Hello Readers, Writers, and Precious Patrons and thank you
for visiting All Authors Blog. For the next two weeks, we will be meeting the
participants of the third installment of the Concordant Vibrancy collection, entitled “Lustrate”.
Today, we present C. Desert Rose, who will discuss why she decided to participate in Lustrate,
along with a small excerpt from her work.
Amazon Author Page
What inspired you to be a part of Lustrate?
My answer is going to be as simple as my mind set when it comes to being part of Concordant Vibrancy ... because it's All Authors.
I know, I know, you were expecting some deep, meaningful answer full of enlightenment and inspiration. But, I'm sorry to inform you that it's not.
My choice to be part of Lustrate is as simple as A, B, C.
A: All Authors P&P.
B: Being in that.
C: Can't wait.
That's about it. LOL. :D
Anywho ... that's that.
My entry is called "The Boo Thang Convention" and it's based on the contemporary dating scene. I hope you enjoy the novelty and the humor.
An Excerpt of "The Boo Thang Convention"
Marcella tugged on the edges of the dress, trying as hard as she could to bring it down to her knees.
Dammit, Toby! Why do I ever listen to you?
She wanted to kick herself. What would possess her to buy this daggon dress in the first place?
Roger Downing, she remembered. Yes, indeed, Roger Downing. Screw him; that two-timing bastard!
Marcella wanted to get mad at the memory, but brushed it off as she had a better memory to add to her banks this evening. Her soon to be Latin Lover.
Trotting into the establishment, she moseyed over to the bar and sat.
“What can I get you, ma’am?” Asked a courteous gentleman on the other side of the barricade.
‘Ma’am’, Marcella thought, and her lip curled in disgust. Then she shook her head. Nothing is going to get me in a bad mood tonight!
“Um, yeah; a Coke, please.”
“Certainly.”
Immediately the bartender went about getting her order ready when Marcella heard a luscious Latin accent.
“Hola, quierda. Marcella?”
Marcella’s heart jumped into her throat. Then her pulse started pounding so hard that Marcella could feel her wrists throbbing and hands shaking. Then, Marcella carefully turned around.
An older, tanned, chubby man, with a handlebar mustache, who was balding and wearing a Hawaiian shirt stood right behind her. His obnoxiously hairy chest spoke louder than he did.
He must be blocking my view.
“Um, excuse me sir.” Marcella stated, waving him out of the way. Marcella tried to look over and around him, but he wouldn’t budge.
“Marcella, eez me, Reimundo.”
Immediately, a look of surprise and confusion crossed Marcella’s face. “Say what?”
“Eez me, Reimundo, amada mia.”
“Uhh, no. No you’re not. Reimundo is tall, dark and handsome. You’re … well, not him.” Marcella modified the end of her sentence so as to not insult the silly, pudgy man.
“Guell, jes. My suhn, Reimundo Jr. eez. He loos juss like me.” Reimundo smiled large and proud.
“That was your son in the picture?” Marcella inquired, her eyes squinted.
“Jes, me en my suhn. Si …?” Marcella took a sip of her soda while Reimundo pulled out his phone and opened the picture. Expanding it to a larger size, he pointed. “Joo see. Me en my suhn.”
In the corner of the picture was Reimundo Sr., right behind his son, in an angle that could barely be seen.
Marcella choked on her Coke, hardly able to take another breath. Jumping to her feet and still coughing, she trampled out of the bar, leaving Reimundo with a flabbergasted look painted on his face.
Dammit, Toby! Why do I ever listen to you?
She wanted to kick herself. What would possess her to buy this daggon dress in the first place?
Roger Downing, she remembered. Yes, indeed, Roger Downing. Screw him; that two-timing bastard!
Marcella wanted to get mad at the memory, but brushed it off as she had a better memory to add to her banks this evening. Her soon to be Latin Lover.
Trotting into the establishment, she moseyed over to the bar and sat.
“What can I get you, ma’am?” Asked a courteous gentleman on the other side of the barricade.
‘Ma’am’, Marcella thought, and her lip curled in disgust. Then she shook her head. Nothing is going to get me in a bad mood tonight!
“Um, yeah; a Coke, please.”
“Certainly.”
Immediately the bartender went about getting her order ready when Marcella heard a luscious Latin accent.
“Hola, quierda. Marcella?”
Marcella’s heart jumped into her throat. Then her pulse started pounding so hard that Marcella could feel her wrists throbbing and hands shaking. Then, Marcella carefully turned around.
An older, tanned, chubby man, with a handlebar mustache, who was balding and wearing a Hawaiian shirt stood right behind her. His obnoxiously hairy chest spoke louder than he did.
He must be blocking my view.
“Um, excuse me sir.” Marcella stated, waving him out of the way. Marcella tried to look over and around him, but he wouldn’t budge.
“Marcella, eez me, Reimundo.”
Immediately, a look of surprise and confusion crossed Marcella’s face. “Say what?”
“Eez me, Reimundo, amada mia.”
“Uhh, no. No you’re not. Reimundo is tall, dark and handsome. You’re … well, not him.” Marcella modified the end of her sentence so as to not insult the silly, pudgy man.
“Guell, jes. My suhn, Reimundo Jr. eez. He loos juss like me.” Reimundo smiled large and proud.
“That was your son in the picture?” Marcella inquired, her eyes squinted.
“Jes, me en my suhn. Si …?” Marcella took a sip of her soda while Reimundo pulled out his phone and opened the picture. Expanding it to a larger size, he pointed. “Joo see. Me en my suhn.”
In the corner of the picture was Reimundo Sr., right behind his son, in an angle that could barely be seen.
Marcella choked on her Coke, hardly able to take another breath. Jumping to her feet and still coughing, she trampled out of the bar, leaving Reimundo with a flabbergasted look painted on his face.
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