tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-39650985243818928412024-02-20T10:18:07.055-05:00Gail Roughton's Flowers On The FenceWelcome! To Flowers on the Fence Country! Because special moments of life come unexpectedly, highlighted in bright spots of color. Join me in my special moments, the moments when I gather fresh flowers, in this writer's personal blog that celebrates the little moments in life that are, in fact, the big moments. It's dedicated to the memory of a friend who shared with the world the Flowers on The Fence which I now share with all of you. For Gloria. With love.gail roughton brananhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03258347523766173312noreply@blogger.comBlogger43125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3965098524381892841.post-12701398765613381912016-04-04T14:25:00.001-04:002016-04-04T17:59:53.157-04:00Flower Remembered<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Well, hey! And welcome back to Flowers on the Fence Country. It's been more than a long time, but that thing called life and livin' it--you know how it goes. Time flies when you're having fun. And even when you're not. And just because things don't always work out like you planned, they <i>do </i>work out.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Take my first few days of retirement. Yep, finally made it. I'm <i>retired.</i> From my day job, that is, certainly not from life. My first few days of retirement were going to be spent in luxurious relaxation in my new rocker-recliner, watching a back-log of recorded television shows I never have time to watch during the evenings and just in general doing, well, not too much of nuttin'. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Then my grandson Austin developed a fever of 102+, origin unknown. Just one of those pesky bugs passed back and forth in the school halls. So even though I actually didn't <i>do </i>too much of nuttin', I didn't do it at home. I did it at my daughter Rebecca's house, hanging out with my nine year old grandson Austin, while my three year old granddaughter Kinsley hung out with hubby at our house, because for damn sure nobody needs <i>two </i>kids with a fever of 102+, origin unknown. Not that hanging out with Austin's what you'd call a real hardship, because like every other grandmother in the world, just lookin' at my grandchildren makes my heart sing.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Besides, I love my daughter's house. And being there made me remember a very special person. The type of person I had in mind when I first created this blog, as a place to tell stories over the kitchen table and share memories of special moments and special people in our lives. And the original lady of that house is definitely a flower on my fence of memories.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I first met Miss Joyce oh, ten years or so back. Maybe more. That time flies thing again. The librarian of our small town library retired, and Miss Joyce assumed stewardship of the Jeffersonville Library. She was in her late sixties (I believe) at the time, though she certainly didn't look it, and it was very obvious she'd been a beautiful young woman because she was a beautiful older woman. The library was one of the few places in town I frequented with great regularity, since working in a large neighboring city didn't actually put me in position to interact much with local society other than the kids in my children's circle. I'd kind of gotten special treatment from the prior librarian, Miss Merle, who'd been known to slip a new book or two aside to await my next library visit because she knew I loved the author or the genre. Besides that, Miss Merle was my go-to source of information on town happenings, births, deaths, politics, joys and catastrophes. I'd met Miss Joyce now and then when she'd subbed at the library for Miss Merle over the years, but I didn't know her well, and was rather fearful my days of "easy" library pickings might be over. Not to mention my main source of town information.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">No worries. The transition was seamless. Miss Joyce knew her library patrons and their tastes as well as Miss Merle had in no time flat. Her husband Mr. Straw stopped in frequently to visit and occasionally even manned the front desk while she took a break. (No, I don't know why Mr. Straw is Mr. Straw. His given name is John. What I do know is that Mr. Straw is as fine a southern gentleman as Miss Joyce was a southern lady. And I'm sure he turned quite a few girls' heads in his younger days, too.) Our little library was as welcoming as ever, and time marched on. With dizzying speed.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Overnight, or so it seemed, my vivacious teenage daughter and the members of her close circle of sisters-by-friendship weren't teenagers anymore. They were all grown up, starting their careers, most of them married, and several of them already young mothers. Including my Becca. <i>Damn. Time truly does f</i><i>ly.</i> </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Becca and son-in-law Jason started the search for their first house, looking first in several neighboring counties with larger towns than our own little cross-roads and extremely good school systems. As is the case with most young couples, they didn't like anything they could afford, and they couldn't quite afford what they did like. Not in those counties. They'd been looking for almost a year when Becca noticed a "Home for Sale by Owner" sign at the top of Virginia Circle. She called the number and then called me.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">"Mama!! Did you know Miss Joyce and Mr. Straw are sellin' their house?!"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Well, actually, come to think of it, in the back of mine I sort of did. It hadn't registered with me as something to mention (obviously) because the kids weren't looking for a house in little ol' J'ville. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">"I--yeah, I did. But that's not where y'all have been lookin' or where you wanted, so I didn't think about it."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">"Well, we're going to go see it tomorrow! I'm tired of lookin' and gettin' disappointed and I want Austin in his own house before he's much older!"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">They looked at the house the next day--on Austin's third birthday, in fact. August 31. Proving once again that the universe frequently manages to put you exactly where you need to be, exactly when you need to be there. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">See, Miss Joyce and Mr. Straw built that house themselves, on a double lot, back in the early sixties, when the houses on a lovely three street subdivision were just being built on the outskirts of our little Jeffersonville proper, off Highway 80 on the road to Dublin. A three bedroom, two bath brick, covered carport ranch, it proudly showcased a lovely long brick front porch, the bricks laid in a weave pattern by Mr. Straw himself, long to-the-floor front windows, and a beautiful brick fireplace, also handcrafted by Mr. Straw. The front yard is a thing of beauty during spring, as only older, well-tended and established yards can be, a wonderland of tall, thick camellia and azalea bushes. The back yard was fully fenced, with a separate workshop and garage. The entire interior of the house had been re-done not too many years back, modernizing both baths and turning the originally separate kitchen, dining room and living room into one big Great Room area. There was even a stained glass window, added on one side of the fireplace.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">So why, you ask, would an older couple with a home like that have it up for sale? Well, that's back to the "the universe puts you where you need to be, when you need to be there" thing. Miss Joyce had explained that to me back before it triggered in my mind that <i>of course </i>this was Becca's house. They'd raised their children in that house. And they'd lost their daughter to heart problems about three years back . It goes without saying they never recovered from that. No one ever <i>recovers </i>from such an unimaginable tragedy. They just--go on, and life breaks and reforms into a new pattern around the hole that's left, a pattern that's bearable. But <i>recover</i>? No. Never. </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Grief takes everybody differently. There's no right way and no wrong way to grieve. They put the house on the market and made plans to built a new home on some family acreage they owned next door to the spot where their son had built his house.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">"I see Becky everywhere, Gail. I can't live in that house anymore." Yes. Their daughter's name was Rebecca.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">And so it came to pass that my Rebecca and her young family walked into that house on the afternoon of Austin's third birthday. And just by the way, Miss Joyce and Mr. Straw's youngest grandson's name is--Austin. Tell me some things aren't just <i>meant.</i> Well, of course, you can tell me till you're blue in the face. But you'll never convince me. Within five minutes, there was no doubt in either the Sellers' or the Buyers' minds. That house would become <i>home </i>to a new young family. The house's perfect new family. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">During the next few months, throughout all the hoopla involved in loan applications and regulations governing purchase and sale of houses, I grew closer to Miss Joyce, who confided that it warmed her heart to think of another "Becky" in the house. Now "Becky" is the one obvious nickname my Rebecca's never used. She's Becca, Beck, Rebecca. Even, to her youngest brother, "Ca". But she's <i>never </i>been Becky. Except to Miss Joyce, for whom she was <i>always </i>Becky. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">It wasn't an easy pack-up and move for a couple of their age but Becca and Jason weren't in a hurry, as they lived in a rental unit Jason's family owned. (And packing Becca and Jason up wasn't a picnic either, I tell you that.) The house welcomed its new family in December, in time for them to celebrate Christmas.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Miss Joyce left a present behind. She'd always kept a pretty little lamp on the small kitchen counter/bar that separated the kitchen area from the rest of the Great Room and kept it on so the room would never be full dark. She left that pretty little lamp and a note. I don't remember the words exactly, but I definitely remember the gist of the message. "Dear Becky, I'm leaving the lamp for you, I've always loved it in this spot. I hope I got the master bath completely clean, I did my best but I'm 72 so don't think too badly of me. It makes me so happy to know that a new Becky will be raising her family here. Love, Miss Joyce." That was six years ago.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Miss Joyce and Mr. Straw built an absolutely stunningly gorgeous new home on their acreage, right beside a nice fishing lake, sort of a cross between a Low-Country style with a big wrap-around porch and a mountain cabin with an upstairs loft bedroom. But time marches on, human frailties progress and now Mr. Straw lives by himself in that beautiful house by his fishing lake though his son's family is right next door for company. I worry about him, but not about Miss Joyce. I know she misses Mr. Straw but she's with her Becky now.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">And that lovely little lamp she left to light my Becca's kitchen? It left this world--pretty much the same time Miss Joyce did. Oh, not literally, of course. But figuratively. Becca called me.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">"Mama, the oddest thing--you know the lamp Miss Joyce left me?"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">"Of course." </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">"It stopped working. Within a few days of when she passed."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">"Did you change the bulb?"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">"Of course. Jason says it's the wiring. Like--Mama, you think she was sayin' goodbye to the house?"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">"Honey, it wouldn't surprise me. Not in the slightest."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">"No. Me, either."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Well, I guess that's it for today, folks. The story of one of the flowers I've collected on my fence of memories. A memory that just jumped up and bit me. So forcefully I thought I'd share it with all of you. I'm hoping that with retirement, memories like that will bite me a lot more often, and when they do, I'll share them all of you. Along with more frequent updates on my professional writing life, which are posted on my "professional" <a href="http://gailroughton.blogspot.com/">blog</a>--wherein I attempt to sound more "professional". Take a jump over if you're inclined to check it out. Y'all come back now, hear?</span>gail roughton brananhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03258347523766173312noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3965098524381892841.post-47530141925052606642014-01-18T13:20:00.003-05:002014-01-18T13:20:52.776-05:00Country Gone Hi-Tech<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> Hey y’all! Welcome
back to Flowers on the Fence Country. Pull
a chair up to the table and grab a coffee cup. Been awhile, I know. Time has a way of movin’ on, and before you
know it—<i>pfft! </i> The whole day’s gone. Or in my case, the whole
week. Okay, the whole month. Or the whole last six months. Oh, things have been going on, you
understand. It’s not having nothing to write about that’s the problem. It’s finding the time to write about it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> So let
me re-introduce myself briefly. My
name’s Gail Roughton Branan, has been for 39 years. I’m a Legal Assistant by day, specializing in
trouble-shooting. Find me some trouble,
I’ll shoot it for you. Been doing that for 39 years, too. At night and on the week-ends, in what’s laughingly
called my “off” time, I write books. As Gail Roughton. Using that name, well, it’s sort of a love
song to my Daddy. Besides, nobody can
spell Roughton but at least they know it.
Branan, on the other hand, has a multitude of spellings, and B-r-a-n-a-n
is not the first one that comes to most folks’ minds. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> Writing
books doesn’t work like most folks think it does. You don’t sit down in front of a computer and
start typing and just type and type and type.
Well, you can, but only if you’re typing “See Spot run” or the like over
and over again. You have to pause and savor, listen to the voices in your head,
follow directions from the characters. Sometimes it does come in fairly long
straight-forward streams but mostly it’s a stop and start process. And even if it’s coming in a straight-forward
stream, writers are also doing that thing everybody else does. That thing
called <i>living</i>. Life intrudes. Children and grandchildren and
friends and pets have to be tended to, listened to, laughed with, fed, hugged
and kissed. And thank heavens for that, because without <i>living</i> life, how the heck would we <i>write</i> about it?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> My
family’s particularly tight-knit. My
youngest son Lee’s the only child far from home, he’s a Navy Corpsman,
currently stationed in Portsmouth, Virginia, but even so, he checks in
regularly—at least with his brother and sister, with whom he skypes
regularly. My oldest son still lives at
home. And that’s fine with all of us. He hasn’t found his other half yet.
That’ll come and of course when it does, he’ll move out. In the meantime, he has
a great job, pays his own bills, comes and goes as he pleases, I don’t wash or
fold his clothes, wait on him hand and foot, or cook him anything special. Or
cook much, actually. If I do, and he’s
home, he’s welcome to join in. It’s an
arrangement that works well. We’re all happy.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> My
daughter lives right up the road and works afternoon and early evenings. My
son-in-law is a deputy sheriff so his hours aren’t what you’d call
consistent. Ergo and therefore, my
husband Randy, already retired, is chief cook—well, scratch that, he doesn’t
cook—and bottle washer for our seven year old grandson and year old
granddaughter. He says it makes him feel like a “useful engine” (<i>ala Thomas the Tank Engine</i>, young grandchildren
tend to keep you abreast of all popular cartoons). Hence, my nights are
particularly hectic, but full of prized moments.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> Our
grandson Austin received a Kindle Fire HD from Santa Claus this year. He loves
it. It only leaves his hands when manually pried therefrom, which my daughter
does every morning before school. She slips it into the bag holding Austin’s
after-bath comfy clothes and brings it with her when she brings Kinsley and her
bag to Randy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> There’s
no way Austin doesn’t know where his Kindle is. So I was a bit surprised to
receive a call from my husband Thursday around noontime.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> “Did
Austin forget his Kindle last night when I took him home?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> “Nope.
It was in his hands when he walked down the steps to the truck.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> “Then
what’s this one on Patrick’s bed?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> “I guess
Patrick got a Kindle and didn’t mention it yet.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> “Oh. But
it’s not Austin’s?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> “Nope. He
was still gamin’ away when he got in the truck.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> I walked
in that afternoon to total disaster. At least, Austin thought it was.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> “Grandmama,
Grandmama!! My Kindle’s <i>broke</i>, you got to fix it!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> I looked
down at the screen. Then I looked
again. Sure ‘nuff, the screen was full
of indecipherable gobbedly-gook. I looked closer. Spanish?
He’d managed to change the language settings, no big deal if you knew
where the settings were in the first place, but I didn’t have a clue as I don’t
have a Kindle. I did have some basic
Spanish, but none of these words seemed to fit.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> “How’d
you do that?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> “I don’t
<i>know</i>, I picked it up and my games
were gone, and I tried to get ‘em back! And I hit some buttons and I got an
email from some person I don’t know and I don’t know what it said, and now it
looks like this and I can’t play my <i>games</i>,
Grandmama, <i>fix</i> it!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> “Baby,
that’s outta Grandmama’s league. Mimi (Austinese for his mother, no one knows
why) or Uncle Patrick can fix it, but Grandmama’s not that good.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> “But <i>Grandmama</i>—”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> “No
buts. Grandmama ain’t touching this with a ten foot pole. Where’s your case?
We’re just gonna put it up and wait for Mimi or Uncle Patrick.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> “<i>Grandmama—”<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i> </i>“<i>Austin!</i> Case. <i>Now.”</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> “Okay,
okay, on the piano.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> I went
and looked. Nope. No case. Patrick’s room, probably. And then it hit me.
Patrick’s. Room. Where a Kindle had been charging on the bed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> “Austin,
it’s not on the piano. Did you even take
your Kindle out of your bag after Granddaddy picked you up from school and you
got home?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> Doubt
flitted across his face. “Yesssssss….I
think I did.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> “Randy,
did you call me this morning and tell me Patrick had a Kindle charging on his
bed?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> “Oh.
Crap.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> I raced
for Austin’s bag. Definitely a squarish
hard object contained therein. I pulled
out Austin’s Kindle, safely tucked inside its lime green case.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> “Would
this be yours?”<br />
<!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--><br />
<!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> Sunshine
glowed from the face. “<i>Thanks</i>,
Grandmama! Look, all my games, and now I
can play and—”. Dark, incoming clouds
pushed out the sunshine. “Oh, <i>no!!</i>
I broke Patrick’s Kindle! I broke
my uncle’s Kindle! <i>Oh, no, he’s gonna be
so mad at me!!!”</i> Austin wailed for
all the world like the uncle he had wrapped around his finger from birth (he
had both his uncles wrapped around his finger at birth, actually) habitually
threatened him with loss of life, limb, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> “No,
he’s not. Uncle Patrick can fix this in a heartbeat, Grandmama’s just not techy
enough to know how. Don’t worry about it.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> He subsided
and resumed the important business of helping the Digimon somethings convert
into something else (I think) and the nightly routine continued. Every now and then a new shadow slipped
across his face. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> “Patrick—”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> “Patrick
is <i>not</i> goin’ to be mad at you. He can fix it.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> Randy
left to take the troops home before Patrick came in from work. <i>Hmmm.</i>
How best to bring this up? While I was cogitating my approach, Patrick
walked in his room.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> “Did
Austin find my Kindle?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> “<i>Wellllllll</i>, yeah, he did. Sorta. I didn’t know you had one, when’d you
get it?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> Patrick
laughed. “Couple of days ago. Bet it
drove him crazy. It’s got a Password and
he don’t know it.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> “<i>Wellllll</i>, that’s not entirely—<i>accurate</i>.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> “What
the <i>hell</i>?” Patrick looked blankly at
his screen At the foreign language thereon none of us spoke.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> “Austin.
He thought it was his. And he—kinda changed the language settings. To Spanish,
I think.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> “He
couldn’t have, it’s got a <i>password</i>.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> “The
same one you have on your phone?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> “My
phone’s a swipe pattern, this is a <i>password</i>.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> “You
need a better password, son. He felt terrible, he said you were gonna be so mad
at him.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> “He did <i>not </i>think I was gonna be mad at him.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> “Yeah,
he did.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> “He was <i>scared?</i>”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> “Probably
not, but he knows how to put on a good show.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> “Okay,
let’s see what’s up.” Patrick sat down and got to work. “But this ain’t
Spanish. Don’t know what it is.” Nimble finger flips. “Oh, good Lord! It’s <i>Portuguese</i>! The little pipsqueak! <i>How</i> did he do that? Okay, all fixed. <i>Wait a
minute!</i> This can’t be right. Where’s
all my apps?” More finger flipping. “He’s <i>reset</i>
it to factory settings! It’s like I just bought it! It’s not even <i>registered</i>. How the <i>heck</i>
did he do that?!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> “Never
underestimate the power of a seven year old in search of his games.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> “Well,
maybe when I re-register it—<i>ah</i>! There they are. The Kindle Cloud’s downloading ‘em all back
on.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> Bless
you, Kindle Cloud.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> “Okay,
all fixed. So he got by my password,
changed the language to Portuguese, and then reset the whole thing to factory
condition!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> “Like I
said, never underestimate a seven year old who thinks his game apps are gone.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> The
small dramas in life are the sweetest. I
went back to my laptop and heard Patrick on the phone through the door, on the
phone with Austin.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> “Okay,
it’s all fixed, everything’s fine, don’t worry about it, okay? You just gotta
tell me one thing. <i>How</i> did you get by the password?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> I
smiled. Just another night in Flowers on the Fence Country. Another story to pass
into family folklore. The night Austin
decided we needed to speak Portuguese.
Y’all come back now, hear?</span><o:p></o:p></div>
gail roughton brananhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03258347523766173312noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3965098524381892841.post-48989934224794535552013-09-12T20:22:00.001-04:002013-09-12T20:22:25.414-04:00PRESENTING....<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib6rPIRkMefwIAAXRtPyOqGkZO5SXWNX1yiKb8KHLW5Bs78wa66y0UJ5Sfhyphenhypheni45T8kHDQOwKLABHeHMH6iQz4XKb97vYLg-BcB1oTJ9OiDwGLcELXdouOzgiHx4ApXuHGcncrOivfYZQwn/s1600/WNW-large.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="130" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib6rPIRkMefwIAAXRtPyOqGkZO5SXWNX1yiKb8KHLW5Bs78wa66y0UJ5Sfhyphenhypheni45T8kHDQOwKLABHeHMH6iQz4XKb97vYLg-BcB1oTJ9OiDwGLcELXdouOzgiHx4ApXuHGcncrOivfYZQwn/s640/WNW-large.gif" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;">LIVE ON AMAZON!</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/War-N-Wit-Inc-MeanStreet-LLC-ebook/dp/B00F5BVQKC/ref=sr_1_9?ie=UTF8&qid=1379030484&sr=8-9&keywords=Gail+Roughton">MeanStreet, LLC</a></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxnXHuD4mgfxZ4AUYM-qs43hXQlU0sdT3UU5b15aQqiBbJAEsY6Szd6Q8qXtO1yjvbprrQf3NOxNvtIW6UaJ-rtjfgNgWdDM-Qts0IiHvouvPgjAMSs13arW5P2Rkx7ooAHhhdJOkqGsJi/s1600/Roughton-War-N-Wit-Book4-MeanStreetLLC1333x2000.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxnXHuD4mgfxZ4AUYM-qs43hXQlU0sdT3UU5b15aQqiBbJAEsY6Szd6Q8qXtO1yjvbprrQf3NOxNvtIW6UaJ-rtjfgNgWdDM-Qts0IiHvouvPgjAMSs13arW5P2Rkx7ooAHhhdJOkqGsJi/s640/Roughton-War-N-Wit-Book4-MeanStreetLLC1333x2000.jpg" width="426" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Another wedding day
dawns for the ever-growing Garrett-Forrester Coven as Spike and Stacy get ready
to say “I do”! Don’t expect weddings bells and white gowns, though. It’s off to
the Drive-Thru Tunnel of Love at the Little White Wedding Chapel in Vegas.
Again. It’s sort of a family tradition. But what’s supposed to happen in Vegas
just refuses to stay in Vegas. And you’re not going to believe this side-trip!</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxBQo92wmqMiIZq_4tbZt6ylVTPnnMX6exoMtk-toghn1jtKgdeW6Jr8eLXmWIhffQIFwlhH5TWSlj9ob6Oqjc7TLocvhF531bkmeij4bN6xDCiA2bnWVHWsJrhVZ7pxai-Xd2tp9CVNN6/s1600/CatBk1.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxBQo92wmqMiIZq_4tbZt6ylVTPnnMX6exoMtk-toghn1jtKgdeW6Jr8eLXmWIhffQIFwlhH5TWSlj9ob6Oqjc7TLocvhF531bkmeij4bN6xDCiA2bnWVHWsJrhVZ7pxai-Xd2tp9CVNN6/s1600/CatBk1.gif" /></a></div>
gail roughton brananhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03258347523766173312noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3965098524381892841.post-62364739300464392962013-08-10T13:51:00.001-04:002013-08-10T13:52:02.904-04:00Stock Up!<a href="http://xa.yimg.com/kq/groups/82143243/sn/631489846/name/AmazonSale.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="AmazonSale" border="0" src="http://xa.yimg.com/kq/groups/82143243/sn/631489846/name/AmazonSale.jpg" /></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Just in time for Fall! In case there's an extra minute in your day with the kids back in school! (And of course, all my BWL books are included, too!)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
gail roughton brananhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03258347523766173312noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3965098524381892841.post-46997441866375784142013-06-08T19:41:00.001-04:002013-06-08T19:41:18.241-04:00Trapped!<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Hey y’all! Welcome
back to Flowers on the Fence Country.
Been a while since I’ve invited y’all over, busy press of day-to-day
life and all that. And besides, nothing
much has happened lately I thought might hold your interest enough to sit in my
cyberspace country kitchen and chat with me awhile over coffee. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> But this is
the country, I’m a country girl living a country life, and there’s no way life’s
goin’ to run smoothly for any extended period of time. We were due for some country drama, haven’t
had any since putting in the new hot water heater put too much pressure on the
old pipe connections and rendered me without hot water for a night. Okay, two
nights. Because obviously nobody puts in
a new hot water heater unless the old one’s dead, right? But hey, no
problem. I’m an ol’ pro. Heat some water on the stove, run some cold water
in the bathtub, pour in the heated water, instant bath. Okay, you’re not goin’ to soak in luxurious
bubbles or sigh under a stream of steaming shower water but it gets you
clean. Anybody can do without hot water
for one night. Who knew the next night while
fixing the problem of no hot water, another pipe connection would break and we’d
have to shut off power to the well and thus have <i>no water</i> <i>at all</i>? A fun three days, but just a minor
inconvenience in the course of country living.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Now our household’s always been
non-conventional in lots of respects.
One of our non-conventional features is that hubby, being already
retired while I still brave the interstate into the big city every week day, is
Grandadddy Day Care. Resident Caretaker and
School Transport in Charge of our two young grandchildren for our daughter and
son-in-law. Their jobs have some non-conventional hours sometimes. Certainly
not the hours that fit commercial day care’s time schedule. (My daughter says
she knows how lucky she is to have him, and I know she thinks she does, but
never having <i>not</i> had “in-home
on-demand” day care and thus no basis of comparison, I don’t think she <i>truly</i> does.) Austin’s two months shy of 7 and Kinsley’s just hit six months. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 115%;">And then came last Friday
night. One last downpour with winds and thunder and lightning from the Tropical
Storm that moved from the Gulf up the east coast this week. It was around 7:00 p.m. Austin and I lounged on my bed in front of my
bedroom tv/DVD watching “The Bee Movie” while he ate his supper, seein’ as how Kinsley was asleep on her blanket on the floor
in the living room. Kinsley, according to Granddaddy, been a bit of a prima donna
that day and a little hard to please. In
other words, “Do. Not. Wake. Her. Up.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Suddenly the lights went out
and the television screen went blank. Well, that happens when it rains sometimes. Power goes out. In the country or the city. Usually it doesn’t stay out for very long. “Grandmama! What’s happened?!” It’s
disastrous for the modern American adult when power goes out. For an almost seven year old, it’s
catastrophic. No DVD player, no lights, no computer?! “It won’t be out long,
baby. We’re fine.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 115%;">So Grandmama and Austin grabbed
my “Book” (Austinese for Nook) and retired to the back porch for more light.
And more cool. It’s amazing how quickly
a house gets hot when the power goes out.
Even with all windows open.
Especially on a humid Georgia twilight. A six-month-old, on the other
hand, doesn’t really care about power per se one way or the other. What she cares about is – it’s <i>hot!!</i> This is unacceptable and any baby
lets you know it. Kinsley is no exception.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 115%;">After about thirty, forty-five
minutes, hubby decides to check out the rest of our fair little crossroads town
to see if power’s out all over, or whether we’re the only poor souls so
affected. Which can happen easily
because as I’ve explained before and
explain again for any newcomer—we live in the woods. As in the middle of. Our house is smack dab in the middle of fifty
acres of woods, and our driveway is a half to three-quarter-mile long downward
slope of curves. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 115%;">It’s rained a lot lately here
in middle Georgia. Like I said, that tropical storm in the Gulf. Saturated ground means tree roots loosen
up. Saturated pine needles mean the
trees are top heavy. One final late
evening downpour with wind and thunder and lightning? Well, that frequently means a tree will just
yell, “Enough! I surrender!” And crash over a power line. And when a tree falls
on the driveway it sorta has to be moved before anybody’s going anyplace. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 115%;">This time? Yep. You know it. There’s a tree down at the
top of the driveway. Sure we can move
it. It’s happened before. A little elbow grease never hurt anybody. But a live power wire? Well, that’s a little
different. And this tree was rude enough to take the power line with it and
then lay on top of it. Except for the parts of the power line draped across the
metal farm gate fence at the top of the drive. The one we almost never close,
but the one that’s there, nonetheless.
The one that’s <i>metal</i>. Live power wires and metal are not a good
combination. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Austin, already disrupted by
the power outrage, is now in panic mode. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Grandmama, my heart’s scared!
I’m never goin’ home!!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Baby, you’re <i>fine</i>. Granddaddy’s calling the power
company and they have to come shut off the power before we can get the tree out
of the way. They’ll be here as soon as they can.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “<i>When?</i>”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Soon.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Tonight?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“I hope so, but you’re fine. What’s
the matter, you’ve never spent the night with Grandmama and Granddaddy before?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 115%;">All this to the background of
loud protest from Kinsley, who is edging towards getting hungry and is now
obviously both hot and bothered. Too hot and bothered to eat, in fact. Certainly
not inside, and certainly not in the heat of anybody’s arms. Granddaddy strapped her in her bouncy seat
and sat it on the front porch, leaning over to hold her bottle for her as she
ate. (Forget Grandmama here. She won’t eat for me. Or burp for me. Only thing I’m good for is changing diapers,
as far as she’s concerned.) So I made myself useful by reporting the situation to
the parents.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“I wanta talk to Mimi!”
(Austinese for Mama. To him, my daughter
is Mimi. She’s not Mama or Mommy, she’s Mimi. Don’t know why, she just always
has been.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Okay.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Mimi, my love? (My daughter’s
called Austin “my love” or “my heart” since birth. Consequently, it’s a bit unnerving to hear
their phone conversations sometimes. You
never expect to hear the phrase “my love” come out of a six year old’s mouth.) The
power’s out and my heart’s scared!! And it’s getting’ scareder by the minute!!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Reassuring hug from Grandmama.
Soothing murmers from Mimi over the other end of the phone.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“So can you tell Daddy to get
his friends and come move the tree and come and get me?!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Okay, kid, twist the knife a
little more. This is the child that goes
anywhere with us for any length of time without protest. With enthusiasm, in
fact. This is the kid that spent four
days with us just last month when we drove to the Great Lakes Naval Base for
our youngest son’s graduation from Naval Basic.
The kid who went through Chicago rush hour traffic on a Thursday
afternoon as I cringed scared to death in the passenger seat shouting, “This is
<i>awesome!</i> I <i>love</i> this city!” The kid who
charmed every stranger he met with “We came to see my Uncle Lee. We’re living
in a hotel now.” The kid who proclaimed
said hotel “Awesome!” and wished we could live there “forever”. The indoor pool might have had something to
do with that.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 115%;">More soothing mutters from
Mimi. At least Kinsley was happy. Until those pesky mosquitos drove them off
the front porch. Granddaddy and Kinsley
retired to the bedroom. Not quietly. She
was tired and it wasn’t as hot as it was but it’s wasn’t as cool as she’d like
it to be. Austin and I played the apps
on my “Book” until he tired of them and then sat at the kitchen table with the
flashlight building Lincoln Log houses.
Well, he did, anyway. He’d gotten
me hooked on one of those damned apps. And finally, blessed quiet from the
bedroom. Kinsley’s asleep. This was interspersed with the occasional “Are
you <i>sure</i> we’re gonna be all right?” “Yes, baby.” “I’m never going home <i>again</i>!” “Yes, you are, baby, it’s fine.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 115%;">By this point you understand, I
didn’t even care if the power came back on during the night. Just get the damn
tree out of the way and the kids home and I’d be happy as a clam. I could do without electricity for the
night. But Austin’s heart was “gettin’
scareder by the minute!” And what was I gonna do when the “Book” lost its
battery charge, for heaven’s sake? Desperate, I texted Mimi and asked if the Sheriff’s
Office could exert some influence with Georgia Power and move us up on the list
of priorities. (My son-in-law’s a K-9
Deputy Sheriff.) She sent back, “Okay, but what can the Sheriff do? Georgia Power’s gotta handle the live wire!” I sent back, “I know but maybe they can give
us emergency status—deputy’s children stranded with mean uncaring grandparents
and so scared their hearts hurt!” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I don’t know if she actually
complied with that request or not, but at 9:30 p.m., she called.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“We’re at the gate with Georgia
Power. They’ve been here about half an
hour. The wire’s draped <i>all over</i> the
gate. They’re hooking it up and pulling it back up in the air now. Shouldn’t be
but another few minutes.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Mimi? I wanta talk to Mimi!!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I handed the phone over and sank
back in relief. “Mimi, they’re <i>never</i> coming!! My heart’s really gettin’ scared! And it’s gettin’
scareder by the <i>minute</i>!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Baby, they’re here! It’ll just
be a few minutes and we’ll be down to get you!
Got you a surprise!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Surprise?” Perked ears. “What, what, what?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“It’s at home. You’ll be home
in just a little bit. They’re working.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Okaaaaayyyyyy…..”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Loud noise from driveway. Headlights!!
A giant Georgia Power truck came down the hill, maneuvered and backed up—and
started <i>back</i> up the hill! <i>Noooooooooo!!!!!!!!!</i> <i>Don’t
leave meeeee…………<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Grandmama, they left, they
left!! And the lights aren’t back on!!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Then I realized, “They’re
checking the rest of the lines on the driveway, stupid.” (<i>NO</i>, that was not directed at Austin, I was talking to myself.) <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Five minutes later—surge of
light. “Let there be light.” Truly
glorious words. Whirr of overhead
ceiling fans. Yes, yes, yes. Sound of incoming vehicle as parents came to collect children. Oh, <i>glorious
reunion!</i> Or not. It seemed to have lost urgency with Austin.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Grandmama! Now we can watch
t.v.!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Yes. Priorities here, please. It only took the sight of incoming headlights
to send him flying out the door, though.
And so ended the night when I was <i>Trapped!!
</i> A prisoner of electricity in my own
home. Our children and grandchildren
headed up the driveway. Hubby flipped on
the t.v. Only three innings into the Braves
game seein’ as how they were playing in L. A.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 115%;">We settled onto the couch, twisted
the top of two bottles of beer and pulled open a bag of pork rinds. We’re country. Gotta celebrate the same way.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 115%;">And until drama unfolds again
in Flowers on the Fence Country – take care and y’all come back now, hear?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
gail roughton brananhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03258347523766173312noreply@blogger.com26tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3965098524381892841.post-3996557387705190652013-04-06T18:17:00.001-04:002013-04-07T16:36:17.027-04:00The Coven - War-N-Wit, Inc. Rides Again!<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinhKoaZEMhoEc4EYbDJm5FuThG-_ET-a8S_81x9qCadkTta-J-HCXfuSZHfuzDbUzGQLLbbMFmz-SbZX6OCxhcIsVMcZeO2P0wFiFZgPR_le8AqTcLpkKauBaWyeIO76wh55bEva_J1mI/s1600/WNW-large.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration: none;"><span style="background-color: white; color: black;"><img border="0" height="129" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinhKoaZEMhoEc4EYbDJm5FuThG-_ET-a8S_81x9qCadkTta-J-HCXfuSZHfuzDbUzGQLLbbMFmz-SbZX6OCxhcIsVMcZeO2P0wFiFZgPR_le8AqTcLpkKauBaWyeIO76wh55bEva_J1mI/s640/WNW-large.gif" style="-webkit-box-shadow: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.2) 0px 0px 0px; border-bottom-left-radius: 0px; border-bottom-right-radius: 0px; border-top-left-radius: 0px; border-top-right-radius: 0px; border: 1px solid transparent; box-shadow: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.2) 0px 0px 0px; padding: 8px; position: relative;" width="640" /></span></a></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGP_JPcmS5ww72XBBmswUeEZbzORckT85614Iccihq3K481O_1rFN_P7I3O4JEIJsKA0Ubpd8T7xq-4v_REMpVzBfGQOqDvy1AVnYGMGRgoA_r75VSf-SW62kbC7mdYFsuonm819-MbJs/s1600/CatBk1.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-decoration: none;"><span style="background-color: white; color: black;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGP_JPcmS5ww72XBBmswUeEZbzORckT85614Iccihq3K481O_1rFN_P7I3O4JEIJsKA0Ubpd8T7xq-4v_REMpVzBfGQOqDvy1AVnYGMGRgoA_r75VSf-SW62kbC7mdYFsuonm819-MbJs/s200/CatBk1.gif" style="-webkit-box-shadow: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.2) 0px 0px 0px; border-bottom-left-radius: 0px; border-bottom-right-radius: 0px; border-top-left-radius: 0px; border-top-right-radius: 0px; border: 1px solid transparent; box-shadow: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.2) 0px 0px 0px; padding: 8px; position: relative;" width="200" /></span></a><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: medium;">Daytona Bike Week. Biker’s paradise. The perfect place for Chad and Ariel Garrett to take a few days off and relax with Chad’s buddy Spike and Ariel’s little sister Stacy. But nothing ever goes as planned with that magical duo. Trouble just stalks them like a black cat. Oh, wait! Is that a black cat stalking them? By the name of Micah? A missing agent riding with an outlaw biker gang, a call from Chad’s past, and War-N-Wit, Inc.’s riding again. On Harleys!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span class="songlinehighlighted"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/War-N-Wit-Inc-Coven-Book-ebook/dp/B00C6QUK38/ref=sr_1_8?ie=UTF8&qid=1365279803&sr=8-8&keywords=Gail+Roughton" rel="noreferrer" style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">http://www.amazon.com/War-N-Wit-Inc-Coven-Book-ebook/dp/B00C6QUK38/ref=sr_1_8?ie=UTF8&qid=1365279803&sr=8-8&keywords=Gail+Roughton</span></a></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span class="songlinehighlighted"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span><span class="songlinehighlighted"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: medium;">“<i>Ewwwwwwwwwwwhhhhhhhh!</i>”<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
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<span class="songlinehighlighted"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span class="songlinehighlighted"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: medium;">A shriek sounded from the loud and raucous table next to us. A chair banged back and high-pitched feminine laughter exploded as a gyrating body danced in the floor space between tables.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span class="songlinehighlighted"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span class="songlinehighlighted"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: medium;">“Okay, honey, you been waiting to do that all night! Get your eye-full!”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span class="songlinehighlighted"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: medium;">Stacy’s eyes widened as the long-haired blonde thrust out her considerable chest, now showcased by the white t-shirt dripping beer. I’d already noticed bras weren’t considered a necessary part of the wardrobe for Bikers Week. Certainly not by this blonde.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span class="songlinehighlighted"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: medium;">One of the guys at the blonde’s table clapped madly and shouted “Too many dry t-shirts in this place! Let’s fix that!”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span class="songlinehighlighted"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: medium;">A deluge of beer exploded over my chest. Stacy gasped with me and I knew she’d been baptized too.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span class="songlinehighlighted"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: medium;">“<i>Aw man! No fair!</i> These chicks wearin’ <i>bras!</i>”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span class="songlinehighlighted"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: medium;">“<i>You gotta be kiddin’!”<o:p></o:p></i></span></span></div>
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<span class="songlinehighlighted"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: medium;"><i>“C’mon, lil’ darlin’s, you gotta get with the program here!</i>”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span class="songlinehighlighted"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: medium;">“You want a <i>program</i>, buddy? How’s <i>this </i>for a program? How’s this feel?” Stacy surged out of her chair and drew the arm holding her beer mug back in a modified version of the underhand softball pitch that terrorized neighborhood soft ball games every summer of her childhood. She got two of the cat-callers with one shot. Full in the face. I wasn’t sure she’d gotten the one calling attention to our under-apparel wardrobe and besides, I didn’t want her having all the fun, so I stood up and tossed mine. I got two of them too, not as forcefully as Stacy’s toss, but I’d never been an athlete.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span class="songlinehighlighted"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: medium;">The tossed bikers sputtered. The blonde with the impressive chest screamed “<i>Bitch!</i>” She grabbed her mug and tossed the contents in our direction. She’d never played neighborhood softball. It went way wide and caught a biker sitting at a table next to ours.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span class="songlinehighlighted"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: medium;">“<i>Son-of-a-bitch!</i>” Everybody at that table picked up their mugs. Beer exploded over Chad and Spike and quite a few innocent by-standers.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span class="songlinehighlighted"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: medium;">Within minutes, the whole place joined the action. Clouds of beer rained down over the whole room.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span class="songlinehighlighted"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: medium;">Chad grabbed my hand, Spike grabbed Stacy’s, and pulled us, non-too gently, toward the door, ducking under arms and weaving through bodies. As we passed the register, Chad tossed our bill and a hundred onto the counter.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span class="songlinehighlighted"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: medium;">“Keep the change!” We barreled out onto the street and stood. We all looked at each other.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span class="songlinehighlighted"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: medium;">Chad shook his head.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span class="songlinehighlighted"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: medium;">“Damn, can’t take you two anywhere.” </span><o:p></o:p></span><br /><span class="songlinehighlighted"><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJw_1CEMHfo84w6Yo_SAECtYvrz_6Wm29dqc0F2wIckt1GLSspqJ0HcCBkFpXtpMAifneZ1kcYvs03T5K6ika9yX-X0KwVw-8MO7KFLT1FV4blLDiqW-5aTKaVkBOLpogsHwzitrQEj_8/s1600/CatBk2.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration: none;"><span style="background-color: white; color: black;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJw_1CEMHfo84w6Yo_SAECtYvrz_6Wm29dqc0F2wIckt1GLSspqJ0HcCBkFpXtpMAifneZ1kcYvs03T5K6ika9yX-X0KwVw-8MO7KFLT1FV4blLDiqW-5aTKaVkBOLpogsHwzitrQEj_8/s200/CatBk2.gif" style="-webkit-box-shadow: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.2) 0px 0px 0px; border-bottom-left-radius: 0px; border-bottom-right-radius: 0px; border-top-left-radius: 0px; border-top-right-radius: 0px; border: 1px solid transparent; box-shadow: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.2) 0px 0px 0px; padding: 8px; position: relative;" width="100" /></span></a></div>
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<br style="background-color: #141414; color: white; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;" />gail roughton brananhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03258347523766173312noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3965098524381892841.post-12924244668173275842013-04-05T08:11:00.000-04:002013-04-05T08:11:05.095-04:00A Few Lines From....<br /><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>Do you ever -- spot read? Glance through a book to see if the writing catches your fancy? I do. Sometimes I can tell right off -- now there's a book with a plot. Or some great characters, just waiting for you to meet. Some of my friends and I thought it might be fun to throw out some samples. And to start, here's</b></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small; text-decoration: none;"><a href="http://bwlauthors.blogspot.com/2013/04/a-few-lines-from-margaret-tanner.html" style="text-decoration: none;">A Few Lines From . . . Margaret Tanner</a></span></h3>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-A3s3KTdE4l8/UVowYfV9CrI/AAAAAAAAEKc/198gne-_STM/s1600/55327_girl-writing_lg.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-decoration: none;"><span style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" height="194" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-A3s3KTdE4l8/UVowYfV9CrI/AAAAAAAAEKc/198gne-_STM/s200/55327_girl-writing_lg.gif" style="border: none; position: relative;" width="200" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">This week enjoy a few lines from Books We Love author Margaret Tanner's novel, Fiery Possession.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /><span id="yui_3_7_2_1_1364864995893_1816">Jo Saunders<span id="yui_3_7_2_1_1364864995893_1815" lang="EN-US"> did to him what no other woman had done in years. Set his pulses racing, exciting him to the point where he nearly lost control. </span><span id="yui_3_7_2_1_1364864995893_1818" lang="EN-US">Damn Jo Saunders. Damn her to hell.</span></span><span id="yui_3_7_2_1_1364864995893_1834" lang="EN-US"><span id="yui_3_7_2_1_1364864995893_1832"> </span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span id="yui_3_7_2_1_1364864995893_1816" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><span id="yui_3_7_2_1_1364864995893_1818" lang="EN-US"> </span></span><br /><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span id="yui_3_7_2_1_1364864995893_1816"><span id="yui_3_7_2_1_1364864995893_1818" lang="EN-US"><span id="yui_3_7_2_1_1364864995893_1816"><span id="yui_3_7_2_1_1364864995893_1818" lang="EN-US"><span id="yui_3_7_2_1_1364864995893_1834" lang="EN-US"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Fiery-Possession-ebook/dp/B00C2JOK6M/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1364548536&sr=1-1&keywords=fiery+possession" id="yui_3_7_2_1_1364864995893_1833" rel="noreferrer" style="text-decoration: none;" target="_blank"><span id="yui_3_7_2_1_1364864995893_1832">http://www.amazon.com/Fiery-Possession-ebook/dp/B00C2JOK6M/</span></a></span></span></span> </span></span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span id="yui_3_7_2_1_1364864995893_1816"><span id="yui_3_7_2_1_1364864995893_1818" lang="EN-US"> </span></span></span><br /><span id="yui_3_7_2_1_1364864995893_1816"><span id="yui_3_7_2_1_1364864995893_1818" lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Please come back on April 12 to read Roseanne Dowell's exciting snippet. </span></span></span></span></div>
gail roughton brananhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03258347523766173312noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3965098524381892841.post-12860830329992844592013-03-29T11:33:00.000-04:002013-03-29T11:35:48.548-04:00Deadbeat Dads -- Roseanne Dowell's Latest Release!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTWscY0Tl51XDQelcMWU44MMGz4z70InCTlqgGfVSEoeCXWY3X75CUxKhQ0V96rPDy_k7URIT3GOdP16ZZu-Jk7r82jjCS3Aq62DGxlu1-8fvOY2J6EVEySRl7ibxGDIEF0yW0vpcBxdQh/s1600/picture.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTWscY0Tl51XDQelcMWU44MMGz4z70InCTlqgGfVSEoeCXWY3X75CUxKhQ0V96rPDy_k7URIT3GOdP16ZZu-Jk7r82jjCS3Aq62DGxlu1-8fvOY2J6EVEySRl7ibxGDIEF0yW0vpcBxdQh/s200/picture.jpg" width="191" /></a><span style="background: white; color: #441111; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Hey, y’all! Welcome back to
Flowers on the Fence country. And
welcome back to one of my closest cyber-space friends, prolific writer Roseanne
Dowell. She’s introducing her latest
release, <i>Deadbeat Dads</i>. I don’t know about y’all, but the very title
put me on alert this book dealt with a topic women are intimately acquainted
with, either personally or through at least one and usually several of our friends. And since it’s Ro Dowell’s book, I was
equally sure there’d be some moments of great humor. Since I’m fortunate enough
to be one of Ro’s Alpha readers, I didn’t have to wait long to find out – I was
right! So tell us about it, Ro! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #441111; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">First off, thank you, Gail, for allowing me to post on your blog again.
Gail and I met through our mutual publishers. Although we live almost a
thousand miles apart, we've become good friends and sounding boards for each
other. Gail was a great help in giving legal advice, brainstorming and editing
this book. I know she doesn't want everyone to know it (says it'll ruin her
reputation), but she really is a sweetheart. I have a feeling most of our
fellow authors already know that anyway. So I'm not revealing any big secret. I
hope someday we'll actually meet.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="background: white; color: #441111; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">(Note from
Gail before we get to <i>Deadbeat Dads. I am not a sweetheart. I am tart and spicy.</i> I keep tellin’ folks
that but nobody <i>listens! </i>Oh, and the
brainstorming and sounding board thing? Definitely mutual. My current WIP would be much the poorer
without Ro’s input.)</span></b><b><span style="color: #441111; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPAt7lZG5zUB8sovR7Rm7WvJiJ7ErIVZ1l-Np0xfLiCOgfzK0yb9c6vnYCLIyZoeqK5kfgMOMisiQy96LLx-lKShAv74LwWR0MkTGRM6btbRNliEqHm9nHxJGnXwIu_LGKNFGGnSVE7KUW/s1600/Deadbeat+Dads.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPAt7lZG5zUB8sovR7Rm7WvJiJ7ErIVZ1l-Np0xfLiCOgfzK0yb9c6vnYCLIyZoeqK5kfgMOMisiQy96LLx-lKShAv74LwWR0MkTGRM6btbRNliEqHm9nHxJGnXwIu_LGKNFGGnSVE7KUW/s320/Deadbeat+Dads.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="background: white; color: #441111; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">How many men leave their wives and families and ignore them? After
her husband leaves her for a younger woman, Erica Morris starts a group for ex
wives of deadbeat dads and was surprised to learn how many there were. In the process
of rebuilding her life, someone tries to blackmail her. Can she put the past
behind her or will it catch up to her?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #441111; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> Available from Amazon at http://amzn.to/YWDVBf </span><span style="color: #441111; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Courier New"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13pt;"> EXCERPT:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13pt;">Does everyone start out married life with rose colored glasses?
I'm sure no one thinks their marriage will end in divorce. I certainly didn't.
Mine was the perfect love, the perfect marriage, I was going to have the
perfect life, and it was an absolutely perfect day for a wedding. The sun
streamed through the window as I walked down the aisle on my father’s arm.
Johnny looked so handsome standing at the altar waiting for me. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13pt;">Oh, I knew we'd have our ups and downs. I’ve always been a
realist. I know nothing in life is perfect. But we came darn close. At least
that’s what I thought. So how did I end up divorced, fifteen years later? If
anyone would have told me about the turn my life would take I’d have laughed at
them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13pt;">Oh, I’m Erica Morris. Well, I
was Erica Morris until recently. Now I’m divorced and left to raise two kids.
Johnny, my husband left me for a younger woman. Not a new story, I know, but
that doesn’t make it hurt less. To top it all off, he cut himself off from our
kids and left me to be the bearer of bad news. To make matters worse, he
refused to pay child support. Not that he couldn’t afford it. Believe me, he
could well afford it, and then some. But he left us
penniless? I need to back up a bit. I remember calling the meeting
of other single mothers to order.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13pt;">***<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13pt;">“Okay ladies,” I looked at the
women gathered around me. Lisa Daly, who encouraged me to start this group, was
here and Nicole Brown. Poor thing never went out while she was married. Oh, and
Louise Conners, I still couldn’t believe her husband ran off with his
receptionist, and now they were going through a nasty divorce. Not sure why
that surprised more than the others. It shouldn’t. There was quite a turn out.
Half the women I didn’t know.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13pt;">I brought my attention back to
the meeting. “First order of business, a name for our group, any ideas?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13pt;">“Deadbeat Dads Anonymous,”
someone called out. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13pt;">“Wives of Deadbeat Dads,”
someone else yelled. “Or Women Against Deadbeat Dads.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13pt;">“Better yet, how about Mothers
Against Deadbeat Dads. MADD!” Lisa Daly shouted.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13pt;">I laughed. I couldn’t help it.
There certainly wasn’t a shortage of names. “We’re mad for sure but that sounds
too much like Mothers Against Drunk Drivers.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13pt;">“ADD,” someone else yelled.
Against Deadbeat Dads.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13pt;">Nicole Brown’s hand went up.
“Nicole, what’s your idea?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13pt;">“How about Wives Enraged at
Deadbeat Dads. W.E.D.D.?” Nicole’s voice barely reached above a whisper.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13pt;">Poor Nicole. Her ex-husband had
knocked her self confidence so low. I was surprised to even see her here.
I met her at a school function. Nicole’s daughter, Cindy, was in the same class
as my Josh. I had heard through the grapevine that Bob, Nicole’s ex, had run
off with a stripper. Talk about humiliating. I shivered at the thought. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13pt;">Suddenly everyone came alive.
Shouts of “Hey, that’s great, I like that,” sounded throughout the room. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13pt;">“Okay then it sounds unanimous,
Wives Enraged at Deadbeat Dads it is. All in favor raise your hands. W.E.D.D.”
Kind of funny when you thought about it. None of us were wed any more.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13pt;">Twelve hands went up.
“Motion carried. We are officially Wives Enraged at Deadbeat Dads. Now we need
to set up a schedule for our meetings and discuss our agenda. First, we need
to choose a Chairperson.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13pt;">Nicole’s hand went up again. “I
nominate Erica Morris for chair person.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13pt;">“I second that motion.” Lisa
Daly raised her hand. “This group was your idea. I think you should chair
it.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13pt;">Me as chair person? I wasn’t
too crazy about the idea. “Any other nominations?” I hoped someone would raise
their hand. No such luck. Heat rushed into my face. I had a feeling it turned
as red as my hair, which was pretty red. I wasn’t used to being the center of
attention. Never liked it and sure didn’t care for it now.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13pt;">The room remained quiet.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13pt;">No other nominees. “Okay then,
all in favor, show of hands. Motion carried, I guess I’m the chairperson. Thank
you, I’m flattered.” Flattered but a little taken aback. Hopefully, I wouldn’t
let anyone down. “Let’s break for refreshments and we can continue our
discussion while we snack.” I needed a moment to myself.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13pt;">I never expected the group to
name me chairperson. I’d never chaired anything in my life. In fact, the
parents group at my children’s school was the only other group I had ever
joined.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13pt;">Johnny didn’t like me to go out
and do things. He expected his wife to stay home, and God forbid, I even
suggested going out alone while he stayed home with the kids. Anger
flared in me as I recalled how often he came home late. Working, yeah
right, spending time with his playmates was more like it. How could I have been
so stupid? I remembered the day he told me he was leaving. Just like that out
of the clear blue sky.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13pt;">“It’s not working for us,
Erica,” Johnny said. “I found someone else.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13pt;">Oh, he found someone else all
right, his young, sexy secretary. You could have knocked me over with a
feather. I should have known. All the signs were there, his late hours
and lipstick on his collar. He was comforting the wife of a friend, he lied. I
did a slow burn as the memories returned. And then he left, packed his clothes
and just walked out without even a goodbye to the kids, left me to deal with
them as usual. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13pt;">Katie and Josh woke up the next
morning expecting to see their father. Not that they saw much of him, but
sometimes he ate breakfast with them and made polite conversation. That was
nine months ago, and he hadn’t been back since, not even to visit the kids. He
wanted a quick no fault divorce so he could marry his pregnant secretary.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13pt;">I almost refused, but figured
why fight it? The kids and I were better off without him, but how do you
explain to an eight and ten year old that their father doesn’t care about them,
that he had a new life with a new baby? It was one thing to forget about
me, but not the kids. And I haven’t received even one of the child support
payments he agreed to pay in the divorce settlement.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13pt;">“Erica, hey are you okay?”
Lisa’s hand on my shoulder startled me. “You look mad enough to spit
nails. Thinking about Johnny, I bet.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13pt;">“Huh, oh yeah sorry, my mind
was wandering. Yeah. I was thinking about Johnny. I just can’t believe he
doesn’t care about the kids. He’s missed every scheduled visit. He doesn’t
return my calls, and of course I can’t get past his secretary, uh wife, at the
office or at home. I could have him arrested, but with his connections
he’d get off Scott-free. I know it.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13pt;">“Well that’s why we started
this group isn’t it? Come on if we all put our heads together we’ll come up
with something to make them pay.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13pt;">The rest of the meeting
involved mostly chit chat about this ex hubby or that one and how rotten they
all were. It was small consolation to know others had the same problem.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #441111; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 17px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px;">http://amzn.to/YWDVBf</span></div>
gail roughton brananhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03258347523766173312noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3965098524381892841.post-18741076396178410642013-03-21T08:16:00.001-04:002013-03-21T08:17:59.165-04:00J. Q. Rose Presents -- Coda to Murder<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkWPfzgxB6LQY7V-P9MZWS39_KLb4hm16seaCgkWyPLGRgjecfsOW20Wc5oBLG4UmKAbf1SF9va4If1JoBTlzScUro7KX0okXbprQCSuwbjqcFYuS_czOF-zXzYHYzNqDMrRVSmhLGAlA1/s1600/jq+convertible.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkWPfzgxB6LQY7V-P9MZWS39_KLb4hm16seaCgkWyPLGRgjecfsOW20Wc5oBLG4UmKAbf1SF9va4If1JoBTlzScUro7KX0okXbprQCSuwbjqcFYuS_czOF-zXzYHYzNqDMrRVSmhLGAlA1/s200/jq+convertible.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Hey
y’all! Welcome back to Flowers on the Fence
Country! Today I’m hosting a dear friend
of mine, one I actually got to meet last year as she and her husband headed
home for northern climes from their winter stay in Florida. I’m hopin’ like heck I get to see them again
this spring, but a visit in the cyber-space kitchen’s pretty good too! So please welcome – J. Q. Rose!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Howdy,
ya’all. Oh, okay, you can probably tell I’m not from Georgia like Gail. I’m a
Northerner, but I do spend the winter in the south in Florida. I’m delighted to
be visiting Gail’s blog, Flowers on the Fence. She is such a talented storyteller
and seems to have a new book out every day! I am honored she invited me to come
over to Flowers on the Fence to share my mystery/romance with ya’all. (Did that
sound more Southern?)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Please
leave a comment when you visit. It will enter your name into the random drawing
for prizes. Winners will be announced tomorrow, Friday, March 22 after 9 pm on
the J.Q. Rose blog. I am collecting commenters’ names all the way back to the
kick-off of the Coda to Murder book tour on February 25. The more you comment
the better your chances to win. Check on my blog for the schedule. Thank you.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/51tuAJKcAhL._AA160_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Product Details" border="0" height="320" src="http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/51tuAJKcAhL._AA160_.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Pastor
Christine Hobbs never imagined she would be caring for a flock that includes a
pig, a kangaroo, and a murderer.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Conflict
by J.Q. Rose<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Conflicts
in real life are no fun whether it is with a family member, neighbor, or the
cable company. But oh how we love to read about conflicts in our stories. Since
Bible times we have been listening and reading to find out the solution to the
problem. Will the main character in the story overcome the conflict with a
satisfying conclusion for us?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">We
all know the guy in the black hat is the bad guy and the fella in the white hat
with the white teeth gleaming through his smile is the good guy. Sometimes it
isn’t quite that apparent. Some clever novelists lead you to believe the white
hat guy is the good guy then yank the rug out from under you when you find out
it isn’t true.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">In
my new mystery/romance, <i>Coda to Murder</i>,
the conflict is between my main character, Pastor Christine Hobbs, and
Detective Cole Stephens. He’s trying to prove she’s the one who murdered the
Director of Music at the church. Now that IS a major conflict. The other
problem is she is drawn to this handsome, broad-shouldered detective with the
gorgeous brown eyes. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">EXCERPT
from Coda to Murder:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Christine
couldn’t make the decisions. The
toppings for her sub sandwich all looked good.
She knew it was the height of the rush hour, and people were waiting for
her. Too many choices to enhance the
turkey sandwich. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"> “Come on, Hobbs. Make up your mind. Mustard, mayo, pickles, white American
cheese, lettuce, oil.” Cole stood next
to her, waiting for her to make her choices.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"> She glared at the pushy detective and
then turned to the sandwich maker and said, “Yeah, all that plus tomato and
onions.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"> “Good, finally. You can dress mine the same. No tomato and
extra cheese.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"> Cole caught up with her at the drink
station where she was debating about what pop to choose. “I imagine you are a diet cola drinker. May I pour?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"> “Oh, thank you.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"> “Ah, you need some caffeine, eh,
Preacher?” His eyes sparkled. She relaxed and returned his smile.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"> “I see you have your sandwich to
go. Me, too. I’ll meet you at the lakefront park for
lunch, under the big oak tree. Lots of
shade and a beautiful view of the water.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"> “Oh, but I have….” She stopped to
check her watch. No, she didn’t have an appointment. She had the lunch hour free today. She had no excuse, and of course, a preacher
couldn’t tell a lie. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"> “Okay, I’ll meet you there in a
minute.” What was she thinking? He’s the man who’s trying to send her to
prison. Well, what’s wrong with having lunch with a handsome policeman? After
all there was that saying, “Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"># # # #<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">BACK
OF THE BOOK<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Pastor<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>Christine<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>Hobbs has been in the pulpit business
for over five years. She never imagined herself caring for a flock that
includes a pig, a kangaroo, and a murderer.<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Detective Cole Stephens doesn't want the pretty
pastor to get away with murdering the church music director. His investigative
methods infuriate Christine as much as his deep brown eyes attract her. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Can they find the real killer and build a loving
relationship based on trust?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">BUY
LINKS:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Now
available at MuseItUp Publishing- <b><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;"><a href="http://tinyurl.com/anax9x7">http://tinyurl.com/anax9x7</a><o:p></o:p></span></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Amazon.com
<b><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;"><a href="http://tinyurl.com/ap376tb">http://tinyurl.com/ap376tb</a><o:p></o:p></span></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">bn.com
and major online booksellers.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">BIO-
After writing feature articles in magazines, newspapers, and online magazines
for over fifteen years, J.Q. Rose entered the world of fiction writing with her
first published novella<i>, Sunshine
Boulevard</i>, released by MuseItUp Publishing in 2011. Her latest mystery, <i>Coda to Murder</i>, was released in
February. Blogging, photography, Pegs and Jokers board games, and travel are
the things that keep her out of trouble. Spending winters in Florida with her
husband allows Janet the opportunity to enjoy the life of a snowbird. Summer
finds her camping and hunting toads, frogs, and salamanders with her four
grandsons and granddaughter.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Connect with J.Q. Rose
online at<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">J.Q. Rose blog <a href="http://www.jqrose.com/">http://www.jqrose.com/</a><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Girls Succeed blog <span style="background: white; color: #222222;"><a href="http://girlssucceed.blogspot.com/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #1155cc;">http://girlssucceed.blogspot.com/</span></a><o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Author website <a href="http://jqrose.webs.com/">http://jqrose.webs.com/</a><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">J. Q. Rose Amazon Author Page <span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;"><a href="http://tinyurl.com/aeuv4m4">http://tinyurl.com/aeuv4m4</a><o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
gail roughton brananhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03258347523766173312noreply@blogger.com29tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3965098524381892841.post-9170492885648715622013-03-10T18:26:00.000-04:002013-03-10T19:38:52.208-04:00The Book of Kells<br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt;">Hey y’all! Welcome back to Flowers on the Fence
country! My visitor today (I’d refer to
him as today’s flower but I’m scared to—somehow I don’t think soldiers would
much care for the comparison) is celebrating St. Patrick’s Day. Ireland’s given us a rich heritage and on St.
Patrick’s Day, everyone has a touch o’ the Irish. A touch o’ the Irish passed down in part by
the Irish monks who produced one of the true artworks of the Middle Ages. Please welcome Stan Hampton, Sr. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzxcPOjC5oxN-SA0wvBUAbJ363FwtpJr7g_0JpggrYF0xpBaOZiKrL4MzqLZj8QXiXasmRD3Rb8VLBrHGjDV_USgfuQGnTF1HYOVUmCaQo10-BT3om1XN_rDa-ypjHuct5bSHfOu8I947q/s1600/P1010064.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzxcPOjC5oxN-SA0wvBUAbJ363FwtpJr7g_0JpggrYF0xpBaOZiKrL4MzqLZj8QXiXasmRD3Rb8VLBrHGjDV_USgfuQGnTF1HYOVUmCaQo10-BT3om1XN_rDa-ypjHuct5bSHfOu8I947q/s200/P1010064.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt;">Saint Patrick’s Day is here—it is time
to celebrate all things Irish. While I appreciate many things Irish there is
one thing that always boggles my mind: the Book of Kells. Though many Medieval
manuscripts are wonderfully written and illustrated, the Book of Kells, which
dates from the 8th century, is an incredibly beautiful work of art on vellum
(calfskin) pages that “contains the Gospels of Matthew, Mark and Luke, and the
Gospel of John through John 17:13” <www.en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Book_of_Kells#Medieval_period>.
The Book of Kells is located at The Old Library & the Book of Kells
Exhibition at Trinity College Library Dublin <www.tcd.ie/Library/bookofkells/book-of-kells/>.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHv9yYs5_3JGQFdlntcpTMCtsxtNEtSAf3skIXKS3ICE8mWRYCcj1EfzSUWu5yvCXjqtNKXXYJsmJLGfi5s9-hLSPoAVGHr_aRdCyREhnNkHpzVNDCMcy_XZU0nXuh_lz37niwTtoTNknT/s1600/portrait_of_john.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHv9yYs5_3JGQFdlntcpTMCtsxtNEtSAf3skIXKS3ICE8mWRYCcj1EfzSUWu5yvCXjqtNKXXYJsmJLGfi5s9-hLSPoAVGHr_aRdCyREhnNkHpzVNDCMcy_XZU0nXuh_lz37niwTtoTNknT/s200/portrait_of_john.jpg" width="156" /></a><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">The birthplace of the Book of Kells is
said to be a monastery located on Iona, an island located to the west of
Scotland. After Viking raids the monks took refuge at the monastery of Kells,
County Meath, which also was attacked by the Vikings. The Book survived the many
challenges of the Middle Ages until it was taken to Trinity College for
safekeeping in the mid-17th century. It has remained there ever since
(Wikipedia).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbeUP4QjQzVryvlYTv44TRaHywWhO1F-8YV8_KCV2k5Fo5JkPb4D_E918j03iidYXi0Pn5BqlyfaqOIne00BInKODMimB3HZDeMKlB0sojmmTgWscmov0fGeWCvBaGA_hqO1Zq_vCKIgwz/s1600/mattportrait.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/AVvXsEjbeUP4QjQzVryvlYTv44TRaHywWhO1F-8YV8_KCV2k5Fo5JkPb4D_E918j03iidYXi0Pn5BqlyfaqOIne00BInKODMimB3HZDeMKlB0sojmmTgWscmov0fGeWCvBaGA_hqO1Zq_vCKIgwz/s200/mattportrait.jpg" width="150" /></a><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">When I think of the Book of Kells I
think not so much of the Book itself, but what it took to make such a wonderful
testament to the beliefs of the Irish monks, their dedication to writing, and
their artistic creativity.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Outside of the monastery the Dark Ages
had descended; the world was a dark and fearful time. The Romans withdrew from
the British Isles hundreds of years before. Tribes were coming over from the
European mainland seeking new homes or to take by force whatever they desired.
Life was precarious and often short, and the end sometimes violent. Famines
occurred from time to time. The monks who labored over the Book in their
scriptorium were a small island of literacy and thought within a greater world
of illiteracy and superstition.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBYM_eOo4VOnGMg_l3HfuNeRsy-8keQaM1XP8gOuwVAnf9_4GqMbjD-FyJ2UxJHSxJATF3nyf0-dcCnJyU-OJdLjLTvggBsM0GZoF_nroIIBPKd2niP_zG0D_K9co88ZoFhyphenhyphenYZqF7-Io9Q/s1600/mattincip.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBYM_eOo4VOnGMg_l3HfuNeRsy-8keQaM1XP8gOuwVAnf9_4GqMbjD-FyJ2UxJHSxJATF3nyf0-dcCnJyU-OJdLjLTvggBsM0GZoF_nroIIBPKd2niP_zG0D_K9co88ZoFhyphenhyphenYZqF7-Io9Q/s200/mattincip.jpg" width="136" /></a><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Imagine sitting in a scriptorium day
after day laboring over vellum pages that was processed from calfskin; that
process of removing the hair and meat from the skin and letting it air dry into
vellum is lengthy and time-consuming. Afterwards the pages had to be trimmed, quill
pens crafted, and ink and colorful paint made from natural materials. The monks
ensured their lines were straight and did not meander up and down the page. The
artwork (illumination) had to be planned and carefully painted.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_SGyqb91kgF4YQe_vo_opMJ-FhZ7zMCDj4sqauKMuk-nguia216h_adAVouN1SFR8Pt5pPW6dEJXGIqoQGxsQ-eFZyCwU34qMa8M-OAzSPsE-Q3IpUBOOUoWYU8ilf6bPs0HS3-joDL9m/s1600/folio007madonnachild.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/AVvXsEj_SGyqb91kgF4YQe_vo_opMJ-FhZ7zMCDj4sqauKMuk-nguia216h_adAVouN1SFR8Pt5pPW6dEJXGIqoQGxsQ-eFZyCwU34qMa8M-OAzSPsE-Q3IpUBOOUoWYU8ilf6bPs0HS3-joDL9m/s200/folio007madonnachild.jpg" width="152" /></a><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">This would have taken place within the
monastery, within the scriptorium—tolerable during the spring and summer, cold
and drafty during fall and winter. Yet the monks toiled on without computers,
graphics software, inkjet printers, the Internet, and even central air—and
created the Book of Kells.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">For those of us in this new and still
evolving e-publishing world, whether writer, illustrator, or editor, we follow
in the footsteps of a rich heritage. Let us hope that we do the memory of the
monks of Iona and Kells, and all of the Medieval scribes, proud.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt;">Happy Saint Patrick’s Day!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Manuscritos
Medievais (by Luis Alberto Marcos Peon)
<www.youtube.com/watch?v=dL009AticOU&playnext=1&list=PL63D2BC8B347DB43D&feature=results_video><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Medieval
Manuscript Reproduction, Part 3a: Writing
<www.youtube.com/watch?v=RoTl5KFacBs><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Medieval
Manuscript Reproduction, Part 5a: Painting an Illuminated Letter
<www.youtube.com/watch?v=Oa8gMb0YC68><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Pens,
Paint-making, and Illumination – NYPL’s Three Faiths Scriptorium
<www.youtube.com/watch?v=IIUQznSEPl0><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">How
Parchment Is Made – Domesday – BBC Two
<www.youtube.com/watch?v=2-SpLPFaRd0><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">SS
Hampton, Sr. is a full-blood Choctaw of the Choctaw Nation of Oklahoma, a
divorced grandfather to 13 wonderful grandchildren, a published photographer
and photojournalist, and a member of the Military Writers Society of America.
He is a serving member of the Army National Guard with the rank of staff
sergeant, with prior service in the active duty Army (1974-1985), the Army
Individual Ready Reserve (1985-1995) (mobilized for the Persian Gulf War), and
enlisted in the Army National Guard in October 2004, after which he was mobilized
for Federal active duty for almost three years. Hampton is a veteran of
Operations Noble Eagle (2004-2006) and Iraqi Freedom (2006-2007). His writings
have appeared as stand-alone stories and in anthologies from Dark Opus Press,
Edge Science Fiction & Fantasy, Melange Books, Musa Publishing, MuseItUp
Publishing, Ravenous Romance, and as stand-alone stories in Horror Bound
Magazine, Ruthie’s Club, Lucrezia Magazine, The Harrow, and River Walk Journal,
among others. Second career goals include being an aspiring painter and studying
for a degree in photography and anthropology—hopefully to someday work in and
photograph underwater archaeology. After 12 years of brown desert in the
Southwest and overseas, he misses the Rocky Mountains, yellow aspens in the
fall, running rivers, and a warm fireplace during snowy winters. As of December
2011, in Las Vegas, Nevada, Hampton officially became a homeless Iraq War
veteran.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Hampton’s
Amazon Author Page can be found at:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">http://www.amazon.com/SS-Hampton-Sr/e/B00BJ9EVKQ<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Hampton’s
Amazon.com. UK Author Page can be found at:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">http://www.amazon.co.uk/SS-Hampton-Sr/e/B00BJ9EVKQ<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />gail roughton brananhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03258347523766173312noreply@blogger.com25tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3965098524381892841.post-73218064566588467872013-03-06T20:04:00.003-05:002013-03-06T20:04:29.685-05:00To My Ironman..With Love...<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13.0pt;">As
a reader, have you ever read a novel that seemed so real you could smell baking
bread, feel the heat of the sun beating down on your head, hear the roars of a
crowd? If you’re a confirmed reader, one who always has a book going (usually
one in each room), you almost certainly have.
Because it’s those moments, those scenes, those books, that make reading
so much more than a pleasant diversion and turn a casual reader into a book
addict. Those moments, those scenes,
those books—they take readers to another world, another place, another time and
introduce them to characters they feel they know, folks they’d like to sit down
with over coffee. Or beer. Depends on the time of the day, I guess.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13.0pt;">So
here’s the Sixty-Four Thousand Dollar question.
How does a writer <i>write</i> such
scenes, such books? Not that I’m saying
I do, mind you. I’d like to think so, at
least occasionally, and I know that while I’m writing, I myself am in another
place and time. But not because I’m using my imagination to create one. Because
I’m tapping my <i>memory</i> to reproduce
them. Not exactly, of course. Not the actual moment, the actual event. I want the feel, the flavor, the <i>taste</i>, of that memory. And I want it to come through to the
reader. But even more than that, I want
to put that memory into words that I can take out and visit with whenever I so
choose. Bet you didn’t know that, huh?
That basically, writers are selfish people who in the final analysis,
write for themselves and not for others.
Which isn’t selfish at all, really, because by doing so, they <i>create</i> those scenes that turn readers
into book addicts.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13.0pt;">What’s
all that got to do with an “Ironman”?
Well, last year I published a novel very near and dear to my heart. <i>Down
Home</i>. It’s about—home folks. The small town, rural South. One of my characters, my heroine’s son Jake,
is actually a composite of both my own sons (<i>but don’t</i> <i>tell them that)</i>. Jake attends a small private school, Rockland
Academy, and he’s the Running Back for the football team. But here’s the thing. Rockland Academy’s so small it can’t field a full football team
with separate offense and defense squads.
Oh, no. It fields eleven
players. Total. Which means that these high school athletes
play both offense and defense. It means
they <i>never</i> come off the field during
a game. <i>Never</i>. The county refers to it as “Ironman Football”. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13.0pt;">Far-fetched,
you think? Not hardly. It was absolute reality in my own home county, at the
small private school my sons attended. The
team known throughout the county as the “Ironman Team”. My youngest son Lee was No. 99. My middle
child and oldest son Patrick announced the games from the broadcasting
booth. There was something so—<i>endearing</i>—about hearing one brother
announce for the other. I never recorded any of those games, at least not
electronically. I recorded every one of
them in my brain, though, and I can hear Patrick as clearly as if the game were
playing right this minute. <i>“And that’s a <b>sack</b> of the <b>quarterback</b>
by No. 99, Lee Branan!” </i>My favorite
was <i>“Somebody call the Sheriff, we done
been <b>robbed</b>!”</i> Anybody who’s read <i>Down Home</i>’s heard him too, in the character of Patrick Lewis, the
self-styled “Voice of Rockland Academy” as he announced one of the Rockland
Academy games. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13.0pt;">I
walked the fence at every home game at the school that’s the basis for the
fictional Rockland Academy, just like <i>Down
Home</i>’s heroine Maggie did. She
watched Jake, I watched Lee, but we were both really watching our son. Our Ironman.
I remember one game in which the other team’s quarterback drew back to
throw and sent the ball on its beginning spiral down the field. And under the
field lights, a figure in the home colors shot into the air, bisected the arrow
of golden haze hovering above the field and knocked the ball down. I knew it
was Lee, even without the confirmation of the big 99 on the jersey, or the
Coach’s roar, “Lee!! Lee Branan!! <i>OUTSTANDING</i>
play!!” I’d give a million dollars if I
had it for a picture of that moment, that figure caught in mid-air in the
golden haze, but moments like those – you just can’t plan for. So you take the picture in your heart
instead, which is probably even better.
Because the colors never fade.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13.0pt;">My
Ironman left home Monday, March 4. On
Tuesday, March 5, his group of recruits traveled to Chicago, Illinois, and
thence to Waukegan, Illinois, to report for Naval Basic Training. After that, he’ll be headed (probably) to
Fort Sam Houston to train as a medic. Which means I’ve been predominately a
mother this past week, subject to bouts of extreme pride alternating with
overpowering (but so far resisted) urges to squall like a baby. When a child “leaves home”, it doesn’t matter
to any mother that the child is grown, that it’s time for them to explore their
own world and create their own life. It
doesn’t matter that you’re certain they’ve chosen the right career path, that
you know in your soul it’s the right thing for them, that this is <i>their</i> time. It just hurts.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13.0pt;">Oddly
enough, one of the things that makes me feel better when my pendulum’s swinging
towards that overwhelming urge to squall like a baby are two pictures of Lee
I’ve had on my desk since his Sophomore year in high school. Pictures of my Ironman. I smile when I look at them, when I see his
stance, when I remember I could pick him out across any football field, from
any distance, just by the way he stood.
Pictures of a tired warrior coming off the field for the very few
minutes he had available until he ran back onto it. Pictures that tell me he was part of
something very special then, and he’s part of something very special now. That of course he’ll be just fine. He’s an Ironman. He’s my Ironman. I love you, son.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
gail roughton brananhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03258347523766173312noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3965098524381892841.post-22383738212634782522013-01-27T19:33:00.000-05:002013-01-28T07:21:17.268-05:00New Broom(stick) in Town!<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Hey y’all! Welcome
back to Flowers on the Fence Country.
Today one of my best cyber buddies visits to celebrate the release last
week of <i>Tex, The Witch Boy</i>. Tex is in high school. And I don’t know about y’all, but if somebody
told me I had to go through high school again, I’d run screamin’ to the nearest
insane asylum. ‘Cause the first time
just about drove me crazy. I wouldn’t
survive a repeat. And I’m thinkin’ Tex’s
experience isn’t all that much better, am I right?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span></div>
</div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Hi Gail! And thanks for allowing me to visit and talk a
little bit about my book <i>Tex, The Witch
Boy</i>.</span><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqF565XErkhUJDYM_jIDqOQnLaokdFspgKW4VRnqtaa8qUf2pko7ZA0MhPFLg3MJJ_xybTlLc1iVu2txq1NSIV4D2A-Sj_qj5zSNh7ixM4S84gq3LXCxwRCLtJhHoQx0rwdSgFZCg0xppR/s1600/Tex+Cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqF565XErkhUJDYM_jIDqOQnLaokdFspgKW4VRnqtaa8qUf2pko7ZA0MhPFLg3MJJ_xybTlLc1iVu2txq1NSIV4D2A-Sj_qj5zSNh7ixM4S84gq3LXCxwRCLtJhHoQx0rwdSgFZCg0xppR/s320/Tex+Cover.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Yes, let’s chat about high school. Even though I’ve been out
for (ahem) quite some time, I still have nightmares about it. The cliques, the
ongoing quest for acceptance. Dodge-ball. But mostly, I still remember the
cruel unnecessary bullying.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Richard “Tex” McKenna, a high school sophomore, faces these
challenges every day. Really he just wants to survive high school along with
his small, but loyal, group of friends. But Tex has got bigger issues going on.
He’s learned he’s a witch. Not even a warlock or something cool like that. He’s
a bonafide witch. Now you’d think witchcraft powers might make his high school
life easier. You’d think wrong! </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1QFxCFNMjbI5Q3pMdikzIIYp-9Ig-kBWL3dQfFcV9gmIVE1QbdqD4UrQKtv2uQuHIPtRvP9pC0TC7tFVg5GsDCakkL6NLS-DSSg92eEiFN_6M_MO8mcveovg9NoAC_YRp-XWN0_8yPoWE/s1600/Stewart+West-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1QFxCFNMjbI5Q3pMdikzIIYp-9Ig-kBWL3dQfFcV9gmIVE1QbdqD4UrQKtv2uQuHIPtRvP9pC0TC7tFVg5GsDCakkL6NLS-DSSg92eEiFN_6M_MO8mcveovg9NoAC_YRp-XWN0_8yPoWE/s320/Stewart+West-1.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Sort of a supernatural trouble magnet, Tex
finds himself deep in mystery and danger when someone starts murdering the high
school bullies. The sadistic vice-principal, the police, and fellow students
believe Tex is involved. He has no choice but to use his new-found witch powers
to uncover the murderer. Before the murderer targets Tex and his friends.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Whew. And you thought <i>your</i>
high school days were tough? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Tex, The Witch Boy</span></i><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> began life based upon a handful of bullying incidents that
happened to either me or a friend of mine in high school. They were a
particularly cruel and violent bunch. Sadly, bullying hasn’t changed since my
tenure in the hells of high school. My daughter recently finished high school
and supplied me with updated tales of bullying. I wrote the book to try and
reach bullied teens. I want to let them know there’s hope and to hang in there. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">And there’s nothing wrong with finding a sympathetic adult and telling him
what’s going on.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">So I guess you can say <i>Tex,
The Witch Boy</i> is kinda, sorta a true story. Except for the witchcraft and
serial killer aspects, of course! It’s a murder mystery, suspense thriller,
comedy-drama, romance, lightly paranormal whatsit.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Here’s Tex now. I’m going to let him tell you about the
first time he met his friend Olivia…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsmkQ9jItELnNTE603QYxdPoeBIySpM2bcoBJl2z5D2KRSygqJYC-1gTwJuAZGOeamBq8B_MoePqTsaXeiTP-Ae1S32LOx1BdVDcykc46HqIk4RkQVhk3YqeTZf9DD02ClkikhMjKDoCVc/s1600/TEXTHEWITCHBOY+banner.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="147" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsmkQ9jItELnNTE603QYxdPoeBIySpM2bcoBJl2z5D2KRSygqJYC-1gTwJuAZGOeamBq8B_MoePqTsaXeiTP-Ae1S32LOx1BdVDcykc46HqIk4RkQVhk3YqeTZf9DD02ClkikhMjKDoCVc/s400/TEXTHEWITCHBOY+banner.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13.0pt;">I’d only known Olivia
since the start of our sophomore year, but already she was one of the few
people I could honestly call a friend. One week after school started, a short
girl wearing a beat-up jean jacket, a Clash T-shirt, and a streak of orange
adorning the long black hair hanging over one of her eyes burst into speech class.
She carried a folded-up piece of paper and a sense of excitement about her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13.0pt;">After Miss Swanson
studied the paper, she announced, “Class, this is Olivia Furman. She’s a new
student here, so please make her feel welcome. Olivia, go sit over by Richard.”
Since I was short on friends and “school cred,” several seats were free next to
me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13.0pt;">Once Miss Swanson
assigned the latest group project (which I always hated, since I felt like the
overweight kid, always chosen last in gym class), Olivia turned to me and said,
“Okay, what’s the deal with that Hastings Nazi?” Arville Hastings was the
notoriously scary, hard-ass vice-principal of our beloved school. Right then, I
knew Olivia was someone I wanted to know and have in my corner.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13.0pt;">“What happened?” I
asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13.0pt;">“I just came from that
jerk’s office.” Her one visible eye lit up. “He spent forty-five minutes
telling me I needed to stay away from the stoners, the slackers, and the
freaks, and if I wanted to make it, I should dress more appropriately and get
to know people like the cheerleaders and the football team and…” Olivia had been
listing off every notation with her bejeweled fingers. She was so out of breath
with indignation, it took her a minute to stop and notice I was laughing.
Suddenly, she burst into a loud guffaw, attracting the irate attention of Miss
Swanson.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13.0pt;">“Is there something
funny about our group project, Richard?” Miss Swanson asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13.0pt;">“No, sorry. We’re just
trying to come up with a topic for our group speech.” I leaned in closer to
Olivia and said quietly, “Welcome to sophomore year of ‘Nazi High.’ I’m Tex, by
the way.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13.0pt;">“I thought your name was
Richard.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13.0pt;">“Well, I suppose
technically, it is. But Richard’s such a stupid name, and I’ve learned the
nickname for Richard is something far worse…”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13.0pt;">Olivia stared at me
until she realized what I meant and bellowed out another donkey-laugh. With
lightning speed, Miss Swanson stood over our huddled heads, arms akimbo,
attempting to intimidate us into silence.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13.0pt;">“Do you have a topic for
your group speech, yet?” Miss Swanson barely kept her anger simmering under the
surface of her matronly manner.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13.0pt;">“Yes,” screamed Olivia,
“teenage anarchy!” And with that, we both did our worst at stifling the rush of
exploding laughter. We also knew a friendship was forged from the fires of
speech class. Literally saved by the classroom bell, Olivia was spared another
visit to her new friend, Arville Hastings. The fates were kind to us that day.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Tex, The Witch Boy: </span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Tex-The-Witch-Boy-ebook/dp/B00B3U5OWU/ref=la_B00B419X5C_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1358833062&sr=1-1"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">http://www.amazon.com/Tex-The-Witch-Boy-ebook/dp/B00B3U5OWU/ref=la_B00B419X5C_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1358833062&sr=1-1</span></a><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Blog: </span><a href="http://stuartrwest.blogspot.com/"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">http://stuartrwest.blogspot.com/</span></a><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/stuartrwestwriter<o:p></o:p></span></div>
gail roughton brananhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03258347523766173312noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3965098524381892841.post-69892855964936293572013-01-05T19:50:00.002-05:002013-01-05T20:05:11.389-05:00Godspeed<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Yesterday I lost a friend I’ve never met. Not physically, that is. That’s one of the wonders of cyberspace. That
you can meet so many people who become friends, even if you’ve never actually
“met” them, people you know as well and sometimes better than the people you
work with every day.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMw2VeanUSQZndcs6eGbFAUIc2yTCUidqgKmOk-bg4TMvc47ENenamsjpNPGdEnYzNsVouiR99fr2Wu8O5sbtgk8a_zAddZQ_8cCNEqUysRF4M0RMCuNuxXxMPc8X8GS0jLNyCBYM8po6w/s1600/Pat+Dale.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMw2VeanUSQZndcs6eGbFAUIc2yTCUidqgKmOk-bg4TMvc47ENenamsjpNPGdEnYzNsVouiR99fr2Wu8O5sbtgk8a_zAddZQ_8cCNEqUysRF4M0RMCuNuxXxMPc8X8GS0jLNyCBYM8po6w/s320/Pat+Dale.jpg" width="296" /></a><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Nowhere is this truer than in the world of e-books
writers. I entered the professional
world of e-books in 2011, a raw newbie who’d written for twenty years and
promptly thrown each completed book in the closet. The world of e-publishing opened
opportunities for writers unheard of in the traditional publishing industry. My first book was accepted for publication in
April, 2011. I was overwhelmed, excited
as all get-out, and scared to death. The
writers of e-publishing companies connect with each other via e-mail (fancy
that) and I read every e-mail with bated breath, taking note of names and
forming impressions of each writer. It
didn’t take long for me to take note of a gentleman by the name of Dale Thompson
who wrote as Pat Dale. And quite
frankly, he scared the hell out of me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Dale Thompson said what he meant and meant what he
said. He had firm opinions and he pulled
no punches. And I resolved to stay way <i>under</i> his radar. Then I wrote my first blog, a guest blog
actually, before I’d ever set up either of my own two blogs. That particular blog was a memorial to a dear
friend I’d lost a few years back, an explanation as to why, when my first blog
went up, it was going to be dedicated to her memory and named “Flowers on the
Fence.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Dale Thompson, aka Pat Dale was the <i>last</i> person I expected to stop in and read that guest blog. But he did.
And he left a comment wherein he told me I’d left him “teary-eyed”. I
emailed him privately to thank him as opposed to thanking him in the “writers
loop” where the writers generally corresponded. That was the beginning of a
friendship I will always treasure.
Already multi-published (whereas I still didn’t have my first book out),
he became one of my mentors, offering the benefits of his experience. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">He was a Renaissance Man, a professional musician, a
teacher, a writer. A student of the
human condition. I had a very long book that had haunted me for twenty
years. Sometimes I thought it was
wonderful. Sometimes I thought it was <i>awful.
</i>But having become a “professional”, I <i>knew</i> it had become a mishmash of evolving styles as I’d worked on
it through the years and learned a bit of writing craftsmanship. I didn’t know what to do with it, whether I
should re-write what was already there or just delete it in its entirety and
start over. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I sent the first few chapters to Dale and explained the
situation. And told him I was really close to just deleting the whole thing and
being done with it. He sent back, “Do.
Not. Discard. This. Book. <i>Do you hear me</i>?” That’s a direct quote, with exact
punctuation. I’ve got that kind of
memory, a handy thing for a writer to have.
That book became two books, actually, <i>The Color of Seven</i> and <i>The
Color of Dusk</i>, published individually and as the <i>Dark </i>series set.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Very shortly after that, Dale announced to the writers’
loops (we both published with two of the same publishing companies) that he’d
been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, which had been discovered much earlier
than pancreatic cancer is usually diagnosed, which was an awesomely good
thing. Unhappy with the course of
treatment described by his first set of doctors, he sought a second opinion. Actually, as he said, his wife Patricia
sought a second opinion and discovered a wonderful set of doctors with a highly
successful protocol for treatment. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Dale Thompson loved his wife. It was obvious in every word he wrote about
her and his family. Married for over
thirty-five years, I’ve seldom known a man so in love with his wife. That love, for Patricia and for his family
and for life in general, pulled him through.
At the onset of treatment, when he knew he’d be out of touch for weeks, maybe
months at a time, he emailed me, “I’m not going down without a fight”. I sent back, “No, old friend, neither of us
is going gentle into that good night.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKwGhwf1H_IwXj52qzisI2JEqgNafzNOiYVS4QI8T2JuCaOY-JQrsSEmtR-F8xZnPuZ9tJGEycgTxT5id_cXplkpuw0VM_yJ0yvdc4dATdlz7fzYxSLX2cgJRQY0HZHCkrhL7YiGnDfXPH/s1600/Dale-MagicoftheChimes200x300.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKwGhwf1H_IwXj52qzisI2JEqgNafzNOiYVS4QI8T2JuCaOY-JQrsSEmtR-F8xZnPuZ9tJGEycgTxT5id_cXplkpuw0VM_yJ0yvdc4dATdlz7fzYxSLX2cgJRQY0HZHCkrhL7YiGnDfXPH/s320/Dale-MagicoftheChimes200x300.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">He fought. He
won. That’s both the beauty and the
sadness of his death. Before Thanksgiving,
the doctors declared him cancer free. He
had a wonderful Thanksgiving and Christmas with his family. He began to re-gain weight. He worked on his books, not that he’d ever
really stopped that, no writer ever does.
If all else fails, we just write in our memories and hope enough
survives for future translation to the computer screen.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">On January 4, 2013, Dale Thompson, also known as Pat Dale,
died of a massive heart attack. And no,
he did not go gentle into that good night.
He went in triumph, a warrior who’d won his battle and left a legacy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">His books will remain up and available. In fact, <i>Magic
of the Chimes</i> will publish very shortly, his final gift to us. And so goodbye and Godspeed, old friend. I
never met you, but I loved you. I’ll
miss you. And you'll forever be a Flower on my Fence.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
gail roughton brananhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03258347523766173312noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3965098524381892841.post-29158747219195778862012-12-16T20:41:00.001-05:002012-12-16T20:43:08.293-05:00Highway to Memories<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />Saturday I traveled back in
time. And I have a story to tell, a
special flower to introduce. I created
Flowers on the Fence to share just such stories, back when I first entered the
publishing world as a wide-eyed newbie who didn’t have a clue what she was
doing or when or where to do it. Though
I have to say now that I’m a fairly seasoned multi-published author (seven books
counts as multi-published, right?) I still frequently don’t have a clue what I’m
doing or when or where to do it. Those
books came out at a fairly rapid rate. Please
understand, I didn’t <i>write</i> them all
at one time, they’ve been patiently sitting in my closet, some of them for
years, waiting for the moment when I, as a writer, had developed enough skill
to polish them as they deserved and acquired two publishers who believed in me
enough to bring them into the world. In
the press of liberating those books from the closet, Flowers on the Fence fell
by the wayside a bit. It’s been a while
since I’ve entered my own self-proclaimed “Writer’s Country Kitchen” to sit and
visit. Sip some coffee. Tell a tale or two. Share a laugh, a tear, a memory.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">But Saturday?
Saturday, I’d like to share. And the
spot to share it is right here. Welcome
back to Flowers on the Fence Country. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">I was born
and raised in Middle Georgia, square in the middle of the state, but that’s not
where my family’s roots are.</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">My family,
both sides of it, came from a valley that runs up and down the central eastern
border of Alabama/western border of Georgia, right across the Chattahoochee
River.</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">Several towns run almost
indistinguishably together along that border.</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">
</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">Lanett, Valley, Fairfax, Hugley, Langdale, West Point, though West Point’s
actually in Georgia.</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">Throughout my
childhood, I traveled an old State Highway, Highway 18 West, over to that
Valley to visit grandparents and uncles and aunts and cousins.</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">When I was very small, we took Highway 41 up
to Highway 18 and cut west over.</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">When I
was seven or eight, Interstate 75 was born and opened, and we took I-75 up to
Forsyth before exiting the interstate to hit Highway 18. (Yes, I’m that
old.</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">Born before interstates.)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I loved that
drive, the meander through small southern towns, the Courthouses on the squares
that required you to circle them rather than just pass them, the old Victorian
houses and occasional ante-bellum mansions standing right by tumble-down
shanty-shacks. The old filling stations,
the rolling pastures. Forsyth to
Barnesville to Zebulon to Concord to Molena to Woodbury to Pine Mountain to
West Point to Lanett and then on down the strip of towns. Until I-85 went in. After that you could hop on I-85 outside of
West Point and be almost in Lanett.
There’s a cemetery in that Valley where I can stand on one row and see
most of the names I know to be in my genealogy tree – Roughton, Lankford, Edge,
Anderson, Knowles. And there’s a book in
that Valley. And I intend to write it. Somewhere. Sometime.
The story of interwoven families of sharecroppers and mill workers. The Valley was a textile mill valley for a very
long time, and when the mills shut down that Valley suffered just as much as
Detroit suffered when the car manufacturers began to decline. Ironically enough, West Point is now home to a
big Kia plant, so things are looking up in the Valley.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Mostly
though, for me, that Valley’s where one of my special flowers lives. My Aunt Reba.
My mother’s oldest brother’s wife, as we’d describe the relationship down
here. How special is Aunt Reba? Well, let’s see. She’s 94.
She was born October 31, 1918.
Yes, Halloween. When I call, I
say, “Hey Aunt Reba!” and she always responds, “Heeeyyyyy, Gail!” (And NO, I’m not her only niece so it’s not a
no-brainer.) She stills lives in her own
house, because thankfully her son and daughter-in-law built their house many
years back on part of her property and her wonderful daughter-in-law, my cousin
Barbara, takes wonderful care of her. No
nursing homes or assisted living for Aunt Reba.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; text-indent: 0.5in;">I didn’t see her that often
growing up, but when I did – magic happened.</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; text-indent: 0.5in;">Because Aunt Reba loved me unconditionally.</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; text-indent: 0.5in;">Just because I was me.</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; text-indent: 0.5in;">The way she loves everyone she loves.</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; text-indent: 0.5in;">Think about it.</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; text-indent: 0.5in;">That’s rare.</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; text-indent: 0.5in;">Not because of blood, or because she was supposed to, or because I was
smart or because I was pretty.</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; text-indent: 0.5in;">Because I
was </span><i style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; text-indent: 0.5in;">me</i><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; text-indent: 0.5in;">.</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; text-indent: 0.5in;">My cousin Debbie, seven years younger than
me, loves her just as much as I do, for the same reason.</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; text-indent: 0.5in;">My sister Dianne, whom I lost about fifteen
years ago now, did too.</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; text-indent: 0.5in;">When my sister
was in the last two years of her life, dying slowly though none of us would
admit it, Aunt Reba, then in her late seventies, early eighties, made the drive
over to us by herself frequently, staying with Dianne and helping to take care
of her for weeks at a time.</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">My cousin Debbie
emailed me a few weeks ago. “When have
you talked to Aunt Reba? She’s not doing
well, she had a stroke the first of November.”
Well, in the press of day-to-day life and work and everything that goes
along with it, I’m ashamed to say how long it had been since I talked to Aunt
Reba, so I won’t. I’d thought about it,
of course. “Oh, I need to call Aunt
Reba! But it’s too late, she’s already
in bed!” “Oh, I need to call Aunt
Reba! But first let me finish this or
that or the other so I can talk a long time.” And of course, after I finished
whatever that was, something else demanded attention.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">That email
was a wake-up call, though. Someday
there wouldn’t be a tomorrow for me to call Aunt Reba. I called Aunt Reba. Scared to death. Scared she wouldn’t know me. Scared she’d sound – like tomorrows were
about over. But I called. “Aunt Reba?”
“Heeeeyyyyyyyy, Gail!!” Oh, my
Lord, those were wonderful words to hear, spoken with the same enthusiasm and
zest for life her voice always held. Her memory seemed as good as ever and if
she stumbled over a name or event occasionally, it certainly wasn’t any more
often than I do myself. The only residual
problem she had, she said, was being unable to stand or walk too long before
she “knew things weren’t right” and she had to sit back down. This was caused by “sludge” moving on out of the
veins, and she would, she assured me, be right as rain by spring, according to
her doctor when all of said “sludge” had finished disbursing. She sounded like – Aunt Reba. And I had a
second chance to appreciate her all over again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">We made the
trip to Alabama Saturday, my husband and me, on that Highway of Memories, 18
West, and she was delighted to see us. I
came bearing new warm fuzzy slippers and a year’s supply of Find-A-Word and
Cross-Word Puzzle Books and pens and pencils.
Aunt Reba and Find-A-Word books and Cross-Word puzzles are
interchangeable. You can’t have one
without the other, she’s worked them for years.
Something that I’m sure is a factor in her continued mental acuity. We had a wonderful visit and I ran out to
visit the Colonel for lunch and brought it back. We sat at her table and laughed and ate and
ate and laughed, and I fixed a big plate of the remainder for her supper,
should she care to indulge, or her lunch the next day, should she not be hungry
that night. We ate a <i>lot</i>, good company does that, have you
ever noticed? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> We took our
leave, and I traveled my highway of memories in reverse on the way back home,
treasuring the day. My childhood re-visited. My Aunt, still well and alert and in fighting
form at 94. And no, the days won’t slip
by now without me realizing its been a few days since I talked to Aunt
Reba. And no, nothing else pressing will
come up to prevent me from doing so. Second
chances are limited. And I’m taking
advantage of this one while I can. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">I hope you enjoyed meeting my Aunt
Reba, this very special Flower on the Fence. </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">And y’all come back now, hear?</span><br />
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gail roughton brananhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03258347523766173312noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3965098524381892841.post-18064540423174158412012-05-14T07:58:00.000-04:002012-05-14T07:58:01.977-04:00A Mother's Nightmare - Elusive Mission<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUSMWaGUJAwiOfyaWuL268tM0CDWb-ViXE9_xYH4w4NbFMzmzuiPVBcXi-a0qduY6L3hC-7tl98iAGT-73GtF9tzku6EnSE2NodwdvZFE-P5QIk8g2MLOO2FjlUbNiFgekmRmXhrS9HtX3/s1600/rdsm%5B1%5D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUSMWaGUJAwiOfyaWuL268tM0CDWb-ViXE9_xYH4w4NbFMzmzuiPVBcXi-a0qduY6L3hC-7tl98iAGT-73GtF9tzku6EnSE2NodwdvZFE-P5QIk8g2MLOO2FjlUbNiFgekmRmXhrS9HtX3/s1600/rdsm%5B1%5D.jpg" /></a>Hey y’all!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Welcome
back to Flowers on the Fence Country!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And welcome once again to one of the most prolific writers I know, my
dear friend, Roseanne Dowell.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sort of.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Roseanne herself doesn’t usually come to the
actual visits.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She sends her
heroine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We all know our heroines are
real, of course.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After all, we’re the
ones who conceived them, nurtured them, and finally – birthed them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Welcome to the world, Vanessa Gleason!</div>
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In my wildest dreams, I never
imagined giving up my daughter. Not for any amount of money. But that’s exactly
what happened. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Let me start at the beginning. I’m
Vanessa Gleason, formerly Sanford. I married Charles Sanford five years ago
after a whirlwind romance. I met Charles when I worked at a law firm in
Cleveland. Charles was from Cincinnati. He often had dealings with our law firm
so was in Cleveland a lot. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
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His charm and smooth talk soon
swept me off my feet. It didn’t take long. From the minute I first saw him, I
was attracted. Not just by his good looks, but they sure didn’t hurt. There was
something about him. His attention, probably. <o:p></o:p></div>
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When he asked me for dinner the
first time, well let’s just say I was flattered. Charles had quite a
reputation. Not only was he wealthy, his came from a very prestigious law firm
and his name was well known in society.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I couldn’t imagine what he wanted
with me. I mean, seriously. I was nothing. A lowly secretary – okay executive
secretary, but still, that was nothing compared to Charles.<o:p></o:p></div>
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After a year, he convinced me to
leave Morgan, Wilson, & Howe and work for him. I didn’t have anything holding
me here in Cleveland. My parents were deceased. I didn’t have any other family
and not even any close friends. It was a chance of a lifetime. Besides, Sanford,
Pillar and Dunmore wasn’t just a prestigious law firm, they were the elite. The
top. Not to mention, I’d get to see Charles every day, a fact he didn’t need to
point out. I was already infatuated. I wanted to see where our relationship
would lead. Seeing Charles on a daily basis as compared to his occasional
visits to Cleveland would surely turn into something more permanent. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
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Charles showered me with flowers
and gifts. Jewelry, artwork, flowers, you name it. He never showed up without
something for me. He literally swept me off my feet. His attention and
affection had me head over heels in love. <o:p></o:p></div>
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When he asked me to marry him, I
didn’t have to think twice. So after a whirlwind, fairy book romance, we
married. Charles’s mother, Mrs. Sanford, took charge of everything. From
picking out my dress to the smallest detail of favors for the tables. After
all, what did I know about planning a society wedding for almost a thousand
people? I was more than willing to let her do it. Although, I would have liked
to pick out my own dress. But, she was paying for it, after all. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Married life wasn’t much different
than being single. Other than Mrs. Sanford convinced Charles I should quit my
job. There was more than enough to keep me busy running his home and
volunteering with her and Joanna, Charles’s sister. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
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I didn’t mind. I was ecstatic.
Finally, I was part of a family again and Charles certainly did have a large
house-twenty-five rooms, fifteen servants, cooks, butler, and chauffer. They
soon became my friends, much to Mrs. Sandford’s chagrin. One didn’t fraternize
with the help. Not that I had much time. Mrs. Sanford whisked me off to this
charity event or that one, not to mention the garden club and giving the
servants order filled my days. Evenings were spent at the club. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
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It was one constant whirlwind of
activity and at first I loved it, but it wasn’t a life I was used to and after
a few weeks, I would have loved to just stay home and spend time with my
husband.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once I got pregnant with my
daughter, I didn’t go as often. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mrs.
Sanford, who never missed an opportunity to criticize me, became more vocal,
insisting we attend. I gave in, as usual.<o:p></o:p></div>
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After I had Alyssa, I flat out
refused to go. For a week or so, Charles stayed home with me, but then his
mother nagged and nagged. The next thing I knew, we were constantly arguing. He
insisted I hire a nanny for Alyssa and go with him. I flat out refused. This
was my daughter and I was raising her, not a nanny. That’s when Mrs. Sanford
really turned on the viciousness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Nothing I did was right. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Charles went to the club every
night. I heard through the grapevine, Emily Winfield joined him. Emily was the
woman Mrs. Sanford chose for Charles. To use her words: ‘Emily was much more
suitable for Charles.’ Well, they were welcome to each other as far as I was
concerned. The nastier Charles got, the more I realized our marriage was a lie.
Charles didn’t love me, probably never had. I’m not sure why he married me when
he could have had Emily to begin with. Something about Emily being engaged to
someone else, from what the servants said. So, I was just a pretty face for him
to entertain his clients. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I didn’t care. I had Alyssa and
that’s all that mattered. Until Charles asked for a divorce that is. That’s
when my world fell apart. The divorce he could have. I didn’t care. But not my
daughter. <o:p></o:p></div>
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To learn more you’ll have to read the
book, available from Amazon at: <a href="http://amzn.to/elusivemission"><span style="color: blue;">http://amzn.to/elusivemission</span></a></div>
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Excerpt:</div>
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<span style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Vanessa
blinked back tears. The empty feeling inside wasn’t going to subside any time
soon and hiding away in a hotel room wouldn’t change anything. Besides, tears
wouldn’t bring Alyssa back. But, somehow, someway she was going to get her
daughter back. What was her baby doing? Did she miss her? Was she crying? God,
she missed her daughter. Missed their morning ritual—the loving and hugging and
cuddling. Every day for two years, they started the day the same way. </span></div>
<div class="Default" style="margin: 1em 0px; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: 11.5pt;">At
least they did until two weeks ago. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Never
in her life had she felt such anger and pain. Tears burned her eyes, slid down
her cheeks. Powerless to stop them, sobs shook her body. Gulping back the sobs,
Vanessa looked around the small hotel room. Okay, so it wasn’t the Ritz, but it
was clean and reasonably priced. Luxury wasn’t important. Never had been before
and sure as heck wasn’t now. The important thing now was figuring a way to get
her daughter back. Time to pull herself together and get on with life, find a
job. Two weeks of self-pity was enough. Vanessa swung her legs over the side of
the bed, went to the bathroom, and turned on the water for the shower. She
needed a plan. Crying didn’t solve a darn thing. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11.5pt;">The
hot water ran down her gaunt body, and Vanessa lathered her tangled auburn
hair. Was it only two weeks ago life seemed normal? How could things have
changed so suddenly? But it wasn’t sudden. A divorce had been coming for a long
time. She just never expected it to end without Alyssa. Vanessa shivered
getting out of the shower and wrapped the towel around her. Her only chance of
getting Alyssa back was to find a job, and to make a fresh start. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Showered
and dressed, Vanessa caught her reflection in the mirror. High sunken
cheekbones sat beneath green eyes that stared back at her with a vacant look.
How had her face become so skeletal in two weeks? What happened to the woman,
who had her hair done weekly, never appeared without makeup, and worked out
every day? Not that she cared about all that pampering. None of that mattered,
never really had. What mattered was her baby. Living without luxuries was easy.
She’d done it all her life. But losing Alyssa left a hole in her heart. Never
had she experienced such pain. Not even when her parents died. Losing her child
tore her apart. Tears burned her eyes again. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Vanessa
gulped back the tears and turned away from the mirror, straightened her
shoulders and stood to her full five foot eight height. Through the years her
height had afforded her many advantages, and she’d been proud of it. Not so
long ago, it had given her confidence and security. Time to regain that
confidence. She was down, but not broken. No other way to beat Charles and his
mother to win custody of Alyssa, and beat them she would. She’d be darned if
Mrs. Sanford was going to raise her daughter. Not in this lifetime. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Charles—what
a mistake he turned out to be. Although he had provided well for the past five
years, the past was over. He didn’t matter anymore. Hadn’t really mattered for
a long time. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11.5pt;">She
brushed the hair from her forehead, smoothed her blouse and took a last look at
the unfamiliar person that stared back at her. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11.5pt;">“Time to get down to business, first thing to find a
job.” Her voice in the empty room shocked her. It was the first time she’d
spoken in almost two weeks. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Clutching
her sweater tight to block out the wind, Vanessa hurried across the parking lot
to the motel lobby and purchased a paper. Back in her room, she shivered,
poured a cup of coffee, sat down at the small round table, and opened the paper
to the classifieds. The settlement money from Charles was safe in an account,
but she didn’t want to count on it to live. Besides, it wouldn’t last forever.
It was time to do something for her, to feel worthwhile again, and that money
was the start to getting Alyssa back. Vanessa smiled. Nothing would make her
happier than beating Charles with his own money. But it would take a lot more
than what she had to find a lawyer who could beat him. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Memory
of signing the papers and taking the money invaded her thoughts. That sneering
smile and hushed tone of Mrs. Sanford made her skin crawl, even now. The words
would be forever implanted in her mind. “Charles has been more than generous in
his settlement. You ought to be grateful, dear.” </span></div>
<div class="Default" style="margin: 1em 0px; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Oh
yeah, more than generous, but at what price? And grateful, for what? That they
forced her give up her daughter? That Charles had threatened her? Mrs.
Sanford’s idea of grateful and hers sure didn’t agree. And that dear, if she
never heard that term again, it would be too soon, especially the way Mrs.
Sanford said it. But they weren’t going to win. Not by a long shot. </span></div>
<div class="Default" style="margin: 1em 0px; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Vanessa
set the paper aside, closed her eyes and remembered how happy she had once
been. How could things go so wrong? All she had wanted was to fit in, to be the
perfect wife and part of Charles’s family. Quitting her job at Mrs. Sanford’s
insistence was her first mistake. Filling her time managing Charles’s large
house, fulfilling commitments at the club and volunteering with Mother Sanford
and Charles’s sister, Joanna, was supposed to be fun. Fun, yeah right, nothing
with Mrs. Sanford was fun. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Pushing
the memory from her mind, Vanessa picked up the newspaper, circled some help
wanted ads, and made a few phone calls. It didn’t take long to figure out
Christmas Eve wasn’t the best day to look for a job. </span></div>
<div class="Default" style="margin: 1em 0px; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Christmas
Eve, God, she had lost track of time. Christmas, when she should be with her
daughter. She had begged Charles to let her stay until after Christmas, but
with his mother behind him, as usual, he refused. How could anyone be so cruel?
</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11.5pt;">“What
difference does it make what day it is?” He waved her off. “It’s over, the
papers are signed. Take the money and leave before I change my mind.” </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Vanessa
left, knowing he meant it. She wouldn’t put anything past Charles Sanford these
days. He sure wasn’t the man she married, or had she been so blinded by love to
see the real Charles? </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;">“But the fight isn’t over, Charles Sanford. Somehow, someway
I’m going to win Alyssa back. No way is your mother going to raise my baby.”
The choked sound of her own voice startled her. The thought of Mrs. Sanford
raising Alyssa sent chills through her. No, that cold, unfeeling witch wasn’t
going to raise her daughter.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
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</div>gail roughton brananhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03258347523766173312noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3965098524381892841.post-14261437983955997882012-04-23T20:53:00.000-04:002012-04-24T07:11:22.312-04:00Margay Leah Justice, Creator of Sloane Wolf<br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;">Hey y’all!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Today Flowers on the Fence country has a
visitor from Massachusetts dropping into its Southern cyber-kitchen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And that visitor has writing in her blood.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Please drop in and visit with Margay Leah
Justice and meet –<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;">Sloane Wolf</span></i><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibV6ahU-nnZv0cPxsyhAkin60lVaVnWBW1mNiv44S2Cgcmm-dm0bDI6yhh4TUbBNNJ4rxgGaaQUkeqsl_4p0z-9-RkRoes8tWqFvqI2gPmBB9nGwHYXMSUUKIcQJ9mYrTO61Oegwz-7buX/s1600/Sloane_Wolf_200x300+(1).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibV6ahU-nnZv0cPxsyhAkin60lVaVnWBW1mNiv44S2Cgcmm-dm0bDI6yhh4TUbBNNJ4rxgGaaQUkeqsl_4p0z-9-RkRoes8tWqFvqI2gPmBB9nGwHYXMSUUKIcQJ9mYrTO61Oegwz-7buX/s320/Sloane_Wolf_200x300+(1).jpg" width="213" /></a><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;">For
more than a hundred and fifty years, the gray wolf has failed to roam the hills
of Massachusetts, leading to the belief that they are extinct. But with a
spattering of sightings across the Berkshires, the legend of the gray wolf
comes to fruition. The product of that legend, Micah Sloane will go to great
lengths to protect his kind from the threat of outsiders, who seek to exploit
the legend for their own interests. One thing he didn’t count on, however, was
finding his soul mate in the company of such men.</span><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;">From
the first time she predicted a stranger’s imminent death when she was little
more than a child, Shiloh Beck knew she was different. Wishing to cultivate her
gift, her parents made the fateful decision to enroll her in a private school
for paranormally gifted children. Unbeknownst to them, the school was just a
front for a research facility simply called the Institute, whose secret board
members weaned gifted children from their families to exploit their gifts.
Shiloh has spent the better part of her life trying to escape the Institute and
reunite with the family she was told had abandoned her.</span><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;">From
their first meeting, Micah and Shiloh share a connection that goes beyond the
normal to bond them in a way that love alone cannot. But before they can build
a life together, they must deal with the fall-out when the legend of the wolves
collides with the men behind the Institute.</span><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;">Excerpt:</span></i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></i></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; layout-grid-mode: line;">Shiloh nearly leapt off the sill as his hand touched her
knee. It took every ounce of willpower she possessed to remain seated and
appear undaunted by the gesture. “I am…much better now…thank you,” she said,
becoming more unnerved by the presence of his hand by the minute. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Oh, this was not good, not good at all</i>.
The longer it remained there, the stronger her impulse to bolt became. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Oh, no…</i></span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; layout-grid-mode: line;"><o:p> </o:p></span></i></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; layout-grid-mode: line;">What <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">was </i>it
about this man that rattled her so and with so little effort on his part?
Sharing the same air with him was enough to send her pulses to the moon—and her
mind somewhere else, something new for her. Being this attracted to a man was
beyond her realm of experience. She didn’t know what to do with it—or about it.
Should she do anything? Should she pretend indifference? And why wasn’t <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">he </i>so deeply affected? It wasn’t fair.</span><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; layout-grid-mode: line;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; layout-grid-mode: line;">Still confused, she gave him a weak smile, intent on
backing up her previous claim with the gesture. She feared it failed miserably.
When Micah returned her smile and lifted his hand from her knee, she felt
precisely one second of relief before he shook her world again by caressing her
face in parting. She stumbled </span><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; layout-grid-mode: line;">back against the frame of the window, her lips parting
on a startled breath as a lightning bolt shot through her at his touch. Something
flickered in his eyes at her reaction—pain, perhaps—and he retracted his hand,
balling it into a fist as he turned away from her, preparing to depart.</span><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; layout-grid-mode: line;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; layout-grid-mode: line;">In an instant, she realized her mistake. Along with it
came the knowledge she couldn’t let him go away angry or upset. After
everything he and his family had done for her, she owed him that much. She
grabbed him by the shirtfront to stop him, and a shock of awareness shot from
her hand directly into his heart, just beneath it. She could see it in the gaze
he leveled on her then, could hear it in his breath trapped within his lungs, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">feel </i>it in the missed beat of his heart.
But then, all sense abandoned her, and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">her
</i>heart skipped a beat as he held her hand firmly to his chest with one of
his own and lifted the other to her head, anchoring it against the window
frame. Slowly, his eyes never straying from hers, he leaned across the space
separating them. His lips brushed hers, like a whisper, before he withdrew,
tilted his head to the side, and advanced again. This time the kiss was fuller,
penetrating her every defense, both physical and emotional, but still not long
enough for her. He retreated once again after a fraction of time and hovered
before her, scarcely an inch away. Watching her. Waiting.</span><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; layout-grid-mode: line;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; layout-grid-mode: line;">Her heart beating a frantic tempo now, Shiloh abandoned
all of her reservations and her good sense to swoop in for a more vigorous
kiss. So vigorous, in fact, she knocked him off his perch through the open
window. Only quick reflexes honed to perfection at the Institute prevented her
from tumbling after him.</span><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; layout-grid-mode: line;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; layout-grid-mode: line;">Bracing herself against the sill, she leaned out the
window as far as she was able and watched his descent from the slanted roof to
the ground below. She lost sight of him the moment he slid beyond the reach of the
light from her window. But then she heard him land with a thud —and a howl—on
the ground in front of the back porch when he failed to catch himself on the
roof edge. She clasped a hand over her mouth to silence her reaction and
waited. When he didn’t rouse right away, panic shot through her and she leaned
out another few inches. </span><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; layout-grid-mode: line;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; layout-grid-mode: line;">“Micah? Are you okay?”</span><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; layout-grid-mode: line;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; layout-grid-mode: line;">“Fine,” he answered after a few moments, appearing
beyond the overhang of the roof as if to prove it to her. “Nothing hurt but
what’s left of my pride.”</span><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; layout-grid-mode: line;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; layout-grid-mode: line;">Relief coursed through her at his statement, and she
allowed herself the laugh she’d literally held back before. Her mirth was cut
short, however, by his next words.</span><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; layout-grid-mode: line;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; layout-grid-mode: line;">“Hey, Shiloh! We’ve got to stop falling for each other
like this.”</span><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; layout-grid-mode: line;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; layout-grid-mode: line;">His laughter followed her as she ducked back into the
room. She could still hear it even after she closed the window, though not as
well. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Oh, Lord. </i>She rested against
the cool pane of glass and touched her still-tingling lips with shaky fingers. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Was </i>she? Falling for him? Was that what
this crazy-mad feeling inside of her was?</span><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; layout-grid-mode: line;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; layout-grid-mode: line;">The question plagued her long into the night.</span><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; layout-grid-mode: line;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; layout-grid-mode: line;">Links:</span><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; layout-grid-mode: line;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; layout-grid-mode: line;"><a href="http://margayleahjustice.blogspot.com/">http://margayleahjustice.blogspot.com/</a></span><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; layout-grid-mode: line;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; layout-grid-mode: line;"><a href="http://moonlightlacemayhem.blogspot.com/">http://moonlightlacemayhem.blogspot.com/</a></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; layout-grid-mode: line;"><a href="http://twitter.com/Margay">http://twitter.com/Margay</a></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; layout-grid-mode: line;"><a href="http://www.facebook.com/MargayLeahJustice"><span style="layout-grid-mode: both;"><span style="color: blue;">http://www.facebook.com/MargayLeahJustice</span></span></a></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; layout-grid-mode: line;">Buy Links:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; layout-grid-mode: line;">MuseItUpPublishing: <a href="http://museituppublishing.com/bookstore2/index.php?page=shop.product_details&flypage=flypage.tpl&product_id=242&category_id=107&option=com_virtuemart&Itemid=1&vmcchk=1&Itemid=1"><span style="layout-grid-mode: both;"><span style="color: blue;">http://museituppublishing.com/bookstore2/index.php?page=shop.product_details&flypage=flypage.tpl&product_id=242&category_id=107&option=com_virtuemart&Itemid=1&vmcchk=1&Itemid=1</span></span></a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; layout-grid-mode: line;">Amazon.com: <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Sloane-Wolves-Destiny-Falls-ebook/dp/B006M4AGN4/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1326586732&sr=1-1"><span style="layout-grid-mode: both;"><span style="color: blue;">http://www.amazon.com/Sloane-Wolves-Destiny-Falls-ebook/dp/B006M4AGN4/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1326586732&sr=1-1</span></span></a></span><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; layout-grid-mode: line;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; layout-grid-mode: line;">Smashwords: <a href="http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/116104">http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/116104</a></span></div>
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<br /></div>gail roughton brananhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03258347523766173312noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3965098524381892841.post-81023104980689647792012-04-13T20:39:00.001-04:002012-04-13T20:40:40.589-04:00Karina Fabian - Live and Let Fly!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYHP2iAvy-emDYhtPbcYlXmjvGO1qXYL3k7al4FIYne5_EUNeA4_CjE51l0xe0epHI9V2ZGTODAEYmWP14w1oXvb48Y_9-fFv6u6nyAXkjiQJTCxWEBC806HHie4edeHIjMTX_73cDKW_I/s1600/karina106.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYHP2iAvy-emDYhtPbcYlXmjvGO1qXYL3k7al4FIYne5_EUNeA4_CjE51l0xe0epHI9V2ZGTODAEYmWP14w1oXvb48Y_9-fFv6u6nyAXkjiQJTCxWEBC806HHie4edeHIjMTX_73cDKW_I/s320/karina106.jpg" width="228" /></a><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;">Hey y’all!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yes, Flowers on the Fence country is still alive and well, it’s just, I haven’t been sure if Gail Roughton’s been alive and well over the last two months!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A surprise release, final galley on one book, content edits on another, and two more already with covers waiting for me to supply their completed contents in support of that surprise first release!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As we say down here, I been busier than a one-legged man at a square dance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(Well, we don’t really say that, but I couldn’t think of one we do say off the top of my head, so I just made one up.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But here’s a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">delightful </i>post to make up to my wonderful Fence for neglecting it for so long!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span>Presenting – Karina Fabian – Live!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On her <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Live and Let Fly</i> Book Tour!<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;">An Apologia on Extortion, An Acceptable Dragon Practice<o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;">As told by the dragon, Vern<o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;">Gail offered to host us on her blog for the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Live and Let Fly</i> book tour.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(Great story in which I take on dangerous demigods, maniacal middle managers, government bureaucracies and more, rising victorious with style in order to get a new roof for my dump of a lair.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Gail asked for a post on “whatever,” and Karina passed it on to me.<o:p></o:p></span></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDfDcZIlU4Je4ecdE_gfkDUxQoqK1aOPKP2TwLzfMySldHX5dUE8bz7Vtf3lmt6fGqt4qZY-HKwGvNqYf-7qNCQ-1oLcrxlYSm8aceG3-IhUIxON9zq9aEBR4nP_kp0PSaMkJP_ehsqJ1H/s1600/LiveandLetFly.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDfDcZIlU4Je4ecdE_gfkDUxQoqK1aOPKP2TwLzfMySldHX5dUE8bz7Vtf3lmt6fGqt4qZY-HKwGvNqYf-7qNCQ-1oLcrxlYSm8aceG3-IhUIxON9zq9aEBR4nP_kp0PSaMkJP_ehsqJ1H/s320/LiveandLetFly.jpg" width="213" /></a><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;">There are some people who will read <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Live and Let Fly</i> and may come to the conclusion that I’m selfish.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After all, the world was in peril, bad guys were on the loose, and I was holding out for a bonus.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">big</i> bonus.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, all I can say is, those people are right—if I were human.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;">But let’s face it; dragons have different standards.<o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;">Before I start, let me define apologia:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">a defense of one’s opinions or actions.</i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is not an apology.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am not the least sorry for holding back information from my temporary employers while some evil overlord no doubt moved forward on her diabolical scheme.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I will, however, be glad to explain why.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Here’s the scene in question:<o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px 0pt; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;">Mordash just leaned forward, his hand out, his eyes glinting. "I'll have our people analyze these—"<o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px 0pt; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;">Grace started to hand him the files.<o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px 0pt; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;">I set my large paw between them. "Not so fast. There's one very important detail we're missing," I said. I pulled out of my pocket one of the most important tools in the private investigator's repertoire.<o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px 0pt; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;">The receipt book.<o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px 0pt; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;">"What're you doing?" Mustache Mordash asked as I took out my small inkpot, opened the lid and dipped my writing claw into it.<o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px 0pt; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;">"Our rescue was strictly an <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">independent operation</i>, remember?" I tossed Rakness a dark look but spoke reasonably enough. "So any information we might have acquired on said operation would be our own—"<o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px 0pt; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;">"You mean to sell this information to us? I thought we were trying to protect this country; both our worlds, for that matter. What kind of patriot are you?"<o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px 0pt; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;">I looked at him like he was a stupid mortal and didn't mention that I wasn't a citizen of the United States—or any nation, come to think of it. "Funny thing about saving the world," I mused. "It always manages to get un-saved. Kind of wrecks the job satisfaction factor. Philanthropy, though... Grace, how much did the Christian Brothers say they needed to start that school in Territory?"<o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px 0pt; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;">Grace's eyes lit up. "Well, seven hundred fifty thousand, but the diocese and FlintCorp are contributing."<o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px 0pt; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;">"Right. Some kind of matching funds deal." Even though I had already done the calculations in my head, I wrote them down. Dramatic effect. Very important.<o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px 0pt; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;">Mustache blanched. "Are you out of your minds? You said yourself the forces of evil could be rising—"<o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px 0pt; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;">"Exactly. Which is why a morally-based education for the underprivileged youth is so important. Now if we consider operating expenses for the first year..."<o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px 0pt; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;">Mustache glowered. "And if the information you 'hypothetically acquired' is useless?"<o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px 0pt; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;">"Then I'll be glad to negotiate a discount the next time you hand us a mission and some commercially available tech toys and abandon us at twenty thousand feet." I ripped off the top copy with a flourish and handed it to Mustache. He looked from my hand to Grace's, but she'd already returned the thumb drives to her sleeve pockets. He snatched the bill out of my claw.<o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px 0pt; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;">"Let me make some calls," he growled. He spun his chair around, dismissing us.<o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;">#1. Dragons are immortal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I tend to have a long-term view of things, having seen the extinction of the dinosaurs (known as The End of the Biggie Sized Meal, as far as I was concerned), and the rise and fall of empires.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even if I hadn’t succeeded, things would have been chaos for awhile, but hey, the world recovers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Been there, seen that.<o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;">#2<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Dragons are confident.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was on the case—<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">me</i>, Vern.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I defeated Quetzalcoatl when I was barely the size of a Labrador, and without any help from secret government agencies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If I hadn’t given them the information, I still knew it, and they could have just followed me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Might have been easier, come to think of it.<o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;">#3<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Dragons are treasure seekers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thanks to St. George, I don’t get to enjoy treasure anymore, however.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In fact, I life in a dump of a warehouse on the bad side of Los Lagos, Colorado, with (at the time) a leaky roof and no hoard.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Since raiding museums and banks is frowned upon, I get my jollies where I can.<o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;">#4 The money went to a good cause.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The school I helped fund with BILE’s money is almost finished.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can’t collect treasure, so I go for good deeds, nowadays.<o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;">#5<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was ticked off.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not the best of reasons, but angry dragons are dangerous; better to get my satisfaction by extorting some extra cash from my employer than to flame his desk, don’t you agree?<o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;">Incidentally, I didn’t want to do this blog.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve got my hands full training up an apprentice superhero.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So I held out until Karina offered me a half a lamb to do this.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Bribery, or simple payment for services?<o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;">Decide what you want.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve got a veal lunch waiting.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;">And where can you find Vern (and hopefully Karina, 'cause she really doesn't need to let him out unsupervised, I don't think)? Well, </span><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Karina Fabian is an award-winning fantasy, science fiction and horror author, whose<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>books make people laugh, cry or think—sometimes all three.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Check out her latest at <a href="http://fabianspace.com/"><span style="color: blue;">http://fabianspace.com</span></a></span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: small;"> <em>Live and Let Fly</em> releases April 20, 2012. In the interim, check out:</span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: small;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: small;"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><a href="http://dragoneyepi.blogspot.com/p/live-and-let-fly.html"><span style="color: blue;">http://dragoneyepi.blogspot.com/p/live-and-let-fly.html</span></a> or e-mail Karina at <a href="http://karinafabian.com/index.php?name=ContactPro"><span style="color: blue;">http://karinafabian.com/index.php?name=ContactPro</span></a> to get on the notification list for the buy links.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">And don't forget -- y'all come back now, hear?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: small;"> </span></div></span><br />
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</div>gail roughton brananhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03258347523766173312noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3965098524381892841.post-34552139253924958342012-03-04T21:42:00.002-05:002012-03-04T22:16:45.030-05:00Fate Takes Charge in Designed for LoveFirst order of business -- When you've visited with my guest and me today, please click on "My Dog is a Star!" See him? Right over on the left? I have two reasons for this request. One, it's the first time I've ever linked on this blog because it's the first time I've known how. Two, that link takes you to Miss Mae's blog wherein she highlights those miracles known as pets. And today, she's highlighting <em>mine!!</em> So please drop over and well, welcome to my world. <br />
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaMzbiuv6cUQM6XwrdCZtbHMuflQyc6RlYbCWib5B8NWInmi_voDemrk5iwzBUiZbaLYdDTFtCeuL3yQ0UJDJKsMCrgXzCH7nAG0CWyPpfJaeMbyyOu9ZG2t62XThX_6fJnHvV8ya2ZEB5/s1600/Ro+Dowell.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/AVvXsEjaMzbiuv6cUQM6XwrdCZtbHMuflQyc6RlYbCWib5B8NWInmi_voDemrk5iwzBUiZbaLYdDTFtCeuL3yQ0UJDJKsMCrgXzCH7nAG0CWyPpfJaeMbyyOu9ZG2t62XThX_6fJnHvV8ya2ZEB5/s200/Ro+Dowell.jpg" width="190" /></a><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;"></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;">It’s not commonplace to have the same guest two weeks in a row, but it’s not commonplace to have two releases out almost back to back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But Roseanne Dowell does.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So she’s back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With—drumroll please!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;">Designed for Love<o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;">Fate, kismet, or whatever you want to call it, it turned Interior Designer Wendy Seidel’s world upside down. From a chance meeting at the airport to Florida and back to Ohio, she can’t believe the strange circumstances that throw her and Bill Johnson together, after he literally knocks her off her feet at the airport.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span> <span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;">Hi, I’m Bill Johnson and I thought I’d take a minute to talk about Wendy Seidel and Designed for Love.<o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;">I’ll never forget my first meeting with Wendy. I literally knocked her over in the airport, accidentally on purpose. Oh, I didn’t mean to knock her over, that was an accident. I just meant to bump into her. <o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;">From the minute I saw her, I couldn’t keep my eyes off of her. That red hair and those green eyes mesmerized me. I never went in much for red heads, too hot-tempered. But darn this chick hypnotized me or something. <o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;">So, there we were both hurrying to catch our plane and bam, I bumped her and knocked her off her feet. Talk about a temper. Phew, let me tell you, she could freeze a glass of water with that look and cut you to the quick with a few words. <o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;">Okay, I do have to admit, getting knocked down would have put me in bad temper too, but gees, I did apologize. Not that it mattered, she was off and running lickety split. Yep, hell-bent on her mission.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So much for meeting her. <o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;">But…as luck would have it, there she was sitting at my departing gate. Well, heck, how could I resist talking to her? Not that she was much for talking. Had her nose stuck in a book and wasn’t about to take it out. At least not until I kept up my end of the conversation, which she wasn’t responding to very well. <o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;">Before I knew it, an announcement was made that or flight had been cancelled. So much for spending three hours trying to get to know her. At least that was my plan. I was going to con the person sitting next to her out of their seat. Instead, I had to make arrangements to stay in a hotel. Hey, maybe I’d get lucky and she’d do the same.<o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYLBqvsTnIno2VBjHIp8gcoLjldiATXWM4XgInQf8Pu16_XKe0IDE1KK2C9wFFNlYCYP1JYz5bwn-XfZ2b0SSCxBd5dSt9Mo9r-etBu8i14XscOG7W77r3JwJFPR3wUlIzc0xI0FELxuEs/s1600/Dowell-DesignedForLove2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYLBqvsTnIno2VBjHIp8gcoLjldiATXWM4XgInQf8Pu16_XKe0IDE1KK2C9wFFNlYCYP1JYz5bwn-XfZ2b0SSCxBd5dSt9Mo9r-etBu8i14XscOG7W77r3JwJFPR3wUlIzc0xI0FELxuEs/s1600/Dowell-DesignedForLove2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYLBqvsTnIno2VBjHIp8gcoLjldiATXWM4XgInQf8Pu16_XKe0IDE1KK2C9wFFNlYCYP1JYz5bwn-XfZ2b0SSCxBd5dSt9Mo9r-etBu8i14XscOG7W77r3JwJFPR3wUlIzc0xI0FELxuEs/s200/Dowell-DesignedForLove2.jpg" width="133" /></a><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;">If you want to know what happened, you’ll have to read Designed for Love.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Aavailable at Amazon along with my other books. </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;"><a href="http://bit.ly/t62esi"><span style="color: blue;">http://bit.ly/t62esi</span></a> <o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;">Designed for Love <o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;">Fate, kismet, or whatever you want to call it, it turned Interior Designer Wendy Seidel’s world upside down. From a chance meeting at the airport to Florida and back to Ohio, she can’t believe the strange circumstances that throw her and Bill Johnson together, after he literally knocks her off her feet at the airport. <o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;">Excerpt: <o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;">“What the hell?” My carry-on bag slid across the floor and slammed into the wall. My feet slipped out from under me, I landed flat on my back, and someone fell on top of me, pinning me to the floor. The breath knocked out of me, I lay still a moment. <o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;">“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I finally caught my breath and pushed him off. “Everyone’s always in such a big hurry.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;">“Why’d you slow down? You darned near stopped in front of me.” He stood up, brushed himself off and held out his hand to help me up. “Sorry.” <o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;">I knocked his hand away, got to my knees and stood. I didn’t need his help. Not his or anyone else’s for that matter. What I needed was to find my bag and get on to my gate. <o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;">“Look, I’m sorry. It was entirely my fault. I shouldn’t have been in such a hurry.” He held his hand out to me again, but I ignored it. “Here, let me get that for you.” He hurried to pick up my bag, but I grabbed it first.<o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;">“Look, Mister, I have a plane to catch, so excuse me if I don’t have time to chat.” I straightened up my bag, grabbed the handle and started toward my gate. Good looking in a rustic sort of way, I had to admit. Probably worked outdoors or at least spent a lot of time outside. Not that it made any difference. I didn’t have time for him. Or any man for that matter. I had a career to build, and men didn’t figure into it. <o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;">It wasn’t that I didn’t like men. I did. Even dated occasionally. Eventually I’d like to have a relationship, even get married. But relationships and marriage took time, not a priority right now. My career came first. Something about him, though. <o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;">I couldn’t resist looking back. Great. He stood watching me with a silly smirk on his face. Nice eyes, soft gray. I loved gray eyes. Maybe because my grandfather had gray eyes. He lifted his hand and waved at me. Heat burned my face, and I hurried off in the direction of the gate, looking at the signs above. Only at Gate 2. Not even close. Of course my gate was at the farthest end of the airport. Thankfully, there was plenty of time to get there. <o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;">I avoided a heavyset man, hell bent on his mission. I hated this time of year. Everyone was in such a big hurry.</span><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;">To make matters worse, my butt hurt but I resisted rubbing it. Didn’t need to look like any more of an idiot. Ah, Gate 11, finally. Now I could sit down and relax, since there was still forty-five minutes before my flight. I took a book out of the side pocket of my carry-on and settled back to wait. Not that I could concentrate, anger at my boss raged inside me. Who in their right mind set up a meeting with a client right before New Years? And in Florida, no less. Obviously, Nick didn’t care that I had plans for New Year’s Eve.<o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;">So I was getting out of Ohio, big deal. Sure, my friends thought I was lucky, especially with the predicted snowstorm. Didn’t make any difference to me, I liked snow.<o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;">I glanced out a window. Already it was coming down pretty heavy, and there was still a good half hour before my flight. <o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;">Damn it, I hated flying. I could have sent the samples just as easy. What was so important they required me to personally bring them? I thought we’d settled everything before the client left. Why the sudden change? They could have at least waited until after the holidays. <o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;">Nick, my boss, promised I’d be home by New Year’s Eve. Yeah right. I knew how these things went. First this problem, than that one. I’d be lucky to be home in time for my nephew’s birthday on the sixth. Nick better not have any funny ideas. This was strictly business. I’d heard about his reputation with women. So far he hadn’t shown an interest in me, and I certainly didn’t have a problem with that. Good-looking though Nick was, nothing about him attracted me. Definitely not my type. Not that I had a type.<o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;">“Looks like we’re on the same flight,” a masculine voice said.<o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;">I looked up and almost groaned out loud. This couldn’t be happening. What were the chances we’d be on the same flight? I tried to ignore him, but something drew my eyes to his.<o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;">“Bill Johnson.” He extended his hand toward me. “I really am sorry about knocking you down.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;">I shrugged and shook his hand. “No problem.” A quiver started deep in my stomach when he held my hand a bit longer than necessary. Rough, calloused hands. Does hard work. Maybe construction. I pulled my hand away and turned my attention back to my book. I hated talking to people at airports. Lord, please tell me he doesn’t have the seat next to me. I couldn’t be that unlucky, could I? <o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;">Of course I could.<o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;">Oooooohh!</span></i><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So what happens next?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;">That’s where you can find out!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And y’all come back now, hear?<o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
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</div>gail roughton brananhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03258347523766173312noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3965098524381892841.post-46701058433881347112012-03-02T07:34:00.000-05:002012-03-02T07:34:37.108-05:00SPECIAL EDITIONForgive my excitement but we interrupt this blog's regularly scheduled programing for a most important reason! The unveiling of the cover of the first book in the <em>War-N-Wit, Inc. </em>series, <em>The Witch, </em>coming soon from Books We Love! Michelle and Jude -- it's a masterpiece that could not be more perfect for this novel and for this series. Thank you both from the bottom of my heart!<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHoo4rOCfoxlFzYv_bAQ_Jbrjn7Smcx5fZAqF6mcPwVJ3lAkq13P1FnhQ7xy6juKQTRSjBU0dd-Geg1608j_ZHgPMhdSFH1-_d1zi7IiTAPRm15O7uUfGaRnUxv3cRIJE4dpXYZnt8f6O1/s1600/Roughton-War-N-Wit--Bk1TheWitch400x600.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHoo4rOCfoxlFzYv_bAQ_Jbrjn7Smcx5fZAqF6mcPwVJ3lAkq13P1FnhQ7xy6juKQTRSjBU0dd-Geg1608j_ZHgPMhdSFH1-_d1zi7IiTAPRm15O7uUfGaRnUxv3cRIJE4dpXYZnt8f6O1/s640/Roughton-War-N-Wit--Bk1TheWitch400x600.jpg" width="426" /></a></div>gail roughton brananhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03258347523766173312noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3965098524381892841.post-52904763244604670732012-02-27T07:47:00.001-05:002012-02-27T07:48:53.351-05:00Another New Release by Roseanne Dowell!<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQwZ10njepHCPz5hyQPmhyphenhyphenrFi7KwTB__JeUM7X8GFGrONsfE-jGmyK4NV1EtjSaNgyQovPpjm47XMPVqtKnzIZDTfiftts1rxne7tHRLOyUtREfvYn5eQQn04kKK_AtXpOgdOsBlRtVy3m/s1600/Ro+Dowell.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQwZ10njepHCPz5hyQPmhyphenhyphenrFi7KwTB__JeUM7X8GFGrONsfE-jGmyK4NV1EtjSaNgyQovPpjm47XMPVqtKnzIZDTfiftts1rxne7tHRLOyUtREfvYn5eQQn04kKK_AtXpOgdOsBlRtVy3m/s200/Ro+Dowell.jpg" width="190" /></a><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;">Hey y’all!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Welcome back to Flowers on the Fence country!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Guess who’s back?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Guess who’s done it again?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oh, yeah, Roseanne Dowell’s got <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">another</i> new book out!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Time To Love Again</i>, published by Books We Love.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sweet romance just got sweeter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Which is a good thing, ‘cause Rose is actually kinda tart.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But we’ll let her sister tell you about her. <o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;">* * * *<o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;">Rose Asbury is my sister – was my sister. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After I passed away she became a recluse. Not that she doesn’t have reason to, mind you. We lost our parents within months of each other and Rose and I clung to each for support during our grief. Of course our husbands helped, but Rose and I understood each other. <o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;">We were just adjusting when Rose’s husband passed away suddenly. Poor Rose fell apart, not that I blame her. I would have reacted the same way if it had been my husband.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was just getting Rose to come out of her shell when bam, I was gone. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfV5dEupR1qAOc5cqdjtmVDf4iGIoX34g_s_TXzlsS_mLRil7MpuJRfjUQQtkRcnXT9205tdLoOtke-JUdkBh3H5TLVT7IecPYHXel1gROfFZoHqJepsfTkjJ_EaKIz8stSacvjRNZYxJ8/s1600/Dowell-TimeToLoveAgain.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfV5dEupR1qAOc5cqdjtmVDf4iGIoX34g_s_TXzlsS_mLRil7MpuJRfjUQQtkRcnXT9205tdLoOtke-JUdkBh3H5TLVT7IecPYHXel1gROfFZoHqJepsfTkjJ_EaKIz8stSacvjRNZYxJ8/s320/Dowell-TimeToLoveAgain.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;">That did Rose in. She went to pieces and to make matters worse, her kids moved three thousand miles away. She ignored all of her friends, except for Louise. Louise wasn’t about to let Rose ignore her. But everyone else gave up. Heck, you can only call people so long and have them ignore you, not return your calls and won’t talk to you before you give up. So that’s what everyone did. Louise didn’t give up. She marched right over to Rose’s house and read her the riot act until Rose gave in and at least went to the store.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;">At least now Rose visited Louise and came to grips with life. Not that she had much of a life. Stephen Daniels the guy next aimed to change that – or so it seemed. Good looking guy, too. Anyway he moved in to take care of his granddaughter while her parents did their tour of duty in the Mideast. He kind of took a shine to Rose. Rose wouldn’t give the poor guy the time of day. Most she did was nod at him. <o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;">Well, that’s all she did until that day. I can’t help but giggle thinking about it. She fell on the ice and splat, groceries went flying everywhere. Stephen came to her aid – or tried to. Rose, true to form, tried to ignore him. That’s where I come in again. I showed up to talk some sense into Rose. Of course, she tried to ignore me, too, but I wasn’t about to let that happen. It was time Rose started to live again. She was much too young to waste her life away. <o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;">Now it seems his granddaughter, Sarah, saw the whole thing and had other ideas. She didn’t care for the way the old lady ignored her grandpa. Yeah, all kids think anyone in their 40s is old. What can I say, we thought the same things. <o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;">But I digress. Sarah devised a plan to get Rose to talk to her grandpa. She talked<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>her friends into building a snowman in Rose’s front yard. You’d think that wasn’t a big deal right? I mean what harm could a snowman do? <o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;">Of course, Rose, being the neighborhood grouch –at least that’s what the kids pegged her as – had a fit. <o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;">After that things got real interesting. If you’d like to find out more about Rose, you’ll have to buy the book available from Amazon at <a href="http://amzn.to/timetoloveagain"><span style="color: blue;">http://amzn.to/timetoloveagain</span></a><o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;">To learn more about me and my books check out my website at <a href="http://www.roseannedowell.com/"><span style="color: blue;">www.roseannedowell.com</span></a><o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p>* * * *</o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;">Well, I don’t know about y’all but I’m on my way to grab this book!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not that I’m pushing you out the door or anything, but – y’all come back now, hear?<o:p></o:p></span></div>gail roughton brananhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03258347523766173312noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3965098524381892841.post-86466461387383389802012-02-20T07:25:00.000-05:002012-02-20T07:25:43.715-05:00Come Meet My Supporting Cast!<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">Hey, y’all!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Welcome back to Flowers on the Fence Country!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You know, that day is approaching, the one that seemed so far away back last June when I signed that magic piece of paper, the one that promised after years of storing manuscripts in my closet, one of them would actually see the light of day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You know, that first book contract.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The funny thing is, the book that’s actually seeing the light of day <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">first</i> is the one I never took seriously, never expected to see in print in any shape, form or fashion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not that I ever really expected to see <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">any </i>of ‘em in print in any shape, form or fashion, but least of all this one.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s probably because it was conceived and birthed as nothing but pure escapism – a fantasy land created solely for the author, by the author, as an extension of that bubble-bath commercial.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You know the one?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“Calgon, take me awaaaayyyyy….”</i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">That’s what <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Miami Days & Truscan (K)nights </i>was created to do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Take me away, right along with corporate troubleshooter Tess Ames, through that door in the Bermuda Triangle, into the fantasy land of Trusca where Truscan warriors guard the world from the ravages of the Prian Empire.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>An empire with inhabitants who look like humanoid <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">pigs</i>, for cryin’ out loud! Can’t you just imagine how Tess feels?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Jerked rudely out of the jet-setting business world of a Miami based international corporation into a dark forest?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tossed abruptly into a culture that’s a cross between Camelot and the Dark Ages, a world of magic and omens and portents and Power Stones?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I mean, sure, Randalph of Trusca, Dalph for short<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>– Truscan Kings don’t stand much on ceremony – well, that boy’s <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">hot</i>, no denying it, but communicating with him?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">Well, Tess lucked out on that one.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>See, years before, when Dalph was seven, an American pilot flew through the same door.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His name’s …<o:p></o:p></div><br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: center;">* * * *<o:p></o:p></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">McKay.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Johnny McKay.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thanks for finally turning over the microphone, darlin’.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You kinda long-winded there, aren’t you?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, being a writer and all, guess you can’t help that, no more than Tess can help being the take-charge kind of gal she is.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yeah, I’d always wanted to fly, so I joined the Air Force for the training. Loved flying, didn<span lang="EN-CA" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;">’</span>t care much for the Air Force. So when I got out, I opened a charter flight line in Miami, all those rich folks flying out to the Caribbean Islands, you know. I was checking out a new plane, third one I<span lang="EN-CA" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;">’</span>d been able to buy. Thought I had the world by the tail. I was headed out toward Bermuda, and I ran into this patch of gray fog that – well, when I ran out of it, I wasn’t exactly in the same world anymore.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;">Dalph’</span>s father Brentar was King at the time, figured folks who could fly through the air had to be good for something, he made me Dalph<span lang="EN-CA" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;">’</span>s tutor. He was seven years old when I came through. Have to say, I<span lang="EN-CA" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;">’</span>m no scientist or doctor or teacher, heck, I’m a good ole’ Midwestern boy, but just by being raised in our world, in our time, I been pretty handy to have around over the years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tess says I’m sorta like the Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">And then of course, when the roving patrol that rescued Tess got back to Trussa – that’s the capital of Trusca – I turned her over to my wife, Kiera.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Bless her heart, Kiera speaks English real good, worked hard at it, figured a man ought to be able to speak his own language in his own home, don’t you know. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yeah, I’m a lucky man, how many wives’d go to that much trouble for their husbands? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Kiera’s Dalph’s aunt from the wrong side of the blanket, she runs the Rata – that’s what we’d call the Castle over here, the royal residence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Lived with that woman over twenty years, we got two boys, Crayton and Cretor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She’s yet to call me by my first name, calls me “McKay”, like those Victorian women always called their husbands “mister”. <o:p></o:p></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">I needed all the help I could get with Dalph and Tess, let me tell you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘Cause Tess and Dalph – the two of them, well, all anybody’s gotta do is look at ‘em.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Everybody can see it but them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If I could figure out how to harness electricity, I could power Trusca with the sparks they shoot off each other.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But you know how it is. Sometimes the two involved, well, they’re the very last to know.<o:p></o:p></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">So I’m glad I was there for Tess.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I remember.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Stranger in a strange world, you never forget what that feels like.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Glad I could make the transition a little easier for her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, at least she thought so till she misunderstood something I told her just a little bit – okay, so maybe I did misrepresent the exact situation a tad but it was for her own good, really it was – and decided I was Benedict Arnold.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But we worked it out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We’re big buddies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d die for Tess, just like I’d die for Dalph.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And in Trusca, believe me, that’s a real possibility.<o:p></o:p></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘Course now, I can’t say as how their first meeting set the stage for a real calm relationship.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tess’d just crash landed in Trusca with a dying pilot and a wrecked plane, after all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I can see where she might have gotten the idea she wasn’t being rescued so much as she was being captured, we didn’t have a hell of lot of time for explanations, the Prians being hot on our tails. Dalph didn’t have any choice about the pilot, now, that poor guy had seconds to live at most, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>and no way were we leaving him for the Prians, dead or alive, those pigs got some strange dietary habits.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But Dalph blowing up her plane and all for the pilot’s funeral pyre – yeah, I can see how she might have gotten the wrong idea.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘Cause there’s one thing sure.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once you come through that door, you ain’t in Kansas anymore.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>See, it happened like this: <o:p></o:p></div><br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: center;">* * * *<o:p></o:p></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0.5in 10pt 0in;">He dived forward and hit the ground as he made his toss, and now he jumped to his feet as the roar of rushing flames drowned out my continuing protests. He shouted over the roar and Johnny tugged me toward the horse-like creature sporting horns as Dalph ran forward and grabbed the reins. <o:p></o:p></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 28.75pt 10pt 0in;">“Get on Dalph’s horse. He’s stronger. An extra rider won’t slow him down much.”<o:p></o:p></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">“Like <i>hell</i> I will! He just killed my pilot!”<o:p></o:p></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">“Like hell you won’t! I know this ain’t exactly anybody’s idea of over the rainbow, but darlin’, believe me when I tell you this. You ain’t in Kansas anymore!”<o:p></o:p></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><i>“I</i> <i>will not</i>!<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">”</i><o:p></o:p></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0.35in 10pt 0in;">Dalph spoke again, but I doubted it was a literal translation since Johnny was talking at pretty much the same time.<o:p></o:p></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0.35in 10pt 0in;">“He says you got exactly ten seconds to move toward that horse.”<o:p></o:p></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">“Or <i>what</i>?<span style="mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">”</span><o:p></o:p></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">“Or he’ll knock you out and put you on it.”<o:p></o:p></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: justify;">I glared at them both. <o:p></o:p></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: justify;">“<i>No</i>.”<o:p></o:p></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 14.35pt 10pt 0in;">I guess my actions or lack thereof spoke louder than words and, needing no interpreter, Dalph shrugged, moved forward, and I felt the force of his fist for only a split second before the world turned black. <o:p></o:p></div><br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 14.35pt 10pt 0in; text-align: center;">* * * *<o:p></o:p></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 14.35pt 10pt 0in;">April, 2012.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>MuseItUp Publishing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Y’all come back now, hear?<o:p></o:p></div>gail roughton brananhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03258347523766173312noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3965098524381892841.post-22514565655928365422012-01-23T02:00:00.008-05:002012-01-23T09:59:15.427-05:00Well Water Woes<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Hey y’all!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Welcome back to Flowers on the Fence Country!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I feel sort of like the Johnny Cash song right now – “I’ve been everywhere, man, I’ve been everywhere…”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘Cause in the last months, since November, I’ve been – well, everywhere.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Without leaving my computer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve collected some flash fiction from Malta.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve seen New Zealand with Sue Perkins.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> I've met Meghan Shelby courtesy of Roseanne Dowell and Jennifer Taylor courtesy of BarbaraE. </span>I’ve been on the Giant’s Causeway in Ireland courtesy of Pat McDermott.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve been in Shadow Land, courtesy of Graeme Smith and Jack Shadow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve been in a cartoon, courtesy of I. B. Nosey.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>J. Q. Rose put us on chorus line.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ginger Simpson gave us a tour of commercials, warning us the cure might be worse than the illness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So today, I’d thought we’d stay right here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Right here in Flowers on the Fence Country.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And maybe I’d tell y’all another of my adventures of living in the country.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, y’all game?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You ready?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Alrigghhtttyyyyyy, then!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Here we go!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Misadventures of Gail Branan…</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiEDZJXGUFyIgMGL1uTsByhE6XXv6Eh8dB4Su5qwdkaKTHfxBt4vzRp3lbD3Y3XQFFBAugEd-Pfb_JfkFUJK0N4dNLs3x-OBo7ko2ysNTd8BSHbPZ_ZrD3O7V1dDKKtLLASLnu7QiM_aek/s1600/Driveway+Starting+Down.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiEDZJXGUFyIgMGL1uTsByhE6XXv6Eh8dB4Su5qwdkaKTHfxBt4vzRp3lbD3Y3XQFFBAugEd-Pfb_JfkFUJK0N4dNLs3x-OBo7ko2ysNTd8BSHbPZ_ZrD3O7V1dDKKtLLASLnu7QiM_aek/s200/Driveway+Starting+Down.JPG" width="200" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">You can’t claim you live in the country if you don’t have a well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you have a well, you’re not normal unless you’ve turned on a facet at least one time during the year and nothing’s come out of it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It means that somebody, somewhere, has left the water running past the point where the pump can keep up with the flow. </span></span><br />
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<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">The culprit is almost always a toilet that's kept running and nobody's noticed. One memorable afternoon, I arrived home to find my husband Randy sitting by the pump house listening to the sound of the pump.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He approached me with his usual demeanor when life’s thrown an inconvenient curve, which is to say he looked like the herald of impending and insurmountable disaster.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span> </span></span><br />
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<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">“We got no water,” he announced, as though I couldn’t have figured that out by his vigil outside the pump house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Go cut the circuit for the well, we’ll see if it catches up by itself.” </span></span><br />
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<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">He started cutting grass and I complied with instructions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I waited an appropriate length of time and flipped the circuit breaker for the pump back to “on”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nothing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I flipped the circuit back off so as not to burn up the pump motor and hollered him and the lawn mower down.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span> </span></span><br />
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<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">“No go!” I yelled over the noise of the lawnmower.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“It needs priming! Go do it!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span> </span></span><br />
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<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">“Don’t know how!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just go shut it back off!” </span></span><br />
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<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">“You don’t know <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">how</i>?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now, don’t get me wrong, I didn’t know how either, but I’m a girl.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d been married to the man at the time for 34 years or so, and it had never occurred to me that all Southern country men didn’t know how to prime a pump.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br />
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<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">“No!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Shut off the power!” </span></span><br />
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<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">“I already DID!” I shouted back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“It needs priming and Jason probably knows HOW if you don’t!"<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our son-in-law had worked for Greene’s Well Drilling Service one summer as a teenager. </span></span><br />
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<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">"JUST SHUT IT OFF!!" </span></span><br />
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<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Needless to say, this left me in a high state of piss-off. So five minutes later he's back at the front door shouting over the lawnmower, "Did you call Jason?" </span></span><br />
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<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Can you see the finger? Can you see it? </span></span><br />
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<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">"No, you told me not to!!" </span></span><br />
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<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">"Well, go call him!!" </span></span><br />
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<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">My son-in-law’s a Deputy Sheriff, with fairly irregular hours.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He is further a K-9 officer and somebody’s always calling him to bring his dog out, even on his days off.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That particular day, by some miracle, he’d had a whole day off and had imbibed a few beers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So he wasn’t driving.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I explained the situation and he allowed as how he wasn’t <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>sure he remembered how to prime a pump as that was not part of his job duties that summer, but could probably figure it out if I’d come collect him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Which I proceeded to do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We filled an ice chest with water, and Jason and I and my young grandson came back home to attend the pump.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span> </span></span><br />
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<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Jason fiddled a bit, tried one method that didn’t work, and then tried another that did.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>WHALA! <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Water. </span></span><br />
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<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">I believe it was then that Randy volunteered the information that the flush handle on our bathroom toilet was loose and he had tightened it up. </span></span><br />
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<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">"You didn't!" </span></span><br />
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<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">"Yeah." <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Guess what I figured out the last time this happened and Green's came to prime it and make $85.00? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you tighten the flush handle all the way on the toilet in our <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>bathroom, it's too freakin' tight, the rubber thing doesn't close all the way, and the toilet runs! <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I attempted to explain this to no avail. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So I went behind him and loosened it. He came to check on things and tightened it back up. I waited till he wasn't looking and loosened it again. And took a hot shower, thinking the episode was at an end.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not. </span></span><br />
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<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">The next morning just when I was walking out the front door, Greene’s Well Service pulled up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I thanked heaven all the dogs were in and not running around the yard barking their heads off and playing dodge ball with the tires, my first thought being that Randy called them before I’d gotten home yesterday and didn't call them back. </span></div><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br />
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<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">I told them I appreciated their visit but didn’t need them, the issue had been resolved.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span> </span></span><br />
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<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">“Well, he called this morning but doesn’t answer his phone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Boss man said we’d better come on out.” </span></span><br />
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<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Well, if he’d called this morning, maybe something was going on with the pump he'd just noticed and didn’t tell me about.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I told them they were welcome to look, my husband was two miles away and I’d go get him. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We own the local Laundromat so I ran up there to advise of our visitors.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Randy was busily engaged helping one of his favorite ladies, Miss Corrine, do her laundry.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span> </span></span><br />
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<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">“I didn’t call ‘em this morning!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Go back and tell ‘em it’s fixed, don’t need ‘em!” </span></span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT98QZvqgfbgpp430eYGIQU1CK17nnZbp-6d22N8aYJxQ54onOV2lgwPz_l38NEpHRtO90DzSiGXPCgPdVL8Co9LgqYd1qHipGczQVvgj2wX7jlV9ZNEUDK6AtGgcA3XcWuZ5wihSYmYiG/s1600/My+driveway.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT98QZvqgfbgpp430eYGIQU1CK17nnZbp-6d22N8aYJxQ54onOV2lgwPz_l38NEpHRtO90DzSiGXPCgPdVL8Co9LgqYd1qHipGczQVvgj2wX7jlV9ZNEUDK6AtGgcA3XcWuZ5wihSYmYiG/s200/My+driveway.JPG" width="200" /></span></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">I love my job assignments.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I departed and headed back down our three-quarter mile long, rutted, curving, gravel, country driveway and met their truck half-way up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I proceeded to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">back</i> <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">up</i> this rutted, curving, in-need-of-scraping country driveway till I got to a spot where I could pull over and relayed the message.</span></span></div><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"></span></span></div><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">In my absence, they had figured out that Randy’s call had come in after hours last night and I was graciously advised not to worry about it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I thanked them sweetly and opted to go back down the driveway when they passed rather than finish backing up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I then called Randy and got no answer, this being different than almost every time I called him how?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He called back and advised that he thought he <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">might </i>have called last night and left a voice mail, forgot about it and didn't call back. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">You think?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They have telepathy or something and just appear when wells run dry?</i> </span></span><br />
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<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Ah!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Life in the Southern country side! Y'all come back now, hear?</span></span></div>gail roughton brananhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03258347523766173312noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3965098524381892841.post-17050829248564344412012-01-16T02:00:00.004-05:002012-01-16T07:13:41.776-05:00Of Shadows and Light<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><br />
<div class="yiv405840874msonospacing" style="margin: 1em 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;">Of Shadows and Light…..</span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7tK29Rz-O-RgjnrX6BsKyigXFyYXK-SrvZsIzebkJ-PyBHZTTBFYsCzbEknXLQbaLcE-8GZ9NpS4Q8GPPopFFCr1mjBwcEpSD3Y74ugA3Nuyd0rY5oujKrgDfCUhmYba2uHnjBSnKp4yk/s1600/image001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="195" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7tK29Rz-O-RgjnrX6BsKyigXFyYXK-SrvZsIzebkJ-PyBHZTTBFYsCzbEknXLQbaLcE-8GZ9NpS4Q8GPPopFFCr1mjBwcEpSD3Y74ugA3Nuyd0rY5oujKrgDfCUhmYba2uHnjBSnKp4yk/s320/image001.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo Used With Permission of Owner</td></tr>
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</div><div class="yiv405840874msonospacing" style="margin: 1em 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;">Shadow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Light.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Light.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Shadow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not my usual welcome to Flowers on the Fence Country, you say?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not my usual Flowers on the Fence, either.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I usually come out with the Southern charm set at full blast.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>None of that’s fake, you know.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s real.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s part of me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But like everybody else, I have other – personas.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Entities.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Bits and pieces of – darkness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some folks are naturally drawn to the light.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I draw a lot of ‘em.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But some folks—well, they’re just naturally drawn to the dark.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To the shadows.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now, this might come as a shock to y’all, but I draw a lot of those folks, too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Folks from the shadows.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Like my next guest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He’s got a name of course.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We all know him as Graeme Smith.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But guess what?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I first met him in a bar in Vladivostok.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Using his real name.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Shadow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Jack Shadow. You don't see him coming. You don't notice he's moving. But he's moving all right. Closer....closer.....can you see him moving closer?</span></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcEVr92oF7Fji_Hm1xXfn-ZH2w2ovzsSTIhaRLv3Hs88bBM38Zw6BTijK0RW0p1Mi-EEvnA0ysHx_6dOR7fzjSUahaL2iXGu_nPL-yFubg3EeNyDN_Py5RRmeK8CJSdxMSpUErZQ1l9yMZ/s1600/image002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcEVr92oF7Fji_Hm1xXfn-ZH2w2ovzsSTIhaRLv3Hs88bBM38Zw6BTijK0RW0p1Mi-EEvnA0ysHx_6dOR7fzjSUahaL2iXGu_nPL-yFubg3EeNyDN_Py5RRmeK8CJSdxMSpUErZQ1l9yMZ/s320/image002.jpg" width="235" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo Used With Permission of Owner</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div align="center" class="yiv405840874msonospacing" style="margin: 1em 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;">*******<o:p></o:p></span></div><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;">Lady Gail. Or, as I know her, ‘what do you mean, you want me to guest on your blog, you crazy woman you?’<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"> </span><br />
<div class="yiv405840874msonospacing" style="margin: 1em 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;">Maybe I’ll stick with Lady Gail. It’s shorter, and who knows when we might end up in a letter crisis. Like the oil thing, but with fewer nodding donkeys.</span></div><div class="yiv405840874msonospacing" style="margin: 1em 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;">I first met Lady Gail (of course, that’s not her real name. If I told you her real name, she’d have to kill me. Again.) in a bar in Vladivostok. She’d just assosinat…. ossisanot…. ass-toss-er-isked…. er, she’d just pink-slipped the head of the local Origami Association. Well, more red-slipped really. Sawn off shotguns can be like that. Just another busy day at the office for an international assassin and patchwork quilting consultant. Anyway, she’d slipped in for a Vodka Moretini. The sort that says ‘hold the glass and give me the bottle – I might get into an argument’.<o:p></o:p></span></div><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><br />
<div class="yiv405840874msonospacing" style="margin: 1em 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;">Anyway, we were getting along just fine until her cell phone rang. It was her next contract. Those cell phones have great screens these days, don’t they? Mind you, I take a lousy photograph, and this one was no better. But after a madcap pursuit across the Alps (we had to get them moved over to Vladivostok – the air fare would have been madness) and a Seqway chase through the sewers of Milan, we ended up at the Rickenbacker Falls. But since neither of us could play the guitar, Lady Gail just used her cell to order some more Moretinis.<o:p></o:p></span></div><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><br />
<div class="yiv405840874msonospacing" style="margin: 1em 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;">She hasn’t tried to kill me since then. Well, not too often, at least. You see, she hates unfinished jobs. So there was the time in my favorite little café on the banks of the River Seine. I mean, I know she doesn’t think small, but blowing the river bank and flooding Paris so her trained sharks could swim along the Ave Victoria to get me was a little… but no matter. I was in Texas at the time, so what’s the wrong Paris between friends.<o:p></o:p></span></div><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><br />
<div class="yiv405840874msonormal" style="margin: 1em 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;">Of course, we all know what happened after that. Lady Gail’s Nobel Prize for Flower Arranging. With extra cyanide-tipped poison ivy. I always thought the cyanide was an original touch. And it got rid of the Lithuanian judge rather elegantly. That’ll teach him to ‘nul point’. Even in Lithuanian. Then there was my… um… But we mustn’t forget Lady Gail’s perfect 27.9 in the Olympic Vodka drinking. And my… er… Oh! And Lady Gail becoming President of Western Antarctica! And my… er… Right! Yes! My being invited to guest on her blog!<o:p></o:p></span></div><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><br />
<div class="yiv405840874msonospacing" style="margin: 1em 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;">So here I am. A Flower on the Fence. Graeme Smith. Writer of, to quote a friend of mine (Cailidgh Spires - <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pc7tbcYWHG0" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pc7tbcYWHG0</span></a>), ‘words and stuff’. Without being able to play the guitar like Cailidgh can (you can buy her album at <a href="http://www.reverbnation.com/cailidghspires" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">http://www.reverbnation.com/cailidghspires</span></a>).<o:p></o:p></span></div><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><br />
<div class="yiv405840874msonospacing" style="margin: 1em 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;">This is me – Graeme Smith. Writer of comic fantasy. Well, it is if you laugh when you read it :-). And this, I’m told, is the part where I’m supposed to try to talk you into buying my book. A, like, whole book. Wot I wrote.<o:p></o:p></span></div><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><br />
<div class="yiv405840874msonospacing" style="margin: 1em 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;">Ain’t gonna :-P.<o:p></o:p></span></div><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><br />
<div class="yiv405840874msonospacing" style="margin: 1em 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;">Actually, I’m not going to because I can’t. Not yet. ‘A Comedy of Terrors’ doesn’t come out until July. If you want to take a look at that, or the Prologue at least, you can wander by <a href="http://www.graeme-smith.net/content/comedy-terrors-sample" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">http://www.graeme-smith.net/content/comedy-terrors-sample</span></a>. But you can do that later. If you want to :-). For now – for now, if I could, I’d like to get your help.<o:p></o:p></span></div><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><br />
<div class="yiv405840874msonospacing" style="margin: 1em 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;">You see, some time ago I decided to write about something. Or rather, someone. I wanted to write something with a main character who had absolutely no redeeming or sympathetic characteristics whatsoever. And then to… but that would be telling. So anyway. I tried.<o:p></o:p></span></div><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><br />
<div class="yiv405840874msonospacing" style="margin: 1em 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;">Apparently I failed :-P.<o:p></o:p></span></div><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><br />
<div class="yiv405840874msonospacing" style="margin: 1em 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;">See, some people who’ve seen him think he’s funny. Amusing. So he has at least one redeeming characteristic :-P. But here it is. The Question. Well – not The Question. Jack hasn’t got to that yet. But a Question. Take a read, and then – would you like to read more? Is it worth carrying on with?<o:p></o:p></span></div><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><br />
<div class="yiv405840874msonospacing" style="margin: 1em 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;">Don’t worry. You can say whatever you want. Right here. In the Comments. So go on. Be brave. This is a Fence. Don’t sit on it – be a Flower.<o:p></o:p></span></div><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><br />
<div class="yiv405840874msonospacing" style="margin: 1em 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;">A Flower on the Fence.</span></div><div class="yiv405840874msonospacing" style="margin: 1em 0in;"><br />
</div><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;">PROLOGUE: LEAD GUITAR IN A LEAD ZEPPELIN<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"> </span><br />
<div class="yiv405840874msonospacing" style="margin: 1em 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;">The name don't matter none.<o:p></o:p></span></div><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><br />
<div class="yiv405840874msonospacing" style="margin: 1em 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;">Jack Shadow. ShadowJack. Like the lady said in the song, the name don't matter none, 'cause it's all the same. I do my job right, you ain’t never heard of me. Never met me. And them as do meet me - mostly they don’t tell anyone.<o:p></o:p></span></div><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><br />
<div class="yiv405840874msonospacing" style="margin: 1em 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;">Ever.<o:p></o:p></span></div><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><br />
<div class="yiv405840874msonospacing" style="margin: 1em 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;">If it can hurt you, I likely used it some time. I'm the guy you passed in the street, the guy you never saw. Maybe I bummed a cigarette. Maybe I dropped some change in your tin. Maybe you were my friend. Maybe I killed you.<o:p></o:p></span></div><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><br />
<div class="yiv405840874msonospacing" style="margin: 1em 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;">Maybe both.<o:p></o:p></span></div><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><br />
<div class="yiv405840874msonospacing" style="margin: 1em 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;">Yeah, yeah. I’ve heard ‘em. Every one of ‘em. They all start out the same. The jokes. " See... this guy walks into a bar...". Well, that's not me. That guy, I mean. The guy who walked into a bar. I'm the guy who walked out. No. It's not amnesia. Or at least they don't say it is. I've no mysterious past I'm running to find. Near as anyone knows, I don't have a past at all. Near as anyone knows - or admits to. I don't walk round a corner, and some guy from a car shoots at me because long ago I - well, sure. Guys shoot at me. Hell, women too. But not for long ago. Mostly for last week. Where 'last week' is just about any week you choose.<o:p></o:p></span></div><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><br />
<div class="yiv405840874msonospacing" style="margin: 1em 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;">No, I just walked out of a bar. That's what they tell me, the Dragon.<o:p></o:p></span></div><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><br />
<div class="yiv405840874msonospacing" style="margin: 1em 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;">The Dragon? Look it up. It’s all out there. ‘Order of the Dragon. Hell, ‘Sárkány Lovagrend’ if you speak Hungarian. Which I don’t. Yup, the Internet’s a wonderful thing. Guy who had the idea was Dragon. The Dragon loved it so much, they gave him a Special Commendation. I know that for a fact. They sent me to deliver it. The Commendation.<o:p></o:p></span></div><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><br />
<div class="yiv405840874msonospacing" style="margin: 1em 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;">See, you can’t have good ideas being talked about. Ever.<o:p></o:p></span></div><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><br />
<div class="yiv405840874msonospacing" style="margin: 1em 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;">Mind, I said it was out there, about the Dragon. Never said it was true. It isn’t. None of it. That’s the Dragon way too.<o:p></o:p></span></div><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><br />
<div class="yiv405840874msonospacing" style="margin: 1em 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;">Oh, they looked, the Dragon. They really looked for me. Me before the bar, that is. And there isn't much the Dragon can't find if they want to. But there it is. One day, I walked out of a bar. Were there piles of dead bodies behind me? A stacked deck I was dealing, or one I was dealt? I don't know. I walked out of the damn place. I never walked back in. Just - just away.<o:p></o:p></span></div><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><br />
<div class="yiv405840874msonospacing" style="margin: 1em 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;">But they were waiting, and they took me. The Dragon. They tell me they do that a lot. Wait. ‘Til the time a beat of a gnat's wing can topple an empire. Me? I guess I'm a gnat.<o:p></o:p></span></div><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><br />
<div class="yiv405840874msonospacing" style="margin: 1em 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;">I walked out of a bar. The rest - the rest will be history. Some day. Not that I'll be in it. Nobody remembers the gnats. Not if they did their job right.<o:p></o:p></span></div><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><br />
<div class="yiv405840874msonospacing" style="margin: 1em 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;">What's a gnat? It's like they say. If you gotta ask, I can't tell you. But maybe a story would help. Not that it ever happened of course. You comfy? Of course you are. I took care of that.<o:p></o:p></span></div><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><br />
<div class="yiv405840874msonospacing" style="margin: 1em 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;">As airships go, it flew like a lump of lead. That might have had something to do with me shooting the Captain and both deck crew, and locking the hydrogen release valves wide open.<o:p></o:p></span></div><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><br />
<div class="yiv405840874msonospacing" style="margin: 1em 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;">The ship had taken off with some big-ass ceremony. A guy with more money than sense had paid some guy with more sense than money to try to do what the Hindenberg had told people not to do. So the guy with no money had done some thinking, then some other guys did some making. Now the guy with no money had money and the guy with lots of money had an airship. Big-ass airship, big-ass launch ceremony. So with all the smoke and mirrors, it hadn't been hard to get on board. The flight from London to New York meant the blimp had to go real high, to catch the jet stream. I figured there'd be time.<o:p></o:p></span></div><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><br />
<div class="yiv405840874msonospacing" style="margin: 1em 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;">OK. So you're thinking the big shot, right? Hell, no. He had the smarts to think maybe being on the maiden voyage wasn't such a hot idea. So he'd got on with all the cameras flashing and then sneaked off out the back. Left some dumb look-alike stand-in with the reporters to make happy faces and tell them funny stories. No. There was a band on board, to keep things poppin'. The Dragon wanted to make sure the bass player never made it to New York.<o:p></o:p></span></div><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><br />
<div class="yiv405840874msonospacing" style="margin: 1em 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;">Why? Damned if I know. They don't say, and I don't ask. It's a job, that's all. Just another job. That's the Dragon. Some say it's all about the balance. Some say it's the harmony. Some say Dragon’s just a bunch of mean sons of bitches out to rule the world. ‘Course, most of them as say that won’t say it any more.<o:p></o:p></span></div><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><br />
<div class="yiv405840874msonospacing" style="margin: 1em 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;">Not ever.<o:p></o:p></span></div><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><br />
<div class="yiv405840874msonospacing" style="margin: 1em 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;">Me? I say it's just a big pot, and sometimes it needs stirring. Nobody needs to tell the spoon nothin'. I'm a spoon.<o:p></o:p></span></div><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><br />
<div class="yiv405840874msonospacing" style="margin: 1em 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;">So I did what needed doing, and now the ship wasn't going anywhere but down. Along the way, some people got brave. So they got dead. No big. At least it was quick for them. But the chute I had was only good at low altitude and the damn ship was dropping real slow. Time to kill. So there I was. Sliding down the sky jammin' real bad 'Nobody's fault but mine' on a dead guy's axe, ‘til I could pop a window and open my chute.<o:p></o:p></span></div><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><br />
<div class="yiv405840874msonospacing" style="margin: 1em 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;">Real bad? Hell. I never said I could <i>play</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></div><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><br />
<div class="yiv405840874msonospacing" style="margin: 1em 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;">That's what it's like in the Dragon. Sure, they tell you you’re a hero. Saving the world. And if you believe it, what do you get? Well, you get to play bad lead guitar in a lead zeppelin.<o:p></o:p></span></div><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><br />
<div class="yiv405840874msonospacing" style="margin: 1em 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;">I ain’t no hero. Like I said. I'm a gnat.<o:p></o:p></span></div><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><br />
<div class="yiv405840874msonospacing" style="margin: 1em 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;">So there it is. Let's try that joke again. See, this guy walks out of a bar...<o:p></o:p></span></div><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><br />
<div class="yiv405840874msonospacing" style="margin: 1em 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;">I can tell you're wondering. Why we here, you and me? Why we talking? Why am I telling you all this?<o:p></o:p></span></div><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><br />
<div class="yiv405840874msonospacing" style="margin: 1em 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;">Well, see, every job needs that moment. The moment you bang the side of the pinball machine and rock the ball, without ringing tilt. A distraction. So. Consider yourself distracted. But don't take it personal. It's just a job. I'll make it quick.<o:p></o:p></span></div><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><br />
<div class="yiv405840874msonormal" style="margin: 1em 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;">Oh, and don't worry. I won't feel a thing.<o:p></o:p></span></div><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div><span style="font-size: small;"> </span>gail roughton brananhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03258347523766173312noreply@blogger.com44tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3965098524381892841.post-52362767113615939162012-01-12T07:00:00.006-05:002012-01-12T07:58:44.537-05:00Flowers on the Fence Interviews I. B. Nosey!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB-6g6kJ_ZODTUTVaZJMdYxXC7BdtmKFHkleSDK1NBCtzBc_md7UpkjP2lLvGRuzyicWvBwmXBvq0YiC3My1OoL02wkQUo_xpzZh4EOqullRmfVhCtHB7uRNZuyYO4_lGlUL7hScFK1Kvj/s1600/I+interviewed+Nosey+Badge.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="157" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB-6g6kJ_ZODTUTVaZJMdYxXC7BdtmKFHkleSDK1NBCtzBc_md7UpkjP2lLvGRuzyicWvBwmXBvq0YiC3My1OoL02wkQUo_xpzZh4EOqullRmfVhCtHB7uRNZuyYO4_lGlUL7hScFK1Kvj/s400/I+interviewed+Nosey+Badge.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;">Hey y’all!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Welcome back to Flowers on the Fence Country!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And do I have a special flower for y’all or <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">WHAT</i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>today?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Remember about a month or so ago, I took a trip over to Gumdrop Island and met that ‘official unofficial reporter’, I. B. Nosey?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Who was <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">really</i> nosy, by the way…anyhow, turn-around is fair play, I think, so I asked him if he’d like to come over and ….<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oh!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Excuse me, please.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Somebody’s knocking on the door.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, actually, it sounds more like somebody’s beating it down, y’all hear that?</span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">(Gail crosses to door and opens)</span><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">Well, Nosey!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You’re early!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hey folks, look who’s here, and early too! What?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Whatcha’ mean close the door quick?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why?</span><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">Nosey: Help! Help me, Gail! Please, please, <i>please</i>! (falls to knees in pleading position with clasped hands extended towards Gail) I’m being chased by something awful! Something horrible! Something terrifying! Something psychotic! Something—</span><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">Gail:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You’re being chased by a psychotic <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">what</i>?</span><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">Nosey: (gulps) A woman! Yes, Gail, a raving lunatic woman, I tell ya. You’ve gotta help me. I don’t know why this crazy attorney wants my hide --well, other than the fact that it’s incredibly handsome, of course, but—</span><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">Gail:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So an attorney’s after you <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">why</i>?</span><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">Nosey: Uh…the reason sorta escapes me, as I was busy trying to escape from her, you know. But when she flashed that business card, and I saw her name, then it hit me. I need help, and I need it <i>fast</i>. You’re a legal expert. Right?</span><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">Gail:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(Sigh)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Story of my life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Folks find out you work for lawyers, you’re the ready source of answers for all questions legal!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s not enough to work with, honey.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tell me the whole thing from the git-go?</span><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">Nosey: Okay. Well…(slowly straightens to full height) Let’s see…she mentioned something about a petunia, and a bad box of chocolates. I heard the words, ‘it destroyed her DNA’. I managed to ask what that meant and she screamed, ‘Do Not Aromatize’. Any clue to what she was saying, Gail?</span><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">Gail:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(Longer sigh)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Okay.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have to call in the bigger guns on this.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You sit right here – you want some ice tea? </span><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">Nosey: I think I can really use something stronger.</span><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">Gail:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Coffee?</span><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">Nosey: You kidding? That’s all you have to offer a guy who’s run a five-mile marathon from the mad clutches of a nit-wit lawyer?</span><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">Gail:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, you don’t need to be rude about it, you’re in the country, remember.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We’d offer a burglar a glass of ice tea!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After we’ve filled ‘em with buckshot, of course.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And this is a G-rated site, I don’t have anything stronger!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Okay, you sit right there and let me go see if I can get with one of my attorneys, this is uncharted territory for me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Don’t think there’s ever been a case like it, in fact.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Anywhere</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Only you, Nosey, only <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">YOU</i> – could get into a situation where you’re accused of destroying DNA!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And don’t you talk to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">anybody</i> till I get back, you hear me?</span><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">Nosey: But if the telephone should ring, it might be an adoring fan! C’mon, Gail, allow me to talk to <i>them</i>!</span><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">Gail:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m serious, Nosey.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Don’t talk to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">anybody</i>.</span><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">(Gail exits room – shaking head and muttering to herself:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Any other reporter, it’d be a simple case of libel, but not you, Nosey, oh no!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not you!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Destroyed DNA?!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Gimme a break!” </i>)</span><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">(Voice outside door)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Pizza delivery!</span><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">Nosey: Hello, pizza! Wonder if it’s covered with Gum Drop’s delicious coated marshmallows? (presses mouth to door). Would that happen to be a <i>Yummy Tummy</i> <i>Marsh Harsh</i> special? But, oh, wait…(snaps fingers) I’m not supposed to talk to anyone!</span><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(Voice outside door)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Okay, but it’s a Supreme and it’s gettin’ cold!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Lady who ordered it said she had a special guest and wanted it delivered piping hot!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Guess I’ll just take it back to the delivery car….</span><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">Nosey: You can’t do that! I’ve just run a five-mile marathon and I’m starving!</span><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">(Nosey opens door)</span><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">O. G. Whattapayne:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Aha!!!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Got you now, you little weasel!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You’re cornered!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And you’re mine!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now, sign right here!</span><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;"><o:p></o:p></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3snXFWmronEhEfi9R_5RRCXpcktWNIa4oyfKcuugOo1xOSJdT7apbOrFbzv7HOfYY5qg4MEPJU4a-AbvqwIUuWQKsoguu0y2BBTm8Bk3SarLPDhwOJojZ6Zt8nlQvw-s0Fb7gg5gmtG8I/s1600/OG+Whattapayne+pic.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/AVvXsEg3snXFWmronEhEfi9R_5RRCXpcktWNIa4oyfKcuugOo1xOSJdT7apbOrFbzv7HOfYY5qg4MEPJU4a-AbvqwIUuWQKsoguu0y2BBTm8Bk3SarLPDhwOJojZ6Zt8nlQvw-s0Fb7gg5gmtG8I/s200/OG+Whattapayne+pic.jpg" width="190" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">Nosey: Ack! You’re that nit-wit, lunatic, crazed attorney! What’s ya shoving that paper in my face for? If you think I’m signing payment for this pizza, Gail’s the one who ordered it!</span><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;"><o:p> </o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">O.G.Whattapayne:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Don’t you worry about what it is!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’ll save you a lotta grief in the long run!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Besides, it’s in legalize, not English, you wouldn’t understand it if I tried to explain!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now, where’s your boss lady?</span><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">Nosey: Boss lady? Who? No, oh no, you’ve got that all wrong. If Gander heard you…(casts nervous glance across his shoulder) </span><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">O.G.Whattapayne:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Of course you have a boss lady!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You got a boss, I got a boss, we got to make the boss happy!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now it’d make my boss lady happy to add your boss onto this lawsuit we’re filing, so why don’t you just tell me where she is?</span><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">Nosey: Lawsuit? Why? For what? For ordering a lousy Supreme pizza, which by the way, this box looks like an extra small, and…(sniffs the air) it doesn’t contain one single marshmallow! You can’t sue Gail Branan for a marshmallow-less pizza!</span><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">O.G. Whattapayne: Do you think I just fell off the last turnip truck? Don’t answer that! Pizza, my foot. No, the lawsuit is because of what <i>you</i> did to poor Petunia the Skunk. That’s right. Remember that rotten box of chocolates you gave her --because you were <i>too cheap</i> to buy the real stuff from Gum Drop Island? Well, that junk food has destroyed Petunia’s scent! Yes, instead of her own individual delicate B.O., she now emits a <i>Twilight in Paris</i> aroma! She’s shamed in the land of Skunkdom. You’ve caused her mental anguish and irreparable harm. So both you and your boss are liable!</span><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">Nosey: B--b--who could know? And my boss--I mean, my <i>real</i> boss--wasn’t even there when Petunia hogged down those chocolates! You can’t really sue her, can you?</span><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">O.G.Whattapayne:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sure we can sue her!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You work for her, don’t you?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Don’t be dense!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s called the Doctrine of Respondeat Superior.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s legalize for – for – well, for of course we can sue your boss for something you did!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Where.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Is.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She???</i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘Cause I really <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">hate</i> having to ask somebody something twice and I’m way past that with you!</span><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">Nosey: Believe me…(leans closer and whispers) you don’t want to meet my <i>real</i> boss. Gander says her initials stand for <i>Master Ma’am</i>. She’s --well, maybe it’d be safer if I fetched my friend who works for lawyers. She’s so smart she even knows more than they do, and--and if you persist, then I might be forced to sic her on you!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">O. G. Whattapayne:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oh, like I’m real scared of your <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">friend</i> who works for lawyers!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(Bends down and gets close and personal with Nosey)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You just tell me what—</span><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">(Door opens)</span><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">Gail:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hey!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Excuse me, but who the heck are <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">you</i> and exactly why are you in my sitting room in Flowers on the Fence Country?</span><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">O.G. Whattapayne:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Here’s my card, lady.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And this little twerp opened the door and let me in.</span><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;"><o:p></o:p></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyJBKA72JSgxfRZt4TvWQ2164cECsc6T3bS-9y4f_8vMjM1exOc0rSxpeNxGkjPZmqkZmPoARxjHMq8FGNGOi97u3wOJncnHbySo9fRtU1yQQiXNvbwwOqJhVz02Z_3QvPNMfz8vpfvjov/s1600/Business+card+Shuturface+%2526+DoWhatISay.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="220" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyJBKA72JSgxfRZt4TvWQ2164cECsc6T3bS-9y4f_8vMjM1exOc0rSxpeNxGkjPZmqkZmPoARxjHMq8FGNGOi97u3wOJncnHbySo9fRtU1yQQiXNvbwwOqJhVz02Z_3QvPNMfz8vpfvjov/s320/Business+card+Shuturface+%2526+DoWhatISay.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">Nosey:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hey, you said you had <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">PIZZA!!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>SUPREME, EVEN!!</i></span><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">Gail:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nosey, hush.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">Nosey: How come?</span><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">Gail:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nosey, hush.</span><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">Nosey: But—</span><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">Gail:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>NOSEY!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Hush </i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>is Southern for SHUT UP!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What part of that don’t you get?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(Silence)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thank you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now, Ms. Whattapayne,I’m not acquainted with this firm.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>ShutUrFace & DoWhatISay.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How charmin’!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now, have you been talking to this gentleman without his attorney present?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Is that the manner in which your firm practices law?</span><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">O.G. Whattapayne:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He didn’t tell me he had an attorney—</span><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">Nosey: Whatever you have to say…(steps quickly behind Gail and peeks over her shoulder)…you can tell it to this woman right here.</span><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">O. G. Whattapayne:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You said she was a friend who worked for lawyers, you little twerp, you didn’t tell me you had a lawyer!</span><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">Gail:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">am</i> a friend who works for lawyers, and I have just retained the services of an attorney you <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">so</i> don’t want to mess with to represent Mr. Nosey in this action – who also has a few partners you <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">so</i> don’t want to mess with – so we will ask you now to leave the premises and give me a call at my office during business hours so that I can set a conference for you and Mr. Nosey’s attorney to discuss this matter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(Hands Whattapayne a card.) And somehow I doubt that it would have mattered to you had he told you he had an attorney.</span><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">O. G. Whattapayne:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hey!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You calling me <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">unethical</i>, lady?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s slander!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And libel!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Slanderous libel!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">sue</i> –</span><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">Gail:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn’t call you anything at all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But you know what they say about the shoe fittin’ and all that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now, if you’ll excuse us, Mr. Nosey and I have business to discuss.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(Gail opens door and gestures OGW out.)</span><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">O. G. Whattapayne:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Okay, okay, I’m leaving!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But you haven’t heard the last of me!!</span><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">Gail:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Of course not.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d never be that lucky.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>By-by now, you won’t be insulted if I don’t say, ‘Y’all come back now hear’<a href="http://www.blogger.com/" name="_GoBack"></a>, will you?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(Door closes on departing OGW)</span><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">Gail:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nosey.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What part of don’t talk to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">anybody</i> didn’t you get?</span><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">Nosey: But I thought she was delivering a <i>Yummy Tummy Marsh Harsh</i> pizza. I couldn’t not let her in! </span><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">Gail:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So you didn’t tell her anything.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s good.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Did you <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">sign</i> anything?</span><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">Nosey (looking sheepish): I saw some kind of paper with a S.O.S. on it. Said ‘Save Our Scent’, and she stuffed a pen up my nose…</span><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">Gail:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t like that look, Nosey.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Don’t like it all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now, tell me all about it…..</span><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju8B1AoAavVhCCSDVUwWZ-v1zqw1Lo-2ofuF14TgvHPFQyMwH65AD_DXkr3vTOyx0fXQ3W-ppPpsSiGrq2Ht8bxsgHI9IE2gFNwRDXPCYVt1AkrtgGE_d5TXWZC9pFK5EsnLmFvR40Heg3/s1600/POW.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju8B1AoAavVhCCSDVUwWZ-v1zqw1Lo-2ofuF14TgvHPFQyMwH65AD_DXkr3vTOyx0fXQ3W-ppPpsSiGrq2Ht8bxsgHI9IE2gFNwRDXPCYVt1AkrtgGE_d5TXWZC9pFK5EsnLmFvR40Heg3/s1600/POW.jpg" /></a><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">(To be Continued…..)</span><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;"><o:p> </o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;">Want to see more of Nosey's trials and tribulations?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Stay tuned for the next installment – on the Season’s Premier of –</span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;">FEELING NOSEY?</span><br />
<span lang="EN-CA" style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"><a href="http://feelingnosey.blogspot.com/">h<span style="color: blue; font-family: Times New Roman;">ttp://feelingnosey.blogspot.com</span></a></span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb99WiMKai57sro4cYDqN6f760fkBNREW0TF2lYx8k8Pc1sYPWZosjWLT35hN7joOtcgTupLUuJowHBVdQyx747xj1PRdqCdIgAb9PhBXTkh2NjjOc_vZ6WOdymP90iWHafyGX2tvUvz_B/s1600/BAM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb99WiMKai57sro4cYDqN6f760fkBNREW0TF2lYx8k8Pc1sYPWZosjWLT35hN7joOtcgTupLUuJowHBVdQyx747xj1PRdqCdIgAb9PhBXTkh2NjjOc_vZ6WOdymP90iWHafyGX2tvUvz_B/s1600/BAM.jpg" /></a><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"></span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"><o:p></o:p></span> </div></span>gail roughton brananhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03258347523766173312noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3965098524381892841.post-75142202061148904312012-01-09T07:00:00.026-05:002012-01-09T07:22:29.658-05:00Of Fairies and Giants: Pat McDermott Visits Flowers on the Fence<span style="color: blue;"></span><br />
<span style="color: blue;"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"><span style="color: black;">Hey, y’all!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Welcome back to Flowers on the Fence Country!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve been trying to collect this flower for <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">months.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></i>But the wait was worth it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Last week New Zealand, this week, Ireland.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And in this group, when we say Ireland, one of the first names that springs to mind is who?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Boston native Pat McDermott who grew up with the songs and stories and legends of Ireland and has brought those Celtic fairies home to Muse!</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitEQlxle2k0D0XkC4FWSUj6CmcJwYGhe10AQKMKb-ViinQV0xvWZhO5bstRRgt6qFew5qWSYATbnTD1dhee5xvmkeHDh0wvNh15c4JZbugbK2a9RjzJCU718P5Rn5dnTnHrJ71wZ_Hvth5/s1600/patmcdermott.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/AVvXsEitEQlxle2k0D0XkC4FWSUj6CmcJwYGhe10AQKMKb-ViinQV0xvWZhO5bstRRgt6qFew5qWSYATbnTD1dhee5xvmkeHDh0wvNh15c4JZbugbK2a9RjzJCU718P5Rn5dnTnHrJ71wZ_Hvth5/s200/patmcdermott.jpg" width="150" /></a><span style="color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: small;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;"><span style="color: black;">From Fairies to Giants: A Story in a Story</span></span><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;"><o:p><span style="color: black;"> </span></o:p></span></div><span style="color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: small;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;"><span style="color: black;">Ireland’s fairies star in my young adult novel, <i>Glancing Through the Glimmer</i>. Who are the fairies? Where did they come from?</span></span><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;"><o:p><span style="color: black;"> </span></o:p></span></div><span style="color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: small;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;"><span style="color: black;">According to one legend, the ancestors of the modern Irish arrived in Ireland 1700 years before Christ and defeated the magical Tuatha de Danann, the Tribe of the Goddess Danu. One of the Danann leaders, a womanizing rascal named Finvarra, negotiated a truce with the Irish that gave the Dananns half of Ireland—the bottom half.</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5Fz_h1Fg8j-CrdRjEgS2of_5VKd3HeYciN3MbejiMvKylpsbRHO8vGKe0QLgHtTOEH1evE9CUqCGXTsasOoUISM6hDjqfvbwsKZoYVcJb83QQamlm0bU1tifvoczTysGnb1l45bEt7LMu/s1600/Glancing+Through+the+Glimmer+300dpi.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5Fz_h1Fg8j-CrdRjEgS2of_5VKd3HeYciN3MbejiMvKylpsbRHO8vGKe0QLgHtTOEH1evE9CUqCGXTsasOoUISM6hDjqfvbwsKZoYVcJb83QQamlm0bU1tifvoczTysGnb1l45bEt7LMu/s200/Glancing+Through+the+Glimmer+300dpi.jpg" width="133" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;"><span style="color: black;">Finvarra became the King of the Connaught Fairies, and though he loves his wife, Queen Oona, he prefers to dance with ‘grippable’ mortal women. He’s been known to kidnap them, as Janet, an American teenager living in the modern Kingdom of Ireland, learns to her dismay in <i>Glancing Through the Glimmer</i>. </span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: small;"> </span><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;"><span style="color: black;">Janet is on her first date with Liam and doesn’t know he’s the King of Ireland’s son. Seventeen-year-old Prince Liam is not only a scholar, he is also a storyteller, or <i>shanachie</i>. His talent for telling tales helps him rescue Janet from Finvarra and his gang, who are partying in an underground cave north of Dublin. Finvarra knows Liam for a <i>shanachie</i> and demands a story.</span></span><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;"><o:p><span style="color: black;"> </span></o:p></span><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="color: black;"><i><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;">Liam eyed his peewee host and pint-sized audience. The perverse idea of telling them a story about giants appealed to him. He began with the standard “long, long ago” and eased into the tale of the giant Finn MacCool’s encounter with his Scottish rival, Benandonner.</span></i></span><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;"><o:p><span style="color: black;"> </span></o:p></span></div><span style="color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: small;"> </span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiROc3vzD6eRM04Yot00gJqpSa7eKVUTW24hf_zhwnD8vh_VlKqZq1ePK-q1ttlOCtc-gYavff2quRT_Oxm111OyLA6etrk8a27jbS_WH3Yqniu-cIc9ExoPYjUqMMxKq24YC9vJzi1fDRj/s1600/Causeway+Sign.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiROc3vzD6eRM04Yot00gJqpSa7eKVUTW24hf_zhwnD8vh_VlKqZq1ePK-q1ttlOCtc-gYavff2quRT_Oxm111OyLA6etrk8a27jbS_WH3Yqniu-cIc9ExoPYjUqMMxKq24YC9vJzi1fDRj/s200/Causeway+Sign.jpg" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;"><span style="color: black;">Liam told an old folktale that offers one explanation for the origin of the Giant’s Causeway, a spectacular stretch of Irish coast in north Antrim. The Causeway is supposedly all that remains of a bridge Finn MacCool formed long ago to link Ireland and Scotland. Finn who, you ask?</span></span></div><span style="color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: small;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;"><span style="color: black;">Finn MacCool was the leader of a roving band of gallant warriors who lived in Ireland centuries ago. He and his comrades appear in many entertaining tales. The legend concerning the Giant’s Causeway depicts him as a mighty giant who challenged his Scottish counterpart, Benandonner, to a contest of martial skill.</span></span><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;"><o:p><span style="color: black;"> </span></o:p></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3X06ZXEN7NCxlMOiDUHENPyZhzONp0d3KchAL20WAqyAf9bswuCw23EPST8prEmr0g0bydoQV0cGw6KGYguM1NndxXpQ-28uMpg9qhO81MVppYuTjYGKx4VYiwHu0SurT4bjEaouf0E__/s1600/Causeway+Stones.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3X06ZXEN7NCxlMOiDUHENPyZhzONp0d3KchAL20WAqyAf9bswuCw23EPST8prEmr0g0bydoQV0cGw6KGYguM1NndxXpQ-28uMpg9qhO81MVppYuTjYGKx4VYiwHu0SurT4bjEaouf0E__/s200/Causeway+Stones.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><i><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;"><span style="color: black;">“Finn shouted across the sea to Scotland and challenged Benandonner to do battle. The two had never met. Now Finn being a thoughtful sort, he set a trail of mighty stones into the sea between Scotland and Ireland so Benandonner might keep his feet dry when he came.”</span></span></i></div><span style="color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: small;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;"><span style="color: black;">Finn expected a sporting fight, some fun and entertainment, but when he saw the monstrous size of the approaching Scottish titan, he ran in terror to his wife and asked her to hide him.</span></span><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;"><o:p><span style="color: black;"> </span></o:p></span> <span style="color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: small;"> </span><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="color: black;"><i><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;">“She dressed him as a baby and placed him in a giant cradle. Benandonner entered their house, and when he saw what he thought was an infant, he screamed in fright. ‘If this is the baby, why, the father must be huge indeed!’”</span></i></span><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;"><o:p><span style="color: black;"> </span></o:p></span><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="color: black;"><i><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;">The fairies belly-laughed at Liam’s theatrical imitation of the terrified giant’s hasty retreat to Scotland. “He tore up the stepping stones as he went so Finn couldn’t follow.”</span></i></span><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjh63WagOlmjfpmvkH1-SpVMfnpnPAy5fH1diwtkad_5oFquXEm5eFYui3OFnFLWu-XyGG1j6Qb5OTe9plL8MpS6Isz8TxrLozXbbvhzhEERlhfUgYoxs_ZKd-lobQcaN2RDNwnfMjAUm-/s1600/Giant%2527s+Boot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjh63WagOlmjfpmvkH1-SpVMfnpnPAy5fH1diwtkad_5oFquXEm5eFYui3OFnFLWu-XyGG1j6Qb5OTe9plL8MpS6Isz8TxrLozXbbvhzhEERlhfUgYoxs_ZKd-lobQcaN2RDNwnfMjAUm-/s200/Giant%2527s+Boot.jpg" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;"><span style="color: black;">The stones that Benandonner left in his wake formed the Giant’s Causeway. Having seen this amazing World Heritage site, I prefer this enchanting version of its origin, though geology tells a less fanciful story.</span></span><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;"><o:p><span style="color: black;"> </span></o:p></span></div><span style="color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: small;"> </span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvvp1rplcmP9avY_gF9OhozA83Ky5LpNeGPq1DybYRJ8m6JsaiHEqmlt8X1HKTVpgYmbB2e_Fo_8gbXxlDMUmOBcSip3lLUrPhsQIjOrNTgXYJWvZG55QMcRFoZDOKAogpyDGaH-YEGLWi/s1600/The+Chimney+Tops.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="165" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvvp1rplcmP9avY_gF9OhozA83Ky5LpNeGPq1DybYRJ8m6JsaiHEqmlt8X1HKTVpgYmbB2e_Fo_8gbXxlDMUmOBcSip3lLUrPhsQIjOrNTgXYJWvZG55QMcRFoZDOKAogpyDGaH-YEGLWi/s200/The+Chimney+Tops.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxaEVbMzN9xWJZtI1okEdpSw7Oo2oDXppsbolx93l-3axOjaS4Fydu0IbOED1iA8cBFrmv3NQBwGcdwP7C-tML6XgvIxWPpg04J4paf4OV4J_qyelpG6HVFXAtfOKqrLGix7O4y_IrtffY/s1600/Giant%2527s+Organ.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxaEVbMzN9xWJZtI1okEdpSw7Oo2oDXppsbolx93l-3axOjaS4Fydu0IbOED1iA8cBFrmv3NQBwGcdwP7C-tML6XgvIxWPpg04J4paf4OV4J_qyelpG6HVFXAtfOKqrLGix7O4y_IrtffY/s200/Giant%2527s+Organ.jpg" width="146" /></a><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;"><span style="color: black;">The Giant’s Causeway is part of the Antrim Plateau, the largest lava plateau in Europe. Its massive cliffs are the result of volcanic activity that occurred 60 million years ago. Lava filled a river bed and cooled slowly, cracking into columns and forming unusual structures with intriguing names like the Giant’s Boot, the Chimney Tops, and the Giant’s Organ. (Nothing anatomical here - it seems Finn created a pipe organ for his son, Oisin, to play).</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="color: black;"><i><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;">Liam paused. Benandonner had given him an idea. He must rip up stones, so to speak, to keep the fairies from following him. He decided to give his story a brand-new ending.</span></i></span><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;"><o:p><span style="color: black;"> </span></o:p></span><span style="color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: small;"> </span><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;"><span style="color: black;">. . . and Finvarra isn’t going to like this brand-new ending one bit . . .</span></span><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;"><o:p><span style="color: black;"> </span></o:p></span></div><span style="color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: small;"> </span><br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;"><span style="color: black;">* * * * *<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><span style="color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: small;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="color: black;"><i><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;">Glancing Through the Glimmer</span></i><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;"> Blurb:</span></span><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;"><o:p><span style="color: black;"> </span></o:p></span><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;"><span style="color: black;">In the modern Kingdom of Ireland, few mortals believe in the fairy folk. Without that belief, the fairies are dying. Finvarra, the King of the Fairies, would rather dance than worry—but he must have a mortal dancing partner.</span></span><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;"><o:p><span style="color: black;"> </span></o:p></span><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;"><span style="color: black;">When Janet Gleason’s grandfather becomes the new U.S. Ambassador to Ireland, the sixteen-year-old orphan must leave Boston and her friends behind. Janet is lonely in Dublin and unused to her grandparents’ stuffy social life. An invitation to a royal ball terrifies her. She can’t even waltz and dreads embarrassment. Finvarra’s fairy witch overhears her fervent wish to learn to dance.</span></span><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;"><o:p><span style="color: black;"> </span></o:p></span><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;"><span style="color: black;">Seventeen-year-old Prince Liam Boru loathes the idea of escorting another spoiled American girl to a ball. In fact, he detests most of his royal duties. He dresses down to move through Dublin unnoticed and finds himself on his royal backside when Janet crashes into him. Intrigued, he asks to see her again, and she willingly agrees. Unaware of each other’s identities, they arrange to meet. When they do, the fairies steal Janet away.</span></span><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;"><o:p><span style="color: black;"> </span></o:p></span><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;"><span style="color: black;">Liam’s attempts to find her trigger a series of frustrating misadventures. Can he and Janet outwit a treacherous fairy king who’s been hoodwinking mortals for centuries?</span></span><br />
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</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;"><span style="color: black;">* * * * *</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;"><span style="color: black;">Author Bio:</span></span><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;"><o:p><span style="color: black;"> </span></o:p></span><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;"><span style="color: black;">Boston native Pat McDermott grew up in a family full of music and myths that have found their way into her stories. Pat is a member of the New Hampshire Writers' Project, Seacoast Writers' Association, Romance Writers of America, and Celtic Hearts Romance Writers. Her favorite non-writing activities include cooking, hiking, reading, and traveling, especially to Ireland. She lives and writes in New Hampshire.</span></span><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;"><o:p><span style="color: black;"> </span></o:p></span><br />
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</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;"><span style="color: black;">* * * * *</span></span><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;"><o:p><span style="color: black;"> </span></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><i><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;"><span style="color: black;">Glancing Through the Glimmer</span></span></i><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;"><span style="color: black;"> on Amazon Kindle: </span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Glancing-through-the-Glimmer-ebook/dp/B006M6LUDM/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1325535205&sr=1-1"><span class="SYSHYPERTEXT"><span style="color: blue;">http://www.amazon.com/Glancing-through-the-Glimmer-ebook/dp/B006M6LUDM/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1325535205&sr=1-1</span></span></a></span><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;"><o:p><span style="color: black;"> </span></o:p></span><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"><span style="color: black;">Pat’s Web Site: </span></span><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;"><a href="http://www.patmcdermott.net/"><span class="SYSHYPERTEXT"><span style="color: blue;">http://www.patmcdermott.net</span></span></a></span><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;"><o:p><span style="color: black;"> </span></o:p></span><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 13pt;"><span style="color: black;">Pat’s Writing/Travel Blog (Put the Kettle On): </span><a href="http://pat-mcdermott.blogspot.com/"><span class="SYSHYPERTEXT"><span style="color: blue;">http://pat-mcdermott.blogspot.com</span></span></a><o:p></o:p></span></div></span><span style="color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: small;"> </span>gail roughton brananhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03258347523766173312noreply@blogger.com19