Hello Selena! Thank you so
much for visiting Written Butterfly with me today!
Thank you for hosting me, it’s a pleasure to
introduce myself and share my writing journey with your readers.
I must preface this blog post with a disclaimer: English
was NOT my first language. It was actually my third. I also led a sheltered
life. Not that I'm using these as excuses for the following little blip in my
life that I am sharing. :)
Q) How did you dream up the dynamics of your characters?
As a reader myself, I want to suspend belief when
reading, so I keep this in mind when creating my own characters. I put my
characters into situations that is out of their comfort zones, so that ordinary
people (the characters) are placed in extraordinary situations.
I ensure they have a history and parts of that history contain
secrets that the other characters don’t know about. My characters are flawed,
have quirks (this is my favorite part when creating characters, giving them
each a unique voice and quirks), they will behave in surprising manners,
surprising even themselves. They will have people who like them, and people who
don’t like them.
I also give them goals and a strong drive to reach those
goals.
Q) Do you have any habits that get you in the writing frame
of mind?
Desperately trying to clear my calendar of things to
do, so I can write. As Nora Roberts said in an interview, something I have
never forgotten…how does one write? “Ass in chair.”
Q) What are your upcoming projects?
ONCE UPON A KISS will be released soon, and I’m also
working on turning my comedy short story, TEMPTED BY AN ANGEL into a romantic
novella. I also have a suspense/thriller out with my agent, and the final draft
of DECOY IN STILETTO’s (a romantic-comedy-mystery). As you can see, I really
have to clear that calendar and get that ass in chair a lot more for a lot
longer.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
I was a newlywed, living on “love” and the afterglow of
honeymoon and my groom had jumped on the Joe Weider Bodybuilding product band
wagon, and had entered a weight lifting competition.
One morning he asked me to run to the sports store and pick up
an athletic support.
He followed up with, “You do know what that is, right?”
I rolled my eyes back to yesterday. “Well of course I know.”
After all, I had seen those muscled gumba’s in his weight
lifting magazines (really, I did pick them up to read the articles) wearing all
sorts of Mr. Olympia Wannabe gear.
I figured this was my opportunity to be inducted into the
Above-and-Beyond-the-Call-of-Dutiful Wife Hall of Fame one day, so I ventured
off to the sports store to purchase one athletic support.
I walked in and stood at the cash waiting for the clerk. I'm one
of those people who prefer to be waited on, instead of rifling through racks of
articles when I’m out of my element, like a sports store.
The hunk-and-a-half clerk behind the counter came to my aid.
“Can I help you?”
“Yes,” I said. “I need an Athletic Support for my husband,
please.”
”Okay, what size?” he asked.
“Size? Yeah, I guess every guy is built different. Hmmmm, let's
see, he's really big.”
At that remark, two customers, both male of course came up to
the counter.
Hunky Clerk responded with, “Uh-huh.”
I spread my arms out--I mean really wide--to demonstrate his
size. “He's this big.”
At this point the men snickered.
That annoyed me, and even though I was at that time, and still
am, rather shy and coy, I turned to the snickering group. “Well what’s so
funny?” I asked. “My husband is into health and body building and he's really
big and hard now. Maybe you all should try it.” Okay, maybe I’m not that shy.
The snickers transformed into in-your-face guffaws.
Cripes, what was it with these jock types? What the hell was so funny?
Hunky Clerk was in danger of having the Heimlich maneuver
performed on him, as he choked on the peanuts he had been munching.
After practically coughing up a lung, the clerk composed himself
and said, “Ma'am, I don't think you're accurate in the size.”
Ma’am? This guy was probably older than I was and he called me
ma’am?
I didn’t want to address that right now, I wanted to buy the
fricken athletic support and leave.
“Look, I should know my own husband.” I spread my arms wide,
again. “He's about 46 inches. Just get me an athletic support that fits that
size.”
Okay, so more than once I was asked to measure my husband’s
biceps with a measuring tape, and more than once it didn’t measure up to 46
inches, but, hey I was in the initial stages of supportive wifehood.
“Well," I said. "Maybe not forty-six inches, more like
forty-two. Get me something for a guy who is forty-two inches.”
One customer, whose hair cut looked like a hen’s patooty in a
windstorm, looked me straight in the eye and asked, "What planet does your
husband come from?”
How utterly rude, I thought. I was getting more than pissed
right off now.
I wanted out of this store badly and I wasn’t in the mood to be
the local jock’s entertainment of the day.
I gave Mr. Hen Hair my best PMS glare and then addressed the
collective jock group. “He's forty-two inches, give or take…maybe even
wider. You have a problem with that? I thought women were jealous of each
other's bodies. With you guys every size on your body matters doesn't it? Well,
let me tell you something, we really don’t care that much for that kind of
width. Personally, I was attracted to his nice eyes.”
They laughed even louder.
Little boys in long pants, that’s what these men were.
With the patience of a Saint, I asked, "Do you guys get
your ya-ya's standing around a sport store, making fun of women shoppers? Let
the clerk fish out this athletic support thingy, and then you can all go back
to comparing golf scores.” Geesh
Hunky Clerk coughed again. (By the way, it was the early 90’s we
called hot guys, hunks).
I would have offered him a cough drop had he maintained better
crowd control, and got me this stupid athletic support so I could leave.
“Ma'am,” Hunky Clerk said. “I don't think you know what you
really want. . .”
That did it. “Oh please, don't try to impress me with your
sports mumbo jumbo. Just get me the thing. And I don't want to hear about brand
names etc. Get me the largest one you have, I'll stretch it out, and be able to
tell if it will fit. I've put my arms around my husband enough times.”
More laughter.
Hunky Clerk left the peanut gallery and returned with three
packages.
“Small,” he announced, slapping one of the packages on the
counter. “Medium.” He slapped this package next to the small one. “And large.”
He lined this one next to the medium, stood back, folded his arms over his
chest and asked, “Which one would you like?”
BIG GULP!
The atmosphere turned as quiet as an ant pissing on a cotton
ball.
I picked up the Large sized one. “Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, so that's
what an athletic support is? Oh my.”
The night before, my soon-to-be-pulverized husband had talked
about buying a leather belt that went around his chest and then wound around
his waist to protect his kidneys, and he talked about line definition.
Wasn’t that an athletic support?
Okay, I may not have been paying a whole lot of attention at
that point, because all I was concerned about was that the slick oil he used on
his definitions not drip onto my newly washed floor. Besides, if I had to
listen to one more protein powder drink that was good for us, wheat germ and
the proper way to lift anything, I was going to scream. Hey, I worked hard to
earn my own heavy weight title; Choco-Cocoa-Queen.
Mr. Clerk--at closer inspection, he really wasn’t that
hunky--lifted a brow. “Now do you see why we didn't believe the size you
ordered.”
I inspected the packages on the counter. “Hmmm. I gather that
cuppy part is not to cover one's nose?”
“No, Ma'am.”
Again with the ma’am!
I held my head up high. “I don't like the color or your
selection. I think I'll try another store.”
I headed for the front door, put my hands on my hips and
addressed the group, who were now probably giving each other mental high-fives.
I said, “I'll have the last laugh. I'm Italian, I know people.
Yeah, that’s right, those kind of people.” I know,
I had just stereotyped my
whole culture, but at that point a gal had to pull out all the ammunition she
could muster.
“We don’t get mad, we get even,” I continued. “I know how to put
a curse on all of you that will last longer than your hairlines.” I waved my
hand up and down and all around. “May you endure a lifetime of running to the
drug store in the middle of the night, trying to figure out if you need maxi's,
scented, unscented, or light days.”
With that, I turned on my heels, and sauntered out of the store,
I may have even added an extra roll to my hip action.
When I was sure I was out
of their site range, I ran to my car with the intent of rendering my husband’s
forty-two inch chest up and gazing at the moon.
Now had he said,
pick up me a testicular cup. That would have
been a different story.
You gals get me,
right?
BIO:
From sweet to the naughty, there’s always humor in Selena’s
stories. Her work has been described as; genre-defying romance, sexy, written
with wit, and splashes of mystery and suspense.
Selena is a self-professed foodie and chocolate guru. She loves
to dance with her dog, sing into her hairbrush and write in her PJ's.
In love with Mr. Rugged—as she refers to her husband online—her
family, friends, books, shoes, laughter, hockey, lively discussions and wine
(sometimes all at the same time).
Selena is a dragon slayer who enjoys reading and writing
sassy heroines and hot heroes (the ones your mamma warned you about, but
secretly wished she’d dated a few in her life).
Selena also writes children’s stories under the pen name
Maddie Ryan.
Links:
Twitter - @SelenaRobins
GIVEAWAY: I'll give away a copy of WHAT A GIRL WANTS to a commentator...so leave a message and way to contact you!!
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