Romantic Friday Writers 7th Challenge & MC Blogfest!

If you're here looking for my entry to the MC blogfest, it's directly below the RFW Challenge!

For the RFW Challenge No. 7, I’ve snatched a snippet from my historical novella ‘Her Favoured Captain’.

Brief: Emerald, distraught, has rushed down to the creek and to someone she hardly knows but has come to trust, implicitly! But things are not as she has expected . . .

Why had her buccaneer deserted her so cruel, set sail, and not a word? They had agreed to meet again late afternoon, and if nothing else she would have pleaded to sleep a while in his arms if not able to sail away with him. Now, now she had to go back and face Ned and Moorby. Barely able to raise herself from her knees, a sleepless night had most certain taken its toll alongside dread of a fate worse than death.

       She retraced her footsteps, heart leaden. The bridge reached she sat upon the steps, tears flooding. How had it come to this? How could Ned be so irresponsible in gambling away the house, the estate, when already mortgaged beyond their means? What evil influence had possessed him, driven him to drink and to reckless carding?  Once a loving brother, now a monster, she neither knew him or understood this brother returned from war a hero, when so weak in other ways. Two years of Ned back at Penhavean, the estate coffers emptied and the life they had known slipping from their grasp.

       Sound of horses hooves and wheels stole her attention, for a carriage most certain on approach to the bridge and coming from the house. Could noon have passed, and Moorby on his way as threatened? Surely not, for it could not be more than half eleven and time enough to meet with the earl’s demands. She had to do something, any thing to save Penhavean and Ned from ruin. If not, her future would be more uncertain than before. At least as Moorby’s wife her status that of a lady would be retained, and as Ned had said, provide a son for the earl and take a young lover if you despise the old man that much.

         To be so uncertain as to who would be waiting upon her return to the house, quite daunting. If it was Ned she feared his wrath, but he could not hurt her any more than he already had. If Moorby, she would have to surrender herself to him. He might think of her as his, for he would have her body. Part of her heart, though, would forever remain at Penhavean Hall, the greater part at sea. No matter her buccaneer’s desertion he had unknowingly stolen her heart.

       Oh, how love hurts. . .

396 words!  To see other participants entries go here.

      

 This blogfest is kindly hosted by the lovely Elizabeth Mueller.

Right, the object of this blogfest is “How to Connect with Your MC”. In other words, a couch therapy session, as in, interview disguised as therapeutic bonding!

***

Hi, I’m Tara, a character in a contemporary romance, and the idea of being interviewed by my author sounded kind of wacky to me. Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure there are things I kept from her, not intentional for my part, just hadn’t thought them worth revealing. But anyhoo, the question session started something like this: see what you think!

Question 1:  What is your greatest fear?

Tara:  “I have a secret, simple as that. If ever it’s exposed my true identity will come to light.”

Question 2:   What is your biggest accomplishment?

Tara:  “Oh, that of my second greatest love, stage design. It landed me a job on Broadway.”

Question 3:   What is your biggest regret?

Tara:  “That I didn’t go with Rick. If I had, at least I’d know whether he’s alive or dead, presupposing I survived the air crash.” (tearful moment) “No body has been found with the wreckage of his aircraft, and it’s weeks since it was discovered on a remote beach in Brazil”

To see other participants in this blogfest go here.

While you're here, don't forget to check out other listed blogfests: see banners in sidebar!

Blogfests!

What were we all saying a little while back, where did all the blogfests go?

Well, here are two blogfests worth supporting:

Firstly Elizabeth Mueller is hosting MC blogfest June 24th. 

This is all about interviewing your main character. 

Secondly Heroines with Hearts are hosting a 100 follower blogfest July 24th.

This is a simple little blogfest, in which you name your first adult book read. 

Maybe it was a book you hid from mom, or your first action adventure, then again you might have had your nose in one of the classics. Whatever, to fess up go here! 

So c'mon folks let's go support these blogfests!

Last, but not least, there are weekly challenges/blogfests over at Romantic Friday Writers. 

You don't have to be a member to post, but if you write romance you might like to join a great bunch of romance writers. See latest themed challenge below this post.

6th Challenge Romantic Friday Writers

OK, this week's theme is Up Up & Away.

This piece written tonight is dedicated to the RAF Red Arrows Air Display Team.

A touch of romance added, of course!

Cell-phone to ear, the kettle steaming, and a cup of coffee next on her main agenda, Maggie exclaimed, “You are joking?”

       “No,” came the reply. Mac sounded exasperated in extreme. “Dave said, to tell you to get down here as soon as you can.”

       “But why?”

       “I hate to say it, but his exact words were, tell her to hot-foot pedal to metal, or I won’t be home tonight. It’s her call.” 

       “Shit  . . . I didn’t mean it, didn’t mean what I said this morning.”

       “Ummm. Well  . . . Go to hell kind of rankles us blokes. Believe it, his low fly exercise today was less up up and away and more akin to scything grass than I’d care to see for a second run tomorrow.” 

       “That bad, huh?”

       “Yeah, so do us all a favour and cheer him up before he clips his wings first thing.”

       “I’m on my way.”

                                                       * * *

      

What in hell was going on?  She clamped her hands to ears. The blast of jet engines deafening as the whole team of scarlet red aircraft lifted off the runway and soared almost vertical. The lead aircraft, Dave’s, arced to left; the others following seconds apart in timed formation, each falling away to perform a specific manoeuvre.

      Eyes glued to the lead plane she watched it dip, then soar upward leaving a short blast of red coloured taper in its wake. I

     A second and third aircraft performed L

     Fourth aircraft a circle O

    Within seconds I Love You in red, white, and blue hovered above the airfield. 

    Then came a low fly past, really low with intermittent dipping of lead aircraft’ wings before it turned to come in to land.

     Mad fool, didn’t he realise she loved him, too?

     She waited while the aircraft taxied back, parked up, and all pilots shimmied down from their cockpits. 

     Amidst much laughter Dave calmly removed his flight helmet and approached her a big grin on his face,   “Right, that’s my line. What’s yours?”

      “Will you marry me?”

      “At last,” he said, arm coiling around her waist in python-like grip, “thought you’d never ask.”

      “You’re supposed to do the asking.”

      “What, and get my head bitten off for pressuring you.”

      “Kiss me, sexy,” oozed purr-like.

      “Now this new you, I like. Like a lot.”

       “So kiss me.”

      

     Word count 397


To see other participants entries pop over to RFW for the linky list.

5th Challenge Romantic Friday Writers.

I'm cheating this week with snippet from previously published novel of mine. It's a mainstream romantic suspense in which Cassie is reflecting on the loss of her husband. 

Assassinated by a bomb placed under a car (nine months previous), he'd asked her a question, and she'd promised to reveal her answer at dinner that evening. He died not knowing her answer and, she witnessed his macabre death. Cassie is now suffering Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, and much of the novel relates to her struggle to combat this terrible affliction. But, amidst events destined to freak out any woman left alone with two teenage children, and faced with conspiracy of silence from her late husband's ex colleagues, she sets out to discover who these people really are: a fatal mistake!

* * *

‘God, when I think back to how I wondered what-if, what if he never comes back. I went through hell sometimes wondering if he was alive or dead, and all because he rarely made contact in weeks, sometimes months. Then when he quit the SAS and kept going walkabout, still I wondered what he might be doing. Then to lose him like that, in that . . .    
      ‘You really shouldn’t feel guilty, Cassie. And yes, I know what you’re thinking, and you’re right in one sense. If you’d said yes to his question, immediately, it might have made you feel a whole lot better now, but I don’t suppose he minded one jot. In fact, in all honesty, I’d say he likely got off on not knowing the outcome. Not that he wouldn't have, later that evening. You know what I mean.’
      ‘Given time who can say how much lost ground we might have regained, and yes, he often derived sense of enjoyment from a little suspense within our marriage. That said, he had changed, a lot, during the last few months of his life . . . Changed to someone I felt I could no longer relate to half the time. It wasn’t that he was less loving or inattentive when at home, it was something else . . .’
       ‘He hadn't seemed any different to me.’
       ‘Not to you, Rhian, but take when he and I went out together. The getting from A to B had to be as quick as possible and by differing routes, which didn't lend any sense of romanticism to evenings out . . . In the last few weeks, you know . . . before it happened . . .’ Cassie wiped away a stray tear before it shimmied down her cheek. ‘Well, you know how it was . . . Like the way he tensed up when awaiting specific phone calls. And that’s not all that happened. I don’t think I've mentioned this before. But you see, I returned from the office earlier than expected on one occasion, and believe me, he’d locked himself in the study. Had, actually locked himself in. To this day I cannot think why, and he certainly had no explanation and not the least intention of providing one. He just shrugged his shoulders and laughed it off with gesture of finger-to-nose.'
       Tears filled Cassie's eyes . . . Heart-wrenching tears. Her persona detached: elsewhere in purgatory.
      What could one say?            

Word count 414: I don't care! It wouldn't make sense otherwise. ;)

To see pieces by other participants' go here and follow the links.

All Fun & Games Blogfest & Three Times a Bridesmaid!

First blogfest in a long while and hosted by Alex J. C.  

This is merely a quick fun blogfest in which participants list three games they love playing: here's mine!

There's nothing more hilarious than a game of charades! It's pure entertainment value if enough are playing it, especially when everyone's feeling a little merry at a party, brain-fuddled and incapable of stopping onset of giggles and gut-busting laughter.

Monopoly.  

Don't you just love being in property speculation? 

This is the next best thing to being a Billionaire: if you win!

"Cricket"

Now this is the action game some of us Brits settle to after a juicy fattening B-B-Q. And believe this, I've impressed guys for years with my over-hand bowling. There's one word to be said for English girls who played rounders (baseball) and hockey as kids and they're batting: DUCK! Upper balls or lower ones coming at you, you've got them in your sights for a bl **dy good whack with the bat: runs/scores galore. My old school motto: take no prisoners!  

Cricket rules are simple: You're in when your out, and out when you're in!  ;)

To see other participants' choice of games hop over to here. 

I'm over at Heroines' with Hearts today: topic as image!

If you're a romantic writer and would like to join in the discussion please feel free to drop by for a coffee and chat . . . HERE

4th Challenge/Blogfest Romantic Friday Writers

For anyone dropping by and has yet to hear of Romantic Friday Writers, well, it's a fun-time Internet based romance writer club. Each week themed challenges are set, and members post up a piece of poetry, a snippet from WIP,  or write a piece especially for the challenge. The maximum word count is always 400. Believe me, it's tough keeping within the word count.

For this week's theme the added angst: "must be written from first person POV!" 

How bizarre, Special Murder Mystery trip. Raffle ticket? Where's Poirot when you need him. 

        Table eight, I’m table eight. Two  . . . Four . . . Six.

        One more and . . . No, no, why would he? Just turn-a-round, and walk away.

        “Kate.” 

        Hand to wrist and no escape.

        Avoid eye contact.

        “Kate, please. Sit down. We need to talk.”

        Oh so familiar Swiss-French lilt and deep timbre. Damn you, Jean Paul. 

      Sit down? How dare he presume to sit at my table and talk to me as though nothing ever happened?

        “Go to hell.”

              * * *

The compartment door refused to budge, Jean Paul’s shoulder wedging it. It was all so unfair, so unfair. Why now, why come and taunt with his closeness, his eyes searching for what? Flesh searing flesh and I stupid in hungering his touch. "Go away."

       “Kate, what happened, happened. I had no control over it. I didn’t walk away from you, if that’s what you’ve thought all this time. If I had, do you think I’d be here now?”

       “Funny that, because on our so-called special trip to Venice, I remember your stepping off the train at Innsbruck and your last words, I’ll be no more than ten minutes. And there I was left on the train, wondering why you’d bailed."

       “Believe me I’ve never stopped loving you.” His fingers to throat utter torture in loving intimacy of familiar caress. “I tried your cell phone as soon as I could, but you never returned my calls.”

       “You quit our relationship, why would I?”

       “I tried writing you and received no replies. I knew then you thought the worst, hence the ticket for this murder mystery trip with reference to a raffle. I know you pay for raffle tickets then forget all about them.”

       “So what happened that day at Innsbruck?”

       “I keeled over. Simple as that.  Heart failure according to the specialist. Overworked and stressed out.”

       “But I thought . . .”

       “Am I forgiven for deserting you that day?”

       “There’s nothing to forgive.”

       “Even after what’s happened?”

       “Yes. I love you, damn it, I love you.”

       “Then you might want this. Delivered by courier that day, and the reason why I left the train at Innsbruck.”

       “Oh my God, a rock.”

       “But of course. Now can I come in or shall we take dinner first?"

       "Come here, then . . ."

    

396 words – YES!!!!!!!!!!!!!

As you've probably guessed this is a scenario enacted on the Orient Express, the scenic image below of the Swiss Alps, the other inside a private compartment.  

If you would like to read more offerings by other members, go here for list of today's participants. Once there, perhaps you'll feel inclined to join with us at Romantic Friday Writers. 

New Excerpt from Novella posted!

Yep, it's a historical!

I have to say that now I've completed my novella, it was tough writing it. The word count alone proved restrictive in its own right, for where I would have let prose flow and flourish in flood of emotions and character angst for a 90,000 -100,000 + word count, I continually found myself having to cut to the bone and tighten per scene as though writing a script for one hour of TV drama, though I guess what I've written would need several episodes to convey the story without need for slicing the bone for soup. Anyhoo, if anyone is interested in a little read, it's on my writer profile blog here.