May 16

I Love You, More Than Words Can Express

What are you willing to do to show your love?

What are you willing to do to show your love?

“Gestures, in love, are incomparably more attractive, effective and valuable than words.” ~Francois Rabelais

“I love you.” Those words carry great significance. We hear them and feel a number of different emotions. How we react depends on who is speaking to us. Similarly, by saying the words aloud to someone else, we hope to impact their feelings. It seems like this simple, short expression should do nothing else but make moments in life more enjoyable.

As parents, we effortlessly cuddle our infant children and whisper that we love them. We read books like Guess How Much I Love You to them and rock them to sleep with the words from Love You Forever. Some of us—older parents—now have adult children. We remember doing silly things, like singing along with . . . maybe even dancing to . . . Barney the Dinosaur as he nasally projected the lyrics to his “I Love You” song.

Mature moms and dads, we look back at tender moments such as these and wonder how time passed by so quickly and stole our babies from us. We realize that saying “I love you” was easy when showering affection upon our little ones. But wasn’t it hard to get those words out for the first time when dating our would-be spouses?

Hopefully, by the time we know we’re in love, the other person feels the same about us. But there’s anxiety in that moment in which we’re wondering whether or not our words of endearment will be returned. If they aren’t, we feel squashed and rejected once we’ve uttered, “I love you.” Old scars and deep wounds from past relationships oftentimes affect our new ones.

For example, a divorced man, whom I’m going to refer to as The Captain, struggled with telling his second wife how deeply he felt about her. Throughout their marriage, he instead made sure that he showed love to her. Tennille, also an alias, understood the personal reasons that prevented The Captain from saying those three little significant words. That didn’t stop her, however, from wanting to hear, “I love you,” from her spouse. The couple found inspiration to their problem in the movie, Ghost.

In that movie—arguably one of the most romantic films ever, fictional characters, Sam and Molly, are portrayed by actors Patrick Swayze and Demi Moore. Like The Captain, Sam consistently withholds from saying “I love you” to Molly. Whenever she says the phrase to him, he responds with a simple, “Ditto.” Toward the end, Sam has one last opportunity to speak to Molly before he ascends to heaven. He locks his gaze upon her, stares into her eyes, ignores the supernatural things happening around him, and speaks the words she has longed to hear: “I love you, Molly. I’ve always loved you.” Molly, is so enamored by Sam’s declaration that she stops breathing for an instant, then exhales in one soft gust, smiles, and responds with Sam’s customary line, “Ditto.”

After watching the movie, The Captain and Tennille adopted similar dialogue for many years. Gradually, they replaced ditto with their own more personal, private, mushy word: smooches. This one word became synonymous with love because the couple reserved their flirty exchange only for each other. I first learned of it when The Captain spoke about it during his and Tennille’s twenty-fifth wedding anniversary party.

As I celebrated with the couple that night, I agreed with The Captain’s point of view that showing love through our behavior and in our conversations is the best way to convey our love for someone else. On the other hand, I believe that husbands and wives should also be comfortable saying “I love you” to one another. As long as it doesn’t become a rote response, it’s a strong reminder of the bond between them.

I have proof that there’s power in the words.

Years ago, I was a less experienced driver than I am now. I turned my car, evidently too quickly, into an intersection with oncoming traffic. The oncoming car, which I had accidentally cut off, was full of people—rude people—who weren’t happy with me. They showed me just how they felt through both their crude actions—flipping me the bird—and through their words, which I’m glad I couldn’t quite make out. My anxiety level climbed sky high. Of course I knew I had made a mistake. At first, I was embarrassed, but then I was defiant. My actions had been accidental. These people were plain nasty. My blood began to boil and then for some strange reason I couldn’t bring myself to flip them off in return. Instead, I looked at the driver and mouthed, “I love you . . . I LOVE YOU!” Amazingly, my gesture diffused the situation. The other driver and her passengers responded with “I love you too.” We all ended up smiling at one another after that and I can tell you that I felt instantly relieved. Those words were and are powerful.

Now, lest you think that The Captain and Tennille have anything less than a blissful marriage, let me finish telling their story.

The Captain and Tennille had never had a song. You know what I mean: a special song that a couple claims as theirs. A song captured during a meaningful moment; secured safely in the hearts of two lovebirds; and often selected as the first song a bride and groom dance to as husband and wife during their wedding reception.

The Captain and Tennille had never selected such a song for themselves. So, twenty-five years after their wedding, The Captain chose one and presented it to Tennille at the anniversary party. This charming guy claimed that he didn’t have a romantic bone in his body, yet he made his bride weep with joy when he shared “More Than Words.”

In turn, Tennille surprised everyone, including The Captain, by reading the words of a different song, “Through the Years,” which reminded her of her relationship with The Captain.

If you take a moment to listen to those songs, you’ll know that saying “I love you” isn’t essential for a good relationship. For me, that doesn’t mean I’ll stop telling my husband that I love him. The exchange is comfortable and meaningful to us. But we also recognize our love for one another in our own unique ways. Whether we exchange short texts or lengthier love notes, whether we go out for a date or stay home, whether I do something nice for him or he does something nice for me, the way we approach our daily activities reflects our love for and commitment to one another. We’ve learned that what’s most important in a healthy, vibrant marriage is to always love and respect one another, and, through the years, to show it with more than words.

May 15

Hunter

 

While attending college in Flint, a friend, Dale, asked if I would like to go rabbit hunting the following Saturday on his father’s farm. Weather was promising and I was looking forward to just enjoying a day outdoors tramping around on a Saturday in fresh air and sunlight. I hadn’t brought a .22 squirrel-hunting rifle to college, knowing I wouldn’t have time, so Dale agreed to loan me an old rifle of his. 

Another student, Mike, heard about our plans and invited himself along. He had returned to college after a stint in the Air Force and delighted in reminding us of his military experience. It wasn’t clear whether he was ever more than a supply clerk, but he had a habit of imparting his world-wisdom whether asked or not. Mike assured us no one had more experience hunting small game as himself, and that he had been a great marksman in the Air Force.  Up to that point, I hadn’t been aware the U.S. Air Force spent any time hunting rabbits. Saturday would be interesting.

 Dale and I and another friend drove out to the farm Saturday morning and began unloading guns, coats, lunch bags, boots, and gloves. It was early November, a cool sunny day. A fresh breeze rattled a vast field of broken cornstalks that hadn’t been plowed under. Our outerwear consisted of jeans, worn coats, and orange hats, anything to keep warm and safe. I was glad to be out of my rented room and didn’t care if I saw a rabbit or even shot at one.

 We were ready to go when we saw a car in the distance. It was Mike. He pulled behind on the narrow dirt road and got out, resplendent in a brand-new hunting outfit. It was as if he’d stepped from the pages of an L.L. Bean catalogue in a new orange shooting jacket with the wrinkles still in it. The jacket would have been great on an African safari, with all its epaulets, cartridge loops, extra pockets, and leather elbow patches. His heavy green-camouflaged hunting pants had never seen a thicket or mud bog. His new boots were luxurious supple-leather, and his yellow non-glare hunting sunglasses were amazing. 

He greeted us, smiling broadly, unloading and assembling a brand-new Beretta over-under double-barrel twelve-gauge shotgun, sliding new soft leather gloves over checkered grips. The engraved receiver gleamed softly in the morning light, and he began inserting shotgun shells out of a box into the loops of a tooled-leather cartridge belt. When all the loops were filled, he resembled a cleaned-up version of Pancho Villa without a sombrero. 

The three of us, wearing old clothes and carrying .22 rifles, were agog. Whether Mike’s outfit would impress the rabbits, I didn’t know, but we certainly were. But this wasn’t Vietnam and rabbits weren’t going to return fire. He didn’t have a single item indicating he was an old hand at hunting, whereas our old clothes and .22 rifles were more suited for an early morning cornfield. It didn’t help that he took pains to remind us yet again how much hunting he had done, as he was haphazardly handling the Beretta, allowing its barrel to swing past us dangerously. I quickly barked a warning and told him to be more careful, which wasn’t accepted very well. But I was determined to enjoy the day despite his presence. He chose this moment to order me, in no uncertain terms, to walk in back of him instead of in line with everyone else. Exactly why he wanted this wasn’t clear, but he insisted on having a clear field of fire in front. He said he wanted to know absolutely where I was at all times, in the interests of safety as he put it, even though I would have a loaded .22 rifle to the rear. 

 Of course, from a safety standpoint, it made no sense at all to hunt in anything but a single line, so I unloaded the .22 and left it, wondering again if he knew what he was doing. Dale’s quizzical expression confirmed my misgivings but, being safety conscious, I decided to continue behind the group. For the next half-hour, not a single rabbit popped up, but Mike had a great time shouting directions and generally acting the leader. 

Returning to the cars for soup and coffee, we were walking down a dirt track. I was still twenty feet to the rear as I had been for the last hour when a solitary rabbit suddenly ran from behind. It had only scooted a few yards in front when it suddenly reversed course and ran straight back at Mike. Suddenly, wildly, Mike began drawing a close-range bead while the rabbit was only yards in front. Mike swung the shotgun toward the ground, the poor rabbit skittering past and back toward me. In a split second, lacking any field sense at all, fingers tightening on the triggers, Mike continued swinging the shotgun in an arc past Dale and toward me. 

In the heat of the moment, out of control, he had forgotten everything he ever knew about firearms and field safety. I dropped flat to the ground, and he yelled “I got it!” firing both barrels over me while I was lying on the ground. Both loads of twelve-gauge pellets missed the terrified rabbit, ricocheted off the hard dirt track, and into the front of a wood-framed farmhouse only a hundred yards away, the rabbit long gone. 

I picked myself up, shaking, completely hollow inside, Mike’s crestfallen, guilty expression and sagging Beretta slowly revealing all. If he had ever hunted before, it wasn’t apparent. Besides endangering all of us, he had almost taken my life instead of a rabbit’s.  We left him standing there and drove home in silence. Whether he ever went back to the farmhouse to own up for the damage, we never learned, but Genesee County’s rabbits were safe for another day.

 

May 10

Hot Blacktop – Chapter 11 Full Throttle

Mature Content

Sienna didn’t believe the words Saint spoke; she couldn’t. He didn’t love her. She shook her head, but he held her still.

“Yes, Sienna. I love you,” Saint’s words hung like a sticky web in her mind. It would only mean more hurt, the words becoming a lie when he finally left. She did her best to ignore her heart ready to burst into a million pieces.

“We’ve only known each other a few weeks.”legs

“It doesn’t matter. I love you,” he said again and moved a breath away from her.

Sienna wanted to believe him. Badly. Her head shook in denial, but Saint took her face into his hands and held her with care. She tried to pull away, knowing if she let herself succumb to what she truly wanted, all too soon he would find she wasn’t worth much, an affair easily walked away from. Instead, she drew up her skirt and straddled his lap. Sienna knew he would give in and his hands loosened enough that she was able to maneuver closer to his lap, grinding down on his now hard cock. This time it was only about his hands on her, skin on skin, the heat that radiated toward her when he was close. Lust permeated his stare as he held her eyes.

She needed to take control of the situation. It would only be about sex, she told herself. Sienna grabbed onto the back of his head, threaded her fingers through his hair and yanked him in close. She slammed her lips down onto his. Her tongue pressed hard against his lips, and he opened for her. She took his mouth like she was starving for him. Her mouth parted wider hoping he would deepen the kiss even more, and she swirled her tongue around his. She reached deep, lingered, stretching the moment. Her breath was his as his was hers.

Long capable fingers grabbed onto her hips. He wanted her motionless, but she didn’t want to tame her wildness and didn’t do as he wished. She struggled to move, but he didn’t allow her the slightest shift. She groaned in protest, “No,” she said with a gasp, “don’t slow down!” She tried to grind her clit against his pants. He didn’t allow it.  But she took him off guard and yanked him forward slamming her lips back onto his. She nipped, licked, sucked, until he returned to her in full force. His arms wrapped around her and swept up and into her hair. Then she felt his fingers gliding down her back finding their way to her ass, once again stopping at her hips. He took back control. She whimpered into his seeking mouth, and he clutched her hips now, helping her grind down onto him.

Sienna wiggled her arms out from under his so she could reach for his zipper.

Saint clutched her fingers as she fumbled to get his cock in her hands and then inside, to relieve the ache that swelled inside her body.

“Stop Sienna.”

She ignored him. Her kiss became desperate.

“This isn’t what you want sweetheart.”

She shook her head when he pulled away and her mouth followed his as he moved away. His hand came to the side of her head and he held her steady, she tried to press closer, but he held her. Her breaths billowed in her lungs. Sienna needed to touch him and be touched.

“Saint please,” she forced herself not to whine. “I need you to fuck me. Need you inside me.”

“No, baby. You’re not in control of this. I am.”

Her eyes widened and then narrowed. She tried to move in again, to take back control using her hands and mouth.

With one hand Saint locked her in place. His other, he used his fingers to rake through her hair and clamped her long locks tight like an animal caught in a trap. Sienna whimpered because she knew if he took complete control she’d surrender, the need for him too great to deny anymore. Behind the walls she’d built years ago, her heart started beating hard against the invisible brick and mortar, the pressure building until fissure after fissure threatened to tear them down. If she let them fall, she would be lost to him and the love she felt. The love she kept denying every time she looked into his warm eyes. God, she was in love with him too. She struggled like a cornered animal but to no avail. This intimacy could only be about sex she told herself. “This is about sex, nothing more.” She said aloud to convince him she meant to fuck him. Saint just smiled. Sienna wanted to scream in his face that he didn’t love her, and she didn’t love him, but his sexy smirk just grew larger.

“Please, Saint.” He still held both her hands at his zipper. She tried to break free and take his mouth again, but his control was complete. “Please,” she begged.

He shook his head and smiled. “I love you Sienna. And you’ll know it by the end of tonight,” he kissed her chin, behind her ear, “when I touch,” the grip in her hair tightened even more, “and taste you…everywhere. When I make love to you…taking your sweet,” she gasped when his hand slid down to her panties and one of his fingers swirled through her folds, “wet,” he smiled, she moaned, “pussy.”

Sienna’s breaths came faster as he pressed in with that same finger. Her hips began to rock the instant it sunk in, his finger pumping slow and steady on the perfect spot. Her moans filled his mouth as Saint took his time holding her during the leisure climb that was torture of the most erotic kind. He pressed in another finger and pushed them deep, holding there. She tried to grind onto them. He held her still while his fingers moved inside her again, in and out, in a slow, lazy glide that left her wanting to scream. It was maddening. Then he curled his fingers and tapped on her G-spot, over and over again, the slow, steady pace ruining her. Her head fell back, and she panted as the sensation made her body race toward and orgasm that grew to volcanic heights.

“Harder,” she said.

“No, not yet,” he said through a clenched jaw.

“Please,” the word a guttural groan.

“My pace.” Her stare locked on his. She wanted to fight him every step of control he tried to take back from her but what she saw in his eyes…her breath caught in her throat.  He wanted this between them. Oh, God! She thought. He does love me.

He added his thumb to the action, pressing her clit. She started to breath, but then her inner walls detonated spasm after spasm around his fingers. Oxygen entered and exited her lungs in jagged puffs. The edge of the final fall so close. Yet, it wasn’t enough to take her over the edge. She tried again to move. He held firm. When his thumb started to attack her clit with small flicks, she wanted to scream for him to let her come. But his relentlessness didn’t allow her to take what she wanted as his torture across her sensitive nub continued. The pace quickened even more. Her breaths joined to match it, faster and faster they came, harder. And then she did scream his name and her head fell back heavy in the glory of it. The orgasm steam rolled over her in a wash of heat that turned her skin to fire. “Saint! God, yes.”

“Ride the wave, Sienna.”

Her inner walls hugged his fingers in hot spasms “Yes!” When they began to slow, his fingers loosened on her hip and his kisses were soft and gentle as the violence of the orgasm settled and finally became still. But then she was up and in his arms, her dress at her waist and her mind in a sexual haze. She didn’t realize where he was taking her until she felt the comforter under her and his hard body on top of hers.

She looked up at him as he came over her, his eyes smiling as his lips curled into their smile. He ran the tips of his finger across her forehead, down her cheek, and then feathered across the top of her breasts. Sienna shivered, and her nipples hardened again. She blinked, tried to clear her mind, but he had done a good job at taking all her resistance.

“Now it’s time to get serious.”

Her eyes widened with surprise. Was he kidding? Wasn’t what they just did serious enough? Her mouth opened to say something, but then it closed because he took that second of her disbelief and used it against her. Before she knew it, Saint had removed her dress. The fabric was whisked above her head and off. He threw the garment to the floor. Then he moved down her body straddling her hips. She barely had time to take a breath, let alone set him straight about how this would go. Saint took advantage of her lapse, undid her bra and then ripped her panties off.

“And what I mean by that is, we’re going to go on a lot of dates,” he kissed her hard, “and make love,” kiss, “a lot.” He pinched her nipples and she moaned. “On the couch, the bed, in my apartment, your kitchen. Everywhere.” Saint sucked her nipple into his mouth, hard. Her back arched. “And finally, this between you and me,” he kissed her nipple and ran his tongue across it to ease the sting, “it’s a relationship. I’m not going to let you push me away anymore.”

She tried to do exactly that as she lay before exposed fully, for the first time. And if she didn’t take the power back, she would be naked to him in other ways. She went to sit up and reach for Saint, his still clothed body came down on hers, and it was his turn to grind down onto her now bare mound. Their moans mingled at the delightful pressure that he continued her torture.

She wiggled to gain some advantage, but he’d pinned her to the bed.

“Saint,” she growled, “let me take your clothes off. I need to feel you against me. I need you inside me.”

His eyes burned with lust and then he smiled a wicked smile. “I know what you’re trying to do,” he said. “But Sienna, I know how you really feel,” he touched between her breasts, “and it’s not going to work. You’re not going to make me believe that this is just a quick fuck.” His words were harsh, yet she still shivered. Not from the rough sexual language, but from the promise behind them. His true promise. She could feel his words imprint on her skin, boring into her heart like a brand made by the heat of his hands. Sienna’s eyes filled with moisture. She blinked, ignoring the tears wanting to spill over.

Could she believe him? She thought. Really? The question was so repetitive in her mind she was going mad with it. Deep down there was a shining glimmer of truth that warmed her to the bone. Sienna squeezed her eyes shut desperate to make what she saw behind his stare go away, to fight her feelings. She’d face them another day. But she’d come to the conclusion regarding Saint and her…it wasn’t going to work.

“Open your eyes, Sienna.” She did. “There you are,” he whispered so close to her that she could feel his breath on her lips, and then he kissed her so softly she ached down to her soul.

“Oh, God.” She whispered against his lips.

Saint trailed kisses down her cheek, to her neck and across to the opposite side. His fingers feathered across her skin, stopped at each nipple in turn, tweaked, and rolled the peaks. He licked, and sucked them until she thought she’d orgasm just from that alone. Sienna moaned with each caress, and it was almost too much to bear. When he rolled his hips against her pussy she writhed under him and then his heat was gone. He lifted up and all she could do was watch as he took his time stripping for her. Saint stood next to the bed, undid his pants and stepped out of them, but she paid no mind because he stood next to her, his masculinity, the sinew, smooth dips and sweeps of muscles highlighted what proudly stood at attention between his legs, for her. She licked her lips and he groaned this time and she watched as he took his thick, long cock in his hand and pumped it once, twice, and then knelt on the bed coming slowly down on her, her legs parting to make room for him.

“Saint,” She said, his name a word that begged him for what she needed, for him to take her, to make her feel whole again, wanting it in so many different ways. “Saint,” she said again, this time like a prayer.

He tore open a condom, lifted up and rolled it down his cock. Her eyes followed the motion. When he came back down on her, she expected him to sink deep into her, but instead, his hard shaft met her weeping sex. She mewed through each glide Saint made.

“Open your eyes, baby.” When had she closed them?

When their gazes met once again, he rocked back, and with one sweet push, he was inside her, the pressure deep, unforgiving, and beautiful. “Mmm,” Sienna hummed. He stopped when he was fully seated inside her.

“Say the words, Sienna.”

“Please move,” she said. Sienna grabbed his hips, wrapped her legs around him locking them in place and began to rock up onto to him. But he shook his head and stopped her.

“The words, Sienna,” he said even more softly.

Now she was getting angry. She tried to push him off. He ground down and pumped into her, enough movement to get her ramped up again. “Ohhh!”

Saint slowly pulled out to almost the tip and then slammed home and then settled in again. She dug her nails into his biceps, but he wasn’t budging.

“Sienna?” He caressed her hair and moved his hand down to her nipple and rolled it between thumb and index finger. She whimpered. Her eyes filled again. Her head turned back and forth. He dropped his lips to ease the ache in her breast stroking it with his tongue and against her lips when he came back to her. Saint thrust again, and he said, “I love you.”

At that moment, hearing those words again, her heart tore open. Her walls didn’t just fall they exploded. That’s when Saint started to move in earnest. Thrust upon thrust, her inner walls spasmed in growing need. With each thrust, he told her he loved her over and over, until the need she kept bottled up so deep inside her joined in with his mantra and her words were a chorus that matched his.

“I love you too, Saint. God. I love you too.” She ignored her inner voice of warning about the future and let the light inside her heart burst forth. Sienna’s motion became almost frantic as Saint continued to manipulate her nipples while his hard cock drove into her, each grunt and push of her hips to match his. Then her orgasm burst across every cell in her body. It danced through each limb and her back arched, and her screams of abandon filled the room. Saint slammed into her over and over, his grunts primal and forceful. With each, she spasmed even more. A final thrust caught her in another climax so intense that she could feel it everywhere each nerve flexing with its pulse that blended with Saint’s long moan, the heat of his come filling her up in ways she never imagined. He collapsed onto her and quickly rolled to the side taking her with him, her back to his front, his arms wrapping in an intimate hug, their breaths matching in fierceness echoing in her ear until they both settled into the silence of the room.

Sienna’s eyes pinched shut. “What have I done?” She whispered so softly she didn’t expect Saint to hear her. She told him she loved him. Sienna felt Saint tighten up all over which meant that he hugged her even closer.

“That’s right, Sienna, honey. You love me.”

Sienna bit her lip hard. She did love him. Her mind screamed that she shouldn’t trust anything about what was between them. But her heart…

Sienna lay in the soft bed stiff in her fear until Saint’s grip loosened around her.

Had he fallen asleep?

She needed to leave.

She had to bring herself back around to the idea that this was just sex. It would end. At least then she could pretend she didn’t love him.  But she knew he wouldn’t let her go, not after what they shared.

Sienna would focus on getting Saint’s help with Danny. Not dwelling on how she felt for Saint. That’s what she’d do. They’d get the scared boy to a safe place.

She took a deep breath and tried not to disturb Saint.

Sienna thought about her mother showing up. What amount of money could she possibly give to the woman that would make the situation, one bad enough that her mother attacked her, go away? She started to shiver and Saint’s arms held her tighter. God!

“Everything will be okay, Sienna. You’ll see.” She held her breath, but his breathing evened out again.

Even though Saint held her in the dark, all Sienna could see as she stared at the ceiling was her mother’s face, worn, sunken and pitted from drugs. Her eyes blank and lifeless, her fingers digging into Sienna’s arms.

Her head turned toward the door at a noise. Her phone was ringing. She looked over to Saint. He was out so she eased out of the bed and escaped to the living room. She didn’t recognize the number.

“Hello?”

May 08

I Pitched an Agent, and I Liked It

baseball gloveMost people will never pitch a book to an agent, because the experience ranks somewhere among swimming with sharks, getting naked in front of strangers and driving in Detroit with your doors unlocked. I planned to keep my pitches to the baseball field or the horse barn. Yet, outside conference room C, I paced and worried about a few words, a few minutes and a great big manuscript on my laptop at home.  

Nothing To Lose

My writer friend, Kathy (real name), suggested the writing conference. For the opportunity to pitch, the conference charged a small extra fee. Kathy asked, “Why don’t you pitch one of your manuscripts? What do you have to lose?” She offered lodging at her house in a cool college town, invited other writers and splurged on food and drinks.  I almost forgot I had an appointment the next morning with special literary agent X.

Right-Hand on a Keyboard Confession

I avoided planning my pitch. And I visualized different scenarios where magical literary agent X said, “Yes, I love it. Send me everything you have. I’m your dream agent for life.” Or he said, “Naw. I’m gonna pass. Do you have anything else? No? Next writer!” I wanted to be ready and wrote a trial pitch for all of the manuscripts collecting digital dust in my flash drive pile. I even designed writer business cards to slide across the table to potentially intimidating agent X. 

On Friday afternoon, I tested my pitch on the other tag-along writer invitees. With a cat curled in my lap, I read my multiple pitches to writer friends, Jacqui and Mamie (also real names). They liked everything except the book I planned to pitch. The pitch was all wrong. While they relaxed with a bottle of wine and managed a few plucks at their keyboard, I revised and expanded my pitch to several sentences and then several paragraphs. 

Expect Success

Kathy had attended an afternoon session with information about pitching. Turns out, my new pitch was all wrong. So while the others talked, made dinner, and opened more wine, I shortened my pitch and made the essence of my story obvious. Beware plotters everywhere: the pitch is story and not plot. “Not to worry,” Kathy said. “Agents request from writers who pitch.” Without memorizing a word, we went to sleep dreaming of a request for our cherished manuscripts.

Memorize Your Pitch

In the morning, practice coach, Mamie, encouraged rehearsing my pitch until I was sick of it and had it mostly memorized. Jacqui buoyed my spirits with support for my relentless (borderline neurotic) writing and rewriting of the same material a hundred times. We all laughed at the silly exercise, because of course, we were destined for print. Then we heard from other writers who pitched and were not asked for requests. My nerves rocketed from zero to sixty in less than ten seconds.

Outside conference room C, I met a very friendly writer waiting for the same agent. She had pitched at another conference, and this time, brought a query letter for the agent to critique. I asked the conference coordinator if she had any tips. She said it’s more about you. If you believe in your story, then the agent will want it. Okay, maybe that was intended to help, but now, success or failure was because of me–oh great! When I sat down across from the agent, I forgot my memorized pitch in mid-sentence (nervous laugh) and had to start over, but I survived. That doesn’t mean it was a cakewalk. Agent X voiced concerns. I countered her “objections” with answers from the day before when I sorted through themes, conflicts and characters. With the agent’s card in my hand and a request for a partial, I felt successful and decided my earlier notions about the pitch experience were maybe a bit overblown but only slightly. I would rate a pitch on the same level with a job interview. The writer must prepare, deliver and be ready to move forward to the next step in the process.

May 04

The Trip of a Lifetime: Australia and New Zealand Part 1

My husband, Roger, and I arrived in Los Angeles on Tuesday, March 15 ready for the 8:00 pm flight to Melbourne, Australia. Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine I’d go to “the land down under.” When he first asked if I wanted to travel to Australia and New Zealand, I simply said, “Sure.” He started researching the travel options and I increased my monthly contributions to our travel fund.

A couple we know also wanted to go, so the four of us poured through several catalogs with plans to travel together. We selected Grand Circle Travel® – perfect choice. Our friends planned to join us on the 22nd of March in Cairns.

When the travel information arrived in the mail, we learned about the passport and visa requirements and the luggage restrictions (one 50 pound checked bag and one 15 pound carry-on bag). I chose one 25 pound checked bag, a 12 pound backpack, and a purse large enough to accommodate a small camera and mini iPad. With plans to utilize the hotel laundry facilities, I packed enough for eight days, not for the entire 27-day trip.

Upon arrival at the Melbourne Airport on Thursday, March 17 (losing a day crossing numerous time zones), we felt the extreme heat immediately. We looked for other travelers wearing the Grand Circle name tags and met our tour guide, Ronan McChesney. He was born in Ireland and became an Australian citizen because he loved the island nation so much. During our wonderful time in Australia, we understood why.

After a coach ride from the airport and brief tour around the city, we arrived at the Rendezvous Hotel. Ronan assured us that our luggage would be taken to our rooms. Because it was a little too early for check in, he gave us a brief orientation outside the hotel then took us on a walking tour around the neighborhood. He cautioned us that Australians (Aussies) drive on the left side of the road and pedestrians do NOT have the right of way. Good to know. Ronan said to drink a bottle of water each hour because of the dry heat.

At the Rendezvous Hotel, Ronan picked up all the room keys for the tour group. This was his well-organized duty at each of our hotel stops facilitating our check-ins. We joined Ronan in a conference room for a briefing and get-acquainted session. Each person said his or her name, where they lived, and why they chose to travel to this part of the world. Ronan talked a little about what to expect during this trip. He also explained that Aussies pronounced Melbourne “Melbin,” the city of Alice Springs was just called “The Alice,” and the city of Cairns was called “Cans” or “Kennes.” Ronan distributed headsets which facilitated hearing the tour guides’ dialogue on the various tours throughout the trip. He also gave us a gold sheet of paper giving us the itinerary for the first five days of our journey. The color, he said with a smile, represents the sands of the Outback.

He warned that once we got to our rooms to be careful of that large rectangle covered in a beautiful, colorful pattern in the center of the room that would beckon us to try it out. “Don’t do it. Or you’ll miss dinner.” Sleeping in the afternoon meant not sleeping at night. Adjusting to jet lag wasn’t too bad for us.

After going to our rooms and freshening up, we were free to tour the city or to rest. Roger and I toured, then joined our group for dinner at the hotel. Whenever our prepaid dinners were with the group, Ronan had us select in advance our culinary choices from a prepared menu. This allowed the restaurant to have the meals for our group of twenty-three, including Ronan, ready upon our arrival.

On Friday, March 18, we enjoyed a full hot breakfast at the hotel (every breakfast was included in the cost of the trip). Wearing our battery-operated headsets, we met in the lobby at 9:00 am ready to board the coach for the half day Melbourne City Sightseeing Tour. We stopped at the beautiful, impressive St. Patrick’s Cathedral, then saw the Melbourne Cricket Ground and the Australian Open Tennis Centre. We visited the Shrine of Remembrance which honored the Australians who fought in World War I and World War II. Family members were unable to receive the bodies of their deceased loved ones because of the distance and expense; therefore, this Shrine of Remembrance was designed to honor the military.

That night some of us went to the Fairy Penguin Parade at Philip Island to watch the Little Penguins (much smaller than what we usually see at Penguinariums) come out of the water to return to their nesting places on shore. We were not allowed to take pictures, with or without a flash, because that frightens the penguins causing them to throw up. They would starve. After the show, I saw an adorable little girl about two years old walking like the little penguins. Too cute.

On Saturday, March 19, breakfast at the hotel was at 6 am. Our bags were set outside our rooms at 6.45 am ready to be picked up by porters. Already hot, the temperature was scheduled to reach 95 degrees Fahrenheit. At 7:30 am, we met in the hotel lobby ready to board the coach to the Melbourne Airport to fly to the Alice Springs Airport. Excitement mounted as we prepared to see the Outback, learn about the Aboriginal culture, visit a kangaroo sanctuary, and more.