Taxi

I was dressed and waiting for my taxi to arrive. Michael had left already. His private limousine had been on standby and, as I watched from the window, he'd been whisked away without a backward glance. He didn't ask me if I needed a lift, not that I would've accepted.

It was an understanding between us, when we embarked on this affair; a weekend of  pure bliss, uninterrupted by our everyday lives. I wasn't available, not in the way he deserved so I treasured each second I had with him. Once the moment of his imminent departure arrived, we shared a final kiss and then he would leave, the memory of his lingering scent the only thing I had to hold me until our next tryst. 

The clouds had moved in sometime during the afternoon, chasing the sun away. Now the gentle patter of rain followed by fingers of water, streaked the windows like mournful tears. 

I sighed, feeling the weight of my solitude. 

Rainfall was not meant to be endured alone.

I straightened up when the familiar yellow vehicle came into view. I hurried to the door, checked my purse for everything and grabbed my tote. The ride down the elevator was quick, unlike when I first arrived. It seemed like it couldn't move fast enough.

When I reached the lobby, I nodded to the concierge before stepping through the revolving glass doors. The doorman on the other side immediately held an umbrella over my head as he escorted me to the waiting taxi-cab.

Once I'd thanked him and climbed in, the door was shut behind me. I adjusted my cape, and smoothed a careful hand over my up-do. The cab driver maneuvered his way into traffic, his eyes meeting mine for brief second.

We didn't speak for the entire trip for which I was thankful. The swish-thud of the windshield wipers, the shhhh of tires against the wet asphalt and the occasional beeping horn of an irritated driver broke the silence. 

When the taxi pulled up in front of train station and parked, I reached for the door handle. I never had to pay as my lover took care of my expenses for me. He promised to take care of me always and I took him at his word.

I paused when the cab driver suddenly turned to lean an arm along the back of the front seats. His warm brown eyes, lightly creased in the corners, held a gentle smile and I blinked against the sudden stinging of my own.

When it came, the familiar rumble of his voice engulfed me in a warm, safe hug.

"Don't make the same mistake I did, sweetheart."

I averted my gaze, feeling the blush of guilt climbing my face. I tried to keep the defensive tone out of my voice but failed miserably.

"What would you have me do, then?"

My father sighed and looked out of the side windows. When he held out his hand, I reached to entwine my fingers with his. A thumb rubbed against my knuckles while he considered what advice to give me. I waited with my heart in my throat. 

Daddy sighed again and lifted my hand to kiss my fingertips.

 "If you love him, don't keep him waiting."

All I could do was nod, as a single tear slipped down my cheek.

 

 

© Copyright 2012 by Ren Thompson July 16, 2012

Magpie Tales 126

No Nano For Me (boo)

Last month I had embarked on the challenge National Novel Writing Month or what is commonly referred to as Nanowrimo (Nano for short).
I had my outline done, and told my closest friends not to disturb me. I threatened the hubby, kiddies and even the dog to leave me alone, that I needed this time to churn out the next great book, the one that will be sure to propel me to the top of the New York Times Bestseller List, the one that Martin Scorsese will want to make into a movie. It is within reach, I barked to my bewildered family and I DEMANDED to be left alone to write.

Fast forward to November 1st at 00:06 and it was on.
I shot out of the gate, hellbent for leather, foam bubbling around the mouth, and more than ready to take on the whole enchilada.
And what happened?
I BOMBED and rather spectacularly, I might add.
Not only did I not finish but I didn't even get half way close.

I don't know what happened between the first few days and yesterday. All I know is that I had my project going and the next thing I knew I got swept up into something else, and another thing after that and so on.
In other words, I got distracted.
Distraction is like a four-letter word to writers. Its a very bad thing.

Anyhoo, Nano has come and gone for this year. There are other writing challenges but this one was the big one. So as it stands now, all I can do is scamper off into the sunset with my tail tucked between my legs and the promise of doing better next time.

So my friends, congratulations to you if you've won Nano this year. For those who haven't, well, I'm sending you a virtual ((((hug)))) and we'll just kick Nano's ass next year.

I thought I would post a little bit of what I was working on. Its extremely rough so please forgive the errors you may find.

Untitled Nano Pt.1

Twenty years ago...

Elise Morin stood in front of the Councillors, her back to the her fellow townsmen who filled the meeting hall to capacity. She licked her lips and raised her eyes back to the men that were seated at the table.

Men that were choosing her fate.

Anger, hot and sizzling, ripped through her veins at the thought. How dare they decide how best to "resolve" her situation? Elise kept her face neutral despite the turmoil within.

In all honesty, Elise knew that her change in status had affected the others around her. The air in the hall was heavy with fear, suspicion and pity. Elise caught the judgmental looks from several of the wives, ladies that she'd thought were her life-long friends. She made eye contact with Madam Dupont, wife of the secretary who sat near the front by the long table. The other woman quickly averted hers and turned away.

Elise ignored the pang of hurt and carefully refrained from looking at Darvis Kane, the youngest member of the council. She couldn't bear his smug countenance, the ripe speculation in his beady black eyes . She knew he had been waiting for his chance...the perfect moment to make her pay for refusing his offer or marriage several years ago.

Elise couldn't think about that now. Her heart hammered as Chancellor Armand cleared his throat, effectively silencing the drone of voices. He pressed his hands against the shiny table top for leverage and stood up, shaking his massive wooly head of hair.

Unlike the other men, Armand kept his hair loose and bushy, refusing to tie it back for the sake of decorum. Tall and imposing, with shaggy brows and deep, penetrating eyes, he instilled respect and obeisance. Armand was not a man to be trifled with, and firmly believed in the duties of his office. Those same eyes were now drilling into hers, both troubled and resolved.

In spite of her situation, Elise had always liked and respected him. She remembered the pastries his wife used to make for the children and Elise had consumed her fair share back then. Elise squared her shoulders and lifted her chin, her dark eyes locked with his.

"You are aware of the consequences, are you not?" He asked in his deep, baritone voice. The older man leaned on the table, keeping his face at level to hers.
Elise nodded once.
"Yes, sir, I am."

She made the mistake of glancing at Darvis. He smirked in return, and rubbed his thin lips. Elise snapped her attention back to Armand and silently prayed for control. She couldn't wait to wipe that insolent look off of Darvis' face before the meeting adjourned .

Armand sighed and straightened up.
"I will ask once more." He looked around the crowded hall. "Is there not one of you who will stand in as Champion?"

The crowd shifted, the drone of voices barely hushed. Elise couldn't bear it any longer.
"Sir, I have been approached earlier today for the call of Champion." She said, her voice loud and clear. There was a collective gasp. The Councillors turned to each other and then back to her, surprise on their faces. Darvis sat up straight, anger etched in his features.

Armand leaned closer, and dropped his voice.
"Good heavens, child. Why did you not say so sooner?"
Elise shook her head.
"I will not have Claire Delacroix become a widow for the sake of retrieving my husband."

Darvis jumped up and pushed in next to Armand, his voice trembling with rage. The other Councillors leaned in. Darvis jabbed a finger at Elise while addressing Armand.
"This is an outrage! She does not have the right to refuse a Champion!"

"Councillor, I am aware of the laws, thank you." Armand reminded him, his tone brooking no disrespect. He put out an arm to push Darvis away. "I must ask you to step back and-"

Elise frowned at the intensity of Darvis's anger. He was literally beside himself. The man ground his teeth, flecks of spittle on his lips. He continued to point at her.
"Then she MUST marry! If not for the sake of the laws, " He turned angry eyes on her. "then she must do so for her child."

The other Councillors jumped up as well, the cacophony of voices rising higher and higher. Shouts and screams of "The Fever!" reverberated around the hall, echoing in her mind over and over again.
With a sick feeling rising in her belly, Elise nearly collapsed from the weight of it all. She leaned against the table, her head hanging low.

Doubts began to cloud her decision and she swallowed nervously.
Am I making a mistake?

"You are not allowed to refuse an offer of marriage, given your situation, Elise Morin." Darvis suddenly hissed. He lunged, his spidery hands reaching for her. A couple of the other Councillors yelled and grabbed him. Armand shouted a call for order.

At his words, Elise stumbled back out of reach. Clarity renewed her decision and she shouted, loud enough to be heard over the din of the hall. 

"I will NOT have you nor any other man in this village, do you hear me, Darvis Kane?"

The Romance Confession

 

It's my turn. 

I took a deep breath, exhaled and then got up from my seat. 

I cleared my throat, kept my eyes on the far wall and said in a loud voice. 

"Hi, I'm Ren Thompson and I have a problem writing romance."

The rest of my imaginary group greets me in the same, monotonous tone.

"Hi Ren."

I nod and sit back down.

There, I said it. 
I love to read historical, sci/fi, contemporary, any kind of romance but for me to write it? I'm having a bit of trouble. I don't know what it is but I'm having the hardest time trying to put the internal motion picture that I'm seeing down on paper. You know what I mean. When writing, you have the whole thing playing out in your mind, right down to who is starring in it. I just can't get it out there the way I want to. And don't even get me started about erotica. That's like trying to compete in a triathlon a few minutes after pigging out at a buffet. It ain't happening.

Fabio had it going on back in the day...

I belong to a writers group, where about 80% of them are published. 
The main theme is romance and erotica. I do admit to being a bit intimidated because of it. I mean, the stuff they write is hot enough to singe off your eyebrows but I know its because of the talent that has been nurtured there. I post my feeble offerings and get my feedback. A couple of times I've had to lick my wounds, other times I go back to the drawing board and start again. I know its done with the thought and care that I develop as a writer.

One of my writer friends told me that I tend to freeze up when it comes to the romantic interaction between the characters. I thought I was writing a great build-up to "It" but nope. It didn't flow true. At first, I was a little upset but I had to step back and take a good long look at the way I write. 
And she's quite correct in her assessment.

Romance and I are having issues.

I like dark fiction. I like the horror, the twist, the sinister vibe, the intensity, the whole "OMG" aspect of it. The thought of creating that kind of reaction is almost like a thrill for me. I haven't quite figured out how to go deeper without coming across like a psychopath but I know its there...lurking just beneath the surface.

 

I would rather describe the crunch of bones snapping than the plump fullness of a trembling breast. The taint of sour desperation is more appealing to write than the warm, spicy scent of manly flesh. Ripping off a bodice reads better coming from someone else other than me. I realize this now and in a way that sucks. Its something that I have to work on. 

My mother told me, more than once, that I have a warped imagination. I take that as a compliment, lol. Being called "deliciously sick" gives me the warm fuzzies as well. Am I crazy?

My friend suggested that maybe romance wasn't my genre to write, that I'm supposed to hone my skills on the dark side. How can this be? I thought about the little bit of "romance" that I've written on here and it does tend to have a heavier flavor to it. 

Its not all about happily ever after, at least not in the traditional sense.


She said: "Look at Stephen King. He's awesome at writing the macabre."
I retorted with: "He's Stephen King. He's SUPPOSED to write the macabre."
She said: "You're Ren Thompson. Maybe you're SUPPOSED to write the macabre, too."
I couldn't get my foot out of my mouth after that one.

One of my favorites

Now that I think about it, maybe I'm just stressing too much. I'm going to forgive myself since I'm still in a learning curve with this whole romance writing thing. I don't like the idea of not giving it the old college try. I believe in the Romance genre even though not many people do. Regardless of their perception, its a welcome relief from the day to day grind (no pun intended) of daily life. 
I want to be able to create that illusion for readers. 
I know I'm going to continue to keep getting my teeth kicked in over at my critique group but that's okay. 

Its all about becoming a better at the craft.