Posts Tagged Romance Writing

WRITING CHRONICLES #14: Mysteries of Life

Via: Daily Prompt – Heal

If ever I coveted a superpower, it would be omniscience. I hate not knowing. Absolutely hate it. Each time I learn something new, my sense of accomplishment is so overpowering that I walk around and go to bed with a smile that would give Mona Lisa a run for the money. My engine runs on knowledge and I think it is what keeps me alive. I think this is the reason why I have a fondness for heroines with active brain matters.

I was once accused by a man that I cannot commit to a relationship because romance novels have filled my head with ideas of an implausible hero. This is an unjust accusation to both me and romance novels. First of all, romance novels are awesome and therapeutic. They set standards for both men and women as individual human beings and not for the sake of a relationship equation. There are no ratios to romances and each story is as different from the other as the two persons it comprises of.

Second, I have no problem committing to a relationship. My current manfriend was once my boyfriend, i.e. when we started dating 12.5 years ago he was still in his early twenties resisting to relinquish his late teens. So I think for a person who remained in a relationship without demanding to be made an honest woman out of, I deserve not to have gamophobia thrown outright in my face. My problem is not knowing what will happen after. I don’t fear divorce, I don’t fear unhappy endings. I just can’t abide going into anything without knowing the end result, whatever that may be. When I used to sit in exam halls, I would grade my own paper before handing it in – and I was pretty accurate in my gauges most of the time.

All this doesn’t mean that I’m a person who enjoys using knowledge to put others down, as know-it-alls are prone to do. Nope, I admire people who ask questions to blot out ignorance because I’m one of them. It also doesn’t mean that I go nosing in other people’s business. Other people’s businesses have generally interested me very little throughout my life, to the point where when I recently visited my grandma, I was shocked to learn that my youngest cousin from Mom’s oldest sister now has a two-year-old daughter. And this was not the only family news I had been oblivious to. I couldn’t apologize enough when the level of my callous indifference towards my relatives unfolded at the dinner table where four generations of labors of love were gathered. I’m just a bit interested in the general stuff – you know? knowledge stuff.

You can say my craving for knowledge borders on OCD. I eat peanuts out of a bowl even after I have lost any taste for it just to discover that perfectly sweet crunch. In fact, I cannot open any pack of snacks without hitting the bottom. That motto for Pringle, “Once you pop, you just can’t stop”? Yep, I’m the poster girl for that commercial. I just have to reach the end, even if the ending has been tried, tested, testified to be invariable. Now, thanks to boxed DVDs and Netflix, I also do not watch TV series until the season comes to a conclusion.

Why am I revealing my greatest weakness to the general public? Because it is also the source of my love for reading and writing novels. I love reading romance novels, instead of living one because I know the damn ending. Even if Will Traynor died and conveniently left Louisa Clark all that money to make her dreams come true in Jojo Moyes’s Me Before You, at least we know he will die. The knowledge that the end holds is at our fingertips. And the only place where I may be omniscient is a novel of my own creation, right? Ah, sweet relief.

Must be nice to be God.

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Andy’s Green-eyed Monster

Via: Daily Prompt – Denial

 

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Image: Pixabay

“I think the table is slanting on your side, love,” Bob observed. “Yep. Look at the water in my pitcher. It’s definitely tipped towards you.”

Andy squinted at Bob as she chewed her burger and swallowed. “C’mon, Bob. Let me push some of this stuff onto your side.”

The table was laid in halves. There was Bob’s side, which contained a big bowl of salad – full of crisp romaine, shredded roast chicken, and diced watercresses in a blue cheese dressing – a glass, and a pitcher of ice water, immaculate as his appearance. He would be having a black coffee later. Then there was Andy’s side, laden with a dish of tomato soup, a double patty cheeseburger with the works, a large basket of fries dribbled with salt and vinegar, and a whipped cream topped peach cobbler, the list ending with an ironic Diet Coke. She had an extra plate to pilfer some of Bob’s salad onto. She couldn’t go without her daily intake of the greens.

“No bloody chance,” Bob now shot down her wheedling with a chuckle. “Serves you right for ordering more than you can eat.”

“Oh, puh-lease! I can easily pack away all of it, you just watch. I worked up an appetite in the ring.”

Bob arched an eyebrow, his usual firm smile in place. “Yes, kicking my butt should do that.” He didn’t look like he minded in the least having his butt kicked by a woman as he forked up some lettuce and crunched into the freshness.

He had such great teeth, bright, straight, strong, healthy. Like the rest of him, Andy muttered to herself as she bit into the only type of beef she could allow herself to enjoy. It was the first week of the month. Her period was due any day now. Must explain why she was feeling so… ravenous.

“Tell me what has you so worked up?”

Andy started at his question, blushing profusely. “W-what?”  Read the rest of this entry »

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Andy’s Boxing Ring

Via: Daily Prompt – Ordinary

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Image: Pixabay

Andy clipped her client on the chin, forcing him to throw his head back with the blow. Next, she got down on her haunches and threw one leg out, swiveling it to push her client’s legs out from beneath him. All six-feet-three-inches and two hundred pounds of him came crashing down with an outraged gasp on the boxing ring bed, making her jump up to regain her footing as the structure quivered all around them. Grinning down at Bob around her mouthguard, she prepared herself to face his rebuke. However, he seemed less than inclined to satisfy her irritable mood today.

Bob groaned into a sitting position and rested his elbows on his upraised knees. Spitting out his mouthguard into a gloved fist, he leveled his resigned moss-green eyes up at her. “That must’ve been some meeting you had with your old man yesterday,” was all he commented.

Andy spat out her own mouthguard, disgusted by his consoling tone. She was itching for a thrash-out and he was refusing to take the bait. What must a gal do around here to get an able and willing male opponent in the ring? “Meetings with my dad are nothing if not out of the ordinary. You should know that by now.”

Bob grunted non-committally. He pushed himself off the bed with the sheer strength of his legs alone, his calf muscles bunching and releasing with the effort. Andy tried not to gulp audibly. Her pelvic floor muscles, however, she thought she heard squeak with yearning. Not that she would respond to such yearnings; Bob was her client, after all.  Read the rest of this entry »

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An Absence of Passion

Via: Daily Prompt – Symptom

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Should a slump be considered an absence of passion? I was watching Bones earlier. Episode 10 of Season 12, The Radioactive Panthers in the Party. While the main story revolves around the panthers, the secondary plot shows Bones regressing into deep reflection over the “passion for work” after meeting one of her senior colleagues who has retired upon “waking up one morning and feeling that her heart was no longer in it”. Throughout the program, I was thinking Bones must be considering quitting for good. It is the final season and she is plenty stable, so, yeah. [With a show of hands, how many of you think you might go into withdrawal when the show ends?]

Turns out it’s not her future she’s reassessing but her intern Wendell’s. It was all really well done. I was so sure that Bones was going to make an announcement at the end of the episode. Instead, she ends up advising Wendell that maybe he was having so much trouble choosing a topic for his dissertation because it wasn’t his calling to be a forensic anthropologist, maybe he is not passionate enough about the subject.

It got me thinking about how I left my work to start a new career path. I, like Wendell, was good at what I did but I always wanted to do something else. So now, when I hit a writer’s block, I panic twice as much. I never hit blocks in my old work, I just tackled each problem with my sheer force of logic. But my desperation to be a successful author has me questioning every piece I compose.  Read the rest of this entry »

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TUSH

Via: Daily Prompt – Massive

 

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Image: Wikimedia

To say she had an hourglass or pear-shaped figure would be euphemistic; voluptuous downright misleading. Hourglass was what Lexi’s body looked like when she was fifteen years old, while her bottom had expanded to resemble that of a pear’s before she even turned twenty. Now, at the age of twenty-four, all hopes of ever becoming voluptuous was lost and she was fated to lament over centuries gone by where fleshy women were the vogue. If she was one of Rubens’ Women, Michael would not have left her.

Michael cheated on you, you stupid cow! Thank your lucky star that you dodged that bullet.

Unfortunately, this detail was lost on her mother.

~ Zaireen Lupa, Still Falling for You, work-in-progress

 

 

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Squandered

Via: Daily Prompt – Instinct

Image: Pixabay

“Animals tend to demonstrate natural instincts of self-preservation. So why don’t women when it comes to philanderers?”

~ Zaireen Lupa, Still Falling for You, work-in-progress

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Just Add Salt

Via: Daily Prompt – Nuance

There’s a loaded word. I always felt that nuances exist on the precipice of stereotypes. You take the expectations cultural dogmas have conditioned in you and add a little something-something. Voila! You have nuanced characters for your stories. Personally, I use the following template to guide me when creating my characters. This should help a few writers.

 

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Image: Someone on Tumblr

 

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Harangued (03 min read)

Via: Daily Prompt – Slur

“You know you want to,” the sultry voice whispered in her ear.

Alesia quickly averted her eyes from the man seating at table-06 and looked at Sara. One of Sara’s dark eyebrows was arched and she was sporting a smug smile. “Excuse me,” Alesia asked, trying hard not to look like a caught deer.

Sara swung her long faux locs off a bony shoulder before she launched at Alesia. “Girl, I’ve known you for over two years since you took up waitressing here and I have never seen you look at a man the way you are checking out blondie over there. Don’t play dumb now. Act on it.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Alesia turned away and began fidgeting with the bread display on the counter, hoping her coworker would take the hint and return to whatever she had been doing before snooping around.

Sara didn’t take hints very well. “When was the last time you went on a date?”

“Please, God?” Alesia muttered, rolling her eyes heavenward.

“I’m serious. When was the last time you went on a date?”

God clearly was preoccupied today and the woman next to her was relentless. Answering the question might get Sara off her back sooner. “Maybe a couple of months ago.”

“Make that five.”

Alesia turned back to Sara, mouth agape. “What did you do? Mark it on your calendar?”

“I don’t have to. Your dates are so few and far between, they make for pretty memorable ocassions.”

Spotting a diner preparing to leave, Alesia made her way to the back area to collect the cleaning spray and sponge. “Yes, well, bussing tables at the LaGuardia doesn’t really provide one much opportunity for finding dates.”

Sara followed. “I see what you mean. After all, we only get about a thousand men dining at the Bon Voyage Café daily who fall within your age demography.”

“And over 52% of them are not from New York; not to mention married or otherwise unavailable from the rest of the pool,” Alesia threw over her shoulder. “I read our traffic report from last year too.”

“You’re right. That doesn’t leave nearly enough eligible and local men for you to choose from.”

Sarcastic Sara may be but she did score a statistical point. Alesia bounced back to her usual tactic as she straightened her uniform and grabbed the cleaning products before heading back out. “I don’t have time to date.”

“Everybody has time to date,” Sara retorted, dogged as ever.

Alesia turned and began arguing in an earnest whisper. “What do you want? Do you want me to go ask that guy out? Would that get you to stop haranguing me?”

“I don’t harangue but sure,” Sara replied, crossing her arms over her perky breasts with all the dignity of a self-righteous do-gooder friend.

“For how long?”

“A week.”

“A year.”

Sara snorted.

“You’re right. That is too much to hope for from you. How about six months?”

“Two weeks.”

“What? I won’t take anything less than a quarter year.”

Silence.

“Fine, a month. I ask out that guy and you stop badgering me about my dating life for a month. Regardless of whether or not he is available and interested,” Alesia added with last-minute ingenuity.

Sara mulled it over, humming the tune from Jeopardy!

“It’s my life, Sara,” reminded Alesia on an aggravated sigh.

“Okay. I’ll back down for a month. But you’ll have to really give it a shot. Turn on the full charm and no slurred performance.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Alesia made her way around the counter towards the table that recently emptied, buying time as she wondered how best to approach the stranger. He looked very busy as he clicked and typed away at the laptop before him while silently working his way through the café au lait she served him earlier. Yet he really was a beautiful specimen of a man.

“I knew you wanted to.” She heard Sara call after her.

She did. And it had been ages since a man piqued her interest.

This is a discovery excerpt from a book, Fly Me to the Moon (Book #03),  I plan to write as a follow-up to my novel I’ll Be True. Currently, I’m outlining Book #02 of the series, Coming Home to You.

 

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The Schedule (01 min read)

Via: Daily Prompt – Rhythmic

 

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Image: Pixabay

 

 

05:30 – Wake up, freshen up

06:00 – Go for a run at the park

07:15 – Return home and shower

08:00 – Have breakfast, go through the news

09:00 – Sit down to write

12:00 – Prepare lunch

13:30 – Eat lunch while reading or watching movie/TV shows

16:00 – Take writing outside for a walk or a cafe; on Mondays and Thursdays, do the groceries

19:00 – Prepare dinner and eat while reading; on Fridays, meet up with Joan at a location of her choice

21:00 – Write some more

23:00 – Go to bed, read until falling asleep

Rinse and Repeat.

Life is down to a science, a slow dance to the rhythm of humdrum.

Like the thumps of a ball hitting the wall during a steady game of squash.

On Friday, February 24, 2017, at approximately 20:35, Michele will meet Bob at a bar in Soho.

And her walls will fall apart.

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Lakeside Rendezvous

Via: Daily Prompt- Glitter

 

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Image: Pexels

 

This just wasn’t working. And she certainly could not appreciate her traitorous heart for soaring at the idea that he claimed a right to feel – something – for her. It was not that she simply found it flattering he was pursuing to make her a part of his self-appointed assignment. It was definitely something more, a need to know he felt possessive of her. But that just wouldn’t do. “Where is that insufferable camera of yours,” asked she, affecting indignation.

Matthew smirked. “You didn’t think I’d bring it into the water, did you? You’ve already ruined one of my telelenses. This time, I’ve left it safe and sound by the tree.”

“Your camera lens deserved to be ruined! They would’ve been fine if you weren’t sneaking around the countryside taking pictures of people despite their prohibition.” She knew she was yelling again, but she could not help it. The man sparked a lot of contradictory feelings within her, none of which she could be content with.

Matthew leaned forward, his jaws set stiff. “If you’d kindly remember, I hadn’t yet been prohibited from taking anyone’s pictures when you ruined my lens. And my lens wouldn’t be currently in gadget heaven if you weren’t the type of woman who literally jumps the gun without thinking about the consequences of her actions first.” He straightened again, his smug smile back on his lips. “And as for the prohibition stipulated on me presently, I choose to ignore it because it obviously does not come from the most reasonable character.”

Elaina shook in her spot. Not because she was wet and the cold was starting to set into her bones. No, it was the rage. She did not know why she felt it. His decision to continue photographing her could prompt her indignation, her outrage, maybe even a choice to report him to the authorities – but this – this pure haze of wanting to teach him a lesson and perhaps resort to an act of violence just so that he would go away and leave her alone she could not fathom the origin of. Maybe it was an overreaction, maybe it was being unreasonable as he accused. But she suddenly wanted to be unreasonable and commit to something drastic – anything to prove to herself that he was only a nuisance and nothing more. She turned and began trudging her way to the grassy bank.

“Where are you going?” Matthew called after her and she could hear him following.

“Getting out of the water,” returned Elaina over her shoulders.

“Finally something sensible,” sighed her opponent.

“Oh, yes, very! And then I’m bringing your camera back for a swim.”

“What?” she heard Matthew’s startled reply and began running now that she was out of the water.

Matthew followed close on her heels and before she knew it, he had grabbed the waist of her shirt and she felt her back slammed against his front, her breath leaving her body in a whoosh. “Let go of me!”

She fought hard but was no match for his strength. He struggled but managed to turn her around until she was facing him and he had his arms tightly wrapped around her. “Oh, no you don’t. You’re getting nowhere near my camera. What is wrong with you? Where does all this rage come from?”

“From having my privacy violated!” shouted she, continuing to struggle.

“Stop struggling!”

“And what, let you have it easy?”

“There’s nothing easy about you.” Matthew dropped his voice so that it was deep and husky and oddly intimate. “But I now have you where I want you and I can assure you that I’m not letting you go anytime soon, so I suggest you stop fighting me.”

And Elaina did. She stopped fighting him. The change in him was so abrupt and unexpected that she could do nothing but what he asked. And suddenly, she noticed that her breasts, hips, thighs were all pressed to his length. That her toes barely touched the ground as he had her in his grip and raised against his body. That his mouth was mere inches from hers. That his eyes looked hungry. For the second time since he had chased and caught her, she felt her breath sharply leave her body.

A soft smile touched his lips and warmth lighted his eyes. “There. See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Elaina only stared. He was so beautiful. She had noticed that about him before but now his beauty seemed different. His hair was curled and slightly matted and dripping water. His eyes were dark and intense and rimmed with sinfully long lashes for a man and water from the creek still clung to them, glittering with trapped sunlight. His nose was straight and strong just like she could feel his body to be, pressed against hers. But it was his afternoon stubble that most fascinated her now. It looked prickly but not in a bad way. And before she knew what she was doing, she raised her hand to touch his chin to learn how his beard would feel against her fingertips.

Matthew groaned and Elaina jerked back her hand. “Sorry,” gasped she.

He shook his head and swallowed before replying. “Don’t. Don’t say sorry. Don’t be sorry.” He paused, then added, “Why did you touch me?”

Elaina lowered her eyes. She knew what had compelled her to touch his chin but she was not about to divulge that emotion. “I don’t know,” she lied instead.

She did not think it possible, but one of his arms tightened around her waist further, pressing her body closer to his, all while he raised his other arm to place his hand on her cheek and tip her chin up, forcing her to look back into his eyes. “Don’t you,” asked he, just before he closed the distance between their mouths to kiss her.

This is an end excerpt from Chapter 06 of my novel I’ll Be Truewhich I had posted 05 years ago on this website. If you wish to read what follows, it is available in my post, I’ll Be True (Chapter 07).

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