Tag Archive | Reconstructing Charlie

3/20/16 WEWRIWA

 

SPRING!!!!  OMG, how exciting. So what it may snow fall for a day or two. This has been a great winter.

Here comes the further adventures of Charlie Costigan. Aunt and uncle have given her the choice of private school or public. She doesn’t want to cause them to spend extra money but off uncle takes her to  the best private school nearby. Dressed in new clothes, Charlie straightens her shoulders as she leaves the limousine. Uncle Stuart introduces her to his friend , the head mistress, and tells her to call Robert when she is finished with testing.

excerpt:

I sat alone in a large room filled with, I did quick scan, fifty desks;”When the clock strikes eight thirty, begin,” said Sally the proctor and she disappeared.

I finished in fifty five minutes; she returned  to find me eating an apple and drinking from a bottle of water.

Stunned, she said, “It always takes at least two hours to finish so now I’ll take you to the head mistress.”

Confident I aced everything, multiple choice is good if you have multiple personalities.

Mrs. Larimore left her important place behind her desk and sat next to me, a frown between her eyebrows. “The girls who attend Hamilton Academy are from privileged backgrounds and from what I understand you come from a small town in Minnesota, a different social strata.

Yeah, I got it, they ‘re rich__ and I’m a dirt farmer, by comparison.

Sally burst in with my test scores saying “you’ve got to see this.”

After reading my scores, Mrs. Larimore smiled and asked if I’d like to see the playing field, the gymnasium, lunchroom.

“Thank you but no , I’ll call Robert to bring me back to my family to discuss this morning”; and Charlie straightened her new clothes and left leaving Mrs. Larimore speechless.

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Together, Again

by Charmaine Gordon

Now Available in All Ebook Editions!

Together, Again

by Charmaine Gordon

A wealthy couple, no children in sight, answer the door one day to find a replica of the woman living there, titian hair and all. Charlie is her name and so begins the story. Years later, Charlie’s young twin sisters , now seventeen, are rescued by the same couple with a big heart. It’s a tale of love and hearts that keep on giving.

 

http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B01CHHGPPW

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3/13/16 WEWRIWA

Daylight saving Time. Don’t you love it?

Another ten from Reconstructing Charlie and maybe I’ll move on since my latest book, Together, Again was just released and I’m ecstatic. The last piece of the series is finished and will soon be translated in Spanish and French. Folks, I’m thrilled, to say the least.

Charlie and Aunt Eleanor go shopping:

Excerpt:A knock at the door and she entered dressed to shop; pretty in a white sweater set with pearls, a print silk skirt and white pumps, the picture of a summer garden. By comparison, I looked like a lumberjack next to my aunt.

We sat in the big limousine driven by Robert and drove to a place called the Magnificent Mile, Michigan Boulevard.”What are the latest fall fashions for my niece entering high school?” Corrine, the salesperson rattled off a list: “form fitting tee shirts short in length showing a hint of bare midriff with wide blue jeans;leggings with slouch socks and white Keds and long loose sweaters.”

I didn’t have a clue about leggings and slouch socks but when she said bare midriffs, I thought-get me out of here.

I needed something to cover my butt and androgynous was my style.

Over lunch, Aunt Eleanor confided in me,”Stuart and I were never blessed with children and now you’re here with us. Somehow, fate in the name of Elizabeth,brought you to our door and I want you to know you may trust me although I’m not your mother.”

The waiter came and I ate my first shrimp salad thinking of what she just said.

for more snippets from talented writers:

http://www.wewriwa.com./Reconstructing Charlie new eyes

 

 

http://www.amazon.com/Reconstructing-Charlie- Charmaine-Gordon/dp/0615909175
http://www.amazon.com/Reconstructing-Charlie- Charmaine-Gordon-ebook/dp/B004KKZ6WS
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2/14/16 WEWRIWA

February 13th is my 85th birthday, folks. One day I’m tap dancing, the next I’m married to my first love with six children.

Last week I introduced Reconstructing Charlie to you. She’s the one with the father who had a belt. Remember him? A belt of whiskey and more.

Moving on with this weeks excerpt:

The front door banged open hard enough to rattle the dishes in the cabinet. Mom’s one treasure–a porcelain egg–rolled to the edge,teetered for a second and fell end over end to the hardwood floor. The small egg cracked with the force of a bomb. Mom stared at broken pieces from a life she had long ago. Her face turned white, every freckle showing and my fists clenched.

He staggered around waving a tire iron in the air, muscled from working a jackhammer for the city all his sorry life and ugly drunk. This time I was ready.

I wrestled it out of his filthy hands, hit him good and he lay torn up with blood everywhere on Mom’s clean floor. We were safe now because I’d done this terrible thing and I didn’t know how I could live with it.

 

http://www.amazon.com/Reconstructing-Charlie- Charmaine-Gordon/dp/0615909175
http://www.amazon.com/Reconstructing-Charlie- Charmaine-Gordon-ebook/dp/B004KKZ6WS
https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product- reconstructingcharlie-511663-152.html
https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/38890

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2/2/14 WEWRIWA

February. I love this month of my birth. Thanks to my dearly departed parents for giving me the creative talents and health to survive all the years of my sweet and sometimes, not so sweet, life.

This week is the last snippet from Reconstructing Charlie, a story written two years ago and continues to haunt me. Here’s an intro to the scene. Picture this, dear readers.

Dear old Dad lies deceased in the kitchen, struck down from a tire iron wielded by fifteen year old Charlie. Mom is busy packing an old suitcase with Charlie’s clothes. Where is she going with her terrible secret? Mom pulled a box out from a drawer in her small desk and opened it. Fancy stationery paper, the old fashioned kind with the scent of flowers. Taking a deep breath, Mom wrote in her perfect handwriting. Charlie always believed Mom had a lot of secrets. Now she got a peek at some just before she was leaving. Not fair and felt like her little sisters when they stamped their feet against the world. She didn’t want to leave. Mom said, “Don’t let her turn you away. She’s my older sister. She hated your father.” Charlie never saw her cry before and when tears fell, Mom brushed them away. Panic set in and Charlie said, “What if she’s not there?” Mom almost laughed. “She’ll be there.”

 

Excerpt in eight:

Wrapped in a towel, I watched Mom empty my clothes into her suitcase and I couldn’t move for a minute; he’s dead in the house and she packed my clothes for what? I went into action and pried up the board in the closet, removed my money, and secured it into a money belt I’d bought in a second hand shop.

Unfastening a gold locket on a long chain Mom wore around her neck, she said, “Hold up your hair, my girl” and we stood face to face, her hazel eyes looking into mine. I heard a tiny click when the clasp was in place around my neck then she kissed the locket and let it slide under my shirt.

“What’s in the locket, Mom?”

 “Two sisters, my dear Charlie, one wise, one foolish, yes, I have a sister, your aunt Eleanor, Mrs. Stuart Alfred 1125 Lake Shore Drive Chicago, it’s on this envelope, so listen hard; money and education are most important and one more thing, precious girl, don’t let boys catch your scent, keep clean because that’s something I forgot.”

She wrote a letter and slid it into an envelope and handed it to me, “Don’t lose this, Charlie, it’s your passport to a new life.”

“Charlie,” Mom looked in my eyes so deep as if she was taking a picture, “Don’t call, I’ll call you when I have something to say; now hurry, it’s not too late to catch the bus.”

Mom hugged me and I ran.             Reconstructing Charlie new eyes

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I’ve opened a new FB page and need LIKES, my friends. In appreciation of your support all year, I’m opening a promo op to you from any Tuesday to Friday where you can post a pic plus blurb and links. No comments or critique. This has nothing to do with WEWRIWA. It’s just my way of giving back to our community of writers.

https://facebook.com/authorCharmaineGordon

1/26/14 WEWRIWA

Reconstructing Charlie new eyesArctic weather outside:warm inside. Does anyone remember that old song, “Baby it’s cold outside?” A love song and so much fun. Welcome writers and friends to read and leave constructive critique for us to improve our craft. I appreciate every comment.

This week I continue with Reconstructing Charlie. Her mother packs a bag , Charlie tries unsuccessfully to scrub blood from her hands.

excerpt in eight:

She was in charge, this new mother, and I didn’t question her; icy cold inside myself as Mom dragged me along to my bedroom. I kept looking back expecting him to come after us.

Mom’s hands caressed a leather case I’d never seen and said in a soft voice, “I packed my clothes and ran away sixteen years ago, so wild and out-of-control.”

“Were you ever sorry, Mom?”

“I have you and Jimmy, and my little girls so take a shower ‘cause I have things to do.”

I heard Mom opening and closing drawers, knew she’d be too busy to worry about me for a while and crept back to the bloody mess to make sure he really was dead. Shivering, I ran for the bathroom but even a hot shower couldn’t warm me and blood refused to wash off; words spun around in my head: ‘Out, out, damned spot.’ I scrubbed ‘til it hurt, Lady Macbeth, that’s me.

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http://www.wewriwa.comReconstructing Charlie new eyes

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I’ve opened a new FB page and need LIKES, my friends. In appreciation of your support all year, I’m opening a promo op to you from any Tuesday to Friday where you can post a pic plus blurb and links. No comments or critique. This has nothing to do with WEWRIWA. It’s just my way of giving back to our community of writers.

https://facebook.com/authorCharmaineGordon

1/12/14 WEWRIWA

Reconstructing Charlie new eyes

Welcome to another super Sunday with Weekend Writers Warriors. Another icy cold week in the northeast but who’s counting. It’s winter, folks. The days are growing longer minute by minute.

I”m starting from the beginning of Reconstructing Charlie since you all were taken with the prologue. Again thanks for your support. I welcome all comments and constructive ideas. That’s what we’re here for, kids.

I heard the television turned up loud before I opened the door and thought maybe this time instead of beating up on us, he’d watch the Minnesota Twins beat on yet another team. The front door banged open hard enough to rattle dishes in the cabinet and Mom’s treasure—a painted porcelain egg—rolled to the edge, teetered for a second and fell end over end to the hardwood floor. The small egg cracked with the force of a bomb; Mom stared at broken pieces from a life she had long ago and suddenly her pretty face turned white, every freckle showing, and my fists clenched.

He staggered around waving a tire iron in the air; muscled from working a jackhammer for the city all his sorry and ugly drunk life. Cursing, he went after Mom but this time I was ready and wrestled it out of his filthy hands to hit him good. He lay torn up, eyes blank, didn’t move, blood everywhere on Mom’s clean kitchen floor. I stood there looking down at my father and thought how hard it was going to be for Mom to get the blood up and wondered how come he was the worst father in the world scaring all of us, hurting Mom and me. We were safe now because I’d done this terrible thing and I’m only fifteen and didn’t know how I could live with it.

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Reconstructing Charlie by Charmaine Gordon

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1/5/14 WEWRIWA

New beginnings or continuation of the wonders of yesteryear? Welcome to Weekend Warrior Writers. What a great name for us!

This week I’ll begin at the very beginning of Reconstructing Charlie, a story I dreamed of and lived to see it through ’til The End.

excerpt in eight:

 

Prologue

In 1996 I killed my father.

Dear old Dad was great with a belt. A belt of whiskey. A belt from around his waist unbuckled when you least expected it and later I knew when it was coming and some of us escaped. Not me, not Mom. Never Mom. I’m the oldest. I didn’t want the little ones to see the okay dad turn into a monster on payday.

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Reconstructing Charlie  by Charmaine Gordon

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12/29/13 WEWRIWA

Reconstructing Charlie new eyesAlmost Happy New Year, folks and this week I’m posting a snippet from Reconstructing Charlie, a young woman determined to be one of the rare creatures who still retains her virginity, unheard of at a time when THE PILL  freed sexuality from the dark ages. Hmm. Or so history proclaims.

Charlie is at a New Year’s Eve party with her first boyfriend, captain of the football team at Northwestern U where she’s a star athlete in cross country. Even though she’s explained to Tom she intends to remain a virgin, he has other plans. No one ever says no to him. They’re outside on this cold night before the stroke of midnight.

excerpt in eight:

He began with little kisses all over my face, neck, ears and my mouth reached for his, lips parted. Somewhere deep inside I warned myself to know when to say no because he must have majored in making out while I majored in survival skills. His hardness against my thigh told me what he had in mind but so far he didn’t try to go under my dress for easy access where I tingled and my belly hurt with desire.I prayed he wouldn’t go there on his own or at best ask my permission. Oh Tom, I caught my breath with the yearning for him. Don’t spoil us before we’ve begun.

The porch door banged open and his brother Pat and my best friend Shelley handed over two glasses of champagne saying, “Happy New Year, you two.”

Saved by the ball.

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Reconstructing Charlie by Charmaine Gordon

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Blurb:
Charlie Costigan has a secret. Home life gone from bad to the worst when she protects her mother from another vicious attack by her drunken father. Midnight. Clothes thrown into an old suitcase, she races for the bus with a letter to an unknown aunt and uncle. “This is my daughter. Embrace her as if she were your own.” Determined, Charlie begins again. Alone with her secret.

7/28/13 WEWRIWA

Welcome to WEWRIWA where writers post eight sentences of drama, humor, and bring joy to all who take the time to read the excerpts. I appreciate your constructive comments and I’ve learned so much from all of you.

This week I continue with Reconstructing Charlie as she and her mother make a plan to get her out of the dreadful situation. Midnight. Charlie is at the station waiting to board the next bus to Chicago where an aunt and uncle she didn’t know existed, live on Lake Shore Drive.

 

Fifteen years old traveling alone the first thing I did was head for the restroom.

I’d play this new life like a game of chess, think moves ahead and when I got to Chicago, I’d change into mom’s dress and clean up to make a nice impression on Aunt Eleanor and Uncle Stuart.

But what if they hate me and slam the door in my face? Not possible, kid ‘cause you’re dynamite ever since you started school, teachers talked about you when they didn’t know you were listening; smart, they said with lots of potential.

I felt like a thief opening mom’s letter to her sister but couldn’t resist and careful, so careful not to tear the envelope, I found mom hadn’t sealed it.

Dear Eleanor, Sixteen years have gone by since your foolish sister ran away and I am so sorry I didn’t listen to you and Stuart. Please embrace my daughter, Charlotte, and make her your own since I cannot provide proper care for this gifted and brave girl.

Your sister, Elizabeth

I folded the letter and returned it to the envelope wondering if the tear stains were mom’s or mine?

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http://www.amazon.com/Reconstructing-Charlie-Charmaine-Gordon/dp/1935407910 Reconstructing Charlie new eyes

7/21/13 WEWRIWA

Welcome to another Sunday. Hot, hot, too hot. I’m happy to be a part of this community of writers and today I’m sharing one of my favorite books, Reconstructing Charlie, a story that came to me in a dream about a young fifteen year old who decides to remain a virgin until the right man comes along after learning a lesson from her mother. It begins with a prologue, not part of my eight.

image001

Prologue: In 1996 I killed my father. Dear old Dad was great with a belt. A belt of whiskey. A belt from around his waist unbuckled when you least expected it and later I knew when it was coming and some of us escaped. Not me, not Mom. Never Mom. I’m the oldest. I didn’t want the little ones to see the okay dad turn into a monster on payday.

And now the excerpt in eight:

 Chapter 1

I heard the television turned up loud before I opened the door so maybe this time instead of beating up on us, he’d watch the Minnesota Twins beat the hell out of the Boston Red Sox and rant over every play, curse the umpires, yell that the Hubert H. Humphrey Stadium wasn’t good enough. 1996 wasn’t a great year so far for the Twins.

The front door banged open hard enough to rattle dishes in the cabinet. Mom’s treasure—a painted porcelain egg—rolled to the edge, teetered for a second and fell end over end to the hardwood floor. The small egg cracked with the force of a bomb; Mom stared at broken pieces from a life she had long ago as her face turned white, every freckle showing, and my fists clenched.

He staggered around waving a tire iron in the air; muscled from working a jackhammer for the

city all his sorry life and ugly drunk. Cursing, he went after Mom but this time I was ready

and I wrestled it out of his filthy hands and hit him good. He lay torn up, didn’t move, blood

everywhere on Mom’s clean kitchen.

http://www.wewriwa.com

http://www.amazon.com/Reconstructing-Charlie-Charmaine-Gordon/dp/1935407910