Lady Victoria

Here is a portion of one of my works in progress. It's about an artist, Richard, and his model, Vickie. This would be towards the end of the story, the reveal if you want to call it that. What do you think, should I proceed with the full story? It is in it's "raw" stage, so it should flow better in the final draft.


Vickie’s emotions poured over her like cold Aunt Jemima's syrup as she stood before her portraits. With just minutes before the Metropolitan opened it’s doors for the exhibit, she wasn’t sure posing was the right thing to do. She was also puzzled about the large one titled “Lady Victoria,” she didn’t remember posing for it.

Richard walks up and places his arm around her, “I think I captured your beauty, your sensuality, your personality. The paintings are almost as exquisite as the model.”

“You are such a smooth talker, aren’t you? I can tell you've spend quite a few years in Paris” She laughed a nervous laugh. “Are you nervous? There are so many butterfly's in my stomach that I feel I could fly away.”

“There are no worries, they will love the paintings. They will love you. This night could very well change our lives.” He really wondered if anyone would even show up.

“By the way, when did you paint the large one in the middle that you named ‘Lady Victoria’. I don’t remember that pose.”

He looked at her with a look of disbelief and asked, “You have never seen her before? I thought you knew about her.”

Now she looked at him with incredulity, “Yeah I’ve seen her before, every time I look in a mirror. I didn’t know you had the time to paint her with all our other portaits.”

“You don’t understand. My Lady Victoria is the painting that made me famous. I painted her ten years ago.”

“But we’ve only known each other for a year, how could you have painted me like that?” They looked deep into each others eyes. She into his hoping to find something that would tell her he wasn’t a madman.

“I painted her,” he explained, “after I painted six other models, those paintings hanging over there.” He grabbed her hand and led her to the other grouping of paintings. “Look at this one, she has your eyes. This one has your cheek bones. This one your breasts. If you look at her butt, you can see it is yours. I took pieces of each one and pieced them together to make the physically perfect woman whom I named Lady Victoria. It is a coincidence that her name and her beauty matches you perfectly.”

“Is that why you acted so funny that day when I rented your apartment?”

“Now you know that I wasn’t just some strange, weird artsy type.” he laughed. “It was quite a shock to see Lady Victoria in the flesh. I spent so much time painting her, making her so perfect that I fell in love with a face on a canvas. Until that day that you walked into my life, I thought that I would never find someone that I could give my love to.”

She was about to speak when the doors burst open as the exhibition began, and Richard was swept away by reporters and patrons. “I didn’t get to tell him, “ she thought, “that I loved him too.”

Goofy Little Poem

I wrote this poem after seeing this picture of Alison Sudol, aka A Fine Frenzy, one of my favorite musical artist. This photograph looks almost like a Monet painting, sign of a good photographer. The name of the photographer isn't listed with the picture, so whoever you are, you done good. And now, with no further ado, Goofy Little Poem:

I pass by
The girl in the rowboat
Beside the road
I wonder
Why she is sitting there.
Day after day

I pass by
The girl in the rowboat
Beside the road
She smiles
My heart flutters as I walk
Past her way

I pass by
The girl in the rowboat
Beside the road
I notice
Her red hair flowing down
Over her shoulders

I pass by
The girl in the rowboat
Beside the road
I feel
Love's ember slowly ignite
Over her beauty

I pass by
The girl in the rowboat
Beside the road
I stop
Offering my hand to help
Her out

We pass by
An empty rowboat
Beside the road
Holding hands
For the rest of our lives
No, Forever

The Dalton Gang

They knew their time was comin'
That was sky blue clear.
Into town they rode still
Showing absolutely no fear.
Up to the bank they sauntered
As if they were after a beer.
Met with gun fire and bullets
Which hit far and near.
Death came to them that day
And to the families they hold dear.
Their life just a memory
Of a few that still live here.
Who are waiting
For their ghosts to appear.
Not many, maybe not any
That day shed a tear
Just another day
In the life of the frontier.

Tick Warning

I hate it when people forward bogus warnings and I have even done it myself a couple times unintentionally...

But this one is real and it's important.

So please send this warning to everyone on your e-mail list.

If someone comes to your front door saying they are checking for ticks due to the warm weather and asks you to take your clothes off and dance around with your arms up.

DO NOT DO IT!! THIS IS A SCAM!!

They only want to see you naked.

I wish I'd gotten this yesterday - I feel so stupid.

An Author You Can't Refuse

I don't do book reviews, at least not very often. But this is one that will be on my favorites list for a long time, one that I will even read again, and that is very rare. So here goes, I hope I can do this book justice.

I met Mr. Michael Snyder on ChristianWriters and was immediately drawn to him before I even knew he was a real honest-to-goodness-published author. His first book is "My Name Is Russell Fink", which I reviewed here last year. A book with that title, I just had to read. I soon became a fan of Mr. Snyder's work, so I was excited when I heard that his next book was to be released this Spring. I preordered it and checked the mail every day until I finally had it in my hot little hand. Finally "Return Policy" was in my "reading room".

As a wanna-be writer I've taken a few classes to try and learn the trade. A couple of things I had been taught is that it is hard to write in the first person and not to head-hop from one character to character. Mr. Snyder does this with a master's pen. The story flows from one character to the other and back again. The story unfolds through the eyes of the different characters, whom take on the story is just as different as they are.

His characters became my friends, that has only happened once before, and that was with another CW author's creation, John Robinson's Joe Box. Upon reading the last word I had this feeling that I just said goodbye to my best friend for the last time, only this time it was several best friends.

So the next time you're on Amazon or at a good bookstore, grab a copy of "Return Policy", it is worth every penny you'll spend. And Mr. Snyder's kids will be glad to be able to eat.

Muse Blues

Early in the morning, not even close to dawn,
I awake, rub my eyes and yawn.
“Get up, get up, inspiration is nigh”
I hear my muse in my ear and sigh.

“Ok, Ok, I’ll go see what clicks,
Maybe I’ll write about some good looking chicks.”
But the eyes are old and blurry
So to awake I’m not in a hurry.

I plop at my desk and turn on the machine,
All I get is a bright blue screen.
I stare in disbelief, not tonight or this morning it seems,
The demon inside has it’s own schemes.

My wife walks in, “Oh, there you are, you retard,
I thought maybe you were out in the yard.
Remember the neighbors called the last time.
The judge said mowing naked is a crime.”

All this because of my muse
Who loves to torture me and inflict abuse.
Rides me hard to write a few words
And “Don’t forget the rule of thirds”.

So back to bed I go and shut my eyes,
Say goodnight and my goodbyes.
In the morning I’ll think this was all a dream,
As I eat my Wheaties and chocolate ice cream.