Trapped!

I cannot think of a better way to be trapped than this.

Trapped!

Once more she inserted her foot in mouth and now she is trapped. Trapped against a wall with tall, dark, and too damn handsome pressed against her, his mouth mere inches from hers.

She closed her eyes and cringed. What had she been thinking? Oh! That’s right! She hadn’t been thinking. She just blurted!

When a man you despise asks you if you want him, the correct answer is “No” she berated herself. “No, I don’t want you, you arrogant son of a …..” Or “No, I like my men humble and subservient.” She had to stifle the bubble of laughter that threatened to escape. That probably would have sent him scurrying on his way.

Instead, when her back was against the wall, quite literally, and she saw the heat in his intense blue eyes, and the seductive grin at the corner of his lips, she said, “Yes.” Yes!

It wasn’t as if she lifted her chin and told him flat out, “Yes, I’d like to do you right here, right now, against this wall.” No, she of course, flushed a hot shade of red and answered in a meek voice, “Yes.” Her. Meek. What was this world coming to?

Now here she was. . .Trapped! Pinned between this gorgeous hunk of a man’s arms, her back against the wall and no escape in sight. From her nemesis.

She hated this man. Hated his know-it-all, I’m better than everyone, every woman wants me attitude.

His warm breath brushed against her throat. A shudder of desire feathered up her spine and her already weak knees trembled.

Oh, geez! His mouth was only a breath away from hers. All she had to do was pucker up and their lips would connect. As her eyes connected with his, her heart beat a rhythm she had never experienced. It fought for escape, but like her it was fenced in.

Blood rushed through her veins in anticipation of the kiss. OH-MY-GOSH! She wanted that kiss. Realization struck her like a two-by-four to the head.

A slow grin slid across her lips and her chin lifted a tad higher. She wanted this man. She meant to have him. Now.

She stepped into the elevator. . .

Wednesday's writing prompt: She stepped into the elevator. . .

She stepped into the elevator and when she turned around to push the button for the sixth floor her heart stopped as her eyes widened.

A masked man carrying a very large gun stood in front of her, blocking her escape. She took a step in retreat when her backside bumped the hand railing, startled her and caused her to drop her books.

Heart beating out of control, she glanced up from the spilled books to the masked gunman. With his wide stance, broad shoulders, and bulging biceps, he reminded her of a bull ready to attack. He towered over her.

She trembled and swallowed the lump of fear as the man pushed the elevator button for the penthouse and that was when she saw it. She tore her gaze away from the man’s ringed finger, away from the sapphire eyes of a lion. Blue. His eyes were blue, mist blue. The kind of blue that made her want to jump into the fog and go for a late night swim.

The corner of her lip twitched and she eased her hand around the gunman’s weapon, pushed the stop button on the elevator. She stumbled and fell against the man as the elevator screeched to a halt.

“I’ll do anything you want. Please don’t hurt me,” she whispered as she started to unbutton her blouse.

She almost breathed a sigh of relief. . .

Thursday's writing prompt response just in time for a little weekend inspiration. Here's a small piece of what I worked on the other day.


She almost breathed a sigh of relief when she pivoted back and halted in her tracks. The air she had been about to blow out now stuck in her throat.

A man stumbled in front of her, bumped her and then grabbed onto her arm. “Give me your purse,” the man demanded in slurred speech.

Great. Just what she needed. Jane shook her head in disbelief. This could not be happening to her. As if pink undie man wasn't enough now a drunken mugger.

Without thinking, Jane shifted, dropped her arm, and the man staggered back then straightened. He reached into his pocket, fought with the material of his jacket then thrust his arm out in her direction as he stumbled.

Her heart jumped in her chest when she saw a glint of black metal. Gun!

Something was wrong. . .

This one took me a while to write, but I finally did write a response to the writing prompt: Something was wrong. . .

What do ya think? What do you think should happen next? Let me know by leaving a comment

Something was wrong. . .

Something was wrong. Something was definitely wrong when she slid her key in the knob and the door opened inward with a metallic squeak. Jane released the keys and jerked her hand back. The door was unlocked. Had she left the door unsecured? Jane’s heart beat a fast rap against her ribs.

Biting down on her lower lip, Jane removed the key from the lock and pressing two fingers on the wood, inched the door open wider. When the door was open far enough for her to see no one and for her to enter, she dropped her hand to her side.

Should she go inside? Fear and logic told Jane she should go back to her car, locate her cell phone, and call the police. What if she had left the door ajar? She cringed, thinking how embarrassed she would be if the police showed up and found nothing. They would find no robber, no vandalism, nothing, but her blonde flakiness. Jane shook her head. No way would she take that risk.

Jane steeled herself against the unknown, and grasping her keys in a tight fist, she crossed the threshold into the inky abyss of her storage room. Standing in the open doorway, Jane blinked several times and waited for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. She wished whoever built the building had put the light switch near the door instead of at the other end of the unlit hall, as far away from the door as possible. The muffled sound of her own blood rushing through her veins rang in her ears, making her a little woozy. Holding steady, she took a deep breath in then exhaled. Two more times and the foghorn in her ears cleared.

She listened, and hearing nothing, stepped further into the room. Was her imagination on overdrive or could there have been an intruder? Oh my gosh! Jane froze, her feet skidding to a halt on the marble tiled floor. What if a burglar were still here? The thought had a lump of fear knotting in her throat, threatening to cut off her flow of oxygen. Her heart hammered as she plastered herself tight against one wall, the stucco scratching her palm and digging into her backside as she attempted to make herself as small as possible.

Move or don’t move? Could she play statue as she had when she was a kid? Maybe she could close her eyes and will herself invisible. No. Her breathing was so rapid, her chest heaved in and out as a bellow would when fanning a fire. Jane swallowed the lump in her throat and commanded her heart rate to slow. Breathe, she mentally chanted.

Deciding she had let her mind play tricks on her and that she was acting ridiculous, Jane pushed away from the wall. On less shaky knees, and with more bravado than she felt, she jerked her heavy pocket book up on her shoulder ad stalked toward the tiny, red glow of the light switch.

“Only ten feet,” she muttered.

When she reached the end of the hall, Jane blew out a heavy sigh of relief. A small bubble of hysteria escaped her lips as she reached for the radiant lever on the switch.

A hand snaked out and grasped her by the throat. His fingers clutched as he shoved Jane against the wall. Her head hit the stucco with enough force a picture crashed to the floor. She tried to scream but only dry air with no sound came out.

Her vision blurred and fuzzy stars danced in her eyes. The fingers gripping her windpipe squeezed and strangled. Jane scratched at the vice-like talons. Air. She needed air. Please, please. She did not want to die like this, not knowing why or who.

Her nails dug in and she raked them across the hand. The man swore and she felt the foul odor of his breath hit her full in the face, but the hand that choked her loosened and Jane gasped for air. “Wh –” She struggled for breath. “Who – ” Who are you? she wanted to scream, but the hand tightened on her trachea.

No! Jane screeched inside her head. No! She kicked, twisted.

“No you don’t, you little whore,” the intruder whispered in her ear pressing his body hard against hers then running his tongue along her ear. His other hand grabbed her breast, pinched her nipple, and gave it a sharp tug.

Oh, no! He was going to rape her!


Did I leave you hanging?

When you think murder. . .think shower scene

Today is Tuesday and you know what that means. . .time for a writing prompt.

With that in mind, and with the fact that we are reading "A Little Murder" by Cindy Davis, I thought it appropriate to give a prompt that encompasses one of the most famous murder scenes ever.

Do you know what that scene is? What movie I'm talking about?

Yes! "Psycho."

Now, keep that scene in mind and write us a shower scene that hooks the reader and makes us want to read more.

Prompt: She was in the shower. . .

In her cat's mouth. . . Writing Prompt Tuesday

Today's creative boost is the writing prompt: In her cat's mouth. . .

I am getting back to my normal schedule of writing prompts of Tuesday and Friday so I can keep up with them. I will finish the ones I missed last week and do this week's when I take a break from my WIP. In the meantime, what you write may give me the boost to write more and faster.

Share your sentence, paragraph, a whole page. Whatever you write post it so others can see the writing mind at work.

Have fun!

This week's creative writing prompt responses

So. . .I am finally catching up on this week's writing prompts.



Monday's prompt was The candle. . .



My try at it, although short, hopefully is visual enough for you to intrigue you. Here it is:



The candle flickered as the wind forced the sheer curtain to float into the room. Amy shivered against the breeze and prayed for the candle, her only source of light, to remain lit. She paced the small room rubbing her hands up and down her arms. All she wanted was to get out of there, but where could she go?



Wednesday's prompt was Outside the cafe. . .



Outside the café fists flew. Rose stared wide-eyed as a giant of a man pounded his clenched knuckles into the face of . . . “Holy shit!” She banged down the coffee pot onto her customer’s table.

“Hey!”

Rose barreled her way through the onlookers standing in the aisle. “Move,” she yelled as she elbowed the idiots who watched the smaller guy get body-slammed into a parked car, his head crashing into the windshield. The front door banged against the railing when she threw it open and rushed down the steps.

“Get out of my way,” she said in her husky voice shoving her way through the crowd. The bloodthirsty mob parted and turned toward her flailing fists. “Stop the man before he kills the guy.” Rose whacked two longtime customers upside the backs of their heads before she grabbed the big man’s shirt and yanked.

The man swung a hand behind him and missed her face by an inch.

“Leave him alone you big galoot!” She swore at his backside as she tugged at his broad back.

Again, the tall guy swatted at her as if she were a fly.

“Help me get him off!”

Bill and Bob, the two regulars who she had whacked on the heads stepped into the fray. After several failed attempts and a few more people from the mob, the giant was finally pulled away. His colorful language burned her ears as she slid past him and halted in front of the limp, bloodied body of . . .

Her scream rent the air.

A Morbid Writing Prompt for Friday

Friday's Writing prompt will seem a little morbid but could be a great hook.

Today's writing prompt is: At the funeral. . .

Imagine this is a scene in your latest WIP and for whatever reason your hero ro heroine has to attend a funeral. Something that happens at that funeral has to move your story forward or tell you more about the hero or heroine.

Now, go grab that reader's attention and send back what you write up.

The words on the page. . .Writing Prompt Response

Tuesday's writing response was: The words on the page. . .

I hope you all enjoyed Tuesday's writing prompt. I know I did and here is what I came up with.

The words on the page. . .

The words on the page sent shivers of terror skittering down her spine. Her hands shook. One the white paper, someone pasted big block letters cut from magazines to form one sentence.

“Your turn to die.”

Reading the message aloud, the words grabbed her by the throat and threatened to choke her.

“Was this some kind of sick joke?”

Gasping for air, Jane touched her neck and groped for the back of the chair. She needed to sit. She needed to breathe.

Her vision blurred as blackness shrouded her mind. She missed the chair and fell to the floor in a motionless heap.


I'll post another prompt on Friday. In two weeks we will be having a contest so start getting your pen or keyboard warmed up.

The words on the page. . .Writing Prompt

Tuesday's Writing Prompt

So I was scrambling around this morning and almost forgot to post a writing prompt, but here it is.

Prompt: The words on the page. . .

Don't forget to grab the reader's attention. Enjoy and have fun with it! I look forward to seeing what you come up with.

She sat along. . .Writing Prompt Response

Friday's Writing Prompt was: She sat along. . .

My Writing Prompt Response:

She sat along the curb with her hands bandaged in white gauze watching the emergency personnel fight the flames of the burning building. Men in bulky yellow jackets scrambled from red fire engine to crumbled brick and back carrying long, heavy hoses, and spraying water not only the burnt out Starbucks, but the dwellings that surrounded it.

An explosion rocked the ground she sat on and Jane crab walked backwards away from flying debris then fell on her elbows. “Ow!”

Smoke billowed up into the heavens as firefighters battled the blaze while avoiding soaring pieces of metal and glass. The longer they fought, the deeper her heart sank.

“No one could have survived,” she muttered into her covered hands, listening to the sirens as even more vehicles approached.

“How do you know?”

Startled by the question, Jane looked up and over her shoulder in the direction of the deep voice. The sun was in her eyes and she had to squint, but she could not make out the figure. She raised her hand to shield her eyes when the man moved.

“How do you know there are no survivors?”

His voice sent a shiver of awareness down her spine. When she peered up at him a second time from her sitting position, Jane could not believe her eyes. Her eyelids fluttered and blinked, but the vision remained. Damn! “Pink undie guy.”

She sat along. . .Creative Writing Prompt for Friday

Friday's Writing Prompt: She sat along. . .

Have fun and remember to share as little or as much as you want. Make it fun and hook your reader.

Speaking of reading, I hope you are enjoying reading Ceri Hebert's Sweet Forever. Don't forget Ceri's interview will be posted on Sunday so stop by and ask her some questions or tell her what you liked about her story.

Risky Writing Prompt Response

Tuesday's Writing prompt: At the time, it didn't seem risky. . .

I have to admit, this one was more difficult than I thought it would be. Here it is.

At the time, it didn't seem risky. It wasn't every day she went back to a man's house that she barely knew. Hell, she never did anything like that. It was all her best friend's fault. "That's the last time I listen to Mary's advice. Ever!"

She stomped her foot against the cement. Her ankle twisted when the high-heel stuck in the crack of the sidewalk. "Ow!"

By the time she worked her shoe loose, tears streamed down her face. Tears of pain, frustration, or stupidity, she was not certain. She blew out a breath and sent the hair she had painstakingly coiffed upinto the cool night hair just so it could plaster against her forehead again. “The guy appeared to be so normal in the bar.” With those gorgeous pale blue eyes, who would have thought he was a total freak!

The ache in her ankle caused her to limp and her pace to slow. Raking her fingers through her hair, she trudged back toward the damn bar where she had stupidly left her car behind.

“How could I have been so stupid?” Jane tugged her jacket tighter around her middle. The night temperature had dropped and a chill ran through her.

Then she heard something, shouting. She looked left and right and came up empty. The sound came again. Jane glanced over her shoulder and saw the pink underwear man gaining on her.

“Oh, no!”

Forgetting the cold, she dropped her hands to her sides, looked for a place to hide and took off. Sharp needles of pain shot through her ankle and straight up her leg. She gritted her teeth and speeded up her limpy run.

“Jane!”

Why was he after her? What the heck was the guy’s problem? What did she care? She only wanted out of there!

She took a dark alley that she knew would lead her to the backside of the bar. On a normal day, she wouldn’t dream of going down a dark alley by herself, but this was not a normal day. Nothing about today had been normal. One thing was for certain. She would never, ever, go home with a stranger again! Damn! She couldn’t believe she had in the first place. Now look where she was. Loping away from some freakishly handsome guy who wore ladies panties. Who claimed he was a cop. Ha! Like she believed that crap.

Jane risked a glance over her shoulder again. The guy was no longer behind her. She almost breathed a sigh of relief when she pivoted back around and halted in her tracks. The air she had been about to blow out now stuck in her throat.

Risky Writing Prompt for Tuesday

Tuesday's writing prompt deals with risk.

Here is the prompt: At the time, it didn't seem risky. . .


Write a sentence or a paragraph, or as much as you like and share with us.

Remember to hook your reader when you finish that prompt sentence and keep their attention from then on.

Have fun!!

Let's just be friends writing prompt

Friday's writing prompt: When he said, “Let’s just be friends. . .”

Here is my response:

When he said, “Let’s just be friends,” as he crawled out of the bed they just made love in, Jane’s first thought was that he had to be kidding.

From the bed, she blinked unseeing at Max. He bent down and his dark hair disappeared from view for a second then he came up smiling at her.

“Tha. . .that was a joke, right?” she asked, her voice quavering. She tugged the green sheet up in front of her still naked breasts in a shield.

Max stepped into his boxers, boxers she had bought him for Valentine’s Day, yesterday. His gaze met hers. “No.” He shrugged. “I think we’re good friends and that we should stay that way.”

Her mouth dropped open and she wanted to scream, wanted to give him a piece of her mind, but the words caught in her throat and the only sound that escaped was a loud sigh. Heart beating inside her chest thrummed blood in her ears, and her vision started to blur. She grasped the headboard to steady herself.

His shirt pulled over his head, Max hauled his harry legs into his jeans and jerked them up. “I’m sorry, baby. I know I hurt you, but it just. . .” He shrugged again. “It’s not a good idea.” He slipped the belt into the buckle and hooked his pants up.

Not a good idea? Kissing until her toes curled and her stomach dipped as if on a roller coaster ride was not a good idea. Make the bed move as if one of the vibrating machines was hooked to it when in fact it was just the two of them was not a good idea. Screaming until the cows come home because the climax sent her into oblivion was not a good idea. Then what the hell was?

Oh, she had her mad on now. Jane leapt from the bed, leaving the sheet behind. Hands fisted on hips, she stood next to the bed and went off.

“Excuse me? Are you out of your freakin’ mind? You just made love to me, scratch that,” she said holding a hand up palm out. “We just had rock my world sex and you want to bolt out the door ten minutes later after you’ve got your breath back!”

Max opened his mouth to speak, but Jane shook her head once and met his blue eyes with her own brown-eyed glare and he shut it.

“Don’t even tell me that what we did was average or even below average.” She stalked around the bed and aimed a finger at his chest. “I hear you yell my name. I felt the rumble low in your gut as you spasmed with ecstasy inside me.” She laid her hand on his fast beating heart and stepped closer. “Are you going to stand there in front of me and tell me to my face that you didn’t enjoy what just happened between us? Are you going to lie to me?”

Tearing her gaze from his strong and heaving chest, Jane lifted her chin and gazed up at Max. Go ahead, she thought. Go ahead and lie. Be Pinocchio.

Max peered down at her, his blue eyes cold as ice, hard and unfeeling. “I want us to be friends,” he told her in a flat voice.

Jane’s heart fell to the floor, exposed and bleeding, and Max stepped on it, crushing her as he walked past her without another word and left.

***
The door banged shut behind him. He leaned against it, letting out a rush of air. He had to get out of there. If he stayed any longer, he would never have left. He had to leave. If he stayed any longer, the life of the woman he loved would be in danger. If it wasn’t already.

Book Hooks Day 4

How else to create a hook for your book?

Start with action. "Action" does not necessarily mean a gunfight, a fistfight, or an explosion. Action means starting your book or story at a compelling place, in a scene, with something at stake for your characters.

Look closely and you may find that you have pages of material that should not be in the beginning. They fill in some important blanks for readers, but that backstory can safely be moved to somewhere after your opening.

“Uh – hem.” Yup, that was me. The first time I took my pages to a NHRWA critique session, I found out that the action of my story actually started on page four, so I moved it up to page one.


The key is to start your story with a riveting moment that grabs the reader by the shirtfront and does not let him or her turn away.


Example: “Twelve hundred pounds of charging horseflesh hit the wooden railings chest high and somersaulted into the north stands. Faces frozen with horror moved in desperate slow motion to get out of the path of the crazed beast.”

The first lines of Cut Throat by Lyndon Stacey a horse has crashed through the gate protecting the crowd and someone is going to get hurt.


Now that's some action!


A general rule is to never put dialogue or straight description in your opening lines. Dialogue is fine in the first scene. Many experts agree that first scenes without dialogue do not achieve their potential.

"Why is that?"

The most compelling reading material involves tension between people, and people usually talk to each other. However, if your very first lines are dialogue, it is impossible for the reader to understand who is speaking right off the bat. It would be like walking in on the middle of a conversation between two people at a party and trying to decipher what they are discussing.

“I think she is a very attractive girl.” “Yes, but can she sing.” You do not have a clue about who they are or who they are talking about.

Similarly, the use of description right up front will not pull your reader into the story. Not because it confuses or disorients the reader like dialogue, but because description can be dull and it does not tell the reader anything about the story itself.

If (and this is a big IF) the setting is somehow crucial to your first scene and you feel you must start there, limit it to one or two sentences and then get right into the meat of the scene. There will be time for description later.


Example: Death was not taking a holiday. New york may have been decked out in its glitter and glamour, madly festooned in December of 2059, but Santa Claus was dead. And a couple of his elves weren’t looking so good. ~from "Creation in Death" by JD Robb

Your homework, should you choose to accept it is. . .

Exercise: Write two different opening hooks. They can be just a paragraph or a page. But remember, you are to hook that reader and make them want more.

At least one of the opening hooks has to have action in the opening paragraph.

Have fun!

Friday's Creative Writing Prompt

Today's prompt is: When he said, "Let's just be friends. . ."

I like this one. Definitely not a one sentence or one paragraph write up on this.

Enjoy! And remember to capture the reader's attention.

Book Hooks Day 3

A hook is a concise, one-sentence tagline for your book. It’s meant to hook your reader’s interest, and wind them in. The best way to understand how to write a hook is to read the loglines of books.

A logline is usually a sentence you see in big print on the back of a book or the one sentence you hear at the beginning of a movie trailer.

Example: On the back of my book, It Happens in Threes, you see the sentence, "Once burned, twice learned, did she dare trust again?" That is a logline. It makes you wonder how was she burned, and who or what was she afraid of trusting.

Example: On the back of "Identity: Unknown" by Suzanne Brockmann, the logline is

"What he remembered
His clothing size

What he didn't remember
Everything else"

So your first question is why didn't he remember anything beyond his clothes size.

These are both hooks that as a reader you see first and foremost and go, "Hm. That sounds interesting." Now you want to know more.

Now that we know this, let's talk about how to actually write this.

A typical and effective way to create a hook is to use the "When" formula. Stop waving your hands in the air and I'll tell you, oops! show you what the "When" formula is.

"Bridges of Madison County": When Robert Kincaid drives through the heat and dust of an Iowa summer and turns into Francesca Johnson's farm lane looking for directions, the world-class photographer and the Iowa farm wife are joined in an experience that will haunt them forever.

"The Corrections": When family patriarch, Alfred Lambert, enters his final decline, his wife and three adult children must face the failures, secrets, and long-buried hurts that haunt them as a family if they are to make the corrections that each desperately needs.

The "When" formula is “When such and such event happens, your main character—a descriptive adjective, age (maybe), professional occupation—must confront further conflict and triumph in his or her own way.

I don't recommend this for every hook, but it is a good starting point to get the basic high points written down in one concise sentence. From there, you can modify it and make it even stronger and stand out more. Remember, you're trying to take a 350 page book and tell a reader, agent, or editor what happens in 1 sentence.

Your assignment: Write two hook sentences that use the "When" formula. Tomorrow, we'll talk about other ways to write the hook.

1.

2.

Good luck!

Response to Tuesday's Creative Writing Response

The prompt was: Her phone rang. . .

My short free write:

Her phone rang and Jane's heart stopped. It rang again and her heart jumped into action, her palms sweating. When the cell phone played the death march a third time, she swallowed the knot of fear that threatened to choke her, and pressed the talk button.

Tuesday's Creative Writing Prompt

This should be an interesting one.

Prompt: Her cell phone rang. . .

Feel free to share whatever you come up with, whether a single sentence or a paragraph, or more. But treat it like all the others we've done. Be sure to grab your readers attention in that first sentence.

Have fun!