Saturday, March 28, 2015

Storyboard Saturday

I am sure many of you are wondering who the heck is Aine Blaze. I am an author. We authors spend our time inside our heads and by the end of the day, we hope we've produced something worthwhile to the reader. I've written three books, soon to be published.

But there is so much more to me than that. I try not to offend others, but I'm far from politically correct. My favorite foods are chocolate and raspberries. Coffee is a must for me. Cheese of any type is on my top ten list. And my healthiest indulgence is Noosa yogurt.

In this blog I hope my audience will get to know me as well as my writing.

Here's a wip, my 3rd book, which once completed I'll be publishing all three books. This excerpt isn't from a series. It's a stand alone and oddly, I wrote this story first before completing my other two works of fiction.

This romance is between horse racing heiress Cassie and Irish horse breeder,Justin. Years ago they were lovers, but her single-minded focus on becoming the best horse racer in the business drove him away. He's back only because someone's jealous of Cassie's success.

It was the culmination of one problem after another that made her do it. It was the only explanation Cassandra Tierney had for a momentary lapse of sanity. Well, the only explanation she dared consider.
She tamped down on the truth hovering at the edges of her mind. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Leaning on the cool door, she silently berated the desperate act.
Maybe he didn’t see it. It’s been three months. It’s just like him to ignore me. Maybe it didn’t make it into the envelope. “Yeah, that’s it. I took it out often enough it could have fallen under the desk or behind the couch.” Lifting her head, she felt a little better. Even though she was lying to herself.  
She was falling apart, waiting for him to appear. And, now he’s all I can think about.   
If that wasn’t enough to make her anxious, on the other side of the door, several hundred people mingled in the cool dawn mist awaiting her arrival as if she was a queen or something. Please, I’m just a twenty seven year old horse breeder.
Yet, it was all about appearances.
She hated keeping up appearances. She had been trained by the best. Etiquette and debutante classes, dance and piano. She learned the art of conversation; how to walk and dress like a beauty contestant. If her mother had insisted she learn embroidery or knitting, Cassie would have believed they lived in Victorian Era England.
 And, I hated every minute of it.
As often as possible, she snuck away, hiding in the barn, working with the hands, and riding into the nearby Blue Ridge Mountains to get away from that obligation.
It wasn’t until she became sole owner of Briar Ridge, and star of thoroughbred racing that she called upon those silly lessons “girls of her station,” as her mother used to say, had to go through.
Well, not exactly sole owner.
That vast training slipped through her fingers like sand. She couldn’t make herself open the door; bringing her face to face with the people on the other side.
When is it going to end? I’m just tired, that’s all. Tired from the preparations for the charity event. “Tired of the sabotage,” Cassie barked out, angrily. Her shoulders slumped. “So tired of dealing with all of it, alone.”
No, no, no.
She was always confident. Always fearless. She would handle Briar’s problems just like every obstacle in her life. This time was no different.
But it is.
Cassie squelched the urge to lift her head and bang it against the door until she was either unconscious or had knocked some sense into it. I should have asked Rae to help. She’s better at organizing parties than I am anyway. I couldn’t with him out there. He’s watching.
Hurt, angry, and tired, she inhaled deeply, exhaling slowly, hoping it calmed her. It didn’t. Why should it. It’s only been seven months and still we haven’t found one single piece of evidence to tell us who he is.
Sabotage had plagued Briar Ridge since spring, and he’d struck again last night. Well, the dead colt was a casualty of the criminal’s tampering with feed from months ago.
Why? That question hounded her waking and sleeping hours until she was sick. She knew being at the top of her profession put a target on her back. But to take it this far? Did I inadvertently hurt someone by my success? His face loomed. She couldn’t think about that right now.
Squaring her shoulders, she pulled herself together. I refuse to let the bastard think he’s gotten to me.
But he has.
     He’d made her feel… inadequate. Something no one else had ever done; not even him. Slumping further, Cassie wanted to forego the image she’d built, the one thrust upon her by her parents untimely death; crawl back into bed, and hide under the covers until it was all over. But it wasn’t a luxury she had. 



Historical Euphemism of the day for Sex

Labor Leather Time Period: 1500 - 1600 Leather needs to be conditioned to keep soft and pliable aka lots and lots of practice in bed.