Tuesday, April 23, 2013

A to Z: Quixotic

Webster defines quixotic as "foolishly impractical especially in the pursuit of ideals;especially : marked by rash lofty romantic ideas or extravagantly chivalrous action".

Sir Colin Wilde was a man who aspired to be a rake. To become a good one, however, he enlisted the help of a friend: former notorious rake, Anthony Benson, Viscount Maddox. And he needed a lot of help.

Always blundering, never knowing what to say or do. Just like Christian in Cyrano de Bergerac.

Unfortunately, Maddox misled Wilde at every turn, frustrating his quixotic notions and leading him into epic failure every. single. time.


“She loves chocolates,” came the unmistakable voice of Viscount Maddox on Colin’s right.

“What the…?” He turned around and came face-to-face with Anthony. “What the devil are you doing here?”

“What do you think?” Anthony grabbed Colin’s arm and pulled him away from the door. “I agreed to help you with your first seduction.”

“This is not my first—”

“Do you want my help or not?” Anthony demanded.

“I do.” Colin sighed his resignation. Though he was certain this particular girl wouldn’t take much convincing. He examined his friend, who seemed to be sweating profusely. “I say, are you all right?”

Anthony rolled his eyes. “Just thinking about my final resting place is all.” He sighed and straightened his shoulders. “Lady Priscilla is very sensitive. You must not offend her.”

“Right.” Colin nodded.

“Begin by comparing her to Lady Hawthorne. She adores her and has always aimed to be just like her in every aspect of life.”

“Cordelia? Ambrose’s wife? Truly?” Colin wasn’t entirely convinced.

Anthony scratched his head and looked away. “It is all truth. Also, and do not forget this lest you lose her before you even try to seduce the woman…” Anthony leaned in and whispered, “She loves poetry.”

“Poetry?” Colin repeated. “But I am no poet! I hate poetry!”

“Make it up.”

“Do you know me at all? I cannot simply make something up on the spot. I’ll look like an idiot.”

Anthony began to pace. “Allow me to help.” He cleared his throat and took a stance in front of Colin. “Your hair is like a cloud.”

“A cloud?” Colin interrupted.

“Have patience. I’m not finished,” Anthony ground out. “Your hair is a cloud, dripping with rain. Oh, if I were grass that I could drink up the water. You would soothe my soul and make me… smile.”

“It does not even rhyme!” Colin shouted.

“Poetry does not have to rhyme,” Anthony argued.

~ from Taming Wilde (Rachel Van Dyken & Leah Sanders)

Monday, April 22, 2013

A to Z: Piece of Quiet

It was a Saturday evening. I had done the dumbest thing I have ever done in my teaching career and was paying the price for it. So I sat at my kitchen table, trying desperately to score a stack of about 150 position papers (almost all of which were plagiarized from the same three sources, I might add).

I say "trying desperately" because I had NO desire whatsoever to be doing what I was doing. I had been forced by the powers that be to inflict torture on myself via the aforementioned essay assignment. Foolishly, however, I made it into the semester final exam. Grades were due in just three days, and I had to grade them quickly.

First of all, grading essays is no picnic, regardless of the writing ability. But when you have to read essentially the same three essays 150 times -- and they weren't even that well written to begin with -- you get the strange, yet overwhelming desire to jab your red ink pen into your eye.

So there I sat at the kitchen table trying desperately to grade papers and to avoid my periodic involuntary attempts to put out my own eye. My two energetic and very boisterous children began to "play" in the living room about ten feet away from the table. This was more than I could handle. I stood up suddenly, slammed my hands down on the table and announced (or rather, bellowed), "I WANT PEACE - AND QUIET!!!"

My children were slightly taken aback at this outburst, but not really enough to move their game elsewhere. Instead, my son -- bless his heart -- sidled up to me slowly with his hand in his pocket. He pulled his hand out of his pocket wryly and handed me his fist. He said, "Mom, here is a piece of quiet. You can eat it... then, you can IGNORE us."

A to Z: Opening Night

Thursday night I took my daughter to the opening night of the high school production of Beauty and the Beast.

I know what you're thinking... "A high school play... How nice."

However this school went all out. The acting was fantastic. The singing was amazing. And somebody spent A LOT of money on costumes and scene sets.

All the acting was great. Le Fou was hilarious tripping all over the stage. Gaston was as pompous as you would expect, kissing his biceps and flipping his long dark hair. Belle was sweet and spunky. Her voice was gorgeous.

But I gotta say, in my humble opinion, Madame Wardrobe stole the show. Her big booming voice and comedic timing made me laugh so hard I thought I would hyperventilate.

Both my daughter and I loved it. So glad we went.

Thursday, April 18, 2013

A to Z: Names

Not gonna lie, one of my favorite things to do is name my characters. And ask any one of the students I've ever had, a good title thrills me beyond measure.

Sometimes I name my characters based on the meanings and how well it fits their role in the story.

In All We See or Seem, my villain is Joseph Admatha, a name that means death.

The nurse who ends up helping save the heroine's life is Miss Birger, a name that means savior.

And most of my stem's names mean "Twin".

I may have gone a little overboard on the name symbolism... What can I say, I'm an English teacher. I just can't help myself.

Who is your favorite fictional character? What does his or her name mean? Does it fit?

Wednesday, April 17, 2013

A to Z: Marley

Marley Ryan poked her head into her father’s private office. “I’m heading out, Dad.” The handful of his associates meeting with him turned to appraise the intrusion.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were in a meeting. I just wanted to say goodbye.”

Her father stood and strode toward her.

“Don’t worry about it, sweetheart,” he said with a sad smile. “Gentlemen, my daughter. She is heading off to Miami for school.”

A few of them nodded their approval.

“Miami? Can you believe it?” Peter Ryan shook his head with a laugh. “With such a prestigious school as Boston University right in her own backyard, Harvard right down the road?”

The men murmured their agreement.

“Marley, I wish you would reconsider and let me drive you to the airport.” He took her hands in his and met her gaze with those pitiful clear green eyes.

“Don’t look at me like that, Dad. We already talked about it. You’re busy. It’s fine. I’m a big girl now.” She squeezed his hands tenderly and cast a glance over her shoulder toward the door. Why did he have to make this so difficult? She was minutes away from freedom.

The heavy sigh that came from her father made her cringe.

“Don’t worry about me. Oscar will drive me, and I’ve already arranged transportation from the airport to the school when I get there. I promise. I won’t talk to strangers, and I’ll only date full-blooded Irish boys.”

At that he rolled his eyes and released her hands. A low chuckle rumbled from the men in his office.

“Sounds like a bright girl, Mr. Ryan,” one of them said.

“All right, Marley.” Her father put his hand on her shoulder and smiled. “I trust you.”

“It’s all those full-blooded Irish boys who shouldn’t be trusted,” another man added.

Mr. Ryan shot him a look of feigned disgust then turned back to his daughter.

“Go on now, before these old boys change my mind for me.”

Marley wasn’t about to make him tell her again. With maybe a little too much exuberance she stretched up on her tiptoes and planted a kiss on his cheek. “Okay, bye, Dad! I’ll call you when I get settled.” And then she was out the door, down the steps, and in the car before he could answer her.

Tuesday, April 16, 2013

A to Z: Lack of Personality

I know you may find this hard to believe, but a few years ago one of my friends told me that a couple different people asked her if I had a personality.


Like you I was slightly disturbed that someone would even say that, but then I realized... Oh, yeah! It's not true!

You probably don't know this about me, but I'm a little shy. Sometimes shy can come across as stuck up, and apparently it can be perceived as void of personality. But once you get to know me you will (hopefully) find that the opposite of those two things is actually true.

Anyway, shortly after that conversation with my friend I told someone else what she said, and that person almost peed her pants (literally) laughing at the absurdity. Well, in honor of my lack of personality I composed a little introduction of myself. I hope you find it as edifying and bladder-defying as I do.

(Read this in a monotone.)

The verdict is in. I have no personality. It is unfortunate, I know. Perhaps this does not come as a surprise to you. English teachers are tedious as a rule. I am no exception. My deadpan expression. My blank stare. My humorless chortle. Yes, it's true. I have no personality. If you're looking for personality, you've come to the wrong place. There's nothing to see here. Just go about your business.

When you see me in a room full of people, do not smile, or wave, or try to tell me a joke. I won't laugh -- not even on the inside. You see, I have no personality. And I don't care for people who do. I'll tolerate them, yes. But only because no personality also means no depth of sentiment. I'm shallow. I'm apathetic. I have no interest in my environment. No passion. No ambition. No variety of sentence structure. It all goes together, you see. I have no personality.

I'll leave you with one final thought. Since I have no personality, one thing I can never develop is a personality disorder. And, somehow, even that does not excite me... I have no personality.

Monday, April 15, 2013

A to Z: Kissing Scenes

You may as well know up front, writing kissing scenes makes me blush. Which is why when I'm working with my writing partner, I will typically set her up to write them. Works out. She rocks the kissing scenes.

Sometimes though, she makes me do one... I think she's trying to stretch me, but she might just be messing with me because she likes to see me cringe when I write one.

Here are some of our kissing scenes from the Waltzing with the Wallflower series (See if you can tell which of us wrote what):

from Waltzing with the Wallflower (Book 1)

Her breath hitched. He noticed, because the instant it happened his eyes darted to her parted lips. He leaned in, lightly inviting her mouth to taste his. She seemed unsure, frozen in place. He lifted her chin and ever so gently brushed a light kiss across her lips. If lightning would have struck him where he stood, he wouldn’t have been shocked, for the minute her innocent lips came into contact with his, he was a changed man.

An electric current hummed between their bodies. Without asking permission or thinking of their current situation, or the bet for that matter, he laid claim to her lips again. She didn’t push against him. Instead she sighed as he pressed his body against hers and used his tongue to part her lips further. Lust shot through him at alarming speed as Cordelia let out a sensual sigh, entangling her fingers into his hair. With a little tug, she had his complete devotion and attention. In fact, he was quite ready to ruin her and be done with it. Tentatively, she tasted him as he had her. At that moment the fires of Hades couldn’t have put a stop to his sensual exploration of her mouth. His hands slid down her waist memorizing every line of her body

“Ahem, I can see I’m interrupting. Good thing too, considering the circumstances.”

from Beguiling Bridget (Book 2)

“Many gentlemen feel as I do. They simply lack the courage to confess it aloud.” He was moving toward her now, and she felt trapped as she tried in vain to inch away from him, finally finding herself backed up to a cold marble column. “You might find this hard to believe, but men are often afraid intelligent women will reject them.”

“And yet they keep trying. Don’t they, my lord?” He was too close. He was far too close. No matter what he said, Bridget promised herself she would not concede the field. Defense strategy. That is what she needed. And the best defense was often a good offense.

She offered him a sinfully sweet smile and waited for him to stop in his tracks. He didn’t. Instead, he sauntered closer, slow but constant, until his face was inches from hers. Her breath quickened, and suddenly it seemed that air was in short supply even outside on the balcony.

“Yes, some of us don’t understand the word defeat.”

“Even when it comes in the form of strawberries?” Bridget asked, fighting to control her breathing as the man drew nearer.

“Even when the lady threatens to push us in front of oncoming carriages and feed us the most grotesque fruit known to mankind. Even then, my lady. Even then.” His smile dazzled her as he inclined his head and bestowed a soft lingering kiss on her lips.

The warm sensation of his tender kiss seeped into her bones. His lips were soft and hypnotic as they lightly moved across hers. A battle raged within her, and she couldn’t decide if she should pull him closer or slap him across his perfect aristocratic face. So she waited, hoping the answer would come on its own.

She didn’t have to wait long. As he withdrew, the victorious sparkle in his eye and the triumphant smirk spreading wide across his lips brought her the realization — he thought he’d won.

And then her hand flew on its own.

from Taming Wilde (Book 3)

“I may be a fool, but at least I am not a coward.” Her eyes narrowed. She leaned forward, her chin nearly resting on his chest.

“Coward?” Minutes ago Colin had wanted to kill Anthony; now he was grateful, for at least he knew how to use his rakish charms against Gemma. Allow her to believe in his cool indifference when really all he wanted to do was reach out and touch her, pull her into his arms and never let go.

“Yes, I believe that is what I said. You are a coward.” Gemma’s blue eyes were glossy with unshed tears.

“I see.” Colin slowly inhaled her scent and reached to tilt her chin toward his mouth. Before he lost his nerve, he crushed his lips against hers, relishing the memory of their first kiss. The day that changed everything. The day she abandoned him and chose her family over love.

Her mouth was so soft, softer than he remembered. It was everything he wanted — everything he needed. For a minute the darkness didn’t seem so dark. The hole seemed not so deep. But it was an illusion, for she could not be trusted — not as a friend and surely not as a lover. She would stomp on whatever was left of his heart and leave him in utter darkness, even deeper in the hole of his own making.

With a laugh, he pushed her away. “Still as innocent as I remember. Thank you for reminding me, dear Gemma.”

She stared at him in breathless shock. “Reminding you of what?”

“What I’m missing, of course.”

Friday, April 12, 2013

A to Z: Jilted

Colin Wilde was in love with Gemma Reynolds. The problem? After sharing one intimate moment with her, she absconded to the country with his heart.

He knew her family did not approve of him, but he still held onto the hope that she would choose him over their wishes.

Then the letters arrived. Letters that cut like a rusty knife through his chest. She didn't love him. She didn't want him. And she would never see him again.

Colin was left a shell of the man he once was with only one option to dull the pain of Gemma's rejection. His goal? To become the most notorious rake Society has ever seen.

Surely that would numb his aching heart.

Can you guess how well that works out for him?

Check out Taming Wilde, the third book in the Waltzing with the Wallflower series to find out.

Thursday, April 11, 2013

A to Z: Ice cream

My brother was always teasing me -- that's just what brothers do, I guess -- but we had a special bond growing up, so there was also a lot of friendly competition between us.

I remember one hot day Mom had given us each an ice cream cone to cool us off after working up a sweat outside. It was one of those situations big brothers mustmake into a competition. After all, that's just what brothers do. So David decided he would challenge me to a race.

"Hey," he said with a sparkle in his blue eyes and that flashy mischievous grin. "Let's see who can eat their ice cream the fastest!"

"Okay!" I countered, always looking for a way to beat him. Like a whiz I was off slurping and even biting my ice cream, casting occasional sidelong glances to monitor my big brother's progress. Naturally, when I saw he was not anywhere near catching up to me, I became suspicious. But not wanting to lose the competition, I quickly finished and then stood up with a triumphant smirk. Much to my chagrin, my gaze met a smug older brother who announced, "Now I can enjoy mine!" and took a long, emphatic lick of his ice cream as close to my face as dared. Needless to say, I never fell for that evil ploy again.

Wednesday, April 10, 2013

A to Z: History

In a small town in northeast Montana, located squarely on a reservation, I spent my childhood years between six and eight. I'm guessing I was seven at the time -- too big for my little bike, and too small for my mom's -- but I loved to ride.

The day I discovered I could reach the pedals on my mother's bicycle while sitting on the seat, marked the day I was "grown up" -- nevermind that I couldn't reach the ground from that position. I couldn't tell you whether or not I had her permission, but it sort of seems that I did, so I took off on a cruise around the block encircling the Northside Elementary School, which lay just across the street from the church my dad pastored.

The block in question was situated on a hill, which was steep enough to have to stand up on the pedals to get enough push, but not steep enough to give up and walk the bike to the top. The ride on the way back down was fast enough to give a little thrill, but not so fast I'd go flying out of control as long as I rode the brakes at the appropriate times -- I was never much of a daredevil.

I must have made the round trip three or four times, gaining confidence with each passing lap. Of course, confidence leads to over-confidence, and over-confidence leads to carelessness -- and in a child riding a bicycle far too big for her frame, that is a dangerous formula.

My last time around, on the down hill stretch, I laid off the brake. I was grown up after all, and I could handle a little more speed. I sat back and coasted, gaining momentum with every revolution of the wheel, and soon I was going too fast -- the rush of excitement turned to panic. My frantic efforts to brake my speed were ineffectual -- my mother's bike had only hand brakes, and my hands were the small and weak hands of a seven-year-old child. The rushing air slapped my face, taking my breath away and making a scream impossible.

As the bicycle and I flew down the hill out of control, the church came rushing to meet me. I would be at the glass entry doors any second, but the building itself was my only hope to stop the mad cascade to the bottom of the hill and into the busy highway below.

Somehow I managed to aim for the church, and as the tires leapt the ramped curb, I turned the wheel ever so slightly and slammed full force into the rock wall, narrowly missing going through the glass doors. My inertia sent me flailing forward, but the slanted bar on the bike broke my momentum, and I came crashing down on my pelvic bone. The seat behind me dug into my back as I ricocheted off the bar and slid down to the ground.

The front wheel was badly bent, and the bicycle was no longer usable after that day, but my mom didn't yell at me. She bandaged my wounded back and my wounded pride while she comforted me on the couch until my whimpering subsided.

To this day the scar on my back can bear witness to exactly how high the bicycle seat reached when I stood my full height from the ground, the day I rode my mother's bike.

Tuesday, April 9, 2013

A to Z: G

(as in the letter not a slang term for a dude with baggy pants, you get what I mean)

Naturally, the first thing I thought of when I decided to do a post on G was, God. I mean when you see a capital G it's just where your mind goes, am I right? (Hey goes is a g word too! YAY!)

BUT...the more I thought about it...

And the more I wrote it...

I realized...G could be for things like garbage, gangs--you know not good things...

And then I saw this really nice picture of a model who shall not be named...and I thought WOW sometimes in my books I go..."Good golly gracious---that male character is sizzling off the pages."

He's Grrrreat! Like Tony the Tiger only not so annoying. So in honor of male characters everywhere...let's do a countdown of some of the GREATEST leading men...

1. Superman (he has powers, no arguing)
2. Spiderman (he was bit by a spider and lived, enough said)
3. Mr. Darcy (People STILL write fan-fiction about this man)
4. Edward (Notice how I didn't say Jacob? That was on purpose.)
5. Iron Man (How can you say no to him?)
6 Thor (Put in for Rachel Van Dykens benefit, she has a figurine of him on her kitchen table)
7. George Clooney (He has gray hair and women still want him)
8. Elvis (I swear my grandma still thinks he's alive)
9. Brad Pitt  (HAH just kidding, I mean did you see that Chanel commercial?)
10. Justin Timberlake (He brought sexy back)
11. James Bond (He's British and HE still has nice teeth and dresses like a stud)
And finally # 12

Sir Wilde, from Taming Wilde...I say this only because he can throw the best left hook I've ever seen. If you don't believe me read the book...I shall not tell a lie...;)

CHECK BACK TOMORROW FOR H! One can only imagine how crazy things will get...

Monday, April 8, 2013

A to Z: Favorites

The sound of my children's laughter.

Freshly baked bread.

Reading a good book.

Summer vacation.

Clean sheets.

Drinking coffee with friends.

A hug from my mom.

Brainstorming ideas for writing.

The look on a student's face when they finally "get it".

Movie and popcorn night.

My own bed.

Dr. Pepper.

Almond Joy.



Alaskan scenery.


...these are a few of my favorite things.

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Friday, April 5, 2013

A to Z: Enmity

We were driving home from the store — way past lunch time, if you know what I mean. The kids were hungry, and they rarely deal well with that. My daughter started to tease my older son about his younger brother growing up to be taller than him. She gets ornery...  He gets fussy. Not a good combination, but we deal with it.

I was driving, so I listened to the argument in the back seat for a couple of minutes just to see if they would work it out.

"The youngest one is always the tallest. Mom said so."

"No they're not! Stop saying that!"

It went on like that for a while. Clearly they weren't going to work it out on their own. I stepped in. "I said, 'sometimes,' sweetie. 'Sometimes the youngest is the tallest.'"

My son must have spied some kind of hope in the words. Adamantly, he informed his sister, "This is NOT a sometimes family!"

Thursday, April 4, 2013

A to Z: Dastardly Villain

Like Herod building a monument to himself, Dr. Arnold stood at his office window overlooking the construction on the newly acquired lot behind his school.
His school. As if he was the founder, owner, and sole proprietor of the fifty year legacy.
Alvin Riggs snorted in contempt from his hiding place behind the pillar. "Please," he said aloud before he realized it was audible. He glanced around him to make sure no one could hear, then scurried back to his own tiny, landlocked office with only one window that overlooked the seventh grade hallway.

Wednesday, April 3, 2013

A to Z: Children

I think most of us have experienced this. If not as a parent, at least as a child. You're trapped in a small enclosed space with your worst enemy (a sibling). It's a road trip. And it doesn't matter if they are trying to bug you or not -- they BUG you. At some point during the trip, you will hear someone say, "MO-OM! SHE'S LOOKING AT ME!"

We had a similar experience. We were in the car, which is much more crowded than the van. We were on a short trip... just to church.My son and daughter were rubbing elbows -- literally -- and that is NOT a good thing. He was tired and not in the mood to be trifled with, plus he was going to church -- not his favorite.

After the usually bickering about which seatbelt belonged to whom and who was touching whom(to which, of course, I had wisely replied, "Keep your hands to yourselves"), my daughter committed one final crime which could not be tolerated in even the worst of torture chambers:

"MO-OM!!! Her doll is LOOKING at me!"

Well, I'm sorry, but it was so funny I just had to laugh. I mean, her doll? That was one I had never heard. However, my laughing was also not to be tolerated (I probably did overdo it a bit-- but, dang it, that was funny!).

In utter exasperation, my son turned his anger on me, "MOM, THAT IS ZERO PER CENT FUNNY!"

Kids... you gotta love 'em!

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Tuesday, April 2, 2013

A to Z: Books

All-Time Favorites:

Redeeming Love by Francine Rivers

California’s gold country, 1850. A time when men sold their souls for a bag of gold and women sold their bodies for a place to sleep.

Angel expects nothing from men but betrayal. Sold into prostitution as a child, she survives by keeping her hatred alive. And what she hates most are the men who use her, leaving her empty and dead inside.

Then she meets Michael Hosea, a man who seeks his Father’s heart in everything. Michael obeys God’s call to marry Angel and to love her unconditionally. Slowly, day by day, he defies Angel’s every bitter expectation, until despite her resistance, her frozen heart begins to thaw.

But with her unexpected softening comes overwhelming feelings of unworthiness and fear. And so Angel runs. Back to the darkness, away from her husband’s pursuing love, terrified of the truth she no longer can deny: Her final healing must come from the One who loves her even more than Michael does…the One who will never let her go.

A powerful retelling of the story of Gomer and Hosea, 
Redeeming Love is a life-changing story of God’s unconditional, redemptive, all-consuming love.

Ender's Game by Orson Scott Card

In order to develop a secure defense against a hostile alien race's next attack, government agencies breed child geniuses and train them as soldiers. A brilliant young boy, Andrew "Ender" Wiggin lives with his kind but distant parents, his sadistic brother Peter, and the person he loves more than anyone else, his sister Valentine. Peter and Valentine were candidates for the soldier-training program but didn't make the cut—young Ender is the Wiggin drafted to the orbiting Battle School for rigorous military training.

Ender's skills make him a leader in school and respected in the Battle Room, where children play at mock battles in zero gravity. Yet growing up in an artificial community of young soldiers Ender suffers greatly from isolation, rivalry from his peers, pressure from the adult teachers, and an unsettling fear of the alien invaders. His psychological battles include loneliness, fear that he is becoming like the cruel brother he remembers, and fanning the flames of devotion to his beloved sister.

Is Ender the general Earth needs? But Ender is not the only result of the genetic experiments. The war with the Buggers has been raging for a hundred years, and the quest for the perfect general has been underway for almost as long. Ender's two older siblings are every bit as unusual as he is, but in very different ways. Between the three of them lie the abilities to remake a world. If, that is, the world survives.
Ender's Game is the winner of the 1985 Nebula Award for Best Novel and the 1986 Hugo Award for Best Novel.

The Seduction of Sebastian St. James by Rachel Van Dyken

When the angelic Duke of Tempest, Sebastian St. James, appeared unexpectedly at his boyhood friend’s home, he had but one goal: Find a suitable wife as soon as possible. However, his impeccable reputation made him a prime target for ambitious mothers of debutante daughters. He needed a plan.

Help came in the form of an unlikely alliance with Miss Emma Gates, the beautiful daughter of a wealthy viscount, who has deemed herself on the shelf, and only wants to marry in order to appease her parents. Together they could sort through the mire of would-be mates to find their perfect matches. That is, if they could keep their hands off each other long enough to pursue likely candidates.

When a man from Emma’s past makes a play for her hand, the truth about her life threatens to destroy Sebastian’s reputation, a reputation he has carefully guarded since his youth. In the end, the Angel Duke has to make a choice that will end up changing his reputation forever.

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Monday, April 1, 2013

A to Z: Alaska

Alaska is one of my favorite places in the world. I lived there throughout junior high and high school until I went to college in Florida.

I always dream of someday going back, but my husband is a stationary creature, and has never lived anywhere but within the fifty mile radius of his hometown. Sadly, I think my dream is just that.

Main Street of my home town at Christmas.

Thanks you to Arlee Bird for the idea of the A to Z Challenge!
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