Maya Tyler's Blog, page 39

Promo for Bound to Fate by @KiruTaye

Start the amazing and emotional Bound series for only 99c/99p. ❤

Promo for Desperate Measures Romance Collection

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Night Owl Romance "A Tea Party & Books" Scavenger Hunt

From the folks at Night Owl Romance...
It's a wonderful time of the year where we dream about all the great books we will read and add to our 2018 lists. Let us help you find some great authors and books to add to your To Be Read Pile. Plus along the way get entered to win Amazon Gift Cards that can help make all your reading dreams come true.36 AUTHORS
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As one of the sponsors of this event, I'm going to introduce you to new authors and help you find some great new books. Make sure to check out my featured title—A Vampire's Tale—along the way.

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Don't wait. The hunt ends on March 8.

Game of Thrones versus Outlander

At the People's Choice Awards last January, HBO's Game of Thrones lost both the Favorite Premium Sci-Fi/Fantasy Series and Favorite Sci-Fi/Fantasy TV Actress to Starz's Outlander.

Which series do you prefer?


<< caution spoilers ahead >>

Game of Thrones

George R.R. Martin's Game of Thrones (GOT) is epic. There is no doubt about it. I fell in love with this series during the first terrifying moments of season 1 episode 1.

(I haven't read the books (yet) so my observations are based purely on the show.)

It's a complicated story with a lot of complicated characters. That's the simplest way to put it. In fact, there are so many characters—the story begins with nine different families—it's difficult to pick a favorite. Even though, not unlike a daily soap opera, an episode may focus on a cross-section of the cast, allowing the viewer the opportunity to form a tangible attachment. It may be difficult to pick a favorite character, but it is not challenging to pick a least favorite. << clears throat >> Cersei Lannister.

With such a vast number of players fighting for the Iron Throne, death is inevitable, and GOT features some truly, horrific (and unexpected) deaths. Is anyone thinking about Season 3's Red Wedding? Martin has taken Stephen King's "kill your darlings" advice to heart. This phrase, originally coined by William Faulkner, means either letting go of the parts that don't advance the story or killing characters your audience has grown to love.

The GOT family tree is also (unsurprisingly) complicated. I found this lovely graphic on pinterest.ca.


The basic premise for GOT is dispute over the Iron Throne. The Baratheons had stolen it from the Targaryens. The Targaryens want it back, but so do the other Baratheon brothers, the Lannisters, the Tyrells, the Starks... with those not directly vying for the crown aligning themselves with those who are. It's an elaborate game. Strategic, like chess, but with potentially fatal results. The characters have differing motives—power, peace, unity, honor, protection—for pursuing the fight. It's the classic medieval quest, a prolonged and perilous journey filled with misadventure and hard choices. And dragons and a massive undead army.

GOT is set in the fictional Westeros. Martin has created a truly fantastic world. Fans take the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros very seriously. In my search for a map, I found many versions—hand drawn, vintage, comparative, Google-style—before finally selecting this graphic by Kitkat Pecson.

The title sequence is brilliant as well, with a three-dimensional (moving) map featuring different locations—depending on the episode—that foreshadows the next party of the story.

Overall, the show is magic. It's like watching a story come to life... which it is.


Outlander


Diana Gabaldon's Outlander is an equally epic story. I discovered the series on Netflix and was instantly obsessed.

I actually stopped watching it for about a week to get my addiction under control.

The show and the books (I've read 1-4 so far) are fantastic. The show's casting was as close to perfection as I've ever seen. In my mind, no one could have depicted Claire, Jamie, and Frank/Jack as captivatingly. As a story, Outlander is simply marvellous—historically accurate with the ultimate in love triangles—a twentieth century woman trapped in the eighteen century with a love in both time periods.

The cast of Outlander is much smaller. The leads Claire Randall and Jamie Fraser are definitely my favorites.

Claire Randall is a strong, intelligent woman who doesn't mince words or hold back punches. Jamie Fraser—the embodiment of a braw Highlander—is brave and reckless, and possesses an intelligent mind capable of seeing beyond the present reality. And did I say damn sexy? I now understand swooning. Every woman wants to be loved like Jamie loves Claire.

"Don't be afraid. There's the two of us now."

Outlander is fantasy, but it injects enough realism—historical content, logical actions—that you feel the story itself could be possible. You can put yourself in the character's shoes—you can immerse yourself in their world.

The premise of Outlander is time travel. While on vacation in Scotland, Claire Randall accidentally travels 200 years into the past leaving her husband Frank alone and bewildered in the twentieth century. She lands in 1743 in the middle of a skirmish between the British Army and a band of Scottish Highlanders. The Highlanders save her from a British officer with nefarious intents. Upon discovering she has time travelled, she works on a plan to get home. Returning to her own time is hardly an easy feat. Claire must rely on her knowledge of eighteenth century Scotland—good thing Frank is a historian—and her wits to survive among the Highlanders. Both the British and the Scots are suspicious of her sudden appearance. Marriage to Jamie Fraser protects her from the British Army. Then, the unexpected occurs—she falls in love with Jamie. When faced with the choice of staying with Jamie or returning to Frank, she chooses Jamie.

Unlike GOT whose main focus is continuously on the game, each season (book) of Outlander moves in different directions—storyline and physical location.


The Comparison

Believability. Game of Thrones begins like a war-focused historical drama in the fictional world Martin built. The dragons, magic, and undead army make it a complete fantasy. Outlander takes place in (mainly) existing locations and follows true historical events. Once you reconcile with the time travel, the rest of the story is fairly credible.

Story. The game in Game of Thrones keeps expanding—adding exotic locations and characters with incredible back stories. A single location or character could provide enough material for a standalone story. Outlander's story is more grounded and focuses on the two main characters regardless of external circumstances.

Characters. Game of Thrones includes a tangled web of characters—heroes and villains. The story follows each character and their relationships with the other characters. Characters face challenges and adversity—with betrayal and brutal violence. There are too many 'main' characters to count. Outlander has clear main characters who also face their share of life-changing situations. With fewer characters to follow, the audience has a more intimate experience.

Chemistry. Love or hate. Both Game of Thrones and Outlander sizzle with the sheer amplitude of chemistry between their characters.

Pacing. Game of Thrones has an abundance of fast-paced action. The characters move from one significant event—battle, revelation, plot twist—to the next with lightning speed. In contrast, Outlander moves at a much slower pace, switching intermittently between action and drama—with no holds barred in its fight scenes.


The Conclusion

Clearly, both shows rate high on the epic scale. Game of Thrones is intricately plotted—including unexpected twists and neat conclusions—and doesn't shy away from the taboo. With GOT, you get action, romance, adventure, mystery. Add in the complicated family trees and the extraordinary world of Westeros... and you find a story bigger than life itself. Outlander includes paradoxical elements—time travel itself opens the flood gates of contradiction—that eventually make sense. It's more than a love story, containing a fair amount of action and (mis)adventure. You become invested, immersed in Outlander's characters, and their fate evokes strong emotion.

Both authors have created literary magic—I am amazed and inspired to create magic of my own. It's not a matter of which concept is better. The important thing is to read / watch / create fantasy. Believe in fairy tales and happily-ever-afters. I do.

When 'busy' became 'productive'

Maybe less than two years ago, my husband and I realized 'busy' had a negative connotation. Everyone we know was busy, is always busy.

'How was your week?' 'Busy?' 

'What did you do?' 'We were busy.' 

Busy, busy, busy. We, like many of our friends, were drowning in busy . What was this new state of 'busy' we had identified? It was regular life—work, school, activities, housework, hobbies—but it was out of control—more like running on an accelerating treadmill than actual living . At the end of each day—week, month—we were exhausted. What had we done? We were busy.

We decided to step off the treadmill. We made a conscious choice to turn 'busy' into 'productive'. Being productive gave us a feeling of accomplishment. Instead of running errands around town like a mad hamster, we completed errands. Being productive was positive. It indicated progress toward our goals. Being productive was the first step toward living instead of doing.


There's an app for that. And not just one. The smart phone is actually, really smart. Seriously. I'm not joking. My husband and I were tech late bloomers, not buying iPhones until 2014. Its capability impressed me then, and still continues to impress me. I use my phone to organize my life... and this is how...


Some of the gems I use:

Cozi is a shared family calendar—including reminders—with shopping and to-do lists, recipes, and a journal. I use the free version, but you can upgrade to Cozi Gold which has a few more bells and whistles than the free one. I use it mainly for the shared calendar—no more double-booking the family car—and grocery lists. You can receive reminders on your phone and by email. The app is also on the iPad.

I found the list making function on Cozi rigid so I use Wunderlist to organize my personal to-do lists. Reminders also come via phone and email. You can assign due dates and reminders for your to-do items. You can schedule recurring items. You can create subtasks. Items can easily move between lists as well—something Cozi can't do. Wunderlist is synced on my phone and MacBook.

Tody is my latest find. Its a shared cleaning app that's very convenient for roommates or families. If you feel behind in your housework... like it's almost spring and the fall cleaning isn't done yet? Tody might be for you. Those of us with productive lives tend to push housework to the end of the list. Maybe the bathroom and kitchen are (passably) clean, but when did you last santitize your light switches and door knobs? I did it last Friday... because Tody reminded me. I don't typically pay for apps—but after some comprehensive research on cleaning apps and there are a lot of them—I paid $9.99 for this one. It's a new purchase—I bought it last Friday—but I am very pleased so far. Getting stuff done is rewarding, and this app is definitely encouraging me to get stuff done!

Mint is a financial one-stop shop app. You can't make transfers or pay bills, but it provides a great snapshot of your financial situation—bank accounts, loans, investments, mortgage, assets, credit cards. You can input a monthly budget. I use it to keep on top of spending. It's convenient to track credit card purchases in real time instead of logging into a website or waiting for the statement.

DS File is how I access our home network-attached storage (NAS) device. It's like a personal cloud. It holds pictures, home video, and computer backups. I also back up on an external hard drive... you can never have too many backups!

Dropbox is how I share pictures with family and friends. I mostly use it through the website though. I can't remember when I got the app, but it's an easy way to save and share files so I'll keep it on my phone.

iCloud Drive is the Apple version of Dropbox. I backup select files from my phone and laptop. Plus, I use it to sync my Safari bookmarks.

These are some of the apps that make my life easier. I select apps based on intensive online research. I'm currently looking into apps for a home inventory system for groceries. Have you tried any of these? What are your thoughts?

Childhood Regrets

Sometimes, memories from my childhood pop into my mind. Like still images or grainy video. Haunting. Gnawing.

I never knew my maternal grandfather. He died before I was born. The man I called 'Grandpa' was actually my second step-grandfather. We called the first step-grandfather 'Grandpa Aaron' and I remember very little about him. He made me a wooden dollhouse and bird house, and, apparently, he was mean to my Grandma so they got divorced.

I was seven years old when Grandma married again. This kind, never-married-before, man became my Grandpa. He was a farmer—corn and soy beans—and he took us for tractor rides and let us play in the barn.

One day, my cousins and I piled into his old car—it had three seats in the front—to run an errand at a neighbor's place. I thought it would be a brief trip—stop, do what he had to do, go home—and I brought along a book to read in the car. In those days, I lived and breathed books—being a grown-up really cuts into my reading time. Instead, the neighbor kids invited us to play badminton while Grandpa did whatever he had to do. I didn't want to play badminton. Everybody else got out of the car and played in the yard. I stayed in the car and read my book.

When my Grandpa got back to the car, he chastised me for not playing with the other kids, and he said—I don't remember the exact words—that he was disappointed in me. His words crushed me. I hadn't seen staying in the car to read as a selfish choice. I became overwhelmed with guilt; a remorse that would continue to hang over me for decades like a dark storm cloud.

My Grandpa died a few years ago. I remember the good times—McDonald Happy Meal picnics in the park, shopping trips, ice cream cones, card games, eating another scoop of mashed potatoes because he kept passing me the bowl—and I remember the day I didn't play badminton.


This experience had a profound impact on me and contributed to the person I am today. When I see my son facing similar scenarios, I tell him my stories so he can make choices he may not regret in the future.

Promo for A River of Silence by @susancgoldner

When Detective Winston Radhauser is awakened by a call from dispatch at 12:45a.m., it can mean only one thing—something terrible awaits him. He races to the Pine Street address. In the kitchen, Caleb Bryce, nearly deaf from a childhood accident, is frantically giving CPR to 19-month-old Skyler Sterling. Less than an hour later, Skyler is dead. The ME calls it a murder and the entire town of Ashland, Oregon is outraged. Someone must be held accountable. The police captain is under a lot of pressure and anxious to make an arrest. Despite Radhauser’s doubts about Bryce’s guilt, he is arrested and charged with first degree murder. Neither Radhauser nor Bryce’s young public defender believe he is guilty. Winston Radhauser will fight for justice, even if it means losing his job.
Buy Links:Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/River-Silence-Winston-Radhauser-Mystery-ebook/dp/B0785XVLDB
Barnes & Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/a-river-of-silence-susan-clayton-goldner/1127622337?ean=2940154648674
Amazon UK: https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0785XVLDB/ref=as_li_ss_tl?ie=UTF8&linkCode=sl1&tag=kemberleeshor-21&linkId=4ca95f123ca7d912a64b67cd744022d3
Apple:  https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/a-river-of-silence/id1324298263?mt=11
Smashwords: https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/a-river-of-silence
Excerpt:
Prologue1988In only eleven minutes, Detective Winston Radhauser’s world would flip on its axis and a permanent line would be drawn—forever dividing his life into before and after. He drove toward the Pima County Sheriff’s office in Catalina, a small town in the Sonoran Desert just twelve miles north of Tucson. Through the CD speakers, Alabama sang You’ve Got the Touch. He hummed along. He was working a domestic violence case with Officer Alison Finney, his partner for nearly seven years. They’d made the arrest—their collar was sleeping off a binge in the back of the squad car. It was just after 10 p.m. As always, Finney wore spider earrings—tonight’s selection was a pair of black widows he hadn’t seen before.
“You know, Finn, you’d have better luck with men if you wore sunflowers in your earlobes.”
She laughed. “Any guy intimidated by a couple 14-carat web spinners isn’t man enough for me.”
He never missed an opportunity to tease her. “Good thing you like being single.”
The radio released some static.
Radhauser turned off the CD.
Dispatch announced an automobile accident on Interstate 10 near the Orange Grove Road exit. Radhauser and Finney were too far east to respond.
Her mobile phone rang. She answered, listened for a few seconds. “Copy that. I’ll get him there.” Finney hung up, then placed the phone back into the charger mounted beneath the dashboard.
“Copy what?” he said. “Get who where?”
She eyed him. “Pull over. I need to drive now.”
His grip on the steering wheel tightened. “What the hell for?”
Finney turned on the flashing lights. “Trust me and do what I ask.”
The unusual snap in her voice raised a bubble of anxiety in his chest. He pulled over and parked the patrol car on the shoulder of Sunrise Road.
She slipped out of the passenger seat and stood by the door waiting for him.
He jogged around the back of the cruiser.
Finney pushed him into the passenger seat. As if he were a child, she ordered him to fasten his seatbelt, then closed the car door and headed around the vehicle to get behind the wheel.
“Are you planning to tell me what’s going on?” he asked once she’d settled into the driver’s seat.
She opened her mouth, then closed it. Her unblinking eyes never wavered from his. “Your wife and son have been taken by ambulance to Tucson Medical Center.”
The bubble of anxiety inside him burst. “What happened? Are they all right?”
Finney turned on the siren, flipped a U-turn, then raced toward the hospital on the corner of Craycroft and Grant. “I don’t know any details.”
TMC was a designated Trauma 1 Center and most serious accident victims were taken there. That realization both comforted and terrified him. “Didn’t they say the accident happened near the Orange Grove exit?”
“I know what you’re thinking. It must be bad or they’d be taken to the closest hospital and that would be Northwest.” She stared at him with the look of a woman who knew him almost as well as Laura did. “Don’t imagine the worst. They may not have been in a car accident. Didn’t you tell me Lucas had an equestrian meet?”
Laura had driven their son to a competition in south Tucson. Maybe Lucas got thrown. He imagined the horse rearing, his son’s lanky body sliding off the saddle and landing with a thump on the arena floor. Thank God for sawdust. Laura must have ridden in the ambulance with him.
But Orange Grove was the exit Laura would have taken on her drive home. The meet ended at 9:00 p.m. Lucas always stayed to unsaddle the horse, wipe the gelding down, and help Coach Thomas load him into his trailer. About a half hour job. That would put his family near the Orange Grove exit around ten.
The moon slipped behind a cloud and the sudden darkness seemed alive and a little menacing as it pressed against the car windows.
Less than ten minutes later, Finney pulled into the ER entrance and parked in the lot. “I’m coming with you,” she said.
He shot her a you-know-better look, then glanced toward the back seat where their collar was snoring against the door, his mouth open and saliva dribbling down his chin. It was against policy to leave an unguarded suspect in the car.
“I don’t give a damn about policy,” she said.
“What if he wakes up, hitches a ride home and takes out his wife and kids? Put him in the drunk tank. I’ll call you as soon as I know anything.” He ran across the parking lot. The ER doors opened automatically and he didn’t stop running until he reached the desk. “I’m Winston Radhauser. My wife and son were brought in by ambulance.”
The young nurse’s face paled and her gaze moved from his eyes to somewhere over his head.
With the change in her expression, his hope dropped into his shoes. He looked behind her down a short corridor where a set of swinging doors blocked any further view. “Where are they?”
It was one of those moments he would remember for a lifetime, where everything happened in slow motion.
She told him to wait while she found a doctor to talk to him, and nodded toward one of the vinyl chairs that lined the waiting room walls.
He sat. Tried to give himself an attitude adjustment. Maybe it wasn’t as bad as he thought. Laura or Lucas could be in surgery and the nurse, obviously just out of nursing school, didn’t know how to tell him.
He stood.
Paced.
Sat again. The hospital might have a policy where only a physician could relate a patient’s condition to his family.
His heart worked overtime, pumping and pounding.
When he looked up, a young woman in a lab coat with a stethoscope around her neck stood in front of him. She had pale skin and was thin as a sapling, her light brown hair tied back with a yellow rubber band. Her eyes echoed the color of a Tucson sky with storm clouds brewing. “Are you Mr. Radhauser?”
He nodded.
“Please come with me.”
He expected to be taken to his wife and son, but instead she led him into a small room about eight feet square. It had a round table with a clear glass vase of red tulips in the center, and two chairs. Though she didn’t look old enough to have graduated from medical school, she introduced herself as Dr. Silvia Waterford, an ER physician.
They sat.
“Tell me what happened to my wife and son.”
“I’m so sorry,” she said. “It was an automobile accident on Interstate 10.”
The thread of hope he held started to unravel. “Are Laura and Lucas all right? I want to see them.”
Her throat rippled as she swallowed. “There is no easy way to say this, Mr. Radhauser. I’m so sorry for your loss. But there was nothing we could do for them.”
All at once the scene bleached out. The tulips faded to gray as if a giant flashbulb had gone off in his face. The doctor was rimmed in white light. He stared at her in disbelief for a moment, praying for a mistake, a miracle, anything except what he just heard. “What do you mean there was nothing you could do? This is a Level 1 Trauma Center, isn’t it? One of the best in the state.”
“Yes. But unfortunately, medical science has its limits and we can’t save everyone. Your wife and son were both dead on arrival.”
His body crumpled in on itself, folding over like paper, all the air forced from his chest. This was his fault. Laura asked him to take the night off and go with them. Radhauser would have avoided the freeway and driven the back way home from the fairgrounds. And everything would have ended differently.
He looked up at Dr. Waterford. What was he demanding of her? Even the best trauma center in the world couldn’t bring back the dead.
There was sadness in her eyes. “I’m sure it’s not any comfort, but we think they died on impact.”
He hung his head. “Comfort,” he said. Even the word seemed horrific and out of place here. Your wife and son were both dead on arrival. Nine words that changed his life in the most drastic way he had ever imagined.
“May I call someone for you? We have clergy on staff if you’d like to talk with someone.”
A long moment passed before he raised his head and took in a series of deep breaths, trying to collect himself enough to speak. “No clergy, unless they can bring my family back. Just tell me where my wife and son are.” His voice sounded different, deeper—not the same man who went to work that evening.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “But when deaths occur in the ER, we have to move them down to the morgue.”
Radhauser stood. Beneath his anguish, a festering anger simmered. Laura was a good driver. He was willing to bet she wasn’t at fault. More than anything now, he needed someone aside from himself to blame.
Outside, a siren wailed, then came to an abrupt stop. The sound panicked Radhauser as he headed for the elevator, waited for the door to open, then got inside. He pushed the button to the basement floor. He’d visited this hospital morgue once before to identify a fellow police officer shot in a robbery arrest gone bad. The door opened and he lumbered down the empty hallway.
As he neared the stainless steel door to the morgue, a tall, dark-haired man in a suit exited. At first Radhauser thought he was a hospital administrator. The man cleared his throat, flipped open a leather case and showed his badge. “I’m Sergeant Dunlop with the Tucson Police Department. Are you Mr. Radhauser?”
“Detective Radhauser. Pima County Sheriff’s Department.”
Dunlop had a handshake Radhauser felt in every bone in his right hand. “I’m so sorry for your loss, Detective.”
“Are you investigating the accident involving my wife and son?” Radhauser looked him over. Dunlop wore a pin-striped brown suit with a yellow shirt and a solid brown tie—the conservative uniform of a newly-promoted sergeant. The air around them smelled like antiseptic and the industrial solvent used to wash floors. “Have you determined who was at fault?”
Dunlop hesitated for an instant. “Yes, I’m the investigating officer. From the eyewitness reports, your wife was not to blame. A Dodge pickup was headed south in the northbound lane of Interstate 10 near the Orange Grove exit. No lights. He hit her head-on.”
Radhauser cringed. The image cut deep. “Was he drunk?”
“I need to wait for the blood alcohol test results to come back.”
The anger building inside Radhauser got closer to the surface every second. Silence hung between them like glass. He shattered it. “Don’t give me that bullshit. You were on the scene. What did you see? What did the breathalyzer read?”
Dunlop’s silence told Radhauser everything he needed to know. “Did the bastard die at least?”
“He was miraculously uninjured. But his twin boys weren’t so lucky.” Dunlop’s voice turned flat. “They didn’t make it.” He winced, and a tide of something bitter and hopeless washed over his face. “The idiot let them ride in the pickup bed. Five fucking years old.”
“What’s the idiot’s name?”
“You don’t need to know that right now.”
Biting his lip, Radhauser fought against the surge of rage threatening to flood over him. “Who are you to tell me what I need to know? It’s not your wife and kid in there. Besides, I can easily access the information.”
Dunlop handed him a card. “I know you can. But you have something more important to do right now. We can talk tomorrow.” He draped his arm over Radhauser’s shoulder the way a brother or a friend might do.
The touch opened a hole in Radhauser’s chest.
“Say goodbye to your wife and son,” Dunlop said, then turned and walked away.
In the morgue, after Radhauser introduced himself, a male attendant pulled back the sheet covering their faces. There was no mistake.
“Do you mind if I sit here for a while?” Radhauser asked.
“No problem,” the attendant said. “Stay as long as you want.” He went back to a small alcove where he entered data into a computer. The morgue smelled like the hallway had, disinfectant and cleaning solution, with an added hint of formaldehyde.
Radhauser sat between the stainless steel gurneys that held Laura and Lucas. Of all the possible scenarios Radhauser imagined, none ended like this.
Across the room, two small body bags lay, side by side, on a wider gurney. The twin sons of the man who killed his family.
The clock on the morgue wall kept ticking and when Radhauser finally looked up at it, four hours had passed. He tried, but couldn’t understand how Laura and Lucas could be in the world one minute and gone the next. How could he give them up? It was as if a big piece of him had been cut out. And he didn’t know how to go on living without his heart.
###
For an entire year afterwards, Radhauser operated in a daze. He spent the late evening hours playing For the Good Times on Laura’s old upright piano. It was the first song they ever slow danced to and over their fourteen years together, it became their own.
He played it again and again. The neighbors complained, but he couldn’t stop. It was the only way he could remember the apricot scent of her skin and how it felt to hold her in his arms on the dance floor.
Night after night, he played until he finally collapsed into a fitful sleep, his head resting on the keyboard. The simple acts of waking up, showering, making coffee, and heading to work became a cruel pretense acted out in the cavernous absence of his wife and son.

Bio: Susan Clayton-Goldner was born in New Castle, Delaware and grew up with four brothers along the banks of the Delaware River. She has been writing poems and short stories since she could hold a pencil and was so in love with writing that she became a creative writing major in college.
Prior to an early retirement which enabled her to write full time, Susan worked as the Director of Corporate Relations for University Medical Center in Tucson, Arizona. It was there she met her husband, Andreas, one of the deans in the University of Arizona's Medical School. About five years after their marriage, they left Tucson to pursue their dreams in 1991--purchasing a 35-acres horse ranch in the Williams Valley in Oregon. They spent a decade there. Andy rode, trained and bred Arabian horses and coached a high school equestrian team, while Susan got serious about her writing career. 
Through the writing process, Susan has learned that she must be obsessed with the reinvention of self, of finding a way back to something lost, and the process of forgiveness and redemption. These are the recurrent themes in her work.
After spending 3 years in Nashville, Susan and Andy now share a quiet life in Grants Pass, Oregon, with her growing list of fictional characters, and more books than one person could count. When she isn't writing, Susan enjoys making quilts and stained-glass windows. She says it is a lot like writing--telling stories with fabric and glass.

"she leads a lonely life" or does she?

It occurred to me that I prefer to write alone.

I can stare off into the distance. I can jab accusingly at the hypnotically blinking cursor on my computer screen. I can talk to myself without getting an external response.

I'm an uncomplicated person. I have no desire to shroud myself in drama. Yet, in doing so, I miss experiencing the conflict which could potentially translate into the crux of a story. Or do I?

I see the discord around me as inspiration.

Last year, I observed a married couple—let's call them Vicky and Tim—who arrived separately, for months, at school—each picking up one son—and leaving without speaking to each other. I immediately considered the motivation behind such actions. Even if Vicky and Tim had arrived in separate cars, coming from opposite directions, they would still speak to each other at school. Wouldn't they? A disagreement would explain a few, but not all, incidents. So would leaving quickly due to after-school commitments or inclement weather. I knew the only explanation was that Vicky and Tim had separated. Before the end of the school year, Vicky bought a new house. My evidence was still circumstantial until I heard via the Social Media grapevine that Vicky was newly single.

Do you give the strangers you encounter a back story? The harried-looking woman in the grocery store with three screaming toddlers in tow. The group of young boys sitting under the tree, making obnoxious comments at the young girls—possibly classmates—walking by. The older woman walking her dog, staring blankly into the distance. Who are these people? What happened in their life? What brought them to this point?

I quietly observe.

I set myself apart. I am more comfortable standing in quiet solitude than making urbane small-talk. It is easy to mistake the state of being alone for loneliness. Think the Ace of Base song "All That She Wants" and its apt lyrics.

She leads a lonely life She leads a lonely life 
When she woke up late in the morning lightAnd the day had just begunShe opened up her eyes and thoughtOh what a morning
Loneliness is a matter of prespective. In the quiet of my mind, I have the freedom—and privilege—to create these amazing characters and the ability to tell their stories.

Five Memorable Scenes from The Princess Bride

The Princess Bride
1987 ‧ Fantasy/Romance ‧ 1h 38m

A fairy tale adventure about a beautiful young woman and her one true love. He must find her after a long separation and save her. They must battle the evils of the mythical kingdom of Florin to be reunited with each other. Based on the William Goldman novel "The Princess Bride" which earned its own loyal audience.

-- IMDb
<<sigh>> The Princess Bride. My long-time favorite movie. I discovered the movie first, then I read the book. If a movie (or TV show for that matter) is based on a book, I watch the video first. Or I read the book and completely forgo the video. Why? Hands down, every time, my imagination is better than Hollywood's interpretation. A picture paints a thousand words? Well, a word can also paint a thousand pictures.

When I read The Princess Bride, I envision Robin Wright as Buttercup and Cary Elwes as her true love Westley.

The Princess Bride is a timeless story that contains all the important elements.

"Fencing. Fighting. Torture. Revenge. Giants. Monsters. Chases. Escapes. True love. Miracles."

I have seen The Princess Bride more times than I can remember. I confess that I recite the lines along with the actors—and there are some fantastic lines—and quote parts of the movie at applicable times in my life. I even got my sons (aged seven and nine) to watch it (and enjoy it... except for the kissing part).

To complement those fantastic lines—"As you wish"—are equally epic scenes. Here are some of my favorites. In no particular order...

<<spoiler alert>>


Scene One - When Inigo Montoya fights Count Rugen. I find this scene so powerful. A son avenges his father. He confronts the man who killed his father and makes him beg for his life. At the end, in the heart-wrenching moment before he strikes the final blow, he declares all he wants is his father back.

Inigo Montoya: Hello! My name is Inigo Montoya! You killed my father! Prepare to die!

Count Rugen: Stop saying that!

Scene Two - When the grandson doesn't mind the kissing part. This scene has become more meaningful for me since I've had children. My boys love action movies—superhero stuff—with fighting and killing, and they definitely don't like the kissing parts. When they cover their eyes and boo at the screen, I smile and think that someday, like the Grandson, they won't mind so much either.

Grandfather: They rode to freedom. And as dawn arose, Westley and Buttercup knew they were safe. A wave of love swept over them. And as they reached for each other—

Grandson: What? What?

Grandfather: Naw, it's kissing again, you don't want to hear that.

Grandson: Well, I don't mind so much.

Scene Three - When the Vizzini says "inconceivable." The first time I watched this movie, I was a kid and probably didn't know what 'inconceivable' meant. I not only learned the meaning, but the spelling as well. I can't imagine anyone other than Wallace Shawn screaming "inconceivable" over and over, as if yelling a big word made him seem smarter. And, it's true, sometimes yelling "inconceivable" is the absolutely appropriate word to use.

Vizzini: Inconceivable!

Inigo Montoya: You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means.

Scene Four - When Buttercup and Westley say good-bye. The romantic in me swoons each time I hear Westley say "Here this now: I will always come for you." The whole scene is a perfect reinforcement of my belief in True Love.

Buttercup: I fear I'll never see you again.

Westley: Of course you will.

Buttercup: But what if something happens to you?

Westley: Hear this now: I will always come for you.

Buttercup: But how can you be sure?

Westley: This is True Love. You think this happens every day?

Scene Five - When Westley says "As you wish." Another Princess Bride line that my husband and I often use in real life. You know, it really means "I love you."

Buttercup: And what am I?

Dread Pirate Roberts: Faithfulness he talked of, madame, your enduring faithfulness. Now tell me truly, when you found out he was gone, did you get engaged to your prince that same hour, or did you wait a whole week out of respect for the dead?

Buttercup: You mocked me once. Never do it again! I died that day! [pause] And you can die too for all I care!

[Buttercup pushes Roberts down the hill]

Dread Pirate Roberts: <rolling> As... you... wish!

Buttercup: Oh my sweet Westley, what have I done?


The Princess Bride is an amazing movie (and book too). I highly recommend both. 5 stars. There are so many great scenes. Like when the Grandson thinks Buttercup will get eaten by the eels. Or, when Inigo and Fezzik are rhyming. Or, when the Vizzini thinks he's won the battle of wits until he falls over dead. Or, when Miracle Max says Westley is only mostly dead. Or, when Buttercup surprises Westley by surrendering to Humperdinck outside the Fire Swamp. Or, you know, the whole story!

Until next time, keep on dreaming and never underestimate the power of True Love.

Promo for Misfortune of Vision by @greendragon9

Today is release day for Misfortune of Vision by Christy NicholasBook #4 in The Druid's Brooch SeriesHistorical fantasy set in 12th century Ireland

~ Prophecy can be dangerous ~ In 12th century Ireland, Orlagh has been Seer to her king for forty years. He doesn’t want to hear her prophecies of war and destruction, and dismisses her efforts to warn him. Therefore, she is determined to fulfill her own quest: to find a worthy heir for her magical brooch. In the course of events, she must pass judgment on a thief, escape a Norman war camp, and battle wits with a Fae lord. She receives some prophecy of her own and enlists the help of a grizzled old warrior, who happens to be a long–time friend.

Links:Publisher link: http://www.tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Nicholas_Christy/index.htmWebsite: http://www.greendragonartist.comBlog: http://www.greendragonartist.netFacebook: http://www.facebook.com/greendragonauthorTwitter: http://www.twitter.com/greendragon9



Author Bio:

Celtic Fairies, Fables, and Folklore! Bestselling author (top #100 Amazon Canada, #1 in Paranormal Fantasy, Amazon Canada) Christy Nicholas, also known as Green Dragon, is an author, artist and accountant. After she failed to become an airline pilot, she quit her ceaseless pursuit of careers that begin with 'A', and decided to concentrate on her writing. Since she has Project Completion Disorder, she is one of the few authors with NO unfinished novels. Christy has her hands in many crafts, including digital art, beaded jewelry, writing, and photography. In real life, she's a CPA, but having grown up with art all around her (her mother, grandmother and great-grandmother are/were all artists), it sort of infected her, as it were. She wants to expose the incredible beauty in this world, hidden beneath the everyday grime of familiarity and habit, and share it with others. She uses characters out of time and places infused with magic and myth.