Just a Taste

I've been in the Magical Land of Editing for several weeks now. It's slowly driving me insane.

To help you understand why, let me share a few of my writerly issues that arise during the editing process:

1. There are plenty of writers who are confident in their abilities as creators, but for some reason, whenever I read something of my own that has genuine flow, it still surprises me! As my mother would say, it's as much fun as hiding your own Easter eggs when you suffer from Alzheimers. 
2. After begging author friends to tell me how they know when something is at its best and ready to publish, submit, or just email back to the editor, my perfectionist brain only recognizes that there is always something else I could do with it.  
3. Luckily, the attention deficit of a woman who has worked with small children Monday through Thursday from August to June for the last eleven years eventually overpowers the perfectionist persona and notifies me that I am done.

It's all part of the slightly mad process we call drafting.  The fun in editing is stumbling across little gems you've created all on your own.

So, to celebrate finally finishing the current edit of Becoming Beauty (I won't say *final* until it goes to press), I'm posting some of my favorite moments from various other stories that make me feel like a writer:

Sylvi Lockhart--The moment when Sylvi's perfect boyfriend shows up and throws everything into a muddle:

          “I don’t think we should see each other anymore,” he said. 

I was sinking below the waves, watching the last bubble of air escape my lips with a pop.  “I don’t understand,” I said, picturing my perfect life crumbling before me.  I had a little money stored up in case of emergency, and I could always write more books or find another job to make ends meet, but I couldn’t replace Kevin. He was the best part of my life.  Tears pricked my eyes and I struggled to keep them at bay, remembering how much he hated women who cried.  Manipulative, he called it.  My voice wavered as I asked, “What did I do wrong?”

                “It’s not you.”  The artist in me hated those words, so unoriginal and round-about insulting.  Of course it was me, he wasn’t breaking up with the bedside table, was he?  “I just don’t love you anymore, Syl.” 

              I dissolved then, my determination to bottle up my emotions washed away in a sea of tears--the ugly kind that sneak up on you and shake you with their intensity.  “Please,” I said, disgusted to realize I was about to start groveling. Some desperate part of me had taken over, and as if I was watching someone else’s life play out, I could do nothing to stop it.  

Sam James--In which Sam's stylish boss Vanessa takes her shopping:

Regardless of her unnatural abhorrence for upscale clothing boutiques, Sam found herself being shoved bodily into Dolce & Gabbana. The very reason she dressed as she did--clad exclusively in the middle-aged housewife section of Sears--was so she could avoid hovering salespeople bent on forcing her into “stylish” outfits.  The moment she stepped through the doors with Vanessa, a gaggle of such individuals descended upon them. 

“Take her away,” Vanessa commanded the room at large, “she’ll need everything.”  The excited buzz around them heighten, and in no time at all Sam was bustled into a dressing room where her clothes were promptly removed.  A fierce-looking woman wielding a measuring tape fell upon her and loudly called out measurements to a notebook-toting shop girl.  A moment later she looked down to find her breasts ensconced in the lacy type of boob-hoisting, cleavage-producing brassiere she had only seen on Victoria’s Secret models.  And…was that a thong??

Twelve--An Interlude between Jonas (the gardener) and Ariela (the master's eldest daughter):

               “It was extremely effective,” Ari said, putting voice to my thoughts, “but it resulted in lectures from Father and a ‘tightening of the reins’ as he put it.  As soon as he finished, we closed ranks and developed new schemes.”  Humor sparkled in her eyes, the first hint I had of the clever mind behind the lovely face.

                Throughout the conversation, I hadn’t spoken more than a few words, so taken was I with the way she spoke, and the play of emotions across her face.  I was already falling in love with her, though I was unaware of it.  Likely that’s what spurned the subsequent declaration.  “None of those men were good enough for you,” I said boldly.

               Her eyes flicked up to meet mine, probably surprised that I could form a complete sentence.  A slow smile crept over her face, curling the corners of mouth and eyes.  The effect was stunning, and ever after I passed my days dreaming up ways to elicit that smile.  

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If you'd like to read longer segments, follows the links above to delve further into the lives of my heroines. Happy reading! And as always, thanks for stopping by!