Just for fun....

.......here's a clip about dating......

being miyagi'ed

Not Another Happy Ending.....

I wanted to avoid it at all costs.  It is apparently a sign of depth of writing when a book ends badly.  In other words, happy endings are for wimps and amateurs.  So I was not going to happily resolve anyone's broken heart in this novel.  In real life, when one has a broken heart, another prince charming does not always appear.  The lost fortune is not always recovered.  The villain does not always learn his lesson or get his due.

But I cannot deny the inevitable.  One of my characters is going to find true love.  I may as well accept it as fact and continue to write.  Perhaps I can balance it by having one of the other characters lose a limb or obtain a giant goiter......

Respite for Writing

A queen bed, a laptop, solitude, and free continental breakfast.

My children and I are taking a trip to one of our favorite towns today, and after I deposit them at the houses of friends, I will wander through some old haunts for a bit......check in is not until 3:00.  Then I will check into an economical but sufficient hotel room and write.  Free wifi is available but I will only make limited use of that.  I need to get lost in the minds and worlds and investigations of The Cat Burglars.  It is time to make R4 sweat a bit.

Of course, I will have to venture out for some homemade chips and mexicali dip.  That is a given.  But then I will again sequester myself until my eyes droop, at which time I will crawl into bed and sleep.

I never said that......

Hello, Rory.  I see you have stumbled upon the blog.....

I assume that my penultimate or so post did not amuse you.  Well, I am sorry.  I never said YOU were Rory.  Yes, I used some snippets here and there of real life experiences.  I always do.  Everything I write has a piece of me in it, though many writers would call that "ego" or "poor writing."  But that is my way.

Here is the conundrum.  Or one of them.  If you do not see yourself as Rory.......then there is no need to assume that I do.  I am writing fiction.  And it is fiction.  Are there aspects of reality?  Of course.  Unless one is writing complete fantasy disbelief can only be suspended so far, can it not?  And besides, this is MY journey.  MY public exploration of the ins and outs of my thinking and imagination.  Am I to remove parts of one of my crucial characters because a conscience or an ego may be pricked?  I think not, dear one.

You are not Rory.  Have no fear.  Your well-formed reputation and station are intact.  As long as mine are.  Yes, those particular lines should be easy to decipher.  But in the art of subtlety, you may want to remember that changes in routine are a dead giveaway.  Sp play nice and speak when you are spoken to.

About Last Night...

I may take a break from Nano today....but not from writing.  I haven't decided.

You see, I had the most amazing night last night.  I feel like Scarlet O'Hara the morning after the trip up the stairs with Rhett.  I feel as if I have been given a gift and had forgotten it was my birthday.

I would blog a bit longer, but I need to dance.

The Modus Operendi

I do not spell the word operendi in everday writing, so I do hope the spelling is correct.

When I was in college *%^&^)&^^*$ years ago, I knew a boy named G.  He was suave and handsome and charming and......trouble.  He had a carefully devised plan with which he wooed the various women of the Baptist Student Union.  I thought it was odd after the fact....like a script he followed.  And yet this must be fairly common, for R4 follows a script as well....one he tweaks to his satisfaction depending on the woman.

Casual conversation

Compliments

Intellectual banter

Mild flirting

Investigating interests

Investigating tastes

Cryptic communications with music

More personal flirting

Throwing out the "sexual talk fleece"

Adapting as necessary

Vague talk of wanting to be with someone special

Mention of trips and time together

More sensual talk

More explicit music

Movie clips - preferably from 9 1/2 Weeks

Never quite expressing intent, never quite making promises

And what woman would NOT interpret his actions as romantic intent?  Perhaps a survey is in order.....

At any rate......R4 has become quite adept at taking things to "the next level" whenever it suits his needs, and one wonders if even he is quite certain of his own sincerity.  The conundrum now is to decide between the prosaic predictability of R4 realizing he has met his match......or the more realistic option.  A man with no heart cannot fall in love.  And in the final analysis, does it matter?

After all, he is merely a tool in the story rather than the focus.  The focus is the four strong women who continue to live......

Which is why Judith has scheduled the tea party for tomorrow.

A Character's Inner Musings

I feel gloriously giddy today and find myself smiling at the oddest moments.  Or is it that I am smiling all the time and only notice it at odd moments?  As a middle age woman,  these...feelings that it seems I have not experienced since adolescence cause me to feel alive and young and sensual.  I find myself fighting the urge to throw caution to the wind, something I used to do with abandon but rarely allow myself to do now.  Always the collection of data, always the risk assessment, never just...flying.  And now I want to fly.

I feel like a long dormant volcano, whose almost imperceptible roiling on the surface mask a hot, frenzied, lava-filled depth.  The heat within is opening cracks and fissures that.....will eventually give way to an eruption that can only be described as spectacular.  I am playing with fire....and I am not afraid.  I am glowing in its heat.  Energized.  Transformed.

Let the games begin.

Distractions.....distractions.....

I confess that I did some writing unrelated to Nano today.  And as I posted it on another blog, I scrolled down to a story written awhile ago.  And I thought that perhaps my detour wasn't completely in vain.  That perhaps a reminder of the way a woman might view R4 could help my nanonovel.  I reread the first part of a short vignette written early in the summer.  And R4 was there with bells on....except that his name was Mitch.  And this time it was Beth's head that was....spinning.  The excerpt is below.



Beth sat at the bar, stirring her diluted drink.  It was 11:30, later than she usually stayed up, and everyone else had gone to their respective rooms.  She wasn’t sure why she hadn’t, but the noise of the bar soothed her restlessness somehow.  It had been an enjoyable night, commiserating with friends, laughing, even a bit of dancing.  She really should go to bed; they were all supposed to eat breakfast together the next day.  Maybe after she finished this drink.  As she watched the last piece of ice spin around the center of the glass, a voice interrupted her thoughts.

“You’re still here?  I thought you’d be settled into you room like everyone else.” Mitch sat down beside her.  She eyed him for second and then shrugged, turning back to her lone piece of ice.  “Waiting for someone?” He asked casually.

As she smiled and shook her head, the thought floated through the back of her mind that she might have been waiting for him, and the thought annoyed  her.

“That drink looks sad,” he commented, motioning to the diluted liquid in her glass.  “You like beer?”

Beth made a face.  “Not particularly.”

“You’ll like this one.”  He caught the bartender’s eye and used a name Beth had never heard before.  The bartender smiled at Mitch and plunked a bottle in front of each of them.  They were cold, and they smelled like……beer.  But Mitch seemed to be waiting for her, so she took a sip.
Crap.  It was good, really good.  And that annoyed her too.  She took another sip reluctantly.

“Well?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.

“It’s the best beer I have ever tasted,” she said, smiling.  But when he grinned smugly she made a face again and said, “but it’s still disgusting.”

He threw back his head, laughed, and took a long pull of the beer.  He knew she was lying, but in true gentlemanly form didn’t say anything.  She felt a little sheepish and took another sip.  Then, without warning, she yawned.  Ugh, she always yawned when she was nervous.

“Sleepy, Beth?”

“No…..not really.”

He turned back to his beer, and she watched him out of the corner of her eye.  How the hell did he get into her head anyway?  He wasn’t exactly her type…..a little too skinny, a little too sure of himself, and probably smarter than she was, which irritated her most of all.  And it wasn’t as if she didn’t have “tricks” of her own, tricks that she had used with a respectable degree of success in other situations.  But she had subtly – and a few times not so subtly – used almost all of them on Mitch, and he seemed……amused at best most of the time.  He was really infuriating.  While she sat there silently fuming, she became aware that he was saying something.

“You aren’t hearing a word I’m saying, are you?” He laughed.  “You’re somewhere else.”

“Just thinking.” Damn.

“About anything of significance?” He raised his eyebrow again.

“Not really…just thinking.” Damn.

“Well….you look tired.  Maybe you should go to sleep.”

God, what an irritating man.  Beth took a long pull of her beer, set it down a bit more forcefully than necessary, and walked away without a word.  After several steps she turned back to watch him for a moment.  Mitch was still drinking his beer, chatting with the pretty bartender.  She laughed and took Beth’s unfinished beer off the counter.  And on an impulse, Beth fished a card out of her purse and walked back toward Mitch.

He startled when she put her hand on his shoulder, and before he could say anything, she leaned down and gave him a smoldering kiss, pulling away when he recovered from the shock and began to kiss her back.  She put her lips next to his ear, pressed the card into his hand, and said, “This is the extra key to room 1629.  In fifteen minutes we’ll either be having sex, or I’ll be asleep.”  And then she turned on her heel again and walked away, willing herself not to slow down or look back all the way to her room.

Back in her room, she did not allow herself to speculate as to whether he would come to her room or how she would look at him the next morning if he didn’t.  She pulled off her dress, bra, and panties and tossed them onto the bed.  Fishing her pajamas out of the suitcase, she thought about whether or not she would be able to sleep.  Oh well, she had her pills if necessary.  Her pajamas on, she walked to the closet and hung her dress on the rack.  Her undies were placed in the laundry bag provided, and her shoes were placed neatly next to each other.

Beth heard the door click as she was brushing her hair, but she did not stop what she was doing.  She kept brushing with long, quick strokes until Mitch’s face appeared in the mirror.  He held up the key before placing it on the bathroom counter.  She put down the brush, facing him and challenging him to kiss her – she’d had enough of this dance.

The Exhaustion Conundrum

No I am not exhausted from writing; writing typically energizes me.  But I find myself in a bit of a puzzling fix...

I am finding that I am quite impressed with R4's.....stamina?  It is exhausting to write about the man wooing four different women.  Four.  Keeping up with what he has and hasn't already used in his cat-repertoire with each of them.  remembering the details and desires from each of them without confusing them.  I have to wonder.....how might the world be a different place if such powers were harnessed for good.  Of course he must slip up eventually.  I remember the third time someone sent me the same romantic tune.  He SEEMED smarter than that, so I had wondered for a fleeting moment if he was sending music to a variety of women.....

But I digress.  The next step for R4 is to decide which woman to whom he should suggest a nice trip.  Nothing too extravagant because quite frankly he cannot afford it.  He will not be able to afford the extravagant trips until farther into his plan.  Besides, even for someone like him, juggling this many virtual fantasies can take its toll.  He was hungry to actually touch one of these women.  Or all of them, preferably.  But patience had always been a productive companion for him in the past, so he vowed to remain careful.

Judith.  Judith was a widow.  And for her age she was quite a beautiful woman.  And she had mentioned that her late husband had taken good care of her.  A trip to the coast would not require exorbitant funds, and Judith had remarked that she loved the ocean.  So Richard sat down to craft a romantic email to Judith.  But he must hurry....he had a scheduled Skype with Madeline at 2:00.

Behind the Music

Rory.....Rory has a habit of expressing himself through music.  As does Sharon.  As do many.  And now, their secret....

Secret

Writing was Grimm yesterday....

First, I watched Grimm last night.  I could easily become addicted.  It's dark, it is based on fairly tales, and the MC/grimm has that dark, complicated, young-Bronte-hero aura about him.  Yummy - yes, I said yummy.  Make something of it.

In other news I have much writing to do today.  I MUST finally address the professor.  I cannot decide what she teaches.  Music or English would be too obvious....math and science.  Well let's say that I lack the capacity to write about such things in any believable way....no matter how much someone suspends his or her disbelief.  So....perhaps theater.  Yes, that would work.  I am good friends with two theater teachers AND I have been in a variety of musicals and plays.  I could fake - er - write a drama teacher.  Of course!  And how ironic that a theater professor could not spot an "actor" when he appears in the form of Rory.  Of course, the British version of my cad must woo the theater teacher.  Accents and acting go together like peas and carrots (I love you, Jenny).

And speaking of Rtothe4thpower.....I need to refine his approach with each of these women.  That means I need to step back as a canine and observe the tree....the tree where all the felines hang out.  Yes, I ended a sentence with a preposition.  As a poet at heart, I employ poetic license whenever it suits me.  And it suits me now.  If Mozart can cross voices I can end a sentence with a preposition.  Or something like that.  R4's basic makeup is standard in all four cases.  Just silent enough to be intriguing, approximating some sort of alluring profundidty when he speaks/writes.  Good looking enough to attract but not too pretty.  Creative, perhaps in music or writing.....but also very logical.  He possesses this authority in his mannerisms that instills trust in these women.  He is gifted at crafting his words so that promises are implied but never made.  He is sensual and, at times, overtly sexual though never so much so that he could be hemmed in by his own words.  he prefers the more cryptic modes of communication. He reads these women very well.  As the song I posted would indicate, he is, in fact, a smooth operator.

Somewhat like this man....

R's Mentor

Stay Thirsty, My Friends...

ADD - Adoration Duplicity Disorder

I saw a thread that had begun on the nanowrimo site asking "Am I the only one who gets incredibly horny when writing" or some such carnal nonsense.  Very unseemly indeed.  I would never stoop to such crass verbiage.  I did, after all attend charm school and avail myself of the variety of "scholarship opportunities" involving, talent, evening gown, and swimsuit competitions.  I am a southern belle.

However, there is something "refined" about the act of writing, even if the subject matter is not refined.  It makes me feel elevated and creative and feminine and deep and philosophical and quite susceptible to the odd fascination.  Or crush, as a less vocabulary-laden and effusive person might say.  It is not merely for sport, however.  I find that a little mental detour into what some of my friends call "PEA's" (for phenaltha.....something that is a brain chemical that makes us mushy and swooning) makes for much better writing.  I am not sure why.  Thankfully the object of my affection this time appears to be a method acting type of fictional character manifestation.  And that is all the information that you - dear reader - will glean.  I have learned to manage my long-worded scientifically named brain chemicals.  I am almost entirely partially certain of this fact.

At any rate, I am certain this rogue would be far to intent on remaining in character to detect such frivolity from me, so I plan to enjoy my private swooning throughout November and "fly under the radar" until such time as I have been catapulted into PEA-driven victory over my 50,000 word opponent.

Rory!

Rory - thank God!  I was curling my hair for work and the name just hit me.  I like that name.  And it would be fun for one of his "personas" to have a British accent.  How does one write in a British accent, you ask?  Well, I will be thinking in a British accent "WHILST" I write.  And when I bring 'round the chips for dinner.  After which time I will go to the loo.  Then the lorry will come by to pick up our rubbish, and I will be off to class at university.

See how well that works?

I just wanted to alert those blog readers so that I would not be inundated with thousands of R-name suggestions from all of my fans.  Besides, someone was bound to suggest Ralph.  And, not to offend, but there is no way a man named Ralph is scoring multiple women online.  It just isn't possible.

Cheers!

still behind....but not as far

Ah......there is nothing like updating a word count that at least approximates the idea of being "on track."  An entire month of sitting in a registrar's office wondering if someone will register to vote......only to be busier than usual once Nanowrimo beings.

I am pondering my characters and their vulnerabilities today, and imagine my surprise when the Today Show featured a woman who began a program called Investidate.  She teaches women how to check up on their potential online dates.  It is a very interesting concept.  Of course, there was a psychologist on the show as well decrying the lack of trust of employing such a program.  My four characters would roll their eyes at each other and speculate that said psychiatrist had obviously never met Richard...or Robert...or Randall.....or....anyone have another good R name?  Of course, the psychologist was quite beautiful even with the slightly large mouth.  And I am certain the label on her dress displayed a size in the single digits - the very low single digits.  Ah, if only cynicism burned calories ;)

It is time for me to describe the professor, as she is the only woman who has not yet made an appearance on this blog.  But I will need to think on her for a bit longer.  You see.....she lives in a place that is very close to home.

Curiosity Killed the Cat Burglar

Nothing whatsoever to do with the novel, but now I have gone and done it.....

Last May, I was driving my two teens home from school.  It had been senior awards day.  My daughter, who is decidedly ho-hum about dating and boys, was chattering about the coach's son.  He won athletic awards and academic awards.  He was apparently smart and funny and sarcastic.....and one day when he was walking down the hall he burst into an opera song.  I jokingly said, "Opera?  Then you are allowed to date him."  A look I had never seen passed over her face - a dreamy, slightly dazed, look.  I stifled my laughter as I watched my 'who cares about boys" daughter transform into....mush.

"Mom, he's intriguing.  He fascinates me."

Oh GOD, I thought.....

See, I know that sentiment.  I cannot possibly enumerate the number of times that that type of thinking has led me down a rosy and hazy and dream filled path.......right off a cliff!  Shall I never learn.  A wiser woman would run, hide, change her identity, wear a disguise, as soon as those seeds of fascination began to.....sprout.  But it is so much fun to be fascinated, to be curious, to be intrigued, to solve the quintessential mystery......who IS he? I had no idea this resided in my DNA, but it must be.  I have unwittingly passed on this treacherous curiosity to my poor daughter.

As we say in the deep south...bless her heart.

Now, as I was saying, who IS he?

Special Circumstances

Kimberly sat in the office of Highland Woods Elementary School.  Again.  Was the secretary looking at her?  Probably.  She had managed to avoid the pricipal's office during her entire career as a student, but as a parent......

Oppositional Defiant Disorder.  Most people thought it was just fancy talk for brat.  Kimberly knew better, though it had taken her awhile to get there.  Joshua could be such a sweet boy.  But stress triggered his defiance, and she know that she had certainly aggravated the stress in his poor little life over the past few weeks. His first episode with the disorder had been during her divorce, when he hated seeing her cry.  And she had cried more over the last few weeks than she had cried since her husband had left her three years earlier.  And Joshua had spent more time with the counselor and the principal than he had since kindergarten.  Thought caused Kimberly's eyes to well again, and she wiped them discreetly.  And wondered about Robert.  Did he even care how much he had hurt her?  Did he care that her son's world was turned upside down??

Do you have the ring?

It was time to mail the ring back to Jonathan.  Madeline knew that.  It had been his grandmother's, and she couldn't keep it.  And he wasn't coming back...ever.  She didn't blame him.  He was real, loyal, honorable, and she had tossed him aside.  her mother's voice warning her about "exchanging the truth for a lie" rang in her ears.  God.....her mother being right was almost as awful as losing Jonanathan.  Which was almost as bad as losing Randall.  And that made her saddest of all.  What kind of person mourns the loss of a ghost more than they mourn the loss of the person who was supposed to be with them "till death do us part"??

And why couldn't she cry? Even when Jonathan had stormed out after confronting her, even when he had come back with the proof that Randall was....not Randall, Madeline had not shed a tear.  She wanted to cry;  she wanted to wail and rant and throw things and beg Jonathan to come back to her.  He wouldn't, of course, and crying was a waste of energy, and who knew what had happened to Randall, or whatever the hell his name was.  Besides, chatting with Randall had gotten her into trouble at work more than once, and crying at her desk would not help.  For the first time in Madeline's life she was looking forward to the horrific schedule of tax season.  Thinking about numbers would keep her from thinking about anything else.

Who Are You?

I really wanna know........

Oh, sorry, got sidetracked by The Who.

Actually, I do that when writing.  I get very involved in who the characters are: what they look like, how they sound, how they think, all of it.  So rather than fight it, I think I'll just go ahead and make that my first goal.....to spend the first part of this nanovel at least giving the reader a glimpse of these four women and their stories, and, by default, the cad who brought them together.

So there are many questions....how does one make them all unique, but similar enough that one man would have targeted them all?  Are there certain weaknesses, vulnerabilities, that make them appealing?  That seems to be the case in real life......or at least in most Lifetime movies or Law & Order episodes.  What kinds of things can a 62-year-old widow, an accountant, a professor, and a single mom have in common, besides the generally typical trait of being female and wanting companionship? There must of course be some overlap in their stories.  How else would they have discovered each other?  And what sort of epiphanies will they each need to have to realize that Good Old Robert/Richard/Randall isn't who he claimed to be?

At least Judith's epiphany is clear.  I hinted at it on my nano page.  She discovers that an important account, an account that her late husband had set up and the account to which she had given Richard access, is empty.  It had been systematically and gradually cleaned out over a series of a few months.  I picture her sitting in silence as the bank manager explains.....she examines the ring on her hand.  Did Richard really buy that for her, or did she unknowingly buy it for herself?  And the trips?  Did she fund those getaways as well?  How much of what was supposed to sustain her was Richard still carrying around as he was doing God only knows what?  And did he even care....was ANY of it true?

Adding a meow into the mix

Bad pun, bad pun....it will happen frequently over the next 30 days.

I tossed nobility and heart warmth out the window last night after some though and an informal survey or friends. So the Cat Burglars' Club will begin meeting on November 1.  Their first order of business?  Introducing themselves and their respective brushes with Robert Edwards.  Or Richard.  Or Randall.  What are four women to do when hearts a broken, savings are drained, secrets are shared, and questions go unanswered?

They meet in a small sun room for tea and devise a plan.

All Nano's Eve

Today is Halloween.  My mind is filled with images of costumes, zombies, and scenes from Fantasia's Night on Bald Mountain.  I hear cackling, howling, and witches reciting recipes that call for "eye of newt." (She turned me into a newt....I got better).  I can already taste the leftover Nerds and Snickers that I will be forced to eat after accidentally buying too much candy.  I smell pumpkin pie and fireplaces and cinnamon.  I feel a chill in the air (finally!) and the hair standing up on the back of my neck in anticipation of the horror movie my daughter is sure to goad me into watching tonight.....after which I will not sleep well for several nights.

But the truly frightening aspect of Halloween is this.........it is only one more day until November 1.  Only one more day until I had better buckle down and wrote whether I am "inspired or not." One more day until the slowly growing numbers between 1 and 50,000 will encourage,excite,  rebuke, taunt, and annoy me.  I sure do hope the Valkyries of creativity ride over this way very very soon.

Magnolias or Mayehm????

Back and forth...with less than 48 hours to go.  What am I going to write????

My original idea came in a flurry of humor.  Four women, all scammed by the same online Lothario.  After tracking him down a-la First Wives' Club meets The Net meets Stephanie Plum....the FBI makes use of their prowess.  The title? The Cat Burglars' Club.  The cat reference was fitting for personal reasons....reasons gleaned from a brief experience with my own cad.

Then comes the noble idea of personal healing and the idea that spinning a tale that reflected my own recent embarrassment might not be wise.  So the idea of finally spinning a tale based on my own adoption seemed more appropriate...more touching.  Not to mention easier to write.

But.......I see noble as boring.  And embarrassment as humor.  So who knows what will spring from my addled right brain on November 1st.  I certainly have no clue.