I love the personalities that are revealed through the Dregs questions. Hmmm. Some treat it like a meme others bite off a chunk and run with it in the creative corner. Guess you'll have to keep reading to see what Kristen is offering up. Click on Kristen's pic to visit her website, scroll down for more info about The Edge of Recall. Thanks, Kristen.
What makes you feel alive?
I feel alive in nature. Although I’m not your typical outdoorsy person, small doses of beauty are essential to me. Running water, even the trickling creek on the mountain path behind my house, the doe that birthed twin fawns in the scrub oak beside my patio, springy moss on a rock, periwinkle butterflies and hummingbirds, stars and rainbows. I get giddy in a stand of aspen.
Grammatical pet peeve…sound off.
Lie vs. lay—it’s just not that difficult people. Lay requires a direct object. You cannot lay down unless you lay yourself down.
CREATIVE CORNER:
Pick any of the following and have fun with it.
Pick a Genre - Describe a kiss….
Suspense: Her lips were warm and red and just a little tacky like the blood pooling under her head.
Thriller:
With one arm hooked through the helicopter’s rope, the other clamping her to his chest, he hollered “Don’t look down,” and kissed the mouth she opened to scream.
Romance: His mouth was hard and firm like the chest and arms that told her this was a man who took what he wanted.
Chick-Lit: Slipping out of one more mushy lip lock, I have to say, if you’ve ever wondered what it’s like to kiss a hundred frogs that don’t turn into princes, just ask me.
Literary: The dry brush of her lips ushered winter into his life like the fall of a last brittle leaf.
Sci-Fi/Fantasy: She waited for his lips to fully materialize, then clamped them with a kiss that would make her galaxy worth revisiting.
Historical: Under the stern eye of her maidenly aunt, she tipped her cheek to receive the brief warmth of his lips.
Frizzy hair, purple scarf and a book – make a character.
Tucked into the stone seat of the narrow arched window, Giselle chewed the fraying end of her purple scarf. The tome across her knees weighed as much as she did wet with her frizzy hair matted down and dripping. She turned the page, regretting only that she’d die of old age before she ever got through it.
If Alex had known the body of the senator was in the bathtub, she would've taken Jim's offer for coffee.
As it was, her appetite might never return. And if Jim caught a whiff—bad metaphor—of what she was onto, he’d be all over it. And her.
The leaves weren't the only things stirred up by the breeze which now carried the cloying scent of death.
If it had even a smidgen of a brain, and she hadn’t been sucking down her morning perk, the massacre might not have occurred. As it was, the leaves behind her wheel were now matted with gore and fur, and she could not, would not take the blame.
I'm not so interested in boxers or briefs. I'm just looking for a good man to fill them. Heck, I find a good man and he can wear banana peels as far as I'm concerned.
Fig leaves have a sort of stigma that takes the fun out, but I’ve always fancied those palm fans myself. At my current weight, in all honesty, it would have to be a very, very deserted island.
