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  • Pauline Hamilton
    Hi guys, Wings sent in some writing prompts this week.. one was about Emma, well it started me writing after a bit of a break, and this one will be my first
    Message 1 of 3 , Jun 26, 2011
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      Hi guys,
      Wings sent in some writing prompts this week.. one was about Emma, well it started me writing after a bit of a break, and this one will be my first popular fiction book.. if it gets that far.. So all feedback appreciated.. Thanks

      ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

      Taunted (Chapter 1)

      Sarah
      18th June 2011
      Some mornings I wake and I can feel you with me. In those delicious moments I can still feel your breath sighing against the nape of my neck, the brush of your fingertips as you sweep my hair aside, the tingle of your lips as they touch beneath my ear lobe, then the sensation of you sucking at my skin, attempting to leave another forbidden love bite where only you and I will know of its existence beneath my shoulder length hair. I smile softly remembering how often you would curse my hair, stray strands curling against your nose, making you sneeze, followed by a quick apology and a contented sigh. "Ahh Sarah, how I love your hair, it always smells of spring." To which I would always reply "It smells of Pantene" and the two of us would smile at our differences, your determined romanticism, my settled pragmatist. Some mornings are like that.
      Those memories though are always short lived, my tingling reminiscences quickly replaced by the unwelcome memory of the ring of the doorbell at half five in the morning, Sunday 15th of May. Stumbling blearily to the door, wearing what clothes I could lay my hands on that moment, my pair of loose fitting grey tracksuit pants, and a paint splattered sweatshirt, I yelled at the closed door as I came down the stairs, "Liam, this time I am stapling those bloody front door keys to your hand".
      That was when I knew. In the moment when you didn't respond with your usual "Ahh sure, Sarah, you'd only be sleeping."
      They didn't enjoy it either, Liam, those two officers. . It was Tomas Flaherty and Niamh O'Keeffe that came. Both of them knowing you well, in small towns like ours they always do, police and community. You would have been surprised how well they knew you that morning. They knew your date of birth, but them Tomas always did, having been your closest friend since school days. They knew your car registration, make and model, something I never did. I know it used to always frustrate you, when I used to get lost in the car parks at the shopping centres, although for the first few years of our relationship you found it funny, sitting for a while watching me looking carefully into every dark grey four door car for some sort of recognition. It was when you realised that I truly couldn't tell a Ford Focus from a BMW 5 series, and hung a Garfield cat soft toy from the rear view mirror, despite your hate of hanging ornaments in cars, that I knew I had met "the one" - someone who knew my greatest weaknesses and still loved me.
      "I'll look after you, Sarah Aisling Roche" you would say, with a smile that used to melt my bones.
      "That's Dr Sarah Roche to you," I would reply, and we both would laugh, knowing my PHD in Classical Studies was really only ever used for that sentence.
      They knew that day where you had been, BallynaGeery, or something like that. I have to admit Liam, I don't remember you ever mentioning the place, some place with a steep windy road, some place where you failed to take a corner, and wrapped your beautiful smile around a tree. They knew how long you had lain there before another car passed by. . Four hours. Four hours of miserable rain, and near gale force winds. The one question they didn't seen to be able to answer was whether you had died straight away, or had lain cold and wet and in pain for a time. A strange look passed between them when I asked them that, but I needed to know. It made a difference to me, you see. The one thing I needed to know, and they couldn't say. Or maybe wouldn't say. I forgot to ask them which.
      The days have passed surprisingly quickly, considering. Maybe they have all just merged into one. People keep arriving at the door, reminding me to eat, as if filling my stomach somehow will fill my heart. I tore another page off the calendar this morning and its a month since the funeral. Your months mass is tomorrow, I know because your mother calls every day. It's like a count down for her, like some milestone she has to attain, a place of safety if only she can reach it. For me the days are long, and the nights are longer, broken only by the incessant witterings of well meaning friends. Maybe your mother is right. Once we get past this next milestone, this months mass, they will all feck off and leave me alone.
      I know you dont like it when I say things like that. I can hear your soft laugh "Ahh, Sarah, they mean well."
      How many ahhs in a lifetime, Liam? I only know that there wasn't enough time to use all yours up. I want one more whispered ahh. . .
      Some mornings I wake and I think I can hear you sighing, I think I hear you whispering my name, I think I feel your hand hovered above my waist, uncertain of whether your need for me is more important than my few more minutes slumber. I was never still sleeping you know, just laying there waiting, enjoying the fact that you wanted me close to you, that you wanted to make love to me, but hesitated, out of care, out of love. Some mornings my need for you spreads through me like an electric current, singeing my fingertips, as it clamours to escape.
      Some mornings are like that.
      ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
      Thanks

      Pauline Hamilton

      Dance where you can, love where you dare,
      Joy is not finished with you yet....

    • Wings081
      Dear Pauline Couple of minor errors: but them Tomas always did should read but THEN Tomas always did Further on: The one question they didn t seen to be
      Message 2 of 3 , Jun 27, 2011
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        Dear Pauline

        Couple of minor errors:
        "but them Tomas always did" should read " but THEN Tomas always did"

        Further on:
        "The one question they didn't seen to be able to answer"

        'Seen' should be 'SEEM'.

        Some few weeks back I submitted an article called: "Ashes to Ashes"
        after attending the funeral of a friend of long standing.
        I had an e-mail from his widow last night telling me how much she missed her husband and that she had made a special place in her garden where she scattered some of his ashes and now sits by that patch talking to him much the same as your latest piece about Sarah.
        The remainder of his ashes she is taking to Thailand and scattering at their favourite holiday resort when he was alive.

        Loss of a deep love is like a knife in the heart.
        When I lost my wife I refused to change our bed sheets until it was becoming decidely unhealthy.Life goes on but at times it seems hardly worth the effort.

        As always
        Wings.


        --- In ticket2write@yahoogroups.com, Pauline Hamilton <phamilton66nz@...> wrote:
        >
        > Hi guys,
        >
        > Wings sent in some writing prompts this week.. one was about Emma, well it started me writing after a bit of a break, and this one will be my first popular fiction book.. if it gets that far.. So all feedback appreciated.. Thanks
        >
        >
        > ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
        >
        > Taunted (Chapter 1)
        >
        > Sarah
        > 18th June 2011
        > Some mornings I wake and I can feel you with me. In those
        > delicious moments I can still feel your breath sighing against the
        > nape of my neck, the brush of your fingertips as you sweep my hair
        > aside, the tingle of your lips as they touch beneath my ear lobe,
        > then the sensation of you sucking at my skin, attempting to leave
        > another forbidden love bite where only you and I will know of its
        > existence beneath my shoulder length hair. I smile softly remembering
        > how often you would curse my hair, stray strands curling against your
        > nose, making you sneeze, followed by a quick apology and a contented
        > sigh. "Ahh Sarah, how I love your hair, it always smells of
        > spring." To which I would always reply "It smells of
        > Pantene" and the two of us would smile at our differences, your
        > determined romanticism, my settled pragmatist. Some mornings are
        > like that.
        > Those memories though are always short lived, my tingling
        > reminiscences quickly replaced by the unwelcome memory of the ring of
        > the doorbell at half five in the morning, Sunday 15th of May.
        > Stumbling blearily to the door, wearing what clothes I could lay my
        > hands on that moment, my pair of loose fitting grey tracksuit pants,
        > and a paint splattered sweatshirt, I yelled at the closed door as I
        > came down the stairs, "Liam, this time I am stapling those
        > bloody front door keys to your hand".
        > That was when I knew. In the moment when you didn't respond with
        > your usual "Ahh sure, Sarah, you'd only be sleeping."
        > They didn't enjoy it either, Liam, those two officers. . It was
        > Tomas Flaherty and Niamh O'Keeffe that came. Both of them knowing
        > you well, in small towns like ours they always do, police and
        > community. You would have been surprised how well they knew you that
        > morning. They knew your date of birth, but them Tomas always did,
        > having been your closest friend since school days. They knew your car
        > registration, make and model, something I never did. I know it used
        > to always frustrate you, when I used to get lost in the car parks at
        > the shopping centres, although for the first few years of our
        > relationship you found it funny, sitting for a while watching me
        > looking carefully into every dark grey four door car for some sort of
        > recognition. It was when you realised that I truly couldn't tell a
        > Ford Focus from a BMW 5 series, and hung a Garfield cat soft toy from
        > the rear view mirror, despite your hate of hanging ornaments in cars,
        > that I knew I had met "the one" - someone who knew my
        > greatest weaknesses and still loved me.
        > "I'll look after you, Sarah Aisling Roche" you would
        > say, with a smile that used to melt my bones.
        > "That's Dr Sarah Roche to you," I would reply, and we
        > both would laugh, knowing my PHD in Classical Studies was really only
        > ever used for that sentence.
        > They knew that day where you had been, BallynaGeery, or something
        > like that. I have to admit Liam, I don't remember you ever mentioning
        > the place, some place with a steep windy road, some place where you
        > failed to take a corner, and wrapped your beautiful smile around a
        > tree. They knew how long you had lain there before another car passed
        > by. . Four hours. Four hours of miserable rain, and near gale force
        > winds. The one question they didn't seen to be able to answer was
        > whether you had died straight away, or had lain cold and wet and in
        > pain for a time. A strange look passed between them when I asked them
        > that, but I needed to know. It made a difference to me, you see. The
        > one thing I needed to know, and they couldn't say. Or maybe wouldn't
        > say. I forgot to ask them which.
        > The days have passed surprisingly quickly, considering. Maybe they
        > have all just merged into one. People keep arriving at the door,
        > reminding me to eat, as if filling my stomach somehow will fill my
        > heart. I tore another page off the calendar this morning and its a
        > month since the funeral. Your months mass is tomorrow, I know because
        > your mother calls every day. It's like a count down for her, like
        > some milestone she has to attain, a place of safety if only she can
        > reach it. For me the days are long, and the nights are longer, broken
        > only by the incessant witterings of well meaning friends. Maybe your
        > mother is right. Once we get past this next milestone, this months
        > mass, they will all feck off and leave me alone.
        > I know you dont like it when I say things like that. I can hear
        > your soft laugh "Ahh, Sarah, they mean well."
        > How many ahhs in a lifetime, Liam? I only know that there wasn't
        > enough time to use all yours up. I want one more whispered ahh. . .
        > Some mornings I wake and I think I can hear you sighing, I think I
        > hear you whispering my name, I think I feel your hand hovered above
        > my waist, uncertain of whether your need for me is more important
        > than my few more minutes slumber. I was never still sleeping you
        > know, just laying there waiting, enjoying the fact that you wanted me
        > close to you, that you wanted to make love to me, but hesitated, out
        > of care, out of love. Some mornings my need for you spreads through
        > me like an electric current, singeing my fingertips, as it clamours
        > to escape.
        > Some mornings are like that.
        > ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
        > Thanks
        >
        >
        > Pauline Hamilton
        >
        > Dance where you can, love where you dare,
        > Joy is not finished with you yet....
        >
      • Carol C
        Hi Pauline, If this is the beginning of a new project, keep going. I have a few suggestions as well. I would like the beginning to be stronger. It is all
        Message 3 of 3 , Jul 1, 2011
        • 0 Attachment
          Hi Pauline,
          If this is the beginning of a new project, keep going. I have a few suggestions as well. I would like the beginning to be stronger. It is all internal conversation told from first person POV. The piece could be made stronger with some dialogue, woven with more concrete physical descriptions of the characters, especially Sarah. We get a bit of Liam, but all I get of Sarah is that she has shoulder length hair. Also, the piece could shift the POV from Sarah telling to showing a scene of her and Liam making love. I also would like more of a "hook" to draw me into the story right up front.
          I really like the end of the piece which demonstrates a great deal of tenderness from Liam. This may need to stay in an internal conversation, but maybe try to show instead and see how it feels.
          Hope this helps,
          Carol

          --- In ticket2write@yahoogroups.com, Pauline Hamilton <phamilton66nz@...> wrote:
          >
          > Hi guys,
          >
          > Wings sent in some writing prompts this week.. one was about Emma, well it started me writing after a bit of a break, and this one will be my first popular fiction book.. if it gets that far.. So all feedback appreciated.. Thanks
          >
          >
          > ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
          >
          > Taunted (Chapter 1)
          >
          > Sarah
          > 18th June 2011
          > Some mornings I wake and I can feel you with me. In those
          > delicious moments I can still feel your breath sighing against the
          > nape of my neck, the brush of your fingertips as you sweep my hair
          > aside, the tingle of your lips as they touch beneath my ear lobe,
          > then the sensation of you sucking at my skin, attempting to leave
          > another forbidden love bite where only you and I will know of its
          > existence beneath my shoulder length hair. I smile softly remembering
          > how often you would curse my hair, stray strands curling against your
          > nose, making you sneeze, followed by a quick apology and a contented
          > sigh. "Ahh Sarah, how I love your hair, it always smells of
          > spring." To which I would always reply "It smells of
          > Pantene" and the two of us would smile at our differences, your
          > determined romanticism, my settled pragmatist. Some mornings are
          > like that.
          > Those memories though are always short lived, my tingling
          > reminiscences quickly replaced by the unwelcome memory of the ring of
          > the doorbell at half five in the morning, Sunday 15th of May.
          > Stumbling blearily to the door, wearing what clothes I could lay my
          > hands on that moment, my pair of loose fitting grey tracksuit pants,
          > and a paint splattered sweatshirt, I yelled at the closed door as I
          > came down the stairs, "Liam, this time I am stapling those
          > bloody front door keys to your hand".
          > That was when I knew. In the moment when you didn't respond with
          > your usual "Ahh sure, Sarah, you'd only be sleeping."
          > They didn't enjoy it either, Liam, those two officers. . It was
          > Tomas Flaherty and Niamh O'Keeffe that came. Both of them knowing
          > you well, in small towns like ours they always do, police and
          > community. You would have been surprised how well they knew you that
          > morning. They knew your date of birth, but them Tomas always did,
          > having been your closest friend since school days. They knew your car
          > registration, make and model, something I never did. I know it used
          > to always frustrate you, when I used to get lost in the car parks at
          > the shopping centres, although for the first few years of our
          > relationship you found it funny, sitting for a while watching me
          > looking carefully into every dark grey four door car for some sort of
          > recognition. It was when you realised that I truly couldn't tell a
          > Ford Focus from a BMW 5 series, and hung a Garfield cat soft toy from
          > the rear view mirror, despite your hate of hanging ornaments in cars,
          > that I knew I had met "the one" - someone who knew my
          > greatest weaknesses and still loved me.
          > "I'll look after you, Sarah Aisling Roche" you would
          > say, with a smile that used to melt my bones.
          > "That's Dr Sarah Roche to you," I would reply, and we
          > both would laugh, knowing my PHD in Classical Studies was really only
          > ever used for that sentence.
          > They knew that day where you had been, BallynaGeery, or something
          > like that. I have to admit Liam, I don't remember you ever mentioning
          > the place, some place with a steep windy road, some place where you
          > failed to take a corner, and wrapped your beautiful smile around a
          > tree. They knew how long you had lain there before another car passed
          > by. . Four hours. Four hours of miserable rain, and near gale force
          > winds. The one question they didn't seen to be able to answer was
          > whether you had died straight away, or had lain cold and wet and in
          > pain for a time. A strange look passed between them when I asked them
          > that, but I needed to know. It made a difference to me, you see. The
          > one thing I needed to know, and they couldn't say. Or maybe wouldn't
          > say. I forgot to ask them which.
          > The days have passed surprisingly quickly, considering. Maybe they
          > have all just merged into one. People keep arriving at the door,
          > reminding me to eat, as if filling my stomach somehow will fill my
          > heart. I tore another page off the calendar this morning and its a
          > month since the funeral. Your months mass is tomorrow, I know because
          > your mother calls every day. It's like a count down for her, like
          > some milestone she has to attain, a place of safety if only she can
          > reach it. For me the days are long, and the nights are longer, broken
          > only by the incessant witterings of well meaning friends. Maybe your
          > mother is right. Once we get past this next milestone, this months
          > mass, they will all feck off and leave me alone.
          > I know you dont like it when I say things like that. I can hear
          > your soft laugh "Ahh, Sarah, they mean well."
          > How many ahhs in a lifetime, Liam? I only know that there wasn't
          > enough time to use all yours up. I want one more whispered ahh. . .
          > Some mornings I wake and I think I can hear you sighing, I think I
          > hear you whispering my name, I think I feel your hand hovered above
          > my waist, uncertain of whether your need for me is more important
          > than my few more minutes slumber. I was never still sleeping you
          > know, just laying there waiting, enjoying the fact that you wanted me
          > close to you, that you wanted to make love to me, but hesitated, out
          > of care, out of love. Some mornings my need for you spreads through
          > me like an electric current, singeing my fingertips, as it clamours
          > to escape.
          > Some mornings are like that.
          > ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
          > Thanks
          >
          >
          > Pauline Hamilton
          >
          > Dance where you can, love where you dare,
          > Joy is not finished with you yet....
          >
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