Romance Novel Excerpts #1 - Introducing Vanessa Lonelyheart

I've decided to write a romance novel.  Bit by bit on my blog.  It's probably going to be the greatest romance novel of all time. Next to Die Hard, the novelization.


THE HEART IS THE LONELIEST DUDE RANCH

Excerpt from Chapter 1

The night was cold and sexy. Vanessa Lonelyheart was sad/hopeful/mysterious to be back on the ranch. She had to get away from her super busy life as the most wanted fashion journalist in the whole world excluding Guam.  She grew up on this ranch.  Cows were in her blood.  So were horses.  So were fenceposts.  She would also say that four wheelers and roping lessons and beef jerky and turkey jerky and boots with fancy patterns and daylight savings were also in her blood.  It was good to be home.   No, scratch that. It was good sexy to be home.
 
Because Vanessa had just gotten out of a seven year relationship with a media mogul.  Their passion was as hot as the volcanic island he owned. And then it waned. Like the other cooling volcanic island he owned. She could blame a lot of things.  Maybe it was the changing world of newsprint that cooled off their libido.  Maybe it was the 10th anniversary of 9/11.  Maybe they had just grown apart like two twins separated at a sexy birth. Maybe they were Pangaea splitting up into two separate countries called Friendship and Go Ahead, Vanessa, Keep the Penthouse Overlooking Central Park.

Vanessa's mother, Meryl Streep, brought out two steaming cups of macchiato.

"Honey, I wish I could stay and help you through your crisis but my new movie is opening up," said Meryl Streep, the best mother on all of Gaia.  "You know how it is.  Do you want to come to my premiere? I'll set you up with Viggo Mortenson. His real name is Howard."

"No, Mother Streep.  I just want to be on the ranch. Soak the earth into my marrows. I need to recenter.  Maybe I'll write an Eat, Pray, Love."

"I would totally star in it. Alright, too-da-loo.  Say hi to your father, Sam Elliot for me."

And Meryl Streep leaped into the air and method acted herself into a bird that flew to LA.

Vanessa thought about trying to find another perfect man and she felt sadful again. And then she felt angriable.  She wasn't defined by men! She didn't need to be with some rich handsome powerful man with pecs like two New York strip steaks.  She could be herself, Vanessa Lonelyheart, former Ms. Texas, MIT graduate in chaos mathematics, winner of the Lubbock Short Ribs Eating Contest for eight years.  She had a lot going for her.  She needed a man like a fish needed a bicycle. U2 said that and she believed it because Bono is the world's greatest poet.

And just as she said that, the head ranch hand drove up in his Jeep.  He jumped out of his ride like a gazelle wearing boots.  His legs were pistons dipped in denim batter.  His butt could deflect bullets. And his torso was a flesh revelation.  If he'd ever worn a shirt, it would have been like putting a bag over the sun.  His ribs were a staircase.  His neck was a pedestal for the most beautifully rugged face not carved into marble.  It was him, the love of her life.  The man she'd run away from to New York City.  The man she'd rather been killed by a mountain cat than face here and now.

Dexter McChest.