Romantic Friday Writers' Challenge!

The prompt for RFW this time is: 'Yes. No. Oh, All Right Then! '

Well, typically I had to modify this to fit existing prose, because I've again cheated with snippet from present WIP.

Brief: Lt Herne British Royal Navy (newly promoted to Commander Herne) and Countess Roscoff are highly attracted to each other. Although he knows the secret of what she is and what she has done, he has to prove it and is wary she may be one of Napoleon's spies...BTW, she lost her monkey and he's found it, or rather it found him... 

“Lieutenant Herne, Lieutenant Herne,” rang out like sweet music to the ears. For there was Therese, skirts hitched up, petticoats frothing and hat held to head and of all things, she was running like a wild young girl, not her usual elegant poise. Ropo squealed, deafeningly as he leapt from his shoulder. Subsequently, his naval hat bit the dust of the quayside steps. “You found him,” she managed, semi-breathless almost toppling over the edge of the quayside in her mad rush. The damn little monkey clung to her and chattered crazily as she hugged him to her temptingly exposed cleavage, and how he envied Ropo that treat. “I am so sorry my little love, so sorry you witnessed such a terrible, terrible happening. Poor, poor Ivan.” Tears brimmed and spilled forth, and it once again became his duty to offer a kerchief. “Thank you,” she said, a half smile, as he clambered ashore. “I already owe you so much, and now this. My Ropo safe and well.”
    “I had little to do with his rescue. He was more intent on robbing my pocket.”
    “Oh no. He tried to rob you.”
    “Only, in that I had demonstrated my pocket held nutty treats.”
    “Oh, I see.” She beamed a smile. “I heard you and Lord William tried to lure him from a rooftop but he wouldn’t oblige.”
    “We did, and finally gave up. I assumed he recognised the residency and would stay close if not finally venture to it in hope of finding you.”
    Damn, he should have kept quite, for her look implied wariness and he rightly expected a white lie in response. “But Ropo has never been there.”
    Thinking off-the-cuff and not wanting to alienate her, he said, “Yes, but primates like other animals have a greater sense of smell than you or I. Is it not more than possible his refusal to leave the rooftop implied sense of your presence, your scent keening his attention?”
    She scowled. “You choose to insult me by implying I smell?”
    “You know perfectly well what I meant.”
    She chuckled, a soft infuriating Therese chuckle. “I so love it when your eyes turn devilishly defensive, yet your tongue rebukes whilst visage a picture of amusement.”
    The waiting seaman coughed, a polite cough to attract attention. “Commander Herne,” said he. “Do you wish to stay ashore?”
    “No, I’ll be with you shortly.”
    He caught up Therese’ elbow and steered her out of earshot of the seaman, whilst she in excited haste exclaimed, “Commander Herne. Oh, I do apologise most sincerely. I had no knowledge of your promotion.”
    “No matter, it is of no great importance. Mere formality. But, what say you to a sea voyage, a short one on HMS Penultimate?”
    “Aboard your ship?”
    “All prim and proper and above deck, I assure you.”
    Her lip curled at the edge, provocative in extreme, her words tantalising. “Not to see your cabin, the captain’s cabin?”
    “If you wish.”
    “I wish.”
    Then will you grace Penultimate’s decks, tomorrow?”
    “Yes. No.” There was a long, excruciatingly long pause, and, “Oh, all right then!”
  In exuberance he broke with protocol, leaned forward and kissed her forehead.    
    “I do smell, then?”
    He laughed, leaned forward again and this time placed his lips to hers. Mercy mercy, this was dangerous territory for she could be one of Napoleon’s many spies.

Over word count: who cares...

To see entries by other participants, go here.

Picture Prompt Challenge!

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My contribution to the Romantic Friday Writer's Challenge.

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“Not bad, not bad at all. Legs up to their . . .” Momentary silence befell them, while Danny eyed the The Lollipops, the girls who were gigging at the pub. “Should have come here before . . . Why haven’t we?”

   “Dunno, but the girls said to meet ’em here tonight,” replied Ginger, eyeing a new arrival shimmying toward the bar. “Get a load of that.”

   Danny swung round, beer swilling from his glass. “Oh shit.”

   Tom burst out laughing. “Am I seeing things?”

   “Like what,” groaned Danny, a wet patch in his groin area. “Jeez, that’s all I need.”    

   Ginger glanced at Danny’s predicament, and roared with laughter. ‘Classic, mate. A sure sign of wet Lollipop dream. They’ll love you.”

   “Hey guys,” intoned Tom, eyes glued to the newcomer. “You sure you wanna hang out here?”

   “Yeah, why?” Ginger followed Tom’s line of vision. “Ah, see what you mean.”

   Danny turned in his seat, his foot catching that of a Lollipop girl: the trio making toward the podium. “Sorry about that, didn’t  . . .”

   Bright blues locked onto his, and Danny sensed . . . No, felt the vibes going through his body. Whoa, this couldn’t be happening.”

   “Hey sugar,” said blue-eyed Lollipop, deep rasping voice akin to that of an old movie star he’d seen on TV and kind of sexy with it, “come and see me later, after the gig.”

   Once again silence befell them as the Lollipops strolled past on skyscraper heels.

   “I’m out of here,” said Ginger, getting to his feet.

   “Too late,” said Tom, “the girls just walked in.”

   Danny glanced toward the door, Jenny having spotted their table and waving as though not having set eyes on him in weeks. Love’s young dream, and Jenny as remote from a Lollipop girl as that of . . .Damn it, why had the girls selected this pub for an anniversary do?

  “Oooh, big boy,” she said, slipping onto his knee, a kiss to lips as the Lollipops burst into song. “Missed me?”

  “Not yet, I’m still trying on that score.”

  She puckered her nose. “Great here, in’t it?” she said, addressing her best mates, his best mates girlfriends. “Different. Like kind of funnnnn different.”

   Charlene, Ginger’s girl said, “Yeah, and those Lollipops in’t half got some balls to stand up their in them there skimpies.”

   Sharon, Tom’s girl burst into laughter, said, “Big girls, in’t they. Like tall, tall.”

   Charlene started giggling. “Oh Danny, if you could see your face.”

   He laughed. “Come here.” The kiss potent, driven by lust, edged with guilt. “I love you.”

   “I know you do,” said Jenny, semi-breathless, “but what brought that on?”

   “Nothing, just saying.”

   Ginger laughed. “Happy Anniversary mate.” He raised his glass. “To all of us, one year down and two days to go to your big day.”

   “Thanks, Ging,” said Jenny. “Stag and Hen do in one is more fun, don’t you think? And guess what . . . Danny boy, you’re going to get to sing with the Lollipops.”

   “No way,” said Danny, hefting Jenny from his lap. “No bleeding way I am getting up there and singing along with trannies.”

   “Danny. Wait.”  

   Ginger laughed, got to his feet and raised his glass. “Bad move, Jenny, bad move.”

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Hee hee, over word count if it's 400 for today's challenge. And believe it I penned this over lunch. OK: to see other participants in this picture prompt go here.

A-Z Challenge or posting up Gone Fishing?

Are you in the A-Z Challenge or have you opted for a month's holiday re blogging?

I'm taking a holiday from blogging for a few weeks: Have fun folks... :)

RFW Challenge/Blogfest!

OK RFWers, I'm in this week with a snippet from "Love Walked In"  a semi-autobiographical Romantic suspense penned in fictional context, which will be going live on Amazon in a week's time: or before if the fates smile upon me... 

‘After daddy’s death,’ said Fiona, noticeably tentative, as though doubting her chance of an answer, ‘you never really cried, not once . . . Did you miss him, or was it all over between you beforehand?’

  Cassie reached out, affectionately stroked her daughter’s face. ‘Oh yes, I missed him, very much. And no, it wasn’t all over between us. Don’t ask me why, but I think I would have forgiven your father for virtually anything.’ She would have, she knew that, with exception of a certain indiscretion that had hurt Mac, and hurt her too, when the truth came to light. ‘He had an irresistible appeal, your father, and almost impossible to say no to.’

  ‘I know things were a bit dodgy on occasion, but I’d hate to think . . .’

  Cassie hugged her daughter. ‘Your father never hurt me not while he was with us, not intentionally, but by hurting another it hurt me indirectly. It was something that happened a long time ago and of no consequence now, and life goes on.’  

  ‘And now,’ queried Fiona. ‘What of Mac? Do you think he will come back?’

  ‘Oh he’ll come back, one day.’ Cassie looked out of the window toward the paddocks where horses were standing in the shade of the chestnut tree: idly swishing tails and nodding their heads in the midday heat. ‘He rings me every night, when possible, though didn’t last night.’

  ‘But he’s been gone seven months.’

  ‘What’s that compared to the rest of our lives?’

  ‘True, but why absent so long?’

  ‘It’s going to be a long-distance relationship for quite a while I think, and we’ll only get to see him when on vacation and the occasional snatched long weekend. I must admit, though, when he missed our scheduled call time last night I did try his number. Strangely, the answer-machine was switched off, so there will be no message awaiting his return. I tried his cell phone too and that was switched off, and there was no e-mail this morning. Goodness knows where he’s flown off to at short notice? I’m sure he’ll ring as soon as possible.’ She ruffled her daughter’s hair. ‘Skip this awful mess, and come riding with me, and I’ll help you tidy your room later.’

  ‘Oh must I?’ whinged Fiona, crumpling a blue silk dress in anguished gesture of hands to heart. ‘I’m expecting a phone call from a certain young Austrian, and . . .’

  Cassie kissed her daughter’s brow. ‘I’d forgotten you’re not terribly minded toward equines at the moment.’ As Fiona returned to sorting clothes, Cassie smiled, contentment and a skip in her step as she made for the door. ‘See you later, after you’ve spent ages and ages drooling over a hot phone line.’

  Fiona scooped up a pillow and flung it at her departing mother. ‘Who is it says I love you, love you, because . . . Because what, might I ask?’

  Cassie caught the pillow and tossed it back whilst bestowing a big smile: the because was personal, but Mac knew what it meant, and that's all that mattered. 

To see other contributions to this challenge/blogfest go here.

Happy New Year - Will it be your dream year?.

I know this is a cheating double up re-post but 3 comments! Sheesh... Believe it, you need a brand image even if you're with a publisher!!! Colour co-ordination on blogs will help in creating image and your author persona as well. Blue implies cold, red hot, pastel shades can appear bland to the eye unless a theme i.e., romantic, historical, other. Chick-Lit on the other hand needs to be sparky, perhaps even with ly tagged on, whereas fantasy and Sci-Fi is best when reflecting other-worldly influences.

BTW: don't forget I have a contemporary novel coming out with a publisher in July 2012. No idea what I'll get as cover image, but they have produced some gorgeous covers for other authors. So it's a wait and see. But hey, in the meantime my self-pubbed novels are still jumping onto peoples Kindles.

Two little words "Brand Image" and some people go to pieces just thinking about branding themselves, by that I mean selling their image as a writer even when they're lucky enough to be contracted to a publisher. Let's be honest a stomping three-book-deal and vast advance are few and far between. Small advances and tentative three-book-deals are far more common. Authors are only really in-house once their second book has sold as well if not better than their first, presupposing the first one flew off the shelves due to invested advertising by their publisher. But let's not forget author input on self-advertising, which comes naturally to those of a bent or flair for seeking attention. Of course, by their third book it is expected they will have gained a huge following. Now this doesn't always happen, in fact doesn't happen in big chunks, because remaindered book depots are testament to unsold books. If the latter happens a publisher has the choice of dropping any author once a contract is at end. Some do, hence we see books by specific authors under differing publisher names. That said, some get head-hunted, too, and are sometimes paid vast sums of money to switch publishers. This happy conclusion usually only happens to best-selling authors who regularly churn out best-selling titles. But, it's been happening to Indie (self-pubbed) authors as well. I think we all know who they are by now, and I dare say there will be other million-sellers on Amazon in the future.  

     

Love it or hate it we're all familiar with the little brown pot above. It hasn't changed! Why should it. If you love it you can't miss seeing it in a super-market because you know what you're looking for. 

Take this same principal but equate it to Hollywood and the movies! We knew exactly what we were going to get from this man when he was dressed like this. 

And in some respects he became the brand image for "Spaghetti Westerns", but that's not to say he wasn't good in the Dirty Harry movies and other memorable movies! Though as teenager I can remember drooling over him as Rowdy Yates in the TV series Rawhide. 

So, how are you going to brand you and your wares if you're thinking of going Indie? Have you thought about book designs etc?  To be honest I hadn't really given a specific image much thought. But I have now, and I'm going black chic. At least I'm hoping that's the effect I'm portraying for my latest attempts at book design for the Kindle e-market. How else can a familiar and recognisable brand be achieved?

  

Hence my book covers will be thus... see my image factory!