jordana would’ve decked herself out in the most revealing tennis outfit that was legal, and that must’ve been what he expected. She may not be in the same league as the two of them, but she did know how to wind them up.
“I am glad you were available to play.” Antoine cracked open a fresh can of balls and lobbed one to her. “I fear my game may be a little rusty.”
She carefully returned it, thanking the gods of tennis that her shot
didn’t go wild or into the net. She was amazed at how this man affected her. He’d looked fantastic in his casual clothes yesterday, but now seeing him in his shorts and fitted shirt, she could barely concentrate on the game. Helen analyzed each move, ‘eye on the ball, step into position, back swing, hit and follow through,’ as if she were back at the community center in Brooklyn where she’d learned to play. She would not look at his tanned, muscular, legs,
propelling him easily across the court. She would not look at his broad chest, tapering down to a lean waist. She would not— “Damn.” Helen groaned as she bunted an easy shot into the net. She had been distracted by his beautiful, biceps.
"I did warn you, I’m not a good player,” Helen reminded him.
“Au contraire. You have a lovely stroke. Do you wish to serve?”
“Sure. A couple of practice shots first?” She placed two careful serves over the net. “Okay. Here goes.” She let loose a blistering serve to the right side that Antoine lunged to return. She ran him back to the left but her next forehand went squarely into the net. “Love, fifteen.” Antoine was ready for her second serve and returned it with ease.
Here's the link to see other authors' contributions.
May 10, 2013
Doggy Style?
As an aging writer (and let’s face it, we’re all aging) one
common worry is our ability to keep current. Not only do our cultural references need to be relevant, but the terms and expressions should reflect the age and status of our characters. I was critiquing a friend’s chick-lit novel and was severely handicapped by not knowing her chichi brand names. Apparently I can’t write about the cool twenty-somethings of SoCal as they don’t just wear jeans, they wear “nudie jeans.” (or they did two years ago when my friend was writing her shopping opus.) And if you’re referring to TV actors, you’d better not use Mary Tyler Moore or Hal Linden if you’re not writing a character over the age of fifty. *sigh*
Previously, throwing in current news and trends was frowned upon as often by the time your book got published, the person, event or fad, would no longer resonate with readers. (last year I'd hoped a Justin Bieber reference would be outdated by now. alas, no such luck.) Now with e-publishing however, the time between writing and published can be much faster. And the book can be up-dated if necessary when the rights revert.
Another peril of not keeping current is you might use a passé term or a new one that now means something entirely different than in days gone by. Years ago my mother’s friend bought me a beautiful t-shirt to wear while dog walking. It was black with colorful
sequins spelling out “Doggy Style” in big letters across the front. Neither my mom nor her friend recognized the sexual reference. I wondered about even donating the shirt to the needy as I can’t imagine street people would appreciate the message. (and who made that shirt anyway? do some people want to advertise position preferences? why?)
Writing is like having a conversation with many strangers, and to do so effectively, you have to keep up with our ever-changing culture and language. If you don’t, you might get caught writing thongs and meaning flip-flops instead of skimpy underwear. Or have characters “hooking up” for coffee. It’s a whole new ballgame out there. (and is ballgame a sexual euphemism yet? how about now???)
common worry is our ability to keep current. Not only do our cultural references need to be relevant, but the terms and expressions should reflect the age and status of our characters. I was critiquing a friend’s chick-lit novel and was severely handicapped by not knowing her chichi brand names. Apparently I can’t write about the cool twenty-somethings of SoCal as they don’t just wear jeans, they wear “nudie jeans.” (or they did two years ago when my friend was writing her shopping opus.) And if you’re referring to TV actors, you’d better not use Mary Tyler Moore or Hal Linden if you’re not writing a character over the age of fifty. *sigh*
Previously, throwing in current news and trends was frowned upon as often by the time your book got published, the person, event or fad, would no longer resonate with readers. (last year I'd hoped a Justin Bieber reference would be outdated by now. alas, no such luck.) Now with e-publishing however, the time between writing and published can be much faster. And the book can be up-dated if necessary when the rights revert.
Another peril of not keeping current is you might use a passé term or a new one that now means something entirely different than in days gone by. Years ago my mother’s friend bought me a beautiful t-shirt to wear while dog walking. It was black with colorful
sequins spelling out “Doggy Style” in big letters across the front. Neither my mom nor her friend recognized the sexual reference. I wondered about even donating the shirt to the needy as I can’t imagine street people would appreciate the message. (and who made that shirt anyway? do some people want to advertise position preferences? why?)
Writing is like having a conversation with many strangers, and to do so effectively, you have to keep up with our ever-changing culture and language. If you don’t, you might get caught writing thongs and meaning flip-flops instead of skimpy underwear. Or have characters “hooking up” for coffee. It’s a whole new ballgame out there. (and is ballgame a sexual euphemism yet? how about now???)
May 4, 2013
And now for something completely different...
So to lighten the mood, I figured I'd post a short excerpt from my romance novel, The Spanish Acquisition. The paperback version should be available at Amazon.com any day now...The Spanish Acquisition
Lily gave up trying to figure out what was going on. When they reached her room, they would look at her leg, see that it
was fine, and then maybe discuss plans for dinner. At least she’d shaved her legs this morning. When they arrived, she took the key card from around her neck and pressed it to the lock. Carlos opened the door and carried her in.
“Okay, now you can put me down.” She smiled at him. He set her down very carefully, all the time gauging the expression on her
face.
“I want to see that leg to be sure you are all right,” he told her sternly.
Lily grabbed some shorts from the dresser and walked slowly into the bathroom, her lips pressed firmly together as she fought the urge to limp. She took off her jeans and was shocked to see a clear
impression of a horse’s hoof imprinted on her calf. Well that explains the pain. She felt carefully for any tears or breaks around the mark.
“Lily? Are you all right?” Carlos called from outside the bathroom sounding impatient.
“Yup. It’s just a bruise.” She came out in her shorts and showed him. “I checked and there’s no ligament or bone damage.”
His lips tightened into a thin line. “That looks painful. I will get a
doctor.”
“No, thank you. It’ll be fine,” she reassured him.
“I will get you some ice.”
“No.”She hugged him impulsively. “But thank you for everything.”
His arms tightened around her and he rested his chin on her head. He didn’t seem to want to let her go. And, she realized suddenly, she didn’t want him to either.
Then smut happens, but this is a family friendly blog, so you'll have to either imagine it or buy the book. ;)
