Lori Power's Blog, page 3
February 2, 2016
The Benefits of the Beta Group
In business, I have learned,
you don’t know what you don’t know until you need to know
And KNOWING someone who does know makes all the difference between success and failure.
This is as true in writing. Many times, authors will write and submit to various publishers never to understand why their material,, to which they have attached their heart and soul, has been rejected. Connecting with someone who has experience and can point to repetitive flaws in the writing, small stylization issues, does make all the difference between acceptance and rejection.
Due to the vast connective power of the internet, in the last few years, I have been privileged to get to know a variety of writers through associations and the social media networks. But the very best way I have grown as an author and gotten to know my peers is through Beta Reading or Critique groups.
Some authors express concern about joining groups for fear:
they may not have anything to submit occasionallythey don’t feel they produce enough writing each weekconcerned for the time commitment of critiquing other member’s workthey are not established enough to offer an opinion
All of these worries, and any other’s you may come up with, should not form barriers to connecting with other authors because … we’re all human so if you don’t have any writing to submit one week or another, it’s really not that big a deal. I have found being part of the group motivates me to produce and stay on track with my writing schedule. It really doesn’t matter if it’s two pages or ten.
The point is to write and move the writing forward.
As far as the time commitment, givers gain . What you will receive in other’s opinions on your work will far outweigh the time commitment—perhaps an hour or two a week—to critique other’s writing. Besides, everyone who reads is an excellent critique partner. What interests you and motivates you to turn the page is what matters most. What keeps you enthralled in the story or takes you out is valuable information.
Some authors will use this information weekly to edit and change their stories to accommodate the group’s feedback, while others will get the bones of the story down and wait to the end to review the critique notes and use this feedback as the start of the editing process. How ever you choose to use the information is up to you. The most important point is to participate, because you will never know what you don’t know until you ask. A Beta group is the one venue authors have to ask what they need to know prior to sending it off to a publisher. A second opinion working for your benefit.
you don’t know what you don’t know until you need to know
And KNOWING someone who does know makes all the difference between success and failure.
This is as true in writing. Many times, authors will write and submit to various publishers never to understand why their material,, to which they have attached their heart and soul, has been rejected. Connecting with someone who has experience and can point to repetitive flaws in the writing, small stylization issues, does make all the difference between acceptance and rejection.
Due to the vast connective power of the internet, in the last few years, I have been privileged to get to know a variety of writers through associations and the social media networks. But the very best way I have grown as an author and gotten to know my peers is through Beta Reading or Critique groups.
Some authors express concern about joining groups for fear:
they may not have anything to submit occasionallythey don’t feel they produce enough writing each weekconcerned for the time commitment of critiquing other member’s workthey are not established enough to offer an opinion
All of these worries, and any other’s you may come up with, should not form barriers to connecting with other authors because … we’re all human so if you don’t have any writing to submit one week or another, it’s really not that big a deal. I have found being part of the group motivates me to produce and stay on track with my writing schedule. It really doesn’t matter if it’s two pages or ten.
The point is to write and move the writing forward.
As far as the time commitment, givers gain . What you will receive in other’s opinions on your work will far outweigh the time commitment—perhaps an hour or two a week—to critique other’s writing. Besides, everyone who reads is an excellent critique partner. What interests you and motivates you to turn the page is what matters most. What keeps you enthralled in the story or takes you out is valuable information.
Some authors will use this information weekly to edit and change their stories to accommodate the group’s feedback, while others will get the bones of the story down and wait to the end to review the critique notes and use this feedback as the start of the editing process. How ever you choose to use the information is up to you. The most important point is to participate, because you will never know what you don’t know until you ask. A Beta group is the one venue authors have to ask what they need to know prior to sending it off to a publisher. A second opinion working for your benefit.
January 15, 2016
Trust
An excerpt from "The Tables Have Turned" Book 2 in the "Under Suspicion" series ...
There was something unsaid, but certainly seen between that dweeb Phil and Lorna. Mitch fisted his hands and fought the urge to punch a hold in the wall to relieve some of his frustration. Freak flag? What was that all about?
Mitch paced the floors, making himself busy with non essential tasks of everyday life. He waited until Kris had gone to bed and they were alone in the bedroom. Changing out of the funeral wear, his heels thumped across the wood floor, reverberating off the silence. She stood with her back to him, the silk of the slip hugging her curves. She hung the dress in the closet and turned.
He couldn’t contain himself any longer. His words echoed his reoccurring thoughts. “What was all that about? Freak flag? Who is that guy to you and where does he get off pawing at you and taunting me? He obviously knows we’re together,” Mitch fumed. As he spoke, his voice rattled, the words thick and chunky, hard to utter. His strive for calm rushed away with the trickle of sweat down his back. “Jesus Christ, who does that at a funeral?”
“Phillip—”
“Fuck,” he huffed his frustration and jammed his hands into his pocket. “Why do you have to elongate everyone’s name like a teacher. How could you let a guy like that touch you?” Disgust and jealousy mixed like a toxic appetizer in his gut. “Phil Jones is an asshole not worthy of—”
“Jones?” Lorna did a double take and let the question hang a breath too long and his heart plummeted. “How do you know…” Her face crinkled with questions and those amber eyes narrowed.
Too late. If only he could reel back the words. Jones was not the last name Miriam and Lorna knew him by. To them he was Jonas, the orphaned son of Dorothy’s sister who died of colon cancer at just 32. He yanked his hands out from his pockets and grabbed the sides of his head, stomping to the window. He cursed under his breath and stared into the lighted window’s of the neighbourhood, taking no notice of any activity outside the chess game he played with Lorna. Anger flared and he wondered, had he just lost a pawn, or were one of his knights in danger if he revealed too much.
“Mitch?”
He didn’t have to turn around to know she stood with her hand on her hip, alert and waiting for an answer.
He blinked several times, willing a solution, tension made even this small motion a feat.
“How do you know Philli—Phil?”
He grabbed the curtains and yanked them closed. “I don’t.”
“That’s the second time today you called him Jones,” she persisted. “How do you know him, Mitch? What aren’t you telling me?”
He whirled around to face her, heat flamed his face. “And what aren’t you telling me? Why don’t we start with that!”
There was something unsaid, but certainly seen between that dweeb Phil and Lorna. Mitch fisted his hands and fought the urge to punch a hold in the wall to relieve some of his frustration. Freak flag? What was that all about?
Mitch paced the floors, making himself busy with non essential tasks of everyday life. He waited until Kris had gone to bed and they were alone in the bedroom. Changing out of the funeral wear, his heels thumped across the wood floor, reverberating off the silence. She stood with her back to him, the silk of the slip hugging her curves. She hung the dress in the closet and turned.
He couldn’t contain himself any longer. His words echoed his reoccurring thoughts. “What was all that about? Freak flag? Who is that guy to you and where does he get off pawing at you and taunting me? He obviously knows we’re together,” Mitch fumed. As he spoke, his voice rattled, the words thick and chunky, hard to utter. His strive for calm rushed away with the trickle of sweat down his back. “Jesus Christ, who does that at a funeral?”
“Phillip—”
“Fuck,” he huffed his frustration and jammed his hands into his pocket. “Why do you have to elongate everyone’s name like a teacher. How could you let a guy like that touch you?” Disgust and jealousy mixed like a toxic appetizer in his gut. “Phil Jones is an asshole not worthy of—”
“Jones?” Lorna did a double take and let the question hang a breath too long and his heart plummeted. “How do you know…” Her face crinkled with questions and those amber eyes narrowed.
Too late. If only he could reel back the words. Jones was not the last name Miriam and Lorna knew him by. To them he was Jonas, the orphaned son of Dorothy’s sister who died of colon cancer at just 32. He yanked his hands out from his pockets and grabbed the sides of his head, stomping to the window. He cursed under his breath and stared into the lighted window’s of the neighbourhood, taking no notice of any activity outside the chess game he played with Lorna. Anger flared and he wondered, had he just lost a pawn, or were one of his knights in danger if he revealed too much.
“Mitch?”
He didn’t have to turn around to know she stood with her hand on her hip, alert and waiting for an answer.
He blinked several times, willing a solution, tension made even this small motion a feat.
“How do you know Philli—Phil?”
He grabbed the curtains and yanked them closed. “I don’t.”
“That’s the second time today you called him Jones,” she persisted. “How do you know him, Mitch? What aren’t you telling me?”
He whirled around to face her, heat flamed his face. “And what aren’t you telling me? Why don’t we start with that!”
December 7, 2015
Fab Five Fav Christmas Movie Moments
Christmas comes with many traditions and one for me, which is not unique, is partaking in the guilty pleasure of watching and re-watching my favourite Christmas movie moments.
As a novelist, my burning ambition is capture that moment on paper that brings a tear to the eye, or has the reader’s heart beat faster along with the characters I create. In my fabulous five listing, no matter how many times I see these movies, I experience the same emotional attachment as the very first time.
The 1942 Classic , “Holiday Inn”, which I love so much better than its counterpart “White Christmas” though both star Bing Crosby. “White Christmas” always struck me as a segmented part of the story, where “Holiday Inn” gave us the full, rich background of Jim Harper and his lady love, Linda Mason, played by Marjorie Reynolds.
My personal heart stopper is when Jim sits at the piano by a roaring fire with the snow falling fast and heavy outside, but all is cozy inside. He taps the bells with his pipe stem, and starts to sing “White Christmas” and that is the moment…you’ve no choice but to fall head over heels in love.
Quick fun facts…it was indeed this movie that inspired the hotel chain in 1952 and the song “White Christmas”, became the most popular pop song ever written.
For a little Action in your holiday’s…there’s “Die Hard” the original. Bruce Willis is at his most enigmatic in this film—still fresh to the action genre, not yet the legend.
Yes, it’s true all John McClane wanted was a peaceful holiday with his estranged wife, Holly, but really the only way to win his wife back is to show her he is truly the man for her…a man she can count on who will put her first. And boy does he show her. By taking on the bad guys, he is the hero, up to and including the point when he is bloodied, battered and bruise, stumbling down the loading dock, police lights flashing, but all is right in the world, because he has protected his one love, who is wrapped up in a blanket secured tightly in the ring embrace of his arms.
For the shameful Giggle because we all know someone in the family that fits the bill, there’s “The Ref”. Denis Leary plays Gus and has me in stitches throughout, but when he meets Lloyd’s mom:
Lloyd: She’s my mother.
Gus: She’s a fucking Bitch, Lloyd.
Lloyd: You’re not suppose to take sides.
Caroline: No, no, no, thank you so much Gus. Finally, somebody else sees.
Gus: You’d have to be blind not to see.
Where’s a Christmas holiday without the Cartoon . After all, Christmas is for kids. “A Charlie Brown Christmas” sums it up so perfectly for me in this politically correct environment. I get it if Christmas is not your thing, but if it is a time of year in which you celebrate, don’t begrudge those of us for whom this sort of thing matters and believe me, I won’t be grudge you yours either.
Charlie Brown: Isn’t there anyone, who knows what Christmas is all about?!
Linus: Sure Charlie Brown, I can tell you what Christmas is all about. Lights please?
And there were in the same country shepherds, abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night. And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them! And they were sore afraid. And the angel said unto them, “Fear not! For, behold, I bring you tidings o great joy, which shall be to all my people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ, the Lord. And this shall be a sign unto you: Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger.” And suddenly, there was with the angel a multitude of the Heavenly Host praising God, and saying, “Glory to God in the Highest, and on Earth peace, and good will toward men.
That’s what Christmas is all about, Charlie Brown.
The Traditional movie for me is, “It’s A wonderful Life” … Youth is wasted on the wrong people … Yes, I’m human and as such, this movie is my number one. We used to come home from Christmas mass and wait for the CBC to air it and didn’t go to bed until it’s end. Even Santa could wait for George Bailey to figure out the true meaning of Life.
Because of this movie, Jimmy Stewart became my ‘guy’–tall, handsome, dependable. Someone you could trust to do the right things even when easy was available. He stood proud, sometimes humbled, and took the responsibility in stride as his duty.
There was always only the one woman for George…the eternal and lasting love worth fight for…never easy, or easily retained…love takes work, and Mary was worth it.
When George and Mary walk home from the school dance, soaked from their unexpected plunge in the pool, and George waxes on and on about the moon, my favourite moment is the old man sitting on the porch, feeling the young love, expecting the kiss to come, romance is in the air, yet George talks his way right out of an opportunity and the older man stands up completely fed up and says “Ohhh, youth is wasted on the wrong people!”
Be sure to check out other Christmas Blogs from the “TransCanada Romance Writers”
http://transcanadaromancewriters.blog...
As a novelist, my burning ambition is capture that moment on paper that brings a tear to the eye, or has the reader’s heart beat faster along with the characters I create. In my fabulous five listing, no matter how many times I see these movies, I experience the same emotional attachment as the very first time.
The 1942 Classic , “Holiday Inn”, which I love so much better than its counterpart “White Christmas” though both star Bing Crosby. “White Christmas” always struck me as a segmented part of the story, where “Holiday Inn” gave us the full, rich background of Jim Harper and his lady love, Linda Mason, played by Marjorie Reynolds.
My personal heart stopper is when Jim sits at the piano by a roaring fire with the snow falling fast and heavy outside, but all is cozy inside. He taps the bells with his pipe stem, and starts to sing “White Christmas” and that is the moment…you’ve no choice but to fall head over heels in love.
Quick fun facts…it was indeed this movie that inspired the hotel chain in 1952 and the song “White Christmas”, became the most popular pop song ever written.
For a little Action in your holiday’s…there’s “Die Hard” the original. Bruce Willis is at his most enigmatic in this film—still fresh to the action genre, not yet the legend.
Yes, it’s true all John McClane wanted was a peaceful holiday with his estranged wife, Holly, but really the only way to win his wife back is to show her he is truly the man for her…a man she can count on who will put her first. And boy does he show her. By taking on the bad guys, he is the hero, up to and including the point when he is bloodied, battered and bruise, stumbling down the loading dock, police lights flashing, but all is right in the world, because he has protected his one love, who is wrapped up in a blanket secured tightly in the ring embrace of his arms.
For the shameful Giggle because we all know someone in the family that fits the bill, there’s “The Ref”. Denis Leary plays Gus and has me in stitches throughout, but when he meets Lloyd’s mom:
Lloyd: She’s my mother.
Gus: She’s a fucking Bitch, Lloyd.
Lloyd: You’re not suppose to take sides.
Caroline: No, no, no, thank you so much Gus. Finally, somebody else sees.
Gus: You’d have to be blind not to see.
Where’s a Christmas holiday without the Cartoon . After all, Christmas is for kids. “A Charlie Brown Christmas” sums it up so perfectly for me in this politically correct environment. I get it if Christmas is not your thing, but if it is a time of year in which you celebrate, don’t begrudge those of us for whom this sort of thing matters and believe me, I won’t be grudge you yours either.
Charlie Brown: Isn’t there anyone, who knows what Christmas is all about?!
Linus: Sure Charlie Brown, I can tell you what Christmas is all about. Lights please?
And there were in the same country shepherds, abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night. And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them! And they were sore afraid. And the angel said unto them, “Fear not! For, behold, I bring you tidings o great joy, which shall be to all my people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ, the Lord. And this shall be a sign unto you: Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger.” And suddenly, there was with the angel a multitude of the Heavenly Host praising God, and saying, “Glory to God in the Highest, and on Earth peace, and good will toward men.
That’s what Christmas is all about, Charlie Brown.
The Traditional movie for me is, “It’s A wonderful Life” … Youth is wasted on the wrong people … Yes, I’m human and as such, this movie is my number one. We used to come home from Christmas mass and wait for the CBC to air it and didn’t go to bed until it’s end. Even Santa could wait for George Bailey to figure out the true meaning of Life.
Because of this movie, Jimmy Stewart became my ‘guy’–tall, handsome, dependable. Someone you could trust to do the right things even when easy was available. He stood proud, sometimes humbled, and took the responsibility in stride as his duty.
There was always only the one woman for George…the eternal and lasting love worth fight for…never easy, or easily retained…love takes work, and Mary was worth it.
When George and Mary walk home from the school dance, soaked from their unexpected plunge in the pool, and George waxes on and on about the moon, my favourite moment is the old man sitting on the porch, feeling the young love, expecting the kiss to come, romance is in the air, yet George talks his way right out of an opportunity and the older man stands up completely fed up and says “Ohhh, youth is wasted on the wrong people!”
Be sure to check out other Christmas Blogs from the “TransCanada Romance Writers”
http://transcanadaromancewriters.blog...
November 11, 2015
Hungry
An excerpt from "Hit 'n Run" ...
As the quickening began in her stomach, she laid her palms flat to the counter, bracing.
The stubble on his cheeks made him appear all the more dangerous.
His nose came level with hers, nostrils flared as he inhaled deeply.
“I wonder if you taste as good as you smell,” he murmured as his tongue peeked out to trace her upper lip.
“Yum.”
As the quickening began in her stomach, she laid her palms flat to the counter, bracing.
The stubble on his cheeks made him appear all the more dangerous.
His nose came level with hers, nostrils flared as he inhaled deeply.
“I wonder if you taste as good as you smell,” he murmured as his tongue peeked out to trace her upper lip.
“Yum.”
October 25, 2015
How much is real?
with the release of "Hit 'n Run" , Book One in the "Under Suspicion" series, I get asked a lot where the ideas came from.
Typically, stories come to me from an accumulation of experiences I string together into a story.
The kernel of “Hit ’n Run” began when I was actually involved in a hit and run at the end of a bad day.
I was on my way to pick up my kids from school and just like my lead character, Lorna, I had to pull over while I tried unsuccessfully to explain to a client how I didn’t really understand cyberspace and sometimes e-mails do go missing. The absurdity of the conversation with this client was accentuated later in the day, after the accident, when I tried to explain to the police office that yes, I had indeed t-boned the car; however, the car had ran the stop sign and then proceeded to flee the scene. It was only when I explained my day to my husband and we laughed, deep in the belly, that I thought, ‘now there’s a scene I can use’.
The opportunity to use this event came much later when a relative recounted, loosely and only on cases now open to public record, how an undercover crime investigation went down. From there, Hit ’n Run was born, complete with full creative license and dramatic embellishments.
It is my hope. as the writer, that you will lose yourself in the story, become tangled in the web I created and come out of it hungry for book two "The Tables Have Turned".
Typically, stories come to me from an accumulation of experiences I string together into a story.
The kernel of “Hit ’n Run” began when I was actually involved in a hit and run at the end of a bad day.
I was on my way to pick up my kids from school and just like my lead character, Lorna, I had to pull over while I tried unsuccessfully to explain to a client how I didn’t really understand cyberspace and sometimes e-mails do go missing. The absurdity of the conversation with this client was accentuated later in the day, after the accident, when I tried to explain to the police office that yes, I had indeed t-boned the car; however, the car had ran the stop sign and then proceeded to flee the scene. It was only when I explained my day to my husband and we laughed, deep in the belly, that I thought, ‘now there’s a scene I can use’.
The opportunity to use this event came much later when a relative recounted, loosely and only on cases now open to public record, how an undercover crime investigation went down. From there, Hit ’n Run was born, complete with full creative license and dramatic embellishments.
It is my hope. as the writer, that you will lose yourself in the story, become tangled in the web I created and come out of it hungry for book two "The Tables Have Turned".
October 16, 2015
Have a look inside "Hit 'n Run"
As Mitch’s hand reached out for her shoulder she shrunk from his touch, again a little girl who couldn’t stand sympathetic contact. She bathed him with a hard look. “How could you do this to me,” she spat. “After what we shared, how can you think I was involved? How dare you!”
A shuddered breath wracked her tense body and she refused to let the tightening of her throat release the threatened tears as she continued in a hoarse whisper. “I would have thought your investigation would have revealed where the money came from,” she said forming air quotes over the word investigation. Swallowing to contain her emotions further, Lorna stood in the hopes of putting an end to the conversation. “As for Tim Fong. He’s the CEO of Aqua Oil. My client. I am their marketing person. I handle PR and media relations. That’s what I do—what my company does. Investigate that! I don’t know and have never heard of the Fong Family. I am sure everyone has some shady characters in their background. As you unearthed, I obviously did.”
“Lorna …”
Feeling the weight of sadness envelope her like a blanket, Lorna waved her hand at him, palm outstretched in dismissal. “I’m tired Mitch.” She sighed forcing her feet to move and hold her weight without shaking as she backed away.
Looking down at the one and only man who ever made her feel special, wanted, desired, Lorna realized all of it – her feelings – the way she thought he felt for her – it was all a big lie. Just another lie. He used her to get to her client and she felt deflated, drained of all emotion. How could someone she had been so open, so intimate with assume that she was somehow involved in an illegal crime ring? Because you have a record of being involved in criminal activities.
“Lorna, please. I can’t lose you again . . .” Mitch stood to reached for her hand.
She turned at her name. The anguish in his voice almost, but not quite able to penetrate her defensive shell. Arms crossed protectively over her stomach, holding firm to her sides, she lowered her head. “You’re not the person I thought you were,” she said turning. From over her shoulder she continued. “You’re not someone I want in my life.”
A shuddered breath wracked her tense body and she refused to let the tightening of her throat release the threatened tears as she continued in a hoarse whisper. “I would have thought your investigation would have revealed where the money came from,” she said forming air quotes over the word investigation. Swallowing to contain her emotions further, Lorna stood in the hopes of putting an end to the conversation. “As for Tim Fong. He’s the CEO of Aqua Oil. My client. I am their marketing person. I handle PR and media relations. That’s what I do—what my company does. Investigate that! I don’t know and have never heard of the Fong Family. I am sure everyone has some shady characters in their background. As you unearthed, I obviously did.”
“Lorna …”
Feeling the weight of sadness envelope her like a blanket, Lorna waved her hand at him, palm outstretched in dismissal. “I’m tired Mitch.” She sighed forcing her feet to move and hold her weight without shaking as she backed away.
Looking down at the one and only man who ever made her feel special, wanted, desired, Lorna realized all of it – her feelings – the way she thought he felt for her – it was all a big lie. Just another lie. He used her to get to her client and she felt deflated, drained of all emotion. How could someone she had been so open, so intimate with assume that she was somehow involved in an illegal crime ring? Because you have a record of being involved in criminal activities.
“Lorna, please. I can’t lose you again . . .” Mitch stood to reached for her hand.
She turned at her name. The anguish in his voice almost, but not quite able to penetrate her defensive shell. Arms crossed protectively over her stomach, holding firm to her sides, she lowered her head. “You’re not the person I thought you were,” she said turning. From over her shoulder she continued. “You’re not someone I want in my life.”
October 7, 2015
Gabriela Andersen-Schiess
Though I didn’t know her name at the time, Olympian Gabriela Andersen-Schiess inspired me to write creatively.
I grew up loving the Olympic games—winter and summer. I was a kid when Gabriela Andersen-Schiess staggered across the finish line at the first women’s Olympic marathon in 1984. In a time of 2:48:45—37th place, the vision of her fight to finish is burned into my memory. I remember being on my feet in the living room, jumping up and down, tears streaming, mentally pushing her along the last 400-meters.
Twisted, limping, and holding her head, she refused to give up. She waved away medical help. You just knew from watching, she had to finish on her own steam. The crowd was wild, other athletes cheered, and we spectators marveled at her tenacity.
Years later, in grade 11 when we were given a creative writing assignment on courage, I could think of no one else to use as my hero. I took her plight and never give up attitude and applied it to my first heroine. Her plight ever vivid, Gabriela remained faceless in my memory, but yet, she had every face. When I needed my female character to overcome, that character became the Olympian. And now that I am older and listened to Gabriela relive the experience, from her own words, she says it best:
“You can see the struggle, but if you really set your mind to it, you can overcome a lot of obstacles…you have to get over some bad experiences and not dwell on it and just move forward and learn something.”
I grew up loving the Olympic games—winter and summer. I was a kid when Gabriela Andersen-Schiess staggered across the finish line at the first women’s Olympic marathon in 1984. In a time of 2:48:45—37th place, the vision of her fight to finish is burned into my memory. I remember being on my feet in the living room, jumping up and down, tears streaming, mentally pushing her along the last 400-meters.
Twisted, limping, and holding her head, she refused to give up. She waved away medical help. You just knew from watching, she had to finish on her own steam. The crowd was wild, other athletes cheered, and we spectators marveled at her tenacity.
Years later, in grade 11 when we were given a creative writing assignment on courage, I could think of no one else to use as my hero. I took her plight and never give up attitude and applied it to my first heroine. Her plight ever vivid, Gabriela remained faceless in my memory, but yet, she had every face. When I needed my female character to overcome, that character became the Olympian. And now that I am older and listened to Gabriela relive the experience, from her own words, she says it best:
“You can see the struggle, but if you really set your mind to it, you can overcome a lot of obstacles…you have to get over some bad experiences and not dwell on it and just move forward and learn something.”
September 26, 2015
Shelter from the Rain
He grabbed her hand and ran.
The rain poured out of the sky like sheets coating them instantly in its moisture. Their clothing clung to their every contour. He pressed the key fob to unlock the vehicle. They stopped at the passenger door, breathing hard from their exertion and he turned at the sound of her laughter. Her palm faced the heavens as the rain danced off her hand in tune to her musical happiness.
She was soaked through. Her hair slicked to her scalp. Her clothing hugged her curves so she may have been standing before him naked. He pulled her to him--hard. Her eyes blinked the beads of rain away and she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling his lips to hers. His arousal spiked when her tongue answered his call, opening her mouth to his exploration.
His hands cupped her cheeks. He pulled away, only a fraction, to kiss the drops of water from her eyelashes. “This rain’s crazy,” he said, turning from her to open the car door. “Here. Get in.”
He rounded the vehicle to the other side, opened the drivers door, and slid behind the wheel. The keys rattled in his fingers but he did not insert any in the ignition. Instead, he glanced over at her, hungry to get her home. He watched as she bounced up on her knees, her skirt clouded around her. She pushed the slick hair back from her face before she leaned towards him, curling her palms around his shoulders, pushing his jacket down his arms.
While he shimmied out of his sleeves, her lips, always so lush and soft claimed his. Her fingers moving to twine in his hair holding him to her assault. “Ahh, you taste so good,” she moaned, as her hand slid down to fist in his shirt fumbling with his buttons. “I need to feel you.”
He needed no more encouragement. His hand grabbed her backside as he helped her wrap one leg around his waist and rolled with her onto the passenger bucket seat. Reaching down between the seat and the door, she released the mechanism to causing the chair to fall back with a bang and a thump. Her shocked squeal delighted him and lifted his head to laugh, noting how her eyes were so dark and consuming in the dim light. The glass was fogged cocooning them in their own passionate bubble.
Pausing, with deliberate intent, he kissed her softly. “Yum. You are delicious in more ways than one.”
The rain poured out of the sky like sheets coating them instantly in its moisture. Their clothing clung to their every contour. He pressed the key fob to unlock the vehicle. They stopped at the passenger door, breathing hard from their exertion and he turned at the sound of her laughter. Her palm faced the heavens as the rain danced off her hand in tune to her musical happiness.
She was soaked through. Her hair slicked to her scalp. Her clothing hugged her curves so she may have been standing before him naked. He pulled her to him--hard. Her eyes blinked the beads of rain away and she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling his lips to hers. His arousal spiked when her tongue answered his call, opening her mouth to his exploration.
His hands cupped her cheeks. He pulled away, only a fraction, to kiss the drops of water from her eyelashes. “This rain’s crazy,” he said, turning from her to open the car door. “Here. Get in.”
He rounded the vehicle to the other side, opened the drivers door, and slid behind the wheel. The keys rattled in his fingers but he did not insert any in the ignition. Instead, he glanced over at her, hungry to get her home. He watched as she bounced up on her knees, her skirt clouded around her. She pushed the slick hair back from her face before she leaned towards him, curling her palms around his shoulders, pushing his jacket down his arms.
While he shimmied out of his sleeves, her lips, always so lush and soft claimed his. Her fingers moving to twine in his hair holding him to her assault. “Ahh, you taste so good,” she moaned, as her hand slid down to fist in his shirt fumbling with his buttons. “I need to feel you.”
He needed no more encouragement. His hand grabbed her backside as he helped her wrap one leg around his waist and rolled with her onto the passenger bucket seat. Reaching down between the seat and the door, she released the mechanism to causing the chair to fall back with a bang and a thump. Her shocked squeal delighted him and lifted his head to laugh, noting how her eyes were so dark and consuming in the dim light. The glass was fogged cocooning them in their own passionate bubble.
Pausing, with deliberate intent, he kissed her softly. “Yum. You are delicious in more ways than one.”
September 17, 2015
"Gone with the Wind"
“Scarlett O’Hara was not beautiful, but men seldom realized it when caught by her charm…”
Margaret Mitchell’s beautifully written first line completely hooks the reader, for really, how charming could a woman be where beauty didn’t matter?
Yes, I have seen the movie, but I have read the book more than a few times since I was first introduced to it as a teenager. Now, I am compelled, as an author, to ponder how someone could craft such an intricate story around two characters as individually unlikeable as Rhett and Scarlett.
Really, they are.
Consider it. On their own, both of these characters are selfish, vain, and completely consumed in their own quest for power—however these two view power—money, prosperity, influence. Every move they make is grounded in what is best for them, at any cost.
Yet we, as the reader, view their faults and are willing to overlook them because we see Rhett and Scarlett as redeemable. The very essence of crafting a character, to ensure they are redeemable.
Was there ever a couple more made for one another? Still, because of their egocentric ways, they are unable to be successful together, and are destined to failure. We know this, but we tell ourselves to the very end…no, they will make it work some how…but they don’t. They can’t. They are who they are and Margaret Mitchell does not try to change them. She allows her audience to learn their lesson that people cannot be changed, even when we want them to.
That Rhett and Scarlett are surrounded by good people, and end up doing good, despite their own character flaws, is a both a fluke of circumstance in the timing of the story and work of genius on the part of the author.
The sad part of the movie version, for me, is the ending. Again, with the written word, Margaret Mitchell crafts near perfection in her description of Rhett and Scarlett’s parting, yet the theatrical version’s iconic line; “Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn.” sells the whole of the story short. This ending leaves Scarlett looking weak and fragile, when it was by the book’s very first definition of her she will never be beaten, despite strangle of pain in her throat.
We also know Rhett will survive and go on and get over Scarlett. This is inevitable by his character description. The same is true for Scarlett, who understands she will return to Tara, heal, and move on, using her charm to get what she wants.
Of course, this is all just my own opinion, but really, has there ever been a better last line written than:
“After all, tomorrow is another day.”
Margaret Mitchell’s beautifully written first line completely hooks the reader, for really, how charming could a woman be where beauty didn’t matter?
Yes, I have seen the movie, but I have read the book more than a few times since I was first introduced to it as a teenager. Now, I am compelled, as an author, to ponder how someone could craft such an intricate story around two characters as individually unlikeable as Rhett and Scarlett.
Really, they are.
Consider it. On their own, both of these characters are selfish, vain, and completely consumed in their own quest for power—however these two view power—money, prosperity, influence. Every move they make is grounded in what is best for them, at any cost.
Yet we, as the reader, view their faults and are willing to overlook them because we see Rhett and Scarlett as redeemable. The very essence of crafting a character, to ensure they are redeemable.
Was there ever a couple more made for one another? Still, because of their egocentric ways, they are unable to be successful together, and are destined to failure. We know this, but we tell ourselves to the very end…no, they will make it work some how…but they don’t. They can’t. They are who they are and Margaret Mitchell does not try to change them. She allows her audience to learn their lesson that people cannot be changed, even when we want them to.
That Rhett and Scarlett are surrounded by good people, and end up doing good, despite their own character flaws, is a both a fluke of circumstance in the timing of the story and work of genius on the part of the author.
The sad part of the movie version, for me, is the ending. Again, with the written word, Margaret Mitchell crafts near perfection in her description of Rhett and Scarlett’s parting, yet the theatrical version’s iconic line; “Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn.” sells the whole of the story short. This ending leaves Scarlett looking weak and fragile, when it was by the book’s very first definition of her she will never be beaten, despite strangle of pain in her throat.
We also know Rhett will survive and go on and get over Scarlett. This is inevitable by his character description. The same is true for Scarlett, who understands she will return to Tara, heal, and move on, using her charm to get what she wants.
Of course, this is all just my own opinion, but really, has there ever been a better last line written than:
“After all, tomorrow is another day.”
