tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10759993423272336612024-03-05T01:08:09.619-07:00The Electric ScrollUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger71125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1075999342327233661.post-88608232202403205642018-11-22T13:40:00.001-07:002018-11-22T13:40:11.758-07:00New Christmas Books<br />
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I know today is Thanksgiving. I also know that people are
now beginning to think about Christmas presents. I wanted to make sure you knew
about the Christmas Romances we’ve published this year.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS-rp1TUHM9g8w2qG9TGl5kdNTyXUOTCGSfqTBwHjhw89Ey6_VdRHREI9fK9TH7WBiE7uvM0qxeOY-haI8bJJsIYWrYa3MjEXwZV1Lns6PnAK4xb3J75yS_a-n4RGkX-YV0SKXe2iIcqU/s1600/Joie+323x500.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="323" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS-rp1TUHM9g8w2qG9TGl5kdNTyXUOTCGSfqTBwHjhw89Ey6_VdRHREI9fK9TH7WBiE7uvM0qxeOY-haI8bJJsIYWrYa3MjEXwZV1Lns6PnAK4xb3J75yS_a-n4RGkX-YV0SKXe2iIcqU/s200/Joie+323x500.jpg" width="128" /></a>First, Betsy Love has crafted the most wonderful Hallmark-esque
romance, <i><a href="http://electric-scroll.com/index.php?content=book&id=44" target="_blank">The Miracle of Joie</a></i>. Joie is an elf, and has been sent by Mrs. Claus
on a special assignment: Eight-year-old Emily needs a mother. Complicating her task
is that there’s only a week left before Christmas. To make matters even worse,
Emily’s father, Matt, is still grieving the loss of his wife in the auto
accident that also put Emily in a wheelchair for life. To top it all off,
another elf, Wink, is obsessed with getting Joie to return to the North Pole
Kingdom and marry him.<o:p></o:p></div>
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When events turn Joie into a human, she loses her magic. The
success of her mission seems impossible, but she still has her wits. Can Joie
get everything fixed in time?<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkIW0NMziX2anwIZiiGpFIbf-LQNZGmVBKUwB_y5EnCrkEzEjNRyDgUmdI5Pb23CdEt8ZITQrBh5tGoKmlcFnmKeyjrRpwLxdKP8l8Chgu99SA1aOr1t_L54Rcni-ae-vNT3I_Ov0yvgM/s1600/b_second_love_167x250.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="250" data-original-width="167" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkIW0NMziX2anwIZiiGpFIbf-LQNZGmVBKUwB_y5EnCrkEzEjNRyDgUmdI5Pb23CdEt8ZITQrBh5tGoKmlcFnmKeyjrRpwLxdKP8l8Chgu99SA1aOr1t_L54Rcni-ae-vNT3I_Ov0yvgM/s200/b_second_love_167x250.jpg" width="133" /></a></div>
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Next is Keri Brooks McWhorter’s <i><a href="http://electric-scroll.com/index.php?content=book&id=37" target="_blank">Second Love in New York City</a></i>. Madelyn and Ben – and their families – have been best friends since
they moved in next door to each other. When Madelyn’s husband Luke died, she
swore she’d keep her marriage vows by remaining single for the rest of her
life. Since Ben joined the widower club, they’ve relied on each other for
everything. Best friends to the end.</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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Now Madelyn’s daughter and Ben’s son are getting married.
Everyone’s headed to New York for the Christmas wedding, including Heather, the
woman Ben’s been dating. Will Heather succeed in breaking up Madelyn and Ben’s
friendship, or will they discover the love that’s been bubbling beneath the surface
all these years?<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC2HriuAldxoESYLxDfnfATnCbirDdN6XPqSPC7Y3wVXsUyn4hyDxPxrlnkGyPW7yqFJhyphenhyphenOYJ8LRswfLNO3h8KqTT1DZAVSCcGxFGYq9tSLoam5675HIt6qInxzEAkjJmHOGY9rIULr38/s1600/022.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="400" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC2HriuAldxoESYLxDfnfATnCbirDdN6XPqSPC7Y3wVXsUyn4hyDxPxrlnkGyPW7yqFJhyphenhyphenOYJ8LRswfLNO3h8KqTT1DZAVSCcGxFGYq9tSLoam5675HIt6qInxzEAkjJmHOGY9rIULr38/s200/022.jpg" width="133" /></a></div>
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If that's not enough Christmas romance for you, check out Natalie Peck's <i><a href="http://electric-scroll.com/index.php?content=book&id=4" target="_blank">A Gigolo for Christmas</a></i>. It's not new this year, but it's still a good fun read.</div>
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Shelia Everett couldn't have imagined a worse company Christmas party. By the end of the evening, she'd been fired and evicted. Fortunately, her boss' date, Anders Adamson, was willing to help her repair the damage. He even offered to help her get a job at his escort service. What's a good girl to do when she discovers she's fallen in love with a gigolo?</div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1075999342327233661.post-37741191586975509382018-10-09T16:04:00.001-07:002018-10-09T16:18:43.720-07:00Catching Up<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkMPHK1d8X2IIi1GJRRP9k0pQ4gd2TNJyWP8xbY8fFIBHoABSGaU-kE4swnaBpDXxly7wu9A5sNUISzXmPZ5OWTtQwvDXZN7GHg-Lfft_agXmxHAFxdghOn4pXk3XBbOz42iBb_eVHh9g/s1600/jon-tyson-771694-unsplash.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1202" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkMPHK1d8X2IIi1GJRRP9k0pQ4gd2TNJyWP8xbY8fFIBHoABSGaU-kE4swnaBpDXxly7wu9A5sNUISzXmPZ5OWTtQwvDXZN7GHg-Lfft_agXmxHAFxdghOn4pXk3XBbOz42iBb_eVHh9g/s200/jon-tyson-771694-unsplash.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo by Jon Tyson, via Unsplash</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
It's been a little longer than forever since the last post, and I can't really explain what happened. It may have had something to do with launching of the newsletter, which duplicated much of the information on the blog. You can sign up for our newsletter on the front page at <a href="http://electric-scroll.com/index.php">The Electric Scroll</a>, and then you know you won't miss anything new, exciting, or important.<br />
The staff at The Electric Scroll has been very busy. I can't believe that we've published 53 books in only six years, particularly with how small our staff is. It's incredible.<br />
We've had the chance to work with some great writers, including <a href="http://electric-scroll.com/index.php?writer=3&content=author&gobutton=Go">Natalie Peck</a>, <a href="http://electric-scroll.com/index.php?writer=2&content=author&gobutton=Go">Scott Ashby</a>, <a href="http://electric-scroll.com/index.php?writer=9&content=author&gobutton=Go">C R Simper</a>, <a href="http://electric-scroll.com/index.php?writer=12&content=author&gobutton=Go">Betsy Love</a>, and most recently, <a href="http://electric-scroll.com/index.php?writer=14&content=author&gobutton=Go">Keri Brooks McWhorter</a>.<br />
Keri released a wonderfully cute romance novella named <i><a href="http://electric-scroll.com/index.php?content=book&id=37">Second Love in New York City</a></i> last June.<br />
Scott has written two more Cavaliers novels, <i>Terror on Terradia</i> and <i>Court Martial on the Charys</i>, that are in line to be published soonish, and is hard at work writing the first of three more Cavaliers novels telling the story of how the Aubria got from Timora to Terradia.<br />
Betsy just finished a Christmas novel named <i>The Miracle of Joie</i>, and it should be available late in November.<br />
In September, The Electric Scroll opened a new division, dedicated to helping authors publish independently. We call it the author services division. We offer editing, formatting, and cover-making services at fair, but generally low-prices.<br />
If you know your manuscript needs well-trained extra eyes on it, you can borrow ours.<br />
If you're freaking out about the merger between CreateSpace and Amazon, you don't need to worry.<br />
If you need a manuscript formatted for print at the new Amazon platform, we've got you covered.<br />
If you want to publish in eBook too, we format for Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Smashwords.<br />
If you need a cover, we can help you make an eBook (front) cover.<br />
If you already have a front cover, we can craft a spine and back cover for your print book.<br />
We can also make the entire full-wrap cover for you.<br />
And, once you've approved the files, we can even upload the files for you.<br />
<br />
If you want to know more about author services, come talk to me on <a href="https://www.facebook.com/anne.m.jenner">Facebook</a>. Or if you want to talk about publishing your book with us. Or if you want to just talk.<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1075999342327233661.post-85851577678048196312016-03-11T18:00:00.000-07:002016-03-11T18:00:07.475-07:00Presidential Dogs Not Allowed
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghsrM5dEt6LYJeYDVkAP9eG4NfyMeccZWYtUQYcNL3HxyvXogKsp2T5yFQ5oNuMoYxy8Q44vND8E1Bue5Z4cXoggXAvYe9K9UTkZ8XhyphenhyphenL0Lnxp7ZC39l4w0_f0JpUh1SvLnPH_RY174y4/s1600/015.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghsrM5dEt6LYJeYDVkAP9eG4NfyMeccZWYtUQYcNL3HxyvXogKsp2T5yFQ5oNuMoYxy8Q44vND8E1Bue5Z4cXoggXAvYe9K9UTkZ8XhyphenhyphenL0Lnxp7ZC39l4w0_f0JpUh1SvLnPH_RY174y4/s200/015.jpg" width="130" /></a></div>
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One day I almost caused an incident that might have been
considered funny. One Saturday morning, I was assigned to greet people at the
entrance [of the George H. W. Bush Library] rather than introduce the film that
begins the tour, guide tourists through the exhibits or sit at the information
desk.</div>
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Near the entrance, I noticed a tall man approaching who was
dressed in khaki clothes with a backpack, wearing a baseball cap, and leading a
dog on a leash. He looked like one of the professors, and I moved forward to
explain the Library regulations that the dog could not enter.</div>
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He leaned down to pet the dog and only then did I realize he
was petting Millie! I just backed up, smiled and said “Good morning, Mr.
President.” Of course, Millie entered with him.</div>
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That was a close call. I hadn’t noticed the ever-present
secret service fellows with the ear pieces that signal the presence of the
President. They usually dress in clothes to match what he’s wearing, trying to
blend in with the crowds. I chuckle when I wonder what if I’d tried to keep him
from entering his own library. (From <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Jenny’s
Daughter</i> by Jaqi Wade) <a href="http://tinyurl.com/nk37akr">http://tinyurl.com/nk37akr</a></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1075999342327233661.post-52678510030488422492016-03-10T18:00:00.000-07:002016-03-10T18:00:21.691-07:00Where's my money?
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQNIHjCNER_bbLbUZy1Nw5KsMWbkyx5Ecnd9wZrDLzXJIM_sIr8rMXuQ_ss6v12ONw7ZH_bKERwGGYxA3DdEbJRVX4hMEbXuXTuJLI-1zfb0K6xlNyZ2HAMQATNiJ3Nm_Yn2YlYH4Wg9E/s1600/014.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQNIHjCNER_bbLbUZy1Nw5KsMWbkyx5Ecnd9wZrDLzXJIM_sIr8rMXuQ_ss6v12ONw7ZH_bKERwGGYxA3DdEbJRVX4hMEbXuXTuJLI-1zfb0K6xlNyZ2HAMQATNiJ3Nm_Yn2YlYH4Wg9E/s200/014.jpg" width="134" /></a></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Charleston, I’m really not feeling well. If you want
answers to your questions, please don’t hit me anymore. I’ll faint, and you’ll
get nothing but silence. If you will please explain what money you mean, I’ll
tell you all I know.” She felt Gavin stir again.</div>
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“Tell me where the money is, Mrs. Beardsley, and maybe I
won’t slap you for a while.” Sarcasm dripped from his voice, his lip curled in
an ugly sneer.</div>
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Katrina sighed loudly. “What money are you talking about,
Charleston? I don’t make much at work.”</div>
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“I’m talking about the forty-three million dollars Uncle
Andrew left you in his will!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(From <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Inherit My Heart</i> by A M Jenner)<a href="http://tinyurl.com/q4zfau7">http://tinyurl.com/q4zfau7</a></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1075999342327233661.post-41436902592721476662016-03-09T18:00:00.000-07:002016-03-09T18:00:09.906-07:00Valentine's Day in Chicago
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSzaVj8BPZTFjnAwzNiTnKs22cbdhbG8ib15nxOKZZVcsSZFGM64xQDVhUW5s0VeZVpqBR3Ao187PRaGtGPhVBlxwXDC0KRPEEzYVbvTfQWhhPIfu7scXBdsy9SfWSiYBJPBapBYJIk-A/s1600/013.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSzaVj8BPZTFjnAwzNiTnKs22cbdhbG8ib15nxOKZZVcsSZFGM64xQDVhUW5s0VeZVpqBR3Ao187PRaGtGPhVBlxwXDC0KRPEEzYVbvTfQWhhPIfu7scXBdsy9SfWSiYBJPBapBYJIk-A/s200/013.jpg" width="135" /></a></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Once she was changed, she wrapped the dress around her
blood-stained clothing, and threw the bundle as far off the road as possible.
She chuckled. </div>
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<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Climbing back in the car to continue the journey, she was
still chuckling. She had to find the humor in the bad situations she kept
finding herself in or she’d go nuts. </div>
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Samantha looked intently at her. “Why are you laughing?” </div>
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“If forensics tries to match those bloodstains, they’re
going to be very confused.” </div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Why?”</div>
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<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“I just got back from the St. Valentine’s Day Massacre.” (from
Quinn by Marie Evergreen) <a href="http://tinyurl.com/mdnew8m">http://tinyurl.com/mdnew8m</a></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1075999342327233661.post-22946539512243502422016-03-08T18:00:00.000-07:002016-03-08T18:00:15.464-07:00What's a Klodfon?
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfwtSf6-wW32ku6cVIsxO4ReswJ5K3zmtp1W-gdyCLl0IiXYnZekCPVigfkqUYbEGpf4sbexQzmO9VWIt9J72s6B1_z81W-BkwXFzAPdGJJro4znYiZvSE35u6aN9r0s4lga-6WQx58-Q/s1600/012.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfwtSf6-wW32ku6cVIsxO4ReswJ5K3zmtp1W-gdyCLl0IiXYnZekCPVigfkqUYbEGpf4sbexQzmO9VWIt9J72s6B1_z81W-BkwXFzAPdGJJro4znYiZvSE35u6aN9r0s4lga-6WQx58-Q/s200/012.jpg" width="131" /></a></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Suddenly Glen realized what he was seeing. These must be
Clod-fawns. They were huge! Jenna had been conservative in her description of
seven foot lizards. These lizards walked on two legs and used their tails for
balance. Covered from head to toe with bright, neon green scales, they reminded
him vaguely of a tyrannosaurus rex, only with well-muscled, usable arms
attached on the sides of their shoulders. </div>
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The helmets they wore were shaped wrong for any dinosaur.
Glen rather thought they would fit on his own head, though the squarish corners
might be uncomfortable. Their faces were different, too; he could see them
through the helmet’s clear front covering. They were definitely lizardish; red
eyes with a slit for a mouth, and absolutely nothing where the nose should have
been. Glen wondered absently what they would do if they needed to wear glasses,
with no nose to hold them up. </div>
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<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
They wore black bits of stuff strapped to various parts of
their bodies, and Glen recalled Jenna saying something about blast armor. It
certainly looked like armor. Not the kind knights used to wear; more like a
Roman soldier’s. Breast plates and back plates, helmets, and guards on the
forearms and shins. </div>
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<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Other than the helmets and armor, they wore no other
clothing. Apparently the lizards had no problem with nudity, but then, Glen
couldn’t recognize anything that modesty should prompt them to cover. (from
Assignment to Earth by Scott Ashby) <a href="http://tinyurl.com/kr2uyh5">http://tinyurl.com/kr2uyh5</a></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1075999342327233661.post-42196108999832046542016-03-07T18:00:00.000-07:002016-03-07T18:00:09.420-07:00Not THAT sort of a man!
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq8D43PogWr_o-2DM8h4iqz1AunO0svrGsdAShoNm0leVba3UfhDoX9shTbSWlueJDbpXscblfGgPhx1JzmsLAYbZYuZcYsMz2wDs7oFghVxQly0xoNTvdyUq8Tx6GpmfJbSjQf6skN4c/s1600/011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq8D43PogWr_o-2DM8h4iqz1AunO0svrGsdAShoNm0leVba3UfhDoX9shTbSWlueJDbpXscblfGgPhx1JzmsLAYbZYuZcYsMz2wDs7oFghVxQly0xoNTvdyUq8Tx6GpmfJbSjQf6skN4c/s200/011.jpg" width="133" /></a></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“I’ll be gone about a week. You and Gramps can manage that
long without me, right?”</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Of course we can. Have you got a hotel room yet? They’ve
got that big party there for New Year’s, so I’m hoping not everything’s
booked.”</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Anna concentrated on slicing the bread evenly. She knew Gran
wasn’t going to approve of what she was going to say next.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Well? Have you?” Gran asked.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“I’m staying in Jim’s guest room.”</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Without a chaperone?”</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“I’m not flying out there to have sex with him, Gran!”</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Her grandmother chuckled. “I don’t for a minute believe
you’re going out there planning the sort of shenanigans that will get you in
trouble, but I’m not a naïve country girl, either. That sort of thing happens
when unmarried people stay under the same roof. One goodnight kiss can turn
into a baby before you realize what’s happening!”</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“He’s not that sort of a man.”</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Honey, they’re all that sort of a man. And for that matter,
we’re all that sort of women.” (From <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Meet
Me Midway</i>, by Natalie Peck) <a href="http://tinyurl.com/kendo35">http://tinyurl.com/kendo35</a></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1075999342327233661.post-16839973494597225822016-03-04T18:00:00.000-07:002016-03-04T18:00:24.295-07:00Inside Cell
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ0FGqA4AKANmXUU3SAgPvtGKw2iQSJNJsQouPczw3CHdvcz2lz1r6MYXuY07kpH9sRfmusg1lSQ8LzAD7iH425Aj_x35y8awkdrmgzqOadfd-FPlVP17AWjmre3UA2C6946fyVufQmro/s1600/010.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ0FGqA4AKANmXUU3SAgPvtGKw2iQSJNJsQouPczw3CHdvcz2lz1r6MYXuY07kpH9sRfmusg1lSQ8LzAD7iH425Aj_x35y8awkdrmgzqOadfd-FPlVP17AWjmre3UA2C6946fyVufQmro/s200/010.jpg" width="132" /></a>Jameisaan looked around, assessing the situation. “We’re in
an inside cell,” he said calmly.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Why do you say that?” Fergasse’s voice reached out in the
near pitch darkness.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“No windows in the walls,” was the answer.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“None of the cells have windows, as they’re all underground.
We could be anywhere.”</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Oh.”</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“We’re lucky in one respect,” Fergasse said, as calmly as
Jameisaan had been speaking.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“What’s that?”</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“They didn’t chain us to the walls.” Fergasse rattled the
chains of a set of manacles bolted to the wall.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“That was nice of them,” came the acerbic reply.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Very nice. The manacles are measured so you can’t sit or
lie down.”</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“I see. In that case, I’m really glad they decided to forgo
the formality.”</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Absolutely,” Fergasse agreed. (From <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Siege of Kwennjurat</i>, by Scott Ashby) <a href="http://tinyurl.com/nw4lfsb">http://tinyurl.com/nw4lfsb</a></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1075999342327233661.post-81698546453378851292016-03-03T18:00:00.000-07:002016-03-03T18:00:08.768-07:00They're in Her House!
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBHJs7fd9I-hbx4mpakDFwcDMXpf-_1ipENbP_bvjznR8m1DYNM5vLyFIvYaj63Qzmc71etZTcIsswWTlik14TVUTkw2c_ddDU__6e0Gq0xLzeIIBeXsFIGuSfhQC8Ffrp09GLv2xXcyc/s1600/009.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBHJs7fd9I-hbx4mpakDFwcDMXpf-_1ipENbP_bvjznR8m1DYNM5vLyFIvYaj63Qzmc71etZTcIsswWTlik14TVUTkw2c_ddDU__6e0Gq0xLzeIIBeXsFIGuSfhQC8Ffrp09GLv2xXcyc/s200/009.jpg" width="132" /></a>Unlocking her door, she entered and reached to turn on the
lights. A strong arm gathered her close, a hand pressing hard across her mouth.
A deep, gruff voice spoke in her ear.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Don’t scream. Do y’unnerstan’?”</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Marilee made a sound in her throat, and the hand eased its
pressure on her face by a fraction. The strong arm held her tight, but her own
fear held her still. </div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The men were back. She was a dead woman. (From <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">A Heart Full of Diamonds</i>, by A M Jenner)
<a href="http://tinyurl.com/oefddym">http://tinyurl.com/oefddym</a></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1075999342327233661.post-86362637290379295282016-03-02T18:00:00.000-07:002016-03-02T18:00:06.512-07:00Calcasieu Pass<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7dxJB5W383bQhequL4sUaykII2tXIPaaCpft8IeS0yofoYuytOzNFJ4Kr3kjXQJ1V9tXoUHg1i1-jTkS82vFibn88Nv8BStL3w83eGdmWDhMBdEIIETIry1kvDQJhyphenhyphenBXyhUkc16zXoJ8/s1600/008.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7dxJB5W383bQhequL4sUaykII2tXIPaaCpft8IeS0yofoYuytOzNFJ4Kr3kjXQJ1V9tXoUHg1i1-jTkS82vFibn88Nv8BStL3w83eGdmWDhMBdEIIETIry1kvDQJhyphenhyphenBXyhUkc16zXoJ8/s200/008.jpg" width="132" /></a>Calcasieu Pass was an important spot in the river. The Trans-Mississippi Department depended on clear passage for providing supplies of corn, beef, muskets, gunpowder and reinforcements as well. </div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
For almost three years the Calcasieu River was of little or no interest to either side of the war, even though the Pass itself was only about thirty-eight miles from the Texas-Louisiana border. Even so, after the war began, one company had erected a mud fort on the island which had miles of marshy land. This was an attempt by the Confederates to keep Union foraging parties from gaining access to food sources needed by the Confederate troops. The island was virtually abandoned during the winter of 1863-1864 and because of its terrain didn’t seem worthy of invasion or defense. (From <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The von Rosenberg Family of Texas: The Civil War Years</i>, by Ann Barnes) <a href="http://tinyurl.com/nq2r7yg">http://tinyurl.com/nq2r7yg</a></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1075999342327233661.post-62569145422447941402016-03-01T18:00:00.000-07:002016-03-01T18:00:15.235-07:00Grazing the Donkeys<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg18W2wgP-Fz98VUvtKePibXhPrJyyMDQ2b9U4TKtSw_Rf6PmrMPqFa8AHu7lq1Dst0lcPsFBBQlEbm9uh5POWr6Q7bAYRKVE2hE3AAebSjM27-6lyhceF6GQoaSzzdpuRHxe8tWbvRhXY/s1600/007.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg18W2wgP-Fz98VUvtKePibXhPrJyyMDQ2b9U4TKtSw_Rf6PmrMPqFa8AHu7lq1Dst0lcPsFBBQlEbm9uh5POWr6Q7bAYRKVE2hE3AAebSjM27-6lyhceF6GQoaSzzdpuRHxe8tWbvRhXY/s200/007.jpg" width="130" /></a></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">When I was old
enough – I think I was about six years old – I was allowed to go outside the
city walls with other boys. The older ones tended small flocks of sheep, or
grazed donkeys and goats. If we begged enough the older boys would let us ride
on the donkeys, but they always made us get off after only a little while so
that the donkeys could graze. The donkeys were hobbled so that they would not
run away. Donkeys may refuse to move at all, but if they want to go they will
run away. I have known people like that. (From <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Samuel, Seer</i>, by Gordon C. Krantz) <a href="http://tinyurl.com/nahwsqu">http://tinyurl.com/nahwsqu</a></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1075999342327233661.post-58349883000321088942016-02-29T18:00:00.000-07:002016-02-29T18:00:15.642-07:00Do You Have a Minute?
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK5e6YT6CXiqdo0l8CoOgUizQbc0Ix-HVjXgTC8t4pyvTi4b4D2-2v0d13m-nzRoeZ-099WHy2f74uE4OhWLr0zBj2JIX1aWcFT-vf7mBIsYVdvz_3GdJWCbh53v7WDg9bY5NrmDl-t9o/s1600/006.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK5e6YT6CXiqdo0l8CoOgUizQbc0Ix-HVjXgTC8t4pyvTi4b4D2-2v0d13m-nzRoeZ-099WHy2f74uE4OhWLr0zBj2JIX1aWcFT-vf7mBIsYVdvz_3GdJWCbh53v7WDg9bY5NrmDl-t9o/s200/006.jpg" width="130" /></a></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Moms Place</i>,
may I help you?” </div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Rhys’ gut tightened at the sound of her voice. “Cassi? It’s
Rhys. Are you busy or do you have a minute?”</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“It’s about time you called!” Her voice filled with venom.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“You sound a little upset,” Rhys said. “What’s the matter?”</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“What’s the matter?” she echoed. “You totally ignore me for
nearly a month, and you want to know why I might be just a little bit upset?
You could at least have called to turn me down, instead of leaving me hanging
for three and a half weeks!” Cassi’s voice rose steadily, until she was nearly
shouting.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“What are you talking about?”</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“You know very well what I’m talking about, Mister
I-never-eat-breakfast-without-my-newspaper Morgan!” (From <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Moms Place</i>, by Natalie Peck) http://tinyurl.com/ntx6kuq</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1075999342327233661.post-50823864718931372772016-02-26T18:00:00.000-07:002016-02-26T18:00:10.140-07:00Becoming Mormon
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYLxRNQwtD7N7OhQpJpuCKWUPh1VciPN4hsE-NsomHlgN53y_h9dAMtiXf-hcpsvbtxJdUsT7i_RZK5b-imshSldg0GBZH_HADAzuRiOqTdXEjjfZOOr-Gbw9b8y_G1k_JWVgEh1mzQuQ/s1600/005.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYLxRNQwtD7N7OhQpJpuCKWUPh1VciPN4hsE-NsomHlgN53y_h9dAMtiXf-hcpsvbtxJdUsT7i_RZK5b-imshSldg0GBZH_HADAzuRiOqTdXEjjfZOOr-Gbw9b8y_G1k_JWVgEh1mzQuQ/s200/005.jpg" width="130" /></a><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">His conversion to
the church came about in a very interesting manner. A number of his neighbors
were assisting him in a house-raising. He suggested to them that, in the
evening when the day's work was done, they go in a body and break up a meeting
which he had heard the young Prophet Joseph Smith was holding in the nearby
woods. Intending to cause a disturbance, he found himself converted instead.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Many times after he
was heard to testify that before the prophet had spoken five minutes, he had
received a thorough assurance of the divinity of his mission, which testimony
remained with him all his life. (From <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Journal
Through the Ages</i>, by Mischa Borgnaes)</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Monday, July 23,
1838...On the road near Bellefontaine one of the sons of Martin H. Peck, had a
wagon wheel run over his leg, but as the Lord would have it, and to the
astonishment of all—considering the weight of the load on the wagon—he received
no particular injury, although the wheel ran over the boy's leg on a hard road
without any obstruction whatever. The wheel made a deep cut in the limb, but
after hands were laid on him in the name of the Lord, the boy was able to walk
considerable in the course of the afternoon. This was one, but not the first,
of the wonderful manifestations of God's power unto us on the journey. (From <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Journal Through the Ages</i>, by Mischa
Borgnaes) <a href="http://tinyurl.com/llamlof">http://tinyurl.com/llamlof</a></span></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1075999342327233661.post-90957067536154808952016-02-25T18:00:00.000-07:002016-02-25T18:00:28.689-07:00What to Wear
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSo3K4OG-YIJUv8JTC6u2tgfdCRggq3mC8JJxmte9FTqLVJNArC3WXcOM5jhj2-FhGFwgReDPWuRyIRRkgAHFucrRfkifVHP_0si57AAPqMjM0CmFdWnGx16ngDJCKoKdF09hwU-eciGQ/s1600/004.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSo3K4OG-YIJUv8JTC6u2tgfdCRggq3mC8JJxmte9FTqLVJNArC3WXcOM5jhj2-FhGFwgReDPWuRyIRRkgAHFucrRfkifVHP_0si57AAPqMjM0CmFdWnGx16ngDJCKoKdF09hwU-eciGQ/s200/004.jpg" width="133" /></a></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Dress?” Anders asked.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Hmph. You’re the only male I know who would know or care
about asking that. Casual. My budget runs to Denny’s, especially now while I’m
out of work.”</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“I’ll see you at six, then,” Anders said, “and I’ll be
dressed for Denny’s, but since your budget is tight, I have a better idea.” </div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“What?”</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“It’s a surprise. I’ll show you tomorrow.” He brushed his
lips against her cheek, and was gone before she could decide whether he’d
actually kissed her – and whether she should have turned her face toward him
and kissed him back. (From <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">A Gigolo for
Christmas</i>, by Natalie Peck)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><a href="http://tinyurl.com/p6lp5mu">http://tinyurl.com/p6lp5mu</a></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1075999342327233661.post-41353735312548992222016-02-12T18:00:00.000-07:002016-02-12T18:00:05.739-07:00Best Cookies Ever to Touch my Tongue
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfseb-0RErcD6Hki8n42_K1so1Vna5J5QeUjMi6xXOGa3Xf__OSGzkWVVUpaSRM6ge6thrososWytmt3zVqRd_XwZ1q87VcUNfkSGeRegGsfgQMDxbFkImBCm1pxsn2_O85pnPcx3Rhvw/s1600/003.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfseb-0RErcD6Hki8n42_K1so1Vna5J5QeUjMi6xXOGa3Xf__OSGzkWVVUpaSRM6ge6thrososWytmt3zVqRd_XwZ1q87VcUNfkSGeRegGsfgQMDxbFkImBCm1pxsn2_O85pnPcx3Rhvw/s200/003.jpg" width="133" /></a></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Choc-Scotch Cookies </div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Contributed by Romana</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-no-proof: yes;">Invented while at college, and very few could guess
what that other flavor was.</span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-no-proof: yes;">½ C butter</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-no-proof: yes;">½ C shortening</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-no-proof: yes;">¾ C sugar</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-no-proof: yes;">¾ C brown sugar</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-no-proof: yes;">2 eggs</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-no-proof: yes;">1 tsp vanilla</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-no-proof: yes;">2½ C flour</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-no-proof: yes;">1 tsp baking soda</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-no-proof: yes;">½ tsp salt</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-no-proof: yes;">½ pkg semi-sweet chocolate
chips</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-no-proof: yes;">½ pkg butterscotch chips</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-no-proof: yes;">Cream butter, shortening, and
sugars. Add liquid ingredients and mix well. Add dry ingredients and mix well.
Stir in chips. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-no-proof: yes;">Bake on an ungreased sheet 8
- 10 minutes at 375°F. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-no-proof: yes;">(From <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Clues to Food</i>, by A M Jenner) http://tinyurl.com/psrsn3x</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1075999342327233661.post-18048539646882007292016-02-11T18:00:00.000-07:002016-02-11T18:00:03.584-07:00Invisible Servants
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnafAOCR1S3wNWVJRuCmRTPzXluyoOHp5rRsqnrgnXu2cr5uoeZCKWGEUHs8HxSf9bHID9CUOQ3HlptUtE3I-vcqEXnWmKDUtm03_QYsqE2STnD9U3mpTjy49YJtB6Ti3MOESBy7MFcNk/s1600/002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnafAOCR1S3wNWVJRuCmRTPzXluyoOHp5rRsqnrgnXu2cr5uoeZCKWGEUHs8HxSf9bHID9CUOQ3HlptUtE3I-vcqEXnWmKDUtm03_QYsqE2STnD9U3mpTjy49YJtB6Ti3MOESBy7MFcNk/s200/002.jpg" width="131" /></a></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Ez sat down at the table and drew out her wand, and with a
few flicks and several muttered incantations, her kitchen was alive with what
looked like invisible servants. The eggs floated from the refrigerator and
broke in mid-air, throwing their contents into the frying pan which
materialized beneath them just in the nick of time. A few slices of bacon made
their stately way to the pan, and began sizzling on contact. The pan hovered
merrily above the stove as it cooked the food, even though Ez had forgotten to
turn the gas on. The bamboo spatula stirred the eggs, scrambling them
beautifully, while the tongs darted in and out of the pan, turning the bacon as
needed. (From "Scrounger Ez" by Scott Ashby, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Bits and Bites</i>) http://tinyurl.com/mc4vbh5</div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1075999342327233661.post-54823256550343248882016-02-10T18:00:00.000-07:002016-02-10T18:00:03.202-07:00Death in Waiting
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDAu2xebvWRxZpDjJkkH4t53xooocbdnKuPmGWiHIqf4HkV1B7uQXmuHuRtV-28GCLoEtBE4buoVZ2D_yuwb07ZDlZxbsys4_VSidOhGqMFRyypjR8JDAmb8SfjdNfJl0Z-S3NTeaTTeU/s1600/Tanella_166x250.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDAu2xebvWRxZpDjJkkH4t53xooocbdnKuPmGWiHIqf4HkV1B7uQXmuHuRtV-28GCLoEtBE4buoVZ2D_yuwb07ZDlZxbsys4_VSidOhGqMFRyypjR8JDAmb8SfjdNfJl0Z-S3NTeaTTeU/s200/Tanella_166x250.jpg" width="132" /></a></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Wading back across
the stream, he found the best place to give adequate view of his quarry while
concealing his own presence and settled in for the wait.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">A scant brace of
hours ambled by with few riders and only one coach passing before the small lad
wearing Kwenn’s livery cantered into view. Always an exceptional marksman,
Rocnar took careful aim, allowing the horse to bring the boy closer. The sound
of the shot rent the air and caused the horse to plunge and buck as its rider
slipped onto the roadway, blood staining his jerkin from the neat new hole over
the center of his heart. (From <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Tanella’s
Flight</i>, by Scott Ashby)</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">http://tinyurl.com/mc4gp2l</span></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1075999342327233661.post-13724275499374570842016-02-09T18:00:00.000-07:002016-02-09T18:00:28.912-07:00Origami Love Notes
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijjBq0IfhyEKpmqOw_9ko9_WTi4iCiSwcpX3IE0GZuL3_RxFAIV7BMIStjWiIJ6xdcJnDfphf8jlmGDcDJkNk1T0EcQDu3K9ijMLTM0jLm6lf_NHLWJV6Mw7xnZNc_GSvbQxVOEQ_-Hjs/s1600/020.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijjBq0IfhyEKpmqOw_9ko9_WTi4iCiSwcpX3IE0GZuL3_RxFAIV7BMIStjWiIJ6xdcJnDfphf8jlmGDcDJkNk1T0EcQDu3K9ijMLTM0jLm6lf_NHLWJV6Mw7xnZNc_GSvbQxVOEQ_-Hjs/s200/020.jpg" width="133" /></a></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
I hadn’t seen Darragh for a few days, other than through the
Med Center window when he was too busy to bother. The station had received a
ship full of refugees who were battling some illness I didn’t hear named, but
his obsessive problem-solving skills no doubt would come in handy.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
I left dinner on his doorstep every night, and every morning
I found the dish clean and set beside my door. The second day he left me a note
on a tiny square piece of colored paper that simply said “Thank you.” The third
and every day since, he left me a note that said “Thank you” and a meticulously
folded paper animal or flower. (From<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> Rift
Watcher, </i>by C R Simper) http://tinyurl.com/q7vytu9</div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1075999342327233661.post-21041941026647858052016-02-08T18:00:00.000-07:002016-02-08T18:00:09.258-07:00Madder than a Wet Hen
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD9crPdn2LMHXdi3upbyBaXCEItYGnKADxOU1ZPQkqqEEXGOWZ2HIM2kN59vfmxhIwVSbNTmrPdlG2t28cuc2NDK_67IEu-6JVbS7zMFNwH9RIqflwBTq6lpfjYSqI01Ub-OA5Gc8nbw0/s1600/b_sirens_167x250.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD9crPdn2LMHXdi3upbyBaXCEItYGnKADxOU1ZPQkqqEEXGOWZ2HIM2kN59vfmxhIwVSbNTmrPdlG2t28cuc2NDK_67IEu-6JVbS7zMFNwH9RIqflwBTq6lpfjYSqI01Ub-OA5Gc8nbw0/s200/b_sirens_167x250.jpg" width="133" /></a></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
They rounded the corner of the garage and saw utter chaos.
Some chickens had escaped their coop and were clucking, squawking, flopping and
fluttering about outside their pen. The hens still in the enclosure were even
more hysterical. </div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Wang Huck and Jack, entering the coop, waded into the melee,
trying to corner two smallish dogs within the enclosure. With men and dogs now
inside their fence, those chickens still in the pen were doing a frantic
dance-and-screeching squawk.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Each time a dog was cornered, the men made a lunge for it
but several chickens would get in the way. The dog would escape and run to the
other side of the pen, stirring up more chickens. Jack was yelling and waving
his arms. Wang Huck’s howling, punctuated by his singsong words, wove in and
out of the discordant noise and made a most unusual accompaniment to the
cackles, barks and yells.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The panorama was so unexpected and bizarre the girls started
to giggle. The harder the men tried, the less successful they were. The funnier
the situation became, the harder the girls giggled. The men were getting tired.
Rebecca, still laughing, thought of a possible solution. (From<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> Sirens in her Heart </i>by Natalie Peck)
http://tinyurl.com/qxxvmz4</div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1075999342327233661.post-64216041082704313232016-02-05T18:00:00.000-07:002016-02-05T18:00:13.837-07:00Fire in the Night
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqiN0HujUXr1_sVOtPBX3ydAbRrpuYTGKkH65BZTq0QuLQcjTOB-QOxe6kq-dIsI_IknoVv6k1CMQEm6cC5rpPK8WLneugAkiW9yIpnYcETZFbPd0FnmiJQ7yYmfos7rxR4-Yc9eBkD5o/s1600/018.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqiN0HujUXr1_sVOtPBX3ydAbRrpuYTGKkH65BZTq0QuLQcjTOB-QOxe6kq-dIsI_IknoVv6k1CMQEm6cC5rpPK8WLneugAkiW9yIpnYcETZFbPd0FnmiJQ7yYmfos7rxR4-Yc9eBkD5o/s200/018.jpg" width="130" /></a></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
A blazing light awakened Gladiola, and her first thought was
she’d overslept and the sun was shining in her eyes. She smelled smoke and sat
upright in her cot. She’d not overslept. The sun was not in her eyes. It was
still the middle of the night, and the light was caused by the burning tent
around her. (From<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> Crown of Tears </i>by
Scott Ashby) http://tinyurl.com/pf2m49s</div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1075999342327233661.post-52602203547933093722016-02-04T18:00:00.000-07:002016-02-04T18:00:06.144-07:00Please Don't Slap Me!
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2v6c-rgNVH7f6eAqqeF7NisL2a0TH8tzmg0eBp10uxXY3iam85YgQmFfNsF44B0-iwWEKmrrpNwDW7N5_sa0ImLee3VgEe0I6teU6BiEQkNcWYB2fRrD3cqh-djIh5NR7ZnYqDbyV3ew/s1600/017.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2v6c-rgNVH7f6eAqqeF7NisL2a0TH8tzmg0eBp10uxXY3iam85YgQmFfNsF44B0-iwWEKmrrpNwDW7N5_sa0ImLee3VgEe0I6teU6BiEQkNcWYB2fRrD3cqh-djIh5NR7ZnYqDbyV3ew/s200/017.jpg" width="131" /></a></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
A tall, slender man stepped into the room, and the impact of
the stunning vision before her rendered Shenda’s voice dead in her throat
before she’d made a sound. If this man was her purported boyfriend, it was most
definitely not Steven.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
This man was gorgeous. His blue eyes were a startling
contrast to the evenly tanned skin on his face and forearms, while his obsidian
hair was shiny and thick. Those were the only features her brain cataloged
before he proclaimed a loud “Darling!” and swooped her up into a full-body,
all-encompassing hug, whirling her around as he did so.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
When his back was to the nurse, he whispered urgently in her
ear. “I’m your bodyguard. Please, for your own sake and for your life, play
along with me. I’ll explain everything when we get outside. I won’t make you go
anywhere you don’t want to go, I promise you, but please play along for now. I’m
going to kiss you. Please don’t slap me!”</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
With those words still seeping into her ears, the hunk
leaned back just a little from the embrace and loudly proclaimed, “I love you
and I’ve missed you, Sweetheart!” and soundly kissed her. (From <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Deadly Gamble</i> by A M Jenner) http://tinyurl.com/qd4n8sb</div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1075999342327233661.post-18513729218382297272016-02-03T18:00:00.000-07:002016-02-03T18:00:08.600-07:00A Delayed and Secret Meeting
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEpOhJop76NqPHPfqxJcl6l419DR0oAjlfkuCrVMLBKipkQlsFSpafA0cwnWSvaAFAsrykrUJcLWNCk8bvj7cRRvagjmVGEodF3kNpreN4iAsxSr34rUa0tAxW3Qx_pfJL5FK7fWGAeC4/s1600/016.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEpOhJop76NqPHPfqxJcl6l419DR0oAjlfkuCrVMLBKipkQlsFSpafA0cwnWSvaAFAsrykrUJcLWNCk8bvj7cRRvagjmVGEodF3kNpreN4iAsxSr34rUa0tAxW3Qx_pfJL5FK7fWGAeC4/s200/016.jpg" width="132" /></a></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Something’s happening, something’s wrong,” he whispered
into her ear. “When everyone’s here, don’t wait for me. Take them all back to
our camp. Tigano couldn’t talk, but wants to meet me later. I’ll make my own
way back after I’ve talked to him, but it’ll be late. He’s set the eleventh
hour as the time.”</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Bring him with you afterward,” Dexya said grimly. “He’s
risked enough on our behalf.”</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“I will, if he’ll come.”</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“If he won’t come willingly,” Dexya said, “then whack him
over the head and bring him anyway.”</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Quibell chuckled at her proposed solution as he moved away
from her position and melted into the darkness. (From <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Fabric of the World</i> by Scott Ashby) http://tinyurl.com/ophfp6u</div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1075999342327233661.post-45324373401051485202016-02-02T18:00:00.000-07:002016-02-02T18:00:21.828-07:00Special Equipment<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfwtSf6-wW32ku6cVIsxO4ReswJ5K3zmtp1W-gdyCLl0IiXYnZekCPVigfkqUYbEGpf4sbexQzmO9VWIt9J72s6B1_z81W-BkwXFzAPdGJJro4znYiZvSE35u6aN9r0s4lga-6WQx58-Q/s1600/012.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfwtSf6-wW32ku6cVIsxO4ReswJ5K3zmtp1W-gdyCLl0IiXYnZekCPVigfkqUYbEGpf4sbexQzmO9VWIt9J72s6B1_z81W-BkwXFzAPdGJJro4znYiZvSE35u6aN9r0s4lga-6WQx58-Q/s200/012.jpg" width="131" /></a></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Mike hurried to catch up to where Skylar was walking with
Jenna. He opened his mouth, then glanced at Jenna and shut it. Skylar watched
him and could see the tussle between curiosity and caution written on his face.
</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Curiosity won. With another sideways look at Skylar, Mike
softly commented, “I see you got yourself a kitty. What’d you hit him with, a
club?”</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Equally quietly, Skylar said, “I shot him.” He looked at
Mike’s shocked and disbelieving face and grinned.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Mike snorted. “With a wet pistol,” he said, “Right!”</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Skylar’s smile widened. “Special equipment.”</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Mike cut in, a bit of frustration showing. “Let me guess,
it’s experimental and you’re not allowed to talk about it. Are you in the air
force or something?” </div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Skylar choked back his laughter. “Or something,” he agreed.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Skylar, that
cougar’s dead and there’s not a mark on him! What on earth did you use to kill
him?” </div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Skylar placed a hand on Mike’s shoulder, facing him
squarely, and with a serious tone which told Mike not to push too far, replied,
“Let’s just call it space-age technology and leave it at that, all right?” (from
<i>Assignment to Earth</i> by Scott Ashby) <a href="http://tinyurl.com/kr2uyh5">Read more here.</a></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1075999342327233661.post-9877595909231389042016-02-01T18:00:00.000-07:002016-02-01T18:00:08.501-07:00Converting Pounds to Kilograms
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghsrM5dEt6LYJeYDVkAP9eG4NfyMeccZWYtUQYcNL3HxyvXogKsp2T5yFQ5oNuMoYxy8Q44vND8E1Bue5Z4cXoggXAvYe9K9UTkZ8XhyphenhyphenL0Lnxp7ZC39l4w0_f0JpUh1SvLnPH_RY174y4/s1600/015.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghsrM5dEt6LYJeYDVkAP9eG4NfyMeccZWYtUQYcNL3HxyvXogKsp2T5yFQ5oNuMoYxy8Q44vND8E1Bue5Z4cXoggXAvYe9K9UTkZ8XhyphenhyphenL0Lnxp7ZC39l4w0_f0JpUh1SvLnPH_RY174y4/s200/015.jpg" width="130" /></a></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
We’d packed spaghetti sauce packets in our luggage and that
was to be it; spaghetti and meatballs with some salad and fresh bread.
Home-cooked, even if it was a packaged sauce mix. All of us were anticipating
the first home cooked meal in Brazil.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Margie and I walked to shop for food at the little stores in
the neighborhood. First to the little veggie shop for salad stuff, then next
door to the bakery for French bread and then next door to the meat market.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
We could just point to what we wanted at the first two
stores, but had to say what we wanted at the meat market. They understood that
we wanted ground beef. We forgot the difference between kilos and pounds and
watched wordlessly as they ground 2 kilos (4.5 lbs.) of beef. We had decided
that kilos were half a pound instead of 2.2 pounds. We forgot how to say stop!
We couldn’t explain and were too embarrassed to do more than watch and pay. We
didn’t break into hysterical laughter until we got back into the house.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The new refrigerator hadn’t been delivered, so we had to
cook all four pounds, eight ounces for that one meal. The kids loved that for
once they had enough meatballs to go with their spaghetti! (From <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Jenny’s Daughter</i> by Jaqi Wade)
http://tinyurl.com/nk37akr</div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1075999342327233661.post-52049829814628246742016-01-29T18:00:00.000-07:002016-01-29T18:00:07.920-07:00Charleston's Evil Smile<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQNIHjCNER_bbLbUZy1Nw5KsMWbkyx5Ecnd9wZrDLzXJIM_sIr8rMXuQ_ss6v12ONw7ZH_bKERwGGYxA3DdEbJRVX4hMEbXuXTuJLI-1zfb0K6xlNyZ2HAMQATNiJ3Nm_Yn2YlYH4Wg9E/s1600/014.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQNIHjCNER_bbLbUZy1Nw5KsMWbkyx5Ecnd9wZrDLzXJIM_sIr8rMXuQ_ss6v12ONw7ZH_bKERwGGYxA3DdEbJRVX4hMEbXuXTuJLI-1zfb0K6xlNyZ2HAMQATNiJ3Nm_Yn2YlYH4Wg9E/s200/014.jpg" width="134" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Some small sound alerted Katrina that she wasn’t alone in
the house.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Dear Lord, Charleston was in here, she just knew it! The
feeling was prickling the back of her neck, making the hair feel as if it were
standing straight out from the nape. Another muffled sound came to her ears. He
was in her bedroom. If she could just get to the back door again, she’d be
free!</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
As Katrina reached the back door, she heard her name called
from the kitchen doorway. The sound, far from stopping her, gave her an added
burst of speed.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Even as she cleared the porch and steps, her mind rejected
the thought of finding the spot in the bushes where she’d entered her yard. Her
main thought was to put distance between herself and the man in the house.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
She rounded the corner, heading for the front of the house
and ran smack into a man. Startled, she looked up as his arms closed around
her. Even the pale light from the moon could not hide the evil smile on
Charleston’s face.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(From <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Inherit My Heart</i> by A M Jenner)
<a href="http://tinyurl.com/q4zfau7">Read More Here</a></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0