The Good, The Bad and The Ugly; Another Perspective by Margo Hoornstra

Shamelessly stealing this idea from fellow Rose, Alicia Dean. This one's with a twist.

The Good: (I think) The opening of my latest completed work - STOLEN TRUST.

"Police! Stop right there! Put your hands where we can see them!"

Jenny Reynolds froze. A blinding white light flashed in her eyes. Blinking in the glare, she did exactly as she was told. Her purse dropped to the ground with a thud.

She raised her hands above her head, fingers splayed open. "What's going on?" Heart thundering, breathing rapid, her body snapped into survival mode. "What do you want with me?"

"We'll ask the questions. Is this your storage locker?"

"Yes. Well, not mine that I own." She struggled to grasp what was happening. "This is the storage locker I rented yesterday."

Maybe they aren't from the police after all.

If this was a robbery attempt, they could take whatever they wanted and leave her alone.

"There's nothing stored in here yet, but I have some money in my purse." Extending her right leg, she started to toe the bag over to whoever held the freaking bright light on her.

"Don't move!"

"Okay." Trying to stay immobile, her right arm dipped slightly to regain her balance. She retracted her leg. "Doing my best not to move here."


The Bad: Same opening before my CP, Jannine Gallant, got a hold of it.

Jenny Reynolds pulled the truck up to her recently rented storage locker and slammed the door as she stepped out on the pavement. Before bringing over her furniture and other belongings, it'd be a good idea to check out the space in person. Quickly. Early spring evenings like this turned dark in a hurry. Plus, a sky full of clouds blacked out any potential moonlight. Bent down to grab the long metal handle, the overhead door rolled open for her with surprising ease. Feeling along the wall for a light switch, she worked her way into the murky interior.

"Police! Stop right there! Put your hands where we can see them!"

A bright white light flashed in her eyes to nearly blind her. Blinking at the glare, she did exactly as she was told. Her purse dropped to the ground with a quiet thud. She raised her hands above her head, fingers splayed open.

Her body snapped into survival mode, heart thundering, breathing shallow and rapid, while she struggled to comprehend what was happening.

They said they were from the police. Which meant the aren't here to hurt me. Right? "What do you want with me?"

"We'll ask the questions. Is this your storage locker?"

"Yes. Well, not mine that I own it. This is the storage locker I rented. Yesterday, in fact." Maybe they aren't from the police after all. The whole thing is just a ploy to get me off guard.

She'd lived in Detroit for most of her life and was well aware crime could happen anywhere. Even so close to her own backyard.

"What do you want?" If this was a robbery attempt, they could take whatever she had and leave her alone. "There's nothing stored in here yet, but I have some money in my purse." Extending her right leg, she started to toe the bag over to whoever held the freaking bright light on her.

"Don't move!"

Trying to stay immobile, her right arm dipped slightly to regain her balance  as she retracted her leg. "Okay. Doing my best to not move here."

The Ugly: My first attempt at novel writing. A sweeping historical saga titled - BEYOND YEARNING. The first chapter has been blessedly lost. As I recall, the opening line was "Erin stared dejectedly out the window." What follows is the start of chapter two. Heroine Erin is a hapless ward of distant relatives Abigail and Jason.

"Get downstairs right now, Girlie!" she snapped. Erin almost laughed out loud at Abigail's appearance. Her ball gown of red velvet hung from her bony shoulders and feeble breasts. Her graying hair was pulled back severely from her face and caught in a red net which vied with her dress for brightness. Her beaked nose and dark eyes made her look like an owl perched on a headless body.

Abigail raised a hand to strike her, but Erin skittered out of the way and down the stairs. Jason stood at the foot of the stairs, a bright blue coat fighting to cover his enormous girth. White silk stockings covered bulging calves, meeting white breeches over which hung his huge belly. His balding head was covered by a sloppy wig. He licked saliva across his purple lips as Erin approached.

"Lovely, My Dear, lovely," he puffed. He watched the staircase as he spoke. His grubby hand reached out to grab Erin's slim waist just as Abigail came bobbing down the stairs.

"Come along!" she screeched.

That's all I'm going to subject you to today. Though there is more, about 300 pages more. If anyone's interested in reading the rest, email me privately. Yeah, I'm not going to hold my breath.

Though I do have to say, I still like that title.

My days to blog here are the 11th and 23rd. For more about me and my stories, please visit my website.

Success Versus Failure: Pick One If You'd Like, I Did by Margo Hoornstra

"You can accomplish anything you set your mind to."

Those special words were spoken to me by my mother, almost every single day as I was growing up. That late, great lady never missed a chance to boost my confidence and build my self esteem. Her positivity worked beautifully too.

For the most part.

If I wanted something bad enough to really go after it, whatever 'it' was, was mine. Cool! Gaining the above average grades I'd strive for in elementary school, high school and college. Obtaining just about every job I went after in the work force. A successful marriage, four happy, healthy, well adjusted kids.

Then one day I decided to write a book and get it published. Oh, if only we could receive our fondest desires by sheer will of striving and wanting.

NOT!

Suddenly the people I encountered (read agents and editors) sang a decidedly different tune.

Obviously, they'd never spoken to my mother. They also didn't actually sing to me either. Didn't even communicate face to face. I can't tell you how many times I'd read those many, many thanks but no thanks responses and be sorely tempted to contact 'those people' again.

With a slightly different type of pitch that would go something like this.

Okay, people, listen up. I'm not sure you're fully aware who you're dealing with here, much less the woman who raised me. According to her, I want this, I've worked hard for this. My mother said, if those two conditions were met 'this' was mine. So, go ahead, reconsider what must have been your hastily formed decision to reject my work. I'll wait.

Yeah, right. Very professional. That behavior would have certainly gotten my foot in the door of any number of publishing houses. Don't you think? More like said foot firmly lodged in my mouth and half way down my throat. Or firmly placed somewhere else by those I was striving so hard to impress.

Eventually, I did find a publisher for my work, an amazing The Wild Rose Press with my first book Honorable Intentions, scores of short stories and a number of novellas.

Now I'm on the hunt again.

Perseverance, determination, desire. All successful authors have that. The stories of how so many successful authors 'did it' abound. Doctor Seuss was rejected 27 times. John Grisham faced numerous rejections until a small press picked up his first book for a 5,000 run printing. Even Nora Roberts didn't score her first time out. Janet Evanovich either. Not hardly. I could go on and on, but you get the idea.

In addition to perseverance, determination and desire, large doses of self esteem are necessary, along with a smattering of insanity. With all due respect to writers everywhere, Albert Einstein said it best. "The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results."

Well call me insane, because I'm at it again. Going the cold call query route, seeking a home for STOLEN TRUST, my latest completed work.

I've even come up with a tag line.

A parolee hides her past from a bounty hunter set on revenge.

Here's an excerpt:

Brad Collins rolled the old half-ton Bridges for Hire pickup to a stop in front of the sorry looking colonial and immediately questioned the wisdom of using small town handyman as his cover.

He had so hoped to keep this operation simple. Not take on what looked like the biggest remodel job in Upper Michigan history.

White two-story with a wrap-around porch was how the lady on the phone described the house. When they discussed a porch renovation and, according to her, other minor repairs.

Minor repairs my ass.

Jamming his left foot down to set the parking brake, he snatched the ripped piece of notebook paper off the seat beside him. This was the address he’d written down.  He checked the numbers on a partially rusted mailbox. Same number.

There was no turning back now. Arriving in Cascade Lake, his old partner's lead, one Harlan Bridges, was shamelessly simple to find and pump for information. Brad concocted a story he’d heard about the place from friends and wanted to check it out. Turned out Rest Easy’s owner had just called the contractor about finishing some old repairs. Bridges went on to lament the fact he was already short-handed, soon to be over extended.

One thing led to another, and damned if the man didn’t offer him a job on the spot.

Brad’s scowl twisted into a smile. What were the chances he’d run across someone willing to hire an outsider on a handshake and little else? No background check. No intrusive questions.

Making a fist, he crushed the paper into a tight ball he tossed to the truck floor. Most people in these out of the way towns were just too damned trusting for their own good.

Lucky for me, my mother, her positive attitude and precious words of encouragement still live in my heart, guiding me to success.

My days to blog here are the 11th and 23rd. For more about me and my stories, please visit my WEBSITE

Opposites Are Okay; But How About A Menage a Trois? by Margo Hoornstra

At times, as an author, I feel more like someone who suffers from multiple personality syndrome - or whatever the proper terminology may be.

I'm sure my writer friends can relate.

In addition to juggling the many facets of life - work, family, recreation, responsibilities - we authors have more duties added to the mix. A regular threesome, in fact.

In my case, it looks something like this.

Promoting the book that's out: Only If You Dare

She had no business stoking a fire she never should have started in the first place.

Shopping the book that's finished: Stolen Trust

A parolee hides her past from a bounty hunter set on revenge.

Writing the book that's rattling around in my head: Money Becomes Her.

This is actually a series and, full disclosure here, the brainchild of CP Jannine Gallant about how the lives of four women friends are impacted when they win the lottery.

Here are the set-ups in planned order of appearance.

A computer nerd has a mad crush on her older boss. He, in turn, can't survive (his business that is) without her.

A young widow with children learns to live, and love, again.

A flamboyant matchmaker with a heart of gold runs into an undercover cop with attitude.

A kindergarten teacher leaves Mr. Right for Mr. So Terribly Wrong.

So there you have it. One person version of Menage A Trois.

For more about me and my books and short stories, please visit my WEBSITE