Friday, June 18, 2004
Time Suckage
It’s Friday, and one of those Fridays where I’ve convinced myself that the world owes me a favour and I should be allowed to go home. Occasionally my bosses take pity on us and send us home early for the weekend as a gesture of good will. There doesn’t appear to be a lot of good will out there today. They are away at a conference, and we are here wishing we weren’t. It likely wouldn’t be such a huge deal if not for three things: I am reading a very good book I’ve been waiting for (Song of Susannah, by Stephen King), I am very tired and would like a nap, I had convinced myself that today would be one of the days they would call and spring us.
There was already one call from France this morning, and I even asked at the end, “So, is there anything else AT ALL that you wanted to tell us before you hung up?” There wasn’t. The odds of them having the time and thinking to call again to give us a head start on the weekend are slim. Now I’m bitter at the world and have resolved to not be productive for the rest of the day. It only seems fair in light of this massive disappointment. How dare they expect me to work for money when they could just give it to me for napping at home? Puh-lease.
Instead of obsessively checking my email and surfing through the online jukebox to find the Jack Johnson song “Flake,” I’m going to perform a writing exercise. I keep meaning to write a romance novel, because I used to edit them and they’re fun, so I’ll start one here now and if anyone feels like offering feedback, I’d appreciate it.
Thundering Hearts
Veranda Sutherland lounged in the window seat of her father’s parlor with a book hanging loosely from her tapered, shapely fingers. She was a young woman of surpassing loveliness, with fine, smooth white skin that covered all of her five-foot-five frame. Her hair was a long thick waterfall of ebony, and, when loose, hung well past her waist. She could be heard to make unladylike comments when she sat on it by accident and snapped her head back. Her sapphire eyes were large and evenly set, and smoldered as though lit by an internal flame, which is interesting because most people can’t think of things that are sapphire blue and smolder. Unless they’re into chemistry or something.
Veranda was thinking about love; more specifically about the man her father was choosing for her to marry. It was down to three choices. There was Buck Wineguard, a stocky man who greatly resembled a beast of burden in both aroma and intelligence. He was also rumoured to have a propensity for those same animals, if one would stoop to believe rumours. Since Veranda didn’t like him anyway, she would. Bachelor number two was named Thad Verily. Veranda wasn’t sure she wanted to marry a man who had better taste in clothes than she had, or whose hair was prettier and more elegantly styled than her own. The final choice was Lord Drake Covington. Lord Covington was very dashing and handsome, but was also a very dark and mysterious man. He didn’t have a trustworthy face, and Veranda privately suspected that he was responsible for every bad thing that had happened in the world.
Like most girls of her acquaintance, Veranda knew that her situation was hopeless, and that as a lady of quality she would have no say in the most important decision of her life. Her father was not a man who allowed himself to be swayed, cajoled, or intimidated. She supposed that if she were allowed to choose that she would pick Thad. He was the least likely to be insufferable for the rest of their lives, and at least they could talk about clothes and boys together. Her father would likely pick Lord Covington, because he’s the antagonist and the story can’t continue without him playing a significant role.
As she contemplated her melodramatic thoughts she heard hooves coming up the path to the house. She wondered if she could summon the strength to be civil to visitors today. With a sigh she closed her book and got up to set her looks aright before whomever it was made it to the door. As she smoothed her black hair into position a feeling came over her, a very strange and excited sort of feeling, the kind she sometimes got when horseback riding. Veranda felt her breathing quicken and could see her pulse beating more rapidly at her throat. She didn’t even need to pinch her cheeks to add colour, as it had appeared all on its own. What can this possibly be, she wondered? Was she ill? While she questioned herself in this fashion there was a knock at the door.
The rapid knock beat in time to the fluttering of her heart. The knock sounded like it came from strong hands. Strong masculine hands that weren’t afraid of hard work, hands that had tamed horses and men alike. Hands that could bend a man to their will. Hands that were familiar with the landscape of a woman’s body and….
“Hello, is anyone home?” A baritone voice questioned from the other side of the door.
With a breathy “Oh!” Veranda tripped lightly to the door and threw it open to the stranger standing on her porch.
The slightly more than six foot tall specimen filling the doorway was just the yummiest piece of man Veranda had had the opportunity to view. He filled out his military uniform VERY nicely with an assortment of rippling muscles and interesting planes and angles. There were bulges in all of the right places, and it was all she could do to not stare too pointedly at some of the more masculine ones. Cheese and rice, she was supposed to be a lady!
“Good afternoon, Miss, I’m hear to see Lord Sutherland.”
Veranda gave him what she hoped was her most winning smile and said,
“Of course, sir, is my father expecting you?”
“Your father? Are you, by any chance, his daughter Portico?”
“No, that’s my older sister, she lives with her husband’s people a few townships over.”
“I see, then that would make you Veranda. Word of your incredible beauty has spread far and wide. Clearly, it wasn’t exaggerated.”
“If my beauty is so ‘incredible’ then why didn’t you know who I was right away?” She asked peevishly.
“Your sister’s supposed to be pretty hot too.” He replied with an easy grin.
Despite herself, Veranda was surprised at how quickly the smile came to her full red, lips. This man was clearly a rogue, but he was charming.
“You never answered my question, sir.”
“What question is that?”
“Is my father expecting you?”
“Oh! Of course, yes, he is expecting me.”
“Why don’t you come inside then?” She asked with a purr in her voice.
His eyebrows rose slightly at her tone and he found his body responding in highly inconvenient ways.
“Thank you, I’ll do just that.” He breezed past her and headed toward the back of the house. “He’s in the study, isn’t he?”
“Yes,” she panted, trying to keep up with his long-legged stride, “but how can you possibly know where that is?”
“I’ve been in here before.”
“Really? But I’m certain I’ve never met you before.” She racked her tiny brain for a memory of him.
“Oh, it was a few years ago, and I don’t think that you were here. Anyway, I can find the way by myself, and I don’t want to trouble you anymore. Doubtless you have important matters of your own to attend to.”
The truth of the matter was that he found her presence vaguely unsettling. She resurrected feelings he’d long hoped to keep buried. Now the only thing he hoped to bury was himself inside her. Wow, where did that thought come from?
As he made he made his way alone to the back of the house Veranda realized she had forgotten to ask the handsome stranger his name…
It’s Friday, and one of those Fridays where I’ve convinced myself that the world owes me a favour and I should be allowed to go home. Occasionally my bosses take pity on us and send us home early for the weekend as a gesture of good will. There doesn’t appear to be a lot of good will out there today. They are away at a conference, and we are here wishing we weren’t. It likely wouldn’t be such a huge deal if not for three things: I am reading a very good book I’ve been waiting for (Song of Susannah, by Stephen King), I am very tired and would like a nap, I had convinced myself that today would be one of the days they would call and spring us.
There was already one call from France this morning, and I even asked at the end, “So, is there anything else AT ALL that you wanted to tell us before you hung up?” There wasn’t. The odds of them having the time and thinking to call again to give us a head start on the weekend are slim. Now I’m bitter at the world and have resolved to not be productive for the rest of the day. It only seems fair in light of this massive disappointment. How dare they expect me to work for money when they could just give it to me for napping at home? Puh-lease.
Instead of obsessively checking my email and surfing through the online jukebox to find the Jack Johnson song “Flake,” I’m going to perform a writing exercise. I keep meaning to write a romance novel, because I used to edit them and they’re fun, so I’ll start one here now and if anyone feels like offering feedback, I’d appreciate it.
Thundering Hearts
Veranda Sutherland lounged in the window seat of her father’s parlor with a book hanging loosely from her tapered, shapely fingers. She was a young woman of surpassing loveliness, with fine, smooth white skin that covered all of her five-foot-five frame. Her hair was a long thick waterfall of ebony, and, when loose, hung well past her waist. She could be heard to make unladylike comments when she sat on it by accident and snapped her head back. Her sapphire eyes were large and evenly set, and smoldered as though lit by an internal flame, which is interesting because most people can’t think of things that are sapphire blue and smolder. Unless they’re into chemistry or something.
Veranda was thinking about love; more specifically about the man her father was choosing for her to marry. It was down to three choices. There was Buck Wineguard, a stocky man who greatly resembled a beast of burden in both aroma and intelligence. He was also rumoured to have a propensity for those same animals, if one would stoop to believe rumours. Since Veranda didn’t like him anyway, she would. Bachelor number two was named Thad Verily. Veranda wasn’t sure she wanted to marry a man who had better taste in clothes than she had, or whose hair was prettier and more elegantly styled than her own. The final choice was Lord Drake Covington. Lord Covington was very dashing and handsome, but was also a very dark and mysterious man. He didn’t have a trustworthy face, and Veranda privately suspected that he was responsible for every bad thing that had happened in the world.
Like most girls of her acquaintance, Veranda knew that her situation was hopeless, and that as a lady of quality she would have no say in the most important decision of her life. Her father was not a man who allowed himself to be swayed, cajoled, or intimidated. She supposed that if she were allowed to choose that she would pick Thad. He was the least likely to be insufferable for the rest of their lives, and at least they could talk about clothes and boys together. Her father would likely pick Lord Covington, because he’s the antagonist and the story can’t continue without him playing a significant role.
As she contemplated her melodramatic thoughts she heard hooves coming up the path to the house. She wondered if she could summon the strength to be civil to visitors today. With a sigh she closed her book and got up to set her looks aright before whomever it was made it to the door. As she smoothed her black hair into position a feeling came over her, a very strange and excited sort of feeling, the kind she sometimes got when horseback riding. Veranda felt her breathing quicken and could see her pulse beating more rapidly at her throat. She didn’t even need to pinch her cheeks to add colour, as it had appeared all on its own. What can this possibly be, she wondered? Was she ill? While she questioned herself in this fashion there was a knock at the door.
The rapid knock beat in time to the fluttering of her heart. The knock sounded like it came from strong hands. Strong masculine hands that weren’t afraid of hard work, hands that had tamed horses and men alike. Hands that could bend a man to their will. Hands that were familiar with the landscape of a woman’s body and….
“Hello, is anyone home?” A baritone voice questioned from the other side of the door.
With a breathy “Oh!” Veranda tripped lightly to the door and threw it open to the stranger standing on her porch.
The slightly more than six foot tall specimen filling the doorway was just the yummiest piece of man Veranda had had the opportunity to view. He filled out his military uniform VERY nicely with an assortment of rippling muscles and interesting planes and angles. There were bulges in all of the right places, and it was all she could do to not stare too pointedly at some of the more masculine ones. Cheese and rice, she was supposed to be a lady!
“Good afternoon, Miss, I’m hear to see Lord Sutherland.”
Veranda gave him what she hoped was her most winning smile and said,
“Of course, sir, is my father expecting you?”
“Your father? Are you, by any chance, his daughter Portico?”
“No, that’s my older sister, she lives with her husband’s people a few townships over.”
“I see, then that would make you Veranda. Word of your incredible beauty has spread far and wide. Clearly, it wasn’t exaggerated.”
“If my beauty is so ‘incredible’ then why didn’t you know who I was right away?” She asked peevishly.
“Your sister’s supposed to be pretty hot too.” He replied with an easy grin.
Despite herself, Veranda was surprised at how quickly the smile came to her full red, lips. This man was clearly a rogue, but he was charming.
“You never answered my question, sir.”
“What question is that?”
“Is my father expecting you?”
“Oh! Of course, yes, he is expecting me.”
“Why don’t you come inside then?” She asked with a purr in her voice.
His eyebrows rose slightly at her tone and he found his body responding in highly inconvenient ways.
“Thank you, I’ll do just that.” He breezed past her and headed toward the back of the house. “He’s in the study, isn’t he?”
“Yes,” she panted, trying to keep up with his long-legged stride, “but how can you possibly know where that is?”
“I’ve been in here before.”
“Really? But I’m certain I’ve never met you before.” She racked her tiny brain for a memory of him.
“Oh, it was a few years ago, and I don’t think that you were here. Anyway, I can find the way by myself, and I don’t want to trouble you anymore. Doubtless you have important matters of your own to attend to.”
The truth of the matter was that he found her presence vaguely unsettling. She resurrected feelings he’d long hoped to keep buried. Now the only thing he hoped to bury was himself inside her. Wow, where did that thought come from?
As he made he made his way alone to the back of the house Veranda realized she had forgotten to ask the handsome stranger his name…
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