Saturday, December 24, 2011

Year-end list of favorite passages!

It's the end of a year, which means LISTS!!! :-) I figured I would cobble together a little something with my favorite lines or sections from my books. Okay, maybe not my favorites per se, but lines that stand out (either to me or others).

This first one is from "Strange Bedfellows," and I'm picking this section because it got mentioned in a Goodreads book club discussion.
       All these thoughts. Memories. Regrets. Was this what getting old was like? She certainly felt old. Not old in the sense that her body was achy, tired and cranky, although it got that way sometimes. But old in the sense that she had regrets, lots of them, and was not sure she had the courage to follow through on her plans to address them. She had taken an important step, but there was still room to backtrack. Oh yes, there was. 
       Regret filled the white spaces on the pages of her memoir. 

This next one is from "Waiting."
        Lena kept replaying the intensity in Caris's eyes during their conversation about domestic violence. Caris's touch on Lena's arm. 
        Before, Caris would not have touched her. 
Caris had looked awful, no doubt about it. Purplish suitcases under her eyes. Limp hair. Until the car wreck, Caris had been too beautiful, too perfect, she had been elevated, she had been Lena's mother's wife. This post-pregnancy, grieving Caris was different. The old Caris would never have called Lena at one a.m.


Here's one from "The Odd Couple."
Charlene could not bring herself to say more. What she wanted to do was fall to her knees and take this other woman's son in her arms. She wanted to inhale his sweet little-boy smell. She wanted to feel him breathe and hear his heart beating. She wanted to tell him everything would be all right, that she was sorry, so very sorry for having failed him. What she wanted to do was trace his face, look into those familiar, lively blue eyes, and reassure him that everything would be okay now. 
But she could not do that. That would be absurd. JP was dead, and no amount of pleading, no amount of tears and promises and deluding herself about this look-alike boy would change that.
A woman turned into the aisle, and my heart stopped. I froze. I wanted to die. Please don't let this be happening. The woman was a tiny mouse of a person. She was a light-skinned black, she was old, and by old I meant old as in she had a slightly stooped walk, wrinkles, a flowered dress, the whole enchilada. At least she did not have a cane. I had dated black women, and her race was not a problem. But her age. Gawd, her age! Ohnonono. Wait a second. Relief washed over me; surely Jessica would not make me ask this woman out. I was saved, at least for now.
Jessica cocked an eyebrow and nudged me in the ribs. "Hunh. Well, have fun."

From "Miss Lucy Parker and Other Short Stories" (This is from the second story, "A Weird Situation.")
"Do you want me to take my clothes off?" Louis asks. "So you can see better when it happens?"
Louis and I have never really paraded naked in front of each other. We've showered and bathed together a few times, but he's always been shy about his body—though it's a good one. I'm not shy about my body. At the risk of sounding boastful, I have a body to die for. Curves in all the right places, breasts not too big nor too small, nice, firm muscles, a tight ass.
Louis sees my hesitation and makes no move to strip. The clock strikes midnight, and nothing happens. But a couple of seconds later...
OhGodOhGodOhGod.
Louis' beard-scruff wilts and wanes. The just-a-bit-too-big nose is replaced in a flash with a petite nose—a woman's nose. The same nose on the woman last week. The short red hair becomes long, flowing, shiny hair. Beautiful, silky, smooth hair. Louis's face becomes a woman's. So does his body, and his clothes loosen.
By twelve oh one a.m., Louis the man is gone.

*****

MILD-SPOILER ALERTS!

I'm gonna cheat a bit and look to 2012 ;-) The passages may contain mild spoilers.

Here's something from "All in the Family," due out the first week of January.
Allison saw herself going to Sam, hugging her, but she was paralyzed. She was getting married tomorrow. There would be no hugging Sam. "Why are you here?" Allison asked. 
Sam's responding gaze was as dark and powerful as she was. "Is that the question?" 
"What?" 
"Maybe the question is, why are you here? Why are you here and not inside with Helen?" 
"You're...fine. Fine." Allison was suddenly anxious for Sam to leave. 
Sam said: "Congratulations. I hope you will be happy." 
She went back inside, and Allison whispered: "I love you. I love you very much."
 

Here's something from "Third" (probable release in late February). 
Something shifted in Anne's expression. "Lady Yamaoto, I ask you this not to be forward but in case my days are nearly complete. What is kissing a woman like? What is making love to a woman like?"
Yalia blinked. "Uh, well."
"Is it different from kissing a man?"
"For me, it is."
"Is it better?"
"Yes, much better. It is right."
"Hmm." Anne's expression was thoughtful. Her lips were thoughtful.
Yalia almost said: I will show you. She did not, though, and Helen came out of the bathroom. Yalia swallowed, and the image of her wife, her Helen, kissing faceless Devon, and then Anne, entered her mind. The desire that had reared between Yalia's legs during the fades ignited again, and Yalia was ashamed. Not deeply. Only slightly.
Helen with another woman. Helen with Anne. Helen tearing Anne's clothes off, Helen on top of Anne. Helen's tongue meeting Anne's tongue.

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