My Humor Writing
By Janice Seagraves
A friend of mine asked about my humor, and all I can really say is—humor is my life.
Seriously, with a husband and family like I got, I’m always entertained. Although I’m not a humorist by a long shot, my sarcasm which I use in place of humor does tend to creep into my writing.
For instance, when I got my first edits for my first book, Windswept Shores, it came in during the middle of
Nanowrimo (National Novel Writers Month). I thought, “Yeah, I can write a 50 k novel and do my first edits. No problem.” Then I got called into to jury duty.
Okay, now we might have a problem.
My schedule was this: from 8:00 am until 3:30 pm, I served on the jury for a civil case. In the evenings, I worked on my edits and then my Nano story until my eyes wouldn’t stay focused anymore.
Unfortunately, all this work caught up with me.
Ugh, there’s nothing like being teased by fellow jurors when you fall asleep during a court case.
With only a few days left to serve on the civil case, I stumbled home, blurry eyed and exhausted to find husband and daughter gone. My mom, I already knew, had picked up my daughter from HS.
But where was hubby?
I saw his PDA holder, which the daughter and I laughing call his clutch purse. So I knew he had been home.
But because my husband has an insane need to be liked, he gets suckered into helping out anyone who asked him to do anything . . . except me.
So I figured he was out . . . you know . . . .
I waited for him, sitting on the couch and ended up falling asleep with the cat on my lap. Then the phone rang. When I jumped up to grab the phone, the cat scrambled to stay on, clawing me in the process.
Ouch!
The cat gave me a dirty look, as if to say “if you stayed put I wouldn't have had to scratch you, now would I?”
I answered the phone, and it was hubby.
Me: "Where are you?"
Him: "Out in the field."
Me: "What, are you doing out there?
Him: "I’m chasing an Emu.”
Me: "What the hell?"
Him: "No, really I'm casing a real emu."
Me: "????"
Him: "Honey, are you still there?"
Me: *dramatic sigh* "Just come home."
Him: "Okay."
My daughter made it home before he did.
Oh, it gets better.
The next day when I was taking my daughter to school, guess what I saw standing next to our long country
driveway?
And yes this really did happen.
I drove by the emu real slow, my daughter and I staring back with our mouths hanging open.
The emu stared serenely back.
I swear, this sort of thing could only happen to us.
(BTW, I did finish both the edits and my Nanowrimo story.)
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When not writing, or keeping her husband of thirty-one years from chasing emus, Janice Seagraves can be found reading, doing pen and ink drawings, working in the garden or taking photos. She lives in a hundred year old haunted house (I’m not kidding) with two overly affectionate cats and a German Shepard puppy that can’t get the cats to play with her.
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Windswept Shores by Janice Seagraves
Cover Contest Winner
erotic contemporary romance
novel (approx 50K)
price $4.95
Cover Art by Pink Petal Books with assistance from Winterheart Design
BLURB:
The sole survivor of a plane crash, Megan is alone on a deserted island in the Bahamas until she finds a nearly-drowned man washed up on shore. Another survivor, this time from a boat wreck. With only meager survival skills between them, will they survive and can they find love?
EXCERPT:
“Will this do ya?”
Megan glanced at what Seth had in his hands. “Oh, you found my gathering basket and scrapers. Sure, that’s fine for gathering mussels.” She unbuttoned her cotton shirt and hung it on a nearby bush. The lace-edged camisole she wore underneath was a bright green but didn’t really go with her outfit. She stuck in her thumbs into the elastic band of her capri pants, stopping with a startled look at Seth.
“Don’t let me stop you.” He grinned, showing a flash of white teeth in his tanned face.
“Uh, I’ll just leave these on.” Yanking her hands out, her face heated as she ducked her head.
“If I weren’t ‘ere, you’d do it in the nuddy,” he accused.
“If that means naked, not quite,” she corrected, hanging the basket on her arm.
“Then in you’re underdaks?”
“Uh—underwear?” She frowned, wondering why he wouldn’t drop it. “Um, yeah, it saves on the washing,
especially since I have to do it by hand and also drying the clothes is iffy business at best.”
“I hear ya, but still don’t let me stop you from doing something you do naturally.” Heat filled her body with the look he gave her.
Oh, God, he’s a man all right. “Thanks, but I’m more comfortable with my clothes on with company around.”
Seth arched an eyebrow. “I’m company?”
“You’re my guest.”
He gave her a lopsided grin. “How about a mate? I reckoned you could use one.”
“If that means friend, sure why not?” She smiled.
“Abso-bloody-lutely,” he agreed.
They waded out and began scraping off the black, shiny mussels that clung to the rock. The surf pulled and dragged at her legs, getting both of them thoroughly soaked.
“Isn’t that a beaut?” Seth showed Megan a fine clutch of mussels. “I got ‘em in one go.”
“Oh, that’s great! And they’re nice big ones, too.” She held out the basket, but slipped on a stone, stumbling against his side.
He dropped the shellfish into the basket she held. “Easy there, mate.”
“I mean the mussels,” she snapped.
“I meant the mussles, too.” He scraped at another batch. “Course, a man’s muscle is his most important body part.”
“O-oh, you’re just like every guy I know. Why is it always sex with men?”
“Do you know which muscle I was even talking about?” He smirked. “Most blokes are scum.” He glanced sidelong at her. “Most blokes just want to tell their mates how many birds they've shagged that week.” He dropped more mussels in her basket. “But I could be different, if you ever want to find out.”
“You do realize I’m a married woman?”
Seth yanked his gaze up to hers. “Megz, I realize you’re a spunky widow.”
“I’m not a widow. He’s alive,” she snapped, blinking back tears.
“You have a nightmare every night about his death.”
“I-I don’t know for sure.” Megan scraped vigorously at a new spot. “Jonathan might have made it. The plane could have . . . popped out—” Half the shiny black shells fell into the water, as she snatched at the rest. “From the other side of the wave,” she finished.
“Orright.” He shrugged.
Megan dropped her mussels into the basket. “I think we have enough. Let’s go in.”
“Ready when you are, mate.”
Roaring filled her ears as a large wave hit, for a moment all Megan could see was teal tinged water.
A hand grabbed her arm, keeping her rooted to the spot. “Megz?”
Megan coughed rubbing the saltwater sting from her eyes. “I’m fine,” she gasped.
“Let me have the mussels. The waves are picking up.” He dropped his scraper into her basket, then took it from her.
Another wave hit, but this time it lifted Megan off the rocks. Seth grabbed her around the waist. She clung to him.
“The sea means to take you back.”
“It can’t have me.” She looked around. “I think I lost my scraper.”
“Let it go, mate. You can make another.”
In the lull, when the wave washed back out to sea, Seth handed Megan back the basket. “Hang on a tick.”
She clutched it to her chest. He abruptly picked her up and waded ashore.
Surprise made her eyes big as her cheeks heated. She glanced shyly up at him, then over his shoulders to the rocks the waves crested over. “The tide has come in. I usually keep watch for things like that.”
“I must be a distraction for ya.” Seth grinned, while he set her down on the sand.
“When are you not a distraction to anyone?” she asked with one hand against his muscular chest.
“My mum said I’m always one to hog all the attention to myself.”
“I think she’s right.” She took a step back so she could pat his arm. “Thank you for keeping me from being swept off to sea.”
“That’s what mates are for.” He took the basket, with a look inside it, he added, “Besides, you were carrying me brekky.” Seth smirked down at her. “I really like yer top. You should wear it more often.”
“Oh!” Megan gave a mortified glance at her clingy camisole, which looked like it was spray painted on. Her erect nipples were making credible attempts to poke holes in the thin material. She snatched her brown shirt off the bush, hurrying to slip it on. Dammit, I’m never wearing this again.
Seth chuckled while he hauled the mussels up to their camp.
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Windswept Shores is available at:
