I have been working on a crime novel that has morphed into a romance novel. It is about a couple falling in love and looking for a long-term relationship. They are looking for qualities that make for a good partner. I believe there are some qualities that at least one partner must possess for a happy relationship.

With tongue in cheek, here's my list of qualities at least one partner must have to make a relationship work: 
1. Be a good cook. Many things like beauty and sex are short term, but a couple must eat for a lifetime. Going out to eat can be expensive. In a happy marriage, one partner must be a good cook.
2. Not be afraid of spiders. Can you imagine a relationship where both people are afraid of spiders? Whom would they call?
3. Have a good sense of direction. They will save countless hours from being lost and driving in circles. It will also cut down on the number of arguments.
4. Have sharp senses. One partner must be able to smell, taste, hear, and see very well. One partner does not need all these senses, but between two people all senses need to be included.
5. Be a good speller. One person in the relation must have good spelling and grammar. It will save them from many embarrassing mistakes.
6. Be good with numbers and math. That partner will handle the checkbook and budget.
7. Have a good memory for names of relatives and important dates. That partner will keep track of all the birthdays and anniversaries as well as who is married to whom.
8. Be handy around the house, a DIY type of person. Two helpless people will be at the mercy of contractors and repairpersons.
9. Have patience. Two impatient people will drive each other nuts or kill each other.
10. Have a good sense of color coordination. They will also prevent embarrassing situations in fashion and decorating.
11. Have a good sense of humor. No relationship can survive unless one partner has a good sense of humor. 

I first published this short story back in September 2013. I like it, so I’ve published it a few more times since. I hope you enjoy it.

Heads I Win, Tails You Lose
 
“Heads, we get married; tails, we break up.”

Judy nearly spit out a mouth full of her cosmopolitan when she laughed. If that remark came from a boyfriend, she might have been angry but coming from a total stranger, she thought it was the funniest pick-up line she had ever heard. She was sitting alone in this popular bar, and this was not the first line of the evening that she had heard, but it was intriguing. It got her attention. She turned on her bar stool toward the stranger. “What?” she shouted above the din of the bar.

In a slightly louder voice, the stranger leaned in and started to repeat his remark. “I said...”

Judy cut him off. “No, no. I heard what you said. What do you mean?”

The good-looking stranger smiled. “Well, that’s where all relationships are heading, right? You meet someone and down the road, you either break up or get married. I am just trying to save time. Heads, we get married; tails, we break up.”

“Wait! Wait!” Judy said with a grin. “If those are my only choices, I have to have a name.”

“No, that just makes breaking up that much harder. It’s easier if we don’t know each other’s name.”

“Yes, but what if it turns up heads and we get married? I have to decide if I like your last name, right?”

“No. You can keep your name, if you like, or you can hyphenate the names. It’s your call.”

Judy smiled. “No deal. I have to have a first name at least.”

“Okay, my first name is Bob.”

Judy stuck out her hand. “Hello, Bob. I’m Judy. Nice to meet you.”

Bob shook Judy’s hand. “Now that that’s out of the way, let’s flip the coin.”

Judy poked a finger into Bob’s chest. “No. No. No. I have some questions first.”

“Trust me, Judy. The less we know about each other, the easier it will be to break up.”

“Look! Either I get to ask some questions or no coin toss.”

Bob thought about it for a few seconds. “Okay, we each get three questions. You first.”

Judy took a deep breath. “Question number one; do you want kids?"

Bob’s eyes lit up. “Oh, yes! I love kids. Next question.”

Judy laughed. “Question number two; where would we live?”

“Wherever you like. I’d even be willing to live near your family.”

“Well, that’s good. Now the last question; does this line get you many dates?”

Bob laughed and shook his head. “Actually, this is the first time I have tried it.”

Judy nodded in agreement. “I thought so. Now you ask three questions.”

Bob thought for a minute. “Okay, here goes. What’s your favorite color?”

“What! Of all the important details you need to know before we get married, and the top of your list is my favorite color. Why?”

“If we do get married, I will bring you a rose every day in your favorite color.”

“Well, lucky for you, it’s red.”

“Very well. My next question is--what’s your favorite type of food?"

“Italian. Why?”

“If we get married, I will take you out for Italian every Friday.”

Judy grinned. “Sounds good. Last question?”

“My last question is--how am I doing so far?”

Judy nodded. “Actually, not too bad. Flip the coin.”

Bob flipped the coin up, but Judy intercepted it before Bob could catch it. She slapped it on the back of her other hand and removed her top hand to reveal heads. Then she picked up the coin and turned it over. “Really, Bob? A two headed coin?”

“I, I, I just wanted to increase my odds. How did you know?”

Judy smiled. “Let’s just say that this isn’t my first rodeo. How about we flip to see where you will take me for dinner? Heads for Italian and heads for Italian.”

Bob smiled. “Okay.”

Judy flipped the coin and caught it. Without looking at it, she slipped it into her pocket. “Italian it is.”
“Can I have my coin back?”

Judy laughed as she hooked her arm in his and headed for the door. “Don’t push your luck.”
​
THE END

I am one of those writers of fiction that believes that the characters usually take over the story and write it. I wrote this short story about it a few years ago (2013). It is a little too long for a blog, so I broke it into two parts.
 
Who’s in Control? (Cont’d)
 
“Over my dead body,” the villain says. She decides to call him Blackheart. It may be too descriptive, too obvious, but it will do for now. Besides, it makes her feel better.
 
Blackheart continues, “I will stop you, and throw you in my dungeon to rot.”
 
“If you do, I will rescue him, and we will be married and live happily ever after.” She speaks with a voice like butter melting on a baked potato. She decides to call her Mary, using her own middle name. Now they have even more in common.
 
Baked potato? Where the hell did that thought come from? Then she remembers and rushes to the kitchen. Too late! The potato in the oven is now black and crispy. It looks like another PB and J sandwich for dinner. She grabs a newspaper and fans the smoke detector. When she gets it to shut up, she returns to her chair. Her guests have remained motionless, waiting for her return.
 
“Too trite,” Angel says, picking up where they left off. “It has been done. Is this a fairy tale? We can do better than this. You might as well tie Mary to railroad tracks and I could ride in on my white horse just ahead of the train. Come now, people, think!”
 
“Perhaps we should modernize it a bit,” Mary says. “You know, make it more relevant. Make it Chicago, or New York.”
 
“Not a bad idea,” Blackheart interjects, “I could be the rich tycoon and Angel could be an intern. Mary could be my sexy administrative assistant whom I secretly desire.”
Angel scowls, “Sound more like a reality TV show. Let’s be original.”
 
After a while, she gets the courage to speak, “Women still fantasize about knights in shining armor, castles and damsels in distress. Their own lives are like a dungeon and they want to be rescued.”
 
Angel, Blackheart, and Mary stare at her for a moment. Blackheart breaks the awkward silence, “Get real, will you? Besides, this is not about you. What do you know about romance? You made a mess of your own marriage.”
 
“Blackheart!” Mary shouts, very annoyed.
 
“Okay, that was a cruel even for me, but the point is this is your first novel since your divorce and while this may be therapeutic for you, it may not be interesting to your readers. We, on the other hand, have been through this a thousand times and know what readers what. So, sit back, pay attention, and we will get you through this.”
 
“Blackheart, you are an ass,” Angel interjects. “What Blackheart means to say is that we can help you write this book. And what is with the name ‘Blackheart’? Is that you talking and not a realistic name. Kill it!”
 
“Wait a minute! I like that name,” Blackheart protests.
 
“You would!” Mary says, still annoyed. “What about ‘Angel”? Turning to Angel. “Honey, I love you, but I can’t make love to an angel. That must go too. Will someone get that stupid doorbell? I can’t think straight with that ringing”
 
The doorbell startles her. She goes to the door and signs for a letter. It is an offer from her publisher for her novel. Her guests remain motionless, waiting for her to return, but she does not return. She takes this opportunity to escape upstairs to her computer to work on her novel.
 
As she starts up the stairs, Mary’s voice rings out, “Where are you going, Honey?”
 
“Upstairs to work on this novel.”
 
“Okay, we’ll wait here for you. And while you are at it, kill that ‘voice like butter melting on a baked potato’. That’s just too much.”
 
THE END

​I am one of those writers of fiction that believes that the characters usually take over the story and write it. I wrote this short story about it a few years ago (2013). It is a little too long for a blog, so I broke it into two parts. I will post the second part on Monday. Come back and see how it ends.
 
Who’s in Control?
 
It always happens when the room is too quiet—like now when she is cooking. At first, random thoughts race through her mind, usually about food such as hash browns and blue cheese. Why hash browns and blue cheese? They don’t go together. That is how it starts—always. However, she knows she has no control over these random thoughts. One leads to another which leads to another, and then it happens. She is out of control. No use even fighting it. She has learned to accept it. She wants to enjoy it, but sometimes there’s stress, tension, and emotions. The emotions are always there--of lost love, of love rekindled, and, of course, sex. The experience leaves her exhausted and excited at the same time.
 
Another random thought rushes through her mind--German black forest cake! What’s the thread? It makes no sense, and she knows it but cannot stop it. Black forest cake, a black forest, a dark forest in Europe? No! A castle in a dark forest in Europe. That’s it! She feels it. Inside the castle, it is all black and dark. No! It is light. Candles are everywhere. Red velvet hangs on the walls. It is a grand ballroom. She sees herself there in a long, formal black dress, flowing and yet sensual. Wait--it is not her. It is someone else. Who?
 
She clenches her fists in an effort to drive the thoughts out of her head, but she cannot. The pot boils over—again. Crud! Double crud! Crud for spoiling another meal and the crud burnt to the bottom of the pot. She will tend to it later. Another meal destroyed by random thoughts. As she places the pot in the sink to soak, she notices a movement in the reflection of the window. She turns toward figures in the family room. Damn! They are here. Too late to run an errand and try to maintain some sanity. Her uninvited guests have arrived and now sit motionless. They are waiting for her. With a sigh, she finally gives in and goes into the family room to join the group. They have saved her favorite chair for her. She sits down and lets her thoughts take over.
 
He is there—the protagonist. God, he is gorgeous! If ever I want to commit adultery, it would be with him. That’s silly. I’m divorced now and it would not be adultery. I could give myself to him willing. But it can’t be. He is in love with her.
They are sitting there holding hands and smiling at each other. She envies her. Her with her long, blonde hair, good looks, and a body that makes truck drivers do a U-turn for another look. She wishes she had her legs. Mental note; must give them both names.
The antagonist is there too. She hates him with a passion. He reminds her of her ex-husband, a mind so twisted and cruel and yet cunning. Somehow, he will get what he deserves. She will make sure of that. The others are there too but for the moment are not important.
 
He speaks again. What an angelic face. She decides to call him Angel. “Good, you are back. Where did we leave off? Yes, of course, I was trying to rescue my true love from the castle.”
Oh my God. He looks and talks exactly like my old boyfriend from high school. I must have written him subconsciously.
 
End of Part 1

It is with great sadness that I must announced the death of an old friend--Common Sense. Common Sense lived a long life but died in the United States from heart failure. Some say it may have been a terminal brain cramp. No one really knows how old he was, but it is believed that he was friends with Ben Franklin.

His health declined starting with the conspiracy theory that the moon landing was a hoax. As the number of illogical conspiracies theories increased, Common Sense’s health declined proportionately. Common Sense was able to tolerate the Flat Earth theory, attributing it to ignorant people who ignore the scientific facts. The round earth has been a proven fact for more than two thousand years.

The conspiracy theory that political and media elites are conspiring to replace white people with immigrants nearly killed him. He survived that only to see the increased popularity of the global warming conspiracy theory which alleges that global warming is a hoax.

Common Sense took a turn for the worst following the 2020 elections when President Trump and his followers claimed that the election was “stolen”, leading to the January 6 insurrection that attempted to stop the recount of the election results. By then, Common Sense’s heart could take no more. His decline was then irreversible.

He was preceded in death by his parents: Truth and Honesty; his wife: Logic; his daughter: Wisdom and his son; Intelligence. He is survived by his stepson, Nonsense.
​
Rest in Peace, Common Sense.

Chris Andrew knocked on the side of the door to Monte Office. Monte called it his office, but it was more of a space in a corner of the kitchen where he could write in semi-private. Chris stuck his head in.
“You wanted to see me, boss?”

Chris was Monte’s stand-by character, never the protagonist or antagonist but a well-developed character in his own right. He was like an old friend that Monte always enjoyed having around. Monte had written him into many of his short stories and even a few of his novels.

“Come in, Chris and pull up a chair.” Monte waited for Chris to get settled. “I want to talk to you about my crime fiction manuscript.” Monte paused to collect his thoughts—carefully selecting his words. “I’ve decided to kill you off.”

Chris’ jaw dropped and his eyes widened. He stood up and started pacing around the kitchen. “What? Why? I thought I was a good character.”

Monte leaned back in his chair and took a deep breath. “It’s not personal, Chris. This isn’t easy for me, but it was always in the plot. The time has come for you to die. Don’t get me wrong, I like you, but this time you need to go. I’ll put you in another story later.”

Chris threw hands up in the air. “But why, Monte? Haven’t I been a good character?”

“You’re the best, Chris, but the plot of the story has you being killed.”

“Please, boss. I like this story. I’m the sidekick of the protagonist. I’m his wingman. Everyone likes me. You even wrote me some funny lines.”

Monte shook his head. “That’s why it has to be you. It will be more of a tragedy because you are so popular. Everyone will greave—maybe even the reader. The protagonist will be heart broken.”

“Can’t you kill off what’s her name? You know, the best friend of the hero’s girlfriend?”

“You mean Linda? No, I thought of that, but it doesn’t work. She’ll comfort the protagonist in his grief. That will set up tension between the two women in my novel. It makes the story better. It has to be you.”

“But you didn’t give me any warning. This is out of the blue. Shouldn’t you write in a premonition or a forewarning?”

“It’s a surprise plot twist, Chris. I think once you see it, you’ll like it.”

Chris sat back down and hung his head. Monte stood up and placed his hand on Chris’ shoulder. Chris looked up at Monte’s face with tears in his eye. “You promise me you’ll put me in the next novel?"

“I promise.”
 
Chris stood up and looked into Monte’s eyes. “Will it hurt? You know I can’t stand pain.”

Monte Laughed. “Chris, you’re a fictional character. You can’t feel pain.”

Chris shook his head. “You know what I mean.”

Monte sighed. “Okay. No, you won’t feel anything. I’m thinking you’ll die instantly; a gun shoot wound to the head or heart.”

“What will I be wearing?”

“Come on, Chris. This is getting to be ridiculous.”

“Humor me a little, boss. Last novel you wrote, I was wounded and bleed all over my new suit. It was a mess. Don’t make me wear a suit.”

“Okay, okay. How about I kill you off in your underwear? Is that satisfactory? Now stop this nonsense and get out of here. I have a novel to write.”

“Right, boss. You got it. It’ll be a best seller, I know it. My death won’t be in vain. Thank you, thank you.”

The End

​

A couple of years ago I read an article about a new book, Power Cues: The Subtle Science of Leading Groups, Persuading Others, and Maximizing Your Personal Impact, by Nick Morgan. He talked about all the fake listening that people do while they act as if they are listening to you. He listed seven:
1. Their eye contact is too fixed, and their heads are too still.
2. They smile too brightly and for too long.
3. They tap their fingers.
4. They fidget.
5. Their body is turned away from you.
6 Their feet are pointed towards the door.
7. They don't mirror your body language.

This got me to thinking about other subtle ways you can tell people are not listening to you. Here are ten more:

1. They fall asleep. This is a dead giveaway. 
2. They don’t notice when you stop talking.
3. You ask them a question and they just nod their heads.
4. They tell you in English that they don’t speak English.
5. They wave a crucifix and a strand of garlic at you and attempt to drive a stake into your heart.
6. They let their dog pee on your shoes.
7. They put coins into your coffee cup and walk away.
8. They hold up a lapel pin and ask you to speak into it.
9. They steal your watch and wallet.
10. They fake a heart attack, so they don’t have to listen to you.
​
If you notice this type of behavior, stop talking. Your audience has stopped listening to you.