Angela B. Chrysler's Blog, page 5

Back to Bergen – Living life (and writing) on Audible

Hello, dear reader. It’s been a while. It’s 18 January 2019. I think last we spoke was July 2018…Okay. So, I’ve been AWOL for half a year.

2018 was hard for me. I started a new job. My best friend passed away. We suffered a car accident (The truck was totaled, but no one was hurt. The financial loss was devastating). My sister moved in. My books have new covers. I came off my meds…and I’m pregnant! Year-Ago-Me  would not recognize me today. Have I written anything? Well…I sat down to write the third book of The Seidr Cycle and I ran into a problem…More like, Bergen reeked havoc again.

Apparently, I need to write his stories first if Winter and Ash is to make sense. So…I started brainstorming Bergen: Bane.

I haven’t written free form. Not in a long time. My hands have been mute. I put my pen down last year and haven’t touched it since. In October, the muse began poking at me again. But to write narrative like this…in article form. I feel the neurons waking up and their stretching. I forgot to live for me. Just me. And I think I finally learned how to do that this last year. I said no to a lot. Told several people to just back off. Put my foot down and said, “I’m not gonna take it anymore!” And haven’t. I lost some friends along the way…and I feel better for it.

So.

Hello, dear friend. I think today I will talk about…Bergen!

I have the world’s best job. I work at least 20 hours a week, but can work up to 40 if I want. It’s optional. The best part is all I have to do is sit at a desk and type. I move data from point A to point B and, because it’s all generic mindless crap, I can do whatever I want at work…within the realm of headphones. I started off just listening to music. Ten hours of music every day, all day…life was epic.

Then, I saw someone with an audio book at their desk. I died and fell over, ran to audible.com and launched their app.

Ten months later…I have listened to all of the Outlander books (twice), all of Karen Marie Moning…twice…and next week I begin Tolkien! I. CAN’T. WAIT! Now…while listening to story mode, my mind tends to wander and brain storm. It’s only then that my muse begins picking at my brain and suddenly I’m brainstorming for my Bergen series. Writing since Broken (2015) has been hard. While I did write and release Zombies From Space…and Vampires, it hasn’t been smooth writing. Personally, I blame the anti-depressants I was on. Was. Yes. A month after coming off the meds, my muse just woke up and got to work despite being assured meds no longer affect the mood. Maybe it’s psychosomatic. Anyway…

Enter Bergen.

Basically, the story explains how and why Bergen is a Bard. If you don’t know who Bergen is…you can meet my pompous, over-bearing Viking Nord Lord here.

I play D&D every Wednesday night. When people hear “bard” they think of a lute playing little gnome. Historically, I’ve learned that bards were so much more than that. In fact, they were more like the Queen of Years from Doctor Who. A bard was a person charged with all the history, oral and written, of all time. In real life, they weren’t entertainers. They were scribes, scholars, and secret keepers. Some suspect they were Druids. In The Seidr Cycle they are more than that…and Bergen happens to be one.

I started this article with  intent to share and now that I’m here, I think I’ll just write the book’s blurb.

 

When Bergen finds himself imprisoned by the Fae Goddess, Fand, he befriends a dying bard who entrusts Bergen with information on the long lost Bardic Key that will unlock the most powerful of secrets.

At first glance, Ciardha is everything one expects from ordinary. But when the pompous over-bearing Viking Elf prince Bergen falls battered, beaten, and dying in her back yard, Ciardha jumps at his invitation to accompany him on his quest.

Desperate to secure the Bardic Key, the race between Fae goddess and Viking Prince has begun, and Ciardha does all she can to keep up with Bergen and survive.

 

 

 

Book Review: Dragonfly in Amber (Outlander Book #2)

This review applies to the audio book narrated by Davina Porter and compares the book to the movie.

 

Expectations:

This book was harder for me to love than Book #1…at first. By this point, I was in for the long haul and was eager to get back to Jamie and Claire. I’ll not lie. After completely Book #1, I hit “play” on Book #2 and just kept on running. Unfortunately, there were a lot of bumps in the road.

First, the author herself hated this book more than any of her others. She took advantage of the movie and used it to clean up Book #2. I’m thrilled she did…at first.

When picking up Book #2, you think you’ve picked up the wrong book in the series. I ended up starting Book #3 before realizing that Book #2 was in fact, Book #2.

 

To the point (No Spoilers):

“I will find you,” he whispered in my ear. “I promise. If I must endure two hundred years of purgatory, two hundred years without you – then that is my punishment, which I have earned for my crimes. For I have lied, and killed, and stolen; betrayed and broken trust. But there is the one thing that shall lie in the balance. When I shall stand before God, I shall have one thing to say, to weigh against the rest. Lord, ye gave me a rare woman, and God! I loved her well.”

This…this is Outlander.

I spent a lot of my time in Season #2 shouting, “No! No! No! You got it wrong!”

In short, I struggled with Part #1 of this book. My opinion on this is biased and it does, sadly, reflect my review.

I am a linguist with an ear and a passion for Latin and Germanic based languages and Japanese: Italian, Spanish, Latin, Japanese, German, Norse, and Icelandic I get. I can hear them and I can hear the words. I can build phrases from the words. Unfortunately, I can’t understand a word of French. The sounds just slur together. As an audible book, this evolved into a major listening comprehension for me.

I listened to this book and, therefore, couldn’t commit to memory the number of French sounds I was hearing. I couldn’t tell if they were place names or people and couldn’t tell who was who. Getting through the scenes in Part #1 was downright difficult. For example, I can READ that L’Hôpital des Anges is “Hospital of the Angels.” My French name is “Ange,” so seeing the words allows me to easily and correctly guess their meaning. But hearing “O’Pee’Tell, Day Awnj” ….I had no clue what it was until…well…until the very end of Part #1.

Part #2 and Part #3 were glorious. The story was breathtaking and easily allowed me to move on from Part #1.

My favorite author is Victor Hugo. I am no stranger to political writing. I thoroughly enjoyed the events leading up to the climax. In all honesty, the movie did a lot to help me understand what was happening in Part #1. For me, the story of Book #1 continued in Part #2 of Book #2, and I, too easily, fell back into this world.

Looking back after delving into season #3, I now see the big picture and wow! Is it astounding! Read this book! Simply gorgeous.

***SPOILERS***
The Story

The story continues right were we left off. Jamie is recovered on the outside, but struggles still on the inside, though we see more of this struggle in the movie.

I’ll be honest, this book should have been cut into two books, or, better yet, three novellas. There was just so much…so much to take in, so much change that I still look back and say, “Wow! That was all in Book #2?”

There are 56 chapters in Book #2, and only 13 episodes in the movie. That is how much was cut from the movie. Let’s see if I can recall this…

Part #1… France

Well…not exactly France. We left Claire and Jamie soaking in a hot spring. Claire hints that she is pregnant and Book #1 ends. Book #2 starts in 1668. We’re in 3rd person POV. We’re introduced to Roger…who the hell is Roger?…whose father just died. Why the hell do we care? He turns and sees Brianna, a tall redhead. Beside her is her mother, Claire. Now there is a face we recognize, but we’re seeing all this through Roger’s perspective. Clearly, Brianna is Jamie’s daughter. The part was so frustrating!

After 50 agonizing pages of Roger, we finally get to Claire’s 1st person POV.

Claire finds Randall’s grave at an old church and laughs. He did die on 16 April 1945. Roger and Brianna enter the church and they hurt a blood curdling scream. They run back to the graveyard and there is Claire, kneeling before another gravestone that reads “James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser…Wed to Claire.” There is no date.

Claire points to the stone and says, “This is your father and that, ‘Claire,’ that is me.”

She then launches into the events of Book #1 and how she met and married Jamie. How they were haunted by Randall until Jamie was captured and tortured and they escaped to France.

The scene fades taking us right back to where we left off.

Claire and Jamie are in France and suddenly, they have an expensive estate and are meeting with King Louis XVI. What? How did this happen? I’ll go along with it. Jamie’s X shows up and all but fecks him there in front of Claire. Most of this part revolved around French Aristocracy. Voltaire’s Candide kept running through my head.

The king shits before an audience. The “Swan Dress” at the king’s ball was straight from the book, and that concludes this ball. Why did we go again?

Jamie spends much of his time in a brothel with someone named Charlie, but, as the story is only seen through Claire’s 1st person POV, we can only see what she sees. One night this kid stumbles through the window. It’s Charlie…I guessed him to be 16-ish. He was an immature kid. Then Jamie introduces the boy to us and we realize we’re looking down at a 21-year-old Bonnie Prince Charlie, son of King James and the house of Stuart.

Claire grows with her pregnancy and Jamie works his way through the politics. One night, he comes home…well, actually, he doesn’t. The next morning, he comes home with bite marks on his thighs…in the book they were an inch from his penis. Lipstick is smeared on the back of his neck, and Claire and I never got so much as an explanation as to how bite legs ended up next to his dick. It was made funny in the movie. It wasn’t funny in the book.

We meet Alex. Claire faints and wakes to find both Jamie and Alex Randall at her side. We meet a Mary Hawkins, Frank’s 6th time great grandmother. Claire and Mary are attacked in the street. Mary is raped. Claire is spared when they call her The White Witch in French. Mary is “ruined” and can not get married despite her feelings for Alex Randall.

Jamie brings home a French urchin named Fergus. “He’s our new pick pocket.”

Claire and Jamie pay a visit to the estate of the Duke of Sandringham when John Randall appears.

Randall thinks Jamie is dead. When he meets Claire he’s a pompous ass who congratulates her on marrying a French Noble. But when he sees Jamie down the hall, he peers at him and speaks his name like a lost lover. It’s sick and re-boiled my blood all over in hate for that sick feck.

Jamie challenges Randall to a duel and Claire—as seen in the movie—obsesses over Frank. “If Jack Randall dies, then Frank dies.” Here is where I just hated Claire. Despite all this, I couldn’t stop thinking about the Butterfly Effect. Why this never came up was beyond me. Why Claire never explained the Butterfly Effect to Jamie…I don’t know. If Frank isn’t alive to wed Claire and return her to Scotland for a second honeymoon, then Claire would never have been there at Craig Na Dun to touch the stones, never sending her back to 1743 with Jamie. In killing Jack Randall, it’s Claire who would cease to exist in Jamie’s world. Why wasn’t this ever addressed?

Claire convinces Jamie not to kill Jack Randall for one year.

Here we learn more about the abuse that Jamie was subject to.

“He made me suck my own blood from his cock.”

Jamie promises Claire. She resumes her life and then…Jamie doesn’t come home…again. This time, two women pay Claire a visit, and Claire overhears their gossip. Jamie got into a brawl over a whore at the brothel and has challenged another patron, and Englishman, to a duel.

Claire scrambles to prepare for travel, locates a letter from Jamie.

“I’m sorry. I must.”

She runs out the door arriving just in time to see Jamie stab Randall. Already at a high-risk pregnancy with bleeding at 5 months along, the placenta separates from Claire’s uterine wall. Blood flows and she passes out. When Claire wakes she is in the hospital.

I was so frustrated with this. Remember, this all is in Claire’s POV. For the next 50 pages, Jamie isn’t asked about, thought about, talked about. 50 pages and we know nothing about where Jamie is. Meanwhile, Claire miscarries, has a fever, nearly dies, two weeks pass. She wakes, goes home, and grieves. Not one word about Jamie. It’s like the character never existed.

Finally, Claire returns to the estate and she sees Fergus gazing into the fireplace. Fergus asks her where Jamie is. Claire doesn’t know, but mentions a voyage he had to take to Spain. She assumes he’s on that ship and won’t be back until September. Good riddance, she thinks and makes plans to leave and be gone before his return. As Claire turns to leave Fergus at the fireplace, she notices a brand on the boy’s chest. “JR”

If you saw the movie, you know what this means. Randall doesn’t just rape his prey. He brands them. All of them. Fergus burst into tears and explains that the Madame at the brothel told him to go with Randall and she would split the cost. Fergus often does this when men ask and Madame insists. But this man insisted on branding him.

Fergus screamed under the metal and Jamie came running. Seeing the brand, knowing what it means, Jamie snapped, challenged Randall, returned to the estate for his weapons, wrote Claire the note, and confronted Randall. Claire finds room for some forgiveness in her heart and retires for the evening. Before she can move, Murtagh appears with an order. This order is the directions on catching the ship to Spain. Jamie never received the order, which means…Jamie was never on the ship to Spain. So where is he?

Murtagh investigates and comes back to report that Jamie has been in Bastille prison for nearly a month for dueling. Knowing Jamie must catch the ship to sail to Spain in an attempt to prevent the Battle of Culloden, Claire goes to King Louis. Here, the movie reflects the book exact. Payment is made and Claire returns to the estate. She collects Fergus and together they leave the estate and move into a convent several days’ North of Paris.

I loved this part so much. Claire goes about her life, living as a childless mother. Unsure of her future, she resigns to living the rest of her life alone at the convent. Time passes, and Claire remains unfeeling and doesn’t much care about anything. She’s lost Frank. Lost Jamie. Lost Faith. Her life is over.

A servant comes to Claire and tells her she has a guest. She sends the guest away. “But Madame. It’s Lord Broch Tuarach.” Claire dismisses him, telling the servant to send Jamie away, but he’s there, walking toward her. Claire runs to the moor to escape and Jamie pursues. Oh, why the movie didn’t write it this way, I’ll never know.

Jamie calls to her and Claire runs. After a while he catches up to her and she breaks.

“Claire, it was my child too.”

“No it wasn’t!” I screamed at Jamie infuriated that he left, infuriated that he didn’t come to her when she needed him…that he wasn’t there to grieve with her.

His presence tears Claire’s defenses down and she finally cries falling into Jamie’s arms. Claire isn’t angry, she’s broken. Jamie isn’t mad, stale, or hateful, he’s heartbroken and needs his Claire. Despite his state of mind, he seems only interested in caring for Claire. How do you recover from such loss? How do you bear the pain? You stand and you bear it together. Truly, this scene is simply breathtaking and is worth reading the book just for it.

 

By this point, it already feels like you’ve read a full novel. Not because of the length, but because so much happens within that time.

Part #2 – Scotland

Upon arriving at Lollybroch, Claire and Jamie become potato farmers for a short while. We see later just how important this is in book #3.

Here at Lollybrooch, readers are introduced to Doonan. Doonan is an untamed white stallion who Jamie has been attempting to break. Fergus attempts to ride Doonan and nearly gets killed in the process.

Out of the blue, a letter arrives declaring Jamie as traitor because a certain Bonnie Prince Charlie forged Jamie’s hand on a declaration of war. Taking up 30 men, Jamie, upon Doonan, and Claire begin the long trek to meet up with the regiment.

Here is where the movie seriously strays from the book. Massive events are deleted from the movie. The order of events are different than they appear in the movie. Laoghaire is not in the book at all. To be honest, the sheer size of this part is told on such a large scale, I don’t know how the author pulled it off.

The scene that stands out the most is the church scene.

In the cabin, they lose a man. More than 30 men and Jamie’s horse, Doonan, are crammed into this church. It hits everyone hard. Claire speaks up in protest when they Redcoats propose burning the church. Then they insist the woman be released.

The other scene, with the beggar also stands out. At the estate of the Duke of Sandringham, after Claire is locked (and barred) in her room, Claire spots him from her window, and he comes to her. Claire gives him a verbal message to take to Jamie, but the beggar doesn’t make it out of the courtyard. Claire watches the guards take him down and kill him on the spot.

I don’t remember how Jamie found Claire. There was just so much happening. I remember it made perfect sense. Murtagh doesn’t kill the Duke of Sandringham outright. In fact, we don’t see the scene at all. He comes out of the house with a bag of food and a bag dripping with blood. Jamie collects the beggar’s body and returns it to the beggar’s wife and child. There Murtagh presents the head of Duke of Sandringham to the widow, Claire, and Mary.

Part #3 – The War

On a political note, the war and Rising of ‘45 was accurately depicted.

At their first battle, Bonnie Prince Charlie visits the wounded to give congratulations only. The argument with Dougal is not in the book. Jamie pissing in the jar is. The belly wound Rupert suffered was actually Jamie’s wound in the book. Angus is a character who doesn’t appear in the book. Another wounded man who was left out of the book was one who had his scrotum sliced open with a spear. Claire sews him back up after Jamie offers to with his mangled right hand.

The Scots fought back the British as far to the South as London, wiping out the British as they went. It was a clean sweep, but, when the winter sets in, the clans retreat and return home to prepare their farms and families for winter.

In retaliation, Charlie declares their actions as treason and has several clansmen arrested.

Meanwhile…

Jamie and the troops come down with a fever due to poor nutrition, starvation, and exhaustion. Claire is adamant and puts Jamie (and Fergus) to bed when there is a knock at the door. She opens the door and there is Jack Randall. He grabs her arm and pulls her into the streets before explaining himself. His brother, Alex Randall, is dying and he offers Claire information on the war in exchange for medical treatment. Claire accepts his deal and does not speak a word of this to Jamie who believes she gets the knowledge from gossiping patients.

We are one year out from 16 April 1945 and the Battle of Culloden…and Randall’s predicted death.

Desperate for more troops, Jamie visits his grandfather, and the advance continues lead by the information passed from Randall through Claire.

At one point, the British troops close in and Charlie takes Doonan saying, “Jamie won’t mind.” Jamie does mind and, by the time he learns of this, Charlie and Doonan are gone.

One night, while Claire is visiting with Alex Randall, she is asked to bring Jamie the next day. Mary Hawkins is pregnant. Alex is dying. He won’t last much longer.

The next morning, Claire takes Jamie to Alex. Mary is there, but they’re waiting for one more person. Randall. Jamie’s reaction to Randall’s sudden appearance was downplayed. Alex, right then, arranges the marriage between Randall and Mary. They both agree, no persuasion needed and Alex, who is a minister, weds the two as Claire and Jamie bear witness. Jamie steps outside and Randall gives Claire her last piece of advice. General Cumberland is having a birthday celebration. Strike hard during this event and they will win the war.

It’s March 1945.

The troops are starving. Charlie is out of money. Troops are sick and dying. The British are gathering and building in strength. Jamie is travelling with Claire to meet back up with Charlie. Along the way they receive word: the men haven’t eaten meat in over a month. They ate all the horses. Jamie falls to the ground, stricken with grief. “And…” he asks. “The Prince’s horse?”

“Oh, they didn’t eat Doonan. It wasn’t proper for a Prince to walk.”

Jamie cries. “I’ve seen my men lay dead on the side of the road. Around me, men die falling for a lost cause, and I’m crying for a horse.”

This scene was powerful and cut from the movie.

Jamie meets up with Charlie in Inverness, and informs him of Cumberland’s birthday celebration. The data checks out, but Charlie refuses to go. He prefers to fight at Culloden. Jamie convinces Charlie to give it a shot, but, as Jamie waits for Charlie to arrive at the edge of Cumberland’s camp, he receives word that Charlie has doubled back and abandoned this battle. They will march at Culloden.

Desperate for a solution to avoid the battle and prevent the extinction of Highland culture, Claire proposes killing Charlie. Jamie does give a long thought to this, but declines. Too late, Dougal has heard and attacks. Jamie kills Dougal and there is a witness. Jamie asks the witness for one hour then seeks out Murtagh with Claire at his side.

The scene is extraordinary and the movie botched this scene so badly.

Jamie presents the deed to Lollybroch, signs the property over to his sister’s son, and takes Claire upon Doonan and ride.

They ride for a few hours when they arrive at Craig Na Dun and the decrepit cabin…the same cabin where Claire first tended to Jamie’s wounds. Jamie tells Claire she must enter the stones and return to her own time for their child. Claire has been so preoccupied with the war, she doesn’t realize she is 46 days late for her period, but Jamie has been tracking.

The date is 15 April 1945.

The next 24 hours is heart-wrenching, beautiful, and simply stunning. The author doesn’t rush us. They make love. Claire begs Jamie. She falls asleep in his arms, they make love again. They wake, and Claire has made up her mind she won’t go. She’ll die with him at Culloden. The make love one last time, when British soldiers appear to use the cabin. The soldiers approach and Jamie takes Claire one last time and shoves her out the back of the cabin.

The Redcoats close in while another spots Claire who runs to the standing stones. She throws herself, just in time, into the stones.

 

We’re back to 1968. Claire has finished telling Roger and Brianna her story.

I loved

This books is very quotable.

I loved watching the war enfold in its many parts. In the movie, Claire and Jamie are harsher, colder, and their anger toward each other, more visible. In the book, while their love never wanes, it’s their hurt and their shared grief you see, not their anger.

I love the sheer scope of the story. The history on the Rising of ’45 is extraordinary.

I hated

France. Part #1. The wait. Starting this book was so confusing. It wasn’t until I went on to book #3 and made my way half way through season #3 that, looking back, I understood and appreciated the layout of book #2.

Honestly, this comes book, whether you love it or hate it, comes down to the wait. The author slowly reveals the story, savoring it without letting it drag. You are handed so many mysteries and you just want to know the answers to your questions. If you have the patience, this book is to be savored like a fine wine. If you don’t like the suspense of not knowing, you’re in for a very difficult read.

How does it compare to the movie?

The book is so much better. I felt cheated by the movie. The season finale was terribly executed, never giving you time to settle into the past to fully immerse yourself in 1745. As soon as you feel the story take you, you’re ripped away again and thrown into 1968. I hated the season finale and does not do the book justice save for the line that summarizes all of Outlander:

 

“I will find you,” he whispered in my ear. “I promise. If I must endure two hundred years of purgatory, two hundred years without you – then that is my punishment, which I have earned for my crimes. For I have lied, and killed, and stolen; betrayed and broken trust. But there is the one thing that shall lie in the balance. When I shall stand before God, I shall have one thing to say, to weigh against the rest. Lord, ye gave me a rare woman, and God! I loved her well.”

In conclusion:

The quotes truly say it all.

 

Book Review: Outlander (Book #1)

This review applies to the audio book narrated by Davina Porter.

 

Going into this…

This review applies to the audio book narrated by Davina Porter and compares the book to the movie.

 

Why do we look to book reviews? Are we looking to learn more about the book prior to purchase, or is the book review only a reflection of the reviewer’s experience? Perhaps we’re seeking both. Technically, when you find a reviewer you admire and follow, it is because you value that reviewer’s experience, which very much mirrors your own. Therefore, a particular reviewer’s experience is really what a reader seeks.

 

I feel inclined to state this when it comes to the Outlander Series because, in reading Outlander, I found me.

Before Outlander, I was not able to bring myself to watch Outlander or any modern day TV series with sexual content and/or nudity of any kind. In short, I have been raped much like the characters in this book. I have been enslaved, trafficked, beaten, neglected, and abused. I have had marital affairs, used my body for currency, and have lost myself in mental illness. I have lived my life with my love who I lost for ten years and found again. There is very, very little that Claire and James lived through that I and my love too have not lived through.

I have a Frank. I have a Jamie. I have my own Brianna. *scoffs* I even have my own Randall. When reading this series, I evaluated each circumstance as if with a check point. Under many circumstances, I was able to nod my head and say, “Yep! That is what it feels like. She got that right.”

 

I picked up this book because I was tired of being excluded from the cycle of stories that is passing through our pop culture. In listening to the audio books, I found a way to emerge myself in the story without subjecting myself to visual images I couldn’t watch. Outlander changed all that.

Half way through the novel, I began watching the series. These reviews reflect my evaluation of both book and movie.

To the point…

(No spoilers)

If you are looking for a hot-steamy romance, go look somewhere else. After reading three books and watching the series I can honestly say this not a romance novel. Outlander is a love story much more real and down to earth than Buttercup and Wesley. Outlander is an alternate Historical Fiction novel centered on the lives of these two people. Claire and James may be star-crossed. That has yet to be seen. Their love is deep, beautiful, pure, imperfect, and so very very real. There are happy endings, sometimes. But their happy endings never last. There are cliff hangers. Get used to it. The writing is impeccable. The author uses words like “imbroglio” and “lugubrious,” and writes with the beauty and flow of Tolkien.

If you hate history, this is not the book for you. If you hate people getting hurt, go find something else to read. If you are expecting a romance novel, you’re in the wrong place. If you are looking for something different that explores all kinds of love and hate, and explores them it does—then this is the book for you.

This is written in the first person point of view and is easily 12th grade reading level. It is patiently written and takes it time getting to reveals, conclusions, and plot twists without dragging. This book requires patient readers. If you want the resolution fast, go find something else to read.

This is my newest favorite book. It took my breath away, gave it back, and swiftly stole it again. Most importantly, it challenged my own beliefs and left me uncertain of so many things, my own beliefs, perspective, and opinion of marriage, unity, and love. Outlander taught me that marriage can and often is imperfect. That the downs of a marriage doesn’t mean the love or the marriage is ruined.

For me, it really explored the relationship and meaning of husband, wife, trust, loyalty, and marriage. Jamie has the ability to successfully put into words what every man tries to say.

“Claire. You’re tearing my heart out.”

“I have already forgiven you for everything you could ever do wrong.”

I believe, whole-heartedly that every man has, at some time needed to say these words. And if he hasn’t, he’s with the wrong woman.

Likewise, Claire’s

“No matter the time period, every woman overall either loves men or they hates men. Whichever side she stands on reflects her behavior toward them.” I am proud to say I love men.

Half way through the novel, I began watching the series. These reviews reflect my evaluation of both book and movie.

The Audiobook…

Davina Porter is astounding. Her ability to transfer between voices and accents is impeccable. When my BFF heard a passage she asked how many actors had been used for the recording. “Just one,” I said. When buying the other audiobooks of the series, I was certain to purchase only her narratives.

***SPOILERS***

The Story

Part One

The story starts slow, if you’re not interested in Scottish history, but doesn’t leave you there for long. I spent a lot of time thinking, “Hm. Will this be coming up later?” The answer is, yes. Everything proves relevant in Outlander. Every name, every date, every number, every place. The webbing is astounding!

Claire is a British nurse fresh out of WWII. She was on the front lines, getting her hands dirty and knitting men back together while her husband, Frank, had a clean desk job in Intelligence. Before the war started, Claire and Frank had only been married for six months. War changes people. I believe this truly is one of the main points in the series and is frequently revisited in books 2 and 3. War does change people, and readers get to see just how many ways it can change us.

In an attempt to “rekindle the romance” and see if “two people can still be married,” Frank and Claire return to Inverness, Scotland for a second honeymoon. Here is where the story starts.

While in Scotland, Frank embraces his love of history and spends much of his time with an old friend tracking his ancestry back six generations to his 6th time great grandfather Jonathon Randall who was stationed in Inverness. In both book and movie, I felt Claire was just patiently tagging along, somewhat fascinated with Frank’s hobbies. In the book, they spend more time alone with each other. In the movie, they see the sites. In the book, she is uncertain of who she is. She feels like she doesn’t really belong and isn’t sure if she and Frank should stay together. In the movie, Claire throws her heart and soul into Frank. The Claire in the book is modest and conservative. In the movie, she’s bold and tends to engage Frank.

Chapter one comes to an end when, on Samhain, Claire returns alone to a collection of ancient Druid standing stones called Craig Na Dun. She places her palm to the center stone and is whisked back from 1945 to 1743.

The series follows Claire and the events that braid her time line into the time line of an 18th century highlander, Jamie Fraser. Almost immediately, she meets Jonathan Randall who tries to rape her. In the book, he gets a lot further into the rape. Highland Scotsmen rescue and capture Claire who wakes to find a group of men hiding from the British and one of them, Jamie, is wounded. Instantly, Claire’s nursing is needed. The bold and stubborn 23-year-old can’t seem to stay out of trouble especially where people are concerned. True of a traditional romance novel, the two are partnered together while Jamie spends the next few chapters collecting wounds. Yes. Collecting. Jamie Fraser collects wounds. In every book. In the book, Claire is gentle, urgent, silent, and scared. In the movie she’s firm, bossy (she has to be), and bold. As a reader and a viewer, I had the pleasure of seeing the movie as only a deeper extension of Claire (and Jamie). I love both sides of Claire (and Jamie).

By the time Claire gets to Castle Leoch, Jamie has acquired three wounds. In the book, she’s welcomed as a guest, though, they don’t trust her. At first she feels useless and spends her days wandering the grounds. Unlike the movie, Claire is free to move about. Slowly, she is welcomed into Castle Leoch, but is still kept at an arm’s length. Welcomed, but an outlander, nevertheless. She is given a surgery where she almost at once starts receiving patients, and has no idea how to get back to Craig Na Dun, although she makes some valiant attempts, one of which drags Jamie into her situation where he is, once again, injured.

In the movie, Claire is a guest so long as she doesn’t try to escape. She is watched by Angus and Rupert. Angus is not in the book. I love Angus who is easily one of my favorite movie characters.

Claire fixes her attention to one goal: to get back to Craig Na Dun. When an opportunity to leave Castle Leoch arrives, Claire accompanies the caravan of highlanders, whose purpose is to collect rent from the land tenants. Jamie accompanies them on this journey. Along the way, Claire escapes and is soon captured by the British who takes Claire to Randall. Alone. Claire is interrogated, not so kindly, by Randall, but is stopped by Dougal McKenzie. As Dougal carries Claire out, Randall demands she is to return in three days’ time to formally continue the interrogation. As Claire is English, Dougal has no choice, but to return Claire to Dougal. Unless…

Dougal McKenzie confronts Claire much as he did in the movie. In fact, the scene in the movie and the book are almost identical as is 90% of the dialogue that does not contain Dougal in the scene. Claire drinks from the “Liar’s Pool” and repeats her confession, “I am not a spy. I am just Claire.” Dougal, believing in the power of the Liar’s Pool, believes her, and Claire has won Dougal over. Dougal explains that, so long as Claire is English, she must return to Randall and be subjected to his “interrogation.” But, if she were Scottish…

Claire asks how she could be made Scottish, and Dougal says she will have to marry a Scott. Now. Before the third day. Her choices are Rupert or Jamie. Having already developed a friendship with Jamie, and believing Jamie would return her, eventually, to Craig Na Dun should she ask, Claire agrees to marry Jamie. Here, the heart of the story enfolds.

The story toggles between Claire who in her attempts to get back to Craig Na Dun, repeatedly finds herself in fatal danger as she adjusts to life in the 18th century, and Jamie who, most of the time, comes to her rescue while learning how to be a husband to an independent 20th century woman who refuses to follow the simplest of directions. Jamie is often wounded, and Claire often fixes Jamie. The exchange does not drag on, nor does it become predictable. Other characters come to save Claire. Claire legitimately has no clue just how dangerous this time period is. For this reason, she truly makes some stupid choices with severe consequences.

The book reviews woman’s rights and the wife’s role because it’s simply part of the story without making the story about these hot political topics. The movie isn’t about chauvinism. It’s about safety. Women were uneducated at this time. They did (sometimes) have the maturity and/or intellect of a child. Men were educated and had to handle women much like they handled children. This isn’t chauvinism. It’s safety. When one has a body guard, one does not run off without informing the body guard. A body guard can not protect if he is not informed. Making an independent choice was a death sentence back then when laws held little weight in many places.

Part Two

I remember the moment when Claire returns to Jamie following the witch trials and her decision to stay while at Craig Na Dun. I thought, “The story ends here. Just turn it off and walk away. Be happy with only this and take their happy ever after now.” Part of me still wishes I had. The story following this moment changes. It stops being a romance and the honeymoon, as they say, is over. There are elements and characters that are shifted, added, and removed. The pursuit to find Jamie after his capture is long and arduous.

The rape

In short, Jamie’s rape by Randall was far worse in the book.

To quote a line from book #2…

“He made me his whore. He forced me to my knees and made me suck my own blood from his cock.”

The rape scene fills two pages. It’s graphic, brutal, and far worse than the movie.

Jamie doesn’t return to Claire at the end completely shut off. He’s in shock and, as the days turn to weeks, depression sets in, and Jamie withdraws.

You must understand…Jamie wasn’t traumatized by Randall “making love to him” as explained in the movie. Jamie was traumatized because he was forced to be there. He was forced to think.

When we are threatened we run, or we fight to run. But if we can’t run, we dissociate. We use our minds to imagine we are someone else, somewhere else, somewhere safe. If the trauma continues, the dissociation becomes permanent and continues long after the trauma stops. Once the trauma ends, the victim can’t tell the difference between the world they’ve created and this world. This is Dissociative Disorder. If the dissociation isn’t enough, the victim begins to split their psyche into segments, finding ways to safely lock up the vulnerable parts of themselves and now, you have multiple personalities emerge. This is personality disorders. My traumas took me as far as Dissociative Disorder and borderline personality disorder. I had five people who I spoke to. Only one had t become “me,” but she hadn’t surfaced for others to see.

Jamie…poor Jamie…wasn’t allowed to dissociate. Every time he started to dissociate, Randall would torture him and bring him back. Once he was certain Jamie was himself back in that fucking room—I too had a fucking room—then Randall would continue to rape Jamie. Jamie would slip back into dissociation, and Randall would stop to torture him, keeping him in the present. In the book, Randall raped then tortured, raped then tortured, raped then tortured for two days. Jamie was lashed from nape of the neck to the backs of his ankles. He was branded in several places. This is why Jamie was fucked up. He couldn’t dissociate to mentally escape the hell he was put through.

 

I have spent the last three years in therapy addressing the same experience Jamie had. The healing process that Jamie goes through, the shock, dissociation, the nightmares…Kudos to the author. This is what rape feels like. It’s what it looks like on the inside and the outside. Let me get something straight to every woman/man out there who fantasizes about rape and puts a romantic twist to it. Jamie’s rape finally shows what rape really looks like. It shows you what it feels like and how it rapes the body, the mind, and the soul. “I deserve to die.” I’m dirty. Don’t touch me or you’ll get dirty too. Rape victims…survivors, walk away feeling like they’ve contracted a disease. Its highly contagious, and they are the carrier of this fatal disease. I cried because Jamie was in my head. I was reading…listening to lines that I have spoken several times over the last three years. On occasion, I still say them. To have my own words spoken back to me…Jamie was in my head. I’ll be blunt. It bonded me. At this moment, I loved him because I was seeing me. And just like that, I wasn’t alone. Someone knew. They understood. They were a condemned prisoner barely living alongside me.

This concept, that my own words were being spoken back to me, that someone else has suffered as I, is only the first of many that I would later find in Outlander.

Loved Elements…

1 – I am a Whovian. I had very little idea what Outlander was about when walking into this. I knew Jamie was named for my favorite Doctor Who companion: Jamie McCrimmon portrayed by Frazer Hines. Do you see it? Jamie. Frazer. In Doctor Who, the Doctor finds the highlander Jamie on a battlefield immediately following the Battle of Culloden. In short, the only highland survivor of the Battle of Culloden survived because the Doctor showed up and took Jamie away in the TARDIS. Outlander takes a different approach. Ironically, both bring time travel into the life of a man named Jamie, the lone survivor of the Battle of Culloden.

I know Jamie McCrimmon. And I know, Jamie Frazer. And I can tell you, despite McCrimmon not getting hurt at all…sometimes, the two men are very much alike. Too much alike. Both are stubborn, pigheaded, hotheaded, and look fecking sexy in a kilt. The author did openly confess she based Jamie Fraser on Jamie McCrimmon. I’ve had people ask me, “Are the alike.” Hell. Yes. Very much so.

 

2 – Claire’s wedding ring in the book. The ring itself and its origin were completely different in the book. I was not fond of how it was handled in the movie. Simply put, in the book, they forgot about the ring and Jamie had to improvise. He slid his signet ring onto her finger for the ceremony only. Upon returning to Castle Leoch, Jamie demands his share of the rent. “Now that I’m married, I am entitled to 25% of the rent collected. I need it now.” Without argument or hesitation, Collum gives Jamie his share of the rent and, not stopping to say goodbye to Claire, Jamie turns and leaves, vanishing into the night. True to any woman not certain of her husband’s character, Claire’s imagination runs wild until, upon Jamie’s return, she explodes on him accusing him of whoring and drinking, of marrying her only as a means to obtain his share of the rent. She slaps the confused mass that is Jamie who then produces a wedding ring.

“I needed the money right away to buy you a proper ring. That is what I was doing, Sassenach.”

The ring is beautiful. Scottish thistles and vines encircle this ring into waves of Celtic knots. This ring, combined with an element from Book #3 that does not appear in the movie, was stunning.

 

3 – I did not like Jamie Fraser right away. I loved Claire and sympathized with her all the while viewing Jamie exactly as she saw Jamie. I knew they would end up together, but I (and Claire) just didn’t warm up to him as quickly as I had expected.

Jamie is far from perfect. He’s incapable of staying out of trouble, spends most of his time dying, getting wounded, and/or being nursed by Claire. He beats his wife (once) and just doesn’t know when to shut his mouth. He’s also a 23 year old outlaw orphan on the run who has almost no one to turn to for womanly advice. He’s very much on his own.

Honestly, Jamie reminds me a lot of Princess Bride’s Wesley. A farm boy. Poor and perfect with eyes like the sea after a storm. Only, Jamie isn’t suave or genteel. He is handsome, and doesn’t care. He’s libido is insane, but only because of Claire. He’s stubborn, passionate, hotheaded, stubborn, loyal, pigheaded, and stubborn.

4 – Murtagh. I love this man.

5 – Every word spoken is 100% identical to the book. If the scene appears in the book as it did in the movie, the dialogue was pulled 100% from the book. There are places were sentences are cut short, but the words are all there.

Hated Elements…

1 – Dougal MacKenzie. Let’s get something straight. Dougal was one of my favorite characters in the book. He was sweet, loyal, and honorable. Every scene where Dougal plays the antagonist was made up for the movie. Every scene where Dougal played the hero…that was the Dougal in the book. Dougal cradling his friend when he dies during the boar hunt, Dougal rescuing Claire from Randall, Dougal rescuing Claire from the rapists in the alcove, Dougal arranging Claire’s marriage to protect her from Randall, this is the Dougal you see in the book. Dougal is loyal first and foremost to his brother, putting Collum far above his love for Scotland.

In the book, Dougal, when drunk, only kisses Claire in the alcove after he saves her from the rapists. She does slap him and when he says, “leave before the cost in saving you increases,” he is referring to rape. In the movie, he attempts to rapes her, and Claire fights him off. The line, “leave before the cost in saving you increases,” is then referred to as killing her.

Dougal is not violent over the death of his wife. Of his own volition, Dougal returns to his home to formally grieve and bury his wife as a gentlemen and loving husband. He is not exiled. He is not punished. He is not hated or resented by his brother.

2 – Laoghaire (Pronounced Leery). They could not have exaggerated a character more in the book had they invented and added one for conflict. In the book, Laoghaire and Jamie kiss in the alcove. She is dumped by Jamie in the hallway who was too busy to do more than that as he was running off to the blacksmith to purchase Claire’s wedding ring. Laoghaire does put an ill-wish under Claire’s bed. Laoghaire does lure Claire to Gellis’ cottage when they are arrested for witchcraft.

We never actually see Laoghaire in any of these scenes save for the one when Jamie kisses her in the corridor. She is just a name that floats around the story. After the witch trial, she is never heard from again.

3 – Jenny Fraser. I loathe Jenny in the movie. They could not have cast the character more wrong. Jenny is as soft and kind as Claire, and only kicks up her skirts when Jamie, again, doesn’t shut his stubborn mouth. I couldn’t, and can’t, stand Jenny in the movie, which could not have portrayed her more wrong. For her character alone, you should read this book to correct how much the movie got this wrong. If I had to cast Jenny Fraser, I would have chosen Emmy Rossum to play the role for her voice, disposition, looks, and build. That is how far off the character was from the book.

4 – Randall. I just hate him and felt he needed to be on this list.

5 – Jamie Fraser’s characteristics. After he returns to Lallybrook, in the movie, Jamie becomes…I don’t know. He’s not an asshole…He’s a jackass! In the book, he doesn’t lose his head. He takes on the role of Laird and sinks properly into the role which suits him like a well-fitted kilt.

How does the book compare to the movie?

The intimacy between Claire and Jamie before their wedding does not exist in the book. In fact, you see and know very little of Jamie Fraser before the wedding. You come to learn Jamie as Claire does. There is no sexual tension between them…until they are married. After their first night, Jamie becomes openly infatuated with his wife. Claire’s love for Jamie is accompanied with a deep seeded guilt over Frank. Regardless, she quickly and unknowingly even to herself, becomes attached to Jamie until that moment when Jamie does take her back to Craig Na Dun and bids her farewell. Only then does she realize just how much she loves and needs Jamie.

The most amorous scenes between Claire and Jamie are so much better in the book. They are more detailed, deeper, and more intimate than the movie. The movie rushes the scenes or alters them completely in some cases. The scene when Jamie leaves Claire at the standing stones, the night before the wedding, the ceremony itself all have so much more depth and hidden treasures secreted in the book.

For instance, the church where Claire marries Jamie is the same church she married Frank (only it was in ruins when she married Frank). Claire was not okay with this and asked, very adamantly to be married somewhere else.

***END OF SPOILERS***
In conclusion

Everyone always argues “the book is better.” But in this case, the book isn’t better. Instead the book, well, the movie, adds to the scope of their relationship and the story. I not only recommend reading this book, I recommend reading and watching the series, simultaneously, if possible. Jamie and Claire could not have been better cast for the movie and their performance only enhances the characters I have grown to love in the book.

I can not get enough of these two. I want them to win together, to lose together, to die together. They must be together and damn all else in the world. They have made a voyeur out of me as I love watching these two find new and old ways to love each other. They have taught me so much about my own marriage. I love them and their love, their story truly has made this world a better place.

But it’s not a love story/romance novel, I swear.

 

Deleted Chapter 51 – Abridged

Deleted Chapter 51 – Abridged

It was a long while before either Halvard or Rune spoke again.

“You can count your debt as paid,” he said, sitting forward to slump over the empty tankard. “My men can provide you with food and arms,” he offered. “We invite you to stay and sleep in some proper beds. Drink, eat, and before you go, you are welcome to a mare, and any armament you find in the barracks.”

A sudden pair of thuds jarred their attention to Kallan, pulling Rune’s eye over the two tankards brimming with the tans of freshly brewed mead. Curves of green lined with gold traced the line of her bosom. Soft, brown ringlets of hair fell down her front, their tips brushing the table.

The bathhouse had done as much for her as the tankard of mead had done for him. She was relaxed and at ease, more than she had been in weeks. The blue of her eyes glistened, and the lingering exhaustion that had followed her since Jotunheim had washed away with the bath water. Kallan stared, not bothering to mask her gaze when Rune found her eyes.

“We’re grateful for the offer.” Kallan smiled, forcing her attention to Halvard. “But I doubt you can provide a better sword than Gramm.”

Her voice chimed over the table as Halvard flashed a wide-eyed look to Rune. When Rune answered with an impassive shrug, Halvard looked back to Kallan.

“He carries the elding sword of the Dvergar king forged by Volundr himself,” Kallan explained with a hint of jealousy.

The jingle of keys accompanied the sighs of Olga as she plopped her sturdy frame into a chair beside Halvard. At the end of the table, Emma settled herself on the other side of the Throendr. Blushing red at the wide smile Rune flashed her, Emma looked away, holding back a smile.

“You are a swordsman, Kallan Eyolfdottir,” Halvard said.

“Volundr has forged many swords,” Kallan said, thrusting aside her contempt for Rune, “but there were only a few whose fame exceeded their maker. A swordsman unable to recognize Gramm would be an abomination among swordsmen.”

“You are a swordsman, and yet you carry a dagger?” Halvard used the opportunity to look Kallan up and down, eyeing her curves for the iron sword that wasn’t there. “Surely you have a need for more.”

Kallan’s blood burned and, with a flick of her wrists, fire burst to life in her palm she held at eye level.

Halvard’s eyes hardened with secrets unspoken.

“You are Seidkona,” he said.

Kallan nodded, proudly.

“I am,” she said and extinguished her flame.

“It is you Olaf hunts,” Halvard said, bringing the mead to his mouth.

Kallan shrugged.

“Perhaps.” Supporting her weight on her knuckles, she leaned forward onto the table. “But one must ask why.”

Halvard shifted a solemn eye from his tankard.

“Long questions deserve long answers,” he said, running his hand over his beard in thought. With a pensive eye, he looked to Rune. After taking a gulp of mead from his fresh tankard, he slammed the drink back to the table. There was a delayed moment before he answered.

“Olaf seeks to avenge his father’s death by killing Forkbeard,” Halvard said. “He desires to reclaim the throne his grandfather’s father left him in death.”

Kallan stood upright, unsure where to begin with Halvard’s news.

“Forkbeard?” Rune repeated and shook his head. “Forkbeard didn’t kill Olaf’s father.”

“No, he didn’t,” Halvard said. “Bloodaxe’s son, Greycloak, did. To understand Olaf, you must be familiar with Dan’s Reach, The woodland realm of King Dan for which the Dani were named. And Fairhair.” Halvard spoke the name like a dark, distant memory surfaced. He looked to Rune. “You would be familiar with Fairhair.” Darkness that shadowed an unspoken memory fell upon Rune’s face. Without an answer, Halvard continued. “In a way, I guess all of this really stems from him.”

The wooden chairs groaned as everyone shifted and settled themselves in for Halvard’s tale.

“Fairhair, his sons, and their pursuit of the throne of Midgard,” Halvard began. “Let’s see now. Of the sons, there was Erik Bloodaxe, Hakon the Good, and Olaf, King of Viken.” Halvard paused at this last name and looked to each face, anticipating their reactions. When four blank faces stared back at him, Halvard dropped his shoulders and explained. “Olaf, King of Viken, was elder father to Olaf.”

“His elder father?” Kallan asked with piqued interests.

“Aye.” Halvard brooded and took a large mouthful from his drink. He placed the tankard to the table and looked at each face in turn, ensuring he held their attention before continuing.

“Before Fairhair, the land was made up of several smaller kingdoms that spanned all the land. There were constant wars between the kingdoms back then, exchanging out new kings for old. Blood watered the same fields that kings killed hundreds for. The rivalry and wars ended when Fairhair united them under one rule and assigned his three sons as vassals. But to Bloodaxe, Fairhair gave all of Midgard, crowning him high king.”

“Erik Bloodaxe,” Rune mused.

“His cruelty surpassed anything I care to recall. The people rose up against him and exiled him. But Bloodaxe left behind a son who would avenge him. Greycloak executed all the lesser kings of Midgard, including the King of Viken, whose wife and heir escaped.”

A long silence passed over the table.

“King Tryggvi of Viken.” Rune coldly stared at a knot in the center of the table.

“Tryggvi, son of Olaf, son of Fairhair, was father to Olaf.” Halvard brought his mead to his lips. “He was the heir who escaped.”

“It was Greycloak who ran Olaf out of Midgard,” Kallan said.

Halvard gulped his drink. “And Hakon Jarl with the help of Blatonn killed Greycloak.”

“The Blood Oath,” Rune concluded.

Halvard grinned. “Olaf believes the murder of Greycloak belonged to him. And that Hakon and Blatonn stole the Blood Oath meant for him.” Pushing his tankard aside, Halvard leaned his weight onto his arms crossed over the table. “After Blatonn and Hakon Jarl killed Greycloak, Blatonn appointed Hakon as Jarl and sent him here as his vassal. And now Olaf is back.”

Halvard shrugged. “He killed the Jarl to regain his throne. And Forkbeard killed Blatonn.”

“His own father?” Kallan asked.

“Forkbeard inherited two things that day: all of Dan’s Land and Olaf’s blood oath. Dan’s Reach and Swealand united,” Halvard said.

“And now both seek Olaf’s death,” Emma said.

Halvard downed the last of the mead allowing the silence to settle around the table. Before the mead flowed down his throat, Emma asked the one question he had failed to answer. “But why is Olaf after the Seidkonas?”

Halvard dropped the empty tankard on the table and altered his full attention to the Englian. Her blue eyes, brimming with questions, glistened in the fire light.

“Word is, he seeks a pouch that one of them carries,” Halvard said.

Kallan’s face flushed red as she dropped her eyes to the table.

“Why?” Rune exclaimed.

Afraid the words would escape her, Kallan pursed her lips and frowned at Rune. Rune threw her a look that dared her to intervene.

“I’ve known Olaf and his superstitions now for years,” Halvard said. “I have never seen him this obsessed, or this consumed with bloodlust. Olaf believes that pouch will gain him an advantage over Forkbeard, one that will ensure his victory.”

“What kind of advantage?” Rune asked, clutching his tankard.

Halvard shook his head.

“I don’t know.”

A silence settled over the table. In deep, distant thought, Halvard brooded, clearly overwhelmed with the need to give voice to his own notions.

“There is talk about Olaf spanning the kingdoms of Midgard and reclaiming the land Fairhair once united. Those same rumors have secured a fear throughout the land, but I know Olaf,” Halvard finished, shaking his head in doubt. “His visions are not so narrow. That summer, Olaf married Forkbeard’s sister and secured himself a line for the throne of Dan’s Reach right alongside Forkbeard,” Halvard said. “Rumors of vengeance and blood debts have circled the trade routes. The way I see it, last man standing gets Danelaw. And Danelaw spans all of Northumbria, Vendland, Viken, and the Dan’s Reach along with support from Otto III and, possibly, the Empire. But Olaf has Dubh Linn, and the land of Eire and Alba on his side and this…” Halvard shook his head. “This is little more than a race.”

“Last man standing gets the throne,” Rune surmised.

A laugh barked and a slap to Halvard’s back broke the tension that had descended over the table. With a toothy grin and an untamed mop of red hair, a face pinned by a crooked nose peered over their table.

“Brand! You startled me, whelp,” Olga said, adding a firm slap to the youth’s arm that only seemed to encourage his wide, flashy grin.

“Why are you back so soon? I thought you were headed to Lofot?”

“We made port in Maere and I jumped ship.” He pushed back his wide shoulders, not bothering to look at Olga as he answered. “Egil told me I’d find you here with Halvard. Where’d the dark stallion come from?”

After a nod that began with Halvard passed around the table, Brand smiled, holding his full attention on Kallan.

“Where’d the lady come from?”

“What in Odinn’s name would persuade you to jump ship in Maere?” Olga said.

Brand shrugged.

“There was a girl,” he said. He adjusted his position to better look at Kallan.

“There are days I can’t believe you’re my kin,” Olga grumbled to deaf ears then waved a limp hand toward Brand. “This is my brother’s son, Brand.”

Only Emma bothered with a polite nod that Brand ignored.

“And this…” Olga slapped Brand, in hopes to draw his attention from Kallan. “This here is Rune Tryggveson, King of Gunir.”

Slouched in his seat with his legs stretched out beneath the table, Rune stared at the tip of his boots. He didn’t bother to acknowledge the lad, whose interests remained fixed on Kallan.

“And the lady,” Olga said, “is Kallan Eyolfdottir, Queen of Lorlenalin.” Olga’s emphasis on ‘queen’ did little to discourage Brand’s motivation. “The horse belongs to her.”

“The lady is…” Brand said, dragging his eyes over Kallan with a stupid grin.

“Alright, be off with you,” Olga said, giving a shove that slid Brand from her chair.

He pulled himself up, boasting his full height that matched Rune’s and leaned his weight onto the back of Kallan’s chair so that he remained suspended, holding his face inches from hers where her perfumes reached his nose.

“He’s yours?” he said, holding his voice just above a whisper.

“He?” Kallan asked.

“The stallion,” Brand clarified.

Rune scoffed.

“Yes,” she recovered, throwing her full attention into Brand.

“You bought him?”

“Bred him.”

“Parentage?”

“Mixed.”

“With?”

“A line from the desert sands and my father’s courser.”

Something of an impressed whistle escaped Brand’s lips as he slanted his eyes in envy.

“Show me,” he whispered, holding a hand to Kallan, who beamed.

A stifled hic-cough from Rune’s chair was all the urging she needed to slide her hand into Brand’s outstretched palm. Returning the wide smile, she stood from the table, casting a subtle glance to Rune, who appeared indifferent to the scrape of her chair on the floor.

Pushed to the point where her irritation surpassed her intent, Kallan looped her arm into the crook of the youth’s elbow and permitted him to pull her toward the door.

 

As one, Olga, Emma, and Halvard turned to Rune who still studied the tip of his boot.

“Well?” Olga pressed impatiently.

Rune glanced up from the floor.

“What?” he asked.

“Aren’t you going to do something?” Olga asked.

Rune shrugged. “About what?”

“About that.” Olga gestured to the dainty swag of Kallan’s rear as she vanished out the door, her arm still hooked on Brand’s.

Rune cocked his head toward Kallan’s backside and, complacently, returned his eyes to his boot, indifferent by anything the woman said or Kallan did.

“The woman brought us mead,” Halvard held back from booming over a half-attempted whisper. “Are you daft or dead?”

Rune raised his eyes from the floor, a grin stretched across his face with a known mischievous look to his eye.

“They deserve each other.” Rune shrugged. “He’s slimy and she’s ornery. Besides, he’ll be begging to bring her back before the night’s end.”

 

Back to New York

It’s been so long since I’ve written to you, dear reader…

I went back to New York. On 19 June 2018, after seventeen years away, I went home.

If you haven’t been following, I was raped on 9/11. Prior to 9/11, I had been in NYC once, twice a month. My earliest childhood memories were of me and my brother swinging on the doors of the World Trade Center. I remember screaming while my father held me while we stood in the crown of the Statue of Liberty, my lady. She has always been my lady. I was crying because I wanted to see the torch, but in 1982 the stairs had fallen into disrepair. The City was my playground when I was two. In 1992, it was my long lost child hood friend. Then too, I gazed upon the towers. I adored the tulip flower towers inside the lobby. From 1997 to 2001 it was my home.

The pedophile who raped me on 9/11 had a meeting in the Trade Center that morning. We were to be in New York early that morning…but he cancelled last minute because I had to work on 12 September 2001. So he drove up to see me. He was 30 minutes away from my house when we got the news. He arrived. Said he had to go back and told me we didn’t have much time…I said, “Time for what?” and he indicated the bedroom. I called him insane and pointed out the fact that people are dying. But it didn’t matter that I said no. He shoved me into the bedroom and raped me while I listened to the second tower fall and my fellow New Yorkers screamed over the radio.

I haven’t been back to New York since…Until June 2018.

The people are calmer. More loving, more patient, more laid back. The rage that infiltrated the city from 1982 to 2001 was gone. A calm…a peace had settled over the city. The people were so wonderful and kind. They smiled easier than I’ve ever seen.

Three things about New York that you only understand if you’ve ever been there:

1 – There is no line standing. I think this is why so many people think New Yorkers are rude. There really is no line standing…in most places. It’s the vendors who have to remember who is next “in line.” And they do. Most of New York runs like its a deli. Is it no wonder? New York is renowned for its deli’s. If you are buying a ticket, there is a line. If you are ordering food outside, there is no line. It isn’t “budging” in New York. It’s understood confusion. Someone always “budges,” and we’re accustomed to saying, “Excuse me. The line (if there is a line) ends there.” No harm done. Outside, at the food vendors, no lines. None. The vendor had it all under control.

2 – There are almost no traffic laws…In fact, you can’t obey standard traffic laws because, in New York, following traffic law will kill you, and traffic would never move if you did. I drove 5th Ave at rush hour. Go ahead, New Yorkers. Give a groan. I will wait. 5th Ave is “Main Street” In NYC. There are four/five lanes of traffic with the two far lanes reserved only for buses. The lines on the road didn’t exist. I mean…they did. We just ignored them. As cars pulled out of street parking spots, there was always seemingly four lanes of car traffic being condensed to three lanes. Bicyclists and motorcyclists whizzed between and around the “parked” cars. It was  a giant cog of organized chaos and oh…how I loved it. How I missed it. How I loved being home.

3 – Food is cheap in New York…IF you know where to shop. $3.00 for a hotdog. $3.00 for a New York pretzel. $1.00 for a bottle of water. No tax. The cheese cake was $6.00 and made two meals out of it. My god did I miss the food.

 

How did I get back to New York?

On my birthday, my son came home from school. “We have a field trip to NYC on 19 June and I signed you up as a chaperone.”

I stopped dead.

“What? I’m going home?”

He said yes and, an hour later apologized that he didn’t get me a birthday gift. Oh, my sweet boy. But you did.

As the next four weeks played out a lot of scheduled got moved around. Turns out, I couldn’t ride on the designated tour bus. If I wanted to see New York, my husband would have to take me. I couldn’t drive New York. The raping pedophile had made it clear to me that I couldn’t drive in the City and was incapable of being there without him. But my husband came home a day before the trip to say he couldn’t miss work that day.

I announced that I wouldn’t be going to the City. Four hours later I realized, no matter what, I had to go.

The day before the trip, I filled my gas tank and realized I only had $30.00 in my pocket. “I don’t care,” I said. “I have to go.

So I went. Two hours into the drive, an unexpected payment went through and I had $150.00 in my pocket. I made the trip to and from New York with only $150.00 to my name. New York is cheap IF you know where to go.

I do.

I took my two girls with me. My son road in the tour bus with his classmates. I was surprised, first and foremost, how well I knew where to go. I was stunned. Memories surfaced as I drove.

The pedophile loved to rape me while he drove. Every trip to New Jersey/New York consisted of him shoving me down on him while he drove and flashing my body at drivers on the highway as I rode. Publicly raped and threatened if I didn’t comply…It all came up as I drove. I was raped here, and here, and here…No! I screamed inside my head. This is a new association! A new memory! This is the place where my daughters, and I happily filled in the blank, easily replacing each rape with their smiles and voices.

We arrived at the Jersey Turnpike and my memory lit up. I knew where to go. “Shit!” I said. I can’t take the Tunnel. I’m claustrophobic! “Wait. We’ll just take GW Bridge.” As I thought this, I watched the tour bus veer to the right. “Where the hell are they going?” I said, knowing they just took a very wrong turn. They were heading back to Sleepy Hallow a solid hour out of the way.

Did you know…Sleepy Hallow…as in “The Legend of Sleepy Hallow,” takes place in the village of Sleepy Hallow, New Jersey. It’s a real place where the author grew up.

I decide to take the upper level of the GW Bridge so the girls can view the sky line. And just like that I knew exactly where to go. Turn right off the bridge, down into/through Harlem and take Henry Hudson Parkway that runs alongside Manhattan. More so than ever I realized something…

My husband hates the way I drive. He learned how to drive in Boston. I hate the way he drives. We both loathe the way Jersey drives. I think Jersey hates the way Jersey drives.

As I’m driving through the City, I realize they all drive like me! I love driving in New York and I knew my way around like it was home.

So how did I visit New York on less than $200.00? Set aside $50.00 for all-day parking. Park somewhere in the Upper West Side. Anywhere along Central Park. Seriously, pick a museum and park. $15.00 for tolls to enter New York from Jersey. Plan How to spend the day at Central Park. You can picnic there, walk anywhere, and have your pick of museums. Food…Eat only at the outside vendors.

Hot dog: $3.00
Pretzel: $3.00
pizza: $1.00 (This was a pizzeria somewhere around Columbus Circle)
water: $1.00

If you buy your museum tickets at the door, you can “name your price.” I paid $20.00 for three museum tickets at the Natural Museum of History. Voila! Air conditioning! I have seen so much of these museums, I was calm about them. I only wanted my daughters to see the Hayden Planetarium and the Ocean Room. I wanted them to stand under the giant whale. I saw, for the first time, a petrified disk cut from the Giant Red Wood that was cut back in the 1800’s. The thing was huge! And sad. So sad…

The girls had the run of the museum. When hunger hit, instead of heading back to the car where we left “field trip” food,  I took them out to the street vendors where they had their first NYC hot dogs. And my god did I miss them. We returned to the museum, walking the exhibits until the girls were ready to see the City. We walk. Its the only way to see the city. If it can be avoided, don’t drive. I wanted to take them out to Central Park and to Time Square. I wanted cheese cake. I had only been craving it for ten years.

The girls kept asking,” Where do we get food?”

To which I answered, “It’s New York. You pick a direction and walk. Within two minutes you’ll find the best of something. And this…This is why I love New York.” Two minutes later we found a little sit eatery that served New York Cheesecake. Here I presented the girls with “the cheesecake challenge.”

“I challenge you to eat an entire slice in one sitting.” Lizzie had maybe six bites and she was done. My stubborn 15 year old made it half way through before she couldn’t eat another bite. With half a cheesecake left, I pulled out my iPhone and followed the map down from Columbus down Broadway, heading down to Time Square.

Along the way, I froze. “I know where I am. This is Lincoln Center. Finally, the fountain was on. I’ve been there twenty times…and not once was it on. This day, it was. The girls played beside the fountain for thirty minutes before we kept walking. Five minutes later we found a piano. 50 street pianos have been scattered all over the city. If you take up the street piano tour, you can sit down and play to your heart’s content. This tour will give you a full NYC experience. I sat and played for 30 minutes. Just played the piano there in the streets of New York outside of Lincoln Center.

I have never been happier.

It was at this time that my phone died leaving me in the middle of Manhattan without a map.

I have no sense of direction and had a moment of panic. But then I realized…Lincoln Center, Leonard Bernstein Plaza…I knew where I was. We walked to Time Square, stopping now and then at the classic “I love NY” touristy gift shops where I bought my NYC coffee mugs and a model of the Twin Towers. It was here that I realized something about New Yorkers. Before 9/11 all their mugs, banners, and magnets depicted was the skyline of New York from Empire State Building to Twin Towers. Now, almost everything depicts the Statue of Liberty in the foreground and the skyline of New York ends at the Empire State Building. Where Liberty Tower now stands, the skyline is abruptly cut off.

For us, it’s an ugly deep scar. A painful reminder. Oh, won’t forget. We can’t. How much I wish they had just rebuilt the Towers.

We walked back, arriving at the museum around 4:30. Twenty minutes later, I paid for parking and left the museum.

“I want to see the Statue of Liberty,” my oldest requests.

“That’s on the other side of the island,” I told her. “Next time. It’s not a quick drive by sighting…I mean, it can be, but…”

“I’m fine with that,” she said. Except, I wasn’t. I had to show her my lady the right way.

“It will take us two hours to drive down to the end of Manhattan. I can show you the Empire State Building.”

They expressed an excitement over this, so we hooked up with 5th Ave and drove the full length down…at 5PM…in NYC…

An hour later, we arrive at the Empire State Building in bumper to bumper traffic.

“What are we doing!?” I suddenly realized while waiting in line. “I know this city! The tunnel isn’t the only way out of the city!”

I turned off the main road and ventured out…only to find myself approaching Greenwich Village and Liberty Tower.

I froze. Tears swelled in my eyes. “I’m not ready,” I said. “Not on this trip! I’m not ready.”

Here in Greenwich Village, so close to Ground Zero…these people had seen war on their homeland, and it showed. The scars were vivid and deep. You could feel it in the air. You could smell it. The hurt still lingered. I steered the car back toward Hudson Parkway, 9A, and drove parallel up through Manhattan until we came closer to the upper level of GW Bridge.

As we left the city, the girls ventured down telling me everything they loved about her. I had been worried that their passion for the gardens and forests of the Allegheny Plateau would have turned them against New York. But I felt the love for the City in them as strongly as it was in me. Upon arriving home, my son too expressed the same love for the City. Each is eager to get back.

As for me…

I did it. I didn’t need a man or my husband, or anyone for that matter to escort me. At any time, I could claim my city for my own and just go. And with less than $150.00, I could too easily make this trip. The trip back home was liberating. At once, my pining deep ache for Ireland vanished. Had I transferred the pain to another land I called my home? Never again will I depend on another to take me back to my city. The empowerment that I gained…The strength and confidence…Today, I stand up to people more. I speak up for myself more boldly. With all my heart, I now fight for me. I can do so much more, and I know this now.

I’ve regained my home. I aggressively took it back. My model of the TWC sits by my bed. There is an eased ache there now. In a way, I got my towers back from the terrorists. I smile and, every night, they are now the last thing I see before I sleep.

Sleep.

That night, I got home. I couldn’t stop smiling. I fell down on my bed, a smile on my face and, for the first time in seventeen years I breathed soundly. I slept deeply. “They’re okay,” I told my husband as I drifted off.

“Who?”

“My family. My kin. They’re okay.”

And they are. Everyone in New York who survived it…They made it. Everyone who survived, they made it.

Everyone, my family, they’re okay.

Their screams are no longer the last sound I heard from them. Their screams, now replaced with their smiles and kindness.

Demonic Coffee Pot that screams like a banshee

I recently discovered (like…yesterday) that I LOVE writing reviews. My funny bone comes out when I write reviews. Here is an article I wrote from 2013. My coffee pot broke…BEFORE I had my coffee…and I immediately sat down and wrote a review on it in retaliation.

Read the original review.

I bought this model in June of 2011 and am aware that some of these points are reflective on the coffee maker’s age. In all honesty, I’m not sure how long a coffee maker SHOULD last. Regardless, here is what mine has done and is doing a year later.

Pros:

Great coffee flavor, every time!

Hot coffee from breakfast time to dinner time (for the first six months).

Easy clean, pull out filter basket

Favorite: I love the pull out water reservoir! I place it in the sink and have it filled WHILE I grind the beans! And if I spill it from a lack of coordination caused by sleep induced stupor, it doesn’t spill all over the electric coffee pot. I can also use the proper cleaning equipment to remove the built up calcium from years of use.

Annoying little cons:

– The 8 cup fill and 10 cup fill are covered by the flip lid on the reservoir, so if you are brewing 8 cups, you can not see the 8 cup fill line. The 10 cup fill line is marked inside the reservoir by a black lip labeled “DO NOT FILL BEYOND THIS POINT”, which I use as a marker instead. I only brew 10 cups, so its works well for me.

– After six months, the lid no longer seals on the carafe, so the coffee does have to be reheated in the microwave after only two hours of brewing. The plastic lip that used to slide into the handle now bows, flexing up. Never been dropped or machine washed. It started bowing about six months after use. I imagine from months of removal for cleaning.

– The carafe does leak, but hardly enough to even mention here. Why then mention it, you ask? Because I wanted to acknowledge the other reviews that were made about this particular “con”

– The opening is small. Really small. Most carafes, I can fit my hand inside to scrub the coffee stains out of the bottom. Not this one. Again, a small con that I quickly dismissed.

– The light on the clock has dimmed SIGNIFICANTLY. To the point, where I can no longer tell time using the coffee maker’s clock. I often press the “dim light” button thinking it is on the low setting, which then turns the clock light off completely because I forget that it already is on its highest setting.

Cons that have pushed me to the point of buying a new coffee pot:

– The “clean” light has NEVER TURNED OFF! Ever! Every morning I stumble stupidly into the kitchen, I set the reservoir under the running water, I grind my beans and think, “Oh! I have to clean the coffee pot.” After 365 + days of this it grates! You’d think I’d remember this every morning, but my higher thinking skills are dependent on the cup of coffee I have not yet brewed. The defective light first lit up after the traditional 30 days of use, AND HAS NOT TURNED OFF SINCE! Not after unplugging the device for 20 minutes. Not when I unplugged it for two days during a move. Not after attempting 4 batches of vinegar/water mixtures followed by a “clean” cycle, which brings me to the next problem. The clean cycle.

– This device boasts an automatic cleaning option. This is a lie. The clean light turned on after that initial 30 day use and I followed the manufacturer’s instructions. I added the vinegar/water mixture and pressed “clean”. To this day, I have no idea if the clean mode actually cleaned the machine. What it did do was omit this incessant, high pitched “beeeeeeeeeeeep” for the entire duration of the clean cycle. I thought it was broken. I tried it again. It beeeeeeeeped again. Not like your car’s gentle, but incessant “buckle me buckle me buckle me” ding that nags at you to buckle up . . . But louder and higher pitched . . . like 4 octaves above high C. I googled Mr. Coffee glitches. And just like the poor man I found on google who located his wife chewing her arm off after the beeeeeeeeeeep continued for 30 minutes, I too was driven to irrational states of madness.

I ended up simply running a batch of vinegar water through it. Four, in fact, just to turn the clean light off. It didn’t work.

– Two weeks after the first use, the filter lid popped open (I’m assuming that is what happened) causing an avalanche of hot watery coffee grounds to flow all over my kitchen counter/floor. This happens once every one to two weeks. There is nothing that can be done to avoid or predict the avalanche. I think the water splatters the grounds under the lid that is supposed to keep the grounds contained in the basket. But once the grounds get under the lid, the lid can’t close freeing the grounds to run amok all over inside the basket. Ever see Gremlins? They enter the drainage system that flows into the coffee maker’s internal passage to the carafe. This, in turns, clogs the drainage because the grounds have boldly gone where no ground is meant to go. The water flow is backed up until the filter basket overflows. The grounds have also clogged the carafe lid WHICH CAN NOT BE DISASSEMBLED for thorough cleaning, and this too gets clogged causing the water flow to back up. So the little water that does get to the carafe during the avalanche, also overflows at the carafe lid. And yes, its hot water because I only brew hot coffee.

To clean, I take my sink hose, turn on the hot water, unplug the coffee maker, and attempt to balance and tilt the coffee maker over the sink so I can direct the water to flow down and into the internal drainage system. Grounds and discolored water emerge all over and if I’m not careful – and I’m usually not because, if you remember, I HAVEN’T HAD MY COFFEE YET – the water that flows through the system comes out of the spout for the carafe which hangs over my counter’s edge because I am that short (4’11) and the coffee maker is that bulky. The result, MORE watered down coffee grounds to mop off the floor and now, my pajamas.

– Yesterday, and this is the deal breaker that pushed me to shop for a new coffee pot, the avalanche occurred, yet again. But this time, after I cleaned the mess and placed my coffee carafe back on the plate (not a hot plate as there isn’t one), the coffee maker omitted that horrid “beeeeeeeeeeeep”. If you try to brew a pot of coffee and have failed to replace the carafe due to caffeine deprivation, it will beep at you. But yesterday, the beep got stuck and WOUDLN’T STOP BEEEEEEEEEEEEEPING at me. I had to keep the coffee maker off and it never finished brewing the last 2 cups of my thoroughly saturated, dreg induced “coffee” mixture.

The irony of this? I HAVEN’T HAD MY COFFEE YET TO HAVE THE MENTAL CAPACITY TO DEAL WITH THIS CRAP!!

So today, I am reading reviews for other coffee pots that don’t spill over, that don’t have built in long, incessant beeps at ungodly decibel levels, and that have no “clean me” light reminders that never shut off.

Don’t get me wrong, if you can ignore the orange “clean me” light, the coffee maker IS GREAT between the avalanche of 01/14/2013 and the avalanche 01/22/2013. Just remember to clean the coffee maker by brewing your traditional vinegar/water mixture on the 1st of each month.

Personally, I expect much more out of an $80 coffee maker. If I had paid $45 for this, I would have mopped up the mess and sync’d my twitches to the beeeeeeeeep while cursing myself for not buying the more expensive model. But this IS the more expensive model.

Not worth the countless, coffee-less mornings I’ve had to endure kneeling in a puddle of ground-filled coffee mixture.

 

8 July 2018

I have switched to using the Bodum French Press. My coffee days are perfectly pleasant in every way.

 

Read more of my reviews

What Elements Define Fantasy For Me

For me, when I sit down with an epic Fantasy, I anticipate what kind of journey the hero will undergo, and why. The journey is half the story. The changes and growth the hero undergoes while on that journey is the rest of the journey. I expect to see the hero challenged beyond their means. I expect to see them fail, almost die even, retreat, train, improve, and stand again. It’s about going on even though they may not win. What matters is that they’ve tried…you’ve tried, and they didn’t quit even if it means failure or death.

 

Along the journey, I expect to see great places and great people much greater than anything the hero could ever wish to be. I want to see self-doubt, exhaustion, weaknesses, fears…my own weaknesses reflected in the hero…and the hero will overcome each and every one of these. There will be losses in the end, but they will have gained much more than they ever had lost. The hero isn’t just the main character in the book. The hero is the character you see in yourself. All the flaws and weaknesses. It’s a way to watch yourself overcome those weaknesses. In the end, the hero is the “you” you wish you could be if only someone would pass on a ring to little old you and give you the chance to prove it.

I borrow from Charles Dubois. “The important thing is this: to be able, at any moment, to sacrifice what we are for what we could become.” This is what writing and reading epic fantasy is all about. Setting out to become our best, even if it will kill you.

Besides…I love going on an adventure.

 

 

Poo-Pourri Review

I don’t write reviews unless I’m REALLY angry about a product, like my coffee maker. Oh, yes! Now THAT was a passionate review. Or really excited about a product…like Poo-Pourri. So here it is! I call it, “ATTENTION PARENTS! IT WORKS ON VOMIT TOO!”

Yes, I spray the toilet. Yes, my poo now smells like a fresh spring breeze passing through my gardens. I carry Poo-Pourri in my purse because, hey! It’s when I’m using a public bathroom that I’m most conscious about my poo stinking up any bathroom. As amusing as this is, I wasn’t surprised because, HEY! There are like five million reviews on Amazon all claiming the same thing. IT. WORKS. That’s not why I’m writing this review.

Two days after buying Poo-Pourri, I had to pick up a sick child from school. Violent vomiting in my car? No problem! I’m a Pro-Mom with three children. I know what I’m doing. I keep a puke bucket in the car at all times, and we successfully kept the vomit contained. But the odor in the car was UNBEARABLE and it was like -20 outside (no kidding. This is New York), so cracking a window was not an option.

Light bulb!

Sick child in the car. Poo-Pourri in my purse. Out of sheer curiosity, I handed the spritz to my daughter and told her to spray the bottom of the puke bucket expecting this to not work, but it was worth a shot. Mind you. She already had vomited. She sprayed the Magical Mist and two minutes later, she vomited again.

First, I need to say that the Poo-Pourri stopped the smell from the vomit that had already been vomited THEN it stopped all odor from the future vomits! She vomited and we smelled lavender! IT WAS WEIRD! And very effective. I’m still flabbergasted! SERIOUSLY! PARENTS! GET THIS FOR THOSE PUKING KIDS! IT’S ASTOUNDING! I can not clean up vomit without gagging on the smell!!

I bought my Poo-Pourri from a local store, but just have to get this discovery out there to parents locked in cars with puking children.

With You (The Letters): Chapter #1

 

With You (The Letters)
Chapter #1

“You were never mine for you belong to Death.”

My heart is pulling me apart. I can’t go, but I can’t stay. I can’t follow. Your words, they betwixt me and I fall into them again every night. The dream ends and I wake. I’m empty and cold.

I died inside out when Lady Death took you from me as she did once before, only now I remember every word, every sigh, every kiss, and every breath you uttered inside me. And the memories, they kill me all over again.

I don’t know how long it’s been, years I suppose, long enough for me to die again each night, long enough for me to run out of tears, long enough for my heart to shrivel into a withered dried stone, long enough that the scar runs too deep to ever heal. My heart. It’s forever malformed into something else. I will never smile again. My heart is a cold dead stone in your absence.

When one dies and returns to the world of the living, something happens to you. People don’t see you differently, but you see them…you see everything differently. People passing by, wasting life on tears and hate and unaddressed traumas…people succumbing to the numbness that pain leaves behind.  People fighting, hating, killing, cheating…People don’t see. People never see. Me, I stopped looking and became one of them.

 

I lifted my eyes from the paper lit by my bedside lamp and gazed out the window. The evening’s breeze rustled my curtains and I felt the cold slide up my nightgown. I would have shivered if I hadn’t died once before. I dropped my eyes back to the paper and decided to write again tomorrow.

I placed my pen and paper on the nightstand beside my bed, dropped my bare feet to the wood floor of my room, and turned off the lamp beside my bed. As I pulled my silk bathrobe up around my shoulders, I walked to the window and gazed up at the starless sky. My thoughts drifted back to that night.

Your kisses on mine, your arms around me, your hands all over. Then cold screams and shadows. I remembered the first moments of my Hell as I woke and saw that you were gone. I had no doubt. She had taken you. Lady Death whose deal we broke. I closed my eyes against the pain evoked by the memory of those screams. Angry at the hurt, I closed the windows, and went to bed.

Again, I would dream of you. Again I would wake, curl up into myself, and cry until my tears ran dry. Again, I would relive that hellish night in the morning. Again I would die all over.

 

 

The forest returned as it did every night and, as before, you found me. The scene changed and we lay on the cabin floor making love through the night. Death’s eyes lingered in the shadows, and then we ran, but you wore chains that held you down. You couldn’t run. I wondered why I hadn’t noticed the chains before. Then Death was there standing over you. You gazed at her with such hatred, and she returned the hate with an invisible hand that sent you writhing in pain. I was free to go, but how could I? Through the pain, you found my eyes. You spoke my name and I woke from a chill and the sound of your voice.

You spoke my name again and I looked to the foot of my bed and I saw you. I gasped and then you were gone.

“No!” I screamed and scrambled, throwing myself at the foot of my bed. “No! You were here! I saw you!”

I fell off the bed and searched my room all the while screaming your name.

“You fucking bitch!” I cried at Death. “Give him back to me! Give him…”

I fell to the floor sobbing and pulled at my hair. “He was here! I saw him! Give him back!”

Like a cursed banshee, I stood and ripped the sheets from my bed. I pushed over the armoire, stripping every shadow desperate to find you, to see you again. From the corner of my eye, I saw you gazing at me from the mirror. I turned. You were there and gone before my gasp had ended. I fell to the mirror while calling your name. You were there. I saw you. I screamed into the mirror.

“Give him back to me!” When she didn’t answer, I took up my shoe and threw it into the glass. The glass screamed and fell to the floor like diamond droplets, and I pulled the curtains from the window. I was certain you would be there, and when you weren’t, I cried all that much louder.

Broken by my grief, I fell to my knees and punched the floor.

I had done this once before, stripped a room in search of you. Death was toying with me. I imagined her safely tucked away in her shadow smiling with delight.

This existence was killing me. This life was a hallowed death. I had been dead once before. I knew what lay on the inside of life. I knew the road to get there. In this life, breathing, loving, losing, and dying all hurt more. Inside of life, emotions were numb.

If she would not free him, if he could not come to me, then I would go to him.

I lifted my hate-filled eyes from the floor and made my choice. I knew just where to go and how to get there. I grabbed my shoes from the glass and ran out the door eager to leave this life behind.

 

 

It was cold and empty, being here. I stared out over the cliff and looked down into the ravine below. The water trickled over stump and stone. Around me the forest sang. I had been here only once before. With you, you held me in place on this cliff. With you, the bullet pierced my heart. With you, I left this life and died.

Like sleep, I woke again. I listened to our tale. I had died and you had bargained with Death: your memory of me in exchange for my life. The deal was sealed, the contract signed, and Death returned my life to me. We had one night. I was gone before the night departed and, with it, your memory of me. From the shadows I watched you, unable to live, unable to die, caught between my life and yours.

It was then that you found me. Too weak to stay away, you ran back to me and told me the truth. Your memory was never what Death took from you. Her price was so much worse. Death thrives on pain and grief. She needs it to survive. This is why she kills and so eagerly rips loved ones apart. She needs the grief to feed.

To live unloved while you watch me live and watch me love without you. This was her true price. But, unable to live without me, you loved me. And in my bed, your deal was broken. Death would never forgive.

This time there would be no goodbye. No letter. No warning. No ‘the last time.’ I woke to a life that would force me to relive my death each night. That would be the grief she eats.

“Grieve no longer,” I said as I looked over the ravine. With you, I was certain I could fly if only I stepped out from the cliff. The wind picked up and took my breath, and all at once, I smiled. I would see you soon. I felt the grief lift and all at once I could breathe.

“Just wait my love,” I whispered. “I’m coming.”

And just like that, I fell.

 

Series: The Letters

 

 

 

The Karate Mind

It is 2017, and I have two teenagers in the house. That’s right. An almost 15-year-old girl and a 13-year-old boy. My 10-year-old spends much of her time wishing she was in her teens. I. Do not. Needless to say…this is the best of times. This is the worst of times. One day, my beautiful daughter could be explaining to me how combustion works as she scribbles away in her journal. She wants to write her own manga and, boy! Can she draw. “Emily,  go clean your room,” to which she promptly and joyously replies, “I’m rebelling!” as she runs through my house with a smile on her face and arms flailing. Within an hour she’ll be curled up on the floor of her room crying, “I want to die. No body loves me.” My son, in the meantime, just flipped from Bruce Banner to the Hulk. One moment, he’s hugging me, “I love you, mum,” and he gives me that smile that reassures me I’m doing something right. The next moment, he’s punching his ten-year-old and screeching like a banshee. “Dan! Smash!”

It was out of sheer desperation that I signed Dan up for Karate class this fall. I had just signed myself up for a 6-week challenge at a local dojo in an eager attempt to lose the 40+ pounds I had gained over the last ten years. On day one we were asked to write down our goals. My goal? “To pin my 13-year-old son to the floor in times of need.” That perked the interest of my coach.

“Pin your 13-year-old son to the floor?”

I gave him the “I have teenagers” look. “Yes. He stands nearly six inches taller than me and he has the emotions of a two-year-old. There are days, I need to pin him to the floor like an unruly pup whose trying to lead the pack.”

My coach gets this knowing look in his eye.

“You know, I teach a karate class that will straighten him right out.”

“Sold!” I didn’t wait to hear the details. Yes. I was that desperate.

Prior to karate classes, I had thought that Karate isn’t just about violence. It’s all about self-defense class and they only teach self-defense before they teach aggression. This is wrong.

8 weeks later (and twenty pounds down on my weight goal), I have finally collected the proper explanation to those who are thinking about karate, but just don’t know what to expect. I have wanted to take karate since I was beaten at the age of 8. My parents firmly said “No. You’ll use it on each other.” Another unfounded concern of non-karate parents.

There are five parts to each Karate class.

Physical warm up/Exercise
Forms
Self-respect/Self-reflection
Sparring
The Six Pillars of Discipline

Each class takes time out to review each of these. Each of these is practiced at all times. Each of these receives a brief, though constant, spotlight. Let’s take a closer look into the mind of Martial Arts.

 

Physical warm up/Exercise

Karate is exercise. Any time you use your muscles, warm up is mandatory. When you exercise, endorphins, adrenaline, and dopamine is dumped into your system. These three emotions are the greatest cure to depression. One rule is solid when you exercise. Good health. This message is taught by the Sensei in every class.

 

 

Self-respect/Self-reflection

In the dojo, there is the floor where no street shoes are allowed. In karate, one rule comes before all else. You bow and think “discipline” when you enter the floor and when you exit the floor. This act alone, plants a number of thoughts and an ethic in every mind that enters the dojo.

Respect for self.
Respect for what we do here
Respect for the dojo
A promise that we only will give our best.

A bow in a dojo means, “I will honor and uphold the six pillars of discipline.”

In the younger classes, I swear the Sensei makes a point of sending the kids off the floor a number of times during class. “Go get a drink of water! Go get your equipment!”

It’s astounding to watch thirty children all stop at the edge of the floor, they bow and shout, “DISCIPLINE!” They drink the water, hug a parent, then run back to the floor. They bow. “DISCIPLINE!” And resume positions. But it doesn’t end there. After the pushups and jumping jacks, they move on to part 2. The form.

 

Forms

The forms in karate are 4,000 years old. They have been passed on from Sensei to student for centuries. When you learn a form, you not only are learning the core of martial arts. You are stepping into a much greater thing. You are becoming part of a 4,000 year old Japanese tradition. You are becoming part of something greater. Forms look easy, but they command focus. I can’t quite explain what a form is without you really seeing it. I guess, the best way to explain it is in dancing terms. It is like a choreographed sequence of moves. There are three sets of moves, but the moves are much more than just movements. The goal of the form is to sharpen and perfect a warrior’s technique. They are done solo. There is no fighting. It’s very private. And rarely are they done perfectly. It is not possible to do a form without sheer discipline and focus. Either you love doing forms. Or you hate them.

 

Sparring

After the forms, the sparring begins. But before you spar, you bow to your partner. This bow is different from the initial bow. This bow is an extension on the first bow. “I respect you. I respect this lesson we are about to begin. I will learn as I teach. I will teach as I learn. I will not harm you. I will trust that you will cause me no harm.”

Free sparring begins. It is not possible to spar without smiling. No matter how young or how old. No matter the gender. No matter the rank. It is not possible to smile when sparring. Furthermore, only in Karate can you start a friendship by kicking someone in the balls. It’s true. It’s weird. It’s unlike anything I have ever seen. It is important to know that violence, fighting, and aggression are not the same thing as sparring. Violence, fighting, and aggression have no place in the martial arts. This is why we call it sparring and competition.

As they spar, Sensei walks the floor and gently, though firmly, corrects technique. Frequently, he’ll say something that will cause him to announce his discovery to the class. He shouts commands. He paces the floor and announces things…Things I’ve never given thought to.

 

The Six Pillars of Discipline

The Six Pillars of Discipline are the ethics that are taught in martial arts. The first is self-respect. The second is accountability. We’re currently working through the others as we only have been attending the dojo for six weeks. The pillars change with each dojo, but the lessons are still the same though the order and wording do vary from Sensei to Sensei. The message is still the same. Self-respect. Accountability. Courage. Responsibility. Loyalty. Commitment. Strength.

To obey what is right!

“You are to compare your progress only to yourself. Never to another. Look at how you did. Identify your weaknesses, and aim to do better!”

“If you are a higher rank, teach and instruct the lower ranks.” For this reason, no one rank is ever paired up with the same rank. Black belts are paired with white belts. Red belts are paired with orange belts.

 

Each class ends with a word from the Sensei. Each lesson reflects on a week’s assignment. “You aren’t a black belt, but you’re here to achieve the Black belt. The black belt mind starts now. The moment you start your first class, you begin shaping the Black Belt mind. And the Black Belt Mind does not stay confined within the dojo. It spills out into your home life, your school life, your chores, your grades. Take the initiative. Do as you know you must do. TO OBEY WHAT IS RIGHT! This week, I want you to think of the one thing you are suppose to do, but Mum and dad often has to remind you.  This week, don’t wait for the reminder. Just do. This is the Black Belt mind. This is good discipline. Now. We’ll be looking. We’re not going to remind you again. You have to do this without any expectation for reward. If mum or dad catches you they will post it on the Facebook Student Page and next class you get a responsibility strip on your belt.”

There is also counting in Korean. Commands and titles in Korean. And the all mighty “Yes, Sir.”

Heart of a lion. Voice of a tiger! Let me hear you, “Yes, Sir!”

“YES, SIR!”

“To obey what is right!”

“TO OBEY WHAT IS RIGHT!”

“Discipline!”

“DISCIPLINE!”

 

Within four weeks I saw my son change. It began with confidence and self-respect. Then I saw more kindness, more responsibility, more courage. My only regret was waiting thirteen years to enroll him. His behavior changed so much, that I wasted no time enrolling my daughters. Again, within four lessons, I saw the behavior change. Confidence, self-respect, and accountability boomed, penetrating every aspect of our home. Do we still have moments of bad times? Yes. Do we still have our set backs. Yes. But every day, they are farther and fewer in between. Occasionally, we have needed to ground Daniel. Do we include Karate in the grounding? No. We found that to ground a child from Karate was like grounding a child from taking prescription medicine. We also found that when he has to be grounded, he requires the Karate classes more than ever.

We are now teaching all our children one vital rule: take your anger to the dojo. There, they convert it to discipline. More than ever I saw the change in Daniel. In the dojo, he releases his rage. He dumps his anger into the 150 pound bags. Best of all, his Sensei, a three degree black belt, is there to help him safely direct the raging hormones of a 13 year-old-boy. Every time, Dan leaves the dojo more calm.

 

It’s not possible to watch a karate class and not be changed yourself.