Virginia Heath: Life Through a Lens...

The first time I went to Disney was 20 years ago. I will never forget the experience. My two kids were little and totally believed all the characters in those fancy suits were real. It was, as Disney so often promise, magical.

I especially remember the fireworks. All those twinkling patterns set to music, high above Cinderella’s castle. Next to me was a solitary man who watched the whole display through the viewfinder of his video camera, while his children stood next to him. At the time, I thought it was an odd thing to do. Here he was, surrounded by all this atmosphere, his three children filled with awe and wonder, missing the full experience as he recorded it for posterity. It struck me as a waste of a good memory.

Twenty years later, we visited Anaheim again and just had we had that first time, and on numerous visits to different Disneylands around the world since, we found a spot on Main Street and waited patiently for the fireworks. This time though, we were one of the few spectators in that sea of people not holding up our smartphones and watching the spectacle on the screens.

Back home in London a few weeks later, I was sat outside a café on the banks of the River Thames. To my right was the magnificent Tower Bridge. To my left, the wonderful Tower of London. A group of Japanese tourists walked by, and it struck me that they were all holding selfie sticks, viewing those amazing sights on the small screens of their phones rather than experiencing it in the flesh. Since then, I see this all the time. Every event seems to be so meticulously filmed that the people doing the filming are distanced from the great things happening in their own lives.

My point is this, it is Christmas Eve. A time for sharing all the joy of life with those you love. For the next few days, put down your phones people. Live in the moment. Enjoy it. Those memories will be revisited more often than all those hours and hours of video ever will.  

Happy Holidays!

Virginia Heath writes witty, fast-paced romances filled with feisty heroines and mouth-watering heroes she would want to fall in love with.

The Discerning Gentleman's Guide, is out now.

No rest for the writer - Kandy Shepherd

A writer never really has a holiday. No matter where we go, what we do, our stories and characters are always with us. Even on an indolent tropical vacation, those characters in our heads are always poking their noses in and suggesting ways the location might affect them and the way they behave on the pages of our books. If we’re away with another writer that’s even worse, as we talk incessantly about our stories and the way they’re shaping up!

Recently, I’ve been fortunate enough to take two mini-breaks in Australian locations utterly different from each other.One to a resort in tropical far north Queensland where it’s always summer, the other to the Southern Highlands south-west of Sydney where it’s autumn right now.

The bliss of a lagoon pool in a funky, tropical resort

The relaxing beauty of change of season

One resort was funky, upbeat, with a lagoon pool, palm trees and a party atmosphere.

The sign says it all!

The other was traditional, elegant, reminiscent of a Scottish manor house complete with baronial hall. I loved each of them for very different reasons. (Oh, and they both had amazing food!)

Even the adjoining golf club house was traditional

While I swam in Port Douglas, Queensland, walked country roads in Sutton Forrest, New South Wales, my mind was ticking over with ideas for various new stories and the characters who will drive them.

Could my character work in a place like this? Or own it?

Which romance hero or heroine could live behind these gates?

I came up with the perfect “back story” for one heroine, in this case where she met the man who done her wrong and affected her future relationships. And all sorts of scenarios are ticking over for other stories.

The traditional hotel was once a private home and comes complete with ghosts

 

Fun and funky in the tropics -- appealing in a different way

When I’m away from the everyday, relaxed and enjoying good company, the creative side of my brain kicks into overdrive. (It certainly helps not having to cook, clean, or do laundry, too!)

When people ask me did I have a nice, relaxing break, I of course say “yes”, but a writer never really takes a break and with my creative batteries recharged, I’m keen to get back to my stories.

I’ve used Port Douglas briefly in my latest release Reinventing Rose, not as an actual location but as somewhere the characters talk about visiting. (To say any more would become a spoiler!)

BTW, the hotels I visited were the QT at Port Douglas and Peppers Manor House.

What about you? Do you have a favorite vacation destination? What do you like most about taking that so-needed break from routine? Do you enjoy exotic destinations in the novels you read? I’d love to hear from you! Leave a comment for a chance to win a free download of Reinventing Rose.

Don’t forget to include your email address if you want to be in the draw.

Kandy Shepherd writes fun, feel-good fiction.

Her new contemporary womens fiction e-book, Reinventing Rose, is available now at  Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Apple, Kobo, Smashwords, and other e-book retailers.

Kandy’s romances include the Amazon bestseller The Castaway Bride, Something About Joe, and the award-winners Love is a Four-Legged Word and Home Is Where the Bark Is.

Visit Kandy at her website

www.kandyshepherd.com

This is My Kind of Roughing It...by Jenny Gardiner

Summer's here and the camping is easy… Yeah, right.

You might have gleaned from previous pieces I've written that I'm no fan of camping. In fact if given the choice to camp or take a Calculus exam, I'd be hard-pressed to come up with a satisfactory decision. (You may have also gleaned from previous columns that my math skills came to a grinding halt in Mrs. Harcharik's fourth grade math class. Thank goodness she mercifully allowed me to write an essay about Albert Einstein in order to make up for my lackluster year-end grade. Didn't help me to ever learn to balance a checkbook, however. Nevertheless picking between the two would practically be a Sophie's Choice for me.)
Back when my husband and I were dating, he decided he wanted to make a believer out of me in the camping department. I'd grown up as a beach baby, vacationing with sun, surf and sand when I went on holiday. The idea of roughing it in a tent in the woods during vacation never arose in my childhood. Well, there was that time my Girl Scout troop was supposed to camp for a weekend, only to be thwarted by flooding from Hurricane Agnes. Instead we did a day-trip and were forbidden from using the latrines because poisonous snakes were floating around in them. Yep, camping didn't present much in the way of charms with that red flag.

But my husband came up with a snake-free plan that entailed us camping amidst the rugged coastal beauty of Acadia National Park in Maine--how could we go wrong? Well, we erroneously arrived a day early for our reservation. On Independence Day weekend. Nary a campsite to be found (a day earlier in Freeport we were told the only place to stay in all of coastal Maine due to holiday crowds would be a display tent at the LL Bean store. Seriously.).
Luckily the park ranger was able to come up with a lone campsite that had been abandoned by some early-departers. After setting up the borrowed ancient tent (I was warned not to touch the canvas as any place you'd touch would leak if it rained--good luck there), we cooked steaks over the grill, made s'mores, and basked in our happy camper experience, just a little smug we were able to nab a campsite so late despite our scheduling error. After once more admiring the breathtaking canvas of stars in the clear night sky, we zipped the tent closed for the night. I set my book down next to my pillow as I was falling asleep, then several hours later woke to it floating away from me. Turns out a storm had come in, and the aged tent leaked in approximately, oh, two million places. And our campsite was at the bottom of a flood plain.

We spent the night in our Honda Civic, and cleaned the muck out of our mildewing tent at dawn the next day. Memorable? Yes. Fun? Not so much.
A few other camping experiences (one after the release of the Blair Witch Project had me sleepless for fear of looming murderers) left me with a generally tepid reception toward the practice of camping. I did, however, love camping one time: when we were in Africa, some 25 years ago. Much of our trip involved roughing it--including a few nights in a spartan tent in which we came face-to-hairy-face with a hirsute spider the size of my hand skittering across my bed (which resulted in my enveloping myself from head to toe in a circa WWII army-issue stiflingly hot wool blanket/spider guard each night). But then we spent two glorious nights in a luxury tented safari in the Masai Mara with a mahogany four-poster bed, marble sink, the works. I was in heaven.
Now Africa was about the only place in which austere camping even remotely appealed to me. Cloaked beneath the barely-there canvas of a tent with the possibility of a pride of lions or a herd of elephants loping by seemed so cool. But snoozing away in dense Virginia woods with ticks and spiders and snakes of no real mystique threatening me? No thank you. I'll take my own cozy bed any day over that.

But then I heard about about glamping. A friend filled me in on the beauty of glamour camping, the pampered persons alternative to getting down and dirty to enjoy the great outdoors. It involves king-sized beds and maybe 600-thread count sheets and fluffy down comforters and someone else doing all the dirty work. And me not having to trudge in the dark amidst the things that are going bump in the night just to find a public toilet (one that always fails to have a seat, is usually prison-issue stainless steel and comes equipped with cobwebs). Glamping is my kinda camping: the country club variety. Not that I'm elitist, but when it comes to camping, I need the comforts of home. And then some.

I usually suck it up and camp once a year with my family, me in full martyr mode. Usually the general family consensus at the end of the weekend is that Mom should've stayed home. But this glamping thing, it seems like a happy medium, a meeting of the minds. Except for the price, which can't compare with the pack-it-all-from-home way, darn it. If only someone would come up with discount glamping, all the comforts, none of the expense, I'd be golden. And maybe even try to pretend I'm enjoying myself just a bit.
Until then, I think I'll aim for microwaving s'mores and kicking back with the TV remote, maybe even attempting to balance my checkbook. And just be very, very grateful I'll get to sleep in my own bed with a roof over my head.

Jenny Gardiner is the author of the award-winning novel Sleeping with Ward Cleaver (coming back in ebook form this week!), as well as the novels Slim to None and Over the Falls and the humorous memoir Winging It: A Memoir of Caring for a Vengeful Parrot Who's Determined to Kill Me. She also has a story in Wade Rouse's upcoming humorous dog anthology I'm Not the Biggest Bitch in This Relationship (NAL/Sept '11), a fundraiser for the Humane Society of the US and selected animal charities.

Feel free to visit me at my website
You can also find me on Facebook
And my Facebook fan page
And don't forget Twitter

Summer Holidays - Annie West

When I was young I remember returning to school after the long Christmas break (it's summer in Australia so we have our long vacation now) and the teacher would always ask us to write a composition about what we did in the holidays. It always seemed such a chore, but now I love to think about what I did during my time off.

Often my report would talk about visiting beaches as I spent the hot summer trying to keep cool in the water. This year that hasn't been a problem. In fact (shocking) I haven't been to the beach once over Christmas.

Instead we managed a very short trip away to the mountains to do a bushwalk called the National Pass walk. The track descends in rock-cut steps carved out of sheer cliff, passes under some gorgeous waterfalls and up at the other end. Part of the track is like a tunnel chiselled along the centre of the cliff with stunning views out over the Grose Valley on the other side. Much as I love the bush I do wish someone would instal a cable car!

As you can see from the photos we had gorgeous weather apart from the thunderstorm that hit us on the way back and sprinkled hail on us! Then, walking back to our rented accommodation on the side of the road, a council truck hit a pothole and drenched us from head to toe. Good thing we had a hot shower and dry clothes to look forward to. Not to mention great Thai food and some excellent reading.

After that came the delightful, busy festive Christmas season with too much food, lovely gifts and time spent with family. It's great being home for Christmas and enjoying the things that have become family tradition over the years. I've even begun to spend just a little more time in the jungle I call my garden (sadly neglected lately as I worked to finish a book). The gum trees are full of cicadas so it sounds like summer and we're getting visits from lots of birds. Here's a snap I took at my parents' home of Rainbow Lorikeets.

There's something to be said for having a quiet vacation time. I have plans to destroy my part of my TBR pile and maybe even tidy up a cupboard or two and get organised for 2010. Little things, but so pleasing.

What about you? Did you have a lovely Christmas break? Did you have a quiet time with family and friends or do something adventurous or unexpected?

I'm celebrating the start of the new year with a smile because I have two books in current release. In North America there's BLACKMAILED BRIDE, INEXPERIENCED WIFE and in the UK there's FORGOTTEN MISTRESS, SECRET LOVE-CHILD. Pop over to my website if you'd like to find out more about them or to enter my new year's contest.

Annie

Where would you go...?

SWAP YOUR VACATION HOUSE AT HOLIDAYS AWAY!
Available July 21 - Aug 3, Osprey Island, Maine:
Quaint island cottage with splendid ocean view. Two
bedrooms, full bath, eat-in kitchen, fireplace, BBQ.
Enjoy kayaking, hiking, birding, boating and much
more in isolated splendor, sixteen miles off the
ruggedly picturesque Maine coast. Motivated owner
particularly willing to swap with Sun Belt location.

No, I'm not offering up my house to the internet. The above is the beginning of my new book from Harlequin SuperRomance, NOBODY'S HERO, on shelves now. A Massachusetts state trooper named Sean Rafferty swaps a condo at an Arizona resort for what he hopes will be a quiet stay on Osprey Island. Being a romance novel, we know things don't work out that way, thanks to a little redheaded girl who thinks she's Trixie Belden. There's also a mystery in the maze, a stolen diamond, a widowed garden designer named Connemara and blueberry pie. Some vacation!

I'm currently working on the sequel to NOBODY'S HERO (working title NOBODY'S BRIDE but that will probably change before the book's out in 2009--sorry for the long wait!), which is set during the other swapper's stay at an Arizona resort. What was fun about writing these books is immersing myself in research of the two locations. Which got me thinking. If I swapped my house, where would I choose to go?

A number of overseas destinations sound extremely appealing, but sticking to the U.S. or Canada for now, there are still endless places I'd like to visit. Nova Scotia, Prince Edward Island (I'm an Anne of Green Gables fan and have always wanted to see P.E.I.), Victoria Island. Banff would be gorgeous. Anywhere along the Northern California coast, right up to Washington to explore their many islands. Or the east coast--the Outer Banks, Nantucket, the Hamptons. Anyone seeing a theme here? I'm clearly a northern tier water person!

If you were swapping your house for a vacation far from home, where would you go? Somewhere hot and beachy? Cool and forested? Would you choose the familiar, or try an exotic location for the sheer adventure of it?

Missing: Where are the Men in Kilts?

Just who I need to tell about the missing men-in-kilts in Scotland? Does one call the police about something as horrible as an entire group of people who went missing during my recent trip to Scotland? Scotland Yard, perhaps? (sorry – couldn’t help myself there!)

I had the wonderful and exhausting opportunity to travel to England and Scotland over the Easter holidays with a group of students and faculty (and a couple of parents) from my youngest son and my oldest son and daughter-in-law’s high school. The original plan was for me to go with them and do things on my own, since I had things to do on my own....a list of them leftover from my trip four years ago. But, plans changed and I ended up with them for seven days, in London for five more and then north to Scotland . . . in search of the elusive man-in-a-kilt. Like this one >>>>

Now, I’d seen them before – on my last trip to Scotland in 2004, there were bunches. On my first trip to Scotland in 2002, they were everywhere and even included American men in a wedding there. What could have happened to them? I decided a thorough search was necessary before reaching any conclusions that might panic the women of the world. So, I visited lots of places in Scotland:

Edinburgh – a tip to toe search of Edinburgh Castle and Holyrood House and everywhere in between on the Royal Mile was fruitless.

Robert and William are wearing something medieval – but not kilts!

I looked up and down the alleys, closes and wynds.....no kilts there either!

Found this. . . . What the heck is this?

Are the real Scottish Hairy-coos missing, too?

I decided to widen my search and left Edinburgh for Stirling Castle, Dunfermline Abbey, the fields of Bannockburn , and finally Rosslyn Chapel and Castle....Found what looks like a palm tree here at Stirling Castle . . .

I even searched high up on the scaffolding that surrounds Rosslyn Chapel – found some old cup that’s supposed to be the answer to some historical mysteries, but alas, no men in kilts!

It wasn’t until my last day when I took a bus trip out to the Highlands that I think I discovered the reason for their absence. . . The weather which had been kind of wet the whole I’d been there turned to something worse – as we left Edinburgh and traveled north and then west,

these were some of the sights....

Hey wait! That's SNOW!

I suddenly realized that, most likely, the cause of this lack of men in kilts

could be weather-related! I mean, we all know what a Scottish man wears under his kilt, right? Or doesn’t? Confused and concerned, I sought the advice of my tourguide –

-- a wonderfully-knowledgeable man named Ali (short for Alistair) who was so experienced in Highland lore and tradition that he managed to teach a bunch of outlanders a Scottish country dance in a parking lot near Fort William. And he had the answer. He looked up at the snow falling around us and said the one word that explained it all. . . .

Shrinkage!!

So, my next trip will definitely be during the warmer months. Wanna come with me?

Terri Brisbin invites you all to visit her newly-designed website ( www.terribrisbin.com ) to find out more about her books and her unfailing fascination with Scottish men, kilts optional!