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Saturday, January 13th, 2007
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3:00 pm - Adiós Adult sequel- CH 1
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So... erm, real life has sort of gotten in the way. But I'm going to continue posting chapters of Late For Your Life. Hopefully, I'll put one up tomorrow, if more RL doesn't interfere. In the meantime, however, I've been asked about a sequel to my YA, Adiós to My Old Life. I do have an idea for a sequel-- as an adult romantic women's fiction. Characters just would not leave me alone.
So here's the first chapter. The story is tentatively titled Second Verse.
( Chapter One- It's For You )
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| Tuesday, September 26th, 2006
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2:16 pm - Chapter Thirteen
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Michael
Drifting.
Falling.
Completely and inescapably lost.
How was it then, I was able to find my way?
( Chapter Thirteen )
current music: Peter Cincotti- Fool on the Hill/Nature Boy
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| Monday, September 18th, 2006
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1:46 pm - Chapter Twelve
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Roby
You ever notice how just when you think life is going great guns, something happens to blow that illusion straight outta the water? It doesn't even have to be anything earth-shattering or jarring. If fact, most of the time, it's something so ordinary, so commonplace, you never even give it a second thought. That is, until you go back and try to pinpoint just when it was your life took that proverbial left turn to Albuquerque and you say "A-ha! So that's when it happened."
A-ha… so that's when it happened.
( Chapter Twelve )
current music: Alejandro Sanz- Quiero Morir en tu Veneno
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| Thursday, September 14th, 2006
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5:46 pm - Chapter Eleven
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Taylor
Home where my thought’s escaping,
Home where my music’s playing,
Home where my love lies waiting
Well, okay. Maybe not where my love lies waiting, but otherwise, those lyrics ring seriously true. I was back home in Port Gordon. Where I belonged, where I could be part of life, where I could be part of my family again.
At least, that was the plan.
( Chapter Eleven )
current music: Leigh Nash- Cloud Nine
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| Sunday, September 10th, 2006
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7:53 pm - Chapter Ten
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Michael
Life is just a series of events that mark and shape us
.
Yes, I know. Right about now, you're thinking, "Why yes, you stupid pillock, and most of us figured that out quite some time ago." Too right. But how many people honestly recognize the marked difference in the types of events that can define our lives? There are the ones that are planned for, that don't necessarily take one by surprise; then there are the ones that just come and kick you straight up the arse. Generally speaking, I've found that one often ties into the other.
For example: falling in love can certainly take you by surprise, happening when you least expect it, yet something that results from falling in love—living with someone or marriage—those are life-changing events that can be planned.
Winning the lottery can be a surprise (especially if you don't recall having bought the bleedin' ticket) but using your financial windfall for long-term investments with a high yield can be planned.
You see what I'm getting at here?
Y'know, there's also, a third type of life-changing event. One that doesn't get talked about a lot, but believe me, it's there. Takes the "straight up the arse" event and ups the ante to include a harsh kick to the bollocks. It leaves you gasping for breath and unsure of anything other than you are absolutely fucked.
It's a mad bitch of an experience.
( Chapter Ten )
current music: Alejandro Sanz- Quiero Morir en tu Veneno
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| Thursday, September 7th, 2006
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11:05 am - Chapter Nine
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*Note-- I will try to be much better about updating on a regular basis.
Roby
Have I ever mentioned how much I relish being my own boss? Especially considering it's doing something I love. I mean, yeah, I'll have the occasional dippy client who wants white upholstery in a beach house or Hemingway's Key West bungalow look for their New England cape (I made it work, dammit.). I tend to regard those as… challenges. And they're more than offset by the clients with whom I can work in an equal partnership. Sometimes they'll have the perfect vision for what they want their home to look like—sometimes they have no clue and they're looking for me to lead the way, but once I've given them a gentle push, they start coming up with these great ideas that will make their home their own. Regardless of the type of client, there's no better feeling than leaving them with a finished product I know they'll love. It's taken a lot of work, but I'm doing pretty well, if I do say so myself.
Then there's the other half of my professional life—when I'll be called in to consult on a preservation. It's like putting together a puzzle— envisioning what a building's original purpose might have been, the thrill of unearthing some clue that sends me in a new direction. Maybe it's a chip of paint or hidden bit of wainscoting—it doesn't take much for me to begin the hunt and do my Sherlock Holmes thing. It satisfies not only my creative urges, but in saving something that's a piece of a collective history, I become part of something bigger, more enduring. How amazing is that?
Cool too, is being able to share my workspace with Uncle Hugh. Not that he ever says much—he's the epitome of New England reserve, all the more noticeable against Zia's vibrancy. They make an odd couple, but a perfect one, y'know? Very Yin and Yang. But it's good to know he's there, usually in the back of the building where his workshop is, while I man the showroom. Walter, the true boss of us all, wanders back and forth as he pleases, because another one of those pleasures of being your own boss is that you can bring your dog with you. And play your favorite music. And sometimes, just sit back and take it all in—that this is something I built.
If my home is my sanctuary, then my business is my domain.
( Chapter Nine )
current music: Nina Gordon- The Time Comes
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| Friday, August 18th, 2006
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10:11 am - Chapter Eight
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Michael
A pub crawl with the lads should result in nothing more than a nasty hangover complete with indigestion from the dodgy curry you were daft (or pissed) enough to think was a good idea at midnight. However, it was just such a night more than sixteen years ago that landed me in a career I never expected or planned for.
We'd been celebrating our last weekend of freedom before the start of term. I was beginning work on a MBA—two more years of life in London, then back to Gullane to work with Dad at the club—modernize it and the like. I was ready for it—had been my whole life. But on the path between Pubs Two and Three, we stumbled past a door—open, no doubt due to the unseasonably warm September weather—through which we heard bits of what sounded like a rapidly escalating argument. Of course we eavesdropped. We were twenty-two and full of the shameless gall and cockiness exclusive to young, inebriated males. Plus, we really had nothing better to do.
What we heard apparently had something to do with a lack of quality in singing ability. Actually, I believe the exact words were, "This lot was utter rubbish! Is there not a singer in the whole of London who can carry a fucking tune?"
That was when Bernie, my flat mate and all round bastard teased that I should barge in and give it a go—teased nothing—bugger flat-out dared me after mocking me in front of the rest of our mates.
"After all, you lot don't have to hear him warbling in the shower, morning after morning, like he's Elton bloody John. Go on then, Mikey—go in and dazzle them."
Of course, the rest of the chaps had to join in despite the fact they'd never even heard me sing so much as a note. It was merely a diversion, an unexpected break in an otherwise uneventful Saturday night. They were just rat arsed enough to egg me on and I was just rat arsed enough to take them up on it. In a lager-fueled haze, I pushed my way past the cheeky shits and through the door boldly proclaiming I was the answer to their wishes. Amazing I didn't get tossed straight back out into the street on my cocky bum, but I think they were just as grateful for the diversion as we'd been.
Once over the shock that his audition had been unceremoniously crashed, Trevor, the director, beckoned me over to the piano. Turned out, the open doorway led to a small studio where auditions were being held for a new, not-quite-West End musical.
"What can you sing, boy?"
I love music. Even back then, I probably knew hundreds of songs, from church hymns to the Beatles to George Michael's latest. Thanks to Bernie, however, the only thing I could ever remember having sung was—you guessed it—Elton John. So after giving it what little thought I could, I gave my suggestion to the accompanist, who as I recall, struggled not to laugh. He simply turned to the keyboard and launched into the intro for "Sorry Seems to be the Hardest Word." I didn't have time to be nervous about it—didn't have anything to be nervous about, really. What did this matter to me?
A great deal as it would turn out. About halfway through the song, Trevor cut me off. Thinking he was finally bored with me, I waved my thanks and turned to leave.
He didn't let me.
I never finished that MBA.
( Chapter Eight )
current music: Frankie Valli & the Four Seasons- Bye Bye Baby (Baby Goodbye
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| Thursday, August 3rd, 2006
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3:23 pm - Chapter Seven
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Roby
Dating and I have never had what you would call a cordial relationship. Screw that—we've never had much of a relationship at all. My first boyfriend? Think classic childhood enemies turned buddies turned… well, let your imagination take flight. There was never any real "dating" in the conventional sense of the word. One day Billy and I were hanging with the gang, going to the movies, the next, we were finding excuses to ditch them. But even though there was genuine caring and affection and oh-so-romantic teenage declarations of love, in truth, there were never any illusions about it being a forever kind of thing. After high school he went to community college and the police academy in Portland and I traipsed off to the Art Institute in Chicago. Our relationship died its natural death and it wasn't even painful.
In college my M.O. was similar, but with a twist. Jack Maier was a buddy of my roommate's big brother who I met the very day I moved into the res hall. My first impression was of this ungodly gorgeous pair of legs appearing to support an enormous box that was in turn, attempting to fit through the doorway of my room. I've always been a sucker for a good pair of muscular man-legs, so that was almost enough to send me over the edge, right there. The rest of him coulda been Quasimodo and I probably wouldn't have noticed. That the box eventually revealed a blonde, attractively sweat-soaked cutie with big, brown eyes attached to those gorgeous legs? Well, that was like getting a bonus spin on Wheel of Fortune and hitting BIG, baby. After the proper "hellos and pleased to meetchas," I also had to check off suave on the Attractive Traits list. Add that whole older, more experienced vibe, plus believe it or not, the fact that he had absolutely nothing in common with me, at least outwardly, and I was a goner.
You wanna know how different we were? I was studying Interior Design, while Jack was a law student; a night at the book store and a good meal qualify as a great time for me, he preferred poker night with the guys; he's attractive in a polished, elegant sort of way, I'm what people term "cute" or "perky". I really hate those terms—makes me think of fluffy ducks or bunnies. However, I can't deny that these differences were, in some immeasurable way, fascinating—exotic, even—and yes, every bit as stupid as it sounds.
But we met and I fell. Hard. Figuratively, for once, as opposed to literally, and that was all she wrote as far as any collegiate dating experience. Which is to say, I had none. Zip. Zilch. Zero. Because as unlikely as it seemed, (and still does, but for different reasons), he apparently fell just as hard. Jack and I started going out exclusively about two minutes after being introduced and with the exception of a brief period, remained together throughout my college years, getting married right after I graduated.
After our divorce I can assure you I wanted nothing to do with any man who wasn't related, under the age of twelve, or providing some sort of service, like cleaning the gutters. Having your soul destroyed tends to have that effect.
Which now brings us to this insane blind date that in a moment of supreme weakness I allowed Mary Ellen to bludgeon me into. Technically, my first date.
As in, ever.
Joy.
( Chapter Seven )
current music: Keane- Put it Behind You
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| Tuesday, July 18th, 2006
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11:08 am - Chapter Six
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Taylor
You know that old saying? "Home is where the heart is." There's also a slightly lesser known saying: "Home is where the heartburn is," and I'm a firm believer in the validity of both. Hometowns can be both a blessing and big ol' pain in the ass, but there's just something about them that tends to draw us back, regardless. (Or make you run screaming—depends, I suppose.)
For me, home has always been and always will be Port Gordon. Regardless of the various places I've visited or lived, not a one has ever pulled at my heart the way that this absurd little town does. It's like Roby once said after some annual shindig or other that had brought out the local crazies and then some, "This town, it's like the illegitimate love-child of 'Northern Exposure' and L.L. Bean."
Truer words were never spoken.
I'm not saying that there aren't any other places equally as… colorful. Gads, far from it. Just look at any film set in the American South for example. If that whole "truth is stranger than fiction" axiom is to be believed, then it can be safely assumed that some pretty weird shit goes down south of the Mason-Dixon line.
Or simply walk down the street in L.A. or New York. What the locals there matter-of-factly accept as "normal" takes colorful to a whole 'nother level for the rest of us mere mortals, capisce?
I guess that's part of what I'm getting at. What's colorful to others is merely another day at the office when it's what you're accustomed to. What you want. Despite its inherent weirdnesses, all I'd ever dreamt about was being part of "normal" life in P.G.
Making it happen? Think rocks and hard places.
( Chapter Six )
current music: The Mavericks- By the Time
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| Friday, July 7th, 2006
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4:37 pm - Chapter Five
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Michael
Whatever possessed me to ask her to supper that evening is one of those Great Mysteries perhaps better left unanswered. It's another of those "What if?" scenarios with which a person could drive oneself mad if allowed to sit and contemplate the alternatives for too long a time. Needless to say, I did ask her, she, with the rather surprising intervention of her cousin, accepted, and that, as they say, was that.
Thank goodness.
( Chapter Five )
current music: Cyndi Lauper/Shaggy- All Through the Night
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| Wednesday, July 5th, 2006
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11:03 am - Chapter Four
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Taylor
She's my best friend. Honestly, I think we'd still be best friends even if she weren't my cousin. Hell, maybe we're best friends in spite of that fact. Sure, we've had our differences—show me a family that doesn't and I guarantee it's a family whose members haven't spoken to each other for generations.
True, she didn't exactly dig when I used to redo the hairstyles on her Barbies and heaven help us if I managed to snag some of my mom's discarded makeup—Makeover Central on the dollies—and Max Factor I wasn't.
Roby got over it… eventually. Something I wish she'd make more of a habit of, seeing as there are a few other things I want the girl to get over. Herself, for one, dammit. She needs to get over the idea that what happened with Jack was in some way her fault. I was starting to think that pigs might take to the friendly skies before that event ever happened, but I did a bit of a mental one-eighty after The Call. When she told me she had tickets to a concert and would I please go with her, I could tell there was more afoot than a casual trip to Portland to catch some tunes. After all, we'd done that a million times and it never qualified for this kind of excitement. This was a seriously high octane, juiced to the max excitement. Normally reserved only for the exploits of the rugrats. Once I finally met Michael, I understood the fascination. I also understood that the interest was definitely mutual. I also understood that it scared the hell out of me. Should have scared them too—and it might’ve, had either of them really been aware of it.
( Chapter Four )
current music: Yo- Yo Ma- Nocturne
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| Wednesday, June 28th, 2006
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6:05 pm - Chapter Three
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Roby
I've always loved watching people's reactions the first time they see where I live. I don't mean my house specifically. I mean everything—the town, the ocean, the woods. I love seeing their faces as they walk or drive through Port Gordon. It's an unmistakable look they get, all wonderment and delight and awe that such a groovy place still exists in this less-than-delightful day and age. The expressions are priceless, that first time they catch sight of the fishing boats tied up at the wharf, bobbing and thumping against the docks with each small wave washing in from the bay. I love observing their joy as they take in the Colonial vibe of Main Street and the brick-paved sidewalks; in the unmatched taste of a fresh lobster roll, or the first time they hear the muted, mournful call of the lighthouse at Cameron's Isle. And yeah, I've always loved newcomers' reactions to Aunt Bert's house—my house. It's always been something of a haven for those who've lived there, if only on a temporary basis. From that standpoint, it's aptly named.
Sanctuary.
( Chapter Three )
current music: Natasha Bedingfield- Wild Horses
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| Thursday, June 22nd, 2006
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9:46 am - Chapter Two
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Michael
Oh, bollocks. Filthy as hell word, I know, but that was pretty much my first thought during our initial encounter. Not because of any major deficiency on her part mind, even though she's a stubborn bint and can be frighteningly negligent when it comes to her own well-being. But of course at that particular moment, I had no way of knowing that. I also had no way of knowing that she'd be the most extraordinary thing to happen to me—especially since, had you asked, I would’ve told you I'd most likely used up my given allotment of extraordinary things and then some. I'd been such a lucky bastard and pretty much still considered myself to be one, then she came crashing along. However, that's getting rather ahead of myself.
( Chapter Two )
current music: Mahler- Adagietto from Symphony No. 5
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| Monday, June 19th, 2006
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4:13 pm - Chapter One
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| Sunday, June 18th, 2006
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11:44 am - Begin at the beginning-
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Roby
I hadn't been expecting it. Then again, neither had he. Both of us settled, set in our ways, pretty much content with what we'd made of our lives then WHAM. It smacked us both straight upside the head, him figuratively, me, a bit more literally, wouldn't you know?
Anyway, what happened was the sort of thing that I thought only happened between the covers – of books, people. You know the ones I mean, though. Those books you can read straight through on those nights that sleep's just some elusive entity. A mug of something soothing, seriously torchy music on the stereo, and then, when the book loses its allure, black night outside my window, a blank palette on which to draw hopes and dreams. But truth was, I had more than any reasonable, sane person could hope for. I'd done okay for myself, found my place in the world. No relationship on the horizon, but I was good with that—wasn't looking for one, didn't particularly want one. I was totally and completely comfortable. And if anything, his life was more together than mine.
Which just serves to prove… Fate has a very twisted sense of humor, not to mention, a helluva sense of timing.
( Chapter One )
current music: The Corrs- Rebel Heart
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11:30 am - Late For Your Life: The Set Up
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Late For Your Life
A contemporary romantic novel set in small town Maine that explores an unlikely friendship initially forged over head trauma, tea, and scones between two people who outwardly share little in common.
It's a shame, too, since Michael's the first man for whom Roby's felt anything since her divorce.
While Michael won't deny he feels an attraction as well, there's no way he'd ever allow it to go any further. After all, his work, his home, and perhaps most importantly-- his wife-- are all back in London.
But they can still be friends, right?
That's what they think.
Call it Northern Exposure meets L.L. Bean with a dash of Richard Curtis thrown in for good measure.
current music: Amici Forever- Vita Mia
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11:25 am - An exercise in ego... maybe
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I've been thinking about doing this for some time now-- I love this story and hate seeing it consigned to the metaphorical "under the bed." Unlike a lot of writers, I actually still like my first full novel. By no means do I consider it perfect-- it's far too long, for one thing and I'm sure there are some things that were awkward or clumsy, writing-wise. But the end result is, I still like it and would enjoy sharing it. Hence, this journal, created specifically for the serialization of Late For Your Life.
If you like it, feel free to let me know-- if you don't? Well, just remember it was my first novel and I was still learning. And no matter what, it's still nerve-wracking to put your work out there for people to read.
current mood:  nervous
current music: FC Kahuna- Hayling
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