Ara Grigorian is the international award-winning author of GAME OF LOVE, his debut novel. He is a technology executive in the entertainment industry. He earned his Masters in Business Administration from the University of Southern California. True to the Hollywood life, Ara wrote for a children’s television pilot that could have made him rich (but didn’t) and nearly sold a video game to a major publisher (who closed shop days later). Fascinated by the human species, Ara writes about choices, relationships, and second chances. Always a sucker for a hopeful ending, he writes contemporary romance stories.
Ara is a workshop leader for the Writer’s Digest Novel Writing Conference, the Santa Barbara Writers Conference, and Southern California Writers’ Conference (both Irvine, CA and San Diego, CA). Ara is represented by Stacey Donaghy of the Donaghy Literary Group.
And here's my notes and favorite quotes from Saturday's meeting:
If I have seen further, it is by standing on the shoulders of giants. Sir Isaac Newton
Every story has two storylines.
A story= the plot
B story= the character transformation
If your characters don't grow and transform, you've got a Dan Brown book.
In today's look-inside Amazon feature, the first act needs to be powerful and happen quickly.
A story beat is an event/decision/discovery that alters the course of the story.
Beginning:
An indication that something isn't quite right. Your character needs to be flawed, but redeemable. Their beliefs and worldviews have to be in conflict. A change is coming, but your character has to want to resist change. Here is where you plant the thematic seed.
Thematic seeds:
Katniss needs to learn that one person can change the world. And that she can be that person.
Sleepless in Seattle: "Look, love just doesn't happen twice." Obviously, he needs to learn that it can.
Inciting incident or the crack in the glass:
An unforeseeable force of gravity. In Notting Hill, he sees her world and she sees his. Neither of them fit. But they make new friends who help them on their journey.
Midpoint. I like it here, but...
This is where your character has a "mirror moment" where they examine themselves and realize they don't fit in their new world. There are dings in their armor. And just when they think they have everything right, the new world turns upside down. Time clocks appear and begin to tick.
The character needs to feel like they are worse off than before everything started. "A whiff of death." But going back isn't an option. Show the humility. The breakdown is inevitable, because without it, there can't be a breakthrough.
There needs to be an orchestration of scenes that lead to the fight or die battle. In a romance, this is an emotional win or die.
You will be called Nicolas Sparks if you kill off your characters. And that is not a romance.
For those who care, I'm at about 40k words into my NaNoWriMo project. This means I'm about to write the ah-ha moment where my character realizes she has a fatal flaw. And the cool thing about writing fatal flaws is it helps me to see my own. Sometimes I wish I didn't know this. But I do.
Canterbury Clockwork
My grandfather's clock was too large
for the shelf,
So it stood ninety years on the floor;
It was taller by half than the old man
himself,
Though it weighed not a pennyweight
more.
It was bought on the morn of the day
that he was born,
And was always his treasure and pride;
But it stopped short — never to go
again —
When the old man died.
Ninety years without slumbering
(tick, tock, tick, tock),
His life's seconds numbering,
(tick, tock, tick, tock),
It stopped short never to go again when
the old man died
In watching its pendulum swing to and
fro,
Many hours he spent as a boy.
And in childhood and manhood the clock
seemed to know
And to share both his grief and his
joy.
For it struck twenty-four when he
entered at the door,
With a blooming and beautiful bride;
But it stopped short — never to go
again —
When the old man died.
Ninety years without slumbering
(tick, tock, tick, tock),
His life's seconds numbering,
(tick, tock, tick, tock),
It stopped short — never to go again —
When the old man died.
My grandfather said that of those he
could hire,
Not a servant so faithful he found;
For it wasted no time, and had but one
desire —
At the close of each week to be wound.
And it kept in its place — not a frown
upon its face,
And its hands never hung by its side.
But it stopped short — never to go
again —
When the old man died.
Ninety years without slumbering
(tick, tock, tick, tock),
His life's seconds numbering,
(tick, tock, tick, tock),
It stopped short never to go again when
the old man died
It rang an alarm in the dead of the
night —
An alarm that for years had been dumb;
And we knew that his spirit was pluming
for flight —
That his hour of departure had come.
Still the clock kept the time, with a
soft and muffled chime,
As we silently stood by his side;
But it stopped short — never to go
again —
When the old man died.
Ninety years without slumbering
(tick, tock, tick, tock),
His life's seconds numbering,
(tick, tock, tick, tock),
It stopped short — never to go again —
When the old man died.
*reference
Gustav, stooped with age, hunkered down
on his stool in front of his workbench, oblivious to the sounds of death and
destruction falling around him. The comforting sounds of a hundred tick-tocking
clocks provided a blanket to muffle the bomb’s whistling screams and
corresponding rocketing explosions.
His gnarled fingers shook as a blast
shook his shop and decimated another close by, but that was more from age than
fright. He had lived a long life—much longer than he, or anyone else, had expected.
He glanced out the window at the nearby flickering flames. The sudden rise in
temperature caused beads of sweats to form on his brow. He removed his glasses,
patted his forehead, and resumed his work.
A barking dog loped past his window. A
woman clutching a basket followed. Footsteps padded down the steps that led to
his shop and banging shook his door.
“Gustav!” A young man’s voice called.
“Come, we must go!” The door shook as the pounding grew more and more
incessant.
With a sigh, Gustav, put down his tools
and unfolded his long limbs. They were stiff from sitting in a prolonged
position. He didn’t answer the door to save his own life, but out of concern
for his neighbor, Wilbur—a young man with a wife and children who, thank God,
had already left for the safe countryside. Wilbur had a reason to live, while Gustav
did not. He didn’t feel the need to explain to Wilbur that running away was a
young man’s game.
“I will stay here with my clocks,” Gustav
told him. “They know when my time will come. But you must go. Do not worry
about me.”
Wilbur tried to argue with him, but to
prove his point, Gustav firmly closed his door and turned the lock. Settling
down at his workbench, he picked up the tiny gears of his current project, a
clock that would be the wedding gift for his grandson. The rosewood case
matched the color of his own Gretel’s hair, the ivory face the color of her
porcelain skin. As he worked, he hummed the song played at his own wedding by
his uncle’s fiddling band.
Each clock was a labor of love for Gustav,
but this one was special, because, he suspected, it would be his last. This
thought didn’t bring him fear, but rather warmed him with the knowledge that
this clock would continue to tick-tock long after his own heart stopped
beating. Clocks, he knew, are like love, they continue when everything else
fails.
Modern Day
Los Angeles International Airport
Darby stood in the line snaking its way
toward the crowded Starbuck’s counter. She shivered, but this had more to do
with nerves and anticipation than the over-zealous air-conditioning or her lack
of caffeine. She glanced at the board announcing the arriving flights and consulted
her watch.
Benjamin’s plane had been delayed
again. Which was really hard to understand. After all, it was August, not the
dead of winter where one might expect turbulent weather…But of course, he was
flying from London. When she had flown from London to L.A., their flight had
gone over the North Pole—and rotten weather was sure to be happening there,
so…she needed to be patient. But she had been patient far too long already. She
hadn’t seen Benjamin in three whole months—other than on Facetime, or social
media, of course.
Not that she had known him for much
longer.
A sudden splash of burning hot wetness
on her silk blouse pulled Darby’s thoughts away from Benjamin and onto the
demise of her outfit. “Ow!” she pulled her blouse away from her chest and
stared at the brown stain spreading like cancer.
“Oh! I’m sorry!” A man with large hands
grabbed a handful of napkins from the dispenser on a nearby table and tried to
pat her chest.
She flinched away from him and noticed
for the first time his face. Aside from the embarrassed and apologetic
expression on his face, he was incredibly gorgeous in a young Paul Newman
way—blond, blue-eyed, and rugged and weathered as if he spent a good deal of
time outside. He was almost as good looking, but in a completely different way,
as Benjamin. But of course, Benjamin was a model and an actor. This man was a
silk blouse staining moron.
“It’s okay,” she said, moving away from
his clumsy hands and wads of napkins, even though it obviously wasn’t because the
coffee was scalding, her blouse was probably going to be ruined and even worse,
she’d now have to welcome Benjamin to L.A. with a giant brown spot on her
shirt.
“Oh no, I can tell your upset.” He
shook the coffee off his own hands, making her realize he’d burned himself as
well. “Let me pay for your dry-cleaning, at least.”
“No, don’t be silly,” she said, edging
away from him, which wasn’t easy to do because of the crowd around them. Most
were ignoring them, but a few watched with open curiosity, waiting to see her
response. Darby gulped back her frustration because she didn’t want to make a
scene.
“How about I buy you lunch?” he said.
Darby glanced at the board, noting that
Benjamin’s flight was delayed another hour. She sighed. “Okay,” she agreed.
The man’s smile totally transformed his
face. He was actually much more handsome than she’d originally thought. Maybe
even a close match to Benjamin. Not that looks mattered. She didn’t love
Benjamin for his (stunning) appearance. Looks had nothing to do with their
almost instant and fatal attraction.
“I’m
waiting for my boyfriend’s delayed flight,” Darby told the handsome
blouse-destroying stranger, just so he would know he didn’t stand a chance with
her, that there wasn’t anything romantic in their getting to know each other,
and that her heart was pledged elsewhere to another much less clumsy man. This
was just a free lunch.
He looked at his watch, an intricate
timepiece on a leather band. He had strong, thick wrists and covered with blond
nearly transparent hair. Darby shivered again. She hated when men had dark gorilla
fuzz, and she tried to recall Benjamin’s arms, but couldn’t. This bothered her.
“My sister’s flight is also late,” the
man was saying as he guided her into a nearby restaurant.
“Weird, right? I mean, it’s August and
sunny and warm.” Darby glanced around the posh restaurant. It was hard to
believe that just a flimsy partition separated them from the noise and bustle
of the rest of the airport.
“Not all delays are weather-related,”
he said. “I’m Chad George, by the way,” he said, sticking out his hand.
“Darby Coleman,” she replied, liking
his strong grip.
A waitress name Kayla led them to a
table overlooking the tarmac.
“What do you do, Darby Coleman, when
you’re not waiting for boyfriends in the airport?” Chad asked as soon as they
were seated.
“I’m an accountant,” she said.
He leaned back. “Really?”
“Why do you look so surprised?” Darby fussed
with her napkin, slightly miffed because his response was typical. Most people
had the exact same reaction when she said she was an accountant and it bothered
her that no one seemed to take her seriously.
“You just don’t look like an
accountant.”
Darby sat a little straighter, trying
to add inches to her five-foot-three frame. “And what do you think accountants
should look like?”
“Well, for one thing, they don’t wear
strappy red sandals and Fossil@ jeans.”
“Maybe not to work.”
“Although they might wear silk blouses.
Just not with big brown stains on them.”
Darby didn’t mean to scowl, but she
couldn’t help it. She picked up a menu to hide her expression. “I’m actually
freaky good with numbers.”
He lifted a skeptical eyebrow.
“Really?”
She lowered the menu. “Yeah. Go ahead,
test me.”
“Okay, what’s three-thousand and
forty-nine divided by sixty-three?”@
He typed the math problem onto the
calculator app on his phone. “You’re right. Amazing.”
She shrugged and went back to studying
the menu. After a moment, she settled on a shrimp salad. “What do you do?”
“I’m a teacher at a small private
school.”
This surprised and concerned her because
teacher’s salaries usually didn’t stretch to cover fancy airport restaurants. “That’s
noble,” she said. “It must be really rewarding.” Just not financially. She
quickly changed her mind about the shrimp salad and selected a cup of soup.
“Sometimes,” he said with a smirk.
Kayla the waitress returned to take
their orders, and Chad surprised her by getting the steak.
“Are you sure you just want soup?” he
asked.
She nodded, even though she really
wasn’t quite so sure anymore. After all, the sun glinting off the airplanes
told her that it had to be warm outside away from the air conditioning. The
thermostat had been pushing toward eighty when she’d been in her car and that
was before it was even noon.
“I love tomato soup,” she said. “I
practically lived on it when I lived in London.” Where it had been cold and
dreary most of the year.
“You lived in London?”
She nodded. “That’s where I met
Benjamin—my boyfriend, the one I’m waiting for.” Just saying Benjamin and
boyfriend in the same sentence sent a happy tingle down her spine. She recalled
his face to remind herself of how much she loved him and how perfect he was for
her and how romantic their first meeting had been—much more romantic than some
doofus spilling his coffee on her and ruining her favorite blouse. @GO BACK AND
HAVE HER GO TO THE RESTROOM TO TRY AND SALVAGE HER BLOUSE.
Not that Chad looked like a doofus. And
he was a teacher—the noblest of vocations. Because the conversation lagged,
Darby found herself telling Chad about how she met Benjamin. “He literally fell
into my life!”
Chad leaned back as Kayla returned with
their food and placed a thick slice of steak with a side of a baked potato
oozing with butter and a serving of steamed vegetables in front of Chad and a
cup of steaming hot soup in front of Darby.
Darby opened a bag of crackers and
crumbled them into her soup. “We met the day before I left London. Sad, right?”
Chad looked as if he didn’t know how to
respond. After a moment, he came up with, “What were you doing in London?”
“I’m a private banker for @, and one of
our clients was having issues. I thought at first it was a huge honor for them
to send me, but then I realized that no one else wanted to go.”
“How come?”
Darby frowned. She really wasn’t
supposed to talk about her clients, especially if she didn’t have anything good
to say. “Let’s just say that my client likes to smoke cigars.” She lifted a
spoonful to soup to her lips. Yep, it was hot. After a moment, she added. “He
had other vices, as well.”
“And you can’t tell me what those are?”
he said with a smirk.
She shook her head. “No, I can’t.
Sorry.”
Chad cut into his steak and it let out
a waft of heavenly scent. “So, tell me about the boyfriend that fell on you.”
Darby set down her spoon. “He was at a
party right above my hotel room and there was a fire. Of course, I didn’t know
that since I was asleep in my bed. Anyway, to escape the fire, he jumped down
onto my balcony saw me sleeping and woke me up.”
The memory of Benjamin’s gorgeous and
concerned face waking her flashed in her mind. “He picked me up and carried me
outside.” She didn’t add that they had spent the rest of the night making out
on the hotel lawn and that she’d only been wearing a silk teddy. Remembering
the cold wet grass pressing against her naked legs, Darby took another spoonful
of soup. “It was so romantic.”
“But then you left London?”
She nodded.
“So you really don’t know him very
well.”
Darby bristled because this was exactly
what her mom, sisters, brothers, and friends had been saying. “We’ve skyped
every day. In some ways, this a better way to get to know each other because
you don’t get carried away with snogging. That’s the British word for—”
“I know all about snogging,” he said
with a smirk.
Yes, from the looks of him, he probably
did.
“I know it’s absolutely none of my
business, but when you only know each other via social media, it’s really easy
to just show your good bits.”
Wow. He really did sound like her mom.
“You’re right.” She swallowed another spoonful of soup. “It’s none of your
business. But sometimes, when you meet the right person, you just know.”
“You just know, huh?”
She nodded. “That’s how it was for me
and Benjamin. He fell into my life at just the right time. It was meant to be.”
“Hmm…I wonder if the hotel owner felt
the same way.”
“What? Why would they care?”
“It was their hotel on fire, right? I
just wonder if they had such a fatalistic attitude.” He grinned and took a bite
of his steak. “I’m waiting for my sister,” he said after a moment to fill the
awkward silence. “She’s coming into town to help celebrate my grandfather’s
eightieth birthday.”
When Darby didn’t comment—because
really, what could she say except that she wished this dreadful lunch and the
waiting for Benjamin was over?
While Chad went on and on about his
family, barely even noticing her prolonged silence, Darby ate her soup as
quickly as she could without slurping and occupied her thoughts with memories
mingled with fantasies about Benjamin.
Where he would stay had been a trick
since she couldn’t very well bring him home. Not only was she from a long line
of staunch Catholics, she was also from a large family…who happened to live in
a not so large house. At the moment, she shared that house with her parents,
her older brother Tom, her older sister, Meg and her three little kids, her
other sister, Henley, her Grandma Betty, and the dog, Wheezer.
Benjamin, of course, had understood and
made arrangements with some friends who lived in L.A.. Still, it made snogging
difficult.
“Are your grandparents still alive,”
Chad interrupted her thoughts.
“Yes,” she said, thinking of Grandma
Betty. She did not want to talk about Grandma Betty. Darby shoveled in the last
drop of soup and put down her spoon. “It’s been really nice meeting you and
thanks for the lunch, but I have to go.” She gathered up her purse, said
goodbye and left.
#
Chad watched Darby walk away. His guilt
pricked him about the blouse. He’d have to ask Cecelia about the cost of
blouses. He finished off his meal, gave Kayla his credit card, and wandered
back to the baggage claim area where he’d arranged to meet Cecelia. He spotted
Darby across the room. She had her back to him, but he knew it was her because
of her high ponytail and dark curls—another very non-account sort of trait. She
sat on a chair, her legs crossed. A book dangled from her hand.
He wondered what she was reading,
considered going over and asking, but quickly changed his mind when he heard,
“Chadwick!”
He spun around and opened his arms to
his sister. She launched herself at him and he caught her. “Hey!” he smiled
down into her beaming face. “I’m so glad to see you!”
She grimaced. “The parentals giving you
a hard time?”
He nodded slightly. “It’ll be good to
have you here to take off some of the heat.”
A small frown touched Cecelia’s lips.
“Just kidding,” Chad said as instant
guilt swamped him. He wanted his sister home and not for the reason he just
gave. He had missed her while she’d been in Paris.
She pulled away from him, and he took
in her tired green eyes and the rumpled hair. Like him, she shared their
mother’s coloring and height. He also noticed her blouse. It looked a lot like
the one Darby had been wearing—minus the coffee stain, of course. “Huh, Cecelia,
strange request.”
She lifted her eyebrows, waiting.
“Can I buy that blouse off you?”
Confusion flitted across her face.
“What? Seriously?”
He nodded. “I spilled coffee on this
woman, and I want to make it up to her.”
Cecelia elbowed him. “Do you like her?”
“You know I’m with Jenna.”
“Ah. Yes, Jenna.” Cecelia blew out a
sigh.
“What? You like Jenna.”
“Of course I do.” She looped her arm
around Chad’s. “But if we both like Jenna so much, why are we giving this
stranger my blouse?”
“I just…I probably not only spilled
coffee on her, but I also probably offended her.”
“Oh! Tell me!”
Beside them, the luggage carousal began
to whirr, announcing the arrival of bags.@
Chad repeated Darby and Benjamin’s
story. “I shouldn’t have said anything. I mean, I barely know her. Why should I
care if she’s being scammed by this guy?”
“What makes you think she’s being
scammed? If you like her enough to give her my blouse, he probably likes her,
too.”
He thought about this. She didn’t
actually say that she had bought Benjamin’s ticket to L.A., so what had made
him think that she had? He raked through their brief conversation in his mind
trying to put his finger on what had raised his hackles…Raised his hackles—that
was something Grandpa Bern would say. Still, his hackles were quivering and
maybe if he gave Darby a blouse he’d feel better…and maybe he could forget her
as she obviously wanted him to.
“Let’s not give her this blouse,
because, you know, I’ve been wearing it for the last ten hours,” Cecelia said.
“If you really like her, you can pick one from my suitcase.”
Chad brightened, and he cast Darby
another glance.
Cecelia followed his gaze. “Is that
her?”
He nodded.
“She’s a lot smaller than me,” Cecelia
said.
“That’s okay, right? It’s better for
the shirt to be too big rather than too small.”
Cecelia nodded at the luggage carousal.
“There’s my bag. It’s got a bandana on the handle.”
Chad hurried to the carousal to
retrieve the bag. Cecelia followed him to an unoccupied row of chairs. Chad
placed the suitcase on the chairs and Cecelia unlocked it.
Clothes in all shapes, sizes, and
colors…he didn’t know how to do this.
Cecelia took pity on him. She pulled
out a silky floral top with a ruffle for a sleeve. “How’s this?”
He nodded. “Good choice. How much?”
Cecelia’s eyes glinted as she waved the
blouse in front of him like a flirty flag. “Fifty dollars.”
Chad faked a smile and wondered what
made Cecelia and his dad, for that matter, so greedy. They all had generous
trust funds. Chad reached into his pocket, pulled out some bills and handed
them to his sister.
Cecelia reached for the money, but he
yanked it away. “You’ve got to give it to her.”
“What?” Cecelia demanded.
“You have to be the one to give her the
blouse.”
“No way! You’re the one who spilled the
coffee!”
“Yeah, but I don’t want her to get the
wrong idea.”
Cecelia narrowed her eyes. “And what
idea is that?”
“I’m never going to see her again, so—”
“Exactly, you’re never going to see her
again.”
He blew out a breath, reached into his
pocket, pulled out his wallet, and drew out another twenty.
Cecelia held out her hand, wrapped her
fingers around the bills, and stuffed the money in her pocket as if she was
afraid Chad would change his mind.
CHAPTER?
“Excuse me.” A tall lovely blonde
dressed in jeans and a tank top stood in front of Darby. “Are you Darby?”
Confused, Darby didn’t answer right
away.
“I can tell you are by that large
coffee stain on your blouse,” the woman continued. She dropped a floral bit of
fabric onto Darby’s lap. “My brother asked me to give you this.”
Darby glanced around, searching for
Chad, but she couldn’t see him.
“If you’re looking for Chad, he’s gone
to get the car.” The blonde dropped into the empty seat beside Darby. “He
doesn’t know I’m doing this.”
“But you just said he asked you to give
me the blouse,” Darby said, recovering her voice.
“Oh, he knows about the blouse. That
was his idea. It’s my idea to get your number.”
“My number?”
“I’m Cecelia, by the way, Chad’s
sister.”
“I’m Darby.”
“I know,” Cecelia said, smiling. “What
I don’t know is your number.”
“But why?”
Cecelia shrugged.
“Did Chad tell you that I’m waiting for
my boyfriend? He’s coming all the way from England. I think we’re going to get
married…someday.”
An unreadable expression flinted across
Cecelia’s face. “Chad doesn’t know I’m asking for your number.”
“Oh…it’s you, then?”
Cecelia pressed her hand against her
chest and laughed. “Huh, no. You think I’m a lesbian?” She laughed some more,
then sobered. “I’m just acting on a hunch. If you want the blouse, I need your
number.”
“But I don’t want your blouse.” Darby
handed it back to Cecelia. “I mean it’s really nice of you…and Chad. But he
already bought me lunch. That’s enough. You don’t need to give me your shirt.”
“Are you sure? Because what’s your
boyfriend going to think when he sees you with that big ugly stain?” But Cecelia
took the shirt, rolled it up, and tucked it into her bag.
“I’m sure,” Darby said with a laugh.
“But here, you can have my card.”
Cecelia gazed at it. “You’re an
accountant?”
Darby shrugged off the insult. “I don’t
know why people always seem so shocked.”
Cecelia tucked the card into her bag.
“Maybe it’s because you don’t have a pocket protector.”
“I’ll have to get one of those if you
think it’ll help people take me more seriously.”
“Well, it was nice to meet you, Darby
the accountant.”
“And it was very nice to meet you, too,
Cecelia, the sister of Chad.”
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