A to Z: Quixotic

Webster defines quixotic as "foolishly impractical especially in the pursuit of ideals;especially : marked by rash lofty romantic ideas or extravagantly chivalrous action".

Sir Colin Wilde was a man who aspired to be a rake. To become a good one, however, he enlisted the help of a friend: former notorious rake, Anthony Benson, Viscount Maddox. And he needed a lot of help.

Always blundering, never knowing what to say or do. Just like Christian in Cyrano de Bergerac.

Unfortunately, Maddox misled Wilde at every turn, frustrating his quixotic notions and leading him into epic failure every. single. time.

****

“She loves chocolates,” came the unmistakable voice of Viscount Maddox on Colin’s right.

“What the…?” He turned around and came face-to-face with Anthony. “What the devil are you doing here?”

“What do you think?” Anthony grabbed Colin’s arm and pulled him away from the door. “I agreed to help you with your first seduction.”

“This is not my first—”

“Do you want my help or not?” Anthony demanded.

“I do.” Colin sighed his resignation. Though he was certain this particular girl wouldn’t take much convincing. He examined his friend, who seemed to be sweating profusely. “I say, are you all right?”

Anthony rolled his eyes. “Just thinking about my final resting place is all.” He sighed and straightened his shoulders. “Lady Priscilla is very sensitive. You must not offend her.”

“Right.” Colin nodded.

“Begin by comparing her to Lady Hawthorne. She adores her and has always aimed to be just like her in every aspect of life.”

“Cordelia? Ambrose’s wife? Truly?” Colin wasn’t entirely convinced.

Anthony scratched his head and looked away. “It is all truth. Also, and do not forget this lest you lose her before you even try to seduce the woman…” Anthony leaned in and whispered, “She loves poetry.”

“Poetry?” Colin repeated. “But I am no poet! I hate poetry!”

“Make it up.”

“Do you know me at all? I cannot simply make something up on the spot. I’ll look like an idiot.”

Anthony began to pace. “Allow me to help.” He cleared his throat and took a stance in front of Colin. “Your hair is like a cloud.”

“A cloud?” Colin interrupted.

“Have patience. I’m not finished,” Anthony ground out. “Your hair is a cloud, dripping with rain. Oh, if I were grass that I could drink up the water. You would soothe my soul and make me… smile.”

“It does not even rhyme!” Colin shouted.

“Poetry does not have to rhyme,” Anthony argued.

~ from Taming Wilde (Rachel Van Dyken & Leah Sanders)

A to Z: Piece of Quiet

It was a Saturday evening. I had done the dumbest thing I have ever done in my teaching career and was paying the price for it. So I sat at my kitchen table, trying desperately to score a stack of about 150 position papers (almost all of which were plagiarized from the same three sources, I might add).

I say "trying desperately" because I had NO desire whatsoever to be doing what I was doing. I had been forced by the powers that be to inflict torture on myself via the aforementioned essay assignment. Foolishly, however, I made it into the semester final exam. Grades were due in just three days, and I had to grade them quickly.

First of all, grading essays is no picnic, regardless of the writing ability. But when you have to read essentially the same three essays 150 times -- and they weren't even that well written to begin with -- you get the strange, yet overwhelming desire to jab your red ink pen into your eye.

So there I sat at the kitchen table trying desperately to grade papers and to avoid my periodic involuntary attempts to put out my own eye. My two energetic and very boisterous children began to "play" in the living room about ten feet away from the table. This was more than I could handle. I stood up suddenly, slammed my hands down on the table and announced (or rather, bellowed), "I WANT PEACE - AND QUIET!!!"

My children were slightly taken aback at this outburst, but not really enough to move their game elsewhere. Instead, my son -- bless his heart -- sidled up to me slowly with his hand in his pocket. He pulled his hand out of his pocket wryly and handed me his fist. He said, "Mom, here is a piece of quiet. You can eat it... then, you can IGNORE us."

A to Z: Opening Night

Thursday night I took my daughter to the opening night of the high school production of Beauty and the Beast.

I know what you're thinking... "A high school play... How nice."

However this school went all out. The acting was fantastic. The singing was amazing. And somebody spent A LOT of money on costumes and scene sets.

All the acting was great. Le Fou was hilarious tripping all over the stage. Gaston was as pompous as you would expect, kissing his biceps and flipping his long dark hair. Belle was sweet and spunky. Her voice was gorgeous.

But I gotta say, in my humble opinion, Madame Wardrobe stole the show. Her big booming voice and comedic timing made me laugh so hard I thought I would hyperventilate.

Both my daughter and I loved it. So glad we went.

A to Z: Names

Not gonna lie, one of my favorite things to do is name my characters. And ask any one of the students I've ever had, a good title thrills me beyond measure.

Sometimes I name my characters based on the meanings and how well it fits their role in the story.

In All We See or Seem, my villain is Joseph Admatha, a name that means death.

The nurse who ends up helping save the heroine's life is Miss Birger, a name that means savior.

And most of my stem's names mean "Twin".

I may have gone a little overboard on the name symbolism... What can I say, I'm an English teacher. I just can't help myself.

Who is your favorite fictional character? What does his or her name mean? Does it fit?

A to Z: Marley

Marley Ryan poked her head into her father’s private office. “I’m heading out, Dad.” The handful of his associates meeting with him turned to appraise the intrusion.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were in a meeting. I just wanted to say goodbye.”

Her father stood and strode toward her.

“Don’t worry about it, sweetheart,” he said with a sad smile. “Gentlemen, my daughter. She is heading off to Miami for school.”

A few of them nodded their approval.

“Miami? Can you believe it?” Peter Ryan shook his head with a laugh. “With such a prestigious school as Boston University right in her own backyard, Harvard right down the road?”

The men murmured their agreement.

“Marley, I wish you would reconsider and let me drive you to the airport.” He took her hands in his and met her gaze with those pitiful clear green eyes.

“Don’t look at me like that, Dad. We already talked about it. You’re busy. It’s fine. I’m a big girl now.” She squeezed his hands tenderly and cast a glance over her shoulder toward the door. Why did he have to make this so difficult? She was minutes away from freedom.

The heavy sigh that came from her father made her cringe.

“Don’t worry about me. Oscar will drive me, and I’ve already arranged transportation from the airport to the school when I get there. I promise. I won’t talk to strangers, and I’ll only date full-blooded Irish boys.”

At that he rolled his eyes and released her hands. A low chuckle rumbled from the men in his office.

“Sounds like a bright girl, Mr. Ryan,” one of them said.

“All right, Marley.” Her father put his hand on her shoulder and smiled. “I trust you.”

“It’s all those full-blooded Irish boys who shouldn’t be trusted,” another man added.

Mr. Ryan shot him a look of feigned disgust then turned back to his daughter.

“Go on now, before these old boys change my mind for me.”

Marley wasn’t about to make him tell her again. With maybe a little too much exuberance she stretched up on her tiptoes and planted a kiss on his cheek. “Okay, bye, Dad! I’ll call you when I get settled.” And then she was out the door, down the steps, and in the car before he could answer her.

A to Z: Lack of Personality

I know you may find this hard to believe, but a few years ago one of my friends told me that a couple different people asked her if I had a personality.

Yeah.

Like you I was slightly disturbed that someone would even say that, but then I realized... Oh, yeah! It's not true!

You probably don't know this about me, but I'm a little shy. Sometimes shy can come across as stuck up, and apparently it can be perceived as void of personality. But once you get to know me you will (hopefully) find that the opposite of those two things is actually true.

Anyway, shortly after that conversation with my friend I told someone else what she said, and that person almost peed her pants (literally) laughing at the absurdity. Well, in honor of my lack of personality I composed a little introduction of myself. I hope you find it as edifying and bladder-defying as I do.

(Read this in a monotone.)

The verdict is in. I have no personality. It is unfortunate, I know. Perhaps this does not come as a surprise to you. English teachers are tedious as a rule. I am no exception. My deadpan expression. My blank stare. My humorless chortle. Yes, it's true. I have no personality. If you're looking for personality, you've come to the wrong place. There's nothing to see here. Just go about your business.

When you see me in a room full of people, do not smile, or wave, or try to tell me a joke. I won't laugh -- not even on the inside. You see, I have no personality. And I don't care for people who do. I'll tolerate them, yes. But only because no personality also means no depth of sentiment. I'm shallow. I'm apathetic. I have no interest in my environment. No passion. No ambition. No variety of sentence structure. It all goes together, you see. I have no personality.

I'll leave you with one final thought. Since I have no personality, one thing I can never develop is a personality disorder. And, somehow, even that does not excite me... I have no personality.

A to Z: Kissing Scenes

You may as well know up front, writing kissing scenes makes me blush. Which is why when I'm working with my writing partner, I will typically set her up to write them. Works out. She rocks the kissing scenes.

Sometimes though, she makes me do one... I think she's trying to stretch me, but she might just be messing with me because she likes to see me cringe when I write one.

Here are some of our kissing scenes from the Waltzing with the Wallflower series (See if you can tell which of us wrote what):

from Waltzing with the Wallflower (Book 1)

Her breath hitched. He noticed, because the instant it happened his eyes darted to her parted lips. He leaned in, lightly inviting her mouth to taste his. She seemed unsure, frozen in place. He lifted her chin and ever so gently brushed a light kiss across her lips. If lightning would have struck him where he stood, he wouldn’t have been shocked, for the minute her innocent lips came into contact with his, he was a changed man.

An electric current hummed between their bodies. Without asking permission or thinking of their current situation, or the bet for that matter, he laid claim to her lips again. She didn’t push against him. Instead she sighed as he pressed his body against hers and used his tongue to part her lips further. Lust shot through him at alarming speed as Cordelia let out a sensual sigh, entangling her fingers into his hair. With a little tug, she had his complete devotion and attention. In fact, he was quite ready to ruin her and be done with it. Tentatively, she tasted him as he had her. At that moment the fires of Hades couldn’t have put a stop to his sensual exploration of her mouth. His hands slid down her waist memorizing every line of her body…

“Ahem, I can see I’m interrupting. Good thing too, considering the circumstances.”

from Beguiling Bridget (Book 2)

“Many gentlemen feel as I do. They simply lack the courage to confess it aloud.” He was moving toward her now, and she felt trapped as she tried in vain to inch away from him, finally finding herself backed up to a cold marble column. “You might find this hard to believe, but men are often afraid intelligent women will reject them.”

“And yet they keep trying. Don’t they, my lord?” He was too close. He was far too close. No matter what he said, Bridget promised herself she would not concede the field. Defense strategy. That is what she needed. And the best defense was often a good offense.

She offered him a sinfully sweet smile and waited for him to stop in his tracks. He didn’t. Instead, he sauntered closer, slow but constant, until his face was inches from hers. Her breath quickened, and suddenly it seemed that air was in short supply even outside on the balcony.

“Yes, some of us don’t understand the word defeat.”

“Even when it comes in the form of strawberries?” Bridget asked, fighting to control her breathing as the man drew nearer.

“Even when the lady threatens to push us in front of oncoming carriages and feed us the most grotesque fruit known to mankind. Even then, my lady. Even then.” His smile dazzled her as he inclined his head and bestowed a soft lingering kiss on her lips.

The warm sensation of his tender kiss seeped into her bones. His lips were soft and hypnotic as they lightly moved across hers. A battle raged within her, and she couldn’t decide if she should pull him closer or slap him across his perfect aristocratic face. So she waited, hoping the answer would come on its own.

She didn’t have to wait long. As he withdrew, the victorious sparkle in his eye and the triumphant smirk spreading wide across his lips brought her the realization — he thought he’d won.

And then her hand flew on its own.

from Taming Wilde (Book 3)

“I may be a fool, but at least I am not a coward.” Her eyes narrowed. She leaned forward, her chin nearly resting on his chest.

“Coward?” Minutes ago Colin had wanted to kill Anthony; now he was grateful, for at least he knew how to use his rakish charms against Gemma. Allow her to believe in his cool indifference when really all he wanted to do was reach out and touch her, pull her into his arms and never let go.

“Yes, I believe that is what I said. You are a coward.” Gemma’s blue eyes were glossy with unshed tears.

“I see.” Colin slowly inhaled her scent and reached to tilt her chin toward his mouth. Before he lost his nerve, he crushed his lips against hers, relishing the memory of their first kiss. The day that changed everything. The day she abandoned him and chose her family over love.

Her mouth was so soft, softer than he remembered. It was everything he wanted — everything he needed. For a minute the darkness didn’t seem so dark. The hole seemed not so deep. But it was an illusion, for she could not be trusted — not as a friend and surely not as a lover. She would stomp on whatever was left of his heart and leave him in utter darkness, even deeper in the hole of his own making.

With a laugh, he pushed her away. “Still as innocent as I remember. Thank you for reminding me, dear Gemma.”

She stared at him in breathless shock. “Reminding you of what?”

“What I’m missing, of course.”