My characters came to brunch with me

Happy Canadian Thanksgiving! Today I’m sharing a small snippet of something it’s not going to make it to the book. Yay for deleted scenes!

The snippet is at the end of this post. Now, some bookish anecdote.

When my characters showed up for brunch

I was out, on a brunch. I rarely think about my book when I’m performing my regular life. My life as a software developer, mother, wife and functional adult all require me to compartmentalize to function properly and not be the obsessed author always writing and forgetting to be an adult with responsibilities and chores.

As I said, it happened during brunch at a place close to the university in Calgary. My husband took the toddler to the bathroom (we are potty training). And I remained on the table, facing the door. I drank my coffee, black, thinking about the benefits of ordering chicken and waffles. 

I looked up and one guy was looking at me from the entrance waiting to be seated. He turned around to talk to the hostess. I returned to my coffee and I did a second take. Guy was university age, normal given the area. But then it prickled on my brain: black hair, defined jaw, tall and attractive. I looked again, beside him there was a girl: Short height, delicate features, beautiful, red hair on a clip and a neutral hoodie. Is the universe sending me variants of my Male Main Character and my Female Main Character to tell me to keep editing, or is my brain finding patterns?

The guy left, and the girl with a friend made it to a table. Never mind the friend of the red-haired girl looked like the best friend of my female main character. They sat on a table. And I returned to my coffee, black and no sugar.

My husband returned, the toddler with endless energy talked about everything. We ate.

Later, the not-MMC guy returned with his friends. And the girl with red hair was almost finished ready to leave. They don’t know each other. It’s definitely my brain not being completely offline from my book and finding patterns. But I’ll take the hint. Draft #4 is in better shape thanks to my efforts. Magic is still there. Magic is everywhere.

I’ll keep what I’m doing: working eight hours a day as a software developer, paying the bills, being a mom, wife, friend, etc. Some nights I’ll be too tired to write or edit, but some nights I’ll be productive and get to the finish line. Slow and steady to get this ready. 

I daydream about the day the book is published, promoted on the shelf of my local library because I’m a local author from Calgary, and I get asked: have you ever seen someone that reminds you of your characters? And I’ll be: ah yes, a tall guy with black hair and short girl with red hair is not that uncommon, I have seen people that remind me of my characters from time to time. No big deal. 

And l will confess that most of the doppelgängers I have seen are in Alberta, nothing mysterious because I live there. Or is there a mystery behind it? Maybe, visit Alberta (and Canada) to find out. 

I mean, most of my story is based on things I have direct and indirect anecdotes that have happened in Alberta for the fifteen years I have lived here.

Where am I today?

If you are following my journey, I want you to know it’s getting closer. I have grown as a person and as a writer. I have my system, my edits and I’m taking my time. 

Stats today: 116k words, re-worked some scenes, patched some holes and tweaked scenes to compress a bit. I talk a lot in my head, hence my manuscript is filled with a lot of words. But I’m happy with it.

The story is the same I envisioned a year and a half ago when I got serious about writing and started to draft. I know where this is going. But the story is different too. It has grown and it’s better than ever. At least I’m convinced it’s better than has ever been.

Deleted Scene #32

Context: Emma and the MMC who is her research partner (the one she agreed to be fake friends with) are on a research mission in BC's Okanagan. They left a wine tour in a Okanagan Valley winery.

The wine tour didn't serve enough wine to leave me buzzed. Which I thought was good.

"Are we going for a scenic drive?" I closed the passenger door. He turned on the ignition. His face remained composed but I felt the amusement.

"Let's have dinner first. You must be hungry."

"I ate the gouda, the Brie and crackers. I'm not drunk."

"I know. And that scenic drive means what I think it means." He reversed the truck to leave the parking lot. "Making sure you can consent."

"Yes, that scenic drive means exactly that, your highness. Park in an empty parking lot by the lakeshore. I Googled it, the parks close in an hour. Only the moon will remain as a witness."

"Witness of what?"

"You and me. The back seat. And the Land Cruiser‘s suspension." I said bluntly. He glanced at me with a smirk.

"Alright, I can do that. Dinner first. I know you are not drunk. But I know you are hungry."

Thursday on a summer night, the locals at the bar kept to themselves. Other tourists of the Okanagan Valley made their way in: a family of four, a bachelorette party and two guys from Ontario talking about hockey. The announcement of karaoke night came through the speakers. One of the prizes was a photography session with the Ogopogo sculpture in Downtown Kelowna, which made me go competitive and warm up my voice.

"I'm winning this!" I told him. He laughed, the dimples showed. I loved the dimples, but telling him would probably make him self-conscious.

"Ok, maybe you are drunk."

"I enjoy karaoke sober or drunk. Ask my best friend." I grabbed the huge notebook of songs and examined it as I ate nachos. He ordered poutine, I ordered fish and chips. "You want to join me on stage?"

"No, my talents are related to alchemy and research."

"You are doing the humble act tonight? I know you are talented in more than alchemy and research."

"I'm not a singer."

"You play piano?"

"I don't. My exposure to art is knowing how to cook to survive."

"Culinary arts? I'll take it!" I laughed as I filled in the form. "I'm not talented but I enjoy the chaos. My best friend and I used to go on stage, one would sing and the other would do an interpretive dance. Our best song was Tequila, if I say so myself."

"Tequila? I thought you said down south the government barred kids from drinking until twenty one. You turned twenty a month ago. Why would you sing about Tequila?"

"You haven't heard the Tequila song? Ugh, your lack of pop culture knowledge is a disgrace. You Canadians are lucky to have a reasonable drinking age."

"Us Canadians. You might have been raised in California, but you were born in Calgary."

"Yes. Also, tonight is my first night drinking alcohol."

"Liar. You had a beer with me months ago when we agreed to be fake friends."

"You caught me. I'm enjoying myself. Summer in BC, on a research mission in the beautiful Okanagan Valley, and now we have an academic advisor for the seminar."

"Thanks to you." He raised his glass.

"Thanks to me. Cheers to that!" I raised my ginger ale to his Coke. "The best research partners and best fake-friends-turned-real-friends."

"I'm sure your mother would have been proud of you."

"Thanks!" My throat tightened. I chose to believe she would be proud of me. The DJ at the stage called my name: "Miss Ginger Spice?"

"Ginger Spice?" He raised an eyebrow.

"I'm not putting down my real name. Identity theft and all," I whispered as I smiled and waved.

"Alright, Ginger Spice," the DJ laughed. "I see, is it the red hair? How do you know about the Spice Girls? You are too young to know about them."

"My mom was a fan," I said into the microphone. "My name is Emma and I'm convinced she named me after Emma Bunton. I have a picture of my mom on Halloween 1997 dressed as Scary Spice. But when I was born I didn’t have any hair, bald as en egg so my guess she picked Emma after recovering from the fact I didn’t look like her. But she wasn't counting on my dad's ginger genes taking over like this. Sorry." People in the bar laughed.

"Alright, the comedian. Come back in Wednesday night for open mic. Where you visiting us from?" The DJ asked.

“California!“ I said automatically. I heard one guy with a hockey jersey booing. “I’m assuming you hate the Anaheim Ducks. Dude, you are wearing a Leafs jersey. You should be ashamed! You are lucky my brother is not here. He's a hockey player for my university. Go Specters go!”

”Damn, shots fired.” The DJ played the song. The lights blinded me. The first notes reverberated through the bar. I didn't need the lyrics on the screen.

"No way this girl knows this song." The DJ said to himself.

"Hey, my dad used to play it on road trips. My mom loved it too."

"You have a lot of lore about your mom. I bet she’s a special lady. I'm intrigued." I smiled back.

It was Sheryl Crow's cover of a Guns N' Roses song, pretty famous when my dad and mom were in college. At some point in the song there's a mention of blue eyes. Dad had green eyes, Mom brown, my brother dark olive and mine hazel. No blue eyes anywhere in my family.

I looked at him from the stage, grey eyes. He paid attention like his life depended on it. Blue eyes made no sense, so I changed the lyrics to grey eyes. He noticed. His face remained calm but the bond stirred. Grey eyes as the sky threatening with rain. I don't want to look at those eyes and see pain.

I finished the song to a modest round of applause, returned to the table and took a sip of ginger ale. He moved closer.

"I thought you said you weren’t using your real name.” He teased me.

“It’s the nerves, I spill the truth when confronted with public and stage lights.”

”I think it's the first time in my life I have been serenaded."

"First time for everything. You are welcome."

"Want dessert?"

"Yes. But not here," I said into his ear, and he went still. "I don't want to go back to the hotel. I don't want the front desk calling the room again. I don’t want interruptions."

"I can arrange that," he said, his voice controlled. We skipped dessert and paid the bill. On the way to the Land Cruiser, he grabbed my hand, pulled me back and kissed me. The night turned even warmer, which I couldn't believe was possible. He pressed me against the passenger door and pulled back.

"What do you want? Tell me and I'll give it to you."

"You know what I want," I said, looking up as I traced his stubble with my fingers.

"Say it."

"You. I want you." I pulled him down and kissed him. "I want to finish what we started. I want you to f…”

End of deleted scene #32

Why I deleted this scene?

Too silly and Karaoke scenes are better to enjoy when you are out having a good time with your friends. For a scene in a book? I'm not sure. Maybe I'll revisit in the future.