Thursday's Opening Scene from Seducing the Chef - At First Sight Book 1 #MFRWauthor #romance #contemporary

Chapter One

Morning sun streamed through the wide windows of the lower floor office of Five Cuisines. Greg Ramsey typed the last item on the week’s menus. He checked the list of supplies needed and sent orders to the various venues. Monday mornings when the restaurant was closed had become his planning day.

He loaded the heavy paper in the printer and began the process of producing the menus for each of the five rooms. As the papers slid from the printer he heard a light tapping at the door.

“Come in.”

When his mother entered he rose and lightly hugged her. “Your timing is perfect. Just finished creating the menus for the week.”

Stella Ramsey, tall, slender with a gray streak in her dark hair, kissed his cheek. “How is my handsome son?”

“Pleased with our success.” Six months ago they had opened the restaurant and they were on their way toward becoming a profitable venture. For the past month there had been few empty tables at either evening seating. Even on Wednesday and Thursday they’d been solidly booked. The weekend brunches were gaining the attention of people who came to browse in the antique shops and other unusual stores in the Hudson River village.

He reached for the letter that had arrived last week. The offer could make or break his dream. He knew little about the magazine Good Eatin’ other than a spread was eagerly sought by the nation’s restaurants. As his silent partner, his mother had a voice in whether they should chance a bad review.

“What was so important you asked me to cancel my lunch date?” She smiled. “Please tell me you’ve found a weekend hostess.”

He shook his head. “The job is yours until you say you’ve had enough.”

“Might be soon.”

He arched a brow. “Something serious happening in our life.”

She laughed. “You’ll be the first to know. What about you? Have you met the woman of your dreams and the one who will make me happy?”

“When do I have time?”

“Make time. Several of the sous chefs are young and attractive. Ask one of them out.”

He held up a hand. “Not going there. They’re taken and I only poach eggs and a few other foods.”

She sat on the chair beside his desk. “So what’s the news you’re bursting to tell?”

He handed her the letter. “This arrived the other day. The offer could be a sweet opportunity”

As she read he studied her face. Her expression changed like the weather. His mother’s beauty always made him smile. He’d always wondered why she hadn’t married again. Had she mourned her father for fifteen years? He recalled the nights when he’d been awakened by their angry voices raised in accusations.

She touched the silver streak in her dark hair. She scowled. “You will not let those people near Five Cuisines. I won’t have them here.”

The venom in her voice surprised him. “Why not? I hear a feature in Good Eatin’ will place us among the top restaurants in the country.”

“I won’t let him use his magazine to destroy you the way he ruined your father’s dreams.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Peter Blakely, editor of Good Eatin’ of the Good Magazine Group, deliberately used his wife’s magazine to destroy Le Provencal.”

Greg rose and went to her side. He’d been sixteen when the tragedy had occurred. His father’s suicide had brought drastic changes in their lives. “Why would this Blakefield do that?”

She stared at her hands. “Your father told me his family and Peter’s had been at odds since they arrived in this country during the colonial days. Your father and Peter became rivals in high school. I met Peter in college. We fell in love and were engaged but we had a fight. I broke the engagement. Peter wanted no part of my parents’ restaurant. Victor heard about the break-up and comforted me. He went to work for my parents and we were married. Peter was furious. He threatened to destroy Victor. He waited for years until he found the right time and he succeeded.”

“How?” Greg met her gaze.

“He wrote dreadful articles about the food and the ambience. Victor had made changes in the décor and the menu. People stopped coming. The shame caused your father to take his life. Victor had always been mercurial and volatile. When he drank depression brought him low.”

“Do you have copies of these articles?”

“Your father wouldn’t let me read them. He burned them. Promise you won’t let these people near Five Cuisines.”

Greg looked away. Her comments disappointed him. Until he learned more about this feud he would hold off sending a letter of regret. “Are you sure this is the right decision?”

She looked away. “Yes.”

There was more to her story but he wouldn’t pry. He took the letter from her, folded the paper and placed it with the envelope in the center drawer. “I’ll handle this later. About the feud. Is there any reason for us to be involved?”

“Drop the idea of a feature. Peter Blakefield doesn’t forgive or forget.” She rose and walked to the door.

He had no idea how to discover what had been said about his father of Le Provencal. He didn’t want to slam the door on an opportunity. Maybe she would change her mind. He shook his head. An ancient family rivalry. How medieval.

* * *

Wednesday's Writer's Tip - Symbolism #MFRWauthor #writing

Symbolism can be a complicated addition to a story. Almost anything can be turned into a symbol. What the object chosen must have a meaning beyond itself. Symbolism often uses figures of speech to give the added meaning to the words.

A simile is a pairing of two words unlike each other. A smile hovered like a dark cloud. Makes the reader think this is not a friendly smile. Her smile burst like the sun rising. Here there's a different meaning to be inferred. This is kind of an in your face showing a hidden meaning.

A metaphor is another way of showing symbolism but a metaphor is more subtle. Metaphors are often images thet lead one to another. The dress hung from her body. He thought of a tattered flag bringing to mind a ship tossed by a hurricane.

So a symbol can have many meaningsby forming associations with other words.

I've often used both in my stories when I want to create a vivid feature. Once I searched through my stories and found many similes and then came upon items I used as metaphors. Caves were one and gems another.

So do you use these techniques and realize you are creating symbols without really thinking about them?

Tuesday's Inspiration - Anne Lamott - Index cards #MFRWauthor #amwriting

When I read the essay by Anne Lamott in Bird by Bird about index cards, I recalled my attempt to use them. I decided this was a good idea so I bought several packets of index cards and containers for them. I jotted ideas, snippets of conversation, observations of the world around me and put them on the cards and stored them in the boxes. The small cards held often no more than a word or two. The larger ones might even have snippets of a scene. I felt so organized. I like to make lists and often have a number around the house where I can jot one more thing to do. I especially like crossing out what I've done. But this is straying from Index Cards.

The file boxes were stuffed to overflowing. I sat down to begin the story I was about to begin. I spread the index cards on the table and sorted them into categories like Setting, Characters, Dialogue, Plot and probably more. When I finished I shook my head. Many of the cards didn't fit the story I planned to tell. In fact many of them made no sense. I looked at the long lists I had made while mulling over the story. These made sense. So I decided I'm not an Index Card person. I like my plans for a story numbered.

If Index Cards are your thing, you should read what Anne Lamott wrote in Bird by Bird. Then you should see if they work for you and if not find your own way of organizing. That's what writing is all about. Each of us approaches the story in a different way.

Meandering On Monday with Janet Lane Walters #MFRWauthor #poetry

Meander 1 Poem

Needlepoint

We used to sit in the bar's dark corner
Embroidered plots and foolish schemes. Stitched bright
Pictures in life tone tints, Exuberand points
Of laughter seewed on a canvas - plans for change.
Our chosen years harmonized in growing
Patterns on the tapestry on which we sewed.

Agaub the bar conspirators wit - one sews
In colors vibrant and new - the other
Draws yarn faded and grayed. You sit apart.
We gathered close. Our laughter sends needles
Of bight colored thread to fill in our canvas.
Impossible dreams we sketch as we play.

From your eyes jab sliver glares like silver
Needles that stitch needlepoint. Draw muted
Strands of gray tinted yarn were bright colors
Once formed frowth tapestries. Madam Defarge
Grown old. With her eyes on the guillotine
She watches heads roll - her canvas unchanged.

Meander 2 - Lately I've been reading a lot of books. Reviewing some and not others. There are some authors whose every book I like to read and some I read and don't like. For me not to finish a book is rare, even the ones I do not like.  There are a number of things that turn me off when I'm reading. A tangled plot is one where I can't make heads or tales of what the writer is putting into the words penned. Another is characters too stupid to live. I don't mean just heroines but also heroes and even villains who come across in performing actions that make no sense. Recently there were two books I tried to read. In both I never got past the first chapter or three before I tossed the book aside. I won't name them but there have been a lot of books published recently that aren't fit to be read.

Meander 3 - My writing progresses at a rapid or snail pace depending on the day. I'm on the final one of the At First sight re-writes and I will be glad to go forward to a totally different kind of story when that one is done. Will work hard on the typing so once my publisher has time we can set them all in motion.

Sunday's Book - Seducing the Chef - Janet Lane Walters #MFRWauthor #Romanticcomedy #food

.Just released - Spicy romance

Seducing the Chef - Allie Blakefield, editor of Good Eatin' wants to do a feature on Five Cuisines a restaurant across the river from NY City. Her father forbids the feature and won't say why. She's not one to sit back and be ruled by someone. She borrows a friend's apartment. While leaning over the balcony she sees a handsome dark haired man doing a Yoga routine. He looks up and she is struck by the Blakefield curse. Love at first sight.

The pair start a hot and heavy romantic interlude. She visits the restaurant and is recognized by Greg, the chef's mother. The woman goes ballistic and the affair is broken. Can Allie learn what's going on and rescue her love?

Saturday's Blurbs featuring books by Suzanne de Montigny #MFRWauthor #fantasy #young adult

The Legacy (Shadow of the Unicorn, book 1)

https://youtu.be/VaX9tW_Hr8M

Azaria, a unicorn colt, is intrigued when the young, clairvoyant dinosaur, Darius, foresees a terrifying change to their world. When a giant fireball smashes into the earth, the unicorns struggle to survive the hurricanes and starvation that follow. But nothing compares to the danger when the creatures-that-walk-on-two-legs settle in the valley, and their leader discovers the healing power in the unicorns’ horns. Greedy and ruthless, Ishmael will stop at nothing in his pursuit of wealth – even the complete extinction of the herd. Azaria must find a way to outsmart Ishmael before it’s too late.

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Legacy-Shadow-Unicorn-Book-ebook/dp/B01AUHO1N4/ref=sr_1_2?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1453305906&sr=1-2&keywords=The+Legacy+%28Shadow+of+the+Unicorn%29

Kobo: https://store.kobobooks.com/search?Query=The%20Shadow%20of%20the%20Unicorn%20(Suzanne%20de%20Montigny)&ac=1&acp=shadow%20of%20the%20unicorn

Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/search?query=shadow+of+the+unicorn+the+legacy

The Deception (Shadow of the Unicorn, book 2)

https://youtu.be/deIqFzKVPwg

Sixty years after the unicorns’ narrow escape from extinction, Azaria's Legacy has gone wrong. The new generation barely exists, hidden in the depths of the forest. Their cruel and ruthless leader, Icarus, threatens them daily with Jaresh, an invisible being capable of taking away their powers. Angry, the young colt Ulysees and his friend Téo rebel, following an old, abandoned trail where they’re discovered by humans. Now the entire herd must flee. But Ulysees learns there’s a far greater danger than humans when he meets a giant creature who warns him of impending doom…

Amazon:  http://www.amazon.ca/Deception-Shadow-Unicorn-Book-ebook/dp/B01AQ9BP6M/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1453305679&sr=1-1&keywords=suzanne+de+montigny

Kobo: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/609236

Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/609236

Coming Soon…

A Town Bewitched

It's tough for Kira, growing up in the village of Hope, B.C., as a child prodigy in classical violin, especially when her father just died. But when Kate McDonough, the red-haired fiddler, with no past, takes the town by storm with her spellbinding Celtic music, only Kira suspects it’s her vandalising Hope, leaving dead and gutted birds as a calling card.

Friday - Who She Was Before featuring Suzanne de Montigny #MFRWauthor

1.      What were you in your life before you became a writer? Did this influence your writing?

I was an elementary music teacher before I became a writer. Did it influence my writing? Absolutely! Because I write for the very age group I taught. Plus, I began storytelling at the end of music classes as a way of encouraging students to behave. It worked. But what surprised me was how much they loved my stories.

2.      Are you genre specific or general? Why? I don't mean genres like romance, mystery, fantasy etc. There are many subgenres of the above.

I write middle grade or YA, although I’m thinking of writing a chapter book.

3.      Did your reading choices have anything to do with your choice of a genre or genres?

Well, I can’t really say that’s true because I liked to read a lot of historical novels back then and still do, and though my unicorn trilogy takes place 12,000 years ago, it’s fantasy. And my teen novel, A Town Bewitched, is present day.

4.      What's your latest release?

It’s called The Deception. It’s the second book of my Shadow of the Unicorn series.

5.      What are you working on now?

I’m working on Book 3 of my unicorn series. It’s called The Revenge.

6.      Where can we find you?

Here are my links:

www.suzannedemontigny.com 

https://www.facebook.com/unicorngirl52?ref=hl

https://twitter.com/sfierymountain

http://suzannesthoughtsfortheday/blogspot.ca

Thursday's Opening Scene Wizards of Fyre by Janet Lane Walters #MFRWauthor #fantasy #romance

Chapter One

High gray stone walls surrounded the citadel. The ones around the hareem courtyard where the women spent most of their days were lower. As a chill rippled along her spine, Lorana raised her head to appraise the danger. She glanced at the grilled gate separating the women’s area from the outer courtyard. A burly man leaned against the wall with his arms crossed. Lust radiated from his stare. Moments later the austere figure of the chief wizard joined the first man. Mecador’s sly smile added to her discomfort.

Lorana’s hands clenched. She vowed to find an escape before the day arrived when she was destined to be given as a reward to one of the two young men competing for the vacant spot on the wizard’s council.

Since the day her father had sole her to the wizards of the Island of Fyre, she had made the same promise. For four years she had hoped for a way to escape these evil men. She couldn’t wait much longer. Last evening hag Mother had told her the two senior fledglings would soon fight for the vacant seat.

A third man entered the outer court and stood at a distance from the staring pair. For some reason the tall, lean trainee failed to cause her as much alarm as the burly one. From the gossip among the women the husky one had the favor of Mecador. No matter. She had no desire to remain as a prisoner to be owned by a wizard and used as the man willed.

Lorana’s hands clenched. Resentment churned her gut. She hated her position in life. Not forever, she vowed and walked to the work area.

She poured several cups of dried fyrethorn berries into a mortar. She slid the pestle over the surface crushing the berries to a powder to be added to the cauldron bubbling over the first fire. The result would be a cordial.

The acrid aroma of brewing fyrethorn poison rose from a second kettle in a spiraling pattern. Lorana hated working with the death-bringing liquid. The wizards sold the poison and the cordial to the slavers for supplies. They also sold captured desert clansmen and women. Her hands tightened on the pestle and ground more berries to dust.

She added the powder to a simmering pot and stirred. A hand with long slender fingers grasped her shoulder. She stiffened. The chief wizard turned her to face him. The stirring stick clattered on the stones. Her eyes met the cruel cold gaze of Mecador, also called Supreme.

“I’m pleased to see you hard at work. You always seem to be busy, not like these other creatures.” He indicated the women seated in clusters around the courtyard.

She kept her gaze steady. “Keeping busy makes the days pass.”

He chuckled. “See that you remember your place.”

His oily voice made her want to look away. She dare not. To do so would court punishment, something she had avoided since her first year here. “I do what I’m told.”

His smile raised her to near panic. He stroked her face with a finger. Fear galloped like a runaway burden beast. She fought to control her racing emotions. This man savored fear. She hoped to hide the revulsion she felt.

“So my dear, I hope you’ve made enough poison. The traders find it useful during their travels. If the jugs fetch prime goods I’ll bring you a special gift.” His hand brushed her chest.

Lorana willed herself not to flinch. “There are four jugs of poison. The fifth is cooking. There will be three of the cordial.”

“Not enough. We need six jars of poison and four cordial. If you can’t fulfill our needs you will be punished.” He pointed to a woman tied to a cross. “Like her.”

“There are sufficient berries for the cordial but more thorns are needed. They should be picked before they fall so they have more potency and fewer are needed.” She stared into his eyes. “I could leave the hareem and gather them.”

His eyes hardened. “The tangle is no place for any woman, especially one soon to be claimed.” His gaze caressed her body. “You’ll be a tasty morsel. The young wizards who compete for a place on the council will be glad to become your master. Which one do you prefer?”

She wanted to say she had no desire for either man. “The choice isn’t mine to make.” His laughter reminded her of the cry of a carrion crow, the huge black birds she’d seen at home hovering over dead animals.

“How true. Mine is the choice.” He cupped her breasts. “You are so unlike the women of the hareem. Hair like the dark of night and eyes like the skies of day.” He leaned closer. “I will be the first to taste your sweetness.”

“You?” She hadn’t meant to speak.

“Hasn’t Hag Mother told you about the duties of a woman who is a reward?”

She shook her head. “Just that I would belong to one of two young men.”

“That’s true. As Supreme I will school you in your duties to the man who will own you.”

Lust dissolved the frost in his gray eyes. He licked lips surprisingly thick for his gaunt face. Lorana wanted to run but she couldn’t show her fear. Her hands shook. She clasped them behind her back.

“Don’t fear. You will learn how to satisfy me. Your owner will be enchanted by your skill. The day after trading ends and the competition is completed you will begin your training. The winner will observe and learn.”

Lorana forced a smile. Thoughts of him touching more than her face made her ill. “What happens to the one who fails?”

“He will be driven from the citadel. If he survives on his own until spring he can return. Weak wizards are of no use. Soon all men and women of the Island of Fyre will fear us. As will men of other lands.”

What good was fear when the wizards never traveled farther from the citadel than their twice yearly trips to the desert and the occasional trek to hunt or fish? She bowed her head. “I must stir the cordial and add more water and berries to complete the amount needed for trade.”

“Go then. Remember the day comes closer when you will face your destiny. Cregan and Arton face a testing time of their abilities and the power they can elicit from the stones. Cregan will win. He is my student and son. Arton’s mentor died before he completed his student’s training.” He strode away.

Lorana returned to the fire to stir and complete the simmering cordial. She added water and selected more berries to crush. As she breathed in the aroma a memory arose.

During her first year at the citadel, an elderly wizard had died. His student and son, Mecador, had taken the vacant council seat. Why hadn’t Arton been granted his mentor’s seat? The chief of the council must have a plan.

Her hands shook. The stirrer clanged against the sides of the cauldron. She feared he planned to invade her homeland using the power of the wands to breach the blocked harbor. Was there a way to stop him? She knew of none.

She left the cordial to simmer and walked to the kettle of poison. The brew thickened. She pulled the vessel from the fire. Taking a large jug she poured the liquid into the container. Cutting a strip of wax from a block she sealed the cork. Until more thorns arrived she could brew no more. She finished the cordial and filled and sealed two smaller jugs.

Lorana rubbed her eyes. With weary steps she plodded to her narrow cell and lay on the pallet. The only furnishings in the room other than the narrow cot were a small table with a pitcher and basin and a small dresser. Her dresses hung on hooks.

Though exhausted from her labors in the courtyard sleep remained as illusive as a will-o-wisp. Her thoughts dwelled on her only reason for remaining alive.

Escape.

How could she find the perfect time? Twice at night she’d crept from the hareem to use a secret exit from the storeroom and left the citadel. She had gathered things she would need to stay alive in the wilds. Her spoils lay in the center of the fyrethorn thicket and were safe from discovery. She prayed for a time when most of the council left.

Lorana turned and turned. Cregan and Arton appeared in her dreams. Cregan grasped her arm and scowled. His meaty fingers dug into her flesh. Arton held her other arm and pulled. Mecador appeared in front of her. He laughed.

With a gasp she sat up. She had to finish her preparations and flee before those dire dreams became her reality and her chance of freedom vanished.

Wednesday's Writer's Tip - Illusion of Reality and Unity #MFRWauthor #amwriting

 Reality and the novel should go hand in hand. This doesn't mean you have to know everything but you should have researched what you're talking about. But I'm writing fantasy and there's nothing known about something that is strictly imaginative. You're wrong. To create a world you need to have facts to bring the world to sound like a real world. That you need to do even if you;re writing a contemporary or a historical. One rule is to read and research. Then you will have facts to sprinkle in and give your stories a sense of reality. I often write medical kinds of books. Now there's a lot that happened since I last practiced in that career. So now I research. Watch when I'm somewhere medicine is practiced and ask questions. That's how you give the world you're writing about the illusion of reality.

Remember the emotional reactions of your characters. That can help give the illusion of reality no matter what the world you're creating. How does your character react when the phone vibrates in his pocket or some known ring occurs as she's settling down to sleep. Use the emotions of your chanacters to show the facts of the world you're creating.

Just what is unity. I've read some novels that I thought were scattered. I never could put my finger on why. Were there too many characters, too many changes of scenery, too many problems to be solved. In some cases this was true. Others never did. I often ask myself why did the author write this book. The answer is that I don't know and probably they didn't either.

Tuesday's Inspiration - a quote by Henry James #MFRWauthor

 "A writer is someone on whom nothing is lost." Henry James

Reading this made me laugh. I think of all the pieces of papers and notebooks with just a few pieces of paper containing bits of notes on something I've seen, heard, read or remembered. There are senses written down. Will I use them. Perhaps. Bits of them may creep into a story or two. But they will have changed into something a character might use.

Writers often take memories and weave them into stories. Often the strangest thing makes an impact and one thinks I must write this down. There are times when I've written these bits on the back of my hand. Then I copy them and shove them into a file drawer. I think of these things as echoes of the real world to be turned into fiction belonging to the characters I write.

So don't lose these nothings that could be lost. Fina a place to jot them down. You'll never know when you might need a tidbit you've stored away.