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.   

Characters faced with emotional Hell!

I'm over at Heroines' with Hearts today. 

The topic this week: Emotional Stress in romance novels and how characters handle it.

Do you as a reader want to see characters put through romantic hell?

Come on over and tell us what you think, and tell us whether you're cruel to your characters!

Romantic Friday Writers 3rd challenge/blogfest!

Masquerade!

Mrs. Vandervelt’s palatial mansion and floodlit garden as always, perfect for a masked fancy dress ball. To see couples strolling through the tropical gardens, or perched on the low wall of vast circular fountain, a sight to behold yet heart-wrenching. On the terrace below her, women in glorious gowns chatting and laughing with male escorts, all beneath string of balconies overlooking the grounds. She too standing on one of many balconies accessed from the ballroom: the last place she wished to be, and no escape.

Masked balls were normally such fun, but tonight’s almost surreal, and she felt akin to female extra on a historical movie shoot. She turned about, the ballroom again before her, the glass doors flung wide; light from glittering chandeliers bouncing off jewels worn by guests. A few notable males easily identified, as much by stature, mannerism and voice, but most of the guests totally unknown entities.

She preferred absolute anonymity, despite tonight’s ball held in her honour and dearest friends beside her. Why had she let Ursula Vandervelt persuade her this was for the best, that she must come out of her shell and let go of the past? She had come out, but her mask decorated with the tiniest of shells and sequins and pearl dropper, reflected where her heart lay and why tears cascaded forth every night when alone. Sudden aware the balcony a tad overcrowded, and people exiting the dance floor en masse in search of fresh air, she felt trapped, claustrophobically so.

‘Come on Tara, dance with me.’

Giorgio's vice-like grip on her elbow ushered her forward, but as she struggled against oncoming human tide a distinctive aroma caused her heart to lurch. It had to be pure imagination. But there it was again, that oh so familar tangy essence. Rick could not be there, and despite frantic search this way and that for a glimpse of the one face she would give anything to see: nothing . . . but sea of masks.

How cruel . . . How cruel that someone else should be wearing his favourite brand of after-shave: tonight of all nights.

Quick add-on: I won't be able to comment until Sunday! A wedding calls . . . 

If you would like to read more of today's posts select from list below.

If you're a romance writer and would like to know more about Romantic Friday Writers

please visit the RFW blog and perhaps you'll decide to join in the fun.