This blog is for educational purposes (although I feel like I learn just as much from your comments). Dig into the male POV (point of view) for hero and supporting cast, for good guys, bad and inbetween. Find gems or alternate ways of writing male POV.
When I give an opinion, it will be based first on scientific research (I was a research scientist).
THE ROMANTIC NOVELIST
Having temporarily run out of Male POV ideas, I'm blogging about things that will get you rejected by an agent or editor.
Ask a male author about your male character traits or thoughts.
Amazon links to my stories: Autumn Breeze, A More Perfect Union, Double Happiness, The Wolves of Sherwood Forest, Neanderthals and the Garden of Eden can be found down the right side of the blog.
Wednesday, September 11, 2013
To our brothers and sisters 9/11
September 11, 2001
of those who died on 9/11
A wall of searing blue flames pressed Hussam to the
melted and broken windows. He couldn’t breathe and the heat was
“It’s you,” the pretty girl from personnel ran up and said. Over the
months, he had stolen glances of her and she did the same, both gutless
“I’m Hussam Fayyad, your boss’s
“I know. Save your breath. I’m Sarah Bernstein.” He
They locked their hands, tight. Leaned out and hesitated.
Then, Sarah’s wavy auburn hair caught fire.
“Marry me.” She screamed from the pain, tears
evaporating. Taking off his jacket, he wrapped her head.
“I will. . . . I do.” Holding hands tightly, they jumped out
from the ninety-ninth floor.
do,” she tried to say—her breath pushed inward by the rush of air—not that he
could hear her anyway. She closed her eyes, he held unto her like a vise, as if
they were one. Perhaps now they were.
"Mom and Dad, I’d like you to meet my fiancée, Hussam
Fayyad.” Her folks' home, a big split-level in Oradell New Jersey, had beautiful large tile floors, a modern kitchen,
with a menorah on the table. The candles had pooled on the
“I guess it’s stupid for me to tell my daughter she
should have chosen a nice Jewish boy?” Sarah’s mom asked
“We’re soul mates,” Hussam
“We’re besherte, mom.” She put it in Yiddish
He dared not open his eyes and lose this vision of her
mom and dad. He had always thought about Sarah, trying to get up the nerve to
ask her out. Worried of cultural, political, and religious differences. He
didn’t believe in treating women like second-class citizens, not at work, not in
marriage. His hiring practices and office policies touted the heart of a modern
“We’ll always love the thought of you,” her mom and dad
said, hugging him.
“We have to go to the wedding now,” Sarah said, pulling
the wedding, Hussam’s little brother carried the ring on a purple pillow. Sarah
always knew Hussam would come by, lean on her desk, ask her out. They’d marry;
have three kids, two girls, one boy, or the other way around. They both wanted
to be outvoted in either case. These gorgeous kids would grow up brilliant and
loving, real menches; oh yes, two dogs, just right.
“I am so happy to have you in my heart.” Hussam’s
parents, both a little portly, hugged her by the orchids stationed at the first
row of seats in their garden.
Tears turned to rivers. Images rifted through her of
falafel, lamb kebob, along with gefilte fish, Manischewitz Blackberry for the
toast. Bruce Springsteen’s band struck up, ‘Here Comes the
“He took my hand,” she explained to his mom and dad by
way of apology.
“Thank you, pretty Sarah. My son, he always work, work,
Sarah wished the world a better place, maybe a little
less work, a little more love.
“He needs a strong Jewish girl to love him,” his dad
said. They kissed her cheeks.
“I always had and always will love him,” Sarah said. She
had harbored a tiny love, like a seedling, hoping to water it. No doubt about
her feelings, now.
Martin Luther King without thinking forgot to add one
word, Muslim. “. . . when all of God’s children, black men and white men, Jews,
Muslims, and Gentiles, Protestant and Catholics, will be able to join
hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual: 'Free at last! Free at
last! Thank God Almighty, we are free at last.'”
Sarah’s heart beat the rhythm of Martin’s words. She felt
Hussam heard and saw Martin with her at the Lincoln Memorial, because he
squeezed her. He’d never let go.
I am within you, Sarah.
I am within you, Hussam.
“Great Grand Papa.” Isaac Bernstein was gassed at
Auschwitz, yet thin, young, suspendered, a
silly fedora, munching on a pipe, his eyes opened to
“You bring the right man with you, mazel tov. Hussam’s
great grand mom and pop are at the bridge table with your great grandma, waiting
for me to come back. You see, I’m the dummy. Those two died in Gaza. Bam, to pieces.” He
splayed his hands.
the wedding, Cyndi Lauper spread her many orange, red, and yellow petticoats on
the back step. With a sad face, she sang, 'Time After
The Rabbi and Imam smiled from under the canopy on this
day of brilliant blue. They finished with one voice, “in death you will start,
because love is eternal.”
Almighty God, Allah, blessed them, opened his arms, and
said, “Kiss already.”