Underdogs and Heroines
Sadly, unlike previous participants from this week, I do not have a recent adventure among Chippendales' dancers to amuse you with (although I wish I did......hubba hubba indeed, Sherrill!) No, I've spent the majority of my weekend doing manuscript revisions, publicity work, and watching a passion of mine: Wimbledon. (Spoiler alert for anyone who TIVO'd it.)
And I'm really happy that Federer has another gold plate for his mantle. The boy is adorable. He's not really one of those athletes I take one look at and just wanna jump...really, he's more like your adorable little brother. You just want to muss his curls and pinch his cheek then pour him a glass of cherry Kool-Aid. (I have two such younger brothers, and I am convinced that one's "shaved head" period was because he got tired of everyone wanting to pinch his dimpled cheek and play with his curls.)
I was, however, much more upset about the results of yesterday's final when Justine Henin-Hardenne fell to Amelie Mauresmo. It's not that I "don't like" Amelie or anything. They're both good players, but I definitely adore Justine who has had a very hard life (lost her mom as a teenager) and isn't even 5'6" (a real rarity in this day and age; the only shorter/smaller player I'm aware of is Hingis).
Look at this picture of them ...Amelie (left) looks like she could throw Justine (center) over her shoulder and walk away, whistling "High Ho" and without even breaking a sweat. (Not that I mean any offense by that...the woman can serve at 120 miles per hour...my speedometer doesn't even go up that high!) I mean, Amelie looks like a professional athlete while Justine looks like the cheerleader who'd be organizing Amelie's pep rally. (Not that she is any kind of slouch...can you believe her serve is 116mph?!?!)
I think that like a lot of folks, I just have a weakness for underdogs, and that's why I choose the heroines I do most of the time. In The Gypsy Chick, the heroine Lyndi has just been dumped by her boyfriend three days before Valentine's day, and to add salt to the wound, she has to work Valentine's night, surrounded by canoodling couples. In The Glamorous Life, my heroine is Porsche, a stripper who seems very intelligent and in control until she finds herself in a dangerous situation when a customer takes the idea of a private dance too far; still, having a woman who is intelligent and savvy kinda of makes her an underdog in comparison to what society expects of her. In Picture Perfect, Kristine has given up on Cupid after her heart is broken...when the same man returns to try to repair the damage, she's not sure she can take it.
And then there's my absolute favorite of my underdog heroines. In She Who Laughs Last (and its sequel Margarita Chica), the heroine is Leslie Stetler, a saleswoman who has a very cruel trick played on her that threatens her success. In the end, there is no hero to rescue her. She either has to find the strength inside and save herself, or she has to accept defeat.
I'd like to think that this approach to storytelling, even though it's not always the "tradtional" fiction route, is still able to entertain and inspire you (one thing I can guarantee is that you will laugh A LOT along the way). So give me a shout-out. Are you a fan of the underdog?
I don't think I've ever put an excerpt here, so I'll do that today just for a change of pace. This is from The Gypsy Chick where when Lyndi loses Scott, she sells her soul to the Devil for a guy who's perfect........perfectly awful:
I peeked around the corner and spied on my favorite intruder. Scott leaned all the way forward on the couch cushion. He had the same obstinately thick and wavy dark curls the actor who played Mark Darcy in Bridget Jones did. Even though I preferred Daniel Cleaver, I didn’t hold that against Scott. My fingers ran through it just fine.
A bottle of beer sat on the coaster in front of him, and his blue eyes twitched as he followed the basketball game on the screen. His right hand moved up and down as if he were the one bouncing the ball, then he raised both hands in front of him and took the imaginary shot.
“Give him three!” boomed the announcer, and Scott pumped his fist in the air.
I pulled back around the corner and smiled. Once I recovered from the wave of warm tinglies from spying on my guy in his natural habitat, I moved into the room.
“Hey,” Scott said as soon as I walked in. “I thought you were going to call me.” He got up and came toward me, then he bent down and laid a lip-lock on me that erased at least half the damage from another Saturday night slinging drinks at the bar.
I shrugged. “I’m sorry. What can I do to make it up to you?”
“Get naked, get wet, and let me have my way with you.” He made a low growl, then nibbled the side of my neck.
I giggled and squirmed, and after a few more moments of the delicious torture, he backed away.
“You shower, and I’ll cook you an—”
“Omelet?”
“Hey, that’s what you get when you date a firefighter. You cook fast, you eat fast, and you get to what’s important.”
“Like this?” I asked as I backed a few steps away and pulled my black Sweet Alice T-shirt over my head.
“Exactly,” he said. His eyes widened when I tapped the front clasp of the black satin bra.
I lowered my hand. “Feed me, and there’ll be more where that came from.”
He scurried into the kitchen, and I stepped into the bathroom.
And I'm really happy that Federer has another gold plate for his mantle. The boy is adorable. He's not really one of those athletes I take one look at and just wanna jump...really, he's more like your adorable little brother. You just want to muss his curls and pinch his cheek then pour him a glass of cherry Kool-Aid. (I have two such younger brothers, and I am convinced that one's "shaved head" period was because he got tired of everyone wanting to pinch his dimpled cheek and play with his curls.)
I was, however, much more upset about the results of yesterday's final when Justine Henin-Hardenne fell to Amelie Mauresmo. It's not that I "don't like" Amelie or anything. They're both good players, but I definitely adore Justine who has had a very hard life (lost her mom as a teenager) and isn't even 5'6" (a real rarity in this day and age; the only shorter/smaller player I'm aware of is Hingis).
Look at this picture of them ...Amelie (left) looks like she could throw Justine (center) over her shoulder and walk away, whistling "High Ho" and without even breaking a sweat. (Not that I mean any offense by that...the woman can serve at 120 miles per hour...my speedometer doesn't even go up that high!) I mean, Amelie looks like a professional athlete while Justine looks like the cheerleader who'd be organizing Amelie's pep rally. (Not that she is any kind of slouch...can you believe her serve is 116mph?!?!)
I think that like a lot of folks, I just have a weakness for underdogs, and that's why I choose the heroines I do most of the time. In The Gypsy Chick, the heroine Lyndi has just been dumped by her boyfriend three days before Valentine's day, and to add salt to the wound, she has to work Valentine's night, surrounded by canoodling couples. In The Glamorous Life, my heroine is Porsche, a stripper who seems very intelligent and in control until she finds herself in a dangerous situation when a customer takes the idea of a private dance too far; still, having a woman who is intelligent and savvy kinda of makes her an underdog in comparison to what society expects of her. In Picture Perfect, Kristine has given up on Cupid after her heart is broken...when the same man returns to try to repair the damage, she's not sure she can take it.
And then there's my absolute favorite of my underdog heroines. In She Who Laughs Last (and its sequel Margarita Chica), the heroine is Leslie Stetler, a saleswoman who has a very cruel trick played on her that threatens her success. In the end, there is no hero to rescue her. She either has to find the strength inside and save herself, or she has to accept defeat.
I'd like to think that this approach to storytelling, even though it's not always the "tradtional" fiction route, is still able to entertain and inspire you (one thing I can guarantee is that you will laugh A LOT along the way). So give me a shout-out. Are you a fan of the underdog?
I don't think I've ever put an excerpt here, so I'll do that today just for a change of pace. This is from The Gypsy Chick where when Lyndi loses Scott, she sells her soul to the Devil for a guy who's perfect........perfectly awful:
I peeked around the corner and spied on my favorite intruder. Scott leaned all the way forward on the couch cushion. He had the same obstinately thick and wavy dark curls the actor who played Mark Darcy in Bridget Jones did. Even though I preferred Daniel Cleaver, I didn’t hold that against Scott. My fingers ran through it just fine.
A bottle of beer sat on the coaster in front of him, and his blue eyes twitched as he followed the basketball game on the screen. His right hand moved up and down as if he were the one bouncing the ball, then he raised both hands in front of him and took the imaginary shot.
“Give him three!” boomed the announcer, and Scott pumped his fist in the air.
I pulled back around the corner and smiled. Once I recovered from the wave of warm tinglies from spying on my guy in his natural habitat, I moved into the room.
“Hey,” Scott said as soon as I walked in. “I thought you were going to call me.” He got up and came toward me, then he bent down and laid a lip-lock on me that erased at least half the damage from another Saturday night slinging drinks at the bar.
I shrugged. “I’m sorry. What can I do to make it up to you?”
“Get naked, get wet, and let me have my way with you.” He made a low growl, then nibbled the side of my neck.
I giggled and squirmed, and after a few more moments of the delicious torture, he backed away.
“You shower, and I’ll cook you an—”
“Omelet?”
“Hey, that’s what you get when you date a firefighter. You cook fast, you eat fast, and you get to what’s important.”
“Like this?” I asked as I backed a few steps away and pulled my black Sweet Alice T-shirt over my head.
“Exactly,” he said. His eyes widened when I tapped the front clasp of the black satin bra.
I lowered my hand. “Feed me, and there’ll be more where that came from.”
He scurried into the kitchen, and I stepped into the bathroom.
posted by JackiKing at 4:25 PM
2 Comments:
Yes, the underdog needs help so I would cheer them on.
Yeah, food isn't just the way to a man's heart... *G*
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