tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7183559886487805332024-03-16T02:25:42.151-07:00Brea Essex's blogBrea Essexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05287181524150587571noreply@blogger.comBlogger129125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-718355988648780533.post-35993440263668372512011-12-29T13:12:00.000-08:002011-12-29T13:12:31.305-08:00My Blog is Moving!My blog has been moved to Wordpress. Here's the new address: <a href="http://breaessex.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">http://breaessex.wordpress.com/</a> See you all over there!Brea Essexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05287181524150587571noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-718355988648780533.post-28946919444033268392011-12-25T06:00:00.000-08:002011-12-25T06:00:00.608-08:0025 Days of Christmas: New Traditions, Same Family with Joselyn Vaughn<br />
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<span style="color: #403152;">Merry Christmas! Today is officially the last day of 25 Days of Christmas. Awww. But it's not over yet! Please welcome Joselyn Vaughn!</span></div>
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<span style="color: #403152;">Joselyn:</span></div>
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<span style="color: #403152;">When I saw that Brea would be posting my blog on Christmas Day, I panicked. What could I write about for Christmas Day? I haven’t been looking forward to the holidays because this year all our celebrations will be different. My brothers and sisters and I won’t be able to gather at my mother’s on New Year’s for our traditional oyster stew, chili and chicken noodle soups because my mother has moved to a new place and the old place is completely gone. And so all our traditions will be a little new.<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="color: #403152;">But the place isn’t as important as the people. The same family will be able to search for seats around the tables and we’ll still have to count the plates and people a dozen times before we get the math to work. (You’d think that would be easier with the number of engineers and math majors in my family, but we always seem to be one seat or plate short.) The guys will camp out in front of the television, arm-chair reffing their favorite teams and the girls will crowd around the table as Mom deals out the Flinch cards and complains about everyone stacking their deck.<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="color: #403152;">We will still be able to enjoy the time no matter where we are because we are together.<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="color: #403152;">Wishing you and yours all the best whether you are celebrating old traditions or new.</span></div>Brea Essexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05287181524150587571noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-718355988648780533.post-20716188987000740832011-12-24T06:00:00.000-08:002011-12-24T06:00:13.903-08:0025 Days of Christmas: A Ukrainian Christmas with Cesya MaRae CuonoMerry Christmas Eve! 25 Days of Christmas is winding to a close. Today, we have Cesya MaRae Cuono, author of The Elemental series, visiting with us!<br />
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<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: large;">Hey
all, Cesya here. Merry Christmas Eve! I’m so glad I got this spot
on Brea’s “25 Days of Christmas” blog event. And what better
way to kick off Christmas Eve than to share my family’s Christmas
Eve tradition with all of you.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica, serif; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">So,
as all of you know (or don’t know) I’m Ukrainian, Italian,
German, Russian, and Dutch but mainly grew up on the Ukrainian side
of traditions. Before my time, our Christmas Eve wasn’t until
January 6</span><sup><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">th</span></sup><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">
but as the times moved on it was celebrated on December 24</span><sup><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">th</span></sup><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">
with all other religions. Since the changing of our Christmas Eve,
our Christmas celebration goes from December 24</span><sup><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">th</span></sup><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">-January
6</span><sup><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">th</span></sup><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">
(Feast of the Epiphany). The Christmas Eve Supper or Holy Supper
(Ukrainian: Sviata Vecheria) is a very family oriented time. It’s a
time dedicated to God, family, and ancestors. Dinner doesn’t begin
until the first star appears in the sky. This star is believed to be
the Star of Bethlehem and symbolizes the trek of the Three Wise Men.
The table is covered with two tablecloths, one for the ancestors of
the family, the second for the living members. In the old days hay
was laid out under the table as well as under the tablecloths to
remember that Christ was born in a manger. The table always has one
extra place setting for the deceased family members, whose souls,
according to belief, come on Christmas Eve and partake of the food.
This year our table will have two place settings, one for my
grandfather and one for my grandmother.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica, serif;"><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: large;">Now
it’s time for our twelve-course meatless meal. There are twelve
courses in our Holy Supper, because according to the Christian
tradition each course is dedicated to one of Christ's Apostles.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica, serif;"><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: large;">The
first course is always unleavened (flat) bread and wine, which
represents Christ’s body and blood. It’s the main dish of our
whole meal. The next course is honey which represents a sweet year to
come. Then on to garlic which represents the ending of an old year.
We’ve combined the first three courses and eat our bread with the
honey and garlic on top and drink the wine with it. The next course
is our soups: Cabbage and Split-Pea. The foods to follow in the
remaining courses are prunes, fish (crab, shrimp, and tilapia),
mushrooms (cooked in onions and butter), pierogies (homemade), salt
and pepper (yes, they’re considered a course), and our desserts are
assorted fruits and nuts.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica, serif;"><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">So
now you have my Christmas Eve traditions. I hope you learned
something new! And I wish all of you a Merry Christmas and a safe and
Happy New Year!</span></span></span></div>Brea Essexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05287181524150587571noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-718355988648780533.post-56316955134630603922011-12-23T10:43:00.000-08:002011-12-23T10:43:29.681-08:0025 Days of Christmas: Traditional Christmas Breakfast with Erin Danzer<span style="background-color: #d0e0e3;">Today we have Erin Danzer on the blog, sharing her traditional Christmas breakfast with us! It sounds--and looks--so yummy!</span><br />
<span style="background-color: #d0e0e3;"><br /></span><br />
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<span style="color: black;"><b style="background-color: #d0e0e3;">My Traditional Christmas Breakfast</b></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><b style="background-color: #d0e0e3;">By Erin Danzer</b></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #d0e0e3; color: black;">Every Christmas morning when I was growing up,
my brother, parents and I would wake around 7, turn on Christmas
music and take turns opening the gifts Santa had left us during the
night. While we opened gifts, the meat pies my mom had made earlier
in the season would heat in the oven. The sharp smell of sage mixed
with the meat would permeate the house, making us salivate with
anticipation. Finally, it would be time to eat. We would go to the
table, cut the pies in quarters and dig in, always with a chilled
dill pickle on the side.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #d0e0e3; color: black;">According to my Aunt Sharon, a history teacher
as well as family historian, meat pies have been passed down the
female side of my dad's family for several generations, brought to
the States by my great grandmother DeRosier. Correctly called
TOUQUERES (pronounced like "two cares"), meat pies are the
traditional French pastry eaten after mass on Christmas Eve/Day. That
tradition is the one my aunt, dad and their family followed growing
up. The meat pies would be baked during the day on Christmas
Eve. Then after midnight mass, they would come home, heat up and eat
the meat pies, open presents and then go to bed well fed and already
knowing what Santa had brought them while they were at church.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #d0e0e3; color: black;">Meat pies have been my Christmas
breakfast for as long as I can remember. Now, I share the tradition
with my husband and two sons. Someday (many years from now), I hope
to pass on the tradition to my future daughters-in-law. But for now,
I'm happy to share the tradition with all of you.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #d0e0e3; color: black;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #d0e0e3; color: black;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><u><b style="background-color: #d0e0e3;">Meat Pies</b></u></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><u><b style="background-color: #d0e0e3;"><br /></b></u></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><u><b style="background-color: #d0e0e3;"><br /></b></u></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #d0e0e3; color: black;">You will need (for 3-5 Pies)</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #d0e0e3; color: black;">3lb ground pork</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #d0e0e3; color: black;">2lb ground veal</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #d0e0e3; color: black;">Enough pie crusts for top and bottom crusts for
all pies</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #d0e0e3;"><span style="color: black;">Salt, pepper and sage to taste </span>
</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #d0e0e3; color: black;">Brown meat until all brown. Drain just about
all fat off. Add enough water until meat is slightly covered. Add
seasonings (I’m not sure on measurements here. I put a few dashes
of salt and pepper and about 2-3TBP ground sage) and let simmer 20
minutes.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #d0e0e3; color: black;">Make pie crusts and line pie pans. Fill about
half full or little more with meat. (I add a couple spoonfuls of
water here to keep it moist while baking.) Cover with top crust and
seal. Put hole in middle of top crust.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #d0e0e3; color: black;">Bake in 400-degree oven until golden brown
(roughly half hour).</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #d0e0e3; color: black;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #d0e0e3;"><span style="color: black;"><u>For Freezing:</u></span><span style="color: black;">
Bake 15 minutes. Cool and cover with aluminum foil. Later bake in
425-degree oven for 45 minutes.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #d0e0e3; color: black;"><br /></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMfq72Tc2_wBjnncz_YNk1csEmNpyKfwfPVbhf7ery7TKg-Tynk9pTvhtkcjyO6vj9S55WKhQtGR1cxFnOEU8XHwqzrHIkUOycRzpq1eOTht_BVXO6bNz6_LOpBnQHLK_Dd0leGUi8Fto/s1600/100_6487.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="background-color: #d0e0e3; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMfq72Tc2_wBjnncz_YNk1csEmNpyKfwfPVbhf7ery7TKg-Tynk9pTvhtkcjyO6vj9S55WKhQtGR1cxFnOEU8XHwqzrHIkUOycRzpq1eOTht_BVXO6bNz6_LOpBnQHLK_Dd0leGUi8Fto/s320/100_6487.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: #d0e0e3; color: black;">Thank you, Brea, for having me on your blog
today and sharing my favorite holiday tradition and recipe. To
everyone, Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!</span></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>Brea Essexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05287181524150587571noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-718355988648780533.post-54662571007753161682011-12-22T12:15:00.000-08:002011-12-22T12:15:03.968-08:0025 Days of Christmas: Sinterklaas Kaopentje with Allie Burke25 Days of Christmas continues with Allie Burke, author of the Enchanters series! I just have to add that Allie is one of my new favorite people and new favorite authors. Take it away, Allie!<br />
<br />
Allie:<br />
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">I
believed in Santa Claus long after I probably should have. Actually,
when I met my husband somewhere around ten years ago, I tried to
convince him that Santa Claus really did exist. I was, oh, I don’t
know. Fifteen. </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">This
fact, together with my love for the Christmas season, contributed to
my fascination with a new Santa Claus I learned of when I spent my
first Christmas with him and his family, somewhere around three years
later. </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">My
father in law is someone who I love very dearly. But he’s strange.
Strange, like me, and as such, when I first heard him mumbling the
words to a Christmas song I’d never heard before, I was intrigued.
Intrigued, because I’d never heard it before, and intrigued,
because I hate Christmas music. But you couldn’t hate this song. It
sounded so innocent and so soothing sung from this Dutch-Indonesian
man’s mouth, and I just had to know more about it. </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">I
whispered to my husband as his father disappeared down the hallway,
and with a disgusted look like he couldn’t believe my ignorance, he
said, “Sinterklaas Kaopentje”. Like, of course I should know all
about it, or something. </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">Needless
to say, the song is quite well known in The Netherlands and in
Belgium, and goes something like this:</span></div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>Sinterklaas
Kapoentje,<br />Leg wat in mijn schoentje,<br />Leg wat in mijn
laarsje,<br />Dank je Sinterklaasje!</i></span></div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">And
for those of you who need a translation, like me:</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>Saint
Nicolas Little Rascal,<br />Put something in my little shoe,<br />Put
something in my little boot,<br />Thank you little Saint Nicolas!</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">I
just find it terribly awesome that at eighteen, I, the Christmas
fanatic, had something to learn about Santa Claus. I think we should
remember that Christmas may not look or sound the same in every
house, but it’s still just that. Christmas. </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>Merry
Christmas to you, from our home to yours.</i></span></div>Brea Essexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05287181524150587571noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-718355988648780533.post-718436989250360732011-12-21T10:33:00.000-08:002011-12-21T10:41:23.741-08:0025 Days of Christmas: The Gift of Miracles with Thomas AmoToday, we have Thomas Amo, author of An Apple for Zoe and the new Let's Get Lade, visiting with us on the blog!<br />
<br />
<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">The
Gift of Miracles</span></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Christmas is in four
days and so many people lose sight of what this day actually really
and truly means. For the kids, it means toys, to the teens it means,
an iPad, cellphone, laptop, money. To the parents it means, can I pay
for all of this and not use a credit card?</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
But for me, Thomas Amo,
it means in a world that has become sometimes not a very nice place
to be, God is still God and a beautiful little girl named, Alyssa
Mowrey will be spending this Christmas with her family thanks be to
his mercy. Christin and I became friends via Twitter earlier this
year. We spoke on the phone once and instantly she has that ability
to turn a complete stranger into more than just a friend, she makes
you feel like family. We tweeted and even came up with the hashtag
#BNFF which stands for Best Nerd Friends Forever. Because we were
nerds and nerds stick together. This caught on and others joined our
nerd herd, but when the terrible accident that happened in October
this year, when three little angels were hit by a car while crossing
the street, Christin reminded me that her unwavering faith in God and
her humble attitude towards the events that would put virtually any
parent on a razor’s edge, she set the example to me of what a
Christian is.
</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Sadly, Mia, one of three
angels lost her life in that terrible accident. Some will feel if God
is so merciful then why didn’t all 3 survive. None of us can ever
know that answer and I won’t speculate on it. My heart aches for
the loss of little Mia, because even though I did not know her, I am
certain her smile was brighter than any star in the heavens. For her
family this is a time that they will need all the support and love we
can muster. Please include them in your thoughts and prayers.<br />
<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRhsUQbjIFhxj6r7UON0VMZTTeXub5GMohUwrjf4YO5ErNa4EkgEe7TzR9KBOQY6NmDOnSrGnqsMCAlZ88hKgwGaoBtaaTfqC7yWaD1sLGnbjgmZI2BNoWOZsOgGM_Q7aDJS1agj7vmCA/s1600/385945_2541250205225_1072791239_2649579_763099496_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRhsUQbjIFhxj6r7UON0VMZTTeXub5GMohUwrjf4YO5ErNa4EkgEe7TzR9KBOQY6NmDOnSrGnqsMCAlZ88hKgwGaoBtaaTfqC7yWaD1sLGnbjgmZI2BNoWOZsOgGM_Q7aDJS1agj7vmCA/s200/385945_2541250205225_1072791239_2649579_763099496_n.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
Alyssa has come leaps
and bounds from where her life was two months ago. This is not to say
it’s an easy road ahead, Alyssa has a long way to go, but she has a
mother who will be right there taking every step with her. Christin
has never wavered in her faith and that is something we could all
take a good lesson on. So I look at the presents under my tree with a
different eye today than I did last year. Instead of saying, I want
this or I want that, I can say, I’m so blessed to have this and
have that. I thank the Lord for his mercy and letting us see Alyssa
as the miracle and blessing she is and I thank Christin for showing
me how to appreciate what Christmas really does mean.</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Merry Christmas to all of
you,</div>
<div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Thomas Amo</div>Brea Essexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05287181524150587571noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-718355988648780533.post-89655756978086533722011-12-20T09:38:00.000-08:002011-12-20T09:38:19.299-08:0025 Days of Christmas: This Holiday Season by Lissette E. Manning25 Days of Christmas continues with Lissette E. Manning!<br />
<br />
<br />
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>This
Holiday Season</b></span></div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>By:
Lissette E. Manning</b></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I’ve
always loved this season. Mostly because not only do I get to
celebrate both my birthday and Christmas, but also because I get to
share it with my sister. We’re not sure how Mom managed for us to
be born in the same month, but it’s kind of nice to have someone
close to my own age who understands me in the same exact way I
understand her. Of course, my sister gets to have her special
celebration so close to Christmas, too. </span>
</div>
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<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Amazing,
isn’t it? That so many of us can share in such a joyous occasion
and become even closer than we were before.</span></div>
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<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Did
you know that the date of December 25</span><sup><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">th</span></sup><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
was one adopted by the Western Christian Church around the
early-to-mid 4</span><sup><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">th</span></sup><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
century in order to depict the birth of our Lord and Savior, Jesus
Christ? Truth be told, our Lord’s true birth isn’t actually
known. It’s been said it occurred between 7 and 8 BC. At least,
that’s what historians say. Yet regardless of when Jesus was born,
it’s still a cause of celebration.</span></div>
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<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Christmas
has allowed us to come together and celebrate this fact. It’s
allowed us to let bygones be bygones and to be thankful for the world
around us. To be thankful for our loved ones and the things we’ve
been able to accomplish. It’s a way for us to truly bond with those
around us. A heart-felt celebration that can felt all around the
world.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I’m
thankful for my family. For my friends – those in real life and
those I’ve met online. I’m thankful because I’ve been able to
achieve part of my dream and share it with all of you. Most of all,
I’m thankful for the fact that God has given me another day in
which to breath and to sing His praises. My relationship with Him may
be rocky, at times, but I think He knows that at least I’m trying.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So
this holiday season, embrace those around you. Embrace the life
you’ve been given and never look back on what could have been. Give
God thanks for being there when we need Him.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Most
of all, enjoy everything you do. Savor the moments as if they’re
your last and always remember those who couldn’t be here with us to
celebrate those moments and hold them close to your hearts.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Merry
Christmas and a Happy New Year when the time comes!</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">God
Bless and always the best to you all!</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsOxfUqSwrNsUN6rqQRFF4PPVPQT_a5aBIuK_-SOsr3IEml435PTBZSPg4h9J0kwD9M6uyh_cbl989s4hpUtTgUxJlJs-2rK8wdOoXIrvun5P7cCRmTixCoq-o2ngvcxkSwLO2ZOdrscA/s1600/Stucklrgtm.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/AVvXsEgsOxfUqSwrNsUN6rqQRFF4PPVPQT_a5aBIuK_-SOsr3IEml435PTBZSPg4h9J0kwD9M6uyh_cbl989s4hpUtTgUxJlJs-2rK8wdOoXIrvun5P7cCRmTixCoq-o2ngvcxkSwLO2ZOdrscA/s200/Stucklrgtm.jpg" width="125" /></a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="background-color: #d0e0e3;"><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-weight: bold;">Book Blurb for Stuck:</span><br style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;" /><br style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;" /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">A world too different from what we once knew . . . all we hold onto now is survival.</span><br style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;" /><br style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;" /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">Memories of the dead remind Annie Page of the world she'd once known. Renegade forces are closing in, seeking to command the little that remains. Yet she refuses to stand by and watch the world crumble.</span><br style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;" /><br style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;" /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">Her children’s love the driving force behind the choices that she’s made, she’s determined to make their world a better place. Yet their survival comes with a price – one that she never meant to pay. </span><br style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;" /><br style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;" /><br style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;" /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-weight: bold;">Purchase Links For Stuck:</span><br style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;" /><br style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;" /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-weight: bold;">Amazon:</span><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;"> </span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Stuck-ebook/dp/B005L7AMZK" style="color: #1155cc; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;" target="_blank">http://www.amazon.com/Stuck-<wbr></wbr>ebook/dp/B005L7AMZK</a><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-weight: bold;">Barnes & Noble:</span><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;"> </span><a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/stuck-lissette-e-manning/1105384718" style="color: #1155cc; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;" target="_blank">http://www.barnesandnoble.com/<wbr></wbr>w/stuck-lissette-e-manning/<wbr></wbr>1105384718</a><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-weight: bold;">Smashwords:</span><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;"> </span><a href="http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/72829" style="color: #1155cc; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;" target="_blank">http://www.smashwords.com/<wbr></wbr>books/view/72829</a></span></div>
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</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmrsx0twFleeKvG4J_uvWhKAxyoPsdeQTHgFqktPrGX7Q8Wpcj_-mrpfGs3NMDXGtzjDeSZLGQMX0Q99COu8G3ODHispgusKoMLR6aQmxcrkLDGkrBHaVikEZWZy_1T2CHgByQmxumWCA/s1600/Me1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="background-color: #d0e0e3;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmrsx0twFleeKvG4J_uvWhKAxyoPsdeQTHgFqktPrGX7Q8Wpcj_-mrpfGs3NMDXGtzjDeSZLGQMX0Q99COu8G3ODHispgusKoMLR6aQmxcrkLDGkrBHaVikEZWZy_1T2CHgByQmxumWCA/s200/Me1.jpg" width="200" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: #d0e0e3;"><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-weight: bold;">Short Bio:</span><br style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;" /><br style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;" /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">Nancy Medina is an author from Connecticut who writes under the pseudonym of Lissette E. Manning. She has been writing since she was eight years old and spends most of her time trying to place her thoughts into order and giving life to the stories that are always brewing inside her head.<br /><br />She enjoys listening to music, playing the occasional video game, watching movies, and spending time with friends and family. She's also a bit of a computer geek.<br /><br />Her writing genres of choice are Science-Fiction/Fantasy, Romance, Paranormal, Short Stories, as well as Poetry. She's currently working on several projects due out sometime in the new year, as well as her finishing her NaNoWriMo project, The Corsicanth Princess.</span>
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="background-color: #d0e0e3; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="background-color: #d0e0e3;"><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-weight: bold;">Where Nancy (Lissette) Can Be Found Online:</span><br style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;" /><br style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;" /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-weight: bold;">Website:</span><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;"> </span><a href="http://www.simplistik.org/" style="color: #1155cc; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;" target="_blank">http://www.simplistik.org</a><br style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;" /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-weight: bold;">Blog:</span><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;"> </span><a href="http://www.simplistik.org/LissetteEManning" style="color: #1155cc; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;" target="_blank">http://www.simplistik.org/<wbr></wbr>LissetteEManning</a><br style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;" /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-weight: bold;">Facebook:</span><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;"> </span><a href="http://www.facebook.com/LissetteElizabethManning" style="color: #1155cc; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;" target="_blank">http://www.facebook.com/<wbr></wbr>LissetteElizabethManning</a><br style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;" /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-weight: bold;">Twitter:</span><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;"> </span><a href="http://www.twitter.com/xLizzieBethx" style="color: #1155cc; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;" target="_blank">http://www.twitter.com/<wbr></wbr>xLizzieBethx</a><br style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;" /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-weight: bold;">Google+:</span><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;"> </span><a href="https://plus.google.com/b/108975492094713089871/108975492094713089871" style="color: #1155cc; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;" target="_blank">https://plus.google.com/b/<wbr></wbr>108975492094713089871/<wbr></wbr>108975492094713089871</a><br style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;" /><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-weight: bold;">Goodreads:</span><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;"> </span><a href="http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4867044.Lissette_E_Manning" style="color: #1155cc; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;" target="_blank">http://www.goodreads.com/<wbr></wbr>author/show/4867044.Lissette_<wbr></wbr>E_Manning</a></span></div>Brea Essexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05287181524150587571noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-718355988648780533.post-14464768452107079692011-12-19T12:51:00.000-08:002011-12-19T12:51:40.795-08:0025 Days of Christmas: Healthy Holidays with Felicia Rogers<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
25 Days of Christmas continues with Felicia Rogers!</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Healthy Holidays</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
On December 25, 2008, something
wonderful happened. It was the beginning of a lifelong journey.
This was the day my fabulous thoughtful husband gave me Billy Blank’s
Amped Tae-Bo workout set. No worries ladies, I <i>asked</i> for the
gift.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
On this day three years ago, I started
eating healthier and exercising. Since then I’ve lost over sixty
pounds. I’ve done things I never dreamed of doing such as hiking
eleven miles (round trip) to Mt. LeConte in the Great Smokey
Mountains, lowering my cholesterol, and dropping four sizes in
clothing.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
But even though I’ve enacted this
change, I still struggle to maintain a healthy diet during the
holidays. I’m an avid couponer and one site I frequent is Eat
Better America. This site is great for more than just coupons. By
joining I received recipes to try. And boy, have I! You mention a
low fat cheesecake and I’m so there! From this website, I’ve
tried Sweet Potato Casserole
(<a href="http://www.eatbetteramerica.com/recipes/special-occasions/healthified-sweet-potato-casserole.aspx">http://www.eatbetteramerica.com/recipes/special-occasions/healthified-sweet-potato-casserole.aspx</a>),
Healthified Creamed Corn
(<a href="http://www.eatbetteramerica.com/recipes/featured-brands/healthified-creamed-corn.aspx">http://www.eatbetteramerica.com/recipes/featured-brands/healthified-creamed-corn.aspx</a>),
and many others. So if you’re trying to eat delicious tasting,
flavorful food this holiday season while maintaining your figure
check out Eat Better America (<a href="http://www.eatbetteramerica.com/">http://www.eatbetteramerica.com/</a>).</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Now that I’ve shared some of my
favorite healthy recipes I wanted to share one other. This is a
family favorite.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Cherry Yum-Yum</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Ingredients:</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
~1 stick Margarine</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
~3 cups graham cracker crumbs</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
~2 cans cherry pie filling (yes, the
big cans)</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
~2 envelopes of Dream Whip</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
~1 cup of sugar</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
~1 cup of milk</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
~8 oz. Cream cheese (room temp)</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Combine:</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Melt the margarine and combine with 2
cups of graham cracker crumbs. Line bottom of 9x13 pan, reserving 1
cup of crumb mixture. Over this spoon, 1 can of cherry pie filling.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Combine in a mixing bowl:</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Dream whip, sugar, milk, and cream
cheese. Whip at high speed until stiff. Once stiff, spread over pie
filling. Next, spoon in the next can of cherry pie filling. Garnish
with reserved crumbs. Chill until firm, then serve.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I hope you enjoy my favorite recipe.
And remember, if you’ve struggled in this area, I’m right there
with you. And keep in mind, with perseverance lots of things can
happen, even becoming a published author!</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
My latest work, <i>There Your heart
Will Be Also</i>, a historical suspense with an inspirational twist.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Only
daughter of an English lord, Sarra of Greenbriar, is used to getting
her way. So when her father passes and the King begins sending
suitors, she feels justified in taking matters into her own hands.
Through a series of harmless pranks, Sarra works to keep the
potential husbands at bay.</i></span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Cedric
MacNeil is a Scotsman that has lost it all. Death claimed his parents
and jealousy claimed his entitled position as Laird of his clan.
Since his mother was a familiar of the English court, he leaves his
native land and heads to England to fight on behalf of the English
King. Tournaments are won, earning honor and glory for the crown.
Cedric’s reward is the opportunity to gain what he wants most in
this life, land.</i></span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>But
as he gets to know Sarra, he realizes he might get more than he
bargained for.</i></span></span></span></div>Brea Essexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05287181524150587571noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-718355988648780533.post-50241725350034886002011-12-18T13:43:00.000-08:002011-12-18T13:43:09.130-08:0025 Days of Christmas: Gratitude with Sherry Gloag25 Days of Christmas continues with Sherry Gloag!<br />
<br />
Sherry:<br />
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Christmas is a time for celebrating,
and while we are celebrating the true meaning behind the festivities
I like to add a personal tradition of my own. Taking time out to
look back over the previous twelve months and be thankful for*all* of
it.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So one of the Christmas traditions I
have set myself is <i>Gratitude</i>. This may seem like a strange
and too personal a tradition for it to count, but it has become an
integral part of my Christmas. I’ll try to explain why.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
There comes a time when life appears to
get on top of you and feels like it’s out to break you. I had such
a year during 1992/3.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Everything comes in threes.” So
the saying goes. I heard that almost more often than I had hot
dinners at the time. What no one mentioned was that threes also come
in multiples of three! Suffice to say, it was a *bad* year! But,
and I do mean ‘but’, tough as it was to get through, it was also
a period of some of the sharpest and most numerous lessons I’ve
ever experienced.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
It may sound odd to say ‘thank you’
for such turmoil, but in retrospect it made me who I am today. I met
people I may never have encountered if I hadn’t had to go to court
because I’d been burgled. My marriage is stronger now because back
then it was tested to the point of destruction. And I am more
prepared to face my shortcomings :-) Yeah! I have shortcomings. So
many of them, they all come out to party while I’m busy looking for
the key to keep them locked in the cupboard! LOL.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Seriously, gratitude was something that
hovered off on the periphery of my life. Yes I paid lip-service to
‘please’ and ‘thank you’. Now I learned the true meaning of
deep heartfelt gratitude for things and people I may never meet but
play an integral part in my life.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I’m talking about all those people
who ensure I am kept safe when out on the streets, and for the lights
and heating I come home to every day. The people who deliver my
mail, empty my bins every week. The night workers, who are rarely
seen but help to keep things running smoothly during the dark hours.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I’m talking about the nurses, police,
firemen and rescue crews who are prepared to put their own lives on
the line for others, as well as everything else in my life.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So every year, I take time out to
meditate on all these things.
<span style="color: blue;"><u><a href="http://sevennightwriters.blogspot.com/2011/12/when-you-meditate-upon-star.html">http://sevennightwriters.blogspot.com/2011/12/when-you-meditate-upon-star.html</a></u></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I have often found that when I stop,
really stop to list all the events in my life, the good far outweighs
the bad, but more often than not I discover I’ve paid more
lip-service to the bad than it deserves.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Every New Year I promise myself I’ll
redress the balance, but like diets……</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<u>From Now Until Forever</u></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<u><br /></u></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/51hCMbKlDfL.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/51hCMbKlDfL.jpg" width="133" /></a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<u><b><br /></b></u></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<u><b>Blurb </b></u>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
For Prince Liam, families meant bad
news, unwanted commitments, and the loss of his personal freedom.
Love spawned white picket fences, slippers at the hearth with a wife
and kids making demands, so why did those images disappear when he
met Melanie Babcot?</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Melanie Babcot fought hard to escape
the horrors of her youth and vowed to remain single and free, so when
paid to protect Prince Liam from insurgents why did her personal
pledge fly out the window?</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b>****</b></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0.19in; margin-top: 0.19in;">
<span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><u>EXCERPT:</u></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Liam
Fitzwilliam Gasquet stared in amazement at the blooming patch of red
milliseconds before the pain exploded in his arm. Some trigger-happy
idiot had fired in his direction. Indignation didn’t have time to
take root before another bullet kicked the dust at his feet. <br />Not
‘trigger-happy’.<br />Intentional. <br />The rebels had found the
fourth and youngest son of Jean-Phillipe Gasquet, ruler of the tiny
kingdom adjacent to the Swiss border. When had they discovered his
whereabouts?</span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: medium;">With
a reluctant sigh, he faced the truth of it. They hadn’t ‘found’
him at all. They’d followed him. </span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<u>Trailer:</u> <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_D7sLoMWp0o" target="_blank">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_D7sLoMWp0o</a>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<u>Buy Links:</u>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: blue;"><u><a href="http://www.astraeapress.com/#ecwid:category=662245&mode=product&product=7105194">http://www.astraeapress.com/#ecwid:category=662245&mode=product&product=7105194</a></u></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: blue;"><u><a href="http://www.amazon.com/From-Now-Until-Forever-ebook/dp/B006GYAV44/ref=sr_1_sc_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1322854797&sr=1-1-spell">http://www.amazon.com/From-Now-Until-Forever-ebook/dp/B006GYAV44/ref=sr_1_sc_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1322854797&sr=1-1-spell</a></u></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: blue;"><u><a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/From-Now-Until-Forever-ebook/dp/B006GYAV44/ref=sr_1_sc_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1322854884&sr=8-1-spell">http://www.amazon.co.uk/From-Now-Until-Forever-ebook/dp/B006GYAV44/ref=sr_1_sc_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1322854884&sr=8-1-spell</a></u></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: blue;"><u><a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/sherry-gloag-from-now-until-forever?keyword=sherry+gloag+from+now+until+forever&store=book">http://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/sherry-gloag-from-now-until-forever?keyword=sherry+gloag+from+now+until+forever&store=book</a></u></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
nook
<span style="color: blue;"><u><a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/sherry-gloag-from-now-until-forever?keyword=sherry+gloag+from+now+until+forever&store=ebook">http://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/sherry-gloag-from-now-until-forever?keyword=sherry+gloag+from+now+until+forever&store=ebook</a></u></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: blue;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: blue;"><u><br /></u></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<u>About the Author:</u></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<u><br /></u></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Multi-published author Sherry Gloag is
a transplanted Scot now living in the beautiful coastal countryside
of Norfolk, England. She considers the surrounding countryside as
extension of her own garden, to which she escapes when she needs
"thinking time" and solitude to work out the plots for her
next novel. While out walking she enjoys talking to her characters,
as long as there are no other walkers close by.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Apart from writing, Sherry enjoys
gardening, walking, reading and cheerfully admits her books tend to
take over most of the shelf and floor space in her
workroom-cum-office. She also finds crystal craft work therapeutic.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<u>Contact</u></div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br class="Apple-interchange-newline" />My Website: <span style="color: blue;"><u><a href="http://.www.sherrygloag.com/">http://.www.sherrygloag.com</a></u></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
My Blog: <span style="color: blue;"><u><a href="http://sherrygloagtheheartofromance.blogspot.com/">http://sherrygloagtheheartofromance.blogspot.com/</a></u></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
FB: <span style="color: blue;"><u><a href="http://www.facebook.com/?ref=tn_tnmn#!/sherry.gloag">http://www.facebook.com/?ref=tn_tnmn#!/sherry.gloag</a></u></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Twitter: <span style="color: blue;"><u><a href="https://twitter.com/#!/SherryGloag">https://twitter.com/#!/SherryGloag</a></u></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
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</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
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</div>
<br />
<br />Brea Essexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05287181524150587571noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-718355988648780533.post-65071800495526581672011-12-17T12:10:00.000-08:002011-12-17T12:10:39.650-08:0025 Days of Christmas: There is a Santa Claus with Liz Botts<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #d0e0e3;">25 Days of Christmas continues with Liz Botts!</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #d0e0e3;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #d0e0e3;">Liz:</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #d0e0e3;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #d0e0e3;">My
husband and I fully encourage our children’s belief in Santa Claus.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #d0e0e3;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxWWdejDBMeyBic_HgrRQKXuwKLUKxkBkULPkjYmE0H3ujyfMjkve9Ih7fuoTvmOlN-6hWqBvRTQ_QQ0gxaXmCkGVPVBWGl5E0lPpAQ4Ze_nxdC-zCVjeHBkXTlYI1i0k_uO1qjBo746o/s1600/DSCN2559.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #d0e0e3;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxWWdejDBMeyBic_HgrRQKXuwKLUKxkBkULPkjYmE0H3ujyfMjkve9Ih7fuoTvmOlN-6hWqBvRTQ_QQ0gxaXmCkGVPVBWGl5E0lPpAQ4Ze_nxdC-zCVjeHBkXTlYI1i0k_uO1qjBo746o/s320/DSCN2559.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #d0e0e3;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #d0e0e3;">We
encourage the belief because the magic of childhood is so fleeting.
This year so far we have celebrated Santa arriving in town, visited
with Santa, and mailed letters to Santa. And of course there is more
Santa fun to be had. We will make reindeer food and track Santa on
NORAD. This year Santa is leaving pages from his “Nice List” for
the kids to discover on Christmas morning. Our kids know that
Christmas isn’t all about Santa and presents, but it is a part of
our holiday traditions.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #d0e0e3;">I
keep thinking that soon, too soon, one of their cousins will tell
them Santa doesn’t exist, that we are the ones that leave gifts
under the tree. And then what will </span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #d0e0e3;">we</span></i></span></span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #d0e0e3;">
tell them?</span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #d0e0e3;">One
of my favorite responses to whether or not Santa exists is an opinion
piece printed in 1897 in the New York Sun, commonly known as “Yes,
Virginia, There is a Santa Claus.”</span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #d0e0e3;">My
favorite part is this: “Not believe in Santa Claus! You might as
well not believe in fairies! You might get your papa to hire men to
watch in all the chimneys on Christmas Eve to catch Santa Claus, but
even if they did not see Santa Claus coming down, what would that
prove? Nobody sees Santa Claus, but that is no sign that there is no
Santa Claus. The most real things in the world are those that neither
children nor men can see. Did you ever see fairies dancing on the
lawn? Of course not, but that's no proof that they are not there.
Nobody can conceive or imagine all the wonders there are unseen and
unseeable in the world.” </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #d0e0e3;">
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #d0e0e3;">Read
more of the original editorial here:
</span></span></span><span style="color: blue;"><u><a href="http://www.newseum.org/yesvirginia/"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #d0e0e3;">http://www.newseum.org/yesvirginia/</span></span></span></a></u></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #d0e0e3;">I
think I will read them this, and reaffirm that believing is still
okay.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #d0e0e3;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #d0e0e3;">When
I was writing my Christmas novella, </span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #d0e0e3;">Believe,</span></i></span></span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #d0e0e3;">
this editorial echoed through my head. My main character even shares
the name Virginia. </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #d0e0e3;">
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #d0e0e3;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #d0e0e3;">Blurb:</span></span></span></div>
<div style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; line-height: 0.19in; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #d0e0e3;">Eighteen year old
Virginia didn't ask to be the oldest daughter of the current Santa
Claus, nor did she ask to be betrothed to a complete stranger. When
the elf elders turn her world upside down by announcing that she must
convince her fiance, Nick, not only to marry her but also to become
the next Santa Claus, Virginia has no desire to have any part of the
craziness.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; line-height: 0.19in; margin-bottom: 0.19in; margin-top: 0.19in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #d0e0e3;">From the beginning
Virginia's interactions with Nick are filled with awkwardness,
tension and disbelief. Despite Nick's love of the holiday he has no
openness to the magical or the mythical. Still, somehow the two forge
their way toward one another. Meeting a special little girl named
Merry helps Nick and Virginia bond and focus on the true meaning of
the Christmas season. Virginia quickly grows to love and trust Nick,
with the only dark spot being his disbelief in all the things she
tells him. Nick for his part must come to grips with meeting his real
father, the King of Winter, and the fact that he does indeed possess
magic.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; line-height: 0.19in; margin-bottom: 0.19in; margin-top: 0.19in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #d0e0e3;">Will the Nick and
Virginia be able to overcome all of the exterior forces seeming to
control their lives and fall in love with one another in time to save
the future of Christmas?</span></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbSXUpEJXMqqTauJOU42OsqGqwzkchGTiTDPqTF52L5SkI8DhCkJb22SXGnchlgUU2KbCBmh4E7XMTwUJc6IHq4DUyvMAZay9hhuXzvjKO3hn98PnIi2OulMwOHQ3kgVfaU9LwhGyUfGI/s1600/Believe+453x680.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #d0e0e3;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbSXUpEJXMqqTauJOU42OsqGqwzkchGTiTDPqTF52L5SkI8DhCkJb22SXGnchlgUU2KbCBmh4E7XMTwUJc6IHq4DUyvMAZay9hhuXzvjKO3hn98PnIi2OulMwOHQ3kgVfaU9LwhGyUfGI/s200/Believe+453x680.jpg" width="133" /></span></a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #d0e0e3;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #d0e0e3;">Excerpt:</span></span></span></div>
<div style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; line-height: 0.19in; margin-bottom: 0.19in; margin-top: 0.19in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #d0e0e3;">
“</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #d0e0e3;">You have to marry
me.” My fists curl into balls at my sides as flames of
embarrassment shoot through my body, consuming my face in bright red.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; line-height: 0.19in; margin-bottom: 0.19in; margin-top: 0.19in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #d0e0e3;">All amusement leaves
Nick’s face. He frowns at me, but doesn’t move. “Look, I don’t
know<br />what kind of joke this is, but I think it’s time for you to
leave.”</span></span></span></div>
<div style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; line-height: 0.19in; margin-bottom: 0.19in; margin-top: 0.19in;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #d0e0e3;">
“</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #d0e0e3;">No, wait, I…”
I take another step forward. None of this is coming out the way I
want it too. How can I explain this to him? No one has given me any
guidance. I feel my skirt snag on a branch from the fake Christmas
tree. Before I know what’s happening, I fly forward landing
squarely on Nick’s lap.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; line-height: 0.19in; margin-bottom: 0.19in; margin-top: 0.19in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #d0e0e3;">He catches me, pulls
me calmly down on one knee, and looks directly into my eyes. “What
is it that you really want?”</span></span></span></div>
<div style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; line-height: 0.19in; margin-bottom: 0.19in; margin-top: 0.19in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #d0e0e3;">The question hangs
between us. I’m struggling with what to say when there is a knock
at the door. A teenage elf girl pokes her head through and gasps.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; line-height: 0.19in; margin-bottom: 0.19in; margin-top: 0.19in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #d0e0e3;">When she recovers
she says, “You are holding up the line.”</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #d0e0e3;">If it is possible
for my face to get redder, it does. I scramble off of Nick’s lap,
where I am barely perched, and flee out the exit door. That went
spectacularly wrong. I’ve humiliated myself. And I have failed.
What are the elf elders going to do to me? I shiver, trying to stave
off the fear by thinking of anything else. Unfortunately my thoughts
slide to the deep blue of Nick’s eyes and the joyful laugh that
made me want to believe in him. Believe in him as Santa. I stop
mid-stride on a sidewalk filled with kids, my mini-epiphany of little
concern to them. What am I going to do now?</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #d0e0e3;">Buy
links:</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #d0e0e3;">Astraea:
</span><a href="http://www.astraeapress.com/#ecwid:category=662245&mode=product&product=7885663"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #d0e0e3;">http://www.astraeapress.com/#ecwid:category=662245&mode=product&product=7885663</span></a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #d0e0e3;">Amazon:
</span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Believe-ebook/dp/B006DTBP38/ref=pd_rhf_dp_p_t_1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #d0e0e3;">http://www.amazon.com/Believe-ebook/dp/B006DTBP38/ref=pd_rhf_dp_p_t_1</span></a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #d0e0e3;">Barnes
and Noble:
</span><a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/believe-liz-botts/1107745044?ean=2940013541184&itm=18&usri=believe"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #d0e0e3;">http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/believe-liz-botts/1107745044?ean=2940013541184&itm=18&usri=believe</span></a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #d0e0e3;">About
the Author:</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #d0e0e3;">Liz
Botts was born, raised, and still lives in northern Illinois with her
husband and three small children (two boys and a baby girl). When not
writing, she enjoys reading, sewing, trying new recipes, and hanging
with her kids. She is proud to pass her love of stories on to her
children, and makes several trips to the library each week. After
working with teenagers for several years, she decided to write
stories about them instead.</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #d0e0e3;">Blog:
</span><a href="http://lizbottsbooks.blogspot.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #d0e0e3;">http://lizbottsbooks.blogspot.com/</span></a></span></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #d0e0e3;">Website:
</span><a href="http://www.lizbotts.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #d0e0e3;">www.lizbotts.com</span></a></span></span></span></div>Brea Essexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05287181524150587571noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-718355988648780533.post-44508219971454277882011-12-15T10:32:00.000-08:002011-12-15T10:32:17.658-08:0025 Days of Christmas: Happy Holidays from Gracen Miller Exclusive Pandora's Box Scene and Giveaway!Today we have Gracen Miller, author of Pandora's Box and Madison's Life Lessons, with us on the blog! She's sharing an exclusive scene from Pandora's Box that you can't find anywhere else! She's also doing a giveaway!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz930uX2YFMUUl7suc5ePnIrvQ7K3mEFkN32G3FYzokfDG0pL_3zg0EXkpO-evHBGyhdlsRG-92trp3ynJI1LN6K3cu_YgziR5Fofpi502U2iXA3255-6nFUAXD3ZbMXOpNfRDSF24b0U/s1600/Pandora%2527s_Box_Banner_%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="background-color: #d0e0e3; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="67" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz930uX2YFMUUl7suc5ePnIrvQ7K3mEFkN32G3FYzokfDG0pL_3zg0EXkpO-evHBGyhdlsRG-92trp3ynJI1LN6K3cu_YgziR5Fofpi502U2iXA3255-6nFUAXD3ZbMXOpNfRDSF24b0U/s320/Pandora%2527s_Box_Banner_%25282%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: #d0e0e3; font-family: 'Book Antiqua', serif; font-size: 12pt;">Happy Holidays, readers! What puts you in the mood for the Holidays? For me, it certainly is <i>not </i>the commercial rush of the season. That aggravates me! What does it for me is putting up the Christmas tree with my boys, or decorating the mantel. It’s the simple things that put me in the holiday spirit. What about you, what puts you in the holiday spirit? </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #d0e0e3; font-family: 'Book Antiqua', serif; font-size: 12pt;">For Madison and Phoenix, lead characters in my recently released book <b><i>Pandora’s Box</i></b> (book one in the Road to Hell Series), it’s something just as simple that puts them in the holiday spirit. Below is a taste into their world, an idyllic moment that is rare for their tumultuous lives. This snippet cannot be found anywhere and it’s not in my book, so enjoy, and let me know what you think and you will be entered to win!</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #d0e0e3;"><b><span style="font-family: 'Book Antiqua', serif; font-size: 12pt;">M</span></b><span style="font-family: 'Book Antiqua', serif; font-size: 12pt;">adison gazed out the dingy window of <i>Pancake Decadence</i>, a pit stop located on the edge of Highway 69 to nowhere. A trucker maneuvered his rig with ease into the dirt-packed wasteland of trash and winter brittle weeds to the side of the café. Deep ruts and tire tracks proclaimed the tract of land a long running make-do parking lot.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #d0e0e3; font-family: 'Book Antiqua', serif; font-size: 12pt;">Sipping coffee so strong it settled like cement in her belly, she peered over the rim at her six-year-old son, Amos, slapping the buttons on the old-fashioned pinball machine. A chip red-flagged the rim of the coffee mug and a stained crack along the side indicated the mug was long past its expiration date. Madison didn’t care about either, so long as it served up coffee. At this point in her journey, she’d take a dirty I.V. of the brew straight into her veins if possible.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #d0e0e3; font-family: 'Book Antiqua', serif; font-size: 12pt;">Gouged out spots blighted the dirty linoleum floor. Like acne pock-marking a face with such severity it promised to scar the flesh forever. The aged flooring needed replacing. The dated table wobbled on the uneven floor and the vinyl booth held a ragged tear in the center of the seat. Comfort hadn’t been high on her priority list in a long while, so she wiggled a butt-cheek into the tear for a unique level of seating.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #d0e0e3; font-family: 'Book Antiqua', serif; font-size: 12pt;">Christmas morning at four a.m. and she and Amos were stuck in a dive dining on an early morning fare of pancakes. Lonely and scared, she would call it a low point in her life if she hadn’t already lost her husband and her otherwise normal life.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #d0e0e3; font-family: 'Book Antiqua', serif; font-size: 12pt;">Strands of Christmas lights bunched along the top of the windows resembled curtain swags. They twinkled on some random cycle, none of them in sync.<i>Merry Christmas</i> was spray painted with a can of snow on the window to her right, along with a painted ensemble of red and green use-your-imagination-<wbr></wbr>ornaments. Or at least she thought they were supposed to be ornaments.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #d0e0e3; font-family: 'Book Antiqua', serif; font-size: 12pt;">A spindly tree sat in the corner of the café near the entrance to the bathrooms. Madison felt pity for the thing. Leaning to one side, with several branches hanging low from the weight of the ornaments, it was definitely on its last leg. A light breeze would set it on its side.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #d0e0e3;"><i><span style="font-family: 'Book Antiqua', serif; font-size: 12pt;">Good thing, you’re not by the door, little guy, </span></i><span style="font-family: 'Book Antiqua', serif; font-size: 12pt;">Madison contemplated with a skeptical eye.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #d0e0e3; font-family: 'Book Antiqua', serif; font-size: 12pt;">Tacky decorations, but they lent the place a redneck kind of charm. She was southern, so she knew rednecks intimately.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #d0e0e3; font-family: 'Book Antiqua', serif; font-size: 12pt;">Madison lifted her fork, cut out another bite of pancakes and swirled it in syrup. Closing her eyes on a moan, she savored the sweet taste and the fluffy texture hitting her tongue. Only orgasms compared to this self-indulgence!</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #d0e0e3; font-family: 'Book Antiqua', serif; font-size: 12pt;">Ha! Self-indulgence was her picking up the cell and calling Phoenix. After almost a year on the road, she’d give anything to see him. A friendly face. Someone that understood what she was going through. Not that Phoenix owed her anything, but she’d hoped he would answer her desperate call and agree to meet them for the holidays. Ridiculous really since she was a hard and fast devout atheist—or had been. Kind of hard to remain dedicated to that doctrine knowing what she now knew.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #d0e0e3; font-family: 'Book Antiqua', serif; font-size: 12pt;">Foolish of her to expect more from Phoenix, but others in her life had already proven how naïve she was. Phoenix had a family to spend Christmas with and she and Amos weren’t part of that family. He’d helped her all he could with her supernatural pests and <i>she</i> had left <i>him </i>on her front lawn, declaring she and Amos must take this journey on their own. Loneliness was a hard companion and she was long overdue for some adult conversation.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #d0e0e3; font-family: 'Book Antiqua', serif; font-size: 12pt;">The bell above the door <i>dingled</i>, announcing a new customer and Madison glanced up, expecting to see the trucker.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #d0e0e3; font-family: 'Book Antiqua', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Nix!” she exclaimed on a shocked breath.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #d0e0e3; font-family: 'Book Antiqua', serif; font-size: 12pt;">Phoenix Birmingham in the flesh! Wearing ratty low-slung jeans, a wrinkled black t-shirt that stretched like a second skin across his chest and his uncle’s hand-me-down leather bomber. To Madison he was the most exciting creation since the invention of the internet. And her heart agreed, racing faster than the tattoo of a jackhammer as he smiled at her, a slow, wicked grin that revealed his sexy dimples. Dimples she was sure had charmed the pants off a number of women.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #d0e0e3; font-family: 'Book Antiqua', serif; font-size: 12pt;">A bevy of strong pleasure kicked her in the belly, snatched her breath away and yanked her along a joyride of emotions. None of which she wanted to dissect too closely.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #d0e0e3; font-family: 'Book Antiqua', serif; font-size: 12pt;">He rounded the backside of the booth and instead of sitting opposite her he tugged her out of the seat and enveloped her in a fierce hug. Being in the man’s arms <i>was </i>better than an orgasm.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #d0e0e3; font-family: 'Book Antiqua', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“I’m your gift from Amos,” he said low against her ear.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #d0e0e3;"><i><span style="font-family: 'Book Antiqua', serif; font-size: 12pt;">Dear God, what a loaded statement</span></i><span style="font-family: 'Book Antiqua', serif; font-size: 12pt;">!</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #d0e0e3; font-family: 'Book Antiqua', serif; font-size: 12pt;">Bizarre how the simple things in life—like having Nix with her on Christmas morning—meant so much more to her than a designer label, a nice house or a fancy car. Oh, how drastically her life had changed and how meaningless it had once been.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #d0e0e3; font-family: 'Book Antiqua', serif; font-size: 12pt;">Nix kissed her forehead and Madison knew this Christmas would officially go down as her best one ever!</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8mhkbnZJChQjvO6TDlR3vrbAT8yH-KMvPoOYlF4UJJk4HfPtCY8XZrC6tFK8N0xyECikupKqo45z2VP032R0RsRrrpqBaOnqbqqMTH_O7xNn1b6t9Ebe1aKD8XAjRQx7ErUCo6bR2Yj0/s1600/Madison%2527s+Life+Lessons.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="background-color: #d0e0e3; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8mhkbnZJChQjvO6TDlR3vrbAT8yH-KMvPoOYlF4UJJk4HfPtCY8XZrC6tFK8N0xyECikupKqo45z2VP032R0RsRrrpqBaOnqbqqMTH_O7xNn1b6t9Ebe1aKD8XAjRQx7ErUCo6bR2Yj0/s200/Madison%2527s+Life+Lessons.jpg" width="133" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: #d0e0e3; font-family: 'Book Antiqua', serif; font-size: 12pt;">~~~~~</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #d0e0e3; font-family: 'Book Antiqua', serif; font-size: 12pt;">Want to read more of Madison and Phoenix’s exploits? Well, you can in my novel, <b><i>Pandora’s Box</i></b>, <i>Book One in The Road to Hell Series</i>, out now from <i>Decadent Publishing</i>.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #d0e0e3;"><i><span style="font-family: 'Book Antiqua', serif; font-size: 12pt;">Wait</span></i><span style="font-family: 'Book Antiqua', serif; font-size: 12pt;">! Don’t run off yet! Leave a comment and you’ll be entered to WIN an e-copy of <b><i>Pandora’s Box</i></b>! As an added bonus, every person that leaves a comment will receive an e-copy of <b><i>Madison’s Life Lessons</i></b> (prequel to Pandora’s Box) by leaving me their email address with the format they prefer the book in (Kindle, Nook or pdf). The first three chapters of both books can be read on my blog listed below.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #d0e0e3; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">Where you can stalk me—<i>not really</i>!—but I would love to meet and interact with you:</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #d0e0e3;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">Facebook: </span><a href="http://www.facebook.com/gracen.miller" style="color: #1155cc;" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">http://www.facebook.com/<wbr></wbr>gracen.miller</span></a><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;"></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #d0e0e3;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">Road to Hell series FB Fan Page: </span><a href="http://www.facebook.com/pages/Road-to-Hell-series/112564408814796?ref=ts" style="color: #1155cc;" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">http://www.facebook.com/pages/<wbr></wbr>Road-to-Hell-series/<wbr></wbr>112564408814796?ref=ts</span></a><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;"></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #d0e0e3;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">Website: </span><a href="http://www.gracenmiller.com/" style="color: #1155cc;" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">www.gracenmiller.com</span></a><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;"></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #d0e0e3;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">Blog: </span><a href="http://madisonroadtohell.blogspot.com/" style="color: #1155cc;" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">http://madisonroadtohell.<wbr></wbr>blogspot.com/</span></a><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;"></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #d0e0e3; font-family: 'Book Antiqua', serif; font-size: 12pt;">Thanks so much for having me with you, Brea!</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #d0e0e3; font-family: 'Book Antiqua', serif; font-size: 12pt;">Huggles,</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #d0e0e3; font-family: 'Book Antiqua', serif; font-size: 12pt;">Gracen Miller</span></div>
</div>Brea Essexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05287181524150587571noreply@blogger.com36tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-718355988648780533.post-43474386763599377992011-12-14T09:53:00.000-08:002011-12-14T09:53:47.340-08:0025 Days of Christmas: New Traditions and the White Elephant with Shannon Mackay<span style="background-color: #d0e0e3; color: #222222;"></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Today, we have Shannon Mackay, author of the upcoming Raenara Bradley series, visiting with us! Welcome Shannon!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">New Traditions and the White Elephant</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">Some traditions are from our childhood, and some are made out of accident (like when our favorite restaurant closes early and we have to go somewhere else) or necessity.</span><div style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">
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<span style="background-color: #d0e0e3; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 12pt;">My favorite new tradition was started two Christmasses ago, and I look forward to it the most this year. Its unfortunate that this tradition started because of ecoconomic downturn. My dad lost his job soon after my step-mom quit hers to go back to school, and they got married. My husband and I had a second child, and I quit my job to stay home because daycare expenses would have been more than my monthly paycheck. Its a little needless to say that Christmasses since then have been strained.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #d0e0e3; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 12pt;">My step-mom's brother (Is there such a thing as a step-uncle?) loves Christmas. Like, he loves, Loves, LOVES Christmas and he hated the idea that no one was able to afford presents to give like we had done in past years, plus my family was officially IN the family now, and that meant more kids, and more people to buy for.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #d0e0e3; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 12pt;">This man is a creative genius and is constantly thinking of different ways to do something entertaining. He currently has old broken dolls dressed up in kids clothing sledding and skiing down a ramp from the roof of his house as his Christmas display. Instead of doing a Secret Santa, or a pick a name, or spend less than such and such amount, he thought of something so much more fun. He decided that we should do a White Elephant Christmas. Each year, we bring something that we no longer care for but is still in good shape all wrapped up so no one can see what it is. Then we draw numbers from a hat and the first person picks whichever package they want and unwraps it. Then the next person either picks a new present and unwraps it, or takes what the first person chose. If they do that, then the first person picks something new, and the third person goes. We continue like this until everyone has something, and then the first person gets one last chance to trade what they have with something else because they're the only person who didn't get the swap option. It really pays to draw the number one!</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #d0e0e3; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 12pt;">Last year, my husband and I added a light up cottage to our ceramic village from the White Elephant Christmas. My dad got another bird house for his collection (complete with a fake 'dead bird' in the bottom) and my son even joined in the usually all adult event and auctioned off two of his Hot Wheels for five bucks (the kids still get a regular Christmas). </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #d0e0e3; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 12pt;">I can't even choose which present was the funniest, though. One year we had the entire inside of a gift duct taped with the sticky side up and a bazillion pennies stuck to it, along with a piggy bank; there was a tailgater's gift basket complete with a six pack of beer, six pack of batteries, six pack of frozen buffalo wings, and a six pack of ketchup (don't ask). The point of the White Elephant isn't to save money, even though that was the catalyst to starting this tradition, but its to have fun and be creative with your giving.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #d0e0e3; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 12pt;">At first, I hated this tradition. It felt more like a reminder of how much we don't have than of being able to give. Its so much fun though, that I don't care anymore. I enjoy watching people trade the same gift over and over and scouring my house for something that I don't love or need and can give it to somebody who will want it. I have no idea what I’m going to give this year, but there’s still a little time and I’m sure I can find something. My daughter does have a few pairs of shoes that she's outgrown...they could make the toes of those sledding dolls nice and toasty...hmm.</span></div>Brea Essexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05287181524150587571noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-718355988648780533.post-6707214891902807922011-12-13T10:37:00.000-08:002011-12-13T10:37:10.927-08:0025 Days of Christmas: A Non-traditional Traditional Christmas with Tamar Hela25 Days of Christmas continues! Today, my good friend and aspiring author Tamar Hela is sharing with us her "non-traditional" traditions:<br />
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<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“A Non-traditional Traditional Christmas”</div><div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">by Tamar Hela</div><div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">Okay, don’t freak out, but I really abhor the majority of holiday traditions—at least those made up by the retail industry to get us to indulge in ourselves. For example, I’m not big on Thanksgiving food. I know, cardinal sin right? My ideal Thanksgiving meal would actually be all the best quality meat I could find, cooked to perfection and chopped into bite sized pieces in order to dip into the made-from-scratch cheese fondue I would have bubbling on the table. And I’d have some vegetables to dip too—can’t forget that. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">I become very agitated with Black Friday and even Cyber Monday. Do we need to buy all those “goodies”? I mean, does Mom <i>really </i>need another food processor? Would Aunt Mable <i>truly</i> appreciate that quilted leather jacket just because it was half off? And will Grandma’s garden look better with all those plastic gnomes? Maybe I sound like the Grinch, but when I hear stories of how people are held at gunpoint outside Best Buy on Black Friday and are told to give up that new PlayStation they bought, it brings a great feeling of anger to my spirit. Is this where “tradition” has brought us?</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">I get the whole décor bit for Christmas time and other holidays too, but honestly, I don’t think we need to have a winter wonderland in Macy’s in October. What ever happened to enjoying each season for what it is? What is the reason or meaning behind what many of us repeat thoughtlessly year after year? What is the meaning of Christmas? </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">Growing up, we didn’t always have the endless stream of presents that each child dreams of, but we always had enough—more than enough, actually. There were years that Christmastime may have appeared sparse to other onlookers, but I never knew the difference. My mom made sure that Christmas was special for my sister and I. One particular tradition comes to mind when I think of my childhood Christmases. There were these yummy coconut ice cream cake things that Mom would purchase. I think they came four in a box. When we were close to Christmas Eve—perhaps during our break from school—Mom would pop one out for each of us and place a candle in the middle. She then lit the candles, turned off the lights in the kitchen and we sang “Happy Birthday” to Jesus. We’d blow out our candles and eat our little cakes while Mom reminded us of the meaning and reason behind Christmas—the birth of Christ. See, she wanted to make sure that we never forgot why we celebrated the season. This tradition my mom carried on for quite a few years has stuck with me because it made a huge impact on my life—an impact that helped my perspective stay true to the real meaning of the holiday.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">Something else Mom would do with us, which I’m sure many people still participate in, was drive us around for an hour or so to see Christmas lights at night. We would try to find the BEST house and made our votes for the top candidates. Just spending that time together was magical. We didn’t receive anything tangible but instead had one of the most precious commodities anyone could want—TIME. Having our mom spend time with us was the best gift I could have received. I believe there really is no price you can place on time spent with loved ones. Sometimes giving of yourself is the most lasting gift you can give to anyone. Out of the many gifts I’ve received over the years, the ones that I still “have” are gifts of time—presence—from loved ones. I probably have about five actual presents from past Christmases and the rest are forever forgotten. But I will never forget the time my family has spent together over the years. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">One more tradition that comes to mind is that of gingerbread house building with my sister and one of our close family friends. For about ten years now, a tradition we’ve kept up is building houses from scratch. Some years, they’ve turned out pretty sketchy…</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLy1Jy_ltBEsfZ0rLKRxJXk9NhMqBa5QYzq9MzZkx2W47RLmmMIFTu2556AEtBR3rFj9MOSgXJdfImL3U66KY_gMJ5vL1s4zBuiIwrtfieXoe5C7Bg0Zpa8i5aB5-oDCDri0SSD4_yYG4/s1600/Gingerbread.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLy1Jy_ltBEsfZ0rLKRxJXk9NhMqBa5QYzq9MzZkx2W47RLmmMIFTu2556AEtBR3rFj9MOSgXJdfImL3U66KY_gMJ5vL1s4zBuiIwrtfieXoe5C7Bg0Zpa8i5aB5-oDCDri0SSD4_yYG4/s320/Gingerbread.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;">Other years, they’ve turned out great!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG1-Fs7MUPdxma74bDrxux_VePqGxWDrSGqgbRsnQvzyRHaweWEXG_oXW7z7Jbk5Hbg-msTq2RmFEXgM4NuEu8nXFbYzBeqyN8rLFTqe0n1sT-utSnVNASwiLBDEZ7CXQ40Q_62iSVgt0/s1600/Tamar+Gingerbread.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG1-Fs7MUPdxma74bDrxux_VePqGxWDrSGqgbRsnQvzyRHaweWEXG_oXW7z7Jbk5Hbg-msTq2RmFEXgM4NuEu8nXFbYzBeqyN8rLFTqe0n1sT-utSnVNASwiLBDEZ7CXQ40Q_62iSVgt0/s320/Tamar+Gingerbread.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">The point is: we do this to spend time together—again, the whole presence theme. So ask yourself, what does Christmas mean for you? Is it a stressful time where you bust your budget to get things that your receiver is going to sell on eBay December 26<sup>th</sup>, or is it a peaceful time where you get a chance to spend time with loved ones and pour into their lives? Are you rushing around, ignoring the people right in front of you just to impress guests or are you present in the moment? This Christmas, I encourage you to take a non-traditional approach and do something different. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">What if you chose to skip out on presents this year and donated money to those less fortunate? What if you cancelled that Christmas Eve extravaganza at your house and instead took your family driving around town to find the best lit house? Happiness doesn’t have to cost a lot of money but it will cost you something—<i>time. </i>Taking the time to remember the meaning of Christmas and pressing pause on your busy, hectic life to enjoy what you already have is something that will never go out of fashion. So have a very merry, non-traditional traditional Christmas!</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj6qdAEWGq2leJxAr_j3_xp7cmPaT5TBIwPKDxhyphenhyphenwElOs01A3WBV04035y0nAxHTqKWA9Dt_iodILyyco4l6vO8Je5B5s6yHEx-LzSjEdcbqL9CtXe2AInvraOGzJD8bwv0d4zlIKpDS4/s1600/Tamar.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/AVvXsEhj6qdAEWGq2leJxAr_j3_xp7cmPaT5TBIwPKDxhyphenhyphenwElOs01A3WBV04035y0nAxHTqKWA9Dt_iodILyyco4l6vO8Je5B5s6yHEx-LzSjEdcbqL9CtXe2AInvraOGzJD8bwv0d4zlIKpDS4/s200/Tamar.jpg" width="183" /></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> Tamar Hela is an aspiring author in the process of completing her first teen fantasy novel, <u>Feast Island</u>. Her book is the first in a series of eight and is about seven teenagers who are transported to a parallel universe where they must save the inhabitants of the planet Cantelia from an evil and oppressive ruler. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Tamar lives with her family in California and currently teaches junior high Bible classes. Stay tuned for announcements on her nearly finished novel and public debut in the social media world. For now, she can be reached at <span style="color: blue;"><u><a href="mailto:t.hela.books@gmail.com">t.hela.books@gmail.com</a></u></span>. </div>Brea Essexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05287181524150587571noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-718355988648780533.post-18335209212991020982011-12-12T08:57:00.000-08:002011-12-12T09:02:22.231-08:0025 Days of Christmas: "Written for Christmas" by S.G. RogersToday we have S. G. Rogers, author of The Last Great Wizard of Yden, visiting with us on the blog! She's sharing a flash fiction Christmas piece titled "Written for Christmas".<br />
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><b>Written For Christmas </b> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjONIbNaDuoK2iGq4te4RM91cIOvlWvzA9QTHUUShuk8qL13Sb0Q_ggfqhrl_KRfR2CviphXrL4ZW5GKtOyY5KWJZECiDGRAMVsIKCdfYjRUBGkElthCCZo-od68DPm_4amsxelh3_OrKI/s1600/Essexbells_S.G.Rogers.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/AVvXsEjONIbNaDuoK2iGq4te4RM91cIOvlWvzA9QTHUUShuk8qL13Sb0Q_ggfqhrl_KRfR2CviphXrL4ZW5GKtOyY5KWJZECiDGRAMVsIKCdfYjRUBGkElthCCZo-od68DPm_4amsxelh3_OrKI/s1600/Essexbells_S.G.Rogers.jpg" /></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Diva hesitated a moment before pulling the gift-wrap from <i>Lorelei’s Larceny</i>. As she gazed at the author photo on the dust jacket, the corners of her mouth turned up in a wistful smile. The lights on the Christmas tree in the corner winked at her and the window beyond revealed a light snow flurry falling outside. She turned the novel over in her hands, wondering if she should brave the elements to walk to the corner coffeehouse. While nursing a couple of peppermint mochas, she could make a pretty good dent in the book. Besides which, she didn’t want to spend Christmas Eve alone.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I can’t believe you opened that now,” Captain Westerly scolded. “Didn’t you promise Brandon Forster you’d wait until Christmas?”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Diva’s eyes slid over to the miniature pirate as he emerged from the pages of her recently released romance novel, <i>Captain Westerly’s Conquest</i>. The book rested on the table in front of the sofa, next to a Yule candle. “Nobody asked <i>you</i>,” she said. “And besides, Brandon won’t know.”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The dashing captain tilted his head as he examined the dust jacket. “Hey, he resembles me…or perhaps I resemble him.”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">A crease of annoyance marred Diva’s brow. “Do you have to leap off the page like that? It’s kind of disconcerting.”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“It’s the way you wrote me, my lady,” Westerly said, with a courtly bow. “Why didn’t you give Brandon a copy of my book? I mean, <i>your</i> book. He would have enjoyed <i>Captain Westerly’s Conquest</i>.”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Are you kidding? He’s a man. Men don’t read romance,” Diva said.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I don’t see why not? Brandon’s a handsome devil, even if I say so myself—secure in his masculinity.”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“And furthermore, we’re just friends. There’s simply no way a man like him would be interested in me,” she finished.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Westerly stroked his chin, covered with manly stubble. “I thought we were talking about books.”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Behave, Captain, or your next story will involve a wife and kids.”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Her decision made, Diva launched herself off the sofa and disappeared into her bedroom. A few moments later, she emerged with her coat and scarf in hand. She stopped short, gaping, as Westerly helped a miniature cat burglar step out of the pages of <i>Lorelei’s Larceny</i>. Clad in a sexy black unitard, the woman bore an uncanny resemblance to Diva.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“You look like me!” Diva exclaimed, wide-eyed.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“It’s the way Brandon Forster wrote me,” Lorelei replied, tossing her glossy sable locks over one shoulder.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Captain Westerly kissed Lorelei’s hand. “Would you care for a tour of my ship, my lady?” he asked. “We’ll toast the season with a glass of rum punch.” </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Lorelei raised an eyebrow as she gave the pirate an appraising glance. “Lead on.”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Wait a minute, you can’t—” Diva began, but the two main characters disappeared into the pages of <i>Captain Westerly’s Conquest</i> without so much as a backward glance. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">A knock on the apartment door caused Diva to blanch. She draped her coat and scarf over a chair and went to answer it. Brandon Forster stood there, clutching <i>Captain Westerly’s Conquest</i>. “I hope you don’t mind me s-stopping by,” he stammered. “I, um, had to tell you how much I loved your book.”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Diva’s mouth opened, but no sound would come out. Brandon flushed pink and ran his fingers through his closely cropped hair. “I’m sorry, that was lame. What I mean to say is…do you, er, want to get a cup of coffee?”</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I’d love some coffee,” she said with a slow smile.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Brandon let his breath out in a gust. He glanced at the sprig of mistletoe hung over the door and returned her smile with one of his own. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“How did that get there?” she exclaimed, startled.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">A distant foghorn sounded from the vicinity of <i>Captain Westerly’s Conquest</i>, on the table behind her.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I don’t know, but who am I to buck tradition?” Brandon asked. He leaned forward, his lips hovering over hers. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Merry Christmas,” she said, before she sealed it with a kiss.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">~ S.G. Rogers<br />
<br />
<br />
The Last Great Wizard of Yden<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #cfe2f3;"><br />
</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/51IdjzXgJiL.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #cfe2f3; color: black;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/51IdjzXgJiL.jpg" width="133" /></span></a></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #cfe2f3;">After his father is kidnapped, sixteen-year-old Jon stumbles across a closely guarded family secret--one that will challenge everything he has ever believed about his father and himself. A magical ring his father leaves behind unlocks a portal to another dimension, but in using it, Jon unwittingly unchains the forces of evil. A crisis develops when a malevolent wizard transports to Earth to kidnap Jon’s would-be girlfriend. With the help of some unlikely schoolmates, and a warrior princess from Yden, Jon embarks on a dangerous quest to free his friend and his father from the most vicious wizard the magical world has ever known. In the end, Jon will be forced to fight for his life as he attempts to rescue the last great wizard of Yden.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #cfe2f3;">$2.99 e-book at Astraea Press: <a href="http://tinyurl.com/87xh4az" target="_blank">http://tinyurl.com/87xh4az</a>,<b></b>Amazon: <a href="http://tinyurl.com/3doybdm" target="_blank">http://tinyurl.com/3doybdm</a>, or <a href="http://bn.com/" target="_blank">BN.com</a>: <a href="http://tinyurl.com/7kkesmh" target="_blank">http://tinyurl.com/7kkesmh</a></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #cfe2f3;">To follow S.G. Rogers, visit her blog at <a href="http://www.childofyden.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">www.childofyden.com</a>, Twitter @suzannegrogers, or visit her on Facebook: <a href="http://www.facebook.com/SuzanneGRogers" target="_blank">http://www.facebook.<wbr></wbr>com/SuzanneGRogers</a></span></div></div>Brea Essexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05287181524150587571noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-718355988648780533.post-38535568615916322762011-12-11T10:28:00.000-08:002011-12-11T10:28:39.123-08:0025 Days of Christmas: My Tradition with Lindsay DownsToday we have Lindsay Downs, author of Emily Dahill, CID and the new A Dog Gone Christmas, with us. Welcome, Lindsay!<br />
<br />
Lindsay:<br />
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Starting with Thanksgiving and running all way through to New Year’s the holidays are a special time for family and friend. Families come together from not only the four corners if this country, USA, but from possible around the world.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Over the years families develop their own traditions. Some continue when the children grow, marry and set up their own households.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Then, there are those within the family that might set up their own tradition even while with the parents. I am one of those.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">For more than twenty years I’ve gone Christmas shopping, but not for my family, but for those who might not have a Christmas. I’m not so much talking about presents but Christmas dinner.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">No, I don’t select a family but let the local food bank or Salvation Army do the selecting for me. The only condition I make is the family isn’t to know who has given them the food. And when I say food I’m talking everything: turkey, sweet and white potatoes, broccoli, coleslaw, marshmallows for the baked sweet potatoes, apple and pumpkin pie.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">After I get all that I then go to the baby food aisle and get the equivalent for the babies and toddlers.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">My last stop in the pet food aisle for dog and cat food; canned and bagged. This I instruct the receiving agency to donate to the local animal shelter if the family doesn’t have a pet.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">So, folks that’s my Christmas tradition.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">In keeping with that tradition but expanding it year around, for every copy of my Christmas book, A Dog Gone Christmas, I will be making a donation to my local collie rescue group.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-2nBLdWLh3jLHGm0rWI6ENw1hGceesCBQj3b771EOlbdIg8cld3v8D-pyLCMm4zWIwanMjHvGQQzvUMBczupQ2YyrsM2ld8RIN4brdPR5wkrd8GS7mTGikb0iw5T78f4d_asMyS9MK5Q/s1600/A+Dog+Gone+Christmas+200x300.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/AVvXsEi-2nBLdWLh3jLHGm0rWI6ENw1hGceesCBQj3b771EOlbdIg8cld3v8D-pyLCMm4zWIwanMjHvGQQzvUMBczupQ2YyrsM2ld8RIN4brdPR5wkrd8GS7mTGikb0iw5T78f4d_asMyS9MK5Q/s200/A+Dog+Gone+Christmas+200x300.jpg" width="133" /></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Click in the links below to by your copy and help save a collie.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #333333;">To request an autograph on your kindle (my author page)</span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: blue;"><br />
</span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: blue;"><u><a href="http://kindlegraph.com/authors/ldowns2966">http://kindlegraph.com/authors/ldowns2966</a></u></span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">Buy links for A Dog Gone Christmas</div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><u style="color: blue;"><a href="http://www.astraeapress.com/#ecwid:category=662245&mode=product&product=7885672">Astraea Press</a></u></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: blue;"><u><a href="http://www.amazon.com/A-Dog-Gone-Christmas-ebook/dp/B006DTZ7LE/ref=sr_1_3?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1322303881&sr=1-3">Amazon</a></u></span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: blue;"><u><a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/books/1036937396?ean=2940013541320&itm=1&usri=lindsay+downs">Barnes & Noble</a></u></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: blue;"><u><a href="http://www.allromanceebooks.com/storeSearch.html">All Romance</a></u></span></div>Brea Essexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05287181524150587571noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-718355988648780533.post-10813205398665613262011-12-10T06:00:00.000-08:002011-12-10T06:00:04.270-08:0025 Days of Christmas: A Historical Christmas with Stephy Smith25 Days of Christmas continues with Stephy Smith! Have you ever imagined what Christmas used to be like?<br />
<br />
Stephy Smith:<br />
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">Christmas and winter stirs my imagination. I cherish the moments I can sit inside and watch the beautiful snow flutter to the ground. The wind howls outside my home reminding me of many years before my time…a time when the people didn’t have luxuries as we do. I have often wondered if these are a few reasons they seemed to have appreciated what they had more than people now days.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">Hard work, less money and desperate times took its toll on many families way back then. Handmade gifts were given because most of the families couldn’t afford anything they may have had at the local mercantile. In my opinion, these items would have made Christmas a sentimental time of the year. Not only in giving, but also in socializing to celebrate the glorious season. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">Sleigh rides and Christmas carolers braved the threats of the environment to bring joy into someone else’s life. Doesn’t it sound romantic? Sitting next to the boy or girl of your dreams, dressed in your Sunday best and hoping a lasting relationship emerged. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">Looking at the scenario above from a historical writer’s point of view makes my mind work overtime. Have you ever traded in your car with a heater to bundle up in blankets for an innocent, romantic sleigh ride? If by chance there happened to be that bell ringing kiss, was it caused by the electrifying jingle of emotions or from ‘Bob’s’ tail as he swished at the snow? We would love to have you share your story with us.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> Here’s wishing you all a Merry Christmas and Happy Holiday Season.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Excerpt from Gentry's Gallery of Angels, now available from Astraea Press!</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #cfe2f3;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgI_Q1Aj6rgbblb5tJto3Ct2OfcDrJoHNiJOSPzpSx39wObAr0e_l-E9zEvhxSDqXFvpxH4Sc3F6HQwjxr2__Tsw3v2YzflJKdhLS0QL_p6CjLmQLmOW5uJlCrtS_DhynML8M-HeOXC40/s1600/Gentry%2527s+Gallery+of+Angels+200x300.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #cfe2f3;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgI_Q1Aj6rgbblb5tJto3Ct2OfcDrJoHNiJOSPzpSx39wObAr0e_l-E9zEvhxSDqXFvpxH4Sc3F6HQwjxr2__Tsw3v2YzflJKdhLS0QL_p6CjLmQLmOW5uJlCrtS_DhynML8M-HeOXC40/s200/Gentry%2527s+Gallery+of+Angels+200x300.jpg" width="133" /></span></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="background-color: #cfe2f3; font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">Nick glanced at the wagon. Maggie, Robert and Amanda Gentry sat on the buckboard. His heart picked up a beat. He left the table of sales items and walked to the door of the mercantile. The wagon rolled to a stop in front and he stepped out to greet the family.</span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #cfe2f3;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: small;"></span></span><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="background-color: #cfe2f3; font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">“Good morning. How’s everything out at your place?” he waited for Robert to assist the women to the ground.</span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #cfe2f3;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: small;"></span></span><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="background-color: #cfe2f3; font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">“Can’t complain. I’m heading to the hardware store, I’ll return for supplies after lunch.” Robert extended his hand and Nick shook it.</span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #cfe2f3;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: small;"></span></span><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="background-color: #cfe2f3; font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">“I’m off to pick up some sewing.” Maggie nodded at him.</span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #cfe2f3;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: small;"></span></span><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="background-color: #cfe2f3; font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">Amanda stood at his side. “And you, my beautiful bride to be, what are your plans for the day?” Turning his attention to her, he gazed at her full luscious lips. Chitter-chatter up and down the streets stopped him from kissing her. He linked elbows with her and led her into the store. In the shadows of the back corner of the building, he lightly kissed her.</span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #cfe2f3;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: small;"></span></span><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="background-color: #cfe2f3; font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">“I am getting a few odds and ends for the holidays, and our wedding.” Her hands held onto his forearms as she took a step back. The tingle she left behind when she released her hold lingered on his skin.</span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #cfe2f3;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: small;"></span></span><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="background-color: #cfe2f3; font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">“Would you care to have lunch with me at the hotel? They have a daily special of roast beef and gravy today.” He lifted his arm and caressed her soft face. Bright twinkles illuminated the blueness of her eyes, pulling him into their depths. His breath caught at the beauty surrounding her angelic face. </span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #cfe2f3;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: small;"></span></span><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="background-color: #cfe2f3; font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">“I would love to. I have a few errands to run first then I’ll meet you back here.” With a swish of her skirt, she pivoted on her heels and headed to the door. He let his gaze wash over her body and rest on the sway of her hips. The heat of desire flowed through his body.</span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #cfe2f3;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: small;"></span></span><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="background-color: #cfe2f3; font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">Following her to the door, he watched as her slender frame entered into the newspaper office. In a week, he would be able to quench his need to take her in his arms. He shifted to the work in the store, but his thoughts remained on his true love.</span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #cfe2f3;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: small;"></span></span><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="background-color: #cfe2f3; font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">Automatically, he placed items from his new shipment on the shelf. Amanda took over his mind every time he caught even the slightest glimpse of her. His knees grew weak when she was near and his heart thundered prolifically within the walls of his chest. Her touch lingered on his skin for days after the initial contact. He shivered as another round of excitement poured over his defenseless body.</span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #cfe2f3;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: small;"></span></span><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="background-color: #cfe2f3; font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">She was his and that was all that mattered. He worked for a few hours, and then glanced out the window. Amanda strolled down the wooden walk across the street. Deputy Cody Lansing stepped out in front of her. Taking a side step to avoid a collision, he once again stepped into her path. Heat scorched through Nick’s veins.</span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #cfe2f3;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: small;"></span></span><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="background-color: #cfe2f3; font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">He tossed down the merchandise and exited through the door. Amanda straightened her shoulders and took a step back. With hurried steps, Nick crossed the street.</span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #cfe2f3;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: small;"></span></span><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="background-color: #cfe2f3; font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">“There you are my dear. Are you ready for some lunch?” Brazenly he reached for her hand and she took his.</span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #cfe2f3;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: small;"></span></span><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="background-color: #cfe2f3; font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">“Yes I am, Nick. I’m starving, shall we go?” she wound her way around the deputy and joined Nick.</span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #cfe2f3;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: small;"></span></span><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="background-color: #cfe2f3; font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">“Then by all means, I will lock up the store and we shall be on our way.” He glared at Cody a few seconds and then led his sweetheart across the dirt street.</span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #cfe2f3;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: small;"></span></span><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="background-color: #cfe2f3; font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">Entering the hotel restaurant, they picked a table by the window. Mrs. Donner took their order and disappeared. “I’m glad you stopped Cody in his quest to corner me. I despise that man and the way he treats women. Why do you suppose he acts the way he does? There is no need for him to push his advances when he has more than one woman begging his attention?”</span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #cfe2f3;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: small;"></span></span><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="background-color: #cfe2f3; font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">“I don’t know Amanda. Seems he has always wanted what everyone else has and little confidence to take the ones who would welcome his overtures.”</span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #cfe2f3;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: small;"></span></span><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="background-color: #cfe2f3; font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">Her hand jutted across the table and came to rest on his arm. “Oh, let’s not talk of his deceitfulness. I have found the prettiest table setting for our wedding. I was at Hannah Lou’s having tea and she asked me if I wanted to use it. Well, of course I said yes, and she said she would have it packed up within an hour.”</span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #cfe2f3;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: small;"></span></span><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="background-color: #cfe2f3; font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">Nick chuckled at her excitement. The innocence in her soft voice took on an unexpected rush coming from her mouth. Those precious lips he gazed at seemed to call him to ravish them with all his being. He shifted in his chair.</span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #cfe2f3;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: small;"></span></span><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="background-color: #cfe2f3; font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">“Are you sure Mrs. Sanders is up to this?” Nick leaned back so Mrs. Donner could set the plate of food in front of him.</span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #cfe2f3;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: small;"></span></span><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="background-color: #cfe2f3; font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">“You know Grandmother wouldn’t have it any other way. Besides, Mother has her hands full with the other girls. They do nothing but scream and fight amongst themselves anyway.”</span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #cfe2f3;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: small;"></span></span><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="background-color: #cfe2f3; font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">“Where are your sisters? They weren’t in the wagon when your father pulled up at the store.” He took a bite of roast.</span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #cfe2f3;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: small;"></span></span><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="background-color: #cfe2f3; font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">“Nancy, Mary and Celeste are at Grandmother’s. Bessie, Susan and the twins all went to their friends’ houses for the afternoon.”</span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #cfe2f3;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: small;"></span></span><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="background-color: #cfe2f3; font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">His heart lurched as he watched the fork slide into her mouth. He forced himself to look out the window. Cody Lansing was escorting two young ladies down the walkway. Nick’s blood heated. <i>That man is indiscriminate using women the way he does, preying upon all the girls in town. Well, he won’t be stalking Amanda any longer. </i>He basked in the knowledge Cody could no longer lay claim to <i>his</i> Amanda.</span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #cfe2f3;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: small;"></span></span><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="background-color: #cfe2f3; font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">“At the newspaper office they told me our announcement will run tomorrow. Isn’t it exciting Nick? The whole world will know we are getting married Christmas Eve at Grandmother’s.”</span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #cfe2f3;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: small;"></span></span><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="background-color: #cfe2f3; font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">Nick chuckled. “The whole world you say? News will have to travel pretty fast to reach everyone.” He winked at her.</span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #cfe2f3;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: small;"></span></span><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="background-color: #cfe2f3; font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 24px;">“You know what I mean. Our world, not the whole earth.” She giggled.</span></div>Brea Essexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05287181524150587571noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-718355988648780533.post-17175154049440739162011-12-09T06:00:00.000-08:002011-12-09T06:00:03.381-08:0025 Days of Christmas: The Christmas Phoenix by Patricia KiyonoToday we have Patricia Kiyono on the blog with us, talking about her new Christmas release, The Christmas Phoenix!<br />
<br />
Patricia:<br />
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">I've never considered myself a physically strong woman, but I work hard. That's why I've always admired strong female characters, women who do what they need to do despite the hardships. Movie characters like Norma Rae and Fanny Bryce shaped my younger years, and later I came to read the news about women like Margaret Thatcher and Indira Gandhi.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">I never expect to be famous like these women, but I hope to have the same strength of determination. Each one had a focus, and their passion and unwavering energy toward doing what needed to be done is truly inspirational. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">That's why I like to write about strong women. Women who, when faced with a tough situation, simply roll up their sleeves and do what needs to be done. Jess Tate is such a woman. She's a widow and the mother of a teenage son. She works two jobs to pay the bills, but finds the time and energy to give to people who are important to her. Despite her exhaustion, she's determined to give her son a merry Christmas. And she can't help offering a helping hand to her handsome neighbor, whose scars include more than the wounds he received in war. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQvJqchwjJqSWWe_JbI3s9Sa5ju4aXNlMCtZtvPNFcmzYw3SkZvGaEkFfW-AfdqqKZlMmN-MHCM0f-DFcLpdrlgKN_13f8tCR8KTg5zCaybyqaDUsdf7gSxhDKsn2gsWMh3sCLViOqOk4/s1600/The+Christmas+Phoenix+500x750.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/AVvXsEiQvJqchwjJqSWWe_JbI3s9Sa5ju4aXNlMCtZtvPNFcmzYw3SkZvGaEkFfW-AfdqqKZlMmN-MHCM0f-DFcLpdrlgKN_13f8tCR8KTg5zCaybyqaDUsdf7gSxhDKsn2gsWMh3sCLViOqOk4/s200/The+Christmas+Phoenix+500x750.jpg" width="133" /></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><i>The Christmas Phoenix</i> is Jess' story. It's available now at Astraea Press. Here's the blurb: </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0.3in; text-indent: 0.5in;"> Jess Tate is trying to make a life for herself and her teenage son after her husband's sudden death. Running the family’s struggling landscape business in Northern Michigan has been hard work, and her son hasn’t been much help. She’s managed to get by, learning to run the big equipment herself, but between snowplowing early in the mornings and working her daytime job in town, she often wonders if there will ever be more to life than endless work.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0.3in; text-indent: 0.5in;"> Talented ice sculptor Jake Thompson had fame and fortune in St. Louis, but he’s been forced to start over after a disastrous relationship left him embittered and in deeply debt. His sister’s remote vacation home in Northern Michigan is the ideal retreat to lick his wounds and rebuild his career in peace and quiet—except a certain feisty redhead and her teenage son have a penchant for disturbing his solitude.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0.3in; text-indent: 0.5in;"> In the snowy winter, Jake and Jess unexpectedly find their lives and attitudes begin to change. Will family involvements and ghosts from the past keep them apart, or are they strong enough to risk rising from the ashes of their lives like the mythical phoenix?</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.5in;"> <br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.5in;"> <i>The Christmas Phoenix</i> can be purchased at Astraea Press, Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and Bookstrand!</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.5in;"> <br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.5in;"> Buy links: </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.5in;"><a href="http://astraeapress.com/#ecwid:category=662245&mode=product&product=7885679">Astraea Press</a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.5in;"> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.5in;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/The-Christmas-Phoenix-ebook/dp/B006DTOCRO/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1322346301&sr=8-1">Amazon</a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.5in;"><a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/books/1036936156?ean=2940013541276&itm=1&usri=the+christmas+phoenix">Barnes and Noble</a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.5in;"> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.5in;"> Read more of Patricia Kiyono's work at her blog: <a href="http://www.creativehodgepodge.blogspot.com/">www.creativehodgepodge.blogspot.com</a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.5in;"> Like her on Facebook: <a href="https://www.facebook.com/pages/Patricia-Kiyono/149294485148710">https://www.facebook.com/pages/Patricia-Kiyono/149294485148710</a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.5in;"> Visit her website: <a href="http://patriciakiyono.com/">patriciakiyono.com</a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.5in;"> <br />
</div>Brea Essexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05287181524150587571noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-718355988648780533.post-586634475784014482011-12-08T06:00:00.000-08:002011-12-08T06:00:08.467-08:0025 Days of Christmas: The Christmas Bell by Chynna Laird25 Days of Christmas continues with Chynna Laird, author of Blackbird Flies! Today she is sharing a short story she wrote, called The Christmas Bell.<br />
<h1 class="western"><b>The Christmas Bell</b></h1><div align="CENTER" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><u><b>by Chynna Laird</b></u></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"> I’ve always loved Christmas: the smells snaking out from the kitchen hinting to the wonderful dinner to come; the buzz of voices catching up on all the past year’s events; and devouring Grandma’s melt-in-your-mouth shortbread cookies (Grandma would never divulge her shortbread secret nor could we find the recipe). But my fondest memories swirl around a beautiful bell that hung from its designated hook on the right side of my grandparents’ fireplace.</div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"> It was brass with a thick woven golden rope tied into a sparkly tassel on the end. There were three angels on its body: their wings spread wide with each holding a harp at their waists. I always believed they were singing Christmas songs to God. The best part was winding the music key and hearing “Silent Night”, fast at first then gradually slowing down until the winding key stood still. The golden flames of the fire roaring in the fireplace waved across the angels making it appear as though they were dancing in time to the music. I rewound it over and over until my grandfather said, “Make that the last one, Dumplin’. Or you’ll tire ‘em out before Christmas Day.”</div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"> Grandpa bought it for Grandma for their first Christmas together. I never heard the story behind the bell but every year when it came out of its box and was hung from its hook, my grandparents shared a look between them, a movie playing a scene from their past only they could see. It was beautiful. </div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"> Many years later, after they’d both gone, my Uncles were assigned the onus task of going through their estate, deciding what to do with all their knickknacks. Each grandchild received a letter asking what, if anything, we’d like to remind us of our grandparents. I was very close to my grandparents and their death was excruciating for me. Choosing one special item of theirs when they hadn’t been gone very long wasn’t a task I wanted to think about. But, in my heart, I already knew the one thing I needed: the bell.</div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"> It was a symbol of their love for each other as well as a symbol of what Christmas meant to each of them. The year I’d asked for the bell was the first without <i>either</i> of them. I knew it was going to take some time before I’d receive the beautiful ornament, but I was patient. I hadn’t seen it since the last Christmas we had at my grandparents’ house when I was in my early twenties. Having to wait gave me some time to prepare myself for the emotions I wasn’t quite ready to deal with.</div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"> By the time fall blew in, I’d completely forgotten about my request. It seemed like just as I was putting the Halloween stuff away, Christmas was nipping at our heels. My daughter, Jaimie, was almost three by then. She was old enough to understand and be more interested in the holidays. She just loved helping me decorate—even if it meant all the decorations were at the lower three feet of the tree. </div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"> A couple of days before Christmas Eve, the doorbell interrupted our masterpiece gingerbread house creation. Because we were several hundreds of miles away from family during the holidays, we received a lot of packages. </div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"> “Merry Christmas,” said our cheery postman. It was his second trip to our house that day. “Here’s another one from home. Enjoy.”</div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"> “Thanks, Joe,” I closed the door, preventing any more snow from sneaking in the door. The brown package was small and reeked like gasoline from its long truck ride. When I recognized the handwriting as my Uncle’s, my heart fluttered.</div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"> <i>Could it be?</i></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"> I ripped the package open like a child on her birthday and under all the paper and foam chips there were a few small jewelry boxes, a clay jug my grandmother had made and a small object suffocating in bubble wrap. The letter stuffed on top read:</div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"> <i>Dear Tam:</i></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"> <i>Here are some items of Grandma and Grandpa’s we thought you’d like. The most precious of which, to you and them, is wrapped up tight.</i></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"> <i>I hope it arrives by Christmas.</i></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"> <i>Love, Uncle Rick</i></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"> I stared down at the lumpy object left in the box. Part of me wanted to just grab it and rip it open. But another part of me was too nervous. My arms hung at my sides like heavy lead pipes, preventing me from touching it.</div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"> “Mama,” Jaimie whispered. “I see package?” She stood on her tiptoes and strained to see over the flaps of the box. </div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"> My nervousness turned to excitement when I realized I could share this experience with my daughter as joy instead of dwelling in sadness of the loss.</div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"> “Yes, of course, sweetie,” I brought the bubble wrapped treasure down to her level. “Why don’t we open it together, okay?”</div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"> She helped me remove the tape and slowly unwrap it. As the bell spun out of the packaging, I swore I heard each angel breath a sigh of relief. It was just as I’d remembered it—a little less shiny maybe, but just as beautiful. Heavenly. </div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"> As I wound it up I said to Jaimie, “Wait until you hear this, sweetie. You’re gonna love it.”</div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"> When I let go of the key, the music surrounded us. I closed my eyes and was taken back for a moment to my grandparents’ living room when I was the same age as Jaimie. I smelled the turkey in the oven, I heard the laughter of my family, I tasted the melt-in-your-mouth shortbread cookies, and I saw the angels dancing to the music as the flames of the fire shone across them.</div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"> The key stopped moving and I opened my eyes to see Jaimie staring, mouth agape, at the bell—just as I had all those years ago. </div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"> “Gen, Mama,” she squealed. “Music gen?” She reached up and ran her tiny fingers over one of the angels. “She sing dat, Mama?”</div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"> Tears pooled in my lower lids as I re-wound the bell. “Yes, hun. She’s singing the song. Let’s go hang it up so Daddy can see it when he gets home, okay?”</div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"> Months earlier, I’d stuck a little hook under the right side of our mantle, just in case. We hung our bell up on the hook, listening to the music over and over until I said, “This is the last one, hun. We don’t want to wear out the angels before Christmas morning.”</div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"> On top of welcoming the bell into my home, the recipe for Grandma’s shortbread was tucked into one of the jewelry boxes. It was the best Christmas ever.</div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"> <i>Merry Christmas, Gram and Gramps. Thank you.</i></div>Brea Essexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05287181524150587571noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-718355988648780533.post-86337604237430607852011-12-07T06:00:00.000-08:002011-12-07T06:00:12.568-08:0025 Days of Christmas: The Purdy Family Christmas (and Giveaway) with Rebekah Purdy25 Days of Christmas continues with Rebekah Purdy! The search for the perfect Christmas can sometimes be more...eventful...than you think it would be! Don't forget to leave a comment for a chance to win a copy of her YA paranormal romance novel My Dad's a Paranormal Investigator: Seeking Shapeshifters!<br />
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><u>The Griswold Family Christmas…Er, I mean Purdy Family Christmas</u></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">First of all I want to thank Brea for having me on her blog! Okay, so when she asked us to talk about Christmas or traditions etc. the first thing that came to mind is our yearly tradition of cutting down the PURDY FAMILY CHRISTMAS TREE…</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">So I should start off by saying, we have a big family. I’m talking 6 kids big! Every December we load up into the Expedition to go cut down our tree. Imagine frigid temps, thigh deep snow, frozen appendages, 6 kids, and well, you get the idea. We traipse through the woods, looking for that perfect tree. And of course we all have a different idea of what size tree we’re searching for.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">A couple of years ago, I got it in my head that I wanted a really BIG tree. We have 14 ft ceilings in my living room, so I thought hey, why not go big. Er…big mistake (LOL). We spent several hours searching for said tree. Our feet were numb, it was getting dark, and all I kept picturing was the Griswolds out looking for their tree (you know the movie with Chevy Chase National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation).</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">At last, we found it and holy crap was it huge. It took all of us to get it tied down to the top of the truck. When we got home we had to move furniture out of the way so we could bring it in. We got pine needles everywhere, and the sap ugh! Then, it ended up being too tall (grr). So we had to cut some off the top. At last we got it stabilized and decorated it. A couple hours later, we were all downstairs when we heard a loud CRASH. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Yep, you guessed it. The tree had tipped over (OMG). We hefted it back up and ended up having to put a large hook in the wall and tie rope around the trunk to keep it upright. But yeah it looked really pretty. Needless to say, we decided to downsize after that year. What about you? Do you have any traditions? </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
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</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">In the spirit of Christmas, I’d love to give away an ebook copy of my YA Paranormal Romance: My Dad’s a Paranormal Investigator: Seeking Shapeshifters to one lucky commenter! Make sure to leave an email address…</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/51rkqjjP2vL.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/51rkqjjP2vL.jpg" width="124" /></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #cfe2f3;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #181818; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;">Sixteen year old Ima Berry (pronounced I’m a) leads anything but a normal life. For starters, the ridiculous name her eccentric dad gave her is always the opening for a good joke. Not to mention the fact he makes his living as a supernatural investigator, which has them moving around every few months. It’s hard to hang out with new friends when she spends all her time trying to prove the existence of Bigfoot, ghosts, fairies and any other number of paranormal creatures. Unfortunately, the cases always end in disaster. That is until now.</span><br style="color: #181818; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px; text-align: left;" /><br style="color: #181818; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px; text-align: left;" /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #181818; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px; text-align: left;">On a whim, Ima’s father decides to move them to Point Hope, Alaska. Here, he plans to investigate the possibility of shifters amongst the Inuit tribes. Ima isn't thrilled with the move, until she meets an Inuit guy named Carsen. Not only is he hot, but he’s also a star basketball player, and he’s interested in her. Too bad his best friend, Talon, doesn't like her and takes every opportunity he can to discourage the relationship. Ima has no idea what she’s done to make him mad, but there’s no denying the strange connection between them.</span><br style="color: #181818; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px; text-align: left;" /><br style="color: #181818; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px; text-align: left;" /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #181818; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px; text-align: left;">As things grow more serious with Carsen, Ima uncovers a secret about him and some of the residents of Point Hope. A secret that will force her to choose between her father’s already dwindling career and her new found love. And with the knowledge of this secret comes danger…a danger that could cost them their lives.</span></span></div>Brea Essexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05287181524150587571noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-718355988648780533.post-39333111687041479462011-12-06T06:00:00.000-08:002011-12-06T06:00:02.077-08:0025 Days of Christmas: Secret Santa by Kristine Cheney-Free First Chapter and Giveaway!<div style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: #f2ffcc; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;">25 Days of Christmas continues with Kristine Cheney! Here's an excerpt from her Christmas novella, Secret Santa, as well as a chance to win a copy for yourself!</div><div align="CENTER" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div align="CENTER" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><a href="http://photo.goodreads.com/books/1320259501l/12921661.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://photo.goodreads.com/books/1320259501l/12921661.jpg" width="136" /></a></div><div align="CENTER" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: red;"><span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b><br />
</b></span></span></span></div><div align="CENTER" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: red;"><span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b><br />
</b></span></span></span></div><div align="CENTER" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: red;"><span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>SECRET SANTA</b></span></span></span></div><div align="CENTER" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: red;"><span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b><br />
</b></span></span></span></div><div align="CENTER" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> <span style="color: red;"><span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>BY</b></span></span></span></div><div align="CENTER" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: red;"><span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b><br />
</b></span></span></span></div><div align="CENTER" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> <span style="color: red;"><span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>KRISTINE CHENEY</b></span></span></span></div><div align="CENTER" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> <br />
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</div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> <span style="color: red;"><span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><u>BACK COVER BLURB</u></span></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> <br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> <span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Holly Gordon’s estrangement from her family makes loneliness of the Christmas season hit close to home. Volunteering for the annual Ashton Falls Secret Santa Program is more than a comfort, it’s a blessing. Just knowing she’s able to help another hurting soul experience the joy of a heartfelt Christmas makes her own reality a tiny bit sweeter, that is, until Marcus Jenner ends up on her list.</b></span></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> <br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> <span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Marcus Jenner is more than a bronze, muscled looker. This Chickasaw loner isn’t happy being placed on the town’s Secret Santa list. Suffering from the blow of a devastating loss, he has chosen to withdraw from living almost completely. For the life of him, he can’t figure why this pretty little blonde keeps bumping into him, calling him by name, and insisting on giving him presents. Unfortunately for Marcus, every time she does, a billowing cloud of havoc seems to ensue. Why can’t this uninvited vixen leave him alone?</b></span></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> <br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> <span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>They say time and fate have all of the answers. Holly, in all of her innocence, is drawn to Marcus like a moth to the flame. But Marcus has no intentions of submitting to the threat of his newfound feelings. A painful exchange pushes their lives into a pendulum chaos. His demand for privacy is granted by Holly’s hidden illness. Her sudden absence hits him hard, especially when the arrival of a stranger delivers the rest of his gifts. Right away, he knows something’s horribly wrong. </b></span></span></span><span style="color: lime;"><span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b><br />
</b></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Love and selfless giving can rouse a wounded, sleeping heart. But sometimes a Secret Santa gets a few unexpected gifts of her own.</b></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b> </b></span></span></span> </div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> <br />
</div><div style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> <span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><u><b><span style="background: #00ffff;">FREE FIRST CHAPTER:</span></b></u></span></span></span><span style="color: lime;"><span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b><br />
</b></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>*reproduction of this book in whole or part, electronically or</b></span></span></span><span style="color: lime;"><span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b><br />
</b></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>mechanically, constitutes a copyright violation.*</b></span></span></span><span style="color: lime;"><span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b><br />
</b></span></span></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b></b></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b> </b></span></span></span></span> </div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> <span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Holly scanned the list of checked off names, straining to decipher her own scribbled prose by the awkward red glow of Volkswagen dashboard lights. Shoving the list back into the gut of her purse, the crisp folded papers crackled loud in protest between her fingertips. In only two more strokes, it would be midnight. Time would soon pay its annual homage to the start of the beloved countdown, ushering in the Twelve Days of Christmas.</b></span></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> <br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> <span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Her spirits remained cheerful despite several hours delivering nine of her ten secret packages. In a few short hours, every unsuspecting recipient would open their front door to behold a surprise. Every gift had been meticulously wrapped, bowed, and tagged with love, waiting for discovery in the morning.</b></span></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> <br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> <span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Holly refused to submit to exhaustion, but her tired eyes struggled to keep a clear view in focus. Constant growls and rumbles of hunger drifted from the pit of her neglected stomach, which threatened to digest itself in a staged revolt. All seven and a half inches of her pedicured feet, including her red painted toes, throbbed with the persistent ache of pins and needles. But with the tenth delivery left to go, she refused to rest until her task was finished. Marcus Jenner’s house would be the final stop this snowy, frigid December eve. Turning a left onto Hibiscus Street, the radial tires of her salsa red Beetle sloshed through another mottled puddle of dirty, sleet-drenched powder.</b></span></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> <br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> <span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>A glimpse of the lovely suburban house filled her otherwise empty belly with the sweetest swirls of butterfly tickles. Energized by another burst of child-like excitement, Holly decided the quaint, cottage-like home was her kind of perfect. </b></span></span></span> </div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> <br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> <span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Despite the ample bite of winter, the front landscaping was meticulously maintained and attractive. Sculpted points of snow-capped hedges offered walls of privacy from view of the neighbors. The huge expanse of lawn was tucked in winter’s slumber beneath a virginal blanket of glistening white. Flower beds were everywhere, even surrounding every tree trunk. All of them were filled with frosty kissed roses and adorable, hibernating bushes. Each garden was illuminated with stakes of bright decorative lighting, and surrounded by curves of costly stone edging. Sturdy, thick arms of tall, boisterous trees hung skeletal and bare, completely void of their leaves. The abundance of their size boasted its promise to bring the luxury of a lazy, shade-filled summer.</b></span></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> <br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> <span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Pulling up to the curb, Holly silenced the idling of the engine with the swift turn of her large VW key. Aware of the need for stealth, she was careful to close her door with only the slightest latching sound. Even without a sleigh, it was difficult to contain her jolly little snicker. It was only because she </b></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i><b>did</b></i></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b> feel a bit like Santa Claus. </b></span></span></span><span style="color: lime;"><span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b><br />
</b></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>This was her seventh year participating in the Ashton Falls Secret Santa Program. Callers to the town’s charity hotline knew the annual holiday drill. Day after day, several residents left pleading messages, volunteering the names of precious spirits they felt in desperate need of cheer. Every story tugged at Holly’s insides, their tales oftentimes sad and devastating: a disabled homeless veteran, a single mother struggling to survive on her own, a group of orphaned children growing up in foster care.</b></span></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> <br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> <span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>The calls trickled in until the last deciding moment. Casting final votes for the ones who would receive the gifts was every board member’s uneasy burden. Every Secret Santa would be given an assigned list that bore the names of their chosen. Just like every year before, Holly would deliver packages to her ten coveted souls. But every Santa knew the rules. Out of those who would receive a single, solitary gift, she would have to decide which one of them would receive an additional present for all Twelve Days of Christmas.</b></span></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> <br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> <span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>With delicate care, each name had been written on a stiff sheet of pink construction paper, cut into little neat squares, and folded twice before being dropped and shaken in the flared bowl of her floral-lined burgundy hat. The tips of her fingers had fumbled in search through the snaps of entries. It was almost as if each of them were crying out to her heart, begging to be favored. Privy to the revelation of her of victor, Holly had discovered her champion. Marcus Jenner’s moniker had been the one staring back at her.</b></span></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> <br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> <span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Estranged from her family, the seasons hit a little close to home. Just knowing she helped another lonely soul experience the joy of a heartfelt Christmas, made her own reality just a tiny bit sweeter. It mattered not if anyone knew of this secret role she played. The blessing of giving was what made her satisfaction run so deep, especially when no one expected to receive anything.</b></span></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> <br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> <span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>The weight of her black, heeled boots crunched with every step, sinking deeper through the newest layer of snow. Her hand bore the weight of a small, foil-wrapped package. Barely able to contain her excitement, Holly almost crushed the bow held tight against her chest. A glance at the large, storybook windows revealed shimmers of light escaping the scalloped edges of thick tapestry curtains. Up on the rooftop, radiations of heat battled brisk, chilly air, forming billowing puffs of steam rising from the chimney in victory.</b></span></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> <br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> <span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>It took two steps to breach the lovely, raised front porch. Easily half the length of the house, the patio’s bright, festive timber was made of redwood. While the jubilant glow of the carriage wall light seemed to welcome her, a delicious woodsy scent enveloped all of her senses in agreement. Decorative wicker chairs and tables were lush and fancy. Padded rocking chairs were idle and empty, waiting for visitors.</b></span></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> <span style="color: black;"> </span><span style="color: lime;"><span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b><br />
</b></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Stapled lines of cording graced the edges of the eaves. Bulbous strands of unlit, holiday lighting hugged the crown of roof in shadowed desolation. The absence of colorful illumination made Holly ponder with surprise. Why would anyone think of hanging Christmas lights and not turn them on?</b></span></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> <br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> <span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>With the shrug of her shoulders, she found the perfect location to set down her gift. Bending over and reaching forward, she carefully balanced the box upon the reflective glass top of a close wicker table. She squealed in alarm when someone grabbed her from behind. Engulfed by a grip that could rival any beam of steel, Holly couldn’t mistake the feel of a masculine arm wrapped tight around her waist.</b></span></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> <br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> <span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>With a whooshed pull, she was lifted off the ground and swept into the house like a limp rag doll. The warmth of her backside melted into the front of the one who held her too close. She grunted at being handled rough and then set down abrupt. Holly endured the whirling half-spin turn of her captor’s confrontation and inhaled a gasped breath of shock. The angry man standing before her was not what she expected. Instead of facing some old wrinkled, Ebenezer Scrooge, the sight she beheld made her knees liquefy like heated jelly. If this man wasn’t latched on to her, surely she would have fallen to the ground.</b></span></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> <br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> <span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>The only words swirling throughout her mind were tall, dark, and please-kiss-me handsome. Easily thirty-something, this muscled hunk had to be the sweetest blend of Caucasian and proud Native American ever. For the first time in her life, Holly decided she didn’t mind a two-day shadow on a man’s face. His fine sculpted nose and pretty-boy cheekbones were certainly higher than the glorious star atop her Christmas tree. Mythological height allowed him the privilege of towering over her. In her wildest estimation, he must have been at least six-foot-seven. </b></span></span></span> </div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> <br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> <span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>The glow of his light, amber eyes seemed to scorch her from beneath the arches of his smooth, ebony brows. The vivid impact of his stare created a jaw-dropping contrast to the depth of his medium, mocha complexion. Wet spikes of his cropped, raven hair seemed to beckon for the lingering stroke of her touch. Were the fibers of his missing shirt crying out in anguish to be kept from covering every rippled chord of his flexed muscles? Button-fly Levi’s hugged his every curve. Denim never looked so good. A thorough examination over the broad expanse of his bare strong shoulders was enough to make Holly swoon. To make matters worse, his golden skin was covered with rolling beads of water. Wanton images of him naked in the shower made her squirm, so she bit her bottom lip to dispel the naughty thoughts.</b></span></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> <br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> <span style="color: black;">“<span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Who are you? What are you doing on my porch?”</b></span></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> <br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> <span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Shaking her head, Holly struggled to find the words. Despite her best intentions, it was impossible not to stare. Ogling the wall instead would have only made it more obvious. The bottom line: that idea was just plain stupid. She couldn’t help her stutter. “I-I’m sorry, I wasn’t stealing! To be honest, I was just...”</b></span></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> <br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> <span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>The purse of his plump, angel lips couldn’t hide the delicious bounty of his pout. He quickly cut her off. “You’re presence here is uninvited. Don’t you know you’re trespassing?”</b></span></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> <br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> <span style="color: black;">“<span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>I was only delivering a package.”</b></span></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> <br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> <span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>The narrow of his beautiful stare promised he wasn’t convinced. The heated twitch of his fingers made her realize their exact location. His massive hands were embedded on the bare crest of her hips, just over the waistband of her designer blue jeans.</b></span></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> <br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> <span style="color: black;">“<span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>I don’t mean any trouble! I’m Holly, and your name is on my Christmas list.” </b></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i><b>Great! She'd spilled the beans. Now she would have to explain she was his Secret Santa!</b></i></span></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> <br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> <span style="color: black;">“<span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Holly, huh? Seasonably ironic, but I’m </b></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i><b>not</b></i></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b> expecting any package. Whatever it is, I don't want it. Take it back to whoever sent it!"</b></span></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> <span style="color: black;"> </span><span style="color: lime;"><span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b><br />
</b></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>“But, I can’t take it back!” It was true. She didn’t know who requested his name be placed on her list. “Please, just keep the gift and I’ll be on my way.”</b></span></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> <br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> <span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>The sudden press of his washboard abs against her belly forced Holly to take a few instinctive steps backward. Moving in an awkward two-step motion, her palms suffered every glorious twitch of the muscles flexing in his chest. Tiny spheres of moisture seemed to burst in explosion against the flat of her palm, igniting the chill of excitement that raced down her spine. Jolted back to reality, Holly snapped out of her lust induced stupor and realized what he was doing. In a blur of hurried motion, he was forcing her back toward the door.</b></span></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> <br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> <span style="color: black;">“<span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Then donate it to charity. </b></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i><b>Thank you</b></i></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b> for your visit, but it’s time for </b></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i><b>you</b></i></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b> to go."</b></span></span></span><span style="color: lime;"><span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b><br />
</b></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>She didn’t miss the thick coat of sarcasm in his voice. The heels of her boots dug in as a last resort and skidded noisily across the tiles before getting caught on the raised hump of threshold. Teetering unsteadily, Holly was about to lose her balance. Crying out in distress, she instinctively looped her arms around the masculine bounty of his neck. Any distance between them was instantly negated. The tempting curve of his mouth was only a pucker away from her lips. Her cheek brushed against the rough scruff of his chiseled, handsome face. For a brief moment, she caught a glimpse of his concern. His eyes softened and filled with light. The furrow of his brow made a liar of his rough exterior expression.</b></span></span></span><span style="color: lime;"><span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b><br />
</b></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Was the echo of his breathing just as ragged as her own? His voice resonated low, like the flashes of tiny pulses. But even in her innocence, she recognized his tone was husky, as if laced with passion. “Are you all right? I didn’t mean to push you so hard. It’s just that I haven’t, well, I</b></span></span></span><span style="color: lime;"><span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b> </b></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>mean…it’s been a while since…never mind!”</b></span></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> <br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> <span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Holly didn’t miss the wilted cluster of blackened berries nestled among the dead, cracked leaves of mistletoe. Surely they were from last Christmas? Regardless, the menace was hanging directly above them in the doorway, just past the raven pitch of his hair. He must have realized she was staring at something, because he caught her gaze and quickly followed it to the target, locating her distraction. With a smug, knowing chuckle, the intensity of his amber stare was again searing the back of her eye sockets.</b></span></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> <br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> <span style="color: black;">“<span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>I’m okay, Marcus,” she offered almost breathless, as if lost in some kind of enchanted spell. Oh, but she could smell him. Clean and tropical fresh, his man scent reminded her of some sexy, exotic shower of the islands. Even the Old Spice Guy would have sobbed in the corner in shame. The solid feel of his warm, bare chest should have melted the soft angora sweater right off her body. But as quick as she had found his sympathy, he made a full recovery. His face was once again a disappointing palette of stone. The pertness of his interrogating shake was completely unexpected.</b></span></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> <br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> <span style="color: black;">“<span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>How do you know my name?”</b></span></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> <br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> <span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>She tried to explain, but this time, very carefully. “The list...”</b></span></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> <br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> <span style="color: black;">“<span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>What list am I on?”</b></span></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> <br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> <span style="color: black;">“<span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>I can’t tell you.”</b></span></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> <br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> <span style="color: black;">“<span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Then tell me who placed me on the list.”</b></span></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> <br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> <span style="color: black;">“<span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>I don’t know.”</b></span></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> <br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> <span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>With a loud growl, Marcus lifted her over his shoulder like a five pound sack of flour. Stepping over the threshold in a rush, he set her down hard on her feet, the click of her heels thumping hollow upon contact with the fine, redwood porch. His long body leaned toward the table and with a foiled ripple, snatched up her present. Her jaw dropped in horror when he shoved it into her hands, crushing the pretty gift box. “Save it, woman! I don’t care about your list, or your present. Goodbye, Holly.” With a large step backward, he breached the safety of his house. The blurred flash of his swinging red door slammed directly in her face.</b></span></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> <br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> <span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Tears stung Holly’s eyes and blurred her vision. The solid lump forming within her gut was nothing short of nauseating. Every muscle in her body trembled with grief, while her soul filled to the brim with a heavy burden of sadness. Giving the package a careless, disgruntled toss, she watched the box tumble several times before coming to a tilted stop within the dimple of a fancy bench cushion. </b></span></span></span> </div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> <br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> <span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Stomping her boots, Holly hit every wood step on purpose. If she were lucky, the echo of every hollow knock would rock that jerk right where he stood. But deep inside her heart, she truly wasn’t angry. Why did she find it so difficult to blame him? Raw, exposed emotions got the best of her. Every cell in her body throbbed with the sting of being wounded. All of her willpower reduced to calamity and waste, she ran crying to her car. How could anyone refuse the joy of a present?</b></span></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> <br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> <span style="color: red;"><span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><u><b><span style="background: #00ffff;">ABOUT THE AUTHOR:</span></b></u></span></span></span></div><div align="CENTER" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> </div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> <br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> <span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Kristine Cheney is an award-winning author of paranormal and contemporary romance and is an Arizona native, living in Surprise. She’s been married twenty-two years to her high school sweetheart, Brett, and is the mother of Taryn, Brett Tyler, and Zackary, and is Grammy to Parker, Ivy, and Evely'nn. A huge labrador lover, she is mom to yellow lab Magnus and to the very naughty (and huge) white Labra-doodle puppy Brody.</span></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> <span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b><br />
</b></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Hobbies include writing passionate love stories that involve chivalrous characters, dashing adventure, forked humor, and the ever-true good vs. evil dilemma. Her favorite place to relax is anywhere within close proximity to a beach or wooded lake. A huge history buff, she plans to one day make a trek across the US to get her fill of American wonder (with hubby, labs, and lap top in tow). </span></span></span><span style="color: lime;"><span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b><br />
</b></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">She loves a good hot cup of coffee with Crème Brule liquid creamer and sugar. A maestro with a bag of frosting, Wilton cake decorating lessons only fueled her artistic fire. She's pretty darn awesome at creating a deluxe wedding, baby shower, or themed birthday cake that will make your toes curl.</span></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> <span style="color: red;"><span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><u><span style="background: #00ffff;">BOOKS:</span></u></span></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> <span style="color: red;"><span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: #ffff00;">SPARTAN HEART, PART ONE (Amazon, B&N, Smashwords, iBooks)</span></span></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> </div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> <span style="color: red;"><span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: #ffff00;">SPARTAN HEART, PART TWO (Amazon, B&N, Smashwords, iBooks)</span></span></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> </div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> <span style="color: red;"><span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: #ffff00;">SPARTAN HEART (PAPERBACK) [contains both SH1 and SH2] (Amazon)</span></span></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> </div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> <span style="color: red;"><span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: #ffff00;">SECRET SANTA (Amazon, B&N, Smashwords, iBooks)</span></span></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> <span style="color: red;"><span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background: #ffff00;">SECRET SANTA (PAPERBACK) (Amazon)</span></span></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> <br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> </div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> <br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> <span style="color: red;"><span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><u><b><span style="background: #00ffff;">KRISTINE’S LINKS:</span></b></u></span></span></span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Consolas, serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Please feel free to add/follow me at the links below:</b></span></span></span></span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Consolas, serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Website:</b></span></span><span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> <a href="http://www.kristinecheney.com/">http://www.kristinecheney.com</a></span></span></span></span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Consolas, serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Blog:</b></span></span><span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> <a href="http://www.spartanheartbyauthorkristinecheney.blogspot.com/">http://www.spartanheartbyauthorkristinecheney.blogspot.com</a></span></span></span></span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Consolas, serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Facebook:</b></span></span><span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> <a href="http://www.facebook.com/AuthorKristineCheney">http://www.facebook.com/AuthorKristineCheney</a></span></span></span></span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Consolas, serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Facebook:</b></span></span><span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> <a href="http://www.facebook.com/KristineCheneyFanPage">http://www.facebook.com/KristineCheneyFanPage</a></span></span></span></span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Consolas, serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Facebook Personal:</b></span></span><span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> <a href="http://www.facebook.com/KristineCheney">http://www.facebook.com/KristineCheney</a></span></span></span></span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Consolas, serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Twitter:</b></span></span><span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> <a href="http://twitter.com/SpartanHrtBooks">http://twitter.com/SpartanHrtBooks</a></span></span></span></span></div><div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Consolas, serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Youtube.com Book Trailer:</b></span></span><span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a4DH3ipxVbQ">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a4DH3ipxVbQ</a></span></span></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> <span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Goodreads:</b></span></span><span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> <a href="http://www.goodreads.com/authorkristinecheney">http://www.goodreads.com/authorkristinecheney</a></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> <br />
</div><div align="CENTER" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> <span style="color: #c00000;"><span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="background: #00ffff;">WANT A CHANCE TO SCORE A</span></b></span></span></span></div><div align="CENTER" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #c00000;"><span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="background: #00ffff;"><br />
</span></b></span></span></span></div><div align="CENTER" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> <span style="color: #c00000;"><span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="background: #00ffff;">SECRET SANTA EBOOK?</span></b></span></span></span></div><div align="CENTER" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #c00000;"><span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="background: #00ffff;"><br />
</span></b></span></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> <span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>1) Follow my website at</b></span></span><span style="color: red;"><span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b> </b></span></span></span><span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><a href="http://www.kristinecheney.com/">www.kristinecheney.com</a></b></span></span><span style="color: red;"><span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b> </b></span></span></span> </div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> <span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>2) Please also consider following my other links above.</b></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 27px;"><b><br />
</b></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> <span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>3) Leave a comment below. </b></span></span><span style="font-family: Wingdings, serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b></b></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Wingdings, serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><br />
</b></span></span></div><div align="CENTER" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> <span style="color: #c00000;"><span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><u><b>THANK YOU FOR VISITING!</b></u></span></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> <span style="color: #c00000;"><span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>XOXOXO</b></span></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> <span style="color: #c00000;"><span style="font-family: Arial, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>KRISTINE CHENEY</b></span></span></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="background: #f2ffcc; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> <br />
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</div>Brea Essexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05287181524150587571noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-718355988648780533.post-29297227750842794412011-12-05T06:00:00.000-08:002011-12-05T06:00:05.982-08:00Mom's Christmas Cookie Tray with Meg Mims25 Days of Christmas continues with Meg Mims, author of Double Crossing, sharing one of her favorite memories: helping her mom make Christmas cookies and fill her famous tray!<br />
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<div align="CENTER" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">Mom’s Famous Christmas Cookies</div><div class="body-text-first-indent" style="line-height: 100%; text-indent: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiCxx_dU6J6UKNBY5aBsb-Lz5oaPev9gsX8go0y11ZgfPjuhQ6AOH8wDzN2twA6Ba7YOC99zhjJrYpNvSxGv80WaR598no2BYcuLPOyttfByq0Xx6a9Iw-NUPSd4X6L2D0IfiTXQxfSSo/s1600/spritz-cookies.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="144" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiCxx_dU6J6UKNBY5aBsb-Lz5oaPev9gsX8go0y11ZgfPjuhQ6AOH8wDzN2twA6Ba7YOC99zhjJrYpNvSxGv80WaR598no2BYcuLPOyttfByq0Xx6a9Iw-NUPSd4X6L2D0IfiTXQxfSSo/s200/spritz-cookies.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><div class="body-text-first-indent" style="line-height: 100%; text-indent: 0in;"> <br />
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</div><div class="body-text-first-indent" style="line-height: 100%; text-indent: 0in;"> Some of my fondest Christmas memories are usually food-related, no surprise there. Four of the neighbor moms would exchange their favorite home-made Christmas treats – so we’d have Italian cannoli with chocolate chunks nestled in the cream filling, Syrian stuffed grape leaves and meat pies chock full of pine nuts, a delicious three-layer chocolate buttercream-frosted cake, and my mother’s famous cookies. Those ladies were fabulous bakers and cooks.</div><div class="body-text-first-indent" style="line-height: 100%; text-indent: 0in;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7Li_a2Oi7o9smRfvs5zrz9wzptkwxSzgSi8XBnw0LDJvOKtXqFRRMhzdOp3nFd4X3Psmo4-hSnV58QNnEYf4DTIF1ROsvsXifmnyZ86qXqNLE8f1YxA013FkqnkyT85GKfNPk8zUdhbo/s1600/cookiepress.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="148" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7Li_a2Oi7o9smRfvs5zrz9wzptkwxSzgSi8XBnw0LDJvOKtXqFRRMhzdOp3nFd4X3Psmo4-hSnV58QNnEYf4DTIF1ROsvsXifmnyZ86qXqNLE8f1YxA013FkqnkyT85GKfNPk8zUdhbo/s200/cookiepress.jpg" width="200" /></a> My mom started after Thanksgiving on her cookie recipes. She would make a variety – one huge batch for several days – of jam-filled Thumbprints, Almond Shortbread, Russian Teacakes (also known as Snowballs), powdered-sugar-covered Brownies, Toffee Nut Squares, and the infamous sugar-sprinkled Spritz cookies using a cookie press in tree, candy cane and poinsettia shapes. Green sugar coated the trees and red sugar coated the others.</div><div class="body-text-first-indent" style="line-height: 100%; text-indent: 0in;"> When my older sisters grew up, they helped Mom at Christmas time. Then it was my turn, being the middle child, and Mom’s crippling arthritis meant I had to learn the tricky cookie press. Argh! It took a while but I managed. I added colored nonpareils on top of the green sugared trees to resemble “lights,” after Mom approved. We’d box up plenty for the neighbors and then stored the rest in tall airtight tins with waxed paper between the layers. But my favorite way to help was filling the cookie tray for holiday visits with “Company.”</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDA08FkAaNfNFJDUKG-f4jUCEBaE-suP7_KVngZ4HsAfhOXRGKjUMAw9wvMtLdZ1i2wCVRnYixG4MXWuWVR_DQJTydSR9LXh9LB3FjxclFwKsSCaRxYOMPVBITwZ6SIa09p3om7woOCqQ/s1600/RussianTeaCakes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="173" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDA08FkAaNfNFJDUKG-f4jUCEBaE-suP7_KVngZ4HsAfhOXRGKjUMAw9wvMtLdZ1i2wCVRnYixG4MXWuWVR_DQJTydSR9LXh9LB3FjxclFwKsSCaRxYOMPVBITwZ6SIa09p3om7woOCqQ/s200/RussianTeaCakes.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><div class="body-text-first-indent" style="line-height: 100%; text-indent: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="body-text-first-indent" style="line-height: 100%; text-indent: 0in;"> The pewter tray (I’d always thought it was silver, until I received silver items for my own wedding -- Mom never had to polish her tray!) was a large rectangle with wavy sides, two handles in the shapes of leaves, and an etched pattern in the bottom. I can’t recall if it was a scene or grapes now. One of my older sisters chose it after Mom passed away – and rightly so, because she makes the hand-pressed cookies with far more success than I ever had. My daughter likes making press cookies, but she prefers gingerbread. We never made frosted sugar cookies, though. And our tray, while adorable with a Santa on it, can’t hold a candle to that pewter tray.</div><div class="body-text-first-indent" style="line-height: 100%; text-indent: 0in;"> I would cover it with plastic wrap, line up Mom’s cookies in rows from top to bottom like little delicious soldiers marching their way to grateful stomachs. Thumbprints were the prettiest, with their nutty shells and raspberry jam filling, flanked by two rows of white snowballs. On either side, I’d line up trees, poinsettias and candy canes. The nut squares, brownies and shortbread filled up the spaces left. The tray had to be at least 10 by 14 inches, not including the sides!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0v9JzB7DgBew47v-8_PPYitFxkS19o5yowDyEXD9Vz2-7B4wJ4tR32AZE49il_MgQjr0tZq7g0AhVlXGymV7MxzkI0QMrfDd9nIK9UeARx_tFnq4YtKboXxyBoxSyyTlYikp_B0jyDyI/s1600/thumbprint-cookie-004.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/AVvXsEj0v9JzB7DgBew47v-8_PPYitFxkS19o5yowDyEXD9Vz2-7B4wJ4tR32AZE49il_MgQjr0tZq7g0AhVlXGymV7MxzkI0QMrfDd9nIK9UeARx_tFnq4YtKboXxyBoxSyyTlYikp_B0jyDyI/s200/thumbprint-cookie-004.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><div class="body-text-first-indent" style="line-height: 100%; text-indent: 0in;"> And “Company” always looked forward to eating Mom’s cookies. You can’t beat that home-made flavor and the obvious love she put into those hours and hours of baking. Dad’s favorite were the Russian Teacakes. Mine too, with that melt-in-your mouth taste of buttery cookie, tiny chopped bits of pecans and almond flavoring and that powder sugar that ends up showering your clothes. They had to be rolled in powdered sugar hot out of the oven, and then again when cool.</div><div class="body-text-first-indent" style="line-height: 100%; text-indent: 0in;"> Granted, who has time to make hundreds of cookies nowadays? But in the 60s and 70s, those stay-at-home moms sure beat any store-bought cookie. I believe they’d probably beat any Food Network cookie today too. My mom added a secret ingredient – love of family – to her cookies, and that pewter tray is still in the family. Traditions are important.</div><div class="body-text-first-indent" style="line-height: 100%; text-indent: 0in;"> After all, isn’t family a big part of what Christmas is about?</div>Brea Essexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05287181524150587571noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-718355988648780533.post-49378314277686053632011-12-04T06:00:00.000-08:002011-12-04T06:00:04.387-08:00What to Get Your Writer for Christmas with Courtney KoschelToday we have Courtney Koschel visiting with us on the blog! Ever wondered what to get the writer in your life (or yourself) for Christmas? Courtney will tell you!<br />
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">What to Get Your Writer for Christmas, by Courtney Koschel</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Writers are unique people with crazy thinking processes. We often get up really early or stay up crazy late. Sometimes we fail at personal hygiene or hold off on doing the laundry for “one more day” in hopes of breaking a certain word count or reaching a point in our story. We often talk to ourselves, to our characters, or to the characters in the book we’re reading. It’s quite a site to see. If you have the pleasure of knowing a writer, you have probably observed this type of behavior and then some. You may say, “Courtney, what do I get that crazy writer friend/partner/person/love of my life for Christmas?” I have a few answers for you that are sure to make your Writer squeak and squeal this Christmas.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: blue;"><u><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Mandalas-Stained-Glass-Coloring-Design/dp/0486441350/ref=sr_1_9?ie=UTF8&qid=1322745604&sr=8-9">Mandala Coloring Books</a></u></span> – A mandala is an ancient symbol that means “circle” or “wholeness.” Mandala coloring can help your Writer relax while still being creative. I can plot an entire novel while coloring—it frees up the left side of the brain so the right side can have a hay-day. Your Writer will find a sense of calm while still being productive. Don’t forget to get some <span style="color: blue;"><u><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Sharpie-Ultra-Fine-Point-Permanent-Markers-24-Pack/dp/B0003WN0CA/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1322750664&sr=8-1">Sharpies</a></u></span> (or any ultra fine point marker) or <span style="color: blue;"><u><a href="http://www.amazon.com/RoseArt-Colored-Pencils-50-Count-287VA-24/dp/B003597MS6/ref=sr_1_3?s=office-products&ie=UTF8&qid=1322750690&sr=1-3">colored pencils</a></u></span> to go along with the book.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Creative Journals or Notebooks – There are many different types of creative journals and notebooks that will help feed your Writer’s muse. <span style="color: blue;"><u><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Listography-Journal-Your-Life-Lists/dp/0811859088/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1322746575&sr=1-1">The Listography – Your Life in Lists</a></u></span> notebook is a fabulous journal for your Writer. They can fill the pages with all their crazy babble and then turn that babble into a story idea. <span style="color: blue;"><u><a href="http://www.amazon.com/If-Questions-Game-Evelyn-McFarlane/dp/0679445358/ref=pd_sim_b_12">If…(Questions for the Game of Life)</a></u></span> is a journal your Writer can use for writing prompts, or self-discovery.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: blue;"><u><a href="http://www.amazon.com/My-Time-Idea-Cards-TableTopics/dp/B004DAMDU8/ref=sr_1_4?ie=UTF8&qid=1322746928&sr=8-4">Idea Cards</a></u></span> – Idea cards can help your Writer overcome writer’s block. They come in a stack with a little plastic holder. Your Writer can take them anywhere for a little dose of inspiration.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Calendar – It’s soon to be the start of a new year! Help your Writer keep up with what day it is by waking up their brain. Your Writer will like this <span style="color: blue;"><u><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Mind-Benders-Brainteasers-Page-Calendar/dp/076116295X/ref=wl_it_dp_o_npd?ie=UTF8&coliid=IZ5XJ8Y11H65T&colid=25ZHZHK3038UG">2012 Page-A-Day Brain Teaser</a></u></span> desk calendar. After their daily brainteaser, they will be awake and energized to start writing.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Stress Reducer – Let’s face it—writing is stressful. Characters often misbehave, fingers cramp, and hands ache. Your Writer will need to let off some steam. Why not have something they can squeeze to relieve some pressure (also good for the hands). <span style="color: blue;"><u><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Talking-Stress-Ball-Laughing-Guy/dp/B0053GRK7W/ref=sr_1_106?ie=UTF8&qid=1322749964&sr=8-106">This Laughing Guy – Talking Stress Ball</a></u></span> can help save YOU from your Writer’s wrath.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Your Writer's eyes will light up when they see one of these gifts under the Christmas tree. This holiday season; spend time with your Writer. Pry the pen from their hand and cut the power from their computer (only after you are 1000% certain they have saved their document…actually, better wait until their computer is OFF to do this). Drink eggnog and overindulge on sweets and goodies. You and your Writer will start 2012 with fresh minds and happy memories.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays.</div>Brea Essexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05287181524150587571noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-718355988648780533.post-50446702184850108282011-12-03T06:00:00.000-08:002011-12-03T06:00:10.112-08:00Operation: Christmas Hearts with Kay SpringsteenToday we have Kay Springsteen, author of the Echoes of Orson's Folly series and the Heart stories, visiting with us! She is sharing an except from her new Christmas novel, Operation: Christmas Hearts, as well as one of her favorite charities.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgltAJbDd-q4TsAmfcYmhyphenhyphenXK8EeApgbd-jWZWkEO2jmPPVgd-DFCz13_kAUcArIGUyC5p-0RVw74yY9XXJvQgNJ1wFdbWUIX3pBakvr9Kc51eAB-LNrC8T56X1vqE8rYp7XoEA14IJTfCw/s1600/Operation+Christmas+Hearts+453x680.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgltAJbDd-q4TsAmfcYmhyphenhyphenXK8EeApgbd-jWZWkEO2jmPPVgd-DFCz13_kAUcArIGUyC5p-0RVw74yY9XXJvQgNJ1wFdbWUIX3pBakvr9Kc51eAB-LNrC8T56X1vqE8rYp7XoEA14IJTfCw/s200/Operation+Christmas+Hearts+453x680.jpg" width="133" /></a></div><br />
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; widows: 0;"><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif;"><b>Operation: Christmas Hearts BY Kay Springsteen</b></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; widows: 0;"><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif;">BLURB:</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; widows: 0;">Ashley Torrington never cared much about Christmas before. But this year she’s having a particularly blue holiday because Marine Special Operations Team member, Nick Turner got under her skin just before he was deployed to Afghanistan. With her neighbors’ precocious daughter Bella volunteering Ashley for a special project at school, and a mysterious white-haired stranger named Estelle in town buying gifts from Ashley’s shop, not to mention the odd assortment of presents Ashley’s been receiving from an anonymous source, she shouldn’t have time to worry about her guy. But when he and his team go missing the week before Christmas, she realizes only a Christmas miracle will reunite them.<br />
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Captain Nicholas Turner never backed down from challenges—on the battlefield or in his personal life. But he’d never met a challenge like Ashley, who doesn't want to be anyone’s “girl back home.” Now he’s on the other side of the world, wanting to be anywhere but in Afghanistan for Christmas. About to embark on one of the most dangerous missions of his life, he needs Ashley to know she’s much more than the girl he’d left behind, and he does plan to come home to her. But in the meantime, a little Christmas magic would be appreciated. Little does he know, he’s about to get his wish.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; text-indent: 0.5in; widows: 0;"> <br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; widows: 0;"><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif;">EXCERPT:</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; widows: 0;"><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif;"><i>North Carolina, late afternoon</i></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; widows: 0;"><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif;"><i>T minus 19 days ’til Christmas </i></span> </div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; text-indent: 0.5in; widows: 0;"> <br />
</div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; text-indent: 0.5in; widows: 0;"> <span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif;">The steady </span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif;"><i>drip-drip</i></span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif;"> of the light rain on the canvas awning outside was the only sound to break the silence. No happy laughter of children playing. And ever since the mail carrier had departed an hour earlier, no jingle of the bell on the front door to signal a customer’s arrival to the art gallery and gift shop. </span> </div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; text-indent: 0.5in; widows: 0;"> <span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif;">More important, no phone ringing. </span> </div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; text-indent: 0.5in; widows: 0;"> <span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif;">A thriving tourist town in the summer, the small shoreline community of Lookout Island was always a bit slow come late autumn and during the winter months; too warm for snow, but not tropical enough to attract the sun bunnies. Many of the residents stuck around but most of the tourist-oriented businesses closed, as owners and employees took opportunities for extended vacations to sun or snow, depending on their individual preferences.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; text-indent: 0.5in; widows: 0;"> <span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif;">Which is exactly what Ashley Torrington should have done. Get on a plane to chase the sun. Or the snow. Just take a flight bound for anywhere but the gray skies, misty air, and wet pavement of winter on the North Carolina coast. Even Main Street, with its twinkling white lights and ribbon-tied cedar garland, looked droopier than usual. The rain hit the bulky red bows, formed little pools in the folds of the fabric, and then cascaded in little droplets to form puddles on the sidewalk beneath.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; text-indent: 0.5in; widows: 0;"> <span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif;">Turning from the window, Ashley’s eyes fell on the little parcel the mail carrier had left. It had arrived when she was in the middle of hanging lights in the gallery window, and she’d forgotten about it after she had finished her task. Ashley picked it up. The white box was about six inches square, and it sat on the counter mocking her with its lack of return address. It hardly weighed anything at all, and it made no sound when she shook it.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; text-indent: 0.5in; widows: 0;"> “<span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif;">Probably a box of air,” she muttered, reaching for the utility knife. She drew the blade in a quick, sure line across clear packing tape and pulled the top flaps open. White foam packing peanuts exploded from the confined space, and Ashley screamed.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; text-indent: 0.5in; widows: 0;"> <span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif;">After her heart settled out of its pounding beat into a more sedate rhythm, and her breathing normalized, she peeked into the white cardboard cube. Nestled in a bed of purple velvet cloth, a silver and crystal angel, about six inches tall, beamed up at her.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; text-indent: 0.5in; widows: 0;"> “<span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif;">Oh, my.” Ashley reached in and gently plucked the angel from the box. The lights from the window display behind her sparkled off the cut crystal, shooting fractured rays of light across the gallery to dance on the ivory colored wall. “You </span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif;"><i>are</i></span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif;"> a little beauty, aren’t you?”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; text-indent: 0.5in; widows: 0;"> <span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif;">Ashley cradled the crystal figure in the palm of one hand, delighting in the glints of light that seemed to emanate from inside the angel, though Ashley knew it was merely a reflection. The angel carried a tiny red heart in her arms, as carefully as a baby. A crystal dog with long floppy ears, one of which was formed of silver, sat at the angel’s feet. His tongue lolled happily, and a pair of silver angel wings rose from his back.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; text-indent: 0.5in; widows: 0;"> <span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif;">Ashley checked for a packing slip, which might show a return address and found none. The postmark was smeared, too, though it looked like </span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif;"><i>Beth-something</i></span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif;">. Who on earth could have sent it? Maybe a supplier trying to interest her in carrying their line? She set the angel next to the cash register on the checkout counter and stepped back. That didn’t look right, so she retrieved the crystal figure and set it on a mirrored shelf behind the counter. As her reflection hit the mirror, the angel seemed to glow even brighter.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; text-indent: 0.5in; widows: 0;"> “<span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif;">Well, I guess you’ve found a home, haven’t you? I have to admit, your company will be nice this year.” She stroked the angel’s face. “Welcome to the Vibrant Gallery and Gift Shop.”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; text-indent: 0.5in; widows: 0;"> <span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif;">The task of setting up the angel completed, Ashley contemplated putting some music on the store sound system, maybe a bit of generic Christmas instrumental designed to warm the heart. Instead, she stared at the phone on the counter next to the cash register and willed it to ring then jumped back two steps when it did just that.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; text-indent: 0.5in; widows: 0;"> <span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif;">Her heart set a mad, erratic pace that sent her pulse thrumming in her ears.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; text-indent: 0.5in; widows: 0;"> <span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif;">The phone rang again and Ashley picked it up with a shaking hand. “Hello? Um—ah, Vibrant Gallery and Gift Shop.”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; text-indent: 0.5in; widows: 0;"> <span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif;">A low chuckle from the other end of the line sent tingles along Ashley’s spine. “What color is your hair today?”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; text-indent: 0.5in; widows: 0;"> <span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif;">The tension that had clenched a tight fist around her lungs for the past week left as quickly as a lightning flash. Bubbles of pure happiness filled Ashley’s heart. He’d called. He’d called and he was laughing and asking about her hair. That meant he was all right.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; text-indent: 0.5in; widows: 0;"> <span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif;">She forced the trembling from her voice and seated herself on the wooden stool behind the counter. “And who, might I ask, wants to know?” She crossed one knee over the other, hoping this would be one of their longer conversations. She so missed the man. </span> </div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; text-indent: 0.5in; widows: 0;"> <span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif;">The laugh washed over her again. “Just a stranger in Germany. No one important.”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; text-indent: 0.5in; widows: 0;"> <span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif;">The tension in her muscles eased. He was okay if he was still in Germany. “Now why would some strange man on the other side of the world care if my hair’s green?”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; text-indent: 0.5in; widows: 0;"> “<span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif;">Green?” His voice took on a startled tone.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; text-indent: 0.5in; widows: 0;"> “<span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif;">Well, kind of green with some blue, actually.” Ashley glanced up at the mirror behind the counter and tossed her head, enjoying the way the colorful strands rubbed against one another as she moved.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; text-indent: 0.5in; widows: 0;"> “<span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif;">Sounds hot. Send me a picture, babe.” His voice held a playful leer that lightened her lonely heart.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; text-indent: 0.5in; widows: 0;"> “<span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif;">Uh-uh. You’ll show all the guys in your unit and they’ll laugh at me.”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; text-indent: 0.5in; widows: 0;"> “<span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif;">No one laughs at Nick Turner’s girl.” </span> </div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; text-indent: 0.5in; widows: 0;"> <span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif;">But despite the mirth in his voice, Ashley suddenly felt sad. Nick Turner’s girl. The girl who waited for her man to call or write…or to come home. “I miss you,” she whispered into the phone as the first tear rolled down her cheek.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; text-indent: 0.5in; widows: 0;"> “<span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif;">Ah-ah-ah! You promised no crying if I’m not there to kiss those tears away.”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; text-indent: 0.5in; widows: 0;"> <span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif;">How did he always know? She caught the tear on her fingertip and brushed it away, careful to avoid smearing her makeup. Then she felt silly for worrying about her makeup when the only man she cared about looking nice for wasn’t even around to see it.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; text-indent: 0.5in; widows: 0;"> “<span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif;">So…what about that picture?” he pressed.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; text-indent: 0.5in; widows: 0;"> “<span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif;">I’ll consider it and let you know the next time you call.”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; text-indent: 0.5in; widows: 0;"> “<span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif;">By the time I call again, it might be a different color.” Nick chuckled. “So are you ever going to tell me your natural hair color?”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; text-indent: 0.5in; widows: 0;"> <span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif;">Ashley smiled into the mirror. “Pure white. I’m really an old crone with a heavy investment in plastic surgery.”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; text-indent: 0.5in; widows: 0;"> “<span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif;">Oh yeah, I forgot you’re so much older than me.”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; text-indent: 0.5in; widows: 0;"> <span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif;">Ashley pouted. “Only a year.”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; text-indent: 0.5in; widows: 0;"> “<span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif;">Gotcha.”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; text-indent: 0.5in; widows: 0;"> “<span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif;">You rat. You know that bothers me.”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; text-indent: 0.5in; widows: 0;"> <span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif;">Nick spoke with softness that edged gentle warmth through her. “Ash, you could be thirty years older than me and I’d still want to be with you.”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; text-indent: 0.5in; widows: 0;"> <span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif;">She sat up with a start. “Well I’m </span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif;"><i>not.</i></span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif;"> Thirty years older, I mean.”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; text-indent: 0.5in; widows: 0;"> <span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif;">His soft laugh suggested he was thinking “gotcha” again but he was obviously too wise to say it. “Hey, Ash…there’s something I need to tell you.”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; text-indent: 0.5in; widows: 0;"> <span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif;">Her heart kicked up into her throat. She didn’t like those words…or the tone in his voice. She forced calm into her voice that she no longer felt. “What is it, Nick?”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; text-indent: 0.5in; widows: 0;"> “<span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif;">My alert status got bumped up.”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; text-indent: 0.5in; widows: 0;"> <span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif;"><i>No. No, no, no, no! </i></span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif;">But she bit her lip rather than speak the denial out loud. “Okay,” she said evenly as soon as she found her voice.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; text-indent: 0.5in; widows: 0;"> “<span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif;">So if I don’t call you as much, it’s just because I’m busy.” It wasn’t lost on her, how carefully he chose his words, maybe in part because they were on the telephone, a non-secure transmission device. But Ashley understood that he was letting her know he could be sent on a mission as part of the task force to which he was attached.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; text-indent: 0.5in; widows: 0;"> <span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif;">She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Showing her anxiety would serve no purpose, and could prove a distraction to Nick. So she cleared her throat. “Well, that’ll give me time to get the inventory done then.”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; text-indent: 0.5in; widows: 0;"> “<span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif;">Ash, when I come back—” He cut himself off.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; text-indent: 0.5in; widows: 0;"> <span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif;">Superstitious protocols indulged in by Nick’s unit dictated that none of the guys discuss plans for after their missions. He normally scoffed even as he went along with the informal rules. But the tenor of his voice clued Ashley in that something was different this time. She pushed back the full-blown fear that clawed at her chest and gave him what she knew he needed. The mundane.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; text-indent: 0.5in; widows: 0;"> “<span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif;">Hey, I’ve been trying to remember the name of that singer who played at the cookout last July Fourth. You remember? The one we liked—the marine.”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; text-indent: 0.5in; widows: 0;"> “<span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif;">John Coolidge?”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; text-indent: 0.5in; widows: 0;"> “<span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif;">That’s it! I’ve been looking all over for the program. I told Trish I’d get his info. She’s organizing some benefit or something but I couldn’t remember his name.” She smacked a kiss against the phone receiver. “You saved me from the huge embarrassment of not being able to deliver.”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; text-indent: 0.5in; widows: 0;"> “<span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif;">And that’s all I get? An air kiss? How about that picture?”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; text-indent: 0.5in; widows: 0;"> <span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif;">Ashley smiled at his tenacity. “How about I overnight some homemade chocolate chip cookies?”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; text-indent: 0.5in; widows: 0;"> “<span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif;">And a picture?” </span> </div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; text-indent: 0.5in; widows: 0;"> “<span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif;">I’ll consider the picture.”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; text-indent: 0.5in; widows: 0;"> “<span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif;">In a bikini?” </span> </div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; text-indent: 0.5in; widows: 0;"> “<span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif;">You’re crazy! It’s December.” But she laughed and felt the loosening of panic’s persistent grasp around her throat.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; text-indent: 0.5in; widows: 0;"> “<span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif;">Aw, c’mon, you’re in North Carolina. That makes it what? Seventy?”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; text-indent: 0.5in; widows: 0;"> “<span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif;">I think it may have gotten up to thirty-eight today.” She twisted to look out at the gathering gloom as dusk set in. </span> </div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; text-indent: 0.5in; widows: 0;"> “<span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif;">Cold snap, huh?”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; text-indent: 0.5in; widows: 0;"> “<span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif;">Very. And it’s rainy.” </span> </div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; text-indent: 0.5in; widows: 0;"> “<span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif;">Is your shop all decorated for Christmas?”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; text-indent: 0.5in; widows: 0;"> <span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif;">Ashley glanced around at the solitary string of lights and the loop of silver garland she’d hung in the front window. “Yep, all very festive.”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; text-indent: 0.5in; widows: 0;"> “<span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif;">Liar,” he whispered, and once again she wondered how he could read her so easily from thousands of miles away. “I’ll bet you got the box out of your attic and grabbed the first string of lights off the top and stuck it in your window.”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; text-indent: 0.5in; widows: 0;"> “<span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif;">It was the second string,” she mumbled. “The first string didn’t work.” Then, unable to stop herself, she giggled. “But I also hung some silver garland. So there.”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; text-indent: 0.5in; widows: 0;"> “<span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif;">Oh, well, if you hung garland too…”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; text-indent: 0.5in; widows: 0;"> <span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif;">Nick continued his gentle teasing and Ashley continued to let him. What she ached for was to hear him to share the details of his day with her but security prevented that. So they did the best they could with the stolen moments of conversation every few days, whenever Nicholas could squeeze out a few minutes to call.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; text-indent: 0.5in; widows: 0;"> “<span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif;">There’s a line for the phones,” he finally admitted with obvious reluctance.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; text-indent: 0.5in; widows: 0;"> <span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif;">Ashley glanced at the clock on the wall, surprised to note they’d spent the past thirty minutes discussing the ordinary. “We talked a long time,” she pointed out, holding her breath, hoping it was just a fluke and the phone traffic had been light, or he hadn’t noticed the time.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; text-indent: 0.5in; widows: 0;"> “<span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif;">I might have pulled a little rank this time,” he murmured. </span> </div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; text-indent: 0.5in; widows: 0;"> <span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif;">The fear was back, scrabbling for a hold in her gut. “Talk to you soon, Nicholas.”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; text-indent: 0.5in; widows: 0;"> “<span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif;">I lo—yeah. Good—ah, talk to you later, Ashley.”</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; text-indent: 0.5in; widows: 0;"> <span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif;">She almost dropped the phone. They never told each other goodbye—just one of those superstitions they’d come to share. </span> </div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; text-indent: 0.5in; widows: 0;"> <span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif;"><i>Say something, stupid!</i></span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; text-indent: 0.5in; widows: 0;"> “<span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif;">I—” But the line was dead. He’d already hung up, or maybe they’d been cut off.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; text-indent: 0.5in; widows: 0;"> <span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif;">She set the receiver back on the charger and sat looking at it, replaying their conversation, trying to prolong the sense of connection. Finally, Ashley sighed and stood. She gave the phone a last lingering look before she crossed to the front of the gallery and peeked through the window. The weather hadn’t improved, but at least with the arrival of nighttime, the grayness was gone. White lights along Main Street were mirrored in the wet pavement, creating a glittering watery wonderland.</span></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; text-indent: 0.5in; widows: 0;"> <span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif;">With a flick of her wrist, Ashley turned the sign on the door around so </span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif;"><i>closed</i></span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif;"> showed outward. Then she pulled the shade. She stood there for just a little longer, admiring the colored lights outlining her display window. The silver garland reflected them in a splintered fashion, sending colorful phantasms to dance over the display of snow globes below. </span> </div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; text-indent: 0.5in; widows: 0;"> <br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><><><><><><><><></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU26-HQmivfGDq_IlYgxchkQZ6g21wcKD3vEwomp4UsBZuSPdV27zA41JJIRf5ZP0GRUZqGWmquzYnkPz-AdApYpeyDaQTPtl_NW9RbIU3L48qDgtq-1BJ6TkynKopuOE0UfPs7eKUtWA/s1600/IMG_3596.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/AVvXsEiU26-HQmivfGDq_IlYgxchkQZ6g21wcKD3vEwomp4UsBZuSPdV27zA41JJIRf5ZP0GRUZqGWmquzYnkPz-AdApYpeyDaQTPtl_NW9RbIU3L48qDgtq-1BJ6TkynKopuOE0UfPs7eKUtWA/s200/IMG_3596.jpg" width="160" /></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">This year, one of my daughters will not even be in the United States for Christmas. There will be no joyful “over the river and through the woods” to anyone’s house for them because her U.S. Marine husband has been stationed in Japan for the next three years and the cost to fly home is simply too great. But they’re among some of the fortunate. They have each other and a nice base home on Okinawa. Many of our military personnel – from any country – are out in the world separated from families and those they love, or worse, are all alone, with no one to even send them a greeting from home. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">And that’s why one of my favorite charities is The USO.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">From the website: <span style="color: blue;"><u><a href="http://www.uso.org/the-organization.aspx">http://www.uso.org/the-organization.aspx</a></u></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.19in; margin-top: 0.19in;"><em>Our Mission: The USO lifts the spirits of America’s troops and their families.</em> <i>Millions of times each year at hundreds of locations around the world, the USO lifts the spirits of America’s troops and their families. A nonprofit, congressionally chartered, private organization, the USO relies on the generosity of individuals, organizations and corporations to support its activities. The USO is not part of the U.S. government, but is recognized by the Department of Defense, Congress and President of the United States, who serves as Honorary Chairman of the USO. </i> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">But even if you can’t donate to this organization, there are plenty of other things you can do to show our military service men and women that you care. This site here will take you directly to a place, sponsored by the USO, where you can leave an electronic message to our troops: <span style="color: blue;"><u><a href="http://www.uso.org/thanks/?src=WF11TFXE11">http://www.uso.org/thanks/?src=WF11TFXE11</a></u></span> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Won’t you consider leaving them a message today? Please remember the men and women who give up so much so we don’t have to.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">May the blessings and love you receive this holiday season be with you all year long.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">~Kay </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div>Brea Essexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05287181524150587571noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-718355988648780533.post-12485185415076344012011-12-02T06:00:00.000-08:002011-12-02T06:00:18.224-08:00Christmas Traditions with J.F. JenkinsToday, we have J.F. Jenkins, author of The Dragons Saga: Legend of the Oceina Dragon and Vala:Agendas, visiting with us on the blog! Without further ado, I'll turn things over.<br />
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<div style="background-color: transparent;"><span id="internal-source-marker_0.2835646974854171" style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Everyone has traditions they have leading up to the big winter holiday. Some are personal, others are family related, but without them the season doesn’t feel complete. I could sit and talk about all of the wonderful family traditions I have. There are several on both my side of the family, and my husbands, that I greatly enjoy. We have a good time over the holidays all around and I feel truly blessed. I’m going to talk about my own personal traditions though, and some might seem kind of silly.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Shopping! </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">One tradition of mine is to make sure I have all of my holiday shopping down by the end of the first week of December. Am I crazy? Maybe, but this is something I started doing a long time ago and ever since it’s made the holiday a lot more enjoyable. Instead of fighting with people in the check out line at a store, I can walk around with ease. It feels good to be able to invest time and thought into my gifts as well as save the money I would like to use to make sure my family gets things that are truly great.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Holiday Must Haves!</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> There are two movies I </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">have</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> to watch every Christmas or it doesn’t feel complete. “Holiday Inn” and “Love Actually” (any old claymation classics like “The Year Without a Santa Claus” and “The Real Life and Adventures of Santa Claus” are always an added bonus!). To me it’s just not Christmas without these two films.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Christmas yum yums.</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> I have to have holiday cookies. There’s just no way around it. Do I need to say more?</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Merry Christmas to ME.</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> I take the time to do one thing fun, or get myself something special, every year for Christmas time. Sometimes it’s something simple like going out and getting a special dinner, or getting myself that one special something that I know for certain I won’t be getting on my Christmas List (this year it’s a special notebook, I’m saving for). It’s important to treat and reward yourself sometimes, even if it’s something small. It’s part of the relaxing holiday.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The Annual Christmas Special</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">. For the past couple of years I have been writing a special blog Christmas story. My one from last year has been posted for the past several weeks on Tuesday Tales. It was a pretty long story and about seven or eight parts long. This year I’m still trying to figure it out, but it should hopefully be a fun little treat. It’s always a lot of fun for me to write something holiday related.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">So tell me some of YOUR personal holiday treats, and check out my blog soon for my gift to you guys. <a href="http://jfjenkinswrites.wordpress.com/">http://jfjenkinswrites.wordpress.com</a>. </span></div><div style="background-color: transparent;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br />
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</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://jfjenkinswrites.files.wordpress.com/2011/01/lod.jpg?w=105&h=163" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #cfe2f3;"><img border="0" src="http://jfjenkinswrites.files.wordpress.com/2011/01/lod.jpg?w=105&h=163" /></span></a></div><div><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><div style="color: #333333; font-family: verdana, tahoma, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: 0.7em; margin-top: 0.7em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left; white-space: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #cfe2f3;"><strong style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><em style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">The Dragon’s Saga: Legend of the Oceina Dragon:</em></strong>Darien Oceina is the youngest son of the Great Dragon Lord of the Water. For years he¹s loved and cherished Tai Dawson from afar. Tai is a simple, ordinary girl who doesn¹t even know Darien exists. On his eighteenth birthday, he chooses her as his wife. But there’s one problem: She thinks his choice means she¹s going to be offered as a sacrifice to the Dragon Lord, but instead, she’s forced to move to his home, far away, to give up her life and be his bride.</span></div><div style="color: #333333; font-family: verdana, tahoma, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: 0.7em; margin-top: 0.7em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left; white-space: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #cfe2f3;">When she first sees Darien after the ceremony, she doesn’t expect to feel anything but hatred toward him. The two are struggling with the complications of a new marriage when their nation is attacked by a rival dragon species. Together they learn to love one another while they struggle to stay one step ahead in a game where the prize is their survival.</span></div><div style="color: #333333; font-family: verdana, tahoma, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: 0.7em; margin-top: 0.7em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left; white-space: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #cfe2f3;"><br />
</span></div><div style="color: #333333; font-family: verdana, tahoma, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: 0.7em; margin-top: 0.7em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: left; white-space: normal;"></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.7em; margin-top: 0.7em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #cfe2f3;">BUY IT NOW!</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.7em; margin-top: 0.7em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><a href="http://www.astraeapress.com/#ecwid:category=662250&mode=product&product=2626139" style="background-color: #cfe2f3; border-bottom-color: rgb(153, 102, 51); border-bottom-style: dashed; border-bottom-width: 1px; color: #265e15; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-decoration: none;">Astraeapress</a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.7em; margin-top: 0.7em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Dragons-Saga-Legend-Jenkins-ebook/dp/B004OYT9AK/ref=sr_1_4?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1298652912&sr=1-4" style="background-color: #cfe2f3; border-bottom-color: rgb(153, 102, 51); border-bottom-style: dashed; border-bottom-width: 1px; color: #265e15; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-decoration: none;">Amazon</a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.7em; margin-top: 0.7em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-dragons-saga-jf-jenkins/1030178295" style="background-color: #cfe2f3; border-bottom-color: rgb(153, 102, 51); border-bottom-style: dashed; border-bottom-width: 1px; color: #265e15; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-decoration: none;">Barnes and Noble</a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.7em; margin-top: 0.7em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><a href="http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/43723" style="background-color: #cfe2f3; border-bottom-color: rgb(153, 102, 51); border-bottom-style: dashed; border-bottom-width: 1px; color: #265e15; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-decoration: none;">Smashwords</a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.7em; margin-top: 0.7em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #cfe2f3;">and wherever online books are sold.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.7em; margin-top: 0.7em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #cfe2f3;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://jfjenkinswrites.files.wordpress.com/2011/02/agendas-300-x-450.jpg?w=500" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #cfe2f3;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://jfjenkinswrites.files.wordpress.com/2011/02/agendas-300-x-450.jpg?w=500" width="133" /></span></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.7em; margin-top: 0.7em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.7em; margin-top: 0.7em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><strong style="background-color: #cfe2f3; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">Vala: Agendas:</strong></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.7em; margin-top: 0.7em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><em style="background-color: #cfe2f3; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">Cheyenne Loveless was just a boring sixteen-year-old girl. Then Denver Collins bit her and everything changed. Her plants start talking to her, she finds out she’s a Nymph, and a witch and the angel of death show up at her doorstep to take her away to the prestigious Vala School and Seminary. Oh, and she has no choice in the matter.</em></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><em style="background-color: #cfe2f3; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">All she wants to do is blend in and return to being invisible, but the more time that passes, the harder that becomes. Plus she’s a daughter of the Divine, an exclusive secret society which rules the world of myth, and discovers she is a key ingredient to an ancient covenant created before she was born. A covenant that will reshape the order of the world.</em></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><em style="background-color: #cfe2f3; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">Adjusting to a new school is difficult enough, but adding on everyone else’s hidden agendas is the icing on the cake. Cheyenne must learn to see through the lies in order to find her place — and possibly even love — in this new world.</em></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.7em; margin-top: 0.7em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><strong style="background-color: #cfe2f3; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">Out Now!</strong></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.7em; margin-top: 0.7em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Vala-Agendas-ebook/dp/B005WNXJRG" style="background-color: #cfe2f3; border-bottom-color: rgb(153, 102, 51); border-bottom-style: dashed; border-bottom-width: 1px; color: #265e15; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">Amazon</a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.7em; margin-top: 0.7em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/vala-jf-jenkins/1106742651" style="background-color: #cfe2f3; border-bottom-color: rgb(153, 102, 51); border-bottom-style: dashed; border-bottom-width: 1px; color: #265e15; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">Barnes and Noble</a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.7em; margin-top: 0.7em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><a href="http://www.astraeapress.com/#ecwid:category=662250&mode=product&product=5907223" style="background-color: #cfe2f3; border-bottom-color: rgb(153, 102, 51); border-bottom-style: dashed; border-bottom-width: 1px; color: #265e15; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">Astraea Press</a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.7em; margin-top: 0.7em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #cfe2f3;">And wherever online books are sold!</span></div><br />
</span></div>Brea Essexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05287181524150587571noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-718355988648780533.post-15427264621267104652011-12-01T06:00:00.000-08:002011-12-01T06:00:19.254-08:00Welcome to 25 Days of Christmas!Happy December everyone! It's officially December 1st and we all know what that means: it's almost Christmas! From today through December 25th, I'll be forgoing my usual blogging (for updates, please visit my <a href="http://breaessex.com/">website</a> and/or <a href="https://www.facebook.com/breaessexfanpage">Facebook page</a>--both links are also listed under my "Contact" tab above). Instead, we're going to have 25 days of Christmasy goodness! I'll be featuring different guests through Christmas Day. This blog will be taken over by guest posts, Christmas stories, and recipes!<br />
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To kick things off, I'm going to share a family recipe with everyone. My grandmother (who I called Nana) always hosted Christmas Day, so she never wanted to cook on Christmas Eve. Instead, we had salami, ham, crackers, cookies, French bread, and my Nana's clam dip. So, here's the clam dip recipe--it's really easy to make.<br />
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<u>Ingredients</u><br />
<u><br />
</u><br />
- 2 chubs/containers of cream cheese (can use low fat)<br />
- 4-6 cans of clams (Snow's or other brand)<br />
- Garlic to taste<br />
<br />
<u>Directions</u><br />
<u><br />
</u><br />
- Let cream cheese sit out for a little while so it will be soft.<br />
- Mash cream cheese with a fork.<br />
- Open clams and drain juice into a container. Make sure you save the juice! You will need it.<br />
- Mix clams and some of the juice with the cream cheese.<br />
- Using a garlic press (or cut with a knife), squeeze some small pieces of garlic into the cream cheese/clam mixture. Season with the garlic to taste.<br />
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That's it! This dip can be made the day before and refrigerated. You can add more of the clam juice before serving. Spread on crackers and enjoy!<br />
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Be sure to stop by tomorrow, when J.F. Jenkins, author of The Dragons Saga: Legend of the Oceina Dragon and Vala: Agendas, will be sharing some Christmas traditions with us! Join us all month (through the 25th) for lots of Christmasy goodness!Brea Essexhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05287181524150587571noreply@blogger.com3