To celebrate all the lovely RITA winners at RWA this weekend, the blog is hosting a romance contest.
In 100 words or fewer:
Explain Who Barbara Poelle Came To Be Smooching and WHY.
(In case you've forgotten Kristan Higgins, in addition to being a good writer, is a potent weapon in the Agent Wars)PRIZE: A copy of RITA award winner Kristan Higgins' TOO GOOD TO BE TRUE
Contest opens now (8/1/2010 9:30pm EDT) and runs 27 hours (aka Barbara's workday) until 8/2/2010 11:59pm (EDT)
Write your entry in the comment section of this blog.
ONE entry per person please. I reserve the right to delete entries that are not suitable for posting. I am the sole judge of suitability. Comments are moderated.
Let the explaining begin!
31 comments:
Finally, I was about to kiss that bespectacled hottie who mopped the floors of the museum gift shop. I’d been accused of excessively stalking him, but I didn’t see anything wrong with visiting the museum eighty six times a month. Now, I closed my eyes, puckered up, and leaned in, and quite frankly found his lips to be a bit dry. Egad! I opened my eyes and found myself on the receiving end of a kiss by Dexter, the dinosaur who’d had the hots for me ever since I bent down to pick up a quarter in front his display.
“I don’t often represent memoirs,” Barbara began, “but you make an impression when you walk in a room. Tell me about yourself.”
“I love red meat, I prey on the weak, and I’m in an evolutionary arms race with other reptiles.”
“My God. You’re a dinosaur.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Let me represent you. I can save your writing career from extinction.”
“Well, I don’t know. I’ve had an offer from another agent. She’s tenacious, a real octopus.”
“Forget her. She’s all tentacles. How can I persuade you?”
“Perhaps we could seal the contract with a kiss?”
“Pucker up, baby!”
During a marvelous dinner at T-Rex, the dinosaur theme restaurant at Downtown Disney, the slithery-but-fabulous Ms. Poelle spotted this handsome fellow reptile. Though their romance is already doomed--what with him being extinct and all--she had to give him just one little kiss.
100 words on the nose:
“Dahling, I looove it!” cried La Slitherina as she surveyed the preparations for the evening’s performance of Walking with Dinosaurs.
Poelle swirled her dirty martini as she circled one of the animatronics.
“It’s perfect, and just the thing to keep me one step ahead of the Sharkly one.”
She caressed the beast—her ruby nails skittered along its hide—and pictured a future full of beguiling would-be clients from under the cold fins of her adversary.
“Shark skin is so passé,” she cooed, her lips brushing along its jaw. “You, sir, are going to make a fine pair of shoes.”
He swore, "NO MORE!"
This last plastic surgery, they had pulled, yanked and cut from every direction. The slight scream, from the nurse removing his bandages, should have told him a youthful look wasn't acheived.
Working with his love of denial only lasted till he saw a friend paying Barbara Poelle to give him a kiss.
At that moment Keith Richard's decided he'd gone a stretch too far...
“You can switch out sharkskin for dinosaur, but those teeth give it away.”
Growl.
“You’re still mad about that Higgins things, aren’t you? It was a great book, so what’s the prob?”
Loud growl.
“If I’d known you were going to sulk like this...geesh. Tell you what, I’ve got a bottle of single malt in my purse.”
Loud, deep growl.
“Fine. How about this—rumor has it we just got the same manuscript. I’ll spot you 24 hours. And seal the promise with a kiss.”
“Barbara, what’re you doing?”
Barbara turned around, her lips still in a pucker. “But, I thought...Hey, what’s that sound?”
“My stomach. It’s way past lunchtime, and I’m all out of chum.”
”Dino stories, aren’t they very 1980’ies?”
”Worse, Barbara, they are Cretaceous.”
”Could you perk it up? Dino the Avatar Ally? No, wait, how about a string theory setting. Today’s universe coiling back to the Cretaceous period? Nobody has done that!”
”And I won’t. I just want to tell it as it was – how I worked all that havoc and here I am, so lonely. Nobody else survived.”
”Too depressing, won’t sell.”
”I thought perhaps people would want to know…”
”You’re a dreamer. Try someone like Janet Reid, instead. Sentimental type. I’ve got to go. Give us a kiss!”
I wasn’t smooching I was smelling -the sweetest breath any fire breather could breathe - warm and lush like Jurassic Park in July.
Behind him, the man in glasses holding the leash, his owner, the intellectual equivalent of Brad Pitt in a loincloth.
To have the owner I had to love his pet. How could I not love a pet that does not shed, a domesticated dino needing to be fed only once a week? (The neighbor’s insolent children look delectable). How could I not want the keeper? I am a leash and collar kind of girl.
Barbara’s lips neared closer to her lover’s outstretched jaw – a drawer of polished knives – as her husband, hidden behind glasses, looked on. She desperately wanted to return to a simpler time – a Jurassic time – when relationships were filled with nothing but animal lust.
As she kissed the creature – soft, moist lips against scaly, dry skin – an unsettling feeling washed over her like a blanket of sea foam. She tried to move, but could not. Forever in that awkward pose, Barbara could only watch as the creature walked away, leaving her behind, frozen and unmoved, with her cross-armed husband.
I'd spent my day listening to colleagues crying that the eBook was the future, that traditional publishing is gone forever. "Look at those Amazon figures!" they yelled. "Paper is dead!"
Much in need of a martini, I headed to the bar. And met Rex. What a guy. He may be a dinosaur, but he knows how a REAL book should feel.
Yet all good things have to end. As we shared our final kiss, I whispered into his rugged ear:
"Let me tell you my secret, dahling. Electronic or paper, we sharks will survive... because we Keep. On. Swimming."
The kiss was a mistake, but it had been witnessed, and their liaisons confirmed.
Barbara Poelle’s new lover would just not do. It did have something to do with his irreversible skin damage (her kind SPF 50 suggestion was ignored), and a habit of snarling at everything she said.
One day, maybe in a year, it would all seem foolish and perhaps even extraordinary that she went to such lengths to save their relationship in public, but right now it was all about playing the part.
Embellished blouse? Check.
Guy in backpack? Check.
Regret captured forever on camera? Check. Check.
Poor Henry.
Nobody understands him.
He is one of those dinos that sometimes just has a little too much to drink and a little too much to say.
And, it doesn't help that his laugh is just a tad bit too obstreperous.
But, when Henry's baby fell in the crinkum-crankum river, Barbara Poelle knew it wasn't his fault.
Why, she just jumped right in and saved that child.
She was the only one who came to his rescue.
She understood.
Maybe it's because sometimes, she too, has a little too much to drink and a little too much to say.
“That is such crap,” said Tyr.
“I’m telling you, T. It works.” Kaiser said.
“You just have to try it.”
“OK, ok… tell me again. What do I do?”
“When you find a human female, you tell her,” Kaiser paused, and added, “Butcha’ gotta seem sad. But sincere,”
“Sad and sincere. I got it,” said Tyr.
“You tell her, that if she kisses you, you will become a handsome prince.”
“And she’ll believe me?”
“Not only will she believe you, she’ll be happy to do it.”
“And that’s how I get a happy meal?”
“That, my friend, is how you get a happy meal.”
They say dreams sometimes forget to disconnect when sleepers awaken. Seems as plausible an excuse as any for what happened to Barbara Poelle.
I rarely saw her; usually at the grocery store. I didn’t have the kind of social life she had, so the grocery store with its formalized greetings and polite ignorings was our only connection.
Given how they found her in bed – well, most of her – I’m glad we weren’t closer. Such a bizarre loss would have been too hard.
Strangest , according to those who saw the bits of her, was her peaceful expression and kiss-poised lips.
Sure, it’s gonna to cost me a month’s pay to cover Poelle’s bar tab, but as I watched my old buddy Barney get his first play since the Jurassic, I knew my reputation as the world’s best wingman was secured.
She had searched everywhere – barns, jungles, entire islands. She’d recruited top-tier zoologists and archaeologists without success. Then, when hope seemed lost, fly-by-night paleontologist Dirk Diggler arrived in her office with super extra important information about where she could find the object of her quest.
Universal Studios!
She packed her camera and hopped on the first flight to Florida. Horses, elephants, giraffes. Even the great blue whale only came in at 8 feet. But here, in front of her, she found her Shangri-La. Too Great for Catherine, this magnificent Rex, but perfect for Ms. Poelle.
This wasn’t exactly what she’d had in mind when she’d read the note, but Barbara knew she had nothing to lose. The numbers on her watch glowed 11:59.
Crap.
She glanced at the note again.
“Kiss Rex at midnight and you shall have your PC.”
PC is Prince Charming, right? She hoped she wasn’t doing this for some dumb desktop computer. She also hoped she had the right Rex. Barbara leaned over the velvet rope at the Museum of Natural History and closed her eyes so she wouldn’t have to look at the sharp, white teeth and scaly skin.
“I’m not joking, the stupid thing won’t come off,” Mike growled.
“Try twisting instead of just pulling.” Barbara inspected the lapis lazuli ring on her hand which matched her dress so well. She was getting impatient.
“You try getting stuck in a dinosaur mask! It’s hot in here.”
“The photographer is waiting, Mike. Honestly!”
“This is the last time I volunteer to be a mascot at the Natural History Museum,” Mike huffed.
“We can’t wait any longer. At least the picture will be amusing.” Barbara puckered up and smooched the mask just as the flash went off.
The lights shimmered in the trees above, frigid and distant, like stars. Time was frozen, waiting, the earth unmoving and still. Barbara Poelle shifted near the building made of brick, her breath rising in white puffs. Would he take her back? She closed her eyes, saw moonlight in her lids. Then, he was upon her. A hazy image, white lights circled his head. She tipped her face up to the sky, let cold caress. Robert’s lips found hers. Pressing, soft, familiar. She was home, within his arms, and silently, the world once again began to turn.
In the Land of Honah Lee, Babs Poelle worked for Jackie Paper in his veterinary office.
A colicky horse needed unbinding.
“What shall we do?” asked farmer Jose.
“Why I shall apply warm water with a hose until he blows.
Babs, twitch the horse,” commanded Dr. Paper.
Poelle hesitated.
“Babs, strap a loop of leather around the horse’s ear and twist until he stands still.”
Later, a colicky Puff the Magic Dragon sauntered in needing the same.
“His ears are too leathery to twitch,” whined Poelle.
“Just do whatever it takes to scare him and make him hold still!”
Barbara stumbled into the kitchen. Swaying, holding onto the counter with one hand, she poured herself a cup of coffee and launched two aspirin down her throat.
She noticed the shark sitting at the kitchen table, up early rejecting queries.
“Looks like someone had their beer goggles on last night.”
“Don’t you dare post that on FaceBook.”
“Oh, don’t worry. Not going on FaceBook. It’s going on my blog.”
The shark laughed. She had the upper hand.
The slithery one picked at the remnants of dried bar food on her shirt, praying she had not given it her number.
Not an entry, just a friendly question:
Have you checked the lock on your liquor cabinet lately? 'Cause it looks to me like at least one of them is drunk.
Despite the recent and scandalous revelation about Barbara’s herpetophilic tendencies (the couples therapist said it was nothing to be alarmed about), Mitch was supportive of her need to change careers mid-life. What he didn’t anticipate was that the fetish would manifest itself so publicly after just two appletinis, innocently imbibed during the “Meet-n-Greet” portion of their first attendance at the North American Paleontological Convention. Lesson learned: if your woman says she loves tight swimming trunks, wear a pair…don’t take her to the Speedo show during Fashion Week. It becomes socially problematic and you end up looking like a cuckold.
Why kiss a dino's teeth? A lost bet, of course.
It was either the dino or the shark, and well... I'm straight.
Breathless, Barbara fought his talon-like grasp. “Lord Tyrannostoneageington! I know your reputation for devouring women, especially bluestockings like me."
"Do you mistake me for a savage caveman, Lady Dreamkiller?" His lips pulled back in a toothy, yet teasing, smile. "The truth might surprise you!"
Who was this man? His face was unreadable, like a Tweet from a teenager. She girded her loins (narrowly avoiding a Charlie Horse) -- the Society Against WereAnimals and Tepid Tea relied on her to uncover his darkest secrets.
He leaned in, his reptilian eyes flashing with bone-crunching hunger. She closed her eyes and puckered up…
"It wasn't a kiss," she insisted as she touched up her makeup.
"Sure it wasn't." Her rival, 'The Shark', rolled her eyes.
"No, I'm serious."
"Ok, so what was it?" The sarcasm was palpable.
"I was having a look in its mouth."
The shark snorted. "Sure. And the pucker?"
"It was a weird face. I was standing on tiptoes."
"Yeah, well, we'll see what our associates have to say about this," she said, waving the camera that held the evidence.
"Whatever."
The Shark departed. Glancing at the bathroom door, Barbara reached for her lipstick and slowly licked her lips.
“Do you know what would really turn me on?”
“Tell me, Martin.” Barbara ran her finger along the museum curators jaw.
“I want you to do something for me.” Martin fidgeted with his glasses and pointed to the T-Rex exhibit.
Barbara waited impatiently for his request.
“Kiss Dorothy while I watch from her rump.”
“Dorothy?”
“She is my carnivorous muse.”
Barbara hesitated, unsure if she could fulfill his latest fantasy. The stunt with the caveman mannequin left her with a sprained ankle.
Martin pulled her tight to his waist and she went weak in his arms.
“Of course, Martin.”
Bad enough she came with him, but to kiss Dinoshark on the red carpet, before the lightning storm of paparazzi? “Barbara! Barbara! Here! Dino, look this way!” The photo would be all over the rags by Monday and he could see the headline from here: “Dinoshark in Love?” A tear, unbidden, threatened to overflow from Sharktopus’ eye. A single tentacle wiped it away. The limo door opened. Expectant faces glowed. This was HIS Syfy Premiere, by God, and no two-bit trollop was going to ruin it. And like his momma told him, there’s plenty of fish in the sea.
Hiya, Barbie Poelle. I’m an emerging writer of great literary merit, and I know you’ll agree that my magnus opus, Snot-Blowing Motivation, is ‘too good to be true’. My mom read the bits I’ve finished, and says it’s alot better than the drivel on the market today.
So, Babs, my fiction novel is currently self-represented, but I’m now interviewing a few prospective agents. If you want a shot at the major leagues, you’re gonna have to give me a smooch. No? What if I told you Janet Reid has already offered? Yeah, I thought so. Pucker up, baby!
Barbara Poelle Came To Be Smooching a carnotaurus from the Dinosaur ride at Disney's Animal Kingdom. This dinosaur is the scariest creature to jump out at you during a meteor shower since Janet Reid on 2012. Barbara Poelle is fearless. She's my new hero!
“Ever notice how manuscripts resemble romances?” said Kathleen.
“Like ‘love at first sight’? Those are my favorites,” said Barbara.
Kathleen frowned. “I hate it when they end up being ‘sorry, I’m taken’ or ‘the unobtainable’. I’ve found ‘arranged marriages’ can be nice.”
Barbara nodded. “But no ‘opposites attract’. That doesn’t work.”
“So many ‘long distance relationships’ out there waiting. I want to take a big bite out of them.”
“I can see why Janet calls you Baby TRex.” Barbara gave Kathleen a kiss on the cheek. “Speaking of my ‘love triangle’, she’s right on time. Where to for drinks, girls?”
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