My Blogfeast Blogfest Entry!

This is my entry for the blogfeast blogfest hosted by Angela - to see the full list of entries go here and look for the list at bottom of Angela's post.

Crossroads!



This snippet has been snatched from one of my novels.

Sue couldn’t believe she’d just done that; driven up to the crossroads and instead of driving straight over she’d turned right. Now, here she was at Home Farm, the place of her happy childhood.


She dashed inside the old farmhouse, called out a hello and received a reply from her mother, as always in the kitchen. Sweet essence of apple drifted on the ether, and before she entered that oh so familiar room she more or less expected to see flour dusted hands, her mother in the process of rolling pastry.

Her mother glanced up, smiled, and with back of wrist brushed a wayward strand of hair from her brow, indeed exactly as visualised beforehand.

‘You’re looking pleased with yourself,’ her comment.

Sue sensed inner scrutiny, her mother’s expression implying she might know more than she was letting on. She was right, for her mother averted her gaze and flipped the edge of the pastry over the rolling pin and began lifting it from the table.

‘Is there something you’re wanting to tell me?’ she said, quiet matter of fact yet hint of secondary smile, ‘only you look as though bursting with good news, and itching to tell someone. Is it your dad, you want?’

‘What makes you think I came here to reveal something?’ quizzed Sue, as diced apple covered with brown sugar disappeared beneath a cloak of pastry.

‘Mother’s intuition.’

Sue was stunned, thinking she’d kept her secret so well. ‘How long have you known?

‘Ooooh, at least five months.’

‘Actually it’s six.’

Her mother suddenly stopped finger pressing the pastry edge, her imprints already halfway around the pie dish. ‘So you were . . . Oh my goodness . . .’

‘Yes, shockingly pregnant at the altar.’

‘Not the first time that’s happened in the family, and I doubt it’ll be the last,’ proclaimed her mother.

Her mother’s attention suddenly re-directed to the pastry and flush to her cheeks, Sue sensed this a confessional. ‘You mean, I . . .?’

‘Yes, and your grandmother before that.’

‘Well, and I thought I might be letting the side down, hence my keeping it a secret.’

Her mother picked up a knife and began trimming excess edging from the pastry case. ‘And Andy, did he know? Is he pleased?’

‘He’s ecstatic,’ she replied, as her mother hefted the pie dish to the AGA.
Then, with floured hands and all, her mother came round the table. ‘I’ve been knitting baby clothes, and your dad said I might be jumping the gun,’ confessed her mother, a tear tracking down her cheek. ‘But I knew, just knew.’’

‘What will dad say, do you think?’

‘I can’t begin to tell you how pleased he’ll be. He’s already got a little pair of Wellington boots tucked away. Teeny-weeny ones. So cute.’

Sue burst into tears, and her mother as always hugged her close.



"Shh It's a Secret" - Summer's Blogfest



This is my contribution to  Summer's  It's a Secret.

To see entries by others go here

Mine is part of an opening sequence from a romantic suspense novel, one involving obsessional desire!

This follows on from interaction between Danny (head groom) and Sue (wife of Andy) - secrets & lies possibly just exposed by her brother-in-law - her and Danny now running through woodland.


Oh God, what had she done?


If it hadn’t been for Andy’s angry manner of throwing his cell-phone to the seat of his car, Danny wouldn’t have paid much attention to his boss’ departure from the stable yard; shotgun tucked under arm.

As it happened, Danny had broached his availability and no impending duties of any relevance if a shoot was in the offing, only to be met with strictly no company needed response: “ Stay put, I need no help for what I have to do”.

There was so much that she needed to say, to explain, and if nothing else, Andy was due the truth behind any notion of duplicity between herself and Mark. That is, if his brother was guilty of having revealed her worst fears. If not, why had Andy left in such a hurry, in such a black mood, and why hadn’t he said where he was going?

If anything happened to Andy . . .

She couldn’t go there, dare not think that far.

Damn Mark . . . Damn him to hell and back.

The suddenness of a 12-bore fired at some 400 metres distant echoed across the wooded valley.

Shocked to abrupt standstill, she glanced back at Danny. He too stopped in his tracks as a squawking cock pheasant dashed across their path and took to the wing. Rooks meantime rose above the green canopy in winged tumult.

A deathly hush soon befell the woodland: creatures as though holding breath, afraid to break cover.

‘Wait here,' insisted Danny, his hand grasping her sleeve to prevent onward movement.’

‘I have to, have to go on,’ she said, resisting his hold upon her. ‘There’s always hope, there has to be.’

Danny held her fast, stepped in front barring her way. ‘It’s best you wait here.’

‘If you say so,’ she said, shoulders sagging. Meantime her brain raced, her heart pounding in readiness to take flight.

‘I’ll be five minutes, no more,’ he said, his expression one of compassion.

‘Shh . . . listen,’ she pleaded, intent on putting him off his guard.

The instant he relinquished his hold she sidestepped and legged it.

He yelled, ‘Don’t, don’t do it, don’t go there,’ his outburst to no avail.

Brambles tore at flesh, skin zinging from nettle stings as she sped onward. All the while she was aware of what lay ahead: for once seen she would never be able to eradicate from memory. She knew that, and could hear Danny following in her wake, the ominous quiet of the woodland strafed only by the snapping of twigs beneath their feet.

Andy always so strong, the backbone of the family, the head of Hanham Racing, and her champion in all things, how had she let it come to this?

He’d known his brother had twice attempted murder most foul in a way that would have been categorized an unfortunate accident at high-speed, yet Andy had brushed off each attempt as though nothing to worry about. Then, then, one stupid mistake for her part and now the love of her life brought to his knees.

What else could have driven him out here, other than Mark’s vindictiveness and desire to acquire Andy’s all: Blakely Court; Hanham Racing; and her. Why her, when he could have any one of the many beauties who vied for his attentions?

Mark was so damned arrogant and impossible to reason with, and in his sick mind still believing he could win her over with a little persuasion.

She had such wonderful news for Andy too . . .

Why, why had she kept it a secret?

400 metres suddenly seemed more like 400 miles and she felt as though treading ground as opposed to moving forward.

Her every breath slid into slow motion, her former happy life with Andy unreeling before her very eyes at warp speed.

It wasn’t supposed to end like this . . .


I so wanted to put a picture with this to give sense of atmosphere, Andy's line of business that of Formula 1 racing, but I stuck to Summer's strict instruction of no images! :(


Bad News Blogfest Update! - October 2nd

If you've just hopped out of Karen G's blog BBQ party - to cool off - welcome to my blog and why not party some more by joining this blogfest. It's a fun way to enjoy and share your writing!

   

Quick Update: this blogfest is extended to 3rd Oct due to Tessa's (see sidebar) also on 2nd Oct! 

I simply couldn't resist holding my own blogfest!

I've enjoyed participating in wonderful blogfests, have met fabulous fellow writers and this is my way of saying thanks to all those who have already held a blogfest.
I think it's fair to say we've all experimented in writing out of our comfort zones in search of a genre that best suits our ideal for a successful novel, so why not for a blogfest!

There are no rules as such, the criteria that of "emotional impact"  

At some time or another, I expect you've all had to convey bad news to someone else, maybe to do with a pet, a relative, maybe even lover.  Hence, this "Bad News Blogfest" is not about personal misery, it is to be about a character receiving bad news! 

It can be written in any genre, any POV, any means of delivery i.e.  

letter, e-mail, text, phone, verbal, whatever, and up to 1000 words.

There are no prizes because I could not bear the idea of having to choose a winner!

You can sign up as soon as and I'll post a reminder a few days beforehand. Thanks for reading and I hope you'll join in this blogfest.

Fairy Tale Blogfest - Sexy innuendo!

OMG, I'm a real late entrant to this blogfest kindly hosted by Emily White  and to see more of the entries go here

Little Red Riding and Hoodie Wolf - A Wicked Fairy Tale!

If you don't like sexy innuendo in a story read no further!

‘Quit doing that,’ snapped Red Riding, removing a hand from her right breast.’

Button’s laughed, his tunic fully unbuttoned, trouser zip at half-mast. ‘What’s your problem?’

‘Like Cinders, I got standards above my station . . . so grandma tells me. And she says if I want a rich dude for a husband I gotta stay a virgin.’

Zipped up, rejection apparent, Buttons got to his feet. ‘Cinders is no virgin.’

Astonished, Red Riding looked up at him. ‘What? But she’s all grimy, who’d . . . Well, you know what I mean.’

Buttons grinned.

‘You! She did it with you?’

He held out his hand. Red Riding reached for it and he hauled her to her feet.

‘I can’t believe Cinders would do that, not with you, not when Prince Charming has decreed he’s going to marry the mystery girl who ran away from the ball. And we know it was Cinders, she told us all about the fairy godmother.

‘Yeh, but we did it, you know, before she went to the ball. She was all upset and I set to comforting her, like.’

‘Never!’

‘Yeh, well, let’s just say we were getting real down and dirty, and poof, all of a sudden ruddy fairy dust filled the room and next thing I knew I was on my arse in the corner of the room. And worse, this big fat fairy was where I’d been standing. She took one look at Cinders sat on the table skirt around her waist, tut-tutted and said “Naughty girl, I’ve got you booked for tonight. You’re to attend Prince Charming’s ball.” Old fairy godmother waved her wand a few times and that were that, Cinders were dressed to kill and a ruddy great stretch-limo materialised outside and off she tottered on glass stilettos.’

‘And we all know what happened, stupid wench.’ Red Riding brushed herself down making sure no telltale hay remained on her red cloak. ‘Right, I’m off now. Promised I’d drop in on grandma.’

The old witch hasn’t choked on a kid bone yet, then?’

‘Of course not, and still baking gingerbread men, and her stew pot is always full of juicy meat.’

Button’s strode to his motorbike, asked, ‘Wanna lift?’

‘Nah, I’ll walk, it’s not far.’

Button’s rode off and Red Riding picked up her basket of super-market goodies and started walking.

She’d gone a few yards when a middle-aged grey-haired guy in a hoodie and jog-pants came up from behind, and said, ‘Hey pretty little thing, you shouldn’t be out here all alone, want company?’

‘Ummm, no thanks,’ came her reply.

He jogged on.

She thought no more about him until she turned along a woodland track, and there he was sat on the ground and seeming a little out of sorts.

‘You OK?’ she tendered, placing a hand on his shoulder.

She hadn’t noticed before, but he sure had a hairy chest, and big bold eyes, eyes of a hunting man: mean face, and prominent nose with it.

‘Do you think you could give me a shoulder to lean on?’ he asked.

‘Sure,’ she replied, helping him to his feet.’

‘You’re new hereabouts, right?’ she asked.

‘Yeh, names Wolf, I bought the cottage in the woods.’

‘Grandma never told mom she’d sold up and moved out.’

He chuckled, and something about his chuckle caused her blood to chill.

‘So how long you been there?’

‘Couple of days,’ replied Wolf.

‘Oh, well, I’ll help you to the cottage, and perhaps you wouldn’t mind if I had a drink before I set off back home to tell my mom the news about grandma.’

‘No, I sure look forward to you’re coming inside my new home.’

They walked on, and soon came to the cottage. Only it wasn’t a cottage any longer. It was a huge mansion house.

‘What happened to the cottage?’

Wolf grinned, and as good as bundled her through a huge oak door. ‘Welcome to Wolf Hall.’

Red Riding looked all around. It was beautiful, not only palatial it smacked of money.

‘You’re a rich dude by all accounts!’

‘Yeah,’ he said, plying the basket from her fingers, and then sliding red cloak from her shoulders.

She glanced down at her skimpy dress. ‘A bit short, isn’t it?’

‘Good on the eyes, sweet cheeks.’

She smiled for she quite liked him, really, despite his wrinkly face and grey hair. He had a fabulous house, and well, what the hell if he fancied her, he had what Button’s could only dream of if ever he won the lottery.

She glanced up at a portrait on the wall. ‘Are pronounced noses a family trait?’

‘Yeah’, he replied, catching up her hand. ‘Sort of good for smelling out tasty morsels like you, and while you’re here, come and see the upper floor.’

She giggled, aware he had a wide mouth and big lolling tongue when he smiled, his eyes brighter than before and finger nails beautifully manicured.

‘No need to drool,’ she said, as he leaned forward and placed a kiss on her lips.

He held her hand in a vicelike grip. ‘Ah, but you like the look of my tongue, right?’

‘I hadn’t noticed,’ she fibbed.

He led off. ‘I know what you want, and I’m more than happy to give it to you, but first, you gotta let me show you something that’ll blow your mind.’

She hoped so, oh how she hoped so: a diamond bracelet, perhaps.

She thought not when he threw her at the bed and leapt on top of her.

It was too late, too late, too late.

The room was piled high with stiletto-heeled shoes.

‘Prince Charming,’ she said, mere whisper, ‘in disguise?’

‘Nah, he’ll be along later. I’m Dandini. See we got this thing going. He holds a ball to get us a chick for the night, only Cinders gave him the slip, and I do fancy dress costume when things don’t go to plan.’

‘And me being Red Riding, you came as Mr Wolf.’

‘Yeah, that about sums it up.’

She giggled. So eat me all up Mr Wolf!

Don't get me wrong but I've always thought there was deeper meaning to this tale. The Wolf representing a mature male initiating a young teen to womanhood, hence red cloak, grey (wolf), salivating predator, and apparently the red cloak only came into being in the Brothers' Grimm fairytales, and two men writing fairytales about pretty little girls?  ;)
What deeper meaning can be drawn from other such fairy tales of young single girls?    

Word Painting Blogfest - Hosted by Dawn Embers!

Many thanks to Dawn for hosting this blogfest and for thinking up such a good subject.

To see entries by other participants go here.

The essence of this blogest is to paint a picture with words! I've still cheated with a couple of pics, but I just love old novels where pics were included: earlier books with etchings, and later colour prints.

Brief: this is the opening scene to a re-union romance!



Cacophony of sound, milling people and overwhelming array of perfumes became intolerable. The stifling heat inside the marquee unbearable. She felt sick, quite sick. If she didn’t get out of there immediately she believed she might indeed throw up.


She hitched up the front of her bridesmaid gown and made a dash for the exit. A moment alone was all she needed, a moment of respite from the senses feeling as though bombarded with too much information. And of course those blue-grey eyes, those teasing eyes she’d thought never to see again, and that oh so damned handsome face.

As she stepped outside the vast canvas structure a lazy evening breeze whispered across her face. It was refreshingly cool as though chilled by the nearby ornamental lake and dark wooded island at its centre.

Musky scent of fern and fungi wafted on the ether, blotting out the heady aroma of manufactured perfumery.

The further she strolled away from the marquee and the noisy chatter the more remoteness enveloped, and her eyes readjusted to gentleness of twilight; movement of the air all the while teasing and ruffling the frills of her chiffon gown.

She strolled past tables and chairs arranged in groups on the lawn, where other wedding guests too had earlier sought respite from the oppressive atmosphere of the marquee. The elder fraternity had already retreated to the terrace at the mansion house. Its Tudor heritage as good as mocking the grotesque modern monstrosity ensconced on its emerald lawn, yet quietness of incoming night seeming to lull the ancient building into acceptance of temporary intrusion.

She paused inhaled sweet essence of wild flowers bordering the lakeside feeling happy in heart her best friend’s wedding had passed without untoward glitches to mar the day. The same could not be said for herself.

Why had she reacted so badly to kiss on bare shoulder?

She hadn’t seen Luc in eight months, and had had no idea he was standing in as best man, or that the bridegroom’s brother had fallen from his horse days beforehand and unable to carry out his official duties. Had Luc been present as mere guest, she could have avoided him so much easier. But no, he had to be in the bridal party.

Was Luc’s kiss meant as a sign that he was still interested, or big-tease payback?

One week of skiing together, a day of terror, and one night of passion and then . . .

Not that it was really his fault she’d run away from the horror and destruction of that terrible avalanche in Austria, nor the fearful nightmare that occurred that night. But, if he hadn’t said what he had the next evening she might have stayed on at least until the end of her holiday. Worse, the very morning she’d set out to leave the hotel, unseen, there he was returning from an early-morning ski run.

Caught in the act of running she’d felt embarrassed, and he’d just stood and watched her go without a word passing between them. What else had she expected?

Had he felt rejected and pride prevented him from making a move, or was it because he hadn’t given a damn that he’d tilted the axis of her singleton existence and stolen her heart?

She sensed a presence approaching from behind, half fearful it might be Luc, but it wasn’t.’

‘What are you doing out here all alone?’ enquired Sarah Gordon, fellow bridesmaid.

No way could Tori Bellamy bear to reveal true thoughts, and said, ‘Enjoying the evening air, that’s all.’ She drew a deep breath. ‘It’s an Indian summer, apparently, according to meteorologists at The Met Office, albeit the first day of October.’

‘What brought that to mind,’ enquired Sarah, laughing.

‘Cloudless sky of blue, all day, the sun now setting behind tree-covered island, people dancing to a romantic love song in floral bedecked marquee, and you ask what brought the weather to mind? Imagine what this lawn would be like if it had rained.’

‘I suppose I have to agree,’ batted Sarah, a wicked smirk, ‘but a marquee instead of a decent hotel for the reception?’

‘What could be better than the wedding in that gorgeous little church in the village, and then grand reception here at the manor house?’ mooted Tori.

‘Don’t be so prickly,’ said Sarah, fanning her face with a serviette. ‘Who was it moaned, earlier, about the temperature inside the marquee rising to tropical levels, heat wise?’

Tori smiled, glanced back at the marquee, noted guests rushing back from the house to the canvas interior. ‘At least the freelance-waiting staff are setting to with rolling up the lower sides now, so hopefully it’ll soon start cooling down a little.’

The chords of a romantic waltz reaching its finale drifted across the meadows.

‘Oh blast, declared Sarah, glancing at her watch, ‘the bridal departure’s imminent.’

‘Oh hell, and if we miss Paula’s throwing of the bouquet she’ll never forgive us,’ returned Tori, sense of queasiness having thankfully disappeared.

They both hitched up their skirts and ran.

Cooler air had already begun wafting through the marquee, and revelling in their freedom from official duties she and Sarah scooped up a glass of champagne as they passed a waiter with loaded tray.

As they sipped the pink champagne their attention centred on the happy couple dancing mid-floor, Sarah said, ‘Well, what a fantastic day it’s been, and Paula’s wedding dress is sooo her mother.’ She giggled a little. ‘I never thought all three of us would end up looking like extras for an epic American Civil War drama.’

‘Me neither,’ said Tori, ‘but hey, it’s only for one day, and Paula did warn us our gowns were somewhat frivolous and that we’d probably hate them when we finally got to see them.’

‘I suppose we should have guessed, being as Mrs Johnson’s all-time favourite movie is Gone With The Wind.’

Tori laughed. ‘And the men got off light with mere grey top hats and tails.’

Sarah nudged Tori’s elbow, and giggled. ‘Maybe, but Mrs J even got a blue-eyed dark-haired handsome Rhett Butler to turn up just for you.’

A long pause ensued, and at no response to mention of Rhett Butler, Sarah glanced at Tori, and asked, ‘It wasn’t all that bad, surely, his kissing you on the shoulder?’

Tori Bellamy agreed, the day had been perfect for their friend Paula’s big day, so too for the bride’s mum and dad, and for everyone else, but Luc kissing her shoulder was too much.

 
 
 

That's it - my contribution. It was taken from a novel of which I posted snippets from before, way back when I first set up the blog (a novel rejected by HM&B).