Q is for Quest and Quippet

Okay, so Q was an extremely hard letter to find a movie, show, book, character and artist to write about. I found a movie, The Quest (Frog Dreaming) an old 80's film about a boy who lives in Australia who thinks there is a monster living in a lake by his house.  Turns out the monster isn't really a monster ( I won't give away what the monster really is).  But if you are interested in seeing the movie you can find the whole movie at this link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Pa4Z7xa2xh0 . I always have had a soft spot for this movie because Henry Thomas who played in Flight of the Navigator was the actor who portrayed Cody.

Anyways because of my lack of Q inspiration I decided to take today's blog a different way!

First off I decided to make up a word for what I am doing . . .quippet! All writers eventually will have to submit a query letter to literary agents, or publishing companies. (If they want to be published that is!)  A query for those who do not know, is a letter to said agent or publishing house that entices them to want to read your book and possibly give you a deal to publish it.  Sometimes with these queries a agent will ask for the first couple chapters or basically a snippet of your book to see if it is something they may be interested in.  So WAZAH! the idea of my quippet was born!  So "hopefully" for your reading pleasure I give you a quippet of Keeping Secrets.  The first four and a quarter pages to be exact. Hopefully you like it, this is my baby and I am very proud of it.

WARNING!!!! I am still editing... I am horrible with grammar and punctuation (if you have not noticed it in all my posts) I utilize my awesome mother, who used to be an English teacher, to edit all of my work for me. So if you see any errors I apologize! I'm in the process of changing the tense and my mom hasn't had a chance to look over this draft yet. Also this post is really long so if you wish to skip today's letter, I don't blame you.  (But you are missing out!) :D

P.S. Any feedback is appreciated! But if it's mean feedback please do it in a nice way!  I like softened blows!

So here you go . . . the first four pages of Keeping Secrets: Genevive

Genevieve

Keeping Secrets

 

 Chapter One

 Ursula’s gaze held steady as she studied the vast lapping waves crashing against the moonlit rocks at the bottom of the lighthouse.  Her golden hair billowed in the breeze; her skin rippled with endless goose bumps licked by the wind’s bitter bite. She wanted Armand to come back to her. It had been over a year since the last time he held her strongly in his arms and battered her with endless seductive kisses.

“When will my Armand come back to me?”  She asked the sea expecting it to answer. Ursula sighed, a cloud of breath hung loosely in the air exhaling into the darkness before her.  A year without her beloved Armand was breaking her down. How much more could she take before giving into the temptations hidden deep within her soul?

Suddenly, a soft rustling of feet shifting through sand caught her attention from down below. The shadow of a full-figured man walking towards the cliffs emerged silhouetted by the harvest moon that hung in the heavens.  Ursula’s heart leapt with joy. It must be her Armand coming back for her! But why was he heading towards the sea?  She raced after him down the long, iron staircase that covered the sides of the lighthouse and across the ivory sand that led up to the jagged rocks blocking the magnificent view of the ocean.

“Armand I am here! Where are you going?” She yelled as she neared the cliffs. The figure stopped at the overlook but didn’t turn around.  She could tell that it was not Armand she was chasing but Phillip, the hand her father hired to help maintain the lighthouse while he was away. The ocean hissed below, it seemed to beckon her further. She should have turned around then, but curiosity overwhelmed her urging her forward. He turned to face her watching as she finished scaling the rocks to get to him.

“Ursula, what are you doing here?” He asked.  His russet eyes studied her, caressing the curves that commanded her body and the tightness of the corset hugging her breasts. Suddenly she was overwhelmed with embarrassment; she had run outside in her nightwear with only a corset and long, silky, slip to cover her naked body.  Her cheeks flushed, tinged with a bright vibrant pink as shyness overtook her body. He took a step towards her.

“Don’t Phillip. You know we cannot.” His eyes blazed like a forest fire, the auburn highlights flickered within the moon’s beams. She could see through his gaze, behind it was a combination of hurt and confusion.

“How can you deny the passion between us Ursula?  For weeks now we have enjoyed each other’s company and you turn me away like I am some peddler looking for a few extra pennies.”  Ursula knew he was right. Ever since Phillip had shown up at her door, everything had changed.  Feelings that were once only for Armand, were now distant memories.  But she could not just turn her back on the love she has always known.  He was handpicked by her father for his wealth, and chosen by Ursula for his regal handsomeness. Armand would always be her betrothed, and Phillip would be nothing more than a silly fantasy. 

“Phillip you know that I am promised to Armand. Why do you continue your pursuit of my affection?”

“Tell me this Ursula.  Can you deny the passion between us?  You must be able to feel it deep within your soul.”  She looked away, afraid to speak. He grabbed her hands and pulled her into him. She could feel the warmth of his breath pressure its way through her mass of golden locks and against the nape of her neck. Gently he brushed her hair out of the way and swept his lips across her skin.

 “Please Phillip,” she pleaded.  I must stay pure for Armand. My family’s namesake depends on it!” Phillip ignored her and continued to kiss along her slender collar bone.   A little kiss wouldn’t spoil her, would it? She allowed Phillip to kiss further; she forgot how good it felt to be in a man’s arms again.  It wasn’t long before she had fallen completely victim to his seduction. Ursula allowed him to grope her bosom, the softness of his lips lingered just above her milky white flesh for at least a minute while he wrestled with the laced front of her satin corset.

“Do you still want me to stop?” Phillip asked his lips not wavering from the tops of her breast. Ursula nodded feebly knowing the words wouldn’t be able to leave her lips if she tried to speak  . . . .

~~~

“Every time I see you Miss Genevieve, your nose is buried in a book.”  His voice startles me; I tear my eyes away from Ursula’s Seduction to find Dillon’s playful blues studying me.

“Well if you ever showed up for our sessions on time, maybe I wouldn’t have to read to keep myself busy, Dillon.”  It’s hard to mask my sarcasm; Dillon plops down on the bench across from me and rifles a tattered English book from the depths of his book bag.

“I’m only a little bit late, 4:30 right?” I groan. Leave it to Dillon to miss our appointment by a whole hour.  He throws his head to the side, flicking his jet black hair back and revealing pure, pale, blue eyes hidden behind his bangs.  His eyes always seem to mesmerize me.  They remind me of spring time: when the sky is without a single cloud and the color is a flawless blue you can’t help but stare at for hours. I could stare at him for hours.  A mischievous grin stretches across his face, two perfectly placed dimples on each of his cheeks.  I can feel my face flush as I admire him; everything about him is perfect from his sculpted body, to his unblemished olive skin.  Even his teeth are flawless. Not a single speck of plaque can be found on them. So it’s no surprise that he is the quarterback for our champion football team, or that every girl in school wants to be his girlfriend

 “No, we were supposed to meet at 3:30; you should know this by now.”  I look up at the clock sitting behind him. There is only half an hour left before our session will be over.  Despite his absence, I rather enjoyed sitting in the library reading my book.  Most of the time it remained silent with only a few students milling around after the bell rang. The lack of student presence allowed me to do my two favorite things, read and smell the books. I can't help but wallow in the aroma of the library. It’s that faint odor of dust mixed with the scent of aging paper.  It's almost therapeutic  if you ask me—you can practically smell the knowledge seeping off the pages.   

“Oh, right, sorry, I thought it was 4:30.” I groan at his response and flip open my own English book that has been patiently waiting on top of the table for the last hour.

“So what are you reading anyways?” Dillon snatches my novel from off the table and flips it open to where my bookmark carefully holds my place. His eyes widen as he reads down the page.  “You actually read this stuff?”  My cheeks burn with guilt, and I quickly glance away from him.  “Ursula moaned as Phillip’s hand forcefully grabbed her  . . .”

“Shut up!” I squeal.  Nervously I look around the room to find a few curious faces staring at our table.  The librarian, a small round woman named Gladys, shushes us from behind her desk. She never seems to move from that spot. In fact I don’t think I have ever seen her anywhere else, but behind the comforts of that desk.  Desperate, I try to grab the book away from him but he playfully keeps it out of my reach. He continues to read, his voice is low and whispering with a husky tone that's deep and almost sensual—I could listen to him for hours.

“Phillips lips brushed across her nipple as his tongue slowly . . .” I giggle.  For some reason having the story read to me doesn’t seem nearly as intoxicating as reading the book myself.  I snatch the book out of his hands and quickly tuck it safely into my book bag.

“Wow, that was some pretty intense stuff . . . your parents actually let you read porn?”

“It’s not porn!” My voice raises two octaves as I try desperately not to bring any more attention to our table. “It’s romantic.”

“That is not romance, Miss Genevieve; that is porn!” 

“Porn is defined as the depiction of acts in a sensational manner, with the entire focus on the physical act, so as to arouse quick intense reactions. My book is categorized as Erotica or the portrayal of sexuality with high-art aspirations, focusing also on feelings and emotions.”  When I get nervous I become a walking dictionary spitting out references to every obscure detail the world has to offer.  Today was not an exception.

“Huh, I guess that explains the feeling I’m getting between my legs then?”  This causes me to blush and I fail miserably at hiding my amused giggles.

“You’re atrocious, sometimes; I hope you know that Dillon.”

“And you’re a walking dictionary.  Why do you read that stuff anyways?”

“Like I said, it’s romantic.” I can feel my eyes rolling at him. His baby blues shimmer impishly like he is considering what to say next.

“Hey, if you want romance, I can give you romance, Miss Genevieve.” He playfully brushes the outside of my cheek which I return with a swift kick to the shin. He laughs. I love his laugh. “So what are we studying today, Miss Genevieve?” I hate when he calls me that.  It makes me feel old, really old.

“Can you please not call me that?  Mr. Carnegie is getting ready to test you on Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet to be specific.” I can tell he isn’t amused. Boredom fills his expression, his eyes shift around the library before returning to me.

“Hey isn’t that a romantic story?” His clever comparison makes his smile stretch even further across his face.  My heart races, that smile always gets me.

“It’s classified more like a tragic love story. I quote the first paragraph of Romeo and Juliet, citing it purely from memory. I close my eyes and get lost in my spoken words. If I was alone, I probably would have started crying, Shakespeare always seemed to speak to my inner emotions.  Romeo and Juliet’s love story was both heart breaking and powerful.  To love someone that deeply, to give up your life just because you think the one you love gave up there’s . . .  it was romanticism at its finest—maybe one day I can experience my own intricate love story; minus the tragedy of course.

“Say what? You’re speaking gibberish.” His eyes cross and he scrunches his face like a child. I know he is just trying to make me laugh but his joke falls short, the fact he can’t recognize literary genius is a major turn-off.  I narrow my eyes at him and find myself ranting.

“It’s Shakespeare, pure literary poetry.  He is considered to be greatest playwright to ever walk the planet.  I find his words linger on your lips and escape with a smooth flow that is very easy to follow.”

“Lingers like Phillip’s lips just above Ursula’s breast?” An eyebrow raises over his right eye and his grin spreads.

“Shut up Dillon! Are we going to study today, or are you going to insult me more?”

“I am not insulting you; I’m teasing you. There is a difference.  Don’t you like to be teased?”

“Not especially, I get enough of that from Mika.”  Mika Davis is the mastermind behind the Replica’s, a trio of mean girls that rule our school with perfectly manicured fists.  She also happens to be Dillon’s ex-girlfriend. Since middle school the Replicas have owned the hallways: they have mastered the art of manipulation, perfected the craft of embarrassing their peers, and are experts in the logistics of bullying. They pretty much get away with everything they do, teachers look the other way and our principal doesn’t seem to care.  The result is me and my two best friends, Chloe and Camille, always being in their crosshairs.  It really sucks being unpopular.

“Yeah, Mika can be a bitch sometimes.” He answers nonchalantly.

“That’s the understatement of the year.” I glance up at the clock, our time is up. I didn’t even get a chance to talk about Romeo and Juliet. I wasted another hour and a half of my life waiting on Dillon Brighton. “It looks like our time is up Dillon. You know, if you don’t keep our appointments, you won’t be able to play football your senior year of high school . . . you’re going to flunk English.”

“That’s why Mr. Carnegie gave me the best tutor in the school.  You’re my only hope, Miss Genevieve.” Instant annoyance, my eyes narrow. “I mean, Genevieve.” He quickly corrects throwing his famous smile my way.  I move a few strands of hair that dangle just in front of my face and tuck them behind my ear.

“Can you please be here on time tomorrow? 3:30, is that okay?”  Dillon nods and quickly stuffs his English book back into his bag. A couple of guys from the football team are walking past the library door. 

“3:30 . . . got it. I will be here.” He jumps to his feet and quickly speeds out the door.  I find myself admiring Dillon as he scampers off; he is the epitome of leading man material.  Suddenly I am a victim to my own inner fantasies: in rides Dillon, his hair is darker and longer falling dreamily around his shoulders as he straddles a pure white steed whose coat seems to shine in the sun. I am tied to train tracks; a villainous scoundrel laughs manically from the window of a train that is barreling towards me. I fear for my life and scream out for someone to help me. Seconds before the train is to hit me, Dillon breaks the ropes in two with just his bare hands; he grabs me and lifts me up into his arms. I bury my head into his chest looking up into those sultry baby blues. The train whizzes past us romantically whipping my hair like in the movies. Gently he touches my lips to his, meeting in a blissful, serene kiss that I desperately want to make last. As the kiss deepens, his face fades and as quickly as the daydream had begun it ends. I am whisked back into reality, my face burning over my impure thoughts.  I sigh, packing up each of my books and stuffing them back into my bag.

What's For Dinner?


Song of the Day:

 Queen - Somebody to Love