Tag Archives: short stories

Teaser Tuesday!

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Teaser Tuesday MemeWelcome to Teaser Tuesday, where I share snippets from new and past releases and works-in-progress, and occasionally pester author buddies into doing the same.

Yep, we’re back on deck after missing last week’s Teaser Tuesday due to post Romance Writers of Australia annual conference exhaustion. It was worth it though. There is something truly inspiring about hanging with your tribe, and romance writers are a generous and joyful lot, happy to share their experiences and expertise. I always come away enthused and full of new ideas and learning. Well done to the organising committee and all those involved. I’ve already blocked out my diary for next year’s conference in Melbourne.

Now onto to what we’re here for: booky goodness!

I’ve been wondering what to share for this Teaser Tuesday. Sometimes I worry I’m boring you with things you’ve already read and while I’d love to show off more of Eddie and the Show Queen, my work-in-progress, it’s a bit of a mess right now. Nor do I want to give too much away. There’ll be plenty of that in the lead up to and after release.

So today I thought I’d do something different. I’ve been tooling around with a short story called The Race since – would you believe it – 2009. It’s a cute story about an elderly couple that I was going to share with newsletter subscribers as a special thank you but didn’t because it never felt quite right.

Yeah, perfectionist. Or procrastinator. Take your pick.

One of these days I’ll happy with The Race, and you’ll get to read it in its entirety. In the meantime, here’s the (unedited) opening few paragraphs.

 

Molly squeezed the throttle of her mobility scooter and leaned forward. The path lay clear of pedestrians, the bridge within sight. The race was on.

She glanced behind her. Damn. Jack was closer than she expected. Like a geriatric Biggles, he’d pulled the goggles of his canvas Korean war era flying helmet down. Its black communication ear cups stuck out like Frankenstein’s bolts, the chin straps flopping and flailing around his jaw.

Molly turned back to concentrate. Speeds like this could be dangerous. Not to her. There was never any danger to her. She was a pro, a veteran mobility scooter racer, undisputed champion of Acacia Lodge. But walkers and joggers had a habit of getting in the way

 

It’s funny but reading the full story now (it’s very short – only 1200 or so words) I’m actually quite pleased with it. You never know, you might find it in your inbox sooner rather than later. Which means you’d better join my newsletter now, if you haven’t already. Sign up using the newsletter tab on this website. Easy!

 

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Teaser Tuesday!

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Teaser TuesdayIt’s Teaser Tuesday time again, the blog series where I tantalise you with snippets from works-in-progress, past and upcoming releases, and occasionally let writing buddies play around too.

This week I thought I’d share a paragraph from my short story The One Chance, which is made available free for newsletter subscribers when they sign up, along with another short story Hungarian Rhapsody.

Here’s a little of Daniel, who’s new in town and recently joined the local cricket club…

 

This was his third outing with the Bulls. The last two matches had been home games and she’d been at both but elusive, hiding in the stands, tugging her broad hat low over her face. Daniel hadn’t had the guts to make his own introduction, but he’d wanted to. Desperately. When the boys came off for tea he kept casting smiles in her direction, wishing she’d come down and join the other women fussing over their men.

Then today as he waited in the shade of the stand for his turn to bat she’d caught his stare and smiled. A tiny, careful smile of hope he’d captured like a fluttering butterfly and held in his heart ever since.

©Cathryn Hein

If you’d like to read the rest of this story and Hungarian Rhapsody, please sign up to my newsletter. You’ll be guided to the secret page when you’ve confirmed your subscription. Prefer a full book to a short story? You’ll find plenty on my books page. Go for a rummage, there’s lots to explore including extras like excerpts and The Story Behind.

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Teaser Tuesday!

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Welcome to Teaser Tuesday, my new weekly series where I tantalise you with snippets from upcoming and past book releases, and works-in-progress. This week I thought I’d share a tiny taste of the short story my newsletter subscribers receive when they sign up.

Teaser TuesdayHungarian Rhapsody won the Romance Writers of New Zealand Chapter Short Story Award back in 2009 and was published in Woman’s Day the same year. It’s not a rural-set romance, but it is romantic. The setting is snowy Budapest, a city I’ve been fortunate to visit and admired greatly for its beauty. Which reminds me, I bought a fantastic hat while there. Must dig it out!

If you’d like to read the entire story, simply sign up to my newsletter by clicking the Newsletter tab in the menu, the image at the bottom of this post, or filling in the slider when it appears on your screen. Once you’ve confirmed your subscription you’ll be take to the Hungarian Rhapsody page.

 

Her fingers fluttered across the keyboard the way a hummingbird laps nectar, pausing only long enough to draw a honey-filled note before moving on. He closed his eyes and let the music warm his cold-numbed mind, aching for Australia, not wanting to leave Budapest. For 13 nights now he’d watched her. The next night would be his last.

And the only chance to tell her the words he’d memorised.

Every evening she’d arrive at his hotel in a swaddle of winter woollens with snowflakes scattered in her long chestnut hair. And every evening he’d be enchanted by the way the cold turned her skin porcelain, the way the freckles on her nose looked like tiny flakes of cinnamon. How her eyes sparkled like sapphires.

As she settled at the piano, he’d play at reading a report, a book – anything to prevent him from looking like yet another lonely businessman, like the hungry eyed men lining the bar.

Occasionally, one would draw up his courage and approach her, but Molnár, the lounge manager, shielded his star from guests’ advances with saccharine-coated determination. Deftly, he’d step in and steer them away, discreetly slipping a card into their hand while whispering where clean girls could be found at a reasonable price. They’d redden, protest they only wanted to talk, but Molnár would smile knowingly until their denials evaporated into humiliated silence.

So he’d remain at his table and watch and listen and dream until, at 10 o’clock, she’d softly close the piano lid. Then, re-layered in her woollens, she’d cast a brief, Mona Lisa smile into his corner before disappearing into the freezing night.

And each evening, he’d tuck his papers under his arm, and stroll nonchalantly out onto the street after her.

©Cathryn Hein
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