Chic-lit Romeos

Clichés are poison to good writing and nothing is more cliché than the hero with broad shoulders, narrow waist, and rippling muscles. It never fails that his shirt stretched across his chest, his arms were hard to the touch, his form filled the doorway. And what in sweet heaven is a cute butt?  Do men want cute, except to look at? (He has cute abs. Aren’t his pecs cute? Oh, look at his biceps. Aren’t they cute)? And we’re lead to believe the male paragon is unaware of his Adonis status.

Yeah, right! A mirror is a weight lifters best friend.

I watched a movie where an unremarkable, skinny man with thinning hair unexpectedly became the Romeo. He had no dazzling smile, piercing blue eyes, or wavy blond hair to recommend him. A delightful sense of humor, cleverness, confidence, and a deep sense of others were his redeeming qualities. As the story progressed, who he was overshadowed what he was not. By the end, the female protagonist was not the only one in love with him, so were the women in the audience.

Imagine revolutionizing chic lit romance with the Cyrano de Bergeracs and Colonel Brandons of the world as the idols of happily even after? Imagine revolutionizing the Bergeracs and Brandons. 

“Anyone who imagines that bliss is normal is going to waste a lot of time running around shouting that he’s been robbed.  The fact is that most putts don’t drop, most beef is tough, most children grow up to just be people, most successful marriages require a high degree of mutual toleration, most jobs are more often dull than otherwise.  Life is like an old time rail journey….delays, sidetracks, smoke, dust, cinders, and jolts, interspersed only occasionally by beautiful vistas and thrilling burst of speed.  The trick is to thank the Lord for letting you have the ride.”  (Gordon B. Hindkley, 15th President of the Church of Latter-day Saints)

WINTER

I don’t like winter.  I don’t like cold, I don’t like snow, other than to look at it from the inside, and I despise long nights, which I fear will be even longer if I don’t try to appreciate something about the enduring dark season.

There’s Christmas with jingle bells, silent night, and a good excuse to eat.  Saturday morning is free to do something other than mow the lawn, and weeding is only a memory.   Long sleeved tops hide old-lady arms and a serves a convenient place to tuck a tissue at the wrist. Crystals, hanging in the south-facing window, scatter a myriad of rainbows that grace the walls and flounce on the floor. There’s the moment before the sun slips behind the mountain when a long finger of sunshine reaches through the window diagonally across my room, through the door, down the hall, and shines directly into a dark room lighting it up as if by magic.  Best of all, each winter day is one day closer to summer.

Winter feels shorter already.

Reaching Across The Isle

Reaching across the isle goes both ways.  Some how it is expected that only our more conservative congresspeople compromise and do the reaching.  When the Democrats dig in and hold their ground it's heralded by the media as political sagacity.  Let the Republican side of the isle take the same action, and it's called stonewalling, divisive, do nothing.

MATTIE

Can it be? My first book, MATTIE, is going to print January 9, release date, March 12, 2013  I'm afraid I'll wake from this wonderful dream.  It's well worth the humiliation of asking authors for endorsements, scheduling book signings, attending book signings. Ugh!  I do enjoy working with the wonderful  folks at Cedar Fort who are making it all possible. Taking one small bite at a time of the elephant makes the overwhelming project achievable.  The cover is a first draft.  The little girl holding a solitary flower encapsulates all that is Mattie, just a bit lost, just a bit lonely.

 MATTIE 

Born in Colonia  Juarez, Chihuahua, Mexico, nine-year-old Mattie’s faith in God is shattered when her father dies.  At age eighteen, moving to Bisbee, Arizona to live with her sister and husband, Mattie falls in love with a handsome banker from Texas.  Tragedy strikes plunging her into an abyss of dark despair.  At her lowest ebb, Mattie discovers that though she may have left God, He never left her.

Alonzo Skousen, Mattie’s childhood sweetheart, a tall, good-natured red head, wants to collect on her old promise to marry him.  Enos Wood, the handsome, dark eyed, gun-packing nemesis of her youth, leaves no doubt that he too has designs on her heart.  Mattie learns that trusting God is not without its trials and can lead to grief, especially when the Mexico Revolution threatens her fragile faith and wedded bliss.

GET REAL

Have you noticed that the heroine in any romance is the most beautiful woman he has every seen ?  Furthermore, she bounds out of bed requiring only thirty minutes to make ready before going to work or meet a date.

What? 

She doesn't eat?  

Bathe?  

Apply makeup?

Okay, maybe she needs just a swipe of mascara on her long curly lashes that touch her flawless, porcelain skin when she blinks and only a splash of lip gloss on her full, pouty lips. Maybe she has a wash and wear hairdo (a myth, by the way).  And what female doesn't try on three different outfits agonizing over the five C's of fashion; circumstance, current, color, chassis,( c-word for butt), and complain. Oh, yes, and accessories. Not to mention that ten minutes into her routine, even a beautiful woman requires more than a momentary tinkle on the commode.

Thirty minutes, you say? Unless she’s headed for the gym, garden, or she just doesn’t care,

I DON'T THINK SO.

BLESSED CHAOS

Six Children, spouses, and thirteen grandchildren; each room beyond capacity, the overflow sleeping in a truck camper; menus , daily runs to the grocery store, irregular mealtimes, and constant snacks; disposable cups assigned and labeled; ice water served from a thermos on the deck to offer relief for the overworked refrigerator that can’t keep up; constant hum of washer and drier; late nights, early mornings; swimming, volley ball, a day on the river; perpetual towels and swim suits draping the deck; smudged gliding doors, muddy handprints on the white banister, daily vacuuming.  

As my friend, Neva Scott says, “Blessed Chaos.” 

And I miss it.

Looking forward to next year.

Midnight Taco Truck Run

River Day

Baseball Night

 Family Dance

One of many swim days