tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9704882151066310292024-03-13T20:10:13.630-07:00A Writer's EventualityMusings, struggles and meanderings into the literary world which I once abandoned for practicality.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger274125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-970488215106631029.post-57643701984181546252015-01-05T14:39:00.001-08:002015-01-05T14:39:48.371-08:00Filter: The First 13 Chapters <!--StartFragment-->
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<!--StartFragment--><span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">Copyright ©
2010, 2015 by Gwenn Wright</span><!--EndFragment-->
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<span style="color: black; font-family: LucidaCalligraphy-Italic; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i>PROLOGUE </i></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: LucidaCalligraphy-Italic; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i>Vienna, Austria 1866</i></span><span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i>“That monk is a doddering fool.”<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i>He remained bent over the microscope, speaking more to his
Petri dish than the imbecile who had come to question him.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i>“Yes Doctor, but what you’re working on...” <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i>“Will ensure Austria’s power for eternity.”<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The man scoffed.
He had heard of the scientist’s maniacal zeal. His mother had warned him that
being intelligent was admirable and, if utilized properly, profitable but there
came a point when it was nothing but a detriment. Genius was often followed by
madness, she had said. Looking at the frenzied younger man, Dr. Rochenstein
fully appreciated the wise woman his mother had been.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i>“The University,” he continued. “Needs more assurance of the
potential success of your work.”<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i>A bitter laugh resonated within the form hunched over the
microscope. “You mean they would like to know when my work will begin repaying
their generosity.”<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i>It was not a question.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i>Everyone knew of the lavish expenses of the professor, but no
one was certain of what the money was being spent on. There was gossip and
speculation that perhaps he was building some great invention, but this was
circulated only among those who did not know his particular field was biology. <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: LucidaCalligraphy-Italic; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i>Nashville, Tennessee 2010<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Kevin
looks at me and I know he isn’t seeing the little girl I use to be, all
pigtails and gangly limbs. He isn’t seeing my mother’s daughter or even my
mother anymore. As his eyes linger over me, stopping here and there in the most
uncomfortable places, I know he isn’t really even seeing me as I am. The
bloodshot eyes staring out of the alcohol-flushed face are seeing a girl,
nearly of age, who owes him a tremendous debt of gratitude.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He
has had no shortage of women over the years. He kept them from me at first,
being careful of what I saw and, disturbingly, heard. But, as I grew older, and
he saw that I was not growing into a refined young lady but that the poverty
and desperation of our lives has made me something harder, coarser, he stopped
caring. There were one-night stands and those who didn’t bother staying more
than a few hours; those who got what they wanted, just as he had, who used him
just as he used them, and left promptly after. Occasionally one might last a
few weeks, but rarely. They didn’t want a man with responsibilities.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I.e.
me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>A
man with responsibilities and no car and an address that changed at least every
fifth month depending on the compassion of our landlord at the time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;">I was the only unchanging factor in his life and knew he blamed me
for his lack of constants. If he hadn’t done the right thing, if he hadn’t been
so good to me and true to the promise he had made to my mother then his life
would be different.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>But
he had been true to my mother’s wish.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>She
had been obviously pregnant when he had taken her in. And when she had asked
him to care for me, he had agreed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>They
had pulled me from the hemorrhaging, dying body of my mother and turned me over
to the care of the man who was not my father. He had taken me home to their
tiny apartment above the old hardware store and done what little he knew to
take care of me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>It
took less than six weeks for him to realize his mistake. Maybe even less than
six hours, but he never abandoned me. He clung to me as though I was the last
remnant of some great and powerful love.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>And
that gave me hope that maybe my mother was really something else and not just
some girl who got knocked up by a guy whose name she didn’t even know. She was
something special, someone worthy of a man’s loyalty and devotion.</span><span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: LucidaCalligraphy-Italic; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i>Saint Louis, Missouri 1877<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Do
not be so upset Katherine. It’s just a silly little dinner party. There will be
other chances to meet the young man.”<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I
am more interested in meeting the Count, mother.”<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“No
doubt.” With graceful, nimble fingers Mrs. Demure tied the lace at her
daughter’s throat.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Oh
but mother, you have heard the rumors and you must let me at least have a
peek.” <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Indeed
I shall not!” Banished or not, the Count was not a man whom Mrs. Demure wanted
to fall out of favor with, particularly in regard to her two daughters. The man
was worth more money than the Queen of England it was said and was building the
finest home this side of the Mississippi. A home of such proportions and
grandeur meant only one thing: the Count intended to stay. This would not bring
such a stirring of hope to all the mothers in town if not for the most
fortunate fact that Count von Strassenberg had a son. He was reportedly a boy
of about eighteen and had no siblings. The Demure girls stood a fairer chance
than any in town of securing the affections of the boy.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>But
not tonight.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>At
least not for Katherine, the younger of the two. Katherine was considered a
great beauty, greater even than her sister, but she was born tired and frail.
Most of her time was passed with reading. She was therefore fortunate in having
an ambitious lawyer for a father, a man who himself was widely read and boasted
wherever he went of the great personal library he possessed.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“When
this spell passes Katherine, your father will introduce you, if we do indeed
not find the Count to be altogether evil,” she whispered with mock foreboding,
“but for now, you must rest and wait.”<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>With
that, Henrietta flitted into the room. At eighteen she was just a year older
than Katherine, but possessed the beauty and poise of a much older girl, a
woman rather than a silly flighty girl. Katherine hated her most of the time.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I
hear the father is a bit of a dark lord,” Henrietta giggled. “Oh well,” she
said dipping down to check her reflection in the vanity’s glass. “I suppose the
boy and I can establish ourselves in Europe and leave daddy back here in his
dark, brooding castle.” She dotted her nose with powder and adjusted her bosom.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Mrs.
Demure gasped, but only slightly. Henrietta had been forward and proud since
she had realized there was a difference between boys and girls. This had given
Mrs. Demure sufficient time to grow accustomed to her oldest daughter’s wanton
behavior.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Katherine
swung her legs over the side of the bed. “O mother, it isn’t fair that she gets
to go down. She will completely humiliate you and father! Look at her! She
looks like a tart!”<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Katherine!”
<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“O
mother, you know it’s true. I may be broken and sickly but at least I have some
dignity.” Henrietta leaned over her sister, her barely concealed cleavage
poignantly displayed. “Dignity is not what counts or their sons are after.”
With a swish and a wave of obnoxious perfume, Henrietta left the room. “I am
sorry Katherine, but unfortunately,” and here Mrs. Demure sighed, knowing the
unfairness and stupidity of it all, “Your sister is right. You know it pains me
to say it is so.” Katherine slumped back. Mrs. Demure kissed her daughter’s
brow. “I will tell you all about<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i>it in the morning. Now get some rest.” With a more graceful
swish of her own skirts Mrs. Demure was gone, leaving Katherine to plan her
escape. She would not be waiting for this pain to pass. She would meet the
Count tonight.</i></span><span style="color: black; font-family: LucidaBright; font-size: 10.0pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>My
life is hard. No one would rob me of that. The clothes I am wearing came out of
a knotted up black plastic trash bag from a resale shop downtown. And not the
downtown where shiny cars wink at you in the sunlight. If a car winks at you in
this area it’s being driven by a person you would be best to avoid.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>My
side of downtown is crumbling and skirted by chain link fences.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Kevin’s
out of work again. Staying sober for eight hours out of the day was too much
for him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>It
always is.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>So
I work here, at Dobson’s Market, fifteen hours a week during the school year.
That’s my Friday, Saturday, Sunday job.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Since
Dobson doesn’t want to get in trouble for overworking a minor we worked it out
with his younger brother that I would work the rest of the week at the family
restaurant. Fifteen hours here. Fifteen hours there. No benefits anywhere and
crap pay everywhere.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;">But for now, it’s holding us. We’ve been in the same place for
three months now. I’ve opened my own bank account, that Kevin knows nothing
about, and I’m paying the bills as they roll in.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>And
we’re finally making it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Eventually,
though, he’ll come out of his stupor and realize things are getting comfortable
and he’ll want to know where the money is.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>But
maybe by then I’ll be gone.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Go
on now, Miss.” Josephine, the Demure’s only maid, tried to shuffle Katherine
from her hiding place behind a tapestry that hung just outside the dining room.
“Go on now, they’re almost done with their soup. And your father and the Count
are just talking business. Don’t wear yourself out standing here spying for
such boredom as that.” Katherine peeked at her from behind the tapestry. “But
Josephine, the son is lame.” Josephine was obviously a little taken aback by
the excitement Katherine found in this. “Not lame so much, Miss, more like he’s
tormented. Poor boy.”<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Tormented
by the sun! How lovely!”<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I
never did understand you Miss Katherine. But if the boy is anywhere near as
handsome as his father, the shock may nearly kill your sister.”<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Katherine
stifled a giggle, “Indeed.”<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Josephine
shook her head and started back toward the kitchen. “You are too much in those
books, Miss Katherine.” She shuffled only three feet away before jumping,
rattling the china, at the sound of the knocker. A vase nearly fell to the
floor as Josephine quickly turned and struggled to unload her tray onto a hall
table. “O Miss Katherine,” she hissed. “He will certainly see you. Silly girl!”
Chairs were being pushed back from the table in the adjoining room.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Josephine,
already at the door, righted her curls and glanced furtively back to make sure
Katherine was hidden. Satisfied, she flung the door open.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The
back of Josephine’s neck flushed crimson at the sight of their visitor.
Katherine was barely able to suppress the giggle. “Viktor, son of Count von
Strassenberg of Austria,” announced Josephine, rather a bit too grandly. The
young man stepped inside. Katherine cursed silently. Josephine had moved,
blocking her view, all she could see of the stranger was perfectly coiffed,
raven-black hair and a pale forehead. Josephine, choking on her words, dipped
in a curtsey and stepped aside. Katherine ducked behind the tapestry. While she
wanted to see, she most certainly did not want to be seen. She heard long
strides across the wooden floor. Just in front of the dining room door, they
stopped. A cacophony of overdone greetings rose as the dinner party met the new
arrival.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i>Katherine dared a peek.</i></span><span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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o:title="5 filter"/>
</v:shape><![endif]--><img height="125" src="file://localhost/Users/gwenn/Library/Caches/TemporaryItems/msoclip1/01/clip_image010.jpg" v:shapes="_x0000_i1029" width="345" /></span><span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;">“Have you finished it yet?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Charlene
slams her tray down beside me, not because she’s mad but because Charlene
overdoes everything. It’s not like it’s out of a need to be dramatic, she just
came naturally that way. Passionate. Exuberant. Uncontrolled and unrefined.
That’s Charlene. And she’s almost as poor as me and Kevin, almost. Her dad is
sober but disabled. Some kind of freak accident when he was working as a
mechanic at the only reputable car dealership this side of town.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
finish chewing the rubbery substance the cafeteria ladies refer to as “pizza.”
I thought maybe I was mistaken as to its classification because the stuff at
the restaurant isn’t so...chewy, but the menu says this is pizza. “Did I finish
what?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Charlene
squeezes her plump bottom between mine and the freshman next to me, not asking
her to move.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Duh,
the new </span><span style="color: black; font-family: ArialNarrow-Italic; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i>Evening Shade</i></span><span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;">.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>When
we were younger Charlene and I were considered complete morons and geeks
because we wore third-hand clothes and spent all of our free time reading. It’s
this thing literate people do, but apparently it wasn’t cool. And then in ninth
grade this new series came out and it’s all the rage and the popular girls
think it’s wicked cool. They’ve made movies out of the series and there are
t-shirts and posters and every other marketable thing imaginable. Candies even.
So now reading is acceptable. Charlene and I consider ourselves to be the only
true fans of <i>Evening Shade</i></span><span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;"> because we were reading them
before the marketing blitz. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The
rich girls can buy their own copies. For everyone else it’s a tooth-and-claw
fight at the library over their one copy of each book in the series. Mrs.
Henderson, the librarian, loves me. Before I started working and before earning
money became a fascination of mine, we became well acquainted. The library was
quieter and cozier than my ever-changing address. And, as it turned out, Mrs.
Henderson is a huge fan of teenage paranormal romances. We were thick as
thieves. And that’s how Charlene, Mrs. Henderson and I became friends. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Some
people have clubhouses or the mall to run away to. Charlene and I had Mrs.
Henderson and the library.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“No,
I’ve been working on that stupid paper for Roberts.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“That
is a stupid paper.” Charlene pops open her chocolate milk and takes an
enthusiastic gulp, finishing half of the inadequate box. “Well hurry up with it
will you? Or it’ll be overdue and you can’t renew it because Posey Jenkins has
reserved it and so has Ophelia What’s-Her-Face.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
crunch my last bit of salad from my free-or-reduced lunch. “I’ll try to finish
it tonight on break.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“What
time do you get off? Can you drop it off on the way home?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Would
I risk my life and my purity for Charlene’s obsessive reading habits? Yes. For
her and no one else. Because I know she would walk the dark back streets of
Nashville for me. And, in the six years of our friendship, no one has ever
bothered us before. Many, many times I have slinked out my bedroom window when
one of Kevin’s more vocal guests had joined us and I slipped through the
shadows of side streets, to make my way to the quietness of Charlene’s mundane
home.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>So
tonight wouldn’t be any different.</span><span style="color: black; font-family: LucidaBlackletter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><b> <o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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style='width:345pt;height:125pt'>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He
stood there, towering over Josephine, as though waiting. Why they had paused in
the doorway, Katherine did not know, but then just before they continued into
the dining room, Viktor’s eyes drifted toward the floor, to where the tapestry
brushed the wood, and he smiled. As though he could see through the heavy
fabric, his eyes roamed toward hers and locked. With a silent, conspiratorial
laugh he allowed Mr. Demure to lead him into the dining room.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Katherine
welcomed the noise of the continued greetings. It would cover her footsteps as
she fled. She was halfway up the staircase, clutching the rail and her skirts,
imploring her weakened limbs to carry her faster, when she heard her mother’s
gasp. <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Katherine!”<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>She
was too smart and too shocked at being caught in her nightdress to quit her
ascent. Clumsily, feebly she pulled herself more desperately up the seemingly
endless steps.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“My
apologies,” she heard her mother saying. “She was to be resting in bed. Just a
curious child,” Mrs. Demure prattled on nervously.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The
stairs were simply too high, too finely polished and her skirts treacherously
long for legs that could no longer bear to straighten. Her foot caught and wet
palms gave way and everything came down, plundering her mother’s dreams of a
successful marriage for one of her girls. Katherine saw Henrietta’s face, which
was not at all shocked by her sister’s tumbling form, merely infuriated by it,
as she rolled heel over head. Mrs. Demure and Josephine screamed. Three men
were rushing the steps. Their black jacketed arms looking like the flapping
wings of crows as she caught glimpse after tumbling glimpse of them. Why were
there so many stairs? She continued down, no longer scrabbling to grab a
baluster but surrendering to the pull of gravity and her own clumsiness,
knowing at some point she would reach the bottom. She closed her eyes as the
flapping birds closed in on her.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Her
mother and Josephine had stopped screaming.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The
men were all asking questions of her. It was all spinning and thundering, the
blood rushing through her brain in a torrent. She looked down at her mother,
white and leaning on Josephine, and at Henrietta’s annoyance.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>She
stopped tumbling before reaching the floor. Her father was over her, his face
floating above her. “Katherine. Katherine can you hear me?”<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>What
was he talking about? <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Katherine
are you all right?” Mr. Demure awkwardly reached forward to brush the hair from
her eyes. <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Viktor
carefully lift her and carry her to her room,” the stranger’s voice said.
Viktor? She knew no Viktor. Her father was edging away, shifting her weight
into the arms of an unseen force. He was pointing now in the direction of her
room and she was rising in strong arms. Uncertain if it would faithfully
respond, Katherine urged her trembling hand to brush the last strands of
chestnut hair from her eyes. And froze.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>They
were </i></span><span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;">his <i>strong arms. It was </i></span><span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;">his <i>careful grace. It was </i></span><span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;">his <i>tender,
firm grasp that carried her toward her room. She dared not look up, beyond his
square jaw or the tip of his sharp nose. She did not want to see what his eyes
might be saying about this silly little girl who had ruined a perfectly fine
dinner party to hide behind a curtain. There was pain, somewhere in her body,
but the torment in her mind was distracting her from realizing it. Her mother
must be mortified.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>But
Henrietta...Henrietta would be what? Jealous most likely. This was the perfect
sort of scenario she was always plotting against Caleb McDonelly, the
handsomest boy in town. And Katherine had pulled it off effortlessly in front
of the most captivating and mysterious young man she had ever beheld.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Mr.
Demure hurried forward, ushering them into Katherine and Henrietta’s room.
“Here, son, place her here.”<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>It
was unavoidable as he lowered her to the soft mattress. She could not help but
to look up into his icy eyes, like the faintest of blue struggling through the
clouds before a snow. Were they gray or blue? She gave herself no time for observation,
jerking her eyes away from his before they could mock her and her childishness.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Doctor,
would you please?” Mr. Demure stepped aside, but Katherine did not see the
Count/Doctor approach. She stared intensely at a sketch pinned to her wall.
There was shuffling and cold hands and prodding fingers. Katherine endured the
doctor’s silent inquiries without protesting, waiting for the lean shadow at
the end of her bed to vanish.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Why
would he not just leave? <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The
man with the accent stepped away. “She is fortunate. There appear to be no
injuries.” Would her pride count? Her mother’s shattered hopes? <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Mr.
Demure leaned in and kissed his daughter’s forehead and gently spread a blanket
across her. “I have always warned her that her curiosity would be the death of
her. That or her clumsiness.”<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>She
heard the men laughing as they drifted out of the room. <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The
shadow stayed. <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>She
wished he would go. The burning tears ached to be set free. She couldn’t
restrain them much longer. With a trembling, unwilling hand she rubbed her
throbbing forehead and exhaled deeply.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>For
a moment she believed he had left, but as she shifted away from the wall she
sensed him there beside the bed. He was very close.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Wretched
curiosity!<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But she would fight it and not look.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Katherine,”
he whispered, his breath rolling in a warm wave across her cheek. A traitor
tear spilled out, the humiliation was too much to contain. Gently, a finger
dabbed the wetness from her skin. He said it again, softly, as though it
pleased him just to say it, “Katherine.”<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Viktor!”
the accented voice bellowed from below. And then the shadow was gone. <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Darkness
overwhelmed her then and carried her away to a land of crows and mocking
strangers.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><i><br clear="ALL" style="mso-special-character: line-break; page-break-before: always;" />
</i></span>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: LucidaBlackletter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><b><!--[if gte vml 1]><v:shape id="_x0000_i1031" type="#_x0000_t75"
style='width:345pt;height:125pt'>
<v:imagedata src="file://localhost/Users/gwenn/Library/Caches/TemporaryItems/msoclip1/01/clip_image013.png"
o:title="7 filter"/>
</v:shape><![endif]--><img height="125" src="file://localhost/Users/gwenn/Library/Caches/TemporaryItems/msoclip1/01/clip_image014.jpg" v:shapes="_x0000_i1031" width="345" /></b></span><span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“You
want a ride home Rocky?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“No
thanks, Mr. Dobson,” I tell him, not because I wouldn’t really like to not walk
home through the constant drizzle and darkened streets, but because the man
weirds me out a bit. Being alone in a car with him...that just isn’t going to
happen. Not that I think he’d ever lay a hand on me, but just the same, I don’t
like the way his eyes slowly roll over me. I don’t think he realizes it’s so
ridiculously obvious to everyone around, but it is. Everyone knows the boss is
always checking me out and it’s embarrassing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
don’t get it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>My
body isn’t fantastic. But, living in an area where men aren’t raised to be
gentlemen, I have learned that it doesn’t take much to entice a man. I’ve never
understood the other girls at school who try so hard. They plump their lips and
push their cleavage up to their chins, but none of that’s really necessary. The
men are going to look anyway.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Kevin
has always said I’m a natural beauty like my mom and that I would have to try
real hard to be ugly. I use to think he was crazy, just muttering things to make
an awkward little poor girl feel better about her unfair growth spurts (going
up, not out). Now, though, as more eyes begin to follow me, I think maybe Kevin
was actually right about something.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>And
I don’t like it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
try to pull myself into a hunched ball and keep my hair in my face so they
can’t see me. When they look, they’re looking for something I’m not willing to
give and I want them to know that.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>As
I walk down the street now, and I mean straight down the middle, I sweep both
sides with paranoid eyes. It isn’t the worst neighborhood, but it isn’t exactly
the kind of place you want to let your guard down. The houses and businesses
here are packed tightly together, a mishmash of shapes and angles and sizes;
like a swollen shantytown. Most of the houses are rented out, the original
owners having moved on to brighter pastures on the newer side of town. Kevin
and I have been living in a house that we suppose was actually painted white
but looks grayer now, the owners never considering it worth their trouble to
paint a house that would only be occupied for a few months at a time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>But
we’ve had it for three months and it’s starting to feel like home. It’s
starting to feel dangerous, like something I would miss if we had to move. It’s
a feeling I don’t welcome as I probably should because I know it won’t last.
Kevin won’t let it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>All
these thoughts swirl through my head, crowding out any normal teenager
thoughts. There are no boys floating around, no dreams of college or a better
life, just the plan to make it through the next day. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;">And to make it without going insane.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Headlights
appear over the hill and I move over to the cracked and uneven sidewalk. I try
to make myself look confident and strong and unbothered by their approach
without looking like a hooker, but boys this side of town aren’t geniuses at
reading signals. They wouldn’t read the instructions anyway. They would make up
their own rules to the game. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>It’s
a commercial/residential area, speed limit 25, but whoever this is drives like
it’s a traffic accident at rush hour.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>A
lot of people think it’s the speeders that are the troublemakers, the bad boys.
I say it’s the guy going ten in a thirty. He’s taking his time to look for
trouble, for a deal or a girl.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>This
is a bad boy car and it’s slowing down for me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>It
feels like my blood is pulled from my head and feet and hands and takes up
residence in my gut, leaving my nerves exposed and raw and my skin tingling
with exposure to them. I pluck my baggy shirt out, away from my slender form
and insist that my shoulders ignore their burning desire to curl in. I have to
look strong. Look strong and they won’t think they can have you so easily.</span><span style="color: black; font-family: LucidaBlackletter; font-size: 10.0pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><i><br clear="ALL" style="page-break-before: always;" />
</i></span>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><!--[if gte vml 1]><v:shape id="_x0000_i1032" type="#_x0000_t75"
style='width:345pt;height:125pt'>
<v:imagedata src="file://localhost/Users/gwenn/Library/Caches/TemporaryItems/msoclip1/01/clip_image015.png"
o:title="8 filter"/>
</v:shape><![endif]--><img height="125" src="file://localhost/Users/gwenn/Library/Caches/TemporaryItems/msoclip1/01/clip_image016.jpg" v:shapes="_x0000_i1032" width="345" /><o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Won’t
you tell it again?”<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Katherine
covered her head with the pillow, trying to block out her sister’s endless
requests. “No Henrietta, I will not.”<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“But
you tell it so splendidly.”<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Henrietta
jumped back as her sister sprang out from behind the defensive wall of pillows.
“Of course I do, Henrietta! I was the one falling down the blasted staircase.”<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Mixed
in with Henrietta’s pride was a sudden hint of victory. “Tell me again
Katherine or I will tell mother you swore.”<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I
did not swear,” she growled. “And even if I had I would just tell mother it was
something I had heard my big sister say and I had no idea it was such horrible
slang. Now leave me alone.” Grabbing her pillow, Katherine flopped back over,
intent on ignoring any further requests.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Katherine...”
<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Shut
up, Henrietta!”<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This time she was on her feet, wobbling
furiously in front of her shocked sister. “Do you not understand, you selfish
twit? It was humiliating! I fell down the stairs</i></span><span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;">,
unintentionally<i>!” She sank into the bed. “It does not matter anyway. I do
not find him favorable. He is...odd and so...tall.”<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Taller
than any man I have ever seen and handsome and rich, you idiot. What does it
matter if he’s odd?”<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>It
was not a battle to be won. “Just leave me be, Henrietta. If you want him,
throw yourself down a staircase, he can rescue you and you can be happily wed
to the son of the banished, dark lord.”<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Just
then a loud banging resounded through the home. Henrietta glanced at the
darkening sky outside her window. “Who on earth?” <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Oh,”
Katherine moaned, retreating beneath her pillow. “It is most likely your great
love come in the mysterious twilight hour. Go to him, for he waits for you.” <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“You
really are insufferable Katherine.” But Henrietta was already up, checking her
reflection and readjusting her unprepared bosom. <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Indeed
I am.”<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>She
heard a frenzy of slippered steps and swooshing skirts and then the barely
restrained flight down the staircase. Voices. Josephine and Henrietta and one
too low to make out.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Oh
hang it all,” Katherine groaned, throwing the pillow off again and going to the
glass to check her own reflection. Her father was most likely right. One day
her curiosity would be the death of her.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Henrietta
was at the door, edging Josephine out of her way.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i>“I was just telling Master Viktor here that Mr. Demure is still
at the office and we are not expecting him back until late this evening and
that Mrs. Demure is not yet returned from calling on the Marshes, Miss.”<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Henrietta
tried to wave the plump little maid away. “It’s all right, Josephine. I am more
than happy to receive Mister von Strassenberg.”<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Bright
red splotches bloomed across Josephine’s modest cheeks. “Begging your pardon,
miss,” she interjected, stepping between the ravenous Henrietta and her prey.
“It would be improper. Mrs. Demure would not forgive me.”<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Henrietta
never turned from Viktor, who stood patiently in the doorway, looking amused.
“Oh hang your proprieties and modesties Josephine. After the show Katherine put
on the other night, ruining everything,” she smiled pointedly at him. “Mister
von Strassenberg deserves a chance to see that his neighbors are not crazed
lunatics. At least not all of them. Pray Mister von Strassenberg, what is it
that brings you?”<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Uncertain
but unwilling to tangle with Henrietta, Josephine scuttled away.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Viktor
surveyed the flushed young woman before him, who imagined herself to be
stunning in all her presumptuous glory. He seemed to be allowing a time of
suspense in which to grow her aching desires. Her breath caught, swelling her
already swollen bosom. Katherine cringed, knowing this was a practiced ploy,
which her sister believed men found seductive. Katherine mostly thought it was
ridiculous.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Without
a word, Viktor’s stormy eyes skewed away from Henrietta and, sensing that her
chances of being caught were rising dramatically, Katherine backed into the
shadows.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I
came to inquire,” he began slowly and Henrietta’s breath caught again, heaving
her ridiculous bosom. “After your sister, Miss Katherine.”<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Without
the intent, or even any practice, Katherine’s own breath caught in a sharp
little gasp. The horrid man! Did he mean to prolong her humiliation!
Henrietta’s head cocked slowly in the direction of the betraying gasp, her
frame rigid with instant jealousy. Viktor took this all in and, upon
translating it, his eyes once again found Katherine in the shadows.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Wrapping
her robes closely around her, she attempted to tuck herself away. Henrietta
openly followed Viktor’s gaze to the alcove just beyond the staircase. There
was no hiding.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Viktor
boldly stepped around Henrietta, his eyes locked on Katherine’s shadowy hiding
place. He addressed the darkness. “Miss Katherine, my father asked that I call
on you, to inquire as to your well being.”<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>A
sigh of relief from Henrietta, “Your father asked you.”<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Viktor
ignored her. “Miss Katherine?” He waited for her to step forward. She accepted that
she would have to move out of hiding at some point or he would never leave.
Pretentious, stubborn thing that he was.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Her
heart began a chaotic rhythm within her chest and she cursed him silently for
it. She didn’t want him; this arrogant, unconventional young man who couldn’t
see past his own needs to save her further embarrassment. And here she was
again in her robes, her hair undone and flowing down her back in a tumult of
unkempt waves. She would have to humiliate herself and her mother again just to
appease this spoiled young man.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>But
why was her heart fluttering and why were her hands beginning to tremble?<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Henrietta’s
face was dark with envy but she would not give up so easily. As Viktor stepped
in front of her she began adjusting her cleavage and pinching her cheeks and
biting her lips.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Katherine
stepped from the shadows. As they rolled off her, revealing her pale skin and
chestnut hair, Viktor moved closer to the staircase. Katherine approached the
balustrade, saving him from having to come any farther.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Are
you well?” he asked. <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Yes
sir, very well, thank you. And thank your father for his kindness.” His face
did not alter. He merely stood there, staring at her, making her wretchedly
uncomfortable. Henrietta moved forward, encroaching upon the awkwardness of the
moment. “There, you see,” she said, taking his side. “She is perfectly well, as
lame and sickly as ever. No change.” She smiled as though this little joke at
her sister’s expense would please him and he would find her very clever.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He
continued to study Katherine’s down-turned face. Slowly his eyes shifted to
Henrietta. “She does not look sickly to me.” Katherine dared to glance up, just
enough to witness Henrietta’s shock and immediate smoothing-over. Perhaps this
infuriating young man did have some better qualities. Anyone who could torment
Henrietta could not be so horribly vile.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“O
she has always been sickly. Tired and fragile.” <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I
have suffered greatly most of my life as well.” <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Henrietta
laughed lightly at this trifling fact. “But you do not look it as she does.
Indeed sir, you look positively robust.” <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“The
move has been favorable for me. I find myself,” he inadvertently moved closer
to the steps. “Strengthened in this strange, new land.”<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Henrietta
tinkled with laughter again but Katherine saw the searching thoughts and knew
her sister had come up with no smart reply. Viktor placed a foot on the first
step.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“My
father sent a gift for you.” <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Henrietta’s
jaw gaped. <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“And,
if you agree, I would say it would be safer for me to bring it to you,” he
laughed softly. “Than it would be for you to come down and retrieve it.”
Henrietta was quickly in front of him, blocking his path. “I will take it to
her. It is improper, you know, she is in her robes.” Annoyance flicked across
Viktor’s fine features. “Perhaps we should hang </i></span><span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;">your <i>proprieties
and modesties as well?” <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Fury.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Henrietta
was furious, her bosom and her cheeks grew scarlet with ugly blotches of
embarrassment and rage. “I see,” she said in a low growl and then she was gone,
off to scream at Josephine for some imagined incompetence.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Katherine
clutched the balustrade as she watched her sister fly from the room. She was
perfectly alone with him. Again. Her heart thudded wildly. The trembling in her
hands increased and she felt that she would fall in a mortified lump right
there at the top of the stairs.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i>Don’t, she told herself, or he will have to save you again and
you shall never recover from the humiliation.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>She
had been too distracted by her own flutterings to notice that he was
approaching. “Sir,” she whispered, eyes locked on her whitening knuckles. “It
really is not necessary.” <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>And
then he was beside her. He was surprisingly quick and graceful and she loathed
him for it. It made it harder to runaway. She had always imagined moments like
these, placing herself in the same situations so many of the heroines in her
novels found themselves in. But in life it was different, more humiliating. Why
was he so calm and suave and she was such a mess?<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He
was watching her but she would not turn to him. <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Viktor
reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew a small box. “My father feels
somewhat responsible for what happened.”<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“That
is ridiculous,” Katherine retorted, quickly biting her lip. “It could not be
further from the truth, is what I mean.”<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Yes
well, my father has not had a reason to buy a gift for a young lady for quite
some time. He is glad for the opportunity, as imaginary as it may be.” He held
the box out, waiting patiently for her to turn and receive it.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i>It seemed centuries before she could reach out and take the
box, afraid she would look up and catch his eye or worse, brush his hand as she
accepted the gift.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Please,”
he whispered. “I shall be disowned if you do not take it and gush profusely
with surprise and gratitude.”<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>She
had always imagined herself with some dark, brooding stranger and yet, now that
he was in front of her she found that his lack of normalcy affronted her. He
was not like any boy she had ever met. There was something piercing and
searching in his gaze, almost intrusive. It unnerved her. She felt completely
out of control near him and that, in her mind, was unforgivable.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>As
it seemed to be the safest way to exchange the box, Katherine held her hand
out, palm flat, and waited.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He
paused. <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Why
was he always pausing? Why could this man not be rushed? She would not look up
but she could sense his amusement, the way he held the box between them. He
knew this waiting infuriated her and he was purposefully prolonging it. O she
despised him! Standing there in her robes and her undone hair and he couldn’t
be bothered to quit the game and hurry a bit.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>And
then it occurred to her that he was waiting and not just to increase her
frustration. He was waiting for her to meet his eyes.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Just
do it, she prodded herself, and then this nonsense, sheer and utter nonsense,
will be done with.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>With
a long, slow breath Katherine steadied herself and lifted her gaze, and the
anger swelled within her. “O you insufferable man!” She hissed, snatching the
box. “Why does this amuse you? This is not at all amusing!”<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>With
barely checked frustration she glared into his laughing eyes. This was all a
game to him and he was playing with her, playing with the invalid. Was he that
heartless? Did he like to tug the heartstrings of unfortunate girls just to
watch their torment?<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Open
it,” he ordered, laughter in his voice.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>She
growled back, her fingers prying at the lid of the small velvet box, “As you
wish. Gladly.”<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>But
she could not manage to open the box. Over and over she turned it, but could
find no solution. He waited with insufferable patience through what seemed many
minutes until at last he reached his long fingers out to assist her. The
coolness of his skin brushed against her fingertips and she recoiled at the
warmth that spread through her hand. It seemed the heat from his cool touch
spread rapidly to her heart, throwing the rhythm into a frenzy once more.
“There is a small lock,” he was saying, nimbly pushing a tiny latch she had not
seen. The lid sprang back. “There.” He lifted her small hand in his own and she
thought her knees would give way. It was maddening. He seemed to know the
effect he was having on her, an effect she did not welcome and could not
control, sensible as she imagined herself to be. With a withering glance at his
smiling face she dropped her eyes down to the box.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i>“Oh!” she gasped. “Well
that is...I cannot accept this.” <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“That’s
not exactly the reaction I believe my father was looking for.” <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Indeed,”
she whispered, lifting the ring from the velvet cushion. <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“He
hoped that it would fit.”<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>She
was trembling inside, the beauty of the gift overwhelming her. The ring, a wide
yet tiny band of gold was overlaid with sparkling diamonds and intricate
scrollwork. In the center was a large pale blue diamond.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I
have only read of such beautiful things,” she humbly whispered. “I cannot
accept it.” <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Ah,”
he said, taking the ring from her, skin brushing skin. “But you must. May I?”
Before she could offer any protest, he was holding her hand and sliding the
ring on to her finger. He sighed, “A perfect fit.”<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>She
gathered herself, “I cannot accept this. It’s...” <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Impossible
for you to refuse,” he finished for her. “Take comfort, Miss Katherine, it cost
him no expense. It is from his personal collection. I believe it belonged to my
great-grandmother or great-aunt or someone such as that.”<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Katherine
began tugging at the ring, “Well then I certainly cannot accept it. I cannot
possibly take a family heirloom over such a trifling matter for which your
father was not even at fault.” The ring was sliding over her knuckle when he
grasped her hand firmly. “Then accept it for my sake, Miss Katherine.” He slid
the ring back down. “I chose it for you. It seems to suit you.”<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“To
suit me?” She withdrew, the anger rising again. “How would you know what suits
me? You are all presumption. You do not know me and cannot guess my character.
I am not some sickly, frail thing that falls down the stairs whenever rich,
handsome men come to call.”<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Although
it would seem so,” he smiled.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Frustrated
and embarrassed, Katherine stomped her slippered foot. “Oh you are insufferable
beyond all men! Have you no sympathy? I believe you have mistaken me sir, for
some soft little creature in need of your saving! I am not in need of a
tormented man’s gallantry! And as for this gift...”<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He
stepped forward, interrupting her crescendo. “You will keep it.”<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Surprising
herself, Katherine came toward him, seething, “Oh indeed I will. If only to
frustrate my ridiculous sister.”<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>At
this he grinned but she could find no humor. “You can show yourself out, I
assume?” Before he could confirm, Katherine spun on her heel and hurried back
to her room, collapsing onto her bed. Her heart was racing. She could not begin
to understand herself or her violent reactions toward this young man.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Eddie’s
Bar is two blocks away. Short enough blocks, I hope. The car slows as it gets
closer to me and I’m trying to figure out if I should bolt now or wait until
they proposition me. Maybe they’re just trying to scare me. I don’t want to
give them too much satisfaction by running now if all they really want is a
chance to laugh at a silly little girl. The engine purrs contentedly beneath
its shiny, perfect hood. Dealers. Or Rich-boy Moneybags looking for a good
time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
keep walking, faster now, and despite my good intentions, my shoulders hunch
defensively.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: ArialNarrow-Italic; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Please
just be idiots. Stupid, harmless idiots.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I’m
ready to cross the side street. Eddie’s is so close and most of them know me
there. They may be friends of Kevin’s but it’s gotta be fractionally safer with
them than with this shiny out-of-place car.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The
darkened window slowly rolls down. I don’t want to look. Don’t give them the
time of day. Just cross to the next block and keep going. Get to Eddie’s. Kevin
might even be there. He’s not much of a social drinker, but he might be,
tonight.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>My
foot hovers over the gutter. It’s time to run.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Miss!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
nearly trip over the affluence and authority in the voice. “Miss we’re looking
for Dobson’s Market, do you know where it is?” The question has stopped the
frantic pacing of my mind, but my foot is still ready to take flight. I stand
like a stork on the corner of Fifth and Washington. “I said, `We’re looking for
Dobson’s Market, do you know where it is?’” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Maybe
she’s strung out,” the suited young man in the driver’s seat offers.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Maybe
she can hear you,” I snap. His stupidity makes me angry. This is not what
someone who is strung out looks like. He’s probably some kind of high- power,
daddy’s coattails exec who never had to slug it out it in the slums before
scoring his shiny, winking car. “And maybe she was taught not to talk to
strangers. In particular, strangers who are crawlin’ around in fancy cars where
they don’t belong.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The
</span><span style="color: black; font-family: ArialNarrow-Italic; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i>Matrix
</i></span><span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;">twins exchange glances, seeming somewhat amused and altogether
ready to be done with their assignment.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Dobson’s
is closed anyway. But so you know,” my foot lands in the gutter. “It’s three
blocks down, on your right.” I start across the narrow street. They creep
alongside me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“How
old are you miss?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Keep
walking, don’t look. “Not old enough.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He
ignores me. “We’re looking for someone.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I
thought you were looking for Dobson’s.” Back on the sidewalk and Eddie’s isn’t
far. “We’re looking for someone who works at Dobson’s.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Charlene.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>She
just started there last week.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>What
kind of crazy mess has that girl gotten herself into this time?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
stop and look at them. Maybe I can throw them off long enough to get Charlene a
warning, give her time to run. “Who?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“A
girl, about your age.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Most
of the cashiers are my age. Name?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The passenger seems to be weighing
something mentally. He looks at me in a scientific sort of way that is almost
more unnerving than the way I am used to being looked at by men and consults
the contents of a manila folder. After a long moment of flipping and scanning
pages, he closes the folder and eyes me again. The less reasonable side of me
registers that he is easy on the eyes, but I ignore it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Maria
Josepha Raquel Demure von Strassenberg.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The
blood rushing into my ears sounds more like silence than even the quietest
silence I have ever heard. It’s the sound of my thoughts being sucked into a
black hole, the sound of a numbed and shocked mind.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He
looks at the folder again, “Evans. This girl would have been given the last
name of Evans.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Kevin
Evans.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>His
parents had been as cruel as my mother. My dying mother had actually asked two
things of Kevin Evans as she slipped away. The first and most obvious was that
he care for me and keep me out of foster homes and orphanages. Which may
actually have been better, but that’s neither here nor there. The second, which
was more of a demand, and one I wish he had waffled on, was my name. “Name her
after me,” she had said. And just as he had been the only person alive who had
known her full name, so he was the only person ever privileged with knowing my
name. And that’s just because he gave it to me, tacking his on at the end for
the sake of practicality.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;">Maria Josepha Raquel Demure von Strassenberg Evans.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>But
everyone calls me Rocky. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Rocky
Evans. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Except
Mrs. Cornwallis of eleventh grade English. She calls me Raquel.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
want to deny it but my thoughts haven’t had time to reorder themselves for the
purpose of lying and it’s too late anyway. I think they heard the blood whisking
my brain cells into protective hiding.</span><span style="color: black; font-family: LucidaBlackletter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><b> <o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<span style="color: black; font-family: LucidaBlackletter; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><b><br clear="ALL" style="mso-special-character: line-break; page-break-before: always;" />
</b></span>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: LucidaBlackletter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><b><!--[if gte vml 1]><v:shape id="_x0000_i1034" type="#_x0000_t75"
style='width:345pt;height:125pt'>
<v:imagedata src="file://localhost/Users/gwenn/Library/Caches/TemporaryItems/msoclip1/01/clip_image019.png"
o:title="10 filter"/>
</v:shape><![endif]--><img height="125" src="file://localhost/Users/gwenn/Library/Caches/TemporaryItems/msoclip1/01/clip_image020.jpg" v:shapes="_x0000_i1034" width="345" /></b></span><span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>His
fist came crashing down on the desk with such force that pens jumped from their
stillness, spilling their ink and blotching his research notes. “Get it back!”<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Viktor
leaned against the frame of the massive door, unwilling to cross the threshold
into his father’s study. “Father you can hardly expect me to ask for her to
return it. It was a gift.”<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Klaus
von Strassenberg’s face shifted violently through each possible shade of red
and purple and every combination in between. “It was not yours to give! Do you
understand the importance of that ring?”<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“It
is so important that it has remained locked in its little box for what? A
century now?” <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Stupid
boy!”<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I
cannot possibly take it back Father. I imagine Mr. and Mrs. Demure would take
it as a bit of an insult and it is doubtful that such unfavorable opinions
would be helpful to your... endeavors?”<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The
old man settled back in his chair. “You must have inherited your impertinence
and your stupidity from your mother.” He watched as the brief anger played
across his son’s face. “She was not the most intelligent woman, your mother.”<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“So
you have told me. All that speaks to is your own shallow desires; that you
would marry a woman for her beauty or her money and not her companionship, much
less love.”<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>His
father snorted.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Unintelligent,
but tall,” Viktor motioned toward his own towering form. “Because that
certainly did not come from you, I believe you are not even as tall as the
average man, are you father? That must be so humiliating, to be so great in
mind and yet so small in stature.”<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The
Count waved him off, popping a peppermint into his wrinkled mouth. “My height
matters not, son. My mind more than makes up for what my physical form lacks.”<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Does
it?” Viktor laughed. “And that is why the women flock to you?”<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Unruffled,
the Count took up his pen. “I have no need of feeble-minded companions. And the
woman that can match her brilliance to mine is rare, if nonexistent.”<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Perhaps
what you lack in stature you make up for with arrogance? Then what of my
mother? If she was so unintelligent, why did you bother?”<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The
Count mulled this over. “Necessity.”<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Because
you needed an heir? What a disappointment I must be, Father. Your only son and
with the intelligence of a rock.”<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Do
not flatter yourself son. A rock would be an improvement. Leave me now and go
get that ring or your inheritance goes with it.” The Count hunched back over
his notes. Viktor turned his back on the shelves and shadows of his father’s
study and did not stop as the gravely voice took up its warning, “And you
cannot get the ring back by marrying the girl. I will not give you my
blessing.” Viktor drew the heavy door closed and heard it click. His father
bellowed, “I will not allow you to breed with an invalid after all we have done
for you!”<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The
chill of the corridor seemed more pronounced after the stuffy warmth of the
study. Viktor buried his hands beneath his arms, pausing in the forced darkness
of the house. Outside the sun shone in all its glory, beating a fierce heat
down upon the fortress that was his home, but there was none of its warmth here
in the shadows.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><i><br clear="ALL" style="mso-special-character: line-break; page-break-before: always;" />
</i></span>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: LucidaBlackletter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><!--[if gte vml 1]><v:shape id="_x0000_i1035" type="#_x0000_t75"
style='width:345pt;height:125pt'>
<v:imagedata src="file://localhost/Users/gwenn/Library/Caches/TemporaryItems/msoclip1/01/clip_image021.png"
o:title="11 filter"/>
</v:shape><![endif]--><img height="125" src="file://localhost/Users/gwenn/Library/Caches/TemporaryItems/msoclip1/01/clip_image022.jpg" v:shapes="_x0000_i1035" width="345" /></span><span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Will
you come with us?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Would
you stop acting like a moron?” The </span><span style="color: black; font-family: ArialNarrow-Italic; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i>Matrix </i></span><span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;">twin, I can
tell, is not used to being spoken to like the jerk he is. On his side of town
his money buys respect. On these streets, it only buys trouble. The driver, in
his fine suit, leans across his color-changing friend. “Miss Evans, we’re only
trying to help.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Trying
to help who? Because I don’t remember asking for anyone’s help.” And I hadn’t.
Ever. I was getting by just fine without anyone’s help. Not even Kevin’s. One
good thing about living beneath the poverty line: it teaches you how to get by,
how to manage without some fancy-car-driving schmuck coming along and shaking
things up. Kevin says my pride needs a room of its own. I tell him, maybe he’d
be better off if he had some for himself. The <i>Matrix</i></span><span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;"> driver is
more patient than his friend. He tries again. “We’re attorneys.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
can’t stop the snort that escapes me. “And you’re here to help?” He waits for
me to finish laughing. It takes a couple minutes before the giggle fit
subsides. His snotty friend has snapped his briefcase shut. He’s as done with
me as I am with him. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Miss
Evans, do you really think, with a name like that, you don’t have family
somewhere?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Giggles
gone. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Dead
gone. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Family,
he says? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Do
you have access to the Internet,” </span><span style="color: black; font-family: ArialNarrow-Italic; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i>Matrix </i></span><span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;">Number 2
asks. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Are
you crazy?” My mouth is still smart, but the insides of me have gone numb with
shock.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Why
don’t you Google yourself?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>No.
I’m out of sass. It’s just gone. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Family?
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“And
when you do...” he leans across the other </span><span style="color: black; font-family: ArialNarrow-Italic; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i>Matrix </i></span><span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;">twin, who
eyes me with a kind of mocking condescension. “Call us. We need to talk. We’ve
been looking for you,” this he pauses to consider, shooting for accuracy.
“Since before you were born.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He
doesn’t wait for a reply. The car rolls past my deaf, mute and dumb form. I
stand on the corner, the music and raucous voices of Eddie’s drift down the
street toward me, but I don’t hear them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><br clear="ALL" style="mso-special-character: line-break; page-break-before: always;" />
</span>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: LucidaBlackletter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><!--[if gte vml 1]><v:shape id="_x0000_i1036" type="#_x0000_t75"
style='width:345pt;height:125pt'>
<v:imagedata src="file://localhost/Users/gwenn/Library/Caches/TemporaryItems/msoclip1/01/clip_image023.png"
o:title="12 filter"/>
</v:shape><![endif]--><img height="125" src="file://localhost/Users/gwenn/Library/Caches/TemporaryItems/msoclip1/01/clip_image024.jpg" v:shapes="_x0000_i1036" width="345" /></span><span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Miss
Demure, may I have the pleasure of your hand in the next dance?”<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>It
had been a month since he had seen her, though it had not been a month since he
had tried.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Many
evenings, as shadows filled the lanes and twilight nestled over the town,
Viktor had come to call on Miss Katherine Demure. Not once had he been able to
see her. <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>She
was frightfully ill. <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>With
what, they would not say at first, and Viktor suspected they were playing him
for a fool. One day, however, just as he was lifting his hand to knock, the
door swung open. A surprised Josephine begged his pardon and continued to show
Doctor Craig out before welcoming Viktor in. “Is it Miss Demure,” he had
pressed, not giving Josephine time to greet him properly. “Yes, sir,” she had
whispered covertly. “She is very ill, sir, very ill indeed.”<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i>Viktor had left then, choosing not to bother the family with
his lingering presence as he had on the other nights.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>It
seemed, however, that they had all been mistaken in his intentions over the
course of the last month. Josephine had not told them that upon his arrivals he
had always inquired first after Katherine. Henrietta never even considered
this, but fawned over him, a sight that Mrs. Demure was too happy to behold.
Knowing it wouldn’t be proper to call on the younger sister before the elder
was married, Viktor kept his intentions to himself. What those intentions were,
even Viktor was not certain. What he was certain of was that he longed to see
Katherine again, in all her fire and stubbornness. He was desperate for those
accusatory, raging eyes...so unlike the plotting, preening eyes of her sister
and so many other girls.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“My
apologies, sir,” Katherine responded a bit too quickly, her eyes locked on his
proffered hand. “I am afraid I am still too weak to dance.”<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Ah,
but I am not! I shall suffer to take my sister’s place!” Henrietta, appearing
from nowhere, laughed gleefully as though this had been Viktor’s plan all
along. She took his arm, though he had not offered it. <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>There
was no patience for her silliness left in him. Viktor disengaged himself. “It
would seem improper to leave your sister to herself while everyone else enjoys
the dance.”<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Henrietta
scoffed. “Oh piff! She cares nothing for dancing or fun. Only her books
interest her. Your charms would be perfectly wasted on the silly little thing!”<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Katherine
hated Henrietta to the very core of her shallow being, but simply said,
“Unfortunately my sister is right. I do not dance well even when I am in good
health. I am neither witty nor intriguing. I am simply,” Katherine shrugged,
bored by her own boringness. “I am simply dull.”<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Viktor
would not take his eyes from her, not even when Henrietta reclaimed his arm and
began lightly tugging at him. Katherine wanted to look away but the deep, icy
seas of his eyes drew her in. With flecks of gold and pale blue they reminded
her of lightening and storms on a summer day. </i></span><span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;">Unworldly<i>,
she whispered in her thoughts as though he might be able to hear her.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Noticing
that her sister and Viktor were gazing a bit too long at each other, Henrietta
slapped Viktor’s arm with her fan. “Silly boy, we must hurry! They have begun
without us!” As he unwillingly left her side, a deep breath rolled into
Katherine. She had stopped breathing as she stared into the stormy depths. What
had he been pondering that had caused him to look at her in such a way? With
hope and pain and puzzlement?<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Mrs.
Demure swooped over, curiosity burning brilliantly in her eyes. Katherine slid
across the seat to allow room for her mother. Subtly, Mrs. Demure leaned in
close to Katherine’s ear.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“How
do they get on?”<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>For
a moment Katherine debated whether or not she should tell her mother that
Viktor regarded Henrietta with as much affection as he would a buzzing fly, but
thought better of it. Her mother would only think her jealous and childish.
Instead she said, “I did not notice. He seems<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i>to me very odd.” Mrs. Demure tinkled with laughter. “Yes my
dear, but one day men will not be such a mystery. They are rather simple creatures
and rather easily pleased.” <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Color
rose high in her mother’s cheeks, for what reason Katherine did not know, but
her mother seemed to have said more than intended.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>To
distract her Katherine offered, “Aside from that, Mother. I mean he is very odd
indeed. Always staring and brooding. Is that what people in castles do all day?
Sit around brooding and imagining how to make the little people around them
feel insignificant with the force of one pretentious stare?” <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>To
Katherine’s dismay, her mother bubbled with laughter again. Why were people
forever laughing at her when she wasn’t trying to be funny? She would never
understand people. “Oh Katherine,” trilled Mrs. Demure. “You are a treasure.
Such a bright wit.” To her daughter’s relief she then planted a light kiss on
Katherine’s cheek and stepped back into the crowd.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>With
a bothered sigh, Katherine stood, stretching out the stiffening muscles of her
body. A wave of dizziness blurred the edges of her vision. She tried not to
call attention to it, standing very still and waiting for it to pass as it
always did. </i></span><span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;">Heaven forbid<i>, she thought</i></span><span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;">, that I fall again and have
him lift me up in front of all these people. The only redeeming consequence of
such a scene would be Henrietta’s red, angry face. Yes<i>, thought Katherine, </i></span><span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;">that would
be worth it!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The
haze was taking longer to clear than usual and she swayed slightly, clutching
the high arm of the sofa. People were clapping as the music ended, as the room
was grew dimmer around her. She was not worried. It was a nearly daily
occurrence in her life. It was just that she was usually afforded the luxury of
fainting in private. “Oh no,” she whispered aloud, her knees beginning to go
soft.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i>Blessedly as she began to sink, there was suddenly, unexpected
pressure under her arm guiding her back to standing. <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I
will not be carrying you tonight,” he whispered in her ear. “I am not available
to play the role of the shining knight this evening.” Suave though it was,
sarcasm dripped from each word.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>How
infuriating he was! <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Katherine
tried to jerk away but he held her firmly, standing at an angle so the others
wouldn’t notice he was gripping her elbow. </i></span><span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;">Considerate<i>, she conceded,
</i></span><span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;">but infuriating just the same. <i>He continued, “I sent your
sister for punch, but, perhaps you are in need of fresh air? And a strong arm
to lean on?”<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Have
you no morals?” Katherine snapped, but spotting the top of Henrietta’s curls
across the swaying crowd, she gathered her skirts and took his proffered arm.
Moving with him through the clustered groups of gossipers, trying not to lean
upon him too openly, Katherine began to question herself. Why was she allowing
him to lead her outside? Whatever could he want? There certainly was no a
shortage of fine young ladies to keep him amused. <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>She
thought of the rumors. <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The
Count had supposedly fled to America after being banished from Austria for dark
deeds unknown. The tales had spread all through Europe and everywhere they went
his reputation preceded them. Katherine burned to know what could be so horrid
that mere rumors of it could chase a count not only from his country but also
from an entire continent and across a three thousand mile stretch of ocean. And
why had he chosen here? Missouri was halfway across the United States. Though
Saint Louis was growing in importance it could not rival the cities of the
East. Why here?<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>She
wondered all these things as the cool night air seeped into her lungs. She was
grateful for it.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>A
chill breeze blew across the patio, rustling the leaves of the abundant ivy and
a powerful shiver seized her. Katherine drew her arms tightly around herself.
Before she could protest, before she could even register the very nearness of
him, Viktor was close, drawing her shawl around her shoulders. Despite her
greatest efforts Katherine found herself looking up again. He was watching her,
as ever, waiting for her reaction.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>This
time, she found herself uncertain of what to do next. She could turn and go
back in, saying it was too cold. Or she could walk across the balcony to survey
the grounds below. Or she could do the only thing that seemed possible at the
moment. She could simply stand there, accepting his unwavering gaze and wait.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>She
could not look away. And as she cursed herself for her silliness, she found
that she was not breathing even though she felt she was surely
hyperventilating.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>What
was this madness?<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He
was not the first boy to gaze at her or play the part of the chivalrous knight.
There had been a time when the boys in town had considered her a bit of a
conquest, a fair damsel to be saved. They had carried her packages and held her
umbrella and escorted her home. It did not take long, however, for them to grow
tired of her illnesses. The reality of her fragility was too much for them to
bear and they had moved on to the tireless energy of Henrietta. And, Katherine
had to admit, no young man likes being second fiddle to the brave and handsome
men of her novels. She sighed, knowing that no such man truly existed and she
would be forced to reconcile her longings for a mundane life.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“What
troubles you?” The sigh, she realized and blushed, had been audible. “Are you
not well,” the concern rose in his voice, the Austrian accent he made efforts
to hide becoming thicker.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“No
sir,” she turned away from his gaze. “Only...” she trailed off. She could not
tell him her silly problems. It was really not a problem at all. Her
discontentment was a product of her overly educated mind</i></span><span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;">. So this<i>,
she thought</i></span><span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;">, is why they do not want women to read. For then we shall know
what dreadful bores we have attached ourselves to! And we shall be forever
depressed following the revelation<i>. She cursed her father and his blasted
library.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>She
looked away, never doubting that he would detect the lie in her eyes. “It is
nothing.”<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>A
distraction was needed but she found herself unwilling to go back into the
crowd. Instead she approached the balustrade. In the absence of the moon, there
was nothing but darkness below. Silently, he moved to her side. “Are you
tired,” he spoke softly, yet not as to a child. Perhaps that, beyond his
uncommonly good looks and polished manners, was what set him apart. Never, even
as she had fallen from the staircase, had he treated her as a child. No. He
mocked her and challenged her, and all without condescension. She had watched
him, all those evenings as he had approached the Demure’s home on his gallant
black steed. She had watched as he eagerly strode to the door and she had even
dared to sneak glances as Josephine welcomed him in and escorted him to her
father’s study. Time after time he had come, and every time he had seemed just
as ardent as the time before. It was the last evening he had come that had
awakened a foreign curiosity inside her. She had always imagined Viktor was
coming to visit for the sake of Henrietta. His inquiries after her own health
she wrote off as part of his chivalrous nature. But that last evening as he
trotted away, shoulders slumped a bit, he had stopped and turned his horse. For
a moment he had sat there, staring up at the tightly drawn shades of her
window. She had dared not move lest he spy her jewel-green eyes gazing out at
him. He had shaken his head and turned back toward home, driving his steed at a
breakneck pace.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>As
he stood there beside her now with the amber glow of the dance hall spilling
into the moonless night, Katherine began to tremble...yet not from cold or
illness. “I am afraid,” her words tumbled into the heavy silence. “That my
father has allowed me too much familiarity with his novels.” He allowed her
pause to fill the air between them. “You see, I am sinfully discontent and
there is nothing to be done about it. I am too weak and too ill to go off on
any adventures. And let us not forget that I am a lady anyway. And men are all
insufferable bores.”<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>A
spontaneous bark of laughter erupted from Viktor, making her jump. Katherine
gazed sharply across the lawn, keeping her indignant eyes to herself. She was
beginning to feel that she could no longer sustain her anger if she met his
eyes. “There’s no need to laugh!” She fumed, “I shall not speak openly with you
if you insist on mocking me.”<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Oh
dear, Katherine,” he laughed gently, wiping at the corner of his eye. “You are
a treat.”<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Exploding
with a huff, she turned on her heel and began to make her escape. With the same
gentle firmness he always seemed to be using with her, Viktor grabbed her
wrist. He did not pull her back and yet he would not let her go. “Do not go,
Katherine,” his words were but a breath. “Or </i></span><span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;">I <i>shall die of boredom.”<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He
could see, before it even reached her eyes, the retort that was welling inside
of her.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Oh
do I amuse you so,” she hissed. “Cute little Katherine and her pretty little
tantrums?” With a wrenching jerk she tried to escape. His grasp tightened as he
pulled her closer and she winced at the pain.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Behave
yourself, you little minx, or I shall toss you off this balcony and be done
with it.”<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Her
breaths came quick and fast. She had never stood quite so close to a boy. And
he was the most handsome and infuriating boy she had ever met. More man than
boy. A man like those in her novels.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“You
speak of men being insufferable bores, but have you ever turned that judgmental
eye upon your own gender?” Viktor turned his gaze away from her and she
imagined he was seeing the fine courts of Vienna and Paris. “I have met the
finest,” an ironic laugh slipped out as he continued, “of your species, so they
tell me. They are all the same. They want a man with wealth and property. They
want a man who will care for their lavish expenses and otherwise leave them be.
They speak of fashions and spend their every waking moment gossiping and
plotting romances and weddings. But not you Katherine. I have never met another
girl who would hide behind a tapestry in her robes to get a glimpse of a
mysterious stranger.” His thumb gently stroked her wrist.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Feeling
the danger in the moment, Katherine shook herself, tears rising to her emerald
eyes. Should she be angry or shocked or insulted that he was so forward?<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>But
she felt none of these things.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Inside,
her family and neighbors continued in their gaiety, ignorant of the wealth of
gossip occurring just feet away. She could see Henrietta’s curls twirling
across the floor and knew her sister’s eyes would be angrily scanning the room
for her escaped suitor.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>But
outside, in the stillness of the night, neither Viktor nor Katherine moved.
Neither did they look at one another. They had reached a point where neither
wanted the moment to end and yet, they were not certain how to continue.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>In
their uncertainty, they chose silence.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Katherine
turned back to the darkness of the grounds, leaning against the balustrade for
support. Viktor slowly released his grip on her and stood stoically beside her,
gazing at nothing, studying his own bewildered thoughts. Inside the song ended
and the crowd clapped in appreciation of the musicians and the dancers.
Grappling with his fears and anxieties, Viktor gripped the stone railing and
spoke into the darkness.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“May
I call on you Miss Katherine Demure?”<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>It
was improper and she knew it. Because of her illnesses her father and mother
had never presented her to society. She was not well enough and besides,
Henrietta was yet unwed. And the Von Strassenbergs were strangers with unknown
and rumored pasts.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“You
should not ask me for such a thing.” Katherine swallowed with difficulty,
attempting to force down the impending tears. “You do not even know me.”<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>An
elegant finger reached out and dared to turn her chin toward him, “But I am
dying to know you, Katherine Demure.” She could see his chest rising and
falling with the anxiety of the moment. “All those nights I rode out to see
you, just a glimpse of you. I would come a thousand nights more, if you will
just please, allow me to call on you.”<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“You
must ask my father, it is only proper.” Mr. Demure would never hear of such a
thing and Katherine knew it all too well. A tear slipped down her night-cooled
cheek. Viktor withdrew a handkerchief to wipe away the glistening trail that
coursed down her cheek to her trembling lips.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>She
knew there was music being played inside and people laughing and carrying on
but she could no longer hear them. Viktor leaned in closer, his words barely
above a whisper, “I am asking </i></span><span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;">you<i>, Katherine, may I call on
you?”<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>What
could she say? She turned away from his pleading eyes. <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Only
you and I need know.” <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>She
tried to think of some sharp remark or some reason why they should not risk it,
but nothing came. Finally, feeling the world shift beneath her, Katherine
turned to those eyes sparkling with their own summer storms, and nodded.</i></span><span style="color: black; font-family: LucidaBlackletter; font-size: 10.0pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="color: black; font-family: LucidaBlackletter; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><br clear="ALL" style="mso-special-character: line-break; page-break-before: always;" />
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Saturday
is never a busy day at the library. And really, the only reason people tend to
come in on the other days is for the free Internet and in the summer, the free
AC. It’s 7:59 and I’m waiting for Mrs. Henderson to unlock the doors. The
thought of busting in last night did cross my mind and knowing that Mrs.
Henderson would forgive me once she realized my motives, well that only made
the desire stronger. Somehow I resisted and now I’m sitting on the sidewalk,
watching outdated Fords and Chevies roll by. A rattling startles me back to the
world outside my thoughts. Mrs. Henderson, fabulous Mrs. Henderson, is at the
door with her blessed set of keys. As the door opens her laughter spills into
the late spring air.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Child
what are you doin’? You know the next </span><span style="color: black; font-family: ArialNarrow-Italic; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i>Evening Shade </i></span><span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;">isn’t due
out for another five months.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I
know, Mrs. Henderson,” I say, stepping around her, careful not to bulldoze the
old lady. My nerves are getting the best of me. “But I need on the Internet and
fast.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
sit in one of the creaky old chairs and power up the ancient computer, flicking
on the monitor and agitating the mouse in my impatience. Other people would be
expected to fill out forms and show their library card. Not me. Mrs. Henderson
lets me reign here.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Child,
what on earth?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I
don’t know yet, but as soon as I find out, you’ll be the first to know.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>It
seems like hours before the computer boots up. Why are these infernal computers
so ancient? Stupid hick library.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
navigate away from the library’s homepage to the search engine’s site. What the
library is lacking in hardware it makes up for with its high-speed Internet
connection. Google my name. </span><span style="color: black; font-family: ArialNarrow-Italic; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i>Maria Josepha Raquel Demure<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: ArialNarrow-Italic; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i>von Strassenberg, </i></span><span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;">leave off the Evans.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Over
a million hits and none of them exact.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: ArialNarrow-Italic; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i>Maria Josepha...Archduchess...blah
blah....</i></span><span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;">so? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Next.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: ArialNarrow-Italic; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i>August
Demure....attorney...Saint Louis.....1865...</i></span><span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>What?
Nothing recent?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No rich, old
granny? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Twenty
minutes pass and I find nothing within the last one hundred years. The </span><span style="color: black; font-family: ArialNarrow-Italic; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i>Matrix </i></span><span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;">twins have
bothered me, gotten my hopes up and dashed them<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;">without even being present. So maybe some of my people came from
Austria. And so maybe my great-something granddaddy was a lawyer. Well at least
someone in the family had brains and did something worthwhile....<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: ArialNarrow-Italic; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Von
Strassenberg, Klaus...biologist...yadda yadda... Austria.... Washington
University, St. Louis...<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: ArialNarrow-Italic; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Well
that’s two for Austria and two for St. Louis</i></span><span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;">.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>All
right, one more and then the Matrix twins are getting a nasty call.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>St.
Louis. Newspaper. </span><span style="color: black; font-family: ArialNarrow-Italic; font-size: 10.0pt;"><i>Archives..1877.... Attorney Demure Continues Search for Missing
Daughter. </i></span><span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;">Missing daughter? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: AmericanTypewriter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Well
that certainly sounds like it has some kind of possibility.</span><span style="color: black; font-family: LucidaBlackletter; font-size: 10.0pt;"><b> <o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<span style="color: black; font-family: LucidaBlackletter; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><b><br clear="ALL" style="mso-special-character: line-break; page-break-before: always;" />
</b></span>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-970488215106631029.post-16780020299978396122014-12-27T06:51:00.001-08:002015-01-05T14:25:06.900-08:00On Why Rocky Isn't a Bada**<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #9fc5e8;">I'm not exactly on the same page with John Green all the time but he did say one thing that I completely agree with, and I'm paraphrasing here, "You don't have to like my characters."</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #9fc5e8;">In the past, back when I dared to read reviews, some complained about Rocky. She's emotionally unstable. She doesn't know what she wants. She's this then she's that. She's annoying.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #9fc5e8;">Yeah.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #9fc5e8;">She's 17.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #9fc5e8;">She's never traveled.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #9fc5e8;">She doesn't hang out with the party crowd.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #9fc5e8;">She's built this false exterior around herself to hide her pain and to protect herself from abuse.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #9fc5e8;">She has serious, legitimate trust issues.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #9fc5e8;">Take her away from her white trash, roaming-eyes pervert of a stepdad and throw her into a world with rich men who have potentially nefarious ulterior motives and yeah...that could make her a little bipolar in her actions. Mix together the danger, intensity, and lies with some seriously emotionally damaged heartthrobs and the girl has some issues to work out while she's in the thick of it.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #9fc5e8;">I believe in growth, that wisdom and strength come from passing through the fires and being refined. What teenage girl doesn't think she's all that but doesn't fall apart when cast out into the storm? We stumble and fall along the way before we learn to walk against the wind. We do stupid things and that is how we gain wisdom and humility.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #9fc5e8;">Is Rocky a pain?</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #9fc5e8;">Absolutely.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #9fc5e8;">But she and William and Peter are on a journey to become the people the family has needed all along.</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-970488215106631029.post-8229492058719290112014-12-23T11:06:00.003-08:002014-12-23T12:44:35.520-08:00#WD3<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMe2TXjc4fylNcnpCunfH9kU1M7TVFO5GmDm-PUe2fDNAqfiD-kGL9Tf8xYP7OxITALiHSqaYYVdtWcdl_3D-dWL2LNYd9ljQTD8CLC1V_Yi8k3rMLuGX8alwBNyidlVqrc__iQYVQF9o/s1600/th.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMe2TXjc4fylNcnpCunfH9kU1M7TVFO5GmDm-PUe2fDNAqfiD-kGL9Tf8xYP7OxITALiHSqaYYVdtWcdl_3D-dWL2LNYd9ljQTD8CLC1V_Yi8k3rMLuGX8alwBNyidlVqrc__iQYVQF9o/s1600/th.jpg" height="256" width="320" /></a></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ead1dc;">Forget anything else I ever said before about anyone other than Ian Harding playing William Drexler the 3rd. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ead1dc;">Yes. I'm 35. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ead1dc;">Yes. I watch Pretty Little Liars. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ead1dc;">The first time I watched it (after reading the first two books), I was absolutely stunned to see William Drexler the Third himself walk onto screen. The look of him, the way he moves....it was eerie. I found myself watching scenes over and over again just to see "William" move around. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ead1dc;">So forget all my other suggestions. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ead1dc;">Only Ian Harding will do. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ead1dc;">No idea what I'm talking about? The von Strassenberg Saga is available for Nook, Kindle and in paperback.</span> <a href="http://www.amazon.com/von-Strassenberg-Saga-Bluestocking-Katherines-ebook/dp/B00GHTVM00/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1419361489&sr=8-1&keywords=von+strassenberg+saga" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #6fa8dc;">BUY The Bundle FOR KINDLE</span></a> <a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-von-strassenberg-saga-gwenn-wright/1117492560?ean=2940148834618" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cfe2f3;">BUY the bundle FOR NOOK</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cfe2f3;"> </span><br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Filter-Von-Strassenberg-Saga-Book-ebook/dp/B003YH9MIM/ref=sr_1_1_twi_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1419367310&sr=8-1&keywords=filter+wright" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: cyan;">FILTER for KINDLE $0.99</span></a><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ead1dc;">And I am slowly working on the adaptation for a screenplay contest!</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-970488215106631029.post-41084568326321857772014-12-23T10:36:00.000-08:002014-12-23T10:36:00.691-08:00New Release Tuesday! Midnight Under the Magnolia<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrot7ZHsBxhifIXD8ukSfO7p3RM7uLUsXMtyqdSpDP1Z_BN1fhJd95zkuPmS_jBGN_q3m4_KhIhEH1xvJMc0onKea5wul8ihK4LakONPkarynLq2roIOF1Jehyphenhyphen5kXEjPalNYyZXCTB3Cw/s1600/magnoliawholecover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #d9d2e9;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrot7ZHsBxhifIXD8ukSfO7p3RM7uLUsXMtyqdSpDP1Z_BN1fhJd95zkuPmS_jBGN_q3m4_KhIhEH1xvJMc0onKea5wul8ihK4LakONPkarynLq2roIOF1Jehyphenhyphen5kXEjPalNYyZXCTB3Cw/s1600/magnoliawholecover.jpg" height="320" width="218" /></span></a></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #d9d2e9;">It's been awhile. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #d9d2e9;">My brain pretty much went into hibernation throughout the first four and a half months of my pregnancy. Suffering from constant nausea and narcolepsy is hard on the creative process. We're almost at five months now and my energy has returned, to some extent at least, and I can sit at my desk for more than twenty minutes before the need for sleep overwhelms me. Thanks to this burst in energy I was finally able to finish Dacie Mae: Midnight Under the Magnolia (it went live today!) and get started on The Devil's Children: The von Strassenberg Saga, book 4. It's my goal to have book 4 done before my May 13 due date. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5gkkJ1o4dsvVGr_hZD7Eq41WHI6r-QUdXz-IOOSRmUZFQ1x9ENrdSC2HZfWSVtvtal5JhKPLtm9aGn1gVYvmfqJnxsF6VVtMqfhUFnOZPzJJQ6OcPlz2M5kKbT5jFNH7A_ugTAB4zTfE/s1600/William.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #d9d2e9;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5gkkJ1o4dsvVGr_hZD7Eq41WHI6r-QUdXz-IOOSRmUZFQ1x9ENrdSC2HZfWSVtvtal5JhKPLtm9aGn1gVYvmfqJnxsF6VVtMqfhUFnOZPzJJQ6OcPlz2M5kKbT5jFNH7A_ugTAB4zTfE/s1600/William.jpg" height="149" width="200" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #d9d2e9;">I blame this guy. Boy #4</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #d9d2e9;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #d9d2e9;">After that, we'll see if I will get any work done during the first month. My husband will be away for that first whole month. Can't be helped. I've done it before, having been a newly single mom when my third son was born, but I've never tried to write a book and chauffeur three older boys while raising a baby on my own. And I'm ten years older than I was then. All I can promise is that I will try to keep getting the stories out. We can hope this kid won't be a colicky insomniac like my oldest son. That would be excellent. </span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy9T6cmZtEMPUtLjadAoTAt81g6wffgjMhc5MKb2TmXZ0lRw-HIp-l5o1xEAdLoTxVQ585i0aLpEAom41EY8Q_4eTm1OlK9pGhSQ-taUrrtqYc8dyd3rmOOQHV8FVpQLHyEsiAzD4eUkE/s1600/daciemae+henry.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #d9d2e9;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy9T6cmZtEMPUtLjadAoTAt81g6wffgjMhc5MKb2TmXZ0lRw-HIp-l5o1xEAdLoTxVQ585i0aLpEAom41EY8Q_4eTm1OlK9pGhSQ-taUrrtqYc8dyd3rmOOQHV8FVpQLHyEsiAzD4eUkE/s1600/daciemae+henry.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #d9d2e9;">In the meantime, enjoy </span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Midnight-Under-Magnolia-Dacie-Mae-ebook/dp/B00RCXHUBA/ref=sr_1_3?ie=UTF8&qid=1419359465&sr=8-3&keywords=dacie+mae" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #9fc5e8;">Dacie Mae</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #d9d2e9;"> and brush up on your </span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/von-Strassenberg-Saga-Bluestocking-Katherines-ebook/dp/B00GHTVM00/ref=sr_1_3?ie=UTF8&qid=1419359497&sr=8-3&keywords=von+strassenberg" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #9fc5e8;">von Strassenberg</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #d9d2e9;"> history because more twists and revelations are coming!</span><br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-970488215106631029.post-17285815265806477252014-09-30T07:10:00.000-07:002014-09-30T07:10:06.571-07:00What I Want to Watch <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ead1dc;">There's a lot of junk on TV today. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ead1dc;">A lot of poorly conceived plots, shallow characters, shoddy dialogue. This is particularly true for television aimed at the YA/NA crowd. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ead1dc;">We won't even get into The Vampire Diaries and Secret Circle. It's painful for me as I have been a fan since the books first came out. Beyond that, most shows aimed at this age group center around the paranormal or superbly conniving, backstabbing elitists. It's okay to watch for awhile but eventually it gets tired. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ead1dc;">Lately I have found myself flipping channels and finding nothing that I really want to sink my teeth into. What is it that I'm looking for? What would engage my brain without enraging it? I find myself wanting to watch something like Dacie Mae. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ead1dc;">Dacie Mae is a strong, stubborn young woman trying to take care of her mama while still working toward her goal of becoming a reporter for a major newspaper. This is not an easy task when you're from Nowhere, Missouri and you have people who depend on you. She's smart and scrappy but still vulnerable, especially when it comes to romance. There is a dark secret that burdens her. And US Deputy Marshal Hank McClain adores her in the most infuriating sort of way, leaving Dacie Mae unsure if he views her as a kid sister or a potential girlfriend. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ead1dc;">This is what I would like to watch. This young girl fighting for her dreams, battling romantic notions that may or may not exist, caring for her mama, scrapping with redneck drug dealers....something real and encouraging but still sexy and thrilling. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ead1dc;">I love working on Dacie Mae and plan for it to be a long series as we watch her struggle her way to the city and realization of her goals. I am behind schedule and apologize for that. My only excuse is an awful first trimester. Not too much longer and the final installment of Dacie Mae: Midnight Under the Magnolia will be available.</span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Midnight-Under-Magnolia-episode-Dacie-ebook/dp/B00JVW8UX2/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1412086002&sr=8-1&keywords=dacie+mae" target="_blank"> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">KINDLE</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"> </span><a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/midnight-under-the-magnolia-episode-1-gwenn-wright/1119336263?ean=2940149375837" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">NOOK</span></a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-970488215106631029.post-78542362535108817362014-09-17T07:58:00.000-07:002014-09-17T07:58:49.032-07:00Writing: Not the posh job you imagineI am your typical self-defeating writer.<br />
My career began when I penned my first poem in kindergarten. Maybe I didn't start making money then but that's when it began, when the gnawing need to create and weave stories wormed it's way into my marrow. Writing is what I do and who I am but most of the time I suppose that I do not do it very well.<br />
My Eeyore attitude is only painted in deeper shades of gloom when you consider that no one around me understands what it is to be a writer. I live in a very normal sphere. Housework. Homework. Toilets to scrub. Socks to match (really, why bother?). Dishes to clean. Take the kids to school. Pick them up from school and so on. Normal. White picket fence normal but inside I'm all Johnny Depp in Twisted Window.<br />
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Okay. Maybe not THAT crazy but still not white-picket-fence normal, either. But who has time to be the flaky writer when there is so much practical crap that needs tending to? And nobody comprehends how consuming being a writer is?<br />
It's an especially difficult thing to be a writer just starting out and not have flesh and blood people around you who really get it. I'm not one for writers' groups, being anti-social as I am, but the need to be surrounded by and inspired by professionals with war stories and scars is definitely growing.<br />
This video came across my Twitter feed today. It is immensely helpful and comforting, one that I will probably come back to many times. John Truby gets it and articulates quite wonderfully what it is to be a writer. If you need some drive put back into your work watch this.<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/CDKLuUfKYHQ?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-970488215106631029.post-91659932157111323312014-08-16T15:34:00.001-07:002014-08-16T15:34:49.267-07:00Feeding the DreamersResponsibility often shows up in the most unlikely places.<br />
It's one thing to be at a book signing and have readers ask you questions about how to be an author (as if I know) and quite another to be at your niece's birthday party or in the parking lot of the grocery store . At the book signing you're <i>on. </i>You have your writer's hat on. But when you're eyeballing birthday cake and hollering at your kids to stop snapping each other with towels, well, it's different. I was in mom mode and I couldn't quite articulate my experience as an indie author.<br />
<br />
I try to impress upon anyone who happens (on the very off-chance) to hear that I write books that I am not a traditional author and that I have only sold (for actual cash) somewhere between a thousand and two thousand books. For all the good it's done me, I've given away nearly ten thousand.<br />
The question they (typically being bookworm teenage girls) always ask me is, "How do I become an author?"<br />
It's silly but my mind actually seizes up at this question. But I gave it some thought and jotted it down.<br />
<br />
Obviously, you have to write.<br />
And write a lot.<br />
Really you should write something every day.<br />
I am not good at following this advice. Typically I blame the children but there are authors out there who also have children and still manage to get some writing done every day.<br />
In this case, do as I say and not as I do.<br />
<br />
Read.<br />
All the time. Read different genres. Read poetry. Read the newspapers.<br />
<br />
Accept that you're going to write crap.<br />
Just get it in your head that the first draft will always be a junker. With each story you write you are a beginning potter and you are only just figuring out the shape of it what it is you're creating. The first attempt will be all misshapen and kind of leaning too far one way...by the fourth or fifth time you work that story-clay, you'll know what you're doing.<br />
<br />
Allow a trusted friend to read your work.<br />
By trusted I don't mean the friend who will tell you it's great even when it's lumpy and misshapen. I've had the same BFF for 20+ years. She tells me how it is and she does it out of love, for my own good. Typically she is the only person who sees my raw manuscripts. Find someone you trust like this and talk it out. Sometimes these conversations will lead you to places you never knew your story should go.<br />
<br />
Live.<br />
Notice things. Smell the seasons. Feel the thirsty grass crunch beneath your feet. Notice the filtered light of the late afternoon sun. Be still and drink it all in, store it away.<br />
<br />
And the old adage: write what you know.<br />
Of course this means you're supposed to write from your own experience. But how boring would that be for most of us!? And what a travesty for readers! There would be no time-travel, no spaceships, no vampires. View it this way instead: write from your own emotional experience. Has your heart been broken by someone who has no clue they even held such power? Have you been lost in a mall and unable to find who you were supposed to be with? Has that particularly brutish wannabe-debutante at your school ever gotten nose-to-nose with you? Did you tremble with anger? Have you watched as the life flowed out of someone you loved?<br />
Setting can be made up, easy as pie.<br />
Use the heartache, the loneliness, the anger and panic you have felt to create those emotions in your characters, to impart those bits of your soul into your readers. Writing is often mentally exhausting for me because I often draw up bitter memories to create scenes and I find myself weeping not just for the story but for what I have gone through in my life. ("Why aren't you working on the next von Strassenberg book?!" BECAUSE IT STRESSES ME OUT!....whew, needed to say that)<br />
<br />
Before you send off or upload anything, set it aside, write something else, and then go back and edit your first manuscript. This is where a lot of indie authors trip themselves up. We write, write, write, write, and we do a couple edits, we take notes from our friends, do some more edits, and then we upload. I have learned that this is a huge mistake. Set it aside, give yourself some emotional distance from it, and then go back.<br />
<br />
I can offer no more advice than that. It was never my intent to be traditionally published. It was only after I figured out what an uphill battle indie publishing is that I finally sent off letters to agents. The one response I got back was, "We like your polish and tenacity but suggest you scrap your series in progress and send us something fresh." Being loyal to my readers, I opted not to scrap my series but plow ahead on my own.<br />
<br />
In a nutshell, to be an author:<br />
Be well-read. Be disciplined. Be determined. You only get better if you keep writing.<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-970488215106631029.post-239796459282104632014-06-16T07:28:00.000-07:002014-06-16T07:28:26.899-07:00Crazy Days of Summer<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja1_thpmchis-4R1ezrL9DCnKmcjg5Dq8H6Eu2nJkprOH6QE6sr8gGkIbn7RtMToO__GRkbhUWDmgTZwwcJRzxN0NrPxHvHAvHEPH7Bhd0lMwU7gT_fFtb7nLQcxnZTVI7hNHY8mV1U9o/s1600/IMG_4987.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja1_thpmchis-4R1ezrL9DCnKmcjg5Dq8H6Eu2nJkprOH6QE6sr8gGkIbn7RtMToO__GRkbhUWDmgTZwwcJRzxN0NrPxHvHAvHEPH7Bhd0lMwU7gT_fFtb7nLQcxnZTVI7hNHY8mV1U9o/s1600/IMG_4987.JPG" height="180" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
It has been almost two days since we returned from weeklong scout camp at S-Bar-F Scout Ranch and I still don't feel fully recovered! It was a wonderful experience but dang I'm tired now. This week my nephew is coming to stay with us. Next week Cub Scout Day Camp begins. As a den leader I am expected to be there every day. It will be hot and muggy but I love seeing the boys. It is my hope that somehow this week and next week I will have enough energy left over to finish Dacie Mae, episode 3. Maybe I'll just have to get up in the wee dark hours and write while everyone else is asleep. I can't stand being interrupted while writing, makes it difficult to slip away into my fictional world. I will keep you posted and hope that you have enjoyed the first two installments.<br />
Most likely there will be five installments before this "season" ends.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVL49QXe3-3UFCaK36eZjMYqlyNt_Qr4QFDomJ0AcZtHylHcXFOKqq8PqO6B9eZqIgbW8kskecsaTvocYN1I6yiYIw6Y3DYIV1TWHhazU9eT3Il4-__K_CYAotbPQuSdQwOIA8JeBTjg0/s1600/IMG_4962.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVL49QXe3-3UFCaK36eZjMYqlyNt_Qr4QFDomJ0AcZtHylHcXFOKqq8PqO6B9eZqIgbW8kskecsaTvocYN1I6yiYIw6Y3DYIV1TWHhazU9eT3Il4-__K_CYAotbPQuSdQwOIA8JeBTjg0/s1600/IMG_4962.JPG" height="180" width="320" /></a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-970488215106631029.post-53440201032629324372014-05-06T09:31:00.000-07:002014-12-23T10:47:38.981-08:00Henry Wallace: Rock Star<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ead1dc;"><object class="BLOGGER-youtube-video" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0" data-thumbnail-src="https://ytimg.googleusercontent.com/vi/8HSXTsfGN_c/0.jpg" height="266" width="320"><param name="movie" value="https://youtube.googleapis.com/v/8HSXTsfGN_c&source=uds" /><param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF" /><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true" /><embed width="320" height="266" src="https://youtube.googleapis.com/v/8HSXTsfGN_c&source=uds" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true"></embed></object></span></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ead1dc;">Dacie Mae didn't actually begin with the idea of a small town, aspiring journalist. It began with Michael Grimm's audition on America's Got Talent. What a character. Backwoods boy with a bit of an edge and a voice to make your toes curl. He was floating around in my brain and I knew I wanted to plug him into a story, well--a version of him. </span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKqq4XoyYEOTEQwWRd9Kdlaa6OXAnr2NYDRM4kUGoqSHS4dXIh5V89REv76EeggWySs0_rBj2Dj93rXs1QDlhNwm2q8CXTCC5g9rRIPBklFqQQD_WHJA0k5uOeoMkw1VV7qu82HgJTh1M/s1600/henryJames.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKqq4XoyYEOTEQwWRd9Kdlaa6OXAnr2NYDRM4kUGoqSHS4dXIh5V89REv76EeggWySs0_rBj2Dj93rXs1QDlhNwm2q8CXTCC5g9rRIPBklFqQQD_WHJA0k5uOeoMkw1VV7qu82HgJTh1M/s1600/henryJames.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ead1dc;">The concept of Dacie Mae came about while I was visiting my ancestral home in Missouri. There is virtually no cell reception there. You kind of have to stand on your vehicle in just the right spot and maybe you'll get a signal. There isn't a store. There used to be a general store, but don't get me started on that. It recently burned down and it still pains me to think of it. My great-great grandfather was Post Master there and generation after generation of my family shopped there and now it's gone. We were at a family reunion there in that little village when Dacie Mae began to take form. It seemed a perfect fit for this soulful voice and unkempt black hair. But Henry Wallace is NOT Michael Grimm, just a reasonable facsimile. For instance, Henry Wallace doesn't care much about his family. Michael Grimm loves his Grandma and Grandpa and is very devoted to them. Henry Wallace is a tramp. Michael Grimm sang to his girlfriend during his final performance on America's Got Talent and then proposed to her on the Ellen Show. I hear they're married now. Henry Wallace is not the marrying type. And he might be a smidge taller than Michael Grimm. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ead1dc;">As you can imagine, in a small town, a young man with a voice like this could be a dangerous thing. Just think of all the hearts he broke and the trouble he caused. I love writing him. He's so sultry and just plain old naughty and Dacie Mae hates him with a passion but sometimes finds herself forgetting that.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: cyan;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Midnight-Under-Magnolia-Dacie-Mae-ebook/dp/B00RCXHUBA/ref=sr_1_2?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1419359927&sr=1-2&keywords=dacie+mae" target="_blank">BUY FOR KINDLE</a></span><br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-970488215106631029.post-50935699287079678222014-04-24T07:00:00.000-07:002014-12-23T10:40:05.616-08:00US Deputy Marshal Harrison McClain<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB5An3r2Dk8UD_-vW3bNiOezWAS7b-cicd5YvCPTQYPVRYUwQDuk5OpD5Nyw3uypvM0vjPItrQ-rXeprjH2mU1lzocVHxJrfGXmd1BF7l3M9b5zt9zG_oYBW9iuy8GeJHoh3B3ela1RCk/s1600/raylan.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB5An3r2Dk8UD_-vW3bNiOezWAS7b-cicd5YvCPTQYPVRYUwQDuk5OpD5Nyw3uypvM0vjPItrQ-rXeprjH2mU1lzocVHxJrfGXmd1BF7l3M9b5zt9zG_oYBW9iuy8GeJHoh3B3ela1RCk/s1600/raylan.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></a></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #9fc5e8;">US Deputy Marshal Harrison McClain is swiftly becoming one of my greatest fictional loves.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #9fc5e8;">I dare say, he is even approaching Viktor-status.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #9fc5e8;">Don't get me wrong, I love William III (von Strassenberg Saga) and Max Davis (Holler's Grove) and you know I have a soft spot for that bad boy Peter Strauss (also VSsaga), but Viktor....I still haven't gotten over that.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #9fc5e8;">Oh Viktor.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #9fc5e8;">Someone get me a tissue. I'm getting all verklempt again.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #9fc5e8;">While Harrison "Hank" McClain is no Viktor he is swiftly approaching fictional crush status.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #9fc5e8;">Think Raylan Givens. That delectablly flawed lawman on </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #9fc5e8;">Justified</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #9fc5e8;"> but younger.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #9fc5e8;">He may even physically resemble Timothy Olyphant a little bit....couldn't help myself.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #9fc5e8;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #9fc5e8;"> Harrison McClain comes from a normal family, meaning his mother was not overly attentive or neglectful but paid just the right amount of attention to make sure he stayed in school and out of jail. His family was poor but not living in abject poverty. They did have to scrape by. Harrison learned the value of hard work early on. He mowed lawns, shoveled driveways, washed cars and dogs, did any odd job he could get. He grew up in Virginia as a bit of a ruffian, played high school baseball and was even offered a scholarship to UVa but turned it down to join the United States Army. While enlisted he slowly chipped away at earning his Bachelor's of Science online, eventually earning his degree in Criminal Justice. After serving six years he left the Army and applied himself to become a US Deputy Marshal. Once he graduated from Glencoe with top marks, he threw himself into his work.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6LoOT8U-nj96UaZ1EelKdx3732uJf6Wj_naUpqGo0QUDpKKvjVKsS22KSmu7HxpCAtf4Lp3BfWYdBzqZHIeP1No4GHBL0HQTMfIr_16FJbWmK5x1M6f9pixSIeOY-X8KYlHnnkv_QSw8/s1600/91212_BL8133_m.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #9fc5e8;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6LoOT8U-nj96UaZ1EelKdx3732uJf6Wj_naUpqGo0QUDpKKvjVKsS22KSmu7HxpCAtf4Lp3BfWYdBzqZHIeP1No4GHBL0HQTMfIr_16FJbWmK5x1M6f9pixSIeOY-X8KYlHnnkv_QSw8/s1600/91212_BL8133_m.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #9fc5e8;">I don't know who she is but give her big ears</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #9fc5e8;">and black eyebrows and this is Dacie Mae.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #9fc5e8;">While he craves companionship he's not the kind to settle into a steady relationship as he's very focused on his job. Recently, after a snafu in West Virginia he was transferred to Missouri's Western District. Because of his experience dealing with rural communities and their drug circles he was assigned to help with the Tri-County Narcotics Enforcement Task Force set up by Blaine, Carlson and Wallace counties.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #9fc5e8;">At 30, he is 8 years older than our heroine. Everyone in town, except for Dacie Mae and Harrison, know they are sweet on each other. And while Dacie Mae will sometimes admit to herself that he gives her a case of the stomach butterflies on occasion she mostly considers him to be as irritating and essential as the older brother she never had. As for Harrison, well he doesn't discuss his romantic feelings toward Dacie Mae, not even with himself but he knows there is something in him that would snap if anyone tried to do her harm. When hometown legend and crusher of Dacie Mae's heart, Henry Wallace, strolls back into town Harrison finds himself searching for any excuse to break the rocker's nose.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #9fc5e8;">And he says stuff like this:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Baskerville; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ead1dc;">“Don’t
you believe any man who makes you feel like you were just a one-time thing.”
His arms tighten around me and his words tickle my ear, “You could never be any
man’s forgettable moment.” He holds me away from him and I feel ridiculously
like I could melt in the dark pools of his eyes. “You are a force to be
remembered, Dacie Mae.” He tugs at the loose hair again and strolls away
leaving me conflicted and frozen to the sidewalk. </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #9fc5e8;">I love them. I love Dacie Mae and Hank. And I even love the fiery hatred Dacie Mae holds toward the cool, unflappable Henry Wallace. And at some point I know Hank is going to have to break Henry Wallace's nose because let's be honest, he has it coming.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #9fc5e8;">DACIE MAE: MIDNIGHT UNDER THE MAGNOLIA is now available! </span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Midnight-Under-Magnolia-Dacie-Mae-ebook/dp/B00RCXHUBA/ref=sr_1_2?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1419359927&sr=1-2&keywords=dacie+mae" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: magenta;">KINDLE</span></a><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cfe2f3;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></span></span>
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-970488215106631029.post-56226024842248124982014-04-22T07:31:00.000-07:002014-04-24T08:54:40.666-07:00Holler's Grove Meet Wallace County<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJLL0pgE4T2UZK04ogx1vy9A75FvwlthO7HaheKxZnO18PNnNAdABVIujqdNqsNBII7YCZ91n3pXJyUqzbflgwJB3yTuMGdsIm8V9IuqkMJM7_xK_2UPCwSKX0tmNZXaburX9pxI7VHgQ/s1600/TriCounty.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJLL0pgE4T2UZK04ogx1vy9A75FvwlthO7HaheKxZnO18PNnNAdABVIujqdNqsNBII7YCZ91n3pXJyUqzbflgwJB3yTuMGdsIm8V9IuqkMJM7_xK_2UPCwSKX0tmNZXaburX9pxI7VHgQ/s1600/TriCounty.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
When I wrote Holler's Grove it was only supposed to be a stand-alone. I wanted a break from having to keep track of all the minute details of a series. The readers, however few, have different opinions. In reviews on Goodreads and Amazon (not to mention my sister and friends badgering me in person), readers have stated their desire to return to Bell County and spend more time with its inhabitants.<br />
In response to their enthusiastic requests I have finally decided to place Dacie Mae's Wallace County beside Bell County. It actually fits quite nicely as Wallace County has just joined a Tri-County Drug Task Force. Dacie Mae is an aspiring reporter who attends a local community college--which will now be Carlson Community College that was described in Holler's Grove. She'll have a knowledgeable and passionate mentor in Liza McPherson who is still working at The Tribune. Sheriff Max Davis of Bell County will be working alongside Wallace County's Sheriff Roy McFarland and US Deputy Marshall Harrison McClain.<br />
It will place Wallace farther north than I wanted but I've lived in northern Missouri and the twang still exists up there.<br />
So, Bell County meet Wallace County.<br />
Dacie Mae will be published as serialized novellas, each of approximately 10-20k words. Pretty much a chapter each, harkening back to the days of serial installments in the newspapers or magazines.<br />
Add Holler's Grove (already available for Nook and Kindle, also in paperback) to your TBR! <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/17673601-holler-s-grove"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #d9d2e9;">https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/17673601-holler-s-grove</span></a><br />
<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/12068291-dacie-mae"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #d9d2e9;">https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/12068291-dacie-mae</span></a><br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Midnight-Under-Magnolia-episode-Dacie-ebook/dp/B00JVW8UX2/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1398354832&sr=8-1&keywords=dacie+mae" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #d9d2e9;">Now Available on Kindle!</span></a><br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-970488215106631029.post-76396089835223650142014-02-28T10:07:00.003-08:002014-02-28T10:07:41.254-08:00The IronyWe all know I've been desperate to move into my own home where I wouldn't feel guilty about sitting on my butt writing all day....<br />
What we didn't know was that as soon as we moved in I would get hit with my first legitimate illness in years. Not just sinus issues but knock-me-on-my-rear-good-thing-you-didn't-let-it-go-on-longer-or-it-would-be-pnuemonia bronchitis. I've never had bronchitis before this but now I feel so bad for all those times my mom had it and I just didn't get why her cough was making her so tired. Bronchitis is awful. And now I'm on round two of antibiotics. Somebody should have gone to the doctor a month ago when everyone was telling her to go.<br />
Also ironic, all that time I spent desperately wishing for new contacts because my glasses were crap? Well now I have my contacts but my eyes are so dried out from all the medicines I'm taking that it feels like buckets of sand in my eyes. And I'm wearing my glasses Ben Franklin style because the arms broke off and I don't know where they are and my optometrist is out of town until tomorrow. And I'm desperate for new glasses.<br />
The other night I was stomping around the kitchen, thoroughly irritated by all of this nonsense when I poked my head into the living room and remembered exactly how blessed I am with my wheezing lungs and scratchy eyes. All of my menfolk were lined up on the couch, laughing and having a good time. The cats were snuggled together behind them on the back of the couch and the dog was spread across their feet. We have a small home. 1,000 square feet. We have a truck with a taped-on taillight. I have Ben Franklin glasses and no energy to write or read at the end of the day. My books are never exactly what I want them to be and I only sold four books this entire month. Most people don't even actually regard me as an author. I'm not even cool enough to be considered a local celebrity. And this is a small town. But dang it, seeing them all there, comfortable and happy...well being me is a wonderful thing.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-970488215106631029.post-19780859862802652014-01-27T10:11:00.000-08:002014-01-27T10:11:08.561-08:00Read to your children<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;">My first son came along when I was only 21 and still trying to work and get through college and be a wife. We didn’t have a lot of money but we did have some books, just a few at first. We had the staple Dr.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;"><br style="-webkit-box-sizing: border-box; outline-color: initial; outline-style: none; outline-width: 0px;" /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;">Suess collection. In the first two years of my son’s life I spent my days fighting the fog of depression, changing diapers, walking the university campus pushing a stroller, working third shift at Walmart, and reading the same books over and over to my son. It got to the point that I didn’t even need the books anymore. The words were burned into my brain. He was what is referred to as hyper-sensitive or overly observant and it was hard for him to relax and shut down, except when I was telling stories or singing the ABC’s. If I stopped speaking he would throw his whole heart into crying. And so I can still recite the ABC’s backward, from any point without pause. I still know oh The Places You’ll Go, Where The Wild Things Are, Fox in Socks, and many others by heart. Even in the car when he would go beserk and we didn’t have an audiobook with us, I would start reciting his stories and he would calm down. Needless to say, a lot of housework was put off until the end of the day or the next day. My kitchen floors didn’t gleam. My laundry basket was never empty. But my son could show you his ABC’s before he was one. He could read small words before he was two and by the time he was in third grade he had read all of the Harry Potter series and tested “post high school” for his reading level. Don’t leave it to the schools. It’s your job to teach your children to love reading, to crave knowledge, to show them a safe place to escape to when the world is too much. And all you have to do is set them in your lap and read them a story.</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-970488215106631029.post-52531045059774563182014-01-13T07:54:00.000-08:002014-01-13T08:27:22.159-08:00Adapting The von Strassenbergs<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ead1dc;">My favorite book is being made into a series on Starz. And it's killing me. Not just because I can't wait to watch it but because I would give anything to be a part of the process. The art of crafting a story into a visual reality is just thrilling to me. Making fictional characters take on physical form...gah! I love it!</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ead1dc;">You see, I have always been a nerd. Not even a tech-savvy geek. I was a flat out nerd. In elementary, middle and high school I spent most of my time reading and writing. Alone. Holed up with fictional friends. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ead1dc;">At some point, probably middle school, I began writing what is known today as fan fiction. This was back when email was still a really big deal and websites were all in basic html. I was, as many people could tell you, obsessed with MacGyver. Something about a really competent man is very alluring. So I started writing my own episodes of MacGyver. And then I started writing episodes of my other favorite shows. I abandoned the novel I was working on to focus primarily on writing scripts. </span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyy7E-vD1p2vEO6L9flR-G7I7AoL9o21iWLGu1WcDNLtXqAZkSc2kZsa4qfuTduLVxzNuxp6AF8P1q8f5DsZMSoz6sWU9ef4eOu7SNhYwZqZkZ3eNmjvciAhGdxBnv2pUgeM9t_60Ct6k/s1600/nerdom.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="263" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyy7E-vD1p2vEO6L9flR-G7I7AoL9o21iWLGu1WcDNLtXqAZkSc2kZsa4qfuTduLVxzNuxp6AF8P1q8f5DsZMSoz6sWU9ef4eOu7SNhYwZqZkZ3eNmjvciAhGdxBnv2pUgeM9t_60Ct6k/s320/nerdom.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Evidence of my early nerdom. All those binders? Filled with teleplays.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHvK6NFXGFucawLEI7PtMqqytf47zPBAtaWfIHDgpDKrzwb6uAW6cgWsjOvsj3LFlF4ma1SENa9BPRI9ZkSjVZwQBIPHrpv_N56MdhJ_lTlGLRzoiUoBaXVR0Z5rcMiEDdPB203WPZHYs/s1600/Screen+shot+2014-01-12+at+3.07.11+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="173" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHvK6NFXGFucawLEI7PtMqqytf47zPBAtaWfIHDgpDKrzwb6uAW6cgWsjOvsj3LFlF4ma1SENa9BPRI9ZkSjVZwQBIPHrpv_N56MdhJ_lTlGLRzoiUoBaXVR0Z5rcMiEDdPB203WPZHYs/s320/Screen+shot+2014-01-12+at+3.07.11+PM.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Screenshot from Filter's adaptation</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ead1dc;">Fast forward a decade. Somehow I've wound up a stay-at-home mom and I only have half a college degree. Restless and disappointed in myself I take up writing again. But prose just doesn't flow easily through this brain. It's still wired for action and dialogue. So I write a screenplay. It takes me a year but I manage to finish a first draft of a 120 page script. It's a romantic drama. I put it up on American Zoetrope and get some good feedback. And it pretty much died there. I never worked up the courage to enter it into their annual contest. This year I want to change that. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ead1dc;">My one main goal for this year is to adapt my first novel, <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/11234679-filter" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Filter</span></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">,</span></span> into a screenplay. I've been working on it off and on but this year I mean to complete it and to have it ready to enter for early submission into the annual American Zoetrope screenwriting contest. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ead1dc;">So here's hoping to a very productive year!</span><br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-970488215106631029.post-19190464925895888202013-12-11T07:58:00.002-08:002013-12-11T07:58:42.865-08:00Red Pen Reader<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ead1dc;">I used to be a red pen reader. You know? One of those readers who fancies herself a grammar Nazi who could be a hotshot editor if she really wanted to be? </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ead1dc;">And then I wrote my first novel. And tried to edit my first novel which was 90k words long. I even had several highly respected, extremely intelligent friends help me edit my novel. That was three years and five dozen edits ago. And you know what? There are probably still mistakes in<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/11234679-filter" target="_blank"> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Filter</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">.</span> </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ead1dc;">There's a big difference between reading a novel with fresh eyes, just picking it up off the shelf and scanning it....and struggling through writing it for six months and then trying to convince yourself to read what has become the bane of your existence. My novels and I fight like siblings. It's awful. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ead1dc;">I liken editing my novels to trying to get stones out of the garden. No matter how many times you plow or turn the soil over, there's always another stone lurking somewhere in the dirt. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ead1dc;">That's all very understandable. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ead1dc;">But sometimes, sometimes, I do something very stupid. Sometimes my brain glazes over certain points because it figures that those points must be right because who would get THAT wrong because it's not complicated to get it right. </span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2zK4_hVO3HjyytvvkSZwXVUKwQVLu9OP_EqzgaIphkneqiBgGjcowd_g1t8hsi2nqdmemcCwb3JEWSCOCy6n0-E0tuXW-b6TSQrIY8c7endzsk6ya9E8KiUHAKkfQKKKyy0SGhm-jPvA/s1600/demure.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ead1dc;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2zK4_hVO3HjyytvvkSZwXVUKwQVLu9OP_EqzgaIphkneqiBgGjcowd_g1t8hsi2nqdmemcCwb3JEWSCOCy6n0-E0tuXW-b6TSQrIY8c7endzsk6ya9E8KiUHAKkfQKKKyy0SGhm-jPvA/s320/demure.jpg" width="238" /></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ead1dc;">What I'm trying to say is that I made a big boo-boo in the first edition of Lipstick & Bolsheviks. It is proof that even I get confused by this massive, tangled family tree. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ead1dc;">I suppose now is a good time to 'fess up. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ead1dc;">I'm just glad my BFF caught it before it went into print! I was just about to click on APPROVE FILES! Ack!</span><br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-970488215106631029.post-37514765505593543712013-12-11T07:35:00.001-08:002013-12-11T07:35:54.277-08:00Just Giving it AwayBecause I am overjoyed to finally have Holler's Grove available in a swanky looking paperback and because Lipstick & Bolsheviks is FINALLY out, I am in the mood to give away some books.<br />
Now through January 14th, you may enter to win a signed copy of Holler's Grove and/or Lipstick & Bolsheviks.<br />
<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/giveaway/show/75232-holler-s-grove">https://www.goodreads.com/giveaway/show/75232-holler-s-grove</a><br />
<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/giveaway/show/75231-lipstick-bolsheviks">https://www.goodreads.com/giveaway/show/75231-lipstick-bolsheviks</a><br />
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I am giving away three copies of each book. The giveaway is open to residents of the the US, UK, Canada, and Australia.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-970488215106631029.post-56242528955648215752013-12-09T10:29:00.001-08:002013-12-09T10:32:11.702-08:00My Personal Plague of LocustsUsually on Sundays no one wants to cook dinner. It's undoubtedly been a long week and another is on the verge of beginning. This, coupled with the fact that cereal is expensive and filled with all kinds of junk, often leads us to make lots of pancakes on Sunday nights. This way we have dinner <i>and</i> a hot breakfast item for the morning. Last night I tripled the recipe....<br />
Apparently I need to pentuple the recipe. I don't think that's even a word but I'm going to use it because my locusts (ages 13, 10, and 8 ....all male), devoured the leftover pancakes this morning before school. ALL of them.<br />
So this morning I spent about an hour making a triple batch of waffles. That's a lot of waffles. Let's hope it lasts the rest of the week. They should last. I'm hoping they last.<br />
For waffles I use the recipe from my mom's vintage Betty Crocker cookbook. Circa 1970 something.<br />
We also add a little cinnamon and vanilla.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEydzsIN4I2x12UNF3dCuCDyzeELjtMXOD0KRJd4nB0M_cH3Lbm4HKL6JyljKbpVvTWo5xhwFrfv9ZvVEYgt-WZwTOcvz7EZGelnI0NSrauiUIGIm3WZtz7hTdMj6GmFJmSf9SkgAi9tY/s1600/waffles.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEydzsIN4I2x12UNF3dCuCDyzeELjtMXOD0KRJd4nB0M_cH3Lbm4HKL6JyljKbpVvTWo5xhwFrfv9ZvVEYgt-WZwTOcvz7EZGelnI0NSrauiUIGIm3WZtz7hTdMj6GmFJmSf9SkgAi9tY/s1600/waffles.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-970488215106631029.post-70148152522631764312013-11-27T05:42:00.000-08:002013-11-27T05:42:01.181-08:00The von Strassenberg Saga: The First Four<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUtUoaptDYhTQY7g34DHOy8X6eDl9kr8jB3VgqKtVTbuWXv5dziMzNlG-mHYkwk0TIWo1ifJKtLsywXYbTUTHmjbZTy4-1I5Mojq2xVe4RchD7aLKolrxhoBOMdgnJNVwv1n3Y4G8smC0/s1600/4in1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUtUoaptDYhTQY7g34DHOy8X6eDl9kr8jB3VgqKtVTbuWXv5dziMzNlG-mHYkwk0TIWo1ifJKtLsywXYbTUTHmjbZTy4-1I5Mojq2xVe4RchD7aLKolrxhoBOMdgnJNVwv1n3Y4G8smC0/s320/4in1.jpg" width="212" /></a></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #b4a7d6;">The first four installments of The von Strassenberg Saga are now available in one enormous bundle! The length depends on the eReader you use (the Word document is 988 pages, Kindle is somewhere around 925). The bundle price of $5.99 will save you two dollars. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #b4a7d6;">Filter $2.99</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #b4a7d6;">Bluestocking Girl $1.99</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #b4a7d6;">Katherine's Journal .99</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #b4a7d6;">Lipstick & Bolsheviks $1.99 (for a limited time...so after that limited time the bundle price will actually save you $3). </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #b4a7d6;">And because it's so ginormous, the sample is actually fairly long. Most of the first book, I believe. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #b4a7d6;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #b4a7d6;">Note: Lipstick & Bolsheviks is NOT the end!</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #b4a7d6;">I had a reader who was slightly heartbroken because he thought Lipstick & Bolsheviks was the end of the series and he was actually putting off reading it because he didn't want it to end. IT'S NOT THE END! In the very least there will be three more full-length installments and I don't know how many in-betweeners. It will keep going on until all of your questions are answered and there are no more cliffhangers to be hung. </span><br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #b4a7d6;">The bundle is available for </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"><a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-von-strassenberg-saga-gwenn-wright/1117492560?ean=2940148834618" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: cyan;">NOOK</span></a></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #b4a7d6;"> and </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/The-von-Strassenberg-Saga-Bluestocking-ebook/dp/B00GHTVM00/ref=sr_1_7?ie=UTF8&qid=1385559570&sr=8-7&keywords=gwenn+wright" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: cyan;">KINDLE</span></a></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #b4a7d6;">. </span><br />
<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-970488215106631029.post-7973694330599308142013-11-23T09:00:00.001-08:002013-11-24T15:37:33.349-08:00Katherine's Journal: A Defense<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cfe2f3;">Once again, I honestly don't read reviews. It's bad for me. Whether they are glowing or scathing reading reviews is bad for my mojo. That being said, I cannot bypass my local readers and their opinions...especially the teenage ones. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cfe2f3;">Recently I was chastised for Katherine's Journal: A Novella being too short.....</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ead1dc;">"</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ead1dc;">Novellas generally run 20,000-50,000 words. About 30,000 words is average"</span> (<a href="http://www.writersdigest.com/editor-blogs/guide-to-literary-agents/qa-from-blog-readers/how-long-is-a-novella-and-how-do-you-query-agents-for-them" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Writer's Digest</span></a>)</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cfe2f3;">Katherine's Journal is 29k words. I have paid $1.99-2.99 for 5k words from big name authors to read snippets of stories that don't really qualify as full novellas. (For those who want to complain about paying .99 for 29k words or roughly 3 or 4 months work on my part.)</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cfe2f3;">More than once I have been scolded for Katherine's Journal being too much of a "repeat." This is something I struggled with while writing it. BUT <i>logically</i>, if you were a 17-18 year old girl madly in love with Viktor and you were in Katherine's position, scratching out your love story with art supplies on stolen bits of paper would you leave out the balcony scene? I wouldn't. </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cfe2f3;"><br /></span></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cfe2f3;">Can you jump from The Bluestocking Girl to Lipstick & Bolsheviks without reading Katherine's Journal? Sure. It was a selfish endeavor on my part because I wanted to go back to that love story...and I missed some people. One person in particular. And I still do. </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cfe2f3;">I've see a lot of authors being accused of writing in-between-the-numbers novellas and cliffhangers out of greed. If greed were my motivating factor I would A. Charge more per book and B. Spin stories out faster. For me, the story reigns supreme. I let the fictional voices in my head dictate what is revealed, when it is revealed, and end the story at its natural closing. If that makes people angry *shrugs*....that is the nature of my style. Stuff happens in these books all the time that causes me to go NOOOOOOOOOOO! And then I have to go back through everything, forward and backward and figure out a way to make it all make sense. It's more work, it's heart wrenching at times, but in the end it's more unique and unpredictable. That was my only goal when I set out to write these books, to be original and unpredictable. Regardless of whatever the ratings may say about novel length or cliffhangers or editing or anything else, if I have accomplished writing a story like you've never before read I will count it as a success. </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cfe2f3;">All that being said, I adore my local readers (we've already hashed this out face-to-face) even if they are incredibly mouthy :) Their energy (boundless energy) and passion for this story keeps me going, even when we disagree. </span></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-970488215106631029.post-54921989067666545522013-11-05T15:53:00.001-08:002013-11-06T14:51:42.490-08:00Lipstick & Bolsheviks: The von Strassenberg Saga Book 3<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwY3Q3oVvbuaK8DazsLiENX3jK8QagaIm0Ce65LAnTjBNJD-BB5SdoQsUrbMf4eEZfQIYQbTcKFSjKNKV4694x10158I783iPCbSAyJUMV9L0mCYBE4VOZC73TDufme9vWMGFSDb6iPAY/s1600/lb+vssaga.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwY3Q3oVvbuaK8DazsLiENX3jK8QagaIm0Ce65LAnTjBNJD-BB5SdoQsUrbMf4eEZfQIYQbTcKFSjKNKV4694x10158I783iPCbSAyJUMV9L0mCYBE4VOZC73TDufme9vWMGFSDb6iPAY/s320/lb+vssaga.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;">At long last, Lipstick & Bolsheviks: The von Strassenberg Saga Book 3, is finally here!</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;">Yes, in its entirety. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f4cccc;">NEW LINK FORTHCOMING!</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #f4cccc;">I went back to slip in a warning that this is NOT the first book (some old college friends of mine didn't realize it and started reading this first) and I noticed that I had not enabled encryption. Yes, I believe encryption. So the new page is currently being created. If you haven't read the series at all yet, there is now a 4-in-1 digital bundle available. It'll save you $2. (<a href="http://www.amazon.com/The-von-Strassenberg-Saga-Bluestocking-ebook/dp/B00GHTVM00/ref=sr_1_9?ie=UTF8&qid=1383778207&sr=8-9&keywords=gwenn+wright">http://www.amazon.com/The-von-Strassenberg-Saga-Bluestocking-ebook/dp/B00GHTVM00/ref=sr_1_9?ie=UTF8&qid=1383778207&sr=8-9&keywords=gwenn+wright</a>)</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;">At the moment, it is only available for Kindle.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;">Also, yes. It is a cliffhanger. If this displeases you, I suppose you should wait two more years and buy books three and four at the same time. I kid, I kid. Because, obviously, book 4 will also be a cliffhanger. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;">You know I love you all. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;">And am immensely grateful only a handful of you know where I live!</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-970488215106631029.post-85379220961397096312013-09-16T08:57:00.000-07:002013-09-17T07:15:10.449-07:00Set William Free!!!<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #d9d2e9;">Oh my. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #d9d2e9;">Typically I don't read reviews of my books. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #d9d2e9;">It either puffs up my ego or smashes it. Neither is good. But today I traipsed into that land and wow. WOW. Some people are angry at me. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #d9d2e9;">They want William, they want to spend time with him and they want to know that he's okay. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #d9d2e9;">I want the same things. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #d9d2e9;">Truly I do. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #d9d2e9;">Thing is, if I rush the story it won't be good for anyone. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #d9d2e9;">Consider, each book jumps about seventeen years or so, with the exception of Lipstick and Bolsheviks. It went crazy on me. Part one opens in 1905, only nine years after the end of Bluestocking Girl. Part Two opens in 1917. This is crucial to the story. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #d9d2e9;">The historical part of The von Strassenberg Saga thus far spans 40 years. The contemporary part spans only a month. Book 3 closes in 1917 and we still have three more "Marias" to get through, and a gap of about 70 years to close. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #d9d2e9;">Things are coming together, I promise. With more revelations and more twists but you have to trust me. It's more fun this way. If you're like me, you don't want to know yet because if you did it would ruin the big AHA! that's coming. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #d9d2e9;">Stick with me, I know how it ends and you'll love it. Trust me, you want this to happen....</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #d9d2e9;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #d9d2e9;">No idea what I'm even talking about? Start with Filter today for $2.99 on <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Filter-Von-Strassenberg-Saga-ebook/dp/B003YH9MIM/ref=sr_1_3_bnp_1_kin?ie=UTF8&qid=1379426877&sr=8-3&keywords=gwenn+wright" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Amazon</span></span></a>. Now through November 12, 2013 it Filter will be available on Amazon Prime. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #d9d2e9;"><br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-970488215106631029.post-28649076403776735502013-08-04T22:14:00.000-07:002013-08-04T22:14:36.112-07:00Lipstick&Bolsheviks, Part One Available!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIVOfkLfiO6-VYZDPvDUeCN_BgO_ZPcCuUEgGgrfxvcqGNFN5TdyXlO0keSeR_N_VTeWO8YHzx7J6YF8Z0ZKjiA1xqhJ_G-_MN45BqrUdKBzyWVeeZbbl7DlZk_oK5Wd6c0irCaHM52GU/s1600/lsb+part+one.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIVOfkLfiO6-VYZDPvDUeCN_BgO_ZPcCuUEgGgrfxvcqGNFN5TdyXlO0keSeR_N_VTeWO8YHzx7J6YF8Z0ZKjiA1xqhJ_G-_MN45BqrUdKBzyWVeeZbbl7DlZk_oK5Wd6c0irCaHM52GU/s320/lsb+part+one.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #eeeeee;">In case you have somehow missed the news, Lipstick and Bolsheviks, Part One of The von Strassenberg Saga book 3 is now available on </span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Lipstick-Bolsheviks-part-Strassenberg-ebook/dp/B00EBETV56/ref=sr_1_9?ie=UTF8&qid=1375568291&sr=8-9&keywords=gwenn+wright" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #d9d2e9;">Kindle</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #eeeeee;"> and</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #d9d2e9;"> </span><a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/lipsticks-and-bolsheviks-part-one-gwenn-wright/1116308964?ean=2940148655053" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #d9d2e9;">Nook</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #eeeeee;"> and at </span><a href="https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/343736" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ead1dc;">Smashwords</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #ead1dc;">. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #eeeeee;">When will the rest be available?</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #eeeeee;">Soon-ish. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #eeeeee;">Part One changed a lot of things on me and tomorrow I begin writing a previously unplanned interlude between the two parts. So. Soon. </span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-970488215106631029.post-42119258864326148342013-07-31T09:21:00.000-07:002013-07-31T09:23:36.206-07:00Lipstick & Bolsheviks, How It Will Go<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIVOfkLfiO6-VYZDPvDUeCN_BgO_ZPcCuUEgGgrfxvcqGNFN5TdyXlO0keSeR_N_VTeWO8YHzx7J6YF8Z0ZKjiA1xqhJ_G-_MN45BqrUdKBzyWVeeZbbl7DlZk_oK5Wd6c0irCaHM52GU/s1600/lsb+part+one.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIVOfkLfiO6-VYZDPvDUeCN_BgO_ZPcCuUEgGgrfxvcqGNFN5TdyXlO0keSeR_N_VTeWO8YHzx7J6YF8Z0ZKjiA1xqhJ_G-_MN45BqrUdKBzyWVeeZbbl7DlZk_oK5Wd6c0irCaHM52GU/s320/lsb+part+one.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">I've had some questions about how book 3 will work, considering it is being released in two parts. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Part one of Lipstick and Bolsheviks will be released within days. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">My full-length novels are always priced at $2.99 upon release. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">As part one is only the length of a novella, it will be available for .99. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Part two will be priced at $1.99 upon release. The combined novel will contain both parts and be priced at $2.99. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">The physical copy will not be available until both parts are complete and properly formatted. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">My apologies for the confusion but I blame Katie, who wanted her own spotlight.</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-970488215106631029.post-7832861276479290842013-07-17T06:16:00.000-07:002013-07-17T06:18:47.449-07:00Cover Reveal, Lipstick & Bolsheviks<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRetBzx1mQvSewqVkiHPOPdv-_y6br5VRA1aPiuP3OGKukabpMJDwOoqSLHqQ6NWfTwl5QEfTHSiwZUL8T9xld9PKggnYGGQ1VAEMEbj5dB1e5zSZPwuRFNZErRx5mJu-VRhtaZbWZbIA/s1600/lsb+part+one.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRetBzx1mQvSewqVkiHPOPdv-_y6br5VRA1aPiuP3OGKukabpMJDwOoqSLHqQ6NWfTwl5QEfTHSiwZUL8T9xld9PKggnYGGQ1VAEMEbj5dB1e5zSZPwuRFNZErRx5mJu-VRhtaZbWZbIA/s320/lsb+part+one.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #d9d2e9;">It's here! And you know what that means.....I really do fully intend to have part one of the third book of The von Strassenberg Saga out in a few weeks! It's going well enough that I feel safe saying that!</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #d9d2e9;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #d9d2e9;">In 1905 Katie yearns for the attention of her husband who spends all his energy working for Doctor von Strassenberg. Nothing can break him from his obsessive allegiance for the doctor with exception of the doctor's young and handsome grandson who has just arrived back from Europe. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #d9d2e9;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #d9d2e9;">In 2010 William Drexler III is still nowhere to be found. Raquel von Strassenberg joins forces with William's lovely secretary Abbie. Together they plan to breech the walls of Raquel's ancestral home to discover just what young Peter von Strassenberg has been up to. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #d9d2e9;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #d9d2e9;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #d9d2e9;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #d9d2e9;">Here's a new snippet from part one of Lipstick & Bolsheviks:</span><br />
<br />
<!--StartFragment-->
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Abadi MT Condensed Light"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;">Steam
wafted around him. The house was in its perpetual icebox state but in his
expansive bathroom Peter had recreated the heat and humidity of the June
evening. Droplets of water fell in a slow rhythm from the multiple showerheads
lining the tile wall. </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;">Drip. Drip drop</span></i></span><span style="font-family: "Abadi MT Condensed Light"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;">. Like the eerie melody of a classic
horror movie. </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;">Drip. Drop. Drip drip drop. Someone’s hiding in the steam</span></i></span><span style="font-family: "Abadi MT Condensed Light"; font-size: 10.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;">. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Abadi MT Condensed Light"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;">But he had given up long
ago on the idea of anything so exciting happening inside the castle. It was
just wood and stones and locked doors. </span></span><!--EndFragment-->
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Abadi MT Condensed Light"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #d9d2e9;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">F</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #d9d2e9;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">i</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #d9d2e9;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">lter: Book One of The von Strassenberg Saga is FREE on <a href="https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/20957" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: cyan;">Smashwords</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: cyan;"> </span>until the release of book 3! Or you can it at <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B003YH9MIM?tag=lwrc" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: cyan;">Amazon</span></a> or <a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/filter-gwenn-wright/1100248778?ean=9781461053002" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: cyan;">B&N</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: cyan;"> </span>for 99 cents!</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Abadi MT Condensed Light"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;"><br /></span></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-970488215106631029.post-64322989941130126022013-07-10T07:20:00.000-07:002013-07-10T07:59:25.987-07:00Just a Backwoods Country Girl<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8N3xHgWbJu4YYcsX-8Fdn0AmxA9Psubcys8peie4VYJZshR-HOj__jmhiQfX7MDSD2tFuOm4nBtan2EIUIfQQ4T7DcBBpes8peDqen19jPKMsfCtMF6Quv1agDYvyVzijwBQdplfXvho/s1600/IMG_2580.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8N3xHgWbJu4YYcsX-8Fdn0AmxA9Psubcys8peie4VYJZshR-HOj__jmhiQfX7MDSD2tFuOm4nBtan2EIUIfQQ4T7DcBBpes8peDqen19jPKMsfCtMF6Quv1agDYvyVzijwBQdplfXvho/s320/IMG_2580.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
For starters, I grew up in the city.<br />
Not THE city but a city, which is larger than a town.<br />
Despite having spent the summers of my childhood in an obscure village in Missouri, it was quite a culture shock when my parents moved us to a town of only six thousand when I was 12.<br />
For the first three years we lived here, I didn't even know there was city pool. Super dinky. There was a little WalMart and a small grocery store and a theater in the next town over.<br />
People waved at you and said "hi" to you even if you didn't know them. It was weird. When we first moved here some of the kids made fun of me because I talked funny.<br />
<i>I</i> talked funny. All proper and such.<br />
Admittedly I've picked up a bit of that Ozark twang but I can control it if I want to. It's not so bad, like when I watch too many episodes of <i>The Closer</i> or <i>Justified</i>. Then I REALLY start talking funny, without meaning to.<br />
This is one of those towns where everyone swears as a teenager that they will leave and never come back. But I'd say 90% of us have stayed or left and come back despite our fervent pledge. It's a nice town with nice people. Our pool is bigger now and so is our WalMart and we got ourselves our own theater.<br />
It's a good place to raise kids. Everyone knows you so most everyone knows your kids. Makes it difficult for them to get away with much. We have clean parks, safe schools, a quintessential old town square. It's lovely.<br />
We don't live in town though.<br />
Neither do we live in a creepy, gothic revival place in the bayou.<br />
Although that would be awesome. Except we don't have bayous 'round here. We do have a bit of a bog though.<br />
I just live in a simple house in the woods. We have chickens...somewhere around 60 of them. It's hard to count them, they move around a lot. We also have two dogs, three cats, a one-eyed gander and his mate, and my son's filthy rat. He keeps her in the basement where she belongs.<br />
A lot of my time is spent fighting the weeds in my garden because I refuse to spray chemicals on them. If I'm not weeding my garden then I'm probably cleaning the coop or watering the chickens or doing laundry. Or I'm kickin' my oldest son's rear trying to get him to put his novels down and work on a merit badge. If I'm not doing any of those things and I'm not running one of my three sons to a meeting and I'm also not entertaining my nieces or nephews...then I'm probably writing.<br />
I know a lot of writers get their work done at night.<br />
I don't know how they do it. My reserves often don't carry me past 9:30 lately.<br />
A lot of people want to know why it takes so long for me to put out a new book in The von Strassenberg Saga. Well....being a mom and wife is my first job and it really wears me out. And secondly, when you write historical fiction it's necessary to do research.<br />
Book 3 of The von Strassenberg Saga has split itself in two. So I have abandoned the portion that begins in 1917 (part two) two research the year 1905 and write the first part. It is my goal to have part 1 finished and published by August 1st. Happily, my sons will be on vacation with their grandparents later this month and my husband will be away with the National Guard, leaving me here to do nothing but tend the chickens, garden and my book.<br />
The first part will be approximately 40-50,000 words and will be available (digital edition only) SOON! When both parts are finished I will combine them into paperback format.<br />
Anyway, it's raining and the boys are still asleep, so off to work!<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0