London Blog

When Love Speaks

2012-01-20T17:59:00.001-08:00

Film mirrors real life. Writers of fiction and fact speak the truth through the words of their characters. The power of love. The power of the pen to write what is in men’s hearts when they fall…

She has 600 different smiles. They can light up your life. Make you laugh out loud, make you cry, just like that.
— When a Man Loves a Woman

When you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible.— When Harry Met Sally

The world is moved by love. We kneel before it in awe.
— The Village

We come to love not by finding a perfect person, but by learning to see an imperfect person perfectly.
— To Love and Be Loved

Love is the strongest thing. Nothing can touch it. Nothing comes close. If we love each other we're safe from it all ---Snow Falling on Cedars

I knew it the very first time I touched her. It was like coming home... I knew. It was like magic.— Sleepless in Seattle

Wherever she is, that's where my home is.— The Notebook

You make me want to be a better man —As Good as It Gets

I would rather share one lifetime with you than face all the ages of this world alone. — The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring

What is sacred? Of what is the spirit made? What is worth living for? What is worth dying for ?The answer to each: only love — Don Juan DeMarco

Truth & love has always won There may be tyrants and murderers and for a time they may seem invincible, but in the end, they always fail. --Gandhi

There are too many mediocre things in life to deal with and love shouldn't have to be one of them.— Dream for an Insomniac

"I want the last face you see in this world to be the face of love.… I'll be the face of love for you."— Dead Man Walking

I would rather have had one breath of her hair, one kiss from her mouth, one touch of her hand, than eternity without it.
— City of Angels

Known someone that could level you with her eyes... an angel on earth who could rescue you from the depths of hell. " — Good Will Hunting

It seems right now that all I've ever done in my life is making my way here to you."— The Bridges of Madison County

Yours has been the most important friendship of my life.— Sense and Sensibility

The Great Smoothie Experiment

2012-01-19T20:27:00.001-08:00

So I've been trying out various smoothie recipes--

They say it is a really good way to get concentrated nutrion in a pleasant easily assembled form.

Well guess what? I ran across an amazing one that is bright green and SO NOT veggie tasting you will be astounded.

"Spinach Shake"

Sounds gross, huh?

So let's call it Green Goddess and call it GOOD. (Because it is!)

3 cups fresh spinach leaves
2 cups ice
1/2 large banana
2 Tbsp pnut butter
1 scoop vanilla protein powder
3/4 cup low fat milk
optional: 1 Tbsp honey OR Agave nectar (if you wish sweeter drink)

Blend in blender on high and serve.

Rich, smooth, healthy and amazing!

Lyon France Vineyards–When We Were Amazing’s Aussie Wine Heir Struggles

2012-01-17T22:24:00.001-08:00

Bryan Lassiter, our reluctant young Aussie wine heir, finds himself in Lyon, France trying to forget the love of his life, California rancher, Carrie Sorrell. He’s a guest member of an exclusive club of international vintners attending an invitational event kissed by distracting co worker, Leslie, accompanied by mentor Judy and -- momentarily left alone with his memories...

   “It’s straight,” Bryan professed, his hand reaching to cover hers on the knot at his collar.
   “It’s not. You want to look perfect this morning.” Leslie’s flawlessly filed French tips played with the silk of his tie, adjusting it with small tugs. Bryan looked at their reflections in the
six-foot horizontal mirror. Her flame red dress snug against her curves, she stood back to the mirror adjusting his tie. Sun pouring through the skylight nearly obscured her in its white glow.
   “I’ll be late.” He planted an obligatory goodbye kiss at her cheek and headed for his briefcase at the door. “See you tonight.” He entered the hall pausing a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dimmer light. Raising his wrist, he glanced at his watch. Eight thirty. He had just enough time to hop in the limo and make it to Le Rousseau by nine; they’d be serving cheeses, fruit and café au lait, no doubt.
   His stomach growled as he headed for the lobby.
   A black Lincoln sat in the crescent of the wide drive. He thought it odd to have such an American monstrosity do the ferrying of executives through the outskirts of Lyon, into the countryside and the world-renowned vineyards. Nine a.m. meet and greet, ten o’clock walk through. He looked forward to seeing first hand the ancient blended into modern techniques of the French.
   Four years since he’d taken the reins and this was the first time he’d made it to France. He slid onto the slick leather of the rear bench seat, nodding good morning to Judy.
   “They’ll be expecting us to be ignorant.” Judy looked up from the glossy professional brochures in her lap. “The arrogance oozes from every perfect cuneiform curl.” She raised an olive green tri-fold printed on top grade paper. Misty vine-covered hills punctuated with the white of a French chateau was the backdrop to the elegant calligraphy spelling out La Rousseau.
   “Ours are much classier.” Bryan observed.
   “Yeah, and Bob’s your uncle.”
   “We don’t need the pretense. Australian wines have been winning as many international ribbons as any—”
   “Still there’s the perception.” She peered over her reading glasses. “And perception is everything.”
   Bryan made a low growl at the back of his throat. “We’ll see.” He turned his face to look out the window. Sparsely scattered estates fell away and the countryside turned into open land, wild
grasses rolling along the fields rippling in the breeze that raced across them.
   A heavy stone fence appeared, dividing road from fields now set in the neat geometry of the vineyard.

Turning through massive wrought iron gates, the limo glided up the road toward a
gentle rise on which stood the La Rousseau Chateau. Every bit as impressive as its likeness in the brochure, the gray granite blocks of its walls spelled money, power and prestige.
   A black tuxedoed doorman opened the rear of the limo, his other arm held toward the horizon in welcome. “Mr. Lassiter and Ms…uh…”
“McBride. Judy McBride.”
“Very good. Ms. McBride. Welcome to La Rousseau Vineyards.” He divided a glance between them. “Please, follow me.”
   They walked through a glass doorway open to the morning air, the ceiling of the room they entered soaring two stories over their heads. There was a heavy mahogany round table in the
center of plush inlaid carpet, its bear-claw feet curled as though ready to pounce from its position of prominence. An enormous spray of flowers set in a silver cloisonné vase seemed the only thing weighting table to floor.
   Across the room a hearth, big enough to roast a pig, gave testament to the age of the building, intricately carved marble about its mantel reflecting the baroque elegance of a much
earlier Louis.
   “Judy.” Louis Rousseau’s voice boomed through the vast space, bouncing off the plaster. Period tapestries along the walls absorbed extraneous noise; no doubt the room was a banquet hall before the revolution. “And zeh junior Mr. Lassiter. So very nice to meet you.” Louis extended a fine boned hand. Slight of build, but immaculately dressed, Mr. Rousseau appeared much less intimidating than the oil on canvas likeness that graced the home page of the Le Rousseau website.
   “A pleasure.” Bryan took his hand. Shaken with unexpected strength, he noted the physical signature of a man in control.
   “S’il vous plait. Accompany me to zeh jardin. It ez much more beautiful on such a glorious day.”
   Bryan nodded in a slight bow of concession and they followed Louis through the hall, out onto a grand terraced patio, which overlooked a sea of grass so green, it looked like it belonged on a football pitch. Islands of roses spread out in horticultural perfection on each side. Images of Versailles popped into Bryan’s head; this was on a smaller scale, but every bit as impressive.
   “You are among the first of our guests to arrive. Please help yourself to refreshment.” He
raised an invitational hand to the linen-covered table abutting a semi circle of granite benches spanning half the perimeter of the house.
   “Thank you,” Judy chimed in. “We’ll be fine.”
   “Very good. If you will excuse me, I must greet the other arrivals.” Rousseau bowed and walked back into the house.
   “Some spread.” Judy scrolled the surroundings and reached for a croissant from a cut crystal platter.
   “Do you mean the grounds or the food?” Bryan asked in amusement. Judy seldom displayed any form of awe, even so much as using a relaxed colloquial. “Spread?” He chuckled.
“I’d just as well get used to throwing in an Americanism or two. Heaven knows we’ll be seeing enough bloody Californians over the next few days to fill Mr. Rousseau’s grand hall.”
   “Hmmm,” Bryan acknowledged, scooping a flute of champagne from a silver tray at the far end of the table. He walked out onto the grass and took a gulp; the carbonation caught in his
throat on the way down. He swallowed and coughed, clearing the tickle. Delicious.

The champagne warmed his empty stomach with a pleasant fizz. The effect of its alcohol was felt
almost immediately in a rush of lightheadedness. He took another gulp, feeling the uncouth wine novice, but he didn’t care. First it was a morning of Leslie’s incessant nitpicking and now Judy
throwing the inevitability of Californians in his face. He needed a drink.
   Every time he thought he’d gotten over her, there was a reminder. From the specter of some woman on the beach in a string bikini the shade of the one she’d worn one day at Malibu, to a
Yank accent on the breeze as he walked through Federation Square, to the never ending flow of Californians in the bloody wine business. Today would be no exception. All the world’s top
winemakers would attend La Rousseau’s CEO invitational, California being amongst the lot. Held every five years, Louis Rousseau made sure each attendee felt the tradition and pressure of
the French nipping at the heels of vintners worldwide. France held a place of historical esteem, even though superb wines were produced in many other regions of the globe. Rousseau knew it,
and pulled out all the stops to impress upon the vintner elite that France was not about to abdicate its place in the world’s eyes.
Bryan strolled out onto the grass and looked across the distant vines impassively. When would Carrie’s face leave him? There wasn’t a day that he didn’t think about her and wonder if
she was happy. One curt reply to a barrage of e-mails had been the only word he’d gotten from
her after that evening he’d called. She’d been swept her off her feet, she’d claimed, by this
American Brian. He’d tried to get through to her, writing e-mail after e-mail pleading his case, to
be met with a silence of two months and then that terse response.
“Don’t write to me any more, Bryan. I’m sorry, but I’ve moved on. I never expected to find an older man, but you were right.”

   That’s what really stuck in his craw, that reference to his age. It had never made a difference to him so why all of a sudden did it seem to loom large in her mind?
   He drained the glass and walked over for another. Snagging a wedge of Brie, he popped it in his mouth followed by a couple of red grapes. A croissant to sop up the alcohol, he bit the end of
the flaky crescent before sipping at another flute of champagne.
Slow down, Lassiter. You are going to need your faculties for this lot. He walked back out onto the grass and over to an island of pale pink roses bushes. Leaning to breath in the fragrance, he let his mind wander to Leslie.
   He shook his head. Perhaps she had been a rebound at first. Carrie would certainly think so. Her looks had worn him down at first, yes. But she was bright and funny most days, unless
something or someone got in her way. Ambitious to the end, Leslie Covington was the epitome of a status seeker. He’d even accused her of coming on to him because of his place in the wine
world during one of their ever more frequent squabbles. Hell, recently they had been out and out fights, always ending in mind-numbing make up sex. The woman could have been a courtesan
with that voluptuous figure of hers. Almost a caricature, the hourglass of her form turned men’s heads wherever they went.
   Yes, it had been a factor in her pursuit those first few months after the break up with Carrie. She’d kept after him with her brilliant idea of joining forces: Bradley LLC becoming chief
publisher and distributor of Lassiter Vineyards’ series of ‘Culinary Oz’, Lassiter wines prominently featured not only as part of the recipes, but as accompaniment to the complete meals
outlined and beautifully photographed against the background of the Mornington Peninsula’s spectacular hills and beaches. The books continued to be an international hit, selling prominently
in gourmet shops and chain bookstores alike.
   He smiled at the memory of her obvious flirtation. Showing up at his Melbourne offices at least twice a week in those form-fitting dresses of hers, she always had another suggestion to
convince him of the affability of the two companies and this ‘win-win’ venture.
   She’d finally gotten to him one night when he’d had a particularly hard week of missing Carrie and feeling generally sorry for himself.
   “You’re such a man.” He could practically hear Carrie’s reprimand. Of course, she had said it in fun when she caught him checking her out on what he thought to be the sly, as she washed
dishes in that cute little kitchen of hers on the ranch, wearing nothing but short shorts and a tee.
   He winced, a bit of truth ringing through his head. Yes, Leslie was beautiful, but she was smart as well as a good strategic planner as far as Bradley was concerned. She knew next to nothing about the wine business though and her lack of interest in learning had been the accelerant for more than a few rows.
   “Bryan?” Judy’s voice pulled him from his thoughts. “The Rossi’s are here.” He turned to see half a dozen of the famous California-based vintners walking toward him like the original
Mercury astronauts, strutting the ‘right stuff’ in their expensive suits and, in the case of Mrs.Rossi senior, couture.
   Forcing a smile to his face, he walked toward them in greeting to begin the day.

When We Were Amazing by Christine London

For more information:

http://www.amazon.com/When-We-Were-Amazing-ebook/dp/B006M6NMMO/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1326867389&sr=8-2

The Descendants– The Little Film That Could

2012-01-15T21:49:00.001-08:00

The Descendants

Ostensibly about a man wrangling with the weight of decision - to sell a piece of pristine Kauai paradise passed down through generations of family-- to land developers or to keep it in its natural state. What might have seemed oppressive pressure to choose wisely is dwarfed in significance when real life intrudes on just another day in paradise. Matt King's (Clooney) consuming career as land baron takes backstage when his wife is involved in a boating accident. The daughters he has neglected in favor of work are suddenly thrust before him. How does a man with all good intentions of rekindling his neglected marriage and fragmented relationship with his children cope when fate shoves him into the role of parent?

As Matt's raw soliloquy at the film's beginning reminds us, no matter the glorious setting, it can not dull the pain and challenges we all face. Set against Hawaiian backdrop of azure seas and tropical flowers, The Descendants reminds us what it means to be human in all it's messy, ornamented layers.

George Clooney is yanked through the most intense and horrible of family shattering occurrences, but remains intact while fighting the Neanderthal knee jerk reaction most men would have when faced with their wife's infidelity, mortality and children he barely knows. The film avoids the easy Pollyannaish path in favor of brutal reality while maintaining a delicate balance of humor and bittersweet ironies. Clooney is thus cast as a reluctant hero, but hero nonetheless.

Every character, from the rebellious daughters, to the flinty grief stricken father-in-law, to the eldest daughter’s smart mouthed boyfriend, to the object of Matt's wife's adultery - all are complex, multi-layered and oh so human.

Clooney's character sees though these layers and interwoven lives to the core of grief and change allowing the viewer to come to the same conclusions he does by film's end. How refreshing to be treated to such an intelligent plot and multifaceted characters. Highest recommendation and kudos.

*Congratulations to this quiet little film for its Golden Globe wins over other big glitzy contenders.*

A Bittersweet Farewell and the Power of Gratitude

2012-01-07T20:21:00.001-08:00

My father was a world war two vet in the Pacific theatre. A pilot on photographic missions he earned his wings at nineteen--straight out of high school. He met my mother at her sorority house Northwestern University Chicago as he played the piano pass time downstairs waiting for a friend. She heard his rendition of Tea for Two and was drawn like the music lover she was.
Mom passed away at home in August of 2007 before her Alzheimer's could rob her of all her memories.

My only sibling, a brother, followed her in June of 2008--a victim of his nicotine addiction. Dad passed in March 2010 in the final cruel stages of the neurological thief -- Parkinson's disease. In the span of two and a half years my family of origin was lost. It drew a curtain of sadness over my life.

Today I went to visit the care home for the elderly and infirmed where my father spent his last year. It is the first time I have been back since he passed. It was lovely to see the care providers and other residents. I am humbled by the level of love they provided day in and out. I watched over my parents as they were robbed of their faculties and know intimately the emotional and physical demands of care providers. Until dad could not move from wheelchair to bed, he remained in his home of thirty five years. It is one of life's most difficult decisions to know when elders can not be served best in their homes.

The care home in which he resided is a magical place. It is a private home in which a maximum of six resident may be cared for at any given time

It sits on a hill overlooking the sea in the most beautiful part of the Palos Verdes Peninsula, Los Angeles.

Today I met the new residents and their families. They were having a birthday party for one of the elders. As we sat in the back garden overlooking the sea, two biplanes--Stearman--the same sort my father trained in as a 19 year old in World War two, flew overhead--out over the sea. They nearly touched wings as they moved in perfect formation. It was as though my parents were saying hello to me--and farewell. Such a moment, such a vision etched permanently in mind.

There is a hole in my life now that is unfilled, but the loss has also given me such a great appreciation for life. To enjoy every day-every moment. To see what I wish they could see--what we could share together--what I now see for them and for those who might be touched by my world through the vehicle of my words.

Such was the color of my day. Bittersweet--rich. I hope yours did not pass without notice and deep gratitude. There is so much beauty and wonder in every leaf, face and sunrise. This life is a rainbow of experience.

There is no problem or challenge so big or difficult that it should color your world gray.

A New Beginning

2012-01-03T21:14:00.000-08:00

A flipping of the calendar from one month of 'ending' to the next--a new beginning?

Here we are in January of a brand spanking new year. More days counted on a calendar of human design, yet as good a reason as any to evaluate—re-evaluate our lives and what's happening around us.
Hey...any reason to introspect gets a gold star in my book. A friend of mine took the momentous occasion to list her ten hottest guys of 2011. Hmm... The airwaves are full of ads to join a gym, a diet center, a technical college. Improve yourself, improve you life, get off the couch, join in on the human race.
What about twelve months wears down our resolve--our desire to make every day count? Is it failing optimism? No. Our need to look to the sunrise in search of unending possibilities?

Perhaps.
Like an Etcha sketch we need to shake up our lives and erase that which we find wanting.

Our never ending ability to start again is the stuff of human invention and success. We move forward, albeit three steps forward, two back, in uneven struggle. When we have risen to the occasion enough times, we wear out and new life takes over in the never-ending dance.
One job not any better or more valuable than the next, each of us finds a niche in which we can contribute to the forward motion of life. Each has a unique moment of personal destiny. Each a place in human destiny. Through the power of intention we can choose to step out of our history into the light of a new day, month, year—life.
I put it to you that in this time of new beginnings disallow how others define you and look inside to ask how you might best serve others in this cause called humanity. What makes your heart soar? What would you do even if no one paid or noticed? What would propel you from bed every morning into a new day of living your passion?

You can help. Use whatever connection you have with however many people you influence. No preaching necessary. It is through respect--allowing people to see for themselves how their lives can be better by the gift you offer. Whether that be shining a shoe,

selling broccoli,

making a bed,

framing a house

or painting a beautiful picture

—you have an integral gift to offer. It may never receive accolades or notice, but if it adds positive energy, influence, life to the world; you have been a success.
Move toward your dream each and every day. No matter how small that forward motion, it and you make what the world calls humanity, better, smarter, more stable, more meaningful. One heart touched, one life altered for the good, one day, one hand, one heart at a time.

2012 the end of the (Mayan) calendar--the beginning of another, a chance to improve, move forward, live and love every daybreak, every sunset, every success, every failure. Live, breathe, move forward toward your supreme moment of destiny.

Surely Six Sentences Scintillate

2011-12-18T00:01:00.000-08:00

Sundays are one of the favorite days of the week not only for a welcome day's rest, but for the opportunity to browse the internet. As a reader there is nothing better than discovering a new author who turns on the light of your mind and heart. Through the vehicle of the mini blog tour known as Six Sentence Sunday, a reader can hop from site to site tasting six savory sentences from authors eager to please and allure.

Christine London's Leap Of Faith

When Faith crashes a glamorous Italian island film festival she finds her actor crush, Alex, there. Whilst publicist Hunter Jameson may be hired to protect Alex, he’s no idea his growing feelings for Faith rival that of his famous client. The only thing for certain— life will never be the same.

"Leap of Faith is not only about romance but a rare challenge to test the heart and what lies within." - Night Owl Reviews

" ...a depth of emotion which drew me right into the story.." - Long and Short Reviews

Today's six focuses on the discovery of a crasher Faith, in the exclusive Forio International Film Festival. Faith Holmes has no intention of being pushed around, even by the man one heartbeat away from her all time favorite English mega star.

The dull percussive sound of impact sent her reeling. Landing on her
butt, legs sprawled, Faith closed her eyes and shook her head.
“Just who do you think you are?”
She glared up the mile of trouser to the man above her. Hands on hips,
he looked the right jailer.
“Faith. Miss Holmes to you.”

Christine London's Leap Of Faith Available Now at Amazon and electronic book retailers everywhere

Should Six mean Sex?

2011-12-11T00:01:00.000-08:00

Six Sentence Sunday is one way for readers to have a taste of many author's writing without investing a lot of time. A reader can hop from blog to blog by accessing the Six Sentence Sunday listing and sample well over 150 authors on any given Sunday.

Great idea.

Have women taken a cultural turn into being more like men and value six sentences of sex over something that might actually exemplify the story/character or plot? I am not judging one way or the other—just wondering what YOUR take is.

This week I am featuring six from a tale that I recently completed, but have not finished editing for submission.

One More Day

Cole Phillips was dead.
Four years later his wife Tara is without any answers.
Is a universe that so cruelly tore her husband from her actually capable of bestowing such a gift?
One More Day…
A tale of the 24 hour return to life of a man so sorely missed by his widow the power of her will alone causes a rift in the universe and with it, an opportunity of which other have only dreamed.

Six:

Fists at his chest she didn’t even have the strength to pound on him. Dropping her forehead to his sternum, she sobbed.

He held her. Helpless in his arms.

“You know time is fluid, darlin’. There are those of us who can feel its waves and eddies. If we had the vision possible without the confines of these bodies, we’d be free to explore all the nuances of it.”

Christine London is author of Romance with a decidedly British Twist. You can learn more about her and her work at

www.christinelondon.com

Thank you for visiting!

Should a Man Still Be Expected to Pay?

2011-12-08T22:14:00.001-08:00

A segment on a national morning show got me thinking. Is it outmoded to expect a man to pay for a first date? Is it unreasonable for a man to expect something more than the pleasure of a woman's company for the investment of time and money? Should the bill be split from date one, two, ever?

The gal on the news segment was a twenty five year old professional woman living and working in New York City. She uses a large online dating service and as part of their questionnaire clearly asks for men that have a good job as one of her stipulations. She dated an average of five nights a week over a month's time (that was noted) and was treated to nice restaurants in NYC by as many gainfully employed dates. Some $1200 dollars in restaurant food and drink resulted--the news alluding to this as a 'savings' to the dating woman. New York is not cheap to be sure and I suppose these men tried to impress this pretty gal by taking her to some nice places. But would she have really spent this kind of cash on herself--so was it a 'savings'?

The segment made her out to be a gold digger of sorts. If she was going into the date looking for compatibility--is this gold digging or just trying to get to know a man/men? If she only wanted free food--why use an (expensive) dating service? Of course none of us can see into her heart, but it does beg further, more general question. Should men (still) be expected to pay?

Agree? Or do you think it is incumbent on a man as part of enticing a woman to enjoy his company, to take her to a nice place? These men would have read the stipulations in her profile--that they be gainfully employed. So they clearly would know she wanted a man her equal or more, monetarily. She does not want to be a sugar mama any more than I expect the men want to be taken by a gold digger.

The traditional 'man pays' no doubt began when women were not employed outside the home and were supported by the significant males in their life. Even with the advent of women's liberation, women still do not make equal pay for equal work. Should this have an impact on if, and how much the woman should chip into the courting process?

And what of the woman who wishes to date only casually. The woman who longs for male companions, but is not particularly interested in settling down OR in being a one night stand? Is there any case for a man expecting sex as payment for date expenditures? Don't try to tell me you don't think this runs through LOTS of guys minds. It does.

Food + Wine = Sex? When did we cross over the 'a date is to get to know a person as a person' (and not exclusively a sex object)? Should a woman offer to share costs each and every time? Does this take out the 'romance' of male courting female?

Is it totally a social site dating world now when by the time a couple actually gets together for a one on one date they already know each other well enough to have ironed out these things? Should all this be placed on the table of discussion before that first date?

Love to hear your 'take' Guys and gals...

Dear 16 Year Old Me

2011-12-08T11:17:00.001-08:00

Too important NOT TO SEE.

"Dear 16 Year Old Me"

Lost best friend at 28 years old.

He had so much life and potential.

Such a waste.

SO easily preventable.

CLICK HERE: http://su.pr/2sUXR9

What More Horrific Than the Death of Your Child? Six Sentence Sunday

2011-12-04T00:01:00.000-08:00

When We Were Amazing is about a lot of life transitions—a boy grows into a man, keeping secrets, ostensibly to save, drunk driving death of a spouse, the passing of a parent. But nowhere under heaven is there anything more horrific---the loss of your baby before your eyes.

This week’s SIX:

In the delighted tunnel vision of a small child, three year old Livvie bolts into the street. This, the horrified reaction of her mother. When I wrote this scene, tears streamed down my face---the ineffable connection all mothers have to their child shattered my heart. How the world would cease if the unthinkable were to happen before a mother’s eyes.

She froze, blood turning to ice in her veins. Power unknown shot through her. Muscles fired
to life propelling her forward. She was at the front bumper of the white sedan before she could
take another breath. Hands on the hood, she pushed with the strength of heaven. The car rolled
back, and Livvie’s crumpled form appeared, an unnatural twisting of limbs, clothing, hair.

But like a china doll, Livvie lay motionless, broken.

*********************************

When tragedy nearly destroys Brian's family wine business, can this reluctant young heir forfeit his dreams and online love?

Available NOW through MuseItUp Publishing

More? Click here.

"Easily Five Stars"

2011-11-29T10:49:00.000-08:00

Reviewer Sue Lyndon has just forwarded a review of Christine London's November release, When We Were Amazing

For more about When We Were Amazing click HERE

Rating: 5 Stars
Review: Christine London’s When We Were Amazing blew me away.

It’s a heart wrenching story about two people who spend years pining for each other, but the demands of life and their own stubbornness interfere each time they almost get together.

Carrie and Bryan began an internet relationship of sorts that grows until she decides to fly from her home in California to surprise him in Australia. Their first meeting doesn’t go as planned, especially after Bryan learns she has a son she never told him about. It takes an accident to draw Bryan to California and they spend a few wonderful weeks together, but their time together is cut short when a family emergency pulls Bryan away.

This story has a lot of twists and turns like this, and there was never a dull moment. I loved the hero and heroine (even though I wanted to wring their necks a few times), and I especially loved watching Bryan become a man. I was a little worried at the beginning of this story because he seemed indecisive and definitely not the type of hero I usually root for. But my opinion of him changed drastically as he met the challenges he was faced with head-on, overcoming huge obstacles and making sacrifices for his family along the way.

Cassie, who is significantly older than Bryan, also had a lot of pain in her life and having Bryan just to lose him again only added to her troubles. It takes years, a chance meeting, and the interference of Cassie’s son to get these two soul mates together for good.

I loved this contemporary romance novel and couldn’t put it down!

Easily 5 stars!

Just Playin' Around

2011-11-28T20:28:00.000-08:00

A flurry of words
About the ride home
From a film shoot...

Two fingers at your chin
Love the feel of your beard
Blazing blue green eyes
Slice through to my core
Long legs that stride on forever
Mine the only that can keep pace
Surf in a tumble

Sand in the hem of your suit
Sun kissed hair
Freckles at your shoulders

The shoot has finished
Some quiet time well earned
Roughened hand at my collar bone
We turn to go
Hum of your Hybrid
I watch your face
So many thoughts
Creasing your brow
Turn off the blackberry
Time to head home

Malibu night
Headlamps flood the drive
Only we two
Welcoming silence
Precious silence
Key in the door
Lola at your ankle
Happy dance

Biscuit treat
Rough house on the floor

Flip on the stereo
Something slow and sweet
Toss the cold Starbucks
Brew new
Elbows on the table
Leaning nose to nose
Steal a kiss
That's yours for the taking
Chat for hours
Moon hangs low over the sea

Good night my dear
Job well done
Feet up on the couch
News at eleven
I run a hand at your temple
Drowsily, you smile
Crochet throw
Tuck you in
Goodnight my dear
Goodnight

Six Sentence Sunday & Coast Guard Rescue Gone Wrong

2011-11-27T00:01:00.000-08:00

"How do you know the feelings, the terror and angst of waiting for a Coast Guardsman to come home?"

Members of this elite corp- the smallest of the United States Services- save lives on a daily basis and provide invaluable service on the waters in and around the United States.

Power of the waves enfold me
Gray of the sea surround me
Rocking of untold eons soothe me
Welcome me into the bosom
Of the deep
—Dedicated to the men and women of the Untied States
Coast Guard

Christine London's AGAINST THE CURRENT

Sunday's Six:

Sideways rain blew across the windscreen, high intensity
searchlights barely penetrated the gathering gloom and the
ferocity of the storm threatened the survival of any imprisoned
by its rage. Commander Grant Cooper pushed the collective
gingerly, the nose of the H-65 Dolphin helicopter dipping
beneath the traffic bed on the Golden Gate Bridge in a desperate
search for survivors.
"There!" Lieutenant John Manning pointed a forefinger
across the instrument panel into the sheeting rain.
"God damned crosswinds." Grant gritted his teeth as he
struggled with the collective and the cyclic, trying to keep the
pitch of the helicopter stable.
"Okay, Murphy. Time to hook up and earn your pay."

A couple snippets of reviews:

"Action packed, hot and sexy, just watching as Julie and Grant love hard and fight even harder is enough to make your blood start pounding. Giving us a look into the lives of the Coast Guard, and SAR, a reader gets to appreciate what the men and women in this branch of the service give to us each and every day. This book is without a doubt a keeper." - simplyromancereviews :Melissa

"...it was almost as if I was standing on the boat during the rescue and hiding in the background when they faced their next encounter. I was spellbound visualizing the forceful danger they must face." - theromancestudio : Brenda Talley

AGAINST THE CURRENT

Grant Cooper is England 's finest. He's on a four-year tour of duty as an exchange flight officer to the United States Coast Guard. Always the man in control, he's the model of the perfect Search And Rescue pilot.

It's not command that Julie MacKinnon fancies. She dumped him once in protest. After all, there are enough constraints in her life as an Emergency room http://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gifnurse and volunteer Coast Guard Auxiliary crewwoman. When fate throws the two back together in the middle of a heart pounding emergency, will Grant be able to put the requirements of his position aside long enough to save his crew and their love?

Click HERE to see more

Six Sentence Sunday and National Novel Writing Month

2011-11-20T00:01:00.000-08:00

As I climb peak Novel In A Month, my arms grow weary, my eyesight blurs and the reservoir of creative words sometimes fail, but I shall not be afraid. Low, though I walk through the valley of failure, I shall fear no short word counts. For perseverance and a modicum of talent shall walk with me all the days of my life..as long as I B-E-L-I-E-V-E

B- buckle down

E- engage brain

L-Love what I am writing

I- Invent something new

E- Engage the reader

V- validate my talent through honoring it

E- Embrace my inner muse

Blurb: Sara (Flat 4) thought her Christmas holiday job at the local cinema would be a pleasant enough way to help pay her tuition, but when her boss can find nothing but wrong in her and everyone else's performance, she vows to find out why.

"Did your trainer not inform you that disabled patrons are to be seated first?"

"Uh." She stuttered, a slug of surprise impacting her square between the eyes. "Um...yes."

"Then why, Miss Wright, did I witness you seating an able bodied patron before her disabled partner?"

Her mind raced through the last ten minutes trying to sort the person to whom he referred.

"Clearly, the employee manual states—"

"Oh...the clever little man who offered his wife to enter the aisle ahead of him." The image of the endearing ancient man with the wispy silver brows and apple doll face flickered across memory's screen.

****

55 Portabello Road is an anthology/snapshot of the residents living in one Nottinghill block of flats, of love’s path in bloom at holidays round the year and the many different ways it embodies life’s most powerful meaning.

****

More of Christine London’s American meets Brit works of love can be found through www.christinelondon.com

Six Sentence Sunday and An Aussie Tale

2011-11-13T00:01:00.001-08:00

When We Were Amazing

11/11/11 Christine London's Australian/International novel of the struggle toward love---of career, of family, of a woman...

When tragedy nearly destroys Bryan's family wine business, can this reluctant young heir forfeit his dreams and online love to save it?

Sometimes what a girl needs is a father figure in her life that is willing to speak his mind to any man that dares act the fool toward her...

This week’s SIX…

“Jesus, Bryan. If you’re such a myopic adolescent fool that you haven’t figured out the mother is worth twenty of the kids, you aren’t worthy of her time. Do you have any idea what she’s been through the last few years?”

Bryan lowered his eyes to the ground and sighed. “She lost her husband.”

“Not her husband, Marc scraped. "Her boyfriend…Cooper’s father. He never took the time to marry the woman because he thought there was all the time in the world to figure things out. Well let me tell you bucko, sometimes the fates don’t deal their hand the way you expect.”

Half a world apart

Years between them

One untenable secret

When We Were Amazing

2011-11-10T15:05:00.001-08:00

There was a time, a few winters ago, when the fourteen hours of travel to fly down under was but a moment in time. Full summer Melbourne, warm breezy sun and a bouquet of wildflowers; the young man that greeted me at the airport radiated ebullient enthusiasm. Nervous? Were we not. The year and a half of emails and messages exchanged online had allowed us to know nearly everything about each other, yet nothing of true import.

So often I am asked if an author's fiction reflects true life. Whether it's a name, a scent remembered or a story lived, those who write can not help but include their experiences in their tales. From what else do we have to draw? What else would ring so true?

In the end it really does not matter where reality ends and fiction begins because a great story IS true whether or not it happened just that way,

or not.

You are cordially invited to come along on a journey of discovery. Can a young man barely out of university be convinced that there is worth in paying societies dues? Can a life-worn woman years his senior have what is truly important to offer or will the secrets she’s' so carefully guarded destroy his faith in her as a wonderful human being? I could tell you what real life dealt. You might suppose that most young men could not handle the complexities of an adult life filled with truths and tragedies lived in all its messy realism. You might be right? Or would you…

I invite you to experience one young man who has that ineffable something that separates him from the crowd—extraordinary tenacity, the willingness to grow and change even when he thinks his heart might shatter and the stuff that makes a true hero— a leap of faith toward love.

“Walk me home, Bryan.”

The smile slid from his face. Re-fastening the stud of his jeans, he turned to her. “What’s wrong, Carrie?”

“Nothing.”

“Look at me.” He hooked her chin with two fingers. “Why are you treating me like I’m suddenly a stranger?” Tilting her face up to his, he lowered his head to engage her eyes. She still had hers cast to the ground. “Come on. Did I say something wrong? I felt…it was…you were amazing.”

Her eyes scrolled in reluctance to his. “I don’t think I can do this.”

“What do you mean? You just did…and in the most incredible way.” He smiled, testing the waters of her reaction.

“It’s not you…You were perfect.” She leaned her head against his shoulder. “I don’t think I’m ready to talk about it.”

Clamping onto her shoulder he looked into her with intensity. “God damn it Carrie. Don’t start clamming up. We never did online. Why start now?”

“We never had sex online.”

He raised a dubious brow.

“Okay…so we wrote about sex. That doesn’t get you pregnant.”

“So you are worried.”

“No.”

“I should have waited to go to the chemist.” He shook his head in self-recrimination. “Should have had a condom.”

“No…I can’t.” She stiffened again in his arms.

“You can’t what?”

“I can’t get pregnant,” she spewed.

He felt his jaw drop. “You can’t…”

“Yeah. Can’t,” she reiterated in cold indifference, like a news reporter delivering a story.

He instinctively drew her to his chest, holding her body as though it might break. “I never dreamed…I think it’s…okay…”

She pulled away from him, engaging his eyes once more. “Yeah…I can tell it’s just what you had in mind.” Turning, she began to jog away from him in the direction of the high-rise hotels.

“Damn it, Carrie.” He took off after her. She quickened her pace. Shit she was fast. He broke into an all out sprint to catch her.

Hooking her arm, he twirled her about like a top. She spun into him, air knocked from her at the impact. “Let me go, Bryan,” she spouted in gasp.

“I don’t even know where you’re staying.”

“Why do you need to know? It was obviously a mistake coming here.”

He took her by the shoulders. “Listen to me Carrie. It’s you who’ve decided what’s important to me. I don’t give a rat’s arse if you can have kids.”

“Yeah…that’s why you’ve been talking about what a great dad you’re gonna be…how much you want to watch them grow up.”

She’d caught him. He had said those things when they’d exchanged hopes and dreams online. He tried to keep his expression even, but the look on his face sent her over the edge. The pain in her eyes was something he never wanted to see, never meant to cause. He knew he’d sent a knife to her heart.

She turned from him again and ran. He stood, arms hanging in impotence at his side and watched her disappear into the night, her figure reappearing in the lighting of the awning of the hotel closest.

It seemed an hour before he was able to move. His feet felt glued to the pavement; his mind reeled in self-loathing and regret. Why hadn’t he stopped her? What was wrong with him?

The chill of the night invaded him. He felt it press into his bones through the thin t-shirt he’d dragged over his head. He’d left his jacket behind under the trees where they’d...

“Damn.” The word shot from him sounding like it came from someone else. His chest ached with it. He turned toward the beach car park and walked numbly to his Rover.

****

She fell into the center of the billowing white comforter. Clothes sweaty, she shivered. The envelope of the duvet surrounded her like a comforting nest.

She lowered her head to her chest. His aftershave clung to her skin, rose around her as though he were with her again. “Damn it.” She struck the mattress with clenched fists. Why had she even brought it up? It shouldn’t matter. They were, after all, fast friends first. He was a young man. Of course he had dreams of home and family. But when he’d made love to her so tenderly, with such ardor, she’d melted. She could still feel the touch of his mouth on hers.

“God, you’re an idiot, Carrie.” Her words sounded hollow, disembodied. She grabbed the edge of the comforter and rolled herself in it like a cocoon. Sweat beaded at her forehead and a wave of nausea swept through her. She had to escape.

****

He drove through the night along the road toward Mornington, every curve and bank negotiated by rote. Taking the long way through the hills, he made a sharp turn into the overlook and skidded to a stop, tires sliding on the gravel. Pulling the emergency break, it felt as though it would fracture in his hand. The percussion of his shoulder into the door sent it flying open, recoiling back into him as he exited.

He tore into the forest, stumbling along the narrow overgrown pathway leading to the ridge. The trees thinned, and then opened onto the broad ledge of an overlook. The heels of his shoes scrapped the rock face as he came to a standstill. The only thing he could hear was the sound of his breathing straining under the demands of his descent. The town of Mornington lay below, asleep. Only the occasional porch light dotted the shadow of homes sprinkled along its perimeter. Above the sky glowed indigo into purple with impending day. It was still an hour away, but the turn of the earth allowed first light to seep into the blackness.

Eyes scrolling to the sky, he looked at the winking stars spread across the path of the Milky Way in artist’s stroke of genius. God, but he lived in a beautiful place. Why did it seem suddenly flat, cardboard? He drew the resinous air in through his nose expanding his lungs until they ached. Holding his breath for a moment, it burst out of him in a mirthless laugh. His shoulders shook with the violence of the emotion erupting from him. Abdomen contracting, he wiped at the corner of his mouth.

“God forgive me, Carrie.” The words tore from his chest. “I can’t.”

When We Were Amazing

A Novel by: Christine London

Genre: Contemporary Romance

Release: November 11, 2011

Editor: Fiona Young-Brown

Line editor: Antonia Tiranth

Cover artist: Delilah K. Stephans

Words: 79402

Pages: 218

ISBN: 978-1-927361-08-5

Buy Now through MuseItUp Publishing

Coming soon to Amazon.com

MuseItUp Publishing’s Author Retreat and Mega Book Signing

2011-11-05T23:36:00.001-07:00

Friday Night November 4th, an international representation of Muse authors gathered for a welcome aboard to celebrate the first year in business of this exciting new company.

Publisher, Lea Schizas and Promotions Goddess, Litsa Kamateros set a splendid scene in a Montreal Greek restaurant. Every author had the opportunity to speak in personal introduction. Thank you gifts were given to Lea and Litsa as well as received from these two wonderful 'boss ladies' to each author.

Nancy Bell awards gifts to Lea and Litsa

A fun competition of dress up was played.

Karen Cote dresses Heather Haven

Sandra Clark dressed by Madeleine McLaughlin

Our colleague, Karen McGrath was remembered.

And authors from around Canada and the United states got to network with each other—up until now, faces only known from the internet.

(Oh yeah...and there were (real) cheesecakes...lol)

Saturday Afternoon a Mega book signing was held at Zellers Super Store in Pointe Claire. Each and every author was thrilled to be able to meet and greet the public. There shining faces and pride in their work showed…

Charles Mossop Christine London

Barbara Ehrenthreu

Barbara Ehrenthreu If I Could Be Like Jennifer Taylor Carolyn Samuels’ freshman year becomes a series of lies to cover Jennifer Taylor’s terrible secret in return for popularity.

Charles Mossop The Devil At My Heels A modern murder mystery with a historical twist.

Kevin Craig Summer On Fire Summer…fire, bodies, murder, enemies and lies. Is it too much for three friends to handle? The race is on…

Grace De Luca Betwixt and Between Suspended between two worlds, teenager Michael must set out on a Quest in order to return to Earth. The only way home is through a fantasy land of adventure, suspense, and incredible experiences-- the world of Betwixt and Between.

Heather Haven A Wedding To Die For PI Lee Alvarez knows better than anyone when Cupid’s wings start flapping, love and murder can’t be far behind.

Arlene Webb Ashes Lyle holds his murdered brother and wants his life to end too. When the unbelievable happens, he’ll sacrifice anything to avoid the final stage of grief, and comes to learn life is just beginning.

Madeleine McLaughlin The Mountain City Bronzes How far will a community go to protect the safety of their children when they start to disappear?

Karen Cote Erotic Deception Told she’d never have children…abracadabra, she’s pregnant. Would the man she loved disappear when he found out? (Adult Content)

H.M. Prevost Desert Fire After Nick Chevalier stumbles across a plane crash in the middle of the desert, the dying pilot slips him military secrets that a ruthless terrorist is determined to possess.

Richard Burns Sweet Chocolate’s First Taste A young white soldier’s first encounter with a woman, a black woman in the racially turbulent southern US in 1979...a hooker? (Adult Content)

Sara Durham (left), and daughter (right) The Powers A woman with a wounded past is awakened by an ancient warrior angel to fulfill a destiny meted ages before man...

and Lycan Moon A cursed seventeenth century man’s life is turned upside down when a Seattle columnist comes to town in search of a legendary werewolf

Nancy Marie Bell Laurel’s Miracle YA FANTASY Laurel isn’t out to save the world, just her mom from cancer.

Editor Natisha La Pierre

Lea Schizas Autism Epidemic Shaking the System A helpful guide to sensitize people on autism.

The Halloween Dino Trip Jillian Waylan planned the perfect Halloween party until things go a bit...wacky?

Litsa Kamateros Autism Epidemic Shaking the System A helpful guide to sensitize people on autism.

Joanne Elder Spectra

What happens when the fragile line between genius and insanity is drawn with the blood of an entire species?

Christina Schizas Ahtabat: Man’s Extinction What if you were told you had to abandon your home, your friends, your loved ones, your career, your money, your dreams, and most importantly, your life? And not only temporarily but indefinitely?

Lisa Forget (left)

Deathly Quiet Moira Murphy encounters a terrifying stranger who forces a new existence upon her - one that is deathly and quiet.

Christine London (right) Shadows Steal The Light It’s love at first sight for rock star Colin Dunlow when he runs into sultry jazz singer, Jenna Lindstrom, with a few complications. The woman of his dreams hates rockers and there’s someone who wants him dead. (Adult Content)

Sandra “S. J.” Clarke Mind Over Matter A mother faces her worst nightmare when she discovers her missing daughter is scheduled to die in mere days.

Bonella made an appearance.

Our living avatar, Karen Cote

One November Day In Old Montreal

2011-11-04T10:02:00.001-07:00

Strolling through Old Montreal is a pleasant way to spend an autumn day.

China Town

Autumn is particularly gorgeous north of the Canadian border. Temperatures crisp but not cold, the sun flirting with gathering clouds and the streets relatively unoccupied, I walked past many wonderful examples of architecture mirroring the past of this, Quebec's most populace city.

Notre Dam Cathedral (Place d’Armes)

The walkway along the quays of Old Port Montreal is beautifully landscaped, feeding the senses with it's rambling path through trees in full crimsons, yellows and gold.

Echoes of the Montreal Expo ‘67 World’s Fair – the BioSphere dome dots the horizon. The largest building of its kind housing exhibits and museum delves into environmental topics of atmosphere and natural resources.

Mid afternoon showers chased pedestrians indoors to the vast underground shopping honeycomb (‘ville intérieure” or indoor city). The largest underground complex in the world, one can spend many hours exploring its fashionable storefronts and eating courts.

As the streetlamps light, I hop on the 747 bus back to my hotel in the Pointe Claire District

Daylight dims before five and workers clog the streets as they make their way home.

This weekend I will be one of dozens of international authors flying in to meet readers and sign books at the Canadian super Department Store, “Zellers”

Zellers Pointe Claire and MuseItUp Publishing hosting a Mega Extravaganza Booksigning event

Saturday, November 5, 2011 - 1:00pm – 5:00pm

CONTACT: Lea Schizas publisher@museituppublishing.com

Location: Zellers Pointe Saint Claire

ADDRESS: 195 Hymus Point-Claire, Quebec H9R 1E9

WEBSITE: http://www.museituppublishing.com

by MuseItUp Publishing

Zellers Pointe Claire on Hymus on Saturday, Nov. 5, from 1-5 p.m. is hosting a Mega Extravaganza Booksigning with authors of MuseItUp Publishing from
around the world. There will be four door prizes from MuseItUp Publishing, and Zellers will offer 500,000 ClubZ points to one lucky winner. The drawing of names will happen at 4 p.m. in-store.There will be coffee, cookies, and treats for one and all.Books to suit all ages, from middle grade chapter books to adult books, such as mystery, romance, fantasy, paranormal, sci-fi, historical fiction, and more.

Such a lovely time in Old Montreal

I Can’t Believe I Am Doing It AGAIN

2011-10-28T18:43:00.001-07:00

November in the States is a time to bring out the woollies and anticipate the family holiday of Thanksgiving. For writers here and internationally it is thirty days of the biggest challenge of their lives. Whether it is a writer’s first stab at participation in National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) or her dozenth, it is one intimidating mountain of words to climb.

What is NaNoWriMo?

National Novel Writing Month is a fun, seat-of-your-pants approach to novel writing. Participants begin writing on November 1. The goal is to write a 50,000 word, (approximately 175 page) novel by 11:59:59, November 30.

Valuing enthusiasm and perseverance over painstaking craft, NaNoWriMo is a novel-writing program for everyone who has thought fleetingly about writing a novel but has been scared away by the time and effort involved.

It is also a challenge for we old battleaxes that know we can write a novel but wonder if the marathon achievement can be repeated. The beginning of EVERY new novel brings these doubts, perhaps even more keenly felt by those who know through experience the seemingly insurmountable self reflection and work involved. Whether an author’s word count has been healthy or anemic for the other eleven months, NaNo lights a Bunsen burner under the metaphorical behind of those around the globe who are insane enough to ‘believe’.

Come on…

-Believe they can create something of potential worth from nothing.

-Believe that the edits of December WILL unearth the diamond in the rough

-Believe they can find enough minutes in the day to pen what is essentially over six type written pages a day of one spanking new story.

-Believe their family and friends will not commit them to an asylum OR disown them for the oft-misperceived ‘indulgence’ of isolating themselves from the world in this Leap Of Faith (what a great name for a novel. Oh—it IS one written during 2008 NaNo AS a leap of faith—by one Christine London ;)

-Believe that they will be made a stronger and better human being through the process whether or not it ever produces a saleable novel.

-Believe in their internal fortitude, the value and power of the written word

-Believe in the legacy potential of such a product –that will remain long after they are gone to be read by unknown eyes and felt in as- of-yet unborn hearts.

If that isn’t a darn good reason to sit in front of a computer screen or pull out a composition book whilst in the dentist’s waiting room, I don’t know what is.

~~Wish me luck~~…no.

Believe.

An International Struggle For Love - Coming November 11th!

2011-10-20T11:00:00.000-07:00

When We Were Amazing

Coming November 11th 2011

Twenty three year old Aussie wine heir Bryan Lassiter wanted nothing more than to be a self made man. When online love, California ranch owner Carrie Sorrell flies half way round the globe to visit him, she’d no idea his magnetism would erase both their fourteen year age difference and her common sense. As fate and a powerful family collide to tear them apart, will she have the strength to let him go or will it be the secret she’s so carefully protected that destroys? and online love to save it?

Fourteen f**king hours in the hell that was the interior of a jet plane. He tried to read, listen to music, watch a film. Nothing. He could see nothing but her lying in a hospital bed, tubes and technology running from her, surrounding her with their manufactured sterility. She needed to be touched. He needed to touch her. Make sure she was warm, well, alive.
A nagging weight lodged in the pit of his stomach. No food, no drink, just her. She was the cure.
He slid the sunshade up. The first rays of light sliced across the horizon as they chased the day at thirty six thousand feet. He could scarcely make out the scallop of cumulus below as they drifted by. The world went on, not caring a thing for the concerns of man. His world was suspended like an insect in amber. The rest of humanity could look in at him, but he was paralyzed to act, to move, to breathe.

When We Were Amazing Book Trailer

November 11th through MuseItUp Publishing

How about a Day in Apple Country?

2011-10-17T15:19:00.000-07:00

Most people when you say 'apples' in reference to orchards and all the delicious products that come from this one a day keeps the doctor away fruit think Washington state. To be sure, the kings share of apples are grown within the borders of our neighbor's to the north, but you might be surprised what a amazing crop is produced right here in the Golden state of California.

Over the past dozen years my family and I have made the trek to the foothills of the Sierra Nevada Mountains near Placerville to the "Apple Hill" region to enjoy a good old fashioned weekend of farm hopping, apple pie, cider, crafts and pumpkins. This year we finally made the jump down south (I moved to L.A. seven years ago) to taste the experience at the older rendition in "OakGlen".

Two hours drive much more alluring then the eight it now takes to head north of Sacramento to Apple Hill, we also sampled a new campground.

The Oak Glen folks say they have been in the business of orcharding for over a century; that making them the grandfather of Apple Festivals. We were not disappointed.

Shops that look like stately homes,

narrow pathways leading to period vendor booths, animal pens, bake shops and appley crafts galore filled our need for this harvest tradition.

About a third the size of it's cousin to the North, the entire five mile loop can be visited comfortably within the confines of a lazy day. Placerville's Apple Hill requires at least two. Oak Glen has some things Placerville does not. Riley's Farm runs a marvelous docent program recreating not only the colonial period of American life, but Civil War times as well. Kids can learn about toys of the period,

daily life, eat in the publik house and talk to colonials dress in three sided hats and breeches.br/>

Originally constructed and homesteaded in the 1880s. The 55 acre portion of the farm currently open to the public is devoted to both agriculture and living history interpretation of the American Revolution, Civil War, Gold Rush Era, and the pioneering history of Old Oak Glen itself.

Nestled against the shoulders of the San Bernardino Mountains, the backdrop includes pines, green scrub hillsides and changing leaves. Not quite the lushness of a Northern California mountain high, Oak Glen is nonetheless a real country experience. Both North and South Apple Farming regions have been 'discovered' so best to go on a weekday to avoid overfull parking and queues. Breathe the pine, smell the cinnamon and the roses. Slow down and enjoy a world removed from the rush.

Meet Susan Roebuck

2011-10-16T00:01:00.000-07:00

Please welcome author Sue Roebuck. We are having a bit of fun during this blog tour and asking some out-of-the-box questions. Sue took it all in stride and cobbled some really wonderful responses.

Let's do it!

You are putting together a dinner for the most seriously interesting and/or alluring celebrity on your internal "must meet someday' list. What are you serving? Why? And what question(s) will you ask during the course of the evening that you are simply dying to know more about?

I would invite the Dalai Lama because he’s an intelligent, enigmatic and fascinating individual who lives neither in the past, present nor future.

Before I get down to grilling him with my questions, I’ll have to feed him. He’s so adorable and I couldn’t let him go hungry, although I’m sure that’s a state he’s quite used to. Which is lucky because I’m the world’s worst cook.

I’ll have to remember to call him Your Holiness as I offer him some vegetable spring rolls which I’ll buy from the local Chinese takeaway. I’ll treat him to a homemade main-course though. How about, if it’s a cold day, a mound of vegetables stewed with noodles and tofu, and not forgetting the soy sauce, ginger, and sesame oil? I wonder if I should add a drop or ten of sake?
Mississippi Mud Pie would come next made with fistfuls of pecans, a gallon of whipped cream and good glug of coconut milk. I think he’ll like it and, in any case, it’ll take the taste of the main-course away.

Over mint tea we’ll converse about what it’s like being a living god. And we’ll analyse his advice in his Path to Tranquility, and how easy it is to achieve:
When I see beings of wicked nature
overwhelmed by violent negative emotions and sufferings,
I shall hold such rare ones dear,
As if I have found a precious treasure

I’ll also ask him a few questions.

1. If you were invited by all world governments to be an adviser on fighting corruption. How would you go about it?

2. Your famous view: It is not necessary to be a religious believer. Be a warm-hearted person, well attuned to the innate spiritual nature of kindness and human affection holds true for everyone. However, in my opinion, it’s relevant to authors. Do you agree and what advice would you give to writers both published and unpublished?

3. Could you teach me how to meditate in such a way that will charge the energy around me?

There, that should keep us busy over our tea into the early hours and beyond.

Christine, thank you so much for hosting me on your blog today.

A bit about Sue:

Sue Roebuck was born and educated in the UK but now lives in Portugal with her husband. She’s a teacher and her interest in dyslexia dates from way back. Nowadays she’s mostly involved with creating e-learning courses which, she says, is “teaching in your pajamas – as long as no cameras are present.”
Her novel, Perfect Score was published as an e-book by Awe-Struck publishing in September 2010 and reissued as a paperback in May 2011.
Sue’s determined that very soon writing will be her full-time occupation.

You can find her blog here: http://lauracea.blogspot.com

Perfect Score

"Perfect Score", set in mid West USA in the 1960s, is about family relationships, corruption, growing up, integrity, responsibility, and being a man of worth in a society of the worthless.
Alex Finch, who lives with a wealthy uncle, is a blend of musical genius and stubbornness, and firmly believes in his fantasy that his love for Sam Barrowdale is reciprocated. Sam has more direction in his little finger than Alex has in his whole body. He’s strong, yet of small stature and has developed a tough outer-coating after the knocks of a traumatic up-bringing which left him homeless. His one aim in life is to earn enough money to look after his disabled sister. He has no time for a spoiled, rich, guitar player. Sam also stutters and has what is probably a severe form of dyslexia.
When Sam unexpectedly disappears, Alex begins a somewhat bungling quest to find him, only to discover that Sam has a fearsome enemy: Alex's powerful and influential yet sociopathic uncle.
As Alex spirals downwards towards alcoholism, many questions need answering. Just why did Alex's evil uncle adopt him at age eleven yet deny him any affection? And what's the mystery behind Alex's father's death?

“Perfect Score” which is becoming an acclaimed novel can be found:

http://www.awe-struck.net/books/perfect_score.html

http://www.amazon.com/Perfect-Score-ebook/dp/B004XT6M9C
http://www.amazon.co.uk/Perfect-Score-ebook/dp/B004XT6M9C

http://www.waterstones.com/waterstonesweb/products/susan+roebuck/perfect+score/8608371/

The Changing Face of "Erotic" - How Hot Is Too Hot ?

2011-10-11T11:37:00.000-07:00

When I sold my first novel in 2006, it was deemed erotic women's fiction. In spite of the standard heterosexual pairing and lack of toys, games or envelope pushing, it premiered on the top ten at the very respected and establish e-press where it was published.

A couple years later and a further three books published through the same press, my fifth submission was channeled to a sister imprint because it simply was not deemed 'hot' enough. Same heterosexual pairing, same language, pacing and voice.

Our reading culture is changing. Erotic boundaries are being pushed to a galaxy far, far away where few men (or women) have traveled before—until now. My third and present publisher still categorizes my stuff in their hot imprint, but even the reviewers are beginning to say 'wonderful writing, story and pace, but definitely not 'erotic'. My November release will be in the mainstream imprint.

What think you gentle readers? Are your tastes becoming jaded by vanilla erotic? Do you want it hotter and hotter? Are you craving stories of people and places, creatures and fantasy that would have been termed lude, or have the dreaded reference as 'pornographic' the romance genre so diligently fights? Is there any such thing as 'Too Hot'?

My novel, Leap Of Faith is an entertaining, international story that combines a romantic love triangle sorted out in the midst of great personal trial on the part of the heroine. She is coming to terms with a neurological challenge that is much maligned and misunderstood now and through the centuries. So strong are our cultural misconceptions she is willing to turn love away for fear of passing this challenge onto her children. "Real"? You bet.

Is there sex in the story? Yes. Is the bedroom door closed? Nope. Is sexual interaction a natural development in the lives of the characters? Yes. Monogamous, heterosexual, but what would have been burned in bonfires outside churches across the country not even half a century ago.

Yes...the times my friends, they are a'changin'.

Good or bad? Is it not through exposure, debate and education that we each are best equipped to make our own decisions as to what is right in our fiction as well as our reality? Where is the line drawn? In present day American romance fiction, we still disallow:

* Bestiality (By 'beast' is meant any non-intelligent, non-reasoning being)
* Pedophilia. None—Period.
* Necrophilia or anything close
* Bodily waste products
* Incest/Twincest
* Underage characters in sexual situations
* Serious injury, rape, or snuff portrayed in a positive light
* Hate literature and positive portrayal of negative stereotypes

"Thank God" I hear you thinking. Not so worldwide. In Europe the age of consent is sixteen. So a book that has as theme the very real and common situation of attraction and sexual contact between a student and her teacher would be rejected in the United States if that student were not eighteen or older. Some/many Europeans would call that puritanical hypocrisy. Students and teachers have paired for centuries. What college student has not heard of a professor dating a student? What if that adult professor or teacher's aid happens to be dating a soon-to-turn eighteen year old freshman and he is twenty five? Happens all the time. Great potential for angst and discussion. Not allowed in an American romance.

What about all the child abuse/pedophilia portrayed daily on television? Is it better to see fifty graphic murders on the tube every week and nearly as many dead bodies, chests cracked open on a cold autopsy table? (C.S.I. all three, House, Dexter, NCIS, Criminal Minds, Law and Order Special Victims Unit etc...)

It's not just the States that loves violence.

But I digress. Does it bother you that mainstream romance (and other genres of fiction) contain sex? Too much? Too little? Do you have to read an inspirational to feel 'safe' from the onslaught of the erotic? Do you want to slice this very natural aspect of human nature from your reading and your reality?

If fictional art is to offer insights into human nature as illuminating as those the physical sciences disclose, can the real be served by looking the other way when sex becomes a 'real' part of the storyline?

Fiction: an implicit worldview that infiltrates every aspect of social life...including our sexual beings and nature.

I put it to you that the best stories, the ones that stick in our hearts and minds, are the ones that reflect life as it is, not as we wish it were— or weren't. The ones that bring us up close and personal are ones that ring true and shape our world. Sometimes the significance of a piece of work is not just in the work itself but in the memories each reader, and each writer, brings to it and takes away from it. The thought, the essence of growth possible whenever a reader suspends the 'real' for the fictional is boundless. And if this does not include our sexual beings, we are fooling ourselves. We are diminishing what it means to be human. We are impoverishing our existence.

How hot is too hot? One might just as well ask how violent is too violent or how funny is too funny? It is what it is. Is our ever changing subjective rating system able to keep up with a culture that changes at the speed of light?

Is the world passing you by as a relic or is it 'about time'?

Meet Ann Tracy Marr, Author of Paranormal Regencies- Alpha or Beta Heroes?

2011-10-09T00:01:00.000-07:00

Ann Tracy Marr writes tales of the paranormal set in Regency Time. Let's see what she has on her mind today. ALpha males or Beta. Which draw you?

"Christine London and I are doing a blog tour. That means that this week she can be found at Skyla Dawn Cameron's blog and I am here. Read what I have to offer and then skip over to http://www.skyladawncameron.com/blog to visit Christine.

Like a good teacher, who never leaves the substitute hanging, Christine left me an assignment. She wants me to tell you what I knew as a teen that she did not. I could be glib and write about when I dreamt up the plot of the greatest novel ever written or how I discovered I was smarter than Shakespeare with a pen in my hand. I could take you on a tour of character building a la a girl who was not the most popular, the most pretty, or the most anything.

The topic that sticks in my mind is that of child abuse.

No, I am not claiming to be an abused child. My friend was. She would never admit it, but her father was a monster. Most people would say he was dynamic -- he might even have been the pattern to cut out a damn your eyes romantic hero. He had the qualities of the Alpha hero:

Arrogant: he was always right.
Successful: he was pretty near the top of his profession, with the money to prove it.
Powerful: he was God in his house and probably in his office.
Handsome: I suppose he was okay, though I wasn’t into fathers.

Nasty. Oh, he could be nasty. Slap his daughter in the mouth so she has to go to the emergency room nasty. Dig at his son’s self-worth because the son didn’t have his drive nasty. Grind his wife under his heel if she wasn’t perfectly coifed nasty.

It is his fault that I am suspicious of Alpha heroes. They sound so good on paper, but I have a niggling suspicion that deep down they act like my friend’s father and I am just not interested. I’d rather write a hero with human failings and with a bit of humor. Oh yes, especially if said hero can poke a bit of fun at himself. My first hero, Lord Brinston of Round Table Magician, oh-so-politely insulates himself from life. It takes Martha to drag him, kicking and screaming, into the light.

Adrian Hughes, who knows very well that he is more standup comedian than haughty aristocrat, becomes the hero of Thwarting Magic. Margaret, who is forced to marry Adrian’s friend, recognizes his sterling qualities and has the sense to keep Adrian available until she is available.

Then we come to Lord Shelton. He is so busy trying to act like the alpha hero that he doesn’t notice that it isn’t in his blood. Katherine makes him see that it is more fun to pet kittens than kick them. That is partly why I am partial to To His Mistress; I think I present the good and bad sides of the alpha hero in the book while keeping the story exciting. Awe-Struck Publishing must agree with me -- To His Mistress makes its debut in paperback October 25, 2011.

I will continue to write heroes who don’t quite make it to Alpha male. Beta is good enough for Sir Sloane Johnstone (Keeper of the Grail), who doesn’t shirk responsibility, even when responsibility gets buried under emergencies and problems. He could be Alpha if he tried, but Sarah Frampton likes him fine as he is.

Gentle reader, I hope you and Christine London don’t share my experience of the Alpha male, but don’t feel sorry for me. I happen to like Beta males. They are more interesting -- less predictable -- than Alphas."

~~~
Ann Tracy Marr writes award-winning paranormal Regency romances. To His Mistress, the third book in her Banshee Brigade series, debuts in paperback October 25. Keeper of the Grail is in the works. A computer consultant in the Midwest, Marr lives with her husband, two cats, and plots that bounce off the wall.

Visit her at www.anntracymarr.com
Buy her books at http://www.awe-struck.net/authors/ann_tracy_marr.html

Round Table Magician Ebook ISBN: 978-1-587496066
Thwarting Magic Ebook ISBN: 978-1-587496479
To His Mistress Ebook ISBN: 978-1-587497209
Keeper of the Grail Awaiting release

Travel: Misery or Majesty?

2011-10-04T00:01:00.000-07:00

All glamour and beautiful sunsets? My travel blogs may at times give that impression, but as any seasoned traveler knows, there are plenty of hurdles to conquer to get to what most would term, the 'good stuff'.

Chambermaids walking in while you are still sleeping, brown liquid from the tap, the rumble of the subway a bit closer to your window than you'd like,

trains that promise a seat---on the floor with the luggage, pick pockets that are all too happy to lift the contents of your jeans and chat with you while doing it, internet connections that don't, over priced under portioned restaurant food, rock hard roll and sludge coffee 'breakfast',

bag allowance of a thimble of toiletries--one zip lock worth for five week trip, short tempered wait staff...

Shall I go on?

No.

This stuff can happen within a mile of your home OR you can read rules and regulations ahead of time for transportation to avoid most of it OR you can install your good humor and realize that it is the process of getting 'there' that is most likely to provide the best memories.

When the Italian train station changes your boarding track five minutes before departure,

when the air conditioner is no more than a weak whisper in the night, when your travel partner has lost his patience and wants to go home— the very stuff that exasperates can become the butt of the best humor. A snack bag of trail mix and a bottle of water attached to your bag, your ally, you CAN learn to see these inevitable hitches in travel as a sort of out of body experience—and chuckle.

After all, you are on HOLIDAY. Attention to clocks and schedules are things of the work-a-day world and even the most backward-seeming situation will be mitigated by a local employee rather than have you sleep at his work station.

So soldier on and imagine the great story you shall have to convey one cold November day over coffee in the employee lounge. Just do it! Get off the world wide web and into the 'world wide world'

Then it shall be their turn to envy you the gorgeous sunset photos and fabulous tales.

A Little Day to Day Romance - Author Jennifer Cloud

2011-10-02T00:01:00.000-07:00

Hi Christine,
Thanks for having me on your blog. You had some great questions.

What is the greatest and/or most outrageous thing you have done for romantic love?

I don't know. I guess there isn't one over-the-top thing. I like a lot of small gestures. Most of my romantic ideas are dorky. I make heart shaped brownies, breakfast in bed, a little text in the middle of the day for no reason. I like the little surprises that make the day better and things that might bring a smile even if I'm not around the person at the time.

For other (plutonic or agape) love?

I once drove 2 hours to spend fifteen minutes with a friend who needed me. It was silly but this person needed me and so I went. Sometimes all a friend needs is to know you're there.

What about a little personal history?

I've been married for 17 years. We have 2 kids, 11 and 9. I'll tell you how we met. We worked for the same company. I refused to go out with him for almost a year. Nearly every day he would wait in his car for me to pull up so he could talk to me as we went into work. Every morning I would hear him walking in the parking lot wearing his cowboy boots. He would do his small talk thing and I would walk away. One day a different guy was bothering me so I walked up to a group of people and started talking in order to get rid of the guy. My future hubby was standing there and I agreed to go out with him. I didn't even think of it as a date, just two people hanging out. A year later we were married.

On a funny note, the day he met my mother, she threatened him with a knife. It isn't as cliche as a father cleaning his gun, but it was still cute. My mother was sitting on the front porch peeling peaches. He introduced himself. Every time she spoke to him or asked him a question, she pointed that knife at him. He thought it was funny. He's a good sport.

Thank you for having me today.

***********************

Your story about your future hubby running interference reminds me of a similar scene in Tuscan Sun when Diane Lane uses Raoul Bova to escape from three Italian men that are pursuing her through the streets of Rome. Very romantic!

Not enough of us do those little things day to day that say how much we care. I bet your hubby is touched beyond expression. You sound like a wonderful wife. Thanks so much for sharing today.

Bio
Jennifer Cloud was born in Asheville, North Carolina. There she met her husband who encouraged her to write after finding a partial manuscript. She now resides in Missouri with her husband and two daughters.

She is the author of many novels in both print and electronic versions. She's also had two dozen short stories published and many novellas.

Visit her at: http://www.jennifercloud.com/

Her blog at My Space:

http://www.myspace.com/cloudjennifer

and Tweet with her:

http://twitter.com/#!/jennifercloud

Check out Her Eyes by Regan Taylor and Jennifer Cloud

Would you attempt to cheat death to be with your true love? Frank White has to try.

Coming soon from Awe-Struck
http://www.awe-struck.net/index.html

Author "Bundles" - Savings For You

2011-09-29T14:51:00.000-07:00

This week MuseItUp Publishing introduces their
AUTHOR BUNDLES
and to start us off we have Christine London & Heather Haven.
Author Bundles are two or more sets of books in a series from a single author offered to you at a 15% discount when you purchase the set.

Christine London
Shadows Steal the Light & Hog Wild

Heather Haven
Murder is a Family Business & A Wedding to Die For

Available for a short time at: https://museituppublishing.com/bookstore2/index.php?page=shop.browse&category_id=127&option=com_virtuemart&Itemid=1

Christine London's Shadows Steal The Light finals for Ariana Award

2011-09-27T09:11:00.000-07:00

Premiere Electronic Book awards are given annually by EPIC (Electronic Published Industry Coalition). Finalist were recently announced. MuseItUp publishing, celebrating its one year anniversary, has five, two of whom are for cover art (Ariana Award).

The alluring design wrapping Christine London's contemporary romantic suspense, Shadows Steal The Light is one of them. Brilliant artist, Delilah K. Stephans continues to produce top notch covers for MuseItUp and MuseItHot at a challenging clip. To have two of them final for this prestigious awards is nothing short of amazing. Congratulations and best wishes!

Christine Goes Hollywood - Angels Of East Africa - Machine Gun Preacher

2011-09-25T16:52:00.000-07:00

Gerard Butler is an amazing man. *Oh, have I said that before?*

Saturday evening his latest release, Machine Gun Preacher, was screened at the Arc Light Cinema, Hollywood and Vine. Much to the delight of attendees, a panel of four were interviewed by the film's director, Marc Forster. (Panel members: Michelle Monaghan (Lynne Childers), Gerard Butler (Sam Childers), Sam Childers and screenwriter Jason Keller)

The floor was then open to the audience. The packed house had just viewed the powerful film:

When ex-biker-gang member Sam Childers makes the life-changing decision to go to East Africa to help repair homes destroyed by civil war, he is outraged by the unspeakable horrors faced by the region's vulnerable populace, especially the children. Ignoring the warnings of more experienced aide workers, Sam breaks ground for an orphanage where it's most needed-in the middle of territory controlled by the brutal Lord's Resistance Army, a renegade militia that forces youngsters to become soldiers before they even reach their teens. Determined to save as many as possible, he leads armed missions deep into enemy territory to retrieve kidnapped children, restoring peace to their lives-and eventually his own.

"Machine Gun Preacher delivers a riveting account of one flawed man's efforts to bring humanity and the grace of Heaven to hell-on-earth." ---Box Office Magazine

What were the children like that you worked with in South Africa?

Gerry: They are the most beautiful children in the world. So naive, wide eyed and open. When we shot the nighttime scene involving an armed attack on the orphanage compound, we could not get the kids to stop screaming. My character (Sam) was trying to herd them to safety, gunfire and huts alight.
After numerous appeals for the kids to be quiet. (Sam was trying to direct them to safety without being heard by the rebels) I asked (the translator) why they did not understand.

The translator then said:

"Oh they understand all right. They are just terrified."

And then it hit me. We're just making a film here and these children know it. If they are this afraid, how much more so must the Sudanese children be who are actually living the horror?

I knew I was part of telling a very important story.

They kept asking me where was my wife. What, you are not married? You should be and have your own children. — Smarter than me, they are.

Sam...what does it feel like to save a child's life?
Sam: I can't save anyone without support. If this film gets folks to go home and Google about the atrocities that are still occurring in Africa and do something to support the efforts to keep children safe—if you do that and ACT upon it—then you will know what it feels like.

Gerry, you shot the brief sex scene in a Ford Pinto with Michelle the first day of filming, barely having been introduced to the woman. What was that like?
Gerry: *chuckling* well, er..um...
Sam: If it had been me and Lynn in that Pinto we'd have had it tilted on its side in moments. (Butler sends a glance of chagrin)... and (the scene) would have lasted a whole lot longer.

Mister Childers graciously agreed to a quick snap in the lobby before the panel. Jaw unhinging, he gapped at me when I told him that I am a romance novelist. (Don't we ladies have the breadth and depth to be riveted by his story?) He brightened when a comment was made about his cool Harley gear.

"Did you ride your bike here?"

"You bet. I build 'em back home."

Gerry waited patiently in the dark side hallway while the last few minutes of the film flickered on the screen. I waited next to him.

Christine: Did you hear there's a friend of Sam's that is recording the singing of the Sudanese orphans from Sam's orphanage?(I'd chatted with the man out in the lobby minutes before joining Gerry and half dozen member of the panel/film entourage in that dark hall.)

Nose to nose, he stared into my eyes. "No, I'd not heard that. Amazing."

Christine: Yes. They are trying to get it as a part of a reality based television documentary to be aired next year about Sam and his mission... They sing like angels.

Gerry: That they do.

Thin, but brimming with enthusiasm, Gerard greeted his audience who gave a two minute standing ovation for the film--and the man. There was no denying the electric presence of the real Sam Childers and the actor who so aptly portrays him on the screen.

The last image as credits role is that of Sam.

"I'm not goin' to try to justify my actions, but let me ask you this. If your son or daughter, brother or sister was taken in the night by gun toting terrorists, would you question for one minute what I did to return them to you?"

Childers is happy with the feature film starring Butler but says that for those who want a more in-depth look into his life, a documentary that spans from his childhood till now will be out early next year. Childers, who owns the film, hasn't yet nailed down distribution. ---L.A. Times

And in that documentary the children shall sing like angels.

Angels of East Africa

http://www.machinegunpreacher.org

Canadian Author Jana Richards Writes From the Heart

2011-09-25T00:01:00.000-07:00

Given the chance to ask author, Jana Richards, some questions, I jumped at the opportunity. Canadian authors have become close to my heart and my father's personal involvement in World War Two as a Naval pilot makes her work all the more alluring. In Novemeber I will be in Montreal signing at an author festival and adore the beauty of the country to our north.

As you know, dear readers, travel is one of my passions, but it does not mean the wonders of our own back yard are any the less exotic. Let's see what Jana thinks...

What is your favorite city in the whole world? Why/what makes it so special in your eyes?

Unfortunately, I haven’t had the opportunity to do lot of traveling, so my choice for favorite world city comes second-hand through TV, novels, and the Internet. I’d love to visit Paris. The architecture is gorgeous and the lifestyle, with its many sidewalk cafes, beautiful parks and river walks, appears idyllic. Paris has seen it all and done it all. Its museums and art galleries would provide tremendous fodder for a writer. Despite being a very large city, I get the impression that with its easy-going culture, Paris is a very enjoyable, relaxed place to be. Of course, like I said, I’ve never actually been there!

Have you used it as setting in any of your work?

I haven’t yet used Paris as a setting in one of my stories, though I make mention of it in my World War Two romantic suspense novel “Flawless”, since one of my characters lived there during the Nazi occupation. I’d love to set other World War Two stories in Paris itself. The Paris of the 1940s has many tales to tell.

There are other world settings I’d like to use in my books. I’d love to explore England in order to write World War Two stories set there. I also write contemporary romance, and for many years, I’ve had an idea for a romantic suspense set in Hawaii, possibly Honolulu. I’ve wanted to visit Hawaii for years, and with luck I may get my chance to do so soon. Hopefully in the middle of a long, cold Canadian winter!

A writer doesn’t have to be personally acquainted with a location in order to write about it; a good writer can make any setting come to life. But I think visiting a setting gives a writer insight she might not otherwise have. She’s able to get a feel for a place, and discover details that she’s able to place on the page. This past summer I discovered for myself that visiting my book’s setting is time well spent. My husband and I made a trip to North Dakota, where one of my works in progress takes place. Because North Dakota isn’t geographically far from where I live, I assumed the landscape would be the same. Though parts of it are very similar, I discovered whole new landscapes that have changed my thoughts about the small town and the surrounding area where my story will take place.

As much as I love to read books set in exotic locales, I also enjoy books that take place close to home. My Awe-Struck book, “Till September” is set in my home province of Saskatchewan in western Canada.

It’s the place I know best. “Till September” is set on a farm, far from any urban areas. The farm, the land, and even the weather become characters in the story, influencing my characters’ actions and even their thoughts. My heroine Hannah Kramer will do anything to save her farm. Despite the hardships, despite the bone-crushing work of keeping her farm and her bed and breakfast going, she fights on. She loves her land, her community, her friends and her way of life, and she won’t let anyone take them away from her. Here’s a blurb from “Till September”:

For the first time since her husband’s death, Hannah Kramer can imagine herself with another man. But then she discovers the truth about Quinn Anderson’s reason for staying at the bed and breakfast at her farm. He’s there to buy farmland from her cash-strapped friends and neighbors and resell it to foreign buyers. How can she love a man bent on destroying the way of life she loves? Will Quinn convince her that he wants to build her community, not destroy it? Can he make her believe he loves her before time runs out in September?

To read an excerpt, please click here. To read more about “Till September” or any of my other books, please visit me at my website, http://www.janarichards.net

Christine, thank you for inviting me to your blog today and for the interesting questions. Though I’m not a traveler like you, I can still experience the world through my love of reading and writing. Happy reading everyone!

Thanks for being here, Jana. We can travel with you to Canada, the Dakotas (Setting of the Little House On The Prarie series as well)and your step-back-in-time WWII tales. May you write long and prosper.

A bit about Jana:

Jana Richards has tried her hand at many writing projects over the years, from magazine articles and short stories to full-length paranormal suspense and romantic comedy. She loves to create characters with a sense of humor, but also a serious side. She believes there’s nothing more interesting then peeling back the layers of a character to see what makes them tick.
When not writing up a storm, working at her day job as an Office Administrator, or dealing with ever present mountains of laundry, Jana can be found on the local golf course pursuing her newest hobby.
Jana lives in Western Canada with her husband Warren, along with two university aged daughters and a highly spoiled Pug/Terrier cross named Lou. You can reach her through her website at http://www.janarichards.net

Author of the Bride Series, Regan Taylor

2011-09-18T00:01:00.000-07:00

Hi Christine!

Thank you for having me this week. I’ve enjoyed reading your posts as we’ve meandered along on our blog tour. Lots of good reads out there now on my TBR too!

You asked me what would like to have known as a teen that you did not know. A lot. If I knew then what I know now about so many things I would have lived my entire life quite different from what I did.

I think what I would change or wish I knew centers around my mother and the man that I not only fell in love with but who was, until recently, the barometer I measured every other romantic relationship in my life with.

My mother was a narcissistic (she met the DSM criteria for Narcissistic Personality Disorder), manipulative histrionic personality who believed that lying by omission was just fine if it kept her in control of everyone’s life. She’d feign support by saying, if I decided on something “Well if you really think that’s the thing to do…” in a tone that implied it was the most ludicrous thing she’d ever heard.

So, when at the end of a New Years Eve party shortly after I turned 16 one of the guys there asked me out and her immediate response was “you aren’t going out with that creep are you?” My response was “that’s the man I’m going to marry.” We did go out a few days later and started to see each other. Our romance, for what it was, continued until he volunteered for the Army. He was 21 at the time and while a brilliant artist (which he is to this day) and in art school, off he went. In today’s world my mother would have definitely used our age difference and that I was still a minor, to get her way, but somehow she missed that. I entered my senior year with a boyfriend preparing to go to war – I wrote him faithfully every day, waited for his few and far between phone calls and dreamt of a future with him.

On a train to Washington, D.C. over Thanksgiving weekend he asked me to marry him and I said yes. It was the day of my life. In many ways I still feel that that was the happiest day, my dream of marrying a man I loved, of being a wife and mother, was right there. In the course of our conversations he suggested that because he’d be overseas for the first part of our marriage I should go to college for at least a year. I hadn’t thought about college – after all, I was going to get married, be a wife, a mother and have a little part-time job where I could be mindless while I planned our dinner for that evening. But he suggested it, so I applied.

Now in high school I wasn’t the best student. I had an undiagnosed learning disability and the guidance counselor wasn’t interested in looking beyond the fact that I have an extremely high IQ and just needed to apply myself. He suggested I attempt the local community college because, in his words, I probably wouldn’t make it there so there was no reason to try for a university. Well when I learned that if you went to one of the college meet and greets you could get out of class, off I went. One of the people talked about a local university so I applied. A few days later I mentioned it to my dad and that I had an interview. Well dang if my dad didn’t take off from work to go with me! It was huge to him that I was even thinking about it. While we were sitting with the Dean of the drama department my dad, ever so casually, mentioned that I not only sewed all my own clothes but designed them as well. In fact, he said, I made the three piece, hand tailored suit I was wearing there in the interview. The Dean asked if I was interested in the school, of course I said yes, and he picked up the phone and called admissions. Apparently they had a costume department but pretty much no one majored in costuming – they needed me. I left the campus that day with my admissions letter.

My guidance counselor was stunned. My peers who had been waiting for months to hear from colleges were stunned. I thought it was a great joke because I was going to get married, have children and work a mindless part-time job.

I started college September of that year, the reality of it not hitting me till I was actually sitting in a classroom. Suddenly it wasn’t so funny anymore. It got even less funny when the man I loved cut off communication with me and someone sent his younger sister to get his ring back from me. It was devastating and for a long time I was mired in depression, wondering what went wrong.

Every man I dated from then on had aspects of what I thought I’d lost in this man. The first man I got involved with was born on the same date and year as my soldier—12 hours apart. He too was an artist, but no where near as talented. I dated military men, artists, Aries were very popular with me because he’s an Aries. I measured each man I dated by what I thought I saw in this one man.

Fast forward to 2007 and I was looking for some ideas for cover art for a book and I stumbled on some drawings on line. The style was so distinctive so I looked further at the art work – it was my high school boyfriend! Taking a deep breath I emailed him and he wrote me back telling me he’d often thought about me and what had happened to me. He was married, lives in Virginia and is the art director for a security firm. He also loves and has cats. A little over a year ago his wife died and he was and is devastated – she was truly his soul mate. In the course of our conversations since essentially finding each other again I’ve come to see him as he really is. He is an incredibly talented and sensitive artist. He’s had some art shows and I truly wish his work had a much wider base because he is brilliant at what he does. His paintings evoke so much emotion. He is creative, sensitive, intelligent and he is one of the best friends I could ever have. As a friend he is truly a gift in my life.

We would never have lasted as husband and wife. Our personalities would have never meshed long enough for us to have made it in a marriage. I met some really great guys along the way and fell in love with one – a Marine – who except for being military was nothing like my artist. There is a huge difference from being in love and being in love with the idea of love.

If I could go back and talk to my younger self I would tell her to ignore our mother—she was a jealous, manipulative windbag who didn’t deserve the time of day. Go ahead and go to college and enjoy the drama department, but pick a more substantial major. And be open to the idea of marrying someone who isn’t our artist.
Of course, had my life not taken that path, I wouldn’t have met my Marine.

Or would I?

A Bit About Regan:

Regan Taylor
From earliest childhood Regan was an avid reader and upon discovering Alexander Dumas and Charles Dickens she was hooked on books that carried the reader away to a different time and place. Preferring the quiet of her room and a good book she traveled far beyond those four walls.

Her first foray into writing, aside from tedious English assignments in high school and college, were two non-fictions intended to be of assistance to people with disabilities. Both were a struggle and convinced Regan she was most certainly not a writer. She did continue reading anything and everything she could get her hands on and in 2003 “discovered” reviewing with Love Romances reviews. From her first reviews she became involved in interviewing various authors as part of the site’s interview feature.

When her “day” job with a local police department in Northern California became far too burdensome due to internal management, rather than escape into her reading, she began to write. Much to Regan’s surprise, the words flowed and eventually led to Spell Across Time: The Pentacle which was released in February 2007.

Regan's Newest From Awe Struck Publishing:

Mistaken Bride
Regan Taylor

Hastening west with the information that will clear his brother's wife of murder, the last thing Deputy U.S. Marshal Kendrick Parker expects when he arrives in St. Louis is to come face to face with the notorious Black Bette Barclay. Knowing the San Francisco Marshal's office has a warrant for her arrest, Kendrick arranges to bring the dastardly woman as far as his brother's home in Adler Creek, Wyoming where he will turn Bette over to fellow lawmen. To avoid bringing undue concern to his fellow wagon train travelers, Kendrick concocts the story that Bette is his wife, Mandy.

Journeying to St. Louis to take a position as a school teacher the last Amanda Davis expected was to be arrested for crimes she did not commit. Well almost the last thing. The absolute last thing she expected was to be loaded on to a wagon in a train heading west and told she must pose as the wife of the too good looking Marshal. Prim, proper and a tad prickly she quickly learns nothing irritates the Marshal more than using her extensive vocabulary. While her verbal jabs tend to mostly irritate Kendrick, he cannot help but notice how Amanda is with the children on the wagon train, taking time each night to give them lessons.

After nearly drowning in an icy river, Kendrick takes ill and is forced to stop at a homestead to heal. He soon realizes he has the wrong woman...or is it the right one?

AVAILABLE NOW:

http://tinyurl.com/4yvbd6p

Gerard Butler - One Amazing Man

2011-09-17T11:28:00.000-07:00

Lately I am becoming reacquainted with a man whose career I have been following with great interest for over six years. Gerard Butler was born of simple means in a working class town and raised by a single mother. As extraordinary men do, he chose to pursue a higher road than his roots might dictate, training as a lawyer, then making the admirable choice to leave the profession he found unpalatable to follow a dream.

Entering the acting profession late, he paid his dues through theatre performance as well as bit parts in film and television. Unlike the vast majority who try their hand in the dog-eat-dog film industry, he rose relatively quickly through the ranks.

Why? Is it his Glaswegian rough edge? His somewhat unusual good looks? His six foot two frame?

No.

I believe it is his heart. In spite of the stories you hear about him succumbing to the 'benefits' of stardom, he remains on the rocky path toward legacy.

Has he chosen perfectly on every role he has taken? No. Some he has done for the pure joy and fun of it, some to propel his presence into the public eye, but most have had an intelligence behind their choice that supercedes the ordinary.

Not many actors, especially those who are considered elderly newbies, take a role in a foreign independent film (Dear Frankie) after they have tasted large Hollywood endeavours (Mrs. Brown). Few would use a little developed and undiscovered talent (singing) in a starring role, risking widespread disdain and comparison to a legend most would have thought the obvious choice. (Phantom of the Opera)

Few immerse themselves so completely in a role as to court physical and emotional injury (300). Few remain single in a marriage-of-the-month, high pressure, Hollywood-controlled industry.

What engine drives this man? At the end of the day, he is human like the rest of we mere mortals. He has to eat, sleep and remain in health to live his dreams well. He has the gift of gab and a charismatic presence on his side. There are others that are so gifted and do not reach for and attain the 'brass ring'. Does it demand the kind of focus that disallows family life and 'normal' socialization? Can a man live and work around the globe AND hope to have anything approaching a private life? Is the sacrifice worth the rewards?

What do you think, dear readers? What are the essential ingredients to succeed in living out one's dreams? How far would you go? What the cost?

Please Welcome the Wonderful Skyla Dawn Cameron

2011-09-11T00:01:00.000-07:00

Skyla Dawn Cameron is not only an author but a fabulous member of the Awe Struck Publishing team. We are very fortunate to have her as guest today.

Here are the questions I passed along to her:

Which of your books is your favorite and why? Is it also your best seller? Do you consider author attachment to her work any indication of how it will be perceived/received by readers? Can readers 'feel' an author's love/attachment (of/to a particular work)?

Playing Favourites

Hi Christine. Thanks for having me!

I have trouble picking a favourite book of mine.

Not because I see my books like my children. I do horrible, horrible things to my books—killing and maiming characters, destroying the world, slashing and cutting and gutting the manuscript in an effort to make it prettier—which, obviously, one would never do to children.

No, I can’t pick a favourite because there are so many factors that go into it. Easiest to write? That’s a factor. Do I feel I did the story justice? Another factor. My answers vary for each.

How enjoyable something was to write is also a big deal for me, and that would be Asha’s Guide to Zombie Dating Etiquette, an unpublished romantic horror comedy I wrote about six years ago. I had an absolute blast writing it because it’s heavy on gore and humour—two of my favourite things to write—and it’s sitting with a complete first draft at 100K words. I’ve backburnered working on the second draft while I have so many other commitments.

In terms of the work I favour because I’m proud of it, I’d say it’s—yes, also unpublished—a young adult paranormal series I’ve been working on for a year and a half. I’ve written four of the five planned books and I think they’re my favourite of anything I’ve ever done, both because I really tried to step up my game with them as a writer, and for the depth and themes I get to explore.

I guess that’s cheating, though. Favourite published book is, at present, Bloodlines, which was re-released last April. While I think technically its sequel, Hunter, is the better book, nothing was as fun for me as Bloodlines—snark, explosions, gunfights, car chases, magic, sex, and did I mention snark? Its sales are rivalling my current best seller—my first published novel, River—and will hopefully overtake it in the months to come.

While I think there can be a correlation between how much an author enjoys a work and reader reaction to it, it’s not a sure thing. Unfortunately.

Certainly the sheer joy of writing a scene leaps from the page and many readers pick up on it. I edit part time and there have been many occasions when I’ve commented to an author, “This scene flows beautifully—I bet it was fun to write,” and she gushes about what a joy it was. And that connection between author and reader, where they both share a moment of love for a book, character, or just a scene, is truly magical.

But there will always be many readers who will not like the book no matter how attached the writer is to it. It would be wonderful if our love for our work made readers love it more, but like anything else in this business, there are no guarantees. "

Alas...that it were true--our most beloved works skyrocketing likewise in the hearts of readers. I do believe in the karma of love and passion for one's life and work. Thanks for sharing yours today, Skyla. :)

About the Author:

Award-winning author Skyla Dawn Cameron has been writing approximately forever. Her early storytelling days were spent acting out strange horror/fairy tales with the help of her many dolls, and little has changed except that she now keeps those stories on paper. She signed her first book contract at age twenty-one for River, a unique werewolf tale, which was released to critical and reader praise alike and won her the 2007 EPPIE Award for Best Fantasy. She now has multiple series on the go to keep her busy, which is great for her attention deficit disorder.

Skyla lives in Southern Ontario where she dabbles in art, is an avid gamer, and watches Buffy reruns. She’s naturally brunette, occasionally a redhead, and will probably go blonde again soon. If she ever becomes a grown-up, she wants to run her own pub, as well as become world dictator. You can visit her on the web at www.skyladawncameron.com for free fiction, book news, and tons of other totally awesome stuff. She’s on Twitter at www.twitter.com/skyladawn and Facebook at www.facebook.com/skyladawncameron

Latest Release:
Hunter (sequel to Bloodlines)

Sometimes natural predators need to be kept in check, and for that, there's Ryann David. Orphaned as an infant and raised by an exiled branch of the church to become a warrior for God, she and her fellow members of Venatores Daemonum have trained all their lives with only one purpose: destroy all demons in the mortal realm.
But when Ryann and her team are sent to hunt down a vampire who has killed one of their own, a new world of danger, betrayal, and conspiracy greets her. Allied with an irreverent psychic detective and the very monsters she was raised to kill, Ryann will risk everything—her life, her faith, and her heart—in pursuit of the truth as the black and white existence she knew turns a murky shade of gray.

Boo - The World's Cutest Dog

2011-09-09T14:19:00.000-07:00

In case you missed him on Good Morning America...meet Boo

You can 'like' him on his public figure page:

http://www.facebook.com/christine.london#!/Boo

You can 'like' me at:

http://www.facebook.com/christine.london#!/pages/Christine-London/71009389201

Boo the Dog: 1.6 million 'fans'

Christine London the Author: ???

LOL! Ooookay...so he is cuter.

The Fabulous Sharon Poppen

2011-09-04T00:01:00.000-07:00

We are so excited to launch this Autumnal Blog Tour today with author Sharon Poppen as my guest. Eight Mundania/Awe Struck authors have teamed together to provide some entertaining posts over the next two months (posted every Sunday) that will be both thought provoking, educational and entertaining. Please feel free to join in on the discussion as we strive to ask some questions that just might get you to thinking how you would answer.

Today's question for Sharon has to do with the oft tumultuous teen years. Let's get started...

I asked Sharon:

"If you could have been told one thing as a teenager that you were not told, what would it be? How would it have (potentially) helped you? What effect could it have had/how would it impact your youth and later life?"

'What would I have liked to be told as a teen?' It might have been nice to have been told I was free to be 'me'. It took me years to figure that out. My generation was very strong on tradition and one did what was 'expected', not what was simmering in our maturing minds that were filled with adolescent secret dreams.

But then again, I think back to all the wrong turns I made while conforming, before I stepped across the line and began to search for 'me'.

Because of those confining traditions, I have two great kids, five stepchildren and five grandchildren that are definitely part of 'me' and I wouldn't trade that for the world.

I was thirty before I had the nerve to buck conformity and do it 'my' way. Because of the two stages of my life (conformity and 'my' way), I can honestly say that I now have it all - love of family, many good friends, a budding writing career, peace of mind and security in all aspects of my life - ergo I have love, happiness and health.

Who could as for more?

So I guess what I'm saying is that I'm glad no one told me anything I didn't already think I knew during my teenage years.

Thanks for the thoughtful answer Sharon. So I guess you would say 'All's well that ends well'.

What do you think dear readers? Would you like to have had the foresight to strike out and do it 'your way' from the get go? Would you like to have had that mature knowledge and stability in your own internal strength or is life best lived as a naive youngster---'Ignorance is bliss'?

Seems to me it is one of the most common threads of adolescence--uncertainty as to who we are and how we should proceed. Not many have the hutspa to be their true selves so young.

Did you?

How would that have changed your life? Dreams met or dashed?

Now Sharon is a gal who has lived and continues to live a wonderful life:

Sharon grew up in Chicago Illinois, raised by a loving grandmother in a house full of family. She thrived in an atmosphere of caring love. The neighborhood kids loved Sharon's "best stories" and played for hours in their own version of soap opera stage.

She moved to California at fifteen and since then has been a student of the "University of Real Life" (URL) She has lived in New Mexico, California and finally settled in Lake Havasu, Arizona. During her working years she penned the great American nove--sporadically and mostly late nights after the kids were in bed. Post- retirement from Pacific Bell, she enrolled in 'real' college where she received much encouragement in her writing. She joined writer's groups and began submitting her work to agents and publishers.

Sharon has published three novels and has six more going into print. She has penned over three hundred short stories widely published in print and e-zines. She shares her knowledge through teaching workshops at local colleges and community centers and has been awarded honors from the Arizona Authors Assoc., the National League of American Pen Women and Long and Short E-zine for Writers.

Her goals - write every day, publish as often as possible, enjoy life every
moment.

Bravo Sharon!

Here's her Awe Struck Published novel, "Abby-Finding More Than Gold"

Book Blurb:

In 1897, Abby Barron, a young Irish-American girl, loses her cousin to a fire and with him the plans to escape Chicago to search for gold in the Yukon fields. A want-ad for a cook revives the plan and she soon hires on with Paddy and Tommy, a medicine-show man and his son. Despite Abby's wanderlust and Tommy's desire to settle down, the two fall in love. But it's a long road to fulfill Abby's dreams of reaching the Yukon--one that tests the bonds of love and uncovers long-held family secrets.

Book Excerpt:

Abby took a deep breath and entered the darkened interior. The lobby was surprisingly clean and welcoming. She walked atop a faded Oriental rug runner, passing several divans and overstuffed chairs on her way to the hotel desk. A man wearing a green-shaded visor looked up from a newspaper and smiled broadly.

"Well, well, little lady." His leering smile heightened Abby's anxiety.

She laid the newspaper on the desk and pointed to the ad. "May I see Mr. Finley, please?"
He waved toward a room off to his left. "I believe I saw him come back a bit ago. Try the dining room. He may be having his lunch."
Abby looked in the direction he pointed. "Can you tell me what he looks like?"
The clerk stepped from behind the desk and motioned for her to follow him. He led her to a room just off the hotel lobby. The room was bathed in the warmth of the January sun. At four of the eight or nine small tables, covered with white tablecloths and surrounded by four chairs each, sat lone male diners. The room was bright and stark in contrast to the dark of the lobby. The white walls were devoid of decoration. Only two potted ferns brought any color into the room.
The clerk pointed to a man who was sitting with his back to her at a table by the window. "That's him." He returned to his desk to talk with another woman. Abby noticed that the newcomer was an unnatural blonde and was wearing far too much make-up. Her silk, red dress was inappropriately garish for this time of afternoon, or anytime actually. Abby watched the clerk and the woman exchange suggestive smiles before the blonde headed toward the stairs.
"Seat yourself girlie." A chubby man wearing a greasy apron barked at her as he headed toward Mr. Finley with a bowl of soup and a pile of crackers.
Abby gripped the newspaper tightly and attempted to follow the waiter, but found her feet stuck to the floor. They refused to budge. Her terrified mind admonished her to turn and go home. She took two steps back. The newspaper fell from her hand."
Sharon's western novels: After the War, Before the Peace, Hannah and Abby-Finding More Than Gold are available at Amazon Books, most web based book sellers and from her website. Her work has appeared in such publications as A Flasher's Dozen, Desert Treasures, Skive, Offerings from the Oasis, A Long Story Short, Apollo Lyre and Laughter Loaf. Her workshops on Journaling, Short Story Writing and Blogging bring rave reviews. Sharon is a member of Lake Havasu City Writer's Group.

List of Published Novels:

After the War, Before the Peace - Xlibris Publishing

Hannah - Virtual Tales Publishing

Abby-Finding More Than Gold - Awe-Struck Publishing

You can find out more about Sharon and her work at her website - www.sharonpoppen.com

...and read about her life and times at her Blog Site:
http://poppensthoughtsonwritingandstuff.blogspot.com/

Christine Goes European - Heavenly Alps

2011-09-02T11:58:00.000-07:00

There are really no words to convey the incredible beauty of the Alps.

My recent drive from Milan to Salzberg Austria

Mozart candies celebrating their most famous native son

Schnitzel

melt in your mouth roast pork and saurkraut

... day ending with a Salzberg Noctrul--souffle glazed with fresh raspberries (OMG!)

onto Zurich Switzerland and back to Milan held many surprises.... The best was the aqua pastel of Lake Lucern

and the descent from this most stunning locale, through a narrow pass of cascading waterfalls, (most as amazing as Yosemite's version)

to the sultry, languid Lake Como in the far Italian north.

Astounding!

What is not so amazing are the prices in Switzerland. What would cost five Euro forty ($8.65) in the rest of Europe (A MacDonald's 'value' meal)costs the equivalent of $17.80 in Switzerland. Go for the incredible scenery, but see if you can't scoot across the border to sleep. Bring picnic food, but sleep in Austria or Italy. The strength of the Swiss franc is said to be way over valued. (You think?)

As in all travels there is the good, the not so good and the gobsmakingingly (is that a word? ...it is now!..lol) gorgeous. Allow me to let the photos 'speak'---

And the incredible ancient salt mining village of Hallstatt, with the buildings clinging to the sheer alpine cliffs.

Where past villagers sleep in a cemetary --one of the most amazing in Europe.

>

...and the few fortunate that discover this place can stroll through thousand year old streets and take their time enjoying the local flavour.

Pause for lunch where only waiters cross

Creme dilled trout freshly caught off shore, and

cheese dumpling soup with salad.

The simple things in life

In one of the most scenic places on earth.

Ready, Set, Fall Reading!

2011-08-28T08:39:00.000-07:00

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!

Romantic Venezia

2011-08-22T19:58:00.000-07:00

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.

Fall In Love--- Hawaii

2011-08-17T19:03:00.001-07:00

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

Maybe Once Or Twice In A Lifetime

2011-08-16T13:11:00.000-07:00
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.

The Eternal City

2011-08-13T08:08:00.000-07:00
The Eternal City bakes under a hot July sun. The ruins of antiquity mingle with everyday life.

A saxophonist plays an unlikely tune

and Segway tourists abdicate their legs in favor of the high tech transport.

Trevi,

Pantheon

and Four rivers fountain lure sightseers,

but it is the quiet side street, gelato and an array of Italian delicacies that beg us pause.

Catholics celebrate their symbolic core and the late John Paul II is beatified.

St Peters Square swallows hundreds in its expanse.

The interior of St Peter eternally magnificient.

Outside the city, cool and dark catacombs honeycomb the ground beneath a beautiful garden and open plain.

Two million souls of antiquity--the everyday man, Popes and saints lie side by side.

It is the hazy hot days that slow the pace of the traveler beckoning pause and rest.

"Hold still while I take your picture Mom!"

Farewell my eternal friend

Le Plage-Paris in July

2011-08-12T16:01:00.000-07:00
Two years ago I rambled along the Parisian streets, One June Day In Paris the result. July 2011 finds the city of love no less charming, if not more so.

Le Plage--the beach---has been sprinkled along a kilometer of the Seine.

Children of all ages enjoy wiggling toes in the sand.

Traffic cops direct streams of cars around oceans of tourists surrounding such sites as Notre Dame.

The Louvre is the destination for those who revel in old meets new--aritecture, art and generations.

A bridge of locks spans the river.

Lovers seal their relationship with a symbol of their commitment.

Amusement rides line the Champ d'Elysee, laughter of children ribbons along the warm breeze.

Bikes for let at one Euro a day encourage Parisians and tourists alike to explore the city on two wheels.

Some smaller explorers have other methods.

Football team Barcelona is splashed on billboard and adorn the exterior of sports stores.

Baguettes are still the staff of life.

Pastries and cakes are art.

A very American invention--the cupcake--has made its way into the heart of Paris.

What was foreign to American eyes--the tiny 'Smart Car' line the streets.

They do not stand out as small here in the land of eight-ten dollar a gallon gas. Europe has had small efficient cars for years, fifty plus miles to the gallon the norm.

Still the narrow cobble stoned streets invite exploration, lingering over a coffee or glass of wine.

Brides rush to be on time.

Street life buzzes and the blanket of night brings a special romance.

Le Eiffel awash in showers is the heart of the city.

Gargoyles peer down at passersby.

Do we still love Paris?

Always!

Doon The Watter and Other Excellent Scottish Adventure

2011-08-01T09:51:00.000-07:00

Good fortune to have time and wherewithall to spend a lovely day upon the pride of Glasgow's ocean going steampaddler Waverley--

The Clyde's waterfront in central Glasgow mixes modern with the shipbuilding past.

'Doon the Watter' past the setting of heartwrenching indie film, Dear Frankie, the iconic trilogy of cargo cranes on Greenock's shore symbolize the seafaring spirit and hardworking men of Scotland.

Will time and lack of funding spell the end to the last of a kind upon the rugged waters of Scotland's Western coast?

Not many signs as explicit as this...

name the protagonists of my ficition.

The mighty Tay River proceeds through the countryside in silent power

An echo in the wind of a time when men fought for love of earth and sea

The bloodiest of hopeless battles still rumble through the centuries. Lonely and windswept, the Culloden moor whispers of love and honour of Highlanders past.

This, a stone cottage, musket balls still embedded in its walls.

Country manor houses now open to the traveller

Inverness' Urquhart Castle and the deep cold glacial waters of the loch draw hearts from around the globe to these shores

The Highlands majesty stands stalwart against the ravages of time and this isolated corner of the world still ignites imagination and hearts worldwide in tales of love, passion and honour.

Castle's watch over the sea

The countryside hums with the season

willowherb and thistle

William Wallace Monument and Stirling Castle grace the central plain

And those that love the mystical nature of this country and its inhabitants might well bring home a symbol of their respect

Until next time, my Scotland...

Going Hog Wild

2011-07-22T03:18:00.001-07:00
"Christine London has a remarkable way with language and her descriptions
are just breathtaking."

Hog Wild is reviewed by 100 Romances Project at:

http://bit.ly/noYgbh

Sinclair MacTavish ruled the world of motorcycle mechanics able to repair anything under the Four Corners sun. But when a cynical, road weary Brit crashes through the door of her garage, she's in for more than just another cantankerous client. He may be the challenge of her life.

The unique calming vibration of the Heritage Classic under him rumbled through his body in comforting familiarity, a quarter ton of throbbing Harley between his legs. The only soul on the road for as far as the horizon extended, he still felt the disquieting rupture in his psyche. He couldn't get far enough away from his everyday life to escape the disappointment and pain of having lost out to his best mate. The gentle sloping arrow of blistering pavement beneath his tires stretched out before him like some metaphorical bookmark pointing the way to his future.

Not even the otherworldly stark grandeur of the wind carved monolithic edifices haunting the American Southwest's mystical Monument Valley could distract him from his mission. Every mile he put between himself and Los Angeles was that much further from her; the woman he couldn't have.

Torrid fingers of dry air ripped at the wisps of hair protruding from beneath his helmet, lashing wildly about his neck. The muffled sound of its relentless assault droned in his ears, providing meditative background noise as accompaniment to his interminable self lecturing. The rumble of the engine vibrated in his hands as they grasped the accelerator on each end of the handlebars.

"Those motorbikes are nothing but glamorized deathtraps...organ donor makers, dear." His mother's voice played like a bad tape recording in his head. "Don't ever even consider one, son."

He grumbled low in his chest. The ache of loss still made his lungs feel like they'd been scraped with steel wool and set out to dry in the desert sun. Shooting onto the verge of the road, a red cloud of dust spun up from his rear wheel as he felt the drag of the softer surface easily eaten by the power of the bike beneath him.

Change. He needed change. Anything to tempt fate, to stop the feelings that scaulded his gut like acid spilled from a lab beaker. That's why he'd rented the hog, as American blokes called it. Top of the line Harley cruiser, speed and hot metal all under his control. Open country, no people, no committments, no fucking loud rock music, just the elements and the man. Medicinal...right?

So why couldn't he get her beautiful lavendar eyes out of his head, those sad eyes laced with a tinge of pity. That had been the hardest thing to take. Miss Jenna Lindstrom felt for him. He knew she cared, but she loved Colin. And so did he, God damn it. Colin Dunlow was his best friend and top client as manager and agent of the world renowned rock group, Dumbarton. Yes, Kyle Matthews was the best music agent in the business. Alot of good that did him now as he rocketed across the desert southwest in a cloud of pain and regret.

Edinburgh Scotland --One Day In July

2011-07-09T11:50:00.000-07:00
A couple years ago it was Paris that underwent the scrutiny of my camera lens. Today--Edinburgh Scotland. From the Modern Parliment building

in the shadow of Holyrood Palace, to St Giles Cathedral at Royal Mile Midpoint, to the many narrow closes providing instant quiet from the roaming crowds; the old city is set apart from any other by the beauty of its austere stonework and Georgian row houses.
The camera tells the tale...

Holyrood Palace

Royal Mile

Kilts through the window glass

...and in the street...

Yum...

Aye...the Yank went that way>>>

There--takin' piccies of the toll booth plaque

Spray paint artist

and street performer

Thunderheads build

Over the Invisible Man

Perhaps dodge down a close?

for a Tempting Tattie jacket potato

The Scotsman News

Or a few quiet moments with those famous and not so famous who have gone before

Stop for a pint

Onwards and upwards past St Giles

To Castle entrance

Amble along on home...

by walls with many layers...if only they could talk

Modern sculptures

Shoppe windows

sleeping child...

The moon rises over my Edinburgh neighbourhood. Still light at ten p.m.

Goodnight

And So The Adventure Has Begun

2011-07-06T09:08:00.000-07:00
A flurry of activity has ruled my days since the last week of June. This time of year is convention and travel season, the summer of 2011 no exception. A journey to Virginia/Washington D.C. began my seven week trek. Perhaps you read my tweet warning of the (lacking) wisdom in wearing flip flops to walk the monument-dotted National Mall? My feet have not recovered yet. Baby toe pillow blisters plague my wanderings about the streets of London. Once blisters begin they seem to want to hang in there. Thank heavens for a sterilized safety pin and a tissue. :)

Webmistress/digital artist, ALex Kent in front of the real NCIS

Marriott Marquis Times Square New York hosted the thirty first annual national Romance Writers Of America convention. I arrived the day before the charity book signing for literacy event. Having attended a number of multi-author events, this one ruled as the noisiest, most amazing. The huge ballroom buzzed and crackled with reader enthusiasm, every aisle filled with the most enthusiastic genre aficionados. Coincidence of alphabetizing, I sat next to the esteemed novelist, Julia London. Between media cameras and ebullient fans, we were able to chat. Down to earth and mellow, Julia took all the attention in stride.

The highlight of the convention (at least for this writer) were the workshops/ talks. It was just as thrilling to listen to the Outlander series author, Diana Gabaldon, as it had been months ago. She was joined by New York Times best selling author of thrillers, Steve Berry and internationally best selling author of the characters that inspired the television series, Rizzoli and Isles, Tess Gerritsen. Amazing to hear these top authors share their everyday struggles in the writing process. Seems we all sweat blood over our words punctuated by those too-brief moments of touching the face of God through the indescribable connection to the creative flow of the universe. All the pre-planning in the world does not mean the outline will be fulfilled in the actual writing. Sometimes the voices in our heads have definite ideas of their own..

Please bear with me as I wobble along through the time warp that is trans atlantic crossing sans camera. I seem to have left mine in the shuttle from the NYC hotel to JFK airport. Luckily I've a few downloaded photos before my departure from sanity. Another word to the wise...staple, stitch, superglue or surgically implant your camera to your body before setting backside to seat in an airport shuttle. Be 'seeing' you soon. Until then, hang in there all you summer friends. My European adventure shall not be truncated or lost...

My August Reluctant Companions Gets a (Beautiful) Cover

2011-06-09T23:21:00.000-07:00
This August you are invited along on a visceral vicarious vacation to North Shore Oahu.

Reluctant Companion

Two lonely people overwhelmed by life…same time, same gorgeous Oahu locale---except they are not alone…

I am sooo looking forward to sharing Cameron and Chellie's excellent adventure with you!

xx

Christine

Come Along With Me...

2011-06-05T21:35:00.000-07:00
Along the gorgeous Russian River in Sonoma County just north of San Francisco, I watch the ribbons of fog flirt with the towering redwoods. How different from the majesty of the American desert Southwest. How lucky am I to have the opportunity and means to visit such divergent locales.

In two weeks time I shall be flying to New York for a writer's conference, then onto Edinburgh Scotland as part of a home exchange scheme. Paris, Rome, Greece and the Austrian Alps are all on my itinerary for July.

Please come along with me as I blog my way through Europe.
( http://christinelondon.blogspot.com/ ) and please enter the mystery and magic of the desert southwest as seen through the eyes of my characters in Hog Wild. ( http://tinyurl.com/3mxbxsm ) You honour me through your support. From the bottom of my heart--thank you.

Christine

2011-05-31T11:59:00.000-07:00
They say the best things are worth the longest wait and that they come in small packages.

That being true...

The BEST is coming your way.

A couple years ago I had the opportunity to ride a top of the line Harley Heritage Classic. All chrome, gloss and power, it ate up the Ventura Highway as I rode, arms about one glorious man, along the Pacific shore.

Winter-- Kayenta Arizona- mesas sprinkled with powdered sugar snow, air permeated with the spirit of the ancient native culture, I explore the world of skinwalkers, code talkers, Anasazi and the majesty of Monument Valley.

May--the glare of the spotlight in my eyes, I sing to a sea of upturned faces, my fellow pop jazz vocal group a step behind me. A frision of excitement steeped in terror slides down my spine.

Characters occupy the theater of my mind. A jazz vocalist, a hard driving motorcycle mechanic, a rock star and his amazing manager...

A year later my completed manuscripts, Shadows Steal the Light and Hog Wild, are accepted for publication by Tiger Publications and my place as a Romance Writers Of America "PAN" (Published Author Network) is ensconced in the promise of literary advance on royalties. A few months later my rights are returned as Tiger closes its door--Hog Wild not released. Corporate failure.

I cry.

Another year later I finally feel safe enough/healed enough/ strong enough to submit my Shadows Steal the Light and its spin off, Hog Wild, to the most amazing start up publisher. Product of her own career stunting setbacks, the owner of MuseItHot publishing of Canada accepts Shadows Steal the Light

AND Hog Wild for contract.

I cry.

What different tears.

Friday, 3rd of June 2011

Steeped in dreams, product of love and pain

Hog Wild

A small package anticipated for years...

This novella means a lot, not only to me, but to anyone who has been lured by the incredible beauty of the American Southwest...by the spirituality of our native American culture...by a life altering struggle that has nearly robbed you of your desire to continue.

Not unlike music producer Kyle Matthews, I find myself at a place in my life where the known is suddenly foreign and the trajectory toward success as uncertain as shifting sands beneath your feet.

The deep umbers, rich coppers and brilliant oranges ignite across your literary screen when you hop on the black leather seat, arms about Kyle, for a journey you'll not soon forget.

Come along...

Hog Wild

Amazed and honoured to have my seventh published work about to break on the scene!
Hog Wild
By Christine London

Sinclair MacTavish ruled the world of motorcycle mechanics, able to repair anything under the Four Corner’s sun. But when a cynical road weary Brit crashes through the door of her garage, she’s in for more than just another cantankerous client. He just may be the challenge of her life.

It was a cold winter's day in Kayenta Arizona, Navajo Territory when I first experienced the majesty of Monument Valley and the surrounding ancient Navajo lands. Won't you come along with me and one fantastic man named Kyle Matthews, to the American desert Southwest?

Kyle is trying to escape losing in love to his best friend, rocketing through the southwest on a top of the line Harley Heritage Classic when he stumbles upon a place--and a woman---that open his eyes to what's really important.

June 3rd from MuseItHot Publishing

Hog Wild

http://tinyurl.com/3mxbxsm

Christine London
Author of Shadows Steal The Light
Visit my website at
www.christinelondon .com for the latest!

Surreal Image Of Evil - Six Sentence Sunday

2011-05-22T00:01:00.000-07:00
Ah, yes...there is more to the tale of Hog Wild than the attraction of two unlikely people clasing at first sight in the desert southwest--

As our hero struggles to regain consciousness after a fall that might well have killed him, Kyle's mind plays games with him. The lecherous drifter that has his woman, is dangerous in more ways than one. Can Kyle pull himself out of the pain and despair of injury to thwart the drifter's intent?

This was evil. This doppelganger in phantasmal display that moved closer to him by the moment hadn’t the visage to frighten a child, but it struck cataclysmic terror in his dazed and debilitated body—in his soul.
Crouching before him, face obscured by the point of his hood, this chimera of dread paused in the still silence. A silver beam as from the moon sliced between the two. Kyle frozen in place, the apparition now solidly formed before him.
Nerves steadied, every last fragment of strength brought to play, Kyle extended a tenuous hand toward the robe.

Hog Wild Coming June 2011

http://tinyurl.com/4yxvl9x

Blurb:
Sinclair MacTavish ruled the world of motorcycle mechanics able to repair anything under the Four Corners sun. But when a cynical, road weary Brit crashes through the door of her garage, she's in for more than just another cantankerous client. He may be the challenge of her life.

Read more great Six Sentences all linked at:
http://sixsunday.blogspot.com/

Vegas' Sahara Hotel Casino Says Goodbye

2011-05-18T16:29:00.000-07:00

The Sahara Hotel Casino may well have been the star studded jewel of the Las Vegas Strip in its heyday, but the recession and changing times spelled closure for the retro resort this Monday ending a nearly sixty year run as the premiere location to play and stay.

Opening in August of 1952, the property has undergone many ownerships and physical changes, yet when you speak to locals there is nearly always a fond word for the welcoming atmosphere and friendly employees. Many of the long time workers have been gobbled up by fellow casino, Stratosphere, many still left looking for employment in an economy that has not come close to recovery.

Such greats as the Sinatra/Martin/Bishop/Davis' Rat Pack, Don Rickles, Elvis, Johnny Carson, the Beatles and a twenty year tenure to Jerry Lewis' Muscular Dystrophy Telethon have called the Sahara home. Every star that was one--stayed there.

Alas, even the addition of two hotel towers are now dwarfed by the mega resorts.

The Moroccan themed property still has a special feel.

The looming tower of the Stratosphere throws its shadow across the pool's aqua blue water and the vacant lot next door might footnote the end, but a note taped to the glass doors at the main entrance, written by Sahara executive Sam Nazarian, reading, "Be Back Soon! Thank You For 59 Years" is a mini-manifesto to be remembered.

As I strolled through the casino, there was a definite air of melancholy.

Even the Nascar restaurant and bar bathed in red light echoed of dreams realized and imagined.

Dale Ernhardt's reign ended in an instant largely through his own failure to adhere to safety procedures.

So too the understandable resistance of the Sahara to morph into a carbon copy of the oft garish, loud theme park atmosphere of its newer neighbours. The appeal to the hundreds of nostalgic patrons that returned this last weekend for one more hoorah was palpable. One can't help but yearn for that simpler time when glamour ruled and you could still run into Jack Benny coming out of an elevator.

Will the Sahara resurrect from the ashes of fiscal defeat? Perhaps. Until then--sleep well behind locked doors you ghosts of the by-gone days of legend.

Burbank Celebrates Its Centennial

2011-05-09T00:01:00.000-07:00
A warm sunny Saturday afternoon is just perfect for a book festival.

The day before Mother's Day brought out many families to the Buena Vista Branch of Burbank Library in the center of the area that hosts television and film studios. Gratifying to see there are such enthusiastic folks that know a good read when they see one.

Los Angeles Romance Authors, Sisters In Crime, Screenwriters and more than one hundred Burbank authors were on hand. Three panels provided opportunity for booklovers to interact and learn about the publishing world in all its variety. Electronic books, self published, small press and New York published were all represented. Aspiring authors added their zest for success to a day that will be long remembered. Burbank celebrated love of the written word and their centennial with lots of fun for all.

Jennifer Haymore & Christine London (behind Christine Ashworth, Dayle Dermatis & Charlene Sands of Los Angeles Romance Authors 'LARA')

(back, L>R)Anne Kemp,Robin Bielman, Suzanne Lazear,Dayle Dermatis, Christine Ashworth (front L>R)Jennifer Haymore, Charlene Sands, Christine London

Six Sentence Sunday Navajo

2011-05-08T00:01:00.000-07:00
Today let's have a glimpse of our hero and heroine from Hog Wild (June 2011) as they descend into the canyon leading deep into the "Old Ones" territory.

Kyle and Sin are walking toward the Anasazi Ruins, members of a small group of hikers led by a female docent/guide. The rugged beauty of the land and her very Navajo commentary is alluring...

Dwarfed, gnarled pinon and juniper trees posing in photogenic postures, leaning at odd angles, sprouting peculiar limb growths, and bearing tangles of exposed roots, appeared to try to crowd each other out along the pathway of their descent.
They stopped at an overlook. “The Navajo hid in these canyons during the Long Walk. U.S. Army units led by famed scout Kit Carson harried the tribe into near starvation. Carson was ordered by superiors to shoot down even those bands of Navajo who tried to surrender. It was forced exile in the nastiest sense of the word. And as for Carson…well, let’s just say that he was not a nice man.” She offered a distinctly Indian view that rang true with the intensity that wove through the strong strands of Native oral tradition.
Kyle and Sin walked tandem where footing would permit.

Hog Wild By Christine London
Coming June 2011 through MuseItHot Publishing
For more visit
christinelondon.com

Please visit other wonderful Six Sentence Snippets
at
http://sixsunday.blogspot.com/

Book Trailers and Silent Film

2011-05-03T20:20:00.000-07:00
One of the trends in reading for those who shop online is the book trailer. Mimicing the film industry, a bright publicist developed this medium a few years ago and since that time many authors have joined the fun.

Yours truly has been playing around with Windows Live Movie Maker--a program that comes preinstalled on your (non Mac) computer. Voila--I have four trailers and counting now for my books.

Many authors include music with their trailer. I felt them to be more powerful when viewed in the orginal "Silent Film" format allowing you the viewer, to enjoy without music suddenly blaring or colouring your impressions. In the days to come I hope to add to the list. For now, please feel free to enjoy:

Soul In His Eyes

Sunninghill Snow

Leap Of Faith

Hog Wild

Six Sentence Hog

2011-05-01T06:00:00.000-07:00
Here we are again (gotta stop meeting like this...lol) Hog Wild is coming to an e-store near you this June. Lotsa folks have been enjoying the beauty of the desert southwest through the vehicle of this spicy tale of redemption.

Kyle Matthews may have the music world by the horns, his lovelife—not. A restorative motorcycle trip through the desert southwest yields nothing but a breakdown. Will the hard driving, salty tongued gorgeous mechanic he relies upon to fix his Harley be able to mend his heart, as well?

Kyle, our hero, hasn't a clue as to Navajo culture when he lands on their reservation in search of gas...

The Indian chuckled, a surprisingly low rumble like the distant thunder of an approaching storm. He swung his arm upward, large hand landing on Kyle’s shoulder. “You be careful, man. You open your mouth to the wrong dude…especially if he’s got his buddies with him…You might just end up with that pretty face planted in the dirt and no Hog to be bringin’ back to the rental office.”
“Thanks for your concern, Cochise, but I can take care of myself.” Kyle clamped onto the Indian’s wrist and lowered it from his shoulder. “Now shake my hand and we’ll call it a day.”
“Hey, I ain’t no Apache."

OOps...guess it's not such a great idea to rile a six foot five native giant. :)

Six Sentence Sunday Sans Sex- Craving a bit more?

2011-04-24T00:01:00.000-07:00
Crave something more than sex in six? I strive to provide six sentence bites that tittilate more than the hormones. Our minds as the most important sex organ crave something beyond bodyparts and lurid touch. Join me on my weekly Six Sentence journeys and you shall get words that engage all your senses--including but not limited to your temporal lobe.

Our hero Kyle is taking heroine Sin for a spin down the spine of the desert southwest's Monument Valley at day's end...

The warm dry air was perfect; the few shredded clouds racing across the

horizon were being painted with raspberry chalk by the sinking sun, each water droplet

refulgent with rainbow potential. As they raced toward the crest of the valley, the

paintbrush of light changed each curve of vapor into a progressive stroke of tint,

rotating around the color wheel as the angle of the sun shifted with each passing

minute, pale salmon into orange into pink onto mauve. As they reached the back road

plummeting toward the San Juan River and Mexican Hat, Kyle pulled into a widened

area on the highway’s verge and turned the nose of the Enfield to face the mammoth

buttes spread out across the vast expanse of land between them and the horizon.

Now silhouetted against the brilliant pallet of pastels into deepening purples,

the enormous stone structures looked even more dominant, each shape an example of

what time, earth and weather can do to various densities of sand and rock. Most cut a

figure, a flat-topped mesa, sheer walls cascading down to gentler inclined tumbles of

rocks sloping to the flat valley floor below.

They both remained fixed to the padded seat of the Enfield, the ability of speech

stolen from them by the splendor of the display. As the sun sank below the horizon and

the splash of clouds trailing across the sky morphed into their final shades of violet

to purple to grey, Kyle and Sin sat frozen in a stupor of transcendental wonder.

“No matter how many time I see it, I’m left speechless.” Sin whispered, as though in

prayer, into the fading light.
.

Available June 2011 through MuseItHot Publishing

http://tinyurl.com/3satpdu

Sinclair MacTavish ruled the world of motorcycle mechanics able to repair anything under the Four Corners sun. But when a cynical, road weary Brit crashes through the door of her garage, she's in for more than just another cantankerous client. He may be the challenge of her life.

Christine London
Author of Shadows Steal The Light
Visit my website at www.christinelondon .com for the latest!

2011-04-18T14:38:00.001-07:00