Tag Archive | vanilla heart

“Making Your Bones. ..”

All moviegoers have seen the Godfather and maybe the wonderful Prizzi’s Honor. We’ve seen, read, or heard about mobsters’ who “make their bones” with the first kill. But, and here comes the big Butt as I like to say, we have a four and a half pound kitten named Lily. Funny, fast, and adorable, Lily surprised me with a little gift a few days ago. She made her bones, our kitty while the ten year old big mamoo Tabby named Tony sat and watched her play rough and tough with a super small mouse. Then, while I wrote a chapter in my new book, Lily shoved the deceased under the door making funny sounds of kitten delight.

After the husband tended to  burial of said deceased, Lily decided she needed many hugs and kisses and climbed up on the desk to snuggle. I didn’t agree and patted her little back until the rascal fell asleep. Who needed kisses knowing where her mouth and paws had been moments before.

Our home is a small cat kingdom right now. Amusing, tiresome and a lot of work for this author. If you have pet stories you’d like to share, please jump in. As for me, I do love writing about pets. They add warmth, humor and love to every story I write.

If you enjoy stories about lots of pets and humans, do check out She Didn’t Say No, a mature romance with an unusual twist.Say No CVR ARe


She Didn’t Say No
Series: The Beginning, Not the End. Retail Price: $2.99 USD. Words: 27,320.
Grace didn’t say no to the Big Man On Campus, Scott Dwyer. And then her life changed… Years later, a too-close encounter of an unpleasant kind with a skunk and Scott’s German Shepherd reunites the former lovers. What happens in between are their stories of beginnings and endings and love lost, then found.



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

 for more snippets from talented writers:





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.


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.

 for more snippets from talented writers:


Reconstructing Charlie by Charmaine Gordon




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:



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.

for more snippets from talented writers:


Reconstructing Charlie  by Charmaine Gordon




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.

for more snippets from talented writers:


Reconstructing Charlie by Charmaine Gordon




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.

12/8/13 WEWRWA

Welcome as the days of this year dwindle down to a precious few. This week I’ve selected eight of my favorite sentences from Before the Final Curtain, Book 3 in the long/short series of mature romance. The story is something similar to what I experienced in my years as an actor.


Spoken by the director/playwright: “She’s a lonely widow who lets her daughter and son-in-law move in with her and when they abuse the privilege, treat her as if she’s no longer capable and leave her alone while they’re at work, she goes to a bar and meets a man. Just one more thing, Becca, your costume in Act 1 is a towel.”

 At seventy three, Chris Williams knew he needed to be fit and energetic to perform the heavy schedule demanded in New York and soon he’d be with Becca; no woman touched his heart the way she still did.

Becca and Chris catch up on their former spouses:

Chris said, “Sylvie married before the ink was dry on the divorce papers and we keep in touch. How about Harris?”

“Sad to say he came out of the closet, much to my surprise, acted wild and foolish, got AIDS and died.” They gazed at each other. “Harris was kind, sweet and  thoughtful lover, satisfactory,  until. . .I met you.”

Pen in hand, ready to check off names as if this were a cast a huge musical, Stage manager Jane Nelson bellowed, “Welcome to The Drama Bus but before you board you may call me Stage Nazi just once and after that you may call me Jane.”

For More Snippets from talented writers:




The Beginning…Not the End

Book 3


Book 3 of Charmaine Gordon’s New Series!


Before the Final Curtain


Charmaine Gordon 

Once lovers, aging actors collide on stage as stars in a romantic comedy written and directed by a manipulative director. Add to the mix the talented assistant, a tough stage manager, one prominent costume designer, two young actors, secrets and gossip. Show business. There’s no business like it.

From the new Charmaine Gordon series The Beginning…Not the End.

Mature Love, Romance, Suspense.

All Electronic Formats



Smashwords for All Ebook Formats

Thanks for your comments and support, my friends.

9/29/13 WEWRIWA

all 3 for print cover

This has been quite a week, a juxstaposition of sadness and joy. Our precious cat-one of three- my little boyfriend named Blue, became ill and nothing could save him. The incomparable care of The Vet at the Barn, Dr. B, Dr. Shane, and nurse Kristen shared my grief as he went to sleep. And then joy when To Be Continued, my first book with Vanilla Heart, was optioned for a television movie and finally the Mature Romance series of three stories is now available in print. Today my eight is one new to wewriwa. Before the Final Curtain, third story in the series.

Blurb:  Once lovers, two aging actors collide on stage as stars in a romantic comedy written and directed by a manipulative director. Add to the mix the talented assistant, a tough stage manager, one prominent costume designer, two young actors, secrets and gossip. Show business. There’s no business like it.

excerpt in eight:
Gazing around her spacious room Becca Morgan took in the awards cabinet with polished Tony’s, Emmy’s, Golden Globes and plaques—tributes to past performances. Tears trickled down her thin face no longer young as she thought get over yourself; starring roles aren‘t written for seventy year old women, not since Katherine Hepburn.
The cell phone shattered the peaceful moment with her favorite tune, Happy Days Are Here Again and her heart beat a little faster in recognition of the voice of Randall Sloan, the powerful director she’d worked with many times in the old days when he was called Randy apropos of his philandering.

“Becca love, I’ve written a new play perfect for you unless you’re not interested,” and he laughed, a smug familiar sound that hadn’t changed.
His voice deepened to a sexy growl. “You’re the lead in my play Titled “Honor Thy Mother, Please”, a poignant comedy, small cast.”

She knew he loved to be begged and Becca said, “You know me, Randy, I can’t wait, not even for a few minutes so please tell me about her and what happens.”.
“She’s a lonely widow who lets her daughter and son-in-law towel move in with her and when they abuse the privilege and treat her as if she’s no longer capable, when they’re at work she goes to a bar and meets a man and oh, your costume in part of Act One is a towel so you better get in good shape.”
For more snippets



9/8/13 WEWRIWA a community of writers and readers

Hi my friends, a week’s gone by with nary a post, so busy with ‘stuff’ to be shared next week. Meanwhile here we gather for our excerpts and constructive critiques. This week I’m continuing with Sin of Omission, an interracial romance/suspense story. After graduating with honors from a prestigious college as an architect, Jimmy Costigan hurries to the lone woman in white way in the back of the crowd, a package in her arms.


Shelley held two tiny babies wearing knitted miniature cowboy hats over auburn hair and Jimmy stared and stumbled backwards.

“When we made love before you left, I said I’d been on the pill a long time; somehow, your Costigan sperm  bypassed my so-called protection.”

            He didn’t move, remembering the night of passion.

“Please listen, Jimmy, when you went back to school I didn’t know about my uh, condition and then I didn’t want to uh, disturb you.

“Wait a minute, just wait a darn minute,” he stepped closer, “How come they’re so white, you’re sure they’re mine?”

 “High yella, it’s called ‘cause there’s mixed blood on our side of the family way back and some are well done and some are medium rare and not often, but some have white features and dark skin like me.”

With a voice choked with emotion, he said, “Shelley, how did we go from last year to this where I missed out on everything and who guided you while I played college boy studying my head off?”

The wind picked up and cooled the perfect day as Jimmy lifted a blue baby blanket from a basket and tucked it around the sleeping twins.

For more snippets:





Frozen Shoulder vs Frozen Daquirie

Husband Don had surgery to repair an inflamed frozen shoulder. Personally  I’d have preferred a frozen drink of any kind sitting for hours at Beth Israel Hospital at 16th and 1st on the East side in NYC. He was in top hands with Dr. Peter McCann. I know because the famed doc repaired both my right and left rotator cuffs torn to shreds and now I can fly once more. So I didn’t pace the floor. He would live. My main worry was driving home. Far north. Well not all that far, drama queen. But traffic at five o’clock. Get over yourself. And Don, my wounded warrior, ready to criticize my driving. YIKES!Charmaine Series poster mini 1

Taking care of my responsibilities like a good wifey and devoted person, finally I called my dear publisher, Kimberlee Williams, Vanilla Heart because Savvy Authors, a terrific community of writers, invited me to host an online chat about Mature Romance and my new series The Beginning. . .not The End. The first two stories were featured on USA Today; Instant Grandpa and Young at Heart. Twenty participants joined in the one hour q&a. It rocked! So much fun and books were sold–always a plus.



Smashwords for All Ebook Formats

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?


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