tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-87655258940824643782024-03-05T21:56:52.191-08:00The Reluctant AuthorDebra Giuffridahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07069507120319995334noreply@blogger.comBlogger50125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8765525894082464378.post-26006350769504926062016-06-24T14:13:00.000-07:002016-06-24T14:13:23.266-07:00Friday Teaser<br />
Waking up this morning I glanced at my phone and saw a Facebook notification. The brief blurb mentioned that it was Friday and I was shocked. Friday? Already? Where had the week gone? So I thought how about an excerpt from The Beautiful Woman has Come? Sounds good to me!<br />
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Just a short lead in. Helen, now called Nefertiti, has been taking her evening meals with Great Royal Wife Tiye at the new royal palace across the river from the main town of Waset (I know, everyone calls it Thebes, but that's a Greek name and the Greeks only got to call it that when Alexander came and made Ptolemy Pharaoh!). In this excerpt, we will see SitAmun, eldest daughter of NebMaatRa and Tiye, and Auset, SitAmun's sister.<br />
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The Beautiful Woman has Come</h3>
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<i>by Debra Giuffrida</i></div>
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<i>copyright 2016, all rights reserved</i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">My days spent here in Waset were long, hot and devoid of entertainment. Auset had not requested my company nor had anyone else of the royal family, for that matter. So I sat either in my bedchamber or under the sunshade within the family garden. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">The evenings I shared my meal with the Great Royal Wife in her garden within the House of Rejoicing. Tiye had taken it upon herself to be my educator in all things political. Some nights Auset and her companion Ana would join us. These nights were some of the most pleasant. Tiye would always request Auset sing for us. I had been correct. Her voice was lyrical and with good range and power when needed. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">All the women in attendance would fall silent listening to the King’s daughter sing of unrequited love, new love, lost love, and gods and goddesses. Ana would accompany her on the lyre and the two made a pretty pair sitting within a circle of lamplight.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">One evening Sitamun came. Accompanied by several young girls and an older woman, she walked over to one of the couches and sat. Immediately two of her attendants ran and fetched their mistress a golden chased goblet and filled it with wine from off Tiye’s table. This elicited a shocked reaction from the Great Wife’s table servant. The young girl sucked in her breath and her eyes grew round and wide.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Em hotep, daughter,” Tiye said walking into the room. Sitamun watched her mother sit on the largest pillow-strewn couch. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“I was lonely and wanted company for the twelfth-hour meal,” Sitamun replied to an unspoken question.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“You are always welcome here, Sitamun.” </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Nefertiti,” Sitamun turned her kohl-rimmed eyes in my direction. “Do. You. Understand. What. I. Am. Saying?” Her staccato words were punctuated by a brief tight smile.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“She is very conversant, you may be assured she understands you.” Tiye took a long drink of wine from an offered electrum goblet all the while looking at Sitamun over the cup’s rim. “Now, what really brings you here?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“I told you, mother, I was lonely. Moses is still in MenNefer and I needed some entertainment. Is Auset joining us? I do so enjoy her singing.” Another tight smile but this time she ended it with a sip of wine. Sitamun’s girls bustled around gathering plates of food for their mistress. The older bent back woman stood at the King’s daughter’s elbow and glared at each of the girls, occasionally pointing a long nailed finger by way of direction.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Auset is in the middle of a new weaving and she declined my open invitation.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Oh. Nefertiti, do you sing?” Sitamun took a piece of roast duck from an offered plate and tore tiny pieces from the slice, putting each into her mouth, chewing slowly, her unblinking eyes staring at me.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“No, I am afraid that my voice is far from sweet. My talents lay elsewhere.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Then where <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">do</i> your talents lay...cousin?” She tore another piece of duck and popped it into her mouth.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“I enjoy athletic games, running the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">stade</i>—,”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Stade</i>? What is that?” Another piece of duck disappeared into Sitamun’s mouth.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“That is a distance, I am not sure of the Kemeteyu equivalent. I run with other girls. The fastest wins. What are your talents...cousin?” I felt no familial love for this Aegyptos King’s daughter. Tiye sat quietly listening to our exchange. I glanced at her and saw her bite her lip and sniff, possibly to cover a smile.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“My talents?” Sitamun raised an eyebrow, then ran a hand down her sheer linen over robe, “I am King’s daughter, beloved of my father, wife of the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">iry pat </i>Djehutymose, my talent will be to provide the next son to sit upon the throne of Heru.” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">This statement caused Tiye to glare at her daughter. What was it that elicited such a response from the Great Royal Wife? Surely she knew that Sitamun was to be a royal broodmare. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“You will have ample time to accomplish that feat, my dear. My son’s barge was sighted and should be at the water steps some time after Ra is born.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Sitamun stood up and dropped the remaining tiny piece of duck.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“How long have you known? Why did you keep this from me?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Are your spies lacking, daughter? I would acquire new ones if I were you. Your father’s new Royal Wife from Naharin is aboard.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Sitamun’s eyes grew large, narrowed into slits, and she glared at her mother. Without a word she turned her back and walked out of the room, her head high, shoulders square, her followers hurrying their steps to keep up with their mistress.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Well, now, Nefertiti, how have you been occupying your time? Are you learning some of our old stories? Is Huya still teaching you?” she took a sip of wine, then handed the goblet to the girl close at hand.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">I looked from Sitamun’s retreating back to Tiye.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Close your mouth, my dear. Sitamun is a jealous girl. NebMaatRa’s new child bride will keep her busy and out of your business. You can thank me later.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“I am not sure I follow, why is Sitamun possibly jealous of her?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“The concubines and wives of the Son of the Sun will become those of the next Son of the Sun. The younger and prettier ones are a threat to my daughter. Do you understand?” Tiye took a rolled lettuce leaf from an offered platter. She eyed it, turning it about. “Where is the boy?” All was quiet for several beats of my heart. A small boy was brought forth. Tiye smiled at him and handed him the lettuce bundle. The boy looked up at his nurse who nodded her head and also smiled. Only then did the boy take the offered food from the queen.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">The child was a poison tester.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">I found myself holding my breath, waiting, as we all were, for the boy to live or die. He did not die, this time. When the nurse made to take him away Tiye shook her head and motioned for him to sit beside her chair. Tonight he would test everything for the queen.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Perhaps she felt ill at ease due to Sitamun’s unannounced visit? Or were there others that wished this Great Royal Wife ill? My stomach clenched and I thought better of eating here in Tiye’s garden. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">She must have felt my trepidation. Tiye only allowed me to eat after the boy had tested the food upon her platters. Even so, I ate very little but drank far more of the Per A’a’s wine than I should have. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Have a lovely weekend. See you back here Monday!</span></div>
<br />Debra Giuffridahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07069507120319995334noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8765525894082464378.post-55134436844595256802016-06-23T12:15:00.000-07:002016-06-23T12:15:32.803-07:00My Fear of Rewriting & Editing<br />
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The end is in sight. That's what I keep telling myself as I type "The End" then erase it and add another scene, or two.<br />
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I thought it was complete about 6 months ago. But then I added a new beginning and had to edit that. Then added Part Two to the whole shebang! Perhaps I am afraid that if it is finished I may fail to sell the thing to anybody. Or no one will want to read it, or it is so awful that I will be laughed at. Two other authors have beaten me to the punch on my subject of choice. Should I give up now or forge ahead?<br />
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This brings me to a story of a friend who wrote her dream novel. It didn't sell so she put it in the drawer. Then she thought up another novel banged it out and it sold! Will that be my fate? To write my dream and have to put it in a box that I will cart around for a year or two until I sell something else? Is that a bad thing?<br />
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It's only 101 degrees in the shade at the stroke of noon. I'm camping on asphalt in the desert and trying not to melt. You are probably staring bug-eyed at your computer or phone screen. Only 101 degrees?!? Well, you see, the outside temperatures have been hovering around 114, 116 or so for the last few days so 101 is kinda balmy! Being stuck indoors for the past few days is making me antsy. To add insult to injury I had knee surgery recently. I want to get out and walk around but that has been doubly impossible.<br />
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So what has this to do with finishing my book? Just excuses. I have to type "The End" and stick to it. I'm just reluctant.<br />
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<br />Debra Giuffridahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07069507120319995334noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8765525894082464378.post-70301670482323407242016-06-22T10:04:00.000-07:002016-06-22T10:04:44.964-07:00Ancient Poetry or Argh! She used the same poem!Well, I decided to dive back into reading a colleagues book. I've been very bad about reading lately, mostly because I can't seem to shut my brain off. All my current problems are running back and forth in a game of zoomies. If you are a dog owner you will understand what zoomies are. If not, well, it's when your critter runs full tilt boogie back and forth, round and round until they drop from exhaustion. It's fun to watch when it's your fur baby but awful when it's "what if" scenerios in your brain.<br />
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Well, back to the book. It had been waiting with baited breath for Stephanie to write her book on Hatshepsut, why? Because she is a PanHistoria alumnus and one of her writing identities was Hatshepsut and she did a bang up job. So of course I wanted to read her novel when it debuted. Unfortunately, when it appeared on Amazon it was also the start of my Greek Tragedy of a life. I thought that purchasing the Kindle version would help me disappear from my reality but, alas, my "sh@t" was too strong.<br />
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Anywho...now that my life is evening out I decided to pick up her book and lo and behold, staring me right in the face was this awesome poem.<br />
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In <i>my</i> WIP it is titled: The Lay of the Harpist. It's so fitting as a tribute to a doomed King's Son. But now I must find another verse. Hey, life happens when you're a reluctant author.<br />
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<i>"...revel in pleasure while your life endures</i></div>
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<i>And deck your head with myrrh.</i></div>
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<i>Be richly clad in white and perfumed linen;</i></div>
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<i>Like the gods anointed be;</i></div>
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<i>And never weary grow</i></div>
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<i>In eager quest of what your heart desires--</i></div>
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<i>Do as it prompts you too..."</i></div>
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Sigh...</div>
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<br />Debra Giuffridahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07069507120319995334noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8765525894082464378.post-25793307659165336492016-06-10T10:42:00.000-07:002016-06-10T10:42:01.255-07:00One Year & A Half Before the Mast<div class="MsoNormal">
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I have a cold.<o:p></o:p></div>
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My brain is fogged and I am stumbling around with an almost empty box of tissues in one hand and a crumpled soggy tissue in the other. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Yesterday was PitMad and I ventured into Twitter hell to pitch my Helen/Nefertiti novel and garnered one like. One like. I guess ancient historical fiction isn’t as coveted as YA magical dragons or LGBT story lines. Either that or my pitch sucked. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“Helen of Sparta, tricked into going to Egypt, must survive power hungry Royal family & rule them all.”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“For Paris’ love Helen risks it all. What she gets is Egypt’s King, throne & a new identity.”</i><o:p></o:p></div>
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Okay, those are the three pitches I used. Do they stink? <o:p></o:p></div>
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Debra Giuffridahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07069507120319995334noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8765525894082464378.post-54826598792823260532015-01-24T09:38:00.001-08:002015-04-04T12:16:58.209-07:00A Fresh New DayYikes, the birds are twittering today, must be all that pollen in the air. The mocking birds are keeping me awake nights and my brain hurts. Words will not come. Luckily I stopped by Janet Reid's blog yesterday and found that her fantastic followers were giving up their addresses; blog, Facebook, and Twitter feeds. Yes, it was an Internet day as I made my way through the wonderfulness of the collective hive.<div><br></div><div>It seems that I have been remiss around my blog. But I have an excuse. You see, my mom died, two days after Thanksgiving, and I have been trying to show the world my stiff upper lip. The only problem, is that is tends to quiver when I am alone.</div><div><br></div><div>I sit in her living room surrounded by her stuff and I am paralyzed. Inertia. My mom was a self imposed invalid. She became a neurotic pack rat that saved every single piece of mail that was sent to her. And to make matters worse, she sent out requests for more on a daily basis. Then would complain about all the trash she had. Silly. Sigh.</div><div><br></div><div>I love my mom. I miss my mom. But I am throwing everything out! Only then can I uncluttered my own heart and move on with my life.</div><div><br></div><div><br></div>Debra Giuffridahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07069507120319995334noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8765525894082464378.post-72109930155447385542014-04-16T07:05:00.000-07:002014-04-16T07:06:23.303-07:00Blog HopWhat a great way to kickstart my blog! A blog hop sponsored by the Insecure Writers Support Group!<br />
<br />
If you are new here you will notice the name of my blog. Yes, I am a reluctant author. Why you ask? It is because I am insecure and it seems like I am not alone. I found this weekly group through another author friend, Diana Wilder, and I am happy that I did.<br />
<br />
It seems that IWSG blog and website is just what the doctor ordered. Especially now that my first draft is in the hands of BETA readers! Yes, I said my <i>completed</i> first draft! I got off my duff and finally finished it. But wait...it's not The Beautiful Woman Has Come nor is it Unquiet My Heart, the completed draft is of the prequel to The Beautiful Woman Has Come and I don't have a title for it yet, which is driving me crazy.<br />
<br />
I sure could use some help there. You see, it is about Helen of Sparta and Paris, my version of the story. I am going to slip in a little snip here so that you can get an idea of the direction I am going with the story.<br />
<br />
So for all those insecure writers out there...just keep plugging and chugging and don't let the nay sayers get you down!<br />
<br />
Have a wonderful Wednesday!<br />
<br />
<b>Helen and Paris </b>(Working Title) copyright 2014 all rights reserved by Debra Giuffrida<br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Well, that is the end of this adventure, shepherd boy, let us prepare to depart on the next outgoing tide. Father will be glad to see us return.” Hector was watching gulls circle and dive, their bodies white against the crisp blue Spartan sky. His feelings of unease caused him to frown and set his jaw as he scanned the horizon.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“But why, brother?” Paris walked up behind his elder brother who turned to face him. “Menelaus wants us to stay, doesn’t he? We are like family, yes?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Hector snorted through his nose.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“That, that speech he made to us before all his generals and toadies?” Hector snorted again and grabbed his brother’s shoulder giving it a squeeze. “That was all show and bluster, shepherd boy. The Great King Menelaus no more wanted us for sons than he wanted his balls to burst.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Paris snickered.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Don’t laugh, we need to leave here. This place makes my skin crawl. We are watched everywhere we go. I for one have no love for this Sparta.” Hector clapped his brother on the back. “So, tell me, shepherd boy, why do you want to stay among these people? You are nothing here but one more toady of the Great Kings, but in Illion you are son of the High King, Prince among men.” Hector let the question hang between them waiting for his brother’s reply.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>After several pregnant moments Paris turned from his brothers scrutiny and rested his palms on the shelf of the open window.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“I had a vision, or something like that.” Paris waved a hand. He turned to face Hector. “It was before the banquet. I found myself among the gods, brother.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“How is that possible? You were drunk, you were...”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“No,” Paris said shaking his head. “No wine or beer passed my lips. One moment I was watching the pleasure slaves in the agora and the next I was lying on my back staring up at three goddesses.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>When Hector did not say anything Paris continued his story.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“The air around me shimmered and the ground beneath me moved. They were beautiful beyond compare. And, and, they wanted me to settle an argument between them. Me, just newly come Prince of Illion, me, they wanted me to choose who was the fairest among them. Aphrodite, Athena and the great Hera. How could I choose?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Truly, brother, this happened? It was not some wine soaked dream?” Hector knit his brows, his lips pressed into a straight line and he crossed his arms over his chest.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“No, I mean, yes it happened, Hector, believe me. The mighty Hera helped me to my feet and there in the olive grove of Mount Olympus I chose Aphrodite to be the fairest among them!” Paris grabbed his brothers arm. “She gave me a prize, brother. She promised me the most beautiful women in the world and I saw her. She is here, here in Sparta.”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Hector snorted and yanked his arm from his brothers grasp. Shaking his head he sighed.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“So, who is she, this prize?”</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Helen, Queen of Sparta.”</span></div>
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Happy writing!<br />
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<!-- start LinkyTools script --><script src="http://www.linkytools.com/basic_linky_include.aspx?id=103850" type="text/javascript"></script><!-- end LinkyTools script -->Debra Giuffridahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07069507120319995334noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8765525894082464378.post-10931371242852347582013-06-04T17:39:00.001-07:002013-06-04T17:39:15.654-07:00I Wanna Be a Publisher<br />
Yeppers, I do, cause I just did a critique of a friends almost finished book and it makes me want to fling money at her so she could quit her day job and write full time.<br />
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Wish someone would do that for me.<br />
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I receive emails everyday from various self-help writers groups/blogs/companies. Writers Digest saturates my inbox with multiple emails touting various books, webinars, articles, blogs...all aimed at helping the would be writer find an agent and have that agent hook a publishing deal...oh and also they want to part you from your meager funds too.<br />
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I read the blogs, pass on the books and look askance at the princely cost of writing courses and webinars. Why spend good money on stuff you can go down to your local library and check out, for free. Or I just surf the web to find the info I need. Like how to write a sword fight scene. That was one I queried google on and found a plethora of articles. I also shopped Amazon and downloaded samples from interestingly titled books that would help me spruce up my plot or they had the secret formula to writing a best seller.<br />
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But I didn't want to write a formula book...I wanted to write a unique take on a very old subject. Trouble is...so are a lot of other writers and they are all self publishing their ebooks on Amazon. I seem to be late to the parade.<br />
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So, back to the title of this blog. I want to be a publisher and publish my own book and those of my friends, cause they are good writers, just stuck on the hamster wheel of work, bill paying, work, bill paying. Just like me.Debra Giuffridahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07069507120319995334noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8765525894082464378.post-53543869215449716312013-05-27T09:54:00.000-07:002013-05-27T09:54:05.213-07:00Becoming a Real AuthorThe title of my blog is The Reluctant Author and I have emulated it fairly well, if I say so myself. But the time has come to put up or shut up.<br />
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My current WIP is now 23k words and the end is in sight. It is now time to start creating an author platform to promote my book. Wow... a real book, complete and readable, who would have thunk? So I must create a blog that reflects my professional status. This reluctant stuff was fun but that is all is has been...fun.<br />
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My new blog will be serious and informative and full of contests and interviews and all that wonderful stuff that a serious author needs to have. I will be keeping this blog but it will continue to be my sounding board, a place for me to come to muse and complain and just blow off steam.<br />
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So what is going to be the name of my new blog? After careful consideration (not really, I am doing this all by the seat of my pants!) I guess I should use my name so that my new fans will be able to find me. But should I remain on Blogspot or move to Wordpress? That is the next decision I have to make. Do any of you know which is a better platform? I have a Wordpress presence but I am having a difficult time getting into to it.<br />
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So my question of the day is this:<br />
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<ul>
<li>What blog platform is better: Wordpress or Blogspot and why did you choose it?</li>
</ul>
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Have a wonderful Memorial Day!</div>
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<br />Debra Giuffridahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07069507120319995334noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8765525894082464378.post-3967556445235924562013-05-22T17:10:00.000-07:002013-05-22T17:11:28.363-07:00Shine On Award<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; line-height: 24px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; line-height: 24px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">What a wonderful thing to happen today. I looked at my blogs and found that I had missed a nomination! What fun! Wonderful, brave, and talented <a href="http://jomurphey.blogspot.com/">Jo Murphy </a>nominated me for the Shine On Award. The logo is below, as are the rules for the recipient and my revelations and my own nominations.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><img alt="shine-on-award.jpg" src="webkit-fake-url://C428A768-6AEF-4C21-8B54-5EDC8F0187A6/shine-on-award.jpg" /></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; line-height: 24px;"><span style="color: red;"><b>Here are the Rules:</b></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif;"><br /></span></span><br />
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<ol>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Display the award logo on your blog.</span></li>
<li style="margin-bottom: 0.25em; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-indent: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Link back to the person who nominated you.</span></li>
<li style="margin-bottom: 0.25em; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-indent: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">State 7 things about yourself</span></li>
<li style="margin-bottom: 0.25em; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-indent: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Nominate 15 other bloggers for this award and link to them.</span></li>
<li style="margin-bottom: 0.25em; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-indent: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Notify those bloggers of the nomination and the award requirements.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;"> </span></span></li>
</ol>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; line-height: 25px;"><b>Seven things about myself: </b></span></span><br />
<ol>
<li style="margin-bottom: 0.25em; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-indent: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I taught myself to read using My Book House books. They were a series of wonderful books that was a part of World Book Encyclopedia. My parents had purchased them when I was born. The story that I read all by myself at the age of 3 and a half was The Little Red Hen.</span></li>
<li style="margin-bottom: 0.25em; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-indent: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I have wanted to be when I grew up (in order): A horse, the first female jockey, the first female astronaut, a radio announcer, an interpreter, a poet, a professional artist, a Disc Jockey, an author of romance novels, a horse trainer, an author of historical novels. </span></li>
<li style="margin-bottom: 0.25em; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-indent: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">My occupations included: Bank Vault Teller, Disc Jockey, Bartender, Pastry Chef, Short-Order Cook, Horse Barn Manager, Professional Dressage Groom, Graphic Designer for a XXX movie company, Administrative Assistant to various forms of business, Faux Finish Painter, House Painter, Portrait Artist, T-Shirt Designer, computer programmer, marketing assistant, insurance sales person, car sales person, and now would be author.</span></li>
<li style="margin-bottom: 0.25em; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-indent: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I have been writing one of my current WIP for 7 years.</span></li>
<li style="margin-bottom: 0.25em; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-indent: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I currently am the caretaker of a beautiful blue merle collie, a Bengal-cross (I think) cat, two Arabian geldings and 8 chickens, 3 of which are little red hens!</span></li>
<li style="margin-bottom: 0.25em; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-indent: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I have been married once, divorced and am currently living in sin with a man for the past 17 years...I think. </span></li>
<li style="margin-bottom: 0.25em; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-indent: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">While doing research for my current work in progress "The Beautiful Woman has Come" I found out that my name, Debra, may have its roots in Ancient Egyptian and instead of meaning The Bee in Hebrew it is from the word for Hippopotamus, which is dby (or Debbie!) in Ancient Egyptian! How rude!</span></li>
</ol>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 25px;">Well that sums up 7 things about me. </span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 25px;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 25px;">Now to the nominees!</span></span></div>
<ol>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://www.stephanie-thornton.com/">Stephanie Thornton</a></span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://dianawilder.blogspot.com/">Diana Wilder</a></span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://lavenderironside.blogspot.com/">Lavender Ironside</a></span></li>
</ol>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; line-height: 24px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: blue;"></span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 25px;">I know that isn't very many nominees, but I realized that my blogfriend Jo nominated most of the blogs I follow! Go figure *smile*. Anyway the three ladies that I did recognize are fellow authors of Ancient Egyptian fiction so they are near and dear to my heart. They all have novels that just came out and are available on Amazon and all three are excellent reads. I would suggest you high tail it over to Amazon and buy them. Yes, right now. *smile*</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 25px;"><br /></span></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 25px;">Once again, thank you Jo, you are my hero.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 25px;"><br /></span></span>Debra Giuffridahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07069507120319995334noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8765525894082464378.post-91472704746924862982013-03-15T10:53:00.000-07:002013-03-15T10:53:41.397-07:00The Race is On! This past week a new friend, who is a fellow author, published her second book and it is available on Amazon. I had the good fortune to be a beta reader for it and hopefully my puny contribution helped.<br />
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L.M. Ironside is the authors moniker and she just published her ebook Crook and Flail. It is the second book in her She-King series about Hatshepsut. It is wonderful to read. I encourage all those Ancient Egyptian historical fiction readers to pop over to Amazon and check it out. The reviews are great.<br />
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Which brings me to my WIP. I need to finish it. Libbe (L.M. Ironside) was good enough to give my new book a glance and she gave me some wonderful tips and a lot of food for thought. So now I have to hurry up and get it done and available. You see...she is writing her third book and it is on Akhenaten...Ack!<br />
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So the race is on to see who is first to get their book up. Of course I don't want just any old thing up, I want a perfect piece...so perhaps Libbe will be the winner in the speed competition. I have this awful tendency to constantly edit my edits. If I remember correctly a fellow blogger once wrote a wonderful post on turning off that awful inner editor...time to reread that post and put the suggestions to work.<br />
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So Happy Friday everyone!<br />
<br />Debra Giuffridahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07069507120319995334noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8765525894082464378.post-51222006915845664972013-02-20T13:27:00.003-08:002013-02-20T13:27:35.372-08:00Mid Month BluesIt is the middle of February and the sky had large cottony looking clouds floating in a sea of vivid blue. This morning saw those clouds dark and threatening and spilling a bit of rain on the dry parched desert.<br />
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The weathers precariousness is causing me to delay planting my garden. My poor little seedlings are growing spindlely and pale. I really need a length of good weather. Maybe next week.<br />
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Now to my writing...I have been doing some much needed editing on The Beautiful Woman Has Come. Several people have been encouraging me to "get cracking" and finish it. I agree with them, so I am giving what I have written a hard look and plotting out the rest. Right now I have over 12k words written, a good start, but far from finished.<br />
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I thought I'd post a wee snip of the beginning...just a tickle.<br />
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<b>The Beautiful Woman Has Come</b>, copyright 2013 Debra Giuffrida, all rights reserved. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil_KmuL2RUpAx_ABTGF-S5OIooZSqVl5d9SAa-C66vkVeW9jNWhDuVQ0_qp4uQMrFB0IetxGSMO9A-0Z5f4WvbJke9VL-PCP2suA2Az4wr33TpHagQP1tk6CNJVhoZ6AX0S6_j86I-Ow/s1600/MALKATA_PALACE.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil_KmuL2RUpAx_ABTGF-S5OIooZSqVl5d9SAa-C66vkVeW9jNWhDuVQ0_qp4uQMrFB0IetxGSMO9A-0Z5f4WvbJke9VL-PCP2suA2Az4wr33TpHagQP1tk6CNJVhoZ6AX0S6_j86I-Ow/s320/MALKATA_PALACE.jpg" width="223" /></a><br />
<div style="font: 14.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 6.0px 36.0px;">
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>A sweet scented breeze blew against my face as we walked down the main corridor of the palace of the Good God, the Aegyptos king. The air was full of the aroma of honey and burning incense and roasting meat. Servants, their arms laden with folded linen, painted amphores or baskets full of ripe fruit, passed us giving our party only cursory glances. Armed guards stood watch at doorways and the light of the sun streamed through openings high up on the walls, twinkling off their bronze spear tips. We approached a large open gathering hall filled with men and women dressed in all manner of clothing from lands far and wide, come, no doubt, to pay homage to the Aegyptos royal pair. These foreigners stood about in clusters of two or more and the stench from their bodies caused me to pause. My guardian stopped, waiting for me to continue, but leopard skin did not have such patience.</div>
<div style="font: 14.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 6.0px 36.0px;">
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“You must not keep the Good God waiting, hurry along, child,” he said with a rap of his staff.</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Now I was a child? It took all my strength to keep from shouting at this little man. Refugee or no refugee I would be treated with respect due a queen. But I dared not test my position, yet. So with set jaw and hands tight fisted I followed leopard skin but neither hurried my steps nor hung back.</div>
<div style="font: 14.0px 'Times New Roman'; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 6.0px 36.0px;">
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>At the far end of the hall sat the Good God upon a golden throne, his golden sandaled feet resting upon an equally golden stool. He wore a blue and gold helmet and held the symbols of his royal power crossed over his chest. Next to him sat a small stern looking woman with a huge black wig that dwarfed her. It hung down past her narrow shoulders and had gold beads interwoven within the braids. Upon it she wore a strange looking helmet-like crown, also made entirely of gold, with a sun disk between a pair of large upright horns. My hand absently went up to my windblown tangled locks and at that moment the Aegyptos queen looked straight at me. It was only then that I wished I could have had time to repair my appearance before being presented. Would this fellow queen see me as her equal, a young girl of 16 summers, old before her time, or would she, like leopard skin, look down her nose and treat me as the poor refugee that I truly was? </div>
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Debra Giuffridahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07069507120319995334noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8765525894082464378.post-20648030546540958512013-02-12T15:52:00.001-08:002013-02-12T15:52:19.524-08:00My Liebster Award<br />
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<img src="webkit-fake-url://15127110-B8F9-4AF5-BA00-DEEE40B10629/image.tiff" /><br />
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Today is an amazing day. Not only did I wake up to a beautiful sunny day but I found that I had been nominated for an award. How awesome is that? I don't win many unsolicited awards. I win the occasional random drawing and have been lucky enough to place first in art competitions. But never has anyone nominated me for an online award for my writing (blog or otherwise).</div>
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<a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=8765525894082464378" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a>So thank you Lara! Below I have attempted to fulfill my obligations to the Liebster Award!<br />
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1<b>. What's your favorite writing/reading snack?</b></div>
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I don't eat while I write. But I do drink wine occasionally, coffee mostly but only in the mornings. </div>
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2. <b>Where have you always wanted to visit?</b></div>
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<b> </b>Egypt and Scotland, desperately!</div>
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3. <b>What's your favorite accent?</b></div>
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Scottish for men, but I also enjoy a French accent and a well bred (posh) English accent. </div>
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4. <b>What movie do you always watch when you find it on TV?</b></div>
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Several...Dirty Dancing, Casablanca and Young Frankenstein.</div>
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5. <b>What's your favorite hobby?</b></div>
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All of my hobbies are my favorites: horseback riding, reading, drawing, knitting, baking, gardening...it is difficult to nail down just one.</div>
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6. <b>Say you can quit your day job and do whatever you want. What would you do?</b></div>
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Ahem, I did and I am doing whatever I want which is taking care of horses, riding occasionally, writing my novels and gardening and enjoying my collie and my cat.</div>
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7. <b>What made you want to start writing?</b></div>
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I think the writing bug bit me back in the 1970's, my first foray was a really bad piece of romance. But I have been a poet since I was in my teens. Published too!</div>
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8. <b>What is your favorite genre?</b></div>
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I adore Historical Fiction.</div>
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9. <b>Where is your writing/reading nook?</b></div>
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I don't have one. I write in the living room, sitting on the couch with my laptop perched on my lap.</div>
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10. <b>What book do you wish you had written?</b></div>
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Outlander by Diana Gabaldon.</div>
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11. <b>Early bird, night owl, or something in between?</b></div>
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All of the above as the need arises.<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times; line-height: normal;">I also understand that I must nominate 5 blogs with a following of 200 or under, well, now that is something of a problem. I have little time to follow blogs and most of them are well over the 200 mark, but I did find these favorite seven cause I couldn't stop at 5! So here they are. Wonderful doesn't describe them well enough. And below these nominees are the 11 questions that they need to answer. Oh...and they have to, in turn, nominate 11 more blogs and ask 11 other questions. A huge cycle of recognition!</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times; line-height: normal;">I found the rules on another blog and here they are:</span><br />
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<b>If you receive the award, you should: </b><br />
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<b>1. Thank the giver and link back to the blogger who gave it to you. </b><br />
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<b>2. Reveal your top five picks and let them know by leaving a comment on their blog. </b><br />
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<b>3. Copy and paste the award on your blog. </b><br />
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<b>4. Hope that the people you've sent the award to forward it to their five favourite bloggers and keep it going!</b></div>
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<b>My Liebster Award Five (Seven):</b><br />
<a href="http://lavenderironside.blogspot.com/">Lavender Ironside</a><br />
<a href="http://simplescarf.blogspot.com/">Purl One, Yarn Over, Knit Together</a><br />
<a href="http://divinesecretsofthewritingsisterhood.blogspot.com/">Divine Secrets of the Writing Sisterhood</a><br />
<a href="http://jodiepierceauthor.blogspot.com/">Jodie Pierce Author</a><br />
<a href="http://harrietschultz.blogspot.com/">Harriet Schultz</a><br />
<a href="http://modernscribe.blogspot.com/">Modern Scribe</a><br />
<a href="http://thetimetravelerreststop.blogspot.com/">The Time Traveler Rest Stop</a><br />
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<b>Questions for the nominees:</b><br />
1. What prompted you to start your blog?<br />
2. Have you ever published anything, and if so what?<br />
3. Do you belong to a writers group (if you are a writer)?<br />
4. If you could only take one book with you on a desert island, which would it be?<br />
5. What is your favorite time in history and why?<br />
6. If you could live anywhere on earth, where would it be?<br />
7. What is your favorite beverage?<br />
8. Who is your favorite person in history and why?<br />
9. What book are you currently reading?<br />
10. What season is your favorite and why?<br />
11. If you could go back and change anything in your life what would it be?<br />
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So there it is. Thank you very much Lara for nominating me and good luck to my nominees!<br />
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Debra Giuffridahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07069507120319995334noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8765525894082464378.post-8564043634760109782013-02-06T16:08:00.002-08:002013-02-06T16:08:23.949-08:00Write, Edit, Beta, eBook!<br />
Today was beautiful, all clear blue skies and warm temperatures. The Las Vegas valley weather is dicey this time of year. One day it is spring-like the next it has wind gusts up to 25 mph. But for today I am enjoying 70 degrees and a balmy breeze.<br />
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I have been tweaking my new WIP, stuck on this one scene between my MC and another important character. Trying not only to get the emotions correct but the tempo and flow of the prose. There is something missing from this scene which I will post below for you to see for yourself. It is a bit of a spoiler but that is OK. Sometimes you have to let the cat out of the bag, at least for a moment or two. *smile*<br />
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This past week I have had the honor of being included as a beta reader for the second book in a series. The first book was well received as an ebook and is not going to paperback -- exciting times, exciting time. The second book is looking better than the first, at least IMHO. The MC is younger than the first MC but more mature in more ways than one. I also think the author likes this particular MC better. At least that is what is coming across. The prose and story structure of this second book is better than the first too. The author has grown.<br />
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Anyway, I'm liking it.<br />
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So now for this weeks scene.<br />
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<b>The Beautiful Woman Has Come</b>, copyright 2013, by Debra J. Giuffrida, all rights reserved.<br />
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The royal stables was a vast complex of several buildings surrounding a large arena divided into sections. Within the largest section, horses were being worked, in long reins or in hand or behind the small light chariot that Kemet was known, by sun-browned military men, their short white kilts gleaming in the sun. </div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Hotpi led me towards one of the buildings away from the arena.</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>As we walked into the dim coolness of the mud brick stable, I inhaled deeply. The air smelled of hay and dung, leather and urine. Horses nickered softly as we passed. When I was a young girl I had spent most of my days within my father’s royal stables. It had been the only place I had felt completely safe, completely at peace. Sadness gripped my heart as I spied a dappled grey horse, its head hung over a short wall separating it from the aisle. It yawned, exposing great ivory colored teeth. </div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Apolloiana,” I whispered.</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“What did you say?” Hotpi asked not slowing his stride.</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“That one, there, has the looks of my horse ... from before,” my voice thickened. Hotpi stopped when we were opposite the grey.</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“This one? He is mine,” Hotpi said running his hand along the horses glossy neck.</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Noble Lord.”</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>We both turned. Hotpi stiffened then relaxed.</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“<i>WerAt</i>!” Hotpi addressed the old man walking towards us. “This is Nefertiti, Lord Aye’s ward,” he said pulling me around to face the old man. “She is the one I told you of.”</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The old man nodded his head and looked me over.</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“She is as beautiful as you said. From Sparta, you say?”</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I stiffened. “Yes, I am Sparta’s Queen, my husband, Menelaus, is King,” I said before Hotpi could answer for me.</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“You told me not that she was wed.” The old man turned towards Hotpi, a deep frown creasing his age lined forehead. Hotpi brushed off the statement with a wave of his hand.</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“He has no claim on her.”</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“By her own words he does,” the old man glared at Hotpi.</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“That will do, <i>WerAt</i>,” Hotpi said in a low threatening voice and the old man took a step back with a quick nod of his head.</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Forgive,” he said.</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Fix Heru’s Pride and Anate is Blessed to my racing chariot, I wish to show Nefertiti the raceway.”</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I wanted to rip my hand out of his and spit at him. Once again I was just a commodity to be talked about, bartered, used and then thrown away. </div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Hotpi fixed me with those liquid brown eyes of his.</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Is everything all right?” He cocked his head to the side and smiled. “<i>WerAt</i> is my grandfather. Forgive my rudeness. He is Lord Yuya, the Master of Horse, Aye’s father, your guardian,” his voice rose at the end along with his eyebrows. </div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I must have appeared puzzled as he continued to add description upon description. I wet my lips and took a breath.</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“I am Helen, Queen of Sparta, daughter of a god and will be treated as such.” A chill ran over me as I spoke the words. Hotpi dropped my hand and took a step back, then bowed deeply at the waist.</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Forgive me, Nefertiti,” he said remaining bent over.</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“You will not call me Nefertiti, I am Helen,” I said my voice quivering with suppressed emotion. I swallowed. Hotpi stood up and looked me in the eyes. The urge to turn and run caused my leg muscles to bunch up preparing to do just that, but his eyes, his eyes held me fast. </div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“As you wish, but I still want to show you the raceway. That is why my family stays here in MenNefer, to race,” he said a smile curling his full lips, the skin around his eyes crinkling. “Come Helen,” he said reaching out for my hand.</div>
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<br />Debra Giuffridahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07069507120319995334noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8765525894082464378.post-46601467897117106622013-02-01T11:05:00.003-08:002013-02-01T11:05:33.328-08:00February 1st...So What Now?<br />
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Today is the first day of February. Look at your calendar, your cell phone, even your computer screen...it's right there for all to see. One whole month into the new year...one whole month of avoiding my resolutions. What about you? I try to keep my resolution list as short as possible and this year my list is two resolutions long. Just two....<br />
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Oh goody, my current just walked out the door so I can finally turn off the TV. Wow, the quiet is deafening. Now I can work on the other project I have on my plate. The secret project.<br />
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Last month, on a horse rescue Facebook page, a black Arabian gelding was posted who was available for adoption. His pictures showed him before rescue and after rescue. My heart was touched by this poor boy. Currently I have a horse, but he is 26 years old and suffering from Cushings disease which is debilitating. I can only arrest his condition and make him comfortable, not reverse it. So, with a heavy heart, I retired my boy and am allowing him to just be a horse for the remainder of his life. Currently he is fat, happy and pain free.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQlX7HS-vIrz_YT4JBw9cFU9VC09ioLhSKIZeIf2Rr0QWQcYCagvq1SeExIHazLILMrwCU-ri0eDR5xqie8E1XIQCv1QgxJEIfMHxFAw3E1R9wQLF_zhBvVXQhppk0C1jokHysGFJVlQ/s1600/image-14.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQlX7HS-vIrz_YT4JBw9cFU9VC09ioLhSKIZeIf2Rr0QWQcYCagvq1SeExIHazLILMrwCU-ri0eDR5xqie8E1XIQCv1QgxJEIfMHxFAw3E1R9wQLF_zhBvVXQhppk0C1jokHysGFJVlQ/s320/image-14.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div>
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But...and this is the worst but of all...when his feet become too laminatic (I don't know if that is a word...laminitis is a by product of Cushings and is the condition where his feet become so bad that the hoof wall separates from the rest of the foot...VERY painful, crippling!) I will then have to make the difficult decision to put him down.<br />
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I know that I will be a complete basket case when that time comes. He has been a part of my life for the past 17 years. The only way that I know of to soothe the pain of his loss (somewhat) would be to have another horse to love and ride. So, the search started and low and behold I saw the picture of JT Dark Knight.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhljSoGJDWmfsGUVZOmOZ_fJvjFk1ND7GcHt_xcbMp9ooO1ugUwYqV2bqqOFWHl4Gj_NZL25zZ4fJMJkTx4PSF6J9BovYwHyOBhJK9ACTk6uuaRiRy44vNr62-0gmDkmqFRRRMZBj6_1A/s1600/JT-Dark-Knight.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhljSoGJDWmfsGUVZOmOZ_fJvjFk1ND7GcHt_xcbMp9ooO1ugUwYqV2bqqOFWHl4Gj_NZL25zZ4fJMJkTx4PSF6J9BovYwHyOBhJK9ACTk6uuaRiRy44vNr62-0gmDkmqFRRRMZBj6_1A/s320/JT-Dark-Knight.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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I have been in contact with the rescue group in Eugene Oregon and the wonderful woman who runs the facility. We have been communicating through email only for the past month. Just this morning she asked if I had found any transportation companies that would could ship JT. Wow...my stomach muscles are all bunched up and my heart is racing and my palms are sweating. This is really happening! OMG!<br />
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I now have another project to use to avoid writing!<br />
<br />Debra Giuffridahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07069507120319995334noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8765525894082464378.post-67737131631402133372013-01-23T17:06:00.001-08:002013-01-23T18:03:56.812-08:00Say What?<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Do you ever have those kind of days that you want to shout at the world but then, luckily, your real brain kicks in and stops you?</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I'm having one of those months! There is a discussion going on over at Goodreads and I am in the middle of it. One side is emotionally defending an author and the other side is agreeing to disagree. That is fine. I can deal with emotional people. I just stay calm and let them rant on then leave in a huff because I won't rise to the bait. What I am having a problem with is the agreeable ones. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The author in question wrote a HF set in the era nearest and dearest to my heart. Well, to put it mildly, I felt that she coped out. But that isn't the problem. Someone likened the book to, what she called, "chick lit" and I was offended.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">You are probably scratching your head about now and wondering why my dander is up. Well, it's like this...I am offended by the term "chick lit" because it infers that "chicks" aren't smart enough for true literature, we have to have the dumbed down version! Our language skills are in question here! I thought the book was written for 6th graders! (Gotta stop using exclamation points...) </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Is that the reading level that we must write at to get published? Has our vocabulary sunk so low that a typical book is thought of as a <i>"</i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #181818; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>bible-length book by some authors who take pride in decorating every page with language comparable to a university linguist professor."</i>? </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">What makes matters worse is the my own niece, who was educated in California schools, is using this verbal shorthand that is just undecipherable. <i>"</i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-style: italic; line-height: 17px;">This single mom tired of livin in the fox, but what W2s in the mailbox. I'm out this bitch!!!!!!</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 17px;"><i> "</i></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 17px;"><br /></span></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 17px;">So what does this mean? It was translated to me. She said that she is tired of living in her dumpy apartment and can't wait for her W2 to be mailed to her so she can move to somewhere better.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 17px;"><br /></span></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 17px;">OK...I can see that, can you?</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 17px;"><br /></span></span>Debra Giuffridahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07069507120319995334noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8765525894082464378.post-57765679407557654392013-01-19T13:23:00.003-08:002013-01-19T13:23:39.999-08:00The Christmas Window ExcuseThis past November I partook in NaNoWriMo and failed to complete the 50k words. But I have an excuse! For the final two weeks of November and the first week of December I painted Christmas scenes on storefront windows. And here is the proof:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFHFtokJlbGMxESmdBqssc9LcloPNF_i6DethCXDA9rWgKHeL3fl6J4oqSsYEFvmBJnNHCse0lFxgr7Q2n9alNa56fGpFp1VCxS5WsBkZeUk067cDu4cDUDddu-94TqaDdiifn6twSnA/s1600/image-1.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFHFtokJlbGMxESmdBqssc9LcloPNF_i6DethCXDA9rWgKHeL3fl6J4oqSsYEFvmBJnNHCse0lFxgr7Q2n9alNa56fGpFp1VCxS5WsBkZeUk067cDu4cDUDddu-94TqaDdiifn6twSnA/s320/image-1.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div>
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This is a simple window that I painted for a local gallery. This is the second year for them as clients, too bad it will be my last as they have since closed their doors. Very sad.<br />
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And this next window is one of several I painted for a local store:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2WLt3rDMrYKlZmMNQsUP12iDUfTsIp_6HMYeRBIhAorUgg0HeEJamK_FBJ9y9O7aRl682BB6XZgn0JIiXIO6QeXaXQOnz6PvuOP5stFcl6yTH94BaBDAysxEe3Tr-5HFZ4Fw0pvLY5w/s1600/image-2.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2WLt3rDMrYKlZmMNQsUP12iDUfTsIp_6HMYeRBIhAorUgg0HeEJamK_FBJ9y9O7aRl682BB6XZgn0JIiXIO6QeXaXQOnz6PvuOP5stFcl6yTH94BaBDAysxEe3Tr-5HFZ4Fw0pvLY5w/s320/image-2.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Three elves carrying a candy cane. I had a blast painting that one. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxoYxtizlkK7kZSbwBnLyzcTQibVBWnQfjx6Z_2tmOOV6QBTaPMVa4_qKX0QSLGgtgMVEdKvUQHxNb1NCOE-JvTSDIsGdEYoh96scRYoDG1Dr__pmaonZj-COzwKDbB0vL7QIGsdsDMg/s1600/image-3.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxoYxtizlkK7kZSbwBnLyzcTQibVBWnQfjx6Z_2tmOOV6QBTaPMVa4_qKX0QSLGgtgMVEdKvUQHxNb1NCOE-JvTSDIsGdEYoh96scRYoDG1Dr__pmaonZj-COzwKDbB0vL7QIGsdsDMg/s320/image-3.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div>
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This one is also for the same store. Santa and his reindeer with Rudolf at the front!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj84cIYyrQKnuzMubgBh0qatOraBFQ8zE6EiL2SniMtm8npI4hT7DS7mBF1bnfP7eZYsfLulswGTT14katKvz2LVCoQaS2ZLA_6s92J0qkaOm3OVPK0dWIoXzEurP-6nuZ93bkTCVrSsw/s1600/image-4.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj84cIYyrQKnuzMubgBh0qatOraBFQ8zE6EiL2SniMtm8npI4hT7DS7mBF1bnfP7eZYsfLulswGTT14katKvz2LVCoQaS2ZLA_6s92J0qkaOm3OVPK0dWIoXzEurP-6nuZ93bkTCVrSsw/s320/image-4.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div>
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The above is for a local wine bar/restaurant named Sunset & Vines. I painted grapevine wreaths for them on both of their front and back doors. This is a long standing account as I used to work for them in both the wine bar and the restaurant!</div>
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So, as you can see, I had a good excuse!</div>
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<br />Debra Giuffridahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07069507120319995334noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8765525894082464378.post-57045571491513090812013-01-07T11:28:00.000-08:002013-01-07T11:29:59.384-08:00With a Sniffle and a SighIt is now seven days into the month of January and the new year and I can tell you that I failed at NaNoWriMo. Failed...big time. I started off gungho and my keyboard smoked right up until Thanksgiving then nothing, nada...zilch.<br />
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My shoulders rise and fall with a huge sigh but it doesn't change the fact that I am afraid I will never finish any of my books! This is scary. I can laugh all I want and call myself a reluctant author but deep down I always believed that I would finish something.<br />
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All right, enough sobbing and whining. Do something about it. New Years resolutions are wonderful but they are made to be broken so instead I will make a checklist that I review daily. On this checklist will be only four things. The less I have to do the more likely I will be to accomplish them. My logic is frightening.<br />
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So here is my checklist:<br />
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<ol>
<li>Complete chores by 1pm</li>
<li>Check blogs, emails and Facebook</li>
<li>Work on one WIP and complete 500 words +/-</li>
<li>Take a nap</li>
</ol>
I like number four the best.<br />
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So what are your resolutions? Did you make a huge list with tons of stuff you are sure to break or did you keep yours short and sweet. I would love to know.<br />
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Happy New Year everyone!<br />
<br />Debra Giuffridahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07069507120319995334noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8765525894082464378.post-21064622258070996432012-10-25T16:45:00.000-07:002013-01-20T11:07:19.695-08:00To Market To Market...Today is the 25th day of October which means we are 6 days away from... drum roll please....<br />
NANOWRIMO! Applause.<br />
I am partaking this year and I'm not alone this time. After returning to the community of Compuserve I will have a lot of wonderful thread mates to commiserate with. I am so excited.<br />
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So without further ado I am going to post another segment of my current WIP "Unquiet My Heart."<br />
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<b>Unquiet My Heart</b> copyright 2012 Debra J. Giuffrida, all rights reserved.<br />
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<b>Lady TasheritRa</b></div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>With a string of copper debens and a small bag of barley in each of our hands Tepi and I set out to the marvelous market here in Waset to purchase a gift for MaatKaRa and if we were frugal shoppers perhaps something for ourselves. </div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Brother had arranged a carrying chair for us. It was wonderful. Four armed guards lifted us up as we sat inside pillow-filled luxury. </div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Tashi, I feel so rich,” Tepi said spreading the curtains aside just enough to stick her nose through. “I can see everyone through these curtains; do you think they can see us?” I pulled her back.</div>
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“Stop that, Ahhotep,” I hissed taking my sister by the shoulders and facing her forward. “They can see you and some of them aren’t very happy, so sit up straight and don’t stare at anyone. We’ll embarrass brother.” What I didn’t want to admit to my sister was I felt ill as we sat within this grand carrying chair watching as people stepped out of our way. When the runner in front of our chair yelled at them, I cringed and whenever he hit slow movers with his staff I felt their pain wash over me in great awful waves. It hurt so much I was afraid that welts would rise on my arms and back. </div>
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With relief we arrived at the market and the first thing I noticed when we were handed down from the chair were the raw smells. Breathing deeply the aroma of spices and burning incense filled my nose.</div>
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“Too bad we have already eaten, Tashi, do you smell the bread?” Ahhotep stuck her nose in the air, closed her eyes and sniffed. “Oh,” she pulled on my arm, “look over there, melons. Do you think we could buy some? We haven’t had any melons since we left Imet,” Ahhotep said pointing to the stall where there were great piles of green striped fruit.</div>
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I looked around at the many sellers of produce; their stalls were overflowing with lettuce and onions and all manner of vegetables and fruit. Ahhotep and I walked hand and hand down the aisles under sagging awnings past the farmers and we soon found ourselves in front of a weaver’s large stall. His tables were stacked with neatly folded piles and thick bolts of cloth. The colors were dazzling—reds and blues and yellows and mixtures of each. We kept on walking listening to the vendors sing out the qualities of their wares and watching as other nebets haggled over their purchases. We wove in and around buyers and sellers and stepped over children playing in the dirt. It was loud. Babies cried, dogs barked, it was wonderful.</div>
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“Oh, Tepi, look at these beautiful earrings,” I said walking up and reaching for one of a pair of delicate earpieces with green faience beads that dangled from small chains of gold. “These would look lovely on you.” I held them up next to my sister’s ears.</div>
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“They are lovely, Tashi, but they look expensive. Besides, Sen gave us these deben to buy a present for–”</div>
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“Expensive? Nonsense, we have more than enough to buy for ourselves too,” I said putting down the earrings and moving on towards a necklace.</div>
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“Ah, nebet, I see you have exquisite taste,” the approaching vendor said reaching over and holding up another pair of earrings for me to admire.</div>
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“I do? Yes, I do, but I prefer this pair,” I said passing over the vendor’s choice and reaching for a pair of large circles of gold with what appeared to be rubies set into a delicate filigree. “These,” I said turning to the vendor, “what are their price?”</div>
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“Oh Tashi, they are absolutely beautiful.” Ahhotep reached a hand out to touch the earrings but I drew them away, holding them up to my ears.</div>
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“What do you think?”</div>
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“They are very expensive, nebet,” the vendor said, “those are real gems from the mines deep within WaWat.”</div>
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Turning back towards the vendor I looked him full in the face. The door within my <i>ka</i> opened and I allowed the vendor’s <i>ka</i> to walk through. “Their price, neb?” I asked again watching and listening.</div>
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“Well, it is difficult to say, they are very rare, such as your beauty, lovely nebet,” the jeweler said brushing my hand with his fingertips as he reached for the earrings. “They highlight the delicate color of your skin,” he continued, smiling, his eyes assessing me. <i>I want more than your deben little mew, I can make you purr. </i>His <i>ka</i> spoke and I pulled my hand out of his reach.</div>
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“I am sure we can come to an agreeable price for this pair as well as that green pair and,” I paused looking down my nose at the rest of his wares, “something that would be suitable for the Per A’a.” I heard Ahhotep’s sharp intake of breath, and I was sure her eyes were wide and pleading.</div>
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“The Per A’a?” the jeweler sputtered. <i>What does this one have to do with the Per A’a?</i> He looked up and down the market then turned to rummage in a large leather strapped chest.</div>
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Happy Halloween!</div>
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Debra Giuffridahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07069507120319995334noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8765525894082464378.post-46898098892709450992012-10-06T09:55:00.002-07:002012-10-06T09:57:07.561-07:00No Honey Dews TodayI have to laugh, as a reluctant author I can find an excuse not to write everywhere I look, but this week it has been a piece of cake. My other half has been working at home the last few days and thus our definition of proper work environment has been put to the test.<br />
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Mine consists of complete quiet, a cup of coffee with cream or perhaps one of tea, my dog curled up at my feet and the cat stretched out on her window perch, sunning herself, purring. Peaceful, serene, conducive to thoughts of ancient history and love. His, on the other hand, is sitting in front of his computer with the TV on some moldy rerun from the 60's or 70's or perhaps, if it is the weekend, a cooking show--nonstop food from dawn to dusk.<br />
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So you see how this could be a problem, for me, not for him.<br />
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It's been a week and I am going insane. My romance novel is stalled and my New Idea is also bobbing along in the doldrums. What am I to do? I hate writing anywhere but at home and my other half puts up a huge stink if I complain about the noise. So should I just buck up and stop complaining? What do mothers do when they have children underfoot crying (literally) for attention as well as the spouse wondering where dinner is, or a clean sock, or a bar of soap because the whole lot of them are as helpless as a newborn lamb? I haven't the foggiest. Nor do I want to contemplate their dilemma.<br />
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So instead of moaning and mooning about the house I go outside and work with my horse. He is getting sick of seeing me. In fact when he spies me walking towards him he trots off to the far end of his paddock and turns his back to me. Sick of getting groomed...yep, just tired of it all, same as me, same as me.<br />
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Thought I would post a tidbit from my romance.<br />
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Unquiet My Heart, copyright 2012, Debra Giuffrida, all rights reserved.<br />
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Come neb! Pick up that spear tip! You, there, have you <i>ever</i> drawn a bow?” I shook my head. “Gone for one flooding and you all become a bunch of little <i>nebets</i>!” A bowman behind me laughed. I turned to him, looked him up and down. His laughter died in his throat. “You, neb, hit that bird, there!” I swiveled and pointed at a marsh duck winging its way with two others.</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Without hesitation he raised his bow and drew the string taut, the arrows fletch between his fingers, resting against his cheek. He aimed, following his preys advance, judging the trajectory. His fingers uncurled letting the arrow fly, zinging through the hot air. It found its target, sending the bird plummeting to the ground.</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>With a whistle and a sweep of my arm, my hounds, exploring close by, cast out to retrieve the fallen water fowl. I turned back to the bowman, clapped him on the back. He was all smiles, I was not.</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“As it should be. I expect no less,” I said. The smile disappeared from the soldiers face. “What is your name, bowman?”</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“MinNakht, Lord General,” the bowman replied, standing stiffly at attention, a single bead of sweat rolling down his smooth brow.</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“How old are you MinNakht?”</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“I have seen 16 floodings, Lord General!” he yelled, his chest puffed with pride for being singled out.</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“You have skill,” I said indicating the bow in his hand with a nod of my head.</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>MinNakht stood stiffly, his eyes watching me walk around him, coming at last to face the young bowman. </div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Hence forth, you will lead your squad. You are to instruct your company, teach them what you know.”</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“As you command, Lord General!” he yelled, his eyes widening, a smile returning to his lips.</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Go, neb.” The new squad leader hesitated. “Now!” MinNakht saluted me then turned back to his attentive comrades who gathered round him all talking at once.</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Menena, attend me,” I called, out scanning the arena, to the chief scribe of my forces of Ptah.</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“As always, Lord General,” he said running up to me, his shaven head gleaming in the sun. He carried his reed case and palette slung over his shoulder.</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“I want you to record the change in rank of that bowman, there.” I pointed. “MinNakht, I promoted him to squad leader, see that he is compensated accordingly.”</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Yes, Lord General,” Menena said.</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Check that ledger of yours, do we have our full compliment yet?”</div>
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“No, Lord General, we only have half the number we will need,” he said then lowered his head to check his ledger, “roughly five companies of 200 each,” he said frowning. I walked off, watching my men practicing their skills and learning new ones. My stomach muscles clenched with the knowledge that we were weak, vulnerable to our enemy. What would I tell MaatKaRe when she asked after her armies readiness? Leaving their preparedness to others while I traipsed about the empire at my Per A’a’s beck and call wasn’t an excuse. I was the General, their condition rested on my shoulders. I would ultimately take the blame for their failures, should the unthinkable happen. The gods help us if it did. Menena quickened his steps to keep up with my longer strides. We passed the commander of a company of infantry who stood at attention and saluted me.</div>
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“Djhutmose,” Menena said for my ears only.</div>
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“Djhutmose” I called out, returning the commanders salute, walking on.</div>
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“Menena, how many <i>maryannu</i> do we have.”</div>
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“Well,” Menena exhaled through his nose, then took a breath. “We have chariots for 200, but only enough trained horses for half that number,” he said referring to his ledger.</div>
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I stopped short, turned and looked at him, my hands clenched into fists.</div>
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“What? How?” Then with a sigh of resignation, “get a message to, to, oh, what is his name….” My frustration was growing with each new revelation.</div>
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“KhnumMoses.”</div>
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“KhnumMoses, he’s the,” I looked at Menena and raised an eyebrow.</div>
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“Nomarch of [---].”</div>
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“Yes, Nomarch of [---]. He has at least as many trained chariot horses and access to experienced Naharini drivers if need be.”</div>
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“Yes, Lord General, at once.” He made a notation in his ledger.</div>
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My hounds ran up to my side, one with the duck between his jaws, the others’ tongue lolling out the side of his mouth, lips pulled back in a human-like grin. The one with the duck between his jaws sat in front of me and gingerly placed the dead bird at my feet. I squatted down and picked up the duck, patting the dogs head, ruffling his long-haired ears. He closed his eyes in pleasure, his tongue clinking as he panted as much from exertion as from the day’s heat. Menena and the dogs fell in step with me.</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>We passed by the cooks gauze covered pavilion where they were preparing food for MaatKaRe’s army. I tossed the duck to one of the cooks helpers.</div>
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“This is for my table.” </div>
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The young boy caught the bird, eyed the arrow in the birds neck, then nodded his head and bowed at the waist.</div>
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“I have to leave soon,” I said to Menena and he nodded. “But, I want everything,” I swept the field with my arm, “ready for inspection when I return.”</div>
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“Yes, Lord General, whom will I entrust this task to?”</div>
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I paused, pursed my lips and rubbed my chin. “Who do <i>you</i> recommend?” I asked though I had someone in mind. Menena’s shrewd opinion, with his knowledge of gossip and secrets, rivaled no mans.</div>
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“That one, back there,” he said, meaning Commander Djhutmose. I raised an eyebrow. “He is fair with his men, Lord General, and he is loyal to MaatKaRe <i>and</i> to you. He will see that the Per A’a’s army is ready.”</div>
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“Then, let is be so. Write up the necessary orders and I will affix my seal.”</div>
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“As you command, Lord General,” Menena said bowing at the waist as I turned and left the small pudgy scribe.</div>
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YaYa was lounging inside the relative cool of my sunshade. As I approached, my hounds raced ahead and jumped up on my body servant, barking and yipping. YaYa laughed, rubbing their ears then pushed them away.</div>
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“I’m leaving, YaYa, prepare Nahgua,” I said not relishing the thought of this new assignment. </div>
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“Yes, Lord Prince,” he said bowing at his waist, hands on his knees. He stood up and approached me, unlaced my breastplate and removed it, cradling it in his arms.</div>
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“Leave me,” I growled, not in any mood for company. On her perch, my hooded raptor fluttered her wings and squawked at my sharp tone. My neck muscles where stiff and sore. With closed eyes I rolled my head around rubbing the back of my neck, listening to the creaks and cracks. Untying my sword belt, I let it and my sword drop to the ground, then sat heavily on a deep-seated, high-backed leather chair. A jar of wine sat on a the small side table next to a silver bowl full of dates. Pouring a cup full of wine I took a mouth full, rolled it around once before swallowing. I popped a few dates into my mouth, chewed and spit the pits out in a fine trajectory, watching them hit the sand outside the sunshade.</div>
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With wine and dates in my belly, my body started to relax, allowing my thoughts to wander. I dozed.</div>
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The smell of roasted marsh duck roused me from my sleep. YaYa was standing behind a table laid out for my meal. I stood, stretched, yawned and scratched myself. YaYa handed me a small ewer, I pulled off my nemes and dumped the sun-warmed water over my upturned face, allowing it to run down my neck and onto my shoulders. Blindly I reached for the towel that YaYa held out for me and wiped off the sweat, grit and water.</div>
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I hadn’t realized how famished I was until I took a bite of the roasted bird and tasted the tangy moist meat. It had been stuffed with a mixture of bread and onions and raisins. Chewing and swallowing with relish and satisfaction, I noisily licked the grease from the crispy skin off my fingers, one by one and washed the meal down with more of the wine.</div>
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Have a wonderful weekend everyone!</div>
Debra Giuffridahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07069507120319995334noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8765525894082464378.post-25620991780845034302012-08-27T10:26:00.003-07:002012-08-27T10:26:49.080-07:00A Bit of RomanceTo day I will be working on my plot structure for my Historical Romance titled "Unquiet My Heart." This is proving a daunting task. I don't know what is going to happen past their meeting and falling in love! I can't believe I am stuck! This is awful and I really thought that with my heroines new 'abilities' I could get a handle on this story and move it along lickety split, but that is not the case. Or, and this is probably a better excuse, I am swimming around in a brain fog this morning and can't think past feeding animals and drinking a cuppa.<br />
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So I must unfog myself. How do I do that? Do I go work out and hope that exercise with get the cranial blood flowing? Do I jump on the internet and hope that someone else has a blog post that will turn on the creative switch? All of the above?<br />
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In my last blog post I included a snip from my other work in progress and it felt good to get it out there. That one is stalled too, by the way. But it is only stalled because I have to figure out if I am going to go for the conventional publishing route or if I am going to go with Amazon, self publish and hope for the best. I like the idea of 70% return on my dollar but I need the conventional publishing worlds machinations; the editors, the designers, the publicists and all that wonderful marketing. I am at a crossroads.<br />
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So today I am going to drop in a little snip from my romance. The two have met already but my heroine didn't know who my hero was until just before this scene. In fact when she found out she hated him for not revealing his identity. What she really hated was the fact that she couldn't read his mind nor figure out his feelings like she could everybody else and this threw her for the proverbial loop. She hasn't quite got past that but the emotional and physical attraction eased her anger and soon they were kissing and they almost made love. They were interrupted by my heroines brother who was outraged and my hero departed frustrated and angry.<br />
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So this is that same day, but late at night, just before dawn of the next day. Both the hero and the heroine are staying at the palace as guests.<br />
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<b>Unquiet My Heart copyright Debra Giuffrida 2012</b><br />
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Golden is she</div>
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Who greets the dawn</div>
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Her breath sweet</div>
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Cool limbs entwine</div>
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We rise as one.</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Prince NakhtSet, General</div>
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My sleep was restless, I dreamt of her. Awaking, the dreams images faded on the nights breeze which ruffled the linen drapes protecting me from biting insects. Quickly I sat up on the edge of the sleeping couch pushing the drape aside, my feet hitting the cool tile on the small chambers floor.</div>
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Since the last flooding I had awoken in many strange beds, some just woven mats in musty tents. As a solider I didn't complain, hastily set camp beds were my usual resting place. This one here, under the hospitality of the Good God, was better than most, but it was still a strange bed.</div>
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My hair was damp with dream sweat, I ruffled it then drug a hand over my stubbled cheeks and chin. The thought of her lingered in my heart just as my fingers and lips still carried her perfume, the feel of her silken skin. I groaned and rose. YaYa was snoring at the beds foot. I stepped over him and walked out into the courtyard beyond my chamber.</div>
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Khonsu was low in the night sky, just a slice of the god remained giving off little illumination. Windows and open doorways glowed faintly around the perimeter of the garden adjacent to my chamber, a reminder that I wasn't alone. It was quiet, though, only the splish of fish within the small central lotus pool making a meal on a predawn hatch of insects and the crackle of palm fronds disturbed the stillness.</div>
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A puff of breeze rose goose flesh on my naked body as the sweat dried on my skin. </div>
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I didn't see her until it was almost too late. Tashi was leaning against an acacia tree, a soft looking shawl covering her slender body. She was facing away from me. </div>
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I left that day for MenNefer.</div>
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Debra Giuffridahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07069507120319995334noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8765525894082464378.post-89040096875342327992012-08-09T00:15:00.001-07:002012-08-09T00:17:01.398-07:00WIPI have been complaining about having to retranscribe my current work in progress. I really shouldn't complain. This is an opportunity to review my hits and correct my misses. In fact, it has given me the opportunity to realize that I have to slash and burn a lot. And I mean a lot. But that's OK, I'm cool with that. It is an chance to rediscover my characters and also to crack my 'tough nut'. My favorite author, Diana Gabaldon, had a few of those, so she says. In fact one of her principle characters was a tough nut. It happens to be one of my favorite characters in her books...Brianna. So if Diana can crack her tough nut and hit one out of the park, maybe I have a chance.<br />
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Anyway, I have decided to share my new journey with Unquiet My Heart by posting a snippet of my daily writings. Hopefully it will get around and more people will come over and see what I have to say. Not that I don't mind if it's quiet here. I like quiet. It's just that now and then I want to know that I'm not all alone.<br />
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So without further ado here is this weeks snippet from my other WIP, House of the Rising Sun.<br />
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House of the Rising Sun copyright Debra Giuffrida 2012<br />
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<i>It has been a point of research that of all the Pharaohs that followed Akhenaten, Horemheb hated him the most. I have puzzled over this as to his motives. To so completely destroy the burial goods and to adze (an ancient implement much like a pick) out carvings of both Akhenaten's visage and name every place that it occurred was an act of a hateful and vengeful man. This got me to thinking. Horemheb was a scribe of the military and the ruling family that had control of the military were from the town of Akhmin. This was Tiye's family. Tiye was Amenhotep III's Great Royal Wife. Her father was Yuya and his titles included High Priest of Min, Commander of the Pharaoh's Chariotry and Lord of Akhmin. So that put Horemheb in contact and under the thumb of Aye, who was the son of Yuya, the brother (hypothesized) of Tiye and (hypothesized) the father of Nefertiti (who marries Akhenaten). This in itself would not make Horemheb hate Akhenaten unless Akhenaten did something to Horemheb either knowingly or by accident. I think is was a little of both. So without further ado, here is my hypothesis.</i></div>
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Horemheb ~ Scribe of Recruits Division of Chariotry</div>
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Waset</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>She came down to the royal stables nearly every day. I couldn't help watching her. Young, slender, always smiling and totally oblivious of me. The rest of my fellow scribes watched her too, poking each other in the ribs, rolling their eyes and whispering comments behind their hands. I didn't join in. It wasn't proper, she was the granddaughter of the Commander of the Royal Chariotry and the niece of the Per A'a, not in our class at all. But that didn't stop the others. It made me sick to be near them. I usually picked up my pallet, reed case and mat and left them, muttering an excuse that I was sure they either didn't believe or didn't care enough for it to matter. </div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Today was different. My frown turned to one of surprise when I nearly ran into Commander Yuya as he rounded the building's corner.</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span> "Hold on, <i>neb</i>, what is your hurry?" I dropped my pallet and reed case as the Commander grabbed me by the shoulders more to keep himself on his feet than to help me. Yuya looked me in the eye then smiled. "Horemheb, just the <i>neb</i> I needed," he released my shoulders and took a step back looking me up and down. "Have you forgotten how to handle a chariot?" he asked and I was sure he was ready to reach out and pinch my upper arm to test the muscle. "If I remember you were the best of my young recruits."</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>"Yes Commander, I mean no I haven't forgotten," I faced the Commander and stood square. Yuya slapped me on my shoulder and laughed.</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span> "Good, then come I have a job for you," he left me to pick up my scribal kit and follow.</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>From a narrow window high up in the dim stables a shaft of brilliant sunlight illuminated her. Nefertiti stood next to a copper colored stallion rubbing its face with a linen rag and it sounded as if she was singing to it. </div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>"Nefertiti, stop that noise, I've told you before not to sing to my horses. Come here, <i>benerib</i>, I have a task for you." Nefertiti looked in our direction then handed the stallion and the dirty rag to a stable boy then wiped her hands on the dark red sheath that covered her slender body. She walked towards us, her hips swaying back and forth, back and forth. </div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span> "But he likes it when I sing to him, <i>WerAt," </i>Nefertiti wrapped her arms about her grandfather. The old man smiled but gently removed her arms one at a time.</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>"This <i>neb</i> is going to teach you to drive a chariot, listen to him, <i>benerib</i>," Commander Yuya took Nefertiti by the upper arm and propelled her in my direction. Her look of amazement must have been mirrored on my face because hers disappeared and was replaced with a smile and a cocked eyebrow. I felt my face burn and looked down at my bare feet.</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>"I already know how to drive a chariot," Nefertiti sniffed and I looked up and saw her lower lip shoot out in a pout. I couldn't stop myself from staring at her.</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>"I have seen how you drive and no, you do not know how. This <i>neb</i> will show you the proper way, am I right?" This last was directed at me and with a swallow I tore my gaze away from Nefertiti and looked at Commander Yuya.</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>"Yes, Commander, if my father had not wanted me to be a scribe I would be a <i>maryannu</i>," I said with pride. The Commander sniffed and with pressed lips nodded his head.</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>"Very well, show her and you will be rewarded," the Commander walked away leaving Nefertiti in my care.</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>"I already know how to drive a chariot, <i>neb,</i> the Horus Djhutmose showed me and he is the best in all of Kemet."</div>
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"Of course," the Horus Djhutmose <i>was</i> the best driver, "maybe I can teach you something else. Have you ever ridden a horse astride?" The gods had given me a chance to spend time with this girl but it was up to me to make the most of it. Nefertiti brushed an errant strand of shiny black hair out of her eyes. Those eyes, they were the color of a jar of beer.</div>
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"Astride? What do you think I am? A royal messenger?"</div>
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I had been dreaming of her wondering what she would smell like and her harsh statement made me cringe.</div>
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"No, but you will be able to do something no one else can do. Come, I know of just the horse to use," I turned, hoping she would follow me.</div>
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"But don't tell anyone, I don't want them to laugh at me."</div>
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I couldn't help but smile.</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The mare I sought stood with her companions under a date palm swishing at flies with her long white tail. She cocked an ear in my direction as we approached.</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>"She's fat and old. Do you expect me to ride her?" Nefertiti came to a stop. </div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>"She's not fat she's heavy with foal. Her name is Mut, and she was the first horse I ever rode." I ran my hand along her neck feeling her silken hair coat under my fingers. Mut nickered and nuzzled my chest with a firm puckered lip. </div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>"She remembers you," Nefertiti said coming up alongside me putting her hand on Mut's neck next to mine. Mut lowered her head and searched the dirt for anything she could find imagined or real. Nefertiti ran her hand from Mut's withers on down her rounded side. "Oh, I just felt the foal kick! Oh Horemheb, I can't ride her."</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>She spoke my name. My heart swelled with love for this girl but just as it was about to burst I remembered who I was and who she was. I searched her face for any indication that she felt for me as I her but saw only pity for the old gray mare. A deep sigh escaped my lips and I turned to face Nefertiti.</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>"Mut would be happy to carry you, she is kind and gentle and you will not hurt her or her foal. Here, let me help you up." I laced my fingers and bent over. Nefertiti stepped back. "Come on, Mut is agreeable now, but she is not a patient beast." Nefertiti cocked an eye at me, lifted her sheath around her thighs and put her foot on my laced fingers. With no effort I lifted her up onto Mut's back. The mare raised her head and pinned her ears, raising her upper lip and exposing ivory colored teeth.</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>"Grab hold of her mane, Nefertiti, with both of your hands." Just as the words came out of my mouth Mut took off at a fast trot bouncing Nefertiti up and down.</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>"Make her stop, make her stop," Nefertiti cried. Visions of my nose being removed from my face flashed before my eyes and I took off after the pair. Mut didn't go much further. Nefertiti bounced two more times and started to slide off the mare's back. Mut came to an abrupt stop and Nefertiti pitched forward onto the mare's neck. </div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>I came up to the pair and expected to find Nefertiti mad or crying or both but she was laughing, wide eyed and laughing, her hands still buried within the mare's long, silken mane.</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>"Are you injured?" I asked fearful of her reply.</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>"No, I don't believe so," she frowned, looked about then smiled at me.</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span> I reached out for her and Nefertiti let go of the mares mane and allowed me to help her dismount. She faced me. We were a hands breath apart, her nose almost touching my chin. My heart beat so hard within my breast I was sure that she heard it but I couldn't stop it nor could I stop myself from kissing her on the lips. With a sharp intake of breath Nefertiti stepped away from me. I opened my eyes, I hadn't realized they were closed, and saw her touching her lips with her fingers, her eyes wide.</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>My life was over.</div>
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<br /></div>Debra Giuffridahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07069507120319995334noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8765525894082464378.post-82653585351205666032012-07-23T22:15:00.001-07:002012-07-23T22:17:23.257-07:00In the Heat of the MomentThroughout the country a heat wave is searing the landscape. If a satellite photo were to be taken of the United States you would see heat waves shimmering up towards the heavens. Too bad my laptop isn't smokin' too. I seem to have a problem right now, one of boredom. I am transcribing my romance back onto my computer. You see, I lost it to a hard drive crash and my backup disappeared in my last move. I now have bald patches where I have pulled my hair out by the hands full. The only bright spot was that I had a print out that I was using to edit. I can't seem to effectively edit on screen. Lucky me!<br />
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So, here I sit, taking a break from typing like a secretary, the only bright spot is my own writing and I enjoy reading my writing. Not too very vain am I? I feel that if a writer doesn't enjoy his own work, then who else will?<br />
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I have had a lot of help in the last few weeks. The Compuserve Writers Forum has been a second home for me, and all the wonderful members have taken time and effort to read my offerings and comment on them. And there is an added benefit. One of my favorite author is a mainstay--Diana Galbadon. What more can a reluctant author ask for? Oh yeah, a completed first draft would be nice.Debra Giuffridahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07069507120319995334noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8765525894082464378.post-34443784350386036362012-07-07T22:46:00.001-07:002012-07-07T22:46:26.538-07:00Can You Believe That?It seems that people actually <i>like</i> my writing! Can you believe that? Yeah, I almost didn't think that anyone would ever enjoy reading anything I wrote. Someone even said I was an imaginative story teller! Can you believe that too?<br />
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So, my reluctance is wearing thin lately and I think that if I put my fingers to the keyboard with more diligence than I have in the past I just may finish a first draft. Can you believe that?<br />
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I read an excellent blog about silencing ones inner editor. If I silenced <i>my</i> inner editor there would be no one in my head. Really, I am constantly censoring and editing myself, be it thoughts or the written word. Too bad I let words fly out of my mouth without thinking, though. My mouth has gotten me into a mess of trouble over the years. Hey, wait a minute! Get your mind out of the gutter... I didn't mean it <i>that</i> way. Back to the inner editor, please. Zan Marie wrote this wonderful informative blog on her inner editor. She figured out, after a very nice conversation, that if she offered up the first book in Diana Gabaldon's Outlander series along with a cup of tea her inner editor would take a take a hike for awhile so she could finish a draft. It was a wonderful bit of writing.<br />
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Anyway, that's it... I just wanted to brag.Debra Giuffridahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07069507120319995334noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8765525894082464378.post-56316294749942794762012-06-27T08:21:00.000-07:002012-06-27T08:21:41.187-07:00Arc, What Arc?I have been working on my writing of a very long time, reluctantly. Now I know why. My WIP is an uncoordinated mess. I found this out from a wonderful new friend who lives in Sydney, Australia. We exchanged bits and then she asked for my whole WIP and that is when I am sure I heard sniggering clear over here in Las Vegas, Nevada, USA. Don't get me wrong, she is a very polite lady and she didn't come right out and give me a cyber belly laugh, I think I only imagined it, but it was obvious from her emails that my work was not what she expected.<br />
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She mentioned that silly word I have heard before but never knew what they were talking about...arc. She pointed out that my WIP lacked arcs of any kind. No story arc, no character arcs and from what I gathered that last one was a biggie. So living up to my blogs name I reluctantly jumped on the old PC and googled my fingers off.<br />
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I have seen the error of my ways.<br />
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Wrongly under the impression that what I thought people wanted to read was the "life and times" of my historical characters I just blithely typed my heart out. All of my research was great for a thesis project but even a thesis needs a start a middle and of course a conclusion. So I need to go back to square one and take a long hard look at what I have and see if I can salvage any of it. Or, I could just chuck the whole mess and start from scratch. I do know that a whole bunch of new authors never sell their first book because the first one is the mess they put out when they are learning what NOT to write about.<br />
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So here I go again. Starting from scratch again, not because my computer died but because what I put on paper was better used for bird cage liner. *loud bone racking sigh* If you are interested in my journey you can follow me because I am going to give you a blow by blow of my process. If this helps even just one person then maybe what I have done will be worth it.Debra Giuffridahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07069507120319995334noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8765525894082464378.post-45170660397143091852012-06-18T12:54:00.000-07:002012-06-18T12:57:02.315-07:00Different DecisionsTwo different novels, two different feelings, one decision. OK, which is the better book? Which do I like better, whose characters do I feel more sympathetic towards? Ack! I need advice and know not where to turn. I feel that I am imposing on anyone when I ask advice. When I read my work to my mother she scrunches up her face into this tight fist and acts as if I am speaking in a language better left for dogs. Also, the story is not about her so why should she listen after the first sentence anyway? Even when it is about her she seems distracted with her own memories. *Sigh*<br />
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Lauren Haney is the author of a series of mysteries set in the 18th Dynasty of Ancient Egypt. Her main character is Lt. Bak. She was lucky enough to have a mentor in Dennis Forbes the publisher of KMT magazine. I wish he were my mentor... Another wonderful person is Stephanie Thornton. She just recently had her book picked up by a publisher (actually several publishers bid on the right to publish her books! Woo Hoo! Steph!!!) and she would be a good person to read my tomes, but alas... I feel that she is reluctant due to the fact that she has had to suffer through my writing on Panhistoria. Suffer through... yeah, I don't think much of my writing, do I?<br />
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Last but not least is another Panhistoria chum. But I feel he has too many eggs in his basket as it is, adding my omelet would be too much to ask him. Hmmm, there might be one more person to ask. Hey, what is the worst she can say? No?<br />
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I just recently dumped a chunk of my Amarna book on an unsuspecting writers forum. I got two critiques, one from a lover of Ancient Egypt and the other by a man who knew not what the heck I was writing about. The first liked my style but thought the chunk needed a chunk of work. The other didn't like my main character and thought the story was hooey. So, there you are, two opinions. *Sigh*Debra Giuffridahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07069507120319995334noreply@blogger.com0