Love Story vs. Romance

What is the difference between a romance and a love story?  I had to do a little research to answer this question.  The biggest difference would be a romance is expected to have a happy ending.  A love story has more options for the ending.  Even though I love reading romance, I decided to go with a love story for The Whisperer of Storms.  It allows many possibilities in addition to decreasing predictability.  Plus, it omits the expectation of a love scene.  I have no qualms about writing a love scene, but I do with publishing one. Would I want my parents or my children to read those scenes?  No!  Therefore, what goes on behind closed doors is going to remain there.  I'll leave it up to the reader's imagination.  I had to make a few more changes with moving away from romance, which included stripping a few fellows of their titles and replacing the word ton, which referred to London's fashionable society.  With weighing the options, I do believe a love story is the right fit for my novel.        

Speaking of which, I've completed the first draft of The Whisperer of Storms!  Now, I'm in the process of revising.  It's not as fun as creating scenes, but I do enjoy improving them.

Enjoy the summer!

Veronica    

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Eighteen

My protagonist, Hope, is 18 years old at the start of my novel The Whisperer of Storms.  I chose that age since it was the eligible age for a young lady to marry in the early 1800s.  I didn't want her to be on the shelf, but getting her married off was a cause for concern for her guardian in that day and age.  What a perfect way to develop conflict in the plot!  

Interesting enough, age 18 was a period of ups and downs in my own life.  My grandmother's hardy health took a rapid decline.  My own health took a turn downhill as well a few months later and I was faced with my own mortality.  It was through the trials and tribulation that I finally found what I was looking for. 

I was lucky as I caught the monster (as I like to call it) early, but I remember the time of uncertainty.  The day I was diagnosed, I went to school, which was right before Valentine's Day.  Our school had the tradition of giving flowers to our friends.  Some people walked around with a bouquet of flowers pinned to their shirts, while others didn't have any.  That day, I thought it was all very stupid!  I'm happy that people thought of me, but it seemed so insignificant to the whole aspect of life.  (To this day, I still don't care for Valentine's Day.)  Even my crush couldn't make me feel better, who thanked me for the flower I got him, which I ordered earlier that week.  He hadn't a clue what I was going through because I never told him.  I tried to talk to him at the end of that night, after a school event, but he said he had to go and that he'd see me on Monday.  Only I knew I wasn't going to school that Monday due to doctor appointments.  I responded that I'd see him later.  I drove home that night feeling very alone.  The thought kept going through my mind that if he was truly my "friend" he would have sensed that something was wrong.  I've often wondered what he thought when I wasn't in school on Monday.  I missed most of that school week, but I learned that I was going to survive.  I only needed surgery.  No radiation or chemo.  I didn't have to worry about losing my hair.  But I was never the same.  I often think of Frodo's narrative at the end of LOTR, 

“How do you pick up the threads of an old life? How do you go on, when in your heart, you begin to understand, there is no going back?"

There was no going back.  My crush started dating a girl within three weeks after my health scare.  I wasn't even recovered enough from my surgery to participate in Physical Ed and in addition, I had a broken heart on top of it!  I realized life was too short to be pining over someone who didn't want me, so I decided that we weren't going to be friends anymore.  He never confronted me about it, because I simply quit talking to him, but I would sometimes catch him watching me with a questioning look.  I should have handled it better, but I was young.  I was forced to grow up faster than my peers, but I still wanted to hang on to a little immaturity.  Looking back on it now, I know that I handled it poorly.  I regret the way that I treated him.  After all, I never told him how I felt, but I always figured that he must have known.  I had the worst luck with love, but little did I know that my luck was about to change in the upcoming months . . . 

I met my husband that fall during my first year of college.  Have you ever felt that spark the first time you made eye contact?  You feel like he's a new person, yet he's somehow familiar to you?  Is that what it's like when you finally meet your soul mate?  That's what it was like for me.  That's how I met the one I was meant for.  We've been together ever since, married with children.  We've had our trials and tribulations, but that's what a life together is all about.

Unlike my 18 year-old self, Hope is too busy assisting others to think of her own heart's desire.  She's never had time for a relationship other than friendship.  I think many readers will find her quite interesting.  Some might think 18 is a little young, but I've learned from experience that maturity isn't always measured in years.

Enjoy your summer.  I will be revising my manuscript since I completed the first draft.

Veronica       

Thought-Provoking Prompt

I recently caught the ending of a movie I saw about a year ago.  I'm not going to mention the title because that would be a spoiler for those of you who haven't seen it.  It got me thinking, as those 9/11 movies do.  What would you do if you were suddenly hurdled back in time to the morning of September 11, 2001?  You can't bring along a newspaper, magazine, printout or notes.  Which flight numbers do you remember off the top of your head?  Do you remember which airports that the flights departed?  (You can't cheat by Googling it!) What do you do?  If you're at the airport, who would you tell?  What would you say?  And most important, would they believe you???

 I have asked myself these questions many times.  I only remember, for certain, Flight 93.  I know there were numbers in the 200s.  211?  I don't remember which airports they originated from.  They were all on the east coast, possibly Boston?  (Remember, no cheating!)  I'm limited with the information that I can remember off the top of my head.

Let's say I'm at a departing airport prior to the flights taking off.  What would I say to security?  I'm sure I wouldn't be calm!

"There are at least seventeen hijackers of middle eastern origin carrying box cutters and explosives strapped to themselves.  They are going to hijack planes that are bound for the west coast and fly them into buildings.  The twin towers, the Pentagon and the White House are targets, but I'm sure there's more."

They would stare at me blankly for a second before concluding that I'm insane, until the first plane hits the World Trade Center.  By now the other planes would be in flight.  Now, they're listening, but they are also wondering if I was a part of it.  Will I tell them who I am and from when I came from?  Will I tell them where I was working that day, so they could see my twenty-something self?  Remember, there are no smartphones. There are digital cameras, but photos have to be emailed.  I wonder how my younger self would handle being interrogated by a cop about my whereabouts that morning?

I'm curious what you think you would do in that time travel situation?  Do you think you could change the outcome, or would you only make things worse for yourself?  One has to remember:  There are some things that are beyond our control and are not meant to be changed.

When I first heard the news of the missing Malaysian flight, my first thought was of 9/11.  I didn't think of the plane crashing, I thought of a hijacking.  What bothers me the most about the missing flight is with today's technology, they still can't find that plane!  In a time of GPS, tracking devices and satellites and they still can't locate it?  I know that there are satellite-free zones in the world.  Still, it's unbelievable!  Sometimes, when technology fails us, it's time to rely on the human spirit. Someone out there knows where that plane is.  My only hope is that they come forward with their information, so the victims' families can have closure.  Please keep them in your prayers.

Enough with my thought-provoking musings.  I hope you're enjoying spring so far.  It's nice to see green in the grass again and hearing birds chirp.  Life is starting to bloom once more in my neck of the woods!

Veronica

Writer's Workshop

It's been a while since I posted.  I've been busy helping my kids with school projects and waiting for a little inspiration to strike.  I've also been spending more time on Twitter, which I feel is an important tool for my author platform.  I'm discovering more author resources than I realized were out there!  Twitter is awesome!  Thanks to those of you who are following me as I pursue my dream!

My children are on a field trip today to a writing/reading workshop for middle school.  I would have loved to tag along, but I'm scheduled to work at the library today.  Regardless, it caused me to take a trip down memory lane to my first writer's workshop.  I was in sixth grade and only children with an interest in writing were able to attend.  The class I remember the best was descriptive writing.  It was due to the instructor, who was a horror writer.  During his lecture, he told a few ghost stories, which he claimed were true.  They consisted of a haunted grandfather clock, a zombie under the bed and a haunted window that turned out to be the ventilation system and some faulty hardware.  I don't remember the name of the writer, but his lecture had quite an impact on me.  I remember being scared to sleep alone because I kept replaying his lecture over in my mind.  Was there really a zombie under my bed???  I started sleeping with a teddy bear again.  I kept a good distance from grandfather clocks, too.  My overactive imagination had gone into overdrive.  I think it was the fear that made this writer so memorable for me.  It's unfortunate that I can't remember his name.  I should see if my mom saved the itinerary in my scrapbook.  I'd like to Google him.  That was my first experience with writing and the paranormal.

My second experience happened as an adult, when I took up writing again.  I had started writing The Whisperer of Storms, and I was interviewing a lady for research.  I wasn't expecting much for the supernatural that time, but lo and behold, she proved me wrong!  It got me thinking, with the ghost stories I was hearing which involved writing, maybe I was getting a sign?  Perhaps I was meant to write paranormal fiction?  I took that idea and I went with it, choosing paranormal as a sub-genre. I have to admit that sometimes writing alone in the dead of the night can really freak me out, especially when I'm writing those spectral scenes!  I keep expecting to look up and find someone standing beside me!  Overactive imagination indeed!  Now you know a little more about why I chose to write about the paranormal.  It has nothing to do with current trends, but rather a gut-feeling.  As a wise master once advised his apprentice to trust his instincts, I'm taking that piece of advice to heart .

Veronica  

Inspiration for a Hero

I hope you're staying warm and healthy during this frigid start to February.  Last month, I posted a short story about a firefighter.  Today, I want to discuss another type of hero in uniform, the police officer.  A few days ago, a missing WI baby was found alive after spending the night swaddled inside a container in subzero temperatures.  One would have expected another outcome, but the child was fine, being released from the hospital that very day!  What stuck with me during the interview with the police officer who found the child was the humility he displayed when the interviewer called him a hero.  He brushed it off saying that they had help from the FBI.  He wasn't willing to take all the credit, even though it was his instincts that prompted him to search around the gas station where the child was found.  Timing was everything and imagine the outcome if the baby was left out in the cold any longer than he was.  This officer could have basked in the glory, but he chose to share it with all who worked on the case.  I have to commend the police department of West Branch, IA.  Excellent work reuniting that child with his family.  And to the officer who found the child, who is a real hero.

For a writer, inspiration can strike at any moment.  Even though I haven't researched much on missing people, I have a few missing persons in my current work in progress, The Whisperer of Storms.  My lawman, Constable Radford, investigates those missing cases, in addition to keeping my protagonist out of trouble.  I realize I've been remiss on introducing him.  May I introduce the constable; a middle-age family man and a loyal friend.  He's not afraid to crash a ball or communicate with an unmarried girl (a no-no in those days) to chase down a lead.  He shares the credit when a case is solved.  He's a good man to have around.

May angels watch over the brave men and women who uphold the law.  Thank you for keeping us safe!

Veronica

 

The Firefighter

This is another short story that I just finished.  I was inspired one night after watching the ending of Ladder 49.  This actually takes place after the conclusion of The Whisperer of Storms, my current work in progress.  If it were a movie, I'd call it an after the credits scene.

Dave could hear the sound of a PASS device going off.  It was the sound indicating that a fireman had fallen.  He belatedly realized that it was his own alarm.  He was surrounded by a thick cloud of smoke.  He was safe from the flames for the moment, though the fire was hungry and moved swiftly, eating anything that got in its way.  Dave knew he shouldn’t have gone off on his own.  Everyone told him that his rash ways would lead to an untimely death someday.  It seemed that day was upon him.  He slowly gained his feet.  Nothing appeared to be broken.  He switched off his alarm as he heard his captain’s voice crackle through on his radio.  After assuring the captain that he was alright, informing him of what happened and his possible location, he was told they would get back to him about a possible way out.  Despite the heat of the inferno, Dave felt a chill up his spine when he discovered that the way out was blocked by a wall of fire.

He had too much to live for.  There were so many things he longed to do; that he hadn’t done in his twenty-eight years.  He was supposed to just sit there and let the fire take all of that from him . . . from his family?  He thought of the woman that he loved.  What would she do without him?  He thought of the children that they would never have.  Would they have looked like her or him?  Why didn’t he ever visit his parents more often?  How would they cope with losing him?

He had watched families lose loved ones.  He tried to prevent that from happening, but he knew that he couldn’t save everyone.  He remembered a call he went on a few years ago.  It was a bad car wreck and their engine arrived first on the scene.  There were several victims; the one he rescued was a boy who wasn’t breathing nor had a pulse.  Rather than waste time getting supplies from the truck, Dave opted to do CPR on the boy.  He was able to revive him, just as the ambulances arrived. 

“David.”  A feminine voice whispered his name, pulling him back to the present.  No one called him by his full name, not even his mother.  Was he losing his mind already?  He still had enough air in his tank and it appeared to be working. 

“David.”  That was real.  He scanned the room, until he caught sight of a white figure, coming towards him from the flames.  Even though dark smoke filled the room, he could somehow see a petite, dark-haired woman who looked to be about his age.  She was so beautiful; not so much in the physical sense, but more of an otherworldly beauty.  It was difficult to explain.  What baffled him was her calm demeanor.  She smiled kindly at him.  An unusual calm descended upon him.

She beckoned him to follow her as she turned and glided down a corridor that he swore wasn’t there before.  The hem of her ice blue cloak billowed behind her as though a gentle breeze was blowing against it.   Had she come for him?  Was she going to lead him into eternity?  No, if a person was dead, it was a deceased relative that came for them.  Right?  Oh heck, anything was better than staying there to burn!

Dave followed her on wooden legs.  The ethereal gown was easy to see through the dark smoke.  It was as though she was a beacon of light, leading him home.  Why hadn’t he seen this way before?  Was he already dead?  He could see a light in front of them.  It grew the closer they got to it.  Suddenly, two dark figures emerged out of the smoky darkness beyond and flanked him on each side.  They escorted him back the way they came.  The light, Dave realized, was daylight, as his escorts led him out of the burning building. As they rushed away, the inferno engulfed what remained of the structure.

“Davy Boy!  I can’t believe it, you made it!”  Dave’s friend, Crash exclaimed, calling him by a nickname Dave used to abhor, but had grown used to it.

“There was no way to get to you, man.”  The second firefighter, Woods exclaimed.  “The way we directed you to go was blocked.  Had you gone that way, you would have been trapped.  The passageway we used had been closed off.  We almost missed it.  We had to hack our way in there.  How did you find it?”

“Where is she?”  Dave asked as he scanned the smoke-filled area that was the parking lot outside of the burning building.

“What are you talking about, Davy?”  Crash questioned.

“The lady.”  Dave explained as he looked around franticly.  “She knew my name.  She showed me the way out.”

“We didn’t see anyone.”

“She was dressed in white.”  Dave said, “She was beautiful!  You couldn’t have missed her.  You would have run right into her!”

“There was no one in that hallway!”  Crash explained, “You were by yourself.”

How could that be? Dave mused.  Had he imagined the whole thing?  Was she only a figment of his imagination?

Woods clapped him on the shoulder, “She must have been your guardian angel.”

“My what?” 

“You hear about these things all the time with close calls.”  Woods explained, “Come, we should get you checked out.  You’re limping.”

Dave could only think of one feeling later as he waited to get checked over at the hospital when he thought about his mysterious rescuer.  It wasn’t fear or a spine-tingling feeling.  It was hope.  Hope had saved him.

For all the firefighters out there, may angels guide and watch over you.

Veronica

Let It Go

I recently saw Disney's Frozen.  What a wonderful sister movie!  If you have a sister, take her!  Which sister do you identify with the most?  I am more like Anna.  I am the younger sister, therefore I understood what it was like when my sister outgrew the things we once enjoyed doing together.  In my youth, I used to be more impulsive in matters of the heart; where I'd mistake infatuation for something more.  I know my sister would have said the same as Elsa did if I had made a rash decision about a man.  Though Elsa reminded me more of my sister, there was a little part of me that could identify with Elsa, especially during the Let It Go scene where she builds her castle.  I am like Elsa, where I hide my talent, yet in solitude, I create.  First, I begin by creating a character like Elsa created Olaf.  Next, she found a place to build her castle, which is the setting.  The ice castle represents the story that I'm writing; the ice walls are the structure of the plot and it grows and branches out.  If only writing went that quickly and smoothly!  My heroine in my novel The Whisperer of Storms could identify with Elsa as well.  She has kept a secret about herself, but will get the opportunity to let it go as Elsa did.  

In addition to the holidays, this month also had a Friday the 13th.  Not only that, but it was also the 13th year of this century.  Some members of my family believe in unlucky number 13!  It reminds me of researching the Romany (Gypsies) because they are very superstitious.  They believe certain objects are either good luck or bad luck.  It makes me sometimes wonder if we might have some Romany someplace in our family tree, especially with those of us who have dark hair/eyes and an intuitive nature!

Since the holiday season will soon come to pass, I am looking forward to having more time to read and write.  My New Year's resolution is to finish my novel in 2014 and hopefully get it published the same year.  Stay tuned for updates!

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!

Veronica