4/6/14 WEWRIWA

We could while away the hours conferring with the flowers, consulting with the rain. . .Why do I feel like the Scarecrow in the Wizard of Oz? Why not? It’s Spring again and birds on the wing again-but as the old joke goes-“I always hoid the wing is on the Boid,” if I only had a brain. Are we having fun or what, my friends?

Continuing with She Never Said Yes, my WIP. Joy asked Danny to the club dinner dance, he said okay and somehow the school day passed. Walking home, they meet.

Excerpt in eight:

On the way home from school, I heard Danny call, “Hey Joy, wait up,” and at last reading Seventeen magazine paid off since I’d just memorized the latest advice column on how to talk to boys.
He carried my books and took long steps so I had to kind of double step to keep up; without saying a word he slowed and I asked my first question, number one on the list.
“What’s your favorite sport, Danny?” Grinning he opened his jacket to show off the S for soccer stitched on the white letter sweater, a big deal at our school and I wondered if he’d ever let me wear it; also something special to show a boy really liked the girl.
“And what’s your favorite sport?” he said making both of us laugh ‘cause there were no team activities for girls except cheer leading and I couldn’t do splits, pyramids, or twirl a baton.
“I’ve been dancing since I was three years old: tap, ballet, you name it and someday I plan to be a professional dancer maybe in New York but don’t you dare tell my family.”
We reached Ridgeway and Ainslie Avenue, the corner where I live and I stopped, pointed to the big house, said, “That’s my house, so don’t forget it, you” and before he knew what happened, I lifted my books from his arms and ran up the steps to the door. Dropping my key on the first try, I looked down to see Danny still standing on the corner and all I wanted to do was rush down to hug him and never let go.
Shivering from the chill October wind blowing dry leaves all over the last of green grass, I opened the heavy wooden door, closed it and leaned back, my heart beating so hard I thought Mother might hear it from the kitchen where I smelled delicious pot roast cooking.

for more snippets from talented writers:



A bonus week for me, folks. Check out the newly released The Beginning. . .Not The End Volume 2, my series of Mature Romances. This one includes No Time for Green Bananas, She Didn’t Say No and Dr. D and the Dad.

Here’s the link to the video on youtube.

The Beginning…Not the End, Volume 2 by Charmaine Gordon: http://t.co/yU8kKvSJo5 via @YouTube

38 thoughts on “4/6/14 WEWRIWA

  1. Ah a classic boy walking a girl home from school! You really captured that scene well and I particularly liked how she read an article from Seventeen magazine. I wonder if girls still read that for advice. Good snippet!

  2. Congrats on the new release! Good for you. Great snippet. I love how she took in the entire moment. Very nice.

  3. This snippet really brings me back to my first boyfriend days and all the innocent giggles and dreams – well done.

  4. You sure know how to transport this reader back in time. First love, first chatting with a boy and trying to think of things to say, and being so very nervous. Wonderfully done!

  5. I love how she’s relying on a teen magazine for advice, when I’m sure she’d be just fine if she’d be herself. Hopefully she’ll come to realize that!

  6. Yes, following the advice in teen magazines is guaranteed to end well! 😛

    I especially love the description in the last sentence–you can feel the wood at her back as she slowly warms from the inside temperature, smelling that comfort food.

  7. So many little touches that bring back memories. Seventeen magazine–a Bible when we’re young. 🙂 And she wanted to run down the steps and hug him. A sweet excerpt, Charmaine. 🙂

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s