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.