Bickering Blogfest - June 30 (Secrets Blogfest entry below...)

Thank you Kristen for hosting the Bickering Blogfest. My entry is from an early scene in a short story. The couple have a long-standing row about their differing aims in life. He’s Mr Important Bossy Boots and she is fast tiring of being Mrs Dutiful Nobody Wife. The MC has made her choices and is taking a beach walk, looking back to past events that brought her to this wonderful place in her life. I warn you though, I'm a lover not a fighter, so I know it's a bit weak...


I stopped for a break, realising my breath was coming in ragged gasps. ‘Too much chocolate cake!’ I chuckle to myself, ‘or is it just thinking about Michael that makes me breathless?’ I look across the rolling ocean. I shake my head. Sighing, I walk to my favourite spot amongst the dunes and spread my towel. Lying in the dappled shade watching the puffy clouds drifting overhead, my mind wanders…

…When we returned from our backpacking adventures, we fought bitterly. Michael insisted we buy a small apartment in inner-city Brisbane so he could be close to the law courts. I wanted to live in a leafy suburb, one with lots of coffee shops, maybe even buy one.

Michael had his way as usual, so we settled into our jobs and our new digs. He was snatched up by a prestigious law firm, while I took the first job I applied for—a journalist with the Courier Mail, a Brisbane daily. Michael had a meteoric rise to the top in International Law, travelling constantly. My ambitions lay elsewhere.

We entered a very turbulent period. On the few occasions we saw each other our conversations went something like this:

Me: ‘Michael, what sort of job requires you to work 16 hours a day?’

Michael: ‘Don’t ever call it a job. It’s a career. Why don’t you put a bit of effort into your career?’

Me: ‘How much effort does it take for me to hang around outside the Law Courts and shove a microphone in the face of the latest paedophile, white-collar criminal or wife beater?’

Michael: ‘That’s just your problem, Cassie. You’ve got no ambition, no drive,’ he sneered. ‘You could be where the action is, reporting from Baghdad, Afghanistan or Darfur. But what do you do? You rust away in a no-news town, counting your precious pennies for your ridiculous coffee shop.’

Me: ‘At least I’m not wasting my money on designer clothes.’

Michael: Sniffs. ‘My career demands a certain quality and Armani does very well. Anyway, I’m too busy to have this conversation. I fly to Moscow in exactly three hours.’

Me: ‘Moscow. How exciting. Plenty of Armani there I don’t think.’

Michael: ‘You’d be surprised what’s there. You’re just jealous. And you don’t like vodka. Really Cassie, you’ve become such a bore. Get yourself an assignment somewhere exciting and we might have something to talk about when I get back.’

I knew we were over. We weren’t a team any more. Had we ever been? But I’ll give it one last shot, I promised myself. To me, marriage was forever, but my resolve on this point was weakening. My resolve to own my own café wasn’t.

The decision in the end wasn’t as tough as I’d thought it would be. I took a plumb reporting assignment based in Paris, with opportunities to travel all over the world, not to mention the market research opportunities.

Even though I’d done what Michael wanted, our relationship didn’t improve. The spark had gone and neither of us had the time nor the inclination to do anything about it. We were both on the move constantly. We became tired of meeting in London, New York, Paris, Prague. We met less and less. I finally decided I was ready to make my dream a reality. I arranged a meeting with Michael.

‘Michael,’ I began tentatively over a snatched lunch in a sumptuous New York eatery. ‘I’ve had enough. I can’t stand this jet-setting life any longer.’

‘Oh, no, not this again.’ He snapped his snowy white napkin, throwing it across his lap.

‘You know what I’ve always wanted. I’ve put my dreams on hold for so long. I have enough capital to sink into my bistro. I’m ready.’

Michael looked across the table at me, an eyebrow cocked. I saw him glance around the room in case anyone was eavesdropping. Appearances were so important to him. ‘Cassie, are you still on about that?’ his voice was steel coated with velvet. ‘You haven’t mentioned it for ages. I thought you’d seen sense. It’s a stupid idea.’ He picked up his cutlery again. ‘I’ve always thought so and I haven’t changed my mind. All that hard work. Let someone else do it. Keep on the other side of the counter.’ He stabbed the space between us with a speared asparagus stalk, looked me in the eye, dared me to challenge him. I did.

‘Michael,’ Patient voice, ‘you know I’ve had this dream forever. I’ve taken jobs I’ve hated, travelled to places I’d rather never have seen, seen things that will disturb me all my life. As I said, I’ve had enough.’

‘Cassie, you always were a wimp. Always satisfied with so little. Never wanted to do anything important in your life. Food! Food! Food! What is it about your obsession?’

‘Why are you so against this dream of mine? There’s no shame in providing food for people. People always have to eat.’ I could hear my voice rising. ‘I’ve had lots of ideas I’ve never been able to share with you.’ I leaned closer, trying to placate him. ‘My idea is to provide healthy options for people. Light French fare. Taking the best of the cuisine I’ve discovered, and adding less fat and sugar.’

‘Fat free food tastes like crap. No-one will buy it.’ He folded his arms, leaned back in his chair and stared, his eyes like fire. It was the end of the matter as far as he was concerned.

‘Low fat can taste amazing,’ I continued. My turn to slap my napkin into my palm. ‘I’ve done my homework. My travels have shown me I’m on to something. Look at all the diabetics in the world. How do they get on when they travel to France or Italy? What about the gluten intolerant? Those on special diets? They can’t eat cheesy pizzas and creamy sauces. I could start a line of healthy, specialised food.’

‘You’re such a dreamer.’

‘That’s the nicest thing you’ve said to me for, like, forever.’



© Denise Covey 2010

Confused? Two Blogfests in one day! Secrets Blogfest and Bickering Blogfest

Thank you, Tara from Midnight Ink,  for hosting the Secrets Blogfest. Here is my entry.

This is an extract from the beginning of a short story of mine. The whole story is full of subtle secrets which all come together in a crescendo in the last line, but I’m sorry, you won’t get to see it all here… *weeps loudly*. So I offer this little teaser...

The old lady snapped open her purse. With trembling fingers she gently caressed the object through its silky velvet pouch.

‘Yes, this will be fine. It’s just down the lane,’ Raissa said, peering out of the window at the darkening landscape.


‘Are you sure, lady?’ the bus driver’s voice was uncertain. He knew the area. Once a body wandered into this forest, there was a good chance they’d never walk out again.


With a shrug, the bus driver turned the key. The ancient bus juddered to a halt.


He watched his passenger in the rear-view mirror. He saw her apply bright red lipstick, check her hair in the fancy compact, snap it shut and return it to her purse.


‘No luggage then love?’ he asked.


‘No, I don’t need luggage this trip.’ He watched her smile dreamily and he wondered exactly who she was meeting in the bush. As far as he knew, all the houses had been bulldozed years ago to make way for the sawmill. He remembered there’d been quite a kerfuffle at the time but these things always settled down. People had short memories.


He turned around in time to see her popping something in her mouth, then take a tiny sip from her water bottle. She stood up slowly, wobbling a bit, clutching a parcel.


‘Well, I’d best be going then. Let you get on,’ she said. She held a posy of red roses in her white-gloved hands.


The bus driver was on his feet in an instant, remembering his manners. All his other passengers were long gone. No one came this far out. He’d added this stop to his itinerary just for her. He could hardly let her hitch all the way from Anernene.


She took his arm and he helped her down the steps. He smiled at the picture they made — they could be heading to the dance floor to perform a quadrille.


Once on the ground, she turned to him with the sweetest smile. Her face was lit from the inside – he could see her delicate beauty shining through.


‘Thank you kind sir. I’ll be on my way.’ A smile, a gentle touch of her hand. Looking down, he saw he was clasping a tiny red rose.


He watched her, twirling the flower absently in his hand. ‘How will you get back?’ he asked.


‘Don’t you worry about that,’ she called. ‘That’s my secret.’ She winked, waved, then walked off, her back ramrod straight, her steps faltering. He saw her clutch her bright red coat around her tiny frame, though the late afternoon was balmy. Strange, he thought. In a moment she was just a shadow amongst the trees.


‘A lady of quality, that,’ he mused as he stepped up into the bus. He sat pondering a moment before he could bring himself to turn the key.


The old lady heard him gunning the engine. For a while she’d feared he would stop her. The age of chivalry was not dead. She smiled and walked on into the darkness…

Calling all Romance Writers!

Reading an article over on Raquel Writes who blogged about an article in the May/June issue of Writer's Digest , talking about just how popular romance novels are. The genre is constantly one of the top sellers of books with authors such as Nora Roberts et al, constantly on NYTimes' bestseller lists.

So, all you romance writers, or would-be romance writers out there, here are a few tips. Some are well known, some may be new. It never hurts to be reminded. No 3 is a point worth noting for those who don't consider themselves romance writers. I was reading recently that no matter what the genre, readers like a bit of romance *sighs*.

What Your Romance Novel Should Have:


1. "HEA"- Translation: "happily ever after." Romance stories should always have a happy ending.

2. "Morality Reflective of the Majority"- Basically the characters have to be in a monogamous
relationship.

3. "Variety"- Contrary to popular belief, romance novels are not all the same. There are several
subgenres of romance which includes, romantic suspense, paranormal, erotica, inspirational, urban
fantasy, contemporary, historical, and comedy, and thriller. That's a lot if you ask me.

4. "Sexual Tension"- This does not mean explicit sex. The misconception is that romance novels are filled
with explicit content. Not true! There is no need for sex unless it reveals character or advances the plot.

5. "Character Growth"- This is true for all genres in my opinion. Nobody likes a flat character.


The article also states there are 10 things you can add to make you romance novel a success.


Spice Up Your Romance Novel

1. "A strong hook or concept"

2. "Sympathetic motivated characters"

3. "Evocative Setting"

4. "High-stakes conflict"

5. "Unique voice"

6. "Credible emotion"

7. "Tight pacing"

8. "Skillful layering" (with regard to plot, themes, characters, etc.)

9. "Reversals" (surprises and challenges)

10."Authenticity"


Publishers Seeking Romance Writers:

1. Harlequin Enterprises

2. Random House

3. Penguin Group

4. HarperCollins

5. Kensington

6. Dorchester Publishing

If you want some links to some Australian Romance Publishers/Writers, I have a link if you troll down on the right sidebar.

Good luck, fellow romance writers. Maybe there's some little thing you learned from this post.

Let me know if there are any other gems you'd like to share with moi!

Have a great writing week -

Denise

Chocolate Alert!

I know that many of my blogger friends are chocoholics, so if you haven't discovered David Lebovitz' blog, click the link. His chocolate page is lickable. Read it and you'll never be the same again. Well, I wasn't. I'm checkin' the flight times to Paris again! I've added it to my Current Faves Page, clever me.

Hope you're all having a great weekend!

Do tell me your reactions to David's site...swoon...

#Friday Flash Fiction

Today Belongs to Her

She lies in her bed with her eyes half open and watches as the room slowly fills with light, the rays gently patterning the gauzy curtains as they stir languidly in the morning breeze. She can hear the birds leaving their nests, flying free to welcome the new day, singing with joy and happiness.

Lately she’s become acutely attuned to morning sounds.

The day is dawning. Her final day. It belongs to her alone. How will she spend it? What choices! The day spa - a few hours of being pampered and blissfully zoned out? Or maybe she will go on a leisurely walking tour of her favourite haunts along the river – coffee at the Mary Ryan Bookshop café with Nessie’s delectable cakes, perhaps? Then along to the Caffè Club for a panino al prosciutto? After that, humm, back into the city for a sumptious French High Tea at the Sofitel? She reconsiders. Maybe a bit much for one day! she chuckles. But the first two choices are definitely doable.

She looks out the window. A glorious sunny day. Make the most of it my girl!

She dresses with care in her trendy Nike sportsclothes and snaps on the Colorado shoes that look like ballet flats but are actually trainers. Hair and make up done, she checks herself out in her full-length mirror, turning this way and that.

Not bad, she decides. All that exercise, healthy eating and vitamins look like they have paid off. In her reflection she sees a trim, well-cared-for figure. And a head of bouncy brunette curls. I’m going to be a rebel for once and not wear a hat, she decides. I want to feel the sun beating down on me, activating the life force. She grimaces. Pity about the curls, though. She brushes a little tear from her eye, shakes her head, takes a deep cleansing breath.

She throws her voluminous Louis Vuitton bag over her shoulder, averting her eyes from the smaller bag in the corner. She could swear that it looks accusingly at her every time she enters the room. Oh! Nearly forgot! She snatches the latest Anita Shreve novel from her bedside table. Altitude, she smiles at the name as she flicks the pages, maybe it’ll take me higher. She will read it over coffee. What bliss! She rushes out the door as fast as she is able, ready for her carefree adventure.

***

What a world this is! She sighs as she admires the sleek ferries making their way up and down the river, trailing their wakes behind them like long bridal veils. Maybe I’ll add a ferry ride to my agenda, she muses. She leans over the boardwalk rail, takes a deep breath and inhales the river smell - reedy, thick and brackish. She looks wistfully at a young family on bicycles, heading off on an adventure, chattering happily as they pump the pedals. The mother smiles at her. She nods in acknowledgment, smiling back. Tomorrow I am heading off on an adventure of my own, she whispers.

 

Tomorrow she will leave all this for another, entirely different world.

Tomorrow is out of her control. Tomorrow will be hospitals, doctors, nurses, orders, prodding, jabbing, false hope.

Whatever happens, today belongs to her.

The End

© Denise Covey 2010