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ChristineM
Posts: 260
Registered: ‎12-31-2006
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ChristineM-Billionaire Bum-Opening

Ok, how does this work for the opening scene for Billionaire Bum? Does it make you curious to read more (if you were looking at it in a bookstore)? Is there an angle I should pursue? It's just the first draft so I can still make major structural changes if you have a suggestion. Thanks!



“Looks like you need a hand.”

Gail looked up from the flower bed she was trying to turn. Once upon a time these flowerbeds must have been beautiful, but years of neglect had left them nothing but lumpy extensions of the weedy lawn. The man at the garden center told her the best thing to do would be to dig everything up, turn the soil with some fertilizer and start over. It had seemed like the most easily accomplished job on her long, long list.

Sadly, she thought she might be right.

The man standing on the other side of the rusty wrought iron fence wasn’t looking at her or the flowerbed. He was looking at the mansion lurking behind her. Instead of looking at the ruined mansion she’d inherited two months ago, Gail looked at the man looking at the mansion.

First, he needed a shave. Maybe a bath then a shave. And a complete change of clothes. His jeans were either twenty years old or had been through a very rough decade. Homeless. Not homeless for very long, she judged. He didn’t look at all hungry or wild eyed. His broad shoulders and narrow waist made him appear powerful and capable, two things Gail wasn’t feeling right now. His dark hair could use a trim and his beard had threads of gray running through it. His round face looked friendly, but the wary brown eyes that met hers didn’t seem to fit.

“I could,” she told him. She'd never been able to turn down a stray. “If you would dig up this flowerbed, I could give you some lunch.”

“Work for food.” He said softly. His voice was warm and curiously comforting. Gail felt it curling around her spine, relaxing her. His hands, she noted, also looked more than capable. “Sounds like a pretty simple transaction. Sure.”

“The gate-“ Gail started to direct him to the gate, but he cut her short by jumping over the fence. “Or you could just jump.”

“How much do you need done?” He asked.

Gail barked a laugh before she could stop herself. The mansion needed roof, plumbing and electrical work. The gutters had forests growing in them. There was an antique car in the garage sitting on four flat tires that might have a family of possums living in the trunk. The lawn, if it could be called that had mostly been taken over by weeds and would have been two feet high if the city had not taken pity on her and mowed it without charging her. None of the appliances in the kitchen worked and the place seemed to be infested with rodents. Plus, the crazy aunt who’d left it to her apparently did not celebrate trash day.

His tense mouth broadened into a transforming smile as if he was reading her mind. His eyes lit with laughter making him look handsome in a dirty, down and out kind of way. It made Gail wonder how dehydrated she was. Her heart was pounding and she felt silly and light.

“Let me rephrase that,” he said, still smiling. “How much digging do you need done?”

“Eventually all along the fence, but just do as much as you can do. And when you find the daffodils, throw the bulbs in this bucket.” She kicked the dented aluminum bucket she’d rescued from the garage. “I hope to replant them after the fertilizer soaks in. There’s gloves in the garage.” She held out the shovel.

He took it and started in the direction of the garage.

Gail went to the house, taking her dark brown hair out of the ponytail it seemed bent on escaping anyway. She walked through the front door, dodged the stack of twenty year old newspapers and turned down the oak paneled hall to the kitchen. The wallpaper above the chair rail hung in long strips, in some places to the floor. Something to keep her clients busy this winter. If she could get clients. The Persian runner on the floor she thought might be salvaged with a good cleaning.

My house, she thought. My ancestral home. She looked down the ornate if shabby hall wondering where these rich relatives had been when she was waitressing her way through college. Or better, when she was being bounced from foster home to foster home after her father vanished and her mother died just before she turned twelve. She touched the oak paneling. Several gallons of Murphy’s oil soap would fix that. She’d hoped when she got here that there would be a letter on the kitchen table explaining everything. So far she’d sorted through mountains of papers, but no letter had surfaced. No oil soap either.

But the crumbling behemoth could still be the answer to her dreams even if it hadn’t fulfilled her hopes for a family.

Gail made her way through the kitchen. The linoleum looked like it might have been installed shortly after the Depression. The ornate green and yellow leaf pattern wasn’t one Gail would have chosen but it suited the kitchen with its marble counter tops and white painted cupboards. A huge gas stove crouched at the far end of the room. Only one of the burners worked. She took a glass out of the cupboard and filled it from the tap which leaked so badly she really didn’t need to turn the water on to fill her glass. There was so much wrong with this place she didn’t even want to make a list. Sometimes late at night she wondered if she hadn’t so much inherited the place as been saddled with it.

Sipping from her glass, she picked up the photo she’d found on the first day here in the old woman’s bedroom.

There were four people in the picture. The severe looking older woman who’d bequeathed the house to her, younger in the photo than in the picture the lawyers had given her, but still as severe. An older man who managed to look more severe. A round faced woman with a sweet smile that Gail had seen smiling back from mirrors all her life. The last person in the picture, a boy somewhat younger than the women, wore the pissed off expression of a cut off driver. Gail had seen that expression most recently in her rearview mirror. Those people were her family. Her actual blood relatives. Her father always said he’d been an orphan before he ran out on her and her mother when she was nine. Apparently, he’d been wrong. Or lying.

Gail rubbed the bridge of her nose. She hated thinking about her father. It nearly brought on a migraine every time. She refilled her water glass and carried it to the door.

Her helper dug industriously at the flowerbed. He’d put on work gloves and taken off his shirt. The sight was not at all migraine inducing. He bent to the task like he was built for it. For all she knew, he was.

Her first good deed of the new city. She really should know better by now. Every time she went softhearted, she ended up getting conned or robbed or merely heartbroken. She was starting to prefer conned or robbed over heartbroken, but inevitably heartbroken happened anyway.

She drained the last of her water and turned away from her spying. She wanted to get more of these papers bundled up for recycling tomorrow. She needed to get as much done as possible before her grant came though. It had to come through. She didn’t need much. The mansion and gardens would provide enough work for the depressed patients she hoped to help for occupational therapy and her friend Betsy Lupin had already agreed to sign on as head psychiatrist. Once she got the grant so she could bring the place up to code, she could start taking patients.
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lavenderlass
Posts: 270
Registered: ‎01-02-2007
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Re: ChristineM-Billionaire Bum-Opening

Hi Christine, I liked it, but I wonder if he might read more to a millionaire character if he was suprised by her question that he might do some manual work for her, since presumably he's always had people around him to do his hard work for him, you know, 'work? What? Dig up that border for lunch? Oh, yeah what a good idea!' as the idea takes him and he decides to go along with her assumption and be someone he's not for a while.

I liked the contrast between his friendly face and wary brown eyes, but I think you could make more of it. I wasn't sure about the dehydrated sentance, I wasn't sure who was dehydrated, I loved the description of the house and car - I'd love to be there it felt so real. Lastly, I think the last few sentances are more telling than showing but I love the story and the whole idea.

Lynne.
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cariann92
Posts: 95
Registered: ‎10-19-2006
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Re: ChristineM-Billionaire Bum-Opening

I like this.

Comments are coming.

Will he be the one to give her the grant?

A little bit of tell. Your descriptions are really good. But maybe put some of them in as she is working with the bum in the garden. They could talk about the garden. Then move on to the house and the shape it is in.

I thought she would offer him some water. Would the water even be safe to drink?

Would she talk to him about her plans? Or would she think a homeless person wouldn't know about grants and things?

I put my comments in []. Hope you can find them. Use what you want and toss the rest.

Cariann
----

“Looks like you need a hand.”

Gail looked up from the flower bed she was trying to turn. Once upon a time these flowerbeds must have been beautiful, but years of neglect had left them nothing but lumpy extensions of the weedy lawn. The man at the garden center told her the best thing to do would be to dig everything up, turn the soil with some fertilizer and start over. It had seemed like the most easily accomplished job on her long, long list.

Sadly, she thought she might be right. [About what?]

The man standing on the other side of the rusty wrought iron fence wasn’t looking at her or the flowerbed. He was looking at the mansion lurking behind her. Instead of looking at the ruined mansion she’d inherited two months ago, Gail looked at the man looking at the mansion. [Her eyes followed his to the mansion]

First, he needed a shave. Maybe a bath then a shave. And a complete change of clothes. His jeans were either twenty years old or had been through a very rough decade. Homeless. Not homeless for very long, she judged. He didn’t look at all hungry or wild eyed. His broad shoulders and narrow waist made him appear powerful and capable, two things Gail wasn’t feeling right now. His dark hair could use a trim and his beard had threads of gray running through it. His round face looked friendly, but the wary brown eyes that met hers didn’t seem to fit. [I know you are making him appear to be a bum and homeless, but don't make my hero have BO.]

“I could,” she told him. She'd never been able to turn down a stray. “If you would dig up this flowerbed, I could give you some lunch.”

“Work for food.” He said softly. His voice was warm and curiously comforting. Gail felt it curling around her spine, relaxing her. His hands, she noted, also looked more than capable. “Sounds like a pretty simple transaction. Sure.” [Is he laughing inside at the thought of working for food. Could she see something that tells her that?]

“The gate-“ Gail started to direct him to the gate, but he cut her short by jumping over the fence. “Or you could just jump.” LOL

“How much do you need done?” He asked.

Gail barked a laugh before she could stop herself. The mansion needed roof, plumbing and electrical work. The gutters had forests growing in them. There was an antique car in the garage sitting on four flat tires that might have a family of possums living in the trunk. The lawn, if it could be called that had mostly been taken over by weeds and would have been two feet high if the city had not taken pity on her and mowed it without charging her. None of the appliances in the kitchen worked and the place seemed to be infested with rodents. Plus, the crazy aunt who’d left it to her apparently did not celebrate trash day.

His tense mouth broadened into a transforming smile as if he was reading her mind. [Don't make mind reading a necessity. Some dialogue here could show us what is needed to be done.] His eyes lit with laughter making him look handsome in a dirty, down and out kind of way. It made Gail wonder how dehydrated she was. Her heart was pounding and she felt silly and light.

“Let me rephrase that,” he said, still smiling. “How much digging do you need done?”

“Eventually all along the fence, but just do as much as you can do. And when you find the daffodils, throw the bulbs in this bucket.” She kicked the dented aluminum bucket she’d rescued from the garage. “I hope to replant them after the fertilizer soaks in. There’s [are]gloves in the garage.” She held out the shovel.

He took it and started in the direction of the garage.

Gail went to the house, taking her dark brown hair out of the ponytail it seemed bent on escaping anyway. She walked through the front door, dodged the stack of twenty year old newspapers and turned down the oak paneled hall to the kitchen. The wallpaper above the chair rail hung in long strips, in some places to the floor. Something to keep her clients busy this winter. If she could get clients. The Persian runner on the floor she thought might be salvaged with a good cleaning.

My house, she thought. My ancestral home. She looked down the ornate if shabby hall wondering where these rich relatives had been when she was waitressing her way through college. Or better, when she was being bounced from foster home to foster home after her father vanished and her mother died just before she turned twelve. She touched the oak paneling. Several gallons of Murphy’s oil soap would fix that. She’d hoped when she got here that there would be a letter on the kitchen table explaining everything. So far she’d sorted through mountains of papers, but no letter had surfaced. No oil soap either.

But the crumbling behemoth could still be the answer to her dreams even if it hadn’t fulfilled her hopes for a family.

Gail made her way through the kitchen. The linoleum looked like it might have been installed shortly after the Depression. The ornate green and yellow leaf pattern wasn’t one Gail would have chosen but it suited the kitchen with its marble counter tops and white painted cupboards. A huge gas stove crouched at the far end of the room. Only one of the burners worked. She took a glass out of the cupboard and filled it from the tap which leaked so badly she really didn’t need to turn the water on to fill her glass. [A long sentence, try put it under the tap and filled it without turning on the water.] There was so much wrong with this place she didn’t even want to make a list. Sometimes late at night she wondered if she hadn’t so much inherited the place as been saddled with it.

Sipping from her glass, she picked up the photo she’d found on the first day here in the old woman’s bedroom.

There were four people in the picture. The severe looking older woman who’d bequeathed the house to her, younger in the photo than in the picture the lawyers had given her, but still as severe. An older man who managed to look more severe. A round faced woman with a sweet smile that Gail had seen smiling back from mirrors all her life. The last person in the picture, a boy somewhat younger than the women, wore the pissed off expression of a cut off driver. Gail had seen that expression most recently in her rearview mirror. Those people were her family. Her actual blood relatives. Her father always said he’d been an orphan before he ran out on her and her mother when she was nine. Apparently, he’d been wrong. Or lying. [Was her father the boy in the picture?]

Gail rubbed the bridge of her nose. She hated thinking about her father. It nearly brought on a migraine every time. She refilled her water glass and carried it to the door. [Where's the glass of water for the bum?]

Her helper dug industriously at the flowerbed. He’d put on work gloves and taken off his shirt. The sight was not at all migraine inducing. He bent to the task like he was built for it. For all she knew, he was.

Her first good deed of [in] the new city. She really should know better by now. Every time she went softhearted, she ended up getting conned or robbed or merely heartbroken. She was starting to prefer conned or robbed over heartbroken, but inevitably heartbroken happened anyway.

She drained the last of her water and turned away from her spying. She wanted to get more of these papers bundled up for recycling tomorrow. She needed to get as much done as possible before her grant came though. It had to come through. She didn’t need much. ((The mansion and gardens would provide enough work for the depressed patients she hoped to help /for/ occupational therapy and her friend Betsy Lupin had already agreed to sign on as head psychiatrist.))[That sentence is long. help with OT. Put the next part in its own sentence.] Once she got the grant so she could bring the place up to code, she could start taking patients. [The house just needs to be up to code, then the patients can work on the remodeling part, right?]
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LeighMichaels
Posts: 297
Registered: ‎10-19-2006
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Re: ChristineM-Billionaire Bum-Opening

Among the bits I like best:

Him jumping over the fence, and then she says, “Or you could just jump.”

It made Gail wonder how dehydrated she was. Her heart was pounding and she felt silly and light.

So far she’d sorted through mountains of papers, but no letter had surfaced. No oil soap either.

Things I wondered about:

Her clients, at first...

Something to keep her clients busy this winter. If she could get clients.

What kind of clients will strip her wallpaper? Oh, I see. Are you sure that stripping wallpaper won’t make them even more depressed? :smileyhappy:

Also, you have a nice meet but then she leaves and we get a tour of the house. How might you keep them in the same space for longer? Maybe she feeds him first? Maybe he asks for a water bottle before starting work, and so they “see” the house together, along with the reader, rather than just Gail walking through?

Okay, maybe she wouldn’t want to invite him in before he’s even done a lick of work. But there must be ways to keep them together for a while so we can see them interacting, not just get the view of the house.

Happy writing,
Leigh
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dixielandgrl
Posts: 285
Registered: ‎10-19-2006
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Re: ChristineM-Billionaire Bum-Opening

I think the simplest way to keep them together is to keep her there working with him. If I were in her situation- not knowing this man- I don't think I'd leave him unattended. I'd do my own garden thing to make sure he didn't wander around on his own and to keep both of us visible to passers by. Let's face it. You know he's our hero. I know he's our hero, but she doesn't know it. There's the "Boston Strangler" factor. She can be kind and sweet, but I wouldn't want her to appear stupid and naive. Well, a little naive is okay, but not stupidly so.

I felt the flow was good and the read was easy. In edit, you might want to add a little more sensory information about the environment. Is it hot in the garden? Can she hear anything? I wanted to feel more as I read.

The fence thing is my favorite part. It's natural and funny.
"If all would lead their lives in love like me,
Then bloody swords and armor should not be:" Thomas Campion
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ChristineM
Posts: 260
Registered: ‎12-31-2006
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Re: ChristineM-Billionaire Bum-Opening

Ok, another try, I think I addressed most of the problems. I was trying to make her intnetionally obtuse when he's asking questions. Let me know if it works.



“Looks like you need a hand.”

Gail looked up from the flowerbed she was trying to turn. Once upon a time these flowerbeds must have been beautiful, but years of neglect had left them nothing but lumpy extensions of the weedy lawn. The man at the garden center told her the best thing to do would be to dig everything up, turn the soil with some fertilizer and start over. It had seemed like the most easily accomplished job on her long, long list.

Sadly, she thought she might be right.

The man standing on the other side of the rusty wrought iron fence wasn’t looking at her or the flowerbed. He was peering at the mansion lurking behind her. Instead of turning toward the ruined mansion she’d inherited two months ago, Gail studied the man studying the mansion.

First, he needed a shave. And a complete change of clothes. His jeans were either twenty years old or had been through a very rough decade. Homeless. Not homeless for very long, she judged. He didn’t look at all hungry or wild eyed. His broad shoulders and narrow waist made him appear powerful and capable, two things Gail wasn’t feeling right now. His dark hair could use a trim and his beard had threads of gray running through it. His round face looked friendly, but the wary brown eyes that met hers didn’t seem to fit.

“I could,” she told him. She'd never been able to turn down a stray. “If you would dig up this flowerbed, I could give you some lunch.”

“Work for food?” he said softly. His voice was warm and curiously comforting. Gail felt it curling around her spine, relaxing her. His hands, she noted, also looked more than capable. “Huh. Sounds like a pretty simple transaction. Sure.”

“The gate-“ Gail started to direct him to the gate, but he cut her short by jumping over the fence. “Or you could just jump.”

“How much do you need done?” he asked.

Gail barked a laugh before she could stop herself. The mansion needed roof, plumbing and electrical work just to bring it up to code. The gutters had forests growing in them. The antique car sitting in the garage on four flat tires might have a family of possums living in the trunk. The lawn, if it could be called that had mostly been taken over by weeds and would have been two feet high if the city had not taken pity on her and mowed it without charging her. None of the appliances in the kitchen worked and the place seemed to be infested with rodents. Plus, the crazy aunt who’d left it to her apparently did not celebrate trash day.

His tense mouth broadened into a transforming smile at her laugh. His eyes brightened making him look handsome in a dirty, down and out kind of way. It made Gail wonder how dehydrated she was. Her heart was pounding and she felt silly and light.

“Let me rephrase that,” he said, still smiling. “How much digging do you need done?”

“Eventually all along the fence, but just do as much as you can do. And when you find the daffodils, throw the bulbs in this bucket.” She kicked the dented aluminum bucket she’d rescued from the garage. “I hope to replant them after the fertilizer soaks in. There’s more gloves in the garage.” She held out the shovel.

“I’ll go see if I can find those gloves.”

Gail stripped off her own gloves. “I’m going in the house for some water. I’ll bring some out.”

He nodded and started toward the garage.

Gail went to the house, taking her dark brown hair out of the ponytail it seemed bent on escaping anyway. She walked through the front door, dodged the stack of twenty-year-old newspapers and turned down the oak paneled hall to the kitchen. The wallpaper above the chair rail hung in long strips, in some places to the floor. Something to keep her clients busy this winter. If she could get clients. The Persian runner on the floor she thought might be salvaged with a good cleaning.

My house, she thought. My ancestral home. She looked down the ornate if shabby hall wondering where these rich relatives had been when she was waitressing her way through college. Or better, when she was being bounced from foster home to foster home after her father vanished and her mother died just before she turned twelve. She touched the oak paneling. Several gallons of Murphy’s oil soap would fix that. She’d hoped when she got here that there would be a letter on the kitchen table explaining everything. So far she’d sorted through mountains of papers, but no letter had surfaced. No oil soap either.

But the crumbling behemoth could still be the answer to her dreams even if it hadn’t fulfilled her hopes for a family.

Gail made her way through the kitchen. The linoleum looked like it might have been installed shortly after the Depression. The ornate green and yellow leaf pattern wasn’t one Gail would have chosen but it suited the kitchen with its marble counter tops and white painted cupboards. A huge gas stove crouched at the far end of the room. Only one of the burners worked. She took a crystal pitcher out of the cupboard and filled it from the tap which leaked so badly she really didn’t need to turn the water on to fill her glass. There was so much wrong with this place she didn’t even want to make a list. Sometimes late at night she wondered if she hadn’t so much inherited the place as been saddled with it. She took down two glasses and filled one of them from the tap.

Sipping from her glass, she picked up the photo she’d found on the first day here in the old woman’s bedroom.

There were four people in the picture. The severe looking older woman who’d bequeathed the house to her, younger in the photo than in the picture the lawyers had given her, but still as severe. An older man who managed to look more severe. A round faced woman with a sweet smile that Gail had seen reflected back at her from mirrors all her life. The last person in the picture, a boy somewhat younger than the women, wore the pissed off expression of a cut off driver. Gail had seen that expression most recently in her rearview mirror. Those people were her family. Her actual blood relatives. Her father always claimed he’d been an orphan before he ran out on her and her mother when she was nine. Apparently, he’d been wrong. Or lying.

Gail rubbed the bridge of her nose. She hated thinking about her father. It nearly brought on a migraine every time. She refilled her water glass and put it on the silver tray. She supposed the crystal pitcher and the silver tray were antiques that she shouldn’t be dragging around like junky second rate Tupperware, but there didn’t seem to be anything else in the house. Mostly likely, even the jelly jars she used for glasses were valuable.

“Thirsty?” she asked.

He was digging industriously, making progress a lot faster than she had. “Not yet. Thanks.”

“I’ll put it over here.” She set the tray on the ground and picked up the hand trowel she’d been using to trim the edges of the flowerbed before she got frustrated and gave up about ten feet ago.

“So what are you trying to do with this place?” He asked.

“I want to open a therapy practice for depressed people.”

“Just depressed people?”

“Yea. I’m a psychologist and I specialize in people who are clinically depressed. I want to use this place as an out patient and halfway house for depressed people.”

“How would that work?” he plucked a couple of bulbs out of the soil and tossed them in the bucket.

“I would have a number of clients who would live in the house and more would come for the day and go home at night.” Gail looked into the bucket. It was nearly full. She’d need to go find another one soon.

“You would stay here by yourself with a bunch of patients?”

“No, I have a friend who is a psychologist. She’s agreed to live in the house and we’d have a couple of staff members around to help out, but we wouldn’t need much. I won’t be taking severely disturbed people. Just people who need a boost.”

“What would these people do here?”

He was digging a lot faster than she had been. “I use a lot of occupational therapy. I’ve noticed that when someone is depressed and you give them a task that is not too easy, but not too difficult, then they feel a sense of accomplishment and it helps lift their mood. Take this flowerbed. If you were my patient, I would have you doing exactly what you’re doing now. At the end of the day, you would be able to see quantifiable progress. It provides a sense of accomplishment. And if this was part of your ongoing therapy, you would be able to watch the flowerbed go from weedy mess to beautiful blooms. Plus your body will start releasing endorphins giving you a natural lift.”

“So you’re going to get a bunch of depressed people to fix up your house?”

Gail looked up to see what his expression was. He sounded more offended than dubious. His face didn’t reveal anything. There was sweat running down the sides of his neck. “Well, yes and no. When I hatched this plan I didn’t realize how much work the house needed. I thought I’d be able to just start up with enough money to pay a few salaries and the patients could do cosmetic work, but the house needs a lot of work just to bring it up to code.”

“Does work therapy work?” he shrugged out of his shirt. She watched the play of his muscles across his sun browned back. He ruffled his gloved hand through his hair.
Gail felt her mouth go dry. She wondered if she should drink more water. Or perhaps just pour the whole pitcher over her head. That might give the wrong signal. But why was she concerned about the signals she was sending a homeless guy who was working for her so he’d have a meal today?

He coughed. “So, does work therapy work?”

“Huh? Oh, sorry. My mind wandered. Actually it does. The program I worked with in Denver placed teens in jobs. I worked with several contractors who took our kids on to do painting or clean up or other simple jobs. Some of the kids got really excited by the results when they looked at a room they had spent all day painting. It also gave them an opportunity to work with other people.”

“Do you think it stopped them from committing suicide?”

Gail tossed a bulb at the bucket. It rolled across the top and fell off. She definitely needed another bucket. “I can’t say with absolute certainty what the kids would have done if they hadn’t come to us, but I know I saw a lot of progress. Some of our kids discovered that they really enjoyed working with their hands. It gave them some instant gratification.” She stood up and dusted off her knees. “I’m going to go find another bucket in the garage.”
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dixielandgrl
Posts: 285
Registered: ‎10-19-2006
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Re: ChristineM-Billionaire Bum-Opening

good job! It sucked me in, which is my gold standard you know. If I forget I'm reading a chapter and start thinking of it as another story or book, you got most of it right! Can't wait to read it all in print. Just tell me which bookstore.
"If all would lead their lives in love like me,
Then bloody swords and armor should not be:" Thomas Campion
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ChristineM
Posts: 260
Registered: ‎12-31-2006
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Re: ChristineM-Billionaire Bum-Opening

Thanks. It's been tough work at lately.
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tinamwriter
Posts: 13
Registered: ‎05-17-2007
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Re: ChristineM-Billionaire Bum-Opening

Christine,
I am impressed and want to read more. Please keep us all updated on your progress. I am wondering who he is, and my mind is awhirl about the possibilities. That is what makes a good story. When you HAVE to keep reading to find out what happens. Please don't leave us in the dark!!!
Tina
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ChristineM
Posts: 260
Registered: ‎12-31-2006
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Re: ChristineM-Billionaire Bum-Opening

Thanks, I haven't been able to work on it much lately because our Mother's Day show is coming and my students have to put on a 40 minute demonstration of what they've learned in the past 11 weeks for their mothers. No pressure or anything. My coteacher has turned into a basketcase. You'd think she was staging a Broadway play with a bunch of community players instead of 4 year olds. And one of my boys has an infected thumb that his mother doesn't seem to think is a big deal. I'm sorry, but pus is a big deal.

But the show will be over Monday morning, my coteacher will go back to being the excellent teacher I've come to rely on and I swear to God if Jerry shows up with a pus filled thumb again, I'm debreeding it myself. Then I can get on with getting Murphy's Oil Soap all over the stairs so Gail can "accidentally" fall down them.
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tinamwriter
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Re: ChristineM-Billionaire Bum-Opening

No wonder you are such a good writer. The vivid imiage I have of the harried assistant and the boy with the infected finger has brought memories of those Kindergarden days I volunteered. Hmmm? Don't keep us in suspence too long.
Tina
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lavenderlass
Posts: 270
Registered: ‎01-02-2007
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Re: ChristineM-Billionaire Bum-Opening

I like this story Christine. To get around the issue of inviting him in or not could you not have her think, 'okay, I'm going to have clients in here long term, so why don't I let him follow me into the kitchen and see how it feels to have creepy looking strangers in here? After all, he doesn't look that bad, he has kind eyes'or something. then she could watch him looking around at the building and it's contents and maybe worry that he might steal something or rape her and be relieved when he doesn't.

I agree with Tina, I want to see more too!

Lynne.
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lavenderlass
Posts: 270
Registered: ‎01-02-2007
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Re: ChristineM-Billionaire Bum-Opening

Just another thought Christine, perhaps you ought to think about adding in clues that he's not the homeless person she thinks he is, like maybe he rejects drinking out of a plastic cup but correctly identifies a crystal glass the she hasn't noticed and say's he'd rather use that.

Lynne.
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dixielandgrl
Posts: 285
Registered: ‎10-19-2006
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Re: ChristineM-Billionaire Bum-Opening

No, no, no. Christine is very busy. With a certain rock star? Right? Rofl.

Caught your father's day post, Christine. You may never write another word at this pace. Are there any holiday's you get off? Holy cow!
"If all would lead their lives in love like me,
Then bloody swords and armor should not be:" Thomas Campion
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RMWCVanessa3
Posts: 1
Registered: ‎05-21-2007
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Re: ChristineM-Billionaire Bum-Opening

I'm new to the Book Club, but I've read the comments and seen the changes you've made and I have to tell you that I'm very impressed. I was totally into the story. I love the way you described the Billionaire and the mansion and even the part about the old car in the garage. Yes if I had just read this part, I would definitely have to purchase the book. Please let me know when it is completed.
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ChristineM
Posts: 260
Registered: ‎12-31-2006
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Re: ChristineM-Billionaire Bum-Opening

Eeek! Ok, I feel firmly prodded. I'll get back on my pony. Mother's Day is over. Jerry's thumb is healing. I'm establishing a working schedule that I think will serve me well. Today is Buddha's Birthday so I have a day off to kick start.

And Dixie, I'll post more about Cass and Jason soon. That puppy done but for the critiquing (which, considering the haircut I have been given it lately, is considerable.)
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dixielandgrl
Posts: 285
Registered: ‎10-19-2006
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Re: ChristineM-Billionaire Bum-Opening

Good! Our work here is done! (blows smoke from six shooter) Wow. I need sleep!
"If all would lead their lives in love like me,
Then bloody swords and armor should not be:" Thomas Campion
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HoplessRomantic
Posts: 94
Registered: ‎08-03-2007
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Re: ChristineM-Billionaire Bum-Opening

I think its great!
The only issue I have is the title. Billionaire Bum? Too obvious. It ruins the surprise twist. The hunk bum is a Billionaire wow! Now she can take him home to mama. And "Bum"? I don't think of homless people when I hear bum. I think olf a particular part of the human anatomy...
Anyway the book Holly by Jude Deveraux has a simillar spin. Hot poor motorcycle guy turns out to be a billionaire... Read it it might help?
Anyway, I hope you take this all the way it was intended. It really was an AMAZING sample of writing. Its just that customers may never pick it up if they misconstrue the title. And thoes that figure it out wont pick it up because you gave away the ending. Both happenstances would be a real shame because I think you have a winner in your hands!
PLEASE CHANGE THE TITLE!
Love,
Aspen
Billionaire BUM Opening :smileyhappy: LOL
Bum can also mean bad..like someone has a bum rep
â It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife.â Said by Mrs. Bennet in Jane Austens Pride and Prejudice
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