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KIDS SAY THE DARNDEST THINGS…
And my sons (age 5 and 3) are certainly no exceptions.
Our travel morning had started off miraculously well. I’d managed to get our munchkins out of bed, had them dressed, fed, teeth brushed, and buckled into the car (yes, even remembered to buckle them this time) all by the ungodly hour of 7am for a trip to see the in-laws. With my hubby at the wheel (elated to actually be on schedule this time), we parked in the long-term lot, checked our bags, and stood in line for the metal detector with an uncharacteristic sense of calm. The security ticket checker, a somewhat stout, masculine-looking woman, greeted our children with a smile. All was going so well, until….
My eldest son tipped his head, nose scrunched in a puzzled expression, and said to the woman, “You’re kinda strange. You’re short and you look like a girl–but not.”
And just like that, our naive feeling of serenity disappeared.
God clearly has a sense of humor. Thankfully, so did the ticket checker–although I’m fairly certain she only heard the “short” portion of the evaluation, based on her laughter and reply.
So what did we do? The same thing any successful writer does when faced with yet another unexpected blockade in the insane literary biz: plaster on a smile, taut enough to contain the internal screams of dread, then stand tall and march onward.
Ironically enough, each time something like this happens (oh, yes, this was not the first), I am reminded of what essential element above all others makes fiction writing great: honesty. A compelling story does not emerge on the scene without honesty in both plot and characters. Writing the truth of a situation or person’s soul is, in my opinion, the key to capturing a reader’s heart.
So thanks go out to my son for the lesson. But… um, sweetheart, could you at least give Mommy fair warning before the next class begins?
And now, I ask, what about you? What crazy thing has your child (yes, this could very well mean your hubby or significant other) said or done in a public forum that made you want to crawl under a large boulder? Please, share your humiliation (think of it like online therapy) and assure me I’m not alone.
Ever since third grade, cats have been a big part of my life. My mother still has the essay I wrote about how my allergy-prone bother would go to college so I could get a kitten. Moved by my words, the teacher gave me an A. Moved by my incessant whining, my brother bought home a stray.
Since then I’ve had several cats, all unique in personality. First there was “The Ho”. I don’t have the words or the space to capture the uniqueness that was Ho. Suffice to say, he didn’t consider himself a pet so much as an employer. A furry black old man who just happened to like eating canned tuna (the real kind, not the stuff you served cats). We knew it was bad when one Christmas, my husband’s elderly uncle sat on a uncomfortable spare chair because “he didn’t want to disturb The Ho’s nap.” We always figured, had he lived another sixteen years, he would have been the first cat to develop opposable thumbs.
Cocoapuff is my big, precious fluff- ball. She’s never met a lap she didn’t want to sit on or come across a hand she didn’t think should be petting her. Doesn’t matter if you’re reading a book, paying the bills or typing a novel, she will get her belly rubbed. As far as she’s concerned, nothing is so important that it can’t wait until she gets a little attention.
Then there is Squeak. Dear, sweet, dim-witted Squeak. Every morning Squeak wakes up to conquer the world. So far, the world hasn’t caved. In fact, one might say the world is beating the tail of her. In three years, she’s fallen into a swimming pool, gotten tangled in her own collar, run into I don’t know how many walls, and gotten her head stuck in a Kleenex box. Twice.
Why am I telling you about these three cats? Because like all the animals that have crossed my path, each one has taught me a valuable life lesson. The Ho taught me to never, ever think of myself as anything less than equal to those around you. Always believe you are as deserving of success and comfort (and tuna) as the next person. And take what you deserve. Meanwhile Cocoa taught me the value of self-care. Everyone needs a little pampering now and then. Moreover, everyone deserves it. Always, always take time out to get your belly rubbed – so to speak.
As for Squeak…. My clueless little kitten may have taught me the most important lesson of all, and that’s to never give up. No matter how many times you get your head stuck in a box, remember, tomorrow is another day and another opportunity.
Who knew when I wrote that essay, that I would end up learning so much? How about you? What lessons have the animals in your life taught you?
Not long ago, an anthropological study caught my eye. According to this study, men and women are pre-programmed to desire certain qualities in a mate. Men look for markers that tell them a woman can successfully bear young. Women look for a man who can provide for and protect them and the young they bear.
I’m no anthrolpologist, but DUH! Anyone who looks back through history realizes that women needed a man’s physical strength as a bastion against other men who preyed upon the weak and vulnerable; i.e., women and children.
Both civil and canon law conspired to keep this the status quo for most of mankind’s history, and I’ll leave it to the sociologists to examine the whys and wherefores. The fact remains, however, that science declares women are predisposed to desiring stong, capable men.
Works for me.
I love an Alpha hero. Strong, dependable, decisive, honorable are good qualities. Arrogant and commanding, not so much. Witty is nice, but so is the strong, silent type.
Oh, and let’s not forget intelligent. Not necessarily a rocket scientist–although there are a few heroes out there that should have been geeky yet evaded the classification–but quick to catch on, act, and protect no matter the cost.
A man so confident he’s annoying, scary, and reassuring all at once.
Alpha heroes are the stuff of fantasies. No sane woman wants to live with a pure alpha male–we’re talking serious domination issues–but a Knight in Shining Armor, regardless of era, will display any number of desirable alpha traits. He will be lover and companion, confidante and comforter, defender and protector, and do it with deceptive aplomb.
Some people consider Robin Hood an alpha hero. Driven by a need for vengeance, he gathers others similar to himself, the dispossessed and outlawed, determined to destroy the unscrupulous Sheriff of Nottingham and the usurper, Prince John.
Enter Maid Marian.
Selfless to a fault, she becomes Robin’s eyes and ears in the castle. She sees Robin as a savior who cares for the welfare of all men regardless of station. In other words, she sees him as a better man than he is.
Wanting to be that man, Robin changes. Oh, he’s still arrogant, decisive, unrelenting, and a host of other things, but the goal has changed; he no longer desires justice only for himself but for all Englishmen.
Yes, a good woman is often the making of a memorable hero.
Rhett Butler starts his story as an anti-hero. How can he be anything else? He’s jaded, cynical, a profiteer who doesn’t care which side wins the war as long as he comes out of it rich.
But then he’s enchanted by Scarlett O’Hara–a heroine as “anti” as Rhett’s hero.
Scarlett fiddle-dee-dees her way across Rhett’s heart, careless of her heeled slippers, challenging his assumptions, forcing him to see beyond the obvious, turning him from a strong hero into a drunken wreck.
Cup-shot and disgusted with both himself and his manipulative spouse, Rhett sweeps Scarlett into his arms and climbs the stairs, determined to show her he’s the boss. Scarlett wiggles and thrashes like a cat with its tail afire–to no avail.
With her fire obviously well doused, Scarlett awakens pleased with herself and life in general. Her satisfaction is short-lived. Rhett has reclaimed his manhood. It’s over–for now.
Scarlett has raked Rhett over the coals, and he’s become a stronger, more resilient hero as a result. Even an anti-heroine can be the making of a man.
Fletcher Christian. Self-righteous zealot. It took him a while to see past the rules and regulations to the inherent abuses, but when he did . . .
Love this picture. Look at the stance, the intensity. A mutineer, as a rule, isn’t heroic, but Fletcher Christian risked all to put an end to the injustices he saw. He believed in his cause so much he threw his future away, but saved the lives of his men.
Adversity refined the heroic qualities in Fletcher Christian.
Last on this hero list is the stoic and stalwart Atticus Finch. Most of us have read, whether by choice or as a reading requirement, To Kill a Mockingbird.
Here is a soft-spoken, deep-feeling hero. He’ll not be rushing into the fray sword drawn, but he will fight for what he believes no matter the risk. He wears his self-righteous crusader hat a bit more subtly than Mr. Christian, but they are much alike. Both saw an injustice, strove to correct it, and discovered the cost of crusading can be high.
Finch’s heroine? His daughter, Scout. It is her voice that tells the story, ringing with convinction, her trust in the nobility and judgement of her father absolute.
Age is no impediment when love is the impetus.
The heroes above all made the leap from literature to film. They are, for the most part, known to anyone who has set foot in a high school, unlike the works of Jane Austin, the Brontes, and a host of others–something I discovered to my horror when my children were in school. This lack did, however, give me the pleasure of introducing my girls to Pride & Prejudice, Sense & Sensibility, Wuthering Heights, Jane Eyre, and Emma in both book and screen forms.
Heathcliff commanded many a conversation.
All memorable heros touch the deep, dark, often forgotten recesses of the female psyche, appealing to the programmed need for a worthy mate. Pretty men please the eye, but only a man whose strength matches and balances that of the woman in question need apply for a lasting relationship.
Despite cultural differences, socio-economic differences, and any other difference you can name, at the root we remain the same as we were at the dawn of history–and we still love heroic qualities in our men.
Who are your favorite heroes? Why? What makes them heroic? Are they real or fictitious? Are they like Clark Kent with his alter-ego, Superman? The often maligned Mr. Darcy, stumbling on an overblown sense of self-worth? Or are they self-contained, independent sorts like Daniel Boone or Davy Crockett?
My real-life hero shines in every hero I write. Although I’ve bounced ideas off him, asked for advice (and took some of it), and let him read what I’d written, he’s never recognized his own reflection. Perhaps it’s just as well. While he’s never whisked me from humming railroad tracks, rescued me from marauding pirates, or ridden half-off a horse to sweep me out of harm’s way, he has heroic down to an art form. Save a drowning pet? Sure. Stop to change a stranded motorist’s tire? Certainly. Comfort a crying child? No doubt. Yet were you to praise any of this, he would dismiss it saying he was only doing the right thing.
In the final tally, isn’t that the true measure of a hero?
Like most of you, I spent much of my childhood with my nose in a book. Worried about my lack of exercise, Dear Mom enrolled me in gymnastics lessons. After one class, I sported a goose egg on the back of my head and a new found terror of the high bar. And don’t even get me started on the Evil of all Evils. I lasted four weeks.
Up next? Ballet. I loved everything about it — the music, the swanky leotard, telling stories through dance. Unfortunately, the thought of pirouetting with my bird cage in front of an audience scared the tutu off me. I hung up my slippers after one year.
Lucky for me my mom is not only dear, but very, very wise. She realized early on that not every little girl is meant to be a cheerleader or a ballerina. More than that, she recognized my passion. And she fanned the flames. So instead of dance lessons, she enrolled me in a book club. I vividly remember tearing into that first flat brown box (I know. Not. Normal.) and unearthing Beverly Cleary’s Socks and Sid Fleishman’s McBroom’s Ear.
To this day, the beloved stories from my childhood still flit about my head, books like A Wrinkle in Time (I so identified with oddball Meg!); Are you There God? It’s Me, Margaret; Island of the Blue Dolphins; and The Outsiders. Kids books are powerful. Perhaps it’s because they touch a young, raw, vulnerable place in us. Perhaps it’s because they speak a truth children demand. Whatever the reason, they hold on long after “The End.”
You’ve seen a few of my childhood faves. Now it’s your turn. What books from your childhood refuse to let go?
Fantasizing about men is part of my job. It’s a nice perk since I have yet to see any monetary benefits from my writing. While recently writing a women’s fiction book set in Paris, I closed my eyes, envisioning the book’s hero-a bohemian puppeteer with shoulder length dark hair, a strong jawline, dreamy brown eyes, a quirky personality… As I fine tuned the picture, visions of Johnny Depp filled my head. No surprise there. Johnny was the inspiration for the U.S. Marshal hero in one of my books, an artist in another… I was seeing a definite pattern. Being such a versatile actor, Johnny had been the muse for the heroes in many of my books!
 One of the many photos that inspired my puppeteer character! Although I grew up during the 21 Jump Street era, I have to admit my appreciation for Johnny didn’t begin until several years later when I saw the movie Benny & Joon and I fell for his quirky, soft spoken character. Last spring, I was able to feed my muse and conduct “character research” in the flesh when Johnny filmed his latest movie Public Enemies on location in Columbus, a small town near where I live in Milwaukee. (The John Dillinger flick is due in theaters next week!) I have to tell you, like I did my hubby, the great lengths I went to in attempting to meet Johnny was solely for the sake of research.  Luckily, being a writer has taught me patience and perseverance. I was gonna need it.
On day one of filming, a brisk twenty degree day in March, armed with hand and foot warmers, I made the trek to Columbus in the wee early morning hours. Strategically positioned in the front row behind a fenced barricade a block from the filming sight downtown, I waited eagerly for a Johnny sighting, along with several hundred other diehard fans. After eight hours, rumors were circulating that Johnny was on the set. I eventually caught a glimpse of Johnny–or possibly his double–through a pair of binoculars, fogged over from my cold breath. At the end of the day, the closest I’d come to seeing Johnny was some crazy chick in the crowd dressed in a skimpy leotard and made up like Edward Scissorhands.
Day two I was simply giddy when I found myself a half a block from Johnny as he zipped past me on the running board of a vintage car filming a Tommy gun shootout. Upon finishing taping each take, he graciously acknowledged the fans with a tip of his fedora. I was ecstatic about my close encounter until later that evening I discovered newspaper and blog photos taken of fans with Johnny. I decided that hanging around the set for twelve hours wasn’t going to get me an autograph or photo op. I needed a new plan.
So on day three, the last day of filming, myself and other fans waited patiently across from PE (Public Enemies) Base Camp where the actors’ trailers were located.
 Here I am at PE Base Camp!  Johnny waving at his fans outside PE Base Camp! I got several great photos ops throughout the day when Johnny returned to his trailer between filming, but that evening, my perseverance truly paid off. Close to midnight, Johnny did a walk by outside PE Base Camp, waving to fans, coming within twenty feet of me! So close I could reach out and touch him-however, security would have whisked me or Johnny away, since his SUV and security team follows alongside him. As I watched Johnny drive off into the night, I told myself that although I was without an autograph or a photo with Johnny, I’d seen him closer than most fans ever would and I’d fed my muse. I’d also made several new friendships with fellow diehard fans. Yet, I still left Columbus feeling a tad disappointed.
Two months later, when I learned Johnny was returning for a few more days of filming, I was confident this was my big chance. After all, I now had a clue as to what I was doing. The last filming was merely my dress rehearsal, this was the real thing.
The first day of filming, me and several fans, ages 5 to 85, waited anxiously across from Base Camp. (I totally caught up on my reading and e-mailing during this time.) Late that evening Johnny’s bodyguard advised us that Johnny wouldn’t be signing autographs, however, he would be doing a quick meet and greet. Palms sweating despite the forty degree weather, my heart thumped wildly with anticipation as Johnny walked across the street toward the crowd. He was dressed in worn jeans, a leather jacket, and a striped knit cap–which only Johnny can pull off since I’m not a fan of those caps. Standing in the front row, I watched Johnny walk the crowd, slowly making his way toward me. When he encountered an 80-year-old woman with Parkinsons Disease, who’d spent six months creating a cross stitch of his Jack Sparrow character, he admired it in awe. He spent several minutes with the woman, autographing the cross stitch, telling her how much his mother would love it. What a guy! Not only is he as drop-dead sexy in person as he is on film, but he is an extremely humble and gracious person and my respect for him greatly increased. The man is hero material in every sense of the word!
 Johnny chatting with the Jack Sparrow cross-stitch fan. When he finally approached me I stood paralyzed while my mind raced. What was I going to do? Shake his hand, give him a little flutter wave, a hug, what?! My friend Susan standing behind me jarred me out of panic mode by giving me a shove in the back, causing me to stumble against the metal fence separating Johnny from the fans. “You gotta give Beth a hug,” she told Johnny as I quickly righted myself before security did.
Johnny glanced over at me, our gazes locking, a glint in his dreamy brown eyes. A slow easy smile curled the corners of his lips. He stepped toward me. My breath caught in my throat. He leaned in, sliding his arms around me, enveloping me in a tight embrace. His cheek touched mine, warm against my skin, and I about self-combusted. Cameras stopped flashing, conversations came to a halt, and all the fans around us ceased to exist. At that moment, it was just the two of us, together…forever… (Okay, this isn’t exactly how it happened, but it’s how I wrote it in my book anyway. After all, don’t forget, this was all for the sake of research )
 The HUG! Following the hug, I was somehow able to string together a coherent sentence and I thanked Johnny for taking the time to meet his fans when he had to be tired after a long day filming. He said in a soft spoken voice, “It’s great coming out and meeting everyone. Thanks for letting us bring the circus to town.” Any time Johnny, any time…
 Johnny and me shooting the breeze! So who do you envision as a hero when you read a book? A celebrity, rock star, co-worker, guy on the subway you share fleeting glances with on your morning commute? I’m sure all of your hubby’s have hero qualities or you wouldn’t be with them, but let’s think of men other than our hubbys at the moment. :-) After all, this is merely innocent daydreaming. Is it always the same man you envision as a hero or does it vary from book to book? As you can see, the muse for the heros in my books is pretty consistent. However, I must say, I’m lucky to have a real life hero also. If it wasn’t for my hubby’s unwavering emotional and financial support, my dream of one day becoming a pubbed author would be a mere fantasy, like the characters in one of my books…
Recently, I got into a discussion with former Golden Heart Winner and fabulous romantic suspense novelist Cate Noble about what makes for marketable fiction. We started with romance, of course, because that’s how we roll, and posed the question: if there was only ONE quality that you HAD to have for a romance novel to sell, whether your sub-genre was romantic suspense, historical, paranormal, contemporary, etc., what would it be?
Well, based on a completely unscientific review of the top romance novels on the shelves today–regardless of sub-genre–my assessment was: if you had a hero sexy enough to melt your readers into a steaming puddle of goo, a hero compelling enough to make you remember HIM long after you’ve forgotten the plot of the story itself (or any other details of the book, for that matter), you were well on your way to a winner of a book.
Or, okay, at least it’s that way for me.
Think about it-when you consider the most beloved movies and books on your keeper shelves, what pulls you back to them time and time again? As a paranormal fan, I am well versed in the J.R. Ward oeuvre-but it’s Zsadist’s story in “Lover Awakened” that really knocked me out. Why? Because he was a compelling hero. He was tortured, he was passionate, he needed. In the classic battle of Han Solo vs. Luke Skywalker, I was a Han Solo girl all the way, and I so wasn’t buying that he wasn’t head over heels for the Princess (you can’t fool me, Han!). Of all of the many brilliant Susan Elizabeth Phillips’ novels, I love “Breathing Room” the most, because, well, Ren just has a way of jumping on all of my buttons. And Jenny Crusie completely did me in with Phin, in her book “Welcome to Temptation”… truly one for the ages. These are the kind of men who beckon you back between the sheets-er, pages-time and again, just to remember the excitement they offer, and their unparalleled need for their heroines.
But that’s not the only reason why readers fall in love with books, or audiences with films. Sometimes, it’s the heroine who calls us back time and time again to a beloved story. Whether she’s spunky or intrepid, fierce or loving, it’s the heroine who gives the hero meaning and a sense of place in the story–and in our hearts. What would Zsadist be without Bella, for example? What would Jack Colton be without Joan Wilder in Romancing The Stone? Lost, that’s what. Still aimlessly wandering around South America. When I consider my favorite heroines, Sarah Connor from Terminator II comes to mind. Okay, okay, so she’s a little intense: but isn’t it the high stakes that makes her fight so worth watching?
For some fiction lovers, too, it’s the emotions that a story evokes–either through a knockout romance arc or a heartwrenching turn of events or a story of unending love. The chemistry between a hero and heroine can transcend a story and make it truly memorable. A recent case in point would be the just-released movie The Proposal, a harmless bit of summer fun with Sandra Bullock and Ryan Reynolds. Each of these actors on their own do their jobs admirably, but put them together, and somehow the movie is far better than it has any right to be. Even afterwards, it’s not so much their relationship that makes you smile, but how they look at each other, the zing of possibility that exists when they’re both on screen.
And finally, it’s sometimes the story itself that’s greater than the sum of its parts. Take the Suzanne Brockmann Troubleshooters series as exhibit A. Even if you’re a die-hard Brockmann fan, there are some of those stories you’re going to like more than others, some that you think of whenever you hear her name, no matter how many books she writes. I recently rewatched one of my favorite movies from childhood, Highlander, and realized that it had some really rough sections in it in terms of dialogue and character building… not to mention 80’s vintage hair. Even after I’d just seen it, however, I found myself remembering the story the movie told, the spell it wove around me as I thought “hey, what if” — and that story will continue to bring me back to that movie, no matter how much time passes.
But when it comes to that one indefinable “something” that makes me fall in love with a book or a movie over all other things… it’s still all about the hero.
So what about you? What is the most important element of fiction — the ”something” you remember about all of your favorite books and movies? All qualifying entries (posts that name an element and explain why it matters to you!) will be entered in a drawing for a $15 B&N gift certificate to help you fall in love with your next favorite book!
My TV addiction and I — we go way back. Back to the days when I was in single digits and so was the number of TV channels we received. Things such as TiVo recorders and even cable were far in my future. We had an antenna on a pole beside the house, and sometimes one of us would have to go outside and turn it while someone else stayed inside and yelled, “No, no better!” or “Stop. That’s better.” Better reception, that is. And late each night (like at midnight), the TV channels would actually go off the air. The end of programming was heralded by a video of American flags and such accompanied by the U.S. national anthem playing. And then the TV would turn to “snow.”
But even though the viewing was limited, I remember loving shows like reruns of Gilligan’s Island and The Waltons every day after school. Saturday nights involved watching The Love Boat and Fantasy Island. And on weekend afternoons, they would show old movies — westerns and ones starring Ginger Rogers and Fred Astaire were my favorites. As I got older, my favorite programming changed (well, I still like westerns), and so did the amount of programming. I was exposed to cable, albeit at my best friend’s house because she lived in town. We didn’t get cable out in the country.
Fast forward a couple of, gulp, decades. When many of my friends sold their first books, they bought something special to commemorate the occasion — jewelry, an expensive pair of shoes, a weekend getaway. Not me. I bought a TiVo — that miraculous invention that freed me from appointment television and commercials. Since then, I’ve been putting the twin recorders on my TiVo to work with season passes of everything from Supernatural (my favorite show) to Bones to Heroes to Fringe to Deadliest Catch to Legend of the Seeker…well, you get the idea. My current season pass lists 17 shows.
Until recent years, there was one thing that remained constant about TV viewing. Summers were pretty much a wasteland for TV. There weren’t any summer series. Not so anymore. While the vast majority of my programs are on hiatus until the fall or even the winter, I’m still enjoying Deadliest Catch and Burn Notice.
The former is about the deadliest job in the world — crab fishing on the Bering Sea. I think these guys have to be a little bit nuts to do that job. But I have to admit it makes for interesting television. The latter is about ex-spy Michael Westen, who got burned (pretty much dropped by his employers without any money or work history or ability to travel out of Miami), his gun-loving ex-girlfriend Fiona Glenanne, and his former Navy Seal buddy Sam Axe. They are such an entertaining trio as they help out people who need it and try to find out who burned Michael. I just recently started watching this show, but I’m all caught up because of the miracles of Netflix (season 1) and TiVo (a marathon of season 2, all 16 episodes of which I’ve watched in the past week) and the first two episodes of season 3.
All of the above doesn’t even touch the movies and TV shows I missed but can now catch up on via Netflix and the TiVo. I’m halfway through Comanche Moon (the Lonesome Dove prequel — told you I liked westerns — not to mention Karl Urban), and I’m about to start getting discs for True Blood.
People ask me how I can possibly watch this much programming and get anything done. The answer? Reward system and multi-tasking. I watch while exercising, while eating lunch or as a reward for meeting certain writing goals for the day. It’s my carrot for good behavior.
So please tell me I’m not alone in my TV addiction. What programs were your favorites as a child? As a teen? Currently? Do you TiVo or Netflix?
I am so happy to be here! In celebration of the 2007 Golden Heart Finalists’ Nobody Writes It Better Blog I am giving away a $20 Barnes & Noble gift card to one lucky visitor. Leave a comment for your chance to win!
Years ago I remember having a difficult time trying to get my younger son to read. It was like pulling teeth. But then he read The Hatchet by Gary Paulsen and everything changed. He was hooked, and he’s been a voracious reader ever since. Sometimes it just takes a special book to get the reading juices flowing.
Jude Deveraux’s A Knight in Shining Armor was the book that made me realize I wanted to write a romance novel. Can you remember reading a book that made you laugh and cry? A story that left you wondering about the characters for weeks? A book that changed your life in some way?
And…just for fun, can you tell me what three books the following passages are from? Go ahead, take a guess!
“She’s this genius. And being so much smarter than everybody else made her feel like a freak when she was growing up. Naturally she didn’t want that for her kid, so it was important for her to find somebody who wasn’t like her to be the sperm donor.”
“Wasn’t like her?” What do you mean?”
“Somebody who…Well, who wasn’t exactly a genius.”
He wanted to shake her until every one of her chattering teeth hit the ground. “What the hell are you trying to say? Why did she choose me?”
Jodie eyed him warily. “Because she thinks you’re stupid.”
***
“I told you that I was going to be reasonable and trust your judgment. I meant that. If you trust the werewolves, then I’m not going to worry about them.”
***
He was seducing her in anger, and she was responding. The mere thought of it was enough to douse her passion cold, and she shoved her hands against his shoulders, squirming out from under him. She made it across the room before he was on his feet.
“How dare you,” she breathed. “How dare you.”
Charles lifted one shoulder in an insolent shrug. “It was either kiss you or kill you. I thought I made the right choice.” He strode to the connecting door and put his hand on the knob. “Don’t prove me wrong.”
I’m thrilled to be a part of this 2007 Golden Heart Finalist group and the Nobody Writes It Better Blog. This is a wonderfully talented group of writers, and I can’t wait for all the interesting posts coming our way. To celebrate the upcoming release of my debut novel, Where the Wind Blows, I’m giving away
 a copy to someone who leaves a comment. Also, for the details on my Under A Western Sky Contest (win a night’s stay at a dude ranch!), visit http://www.carolinefyffe.com
Last year, before my second son, Adam, went off to college, my husband, Michael, wanted to take him rock climbing. That’s right–ropes, carabineers, harnesses, helmets, crampons (the spikes you put on your shoes to keep from slipping to your death)…the whole nine yards.
Potato Patch
The mountain they wanted to climb was Potato Patch, a stone’s throw away from Lover’s Leap, the really big mountain on Highway 50 on the way up to Lake Tahoe. Some of you might know the spot because Strawberry Lodge is a favorite of many travelers and is where the climbers meet.
Petch, Adam and Michael
Petch, their guide for the day, is certified in mountain climbing, so I kept telling myself I had nothing to worry about-as in my son and his life. Petch had been up and down the mountain many times with beginners, and had also scaled the notorious Lovers Leap, a sheer face that only a lunatic (in my humble opinion!) would try. On this morning, though, Petch and the Fyffe men would be climbing the face of Potato Patch, a trail considered a heart-calming “beginner to intermediate.”
I went along for the ride-but not the official climb. Then, as we chatted in the sun while the men prepared to depart, an idea struck me. I’m a photographer in my “other life,” and I had my big lens along by a fluke. Why not get some dramatic shots of them from the base as they ascended? Petch agreed it would be cool, but pointed out that the topography over to the base was a “bolder field” and more than I might care to traverse, and that I might do better just to take the walk up the backside of the mountain and shoot down to get them coming up. That sounded great. Was it far? Or difficult?
“Oh, about an hour’s walk–not difficult at all,” he said with an easy smile. “You can do it.”
I wasn’t sold yet on the idea, and so started back to our cabin to wait. But then the draw was just too irresistible. I grabbed my camera (which is a big-bodied Nikon, with 200mm zoom lens) and set out. I didn’t take water or sunscreen, figuring I’d be up and back in a jiffy. How hard could it be?
Lover’s Leap
Well, let me tell you. Within five minutes, I’d gouged my ankle from a small fall. It wasn’t too bad, though, so I kept going. Soon I needed my hands (well, one hand, as the other, remember, was clutching my bulky camera) to climb. Looking back, I realized with a shock it was now too steep to retreat (as hard as it was going up, it would be even more treacherous trying to go down). With a jolt, I realized I’d been the proverbial frog in a pot of cool water….completely unmindful as the water oh-so-gradually heats to boiling!
To keep from panicking I reminded myself that at least I was too high for rattlesnakes. It was then I heard that unmistakable, terrifying rattling sound.
I froze.
Where I met the snake
At my feet, where one granite ledge crisscrossed over the top of another, a granddaddy of a reptile slowly writhed under the rocks, not two feet away. I’d always heard that a rattler had to be coiled to rattle. But I’ve since learned that’s not so.
I was completely isolated. Whether I lived or died was going to depend entirely on me. My mind fogged with terror, I inched away from the snake. I didn’t go far because I was afraid of encountering other snakes. I had no idea where I was, I didn’t know the way back, and I could envision thousands more snakes in the thousands of cracks that branched off in every direction.
I struggled not to panic into a complete meltdown. I implored God and all the angels, including my own guardian, to rush to my aid.
I wasn’t yet to the summit, but still it felt as if I stood on top the world-and not in a good way! That’s how high this mountaintop is. Suddenly, I remembered the cell phone in my pocket. Then I did what I always do in an emergency–I called my sister Jenny, now at home, two hours away.
“Now, just calm down. What’s wrong?” she said.
“I’m lost on the top of Potato Patch! Alone. I almost stepped on a rattlesnake.”
“Can you go back?”
“No. There are thousands of snakes.”
”There aren’t thousands of snakes. Just go slowly.”
“Go slowly where? I don’t know where I am.”
“Can you call Adam and Michael?”
Bingo.
In case they were still climbing (I envisioned Adam slipping off a sheer cliff as he reached for his cell phone), I called each of them but let it ring only once, hanging up immediately so they’d see they had a call. Then I picked up seven or eight pebbles, tossing the first one in the direction I wanted to go. I waited to see if any rattlesnakes were going to put up a fuss. No? I took a step or two and tossed another pebble. Waited and listened. Took a few steps. Repeated the sequence. You get the idea.
So far so good, but the top of the mountain was about fifty feet above me, and if I didn’t get up there soon I might miss the men. By now the thought of taking pictures was the farthest thing from my mind. I was worried about spending the night on top of this mountain—alone!
So, I sucked it up and went doggedly on, trying to pick up the pace a bit. Finally, I reached the tiptop and looked around. The top wasn’t very large, and being so close to the sheer face made my legs rubbery. Better sit! Checking my phone, I saw I also had Petche’s number. I figured he wouldn’t fall reaching for his cell, so I called. A tone of voice can speak volumes, because I’d barely uttered more than a couple words (“On top! Where are you? Oh, help!) before he came bolting over a couple crests to find me. They were also on top, but off to one side where I couldn’t see them.
Have you ever gotten into a situation that was totally unnerving-and not at all what you’d thought it would be? A date? An agent? Maybe we all can learn a little something from each other…..Or, come up with an exciting, heart thumping plot for our next book!
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