WRITERS WRITE...WRITING PARTNERS FEUD ~ BEARS?
Below is an excerpt from a larger story we wrote as a sweety thing. There is a purpose in sharing it. The challenge as a romance writer is always to take real and viable characters, show their foibles and gnarly nature and then give apt cause for them to be loved. Making characters real and identifiable allows readers to empathize, for people aren't perfect, and how wonderful to see a bit of yourself in an imperfect character shown as well-adored.
The mother and father throughout this work share a wonderful romance and strong powerful love, even after children, after struggles of separation, after time has altered their appearance. We believe that true love wills out. It is a theme you will oft find throughout our work, a belief that we hold true to within the romantic flavor we bring to everything. But the lovers must commit to it, recognize it, and trust and believe in it. Love though intangible is an awesome force that moves through all people. What people do in the name of love can be incredible even life altering. We love that people love. And respect that they love differently. We love that we can share regularly our humble take of how people love and hope that within our words readers can feel the truth of what Zi often says, love can be found by anybody, at any place, at any time, all they have to do is look for it.
Sunny woke as she always did, alert and bouncy. She did the morning rituals of dressing, donning her favorite jeans, which were extra-worn, and then she brushed her teeth and combed her hair. One quick look out the window at the bright winter day, and then she ran downstairs.
She was met by her older brother Ronny at the bottom. He grabbed her and walked her into the front room. He warned, “Avoid Mom this morning; she is mad.”
“Why?” queried Sunny, looking over his shoulder in the general direction of voices, neck straining, for Ronny was a tad taller than her.
Ronny moved to put himself back in Sunny’s sight line. “Well, Dad’s in there right now talking with her, but I don’t think he’s a chance of calming her down anytime soon.”
“Poor Dad!” empathized Sunny, “She can become angry then talky. Somehow I think Dad’s doing less talking and more ‘es dearing.”
He crooked his finger encouraging Sunny to follow him to the very front of the room, the furthest point from the voices, or more precisely his mother’s steady monologue of non-discerning syllables. Sunlight filtered through the windows, dust moats jumping about like a crazy dance. Ronny expressed a face that suggested he had just eaten a sour grape then he began his story, “Dad and I came downstairs, we were laughing and pushing as we entered the kitchen. All he said was, ‘sweetie, where’s breakfast’.”
Sunny leaned her head in closer as if fearing she’d miss something, and then nodded, urging Ronny to continue, “That’s when the rubber band snapped. Mom came into the kitchen from the pantry, stomping her heels in that look-out-for-me way. Dad and I looked at each other in an oops-what-have-we-done way.
Well, she started.
‘Let me share with you a short story, boys. You might figure out something this morn.’
At this point, both Dad and I took a step backward, but her look ordered us not to even think about retreating. She said, ‘Remember the Three Bears? Sure, you do. Here is the untold version of that story.
Baby Bear bounces downstairs and jumps into his small chair at the table, he looks into his small bowl which is empty. Who's been eating my porridge?!! he squeaks. Lifting his bowl and turning it then placing it upside down onto the table.
A few seconds after that Papa Bear arrives at the big table, pulls out his big chair and sits. He like his son looks into his big bowl, and it is also empty. Who's been eating my Porridge?!! he roared.’ She paused then stated, ‘Are you seeing a pattern of modeled behavior?’ Neither male replied, possibly out of fear of saying something wrong, each knowing whatever that was said would be so wrong.
Her face started to get really red and the spoon she was holding started to chop at the air as she went on, ‘Now, boys listen carefully, there is a lesson here.
At this point in time, Momma Bear puts her head through the serving hatch from the kitchen and yells, For pancakes’ sake, how many times do we have to go through this with you idiots? Dolts who refuse to learn. It was Momma Bear who got up first, as she does every morning. It was Momma Bear who woke everyone in the house, as she does every morning. It was Momma Bear who made the coffee, as she does every morning. It was Momma Bear who squeezed the orange juice, as she does every morning. It was Momma Bear who unloaded the dishwasher from last night, and put everything away, as she does every morning. It was Momma Bear who laid out your clothes, as she does every morning. It was Momma Bear who packed your lunches, as she does every morning. It was Momma Bear who went out in the cold early morning air to fetch the newspaper, as she does every morning. It was Momma Bear who set the table, as she does every morning. It was Momma Bear who put the meowing cat out, cleaned the litter box, and filled the cat's water and food dishes, as she does every morning. It was Momma Bear who fed the dog who hounds until he gets his morning fill, as she does every morning. And, now that you've decided to drag your sorry bear selves downstairs, and grace Momma Bear's kitchen with your grumpy and demanding presence, listen good, cause I'm only going to say this one more time: I HAVEN'T MADE THE PORRIDGE YET !! OK!!!
At that Dad kind of motioned that I leave the room.”
“Wow, what has gotten into her,” asked Sunny, studying the doorway that led to the kitchen. She crept a bit closer but on tiptoes.
“Her birthday is tomorrow,” replied Ronny, “With it being Christmas Eve and all of us so busy, maybe she thinks we have forgotten her.”
“Nor have I.”
They looked at each other, somewhat perplexed, and then Sunny said, “After breakfast, if we get breakfast, we can begin to bake a cake. That will ease her concerns.”
We'd love to hear from anyone interested in what we do. Anyone who writes us at email@example.com (Write - Blog Dawn - in subject line) and leaves an s-mail address, we will send you a gift and add you to any future mailings.
Angelica Hart and Zi ~ Vixen Bright and Zachary Zane
www.champagnebooks.com - www.carnalpassions.com - angelicahartandzi.com