I love any kind of comedy, "I Love Lucy", "Laverne & Shirley", "Golden Girls", you name it...I love them.
Why, because they make me laugh!
In this day and age where all you see on the news is: terrorists, tragedy, killing and other horrible events...I need something happy, silly, okay, downright goofy to make me smile, laugh, and believe the world isn't a completely lost cause.
For me it's about the situation comedies...I mean really...who doesn't cringe at the voice of Lucy saying "I've got an idea."
Or any of the mad-capped Zany things Laverne and Shirley did.
How many problems were solved around that little kitchen table for Rose, Dorothy, Blanche, or Sophia, usually with cheesecake?
I write romantic comedies. The television shows mentioned above are all visual, but how far can you safely push the comedy in a book and have people get it? Romantic comedy, to me, is the ability to use your words to create the visual images the television does...and man is it hard. One wrong or misplaced word can totally screw up the visual effect you want to convey.
The following is from the opening scene of my debut book, Sex, Lies, and Beauty Aids:
“Oh for the love of God.” Bent over the tiny sink in the office restroom, Sabrina Thompson cupped cold water in her hands and splashed her lips.
Shocked, she stared into the mirror. Her reflection didn’t lie. Who’d have thought her skin could burn so badly without actually being on fire?
Of all the dumb-assed idiotic gimmicks. Why had paraffin wax, petroleum jelly, and jalapeno extract sounded harmless? Hindsight. Redder, plumper lips without lipstick seemed like a reasonable goal. She’d never expected this. If there were a Mick Jagger look-a-like contest, she’d count on a rejection. Even he wouldn’t want these lips.
“This is what I get for trusting the Internet.” Her lips vibrated like a kazoo when she spoke. The recipe probably had a tag for great April Fools pranks and some fifteen-year-old boy wrote it while he laughed his ass off. It crossed her mind to take a picture of the results to show what not to do.
Why today, of all days, to have an early morning meeting in the boss’s office? Thank God her boss was also her best friend. Sure, Kat would have questions about her lips. And yes, there’d be laughter at her expense, like that was something new.
Sabrina gently blotted her lips with a moist paper towel, and prayed she’d removed it all. She checked the makeup covering the scar on her right cheek, peeked out the bathroom door to be certain the coast was clear, and headed to Kat’s office. At least since she’d come in early, nobody was around to witness her humiliation.
Kat had been out of town, on the East Coast, something to do with her family. Other than a quick email to schedule this meeting, she hadn’t heard from her in over a week.
She stopped by the water cooler. Ice water in hand, she dropped into one of the ultra-modern leather chairs opposite Kat’s desk. Dunking her sore lips in the water, she made a mental note to run by her favorite consignment shop during her lunch to check out the Manolo’s that had just come in. Tina said they were her size. A perfect gift to herself for her promotion to Senior Editor. She admired the framed covers of past magazine issues lining the office. Kat made the magazine what it was today. She was proud of the periodical.
“Sabrina, right on time, as us—” Kat stopped mid-stride. “What the hell is wrong with your mouth? You look like a fish.”
Startled, she sloshed water on her skirt and tried to act casual as she wiped herself off. “The recipe didn’t mention possible swelling, only increased blood supply to the lips.” Better than what you do with yours, caught in her throat at Kat’s colorless expression. So much for hoping it wasn’t that bad.
Kat turned away, took boxes from the closet and began transferring files to them.
“What’s wrong?” Sabrina asked.
Kat didn’t respond.
“A bit early for spring cleaning, aren’t you?”
“In case I haven’t told you, I really appreciate your punctuality. Especially today.”
“What’s so special about today?” Something in Kat’s tone set her on edge, making her cautious of Kat’s behavior.
Wishing she were anywhere but here, Sabrina slid her tongue over her plump, burning lips. Mid-lick, her worst nightmare and hottest fantasy walked in, past her chair, and behind Kat’s desk. No. First her lips, then her job, now him. The man she’d dreamt of for years.
Trent Wellington.
Maybe if she pretended to be calm, cool, and collected, and ignored the fact she felt like a circus clown, he wouldn’t notice her or her enormous lips.
He winked and grinned at Kat, who merely nodded and went back to her files.
Struggling to set the cup on Kat’s desk, her vision swam, the desk weaving in and out of her reach. Her hands shook so badly she was sure to dump the rest of the water on herself. She folded her hands in her lap, knuckles white, and smiled as if it was any other day. She could do this. And maybe, she’d even pull this meeting off without thoroughly humiliating herself in front of him, again.
When he glanced her way, his brows shot up and his grin only added to her paranoid misery.
She wished someone would hurry up and say something because her jangled nerves had re-ignited the jalapeno oil.
Trent—not Kat—took the seat behind the desk.
Kat studied the carpet, blinking watery eyes.
****
Hopefully the imagery I wanted to come out in the opening scene came through??? And yet, how zany can a book be. My story has a couple of old ladies that I unleashed on the hero, Trent...Mitzi and Vera do a pretty good job of utterly humiliating him.
In book two (I'm almost done with revisions) they multiply and become the Blue-Haired Brigade...my goal in life is to become one of them in my old age.
I'd love to hear from you...if you read this book and your thoughts are on Mitzi and Vera.
Have a wonderful day.
deb
