Tuesday Two-Step

Amelia and Alven

Belatedly catching up on my blog reading can pay off. The previous repost, from Kevin Brennan’s ‘What the Hell’ added a nice timed layer to today’s ‘Tuesday Two-Step’ – a.k.a the focus on the 2010 NaNo project, “Call Me, Al.

Two-Step – Part One

Amelia Livingston fends leering looks

With witty lines from the best books.

Except against Mr. Sydney, who is more than he seems.

The odd one who always mixes teas with some cream.

Then again, it could have been chance

That led these two readers in the coffee-shop dance.

Yet to say ‘yes,’ that answer is ‘no.’

Since the last dolt of ‘husband’ was given the heave-ho.

Amelia Livingston knew full well

Her, ever remarry? Not a snowball’s chance in – swell!

A prized book gone, just her luck,

To quote her eldest, ‘this day would suck!’

At the coffee shop the next day,

When her mood, like the sky, was an awful gray.

Amelia saw the same book at her spot

And wondered, did she goof, maybe forgot?

Glancing towards the usual place,

She saw Mr. Sydney with a slight smile on his face.

No, of Thomas Alven Sydney – she can’t get enough,

Especially when he knows how to call her bluff.

She recognizes his ‘new’, well-worn tome,

Curious about his library at home.

No, she won’t flirt, to that, logic says yes.

Where she – or they – would end up, would be anyone’s guess.

Monday Minute

bowl,threeThe Monday Minutes are going to be based on prompts from “The One-Minute Writer”

Today’s snippet is in response to: Today’s Writing Prompt: I Built That/Today write about something you made by hand.

(Crossing Seasons) Waves in Clay

Deborah Knoll set the last of the pieces on the windowsill, wondering if it was wise to fill them with herbs and petals from the gardens.

What if the guests didn’t like it? What if it caused an allergic reaction for someone? What if she was counting her hopes before the doors even opened? Each foolishly folly fell like clinks on a glass, just aiming for a breaking point.

Deborah didn’t realize Jacob was outside until he hollered for her. She tied back the curtains she had sewn only hours before, then pushed the windows outward to rest against the shutters.

Hands on his hips and oblivious to the streaks of dirt on his face, Jacob looked like the young man she struck with her car how many years ago?

“I remember when all I had to do was toss pebbles against your window to get your attention. Should I learn to make a rocket launcher next time?”

Deborah shook her head and smiled. “I still think we’re crazy, dear.”

“Well, too late to turn back now. Half of our savings is invested in the ground, the other half’s in the house. Relax. We can’t do any worse than, say, ‘Mr. Blandings Builds His Dream House’.”

“What if our guests rate this along the lines of ‘Mr. Hobbs Takes a Vacation?’ Then what?”

“Save it for ‘The Philadelphia Story.’ Now get down here and help me with the salad pickings, will ya? Or I’ll probably have you yelling at me for us suffering fried green tomatoes.”

Deborah sighed. “You’ve yet to try that dish, you know.”

“Doesn’t mean I want to now. What do you say, Deb?”

From where she was, it didn’t seem so bad after all.

Sunday Scene



A small section of serenity in Somerset:

  • the town where Jacob and Deborah eventually move to and establish their bed and breakfast —  just on the outskirts
  • the town (now sprawling) that Jared and Rita return to because of a funeral that leads to a mystery
  • the town Dorinda moves to, all the better to distance herself from her grandparents
  • the town Danise goes to in search of clues to put Paul at ease