Jill Hughey

Bad Karma on First Sight Saturday #firstmeeting #excerpt

Jill Hughey — Sat, 02 Aug 2014 11:00:22 +0000

Each week I welcome a guest author to share a first meeting excerpt. Today, J.D. Faver brings us Bad Karma — well, not literally we hope — her romantic suspense/thriller featuring a super-smart heroine and a beach setting, perfect for a summer read!

Here is a fun fact about J.D. in her own words: I spent 7 years actively racing catamarans off of the same beaches in this series. Though the other racers were out to beat me, no one ever tried to kill me…at least not so I noticed.

Sounds like fun, and definitely fits you into the “write what you know” category of smart authors. Now, on to the story.

Setup of scene: Cassie is a brilliant geek who has graduated with a Master’s degree in Biology, and she has a teaching job in the fall at the local high school. Her older sister, a nurse, has attracted a stalker and moved in with her at South Padre Island, so they are new to the island. She has taken a summer job to help with finances until school starts. Cassie believes that her extreme braininess make her less attractive to the opposite sex.

EXCERPT

Cassie tied on her cross-trainers and sprinted down the stairs. She set out jogging in the sand.

Inhaling the fresh ocean air was exhilarating. She pulled the scrunchy out of her hair, letting it cascade around her shoulders, the tendrils lifting in the offshore breeze. She should be able to get in a couple of miles today and work up to something more challenging.

Her gait was easy, and her breathing unstrained. The soft white sand was resilient and packed closer to the water. Gulls circled over the shrimp boats as they chugged back and forth across the bay

As she jogged, she saw a distant vehicle, a red truck with oversized tires pulled up to the dunes and a lone figure standing in the surf. Not standing, he was casting a giant rod out into the frothing waves.

Cassie ran toward him, not intending to acknowledge him, but aware that this part of the beach was isolated and she hadn’t seen another human since she’d begun her run.

Not to worry. Nobody’s stalking me.

But then again, why borrow trouble? She would run by this guy and maybe he’d be gone by the time she made the return trip.

She drew nearer, watching him cast, his broad, powerful shoulders lunging into the effort of hurling the line out into the water. As his muscular arms arced overhead, his lats formed a perfect vee down to his butt.

Cassie experienced a thrill of pure pleasure. Dang! That’s hot!

His skin was browned and his dark hair had been trimmed close to his scalp.

Cassie jogged by, trying not to gawk, but the man didn’t notice, so intent was he upon his task. She felt a tiny bit disappointed that he didn’t pay any attention to her passing by.

She lifted her chin and continued on her way. Not the first hot guy to ignore me. Probably won’t be the last.

She jogged for a while, until she began to feel the first symptoms of fatigue and then turned back the way she had come. She had slowed down to a walk by the time she saw the fisherman again.

He had caught a six-foot sand shark and dragged it onto the beach. He looked up and grinned as she approached. “How was your run?” Dark eyes checked her out as she neared.

“Great!” She stopped short. He did notice me. A flush of pleasure washed through her. She returned his grin. “Odontaspididae”

“Excuse me?” He looked up, frowning at her now.

“That’s the kind of shark you caught.” Don’t blow it, Cass. Don’t flex your brains in front of Mister Hotness. She ducked her head and then tossed her hair as she glanced back up at him. “I must have read that somewhere.”

He smiled again. “All I know is they taste great on the grill.”

“Really?” She opened her eyes wide and gave him a flirtatious grin. She leaned over from the waist and pretended to examine the shark closer.

“Careful,” he said. “It can still bite.”

She stepped back. “Those things are out in the water?”

He nodded. “Yeah, but don’t worry. You don’t taste that good.”

She shot him a glance. “How do you know?”

He looked back at her, flashing his wide, white-toothed grin. “To a shark. Humans don’t taste that good to them.”

“Oh, I thought you were making a personal remark about me.” She had to fight to suppress the giggle struggling to erupt from her throat when she saw his face. He can’t feel intimidated now. Must think I’m dumb as a box of rocks.

He shook his head, dimples flashing. “Vacationing?”

“Just moved here.”

He turned sharply. “Really? With your parents?”

“No, why do you ask?”

The dark eyes roamed over her again. “You look very young to be out on your own.”

She sniffed. “Well, looks can be deceiving.”

The dimples quirked again. “Just how old are you?”

The voice screaming in her head shouted, ‘none of your darned business’, but the youngest Danforth daughter replied politely and truthfully, “I’m twenty.”

He grinned. “So old?”

“Bite me!” She turned and began her run again, kicking her legs out like she had done when she was in high school track.

“Hey! Slow down!”

Surprised, she slowed to a stop. Mister Hotness had chased after her. She glared up at him, her lower jaw jutting out.

“Hey, I didn’t mean anything by that. Don’t get mad at me.” He reached out and put his hand on her arm.

Her eyes followed his muscular hand as he gave her arm a squeeze. “Watch the hand,” she enunciated carefully. “I have black belts in karate and tai kwan do. I can kick your ass all over this beach.”

“Really?” He chuckled softly. “Let me start all over again. My name is Javier Rios. My friends call me Javi.” He held out his hand to her.

She eyed it suspiciously, then put her hand in his. “I’m Cassidy Danforth.”

“I didn’t mean to offend you,” he said. “You’re just…young to be so old.” He held her hand between both of his.

She drew a deep breath and let it out all in a huff. “That’s a perfect description of me.”

“Again, I apologize for insulting you. I didn’t mean it that way.” Javier’s eyes searched hers.

“Apology accepted. I have to get ready for work now.”

He ignored the slight tug of her hand, holding her a little longer. “Where do you work, Cassidy?”

“The Net. This is my first day.”

“Waitressing?”

“Delivering. I’ve really got to go.”

He raised her hand to his lips and kissed her fingers, never taking his eyes off hers. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Cassidy Danforth.”

A herd of butterflies swirled up from her stomach. She grinned, in spite of her efforts to appear cool.

Slipping her fingers from his grasp, she turned and ran back toward their home. When she glanced back, he was still watching her.

END OF EXCERPT

Both of these characters seem to be strong and smart, a great start to any sizzling romance, not to mention the sandy dunes and awesome lats.

Check out these links where you can find Bad Karma and J.D. Faver.

To buy Bad Karma: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B0081SGPZW

Website: http://www.jdfaver.com/

Facebook Page: https://www.facebook.com/JDFaver

Twitter Handle: @JDFaver_Author

Amaon Author Page: http://www.amazon.com/J.D.-Faver/e/B0050KEWMM/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_pop_1

Thanks so much for sharing the beginning of your couple’s romance with us, J.D. Faver. I know you’ll join me in welcoming any questions or comments. Visitors, remember to jog this direction every First Sight Saturday for a new first meeting excerpt from a new guest author.

Hello world!

Jill Hughey — Thu, 10 Apr 2014 11:27:09 +0000

Welcome to WordPress. This is your first post. Edit or delete it, then start blogging!

Jill Hughey — Wed, 10 Oct 2012 19:08:00 +0000

Rules of Writing

Move On and Improve

There are all kinds of rules for writers. Grammar. Formatting. Spelling. Punctuation – although did you know that colons and semicolons are old fashioned now? (I miss them.) Most of these rules are hard and fast, and you can remain safely consistent within your own body of work by choosing and using a style guide and a dictionary.

But when you venture into the craft of writing, into choices that give an author a distinct voice, rules get pretty squishy.

I originally planned to blog about a specific rule I saw this week on somebody’s Facebook post that said “Never use a long word when a shorter word will do.” I wanted to write about this because, quite frankly, it was bugging me. I certainly do not follow it in my own writing. Moreover, I love interesting word choices in everything I read and view, and I can prove it.

Case in point, my family recently watched the new movie “The Avengers”. I thought the plot line was a little weak, but the dialogue held my attention. For example, Loki, a god from another world who has come to Earth to destroy humankind, outlines his task by saying “I am burdened with glorious purpose.” He could have said “I have a job to do”, but the somewhat archaic word choices and his considering the end of our race as glorious tell the viewer a few things about Loki. Later in the film, Tony Stark describes the Hulk as “a man with breath-taking anger management issues.” Isn’t that better than “a man who gets really mad” even if it does have six more extravagant syllables?

So, anyway, as I searched to find this particular small-words-are-better-than-big-words rule, Google produced a cornucopia of writing rules from successful authors.

Wow. There are so many lists, and even more troubling, they conflict with each other.

One advises to only use “said” during dialogue and to never apply an adverb to “said”. I was a little bummed about that because one of my goals in my current WIP is to replace “said” with more descriptive verbs.

On the opposite end of the spectrum, and more to my liking, are Janet Fitch’s crafty rules that I have linked here. Janet Fitch’s 10 rules for writers

11 rules by Colson Whitehead gives some pretty broad advice for living as a writer, but he arrives at a very logical conclusion. Rule 11: There are no rules. (OMG, did you see how I blatantly used a colon there?)

Whee!! Mr. Whitehead goes on to explain what most of us have already figured out. We are all individuals. A talented writer knows whether or not to use “said”, or when to insert an adverb, or how many revisions is the right number. A less-experienced writer can hold up that author’s rules as a lens to examine his/her own craft and tighten up the loose parts, but the usefulness may end there.

Authors with a wide readership make lists of what works for them because interviewers ask them to, not because they think their rules are going to work for anyone else. We JV players on the sideline feel like we have to pay attention and we probably should. We can digest the advice for a minute or two, or even eleven, but then we need to move on and improve our own craft.

What do you think, readers and writers? Are there any rules of writing that should not be broken, or any you particularly love to break? Does anyone other than me miss the colon in fiction?

Jill Hughey — Tue, 25 Sep 2012 00:26:00 +0000

Olympic Images – beauty and achievement in motion

Author’s note: I wrote this in August but did not quite get the final touches done until now!

I am wasting my weekend watching the spectacle of the Olympics on TV. I have loved the Olympics since I was a little girl, and I keep watching even though I am thinking “I should be writing or housecleaning or….”

I just can’t tear myself away even with the incredibly repetitive commercials.

A recurring theme in my mind is how differently fabulous all the athletes’ bodies are. We are bombarded by a fashion world where female models are emaciated and male models are getting pretty lean too, where photo-shopping is standard operating procedure and manscaping is, well, I’m not even going to go there. (Apparently there is nothing safe from the razor any longer.) All for appearance. Young women at my sons’ schools are waxed, tanned, highlighted, exfoliated and polished within an inch of Miley Cyrus. My older son who is fifteen wants me to provide him with a tooth whitening kit. There is nothing wrong with the color of his teeth but he now has the media and peer-induced idea that whiter than natural is better.

I know the Olympics have evoked plenty of twitter about the hotness of the bodies and the scantiness of some “uniforms”. Honestly, I have no problem with seeing incredibly fit men and women showing some skin that, instead of being plumped with silicone inserts and smoothed with liposuction, ripples over muscle that has become fantastically toned through hours of hard work. These role models get messy hair and they sweat and grimace and grunt with effort and most of the women aren’t wearing makeup. The variety of heights, weights, and body types appears to be limitless.

But every one of these athletes has a very important thing in common. They all worked their butts off for YEARS to achieve something. They have lived apart from their families, remained on strict but healthy diets, and pushed themselves mentally and physically beyond anything most of us can imagine. No instant gratification. No roar of the crowd or paparazzi for months at a time, if ever.

Now that’s a role model.

Images from the Olympics

Jill Hughey — Sun, 29 Jul 2012 02:15:00 +0000

Is that a bleeping beaver?

– subtitle Life In The Woods

– sub-subtitle When I Write

Early on Saturday morning, when hubbie and I were fast asleep, our fifteen-year-old son’s voice roused us. “Hey guys.”

“Huh? What?” (this is us, barely coherent)

“Don’t you hear that?” He is now joined by his thirteen-year-old brother.

“Hear what?” we ask, still barely coherent.

“That banging. It sounds like someone is trying to come in the patio door.”

Flash back to July 15, the day I took a post-vacation tour around the house and discovered a 2-inch band of destruction where our vinyl-clad patio doors had been gnawed down to the composite wood. The little ledge below the glass? Gone.

Hubbie and I could now hear the noise that brought both kids into our room and it really did sound like an adult man whamming against the doors with his fist. If I hadn’t know about the creature eating our house I would have dialed 911. Pretty certain we were not in any danger, my most pressing concern was finding out what species of animal we were dealing with.

In some moment of brilliance in the mid-1990s we had asked the electrician to put a lightswitch for our outside floodlights at the top of the stairs. “OK,” I instructed the younger son. “You go stand at our bathroom window. I’m gonna turn on the lights and you watch to see what is out there.” Both boys crammed in next to the toilet, I flicked the switch, and…drum roll please…they couldn’t see anything. Hubbie and I rushed down the steps. We could see out the window about halfway down the stairs which is when I uttered the question a person never expects to ask in their own home at 1 o’clock in the morning. “Is that a *bleeping* beaver?” I am not certain I actually swore but I’m pretty sure I did.

The silhouette was definitely beaver-like but hubbie immediately said “No, its a porcupine.”

We’ve seen porcupines a few times. After all, we live in the woods smack up against a large section of game land in Pennsylvania. We once found a huge one that had been shot but lived long enough to crawl down to die along the dirt lane we live on. At the time we wondered “Why would anyone shoot a porcupine?” Now we know why. They eat your house.

So, hubbie and I walk over to the door while the kids continued to hide upstairs. I turned on the porch light. That porcupine could have cared less. He had stopped gnawing on the doors but was not at all perturbed by the light. We had a bear visit at night too, years ago. Same attitude. Yogi peeked in at me as I washed dishes then proceeded to destroy a suet feeder while we watched, took pictures, talked about him. Not bothered a bit, just like the nocturnal visitor at hand.

Hubbie — whose name is Scott, btw — kicked the door, and Porky trundled back about ten feet. Porcupines don’t move very fast. I guess when you have 30,000 barbed quills protruding out of your body you don’t need to move fast. He then stopped to peer back, as if to say, “I’m not quite done snackin’ on your door.” (From what I’ve read, animals eat composite wood because of salt/minerals in the glue.)

I was pretty annoyed by this time. I was awake. My doors were damaged. And this porcupine had some attitude I didn’t really appreciate in my wildlife. Had it never seen humans? Had the deer and squirrels not warned it about the hairless animals on two legs that carried sticks barking fire and death? I opened the door, unarmed, thinking I would show it a thing or too.

Once again, that porcupine could have cared less. I think it may have actually started coming toward me. Until I slammed the door. Apparently porcupines respond more to sound than light. It waddled further away so I opened the door again to yell at it and hiss. Scott said, “Honey, what are you doing?”

Porky looked back at my antics. By now I could read his smart-alec mind. “Lady, you want a piece of me? You really should listen to the smart human.” So I slammed the door again.

After Porky disappeared into the woods Scott said, “Well, I guess I’m gonna have to shoot it.” Only three critters who regularly interrupted our sleep have ever survived. Peter – age 15, Owen – age 13, and whatever lived in the upper corner of our bedroom wall for about 3 months in 2010.

We went back to bed but I couldn’t sleep. I actually laughed out loud, hearing myself ask if that was a beaver. My insomnia didn’t stem from fear of the obstinate porcupine or concern about the doors. I lay there writing this blog in my head. Telling the story. I do alot of plotting when I’m in the quiet darkness. After an hour or so I must have drifted off.

Owen told me he had to run Porky off again around 3AM. I guess I won’t bother applying the primer and paint I bought yet to the exposed wood.

A little research revealed that you can theoretically repel porcupines with fox or coyote urine. Wow. Imagine our surprise to find bottled red fox urine — not to be confused with gray fox urine — at a local FISH HUNT CAMP store. For just $10 you can own 16 oz. of brown fluid that smells like skunk. I have dutifully sprayed it in a perimeter around the patio with high hopes of repelling not only Porky, but the deer that are eating my hosta.

If the fox pee fails, I apologize in advance for the gunfire.