tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6532361159306031072023-11-16T10:42:40.138-08:00Nerd-Girls, Romantics, and Time-TravelersGeorginahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04726404742267116995noreply@blogger.comBlogger110125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-653236115930603107.post-4788632236359879092022-06-22T09:33:00.000-07:002022-06-22T09:33:04.832-07:00Literature in Limbo<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi4Nff9nPCRPkCKq8zPK_WXm8xczMRha5AgAp2eQpRi8JmHo4qVwr_7hR_HNSA76Jnnupc2Eb6QUU7O0nX92DAvXkX40KodozpvQ2AKYjZ9yyqeYjxYgmabOg4uDhtP0p3lfcUFnUczt25_cScB_3_meYSKI7Uf7NRieWEI9oPrme8xsPZwojmrHXQE" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="688" data-original-width="452" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi4Nff9nPCRPkCKq8zPK_WXm8xczMRha5AgAp2eQpRi8JmHo4qVwr_7hR_HNSA76Jnnupc2Eb6QUU7O0nX92DAvXkX40KodozpvQ2AKYjZ9yyqeYjxYgmabOg4uDhtP0p3lfcUFnUczt25_cScB_3_meYSKI7Uf7NRieWEI9oPrme8xsPZwojmrHXQE" width="158" /></a></div><a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07CLGC4R7"><i>Incandescent</i></a> was the last Jane Austen inspired novel I wrote and published before starting a master's program in Spanish Language and Literature at Portland State University in the fall of 2018. I knew I'd be non-stop busy, and the only writing I'd be doing for the next two years would be research papers and essays. I was able to make a little progress on the fifth book in my <a href="https://www.amazon.com/s?i=digital-text&rh=p_27%3AGeorgina+Young-Ellis&s=relevancerank&text=Georgina+Young-Ellis&ref=dp_byline_sr_ebooks_1">time travel series</a> during the summer of 2019 but, once the school year started, my novel writing ceased again. We all know what happened in the spring of 2020. I did graduate with my degree, but the teaching work I'd been doing throughout the program, and the summer after, dried up due to the pandemic. I dove back into my writing and finished that fifth book, <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Time-Mistress-Georgina-Young-Ellis-ebook/dp/B08LNQLYM9/ref=sr_1_1?qid=1655498784&refinements=p_27%3AGeorgina+Young-Ellis&s=digital-text&sr=1-1&text=Georgina+Young-Ellis"><i>The Time Mistress</i></a>, which takes place in Hollywood circa 1942. After that, I didn't feel inclined to return to writing Jane Austen inspired fiction. I just couldn't think of a new idea: something original that hadn't been done before. <div><br /></div><div><span style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiejbhaYMM43nqwmDIbZ8-ook1lwLOd8K3FtA2g6YwTMQ7w00Uc9gT-Wufs6PrU3p4pwRYfY3iZRShUUG8c01XxVy6XFVSk9tATHWToyA1_ZQ7m6ydgYYJeH19_TjpMz7kyHFCkYuPcivhrDcr8Uq5n_ycUWEp9VAXih_W20gIXJGAqVuWpb-cRgsg/s1360/The%20Time%20Mistress%20Cover.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1360" data-original-width="850" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiejbhaYMM43nqwmDIbZ8-ook1lwLOd8K3FtA2g6YwTMQ7w00Uc9gT-Wufs6PrU3p4pwRYfY3iZRShUUG8c01XxVy6XFVSk9tATHWToyA1_ZQ7m6ydgYYJeH19_TjpMz7kyHFCkYuPcivhrDcr8Uq5n_ycUWEp9VAXih_W20gIXJGAqVuWpb-cRgsg/s320/The%20Time%20Mistress%20Cover.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>What I was inspired to do during that long lockdown was to start on a completely different kind of project. The "invented memoir" that emerged from those several months of writing is called (working title) </span><i style="text-align: left;">1984 And A Half</i><span style="text-align: left;"> . It's about a young woman struggling for success as in actress in 1980s NYC as she navigates the world of sex, drugs, and the East Village. She falls for a charismatic gay man who teaches her what it means to love, all against the backdrop of the emerging AIDS epidemic. This is partly my own story, partly fiction. Only those who know me well will know which is which. It is a project which, as I worked, and edited, and rewrote, and took in feedback from beta readers, grew closer to my heart than anything I'd written before. I reached out to dozens of literary agents and a handful of well-known indy publishers, with queries and samples, only to be rejected every time. I'm still as in love with it as ever, but I don't know how to get it in front of readers other than to self-publish which, for various reasons, I don't want to do. And so my precious baby remains in limbo.</span><p>Fortunately, once I finished <i>1984... </i>I did find inspiration for a <i>Pride and Prejudice</i> variation due to the fact that, for <i>The Time Mistress, </i>I had<i> </i>heavily researched the World War II era, and wanted to set another story during that time period. The novel that emerged, <i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Kiss-Good-Night-Major-Darcy-ebook/dp/B0B4HTK8JK/ref=sr_1_1?crid=1OJFUXWP31ARY&geniuslink=true">Kiss Me Good Night Major Darcy</a></i>, was picked up for publishing by Meryton Press and is set for summer release, 2022. The title comes from a World War II era drinking song called "Kiss Me Goodnight Sergeant Major,"<i> </i>popular among British and American soldiers of the time. With the help of the wonderful editors and staff at Meryton, the final version of the book has surpassed my expectations and is something I think readers will really enjoy. </p><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiykTeOQdKidzVzQk5msAfHJPg0bbXOTjVV6GRuUHzi-KPsdg33muQ3rc3pwEio_w_gCE46rzITndwfrPTXGCSrLx49WK2SN_T1SCAYgT5_yXq0hjHU3ZT5_vNLbunXudSCNYqkcjHSxML21Lan5Vnn09PMTE_crW_wrzAiskLBQp7GgOLYveEpXhGl" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="600" height="451" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiykTeOQdKidzVzQk5msAfHJPg0bbXOTjVV6GRuUHzi-KPsdg33muQ3rc3pwEio_w_gCE46rzITndwfrPTXGCSrLx49WK2SN_T1SCAYgT5_yXq0hjHU3ZT5_vNLbunXudSCNYqkcjHSxML21Lan5Vnn09PMTE_crW_wrzAiskLBQp7GgOLYveEpXhGl=w323-h451" width="323" /></a></div>And so, as one project dear to my heart languishes unfulfilled, another is born - fresh and lovely as early summer. <p></p><p>I will probably be putting my writing on hold again come August as I begin the next adventure in my life: a journey to Mexico for nine months on a Fulbright scholarship, along with my husband and our cat. Yet, even as I prepare for that trip, another novel is forming - one that starts in 1943 with the zoot suit riots in Los Angeles, and ends with the victory of the farm workers union under the guidance of Cesar Chavez. </p><p>The fact is, I must write. I'm not an author that sticks to one genre, as you can see; rather, one who is generally attracted to writing about various periods in history, whether it be time travel fiction, Austen-esque fiction, or literary fiction. I feel blessed to have had success with all my published books, and am excited to see what will come from <i>Kiss Me Goodnight</i>... I also know that one day <i>1984 And A Half</i> will find a home and will hover in limbo no more. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgSMuIO-jiLFqIWZp1_ki29YhJlkhKPsc6m8UToa1xC4nfI8UKztkhjs4xDV_McI01T1cVJHnSip7tOncU6HXnQ6dJhOuGYns8UZn0ohDj9TqAmus0psqtK_lJZ1uRDnJjpJSylC0HCzL2TflCEgJJHPV5YEVGAY-0UIhx7f4ZpD_-tfjynDCmLa-bT" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="281" data-original-width="450" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgSMuIO-jiLFqIWZp1_ki29YhJlkhKPsc6m8UToa1xC4nfI8UKztkhjs4xDV_McI01T1cVJHnSip7tOncU6HXnQ6dJhOuGYns8UZn0ohDj9TqAmus0psqtK_lJZ1uRDnJjpJSylC0HCzL2TflCEgJJHPV5YEVGAY-0UIhx7f4ZpD_-tfjynDCmLa-bT" width="320" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><span style="font-size: x-small;">The East Village, NYC, circa 1984</span><p></p><p><br /></p></div>Georginahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04726404742267116995noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-653236115930603107.post-982857996536614122018-06-23T08:59:00.002-07:002018-06-23T09:00:53.021-07:00Letters from Jane<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKzHpvg0vODqIAaEJzwcwYvOxAlE8B4Ks7BdDop5AsLPrShyaYUwgt-qCOPPt40oBrd3LBpiH-XN4Oqp4viBd6_KSzvAAi53adxq3mFuSO6xkHvjeFhu6z8y0eICwJFrMhhl5hIOL-8t0/s1600/letter-girl-2.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="257" data-original-width="196" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKzHpvg0vODqIAaEJzwcwYvOxAlE8B4Ks7BdDop5AsLPrShyaYUwgt-qCOPPt40oBrd3LBpiH-XN4Oqp4viBd6_KSzvAAi53adxq3mFuSO6xkHvjeFhu6z8y0eICwJFrMhhl5hIOL-8t0/s320/letter-girl-2.jpeg" width="244" /></a></div>
Please check out my latest post on Austen Authors!<br />
https://authorsinterviews.wordpress.com/2018/06/23/here-is-my-interview-with-georgina-young-ellis/Georginahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04726404742267116995noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-653236115930603107.post-64948507945372143512018-02-16T15:19:00.002-08:002018-02-17T09:36:14.724-08:00Giveaway!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgH8OM6QVz6J7c0yQ-82-NKTHMWijq8BMvA8DplRV5E6sPX9IGbNJ3UouaYOUZZDxh98pNgG2VW2uzd3oLkZqvNjd0LQ3FZPfTmc9pTr-qxvout8hsomE46TA753bT5UJlhxdG6OJkARU/s1600/BaronessCoverBadge_PA.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1067" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgH8OM6QVz6J7c0yQ-82-NKTHMWijq8BMvA8DplRV5E6sPX9IGbNJ3UouaYOUZZDxh98pNgG2VW2uzd3oLkZqvNjd0LQ3FZPfTmc9pTr-qxvout8hsomE46TA753bT5UJlhxdG6OJkARU/s320/BaronessCoverBadge_PA.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
Comment below to be entered in the giveaway, Just say "Hi" and your name in the comments if you want, but PLEASE! include your name so I can find you on Facebook.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJo6WfDDwxWcwNuf9Ux8WBycBOQjf7JFCvIuZ5tsKaALElmWlLdRrdWESuFa5IkOOT3YXgyT9NhElanAkkmLgs2uwmAbaRf9CtFk8yWn1e5w_BA9y-dtW5e6l98nMcnPmork3_u4S3Ask/s1600/DarcysAwakening_eCover_200w+copy.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="319" data-original-width="201" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJo6WfDDwxWcwNuf9Ux8WBycBOQjf7JFCvIuZ5tsKaALElmWlLdRrdWESuFa5IkOOT3YXgyT9NhElanAkkmLgs2uwmAbaRf9CtFk8yWn1e5w_BA9y-dtW5e6l98nMcnPmork3_u4S3Ask/s1600/DarcysAwakening_eCover_200w+copy.png" /></a>The first name chosen at random from the comments below will win an e-book copy of the first book in my time travel series, <a href="http://amzn.to/26Ua001">The Time Baroness</a>, a romantic, time travel adventure set in Jane Austen's England AND an audiobook version of <a href="http://amzn.to/2mnWanx">Darcy's Awakening</a>, a Pride and Prejudice variation in which Mr. Darcy is already engaged to someone else when he meets Elizabeth Bennet, PLUS a Time Traveler pin and an Austen Rocks pin.<br />
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The second two names chosen at random will win the audiobook<span style="text-align: center;">version of Darcy's Awakening, plus the pins.</span><br />
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And the fourth name will win the two pins.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7gq704b9T5ABh8oBuGTfiY_olQ7GjtY0g8X7Q1g-YTwbL0NXhCLZepeMVgxcWwF-4Hx-FDK2rRDHQCNjsWw3LGlaN4I_p2ORuIPb9Z98wMRgrL7IWU5_k7GITZA_qPW5yyTGZQro7K6w/s1600/IMG_1487.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7gq704b9T5ABh8oBuGTfiY_olQ7GjtY0g8X7Q1g-YTwbL0NXhCLZepeMVgxcWwF-4Hx-FDK2rRDHQCNjsWw3LGlaN4I_p2ORuIPb9Z98wMRgrL7IWU5_k7GITZA_qPW5yyTGZQro7K6w/s320/IMG_1487.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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The Time Baroness will be sent as an e-gift from Amazon, and Darcy's Awakening will be sent as a promo code from Audible so an email address will need to be provided by private message. The pins will be sent by mail so a physical address will need to be provided also by private message.<br />
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I will notify the winner through FB, so it might be helpful to friend me if you haven't already.<br />
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Good luck, everyone!Georginahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04726404742267116995noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-653236115930603107.post-49302742559177032112017-11-03T10:03:00.001-07:002017-11-03T10:15:45.940-07:00A Tempting Christmas Nibble: Chapter One of Pemberley Park - The Twelve Days of Christmas <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfd1v9VFef4HpyK9pc88huQmQV00pVf8Sc4jgP-9Y-391GFrkL1L1UbPXGnJEkX26OoQLRdjT9sSWNwhfiiEGz3ZN8sQFag-q3cgGXATOxbzoY82Cpq-dee8-w94hMM8UjXxhDhIIDgbU/s1600/PemberleyCover_draft3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1004" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfd1v9VFef4HpyK9pc88huQmQV00pVf8Sc4jgP-9Y-391GFrkL1L1UbPXGnJEkX26OoQLRdjT9sSWNwhfiiEGz3ZN8sQFag-q3cgGXATOxbzoY82Cpq-dee8-w94hMM8UjXxhDhIIDgbU/s400/PemberleyCover_draft3.jpg" width="250" /></a></div>
<div class="Chapters" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="color: #6aa84f; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">I'd like to present to you Chapter One of <a href="http://amzn.to/2gLCF3N">Pemberley Park - The Twelve Days of Christmas: Where Pride and Prejudice and Mansfield Park Meet, and Continue. </a></span></span></div>
<div class="Chapters" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="color: #6aa84f;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">Here's a brief summary: </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">Lizzy and Darcy have been happily married for a year, and family and friends are gathering at Pemberley for the Twelve Days of Christmas, including the notorious brother and sister from Austen's Mansfield Park, Henry and Mary Crawford. Every day of the twelve brings new surprises, some shocking, some wonderful. Romantic liaisons and family drama make for a roller coaster of a holiday season in this Regency Jane Austen variation.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #990000;">The First Day of Christmas - December 25th</span><strong><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi;"><o:p></o:p></span></strong></div>
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Lizzy and her husband, Fitzwilliam Darcy, walked together upon the lane which led from the parish chapel to Pemberley. They held hands, but had not said more than a few words since leaving the church. The sky was too dizzyingly blue, the light too dazzling on this Christmas morning to leave one with anything of particular relevance to remark upon. All Lizzy could do was to soak in the chilly, bright day, and admire the twisted bare tops of the trees, interspersed with the deep green of the firs that dotted the landscape, the rolling, tawny hills, the distant forests, and the shimmering lake situated in a small valley before the house. The view of Pemberley, one of the grandest mansions in England, did not detract from the nature which surrounded it, but only managed to enhance it. She sighed with delight, and Fitzwilliam brought her gloved hand to his lips and kissed it, smiling as he looked into her eyes. Those eyes of his! The darkness of them sometimes seemed fathomless. She could live forever in his gaze.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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They were walking several steps in front of Mr. Bennet, Lizzy’s father, her little sister, Kitty, and Mr. Darcy’s sister, Georgiana, who all seemed to be as awed and silenced by the beauty of the day as Lizzy, as did the handful of servants from the household who had gone too, and followed along behind. <o:p></o:p></div>
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The quiet and the beauty of the day led Lizzy to reflect. It had been the best year of her life. No, to say it was the best year was understating it considerably. This first year as Mrs. Darcy, living at Pemberley with her dearest love and his darling sister had been the kind of existence Lizzy did even know could be had in this world. To be loved, completely and utterly, one might even say worshipped, by a man who was good and handsome, kind and passionate, to lie in his arms at night, and to see him smiling at her across the breakfast table in the morning was like a wonderful dream from which, sometimes, Lizzy feared she might awaken. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Just after their wedding last Christmas-tide, they had gone on a honeymoon to Tuscany, Rome, and Venice, which had occupied the first two months of their married life, and a glorious two months it had been. After they had settled in at Pemberley, another several weeks had been taken up with her and her husband going through the mansion room by room to decide what, if any, changes the new mistress might have in mind for furnishings, upholstery, and the like. Lizzy had been abashed at the thought of changing anything in the noble manse, for Mr. Darcy had kept it up to date, while maintaining the essence of what the ancestors who had gone before him had contributed. It was more Lizzy humoring him than the other way around, opting for a new sofa here, a different painting hung there, just so he would feel like she was putting her touch on her new home. But really, why interfere with perfection?<o:p></o:p></div>
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During this time, she had exchanged letters with her father, more than once inviting him, Kitty, and Mrs. Bennet to come, but he had always declined, much to her secret relief. He had said that the newlyweds needed time to themselves before being intruded upon by family. She had appreciated his sensitivity immensely, and told him she would comply with his wishes. <o:p></o:p></div>
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At the end of the first four months of Lizzy and Fitzwilliam’s marriage, Jane, her eldest sister, and her husband Charles Bingley, who had married at the same time, in a double ceremony in fact, had settled in Derbyshire themselves, some thirty miles away Once their presence was established, there was then a month of the Darcy family visiting the Bingleys at their lovely manor house, and after that, another month of Jane and Charles visiting Pemberley. Jane was already quite pregnant at that point, and three months ago, the darling child had been born. The Darcys had gone to see the baby then, and now anticipated Jane, Charles, and little Jonathan arriving within the week well ahead of the Twelfth Night festivities.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Yes, in celebration of their first year together, Mr. Darcy and Lizzy had decided to throw a party for Twelfth Night, come the eve of Epiphany, January fifth. They had invited their extended family and closest friends to join them. The only damper on the enjoyment of having Lizzy’s family there was her mother, who always seemed to have some criticism of the servants, or some unwanted advice. This morning, Mrs. Bennet had feigned a headache to avoid going to church, but once Lizzy and the rest arrived back at Pemberley, they found Mrs. Bennet in the breakfast room, sipping her coffee and partaking of the delights the cook had provided. <o:p></o:p></div>
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“Good morning, Mama,” Lizzy said to her as she entered the room with the rest of the party, having divested themselves of their outwear in the vestibule. “Is your headache better?”<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Oh, much,” Mrs. Bennet replied. “Though it was quite horrid earlier. How was church?”<o:p></o:p></div>
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Everyone seated themselves at the table and began to select from among the tempting dishes that awaited them to fortify themselves until the big Christmas dinner later in the day.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Very nice. I am sorry you missed it,” Lizzy replied. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Your cheeks are flushed, Lizzy. Are you feeling well? Maybe you have caught my ailment.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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“No, Mother, they are simply flushed from my walking in the cool air,” Lizzy replied. “You know me; when have I ever been ill?”<o:p></o:p></div>
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“It’s true, Mr. Darcy,” Mrs. Bennet said, leaning over confidentially toward her son-in-law as he took his seat. “She is as healthy as a horse; always has been.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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Lizzy did not much appreciate the comparison. Fitzwilliam winked at her as a servant poured his tea.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Hmm,” Mrs. Bennet went on. “Maybe you’re expecting, Lizzy? Could it be? Many ladies in that condition are often flushed.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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Now Lizzy’s face flamed in earnest. “Mother,” she whispered. “That is not a topic for breakfast conversation, please.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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Darcy looked at her and lifted his eyebrows. Lizzy knew he had been hoping for such an eventuality. Lizzy gently shook her head at him and smiled. He smiled back, perhaps a bit forlornly, and applied himself to his tea. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Well, my goodness,” Mrs. Bennet continued, “your sister Jane already has one, and Mary is expecting in a month. She is your younger sister and already ahead of you! Charlotte Lucas, excuse me, Charlotte Collins,” she said with a certain amount of disgust, “has already been once blessed, something I never hear the end of from Lady Lucas. ‘Tis just you and poor Lydia that are still without issue.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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Lizzy glanced across the table at her husband, whose brows knit together at the mention of Lydia’s name. It was a subject that was never broached in their household. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Mrs. Bennet, that is quite enough,” said Mr. Bennet with finality. Lizzy gazed at her father thankfully.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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“But,” the woman began again. <o:p></o:p></div>
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He held his hand up, then turned to Mr. Darcy, “Fitzwilliam…”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Lizzy knew that her father took pleasure in calling his son-in-law by his first name. Mr. Darcy had insisted upon it. In the two weeks her father had been at Pemberley, the two of them had become fast friends, and spent much time out riding about the grounds, hunting wild fowl.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Mr. Darcy looked at him with interest, pleased, Lizzy was sure, to be spared any further comments from her mother. <o:p></o:p></div>
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“Do we hunt today?” Mr. Bennet inquired of his host.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“If you desire it, sir,” Mr. Darcy replied. “My gamekeeper spotted a brace of partridges in the eastern forest.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Hah! Maybe we’ll find one in a pear tree! It is the first day of Christmas after all.” He laughed heartily at his joke.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Lizzy smiled at him. To her husband, she said, “My love, do not forget that after breakfast, we are to finish delivering the gifts to the tenants that we did not get to yesterday.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Of course,” Mr. Darcy replied to her. He then turned to her father. “Mr. Bennet, I am not sure we will have time for both, as it gets dark so early. Will you forgive me? Perhaps you would like to go on our rounds with us instead.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Yes! Yes!” he cried. “That would be great fun.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Oh, may I go?!” Kitty inquired.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She and Georgiana had not accompanied Lizzy and Darcy the day before because it had been too cold, but today was milder. <o:p></o:p></div>
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“Certainly,” said Mr. Darcy, laughing. “We are already dressed for the cool weather.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Georgiana and Kitty smiled at each other. They had grown quite friendly in the time that Kitty had been there.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Well, I hope you will all have a lovely time,” said Mrs. Bennet, sounding like she didn’t mean it at all. “I will just stay here and make the best of it.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Lizzy sighed. Would she have to stay home and keep her mother company? She so longed to go out again into the wintry world.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Just then Mrs. Reynolds, the housekeeper, entered the breakfast room. “Excuse me sir,” she said quietly to Mr. Darcy, “I find myself needing advice as to how best to fit up the rooms for Colonel and Mrs. Fitzwilliam arriving tomorrow. She being so greatly with child, I want to make sure she has every comfort at hand. I am sorry to interrupt you at your meal, but I thought I would get it done this morning, now that we are back from church. While you are all out, I will have some time to attend to it.” Was that a wink she sent Lizzy’s way?<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Oh, I will be happy to advise you!” Mrs. Bennet cried out. “Mary is my child and I am sure I know best what she will like and what she will need.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Lizzy flinched at her mother’s rudeness.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Of course,” Mrs. Reynolds cried. “I would not have it otherwise.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Well, then,” Lizzy said. “It is all settled. Mama, you will advise Mrs. Reynolds as to the setting up of Mary’s rooms while we are out. I so much appreciate your helping her.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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Mr. Darcy and Lizzy smiled at each other. Mrs. Reynolds not only knew everything that was happening in the house at all times, but also how to attend to every guest’s needs, and anticipated those of her master and mistress before they even knew themselves what they were. <o:p></o:p></div>
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“Well, what is a mother-in-law for if not to help keep her daughter’s household straight?” Mrs. Bennet said with importance, and Lizzy inwardly laughed at the thought that Mrs. Bennet could make even the tiniest improvement in the perfection with which Mrs. Reynolds ran Pemberley, and had for years, dating back to the time that Mr. Darcy’s parents had raised their family there. <o:p></o:p></div>
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The rest of the group still at the table soon dispersed to ready themselves for another outing. As Lizzy made her way through Pemberley and up to her rooms, she inhaled the sweet and spicy scent of the pine boughs with which the servants had decorated banisters and doorways. She wished Pemberley could always be adorned so. Bringing the out-of-doors inside made the already gorgeous mansion even more special. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Soon the group gathered in front of the house and arranged themselves in the wagon. Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bennet helped Kitty and Georgiana onto the bench seat in the back, which was covered with cushions for their comfort, and tucked the many warm blankets that had been provided around them. Then Mr. Darcy helped his wife to get settled on the front seat, with Mr. Bennet next to her on one side, after which he climbed into the driver’s seat, and took up the reins. The back of the wagon had already been packed with hams, turkeys, Christmas puddings, fruitcakes, bushels of wheat flour, trinkets for the children, bottles of spiced wine, barrels of ale, and bags of imported oranges, all to be dispersed among the tenant farmers who resided upon Mr. Darcy’s land. It was a special treat to ride in the rustic wagon, as opposed to a carriage, with two strong farm horses pulling the load. The outing had an air of adventure about it. The cook had supplied the party with a flagon of hot cider to help keep them warm, and soon they were off, riding along the lane through the crisp winter air. The sky was still blue and clear, the mild winter sun adding to their cheer. They sang Christmas songs as they went, led by Georgiana, whose main focus in life was music. Lizzy admired the strong baritone voice of her husband, and the warm tenor of her father, to which she added her clear alto. Georgiana and Kitty both sang in high sweet soprano tones, and together, their ensemble was complete. <o:p></o:p></div>
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One by one they stopped at the charming farmhouses, smoke from yule logs rising high out of the chimneys. At each house, the gifts were heartily received, and Lizzy could see how gratified the people were that the master of the estate was delivering them himself. As Mr. Darcy stopped in front each house, the farmer came running out, his wife and children watching and grinning from the door, and Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bennet hopped down from their seats, handing the farmer the huge parcels of food and treats. The farmer, in turn, passed them to the older children who would run them into the house. Lizzy laughed with delight to see everyone so happy and excited. <o:p></o:p></div>
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When they finally arrived home, it was after three o’clock and the party was famished. Today they were to partake of an afternoon feast, as was the tradition on Christmas. Mrs. Reynolds met them at the door to tell them it was ready, and they were to proceed to the dining hall, a twinkle of mischief in her eyes. They all bustled through the house together, but stopped short when they spotted a handsome young gentleman standing in the door of the dining room awaiting them, just under a sprig of mistletoe.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Frederick!” Georgiana cried out, running to meet her fiancé.<o:p></o:p></div>
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He held out his hands to her, and she placed hers in them modestly. <o:p></o:p></div>
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“I think I am owed more than a squeeze of the hands,” Frederick said glancing up at the mistletoe. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Georgiana blushed and looked back at her brother, who nodded, smiling. Georgiana placed a chaste kiss on her fiancé’s cheek, while everyone laughed. <o:p></o:p></div>
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“Nice to see you, my boy,” said Mr. Darcy, going forward to shake his hand. “I see you managed to get away from your family festivities.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Not much in the way of festivities,” Frederick, whose family lived in a very fine manor house ten miles from Pemberley, replied. “Mother and Father were snoozing by the fire, and my brothers and sisters were playing childish games.” He shook his head with good humor. <o:p></o:p></div>
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He was the eldest of a fairly large family of children, and would soon come into a great deal of money, inheriting a no less modest home of his own when he turned twenty-one, the only thing he and Georgiana were waiting for in order to be wed. <o:p></o:p></div>
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“I told them,” Frederick went on, “I had been invited to Pemberley for the twelve days of Christmas, and they did not object.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Good,” Lizzy declared. “We are so happy you could accept our invitation. We could not celebrate without you.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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Georgiana smiled at Lizzy and her brother, then went on to introduce Kitty. The group took their seats at the table, joined by Mrs. Bennet. Mrs. Reynolds had decorated the table festively, and all the traditional dishes of the season were there: meat pies, roast venison and a roasted goose, buttery mashed squash, roasted turnips and Brussel sprouts, breads and buns, and so much more; and, awaiting their delight on the sideboard, the Christmas pudding. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Lizzy, as usual, marveled at the skill of the cook, and Mrs. Reynolds’ ability to make a feast like this come together with the utmost elegance. And while all the usual servants stood in attendance at the table, Lizzy knew their own feast would come after, downstairs in the kitchen, when they would be excused from their duties for the rest of the day. <o:p></o:p></div>
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“What a delightful table!” Mrs. Bennet cried. “I daresay it is even better than my own.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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Lizzy knew it was far superior to her mother’s modest attempts at refinement. After all, there was hardly a table in the realm, short of that of the nobility, that could hold a candle to Pemberley’s. <o:p></o:p></div>
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“Although,” Mrs. Bennet went on, “I would have prepared an orange sauce for the goose, instead of the fig, and I would have made sure there was a fish pie along with the pork, pheasant, and mutton pies. There is nothing I adore like a fish pie.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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“We will make sure to supply you with one in the coming days,” Mr. Darcy replied calmly, though her mother’s behavior fairly boiled Lizzy’s blood. Was there no end to her rudeness?<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Mother,” Lizzy said to change the subject. “Did you hear from your brother, Mr. Gardiner? Will he and my aunt be able to come as we had hoped?”<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Oh dear,” said Mrs. Bennet. “I am afraid not. The children all have their traditional Christmas grippe. Oh, if only my brother’s wife were a more attentive mother!”<o:p></o:p></div>
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There was no finer mother that existed, in Lizzy’s opinion, than her Aunt Gardiner, and she only hoped that if, nay, when, she had her own children, she would be half as effective. Aunt Gardiner’s four children were well-loved, well-behaved, and already, at their young ages, well educated. <o:p></o:p></div>
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“Now, if only you would produce a grandchild for me, Lizzy…”<o:p></o:p></div>
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But Mr. Bennet cut her off. “Well, what a pity the Gardiners won’t be here for they are certainly great favorites of mine. Who else is to join our delightful party during the coming days, Lizzy?”<o:p></o:p></div>
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Lizzy took a deep breath. “Well, of course Jane, Charles, and baby Jonathan; Mary and Richard, and Mr. and Mrs. Collins, that is all.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Ugh, that horrible Mr. Collins!” Mrs. Bennet began, but Kitty cut her off. <o:p></o:p></div>
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“And do not forget the Crawfords!” Kitty exclaimed. “You did send a note to Aunt Gardiner telling her to pass the invitation on like I asked you to, did you not, Lizzy? Oh, please tell me you did not forget?”<o:p></o:p></div>
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“No, no, I did not forget,” Lizzy said, though, in reality, she had forgotten that she had invited them through her Aunt Gardiner, and now realized she had forgotten to tell her husband about it too. <o:p></o:p></div>
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“Oh, good,” Kitty sighed. “You will love them, I know it!”<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Who is this, Lizzy?” Mr. Darcy asked brows raised.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Their names are Henry and Mary Crawford,” Kitty interjected. “They are brother and sister. They are so elegant and so very diverting. I met them in London when I was there visiting Aunt and Uncle Gardiner this fall. When I mentioned that my sister was the mistress of Pemberley, they said they had heard of it and had been dying to see it. I said I was sure you wouldn’t mind if they joined us for our yuletide celebrations. When we arrived two weeks ago, I asked Lizzy if she might invite them.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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Lizzy looked at her husband, alarmed. He did not like to entertain people he did not know. However, he merely replied, “Any friends of yours, Kitty, are friends of ours. You say they are good people?”<o:p></o:p></div>
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“The finest. And they come from a very good family. Oh, there is no one more stylish and clever than Miss Crawford; and Mr. Crawford, well, Mr. Crawford is…charming,” she finished with another sigh.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Lizzy and Mr. Darcy looked at each other, eyebrows raised. So Kitty had finally met a young man she might consider a beau. At the age of nearly nineteen, it was time for her to be around some good society outside of her immediate family.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“We shall welcome them then,” said Mr. Darcy. “When are they to arrive?”<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Do you know, Lizzy?” Kitty asked.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“I recall that I told Aunt Gardiner to tell them they should arrive between the twenty-sixth and the first, so we should expect them any day,” said Lizzy. “I will be sure to have their rooms readied,” she added.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“They sound wonderful!” cried Mrs. Bennet. “Kitty, what a delightful addition they will be to our party!”<o:p></o:p></div>
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Lizzy saw her father roll his eyes. She only hoped this brother and sister were as amiable as Kitty said they were. And yet, if they were friends of her Aunt and Uncle Gardiners, they must be suitable. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="FollowedHyperlink"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="22" QFormat="true" Name="Strong"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="20" QFormat="true" Name="Emphasis"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Document Map"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Plain Text"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="E-mail Signature"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Top of Form"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Bottom of Form"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Normal (Web)"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Acronym"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Address"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Cite"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Code"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Definition"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Keyboard"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Preformatted"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Sample"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Typewriter"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Variable"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Normal Table"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="annotation subject"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="No List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Outline List 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Outline List 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Outline List 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Simple 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Simple 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Simple 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Classic 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Classic 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Classic 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Classic 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Colorful 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Colorful 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Colorful 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Columns 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Columns 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Columns 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Columns 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Columns 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 7"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 8"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 7"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 8"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table 3D effects 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table 3D effects 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table 3D effects 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Contemporary"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Elegant"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Professional"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Subtle 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Subtle 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Web 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Web 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Web 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Balloon Text"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="Table Grid"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Theme"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Note Level 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Note Level 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Note Level 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Note Level 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Note Level 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Note Level 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Note Level 7"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Note Level 8"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Note Level 9"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" Name="Placeholder Text"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="1" QFormat="true" Name="No Spacing"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" Name="Revision"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="34" QFormat="true"
Name="List Paragraph"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="29" QFormat="true" Name="Quote"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="30" QFormat="true"
Name="Intense Quote"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="19" QFormat="true"
Name="Subtle Emphasis"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="21" QFormat="true"
Name="Intense Emphasis"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="31" QFormat="true"
Name="Subtle Reference"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="32" QFormat="true"
Name="Intense Reference"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="33" QFormat="true" Name="Book Title"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="37" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Bibliography"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" QFormat="true" Name="TOC Heading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="41" Name="Plain Table 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="42" Name="Plain Table 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="43" Name="Plain Table 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="44" Name="Plain Table 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="45" Name="Plain Table 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="40" Name="Grid Table Light"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46" Name="Grid Table 1 Light"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51" Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52" Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="Grid Table 1 Light Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="Grid Table 1 Light Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="Grid Table 1 Light Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="Grid Table 1 Light Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="Grid Table 1 Light Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="Grid Table 1 Light Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46" Name="List Table 1 Light"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="List Table 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="List Table 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="List Table 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="List Table 5 Dark"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51" Name="List Table 6 Colorful"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52" Name="List Table 7 Colorful"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="List Table 1 Light Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="List Table 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="List Table 3 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="List Table 4 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="List Table 5 Dark Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="List Table 6 Colorful Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="List Table 7 Colorful Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="List Table 1 Light Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="List Table 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="List Table 3 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="List Table 4 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="List Table 5 Dark Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="List Table 6 Colorful Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="List Table 7 Colorful Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="List Table 1 Light Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="List Table 2 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="List Table 3 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="List Table 4 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="List Table 5 Dark Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="List Table 6 Colorful Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="List Table 7 Colorful Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="List Table 1 Light Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="List Table 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="List Table 3 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="List Table 4 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="List Table 5 Dark Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="List Table 6 Colorful Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="List Table 7 Colorful Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="List Table 1 Light Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="List Table 2 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="List Table 3 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="List Table 4 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="List Table 5 Dark Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="List Table 6 Colorful Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="List Table 7 Colorful Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
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<![endif]--> <!--StartFragment--> <span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Suddenly, Markles, the butler, entered the room. “Colonel and Mrs. Fitzwilliam have arrived,” he announced, and behind them came Mary, proceeded by the fullness of her state, and supported under one arm by her husband. Everyone jumped up to greet them as extra places were arranged at the table by the scurrying servants, and the Christmas dinner descended into a cacophony of exclamations, queries, and laughter. </span><!--EndFragment--><br />
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<span style="font-family: times new roman;"><a href="http://amzn.to/2gLCF3N">On Amazon</a></span><br />
<style type="text/css"> p.p1 {margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; color: #454545} </style>Georginahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04726404742267116995noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-653236115930603107.post-11844494035901915922017-05-29T13:58:00.000-07:002017-05-29T13:58:33.131-07:00The Bracelet I Wore<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhivdTELLsPJAk4Quqa5-lnHg-z4vLh3sh9kRd8XwofDXfTQBdS_Yt6NICDx295pBvn9ms49PufWPF-v4sFndSF3cqH3PTj_CE4R01VprhPqBzeYQz6KkURgXy-Pe5bi7eixk0FhWTa8Ag/s1600/Monroe_Vincent_D_DOB_1937_2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="478" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhivdTELLsPJAk4Quqa5-lnHg-z4vLh3sh9kRd8XwofDXfTQBdS_Yt6NICDx295pBvn9ms49PufWPF-v4sFndSF3cqH3PTj_CE4R01VprhPqBzeYQz6KkURgXy-Pe5bi7eixk0FhWTa8Ag/s320/Monroe_Vincent_D_DOB_1937_2.jpg" width="254" /></a></div>
This Memorial Day has a particular poignancy for me. I have not, personally, lost someone in battle who was serving in the armed forces, but my best friend has - her brother - in the first Gulf War. He was as dear to her as my brother is to me, so I felt her loss of him very keenly. Every Memorial Day, I remember him. I also remember someone else, though there is another date on which I honor him too: May 18th. That is the day Lt. Cdr. Vincent D. Monroe was lost in Vietnam, and remained Missing in Action until 1978. I wore his POW bracelet, as many others did, from about 1972 until that day in 1978 that I read in the paper that his remains were identified and sent home to be buried at Arlington. I sent my bracelet to his family, but don't remember getting a response from them, which is fine.<br />
<br />
Yesterday, the day before Memorial Day, I was watching CBS Sunday Morning and there was a segment on about a troop of soldiers called The Lost Platoon. On May 18th, 1967, they were ambushed, and most of them were massacred. Some saved their own lives by playing dead for 15 hours, many gravely wounded. When I saw this segment, I burst into tears. I figured Vincent D. Monroe had to be among those who died that day, given the date, but I had gotten the year wrong. Googling his name, I was reminded that he actually went missing on May 18, 1968 - exactly a year later. His plane was shot down and he and his co-pilot parachuted to the ground. That was the last that was seen of them. It was assumed that they were taken prisoner, and that Vincent died sometime after.<br />
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Knowing these details about him made me feel closer to him. I always did feel close - when I first visited the Vietnam Memorial in Washington D.C., I sought out his name there, and of course, there was the remembrance of him every May 18th and Memorial Day. Today, though, I'm shedding fresh tears for him.<br />
<br />
I found a sight where you could post memorials to lost soldiers, and I posted one on his page, along with several others, this one from his grandson:<br />
<br />
<div class="p1">
Dear Grandfather,</div>
<div class="p1">
I wish there would have been a chance to have met you. I've always seen photos, medals, awards, visited the wall, and visited your have in Arlington Cemetery. </div>
<div class="p1">
Grandmother, Suzanne B. Monroe always told me about you and always mentioned how good of a man you we're!</div>
<div class="p1">
Uncle, James Monroe,</div>
<div class="p1">
Mom, Anne (Monroe)King,</div>
<div class="p1">
Aunt, Claire (Monroe)Baratelli,</div>
<div class="p1">
They all told me about when they were kids how you were all ways there for them and loved them.</div>
<div class="p1">
One day I will be able to ascend to heaven and finally meet you my Grandfather! CDR. Vincent D. Monroe </div>
<div class="p1">
I'm honored to be able to have Your Name VINCENT a part of my name! I even gave my son your name VINCENT as well.</div>
<div class="p1">
Thank you for your bravery and courage,</div>
<div class="p1">
Love your First born Grandson!</div>
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I am glad he is so honored. Rest in peace, Vincent. I will never forget you.<br />
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</style>Georginahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04726404742267116995noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-653236115930603107.post-57555555236247677902017-04-07T11:21:00.001-07:002017-04-07T11:21:38.353-07:00Sometimes, the Muse Has to Wait. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil5jXmdj4GukJr3ITfVjKrlYPrOIlMxHFCwLhjditB5jXy3VSkh8e9onY14Tlpigi-_UY-ejxkCK6xiEpVkEpe9CqUYqCGe2B7RDiUnkSY5HLFhsv0NVRIhY9B1Isiqr1DEEsoO8R5umU/s1600/DarcysAwakening_eCover_200w.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil5jXmdj4GukJr3ITfVjKrlYPrOIlMxHFCwLhjditB5jXy3VSkh8e9onY14Tlpigi-_UY-ejxkCK6xiEpVkEpe9CqUYqCGe2B7RDiUnkSY5HLFhsv0NVRIhY9B1Isiqr1DEEsoO8R5umU/s320/DarcysAwakening_eCover_200w.png" width="200" /></a></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEDW8yqxitGWe1mDOHZazXPGV7x-gR7HrRu8O4MvKrPgOs_kRaibMOw_2CNTj796QmGP7NmEjejt1fVH4jK4X88EhPx3IIIRqGFK-JEEckb1oS4I6ItD_dbfrzOed3v4Jq-8oTeP95Jd4/s1600/oregonian.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEDW8yqxitGWe1mDOHZazXPGV7x-gR7HrRu8O4MvKrPgOs_kRaibMOw_2CNTj796QmGP7NmEjejt1fVH4jK4X88EhPx3IIIRqGFK-JEEckb1oS4I6ItD_dbfrzOed3v4Jq-8oTeP95Jd4/s200/oregonian.png" width="200" /></a>Writing has its ups and downs. One month your book sales are soaring, the next they're crashing; sometimes people are clamoring for your writing, the next day you're sifting through rejection letters, and it's difficult to always know why. Lately, I've been on a hot streak (knock on wood!). My new Pride and Prejudice variation, <a href="http://amzn.to/2mnWanx">Darcy's Awakening</a>, is flying off the virtual shelves, and I've just been hired as a freelance feature writer for the Oregonian newspaper, the number one newspaper in Oregon.<br />
<br />
A year ago, I couldn't sell a book to save my life. Rather, I should say, I seemed to have exhausted the audience, or at least my ability to reach it, for my time travel novels, which had sold well at the time of the release of each of the (so far) four books in the series. And though I had just been taken on to write a monthly column for a small local rag, it didn't pay. A writer friend of mine was having a lot of success with the Austen variation genre, basically a very popular form of fanfiction, and she suggested I try my hand at it. We agreed that it would be a natural fit for me, especially if my stories were set in the Regency era (the time in which Austen wrote her books) because I have always been a real Austen buff, and my first time travel novel, <a href="http://amzn.to/26Ua001">The Time Baroness</a>, was set in that time, so I already had a ton of research under my belt. Well, it definitely turned out to be the right move for me, because my first series of variations, <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Elizabeth-Darcy-Me-Prejudice-Variation-ebook/dp/B06XYPLFZL/ref=sr_1_3?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1491494125&sr=1-3&keywords=elizabeth+darcy+and+me">Elizabeth, Darcy, and Me, A Battle of Wills, and A Maiden's Honor</a>, sold remarkably well. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCsIdn0_gJyME7ECKy-WDONhgBQdXj_j5QFDTjKGKgeQb417k-mZGT1lQM2shRWkpMCPystRI3D4yXTy4pCjdDW-Y4Z39M9p5HqOYBoCWRcYgqTYwKuZGKjFpc2rtXYdkTiNl6jZ7ubSA/s1600/LizDarcMe_trilogy_eBook.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCsIdn0_gJyME7ECKy-WDONhgBQdXj_j5QFDTjKGKgeQb417k-mZGT1lQM2shRWkpMCPystRI3D4yXTy4pCjdDW-Y4Z39M9p5HqOYBoCWRcYgqTYwKuZGKjFpc2rtXYdkTiNl6jZ7ubSA/s320/LizDarcMe_trilogy_eBook.jpg" width="199" /></a></div>
I was on a roll. Then I published Darcy's Awakening, and the roll turned into a landslide. In the meantime, the sales of my time travel books picked up a bit because fans found them through links in my Austen variation books - a win-win all around. Another positive occurrence was that the county library system here in Portland accepted The Time Baroness into their e-book collection, and for the first time, one of my books could be borrowed from the library!<br />
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However, sometimes I struggle with the realities of being a writer, as opposed to the "dream." We all wish we could write the thing we're most passionate about, in my case, time travel, have our books become best sellers and live off the royalties for the rest of our lives. But what more often occurs, even among very famous writers, is that we find a genre that sells, learn to be passionate about it, and hopefully have some success there. Rare is the writer who puts their heart and soul into writing The Great American Novel, has it scooped up by a huge publisher, and finds it sitting at the top of the New York Times Best Seller list for 20 weeks. Because, when you think about the writers that sell like crazy, J.K. Rowling, Stephanie Meyer, Stephen King, P.D. James, Dan Brown...etc., etc., you can see they have one thing in common: super popular genres.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqAdjr5MR3u4wlyZSHkC2nfAFV2TO-jvCMuLYWuHpo9S5s_nkC8nWiwQIj_L5P7J7Hd_BVXFMzo_18jwJGOb9mHp5FepoQ15vEU_zJCYLyaN29w8tqajHCwGPAmWyX66LfSnZPEh_LLGU/s1600/BaronessCoverBadge_PA.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqAdjr5MR3u4wlyZSHkC2nfAFV2TO-jvCMuLYWuHpo9S5s_nkC8nWiwQIj_L5P7J7Hd_BVXFMzo_18jwJGOb9mHp5FepoQ15vEU_zJCYLyaN29w8tqajHCwGPAmWyX66LfSnZPEh_LLGU/s320/BaronessCoverBadge_PA.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="213" /></a></div>
So what is the solution for we not so famous (yet) writers? I think it's clear. Find a genre that sells, which you also enjoy writing, and write to that market. Then, when you feel you have the financial freedom to write your passion, do it. As one writer friend expressed, "You have to earn the right to feed your muse." I think it's a good philosophy - kind of like paying your dues. I think about John Grisham who churned out one legal thriller after another, and then gave us the gorgeous, out-of-genre masterpiece, A Painted House. I'm not saying he didn't love writing his thrillers, but you could tell his heart was in A Painted House in a very special way - he was feeding his muse.<br />
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In the end, even though writing to a market may feel like selling out, really, it's building a fan base, and paying the bills while doing what you love. No one can argue with that.Georginahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04726404742267116995noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-653236115930603107.post-91976036295645353342016-12-04T13:10:00.000-08:002016-12-04T13:10:16.184-08:00Love. Fight. Stand Up. I don't use this blog as a political platform. I don't use Facebook for that reason either, though I do sometimes post about causes I support, such as solidarity with Standing Rock. However, since November 8th, 2016, I have become aware, not only of the hateful acts of racism and xenophobia that are being talked about on the news and social media, but of attacks against people near and dear to me. As a result, I decided I have to use this platform to talk about it.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtDiMxy9ywWUv8xak76ZfhrR-WUweI8lvV6LMnrvIBjRvMxE6Xh1lfzM0amoWyGdmVbT10RnVbr_MRKR9q74Jidd2Z6N9ab4kG6d0ZiupVVPrrYYwSs-rN0c9nVZPdWsIzrw2VfSGjyiI/s1600/mexico-mexico-city-the-guadalupe-basilica-is-an-important-pilgrimage-b6wwry.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="277" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtDiMxy9ywWUv8xak76ZfhrR-WUweI8lvV6LMnrvIBjRvMxE6Xh1lfzM0amoWyGdmVbT10RnVbr_MRKR9q74Jidd2Z6N9ab4kG6d0ZiupVVPrrYYwSs-rN0c9nVZPdWsIzrw2VfSGjyiI/s400/mexico-mexico-city-the-guadalupe-basilica-is-an-important-pilgrimage-b6wwry.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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The first incident occurred just about a week after the election. An old friend of mine, a gentleman of about 70 years of age who used to be the priest at an Episcopal church I attended in NY, a gentleman originally from El Salvador who is small and dark-skinned, and who speaks with a heavy accent, but who has lived as a citizen of the US for about 30 years, has a PhD, and a better English vocabulary than I do, posted this on Facebook: "I was verbally assaulted by a white man who thought I was Mexican. He said, 'F****ing Mexican, trump is going to send you all back!' I said to him, "I am not Mexican, I am American,' and asked him, 'Are you American?' He stammered and went away."<br />
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Then today I saw on Facebook that another friend of mine, a lady who is American of Mexican descent, had racial slurs hurled at her at a bar that she regularly frequents with friends. Both incidents made me feel physically ill, and had me in tears. I thought, if this can happen to American citizens, both born and naturalized, how vulnerable are all people of color, and "foreign" origins in our country today?<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgT5urgVVkM5rPvSui-b51nJi2GTg5x24WDoFs2LwymDBmZEvrY7lZK_y9b15vEUWETOdRD2ysP7Mdp6PqDBn-aSoWXqC3YL4_LD3rJCu5QsfEETaR4lI-yq92Et4qG58oAMdBRK8lEuk/s1600/muslim+children.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="262" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgT5urgVVkM5rPvSui-b51nJi2GTg5x24WDoFs2LwymDBmZEvrY7lZK_y9b15vEUWETOdRD2ysP7Mdp6PqDBn-aSoWXqC3YL4_LD3rJCu5QsfEETaR4lI-yq92Et4qG58oAMdBRK8lEuk/s400/muslim+children.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div>
I know that many of us have vowed to stand up for and protect anyone who is harassed in such a way, and that many US cities, including Portland, where I live, and NYC and Santa Fe, New Mexico, places where I lived for a long time, have declared themselves to be sanctuary cities, and this is good, no mistaking. But it's not enough. I am speaking from an unintentional space of white privilege, but I know that offering to protect others isn't enough. We need to put our bodies on the line to fight for the beautiful, diverse, accepting society that we wish our country to be. Get out there. Protest when you see injustice. Join an activist group. Speak out, and not just on social media. So many people in our country are going to be victimized in a way that they never would have been before because others now feel empowered to do so. We have to send a message, loud and clear, that we will not stand for it. Are you with me?<br />
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</style>Georginahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04726404742267116995noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-653236115930603107.post-74489295526064159602016-09-27T13:57:00.000-07:002016-09-27T13:57:27.723-07:00Chapter One of A Battle of Wills: Elizabeth, Darcy, and Me - Book 2 <div class="Chapters" style="text-align: left;">
<strong><span style="font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi;">Here's a sample from <a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01KWFMFDW">A Battle of Wills</a>. Hope you enjoy!</span></strong></div>
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<strong><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAcNjgsfAHbZ-DVFneCrNE-Uior2jZRH_rDfgLT3ptvOYd_x-I29eXCPGO4kP2zxSLPRBILXMNCcKYY79Bd6am8k7FoJsNRZKntRTtFXbH5S1uPWUjo8uvk7dYGYnef4HWuaS2idDyFak/s1600/Battle-of-Wills-_cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAcNjgsfAHbZ-DVFneCrNE-Uior2jZRH_rDfgLT3ptvOYd_x-I29eXCPGO4kP2zxSLPRBILXMNCcKYY79Bd6am8k7FoJsNRZKntRTtFXbH5S1uPWUjo8uvk7dYGYnef4HWuaS2idDyFak/s320/Battle-of-Wills-_cover.jpg" width="200" /></a></strong></div>
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<strong><span style="font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi;">Chapter
One</span></strong><strong><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi;"><o:p></o:p></span></strong></div>
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<strong><span style="font-family: "Great Vibes"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi;">Lizzy</span></strong><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<div class="p1">
I suppose it is because baby Will has passed one year of age now that Lady Catherine (or That Woman as I call her) has finally decided to acknowledge my existence. You would have thought his birth itself would have been occasion for that, but perhaps she was waiting to see if he were indeed a hale and hearty child and would survive his first year—a valid concern given that her own daughter, Anne, was so sickly that every birthday until her present age was to be greatly celebrated. Oh dear, that was very ungenerous of me. Let me get to the point: Mr. Darcy and I have received notice from Lady Catherine that she wishes to throw a ball at Rosings in order to “Introduce me into polite society,” as she puts it. What a miracle! I am officially a Darcy in her eyes. The truth is, we haven’t heard a peep from her since Fitzwilliam and I married almost three years ago! Oh, we occasionally receive a petulant letter from her lapdog, Mr. Collins, keeping us up-to-date with the latest goings on at Rosings: who has visited; of whom Lady Catherine has approved and whom she hasn’t; how Miss de Bourgh came close to executing a beautiful painting or piece of needlework, but was too “indisposed” to actually finish it; who has put himself forward as her suitor and been systematically rejected by the mother; and how many times Mr. Collins and Charlotte have been invited to dine since he last wrote. Fortunately, Charlotte’s affectionate letters tell me all I really want to know about their two sweet children, how the chickens are doing, the difficulties in raising prize hogs, and the yield of their garden.</div>
<div class="p1">
The letter I received from her just today was of a different bent, however, because she hinted to me that Lady Catherine had already spoken to them of the impending ball, assuming, I suppose, that Fitzwilliam and I will attend without objection. The letter from Lady Catherine to Fitzwilliam (of course it wasn’t addressed to me), demanding our attendance at this prodigious event, arrived in the same post as Charlotte’s, but as Fitzwilliam saw it before I did, he came to tell me of it with Charlotte’s letter in his hand. Thus, I knew of That Woman’s plan before I had to undergo the surprise of hearing it from Charlotte.</div>
<div class="p1">
Fitzwilliam was sweet enough to ask me if would consider attending, given how his aunt had offended me those three years ago. I know he has not been happy about this estrangement from Lady Catherine, and I could see by the look in his eye that he hoped I would assent. I did. He then handed me the letter so I could glance over the lengthy guest list that she included, and merely glance I did as it was so long, and I know very few of the people on it. I did note that Jane and Charles were there, as were, surprisingly, Mother and Father, and Georgiana of course. Colonel Fitzwilliam was included, but named as The Earl of Rochester, his new title. His elder brother passed away around a year ago without leaving an heir, so Colonel Fitzwilliam is now Lord Edward Fitzwilliam, or, of course, Lord Rochester. It was difficult for me to call him anything other than Colonel Fitzwilliam for the longest time, but now he is, affectionately, merely Edward.</div>
<div class="p1">
At any rate, in the midst of looking the list over, I was called away by Nanny as little Will had awoken from his morning nap, and I wanted to oversee his mealtime. How I adore feeding him with the tiny silver spoon, and watching as his little hands grasp his cup of milk. Fitzwilliam is shocked that I take this task upon myself rather than leaving it to Nanny, but I don’t care. I can’t get enough of my sweet boy, my miniature Fitzwilliam, who is so very like his father.</div>
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We went for a walk with the pram around the grounds, after his lunch, just the two of us, no nanny in tow. I lifted him out and let him crawl upon the green—he is very close to walking. He is such a clever boy. He already knows the words, tree, bug, horse, mama, papa, and nana. I don’t like the idea of leaving him for the few days that we will be expected to be at Rosings, but That Woman would never tolerate the noise and mess of a baby, and, besides that, I don’t want to take him away from home at such a young age and expose him to the jostling of road, the terribly long ride, and the contagion we might meet with along the way, so he will stay at Pemberley with Nanny while we are gone. I will miss horribly his little fair head, his big brown eyes, and the tiny lips that I love to kiss. I will suggest to Jane that she bring Eliza to stay at Pemberley with Will while we are all gone so the cousins can keep each other company. Jane is longing for another child but has not yet been blessed. I am content for now with my little man, but if God sees fit to bless us with another, whenever that might occur, I shall welcome it. I hope it is a little girl whom I will name Maryjane. </div>
<div class="p1">
Returning to my parlour after relinquishing Will to Nanny, I sat down to peruse the guest list from Lady Catherine with more scrutiny. It was no surprise that Lydia and Wickham were not on it. Kitty was included with Mother and Father, and Aunt and Uncle Gardiner, which was very nice, but then I realized I did not see Mary and her husband Christopher upon the list. Surely this must be an oversight. If Lady Catherine saw fit to include the rest of my family, why not Mary and Christopher? Maybe she does not know of their existence. After all, she has never met them. Yet surely Charlotte and Mr. Collins helped her assemble the list. All of Charlotte’s immediate relations were there.</div>
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I summoned Fitzwilliam, who appeared in just a few minutes, to get his opinion.</div>
<div class="p1">
He came to my side, where I sat before my desk, and bent to kiss me on the lips. “Yes, my darling,” he said to me, with a wry grin. “Do not trouble yourself that I was in the middle of important business correspondences. I am your humble servant.”</div>
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“This is important business, too, my love,” I responded with mock strictness. “Your aunt has neglected to invite Mary and Christopher to her ball.”</div>
<div class="p1">
His aspect clouded. “I wonder if ‘neglect’ is an apt word.”</div>
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“Are you saying she might have left them out on purpose? Why would she do such a thing? She must have simply overlooked them.”</div>
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“My aunt does nothing by accident. She is most meticulous as you know. I fear she might have thought Christopher’s position too low to mix with her high society friends.”</div>
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I bristled at the thought. “Mary is my sister! I will not go where she and her husband are not wanted.”</div>
<div class="p1">
“Now, now, my dear, do not upset yourself.” He took my hand and kissed it. “I will write to my aunt presently and mention it. I will tell her it is important to you to have your sister and her husband included in the invitation. After all, the ball is in your honor.”</div>
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I raised an eyebrow. “Let us not deceive ourselves, darling. It is in <i>your </i>honor. She wants you back in the bosom of her regard. You were always her favorite nephew.”</div>
<div class="p1">
Still holding my hand, he pulled me to my feet and embraced me. I still feel the same weakness in my knees when Fitzwilliam holds me close as I did the very first time he took me in his arms and kissed me: the day he expressed to me that he had reason to hope I would accept his proposal—the very thing that started this row with his aunt in the first place. I have never been happier to stand up to anyone in my life than the day I told Lady Catherine I would not agree not to marry her nephew.</div>
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He pressed his soft lips to mine. On that wonderful day of our engagement those three years ago, with that first kiss, I somehow sensed he was holding back his passion, keeping it in abeyance so as to not overwhelm us both with desire before we could appropriately give into it as man and wife. But today, there was no reason for him to keep his passion in check and did not. We drank each other in fully, our mouths joined hungrily, our bodies pressed together urgently. I ran my hands up his muscular arms and across his broad back.</div>
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He broke away for a moment. “Has Nanny taken Will for his afternoon nap?” He whispered into my ear.</div>
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“Yes,” I replied breathlessly.</div>
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“Then will you accompany me to my bed?”</div>
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I gazed into his deep, brown eyes. He is even more handsome to me now than he was the day we married because now I know him fully, and know he is as beautiful a man on the inside as out. I couldn’t possibly be more in love with him.</div>
<div class="p1">
“Yes,” I repeated in a whisper. I took his offered hand and followed him through the house, and up the stairs. I went into my chamber, and he into his, so we wouldn’t scandalize the servants. Our rooms adjoin by an inner door and so, after removing my gown, I slipped into his chamber in only my chemise, anticipating the delights that awaited me.</div>
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<b>Mary</b></div>
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When my dearest Christopher is away, doing his duties as Doctor of the Veterinary Arts, I miss him terribly. At the moment, he has been called to Jane and Charles’s home, Waterston, which is twenty miles north of us. A journey of that distance would require him to stay overnight even if it were a simple case he has gone to see about, but this time it is not, and he may be needed for several days. Charles’s beloved mare, Camilla, is about to foal and Christopher has gone in anticipation of the event because he would not want her to begin her labor without his supervision. She is a most valuable animal, and Charles has bred her with a stallion of equally high pedigree, and so the foal that is to come will be as precious as the both the mother and father. Therefore, I must do without him until Camilla is safely through her ordeal and the foal is deemed to be doing well. It could be just a few days, or a fortnight.</div>
<div class="p1">
I think about how natural it is for animals to reproduce. I am sure no mare, or cow, or sow ever worry about conceiving, yet it is at the forefront of my concerns. Christopher and I have been married more than a year and I am still not with child. I know that it takes some women time, yet all three of my married sisters have been blessed with little ones—why Lydia already has two! True, they have been married longer than I, but having spent as much time with Jane’s and Lizzy’s babies as I have, I want nothing more than to have my own child, and love and nurture it with all my heart. I know Christopher feels the same way though he tells me to be patient and let nature take its course. What choice do I have?</div>
<div class="p1">
As I sit writing at my desk, I look up at the small, framed portrait of Christopher that he gave me for our first Christmas together. The artist captured his likeness so well, even the hint of mischievousness in his dark eyes. The curve of his lips, the arch of his brow, the strong bones of his face are all there. Even the way his hair tends to hang slightly over one eye. The only thing missing from the picture is the expression of love with which he regards me. I will always be amazed at how I was so lucky as to find the adoration of such a sweet and clever man.</div>
<div class="p1">
Very well, enough of my musings. I will now spend an hour working on my latest story, and then an hour practicing upon the lovely pianoforte that was a wedding gift from Jane and Charles. After that, a half an hour studying French, a half an hour with German, and then it will be time to feed the chickens, and check on the cows in their stall, once our young cowherd has brought them in for the evening. I love the warmth of the barn, the smell of the hay, and the gentle, kind presence of the cattle. I can feel that they expect me every evening to give them an extra caress, and an assurance of my affection.</div>
<div class="p1">
After supper, I will read a little for education, and more for pleasure, before I retire to my bed which will be cold without the body of my love, my life. I do not complain though. He told me to be strong while he is gone, and so I will. Yet nothing can stop me from smelling his pillow as I drift off into sleep.</div>
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<div class="p2" style="text-align: center;">
<b>Lizzy</b></div>
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<div class="p1">
Fitzwilliam has received a response from That Woman about Mary and Christopher. He came to share it with me this morning as soon as the post had arrived, finding me still lingering with my coffee at the breakfast table.</div>
<div class="p1">
“My beautiful Lizzy!” he cried when he came into the room. He often tells me I’m beautiful, but something about his tone told me he was trying to soften his news.</div>
<div class="p1">
“My love?” I replied.</div>
<div class="p1">
“I have got a letter from Aunt Catherine.”</div>
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“And…”</div>
<div class="p1">
He sat down. “Her neglect of including your sister and her husband in the invitation for the ball was not an oversight. She did it,” he hesitated, “purposefully.”</div>
<div class="p1">
I could feel my blood start to heat, but I forced myself to stay calm. “Go on.” I pressed my lips together. “What was her reason?”</div>
<div class="p1">
“She said that when Mr. Collins gave her the list of your family members, it only included Jane, Charles, your parents, and Kitty. She said she remembered you telling her you had three younger sisters. She asked him why only Jane and Kitty were on the list, knowing of course, that Lydia would never be mentioned. He explained Mary and Christopher’s circumstances to her, I suppose never having spoken of them to her before, and she agreed they could not be included among the guests. She said she could not very well introduce an animal doctor and his wife among society.”</div>
<div class="p1">
Now my blood was boiling. Still, I remained outwardly calm. “Then I shall not attend either.” I rose to go, afraid of really losing my temper.</div>
<div class="p1">
He took my hand. “Lizzy, don’t be unreasonable. I am sure Mary and Christopher will understand. You know yourself that Mary doesn’t really like balls, nor dancing.”</div>
<div class="p1">
“That is not the point. The point is, your aunt still does not accept my family for who they are. And as result, she does not accept me.”</div>
<div class="p1">
“My darling. Aunt Catherine has been this way her entire life. There is nothing we can do to change her.”</div>
<div class="p1">
“I am not suggesting trying to change her. I simply will not go to the ball. You certainly may if you like.”</div>
<div class="p1">
He stood now too. “Elizabeth.”</div>
<div class="p1">
He only calls me that when he’s being very serious.</div>
<div class="p1">
He continued, “Please, listen to reason. You know that I was very angry with my aunt for coming to you as she did and trying to wrench from you a promise that you would not marry me.” He smiled in spite of himself. “You also know that when I heard from her about your refusal to make that promise, I finally had real reason to hope you would accept me.”</div>
<div class="p1">
I smiled too. “I have to admit I relish that particular part of our history.”</div>
<div class="p1">
His face grew serious again. “I was offended by Lady Catherine’s actions too then, and I am still irked that she was so meddlesome and rude. However, I do feel that <i>now</i> she is trying to make amends for her behavior <i>then</i>, and attempting to mend this rift in our family. I feel we should seriously consider taking her offered olive branch.”</div>
<div class="p1">
“She may be offering an olive branch, but it is rife with thorns. She is doing it with conditions. Conditions she knows would offend me. I do not consider this a genuine attempt to make amends.”</div>
<div class="p1">
He took a deep breath. “She is my mother’s only sister, Lizzy. She is difficult, yes, but she is among the little that is left of my family. I have her and my cousin Anne, my cousin Edward, and Georgiana. You have a wonderful abundance of sisters, as well as aunts and uncles, little cousins, and, God be praised, both of your parents still alive. I need you to understand that it is important to me that I reestablish this family connection. We have an heir now. It means much to her to be able to bring us back into the fold and honor you as the mother of that heir.”</div>
<div class="p1">
“Is that all I am to her? William’s mother? A dam to carry on the family bloodline?”</div>
<div class="p1">
“I feel you are being unreasonable, Lizzy.” His voice had grown stern.</div>
<div class="p1">
It was my turn to inhale deeply. “Perhaps if it were possible for Mary and Christopher to not be made aware of the ball, so we could attend and not tell them, I would consider that option. I’d feel terrible about it, but I would consider it. But with my mother being invited, and Kitty, it will be impossible to keep it quiet. I feel there is no situation here that does not involve Mary and Christopher being hurt. I beg you to write back and explain that to her.”</div>
<div class="p1">
“She has made up her mind, Lizzy.” He threw up his hands in frustration. “I cannot change it.”</div>
<div class="p1">
“Then perhaps I can.” I turned to go to my writing desk in my parlour.</div>
<div class="p1">
“Lizzy, this is not a good idea,” he said softly to my back. “I beg you not to.”</div>
<div class="p1">
I felt my resolve begin to wane, and turned to face him once again, but then the thought of That Woman’s superciliousness rekindled my ire. “I will be gentle in my wording.” I moved back to stand directly in front of him and put my hand on his arm. “I will explain to her kindly, and with great respect why I cannot allow my sister to be slighted in this way. I will tell her that I cannot accept her invitation under these conditions. Surely she will understand,” though, in truth, I had little faith she would.</div>
<div class="p1">
“Very well, Lizzy,” he sighed resignedly. “I will not tell you how to act. Perhaps you can convince her to rethink her position. If anyone can do it, you can. But please tell me that, even if she says no, you will still consider going. It is important to me.” He smiled hopefully.</div>
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“Let us cross that bridge when we come to it,” I said. Before he could respond, I kissed him on the cheek and rushed out of the room.</div>
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<a href="http://amzn.to/28WSjD5">
<!--EndFragment--></a><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><a href="http://amzn.to/28WSjD5">Purchase Book 1, Elizabeth, Darcy and Me, on Amazon</a></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01KWFMFDW">Purchase Book 2, A Battle of Wills, on Amazon</a></span><br />
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Georginahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04726404742267116995noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-653236115930603107.post-24854590562584013662016-09-23T14:33:00.000-07:002016-09-23T14:33:49.732-07:00Win a Copy!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVWmAsEPYk9APx-0d37TCeiJx3R1DQ0idZYNccYdwNSP_6yZdIheBaf1muabapWwVl3WPci6VehvdHvf_PHy7HD_pKql3EgiPxAhipp7N0xcktTl_TjZe9jYaiZmIsI053hZR7kGfMc6g/s1600/Battle-of-Wills-_cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVWmAsEPYk9APx-0d37TCeiJx3R1DQ0idZYNccYdwNSP_6yZdIheBaf1muabapWwVl3WPci6VehvdHvf_PHy7HD_pKql3EgiPxAhipp7N0xcktTl_TjZe9jYaiZmIsI053hZR7kGfMc6g/s400/Battle-of-Wills-_cover.jpg" width="250" /></a></div>
Hi Dearest Readers!<br />
I'll be giving away a free e-copy of <a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01KWFMFDW">A Battle of Wills: Elizabeth, Darcy, and Me - Book 2</a> on it's release date, September 27th. To enter to win, please leave a comment, even just a word, on this blog post. The winner will be randomly selected on September 27th, but please remember. if I don't personally know you, or if we're not friends on FB, please make sure I can contact you in case you are the winner. Therefore, you might want to leave your twitter handle, tell me how to find you on FB or, if you don't have either of those and you want to remain anonymous on this site, click the Contact Georgina button on the right, and let me know by email that you entered.<br />
<br />
If you haven't read book one, <a href="http://amzn.to/28WSjD5">Elizabeth, Darcy, and Me</a>, just click this link to find it on <a href="http://amzn.to/28WSjD5">Amazon</a>. You don't really have to have read it to follow book 2, but it helps :)<br />
Best of luck!<br />
GeorginaGeorginahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04726404742267116995noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-653236115930603107.post-75655782962277151982016-08-21T17:32:00.000-07:002016-08-21T17:32:50.124-07:00Everyone Loves a Free Sample! Elizabeth, Darcy, and Me - Chapter One<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
I thought I'd give everyone a little taste of what all the fuss is about. Please enjoy Chapter One from my first Pride and Prejudice Variation novel, <a href="http://amzn.to/28WSjD5">Elizabeth, Darcy, and Me</a>. </div>
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<div align="center" class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="mso-outline-level: 1; text-align: center; text-indent: .5in;">
Chapter One<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="mso-outline-level: 1; text-align: center; text-indent: .5in;">
Christopher <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="mso-outline-level: 1; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="mso-outline-level: 1; text-indent: .5in;">
“How
does my lady tonight?” Mr. Charles Bingley asked me, stroking the muzzle of his
jet black mare, Camilla. He had come to the stables after an evening out among
society. I’ve noticed he sometimes does this as a way of seeking solace, and
though I am only his groom, he occasionally speaks to me in confidence.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="mso-outline-level: 1; text-indent: .5in;">
“She
is very well, sir. She only wants you and a little exercise to make her happy.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="mso-outline-level: 1; text-indent: .5in;">
“If
only the human sort of females were so easy to understand.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="mso-outline-level: 1; text-indent: .5in;">
I
studied his face. His reddish-blond hair was lit almost like a halo in the glow
of the lamp hanging from a rafter above his head, yet it cast a somber shadow
over his lowered eyelids. His normally smiling mouth was ever so slightly
downturned. “What do you mean, sir?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="mso-outline-level: 1; text-indent: .5in;">
He
sighed deeply. “Oh, nothing. It is just that…though I do not find it difficult
to converse with women, I find that I am not often able to say anything…weighty
enough to impress them. My friendships with ladies are unsatisfying to me, and
mine to them too, I get the impression. I wish I could find someone who would
be contented with a simple fellow such as I.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="mso-outline-level: 1; text-indent: .5in;">
“I
would hardly call you a simple fellow,” I replied, handing him a carrot from a
nearby bucket so that he could feed it to his mare. “You are educated at the
highest level.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="mso-outline-level: 1; text-indent: .5in;">
He
looked at me, and for a moment his expression brightened, then dimmed again.
“That does not signify. I do not consider myself the cleverest of fellows,
Christopher. There are many men far more intelligent, and able to speak on
matters of importance and interest, much more so than I. Such as my friend
Darcy, for example.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="mso-outline-level: 1; text-indent: .5in;">
“If I
may be so bold to say it, sir. Mr. Darcy may be more able to speak on such
matters, but he does not seem to be particularly willing. I have been in his
acquaintance a long time, and rarely do I see him speak to anyone but you, or
his sister, at much length.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="mso-outline-level: 1; text-indent: .5in;">
He
let forth a slight laugh and his blue eyes twinkled briefly. “You may be right
about that, Christopher. As a result, look where Darcy and I are. Both nearly a
quarter century old with no wife to show for it.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="mso-outline-level: 1; text-indent: .5in;">
“You
are both still very young to be much concerned about that.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="mso-outline-level: 1; text-indent: .5in;">
“Well,
Darcy may be happy with his state of bachelorhood, but I long to find that
girl, that perfect girl who would bring me joy for the rest of my life.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="mso-outline-level: 1; text-indent: .5in;">
“There
is still plenty of time for that.” I took up a brush and began running it
across Camilla’s ebony shoulders.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="mso-outline-level: 1; text-indent: .5in;">
“You
speak as a sage, old soul, Christopher, and yet you are getting to be of the
age to be considering the same sort of thing.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="mso-outline-level: 1; text-indent: .5in;">
Little
did he know how I often entertain those very sorts of thoughts. “No sir,” I
replied. “Not I. I’m not quite ready to began on that journey.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="mso-outline-level: 1; text-indent: .5in;">
“I
suppose not.” He sighed again. “Everyone in their own time.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="mso-outline-level: 1; text-indent: .5in;">
I put
myself forward once more as I continued to groom the mare. “If you cannot find
the lady of your dreams outside your immediate circle, perhaps you should look
inward. Mr. Darcy’s sister is a most delightful young lady. I have readied a
steed for her to ride more than once when she’s come with her brother to visit
you here in London.” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="mso-outline-level: 1; text-indent: .5in;">
“No,
Georgiana is nothing more than a little sister to me. I could never see her as
anything else.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="mso-outline-level: 1; text-indent: .5in;">
“And
what about <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">your</i> unmarried sister for
Mr. Darcy?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="mso-outline-level: 1; text-indent: .5in;">
He
stroked the animal’s mane, the blackness of it a contrast with his own fair
hair. “I think she would like that very much, Christopher, but between you and
I, I would not wish Caroline on him.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="mso-outline-level: 1; text-indent: .5in;">
I
laughed aloud, and saw his smile return in earnest. “Then perhaps what you need
is a change of scenery altogether. Maybe you should leave London for a while,
and find a place endowed with clever young ladies with whom you are not yet
acquainted. Fish in a different pond, as the saying goes.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="mso-outline-level: 1; text-indent: .5in;">
He
looked at me for a while as if deep in thought. “You are a smart lad, Christopher,”
he finally said. “I am glad that you have remained in my employ for so long. My
father was wise to hire your father, and for him to apprentice you as my
groom.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="mso-outline-level: 1; text-indent: .5in;">
“That
is very kind of you to say, sir.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="mso-outline-level: 1; text-indent: .5in;">
“And,
you, my dearest fellow, have given me an idea.” With a final pat to Camilla, he
wished me goodnight and left the stable with a renewed bounce in his step. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="mso-outline-level: 1; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="mso-outline-level: 1; text-align: center; text-indent: .5in;">
Mary<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: center; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Father has been trying
Mother’s nerves greatly. She has been imploring him to go to Netherfield and
meet the gentleman who has recently taken up residence there, a one Mr.
Bingley, who is rumored to have a substantial fortune. It is obvious that she
has designs on him for either Elizabeth or Jane, both of whom are still
unmarried at the considerable ages of twenty and twenty-two respectively. I,
knowing Father’s penchant for teasing Mother horribly, had been suspecting that
he had actually made the visit after all. The conversation went ‘round and
‘round, on this particular day, Lizzy trying to reason with Mother that we
would meet Mr. Bingley soon enough, for our neighbor Mrs. Long could introduce
us at the assemblies, but this only made Mother abuse Mrs. Long for being
selfish and hypocritical, suspecting her of keeping Mr. Bingley for her own
nieces. She irrationally complained of poor Kitty’s coughing, and became
further agitated when Lizzy pointed out that the Longs would be out of town
during the next assembly, and therefore, could not introduce us. Father then
observed that he would introduce Mr. Bingley to Mrs. Long instead, and the
whole conversation became a twisting turning mêlée of miscommunication, a thing
Father delights in, until he surprised me by applying to me for my opinion on
forms of introduction and whether the stress society lays on them is nonsense
or not. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“What say you, Mary,” he
said to me, “for you are a young lady of deep reflection, I know, and read
great books, and make extracts.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in;">
I had been sitting in the
corner with one of these very same great books, and did not know that anyone
was aware I was listening. Therefore, I was not prepared to reply, and became
flustered, trying to decide if Father were being sarcastic or if he really does
consider me a young lady of deep reflection. As I was trying to form a coherent
reply, he hurried on. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“While Mary is adjusting
her ideas,” he said, effectively dismissing my contribution to the
conversation, “let us return to Mr. Bingley.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“I am sick of Mr.
Bingley,” Mother cried, at which point Father finally confessed to having paid
the oh-so-important visit, and established the coveted acquaintance. Mother was
practically in tears in her exasperation with him.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Thank goodness</i>, I thought to myself, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">now, perhaps I can have some peace and quiet and return to my book</i>,
a particularly dense history of England, which I was enjoying immensely.
However, such was not the case because Mother, Kitty, and Lydia all fell into
such raptures of delight that it was impossible to get anything done for the
rest of the afternoon. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Jane and Elizabeth, in
their sensible manners, smiled indulgently at the scene, but I could tell they
were pleased. I know Elizabeth would wish the match, if there were one to be
made, to go to Jane. I stopped a moment and considered their physical merits,
and who might be more likely to attract a man of such consequence as this Mr.
Bingley is purported to be. Jane is fair and delicate of feature, while Lizzy
has thick, brown hair the color of china tea and darker eyes which so often
spark with intensity. Their faces are both well formed, if one observes them
objectively, but Jane’s mouth forms a sweet bow, while Lizzy’s is wider, with
fuller lips that easily break into a smile. Lizzy’s eyes are a bit deeper set
then Jane’s, but her eyelashes are thicker and form a kind of fan across the
almond shape of her lid. Yes, Jane is more beautiful but Lizzy’s face holds
more character. She may well laugh at the frivolity of the conversation about
Mr. Bingley, but she has never had a suitor. I think she doubts there’s a man
in this silly society in which we live who could equal her wit and
intelligence, and I’m inclined to think she’s right. At any rate, I don’t care
about men, or dances, or any of those trivialities. Study and accomplishment
are the things that are important in life, and I intend to make the most of
myself in that regard. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Still, as the afternoon
waned, I found myself returning to the sting of Father’s words. For all my
persistence, I fear he does not consider me a serious scholar. Maybe because I
am a girl. Dejected, I decided to go for a walk. I marched across the field to
a stand of trees hidden from view of the house. One of the trees has a low,
bent branch that offers itself to me as a seat. This is my spot. The place I
come to contemplate life and to gather ideas for my writing. For what I want to
be in life is a writer, a nearly impossible occupation for a woman, but still,
there it is. If I do marry someday, my husband will have to understand that
this is my priority. That I must be allowed to write or my spirit will wither. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in;">
The sun was low in the
sky and knew I did not have long to tarry there without Mother sending Kitty or
Lydia to look for me. As long as it is daylight, no one cares much where I am,
but Mother has at least the sense to gather in her daughters come nightfall. I
had been sitting there I knew not how long, contemplating nature in all her
glory as the sun was descending toward the horizon, setting the sky ablaze with
rose and coral, when I heard the expected<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">
</b>footsteps whooshing through the dry, autumn grass.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“Honestly!” I shouted
with annoyance, “I’m on my way!” <s><o:p></o:p></s></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Imagine my shock when<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"> </b>a male voice replied, “Where are you
going?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in;">
I jumped up from my seat,
ready to run off towards home.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“Oh, pardon me miss,” the
interloper offered. “I did not mean to startle you.” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in;">
He entered the stand of
trees and stood there expectantly as I looked him up and down, too surprised to
further contemplate my flight. He seemed to be about my age, but taller than I.
His clothes were rough yet not shabby. His brown hair was mussed, and hung
almost over his eyes of the same color. His boots were muddy and from him
emanated a slight, but not unpleasant, fragrance of manure and hay. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“Who, may I ask, are
you?” I finally had the wherewithal to utter. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“I’m Christopher.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“Christopher. Well, that
gives me very little information.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“I might ask the same of
you.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“I asked first, and you
did not answer me satisfactorily.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“Oh, well, forgive me for
that,” he said with some sarcasm. “I am Christopher Jones.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“Jones. I do not know of
a Jones family in the neighborhood. Are you a farmer’s boy?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“I’m not anybody’s boy,
miss, if you must know. I work as a groom in Mr. Bingley’s stable.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“At Netherfield?” I
asked, my interest piqued. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“Yes, at Netherfield.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“Then you must have very
recently arrived. Were you in Mr. Bingley’s employ in London?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“I was.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“Well then, it is very
nice to meet you.” I turned to go.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“Wait a minute, you
haven’t told me your name.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“I do not believe
convention requires me to, you obviously being beneath my station.” I instantly
regretted my words as I saw his color rise. “I mean, forgive me,” I hastened to
add. Rudeness is acceptable in no circumstance. “I am Mary Bennet. I live at
Longbourn, just over the rise there.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<s>“</s>Yes, I met your
father when I took his horse to the stable.” His friendly tone had abated much,
“A true gentleman.” He looked directly at me. “I heard Mr. Bingley speak to his
brother-in-law, Mr. Hurst, kindly of him.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in;">
I felt ashamed of my
behavior. “Yes, he is,” I replied. “I am sorry; I did not behave as a lady.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in;">
His face softened. “I
forgive you.” He smiled and his face lit from within. “Miss Mary Bennet,” he
held his hand out to me, “will you shake?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in;">
This was a true
impertinence but I dared not refuse. I placed my hand in his for just a moment.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“’Tis a pleasure,” he
declared.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in;">
I retrieved my hand.
“Delighted,” I replied, unable to think of anything else to say. “And now, I
must wish you good evening.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“Good bye,” he said. “I
hope we meet again.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in;">
I did not know what to
say to that and so I simply nodded my head and turned to go. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Christopher Jones. What an odd fellow. </i>But
something about him made me smile.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: center; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" SemiHidden="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" SemiHidden="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="35" SemiHidden="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid"/>
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" Name="Revision"/>
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 6"/>
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 6"/>
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="19" QFormat="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="31" QFormat="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="32" QFormat="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="33" QFormat="true" Name="Book Title"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="37" SemiHidden="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" SemiHidden="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="41" Name="Plain Table 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="42" Name="Plain Table 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="43" Name="Plain Table 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="44" Name="Plain Table 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="45" Name="Plain Table 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="40" Name="Grid Table Light"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46" Name="Grid Table 1 Light"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51" Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52" Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark Accent 2"/>
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Georginahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04726404742267116995noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-653236115930603107.post-10716491790921392342016-08-09T13:06:00.002-07:002016-08-09T13:06:51.198-07:00Azreal's Dissent...A Compelling Short Film by Joyia D. Bradley<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHPEk5UZgd3X5kiHMwkP_MQOPhCEOKkdY0_jeBheiTHCQWDBxMhTtE8fCHl7RgJ2GeJY6MyVdwt6paV27kCtl7pbFYrCdEtpNLntnYUVDfxIxIPfac8Y46U5JwZgfZyh6oNsu4wc-alew/s1600/Azreal.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHPEk5UZgd3X5kiHMwkP_MQOPhCEOKkdY0_jeBheiTHCQWDBxMhTtE8fCHl7RgJ2GeJY6MyVdwt6paV27kCtl7pbFYrCdEtpNLntnYUVDfxIxIPfac8Y46U5JwZgfZyh6oNsu4wc-alew/s400/Azreal.jpg" width="282" /></a></div>
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<span class="s1">Recently, I was privileged to enjoy a sneak preview of the latest short film, Azreal's Dissent, by up-and-coming director Joyia D. Bradley. I read the script about a year ago, and <a href="http://nerd-girlsromanticsandtime-travelers.blogspot.com/2015/03/nerd-girl-alert-new-film-and-maybe.html"><span class="s2">posted</span></a> about it then, really excited about the idea of the piece coming to life. Well, now it has, surpassing my expectations, which, albeit, were high. Bradley has managed to bring her script to fruition with all its dark edginess intact, cool special effects to boot. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">Here's a summary of the story: Azreal, the Death Angel, is tired of shouldering the world's grief and leaves her position, throwing the whole world off balance. With no deaths taking place for a year, both Michael and Lucifer join forces to fight to save the universe, only to discover an enemy of them both, Lilith, is rising to her destiny. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">Each character in the film has a full and interesting personality that the director makes apparent within the seventeen minutes or so of the film's duration. Lucifer is played by Cherrye J. Davis as a sassy, almost business like woman, while her nemesis. Lilith (Alisa Glembotski), comes across as nurturing at first, menacing later, creating an interesting dilemma for the viewer: who do we trust? </span></div>
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<span class="s1">Azreal, played by Katie Mack, shows true vulnerability. We sense her connection to this world, her desire to be merely a mortal, to have and keep love. It is, however, when she and her boyfriend decide to celebrate "Miracle Day," the one year anniversary of no deaths in the world, with a recreational drug, that her real identity becomes apparent. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">There are some very appealing side characters as well: Lucifer's hound: the three Evils, and the archangel Michael in particular. Costuming adds to each character's appeal, giving a futuristic sway to the movie, while maintaining style and interest. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">Some of the sets were amazing, such as a console that Michael uses to view all the beings of the world. It's clear that, in other scenes, Bradley used her creativity to turn normal locations into some really interesting spaces, something that other directors would be hard pressed to do on a limited budget.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">The sound effects were good, the music compelling, and over all, it's clear that a really solid group of professionals were responsible for making Azreal's Dissent into something very special. I think we can expect some positive attention for it at the film festivals, and I, for one, will be paying attention to see where this cool little film ends up. </span></div>
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<span class="s1">Check out the trailer here: </span></div>
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<span class="s1"><a href="https://www.facebook.com/AzrealDissent/videos/543260062512763/">https://www.facebook.com/AzrealDissent/videos/543260062512763/</a></span></div>
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<span class="s1">And follow Azreal's Dissent on Facebook here: <a href="https://www.facebook.com/AzrealDissent/?fref=ts">https://www.facebook.com/AzrealDissent/?fref=ts</a></span></div>
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Georginahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04726404742267116995noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-653236115930603107.post-66309445531422795602016-05-16T17:10:00.001-07:002016-05-16T17:10:32.403-07:00Prince - For Love of a Rock Star<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The death of Prince hit me hard. Harder than David Bowie. As hard, I'd say, as John Lennon back in 1980 though the circumstances of their deaths were so different. You see, like many others, I adored Prince, and, like many others, thought I adored him more than anyone else. In 1984, when the album Purple Rain was released, I was 24 (please don't do the math!). Before that, I didn't know that much about Prince. I'd heard the song 1999, maybe even Little Red Corvette, but it was when I heard a bartender at work talking about him and this new album, Purple Rain, that I became intrigued and checked it out. That album, and the movie, changed my life. When I say changed my life, I mean I saw the film twenty times or more, and started dressing like him: leather pants, frilly shirt, lace gloves, hair curly and flung to one side, lots of purple...remember those rubber bracelets we wore during the 80s? I wore a black one and a purple one for years - my own little tribute to the Great One. I bought all his previous albums, listened to them non-stop, and saw him in concert twice in those early years,<br />
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Then life went on, I got married in the late 80s and had a kid in '92. I bought every album up until Diamonds and Pearls, and then not another one until Musicology, missing, I now realize, a lot of great music in between. Maybe it was because he was so prolific that it became hard to keep up, and that's why I fell behind. Or maybe it was because he wasn't so much in the spotlight any more. My tastes changed and evolved, and I explored lots of new music, but I never stopped loving him. Now that he's gone, I feel like a bad fan for not having followed his music more faithfully all along.<br />
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"Now that he's gone"...I still can't get my mind around that fact. Not only did he die so young - after all, he's just a year older than me - but he left the world bereft of a mighty presence. I may not have thought about him so much anymore, but when I did, it was with a great deal of love and affection. He influenced me at a very influential time in my life. He seemed to speak my language back then, to express the things I was trying to express myself. The 80s, pre-AIDS awareness, were a whole other sexual revolution, and Prince was leading the charge. As a young woman in the heart of the NYC club and dating scene, Prince was my standard bearer.<br />
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I've now downloaded most of his music, and again, I see that I've missed so much phenomenal stuff during the last 15 years or so: rock, funk, blues, dance music, ballads...you name it, he did it all...incredibly well, with a few odd bits thrown in that were just Prince exploring the range of his artistry. As I listen to it, I'm both delighted and incredibly saddened. There's a hole in the world now that no one else can fill. I miss him, though I never knew him in person. I can only imagine the hole for those who did know him, and worked with him over the years. I keep wishing it were all a dream - a publicity stunt - but I know it's not. He's gone, and a part of me went with him. He was a very spiritual person in life, and I hope the afterworld is all he thought it would be. I send my purple tribute up there into the ether to him, and though he surely doesn't need it now any more than he ever did, it makes me feel connected to him in a way that brings me, at least, some comfort. </div>
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Georginahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04726404742267116995noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-653236115930603107.post-65308515047517089672016-05-04T17:48:00.000-07:002016-05-04T17:48:44.143-07:00Winner - Best Time Travel Series AuthorI'm so excited to have been named the Best Time Travel Series Author of 2015 by the DD Passion Awards for my Time Mistress Series! This is a huge honor, and I'm so pleased to share it with you, my readers. Thank you, as always for your support and for being such great fans!<br />
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<a href="http://www.georginayoungellis.com/">The Time Mistress Series</a></div>
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Georginahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04726404742267116995noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-653236115930603107.post-11936546391320307652016-05-02T16:10:00.000-07:002016-05-02T16:10:14.367-07:00Epic Road Trip 2016It's so hard to share all the photos of an epic, two week road trip on Facebook, or in texts, so I thought I'd post them here, and let anyone take a look who is so inclined. We went from Portland, down through Oregon to Redwood National Forest, down the California coast to San Francisco, east to the desert Southwest, back west through Death Valley to the Sierra Nevadas and Mammoth Lake, then over the mountains to Redding, CA, and home again. We stayed in some places longer than others, visited family, and spent many hours of driving in sheer awe of the magnificent beauty of the Western United States. Truly, except for the time we were forced to drive through Eastern Nevada and some of Central California, we saw scenery so beautiful, and so breathtaking, that we reached a whole new level of appreciation for the immense beauty of this planet. We enjoyed some man-made sights, too. Here are some of the highlights:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnR9bNDyMIMe55fjVCJMgZMlLo65VEHjM_OPCbimePhvEUJmTouSfYnwVH6BvTtwq471sQ-I9mZ0iSPMKq4_kq_qdakCBkF5qsrNnHTtkODT6CLwuejoZ8PeMrNo-2FfrMGm0Xtjnqmas/s1600/IMG_0314.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnR9bNDyMIMe55fjVCJMgZMlLo65VEHjM_OPCbimePhvEUJmTouSfYnwVH6BvTtwq471sQ-I9mZ0iSPMKq4_kq_qdakCBkF5qsrNnHTtkODT6CLwuejoZ8PeMrNo-2FfrMGm0Xtjnqmas/s320/IMG_0314.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Redwood National Forest</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhluewBtuInqfBWuy5KEgFnfA7EelFbUCMFwpfEEZ2kb-COP-K_AnRXbA5BahILJrh9NYJShFdfoj0fE1IaV1RRdy7R_nUF-NLKyQ6x5TahZOXs887MA_TQMjkcG2yv3L5_wfhmmaLbLAs/s1600/IMG_0309.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhluewBtuInqfBWuy5KEgFnfA7EelFbUCMFwpfEEZ2kb-COP-K_AnRXbA5BahILJrh9NYJShFdfoj0fE1IaV1RRdy7R_nUF-NLKyQ6x5TahZOXs887MA_TQMjkcG2yv3L5_wfhmmaLbLAs/s320/IMG_0309.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Northern California Coast</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvMDHjK8uAnr5WabF1EutiYEQvQTZchiAgvxTBnrYj4u2m3SwrURwNiT6fREiTwAmbRZvUaRVeGOFG-mz-tN4RcZvZfQQ3AC5P9RMwWp447RjFP3bpymAK1gHkwqsXYiigKQ0YiLf70mg/s1600/IMG_0346.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvMDHjK8uAnr5WabF1EutiYEQvQTZchiAgvxTBnrYj4u2m3SwrURwNiT6fREiTwAmbRZvUaRVeGOFG-mz-tN4RcZvZfQQ3AC5P9RMwWp447RjFP3bpymAK1gHkwqsXYiigKQ0YiLf70mg/s320/IMG_0346.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Golden Gate Bridge from the Moonroof</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3FiEjgif8nUkuilakL7cjUnq5Lhonc7G8mPxv52s9AyZ7UKChprTy80qm_WVxpxHGO5Mo7gLpaxKHO_9duTUtqjwYlSxzUmUbpqOkbs3HENCmg6J4oMcCPij7MftrT3aAd6xNVglS5o0/s1600/IMG_0347.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3FiEjgif8nUkuilakL7cjUnq5Lhonc7G8mPxv52s9AyZ7UKChprTy80qm_WVxpxHGO5Mo7gLpaxKHO_9duTUtqjwYlSxzUmUbpqOkbs3HENCmg6J4oMcCPij7MftrT3aAd6xNVglS5o0/s320/IMG_0347.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">San Francisco by Night</td></tr>
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Desert Flowers</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7EOMw9HSW0W0fm6rTg8R4azTdrLVWWkF42Afv7gT91G-pw1Gq2Rd4TX5VLcN8tFBlLsYOWDB_kOrSvf9-030Wf6UFes2xHk7mbPvREaWLsCqahN50rkN3I8QxIp7sPKc5g9ltItkcVB8/s1600/IMG_0366.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7EOMw9HSW0W0fm6rTg8R4azTdrLVWWkF42Afv7gT91G-pw1Gq2Rd4TX5VLcN8tFBlLsYOWDB_kOrSvf9-030Wf6UFes2xHk7mbPvREaWLsCqahN50rkN3I8QxIp7sPKc5g9ltItkcVB8/s320/IMG_0366.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Death Valley</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZho8v6bqWfvGfO9h6hWFNJYT-VYSfc6JKeBDBEH4PlVqAbcGavAYLZM8P7Es6W8xlWv1ZspWibfwmnTfnz6T863d1YjaS0tCVu1_Qh1nB6NXRfcbHIJFGnyia_wntSj5CTEdECVvDfHM/s1600/IMG_0382.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZho8v6bqWfvGfO9h6hWFNJYT-VYSfc6JKeBDBEH4PlVqAbcGavAYLZM8P7Es6W8xlWv1ZspWibfwmnTfnz6T863d1YjaS0tCVu1_Qh1nB6NXRfcbHIJFGnyia_wntSj5CTEdECVvDfHM/s320/IMG_0382.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Death Valley</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibDYOn85MaXw-Pcqdn2Hs9bkIGEtM8Mfs-Lvgax9i5zv3DY69zrQIZixMtQ9xuc1I_6ObGS5lz9m5Z5ijh7ll7i-Oel0u3culNsULYAl_7UvZQAMbFp2XbPxkaHAHmowaxSE9lSsTLT1E/s1600/IMG_0387.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibDYOn85MaXw-Pcqdn2Hs9bkIGEtM8Mfs-Lvgax9i5zv3DY69zrQIZixMtQ9xuc1I_6ObGS5lz9m5Z5ijh7ll7i-Oel0u3culNsULYAl_7UvZQAMbFp2XbPxkaHAHmowaxSE9lSsTLT1E/s320/IMG_0387.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">More Death Valley</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5qmoHp1oCYISY3olGhKGbbouRkXRU2Kr_KYcNI725PrUJxdbeO9lRAdMHOlX_VbLps-g5RkUuS1nMR03K0842uOXZ6SMR2Naj2STifpi8nvwpHVlVdHwAzkOXt6YVpD7uvGAPII5DO7U/s1600/IMG_0394.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5qmoHp1oCYISY3olGhKGbbouRkXRU2Kr_KYcNI725PrUJxdbeO9lRAdMHOlX_VbLps-g5RkUuS1nMR03K0842uOXZ6SMR2Naj2STifpi8nvwpHVlVdHwAzkOXt6YVpD7uvGAPII5DO7U/s320/IMG_0394.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">First Glimpse of the Sierra Nevadas - those aren't clouds, those are mountains.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQvn-mRhZNiKDkREuk7g0_4LqXMdPPscQDSVt5lJEgVxNw_SUxqC0xRL5HNsOgFyGYavbNjdymBb3H0B-c9A34303Ho8CTwG0L7ZTze5iRf2PGikI3nprXLJeQfbES2Dqmn4oxNYlsams/s1600/IMG_0398.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQvn-mRhZNiKDkREuk7g0_4LqXMdPPscQDSVt5lJEgVxNw_SUxqC0xRL5HNsOgFyGYavbNjdymBb3H0B-c9A34303Ho8CTwG0L7ZTze5iRf2PGikI3nprXLJeQfbES2Dqmn4oxNYlsams/s320/IMG_0398.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sunlight Above the Sierra Nevadas</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4DVYZZyePZid1XZWPPP5x5TbBLjZx4Na8IvRk-pkq6HzD3jAlVAWsy3afCD3L08T-NaAHPWdQsu_9l8UgsLT_EHmkqPGdHXEUEUsgHR0kObFcfGrSIM51D_lYQQefhuhEcwCxj4nS-a0/s1600/IMG_0412.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4DVYZZyePZid1XZWPPP5x5TbBLjZx4Na8IvRk-pkq6HzD3jAlVAWsy3afCD3L08T-NaAHPWdQsu_9l8UgsLT_EHmkqPGdHXEUEUsgHR0kObFcfGrSIM51D_lYQQefhuhEcwCxj4nS-a0/s320/IMG_0412.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Convict Lake near Mammoth Lake</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvzfVJdfc9EvQ-BhhDPvUgW5M6d_Lm3NzKMpscz6JC4ZxXue2ztEUXKw0eJCworeU_VKPWH_RCcrrHV1UCI-Py3ZinkI5JXPYlrxB1UlTeKVPzYIc8eQOPQrF80bnDwFQX8WJoKbri8Vc/s1600/IMG_3261.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvzfVJdfc9EvQ-BhhDPvUgW5M6d_Lm3NzKMpscz6JC4ZxXue2ztEUXKw0eJCworeU_VKPWH_RCcrrHV1UCI-Py3ZinkI5JXPYlrxB1UlTeKVPzYIc8eQOPQrF80bnDwFQX8WJoKbri8Vc/s320/IMG_3261.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
Convict Lake, the fog clears<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBh3Yn5SBrjIYdWvtq546vgqEMe-nfzMMICio5bMztHL8lBzrbclIGD_bxcqG1ym-e8TK779SgYsqTY4YFa3bKJIPsH5Ik0vfj65KbIx-c5wiOdIWi5lZ6Gc6df7RMS9uXeQ4TwLLod7w/s1600/IMG_3203.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBh3Yn5SBrjIYdWvtq546vgqEMe-nfzMMICio5bMztHL8lBzrbclIGD_bxcqG1ym-e8TK779SgYsqTY4YFa3bKJIPsH5Ik0vfj65KbIx-c5wiOdIWi5lZ6Gc6df7RMS9uXeQ4TwLLod7w/s320/IMG_3203.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
Convict Lake, the fog returns<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZVKQtQDBtI0KCpXxp9D_8lMhPJBz7dmmcsw8sU6R-VUg8Kf435Tr-q8Ki3HYypsIRxEeLf9ThmAdbRgj0kV8cWXTQ6NFfKdI_him1focooy0IB1UMv2JOig3MaCVxhLnfGNHIrzGHdlc/s1600/IMG_0420.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZVKQtQDBtI0KCpXxp9D_8lMhPJBz7dmmcsw8sU6R-VUg8Kf435Tr-q8Ki3HYypsIRxEeLf9ThmAdbRgj0kV8cWXTQ6NFfKdI_him1focooy0IB1UMv2JOig3MaCVxhLnfGNHIrzGHdlc/s320/IMG_0420.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px; text-align: center;">North of Mammoth Lake<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our Hotel in Redding<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEGvB87hsxX1fxHkcgDR8M2uF_QCism8x5erLy1_EDnSSiqD0LmUEEcU5WPY2irLe_Qa0UY54YOsPteb5NvE2El2mvNUyuPlohdxx4NkG0xGw2-x44v9OFxOo4oG8BYsCfQOt4lKoj7EE/s1600/IMG_0425.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEGvB87hsxX1fxHkcgDR8M2uF_QCism8x5erLy1_EDnSSiqD0LmUEEcU5WPY2irLe_Qa0UY54YOsPteb5NvE2El2mvNUyuPlohdxx4NkG0xGw2-x44v9OFxOo4oG8BYsCfQOt4lKoj7EE/s320/IMG_0425.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px; text-align: center;">Sundial Bridge in Redding, California<br />
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Georginahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04726404742267116995noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-653236115930603107.post-34040053939723900002016-04-25T20:49:00.000-07:002016-04-25T20:49:06.404-07:00New Release by Acclaimed Author Elizabeth Ann West...And a Giveaway!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">On April 28th, renowned author <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Elizabeth-Ann-West/e/B005NPJOQI/ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_1?qid=1461515009&sr=1-1">Elizabeth Ann West</a> will release her new novel: </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">To Capture Mr. Darcy </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Nature is a fickle thing. When four days of rain occur earlier in Jane Austen’s Pride & Prejudice to trap Elizabeth and Jane at Netherfield Park, new romances, misunderstandings, and alignments are made. Volatile tempers never did well cooped up together. Not even when there’s a chessboard to help pass the time.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Please help me celebrate by joining in a giveaway of my own Regency, time travel novel, The Time Baroness, a romantic nod to Jane Austen's era. Please comment below to be entered in the giveaway for a free e-copy of <a href="http://amzn.to/1JQcb7k">The Time Baroness</a>. Winner will be announced May 1st, 2016.</span></div>
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Georginahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04726404742267116995noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-653236115930603107.post-11230322666137776122016-03-15T15:12:00.000-07:002016-03-15T15:17:07.916-07:00How Time Travel Fiction Works by Matt Posner<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEPqbTfLyGDsF7TywBH1hYFepx20o_0qFIFEmgPwHgrqhRpNm8TWmdQkU4jKet8nEAp5KIBEt3AsiVyj4AwDRvk7g6UED5XYO_J7UnbB5Wkve-L7TYaLdSJ10U7LsuuRMFAPA9bwgntUE/s1600/time-travel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEPqbTfLyGDsF7TywBH1hYFepx20o_0qFIFEmgPwHgrqhRpNm8TWmdQkU4jKet8nEAp5KIBEt3AsiVyj4AwDRvk7g6UED5XYO_J7UnbB5Wkve-L7TYaLdSJ10U7LsuuRMFAPA9bwgntUE/s320/time-travel.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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So we write about time travel to the past, but not all of us
do it the same way. You see, time travel creates logic problems called time
paradoxes. We all know the famous ones, which are related to the idea of
killing someone necessary for our own existence. Kill your virginal
grandparent, and you can’t exist, but if you don’t exist, who killed the
grandparent? And what about all the other people whose lives change because
gramps is no longer around? Your one action prevents a growing chain of events,
each of which spreads out into a web of others.<o:p></o:p></div>
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So then what?<o:p></o:p></div>
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In fiction, a time travel plot comes from the way a past
action can change the future. In some stories, it does. In others, the characters
try to prevent it. In yet others, they try to redirect events to produce a more
desirable history. All these stories are potentially interesting if they are
done properly. Let’s get into some examples.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg00eRZWfLdXx18YOppSCDan7PZp69Puv3x6sDDyvMJyX2CBxlDsUdv4cqzL3cKx9zi6Qvk6nBW1i8qFsqTFskgDi5xAoW4xXghBVOeSa05839ZaLsWkWWGX2jYIhB4EcYBwlt8RkQIxA0/s1600/terri+garr.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg00eRZWfLdXx18YOppSCDan7PZp69Puv3x6sDDyvMJyX2CBxlDsUdv4cqzL3cKx9zi6Qvk6nBW1i8qFsqTFskgDi5xAoW4xXghBVOeSa05839ZaLsWkWWGX2jYIhB4EcYBwlt8RkQIxA0/s1600/terri+garr.jpeg" /></a>Classic time travel stories can be found in Star Trek:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Original Series. These are aimed at using
the characters’ ingenuity to preserve the timeline. “Tomorrow is Yesterday”
follows the classic pattern. The Enterprise crew is thrown back in time to 1969
and accidentally captures a pilot who has a crucial role to play in earth
history. Once they are returning back to their original time, they use the
transporter to put him back in place in a way that prevents his ever having
come aboard. This isn’t fully logical (sorry, Spock!) because if the pilot
never came aboard Enterprise, then no one should remember, but our heroes do.
This is a fun story and a great episode, however. In “Assignment: Earth,” a
kind of sequel, the ship returns on purpose to 1968 to conduct historical
research, only to get sucked into the activities of characters from a failed
attempt to launch another show and wind up having to do the best they can to
avoid disrupting a timeline even though they don’t fully understand it. This
is, again, logically silly, but entertaining, and worth watching also for an
early-career appearance of actress Teri Garr, who in my opinion is totally
dreamy. </div>
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The best, by popular consensus, of the ST:TOS time travel
stories is “City on the Edge of Forever,” credited to Harlan Ellison although
his idea was almost completely dismantled by four other writers. The story won
numerous awards, deservingly so on the whole. An alien technology throws Kirk,
Spock, and McCoy into 20<sup>th</sup> century New York, where Kirk must
sacrifice his love affair with a social worker, Edith Keeler. Kirk allows
Edith, played by soap opera star Joan Collins, to die so that history can work
out properly. This story of nobility and tragedy is generally considered the
best episode of the original series. (You can see Edith, recast, interacting
with Kirk years later in the Star Trek Continues episode “Divided We Stand.”)
Although it is a must-seek if you like Star Trek, even “City” is logically
flawed, because, like many other stories of its type, it assumes that only
great people matter to the course of events. But really, anything can matter. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYozolM6iBJuY7i6PSR1LyjHy1fRY_0E9IAdZD7FWcUHJPMspgjQtUoRzWPmnDWhvPl5HooqJKyN0aCdhp9rp90WfHhTxD5Qh1xkG1NHh5slNCmx63oANXT30QGCvVthovJPL3GnmQX58/s1600/2239096-capt_kirk_yellowcu_480_x_358.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYozolM6iBJuY7i6PSR1LyjHy1fRY_0E9IAdZD7FWcUHJPMspgjQtUoRzWPmnDWhvPl5HooqJKyN0aCdhp9rp90WfHhTxD5Qh1xkG1NHh5slNCmx63oANXT30QGCvVthovJPL3GnmQX58/s320/2239096-capt_kirk_yellowcu_480_x_358.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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This is called the butterfly effect, name courtesy of
scientist Edward Lorenz. Lorenz wrote:<o:p></o:p></div>
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“One meteorologist remarked that if the theory were correct,
one flap of a sea gull’s wings would be enough to alter the course of the
weather forever. The controversy has not yet been settled, but the most recent
evidence seems to favor the sea gulls.” In other words, any tiny change in the known course of the
past can change anything.</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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Stories based on the butterfly effect can be very
entertaining, but they are usually full of logic holes. The most entertaining
examples are to be found in the first two <u>Back to the Future</u> movies, in
which every action in the romantic and sporting lives of the characters changes
the timeline, over and over. Marty McFly and Doc Brown focus not on restoring
the proper timeline, though (which would cause Doc Brown to be dead) but on
creating one more favorable to them, with the right love affairs in place and
the villains in the down position. They have no sense of the integrity of the
timeline, or the effect of their changes upon people other than themselves, but
are focused on self-preservation and their own betterment. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx1NHrENvQYjrQiBkPmez40upvx7lX7GyMTZisbnBm4CT8tNqGIoKba8xVXmiYqWOOL_iBaL4fuvehyphenhyphenmIOdLKSVSu5IF20Faah0YpGK3btmj_BYJcarFBtsZv9P07AQqwuupKZPURdVDM/s1600/bttf.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx1NHrENvQYjrQiBkPmez40upvx7lX7GyMTZisbnBm4CT8tNqGIoKba8xVXmiYqWOOL_iBaL4fuvehyphenhyphenmIOdLKSVSu5IF20Faah0YpGK3btmj_BYJcarFBtsZv9P07AQqwuupKZPURdVDM/s320/bttf.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Another such story of seeking a favorable future is found in
the first two Terminator movies. In The Terminator, the villainous killer robot
tries to prevent a present outcome by killing someone in the past. In the
sequel, Terminator 2:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Judgment Day, this
effort is repeated, but the second time around, the heroes use a pre-emptive
strategy and try to prevent the creation of the killer robots in the first
place. Illogically, they seemingly succeed, but the heroic killer robot is
still around at the conclusion, when it should have been erased. While T2 is
one of my favorite movies of all time, that is so only because I ignore the
time paradox to focus on the character relationships and the action. The
Terminator franchise gets dumb in the third movie in many ways (although
somewhat redeemed by the chance to watch Kristanna Lokken in action) but its
time travel aspect makes more sense than one might think. The good terminator
explains, "Judgment Day is inevitable." This makes sense, because it,
albeit only just barely, denies the possibility of a time paradox. Sorry,
guys:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>you CAN'T change the future. Que
sera, sera. Time can't be effed with. (As for the other two movies in the
franchise, there is no time travel in the fourth, and the fifth, despite the
compelling presence of Emilia Clarke, makes no goddamn sense at all, time-travel-wise.)<o:p></o:p></div>
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We are better off, in our time travel stories, if we assume
that paradoxes are impossible. It just WILL work out. As an author, you can
achieve this in two ways:<o:p></o:p></div>
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The most interesting is the classic Marvel Universe method.
It says that time is linked to an infinitely expanding multiverse (complex of
universes), and that when anyone time travels to the future, that time travel
creates a new timeline. So if Captain America goes back in time and slays Adolf
Hitler on a WWI battlefield, and then returns to his own time, he finds that
where he comes from, nothing has changed. The Hitler he slew was a different
Hitler, so though he may have prevented the Nazi regime in some universe, his
own is the same as he remembers it being before he left.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Marvel sometimes tried to get around its own rules -- for
example, stupidly using Mephisto, a Satan analogue, to erase Spider-Man's past
-- but has also gotten great stories out of those rules. One Marvel movie does
not follow the rules, which is X-Men:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Days of Future Past. This is the superhero equivalent of Back to the
Future II, letting the characters time-travel to create a more desirable future
for themselves, with only a precious few who were involved recalling what
happened before. Their efforts changed the world for the better.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The multiverse rule set makes for good stories involving
parallel versions of characters, controlling authorities who can influence all
the timelines, invasion from a parallel-universe stories, and more. It worked
well for the original, printed Days of Future Past story as well as for the
cross-time epic Avengers Forever.<o:p></o:p></div>
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If you aren't using the concept of a multiverse, then you
have to go in a different direction to prevent paradoxes. I prefer this one for
my own writing, and I think my best-selling colleague, Georgina Young-Ellis,
does as well, although she is less explicit than I. According to this version,
things just naturally work out so that whatever the time-traveler does, history
doesn't change. The time-traveler's actions turn out to be part of the pattern
of the universe all along. The prototype of this, for me, is a Robert Heinlein
story called "By His Bootstraps," summarized at <a href="http://www.heinleinsociety.org/rah/works/shortstories/byhisbootstraps.html">http://www.heinleinsociety.org/rah/works/shortstories/byhisbootstraps.html</a>,
in which a character repeatedly meets versions of himself. <o:p></o:p></div>
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In my first novel to involve time-travel, 2010's <a href="http://www.amazon.com/School-Ages-The-Ghost-Crystal-ebook/dp/B0047GMH5E">The Ghost in the Crystal</a>, which is now in its revised second edition eBook,
the story relies upon a stable chronology for the universe. My young hero has
named himself Simon Magus, after the Biblical magician and villain. As a
result, a ghost from that time period confuses him with the "real"
Simon Magus. He then travels in time to occupy the role. In this way, events in
2001, when the book mainly take place, cause events nearly 2000 years before.
Is our Simon the "real" Simon Magus? Probably not, but there may not
be a real one, or there may be many. It all works out:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Simon interacts with historical figures, but
history doesn't change; rather, he was part of that story all along.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Georgina is a lot more subtle about these things. Her
time-travelers do their utmost to avoid culturally contaminating their
ancestors, or they are supposed to, at least. When they return, they find their
actions reflected in the historical record, but there is no butterfly effect.
Their timeline is entirely unchanged.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The same idea of time-travel can be found in one of the most
well-known books of all time, J.K. Rowling's Harry Potter and the Prisoner of
Azkaban. Hermione and the boys use the time-turner to revisit a scene of their
failure and replay it, but when they do, their actions only create events that
they remember the first time. Most notably, Harry's patronus charm, done on the
second visit to the lake, is seen as a mysterious spell during his first visit.
Nothing changed:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>the second visit
explains, not changes, but the initial events. If you try to create a time paradox in this schema, it just
doesn't work. You CANNOT kill your virginal grandparent, or a young Hitler.
Something will prevent your actions. History will not change; no butterfly
effect exists; you were always there; or, alternately, when you are about to do
it, there is a snap and you are back in your original chronology.</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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I hope you enjoyed this quick survey of how time travel
stories are constructed. If you did, please visit Amazon today and take a look
at <a href="http://www.amazon.com/School-Ages-The-Ghost-Crystal-ebook/dp/B0047GMH5E">The Ghost in the Crystal</a>, now in its second edition as I said earlier, with
a new cover and several new sequences. It's magic in the real world, with a
great cast of characters. I believe you will enjoy it even more than my essay. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Matt's Books: <a href="http://schooloftheages.webs.com/">http://schooloftheages.webs.com</a><o:p></o:p></div>
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Matt's fan page:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><a href="http://www.facebook.com/schooloftheages">http://www.facebook.com/schooloftheages</a><o:p></o:p></div>
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Matt's twitter account:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><a href="http://www.twitter.com/schooloftheages">http://www.twitter.com/schooloftheages</a><o:p></o:p></div>
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Matt's pinterest:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><a href="http://www.pinterest.com/mattposner">http://www.pinterest.com/mattposner</a><o:p></o:p></div>
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" SemiHidden="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" SemiHidden="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" SemiHidden="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" SemiHidden="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" SemiHidden="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" SemiHidden="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" SemiHidden="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" SemiHidden="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" SemiHidden="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="35" SemiHidden="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid"/>
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1"/>
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 6"/>
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="19" QFormat="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="21" QFormat="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="31" QFormat="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="32" QFormat="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="33" QFormat="true" Name="Book Title"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="37" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Bibliography"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" QFormat="true" Name="TOC Heading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="41" Name="Plain Table 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="42" Name="Plain Table 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="43" Name="Plain Table 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="44" Name="Plain Table 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="45" Name="Plain Table 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="40" Name="Grid Table Light"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46" Name="Grid Table 1 Light"/>
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Georginahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04726404742267116995noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-653236115930603107.post-52789733765084304462015-08-12T10:15:00.000-07:002015-10-05T17:43:46.820-07:00To The Dean of Admissions… (A Prequel to The Time Mistress Series, by Georgina Young-Ellis)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu6KiFkDDuYiejrOP_hfXJp4AnIB3eH_5bE94RUDXw6aoeDbpc_EDeV4Cz4V3eJeLxOnBK0H_ROGWkXHX9JsXaedNx2te1piDO2jtXdSImfN45XDg3gDodw1qMQ-P_dbLeKTSuRaGH4dI/s1600/central+park.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu6KiFkDDuYiejrOP_hfXJp4AnIB3eH_5bE94RUDXw6aoeDbpc_EDeV4Cz4V3eJeLxOnBK0H_ROGWkXHX9JsXaedNx2te1piDO2jtXdSImfN45XDg3gDodw1qMQ-P_dbLeKTSuRaGH4dI/s320/central+park.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">It’s New Year’s Eve, 2084. I hurry across Central Park, which is
blanketed in six inches of snow, to get to the east side and downtown before
the city becomes impassible. It’s cold, but I’m sweaty from my dance class. I
should have changed at the studio, but in my rush to avoid the crowds that will
be filling the city for several blocks, north, south, east, and west of Times
Square in about an hour, I decided to skip it. I regret that now. It’s not
good to be in damp clothes in this cold air. Why is a Physics major taking
dance classes, you ask? Good question. One that my parents would like an answer
to as well, other than that I like staying in shape. I’ve gotten NYU to let me
minor in Theatre, something they normally don’t allow, since their Drama
program is so exclusive. But the school loved my audition, and decided to let
me have this opportunity to make an educated choice about my Graduate focus:
Physics or Theatre. I haven’t told my parents, both of them doctors, that I’m
heavily leaning toward Theatre―hence, the dance classes. Singing classes too.
They don’t even know about those. I’m not a big fan of musical theatre, but a
good actor has to be versatile.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">The park is a strange, quiet refuge on an evening of such high
energy in this city. The snow lays clean and crisp on the ground. Very few
people are walking here, and the streetlights have just come on, reproductions
from the days long ago when this park was first built. I love these moments in
this city: when you suddenly find yourself in a place that has been here for
hundreds of years, a place like this park, or Grand Central, or the Natural
History Museum, and you are transported back in time for just a moment. For
that one moment you imagine life as it once was in New York City, when horse
drawn carriages were the mode of transportation, when ladies wore gowns and men
wore suits and hats, and, even in that cut-throat age, life had a more genteel
air than it does now. In this instant, this serene instant in which all vestiges
of the modern city have faded from my view, I imagine I’ve time traveled to
that long ago era. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">I glance at my palm-link. It’s five-forty five. I’ve got to keep
moving. My parents are expecting me for dinner downtown. I’m almost at Fifth
Avenue. I hurry out the south-east exit of the park and debate grabbing a car,
but there surely won’t be any available tonight. I turn right to duck into the
subway station when someone shouts. The revelers are at it already. I glance
around and someone runs smack into me. I slip on the icy sidewalk and before I
know it, I’m staring up into the face of a man about my age, a beautiful, light
brown face, gazing into mine with great concern. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Are you all right, miss?” he asks. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">I shake my head to clear it. I sit up. “Yes, I think so.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Let me help you up.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">I give him my hand and dizzily get to my feet. “I think I hit my
head.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Should we get you to a hospital?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“No, I don’t think so. Give me a minute.” There are other people
standing around me in a circle. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Do you need help, Kevin?” a young woman asks.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“No. You guys go on. I’ll meet you at the club later.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“You sure?” another guys asks.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Yeah, I want to make sure she gets home okay.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Alright. See you later, Kev. Be well, miss,” one of them says to
me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">I smile weakly. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Where are you going?” this person named Kevin asks me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“I was going downtown. To my parents’ place.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“I’m going that direction too. We can share a cab.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">The street comes into focus. What are those yellow vehicles? There
seem to be hundreds of them. Are those wheels they’re running on? And that
sound…that persistent blaring sound. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“A what?” </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKDVnMq8F_0BVNkAMtwASroRE2q9pbXML-tGLdR3ew2CUD3q3MVkktuXX3mXL-a-XpNV9yxznLicfxt4F_rvR11n4GHdeWOGte2rNNMKo6iNuGIbDJqW680dCkChbDKlSdTb-iVrH85wY/s1600/cabs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKDVnMq8F_0BVNkAMtwASroRE2q9pbXML-tGLdR3ew2CUD3q3MVkktuXX3mXL-a-XpNV9yxznLicfxt4F_rvR11n4GHdeWOGte2rNNMKo6iNuGIbDJqW680dCkChbDKlSdTb-iVrH85wY/s1600/cabs.jpg" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“A <i>taxi</i>? Are you sure
you don’t want to go to a hospital?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“No, I should just get home. But, what’s going on? What are those
vehicles?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Yeah, let’s get you home. Can you tell me your address?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“One twenty-one East Twelfth Street.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Oh, you’re kidding me? I live on that same block. Okay. We’re
getting a cab. Stay here. Don’t move,” he says. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">I numbly nod. Is that the sound of horns honking? I’ve heard that
sound in movies. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">Kevin fairly leaps out into the street and whistles loudly. A
huge, ancient, roundish-looking, smoke belching yellow car, with a light on top,
screeches to a stop. <i>What on earth</i>?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Hang on!” I hear Kevin yell. He runs back to me and gently takes
my bag, then slips his arm through mine. “Come on.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">I carefully make my way with him into this contraption with an
enormous back seat. Someone is actually driving it, sitting in front of a
steering mechanism, behind a plastic partition. And he’s <i>smoking</i>. A cigarette? I’ve never seen one in real life. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“East Twelfth between Third and Fourth,” Kevin says to the driver
who accelerates the car to break neck speed as I scream. “Oh my god, what’s the
matter,” says Kevin, startled.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“He’s going to kill us!” I yell, watching other vehicles careen
toward and away from us with no seeming order of any kind.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">Kevin only laughs. “Are you sure you’re from here? I learned a
long time ago not to look at the road when I’m in a cab. It’s the only way to
avoid having a heart attack.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">But I can’t keep my eyes from the scene unfolding in the city
around me. I don’t know this place. This is not New York. Except for the fact
that we’ve just sped past the Plaza Hotel. I stare in amazement at the
beautiful displays in a store’s windows. Bergdorf Goodman, its sign announces.
Yes, wait a minute, I know that place, but it’s a restaurant, or at least, it
should be. Then it dawns on me. “Oh, they’re shooting a movie!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“What? Where?” says Kevin, craning around to look. “Do you see any
celebrities?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“No, I mean, all around us…”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Honey, I really do think you hit your head too hard.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">I feel like I’m going to throw up. I sit back in the seat and take
deep breaths but the nauseating cigarette smoke from the driver makes me even
sicker. As if reading my mind, Kevin asks the driver to put out the cigarette
and the man grudgingly throws it out the window. <i>Throws it out the window!</i> What’s the word for that? Littering? But
Kevin seems to think nothing of it. I sit up suddenly. A song is coming from
somewhere near the driver. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“I know that song!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Everybody knows that song, honey. It’s Prince. <i>Let’s go crazy</i>,” Kevin sings along, “<i>let’s get nuts…”</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">It’s an old, old song. A song so old no one knows the words anymore
like Kevin knows them, and he’s not only singing along, he’s dancing in his
seat, following every nuance of the singer’s voice with complete precision. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Is it from the funk era?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“The funk era?” Kevin laughs. “I don’t know what you’re talking
about.” He keeps singing with the song, in his own world now. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">The driver has veered onto Park Avenue, still maneuvering so
crazily I can barely contain my terror, but I’m fascinated by what I see
outside the window. The cars, for one thing, driving on wheels, all controlled
by people. Pedestrians wearing big, heavy coats with giant shoulders. Women in
high heeled shoes and boots, with SO much make up on. The streets dirty with
trash. I would continue to doubt we were in New York City, but ahead of us
looms the Met Life Building, and we’re about to head through its underpass. As
we come out the other side I spot Grand Central Terminal. We’re in New York,
for sure, no doubt now, but it’s a city I barely recognize. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“You doin’ okay, honey?” Kevin says to me, and I wonder why he
keeps calling me that, until I realize I haven’t told him my name. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“I’m Cassandra,” I say. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Oh, I’m sorry. Kevin Butler, nice to meet you.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">We shake hands with mock formality. I realize it’s no use to keep
asking Kevin what’s happening because it’s all perfectly normal to him. We pass
Union Square which looks about like I expect it to except the buildings that
surround it are completely different than they’re supposed to be. And one other
thing, in the light of antiquated streetlamps, I see people sitting on benches
around the park, terrible looking people, dirty and ragged. They hunch over
plastic bags, huddled against the cold. Some sleep on the benches. “Why doesn’t
anyone help them?” I say out loud. </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWqEqR40r6cAsqPeU0o5CO0NT0wA_8x6xFbs6sz5_bES9Zq8nKYZq4D17Ot3uuqQn_imN78ByChGjpRxHXSy-VNCmVGpaCSdriZC7yRF8veRbOokJJjOPYcPpisH6KUVt1ZOKF8RUCOCA/s1600/union+square.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="207" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWqEqR40r6cAsqPeU0o5CO0NT0wA_8x6xFbs6sz5_bES9Zq8nKYZq4D17Ot3uuqQn_imN78ByChGjpRxHXSy-VNCmVGpaCSdriZC7yRF8veRbOokJJjOPYcPpisH6KUVt1ZOKF8RUCOCA/s320/union+square.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“I know. It’s so sad,” says Kevin. “I give them a quarter whenever
I can.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">A quarter of what?</span></i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;"> But it’s okay. I’m almost home. As soon as I
get to my parents’ apartment it will be alright. They’ll help me figure out
what’s happening. The cab turns onto Twelfth Street. We roll up to the address
but the building is not there. My heart starts to pound. I flick my hand to
activate my palm-link. Why didn’t I think to call them before? But nothing
happens. My link lies dead like an old piece of skin, which is impossible. It
recharges from body heat. This leads me to the only possible conclusion: I’m
dead. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Here we are, one twenty-one,” Kevin says.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“That’s not the building,” I say quietly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“What?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“It’s the address, but not the building. The building is gone.
That’s not it.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Are you sure it’s one twenty-one <i>East</i> Twelfth?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“I think I should know where my parents live.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">Kevin now looks at me as if he’s thinking he has a genuine problem
on his hands. “Okay, you’re coming home with me for now.” He directs the driver
to stop a few buildings farther up the street and stuffs several pieces of
green paper through a tiny door in the partition. The man snatches them up
greedily, and Kevin helps me out of the cab, across the sidewalk and into his building.
It’s quaint. Very old fashioned. We walk up a few flights of stairs that are
dingy and worn. He opens the door with, as unbelievable as it seems, a key, and
we go into a dark room. He reaches to the wall and does something which turns
on the lights. The space looks like a re-creation from a museum: the light
bulbs in fixtures, the furniture, the appliances in the tiny kitchen that’s
pretty much a part of the main room, and a tub, yes I recognize this thing as a
bathtub…practically in the middle of the room!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“I know, it’s a really old place. I like it though. It’s got
character,” Kevin remarks. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">At least it’s warm, so I take off my coat, gloves, etc. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“I can’t believe you were warm enough in that thin coat.” He
stares at what I’m wearing for a minute. “But I like your outfit.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">I look down at my clothes: a dance leotard with a sweatshirt over
it. I’ve cut the neck out so the sweatshirt falls down over one shoulder, and
I’ve cut the bottom off so it ends at about my mid-drift―my own creation. I
have slightly baggy warm up pants on with leg warmers that come up over my
boots. “They’re just my dance clothes,” I say.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“You’re a dancer?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Not really. It’s complicated.” I sit on a worn sofa. “Could I
have a glass of water? I’m not <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">feeling so good.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">He hurries to a cabinet to get a glass, fills it from a pipe, and
brings it to me. It’s brownish in color and, in spite of my reservations, I
drink it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Look, I’m worried about you, and, frankly, I don’t know what to
do with you. I really think we should get you to a hospital.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“No.” There’s no point in that if I’m already dead. I may be in
some alternate reality, but whatever this version of heaven or hell is, I may
as well go with it. “I feel better now.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Do you want to call your parents?” He picks up a chunk of plastic
from a thin, flat device. An old fashioned telephone. He holds it out to me and
I stare at the buttons on it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Um, no. I just remembered. They’re out for the evening. And I was
confused. Their address is <i>two</i> twenty-one
East Twelfth. They just moved and I forgot. I don’t have the key. I live in the
dorm at NYU,” I continue, making up whatever pops into my head. “But they’re
closed for the holidays, which is why I was staying with my parents.” In
reality, I share a loft with a couple of roommates in Soho, but since I’m here
with Kevin, there must be a reason for it, so I decide to play it out. Besides,
I don’t even want to know what I might find if I try to go back to my
apartment. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">He sets the phone back down and it immediately makes a ringing
sound, startling us. He grabs it up again and talks into one end. “Hey
Michel…what? You’re kidding me! Where are you calling me from? Oh, come on,
it’s too cold for that, you’re crazy. No, I’m still going to The Saint. Okay,
well, have fun.” He puts the phone speaker down onto its holder. “Damn!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“What’s the matter?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“My friends have bailed on me.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“What do you mean?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“They’re in Times Square. He was calling me from a pay phone.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">I nod as if I know what that is. “Are they going to stay there
‘til midnight?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“That’s the plan.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“That’s insane.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“I know. Now I’ll have to go by myself.” He looks at me, a light
dawning in his dark brown eyes. “Unless you want to go with me.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Really?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“It’s a private party at a club nearby. It’s an amazing place, so
cool, but…it’s a gay club. I hope you don’t mind.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“A what?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“A gay club?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Gay?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Um, you know, for men who like men?” He looks at me like I’m from
outer space and right about now I feel like I am. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Oh! I didn’t know you called it that.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“What do you call it?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Nothing. I don’t have a name for it.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Oh, you mean you don’t like to give people labels. I respect
that.” He nods his head. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Yeah, I’m originally from San Francisco.” What does it matter
what I say now? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Well, what do you call a gay club?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“A club.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“And a lesbian club?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“You mean women?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Yes!” he laughs.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“A club.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“And for straight people? I suppose you call that ‘a club’ too?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Of course.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“I had no idea San Francisco was so advanced.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“You’d be surprised.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;"> “Well, anyway, I think
you’ll love The Saint. It’s like, four stories and the dance floor is under
this big kind of planetarium-like dome where stars spin overhead. It’s
beautiful. And the music is killer. Tonight is by invitation only, and my
friend is the DJ, so it’s free for me and my friends. Free drinks, free food,
everything.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">I may be dead but this sounds great, and what else have I got to
do? “I’d love to go. But what am I going to wear?” I think of the clothes in my
bag, but they don’t seem any more acceptable than what I have on.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“You look amazing already. We’ll just spiff you up with some
make-up and earrings and stuff.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“I don’t have any.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Oh, I do. Hang on a sec’.” He runs over to a machine that’s
sitting on a low cabinet, picks up a colorful kind of sturdy, square envelope
that’s lying next to it and extracts a round black thing. He places it
carefully in the center of a circular platform on the machine and moves a small
pole over it, then gently lowers the pole, which has some kind of attachment at
the end, on to the black thing and suddenly my ears are assaulted by bells and
drums. Kevin lets out a cry of joy and twirls around. Then instruments play and
a woman starts to sing and Kevin sings along, dancing and spinning. “<i>Ooh, give me two strong arms to protect
myself,”</i> they both croon, “<i>give me so
much love that I forget myself…”</i> He moves beautifully, in perfect rhythm.
His enthusiasm is contagious and I watch him, smiling. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Come on, dancer, dance with me.” He pulls me to my feet and I
find myself imitating his moves, giving myself up to the music, which is
ecstatic. I’ve never heard anything like it. I’m laughing and dancing and Kevin
takes me in his arms and spins me around. “You’re good!” he yells, and I
realize I am. That song ends and another one begins and Kevin runs to a small
refrigerator of sorts and flings it open. “Are you hungry? I’ve got some
leftover Chinese.” He grabs some little white boxes and sets them on a table
with chopsticks. These I know, and I realize, dead or not, I’m starving. We
devour the food which tastes completely different than the Chinese food I’m
used to but strangely delicious. When we’re finished, Kevin goes to the music
machine again. “What do you want to hear?” he asks. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“You choose.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“The Thompson Twins!” He pulls out another square envelope and
puts another black round thing on the machine. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">The music is so simple compared to what I’m used to but I love it.
It’s full of happiness…and longing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“And now, let’s get ready.” He pulls containers from a closet and
sets them on the table. “Do you mind?” he asks as he fluffs my curly red hair.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Not at all.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">He pulls a can of something out of a box and sprays it over my
head. I cough. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Sorry,” he laughs.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">He grabs some kind of hair implement and uses it to poof my hair
into a veritable cloud around my face, assisted by the sticky spray he’s using.
He shows me the results in a mirror―I never knew my hair could be that big.
Then, while I’m holding the mirror, he starts to do my makeup, piling on the
eyeshadow, mascara and lipstick. When he’s finished, I stare at myself,
stunned. “Do people really wear this much makeup?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“They don’t wear makeup in San Francisco?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“I guess so, but I usually don’t.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“It’s New Year’s Eve, time to go crazy!” He then drapes me with
long sparkly earrings and strings of fake pearls, and even though I’m still
wearing my dance clothes, I feel gorgeous all of a sudden. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">He then changes into some loose-fitting trousers, and a big-shouldered
jacket, with a t-shirt underneath. He adds a kind of gelatin to his short, wiry
hair until it’s standing up high on his head, and then puts a dab of eye makeup
on, and one long earring in his left ear. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; text-align: center;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; text-align: center;">“You’re beautiful,” I tell him.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“So are you,” he says, looking me in the eyes. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">Something tugs at my heart and I realize that, if I didn’t know he
preferred men, I could very well fall for him. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuiu83fPpg3TmA1AFa-C9pk8-xrn4UVj3t7GEyGIJAJcHFLDbS2vk_rqM8D1uvbvTDwF5rL9IACIdunpc1z5ZlrRqhIKdAP5joOCCRfWhzQEuHtm78ZrB6o-Zi8fMkBxgX0FG6oMorGGg/s1600/wtc.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuiu83fPpg3TmA1AFa-C9pk8-xrn4UVj3t7GEyGIJAJcHFLDbS2vk_rqM8D1uvbvTDwF5rL9IACIdunpc1z5ZlrRqhIKdAP5joOCCRfWhzQEuHtm78ZrB6o-Zi8fMkBxgX0FG6oMorGGg/s1600/wtc.jpg" /></a><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">We put on our coats and leave the apartment. I leave my bag behind
because I’ve got nowhere else to go but back to Kevin’s place. Without a
palm-link, I have no access to my funds, but at least it doesn’t appear we’ll
need any. As soon as we hit Third Avenue and turn south, I stop, transfixed.
Over the tops of the low tenement buildings I see two towers in the distance, rising
into the sky. The World Trade Towers. I’ve seen them in history books. Kevin
stops too and gives me a quizzical look. But I cannot move, nor can I tell him
why the sight of these buildings <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">moves me so much. My eyes fill with tears for a moment. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“What is it Cassandra?” Kevin gently puts an arm around my
shoulders. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; text-align: center;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; text-align: center;">“Nothing. They are just so beautiful.” The moon shines between the soaring buildings, lit up with thousands and thousands of lights. </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">He glances at the towers. “Yeah, I guess they are. I kind of take
them for granted.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">I force the tears away and we keep walking to St. Mark’s Place,
over to Second and down a few more blocks. The area is far more recognizable to
me than the other parts of New York I’ve seen tonight. The East Village is
charming―a truly old-fashioned New York neighborhood. And the people are wild
looking: boys in Mohawk haircuts, every color of the rainbow, wearing leather
jackets and pants, army boots and safety pins in their ears. Girls wear short
skirts and chunky earrings, short fur jackets and rows of thin rubber bracelets
up their arms. A guys walks by carrying a huge music-playing box on his
shoulder that blasts at a deafening volume. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihePqwM6Iyw-m8Zv4HLTa8riDvHKhVo3QHXwh_CAbNuC7oMFElGxwRxZswSkBn7tnBKKanEJhk08jeDGZ9jM_BV_1fWXdMGpFLvTgg-tHLTr-axrx-KdtZYoXjwqGce_jkEFOxMpDd6hQ/s1600/more+punks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihePqwM6Iyw-m8Zv4HLTa8riDvHKhVo3QHXwh_CAbNuC7oMFElGxwRxZswSkBn7tnBKKanEJhk08jeDGZ9jM_BV_1fWXdMGpFLvTgg-tHLTr-axrx-KdtZYoXjwqGce_jkEFOxMpDd6hQ/s1600/more+punks.jpg" /></a><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Hasn’t he ever heard of a Walkman?” Kevin mutters.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">There’s no point in even asking what he means.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">We arrive at the entrance of the club he calls “The Saint” though
the fact that it is a nightclub is undetectable from the outside. It’s just a
door in a large building that could have once been a school or a bank. Inside,
there’s a guy checking names on a list. He marks us off and we sail into a
cavernous room with an enormous bar in the middle, in the shape of a square.
Lights shine up into the high ceiling from an island in the center of the bar, which
is adorned with sprays of flowers. Handsome, shirtless bartenders slide back
and forth filling orders, calm and sensual despite the crowd. Around the
perimeters of the room, carpeted risers are the only seats, and mostly men, one
as good-looking as the next, lounge about with drinks and plates of fruit,
cheese, and other snacks. Despite the tower of light in the middle of the bar,
the place is dark. The men are either dressed well like Kevin is, or they’re shirtless.
There are a few women scattered about, all attractive, all with lots of makeup
and big hair like me. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggifB9D3l7m06ZCHQl55VCc-pbtdAikjzUVPenb-uh6KTmF2xuM4QELqihAA9YyGb6s4vOOEiWQKB3jG8TgmYB2t4VgkURHGR557h5GlD6U8FRlrAVhtGT1f0aA1qrZhroi-AqmGETzXI/s1600/1980s+guys.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggifB9D3l7m06ZCHQl55VCc-pbtdAikjzUVPenb-uh6KTmF2xuM4QELqihAA9YyGb6s4vOOEiWQKB3jG8TgmYB2t4VgkURHGR557h5GlD6U8FRlrAVhtGT1f0aA1qrZhroi-AqmGETzXI/s1600/1980s+guys.jpg" /></a><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">Kevin asks me if I want a drink, but I don’t like alcohol much, so
I go for a mineral water―something at least recognizable. Kevin gets a drink
that looks like mine but has vodka in it. We sit down on a riser and sip our
beverages, dazzled by the many beautiful people around us. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Do you come here very often?” I ask him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“It’s only open on Saturday nights and special occasions like New
Years. But I go to other clubs pretty often. I love to dance.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Me too, though I don’t go dancing at clubs too much. When I
dance, it’s usually in class.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“It’s pretty obvious you don’t go out much,” he says with a grin.
“What kind of dance do you do?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“I take a little of everything: ballet, jazz, afro-cuban.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Really?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“I love it. It’s my favorite class.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“I gotta try that sometime.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“You should.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“So you go to school the rest of the time? What do you study?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Um, Physics―”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Physics? You study Physics?” He nearly chokes on his drink. “I
would not have pegged you for a scientist. A scientist who dances…”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Well, I’m not sure I’m going to continue with Physics at the
graduate level. I’m minoring in Theatre.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Really? Theatre was my major at Hofstra.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">Hofstra University―this I’ve heard of. “Are you an actor?” My
heart beats a little faster. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“No, I’m a flight attendant.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">I’m not exactly sure what this is, but I ask, “Do you like it?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Well, it’s kind of like being a glorified waiter in the sky,” he
laughs, “but it pays the bills, and I love the travel. I also like the uniform,
and the responsibility of being in charge of all those people’s welfare. I feel
like it’s an important job.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Sounds like it is.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“So you’re thinking of getting a master’s in Theatre, huh? You
wanna be an actor?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Yeah, I do. I really think I do. My parents are not at all in
favor of it though. They’re both doctors.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Oh, I hear you. My parents weren’t happy that I majored in
Theatre either, but then, they’ve barely accepted the fact that I’m gay, so
they’re not happy with much that I do.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">I take this in, trying to imagine a world where people are not
accepted for who and what they are. Then I realize I don’t have to imagine it.
I’m in it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Come on, let’s dance,” Kevin says, jumping up. I follow him up a
flight of stairs into another enormous room where music thumps, filling my body
with the sound. Kevin yelps with excitement. He grabs my drink from me and sets
it on one of the risers that surround the dance floor. The room is dark except
for the lights that flash in alternating colors. Looking up, I’m dazzled by the
dome he described before, where stars indeed revolve in a fathomless universe.
He leaps onto the dance floor, pulling me with him. The music is so enveloping
I can’t help but move to it, and within seconds, I’ve let go of any inhibitions
and I’m moving with complete abandon. I lose all sense of time. Kevin is
sometimes in front of me, sometimes off dancing with someone else, though no
one really seems to be dancing together. Everyone has been taken over by the
music and nothing else matters. I’m aware, because a shout goes up, that it’s
midnight. People kiss, and then go on dancing. Kevin slides over to me and
softly presses his lips to mine. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Happy New Year,” he whispers in my ear. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">I don’t know if I expected to suddenly be whisked back home at the
stroke of midnight like some kind of Cinderella, but nothing happens, other
than my lips tingle from the sweetness of his kiss. He takes me in his arms and
we dance. The words of the song say exactly what I’m thinking, ‘<i>Why do you have to be a heart-break-er</i>?’
Because, if I do stay in this strange world, I will be in grave danger of this
man breaking my heart. He lets me go and whirls around, catching the attention
of a young, blond man who smiles at him and they dance together. I throw my
head back and open my arms and lose myself to the swirling sky of lights. I
close my eyes and spin, around and around until I feel myself rising into the
stars, into where I’m sure heaven must be.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">Slowly, the music fades. I don’t want to open my eyes because, if
I do, there will be a finality. I will have gone on to where death surely awaits
me. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Cassandra,” a familiar voice calls. I open my eyes to see the
lovely face of my mother gazing down at me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“Cassie.” My father’s face comes into view. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">The lights that surround me now are white. Did my parents die too?
Was there some kind of cataclysmic event? Are we all in heaven together?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“She’s going to be fine,” another voice says. I see a woman
dressed in a white coat, a stethoscope around her neck. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">My mother kisses my cheek. “You fell,” she says. “Slipped on the
ice outside of Central Park. You’re in the hospital. You have a concussion, but
you’re alright,” Her voice has the practicality of the medical professional
that I’m used to hearing. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“How did I get here?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">“The EMT said a young man called them and stayed with you until
they came. All we know is that his name was Kevin,” my dad says. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;">And in that moment, I know it’s not my destiny to be an actor.
Somehow, I have time traveled, and it’s clear to me, I will spend the rest of
my life trying to do it again. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;"><b>Note: To the Dean of Admissions of the Chronology Department at
the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, please accept this as my admissions
essay to the Graduate Program. Thank you,<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;"><b>Cassandra Kephart. </b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"><a href="http://tinyurl.com/o7gyg3u">The Time Baroness</a></span></div>
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<a href="http://tinyurl.com/osduj87">The Time Heiress</a></div>
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<a href="http://tinyurl.com/nv8ekyw">The Time Contessa</a></div>
Georginahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04726404742267116995noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-653236115930603107.post-2854168420496673952015-06-29T09:14:00.002-07:002015-06-29T10:25:52.530-07:00The TreeIt all started October 29th, 2012, the day Hurricane Sandy hit New York City. It was a frightening twenty-four hours with the wind whipping furiously around our one hundred year old house and the rain coming down savagely. I kept having to remind myself that the house had been standing all those years through many a hurricane and storm, and would probably last through one more. When it was all over, the roof was mostly intact, the rest of the house in good shape, but the slender chokecherry tree in the sidewalk in front was tilting slightly. We shored it up as best we could, and hoped the roots would re-establish themselves. After all, we'd waited a solid year for the city to plant that tree for us after we'd requested it, and it had been growing and flourishing for about five years ever since they did. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic7KXS8xtEunLtu8CW0VGjJlIAcqXZ0xlUCtl91_5cJxSGAmU7C6NXWXhE9A9ES2NwlbsVFwdMHqcY6ktUTreJ5uXQXgPlapZw0yZgWDFb9NpQ-HT_p4k_LoK3_wP6_OExaK1qedZOJOg/s1600/tree+pic+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><br /></a>A hard winter came and went, spring arrived and the tree bloomed. The leaves turned green and little hard chokecherries appeared. The summer was hot, and little by little, the leaves started to wither. No amount of water helped. Finally, it became clear the tree was dying. Apparently the roots had been damaged beyond repair during Sandy. We pondered how to get it out of the ground, because it was no small tree anymore. It stood there, basically dead, for two or three months. Then, a van backed into it and took care of the problem for us. A neighbor came by with his chain saw and cut it up, we tied the trunk and branches into a bundle, and waited weeks for the city to come and pick it all up. Then, we went to the 311 website of the city of NY and requested another tree. We were told we were approved, and, it being fall, would receive our tree in the spring of 2014. The spring came and went - no tree. We called and emailed and got our city councilman involved. Everyone apologized and said we'd receive our new tree in the fall. The NYC Parks Dept. came and cleaned out the rectangle where the old tree had been and put down new dirt. We were hopeful. Halloween came - no tree. I called and emailed. It would be planted in November they said. Thanksgiving arrived - no tree. I called and emailed. They said December wasn't too late to plant the tree though it had been well below freezing, and we doubted they would keep their word. Christmas went by - no tree.<br />
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One snowy, sub-freezing morning in January, around 7:00 am, a loud banging that rattled the whole house woke us from our sleep. It was coming from the sidewalk in the front. We ran to look out the window, and observed a heavy piece of machinery pounding at the rectangle of dirt, trying to make a hole in the frozen ground. Oh, did I mention it was snowing? Sad, shivering little trees sat on the flat bed of the Parks Dept.'s truck, awaiting a very cold fate. But it was no use. The workers drove away taking the trees with them, leaving the rectangle of (now) mud to continue to collect trash, snow, and dog poo. I called to complain and they said January was a perfectly fine time to plant a tree, though it hadn't turned out to be possible that particular time. A miserable winter came and went. Once spring arrived, I emailed to check on the status of our tree. They promised it would be planted by the end of the spring. April went by. May. We noticed a different city agency was giving away free trees and we went to pick one up, being told we could not plant it in the location where the Parks Dept. tree was designated to be. Now, we were two weeks into June and all faith that we'd get our tree was gone so, in defiance, we planted the other one instead. It was a very small Pagoda Dogwood, and we weren't sure it would make it, but it was better then nothing. The summer solstice dawned. Spring was gone...there was to be no other tree.<br />
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The morning of June 24th I heard a commotion in front of the house. I looked out the window in time to see a big mechanical claw grabbing the Pagoda Dogwood by the roots and flinging it into a dumpster. Over the course of the next half hour or so, various trucks and workers came and cleaned out the old dirt, put down new, dug a hole, and finally, finally, planted a tree. The guy told me it was a cherry tree. Now, there it stands, approximately two years after we'd first requested it, a testimony to the efficiency and reliability of New York City and its various agencies. We've sold our house and are moving to Portland, Oregon in a couple of months where there are lots of trees. I hope the new owners appreciate this one.<br />
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Georginahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04726404742267116995noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-653236115930603107.post-48871674398557009382015-06-02T08:49:00.000-07:002015-06-02T08:49:14.442-07:00Re-release of The Time Heiress!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I'm so thrilled to announce the re-release of my second novel, The Time Heiress, with Celestial Waters Publishing/Galaxy Press. Here's the link and picture of the new cover! We've done some really nice edits with this new version, so I hope you'll check it out! <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Time-Heiress-Book-Two-Mistress-ebook/dp/B00YJL4GGU/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1433253686&sr=1-1&keywords=georgina+young+ellis">The Time Heiress on Amazon</a>Georginahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04726404742267116995noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-653236115930603107.post-6913596789431541862015-03-09T16:48:00.000-07:002015-03-09T16:48:45.940-07:00A Little Time Travel Fluff<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Are there any other time travel fans out there who have been following the American network show Sleepy Hollow? It's not the finest television viewing available, but for those of us who love the idea of time travel, it's pretty entertaining, not to mention the fact that it feature the super gorgeous Tom Mison as Ichabod Crane. To be honest, it wasn't so much the premise of the show, but his supreme hotness that initially drew me in. Also, though, I like the fact that the other main character is a black woman, and that there are lots of people of color in major roles on the show. This fact adds a particular level of interest that would have been missed if police detective Abby Mills, played by Nicole Beharie were white, because when she finds Crane stumbling down a deserted highway near the town of Sleepy Hollow, New York after he's awoken from a curse of suspended sleep in his tomb, not only is he freaked out by the modern things he comes in contact with: cars, paved roads, etc., but it's a black woman, dressed like a man, a person who would have been a slave in his time, whom he first has to deal with.<br />
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Since the first season in 2013, it's been crazy fun to see this man from Revolutionary War days wrap his mind around our modern world. His reaction to it all, and Abby's attempts to explain it, are the best things about this show to me. I could give or take the witches and demons they are endlessly battling, but I live for the moments when Crane is trying to figure out what yoga is, for example, or how to manage a cell phone. The last show of this season was my absolute favorite though: when Abby gets transported back to Crane's time of 1776 or thereabouts, and is taken for a runaway (albeit weirdly dressed) slave. She has to convince Crane that he knows her in the future, because he, of course, hasn't met her yet. She begins to persuade him because she knows things about him and the war that only someone from the future would know. And, in a wonderful stroke of genius on the part of the show's writers, Crane takes her to Benjamin Franklin who is fascinated by her and by her claims of time travel, and believes her because he assumes time travel will be possible in the future.<br />
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If you're a fan of time travel themes and haven't checked out Sleepy Hollow yet, you can probably see it on Fox On Demand or catch the 1st season on Netflix. I'm not promising any thing mind-blowing, but it is a bit of good, fluffy fun.Georginahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04726404742267116995noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-653236115930603107.post-77398421658252121842015-03-01T16:38:00.000-08:002015-03-01T16:38:12.955-08:00Nerd-girl Alert! A New Film, and Maybe a Producer's Credit?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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My good friend Joyia Bradley is about to embark on a really exciting project that will make all of us nerd-girls freak. She and a group of artists and producers, including her wife Mariana Rotenberg, are putting together a short film called Azreal's Dissent, the first in a trilogy of shorts. I had the privilege of reading the script and it totally blew me away. It's edgy, dark, sexy, and hip: a modern myth in which Azreal, the Death Angel, tired of shouldering the world's grief, shrugs off her duties and upsets the the balance of life and death. After a year of no one in the world dying, Archangels Michael and Lucifer join forces in a fight to restore proper order, only to discover their enemy, Lilith, is rising to her destiny to oppose them.<br />
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I'm totally hooked on the idea of this film and so I told Joyia I'd spread the word about the Indiegogo campaign that's currently under way to gather funding.<br />
<a href="https://www.indiegogo.com/projects/azreal-s-dissent">https://www.indiegogo.com/projects/azreal-s-dissent</a><br />
One of the perks the campaign offers is to be listed as a producer in the film credits, and that really caught my eye. I mean, how cool would that be? This project is on the road to being something really major, partly because Joyia and her team are hiring a well-known casting director to send some big-name talent their way. Yeah, this is serious.<br />
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My husband, Jon, and I have worked with Joyia in the past in many capacities, the three of us interchanging roles as actor or director, camera person, writer, etc. - my son has even written music for her films - so I'm familiar with her high level of professionalism and dedication. I consider her (and her family) family. I know this project is going to go far; I can't wait to see it in its finished state, and watch it succeed at film festivals since, of course, that's where it will be headed. Jump on board and do what you can to help out. It's going to be a great ride.<br />
<br />Georginahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04726404742267116995noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-653236115930603107.post-91409669775076656942015-02-10T16:28:00.000-08:002015-02-10T16:28:07.706-08:00New Video Promo of The Time BaronessFrom my new publisher, Celestial Waters Publishing. Click on the link and check out the one minute video!
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j4nHGnzBwSA">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j4nHGnzBwSA</a><br />
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Georginahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04726404742267116995noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-653236115930603107.post-6884027626469065082014-11-06T07:23:00.000-08:002014-11-06T07:23:05.769-08:00Interstellar - Not Just for Nerds<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAy2jfyYcEP5oTwjO2ZEcU9kJrIwM2oy2VO6bZ5xgWt46RAwBwXIn2ie8RjBRv3-BkWsxGaaMsXbUY1sHIFDaKRqWcvhwW05Wgjrs2eHMmitPX02RMKSflN5QvZWkMY-799encvp3Ub74/s1600/interstellar-starring-matthew-mcconaughey-and-anne-hathaway.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/AVvXsEgAy2jfyYcEP5oTwjO2ZEcU9kJrIwM2oy2VO6bZ5xgWt46RAwBwXIn2ie8RjBRv3-BkWsxGaaMsXbUY1sHIFDaKRqWcvhwW05Wgjrs2eHMmitPX02RMKSflN5QvZWkMY-799encvp3Ub74/s1600/interstellar-starring-matthew-mcconaughey-and-anne-hathaway.jpg" height="400" width="270" /></a>Un-nerd girls and non-sci-fi freaks, don't be scared off by the title and topic of the film <i>Interstellar</i>. Though I might hesitate to recommend it to those friends who violently eschew all things space related, most people will find the spectacular effects, nail biting thrills, and deeply moving, personal story immensely satisfying.<br />
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The film begins by depicting our planet in the near future, depleted of the resources needed to support its citizens. To great effect, director Christopher Nolan intercuts actual footage from Ken Burns's documentary, <i>The Dust Bowl</i>, with fictional characters talking about the depletion of soil in America's heartland and the resulting massive dust storms. The people of Earth need solutions, but space travel has been put on the shelf decades ago and is no longer a viable option for finding a new home…or isn't it? Matthew McConaughey stars as a grounded astronaut, who, once presented with the previously discarded possibility of either finding an inhabitable home for the current population of earth, or one where the seeds of new generations can be planted, has no choice but to go with a small, dedicated team of astronauts and one empathetic robot, to evaluate the data of explorers who had gone before looking for life-sustaining planets. To fulfill such a mission, it may be necessary to leave his children with their grandfather, possibly for good. There are too many cinematic secrets within this film to tell more of the plot here, so I won't. But all the wormholes, inadvertent time travel, (something readers of my novels know I'm extremely fond of), and <i>2001, A Space Odyssey</i> homages, don’t overwhelm the palpable emotion of this film. Oh, you’re gonna cry.<br />
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All of the actors, including McConaughey, Anne Hathaway, Jessica Chastain, Casey Affleck, Michael Caine, David Oyelowo, Matt Damon, Topher Grace, John Lithgow, Ellen Burstyn, young Mackenzie Foy and more, are at their finest here. I, personally, had a hard time imagining McConaughey as an astronaut―to me, he’s always kind of a cowboy―but he more than pulls it off. As he proved last year with <i>Dallas Buyers Club</i>, this artist is one to be reckoned with. He and the rest of the cast are simply wonderful.<br />
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I’ve heard it said, and have to agree: see <i>Interstellar</i> on the biggest screen possible. Please, for the love of God, don’t watch it on your IPad. If you can see it on IMAX, spring for the pricier ticket and do it. It will immerse you. I haven’t yet seen many of the big films out this fall, but this one is sure to take many, many awards. Opening Friday, November, 7th, get out there and see it.<br />
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Georginahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04726404742267116995noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-653236115930603107.post-7029022777420231702014-10-14T07:49:00.002-07:002014-10-14T07:49:49.328-07:00On Kindle Books and Tips today for 99 cents!Click here, scroll down to the second listing on the page. Thanks, Kindle Books and Tips!<div>
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Georginahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04726404742267116995noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-653236115930603107.post-40054776649454532822014-09-30T14:49:00.000-07:002014-09-30T14:49:02.715-07:00A Time Traveler’s Take on Outlander - Author Matt Posner Interviews Me (Georgina Young-Ellis)<b>The best selling time travel series, Outlander, by Diana Gabaldon, has just been made into a Starz series. I was interested in finding out what blogger Georgina Young-Ellis, of Nerd-Girls, Romantics, and Time-Travelers, has to say about it all. Georgina also writes The Time Mistress series, three, soon to be four, romantic, time travel novels.</b><br />
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<b>First of all, Georgina, have you seen the Starz series? </b><br />
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I’ve seen the first three episodes and am eagerly anticipating the fourth. So far, this television series focuses only on the first book, Outlander. There are several more books that follow it, of different titles, but I’ve only read the first. I’m re-reading it now, as a matter of fact.<br />
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<b>So, what do you think of the TV series, and how does it compare to the book?</b><br />
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I have to say, it follows the book in great detail. And that’s the thing about Gabaldon’s writing, it’s very detailed. So, to skim over things too much would be a disappointment. It seems like the makers of the TV series are taking their time and getting all the historical features right. The acting is excellent, the dialogue mostly right from the book, and the quality of the film-making fantastic overall. I almost want to say I’m enjoying it more than the book, but Gabaldon still gets the credit for that, because she’s the consultant for the show.<br />
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<b>Could you give us a glimpse into the story?</b><br />
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Sure. Basically, it’s about a British woman, Claire Randall, who is on a second honeymoon with her husband, post WW II, in the Scottish Highlands. They are reconnecting after having been separated for most of the war. She’s a nurse and he’s been working in intelligence―but he’s really a historian, and he’s brought her along as he pokes into all these historical places near Inverness. While exploring an ancient druid structure, she stumbles into a rent in time that pops her 200 years into the past, into the middle of a skirmish between British Redcoat troupes and Scottish rebels. The Scots rescue her from the clutches of the evil Captain Randall, an ancestor of her own husband, Frank Randall. After that, you have to see for yourself because it gets very interesting.<br />
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<b>The previews I’ve seen look rather sexy. Is Outlander a bit of a bodice-ripper?</b><br />
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I wouldn’t categorize it as that, though some of the reviews I’ve read of the book do. It’s far more subtle than that. Gabaldon is a writer of the highest caliber, something you don’t always get in a true bodice-ripper. It is very sexy however, and gets more so as the book progresses. Still, there’s something that disturbs me about the story that I wish Gabaldon could have handled differently. Without issuing a spoiler alert exactly, let me just say that there is a very, very graphic and long description of male rape that dumbfounded me when I first read the book. For a long time, I felt negatively about Outlander as a result. I felt the author had sprung that on me and I was scarred by it. Now I realize Gabaldon needed a cathartic event at that point in the story, something that changed the character’s lives. I’d just rather she would have chosen something else. There’s also a scene wherein a woman is beaten and comes to see it as something she, on some level, deserved. I’m afraid that some women may be disturbed by that situation, especially those who have dealt with abuse in their own lives. I think it’s fair warning for readers to know those scenes are there. I, for one, skipped over the male rape scene this time around and I don’t think you’d miss that much to do so.<br />
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<b>Did this make you hesitate to watch the Starz series?</b><br />
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A little bit. But I was curious to see how they handled the translation from book to film in general. So far, I’m really enjoying it, though it’s not nearly as action-packed as something like Game of Thrones, of which, by the way, I’m not a fan, specifically because of the sexual violence.<br />
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<b>Aside from the violent aspects, would you say Outlander is steamier, or less steamy than your books?</b><br />
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I’d have to say Gabaldon’s are steamier. Like me, she doesn’t get too graphic (at least when it comes to the male/female sex), but I think there’s more of it in her book.<br />
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<b>Can you compare the time travel element in Outlander and your books?</b><br />
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In Outlander, the time travel is accidental. In my books the time travel is absolutely deliberate. It involves technology that’s very precise. But I love how various time travel authors deal with it differently. You deal with time travel in a really interesting way, Matt, by having an entire building transport the characters to the past and back. I love that.<br />
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<b>Thanks! So, I’ve been hearing some tidbits about the fourth book in your series. How close to being finished is it, and can you tell us a little bit about the story?</b><br />
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Optimistically, I’d say it’s about four months out. Maybe six. I’m not one of those authors that can knock a book out in just a few months, and I think you’re the same, Matt. Especially because this fourth book is requiring such extensive research. It’s called The Time Duchess, and it takes place in Elizabethan England. I always thought I knew my stuff when it came to that era, but I’m realizing there’s a lot I don’t know, so I’m reading, and re-reading book after book on the time period: stuff about Shakespeare, Queen Elizabeth, London, and of course what people wore, ate, how they lived, how they spoke, etc. It’s extremely specific.<br />
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<b>Can you give us a hint about the plot?</b><br />
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Okay, here’s the official blurb for now, though I’m sure it will change over time: “‘I think I may have killed Shakespeare:’ the words that plunge Dr. Cassandra Reilly into a perilous time travel journey to Elizabethan England. Her son James has been attempting to solve the mystery of whether the greatest playwright of all time actually wrote the words attributed to him, but a vicious animosity between him and the Bard have forced her take on the challenge herself. As she investigates, she becomes intimate with the key players: Shakespeare and his troupe, Queen Elizabeth, Ben Jonson, Robert Cecil, and the Earl of Oxford. Navigating the dangers that lie around every corner of London, as well as the whims of the unpredictable queen, make it a harrowing undertaking, especially when more than one of the men the time traveler meets becomes intent on wooing her, and a mysterious presence seems to be stalking her.”<br />
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<b>Sounds really interesting. I think all your readers are looking forward to it.</b><br />
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Sorry to turn things around for a second, but since we’ve moved off the topic of Outlander for now, what’s your next project, Matt?<br />
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<b>Thanks for asking, Georgina. My real focus right now is on my job as a teacher, so I'm writing slowly. Fortunately, however, at the end of the summer, I got a lot of work done on a collaboration with one of your fellow contributors to How to Write Dialogue. If you like, I'd be glad to have your blog be one of the first to announce this new project when it's ready! May I come back? Oh, and by the way, I STILL urge you to write a time-travel book featuring the Austrian Empress Sissi -- a perfect counterpart for Cassandra, in my humble opinion. Please tell me you'll consider it?</b><br />
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I'd love to be among the first to announce the project! And I will consider your suggestion. After all, there is an Austrian connection in The Time Duchess, so it may make perfect sense.<br />
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<b>Again, thanks for the interview -- it's been a pleasure as always.</b><br />
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<b><a href="http://schooloftheages.webs.com/">http://schooloftheages.webs.com/</a></b><br />
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Georginahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04726404742267116995noreply@blogger.com1