London blog

One Upon A Christmas Eve

2009-12-23T22:52:00.000-08:00

“Close the door, would you?” Chelsea’s internal voice called to her father. She slid the bag of groceries onto the counter and turned back to kick the front door closed. Much as she’d like to have given it a quick karate slam, she pushed it shut like a normal human being even though there was nothing normal about this Christmas Eve.

“He’s gone.” The voice of the E.R. doctor reverberated through her as though she were still standing on the stark linoleum of Mercy General.

An exaggerated shiver shook through her as she made way back to the kitchen. There she hunched over the grocery bag staring, not seeing its contents on the countertop of her father’s small beach bungalow. Pressed against the bluff of the Santa Monica shoreline, it provided much needed isolation in the midst of its neighbours and the midst of her grief. People who lived in this close proximity to the ocean seemed naturally to remain self-contained in their own little piece of seaside heaven.

Six weeks since his death. The condition of the house would have made her mother turn in her grave, or urn as the case may be.

“You’re an orphan now,” her internal monitor spoke again.

“Oh shut up.” Her voice filled the small kitchen like an unwelcome visitor. Chelsea no more wanted to see anyone than she wanted to return to her cold dreary flat. The house was hers now. Inheritance and the holidays just didn’t seem to jive.

She sent a fist to the counter, the impact pounding her pinky finger into the rest of her hand wiring a grimace. God, you can’t even display righteous indignation. A girl wasn’t supposed to be alone in the world at the age of thirty-two. She was supposed to be married and having babies. Her parents were supposed to be doting over a couple of cherubic faced grandchildren, opening a mountain of tinsel strewn presents under an Edwardian decorated tree set in a bay window overlooking some snow laden hill. Fire crackling in a perfect fireplace, mantel resplendent with overburdened stockings and hot chocolate in unending supply, Chelsea should be sitting in the lap of her perfect match.

She jumped at the soft brushing of fur against her ankle. “Pockets!” She admonished her father’s gray and white cat now playing circle eights about her feet. Hooking him under the belly she brought him to her face, noses touching in familiar display of joint affection.

A knock at the side door and she lowered him back to the floor. “Who is it?’

“A friend.”

She tilted her head directing her attention to the side of the kitchen facing the neighbors. There was only a slim passageway between her and the trellised walkway of the next door property; one used seldom as it was well hidden from the street and any surfers or beachcombers seeking access to the sand.

She placed a hand against the jamb and leaned into the wood. “What kind of friend?”

A percussive chuckle followed by explanation laced in mirth, “The friendly sort, I should think.”

This further verbiage disclosed and accent. Scottish. Definitely.

Her mind raced through her Rolodex of friends and acquaintances, their faces flashing before her like some penny arcade machine.

“Gerry?” She almost couldn’t bring his name to her lips. They had after all parted on somewhat less than ideal terms. Before she could think it through one hand was at the lock the other turning the knob. Opening the door a broad crack, she placed her face in the slot.

In one arm he’d a small tree decorated to the nines with Christmas merriment. In the other a bottle of champagne and two tulip glass stems intersecting at the neck of the bottle like a skull and crossbones.

He lifted his eyes from their speculative stare at the peephole to her face wedged between jamb and door. He smiled.

Throwing the door open, she stepped back allowing him entrance. The resinous tang of pine swept past her as he entered. Placing the small tree on the window bench of the breakfast nook, he turned summarily shifting the glassware to his now unoccupied hand.

“A toast?” He leaned into her cheek imparting a kiss.

“Uh…I…you--”

“I know we’re supposed to be enemies or ex’s or some such nonsense. But it’s Christmas Eve and I’m on break from filming and you are---” He looked about the adjoining rooms, a frown wrinkling his brow. “Living in squalour.”

Chelsea swept the MacDonald’s wrappers and cup from the edge of the counter and dropped them into the bin.

“Come on, love. Don’t clean on my account.” He placed the glasses and bottle next to a sink full of dishes. “You’ve got more reason than most to be behind in the washing up.” The expression on his face morphed to compassion and he stepped to her wrapping an arm about her shoulder. His warmth did not feel foreign as all human contact had since the funeral. Rather the familiar scent of him sent a torch ablaze in her heart. It exploded into flame as he drew her closer.

“God I’ve missed you.” He whispered into her hair.

She pulled from him sending a hand to the center of his chest. “You don’t have to play consoler or mourner or whatever it is that brought you here.” The green blue of his intense gaze sent a brick splashing into her stomach.

His chin arched as he jutted his jaw infinitesimally forward. “Was I really that bad?”

“Only if you consider three hundred days a year on the road ‘bad’.”

“Through the years we all will be together. If the fates allow.” He broke into baritone song, eyes telegraphing apology steeped in sadness. Palms forward, arms at his side he stood as in submission. A long pause ensued as he remained motionless in front of her.

“Guilty.” The tone of his voice encompassed a myriad of emotions.

“And what makes this time any different than the others?” She forced words of reprimand out of her mouth even though they were about as natural as a blizzard in L.A.

The act of contrition in his eyes was so wrenchingly sincere she couldn’t help but allow the starch to seep from her posture.

Stepping to his chest the tears flowed down her cheeks as she pressed her face into the cotton of his shirt. His hand cradled her head, the other pressed into the middle of her back holding her against his beating heart. As the wave of grief subsided she felt his embrace loosen, hands coming round to cradle her face. Gentle kisses at her cheek, on closed lids and so tenderly on her lips, she felt every fibre of his empathetic display.

“I’m so sorry,” he said. She opened her eyes to engage his. Tears reddened his eyes too set under arching brows.

“He’s with Mom now.”

“And still with his daughter.” He stroked the back of two fingers across the apple of her cheek.

“He’ll always be.”

He kissed her so lovingly she thought what fragments remained of her heart would shatter. Another river of silent tears coursed down her cheeks.

“You know I meant coming here to be of help.”

She hugged him. “It is.” Looking up into his eyes she added. “More than you know.”

He slid his hands from her face and took hers into his grasp at his sides. “You go take a shower and I’ll tidy up.”

She sent a questioning look into his eyes.

“No complaints now.”

Chelsea turned down the hall to the bath.

A half hour later she emerged, cloud of steam wafting from the bathroom as she opened the door. Her hair damp at her shoulders, she pulled the soft terry robe about her, tightening the tie in a haphazard knot. Feet scuffing against the smooth wood of the floor, her head filled with the cinnamon spice of something baking as she made her way to the kitchen nook.

Fire ablaze in the hearth, the tree set on the bench at the window, his back to her as he glanced out onto the surf. He turned slowly; grin spreading across his face as he beheld her in all her freshly bathed glory.

“You’re the only man I know that can smile at my drowned rat-ed-ness.”

“It’s not that love. It’s you.”

She sent her eyes scrolling down to her feet. “Oh, yeah. I look the right---”

He grasped her arm and drew her into a kiss that made her knees nearly disintegrate beneath her. As the kiss ended breath mingling he whispered, “Angel.”

He opened his eyes connecting with hers. “You know I’ve always loved you in a robe.”

She laughed. “That’s not how we spent most of our time.”

His eyes turned sober. “That is not why I am here either.”

She tilted her forehead to his. “I know.”

“We can be together,” he said.

“Do you remember that time… I always will. That time in December along the loch when we walked through the snow and I told you I couldna possibly consider havin’ you along on my promotional tours?”

“Or on location.”

A pang of regret pierced the intensity of his gaze. “Yes.”

“And through a dark and frosted window that evening you left. I saw you walk out of my life.”

“You didn’t stop me.”

“I was a fool.”

“Nothing’s changed.”

“We’re both here in L.A.”

“And you’re spending more time on your career now than ever.”

“Aye.” He took her hand and squeezed. “With the exception of one thing.”

She looked into his open book expression, the vulnerability raw as wind off a wintry sea.

“What’s that?”

“I realize I---dinna have to do all this alone.” He shot a glance about the room, returning his focus to her.

“The paparazzi aren’t going to--”

“Dictate my life or who I choose to spend my time with. You know I’d never allow that. It was fear for you and your safety that--”

“Kept you away from me for weeks at a time?” She had a difficulty editing the bitterness from her voice.

“Please, Chels.” He entwined his fingers with hers. “We’ve made mistakes…I’ve made mistakes. Can’t we start again?”

“It’s just another end of a year. It’s just another auld lang syne. We’re not alone. We’ve got the world at our door you see.”

“Screw the world. It’s you and I that are important.”

“That’s exactly what the paparazzi think too.”

“I doen’t care.” He turned from her and looked out the window. “They can all go to the devil.”

“They’re not going anywhere, Ger.”

“That’s why it is high time they know I’m not for sale and neither are you.”

She walked up behind him, placing her cheek against his shoulder blade. “I can handle it.”

He turned. “I dinna want you to have to--”

She sent two fingers to his lips. “It is not up to you. It is part of who you are.” She curled a hand about his forearm. “And I love who you are.”

“I don’t deserve your loyalty.”

“You do.” She stared into him eyes burning with withheld tears.

He drew her to him bodies pressing together in wordless sanctuary. Kissing the crown of her head he said, “ I’ve always thought you smarter than me. We can make it work.”

“I’m dreaming tonight of a place I love even more than I usually do. And although I know it’s a long road back… I promise you.” She recited the words form the old song with meaning.

“You’ll stay safely tucked out of sight so as not to be maligned by the press?”

“I can do that.”

“And we can spend New Years Eve in Scotland?”

“If only in my dreams.”

“No, Chels. We can do it. I’ve two weeks break and mum will be expecting to see me. She’d be elated to see us for a few days between.”

“I can do that.” The tone of her voice reflected all sincerity.

“I know yoo can.” Hope sparked in his burr.

“I don’t mean deal with your crazy life. Although I know I could do that. I mean live my life without my family.”

“You’ll never be without them, love. They live in you.” He touched three fingers to her heart. “Your Dad would be so proud of you he’d burst.”

“I’m not quite sure.”

“You have more talent in you little toe than---”

“In the entire body of literary fiction. I know you’ve said.”

“And so have the critics.”

She sent a hand to his, “Let’s walk,” and tugged, pulling him toward the side door.

“I thought you never used this.”

“You didn’t seem to listen.”

He chuckled and followed along as they made their way down to water’s edge. The beach was deserted, great gray clouds hanging ominously above the waves. Faces turned to the sea, the breeze swept across their cheeks.

“Ger?”

“What?”

“Do you think we could ever live a normal life?”

“If you mean the house in the suburbs and work a day world, I--”

“No I mean being together like normal people.”

He turned his head to look at her, eyes full of remorse.

“You don’t have to be sorry.” She took his hand and squeezed it. “I’m not. You’re doing exactly what is right for you and the world is a better place for it.”

“But are we better?”

“Sometimes when I’m all alone when I’m feeling sad and sorry for myself I think of you and all the gifts you’ve been given. To suppress those in any way would be an affront to you, to your audience and yes…to me.”

Chelsea took his face in her hands. “Honor your gift.”

He covered her hands with his and turned to one side kissing her palm.

“To do any less is to deprive not only the world of your talents but yourself and the fabulous man you have become.”

“And you really dinna mind?”

“I insist.”

“Will you come along with me then?”

“Proudly.”

“And not let the world take advantage.”

“They can only do that if I let them. For me to work and write while you do what you do…now that is my idea of heavenly isolation.”

“Just we two.” He dropped the last of his masks showing her the depths of himself and the wounds of his soul.

They walked along the chilly sand, toes sinking into the glassy surface. A gull soared overhead, an arrow of pelicans skimmed the face of the waves and a foghorn blew its mournful song.

“Merry Christmas, darlin’” He glanced to her, fingers carefully weaving through hers.

She smiled.

Fiction and Life

2009-12-05T08:22:00.001-08:00

Day Five

A writer’s path never comes to destination as there is always more. More stories to tell, more worlds to explore, more inspirations to see and convey by the most powerful force on earth…words. There is no other medium that respects the consumer as does a book. The reader brings with him a unique life experience that blends with the story and words of the author into a personal journey that has within it the ability to change worlds.

It has been said that fiction is not real. I beg to differ. I believe that fiction allows the individual to take what is offered, accept what is meaningful and valid for him, reject what is not and build on his internal screen a world not even the author has imagined.

For each person that reads a book it is an entirely new experience. Unlike the dictates of non fiction, the story of an author’s design does not try to convince or present facts. It offers choice. It is up to the reader to interpret taking what moves, inspires, educates and uplifts to enrich her world. It is within the pages of fiction that real truth lies---the truth of the heart.

So as I journey forth into new paths to publication hoping to spread my wings into larger arenas, I use the time and resources given to continue exploring where my own life circumstance have led me.

The British Isles have been in my heart since my college days. I spent a year here attending Birbeck college at London University. Ever since that time I have considered Briton a home away from home and continue to find its people and places a never ending source of inspiration.

Britain is the root of us, if not culturally, then certainly linguistically. As our two branches of language grow apart, we can revel in our joint heritages whilst being entertained by our difference. Every time I visit UK I learn more. Turn of phrase, slant of paradigm, difference in products--all this makes for an environment that challenges yet feels somehow like home.

My life in Los Angeles compliments these Anglophile leanings allowing me to write from an American point of view easing the reader through Briticisms that might confuse using context and characters that are traveling the same road of discovery.

My access to film, celebrity and music has allowed me to write about the people that populate what often is seen as an exclusive untouchable segment of society. All this blends into a unique opportunity for one who has the talent to put words together to enrich the lives of many. It is an honour and a responsibility I take in all seriousness.

Come along with me to such events as the Visual Effects Society awards banquet at the Kodak Theater in Hollywood, the Taurus Stuntman Awards on Paramount Studios back lot, premieres at Grumman’s Theater as the stars walk the red carpet,

film festivals and conventions where actors, producers and directors are available to speak to and see as the real people they are-- blessed with amazing creative talents and design. My London Blog explores this and much more. Travel the back roads of England, the turbulent waters off Scotland, the tranquil pastures and sea walks of Wales. Through my writer’s lens I hope to offer the most real look into the lives and times of this Island nation and its inhabitants via the vehicle of true settings and vulnerable people struggling to find that which is most important --love.

Please visit me on my website at www.christinelondon.com to have a read not only of excerpts from novels, but self contained short stories free for the taking (‘books’ page---bottom ‘free reads’) Photos of some of my travels are there for the viewing on the ‘gallery’ pages. My blogs can be access at my space (http://www.myspace.com/christine_london ) or on blogspot’s "London Blog” (http://christinelondon.blogspot.com/ ). I have a presence on Facebook and Twitter and am always available to be reached via e-mail at londonchristine@hotmail.com I consider it a privilege and responsibility to give back----in gratitude for this great opportunity I have been given. It is an honor to be able to provide wind for the fledgling wings of aspiring authors and insight into the world of other creative people to those who might sometimes be tempted to see them as only celebrity. They are that-- but first and foremost people just like ourselves struggling to make their way and leave something of import behind.

I look forward to visiting with you and am available to meet in person at various book signings, conventions and events throughout the year. Visit the ‘Events’ page at www.christinelondon.com to find the latest in that regard.
Thank you blog readers-- for this opportunity. I appreciate your time and consideration as a source of entertainment and escape into romance with a (Brit) twist.

(A Wonderful) Life Goes On

2009-12-03T11:12:00.000-08:00

Day Four

The rain sputters against the slate of my cottage roof gurgling in the downspout. It has been light since three a.m. Days here on Skye never really end as the summer solstice approaches. Light streaks from the horizon even at midnight. I pull in a lungful of rain-scrubbed air allowing my mind to float where it may. The past year and a half I have lost my family. Two to death, one to disease, my family of origin have moved on leaving me the sole survivor. As I have tended to the needs of my father’s Parkinsons and its repercussions and seen to two memorial services my writing has been savior and challenge.

Nowhere in life have I found the total emersion possible when deep into the spinning of a tale. Hours pass without notice, journeys of thousands of miles take seconds and the unfolding of character and plot happens as though by proxy. I am not the first author to say she feels a conduit to some greater power. It has been through this mysterious force that I have produced stories that mirror some of my own life but also explore feelings and meaning never imagined. There have been times when the well is dry and the only thing to replenish it is time away from the mundane. Now is one of those times.

My next undertaking has been steeping for over a year now. The initial idea of writing a story about the Inner Hebrides of Scotland occurred when my long time friend invited me to sail on the paddle steamer Waverley down the Clyde river from Glasgow and out into these rugged remote Isles Of The Sea.

The last of a breed of steam powered oceangoing vessels, the Waverley is the pride of Scotland and a dream of days past when it was the journey that was the goal, not the destination.

May 2008 we set sail for a week landing in various ports around the inner islands. The isle of Iona, burial place of many Norse and Scot kings profoundly moved me with its ancient cemetery and stone walled monastery.

Weather kept us at bay from accessing the largest of the chain---Skye. I vowed to return to see what is and has been an inspiration for musicians artists and writers alike. A story was developing in my mind but it needed time to percolate.

Writing about a visit to the beautiful sister isle of Capri off the coast of Naples (now- Leap Of Faith-2010 release), I allowed this Scottish tale to linger in the recesses of my mind, A submission call from Phaze for stories set in large urban centers further detoured my Scot tale. Limited to a couple chapters, the story of a Seattle woman fleeing an abusive marriage taking refugee in her late grandmother’s Scot cottage by the sea continued to be mired in mist. The only thing I did realize was that this story was actually three and as such would require three books to do justice. The hero is descendent of the clan MacLeod, she of the MacDonalds. Anyone acquainted with the Isle of Skye knows this to be the Scot version of the Capulets and Montagues, the Hatfields and the McCoys. The first book would be set in 1990, the second visiting 1746 and the ancestors of the first, the third in 2012 as the daughter of book one’s heroine comes of age. (Working titles: Isles Of The Sea, Of Sword and Sea,Land of the Sea)

Meanwhile I have two manuscripts making the rounds at various houses, sold one more (Before You Say Goodbye) as part of the Urban Phaze series

and my Italian tale, Leap of Faith, set for 2010 release. Who would wonder that my mind is cluttered and in need of a dose of real setting to move the Scottish trilogy so long mired in family demands and life changes?

So here I am---exploring the misty isle of Skye. At long last Dad is living in a loving assisted care and I have the freedom to travel again. Truly blessed by means and with an internal drive that won’t allow me rest, I have finally discovered what I was meant to do. My blogs sharing these research travels with my readers are but prescience to the stories yet to come. Feedback from said let me know I am on the right path. In what other job can you lose yourself in a world of subconscious design, create something from nothing and leave it within the pages of a book for those now and eyes yet unborn?

As the Scots would say---it’s ‘pairfect’.
***

Setbacks Are A Part Of Every Journey

2009-12-02T19:38:00.000-08:00

Day Three

First release slated for June of 2007, I forged on writing and rewriting. My first manuscript and story of my heart (Soul In His Eyes) was making real strides forward in edits. Readers were in tears one chapter and chuckling at the so human faux pas in the next. It was time to resubmit.

Approaching the publisher of my first novel, Sunninghill Snow, I expected they might find the story too tame for their spicy line of romance. Much to my delight, they accepted it almost immediately for contract. I would be going to my first writer’s convention with two contracted works in my career stable.

Dallas was sultry in July of 2007. Romance Writers of America’s convention is attended by over two thousand authors, aspiring authors, publishers, editors and agents yearly.

With a now successful blog being followed by hundreds of readers and a just released electronic book, I felt pretty good about attending workshops and editor/agent appointments. What else to do but blog about the rock stars of the publishing world? My writing about the people and topics of the convention was well received by attendees and those unable to make it to Texas that year.

A couple of manuscript requests for my Shadows Steal The Light left me on a positive note thinking the time and money well spent.

There is nothing like meeting the people of the industry face to face to garner an impression on both ends. The experience was a bit overwhelming as the Romantic Times Convention had been a few months earlier in Pittsburgh. Unlike RT, RWA nationals was solely focused on the professional. The readers that attend the RT yearly convention were not present at RWA allowing total concentration on professional growth. Both conventions were invaluable.

Returning home, I sent Shadows Steal the Light to those requested and others I had ascertained as good fits. My critique partner whom I met on My Space (thank you the power of the blog) had found a new small print publisher with a very exciting leaning toward the author. This new house wanted to put the author first and grow careers They touted the need for light to be shed on new voices; fresh names that had the potential to grow a readership that longed for something new. A lot of time and effort were to be put into promotions. I was impressed.

January 2008 the offer of contract came through my e-mail. Not only did this fledgling company want to contract Shadows, but also it’s spin off, Hog Wild. Ever the careful businesswoman, I had my lawyer look over the contract. He agreed that this company was indeed fair to themselves and the author. As a start up, the release dates were filled further in advance than most houses---eighteen months. I felt the wait worth it if I was to get in on the ground floor of something that had such potential and showed so much respect for the author. This contract would also afford me an advance, unlike the royalties-only business model of electronic books publishers. The time waiting for release could be well used in pre publicity and I could continue to write for my e-publisher, Phaze. Win-win.

As I worked on my next story, a tale about a Coast Guard rescue mission gone wrong, I sang the praises of this new publisher. By summer of 2008 I’d completed the Coast Guard story, Against The Current, and submitted it to Phaze.

Packing for my second RWA convention this time to be held in my old haunt, San Francisco, the word came down that my new print publisher would be closing its doors What’s an author to do when her hopes and dreams go up in smoke?

After drying well earned tears and pursuing proper channels to regain copyrights---submit again? What to do when your publisher goes belly up, your mother and brother die within the same year and your father is in need of twenty four hour care for Parkinson’s disease? Take more than a couple deep breaths, I can tell you. The real world impinges on us all. Sometimes even the most focused and driven of us has to take time to set the world back on its axis. More tomorrow about that…

Day Two - Rock On

2009-12-01T08:20:00.000-08:00

Day Two

Monthly meetings at which an author, agent or editor spoke didn’t seem enough. Bitten by the writer’s bug, I had it bad. I needed to know everything I could about the business side of this new undertaking I had been drawn to and I needed to know ASAP. Like a house on fire, I checked out tapes recorded at past conference workshops, jotted down notes/pearls of wisdom from guest speakers, researched agents and editors online, read every craft book recommended and began reading what other successful authors of romance wrote.

Goodness…how wonderful! There was a world of fiction out there that was not dreary and gritty. Covering a range as wide as fiction itself, romance, I was to discover has only two rules:

-The story must contain a developing romantic relationship
-It must have a happy or satisfying ending

Wow….life should be so grand. Actually life can be and is---or so I was to discover. It seems that when you emanate positivism and enthusiasm you are contagious. I began to draw to me what I seemed to need. Experts and successful people within the publishing community were there to be accessed through the RWA and online. I began to research and attend Hollywood events. After all, I now lived on the doorstep of the film world and what better way to write realistically about a subject, place or persons than to actually immerse yourself in their world? It seems there are a lot of people who want to know about these events people and places as well. I began a blog.

Bringing my growing readership along with me, I traveled to the UK, took photographs of the places I went and wrote about it. Continuing with my monthly RWA meetings and workshops, I stuffed my head with knowledge and reaped wisdom from those who had forged this path before me.
I discovered the weaknesses in my now completed first manuscript (Soul In His Eyes) and began edits.

Whilst in the UK on a house trade another story occurred to me. I had read of an up and coming book faire that was to move to Earls Court London the following spring. Boy would I love to attend. Unaffordable? (Especially considering I was already in the UK on holiday and could not see myself making two trips in one year)

Write it! (Of course, silly!)

Once again I found myself possessed by a story. Californian spicy romance authoress travels to UK to attend international book faire staying at old college friend’s rural cottage just outside the city. A freak snowstorm hits in April paralyzing London (as it occasionally does) and surrounds. Isolated at the cottage and unannounced, her ex boyfriend drops in. They think they are still in hate, but fate has other plans. Sunninghill Snow was born.

I wrote the book nearly entirely whilst in the UK. After a day out I’d type into the wee hours of the night. Using my gained knowledge of setting, pace and point of view, I wrote a fun fast and hot tale of two people who just didn’t seem to realize they’d never stopped loving each other.

Returning to Los Angeles, I polished the story and sent it off to a couple targeted publishers. Two of my LARA colleagues had already been successful with Phaze Books, so Phaze was on my short list. Freshly inspired by New York published author Shelley Bradley and her hot contemporaries as well as having listened to workshop tapes on how to write a spicy novella, I penned a really fun sexy story. It was offered contract by Phaze Books within weeks of submittal. I was on my way.

It was now October of 2006--fifteen months from first keystroke to contract-- nearly unheard of as I was to find out. Now in the midst of writing a romantic suspense, I was bogged down by all the red herrings and intrigue requiring close attention to detail. Evidently writing a suspense/thriller is one of the most difficult things to do. I knew not, once again charging forward unthwarted by convention and tales of doom.

There was this sexy English rock star in my mind and his equally charismatic personal manager. My experience with rock and roll groups through my brother left me with definite mixed feelings as to the desirability of becoming ensconced in this world. Wouldn’t any reasonable woman feel the same? Let’s take it a step farther and make the heroine hate rockers. Shadows Steal The Light was on its way.
Would my first manuscript ever see the light of day (like most first manuscripts) relegated to a dusty place under the bed?

...to be continued

Flashback to Spring...And The Birth Of A Career

2009-11-29T19:15:00.000-08:00

Last Spring as I researched my novel trilogy on the Isle of Skye in the Scottish Highlands I was asked by a rather large readers website to blog for five days about what had led me down the writer's path. Distance and miscommunication kept these entries unpublished...until now. Since that time many have asked the same questions focusing on my path to publication. I thought you might enjoy having a read in the chill of near winter--a look back to the early days of spring and a wonderful place called Skye.
More each day this week...

Day One
Cheers, Readers. I am writing to you this lovely morn from the Isle of Skye off the western coast of Scotland. There’s a fresh breeze blowing from the sea and the bluebells so thick under the resurgent fernery of bracken it is grave competitor to the brilliant buttery yellow of the gorse lining the road leading from my B&B toward the village.

My name is Christine London and I write contemporary romantic novels with a British twist. Although I am told my books qualify as erotic fiction, I must admit to being rather tame compared to much of what is out there under this umbrella. Always much more story than sex, my penchant is to reflect real life or how one might wish it to be when her own perhaps falls short of happily ever after.
In July of 2005 I sat at my computer Googling to find out more about an actor I had just seen in a film. It had been less than a year since moving to Los Angeles from the San Francisco bay area and I was feeling restless. My career cut short by the move, I was working as a curriculum specialist for an after school care program. Trained as a teacher and having just completed seven years in the classroom with high energy kindergartners, I was glad to have the break from the rigors of full time public school teaching. Yet there was something missing in my life; something drawing me.
Eyes reflecting the depths of an amazing soul, the actor I researched had drawn me into a world of romance, torment and desire through his mastery of the role. Who was this man that I felt I’d somehow known before? Searching through numerous celebrity websites, I uncovered a world never imagined. It seems all actors have sites on which their admirers meet and message, some becoming fast friends through the process--sort of a special interest group. Like the others, the man of my interest had the same with the caveat that his fans seemed inordinately loyal and protective of him.
Puerile notions of fandom were evident but there was also an undercurrent of a truly fascinating individual behind the glitz. What does this have to do with becoming an author you ask? Move aside all you who worship at the alter of celebrity. I was about to enter a world I’d never imagined.
I wrote and mailed a letter of appreciation. Feeling quite the adolescent, I kept the note in my purse for a couple days before finally taking it to the post office and mailing it off to the UK. As I sat gazing on my back garden now in full summer’s bloom a story flashed across my internal screen. What if such a man were actually isolated as I suspect so many celebrities are, by his growing fame? What if he longed to be able to trust again? Only the friends of youth acquired before the harsh glare of the spotlight truly knew him. Others were suspect always wanting more---another piece of him until he was left fragmented and lonely. Yes lonely.
Fan screening services? Yes they are thorough and a necessary evil as an actor’s fame supersedes his ability to answer. Not so this man. He still kept connected with the ‘real’ people. Stories of personal replies, autographed dvds, cds and head shot photographs were bantered about on his fan loops. This was a unique individual--a man that does what he does not for the fame but for the legacy potential of touching lives. I was undone.
Sitting down to a blank page on my computer was not the daunting task one might expect. It suddenly took on the dimension of inspiration that you only read about. Like Michangelo’s statues hidden in the block of marble waiting to be freed, the story of my heart flowed through me and onto the page as though possessed. After a days writing I would reread what I had created and sit in wonderment. Who had done this? There was a story of love, loss and rediscovery that flowed from me unlike any experience I had ever known. All the years of penning weekly newsletter to parents; the economy of words necessary to entertain and inform suddenly gelled into a work of fiction that uplifted, inspired, entertained and touched.
My friends and family tell me they are not surprised I finally used my skill at writing in a creative way, but it never occurred to me before this incident to do so. After all, it is a one in a million chance to be published. The slush pile is high and deep at every publisher’s house. As I was to learn, only one to two percent of work submitted is answered with a request to see more.
I was undaunted. I was naïve. I submitted to every house I could ascertain as being interested in contemporary romance. I was rejected.
Hmmm… surely there is a better way than reinventing the wheel. How about a writers group? Google to the rescue. Enter Romance Writers of America’s Chapter Number 25: Los Angeles Romance Authors.
Where there is a will… and boy did I have a lot of will...there is a way.......

Ohhh...and BTW. I went over the top yesterday completing National Novel Writing Month.

Where's She Been??

2009-11-29T19:12:00.000-08:00

National Novel Writing Month is in full swing, I one of the insane participants attempting yet again to commit fifty thousand words to paper/computer during this month of November. You got but a glimpse into the manuscript presently being crafted when I shared an excerpt from "Isles Of The Sea" in my October 20th "Of Scots And Scotland" blog.

Enthusiasm and Perseverance are most valued, or so the NaNoWriMo folks tell we thousands worldwide who are undertaking this pursuit of sleeplessness. It is, as they say, a writing program for everyone who has thought fleetingly about writing a novel but has been scared away by the time and effort involved. Well let me tell you that I have written more than a few novels and I still find much benefit in having my metaphorical feet held to the fire.

As we few spend November writing, we draw comfort from the fact that, all around the world, other National Novel Writing Month participants are going through the same joys and sorrows of producing the Great Frantic Novel. "Wrimos" meet throughout the month to offer encouragement, commiseration, and—when the thing is done—the kind of raucous celebrations that tend to frighten animals and small children.

In 2008, NaNo had over 120,000 participants. More than 20,000 of them crossed the 50k finish line by the midnight deadline, entering into the annals of NaNoWriMo superstardom forever. They started the month as auto mechanics, out-of-work actors, and middle school English teachers. They walked away novelists.

So readers, take a moment from you busy day and send a good wish or two their way. There's a buzz in the air...many around you are spending their evenings parked in front of a computer instead of that other glowing screen and doing something few will ever do---actually write a book.

Bravo to you intrepid souls who are thus occupied. And to you who read the fruits of our insanity, thanks for being the wonderful audience you are. For the reader is entertained by the writer, but the author is the changer of worlds.

P.S. Happy Birthday M'dear. (You know who you are) Break a leg and this one's for you.

Flirting With Forty...Fifty...Sixty

2009-10-25T11:15:00.000-07:00

Flirting with Forty… Fifty… Sixty

Does age have a number? In the strictest sense, of course, but in a real sense it is a construct of society. We men have placed a value to the hours, days and weeks by which we mark our time. In a human sense it is nothing more than the changes that occur both biologically and emotionally to each of us as we walk through our lives.

The molding of our bodies and faces changes over time. This indicator is the outright manifestation, yes. If time is meant to provide a learning ground---a stage on which to gain wisdom, then why do we fight the physical signs of the passage of such? If our growth as human beings is contingent upon experience, then shouldn’t wrinkles and lines be sexy?

Ah, you say. Smooth as porcelain skin is true beauty. A finely toned body and mind set strong against a backdrop of timeless nature—that’s desirability.

Can you really have it both ways?

There is someone I love who is turning forty in a few day. He’s in an industry that is very unforgiving of age. (Aren’t we all?) He wonders how many more years it will be before he is viewed as a has-been washed up by the manifestations of the passage of time.

To him and all the others that have that twinge of regret gnawing at the back of their minds— another year closer to that line---the one that separates the desired from the old---I say reflect. Not on the increasing difficulty in maintaining youth. Even if each year does take more work to keep a trim waistline and spring in one’s step, it is a challenge well worth the effort because it allows you to…

Reflect upon the places and people your time has allowed you to meet, learn about and appreciate. It is the rare individual that is capable of giving back legacy until he has been steeped in challenge, sorrow and joy. There is nothing guaranteed but change. It is in this fact that there is hope and joy. Leave to youth the window dressing. It is those of us who have seen the passage of one generation to the next that have the internal resources to deal with anything life throws at us. We are the glue that holds the world of human concerns together. We are also the lens through which the richness and diversity of the world can be viewed. We have the scars. If they have healed in a way to make us stronger, if we have chosen the path of growth and maturity, then we are the individuals upon which lies the mantel of the future. To us, those who come after look for the meaning of life. Even if we have not got the answer to that question as of yet, it is the way we walk that shows the youth how it is supposed to look.

I can’t count the number of forty year olds that look thirty---at least the world’s definition of thirty from generations past. Now that people live into their nineties and past the century mark with increasing frequency middle age does not commence in a biological sense until fifty for many. It is in the paradigm through which we view the world that our true age is measured. These middle years are those in which we are blessed to have the physical dynamism to meet any challenge and the experience to do it well. We are the frame upon which future generations shall build. We are the here and now---what mankind has produced, nurtured and grown representative of the best the planet has to offer. We are the decision makers, the teachers, and the creators of what it is to be human. We have at our fingertips more information than any past generation could ever have dreamed and yet we focus on the plasticity of youth with inordinate fervor.

It is with great wit and character that we of an age press onward. The creases at the corner of our eyes reflects not just time, but the number of times we have smiled and cried, squinted into the brightness of a new day and strained to make sense of situations that seem beyond explanation.

This is the time. This is the place to make our mark on the world. We are not just the actors, but have grown into the maturity of being producers/directors of the future. All those years spent looking to those more knowledgeable and experienced than we are behind and we are the strength upon which the future is built.

And there is nothing sexier than that.

Of Scots and Scotland

2009-10-20T10:14:00.000-07:00

Many of you know that I travelled to the Scottish Isle of Skye last spring to be immersed in the setting of my upcoming work. For those who may never have the priveledge, I thought I'd share a scene from Isles Of The Sea. For those who know a Scot, wonder no more at the connection he has to this place....

Frosted heather painted with an icy brush, the earth crunching softly beneath trodden boot. The sun had only been up half an hour and already they were scaling the steep incline of the northernmost slope.

“It’ll take us a further couple hours at this rate.” Graeme’s breath steamed from his mouth, cheek turned over his shoulder towards her.

“Don’t slow down on my account,” Tess replied.

“No worries.” He scrambled up a slippery embankment sending a small avalanche of pebbles down the hillside.

Tess launched her body up the slope in challenged, surpassing him by a good ten feet. Extending a hand to him she whispered, “No worries,” then jumbled on ahead, heart pounding in her ears as she fought to make way toward a narrow landing. Hoisting her body ever upward, she moved as though fleeing the boogeyman.

“Lord, Tess, if you fall--”

“Afraid I’m gonna beat you?” With that she pressed ever further, taking the next incline in five valiant strides only to be knocked to the ground by a panting Scotsman with an ax to grind.

“You best know it’s not safe to tease one of MacLeod blood.” He threw his arms about her tickling her midsection.

“Stop,” she laughed helplessly. Sending an elbow into his side.

He rolled off her sputtering for air.

“No fair using self defense techniques on a friend.”

“I thought we were mortal enemies.” She stumbled to her feet and ran across the grass plain, now thawing under the ministrations of a breakthrough sun.

Up a short rise and she came upon a squat little house the likes of which she’d seen only in photographs. Thatched roof tumbling over walls that appeared to discount the height they would require to sustain a normal sized individual, whitewash long since gone, the stone dwelling looked age old.

Tess stood, hands on hip, trying to catch her breath.

“It’s a wee crofter’s hut.” His voice was at her shoulder but she didn’t turn. “Auntie said to expect to find one taking the steep route.”

“Oh, so you admit to setting out to torture me?”

“You said you wanted to get here in good time and to actually find something.”

The mystical quality of the cottage set its spell. “Your Aunt Elsa thought this would be the place?”

“She did indeed. Seems she knew the gentleman who once occupied this dwelling. Had to have been back in the twenties as she said she was quite young at the time but distinctly remembers there being a herdsman that lived the isolate life up here.”

“And how does that pertain to finding a clue to your family’s past?” She allowed her gaze to lift now, scanning the slope. Woolen gray of cloud cover was pierced through a crack, a fanning of rays spearing downwards, the picture of God in his heaven.

“Lord this is beautiful.” All thought of their mission fleeing her conscience, she gasped.

“It is indeed.” The warmth of his body now radiated at her back. “And I never tire of it.”

“I can see why.” A chain of three sheep silhouetted against the horizon appeared as a paper cutout in motion, scurrying along the ridge beyond. Their right plump bodies sported thick fleece for the coming winter, legs a stubby curiosity looking none too sturdy under the burden.

“Do you come here often?”

“Not since I was a lad….sixteen perhaps.” His hands now at her shoulders, he turned her to face in the direction they had just climbed.

The breadth of his shoulders obscured the view for a moment. He shifted out of the way. A thousand feet below lay a carpet of green as far as the eye could see, broken only by Loch’s crystalline splendor winking in the sun. A steady breeze pressed past her, on it carried the fresh scrubbed scent of heather and loam, a pungent undertone of some distant fire burning in the hearth of a cottage unseen.

She took a few steps forward as though drawn by a magnet. If she’d dreamed of a vista in the most ardent scenario of childhood, what lay before her far surpassed. Lone far-flung square of white, topped with slate roof nestled in a blanket of greens so soft, not even a mare’s nose could compare. If she should reach out and touch it, the finest velvet would pale. The sky painted brush strokes of gray shades from charcoal to dove; the blue of their backdrop water colored with purples and pinks.

Her lungs filled with the crisp splendor of earth and sea. “How do you do it, Graeme?”

“Do what, darlin’?”

“Live in such a place without it killing you? If I looked upon the likes of that everyday I’d fear the rapture was at hand.”

He chuckled. “You sound like a Scot. We of this land never take it for granted, nor can we thrive long apart from it without it calling us back. Like an addict in need of his drug, we Scots must return to the homeland or suffer the mediocrity most poor bastard do when industrial society has separate them from their true roots.”

She slipped her hand into his. “That sounds like the mantra of a Native American.”

“We are of a kind.”

“And do you ever wish to live elsewhere?” She looked into his eyes as he gazed over the landscape before them.

“Not in this lifetime.” He lowered his eyes to connect with hers.

His eyes were filled with power, not that of men and their politics but of love of land, of being in just the right place and time as integral a part of the landscape as loch or gorse. The usual vitality of the man was amplified as though his seaside dwelling-self were a dry sponge sturdy and tough in resistance to the rigors of everyday life, but this Highlander self now filled with the visceral well each moment of such panorama provides.

They both looked out over the landscape in silence; the energy between them resonant with the hum of earth and sky and sea.

Yes...It Was Fun!!

2009-10-19T22:14:00.000-07:00

As many have asked... The booksigning at Barnes and Noble in the San Fernado Valley (Encino) on Sunday was well received and attended. Many thanks are due to the organizers, participants and readers. If you've never been to one, you really ought. It's a great place to meet some pretty wonderful people---those who love books, just like you.

Huge Multi Author Event- Sunday Oct. 18th in Los Angeles

2009-10-13T14:24:00.000-07:00

Fifteen authors (to include CHRISTINE and a possible special celebrity guest) will gather at the Encino Barnes & Noble book store for the annual Los Angeles Romance Authors book fair. Immediately following the regular meeting, which runs from 10:00am to 12:00 noon, these authors will sign their newest works for you. This is a fantastic opportunity to do some early Holiday shopping and to have fun while you're at it! Edible treats will help hold off the lunch time hungries 'til 2:00pm. This event is free to attend, but bring cash, checkbook or credit card as you will certainly want to acquire several of these published works. See you there!

10:00 am - Coffee and Chat begins
10:30 until noon - General Meeting

Noon- 2p.m. MULTI-AUTHOR BOOKSIGNING

The location is as follows:
Barnes and Noble Booksellers
16461 Ventura Boulevard
Encino, CA 91436

Directions

From the east: Take the 101 Freeway North to the Hayvenhurst Ave. exit. Make a left onto Hayvenhurst Ave. Proceed to Ventura Blvd. Barnes & Noble is on the northeast corner of Hayvenhurst Ave and Ventura Blvd.
From the west: Take the 101 Freeway south to the Balboa Blvd. exit. Turn right on Balboa Blvd. Proceed to Ventura Blvd. Make a left onto Ventura Blvd. and go to Hayvenhurst Ave. Barnes & Noble is on the northeast corner of Hayvenhurst Ave and Ventura Blvd.

Law Abiding Citizen Premieres in L.A.

2009-10-06T23:48:00.000-07:00

The blinding lights of Hollywood focused on Gerard Butler and Jamie Fox tonight as F Gary Gray's newest directorial effort premiered at Grauman's Theater.

Fans packed Hollywood Boulevard six deep waiting for a chance to get a glimpse of some of the magic surrounding this big opening.

Law Abiding Citizen will fill screens nationwide on Friday October 16th. The Thriller is sure to keep even the hard core genre jaded glued to their seats as Gerard Butler's new production company, Evil Twins launches its first project. The storyline is enough to send a chill down anyone's spine definitely not caused by the autumn wind.

Clyde Shelton (Gerard Butler) is a regular guy and family man. When his wife and daughter are brutally murdered during a home invasion, Clyde turns into something no one dare think possible. What does a man who has lost everything have to lose?

Nick Rice (Jamie Fox) is the hotshot Philadelphia prosecutor who is assigned the case of the home invasion murders. Plea bargining resulting in a light sentence for the one of the murderers births a crimanl mastermind. Ten years later, Clyde admits to the murder of his family's murderer issuing the warning: either fix the flawed justice system or key players in the trail of his family's killers will die. Orchestrated from his jail cell, Clyde sees to the assisinations that virtually control the city in his rein of terror. Nick finds himself in a desperate race against time facing a deadly adversary that seems always one step ahead.

Indie Film Premiere

2009-09-27T22:05:00.000-07:00

What is Thor, the mythical Norse God of lightning doing in a Spielbergian suburban neighbourhood? Why spending his last day on earth pissed off that no one has noticed all he’s done to save the world. THOR AT THE BUS STOP, the directorial feature film debut of brother team Jerry and Mike Thompson had its premiere at the Brendan Theater in Las Vegas Friday night. The brothers have written and directed over a dozen multi-award winning short films together, this one being a compilation of two and an effort of their production company Light Forge Studios.

Jerry Thompson
The storyline is an interweaving of various day-in-the life scenarios catalyzed by the title character, whose angst over being the unsung savior of the world, sets off a string of random lightning strikes. Vignettes by comedian/magician Teller of Penn and Teller add a dash of wry humor (http://www.pennandteller.com/). If you’ve never heard him speak…here’s your chance.

THOR is packed with screwball characters and themes about goodness, apathy in the modern world and the power of cool. Subtle comedic antics are the superglue that holds this camp pop culture flick together. The brand of silly comedy will appeal to those who like SNL humor. This directing team is one to watch as they grow.

Mike and Jerry Thompson and non-directing brother Scott (actor in the film)
Produced by veteran internationally recognized feature film and television writer/director David Schmoeller, this newest offering is yet another addition to his impressive list of work. Schmoeller is currently an Associate Professor of film production at the University of Nevada, Las Vegas and runs the Film Department’s UNLV Short Film Archive.

Coming to DVD October 31^st, an amusing look at a side of Vegas seldom seen can be pre-ordered through the film’s website http://thoratthebusstop.com

http://thoratthebusstop.com/products-page/items-for-sale/thor-at-the-bus-stop-full-length-dvd/

Gamer Explodes On Screens Nationwide

2009-09-04T21:23:00.001-07:00

A modern day gladiator, the principal heroic character in the newly released Gamer is one of many participants controlled by other humans who play to experience their deepest fantasies fulfilled. One ruthless megalomaniac controls a new and dangerous technology allowing the rich to experience the most violent of games vicariously through the blood of death row inmates. Nanotechnology has allowed a reclusive billionaire to create this frightening world, all played out in front of a global audience.

The motivation behind the central “slayer”, Kable is strong, if not cliché. He wishes to regain his identity, rejoin his wife and child and ultimately save the world from this evil twist of technology and its number one pundit. The fast cut frenetic film making ramps up the tension as well as the audience blood pressure. Although this technique was used brilliantly in the 2006 film Crank (also directed and written by Neveldine and Taylor) it becomes a bit exhausting, taking up a good portion of the one hour four-five minutes. The element of humor so pervasive in the two Crank films is sadly missing form Gamer, thus binding it to an overfilled genre of action films relying on violence, profanity and explosions to keep the viewers riveted. Still one of the better permutations, Gamer non the less could have risen above had it taken a fresher approach.

The bright spot of the film, Gerard Butler as Kable, added layers to what could have been a very flat character indeed. While all the other players were predictably one dimensional, each portraying singularly minded driven individuals; Mr. Butler brought humanity to his role. He has a talent for conveying a well of emotion through his eyes as has been his strength in previous work. A man of few words, Kable moves through the insane world in which he is forced to participate with intelligence and pro-activity. More powerful than all the profane speeches given by others, Butler transmits an intensity and strength lacking in some of the more cookie cutter characters.

Moments of brilliance, including the way Kable figures to steal a disabled vehicle and a near Michael Jackson-esque dance scene pepper Gamer providing just enough spice to make this film stand out.

This is SO Important....

2009-09-02T10:02:00.000-07:00

...I have to reprint it here. It is agent Nathan Bransford of Curtis Brown Agency's blog for today. Please chant it's message as a mantra to everyone you know...

The published! They are the hardy souls who have climbed the Mount Everest of the writing and publication process. They scaled the foothills of writing, ascended the steep cliffs of agent-finding, and rose to the pinnacle of authordom without being felled by a freak storm and resorting to cannibalism (that you know of).

These pioneers make the multi-year climb, they stand atop the peak... and then realize it's sometimes a little lonely and chilly up there.

They shout, "Please! Buy my book (book book book echo echo echo)....... Um... please? (um... please? um... please? um... please? echo echo echo)

How can you help out these writers, the ones whose book you happened to hear about on a blog or picked up off the street or checked out at the library and loved?

The best way: buy a new book.

Authors don't get royalties for used book sales, their sales reports aren't padded when 10 friends pass along their book to each other, they only get credit for one sale no matter how many times people check it out from the library.

So: In honor of published authors, especially the ones who are living in non-bestsellerdom... let's help these people out.

For Published Author Day on Writer Appreciation Week I encourage, nay, require, nay, okay you can do whatever you want, everyone to buy a new book. And then brag about it in the comment section.

If times are tough for you at the moment: totally understand. There are lots of ways to support our favorite published authors. And it just so happens that Eileen Flanagan has a great post on how to do just that. (via Janet Reid)

Write a positive Amazon review! Or a Goodreads review or Tweet or blog about how much you love it! Help out your favorite authors. And then brag about it in the comments section.

I just bought LOST CITY RADIO by Daniel Alarcon. And THE GHOSTS OF BELFAST by Stuart Neville.

What about you?

Nathan Bransford - Literary Agent (nb@cbltd.com)
http://blog. nathanbransford. com/

Las Vegas Boneyard

2009-08-31T21:10:00.000-07:00

Summer simmers under the Nevada sun, its intensity absorbed into the bones instantly. Hat, shade umbrella, closed toe shoes (broken glass everywhere) and water are recommended if you plan a visit to Las Vegas’ Neon Sign Museum. Outdoors and raw, signs from decades of Vegas ostentation lie in desert’s dry suspended animation on three acres of fenced storage near Las Vegas and Fremont Boulevards. The Neon Boneyard continues to build and preserve its collection with items from newly imploded or remodeled Las Vegas hotels.

The museum officially "opened" with the installation of its first refurbished sign, The Hacienda Horse and Rider, on November 15, 1996 at the intersection of Las Vegas Blvd. and Fremont Street. Today, ten refurbished signs can be visited on a self-guided walking tour 24 hours a day, 7 days a week in their outdoor downtown “gallery”. The gallery begins in front of the Neonopolis at Las Vegas Boulevard near the Hacienda Horse and Rider and includes the original Aladdin’s Lamp. The gallery extends to the 3rd Street cul-de-sac adjacent to The Fremont Street Experience canopy and includes The Flame Restaurant, Chief Court Motel, Andy Anderson, The Red Barn, Wedding Information, Nevada Motel, and Dots Flowers.

Most of The Las Vegas Neon Museum’s signs however are exhibited in “The Boneyard” where they serve as inspiration to fascinated artists, students, historians and designers. It is home to some of the most treasured and world-famous signs of Las Vegas—Caesars Palace, Binions Horsehoe, Golden Nugget, Silver Slipper, and, most recently the Stardust.

The three-acre Neon Boneyard houses more than 150 historic, non-restored signs. As part of a guided tour, the signs are available to be viewed at ground level and up close by reservation only.

Each has been donated or loaned by individuals, businesses and sign companies such as Young Electric Sign Company (YESCO).

In future, the retro La Concha Motel is slated to be restored as the visitor’s/interpretive center for the museum.

In 2006 the building was saved from destruction and moved to the Boneyard site, and in 2007 the structure was reassembled. The La Concha, a swooping curvilinear example of mid-century modern architecture, was designed by famed African-American architect Paul Revere Williams. The building is on the City of Las Vegas Historic Register.

............................................................................

The Neon Museum offers tours by advanced appointment Tuesday through Saturday at 11:30 AM. Beginning September 15, tours will be offered at 12 pm and 2 pm Tuesday through Saturday. The minimum donation for tours is $15.00 per person. Please reserve your spot as far in advance as possible, as they often sell out. Tour registration/reservations are made at http://www.neonmuseum.org/tours.html Info by phone: (702) 387-6366

Interview with International Cover Model Jimmy Thomas

2009-08-11T16:53:00.000-07:00

Los Angeles based super model Jimmy Thomas recently granted a rare interview for the benefit of you, my blog readers. Born and raised in Plymouth Massachusettes, Jimmy studied architecture at college before moving to Tampa, Florida where he worked for the largest architecture firm in the state and studied Kenpo Karate. In 1998 Jimmy began his modeling career. From commercial print, retail ads, catalogs & magazines, he worked with companies such as Tommy Hilfiger, Dillard's, Disney, Sports Authority, & many fitness magazines. Selected Mr. Romance Cover Model in 2002 and appearing on numerous book covers opened other opportunities. In the spring of 2003 Jimmy relocated to Europe to entertain as "Extreme Bartender" and performer where he traveled extensively until his return to the states in 2006. He now lives and works in L.A. teaching personal fitness, weight training, kick boxing and self defense as well as employing his architectural talents to the benefit of third world development. His spanking new website featuring exquisite photographs ready for use on the bookcover of your dreams was recently launched. You can visit it at http://www.romancenovelcovers.com or Jimmy on http://www.jimmythomas.com
*****

What drew you to architecture as a course of study and how has your multifaceted modeling/fitness activities enhanced or detracted from this career pursuit? My father owned his own construction company, so I grew up building, designing and constructing, it was in my blood. So in high school, when you choose your elective classes, I chose woodworking and drafting of course and got straight A+'s in them, so when it came time for college I didn't have a LOVE/DESIRE for anything particular, so I went with the safe choice; architecture, to see if it was what I wanted to pursue. After college I worked for the largest architecture firm in FL (largest franchised architecture firm in the country) for 4 years and left as their Senior Designer with 2 awards of 'Best Designer' and went on to freelance. However, I felt it more to be a laborious type job, and my passions grew for martial arts and body building/sculpting during my time at the firm and thereafter. So I then got certified as a National Academy of Sports Medicine Personal Trainer, started fitness modeling, picked up agency after agency, booked shoot after shoot, magazine after magazine, until now... where I still do all the above :) Architecture is not my passion. My desires change every few years, and as my mind grows, I get more interested and involved with so many more ideas and projects, and can't let any of them go, so I work on all of them. It can get rather overwhelming, but I LOVE being busy, and each thing I do leads me to another :)

Where do you see yourself in five years? Ten? What are your ultimate goals? Five? Being self-branded and a household name, already banking it and living very comfortably to be able to easily pursue my other passions and new ones to come. Ten? Twice as well as five ;)

What is the most important thing in life? Your life? Other’s lives? Happiness! My happiness! Other's being happy! :)

Of all the places you have traveled, which is most interesting? Which the best place to live and why? Traveled to? Venice, Italy! It was absolutely GORGEOUS there! It is literally impossible to take a bad photo in Venice. I don't care if you dropped your camera and it went off accidentally... it would still be a great shot! ;) Then Egypt, for the fact that it's EGYPT! :) The pyramids are amazing! The size, the labor behind them, all the enormous temples created; Abu Simbel, Valley of the Dead, etc. Then there's Rome! The coliseum was incredible to walk through. You could actually feel what it was like in there back then! As far as living? Southern California! I love the weather here! The weather in Hawaii is better, and the landscape and vegetation in Hawaii is far more impressive as I love the forest/jungle, but to live? By far, out of everywhere I've been and lived, I love living in Southern California. San Diego is beautiful! And L.A. is where it's all happening for anything you want to do or pursue! :)

What about sport and fitness is important in your life/others lives? Being and staying healthy, active and fit is my lifestyle, and should be everyone's. It keeps you motivated, energized, uplifted, strong physically and mentally, emotionally secure and gives you great confidence in yourself in all ways of life. I'm walking proof as I've been living this lifestyle for the past 25 years! (did I just date myself? ;)).

Do you find physical good looks to be more an asset or a hindrance? In what ways? How important is beauty? Is your eye for it standard or do you have your own definition? For what? For modeling, an asset of course ;) A hindrance? Never. The only problems would be that women typically think you're arrogant, self absorbed and a player, as I guess from what they say, most good-looking men are. But hey, you have to take the good and the bad with everything, accept it, and make it work for you :) How important is beauty? It's important to the self esteem/ego (conscious awareness), as society has caused it to be, but beauty is always in the eye of the holder. My eye for beauty in photography I feel is pristine. Not sure if it's from my 11 years of modeling, or from the way I view life without boundaries, which allows me to see everything as it is and not have my perception clouded or swayed by individual things in a photograph that most focus on, thinking that those individual things make the image great, when in reality it's the subconscious that picks up on shapes, angles, colors and proportions that make an image in whole a great, marketable image. Just like how I listen to why someone says something, not what they say, as well as why someone does something, not what they do, as there is a reason behind everything, and the reason is the truth, not the facade.

What would you change about your life if you could? Not a single thing. I am who I am and I am where I'm supposed to be for a reason. We grow and learn from everything in life; good times and bad. The hard times, difficult times, tough times, and unexpected times are the times that teach you the most. They tests you to dig deep, use the tools that were provided to us, and reach that holes' edge way above that looks unattainable. When times are smooth sailing, that means it's time to get adventurous and try something new and challenge yourself ;)

What wouldn’t you give up for anything? I wouldn't give up anything. I have zero regrets, would never wish for a single thing to be different in my life, whether past, preset or future, as I wouldn't be who I am, or where I am, today if any one thing was different. My life will present itself to me day by day, and I will take it, embrace it, and ride it out with passion, drive, and determination to improve, help others, and be happy.

What is the most rewarding thing about modeling? About personal training? About martial arts? About architectural design? About inventing? About writing? To help others and give to others. Everything I do revolves around making others happy, helping others, teaching others, while also making myself happy, helping myself learn and grow by teaching myself while I teach others.

Who/What inspires you and why? I've never had a hero or someone I looked up to or followed. I've always been myself and have done what I've always wanted to do, because I've wanted to do it. I take after my father with my creativeness, strong mind, and a go get em' attitude, so my father would be the only one who has inspired me.

If you had to limit your energies to just one of the many areas in which you are involved, which would it be, and why? Wow, you may have stumped me, lol. That's a tough one, which is the same tough question that eats away at me everyday, as all my ideas/creations, inventions, concepts, businesses that I'm working on I love! Each one needs so much more attention, which has me feeling bad when I'm working on any one of them, because I'm more focused on the ones I'm not working on, lol.... Seriously, I'm trying to pick one and I honestly can't! If any one of them weren't a GREAT idea, I wouldn't waste a minute pursuing it.

What advise would you give to up-and-coming models? Don't think that just because you get a few photographs taken of yourself, that you are now a model. Until you get paid for being shot, you are an aspiring model, which is when you need to work hard and pursue, pursue, pursue, think, make contacts, network, self-market, don't expect agencies to make you into a working model. While you're aspiring, think of it as being in college. You won't make a lot of money while in college, a little here and there, but you'll do a lot for free, which is gaining you experience, a network, referrals, a portfolio and a resume, which is what gets you in the door when you graduate and hand them your degree/resume. A casting director at CBS Studios during a Toyota commercial audition I tried out for, saw my resume and said "Wow! You have a bigger resume than God!" THAT impresses directors, clients, producers, photographers, ANYBODY! Now do they know how much I was paid for any of those jobs? Imagine if I did them all for free? It's the final result that wins in the end... what I call "The WOW factor" ;)

Do you think you are or others find you intimidating? Why or why not? Yes, because I'm told so, lol. I don't see why though.

Who do you admire and why? Anyone who works hard at a passion of theirs. Not at a job they are told or simply paid to do, but something they love, want, desire, crave, live and breathe the thought of it becoming real. Let me share with you my favorite quotes that I've collected over time from hearing them in movies, or reading them somewhere, and I show these at the end of my signature in my emails for all to see and hopefully inspire:

"Don't think you are, know you are" - Laurence Fishburne, The Matrix
"Nothing is real unless you believe in who you are" - Sylvester Stallone, Rocky III
"It's the magic of risking everything for a dream that nobody sees but you" - Morgan Freeman, Million Dollar Baby
"We are not human beings having a spiritual experience; we are spiritual beings having a human experience." - Theologian Pierre Tielhard de Chardin
"Tell me and I will forget. Show me and I may remember. Involve me and I will learn." - Chinese proverb
"Knowing is not enough, we must apply. Willing is not enough, we must do." - Bruce Lee
"If you always do what you've always done, then you'll always be what you've always been." - T.J. Jakes
“It's the possibility of having a dream come true that makes life interesting.” – Paolo Coelho, The Alchemist
"Great minds discuss ideas. Average minds discuss events. Small minds discuss people." - Eleanor Roosevelt
"One who lacks courage to start has already finished" - Unknown Author

When you are eighty, what do you hope to be able to look back upon and smile? First of all, I never look back, always forward ;) unless it is to smile about something, which is everything about my life. There isn't one thing that outweighs another in my life, everything has been equally important to mold me into who I am today, and who I will be when I'm 80 :)

Of all the photo shoots, videos, commercials and promotional activities you have done, which was the most important? Most enjoyable? Why? The most important one? The first one :) It's what gave me the acceptance in the modeling industry to tell me "I can do this" :) The most enjoyable one? Are you kidding me, I've now shot with 70 female models for 90 portfolio 'sensual couple' shoots and you have to ask me what has been most enjoyable? Lol, need I answer that one? You saw my live cover shoot at RT in Orlando right?... enough said ;)

What do you hope to be your legacy? I don't know yet. I'll get back to you when I'm a grown up and things slow down ;)

***
Thanks so much for sharing a bit of yourself with us, Jimmy!

Metropolitan Passions

2009-08-06T18:05:00.000-07:00

Just released in paper, Christine's latest tale of intrigue and passion is now available in an anthology. Three terrific stories between the covers of one book, Christine's popular novella Before You Say Goodbye is first in the lineup.

Pop over to Phaze.com to order your copy today.

From the moment Aussie Internet entrepreneur Benn Morrison opened the California mystery writer's solicitous message he knew she would change his life. Classy, sexy and erudite, she defined desirable womanhood. Now six months on they are flying half way round the globe to 'meet' on neutral ground: London. Can their affair of words survive the delivery of the package upon which his future depends? Ripped apart before they have the chance to find out, they are left to solve what just may be a mystery costing them their lives.

Learning From The Best

2009-08-06T18:01:00.000-07:00

“Writing doesn’t make you neurotic---Neurotics become writers”

Janet Evanovich

“I am very solitary and very mean,” commented Janet.
Romance Writers of America held its twenty ninth annual convention last week in Washington DC at the beautiful Marriott Wardman Park just blocks from the gleam of monuments and halls of power. Our most famous and beloved member, Ms Nora Roberts, chatted with authors about her no nonsense writing style and incredible discipline. “An amateur works only when it is fun,” crystallized her philosophy. Being a successful author requires tenacity; a tough skin and more organization than most mere mortal are capable. Both the goddess of detective stories, Ms. Evanovich and the undisputed queen of the romance genre, Ms Nora, agreed.

Aspiring and seasoned writers, editors and agents spent four days sharing knowledge of the biz and inspiration. In this most judgmental and fickle of worlds there was an atmosphere of kinship. After all---success has no finite quantity. The publishing community, if at least for this short time, came together to nourish their most important ingredient—the word merchant.

From the “Fire In Fiction” delivered by superstar agent Donald Maass, to a graphic telling of the processes involved in body disposal (morticiansmorgue.com) to the ins and outs of writing a high concept pitch to placing a story’s turning points where the reader will most love ‘em; the days were packed with meetings made to order for any aspiring writer and furthering the knowledge bank of even the most senior published. The halls were filled with the living breathing presence of the creators of books that jam every Borders, Barnes and Nobles, Amazon and independent from coast to coast and worldwide.

And when the conference was over there was the beauty of unseasonably fine summer weather in the District of Columbia as backdrop to enjoy the sites. Tom Hanks tireless work propelled by the conscience raising effect of Saving Private Ryan to finance the new World War Two memorial is now evident in all its glory.

Placed at the foot of the reflecting pool between the Washington Monument and Lincoln Memorial, this addition to our capitol city is as beautiful as it is moving.

Next summer RWA members will reconvene in Nashville, Tennessee where we will gather to debate where we are going and how to get there (electronic publishing as the confluence of the pink elephant in the corner and the wolf at the door is the present hot topic). More importantly we will encourage each other to continue doing what is by its nature the most isolating and solitary of professions—one to which we have been called and could do no other. The love of words is magnetic and addictive. May we never recover.

Janet Evanovich

Alex and Janet Evanovich, Alex Kent (my webmistress and digital designer) and me

Farewell...

2009-07-02T15:44:00.000-07:00

...and thanks to my Brits friends.

… for being such amazing hosts. Never ceasing to be touched by the manner in which the British people take me under their wing and nurture my understanding of their island, I forever look forward to my next return.

From walking the South Bank of London with friends, to attending Parliament’s questioning of the Prime minister to the amazing way the Brits display their pride and love for the place they live, I am the richer for this early summer’s experience.

Living garden planted and tended on the side of a building

One of my host's very Brit kitchen---lovely

Never in my wildest imaginings could I have seen myself sitting on the patio that hugs the Thames outside Parliament in eighty degree sunshine sipping on a fruity Pims beverage listening to a very dedicated and inspiring Member Of Parliament tell me of her most recent efforts to gain more equality through legislation for all her people. Adjourning into the House of Common’s wood paneled lunchroom, tuxedoed waiters serving delicious gourmet fare (expelling the wife’s tale that there is no good food in England); it was as if in a dream that I basked in the ancient climate of democracy.

I am eternally in the debt of the people who are at the root of our language and culture. They continue to prove why our bond is so strong and my draw to write about them and their country to be so right.

An Italianesque Greek Isle

2009-06-25T15:41:00.000-07:00

The Greek islands are generally thought to be charming, if somewhat primitive in amenities; white washed buildings hugging the shore, windmills at lands end, stunning turquoise domes complimenting the sea. You may be surprised to find the isle of Corfu in Greece’s far northwest to be quite the contrary. It is its location in the Ionian sea a short sail from the Italian coast that has colored its environment. Locals tell me it is indeed the Venetian influence, buildings reflecting those of its neighbour much more closely than those of Greek extraction. Lovely ironwork decorates balconies, bright oranges, yellows and pink paint the walls. Fresh laundry flaps in the breeze strung from open shuttered windows.

The entire economy of the island revolves around tourism. They are eager and ready to welcome off islanders during the warm months of June through September. Seldom have I seen such organized productive use of resources in greeting new arrivals and seeing to the comfort of departing guests. The Corfu airport is a model of modern efficiency; a well oiled machine which may strain under the numbers of high season tourists, but has definite well-rehearsed plan to handle them. Innumerable open air cafes line the beaches and roads tempting the passerby to stop and linger awhile. It is indeed the pace of the island to pause and rest. Hotels offer balconies outside most rooms, beautiful vistas of the lovely clear water and verdant cliffs your reward.

Pricing is moderate and availability of delicious Greek fare everywhere.

Graceful magenta bougainvilleas drape over wall and terrace, potted flowers adorn patios, the dusty green of olive trees are interrupted by spikes of tall dark junipers.

Creamy yellow butterflies flit and the ever present refrain of the sea plays accompaniment in this dulcet holiday environ. Thunderheads build across the water above the Greek/Albanian mainland. Late night flash of electricity gilds the clouds in silver silhouette; far off rumbling of Zeus holding court high over the thirsty hills. A singular ferry cuts through the water making way for the sparkling thread of shoreline.

Ancient Phoenicians planted some eight million olive trees during their tenure on Corfu; the locals harvest their bounty, black nets rolled under each in anticipation of collecting the drop.

Olive oil, olive wood boxes and jewellery, herbs, kumquats, orange and lemons are produced in abundance still in the hands of small locally owned family farms. The tasty refreshment of Mythos lager is held in high esteem as is the gyros filled pitas. Lamb chops bathed in oregano seasoned oil and wine vinegar are the best in the world and the crisp Greek salad with its dark lettuce, crunchy cucumbers, purple onion, salty olives and ruby red tomatoes topped with a generous rectangle of feta cheese is repast of the Gods after a long hot afternoon of island exploration.

Food markets are well stocked and plentiful for those who wish to purchase supplies for picnicking in one of the myriad of lovely coves. Atop its tall hills, quaint villages cling, single track roads serpentine through narrow passageways.

Old men rest in the shade of town squares, scooters buzz about through the more traveled districts; the quiet of midday retreat from the intense Mediterranean sun an intelligent and anticipated habit. Restaurants come alive after sunset and remain so late into the evening.

Children are ever present; a genuine family atmosphere pervasive. Perhaps it is these very features that make this destination so attractive to young families. There is fun and relaxation for members of all ages.
Always in the background are the native Corfoits offering service and cultural color. They make their living during the short summer months working seven days a weeks metaphorical penance for well earned off season rest. Willing and helpful, they project a genuine air of hospitality. Although your ears and eyes may fill with the unfamiliar strains of Greek, most residents speak English, most menus translated. Some pockets of the island resemble third world neglect result of harsh marine environment and meager means, one never feels unsafe. Strong and proud, the Greeks are descendents of the fathers of modern thought, politics and our languages--the cradle of civilization. They wear the mantle well.

The Eternal City

2009-06-18T15:38:00.000-07:00

The eternal city just may have earned its name by the breathtaking environs. At every turn there is a new cluster of shops, dancing fountain or hazy vista to please the eye.

The neighbor that is an island within it—Vatican City, influences the entirety of Rome.

Swiss Guardsmen watch over the grounds protecting the Pope and the integrity of the state.

St Peter’s Dome is central,

seen from all around the city as reminder of the deep roots of mother church. Arguably the most beautiful religious edifice in the world, Saint Peters dwarfs the individual by the grand scale of its soaring archways and exquisite art.

Shafts of white light filter through incense shrouded air adding to the ethereal effect.

Clergy gather for Friday evening Vespers; cardinals, bishops and priests shoulder to shoulder.

Men’s choral strain float to the heavens, pure rich aural refrain to the majesty of it surrounds.

The streets buzz with traffic skirting such ancient site as the Forum, Coliseum and Pantheon.

Mimicking St Peters in effect, the Pantheon stands a perfect example of the way Rome absorbs its history lying in the embrace of neighborhood houses and shops.

All this rich history is part and parcel of the heartbeat of this place.

A Piece of Italian Paradise

2009-06-18T09:07:00.000-07:00

Gliding through the deep waters off the Amalfi coast is like being present on the set of a James Bond film. White water churning behind the boat, spray in your face, sheer cliffs resplendent with smooth plasterwork houses painted crisp white or any of an assortment of Tuscan oranges, cheery pinks or lemon yellow, one would hardly be surprised if one of the multi million Euro yachts launched a sleek speedboat into the sea in your pursuit.

Forty five minutes to the Ischia harbour, the captain of the ferry pulls back on the power and we sidle up to the pier. Life ashore hums with movement; scooters weave through traffic, pedestrians boldly compete for narrow sidewalks and the carabinieri stand at pivotal passageways allowing only certain vehicles to pass. We hop on one of a small fleet of island circling buses jostling along the smooth black cobbles toward the enclave of Lacco Ameno.

Up and over one of the numerous volcanic hills, we wind our way along the coast, warm breeze tossing hair about in playful welcome. The wind is not unlike that of the Hawaiian Islands keeping inhabitants gratefully cooled. On the crest of summer, temperatures have not soared into the discomfort zone and I am happy to shed the layers of clothing that have kept me warm the past few weeks in northern climes.

Time slows in this sleepy little piece of heaven. The appearance of Lacco Ameno’s landmark ‘Il Fungi’ mushroom shaped rock in the harbour ahead signal our arrival.

Claudia’s warm smile welcomes us to her B&B set a block up a private lane from the sea. Not only do I anticipate warm custard filled coronet crescent roll and frothy café latte in the morning, but evening meals are also included. Our hosts make sure the bounty of their island is served. Rabbit, fresh pesto, herbs harvested from pots decorating the stone walls of the garden and fish caught right off of the coast are amongst the nightly repast.

By the second or third day, I have forgotten the date, the existence of the modern world faded into the recesses of my mind as some long past memory. The sights, sounds and smells of the island fill me with eerily familiar feelings. The flora mimics closely the southern California environs; startling fuchsia bougainvilleas cascade over terraced walls, the dusty green of olive trees compliment oleanders in full bloom.

The height of the stay is the exhilaration of riding a sleek silver scooter through the winding narrow roads up and down the mountainous terrain lushly covered in grapevines, native grasses and wildflowers.

The smell of sulfur plays undertone to the many pleasant orders of cooking and the ever-present herbs. This is the island known Mediterranean wide as being the healing spa, its numerous caldera vents heating the sea in natural pools of varying degree. Even the Il Fungi has one, the sea warms as you slip by underwater along its perimeter.
The residents take great pride in the offerings of their shores. Restaurants are nestled in small alleyways and along the sea, smell of garlic and crisp crusty bread inviting the passerby to rest under the shade of a straw umbrella and sip a Peroni lager whilst enjoying the best pizza in the world.

Stores close from one to five allowing the island to rest in the cool shade under colorful awnings or retreat into the welcome dim of hotel room or spa.

Tile is the choice of flooring as well as décor. It is soothing on weary feet and beautiful adornment to walls and storefront.

Civilization heralds from before the Roman Empire. Many visitors since have lingered making this place home. There is a supernatural feel to sea and air, accepting all who come here into its warm embrace. As I head for Rome, I am sad to leave this largely undiscovered island. Setting for an upcoming novel, it will fill the pages with riches beyond monetary wealth. Come along with me to an place bathed by turquoise sea, home to one of summers most prestigious film festivals and respite for the weary urban dweller.

The Road From Paris To Lyon

2009-06-18T09:03:00.000-07:00

Paris takes on a more romantic air by night.

The business of the day is complete and the streets fill with diners and those who wish nothing more than to enjoy its charm. The sadness of the memorial service held at Notre Dame for the crash victims aboard an Air France flight gives way to the peace and comfort of dark. Those that filled the vast Luxembourg Gardens
have gone home and the streets are bathed in golden lamplight. The glass domed boats that cut through the Seine are moored.

Even the landmark monuments that glow white in the sun now whisper by night.

The famous and everyday lie side by side in Cimetiere du Pere Lachaise

Final resting place of the Doors, Jim Morrison,

dancer Maria Callas, literary genius Oscar Wilde and a host of affluent Parisian families entombed in mausoleums of chiseled stone). Structural lines fall into shadow casting each nuance of architecture in dramatic relief .

Gargoyles overlook passersby and the rotating searchlight of the Tour de Eiffel marks the rhythm of the city as it moves toward slumber.

Urban life slips away as my French friend and I listen to the metal on metal song of the high speed train that whisks us through the fertile centre of France to the city considered the culinary Mecca of Europe---Lyon. His parents spoil us with fine beef, pungent local cheeses and fruit so sweet there need be no other dessert. Always there is the bread---that quintessential icon of French life---the baguette.

Crust crispy perfection protecting its light open-textured heart, this is the definition of the staff of life at its pinnacle.

Touring the Burgundy region to the north, we dodge showers, enjoying the Saturday market,

lunch served in underground wine cellar of old and wine tasting at the premiere Chateau de Meursault.

The cedar of Lebanon has stood watch over the estate for two hundred fifty years, it the youth of a realm whose cellars and house date back to the eleventh century.

A Sunday walk along the Soane River reveals a city less congested than its capital sister to the north, but retaining much of the same feeling. Bicycles (Vivlib) are hirable for one Euro per twenty-four hour period allowing anyone with the desire to experience the streets, wind in hair atop cheap transportation. I used the Parisian version affording a vantage of the Seine and the many landmarks of Paris few foreigners experience.

Lyon is at the confluence of the Rhone and Soane bisecting the city providing miles of riverside walks. Elegant swans share the river with sleek barges

and the flags of country, city and European Union fly proudly. Seldom have I been treated with such genuine warmth, nor spoiled so regally. Can the caricature of the rude Frenchman be a myth? Perhaps the secret is to arrive quietly, absorb the atmosphere gratefully and savor the sights, sounds and flavours that are uniquely French. Oh…and having a native friend as guide and host is best of all.

Paris - One Day In June

2009-06-02T16:14:00.000-07:00

Little to say that has not been said before about this most beautiful of cities so I will let the photos do the talking...

Buildings...

...and streets...

gardens...

restaurants...

people...

in the grocery...

lunch...

art is everywhere...

even in the everyday behind glass...