Perfect Romance?

We've all seen them. The perfects. The couples who seem to have it all. No, I'm not talking about money. Not talking about jobs or big houses. It's the couple who pass each other in a crowded room and their hands seem to drift together without thought, without any purpose except to touch. The ones whose love is shown with long looks and whispers of longing meant only for their ears. You've been there. You've seen them in their own world. The one created when they catch each other's eyes and for those two people, the rest of us fade away. You've felt like the outsider, like you should leave them to their moment. Is that something we all want? Is there some inner yearning inside of us all? Even those of us who profess the need to be single forever? Perhaps that is why romance books are so popular. They give us the ability to be in love just like the perfects. If only until the last page, we can stand in their shoes and hold the whisper of love to our hearts.

True story to share...

Truth? I don't consider myself a prissy woman. You want examples? Well...My most comfortable shoes would have to be my worn out hiking boots. My favorite weekend shirt? The denim button-up I stole from my husband.

Not convinced? No problem!

I've walked through a sloppy pig lot to water and feed. The water and feed weren't the hard part. Nope, the hard part was standing on one leg trying to figure out what to do once you lost a boot in the muck.

I've fed cows and milked them. Not to mention cleaning the barn after the cows vacated and I've watched dozens of calves being born.

The fondest memories I have of my childhood would be getting filthy making mud pies, walking in the rain down to the creek or even catching up with my Dad while wearing his rubber boots so we could (and I use the term "we" loosely) work on the swather. Or tractor. Or baler. Or....(this could go on forever).

But when we opened up the fan on our furnace today and found what's pictured below...well I think I'm going to re-think being prissy. Where the hell is my husband when I need him? Gone! Out of the country even. The email I sent him went a little something like this...

"So we found the problem with the furnace. The pictures attached are of the part that came out. (I didn't have time to set the date on the camera BTW.) Sounds like we might need a new one. Check out the photos and tell me what you think."

And how do you think the man responded?

"Wow. Cool."

Wow? Cool? I think for Christmas he must want a giant fly swatter to go with the lawn chair duct taped to the roof.

I have my knife between my teeth,

my .45 at my hip and my pencil at the ready. I am ready for battle.

A few words is all it takes. A few words to spark my imagination to hurt, lie, cheat, and strangle my character's dreams and love. It must be done this torture. It must be accomplished in the best way possible in order for the book to be worth reading.

Afterall, who would read a book with no opposition? And without it is there then a reason to continue. Their characters might as well just lay down and die. Erased from existence by poor planning on the part of the author. The words I write mean nothing. They are just black spots of the correct number and spaces making them seem like sentences when in fact they are nothing more than whips of thought. Nothing more than odd thoughts of a writer who has less idea of how to torture her characters and many more ways to torture herself. All she must do is ask for an opinion of those thoughts. That is where the real torture begins.

The feeling

Do you remember the feeling? The one that made your heart jump a little at the thought of getting to see the one you love? The one that made you hurry to get the phone or be early for your date just so you could talk to him. I remember it. I had it bad. Every day was measured by whether or not he was somewhere in it.

Want to know a secret? I still have that feeling. Sure, it's changed some. I don't care if I'm early when we go out to dinner. I don't forget to eat while I'm talking to him over our meal. But I still find myself checking my watch to see when he gets home so I get home when he does. I still hurry to the phone if I know it's him and I still get a little happier at the thought of seeing him.

We've been married seventeen years this August and of that seventeen years we've both been gone here and there. He fished tournaments all over the mid-west when we were first married. I went out of town with the girls and still do for that matter. I go on vacations without him because I'm not waiting on him to find the time. I rather think of myself as an independent woman you see. So when he told me he was going out of the country for work, I knew I would be okay.

But I miss him. I've found out all over again that inside for him and him alone I am still a giddy young woman who would give anything to see him.

Where was I?

Well hello all! It seems I have strayed from original reason for this blog. Hunks! LOL ;)

So I'm curious. Besides looks what do you find hunky in a man.? For me? Laughter. A man who can truly laugh from the inside out. The kind of laugh that makes you smile along with him even from across the room. But that's not all. There's also something about a man who knows himself. One who's not afraid to be who he is. Whether he's a cowboy or a city boy or a down home country boy. That's what I find most attractive in a man. I'm drawn to those men like a cat to milk. Mmmm...what was I saying? Ah yes! What are the things that draw you to a man?

The "Oh. Wait!" button

"Oh,wait!" I click the appropriate buttons until my "Sent" file comes up. Sent. Not sending. I've just sent my story (picked apart until it bled, mind you) and attached it (oh so carefully) to an email to Harelquin. Of course, it was after I hit the Send button that I realized I hadn't included anything in the body of the email. No signature. No "Nice doing business with you," ramblings. No "Thank you for the opportunity." Nothing.

Great. Wonderful. And so I ask you. When will they create the "Oh, wait!" button to take back the stupid email we didn't realize was stupid until after hitting the send button?

Until that button comes along I'm forced to make do with my swisscheese memory. Those little tidbits keep oozing out the holes, you see. So, now what? A list! A list!

So below is the checklist I've created for just such a problem. Hope it helps you all as much as it does me. At least until the "Oh. Wait!" button comes along.


*Print out and read through manuscript. (Personally, I find more errors when things are printed in real ink.)


*Create synopsis long before the eve of the contest/submission.


*Print out and read through synopsis. (Duh hun? But I would forget.)


*Double check submission for:

spacing (per particular entry/submission rules)

margins (per particular entry rules/rules)

spellcheck (sounds like a no brainer but yet it's not)


Do you have anything you think I should add to my list? I'd love to hear from you!

A poet I am not

A poet I am not but nonetheless I have written one anyway. Writing takes my abused emotions and turns them into triumph. How I have missed you, my muse.

Autoimmune

by A.E. Noble

A fool you are.

I cause you pain and disappear like the morning mist in sunlight whenever you seek out those with the white coats.

A fool you are.

Your cloudy mind is my friend. I love it as you love to sleep from my evils.
You are like a two year old who has skipped his nap. Ah, yes. Just the way I like you. The white coats ask you questions about me but you can not remember the key to their riddles. And thus they stay ignorant of my ways.

A fool you are.

You worry for your money clip. He shrinks ever smaller as the bills roll in from the white coats.
You visit them less and less. You are afraid. What if they tell you your deepest and darkest fear? The one you speak to no one. That your brain has tricked you, too.

A fool you are.

Your worry for your job as I increase your exhaustion. You press the buttons and pray the one you call boss accepts your many excuses. And I laugh at you. Why, you ask? Hahahaha! Your worry has caused a black desolation with you. The hopelessness continues as the blackness within causes more pain and fatigue.

A fool you are, I say. For you do not know yourself as well as I.