BITCHES AND BASTARDS—CREATING CHARACTERS THAT ARE BOLDLY IMPERFECT

Jade Lee was scheduled for today but unfortunately was unable to visit. We'll catch up with her later.

My guest, is fiction editor, Beth Hill. Her topic is on creating characters the touch readers. If you get the chance, do stop by Beth's Blog and check out her archives. She has some fabulous articles on craft and they are a great resource for writers.

I was recently talking with a frustrated writer, frustrated because beta readers were finding fault with her lead characters.

Some readers didn't like her male lead; others had trouble with the female. They said the characters were unsympathetic, unkind, or just not nice.

No, her leads aren't rotten; they aren't the bitch and bastard referred to in this article’s title. They are simply characters with character.

And isn't that what we want for our stories, characters who stand out, who grab our attention? Don’t we want characters who make us notice them? Characters with character, characters we’ll remember for their bold actions, characters who stir our emotions? Don’t we want stories peopled with characters who aren't safe and who don’t blend in?

RUSSELL CASSE--INDEPENDENCE DAY

The characters we most enjoy have some growing to do. They aren't necessarily nice. They certainly aren't insipid.

They don’t always do the right thing, say the right words, and have the correct motivations. They aren't always politically correct and they may hurt others, both willingly and unknowingly. They may never apologize. They may make excuses. They may lie or cheat or steal. Characters who are bold, who aren't always nice or polite or solicitous, are the characters readers will remember.

So why all the fuss from beta readers?

My guess is that the readers don’t want the writer to submit something they think won’t be popular with either agents or editors.

Yet characters that stand out, who are outrageous or who stumble or who push the readers’ buttons, are exactly the kinds of characters agents and acquiring editors are looking for.

Who wants to read about nice characters, characters who don’t ruffle feathers or who don’t get into trouble or who always say the right thing?

Don’t we want bold characters who are different from us, who speak their minds—even when fearful of consequences—who press ahead despite fear and anxiety and feelings of worthlessness?

Nice characters don’t create tension—they’d work to diffuse it. Nice characters mean bland scenes and ho-hum motivations. Nice characters mean not-so-nice stories.

And lest anyone take offense, I’m not talking about doing away with characters who are good, who stand on the side of justice or integrity or decency. Good characters can be strong and bold and powerful. But nice characters, characters who don’t take a stand and who have no outstanding quirks and who don’t rock the boat are not strong enough to be the leads in a novel.

Characters without flaw are flat and the stories told about them can’t draw the readers’ interest the same way stories about imperfect characters can. What surprise is there when a perfect character defeats his enemy? Doesn't he always defeat his enemy? Was there any doubt that he’d win again?

HANS SOLO--STAR WARS

But what about the imperfect character who’s admitted to cheating to get ahead—can he win the biggest challenge in his life without resorting to cheating again? Will those around him let him forget what he’s done before and pull for him or will they always stand against him, no matter how honest he now is? Can a rude or belligerent character change enough to get other characters on his side when it counts?

If your lead character is perfect, how will he grow? If he’s perfect, how will his next victory be any different for him than his last? If he’s perfect, how will the reader relate?

The writer I was speaking with said the characters didn't resonate with the beta readers. Yet after hearing some of the comments her readers had made, I told her the characters certainly did resonate. They had those readers upset. The characters had succeeded in touching the readers.

And that’s exactly what you want your characters to do.

Consider Rhett and Scarlett, whose movie was on TV just in time to bring them to mind for this article. Neither Rhett nor Scarlett are perfect, but they are good characters. Great characters. They give us reasons to both loathe them and root for them. They are bold, brash, audacious, and larger than life. They pull us into their lives not by their goodness, but by their manner. Their personalities. Their daring and confidence. Who would work his way through Margaret Mitchell’s tome without the reward of Scarlett’s nerve and Rhett’s disregard for propriety?

So, be bold in ruffling feathers of both other characters and your readers and don’t be afraid of writing characters who stir the puddin’. Certainly don’t shy away from giving characters unlikable qualities. Give them those negative qualities and make us like them anyway. Or make us root for them, even if they have flaws.

No, characters don’t have to be bastards or bitches or cruel or crazy or repulsive. But they could be. And if you write them well, readers will enjoy reading them. 

Don’t play it safe with your characters. Create characters that are boldly imperfect. Write strong fiction by creating characters that are far from bland and nice. Your readers will thank you.


                                                                                                                                                                                                                                     

I love the written word, the ability we have to create worlds and emotions with well-chosen phrases. It’s my intention to share tips and insights and encouragement with writers at all levels, to help you craft stories that will entertain and satisfy your readers. That will help satisfy you as writer as well. I am both writer and editor. My editing focus is on long fiction, primarily novels. I also mentor beginning writers.

A Novel Edit

The Editor's Blog

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                 

BITCHES AND BASTARDS, Maybe. But No Perfect Characters Wanted

My guest, is fiction editor, Beth Hill. Her topic is on creating characters the touch readers. If you get the chance, do stop by Beth's Blog and check out her archives. She has some fabulous articles on craft and they are a great resource for writers.

I was recently  talking to a frustrated writer, frustrated because beta readers were finding fault with her lead characters.

Some readers didn’t like her male lead; others had trouble with the female. They said the characters were unsympathetic, unkind, or just not nice.

No, her leads aren’t rotten; they aren’t the bitch and bastard referred to in this article’s title. They are simply characters with character.

And isn’t that what we want for our stories, characters who stand out, who grab our attention? Don’t we want characters who make us notice them? Characters with character, characters we’ll remember for their bold actions, characters who stir our emotions? Don’t we want stories peopled with characters who aren’t safe and who don’t blend in?

The characters we most enjoy have some growing to do. They aren’t necessarily nice. They certainly aren’t insipid.

They don’t always do the right thing, say the right words, and have the correct motivations. They aren’t always politically correct and they may hurt others, both willingly and unknowingly.

They may never apologize. They may make excuses. They may lie or cheat or steal.

Characters who are bold, who aren’t always nice or polite or solicitous, are the characters readers will remember.

So why all the fuss from beta readers?

My guess is that the readers don’t want the writer to submit something they think won’t be popular with either agents or editors. Yet characters that stand out, who are outrageous or who stumble or who push the readers’ buttons, are exactly the kinds of characters agents and acquiring editors are looking for.

Who wants to read about nice characters, characters who don’t ruffle feathers or who don’t get into trouble or who always say the right thing?

Wouldn’t we rather read about flawed humans, people who make mistakes but who still manage to redeem themselves or a portion of their lives? Don’t we want bold characters who are different from us, who speak their minds—even when fearful of consequences—who press ahead despite fear and anxiety and feelings of worthlessness?

I know I’m seldom looking for nice characters. Nice characters don’t create tension—they’d work to diffuse it. Nice characters mean bland scenes and ho-hum motivations. Nice characters mean not-so-nice stories.

And lest anyone take offense, I’m not talking about doing away with characters who are good, who stand on the side of justice or integrity or decency. Good characters can be strong and bold and powerful. But nice characters, characters who don’t take stands and who have no outstanding quirks and who don’t rock the boat are not strong enough to be the leads in a novel.

Characters without flaw are flat and the stories told about them can’t draw the readers’ interest the same way stories about imperfect characters can. What surprise is there when a perfect character defeats his enemy? Doesn’t he always defeat his enemy? Was there any doubt that he’d win again?

But what about the imperfect character who’s admitted to cheating to get ahead—can he win the biggest challenge in his life without resorting to cheating again? Will those around him let him forget what he’s done before and pull for him or will they always stand against him, no matter how honest he now is? Can a rude or belligerent character change enough to get other characters on his side when it counts?

If your lead character is perfect, how will he grow? If he’s perfect, how will his next victory be any different for him than his last? If he’s perfect, how will the reader relate?

Perfect characters are fit for cartoons. It’s the flawed ones who make for fascinating fiction.

The writer I was speaking with said the characters didn’t resonate with the beta readers. Yet after hearing some of the comments her readers had made, I told her the characters certainly did resonate. They had those readers upset. The characters had succeeded in touching the readers.

And that’s exactly what you want your characters to do.

——————————-

Exceptions

~  There is a difference between characters your readers refuse to follow through a story and characters who are flawed or who have problems or who irritate the snot out of the reader.

Flawed and irritating characters belong in fiction. But characters who are poorly written or who are repulsive to most readers deserve to be shunned. Yet, keep in mind that some characters, no matter how abhorrent, can make compelling stories.

~  Genre is an important consideration for character personality. In romance, readers are going to want to like your hero and heroine, even through their flaws. Be aware of what the genre allows. Be willing to push expectations, of course. But realize that you might not change those expectations with a single book, a single severely flawed character.

But don’t necessarily bow to what the beta readers say they want. They definitely don’t want perfection in their leads. They don’t want the beautiful and perfect and flawless. They may want redeemable; they don’t want main characters who don’t ruffle feathers.

Courtesy of Free Extras

Consider Rhett and Scarlett, whose movie was on TV just in time to bring them to mind for this article. Neither Rhett nor Scarlett are perfect, but they are good characters. Great characters. They give us reasons to both loathe them and root for them. They are bold, brash, audacious, and larger than life. They pull us into their lives not by their goodness, but by their manner. Their personalities. Their daring and confidence. Who would work his way through Margaret Mitchell’s tome without the reward of Scarlett’s nerve and Rhett’s disregard for propriety?

So, be bold in ruffling feathers of both other characters and your readers and don’t be afraid of writing characters who stir the puddin’. Certainly don’t shy away from giving characters unlikable qualities. Give them those negative qualities and make us like them anyway. Or make us root for them, even if they have flaws.

Don’t play it safe with your characters.

Don’t make readers wish they had picked up a more engrossing book rather than yours.

Do remember character traits and behaviors can have a range of intensities. That is, not all characters have to operate at the peak of their traits at all times. Adapt character behavior to the story you want to create, to the needs of the scene. Use lively characters to establish tone and to make other characters nervous. Use the behavior and thoughts and words of characters to make readers uncomfortable. They’ll thank you for it. And they’ll come back for more.

*******

No, characters don’t have to be bastards or bitches or cruel or crazy or repulsive. But they could be. And if you write them well, readers will enjoy reading them.

Take your beta readers’ comments under consideration? Absolutely. But don’t allow them to strip the emotion and verve from your stories and characters. Write bold characters with quirks and faults and flaws. And remember that you don’t have to redeem them or heal all their frailties by the end of your book. You could. But if the ending, if the story, is more powerful with a still flawed protagonist limping home with the prize, then keep him flawed.

Create characters that are boldly imperfect.

And allow yourself to be bold as you envision imperfect characters to live in your story worlds.

Write strong fiction by creating characters who are far from bland and nice.

I love the written word, the ability we have to create worlds and emotions with well-chosen phrases. It’s my intention to share tips and insights and encouragement with writers at all levels, to help you craft stories that will entertain and satisfy your readers. That will help satisfy you as writer as well. I am both writer and editor. My editing focus is on long fiction, primarily novels. I also mentor beginning writers.

A Novel Edit

The Editor's Blog

CHRISTMAS JOY

As you know, I usually share holiday stories this time of the year by talented writers who've given them to me to use. What makes them interesting, at least to me, is they're written in various genres by men and women. I'll be running more next week in between guests. 


I have two stories I tend to use every year. They're favorites of mine. One is called Christmas Joy, by Beth Hill, and the other is The Gift, by Rand Phares. Why are they favorites? Both highlight faith and hope and they touch the heart. 


So today, I'm sharing one of my favorites with you by the talented Beth Hill. I love her writing. For those of you who don't know Beth, she is a fiction editor and you can find her at A Novel Edit or The Editor's Blog (she has an article up on her blog on weeding out author intrusion). 


Enjoy!

Sarah inhaled the fragrances of cinnamon and sugar and the chocolate chips melting into gooey deliciousness in the oven. Homey smells. Christmas smells.

She wanted to sit, relax, to inhale more than smells. She wanted the peace of the season to wash over her, still her racing mind and ease her fractured soul. But if she stopped moving, sorrow would overwhelm. She knew it. Had given in last Christmas. And again on his birthday. She’d been unable to resist the lure of peace on those two days.

But peace had eluded her. And instead grief had stolen into her home, into her mind and heart. And she’d cried out her anger and sorrow and loss, collapsing on her kitchen floor in a tangle of oven mitts and tears and memories.  And standing again, facing life again, had been nearly impossible.

She reached for the oven door just before the timer buzzed, and pulled out the tray of perfect cookies. His favorite. She baked them every year. He couldn’t get enough. And she’d watch as he devoured one after another, following every third bite or so with a gulp of cold milk. And he’d grin, crumbs clinging to his lips, knowing she got a kick out of his passion for home-baked cookies made just for him.

She scoured the kitchen; focusing on making perfect and whole those things she had control over. And pushed far from her mind the events she couldn’t influence or change. But she left the cookies mounded on wax paper since Mac liked them that way. Liked reaching across the counter and plucking one or two or five whenever he wanted them.

The reflection from the tree beckoned her to the living room and the large glass windows that framed it. She’d stop for only a moment, her heart promised her head. Just a brief passage of time to watch the snowfall, to admire the twinkling lights as they pushed against the darkness both inside and out. Just a moment . . .

When the clocked chimed nine, Sarah jumped. Then smiled. Silly to feel guilty over losing herself in memories of her husband. She wouldn’t break down this Christmas. She’d learned that lesson. Plus, the news had been better this year. The better news being they’d actually heard news. The first reliable report since her captain had gone missing sixteen months earlier.

Chaplain Anderson had called in October. One of the Resolute Seven—prisoners held for over four months in a no-name cave in Afghanistan—had mentioned Mac—someone who sounded like Mac, please God—in his briefing. So this year she’d added hope to her arsenal of determination and faith and prayers. This year she wouldn’t give in to despair.

She pressed her fingers against the cold glass. Closed her eyes and lowered her head.

“Keep him warm tonight. Please. Hold him in Your arms since he doesn’t have mine. Fill his heart with Your love, with my devotion. And give Him your peace.”

Sarah leaned against her hand and stared into the night. So quiet. So pure.

So lonely.

“And please hold me. Because I’m afraid I can’t hold on any longer.”

She returned to the kitchen. In the near dark she pulled milk from the fridge and poured a tall glass. She piled cookies on a plate and arranged plate and milk on the reindeer placemat at the head of the table. She fussed with a linen napkin, flattening it again and again until she realized what she was doing and yanked her hands away.  Enough of that. She still had presents to wrap, gifts for her brother’s family. She turned. And blinked.

The front door was opening, three men stepping through.

Chaplain Anderson, removing his hat. Colonel Ryan, Mac’s CO, holding the arm of another man. That other man dangling a key from his fingers.

The third man lifted his head at her gasp. Then grinned. And then he was rushing to her and squeezing her and kissing her face.

“Sarah. My God, Sarah.”

And then Sarah was on her knees, holding Mac, holding a dream, and kissing him back. Touching him everywhere. Crying and laughing and shaking so much she thought she’d finally snapped and lost her mind.

But when Mac pulled back and grasped her face between his hands, when she could see his eyes and into his soul, she knew he was not imagined but real and in their home.

In her arms.

She stared in wonder for a timeless instant, then sobs burst from her chest and she burrowed into Mac, clutching him, trying to breathe, trying to think. Trying not to feel because the emotions were stretching her beyond her limits and shattering her mind.

“I smell cookies.” That was the colonel.

Mac laughed. He laughed. Sarah gripped him even tighter.

“Sir, those are my cookies. All mine. I’ve been dreaming of them for days. And I’m sorry to say, you won’t get a single taste.”

Sarah wiped her face against Mac’s coat. Trust her man to get to the heart of any matter.

“Sarah? You ready to stand now? I wanna get this coat off and hold you properly.”

“Major, I believe this is where Chaplain Anderson and I bid you goodnight. And Merry Christmas.”

Sarah scrambled to her feet, pulling at Mac, searching his face. Thin. Lined. Hers. “How? When?” She squeezed her eyes shut and drew in an uneven breath. He was still there when she opened her eyes. “Major?” She twisted to look at Colonel Ryan, but turned immediately back to Mac. “I was just asking God to hold you, since I couldn’t. And now you’re here. You’re here.”

Mac saluted the other men as they eased out the door, but didn’t turn from Sarah. “He held me, baby. Every day I felt His protection and your love entwined, binding me in strength and hope.” He stepped close to her and again wrapped her face in his palms. His hands were shaking. “Tonight we hold each other.”

She lifted her hands to his where they framed her cheeks. His gaze was locked on her face. “Why didn’t you call? Have you seen a doctor? What happened? Mac . . . What happened?”

He leaned his forehead against hers, still unwilling to relax his hold. “I needed to be with you before the news broke, baby. I need you at my side to get through the rest of this. To he—” His voice broke and he hauled her against his chest.

“I’m here always. Forever.”
“I know,” he whispered against her neck. “And that’s what saw me through.” His entire body shook, vibrating against hers. “I didn’t break, Sarah. Not once. Not until a couple of Special Forces guys hauled me out. And then I cried like a baby.”

“Mac . . . ”

“My Sarah.” His lips feathered over hers. “Merry Christmas, wife.”

She slid her arms inside his coat and dug her fingers into his back. “Merry Christmas, major. I love you.” She closed her eyes.  Thank You. For holding him. For bringing him home. For returning my heart.

My pleasure, Sarah. My very great pleasure.  Merry Christmas to you and peace to this home.

Clichés–Are They Really That Bad?

Summer is the time for conferences and vacations. Time to use the longer days and time off for writing and editing.With so many writers doing serious editing right now or doing word count challenges and preparing for NaNo summer camp, I thought it would be good to offer a few craft articles.

Here's one from, Beth Hill, Fiction Editor.

Are clichés really that bad for your novels? The short answer is yes, they truly are. And a slew of clichés in a novel or short story is much worse than a single one that manages to get past your internal editor.

But because I’m not one for a short answer, I’ll expand and explain why clichés don’t add anything positive to your novel and why instead they detract from it.

Clichés are overused expressions that at one time might have been original. They can be used as shortcuts—she’s as cute as a button, I’ve painted myself into a corner, it’s as easy as pie—when we don’t want to make the effort of searching for a new description or finding that perfect verb. In speech, clichés are common; using them makes for quick communication.

But in novels, and even in shorter fiction, clichés serve to make the reading bland and stale. They are someone else’s words brought into a new plot. The cliché may not fit the character, the setting, the era, the social background of the story, or the genre.

Using clichés is like wearing someone else’s old and dirty clothes. They might have looked good at one time, but they don’t look good anymore. They don’t fit right and they don’t smell too good and they do nothing to improve your looks and bearing.

They. Don’t. Fit. Not as well as fresh words written for a particular story and specific characters would fit.

Instead of bland and lifeless, old and stale, you want to create phrases that are fresh and new and eye-catching and arresting. You want to draw readers deeper into your fiction by matching words and phrases to your characters and plot, phrases that no other story has. If you’ve used common phrases—phrases that fit any story—you know they don’t fit yours. Not the way new and exact phrases, crafted specifically for a particular story, would fit.

Puzzle pieces can’t be forced into a puzzle where they don’t belong, not if you want the puzzle to come out right. Words shouldn’t be forced into a story where they don’t fit.

Word choice is one of the strongest tools for making your story original. Unique. Why force inexact words into your writing? Why take the tired and common and mix them into your fresh passages? Why dump in bland when you’re trying to write something that stands out?

You could argue that a character speaks in clichés. And she might. There’s nothing wrong with giving quirks to a character. But all your characters won’t use clichés. And your omniscient narrator shouldn’t (unless you’re going after a certain effect).

Words carry a story’s flavor. Sprinkle yours with phrases that are sweet or spicy or bitter, not with old words that reek of rot and decay.

Don’t serve your readers tired words. They want vibrant phrases that mean something, not dull phrases that have lost their significance.

Go for bold and fresh rather than trite and sour. Use your words. Create new phrases, new similes and metaphors, that tighten your story threads. Use phrases to anchor your characters to your setting and plot.

Using clichés is like using someone else’s melody in your music or thinking someone else’s thoughts—their melody would be discordant inside yours; their thoughts wouldn’t help you get through your day.

Not only don’t clichés add to your writing, they can weaken it. Common phrases can turn off readers, they can keep you from weaving a tight story with no holes. Because they come to us so easily, we may write clichés without thought, without asking what those phrases add to the story and which direction they’re sending the plot.

Do clichés say exactly what you mean? Not often. And if you slave over your other words, why would you let less exacting words slip in to dilute your descriptions or dialogue or action?

*******

Practice creating fresh phrases. Take clichés and change them—as cold as ice, as black as sin, he’s got a couple of screws loose, her head’s always in the clouds. Be creative. See what happens when you put your slant or personality on such phrases.

Then look at your own writing. Take out the common and put in something new, something that your character would think as he looks at the sky or at his wife or at his enemy. What kinds of words would he use, a man of his background, especially in the circumstances in which he finds himself?

Use words and phrases that reveal character that reveal motivation or intention. Use words that reflect your story’s genre and reveal your story’s theme.

Root out clichés and tired phrases from your manuscripts and then create your own phrases. Produce melodies in your words. Give your works a fresh and vibrant flavor, a flavor your readers will appreciate and savor and want to experience again and again.

*******

For fun, a cliché-riddled blurb…

I had to reach the end of my rope before I could reach for the stars. I had to hope against hope that I’d soon see the light at the end of the tunnel. After all, what comes around goes around, and I’d spread it around pretty thick.

I wasn’t yet out of the woods or in the clear. But time was running out and I needed to wake up and smell the coffee. The mob wanted to see me six feet under, but I wasn't ready to buy the farm. Their enforcer had tried to eighty-six me, but he missed by a hair and now he’s eating crow. He’d come armed to the teeth, yet he’d bitten off more than he could chew with me. I had an ace in the hole—when Armand sent him after me, it was the straw that broke the camel’s back and I was madder than a wet hen and fit to be tied. Ordering a hit on me got my dander up, and I saw red, so I fought back like a man possessed.

Nah, I’m not just another pretty face; I’m built like a tank. That enforcer discovered actions speak louder than words. When I clobbered him, with both of us sweatin’ like pigs, you could hear a pin drop. I laid down the law and I haven’t seen hide nor hair of him since.

So, life goes on. At least mine does. And while I’m reaching for those stars, my feet firmly tethered to the earth, I’m gonna roll with the punches, remember I’m in it for the long haul, and fly by the seat of my pants when I’m not dancing with the devil. I’ll be cool as a cucumber and as sweet as sugar unless someone gets my goat. And then I’ll turn over a new leaf.

Life’s too short to always be fighting against the tide; sometimes you gotta go with the flow. It’s not always win-win because you win some and you lose some, and besides, it’s not about winning, but how you play the game.

I've been laying it on thick, but this could be the start of something big, so I want to be ready for anything.

Better quit while I’m ahead. Besides, I've got other fish to fry.

HEART GIFT

~Beth Hill~

Jeffrey stood in front of her house, stretching his neck to see over the freshly painted fence.

She was in there. Belinda. Belinda Allison Palmer.

He knew, because he’d followed her home. From half a block behind and on the other side of the street. He’d watched her skip with Patty. Watched as she played with Mrs. Tenney’s Golden Retriever. Thor had tumbled in the high grass while Belinda laughed and laughed.

And sparkled.

Her hair sparkled in the bright sunshine, so shiny that Jeffrey wanted to close his eyes, but didn’t. No, he liked that sparkle and shine. It made him feel sparkly himself, on the inside. He’d never felt sparkly before.

Belinda’s wrist sparkled too. Jeffrey grinned, knowing he’d made that happen, given Belinda a sparkly wrist. Well…given her a bracelet. She’d put it on and shown it to everyone at school, including the principal.

TJ had laughed at him, called him a sissy girl lover. Jeffrey’d wanted to hit him. But Belinda had pulled him away and pressed her lips to his ear. She’d whispered thank you so softly that Jeffrey had to screw his eyes closed to hear. With closed eyes, he’d still seen her face, soft and pretty. He could trace the pattern of freckles on her cheeks. And he knew that her eyes were just as sparkly as the fake—no, faux, Mom called them faux—diamonds that circled her wrist. Something inside Belinda brightened everything around her. And Jeffrey wanted that bright heat on him. ’Cause when Belinda looked at someone that way she had, fire shooting from her eyes, then that person would never be plain and normal. No, he would be alive and full of fizz. And strong. Jeffrey was strong when Belinda smiled at him.

Jeffrey leaned into the fence. He’d followed her home to see if she’d take the bracelet off or play with it or throw it away or…

Mrs. Palmer came out with Belinda, hugging her. The two of them sat on the porch swing—it squeaked as they rocked. He scooched down to peek through the fence slats.

She was twisting her arm around, showing off his present! Jeffrey’s chest relaxed, his smile growing wide. Her mom liked it. But more importantly, Belinda liked it. Enough to show her mom. Enough to wear it home. Enough to be excited about a gift one of her friends had called silly.

He didn’t care about her friend or TJ or anyone else. He’d found a way to get Belinda to smile at him that sparkly way. And he planned to make her smile every day.

Forever.

Jeffrey popped up when he heard the door slam. Mrs. Palmer was gone, and Belinda’s hand was on the screen door. She was looking down, away from the sidewalk where Jeffrey stood. He pushed himself higher. What was she doing? She lifted her eyes without warning, meeting his. Then she smiled. And Jeffrey lost his heart.

#

“Hey, Bel? Where’s that bracelet I got you when we were in elementary school? You used to keep it in some old box. What happened to it?”

Belinda straightened from her contortions under the kitchen table and settled her butt on the floor. Why did that man insist on asking questions when she was screwed into the most awkward positions? Scrubbing bubblegum off the underside of the table—ask a question. Head poked up the chimney, arguing with the flue—ask a question. Riding him like a cowgirl on an annual rodeo—ask her a dozen questions!

She pulled on his leg to help herself stand. And then stared into his eyes. Those beautiful, get-lost-forever-in-them eyes. Hell, she didn’t know why he always bugged her when she was busy, but she certainly knew why she put up with it. It was those eyes. And the mouth. The mouth that made promises that both his body and his love had carried through on.

She shivered. The kids were with Mom tonight. They had the entire house—two stories and basement—to play in. And when Jeffrey was in the mood to play, she had a whole lotta fun. She wondered what he’d planned. But unlike him, she didn’t ask. She’d rather be surprised. She felt a tightening in her chest when she thought about the surprise she’d arranged for him. What if he didn’t like it?

Belinda jumped when he pinched her nearly numb butt. “You listening to me, Belinda?”

“Um… Thinking. I know I had it… Last year. I’m not sure…”
“Honey, did you let Jenny play with it? She could’ve broken or lost it. Damn, Bel, you know there are things the kids shouldn’t get into. What were you thinking?”

Thinking she was getting her daughter into trouble for no reason. What had she been thinking? Jeffrey was sentimental. That bracelet tied them in a way she had never been able to understand. Three strands of glittering beads, repaired half a dozen times, spoke love and commitment and something soul-deep for Jeffrey. As if they were a testament to their devotion.

She wiped away his frown with a caress. No, her surprise couldn’t wait for candlelight and a sexy dress, soft music and perfume.

“Sit.” She pushed him onto one of the kitchen chairs.

“It’s okay, Bel. I wasn’t mad. It’s just—”

“Hush. My turn.” She watched him, one eyebrow lifted. He covered his mouth and slumped into the chair.

Belinda stepped through the maze that was the kitchen floor—Legos and dump trucks and candy wrappers. She sighed. This was certainly not the most romantic Valentine’s Day, no matter how diligently she’d planned.

She reached into the cabinet that held her cookbooks, recipe boxes, and baking supplies. Pulled out an old, tin box. She returned to Jeffrey, knowing he’d watched her. She’d have to reward him for not asking what she was up to.

“I know how you feel about the bracelet.” She sank to her knees, resting one palm on his leg. “How it says love for you. And because that love has always been so deep and safe and freeing, I wanted to share it.” She felt his thigh jump under her hand. “Not give it away. Share. With those created by that love.”

She lifted the tin to his lap and opened it. She drew out the three velvet pouches that had been stuffed within.

“I had the bracelet taken apart—so each of them would have part of the original. And I asked the jeweler to make three identical bracelets based on that first one. For the kids, Jeffrey.” She looked up at him, throat tight, hands shaking. Would he understand what she’d done? Or think she’d destroyed something precious? “One for Jenny, so she’d know the love her parents had, and when she’s older, the passion as well.” She rose higher, gripping his knees. “And one each for the boys. So that maybe one day they’ll give a girl a gift, a gift that tells her how very cherished she is by a special boy.” Her throat closed up. “I’m so sorry. I wanted to show our children love, and instead I’ve ruined your favorite memory.” Hot tears blurred her vision.

Jeffrey yanked Belinda closer, lifting her until her head was nestled next to his heart.

“God, Belinda, you show them that every day. We show them love. It’s in your hands when you soothe them and when you caress me. It’s in your voice when you correct their mistakes.” He tightened his arms. “It’s in your eyes, when they sparkle. God, honey, when they sparkle with life and joy and that thing that makes you… My heart. My life.” He cradled her face, stared into her eyes. “You are love in every movement you make, every word you speak.” He kissed her once softly and then with passion. When they finally broke the kiss, he rested his forehead against hers.

“I’m overwhelmed by what you’ve done with the bracelet. It’s a symbol, a powerful symbol, but it’s not our love. We haven’t broken that apart. You’ve only made it stronger.”

He slid her off his lap before standing himself.

“Wait here.”

He stepped down the hall and into the garage. When he returned, he carried a jeweler’s box. “I should have done this long ago. You are worth so much more than shiny beads and string.” He eased open the box. “More than diamonds too, but I wanted—”

Belinda threw herself at him and wrapped her arms around his neck.

There, highlighted on a bed of black velvet, sat a triple-strand bracelet of diamonds and sapphires.

“They’re sparkly.” She twisted until she could see the box and then reached out a shaking hand. “They’re so sparkly.”

“I told the guy I needed something that shined as bright as my wife.” He grinned. “This was the best he could do.”

And that was all right. Because what could ever match the brilliance of their love?

Or the fire of their hearts?

Beth is an editor and a fiction writer (contemporary romance and medieval adventure). Her undergraduate degree is in psychology, her MBA in human resources. Beth trained as a flight attendant; worked in dinner theatre; managed a dance studio, a framing store, and multitudes of volunteers as a church administrator. These experiences, as well as many others, have given her a broad base for both her editing and her own writing.
Beth Hill writes fiction and loves words. She thinks that being a writer is the most satisfying and best job, hobby, career, and/or addiction one can pursue.

You can reach Beth at her website, A Novel Edit or her blog, The Editor's Blog