Please READ! (I need your help...)

Anyone looking for my Significant Other Blogfest entry, just scroll down :D

Since I changed my blog template, some of my followers are no longer able to view my blog. Obviously, if you are reading this, you aren't one of them.  I'm trying to figure out if the problem lies with the browser viewers are using, so please help:


Please leave me a comment today, or email me at NicoleDucleroir(at)gmail(dot)com. Tell me what browser you use, ie: Google Chrome, Internet Explorer, Safari, Firefox, Opera, or any other one.

Thank you SO much for your help! Happy weekend :)

                                    

Significant Other Blogfest!

Thanks DL Hammons and Talli Roland for hosting the Significant Others Blogfest, where we writers give our blogs over to our better halves and let them rant express what it's like living with a writer.  Enjoy!!

This is me and my husband, Christian, a few weeks before our wedding.  My big, Italian family threw us a shower in New York state, since most of my aunts, uncles and cousins wouldn't be flying to France for the wedding.  One uncle and his wife gave us these glasses for a wedding present.  They explained:  "Eventually, you'll get pissed off at each other.  When you start to fight, put these on.  It's really hard to stay mad at someone who looks so ridiculous."  Luckily, we don't need them (that often).  I included this photo so you have a good idea of our goofy sides.  We're pretty care-free, and we laugh.  A lot!


[Before we get started, first let me say that Christian is supportive of anything I want to do...but, he does not share an iota of the passion I feel for writing.  He's annoyed when he has to write an email.  Therefore, Christian and I both felt more comfortable with me interviewing him for this blogfest rather then him writing down his thoughts.  Also, he is French, and English is his second language.  Many people have commented that Christian sounds like Arnold Schwarzenegger when he talks, so go ahead and read Christian's lines with that accent. ;)]

Me:  What’s it like to be married to a writer?

Christian:  I don’t know.

Me:  (pause) You don’t know?

Christian:  It’s not too bad. There’s nothing wrong with that.  Except if you’re like me, all logical and fixing (Caterpillar) tractors for a living, then poetry isn’t really my field, if you know what I mean.  I read service manuals all day.   So of course, there’s some stuff I don’t understand.

Me:  What about my erotica?

Christian:  That’s the good stuff.  Make more of it.  I’ll read that.

(I roll my eyes and we both laugh.)

Christian:  Honestly, it’s not that, baby.  Most of the time, you don’t get it that I don’t get it.  That’s about all of it.  I don’t try to be mean to you.  It’s just not my cup of tea.  I just don’t get it.

Me:  I know, I know.  Next question:  Do you think I spend too much time on the computer or not enough time, and why?

Christian:  Is that the only choices we have?  I mean, sometimes you do spend too much time, and sometimes I don’t give a shit.  Sometimes, yes.  But most of the time it isn’t writing related, is it?  Lots of the time it's Facebook and stuff.  But, no.  You’re good about it.  When the three of us stand at the bottom of the stairs and scream, “MOM!” you come right down.

Me:  Can you tell when I’ve sort of zoned out and started thinking about my stories instead of what’s going on around me?

Christian:  Yeah.  ‘Cause when the zebra’s in the zone, you leave him in the zone.  (Christian and our two kids love the Madagascar movies.  They quote them whenever it’s remotely appropriate.  And, obviously sometimes when it’s not…) Woman, of course I can tell.  When I ask you a question and you answer something else, I know you’re thinking about writing. 

Me:  Hmm, I guess I knew that.  And don’t call me ‘woman.’ (Inside joke.  Clue:  We love Clueless.) What’s the first thing you’re going to buy when I sell a bestselling book?

Christian:  Nothing, baby.  That’s going to be your money.

Awww!  What a sweetie!  Maybe I’ll buy him a little present with some of it…

So there you have it, a glance inside our lives and my husband's mind.

Be sure to visit the other blogfest participants.  You can view the Mr. Linky list at Cruising Altitude <--> Click here.  

Thanks for stopping by!!!  

                                    

Off-the-Cuff Poetry: Double Acrostic

I'm feeling lots of love and harmony in my universe today, mostly because my sweet friend and crit partner showered me with both on her blog today.  I hope you pop over to visit Jessica Bell today, to see first hand why such a talented writer is also an amazing friend.

I'm into Day #7 of the 15 For 15 contest at Writing.com.  Halfway there!  Each day, out of the 50 entries the contest judge chooses her five favorites as that day's "winners."  Top pick gets 1004 points, second gets 1003, and so on.  A scoreboard is updated every day.  If you miss two entries in a row, you're dropped from the competition.  At the end of the 15 days, the writer with the most accumulated points "wins."  (Prizes of the sites virtual tokens are awarded the first, second and third place winners.)  Of course, it's not about the points.  If you stretch your writing muscles, rising to the challenge every day and producing creative, inspired entries, you WIN.

That said, I won yesterday, earning 1004 points.  My entry follows, but first here's what I wrote for the current photo which will be judged today:

When I first saw it, I groaned.  I suck at fantasy writing.
I went the metaphor route, instead.

                                      Heinous  m ~ o ~ n ~ s ~ t ~ e ~ r   HatreD

                                      Asphalt black, arched back, winged warrioR

                                      Terrorizing, blow torched words; boiling anger-spA

                                      Rancor rooted in fearful heart    ~~   RaginG

                                      Extinguish your flaming snout! Spout no mO'

                                      Decide to love, even that which you have yet to learN

And here is yesterday's prompt. The squirrel in this photo is actually a Malabar Giant Sqirrel.  Lives in India.  Go figure! My entry is below.  

Miss Pamela Parrot, while grooming the long red feathers in her right wing, noticed movement below on the forest floor. She pulled her beak away and cocked her head so she could see better out of the facing eye.

What in tar-nation? she wondered.

A furry mass of vibrant blue and red scuttled to the base of a long-dead tree just opposite the tree Miss Pamela perched upon. Her pupil dilated and constricted, trying to better focus on it, as the thing climbed with lightening speed to the topmost nubs of broken trunk. It was only then that she could pinpoint what she was seeing.

"Little Scotty Squirrel? Is that you?"

Scotty Squirrel didn't answer. He stared straight ahead, whiskers twitching in concentration. At the same time the tip of his pink tongue snuck out the corner of his snout, he lifted three paws off his wooden perch. Wobbling wildly, he clamped his claws back down, righting himself before he tumbled into the airy void. Then, composed, he tried again.

"Scotty? Son, what are you doing there? And what's happened to your beautiful golden coat. Looks like someone tried to paint a canvas with your pelt!" She cackled at the thought.

Scotty almost lost his balance again and glared at Pamela. She eyed him again, and a thought dawned in her mind. Slowly, she lowered the leg tucked up against her breast and wrapped the talons around the branch, side-by-side with the other claw. Scotty seemed relieved and placed again all four of his paws on solid wood.

"I've come," he began, then cleared his throat. He began again. "I've come, Miss Pamela, to ask your hand in marriage."

Miss Pamela began to laugh, but caught herself just in time. Little Scotty's eyes were bright, hard. He was completely serious.

Miss Pamela tossed her head, then bowed it. Raising her eyes, she said, "I'm very flattered, Scotty. Honest, I am! But, dear, we are two very different species."

"But I love you!"

She stretched her wings, flapped them before refolding them at her sides. "You are the sweetest little thing! But we live different lives, eat different things. And besides, I'm so old, I remember when your great-great-great-great grandparents were born!"

Scotty Squirrel carefully stood on his two hind legs. A breeze threatened to topple him but he held fast. When he was sure of his balance, he looked up and into Miss Pamela's eyes. "It's okay. You aren't ready. I understand. I can wait...."

As he raced down the tree trunk headfirst, he wondered what on earth parrots ate...

Thanks so much for reading!  Have a fantastic day :D

    

                                

Off-the-Cuff Contest Entry #3

This is the exact photo prompt for yesterday's 15 For 15 Contest.  My strategy when drawing inspiration from these prompts is to avoid the obvious, and find the clever story hidden deep in the picture.  This time, for example, I didn't want to do a western-style story, a cowboys and Indians scenario, or a period piece from the 1800s.  Here is what I did come up with.  As always, forgive the punctuation and verb tense mishaps.  I wrote this in exactly 15 minutes (maybe going over by 30 seconds or so...)


Don't be too quick to judge, Lydia's inner voice chastised. She peered through the restaurant's front windows, but humidity fogged it from the inside. She took a deep breath and pulled open the door.

It wasn't so much a restaurant as it was a bar. This thought, too, dripped with conflicted disdain, and Lydia scolded herself again. This was what she'd expected, after all. She was meeting a man for the first time who she'd connected with on an online dating site. Of course the restaurant turned out to be a bar. And the hot guy in Stuart's profile picture would probably turn out to be George Costanza.

Her eyes scanned the scene that seemed to dance with the strobing lights. A hand shot up, waved. And there he was, standing and smiling, beckoning to her. Oh God, Stuart was even more gorgeous than the photo.

Talk of their work, her at the library and him in Delivery and Receiving, was brief. The dance floor called to them. They laughed the evening away. Her life as a librarian was turning upside down in a matter of hours. With each martini she decided with firmer resolve to stop living life in hushed tones. It was time for her to live out loud. Stuart, Lydia was pleased to learn, could really move his body. And there was a sense of humor to his style of dance, like he didn't take himself too seriously. She liked that. It was refreshing.

Hours later and after constant shushing of her prudent inner voice, they ended up at Stuart's apartment. He went to the kitchette to open a bottle of wine, leaving Lydia at the other end of the studio's main room. An armoire stood in the corner, its door ajar. Lydia shot a look at Stuart's back, muscles rippling as he worked the cork screw. She giggled, emboldened by the liquor, and swung open the armoire door. Her jaw dropped.

Costumes hung from one end of the armoire to the other. Sequins and leather, uniforms of every sort, handcuffs, whips, hats. She reached a shaky hand in and pulled a hanger out. Cowboy regalia including a gun holster, sheriff's badge, boots with spurs and chaps dangled before her shock-stricken face. Stuart's shuffled step sounded behind her. She spun around.

"What the hell is all this?"

"My work clothes," Stuart answered with a gleem in his eye.

"I thought you were in "Delivery and Receiving."

"Yeah, I deliver singing telegrams, sometimes. I also strip for parties. Bachelorette, birthday, retirement... Hey, you chose my favorite. This is an awesome act. Wanna see it?"

Lydia stared at his open, honest face. Pure joy shone in his eyes. There was no embarrassment, no shyness. No hushed tones. Her eyes dove down, scanned his body and then lingered on the items on the hanger in her hand.

Remember, her inner voice cooed, don't be too quick to judge...

                                    

Off-the-Cuff Contest Entry #2

Today's 15 For 15 photo prompt was similar to this one.  The lion in the original picture is seated under a more majestic looking tree, and he looks more...I don't know, regal?  Anyways, this one gives you an idea of where my inspiration came from.  I was a little stymied; animal pictures do that to me.  I'm not a fan of stories from the POV of an animal.  Here's what I came up with for my entry.  I wrote it in just under 15 minutes:

I am the Lion, Lord of these lands.
I am the fiercest of beasts.  All tremor in my presence, not because I will destroy them, but because I could, if I wanted to.  Brute strength and handsome features aside, it is my cunning instincts that put me in that class by myself.
Those instincts guide me.  I trust them.
As I lie in wait, I am calm, no fear betrays my face.
When the time comes, I will pounce.  Attack.  Intimidate, if needed.  Assert myself.  Prove again why I am the Lion.  
The one everyone wants in their corner....

The door swings open.

"Mr. Mitchel?  Mr. Stephenson and his team are ready for you.  Good luck with your pitch, sir."

                                    

Off-the-Cuff Contest Entry #1

This isn't the exact photo prompt from yesterday's 15 For 15 Contest (read contest explanation here), but it's close enough.  In the original, the trees have no leaves, taken in wintertime.  The following is my entry, written (per the contest rules) in only 15 minutes.  The goal is not to have a polished, typo-free piece.  There are plenty of places I would have liked to tighten up, but didn't have the time.  So, here it is, raw, by-the-seat-of-my-pants writing. :D

Marcus dragged on the cigarette pinched between his index finger and thumb. Numbing cold seeped through his britches from the park bench, despite its position in full sun, but he didn't mind. He'd rather sit here all day than return to work. When you rinse four star restaurant slop off fine China all day, you face your 'have-not' reality every minute of every hour. It wore him down. His fifteen minute break was more valuable to him than the restaurant's finest bottle of wine.

He blew a plume of smoke downwind and his eyes fell on the man making his way up the path. Marcus narrowed his eyes. The man's utilitarian clothing appeared too big for his frame and hung on his body like a sack. His bald head was dropped back and he stared straight up at the sky as he walked. As he neared Marcus's bench, the toe of his black rubber shoe hit a rock and he stumbled.

"Eh. Watch where you're going, dumb ass," Marcus said.

The man leveled his gaze. He was younger than Marcus had first thought. His drawn skin and stubbled chin suggested mid-forties, but now Marcus decided he couldn't be older than thirty.

"Yeah. Thanks," the man said. "It's just the sky is so blue. And those trees, well, they're things of beauty."

Marcus looked up. The trees looked dead to him. Leafless. Cold. "Whatever, man," he said, looking across the park to the restaurant. By his watch, he had five more minutes before he had to get back.

"Mind if I sit down?"

Marcus saw the man still stood there. He motioned his indifference.

"I just got out of the slammer," the man said, sitting.

An eyebrow shot up. He had Marcus's attention. "You were in prison?"

"Yeah, ten years, man."

"What'd you do?"

"I was convicted of attempted murder. But it was bullshit. Someone tried to whack my wife. They pinned it on me."

Marcus raised his chin. "No kidding. That sucks, man."

The man chuckled, but there was no humor in the sound. "Shit. Ten years is a long time to not see trees. I can't stop looking at them."

"You served your whole sentence?"

"Nope. Turns out my wife's boyfriend did it. Thank God for all that fancy DNA testing they can do now. Found out a week ago, and today I'm free. Just like that."

"Your wife's boyfriend...?" Marcus asked while checking his watch. He had to get back. "That's some story. Glad you're out. I gotta get back to work." He offered his hand as he stood to leave.

The man shook it. Marcus took a few steps then turned to look over his shoulder.

"What's the first thing you're going to do, now that you're a free man?" Marcus asked.

The man smiled a churlish grin, cold as the trees. "First thing I'm gonna do is kill my wife."

                                    

Enough, Cold in Hotlanta

Usually, I root for the underdog.  But we've been holed up by winter storm conditions for a week now, so I'm cheering on the sun.  (Sorry, neighborhood snowmen.)

The sun's shining bright over Atlanta as I type, and temperatures are supposed to climb above freezing through the weekend.

I'm ready for a return to normalcy!

Hoping you have a wonderful, warm, productive weekend!