tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-551095003072630072024-03-05T11:58:30.120-08:00A Writer's CornerAuthor Charlie Courtland and Creator of Bitsy Bling BooksAuthorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00577884269586338812noreply@blogger.comBlogger25125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-55109500307263007.post-9498971159586718892011-04-08T14:42:00.001-07:002011-04-21T13:55:52.646-07:00Goodreads Book Giveaway - 5 COPIES<div id="goodreadsGiveawayWidget9666"><div style="text-align: center;">Enter to win my third book (but first in new series) at Goodreads. 5 copies available.</div><br />
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<h2 style="color: #555555; font-size: 20px; font-style: italic; font-weight: normal; line-height: 20px; margin: 0 0 10px !important; padding: 0 !important; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.goodreads.com/" target="_new">Goodreads</a> Book Giveaway<br />
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<a href="http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/10498159"><img alt="The Secret of A Spicy Jalapeno by Charlie Courtland" src="http://photo.goodreads.com/books/1299733644l/10498159.jpg" title="The Secret of A Spicy Jalapeno by Charlie Courtland" width="100" /></a><br />
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<a href="http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/10498159">The Secret of A Spicy Jalapeno</a><br />
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by <a href="http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/3228002" style="text-decoration: none;">Charlie Courtland</a><br />
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<div class="giveaway_details"><br />
Giveaway ends April 28, 2011.<br />
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See the <a href="http://www.goodreads.com/giveaway/show/9666" style="text-decoration: none;">giveaway details</a><br />
at Goodreads.<br />
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<a class="goodreadsGiveawayWidgetEnterLink" href="http://www.goodreads.com/giveaway/enter_choose_address/9666">Enter to win</a><br />
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<div>Beyond the urban sprawl of a Pacific Northwest city lurks the peculiar little town of Providence and in it, an organic farmer named Joe Parker. Joe’s lurid story, or rather this particular piece of it, begins when Sheriff Caine fashions the big idea to grow jalapenos, albeit with questionable methods. The gritty scheme is plucked from the undercurrent of the sheriff’s self-righteous mind and carried out with the help of Joe’s skill, two local agents, and a coroner. Everything is progressing as planned. That is, until Vera Cruz, a prostitute and girlfriend of a drug dealer, is delivered late one night on Joe’s doorstep. The new houseguest suddenly complicates his routine. The woman bunking on the rear porch not only threatens to upset the jalapeno operation, but also Joe’s conviction about what is rightly just and intrinsically wrong. Will Vera save Joe or lure him further into depravity? <br />
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The creation of The Secret of A Spicy Jalapeno derives from the unequivocal influence of acclaimed Southern gothic writer, Flannery O’Connor. <br />
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“Sometimes it takes a violent and grotesque act for a character to experience a moment of grace. Perhaps, this is the truest path toward fictional redemption.” ~ Charlie Courtland</div><iframe align="left" frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=charliecourtland-20&o=1&p=8&l=bpl&asins=1460977157&fc1=000000&IS2=1&lt1=_blank&m=amazon&lc1=0000FF&bc1=000000&bg1=FFFFFF&f=ifr" style="align: left; height: 245px; padding-right: 10px; padding-top: 5px; width: 131px;"></iframe>Authorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00577884269586338812noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-55109500307263007.post-29437168096141681712011-03-31T13:07:00.000-07:002011-03-31T13:07:49.102-07:00What's Charlie Sayin'?<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f4cccc;">Interviews With Author Charlie Courtland</span></b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHjDcv909r_u0qBgcQNZs89wlJKSX-SmZ0yanqfmyQ4vAxqaMiJXMdrAzNnZDOH7Ws1ewBZ0LeS2bw6PGgdebLIgDF0V3_glpW7YGZ_Sg7CSNlKBtcwd5LDZVkhMMTZZfQ7XSRMjdXBw/s1600/CuteaBenellisluxurysteampunkhighheels-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHjDcv909r_u0qBgcQNZs89wlJKSX-SmZ0yanqfmyQ4vAxqaMiJXMdrAzNnZDOH7Ws1ewBZ0LeS2bw6PGgdebLIgDF0V3_glpW7YGZ_Sg7CSNlKBtcwd5LDZVkhMMTZZfQ7XSRMjdXBw/s1600/CuteaBenellisluxurysteampunkhighheels-1.jpg" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">I reveal all kinds of interesting facts. I answer questions about writing, blogging, researching and publishing. Of course, I do it all with an edge of humor. A person should never take themselves too seriously, especially a writer.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: cyan;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">R.A. Evan Writes - Guest author Charlie Courtland</span></span><br />
Article: Write What You Know by Charlie Courtland<br />
<a href="http://raevanswrites.wordpress.com/category/guests-posts/">http://raevanswrites.wordpress.com/category/guests-posts/</a><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: cyan;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">The World of Books: Guest author Charlie Courtland</span></span><br />
by Babs at The World of Books<br />
<a href="http://www.babs-worldofbooks.blogspot.com/">http://www.babs-worldofbooks.blogspot.com/</a><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: cyan;">Kindle Author: Charlie Courtland</span></span><br />
by David Wisehart<br />
<a href="http://kindle-author.blogspot.com/2010/11/kindle-author-interview-charlie.html">http://kindle-author.blogspot.com/2010/11/kindle-author-interview-charlie.html</a><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: cyan;">Our First Victim</span></span><br />
The Tale's the Thing<br />
by Joel Blaine Kirkpatrick<br />
<a href="http://thetaleisthething.blogspot.com/2010/11/our-first-victim.html">http://thetaleisthething.blogspot.com/2010/11/our-first-victim.html</a><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: cyan;">A Word Please!</span></span><br />
Quiet Fury Books<br />
by Darcia Helle<br />
<a href="http://quietfurybooks.com/blog/tag/the-hidden-will-of-the-dragon/">http://quietfurybooks.com/blog/tag/the-hidden-will-of-the-dragon/</a><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: cyan;">All The Days Of</span></span><br />
Author Interview with Charlie Courtland<br />
<a href="http://allthedaysof.blogspot.com/2010/10/author-interview-and-giveaway-charlie.html">http://allthedaysof.blogspot.com/2010/10/author-interview-and-giveaway-charlie.html</a><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: cyan;">All The Days Of</span></span><br />
Blogger Interview with Bitsy Bling Books<br />
<a href="http://allthedaysof.blogspot.com/2010/10/blogger-interview-bitsy-bling-book.html">http://allthedaysof.blogspot.com/2010/10/blogger-interview-bitsy-bling-book.html</a>Authorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00577884269586338812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-55109500307263007.post-41496930921230091462011-02-25T14:00:00.003-08:002011-02-25T14:00:39.717-08:00Charlie Courtland at The World of Books<b>Guest Author Charlie Courtland </b>is featured over at <b><a href="http://www.babs-worldofbooks.blogspot.com/">The World of Books</a></b>! Babs asked the writer about being an indie author, reveals upcoming books and discovers Charlie's favorite ice cream.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.blogger.com/%E2%80%9Dhttp://www.babs-worldofbooks.blogspot.com%E2%80%9D" target="”_blank”"><img alt="Barbara'sButton" border="0" src="http://i69.photobucket.com/albums/i58/babslighthouse/bookspic1-1-1.jpg" /></a></div>Drop by, leave a question or friendly comment and be sure to follow because upcoming giveaways are in the works for Charlie's re-release and brand new release!Authorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00577884269586338812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-55109500307263007.post-7565448275947023372011-01-04T23:27:00.000-08:002011-01-04T23:51:04.179-08:00Complete Guide to Indie Books, Anthology Vol. I,II and IIIJoel Blaine Kirkpatrick in association with the outstanding cooperation of the members of Bestseller Bound has compiled a three volume anthology that includes books, bio's, and the first chapter samples of many talented indie authors works, including websites and purchase links. Yes, you can buy these books from well-known, popular distributors like Amazon, Borders, Book Depository and Barnes & Noble.<br />
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Since a minuscule percentage of published books actually have a huge marketing budget, it can be difficult to find good reads on the front display case. Don't believe me? Go ahead, I dare you to walk into a major book dealer this week and you'll find Snookie's <i>It's A Shore Thing</i> shoved at the front of the store. Now, if this is your idea of a good read, then clearly this site and anthology is not for you. So, those authors with smaller marketing budgets and even less hair, have banned together to make browsing for an indie book easier. Volume Two is my favorite because it includes yours truly! <b>The Hidden Will of the Dragon</b> is chapter 11. The links to the other anthologies (one and three) are below. <br />
<a href="http://www.scribd.com/doc/46280302/2-BsB-Anthology-Vol-Two" style="-x-system-font: none; display: block; font-family: Helvetica,Arial,Sans-serif; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 12px auto 6px auto; text-decoration: underline;" title="View #2 BsB Anthology Vol Two on Scribd">#2 BsB Anthology Vol Two</a> <object data="http://d1.scribdassets.com/ScribdViewer.swf" height="600" id="doc_209123162299231" name="doc_209123162299231" style="outline: none;" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="100%"> <param name="movie" value="http://d1.scribdassets.com/ScribdViewer.swf"><param name="wmode" value="opaque"><param name="bgcolor" value="#ffffff"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowScriptAccess" value="always"><param name="FlashVars" value="document_id=46280302&access_key=key-2051fdfuulbpad0rkkyw&page=1&viewMode=list"><embed id="doc_209123162299231" name="doc_209123162299231" src="http://d1.scribdassets.com/ScribdViewer.swf?document_id=46280302&access_key=key-2051fdfuulbpad0rkkyw&page=1&viewMode=list" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" height="600" width="100%" wmode="opaque" bgcolor="#ffffff"></embed> </object><br />
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<a href="http://www.scribd.com/doc/46280258/1-BsB-Anthology-Vol-One"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">Anthology Vol. 1</span></b></span></a><br />
<a href="http://www.scribd.com/doc/46280302/2-BsB-Anthology-Vol-Two"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">Anthology Vol. 2</span></b></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;"> </span></b></span><br />
<a href="http://www.scribd.com/doc/46280277/3-BsB-Anthology-Vol-Three"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">Anthology Vol. 3</span></b></span></a>Authorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00577884269586338812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-55109500307263007.post-33782352392203690772011-01-02T10:53:00.001-08:002011-01-02T10:53:35.578-08:00The Hidden Will of the Dragon Goodreads Giveaway Ends 1/15<div id="goodreadsGiveawayWidget7364"><!-- Show static html as a placeholder in case js is not enabled --><br />
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<h2 style="margin: 0 0 10px !important; padding: 0 !important; font-style: italic; font-size: 20px; line-height: 20px; font-weight: normal; text-align: center; color: #555;"> <a href="http://www.goodreads.com" target="_new">Goodreads</a> Book Giveaway<br />
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<a href="http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/8292510"><img alt="The Hidden Will of the Dragon (Book 2) by Charlie Courtland" src="http://photo.goodreads.com/books/1282771770l/8292510.jpg" title="The Hidden Will of the Dragon (Book 2) by Charlie Courtland" width="100" /></a><br />
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<div style="margin: 0 0 0 110px !important; padding: 0 0 0 0 !important;"> <h3 style="margin: 0; padding: 0; font-size: 16px; line-height: 20px; font-weight: normal; font-style: normal;"> <br />
<a href="http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/8292510">The Hidden Will of the Dragon</a><br />
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by <a href="http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/3228002" style="text-decoration: none;">Charlie Courtland</a><br />
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<div class="giveaway_details"> <br />
<p> Giveaway ends January 15, 2011.<br />
</p> <p> See the <a href="http://www.goodreads.com/giveaway/show/7364" style="text-decoration: none;">giveaway details</a><br />
at Goodreads.<br />
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<a href="http://www.goodreads.com/giveaway/enter_choose_address/7364" class="goodreadsGiveawayWidgetEnterLink">Enter to win</a><br />
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</div></div><script src="http://www.goodreads.com/giveaway/widget/7364" type="text/javascript" charset="utf-8"></script>Authorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00577884269586338812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-55109500307263007.post-67021781035444285202010-11-22T00:13:00.000-08:002010-11-22T00:13:21.226-08:00Ebook Holiday Special: My Gift To You!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/__8kSOu9mRq0/TOcpH_hbYKI/AAAAAAAAAdk/y_TUQrRCBK4/s1600/images.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="190" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/__8kSOu9mRq0/TOcpH_hbYKI/AAAAAAAAAdk/y_TUQrRCBK4/s200/images.jpeg" width="200" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/__8kSOu9mRq0/TOcj4IvXygI/AAAAAAAAAdg/y6WPYKMdqsQ/s1600/AmazonDITG.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/__8kSOu9mRq0/TOcj4IvXygI/AAAAAAAAAdg/y6WPYKMdqsQ/s200/AmazonDITG.jpg" width="133" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">If you've been dying to read <b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc0000;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Dandelions in the Garden</span></i></span></b>, now is the time to grab it. During the holiday season, book one is available for only $0.99! It's been on your to-be-read list and what better time to snatch it up! </span><a href="http://www.smashwords.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">Smashwords</span></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> has it right now for<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc0000;"><b> $0.99</b></span>, B&N nook to follow...let's see if we can press Amazon to match this awesome holiday price! Yep, I'm instigating a price war. The best news is Smashwords offers a variety of download formats for all types of ereaders, so no matter what, you can go there right this second for the new price of $0.99. As the downloads for book #1 go up, the price for book #2 go down. That means by the time you're ready to read the sequel, there might just be another fantastic deal! HELLO? Can you say FabUlouSss!</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">CLICK on: </span></span><a href="http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/8137"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc0000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I want it for $0.99 NOW!</span></span></span></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc0000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"><br />
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<div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc0000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Give Kindle ebooks as gifts! Now an available option at Amazon. </span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc0000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Click here: </span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/browse.html/ref=kinw_gift_surl_1/?node=2518188011"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #274e13;">Amazon ebook gift program</span></span></a></span></div>Authorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00577884269586338812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-55109500307263007.post-51691771556484999222010-09-03T12:11:00.000-07:002010-09-16T14:45:39.878-07:00The Hidden Will of the Dragon eBook<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB_6Bwjmeiik9rqLEKfn0LHwLZhnIr4J-RkxFCu4RjS2cq81pjt1OijrAa02E133kCgC4lFrFa_lYwdNC_Pe7YSP4EcjR8j52SACtV38Awyxxq6NaYSV_QHh_bGNERPhWYbpZt1hR8eg/s1600/BookCoverHWD.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB_6Bwjmeiik9rqLEKfn0LHwLZhnIr4J-RkxFCu4RjS2cq81pjt1OijrAa02E133kCgC4lFrFa_lYwdNC_Pe7YSP4EcjR8j52SACtV38Awyxxq6NaYSV_QHh_bGNERPhWYbpZt1hR8eg/s200/BookCoverHWD.jpg" width="132" /></a></div>My book, <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;">The Hidden Will of the Dragon</span>, was published today as a multi-format ebook at Smashwords. As many of you know, the book is the much anticipated sequel to <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;">Dandelions in the Garden</span>. I hope you'll take time to check it out at Smashwords, where you can sample the first 50% of the book for free.<br />
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Here's the link to my Smashwords author profile: <a href="http://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/charliecourtland">http://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/charliecourtland</a><br />
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Here's the link to my book page, where you can sample or purchase the book: <a href="http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/23271">http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/23271</a><br />
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Now AVAILABLE in paperback! <span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><a href="http://amzn.com/1452890056">http://amzn.com/1452890056</a></span><br />
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Thank you for your support!<br />
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CharlieAuthorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00577884269586338812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-55109500307263007.post-62400628057367587692010-06-24T22:29:00.000-07:002010-11-26T20:58:37.407-08:00My Book Review Website<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: black;">I</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;"> also have a book review blog! At Bitsy Bling's Book Review you get a writer's opinion about what to read. There are over 20 book review links listed. If you don't find a book at my place, please visit one of my knowledgeable friends.</span> </span><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cc0000;">Click Here:</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://bitsybling.blogspot.com/"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Bitsy Bling Books</span></b></a></div>Authorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00577884269586338812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-55109500307263007.post-7514477262531652842010-05-31T13:04:00.000-07:002010-09-06T12:03:31.641-07:00The Journey Continues<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: auto; text-indent: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Garamond, 'times New Roman', helvetica; font-size: large; line-height: 22px;"></span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Garamond;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">The Hidden Will of the Dragon</span></span></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 17px;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #eeeeee;">Excerpts from the sequel to</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #999999;"> </span><a href="http://amzn.com/1449977804" style="text-decoration: none;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3d85c6;">Dandelions In The Garden</span></a></b></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 17px;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #eeeeee;">Chapters 13-15</span></b></span></span></div></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Wicked as the Wind</span></span></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: auto; text-indent: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: black;">I am not sure what compelled me to do so, but I dropped to my knees.</span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: black;"> </span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: black;">Small flakes of snow began to fall and were wetting my hair and cheeks.</span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: black;"> </span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: black;">I blinked, clearing the snow from my lashes.</span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: black;"> </span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: black;">I begged for a miracle.</span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: black;"> </span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: black;">I dared something to intervene and release us from this life.</span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: black;"> </span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: black;">I cursed God and all that was holy for my suffering.</span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: black;"> </span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: black;">From my teachings I knew this was unwise, but my anger was such that I did not care.</span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: black;"> </span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: black;">I had been good, and I had been bad.</span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: black;"> </span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: black;">I doubted either course was punishable or rewarded by God, rather I had the nagging suspicion fate was determined by man.</span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: black;"> </span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: black;">Yet, I prayed.</span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: black;"> </span></span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;"><br />
</span></span> </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">What is Done, Cannot be Undone</span></span></b></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;">At first I did not understand why Anna did not protest, why she agreed to the arranged marriage, but after hearing Count Thurzo’s orders and seeing Elizabeth’s state, I realized Anna was smarter and more mature than I originally gave her credit.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;">She had not been consumed by the romantic notion of freedom nor blind to duty.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;">I believe she was mindful of her father’s intentions and knew not even death would allow her to escape Fate.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;">Yes, she was more aware than her mother that arms reached from the grave.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;">Besides, in the case of Anna marriage provided benefit, a change of scenery.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;">Existence at Cachtice was difficult and solitary.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;">If she could not be the custodian of her own future, she’d settle for a crumb of happiness.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;">A fine dress, a grand party, a chamber of ladies for company and if Fortune blessed, a tolerable husband.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;">After all, this was the very best our sex could do.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;">It was an accomplishment and prized above all else.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;">I thought of the prostitutes working the Turkish soldier tents.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;">They were mere objects of pleasure to be used on whim or whipped.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;">Then there was the servant girl strung up in a cage for attempting escape.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;">Her crime was trading information for promise of bread and a few coins.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;">All this scraping, clawing and plotting was good for what—a glimpse of a better life?</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;">What did the risk get you, but a few moments of security until the next threat entered the scene?</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;">Not even a queen was safe.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;">If she did not produce a male heir, or if a younger woman took her place in the marriage bed she’d be exiled, or worse lose her head.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;">Women were a disposal bag of flesh and bones – hallow wombs placed on Earth to serve a purpose and when all was done, it was undone.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">A Soul's End</span></span></b></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;">I took a deep breath. Indeed, it reeked terribly sweet. The smell of fortune changing piqued my senses sending them tingling with delight. The wicked current pushed at the rear of the carriage encouraging our small travel party onward to Vienna. Let Draco worry about Protestant rebels. It was better for us if he remained occupied with duty rather than domesticity. For once I was pleased to hear of conflict; in this case, a religious conflict provided a timely distraction. It gave a cloak for us to brew a much more sinister uprising – the Blood Countess, as Elizabeth would later become known, was about to descend on the city.</span></span> <br />
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</span></span></span></span></div>Authorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00577884269586338812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-55109500307263007.post-5160489016720815742010-05-19T15:42:00.000-07:002010-09-05T15:53:35.740-07:00The Journey Continues<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 17px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: arial, 'times New Roman', helvetica; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;"></span></span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: large;"><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Garamond;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #eeeeee;">The Hidden Will Of The Dragon</span></span></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 17px;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;">Excerpts from the sequel to </span><a href="http://amzn.com/1449977804" style="text-decoration: none;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #6fa8dc;">Dandelions In The Garden</span></a></b></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 17px;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;">Chapters 10-12</span></b></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Garamond, 'times New Roman', helvetica; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 17px;"><b><br />
</b></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Garamond, 'times New Roman', helvetica;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #eeeeee;">The Dinner Guest</span></span></b></span></div></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 13pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;">Among the last of the trespassers was the man who sought to rape me. I walked slowly toward him, my eyes narrowing as I approached. I wanted to see his fear, wanted to smell it seeping from his dingy pores. I knew he would not beg for his life, he was a soldier after all, but I hoped in the face of certain death his eyes would give away all I needed to know. I hungered to witness his powerlessness.</span></span> <br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #eeeeee;">A House Condemned</span></span></b></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"><b> </b></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><b></b></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><b></b></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><b><div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 13pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;">I shut the door. I hesitated for a moment listening to the sound of my own blood pumping through my veins. My mind pictured the gypsy man sewn in the gutted horse, and then I saw the dead girl’s arm twitching between the iron bars. Anna had seen something she was not ready to witness. Like Elizabeth so long ago, Anna snuck from her bedchamber to spy. Tonight Anna got her slaughtered beast. </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div></b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><b><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 13pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;"><br />
I rubbed my temples as I walked through the twilight of the night to my chamber. I knew Anna would never be the same, this would change her, but I did not yet know how. Upon entering my room, I poured a glass of water. The cool liquid washed the smelly dungeon dust from my throat. I thought about Anna’s request for the servant girl, that she be given a proper Christian burial, it was a way to repent the sin. I drew back the velvet curtain from my window and gazed upon the thick crescent moon overhead. No clouds floated by giving depth to the vast universe. I let the drapes fall. I could not bear looking at the world. I did not fully understand just how serious Anna’s request would become. Like Elizabeth, I assumed granting her wish was the least we could do if it'd make her happy. Elizabeth was the strongest woman I knew, her only weakness was pleasing her children. Unfortunately, it was this weakness, this very act of kindness, which would lend to her demise. </span></span></span></b></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #eeeeee;">The Night, He Is A Vampire</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Garamond, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 17px; font-style: italic; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #eeeeee;"> </span></span></b></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 17px;"> </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: large;"><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 13pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;">The weather was brisk and the sun shone as if it were on the other side of the world. Its thin rays reached through the overcast to brighten my remote existence for a mere few hours. The warming clashed with the dampness hanging between the trees creating a backdrop upon which I could see all the impurity in the air. My skirt stirred pollen from the nestled centers of withering blooms. The stale fragrances tickled my nose as I went by and a butterfly unremarkable in color and variety flirted with the pedals of a nearby flower. I’d been told the brilliant colors of its species belonged to the males. I thought this a defect in creation until it was explained the advantage was for survival. What I viewed as ornamental vanity was really camouflaged armor. I watched the female butterfly flutter about touching pedals, then zipping to the next before settling on the leaf of a bush. Her dull color in sharp contrast to the deep fleshy greens and vibrant pinks of the blooms. How vulnerable she looked resting in Eden. This was no place for the likes of her; this was a place for the advantaged. She belonged in the gray areas of the world where she’d be safe from preying beaks wishing to devour her. With a wave of my hand I sent her flying upward and over the hedge. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 13pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 13pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;">I revealed in my rescue. I bent down to sniff the scent of a rose bush. The edges of the blooms were brackish and the heads drooping as if in prayer. A hint of perfume remained but was tainted by the overpowering smell of decay. How short the vibrant life! It was then, as I was trying to pluck the last beauty of the red roses that something hidden near the path distracted me. My skin tingled with the eerie sensation I was being stalked. I glanced upward at the windows to see if I were being watched from above, but they stood empty and draped. I released my grasp on the flower and took a turn scrutinizing the scenery. I moved subtly giving nothing away in order to protect my susceptible position amidst the garden. I resisted the urge to call out. Instead, I assessed the distance from where I stood to the garden doors. It was at the very least a hundred footsteps, if not more. I took another turn, this time looking beyond the immediate to discover in the recesses a glint of bronze. As I moved, so did my pursuer. The rustling of leaves matched the crunching of stone beneath my slippers. He had the advantage of cover, but I was clever. I was drawing him towards a weak spot where early frost damaged the foliage. Just a few more steps and I’d snare him, but to my dismay the rustling stopped short. True to my kind I pursued the danger and went straight to where I thought he’d quit. As I neared I saw him. The glint was the reflection of brass fastens caught in the sunlight. I was impressed at how his ginger hair blended with the turning leaves and the embroidery of his uniform patterned with the natural landscape. He did not retreat upon discovery; instead, he once again matched my movements mirroring them along the pathway. </span><o:p></o:p></span></div></span>Authorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00577884269586338812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-55109500307263007.post-12840918256454667732010-05-04T13:44:00.000-07:002010-09-06T12:09:19.205-07:00The Journey Continues<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: arial, 'times New Roman', helvetica; font-size: 13px;"></span><br />
<h3 class="post-title entry-title" style="color: black; font-size: 22px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 1.4em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0.25em; padding-bottom: 4px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><br />
</h3><div class="post-header-line-1"></div><div class="post-body entry-content" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.6em; margin-bottom: 0.75em; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: arial, 'times New Roman', helvetica; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Garamond;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">The Hidden Will Of The Dragon</span></span></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 17px;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #999999;">Excerpts from the sequel to</span> <a href="http://amzn.com/1449977804" style="color: #2e6fc3; text-decoration: none;">Dandelions In The Garden</a></b></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 17px;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;">Chapters 7-9</span></b></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Garamond, 'times New Roman', helvetica; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 17px;"><b><br />
</b></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Garamond, 'times New Roman', helvetica; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 17px;"><b> <span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 20pt;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Indebted Web Of Fortune</span></b></span> </b></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Garamond, 'times New Roman', helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 27px; font-weight: 800;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Garamond, 'times New Roman', helvetica; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 17px;"><b> </b></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Garamond, 'times New Roman', helvetica; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 17px;"><b><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 13pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;">Elizabeth’s skin was cool to the touch and I worried she was ill. I squeezed her hands tight to relieve the trembling. Her bones quivered, her lips taunt and something in her eyes pleaded for this nightmare to end. I saw it clearly; I saw the blackness and betrayal filling her up, consuming her right in front of me. What was most frightening was I did not know how to prevent it from happening – I was helpless to act. In that moment I thought all was lost, everything was about to be undone. She was breaking apart, her sanity cracking. She was slipping away. I tried coaxing her toward the door, but she remained stiffly in place. I begged her to come forth, but she did not response to my voice. I clutched her hand harder hoping the pain would summons a reaction, but when there was no change in her constitution, I tried another method. I flung open the window. A rush of sea air filled the room smacking us like a slap. The biting chill did not shake her from the awful catatonic state. </span></span><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"> <span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 20pt;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Amour Cast Upon the Fateful Heart</span></b></span> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 27px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;">We huddled under our hoods, which were snuggly tied over our heads. I shook uncontrollably in the brisk air on the upper deck of the fishing vessel. The fog was so dense that we could barely see a few feet in front of the bow. A tiny light appeared in the distance. It was a lantern hanging from a dock signaling through the thick haze we were nearing the shores of Venice. Nicholas called to the fishmonger asking him to avoid the Grand Canal and take the entrance leading through the Rio di Battelo in the Cannaregio District. The route took us into the heart of the Jewish Ghetto where we’d disembark from the boat and make the last leg of the journey on foot. The monger hesitated, he was suspicious of Elizabeth but the extra money rattling in his pocket was enough to turn a blind eye.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;"><br />
</span> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;">Once the ropes were secured, we hurried down the ramp. We followed Nicholas along alleyways bending around corners and over bridges, taking special care to avoid the smelling slop from chamber pots splattered over the stone paths and bumping our noggins on cross beams. Even though I spent time exploring the city, I still did not know my way around. We rounded sharp left, went up a set of stairs and down the next and through a tunnel, across a campo before veering down two more alleys, which intersected. It was there that I got my first glance at the familiar. I recognized the doorways and the tiny faded sign rocking over a local shop window. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;"><br />
</span> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;">Nicholas rapped on the door. Through the greasy window lighted candles radiated. Someone inside was on deathwatch. An elderly man with a beard whiting from age appeared from the bedchamber and shuffled toward the door.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"> <span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 20pt;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Dandelions In The Garden</span></b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 27px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"> </span></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 13pt;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">1628: Present Day Vienna</span></i></span></div></b></span><b><span class="Apple-style-span"></span><br />
</b><br />
<b><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">The intense honesty from which she spoke was familiar; I’d seen it before. It was an essence that spoke through the eyes and came from somewhere deep within a woman’s belly. I regretted it was only expressed in the presence of one another and never surfaced in its full glory while in the company of the stronger sex. I detested how many times I’d witnessed this intensity suppressed, caged in the gut, and forced to retreat until another day, perhaps another year. Men might wager they’d seen a woman’s scorn, been burned by a hateful glare or taken back by a foreign determination, but I assure none have seen the pure vitality, or experienced a glimpse of the true feminine soul. A silver tray piled with confectionary delights was thrust beneath our noses. It completely interrupted my thoughts.</span></span></span> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"> <span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 13pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;">Kate removed her glove placing it across her lap. She chose a seashell shaped biscuit with a hardened coat of chocolate sauce. “You know what I enjoy even more than this scrumptious delight?” she said. “I’d very much like for you to tell another one of your stories.”</span></span> </span></div></b></span></div></div>Authorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00577884269586338812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-55109500307263007.post-46319634859196108982010-04-28T22:06:00.000-07:002010-09-06T12:12:20.049-07:00The Journey Continues<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: arial, 'times New Roman', helvetica; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Garamond;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">The Hidden Will Of The Dragon</span></span></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 17px;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;">Excerpts from the sequel to</span> <a href="http://amzn.com/1449977804" style="color: #2e6fc3; text-decoration: none;">Dandelions In The Garden</a></b></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 17px;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;">Chapters 4-6</span></b></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Garamond, 'times New Roman', helvetica; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 17px;"><b><br />
</b></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Garamond, 'times New Roman', helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">The Detour</span></b></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Garamond, 'times New Roman', helvetica; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 17px;"><b> </b></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Garamond, 'times New Roman', helvetica; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 17px;"><b><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 13pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;">Most people believed that San Marco was where the city’s pulse began, but I disagreed. For me, the mystery of Venice hid in a deeper, seedier place where raw passion fed the people who claimed it as home. I thought to myself, this is what Raphael should paint. He should sketch the hanging lines of laundry and debris littering the ground. He should bring to life the cracks in the cobblestone and the apple rotting on a weathered crate. It was from this very alley that Venice breathed, and it was from here that Elizabeth’s path took a fateful turn.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">The Mastery Of Artful Play</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"> <span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 13pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;">Elizabeth was flaming with enthusiasm at the young gentleman’s winning streak. She waved at a tab holder authorizing another draw from her account. She nodded to the dealer to place the gentleman’s bet explaining if he lost the hand, she’d cover the debt. Three gentlemen dropped out leaving Elizabeth’s beau and an Englishman to battle for the pot. She was on edge and could taste the winnings. They were so close to taking it all! She playfully winked at the Englishman who was twiddling with the ratty fray of his mustache. Distractingly, she touched her gloved finger to her bare chest. The Englishman tried to ignore the flirtation but the mannerism was obviously breaking his concentration. She wet her lips as she slowly moved her finger in tiny circles over her skin just above the neckline of her bodice.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Fruit From The Tree</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 13pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;">I did the unthinkable! I failed my duty as a confidante – I committed a terrible act of treachery, a practice that was becoming altogether too easy for me.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 13pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;">“Where is she now?” he asked.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 13pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;">I had my hand over my mouth trying to prevent anything else from spilling out. </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 13pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;">“You must tell me, Amara. Francis is on his way to Venice to see his wife.”</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 13pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;">I refused to say another word.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 13pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;">“Very well, if you won’t tell me then you must go on your own to warn her.”</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div></b></span></span></div>Authorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00577884269586338812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-55109500307263007.post-58564299163149618902010-04-21T10:18:00.000-07:002010-04-22T08:36:02.583-07:00The Journey Continues<div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Garamond;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">The Hidden Will Of The Dragon</span></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 17px;"><b>Excerpts from the sequel to <a href="http://amzn.com/1449977804">Dandelions In The Garden</a></b></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 17px;"><b>Chapters 1-3</b></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 17px;"><b><br />
</b></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 17px;"><b>Rose Hill Sanitarium</b></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 17px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 13pt;">When she [nurse] was appropriately postured, I spoke. I began to tell her my story. Not the story I was writing for Count Drugeth about his grandmother, but my story. I told her about my mother falling ill and how I went to serve as a lady in waiting to the Countess Bathory. I spoke of my love for George and how it was not meant to be. She was saddened by the news, but brightened when I introduced Draco Lorant to the conversation. In a way, I shared Elizabeth’s story while I shared my own because it was impossible to tell one without telling the other. I found it refreshing to talk and have someone listen. At the time, I didn’t know if I’d ever leave Rose Hill, or if I’d fulfill my promise to Count Drugeth, but I was going to try. I wasn’t ready to die, not yet.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 17px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 17px;"><b>Home Sweet Home</b></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 17px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 17px;"> </span></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: large;"><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Garamond;">I waved her [maid] off. I was already lost in my own thoughts and didn't want to be bothered with formalities. Besides, there lingered my half finished book. The truth was staring at me as the past spilled out line-by-line and permanently soaked in the parchment. I could burn it, bury it or even hide it away, but I could never erase it. I just wished the others had come to the same epiphany before their deaths. Since I was the last, I was going to purge it all upon the page and give it to Count Drugeth. He could do with it as he pleased. Perhaps, set it a fire or drown it six feet under. Even conceal it in a tomb, but whatever precaution taken it could never be destroyed. I knew that now. Why...why couldn't the past just be forgotten? For the basic reason that it happened. Whether we liked it or not, evidence of our lives was in every little crack. Superstitions were embedded in the stone and crumpled in the dirt. I could sense it. It was the uneasy feeling I got when a strong wind blew, or the tingle I felt when my hair stood on end. It's that little something that nags.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><b>Uncovering Issacher</b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 13pt;">After the last trunk was secure, Nicholas led us to a giant crate that had ropes tied to all four corners. He opened a hinged door on the side. Reluctantly, I stepped in. The deckhands hoisted the box making sure first to clear the railing of the ship before lowering it down toward the boats. The box swung viciously as the deckhands tugged, maneuvering the box over the side of the ship. I shut my eyes fearing the box would plunge into the canal, but not seeing added to my disorientation and only made me feel more nauseous. I tightened my grip as we swayed like bait suspended above the water. The motion from the ship churned the water into thick gravy making the clear blue look more like sewage. It was utterly distasteful, and I could taste the wine and fruit I just consumed push up into my throat. <o:p></o:p></span></div></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: large;"><br />
</span>Authorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00577884269586338812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-55109500307263007.post-14054079143839372532010-01-19T17:20:00.000-08:002010-04-19T01:43:33.391-07:00Reviews for Dandelions In The Garden by Charlie Courtland<b>Barnes & Noble and Goodreads Customer Reviews</b><br />
<br />
<b>Reader Rating 5 stars</b><br />
<blockquote>"You will love and hate the characters. Each chapter draws you in further waiting to see what happens. Wanting, wishing, hoping, can not wait to read on. The seamy side of the 1600, to the intrigue of upper class life style. A hard to put down book of love and lust and living. Best read in a long time."</blockquote><blockquote>"Great Read !!! Set back in 1600 Vienna. Amara Borbala in her own words tells of her adventures with the infamous Countess Elizabeth Bathory. As the story unfolds, you are privy to the thoughts of Amara as an impressionable girl: traveling back and forth through time with Amara as an aging, lonely women. Amara: knowing she is at the end of her life, has a personal need that the truth be told, so she sets about the task of penning her story. Funny, exciting, mysterious. I could not put this book down. From start to finish a page turner."</blockquote><blockquote>"Wonderful new writer!! Loved every page. Amara and Elizabeth come to life as true characters. Can not wait for the next book in this series "The Hidden Will of the Dragon." </blockquote><blockquote>"Great Read. Best historical fiction I have read in a long time. This new writer has the gift. Gripping tale of Amara and Elizabeth set in 1600 Vienna. Story of love, lust, sorrow, cruelty, some vivid sexual encounters and bloody battle scenes. Definitely for the mature reader. Keeps you wanting more... Amara returns to finish her tale in the sequel "The Hidden Will of the Dragon" I can't Wait...." <br />
</blockquote><blockquote>"Loved the lust, intrigue, and boldness.... Great character strong willed Elizabeth: Amara is the perfect companion and story teller. I have always been fascinated with Bram Stokers Dracula. This is a new twist to the events of that area. Appreciated having females as the dark characters in a story. Truly enjoyed evey page."<br />
</blockquote>Click on: <b><a href="http://search.barnesandnoble.com/booksearch/results.asp?WRD=Dandelions+in+the+garden&box=Dandelions%20in%20the%20garden&pos=-1">Barnes & Noble</a></b> <br />
Click on: <b><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Dandelions-Garden-Charlie-Courtland/dp/1449977804/ref=sr_1_1_oe_2?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1263948027&sr=1-1">Amazon</a></b>Authorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00577884269586338812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-55109500307263007.post-20020870741245805292009-12-07T20:04:00.000-08:002010-04-19T02:39:45.200-07:00The Story Behind The Book<div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Arial, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 12px;"></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Arial, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 12px;"></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Arial, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 12px;"><div style="text-align: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br />
</span></span></div></span></span></div></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Harrington;"><b><span style="font-size: x-large;">History of the Countess Elizabeth Bathory</span><o:p></o:p></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red; font-family: Harrington;"><b>The Blood Countess</b><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Elizabeth Bathory was born in 1560 at the castle of Ecsed in Hungary. Her father George was a minister who married his cousin Anna. For her first eight years, she spent her childhood with the Sfarzosa court of her father. <br />
<br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">During this time, the Bathory family was wealthy and quickly becoming one of the most powerful Protestant families in the entire country. Like most families, her lineage contained two branches. On one side, the elite family proudly displayed a number of war heroes, as well as a cardinal, and a future king of Poland. On the other side, the tree was burdened with a group of more infamous relatives – their defects believed to be the result of constant intermarriage, which was common among Hungarian noble families. <br />
<br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">An uncle practiced rituals of Satanic worship, and her aunt Klara was a well known bi-sexual who enjoyed torturing her servants. Elizabeth’s own brother Stephan was a drunk and a lecher. Many members of Elizabeth’s family suffered from epilepsy, signs of madness and other psychological disturbances. As a child, Elizabeth threw frequent fits. It was reported that she would be easily overcome with rage and lash out with uncontrollable behavior.<br />
<br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">At the age of six Elizabeth witnessed an event, which is believed to have made a lasting impression and quite possibly triggered her future habits. A band of gypsies came to the Bathory home to provide entertainment. During their stay, one of the men was accused of selling his children to the Turks. With no evidence besides the word of gossiping royals, the gypsy was declared guilty by Elizabeth’s father and sentenced to death. Eager to see what all the commotion was about, Elizabeth snuck from her nursery while her governess was asleep and hid behind a tree in the courtyard. There she saw a horse held to the ground. Soldiers slit open its belly and then grabbed the man and shoved him inside. They sewed the belly shut leaving only a small opening for his head to stick out. The man was trapped inside the dying gut of his horse. This might have been her first experience at brutal justice, but it was not her last. She learned at an early age how to deal with disobedient peasants. When she was eleven, her cousin became the ruling Prince of Transylvania. Two years later, when the peasants revolted, her cousin ordered that the noses and ears be cut off of the fifty-four captured rebels.<br />
<br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Also during her eleventh year, Elizabeth became engaged to Ferenc Nadasdy, the ‘Black Lord’ of Hungary. He was gaining a reputation for being a cruel and ruthless warrior, which made him a prize asset of the crown. Ferenc was born in 1555, of noble birth, but not as notable as the Bathorys. He attended school in Vienna, but was not a good student. Rather, he was a celebrated athlete and popular among his peers. <br />
<br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">As Elizabeth matured, it was easily recognizable that she was exceptionally intelligent. She was fluent in Hungarian, Latin and German. This was at a time when even the ruling Prince of Transylvania was barely literate. She was also adventurous and rebellious. She liked to dress up in men’s clothes and play men’s games. It gave her a kind of freedom and power that she, by nature, craved. <br />
<br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">During one of her unsupervised excursions, she met a local peasant. She was smitten and continued a secret romance with the boy. Unfortunately, this lead to a pregnancy and urgency by her family to cover up the incident and rush a marriage. The bastard daughter was born in secrecy and given away to a family that assured the Bathorys that Elizabeth, nor anyone else of notoriety would ever again see the child. <br />
<br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">On May 8, 1575, at the age of fifteen, Elizabeth married the twenty-one year old Ferenc Nadasdy, at the Varanno Castle. Since Ferenc was a solider and leader of the ‘Unholy Quintet,’ he spent very little time with his new bride. In his absence, Elizabeth was left in charge of Castle Sarvar, the Nadasdy family estate. She carried out her ruling position of head of household like her family tradition encouraged, and soon became known for her cruelty to her servants. She relished her freedom and power and ran the estate with an iron hand, often personally delivering torture as punishment. In addition and due to her renowned beauty, she accumulated an innumerable amount of lovers.<br />
<br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">In 1585 Elizabeth gave birth to her daughter, Anna, and over the following nine years two more girls were born, Ursula and Katherina. However, it is speculated that Ursula died as a baby. Finally, in 1598, Elizabeth gave birth to her only son, Paul. With the heir born, the family was satisfied.<br />
<br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Living in isolation and away from her husband, Elizabeth grew bored and restless. She decided to visit her aunt, Countess Klara Bathory. It is not exactly known what truly occurred during these visits, but rumors suggest that through the urging of her aunt, Elizabeth participated in orgies and bondage sexual practices. Klara introduced Elizabeth to her new obsession and released a passion that had been locked deep inside. She realized she had a taste for inflicting pain—it brought her great pleasure. She was also becoming infatuated with carnal pleasure and developing an interest in the occult. Soon thereafter, she became associated with Dorothea Szantes, a black magic witch who encouraged Elizabeth’s sadistic tendencies and helped her refine acts and devices of torture.<br />
<br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Historical records are peppered with the cruel and sadistic acts of the Countess. She would beat, torture and kill her servants with an alarming fervor that even authorities of the court began to question. During this period in history, high birth bestowed complete authority. Serfs and peasants were barely considered human. A peasant could sometimes leave the service of a lord, but in reality this rarely happened. This was because a lord could accuse a peasant of a crime, and then have him convicted by the courts. It was a perfect territory for a countess with a fetish to flourish.<br />
<br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">In 1603, Ferenc suddenly became ill. He fought for his life and held on until the cold morning of January 4, 1604. He expired. It was later determined he had been poisoned, most likely by an enemy spy or more likely, by his wife.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Four weeks later, Elizabeth claimed she had mourned long enough and moved to a townhouse in Vienna. Much to the horror of Rudolf, the Holy Roman Emperor, she began appearing at court. Rudolf did not care for Elizabeth and believed her to be too brazen and arrogant. <br />
<br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Also sometime during this year, Elizabeth added another member to her intimate circle, Anna Darvulia. She claimed to have been in the service of Queen Catherine de’Medici and was familiar with potions that prevented aging and enhanced beauty. Countess Bathory was an exceptional beauty with long black hair and a contrasting milky complexion, but time was working against her, and she was horrified by the thought of aging. She tried many things to conceal the decline of her appearance, everything from cosmetics to expensive clothes, but she was not satisfied at the result she saw in the mirror. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">On an ordinary day and for no real apparent reason, the Countess lashed out at a servant girl and slapped her hard across the face. The impact of the blow caused blood to spurt from her nose and splatter on the mirror and Elizabeth’s face. After the Countess had cleaned her face she said that she noticed a change in her skin. She was convinced that the spot where the blood touched appeared more youthful, more vibrant than before. She was elated by the discovery and together, her and Darvulia, concluded that the ancient claim that the taking of another’s blood could result in the absorption of that person’s physical or spiritual qualities was true. Wanting more, Elizabeth ordered that the servant girl be taken to the dungeon and drained of her blood. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Elizabeth believed she was seeing results. So the pair recruited Elizabeth’s faithful servant, her dwarf Ficzko, and her old wet nurse Ilona along with Dorothea to kidnap and kill more young girls. They’d ride into town under the guise that the Countess was looking to employ more servants. Many peasant girls willingly got into the carriage and were never seen or heard from again. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">This continued for nearly ten years and it is believed that over 600 girls disappeared from the region. This number can not be justified, nor is it certain that Elizabeth is directly responsible for every disappearance, however; it is noted that her practices of ritual blood draining and bathing as a means for eternal beauty was occurring during this span of time. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Then tragedy struck. Darvulia, who was nearly blind, died. Without her trusted chemist, Elizabeth found herself aging again. Seeking opportunity a sorceress by the name of Erzsi Majorova appeared on Elizabeth’s doorstep. In order to gain the Countess’s trust Erzsi added a spin to Darvulia’s take on eternal potions. She told Elizabeth that virginal victims must be of noble birth. The purer the substance, the better the benefits. However, getting noble girls was problematic so Elizabeth’s crew procured peasant girls and before presenting them to their mistress, they made the girls wash, scour and dress in finery. They were then lead into a large dining hall and expected to talk lowly and keep their eyes diverted. Whether Elizabeth was truly fooled, she went along with the charade. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Despite the great wealth she inherited, Elizabeth had money troubles. Her lavish hobby and beauty potions created an enormous drain on her finances. She was always complaining about money and demanding a larger allowance. When she was refused, she had no other choice, but to sell two of her estates. This alerted the family and armed with concern over property loss, they called a meeting. During this meeting the men agreed that it was time the widowed countess be sent to a convent to live out her remaining days. However, just days before the plan could be carried out, the Bathory family learned that the Impre Megyert had registered a formal complaint against Elizabeth with the Hungarian Parliament. For three days, the Parliament would listen to testimonies and accusations against the Countess. Unfortunately for Elizabeth, times were again changing and the lawlessness and extraordinary power of the nobles was decreasing. All this was due to the Archduke Matthias II who was on a mission to restore order and balance. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">From March through July of 1610 testimonies of witnesses were recorded. Some think it was Matthias’s interest in Elizabeth’s property holdings that inspired the trial. At this time, if a noble was found guilty all their property would be confiscated and most important all the claims to debt, which the crown might owe to a certain noble family (which they did), was void. This surely was a reasonable motive for Matthias and Elizabeth had made it all to easy for him to execute.<br />
<br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">On the night of December 30, 1610, the castle was raided. The investigative group moved quickly through the halls searching for evidence against the Countess. Someone tripped over something in the dark and when it was illuminated, they discovered it was a body of a young girl – a body that appeared to be cut and torn. The men continued on, descending down 150 stairs into a damp dungeon where they found an aging woman crouched over a table fiddling with vials. It was Elizabeth. She was immediately taken into custody. When the search was complete, it was reported that nearly fifty corpses were found under the castle, and a number of girls were imprisoned in dungeons with pierced holes in their bodies.<br />
<br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Elizabeth’s formal trial began on January 2, 1611. It was a huge public affair and details were broadly cast. When the public learned of the accusations against the Countess they labeled her the, ‘<i>Blood Countess</i><span style="font-style: normal;">.’ The story grew more and more fantastic making it difficult to know what was true and what was silly folklore and superstition. Gossip spread from every mouth about bathing in blood, draining blood and drinking blood – and forevermore, the association with vampirism and the Countess Bathory was born. </span><br />
<br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Elizabeth repeatedly denied her guilt and petitioned to appear before the court, but her request was denied. She was never allowed to speak in her own defense. This is what was read when she was sentenced:</div><blockquote><span style="background-color: yellow;">"You are like a wild animal. You are in the last months of your life, you do not deserve to breathe the air on earth, nor to see the light of the lord, you shall disappear from this world and shall never reappear in it again. The shadows will envelop you and you will find time to repent your bestial life."</span></blockquote><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Elizabeth was condemned to a life of imprisonment. Stonemasons built a cell high in a tower with only a small opening for food to be passed through. Four gibbets were built at the corners of the castle to demonstrate to the peasants that justice had been carried out. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">It is recorded that on July 13, 1614, Countess Elizabeth Bathory dictated her will and testament through the small opening to two priests. She left everything to her children. Four years later, a guard approached the cell and discovered at the age of fifty-four, the most beautiful woman in all of Europe, was dead. <br />
<br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Countess Elizabeth Bathory was supposed to be buried at the local town church, but the townspeople rallied and refused. Instead, her body was reportedly sent to the town of Ecsed, the original home of Elizabeth and where she spent her brief childhood.</div><br />
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</script>Authorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00577884269586338812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-55109500307263007.post-9006765569664665052009-11-19T11:06:00.000-08:002010-04-19T12:28:24.275-07:00Predators & Editors<b><span style="color: #cc0000;">RED ALERT! RED ALERT! RED ALERT!</span></b><br />
<b><span style="color: #cc0000;"></span>[For All Writers]</b><br />
Unfortunately, the decline in economic conditions may increase a person's vulnerability to fraud and scams. The writing and publishing industry is not immune to these growing practices. Coupled with failing presses, and technological choices for publishing, the door for creative scam artists is wide open. This has particularly increased in the area of self-publishing, vanity, epublishing and POD (print-on-demand) options. Hidden fees, out of pocket expenses, weak contracts, copy right infringement, lack of royalty payments, questionable accounting reports and increasing complaints, chapter 7 filing and law suits are among some of the major issues.<br />
Before submitting a manuscript to any publishing company for consideration, I highly recommend taking the time to check out the 2 links below. These watchdog groups are here to protect authors and their work and provide a comprehensive list of 'umbrella' companies and name changes that some publishing houses are operating under to avoid detection or as a means to separate their name with 'red flagged' activity.<br />
<b>"Writers Beware" <a href="http://www.sfwa.org/for-authors/writer-beware/">http://www.sfwa.org/for-authors/writer-beware/</a> , </b>part of <b>Publisher's Weekly</b>,<b> <span style="font-weight: normal;">i</span><span style="font-weight: normal;">s a site dedicated to providing updated <span style="color: #cc0000;">w</span></span><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: small; font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #cc0000;">arnings and cautions</span> for <em style="font-style: normal; font-weight: bold;">writers</em> about literary frauds, scams, deceptions, and pitfalls.</span></b><br />
<span style="text-decoration: underline;">Categories include</span>:<br />
* Thumbs down agencies *Alerts for writers<br />
* Scam case studies *Vanity anthologies<br />
<b>"Predators & Editors </b><a href="http://www.invirtuo.cc/prededitors/peba.htm">http://www.invirtuo.cc/prededitors/peba.htm</a> is<span style="font-weight: bold;"> </span>a guide listing publishers and writing services for serious writers! It is a huge listing of publishing presses, agents and scuttlebutt's in black hats. If the company or person has a bad reputation, you'll probably find the dirt here.<br />
* Agents & Attorneys * List of book publishers<br />
* Warnings * Submissions<br />
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</script>Authorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00577884269586338812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-55109500307263007.post-64962404188169331262009-10-21T13:48:00.000-07:002010-04-19T12:25:16.416-07:00A Peek Inside 'Dandelions In The Garden'<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: 'French Script MT'; font-size: 20pt;"><i>Dear Successor, A Prelude! <o:p></o:p></i></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">Those who fear the truth sew their eyes shut—closing one sense to use another, listening only to what they’re told. It reminds me of the farmer driving his herd across green pastures as he leads them to the butcher. Each year a new herd follows, each year they are slaughtered. What happens if an indentured animal refuses—strays from the path? Does he escape fate or is he punished with an immediate deathblow? The corpse then tossed aside and left to decompose on a grassy knoll. Either way the cow will die. It is the manner and the usefulness of the animal’s death that will depend on the method taken. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">The following is the story of the path I chose. However, a course is never a solitude journey. Many people tread in mirrored footsteps. Don’t be mistaken I have no intention of justifying certain choices made along the way. My purpose is to fill in where history is vague. Historical archives and court records give insight of what possibly occurred, and I use the word <i>possibly</i></span><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> purposely. Although to scribe is divine, it is done by human hands. As I meander through life I find myself questioning more than I accept, and for good reason—for I’ve witnessed corruption by those who have been entrusted to preserve an era so future generations may learn from our triumphs and mistakes. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">These servants of God and country take oaths to write the truth. But…to up hold an oath can be a painful task most in my experience fail to do. In this vein, I warn not to impose Christian beliefs as a method of determining right from wrong and good from the bad. It will be of little use in understanding this tale. The only role God plays in the following pages is through the hypocrisy of those who call themselves disciples and use belief in the Divine to inflict justice. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">What if there is a Hell? I’m sure it exists, not in some mystical realm but right here on Earth. But, if Hell is indeed a fiery pit lurking in the afterlife, then I most certainly will be reunited with my loved ones there. Nevertheless, I do know in this Kingdom armed muscle keeps the herd in line; sickness murders in mass and the devout suffer the pain of stark disappointment. Don’t let my absence of faith torment you. I’ve made peace with those who matter and I intend to plead my case in the afterlife, if there is such a thing. Most likely I’ll feed the worms from the bottom of a rotting, mold-covered box six feet under. It’s a shame how easily a body decays into nothing after so many years of vitality. Once the blood is drained, nothing is left to sustain the flesh. I’ve been told the fluid pulsing through our veins holds the mystery to our fragile existence. Without blood, humans are nothing but flaccid fleshy shells. If you’ve ever seen a corpse then I’m sure you understand. It’s shocking really, to see how hollow a human becomes just hours after death. It reminds me of a snake shedding its skin, only a little more cumbersome to dispose of and less appealing. This may sound crude, but when you’ve seen as much death as I – well, the mind finds ways to deal with the images. It is little mystery that everything alive must die; it is Nature’s cycle of self-preservation. Ah, but I’m not writing philosophy! Forgive me for getting off course. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">Of all I’ve seen I’m convinced, each birth begins with a lie. From the first draw of breath, deceit is exhaled. Don’t attempt to argue, for I am too old and cannot be persuaded otherwise. How can an innocent babe exhale deceit? It is deceit; its presence in the world is a lie in tangible form. Who we think we are, many times is not who we <i>truly </i></span><span style="font-size: 10pt;">are at all. I know this may be confusing, as if I’m speaking in riddles, but it all will become clear as the story unfolds.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><br />
</span></span></div>Authorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00577884269586338812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-55109500307263007.post-85125592919364016992009-10-13T13:52:00.000-07:002009-10-13T14:06:02.155-07:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrYHyDPQTPl-iyCDLjpPPMDr6hYkGSKui3LEgmQB571Ao3KwvxrUT31iUico_N7d9T8RhAatKAqMteA1vIwvKE0qPs8Iq_oKAuojZzeNrGe6WjHRRQggYLKQ_ClG13JUtl5zlM9ocdjA/s1600-h/manga_blackgirlWO.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 162px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrYHyDPQTPl-iyCDLjpPPMDr6hYkGSKui3LEgmQB571Ao3KwvxrUT31iUico_N7d9T8RhAatKAqMteA1vIwvKE0qPs8Iq_oKAuojZzeNrGe6WjHRRQggYLKQ_ClG13JUtl5zlM9ocdjA/s200/manga_blackgirlWO.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392191034349885058" /></a><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: 19px; font-family:Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif;font-size:13px;"><address><span mce_style="font-weight:normal;" style="font-weight: normal; "><span mce_style="color:#333399;" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 153); "><span mce_style="color:#333333;" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); "><span mce_name="strong" mce_style="font-weight: bold;" class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold; "><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; font-family:tahoma, verdana, sans-serif;font-size:12px;"><address><span style="font-weight: normal; "><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 153); "><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); "><strong>Who says diamonds are a girl’s best friend?</strong></span></span></span></address><p style="margin-top: 0.5em; margin-right: 1em; margin-bottom: 0.8em; margin-left: 1em; line-height: 1.5em; ">I think BOOKS are the BLING! They are beautiful, sexy, scandalous, delicious, telling and intriguing. Everything from the classics to pop culture tweaks my interest. I’ll rummage through half-priced books and finger the finest collection to tickle my fancy, so if you have a recommendation, drop me a line.</p><p style="margin-top: 0.5em; margin-right: 1em; margin-bottom: 0.8em; margin-left: 1em; line-height: 1.5em; ">Check out the <strong>Laundry List</strong> for ‘to-read’, most current recommendations, reviews and Bling rating.</p><p style="margin-top: 0.5em; margin-right: 1em; margin-bottom: 0.8em; margin-left: 1em; line-height: 1.5em; "><strong>Featured Books </strong>shows the selected monthly reads, brief synopsis and Bitsy’s review because let’s face it, every jewel has flaws. </p><p style="margin-top: 0.5em; margin-right: 1em; margin-bottom: 0.8em; margin-left: 1em; line-height: 1.5em; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); line-height: 19px; font-family:Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif;font-size:13px;"></span></p><p>Bitsy loves getting lost in her own imaginary world as well as those written by other authors. She's always hungry for a great read, so feel free to visit her and post a recommendation. She's not shy and will likely say what she means, but don't worry it's all in good fun or critique. Ouch! That hurts, but don't fret she's not all cruelity and ice, she has a soft side that comes out every once in a while.</p><p>Keep it clean, keep it fun and keep trashy comments to yourself. No explicit language here -- Bitsy loves class and wit so show your charm and intelligence instead of that trailer park slip and sales bin dress.</p></span><p></p></span></blockquote></span></span></span></span></address><p><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330099;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Visit Bitsy at:</span></span></b></p><p><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330099;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">http://bitsybling.wordpress.com/</span></span></b></p></span>Authorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00577884269586338812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-55109500307263007.post-24383940391141146822009-09-02T13:55:00.000-07:002009-10-13T13:45:55.240-07:00<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre;"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 105px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMbl2aEdeaGTqkhip2Qm-LdJmCNDXPcCLx1gfT55F3rJBGRT181zmclfAZcDDxTPU-edVyhq8x4fkl109jTRLxY4_GEGR-MPPcgca9_zwQKrR6yxj11V0vbTE6luhxmzkCtJdJPd6x6A/s200/stack+of+books.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5376977783929547586" /></span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> "</span><span style="Chalkboard Bold";mso-ansi-language:EN-US;mso-fareast-language:EN-USfont-family:";"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">The Secret<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-weight: normal; "><span style="Chalkboard Bold";mso-ansi-language:EN-US;mso-fareast-language:EN-USfont-family:";"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"> Of A Spicy Jalapeno</span></span></span>."</span></span> <span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Georgia;font-size:48px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre; font-family:'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-size:16px;"> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">THE TEXAN</span></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0); font-weight: bold;font-family:'Times New Roman';font-size:18px;"> </span></div><div><span style="Times New Roman";mso-ansi-language:EN-US;mso-fareast-language:EN-USfont-family:";"><span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">The Texan hit the tarmac at the Portland airport like a side of raw pork sticking to a charred grill. It was a forty minute drive to the throw back town where men farmed with the exploited aid of Mexican immigrants and wives served ice cold lemonade, hand squeezed in pretty glass pitchers while wearing aprons. Their floors mopped, the flower gardens manicured and the grass cut in diagonal rows while the laundry hung drying between the pinch of wooden clothes pins on the </span></span></span></span></div><div><span style="Times New Roman";mso-ansi-language:EN-US;mso-fareast-language:EN-USfont-family:";"><span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">line. </span></span></span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"></span></span></span><!--EndFragment--> </div></div>Authorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00577884269586338812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-55109500307263007.post-46522485161106497142009-08-18T12:11:00.000-07:002009-08-18T13:05:56.420-07:00Seven Deadly Sins<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Why does it feel so good to be bad?</span></span></span></span><div><br /></div><div>Scientific research is attempting to explain where these bad behaviors come from, why we continue to engage in them -- often celebrate them even when we declare the behaviors to be 'evil.' </div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">LUST</span> -- Enlists the amygdala and hypothalamus. It stimulates the region associated with reward, sensory interpretation and visual processing. Scans show 'lust' sets nearly the whole brain buzzing. If lechery is all-consuming how do we ever manage to control it? Through the gyrus. An evolutionary neural process that is achieved by no other creature.</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">GLUTTONY</span> -- As found in drug addicts, obese people are usually less sensitive to dopamine's rewarding effects. The dorsolateral prefrontal cortex and other areas are under active, the heavier the person, the lower the activity in these areas. Our brain evolved for us to eat in order to survive. This kind of 'excess' is built into the brain for survival purposes. The study showed overeating downregulates your inhibition control.</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">SLOTH</span> -- Interestingly, the dorsolateral prefrontal cortex showed an unusual pattern of activation related to its ability to inhibit impulses. This region plays a role in sustaining attention over the long haul, which is necessary for motivation. Abnormal function in this region might be connected to lethargy. </div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">PRIDE</span> -- Pride gets it swagger from the self-related processing of the mPFC. An area of the brain involved in planning to abstract thinking to self-awareness. On the flip side, the test also revealed that humility is not the virtue that opposes pride, but rather arrogance in disguise. Humility and pride are both forms of 'oneupmanship.' They're in the same location of the brain and serve the same purpose: to put oneself ahead in society. </div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">GREED</span> -- Is related to the phenomenon of our indignant outrage of the cheated. Mammalian survival depends on social bonds, and fairness. Greed engages the bilateral anterior insula, a region implicated in negative emotions such as anger, disgust, and social rejection. During the study it was shown that people suppressed negative feelings in order to accept a reward even it was inequitable, but appealing by activating the ventral striatum and ventromedial prefrontal cortex which involves automatic and intuitive reward processing. Justice, apparently feels good even if it isn't the desired or most fair outcome. This explains a persons willingness to settle out of court or accept monetary compensation in a civil suit. </div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">ENVY</span> -- Activates the conflict-detecting dACC brain region. This is the same region enlisted when feeling pain which suggests envy is a kind of 'social pain in the self.' However, the delight felt in someone else's downfall is downright blissful. The study also showed, a rival's defeat brings pleasure just as surely as envy brings pain. </div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">WRATH -- </span>Rage is primordial. The brain circuitry active during anger is very basic and very fast. The medial prefrontal cortex associated with self-awareness and emotional regulation quickly activates, so does the hippocampus involved in memory. As people fume, they repeatedly relive the negative event in their minds. The degree of hippocampus activation predicts how much people tend to ruminate. By deliberately inhibiting our natural social response, we make ourselves detached enough to strike out. </div>Authorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00577884269586338812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-55109500307263007.post-18348978598847500662009-07-08T13:55:00.000-07:002010-04-19T12:33:49.336-07:00Out of the Past: Questions about Memory"Memory is like a phoenix, continually arising out of its own destruction," Kathleen MoGawan, <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">Discover Magazine</span><br />
<div><br />
</div><div>As a writer the concept of memory is fascinating both from my personal view and also when creating a believable character. It is a collection of my experiences and those I image and transfer into a story. Composing a tale is eerily familiar to how the brain forges a real 'memory,' and I can't help but wonder, because wondering is what I do, how reliable any of it really is. Can recollections of details be trusted -- referring to accounts of history and memoirs or even just simply repeating an experience. The expression, "stranger than fiction," for me has an even more scientific implication than I originally considered. </div><div><br />
</div><div>In terms of trauma, an event can forge a memory that is pathologically potent and can be recalled into consciousness over and over again. It becomes labeled a psychological trauma when a person deeply wishes to forget, but is unable to forget. This kind of memory is not a dreamy, watercolor scene, but a relentless flash or reoccurring haunt. </div><div><br />
</div><div>Until recently, the concept of long-term memory was thought to be physically etched in our brains. It was believed to be permanent and unchanging. Now, the talk is that memories are indeed surprisingly vulnerable and dynamic. Scientists think what we remember can be 'rewired' by adding false information to either make the experience stronger, or weaker and in some feedback suggest an event may completely disappear. There is evidence that memory is inherently flexible. So what does this mean? That is the million dollar question of the day.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Will this further corrode our trust in what we know and how we've come to know it? Does it poke holes in the reliability of eye-witness testimony, in memoirs and records of historical truths?</div><div><br />
</div><div>Every time a person 'remembers' it appears they add new details, shade the facts, prune and tweak without realizing it and because of this, continually rewrite the stories of their lives. Memory has more in common with imagination -- it is capable of conjuring worlds that never existed and settling into the mind as true and very real experiences. Like memory, imagination allows a person to place themselves in a time and place other than the one they are actually occupying. </div><div><br />
</div><div>Psychologist Elizabeth Loftus from the University of Washington proved how easy it is to implant a false memory especially one that is plausible simply through suggestion. It has me searching through all my own memories and wondering what is perhaps altered by suggestion. Or in my case, a very active, creative mind. How have I unknowingly been influenced over the years and if pressed, could I be convinced differently?</div><div><br />
</div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">The Reconsolidated Life</span></div><div><br />
</div><div>As a person replays a memory, it is reawakened and reconsolidated a hundred times. Each time it is recalled, the original is replaced with a slightly modified version. Eventually, a person is not really remembering what happened, but is recalling the story of what happened. Reconsolidation is based on the concept that when a person uses a memory, the one they had originally is no longer valid or maybe no longer accessible. In other words, your present memory is as only as good as your last memory.</div><div><br />
</div><div>The fewer times you recall a memory, the more 'pristine' it remains. The more it is used, the more it will change. Have you ever recanted a dramatic story so many times that it no longer seems exciting or important, as if it lost all the pop and begins to sound more like a lame plot from a novel rather than real life drama? This is reconsolidation of memories at work.</div><div><br />
</div><div>So what is the purpose of reconsolidating memories? Essentially, the evident purpose of episodic memory is to store facts in the hope of anticipating what might happen. Constructive memory is a survival asset. It allows a person to pull together scraps of information to simulate the future-- or help predict potential success, danger or failure. In essences, to learn. The brain understands their is a future and is preparing for it, and without memory the brain cannot form a picture of a future. Memory is how you know who you are, and the method through which one is guided to a certain destination. </div><div><br />
</div><div>For most, unpleasant memories serve as a guide and because of this, some researchers fear the consequences of undermining appropriately bad memories. The spotless mind is not liberating, but rather a nightmare of feeling disconnected and lost because a future can not be imaged. </div><div><br />
</div><div>Also, the Council for Bioethics warns that altering the memory of a violent crime could unleash moral havoc by lifting the repercussions of malice. "Perhaps no one has a greater interest in blocking the painful memory of evil than the evildoer?" </div><div><br />
</div><div>Something to chew on.... or in my case, think about when I can't sleep.</div><div>Sweet dreams!</div><div><br />
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</div>Authorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00577884269586338812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-55109500307263007.post-5608368692484192012009-07-07T17:03:00.000-07:002009-07-07T17:24:05.315-07:00The Knife Man<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"> </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"> </span><!--StartFragment--><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0);">"...Well, perhaps that experiment wasn’t as successful, but still, it was inventive and I have to give him credit for at least trying to discover the secret.</span></span></span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0);"> </span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0);">It was improbable and daring, but still, he gave it a go..." (Jalapeno, </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0);">The Knife Man</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0);">). </span></span></span><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" font-weight: normal;font-size:18px;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">The character of Joe Parker in my current work, 'Jalapeno,' is inspired by the real life surgeon John Hunter, also known as the, Knife man, for his superb dissecting skills and knowledge of anatomy. He joined his brother William at his Covent Garden anatomy school in London around 1748.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">The Surgeon's Warning </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">(1799)</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">"I have made candles of infants fat </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">The Sextons have been my slaves, </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">I have bottled babes unborn, and dried </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">hearts and livers from rifled graves. </span></span></p> <!--EndFragment--> </span></div>Authorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00577884269586338812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-55109500307263007.post-79364598399139548582009-06-19T12:59:00.000-07:002010-04-19T12:35:51.035-07:00<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt;"><div><span style="font-family: Chalkboard; font-size: 14pt;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">How Vera (Cruz) Came to Be</span></span> </div><div><br />
</div></span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #660000;">"It was a prison despite what the sign said and the nurse stations, more like guard blocks and the heavy doors with their automatic locks and echoing halls all suggested this was no place for healing, but a purgatory for those at a cross roads in their lives" (Spicy Jalapeno).</span></span></span>Authorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00577884269586338812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-55109500307263007.post-63538924099705841952009-06-17T11:32:00.000-07:002009-06-17T11:38:39.118-07:00Today's work<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDd7JmQylTHNloWp00qQY33MHucRGkvYgY7QcrXO9S3LgzfUK4NkT-5qPTCN_AhNGNb90XHrdIPkdRuqOgDjd_HzxQVx4AeKSPFiHfauepQjN-j1G05-b5g9mgCyRJj9nvJp4RwkdS8A/s1600-h/imagination-1.jpg"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 174px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDd7JmQylTHNloWp00qQY33MHucRGkvYgY7QcrXO9S3LgzfUK4NkT-5qPTCN_AhNGNb90XHrdIPkdRuqOgDjd_HzxQVx4AeKSPFiHfauepQjN-j1G05-b5g9mgCyRJj9nvJp4RwkdS8A/s200/imagination-1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5348367223579696274" /> A blurb from Spicy Jalapeno</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><!--StartFragment--><span style="Times New Roman";mso-ansi-language:EN-US;mso-fareast-language:EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 51, 0);"><div> </div><div> </div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">"...out of the darkness appeared two round lights.</span></span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 51, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 51, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">In the distance I heard the scratching of wheels rolling over compact dirt and gravel.</span></span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 51, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 51, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">He was coming, and as the car drew closer I noticed the headlights attracted moths and exposed the tiny particles of pollen usually hidden in the night summer air.</span></span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 51, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 51, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Although I couldn’t see it, I felt a cloud of dust blow over my face and settle on my skin and clothes as the car came to a stop outside the barn door."</span></span></span>Authorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00577884269586338812noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-55109500307263007.post-82265879724297919672009-06-14T19:48:00.000-07:002010-01-10T17:44:28.506-08:00The Secret Of A Spicy Jalapeno<img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 133px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBDsWAT10w3V6pzdV1zzY0r-5Bq7VTy-76zVKGXcKwBm2pzFTVJ6BcP4v3SSychXVBsYsZquc1mvlMrETQAsAK532ihDDXAJWg6PwuWilhNbMwXIyHJZG4Jb-vQ_h01s-Mud04NLFDJg/s200/jalapeno+farm.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347381446290828130" /><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 181px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ_uwNyqqGk7LFYumR1RLScomZe3-VGCo7PQWitTfWLQdq8M19koxxFqVNwttdVU5YDUiV3ERaQkI9jkMDXH2cUfGig4DfRBaKNWFFTNIadZ7jhmlxKK7uDI8AEHHTlxHprMJrkV1nQg/s200/jalapeno-jelly.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347381450730926514" /><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 153px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL91IEf1yQuGLz1UrH_Ggx24GqZSDJEVympRna6qhDB1W-ooC7bl9YERrINv9lH2r4bjaKOh6dBvSqe25r3R7M7W8ZBQfhX81L6ekPRAe2hPIIOM2ThQ2ryU1PHJyzdZMOY3TyfkpEhA/s200/FG:Hillsboro+map.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347381457781411138" /><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span> <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div> </div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div>Currently, I am busy at work on my latest project, <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">The Secret Of A Spicy Jalapeno</span>, which is set just outside the small town of Forest Grove in Oregon. It is a dark tale about organic farming, prison overcrowding and the social expectation between knowing and doing what is right from wrong. The story incorporates modern concerns such as recycling and organic farming, crime and overpopulation with the old tradition of rural life and even older tradition of the struggle between good and evil. </div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">Here is a preview...</span><br />
<br />
</div><div><!--StartFragment--><span style="Times New Roman";mso-ansi-language:EN-US;mso-fareast-language:EN-USfont-family:";"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);">"...Given my habit of categorizing, I thought it fitting to line the next crop with abusers, alcoholics and addicts, a gluttonous lot set on polluting every bit of fat and skin with toxic waste that oozed from the pores and bubbled stench so pungent that it made me gag just thinking about it (Joe Parker)."</span></span></span></span><!--EndFragment--></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div><!--StartFragment--><span style="Times New Roman";mso-ansi-language:EN-US;mso-fareast-language:EN-USfont-family:";"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 51, 0);">"...There, in colored print persevered for eternity stood a group of adults and children, all watching the scientist, some with interest and others, faces twisted in horror as what I think was a cockatoo suffocated in a vacuum, a glass menagerie with some contraption secured to the top of the dome." Joe Parker's thoughts on a painting by Joseph Wright.</span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 51, 0);"> </span></span></span></div><!-- AddThis Button BEGIN --><br />
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