I just saw on the Queen of English’s blog that the Queen is having punctuation classes on a new private blog. She has lots of info on her blog about these classes starting next week, if I remember correctly. Her blog is located at queenofenglish.wordpress.com. Check it out if you need help with punctuation, and really who doesn’t, except for the Queen, I suppose.
Now if I could just find a class on curing procrastination.
Mariella
Today I add more of Margaret and Jason’s story. Look for text in CAPS for new additions to the part I have already posted. Look for ***** to signal where the last submission ended and followed by a new submission. Look for strikethroughs for words I have decided to omit. The next time I add, what is in CAPS today will be in lower case then. What is a strikethrough today will be deleted in the next submission. Hope you like the additions. Leave a comment and let me know.
Please be patient with me. I have a day job that is very busy this time of year. I have taken some time to read erotic romances lately purely for market research, 
something I haven’t done in a while. But more on that in another post. 
Mariella
Drum roll please: Ta ta — A MIRACLE FOR AMANDA, my story based on your votes for heroine and hero, begins today. I have made a few changes to the heroine’s backstory — sadistic mother, not mean father. I think the changes in the abuse suffered by the heroine will make a better story. I hope you agree. Please leave me a comment with your thoughts and opinions. I really want to hear from you.
Without further ado, here are the first 722 words of A MIRACLE FOR AMANDA. WITH ADDITIONS AS OF 4-14 -09, TOTAL IS 1030 WORDS.
A MIRACLE FOR AMANDA
Margaret checked the address on the sheet of paper the PI had given her – 168 Twin Lakes Dr. She looked at the building facing her – #168 over the front door. The sign beside the door read Lattimer Architect Planners. Yeah, this was it, she sighed. She pulled her pink Cadillac CTS into a space in front and turned off the ignition. She glanced at her watch – 4:20 P.M. She was early; it hadn’t taken her as long as she thought it would to drive from O’Fallon to Creve Coeur, but then traffic on the Poplar St. Bridge was going in the opposite direction from her this time of day.
She looked again at the door to the building, rich wood with stained glass panels, nice, very nice. Had Jason Lattimer designed the building, chosen the door?
What’s behind door #1, Monty? She smiled at her feeble attempt to interject humor into a humorless situation as she remembered her favorite game show. She felt the smile contort itself into a frown as she answered her own question — Amanda’s dad and maybe the only chance she has to survive. Tears welled up in her eyes. She rummaged through her purse for a tissue. She pulled out a piece of one and dabbed the corners of her eyes.
Amanda skipped across her mind as a bubbly three-year-old, her face smeared with sauce. After Margaret had qualified as a director of Mary Claire Cosmetics, her unit had celebrated with a bar-be-que at her home. Amanda had played with the children of her unit members. The women in Margaret’s unit had taken on the role of aunts of the little girl since she had had no one besides her mama.
In Margaret’s mind, that little Amanda, healthy as a horse then, morphed into the Amanda now lying in a bed in Children’s Hospital. Sweet and precious ten-year-old little girls shouldn’t be hooked up to IV’s, fighting for their lives, Margaret thought as she blew her nose into the tissue.
“Get a hold of yourself,” she ordered herself. Now was no time to fall apart.
Feel the Fear and Do It Anyway –wasn’t that the title of that book she had read? Feel the fear – it gnawed at her insides and made her hands moist and clammy. It had taken away her appetite and that took some doing. Yeah, she was feeling the fear.
The fear that Jason Lattimer might not be the man she remembered, the man she thought she knew. Maybe he would be angry, cruel, vindictive. She would have started her car and gone back to Children’s if she hadn’t been out of options. If he hadn’t been their only hope.
She put the used tissue into a small trash basket on the seat beside her. She eyed it for a moment and then retrieved it and put it back into her purse. She might need it before this was over.
SHE CHECKED HER MAKEUP ONE LAST TIME IN THE REARVIEW MIRROR BEFORE LEAVING THE CAR. STRETCHING HER LIPS INTO A FAKE SMILE, SHE EXAMINED HER TEETH FOR TRACES OF RED LIPSTICK. SHE DIDN’T SEE ANY, BUT SHE SCRUBBED HER FRONT TEETH WITH HER FINGER ANYWAY FOR GOOD MEASURE. NEXT HER EYES. HER TEARS EARLIER HADN’T MADE HER MASCARA RUN THANKS MAINLY TO MARIE CLAIRE WATERPROOF MASCARA — HER DEAREST COSMETIC FRIEND SINCE AMANDA HAD . . .
“NO, NOT AGAIN,” SHE SAID ALOUD AS SHE WIPED THE TEARS AT THE CORNERS OF HER EYES, GLISTENING IN THE MIRROR WITH HER FINGERTIPS. SHE TOOK A DEEP, STEADYING BREATH. FOR AMANDA. SHE BRUSHED HER FINGERS ACROSS HER LIDS SMOOTHING OUT HER SHADOW A BIT. SHE PATTED THE CONCEALER UNDER HER EYES, TRYING TO ENCOURAGE IT TO ACTUALLY CONCEAL THE DARK CIRCLES THERE INSTEAD OF JUST FLIRT WITH THEM. SHE LOOKED AGAIN – NO SUCH LUCK. SHE GAVE UP. THE FACE IN THE MIRROR WAS AS GOOD AS JASON LATTIMER WAS GOING TO GET TODAY.
LOOKING AT THE FACE LOOKING BACK AT HER, SHE WONDERED FOR A MOMENT IF HE WOULD EVEN RECOGNIZE HER. THE ONLY TIME HE HAD SEEN HER SHE HAD WORN GLASSES, NO MAKEUP EXCEPT A LITTLE BLUSH, AND HER SMILE HAD SHOWN CROOKED TEETH. HER WARDROBE HAD BEEN A DISASTER AND HER SELF-ESTEEM HAD BEEN NON-EXISTENT.
THANKS TO FAT COMMISSION CHECKS FROM MARIE CLAIRE, THERAPY, CONTACTS, AND THE WONDERS OF ORTHODONTICS, SHE WAS THE IMPROVED MARGARET RODGERS. WOULD HE APPRECIATE THE CHANGES IN HER? WOULD HE EVEN NOTICE? DID SHE EVEN CARE? A PAIN IN HER HEART ANSWERED. SHE CARED. STILL.
ENOUGH OF THIS. SHE LOOKED AT HER WATCH. ONLY FOUR MINUTES HAD TICKED OFF. SHE COULDN’T PROCRASTINATE ANY LONGER. TIME TO FACE THE MUSIC. FOR AMANDA.
She grabbed her purse and got out. She closed the door with her hip. She checked her skirt and let out a moan — dirt on her black skirt. She brushed it away with a few swipes of her hand. Her car needed a bath badly, but with everything going on the last month, a car wash was the last of her priorities. She patted the fender, “Sorry, Baby. You’ll be next when Amanda is better.”
Sunlight reflecting off the car’s pearlized pink paint caught her in the eye and she sneezed, her eyes watering. She took the tissue from her purse and again dabbed at her eyes. How dare the sun be this bright and the day be this warm and pleasant while her child was in Children’s dying. It just wasn’t right.
That was why she had come to Lattimer Architect Planners today – to make things right. Big girls can do big things, she reminded herself. Hadn’t she told her unit members that a thousand times? She stood up straight, making the most of her 5 foot 2 inches in heels. She straightened her mid-knee length skirt and buttoned her power red jacket.
She again patted her Caddy as pride in her accomplishments edged out fear from her mind and heart. Yeah, she had done big things with Marie Claire in the last ten years. She could face Jason Lattimer. For Amanda. For a miracle.
*********
I should be writing that story I promised you, but I’m not. I should be writing my next submission to my critique group, but I’m not.
What am I doing instead? I’m writing a new post to my blog.
Why? That’s a no-brainer. It’s easier. In the short-term, it’s as satisfying, too. When I see a comment or look at the increase in hits, I feel all warm inside. “See,” I tell myself, “someone is reading what you write.”
But is that what I want to be — a blog writer — forever? No, of course not.
I wonder how many would-be authors allow their blogs to satisfy their need to write and be read by others. How do authors with blogs discipline themselves to divide their time between their blogs and their writing projects?
If you have an answer, please let me know in a comment. I’ll even acknowledge your contribution in my story and book when I finish them.
Thanks, Mariella
On March 9th my husband Neal and I will celebrate our 24th wedding anniversary.
An outline of our romance would look like this: boy meets girl in bar, boy is girl’s first after seven months of dating, boy says he needs space when girl becomes clingy, but they still see each other, boy leaves girl because he is transferred to Germany, girl falls apart and cries every night until friend fixes her up with an officer, girl finishes her masters degree and plans a trip to England, boy is on temporary duty in England 2 hours from where she will stay, friends of boy who are stationed in England plot to bring the two together, by the time she goes to England, girl has broken up with the officer, when girl gets to England, boy calls and they agree to see each other, girl totals her friend’s car driving to where he is but isn’t injured, a friend of a friend takes her to his barracks, he misses her and has to run up the stairs to catch her, on the landing of the 3rd floor he hands her four roses (that’s another story) but can’t speak he is so out-of-breath, girl falls in love all over again, but much wiser this time, they spend 2 weekends together before she goes back to the States, 4 months later he proposes on Halloween, she goes to Germany on December 26th to plan wedding.
We married on March 9th in my hometown. Neal left the next weekend and I didn’t see him again until June 11th. We began our marriage for real in Germany, away from family and friends. I remember our first fight, but not what it was about. I grabbed my car keys and was going to leave in a drama-queen huff. It dawned on me three steps from the door that I was in a foreign country, didn’t know German, hadn’t made any friends, so where exactly was I going? I realized that it was sink or swim together. We swam!
We are spending this weekend doing “us things.” He has promised to give me some inspiration for when I write later.
So now you know why you didn’t see any character bios in this post as I had hinted at in the previous post.
If you haven’t expressed your opinions on the topics of the previous blogs, please do that before you leave. Thanks.
Bye for now. Got to go and soak up some inspiration.
Mariella
PS: If you’re a writer, where do you get inspiration for your love scenes? If you’re a reader, what makes a good love scene in your opinion? I really need to know because there will be one in the story I post here. Remember, you are acting as co-writer on this project by giving me your opinions.
I am so excited you decided to visit me! If you are new to my blog, welcome. If you have visited before, I’m glad you’re back.
I write romance stories, most of which started as erotic fantasies. With your help, I’ll write one for you. I’ll explain.
I started this blog to help me get over writer procrastination — that’s the truth. I think of great stories all the time, but I never take the time to write them down. Now that I am working with an editor as part of her critique group, you would think that procrastination wouldn’t be a problem — you’d be wrong. I still wait until two or maybe three days before to start writing my next submission. Bad writer, bad writer, as I slap my hand.
I’m good at doing things for people, though. If I asked you to help me write a story by answering a few questions and you did answer them, then I would obliged to write you that story. Many of my visitors have voted! You have no idea how excited I am every time I see a new comment! It makes my day, really.
For those of you who visit and don’t vote, I’d like to know why. Please leave me a comment letting me know why, especially if your comment would make my blog better or my writing better.
My blog is also my way to tap into your romance-loving-reading mind. What do you want in the hero and heroine? What type of story do you enjoy reading? If I had answers to those questions, then I would be better able to write a romance story that would appeal to a majority of the readers of romance.
Over the last month, I have posted 4 questions and asked you to vote by leaving a comment. If you haven’t voted, why not vote now? Make your opinions known! They matter to me because, without them, then the story I write isn’t our story. It’s just mine.
Here are the four questions: comment on all or one in your comments. 1. Who is your favorite hero type: vampire, werewolf, or human? Just to let you know, human is leading.
2. What is your favorite backstory for him? I chose backstories for humans because the human hero was leading. Both backstories are found in the post titled How Conflicted Is Your Favorite Hero?.
3. What type of hero is your favorite? Sweet and mild or hot and spicy or somewhere inbetween?
4. What is your favorite type of backstory for her? One is a reunion story and the other is a secret baby story. Read the details in the post The Heroine Has Issues — You Decide Which Ones.
Okay, you have the four questions — why not leave your opinion in a comment? Your comments will help decide the story I write. Do you feel the power in your hands?
Check back — I’ll post the hero’s bio and the heroine’s bio next. See you soon.
Bye, Mariella
Yes, today is Sunday and time for the last question to complete the story puzzle — the heroine’s backstory. More about that later.
Those leaving comments this week have chosen a heroine who is “sweet and spicy,” as E Ayers called her. Susi M’s comment was great — I hope you take a minute and read it under last Sunday’s post. Susi wants the heroine experienced but not brassy.
Both women read my mind as I thought about the perfect heroine to go with our hero — the architect, former male stripper, who has lost everyone he has loved and is afraid to love another. He still thinks about the woman who comforted him the night he buried his mother who had died from breast cancer. In that backstory, I added that he would meet her again when she walks into his office nine years later.
Now, on to her backstory. What are the issues in her past that shaped her when she took our hero home that night? What issues shape her when she meets him again nine years later? Please leave your vote in a comment. Here are your choices:
1. She watched her mother go from man to man when she was a child. She learned that men always leave, even the ones who say they will stay forever, like her daddy. She is determined to make it on her own. She has had a few short-lived flings but refused to get seriously involved even with the one or two men who cared for her. She thinks that shielding herself is the best way to protect herself from the kind of hurt her mother went through every time a man left her.
She goes to the club for a bachelorette party for her best friend. When a male stripper asks if he can buy her a drink, she says yes, flattered by his request as he is obviously several years younger than she is. When he makes his move, she takes him to her place.
But then things vere off their usual course. When the young man can’t perform, she immediately takes it personally. In a moment of self-doubt, she asks if it was something she did. He says no way, then breaks into tears and says that he buried his mom that morning. Stunned by his raw emotions, all she can think to do is hold him as he cries. When he regains his composure, she listens as he spends most of the night taking about his mom and dad, both who are dead now.
Before he leaves, he asks for her phone number. She gives it to him, knowing that he has breached the wall around her emotions. When he doesn’t call, she tells herself to be glad she didn’t get his last name; she might have been tempted to look him up in the phone book. But deep down she is utterly disappointed.
Nine years later, she wants to make her dream come true –owning a luxury spa with all the amenities common in the best spas around the world. She has worked hard for fifteen years as a massage therapist and has saved her money. Her friend insists she talk to the architect who designed her new home. She even makes the appointment for her. When she walks into his office, she instantly recognizes him as the dancer from the club. As she’s about to turn and walk out, feeling set up by her friend, he says, “I was just about to toast you. Want to join me in a glass of champagne?”
Is he just offering a glass of the bubbly, or more? The walls she has built around her heart are no longer protection; they have become a prison, one she wishes to be free of. But she’s not sure she wants him to open the door to her heart again.
or
2. She was emotionally abused by her father, told she was ugly and fat. When she lost her baby fat and slimmed down during her teenage years, he reminded told that her pimples were bigger than her boobs. She became so shy and withdrawn around men that they barely paid her any attention.
Only when she went to a promotion party for her boss at a strip club did she get a glimmmer that her life could change. A male stripper, younger than she was by a few years, asked to buy her a drink. They danced and talked. Maybe it was the three Jello shots that made her more at ease than she had ever been before, but she really enjoyed herself and he seemed to also.
Then she got sick to her stomach and barely made it to the restroom before losing her supper. Embarassed, she planned to grab her purse, call a taxi, and go home. When he offered to take her home though, she said yes. She felt comfortable with him.
He made her scrambled eggs and toast. She felt better after she ate. They made love. As he dressed to leave, he hesitated. She asked what was wrong, had she done something wrong. He said no, she had been wonderful. His mother would have liked her. Then he started crying and told her about his mother’s burial that morning. She held him and let him cry and talk the rest of the night. Before he left the next morning, he asked for her number. She felt as if she had died and gone to heaven.
Two weeks later, when she had missed her period and he hadn’t called, she felt like she had been sent to hell.
She has a daughter who looks just like him except that the child has her red hair. She is a good mother and a successful sales person with a cosmetics company. Their life has been a good one until just a few months shy of her daughter’s 8th birthday. Her child is diagnosed with leukemia.
She has been tested but isn’t a blood marrow match for her daughter. Her daughter’s doctor suggests testing the father. She hires a PI to find the father, an easy job since the man still lives in town. She steels herself before she enters his office, expecting the worse. She prays that he will agree to be tested, but want nothing in return. Because nothing is all she’s willing to him now. He broke her heart once; she won’t give him chance to do the same to her daughter.
OHHH, such good backstories for the heroine. Which one will you choose? Please leave me a comment with your vote. Remember, your vote could determine which backstory I use for the heroine for the story I will post here.
Come back next Sunday to see which backstory is the winner. Mariella
When I started this blog on February 8th, I really didn’t know who would visit it, if anyone. I was simply doing what other authors and my favorite editor had told me to do. Get a blog, they said, so that when I had a book about to be published, I would have a place to publicize it.
I resisted for months. I thought designing a blog would be too hard for me, that it would take too much time away from writing, and not be worth all the effort.
I can now say that I was wrong on all counts. WordPress.com makes it super easy to design a blog. Choosing the theme took the longest because I couldn’t make up my mind. I don’t write every waking minute of the day, so I can’t say that my blog is the reason I am nearing a submission deadline and don’t have one yet. The sense of confidence I have gained from watching my hits counter go up is most certainly worth it. People are visiting.
I started this blog just seventeen days ago, and already it has received more than 200 hits. I am so excited. Now, I don’t know if 200 is high or low for a blog seventeen days old. Don’t tell me if it’s low; I don’t want to know. Let me enjoy this moment.
Thank you to all who have visited and will visit again. A SPECIAL THANKS to all of you who have commented. I need your opinions. They will be the basis of my story. I hope you will continue to visit every week for another question or to check out how the story is coming.
Mariella
Another Sunday, another question. Today we leave the guys and move on to the gals. I am getting more and more excited about writing a short story using my readers’ comments as a guide. But I can’t start writing until you tell me what kind of heroine you like the best. With that in mind, this week’s question is to describe your favorite heroine. Using the title of this post as a guide, rate her as either
sweet and mild – she’s shy, not very experienced with men or sex, maybe a virgin, or
hot and spicy — bold and brassy, very experienced with men and sex, just as alpha as the hero, or
somewhere in between the two extremes — describe her, the more detailed the better.
Don’t worry about how she will fit into either back story in the previous question. That question is still open for voting. If your favorite heroine doesn’t fit in the back story that is chosen most often, then I will tweak her just a bit to make her fit. I promise it won’t hurt her at all.
Your choice will definitely impact the hero and the story, regardless of the hero’s back story. So think about the question and then leave me your opinion in the comments. Oh, and if you haven’t voted in the hero’s back story, please leave me a comment to that post, too.
Thanks. Mariella
My big pet peeve, the one that drives me to distraction, is finding grammar, usage, and punctuation mistakes in print. See E’s comment for her pet peeve — less or fewer. Thanks E.
I often wonder where the editor or the proofreader was when I come across a mistake like a missing apostrophe in a contraction or an incorrect apostrophe in a plural noun. Children are taught these rules of using apostrophes, as well as other punctuation marks, in elementary school.
As a writer, I know how hard it is to proof my own work, but in some instances, they seem to be mistakes of ignorance and not carelessness. Signs in grocery stores are notorious for mistakes with apostrophes, for example, Banana’s .89 / lb.
If you have trouble with grammar, usage, or punctuation, I recommend you visit The Queen of English’s blog. You can leave a question in your comment. She will answer your question in a timely fashion. She does have a day job, teaching middle school eighth graders, so give her a day or two to answer. She really takes every question very seriously, as if Western Civilization depended on educated people who use apostrophes correctly. She is a little obsessed, but I guess someone has to be; otherwise, who would correct all those grocery signs? Check her out at http://thequeenofenglish.wordpress.com or click on the link to her blog on this page.
