tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-88492655952419883392024-03-13T10:54:05.931-07:00kestrel risingsue laybournhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14549268075528924978noreply@blogger.comBlogger177125truetag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8849265595241988339.post-88535913822055086202019-04-05T03:28:00.002-07:002019-04-05T03:28:38.977-07:00<br />
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<span style="background: white; color: black; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">I have a problem. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: black; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">I love cuddly toys. I mean really <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">love</i> them. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: black; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">Over the years I seem to have collected several
boxes full of them. And I’ve held on to the ones my son had when he was young.
They all have names. They all have memories attached to them. There’s Bill, the
Pitt Panther. He was given to me by my first boyfriend way back when. There’s
Misha, the mascot for the 1980 Moscow Olympics. Blue is the teddy bear I
rescued from a jumble sale, and Manabar, a donkey my late husband named after a
useless (but lovable) race horse in the yard he once worked in. Hen Wen is the
pig won at a fair ground in Toronto. Yes, they all have their stories. And one
of these days, I’ll rescue them all from their box-bound limbo and they’ll see
daylight again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: black; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">So, my question to you is: Do you have a
favourite cuddly toy? Tell me their story below and you could win a book from
my backlist, or a 10% discount on a full edit. Details <a href="http://nostoneunturnedediting.co.uk/?fbclid=IwAR3PHK_DF6ZowlxXI0E1R5q1qLpSNnS3p9lPnFEv8Br7-dChQiCF9hb9n4k">here.</a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: black; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt;">And don’t forget to check out all the other blogs
from a whole crowd of amazing authors!</span></div>
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<span class="MsoHyperlink"><a href="http://rjscott.co.uk/autism19">http://rjscott.co.uk/autism19</a></span><o:p></o:p></div>
<br />sue laybournhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14549268075528924978noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8849265595241988339.post-51217465038342472782018-04-09T00:48:00.000-07:002018-04-09T00:48:30.704-07:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-RcDCGHo4J6A/WspgX6uYvvI/AAAAAAAABOI/RS_mMUUuu8IweEsusBtGa1ASrPVAYqbdQCEwYBhgL/s1600/AutismBanner.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="250" data-original-width="800" height="100" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-RcDCGHo4J6A/WspgX6uYvvI/AAAAAAAABOI/RS_mMUUuu8IweEsusBtGa1ASrPVAYqbdQCEwYBhgL/s320/AutismBanner.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Autism Fact:</span> <span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Only 16% of autistic adults in the UK are in full-time paid employment, and only 32% are in some kind of paid work<span style="font-size: 12.8px;">.</span></span></span></b><br />
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">It's that time of year again, when I dust off my blog and take part in the lovely R J Scott's annual blog hop. And, as usual, I'll leave my colleagues with more direct experience of autism to talk of how it affects their lives. There are over thirty of us taking part this year, so don't forget to check out the <a href="http://rjscott.co.uk/autism-awareness-month-2018">other posts</a>. Apart from a wide range of posts, there's lots of fun too, as well as giveaways. </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">Also, as with last year, I'm going to hoist myself with my own petard and post an excerpt from a yet-to-be-finished book. Over the next couple of years, I'll be getting the rights back to all of my Totally Bound/Pride books. The first one to come back to me, in May, is <i>Mourning Jack</i>. Right now, I'm working on the sequel which has the tentative title of <i>Loving Cal</i>. So, yes, for all of those readers who wanted Cal to have his HEA, I'm hoping to deliver that later this year--work schedule permitting. </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">In this scene, I'm drawing on my own experiences of grief, how it sneaks up you when you least expect it:</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">It was nice to zone out a little. I
just needed to make sure I kept the mower straight. The smell of cut grass made
me think of the good things, of summer sun, roses in bloom, a kitchen garden
bursting with produce. The latter was well on its way, which made Peggy very
happy. I hummed along with the music, save in the knowledge that no one would
ever hear how I couldn’t carry a tune, even in a paper bag. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I can hear…</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>One
of Jack’s quirks…he absolutely <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">loved</i>
country music. He played it all the time. After we’d been going out a while, I
finally got used to it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not all of it.
Some of it was a little too sappy and twangy for my taste, but other stuff… The
old Rascal Flatts song kicked me in the guts. Grief could do that. After seven
years, it could still sneak up and slap me upside the head. I couldn’t see. My
eyes burned with tears I thought I’d long since left behind. I eased the mower
to a halt and just…sat there crying. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Damn it, Jack</i>.<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>So
many memories passed in front of me. Jack at that party, cursing the lousy beer
while giving me the glad eye. Jack sprawled out on the couch, snoring, an
unread book resting on his stomach. Jack, his laugh ringing out in the cottage
on an autumn morning. Doing a slow strip tease while singing <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Hey, Good Looking</i>. His touch, his voice…pretty
much everything I’d loved about him. All gone. But he felt so close that I was
sure if I reached out I’d find him, touch him again, feel the smooth warmth of
his skin beneath my fingertips. God, the pain. It was an all-encompassing ache,
a deep longing made horrible because it could never be fulfilled. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> Grief
sucked. It sucked and it never really checked out. Always there like an
unwelcome guest, or the glimpse of something unpleasant in the corner of a
mirror.</span><span style="font-family: "book antiqua" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Hopefully, there'll be a finished story by summer!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">In the meantime, I'm offering a book from my back list, which you can find <a href="https://www.pride-publishing.com/index.php?route=product/author/info&author_id=200">here.</a> All you need to do is leave an answer to this question:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">What was your first job? What did you like/hate about it?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I hope you all enjoy this year's blog hop! Thanks, as always, to R J for putting this all together.</span></div>
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sue laybournhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14549268075528924978noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8849265595241988339.post-27331271431637417852017-04-19T05:19:00.000-07:002017-04-19T05:19:01.223-07:00A Day Late and a Dollar Short<div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">You can find the master post, with all participating authors, bloggers and readers <a href="http://rjscottauthor.blogspot.co.uk/2017/03/autism-awareness-blog-hop.html">here</a></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Many people with autism have key interests that can be utilized by employers in the workplace. (i.e. just because you have a disability doesn’t mean you don’t have abilities)</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">*from: http://kerrymagro.com/68-things-to-know-about-autism-for-autism-awareness-month/</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Once a year I dust off this blog to take part in RJ Scott's Annual Autism Awareness Blog Hop. Animals is this year's theme and, given the benefits that pets can have in helping people with autism, it seems pretty perfect to me. Animals can help us in so many ways. This little fellow, Andi, has changed my life since he arrived three weeks ago. He didn't have the best start in life, having been a Romanian street dog, before he ended up in a shelter where he was bullied mercilessly by bigger dogs. </span></div>
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-kVM1neeFmTk/WPTlY68Q9xI/AAAAAAAAA4A/jO8trGFYmd8HbdCy4V3y8WbjCN2BJodoACLcB/s1600/17.4.17%2B001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-kVM1neeFmTk/WPTlY68Q9xI/AAAAAAAAA4A/jO8trGFYmd8HbdCy4V3y8WbjCN2BJodoACLcB/s320/17.4.17%2B001.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I'm still coming to terms with losing my husband to cancer nearly two years ago. It's been a bumpy road and I had fallen into a habit of not wanting to leave the house, not having the energy to do anything except what I needed to do. I'd thought about adopting a rescue dog the summer Peter died and I'd gone as far as arranging a home visit with a rescue organisation...then I broke my shoulder and that went to the wall. Then, a few weeks ago, I was thinking out loud on Facebook about adopting a dog. A friend posted a link to <a href="http://leashoflife.co.uk/">this amazing rescue organisation</a> and that, gentle reader, was that.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The first dog, alas, did not work out. He didn't like men and that dislike extended to my son. So, sadly, he had to go back and he's now in a home with people who have far more experience of looking after dogs with a 'history' than I have. Sarah from Leash of Life persuaded me to give Andi a try. His arrival was not the best. I was tired and stressed after getting lost and taking ages to get home. Andi was tired and stressed when confronted with our two cats. So stressed that he peed right there and then in the living room. Happily, he settled in. We fell in love and now neither my son or me can imagine life without him. Apart from the obvious benefit of giving and receiving unconditional love, the thrice daily walks have resulted in me losing weight and just feeling...better. I feel as if I have a purpose outside my job and my (sporadic) writing. I have this little, loveable creature waiting for me every morning when I wake up. I have this little, loveable creature demanding lap time and cuddles. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Animals have so much to give us. They enrich our lives. They make us better, whether it's by giving an autistic child a connection with another living being, or just being that unquestioning friend we all need at one time or another.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Thanks for taking the time to read this blog and I hope you'll read all the offerings in this year's blog hop. I believe I may have told RJ I'd do a giveaway. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">So, my question is this: Have you/do you have a much-loved pet who has made your life better in some way? Leave your answer below. I'll run the magic random number generator at the end of the month and the winner gets a choice from my backlist, which you'll find <a href="https://www.pride-publishing.com/author/sa-meade">here</a> or, provided I remember, an e-copy of my new book <i>An Unexpected Truth</i>, when it's released in June/July. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Once again, thanks for stopping by. :)</span></div>
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sue laybournhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14549268075528924978noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8849265595241988339.post-10802483295627699972016-04-13T00:36:00.002-07:002016-04-13T00:36:59.796-07:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Today's Autism Fact:<br />
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<span style="background: white; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 12pt;">Many people who have an autism spectrum
disorder (ASD) have difficulty processing everyday sensory information such as
sounds, sights and smells. This is usually called having sensory integration
difficulties, or sensory sensitivity. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;">I’ve been a very
lazy author over the past three years. Life had other plans for me and my poor,
weary muse so writing had to take a backseat. Now, happily, I’ve finally
started writing again. And, as I’m a lazy author, I’m going to post an excerpt
from one of my WIPs. The working title is <i>The
Shelter</i>, but that’s probably going to change. This is the gloomier of the
two stories I’m working on, which I save for dull or rainy days. This scene,
however, is before things start going to hell in a handcart for Noel and Malik.
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;">I hope you enjoy
it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;">And, before I
post. I’ll leave this question for you. Answer the question and you’ll go into
a draw for a book of your choice from my backlist or, if you’re an aspiring
writer, I’ll do a free one chapter assessment/edit of anything you’re working
on. The winner will be announced at the beginning of May.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;">The question:
Which of the five senses could you <i>not</i>
live without?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;">Now, without
further delay, the excerpt.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">It was
clear, from the smell alone, that this was the studio. The room was flooded
with light, which fell across the wooden floor, turning the boards to amber.
Several easels beside the windows, and a work bench, scattered with brushes,
jars and tubes of paint rested against one wall. Paintings, too many to count, covered
the white walls in brilliant splashes of vibrant blues, whites and golds. I was
drawn into a maze of intricate geometric patterns. I recognised the motif
immediately, being interested in Islamic architecture. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
drifted toward a painting on an easel, mesmerised by the contrast of light and
rich, dark blues, threaded with gold lines. I could’ve looked at it forever.
“Beautiful,” was about all I could manage.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Bedford
stood beside me. Close enough that his shoulder brushed mine. Close enough that
I could smell his cologne and feel myself sliding toward being attracted to
him. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Thank
you.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">“This
reminds me of the walls of the Bibi-Khanym mosque.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">“You’ve
been to Samarkand?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Years
ago. I could’ve spent hours in there. Incredible mosaics.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">He
nodded and smiled. It is amazing, isn’t it? I’d love to go back one of these
days.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">“So
would I.” My travelling days were over. Living in a high-rent area put paid to
anything more than a week in a cottage somewhere, if I was lucky. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
trailed around the room, captivated, lost in a tangle of colourful mazes. Some
of the canvasses were huge, at least six feet long and three feet high. I
would’ve happily handed over my wallet and my savings for one of them to hang
on my living room wall. Luckily, common sense prevailed, and I had to be
content to look and covet. Bedford trailed after me, standing at my side while
I studied each piece. The room had fallen into a silence broken only by Laney’s
distant murmur. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">“They’re
terrific,” I told him, as I completed my tour. “Just remarkable.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">For a
man who must’ve heard variations of those compliments for years, he was
gracious enough to offer me a warm smile. “Thank you. I’m glad you like them.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">“I like
them very much.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">“I’d
offer you one but I’m pretty sure that would be considered bribery.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">“That’s
very kind and, yes, I’d probably lose my job.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Well,
we don’t want that, do we?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
didn’t want to leave the studio. The heady combination of the paintings, the
peace and the artist had become addictive, something I hated the thought of
leaving behind. When Laney entered the room, I knew the idyll was over.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">S.A. Laybourn lives in Wiltshire with her son and two
needy cats. She works as a freelance editor and sometimes writes stories. Her
alter-ego S.A. Meade writes gay romance. She loves cooking, reading, gin and
tonic and the occasional glass of wine. She is not terribly domesticated and
has trouble finding things that she thought she’d put in a ‘safe’ place.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">You can find her books at:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://www.totallybound.com/author/s-a--laybourn"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">https://www.totallybound.com/author/s-a--laybourn</span></a><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://www.pride-publishing.com/author/sa-meade"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">https://www.pride-publishing.com/author/sa-meade</span></a><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">And follow her on:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://www.facebook.com/sue.laybourn"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">https://www.facebook.com/sue.laybourn</span></a><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://twitter.com/kestrelrising"><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">https://twitter.com/kestrelrising</span></a><span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
sue laybournhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14549268075528924978noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8849265595241988339.post-68795084495041476342015-09-24T00:44:00.001-07:002015-09-24T00:44:48.362-07:00This has been a long time coming or: The Care and Feeding of this WidowI've spent an unhealthy amount of time stewing over some of the baggage that comes with being a widow. I have a nasty habit of keeping things locked up inside but I've reached the point where I need to lance the proverbial boil. I didn't want to do it on Facebook because I am <i>not</i> trawling for sympathy, I just want to tell it like it is in my little world. So, here goes. *takes deep breath*.<br />
<br />
<br />
<ol>
<li>I am not an unexploded tear bomb. You can ask me how I'm doing and I won't break down and blub uncontrollably. I save my crying jags for when I'm on my own. </li>
<li>Do not say things like 'you must come to dinner' or 'we must have lunch' when you have no intention of following through. I'm lonely and if someone makes a suggestion like that, I make the mistake of getting excited, having something to look forward to. Then I am bitterly disappointed when the invitation never comes. It's like dangling a fish in front of a cat then whipping it away. </li>
<li>Don't say 'you must get out more'. I know you mean well but I find it intimidating to walk into a crowded place on my own and I'm terrified that, after the initial hubbub of greetings that I'll be left wandering about trying to find a conversation I feel brave enough to latch onto.</li>
<li>Don't say 'you should get a proper job then you'll meet people'. Gee, really? Believe me, if I could get a job with a salary, benefits and the little extras like office Christmas parties and bonuses then I'd be on it like ugly on an ape. Unfortunately, I am 56 years old, overqualified for office/retail work and too many years out of touch with the UK town planning network. I didn't choose to be self-employed and, as a single mother, there is nothing scarier than working without a safety net. So, if anyone knows who's looking to employ a loyal, hardworking but not-young former planner/self-taught editor do let me know.</li>
</ol>
<div>
That's pretty much it. Having had my little moan, let me just add that I'm doing okay. I get by and I <i>will</i> continue on because that's what I do. I am so thankful for those friends who have listened to me babble, to those lovely people who have fed me, taken me to appointments, invited me to parties. I'm grateful for my online friends who've put up with my ranty Facebook posts and offered sympathy and support. It's just, sometimes, I need to let rip!</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Thanks for listening!</div>
sue laybournhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14549268075528924978noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8849265595241988339.post-3525567301494285922015-04-01T14:34:00.000-07:002015-04-01T14:34:00.573-07:00Autism Awareness Month.<br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-E6dlbmhNdQM/VRxee-nIeLI/AAAAAAAAApE/Oi3-w-sZzg4/s1600/Autism%2BAwareness%2BGraphic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-E6dlbmhNdQM/VRxee-nIeLI/AAAAAAAAApE/Oi3-w-sZzg4/s1600/Autism%2BAwareness%2BGraphic.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><b>Boys are nearly five times more likely than girls to have autism.</b></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">I'm keeping things short and sweet this year. There are plenty of good people out there who have direct experience of living with autism. People who are far more eloquent on the subject than I could ever be. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 13px;">My lovely fellow author, RJ Scott has spoken openly and with humour about her lovely, clever son Matt, and continues to work to raise awareness of this condition.. This annual blog event, one that I'm always happy to take part in, goes some way to ensuring that we all learn something. That autism isn't just about a blinding ability to draw a city-scape from memory, or solving complex equations in a heartbeat, it's an everyday thing with its own heartaches, practicalities and worries. Autism isn't contagious, you can't give it to your kids if they have the necessary childhood vaccines. It's just one of those genetic flukes that happens to good people and good families. Love, understanding and support can go a long, long way.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 13px;">Much love from me.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 13px;">Her blog post for this year's event is <b><a href="http://rjscottauthor.blogspot.co.uk/2015/04/world-autism-awareness-day.html">here</a>.</b></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 13px;"><b><br /></b></span></span>
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 13px;">I'm giving away an e-book from my back list to a random poster, an answer to the this question:</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 13px;">How did you learn about autism? </span></span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 13px;"><b><br /></b></span></span>
<br />
<div>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span></div>
sue laybournhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14549268075528924978noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8849265595241988339.post-48278321587634222292014-09-14T02:52:00.001-07:002014-09-14T02:54:03.107-07:00Smut for Sommer_My Sunday SnogMy fellow erotic romance author Victoria Blisse has been a very busy woman. Apart from writing scorching romances, promoting her fellow authors and bringing smut to a wider audience, she's also taken the time to organise today's very special event. Sommer Marsden is an incredibly talented and prolific author. Not only that, she's a remarkably strong and kind woman. She and her family are currently having to deal with her husband's fight with pancreatic cancer. Because they live in the US, they don't have the luxury of free healthcare. Every treatment, every scan, every drug, every piece of gauze or Q-tip costs something. Health insurance doesn't cover everything and, sometimes, doesn't pay at all. If I lived in Sommer's neck of the woods, I'd be bringing casseroles round, leaving bottles of wine on her doorstep, maybe even mowing the lawn. But I am sitting uselessly on the wrong side of the Atlantic and can offer little more than virtual hugs and words. So, when Victoria organised today's event, I was glad to be able to do <i>something</i>. Along with 52 other authors, I'm posting a snog scene from one of my books.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Please read my snog, click on <b><a href="http://smutforgood.co.uk/">this link</a> </b>. You'll find 52 other snogs here by some fabulous authors, as well as a Paypal button. If you can, please donate. It doesn't have to be much at all because, in the end, every penny helps.<br />
<br />
If you'd like to leave a comment below, you'll be entered into a free draw to win an e-book of your choice from my back catalogue. :)</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Thank you so much for stopping by and thank you for your help.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
xxx</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
My snog is from my gay historical romance <a href="https://www.totallybound.com/tournament-of-shadows"><b>Tournament of Shadows.</b></a></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<div class="TEBContentfont-bookantiqua12pt">
“Will
you walk with me?” he asked.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="TEBContentfont-bookantiqua12pt">
I
managed a nod and fell into step beside him as he pushed through the crowds. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="TEBContentfont-bookantiqua12pt">
After
a few moments, we found ourselves on a quiet street. Yakolev glanced over his
shoulder, then steered me into a narrow, shadowed passageway. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="TEBContentfont-bookantiqua12pt">
“What—?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="TEBContentfont-bookantiqua12pt">
“Hush.
Don’t worry, I’m not going to murder you.” He backed me to the wall. “I just
want to sample the wares before I make my final decision. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="TEBContentfont-bookantiqua12pt">
Before
I could speak, he curled his fingers into my hair and pressed his lips to mine,
devouring me with a hungry kiss. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="TEBContentfont-bookantiqua12pt">
I
could do nothing but respond, winding my arms around his waist and pulling him
closer. His arousal was evident, matching mine. Never before had I responded so
readily to a man’s touch. Never had I been so desperate for it. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="TEBContentfont-bookantiqua12pt">
A
rooster’s late call broke us apart. Yakolev stepped back, chest rising and
falling like bellows. He reached out and brushed the hair from my forehead with
a tender hand, then grinned. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="TEBContentfont-bookantiqua12pt">
My
lips felt bruised and swollen. “Well?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="TEBContentfont-bookantiqua12pt">
“You
have my word. When I see the Emir tomorrow, I will suggest that to save him the
burden of having two Englishmen and the danger that their countrymen could send
an army to free them, I will take them and place them in a Russian gaol because
the British would never attack us. It’s the best I could come up with. Of
course, if he accedes to the request, I will deliver them to you at a
pre-arranged meeting point, far away from here. Will that suit?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="TEBContentfont-bookantiqua12pt">
I
wanted him to kiss me. “Yes. It’s a very reasonable plan.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="TEBContentfont-bookantiqua12pt">
“I’m
glad you think so.” He brushed his lips over mine. “Assuming he doesn’t throw
me in the dungeon, meet me at the tea house tomorrow night, so I can collect my
payment.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="TEBContentfont-bookantiqua12pt">
I
was grateful that the robe hid my obvious desire. “Yes. I can do that. Thank
you.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="TEBContentfont-bookantiqua12pt">
“No,
thank <i>you.</i> The thought of what I can
do to you will get me through a very difficult appointment. I will just think
of how much I want you, how much I have to look <span style="background-color: white;">forward </span>to.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="TEBContentfont-bookantiqua12pt">
“Then
let’s hope the Emir is in a good humour.” I ran my forefinger in a straight
line from his throat to his groin, earning a fevered gasp for my sins. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="TEBContentfont-bookantiqua12pt">
Yakolev
caught my hand and raised it to his cheek, before turning to kiss my palm.
“I’ll make sure that he is and I’ll make sure that I leave that place in one
piece.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="TEBContentfont-bookantiqua12pt">
“See
that you do.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="TEBContentfont-bookantiqua12pt">
He
released me with a sigh. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="TEBContentfont-bookantiqua12pt">
“Yes.”
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="TEBContentfont-bookantiqua12pt">
We
slipped out of the passageway and onto the quiet street. Yakolev raised a hand
in farewell. “I’ll see you tomorrow evening at dusk. You’d best get as much
rest as you can.” He winked, turned then walked away. I took a deep breath and
headed in the opposite direction, wondering how I could get rid of my erection
before I returned to Akmal’s house.<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
sue laybournhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14549268075528924978noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8849265595241988339.post-14289655908776861492014-04-04T16:00:00.000-07:002014-04-04T16:00:02.707-07:00It's no one's fault.<b>Autism Fact:</b> <span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 19.200000762939453px;"><b>Autism is not caused by a person's upbringing and is not the fault of the individual with the condition.</b></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 19.200000762939453px;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12px; line-height: 19.200000762939453px;">The topic the blog participants have been given this year is 'What have you learned from a child'. </span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12px; line-height: 19.200000762939453px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12px; line-height: 19.200000762939453px;">Lordy, this is a tough one. As a mother, I never stop learning from my son. It's been a privilege to watch him grow from a drooling, chubby little baby who was always fascinated with the colour supplements from the newspapers to a cheeky lounge lizard with a smart answer for everything. </span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12px; line-height: 19.200000762939453px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12px; line-height: 19.200000762939453px;">When you have a baby, no one presents with you with an instruction manual. Once you leave the maternity ward, you're on your own. You are faced with the frightening responsibility of caring for a helpless infant. You soon learn that babies become slippery little buggers when you put them in a bath, that little boys will do a pretty decent impression of the Trevi Fountain when you take their nappies (diapers) off , that they often prefer home-made baby food to the goo that comes in jars. </span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12px; line-height: 19.200000762939453px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12px; line-height: 19.200000762939453px;">As they grow older, you learn from their silences. Silence in the playroom probably means that you're going to walk in and find it looks like an explosion in a Lego factory, with a few plastic dinosaurs thrown in for good measure. Silence after a day at school can often mean something more sinister, like a bullying incident, or a ticking-off from a much-loved teacher. </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12px; line-height: 19.200000762939453px;">When you drop a dramatic change into a child's life, you learn that they have a resilience beyond their years. Our son spent 8 years of his childhood in the USA. When he was eleven we had to up sticks and return to the UK. It's a big thing for anyone, but for a child who's spent his life in one education system, it's a daunting prospect. I was terrified when he started his first day at a British school, afraid that he'd be lost in the different curriculum, much like I had felt all at sea when we first returned to this country. I needn't had worried. He made friends (more than he'd ever made in Arizona), settled into the new curriculum, and even managed to keep his grades as high as they were in his previous school. </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12px; line-height: 19.200000762939453px;">We've thrown a lot of stuff at our son, not by choice, but by circumstance and he never ceases to amaze me with his resilience, his good nature, his thoughtfulness. He's no saint, mind. He has teenage strops, he's a bit on the lazy side and he is perhaps a little too fond of some awful cartoons, but if I can deal with life's pitfalls and traps the way he has, so far, I'll be happy. </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12px; line-height: 19.200000762939453px;">So I guess this post is a bit of a love letter to my son. His name means 'gift from God' and, although I'm not a religious person, I am reminded every day that he is a gift for which I'll be forever grateful.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12px; line-height: 19.200000762939453px;">Now for the plug. My latest release is <a href="https://www.totallybound.com/tournament-of-shadows?author_id=200"><b>Tournament of Shadows,</b></a> an historical novel set in Central Asia and Russia in the 19th century. </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12px; line-height: 19.200000762939453px;">Don't forget to check out all of the amazing blog posts. You can find the <a href="http://rjscottauthor.blogspot.co.uk/2014/02/april-autism-blog-hop.html"><b>master list here.</b></a></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12px; line-height: 19.200000762939453px;"><br /></span></span>sue laybournhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14549268075528924978noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8849265595241988339.post-72908885780989768932013-10-21T12:59:00.001-07:002013-10-21T12:59:45.316-07:00So what the hell's going on?This is a very hard post for me to write. But I need to get it 'out there'. Perhaps it'll be cathartic, perhaps it'll just be a reminder that no one should ever take anyone for granted.<br />
<br />
Earlier this summer my husband, Peter, started having some stomach problems. At first we (and the doctor) thought it was just acid reflux. Some appropriate medication was prescribed and we moved on. Unfortunately, the medication didn't work and the episodes of reflux became more frequent and more prolonged, to the extent that Peter started losing weight. He's one of those people who can lose weight very quickly. He returned to the doctor, to a different one this time. He chased up the request for an endoscopy that a previous doctor had (perhaps) forgotten about.<br />
<br />
The endoscopy showed Barrett's Oesophagus, a condition that comes about as a result of a hiatus hernia. Some samples were also taken for biopsy and a scan was booked for two weeks further on. The results of the biopsy showed cancerous cells in the oesophagus. The scan indicated that the cells hadn't gone walkabout. Still, to hear that word 'cancer', is a shock. And that, frankly, is putting it mildly. It's like staring into the gaping, dark maw of a formless monster. There's no sugarcoating the word. There's rogue cells making busy in my husband's body and I want the fuckers out.<br />
<br />
Today we went to Oxford, to the Cancer Unit at Churchill Hospital. This is a very good place, Peter couldn't be in better hands. We went, hoping for a way forward. What we're facing is more tests. There's a more detailed scan scheduled for three days from now, then there's an ultrasound endoscopy for two weeks after that. Then there's a laparoscopy. The doctors want to be assured that the cancer hasn't spread.<br />
<br />
If it hasn't, then it's surgery. Go in, cut that bastard tumor out, and hopefully, that will be that. On the other hand, if it's spread. Well, I'm going to just stick my head in a pile of sand for now. We'll deal with that if it happens.<br />
<br />
What this means is that, I'll be sticking with the day job. It keeps me busy, it keeps me focussed on something else, means I'm not staring the monster in the face. The writing, however, may have to take a back seat. As much as I love to write, I can't write with so much in the air. I need security and certainty before I can relax into a writing frame of mind.<br />
<br />
So that's pretty much it. I don't think I'll be blogging much about the cancer. There's plenty of very good blogs out there that cover all aspects of the disease and its effects on people. I'm not going to add much to the discussion. I just thought that I'd better get this news 'out there' in case anyone wonders about vague Facebook status updates, or passive aggressive tweets. All of this business has made a few of my personal 'filters' slide a little. I may be blunter than usual, I may be less inclined to offer sympathy for broken fingernails or faulty fridges. There are more important things to worry about.<br />
<br />
There's my husband, my best friend. He drives me mad sometimes but he's gotten under my skin over the last 17 years. I'd like to think he'll be around for many more. Ten years from now, I want to hear his key in the lock at the end of the working day. Twenty years from now, I still want to wake up with him hogging the bed. I can't imagine him not being there. There's also our son. I want him to know that his Dad is going to be around for a while, to tell him off for slouching on the settee and for parking his nasty feet on the coffee table.<br />
<br />
I'll be staying online. I work from home. The virtual world is my lifeline. I have good friends there and, if the power of positive thinking and virtual hugs has an effect, then the cancer will be banished for good.<br />
<br />
Thanks for taking the time to read this. Now you know what's what.<br />
<br />
Love,<br />
<br />
Me.<br />
xxxsue laybournhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14549268075528924978noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8849265595241988339.post-57758367604098295132013-08-18T03:28:00.002-07:002013-08-18T03:30:01.588-07:00Hey! Waiter! Someone stole my story!I woke up to a very unpleasant shock on Thursday morning. A sharp-eyed reader (thanks, Arthur), sent me a message, via Goodreads, asking if I'd rewritten my free short story, Tumbleweed, under a different pen name. When I had a look at the link that I'd been sent, I started shaking. Yep, it was that big of a jolt. Someone had taken the story that I'd written for the Goodreads M/M Romance Group 'Love is Always Write' event, moved the setting from Arizona to Yorkshire, changed the names, embellished it and has had it published by a reputable UK publisher of Erotica. Not only that, but the author had given one of the main character's my pen name. That, in particular, was a slap in the face.<br />
<br />
I had a look at the sample pages on Amazon and my own lines jumped out at me. Lines I'd written, taken care with, polished and published. My friend, who'd edited my original story, bought a copy of the offending book and started doing a line by line comparison, highlighting the lines that had been stolen. She gave up after 11 pages because the similarities were glaringly obvious. Those 11 pages are more yellow than white.<br />
<br />
Knowing that I had more than enough grounds for complaint, I informed the publisher of a copyright infringement and attached the highlighted copy of my manuscript. Fortunately, they responded almost immediately, promised to keep me informed and they did. The book has been temporarily removed from sale pending a full investigation.<br />
<br />
I feel happy that the publisher has responded so quickly and I hope that the author, whoever they are, get their arse kicked from here to kingdom come. I have no idea who they are. There's no blog, nothing in the online searches to show that they made any kind of effort to promote that book, which strikes me as peculiar. There's no one I can hit out at, and perhaps that's a good thing. I am still angry that someone had the brass-balled ignorance to steal my words and make money out of something that was free. Was it because Tumbleweed was free that the thief decided it was fair game? Did they like my writing so much that they wanted to claim it as their own? Is it some twisted fan-fic? What? <br />
<br />
In spite of plenty of <a href="http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/18040958-one-for-sorrow-two-for-joy"><b>one-star reviews on Goodreads</b>,</a> the plagiarist (let's not beat around the bush here, that's what he/she/it is), has yet to come forward and deny it, or say anything. Has their mission been accomplished? Steal a book, piss off the author, get some attention? Are they sitting in their mother's basement wanking off to the fuss and excitement? I hope they're laid up in bed with an unpleasant genital complaint.<br />
<br />
I feel angry, violated, impotent. I can't fight someone who's too gutless to own up to their actions. It's too easy to create a fake persona these days. I may never know who did it. I hate that.<br />
<br />
By the way, if you want to read the original, it's <a href="http://www.goodreads.com/topic/show/896820-sa-meade-tumbleweed"><b>here</b></a><br />
<br />
<br />sue laybournhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14549268075528924978noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8849265595241988339.post-25504112754383792702013-05-21T07:42:00.002-07:002013-05-21T07:42:49.214-07:00<br />
<h3 class="post-title entry-title" itemprop="name" style="background-color: #660000; color: white; margin: 0px; position: relative;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">Absolutely Erotic Blog Hop Interview with Erin Lark</span></h3>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Welcome to a stop on the Absolutely Erotic Blog Hop, where we’re showcasing erotica and erotic romance authors from the Absolute Write forums. Each day, interviews will be posted, and when it’s all said and done, some lucky commenter will win a huge prize! Click <a href="http://gallagherwitt.blogspot.co.uk/">here</a> for the entire blog schedule and details about the contents of the prize, and how to win an armload of ebooks, a $25 Amazon gift card, and more.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Today, I'm chatting with the multi-talented Erin Lark , who I’ve had the pleasure of hanging out with over on the <a href="http://absolutewrite.com/forums/index.php"><span style="color: cyan; text-decoration: none;">Absolute Write Forums</span>.</a> Not only is she an extremely productive writer but she also does amazing cover art.</span></div>
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<a href="" name="_GoBack"></a><b><span lang="EN-US">What draws you to romance?
<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">I think my stories
have always had some piece of romance in them. I’m not entirely sure as to why
I write it. Maybe it’s that first kiss, or the very first touch of fingertips
to flesh. All I do know is a story that has romance in it (even if it’s just
sweet romance) feels better to me than one without.</span></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-US">What’s the best part of publishing your book, from
start to finish?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">Watching it go
from being an idea that I’ve slaved over for months to something a person can
read on their screen. It never ceases to amaze me just how different my first
drafts are when compared to the final product. I’m not just talking about what
I have out with publishers either. Even my own publications take on a
transformation that is in no way similar to the plot I originally had in mind.</span></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-US">What’s the worst part?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">The worst part of
publishing can sometimes change on a day to day basis. Working on deadline,
while exciting, can also be stressful as hell. But like most things you need to
work hard for, it’s almost always worth the anxiety and restless nights once
the book is out.</span></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-US">What do you think is sexy? <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">Eyes. I don’t care
how someone looks like, so long as I can stare at their eyes. I have a thing
for abstract art, and the iris of every eye is different. You have the usually
lines and waves of color, as well as flecks.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">However, when it
comes to my husband, seeing him in a button shirt is more than sexy enough for
me. *swoons*</span></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-US">How often do you Google yourself?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">Maybe every other
week? I know I usually Google myself a week or so after a new release to check
up on blogs and reviews. I try not to do it too often though.</span></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-US">Do you read reviews of your book?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">Yes, but before I
do, I distance myself from my work. The whole purpose of looking at reviews for
me isn’t to boost my ego but rather to see what problem areas I may have that I
can work on in my next book.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">I think I’m
fortunate because I can look at a review and, so long as I prepare myself, I
can look at it subjectively instead of personally. I have gotten a few emailed
to me though that were unexpected.</span></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-US">What’s the one thing readers can always count on when
they pick up a book written by you? <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">Character
development. I try very hard to change every single one of the characters from
start to finish. Like adding sexual tension and romance, chipping away at a
character’s personality is a must when it comes to writing erotic romance. In
most cases, this happens naturally, but there were a few books such as the one
I just released where I really had to work on to get everything right.</span></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-US">When you're not writing, what do you do for fun? <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">I’m a two-track
mind. If I’m not writing, thinking of writing or something similar, I’m working
on cover art. And if I’m not doing either of those, I’ll go for a nice walk
with the hubby or play a video game such as Allods Online or Darksiders 2.</span></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-US">How did you celebrate the sale of your first book?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">Took the hubby and
I out to dinner at Uno’s </span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-ascii-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;">J</span></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-US">Can you tell us a little about your latest release? <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">Nowhere to Run is
close to my heart. Simon is essentially a survivor of sexual abuse, but for the
last six years, in order to keep himself and his family safe, he’s changed his
identity and hasn’t spoken to his family at all. Not even his sister. He
struggles with personal identity, and whenever he thinks of his old name and
the life connected to it, he can only remember the abuse and not the fond
memories he once had with his family back home.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">This piece was
heartbreaking to write. It has triggers in it that I had to be careful of
writing since I’m also a survivor. But, with a lot of support from the folks on
Absolute Write along with my husband, I was able to finish it and get it
published.</span></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-US">How did you get into cover design? What do you love
best about it?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">Cover design
completely happened by mistake. Back when I was writing my middle grade series
on Kind Arthur and Merlin, I was having a very hard time finding a cover artist
who did work in that genre or who was affordable enough for me at the time.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">So, I figured why
not? I’d painted in Photoshop, so how hard could putting a few photos together
be?</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">Let me tell you,
that first cover took DAYS of non-stop work to do. I had to learn what a mask
was, how to use it and just how important lighting was and where to place it on
the model as well as the background and anything else I put on the cover.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">I started doing
most of my self-published covers after that. I showed them around last year
when I made the covers for my All He Desires series and was immediately told I
should offer my services to authors. I thought long and hard about it, then
early this year, I bought a stock subscription, designed a few pre-made covers
and, they sold. And they keep selling.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">So now, like it or
not, I’m hooked. I’m designing even more now, and loving every minute of it.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<b><span lang="EN-US">How can readers connect with you? Do you have a blog?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">I have a main
website, a blog and Facebook. I have Twitter as well, but I don’t really post
much on there.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US">Website: <a href="http://erinlark.com/">http://erinlark.com/</a></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">Blog: <a href="http://erinlarkauthor.blogspot.com/">http://erinlarkauthor.blogspot.com/</a></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">Facebook: <a href="https://www.facebook.com/erin.lark.9">https://www.facebook.com/erin.lark.9</a></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<b><span lang="EN-US">What’s your current book list and where can we buy
them? <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">I have way too
many books to list! You can see a full listing of books on my website: <a href="http://erinlark.com/books.html">http://erinlark.com/books.html</a></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span lang="EN-US">Most of the titles
can be found on Amazon, All Romance, Barnes & Noble and sometimes on Kobo and
iTunes.</span></div>
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sue laybournhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14549268075528924978noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8849265595241988339.post-63318981748713119432013-04-01T00:21:00.000-07:002013-04-01T00:21:07.475-07:00Of Prejudice and Ignorance<i>Fact: Autism is the fastest growing disability in the United States</i><br />
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<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The Oxford English Dictionary defines 'prejudice' as: dislike, hostility, or unjust behaviour deriving from preconceived and unfounded opinions.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">There's a small town in the middle of the Sonoran Desert, about halfway between Phoenix and Tucson. The town was established in the 1920s, but there had been people living there long before, descendants of the Hohokam. The Hohokam had carved canals into the rock-hard <i>caliche</i> to divert the life-giving water of the Gila River, they grew cotton, they grew their own food, their civilisation flourished. However, the arrival of Manifest Destiny in the mid 19th century drove the indians onto reservations. Europeans settled in the area, fought off Apache raids and, diverted the Gila River and eventually dammed it. As a consequence, people starved, the Akimel O'odham--the People of the River, lost their lifeline, part of their cultural lifeblood. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">There are two communities. The town that was thrown up after the damming of the river, the one whose economy thrived on cotton and there's the reservation. There's only a mile or so of desert separating them, but the gap is so much bigger. The elementary schools still teach kids that Columbus discovered America, in spite of the fact that evidence of the original inhabitants' presence stands at the north end of town. People still think that tribe members do nothing more than sit in their free houses and collect their share of the revenue from the reservation's casinos. It's not just a local thing, though. That's the problem. In spite of cultural leaps forward like, the very corny, 'Dances with Wolves', reservations still exist. Prejudices still flourish. Injustices still happen. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I find it sad that, in this day and age, some lessons are never learnt. That prejudices which grew partly out of ignorance and partly out of 19th century government policy, still remain. I know it's not something that's limited to one country, it's a worldwide thing. There are displaced people everywhere, separated from 'society' by ignorance and prejudice. It's a fairly lofty wish, but it would be nice to think that one day, we can put aside one of the bad aspects of human nature, and sweep our prejudices aside. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">So, what experience do you have of prejudice as a result of cultural differences? Leave a comment below along with an email address and you could win a signed print copy of either 'Stolen Summer' or 'Lord of Endersley', both of which involve cultural misunderstandings and differences in one form of another. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">And don't forget to visit <b><a href="http://rjscottauthor.blogspot.co.uk/2013/04/autismbloghop.html">RJ Scott's blog </a></b>to find links to all the other bloggers taking part in this month-long Autism Blog hop--a series of posts revolving around prejudice.</span><br />
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<br />sue laybournhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14549268075528924978noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8849265595241988339.post-80311198398619021432012-12-23T00:00:00.001-08:002012-12-23T00:00:50.603-08:00Chapter Six-The Party - by SA Meade<br />
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<br />
<b>BLURB:</b><br />
<br />
Henry and Jack had thought nothing could ever drive them apart. They were wrong. Three months have passed since Jack walked out of the home they shared, and Henry had been too stupid to take back the hurtful things he'd said.<br />
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Both assured by their respective parents the other would not be present at Henry's mother's annual Christmas gathering, they attend. Finding they have been duped into seeing each other, Henry realizes that this may be his only chance to try and make things right. But will he be able to convince Jack to come home?<br />
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Chapter One can be found <a href="http://rjscottauthor.blogspot.co.uk/2012/12/party1.html?zx=8e13310f5ab57787"><b>here</b></a> Chapter Two is<a href="http://chrisquintonwriter.blogspot.co.uk/2012/12/the-party-blog-story.html?zx=39d21a7798c539d3"> <b>here</b></a> Chapter Three is <a href="http://meredithrussell.blogspot.co.uk/2012/12/the-party-chapter-3.html?zx=1a234204504f9237"><b>here</b></a> Chapter Four is <a href="http://lworrall.blogspot.co.uk/2012/12/the-party-blog-story.html?zx=12071094f895c595"><b>here</b></a> and Chapter Five is <a href="http://suebrownsstories.blogspot.co.uk/2012/12/blog-story-party-chapter-5.html?zx=326eee814e9e1464"><b>here</b></a><br />
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So here, without further adieu, is the final Chapter. Thanks to everyone for coming along for the ride and reading our story. :)<br />
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Chapter Six - S A Meade<br />
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<br />
Henry paused on the doorstep, his hand suspended just above the doorbell. “Do we really have to be here?” He looked at Jack, hoping he’d say that he’d prefer to pop down to the Bell and Whistle for pie and a pint.<br />
<br />
“Sorry, my love. Tradition is tradition. You know neither of us would hear the end of it if we turned around and headed home again.”<br />
<br />
“But it’s snowing and home is warm and cosy.” Henry brushed an errant snowflake from Jack’s hair. “And our bed is even warmer and cosier.”<br />
<br />
“We have all of Christmas to take advantage of that bed.” Jack paused. “I hope. You’re not on call are you?”<br />
<br />
“Nope. Since I’ve agreed to be one of the groomsmen at Georgina’s wedding, I’m in her father’s good books. I told you, I’m off until New Year’s Day and I intend to stay at home with you.”<br />
<br />
“Then we can deal with this. It’s only for an hour or two, right?”<br />
<br />
Henry took a deep breath, braced himself for the onslaught of his mother’s party-madness, and depressed the doorbell. He reached for Jack with his other hand, twining his fingers through his. “I love you.”<br />
<br />
“Love you too.”<br />
<br />
The door opened to a blast of warm air and perfume. “Oh darling, I’m so glad you’re both here.”<br />
<br />
Henry humoured his mother, letting himself be caught up in her embrace. “It’s great to be here, Mum.”<br />
<br />
Emily turned to Jack and hugged him. “Hello darling. It’s so lovely to see you. Come on you two, the party’s in full swing, there’s plenty of food and drink.”<br />
<br />
She hustled them into the hall and took their coats. Henry stared at the tree, as impeccably and precisely decorated as usual, at the knots of chattering guests in the lounge, clutching plates and glasses. Georgina held court in the corner by the drinks cabinet, grasping her fiancé’s arm with the ferocity of a pit bull tugging at a bone. The poor man had the hunted look of someone who had a lifetime of social events mapped out ahead of him. He wouldn’t be escaping to the pub any time soon.<br />
<br />
“Go on.” Emily shooed them towards the food. “Go and help yourselves. I don’t want to spend the next week or two eating leftovers and watching those prawns go off in the fridge because your father won’t touch them after…you know.”<br />
<br />
“Yes, mother dear.” Henry winked at Jack and dragged him towards the table which, as usual, resembled a food porn centrefold from a culinary magazine. He picked up a plate, then wondered, should he wait until after they’d eaten? Before the toast? Could he eat anything? His stomach curdled with nerves.<br />
<br />
<i>Don’t be stupid. He loves you, you love him. Of course he’ll say ‘yes’.</i><br />
<br />
He slid his hand into his pocket and curled his fingers around the small velvet box, seeking comfort from the warmth and softness of the fabric, knowing that the simple, gold symbol that represented their future rested inside. Nope, best to go with the routine, food first, pick a moment afterwards.<br />
<br />
“Prawn?” Jack grinned and held one of the offending crustaceans towards him.<br />
<br />
“Sod off.” He waved it away.<br />
<br />
“Well, I’ll have it, then.” Jack swept the prawn through the little cut glass bowl of American style cocktail sauce.<br />
<br />
Henry shuddered. He hated horseradish, he hated tomato sauce. Putting the two together was an abomination. “I don’t know how you can. I hope you’re not going to kiss me with that mouth.”<br />
<br />
Jack laughed, then lowered his voice to a heated whisper. “I have every intention of doing a lot more than kissing you with this mouth when we get home.”<br />
<br />
<i>Oh God</i>. Henry adjusted his trousers to accommodate his sudden erection. The way Jack then caressed that asparagus spear with his tongue… <i>Jesus.</i><br />
<br />
“Aren’t you going to eat anything?” Jack’s voice was all innocence. His eyes—full of heat and promise—told an entirely different story.<br />
<br />
Henry gulped and reached blindly for a sausage roll. “I suppose I’d better.”<br />
<br />
Jack laughed, leaned close and touched his lips with a kiss. “You’ll need to keep your strength up for later.”<br />
<br />
“You have got to stop tormenting me or I’ll drag you down to the wine cellar.”<br />
<br />
“Feel free.”<br />
<br />
“Nope, I want you in bed, our bed.” He spooned some potato salad onto his plate. “So no more teasing.”<br />
<br />
“Spoilsport.” Jack helped himself to a handful of olives. “I’ll try to behave myself.”<br />
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****</div>
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Jack wished the whole evening was over. He sat beside Henry, who perched precariously on the edge of the settee, and wanted them both to be home. Sometimes, tradition was a pain in the arse. He plucked at an olive, relishing the saltiness. He needed to remember to ask Mrs Lewis where she bought them. He’d have died happy to sit down with a jar and a fork and work his way through the lot without stopping. He stole a glance at Henry. His lover’s gaze was distant, as if he was staring into a tangle of wool that he couldn’t quite figure out how to unravel. He’d been a bit like that lately, given to long silences, while he gnawed at his bottom lip. There had been times in the past few weeks where he’d wanted to ask what was wrong but he knew Henry well enough to know that he’d tell Jack in his own sweet time.<br />
<br />
“You all right?”<br />
<br />
“What?” Henry turned towards him, holding a sausage roll in mid-air. “Yes, I’m fine. I guess I’m just tired. It’s been a long week.”<br />
<br />
“Yeah, it has been.” Jack swept his hand down Henry’s back, welcoming the solid warmth of it, the comfort of Henry just being. Knowing that he was his—hopefully forever. “Let’s just sneak out. We wouldn’t be lying to your mother if we told her you’ve been crazy busy. You deserve your rest.”<br />
<br />
Henry set down his plate and offered him a weary smile. “I do, don’t I? So do you. We’ve both been busy. All right. There’s just one thing I need to do first. Give me a minute.” He stood up.<br />
<br />
Jack watched him walk towards the middle of the room and grab an empty glass from a side table. He pinged it with his forefinger, until it sang out. The chatter faded to silence. Henry set the glass down and shoved his hands into his pocket.<br />
<br />
<i>What the fuck? </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Jack recognised all the signs of nerves—the bobbing Adam’s apple, the way Henry shifted his weight from one foot to the other, the tight set of his jaw. Something inside swooped and dove. Whatever Henry was about to do was going to be big and unforgettable.<br />
<br />
“Thank you. Now that I have your attention.” Henry cleared his throat. “I have something I need to say.” He stared at Jack, a fire in his eyes. “As you all know, apart from a brief hiccup, Jack and I have been together for quite a while. I’d really like us to stay that way…forever.” He strode towards Jack, then dropped elegantly onto one knee. “So I want to make it official.”<br />
<br />
Jack lost every word and every thought. He saw the future shining in Henry’s eyes and glinting off the ring his lover held before him.<br />
<br />
“Marry me,” Henry whispered. “Make me yours.”<br />
<br />
There was a muffled sob from somewhere. Jack wasn’t sure if it was Georgina finally getting her reality check, Mrs Lewis or his own mother. He scanned the room for his parents. Not that he needed their approval or anything, but their tearful smiles were blessing enough. He took a deep breath and covered Henry’s hand with his. “Yes please.”<br />
<br />
The room filled with applause when he leant forward to kiss Henry. For a moment, they were all there was, all there would be. No one else mattered, the past was done with, the future was set in the band of gold Henry held before him. That was all he would ever need.<br />
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The End.</div>
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The entire story will be available as a free download from All Romance EBooks and LoveLane Books after the 23 December. Merry Christmas!</div>
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I have a few books out there. You can find a list <b><a href="http://www.total-e-bound.com/authordetail.asp?A_ID=200">here</a></b> at Total-E-Bound. </div>
<br />sue laybournhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14549268075528924978noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8849265595241988339.post-37680751017409420742012-12-04T01:44:00.003-08:002012-12-04T01:44:56.494-08:00Planning the Christmas MealToday's seasonal offering is from 'Biscuits and Bunting', a story about some saucy happenings in a village during the run up to the Queen's Diamond Jubilee celebration.<br />
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<br />
Here, a Christmas meal is being discussed, with ... undertones.<br />
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The slow click of the indicator heralded the turn-off to the farm. Hamlyn eased the car over the sodden gravel and pulled up in front of the unit. “I have a Christmas dinner planned at my house, a business thing. It’s one of those necessary evils, but it has to be done. I know it’s a busy time of year for you but if you could fit me in, I’d appreciate it.”<br />
“I’ll check the diary while you’re here.”<br />
Alice, my secretary, was shamelessly peering through the misted window.<br />
We climbed out of the car. Hamlyn followed me through the door. The warmth was a relief after the piercing, damp cold outside.<br />
“Do you a fancy a coffee while you’re here? I’ve been testing out some new biscuit recipes. You could be a guinea pig.” I asked, more in hope than anything else.<br />
“Sounds good to me. I’m not in a hurry to be anywhere.”<br />
I didn’t want to consider the reasons why this was good news to me. I took my diary from Alice’s desk and asked her to fetch coffee and a selection of biscuits before taking Hamlyn to my office.<br />
“Sorry about the mess.” I cleared some space on the desk to try and make it look tidier and sat down.<br />
Hamlyn took a seat and slipped out of his coat. The spice of his cologne drifted across the morass of papers and invoices. I slid my chair under my desk because my dick was having thoughts of its own about Hamlyn’s presence.<br />
Not good.<br />
“What date did you have in mind?” I opened my diary and pretended to be professional, in an attempt to snap myself out of it.<br />
“I know it’s short notice, but is there any chance you can do the last Friday in November? I wanted to get the business over and done with before anyone gets too jaded from a surfeit of celebratory dinners.”<br />
I shuffled through the pages. “That should be fine. I have a lunch but nothing in the evening. Have you any thoughts about what you want to serve?” I picked up a pen.<br />
“It’ll be a sit-down dinner and there’ll be half a dozen guests. Three couples and me.”<br />
How pathetic was it that I perked up at that intelligence? “Any idea what you’d like? French? Hungarian? Italian? British? A Christmas themed meal?”<br />
“Italian would make a change.”<br />
I rummaged through the pile of menus. “Here are the Italian choices. Have a look and give me a call when you’ve decided what you’d like. I can get it all ready and then just drop it by the house. All you’ll have to do is heat it up and serve.”<br />
Hamlyn set the menu down. “I was wondering…if…” He glanced at the menu again. “I’d prefer it if someone could be there to serve it. I don’t want to be in and out of the kitchen all night when I’m entertaining.”<br />
“Fair point.” I considered my list of part-time servers. “I can get one of the girls to serve.”<br />
“I don’t suppose I could persuade you, could I? I’d rather you were there.”<br />
“I don’t usually do that.”<br />
“If you don’t want to, I’d understand.”<br />
I can’t resist pleading blue eyes. I just bloody can’t. This had nothing to do with business and everything to do with wanting him.<br />
Alice clattered in with two mugs of coffee and a plate of fresh biscuits. The Christmas line was a cut above the normal, plenty of chocolate, nuts and fruit. Hamlyn helped himself to a biscuit and smiled at Alice. She dimpled, blushed and scuttled away.<br />
“If you’re the type that goes out on Friday nights, that’s all right. It’s okay to have a social life.”<br />
“What is this ‘social life’ you speak of?” I waved the biscuits away. I’d spent most of the morning baking the bloody things.<br />
“Ah, it’s like that, is it?” His eyes had a glint in them. “Just like me. No life.”<br />
“I’ll do it. I haven’t anything else to do.”<br />
Hamlyn’s smile was worth sacrificing an empty Friday night for. “Excellent. Thank you.”<br />
“Just don’t expect me to dress in a maid’s outfit and hand the canapés around.” I scribbled the details into the diary. “What time will you want dinner for?”<br />
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If you want to read how things went the night of the dinner, why not pick up a copy of <b><a href="http://www.total-e-bound.com/product.asp?P_ID=1665">'Biscuits and Bunting'</a></b>?<br />
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sue laybournhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14549268075528924978noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8849265595241988339.post-24623723495953835782012-12-03T00:23:00.000-08:002012-12-03T00:23:54.354-08:00Some Christmas hooch from Orion RisingToday's Christmas snippet is from 'Orion Rising'. Even when the world has been overwhelmed by perpetual winter, there's still time for a Christmas party.<br />
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I was spared further questioning when someone put the music on. It wasn’t at all Christmassy. The room was loud with chairs and tables being pulled back to clear the floor for dancing. I retreated further into my corner and watched people take to the floor. Some were obviously already feeling the effects of the head gardener’s hooch, their movements jerky, enthusiastic, unsteady. Someone claimed Bernice for a dance and I took refuge in the shadows. I couldn’t dance, drunk or sober. Instead, I took another cautious sip of the hooch and wondered how soon I could leave without being noticed. The first song ended; couples broke apart and went in search of other partners.<br />
“Come on, you anti-social git.” Bernice took my arm and led me out of my corner. “You owe me a dance.”<br />
“How do you reckon that?”<br />
“Because I do.” She grinned and I tried to dance, find the rhythm in the song.<br />
“At least make an effort to look like you’re enjoying yourself.”<br />
I gave Bernice a fixed grin. “Like this?”<br />
“It’s a start. I think you need to unwind a bit, drink more hooch.”<br />
“No thanks—I want to make it back to my room without help. I jigged about and tried not to feel like a gormless twit.<br />
Bernice smiled. “You’re doing just fine.”<br />
I felt like a puppet with wonky strings. When the music finished I turned back towards my corner.<br />
“Dance?” A warm hand grabbed my wrist.<br />
I spun around. Paul’s eyes were impossible to read in the dimly lit room, in the mêlée of the dance floor. His grip was firm.<br />
All the hurt rose and faded when I saw the set of his jaw. I couldn’t deny him in the middle of a crowded room. “All right.”<br />
He smiled and his hand fell away. We faced each other. If anyone was watching I didn’t notice. I was too busy trying not to look like a flat-footed eejit. It was impossible not to touch him, not when the space was small and crowded. We danced close. Each accidental touch was electricity revived. By the time the song had finished, I didn’t want to leave the floor.<br />
“Drink?” he asked, in the brief silence before the next tune.<br />
“No alcohol, please.”<br />
“Don’t worry, there’s the non-alcoholic version of the infamous lemonade, too.” His smile was broader this time.<br />
I followed him through the crowd, to the refuge of the service area, where one of the canteen ladies was acting as a barmaid. Paul asked for two drinks and leaned on the counter. “You can’t dance very well, can you?”<br />
“No. Sorry about that.” I wasn’t.<br />
He handed me a glass. The scent of lemons, free of alcohol, rose from a tumult of bubbles. “It doesn’t matter. As long as you’re having fun.”<br />
I sipped the drink, “It’s all right. Parties really aren’t my thing.”<br />
“I can tell.” Paul grinned. “They’re not mine, either, but I have to show my face.” He watched me over the rim of his glass.<br />
“I suppose you do.”<br />
He edged closer, his arm against mine while we leaned against the counter and watched the revellers. “I’m sorry.” His breath was warm against my cheek. All kinds of things threatened to spill over at that touch.<br />
I didn’t want to give in so easily. I’d nursed my hurts for so long that they almost defined me. “For what?”<br />
“Everything.”<br />
“This probably isn’t the best time or place for apologies.”<br />
“I know.” He sighed and looked at his feet. “But I had to start somewhere.”<br />
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<i>Michael and Paul fight to survive in a land frozen by endless winter. Will the ice between them thaw once and for all?</i><br />
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If you would like to know whether Michael accepts Paul's apology, you can always grab a copy of 'Orion Rising' <b><a href="http://www.total-e-bound.com/product.asp?P_ID=1589">here</a></b><br />
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sue laybournhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14549268075528924978noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8849265595241988339.post-82917949707454045802012-12-02T01:52:00.003-08:002012-12-02T01:52:49.031-08:00A little bit of Christmas from Mourning Jack<br />
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Don't you just love Christmas? When I wrote 'Mourning Jack', I knew I wanted to include a bit of Christmas in the story, so here is something seasonal from 'Mourning Jack'<br />
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Eric pushed his chair back and stood up a trifle unsteadily. "Are you easily embarrassed?" he whispered.<br />
"That depends"<br />
The table fell silent.<br />
He fumbled in his pocket and produced a sprig of mistletoe. "Ladies and gentlemen, I have my own ideas on how to thank the chef." He held the mistletoe aloft. "Are you up for this?"<br />
Exhaustion made me reckless. "Yes." Everyone in the pub knew anyway. Given that his staff had seen me at the yard, I gathered they all had more than an inkling."<br />
There was wild applause when he kissed me. My cheeks burned more than the bloody pudding because the entire restaurant had joined in, staff included. It didn't matter that Eric was probably too pissed to raise an argument, that he probably wouldn't remember this moment. I wrapped my arms around his waist and savoured it all.<br />
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If you want to read more, you'll find it <b><a href="http://www.total-e-bound.com/product.asp?P_ID=1655">here</a></b><br />
<br />What better way to keep warm, than to read some romance on a frosty winter's day?<br />
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sue laybournhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14549268075528924978noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8849265595241988339.post-52625382792115501832012-12-01T01:16:00.001-08:002012-12-01T01:25:55.697-08:00Baby it's cold outsideGood morning, campers!<br />
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I woke up this morning, looked out of the window and decided that it's too cold to venture outside. This is a good day to curl up in the warm, with a cat or two draped on my lap and a good book.<br />
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If you're feeling the same way, I have some steamy stories that will help beat the winter chill. They'll take you from the mountains of Pakistan, to the firelit bedroom of an ancient house. You'll visit India during the days of the Raj and a sleepy English village during the run-up to the Diamond Jubilee. If you're into food, you can spend time with a chef in his kitchen domain. There's stories for everyone. So check out my book list!<br />
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<a href="http://www.total-e-bound.com/authordetail.asp?A_ID=200#booklist">Book list.</a> - All available from Total E-Bound.<br />
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<br />sue laybournhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14549268075528924978noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8849265595241988339.post-11747270452521097462012-09-23T05:33:00.000-07:002012-09-23T05:33:17.082-07:00Ladies and gentlemen, meet Endersley House<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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When I was commuting to my last office job, the long, straight road I took led up over the Downs. At the top of one rise there was a turn on the right, onto a very narrow lane which trailed up a very steep hill. I'd often wondered, as I drove past, where that road led to. One cool and sunny Saturday morning, when I was kicking about trying to come up with an idea for a series, I decided to go for a little drive. I headed up the narrow lane, taking my time so that I could admire the views over the windswept downs. It was one of those sunny/cloudy days where the wind drove fleeting shadows across the fields. At the top of the hill, I found a tiny hamlet. A handful of newer houses, a couple of farms and this beautiful old house. As you can see from the photograph, it's been around a while - 1599 to be precise, although it's highly likely that there was an earlier house there. <div>
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Sadly, it's been broken up and converted into two separate homes, but the building remains intact, and comfortable in its setting, more as if it had grown there, rather than being built. But, there is enough of a house left to fire my imagination. I had the setting for my series. All I needed was a name. I found that when I was searching through some old emails for something. I found one from an Insurance Company, fiddled with the name and 'The Endersley Papers' was born. </div>
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What I'd really love, is to see the inside of the house(s) but I can't bring myself to drive up to the front door, introduce myself and ask for a nose around. After all, I'm English. We don't do that! </div>
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The first of the Endersley stories, 'Lord of Endersley' is available now for Total E Bound VIPs. It's on general release from 3rd October. If you want to see what I think the inside of the house is like, and read about the goings-on between Jacob Endersley and Marcus Billington, feel free to pick up a copy <b><i><a href="http://www.total-e-bound.com/product.asp?strParents=&CAT_ID=&P_ID=1784">here</a></i></b></div>
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sue laybournhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14549268075528924978noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8849265595241988339.post-51171820713963493192012-08-18T05:48:00.002-07:002012-08-18T05:48:21.258-07:00It's Saturday Snark Revived. I'm happy to see that Marie Sexton has revived her <b><a href="http://mariesexton.net/saturday-snark-13">'Saturday Snark' blog hop</a></b>.<br />
It's a chance to post some snark and read other offerings from other writers.<br />
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This week's excerpt isn't so much snark as it is an out and out political argument from my work in progress, the new second book in the Endersley series.<br />
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The scene involves the narrator, Nikolai Denisov, a doctor from a bourgeois Russian family who decided to run a small practice in the Vyborg District of Petrograd, and Alexi Sholokov, a Bolshevik in the making. As you know, nothing good can come of talking politics.<br />
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Sholokov sat back. Resentment bristled around him. It was like sharing the kitchen with an angry dog. “You’re only doing it to salve your conscience. You’re doing this so you can feel good about yourself. To tell your God that you’ve done your bit to get into heaven.”<br />
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“Oh, for the love of… That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. Don’t you get it, Sholokov? I love these people. They mean more to me than any of my parents’ friends ever did. I don’t think they deserve to be left to rot in these tenements any more than you do. But instead of talking and writing screeds that no one will ever read, I rolled up my sleeves and did something. I’ve put my money where my mouth is and I’m doing my small bit to help, my small realistic bit.”<br />
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“Fine, you keep telling yourself that. You never be one of us. You can try as hard as you like to ‘lower yourself’ and live amongst us, but you were born in a different world and you’ll never be part of ours.”<br />
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“So much for all of us being equal eh? You’ve just made a liar of yourself. Your intolerance of my background is no different than my alleged intolerance of yours. What happens when this ‘People’s Government’ comes to power? Do the undesirable classes get purged? Do you do the same to us that we’re supposed to have done to you? You’re not making much sense and you’re not doing a very good job of convincing me that your workers’ paradise is going to do this country any good.”<br />
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He pushed the chair back and stood up. “I can see that we’re not going to agree on this.”<br />
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“No, because you know I’m right.”<br />
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“Of course, you’re a bourgeois doctor, of course you’re right. You’ll always think you’re right. You’ll go to your grave thinking that way.”<br />
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“I’ll go to my grave knowing that I’ve done the best that I can with the advantage my birth gave me. I could’ve easily left with my parents. I have a big house with acres and acres of land that will be mine. I’ve never even seen it. I have no desire to see it. It’s not my home and I am not one for sitting idle, living off the backs of others. That is why I’m here.” I jabbed at my chest, lost in a righteous fury. Knowing that I was the one who was right.”<br />
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“Think what you will.” He strode toward the hallway. “We will win. This country will be ours.”<br />
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“I suppose that means I’ll have to leave, if that happens. I won’t rush to pack my bags just yet.”<br />
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“Spare me the sarcasm, doctor.” Sholokov’s eyes were dark. His chest rose and fell with the deep breath he took and his fingers were white where he clutched the door frame. “Excuse me.” He retreated to his room, sealing the end of the discussion with a loud slam.<br />
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<i>Idiot.</i><br />
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I took a bowl from the cupboard and helped myself to some <i>shchi</i> from the pot. Not sure whether I’d intended that silent ‘idiot’ for him or me.<br />
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Don't forget to check out more snark <b><a href="http://mariesexton.net/saturday-snark-13">HERE</a></b></div>
sue laybournhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14549268075528924978noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8849265595241988339.post-14926927115608416902012-08-10T10:48:00.002-07:002012-08-10T10:48:22.118-07:00Would you like a little slice of real life with your Romance?<br />
I wrote a book. It's called Mourning Jack.<br />
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My original intention was for Ade, the narrator to end up with Cal, the man that his dead best friend, Jack, had asked him to look after, if he was killed in Afghanistan. The story didn't end that way. Sorry. I tried to write Cal back into Ade's life but it just didn't work. The story lost its soul and its spark. I came up with another idea. The story has the All Important Happy Ending but, apparently, it's not the happy ending that some people expect.<br />
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There is a rule, it seems, that Character A must have the All Important Happy Ending with Character B. Sorry, but no. Life doesn't always work out like that. I'm an author, I've been kicking around on this old planet for quite a while. I've experienced some horrible lows and some amazing highs and everything in between. I've <i>experienced</i> life. So, when I write my stories, I try to make sure that they reflect real life and real people as much as possible.<br />
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Sometimes you meet someone, you fall in love and you think that you'll spend the rest of your life with them, in a little rose-covered cottage in some wonderful, bucolic hideaway. Yes, it happens but, there are plenty of times when it doesn't. That first flush of shag-each-other-senseless passion fades and you may wake up one morning and realise that it ain't gonna work. The person you love doesn't really love you in the way you need or want to be loved. So, you take a deep breath, take that leap in the dark and move on. You find someone that you <i>can</i> spend the rest of your life with. So, instead of Character A sticking with Character B, Character A falls in love with Character C and gets their All Important Happy Ending.<br />
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All right, so Character B is at a bit of a loose end, but it happens. Life <i>happens</i>.<br />
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Romance shouldn't be all about the All Important Formula. Yes, it's nice, but...let's face it, if you know that Character A and Character B are going to end up together, having survived a breakup, a misunderstanding, a nasty ex, an earthquake, an attack of rabid ferrets...where's the satisfaction in that? Not every couple survives a breakup, a misunderstanding, a nasty ex, an earthquake or an attack of rabid ferrets.<br />
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So, Gentle Reader, take that leap in the dark and read something that gives you a glimpse of real life. Who knows? You might like it.sue laybournhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14549268075528924978noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8849265595241988339.post-21907334482548097082012-07-06T12:48:00.000-07:002012-07-06T12:48:07.864-07:00We have a winner!Congratulations to Amy, who posted on the 'French Onion Soup' blog. The Random Number Generator zeroed in on her and she has requested a signed copy of 'Mourning Jack',<br />
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Many thanks to all of you for taking part, leaving a comment and having a look at the recipes. If any of you decide to give them a try, let me know how you got on!<br />
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S.A.Meade<br />
(Sue)<br />
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xxxxsue laybournhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14549268075528924978noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8849265595241988339.post-75893531076038208232012-07-05T11:36:00.000-07:002012-07-05T11:36:09.898-07:00The last recipe! Mourning Jack Give away.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Good evening, everyone. Today's dish is linguine with Italian sausage. Ade had this on the menu at 'The Bay Horse'. It's a nice comforting, hearty dish. Sadly, I have yet to find any Italian sausage in the UK (no jokes please). So this recipe will make me weep with longing as I type it.<br />
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Tomorrow night, the lucky winner will be announced. ;)<br />
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For the sauce:<br />
1 small onion, very finely chopped<br />
1 carton of passata<br />
About 1/2 cup of water (I add it to the empty passata carton and swish it around to get the last bits of sauce)<br />
oregano<br />
garlic powder<br />
basil<br />
parsley<br />
brown sugar<br />
Italian sausage, cooked and chopped.<br />
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Soften onion until transparent, in olive oil. Pour in the passata, add 1 teaspoon of oregano, garlic powder, basil and parsley. Simmer for a little while. Add enough brown sugar to take the acid 'edge' off the tomato-based sauce. Add the chopped sausage and simmer a little more.<br />
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Serve over linguine with plenty of freshly grated Parmesan or Romano cheese.<br />
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Don't forget to leave a comment and you could win a copy of 'Mourning Jack'.<br />
<br />
You can find my books<b><a href="http://www.total-e-bound.com/authordetail.asp?A_ID=200#booklist"> here</a></b>sue laybournhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14549268075528924978noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8849265595241988339.post-19191274229417199302012-07-04T11:39:00.001-07:002012-07-04T11:39:56.991-07:00Give-away - Today's recipe.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Hello and welcome to today's recipe. This is a dish that Cal made for Ade. It's a great summer main course, although I've been known to make it as an alternative Christmas Dinner when the prospect of wrestling a turkey into an oven was just too much.<br />
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Tuna steaks - Cal style. (serves 2)<br />
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2 tuna steaks<br />
Juice from one lime<br />
2 tablespoons of olive oil<br />
1 clove garlic, finely chopped<br />
1 tin of chopped tomatoes<br />
1 red bell pepper, finely chopped<br />
oregano<br />
basil<br />
salt.<br />
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Marinate the tuna in a mixture of the lime juice, olive oil and garlic. The longer the better.<br />
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Saute the pepper until at the desired consistency. I like a bit of crunch to mine because overcooked bell pepper squicks me out. Pour in the tomatoes, add about a teaspoon of the oregano and basil and salt to taste. Simmer.<br />
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While the sauce is simmering, grill the tuna steaks.<br />
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Serve the steaks with a bit of the sauce on top. As much or as little as you like. Nice with a green salad and baked potato.<br />
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Don't forget. Leave a comment and you could win a signed copy of 'Mourning Jack' or a PDF copy, whichever floats your boat.<br />
<br />
You can buy my books <b><a href="http://www.total-e-bound.com/authordetail.asp?A_ID=200#booklist">here</a></b>sue laybournhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14549268075528924978noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8849265595241988339.post-46861663036358195432012-07-03T11:35:00.001-07:002012-07-04T14:43:27.618-07:00Ade's Dish of the Day - Give away.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Today, it's raining and miserable here. Not that I'm complaining. It's better than 110F and not a cloud in sight. As promised, here's another dish from 'Mourning Jack'. Feel free to leave a comment and you could win either a PDF copy of the book or a signed print copy.<br />
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One of Ade's dishes from 'The Bay Horse' menu was 'Chicken Paprika'. It's a Hungarian dish and it's a favourite in this house.<br />
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4 boneless, skinless chicken breasts;<br />
1 onion, finely chopped;<br />
chicken stock or vegetable stock;<br />
Paprika;<br />
Caraway seeds;<br />
Sour cream:<br />
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Cut the chicken into bite-sized morsels, saute until lightly browned. Remove from pan and set to one side.<br />
Saute the onion until soft and transparent. Add about a tablespoon of paprika and about a teaspoon of caraway seeds. Stir and cook for a minute. Return the chicken to the pan, add enough stock to cover the chicken and simmer for about 20 minutes to 30 minutes. Remove the chicken from the pan again and set to one side, keep warm. If the sauce is still a bit runny, turn up the heat and simmer until the sauce has reduced a bit. Add sour cream, enough to turn the sauce to a nice rosy pink. Return the chicken, stir. Then serve. I like it with pasta or if I'm in the mood, I'll make spaetzle.<br />
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Enjoy!<br />
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You can find my books<b><a href="http://www.total-e-bound.com/authordetail.asp?A_ID=200#booklist"> here</a></b>sue laybournhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14549268075528924978noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8849265595241988339.post-44743835678516202012012-07-02T11:26:00.003-07:002012-07-02T11:26:47.716-07:00Giveaway - Day Two - A fishy Dish<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Sorry for the delayed post today, life got in the way. While I'm here, I want to say thank you to the lovely readers who buy my books. I can't even find the words to thank you enough. I do know that your support means the world to me. So, because I'm happy, here's another easy recipe.<br />
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Today's recipe is one of the dishes Ade prepares at 'The Bay Horse'. If you happen to come by a nice slab of salmon then this is the recipe for you. <br />
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Salmon with a Dill Cream sauce.<br />
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Salmon fillets<br />
Butter<br />
Lemon<br />
Fresh Dill<br />
Double cream (half and half if you live in the US).<br />
Salt and Pepper<br />
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For the sauce:<br />
One oz butter<br />
One tablespoon plain (all purpose) flour<br />
Double cream<br />
More fresh dill, finely chopped.<br />
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Brush aluminium foil lightly with some olive oil.<br />
Place salmon fillet(s) on foil. (If cooking more than one fillet, they each get their own foil package)<br />
Dot fillet with butter (as much or as little as you like - it's your cholesterol)<br />
Sprinkle with lemon juice, salt and pepper.<br />
Place as much or as little fresh dill on the fish as you like.<br />
Wrap parcel so that there's a little room for steam do develop while the fish cooks.<br />
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Place in 180C oven.<br />
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While fish is cooking, make a roux with the butter and flour. Slowly stir in the cream until the sauce reaches the desired consistency. When you've got it where you want it, stir in the finely chopped dill.<br />
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Remove fish from oven, add the sauce and...enjoy.<br />
Goes beautifully with fresh green beans and lovely little new potatoes.<br />
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Don't forget to leave a comment! You could win a signed print copy of 'Mourning Jack' or a PDF, whatever floats your boat. :)<br />
<br />
You can find my books <b><a href="http://www.total-e-bound.com/authordetail.asp?A_ID=200#booklist">here</a></b>sue laybournhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14549268075528924978noreply@blogger.com5