Enter the Villain / Six Sentence Sunday 04/08/2012

Welcome to my third ‘6 Sentence Sunday’

(Book 1 Nederlander Series) Enter the villain:

“And …he was checking her out. Second alarm. She could feel his eyes, hidden behind dark aviator sunglasses, sliding over every inch of her body. There was no doubt about it: she was being stripped. Watching his sexy smile slowly widen as he took her in made her feel warm in all the right places. She blushed. He was a potent, virile man who knew how to mess with her hormones.

She ran a hand through her hair. “

Check out other writers participating in Six Sentence Sunday at:

Love Poetry from a Spy

Love poetry to start your weekend. May it be full of love:)

The Passionate Shepherd to His Love

(Christopher Marlowe, 1590s – read on YouTube clip below)

Come live with me and be my love,
And we will all the pleasures prove
That hills and valleys, dale and field,
And all the craggy mountains yield.

There will we sit upon the rocks,
And see the shepherds feed their flocks,
By shallow rivers to whose falls
Melodious birds sing madrigals.

There I will make thee beds of roses
And a thousand fragrant posies,
A cap of flowers, and a kirtle
Embroider’d all with leaves of myrtle;

A gown made of the finest wool
Which from our pretty lambs we pull;
Fair linèd slippers for the cold,
With buckles of the purest gold;

A belt of straw and ivy buds,
With coral clasps and amber studs;
And if these pleasures may thee move,
Come live with me, and be my love.

Thy silver dishes for thy meat
As precious as the gods do eat,
Shall on an ivory table be
Prepared each day for thee and me.

The shepherd swains shall dance and sing
For thy delight each May-morning:
If these delights thy mind may move,
Then live with me and be my love.


What Responsibilities does a Writer Have?

Reflections on my writing week:

Weary Writer Logic: Annie Murphy Paul wrote in, “Your Brain on Fiction”, in the New York Times:

“Brain scans are revealing what happens in our heads when we read a detailed description, an evocative metaphor or an emotional exchange between characters. Stories, this research is showing, stimulate the brain and even change how we act in life.”

I learned this when I was eight, after finishing Charlotte’s Webb by E.B. White. Tears streamed down my face and my world shifted. I’ll never forget the spider, or think of friends in the same way.I’m sure you’ve  felt the power of words, too. I’m glad the scanners are catching up:)

Paul goes on to say:

“The brain, it seems, does not make much of a distinction between reading about an experience and encountering it in real life; in each case, the same neurological regions are stimulated…reading produces a vivid simulation of reality… Fiction — with its redolent details, imaginative metaphors and attentive descriptions of people and their actions — offers an especially rich replica. Indeed, in one respect novels go beyond simulating reality to give readers an experience unavailable off the page: the opportunity to enter fully into other people’s thoughts and feelings.”

If reading is good for us, then writers play an important role in our lives. How’s that for weary writer logic:)

Is a Picture Worth a Thousand Words?  If not, how much is it worth? Here’s my dilemma. I need to market myself, so that people will  read my stories, but it’s hard. I created my profile pictures by holding my phone at arm’s length and clicking. They  suck. What do I do?  I’m grey haired, past 50, have a big nose, and am painfully shy. I’m not exactly model material for a photographer.  The questions I’m struggling with are: 1) How much am I willing to pay a photographer to create an image of me?  2) Do I want an authentic picture? Really? 3) Should I follow one photographer’s suggestion and go for “noire” whatever that means?

I think of Dolly Parton. Underneath all the makeup is a real person who shines through. Would she be where she is today without the proper, or in her case, not so proper, image?

What should a romantic suspense writer look like? Hmmm. When I read a book I couldn’t care less what the author looks like, but in the digital world images matter. They become part and parcel of the communication. Think about it. There are some Tweeters I won’t follow because of their profile pics. The one that comes to mind presented two well rounded butt cheeks. I kid you not. Corners of the twitter world can be quite creepy. Where do I fit in:)

Decisions …decisions. I’ve booked a photo session for Monday. I’ll let you know how it goes.

A bothersome quote:       “95% of the authors self-publishing today will not be here in 2 years.” (Jen Talty,  “The Secret Success of the Digital Author”)

Talty uses this stat to make the point that a writer must have perseverance. I understand that, but stats are misleading. The other 5% to my mind, are hard core addicts (to writing). Why else would they do it when the odds of sustaining success are so slim?

My Writing? I’m working on revisions, liking my story a little bit more every day. I’m meeting with a new critique group next week and am excited about that.

My blog is getting noticed. The post that generated the most hits was Tuesday’s, “Gotta Love Troll’s” (148 hits, mostly from the US, and 1 comment). Go figure.

Does a Writer Have Responsibilities? When I was a student, mother …teacher I knew my responsibilities, but as a writer I find the lines blurred by “creative license.” Maybe, that’s because I’m my own boss at the moment. My gut says a writer, like any human being in our society, has responsibilities to his fellow man/woman, and perhaps more, because the sword he yields, the word, is so powerful. My end of the week musings.

What do you think?

Gotta Love Troll’s

I mean the place, not the little varmints that live under bridges.

I went to Vancouver twice this week, so  I went to Troll`s twice.  I have to write about it.

Location: In the tiny town of Horseshoe Bay, just outside  West Vancouver (B.C. Canada), situated across the road from the bay, the restaurant has an amazing view of snow capped coastal  mountains rising out of the ocean towering  into the sky. The harbor has a small boat marina and the dock for B.C. Ferries, which services boats running up the mainland coast and over to Bowen Island and Vancouver Island.

History: “…Joe and Dorothy (“Dot”) Troll started Troll’s Fish and Chips in 1946 opening only on weekends and holidays and catered to the local fishermen of the village.” In 1951 ferry service to the Sunshine Coast and Nanaimo started and and in 1961 B.C. Ferries took over the runs. Millions of people stream through the small town and many of them stop at Troll’s.

If you won a lottery ticket… : would you keep working?  Joe’s son Gary, who now runs the restaurant, won a 14 million dollar lottery in 1997, and kept working.

“…he continues to report to work at 4am and prepare the restaurant for the daily 6am opening. It is not uncommon to see locals, stranded travelers or just regular early birds having coffee and hot cinnamon buns well before the 6am opening. This speaks of how Troll’s is operated….we take care of family….all families.” (Troll’s Restaurant)

But the reason I love Troll’s is…:  its ambiance. It`s quintessential west coast. You feel comfortable  the moment you walk through the door with its porthole.   A stained glass picture of a tall ship is on the back door. A wooden canoe hangs from the ceiling. The wood paneled walls are covered with well drawn caricatures of people, who I don’t know, but feel I do, because the artist has done such a good job. Above the bar sit two men drinking.

… And  the staff has character. My favorite waitress will get you fed and on your way to the ferry in ten minutes, or will let you relax with a paper for an hour. Middle aged, hard working and all business, she slides from table to table with a wizened smile that spreads from the corners of her tightly held mouth to her tired eyes, like she’s seen it all and then some.  We complimented her on her efficiency  and her response:

“It isn’t my first rodeo.”

Like I said, “You gotta love Troll’s.”

Bicycle Parking, Central Station, Amsterdam

“Since 2001, Stationsplein next to Amsterdam’s Central Station boasts the world’s first bicycle flat. The building has room for 2500 bicycles….[The] 100 meter long bicycle flat at the Central Station was built to temporarily store thousands of bikes during a large renovation project …. [It] was built over water to maximize the use of space. It consists  of three slightly sloping parking decks. The bicycle flat was supposed to be closed and removed in 2004, but it still exists today.” (I Am Amsterdam site)

I had heard about this parking lot for bicycles, but it still shocked me when I saw it. It’s enormous. To me, it symbolizes the love for bicycles the Dutch have, a topic I will explore  in other posts. Today, I wanted to look at the parking lot. It’s right beside Central Station, the major transportation hub for the country.

Six Sentence Sunday 4/01/2012

Stanley Park, Vancouver (one of the settings in this story)

Welcome to my second, “Six Sentence Sunday.”

Angela has been rescued and now faces a policeman.

“A middle-aged man with a “don’t mess with me” look grabbed one of her kitchen chairs and sat opposite her. “I’m Detective Bonito.” His olive skin whispered Mediterranean ancestry, but the intensity of his coal black eyes screamed cop. He wore street clothes: brown khakis, and a worn leather flight jacket.

“Angela Carter,” she replied. “I’d shake your hand, but mine’s shaking.”

“I can see that,” he said, in a voice as hard as steel.”

I hope you enjoyed my excerpt. Check out what other authors are writing  by visiting the Six Sentence Sunday Website.

Shakespeare to Start Your Saturday

Sonnet 18 – Shall I compare thee to a Summer’s day?

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate;
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer’s lease hath all too short a date;
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimm’d;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance or nature’s changing course untrimm’d;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st;
Nor shall Death brag thou wander’st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow’st:
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.