The HEA Cafe

I’m hip deep in galley edits and far too brain-weary to be pithy today. So I rummaged around some old files in my computer’s hard drive and found a poem I wrote eons ago. Which is a bit of fun. It was written when I still lived in NJ (yeah, that long ago) and our house was heated by oil, which was delivered by truck at the beginning of the winter. I put this in as explanation because those of you in the southern climes (as I am now) will have no clue as to the reference to an ‘oil  man’–which is not some wealthy Texan, no. He’s the guy who delivers the heating oil. 

THE SWEET SMELL OF 

The oilman smells of oil. 
Do I smell of words? 
Idle notions, vague ideas occur 
to mingle with events. 
Plots of stories hammer down my fence 
at night, to scatter 
at the light of day. 
All that lingers, my heroine’s sweet scent. 
Adventure-tinged, unpretentious. 

By noon, 
paragraphs unfurl their punguent plumes. 
A touch of sandalwood and spearmint. 
Practicality flees the room, 
the stench too powerful. 
A fantasy bouquet, 
Essence of Over-Active Imagination 
pervades. 

Then, when all good people lie abed, 
content to seek their rest, 
I’m besotted by my pen’s perfume, 
“Eau de Chapters”. A strong incense 
intoxicates my mind 
as my hero’s masculine scent assails me, 
and I breathe my stories
into life.  

~Linnea

Linnea Sinclair
www.linneasinclair.com 
RITA(c) Award Winning SF Romance from Bantam Spectra
2007-08: GAMES OF COMMAND,  THE DOWN HOME ZOMBIE BLUES, SHADES OF DARK
Coming 2009: HOPE’S FOLLY