Tuesday, February 22, 2011

And We Have a Winner!

Thanks to everyone who played along with my Love Schmuv snippet contest. Nothing like two characters who are able to annoy the bejesus out of each other.

Without further delay, the winner is KRISTEN!!!! Whoo Kristen!!! :)

Monday and Hunt sure can annoy the heck out of each other can't they? (g) But what's so great is that there's an underlying sexual tension there that is SMOKIN'. Loved the way Peter broke the pair apart.

Well, you are the winner of Mystery Book #1. I'll email ya the details. ;)

Anyone up for Round 2??

Let's go for the direct opposite this time. Have your character do something thoughtful for another (even better if they do it with complete nonchalance). Again, using my not so scientific method of subjective opinion, I will pick a winner, who will win Mystery Book #2. I'll announce the winner next week. Post away, Peeps!

My offering:

Once the coffee maker stopped gurgling, he poured us both a mug and placed one in front of me, along with a box of my favorite sweetener and a small carton of creamer. Both unopened. I waited for him to go first, but he simply took a sip from his mug. Black.

I opened my mouth, but promptly closed it again. Sometimes there just aren’t words.

Maddy and Gabe from FAKING IT

Who's next??


  1. Congratulations Kristen - I'd have picked you too :-)
    Hmm, don't think I can top your short n sweet snip, Jen. Let me see... Okay, this one's a little long. FYI, Rosa's nickname is Peri. They're on their way to the Turkish baths [g]

    Wrapped up head to toe as they made their way through the streets of Galata, she hardly felt the [February] wind she could see buffeting [her husband] from side to side. He had a hand on his [turban], but kept switching to his other hand and back, hiding his fingers in turn among the folds of his [caftan]. How had she neglected to make him a pair of mittens?

    They turned onto a long avenue that sloped steeply down to the sea. Small figures in black milled about on the docks far below. The wind cut across her eyes and made them water. She stopped by the corner of one of the wooden houses lining the avenue, lest she stumble, and wiped her eyes on her [shawl]. Baha was already far ahead, and she pushed herself off the wall as the wind abated, glancing back down the hill as she made to follow him.

    The figures she'd seen were heading up in a scraggly line; two tall men in front and, behind them, what looked like a gaggle of children, all seeming to be about Jacob's age.


    She started and turned around, wincing in guilt. She should have told him she'd stopped for a rest.

    "We're nearly there," he said, rubbing his hands together. The wind turned and blew down from the hills. "I can't wait to be in the warmth and steam."

    She glanced about, but except for the men leading up their children, there was no one else in sight. She covered his hand with both of hers as his other hand flew up on another gust of wind, holding his turban in place. Her own shawls and skirts flapped and whipped at her legs. His fingers were frozen! She chafed them in her own, keeping her face averted from the wind, and promised to [knit] mittens for him as soon as she could.

    The children struggling uphill against the gale didn't look all that warmly dressed either. "You'd think if the fathers can afford fur lined cloaks, they'd dress their children more warmly," she muttered.

    "Their what?" Baha's fingers suddenly tightened on hers.

    "Their children." The wind whined all about them; she couldn't make out his next words. "What did you say? What do you mean they're not children?"

    "They're not – they're slaves."

    She gaped at him, then turned her dropped jaw to the group that had now reached them. There were two other men at the rear; all four were swathed in fur cloaks and had their hands shoved into shaggy woollen muffs. The children – for they *were* children, slaves or no – had only the thinnest of cloaks each, and much too short.

    There was at least a handsbreath of bare leg peeping between the top of one girl's shoes and the hem of her cloak. The last girl in line; they were almost all past now. The men behind her were laughing. Her black eyes were wide, scared; her lips trembled.

    "Baha! Do something!" She dropped his hand and slipped behind him, nudging him forward. "Rescue that girl!"


    And he did. He stopped the entire procession and haggled as quickly as he could. The wind tore at all of them, and though the slave masters protested – of course, they'd want a better price on market day once they'd cleaned and tidied up [this lot] – the prospect of ready money – for he certainly ended up paying more than he ought for this slip of a girl that his peri was now bundling in her shawl – easily helped sway them to seal a fast bargain.

  2. Woohoo! Thanks, Jen! I've never won anything before. :)