Saturday, February 12, 2011

Show & Tell Saturday with Kathleen Gallagher




I may have mentioned in another post how I got my inspiration for my upcoming release Echoes at Dawn, but I’ll use this opportunity to elaborate.  Old black and white photos have always fascinated me.  I found a family portrait from the early 1900’s.  I’m not sure what the occasion was, but the relatives gathered adorned in their fancy outfits.  The expressions on their faces lacked enthusiasm and were absent of smiles.  The little girls even looked somber.  I starting thinking about how different the snapshots from that era seemed, compared to the one’s today.  Everyone always looked so serious back then.  There had to be an explanation, I surmised.  I began to research articles and came up with different concepts.  I read about the technology taking longer to capture a shot, making it difficult to maintain a smile while waiting.  Another couple of theories I found were the lack of proper dental care may have kept people from showing their smile, or posing devices making it uncomfortable.  Some speculate about the stress of a difficult life keeping them from looking happy. Others say the portrait may have been the only one ever taken for people to remember them by, so they chose a stoic pose.  I’d say it’s most likely a combination of all of the factors.

 Family and photo sessions have changed dramatically over the years. Today we are told to say a catch phrase for the camera and most of us automatically brighten our expression.  We usually welcome the opportunity to show our smile.  The mystery behind the old photo made me curious. I found a vintage frame for it and displayed it in my house.

As time went on, I began to wonder more about the lives of the people in the picture. Were the little girls anxious to return home to play with their dolls? Or were they tired from doing their chores?  Could they be anticipating a party afterwards?  Were the husbands and wives arguing, or exchanging fond embraces earlier in the day?  After staring at the girls wearing the frilly dresses with matching bows, my imagination took over.  They became twins with a special bond. Do twins have a connection unlike other pairs of siblings?  What would happen if one of them left this world early?  I began to piece together what turned out to be the premise for my paranormal romantic read, Echoes at Dawn.


The strangely intertwined lives of a widowed mother, a charismatic bachelor, and an elderly woman come together in order to show that in life there are no coincidences, only destiny.
Madeline Young loves her job as a chef in a waterfront restaurant. Her love life is where she has problems.  She realizes she must stop dating the wrong men, especially ones that are too young for her, or she’ll spend the rest of her life alone.  To complicate matters further, her elderly and, often times, forgetful mother needs to move in.  Then, to make matters even worse, Madeline's rebellious teenage son spends a day in the emergency room for alcohol poisoning.  Madeline's mother wants her to find true happiness and feels compelled to enlist the help of her deceased twin sister, Mary, by using her Ouija Board.  Together, they conjure up a plan to find Madeline the perfect match.  Madeline has an early dawn visit from Aunt Mary, who directs her to volunteer in a local hospital.   Madeline finds much more than she ever expected when she enters the hospital’s center for recovery. 
Nathaniel Griffin fascinates his clients with his lectures, but often uses his busy schedule to avoid social situations.  In keeping with this philosophy, Nat prefers to keep his personal life very private.  However, when given the assignment to orient a lovely new volunteer, her seductive charms soon tug at his heartstrings.  Unfortunately, before he can commit to the relationship, Nat must confront his marred past.  Is he willing to face his demons, or take the easier path and remain isolated?   
The unexpected return of twins who left this world early, carry the key to unlock the reluctant bachelor’s past.  They are called upon to perform one final mission of love before they can rest. Will they accomplish their assignment or will it be too late?
It can be fun creating stories after looking at old photos.  Have you ever wondered about what was going on in the lives of your ancestors after looking at their old images? 

Friday, February 11, 2011

Just the Facts with Silke Juppenlatz


Hi there! Thanks for stopping by. I’ll try not to bore you with facts, but hey... it is called “Just the Facts”, so there. I’m going to shake things up a little, and only tell you one fact about me. It’s a funny one, though, and I’ll elaborate. I hope you enjoy it.

We used to be owned by two hedgehogs.
Fritzle and Mäxle.
This is really more their story, than mine.
Fritzle ended up with us when my dad saw a hedgehog run back and forth on the Autobahn, across three lanes, managing through some miracle not to be flattened by an oncoming Mercedes.
Naturally, the creature had to be rescued. Out of the car he gets, and manages through some miracle not to be flattened by an oncoming Mercedes—while chasing a damned hedgehog across three lanes of the Autobahn!!!
My mother was not amused. (About the flea-riddled hedgehog.)
Neither was the dog. (About the preemptive flea-busting dust jobbie)
My dad wisely kept the part about him chasing the thing across a highway, with vehicles travelling in excess of 110mph, to himself! (He accidentally let that part slip when we talked about the hedgehogs a few years later.)

Mäxle was a less dramatic affair.
I worked as an apprentice horse breeder at the time and saw my boss round the corner carrying a spade. I turned the corner just before he would have killed a very small hedgehog. I stopped him, and said I’d take it home. 

Easier said than done. Ever tried transporting a round spiky thing on a motorcycle? I had no bags, no rucksack, nothing. So I stuck the hedgehog under my leather jacket and rode home, very, verywriggling, thing stuck to my chest.
conscious of the fact I have a round, spiky,

My mother was not amused.
Neither was the dog.

Wuschel probably considered abandoning these idiot humans the very second he saw the flea powder come out of the cupboard. There was a distinct “Oh, no. Not again!” expression on his face—followed by a “Could you peel that for me?” look when he saw the hedgehog.
It was October, and each of them weighed in at not-enough-to-hibernate. 250 grams, I think. They were both tiny, so they couldn’t go back out, and wintered in our apartment.
Hedgehogs are nocturnal. Even ones who aren’t much bigger than an orange, when rolled up.
I didn’t get much sleep that winter, especially not once they discovered the “joys” of sticking their spikes up, and having a race underneath some aluminium shelving in my bedroom! (There was one of those string curtain things, no door. No way to keep them out.)
The first night they did this, I swear my hair went gray. I was sleeping, quite unaware of inquisitive nocturnal hoodlums, and all of a sudden: Kchhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!
I shot upright, half asleep, trying to work out what the HELL that noise was.
Kchhhhhhhhhhhhhhh one way. Kchhhhhhhhhhhh the other way. Rinse, repeat.
Try working that out, at Oh-my-God Thirty in the morning. I turned the light on. The noise stopped. I turned the light off. Kchhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! Light on. Silence. Light off—you get the idea.
Eventually I worked up the nerve to get up and investigate—and found two innocent looking hedgehogs at one end of the shelving. I tried to pull them out. Yeah. Right. Spikes out, roll into ball—it’s like trying to pull super glued Velcro off your carpet. Not a chance.
I went back to bed and pulled a pillow over my head.
Kchhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.
For hours.
That spade suddenly looked like an attractive solution to the problem, you know?
Their nocturnal antics aside, Fritzle and Mäxle (who turned out to be a girl) were part of the family. They had their own dinner cooked for them (mincemeat and egg, mostly), and became quite tame. So tame in fact, that you had to watch where you put your head on the sofa, because one of them usually sprawled on the back rest, watching TV. (I am NOT kidding.) 

We learned a lot while they owned us:
You can stroke a hedgehog (just don’t do it backward, that hurts.) and they like it.
Socks are fair game, and for chewing on. Even if the human still wears them.
If the human is eating it, it must be hedgehog food, and is therefore also fair game.
That footprint in the butter means a hedgehog is in the fridge. Check the bottom shelf.
If you take a shower and leave a hedgehog sized gap in the door—watch where you put your feet.
Everything is edible. Including telephone cables.
Going to sleep inside a riding boot is hilarious when the human’s foot finds you curled up in the toe part.
It was open warfare between the hedgehogs and the dog. The hedgehogs usually won, and Wuschel would slink by with his “Peel them already!” expression, when they’d gone to sleep in his basket, under his favorite blanket, again. (Ouch.)
Spring came and with it the time to release the two of them in a safe place. We had a big field where we kept my horses, and that’s where we let them go. (I think the dog threw a party that day.)
A few years later, I’d just “imported” Paul from the UK, I wanted to show him the big cherry tree we had in the field. We’d sold the field since, so we climbed the fence and wandered around. A noise under one of the sheds made us wonder what’s there.
I saw a hedgehog’s face. Then another. I called the names, never expecting them to actually come out—and they came. Both of them. Paul stood there, his jaw slack, watching these two wild animals lie down and stretch out, while I stroked them.
I explained to him who they were, and he (and I) was completely amazed that they remembered—and even more so, when they let him stroke them.
That was the last time I saw them, but it was an incredibly unexpected (and welcome) surprise.
Never mind that one of them chewed through my shoe lace while I wasn’t watching.
  

Thursday, February 10, 2011

Three Way Thursday with Gracen Miller


What are you thankful for?

You might be sorry you asked this question! With my coming soon release, Pandora's Box, I feel like I just won the Grammy's. *grins* Do you really want me to thank all those people that got me here? LOL  I'll keep it somewhat short.  I'm thankful for my supportive and amazing boys, which includes my husband of 19 years and my two sons.  Without them, I wouldn't be half the woman I am or half the writer.  They keep me smiling and grounded in reality…mostly anyway.  I'm thankful for my muse, who I've named DM.  DM is a slave driver and there are days when I wish he had an actual throat I could choke, but most of the time, I love and worship him. He prefers my love and worship. ;-)  I'm thankful I was given sons rather than daughters because boys are so much fun and aren't the least bit prissy…unless you ask them to do their rendition of a "girl".  *shakes head*  It is worth a laugh or two, but I hope they really don't think girls act like that!

I'm thankful Decadent gave my book, Pandora's Box, a home.  I'm extremely thankful Madison and Phoenix (from Pandora's Box) bombarded my imagination.  They're so alive and real in my head, it makes writing their adventures so much easier!  They keep me excited about writing! 


What've you been thinking about lately?

Correcting storyline for book two to match changes to the storyline in Pandora's Box, while contemplating how all the changes will fit into book 3, along with back story for secondary characters in Pandora's Box…confusing, I know!  Imagine being in my head!  LOL  Building paranormal worlds and keeping it cohesive from one book to the next isn't always the easiest thing.  But it sure is fun letting your imagination run wild! *evil grin*

What do you thirst/hunger for?

I'm a coffee addict, so coffee!! Otherwise, I thirst and hunger for the adventures of my characters. Living through them is so much fun and I would never want to experience half of what they do in real life.

Thanks for joining me today!  Come find me around the web!

~huggles~

Gracen Miller