Brooke E. Wayne: Romance with a Kiss of Humor

Writer’s Block Broke

The synopsis for the third Vineyard Pleasures Series novel has been done for months. So has another full outline of another novel and several other lengthy summaries I intend to write.

They’ve sat collecting metaphorical dust in my Mac—scenes swirling around in my mind like dust cloud induced nightmares, clawing at my thoughts to take form and flow from my fingertips.

But today…today I began to write again after an epic stint in the stagnant hell of writer’s block.

I cultivated a moment the old fashioned way—pen and paper.

My vision—a crackling bonfire, their laughter slipping into the crisp wind like raindrops pelting against the sea, the campsite canopied by ancient stars swirling above them in an orderly procession, an expedition just beginning, his intrigue, her willingness to share….

The scene wrapped around another story that captured my own imagination once upon a time. My words tumbled out of the void, and I was able to write them down. Finally.

{Exhale}

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Hearts and Flowers (Poetry)

Hearts and Flowers

By

Brooke E. Wayne

Tonight we ride the wild bull with wild flowers in my hair,

And a whirlwind of impatience reaches a calmness,

Through misty waters pressed with fog,

From a lingering dream some time before.

Let our minds wander,

Never too far from home,

And journey beyond that precious place

We once believed would keep us forever.

And all that we feel will be reflected in our eyes,

Surrounding our laughter,

Expressed within our presence

As we smile blindly beyond the sun

Like children,

Gazing into Heaven with thanksgiving.

We are and were before we knew—

Destiny held us in His hands.

For God’s breath is inside our souls

To carry us into Eternity, long after our time,

Well spent,

Has cast shadows on any doubt drifting in from the past.

For in His eyes we are one—

Flesh of my flesh

As we have promised to be together.

Amidst any garden of roses,

Your love is purer than the rain that feeds the stems.

For I am merely one petal,

Capturing the dew of angel’s tears

Like liquid kisses trickling down my neck.

The colors, never muted within your smile,

Glow brightly in my eyes as we look upon the future.

I see Heaven

Surrounding a place in our dreams,

Where simple pleasures, unfolding in our love,

Once sacrificed their time.

Our lives entwined—

Yielding to moments impressed into our hearts.

We saunter, hand in hand, along our deserted shore,

Underneath that silver tapestry

With clouds strewn across an indefinite blue

Like islands in the sky.

And when this world has withered us,

We will walk on into the Light.

For time will have passed through our blood,

And the years will have been but a song

On the tongue of our Creator.

I wrote this when I was 18 years old–in pen from beginning to end with zero editing, and I haven’t changed a single word or grammatical faux pas since.

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It’s been well over twenty years later, and I still look at this poem as an anthem of love in my life. It tells the imagined story of true love from the ‘wedding night’ until ‘death do us part’. Not too bad for a teenager who knew nothing of love at the time I scratched it out on a piece of binder paper in my bedroom one night. I borrowed my simile, ‘like liquid kisses trickling down my neck,’ for the novel I’ve recently completed. The line whispers to me on Page 2 as a little secret that I’m letting you in on—a journey that I am still traversing as a writer of romance, bending my path into a full circle that will keep tumbling towards traditional publication one day.

PS.  I took the picture, and yes, my cupcake was delicious!  Happy Valentine’s Day,

xox Brooke E. Wayne xox

Brooke E. Wayne: Romance with a Kiss of Humor

Traditions

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Traditions can develop out of the most unlikely situations.  My family has a tradition around the holidays to play the movie “Elf” everyday from Thanksgiving until Christmas Eve, which is generally reserved for the non-stop marathon of “The Christmas Story.”  Our children even named their creepy elves-on-the-shelves, which we would reposition every night for everyone’s amusement, Ralphie and Jovie after characters in both movies.

And, at my work, we have a tradition on campus that marked its 39th Anniversary today as the New Year has finally ushered in a new semester.  We call it, The Oldtimers’ Breakfast.  Past and present teachers fellowship over pancakes served up with a smile by the men on our staff.  Some of these former teachers come hobbling in with their stories of the good ol’ days when they used to ride their horses to the ‘new campus’ when it was just a handful of classrooms in a swampy field long before our tradition had begun.  Now over 80,000 cars drive by us on any given day.

Even my wooden pointer has this murky patina to it that rivals any antique.  It came with the classroom.  I wield it with pride because I know that I’m holding onto years of other teachers’ memories, even as I create my own.  The original school house is over a century old and sits as a monument just up the road from where our current campus is located, but even our newer campus is so old now, it has become irreparable.

Next year’s breakfast will mark the end of yet another era in our school’s history as an inevitable move is set to take place in the fall of 2016.  As long as our school bears its original name in our new location, we are still the same ol’ school, and we’ll all continue to gather together over breakfast and swap stories about our many experiences.  We’re an awkward family of strangers brought together by a common denominator…our love of teaching.

I don’t mind the impending move.  It’s long over due.  You can be assured, though, my pointer’s coming with me.  And, eventually, I’ll hand it off to someone else when I come hobbling in to get my fill of a plateful of pancakes someday.