In Which introduce you to The Writer

I haven't talked much about my writing on this blog, but I will say that I'm rather in love with the story of one of my characters: Miss Calida Harper--a journalist trying to make it big in the newspaper business during the 1940's. She's single, rather cynical, pretty, charming, and clever. But she's missing something and she knows it. So when she meets up with the famous, old-fashioned, kind Wade Barnett, there's a chance she might just learn more from him than how to get the scoop on the current events.

Here are a couple snippets from this story. :) (Anyone notice she's a girl after my own heart?)

I paid the cab-fee and shoved open the little glass door that separated the building I called home from the rest of New York City. It wasn’t the Ritz, but it was better than some of the digs I’d heard of young journalists living in. I slipped past the reception desk, hoping that Jerry would not be on duty—he always managed to address me in a way that it would be absolutely blatantly cruel of me to ignore. Plus, he had the sweetest little British accent which made it seem even crueler to ignore him. Blast manners—I wonder what Emily Post would think of me if I told her I plotted my schedule—my comings and goings—around who was on duty.

-Fly Away Home

Shores set me up with this Mr. Wade Barnett to see if I had what it took to be a true journalist—which he seriously doubted. And it was quite clear this would be my last chance.“So be it,” I said, jaw clenched. Nickleby mewed and blinked his green eyes at me. I tapped the end of his nose and shook my head. “Shores is a goober. He thinks I won’t last in that office with Mr. Wade Barnett. I’ll show him. I’ll be famous and glamorous and everyone will love me and then we’ll see what the elegant Mr. Shores thinks of me.” My heart pounded in my chest and I pushed the lid of my glass bon-bon bowl onto the coffee table and tried to decide if the moment required raspberry cream or caramel.I exchanged glances with Nickleby and sank with languid grace onto the sofa. “This calls for chocolate, Nicks. Chocolate and an appointment with Mr. Dickens. You suggest the caramel? I thought as much.” I popped a chocolate caramel into my mouth and grabbed Pickwick off the table, opening to the silk ribbon that marked my place.  “Observe, Nicks,” I said. And even around the lump of chocolate my voice had a determined edge to it. “I take notes from the best masters.” I nodded out the dim window in the directions of Shores’ office and sucked my chocolate. “Let that be a lesson to you, Mr. High-and-Mighty. I won’t be easily squashed.”

-Fly Away Home