BEST OF...10 THINGS NOT TO SAY TO A ROMANCE WRITER… AND THE SNAPPY ANSWERS YOU MIGHT RECEIVE IF YOU DO.

TEN THINGS NOT TO SAY TO A ROMANCE WRITER… AND THE SNAPPY ANSWERS  YOU MIGHT RECEIVE IF YOU DO.

  1.     Did you model that character after me? 
        No, you’re too boring to be a character in my book.

  2.     Did you get your plot from a TV program?
        No, that’s called theft of intellectual property.

  3.     Are you going to put what I just said in a book?
        Maybe, but you’ll never know, will you?

  4.     Who did you fashion your characters after?
        No one, they are fiction, remember?

  5.     Did that really happen?
        No, that’s called nonfiction.

  6.     Where do you get your ideas from?
       I buy them at the corner store along with my crack, Oxycotin and  diet pills.

  7.     Does your mother know you write this stuff?
      Yes, and she’s buying copies for all her friends for Christmas.

  8.     Do people actually buy your books?
       Yes, I’ve got the royalty checks to prove it.

  9.     I could write something like this…it isn’t hard. 
      Go ahead…I dare you 
  10.  This isn’t real literature, you know. 
      Really? That’s what it’s classified as by the government (when you file for a copyright) 
   Thank you for stopping by. Which was your favorite? I love comments. Have a great day. 

BEST OF....REJECTIONS LETTERS WE'D LIKE TO SEE...

 Welcome to a week of The Best of my blogs. I've resurrected what I think are my best shots at engaging blogs. No, none of them are touting books, so you can relax. Hope you enjoy them. There's the first. 

REJECTION LETTERS WE'D LIKE TO SEE…

Great Expectations by Charles Dickens

Dear Mr. Dickens,

So who has great expectations? Is this Miss Havisham chick expecting a roll in the hay with Pip or what? Cougar stories are hot right now but this kid is underage…don’t want to bring the feds down on us. So make him older and add a few hot scenes and resubmit.

 

A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens

Dear Mr. Dickens,

“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times”? Really? Make up your mind, Mr. Dickens. Which was it, the best or the worst of times. Geez. When you decide which it was, revise and resubmit. And bag that guillotine crap. Too bloody for our audience.

Stuart Little by E.B. White

Dear Mr. White,

A woman gives birth to a mouse? She’s cheating on her human husband with a giant mouse? Honestly…that may be original but is totally inappropriate for a kid’s book, Mr. White. Besides, it has creeped out the entire editorial staff. Don’t both rewriting and resubmitting this one, I’m afraid.You might consider intensive physchotherapy.

Don Quixote by Miguel de CervantesDear Mr. Cervantes,

A novel about a crazy, old guy who fights a windmill and his chubby sidekick who goes along because he has no life? Honestly, this story has been done to death, Mr. Cervantes. While we loved the chivalry, the plot was ho hum and the characters too far fetched. A hooker who turns down a good guy who doesn't want sex? Really, Mr. Cervantes? Please send us your next manuscript, we have not filled out quota of rejections yet this month.

Frankenstein by Mary Shelley

Dear Ms. Shelley,

Your hero is made out of dead body parts sewn together? Yuck! Three of our editors threw up reading about that. We believe in recycling, but that's ridiculous! 

Then you jump start him like a dead car battery with lightning from the sky. Yeah, like that’s ever gonna happen. What nice girl writes about something so grisly? Thanks but no thanks. Do send us your next attempt, we’re always looking for a good laugh.

Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll

Dear Mr. Carroll,

A girl disappears and this is funny? Down a rabbit hole? She eats pills that make her bigger and smaller then meets a floating grin that’s a cat? We suggest, Mr. Carroll, that the next time you take psycho-tropic recreational drugs, you remove pencil and paper from the room. Please, we know an acid trip when we see one. Good luck with your drug habit but don’t send us your next “trip”.

Little Women by Louisa May Alcott

Dear Ms. Alcott,

We were disappointed to see from the title of your book that it wasn’t about a bordello. These girls are innocent to the point of totally boring. Four editors fell asleep skimming your book for sex scenes. Besides, there was too much telling and not enough showing in this book. We couldn’t feel the emotions of your characters. What a bunch of spoiled brats! Please, spice up this book, like one of them gets it on with the rich kid next door, rewrite and resubmit. Oh and make the girls all over sixteen. We like ‘em legal.

TUESDAY TALES - WORD PROMPT "BOTTOM"

Welcome! Thanks for stopping by. Here is another episode in the Griff Montgomery, Quarterback, story, continuing from last week. 

********** 

Griff’s attention was drawn to the nicely rounded bottom facing him. The woman it belonged to was bending over to allow his dog, Spike, to lick her face clean. Lusty thoughts ran through his mind as the eye-catching body part almost brushed his leg. 

When the woman stood up and turned to face him, he saw long, dark hair, perfectly pink lips, and flashing hazel eyes throwing a cold look his way. He was dazzled.
“What?”

“You heard me. You stole my dog. This is Zander. And he’s mine,” she grabbed for the pug’s leash.
As he raised it above the reach of the beautiful woman standing before him, his eyes narrowed.
“So you’re the asshole who left this dog to starve and die? No way are you getting him back. I should call the cops.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Lady, I found this dog, starving, guarding an empty house. Your house. Did you conveniently forget you had him? And now you want him back? Go to hell.” He pulled the dog closer to him and moved his long legs forward.   
"You got a lotta nerve talking to me like that! I did not forget my dog."
"Yeah? Tell it to the cops, lady." If I don’t get away from her, I’m going to hit her. He gritted his teeth as he walked. His eyes darkened and his hands fisted at his side. I hate animal abusers. 
A small tug on his arm caught his attention.
“What the fuck do you want?” He turned to face her.
“That’s my dog,” She said, her jaw tightened, her lips compressed into a thin line. 

“On a cold day in Hell, lady. If you were a man, I’d take you  behind that store and beat the shit out of you.” He took a menacing step toward her and she backed away. The woman’s eyes registered fear.
His gaze automatically slid down to her deliciously seductive chest. Annoyed with himself, he immediately snapped his attention back to her face. She inched toward him, closing her fingers around the leash and opened her mouth.

“Help! Police!”

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TUESDAY TALES - AUTHOR

Welcome back to Tuesday Tales. This week I have another installment in Griff Montgomery's story. Last week we met Leslie Ferraday. She's discovered her ex-husband left the dog when he moved to the West Coast. She's just discovered her dog, Zander, is missing. We meet Leslie and Griff both in this excerpt.This football romance does not have a title yet. Scroll down for the link to
return to Tuesday Tales and read some amazing stories.

******

Leslie walked down Main Street in her small town in Connecticut. Some of the cute shop windows had signs in them. 

The Love-to-Read bookstore had a poster announcing a signing for one of her favorite authors, but Leslie didn’t see it.
She’d been in a daze since she lost Zander, staring out at the world with unseeing brown eyes. A week later and pain still flowed in her veins. Her feet ached from stopping at every lamppost and telephone pole in her neighborhood to tape up a lost dog poster. Exhaustion and depression weighed her down.
A familiar bark drew her attention. Her head snapped up. There, coming down the sidewalk on the other side of the street was a pug who looked an awful lot like Zander. 

He was on a leash held by a tall, handsome man. Leslie’s heart beat doubled. She whispered to herself, Zander.

“Hey!” She called out, but the man didn’t look her way.
“Zander. Zander!” She hollered, her voice getting higher each time. The dog turned and barked. That was all Leslie needed.
She raced into the street. A car making its way to the south end of town, screeched on its brakes.
The man dropped the leash and leapt into the street. He snatched her arm and yanked her out of the way. 

She fell to her knees on the pavement, but didn’t feel the pain because the pug was licking her. She kept repeating his name as tears streamed down her face.  

"Are you okay, lady?” The man asked, grasping her elbow and easing her to her feet. Leslie clutched his arm while her knees trembled. She narrowed her eyes at him.
“You stole my dog,” she said.

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TUESDAY TALES - PICTURE PROMPT

This is our picture prompt week. I'm continuing with my untitled football romance. This week we leave Griff behind and meet the heroine, Leslie. Thank you so much for stopping by. Don't forget to return to the talented writers of Tuesday Tales. Scroll down for the link.

****

Leslie Ferraday stopped on the threshold. She put her suitcase down and took a deep breath. It’s empty. Bob said he’d leave the bed and the couch. Be prepared. The warm summer day invited her to stay outside. Why rush inside? No one's waiting. 
She sank down into a wicker chair and propped her feet up on the small bench. Moving her dad into an assisted living facility had been exhausting. Her brother, Nate, helped. His teenage sons were sweet and carried all the heavy stuff. She frowned. Damn tired of Nate calling me “Ferret”. That old childhood nickname still hurt.

She picked up her cell and dialed Canine Ranch where her pug Zander had been staying. Thank God Bob agreed to let me keep him. 

 “No, Leslie. Zander’s not here.”

“What? You sure? Bob was supposed to drop him off.”
“Nope. We have room, if he’s coming now?”
“Thanks, I’m home.”
She closed the phone.
Tears pricked at her eyes. He lied. He took Zander. After telling me I could have him. Why am I surprised? She pulled out a tissue. Don’t be a wimp. Call him. Get your dog back!
"What’s up, Leslie?”
“Why did you take Zander? Is this just another lie?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t have the damn dog. You dropped him at Canine Ranch.”
“What? No.”
“He’s your problem now.” He ex-husband hung up the phone.
Her heart beat quickened. Adrenaline pumped through her veins.
She opened the front door and called the dog’s name. No dog. She ran outside and repeated the action. Nothing. Zander, where are you? Panic rose in her chest, her pulse thumped in her ear. No whimpers or barking broke the quiet of the summer day. He’s gone.
 A sob broke from her throat as tears cascaded down her cheeks.   
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