Leah studied the small gift in her hands. A token, really. Inexpensive bordering on cheap. Certainly not a burden to the giver, requiring more thought than coin. Nevertheless, she wanted—needed—it, and she absolutely hated the fact that she had to ask for it. Anyone paying attention, the ultimate gift, would have known. Anyone truly committed to her happiness would—should—have known. She shook it. Its heft felt hollow, contrived, desperate; not fulfilling as it would have been if spontaneous. Sighing, she flung it against the wall. Even its physical impact disappointed her. "Too little. Too late."
Showing posts with label prose. Show all posts
Showing posts with label prose. Show all posts
Friday, August 28, 2009
Sunday, March 29, 2009
Ah, spring!
Daytime temps are getting to the comfortable, open-the-windows range. Nights are still dipping into the upper 30s. The delta is making the frogs fuck-happy and the underbrush bud.
The forsythia is beginning to bloom and will be at its riotous peak in less than a week, followed immediately by the wild dogwood that glows white-green at dawn and dusk, so much prettier than the cultivated variety. The industrious carpenter ants are marching in search of a place to build their summer encampment. I refuse to surrender my kitchen, not even the dark damp space behind the Bunn, not even if they promise to leave the oat bran alone.
The birch and maple look like they have a 5 o'clock shadow of pale green stubble, but the stubborn oaks are holding out for a few sunny days in the 70s before they concede winter's passage. Fitting, since they're the last to let go in the fall. The curmudgeons of deciduousness. The pines, ever envious that they have no spectacular seasonal displays, are preparing to throw a heavy pollen tantrum that turns the storm water run-off into a piss & cinder soup.
The kids are already pestering to wear shorts and sandals, and the first notes of the weekend lawnmower symphony have been heard, although the blades aren't yet giving up their greenscent nor is the wild onion yet carried on the breeze.
The back meadow is almost ready to burst into a viney, wildflower extravaganza. It was cleared last fall, so while the deer are thrilled, the snakes and frogs and small furry critters are vulnerable to the red-tailed hawks that swoop from one side to the other, occasionally snagging a meaty treat.
And the storms. I adore the storms.
The forsythia is beginning to bloom and will be at its riotous peak in less than a week, followed immediately by the wild dogwood that glows white-green at dawn and dusk, so much prettier than the cultivated variety. The industrious carpenter ants are marching in search of a place to build their summer encampment. I refuse to surrender my kitchen, not even the dark damp space behind the Bunn, not even if they promise to leave the oat bran alone.
The birch and maple look like they have a 5 o'clock shadow of pale green stubble, but the stubborn oaks are holding out for a few sunny days in the 70s before they concede winter's passage. Fitting, since they're the last to let go in the fall. The curmudgeons of deciduousness. The pines, ever envious that they have no spectacular seasonal displays, are preparing to throw a heavy pollen tantrum that turns the storm water run-off into a piss & cinder soup.
The kids are already pestering to wear shorts and sandals, and the first notes of the weekend lawnmower symphony have been heard, although the blades aren't yet giving up their greenscent nor is the wild onion yet carried on the breeze.
The back meadow is almost ready to burst into a viney, wildflower extravaganza. It was cleared last fall, so while the deer are thrilled, the snakes and frogs and small furry critters are vulnerable to the red-tailed hawks that swoop from one side to the other, occasionally snagging a meaty treat.
And the storms. I adore the storms.
I
my mountains.
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Fiction in Three Acts
In November of last year, as anyone who interacts with me for longer than a couple hours knows, I attended the La Jolla Writers Conference. It was my second year attending, and I fully intend to attend every year until I achieve a level of success that warrants an invitation to be one of its presenters. When that happens, I'll gladly contribute my time, energy, and *cough* wisdom in the pay it forward spirit with which this conference was founded.
In that same spirit, I'd like to use this blog to share some of the nuggets gathered from its generous presenters, wildly successful authors who don't have a problem rubbing elbows with people like me.*
The following is taken from a presentation by Stephen J. Cannell. He said the secret to the success of his mystery/thriller novels is that he ensures his story arc follows the pattern of a three act play.
From Wikipedia ...
In that same spirit, I'd like to use this blog to share some of the nuggets gathered from its generous presenters, wildly successful authors who don't have a problem rubbing elbows with people like me.*
The following is taken from a presentation by Stephen J. Cannell. He said the secret to the success of his mystery/thriller novels is that he ensures his story arc follows the pattern of a three act play.
From Wikipedia ...
Three Act Play
In a three act play, each act usually has a different tone to it. The most commonly used, but not always, is the first act having a lot of introductory elements, the second act can usually be the darkest with the antagonists having a greater encompass, while the third act is the resolution and the protagonists prevailing. There is an age-old saying that "the second act is the best", owing to the fact of it being in between a starting and ending act and thus being able to delve deeper into more of the meat of the story since it doesn't need to have as prominent introductory or resolutive portions. Of course this isn't always so since a third act or even a first act can have the common second act characteristics, but the most used is that type of structure.
Act One
Act I comprises the first quarter of the screenplay. (For a two hour movie, Act I would last approximately 30 minutes.)
What happens in Act I?
Exposition--The part of a story that introduces the characters, shows some of their interrelationships, and places them within a time and place. This part of the story introduces the main character, the dramatic premise, and the dramatic situation.
Inciting Incident--an event that sets the plot of the film in motion. It occurs approximately halfway through the first act.
Act Two
Act II comprises the next two quarters of the film.
What happens in Act II (Confrontation)?
Obstacles--In the second act, the main character encounters obstacle after obstacle that prevent him from achieving his dramatic need.
First Culmination--a point just before the halfway point of the film where the main character seems close to achieving his or her goal/objective. Then, everything falls apart, leading to the midpoint.
Midpoint--a point approximately halfway through the film where the main character reaches his/her lowest point and seems farthest from fulfilling the dramatic need or objective.
Act Three
Act III comprises the final quarter of the film.
What happens in Act III (Resolution)?
Climax (Second Culmination)--The point at which the plot reaches its maximum tension and the forces in opposition confront each other at a peak of physical or emotional action.
Denouement--The brief period of calm at the end of a film where a state of equilibrium returns.
Will & I sat at a greasy spoon a day later picking apart our already-published work to see if and how it fit this structure. While it's not a set-in-stone formula, I think it has its merits both for an overall story arc and for an isolated sex scene. We spent far more time, though, staging the final chapters of our next release, Spring Training. I think it's a better book as a result. *tips hat* Thank you, Stephen J. Cannell.
Next, The Psychology of Character Motivation.
Next, The Psychology of Character Motivation.
---
* Hey, I said I wasn't going to "participate" on her blog ... not that I wasn't going to "read" it. But, twisting words seems to be a talent of hers. Ironically, it's also what gets her knickers in a twist when someone else does it. Ah, hypocrisy. It's everywhere. Just like the authors who have no problem attending workshops and picking the brains of those who actually have some of the experiences about which they're writing -- then looking down their noses at same. *snort* To them, I say: Lead, follow, or get the fuck out of my way.
Sunday, October 07, 2007
Andi's Up!
Andrea Spring doesn't love baseball, but she sure loves baseball players. When her carefully-crafted casual sex life gets rocked by unexpected forces, she meets the challenge with her unique style. There's nothing conventional about this woman. When Andi plays, everybody wins.Available now from Phaze, FictionWise, All Romance eBooks, and MobiPocket.
October, 2007
ISBN 978-1-59426-772-7
$5 (38K words)
EXCERPT:
Andrea Spring lifted her head and, sweeping her dark hair from her eyes, peeked over the broad shoulder of the shortstop in search of the clock. Six fifty-three, if it could be believed. With a sigh, she carefully removed the second baseman's arm from her waist and eased her nude body toward the foot of the king-sized bed. Neither man stirred as she extricated the meat from their human sandwich, chuckling as her foot landed on a sticky condiment.
She wondered how long she'd slept. Couldn't have been more than a couple hours, since it was already approaching midnight when they reached the hotel where the team was staying during its three-game series with the Sox. The final game in that series started in just over six hours, so she'd soon have to rouse her sleeping studs if she was to receive the type of farewell fuck she desired.
The used condom adhered to the bottom of her foot, and she hopped as she peeled it off. Closing the door as quietly as possible, Andrea flicked on the bathroom light and blinked as her eyes adjusted to its garish brightness. She splashed cold water on her face, finger-brushed her teeth with the tiny tube of complimentary toothpaste, and used the bidet to freshen up before returning to find the vacancy she'd created unchanged.
Slipping her body between the fine specimens of male flesh, she squirmed until she rested on her back and took a cock in each hand. "Batters' up," she whispered.
She wondered how long she'd slept. Couldn't have been more than a couple hours, since it was already approaching midnight when they reached the hotel where the team was staying during its three-game series with the Sox. The final game in that series started in just over six hours, so she'd soon have to rouse her sleeping studs if she was to receive the type of farewell fuck she desired.
The used condom adhered to the bottom of her foot, and she hopped as she peeled it off. Closing the door as quietly as possible, Andrea flicked on the bathroom light and blinked as her eyes adjusted to its garish brightness. She splashed cold water on her face, finger-brushed her teeth with the tiny tube of complimentary toothpaste, and used the bidet to freshen up before returning to find the vacancy she'd created unchanged.
Slipping her body between the fine specimens of male flesh, she squirmed until she rested on her back and took a cock in each hand. "Batters' up," she whispered.
Monday, September 03, 2007
Bound for Success released
A stand-alone continuation of the tale which began with Brio & Belegon's most popular novella, Artistically Inclined. Pittsburgh's daring duo is back in a hot-blooded romance with a penchant for ties that bind! When Cyndi's nerves about her gallery opening get the better of her, Kevin takes matters into his own hands, replacing one tension with another and setting the stage for a very eventful evening.Available now from Phaze ($3)
Length: 19K
Tuesday, February 21, 2006
Monday, December 05, 2005
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