Supermoon that occurred on March 19, 2011 in Spokane, WA.**
Many moons ago, when I was working on my BA at Agnes Scott College – right about the time my health started going all wonky, as it turns out (hindsight, and all) – there was one semester when Cactus Girl dragged me out to see live bands. I used to go see live shows all the time, but this semester marked the beginning of what I refer to as “can’t be bothered with anything” syndrome, something I spent ten years writing off (and beating myself up over) as a character flaw.
At any rate, one of the bands we went to see quite a bit was called The Bibles. They were fun to see live – and CG and I had quite the adventures that semester. Probably the most fun I had at college.
So, CG, this one’s for you. What?! *head cock* (does that count as mixing metaphors? lol)
**Image By Astrotool (Own work) [CC BY-SA 3.0 (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0) or GFDL (http://www.gnu.org/copyleft/fdl.html)], via Wikimedia Commons
Welcome author Kay Harris with her to-be-released-tomorrow!! novel Don’t Let Him Go for this week’s #TellTaleTuesday.
My sixth contemporary romance novel “Don’t Let Him Go” will be the first one to be published (as opposed to self-published). It comes out on February 14 (how perfect, right!). The journey to having this multicultural romantic comedy published by The Wild Rose Press is an extraordinary one (at least I think so).
Three years ago I was living in the Bay Area. I lived on the island of Alameda in the East Bay and worked in downtown San Francisco. Each morning I took the ferry across the bay, under the Bay Bridge and to the historic ferry building (always sipping on fancy coffee.) Each evening I took the ferry back home (sometimes sipping on red wine from the bar in the back of the boat.) It was a fantastic commute for sure, but it was also the beginning of this story.
“Don’t Let Him Go” is the tale of a conservative-minded corporate lawyer who finds herself stuck working with a bleeding-heart activist. Like the cities that lie on either side of the Bay where this story is set, the couple is multi-faceted. One is straight-laced and well-put-together but with a strong sense of right and wrong held deep inside. The other is raw, exposed, and far more comfortable in his own skin. The bridge stretching between them is the connection they unexpectedly find. And like the Bay Bridge that connects San Francisco to Oakland it is regal, proud, and often overlooked in favor of the shiny red bridge that runs north to south.
Okay, so I’m getting dramatic. But I love this story and I love these characters. They spoke to me each day as I rode that ferry and after I returned home each night I wrote it all out. Last April I was preparing to self-publish “Don’t Let Him Go” as I’d done with five other books before it, when I attended the Las Vegas Writers’ Conference. It was there that I met the amazing ladies of The Wild Rose Press and a new future, a new dream for my characters was born.
So now here I am, prepared to release my baby into the world. I hope you all will love it as much as I do!
The only thing worse than getting stuck with a bad client is falling in love with him.
Candace Gleason passed the bar, landed a great job, and is making a killer salary–basically, all of her dreams are coming true. Until she’s assigned to keep the boss’s petulant son out of trouble.
Jack Morrison is the rebellious black sheep of a mighty real estate family. He runs a nonprofit whose mission is to save poor people from evil corporations, like the one his own family owns. He is obnoxious, ridiculously charming, and insanely hot. He is the bane of Candace’s very existence.
Sparks fly from the moment they meet. Candace suddenly has more to worry about than keeping Jack out of jail. She has to keep him out of her heart.
I folded my arms across my chest and glared at Jack as he moseyed into the room. “You ambushed me.”
Jack came to a stop a few feet away and nodded. “I did.”
“That’s it?” I spread my arms out and leaned forward. My voice rose despite my effort to control it. “That’s all you have to say?”
“What do you want me to say? You’re smart. You can see what I did back there. I used you for my own gain.”
“You’re a prick!”
“I’m not surprised you feel that way. But I am sorry you had to get caught in the crossfire.” He moved to the couch and took a seat in the middle of it, purposefully giving me the high ground.
He slung his arms over the back of the couch casually, making him look like an arrogant ass. And that is exactly what I thought of him at that moment. So I called him on his supposed apology. “Are you?”
“Yes, I am. But you’re not innocent, Candie. You put yourself in this position by going to work for Morrison.”
“It’s Candace!” I shouted, on the edge of insanity.
He didn’t respond. He just looked at me with that infuriatingly handsome face and waited, an amused grin dancing on his face.
Kay Harris has had a diverse career with jobs ranging from college professor to park ranger. Now she adds author to her repertoire. Kay writes romance novels that contain a little bit of sweet, a dash of sexy, a touch of heartbreak, and a whole lot of fun!
Kay grew up in the Midwest and has since lived all over the western United States including Montana, Wyoming, Utah, Arizona, Nevada, and California. She loves to hike, is obsessed with museums, and enjoys taking her extremely tall and very handsome husband on adventures.
Borrowed from Angie’s FB page. 🙂 Click on the photo and it’ll take you there.
Mornin’ all! Running a bit late this morning – Thanks to a slight bout of insomnia last night, I woke up later than usual.
This week’s #MondayMorningMusic is “Cry” by Angie Aparo. I was introduced to his music when I was working on my BA at Agnes Scott by a woman I no longer keep in touch with. But I distinctly remember her showing me the CD insert for The American while sitting on the brick wall in the little courtyard between Presser and Campbell (I think…it’s been a loooong time since I’ve been on campus. EDIT: It’s actually between Presser and Buttrick – thanks, Cactus Girl! xo) and saying, “You’re gonna love him. He’s bald!”
I did indeed love him and only slightly because he was bald (and beautiful)! He has the most amazing voice (one that sounds exactly the same live as it does on recordings) and The American is one of those albums I can put on and not only listen in full, but play on repeat, repeatedly.
(And, oh, my gah! y’all, he does the most amazing version of Oasis’s “Champagne Supernova” – you can find that on YouTube, as well… sigh)
In short, I could sit at his feet and listen to him sing all day long and then some more.
Some of you may associate Angie’s song “Cry” with Faith Hill – he did rework it for her and she did in fact sing it (there’s an amazing duet of it he did with Faith that I’ll include below the original version…) – but he’s the writer and the original singer, and while I enjoyed Faith’s version, ultimately it holds nothing compared to Angie’s for me.
So, without further ado, here is Angie…
And here’s the version of Angie singing with Faith Hill.
No big story behind this week’s #MondayMorningMusic, except to say that “Tell that Girl to Shut Up” by Transvision Vamp is one of the quintessential high school (after I moved back to the States from Germany, so junior & senior years) songs for me, and the album it’s from (Pop Art) is one of three cassette tapes I still own (the other two being the soundtrack from Dogs in Space and The Greatest Hits, So Far by Public Image Limited).
I know why I kept Dogs in Space and Pop Art on cassette – because neither were available on any other format for the longest time. I’m not sure Dogs in Space is available on anything other than vinyl (although I do have it on CD thanks to a friend of mine). I know I can get PIL on CD, so why I kept the cassette is beyond me.
I think I have a hard time throwing anything away. lol
Does anyone else still have random albums on cassette tapes?
Anyway, enjoy Transvision Vamp and have a Happy Monday! 🙂
Running a bit late with this week’s #MondayMorningMusic – it was an insane past four days. My kitty, Dorian Gray – picture at left 🙂 – ended up at the vet for what turned out to be a sedation (which I don’t like doing – he’s 12-13ish, so he’s definitely not a spring chicken, by any stretch… why do I feel like I’m mixing my metaphors? lol) and an ultrasound. Turns out he has something called Inflammatory Bowel Disease. So I’m trying to figure that out and get him to feeling better and back to relative normal. He’s eating better, so there’s that.
In honor of him, today’s #MondayMorningMusic is “Psycho Killer” by The Talking Heads. Not only does Dorian Gray strive to be Florida’s most prolific lizard serial killer, *every* time I hear this song, I sing it as “Psycho Kitty” in tribute to Mr. Gray.
Hope everyone has a wonderful start to the week, and I’d appreciate any prayers, good thoughts, and mojo for Dorie’s recovery.
I’m not quite sure why “Where the Streets Have no Name” is one of my favorite songs – I love everything off The Joshua Tree, but when it came time to choose a song from the album for this week’s #MondayMorningMusic, I didn’t even hesitate.
I love other songs by U2, but for this story my choice had to be from The Joshua Tree, because this story involves a road trip to see the band on The Joshua Tree tour, and hilarious shenanigans, some intentional, others not so much.
Let me back up and start from the beginning. Back in 1987, I had just moved back to the States from Germany. I was not particularly happy about the move, but school started and I made friends, as military brats generally do rather quickly – a necessity brought about by near constant moving. You may not be happy about things, but you adapt and move on.
I made fast friends with the other KP and the two of us made friends with another girl – we’ll call her TL – a grade below us, I think, or maybe two grades. The three of us were three-quarters of the school freaks, if you will, the other being a gent who arrived later.
Anyway, the three of us were thick as thieves a couple months after school started. The other KP was the only one of us with a driver’s license, which was great for tooling around Fort Knox and local areas, but there was zero way in hell my parents would let me drive too far with only the company of another 16 year old and a 14-15 year old. Which meant, when I heard U2 was playing I begged my parents to drive us to the closest city they were playing: Indianapolis.
Thankfully, they agreed – though if I’m being honest, it was a huge pain in the backside to go from roaming around Frankfurt, (then West) Germany with little to no supervision to being dependent on other people – particularly my parents – to get anywhere.
Fast forward to November 1 – my parents, the other KP, TL, and I cram into the Saab and make the 2-1/2 hour or so drive. My parents were smart enough to get a hotel room for them to hang out in while us young ’uns were at the show. Not wanting to be cooped up inside, the other KP, TL, and I hung out in the parking lot, smoking cigarettes and being obnoxious, the latter culminating in TL pounding on the door of a tour bus parked in the parking lot of the hotel, and yelling for the occupants to come to the door.
As I recall, we made jokes about it being U2, which, of course it wasn’t – there was no way U2 would be in a tour bus in the parking lot of a budget hotel. It did, however, turn out to be Barbara Mandrell’s tour bus and her (very cute!) keyboard player (whose name I don’t remember and so far have never been able to track down) did open the door and chat with us for a few, including offering us free tickets to their show that night.
We had to turn them down, but it was a HUGE deal to be offered free tickets to a show, even if it was country.
Eventually, the time came to head to the Hoosier Dome, so off we went. My parents dropped us off and headed out, probably off to dinner and then back to the hotel. Us three girls walked toward the venue, each of us growing more and more quiet as our excitement about seeing U2 was tempered by the decidedly country attire worn by the vast majority of people around us. When we got up close enough to the venue, we realized we’d been dropped at the wrong place, which, coincidentally, was the venue where Barbara Mandrell and her cute keyboard player were probably getting ready backstage. I also seem to recall seeing pictures of Kenny Rogers, but I can’t be sure if this is true.
Oh, Lord, you’d have thought the world had come to an end. I remember that TL and I bitched and moaned our way back to the street – and the other KP had enough sense to ask for directions to the Hoosier Dome (I believe the original structure was demolished and was replaced with the Indiana Convention Center – don’t quote me on this…)
In 1987 there were no cell phones, so no way to get hold of my parents to let them know we’d been dropped off at the wrong spot and they needed to pick us up somewhere else. Not much to do about it, so the three of us girls trekked across the city for what seemed like ages until we reached the destination we were supposed to be at.
We got in, found our seats, and hung out (while I got anxious at the slightest scent of marijuana… lol) and waited for Los Lobos to open the show. The lights went out and the crowd roared. The stage lights came on and out came…
The Dalton Brothers.
I was absolutely disappointed – I’d been looking forward to seeing Los Lobos, too – not as much as U2, but still. La Bamba was the first movie I went to see after I came back to the states (saw it in San Antonio the night before I flew up to Louisville… probably not the best movie to watch right before a flight… Ha!) I had developed something of a fascination with Ritchie Valens and by extension Los Lobos since they’d done most of the soundtrack for the movie. As I recall, Los Lobos had missed their flight or something, so they didn’t make it to the show.
The other KP kept saying something along the lines of, “You’re a doofus. The Dalton Brothers… That’s U2, you dork!”
To which I’m sure I replied something along the lines of, “Bullshit.”
(In my defense, we were nowhere near close to the stage, so it’s not like I had a good view of the people on stage. Not so much in my defense, after watching the video and listening to Bono sing as Alton Dalton, I can’t believe I didn’t catch it myself. Good God, it was so obvious!)
I don’t remember with TL’s response to all this was.
I also don’t remember anything else about the show or what came after. I’m sure we enjoyed ourselves immensely, and if for any reason we hadn’t been able to reconnect with my parents, I’m fairly certain I would have remembered.
What I do remember is coming across a newspaper clipping confirming what the other KP had told me during The Dalton Brothers’ act – that the band was, in fact, U2. And despite being a day late for Halloween, it was the perfect prank.
And lest you think I made this up, you can read more about The Dalton Brother’s/U2 prank at the IndyStar. Make sure to scroll down and watch the video – Adam in drag, smoking a cigarette is hilarious! 🙂
So, Happy Monday! I hope everyone has a great week! xo
No story behind this week’s Monday Morning Music. Just a song that strikes a chord with me lately.
Plus, it’s Depeche Mode, and who doesn’t like Depeche Mode? 😀 I will, at some point soon, have an actual Depeche Mode story for you. Along with the U2 story
In the good news department, I’m finally on the mend after getting slapped down by the sickness I did my best to avoid over Christmas and New Year’s.
At least it waited until after the year started. I have this theory that however one’s New Year’s Eve goes, so goes the year to follow. After having spent so much time being sick, acute OR chronically, I did NOT want to spend this entire year dealing with being sick. That’s not to say I won’t have health issues to continue to address, but I’m sick of my health being the sole focus of my attention.
The Misfit’s got a brand new bag.
Or at least I hope to. 🙂
(That’s a metaphor, although I did pick up a super cute Betsey Johnson purse not too long ago. Ha!)
There’s something inherently sexy about him. I’ve been lucky enough to see him live twice – once with my mom and once with my parents and a man I was dating at the time.
Neither time did I throw my panties at him.
I’m disappointed in myself about this.
Anyway, Tom Jones brings to mind a snippet of a memory. Summertime in Germany, spending days at the Schwimmbad Heddernheim (Heddernheim is a city district of Frankfurt am Main. You can read more here, if you’re interested), and a schwimmbad is German for swimming pool.
The interesting thing about Heddernhem (which is all we used to call the schwimmbad) was that it was all outside. Lots of grassy area to sunbathe and hang out, a fantastic slide that looked a little something this this:
Freibad Heddernheim – Photo Courtesy of city-residence.de
and had lots of swim related things to do. I honestly don’t remember anything except the slide (which I remember as looking a bit different than the image, but we’re talking well over 30 years ago, so it may have actually been updated OR my memory sucks…) and the grassy area.
I have a snippet of memory of meeting a handsome German guy who was deaf at the slide, and another of sunbathing while blasting “Kiss” by the Art of Noise featuring Tom Jones and a boombox.
With all the cold temperatures – as much as I’ve enjoyed the change of pace – it’s awesome to have a summer memory to warm things up a bit.
So, Happy Monday, and I hope this helps get your week off to a great start!
This week I was going to share the story about road trippin’ to see U2 in Indianapolis, but I think I’ll save it for another day. It deserves not to get lost in other revelry.
I’m a homebody, especially when it comes to New Year’s Eve. I can’t think of one time I ventured out to celebrate, even when I wasn’t more inclined to spend my time at home – hence being thankful I’m not among the squash of bodies in Times Square, or any where else, for that matter.
I’m currently binge watching Game of Thrones, trying to decide which New Year’s Eve show to watch. I watched Dick Clark’s New Year’s Rockin’ Eve growing up – and watched it faithfully, even after Ryan Seacrest took over and Dick Clark made only an appearance. But I haven’t watched it since Dick Clark passed away in 2012.
It’s just not the same.
It’s always a crap shoot if I’ll be able to keep my eyes open until midnight to ring in the new year, anyway. Knowing me, I’ll pass out, wake up as the ball drops, say a sleepy “Happy New Year” and pass out again. 🙂
In any case, the first song I always play on New Year’s Day, regardless of whether it’s 12:01 or 9:00am, is “New Year’s Day” by U2.
I don’t know when this became my ritual or why I chose the song – it drives me insane that it’s such an obvious choice. But it’s also the perfect choice. I can’t think of another song better suited to help me ring in the new year.
I have lots of plans for 2018. Some are rehashing of the old (getting my German language skills back up to par, for instance), some are learning of the new (I haven’t decided what, yet), and some are not being such a homebody. Thanks to the chronic illness, I have to pace myself considerably, but I’m pretty well over being house-bound.
In any case, I hope everyone had a wonderful New Year’s Eve and a fantastic start to 2018!