Nicola and "The Writer Lady"

As of this month, I have entered my upcoming novel “Maypops in September” in several competitions, the results of which should be so exciting! Of course – and perhaps inevitably – the submissions have caused a bit of anxiety, which has spilled over into the lives of my characters . . . Well, here is a glimpse of what this looks like:

John Rush sits in the slatted sunlight leaking through the window blinds, guitar in his lap, cigarette forgotten in the ashtray. He’s working out the bumps to Heart Shaped Box and watching his wife, who lies supine on the floor in front of him. She’s in sweats and a dago tee, blonde curls haloing her head. Biceps flex and knot – she lifts the kettle bell over her head, lowers it again, slowly.

                “The Writer Lady’s coming over again today.” Bob O’Neill leans in the kitchen doorway, tall coffee cradled in his broad hand.

                “Ah God.” Nicola lets the weight drop over her head, rattling the floor, huffing her indignation. “She wants to work on me.”

                “Easy, babe.” Rush’s fingers pause over the strings and then find the melody again. “She’s just trying to help.”

                “I’m not sure I even want people to like me.” Nicola sits up, pushes her hair back with the flat of her palm. Sweat glistens on her shoulders and arms, darkening her firefighter tattoo. “Why do they have to like me?”

                “It’s all about her Amazon and Goodreads rank.” Bobby flops on the other end of the couch and bats at Rush’s cigarette smoke. “You’re holding the rest of us back.”

                “Bob.” Rush cautions his friend with one word, brows raised minimally. Picks his cigarette up and inhales deliberately.

                “Not true!” Nicola pulls an ugly mug, bottom lip thrust out. “And why the hell am I the main character anyway? I don’t even like talking to her.”

                “Work on it, sugar.” Rush exhales a nicotine cloud, ragged plume settling just in front of Bobby’s face. “Might be important, right?”

                “Not.” Nicola scoffs. “Look, the writer lady has a real job when she’s not hanging with us. Why doesn’t she just stay in her stupid fire station and leave us alone?”

                “I dunno.” Bobby has settled behind the smoke screen, cobalt eyes half closed behind his glasses. “She found Sophie for me. That was good.”

                “Yup.” Rush is strumming his guitar again, not looking at his wife. “And she lets us have all the booze and sex  and cigarettes we want. That’s worth a lot.”

                “Fine!” Nicola tugs her hair in frustration. “What do I have to do?”

                “Tell her who you are.”  Rush’s words flow over the music; in the next room The Writer Lady catches her breath in anticipation, and fumbles her Tablet out of her purse. “Just tell her who you are.”
 

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New to Lucy Crowe? Get to know Nicola and Rush in her first novel "Sugar Man's Daughter," and join the mailing list for blog posts and updates on "Maypops in September"

 Sugar Man's Daughter

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"But a Necessity" : Rainy Days, Updates, and an Excerpt

Showers are but a necessity

Splashed to chase the thirst away -

                                    Theodora Onken 

Ohmygosh, what an insane week this has been, everything from fires to flooding in our little area, and multiple calls in both stations. We’ve outdone ourselves with basement pump-outs, gas leaks and rescue calls, whew. Spring is here, loud and brash! This picture is of an old bridge in our area finally giving way to the flood waters; when the news carried this, they called our creek a river, which made us all smile. By July, you’ll be able to take your kids wading without a problem.

Much the same chaos in the writing world! This week, I have joined Linked and Scribd, and two other online groups as well, in an effort to float my stories out to you! Too much, you say?? Perhaps! Time will tell, lol. In the meanwhile, I am excited – yes, truly! – to be diving into the second round of edits on my novel. I am relieved to note that very few corrections are needed, but more than that, I am thrilled that I still like my characters. I had worried that after this brief hiatus away from them, they might have gone stale for me, but thankfully this is not the case. Below I’m posting an excerpt from an early chapter where my two main characters, John Santiago and Nicola Thomas have their first significant encounter. Let me know what you think!

In the big bedroom upstairs, she burrowed, still dressed, beneath the covers, and watched him as he took off his shirt and set his wallet on the nightstand. He played with the notion of removing more clothing, but in the end stretched out beside her in his wife beater and dress slacks.

“That’s a great tattoo,” she whispered, tracing a delicate finger along his right bicep. “Oh my, it’s a really big black bear claw. Boy scouts?”

“No sweetie, not quite.” Distracted by her nearness, the swell of her hip beneath the blankets, he did not elaborate, instead brushed a kiss across the base of her throat.

“What else?” She had stiffened at his touch.

He obediently turned to show her his other bicep, the semper fi inked in red there.

“Marines?”

“A few years ago.”

“I can’t have sex with you.”

“Well, sugar puss, I never asked you to,” he said gently. “I guess we’ll either get around to it or we won’t, okay?”

“I can’t because I think it might hurt. I lost a baby and I’m sore inside and what did you call me?”

He allowed himself a moment to decipher her rushed words, to net the crucial part of her message. “You lost a baby? Just recently?”

“About a month ago,” she nodded. “And I know I’m all right, but I don’t feel so good, okay?”

“Not okay. Did you go to a doctor?”

“Yes, I got all cleaned out inside. It was horrible.”

“And?”

“And now I just feel puny. Like a stupid old hollowed-out pumpkin.” She squeezed her eyes closed as though to hide from him. “I’m sorry I got you here in my bed and now I won’t do it with you and…and I’m sorry, okay?”

“Sweetheart, please slow down.” His hands found her beneath the blankets, and he rubbed her belly where her shirt rode up. “Tell me about it.”

“I hated that baby. So much. I just wished it away until it was gone.”

“No, that’s not how that works, chica. Unless some money changed hands?”

At last she turned on her side to look at him. “I’ve only ever slept with Tony. I was so sure I loved him.”

“Well then, you probably did. Do you still?”

“No, not at all.”

“Okay then.”

“What about your Cindy?”

“What about Cindy? There is no Cindy. Poof, she’s gone, okay?” He tucked the comforter around her shoulders. “And you and me, chica, we’re only laying here, all our clothes on, see? Nothing to fret about.”

“Okay.” She knuckled her eyes and linked her fingers into prayer position beneath her chin. “I have to sleep, I feel a little sick and dizzy, okay?”

“Close your eyes, munequita.” He reached for the lamp switch, throwing them into darkness, and returned his hand to the warm patch of skin between shirt hem and pajama bottom.

“I’m sorry I’m such a freakin’ disappointment,” she murmured into her pillow and he had to strain to catch her words.

“Not to worry, sweetie.”  

Easily said, but he knew that he would lie awake for the next few hours. That, another day, he would examine his reasons for staying, and come away uncertain.

An Introduction by Author Lucy Crowe

Hello! I’m so excited to be writing my first-ever blog - mostly, I think, because I have known from a very early age that much of life deserves to be recorded. I was the nerd kid on the school bus with a notebook in my lap, the teenager stuffing her journal under her mattress, and now, the book mouse at the fire station who is forever plugging away on the lap top.

It’s okay! I’ve found love and acceptance amongst my peers in spite of my oddity!

About that.

Webster’s defines a peer as “a person who is equal to another in abilities, qualifications, age, background and social status,” but the thesaurus nails the relationship in a far clearer fashion with “cohort, buddy, partner.”

My peers are EMTs and firefighters. They populate two separate and very rural fire stations and share my life – my coffee, my sleeping bag, my little-pink-sugars – for days at a time. Ours is a unique existence, in which we are not only dependent on each other in so many ways, but we also actually live together. This situation, combined with the occasional hair-raising adrenaline-laced call, has made for more than one intriguing tale.

Which brings me to my second group of peers – the story-tellers. These folks share my gift/eccentricity/curse.  They understand my endless quest to set life to words, to form pretty phrases around the blasé for maximum palatability. Mostly, we exist for each other within our laptop screens, where we buzz encouragement back and forth via emails and writer’s forums. And so, ours is an unusual, but highly valued rapport. A kinship, of sorts.

Beyond peers, of course – and certainly of more importance – is my family. A husband and children who never quit shining for me, loving parents, brilliant and noisy siblings.  They give my days texture and beauty, and their personalities have breathed life into year upon year of my existence.

As well as filling out the pages of my stories.

And so - much to write about! And many reasons to be happy!

Thank you so much for visiting my brand new blog! I hope to see you again!

Here is a picture of my lovely kitty Gothika, who generally answers to the absurd and disgraceful nickname of Fatman. He has been perched on the back of my chair, just over my shoulder, throughout the entirety of this posting, and was most insulted when I failed to mention him in my circle of loved ones. His expression could only be described as “apoplectic”, lol.

Yes, this is him. “Admire,” says he