Heart of a Soldier

And now the latest installment of my silly romance novel rewrites, in which I rewrite the plot synopsis of romance novels based solely on the cover image and title. Older ones are here and here. As always, I find these books at the local grocery store. This one is called “Heart of a Soldier.” Here we go:


Mister Hoofytoes, with his white mane like beautifully frayed kleenex forgotten in pockets of sweaters run through the dryer, was not your average horse. With his subtle smile and a perfectly coiffed goatee too sultry to show on a book cover, Mister Hoofytoes rivaled Ryan Gosling with his delicately masculine allure.

Like Ryan Gosling, Mister Hoofytoes looked incredibly gorgeous and yet somehow approachable while wearing tan sweater-vests. Like Ryan Gosling, Mister Hoofytoes was a passable cellist.

And, also like Ryan Gosling, Mister Hoofytoes was one of two characters in an epic tale of romance that would be remembered throughout the ages. (Alas, unlike Ryan Gosling, Mr. Hoofytoes would never win four Teen Choice Awards, because the world is cruel).

The lady love in Mister Hoofytoes’ epic romance was Catherine.

Catherine was a 26-year old farmgirl with a penchant for lilac blouses that looked awkward when paired with the cowboy boots of which she was so fond. Catherine had named Mister Hoofytoes when she was six years old, and had loved him ever since.

Catherine would ride atop Mister Hoofytoes every morning. She knew Mister Hoofytoes’ shoe size. She knew he liked his oats scattered like bits of fairydust. She knew the way he loved to stand behind appropriately placed men so as to majestically appear as if he only had one back leg.

But Catherine did not know Mister Hoofytoes’ secret.

Mister Hoofytoes had the heart of a soldier. Quite literally. One summer morning, while galloping through a dew-glazed meadow, Mister Hoofytoes jumped over an enticingly high cluster of parsley, sage, and rosemary. While midair, Mister Hoofytoes fell into a temporal rift and wound up in the distant future in a war-torn earth ravaged by hellhounds and hazardous cybernetic spider overlords.

Trapped in this futuristic land for ten years, Mister Hoofytoes befriended the enigmatic ukulele-playing Gordon, who was a soldier in the resistance. Gordon taught Mister Hoofytoes how to fly a fighter plane powered by cold fusion and dreams. Gordon taught Mister Hoofytoes how to fool hovergrenades using light refracted from well posed, steely cheekbones. And, knowing how Mister Hoofytoes pined for Catherine and the charming way she scattered oats, Gordon taught Mister Hoofytoes the importance of not giving up on love.

When Gordon was shot down by a passing arachno-tank, he bestowed upon Mr. Hoofytoes a gift that would make him remember these lessons forever – his bionic heart, the heart of a soldier. After Gordon took his final breath, cybercardiologists transplanted the heart into Mister Hoofytoes’ chest, thus giving him both human emotions and the ability to travel through time using temporal cyberfusion and wishes.

When Mister Hoofytoes returned to his longed-for farm, he saw Catherine there, her hair blowing in the wind with the fervour of burlap. A sub-par human man stood beside her wearing an unsettlingly plain white t-shirt. In that instant, Mister Hoofytoes vowed he would woo Catherine away to be his own, as both fate and Gordon had decreed.

The next time Catherine sat atop Hoofytoes, her legs awkwardly held to one side, surely she would begin to sense the loud mechanical whirr of true love. Even though he could not speak to her, surely with time she would realize that Mister Hoofytoes’ chest was bursting with deep emotion – and with the heavily distended, cybertronic heart of a soldier.


An Amish Christmas Journey

And now the next installment in my series of romance novel plot synopses that I rewrite based solely on the cover images. The first is here.

As always, I find these while buying my groceries. Who would have thought that so soon I’d find another beauty that features a cat? IMG_5060

Here we go:

Martha, with her subtly puffed navy blue sleeves and her lips the red of a newly raised barn, never thought she’d find the spark of true love. After all, how can a feisty yet well-mannered Amish girl hope to find that longed-for spark when one’s entire community refuses to use electricity?

Martha’s only hope was that the candle upon the windowsill would release a stray ember of love. Maybe this year, maybe just in time for Christmas. Surely that ember would guide her on the path to her destiny like a firefly soaring over the desolate, fallow field in the distance that doubled as a metaphor for her lonesome, underpopulated heart.

But, alas, that candle refused to do much of anything – other than turn Martha’s cheek a sallow hue evocative of either jaundice or overly churned butter.

That is – until one day that candle illuminated the soft mystery of the be-whiskered Klaus as he came out of nowhere and gracefully jumped up beside her.

Klaus, unworldly as a field of grain, was born in a barn. In fact, he was born in that very barn that Martha could see from her bedroom window every morning before she arose from bed to don a fresh apron. In a way, Klaus had always been there, watching over her.

Seated beside her, Klaus raised his small, soft white paw and gazed longingly at Martha’s loose bonnet-strings. His whiskers trembled like bits of straw protruding from a haystack during a windstorm. Martha knew in her heart of hearts that those whiskers trembled with love.

For Klaus and Martha shared a deep connection. Neither of them used computers or other forms of technology. Neither of them would ever drive an automobile, nor likely inherit property. Neither of them had any desire to wear ornate clothing with sparkly sequins or rhinestones. And, despite the absence of sequins, they both shone!

Martha’s eyes, once as dull as the blades of an overused plow, shone as she realized that her journey was over. This Christmas, though no Santa would come with presents, Martha had found her Klaus.

Sheltered by the Millionaire

Welcome to a new feature on my blog: romance novel plot rewrites.


I found this particular romance novel at Superstore this evening. Rather than reading the back, I am inspired to believe that the plot synopsis is as follows, based solely on the cover image:

The dashing Sir Bartholomew, with eyes of green and paws like the whitest lily petals, was no ordinary cat. Lonely, elusive, and in possession of a vast estate and millions in offshore bank accounts, Bartholomew had wandered many days alone down the hallways of his mansion chasing the elusive red dot of true love – until he met Ferdinand.

Ferdinand, with his Hugh Grant-inspired hairdo and delicate stubble like a recently clear-cut forest, was poor and uncouth but had mastered the sultry art of gazing alluringly over his right shoulder. A part-time veterinary assistant, Ferdinand never dared hope that the chambers of his heart would echo with such sweet meows as those of the pointy-earred, mysterious lord who sauntered into his workplace one misty morning. On the cold, sterilized veterinary table, Ferdinand had not expected to find anything but the doctor’s discarded rubber gloves and a few naive, disoriented fleas.

Little did he know that it was there on that fluorescent-lit metal table that he would find the embrace of deep passion – and the shelter of a millionaire.