I GET To Say I Have Deadlines
February 12, 2024 by Denise M. Colby in category The Writing Journey by Denise Colby tagged as A Writer's Life, deadlines, Denise M ColbyI’m in a fun new season of my writing journey. One where I truly get to say I have deadlines. Those deadlines include turning back in my corrected edits that are due on the nineteenth of this month.
Pulling together a blog post for this month completely skipped my mind because my focus has been on my edits as well as working on book two, which is due later this year.
I Get to do this
This is the phrase that I feel every day. I get to do this! And I’m so excited. I still feel as if I’m in a dream state that my first book will be published this year and that others will be reading my stories.
I’m also excited to be learning and GROWing (my focus word this year) on how to work full-time, manage family responsibilities, and build my writing career. And I know I’m not the only one. Every writer I know does this. Happy to be joining them.
I have attended many workshop sessions related to time management and scheduling. It’s now time to apply the lessons learned from them.
So this post will be super short because I need to get to the other things us writers do.
Happy February, everyone. And Happy Writing.
Denise chooses a focus word every year. GROW is her word for 2024. You can learn about focus words on her website, where she’s building separate pages on each word she chooses.
0 0 Read moreMy Taylor Swift lookalike video… and other fun stuff for Super Bowl Sunday LVIII and how it connects to my Valentine’s Day short story by Jina Bacarr
February 11, 2024 by Jina Bacarr in category Jina’s Book Chat, Writing tagged as football, Super Bowl, Taylor Swift, Valentine's DayI’m on deadline finishing the sequel for Sisters At War called Sisters of the Resistance...
I was honored to have my Letter to the Editor published in The New York Times mentioning Sisters At War and the E. Jean Carroll verdict. ‘
Also, I’m on a mad dash working on a big happening at my alma mater UCI coming up for Homecoming. I’m on the memorabilia committee and I’ve torn through numerous boxes stored away looking for fun items I kept from college.
Emotional and heart-wrenching stuff. More about the above next month.
So…………. for this February post here’s some fun stuff for Super Bowl Sunday! and the upcoming Valentine’s Day
I had my old Home Movies digitized and when I posted the short video above of me in–you’ll never guess–Las Vegas–(I was talking about my Valentine’s Day short story about a kissing bandit in high school which I posted here!) a reader mentioned that I look like Taylor Swift. Thank you! How cool is that?
Now for the football angle — when I worked at a local radio station (on-air, voicovers, and doing PR) I had the opportunity to work with the Rams cheerleaders for a promotion we did on Catalina Island. I got to be a ‘cheerleader’ for two weeks working with them and their routines in LA for the event.
We (the cheerleaders and me) sailed to Catalina Island on a small yacht and I was in the parade at the Chili Cook-Off wearing–are you ready for this?–a pink sequin mermaid costume!
So how did I ‘swim’ to the float? I didn’t… I had two big, strong Rams football players carry me and my mermaid tail to the float. Oh, my, yes…
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Bonus:
Writers write what we know… even when it’s embarrassing.
Take my first kiss. High school. Drama class. Me, the shy new kid. And a snarky guy with a big ego.
Keep reading….it gets worse.
Valentine’s Day is a time for kissing.
But what if your first kiss was just plain awful?
Meet Riley Murphy. She’s a kissing virgin, waiting for the right guy to come along. Until she joins the Drama Club at Holywell High and has to kiss the class dweeb on stage in front of the whole school on Valentine’s Day.
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VIRGIN KISS
Jina Bacarr
Introduction
What’s in a kiss? A kiss by any other name is—
—sweet, romantic, intimate, passionate, wet, sloppy, disgusting, probing, awful, nasty, sexy, tingly, and sometimes just plain wonderful.
But what if it’s your first kiss? And you have to pucker up in front of a live audience at your high school? What then?
Pass the Altoids, please.
The kiss-from-hell happened to me, Riley Murphy.
This is my story.
* * *
A few weeks before Valentine’s Day…
I’m the new kid at Holywell High School, a shy, skinny freshman with cinnamon-colored freckles sprinkled across my nose. Flat-chested. I’ll never be Miss Popularity with the bouncy boobs and flirty lashes.
I’m more like an olive stuck on the end of a toothpick.
Even with that dossier, I’m not a total dork. I’ve gotten pecks on the cheek and quick brushes on the lips, but I’ve yet to experience the soul-melting kisses you see in the flicks. The passionate lip-lock I’ve dreamed about, wrote about in my diary.
I’ve pined for that kiss, but it’s yet to happen to me. God knows, I’ll be in graduate school facing lifelong debt before the right pair of lips meet mine.
To overcome my shyness, my mom convinces me to try out for the Drama Club. Somehow I land the leading role in a one-act Chekhov play.Yes, Chekhov.
I play this mad, beautiful countess with passion and heart. I love it. I come alive on stage. I can do anything, be anybody, say anything, I can—
—kiss the male lead?
A gangly sophomore named Harold Brimwell with long, greasy hair and an upper lip curled in a perpetual snarl. He’s going to anoint my virgin lips with my first kiss?
Forget the Altoids. I need a stress pill.
I quit the play. They can find another dupe. Not me. I’m not going to let him use my lips for kissing practice.
Then I hear this little voice in my head telling me this is acting. Going through the motions at rehearsals and on stage don’t count on the kissing scale. I can pucker up with Harold on stage and still be a kissing virgin.
Right?
After my pep talk to myself, I sail through rehearsals, knowing my lines and ‘connecting to my character’ according to the director. He says I’m a natural, my emotions raw but real. This is amazing. Me, Riley Murphy, the kid who’s always the ‘new girl’ at school because we move around so much because of my dad’s job, found something she’s good at.
Then the trouble starts.
The director insists on method acting.We don’t rehearse the kiss. He wants a real kiss on stage, not a phony smooch.
Worse yet, we open on Valentine’s Day with a preview performance at the afternoon school assembly. Not only do I have to kiss this guy, I have to do it on the most romantic day of the year in front of the entire student body.
I dump the Altoids… along with my confidence down the toilet.
* * *
Valentine’s Day dawns rainy and cold. Perfect weather for a Russian play.
I arrive at the gym early, put on my makeup in the girls’ bathroom then, with my hands shaking, I hook up my long Victorian black lace dress borrowed from the costume department, the silk petticoats rustling around my feet. I’m way nervous, but something cool happens as I run my lines over and over, my fear slowly dissolving into a shaky confidence as I slip into my character’s skin. Humming ‘I will survive’, I check my props, my fingertips tingling as I pull on my snug dueling gloves, then twirl the dainty parasol over my head like a spinning top.
I grab the small pistol for my big dueling scene, then heave out a big breath, praying I don’t drop it and everybody laughs at me.
I save putting on my lipstick for last.
First, I gargle mint-flavored mouthwash until my lips turn green and my mouth goes numb. Next, I line my lips with Chekhovian, dark red lipstick and smack them together. Perfect. I’m ready for my lip close-up.
It’s showtime.
I’m so nervous when the lights come up, I garble my opening lines. Then I trip over my own feet and nearly crash into the backdrop. Hot tears form in my eyes, but I want this too bad to give up now. All my life, I’ve stayed in the shadows. If I fail now, I may never get the courage to try again. I ignore the smirks and catcalls and swish my long skirts around like a real countess to boost my confidence.
I can do this.
Somehow, I get my groove on and my theatre training takes over. I sail across the stage, chin up, shoulders back, my voice clear, my lines down to a T. I’m ‘in the moment’. Much to my relief, the dueling scene goes off without the pistols misfiring.
Then it’s time for…
… the kiss.
I’ll never forget the expression on Harold’s face when he takes two long strides toward me. A mixture of sadistic pleasure and baddass ‘tude comes over his face, as shiny and sweaty as his palms, freaking me out. Lower lip snarling, my co-star gives me that ‘I’ve got you now’ look all fired up in his eyes, pinning me to the wall.
My teeth chatter. My mouthwash stops working.
It’s so quiet in the high school gym you can hear the director chewing on the end of his pencil.
My heart pounds so hard I can’t get my breath on when Harold pulls me into his arms, yanking me around like I’m a dollar store rag doll and then—
—he slams his mouth onto mine.
Bile rises in my throat as he pushes my lips apart and thrusts his mushy, saliva-coated gum into my mouth, making me nauseous. I swear if my dress wasn’t hooked up so tight, I would have ralphed all over him. Before I can push him off me, he shoves his tongue down my throat, way down, nearly gagging me.
I start choking.
I can’t breathe. Oh, my God, I’m going to pass out.
No, I can’t, I won’t. I’m determined not to faint. I have to get him off me. No gum-chewing, phony-macho sophomore is going to get the best of me.
I’m an actress, I tell myself, so act!
With stars circling around in my pounding head, I pull up my strength and kick him in the shin. There.
Startled, he jerks backward, but not before he bites my lower lip.
What the—
I taste coppery blood. Fresh, oozing, smearing my perfectly-applied lipstick. I’m in shock, disbelieving. It can’t get any worse.
Can it?
It can.
Dabbing my bleeding lip with my silk sleeve, I struggle in his arms, but he holds me tight, slobbering all over me, licking my face, my throat, coating my skin with stringy gum. My ears won’t stop ringing. The audience is going crazy, yelling and shouting like they’re at a basketball game and I’m the bouncing ball.
No, no, he’s not going to take advantage of me. I worked hard to get this part, learn my lines. Practiced how to walk, how to find the core of my character. Gosh darn, this is the first time in my whole life I’ve come out of my shell and done something really special.
He’s not going to ruin it for me.
I have to do something. Fast.
The pistol.
Where is it? After the mock dueling scene, I threw the prop gun down on the round table. It has to be there, but where?
I reach out behind me, my nails catching on the lace doily… I twist my head just a little… yes, I see it. I edge the gun toward me, an inch at a time. Sweat oozes down my too-tight collar and my knees buckle, but I don’t give up.
Almost got it… there. My fingers wrap around the pearl-inlayed handle. I suck in a breath then, without losing my nerve, I jam the prop into his ribs. Hard. I yank my body with such fury, I rip the black silk sleeve right out of the armpit. It slides down my shoulder, but it doesn’t stop me.
‘Get your hands off me, you sloppy-kissing, gum-chewer!’ I yell, ignoring the script and re-writing Chekhov. ‘Or you’re getting an “F” in drama class.’
The director gasps. Loudly. But he doesn’t refute what I said.
‘Yeah, sure,’ Harold stutters, letting me go, raising up his hands and backing away. ‘Anything you say, Riley.’
‘That’s telling him!’ a girl yells from the audience.
Amy Zanderbar. His ex-girlfriend.
She’s not the only one. All the girls stand up and start chanting, ‘Go, Riley, go!’
Wow. I hit a nerve with the females sitting in the bleachers who had their share of bad kissers.
They love it.
The audience starts clapping wildly and stomping their feet and continue chanting my name. I break the fourth wall and give them a ‘V’ for Victory high sign until the chanting dies down, then my thespian instincts kick in and I get back into character, giving Chekhov his due and ending the play as he wrote it.
I’ll always remember this night when a shy freshman girl in a borrowed Victorian dress took on a snarky sophomore and became empowered to stand up for herself in front of the whole student body.
It changed my life.
* * *
Epilogue
We performed the one-act play for the next few nights without further incident, faking the kiss each time. Harold is cool, not attempting any more way-out kissing. For me, it’s strictly acting.
I’m still a virgin in lip-land.
But I’ll never forget V-Day and my experience with the gum-toting, kissing bandit. Not a bad guy, just a rotten kisser.
And in case you’re curious, next semester I do find the right pair of lips to land that first kiss.
A hottie junior. Jack Dwayne.
When Jack takes me in his arms and lowers his face to mine, I quiver with anticipation and soon discover a kiss isn’t just a kiss, it’s…
… magic.
Happy Valentine’s Day!
——————–
PS — yes, Riley is me, a shy freshman back in the day.
2 1 Read moreUNEXPECTED NOVEL
February 5, 2024 by Tracy Reed in category Pink Pad by Tracy Reed tagged as brainstorming, ideas, titles, Tracy Reed, writing
Tracy is out of town this month, so we are reposting one of her columns. Hope you enjoy it.
I hope everyone had a wonderful holiday.
Let’s talk about unexpected stories.
I apologize if I’ve already told the story about my upcoming release, “UNEXPECTED LOVE.” My relationship with this story goes back several years. When I first became an Indie Writer, I had quite a few stories dancing around in my mind. I had this idea for a series about a woman and the many men in her life. More like all the men she’d married.
When I set out to write the series, the task seemed a little daunting. I don’t know about anyone else, but I easily get attached to my characters. But if I don’t feel a connection, it’s difficult for me to tell their story.
When I got the idea for this story, I imagined it as a five book series. I had all the husbands mapped out. However, when I started writing, it felt very forced. I was so overwhelmed trying to tell this woman’s story. I abandoned the series and thought I would tell it as a standalone. Summarizing each of the husbands and focusing on the one she really loved.
I picked up the pages I’d started, made a few changes, and set out to write. I liked where this story was going, but as I got more involved with the characters, the story changed. It was no longer a story about a bitter divorcee, but a liberated divorcee who finds love in an unexpected source, her ex-husband’s ex-best friend, who just happens to be her divorce attorney. That’s either a mouthful or a blurb.
The more involved I got with Fiona’s story, the more I liked her. But I also felt sorry for her. She’s a sweetheart, searching for her voice. In a nutshell, she married her college crush, who later deceived her. Once she decided to divorce him, she found her voice. I love her transition, although it’s not without its ups and downs. One of which is the change in her relationship with her attorney and her self-esteem.
Last year, when I set out to write twelve titles in a year, I had this title on the schedule as a short story. However, I didn’t think there was enough story for a book. So I resolved myself to make it a short story. I cleaned up the first chapter and started writing. But when I started writing, the story took a turn. It was no longer about Fiona and her husband, but Fiona and her attorney.
I continued writing, thinking I could tell the story in novella length. As I got closer to what would be maximum novella length, the characters kept talking. No matter how hard I fought to end the story, they kept talking, so I kept writing. I really enjoyed the direction the story was going. Then I wrote myself into a hole. Crap! I didn’t see a way out, so I introduced another character, thinking she would help me. Instead, she led me to a wall, and the only way around the wall was another character. Hold on, it gets better. When I introduced this character, he brought his own storyline in addition to tearing down the wall.
So here I was with a full-length novel. But here’s the kicker. When I introduced Fiona’s brother (aka “the wall”) into the mix, the story took another turn and led me to a place I never would have imagined being, “Cliffhanger Boulevard.”
Yep, my five book series originally titled, “My Five Husbands” was changed to a standalone novel. Then it got a title switch to “UNEXPECTED LOVE.” Then it became a short story, that grew into a novella that reverted to a full-length standalone, which is now book one in a new series. Talk about unexpected.
So what’s the lesson learned? Never throw out an idea. Instead, put it aside and, when the time is right, revisit it. You might be surprised what story you can tell.
See you next month.
Here’s a cover peek.
Tracy’s Books
Tari Lynn Jewett: Featured Author
February 1, 2024 by Tari Jewett in category Charmed Writer by Tari Lynn Jewett, Featured Author of the Month tagged as #Charmed Writers, #FireworksintheFog, #HeromsaForTheHolidays, #PleaseSayYes, Love and Mud Puddles, romantic comedy, Tari Lynn Jewett
Tari Lynn Jewett lives in Southern California with her husband of nearly thirty years (also known as Hunky Hubby). They have three amazing sons, a board game designer, a sound engineer and a musician, all who live nearby. For over fifteen years she wrote freelance for magazines and newspapers, wrote television commercials, radio spots, numerous press releases, and many, MANY PTA newsletters. As much as she loved writing those things, she always wanted to write fiction . . . and now she is.
She also believes in happily ever after . . . because she’s living hers.
Tari’s newest title is Love and Mud Puddles, available now.
Hannah loves her accounting job, the condo that she purchased herself, and her best friend Melinda. What she doesn’t love is baking. To be fair, she’s never tried. But when her cousin shames her into bringing homemade cookies to the family Christmas Eve celebration, she begins a quest to make the perfect holiday cookie.
Paramedic Josh also occasionally teaches kids’ cookie baking classes at his family’s bakery. When a beautiful accountant mistakenly signs up for a children’s holiday baking class, he realizes immediately that she’s in the right place.
Can this local hero help to save Hannah’s Christmas? Or will it all go up in smoke?
Tari’s other Books
Answer Me This
January 30, 2024 by Dianna Sinovic in category Quill and Moss by Dianna Sinovic, Writing tagged as Dianna Sinovic, short fiction
The deck beckons you to turn over a card. The cryptic symbols on the backs intrigue you, but you aren’t sure you want to wade into the tarot just yet.
A friend gave you the deck yesterday, on your birthday, telling you with a smile, “This will help with your decision.”
Britt knows you too well—that you are often indecisive and in fact have put off this most important action until it is almost too late.
“But I know nothing about fortunetelling,” you sputtered after opening the small box that neatly held the tarot deck.
“All the better,” she said with a knowing nod. “They will guide you.”
And now you stare at the deck, your hands trembling slightly. You feel like a skier at the top of a steep hill: Once you push off, you will be on a downward slope without any ability to stop until you reach the bottom—or hit a tree.
Britt has already nudged you gently. “Start your session with the cards by asking a question.” She winked. “You already know one, right?”
Yes, you do. And, so here you are, whispering the question to yourself. The deck is ready even if you are stalling.
The first card’s smoothness belies the fellow on the other side: a joker. You wonder if you’ve misunderstood the intent. Are these meant for playing a game like poker? Then you notice that the card’s name is the Fool. Ah, that makes sense. Who’s the Fool now?
From some memory your mind dredges up—was it a carney attraction when you were a kid?—you recall that a handful of cards are turned over and from them your fate is revealed.
The memory comes crashing back: The woman with the short-cropped hair and dramatic eye liner, her long, blood-red fingernails tapping the cards as she discussed your future. The musky perfume that infused the small room off the main carnival path.
“Today is here, make the most of it.” Then her frown as she turned over the last card.
You fled before she could pronounce your fate. What had seemed a lark had become menacing. Now, you mull over her cliched answer and realize how spot-on she was: You were indecisive even then.
The Fool’s card is followed by the Six of Wands, then you flip up Judgement, then the King of Cups. Is that enough? Once again, you mine that long-forgotten memory, but the number of cards on the threadbare carney tablecloth is just beyond your grasp.
You decide to turn just one more face up. This time it’s the Wheel of Fortune, reversed.
And now you should have the answer you reluctantly seek . . . somewhere in these images.
The words form in your mind, as though someone or something is dictating them: You are at the cusp of a new beginning. This is your wake-up call; once you take this step, there is no going back, but this is good news. You have long seen your life as one in which you are waiting for the best to come. That changes with today.
And now you are texting Britt. She has posed a question to you, one that will indeed change your life.
“Yes,” you text. “My answer is yes.”
Some of Dianna’s Stories are in the following anthologies:
Featured Books
NISHA’S JUST RIGHT CHRISTMAS TREE
Wide like an elephant and tall like a camel. That would be the perfect Christmas tree.
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