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.

Curious Thoughts

Why is it every person you know wins when they go to the casino but the casinos are making hand over fist?

Why is it nobody speeds but the state rakes in thousands in speeding ticket fees?

Why is it one person thinks your manuscript is 98 out of 100 and one thinks it's 79 out of 100?

Well, I can't answer any of those questions but it does make you think. Maybe it doesn't matter so much what your score is in a particular contest as much as it matters who is giving the score. It's not the one person that matters but who that one person is that matters. After all, twenty people can hate your work but one editor, one agent, one published author can make all the difference in the world.

Why is it nobody thinks you can make it until you do?

Do you enjoy it or do you fake it?

Everybody does it. They fake it, too. Don't let them kid you.

They have their minds on the grammar, the critiques they have yet to return, the critique they received that makes them want to cry. You know, everyday writers thoughts. But do they enjoy it? Do you even know you are missing the good stuff?

I admit it. I've been faking it and without realizing I was. When writing becomes a job, as it should with all serious writers, the writing itself can become a rush. Push yourself, rush, rush to the end. Faster, faster! Do you NaNo? Do you JaNo? How many words did you write today?

It's good. That nudge that reminds you that you need to write. Everyday. Every single way you can. Even if it's crap. But what about the enjoyment? Isn't that why we started it all?

So today, right now, remember to add the spice of happiness when you write. This is what you love.

Writing and Life

Writing is my life. Okay, yeah so I WISH writing was my life. It's tough to find the time to do those things we love. We must make sure we find something that is ours and ours alone. Otherwise, how will we manage to still be ourselves in ten years? That push and pull between mom, employee, wife and friend doesn't leave much room for our own wants and needs. But it must. Fight for it. Take it. Play dirty if it means grabbing ten minutes to do something for yourself. So today, I'm throwin' sand and elbows. Today, writing is my life.

Love and MRIs

Yeah, yeah. I know. MRI is not exactly the word you were expecting to go with love. Recently, a extreme claustrophobic woman was tortured with three whole hours of her life inside an MRI machine. Of course, I'm the claustrophobic woman.

But what you don't know is my husband, the workaholic, took unpaid time off work. That in itself is a huge gesture for him but then he did something I will never forget. He talked about non-sense and work or whatever came to his mind so I could keep my ass in that machine.

He talked about two guys hugging at work and made me laugh when he said, "Men don't hug at work." He told me, "You got this one. It's a breeze." He asked me questions and then answered them himself. He held my hand and squeezed it, knowing exactly what I needed. What he didn't tell me? He didn't say he loved me, but then...he didn't have to.

Inner Bitch

My inner bitch tried to take over today. It was a fierce battle but I finally won out. The war? Well, it is yet to be determined.

The struggle did make me wonder why I felt like ripping off my husband's head and stuffing it down his throat. A little soul searching made me realize it had to do with the morning's events and my family's ability to cut into my writing time. I love them, don't get me wrong. I mean it! No really! And I'm not always a bitch. But today? Well today I wanted to write. I wanted to sink into my story and let the words flow from my fingertips like wine from the bottle.

Parent-teacher conferences have kept the previous night's writing jam session from becoming a reality but I kept the inner bitch at bay by reminding myself. "You can write in the morning. It's no big deal." Hence the bitch battle. *Sigh*

Life is always getting in the way but for those of us who write to publish, the daily battle to squeeze out a little writing time can be exhausting. So take your caffeine hit and give yourself a few minutes at midnight or bolt the door from the inside and ignore the screaming kids outside the door for ten minutes. Right? Okay, okay. So maybe not ignoring the screaming kids but definitely hit the video store and keep them occupied if only for a few minutes. We need to keep fighting for the time.

For me? Well, I dream of being home alone and ignoring the laundry. Where's my white knight who closes the door while saying, "Don't worry about it honey. I'll get the laundry, the dishes, the kids and the bills." His eyebrows raise. "You just make sure you thank me later."

Is this total crap or what?

My husband and I have a deal. He lies to me when I ask him questions about the size of my ass and I lie to him when he asks me how the finances are going. But when it comes to my writing I need a real opinion. I can't ask my girlfriends. They are fantastic, amazing ladies but they would tell me it's great and I would always wonder if they were just trying not to hurt my feelings. To hell with my feelings! Tell me the truth! So I asked my husband to give me an honest opinion. I know, I know. A dangerous proposition to be sure but I steamed full ahead, willing to take the chance. Interestingly enough he didn't love it or gush over it. He thought the suspense part was great but wanted me to keep the mushy parts to a minimum. Duh. Why did I think my alpha male type husband would like a romance? A critique group is your best bet for finding that tactfully honest person. The one whom you can ask your question. "Is this total crap or what?"

Is Fear Keeping You Back?

I've gained four pounds this week. What's the big deal, right? Four pounds is nothing really in the scheme of things. The big deal is, I realized that I'm eating instead of writing. An excuse not to start right this minute but wait just a little longer. I tell myself, "I'll just get a little snack first."

I had to ask myself, why is this happening? A) Because I don't want to waddle anymore than I already do and B) because I really do want to write.

"Why do you do it?" I asked myself. My answer wasn't easy to find. Honestly, I'm afraid. Afraid it will be horrible, afraid it will be good and I will not be able to re-create it. Afraid I'm not "enough".

I suppose when you dream something day in and day out you start to fall in love with the dream. You can't bear that the dream be shattered by failure. At least, I can't. But I realized something else standing there on my scale. I realized that my dream can't come true without failure. Failure is my friend. It means I'm trying to reach my goal, not just waiting for someone else to wave their magic wand. Not saying I would kick my fairy godmother for a little wand waving but in the end it's me who has to fail.

Did you know NASA only had a 39% success rate before humans reached the moon? Maybe we writers should take a page from their book.

Does this make me a nympho?

I keep having thoughts about romantic scenes between my hero and heroine in No Time For Love. Does this make me a nympho? I don't think so. I can think about alcohol but that doesn't make me an alcoholic. Right? Right. It does however become a problem when I'm in the grocery store and start laughing in aisle two about some sexual thought Lee is going to have when Mac says "So how 'bout that ride."

Hope you enjoyed my little post today :)

Anne Noble

Rainy Days and Cologne

Rainy days make me want to snuggle into my man's neck. Which then makes me think of sex. I know, I know. None of you are really shocked by this admission but I'll tell you anyway :) What really makes me think of sex is the cologne he wears. Ummm. But what makes a cologne sexy? There are as many types of colognes as there are types of men. I'm partial to Eternity myself. Clean yet deep and sexy. I bought it myself of course, Toyboy couldn't pick out cologne if his life depended on it. His choice consistently smells like old spice. Uck.

So what is it about a man's cologne that makes you hot?

Hunk Bites #1

"Ball caps? Really?"

"Yes," said the man. "I find women in ball caps extremely attractive. "

This was the conversation we had recently had at a writing retreat with one of the males attending. So why then, I ask you, do we ladies spend hours and hours over the years purchasing just the right garment or finding the right shade of lipstick when we could just as easily wear no make-up at all and throw on a ballcap?

Most men I've talked with on the subject agree that certain outfits (usually those with cleavage) have a lot to do with their level of attraction toward a woman. However, in my experience, they are just as likely to pick out something they like about every woman. I've heard them say things like "What a nice pair of gams!" or "I like her hair." But in reality the woman looked like she'd stepped out of a time machine!

So let's reverse it. What do we find attractive? Is it only looks since that seems to be what we see about ourselves most often? The best looking men in the bar often can't get a gal to save their life while the man who smiles often and gives off a certain level of confidence (not overly so however) seems more likely to get our attention.

Perhaps in the end men aren't so very different from us afterall. Perhaps it is those ladies with confidence men find attractive but they hide it with their physical comments and we assume that's really what they want. We must find confidence attractive in ourselves as well for the heroines of the day are either confident in themselves or become that way.

I recently wrote a Chapter in my work in progress in which the heroine wears fuzzy bunny slippers and a sweat shirt. Perhaps I should add a ball cap to wardrobe?

Anne