Hi everyone, my name is Linda Nightingale.  My dark fantasy, Gemini Rising, is available from Double Dragon Publishing.

Today, I’m interviewing Alain Alastair, the hero in Gemini Rising.

Please, Alain, have a seat and we’ll begin.  (A tall, stunningly handsome man with pale, long blond hair glides into a chair by the fire).

What is your greatest temptation?

            In women:  Long legs

            In food:   Madeira on vanilla ice cream 

            In clothes:  Cashmere sweaters.  The sea wind chills the island, and the castle can be bleak in winter though we do have central heating.

What is your greatest weakness (example: buying shoes)?  Intelligent women.  I think a clever woman with a quick wit is sexy.

If you could have any kind of car, what would it be?  Aston Martin

Your dream home - mountains or ocean?  Alastair Keep is surrounded by the sea. I love the sound of the waves crashing on the rocky shore and the beauty of the endless blue.  I’ve never lived in the mountains. I’d like to spend some time in Colorado, but escape from The Keep is impossible.

Why impossible?  I’m heir to the title and the estates.  Every time I escape, something brings me back.  Often I feel that I belong to the Keep, not that the island belongs to me.

What inspires your inner child?  Riding my horse.  He is aptly named Spirit, and he is both spirited and part of my soul.  We’re working third level dressage now, but he loves to jump.  I’d swear he has wings.

What is your favorite book?  There’s a long list of them.  I liked the V.C. Andrews books.  Have you read Flowers in the Attic?  But I suppose my favorite is The Picture of Dorian Gray.  The thought that life is a mask and Wilde’s lush language are provocative.

What is your favorite movie?  Legends of the Fall.  It’s a very tragic story, but I’ve watched it several times.  For days after, I’m depressed.  (He laughs, the sound musical and as beautiful as he)

Who is your favorite historical figure?  Edward VIII, who abdicated the throne to marry the woman he loved.

You have an identical twin.  Your birth shocked the foundations of the medical world.  You and Alina are the only monozygotic twins born different sexes.  How has that affected your lives?  We try to fly beneath the radar to avoid notoriety. As to affecting my life, I can’t imagine not being a twin.

I guess, as a twin, you are very close to your sister.  (A hesitation)  Yes, of course, we are one being split in two.  As children, we spoke in sync.  Although she is married to my best friend, we are still very close.

Do twins have a secret language?  (Alain nods)  The formal name for twin talk is idioglossia.  Alina and I can communicate without speaking.  I know what she is feeling.  If she’s in pain, I hurt.  Very inconvenient at times actually.

Amazing.  Thanks for being candid, Alain.  Below is the book video!

The Vinegar of the Four Thieves is a fascinating concoction, heavily embellished with legend, that supposedly warded off the bubonic plague.

I found this interesting snippet on a site that sells essential oils and herbs called Annie’s Remedy:

“Vinegar of the Four Thieves (Marseilles vinegar) There are many versions of this formula, which is often referenced in herbals dating from medieval times to the present. The French doctor Jean Valent including this one in his groundbreaking book on aromatherapy.

The story goes that this formula was revealed in the 17th century by four corpse-robbers caught red-handed during the time of the great plagues of Toulouse (1628-1631). Their disregard for the contagion thoroughly astonished the judges… The archives of the Parliament of Toulouse record that: “During the great plague, four robbers were convicted of going to the houses of plague-victims, strangling them in their beds and then looting their dwellings: for this they were condemned to be burned at the stake, and in order to have the sentence mitigated they revealed their secret preservative; after which they were hanged.”

***For  the list of ingredients in the recipe and brewing instructions please visit the above link.

From a fascinating, far more in-depth article: Four Thieves Vinegar: Evolution of a Medieval medicine:

“The bubonic plague wreaked havoc in Europe off and on for about 600 years before peaking in the 1300s. Century after century, as late as the 1700s, outbreaks claimed up to half the population. The plague had a big influence on the life of William Shakespeare, having claimed the lives of some of his siblings as well as causing his theater to be shut down during several especially nasty outbreaks in London between 1593 and 1608.

It is well know that the bubonic plague is a bite-based infection. A lesser known fact is that there were many more victims than those bitten by fleas. It turns out that the bubonic plague was often the first step of a progressive series of illnesses. Two other types were pneumonia and septicemia. The resulting pneumonic plague was also very infectious and allowed person-to-person transmission.

This is the period of time responsible for the bizarre images of physicians wearing dark robes, wide-brimmed hats, and masks with long beaks. There was actually method to the madness. These beaks held dried herbs, spices and essential oils which the physician breathed. The robe was doused with a similar fragrant concoction. Scientific evidence today is building support for this seemingly outrageous behavior… many harmful microbes can’t survive in the presence of certain essential oils.

Meanwhile in France another interesting aromatic legend developed around a horrid sounding witch’s brew known as “Marseilles Vinegar” or “Four Thieves Vinegar.” A variety of recipes floated around. One recalled by Scientific American in 1910 included things like dried rosemary tops, dried sage flowers, fresh rue, camphor, “spirit,” garlic cloves and vinegar which was to be taken internally for 7 or 8 days “with occasional agitation.” It was said that this “medicated vinegar was invented by four thieves of Marseilles who successfully employed it as a prophylactic during a visitation of pestilence.”

And that, dear readers, may or may not account for the origins of this herbal concoction, but for more on this bizarre time period, herbal medicines, and disease prevention please refer to the above link.

I couldn’t make this stuff up if I tried.  Strangely, or maybe not so strangely, the ultimate cure for the plague that killed masses of men, women, and children in England was the Great Fire of London.  It cleaned up better than anything.

For a more in-depth look into that visit: The Great Plague and Fire of London

*Royalty free images

Share this:

• 
  

“I’m bored…” Maxine whined.

"What did you say?" Mary asked.

"I'm bored," Maxine complained.

"Really? I'll give you something to do."

Maxine rolled her blue eyes at Mary's stern look.

(just kidding)

Maxine agreed to share her time with us today, so make her feel welcome! Have some iced tea?

by Maxine Davis

         Actually, I’m not the one who’s bored.  I’m very happy with my life.  Sometimes I even wish I had more time to do what I enjoy.  It’s summertime and school is out.  I’m talking about the mothers out there who tell me they are already hearing, “Mom, I’m bored.  There’s nothing to do.”  Whine, pout, and sit there and glare at mom like it’s her fault.

         While I can’t tell you specifically what there is to do in your neck of the woods, I tell you some of the things available here in Middle Georgia, and you may find the same things going on in your neighborhood. 

         First of all, when I was a “kid,” it was a given that I’d attend Vacation Bible School during the summer.  It always turned out to be fun.  I loved the crafts we did. Oh, yeah, and the Bible study was good J.

         The City of Macon has a variety of sports programs available for kids.  This includes city-run and privately operated programs for various sports such as soccer, martial arts, track and field or football.  You need to contact the city or county Recreation Department.

         For the younger set, some KinderCare programs offer a summer camp.   The theme for Summer 2012 is The Six Treasures of Summer:  Awesome Art, Mighty Bodies--Bendy Brains, The Wondrous World of Food, Wild About Water, Featured Creatures, Gravity Galore and More.  How can these be anything but fantastic?

         For the older set, the Board of Education offers summer enrichments.  The goal is to prevent “summer learning loss,” bring enrichment and character traits to the students and get to know other students.  At first, I thought if my parents had told me about this, I would have thought, “Just go ahead and shoot me,” but the names of these camps sound like fun:  Grossology, Mad Scientists, Princess Camp and Flight Camp, and Robotics Academy.

         If there is an adult or a trusted older child, there are numerous parks here.  Tobesofkee beach and lake or High Falls, just up the interstate, seem to be favorites.  Remember: some very capable college students like to earn money taking kids for a day trip. 

         There are picnics.  These could be combined with visiting historical places that you always hear about, or just go and enjoy.  Macon is full of historical offerings. 

There is usually a fund raiser going on somewhere.  Take part in it.  It’s a great learning tool for kids of all ages.

         And, lastly, I wouldn’t be a writer if the Library didn’t automatically pop into my mind.  They do offer some summer projects, and there are always really good books to read!

         It is, after all, summertime.  I’m a person who does not always have to be doing something to have fun.  Use that imagination!  Every single day should be ended with the thought of something you thoroughly enjoyed doing during your waking hours. 

Maxine Davis is a writer who has been awarded PRO status in Romance Writers of America (RWA) and Georgia Romance Writers (GRW). Maxine wrote solely for her own pleasure for many years until she joined GRW. She then began polishing some of her work and writing new material, with aspirations of becoming published.  She continues to write with a goal of publication.
Maxine is a retired educator–teaching and administration–who loves traveling to other states and countries as long as she can return to her native Georgia. Her hobbies include reading, crocheting , swimming, and spending time with friends, and (of course!) her husband and her dog, Tillie.

She blogs here

http://www.petitfoursandhottamales.com

 I will ask Maxine questions and I want you to do so. Stop by to see what I ask and what she says.

Do you like hot sultry days and front porches?

 Grab a rocking chair on my porch and visit with Margo and Jay, two folks with too much in common and problems they can't ignore anymore.

Margo loves her daughters and her family. She once loved Jay, but Jay wanted adventure and danger more than he wanted a life with her and a family.

Jay was her first love and she can't forget the way he could push her buttons and make her want him. At first she thinks his pending visit home for their daughter's 21 birthday is her biggest problem. She soon learns he presents a bigger danger. He could break their youngest daughter's heart, since he doesn't believe she is his.

Jay wishes Margo would tell her youngest daughter the truth, so he won't need to pretend he is her father. He has forgiven Margo but finds it difficult to pretend. If she would tell the truth they could start over and he and the kid could have a special relationship based on truth.

Excerpt 1

Morning slapped me in the face. I opened one gritty eye. Huge mistake. Pounding racket sent jabs of pain through my skull. Light poured in through my bedroom windows. I tried to turn from the light, but even slight movement hurt. My stomach roiled. How the hell could I get to the bathroom and still keep my head on my shoulders?

“Go the hell away,” Carol croaked.

Carol? I turned to see my best friend in the whole world. As the word lesbian eased through my mind, I reached out to grab it and make sense. Even thinking made my head hurt. My face ached when a frown tried to slide over it. Aw, crap!

“My bed, dumb-ass,” I muttered. “At least I thought I said that because even that hurt. If I lived through this I’d never drink too much again.

“Not you, the creep trying to break down your door.” She raised her head an inch, but fell back on her pillow. “You gotta turn down the volume on your freaking doorbell.”

“Ah, the ringing in my ears.” My voice sounded way too scratchy. I desperately needed water, I needed to pee, but my stomach threatened to empty if I left my soft bed.

“Oh, God,” I gasped as I fumbled around. Still wearing my sweats, I launched my body off the bed and toward the bathroom.

Thoughts of frozen strawberry daiquiris and the word lesbian flipped through my mind again, then all I could think about was the wish that I could lie down on the bathroom floor and die there.

Excerpt 2

I headed to my in-laws’ to get Dee on Friday evening. Why had she asked her dad to pick her up from school today and take to her grandparent’s house?

Jay’s parents were always glad to see Dee and treated me like a daughter, so I didn’t usually mind going to their house. Maybe Jay would be out with his old high school pals and I’d manage to miss him again.

Lady Luck sometimes deserted me and tonight she laughed at me. Jay met my car in the driveway before I could get out. Calling ahead hadn’t helped, after-all. I sat with my door open and Jay squatting to put us at eye level. This afternoon he looked so much like the boy I knew in high school and college. His white tee shirt stretched across broad shoulders. His arms stretched so he could grip the window frame and his grin made the corners of my own mouth twitch to answer his smile with one of my own. Instead, my teacher demeanor, read prim and proper, made me feel aloof and confident.

“Hey, Mags, need something?”

He could make a simple greeting sound like an invitation to have sex. Or did I just hear that because I hadn’t had sex in at least three years. Yeah, that was it, I was just horny.

“Just my daughter.”

His flinch said I made a bulls-eye, ten points for me.

“So, if you’ll move away, I’ll say hello to your folks and take Dee home.”

He said nothing as he straightened, but he didn’t move away. His hands still griped the top of the car above me. Again, he presented me with a great view of his jeans zipper placket and a bulge that looked like he was horny, too.

Of course, he always seemed determined to get into my panties so he could say I was easy and available. My throat went dry at the memories of us hot and sweaty and wrapped around each other.

I unbuckled my seatbelt and pushed my seat back so I could get out. Moving past him wasn’t going to be easy, but I couldn’t let the jerk think he could trap me like a frightened kitten.

The body contact as I twisted up and flush with him sent shocks through me and through him, too, judging by his expression and the way he caught his breath. So close I could count his eyelashes and the gold flecks in his eyes, I sucked in a needed breath. Yep, my breasts pressed into his chest and his shock changed to desire. Good.

“Excuse me,” I forced the words past my parched lips. Then I licked them before I ducked under his arm and called out to anyone who could hear me.

  http://www.amazon.com/dp/B008M0U8CU.

Can you want someone who has done something unforgivable?  Is there an expiration date on sexual attraction?

I will post a coupon for a free download of another ebook after we have comments for this blog. 

Could you please check out the link above for Margo's Choice and like it for me?

... costs a lot -- but is worth the price.

My love affair with the horse began as a child, and though I no longer own a horse, I have never recovered.   Each Christmas, I would hurry to the window to see if there was a pony tied to a tree or as I unwrapped each box pray it was a note that a pony was on its way.  I didn’t get my pony until I was thirteen, and from then until I moved from Miami to Houston in 1999, I had a horse (or many of them).

For over thirteen years, I bred, trained, showed and marketed Andalusian horses.  The photos are of my wonderful friends during this happy period in my life. 

The above photo is my Andalusian stallion Alegre at an English Civil War Reenactment in St. Augustine.  The other lovely horse is a half-Arabian by my stallion Bonito.  Alegre was imported from Spain.  I bought him from the man who imported him.  Unfortunately, I have only one digital photo of Bonito though I have boxes of print photos.

Another Reenactment photo with Alegre and Camelot Excaliber.  My horse farm was called Camelot.  Now who is a romantic?!

At a horse show in Saddleseat class.  You want a very animated trot in Saddleseat.

A Renaissance Faire in Ft. Lauderdale.  Again, Alegre.

A rear (on command) from Alegre.

Spanish Walk from Alegre.

And finally my wonderful Bonito in costume for our musical Phantom of the Opera freestyle.

And so ends my walk down memory land today.  I hope you enjoyed the short journey.  I certainly enjoyed every second of this part of my life.

Happy Friday everyone!

 

Many years ago my sister and I used to play this game. We would lie in bed late at night and play when we couldn’t sleep. The old, Gothic, Victorian house, my great grandmother lived in creaked and groaned all over and we never knew what was house, or what could possibly be ghost. The odd shaped windows and doors that opened into walls added the mystique. You had to be sure both feet were well away from the edge of the bed.  Better safe then sorry.

The idea of the game was to guess the tune. We would tap out the music on the bed while hearing it in your head. I don’t know how we did it, but we always guessed right!

. I really hated the room we stayed it. It was all dark corners and deep closets. Shadows were so dark; one had to feel your way out of the room. But every time we visited we ended up in the same room.

Dark, thick, heavy curtains lined the windows. Not a speck of light got in when they closed.  Wood pineapples were on each of four posts on the old cherry wood furniture. We stayed on the third floor. I don’t know why because there were four bedrooms on the second floor. And we were the only ones visiting her. The only ones up there. Alone. My cousin used to tease us telling us how great Uncle Snidely had died up there and he watched his heirs all the time. She told us about him and showed us his picture. We were primed!

No night lights allowed, we were big girls.

One very stormy night at Great Gram’s place we lay there tapping out songs. Thunder boomed and lightning knocked out all the street lights. After one particularly loud boom I realized I had to take a pee.  My sister ran to the window to look and I jumped outta bed and ran. The tile floor chilled my feet as I walked on little squares. I picked up the seat and quickly did what I had to. Flushing the toilet I ran back down the dark hallway to our room.

My sister was talking. “I still can’t understand what you’re trying to have me guess.” She sounded flustered.

“What are you talking about?” I jumped on my bed closest to the door.

“Very funny, I’ve been trying to guess the song, but you keep tapping out nonsense. I told you I give up and still you keep tapping. What was the song you were trying to have me guess?” She asked.

“I just got back from the bathroom, I haven’t been tapping anything.” I chuckled. “What you been playing our game with a ghost or something?”

Her voice quivered. “Did you just say you just came back from the bathroom?”

“Yes.” Now I was getting scared.

“Well I have been trying to guess what song and you, well I thought it was you, were tapping away like crazy. I had no idea what you wanted me to guess.” She jumped on my bed as a loud peel of thunder ripped the skies.

“Someone was here, something, oh man, something was playing our game with me.” She shivered against my side.

Just then we heard it. In the silence between lightning strikes. Tapping. Tap, tap, tap…

“AAAAAHHHHHH!!” We screamed in unison.  Both of us jumped up and ran outta that room so fast our feet flew! Screaming the whole way we yelled. “AAAHHHHH!!”

My great grandmother appeared at the end of the hall. “Girl’s what’s wrong!!!” She hugged us close.

“Ghosts.Mike said Uncle Snidely's ghost lives in this house!” We whaled in unison.
"Mike is just trying to scare you, like any older brother would if he could."Chuckling, she calmed us down and urged us into her own, warm, huge, high bed. Between breaths we told Gram what happened.

“Oh that wasn’t Uncle Snidely. We have no one in the family by that name.” She laughed and we laughed. A hug from Gram fixed anything.

We got under the covers with her and snuggled. Warm and secure we felt foolish. Until she closed her eyes and sighed.

“The only person it could be is Uncle Frankie, he loved music.”

Daughter Elise has finally completed her highly imaginative and wonderfully illustrated children’s book, Skaritch Skaratch Munch: A Cautionary Tale. A perfectionist, she labored over every detail, as I do words, and the result is well worth all the toil she invested.

Of herself, and her book, Elise says:

“This is a project that has been very dear to me and that I have been working on for well over a year and a half now.  I wrote in the style of a reverse cautionary tale, where instead of the adults being right, (as they usually are in cautionary tales,) in this tale it’s the children who are right all along and who ultimately come up with a solution to the problem.  I always like to try out new ways of illustrating so for this book I decided to go with some major mixed media creating and I had a lot of fun experimenting with it.  I greatly admire author/illustrator Mo Willems ,and his book Knuffle Bunny is one of my inspirations for illustrating this book the way I did.”

*Before and After images below

Having lived and breathed the ongoing efforts of an artist at work for many moons, I much more appreciate all that goes into illustrating a children’s book, not to mention writing it, and the thought behind even the font size and positioning of the words on the page. And a big plus, the two darling little people featured in the book are my grandbabies Emma Rose and her big brother Ian.

I’ve always loved children’s books and took Elise to the library faithfully when she was young. She haunts used bookstores and secondhand shops and has amassed quite a collection of her favorite authors and illustrators. Sometimes she or I even buy the copies new, but considering the library she’s building we must keep an eye on the budget. Any funds she gets from her own book will probably go back into buying others.  Or art supplies…computer software….

For eager readers young and old, Skaritch Skaratch Munch: A Cautionary Tale is available in print from Createspace.com and Amazon.com

To visit Elise’s newly formed blog and learn more about this book and her other projects visit: Coloring On The Couch

Hi everyone, What could be better than free kindle books written by outstanding authors? Answer: Nothing! :) Here are two offerings for today. Just visit the Amazon.com website to download. 'Scuse Me While I Kill This Guy, by Leslie Langtry Love's Portrait, by Monica Burns Enjoy!

Hi Everyone, Although I normally post the Deals of the Day, I would be remiss if I didn't applaud our Golden Heart and Rita winners! In case anyone hasn't checked, please hop on over to the RWA website. Sincere congrats to everyone! You are all winners!

So how is your day going? Mine Ewww. I did sleep in late, partly because I was up at 5 AM yesterday and worked like a machine all day. And, I stayed up late last night to watch the opening ceremony of the Olympics. Sleeping in put me behind schedule at least two hours. However, I'm determined to slow down today while the sun is shining and enjoy the pool. My gosh, can you believe it, in less than four weeks the kids go back to school. Time is flying, which brings me to my topic, gathering and visiting.

Yesterday, my DH and I had a discussion. We remember the days, way back when we were kids, when people visited. They don’t do that anymore. They gather. I remember when I was a kid Saturday night and Sundays were for visiting. It wasn’t unusually for my aunt and uncles, along with my cousins, to drop in on a Saturday night or a Sunday afternoon and soon after a party ensued. Laugther and fellowship would go on for hours. Saturday nights, we kids, would play under the stars. Sundays we'd played ball, bike, and swim, and eat whatever was thrown together at the last minute from everyone's kitchen. It was a weekly occurrence.

Now, people don’t visit simply because they don’t know if the other person or family is gathering. What I mean by gathering is, they’re off to an event, gathering with strangers. Traveling twenty or more miles is no longer a big deal. We travel twenty miles without thought. And enlarging our travel circle has opened our lives to so many events, like sporting events, movie theatres, fairs, etc. I know we’ve stopped by friend’s homes only to find them away and friends have told us the same. It seems we need to make appointments in order to spend time with friends and family.

Sometimes, I truly miss the days gone by when the world turned a little slower.

I think I’ll make some lemonade and sit on rocker on the porch today, just in case a friend comes up the drive.

When I wrote Notorious Eliza several years ago, I had absolutely no plans for Miss Arabella Wilbanks, a secondary character who appeared only briefly in an early scene. She shrieked at her poor hapless maid, convincing Patrick, the hero of the story, NOT to propose to her. He went on to meet his heroine, Eliza. Exit Miss Wilbanks, stage left, never to be seen again.

Um… no. I couldn’t get her out of my mind. I have a soft spot for most of my characters. I want them to be nice people, or at least for their actions to make some sort of sense. I try to see things from their point of view even if they’re truly villainous—because even villains have motivation, and they’re more convincing as characters if the author knows why they do what they do.

But Arabella wasn’t a villain, and I couldn’t bear to leave her as a senselessly cruel mistress. I kept asking myself, “Why was she so horrid to her maid?” Patrick liked her enough to consider marrying her, so she must have been reasonably likeable and intelligent, and not the sort of woman who would mistreat a servant.

I can’t resist a mystery. What if… what if that bitch I’d written wasn’t the real Arabella? What if Patrick’s first assessment was right, and she really was a heroine—just not the one for him? Then and there, I knew I had to make her one. All I had to figure out was her motivation…

 

Ta-da!! Arabella became the heroine of my latest novella from Harlequin Undone, To Rescue or Ravish?
Here’s the blurb:

When heiress Arabella Wilbanks flees a forced betrothal in the middle of the night, the last person she expects to find at the reins of her getaway hackney is Matthew Worcester. It’s been seven long years since they gave in to their mutual desires and shared the most incredible night of their lives, but Matthew still burns with regret for leaving her without a word. He should escort her to safety, but the chance to reclaim and ravish her once more proves impossible to resist!

And an excerpt:

London, January 1802

Arabella rapped hard on the roof of the coach. It lurched around a corner into darkness broken only by the glimmer of the hack’s carriage lamps and stopped.

She put down the window. “How far are we from Bunbury Place?”

The jarvey got down from the box and slouched against the coach, a nonchalant shape with an impertinent voice. “Not far, love. Changed your mind, have you?”

“I have not changed my mind. I am merely asking for information.” She put her hand through the window, proffering the guinea. “I trust this suffices. Kindly open the door and point me in the right direction. I shall walk the rest of the way.”

He didn’t take the coin. After a brief, horrid silence during which she concentrated on thinking of him as the jarvey and not her once-and-never-again lover, he said, “Can’t do that.”

“I beg your pardon?” She pushed on the door, but he had moved forward to block it.

“It’s not safe for a lady alone at night. This, er, Number Seventeen, Bunbury Place—it’s where you live, is it?”

How dare he? “Where I live is none of your business.” She shrank away from the door and kept her hood well over her face.

“So it’s not where you live. Who does live there, then?”

Why couldn’t she have just told him that yes, she lived there? Must every man in the entire country try to order her about? “Let me out at once.”

“Sorry, love. When I rescue a lady from deathly peril, I see her home safe and sound.”

Some shred of common sense deep inside her told her this was extraordinarily kind of him, but it made her want to slap his craggy, insolent face. Home wasn’t safe for her anymore. Nowhere was safe, and meanwhile Matthew Worcester was playing stupid games.

“Cat got your tongue?”

She exploded. “Damn you, Matthew! Stop playing at being a jarvey. It makes me positively ill.”

There was another ghastly silence. It stretched and stretched. Good God, what if he actually was a jarvey? Surely he hadn’t come down that far in the world. A different shame—a valid one—swelled inside her.

“You recognized me,” he said at last. “What a surprise.”

Do you like it when characters you thought weren't so great turn out to be heroic after all? Have you ever read about an unsympathetic character you wished you could turn into a hero/heroine? (There are a couple of male characters in Georgette Heyer's romances about whom I feel this way.) If you're a writer, have you ever transformed a villain into a good guy?

I have two free downloads of To Rescue or Ravish? from Harlequin.com to give away. Please leave a comment for a chance to win one!






www.BarbaraMonajem.com

For my granddaughter's thirteenth birthday, my daughter and I took her to her very first Broadway Play.

We left home very early Wednesday morning and arrived in New York around noon. We took a share-van ride into the city. During our van ride we met a very nice couple from South Africa who were visiting the US on holiday. It was interesting meeting them and hearing how it had been -2 degrees when they'd left home. In South Africa it is the middle of winter, so they were enjoying our warm weather.

We arrived at our hotel, unloaded our bags and immediately set out to find the office where we were to pick up ticket for the Wednesday night play. The nice man on the phone had assured me they were located right on Times Square and would be  only a five minute walk from out hotel. We walked up and down Broadway for nearly an hour without spotting the office.

While we were out, a storm came up. A big storm, lots of lightning, deafening thunder, gully washer rain and hail. We ducked into the Marriott Marquis, to get out of the storm. The last time I was in New York, which was during RWA's National Conference last summer, I stayed at the Marriott. So I was familiar with the Marriott. So were a couple hundred other tourist who gathered under their spacious drives. We saw reports on the news later about how bad the storm had been, but we were safe thanks to Marriott. Once we realized we were not going to find the ticket office by walking and looking for it, we returned to our hotel a couple blocks away from the Marriott and I looked through my computer until I found an email with a phone number for the ticket company. I called, got the address and we were ready to venture out again to pick up our tickets.

We were staying at the Millennium Broadway Hotel and I wish I could give them a glowing recommendation. The room was nice. It was clean and the bed was comfortable. The desk clerk at check in was super, the bellman who stored our bags was wonderful. The problem came when we went to the Concierge to ask for directions to the address to pick up the tickets. They man rattled off the directions, and became annoyed when I asked him to repeat them. He wouldn't write them down, when I asked him for a map, he said he didn't have one. Strike one against an otherwise nice hotel.  I managed to find a map from the hop on hop off bus and used it to find the location of the ticket office. We walked there picked up our tickets and returned to the hotel.

My granddaughter's favorite movie is "THE WIZARD OF OZ," so she selected WICKED  for her first Broadway play. I have to say that I was skeptical when she chose it, but I must admit I really enjoyed the play. It was a novel twist on the traditional story. The play was a pleasant surprise. My GD really enjoyed the play. She smiled and grinned and applauded. We left the theatre and walked over to Junior's for dinner. Another great choice. Our waiter was a delight and added the perfect little twist to an engaging evening.

Thursday morning we were up early and ready to pick up our tickets for the Hop-on/Hop-off bus tours. Again we went down to the Concierge to ask directions. This time the man was even less helpful than the night before. I fumed for a few moments, then went back over to the desk. This time there was a woman there. I asked her for a map, I could see the pad of maps sitting on the desk behind the counter. She first said she didn't have one. I gave her the look and cut my eyes over toward the pad of maps on the desk. She said, this is all I have. I told her fine, I'll take one of those. And again, when I asked for directions, instead of marking it on the map, she rattled off the directions, go to the corner, turn right go down to .. turn left and then turn right... You get the idea. Now maybe it's my southern ears, or my age or my IQ, but rattling off directions like that just doesn't work well for me. After all, I only graduation magna cum, so I guess I could be a bit slow.

No thanks to the Concierge, we found the office and picked up our tickets for the tour bus. Our first stop was to tour the Wax Museum. Granddaughter had a ball. I enjoyed it and my daughter tolerated it fairly well. If I could get the blog to allow me to post pictures I'd share some great shots from the museum. Will have to work on that.

Next we took the bus down to the ferry stop and picked up tickets of the cruise around Manhattan. It was a three hour tour and completely circled the island. We had great view of the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island. The cruise was fun, the GD enjoyed it. We ate hot dogs and chips with cheese.  Best of all, we could sit and watch the scenery pass. I highly recommend the cruise around Manhattan.

Daughter had arranged to have dinner with a friend who lives in NYC on Thursday night, so that left me and GD to fend for ourselves. We did the city lights bus tour and enjoyed the view of the skyline from across the river. The tour guide was very informative and we enjoyed the tour. One of the most interesting fact I learned from her was that Walt Disney was responsible for turning Times Square into the tourist destination it is today. He came there and saw the area was filled with X-rated movie theatres and very run down. Disney's vision for Times Square is easily recognized once you know his hand was behind the revitalization and restoration.

We had dinner after the tour at a small restaurant across from the hotel. The place was a pub and the food wasn't good. We were less than impressed.

Daughter arrived from her dinner date and reported the "Concierge" had struck again. When her friend arrived to pick her up, they stopped by the Concierge desk to ask for directions, her friend expressly asked the concierge to write down directions to the address because he wasn't familiar with the area they were going. The concierge ignored the request and instead rattled off the same sort of go to ... turn... go .... turn.... cross .... turn...Daughter's friend was as astounded as we were with this behavior.

Friday morning we got up, put our bags in storage and struck out with the Hop-on/Hop -off map to find the restaurant we'd had recommended the year before by the wonderfully helpful Concierge at the Marriott Marquis. Jing is on 9th at 46th. It has the best Asian in the city. GD loves California rolls and we'd planned to take her there for lunch. Jing's is officially my favorite Asian restaurant in NYC.

Next we walked down 8th to the stop for the uptown tour. It started to rain. And rain, and rain! The wind whipped our umbrella around like a daisy in the wind.We were soaked in minutes. When we arrived in NYC the temps were in the very high 90's. Now it was cooler, around high 70's and we were wet. Finally we reached the bus stop. The bus driver gave up yellow caps to wear. The bus are double- deckers with seats only on top deck. No lower deck available. There is no cover on the bus. The seat were wet, but hey, so were we. We took seats and the bus took off. The rain whipped down, the umbrellas buckled, the wind blew like raging bulls. The poor tour guide tried, but there wasn't much he could do. "On the left is .... if you could see it through the rain. Over there is.... but it's raining too hard to see. You get the idea.

We had decided to take the bus to the Museum of Natural History. That was the next thing on the GD's list. She wanted to see where Night at the Museum was filmed. Apparently everyone else who'd gotten caught in Central Park in the rain had decided to take shelter in the museum as well. It was a mad house. Once we got our tickets, we proceeded into the exhibit hall, I sat with the elephants in the main hall and sent the DD and GD off to see the exhibits.

We decided to skip the tour bus and take a taxi back to the hotel. Nope, didn't happen. Apparently, taxi drivers in NYC don't have to work for a living. Every time one pulled up in front of the museum, they asked where they customer was going and then drove off without the customer. We saw this happen at least ten times. I personally approached one to have him drive off when I told him we wanted to go to the Millennium Hotel. The city definitely has a problem with taxi drivers. We wound up walking all the way from the museum back to the hotel. We were all worn out, wet and disgruntled when we finally made it back to the hotel. I'm still plotting ways to get even with those drivers who turned us down! Maybe a blog about them gone viral? An email to the mayor? Letter to the NY Times? Dream on.


We arrived back at the hotel, collected our bags caught our shared-van and headed back to the airport. There were several flight delays because of the weather and we were more than an hour late leaving, but we made it home safe and sound. As Dorothy's says, "There's no place like home."

The correct term for identical twins is monozygotic.  Monozygotic twins form when a single (mono) fertilized egg (zygote) splits into two parts after conception.  The result is two individual embryos. Since the two embryos are the result of a single egg/sperm combination, they have the same DNA.

An interesting fact I discovered while researching twins:  “For twin pairs where schizophrenia occurs, in 50% of cases both identical twins in a pair develop the disease, while only 10-15% of cases in fraternal twins show this pattern. This is evidence for a strong genetic component in susceptibility to schizophrenia. However, the fact that both identical twins in a pair don't develop the disease 100% of the time indicates that there are other factors involved.”

In Gemini Rising, my monozygotic twins, Alain and Alina, are male/female, which is biologically impossible.  But not in the imagination of a writer, right?  They are a bit androgynous but the male looks more male, and the female feminine.  I was asked on one blog what they looked like.  I saw them as tall, slender with pale blonde hair and tawny gold eyes.

Gemini Rising was released in print this month by Double Dragon Publishing and is available through their website.  The ebook is available at Barnes & Noble and Amazon.

Please visit my website for Vampyre Hunt, a spicy free read.

The trailer for Gemini Rising:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=08IGfFxPCWQ

Excerpt:

Alain tucked the in-flight magazine into the seat pocket and gazed out the scratched window of the 747.  Distance vanished on clouds fleeing beneath the silver wings, carrying him from a dark-eyed beauty to a fair-haired princess locked in an island castle.  From one life in the sun to a score of problems.

Someone was going to get hurt.

Already he hurt—a low throbbing like a toothache.  If he returned to Portugal, Alina would be devastated.  His father would disown him.  If he picked up his discarded heritage, a part of him would die and Maritza would grieve.  For a time.  He wasn’t vain enough to think the black-haired beauty would die without him.

The choice lay in his hands.

Damn life got complicated when he tried to declare independence from The Keep.  He shifted his long legs cramped beneath the airline seat.  He preferred not to think, but fragments of memory plagued the corners of his eyes.

A vivid picture of Alina supplanted images of recent days drenched white-hot by a Portuguese sun.  His twin’s presence was more corporeal than the woman sitting to his left.  Welcome or not, Alina was there inside him, the mere thought of her a compulsion.  He sensed her anticipation mounting as the miles melted.  Excitement tingled over him.  In self defense, he grasped at a memory of riding the splendid Lusitano stallions.  As he pictured Maritza framed in an arbor of roses, his heart dived.

My husband and I, along with our dachshund, recently moved from Florida to Boise, Idaho to be able to spend more time with our kids and grandchildren. Oh, the pleasure!

Because we were moving to a smaller house, we had a lot of sorting and giving away and planning and measuring to do. Oh, the pain!

Being able to find new homes for stuff we’d had for years? To get rid of STUFF? Oh, the pleasure!

To pack up the “keepers”? Oh, the pain!

You get the picture.  The ups and downs of moving.

We had to drive two cars across country, driving fast, playing dodge with 18-wheelers. Painful.

Seeing part of our big, beautiful country? Such Pleasure.

Even though we hope we never have to move again, my husband and I are glad we did it. Especially when a little voice says, “Hi, Mimi! “Hi, Papa!”