"The Storm": A Writing Exercise

So, for today’s post I am doing a writing exercise. The word was storm and I used it to share more about Elle Davidson, the main character of my first novel Finding Home. In this short scene you get to meet her oldest and best friend Viet. It’s short and sweet. Hope you enjoy! Pinkies up!

The Storm

By: Melissa Whitney

Sweat dripped down Elle’s brow, the salty sting blurring her vision. The fuzzy vision that inevitably came with any good run was akin to the sweet satisfaction that coursed through her veins after drinking the perfect cup of tea. This was her happy place, sneakered feet hitting the paved running path that hugged the coastline, the not yet sleeping sun low in the sky, and Viet by her side.

“I can’t,” Viet panted.

“You can,” Elle encouraged, her breathless voice firm.

This always happened in the last leg of their runs. Viet’s petulant limbs whined that they couldn’t go any further. Elle pushed. They continued. The reverse also rang true. Any moment either experienced bratty muscles, brains, or hearts that insisted that they couldn’t proceed, the other would not accept it. It was their way. The way it had been for fifteen years.

Elle’s muscles ached. Both with happiness at their use and with a firm desire to go home, brew a fresh cup of peppermint tea, crack open a book, and lounge on the purple couch soaking in stillness. Just a few more feet. Her pulse quickened at her finish line…her goal waving in the distance.

“We’re almost there,” she puffed out a ragged breath.

There was no verbal response from Viet, but Elle knew he nodded. Since meeting their freshman year of college, she knew what his silences and unseen responses meant. They all spoke to her. The scrunch of his angled features. The narrowing of his brown eyes. The pucker of his full lips.

Accomplishment thrummed through her as her foot crossed the invisible line announcing the end of their run, the completion of her goal. Her pace slowed to a jog.

“Thank God!” Viet cheered, raising his hands in the air, and pivoting to face her as his pace slowed to meet hers.

It wasn’t his celebratory cheers that lifted her determined smile into a happy grin, but the matching of his pace to meet hers. The sensation of belonging enveloped her. The idea that this man, who was once a stranger, had become her person. The idea that she had a person. Someone to be in it with her. Someone to meet her pace, whether too slow or too fast.

“For the last half mile, I thought I was going to die.” He placed his hands on his hips as he slowed to a fast walk, still facing her.

“You’re so melodramatic,” she teased.

“I’m not mel…oof.”

Another runner collided with Viet, interrupting his protest, and sending both crashing to the stretch of sandy beach parallel to the path. Their long limbs tangled together as they slammed into the cool sand.

“Viet!” Elle squeaked, her feet skidding to a stop.

“My word, I am so sorry,” the colliding jogger apologized. The deep timbre of his voice was like smooth honey. His muscular frame draped over Viet. Toned arms, visible beneath his long-sleeved running shirt, rested beneath Viet’s body as if to catch his fall. There was something almost protective in the way the nameless jogger held Viet.

Something squeezed in Elle’s chest at the scene. “Viet are you okay?”

Viet’s eyes blinked. “I’m great.”

The almost breathy quality of Viet’s voice made Elle wonder if it wasn’t blinking eyes but rather batted eyelashes. Viet’s gaze appeared transfixed to the jogger. Big smiles lit both their faces. It was the same smile that Elle had when she saw a puppy she wanted to pet. No doubt, there were petting intentions in Viet’s full-faced grin.

Elle crossed her arms. “Do you need help?” she asked, trying to keep the taunting laugh out of her tone.

“Oh,” the jogger said, a soft blush kissing his cheeks. He rose reaching his hand to Viet with all the gallantry of an Austen hero.

Viet took his hand. “Thank you.”

As the jogger lifted Viet, their eyes met. Their gazes appeared to bow to one another, ready to take each other in a slow dance.

“I’m Ryan,” the jogger said.

“I’m Viet.”

Elle shook her head, both amused by and excited for her friend. The air around Ryan and Viet almost buzzed with electricity. Its effect prickled along Elle’s skin cooling her body heated from their run.

“I’m so sorry. I should have been paying attention,” Ryan said. The way his hazel eyes seemed to drink up Viet spoke to a man that wasn’t sorry. Not one bit.

“I shouldn’t have been walking backwards,” Viet offered. The brush of his hand at the back of his dark cropped hair betrayed his lack of remorse.

Elle grinned. “Why don’t you both tell each other how sorry you are over a cup of coffee? There’s a place around the corner. Come on, I’ll buy.”

She was setting the pace. Otherwise, Viet and Ryan would stare at each other with unapologetic eyes ‘til Viet bit his lip saying he needed to go.

Ten minutes later, they sat beneath the hanging lanterns of a small coffee shop. The patio brimmed with life. Fellow patrons huddled over laptops or sat in jovial conversations with one another. Elle sat beside Viet, who was tucked into the corner of their corner table, Ryan across from him. The seat choice was strategic on her behalf allowing Elle the ease to escape after the appropriate amount of time passed and she’d sussed out that Ryan wasn’t a handsome serial killer. This was the job of a best friend. Ensure the good looking stranger did not have a basement full of dead bodies and then slip away so their besite could romance said non-murdering tall, dark, and dreamy man.

Their conversation followed the standard script. Introductions were made. Questions were asked. What do you do for a living? Are you originally from Long Beach? What do you do for fun? Subtle and not-so-subtle hints were given about relationship status. Viet’s cheeks flushed. Ryan seemed to find excuses to reach his hand across the table touching Viet’s. Any excuse. Like, “Oh, you have two legs, so do I”. It was like her own personal meet/cute wildlife documentary. She could almost hear Morgan Freeman’s velvety voice in her ears narrating the scene. “Watch as two attractive men with beautiful smiles fall in love.”

Elle bristled at that thought. There was no way she could know that, but she did. A strange sensation swam in her belly. Her person had just met his person. She’d witnessed countless first meetings of Viet with potential boyfriends. She’d lived through four boyfriends in the last fifteen years. Never had a certainty gripped her muscles as it did as she watched Viet’s gaze intertwin with Ryan’s.

All the feels tug-of-wared within her. Happiness. Excitement. Sadness. Jealously. The last two making her feel like a heel and not even a cute pair, but those unstylish chunky ones that she used to buy from Payless Shoes back before she’d adopted a more fashionista life-style.

Fall into step. Elle pushed down the sadness and jealousy that festered inside her. For fifteen years they encouraged, set the pace for each other, or fell into step with one another. It was their way.

Elle stood up. “I hope you don’t mind if I head out. I have an early meeting that I need to prep for,” she said. There was an early meeting, but she didn’t need to prep. She’d already done that. Elle was seldom unprepared. Although right now she was a little unprepared to walk away knowing that this would be the start of her person becoming someone else’s person.

“Oh, I should…” Viet started to stand up.

Ryan frowned.

Elle raised her hands. “Nope. You stay.” She turned to Ryan. “Will you be a gentleman and make sure he gets home safe?”

Ryan smiled. “It’s the least I can do, since I almost killed him on the running path.”

“Are you sure?” Viet shifted his gaze to Elle.

Their eyes did the whole silent conversation thing. There wasn’t anyone else who knew the language of her eyes and she feared there’d never be.

“Yep.” Her smile was forced, but neither Ryan nor Viet seemed to notice.

Turning, she walked away leaving her person with his new person. As an adult, she knew real friends weren’t lost when they had boyfriends. Viet had never left her behind. They always remained a pair, but something was different in the air. Something was coming. The air charged with the kinetic energy of a coming storm. Elle wasn’t sure what that storm meant for Viet and her, Viet and Ryan, or for her. Looking over her shoulder at them, she sucked in a deep breath. Taking a step off the coffeeshop’s patio she readied for whatever was co

Don't De-Pants my Plot and Don't Plot my Pants!

At writing conferences and workshops, they often talk about two types of writers. There is the “pantser” and the “plotter”. The “puntser” (not a real word but leave it to a room of writers to make one up) is the writer that flies by the seat of their pants with their story. They just write, allowing the story to take them along for the journey. A “plotter” has an outlined plot with specific points to hit and takes the story on their journey with them to meet those predestined milestones.

I am somewhere in-between. Not sure of the term for that, but don’t de-pants my plot and don’t plot my pants! When I sit down to write a story, I have a general outline. Who the major characters are. Where the story will take place. Big milestones that will happen. Who/what the antagonists are.

However, I am open to the story and characters taking me on a different journey. This is the thing about stories, they take on a life of their own. There are times I have sat down thinking this is what is going to happen. This is who the love interest is. This is how it will end. But the story arches its knowing brow and smirks, “Nope, I have a different idea.” Oh, that pesky story!

There are a few examples from both my first novel Finding Home and my second novel In the Hello and in the Goodbye (both are in the editing phase in preparation to go out to Literary Agents and Publishes late spring/early summer). I can give you a few glimpses in how the vegan sausage is made without spoiling either book for you.

In Finding Home, a smalltown steamy romance, a character named Todd pops up. There was never a Todd in my outline. He was merely a bartender that was a throwaway character simply to add to the charm and well…character of the village our lead, Elle, found herself pulled back to. However, Todd the snarky rascal that he is had other ideas. Soon he became one of the supporting characters in Elle’s newly formed friend group. In the second book of the series called Coming Home, which the first draft of is almost complete, he becomes a more prevalent character and in the last book of the series, which is outlined and not yet “pantsed,” he will be the male lead.

If I hadn’t been open to the character and the story leading me just a little bit off the map I had created, I would have missed out on the wonderful story of Todd Krueger (don’t let the name fool you folks, he’s a sweetheart of a tall sexy Prince Harry look-a-like). What a joy it will be to write his story this summer and complete my smalltown romance series called the Home Series.

My second novel, In the Hello and the Goodbye, a second chance romance about Evie Johnson, a hospital social worker, and Colm Gallagher, a special education teacher, has several twists and turns in their love story that changed as the story unfolded. Again, I started with a general outline, but their characters jumped off the typed page guiding me to tell their sweet, a little steamy, hopeful, and sometimes sad story. Those plot points I won’t share ‘til my second baby is out in the world. There may some writing exercises, though, where I’ll introduce this couple to the world, whetting your appetite for their sumptuous love story.

So, I’ve given you a peak behind the curtain. There aren’t just two kinds of writers. There are three. Your “plotter”, your “pantser,” and me…something in-between.

Pinkies up!

Meet Elle Davidson

For today’s post, I’m not only sharing a writing exercise but introducing you to Elle Davidson. In my first novel Finding Home we follow Elle, who after fourteen years of many excuses, returns to her hometown. Only it’s not home, it’s where she’d grown up. Numbed to bad decision-making after too many glasses of rosé, she heads back to Perry, NY to attend a family wedding and the fiftieth birthday of her beloved Uncle Pete. All she wants to do is survive the next thirty days without dealing with the very alive ghosts of her past that haunt the small farming community. After losing a tug-a-war with a baby goat, Elle falls butt-first for Dr. Clayton Owens, an unexpected man from her past. The gray-eyed Airbnb host was not part of the plan…and Elle likes a plan. For thirty days she finds herself diverting from her plan, while gripping onto it with dear life as she comes face-to-face with the mother that she hasn’t seen in eighteen years. Will her ghosts keep her locked in her own haunted house or will Elle go ghostbusters on them freeing herself and her heart?

I can’t wait to share Elle’s journey with you! It’s currently with my amazing editor. I am hopeful to submit to Literary Agents and Publishers in late spring or early summer. I’ll share updates with you as my journey unfolds.

In the meantime, today’s word was brunch and I hope you enjoy your first introduction to Elle Davidson. Pinkies up!  

The Brunch Date

By: Melissa Whitney

Elle’s strappy wedges slapped against the pavement as she threaded through the crowded sidewalk towards the restaurant. She wasn’t late because she was never late. Just wasn’t her style, but her pulse quickened knowing the clock ticked closer to eleven thirty. Willa and her brunch reservation at Nicks on 2^nd was ten minutes away. On time was late to Elle. She liked to be early. It gave her time to settle in. Get the lay of the land and prepare herself. Preparation was the key to everything.

            Reaching the corner where the restaurant stood tucked into the first floor of a much-loved gray brick building, she slipped through the front door flanked by oversized palm plants. Smoothing down her auburn waves, Elle smiled waiting for the hostess to finish with the couple in front of her.

            “Reservation under Willa Sanchez,” Elle said to the smiling hostess.

            Tapping on the screen in front of her the hostess beamed. “The other half of your party is already seated.”

            Had Hell frozen over? Elle blinked in disbelief. Willa was never on time, let alone early.

            The hostess grabbed a brown leather menu from below the granite counter. “Let me take you to your table,” she said, rounding the hostess stand and motioning for Elle to follow.

            The restaurant hummed with the standard brunch soundtrack of forks clinked against dishes, boisterous laughter, and roar of the expresso machine. Every inch of the L-shaped dining room brimmed over with brunch goers. It was your typical Saturday in Long Beach, CA.

            Weaving through the clusters of filled tables and booths, the hostess led Elle to the outdoor patio that hugged the perimeter of the building. Elle’s hazel eyes scanned the metal tables looking for Willa’s bright smile and caramel-colored locks. Passing tables full of hand holding couples, toasting ladies that brunch types, and a man scowling at his bill they stopped at the last table hidden behind a Ficus tree in the corner of the patio.   

            “Here you are,” the hostess said, pointing to the empty chair of the two-person table.

            Elle’s steps halted. Her gaze pulled to the very much occupied seat across from her and the man sitting there. The corner of his lips ticked up in an easy smile as he stood up reaching his hand out to her.

            “I’m Ned. Willa’s cousin,” he introduced himself. The smooth quality of his voice like a creamy Chai latte.

            “Willa,” Elle sighed, taking his hand.

            “I take it she didn’t tell you she was setting us up.”

            Shaking her head, she took the seat across from him.

            “Your server will be here soon,” the hostess said with an apologetic smile towards Elle. Plopping the menu down, she wandered away.

            Elle ran her fingers over the embossed Nick’s on 2^nd scrawled across the menu allowing its smooth ridges to ground her. Dating was not Elle’s favorite. She’d once cancelled a blind date to go to the Dentist.

            “This is the second time she’s done this to me.” Ned ran his fingers through his thick black hair.

            “This is the fourth for me.” Elle blew out a long breath. “Once she even had this college professor friend of hers show up at a resort in Palm Springs that we were staying at.”

            A deep belly laugh vibrated through him. His milk chocolate eyes sparked with amusement at his cousin’s antics.

            Picking up her glass of water, Elle sipped allowing her eyes to drink Ned up. The almost carefree smile softened the chiseled features of his face. Warm almond skin popped against the sunshine yellow collared short-sleeved shirt he wore. Defined forearms leaned against the edge of the table.

            Yummy. A baby-sized flutter kicked in her belly. What was it about men’s forearms that she found sexy? The second sexiest thing a man could do for her was to roll up his sleeves. The first was to read aloud from one of her beloved Jane Austen novels.

            “She means well,” he said.

            The sweet defense of his cousin spread warmth through Elle as if drinking the perfect cup of peppermint tea. As much as Willa frustrated Elle with these wannabe matchmaker escapades, she adored her best gal pal and wouldn’t tolerate anyone smack talking Willa. Even if it was a fellow victim.

            “She’s such an Emma,” Elle chuckled.

            “An Emma?” Ned’s right brow arched.

            “Emma Woodhouse from Jane Austen’s Emma. She’s a lackluster matchmaker who comes from a good place but gets it wrong.”

            Ned leaned back in his chair. “I haven’t read any Austen.”

            Strike one. Elle nodded.

            “I’m not a reader. I’m more of a movie guy.”

            Strike three. Elle closed her menu and sighed. Even the lovely forearms could not erase that. Willa would tsk that Elle was being too picky. That she’d find any excuse to rule out a potential boyfriend. Perhaps, but there were standards. A man that didn’t read Austen was one thing but a man that didn’t read was no man for Elle Davidson.

            “Ned…” she started, but his laughter cut her off.

            “Friends?” There was a knowing slant to his smile.

            “You feel it too? Well, not feel it actually?” Elle bit her lower lip.

            “Yeah. Don’t get me wrong. You are gorgeous, but I’m a traveling nurse so if someone is going to tempt me into giving up my wanderlust ways, I need to feel the spark from the start.”

            A big smile took over her face. “I appreciate your kind but blunt honesty. I agree. You are very handsome, but not handsome enough to tempt me.” There was zero shame in her giggle as she paraphrased Mr. Darcy from Pride & Prejudice. Ned may not get the reference, but she did. More importantly, the man that she’d allow herself to fall for would get the reference. At least, she hoped. If not, she always had Austen to keep her company.

"Cotton Candy Sweet" : A Writing Exercise

For today’s post, here’s a little writing exercise curtesy of one of my favorite Beta Readers. Today’s word was cotton candy. I hope you enjoy. Pinkies up!

Cotton Candy Sweet

A frown dragged at the corner of Jules's lips as she stood in a sea of little black dresses. The cotton candy pink dress she wore seemed perfect for a cocktail party celebrating spring ‘til she showed up seeing a flurry of sophisticated women in black dresses.

Clutching her glass of white wine, the cool condensation damping her hand, she pressed her back flush against the wall. While others wore bright colors calling all the focus in a room to them, Jules was unseen. Just an eye sore that gazes glanced passed or avoided.

Sigh. All the light in the room seemed to envelop the ladies in their little black dresses, while Jules remained the unseen wallflower in her too-loud dress.

Eyes fixed on the entrance she tapped the tip of her right foot clad in a matching cotton candy pink kitten heel. Is leaving ten minutes after you arrived at your boss’s party rude?

Yes. Her grimace answered her question.

 As her stare remained at the door a flutter in her tummy rumbled. Trevor from Accounting stood at the entryway, hands in the pockets of his navy suit. The fabric stretched over his broad chest and muscular physique. The image of his toned body glistening with sweat at the company’s gym hitched her breath as she watched him stride towards the bar.

For three years she’d stared from afar, but never approached him. There’d been four or five interactions. The obligatory “Good morning” as they passed each other in the hall or the “Thank you” when he held the door. Nothing more.

There’d be nothing more again tonight. Jules remained at her post against the wall watching Trevor’s eyes crinkle with a big grin as he chatted with a woman in a black sheath dress just on the side of too sexy.

Eyes closed Jules leaned her head against the wall. What if she was one of the confident black cocktail dress women? A woman that stood out even when everyone else wore the same dress. A woman that didn’t hide against walls. A woman seen.

“I like your dress,” a deep voice coaxed her eyes open.

Trevor stood. His green eyes dragged down her body. Jules’s hands gripped the wall behind her to assure it was she that he was looking at. That there wasn’t one of the confident little black dress women behind her.

Just wall. No ladies. Just me.

“Thanks,” she said, heat prickling her skin.

“I know we’ve seen each other around the office but I don’t think we’ve ever officially introduced ourselves. I’m Trevor Jackson.” He held his palm out to her.

Taking his hand in hers, a tiny jolt of electricity pulsed through her. “I’m Jules Malone.”

A big grin spread on her face. Maybe the cotton candy pink dress was a good idea, after all.

It's All About Puppy Love!

Happy National Puppy Day! What do puppies with wiggly butts have to do with Romance writing? EVERYTHING! Dogs have factored into so many of my favorite love stories. There is Stuntman Mike from The Friend Zone, Newton from The Viscount Who Loved Me, Cupcake and Muffin from Behind the Scenes, and so on.

Why are dogs such a big part of Romance novels? Well, besides the obvious that they are ADORABLE, dogs add so much to a story. They can be a plot device, their own character, and add texture to our leads.

Let’s first explore them as a plot device. How often have we seen a Meet/Cute where the leads meet after a rogue puppy dashed away from their owner to barrel into the chest of their soon-to-be love interest or through someone’s car’s sunroof like in The Happy Ever After Playlist? A pet can help drive a plot aiding in the characters meeting and, often, bonding them as a couple.

A canine can also be its very own character in the novel with a clear personality, motive, and relationship with the leads. As a fully developed character the dog can help drive the action, texturize our leads, and heighten their relationship. They can even be the narrator of our story like in Pug, Actually. Where Doug, a charming plump pug, helps his owner find love.

As well, a dog can add context to our lead characters. Through the interaction with a loveable canine authors show us our leads’ character traits, behaviors, desires, and even flaws. Take the example of The Undertaking of Hart and Mercy. Our male lead, Hart, appears to just be you average grumpy Demigod zombie hunter (YOU MUST READ THIS BOOK), but his interaction with our female lead Mercy’s dog shows us the tenderness and kindness hidden within his grumpy cat exterior. The Author doesn’t say, “Oh, Hart has a soft nugget filling within his hard shell,” but shows us through the scenes with Mercy’s dog.

Dogs and any animal, even a cat, can be a wonderful tool for authors to help move stories forward, shape the couple’s relationship, and deepen our understanding of who a character is. Whether it is a bowtie wearing rooster like in Witches get Stitches or a pug named Fitz from my first manuscript Finding Home (currently being edited) animals are a wonderful tool for the writer and a smile-inducing addition for the reader!

So, on this National Puppy Day I salute all the literary dogs that have scampered through some of my favorite stories. As well, I raise my teacup to my three pugs Milo, Coco, and Marvin, my ever-present writing partners that have inspired canine characters in my writing.

Pinkies up!

"Of Course" : A Writing Exercise

Today’s entry will be a writing exercise. Thank you to a good friend who texted me a word to inspire today’s exercise. The word is stiletto. I hope you enjoy! Pinkies Up!

Of course

By Melissa Whitney

A perturbed sigh escaped Meghan as fat raindrops pelted against the black pavement. Of course, she’d left her umbrella in her car, parked all the way across the parking lot.

            It had been a day. An accident on the 405 made her twenty-minutes late for work. Of course. A hallway collision resulted in coffee splashing onto her new yellow top. Of course. Someone had eaten her yogurt from the breakroom fridge. Of course. The blind date scheduled for tonight had cancelled. Of course.

            Thunder clapped. “Of course,” she groaned.

            Sucking in a deep breath, she ran out from beneath the red striped awning of her office building. The heels of her black stilettos clacked against the wet pavement. Rounding the row where her car was, she skidded on the slick surface.

            “Oof,” she whimpered slamming against the ground. Cold wetness seeped through the back of her blouse.

She should get up, but she remained there. Not out of any injury nor shock, but out of resignation.

            I live here now. This is my home. She closed her eyes sinking deeper into the frigid hardness below.

            “Are you okay?” a deep voice asked.

            God? Blinking her eyes open, brown eyes rimmed in gold met her.

            “Hi.” Her voice breathy not from the fall, but from the boyish dimple that popped as he smiled down at her.

            He held his hand out. “Are you okay?”

            “Yes.” She took his hand. Its warmth spreading through her as he guided her to a seated position.

            He moved his umbrella over them, shielding them from the slowing rain. “I’m Kyle.”

            “I’m Meghan.” For some reason her hand was still in his. She should remove it, but she kept her hand in his.

            Straightening from where he crouched, he lifted them to their feet. Their bodies close under the umbrella. A tiny shiver trembled through her.

            “You’re freezing,” he said, handing her the umbrella and taking off his jacket. Draping it around her shoulders he winced. “Sorry. I should have asked before I went all 1950s man on you.”

            “It’s okay,” she said, allowing the spicy scent that lingered in the jacket to envelop her.

            “Would you like to grab a cup of coffee? To get you warm?” There was a sweet bashfulness in the timbre of his voice.

            “Of course.” A large grin spread.

All it Takes is One to Inspire Many!

    Writing is a muscle. Just like the temple that is my body regular exercise is needed to stay strong and healthy. To quote RuPaul, “Girl, you better work!” I need to work my writing skills daily. All writers do.

    Writing exercises are like the treadmill of the literary world. In February, I attended the Southern California Writers’ Conference where they stressed this. During the conference they gave us one word to inspire 250 words. It was a powerful experience to reinforce the need for writing every day. Even if I’m not working on my own story, I can engage in an daily exercise to sharpen my literary muscles.

    Periodically in this blog I’ll challenge myself with a word to inspire me to write 250 words. It can be a short story, a simple passage, or scene. Perhaps, it will inspire a future story. No matter what becomes of the words that flow out of me with these types of exercises, they help will tone and shape my skills as a writer.

    If you’re interested in writing, try this exercise. Pick a word. Any word! You can simply flip open a dictionary and use whatever word your finger lands on first. You can use a word of the day calendar. Some writers will also use pictures. Whatever the initial inspiration the important thing is to write.

    I hope you enjoy me flexing my literary muscles a little bit. It may be a tad gratuitous, but words are meant to be shared. Pinkies up!

The Flight

By Melissa Whitney

Just breathe. The mantra on repeat as Alma sat tucked into the window seat. The rustling of bags and clicking of seat belts the soundtrack of the loading flight. Inhaling the plane’s stale air, she shifted trying to make herself as small as possible. Pressing against the window she allowed its smooth coolness to bolster her.

            “Excuse me,” a raspy masculine voice cleared. “I believe that’s my seat.”

            “Nope,” Alma insisted, her eyes shut as tight as her smile.

            “This is 8F. My ticket says 8F.”

            “I have 8A, you can sit there,” she groaned. Just Breathe.

            “But that’s not my seat.”

            “What does it matter? It’s still a window,” she gritted.

            “What does it matter to you?”

            A heated embarrassed realization crawled up Alma’s neck. She would have to move. As if twelve again being called to the principal’s office, she pulled her laptop bag from below the seat in front of her, and stumbled over now former seatmates with a muttered, “Sorry.” Her body, exposed to the appraising eyes of others craved the sanctuary of the window.

She crawled into 8A with another muttered, “Sorry.”

Alma gazed longingly at her former seat as if a lost lover now held by another. Just breathe.

“Alma, I’m so sorry,” Derick said, voice lathered in apology, as he sat in 8B.

For the next five and half hours, Alma would sit next to the man that five hours ago asked her for a divorce. Just breathe.

Love is Blind and so am I!

They say love with blind. I’m not entirely sure, who they are, but in my case it may be true.

When I was six years old, I was diagnosed with an eye condition called Retinitis Pigmentosa (RP). Try saying that three times fast, I dare you. If you want to spend time Googling it, please do. I’ll give you the Cliff Notes version. RP causes permanent blindness.

I know! That’s a real Romance mood killer. Blindness is not so sexy in Romance unless a blindfold is involved (note to self).

As a result of my vision loss, I access the world of literature through audio. As a kid I was a voracious reader. Hours were spent devouring books in my Public Library. Nothing beat the musty aroma of a book and the feel of it’s worn pages against my fingers as I flipped to the next chapter. That experience has now been replaced with the transporting voices of many of my favorite audiobook narrators like Julia Whalen, Aidan Snow, Zachary Webber, Karissa Vacker, and so many others.

The other difference is the impact my vision loss has on my writing. As I access the word through nonvisual mediums, that means I am doing the same for writing. The rules of grammar can be a little different when you are dictating or using Braille. Nonetheless, I proceed.

While I do lack sight, I have vision. My blindness impacts my ability to see the world in the same manner as individuals with unimpacted sight, but it offers me a different texture to how I visualize my stories. My blindness allows me to flourish as a storyteller, because the way I access the world is through all my senses. Not just sight.

Good authors will not just tell a story but transport us into that story. To have the sensation of strong arms wrapping around our shoulders. To feel the prickling heat of hot breath on our neck while a deep voice whispers, “You are lovely.” To smell the aroma of dew dipped grass coiling around us as we stand barefoot beneath a canopy of trees. To hear the thump, thump of our heart as soft lips presses against ours.

While my vision loss presents a series of hurtles for me to leap over to spin my steamy/sweet romantic tales, it offers me a gift. I process the entire world with all my senses, even my dimmed vision. Tapping into this will make my writing a richer experience for me as a writer and hopefully for you as a reader.

Love may or may not be blind, but I am…and I tell love stories.  

Pinkies up!

Keep Your Tropes Off my Silky Drawers (Unless its Grumpy/Sunshine)

Don’t trope my story you say? Roll your eyes at familiar tropes you do? Write as if Yoda has taken over my body I am!

Ok, enough of that foolishness. Today I am thinking about tropes. In Romance there are many tropes that help shape stories. There are so many tropes that entire books, podcasts, dissertations, and arsenals of articles are dedicated to exploring them in great detail. Just Google Romance Tropes and you’ll have hours and hours of Rabbit Hole fun ahead of you.

Before you jump into that hole, though, take a few minutes to enjoy an ode to the Romance Trope that steals my heart every time; Grumpy/Sunshine. Nothing gets my literary tongue wagging like a buttoned-up moderately grumpy introvert that falls for the human equivalent of a Care Bear.

Why is that my favorite you ask? Well, if you met my husband, you’d get it. Picture a cute nerdy Viking only with less pillaging of villages (he gave it up for Lent).

In all seriousness, what I love about the Grumpy/Sunshine Trope is the relationship of perceived opposites. On the outside the couple appear to not make sense. He hates people and she is, well, people. You get it. However, as the story unfolds, we soon learn that the couple have far more in common than the outside world sees. The two of them truly see each other.

At the heart of any good Grumpy/Sunshine story is a tale about belonging, about seeing people for who they are, and about the power of what binds us. Grumpy/Sunshine stories are about hope. The hope to be seen and find connection for who we are rather than what the world perceives us to be. It’s about what connects us rather than what keeps us separate.

That’s why I LOVE a Grumpy/Sunshine story. Some of my favorite stories are Grumpy/Sunshine pairings like Pride & Prejudice, The Undertaking of Heart and Mercy, The Love Hypothesis, The Hating Game, and so many more!

Of course, that is just one of so many Tropes that a Romance writer can use and a Romance reader can gravitate towards. What trope(s) gets your literary libido going?

For more about Romance Tropes you can visit your neighborhood Google or check out this great resource:  The Ultimate Guide to the Romance Genre and Romance Tropes – She Reads Romance Books.

Pinkies Up!

What's Wrong with Some Heaving Bosoms?

“Why Romance?” It was a simple question from my father-in-law, when discussing my drive into the world of Romance writing.

There is a certain level of eyebrow raising that occurs when you mention you read or write Romance. Friends whisper, “It’s a Romance,” as they make suggestions to read the latest Tessa Bailey, Jasmine Guillory, or Amy Lea. As if speaking it aloud somehow brands them “pervy”. I had a friend who had a Kindle dedicated only to Romance novels that she kept hidden under her bed as if it were a copy of her high school yearbook (nobody needs to see those pictures…NOBODY).

There are so many stereotypes about Romance novels. Book covers adorned with a buxom beauty, breasts overflowing out of their dress, wrapped in the arms of a shirtless board chested Adonis. Pages full of heaving bosoms, throbbing members, and crashing mouth kisses.  

First, what’s wrong with a heaving bosom or two? Some of our greatest/most beloved authors were Romance writers. Take the Grande Dame of Romance, Jane Austen. Lizzie Bennet’s breath never hitched as Mr. Darcy’s smoldering gaze dragged down her curves, but I bet if Ms. Austen was writing today those perky breasts would heave!

Romance allows readers and authors to explore the different facets of relationships. The relationship between the couple, the people around them, and most importantly with themselves. This is why, I love reading and writing Romance.

It’s all about relationship. The good, the bad, the in-between, and the steamy!

Six months ago, when I sat down to write a short story it naturally evolved into a Romance, because it was the format that gave me the best lens to explore relationships. To dive into characters and tell a story the dealt with the everyday complexities and issues that shape our lives.

That short story is now a Contemporary Romance novel entitled Finding Home. No, this is not a shameless plug for my first novel. Mainly because it’s not published, yet. I’m still working with an editor to doll it up before I send her and her heaving bosoms out into the world.

I’m sharing this, because I’m sharing my journey with the world of Romance. Both as a writer and a reader. This blog will explore all aspects of my relationship (sense theme??) with Romance. The good, the bad, the in-between, and, especially, the steamy.

I hope you’ll join me on my journey and together we can explore our relationship as writer and reader.

I raise my teacup to you!

Pinkies up!