Feature Fridays: Epic hair disasters and other pre-wedding annoyances

Today has been an excellent writing day for me, which is especially significant because my morning got off to a rough start. Just as I was thinking I should go back to bed and hide, I checked to see how things were going on Amazon and found two amazing reviews of Phoning It In.

I'm sure it goes without saying that reviews are a source of anxiety for most writers--and I salute those who don't get nervous about them. Negative reviews aren't easy to read, but can be a good source for learning how to improve my writing, which is something I never want to stop doing.

Good reviews, though, they can make your day. There's no better feeling than finding out that your book has touched a reader in some way, that the reader gets your book on a deeply personal level. I was so thrilled with these reviews that I teared up. I write for two reasons: for the sheer love and passion I feel for writing and because I want my writing to connect with readers. When those two things come together, well, that's my definition of perfection.

So thank you to those of you who take the time to write reviews for my books, whether you loved them or weren't very fond of them. Most of all, thank you for reading!

The first four episodes of Committed are just about finished, and I'm planning on releasing episode one on Thursday, February 28th. On Monday, February 18th, I'll do a cover reveal. I can hardly wait to share the series! In fact, I'm so anxious to share it, I'm just going to go ahead and leave an excerpt here, picking up from where I left off last week. I hope you enjoy it!

*****

“Can I get some help over here?” Layla shouted, her words jolting the stunned stylists into action.

Three women hurried over to them and, judging from the looks on their faces, Ella knew the news was not good.

Working faster than Ella would have thought possible, Layla and the stylists pulled the remaining foil strips from Ella’s hair. Ella watched with a sense of detached incredulity as tears filled the large, green eyes of her stylist, Crystal. Fat drops fell and spattered Crystal’s smock.

I’m getting married in one week, and I’m going to be bald, Ella thought. A laugh bubbled in her throat, and she kept her mouth clamped closed, afraid she’d cackle like a crazy person if she opened it.

“Oh, God, Ella. Oh my God. Oh, no. I don’t… How could this… Oh, God!” Crystal shouted the last word, and the salon owner ran over, flicking a nervous glance from side to side, surveying the crowd of women who seemed to have forgotten all about their highlights and their mani/pedis. By the time the salon owner reached Ella, she was in full damage-control mode.

“Let me see,” she said in a firm voice, pushing Layla and the stylists aside. Ella’s eyes fell to the floor, where she saw lots and lots of her hair laying on the ground. She stared at it, feeling as if she were staring at someone else’s hair. This could not possibly be happening, not now. Not one week before her wedding.

The other woman’s face grew increasingly grim as she examined Ella’s hair. “Come with me, sweetheart,” she said, taking Ella’s hand and leading her over to the sinks. Ella almost tripped over her own feet, she was still struck so dumb by what was happening.

Her sense of unreality was broken by warm water coursing over her scalp, and she closed her eyes. She thought she liked it better when she was too stunned to process what was happening.

The salon owner took great care as she shampooed and conditioned Ella’s hair. It might all have seemed normal, were it not for Layla and the stylists hovering over her, hands pressed to their mouths. Ella heard a dim hum in the room, and she realized it was the other salon patrons whispering about what they’d seen. As Ella sat up and the salon owner toweled her hair, Ella saw her swallow, hard. A woman sitting under the dryers gasped, then turned beet red and looked everywhere but at Ella’s face.

“Sweetheart, I’m going to make this right, I promise,” the owner said, her voice far too calm to be of any comfort to Ella.

“How bad is it?” Ella croaked, though she didn’t really need to ask. Judging by the amount of foil-wrapped hair scattered on the floor, she knew bad was far too mild a word. Catastrophic might be better. “Let me see it.”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea. I’ll take you out and trim it, and then—”

“I want to see it!” Ella repeated, and the salon owner closed her mouth with an almost audible snap, biting her lower lip.

“Are you sure?”

Ella’s glare must have assured the woman of her sincerity, because the owner took a deep breath and held a mirror out to Ella. The mirror trembled as Ella took it, then shook violently as she raised it to eye level. For a second, as she saw the ruin of her hair, she thought she might pass out. The room spun a bit and the edges of her vision went dark.

“Breathe,” Layla commanded, as she shoved Ella’s head between her knees. “Breathe, Ella. It’s going to be okay.”

Feature Fridays: Sneak peek at Committed

Wow, it's been a long time since I've done one of these! But it's not because I haven't been writing. In fact, I'm hard at work on Committed, my romantic dramedy serial. Things are going well and it looks like I'll start releasing episodes by the end of the month. The series will have a total of eight episodes, and I'll release them every other week.

What is Committed? Well, if you've ever planned a big wedding, you know how stressful it can be. Committed takes place starting the week before 27-year-old Ella Mikowski's wedding, and each day a disaster strikes. Mix this up with a little family drama and some misunderstandings between the bride-to-be and the groom-to-be, and you have some serious drama.

So how about a look at the first episode?

*****

Saturday, May 10: T minus seven day and counting…

10:00 AM

“Ugh, what is that smell?” Layla asked, wrinkling her perfect nose.

We’ll do the favors this afternoon, so that will be out of the way. We still have to put together the seating chart, but the place cards are done—I still need to check and make sure the name of that friend of Masato’s is spelled correctly. Did I remember to call and give the caterer the final dinner count?

“Smell?” Ella asked, tearing herself away from her mental checklist. Sniffing, she caught a strange, acrid odor that made her nose burn. “Oh my God, it’s awful.”

Pushing up the dryer hood, Layla leaned forward and sniffed again. Frowning, she leaned to her right and took another long whiff before leaning to her left—Ella’s direction—and inhaling deeply once more. Her gaze snapped to Ella, who felt a sudden, chilling sense of alarm.

“What is it?” Ella asked, scrambling up in her chair, the fashion magazine she’d been pretending to read tumbling from her lap and onto the floor, its pages a bright pool on the pale stone tile.

Without responding, Layla leaned closer to Ella and sniffed again. Her mouth opened and her eyes widened, her hands moving so fast they were a blur. It took Ella a minute to realize Layla had pushed her dryer hood away and was tugging frantically at the foil strips in Ella’s hair.

“What are you doing?” Ella squealed, trying to slap her friend’s hand away, but she underestimated Layla’s tenacity. Her friend continued to pull the foil strips from Ella’s hair while Ella protested. “It’s not done yet! You’ll ruin the color. Layla!”

But Layla’s eyes had widened, a look of horror creeping into them, and the alarm Ella had felt congealed and hardened into a lump in her stomach. “Oh, God, is it my hair?” Ella’s voice rose with each word until she sounded like a siren.

“Oh, Ella. Oh, no. Oh, oh, oh,” Layla babbled as she continued to strip Ella’s hair, her fingers moving faster than ever. Ella tried to lift a hand to her hair, but Layla knocked it aside with a forearm. Ella’s eyes landed on one of the strips in Layla’s hand, and what she saw horrified her.

“My hair! Is that my hair?” Ella shrieked, her voice taking on an hysterical edge.

They were causing a commotion, but Ella didn’t care. She was far more concerned about the sight of her reddish-blond locks dangling limply, obscenely from the bit of foil in Layla’s hand.

Feature Fridays: Dev is captured

I've had my struggles this NaNoWriMo, but I think I'm really hitting my groove with this novel.  Once I started easing up and just let it be what it wanted to be, I started to feel better about it.

When I started thinking about what I wanted to do for NaNo, I knew I wanted to write another Elizabeth Darcy book, and I decided to use the sleeping beauty story as an inspiration.  However, I didn't want to do the standard tale of the damsel in distress being rescued by the handsome prince, so I decided to have the princess do the rescuing.  Here, in its very rough form, is the scene where Dev is captured.

*****

Opening his eyes required a lot of effort, and he put the last of his remaining energy into it, managing to open them enough to see a narrow slice of the room before him.  A cloaked and hooded figure knelt before him, and at first he thought he was hallucinating, because the face looked so strange, like that of a scarecrow.  His confused brain tried to make sense of what he was seeing, and he finally realized that the other person wore a mask, which might explain why he or she didn’t seem to be all that bothered by the smoke.

“Who are you?” Dev ground out, his voice so low he could barely hear it.

“Ah, but we’ll have time for introductions later,” the voice said, each word like a caress.  The sound made him want to shudder, but he didn’t have the energy for it.  It wasn’t a voice he recognized and, besides that, it was accented, so he knew it wasn’t anyone from his realm or from Jess’s. 

“You’re from Moritan.”

“My, aren’t we a clever prince?”

“That would explain why you reek of sheep.”

Another pair of footsteps appeared, and Dev caught his breath as someone struck him across the face.  His head snapped back and he bit his tongue forcefully enough to make it bleed.  The tenuous hold he had on consciousness began to slip away.

“Enough,” growled the first voice he’d heard.  “We need him alive.”

“He’d be just as good to us dead,” a guttural voice responded.  Was it the man who’d struck him?

“No, you idiot, he would not.  The only way to lure Jessmyn to us is by using him as bait.  If he’s dead, she’ll attack, and we’ll never get close enough to get to her.”

“My apologies, greatness.”

Fear bolted through Dev, jolting him so strongly that it woke him from his stupor.  All fatigue forgotten, he lashed out at his two attackers, his swings wild.  His fist struck something solid, and he heard a grunt and a thud as the guttural-voice man dropped next to him.

“Subdue him,” the first voice ordered, and now Dev realized it was a woman.

His flailing took on a new desperation as two more pairs of feet approached.  Who would want to harm Jessmyn?  As far as he knew, her realm was on good terms with Moritan.  Moreover, it was not at all like King Mallaric to commit an act of such dishonorable subterfuge, and Dev knew Mallaric valued honor above all else.  No, if Mallaric felt any ill will toward King Amin and Queen Farah, he would make it plain.

Desperate, Dev tried shouting, but his voice failed once again.  The other two assailants descended upon him and, though he fought savagely, using his fists, feet, and teeth, he was simply too weak to beat them off.  They pinned him to the floor and he sucked in great gulps of air that seemed only to make him breathe more deeply, as if what flowed in wasn’t sufficient to feed his lungs.  The black borders of his vision filled more rapidly and he was lost, his lips unconsciously forming Jessmyn’s name.

Feature Fridays: Taking a flying leap

I'm making serious headway with Asleep, having hit the 25k mark today.  While I'm officially halfway done with NaNoWriMo, it will take more than 50k words to wrap up this story.

When it comes to the writing itself, there are portions I'm loving and other portions that rouse the vicious self-doubt monster.  There's nothing worse than trying to keep yourself going when that mocking little voice in your head says, "This stinks!  You think you're a writer?"

At any rate, I'm avoiding reading the bulk of the work because my NaNoWriMo motto can basically be boiled down to this: Just Keep Going.  No matter what happens, no matter how many typos I know I've made, no matter how much I hate the particular section I'm writing, Just Keep Going.

As with last week, this is completely raw, so there are likely some typos and random weirdness that may make little sense.  Consider yourself forewarned! ;)

*****

As the world went black, Jess’s face once more appeared to him, but this time she was around ten years old, and her eyes flashed in challenge.  Tanvir lurked nearby, but he’d already been disqualified from this particular challenge, due to his age.

“Your age must have two digits; otherwise, you’re too much of a baby to participate,” Jess told him loftily.  “Shall I explain that to you?”

“I know what two digits means!” Tanvir squeaked, his seven-year-old voice high with indignation.

“Watch and learn, children,” Dev’s cocky, twelve-year-old self called out.

“Dev, I don’t know if this is a good idea.  That tree is really high, and if you jump—” Tanvir protested.

“Keep your lessons to yourself,” Dev instructed, rolling his eyes.  “I’m not your tutor, so you won’t score any bonus points with me for cleverness.”

“Well, you’re certainly good at earning high marks for stupidity,” Tanvir snapped back.

“Or are you just trying to conceal the fact that your brother is more courageous than you?” Jess challenged.

“You’re both stupid, and I’ll have no part of this.”  Tanvir stamped his foot and ran off, heading back toward the castle.

“If you’re going to do it, best do it now, before your brother has a chance to tattle,” Jess said.

“Right you are.” 

Extending his arms in the air, fingers pointed, as he’d once seen an acrobat do, Dev launched himself from the branch on which he’d perched, feelings a rush of exhilaration as he flew through the air.  His confidence was high, his fingers steady.  There was no doubt in his mind that he’d catch the next branch, and so it came as a very rude surprise when only the tips of his fingers smacked into the branch, and he felt his hands clawing futilely at the air.

As he plummeted toward the earth, he heard Jess’s scream of horror and he couldn’t help but smile at the knowledge that he had managed to ruffle the seemingly unflappable princess.  His body striking the ground wiped the smile right off his face.  Fortunately for him, he landed rear first, which cushioned the impact.  Still, he fell back, his head striking the ground, causing his teeth to snap together.  Blood and grit filled his mouth and he felt dizzy.

“Dev!  Dev!  Are you okay?” Jess cried, suddenly appearing at his side.

Disoriented, he looked up at her and gave her a smile, some blood dribbling out of the corner of his mouth.  “Are you an angel?” he asked, before he lost consciousness.

There was no forgetting the aftermath of that little episode.  It had caused some tension between King Amin and King Adar, both of whom knew they had impetuous and sometimes foolhardy children, but who both, in their distress, wanted to blame the other.  Dev had earned a sever concussion for his trouble, and he spent days in bed while he recovered, his head pounding, vision swimming all the while.  The boredom was almost more of a torment than the physical pain.  Eventually, his mother’s fears that he had permanently addled his brain were laid to rest, but there was no repairing the chip to the tooth on the top right side of his mouth.  As it was right next to his front tooth, it became a prominent part of his smile.  The truth was, he would have leapt from that branch again, because he had never forgotten how lovely Jess looked as she hovered over him, fearful for his well-being.

Feature Fridays: First look at Asleep

It's day two of NaNoWriMo, and I've got 7,163 words under my belt, so I'm feeling pretty good about that!  My project for this month is Asleep, the second installment in my Fairytale Collection.  Asleep is my reboot of the sleeping beauty tale and, while I was looking forward to writing it, it's proven even more fun than I thought.

Today, I had some struggles with my inner editor, but I managed to beat her into submission.  The rules of NaNoWriMo state that there is to be no editing, so the excerpt I'm posting here is raw, uncut, and likely has a few typos--don't worry, they'll be fixed after NaNoWriMo, when I can edit to my heart's content.  This excerpt is from the very beginning of the book.  I can't guarantee it'll stay like this once I get down to editing, but this should give you a feel for the book.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

*****

I don’t have time for this.  I have drills to run, that supply issue needs to be resolved…  I wonder if security is tight enough.  I hope my father didn’t entrust it to that buffoon Wynart.  Surely he closed that gap in the north tower by now?

Jessmyn tugged impatiently at her gown.  She had to admit, it was stunningly beautiful, but she’d have preferred to be in her plate at the moment.  It was one of life’s great mysteries how a gown of satins and lace could feel more confining than a sixty pounds of armor.  She’d have to keep that question in mind for the next time her seamstress asked her what sort of gown she would like, so that she could instruct the woman to fashion her something a little less encrusted with pearls and small jewels, one that would allow for greater freedom of movement.

When Jess was truthful with herself, she knew the weight of her gown had nothing to do with the disquiet state of her mind.  It was nerves that were eating her alive.  Though royal protocol was old hat to Jess, she had never before been a part of something so monumentally important to her realm—nor had she ever experienced anything of greater personal importance.

Forcing herself to stand still, Jess closed her eyes and thought of Dev, tried to imagine how he was feeling at this moment, how he looked.  A small smiled played about her lips as she imagined him, though she also felt a sense of exasperation.  No doubt he was handling it all much better than she was.  He was probably busy cracking jokes with his attendants, making them roar with laughter.  At this image, her smiled widened and she opened her eyes, feeling somewhat settled at last.  Dev always had that effect on her.  It was part of what made him so essential to her life.

Still, she knew his jovial exterior likely hid just as many nerves as she felt.  For all Dev looked as if he hadn’t a care in the world, he felt things very deeply, even if others weren’t always aware of this fact.  He could not have captured Jess’s heart as it had were it otherwise.  This was both good and bad.  While Jess had to admit that she enjoyed knowing she understood this hidden part of Dev, it had also caused him some pain due to the blithe unawareness of others.

“Are you ready, your highness?” Lady Lilia Vindar asked.  Shyly, she glanced up at Jess, searching the princess’s face.  Jess could tell from the look in Vindar’s eyes that she was caught up in the romance of the occasion, and it made Jess smile.  Lilia always did love a good fairytale.

“I am,” Jess confirmed.

Lilia and the two other ladies in attendance dropped low curtsies and then took their positions behind the princess.  Jess squared her shoulders, tilted her head slightly back, and began her slow procession out to the main hall.

The crowd was noisy, boisterous and jubilant because of the celebration.  Music and voices competed with one another, creating a blend that somehow still managed to please the ear.  It was impossible to distinguish any conversation from this distance, but Jess could still hear tones that we somewhat unfamiliar to her ear, evidence of the attendance of the mighty and influential of the other realms.  This was the biggest celebration in the history of the Five Realms, and it was this more than anything that made Jess nervous.  Having so many important people in any one place was always an enormous security risk and, despite herself, she found her eyes darting around as she walked, looking for evidence of guards.  It didn’t matter that she had trained most of them herself; she could not help but feel anxious about the possibility of some sort of disturbance.

“There are twenty guards in this hallway alone,” her father said, coming to stand at her side and speaking in a low tones, so only she would be able to hear.  He had been waiting down the opposite corridor, and she had been so distracted, she had noticed neither his approach or the that he was watching her.

Some martial master I am!  I don’t even notice when my own father and his ten attendants approach!

Looking at her with some exasperation, as if he could guess what was going on inside her head, her father shook his head.  “My beloved Jess, can you not relax, just for one day?  This is a day meant for you, and for Dev.”

Feature Fridays: Close encounters of the Scarlett kind

I am officially done with the first round of edits to Phoning It In!  Methinks it's time to starting thinking about a cover reveal...

And, to celebrate, how about another taste of the novel?

*****

“This is hell,” Melinda groaned, as she pulled into her office parking lot.  The building loomed before her, the overcast sky lending it all the charm of a super max prison.  She half-expected lightning to fork through the air, completing the post-apocalyptic look.

A stroke of luck enabled her to find a parking space at what appeared to be a mere five miles away from the entrance to the office.  She slung her bag and purse over her shoulder, grabbed her frozen meal and can of Diet Coke, and made her way into the building.  Murmuring a curse, she realized she’d forgotten to extract her badge from her purse before picking up her load, and would now have to attempt to juggle her things while she dug for the badge.

“Well, I do declare!  My word, if it isn’t Melinda Majors,” a bright voice drawled behind her.  “Here.  Let me give you a hand.”

Melinda rolled her eyes before turning around, a sweet smile plastered over her face.  “Thank you so much, Scarlett.  You’re a real life saver.”

“Oh, darlin’, don’t even think of mentionin’ it.”

Melinda gritted her teeth.  It was much, much too early to deal with Scarlett.  Back when they had been in training together, Scarlett’s accent had been more Midwestern than Southern, but once Scarlett realized that men went wild over her Southern belle act, she had begun to play the role with relish. 

“After you,” Scarlett said, waving her through, just as the wind kicked up.  Melinda was surprised it didn’t blow Scarlett’s tiny frame away.

“Oh my, it is quite the gusty day outside, isn’t it?” Scarlett laughed.  Though the wind flung stinging strands of auburn hair in Melinda’s eyes, Scarlett’s voluminous blond hair didn’t budge, and Melinda couldn’t help but be impressed by the holding power of whatever industrial-strength product Scarlett used.

As they walked up the stairs, Melinda tugged self-consciously at her coat and oversize tunic and tried not to think of how her plus-sized figure looked in contrast to Scarlett’s.  It was hard not to feel like an elephant in contrast to the beautiful, delicate porcelain doll preceding her.

“How was your weekend?” Melinda asked reluctantly.  Scarlett was best taken in small doses, and initiating any sort of conversation with her ensured Melinda would soon find it very tempting to beat her head against the wall. 

“It was wonderful!” Scarlett exclaimed.  A couple of people heading down the stairs started and stared at them.  Melinda cringed.

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“I met the most wonderful man.”  Scarlett sighed and brought her clasped hands up to the side of her face, batting her eyelashes.  Melinda wondered if she ought to applaud the performance.

“Oh really?” she asked disinterestedly.  Scarlett was always meeting the most wonderful man.  Inevitably, he ended up committing an offense that obliged Scarlett to slap him across the face and throw a drink at him before storming away with an elegant toss of her head.

“Yes indeed.”

To Melinda’s relief, they reached the third floor.  Scarlett’s cubicle was on the opposite side of the building, and Melinda hurried toward her own side, calling a hasty farewell over her shoulder.  As she stepped into the corridor leading to her cubicle, she let out a groan of relief.

“Close encounters of the Scarlett kind?” asked an ominous voice just behind her left ear.

Melinda jumped, her hand flying to her chest in an attempt to prevent her hammering heart from leaping straight out of it.  “Jesus Christ,” she breathed.  “You scared the hell out of me, Blaine.”

A very tall, gangly figure materialized in front of her.  “Do not blame me.  Blame the evil forces of Scarlett Amberson,” he intoned.

“Out of my way, moron.”  She was unable to hide her smile.

Feature Fridays: Crippling insecurities

That awkward moment where your best friend makes you realize that the news you thought was so amazing is maybe a little less great than you suspected.

*****

“I promise.  Enough about my migraine. You called me to talk about Ben, so let’s talk about him,” Lou said.

“How do you know that?” Melinda asked, amazed.

“Hello, Melinda.  We’ve been friends for a gazillion years now.  I can read you like a book.  Did you two have a nice little chat last night?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact, we did.

“Well I’m glad to hear it.  I mean, Dem’s a nice guy and all, but I think I gave him the wrong idea by keeping him away from the table for that long.  I think he thinks I was trying to pick him up.”

Melinda gasped.  “You didn’t!  You did not!”

“Was that supposed to be a thank you?  If so, it sucked.  Try again.”

“So you don’t like Dem?”

“Like I said, he’s nice, but he’s not my type.  Quit changing the subject and get to it, would you?  I want to know every last thing you two said.  When will you be getting married, and can I be your maid of honor, and how many children are you going to have, and can I be godmother to one of them?”

“You’re insane,” Melinda said, blushing.  She squirmed uncomfortably.  “Now you’re the one who sounds like your mother.  What, do you think he’s going to dress up in a red coat, grab his rifle and bayonet, and come and carry me off?”

“Whatever.  You’re just being evasive again.  Spill it, now.  You owe me.  When is your first date?”

Melinda had not thought nothing could bring her down from her high, but she’d been wrong.  She had been perfectly content with what had happened between herself and Benoit the previous night, but Lou Lou’s question, however innocent, just reminded Melinda of her own inadequacies.  Had Lou been the one sitting with Benoit for hours, she probably would already have had a second, third, and fourth date scheduled with him.

“It wasn’t like that,” Melinda mumbled.  “We had a really good time, but he’s not interested in me like that.”

There was a silence on the other end.  “Look, Melinda—” Lou finally began, but Melinda cut her off.

“No, just don’t say anything.  He wants to be friends, that much is clear.  We talked about a lot of things, and I really think he genuinely enjoyed himself.  He’s a really nice guy, and I’m glad he wants to be friends.  I’m not looking for a boyfriend anyway.”

Feature Fridays: Jane Austen reference for the win!

Some social situations are so awkward that you just can't help but think of Jane Austen.

*****

As she arrived at her sister’s house on Sunday, Melinda couldn’t help but cringe.  It was not the house she was cringing at.  Her sister had bought a beautiful colonial in Grosse Pointe Woods.  It was a very nice, affluent neighborhood full of charming older colonials that were extremely well-kept by their owners.  Mercedes, BMWs, Lexuses, and Jaguars were parked on the street and in the driveways, making Melinda’s little Ford look like a tin can.  Her sister’s colonial was right in the middle of the street.  It had a beautiful red brick front with white window boxes hung under the windows.  Her front yard was small but artfully landscaped with a graceful weeping willow and a curved flower bed.  A shiny brass doorknocker hung on the door.

The true source of Melinda’s cringe was the fact that her parents had not yet arrived.  Melinda had cut her departure time as closely as possible in the hopes that her parents would beat her to Susan’s.  However, she had begun to grow anxious and had decided that she’d best set off or risk Susan’s extreme displeasure by arriving late.  Now she wished she’d arrived late instead.

You’re being ridiculous, she told herself.  She’s your own sister, for God’s sake.  What on Earth do you think she can possibly do to you?

Ignoring the responses that instantly sprang to mind, Melinda parked her car at Susan’s curb and then hurried through the chill autumn air up to her sister’s porch.  She had just lifted her hand to knock when the door opened, startling Melinda.

“Susan,” she said, staring at her sister in confusion.  It was almost as though her sister had been standing right next to the door, peering out the sidelight and looking for her family’s arrival.  Melinda quickly dismissed the thought as ludicrous and brushed it aside.

“Hello, Melinda,” Susan said, her mouth slightly down turned in the expression of mild distaste she always seemed to wear around her sister.

“Um, hi,” Melinda said, feeling awkward and peeved.  Why the hell should she always feel so on edge around Susan?

“Come in.  You’re letting all the heat out,” Susan said petulantly.  She opened the door wider and Melinda stepped inside.

“Sorry,” she murmured as she shrugged out of her coat.

Susan let out a martyred sigh.  “Don’t worry about it.  Here, give me your coat.  Why don’t you go ahead and have a seat while I put this away?”

“Okay.”  Melinda moved into her sister’s living room and perched uncomfortably on the edge of the couch while Susan hung her coat.  Susan’s furniture was unnaturally clean and perfect, as if no human rear end had ever besmirched its surface.  She had a couch and two armchairs, all done in a tasteful top-grain, taupe Italian leather, along with a coffee table and end tables made of mahogany that had been polished until it gleamed.  The room fairly reeked of money.


“Would you like something to drink?” Susan asked.  If she hadn’t spoken the words as stiffly as a board, Melinda might have thought she was actually being hospitable.

“Yes, please.”

“What would you like?  Water?  Brandy?  Wine?”

“Wine.  Wine would be great, thanks.”

“White or red?”

“Whatever you think would be nice,” Melinda said hastily, before her sister could start naming vintages.

A look of exasperation came into Susan’s eyes before she turned away and disappeared into the kitchen.  Melinda strained to hear everything that was going on outside in the hopes of catching the sound of the engine of her parents’ car.

Susan came back into the room and handed Melinda a chilled cut crystal glass of white wine.  Melinda forced herself to take small, delicate sips, fighting hard to resist the temptation to knock back the whole glass back at once.  She usually felt as if she needed a drink to calm her nerves when she was around her sister, but she refused to give Susan the satisfaction of having one more thing about which to criticize her.

“So…how’s work?” Melinda asked, when she could stand the silence no longer.

“Fine,” Susan said, her mouth barely moving.

Holy shit, Susan, don’t be so talkative.  She had to duck her head to hide her smile from her sister.

“Glad to hear it,” Melinda told her.

There was another awkward silence and then Susan asked, “How are you doing at work?”

“Fine.”  Melinda wanted to laugh at the farce going on, but she was afraid she would dissolve into a hysterical fit if she did.  Susan was hardly the person Melinda would have chosen were she looking for someone in whom to confide.

“I’m glad you were able to make it.”  Susan didn’t sound the least bit sincere.

“So am I,” said Melinda, in a sugary voice.

Fortunately, at that moment, they heard the sound of their parents pulling into Susan’s driveway.  As her sister got up to answer the door, Melinda felt her spine slump in relief.  The meeting between them had had all the ease and casualness of a meeting between Emma Woodhouse and Augusta Elton.

Feature Fridays: This building will suck out your soul

If you can relate to this excerpt, I'm sorry.  I feel your pain, I truly do.

*****

Every Wednesday afternoon, the supervisors at New World had a meeting at two o’clock.  It was, without a doubt, the most awful part of Melinda’s week.  The supervisors almost always used every last minute, and there was nothing more deadly boring to Melinda than having to sit in a conference room for two whole hours while her boss and co-workers droned on and on and bickered amongst themselves.

On this particular Wednesday, the meeting promised to be even more fun than usual.  The CSRs had been receiving monthly bonuses for meeting call metrics and now the company had decided to do away with the bonuses.  The CSRs did not know about it yet, but the supervisors had been informed via an e-mail message from Jerry.

“Oh, great,” Blaine said, after he read the message.  He pushed away from his desk and looked at her, rolling his eyes.  “That ought to go over real big.”

“Yeah,” Melinda sighed.  She scrubbed a face over her hand.  “Score one for morale.”

“What does upper management care?  They’re not the ones who have to listen to the CSRs bitch endlessly about it.”

“Oh the joys of being a member of middle management,” Melinda sighed.

“Hi, Melinda.  Hi, Blaine,” a voice said.

Melinda stifled a groan as she turned toward the sound of the voice.  “Hi, Vic.”

“Did you see the message Jerry sent?”

“Yes.  Fantastic, isn’t it?” Blaine asked.

Vic gave him a look like a father about to scold a particularly disobedient and stupid child.  “Now, Blaine, you know that we all have to support this.  We need to support anything that’s good for the company.  The CSRs may not like it, but they’ll just have to understand that it has to be done for the good of the business.”

“Yeah, slow economy and all that,” Blaine said, with a poorly concealed expression of contempt for Vic.

Melinda felt the same way Blaine did.  She couldn’t stand Vic.  He was such an ass kisser and, besides that, he always smelled of mildew.  “It’s just going to be a big adjustment, that’s all,” she said mildly.

Vic peered at her through his too-small glasses before reaching up and fiddling with them.  “Well, we all have to adapt to change.”  He graced them with one of his phony, high-pitched laughs.  Blaine’s expression resembled that of a rabid dog.  “Anyway, Melinda, I wanted to talk to you about something.  Did you notice that Amy spent nearly five minutes chatting with Lillian rather than taking calls?” he asked in a stage whisper.

Why the hell are you watching my team?  Why don’t you pay attention to your own instead, you little prick? Melinda thought.  What she said was: “No, I didn’t.  I’m glad you told me, though.  I’ll definitely keep an eye on her.”
“I just thought I’d let you know.”  Melinda knew his tone was meant to convey a sense of camaraderie.  She wasn’t buying it, though; she knew Vic would gleefully stab her in the back given half a chance.

“I really appreciate it,” she said, making her voice as saccharine as possible.  She and Blaine both sat in silence, staring at Vic until he began to fidget uncomfortably.

“Oh, look, there’s Susan.  I needed to talk to her.  Susan!  Susan!”  He rushed out of their cube and over to accost the CSR.

“He.  Is.  Such.  An.  Asshole,” Blaine hissed through clenched teeth.

“Shhh.”  Melinda peeked around the corner and saw that Vic wasn’t all that far off.  “He is, but you don’t want to give him any fuel for his fire.”

“I just can’t stand people like him.  He’s so fake.  Why the hell don’t Jerry and the other managers see through that?”

“Because Vic is good at telling them what they like to hear, you know that.  What do you think this is, the type of place where people get where they are as a result of their honest, hard work?”

“Oh, right.  I forgot.  The most valued skill you can possess here is that of masterfully kissing arse,” Blaine said, his voice oozing sarcasm.

Melinda smiled at him.  “Tsk, tsk.  Bitterness doesn’t suit you.  In fact, it makes you even uglier than usual.”

“That’s the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”  A grin spread over his face, obliterating the sour expression he’d worn just seconds earlier.

“I should write for Hallmark, don’t you think?” Melinda asked, grinning in reply.

“Oh definitely.  Your talents are certainly being wasted here.”

“Aren’t all of our talents?”  Melinda sighed.

“Hitchcock should have done a movie about this place.  I’m sure people would’ve paid to watch a movie about an evil building that sucks out your very soul, until you become a mindless automaton shuffling slowly from one cubicle to the other while muttering, ‘Yes, boss.  Anything you say, boss.’  Don’t you think so?”

“I’m not sure.  It would probably be far too terrifying.  It’s certainly a lot more diabolical than anything Hitchcock ever thought up.”

“And speaking of terrifying things, it’s time for us to go to our weekly meeting.”

*****

Don't forget: this weekend, you can download a FREE copy of Creators, the prequel novella to my YA post-apocalyptic series, Contributor.  Happy reading!

P.S. Please check out the poll on the right side of the page.  I want to give my readers what they want, so your feedback on your preferred Kindle book format is much appreciated!

Feature Fridays: Sisterly affection

I am really late on this!  I had a crazy day and I almost forgot about my poor little blog.  However, I wanted to offer up another taste of Phoning It In, so how about a peek into Melinda's relationship with her sister, Susan?

*****

“Hello?” she said.

“Melinda, it’s Susan,” the voice on the other end replied.  Melinda grimaced and lightly banged her head against the wall.  “What was that noise?” Susan asked.

“Nothing,” Melinda told her.

“Whatever.  Look, I don’t have much time.  I’m absolutely swamped.  I’m due in court tomorrow for this huge case I’ve been working on and the firm has taken on three new important clients, so I am just tearing my hair out.  If my damn assistant wasn’t so incompetent, maybe I could actually get something accomplished, but the stupid girl forget to take my dry cleaning in and now I don’t have a single decent suit to wear, so I’m out shopping for a new one,” Susan said, her voice brisk.

“If you’re so busy, why are you calling to tell me this?” Melinda asked her.


“I didn’t call you for my own amusement, Melinda,” Susan snapped.  The way she said Melinda’s name grated like fingernails on a chalkboard.  How Melinda hated that tone.  It was one that Susan had perfected over the years.  Even when their mother had been truly furious with her, she had never been able to say Melinda’s name in as grating a tone as Susan’s.

“Right.  You just called me to remind me of how important you are,” Melinda retorted.  She smacked her forehead as the words left her mouth.  Her sister had the uncanny ability of effortlessly bringing out the worst in Melinda.

“I don’t have time for you and your childish games.”  Susan was now using her frostiest voice, and Melinda could feel the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end.  “I called to remind you that Mother’s birthday is on Sunday.  We’re supposed to take her out for dinner.  You were supposed to call me last night so that we could decide on a time.  I waited all night, you know.”

Melinda banged her head on the wall again.  “Right, sorry, I forgot.  So sue me.  Oh wait, I shouldn’t tempt you,” she said.

She could hear her sister take in a deep breath on the other side of the line.  Melinda could just picture her at Nordstrom’s, her cell phone pressed into her ear with such force that it would probably leave an indent.  She knew that her sister’s nostrils were probably flared in anger, and her mouth pressed into a thin line of disapproval.  This was the normal expression on Susan’s face whenever she spoke with her sister.

“I’m going to ignore that,” Susan said.  Melinda could hear the sound of metal hangers scraping and banging against one another as her sister thumbed furiously through the racks.  “Where are we going and what time?  Let’s get this over with so I can buy a suit and get home to review my case.”

Defeated, Melinda slumped her back against the wall and allowed herself to slide down onto the floor.  “Look, Suze, I really don’t care.  Whatever Mom wants.  But can we please make it reasonable this time?  Not all of us make six-figure salaries, you know.”

“Fine.  We’ll take her to Luciano’s.  That should be within your budget.  We’ll meet at Mom and Dad’s at six.  And don’t call me Suze!”  With that, the line went dead.

Melinda had the sudden urge to take the phone and bang it against the floor, but it was really Susan’s head and not the phone that Melinda wanted to beat against the floor.  Honest to God, her sister was just about the biggest bitch to ever walk the planet.  She appeared to have no warm, sisterly feelings of any kind.  In fact, she didn’t seem to have any warm feelings at all.  Susan was the consummate ice queen.  She was pure, unadulterated evil.

Feature Friday: Charismatic powers of persuasion

Way back when I was fresh out of college, I got my very first job working in a call center.  It was a horrible, horrible job.  Because the call center was open 24/7/365, I had to work weird hours, got Wednesdays and Thursdays off in lieu of weekends, and had to work pretty much every major holiday.  Seriously, it sucked.  There are not enough words to express how much I hated that job.  Anyone who's ever worked in a call center or who works in one now can tell you what a boring, soul-sucking grind it can be.

So how did I express my disappointment with my job?  Why, I started writing a novel, of course!  While the novel is not biographical in any way, Melinda's experiences in the call center are based on my own experiences in a call center.

And that is the origin story of this novel.  It languished on my hard drive for more than ten years before I unearthed it and saw that it had some potential.  The first chapters will require a lot of rewrites.  Let's just say, back in those days, I had a text pager and it was WAY high tech.  Most people didn't even have Internet access at home.  So, yeah, the technology in the novel is just a *wee* bit out of date.  But, still, what I really liked about it were Melinda's relationships with her friends and family, and her struggles with being in her twenties and trying to figure out what she really wants out of her adult life.  I can relate to that.

Now, without further ado, I bring you a first glimpse at Phoning It In, my forthcoming contemporary women's fiction novel.

*****

“So, what are we doing this weekend?” Blaine asked casually.  There was a lull in the calls and things were pretty quiet so they actually had a few minutes to spare chatting, unfortunately for Melinda.

“Nothing.  I have plans with my family.  My sister and I are taking my mom out for her birthday,” Melinda replied, equally as casually.

“Bull,” he said, cheerily.  “We are doing something.  You’re just hoping that I’ll let you worm your way out of it and that’s not going to happen this time.  When are you taking your mom out for dinner?”

“Sunday,” Melinda mumbled.

“Well, since we’re going out Saturday after work, that will be no problem at all.”

“I’d really rather not.  I don’t exactly want to be hung over when I’m out dining with my family.”

“You can be the designated driver.  You certainly won’t be hung over on Sunday then, will you?”

“Oh great,” Melinda groused.  “Not only are you making me go out against my will, you’re promising me a fun evening of sipping Diet Coke while all the rest of you get buzzed and happy.”

“Yep.  Won’t it be fun?” Blaine asked.

“No, Blaine, just never mind.  I’m not going to do it.”

“Yes you are,” he said, firmly.  “I meant it when I said that I would drag you kicking and screaming.  Melinda, you really do spend too much time moping around your condo.  You’ve been in a funk for a while and it’s time you snapped out of it.  You’re well on your way to being an old maid.  Do you want to be a friendless old maid while you’re at it?”

She knew he was teasing her about the old maid thing and she couldn’t help but laugh in spite of herself.  “Ass,” she said quietly, smacking him playfully.

“Hey, that’s workplace abuse and I’m not going to stand for it,” he told her.

“No, I don’t want to be friendless but is there any way for me to get rid of you?” she countered.

“”Fraid not, m’dear.  Once you’ve made friends with me, you’re stuck with me for life.  Just think, thirty years from now I’ll still be meddling in your life and pestering you into doing things that you’d really rather not do.”

“Wow.  What an appealing picture that is.”

He looked at her levelly and the expression on his face was serious.  “I’ve been kind of worried about you, kiddo.  You just haven’t been yourself for a while.  You just don’t seem satisfied anymore.”

“That’s because I’m not,” Melinda replied, with a sigh.  “And you’re right, I haven’t been myself lately and I’m sorry.  I know I’m not much fun.”

“Yes, you are, and that’s what I’m trying to tell you.  It’s time for you to get that back.  You can either enjoy life or you can sit around and wish that you did.”

“All right, all right.”  She held her hands up.  “I admit defeat.  If I don’t, you’ll never shut up.  I will go out with you after work Saturday and I will be the DD because I was serious about not wanting to be hung over on Sunday.”

“Ah, yes.  My charismatic powers of persuasion have done it once again,” he replied, rubbing his hands together in relish.

“More like your powers of annoying the hell out of people have done it once again,” she grumbled.

Most inconsistent blogger ever!

So I'll just come right out and say it: I suck at consistently using this blog.  There are a variety of reasons for this, but the bottom line is that I always start out with good intentions of keeping the blog going, but then become overwhelmed.

In order to try to remedy that, I've decided that I'm going to change up the format, which will make it easier for me to keep the blog updated regularly but won't place a lot of demands on my time because, frankly, as much as I sometimes enjoy blogging, I want to focus my writing time on creating that next book (because you have NO idea how many fun, fun plans I have for more books!).

To that end, here's the plan for the blog going forward:

Mondays will be Monday Musings in which I'll reflect on a random topic.  It could be something specific to writing, it could be related to an article I read, etc.

Wednesdays will be Woohoo Wednesdays.  Confession time: I have a tendency to be neurotic at times, so I think this feature is excellent because it helps me pause to think about all the awesome things in my life.

Fridays will be Feature Fridays in which I'll showcase whatever manuscript I'm working on.  This is where you'll find excerpts from upcoming works, juicy tidbits about where I'm taking it next, etc.

In addition to this, I'll do occasional features about other authors, book reviews, and any random things that strike my fancy.  But at least this way I'll be consistently updating my blog three times a week.

Be sure to check back on Sunday, when I'll be featuring an interview with author Darian Wilk as part of the blog tour she's doing to spread the word about her upcoming book, Reinventing Claire.  She is an awesome, sweet lady, so I hope you'll all show her some love!