I Warned You ...

Giddy's Deleted Scene
(Adeline helped me with it if you can't tell)

Gideon Gilbert growled low in his throat as a hunk of his inky, black hair flopped in his face again. Since he was a major hunk, he already had some chick in the seat next to him even though he was far away from home. So, she moved his hair out of his eyes for him and started snogging on his neck again.

"Dude, babe," he growled in a huffy voice. "Watch out for the dreads." Gideon didn't actually have dreadlocks, the one time he'd tried to get someone to put them in for him, he'd been categorically denied on the grounds of being "uncool", but even a man has to have dreams. And a penis. Because that's what makes him a man and not a woman.

Just then, a strange noise came from the hood of the truck. Gideon gaped as he realized that his girlfriend, Adeline, was sitting on the wide shiny red chrome glaring at him in the DEATH GLARE that he was only too familiar with. "Dude, not cool!" he whined as he watched her three inch heels scrape against the paint.

She glanced at the bimbo sitting next to him. "Dude, not cool either!" she said imitating him. To make sure he got the point, she grabbed a strand of her silky brunette hair and twisted it around her finger making her most airheadish expression.


WAIT A FUCKING MINUTE! What the hell is this?

This is me writing an introduction to you. Got a problem with it?

Damn straight I have a problem with it.

Well, then you can kiss my ass. Now where was I? Oh yes. I was about to get on with the singing.


Gideon stopped the truck being careful to make sure that Adeline didn't fly forward off the hood and hurt herself. She had a tendency to do that often.


Hey! Where'd that come from? I wouldn't write something like that about myself.

I wrote it.

When'd you start helping? Hush! I'm trying to get to the singing part.

Singing? What singing? I don't sing!

You do now.


After stopping the truck, Gideon got out and walked around his door. "I'm a Blacksmith, a big mighty Blacksmith," he sang in a deep baritone. "And you are the child of fire. I will worship you for your beauty and greatness." He finished the impromptu song on a low note while making calf eyes at the wonderful Adeline. His bimbo was forgotten, and she was forced to stalk off in a huff at being so easily dismissed.


Is this about that waitress again? Because I already told you she thought I was Gabe (Gideon's twin brother), and I didn't want anything to do with her. I just want you … although right now I'm wondering why.

You're supposed to be basking my greatness damn it!

Oh fuck this!


……………..



Note from the author: I'm afraid our little "deleted" scene has been cut abruptly short. The hero of said excerpt has thrown the heroine over his shoulder and taken her off to private parts (no, not those!) unknown for the express purpose of explaining to her in explicit detail why it's better if she's nicer to him and exactly how little he wanted to do with the waitress in question.

Allow me to assure you that all will be well. Well, it'll all be ok as long as Gideon's kissing Adeline and, thus, preventing her from opening her mouth again.

The Shock of the Century!

After about five weeks, 59,000 words, lots of temper tantrums, bouts of ugliness, and flying fingers, it's "finished".

Captive Fire (the working title) is nowhere near ready to be submitted to anyone. In fact, it's not even ready to see the light of day. The end is horrible because I just wanted it done so I wrote to get something down that would move the plot forward. And don't even get me started on the other problems.

Now I need to go back, flesh things out, probably cut out some stuff, and add a bunch in. But, for now, I'm going to savor the knowledge that the blessed thing is DONE!

Feel free to join me in a celebratory dance. *wiggles all over*

As An End Note

Sometimes working with this blog makes me long to bite things.

The Need to Enact Violence Vicariously

I can explain the title in one word: hockey.

I think there's only one sport that's notoriously (possibly) more bloody, and that would be soccer (although, I'm not very knowledgeable in rugby so maybe that beats hockey out too). But, at least with soccer, it's more a product of the fans behaving badly than the actual players being out for blood (everyone who actually watches soccer/football, please feel free to correct me now).

Anyway, what's the point to this rambling nonsense of a post?

I went to a hockey game tonight! I'm not really a big fan of hockey. It seems to me like a silly game that involves a lot of wasted time skating up and down a small icy, COLD piece of (well, umm) ice. But I got suckered into attending a local hockey game with my mom last year, and it was alright. And my oldest sister (who's home for Thanksgiving) suckered me into attending tonight (by "promising" to behave for the rest of the weekend). But, since I didn't sit next to my mom and get beaten every time we scored, it wasn't too bad.

See, the thing about the local hockey teams is that while they're not always the most talented, these are the guys who play because they love the sport not because they get paid really well. Because, well, to tell the truth, they DON'T get paid well. They have so much passion so much love for the game that it's hard not to get excited for them.

And tonight was kind of fun because it was pretty much a grudge match from the beginning. Before they'd even played thirty seconds, the game had to stop. We found out later that one of the players on the rooster got "kicked out" because his name hadn't been spelled correctly and the opposing team (hereby known as the "bad guys") called our team on it. So he couldn't play. Isn't that stupid? Yeah, I thought so too.

About five minutes after that, a fight broke out (are we surprised?). Well, I kind of was actually. See that guy over there? *points to the right* That's DJ. Even though I have only been to two games, I know his name very well. Mom and Dad are season ticket holders, and they made friends with the couple that sits in front of them. The male counterpart in the couple is a proud member of (DJ) King's Court. So I'm used to hearing/asking about DJ. He's "THE ENFORCER" for the team.

I figured a fight would be right up DJ's alley.

But, to my surprise, DJ was standing back calmly in the circle that surrounded the two combatants. Instead, it was one of the two oldest members of the team! *points below and to the right*

He stood in the middle of the ice, gloves off, helmet tossed aside, his fists raised as he and a member of the "bad guys" circled each other for position. They finally dived and ducked it out for a while before they were both sent to the penalty box. It was simultaneously amusing and silly. I was a little surprised that the refs just stood off to the side and watched. But, then again, I guess when two guys are determined to beat the crap out of each other, it's best to wait until they're finished. Although, as my sister said, because of the ice and padding, their fight kind of looked like a sissy fight.

Still, it satisfied any need I might have felt for violence. And it sure got the crowd riled up.

After that, surprise surprise, it was a fairly physical game. There were a surprisingly few number of penalties called (and sadly, they were mostly randomly called), and I suppose it could be called a blood match. One of the last plays must have involved one of the bad guys somehow getting his head someplace it didn't belong because all of a sudden everyone realized they were missing a player, and he was on the bench bleeding!

But, our team won the game, my sister at least has to pretend that she's behaving, and I got to giggle my head off. So it was a pretty good evening.

Point to Ponder

The other day, I was talking with a friend from the loops, and a very new idea was presented to me. What if characters aren't the creation of our brains?

Suppose, just for a moment, the voices in your head, the stories that they tell, are really memories of past incarnations. What if the situations you imagine are really just a way for your subconscious to present and handle memories? I think all writers have experienced a moment of clarity where scenes that were murky (and not what you expected) were suddenly revolved by a moment of inspiration. I usually don't know where the answers come from, and, more often than not, I'm just as surprised as I hope my readers are. So, to me, this makes a sort of sense.

I'm not quite sure if it's "THE TRUTH", but *grins* I, for one, think that's a pretty darned cool thought. And it definitely warrants some time for contemplation.


A PS - Happy Thanksgiving to one and all. I have so much to be thankful for (including an incredible family, and some very loving and indulgent friends). I hope that each one of you can count yourself equally blessed.

If I Don't Get to London Soon ...

... I am going to throw a temper tantrum!

But since I can't go right now, a few pictures to tide me over.

*points to the left* That would be a less famous, but very beautiful and very dear to me place. Holland Park is north of Earl's Court and west of Kensington.

*points* And I don't think I need to explain that.

The Long Awaited ......

An early scene from my "book" ... "story" ... thing ... (it hasn't been edited yet so please be kind)

"I figured it out! Romeo hired you to scare me so that I'd move back home where Maman and Papa can watch me for the rest of my life. That's it, isn't it? Come on, admit it." When the two men who had abruptly stuffed her in the dent, rusted white van continued to ignore her, as they had for the last hour, Adeline's bound hands darted out and poked the arm of the one sitting on the passenger's side. "Talk to me," she said imploringly.

Although there was a growl, she didn't get any sort of answer.

"Fine," she huffed, "Ignore me." She scooted back along the slick, metal floor of the van until she was leaning against the far wall. Since they'd tackled her, bundled her up, and carried her off to the van, she'd and that wall had become very good friends. At first, she'd spent a lot of time trying to figure out how to open the door. But, being above-average villains, her captors had already removed the inside door handle from the side door. The only ways out were through one of the front doors, carefully guarded by one captor each, or through the windshield. Adeline shuddered to think what it would take to get through that windshield.

Although, on the whole, it might be easier than trying to get through one, or both, of her kidnappers.

Reminded of her plight, she realized she was supposed to be sulking. She quickly crossed her arms over her chest and aimed her most furious glare at the front in case one of them decided to glance back and check on her. But, all remained silent except for the soft whisper of air passing around the van. She listened for as long as she could stand it, an approximate total of two minutes, then started chattering again.

"There's no sane reason for you to have kidnapped me. Of course, kidnapping isn't exactly a mark of sanity considering the very long jail sentence attached to the crime so maybe that's the explanation in and of itself. You two are nuts so you stole me." Adeline paused in her monologue to wrinkle up her face in disgust. "But, that's just a boring reason. I really hope you have a better one than that because that's not going to make a very good defense." She dropped her voice, imitating a male's baritone. "'I'm sorry, Your Honor. We were crazy. But, now we're not. Please acquit us.' You know that won't work, right?"

Her captors both stared out into the inky night unprovoked by her babbling.

"So, if not insanity, what is the underlying cause of this crime?" Adeline wiggled her shoulders against the hard metal of the van trying to comfortable. "Well, I know that it's not because a Middle Eastern sheik hired you to steal me for his harem. I definitely heard you laughing at that one when I asked even if you did try to muffle it. And I'm not the President's daughter so I'm not even going to explore the theory you kidnapped me to change international policy.

"Hey, did you guys decide you wanted to be like Thelma and Louise? I could call you Elmer and Lou! I mean, there's a big difference between bank robbery and people robbery, but stealing's still stealing. Of course, the money's better if you rob a bank. You've got a guaranteed salary. Kidnapping's a bit iffy. What if the family doesn't pay off the ransom? You guys ever have that problem?" She continued without waiting for them to answer. She knew they wouldn't anyway, and she was starting to enjoy her desperate rambling attempt to keep herself from going numb from fear. "I've got a great idea! Why don't you let me out, and you can go try that bank robbing thing? I promise I won't say a word. Besides, I might be able to remember that you've got brown hair, Lou, but Elmer's going to be impossible."

She leaned forward to peek around the driver's seat at the featureless man driving. "Elmer, you really are a masterpiece of a henchman. I don't think I could pick you out of a line up if you were the only one there."

In the seat next to "Elmer", Lou shifted to stare out the passenger side window. Her eyes darted between the two looking for even a sign that they were responding to her. If they were human, she would be able to get them to laugh, and surely even the bad guys didn't kill a girl who could make them laugh.

Lou turned his head away from the window to look back at her. For the first time, she noticed his eyes. They were a cold, lifeless ice blue. She'd never been much of a person for looking at eyes. She was simply too busy, constantly moving, to be able to read emotions behind the glittering color of an iris so she just ignored that facial feature. But, in Lou's eyes, she could see death as clearly as if he had written it out for her.

Then again, maybe these two could kill a girl who made them laugh.

Without another word, she shrunk back. Her lips rolled in on themselves, a frantic attempt to silence everything she'd already said, and she pulled her legs up to her chest making herself as small as she possibly could.

Then, Lou spoke for the first time. His voice had a slight accent that sent a chill down her spine. "'Ey, whaddaya say we gag her? Boss dinna say not'ing about not gaggin' her."

Elmer's sole response was a jerky nod.

Adeline pressed her lips together more tightly turning the delicate pink skin a stark white. She quickly shut her eyes as Lou climbed out of his seat and started along the length of the van toward her.

Oh My Bed

I am so tired right now that I feel like I'm in the process of doing a nosedive into the keyboard even though I know I am sitting perfectly still. So, being this tired, you might ask what the hell I'm doing still awake informing you all of my sad state rather than crawling in my bed like any sane person. Well, I'm still up because it's kind of fun. Very trippy, but amusing. Hmm. Ok, now that my stalker cat has arrived for attention, I'll go to bed.

Nothing Interesting to Say

I was going to post an excerpt, but it occurs to me that the majority of you don't know Adeline. Ok, if I look at who I've linked to and who will eventually start reading this, you guys do. But maybe some day there will be others who I'll be attacking, and they won't know Adeline. So, allow a short introduction if you will. The excerpt - oh my zillions of fans *grins* - will wait until next time.

This isn't really interesting or important, but I like to babble so indulge me. Around two years ago, I was a sophomore in college, and in the speech class from hell! More than once, I seriously contemplated gouging my eyes out with a pen because at least it would be more interesting than listening to my professor drone on and on and on. At the time, I was an avid lurker on a (for lack of better term) roleplaying board. People would post ongoing stories under the name of their character. And, for a girl who loves to read, it was heaven.

I've always liked to write and been encouraged by those who happened to read my writing so I decided to delurk and join in on all the fun. And, thus, Adeline was born. She was named after a little girl I knew when I was in high school who had the biggest, prettiest brown eyes I've ever seen. But, unlike the Adie I knew, mine was pure mischief.

Living with Adeline is like having a three year old running around with me and commenting on the world. Granted, she's a highly intelligent three year old, but still. If I don't pay attention, she'll have me sticking my tongue out at my boss when he's being ridiculous and his back is turned. Or she'll announce to my friends, "I die easily." She's also prone to bouts of hysterical giggling with the least little provacation. And, she's easily bribed with black teddy bears.

She's young for being the main character in a romance (series hopefully!), at only 22 (a mere 20 at the time!), but I think (hope) that's part of her appeal. She's growing, learning, as you read about her. Her reactions are starting to even out, become more predictable, and, sadly enough, she's becoming more cynical. But, hey, that's life, right?

There's ever so much more about Adeline I should probably tell you, but I think that'll be enough for now. Besides, you can get to know her (and trust me you will!) through the blog. If you're really interested *points to the side bar* Flights of Fancy is where she gets to spout all her nonsense mostly uninterrupted by me. And that, as they say, is that.

Not Good Not Good!

After three weeks, 49,000 words, a kidnapping, a daring rescue, a broken coccyx, and mistaken identity, the one thing I've dreaded has happened: I don't want to write.

I'm so close to reaching 50,000 words that it's not even funny. If I could make myself just sit down and do it, I would have reached my goal (of course, part of the problem is that I wouldn't be done even then because I have a lot more story than can fit in 1,000 words). But, I'm so blessed tired I can't bring myself to even care.

I caught a cold from my niece last week (she was sick, and she asked me for kisses; it was stupid, I know, but she NEVER asks for kisses!). Since last Friday, I have been dog tired, and I haven't had a chance to catch myself back up to where I'm feeling semi-human. It's really a rather frustrating position to be in because I'm mad at myself for not just finishing, but I'm simutaneously too tired to really get worked up enough to get off my duff and fix it.

There's also, probably, some of the "fear of succeeding" factoring into it, but that's a blog for another night. Tonight, I'm going to bed early, and tomorrow, I am attacking (Adeline) AT DAWN! ..... (or 8:00 when I sit down in front of my computer for the day ... whichever happens later)

The Mysterious Origins of Frenchpeas

Contrary to popular belief, it's not because I'm French, a great cook, or because I really like peas. Just be patient, and I'll get to the explanation in my own time. *grins*

I haven't always been called frenchpeas. There was a deep, dark, scary time in my life when people called me Two Tails. But that's a story for another day and probably another narrator.

My "nickname" (if that's what you want to call) really doesn't have any drastic or crazy origins. When I was in high school, I studied French (because German sounds like you're hacking up a lung, and Spanish didn't appeal to me). At the same time, I was good friends with a girl who's (almost) as nuts as I am.

One of our favorite things to do was to watch Veggie Tales. Not for the wholesome, religious message of the videos, but because of Silly Songs With Larry. Being creative, and of an odd thought process, we liked songs like "Everybody's Got a Water Buffalo", "We Are the Pirates (Who Don't do Anything)", and "Love My Lips". If you want to see what I'm talking about, Google any one of those songs. It should be an enlightening experience.

So, I spoke French (a master of such key phrases as ... "I lost my head! Help me find it or give me yours." and "I wish all the XYZs would fall in a deep, dark hole and die. But I'm not bitter."), So combine my studies with the Veggie Tales, and you have your answer.

I'm a French peas because I like the French peas, I speak French, and, according to my friend, I'm about the size of a pea (darned bean poles always picking on the little guy!). There you have it. The wonderfully fascinating story of how I became frenchpeas. Aren't you so glad you never asked?

Without Any Introduction

I am here! I have come to torment you all. And if I weren't so darned sick of messing with this thing, I just might contribute something interesting to the pile of general nonsense that is the Internet. But, for now, you shall have to be content with this. At least until I get my word count done for the day (*shakes fist* darn you NaNo!) and I forget that this thing already ate one perfectly lovely blog.