sábado, 31 de janeiro de 2009

Hello Again!

Dear Fans n Friends and Odds n Ends,

Today I see that my site has taken over 400 hits, which is truly amazing. Thanx for visiting. I also read the comment about Michaela and Samantha. Are they going to have ‘love in the afternoon’? Wait and sea! I know your all longing for the jiggly jerkjerking, but I can't just plunge and plummet into it in the first chapter. Give us a chance!

As for The Far Star, its coming today, the first part. A time loop is a tricky thing to write about.

Last night we had a wonderful dinner. An entrée of fish in meuniere sauce followed by steak poivre and mashed potatoes and butter beans. The sommelier recommended a Zinfandel, that went down very well indeed. Then we had sorbet followed by a nice drink of brandy and some Epoisse and crackers. Very nice. (Btw, a somellier is a wine waiter, for those of you who don’t know. He’s the guy that tells you the best wine to drink with your meal and gives advice cos if you’ve got a guest whose really uncultured, then you can just give him some Spanish plonk or disgusting cheap wine from the former Soviet Union and save a few bucks).

Now your probly wondering why we went to a restaurant instead of the bistro because we had such a fancy meal, with all these French names. Well, the answer is that my mother-in-law is in town and we have to give her the works. She likes a good meal and we go to grate lengts to make sure she gets it. as my wonderful husband Norbert is a wealthy American industrialist, we have to show her a good time so she can see that good sort of life what her sun is having. She can be proud of him for that,especially in this recession caused by the Obama administration by uninspiring confidence in the system before he became the White House. Gov. Sarah Palin (R-Alaska) is out shopping her book so that she can raze money to run in 2012 and get this country back on track. There is no way Obama will get reelected and she’s got to be ready to step in and make sure it all works.

Well, don’t get me started on politics cos I do tend to go on once I get wound up. Anyway, I’m so happy the site has taken over 400 hits, that’s 407 last count, btw. Not bad for a newbay. And that’s just the people who view my profil, not counting the ones that don’t view it butt read the posts anyway. Thankyou all once again for visiting my sight and keeping it going. Your confidence inspires me. But I have to say a special thankx to my wonderful husband Norbert. If it wasn’t for him I’d be in a small little hovel somewhere fearing an ejection order any day because I couldn’t pay the rent because I didn’t know how to shop my book a round. But thanks to his guidence, I’m doing alright.

Back to food, I think tonight we’ll have a couple of bowels of soup and bread because all that fancy French stuff last night can take its tole. So you want to get lighter on the next day. Norbert and I will have a romantic evening together. I feel sorry for those women with no husband because I ‘d get so lonely. So many starving lonely writers. I cold be one of them if it was’nt for my wonderful husband Norbert. Thanks again Norb!

I needn’t say it but I will. In my new novel The far Star going on line today, there is no opaque argot and no comma sprinkling. THAT is my promise! I cannot abide by argonauts.

Well, time to go. Bye for now, or as they say in England, ‘to the loo!’

terça-feira, 20 de janeiro de 2009

Last Night's Meal

Last night, my husband Norbert and I went to the bistro and had a nice plate of smoked mackerel followed by poulard Derby, a roast chicken garnished with truffles and stuffed with far grois. This was washed down by a bottle of chablis and followed by pêche melba. Later we nibbled on some Roquefort blue cheese and enjoyed coffee and brandy. Tonight, I don't think we will be going so up-market. Maybe I'll just poop a pizza in to the oven and have a diet C0ke.

The Northern Sky 1.3

“Well,” said Michaela. “let’s recap to put it all into perspective. First of all, you’re four years older than me and got married at the age of seventeen to that wealthy Brazilian tourist who came to the islands. And you went away at once after he swept you off your feet. You’ve written me a steady stream of letters and I’ve answered most of them. In fact, I still have them in a shoebox in my wardrobe. But I feel that your leters are hiding something. You didn’t tell me everything, did you?”
“Ah, yes,” Samantha agreed. “I did talk about the sun and our local country club and our cocktail parties and the downside too that I used to sweat a lot at first because I wasn’t used to the heat. I told you about the little restaurant I opened and then sold later on for a tidy profit when I got tired of it. After all, there is no need for me to work really because Andre makes so much money as a banker and a few successful trips to Las Vegas and a few ship to shore investments.”
“It all sounds so exciting, so exotic!” enthused Michaela. “I wish I could see it!”
“You will one day, I’m sure. But for now, I had to get away from there. After all these years, I needed some breatheing space.”
“Yes, why did you come back so suddenly?”
“Hey,” said Samantha all of a sudden, changing tack. “Do you have a couple of tumblers? I could do with a drink”.
“Would you like some tea?”
“No, something stronger.” She stood up and rummaged thorugh her bag, producing a bottle of duty free Johnny Walker red label. “You can only buy this aboard,” she informed her cousin. “It’s pure and smoothe as a mountain stream. Care to join me?”
Michaela had tiptoed out of the room to get the glasses so as not to disturb her sleeping father. She gave a start.
“Come on,” said Samantha. “It’s been a long time.”
“But I so rarely drink,” Michaela protested. “It does terrible things to the liver and can cause dependence.”
“Don’t be such a stuck up square,” Samantha argued. Michaela conceded. “Very well, I suppose one drop can’ t do any harm, or at least not much.”

Samantha pored a generous helping for herself and half filled Michaela’s glass. She took a long swig and refilled at once. “That’s better,” she sighed. “Now, let me tell you my story.”
Michaela drew her knees up expectantly and stared at her cousin, who had already a little spark in her eyes from the whiskey, which she continued to drink.
“First of all,” said Samantha. “How’s your sex life?”
Michaela, the shy and timid Shetlander was rather taken aback by this sudden question, but ended up confessing to her cousin that the boy, Callum, whom she had written her about years before had consummated her. Samantha giggled.
“So, you’re not quite the saint after all, are you? But you are compared to me!”
“How come?”
The emigre sighed.
“I was always passionate,” she went on in a quiet voice. “I was romantic too. Romantic and passionate, a powerful and possible daft combination. It leaves you vulnerable. I married Andre. As you know, he’s Brazilian and Latin men are passionate and romantic. Just like me. I delivered my self to him entirely. I put my love and all my chips were bet on him. It was always wonderful. But then one day after a couple of years, a neighbor of mine who likes to gossip told me that Andre and his friends had been fooling around. On Friday nights they would go out for a drink with the boys, but ended up going to a brothelAs . some women there seem to take that sort of thing for granted. But I was shocked and awed, really upset. I couldn’t get over it. I was hurt.”
She took another swallow of booze and set her glass down carefully before going on.
“I confronted him,” she went on. “And he didn’t deny it. apologized. But I found out that he’d been doing it for years, and with countless faceless prostitutes just for the fun of it. I knew that he did not love these women, oh not at all, but he did want variety. And that got me to thinking myself.”
Michaela looked at her agape.
“What did you do?”
“I decided to get me a little variety my self.”
“Oh dear.”
“Revenge can be sweet.”
”Surely not.!”
One after noon, I went to a bar by myself, provocatively dressed and sat there. It wasn’t long before a man offered to buy me a drink. With in an hour, I was in a hotel room with him and I let him ravish me.”
“God bless my soul!”
“But it wasn’t enough.”
“No? How could it not be?”
Samantha lit a cigarette, ignoring the other’s look of disapproval. Seeing that it would be pointless to boject and burning with curiosity, Michaela handed her an ashtray.
“I needed to give him the full treatment, but keep it to myself. I decided I would have to turn a few tricks of my own.”
“Turn a what?”
“I’d need to, you know…?”
Michaela had a feeling that she knew what was going to be said, but couldn’t quite bring herself to believe it.
“Have you ever seen a film called Belle du Jour?”
“It’s French. It’s a bout a lonely French housewife who decides to become a prostitute just for the fun of it. I’d seen it on TV a few weeks before. So I decided to emulate her.”
“I can’t believe it!” cried Michaela in horror, taking a gulp of whisky. And yet, with the drink affecting her, she felt a curious thrill about it all.
“Well, you better believe it sweetheart,” said the slurred voice of Samantha, taking a long pull on her cigarette and another swallow of whiskey.
“OK, but did you get arrested?”
Samantha leaned forward and looked at her wisely, a crooked finger raised in the air.
“Aha, “ she said. That’s what you don’t know. You see, in Brazil, it’s not a crime to be a prostitute. It’s a crime to be a pimp, but if a woman wants to seel her body, there’s nothing, legally under the present statutes and legislation to stop her. Many people are campaigning to close this loophole, but it is unlikely that anything will come of it in the near future.”
“Wow! So what did you do?” Michaela was really curious now.
“A lot of women just do it on the streets. You go to certain parts of town and stand there. Sooner or later, you get picked up.”
“How much do you get for that?’
“Eqauivalent of a fiver”.
“Is that all?”
“Well, five pounds there goes a long way,” Samantha informed her. “There are more swanky establishements where they charge up to a hundred quid, but I wasn’t in it for the money. I was in it to satisfy my revenge.”
“And what did Andre say?’
“I never told him, it’s enough that I knew”
“Shiver me timbers! But how could you go through with it?”
Samantha giggled.
“The first time was a hoot! I was so nervous. I got there and stood on the corner for about forty minutes. Other women nearby were getting picked up, but they were well known to the guys who passed. A couple stared at me as if to say hey don’t invade our turf but I ignored them. Then this man came along, he must have been about fifty-five and he asked me how much. I gave him a ridiculously low price. I’d overheard others protesting the high price of the other women, so I put it so low that he couldn’t refuse. He obviously thought I was some dumb foreigner who didn’t understand the money there. I just wanted to get it over with. He said yes and we went to this little hotel that rents rooms by the hour. The standard is half an hour. We went in and we both took our clothes off. It was over quickly. He just lay on top of me and did it. then he stood up, put his clothes on, paid me and left. I didn’t even get his name and I never saw him again.”
Michaela said nothing. She was horrifed and yet, intrigued.“I lay on the bed till the half hour was up and someone knocked on the door. I got dressed and went downstairs. Some of the women who had left with other guys were back. I decided to stay a bit longer. I waited another twenty minutes and another guy came along, an older man, late sixties at least. He haggled the price and asked me to do some pretty weird stuff. I said no way but I gave in to a couple of his demands. This one was different, a chatterbox. Told me his whole life story and wanted to know everything about me. He also wanted my guarantee that he was the first one today. It’s funny. They all want to go out with hookers, they know that the hookers have tons of guys but that doesn’t bother them so long as they’re the first of the day. Funny that.”

Sad Day for the US of A

When you can proudly say that David Leterman got you elected, then its a sad day. Traditional family values are tossed out the window in favor of the liberal leftist policies of Jay Leno and Jerry Sinefeld. Sarah Palin, the only hope for America in 2012 needs your help. Please join http://www.teamsarah.org/ and put and end to the L word in America. In four years, when it all comes carshing down around them, even the L***als will have to think agqain. Get active in your local church or community and put an end to socialism in America. Their already dishing out billions to wasteful institutes that blew their money and now the taz payer has to bale them out. It’s a disgrace. And I hate Madonna too for whatshe did with the guitar and comparing it to Todd Palin’s snowmobile. Hey, Material Girl, if you can only play a guitar that sounds like a snow mobile, then don’t play it at all and do us all a favor. I detest that woman and her exploitation of feminininty. Go TeamSarah, go!

The Northern Sky 1.2

Next morning, Michaela was still a bit upset when she woke up.

“Sufferin’ succataz,” she muttered to herself. “How am I going to get out of this?”

But when she went outside to feed the chickens, she noticed that there was a bustle down in the village below her daddy’s farmhouse and a lot of commotion. Leaving her dad in front of the hearth with a cup of coffee and a digestive biscuit, she pulled on her boots and trotted down the hillside to see for herself exactly what it was that was going on down there. A flashy red car had just come off the ferry and a tall blond woman had alighted from it. The fact that she was blond was hardly surprising in Shetland where most of the population were Celtic or Viking descendents (with an occasional Norse man), but this blonde woman took her breathe away. Her hair was coiffured with no braids or Kirby grips. Her nails were painted red and there was makeup on her face, which was not common in Sheltand islands during the daytime. She was wearing a gabardine coat of the type mostly seen in European movies and capitals, a Burberry trench coat that swept down below her knees but when she walked the front opened to reveal long and shapely legs. Even after all these years, she recognized her at once. It was Samantha, her beautiful cousin who had migrated to Rio de Janeiro about ten or eleven years before back in 1981 or 1982. She looked great but her Shetland accent with its Scottish traits was still blatant as she caught site of her cousin and waved frantically.

“Michaela! Michaela” How good to see you! Its been such a long time and I’ve missed you. Have you read my letters?”
“Oh, my dear cousin Samantha!” Michalea cried, running into her open arms and hugging her tightly. “You look great and you smell great!”
“Oh,” said Samantha oof handedly. “It’s just a little lotion I picked up in Paris when I made a stopover there before flying to Glasgow to get the plane to here.”
Michaela was envious. She wished she could say things like that, and smell like that, and look like that. but she consealed this and embraced her cousin again so that she could smell the perfume once more it smelled so good.
A lot of other people were gathered round and Samantha patiently and perhaps genuinely said hello to all of them and answered their questions about Rio, so many questions that Michaela felt that there might be nothing left for her to ask later on because Samantha was saying so much now but she knew her cousin and sauspected that there were things that she was keeping back. She always had a rabbit to pull out of her hat!

Finally they were able to slip away. Samantha piloted her car up the path to the farmhouse. It only took about eight minutes although Michaela usually took twenty-five to make it.

“You wash up,” she said, “And I’ll see to lunch. Dad’s dropped off in front of the hearth, its so cozy but when he wakes up he’ll be sure to be awed at your presence!”
“I could sure use a shower,” said Samantha.
“We don’t have a shower,” her cousin informed her, only a bathtub. Bu tit is good for you in the cold weather.”
“How primitive,” Samantha joked with dancing eyes and a twinkle.

Mr. McMahon was overcome with emotion and choked with joy at the site of his long gone niece. “Och, it’s wonderful to see you again bonnie lassie, although I do wager ye’ve changed a great deal and all gone mixing up in fancy company and all. Noo it’s tme for ma wee nap and I’m sure ye lassies have goat a lot to talk aboot. Why don’t ye take the afternoon off Michaela, the sheep can make it on their own for one day. Ye can go into yer room like you used to do in the auld days and trade secrets and all that.”
“How cool, daddy,” said Michaela. “You can be such a dear at times”!
“Och,” said the old man in embarrassment.

quarta-feira, 14 de janeiro de 2009

In Defense of Sarah Palin from CNN

Her bid for the vice presidency ended more than two months ago, but Alaska Gov. Sarah Palin appears determined not to become a mere afterthought. Gov. Sarah Palin may be positioning herself for a 2012 run for the White House, analysts say. Departing from a historical trend of failed vice presidential candidates who descend into relative obscurity after Election Day, Palin continues to command the intense media coverage that befits a national office seeker. It's an astonishing development, given that she has no role in national domestic policy and is a first-term governor of a state almost 4,500 miles from Washington. Palin empathizers say the Alaska governor is merely trying to recover her good name after months of damage by the mainstream media, liberal bloggers and even high-level members of the McCain campaign who grew publicly dissatisfied with their VP nominee as Election Day neared. But some political observers suggest that Palin's ongoing - and predominantly adversarial - relationship with the national media is all part of a savvy effort to retain her popularity with the legions of rank-and-file conservatives who stood so strongly behind her during the campaign. Should Palin eye a presidential bid herself in 2012, continued loyalty from grass-roots. Republicans will be crucial in determining whether she is the early favorite in a race sure to feature a crowded field of high-profile GOP contenders. All of that media bashing plays to the base," said David Brody, a senior national correspondent for the Christian Broadcasting Network. "And at least within the Republican primary, that works well."

Palin's latest newsmaking interview came late last week with Esquire magazine, excerpts of which were released Tuesday. In the interview, Palin bashed coverage by her home-state newspaper and lashed out at "bored, anonymous, pathetic bloggers who lie." That interview followed similarly heated comments last week to conservative John Ziegler, in which Palin targeted comedian Tina Fey and CBS News ancho Katie Courie for "exploiting" her during the presidential campaign. In the same interview, Palin charged that the national media continue to feed inaccurate rumors surrounding the birth of her 8-month-old son, Trigg. She also said news organizations have unduly criticized the upcoming marriage of her 18-year-old daughter, Bristol, to Levi Johnston, a former electrical apprentice in the North Slope oil field.

Palin made ade a phone call to People magazine late last month to defend her daughter and Johnston after the publication had suggested that neither was working to finish high school: "You need to know that both Levi and Bristol are working their butts off," Palin told the magazine in an animated voice-mail message.The mainstream media have long served as a punching bag for conservatives, even more so in 2008, when the McCain campaign itself publicly declared that many news organizations were "in the tank" for Barack Obama. If Palin wants to run for the Republican nomination in 2012, she has an issue that could rally conservatives: her treatment by the media," CNN Senior Political Analyst Bill Schneider said.
But besides harnessing conservative anger at the mainstream media, it's also likely Palin is wielding her ongoing fame to dispel lingering impressions she is a policy lightweight or, worse, incompetent. "The problem for Sarah Palin is that she may have a little Dan Quayle syndrome here in the sense that once [former Vice President] Dan Quayle misspelled 'potato,' that was the end of it," Brody said. "He had the public perception problem, and here comes Sarah Palin in 2012, and she may have exactly the same problem."

To be sure, in several recent interviews, Palin has sharply criticized how the McCain campaign handled her, particularly when it came to her dealings with the media. In her interview with Ziegler, the Alaska governor directly indicted senior McCain advisers over a series of disastrous interviews with Couric, saying further sit-downs with the CBS anchor should not have been granted after the first one went badly.

In the Esquire interview, Palin said she wished she had stood up to McCain strategists and hadn't assumed "that they know you well enough to make all your decisions for ya."

"She perhaps felt muzzled" during the campaign, said Ryan D'Agostino, the Esquire reporter who interviewed Palin. "You could really feel and sense the frustration coming through as she was answering my pretty simple questions. It was a little bit like she was exhaling and it, maybe, it felt good."

Still, some Republicans are questioning Palin's full-court media press, suggesting that the former vice presidential candidate should instead work to beef up her résumé while assuming a lower profile. After all, if Palin wants to be a serious presidential contender, she will need broader support than just the rank-and-file conservatives who respond so energetically to media-bashing.

"She needs a little time in the desert. She needs to retire," said Alex Castellanos, a Republican strategist and CNN contributor. "She needs to demonstrate growth as a politician, as a political leader. You can't do that if you keep staying in front of us day after day after day as the same person."

The Northern Sky 1.1

Michaela stood on the northernmost tip of Unst and looked across to the distant shores of Norway glowing dimly far away. She took a deep breath and sighed, breathing out heavily with pouting lips. One thing she would never have to worry about was slimming or losing weight. The word diet never entered her vocabulary, neither as a noun or a verb because all she did was traipse. All day every day she would traipse up and down the hills, holding her flock together. It kept the body trim and the legs firm. An outsider may have felt the whiplash of the wind and be left with burning cheeks and chapped lisp, but as a Shetlander, born, bred and buttered, she revilled in it. Even though the wind was cold, she wore only a light sweater made of Shetland wool (what else?) and stood on the cliff like a Numenorean guard keeping watch over Gondor, or like Elendil waiting for Gil-galad in the days of the Last Alliance of Elves and Men long ago. Yes, Norway, a dream land to her, far away, overflowing with fords and sparkling rainbow colors on the meadows and fields of gold and deep lush green. She had only ever left Shetland once, way back in 1980, twelve years ago to go to Edinburgh with her schoolmates. Apart from that, this little island was the microcosm of her life. She sighed again. At times she wished a passing fishing trawler would run aground and then transport her to Norway, so near and yet so far. Or that she could fly or go in a Soviet submarine. But it was not to be. Now she was twenty-four and lonely. So lonely. But it was getting late and the angular rays were resting on the Norwegian shore far away. She turned and traipsed back home, prodding the sheep on ahead of her and calling out to her pet ass to keep up lest he fall behind. Her ass was useful for carrying heavy burdens when the going got tough. A cow mooed in the distance and a pig somewhere could be heard to grunt. The choppy gray waves of the Atlantic flowing into the North Sea lay behind her now.

In her house, she found her father, her beloved dad of 78 ears old.

“Hello, dad,” she said.
“Och, lassie, hello,” he replied gruffly. “Sit doon, ah’ve goat tae talk tae ye.”
Michaela obediently took a seat opposite the old man.

“Since ma wife died, that’s yer mother, ye know, I’ve been a widower. And you’re my only child. But I won’t be here forever,” said Mr. McMahon, slowly choosing his words carefully. “So I’ve decided it’s time for thee to wed.”
“Get married, you mean, sir?” said Michaela incredulously. “With someone with whom I can build a life together and be happy? Who will I marry.”
“whom,” her father gently interposed with a raised finger, a careful look on his old wise face, wizened by long years of intense, self-taught erudition.”
“Oh Daddy, forget grammatical accuracy just once and tell me. Will I build a life, a future, a wonderful future with this man?”
“May be, may be,” said her father. “I don’t know if you’ll be building anything cos the chap I’ve got in mind already has built a little empire for himself. You’ll just take over. And when he goes, it’ll be all yours, ma bonnie wee lassie. Yer auld faither is looking oot for ye. I’ll not be here forever, you know.”
“Who is he, dad?”
“Jock MacGregor, the baker.”
Michaela sprung to her feet in shock and awe! “No! He’s too old for me!” she cried, her hand on her chest and her other arm striking a dramatic pose like a Shakesperian actor doing Hamlet. “He must be over sixty and I’m only twenty-four, that’s a forty-six year age difference at least!”
“Fifty-four,” her father corrected her calmly. “Old Jock, well, old to you, to me he’s a whippersnapper since I’m ten years older than him, but yes, he’s a bit older. But when he goes it’s all yours. His bakery, his house and any money left over in the bank once his funeral has been paid for and any outstanding debts, of course. You have to do right by the dead, lassie. But be that as it may, be that as it may, a nice little nest egg, ma bonnie wee lassie. Think it over. The wedding is a month from today. Father McConnolly is coming over from Fair Isle to conduct the ceremony in our cosy little church nearby.”
“But…” Michaela began to protest.

“Now, get a couple of bowels o’ porridge on the table, there’s a good wee bonny lass. Ye must be hungry after traipsing up and down them hills all day. And I’m feeling a wee bit peckish myself. And set out a bottle of beer for me, ye know I like a beer in the evening, especially in front of the hearth with the telly turned down low. A small Guiness will suffice.”

“Yes, dad,” said Michaela reluctantly. Oh dear, she thought! How am I going to get out of this? I owe my father all my loyalty and endearment, but oh to be free! A tear darted down her cheek but she sniffed it back into her widened nostril and brushed her hair over her head with a sweeping gesture of her hand as she went to put her bowels on the table to fill with porridge. They were the bowels her mother had left her when she’d died fifteen years before. Not for the first time did she think to herself how good it would be to have her mom her with her now. when she missed her mommy, she felt her heart retch inside her chest and thump in her bosom. Oh, why did you leave us! She asked, not for the first time.

And We're Off!

Well, jumping jehoshaphat and Palin for President! It’s great to be back with my newly revamped blog. In the coming months, y’all’ll be able to follow my path to publishing. I have two books in the works and a wonderful husband to boot. You will be able to read and comment totally free of charge my two stories. The first and dearest is called The Northern Sky and it’s about Michaela in the Shetland islands and how she gets her goat up when her dad wants to marry her off to a local old soak and ninconpoop. But she falls for a new beaux called Armando whose a Norwegian pilot and keeps alive the vital trade links between Scotland and Shetland and Norway on which people depend for food and other precious goods and services. Her dad, or should I say farther, is a traditionalist who just wants to marry off his daughter to keep the family in the wealth to which it has become accustomed. But after a surrpise visit from an ex-patriot who left Shetland and went aboard to try a new life in South America and who tells her all about her amazing life in Rio de Janeiro, Michaela decides that she too will change and not accept being the downtrodden daughter who will marry an old soak with flabby biceps just like that! and that’s where it kicks off in Chapter One.

The second story is called The Far Star and is about a man called Dangmar who gets caught in a time loop while going back in an intrepid attempt to find out what the big bang looked like at the dawn of time and maybe even what came before it. But his plans are foiled by getting caught up in a time loop from which he cannot excape. But he does in the end of course or it wouldn’t be worth writing about. And if he didn’t excape how would he get back to tell us the story about it. This is of secondary importance to me but my original time travel method is cool and creative.

If you are of a nervous disposition, you might not enjoy the sex scenes. They are scizzling and tantalizing and tittilating! But never in bad taste. But when I write one or post it on the blog here I’ll flag it and let you know what it’s all about, okay? I wouldn’t want you to be shocked into a corinary or anything like that because you were not expecting any thing so exciting and it could blow your mind. I recognize that not everyhone likes sex although most people do. So don’t get offended because it comes across and a breezy style with jiggling and juggling and craning and conniving bodies soaked in sweat and dripping with perspiration.

I’m really excited to be here online writing a blog about my books. I’ll post different pics for each story. Like this. When it’s a Northern Sky chapter I’ll put a little map of the Shetland aisles next to it and when it’s The Far Star, then I’ll put a picture of a star and then if your not interested in one you don’t have to read it and can read only the other. I prefer the NS but, hey, that’s just me.

As I’ve told some fans before, I don’t indulge in unusual grammar or opaque argot. That’s not in my line. No fancy stuff. I like the simple things in life. I like putting in hearty meals. My husband Norbert and I (whose a wealthy industrialist)_ eat at a quaint, quiet but quality bistro every night or almost every night or at least every other night. Last night we had boeuf bourgignon and it was delicious but I made it it wasn’t from the bistro. And a Merdoc to wash it all down. Delicious. And so you’ll feel good when Michaela has been out in the frost all day farming sheep and things like that and she gets home at night and makes a big bowel of hot porridge and sprinkles it with sugar, although macho scotch people like salt, or at least claim they do as I found out in my research for the story.

Now, I won’t let things get too political. But I’ll point out from the git-go that I am a member of Team Sarah that supports Gov. Sarah Palin (R-Alaska) for President in 2012. I like her because she’s a woman. She can get things done. She can run a state (the biggest in the Union by the by) and also a husband and five kids and now a grankchild. I think that is amazin’. She has it all down pat. She delegates and she makes rules too. I think her perspective is right for conservative republicans in the twenty-first century. A new kind of leader. That’s the name of the book that was published about her by Joe Hilley who is actually a democrat from a different church but has come to admire her as she breaks down all partisan lines like a state trooper in a fog. If you want to join team Sarah go to http://www.teamsarah.org/ and sign up today! Make a difference. In four year’s time, when it all comes crashing down, she will be the one to get us out of the whole. But that is all about politics for now. On with the story! The jostling, jiggling and jerkjerking is about to jumpstart!