READY, SET, FALL READING!
A group of my fellow authors from Awe-struck, Mundania and I were talking not long ago about our different genres and checking out some super reads. In chatting we found out some interesting things about each other and decided it was time to take our show on the road. Starting September 4, for 8 weeks, 8 of us will be opening the doors to our virtual worlds and real life minds to talk about many things. Come on along and meet some of my friends: Each week we'll be chatting with a different author and aspects of our lives, thoughts and writing.
Here's the scoop-- Right here!!:
Jennifer Cloud - October 2nd http://www.myspace.com/cloudjennifer/blog
Ann Tracy Marr - October 9th http://www.facebook.com/home.php#!/group.php?gid=56438417580
Susan Roebuck - October 16th http://lauracea.blogspot.com
Christine London - http://christinelondon.blogspot.com
Sharon Poppen - September 4th http://poppensthoughtsonwritingandstuff.blogspot.com
Skyla Dawn Cameron - September 11th www.skyladawncameron.com/blog
Regan Taylor - September 18th http://regantaylorsworld.blogspot.com
Jana Richards - September 25th http://janarichards.blogspot.com
>
Check in with me on September 4 when I talk with Sharon Poppen!
Sunday, August 28, 2011
Monday, August 22, 2011
Romantic Venezia
Venice can have many moods, some not friendly to the casual traveler. Some are the most amazing of fantasy worlds.
I have been there when it is freezing cold winter with fog to sticky humid hot summer.
This July my visit could not have been better.
The discovery of a lovingly run B&B, Ca Centopietre (Dorsoduro, 1198 Campiello, Centopietre, Venezia, Italia www.centopietre-venice.net) that was a great value,
coupled with amazingly comfortable weather for mid-summer and the EU influenced clean, contributed to a very pleasant stay.
Years ago, and this is a generalization of course, the less developed European countries (usually meaning the southern ones) were much more run down, with poor infrastructure and what most modern travelers might consider sub standard amenities. Since the formation of the European Union (EU) standards have risen the level and expectations (as have prices) making travel in these southern countries much easier, if more dear.
Hotels are cleaner, have hair dryers, (most) air conditioning, (many have) lifts and double glazed windows to keep out noise. In Venice noise is certainly NOT the problem. No gas powered vehicles are allowed on the island's streets. This is what lends to the fantasy.
Sleeping at night is in blissful silence. Morning noise is nothing more than the occasional voice, clank of spoon against dish, or whisper of wind through the curtains at your window.
This is what living was before all our modern modes of transport.
Enjoying a glass of wine with a neighbour practicing oboe as background accompaniment, or the hum of a family chatting around the table, is a pleasure hard to describe after living in a automobile/scooter/bus shrouded reality.
Gondoliers punt along tranquil narrow canals and the grand teaming major waterways.
>
Texting while 'driving' has a whole other bent.
The tides sometimes force citizens to change their path as flooding is not uncommon as the city continues to settle. But the Venetians are a hardy and tenacious bunch.
They paint their building the most marvelous colours.
Papier-Mâché hand painted masks decorate and allure.
Brilliant glass jewelry and more practical items wink from behind shop windows.
Lovers marry and celebrate,
artists display their dreams,
beautiful architectural touches are incorporate into even the simplest of buildings,
churches are cool respite from the cobble-stoned streets,
old men fish,
billowing gelato tempts,
sidewalk cafes are alive with customers
and hidden restaurants serve some of the best pasta in the world.
As the night swallows the colours of the day and the moon gilds the water in silvery light, I pause to wonder at the magic such an ancient city can cast.
I have been there when it is freezing cold winter with fog to sticky humid hot summer.
This July my visit could not have been better.
The discovery of a lovingly run B&B, Ca Centopietre (Dorsoduro, 1198 Campiello, Centopietre, Venezia, Italia www.centopietre-venice.net) that was a great value,
coupled with amazingly comfortable weather for mid-summer and the EU influenced clean, contributed to a very pleasant stay.
Years ago, and this is a generalization of course, the less developed European countries (usually meaning the southern ones) were much more run down, with poor infrastructure and what most modern travelers might consider sub standard amenities. Since the formation of the European Union (EU) standards have risen the level and expectations (as have prices) making travel in these southern countries much easier, if more dear.
Hotels are cleaner, have hair dryers, (most) air conditioning, (many have) lifts and double glazed windows to keep out noise. In Venice noise is certainly NOT the problem. No gas powered vehicles are allowed on the island's streets. This is what lends to the fantasy.
Sleeping at night is in blissful silence. Morning noise is nothing more than the occasional voice, clank of spoon against dish, or whisper of wind through the curtains at your window.
This is what living was before all our modern modes of transport.
Enjoying a glass of wine with a neighbour practicing oboe as background accompaniment, or the hum of a family chatting around the table, is a pleasure hard to describe after living in a automobile/scooter/bus shrouded reality.
Gondoliers punt along tranquil narrow canals and the grand teaming major waterways.
>
Texting while 'driving' has a whole other bent.
The tides sometimes force citizens to change their path as flooding is not uncommon as the city continues to settle. But the Venetians are a hardy and tenacious bunch.
They paint their building the most marvelous colours.
Papier-Mâché hand painted masks decorate and allure.
Brilliant glass jewelry and more practical items wink from behind shop windows.
Lovers marry and celebrate,
artists display their dreams,
beautiful architectural touches are incorporate into even the simplest of buildings,
churches are cool respite from the cobble-stoned streets,
old men fish,
billowing gelato tempts,
sidewalk cafes are alive with customers
and hidden restaurants serve some of the best pasta in the world.
As the night swallows the colours of the day and the moon gilds the water in silvery light, I pause to wonder at the magic such an ancient city can cast.
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
Fall In Love--- Hawaii
Hundreds of blog readers have read my travel logs, enjoying words and photos of some of the world's most beautiful places. Now you can revel in a visceral love letter to...
Hawaii.
My time in the islands always lures me back. One of the true treasures of this planet, Oahu teams with abundant flora and fauna. The beauty of an island is its isolation from mainland evolution. North shore--frozen in time.
Hawaii is magic.
If you have loved the many far flung locales here on London Blog, click over to MuseItHot Publisher and fall in LOVE with...
Reluctant Companions
Coming Friday August 19, 2011...
Order Here
ISBN 978-1-927085-36-3
Grieving the loss of her beloved father, Chellie is convinced to take time off from her work-a day job to enjoy a secret retreat at a hidden Oahu bungalow. Property of the womanizing ex of her best friend, Chellie agrees only after being assured her privacy. Overworked, burnt out and sour on life, Scottish film star Cameron McClain nearly had to be hog tied by his manager to take a holiday at his secret escape destination on the Hawaiian North shore. Reluctant guests alone on one of the world’s most beautiful islands---except they are not alone…
Excerpt:
A movement, a shadow disturbed her peripheral vision just enough to jolt her from her uninvited anguish. Forcing her senses to sharpen, she sniffed back the need for a tissue and tiptoed to the edge of the lanai. Wrong part of the world for Sasquatch, she thought, briefly wondering if the Hawaiians had similar legend. Too laid back…Polynesian paralysis would prohibit such disturbing musings. They were the invention of overworked, stressed people trying to escape the insistent demands of the modern world. No such burden here in the land of Mahalo and hang loose.
It occurred to her that it was not the world she’d just left behind. She was about as far away from relaxed as an over processed perm.
The rain had ceased, the liquid chorus continued from every leaf and petal as they shed the weight of the passing storm. Straining to differentiate any foreign sound from the thrum of droplets splashing along on their journey from foliage to earth, she held her normal breathing in check, mouth open as means of silencing her own autonomic noise. Scrolling the immediate horizon like a cat burglar avoiding detection, she reached for the bamboo railing to steady her.
Bounding through the slick underbrush flashed the silhouette of a man in forward trajectory, a parabola of doom the likes of which she’d not seen since her friend Jill had taken a spill off her snowboard on the slopes of Lake Tahoe’s Diamond Peak. That had cost Jill six weeks in traction and her gift for belly dancing.
“Shite.” The ensuing male explicative sounded like the fated call of a condemned man.
Undergrowth rustling, banana tree quaking, the ground cover had swallowed whoever it was that had evidently survived the fall. A part of her didn’t want to stick around to see what emerged from the forest floor, but her sense of philanthropy held in check her initial urge to turn tail and run. The banana tree shook violently a long moment later, large elliptical leaves bending, seeming to disappear into the undergrowth as though some great herbivore were consuming them.
It took Chellie another indeterminate amount of time to realize her jaw was slack and she was indeed gaping at the commotion in dread and morbid anticipation. Like a newborn colt standing for the first time, the specter of a man emerged from the plants, body slick and smeared with the russet earth, hair drenched, spaghetti-like in wild abandon, frame struggling to attain upright stature in a curious combination of strength, embarrassment and anger. Whites of his eyes glowing in the dusk, he continued his colorful diatribe.
“Bleedin’ vines…snarlin’ round the f**kin’--”
His eyes snagged on her, his expression escalating from irritation to rage. “And who the fookin’ hell are you?” He evaluated her face a second longer, realizing that her eyes were dropping to inspect him…the whole of him…filthy, wet and… “Shite,” he rasped again, yanking the banana leaves he held at his sides at lightning speed to cover his privates. The ensuing image of him was of a Michelangelo statue run through the mud, covered by a mutant fig leaf.
She clung to reason just long enough to see the humor in the image before her. She also couldn’t help but notice that the man was spectacular. In the light of the ascending moon, his skin looked like polished marble slick with sweat and dirt, but undeniably sculpted. And the effigy of his face was worth the price of admission alone. He was the most extraordinary surreal mixture of anger, self-reprimand and pure animal earthiness.
“The owner of this private estate. So take your damn banana leaves and get out.” She struggled to maintain an expression worthy of being taken seriously, feigning the sudden need to wipe at something at the corner of her mouth.
“So you’re a squatter as well as a liar.” He looked up at her in inflamed irritation. “I’ve the keys to prove you wrong.”
“What keys? There’s not a door within twenty miles.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. I’ve the true owner’s jeep parked just the other side of the stream leadin’ here.”
She leaned further over the railing in growing indignation. “And that’s supposed to convince me of your authenticity.’”
He moved forward, making his way to the stairs that ascended to the lanai. “I’ve me bleedin’ gear in the bedroom to—.” He paused half way up the steps, rotating one of the banana leaves to cover his rear. “Why the hell do I owe you any explanation? I’ve been here three days now and have no intention of sharin’ the surroundin’s with some…some…woman.” The final word he emphasized with particular disgust.
She instinctively backed away, he presenting a very large, threatening countenance that screamed menace. Reaching for a cylindrical shape on the lanai table, she kept her eyes on him. Grasping it by Braille, she raised it over her head like a nightstick.
His expression melted from angst to humor in a flash. “What ya goin’ ta do, spray me to death, woman?” He snorted, tension draining from his body like water through a sieve.
She shot a glance to the object in her hand. Bug spray? Shit! Stay cool. Raising it higher over her head, she shrieked, “Back off, buddy.”
His abdomen contracted in mirth. “Unless you’ve been trained in the modern martial art of fumigation, I think I’m safe.”
“Fine, smart ass, but you’re gonna have to…” She slid her eyes to his groin and back in one lightning glance. “…Drop your leaves to get it away from me.”
He folded over in a spasm of laughter. She moved toward him. In a blink, he recovered full stature. She froze.
“It appears we’re at a stand off.” He pulled the leaves tighter against his body. “Let’s compromise. You put the insect repellant back in its place and I shall relieve you of the substantial burden of havin’ a naked man on the doorstep.”
She lowered the can. “Now you’re talking. Five minutes to get your stuff and hit the road. "
Reluctant Companions By Christine London
MuseItHot Publishing- http://tinyurl.com/3nns7px
Hawaii.
My time in the islands always lures me back. One of the true treasures of this planet, Oahu teams with abundant flora and fauna. The beauty of an island is its isolation from mainland evolution. North shore--frozen in time.
Hawaii is magic.
If you have loved the many far flung locales here on London Blog, click over to MuseItHot Publisher and fall in LOVE with...
Reluctant Companions
Coming Friday August 19, 2011...
Order Here
ISBN 978-1-927085-36-3
Grieving the loss of her beloved father, Chellie is convinced to take time off from her work-a day job to enjoy a secret retreat at a hidden Oahu bungalow. Property of the womanizing ex of her best friend, Chellie agrees only after being assured her privacy. Overworked, burnt out and sour on life, Scottish film star Cameron McClain nearly had to be hog tied by his manager to take a holiday at his secret escape destination on the Hawaiian North shore. Reluctant guests alone on one of the world’s most beautiful islands---except they are not alone…
Excerpt:
A movement, a shadow disturbed her peripheral vision just enough to jolt her from her uninvited anguish. Forcing her senses to sharpen, she sniffed back the need for a tissue and tiptoed to the edge of the lanai. Wrong part of the world for Sasquatch, she thought, briefly wondering if the Hawaiians had similar legend. Too laid back…Polynesian paralysis would prohibit such disturbing musings. They were the invention of overworked, stressed people trying to escape the insistent demands of the modern world. No such burden here in the land of Mahalo and hang loose.
It occurred to her that it was not the world she’d just left behind. She was about as far away from relaxed as an over processed perm.
The rain had ceased, the liquid chorus continued from every leaf and petal as they shed the weight of the passing storm. Straining to differentiate any foreign sound from the thrum of droplets splashing along on their journey from foliage to earth, she held her normal breathing in check, mouth open as means of silencing her own autonomic noise. Scrolling the immediate horizon like a cat burglar avoiding detection, she reached for the bamboo railing to steady her.
Bounding through the slick underbrush flashed the silhouette of a man in forward trajectory, a parabola of doom the likes of which she’d not seen since her friend Jill had taken a spill off her snowboard on the slopes of Lake Tahoe’s Diamond Peak. That had cost Jill six weeks in traction and her gift for belly dancing.
“Shite.” The ensuing male explicative sounded like the fated call of a condemned man.
Undergrowth rustling, banana tree quaking, the ground cover had swallowed whoever it was that had evidently survived the fall. A part of her didn’t want to stick around to see what emerged from the forest floor, but her sense of philanthropy held in check her initial urge to turn tail and run. The banana tree shook violently a long moment later, large elliptical leaves bending, seeming to disappear into the undergrowth as though some great herbivore were consuming them.
It took Chellie another indeterminate amount of time to realize her jaw was slack and she was indeed gaping at the commotion in dread and morbid anticipation. Like a newborn colt standing for the first time, the specter of a man emerged from the plants, body slick and smeared with the russet earth, hair drenched, spaghetti-like in wild abandon, frame struggling to attain upright stature in a curious combination of strength, embarrassment and anger. Whites of his eyes glowing in the dusk, he continued his colorful diatribe.
“Bleedin’ vines…snarlin’ round the f**kin’--”
His eyes snagged on her, his expression escalating from irritation to rage. “And who the fookin’ hell are you?” He evaluated her face a second longer, realizing that her eyes were dropping to inspect him…the whole of him…filthy, wet and… “Shite,” he rasped again, yanking the banana leaves he held at his sides at lightning speed to cover his privates. The ensuing image of him was of a Michelangelo statue run through the mud, covered by a mutant fig leaf.
She clung to reason just long enough to see the humor in the image before her. She also couldn’t help but notice that the man was spectacular. In the light of the ascending moon, his skin looked like polished marble slick with sweat and dirt, but undeniably sculpted. And the effigy of his face was worth the price of admission alone. He was the most extraordinary surreal mixture of anger, self-reprimand and pure animal earthiness.
“The owner of this private estate. So take your damn banana leaves and get out.” She struggled to maintain an expression worthy of being taken seriously, feigning the sudden need to wipe at something at the corner of her mouth.
“So you’re a squatter as well as a liar.” He looked up at her in inflamed irritation. “I’ve the keys to prove you wrong.”
“What keys? There’s not a door within twenty miles.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. I’ve the true owner’s jeep parked just the other side of the stream leadin’ here.”
She leaned further over the railing in growing indignation. “And that’s supposed to convince me of your authenticity.’”
He moved forward, making his way to the stairs that ascended to the lanai. “I’ve me bleedin’ gear in the bedroom to—.” He paused half way up the steps, rotating one of the banana leaves to cover his rear. “Why the hell do I owe you any explanation? I’ve been here three days now and have no intention of sharin’ the surroundin’s with some…some…woman.” The final word he emphasized with particular disgust.
She instinctively backed away, he presenting a very large, threatening countenance that screamed menace. Reaching for a cylindrical shape on the lanai table, she kept her eyes on him. Grasping it by Braille, she raised it over her head like a nightstick.
His expression melted from angst to humor in a flash. “What ya goin’ ta do, spray me to death, woman?” He snorted, tension draining from his body like water through a sieve.
She shot a glance to the object in her hand. Bug spray? Shit! Stay cool. Raising it higher over her head, she shrieked, “Back off, buddy.”
His abdomen contracted in mirth. “Unless you’ve been trained in the modern martial art of fumigation, I think I’m safe.”
“Fine, smart ass, but you’re gonna have to…” She slid her eyes to his groin and back in one lightning glance. “…Drop your leaves to get it away from me.”
He folded over in a spasm of laughter. She moved toward him. In a blink, he recovered full stature. She froze.
“It appears we’re at a stand off.” He pulled the leaves tighter against his body. “Let’s compromise. You put the insect repellant back in its place and I shall relieve you of the substantial burden of havin’ a naked man on the doorstep.”
She lowered the can. “Now you’re talking. Five minutes to get your stuff and hit the road. "
Reluctant Companions By Christine London
MuseItHot Publishing- http://tinyurl.com/3nns7px
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
Maybe Once Or Twice In A Lifetime
Once or twice in a lifetime you might have the extreme good luck to stumble upon a person whose life and aspirations so closely mirror your own that you are instantly connected. One such person in my life is my friend Viviane. It just so happens that she lives in a pretty amazing place--The island of Corfu, Greece.
Both of us are drawn to write stories of struggle and triumph, passion and everyday extraordinary people. When we met online we began a nearly daily interaction that has included, what she terms 'the slashing' of each other's work, as well as sharing thoughts and feelings about everything under the sun.
The waning days of July found me landing at Corfu's small airport, renting a car and making my way around the bay to the Hotel Oasis where Viviane works as front desk clerk/hostess/psychologist/stand-in parent and jack of most trades.
Corfu's economy is largely dependent on tourism, most of which occurs between May and September. During the cool rainy winter months the residents return to their quiet lives, but during high season it's seven days a week long hours spent smiling and tending to the onslaught.
This is my second visit to Corfu. This time I had the pleasure of meeting Viv's boss and family owner of the hotel. A host this rare should be mentioned. Generous and helpful, Petros made our time at his lovely little hotel a gem.
The Oasis clings to the cliff side and overlooks the crystal clear Ionian Sea. Little Mouse Island dots the warm aqua/azure water and families from all over the region enjoy its private beach, daily breakfast served on a large open air terrace and sparkling pool.
Touring about the island affords many more gorgeous vistas, none the equal of Viv's little corner of the world, but magnificent nonetheless. From Agios Gordios distinctive offshore rock spiking from the sea,
to the tiny villages that reflect Greece past,
to the nightlife action and rocking sea sport town of Kavos,
and the beautiful curve of Roda's cafe-lined beach,
the world weary traveler can find endless beauty and a way of life not unlike that of a small town anywhere.
People know each other, care about each other and, yes, sometimes gossip about each other. But isn't this a sign of human connection so many of us crave in this impersonal work-a-day society?
Don't expect to hear much English should you choose to visit, but almost everyone knows it and uses it as the lingua franka. Mythos--perhaps the best lager in the world, flows plentifully.
Pitas are unlike their cousin Gyros, but every bit as delicious and the local Kumquat Liqueur is served over ice or with a swirl of cream.
Sailboats and yachts abound.
The night time sky like a diamond spattered ebony velvet. Cicadas sing in the trees and the smell of junipers mingle with baked earth and grass.
From thirty thousand feet it looks like a dream.
Small wonder this Italian flavoured jewel is sought after for relaxation by those in the know.
Thanks for the insider tip, Viv.
Both of us are drawn to write stories of struggle and triumph, passion and everyday extraordinary people. When we met online we began a nearly daily interaction that has included, what she terms 'the slashing' of each other's work, as well as sharing thoughts and feelings about everything under the sun.
The waning days of July found me landing at Corfu's small airport, renting a car and making my way around the bay to the Hotel Oasis where Viviane works as front desk clerk/hostess/psychologist/stand-in parent and jack of most trades.
Corfu's economy is largely dependent on tourism, most of which occurs between May and September. During the cool rainy winter months the residents return to their quiet lives, but during high season it's seven days a week long hours spent smiling and tending to the onslaught.
This is my second visit to Corfu. This time I had the pleasure of meeting Viv's boss and family owner of the hotel. A host this rare should be mentioned. Generous and helpful, Petros made our time at his lovely little hotel a gem.
The Oasis clings to the cliff side and overlooks the crystal clear Ionian Sea. Little Mouse Island dots the warm aqua/azure water and families from all over the region enjoy its private beach, daily breakfast served on a large open air terrace and sparkling pool.
Touring about the island affords many more gorgeous vistas, none the equal of Viv's little corner of the world, but magnificent nonetheless. From Agios Gordios distinctive offshore rock spiking from the sea,
to the tiny villages that reflect Greece past,
to the nightlife action and rocking sea sport town of Kavos,
and the beautiful curve of Roda's cafe-lined beach,
the world weary traveler can find endless beauty and a way of life not unlike that of a small town anywhere.
People know each other, care about each other and, yes, sometimes gossip about each other. But isn't this a sign of human connection so many of us crave in this impersonal work-a-day society?
Don't expect to hear much English should you choose to visit, but almost everyone knows it and uses it as the lingua franka. Mythos--perhaps the best lager in the world, flows plentifully.
Pitas are unlike their cousin Gyros, but every bit as delicious and the local Kumquat Liqueur is served over ice or with a swirl of cream.
Sailboats and yachts abound.
The night time sky like a diamond spattered ebony velvet. Cicadas sing in the trees and the smell of junipers mingle with baked earth and grass.
From thirty thousand feet it looks like a dream.
Small wonder this Italian flavoured jewel is sought after for relaxation by those in the know.
Thanks for the insider tip, Viv.
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