Thrice teased

Steph romances us with three starting scenes. Vote on which one has you calling out for more.

Hi friend,

In keeping with this month’s creative challenge about where stories begin, we’re showing some writing starts. Steph’s up first with an introduction about why beginnings matter, followed by a Choose Your Own Adventure style piece— A.K.A. three story starts from her novel that you’re invited to vote on.

If you missed the details on our monthly creative challenge, you can check it out HERE.

Read on, vote, and/or comment on what you’ve been discovering about your own creative fits and starts!

Hop in—

P.S. Be sure to catch the details about Steph’s fall writing retreat at the end of this email. Earlybird pricing runs through Wednesday, April 23rd.

For starters - why beginnings matter

“Tell me about yourself,” I said. “Who’s Mike?”

I had just met Mike for the first time. He was (and still is) dating a dear friend of mine, and the three of us were clipping in our seatbelts at the start of a road trip. The mountains were calling, and in a handful of hours, we would be frolicking in them. I wanted to use our time in the car to get to know my pal’s new beloved.

“Well,” he responded. “Let’s start at the beginning. My parents met in the early sixties.”

Mike proceeded to tell me his life story from inception... or, more accurately, pre-inception. He gave me many details. He talked for a very long time. We pulled over at one point for a pee break, and I’m pretty sure he kept talking as my friend and I squatted on the side of the road.

And then, four hours later, he said, “And that is how I got here, to this car, with you two amazing women.”

“Wow!” said my friend with a laugh. “I’m not sure we needed to start pre-birth, but we sure did cover a lot.”

I loved Mike’s start, it told me many things— things like how much he casts his story in that of his family’s, how he sees and understands his life as relative to those he loves, and how much large and small details matter because, in his eyes, both stones and pebbles have the power to shape us.

It also helped me understand the “character” of Mike, and started our friendship story as one of depth, candor, and open-heartedness.

There’s no doubt about it— the decision Mike made, and the decisions we all make, around the start of a story color their trajectory. For example, Mike could have started further back. He could have told me about the Nors clan from which his family name emerged and how the strength of his DNA was forged under the waterfalls of Scandinavia. Or he could have started closer in. He could have said, “Nothing about the me that existed before I met your friend matters. So let me tell you about the day I saw her skipping across the street, and how I immediately knew I wanted to be a better man.”

Each beginning would take us in entirely different directions. Speaking of directions, scroll down to read three work-in-progress teasers for the beginning of my romance novel. Hint hint: one of them might look familiar.

And tell me what you think - use the poll at the bottom of this post and/or pop into the comment section to tell me which teaser pulled hardest on your heartstrings.

OPENING TEASER #1 - Future self love

Almost exactly a year ago, an image of a woman snaked through my body and into my consciousness. It didn’t take long for me to recognize her as a version of me three, four, maybe five years ahead of where I am now.

Her hair was longer and streaked with grey. She was wearing a cream-colored silk skirt with a white linen tank. She was standing in a kitchen— the kitchen of my future, humming and chopping fresh herbs. Her body struck me as very alive and very relaxed.

My future self turned around when she heard me arrive. We locked eyes and she let out a small gasp. Without saying anything, she walked slowly toward me, slipped one arm behind the small of my back, pulled me into her, and kissed me. Like really kissed me. She ate me like I was an oyster— salty and sweety.

My god, I thought. She loves me. We love each other. We’ve fallen in love with ourselves.

“What’s possible from this place?” I asked her.

“Everything,” she said. “Let me show you.”

OPENING TEASER #2 - Airplane astrology

“How long are you visiting Croatia?”

I had barely finished buckling my seatbelt when the man beside me on the airplane started in.

“Oh,” I said. “Uhhhh . . . I’ll be there for five weeks. Mostly in Split.”

“Five weeks! That’s wonderful. For all of May?” he asked.

“Yep.”

I turned to look at him. He was large and tattooed. Burly and bearded. His eyes shone brightly in a way that didn’t match up.

“Hmmmmm,” he added. “You picked very good timing.”

“Yes,” I said. “I’m looking forward to the weather.”

“The weather. Okay. But I meant May. The astrology is perfect for . . .” he paused. “For whatever you are coming to Croatia for.”

An eyebrow on the inside of me raised.

He continued, “When you go to Split, you must go to the Temple—

I cut him off.

“The Temple of Jupiter,” I said.

An eyebrow on the inside of him raised. I could feel it.

“Yes,” he said. “But you’re actually supposed to go see—”

I cut him off again.

“The statue of the beheaded Anubis in front of the Temple.”

He looked me dead in the eye.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“Who are you?” I asked in return, playfully laughing.

“Well, I don’t tell a lot of people this right away, but I’m a psychic astrologer,” he said. “But really, who are YOU?”

Both eyebrows on the inside of me raised.

“Aren’t you supposed to answer that for me, Mr. Psychic Astrologer?”

“Wait. Wait,” he said. He paused and looked up. He closed his eyes. He muttered something indiscernible to me. And then, all at once, as if an alarm had gone off, his eyes snapped open, and he turned to face me.

“Do you have a freckle on the bottom of your foot?”

I laughed. Ted might be the only person on the planet who knew that, although I doubt he paid that much attention to my body. I could have had three breasts, and Ted might not have known.

“Yes,” I said. “I do. It’s on my right foot.”

The man stood. He clapped. He pounded the top of the seat in front of him and laughed with glee. People stared. The flight attendant came over and asked him to buckle-up for take-off.

“Oh. My. God,” he said slowly. “You . . . I cannot even tell you. You need to find out on your own. Wait,” he added. “Why are you going to Croatia? No. Don’t answer. All I can say is this: your job is to go to the underground to translate the abracadabra. I know that doesn’t make sense.”

I laughed. “I think it does,” I said, remembering the series of dreams I’d had.

“Of course it does,” he said. “The woman with the freckle on her foot. I can’t tell you anything else. You will know. Oh, this is going to be so so good.”

“I could use some good,” I said, gently touching the blue doll’s eye on my necklace. It was a habit.

“Yes,” he said. “Fingerprints, and . . .”

He leaned in to get a closer look at my necklace, before looking up into my eyes. “Fingerprints, and blue eyes, and translating the abracadabra.”

Suddenly, our flight touched down. Three hours had gone by in the blink of nobody knows how many blue eyes.

OPENING TEASER #3 - Fuck you, Teddy

Ted and I didn’t have sex after the vasectomy. Not once. Not ever again. His appetite for intimacy before the procedure was tepid at best— he seemed more turned on by the Jungian analysis of why we weren’t having sex than by sex itself. But his drive died entirely after his visit to Dr. Snip, which, I kid you not, was the doctor’s name. I think he had it legally changed for the sake of the business. Dr. Snip was killing it— business in general as well as, apparently, the libido of my husband.

But I digress. I had not been touched in three years. Don’t get me wrong, Ted and I snuggled—five minutes of spooning with politely placed hands before each of us rolled over to sleep. And we kissed perfunctorily here and there. But he hadn’t looked me in the eyes and told me I was beautiful in years. Nor had he reached for me, grabbed, nibbled, licked, or pawed. And I had been a good wife. A loyal wife. I had rubbed myself furiously on my own in the bathroom while imagining other men. But I had never actually been with them, not a hand on the shoulder, not a wanting glance, not even a casual flirt. I massaged Ted’s feet with frequency. I pulled on his toes just the way he liked. I was a faithful wife.

Just before the close of that third year of our journey through the sexual desert, Ted thanked me for my patience. He told me he knew I had some unmet needs, and although it would be hard for him, he was - gulp - open to opening the marriage. For my sake.

Bravo, Teddy, I thought.

“But it couldn’t be with a man,” he added.

So, he would be open to me meeting my unmet sexual needs so long as I changed them? And this would be for my sake?

Fuck you, Teddy, I thought.

So . . . which teaser teased you the most:

Coming next week— Maia’s fits and starts.

Till then—

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