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Showing posts with label pets. Show all posts
Showing posts with label pets. Show all posts

Sunday, September 9, 2018

Going to the Dogs #melissa_keir #RB4U

Going to the Dogs

Hello and welcome back. I've got a new banner. I love the colors. What do you think? Thank you for stopping by today. As always, I hope you find something interesting in my words. 

Do you have pets? Growing up, we had chickens, a bird, fish, guinea pigs, hamsters, mice, dogs, cats, and rabbits. They were a part of the family, no matter if they lived outside or inside. In fact, my dad got very frustrated with the chickens because they never laid eggs and were always in the garage on the cars or up in the trees that he had them butchered and served them for dinner one night. That was the beginning of seven years where I wouldn't eat any chicken nor turkey. 


Today, I have two dogs and one cat. Calleigh and Grissom are about ten years old and spoiled rotten. They love to sleep in bed with us and get away with a lot. But they really are wonderful. Grissom loves to snuggle with me when I'm writing and has appeared in one of my books.


Lil' Bit is the cat. I didn't plan on getting another cat. She was my childhood friend's cat. When he passed, no one else could take her so it was me or the pound. Since she was his best friend and closest companion, I couldn't see her in a pound. She's also spoiled but is not as lovable as the dogs. We are still learning each other's styles. She's very chatty though and loves to tell me stories all the time. I'm sure a cat will end up in a book at some point. 


Pets have a habit of becoming pieces of stories. Our own and the ones we share with others. Their unconditional love and companionship get us through tough times. They give us someone to care for and shower with attention. It's only natural that they end up in our stories as the companions and sometimes a sounding board for our characters. 

My latest release, Rescue Love, features four mischievous pups who were rescued from a puppy mill. My heroine is driving them to their new forever homes in Michigan and Ohio but along the way, she picks up a stranded cowboy on the run. Many of the puppies characteristics came from my own dogs throughout the years. After all, what better way to show my love for them! I hope you will check it out.
Blurb:

Dogs, Danger, and a Cross-Country Trip…. 

Nothing has gone easy in Alexis Bandit’s life. On a trip to rescue mistreated puppies and drive them to their forever homes, she meets up with a tuxedo-clad cowboy on the run and offers him a ride. 

Jason Fields thought he had it all—a beautiful fiancĂ©e, a loving family, and great job—until he overheard his future father-in-law talk about arranging his murder. Now he’s on the run, without money, a phone, or a credit card. 

With a killer on their tail, four mischievous pups, and many miles of highway, what could go wrong?

Amazon (print only)

Do you have pets? Do you enjoy reading about pets in stories? Share photos of your pets!

Thank you again for stopping by and come back again!

Keep Reading,


Melissa Keir
www.melissakeir.com

Monday, July 18, 2016

Cats, Dogs, and Borderline Fools with Ann Everett #RB4U #RomSus @TalkinTwang

Back in the 80’s, when I was just a tot child teen, age isn’t important, country music singer, K. T. Oslin burst onto the scene with her Grammy winning song, 80’s Ladies, which began:
We were three little girls from school
One was pretty, one was smart and one was a borderline fool.

I didn’t know at the time those lyrics would make such an impact concerning my future career. Most of my stories revolve around three female characters, and…one will be pretty, one will be smart, and one will be quirky. I spend a lot of time developing the foolish one, because even though she isn’t the main character, experience tells me she will steal a lot of the scenes.
Let’s face it, a border-line fool can get away with some silly dialogue. And if it’s spoken in a strong southern accent, it’s even funnier. Try reading the two examples below with a twang. No, really. Do it. It’ll make you laugh.
 “I have a feeling if I was alone with him, I’d need a whole lot of Jesus to keep my panties on.”
“I’m so tired, I feel like I’ve been ironing all day in high heels and no brassiere.”
Yeah, those characters can take center stage with one silly remark and provide a ton of comic relief.
I love reading stories with unusual characters with weird hang-ups. Fears of skunks, clowns, gnomes, mimes. Somebody with a sharp tongue and never at a loss with a snarky comeback. A female with an unexpected vocation. Auctioneer, evangelist, horse trainer. I like someone who’s awkward or clumsy.
I spend a fair amount of time developing that type of character. It isn’t hard. Take a walk at the mall or if you live in a small town like me, Walmart. Pay attention to how people dress. How they talk. Their mannerisms. Maybe they suck their teeth following every sentence. Or have a favorite catch word or phrase. Maybe they move their dentures around in their mouth. Make notes. And, voila! You’ve got a character. Usually, a pretty funny one.
Other scene stealers are cats and dogs. Not only do most readers love animals, it gives the human characters a chance to reveal important information through conversations with their pets. I don’t know of single pet owner who doesn’t talk to their furry friends.  If you choose to, you can make them different, too. I have cat in one story with one ear and three legs. She’s a favorite among readers.
Dogs and cats are the most popular pets, but hey, Janet Evanovich gave new credibility to Hamsters, so unusual animals can be fun, too.
Since I’m from Texas, in one of my books, I introduced a talking bird, named after our most prolific songwriter, Willie Nelson. The African Grey knew all of Willie’s songs, along with a string of cuss words.
I saw a tee-shirt the other day and wished I’d used it as my tag line. Classy, sassy, and a little smart-assy. I think that’s just another way of saying pretty, smart, and borderline fool.
My point to all this…even in romance a little comic relief or oddity isn’t a bad thing. Readers like peculiar players. Plus, who wants to read something where all the personalities are the same?
Do you use weird characters in your work? If so, is it a conscious decision, or does the story just take you there? I love learning other techniques. Comment and let me know how you develop your characters.

Learn more about Ann and her books @ http://www.anneverett.com



Thursday, June 21, 2012

Furry Friends and Their Place In Our Hearts

Some call them critters, most call them pets, but many call them family. Some are fluffy and furry, some are hoofed, and some can run in a wheel all damn night long. There are those which are house-trained, and some fail to be no matter how hard we try. No matter how big or small, they are the animals in our lives that leave their footprints on our hearts (and sometimes even on the carpet.)

They helplessly rely on us to feed and care for them, while providing us with companionship and unconditional love. With their presence, they brighten our days, put smiles on our faces, and add a sense of purpose without even trying. As tried and true friends, they often look up to us. And in return they're the ones in our lives who will never look down on us, even when we do something wrong.

I have many pets as I live on a 100-acre farm and each one is very special to me. But this week, we've had to say goodbye to one. His name is Coconut, a stray cat that we brought home about nine years ago and he's sunk his claws into my family's heart from the get go.

In the beginning, my husband and I were not typical cat people, thinking we'd never get close to this feline addition to our house. In truth, we only agreed to keep him for rodent control. Things soon changed as he behaved more like an eager-to-be-around-people "dog" than a disinterested I'd-rather-not-come-near-you "cat." He came when called, he never shied from loud noises (and this was important with two active young girls) and he talked back to you when you happened to strike up a conversation. Needless to say, we fell head over heels for this cat.


Of course, so did my girls. And it's been so hard watching my youngest grieve for him these past few days. He was an indoor cat and she has since told me that she can barely go into a room without seeing Coconut. I completely understood her struggles because this cat was her buddy. When she was in the office, he'd jump up into her lap as she played on the computer. When she was in her room, he'd jump on her bed and take a nap as she'd play. When she was downstairs watching TV, he'd curl up next to her as if he enjoyed watching the Disney Channel as much as she did. If she was in the house at all, he was there with her. I've never known a cat to be that into a person. Like I'd said before, he was more like a dog than a cat.

As you can imagine, it's been a tough couple of days. The house has an emptiness inside that we are all trying to deal with in our own little way. Coconut may have started out as just a pet, but he ended up being loved as one of the family and we miss him very much.

I hope I didn't bring anyone's spirits down with this post. To be honest, it's difficult to write about anything else when you are consumed with loss.

So in order to lift the mood here a little bit, I'll share an excerpt from one of my books where I feature a happy-go-lucky Chocolate Lab with the protagonists as they deal with a sudden conflict from the very beginning of the story. I hope you enjoy. (And remember to hug your pets today. Give them a hug for me too, if you don't mind.)

The Fall of Rain
By Renee Vincent

Buy now | Find out more

Excerpt:
Patrick stepped into the kitchen and slid the door closed behind him, the house eerily quiet and still. By now, his rowdy Chocolate Lab should have been clumsily traipsing down the hall, all tongue and legs, trying to get to him before he could take one step off the welcome mat. “Rain?” he called tentatively. “You in here?”

“I’m fine, Patrick. Leave me alone,” Lorraine’s voice emitted from the back room. He kicked off his dusty cowboy boots and hung his hat on the hook by the door before walking toward her bedroom. As he expected, her door was shut. And when he gripped the handle, it was locked.

He leaned against the frame. “Rain, open the door.”

“I said I’m fine.”

There was anger in her voice, but through the forced gruffness of it Patrick heard it crack. His heart melted. “Rain…talk to me.”

“I don’t feel like talking. I just want to be left alone.”

Patrick rolled his eyes. No woman who’s ever said those words has ever meant it. In his experience, ‘leave me alone’ typically means ‘be more convincing so I’ll feel better about spilling my guts.’

“Fine,” he allotted, backing away from the door. “I’ll just sit out here and wait ‘til you’re ready to talk. I’ve got all day.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be horseback riding with Beth this afternoon?”

“No, we changed plans.”

“She changed plans or you did?”

“What does it matter?” Patrick asked, impatient at talking through the door.

“Dammit, Patrick, you can’t keep doing that. You can’t continue to rearrange your life with her because of me. She already hates me as it is.”

Patrick tried the door handle again, to no avail. “Beth doesn’t hate you. She just doesn’t understand my relationship with you. Give her time…she’ll learn.”

“She’ll learn to hate you, Patrick. No woman wants to be second, and with me living here, you’ll always put me first.”

There was a slight stress on ‘with me living here’ and Patrick caught it. As he heard her footsteps cross the hardwood floor of the room, he was relieved, thinking she was finally going to open the door and let him in. But then he heard the closet door slide across its tracks and the sound of her dragging something from inside.

He pressed his ear against the door, listening. A furious zipper opened and then a drawer from her dresser. “What are you doing in there? Are you packing?”

She ignored him.

“Rain,” he demanded, his voice taking on an urgent tone. “Open this door right now.”

Again, she didn’t oblige and the longer he waited, the madder he got. If he knew one thing about her, it was that she was a determined woman. If she got something in her head, no matter how idiotic it was, she was going to see it through. And if she decided to move out, then nothing would stop her.

He couldn’t let her. He cared too much to let her walk out of his life. The only place she could go was Jack’s house in Indian Hill—the Beverly Hills of Ohio—and that was the last place he’d want her to run to.

“All right, that’s it,” he warned. “I’m coming in.”

He didn’t know why he even gave a warning. It was his house and he had a right to open any damn door he wanted. Trying to cool his jets, he spun around and reached above the bedroom door and snatched the pin key. In haste, he drove it in the tiny hole and burst into the room, finding Lorraine with an armful of clothes, making her way to the edge of the bed where a heap of unfolded clothes already lay in her suitcase.

Immediately, his dog, Captain, jumped off the bed and ran to greet him, paws and all. Correcting the dog, he pushed the animal aside and ran to Lorraine. “What are you doing?”

“Patrick, it’s bad enough that I’m ruining my relationship with Jack. I’m not going to ruin yours too.”

She tried to walk around him, but he stepped in front of her and clasped her face in his hands. “See? This is the shit I’m talking about. Jack has brainwashed you into thinking the reason your relationship is on the rocks is because of you. Do you know how absurd that is? Rain, it has never been your fault. Can’t you see that? He doesn’t deserve you.”

“But Beth deserves you and I’m not going to stand in your way anymore.”

He grabbed her shoulders. “You are not in my way. You’re my best friend and I’m not letting you leave.”

He watched as tears welled up in her green eyes. Her bottom lip quivered and her jaw clenched. Unable to bear losing his childhood friend, he pulled her in his arms and held her.

“What happened?” he whispered sympathetically in her hair.

He felt her body tremble and the jerk of quiet sobs in her shoulders. He walked into her, leading her toward the bed so they could sit down. Captain followed and lay down at their feet, his head on his paws as if he, too, were saddened by Lorraine’s crying.

When Patrick took her hands in his, he noticed that her left one was absent the three-carat diamond solitaire, the only impressive thing Jack had ever offered her. But then again, Patrick never thought for one second that he forked out his own money for it. He’d bet his life that Jack’s parents paid for the engagement ring simply because they didn’t want their son to let a good thing slip through his hands.

He lifted her hand. “Where’s your ring?”

Lorraine’s lips puckered, trying to hold back her emotions. “I gave it back to him.”

Though her words were music to his ears, he restrained his joy. “Why?”

Lorraine looked up at the ceiling, blowing out a tremendous sigh. Anger laced her words now. “Because I walked in on him with another woman.”

Patrick’s heart nearly stopped. His mouth fell open, but he shut it right away so as not to say anything too rash. He chose his words carefully. “With another woman…doing what?”

Lorraine glared at him for his naivety. “What do you think, Patrick? They were in bed together, our bed—”

Her tears ran like a faucet now, her pain at a height even he couldn’t fathom. “Okay, okay...” he consoled, pulling her against him. “I get it. It’s okay. Shh…you don’t have to say another word. I’m here.”

He didn’t expect her to say anything more, but it was as if his words sparked a need to rant. “You know what Jack did when I turned to run out of the house?”

Patrick didn’t want to try to guess. He could only imagine what that scumbag did in the heat of Lorraine finding him screwing another woman.

“He chased me down the sidewalk with a sheet around his waist, saying he could explain. When I continued to run for my car, he actually grabbed me by the arm and said if I gave him just five minutes, he could be ready for our picnic.” Lorraine began to laugh hysterically. “Can you believe that? He said he just forgot about our picnic and double booked. Like I’m a flippant appointment he forgot to pencil in and scheduled a necessary fornication session in place of it.”

Patrick was dumbfounded. “Rain, I am so sorry. I—I.”

Lorraine looked up at him from the pocket of his shoulder. “Oh, don’t act so surprised,” she snapped, standing up to pace the room. “You probably already made bets with Andy that this would happen.”

He felt the pang of that knife right away. “I’d never do that to you.”

Lorraine wilted. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that. I’m just mad. And hurt. And…”

Patrick jumped up to embrace her again. “I know you can’t begin to see it now, but it is better this way. You don’t have to waste anymore time on Jack. You’re free to find the man of your dreams, the right man of your dreams.”

“I don’t think he’s out there.”

“Sure he is,” Patrick contended, stroking her long dark hair. “He already visits you in your dreams every night.”

Lorraine drew back to look at him. “Did Mr. Pride kick you while you were shoeing him?”

“Of course not.”

“Then I think you’ve just fallen off the crazy train, Patrick.”

She tried to slip from his arms, but he held her in her place. “Aren’t you still dreaming about some tall blond, blue-eyed guy in medieval garb with a sword or something like that?”

Lorraine stared and nodded her head slowly. “Yep, you’ve lost it.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I, Patrick. Listen to yourself. You’re talking about this guy, this ridiculous figment of my imagination, mind you, as if he’s real.”

“Your words, not mine. Think about it, Rain. How many times have you awakened, gasping in the night, telling me you could feel this man’s lips on yours as real as if he were right in bed with you? You’ve had this dream ever since I’ve known you, so how do you explain it?”

“It’s called a pathetic girl’s wish for her clichĂ© knight in shining armor.”

At that, Lorraine’s cell phone rang. She froze, a blank look invading her face. When it rang again, she scurried past him and frantically searched her purse on the bed. Pulling it out, she stared at the display.

She didn’t have to read the name to Patrick. By the look of her sad eyes, he already knew it was Jack. Holding back his growing infuriation, he grabbed the cell and threw it out of the room against the hall wall, the phone shattering in pieces. Before she could race out the door to salvage the pieces, Patrick taunted his dog. “You want it? Go get it. Go get it, boy.”

Instantly, Captain jumped to his feet and ran to the plastic fragments lying haphazardly on the floor. Without even sniffing, he chose the biggest scrap and ran away with it in his mouth.

Patrick laughed. But when he turned around to face Lorraine, she wasn’t as pleased as he was with his dog’s obedience. “What?”

“That was my cell phone. You broke it.”

Patrick couldn’t help but smile as she laid out the obvious. “I’ll buy you a new one. With a different number,” he added, pointing soundly at her. “Besides, you have nothing more to say to him.”

“Says who?”

“Says me. Now start packing.”

As Patrick walked out of her bedroom, he knew she had to be staring at him like he had three heads. He didn’t care. Suddenly, her idea of leaving was the best thing she had ever come up with. He was going to make damn sure Jack couldn’t find her.

“Pack you bags, Rain. You’re going on a trip.”

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Thursday, March 10, 2011

Ups and Downs

This past week has been a roller coaster ride. At the highest point, I got notice that my book, PRIME TIME, was finally out in print. I've been waiting for this moment for four years. It took a new publisher to make it happen. This book received great reviews in its original from, even getting four stars from Romantic Times magazine. My new publisher looked at the book, liked it, but decided it needed some work (which it did!). The new version is even better than the original and is now out in both e-format and print.

In addition, I finally finished the new story I was working on. I've been struggling with this one for so long, but I'm happy with the way it turned out and was especially happy when I wrote 'THE END'.

In addition, I have a shadow. A 16 year old girl who has to do a paper for school on what she wants to do in life. She wants to be a writer so has been with me at work for the last few days (I work in a bookstore), asking questions about writing and the writer's life. She's forced me to do some heavy thinking about this life that chose me. I dashed some of her hopes (she believed you wrote a book, sent it to a publisher, and they published it. That easy.), but I also pointed out that if you are a writer, you're going to find a way to write. You may never make money at it, but you're going to figure out how to make it work. It's been kind of fun. And interesting to have someone who thinks I'm amazing because I'm a writer. (giggle)

But when things are going that good, you know there's going to be a shoe drop. And one did. Heavily. On Wednesday, my hubby and I had our pet, Pixel, into the vet for her regular checkup. She passed with flying colors, but because she's 19 years old, the vet did some bloodwork and tests just to make sure everything was okay. Friday we got the call. All was not good. In fact, definitely not good. As in, she's reached the end of her road due to advanced liver disease. There is no coming back from this. He said she'd stop eating, lose weight, and eventually, just pass away.

How do you say goodbye to a furball you've loved for 19 years?

I know there are a lot of people out there who won't understand our attachment to her. After all, she's just a cat. What's the big deal? I also know there are a lot of people out there who *will* understand. And grieve with me.

As I said, a week of highs and lows.

May you have a happy week.
Vicky/Victoria

Thursday, September 30, 2010

Conflict over conflict


A local newspaper in my area is sponsoring a pet calendar contest and scoring big bucks with votes for a quarter apiece. 85 initial entries will be voted on until only twelve remain. 6012 votes has garnered first place for a cute little Yorkie. That honorary position cost voters $1503. Now, I love my cat and dog, and I entered pictures of them in the contest, but I don't have nearly enough of a competitive spirit--or willingness to spend my money to assure that they'll be in that top twelve--to contribute more votes.

I discovered early on in my writing life that aspects of my personality, good and bad, bled over into the characters I created. The not having a competitive spirit for instance. Perhaps because I never have played team sports or been involved in an activity that requires a driving need to win is why I simply don't have it. Now, competing with myself, that I do. Every day I challenge myself to complete goals with my writing, editing, exercising, whatever needs to get done at my bookshop, even down to learning the next line of a piano piece I'm working on.

Not having that competitve drive stems from an abhorence of conflict. Maintaining the peace and avoiding turbulence goes back to forever ago and has stayed with me all my life. I suppose I shouldn't have been surprised when, in Water Music, the first book I wrote, I struggled to the point of tears to have my characters at conflict with each other. Such a vital component of a tale and I battled with it. I knew conflict equalled drama, had to have it, but I didn't want my protags angry with each other, or be shaken by unkind words or overhear a hurtful remark, even though I knew all would work out in the end. Now, inner conflict I could do without going through a case of tissues. Developing a character at war with him/her self to overcome something that holds them back from gaining what they want, or goal they must reach is not a problem. But two characters arguing or not speaking to each other because they're angry is so difficult for me to write. Spending time on such a scene alters my mood for the rest of the day.

Since writing that first book I've learned there are many ways to create conflict without characters dragging out the battle axes. It's born out of human characteristics and events that don't have to be soul shattering: misunderstandings, man against nature, man against himself, revenge, self-preservation, greed, duty, love, and self-discovery. Any of these can work as a source of conflict but it needs to suit the character. Having a greedy hero or vengeful heroine are traits I'd avoid. I like to reserve those for the subplots and secondary characters. I can give the bad guys all sorts of conflicts without batting an eye or dropping a tear.

My vote is for love, peace and understanding any and every day, but I know for the sake of drama I have to have conflict amongst my pages. How easy or difficult is it for you to build conflict in your stories? Do you get a knot in your stomach like I do when your book characters are at odds with each other, even though you know you'll soothe the hurt feelings in a later chapter? If you have to mentally prepare to write such scenes, what do you do?

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