V is for Vase

When you see a floral arrangement, what do you see? What catches your attention? No doubt it’s the color of the flowers, the size of the flowers, the scent of the flowers.

Not the vase.

And how many times have you heard someone say “lips like a rose” or “as simple as a daisy” or “heavenly scent of a gardenia”?

But nothing about the vase.

Let’s think about it, though. How  would you create that lovely display, if not with the vase? How long would the flowers last without the water-filled vase? How would the flowers manage to stand upright and beautiful without the vase?

Like a loving parent, the vase cradles the flowers, holding them up, nourishing them, allowing them to enjoy every last minute of their beauty. The vase exists without the flowers, but the flowers don’t last long without the vase.

Why then would you be the flower?

I’ll be the vase. :-)

U is for Uh-Oh

When you hear someone say “Uh-oh,” you look around to see what went wrong. Because “Uh-oh” is a kind of admission of guilt, that the speaker did something wrong and everyone else is about to find out about it.

Generally right after you say “uh-oh,” you look like this:

Depending on how serious the infraction is, how likely it is to cause anger or get you a lecture, you may look like this:

There are other words or phrases that can be used to express the same general situation, such as:

Oops

Oh my gosh

Geez

or the ever popular, Crap.

So what does this have to do with me today?

Oops, I’ve mislaid my notebook and I really need it. Where could it be?

Oh my gosh, I’ve looked everywhere and I can’t find it. Did someone break in and steal it?

Geez, after a wasted half hour, here it is right next to my computer, where I’d have to be blind to not see it.

Crap, my brain is on vacation and went without leaving a forwarding address!

T is for Throwback Thursday

I’m on a busy schedule today, so I thought I’d post something from the Wayback Machine for Throwback Thursday. Here’s a blog post I wrote back in May of 2013, about how I became a writer. Enjoy!

MY PATH TO BECOMING A WRITER

By Elizabeth Delisi

Like many authors, my path to becoming a writer began with my mother reading to me and my sister every night. We looked forward to it so much—it was one of our favorite times of day. Mom read us longer books as we got old enough, like “Black Beauty” and “Hans Brinker, or The Silver Skates.”

So by the time I was in first grade, I was already primed. One day, a little girl in my class decided to write a story instead of doing her spelling assignment. The teacher praised her effort and read her story to the class. Intrigued, I raised my hand and said I wanted to write a story instead of doing my spelling, too. Unfortunately, my teacher said, “No.” Undeterred, I wrote a story anyway; but I also did my spelling assignment.

Fast-forward to middle school. With a burgeoning interest in boys, I decided to write a book about a girl and her boyfriend. Wish fulfillment, I guess. I actually wrote forty or fifty pages before giving up. I don’t know what happened to my first attempt at a novel; perhaps lost in a move. I’m sure it was tedious, but it would be nice to have it!

In high school, when one of my teachers would say, “I’d like you to write a paper,” everyone groaned. Everyone except me, that is. I was delighted, as I knew not only was writing fun, but also I knew I’d get a good grade. A win-win situation!

One of my high school English teachers praised my writing and urged me to consider it as a career. Up till then, I’d enjoyed writing and known I was good at it, but hadn’t considered it as a potential job. She put that thought in my head, and it’s never left.

College brought a lot more writing. In particular, I remember enjoying very much two papers I wrote: one about the Egyptian pharaoh Akhenaten, and the other about the American religious group, the Shakers. I even made a “Shaker Pie” from an original Shaker recipe to go with that paper. Who says writing isn’t fun?

In my twenties, I focused mainly on writing short stories. I was working full-time and married, and didn’t have much time to write. I figured it was better to write something I could finish in one or two sessions, rather than a story that would take ages to complete. That’s also when I started submitting for publication, garnering an impressive number of polite rejection letters.

On or about age thirty, I decided to try writing a romance novel. I started out thinking it would be easy, but boy, was I wrong. It took a lot of effort, planning, writing and rewriting. Oh, and there was no computer back then…I was writing on a typewriter, so rewriting usually meant retyping, at a minimum, all the pages to the end of the chapter. No “delete” button!

When I was working on my romance, the rest of the world disappeared. I’d look up and find hours had passed without me noticing. I’m sorry to say, I even forgot to pick up my kids from school one day until they called and said, “Mom? Are you coming to get us?”

Oops.

From there, my story becomes more mundane…read, read, read. Write, write, write. Submit, submit, submit. Until one day, oh joy of joys…an acceptance letter! (Well, in a sign of the times, it was an acceptance e-mail.) And the rest, as they say, is history.

Writing will never make me rich, but it’s been a wonderful part of my life since childhood, and I’d never want to give it up. It gives me great joy to do, and even more, hearing from readers that they liked my stories. And that’s what counts, right?

S is for SINCE ALL IS PASSING

The letter S gives me an opportunity to tell you about another book of mine, SINCE ALL IS PASSING. It’s a little different from my other books in that it’s more a suspense with a little romance, than romance with something else. ;-)

Blurb:

When Marie Kenning witnesses the kidnapping of a child, she relives the horror of the death of her own child and husband.

Officer Chris Whitley takes on the case—and an interest in Marie—but evidence quickly indicates the child is dead.

Days later, Marie stumbles across the kidnapper and his very-much-alive victim. Unable to convince the man she loves of the truth, Marie sets out alone on a dangerous cross-country mission to save the child.

Excerpt:

…All the windows in the motel were dark except for the room right across from hers. Shadows played on the curtain; one large, one small. Marie wondered if they, too, were having trouble sleeping.

The light went out in the room across the way. Disappointed, Marie was about to let the curtains fall back into place when the door to the room opened. A man emerged, carrying a small child in his arms. The child appeared to be struggling, but he held her in a firm grip.

The man walked to a dark car and opened the passenger door. He turned to shove the youngster inside and as he did, Marie caught a glimpse of the little girl’s face, revealed by the pale moonlight. Her mouth dropped open in shock. It was Rebecca!

Marie’s mind stumbled, trying to make sense of what her eyes were telling her. Could it really be Rebecca? It had been five long days since the kidnapping, and she’d imagined the child’s face before. Was this just another bad dream? Pinching her cheek, she stared at the car. It was hard to tell in the watery moonlight, but it appeared to be a dark-colored Mustang.

The man strode around to the driver’s side. He opened the door and Marie was galvanized into action. She couldn’t let him get away again! She had to stop him, and do it right this time.

Not bothering to grab her robe, she unbolted the door and jerked it open. Tripping over the well-worn welcome mat, she staggered toward the car.

Receding red taillights mocked her. “Stop!” Marie cried, her bare feet slapping the wet pavement as she pursued the Mustang already shrinking into the distance. “Come back!”

It was too late. Rebecca was gone again...

***

For more information, to read reviews, and to order your own copy of SINCE ALL IS PASSING, please visit Amber Quill Press here: http://www.amberquill.com/store/p/209-Since-All-Is-Passing.aspx

Here’s hoping you enjoy it!

R is for Raining Cats and Dogs

Raining cats and dogs is what it was doing yesterday, and all night long. The rain made me think of the expression, which made me wonder where the phrase came from originally.

After doing a little research, I find no one know for sure; but the best guess is in 17th century England, if the rain were heavy enough, it would flow down the filthy streets, carrying along dead animals. Eeuwww.

That in turn made me wonder where other colorful phrases came from. So I did a little more research and found these:

Beat Around the Bush: This most probably evolved from hunts where there were men specifically employed to beat the bushes with a stick, thus flushing out the birds for others to shoot. Thus the bush-beaters never get to the actual point of the hunt: killing the birds.

Under the Weather: This one is tougher. But it might come from travel by ship, when stormy weather made passengers seasick. They would head below decks where the rocking sensation wasn’t as strong. Thus, they were forced under (the deck by) the weather.

Off Your Rocker: This seems to have come from the days of electric trolleys, and the difficulty the motorman would have getting the contact wheel reconnected with the overhead wire when it had come disconnected, since once it was disconnected, it would no longer function.

Take It With a Grain of Salt: It’s possible this phrase goes all the way back to Pliny the Elder, who recommended taking a grain of salt as an antidote for poison.

What other expressions or idioms can you think of, and how did they originate? A fun avenue of research when you need a pleasant break.

Q is for Qiviut

How many of you know what Qiviug (singular) or Qiviut (plural) is? Show of hands. Without looking it up on the Internet, mind you!

If you’d asked me before we moved to New Hampshire, I would have had no clue. And if were asked that question and I were not a knitter, I wouldn’t know, either. But because I am a New Hampshire knitter, I know that Qiviut refers to wool gathered from the soft inner layer of the muskox’s coat.

Qiviut is soft and warm, and unlike wool, it doesn’t shrink in water. However, yarn made with qiviut is awfully expensive. Why? I’m not sure, but I’d say because would YOU want to look at the fellow above and say, “Just hold still now, I’m going to comb out your fur”?

What do I mean by expensive? Let’s say $110 for a 218-yard skein of 100% Qiviut yarn. Since the price for a similar length of, let’s say 100% alpaca (my favorite knitting fiber) would run about $25, you can see it’s more than eight times the price.

Thus, qiviut is often mixed with other fibers to bring down the cost (and of course to achieve different effects when knitting). For instance, yarn with a 50% qiviut and 50% merino wool content per 218-yard skein runs about $85; whereas yarn with an 80% merino, 15% qiviut,and 5% silk content goes for $40 per 218-yard skein..

I’ve never knitted with qiviut yarn. I just can’t bring myself to spend so much on yarn when I know good and well I’ll never wear what I make with it, for fear of damaging such an expensive item! But if any of you have tried it, I’d love to know what you think.

And even if you don’t knit, you can always use “qiviut” in your Scrabble games. :-D

P is for Polite

The world seems to be going to hell in a hand-basket. Shootings, explosions, vitriolic political sniping, domestic violence. What the heck is going on?

When I was a child, one of the things my parents drummed into me is “Be polite.” I’ll never forget how I learned to watch my tongue before rudeness erupted from it.

I was five years old. My dad worked for the Boy Scouts, so we had to spend a chunk of the summer in Boy Scout Camp. You can imagine how exciting that was for a five year old girl! Not to mention for my mom, who had to try to keep me occupied.

One day, the wife of one of the other Boy Scout executives came to visit with her baby. Poor baby wasn’t happy, and began to cry. Nothing seemed to soothe him. His mother said, “I’m so sorry he’s crying. I don’t know what’s wrong.”

I said, “Maybe you should take him home, then.”

While my mother stared at me in horror, the woman said, “Maybe I should,” and she packed him up and left.

Boy, did I get scolded! But the worst part was, my mother told me I had to go over to the woman’s cabin and apologize for being rude. Naturally, I wandered out to play and in short order, managed to forget I was supposed to apologize.

Evening came, dinner was over, I was in my pajamas. Mom asked me, “Did you go over to apologize?”

I’m sure I went white. I mumbled, “No, I didn’t.” She wouldn’t make me go in the dark, would she?

“You’ll have to go now, then,” she said firmly, in that voice that meant there would be no argument allowed.

So, bundled up in my bathrobe and slippers, I slunk over to the nearby cabin and knocked on the door. The woman came to the door and when I saw her, I started to cry. I was crying so hard, I could barely get out the words: “I’m…sob!…sorry…gasp!…I was…honk!…rude today.”

She and her husband were amazingly nice, bringing me into their cabin for a cup of cocoa and assuring me all was fine. It was quite an ordeal, but I survived it. BUT you better believe I learned my lesson and never, ever was that rude again.

So what does this have to do with the sorry state of the world?

I’m convinced if everyone used their best manners, was polite when dealing with friends and strangers alike, the world would be a much nicer, friendlier, safer place. So everyone, please dust off those manners and let’s make the world the way it ought to be: beautiful.

O is for Oz

When I was a kid, we had no way to record television shows. No DVR, no VCR. (Although I did make a cassette tape of a movie or two—no picture, just audio, though.)

Also, we had no cable TV, so you either watched a show when it was on, on one of the few available channels you could get with the antenna on your roof, or you missed that show.

So when something you liked came on, it was vitally important to be there in person, at the right time.

There were some special shows or movies that would play at certain times of year: Christmas movies, Easter cartoons, etc. My most-waited-for by far was the yearly showing of the 1939 movie “The Wizard of Oz.” My favorite movie as a kid, and my favorite still. The movie is a classic, even though it diverges quite a bit from the original book. How could it miss being a classic with Judy Garland singing “Somewhere Over the Rainbow”?

But one day when I was about twelve, I decided to read the real book: “The Wonderful Wizard of Oz” by L. Frank Baum. published in 1900. It was successful enough that Baum wrote an additional thirteen books set in Oz. I absolutely loved it, wondering why in my entire (short) life I’d never found that amazing book before.

There are many things in the book that don’t appear in the movie. This is often true when books are adapted for the screen. I found it interesting that one such missing element, the people made out of china, was portrayed in the recent movie “Oz the Great and Powerful” with James Franco. And some things are different. For instance, did you know the ruby slippers in the movie are silver slippers in the book?

I could go on with history of the book and of the movie, but you can look it up for yourself. That’s what the Internet is for. ;-) But one last thought I’d like to leave you with. Usually when I watch a movie adapted from a book, I prefer whichever one I saw first, most often the book. But for some reason, with “The Wizard of Oz”I love them both, as if they were separate stories entirely. And that’s about as close to magic as it gets!

N is for Nuts

The most obvious definition of “nuts” is that food item we like in our brownies and granola. Not to mention peanut brittle. You know, one of the super foods science is now promoting.

But today I’m more interested in definition #2, where “nuts” = “crazy.”

There are all too many crazy days when I wonder if I’ll get through. You know the kind, where you feel like the proverbial camel who can’t handle one more straw. Somehow I survive, but I’m usually not quite sure how. A gallon of coffee? Tunnel vision? Music played at a level only dogs can hear? Maybe I’m just a little off-center myself, which would explain how I can deal with those nutty days.

While it seems to be a survival skill, I don’t like thinking of myself as crazy. If it’s necessary to put a label on me, I prefer the phrase “charmingly eccentric.” That creates an image of a woman wearing purple with lots of jewelry, waving at everyone she sees, stopping random people on the street for a chat. She’s always smiling, so people don’t mind her chatting to them as if they were old friends. When she sits down on the bench at the bus stop, she pulls a knitting project out of her huge tapestry bag and begins knitting. Like Penelope’s weaving in Homer’s Odyssey, the project never seems to be finished. After a while, she puts the project away and strolls off. She never gets on the bus. ;-)

Now you understand how I get through those tough days. So the next time you see me doing something strange, please don’t call me “nuts,” “crazy,” “insane,” or rotate your index finger next to your ear. Just smile gently, shake your head and say, “There goes Liz. She’s charmingly eccentric.”

M is for The Midnight Zone

Conveniently located just after “L is for Lady of the Two Lands,” M is for “The Midnight Zone.” If you don’t count the “The.” :-D

The Midnight Zone is my collection of quirky short stories. Some are lighthearted, others are bizarre and downright creepy. But all of them have a twist and are a little off-center. Here’s an excerpt from “Mirror, Mirror.”

Cassie opened her compact and peered into the round mirror. Her nose looked a little shiny. As she reached for the powder puff, a movement in the mirror caught her eye. She saw the waiter bringing a drink to the woman at the table in back of her. Served in a pineapple, it had two gaudy red paper parasols and a large pink straw sticking out of the top. Cassie watched, amused, the puff arrested in its journey to her nose.

Suddenly, the waiter tripped. The pineapple slid down the length of the steeply-tilting tray to land, upside-down, in the woman’s lap.

“Oh!” Cassie gasped.

“What?” Laura asked.

“Did you see the waiter spill a drink all over that poor woman?”

Laura twisted in her chair. “No. Where?”

“Right behind me.” Cassie turned around. The table was empty. “I guess she already left. Maybe she went to the ladies’ room to clean up.”

“I didn’t see any woman at that table,” Laura said. “Are you sure?”

“I saw it in my mirror.” Cassie held up her compact.

“Ooh, let me see!” Laura reached for it. “This is lovely! Where did you get it?”

“I found it last week in an antique store on the Cape,” Cassie said. “It was a funny little shop, full of all sorts of peculiar things. I liked the compact so much that I went back the next day to look for another one; but I couldn’t find the place again.” She shrugged.

Laura rubbed her fingers over the engraved gold case, then opened it. “Here’s your problem. This old mirror is so cloudy, it’s no wonder you’re seeing things.” She snapped it shut and handed it back.

“Here comes our lunch.” Laura pointed to a waiter carrying a full tray. Diverted, Cassie forgot all about what she’d seen in the mirror.

An hour later, the two friends finished their meal. On her way out, absorbed in paying the check, Cassie didn’t notice a waiter spilling an entire pineapple full of liquor on a woman who had just been seated.

***

To check out the reviews or to purchase your very own copy, go here: http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Delisi_Elizabeth/midnight-zone.htm

Hope you enjoy my stories!

L is for LADY OF THE TWO LANDS

I can’t resist using my “L” day to let you know about my time-travel romance set in ancient Egypt, LADY OF THE TWO LANDS:

Here’s the blurb and a short excerpt:

One minute, Hattie Williams is in a museum, sketching a gold necklace that belonged to Hatshepsut, first female Pharaoh of Egypt; and the next, she's lying in a room too archaic to be the museum, with a breathtakingly handsome, half-naked man named Senemut bending over her.

Hattie soon discovers she's been thrust into the body and life of Hatshepsut, with no way back to her own time. Tuthmosis, the heir to the throne, hates her; the High Priest of Amun and the commander of the army want to kill her and Tuthmosis; and the best bathroom facilities in the country are the equivalent of a cat-box.

To make matters more difficult, she's falling helplessly in love with Senemut, and soon, she's not sure she even wants to return home. To protect Tuthmosis from assassination, the lovers arrange to put Hattie on the throne. But, what should she do when she suddenly finds herself, an obscure artist from Chicago, crowned ruler of all Egypt?

Excerpt:

...Hattie banged on the door. "Is anyone there? Let me out!" She shouted and beat on the door with her palms, but all was ominously silent. If someone had been watching her, they had no intention of helping her out of her dilemma.

At last, resigned to her fate, she returned to her sketchpad. "If I'm going to be stuck in here, I might as well finish my work," she murmured. "Tom's bound to come back—I'm sure he will." Her voice echoed unconvincingly in the dusty, claustrophobic room.

Picking up her pencil, she focused deliberately on copying the tiny hieroglyphics with extreme precision. Gradually, she became absorbed in her work and forgot her predicament. Minutes flowed by with the only sound in the room the scratching of her pencil on the paper.

At last, she completed the final symbol on her detailed drawing and set down her pencil with a twinge of disappointment. She was curiously drawn to the glittering possession of the ancient, yet strangely modern woman. Hatshepsut had ruled Egypt fifteen hundred years before Christ, at a time when women were considered no more important than servants or dogs. How had she managed it?

The vagrant breeze whispered past her face again, leaving a whiff of exquisite perfume in its wake. A rustle, like the caress of costly linen against bare skin, drew her attention. She felt a strong presence, though she knew she was alone in the tiny room.

"Touch it."

The words were so faint, Hattie wasn't sure she'd actually heard them.

"Who's there?" she asked, though she didn't expect to get a response. The room was too small to hide anyone.

"Touch the necklace."

Hattie spun around, searching for the source of the barely audible words. "Tom, is that you? If it's you, I don't think this is funny! Open the door right now." She thumped it with her fist for emphasis.

There was no response.

Hattie turned back to the exquisitely fashioned falcon. Maybe it was her overworked imagination playing a trick on her, but the advice seemed sound. Perhaps if she touched the necklace, she could make a connection—psychic, empathic?—with the long-dead monarch. The necklace was strangely compelling, like a long forgotten yet treasured memory.

She reached out slowly, cautiously. As her fingertips gently grazed the golden bird, an electric shock pulsed through her and a sudden wave of dizziness sapped her strength.

"Come to me," the ghostly voice whispered, stronger now. "Come to me. I have need of you."

The sweet, cloying scent of incense filled Hattie's nostrils, and flashes of light exploded behind her eyes. Her vision blurred; she felt as if she were reeling, falling down a long, dark tunnel. Gasping, she reached out blindly for something, anything, to steady herself. Her fingers skimmed across the surface of the table and fastened around the necklace. Clutching it, she fell heavily to the floor as everything went black...

***

To check out the reviews or to order your own copy of LADY OF THE TWO LANDS from Amber Quill Press, go here: http://www.amberquill.com/store/p/136-Lady-Of-The-Two-Lands.aspx

K is for Keep Away!

It’s still early in the day as I begin to write, but I fear the pattern for the day is already set. All I can think of are song lyrics, like “Don’t rain on my parade,” “Don’t let the sun go down on me,” and “Don’t let the rain come down.”

Yeah, it’s been a rough morning. Not really rain, mind you. It’s actually sunny and 65 degrees outside, and after the brutal winter we had, I’m not complaining about that at all. But things did not get off to an auspicious start.

Here’s how my day began. I was woken up by something about 4:30 a.m. I lay in bed and listened, and after a while, heard it again. It was a scuffling, gnawing, creepy-whispery sound. Well, here in New Hampshire, virtually every house has mice, and if you don’t, you will soon! Mostly we coexist in peace, as long as they stay in the walls or under the house, but not out in my rooms. Or, heaven forbid, in the food! So when I heard that sound, I figured it was just a mouse. I rolled over and tried to go back to sleep.

No such luck. The noise stopped when I banged on the wall or shouted, but resumed as soon as I was quiet. I got angry, turned on the light, marched over to where the noise was coming from, and whacked all around the area with a ruler. I didn’t know my husband was still at home, so was surprised to see him charging up the stairs, wondering what all the ruckus was. :-D

After he left, it was quiet for…fifteen minutes. Then started again. To me, it sounded like it was in the wastebasket, not in the wall. Finally, I put on the lamp again, brought the wastebasket into the light and started going through it.

There, inside an empty Cheezit bag, was a mouse, trying his best to be still in the vain hope he wouldn’t be discovered. I threw on a robe, marched downstairs with the bag in hand, opened the door and tossed him out onto the lawn. “Great,” I thought. “At least I can sleep now. I’ll think about the consequences of that mouse in the house later.”

It was 5 a.m. by then. I had just dropped off to sleep when my cell phone started chiming. There’s something wrong with the phone or the cord or the battery (or my karma) as it won’t recharge, no matter what I do. I’ve tried a new battery, a new cord, the USB port on my computer or the AC outlet, to no avail. Tech support delighted in telling me that if only my phone were still under warranty, they could send me a new charger; but since it’s not, and since getting it repaired would probably cost more than the phone was worth, I should probably get a new phone. <eye roll> Thanks, I’d never have thought of that.

In a last ditch effort to fix it, I’m going to see if the car charger works. You never know.

And if it DOES work, I’m going to celebrate with a big, fat…NAP!

J is for Jack

Jack is a pretty common name, it seems. Here are a few childhood-related Jacks. Jack be nimble; Jack Sprat; Jack and Jill; Little Jack Horner; Jack in the Box.

Then there are movie characters: Jack Ryan in “The Hunt for Red October;” Jack T. Colton in “Romancing the Stone;” Jack Slater in “Last Action Hero;” Jack Dawson in “Titanic.” But the most well known and my personal favorite is Captain Jack Sparrow in “Pirates of the Caribbean.”

And that brings me to MY Jack, named after Captain Jack Sparrow, of course:



That’s my boy, Jack! My companion, my clown, my little bird. He’s an English Budgie, purchased from Bird Supply of New Hampshire. (By the way, if you live in New England and are looking for a bird companion, Bird Supply of New Hampshire raises their own birds, and you can’t do better anywhere.)

So, back to Jack. He talks a blue streak, whistles all kinds of whistles, and is trying to figure out how to whistle a short melody. He seems to have trouble with pitch…he can understand “how many notes” and the direction in which they go, but pitch is still iffy.

He loves having people talk to him, and his favorite position to be in while listening is hanging from the side of the cage, upside-down. Don’t ask me why…maybe we look better upside-down?

Although he says his own name and seems to understand it means him, he likes to add things to it. Thus we have Monsieur Jack, Good Boy Jack, My Jack, and presumably when he gets tired of all the names, he will say “Just Jack.” One of my favorites is Super Jack. I confess, I may have talked him into that one as when I call him that, I tend to sing the theme song from the old Hercules cartoon show when I was a kid (dating myself now). It goes, “Hercules, hero of song and story; Hercules, winner of ancient glory…” only in my version, “Hercules” becomes “Super Jack.” He seems to like having his own theme song.

He seems to know where the doors to the outside are, and he squawks a blue streak if he hears us going out. He likes company, doesn’t like to be left alone. He loves toys that make noise, or toys he can rip apart. And when he’s asleep with his head tucked under his wing, he’s just the sweetest thing!

So, since he gives me so much pleasure, I figured Jack deserved a post of his own. Here’s to you, Jack!

I is for Ice

I is for Ice. Here’s the type of ice we’ve been getting all winter, not to mention the snow:

 

But it seemed winter had finally broken its stranglehold on us. Even the brave little crocuses were showing their heads.So at this point, when I turn on the computer to find we’re in a freezing rain advisory, I say loudly and to all who can hear:

I IS FOR ICK!!!

H is for Holmes…Sherlock Holmes

Sherlock Holmes, the vastly intelligent “consulting detective” character created by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, has been popular in print, on stage, on radio, in films and on television ever since his first appearance in print in 1887. With his friend and sidekick, Dr. Watson, at his side, Sherlock can solve any mystery with his amazing ability to notice the tiniest detail and interpret it properly.

 

Sherlock Holmes in a 1904 illustration by Sidney Paget

One of the early portrayers of Sherlock Holmes on stage was William Gillette. Gillette was a popular stage actor in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. He wrote a play based on Doyle’s character, “Sherlock Holmes, or the Strange Case of Miss Faulkner,” in 1899, and it formed the basis of a silent film he wrote in 1916, “Sherlock Holmes.” While keeping in touch with Doyle as he wrote the play, Gillette asked Doyle, “May I marry Holmes?” Doyle was tired of Holmes by this time, after writing four novels and fifty-six short stories about him, so he replied, "You may marry him, or murder or do what you like with him."

Gillette as Sherlock Holmes

Gillette is credited with creating some of the things usually associated with Holmes, such as his curved briar pipe and deerstalker cap, and gave Holmes the phrase, “Oh, this is elementary, my dear fellow,” which eventually was changed to “Elementary, my dear Watson.” When Gillette was finally able to meet Doyle, he stepped off the train and strode straight to Doyle not dressed as himself, but as Sherlock Holmes. Naturally, this delighted Doyle and they became lifelong friends.

Gillette portrayed Holmes approximately 1300 times throughout his life, and illustrations of the fictional character often showed Gillette in the role. In 1923, he retired to his estate in Hadlyme, Connecticut. There, on top of a hill overlooking the Connecticut River, Gillette built what is now known as Gillette Castle. Now owned by the State of Connecticut, it’s open to visitors, and I highly recommend you visit it if you can! There is much Holmes memorabilia inside, but it’s gorgeous just as…well…a castle. If i could, I’d kick out the tourists and live there myself. ;-)

Gillette Castle, Hadlyme, Connecticut

As you may have noticed, my topic of Sherlock Holmes has morphed into a post about William Gillette. So let me just say that although I have much interest in and respect for Gillette’s portrayal of Holmes and the fame it earned him, and the other famous actors who portrayed him, my favorite portrayer of Sherlock Holmes is:

Jeremy Brett, who played Holmes on PBS. Oh my gosh, no one can beat him for a spot-on portrayal of the famous fictional character. I have no doubt that were he still alive, Brett would still be delighting audiences with his unique Sherlock Holmes.

G is for Giraffe

If you ask most people, “What’s your favorite animal?” they’ll say “dog” or “cat.” If you specify, “What wild animal is your favorite?” they’re likely to say, “lion” or “tiger” or “bear.” These animals are beautiful, majestic, and commonly seen in all types of media. “Lions and tigers and bears, oh my!” as Dorothy would say.

Ever since I can remember, my favorite wild animal is the giraffe. Don’t ask me why. They’re tall, ungainly animals with a long neck and long legs, and when they run, they look like they’ll fall over at any moment. www.youtube.com/watch?v=WsaOn85TqUE

Drinking means an awkward spreading and bending of the legs and neck, in order to reach the water. www.youtube.com/watch?v=gUSD1axDwQ0

Although giraffes look awkward, they can be fierce when threatened, like this one who tried to attack a safari jeep: http://abcnews.go.com/GMA/video/caught-tape-frightening-footage-giraffe-attack-18796606 

But giraffes, like most animals, can learn to get along and feel comfortable with humans. Check out this giraffe who was abandoned as a baby and now lives with humans: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CWzcPkLj2KQ 

One of my most treasured memories is when we visited the giraffes at the Garden City (Kansas) Zoo. A female giraffe came over to the fence, reached her long neck over and lowered her head just a smidgen. She allowed me to touch her nose…it felt like warm velvet. Then she strode away, but she left me with an encounter I’ll always remember.

Now I see now they have “Giraffe Encounters” at the zoo: http://leerichardsonzoo.org/2013-05-16-GiraffeEncounter.php Oh my! I would so love to visit there now.

Do you have any wildlife encounters to share?

F is for Fatal Fortune

I can’t resist posting a bit about one of my books today, since today is the letter F.
FATAL FORTUNE is the first book I had published (though not the first I wrote).

Here’s the info about the book:

Blurb: No one in Cheyenne, North Dakota believes in Lottie Baldwin’s psychic abilities; especially not Harlan Erikson, Lottie’s boyfriend and Chief Deputy in the Sheriff’s Office.

When a friend’s husband disappears, Lottie can’t leave it to Harlan to discover what happened to Harry.

Armed with her courage and her tarot cards, Lottie tries to solve the mystery herself, regardless of who attempts to stop her: Harlan, her friend—or the criminal.

Excerpt:

Harry squared his shoulders. He’d do what he’d set out to do. He would stop the thing before anyone got hurt.

He stopped in front of the car where the figure remained on the hood. Having decided his course, Harry plunged in. “I know what you’ve been up to. I know all about it. Did you really think I wouldn’t find out? You didn’t cover your tracks very well.”

The figure grimaced. “You have more intelligence than I gave you credit for, I admit.”

“You can’t believe you’ll get away with it. If I found out, then other people will, too. Sooner or later, you’ll be stopped.”

“I don’t think so.” The voice was thick with conceit. “I have, as the saying goes, friends in high places.”

“Do you think they’ll go out on a limb for you? Jeopardize themselves, their careers and reputations, to protect you?”

“Yes. They have to. They’re in no position to do otherwise. I have certain...information about them. Information that could be very embarrassing, to say the least, if it were to come out.”

“I see.” Harry rubbed his hands together in the frigid night air, stalling for time. “That still leaves me. You can’t possibly have anything incriminating on me, and I don’t intend to back down.”

There was a short silence. “We’re both reasonable people,” the figure said at last. “I can make it worth your while to keep this quiet. Think of all the things you could do for your family with a large ‘bonus.’ You’ll find I’m very generous with my friends.”

Harry waved his hand. “No deal. You can’t buy my silence.”

The dark figure clenched its fists, raising them to chest level. “Then, you give me no choice. You can’t stop me.”

“Oh, can’t I?” Harry shook his head in disgust. “When you asked me this afternoon to meet you here, I hoped you’d had a change of heart, and I was willing to support you. I would have stood by you all the way. Obviously, I was wrong. I’ve been a fool.”

He turned away and started back toward his own car. The night air was crisp in his nostrils; a light snow was beginning to fall. Though disappointed at the outcome, he felt shaky with relief that the ordeal was over.

He heard a sudden, furtive noise behind him. Harry jumped, started to turn. Before he could see the source of the sound, face his foe, he felt a crushing blow on the back of his head. A million hot sparks exploded behind his eyes as he sank down toward the frozen ground.

For a moment, Harry lay motionless. The quiet night air was full of unwonted sound: heavy footsteps; muffled rustling; the jingle of keys. The car door slammed and tires spun. Above it all, he heard his once pounding heartbeat slowing as his body relaxed. The last thing he saw was the car’s red tail lights fading into the distance. And then eternal blackness overcame him.

Where to get your own copy:

http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Delisi_Elizabeth/fatal-fortune.htm
http://smile.amazon.com/gp/product/B008B8FR10/
https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/171546

Hope you enjoy reading about Lottie! Her next adventure is coming soon.

E is for Education

Something thing a writer needs a lot of, on his or her way to successful publication, is education. Luckily for writers and potential writers, education is available in lots of different places and formats.

One of the most popular ways to get educated about the type of writing you want to do is to take an online class. Many classes are out there, ranging from free to moderate to expensive, and from amateur-run courses to professionally produced and conducted.

As a potential writer, you no doubt know about Writer’s Digest Magazine, a valuable resource full of writing-related articles by professionals: http://subscriptions.writersdigest.com/Writers-Digest/Magazine And perhaps you’ve also seen Writer’s Market, which provides up-to-the-minute marketing advice: http://www.writersmarket.com/ :

But do you know about Writer’s Digest University, the teaching arm of Writer’s Digest Publications? I’ve been teaching for WDU for many years, and I find their course offerings to be exceptional and nicely varied. For more information on my latest course…Writing the Romance Novel, beginning April 16…go here: https://www.writersonlineworkshops.com/courses/writing-the-romance-novel

What about getting a degree in writing, not just taking a course? A Google search for creative writing degree programs in my state (New Hampshire) yielded this: http://www.snhu.edu/online-degrees/undergraduate-degrees/creative-writing-BA-online.asp Never underestimate the power of a Google search!

Suppose you don’t want to take courses online. A good resource for in-person writing classes is your local community college. A quick Google search for community colleges with writing classes in my state (New Hampshire) came up with this: http://www.rivervalley.edu/academics/academic-programs/creative-writing 

Then, there are workshops of all types, both online and in person. One of the most well-known workshops is the Clarion Science Fiction Writers Workshop: http://clarion.ucsd.edu/ Clarion is an intensive six-week program in San Diego, where you eat, sleep, talk and work on writing science fiction, fantasy and horror. Founded in 1968, it has produced many well-known writers.’'

Books about various aspects of writing are also available. For example, Writer’s Digest offers books on just about any writing-related topic you can think of: http://www.writersdigestshop.com/

It’s also helpful to do a search on a book-seller site like Amazon, so you can read the reviews to find out if a particular book is for you. For instance, a search on Amazon for “creative writing” turned up titles as varied as “The Making of a Story: A Norton Guide to Creative Writing” and “Write Good or Die.” What did their purchasers think about these books?

And finally, you can educate yourself in another way, in the privacy of your own home. How do you do this? You read, read, read. Read widely in the genre in which you’d like to write, taking note of how those authors do everything, from writing a compelling opening sentence to punctuating dialogue. If you focus on the mechanics when reading instead of allowing yourself to float away on the story, you’ll begin to see patterns of how things work, which options work best. Read in other genres as well, for you never know when you’ll come across something that gets the wheels turning and teaches you a new trick.

So, choose your education method and begin!

D is for Duh

I’m not sure what I originally planned for the “D” entry on my blog. But now it can only mean one thing: disaster. Not a major disaster, but one that gets on your last nerve and plucks it like a guitar string.

I did a big grocery shopping on Thursday, in preparation for baking for Easter. Got everything I had on my list. So I was all set…or so I thought.

Duh. Just when you dare to think everything is perfect, Fate knocks you down like a bowling pin.

I made cookies Friday, and noted we were low on flour and sugar; so I put them on the start of a new grocery list. I made a cake this morning, and there were plenty of ingredients.

Then, while I <a.k.a. the Easter Bunny> was coloring eggs, my husband started on his famous cinnamon rolls. Pretty soon he walks over to the pantry cupboard, opens it, looks around. He squints, shuffles boxes and cans, looks again. Then he says, “Don’t tell me there’s no more flour?”

Flour? My mouth drops open. My brain refuses to work. I stammer, “Isn’t there enough left in the cannister?”

He answered in a deadly quiet voice: “No.”

Duh!

I offered to go fetch some, but he declined. I think he needed a few minutes in the fresh air to remember it was only a bag of flour we needed, and put things in perspective.

Luckily, the nearby convenience store had flour…at an exorbitant price, but they had it. Had they not stocked it, the next nearest grocery store is 12 miles away. And then the title of this blog post would have been, “D is for Debacle.” :-D

Happy Easter to those who celebrate it and a lovely weekend to all!

C is for Crocus

If someone asks me in late spring, “What’s your favorite flower?” I’d say “Lilac.” Gorgeous purple flowers, and a scent so heavenly, you want to wrap yourself in it.

If asked in summer what my favorite flower is, I’d have to respond, “Iris.” They are so unusual-looking, with curled petals and spots of velvet, not to mention the plethora of colors.

In fall, my favorite flower would be the chrysanthemum. They look like summer giving one last blast before fall freezes end the growing season for another year.

But if you asked me in winter, “What is your favorite flower?” I’d have to respond with the lowly crocus. It’s small but brave, the first flower to poke its head through the barely unfrozen earth, opening its pretty petals to the weak, almost-spring sun. It gives me hope every year: that spring will come, and everything will be all right.

Happy spring, everyone!

B is for Bushwa

When my grandmother was frustrated with something, her favorite word to use was “bushwa.” According to an online dictionary, “bushwa” means “rubbish” or “nonsense.” And that’s exactly how my grandmother used it. I never knew where that word came from, as she was the only one I knew who used it, but I loved hearing her say it! According, again, to an online dictionary, it’s a combination of the French “bourgeois” and the English “bulls**t.” I can’t see my grandmother using either of those words, but “bushwa” seems just right for her.

How many substitutes for curse words are there? Well, when you look for those starting with “B,” you find mostly “by Jove” or “by heaven” or “by god.” Those technically start with the letter “B,” but the powerful word of the phrase may start with anything.

There are a few, though, that legitimately start with “B” such as “balderdash,” “bonehead,” “blast,” “boogedy” (one of my favorites), “birdbrain,” and “bloody.” And not forgetting the English word mentioned above, along with its cousins “b**ch” and “bas***d.”

But somehow, with all these mild-to-medium, socially acceptable curse words and expressions, there just wasn’t one that spoke to me. So to speak. ;-) Thus, I’ve invented my own:

“BIFPIB.”

Here’s what it stands for:

BIg Fat Pain In the Butt.

BIFPIB.

Feel free to use it and spread it around. Maybe it will be a new word added to the Oxford English Dictionary someday! And let’s bring back “bushwa,” too.

A Is For Apple

Day One of the A-Z Blog Challenge. And what else could A stand for but Apple?

Ever since Eve got Adam to take a bite of that apple, “A is for Apple” has been the standard. Not “A is for Alligator,” “A is for Ant,” or even “A is for Aardvark,” which might make sense in an alphabetic sort of way. No, it’s always “A is for Apple.” But what else does A stand for?

Well, that apple Eve picked is the forbidden fruit, that caused Adam and Eve to be evicted from the Garden of Eden. [Note: If you want to see an interesting interpretation of the Garden of Eden, check this out: http://www.garden-of-eden-lucas-kansas.com/ And be sure to check out what Wikipedia has to say about this, and the final resting place of the sculptor: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Samuel_P._Dinsmoor]

Also, the witch/wicked stepmother gave Snow White a poisoned apple. Not a poisoned banana or a poisoned tomato, but a poisoned apple. Tomatoes were called “love apples,” and when introduced into North America, were thought to be poison.

Yet we also say, “An apple a day keeps the doctor away.” Unless we mean the apple will kill you, thus negating the reason for a doctor to visit, this would seem to be in direct opposition to the forbidden fruit/poisoned apple idea.

Confused yet?

Where else do we see the lowly apple? Well, it features in a number of sayings and expressions:

You are the apple of my eye. [Not, You are the pear of my eye.]

Don’t upset the applecart. [Not, Don’t upset the lemoncart.]

That’s like comparing apples and oranges. [Not, That’s like comparing grapes and oranges.]

As easy as apple pie. [Not, As easy as banana cream pie.]

Then there are the places apples appear in everyday life, such as bringing an apple to the teacher, or bobbing for apples at a Halloween party. And there are apples in folklore, such as William Tell shooting an apple off his son’s head with an arrow, and Johnny Appleseed wandering the United States, planting apples. And although it may not be true, it sure seems there are more varieties of apple than any other fruit.

And what about “The Big Apple” representing New York City? [And “The Little Apple” representing Manhattan, Kansas: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Manhattan,_Kansas] How would “The Big Kumquat” sound?

Finally, there’s my favorite use of an apple. A little explanation is needed, especially for those younger than me. Back in 1973, the OPEC countries and several more proclaimed an “oil embargo,” mostly aimed to hurt the US, who supported Israel. Panic drove oil prices to rise astronomically, causing long lines at gas stations and even fistfights over what was incorrectly perceived as a shortage of oil.

In 1977, President Jimmy Carter passed a law setting 55 mph as the national speed limit, in an effort to ease the oil shortage by producing better gas mileage. An advertising campaign was aimed at getting the consumer to accept this. Most memorable was: “55. It isn’t just a good idea. It’s the law.”

And way back in 1667 or so, Sir Isaac Newton postulated the law of gravity, supposedly after seeing an apple fall to the ground,

Combine 55 and an apple and Newton, and what do you get?

Never fails to make me laugh.

For more info on the artist who created this hilarious cartoon, go here: http://www.thegravityposter.com/historyof_04.html

Thus endeth A. See you tomorrow for B!

New Review for SINCE ALL IS PASSING

I came across a lovely new review today for SINCE ALL IS PASSING. The review is on Goodreads, and is written by Sue1958.

https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/1065018147?book_show_action=true&page=1

Please check it out, and if you’re so inclined, you can “like” the review.

If you’d like to check out the book for yourself, you can find the links here:

http://www.amberquill.com/store/p/209-Since-All-Is-Passing.aspx

They say “Timing is everything.” That’s true in this case, at least, as SINCE ALL IS PASSING is currently on sale in every e-book format for 25% off! Can’t beat that. ;-)

My Theme For the A-Z Blog Challenge

It’s time to reveal my theme for the upcoming A-Z Blog Challenge, which takes place throughout the month of April. I’m a newbie here—my first time doing this--so I’ve looked at lots of other theme announcements on other participants’ pages, and here’s what I’ve come up with.

As this is my first time doing the A-Z challenge, I don’t want to bog myself down with too narrow a focus. So since my blog is called, “The World According To Liz,” I’ll use that as my theme. I’ll give you my take on anything that crosses my mind: books, writing, movies, travel, animals, nature, family. And my take tends to be a little skewed, a little off-center.

Looking forward to interacting with all of you throughout April. I’ll welcome comments and your thoughts on whatever the daily topic is. And if you have a suggestion for a topic farther down the road…er, down the alphabet…I’d like to hear that also. Let the fun begin!

A-Z Challenge

I’ve signed up for the A-Z Blog Challenge, which takes place in the month of April. This means I will post a brief entry each day of April (excluding Sundays). The entries will be about something that starts with A for the first day, B for the second, etc Here’s more info about it:

http://www.a-to-zchallenge.com/#sthash.yigxhgx7.dpuf

The participants are showcasing just about everything you can think of, from animals and art, to travel and writing. There’s something for everyone!

I hope you’ll visit my blog starting on April 1, and stick with me throughout the month. See you there!

Review of Harcourt’s Mountain

Harcourt’s Mountain, by Elaine Dodge, is a historic romance set in the old west. Hope Booker arrives at the frontier of British Columbia as a captive, to be sold off as a bride—or prostitute—to the highest bidder. Hope has no memory of how she ended up on the ship, and can only wait to see what Fate has in store for her.

Luke Harcourt isn’t in the market for a bride, but something about Hope’s dress and demeanor calls out to him, and he hands over the requisite one hundred dollars in gold. In exchange, he’s given what’s referred to as a marriage certificate, but what is in reality a bill of sale.

Hope soon learns Luke is a gentleman who won’t force himself on her. She finds herself falling in love with Luke, but doesn’t believe he shares her feelings. Luke knows Hope has been through an ordeal, so he takes it slowly with her, working together each day with her on his land in the mountains, and sleeping in the barn each night. As she begins to feel safe, her memories slowly return…and then her greatest nightmare shows up in person.

Author Elaine Dodge has done a fabulous job of bringing British Columbia of 1867 to life. The settings make a perfect showcase for Hope and Luke as their story unfolds. I felt I was there, watching Luke split logs or Hope work in her vegetable garden. The villains are especially evil, and made me want to push them off a cliff. The secondary characters are fully fleshed out and believable.

You’ll cheer for Hope and Luke as their relationship, tenuous and fragile at first, blooms into love despite all obstacles. Don’t miss this exquisite love story!

Monday Gripes, 2/16/15

Here’s my gripe for today, and the past three weeks:

Nuff said!

Guest Author Elaine Dodge

 

Today I welcome guest blogger Elaine Dodge, author of the historical romance, HARCOURT’S MOUNTAIN. Read on to get to know her and her work!

***

Getting on Famously

I met someone famous once. And for the life of me I can’t remember his name. I could look it up but frankly, I don’t think he deserves it. I was scarred for life. It’s his fault I no longer wear high-heels.

I was a teenager and you know how easily breakable they can be. I was trying so hard to be grown-up and had bought these grey, 4 inch high-heeled shoes with money I’d made working Saturday mornings at the local chemist’s. The trouble began on the night my family and I went to the theatre. I loved the theatre. As a very young child I’d believed that the people who came on in the dark between scenes, all dressed in black, were theatre elves that lived behind the curtains and moved things around on stage for the humans. Like the elves in the story of the shoemaker. Yes, I know, but give me a break, I was only a child. Albeit one with a troublesome imagination. I didn’t have any imaginary friends. I had imaginary lives.

As a family, we’d watched every episode and the movie of “All Creatures Great and Small” and the star of the film had arrived in Zimbabwe to play the lead role in the play, “Whose Life is it Anyway?” There was no question; we were going to see it. It was the perfect opportunity to dress up and wear those shoes.

The play itself was excellent. After the final curtain, Dad suggested that we try and get backstage to meet the star. There was no hanging around at the stage door for us. Dad took us up the stairs on the side of the stage and accosted the man as he was making his way into the wings. At the best of times my father has a rather forbidding aspect and when he’s being determined he can give Captain Ahab on a bad day a run for his money. And we’re a tall family. I was the shortest person in it and I’m five feet ten. My brother, who is younger than me, always called me his little sister. So, to be fair, we probably terrified the poor man.

It was as I was crossing the stage that I realised things were not going to go well. He looked firstly annoyed. How dare these colonials accost him like this! Had they never heard of stage etiquette? Then terrified. Oh my great aunt! They’re huge! And then, quite frankly, vicious. But it was when I stood next to him that things got ugly. If he’d stood on his tippy-toes he may have reached the five foot mark. With my prized heels on I was six feet. “Good grief!” he said. “You’re a big girl!”

I threw the shoes away that night. It was the one and only time I’d worn them. I wear takkies (tennis shoes/ sneakers) most of the time now. Not that I don’t love a fabulous pair of shoes and will wear them with abandon if I have anywhere to wear them to. I just don’t wear anything with a stiletto. And I drive a scooter, so footwear choices are pretty limited.

But as a writer, famous people, and I hope to be one, one day – as a best-selling author not a psychotic killer of arrogant actors under five feet tall, I hasten to add – …where was I? Oh yes, famous people. They’re usually in the forefront of our, alright, my mind when I create characters for my books. Take Luke Harcourt from “Harcourt’s Mountain” for example. Creating him was easy. I just wrote Daniel Craig. I have a terrible crush on the man. And best of all? He’s five feet ten.

YOUR BOOK INFO AND LINKS

Book blurb and cover

Spring, 1867 – The western frontier of British Columbia hardly seems a likely place for romance. Filthy, terrified and confused, HOPE BOOKER is waiting to be sold off the ‘bride’ ship. LUKE HARCOURT happens upon the sale. It’s not love at first sight, but he feels compelled to save her from a life of slavery and prostitution. To allay her fears of being raped, Luke promises never to touch her. Being a man of his word, this is a pledge he quickly finds almost impossible to keep.

Battling their growing attraction to each other, they must learn to live together in the forests of the wild and almost unexplored mountains. They face white water, Indians, wolves, and dangerous men.

No longer able to deny their feelings, their ‘happy-ever-after’ is shattered when a corrupt land baron forces Luke’s hand. Enraged at the man’s actions, Luke rides into town—and disappears.

Alone and pregnant, Hope faces the prospect of the worst winter in ten years. The trauma of fighting off a hungry grizzly brings on labor, but the baby is stuck. Luke meanwhile wakes up on a ship bound for South America, captained by a revengeful sadist who plans to murder him. Will Luke survive and make it back to Hope in time?

My pic

Harcourt’s Mountain is available from:

Tirgearr Publishing, Kindle, Smashwords, Apple, Kobo, Nook, Sony, All Romance Books, Omnilit.

Other links:

http://www.tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Dodge_Elaine/harcourts-mountain.htm

http://elainedodge.weebly.com

http://www.facebook.com/pages/Elaine-Dodge/422105531221691

Windows 8.1 and Me

Every time I get good and comfortable with a computer and operating system, I find I need a new one. It takes forever to transfer all the important files to the new computer, lots of research to find out which of my favorite programs will work on the new system, and even such things as learning to type on a different keyboard with a different feel.

I’ve heard learning something new is good for your brain. I’ve also heard stress is bad for your brain. So what if you have a little of each? Do they balance out?

What has been your experience with new computers? New software? Windows 8.1? Any tricks or tips?

Guest Author J. D. Martins

Please help me welcome guest blogger, author J.D. Martins, whose book, “One Night in Madrid,” is available from Tirgearr Publishing. Here’s the blurb:

Danny left Dublin for Madrid two years ago, but still scans the crowd in the Irish pubs for the face of someone from home. Though doubtful he'll ever recognise anybody, one evening he sees Aisling, a girl he'd known - or wished he'd known - at university. Beautiful but haughty, she'd always ignored Danny, and though he'd fantasised about making love to her, she'd never so much as smiled at him.

To his amazement, Aisling is extremely friendly when she meets him all these years later and away from home. She is still snobby and condescending, but Danny decides to make her night as enjoyable as he can, hoping for one last chance to impress her and make his teenage fantasies come true. As the sultry Madrid night progresses, mere lust grows into affection, and Danny begins to see her snobbery as something else entirely. Will Aisling see Danny as more than just a way to pass her night in Madrid?

Liz: Tell us a little about yourself and what inspired you to become a writer?

J.D.: I’m afraid I can’t divulge much more than you can read on my bio page on Tirgearr Publishing’s website: I have a long-term partner and have moved around the globe a bit since leaving home after college. I didn’t study English, but I did play around with poetry in my teens - the usual angst-ridden stuff – and joined the English Literature Society for a couple of years.

Liz: Tell us what “One Night in Madrid” is about.

J.D.: It’s about having that rare chance to revisit your past: to encounter someone from your youth in a different context, which gives you the ability to engage in a way you probably couldn’t have if you’d met in your old haunts. This new situation also lets you see the past from a different angle, and see things from the other person’s perspective. In Danny’s case, he was not altogether correct in his assessment of Aisling in his teens, but what he does with that new information remains to be seen. It is in one sense a search for validation, but also a self-examination and acceptance of one’s own flaws.

Liz: If you were casting the movie version of “One Night in Madrid,” whom would you choose for the leading roles?

J.D.: The character of Danny might be well-played by Shia Le Beuf, perhaps, though I sometimes cringe at his roles. The role of Aisling is harder to decide… a younger Claire Danes, maybe.

Liz: Are you an outliner or do you write by the seat of your pants?

J.D.: I’d have to say outliner – very rough outlines that often have to be modified when what I end up writing upsets them, but if I don’t have an idea of what’s going to happen, I generally don’t start to write more than a few thousand words and once that gives me an idea of the characters and possible journeys, I figure that out and write the rest.

Liz: If you weren’t a writer, what would you be?

J.D.: I’d have loved to be a zookeeper. I love animals and that’s one of the reasons I’m going to give ten percent of my royalties to the charity WWF – the World Wildlife Fund. Looking after large mammals like zebras and giraffes would be cool, not to mention the wolves and big cats.

Liz: Tell us about a hidden talent you have that most people don’t know about?

J.D.: I give great massages. I never trained for it, but I’ve been complimented on the quality. I only give massages to girls I’m seeing – I find it very difficult to stop sexual feelings entering the equation – so a very few people have experienced one of my massages, so it’s a well-hidden talent.

Liz: What’s your favorite comfort food?

J.D.: I don’t normally need much comforting, except after long night drinking, like I used to have in Madrid. There, a beer and a plate of grilled prawns on a terrace would sort me out. When that’s not an option, then I go back to the fast food of my youth – burgers and chips with plenty of ketchup. Chocolate and colacola work in a pinch, though.

Liz: What’s your favorite non-writer-related website?

J.D.: I love IMDB.com – I think that is what the internet was invented for: reams of info at your fingertips that can then guide your Netflix queue choices! Of course, Wikipedia has made the world a better place, but I use it a lot for writing related research…

* * *

To find out more about J.D. and his book, visit these links:

http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Martins_JD/one-night-in-madrid.htm

http://tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Martins_JD/index.htm

https://www.facebook.com/JDMartinsauthor

http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00RY328RY

http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B00RY328RY

Excerpt:

Draining the glass, Danny placed it on the bar, debating whether to have another pint, or stroll home and have a glass of wine while he prepared dinner. The plan was just one pint, but he needed to tell himself that twice; once when he went into the bar and again when he'd finished the drink. He knew if he did have a second pint the hunger might go off him, and he might get chatting to someone. Then he'd end up with a kebab on the way home instead of the chicken curry for which he'd ingredients waiting in his kitchen.

And then he saw her.

She stood quite near, surrounded by a tight knot of people at the edge of the dance floor that had parted momentarily. She wore a cotton summer dress that showed the sweep of her shoulder blades and spine. The dress was floral, red with splashes of black and dark blue. She wore soft brown leather sandals that were almost invisible against her tanned feet. Her toenails were painted red but her fingernails were French polished. A silver or white-gold bracelet hung from her right wrist, and on her left she wore a silver wristwatch, which a discreet look later told him was a Patek Philippe. In her ears she had diamond stud earrings, and on the ring finger of her right hand was a silver ring with a blue stone he couldn't identify.

He didn't see her face straight away, yet something deep inside him said it had to be her.

In college, he'd often stared at this girl's long blonde hair from a few seats behind in the lecture theatre, while far below them a maths professor droned on about matrices. He knew the shape of her head and neck, had observed her tie up that hair, amazed at the beauty of the fine, straight filaments, the way the strands slid like silk over one another, yet held as one tight rope. When she was an infant her mother had clearly decided ever cutting such hair would be a sin, and she’d concurred. She plaited it, put it in a ponytail, tied it up around a clip made of what seemed to Danny like a piece of wood and two chopsticks, or simply a spare pencil. Sometimes it splayed out across her shoulders like a cascade of spun gold. Now it was pulled up in a silver clasp, to reveal the nape of a long, fine neck, and soft-skinned shoulders.

Those shoulders had been bared before, in a hot September of their freshman year, and later, during the intense study month when the cherry blossoms bloomed and fell across the lawns of campus. Danny had fantasised about slipping off that shoulder strap, letting the silky string fall down along her arm, trailing his fingers along her collarbone and ribs and pushing aside the top to expose her breasts….

When she turned around in the bar and he saw her face, Danny instantly searched through his memory to match her visage, and see all six numbers of recognition. It came out a winner. She stared back at him, her brain no doubt doing the same. Although still early, and most—apart from the pre-marriage revellers—were only on their second or third drink, Danny thought she must have been fairly merry already, because as she recognised him she smiled.

She’d never smiled at him before—not in four years of college. Then again, they’d not interacted much. They'd never really talked, never attended the same classes after second year. He'd always told himself she’d never smiled at him because she didn’t know him. Once or twice, of course, she'd turned around, casually, and seen him. But she'd seen lots of others sitting behind her, too. The back rows of the lecture theatre were filled with Danny's friends, who'd varying levels of interest in her hair and the maths lecture; from zero to all-absorbed.

The chance to get to know her had never come around. She'd majored in chemistry, Danny in computer science. He had taken a chemistry class in second year, but she'd always seemed to sit on the opposite side of the theatre then. His gaze had often paused upon her face as he searched through those assembled in a lecture the way he did through the throng of a bar.

She was stunning. Her frame was that of someone who was fit without effort. A swimmer or a gymnast at some point, she had a fine body, breasts the way Hemingway described, wide womanly hips and a behind that eyes or hands could never tire of. She had crystal blue eyes like deep Antarctic ice, and a button nose. Her mouth was perfect. Her teeth had had money spent on them, but her lips were natural; she had a dazzling smile. But before that moment in a Madrid bar, Danny had only received the coldness of those glacial eyes.

Romance Writing Course Scheduled

I'm teaching a new section of "Writing the Romance Novel" at Writer's Digest University. It's an awesome course! You can find out more about it and register here:

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If you have any questions, give a holler. Hope to see you there!