Melissa’s Blog

For the past month I have had a handful of book signings in the GTA, and I always come away with a different point of view about what makes a successful book signing.

Chapters Bayview: Here I meet a mystery agent. This agent seeks me out in the children’s department and we have an enlightening conversation about the publishing industry. We talk a few minutes about the good, the bad and the ugly. He hands me his card and asks me to forward my 56 Water Street manuscript to him. Is he my agent? Is he not my agent? I guess only time will solve this mystery.

I also met another Canadian author, Scott Carter at Bayview Chapters. He wrote a book called Blind Luck. I haven’t read anything that good in a long time.

I sold a handful of books and met some pretty awesome children.

I guess Bayview was certainly a successful book signing.

Indigo Eaton Center: It was a slow day but the staff were so sweet and accommodating, attentive and genuinely caring.  (all my Chapter stores have WONDERFUL staff to work with)

I had my picture taken with 2 siblings. Very sweet children.

I sold a handful of books and Marlene gave me Liza Morrison from Harper Collins contact info and Mike Fuhr from Random House. Marlene has been so supportive. She remembered me when I was first getting started. “You made it,” she said to me. And I guess she’s right. I did, I finally got to the GTA. I crawled my way to the top, now the trick is to stay here. To prove that my books belong on the bookselves just as much as Stephanie Meyer and J K Rowling. I am worthy of this and when all is said and done, time will also prove this. Still alot of hard work ahead of me.

Selling books is not the only thing that makes a book signing successful, the people you meet and the contacts you make are more important than selling a copy of your book. Because these people might not buy your book today but they just might pick it up a month from now.

Thank you to all my supporters at head office Melissa M and  Shannon B. Getting in was the biggest hurtle I ever had to jump. It took me 3 years but now that I am in, I am going to sell more books and my next goal after securing my GTA market is my national market.

I hope Heather Reisman will read 56 Water Street and Abigail’s Mirror. Who knows maybe she’ll like it so much it will be a Heather pick one day.  I have to keep dreaming and believing in miracles. If I didn’t I wouldn’t have made it this far

Again thank you, to all of you. I am here because you opened the doors to me.

Melissa

Cheers     

So, I am in the middle of writing the third book in the Derek and Ravine series. Lots of great things happening in this book. But unfortunately, I am having a really hard time  picking out a title for this one.

I need a title with the word ‘Thunder’ in it. Any ideas???

If I use your title you will recieve a free copy of the third book when it’s published!!

Any ideas out there?

Melissa

Keep reading. Keep writing.

I always say write what you know. When I speak with people who want to write a book  I always get the same comment; I don’t know what to write about. Well, write what you know. Write what excites you. And through that your writing will excite others. However, there’s always that little exception to the rule. This exception for me is called, a short story.

When I want to dab in different genres, different styles, or just something totally off the wall, I sit down and write a short story.

Writing short stories is a great way to put your feelers out, on how well you write different genres. As you see with my short stories, I write them for adults and I try to write everything from romance to comedy. Of course I would never seek out a publisher for these stories, but it is a fun way to change pace, get a different point of view and fight off writer’s block.

Try it!

Writing short stories is a lot of fun.

Cheers

Melissa   

             Too Good To Be True

             Carl sat, looking miserable, with his head in his hands. He was in a dingy room with several other men, also sitting with their heads in their hands and looking just as miserable as him. The room was made of dull concrete blocks on three sides, steel bars on the fourth side.

Carl turned to the man closest to him: “When do you think we’ll get out of here?”

The man shook his head. “Don’t know,” he said. “Never been here before.”

Carl sighed. Not the perfect vacation he had been hoping for.

          

            Josie Smith sat at her computer. Page after page popped up, promising the perfect vacation spot. She had been researching vacation spots for a couple of weeks and wanted this trip to be special. This was the first time she and Carl had been able to save enough money to take the boys on a real vacation. She definitely wanted somewhere warm. Somewhere far away. Somewhere different and exciting. 

But as she surfed through the vacation websites, the usual names kept scrolling by: Disney, Vegas, casinos everywhere she looked. That’s not what I want, Josie thought. We need something special, something unusual, somewhere none of our friends or relatives had ever been. She wanted a trip her family would remember for the rest of their lives.

“Hey, Carl,” she called out.

Carl was sitting behind her on the couch reading the newspaper. They had been married eight years. Long enough for him to know not to interfere with the planning of such things.

“Where we going?” he asked, putting his paper to rest.

He stood peering over her shoulder at a picture of an exquisite, palm tree filled resort. Just from the picture he could tell it would be warm and it looked inviting. With renewed interest in Josie’s search for the perfect vacation spot, he pulled up a seat beside her. As Josie clicked on the sunset, Fresh Air Falls Resort came alive. A rainbow appeared, with citrus coloured butterflies fluttering across the screen. They were a little startled when a delicate voice said, ‘Come into the land of Fresh Air Falls.’

Josie and Carl sat mesmerized. As Josie clicked on the next icon, the slide show began.  

The sound of a waterfall trickled through the room with very clever stereo effects and a crystal blue lake sent tiny waves onto a sandy white beach. A cobblestone path meandered through a quaint village of red brick shops and street venders, their rainbow coloured wagons filling the roadway. Palm trees lined the winding stone roads and the text that scrolled under the picture said no cars were allowed in Fresh Air Falls. No motorized vehicles of any sort. 

   

Fresh Air Falls Resort was built amongst and around a forested valley. Population 4,000, it said. Cleanest town this side of the border, it said. Fresh summer breezes, clean air and fun activities for people of all ages. It was the place to be. Fresh Air Falls Resort.

“Looks good to me, Josie.”

Carl was fascinated by the brilliant colours and the warmth and cleanliness of the place. And Josie agreed. What could be better than a vacation spot filled with beauty and fresh air? And a place they knew none of their friends had ever gone.

“I think I’ll try to book us a hotel, now.”

Carl nodded. Josie found the booking information easily quickly and was surprised there were lots of vacancies.

“A place like that, you would think would be booked solid,” Carl said. One by one, red flags began to shoot up inside his head and his expression changed to worry.

Josie looked over her shoulder at him. “Don’t be ridiculous, Carl. It’s probably a new resort and people just haven’t come across it yet. Imagine the stories and pictures we’ll have when we come back.”

Carl grunted and took up reading in his favorite chair. “It’s not all that new,” he mumbled. “It says the place was established in 1956.”

          The week went by quickly. Packing, unpacking, repacking. It was hard to decide what to bring because it was never clear in any of the literature what activities were available. Josie only knew every time she clicked on the website she fell into a trance watching the butterflies flutter across the screen.

“Did you pack the beach umbrella?” Josie asked, as she walked towards the car. Carl was struggling to fit everything they were taking into the truck and his solution was to keep pushing on it as though the stuff would eventually give in and fit into the space itself.

“Yeah, got it all,” he grunted.

“Move the little suitcase towards the back. Then it will shut.” Josie kept reminding herself that he was a good civil engineer.  

 It  was a six hour drive to Fresh Air Falls, miles made less pleasant than they should have been when the air conditioner quit working fifteen minutes from home. And six hours of ‘are we there yet, hepushed me, he stuck out his tongue, he looked at me’ would drive almost anyone crazy. Josie was relieved when the lime green and turquoise sign of the resort finally rose up ahead of them.

Fresh Air Falls had its own parking lot on the outskirts of the town and Carl pulled into one of the many available spots and turned off the car.

“How long do we have to wait here for the next cable car?” he asked.

“It said a cable car comes by every fifteen minutes. So even if we missed it, it shouldn’t be a long wait.”

Carl sighed. He was hot and cranky and that seemed like a long time to him. He leaned his head on the steering wheel and closed his eyes. Fifteen minutes.

Three hours later the cable car pulled up.

“Howdy folks! Sorry about the delay but I ran into a bit of traffic.”

The driver got out and extended his hand to the Smiths.

“My name is Ernest. You know, I’m earnest to go.” He let out a huge snort and a couple of chuckles followed. “But my friends just call me Ernie.”

Josie smiled and made the introductions and Ernie helped them load their belongings into the cable car.

As they rode down into the valley, Carl asked, “So, what kind of traffic did you happen to ‘run into’ seeing as there are no motorized vehicles here?”

Ernie let out another boisterous snort. “There’s always commotion in Fresh Air Falls,” he said, pleasantly, offering no further explanation.

            As they rode deeper into the resort, the sun was beginning to set and Carl found himself mesmerized by the beauty surrounding him. He expected to see some of the commotion Ernie talked about, but there was nothing going on. Big or small. Other than officers in blue uniforms standing on each corner of every block, Fresh Air Falls seemed to be a peaceful perfect paradise.   

            It was late when the Smith family settled down for the night and as Carl drifted off to sleep, he wondered about all the uniformed officers. 

            The Smiths were gently awakened by golden sunbeams streaming through the window. They cast lovely glittering patterns on the adjacent wall and as Carl rubbed his eyes, he wished he could wake up like this every morning. He looked over at Josie and the boys. They seemed to be thinking the same thing. It was a grand way to start the day. 

            After a hearty breakfast in the hotel restaurant, the Smith family ventured out to explore the town. It was a warm morning and already a handful of children, dressed for the beach, were buying ice cream.

            “Which way do you want to go?” Josie asked, eyeing up the four roads leading off from the square.

            “Let’s try that way,” said Carl, pointing towards a tree-lined cobblestone path meandering up a steep hill that seemed to be covered by trees.

They stood at the corner waiting for a cable car to go before crossing the street and suddenly Carl farted. He knew he had eaten too much for breakfast, especially the gassy eggs, and he tried to hold it in until they were out of ear shot, but it just wasn’t possible. This was a rip-roaring fart and Josie looked at him in horror.

            “Carl!” she exclaimed. “Honestly, you are so embarrassing!”

The boys giggled.

            “I farted. Sorry, but so what? Everybody farts!”

            The boys giggled some more.

            When the cable car had passed, they began to cross the street only to be stopped by one of those officers dressed in blue. He held out his arm and pointed angrily at Carl.

            “This is your first and only warning. I will have to arrest you if it happens again.”

            Carl looked over his shoulder, confused. The officer couldn’t possibly be talking to him.

“What are you talking about?” he asked, as nicely as he could.

            “The next time you fart I will have to arrest you. There is NO farting in Fresh Air Falls,” the officer said.

            Carl laughed. “Is this some kind of a joke?”

            The officer stared menacingly at him. ”Do I look like I’m joking? Do I sound like I am joking?”

Josie and the kids stood behind Carl, astounded by what they were hearing and also thinking that right behind Carl might not be the safest place right now.

            “You can’t arrest me for farting. That’s ridiculous!”

            “I can and I will. Our bylaw states: ‘Any person discovered to be farting in Fresh Air Falls shall be arrested. Visitors to the community will be given a single warning after which the bylaw will be applied in full.’ If you have to fart, you are required to cross the town border which you will find about a kilometer in that direction.” The officer pointed back to the direction from which Carl and the family had just come. “That’s where people go to fart. NOT in Fresh Air Falls!”

Carl and Josie peered in the direction the officer was pointing.  

            “Well, I guess we better be heading in that direction then!” Carl said, stomping off towards the town border with his wife and kids in tow.   

            At the edge of the town, they came to a red line and written on the pavement in bold letters:  FARTING PERMITTED ONLY ON THIS SIDE OF THE BORDER. An arrow pointed to the other  side of the line. 

            There was quite a crowd of people standing on the other side. It looked like there were lots of  other families, and probably some people who were on their own. When Carl and Josie crossed the line  to join, they were instantly aware that on this side of the line there was a foul smell that filled the air, and there was a distinctive symphony of flatulence to be heard everywhere.

Some farts were loud and some were little squeaks. Some were just plain smelly and rude. Josie and the boys stood there holding their noses. It was just a nasty place to be. Then without any hesitation Carl let out a deafening, vulgar sound that ripped through his butt and filled the air with a stench that would peel paint. He sighed with relief. It wasn’t easy keeping that kind of gas inside for a kilometer. 

While the boys were impressed, Josie just wanted to cry. Her perfect, peaceful vacation had turned into a reeking horror show.

“Are you done yet?” she asked, more annoyed with Carl than she had ever been.

Carl shook his head. “Just one more, Josie.” And then he pushed out a long tiny squeak.

“Okay. We can leave now,” he said, feeling better than he had since that big breakfast. He took the boys’ hands as they giggled uncontrollably.  

As they walked back through Fresh Air Falls, Josie tried to keep her tears at bay. There would be no way this family would make it through a week let alone a day without having to make a couple of side trips to the border. Carl farted more than anyone she knew. Carl had a farting problem. It was that simple. 

The next couple of days were busy. The Smiths made more trips to the border than anywhere else. If it wasn’t Carl playing his butt trumpet, it was one of the boys. She spent a lot of time plugging her nose but naturally the boys were quite amused. Carl lost five pounds with all the walking to the border.

            “I think I’ll have the ‘Dare Me Platter’” Carl said, closing the menu. Josie peered up.

            “What’s that?” she asked.

            “Don’t know, but it sounds tempting!”

            “What’s in it?”

“Don’t know. Doesn’t say.” Carl replied, smiling. It had been a good day. They had made only one trip to the border and it looked as though Josie was finally enjoying herself. Carl had to admit, it sure did smell fresh in Fresh  Air Falls but over the border line was another thing altogether.

Josie put down her menu and waved to Ernie as he walked through the door.

“Howdy folks! Are ya enjoying your stay?” he smiled, showing his missing teeth.

“We sure are!” Billy started, “We have gone to –“

Josie kicked him under the table. “We have had a delightful time. Thank you,” she finished.

Ernie moved on just as the server came by and placed four plates on the table and quickly hurried away. Carl gazed at his plate. What the hell was it? It was a brownish lumpy coil shape with grayish seeds sprinkled on top.

Josie took one look at it and laughed. “Enjoy your meal, sweetheart.” Then she dug into her Caesar salad.

Carl never did know for sure what was in the ‘Dare Me Platter’, and he thought it was probably best that he didn’t know. But it did taste good.

After dinner they took a stroll down by the lake. As the sun was setting, cast a rainbow reflection in the depths of the water. It was a peaceful stroll and Josie took Carl’s hand feeling content and happy.

Then, without warning, Carl’s butt let out an ear piercing explosion. They were trapped. From four sides, officers walked towards them. Carl tried to gain control but after eating the ‘Dare Me Platter’ there was absolutely nothing he could do. The farts were coming fast and furious. Two officers took him by the elbows as the other two walked in front of them.

“Where are you taking my husband,” Josie called after them. Carl didn’t say anything, but his farts got louder and longer.

“Jail. No farting allowed,” and that’s all Josie heard. That and the sound of farts echoing through the air as they hauled Carl off to the county jail on the outskirts of town.

 Carl sat with his head in his hand as a guy beside him let a couple good ones fly. The cell smelled stale. There were about ten of them in here. No wonder Fresh Air Falls was such a clean, quiet resort. Carl let another one slip. Why keep it in? They were all doing it.

“They can’t keep us in here forever!” one guy said, after letting a good one rip through the air.

“Hey Mister!” Carl yelled to the officer who was standing by the jail door. “When are you going to let us out of here?”

The guard walked closer to the prisoners with a hanky held over his nose. “You will have to be fart free for twenty four hours. Then I can let you out. But not until then.”

The guard returned to his post. 

Carl sat back down on the bench and the sound of gas echoed from beneath him. He closed his eyes. It was going to be a very long night.

          The next morning Josie sat by the pool sunning herself. The boys played in the pool. The air was perfect. Everything seemed perfect. She sighed as the sun warmed her, missing Carl a little bit but    enjoying that if he was still farting, he was doing it somewhere else and she wouldn’t have to keep walking to that damn smelly border zone.

Carl sat, with his head in his hands still farting. He should have known Fresh Air Falls was too good to be true.    

  

It’s easy to get stuck on the fast train, even when it seems to be going in circles. That’s the worst, going around and around and not being able to find a way off.

Writing can get like that. I call it creative tunnel vision. It’s when you are ignoring everything and everyone in your life because you are too busy trying to be successful. But the harder you work, the less focus you become and you end up not getting  any further ahead.

Take a break. Take a breather and get a new perspective.

I did just that. I needed the break. I needed someone to pull me away from my computer and writing, and book scheduling. And to be quite honest, that little breather away from my passion was a lot harder to do than I thought. I realize now that my passion for writing and creating had quickly turned into an obsession.

I do have to give myself a pat on the back, though. I promised my family that on our ten day vacation I would not, I repeat, I would not go near a computer, or do anything that involved my books.

I only fell off the wagon twice. Pretty good. But it was when I checked my stats, my emails and so on, I became once again obsessive with my goal. A few friendly words and advice from my friends and husband brought me back to the fun in the sun, and I forgot my work until I walked through my front door on day ten.

Taking a break was refreshing. I set new goals for myself, reassured myself of all my accomplishments and successes, and I was ready to get back at it.

I needed the break. Everybody needs that break. But I also realize that my break allows me to be able to think clearer about my destination and the climb ahead.

The mountain never gets smaller. The ocean never gets easier to cross, and my goals always seem larger than life.

But even with the struggles, the baby steps, the successes and failures, a break, a breather and a new perspective seem to make the dream that much more attainable.

To all of my readers; treat yourself, don’t forget family and friends and remember you do deserve a break.

Cheers

Melissa               

So, if I was famous and a household name like J K Rowling, Steven King, Stephanie Meyer, John Grisham, etc, I would have a long list of people I would need to thank.

But even though I am not, I still need to extend a huge thank you to them. The list includes teachers, principals, friends, managers and Chapters Head Office.

I am working with some wonderful people right now at Chapters head office. The support has been, well I honestly don’t have a word that shows my gratitude for everything they are doing for me.  

I am posting this just to extend my thankyous. I could say it a hundred times and it still wouldn’t be enough.

Thank you. Thank you for supporting me, my journey, my books. Thank you for supporting an author who did not write the twilight series or the Harry Potter series. Thank you for believing that I will do what it takes to make this a success for everyone.

Thank you

Melissa    

I wished when I started my writing carreer, somebody would have sat me down and said, “look, being an author isn’t just about writing books, it’s about selling yourself.”

Ohhh, how true, how true. An author isn’t just a writer, but a businessman as well, and hopefully a savvy one at that!

Sell, sell, sell.

Sell yourself to the publishers.

sell yourself to the bookstores.

Sell yourself to the schools, to readers, to children, to parents, to grandparents. Sell, sell sell!

When is there time to write? How ironic, I say this as I am typing away on my blog. But truly, I feel I spend more time marketing myself and my books than I do sitting at the computer writing my third book in the Derek and Ravine series.

Market, sell, write….Market, sell, market, sell….write…

HiHo HiHo off to my third story I go!

Whewwww, what a long day!

Cheers

Melissa  

   

So, I came across, yet another writing contest. This one is called The Next Top Spiritual Author. I do send out a sincere, good luck, to all that entered.

Now for my real thoughts about these “contests”

In three simple words, just a gimick.

Yep, just another gimick to hand over money. Really, if you have such a fantastic novel, why isn’t on the bookselves enticing readers? I figure if authors just get their books published by themselves or through self supported publishers, they could start on their path of being a true author.

What is a true author?

A true author is someone who is going to go out everyday and pound the pavement selling their work.

A true author doesn’t sit at home and wait for a miracle to come their way, and pray to the gods very night hoping for their big break.

A true author is someone who inspires others. One who goes out into the community to share their knowledge. Someone who writes because that’s what they do.

 If  you are sitting at home waiting to win some contest that you entered, and you pray for your big break, in my opinion it will never come.

Being an author is hard work. Even if and when you get tradionally published, it is still hard work. Books don’t sell themselves, you have to go out and sell them. And big tradional publishers are not going to put a lot of money in a new author unless they prove themselves.

So, even if you win a writing contest like the one I came across,  The Next Spiritual Author, hard work still lays ahead of you.

Anyway, I do sincerely wish all of you lots of luck and hopefully I will see your book in brick and morter.

Good Luck and continue to work hard as an author.

Cheers

Melissa  

      

I know I’ve said this before, and I keep saying it, and I don’t mean to bore my readers, but, what a long journey this has become. Sometimes I think I am a hiprocrite when I try to encourage other writers  by telling them not to give up, when there is not a single day that goes by when I wonder if I should pack it in. The emotional roller coaster of this business makes it too easy to throw out all the hard work, flip the industry the bird and walk away.  The Publishers make it so darn difficult. It’s as if they have taken the remants of the Great Wall of China and have hid themselves behind their fortress, not letting a new author in.    

I guess if it weren’t for my readers, the teachers, the bookstores, and my passion for writing, I would have packed it in a long time ago. Trust me, when you make $.60 a book, it’s easy to rethink being an author.

But I guess I am an author like I am left handed. (A wise man wrote that, a great literary writer, actually).

So, I guess the bottom line is, whether I get a tradional publisher, or whether I just e-publish, or whatever the future holds, I will continue to write. And I hope you all will continue to read.

Cheers

Melissa      

                                 David’s Kiss                                                           
 
                                         By Melissa Strangway
 
 The last thing Miranda saw was Matt and a two storey house as her own words echoed through her mind. ‘You don’t choose who you fall in love with.’

Sun seeped into her bedroom window and Pig purred loudly near her ear, hoping to wake her. Miranda rolled over and cuddled Pig closer. Content with her attention, he purred louder, knowing he wouldn’t have to wait much longer for the morning sound of the can opener.
Miranda Mills lived in a tiny apartment above a quaint Flower Boutique, right across from Downtown Square. For one person, the apartment was just right. The kitchen and living room were separated by an island that made the distinction between the eating and the sitting area, making both areas seem a little bigger than they were. But the bedroom was small, with barely enough space for a single bed and one dresser.
The odd thing was the location of the bathroom. You could only get to it by walking through the bedroom, which meant Miranda always had to make sure her room was tidy in case of unexpected guests.
She and Pig had lived here for almost three years and although most people would consider it too small, she liked it better than anywhere else she had lived. There was a convenience and a vitality about living in the heart of the city. She always knew how to find entertainment, where to see the good plays, which ones to avoid. She could easily find fancy restaurants and the places where you could dine on a tight budget.
The constant pulse of the city appealed to her, and she was sure the city never slept. From dusk to dawn, magicians, singers, violinists, scammers prowled the streets until they were replaced by the early joggers, walkers, bikers. Then came the suits and brief cases.
But most of all she liked that she could walk everywhere from her apartment, especially to work. It wasn’t the best paying job she had ever held, but she liked it.

Miranda lazed in bed thinking of her friends and what their mornings must be like. Most of them had children now, and there would be an early morning rush to wake the kids, make lunches, pack school bags, make sure homework was done and teeth brushed. She imagined things might have been like that for her if she had accepted Matt’s proposal. 
 
Miranda scratched Pig’s chin. He was getting restless and since repeatedly touching her with his paw wasn’t getting him anywhere, he began nipping at her hand. When she finally got the hint, Pig hopped off the bed, meowing loudly as Miranda followed him into the kitchen. Pig had her trained well and he knew he was in charge. But as Miranda fumbled with the can opener, Pig showed his appreciation by arching his back and rubbing against her bare legs.
Her mother had been disappointed, even angry, when Miranda told her she declined Matt’s offer. ‘You’ll never find another man who can give you everything that Matt can,’ she had said in a flat voice. Miranda had shrugged, saying she would take her chances. She thought that being alone was better than being with someone you couldn’t give your entire self to. But since she was already past thirty, her mother kept insisting Miranda was running out of choices.
While she busied herself taking care of Pig’s appetite, she smiled to herself. It didn’t matter if her friends were all living the lives that statistics are made from. The two kids, two cars, two storey houses with attached two car garages. But usually only one cat, one dog, and one white picket fence.
She wondered if her friends were really happy. They all had the same lives, almost as though they had followed that path because they couldn’t think of anything else to do. And Miranda knew she couldn’t be happy with just that. There was something out there for her, something she was searching for. She didn’t know yet what that something was, but the certainty that it was out there was enough to make her reject a wonderful proposal from a wonderful man.

After breakfast, Miranda showered and got ready for work. The bank was open for late evening hours Thursdays and Fridays and she had the closing shifts on both nights.
As she brushed and curled her hair, Pig sat on the sink vanity talking to her and grooming himself for the busy day he had planned.
Miranda stood in front of the mirror, pleased with her appearance. The citrus coloured outfit was enhanced by her tan and she was pleased with the new golden highlights in her hair.
As Pig settled himself on the window sill, a tight little ball of black fur eager to get to the chore of sunning himself all afternoon, Miranda kissed him goodbye, grabbed her purse and locked the door behind her as she left for the day. Pig never really wondered where she went, but he knew that she was always glad to see him when she came home.
It was a bright sunny day and Miranda enjoyed her walk although it was not even noon and already the air was getting muggy. She stopped at a newsstand to buy the daily paper and a coffee, watching the lively street scene and feeling like she was a part of the downtown hustle and bustle.
As she rounded the corner, she sighed. She could see the lunch hour line-up at the bank through the front window. As she opened the door, several regular customers greeted her by name. She wasted no time and pushed through the swinging gate, heading to her usual spot at the counter. She set her coffee down beside her wicket and organized her work before putting out her ‘Open’ sign.
“It’s been non-stop since opening,” said Rachel, walking by with a plastic bag full of money and dropping it down the administration slot. She walked back to her wicket.
“That just means it’ll be a slower night,” Miranda replied. “I can help you over here,” she said, in a friendly voice to the next customer in line.
“Hey, Miranda!” It was Jeff Tanner.
“Hi, Jeff.”
He took out his paycheque and signed the back. “Still single?” he asked, as he jotted down his account number.
Miranda smiled. It was the same old conversation with Jeff. “You’re not going to try and pick me up again, are you?” she flirted.
“I would, but a guy can only handle so many rejections, you know.” He gave her his paycheque, asking for a hundred dollars cash and depositing the rest.
Miranda nodded. It was the same transaction every Thursday.
“I’m just waiting for you to ask me out,” he said, leaning on the counter.
Miranda deposited the cheque and counted out five twenties.
“I’m afraid you’ll be waiting a long time. I’ve sworn off men,” she said, smiling. “Even a good one like you couldn’t tempt me.”
Jeff tucked his money in the back pocket of his pants. “That’s a shame, a pretty girl like you.”
He knocked his fist gently on the counter, like he did every Thursday, and waved to her. “You’re worth waiting for. I’ll see you next week.”
Miranda watched him open the door and disappear out onto the street then looked to the next customer in line.
“I can help you here, ma’am.”
 
It was a busier day than usual and that made it pass quicker. The crowd finally thinned out after five o’clock and Miranda began counting the hours until closing. Only two people left to be helped.
As soon as the last customers were gone, the four tellers leaned against the counter and chatted. It was the best time of the banking day for them, only a few hours left and nothing much to do.
The bell rang above the door and Miranda looked up to see the next customer.
“Hi, David!” Cheryl motioned to the tall man.
Miranda watched him. It was strange she didn’t recognize him, she thought she knew most of the customers by now and since Cheryl knew his name, he must be a regular.
She couldn’t hear the conversation between them and didn’t want to interrupt, but she couldn’t take her eyes off this customer and continued to watch him silently, ignoring  Rachel and Annie talking about their kids.
“Take care, David,” Cheryl said, as the man turned to leave. As he waved, he caught Miranda’s eye. She smiled as he disappeared out the door.
As Cheryl was finishing up the transaction, Miranda walked over to her and tried to sound casual.
“Who was that,” she asked.
“David? You don’t know David?”
Miranda shook her head.
“Oh well, I guess you wouldn’t, you don’t work Tuesdays. He usually comes in on Tuesday mornings, but mornings are starting to get harder on him.” Cheryl turned to join Annie and Rachel who were stilling talking about their kids.
“You’ll get to know David. He said he’s going to be coming in later now.”  

That night, Miranda lay in bed with Pig thinking about David. There was something different about him, something she couldn’t put her finger on. And it wasn’t just his appearance, although she thought he was a handsome man.
She rolled over and tried to nudge Pig out of the way, but he didn’t move. Finally, accepting that she wasn’t going to get more space, she began to drift off to sleep. Her soft breathing soon matched Pig’s and her thoughts of David faded.

The weekend flew by, as did the first half of the week. Miranda spent part of the weekend visiting some of her married friends and their children. She also spent time in her favourite book store, reading and drinking coffee, treating herself later to a manicure. On Sunday, she browsed the downtown boutiques and visited her folks, only to hear again about the mistake she had made by rejecting Matt and if she had any sense at all she would call him, apologize, and propose to him before it was too late.
 There was no point in arguing with her mother. The woman had not ever been wrong in the thirty-three years Miranda had known her. The easiest and safest thing was to nod her head and say, ’Yes, mom. I will think seriously about what you said.’ At least that would stop the conversation until her mother phoned the next night to see if Miranda had taken her advice. That would ultimately lead to another argument but at least it would be over the telephone, and that was easier to ignore.
By Thursday, Miranda was tired of having to explain herself to her mother and was tired of Pig taking up too much of the bed. She was tired of all her friends being happy with their dull lives and was beginning to wonder if she really did like her job, her life, and if she had made a big mistake.
That was until she saw David walk into the bank. She motioned to him.
“I came in at a good time,” he said, looking around.
“It’s always quiet this time of night,” Miranda said. David handed her his banking as Annie flung her head back laughing.
“You’re joking!” Annie said loudly. Rachel was shaking her head and the two of them were lost in some conversation.
“Well, it’s quiet except for the tellers.”
Miranda turned to look over her shoulder, following David’s gaze. Annie, Rachel, and Cheryl were in hysterics.
“Well, something’s pretty funny,” he said, watching them.
Miranda finished up David’s banking, and gave back his bank book. “I have never seen you in here before,” Miranda said, making idle chat.
He smiled, and his eyes lit up. “You did. Last Thursday.”
Miranda blushed, “Yes, last Thursday, but never before that.” 
“Well,” he said, “you’ll be seeing a lot more of me now.” He turned to leave and then hesitated. “Bye, Miranda.”

 David had been right. Over the course of a few weeks, he and Miranda became quite friendly and even started to see each other away from the bank.
They went for supper, took walks down by the lake, and sat on the beach watching the waves coming in. They would take off their shoes and feel the grains of sand between their toes as they strolled along the water’s edge.
David made each minute feel special and Miranda felt as if she was doing all these familiar things for the very first time. She began to wonder if the something that was out there for her might finally be right in front of her.
As that feeling grew, she realized that the lives her friends were living were very attractive. She suddenly wanted the two kids, the two cars, the two storey house with an attached two car garage. The one cat — well, okay, she already had Pig — the one dog, and the one white picket fence. Miranda wanted this and more. And she wanted all this with David.
As they spent more time with each other, they did everything normal couples would do together. Except for one thing.
They never kissed.
Miranda was sure he would eventually kiss her, she guessed the timing just hadn’t been right. She wasn’t concerned about his lack of affection, most of her relationships in the past had moved too quickly. Even with Matt.
It wasn’t as if David hadn’t touched her. He sometimes walked with his arm around her shoulder and always reached for her hand at the theatre.
Miranda was in love. She knew it, she knew it was real, and she could clearly see her happy ending.

Out for dinner one evening, David seemed to have little appetite.
“How do you like the pasta?” he asked. They were sitting in a small booth away from the center of the restaurant. 
“It’s very good,” she said, looking down at his plate. He had barely touched his meal and he was looking a little off.
“Are you okay?” she asked. Tonight, the circles under David’s eyes were darker than usual and his complexion was pale.
“Not too hungry,” he said, forcing out a smile.
She pushed her plate away and reached for his hands.
“Want to know a secret?”
David nodded.
“You are the first completely bald man I have been attracted to. It’s very sexy.”
She liked everything about him. His shiny clean scalp, the greyish circles under his eyes, the way those eyes lit up when he laughed. There was nothing about him that she did not find appealing.
His smile faded. “Miranda, how old are you?”
“Thirty-three. Why? How old are you?”
“Forty-two. I’m nine years older than you.”
The server came by and removed their empty plates. David ordered another glass of wine for her, but she was uneasy about the direction of this conversation. 
“Miranda, you have your whole life ahead of you. You shouldn’t be wasting your time with an old man like me.” The lines in his forehead creased and suddenly he looked far older than forty-two.  
“First, forty-two isn’t old. Second, nine years is nothing. And third, it’s too late. I’ve already fallen in love with you.”
David removed his hands from hers and leaned back in his chair, frowning. His reaction was unexpected and Miranda wondered if she had read all the signals wrong. She shook those thoughts away. She couldn’t have. He must be sharing the same feelings as she was, he must be feeling the same intense connection. It was stronger than anything she had ever felt and she was sure he felt it too.
“I wish you hadn’t said that,” he said, sadly. “I am very sorry I may have misled you, Miranda. I am really, really sorry.”
Miranda sat still, unable to speak. She shook her head.
David watched her, wanting to lie. He knew that lying would be easier than telling her the truth. She deserved better than him. She deserved what all good women deserved, and he knew by the look in her eyes that she wanted everything he could not offer. It would have been much easier not to have ventured into this friendship. This relationship. But looking at her now, he knew it was too late. For him and for her.
“Are you telling me you just want to be friends? That you don’t feel the same way as I do?”  She choked down the tears, determined he would not see her cry.
“No, that’s not what I am saying. I do feel the same way. But you are better off without me because I can’t give you what you want. What you deserve.”
She smiled, relieved. She took his hands again, relieved and happy that it was just some silly notion David had in his mind. He was probably feeling overwhelmed with how quickly their feelings had grown towards each other.
“David, you are everything I want. Don’t you see that? You are the man I could spend forever with.”
He winced at her words, knowing that for him, forever wasn’t a very long time.
“Miranda, do you know why I have no hair?”
She shook her head.
“Because I have cancer. I lost my hair during the chemotherapy treatment.”
Silence hung over the table like a heavy blanket.
“But you’re in remission now. And the cancer’s gone, ” she said.
He saw the hope in her eyes, the love in her eyes, and he wished he could tell her what she wanted to hear. He ached to hold her in his arms and tell her everything was going to be okay. He wanted to do this and so much more.
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “I am not in remission. And the cancer is not all gone.”  
The server came by and placed the bill on the table. They both reached for it but David got it first, shaking his head and insisting. He went to pay for dinner, leaving her alone with her thoughts.
When he got back, he was sure Miranda had been crying.
“Let’s take a walk down by the lake,”  he suggested, reaching for her hand. 
The boardwalk was lively with the sound of the surf, teenage boys out strutting their stuff for teenage girls, an ice cream vendor. David and Miranda disappeared, blending into the nightly scene as they strolled hand in hand.
Miranda walked in silence as David revealed his story. He told her about the tumour that was found in his stomach and the surgery, radiation and chemotherapy he had gone through. He told her how sick the chemotherapy had made him, the days he didn’t think he would live, the days he didn’t even want to. That was over two years ago and last year the doctors had finally thought he was in remission and that it was safe to close up his colostomy. When they did, they found another tumour. This one bigger than the first.
“Can’t they do another surgery to remove it?” Miranda asked, feeling hopeful.
But David shook his head. His body wasn’t strong enough and the tumour was too large and attached to too many organs. Surgery at this point wasn’t an option. He was already taking morphine for the pain.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
She stopped walking, facing him and searching for the answers he didn’t have.
“Why didn’t you tell me all of this when we met?” She wanted to be angry but she couldn’t. She knew the time she had spent with David was some of the happiest  hours of her life, just because they had been with him.
“I’m sorry. At first, I thought the other girls in the bank had probably told you. But when I realized you didn’t know, it was just so nice to be treated like a man who wasn’t dying and not be asked everyday how I’m doing because no one knows what to say. I guess I just enjoyed feeling normal. I didn’t mean to fall in love with you and I didn’t mean for you to fall in love with me.”
David reached for her and wrapped his arms around her waist. It felt good to be this close to someone again. He kissed her forehead and Miranda closed her eyes, letting the feeling linger.
“I’m dying,” he said.
“We’re all dying,” Miranda replied softly. “There’s no reason to think you’re going to die tomorrow just because you have this tumour. You might live another two years. Or ten years. Or twenty years. You might outlive me.” She searched his eyes for the truth.
“Right, David? You might have more time than you think.”
He held her close. “Yes, Miranda. No one ever knows how much time is left.”
And he stood in the middle of the boardwalk holding her, trying to protect her from their reality.

As the weeks went by Miranda took more and more time off work to be with David. Every time she left his apartment she tried to convince herself that he was just going through a bad spell, that he would get through this, that time was on their side. But after telling herself those lies, she’d climb into bed and cry herself to sleep.

Pig purred loudly, waking Miranda from a restless sleep. She held Pig close and cuddled him while his purring got even louder.
Yesterday had been a good day for David. His mood had brightened and the shadows under his eyes weren’t so grey. She decided to pick up something fresh from the bakery around the corner and surprise him with a bunch of gooey chocolate chip muffins. He could use the extra calories.
David lived five blocks away, in an apartment building over looking the lake. She stood outside his door and knocked, waiting patiently.
“David, it’s Miranda,” she yelled, knocking a bit louder.
She knocked again.
“David! Open up! It’s Miranda!”
She listened, and after a few seconds she heard footsteps. She took a deep breath, relieved.
“Go away, Miranda,” he called from the other side of the door. “I don’t want you to see me like this. Please go away.”
She started to panic. “What’s wrong, David?”
“I’m not well today, Miranda, please go away.”
He leaned against the door with the little strength he had, and then threw up in the pail he was carrying.
“I will not go away!” she yelled louder. She could hear him retching. “Let me in, David. Don’t do this. Don’t push me away.”
He could hear the desperation in her voice, and he clumsily fiddled with the lock.
Miranda heard this and pushed the door open, afraid he might change his mind. She closed it behind her, locking out the rest of the world.

Miranda took the next two days off work. She wasn’t feeling well herself and wasn’t sure if she was coming down with the flu, or was simply exhausted from lack of sleep. But she called David each night to check in on him and on the second day, she told him she would stop by after work tomorrow. They talked and talked and Miranda could almost feel his arms around her and his lips pressed against hers.
The next day, Miranda was feeling better and arrived at work a little earlier than usual. She was surprised to see no customers in line. She walked behind the wicket counter and said hello to the other girls. As she disappeared into the administration room,  she could hear the whispers following her. She was just throwing her jacket on the chair as the door opened behind her.
Annie, Rachel and Cheryl were standing there.
“We didn’t think you’d be in today,” Rachel said softly.
“Why don’t you take some time off work,” Annie said putting her arm on Miranda’s shoulder. Miranda stared at her friends.
“Why would I do that? I’ve just been off sick for two days.”
The friends looked at each other.
“You haven’t heard, have you?” Cheryl said.
“Heard what? You’re scaring me.” Miranda started to shake.
“It’s David,” Rachel said. “He died last night.”

Miranda sat under the willow tree looking far out into the murky waters as the rain began to fall gently, making ripples in the lake. She looked at the darkening sky,  hoping to find something she had lost. Her last days with him kept playing over and over in her head. His words. His touch. His kiss.
Then with all those images, tears finally began to fall and Miranda cried for everything she had and for everything she didn’t. She cried for everything she had lost and for everything she had gained. For what could never have been and for everything that was. Miranda let the tears wash over her as she looked out onto the unsettled water.
You don’t choose who you fall in love with. Miranda sighed deeply. It wasn’t her choice to fall in love with David. He wasn’t able to make all her dreams come true.
What happened to her happy ending?
She picked up a smooth grey stone and threw it into the water and all her hopes and dreams seemed to go with it.
Miranda brought her knees close to her chest and sobbed. The rain started to come down heavier and a crack of thunder could be heard off in the distance over the lake. The wind began whipping up the waves.
No, you don’t choose who to love. She didn’t choose to fall in love with David.  She didn’t choose to love a man who would eventually have to leave her.
She touched her fingers to her lips and felt his last kiss lingering. She closed her eyes and could hear his voice like it was only yesterday.
“I love you, Miranda” he said, his sad eyes shadowed by the future.
“I love you too, David,” she replied.
He had leaned over and gently kissed her lips. It wasn’t a kiss of passion, but a kiss of eternal friendship. Of everything they would never share, and of everything they had shared. Of a love bonded by eternity instead of marriage.
It was such a simple kiss. A kiss that had held so many possibilities that would never be.
“You make dying very hard,” he whispered in her ear.
“You make living even harder.”

Miranda opened her eyes.
She knew she would never forget David’s kiss.
David’s good bye.
She stood and walked towards the water’s edge. Now the rain was beating down heavier and  lightning pierced the afternoon sky. The crashes of thunder echoed amongst the dark purple clouds.
What she knew she had sought her entire life had been within her grasp, only to be taken away by a cruel twist of fate. She knew she could never forget this man and the pain of his loss would never ease.
 There was such a thing as Prince Charming. The thing that she had been searching for her entire life. But fairy tales were fleeting, just like a simple kiss.
Like David’s kiss.
Miranda’s eyes blurred as the water beckoned her into its dark shadows, and as the violent waves forced themselves upon her, she heard him calling her name.