tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-121505722024-03-16T14:52:19.627-04:00Penelope MarzecBookish ThoughtsPenelope Marzechttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17563853832717077875noreply@blogger.comBlogger1165125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12150572.post-659069545942971302024-03-14T11:30:00.000-04:002024-03-14T11:34:55.518-04:00Where Did That Idea Come From?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwNrK77HPrh35VoiBicdvQSYT_fQxji52F7t6mg48c7K0MJAipZNQi3dCzkDgAJ5aFOEMQ7nLKAM9rzpqvouP0Jo56zXD1-obDF0frwMs3iE-V1TcClQivWjEriobnfAxcu3KthA/s1600/girlscatskillgamefarm.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwNrK77HPrh35VoiBicdvQSYT_fQxji52F7t6mg48c7K0MJAipZNQi3dCzkDgAJ5aFOEMQ7nLKAM9rzpqvouP0Jo56zXD1-obDF0frwMs3iE-V1TcClQivWjEriobnfAxcu3KthA/s320/girlscatskillgamefarm.jpg" width="225" /></a></div>When hubby's parents first retired they left Brooklyn and moved to a home in Greenville, NY--upstate as New Yorkers say. Compared to Brooklyn, it was rather quiet. However, there were things to do. Next to them was a small resort complete with a small lake where we would go boating. Not far away, was the Catskill Game Farm where our daughters enjoyed feeding and petting the animals. (The Catskill Game Farm closed in 2006.)<br />
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Most interesting to me was the town of East Durham, an Irish enclave. In the evenings, hubby and I would drive to East Durham and enjoy the entertainment at the Shamrock House. During the daytime, we browsed through the small Irish shops where I found books on Irish legends.<br />
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That's where the idea came to me for <i>PRINCE OF THE MIST,</i> which is set in the Catskills of upstate NY. In Ireland, the Sidhe are the human-sized fairies of legend, but there are other countries in the world with similar legends. Why couldn't human-sized fairies live in upstate NY?<br />
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The misty Catskill mountains made the perfect setting for my story and Wildon became <i>THE PRINCE OF THE MIST. </i> I had a great time writing this story. It makes me long to go back to the Catskills! :-)<br />
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Penelope Marzechttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17563853832717077875noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12150572.post-1417676874596164732024-03-07T11:17:00.001-05:002024-03-07T11:18:16.727-05:00The World Is Your Oyster <p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpboO1XpTryzb0ZXNd5Jlh_24Dwc_7RkTL5EJIxEHKoj77DHMLePJjZ-D6HZ_RicNEDW_rxHFDIAbdUzzVf2uyNvMEvp1jM0h9EeRbqIGs5Z7RMCwFB4EkaLyqRXGOATOF2PTsoIpfiIqbgjNKEDjq8Iyxl_zQSVVIzkrvtCHF3udseD-jzDtq0A/s960/EWSZw93XkAAjZZa.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="741" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpboO1XpTryzb0ZXNd5Jlh_24Dwc_7RkTL5EJIxEHKoj77DHMLePJjZ-D6HZ_RicNEDW_rxHFDIAbdUzzVf2uyNvMEvp1jM0h9EeRbqIGs5Z7RMCwFB4EkaLyqRXGOATOF2PTsoIpfiIqbgjNKEDjq8Iyxl_zQSVVIzkrvtCHF3udseD-jzDtq0A/w494-h640/EWSZw93XkAAjZZa.jpeg" width="494" /></a></div><br /> <p></p><p>Yesterday, when the world outside our door was filled with rain clouds, I cheerfully told hubby, "The world is your oyster."</p><p>Hubby had never heard that expression but he grew up in Greenpoint so maybe that's the problem. 😅</p><p>However, there are many, many expressions we still use today that came from Shakespeare as you can see in the image above. </p><p>As far as the oyster quote goes, you can find the entire explanation here: <a href="https://nosweatshakespeare.com/quotes/famous/the-worlds-your-oyster/" target="_blank">https://nosweatshakespeare.com/quotes/famous/the-worlds-your-oyster/</a></p><p>Shakespeare was not only ahead of his time, much of his genius is still with us. </p><p style="text-align: center;">💗💗💗💗💗</p>Penelope Marzechttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17563853832717077875noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12150572.post-62686556937839245012024-03-01T11:33:00.000-05:002024-03-01T11:33:17.868-05:00I’m a Winner! <p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzcYpQuCT3b25L9PFAzCM2P_5HfhGFC69zeMWiQ00Hzz4_6iRe6TPC0GF-DE4LtkyuJNzPz0ds6bxRFSxQquAgj7nrEejKoJIEE4GSEvEcitgKh14fSIyyJucq6RxQGD2Ftz7m5Sn8ICVnbKa3QnSH2k_OGb7_SDqXOc1RpcOeqP6ozmAY_-P8Vw/s940/IMG_2982.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="788" data-original-width="940" height="536" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzcYpQuCT3b25L9PFAzCM2P_5HfhGFC69zeMWiQ00Hzz4_6iRe6TPC0GF-DE4LtkyuJNzPz0ds6bxRFSxQquAgj7nrEejKoJIEE4GSEvEcitgKh14fSIyyJucq6RxQGD2Ftz7m5Sn8ICVnbKa3QnSH2k_OGb7_SDqXOc1RpcOeqP6ozmAY_-P8Vw/w640-h536/IMG_2982.png" width="640" /></a></div><br /> I made it! I typed out 30,000 words during the month of February for the JeRoWriMo Challenge. What I have now is the rough draft of a novella, which I have to edit—a lot. I had an idea of where I was going with this short book as far as naming characters, giving the story a setting, a timeline, and a loose plot. However, most of it was written pantster style, which is definitely a fun way to write for me. Some people have a very detailed outline when they write. I don’t. I have a flexible idea of what I want. So, things can change as I go along. <p></p><p>While I was writing with such determination during the month, my house got very dusty. Sigh. But having written 30,000 words was so much better than dusting. Now off to editing!</p><p><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;">💗 💗 💗 💗 💗</p>Penelope Marzechttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17563853832717077875noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12150572.post-81116330881362688652024-02-20T21:38:00.001-05:002024-02-20T21:38:18.864-05:00Writing and Writing and Writing<div style="border-radius: 8px; box-shadow: rgba(63, 69, 81, 0.16) 0px 2px 8px 0px; height: 0px; margin-bottom: 0.9em; margin-top: 1.6em; overflow: hidden; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 100%; position: relative; width: 100%; will-change: transform;">
<iframe allow="fullscreen" allowfullscreen="allowfullscreen" loading="lazy" src="https://www.canva.com/design/DAF9YiKoEiM/CiruAVvqWweIongCyD-GkA/watch?embed" style="border: none; height: 100%; left: 0; margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; top: 0; width: 100%;">
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<a href="https://www.canva.com/design/DAF9YiKoEiM/CiruAVvqWweIongCyD-GkA/watch?utm_content=DAF9YiKoEiM&utm_campaign=designshare&utm_medium=embeds&utm_source=link" rel="noopener" target="_blank">Design</a> by penelopemarzec<p> I've passed the 20,000 word mark for JeRoWriMo's 30,000 word challenge for this month. Only 10,000 more words to go. Having a group challenge like this really helps. There have been days when I do not feel like writing, but I push myself and I have managed to type out more words than I thought I could. </p><p>Several of the NJ Romance Writers are cheerleaders for the challenge. They respond to every writer's count for the day--whether it's 0 or 4,000--and offer encouragement. There are also tabulators to keep track of everyone's word count. As the old saying goes, "Many hands make light work." </p><p>The main thing is that my story is coming together. Of course, it is a rough draft and will need plenty of editing. But there are plenty of words to edit. It is always exciting to see the whole idea coming together. </p><p>I love the JeRoWriMo Challenge! </p>Penelope Marzechttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17563853832717077875noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12150572.post-81327295128426536722024-02-08T21:54:00.000-05:002024-02-08T21:54:10.018-05:00Win a $75 Amazon Gift Card<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 15.693334px; margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #990000;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-family: "Baskerville Old Face", serif; line-height: 19.973333px;">36 romance books, 28 authors, a huge giveaway, </span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 15.693334px; margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #990000;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-family: "Baskerville Old Face", serif; line-height: 19.973333px;">plus romantic tips from today’s leading romance authors!</span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 15.693334px; margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #990000;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-family: "Baskerville Old Face", serif; line-height: 19.973333px;"> </span><span lang="EN-CA"><a href="https://www.nnlightsbookheaven.com/love-and-romance-book-festival"><span style="font-family: "Baskerville Old Face", serif; line-height: 19.973333px;">https://www.nnlightsbookheaven.com/love-and-romance-book-festival</span></a></span></span><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-family: "Baskerville Old Face", serif; line-height: 19.973333px;"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 15.693334px; margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #990000;"><span lang="EN-CA" style="font-family: "Baskerville Old Face", serif; line-height: 19.973333px;"><span style="font-size: large;">Don’t miss out! #romance #ValentinesDay #books #entertowin </span><span style="font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIvem7bhX4YLC1iUZQyMkmy_8eZvi10Hb4iRcr2qtYAa7EyO4B5Zt0NhP6NuVJK-8XijZnTPUQ5qJ0Nsc7IQtdDzdC0LVMBk5t5xLGZZH9Rlt5BVA_nFYC8P2NMkksCzpLclG6a5wzOMqMsiWlHKeX566Zaq_JzKbHOOtA2KblUn4P_eEgMTXc8w/s1080/Penelope%20Marzec.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIvem7bhX4YLC1iUZQyMkmy_8eZvi10Hb4iRcr2qtYAa7EyO4B5Zt0NhP6NuVJK-8XijZnTPUQ5qJ0Nsc7IQtdDzdC0LVMBk5t5xLGZZH9Rlt5BVA_nFYC8P2NMkksCzpLclG6a5wzOMqMsiWlHKeX566Zaq_JzKbHOOtA2KblUn4P_eEgMTXc8w/w640-h640/Penelope%20Marzec.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p><a class="rcptr" data-raflid="92db7750251" data-template="" data-theme="classic" href="http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/92db7750251/" id="rcwidget_8kigupo9" rel="nofollow" style="text-align: center;">a Rafflecopter giveaway</a><span style="text-align: center;"> </span></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 15.693334px; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 15.693334px; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><span style="font-family: "Baskerville Old Face", serif; font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p> </p>Penelope Marzechttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17563853832717077875noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12150572.post-17504990476367382042024-01-25T04:30:00.001-05:002024-01-25T16:56:27.610-05:00Writing Challenge<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmGeSglz1-3U9N44LTM-KW45kOJIrZaHYRvRnzgeI2vnevoP-0DJAIMmwoWDsV5gdF4HbT37387rXKjufN6jvxy-2NYJur6URhny7F_VRL8hiq5NCxzlO6nMz-fi0DE8saBcCKLQ/s1600/MM900178124.GIF"><img border="0" height="124" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmGeSglz1-3U9N44LTM-KW45kOJIrZaHYRvRnzgeI2vnevoP-0DJAIMmwoWDsV5gdF4HbT37387rXKjufN6jvxy-2NYJur6URhny7F_VRL8hiq5NCxzlO6nMz-fi0DE8saBcCKLQ/s400/MM900178124.GIF" width="122" /></a><br />Once again I am participating in <a href="https://www.njromancewriters.org/jerowrimo.html" target="_blank">JeRoWriMo</a>, the <a href="https://www.njromancewriters.org/" target="_blank">New Jersey Romance Writers</a> answer to NaNoWriMo. <a href="http://www.nanowrimo.org/">NaNoWriMo</a> is held every year in November. I've never attempted it because Thanksgiving is in November, which always includes a big family dinner. In addition, with Christmas looming ahead and all the hoopla that holiday involves I know I would be doomed to fail if I set a plan in motion to focus on writing. There are too many distractions in November!<br />
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But February's big holiday is Valentine's Day, which need not involve much preparation. February is usually cold and sometimes snowy, the type of weather I consider perfect for writing. I’ve finished several books with the help of JeRoWriMo.. The goal is 30,000 words. I never know if I will make it that far. One year I didn’t. Still, I managed to write more words than I would have without the other members of NJRW cheering me on.<br />
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<a href="http://www.nancyherkness.com/">Nancy Herkness</a> started NJRW's writing challenge years ago. It has helped so many writers to accomplish more than they every thought they could. The challenge is open to those who are members of NJRW.<br />
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I am looking forward to finishing my current WIP!<div><br /></div><div><div style="text-align: center;">❤❤❤❤❤</div>
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</div>Penelope Marzechttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17563853832717077875noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12150572.post-64635291699604359602024-01-18T15:24:00.001-05:002024-01-18T15:24:34.791-05:00I Remember When the "Good Old Days" Weren't So Good<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqGYGdwN7WxH-IzYIvDDtPbDUPdpJpGLYlTkzv4XLwZfH8D5OCZsc8K-jMKSDQXhs5KbQGQOF8uS9ajuoL_j4Camh03qIfKTscg8XzQ2uam3yh-RArnVq2v6BmGMPjrsRfHWRuWWY_DFJSupQhJ0llR94BsO96Y_bK2wzbsKkktYxcvCRdf55nVQ/s876/Tractor_0001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="855" data-original-width="876" height="391" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqGYGdwN7WxH-IzYIvDDtPbDUPdpJpGLYlTkzv4XLwZfH8D5OCZsc8K-jMKSDQXhs5KbQGQOF8uS9ajuoL_j4Camh03qIfKTscg8XzQ2uam3yh-RArnVq2v6BmGMPjrsRfHWRuWWY_DFJSupQhJ0llR94BsO96Y_bK2wzbsKkktYxcvCRdf55nVQ/w400-h391/Tractor_0001.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p> <span style="font-family: georgia;">My Dad, my sisters, my brother and I by my Grandpa's tractor in Pennsylvania during our usual summer visit to see my Pennsylvania relatives. We only saw my Mom's parents, her </span><span style="font-family: georgia;">siblings, and our cousins when my father had a vacation from work. He drove us out to see all the relatives once a year. That was our vacation. Sometimes we went to the local amusement park in Keansburg. But that was the extent of our get aways. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span> Other than that, my mom wrote letters to her family. Once in a while, during a crisis, she would actually use the telephone to talk to them. But that was rare because back in the "good old days" a long distance phone call was very expensive. The price of a phone call is much, much lower nowadays. </span><br /></span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBrQccMLpg1B6dm5Tz_meWkF6V4Rbr4GiQzeRonYYgZ1lyjjR2GDUTjMLzBjulcoxoNdvJhyphenhyphen3lLJm2bTZD74QzuGb6cJEqX2YBWzuxQwC-6pszg_QA9VdY5ATcqmwsrWkPC7MaYcJPwN7NRjVI_j7TQwOiUmRtwRfHag_cUYDTG5i-0qWzN7_tvQ/s1069/sandy.us.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1008" data-original-width="1069" height="302" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBrQccMLpg1B6dm5Tz_meWkF6V4Rbr4GiQzeRonYYgZ1lyjjR2GDUTjMLzBjulcoxoNdvJhyphenhyphen3lLJm2bTZD74QzuGb6cJEqX2YBWzuxQwC-6pszg_QA9VdY5ATcqmwsrWkPC7MaYcJPwN7NRjVI_j7TQwOiUmRtwRfHag_cUYDTG5i-0qWzN7_tvQ/s320/sandy.us.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div><p></p><p><span><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span> We were fortunate since we lived within walking distance of the bay. We spent many days at the local beach. But then came the day when signs were posted at the beach and we were not allowed to swim there anymore due to the fear of getting hepatitis. Big </span>corporations had been dumping chemicals in the water and sewage was spewed out into the water, too. That was before the EPA was created in 1970 by President Richard Nixon. It was designed to protect human health and the environment. And it has. The water is cleaner now. Lots of fish, whales, and seals have returned. (I love the seals.)</span></span></p><p><span><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span> Corporations need to be regulated. Otherwise, we'll go back to the "good old days" when you couldn't get in the water. </span><br /></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi04HRRw3rrxZJSr5x7uG1rwiSMQ5TKALV6miISSXaqEJnwMqZkuhKvjo4WJtuURWo4-2-p7WmB-_P_ga6I2DbCzOkzZqGrU0JrTBOFd2bt23IjJIoNKQBD41LZQ-H3M6nfaSqyXXQ1lYvM7kcOS8QwPF4HkemGSdRyKkBF5n4GxxjvCez55lM3YA/s1103/coldreporters.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1103" data-original-width="889" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi04HRRw3rrxZJSr5x7uG1rwiSMQ5TKALV6miISSXaqEJnwMqZkuhKvjo4WJtuURWo4-2-p7WmB-_P_ga6I2DbCzOkzZqGrU0JrTBOFd2bt23IjJIoNKQBD41LZQ-H3M6nfaSqyXXQ1lYvM7kcOS8QwPF4HkemGSdRyKkBF5n4GxxjvCez55lM3YA/w324-h400/coldreporters.jpeg" width="324" /></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span> </span>My father is on the right, working on the news. He worked for the Jersey Journal in Jersey City, NJ. He was an honest reporter and very concerned about the truth as were most newspapers in those days due to t<span style="caret-color: rgb(41, 45, 66); color: #292d42;">he Fairness Doctrine which was enforced by the Federal Communications Council. </span><span style="color: #292d42;">The Fairness Doctrine mandated broadcast networks devote time to contrasting views on issues of public importance. However, in 1987 President Ronald Reagan vetoed the act. In truth, the Fairness Doctrine didn't apply to cable news. There is NO regulation on cable networks. </span></span><p></p><p><span style="color: #292d42; font-family: georgia;">So there was something good about "the good old day." Back then reporters tried to be honest. </span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWCIkE9DByXKhfzE6iB8iFzm69TqC_kverlVtJE2dRSUmJoA5siljzR7hXnPLv8J-BzklojcQ7hbNpUsycbUD9R-daioFBJwSWOu__-DUj5l0ugc7RGk6lTT783xYnxv17ZnX3QBJtt8S38bS5za2xxJoAJCbRTr8I-QUSV-igZBOXBOhtqBe8XA/s4608/IMG_7631.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4608" data-original-width="2080" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWCIkE9DByXKhfzE6iB8iFzm69TqC_kverlVtJE2dRSUmJoA5siljzR7hXnPLv8J-BzklojcQ7hbNpUsycbUD9R-daioFBJwSWOu__-DUj5l0ugc7RGk6lTT783xYnxv17ZnX3QBJtt8S38bS5za2xxJoAJCbRTr8I-QUSV-igZBOXBOhtqBe8XA/w181-h400/IMG_7631.JPG" width="181" /></span></a></div><p></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">Back in the "good old days" we didn't have vaccinations for most of the childhood illnesses--except for smallpox. Before we went to school, we all had to get the smallpox vaccination and we did. However, we didn't have vaccinations for anything else. Everyone got measles, chicken pox, German measles, and so on. We spent a lot of time out of the classroom due to illness. Some kids got really sick. My youngest sister got pneumonia when she had the measles. I spent time in the hospital at the age of three because the doctors thought I had polio since I suddenly couldn't walk. Fortunately for me, antibiotics had been invented at that point and whatever infection I had was cured. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span> But when the polio vaccine was handed out to children at school, everyone stood in line for it. </span><br /></span></p><p><span><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span> Covid killed way more than three million people in the world. Everyone in my family was more than willing to try the vaccine. Back in the "good old days" there was no way to combat diseases. I remember when I got the flu while on semester break in college. I spent a week in bed while my mother made me drink hot toddies--a combination of whatever liquor was available, tea, honey, and lemon. </span><br /></span></span></p><p><span><span><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span> I regularly get my flu shot nowadays. </span><br /></span></span></span></p><p><span><span><span><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span> I could go on and on about the difficulties of life when I was young. There was no Medicare. We didn't have healthcare except for hospital insurance. </span><br /></span></span></span></span></p><p><span><span><span><span><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span> I have no idea why people think things were terrific when they were young. There were big problems. There are STILL big problems. But if we work together, I'm sure we can fix them. </span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span><span><span><span><span><span style="font-family: georgia;">💗💗💗💗💗</span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span> </span><br /></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /><span style="color: #292d42;"><br /></span></span></p><p></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></p><p><span><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span> </span><br /></span></span></p><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span><p></p>Penelope Marzechttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17563853832717077875noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12150572.post-63303766776861571742024-01-11T13:30:00.003-05:002024-01-11T13:30:49.592-05:00Wildlife<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioU97HGVI4HFE8mFd3y5hSlOj7rOn1cbjU41jmh6AvUzq0MW1QdFe9g1slY1CdY8u3VMcuOkKW0o1D2TinItFsZZAcyc8RKd7mOrlVfEPKIggDlKowWqRQedQXZ7Pw8G2e85kqCNh3M5JzA1YEQJaABQHFLbiD59iRZGeYsXKFXgWGQiNtrBrmFg/s1126/IMG_2800.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="853" data-original-width="1126" height="242" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioU97HGVI4HFE8mFd3y5hSlOj7rOn1cbjU41jmh6AvUzq0MW1QdFe9g1slY1CdY8u3VMcuOkKW0o1D2TinItFsZZAcyc8RKd7mOrlVfEPKIggDlKowWqRQedQXZ7Pw8G2e85kqCNh3M5JzA1YEQJaABQHFLbiD59iRZGeYsXKFXgWGQiNtrBrmFg/s320/IMG_2800.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"> Every winter, from November to April, harbor seals spend time lounging around in New Jersey. They migrate from colder areas in the north and enjoy the somewhat warmer winter in New Jersey. A large colony usually hauls out of the water near Sandy Hook, which is part of the National Park Service. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> I enjoy Sandy Hook in all seasons of the year, but I go there in the winter specifically to see the seals. Sometimes, I get lucky—like last year. But this year I haven’t seen them though I’ve been there three times so far.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> The park now has specific parking spaces for those who hope to view the seals. You can usually tell where the seals are expected to be seen by the horde of people grouped together with large cameras. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> Typically the seals haul out at low tide. But lately the weather has not been conducive to seal sighting due to some nasty storms. I tried to see the seals yesterday but the wind was so strong, I thought it might <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGVACuTvQ8gfMraF9qApfrgGJUZ1CMluWjrto1Z1yHJEEXkaEzl863J1gRcN_KtQ5w5pEOIqtI7OzrWj8LRpTUBMZICVNN4dnEj6K-m6u8mcBDTjxuoiBJD3dhgsB1MtCGyFqXg44VuNDepFNz8PZGQ07LLmjLiA2I8RfiR6TLT4Mj6xlku1isoA/s583/41011648_Unknown.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="367" data-original-width="583" height="201" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGVACuTvQ8gfMraF9qApfrgGJUZ1CMluWjrto1Z1yHJEEXkaEzl863J1gRcN_KtQ5w5pEOIqtI7OzrWj8LRpTUBMZICVNN4dnEj6K-m6u8mcBDTjxuoiBJD3dhgsB1MtCGyFqXg44VuNDepFNz8PZGQ07LLmjLiA2I8RfiR6TLT4Mj6xlku1isoA/s320/41011648_Unknown.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div>knock me over. Lately, the seals are reported to haul out in an area visible from Officer’s Row, the former housing for officers from the time when Sandy Hook was the Fort Hancock Army base. Some of those houses are being repaired but some are in a state of severe decay. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> Yesterday, any smart seal would have found a small cove somewhere where there wasn’t any wind. Disappointed, I headed for home. On the road out of the park, I saw a fox who apparently wanted to cross from one side of the road to the other. I stopped the car and grabbed my camera. I took off the lens cap. The fox crossed the road. I pushed the power button. The fox turned to look at me and I tried to focus on him. But he turned around and went on his way. I got a picture of his back end.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizQN9_fTEkdJUViJonboJTtDNodxVO-nkydZExvrmGUf5slrFBqbSVMhnJ6dhldJ4LsbXXj36BIGm1X5xjzfVEQ9DhkEqN1NQG8EzqLBxFBDp18xIU9o4GjT8PO8CdJdJtBX78-L0nHbHwjbnbcpe_8vjCRTaMlYHbvbRMB0sUc-VLJ4X8kD5pTw/s640/41011728_Unknown.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizQN9_fTEkdJUViJonboJTtDNodxVO-nkydZExvrmGUf5slrFBqbSVMhnJ6dhldJ4LsbXXj36BIGm1X5xjzfVEQ9DhkEqN1NQG8EzqLBxFBDp18xIU9o4GjT8PO8CdJdJtBX78-L0nHbHwjbnbcpe_8vjCRTaMlYHbvbRMB0sUc-VLJ4X8kD5pTw/s320/41011728_Unknown.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div> I thought I might be lucky and get a few photos of the deer in the park, but they weren’t in their usual areas. They, too, probably found some nice cozy spot away from the wind.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> I’ll be back though. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;">💗💗💗💗💗</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: right;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiluNLtBG3yLqX0hoGt8ev_rm6PhP9s7DF9wt27qKpEz-Yg02HvOgxo-m6bc0nVHvdrVU1i8KqVjlk4oDJLAAucHqmNWQFPG6nuGNEN0n-Hd5390nde2F5hVeZPSmRziXYjLj4jKx267IjtBdQJ0DVtdqzCZfYjfXYlusgZDcxiTtQFAiha2W1i_w/s1602/IMG_2801.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br /></a></div></div></span></div><p></p>Penelope Marzechttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17563853832717077875noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12150572.post-32627397387221890192024-01-03T21:30:00.002-05:002024-01-04T17:14:17.142-05:00Be Patient, Dear Readers<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYnkfgaRNz1Sc8ehf_wE1ubc9tHpxAKeIutIwxOxRWHcFxqJnA0yXBEfxaZe-KxYIuZzjhmOqXbZfCKQoXFAYdsEBNquqZQbZj6k-_LmUOgHRyzLtphFKQfIMG2ukRE5OY8cPaafUgZK_nmgbmX1G1tkyyyuRBRQKy8nBTgDc1l0hLDHbidxEU-g/s522/IMG_2764.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="522" data-original-width="315" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYnkfgaRNz1Sc8ehf_wE1ubc9tHpxAKeIutIwxOxRWHcFxqJnA0yXBEfxaZe-KxYIuZzjhmOqXbZfCKQoXFAYdsEBNquqZQbZj6k-_LmUOgHRyzLtphFKQfIMG2ukRE5OY8cPaafUgZK_nmgbmX1G1tkyyyuRBRQKy8nBTgDc1l0hLDHbidxEU-g/w241-h400/IMG_2764.jpeg" width="241" /></a></div><br />I have enjoyed many classics over the years and I continue to read them. Many years ago, after our trip to Great Camp Sagamore, I realized I never read <i>The Last of the Mohicans.</i> I read many of James Fenimore Cooper's books, but not that one. I immediately downloaded a free copy. Yes, his style is--at times--slow. However, I've found with every one of his books it takes a while to settle in, but once there, you've got a good story. <br />
<br />
The first line of the book is:<br />
<br />
"It was a feature peculiar to the colonial wars of North America, that the toils and dangers of the wilderness were to be encountered before the adverse hosts could meet."<br />
<br />
A bit plodding, perhaps. In today's world, writers are told to make sure their first line is intriguing enough to draw the reader into the story. In reading the reviews listed at Goodreads, I found a lot of readers who hated the book. There where many who never finished it and some who didn't think it had been written in English. 😳<br />
<br />
It seems there are a lot of impatient people in today's world. They may have been raised on too many crazy action films. Opening a book is not like walking into a theater. Slow beginnings are found in many of the classics. <br />
<br />
Here's the beginning of <i>Wuthering Heights:</i><br />
<br />
"I have just returned from a visit to my landlord--the solitary neighbor that I shall be troubled with."<br />
<br />
Go to Goodreads and read some of the negative reviews on that one. There are readers who thought it was horribly dark. Well, yes it is. That's the point.<br />
<br />
Admittedly, there are many good reviews, too. There are still some patient readers in this world and I applaud them. <br />
<br />
I enjoy light and breezy novels, too, at times. But I find it enriching to immerse myself in the past as well. Sometimes I may even have to use the dictionary and look up a word--and I love that! It's great to find some wonderful antique word that nobody uses anymore. <br />
<br />
Here's the first line from <i>The House of the Seven Gables:</i><br />
<br />
"Half-way down a by-street of one of our New England towns stands a rusty wooden house, with seven acutely peaked gables, facing towards various points of the compass, and a huge clustered chimney in the midst."<br />
<br />
Obviously, the reader can guess he or she will be reading about the house and its inhabitants. Again, if you look up negative reviews on Goodreads you will find plenty of dissatisfied readers, those who did not finish it or those who claim it took them an inordinate amount of time to finish it. <br />
<br />
I find it terribly sad that some of our great classics are being disparaged by those who simply want something they can read in a few hours using very little cerebral action. Be patient, dear readers. Those old classics are time machines. Sink into the past. <br />
<br />
<br />Penelope Marzechttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17563853832717077875noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12150572.post-35373311717912751552023-12-28T14:02:00.002-05:002023-12-28T14:30:10.531-05:00Move Forward<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg126mfBhoag6B_Fc5Qey5HnctwM_oPGNkAzuBcJ-cuHFR9zhHMGYYTgODWJKKlgG2VmOo8IhDJSiy6_rLhr6FaBFfjJJsm1mDKQYzqCuyOPKACfg3sx_sCSIbxURXDcWJ_zNcjXDBsBcokFQA104ZvkILUhGi97WyMXEZXLbcg7YAKIFrkQB6nKA/s1080/IMG_2719.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg126mfBhoag6B_Fc5Qey5HnctwM_oPGNkAzuBcJ-cuHFR9zhHMGYYTgODWJKKlgG2VmOo8IhDJSiy6_rLhr6FaBFfjJJsm1mDKQYzqCuyOPKACfg3sx_sCSIbxURXDcWJ_zNcjXDBsBcokFQA104ZvkILUhGi97WyMXEZXLbcg7YAKIFrkQB6nKA/w640-h640/IMG_2719.png" width="640" /></a></div><p> Many people believe the old days were the good days. They blame the state of the world on all sorts of things from the Internet, to the lax attitude of people toward religion, to the influx of migrants, along with a variety of other difficulties in these modern times. They seem to think that if we return to the Dark Ages, everything will be better.</p><p> I agree with C.S. Lewis. Going backward isn’t a way to live. Move forward in faith. Things may look murky now, but if we work together we can solve problems. There are better things ahead.</p><p> Wishing you a Happy 2024. </p><p style="text-align: center;">💖💖💖💖💖</p> <p></p>Penelope Marzechttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17563853832717077875noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12150572.post-85324497933128179602023-12-21T10:34:00.001-05:002023-12-21T10:34:45.354-05:00Sale at Smashwords! 3 FREE Books and 3 at Half-Price!<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW3XS0I79IHYcbOhlGFgbmKbtzpiGfAO7kEsH-31iTGt0cmFbewSWrP-FV-nVxYQe3KM89UmikQaa_k8ba9RHu7Ec1OuSvmn-82pDiNaIG9EpVqBE5r36_yVz3KE1Xfj2Mmh7XzXc_P2h3dQn4WRmbyM9f0kZtklF-nVlEOuX28FY52BdAPKej-w/s1080/2023_promo_eoy_insta.png" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW3XS0I79IHYcbOhlGFgbmKbtzpiGfAO7kEsH-31iTGt0cmFbewSWrP-FV-nVxYQe3KM89UmikQaa_k8ba9RHu7Ec1OuSvmn-82pDiNaIG9EpVqBE5r36_yVz3KE1Xfj2Mmh7XzXc_P2h3dQn4WRmbyM9f0kZtklF-nVlEOuX28FY52BdAPKej-w/w200-h200/2023_promo_eoy_insta.png" width="200" /></a></div> Smashwords is holding the <b>End of the Year Sale</b> and I am giving away three of my paranormal romance books for <b><span style="color: red;">FRE</span></b><span style="color: red;"><b>E</b></span>. Another paranormal is half price and two of my Christian inspirational romances are also half price. There's something for everyone. 😊 <p></p><p>The sale lasts until January 1, 2024. So, load up your ereaders now. Then when the snow falls, you can cuddle up under a blanket and enjoy an adventure.</p><p>Click on the links next to the book's image to go directly to Smashwords. Remember to use the <b>coupon</b> provided at each book webpage to get your free and half-price books. ENJOY!</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><h3 style="text-align: left;">Christian Inspirational Romances</h3><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHG92klHEhGwdGSv80v9KD8cp7TDRT14kTN6BMe7-6387ACK4-JubthSCuatIkd52cJONM2FlzxhX1tnF78p9HJc9shbP0SGr8swzy_h3kAca4lK172j-hF4FNn5vGiwcTti7QmLctE2qRz61N-sZCTz_cLSnI2fJxhVsUY0lEAgnpv2E_bryGWg/s2700/ARushOfLight_eBook.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2700" data-original-width="1684" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHG92klHEhGwdGSv80v9KD8cp7TDRT14kTN6BMe7-6387ACK4-JubthSCuatIkd52cJONM2FlzxhX1tnF78p9HJc9shbP0SGr8swzy_h3kAca4lK172j-hF4FNn5vGiwcTti7QmLctE2qRz61N-sZCTz_cLSnI2fJxhVsUY0lEAgnpv2E_bryGWg/w125-h200/ARushOfLight_eBook.jpg" width="125" /></a></div><b><i>A Rush of Light</i></b><div><a href="https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/1110920" target="_blank">https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/1110920</a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqLMFohWO-XeNzBPu0MhGPSjvkd2qc1M0DpDO1rlD_SxsG_i4ZOzqzn-A8SVIEK8QPZDpFJgE0P6xwvv7EbL2xxkTursVfBDtxUbzTbLl7J4C1nxpBM5M7KbPJ6LVjPsRIq3MfuvUc6U51AH4AI_9D5DsvXCaokuv0JB8UgvV0FAuqxkNDPW0tXA/s299/HeavensBlue_eBook200300.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="299" data-original-width="200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqLMFohWO-XeNzBPu0MhGPSjvkd2qc1M0DpDO1rlD_SxsG_i4ZOzqzn-A8SVIEK8QPZDpFJgE0P6xwvv7EbL2xxkTursVfBDtxUbzTbLl7J4C1nxpBM5M7KbPJ6LVjPsRIq3MfuvUc6U51AH4AI_9D5DsvXCaokuv0JB8UgvV0FAuqxkNDPW0tXA/w133-h200/HeavensBlue_eBook200300.jpg" width="133" /></a></div><b><i>Heaven's Blue</i></b><div>First Place Winner for Inspirational Romance</div><div><a href="https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/947320" target="_blank">https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/947320</a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><h3 style="text-align: left;">Paranormal Romances</h3><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVp26YBc_Rde-5ZpHQ-ZeDcbI-ggYJ81cwl2cUq0o5FSM3w2P85fgW5SbK8mPbKVgFPeeKCFvUGn0u8iC2WXDHl-sRQmrPxdt2aDWv2JHOWmOJipu-iuAjXA-1Xsh6LYqD2qdmyT8tCXv0B4llWNdTdeZ7DFXpBKINRPDbfVCYyR0wJElWgE9E5Q/s2200/IRONSFIREebook%20-%20Penelope%20Marzec.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2200" data-original-width="1466" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVp26YBc_Rde-5ZpHQ-ZeDcbI-ggYJ81cwl2cUq0o5FSM3w2P85fgW5SbK8mPbKVgFPeeKCFvUGn0u8iC2WXDHl-sRQmrPxdt2aDWv2JHOWmOJipu-iuAjXA-1Xsh6LYqD2qdmyT8tCXv0B4llWNdTdeZ7DFXpBKINRPDbfVCYyR0wJElWgE9E5Q/w133-h200/IRONSFIREebook%20-%20Penelope%20Marzec.jpg" width="133" /></a></div><div><b><i>Irons in the Fire</i></b></div><div><a href="https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/557325" target="_blank">https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/557325</a><br /><div><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCffJcU8dQLCb6xFLbQ7W2Trf-zk_6jw8sombQ1-ypNXbM5CeAyICiKjGDx5We0Y77bugefvirG07ABxXzZwacBnhvrxv2hvubQmEvAClt-qjQCqaCyLF73zRZoU10pWXdZwr1ToFpbEglrEycMw4i1lJ5zeYboPb3X-2fCOvmRrY-LQUec5KXhw/s262/TheCompanyYouKeepFINALmed.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="262" data-original-width="184" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCffJcU8dQLCb6xFLbQ7W2Trf-zk_6jw8sombQ1-ypNXbM5CeAyICiKjGDx5We0Y77bugefvirG07ABxXzZwacBnhvrxv2hvubQmEvAClt-qjQCqaCyLF73zRZoU10pWXdZwr1ToFpbEglrEycMw4i1lJ5zeYboPb3X-2fCOvmRrY-LQUec5KXhw/w141-h200/TheCompanyYouKeepFINALmed.jpeg" width="141" /></a></div><b><i>The Company You Keep</i></b></div><div><a href="https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/538594" target="_blank">https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/538594</a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqQX799Xgj6mbimXbP-jBIRmMxU7E4fdyqW7-v45pvivhw0LJWP2GsDJyrITbqVSYeB1INDKa1JwanI7xrtHL8vJweT9wCRXzOAu5uh1VUPGstL1-HbY8Y1qSh1v1jWByJKZOeO7NmWYDc4xkiZBrrccS8ntIk4kz5Jmw8tbWM2VxUi87rLz-Swg/s2550/kissofblarney.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2550" data-original-width="1650" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqQX799Xgj6mbimXbP-jBIRmMxU7E4fdyqW7-v45pvivhw0LJWP2GsDJyrITbqVSYeB1INDKa1JwanI7xrtHL8vJweT9wCRXzOAu5uh1VUPGstL1-HbY8Y1qSh1v1jWByJKZOeO7NmWYDc4xkiZBrrccS8ntIk4kz5Jmw8tbWM2VxUi87rLz-Swg/w129-h200/kissofblarney.jpg" width="129" /></a></div><b><i>Kiss of Blarney</i></b></div><div><a href="https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/533529" target="_blank">https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/533529</a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPoDnVqk35VlWWRIpO_-SnOR1OHjpUqK2b18mFI4osBwfytv94n24KjWO2YYJHGLAg1d52g1EA65QSYNreR8wCvb6S1uZuTpttupcLl3pVnhCgJcgc6_wYAabiYHXYeluGfh94WMC4V4LXF_Ifm6IDVkuD1IeMQJKdOT7cSUNeHxJ6-xmRcbSKSg/s2400/NewPrinceCover.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2400" data-original-width="1600" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPoDnVqk35VlWWRIpO_-SnOR1OHjpUqK2b18mFI4osBwfytv94n24KjWO2YYJHGLAg1d52g1EA65QSYNreR8wCvb6S1uZuTpttupcLl3pVnhCgJcgc6_wYAabiYHXYeluGfh94WMC4V4LXF_Ifm6IDVkuD1IeMQJKdOT7cSUNeHxJ6-xmRcbSKSg/w133-h200/NewPrinceCover.jpg" width="133" /></a></div><b><i>Prince of the Mist</i></b><div><a href="https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/69517" target="_blank">https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/69517</a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Have a wonderful holiday and take time to READ! </div><div><br /></div><div><div style="text-align: center;">💖💖💖💖💖</div><div><br /><div><br /><p><br /></p></div></div></div>Penelope Marzechttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17563853832717077875noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12150572.post-11951035026024009862023-12-13T20:36:00.002-05:002023-12-13T20:37:27.903-05:00The Joy of Christmas Music<p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFZJ3GAD-HiYI18-2d9ytbvU_RmXM44pWomFBKOesq6-8VaUceAoc-7WICW8QKPjfFSAxrWpvtp1k4yjlzNyZ1xU8TUKfWZEwA3vYLigxyXcE8JQEe50FaTRIULevJgSnwhNygLUlt7-RwfF4SbrHGHVSvZh-FZMr3AuzGsFIOxok_Ksm6bfaORg/s1519/ELKSPARTY12.15.2019.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="850" data-original-width="1519" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFZJ3GAD-HiYI18-2d9ytbvU_RmXM44pWomFBKOesq6-8VaUceAoc-7WICW8QKPjfFSAxrWpvtp1k4yjlzNyZ1xU8TUKfWZEwA3vYLigxyXcE8JQEe50FaTRIULevJgSnwhNygLUlt7-RwfF4SbrHGHVSvZh-FZMr3AuzGsFIOxok_Ksm6bfaORg/w640-h360/ELKSPARTY12.15.2019.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Christmas Band at the Elks Club in 2019<br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;"> <span style="font-size: medium;">Most people know Christmas songs—the words and the melodies. After all, aside from church services, Christmas songs—secular and sacred—are piped into stores after Halloween. Although, this year I heard Christmas music in stores <i>before</i> Halloween. Some people like rushing the season. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> I have special memories of my childhood Christmases. There was one wonderful night when it snowed just before Christmas. Big, fluffy flakes fell gently from heaven. My mom put one speaker of our old Magnavox on the edge of the windowsill and played an album of Christmas songs. Some of the other children on our block joined in singing the carols. We walked around in circles in the front yard in the snow belting out the familiar old songs. What joy we had in our hearts!</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> When I was in college, I joined a madrigal choir. We sang at the Women’s Club in Jersey City. There are plenty of fa, la, la’s in a madrigal choir.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> As the Brownie leader for my daughters’ troop, we took the Brownies caroling one night. Hubby played the accordion until his fingers froze and we went house to house. The girls thought it was terrific. At every house, they got candy canes simply for singing. They were delighted.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> When our daughters were in the high school youth group at church, hubby would accompany the teenagers as they caroled at various nursing homes or other senior citizens’ housing facilities. Soon hubby received more invitations to entertain the elderly or the disabled at Christmas. For many years, hubby gathered together his musical friends and played at the Christmas party the Elks club put together for disabled citizens. It was the best party of the year!</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> Hubby and I are still providing accompaniment for the church youth group at Christmas when they carol at the senior citizens’ housing facility. We are there at the church’s tree lighting as well. We are also entertaining at other seniors’ facilities during the holiday season.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> Every generation has their own music, but most people are quite familiar with the music of this season—whether it’s Frosty the Snowman, O Holy Night, I Had a Little Dreidel, or Feliz Navidad. The holiday season is a part of American culture. It's sweet when we all know the words and we all sing together. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">💗💗💗💗💗</span></div></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p>Penelope Marzechttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17563853832717077875noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12150572.post-88180574257563878022023-12-06T22:03:00.000-05:002023-12-06T22:03:01.700-05:00Guest Post: A HILLTOP CHRISTMAS by Kathleen D. Bailey<div><br /><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMtwobbzuxUq8oKzLIhaX_P1Z1ZZ-jb8JGfQdd_242U13PD_yeWZlHL9Gw7OXxXUs3BkL3pgXamupIHoXbvraRP6qYptPk8RAsiwhwGKNpaLTjYWvq4Ekp1pxkmtJB7WAtpiJ7S8TvvbGlclvxNgjfhM7QeGPlEvcPMVyZP3w7Asc5KCmicZaxhQ/s375/kathy_bailey-620x413%20(2).jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="375" data-original-width="270" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMtwobbzuxUq8oKzLIhaX_P1Z1ZZ-jb8JGfQdd_242U13PD_yeWZlHL9Gw7OXxXUs3BkL3pgXamupIHoXbvraRP6qYptPk8RAsiwhwGKNpaLTjYWvq4Ekp1pxkmtJB7WAtpiJ7S8TvvbGlclvxNgjfhM7QeGPlEvcPMVyZP3w7Asc5KCmicZaxhQ/s320/kathy_bailey-620x413%20(2).jpg" width="230" /></a></div></span><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; text-indent: 0.25in;"> My guest today is Kathleen Bailey, a journalist and novelist with 40 years’ experience in the nonfiction, newspaper, and inspirational fields. Born in 1951, she was a child in the 50s, a teen in the 60s, a young adult in the 70s and a young mom in the 80s. It’s been a turbulent, colorful time to grow up, and she’s enjoyed every minute of it and written about most of it.</span></i></div><div><i style="text-indent: 24px;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> Bailey’s work includes both historical and contemporary fiction, with an underlying thread of men and women finding their way home, to Christ and each other. She has published five titles in the “Western Dreams” series: “Westward Hope,” “Settler’s Hope,” “The Logger’s Christmas Bride,” “The Widow’s Christmas Miracle,” and “Redemption’s Hope,” all with Pelican/White Rose Publishing. Her first Hilltop story, “A Hilltop Christmas,” was published by Elk Lake Publishing November 15, 2023. In addition, she publishes local history nonfiction with Arcadia Publishing and has co-authored “Past and Present Exeter, New Hampshire,” September 2020; “New Hampshire War Monuments: The Stories Behind the Stones,” August 2022; and “Growing Up in Concord, New Hampshire in the 50s and 60s” in 2023.</span></i></div><div><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> She lives in New Hampshire with her husband David. They have two grown daughters.<br /></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">For more information, contact her at </span><a href="mailto:ampie86@comcast.net" style="color: #954f72;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">ampie86@comcast.net</span></a><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">; Kathleen D. Bailey on Facebook and LinkedIn; or <a href="http://www.kathleendbailey.weebly.com.">www.kathleendbailey.weebly.com.</a></span></i></div><div><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></i></div><div><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 11pt;">Her latest release is A HILLTOP CHRISTMAS!</span></h3><p class="TableContents" style="font-family: "Liberation Serif", serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 11pt;"> </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3_0woCd5HjXzzBgcd-WdV678XsaeZ2zKd3dHKpQYBk1EpOT8LSnzM0W8Bbrgrc3DAw5QRvY5uKbgJq3E98XiUAhRmdCCIZlg_dW8OqW4E8eKvv7C3oWG8CiBgCOvhSmGlbQzGxx6e1LrYRFpVls6MPhMzbGyvJolxIn0IspjFU7njgOeH355-Zw/s5151/hilltopcover2023%20-%20Copy.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="5151" data-original-width="3694" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3_0woCd5HjXzzBgcd-WdV678XsaeZ2zKd3dHKpQYBk1EpOT8LSnzM0W8Bbrgrc3DAw5QRvY5uKbgJq3E98XiUAhRmdCCIZlg_dW8OqW4E8eKvv7C3oWG8CiBgCOvhSmGlbQzGxx6e1LrYRFpVls6MPhMzbGyvJolxIn0IspjFU7njgOeH355-Zw/w287-h400/hilltopcover2023%20-%20Copy.jpg" width="287" /></a></div> When Jane Archer comes home to tiny Hilltop, New Hampshire, her goal is to take care of her convalescing grandmother and get back to Boston as soon as possible. She doesn’t expect to be saddled with the direction of the Hilltop Christmas Festival, three days of activities exalting the birth of a God she no longer serves. But Gram asks her to take over the Festival this year, and she can’t say no to the woman who saved her life.<br /> The Rev. Noah Hastings didn’t want to come to Hilltop in the first place. Too small, too cold for this California boy. And he has trouble figuring out these Yankees, with their “thin sharp faces and sharper wits.” It’s his first church, and his goal is to amass some “ministerial brownie points” and be out of there. But his early life with his father has left Noah with damaged confidence, and despite his call, he’s not sure he can handle a pastorate, let alone Jane Archer.</div><div><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> Though the people of Hilltop have never stopped loving her, coming home reawakens memories for Jane of a childhood no child should have to live through. She feels her carefully-constructed world crumbling, even as she resists the pull of Christ on her life.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="color: #2a2a2a;">But when the integrity of the Festival is threatened, Noah must call on his Lord, and Jane on the God from whom she's drifted, to find justice and restore Hilltop to what it is.</span></span><p class="TableContents" style="font-family: "Liberation Serif", serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="TableContents" style="font-family: "Liberation Serif", serif; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="color: #2a2a2a;"><br /></span></span></p><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 11pt;"><span style="color: #2a2a2a;">Want to read more? Here's an excerpt:</span></span></h3><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 29.333336px; margin: 0in;"><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">Chapter One</span><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 29.333336px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">“You want me to what?” Jane Archer stared at her grandmother.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 29.333336px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">Was Gram getting addled, like older people sometimes did? No. Alice Merrill said what she meant and meant what she said, even while recovering from a hip replacement. And what she meant now bore no good tidings for Jane.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 29.333336px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">“I want you to direct the Christmas Festival for me.” Gram sounded as though her request were perfectly logical. “You have the time, and a lot of the work is already done.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 29.333336px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">Well, it would be. Gram’s festival prep was legendary, at least in Hilltop.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 29.333336px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">But if Jane wanted to get out, now was the time. “Gram, I’m not sure I’m the right person to do this.”</span><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 29.333336px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">“Oh, honey, you cut your teeth on the festival. And you’re so organized.” </span><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 29.333336px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">“I’ll be taking care of you.” It wasn’t much of a gauntlet to throw down, and Jane knew it, but she threw it anyway.</span><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 29.333336px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">And Gram tossed it back. “The visiting nurse comes every day, I’ve signed up for Meals on Wheels, and I have my books and my DVDs. I’m perfectly capable of amusing myself. And a lot of the work is done.” She waved a graceful hand toward her desk. “You have the notebook.”</span><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 29.333336px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">The notebook. The two-inch-thick loose-leaf binder that helped a busy widowed schoolteacher run the legendary Hilltop Christmas Festival. That was before a hip replacement sidelined Gram, as much as Gram could be sidelined, and brought Jane home to Hilltop. Not kicking, not screaming, but also hoping not to engage any more than she had to. Especially with the festival.</span><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 29.333336px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">“I’m not much for Christmas,” she said. “I’m not, well, religious.” There was more, a lot more, but Gram didn’t need to know.</span><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 29.333336px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">Gram sighed. She had always been the cool grandmother, wearing jeans and hiking boots on her weekends, keeping up with the granddaughter she hadn’t expected to raise, keeping current with the fifth graders she taught, serving as a stalwart member of the Hilltop Community Church. She was still slender, her silver hair in a pixie cut, her skin unwrinkled except for the laugh lines. </span><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 29.333336px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">But for the first time in Jane’s memory, she looked fragile. “Janie, Janie. What happened to you?”</span><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 29.333336px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">It was a valid enough question from the woman who had shepherded her to Sunday School, worship service, youth group. Jane had gone with Gram every Sunday until she left for Cornell University and stopped the week she moved into her dorm room. </span><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 29.333336px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">But it wasn’t Gram’s fault, wasn’t even Hilltop Church’s fault. They had done their best. Jane had been damaged before she came to Hilltop.</span><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 29.333336px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">Would Gram understand? Probably. Could Jane bear to open that box? No. She’d sealed it the day Gram met her at the bus and took her home.</span><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 29.333336px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">Gram had done so much for her–everything, really. Taken her in, provided for her every need, inspired Jane toward her own teaching career. She owed Gram. Owed her for things even Gram didn’t know about. Could anything she asked, even the Hilltop Festival, be too much?</span><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 29.333336px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">Jane was organized. She could run a festival, couldn’t she? Even if she no longer believed in what it celebrated. Faith in anyone but herself was no longer an option.</span><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 29.333336px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">But <i>Gram</i> had asked her.</span><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 29.333336px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">Jane heaved herself out of the wing chair and headed for the desk. The notebook was heavier than it looked, with color-coordinated tabs. Well, Jane liked tabs. “Where do I start?”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 29.333336px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">Gram smiled. “Meet with the pastor. Well, old Reverend Clarke retired, so we got a new one. You should be able to catch him at the church.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 29.333336px; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="background: repeat rgb(255, 255, 255); font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">***</span><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 29.333336px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">Noah Hastings shaded his eyes from the sun-dazzled snow on the church lawn. So much snow, blinding white mounds of it, like the icing their housekeeper Graziella used to slather on birthday cakes. Still, didn’t it feel good to be outdoors? Noah had never been a desk kind of guy. But the love of God and his people was making him one. He could still hear the crashing ocean waves calling him back to California and a lifestyle a younger and more worldly version of himself had left behind long before he traded his surfboard in for a Bible.</span><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 29.333336px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">He could prove himself here. In Hilltop, New Hampshire, among these reserved Yankees, with their thin, sharp faces and sharper wit. Even if he didn’t get half their jokes. </span><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 29.333336px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">His shovel scraped against the sidewalk, and he lifted another flat piece of ice and flung it on top of the powdery snow from yesterday’s storm.</span><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 29.333336px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">“Excuse me? I’d like to—”</span><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 29.333336px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">Noah turned too sharply, and the shovel he barely knew how to wield hit the young woman at the knees. She lost her balance and tumbled into a snowbank as he tumbled down beside her, all flailing arms and kicking legs. He fought for purchase. There was none. The ice scraped against his cheek, colder than anything he’d ever felt, and stung his bare hands. Gloves. <i>That’s </i>what he forgot. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 29.333336px;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 29.333336px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">What must she be thinking? In his first month on the job, would he put someone in the hospital?</span><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 29.333336px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">The woman struggled to her feet first, a blur of color that sorted itself out to a pair of high black boots and a fitted red coat. She looked too slim to lift more than a bag of groceries, but her gloved hand gripped his. </span><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 29.333336px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">“Hang on, and I’ll pull you up</span><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">.” she said.</span><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"> “I’ve got some footing now.”</span><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 29.333336px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">He gripped her hands, heaved himself out of the snowbank—and looked down at the prettiest face he’d seen all day, maybe since coming to Hilltop. Creamy skin with a hint of pink from the cold, delicate features, and big green eyes framed by a tumble of dark brown hair under a red knit cap. Who was she? Why hadn’t he seen her before? Was she a Christmas angel?</span><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 29.333336px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">“Listen, I’m sorry. Really. Are you okay?”</span><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 29.333336px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">The woman probed at one knee, then another. “I don’t think you broke the skin. It’s just a bruise. But you should put some ice melt down.” She had a sweet voice, laced with irritation. “Anyone knows that. Talk to your boss, I’m sure the church has an account down at Gregson’s. Someone could get seriously hurt, and I doubt the church wants a lawsuit.”</span><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 29.333336px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">Not quite an angel but still pretty. Noah retrieved his shovel. “Can I help you?”</span><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 29.333336px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">“May I, and yes.” The woman shook ice crystals from the ends of her hair. “I’m looking for your pastor.”</span><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 29.333336px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">Noah leaned on his shovel, sighed inwardly, and gave the response he’d already used too many times in Hilltop. “You found him.”</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 29.333336px; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="background: repeat rgb(255, 255, 255); font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">***</span><span style="background: repeat fuchsia; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 29.333336px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><i><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">He has to be joking</span></i><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">. Jane looked up, past the broad shoulders to ice-blue eyes and a sculpted face crowned by too-long blond hair and a fading but natural-looking tan. Reverend Clarke, who had pastored the church in her childhood, retired. But she hadn’t expected the church board would have picked this surfer dude.</span><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 29.333336px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">She looked him up and down. “<i>You’re</i> the pastor?”</span><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 29.333336px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">He smiled. “Yeah, I get that a lot.”</span><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 29.333336px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">“When did you—how long—”</span><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 29.333336px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">“I took over in mid-October. Been here a month. And yes, I’m from California. </span><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">Long Beach specifically.”</span><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 29.333336px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">“I’m sorry. I thought you were—”</span><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 29.333336px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">“The gardener. That’s one of my favorites. Better than pool boy.”</span><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 29.333336px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">It wasn’t funny. Not really. She worked to keep her lips straight. “I’m Jane Archer,” she said. “I’m here to talk about the Hilltop Festival.”</span><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 29.333336px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">“Noah Hastings. The <i>Reverend</i> Noah Hastings.” He rested the shovel in a bank of snow. “I’ll take a break from this, and we can talk. In my study. The pastor’s study.” He held the side door open for her.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 29.333336px;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 29.333336px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">Wherever Jane stood with God, she had always admired the Hilltop Community Church. The gray stone building had been constructed before the turn of the twentieth century by sturdy mountain people who built it to last. Over the years, they added on an office wing, a Christian education wing, and a function room with a kitchen and small stage in the basement. Dozens of ministries fanned out from here. She remembered sorting used clothing, assembling Thanksgiving baskets, and packing boxes for missionaries back when she believed in things like missions. </span><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 29.333336px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">Today the cold sun shone through the stained-glass windows, casting colored shadows over the gleaming golden-oak pews. The room smelled of lemon furniture polish and a faint tinge of candle wax. </span><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 29.333336px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">“Dazzling, isn’t it?” Hastings said at her side.</span><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 29.333336px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">Jane shrugged. “It’s a church.” She turned away, but not before she saw his expression tighten.</span><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 29.333336px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">He led her down the office wing to the first door on the right and motioned her inside. Jane wove her way through crates of books, and stubbed one booted toe on a duffel bag, before she reached a folding metal chair. One small diploma graced the wall behind a chaotic desk. How could the man work like this?</span><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 29.333336px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">Her fingers fairly itched to straighten the pile of papers near the edge of the desk. She sat on her hands. “Maybe I should wait till you’re settled.”</span><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 29.333336px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">As he eased his long frame into his desk chair, Hastings shoved another teetering pile of correspondence to one side. “I <i>am</i> settled. You’re here about Hilltop?” </span><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 29.333336px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">“I’m Alice’s granddaughter. She asked me to—” Jane swallowed. She could never replace Gram as chair. Or anything else. “To <i>help</i> her coordinate the festival this year.”</span><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 29.333336px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">The pastor leaned back, testing the strength of the chair. “I’m glad she found someone and glad it’s someone close at hand. We think a great deal of Alice around here. We’re all praying for her swift recovery.”</span><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 29.333336px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">“Yes, well, I’m happy to help. She’s amazing. She’s done so much for me.”</span><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 29.333336px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">Noah nodded. “She’s done a lot for this town.” He returned his chair to all four legs and steepled his fingers. “So, I understand the Hilltop Festival started in the fifties as a place for families to go to experience the true Christmas spirit.”</span><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 29.333336px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">Jane forced herself to look at him, and an unexpected heat flushed her cheeks. So what if he was attractive? She cleared her throat. “Hilltop incorporated as a separate entity in 1985, making all sales go into a separate festival account to fund next year’s event. And by the nineties, it was drawing people from all over New England.”</span><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 29.333336px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">“Fine with me.” He nodded. “The town lets us use the old library, the new library, the town hall, and the school. The elementary chorus performs in my sanctuary. Are there really no issues with church and state?”</span><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 29.333336px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">He was sharper than he looked. “Not really. Half the kids in school go to your church. It’s really a community festival with everyone involved.”</span><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 29.333336px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">Noah Hastings homed in on her with those clear blue eyes. She looked away, scanning the titles on a randomly-stuffed bookshelf.</span><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 29.333336px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"> “It all ramps up Christmas Eve afternoon, with the big parade. Then there’s a free community supper at the American Legion, choirs, a children’s pageant, and you. The Christmas Eve service is the culmination of everything Hilltop.”</span><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 29.333336px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">Noah nodded soberly. “I’m told we can expect a crowd.” </span><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 29.333336px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">“Up to five hundred. They can pack everyone in, though it’s standing room only.”</span><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 29.333336px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">Noah Hastings shook, muttering something she couldn’t hear. “But we’re just a little country church.”</span><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 29.333336px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">Jane shrugged. “There’s a—a feeling to Hilltop. People I grew up with bring their children, people Gram knew bring their grandchildren. For those three days, it’s not like any other place on earth. It’s community.”</span><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 29.333336px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">“Alice and some others have told me they sense a real presence of God.”</span><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 29.333336px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">Under her coat and sweater, Jane’s heart hammed. “I really wouldn’t know.” She flipped through Gram’s voluminous notebook. Better than looking at him.</span><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 29.333336px; margin: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="background: repeat rgb(255, 255, 255); font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">***</span><span style="background: repeat fuchsia; color: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 29.333336px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">Her pretty face was closed, locked tighter than a bank vault. So, Alice’s granddaughter wasn’t a believer. What had happened to this Jane Archer?</span><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 29.333336px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">But she was devoted to Alice and willing to work. That would have to do.</span><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 29.333336px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">And she was beautiful, with that waterfall of dark curls and green eyes like the inside of a wave off Big Sur. She must get her tall stature from her father. Might be fun to get to know her better.</span><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 29.333336px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">But he had a festival to run.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 29.333336px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">No place in his life for a woman. He was on enough of a learning curve without that. But surfing in competitions and being son to his stoic father had made him to be resilient under pressure. In a little over a month, he’d made a few friends and a dozen mistakes.</span><i><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 29.333336px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">Noah seriously contemplated the old, retired Reverend Clarke’s offer to call him with any problems.</span><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 29.333336px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">This polished Ms. Archer could probably run the church better than he could. There she was with a loose-leaf notebook thick enough to use as a weapon. One of <i>those</i>. Probably had lists for everything, planned her wardrobe with an Excel spreadsheet.</span><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 29.333336px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">Could he preach to five hundred people? Should he have stayed in California? There were churches there. He could have just kept trying till someone took a chance on him. But there was also his reputation as a party boy, surfer dude–and Dad. He’d wanted to get away, as far away as possible.</span><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 29.333336px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">Hilltop, New Hampshire, was probably it. </span><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 29.333336px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">Hilltop’s people had been kind in his first month, overlooking or gently correcting his mistakes, everything from how to pronounce the Native American name of a hill town to how to run a meeting. He would return their kindness.</span><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 29.333336px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">Noah smiled at Jane. “So, we meet on Wednesdays. We’ll see you at the next meeting?”</span><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 29.333336px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 29.333336px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">Find it at <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Hilltop-Christmas-Book-1-ebook/dp/B0CLLGCLXW/ref=sr_1_1?crid=3HVEGCI5XJ984&keywords=hilltop+christmas+bailey&qid=1701917854&sprefix=a+hilltop+chr%2Caps%2C83&sr=8-1" target="_blank">Amazon!</a></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 15.693334px; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 15.693334px; margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-align: center;"><o:p> 💕💕💕💕💕💕</o:p></p><i><o:p> </o:p></i></div><p class="Standard" style="font-family: "Liberation Serif", serif; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.25in;"><o:p></o:p></p>Penelope Marzechttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17563853832717077875noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12150572.post-21317992507312415872023-11-30T17:28:00.002-05:002023-11-30T17:28:16.736-05:00Cover Reveal for LOVE'S GIFT<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='508' height='422' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dwo2oEOiOesT8MLxO8wBrT-I4530baTsJf8U5MXH-atVHdhVSQbw-qWBdPL90FPlAp5DcSHpwIGsgY' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I don't have a release date yet, but I LOVE the cover. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I especially love the house. I would like to live there. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I'll let everyone know when it's available. </div><br /> <p></p>Penelope Marzechttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17563853832717077875noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12150572.post-76371151869229878052023-11-24T13:01:00.002-05:002023-11-24T13:01:47.998-05:00No Leftovers<p>Daughter #3 and her hunny hosted Thanksgiving dinner, which I appreciate. It saved me from doing a lot of work. I contributed a delicious <a href="https://www.recipesthatcrock.com/crock-pot-parmesan-broccoli-cauliflower/?utm_source=Recipes+that+Crock+Mailchimp+Audience&utm_campaign=2484aa0ccd-EMAIL_CAMPAIGN_2021_10_11_10_39_COPY_01&utm_medium=email&utm_term=0_53c0cb2703-2484aa0ccd-334706793" target="_blank">Broccoli/Cauliflower Parmesan Slow Cooker Recipe</a>, which I found at Pinterest. Our house smelled wonderful while it was cooking. </p><p>Daughter #3's house smelled fantastic. We were treated to several courses: appetizers, soup, salad, the main course, and several desserts. There was to be one more course but we were stuffed! </p><p>Daughter #2 was with us and there was plenty of conversation and some laughter as we reminisced about old times. </p><p>This morning I woke up and realized we had no leftovers. One of my favorite things to do after Thanksgiving is wake up the next day and eat pumpkin pie for breakfast or Aunt Georgette's Ambrosia salad. But Aunt Georgette was not able to join us this year. </p><p>I ate a protein bar. 😟</p><p>Then, I remembered I had some coconut in the refrigerator. I went to Pinterest and found a recipe for easy coconut muffins: <a href="https://bakingbites.com/2017/01/easy-one-bowl-coconut-muffins/">https://bakingbites.com/2017/01/easy-one-bowl-coconut-muffins/</a> I changed the recipe slightly by using 1 cup of whole wheat flour and 1 cup of regular flour. </p><p>My house smelled great as they baked. Daughter #2 thinks I should add some spice to them next time. I might. Despite the amount of sugar in the recipe, they really don't taste overly sweet. They will make a delightful breakfast for tomorrow! </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6bIcsCV2EyTpmy2XkDmGP4TkFa9pQFu5NJZtxQje_cw2Ny9XxMLYP9YQ62LwUqPtVgyHPT_2GmfCthePeTA0Qr-aIlWDR7sD2U5rm5yqc1WJsrdSsvrHpeKCxSkT0S1Mb-agXYVf46BvXQfFI6e5SuS56ReIHsYAzFVRMZFHLvY9GAaS9pFimgw/s3290/IMG_2639.heic" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2634" data-original-width="3290" height="512" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6bIcsCV2EyTpmy2XkDmGP4TkFa9pQFu5NJZtxQje_cw2Ny9XxMLYP9YQ62LwUqPtVgyHPT_2GmfCthePeTA0Qr-aIlWDR7sD2U5rm5yqc1WJsrdSsvrHpeKCxSkT0S1Mb-agXYVf46BvXQfFI6e5SuS56ReIHsYAzFVRMZFHLvY9GAaS9pFimgw/w640-h512/IMG_2639.heic" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>Penelope Marzechttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17563853832717077875noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12150572.post-62422576282003111942023-11-08T21:00:00.000-05:002023-11-08T21:24:54.774-05:00A Story My Mother Told Me<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDRc4IZ_suJL9Hv19R1Gxt65BDR6Ct5846B82d7VxxCkrO1QaJcriu2IBZzt5bpkP_OZdleFqiDmjSl5LNe_C8oxXQ1LrZfub0BXrQxZ2wQS3o5NjkZbss1ApWIncJFHbmaGgkuQ/s1600/ireneartschool.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDRc4IZ_suJL9Hv19R1Gxt65BDR6Ct5846B82d7VxxCkrO1QaJcriu2IBZzt5bpkP_OZdleFqiDmjSl5LNe_C8oxXQ1LrZfub0BXrQxZ2wQS3o5NjkZbss1ApWIncJFHbmaGgkuQ/s400/ireneartschool.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My mother with her friends from art school. Mom is the second from the left in the photo. </td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><i>Tomorrow would have been my mother's 102nd birthday. She was the best mom ever--and everyone in the family still misses her. She was quite a storyteller--just like the rest of her siblings. They didn't make up stories so much as they embellished them. </i></b><br />
<b><i><br />
</i></b> <b><i>There were some stories about her young life my mother repeated over and over--many of them because they contained object lessons for me and my sisters. Eventually, my sisters and I called them "The Little Irene Stories." At one point, I made up a website and posted some of those tales, but I later took it down at Mom's request--though I printed out all the stories. :-)</i></b><br />
<b><i><br />
</i></b> <b><i>So, in honor of my beautiful mother, I will share one of those stories, told just as Mom told it to me.</i></b> <br />
<br />
<blockquote>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>My First Job</b></div>
<br />
In high school, I followed my sister, who probably was the smartest kid in school which meant that I was supposed to be a genius, too.<br />
<br />
However, my brain was better at other things. Still, people expected too much from me. I was shocked when a teacher suggested that I run for class president.<br />
<br />
I liked high school, particularly getting to act in plays. That was fun! But I was upset when they wouldn't let me play on the basketball team. Being chosen as the artist for the newspaper and as a teacher's aide helped ease the hurt, as did playing the violin in the orchestra.<br />
<br />
The school was in a neighboring town and I had to walk three or four miles each way in all kinds of weather. My father didn't have a horse or buggy then or even a tractor.<br />
<br />
The day after I graduated, I went to the coal mine company's general store in town, seeking a job. For the interview, I wore a little light blue plaid dress. Since I couldn't find a belt, I had to make-do with a piece of store string. I wore shoes without stockings.<br />
<br />
The manager, who knew me and the rest of my family, hired me on the spot. I worked very hard in the store and was constantly busy. I knew everyone in town and their comings and goings.<br />
<br />
My mother always wanted to know the latest gossip. In a little town, everyone knew instantly if someone stepped out of line. No secrets there.<br />
<br />
Men swooned over me, probably because of my red hair, but there were bigger fish in the pond. I had places to go and things to see and do.<br />
<br />
When I thought I had enough money, I enrolled in art school in Pittsburgh. My sister Grace had gotten a job as a copy writer in the city, so we rented a room with kitchen privileges. We soon discovered that carfare and food plus rent was too much to handle on just one salary.<br />
<br />
I found a job as an usher in a movie theater, even though I was underage. All went well until the day the manager told me I had lost a customer's umbrella in the hat check and had to pay for it. He said it cost $5, a huge amount at that time. I denied losing the umbrella and refused to pay for it.<br />
<br />
He started to chase me around the room like a crazy man. His face seemed like it was on fire. I managed to get to the door and ran out of the theater.<br />
<br />
My next job was babysitting two little boys in exchange for room and board. Unfortunately, the lady of the house thought her husband liked me too much. Somehow he learned that it was my birthday and presented me with beautiful black lacy sexy lingerie, which I refused. <br />
<br />
I was surprised, but his wife was much more surprised. When she came home, she wanted to know why I had not bathed one of the sons. I told her the boy was coughing and didn't feel well so I kept him warm and put him to bed.<br />
<br />
She kept complaining, so I finally told her, "I'm leaving in the morning."<br />
<br />
I didn't have any money for carfare home, but as I was leaving, the well-to-do husband gave me FIFTY CENTS for carfare. When I got to the art school, the other students heard of my plight and managed to collect enogh change so I could take the train home.<br />
<br />
After that experience, I decided to live at home, commuting the 20 or so miles to Pittsburgh by bus, train, and shoe leather. </blockquote>
<br />
<center style="color: yellow;">
<b>Happy Birthday in heaven, Mom.</b></center>
<center style="color: yellow;">
<b> </b></center>
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Penelope Marzechttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17563853832717077875noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12150572.post-70115934397310132442023-11-01T21:30:00.001-04:002023-11-01T21:36:34.070-04:00Guest Blog: THE HOPE OF CHRISTMAS by Carol James<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3LXB8t-YF4hTN9EZtKhprIkXT0cpd5X1W_9BFJqYW0CvVq3cd4e9UD1LrhV3j8zZ1eqh9x9aTGWL6V5RFm5z6jwz4r_XYwo_c2Ad4gWvzEkma2buIYB2z3oLH5ceKQ7cgnbPCeIWsx9Ie0qEf-P6V6SFgZZ1XsnjdMtyC9rPXBm-iL5ydg39IzQ/s573/Carol%20James%202022A.jpeg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="573" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3LXB8t-YF4hTN9EZtKhprIkXT0cpd5X1W_9BFJqYW0CvVq3cd4e9UD1LrhV3j8zZ1eqh9x9aTGWL6V5RFm5z6jwz4r_XYwo_c2Ad4gWvzEkma2buIYB2z3oLH5ceKQ7cgnbPCeIWsx9Ie0qEf-P6V6SFgZZ1XsnjdMtyC9rPXBm-iL5ydg39IzQ/s320/Carol%20James%202022A.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><i> Carol James has been a guest on my blog several times and I've read many of her books. (I'd like to read more.) I'm a fan! 😀 Growing up as<span style="color: #111111; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> an Air Force brat, the longest Carol ever lived in one place was a year and a half. Maybe that’s why, when she and her husband bought their first home forty-two years ago, they stayed put. She lives in Lilburn, GA with her husband, Jim, and a perky Jack Russell Terrier, Zoe.</span></i><p class="Default" style="border: medium; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13pt; line-height: normal; margin: 0in;"><i><span style="color: #111111; font-size: 12pt;"> Loving intriguing stories with happy endings, she writes Redemptive Romance. She has had five full length novels and six Christmas novellas published. Her debut novel, </span><span style="color: #111111; font-size: 12pt;"><b>Rescuing Faith</b></span><span style="color: #111111; font-size: 12pt;">, was an Amazon number one best-seller. Visit her website to sign up for her newsletter and get a free short story: </span><span class="Hyperlink1" style="text-decoration: underline;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt;"><a href="https://www.carol-james.com/">https://www.carol-james.com</a></span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></p><p class="Default" style="border: medium; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13pt; line-height: normal; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;"><br /></span></p><h4 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;">THE HOPE OF CHRISTMAS is her latest release. Here's the blurb:</span></h4><p class="Default" style="border: medium; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13pt; line-height: normal; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 11pt;"> </span><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 11pt;">Cameron Blake has everything a man could want. Or so it appears. But in the dark of night, the contents of a twenty-two year old manila envelope remind him that the one thing he truly wants is beyond his reach.</span><span style="background: repeat white; font-family: Palatino; font-size: 11pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="Default" style="border: medium; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13pt; line-height: normal; margin: 0in;"><span style="background: repeat white; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="Default" style="border: medium; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13pt; line-height: normal; margin: 0in;"><span style="background: repeat white; font-size: 12pt;">Kristin Hansen has recently moved home after a messy break-up. While her parents think she’s come back to recuperate after surgery on a broken arm, she’s actually escaping from a relationship that’s turned abusive.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="Default" style="border: medium; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13pt; line-height: normal; margin: 0in;"><span style="background: repeat white; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="Default" style="border: medium; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13pt; line-height: normal; margin: 0in;"><span style="background: repeat white; font-size: 12pt;">When the pastor of a local church recruits the two to supervise the building of the church’s nativity float for the upcoming Christmas parade, their hidden secrets are exposed. And Cam sees in her the one thing he truly desires…but knows he can never have. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="Default" style="border: medium; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13pt; line-height: normal; margin: 0in;"><span style="background: repeat white; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="Default" style="border: medium; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13pt; line-height: normal; margin: 0in;"><span style="background: repeat white; font-size: 12pt;">Hope.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="Default" style="border: medium; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13pt; line-height: normal; margin: 0in;"><span style="background: repeat white; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></p><p class="Default" style="border: medium; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13pt; line-height: normal; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0FX5t4w7yNu63CDM6o0B5DnWsbbTPF6XdWeh81V2fTCGlpF9KvQlp5dJSj_cqeosqONOdPkhD_QQu7vYaFk_THLn5yQlSn_Nlu-2lwMXClkr4HQgYige9z0y_xVc02uba-8DWSAQB8D-5rRWYT-g479-Ak9LES8czqt-8OIu_tC0CXETu19VJlQ/s640/TheHopeOfChristmas_w13284_680.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="387" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0FX5t4w7yNu63CDM6o0B5DnWsbbTPF6XdWeh81V2fTCGlpF9KvQlp5dJSj_cqeosqONOdPkhD_QQu7vYaFk_THLn5yQlSn_Nlu-2lwMXClkr4HQgYige9z0y_xVc02uba-8DWSAQB8D-5rRWYT-g479-Ak9LES8czqt-8OIu_tC0CXETu19VJlQ/w388-h640/TheHopeOfChristmas_w13284_680.jpeg" width="388" /></a></div><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: large;">Now for a small taste with an excerpt.</span></h3><p class="Default" style="border: medium; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13pt; line-height: normal; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 11pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Kristin pressed the doorbell, and a muted chiming sounded from inside the apartment. At least one thing in this complex was working right. So she waited. And shivered. And prayed. </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="Default" style="border: medium; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13pt; line-height: normal; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Just as she reached to press the bell again, the porch light flashed on, and the door swung inward. An unfamiliar man whose eyes were heavy with sleep and whose blond hair had marched right past messy and straight to explosive leaned against the doorframe. </span><span dir="RTL"></span><span dir="RTL"></span><span dir="RTL" face=""Arial Unicode MS", sans-serif" lang="AR-SA" style="font-size: 12pt;"><span dir="RTL"></span><span dir="RTL"></span>“</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Yeah?” He yawned. </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="Default" style="border: medium; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13pt; line-height: normal; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span dir="RTL"></span><span dir="RTL"></span><span dir="RTL" face=""Arial Unicode MS", sans-serif" lang="AR-SA" style="font-size: 12pt;"><span dir="RTL"></span><span dir="RTL"></span>“</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Is Steve here?” Struggling to control her shaking, she looked beyond him into the hallway for the maintenance man. </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="Default" style="border: medium; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13pt; line-height: normal; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span dir="RTL"></span><span dir="RTL"></span><span dir="RTL" face=""Arial Unicode MS", sans-serif" lang="AR-SA" style="font-size: 12pt;"><span dir="RTL"></span><span dir="RTL"></span>“</span><span lang="IT" style="font-size: 12pt;">Nope.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">” He yawned again. </span><span dir="RTL"></span><span dir="RTL"></span><span dir="RTL" face=""Arial Unicode MS", sans-serif" lang="AR-SA" style="font-size: 12pt;"><span dir="RTL"></span><span dir="RTL"></span>“</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I</span><span dir="RTL"></span><span dir="RTL"></span><span dir="RTL" face=""Arial Unicode MS", sans-serif" lang="AR-SA" style="font-size: 12pt;"><span dir="RTL"></span><span dir="RTL"></span>’</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">m covering for him. Can I help you?” He opened his eyes wide and seemed to really see her for the first time. </span><span dir="RTL"></span><span dir="RTL"></span><span dir="RTL" face=""Arial Unicode MS", sans-serif" lang="AR-SA" style="font-size: 12pt;"><span dir="RTL"></span><span dir="RTL"></span>“</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">You</span><span dir="RTL"></span><span dir="RTL"></span><span dir="RTL" face=""Arial Unicode MS", sans-serif" lang="AR-SA" style="font-size: 12pt;"><span dir="RTL"></span><span dir="RTL"></span>’</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">re shivering.” He stepped away from the door. </span><span dir="RTL"></span><span dir="RTL"></span><span dir="RTL" face=""Arial Unicode MS", sans-serif" lang="AR-SA" style="font-size: 12pt;"><span dir="RTL"></span><span dir="RTL"></span>“</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Come in out of the cold.”</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="Default" style="border: medium; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13pt; line-height: normal; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">She shook her head. </span><span dir="RTL"></span><span dir="RTL"></span><span dir="RTL" face=""Arial Unicode MS", sans-serif" lang="AR-SA" style="font-size: 12pt;"><span dir="RTL"></span><span dir="RTL"></span>“</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">That</span><span dir="RTL"></span><span dir="RTL"></span><span dir="RTL" face=""Arial Unicode MS", sans-serif" lang="AR-SA" style="font-size: 12pt;"><span dir="RTL"></span><span dir="RTL"></span>’</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">s OK. I just…” </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="Default" style="border: medium; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13pt; line-height: normal; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">He held up a hand and then disappeared down the hall. When he returned, he offered her a blanket. </span><span dir="RTL"></span><span dir="RTL"></span><span dir="RTL" face=""Arial Unicode MS", sans-serif" lang="AR-SA" style="font-size: 12pt;"><span dir="RTL"></span><span dir="RTL"></span>“</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Here.” </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="Default" style="border: medium; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13pt; line-height: normal; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span dir="RTL"></span><span dir="RTL"></span><span dir="RTL" face=""Arial Unicode MS", sans-serif" lang="AR-SA" style="font-size: 12pt;"><span dir="RTL"></span><span dir="RTL"></span>“</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Th-thank you.” She wrapped it around her shoulders. </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="Default" style="border: medium; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13pt; line-height: normal; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span dir="RTL"></span><span dir="RTL"></span><span dir="RTL" face=""Arial Unicode MS", sans-serif" lang="AR-SA" style="font-size: 12pt;"><span dir="RTL"></span><span dir="RTL"></span>“</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Sure you don</span><span dir="RTL"></span><span dir="RTL"></span><span dir="RTL" face=""Arial Unicode MS", sans-serif" lang="AR-SA" style="font-size: 12pt;"><span dir="RTL"></span><span dir="RTL"></span>’</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">t want to step in for a minute? After all, you have your vicious guard dog with you.” He winked. </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="Default" style="border: medium; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13pt; line-height: normal; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">As if she understood his words, Lucy bounced toward him. He knelt and scratched behind her ears. </span><span dir="RTL"></span><span dir="RTL"></span><span dir="RTL" face=""Arial Unicode MS", sans-serif" lang="AR-SA" style="font-size: 12pt;"><span dir="RTL"></span><span dir="RTL"></span>“</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Aren</span><span dir="RTL"></span><span dir="RTL"></span><span dir="RTL" face=""Arial Unicode MS", sans-serif" lang="AR-SA" style="font-size: 12pt;"><span dir="RTL"></span><span dir="RTL"></span>’</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">t you a good dog.” He looked up and grinned. </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="Default" style="border: medium; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13pt; line-height: normal; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span dir="RTL"></span><span dir="RTL"></span><span dir="RTL" face=""Arial Unicode MS", sans-serif" lang="AR-SA" style="font-size: 12pt;"><span dir="RTL"></span><span dir="RTL"></span>“</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Sh-she usually is but not tonight. It</span><span dir="RTL"></span><span dir="RTL"></span><span dir="RTL" face=""Arial Unicode MS", sans-serif" lang="AR-SA" style="font-size: 12pt;"><span dir="RTL"></span><span dir="RTL"></span>’</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">s her f-fault I</span><span dir="RTL"></span><span dir="RTL"></span><span dir="RTL" face=""Arial Unicode MS", sans-serif" lang="AR-SA" style="font-size: 12pt;"><span dir="RTL"></span><span dir="RTL"></span>’</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">m l-locked out of my ap-partment.” </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">He stood. </span><span dir="RTL"></span><span dir="RTL"></span><span dir="RTL" face=""Arial Unicode MS", sans-serif" lang="AR-SA" style="font-size: 12pt;"><span dir="RTL"></span><span dir="RTL"></span>“</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Sorry. What</span><span dir="RTL"></span><span dir="RTL"></span><span dir="RTL" face=""Arial Unicode MS", sans-serif" lang="AR-SA" style="font-size: 12pt;"><span dir="RTL"></span><span dir="RTL"></span>’</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">s your number?”</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="Default" style="border: medium; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13pt; line-height: normal; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">She pulled the blanket tighter. </span><span dir="RTL"></span><span dir="RTL"></span><span dir="RTL" face=""Arial Unicode MS", sans-serif" lang="AR-SA" style="font-size: 12pt;"><span dir="RTL"></span><span dir="RTL"></span>“</span><span lang="IT" style="font-size: 12pt;">One o t-two.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">” </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="Default" style="border: medium; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13pt; line-height: normal; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span dir="RTL"></span><span dir="RTL"></span><span dir="RTL" face=""Arial Unicode MS", sans-serif" lang="AR-SA" style="font-size: 12pt;"><span dir="RTL"></span><span dir="RTL"></span>“</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Next building. Let me grab that master. And put some shoes on.” </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="Default" style="border: medium; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13pt; line-height: normal; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span dir="RTL"></span><span dir="RTL"></span><span dir="RTL" face=""Arial Unicode MS", sans-serif" lang="AR-SA" style="font-size: 12pt;"><span dir="RTL"></span><span dir="RTL"></span>“</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Th-thank you.” As he disappeared down the hall, she eased into the entryway and waited. He seemed like a nice enough guy. Although according to the instructor in the self-defense class she took while she was dating Dylan, those were the ones to watch. </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="Default" style="border: medium; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13pt; line-height: normal; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">But he</span><span dir="RTL"></span><span dir="RTL"></span><span dir="RTL" face=""Arial Unicode MS", sans-serif" lang="AR-SA" style="font-size: 12pt;"><span dir="RTL"></span><span dir="RTL"></span>’</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">d bent down and ruffled Lucy</span><span dir="RTL"></span><span dir="RTL"></span><span dir="RTL" face=""Arial Unicode MS", sans-serif" lang="AR-SA" style="font-size: 12pt;"><span dir="RTL"></span><span dir="RTL"></span>’</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">s ears. What criminal would have done that? Yet, as the instructor had said, people should always be wary around strangers. </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="Default" style="border: medium; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13pt; line-height: normal; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">She reviewed some of the moves she</span><span dir="RTL"></span><span dir="RTL"></span><span dir="RTL" face=""Arial Unicode MS", sans-serif" lang="AR-SA" style="font-size: 12pt;"><span dir="RTL"></span><span dir="RTL"></span>’</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">d learned. Hammer strike, heel-palm strike, elbow strike, eye strike, and groin kick. She dropped the blanket, fisted her hands, and kicked forward and upward. </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="Default" style="border: medium; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13pt; line-height: normal; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span dir="RTL"></span><span dir="RTL"></span><span dir="RTL" face=""Arial Unicode MS", sans-serif" lang="AR-SA" style="font-size: 12pt;"><span dir="RTL"></span><span dir="RTL"></span>“</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Everything OK?” </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="Default" style="border: medium; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13pt; line-height: normal; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">She jumped. She hadn</span><span dir="RTL"></span><span dir="RTL"></span><span dir="RTL" face=""Arial Unicode MS", sans-serif" lang="AR-SA" style="font-size: 12pt;"><span dir="RTL"></span><span dir="RTL"></span>’</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">t heard him return. </span><span dir="RTL"></span><span dir="RTL"></span><span dir="RTL" face=""Arial Unicode MS", sans-serif" lang="AR-SA" style="font-size: 12pt;"><span dir="RTL"></span><span dir="RTL"></span>“</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Me? Some sort of twitch. Nothing to worry about. I</span><span dir="RTL"></span><span dir="RTL"></span><span dir="RTL" face=""Arial Unicode MS", sans-serif" lang="AR-SA" style="font-size: 12pt;"><span dir="RTL"></span><span dir="RTL"></span>’</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">m just freezing.” </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="Default" style="border: medium; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13pt; line-height: normal; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">He shrugged. </span><span dir="RTL"></span><span dir="RTL"></span><span dir="RTL" face=""Arial Unicode MS", sans-serif" lang="AR-SA" style="font-size: 12pt;"><span dir="RTL"></span><span dir="RTL"></span>“</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I don</span><span dir="RTL"></span><span dir="RTL"></span><span dir="RTL" face=""Arial Unicode MS", sans-serif" lang="AR-SA" style="font-size: 12pt;"><span dir="RTL"></span><span dir="RTL"></span>’</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">t know. Might want to get that checked out.”</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="Default" style="border: medium; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13pt; line-height: normal; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span></p><p class="Default" style="border: medium; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13pt; line-height: normal; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span></p><p class="Default" style="border: medium; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13pt; line-height: normal; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Purchase links: </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="Default" style="border: medium; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13pt; line-height: normal; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></p><p class="Default" style="border: medium; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13pt; line-height: normal; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Palatino; font-size: 11pt;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Hope-Christmas-Holiday-Extravaganza-ebook/dp/B0CK1RJQMN/ref=sr_1_1?crid=EMF9RLRZRI1S&keywords=the+hope+of+christmas%2C+carol+james&qid=1698888555&sprefix=the+hope+of+christmas%2C+carol+james%2Caps%2C97&sr=8-1" target="_blank">Amazon</a></span></p><p class="Default" style="border: medium; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13pt; line-height: normal; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span></p><p class="Default" style="border: medium; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13pt; line-height: normal; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><a href="https://pelicanbookgroup.com/ec/index.php?main_page=product_info&cPath=68_41&products_id=1652" target="_blank">Pelican</a><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="Default" style="border: medium; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13pt; line-height: normal; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span></p><p class="Default" style="border: medium; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13pt; line-height: normal; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><a href="https://www.booktopia.com.au/the-hope-of-christmas-carol-james/ebook/9781522304425.html" target="_blank">Booktopia</a></span></p><p class="Default" style="border: medium; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13pt; line-height: normal; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span></p><p class="Default" style="border: medium; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13pt; line-height: normal; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><a href=" https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-hope-of-christmas-carol-james/1144132865" target="_blank">Barnes & Noble</a><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="Default" style="border: medium; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13pt; line-height: normal; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="Default" style="border: medium; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13pt; line-height: normal; margin: 0in;"><a href="https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/the-hope-of-christmas-1" target="_blank">Kobo</a></p><p class="Default" style="border: medium; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13pt; line-height: normal; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="Default" style="border: medium; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13pt; line-height: normal; margin: 0in;"><a href="https://books.apple.com/us/book/the-hope-of-christmas/id6468127756" target="_blank">Apple</a></p><p class="Default" style="border: medium; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13pt; line-height: normal; margin: 0in;"><span class="Hyperlink1" style="text-decoration: underline;"></span></p><p class="Default" style="border: medium; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13pt; line-height: normal; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span></p><p class="Default" style="border: medium; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13pt; line-height: normal; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span></p>Penelope Marzechttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17563853832717077875noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12150572.post-77173036682675964472023-10-18T11:30:00.000-04:002023-10-18T11:30:16.607-04:00Guest Post: MOONLIGHT AND MYSTERY by Karen Malley<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMrQG_FJvtbYpWaRzxLZgMZ9tVh-Znwv1Z8Qq-RtOtLYdRnnVcF2rOJCl643bLDDfuIVGplRnD583QF1oQkTQ8PbnK74-lcp9X19aIQL1esSlOQtxlTbs_iBWAp7SQA_W65RldAWWcHsRh-N4eEAEyzDpzz8Tam4yJT4MeOc30My8hIb0i4kStUA/s1024/Karen%20Malley%20(1).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="683" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMrQG_FJvtbYpWaRzxLZgMZ9tVh-Znwv1Z8Qq-RtOtLYdRnnVcF2rOJCl643bLDDfuIVGplRnD583QF1oQkTQ8PbnK74-lcp9X19aIQL1esSlOQtxlTbs_iBWAp7SQA_W65RldAWWcHsRh-N4eEAEyzDpzz8Tam4yJT4MeOc30My8hIb0i4kStUA/s320/Karen%20Malley%20(1).jpg" width="213" /></a></div><i>My guest today is Karen Malley. She<span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; text-indent: 0in;"> lives in Pennsylvania with her husband and two sons and is, by far, the shortest person in the house. A perfect weekend would be spent hiking and camping with her three guys. She loves God, her family, playing games, and has a goal to visit as many National Parks as possible! When not in the great outdoors, she’s either at work as a scientist or at home writing stories in her pajamas.</span></i><p></p><p><span style="background-color: white; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="color: #202124; font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><b>Karen has written a wonderful new book! Here's the <span style="caret-color: rgb(32, 33, 36);">blurb:</span></b></span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="color: #202124; font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"> </span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; text-indent: 0in;">Beth Tarrington has it all: a gorgeous fiancé, a lucrative career, the latest model car, and a high-priced condo. On top of that, the Tarrington name opens every door in town. So why is she so discontent? When everything falls apart in Beth’s life, will she finally find the strength to stand on her own two feet? Is God really willing to stand by her side, even after ignoring Him for so long?</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; text-indent: 0in;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; text-indent: 0in;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: normal; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="background: white; color: #202124;">When Jason Brooks meets Beth, his head tells him to run in the opposite direction. Beth is a high-society snob engaged to another man, and he’s not sure where she stands with God. So why does God keep bringing the two of them together? Can these two find love, in spite of everything that stands in their way?<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: normal; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="background: white; color: #202124;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: normal; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="background: white; color: #202124;"><br /> <b> Look at this terrific cover and read an excerpt. You'll be hooked. 😊</b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: normal; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="background: white; color: #202124;"><br /></span></p><p class="reg" style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 6pt 0in; text-indent: 18.7pt;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-4YepByVWOwu8AR4Al8X-f_qSHxul50veLuayOPRZtfev5D9Q_m1Zk3nCpu2AeMRs8Vbhd8amCGQiAJ3TK_gnCKRDmmMIzD99NLy-k0nFsLots6NqxHWVPM9a798jveUNT-IJSkCtvgAAKV8AqE7xOh8c97j101xYegiSMTLryUED64DJts-TLQ/s680/MoonlightAndMystery_w5618_680%20(1).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="680" data-original-width="415" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-4YepByVWOwu8AR4Al8X-f_qSHxul50veLuayOPRZtfev5D9Q_m1Zk3nCpu2AeMRs8Vbhd8amCGQiAJ3TK_gnCKRDmmMIzD99NLy-k0nFsLots6NqxHWVPM9a798jveUNT-IJSkCtvgAAKV8AqE7xOh8c97j101xYegiSMTLryUED64DJts-TLQ/w392-h640/MoonlightAndMystery_w5618_680%20(1).jpg" width="392" /></a></div> Beth settled next to Jason on a bench in front of the fountain. She glanced upward. “I can’t believe it’s so bright tonight.”<o:p></o:p><p></p><p class="reg" style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 6pt 0in; text-indent: 18.7pt;">Jason pointed over the trees. “Full moon.”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="reg" style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 6pt 0in; text-indent: 18.7pt;">Beth gazed up at the silvery orb. “It’s gorgeous.”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="reg" style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 6pt 0in; text-indent: 18.7pt;">“God’s showing off for us,” Jason said.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="reg" style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 6pt 0in; text-indent: 18.7pt;">Not sure how to reply, Beth unwrapped her sandwich. “I don’t usually eat like this.” <o:p></o:p></p><p class="reg" style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 6pt 0in; text-indent: 18.7pt;">“It won’t kill you to eat fast food once in a while.” <o:p></o:p></p><p class="reg" style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 6pt 0in; text-indent: 18.7pt;">“My mother wouldn’t agree.”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="reg" style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 6pt 0in; text-indent: 18.7pt;">“Is she a healthy eater?” <o:p></o:p></p><p class="reg" style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 6pt 0in; text-indent: 18.7pt;">“That’s an understatement. I didn’t discover fast food until college. Most people expand their food horizons as they get older to include more sophisticated tastes. Me, I regressed.” She dipped a fry into ketchup. “Like the simple pleasure of ketchup.”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="reg" style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 6pt 0in; text-indent: 18.7pt;">Jason laughed. “Here I though the rich folks had everything. But no ketchup? That’s a tragedy.”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="reg" style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 6pt 0in; text-indent: 18.7pt;">“That’s not the worst of it.” Beth leaned close and whispered in Jason’s ear. “No peanut butter, either.”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="reg" style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 6pt 0in; text-indent: 18.7pt;">Jason clutched his hands to his chest. “I never would’ve reached adulthood if it weren’t for peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="reg" style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 6pt 0in; text-indent: 18.7pt;">“Lucky.” They settled into a companionable silence while they ate. The sky was cloudless, and although they were in the center of town, a few stars managed to peek through the moonlight. Beth finished her meal and watched the streams of water dance around the fountain. Peace filled her. She couldn’t remember enjoying an evening this much for a long time.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="reg" style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 6pt 0in; text-indent: 18.7pt;">Jason fished some change from his pocket, threw a quarter into the fountain, and handed one to Beth. “Care to make a wish?”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="reg" style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 6pt 0in; text-indent: 18.7pt;">“What did you wish for?”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="reg" style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 6pt 0in; text-indent: 18.7pt;">“I can’t tell you or it won’t come true.” <o:p></o:p></p><p class="reg" style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 6pt 0in; text-indent: 18.7pt;">Beth giggled. “You really believe that? Fine. I’ll make a wish, but I won’t tell you mine, either.”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="reg" style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 6pt 0in; text-indent: 18.7pt;">“I’ll make you a deal,” Jason said.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="reg" style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 6pt 0in; text-indent: 18.7pt;">Beth turned to him, “Oh?”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="reg" style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 6pt 0in; text-indent: 18.7pt;">“When my wish comes true, I’ll tell you what it was.”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="reg" style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 6pt 0in; text-indent: 18.7pt;">“Do magicians even need wishes?” Beth asked. “Can’t you make your magical dreams come true?”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="reg" style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 6pt 0in; text-indent: 18.7pt;">Jason’s eyes caught Beth’s and held her captive. “Some wishes have to happen on their own.” <o:p></o:p></p><p class="reg" style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 6pt 0in; text-indent: 18.7pt;">Beth lost herself in his eyes for a moment too long. She tore her gaze away, stood, and closed her eyes. <i>I wish I could always feel as happy as I do tonight. I wish I could forget about being who my parents want me to be and be who I want to be. </i>She opened her eyes and tossed the coin into the fountain.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="reg" style="background: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 6pt 0in; text-indent: 18.7pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: normal; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0in;"><b><span style="background: white; color: #202124;">Buy Link:<o:p></o:p></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: normal; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="background: white; color: #202124;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: normal; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="background: white; color: #202124;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Moonlight-Mystery-Chester-County-Couples-ebook/dp/B0CG9TWDS5">https://www.amazon.com/Moonlight-Mystery-Chester-County-Couples-ebook/dp/B0CG9TWDS5</a><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: normal; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="background: white; color: #202124;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 24px; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="background: white; color: #202124; line-height: 24px;"><br />If you’d like to learn more Karen Malley or her books, check out her website at </span><a href="http://www.karenmalley.com/" style="color: #954f72;"><span style="background: white; line-height: 24px;">www.karenmalley.com</span></a><span style="background: white; color: #202124; line-height: 24px;">. If you sign up for her newsletter, you’ll get a free short story in your inbox each week. You’ll also be the first to find out about new releases and giveaways and have a chance to have <i>your </i>ideas show up in a future book!<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: normal; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="background: white; color: #202124;"></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: normal; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: normal; margin: 0in; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="background: white; color: #202124;"><o:p> 💕💕💕💕💕</o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: normal; margin: 0in; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="background: white; color: #202124;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p> </p>Penelope Marzechttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17563853832717077875noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12150572.post-59785869379535698552023-10-11T21:34:00.000-04:002023-10-11T21:34:04.199-04:00The Scariest Book<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrcowoAkpcprrhlgGtZdR-4FuHlAJp-zENHjEPCpHVAKlo138DQwFVYbqWh2IiHGoOQ_wXdwqWYkKTwxw1upbw9awHDlx-Yz3okNIt2PV-OJpYx6k5YSPrzXOm6L1OvEvtD0RGQDiwZntRoOwh2h1UdFMYzuwwNluSdDYKQx9hqL9kc1fg0QqcYg/s4608/20230120_153701.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="4608" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrcowoAkpcprrhlgGtZdR-4FuHlAJp-zENHjEPCpHVAKlo138DQwFVYbqWh2IiHGoOQ_wXdwqWYkKTwxw1upbw9awHDlx-Yz3okNIt2PV-OJpYx6k5YSPrzXOm6L1OvEvtD0RGQDiwZntRoOwh2h1UdFMYzuwwNluSdDYKQx9hqL9kc1fg0QqcYg/w640-h480/20230120_153701.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />The other day, I was chatting with my favorite book club. Since Halloween will soon be here, we got onto the topic of scary stories. The question was raised, "What is the scariest book you ever read?"<p></p><div>I do not read horror or any other terrifying tales. I like romance and happy endings. However, for a while in my younger years I subscribed to the Book of the Month Club and so I wound up with a book that scared me so much I only read the first chapter. Then I set it aside for about half a year before I tackled it again. Eventually, that book was made into a movie. Against my better judgement, I went to the movie. Hubby wanted to see it. I spent much of that movie holding my hands over my eyes. I walked out of the movie with legs that felt as if they were made of rubber. </div><div><br /></div><div>The book and the movie made from the book was <i style="font-weight: bold;">Jaws. </i>Some folks really don't think that's very frightening. But I live near the ocean and grew up near Matawan, New Jersey. In 1916, a shark swam up Matawan Creek and attacked four people. Killing two. You can see a video explaining the event and exactly where it happened here: <a href="https://youtu.be/fFHHwe9h_2k?si=8fmxn3r-cek80F5u" target="_blank">https://youtu.be/fFHHwe9h_2k?si=8fmxn3r-cek80F5u</a></div><div><br /></div><div>I enjoy the beach. I love living near the sea. But there are dangers and everyone should be aware of them. </div><div><br /></div><div>What's the scariest book you ever read? </div>Penelope Marzechttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17563853832717077875noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12150572.post-7125472840398780642023-10-04T17:00:00.000-04:002023-10-04T17:08:38.891-04:00THE COMPANY YOU KEEP for $0.99<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0fTrLxtMUk-0RCdvOt0L5f6I1rMk0CLZ-qef1CM685ANH-K3Dz9NXa2WfdxXEIFW-DuDC08tqSFsWoHU_bhFxgdOUSeAn_pArBSH64NJHQ8ZPl9Pn68L7JlL1ozDZj7eHml2PcQ/s1600/TheCompanyYouKeepFINALmed.jpeg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0fTrLxtMUk-0RCdvOt0L5f6I1rMk0CLZ-qef1CM685ANH-K3Dz9NXa2WfdxXEIFW-DuDC08tqSFsWoHU_bhFxgdOUSeAn_pArBSH64NJHQ8ZPl9Pn68L7JlL1ozDZj7eHml2PcQ/s400/TheCompanyYouKeepFINALmed.jpeg" width="264" /></a></div>
<b><span>Halloween is coming! THE COMPANY YOU KEEP is at the rock bottom price of $0.99. </span></b><b><span>This book features </span></b><b><span>a ghost, a billionaire, plenty of evil entities, and a terrible secret. </span></b><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "segoe ui emoji";"><span style="font-size: large;">😱</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: segoe ui emoji;"><span style="background-color: white;"><b>It’s the perfect story for a dark, cold night in the month of October.</b></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: segoe ui emoji;"><span style="background-color: white;"><b>👻</b></span></span></div>
<b><span>Here are snippets of reviews from the past:</span></b><br />
<b><span><br /></span></b>
<div>
<h4>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-weight: normal;"><span style="background-color: white;">A reader on Goodreads said, "This book surprised me. I though it was just a romantic novel, but I was wrong. Besides romance, includes other genres like suspense , paranormal and crime. </span><span style="background-color: white;">I couldn't put it down until I finished it. I really enjoyed the story!"</span></span></h4>
<h4>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-weight: normal;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></span></h4>
<h4>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-weight: normal;"><span style="background-color: white;">Diane Tugman of </span><i>The Romance Studio</i><span style="background-color: white;"> said, "With each chapter you'll be drawn into a tangled web of the supernatural."</span></span></h4>
<h4>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-weight: normal;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></span></h4>
<h4>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-weight: normal;"><span style="background-color: white;">Anastasia Castella-Young of </span><i>Mind Fog Reviews </i><span style="background-color: white;">said, "I highly recommend this paranormal romance to those interested in demons, spirits, adventure and love. Penelope Marzec hits the mark dead on!"</span></span></h4>
<div style="color: #f9cb9c;">
<span style="color: #660000; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></span></div>
<b><span>This is the story of Jennifer Brant. Her existence has centered on protecting the world from a cursed spirit who guards a deadly portal located on her farm. When a billionaire developer, haunted by the sins of his past, wants to buy her farm, she refuses, knowing the spirit will be released on those she loves. When someone intent on controlling the demon kidnaps her brother in order to use the farm for his own evil deeds, Jennifer and the billionaire must unite to save her brother and destroy the portal. Can their union grow into a loving and safe lifetime for them and their future generations?</span></b><br />
<div style="color: #f9cb9c;">
<b><br /></b></div>
</div>
<div>
<b><i><span style="color: #783f04;">The following scene is in Nathan's point of view--he's the billionaire. While Jennifer sleeps after being involved in an accident, Michael, her brother, offers Nathan the land he wants. This comes as quite a surprise to the billionaire... </span></i></b></div>
<br />
Nathan placed another log on the cheery blaze in the fireplace. Jennifer lay on the couch, bundled in a wealth of quilts. Her chest rose and fell softly in a steady rhythm. He sat in the chair and took a calming breath. Despite a variety of bruises and a mild concussion, she should be fine, especially since he had volunteered to watch her for the rest of the night.<br />
<br />
Michael walked into the room with two brandy glasses. “Here, McDugan. It’s been a long night.”<br />
<br />
“Thanks.” He accepted the glass.<br />
<br />
Michael paced around the room with his brow deeply furrowed. The younger man was still revved up and running on adrenaline.<br />
<br />
“I want to thank you. I really panicked when I saw Jen’s truck up against that tree,” he admitted. “I’m usually cool on a call but it’s different when it’s one of your own...” After a pause, Michael continued in a raspy tone. “You see, our parents died in a car accident.”<br />
<br />
He nodded. He’d felt the twist in his gut when he had heard the metal crumple in the crash, but when he saw Jennifer in that wreck it was as if his heart slipped out of gear. He sipped some of the brandy. The warmth of peaches tingled on his tongue and his control nearly crumbled. Wiping the sweat from his brow, he dared another taste. The sample reminded him so vividly of the flavor of Jennifer’s lips that he felt nearly possessed.<br />
<br />
He drew in a great breath. For a moment tonight, he thought he had lost her. In that brief flash, raw grief sliced into him. Thinking about it later, he was stunned at his violent reaction. He told himself that simply visiting a wreck stirred up the old horror.<br />
<br />
“The police said someone tampered with the brake hoses,” Michael blurted out. “But that’s ridiculous. I know it’s an old truck. But George—” He stopped his restless pacing and paled. “George always fixed it.”<br />
<br />
“She said the brakes didn’t work.” He kept his voice low. He did not want to disturb her. She needed to rest.<br />
<br />
“Yeah. Yeah. I know.” Michael downed a good portion of the brandy in one gulp. “How much land do you really need?”<br />
<br />
He narrowed his eyes, wondering if he had heard correctly.<br />
<br />
“Your absolute minimum,” Michael reiterated.<br />
<br />
Momentarily speechless with surprise, he nearly dropped the glass in his hand. Did he see desperation in the hard lines around Michael’s mouth? “Your sister has led the fight and worked the hardest to keep me out of Marlpit. Won’t she consider you a traitor?”<br />
<br />
“Everything has changed in the last few months. Everything.” Michael swore softly. “My wife is ill. We had another dry summer so we didn’t grow much produce.” He gave a small snort. “Except for peaches. We had plenty of peaches. Now with Jennifer’s truck destroyed, I don’t think there’s any way—” He didn’t finish the thought. A deep scowl creased his forehead and he balled up his fists.<br />
<br />
Nathan cleared his throat. Warning gongs sounded in his brain but he ignored them. He had no reason to trust Michael Brant. However, after tonight, it seemed worth the gamble. “Forty acres.”<br />
<br />
Michael sniffed. “Why didn’t you tell us that in the first place?”<br />
<br />
“I padded my original proposal figuring it would get whittled down to nothing anyway.” Despite the heady liquor, his nerves seemed ready to snap. He’d wanted this for so long.<br />
<br />
Michael set his glass on the mantle and stared into the fire, his back to Nathan. “What price?”<br />
<br />
He realized he was about ready to crush the glass in his hand. He forced himself to relax. Leaning back in the chair, he tried to look casual. He didn’t want to get roped into a ridiculous deal.<br />
<br />
“This is an unusual liqueur,” he said, taking another sip from his glass. “Do you make your own brew?”<br />
<br />
Michael’s shoulders sagged. “Nah. That stuff is something Jen mixes up. Peach juice and vodka, I think.”<br />
<br />
He glanced at her, still sound asleep on the couch. Wispy tendrils framed her serene face. She looked fragile—and enchanting. A pang of something like loneliness stabbed at his heart. Clearing his throat, he added. “Your sister is quite talented.”<br />
<br />
“Yeah. Well, you have to do something with all those peaches before they rot,” Michael commented. He plopped down in the wingback chair and hung his head. He looked beaten.<br />
<br />
Despite the smell of victory, a hollow space seemed to widen in Nathan’s heart. This had all become more than a simple business deal. While he had spent months arguing with Jennifer and the people of Marlpit, he would win only because fate and some crazed maniac had lent him a hand.<br />
<br />
“Which forty acres are you willing to part with?” He stared into the sweet but potent liquor in his glass.<br />
<br />
Silence hung in the air for several tense minutes before Michael answered. “You can have a portion of Abigail’s woods.”<br />
<br />
He lifted his head and frowned. “It would take extra labor to clear it.”<br />
<br />
Michael stood again as he spoke louder than before. “It’s well up on the ridge so you won’t have any drainage problems. In addition, it’s out of the DEP’s designated area.”<br />
<br />
Then something sparked in Michael’s eyes as his voice reached a new crescendo. “Aside from that, the visitors to your fancy theater will have a sweeping view of feudal serfs living as they did in the dark ages! You should be able to raise the price of the tickets for that privilege!”<br />
<br />
Jennifer moaned and stirred on the couch. Without conscious thought, Nathan sprang to her side. He touched her forehead. His hand shook. He wasn’t sure if she felt warm or hot. Dammit. She looked too pale.<br />
<br />
“Should I wake her like the doctor said and ask her some questions? Do you think she’s all right? How does her forehead feel to you?” His heart hammered in his chest.<br />
<br />
Michael rubbed the back of his callused hand on his sister’s cheek. “She’s okay. I should just keep my big mouth shut.”<br />
<br />
Relief flowed through him. “She always tries to act so tough but she isn’t,” he mumbled, almost to himself. Then he glanced back at Michael, catching an odd puzzled look as it flitted across the younger man’s features.<br />
<br />
“Yeah. Well. She’s flesh and blood, McDugan. Two hundred year old maple trees are a lot tougher,” he whispered hoarsely. “Come on into the kitchen. I’ll get a calculator. Let’s talk numbers.”<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">💀💀💀</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">You can find the book at many ebook distributors. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Company-You-Keep-Penelope-Marzec-ebook/dp/B00WQ77NSW" target="_blank">Amazon</a><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/the-company-you-keep-11" target="_blank">Kobo</a><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"> <a href="https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/company-you-keep-penelope-marzec/1100309921?ean=2940151900201" target="_blank">Barnes&Noble</a></div>
<br />Penelope Marzechttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17563853832717077875noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12150572.post-33665179690117141502023-09-27T17:00:00.000-04:002023-09-27T17:15:43.663-04:00Will I Write Your Book?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRWOKP__NlXrgal4-_f8-A24Dgv4-MB7niqNWhfS4RKPGEezOdk98zEqQMD2VF659dKRegfodoDgDQ1gtccbNM-nE3pYMyWH-AjMw8HQVbnHbpGcSCijzEiIRi5sjaWoszkzgBpA/s1600/CAM00410.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRWOKP__NlXrgal4-_f8-A24Dgv4-MB7niqNWhfS4RKPGEezOdk98zEqQMD2VF659dKRegfodoDgDQ1gtccbNM-nE3pYMyWH-AjMw8HQVbnHbpGcSCijzEiIRi5sjaWoszkzgBpA/s1600/CAM00410.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
Invariably, someone will come up to me at a talk or book signing and tell me they have a great idea. Ideas are wonderful. I have lots of them, too.<br />
<br />
This someone tells me their idea would make a great book.<br />
<br />
Yes, the plot sounds entertaining and it probably would make a good movie, too, if they could get a filmmaker interested in it. I've always thought several of my own books would make good movies.<br />
<br />
Next, this someone asks if I will write their book for them.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
My answer is always the same. No, I will not write the book for them.<br />
<br />
"But it's a terrific idea!" says this someone (who is afraid someone else will steal their idea and make a million dollars with it).<br />
<br />
Ideas are all over the place--like pollen in the springtime. For whatever idea an author has cooked up, another author has used the very same idea.<br />
<b><i><br /></i></b>
<b>Ideas cannot be copyrighted.</b> (This is a fact.)<br />
<br />
Writing a book takes a lot of time. Each word must be typed into a document. The document will then need to be edited. There are many factors involved in a good edit besides punctuation and spelling errors. The book must be structurally sound, dialogue should flow in a natural manner, there should be variety in the author's choice of words, and length of sentences. Verbs should be active and not passive.<br />
<br />
There are people who will write a book for someone else, but they need to be paid to do it, because it is work to sit down at a computer and type for hours and hours. It is not an easy job. I give this someone the name of a friend who has a business writing books for other people.<br />
<br />
After editing, the book needs an eye-catching cover. Finally, it needs to be marketed, which is the most difficult job of all.<br />
<br />
Odds are the author will not make a million dollars.<br />
<br />
My someone goes away, rather disappointed.<br />
<br />
I go home, turn on my computer, and happily type out another chapter using my own idea.Penelope Marzechttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17563853832717077875noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12150572.post-36326850355789626152023-09-20T21:30:00.002-04:002023-09-20T21:50:43.894-04:00Our Changing Vocabulary<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRWisX2_8G_pe0RzGEcCX6qMYAs2cDBmeqTgNwf6_HTB4C3G9cVhNBeNJg5AgaD49Yx3uxEEj87wKF-GSSNFEo9pf4LP1Jqfi6nHoCGFOtTox7nt5H-g5TA9HE1katsoxLrA0KVA/s1600/englishages.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5518001217198150274" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRWisX2_8G_pe0RzGEcCX6qMYAs2cDBmeqTgNwf6_HTB4C3G9cVhNBeNJg5AgaD49Yx3uxEEj87wKF-GSSNFEo9pf4LP1Jqfi6nHoCGFOtTox7nt5H-g5TA9HE1katsoxLrA0KVA/s200/englishages.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; float: left; height: 200px; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 142px;" /></a>I bought this book many years ago because I always wanted to write historicals. It took a while before I had the nerve to do it but I succeeded. I <i>love</i> writing historicals! I <i>love</i> research! However, English is constantly evolving and <b><i>English Through the Ages</i></b> ensures that my characters speak words appropriate for the time period in which the story is taking place. <a href="http://www.dictionary.com">dictionary.com</a> also gives the dates that most words were in use and I often use it just to be sure because it's quick. <br /><br />Nevertheless, reading the lists of words in <b><i>English Through the Ages</i></b> for the time period during which my novel is set gives me a better idea of what life was like then--what was new, fresh, and contemporary. <br /><br />For instance, the word <i>cerulean</i> was born about 1670. I love that color. <i>Ethereal</i> was also in use at that time as well as <i>jaded</i>. Wonderful descriptive words!<br /><br /><i>Transmogrify</i> was in use by 1660. That would be terrific for a paranormal. <br /><br />Then there's <i>homemade</i>. <i>Homemade</i> was in use by 1660. That surprised me. I would have thought almost everything at that point was homemade. I guess Mom's homemade biscuits have always tasted better than the ones that anyone else makes.<br /><br />So if you're going to write historical fiction, I strongly suggest you get a copy of <b><i>English Through the Ages</i></b>.Penelope Marzechttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17563853832717077875noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12150572.post-84450645884557273092023-09-13T14:25:00.002-04:002023-09-13T15:01:25.597-04:00Respect the Power of Moving Water<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPLU6uqIGoJ0q3V8nklVK1bjxYt7XFu0AQRt07jafdNSkoxa8m6SS4C1RJNoRtNofYKxz0S44QYVSI_XzHieexMq0-72nE8sRXwo5IJybQahVsqYRAjMC_a-yxnxc3MJ6VmdJpCHuglg-eOUojCAdXn9QHaCZ_VM1E5RVijaj5IaqJRSedrtZtAQ/s1569/39957504_Unknown.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="956" data-original-width="1569" height="390" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPLU6uqIGoJ0q3V8nklVK1bjxYt7XFu0AQRt07jafdNSkoxa8m6SS4C1RJNoRtNofYKxz0S44QYVSI_XzHieexMq0-72nE8sRXwo5IJybQahVsqYRAjMC_a-yxnxc3MJ6VmdJpCHuglg-eOUojCAdXn9QHaCZ_VM1E5RVijaj5IaqJRSedrtZtAQ/w640-h390/39957504_Unknown.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /> I snapped this photo from the pier at Ocean Grove on Monday. The waves were huge and dangerous. That much water barreling toward someone can knock them down. Deadly rip currents can pull people way out. There have been many rescues and some drownings at the shore. After Labor Day there aren’t any lifeguards at the beach, but the weather is still warm and some people will risk their lives to cool off. <p></p><p> As I stood on the pier, the waves slammed into the pilings and the force shook the entire pier. I didn’t stay there long. Hurricane Lee is not near New Jersey, but it stirred up those waves. Angry water is something to respect and avoid. </p><p> The first hurricane I remember as a child was Hurricane Donna in 1960. That hurricane did not make a direct hit on NJ. It was 80 miles east of Atlantic City as it went by. But the water level at Sandy Hook reached 10.1 feet above mean low water. Only Superstorm Sandy went higher at 13.21 feet.</p><p> I grew up in a house on a hill over a lake that drained into Raritan Bay. When Hurricane Donna went by, the water from the bay came into the lake. The lake rose to within a foot of the top of the hill. The French doors blew open with a gust of wind, but we managed to shut them again and put a chair up against them to prevent them from blowing open again. Then a tree fell on our neighbor’s chimney. </p><p> My mother ordered us to put on boots and raincoats. She figured we would have to evacuate. Fortunately, the water receded and Hurricane Donna moved on to Long Island and New England. We were safe.</p><p> The fresh water fish in the lake died. My brother and I tried to save some of them by filling up buckets with fresh water and putting the fish into the buckets. But it was hopeless. All the fish died. </p><p> Never underestimate the power of moving water. Stay safe. </p>Penelope Marzechttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17563853832717077875noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12150572.post-18607598292297454412023-08-31T12:20:00.003-04:002023-08-31T12:20:53.364-04:00Two Contracts in One Month!<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzftLhTYTAFH516xzrSLQMByuf5FlLzaPhGX7_XVoi1Ea4GubDQ1NTJxQOOEH1RUh3FJWazdelug0o' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><br /> I received a second book contract from Pelican Book Group for a new manuscript, <i>LOVE'S GIFT</i>. I am thrilled! This is a historical romance set in 1903. The heroine, Amaranth, is Chinese and the Chinese Exclusion Laws were in effect in the United States. You can read about those laws here: <a href="https://www.loc.gov/classroom-materials/immigration/chinese/exclusion/" target="_blank">https://www.loc.gov/classroom-materials/immigration/chinese/exclusion/</a><p></p><p>Found as a newborn on the beach and raised in an orphanage, she was trained as a secretary, but nobody wants to hire her due to her ethnicity. At last, she gets a job working for a suffragist. However, Amaranth fears getting in trouble since she could be sent to China, where she doesn't know anyone and cannot speak the language. </p><p>It will be a while until the book is released. There will be edits and all the other stuff that goes into putting a book together. But I am delighted!</p><p>Two contracts in one month is a record for me. </p><p style="text-align: center;">💕💕💕💕💕 </p>Penelope Marzechttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17563853832717077875noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12150572.post-2641084160560755732023-08-17T10:24:00.001-04:002023-08-17T10:24:56.414-04:00Don't Pick This Up<p> I am deep into editing THE KEEPER'S PROMISE--or whatever the book will be eventually called. Yes, the name may change. But editing is always a good thing. It makes the book better. My editor has suggested adding a scene and that's fine with me. It should round things out a bit while tossing in another red herring. (I love those!)</p><p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibfHjVPyoq7dQPaXZx0Hkoaat2bGrG4MyexKtffnvSJckkJ0DL0SKBjVGOhNVWllwWhIOEmYIIQxWFTyeRDSoUxrM3lF-bwdap83VivQmknXKvGJf5J1pwz_erVLQ_-4sHV3KAHd3XXwez6mo-Le9FiN5YVYBF8IEkWSgDWpHZGfwBU_k7Em87yA/s1200/FEATURED-16.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="1200" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibfHjVPyoq7dQPaXZx0Hkoaat2bGrG4MyexKtffnvSJckkJ0DL0SKBjVGOhNVWllwWhIOEmYIIQxWFTyeRDSoUxrM3lF-bwdap83VivQmknXKvGJf5J1pwz_erVLQ_-4sHV3KAHd3XXwez6mo-Le9FiN5YVYBF8IEkWSgDWpHZGfwBU_k7Em87yA/s320/FEATURED-16.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">From butterflyhobbist.com</td></tr></tbody></table>Despite the editing, I make an effort to walk everyday. Sometimes, if it's hot or raining the walk is inside a large building. But this past week we enjoyed some lovely summer weather and I came across something I never saw before. It was this caterpillar.<p></p><p>I did not touch it. I learned a long time ago that touching a caterpillar can be a bad idea. Many will give you a rash at the least. This one, the American Dagger Moth Caterpillar, will sting you with those long, black bristles, which are poisonous. I let him go on his way.</p><p>They live on oaks, maples, walnut trees, and so on. We have lots of those trees around here. </p><p>Of course, I'm not particularly fond of creepy, crawly things in general--except for ladybugs, lightning bugs, and other insects that don't bite. </p><p>So, be careful when you take a walk and don't pick up the American Dagger Moth Caterpillar. They are cute but dangerous. </p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Penelope Marzechttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17563853832717077875noreply@blogger.com0