First Chapters

I love to write first chapters. Often when I get a new idea for a book, or even just a character for a book, I write a first chapter. Then I can either put it away for a while and continue on whatever book I'm working on, or I can launch into a new project.

Or I just keep writing first chapters, which, honestly, is about 75 million times easier than seeing a project through to finish, which is probably the real reason I do it. I don't know how many first chapters I have waiting patiently in line for their turn to be the star of my attention.

I wrote a first chapter the other day that I particularly enjoy; the idea for the character came upon me as I was out for a run pushing my little girl in the jogging stroller, and trying not to freeze to death. The thing is, I'm afraid the voice is too similar to that in a series I've been reading on and off for a few years. I guess that's what first drafts are for--I like the idea/character too much to abandon her simply because she has a lookalike British cousin already taking up real estate on bookstore shelves.

Although I promise, promise that I am dutifully working away on my Bakery Romance I thought I'd include a tantalizing excerpt from my latest first chapter. Here you are, enjoy:

Welcome all my dear, dear, loyal fans to the first exciting edition of my memoir!

I’m guessing that you’re all wondering how I, at such a young and tender age, came to have the great foresight and wisdom that I should begin recording my memoirs for your own personal benefit? I will tell you; according to The Bombshell Manual of Style, an amazingly informative and insightful resource, all the great bombshells wrote memoirs. It is simply a fact of nature, and who am I to argue with nature? And who are you to argue with me? But let us not fight. I forgive you, and we will move forward.

First things first I suppose; I was born Meredith Louise Evans, though I realized early on that Meredith was not an appropriate name for someone like me, and Louise was even worse. I have tried on various names over the years in my search for the right name for myself, and let me tell you it can be ridiculously difficult to get people to call you Davinia or Desiree, even though these names are much more fitting of a person with my sparkling personality and natural charisma. Currently most people call me Meri and that will have to do until I get an agent; then he can spend all his time getting people to call me the right name. Whatever that may be.

Bombshells can come from a variety of family backgrounds, the Manual says, ranging from privileged and refined to undesirable and even traumatic. Marilyn’s mother was clinically insane so she was raised in a series of foster homes until she got married at fifteen just to escape being traded around like a re-gifted Christmas sweater. This gives me hope that I can aspire beyond the mundane and dreary life that my parents have created for me. My father is one of those baldish, intellectually-type people who sit in offices at universities and give fatally boring lectures on famous sewer systems—which makes me wonder how a sewer gets famous anyway?

My Mom doesn’t really do anything as far as I can tell; I mean she drives my little brothers around to karate and soccer and violin lessons and stuff, and she volunteers sometimes at their school, and she seems to be forever folding laundry, making dinner and doing dishes, but other than that she doesn’t do anything and she’s always complaining about how busy she is and how she has no time for herself. The woman appears to suffer from lack of vision and direction in my opinion, and she could seriously use a makeover.

My brothers are of the common, pesky variety, always employing their limited powers of reasoning to come with new ways to torture me and make my life miserable. Alex is nine and Gavin is ten, but everyone always thinks they’re twins. People stop my mom and say “Your boys are so darling, are they twins?” and mom smiles this sloppy smile and says,

“Why, no. They’re actually a year apart, but Alex is just getting so tall he looks older, doesn’t he?” Smile, smile, pat, pat, barf, barf.

One good thing about my family though is that I’m the only girl. This means that I get my own bedroom and bathroom with absolutely no competition. My BFF Callie has two older sisters and she never gets any bathroom time and has to wear their hand-me-downs all the time. I feel really bad for her, but such is life.

Hope you enjoyed the preview. At the rate I'm going I won't get around to finishing this book for ten + years, but, as all good things, I intend for it to be worth waiting for.