May 28, 2010
Taking a Stand
May 7, 2010
The sound of victory...
Mar 30, 2010
People DO Have More than One Side
Mar 28, 2010
These Our Actors
Mar 25, 2010
I have a confession to make...
There’s a difference between a teacher and a con artist.
Teachers, like Basel, always appear to be standing tall or stretching upward, even when sitting. Their heads are elevated. There’s even a certain noticeable superiority about them. They believe themselves to be spectacular, known for their intelligence and creative imagination. As a teacher, Basel stands out at any gather. There’s often a small crowd around him, paying attention to what he says. He attracts followers easily. The species who are naive enough to be persuaded into just about anything, yet smart enough to be a true asset.
Then there’s the con artists. Those who have climbed the ladder long enough to gain their own followers but never deceptive enough to plan a coup. Most of these con artists are cold or aloof, acting as if they are better than their superiors but never do a damn thing about it. Some, however, are capable of becoming the next teacher. More importantly, they are capable of betrayal.
I happen to be one of them.
Mar 17, 2010
Happy St. Pattys!
Mar 15, 2010
Common Sense Monday
Mar 13, 2010
What villain?
Feb 18, 2010
Backing into a Corner
Feb 5, 2010
Pacing: Part 2
Feb 3, 2010
Contest Alert
Feb 2, 2010
Keeping Up
Jan 28, 2010
Award TIme! Come, take a look!
Jan 26, 2010
When it comes to...
Jan 21, 2010
What could go wrong?
Whoops! Sorry guys!
Jan 19, 2010
One word: Awesome & Funny!
Jan 18, 2010
What to write?
Jan 13, 2010
The time has come...
Jan 7, 2010
Payback with a Pie & Award
Jan 6, 2010
100 Followers Contest!
Jan 2, 2010
No Kissing!
It’s called the “No kiss” or “Almost Kiss.” And, its got the reader smacking their heads against the book in disappointment. If done right, the reader is begging for them to kiss one another when the moment arrives. Frankie at Frankie Writes has deemed today the official No-Kiss Blogfest. The rules are you can blog about your WIP, one you just wrote for the Blogfest, one from a book, movie clip, or t.v. show.I’ve decided to partake in it and post a scene from a current WIP that’s only 18,000 words.
“Give up the mission,” Booth said quietly.
“No, I’m getting it done.”
“I don’t think anyone can do it. It’s too dangerous. For Christ’s sake, he killed your parents.” He paused, and I knew he was thinking about his own parents. Like mine, they’d died. “He’s killed a lot of people, Sadie.”
Once again, the fear of being sickeningly inadequate for this job reared its head. But somehow Booth thinking that, too, was enough to make me go forward. “We have six days. This could still work,” I croaked.
“I hope so. For all for our sake’s.” He shook his head, looking out the car window at the darkness. “You should go back inside,” he surprised me by saying. The words themselves barely reached me, it was the impact of them that hummed through the air.
“Don’t you want details about last night?” I cracked a window, suddenly needing to breathe.
His eyes flicked to me after a few moments of silence. “No. Just be careful tonight.” The look in his eyes, like I’d disappointed him somehow, reminded me of how I’d wronged everyone I cared about. It reminded me of what I had to do to make everything right again.
“There’s a lot at stake,” he went on. Booth always seemed so inflexible, so humorless. Tonight was no different. “We need that information in order to--”
“I don’t need a repeat of last night’s beware speech. You’re not my dad.”
He gave me a slight smile. The first I’d seen in weeks. Then, in a move so fast I didn’t see, Booth was across the seat, holding me against him, hard. I gasped in surprise as his mouth slanted down--Oh god, he was going to kiss me. Every nerve ending tingled in anticipation, and I was about to close my eyes, to meet his lips with the same hunger and urgency I saw in his eyes, when his chin jerked upward.
He kissed my forehead, barely breathing the words, “You're right. I’m not your dad.”
At a loss for words, I stumbled out of the car. I was shaking up the porch steps, and my arms felt empty because he wasn't in them.