Just wanted to thank everyone who stopped by TWS yesterday to comment on Joan Hall’s wonderful #FiveMoreThings post. I was away most of the day, and the best I could manage was a quick “Like” for each comment, but I appreciated the great response, and Joan, I hope you know you are always a welcome guest. I do hope you’ll visit us often in the months ahead!
Here’s wishing every one of you a great day, and a wonderful weekend coming up soon!
Here it is May already, and I hope everyone is ready for summer, as it’s it’s just around the corner, unless you live in Florida, in which case, it’s pretty much here already! While the rest of you are awaiting those muggier days, I thought I’d share another Bold & Blatant Self-Promo post with you. This time, I’m featuring the third (and possibly final) book in my Riverbend Series, That Darkest Place. I had a plethora of things to decide between for my excerpt this time, from funny to anger-inducing to downright heartbreaking. It was definitely a tough decision, but I hope you enjoy what I landed on. Happy reading!
“There are dark places in every heart, in every head. Some you turn away from. Some you light a candle within. But there is one place so black, it consumes all light. It will pull you in and swallow you whole. You don’t leave your brother stranded in that darkest place.”
~Hunter Painter~
The new year is a chance for new beginnings—usually hopeful, positive ones. But when Jackson Painter plows his car into a tree shortly after midnight on January 1, his new beginnings are tragic. His brothers, Forrest and Hunter, take up a grim bedside vigil at the hospital, waiting for Jackson to regain consciousness and anxious over how he’ll take the news that he’s lost a leg and his fiancée is dead. After all, the accident was all his fault.
As the shocking truth emerges, one thing becomes obvious—Jackson will need unconditional love and support from both of his brothers if he is to survive.
Just as he begins the long road to recovery, danger, in the form of a sinister, unsigned note, plunges him back into bleak despair. Scrawled in blood red letters, the accusation—and the threat—is clear. “MURDERER!”
Will the long, harrowing ordeal that lies ahead draw the Painter brothers closer together, or drive them apart forever?
Suspenseful and often heartbreaking, this small-town tale is a testimonial to the redemptive power of love and paints a story filled with humor, romance, and fierce family loyalty.
(NOTE: After a long night of waiting for his older brother, Jackson Painter, to regain consciousness after his out of control drinking had caused a horrific car accident, Forrest was desperate to get out of that hospital room. He left his younger brother, Hunter, and his sister-in-law, Willow, keeping watch while he went to fetch them all coffee from the café downstairs.)
THOUGH HE’D ASKED Hunter and Willow to join him, he was relieved they’d opted to remain in the room. Someone should be there, in case Jackson woke up, but Forrest needed to get away. He’d been at the hospital all afternoon the day before, unable to reach Hunter while Jackson had been in surgery, and terrified that his big brother would die and he’d have to face it alone. Then, after Hunter and Willow had come home to find him sitting on their cottage steps, they’d all trekked back together to wait. And wait. And wait.
It was unreasonable to be mad that Hunter and Willow had gone out on the river for the day, unaware he’d been trying to reach them, but he couldn’t help it. Why was he having to deal with so much grief lately, with no one to lean on? Where were the warm, sheltering arms for him, comforting him in his misery?
He watched the light tick off each floor as the elevator descended to the cafeteria level, and he couldn’t help comparing this downward journey to the last year of his life. He was so immersed in his despairing thoughts, he didn’t even notice the elevator come to a stop. The doors opened, then slid closed again, and he looked up in surprise as the car began to climb. When it stopped again, he was back where he started.
Well, hell. How damn stupid was that? He figured there was probably a message in there, though. All this crap he felt was what Willow would call wallowing in self-pity, as though he was the only one suffering. He needed to stop it. She’d be ashamed of him, and that was reason enough to get a grip.
He valued Willow’s steadfast friendship above all else, except the love of his brothers, and he was determined not to behave in a way that would make any of them ashamed of him. He’d suck it up, do what needed to be done, and in the doing, maybe he’d get past his anger and grief, as well.
For the umpteenth time, Forrest wondered what the hell his brother had been doing, driving around so drunk he couldn’t control his car. Had Jackson still been pissed off at Hunter and him? Or was LeeAnn on the receiving end of his temper this time? Well, whatever had been causing Jackson’s out of control rants lately, he’d certainly paid a price for it, hadn’t he? And now it was time to put it all aside, and pull together.
Willow’d like that he was listening to her, and trying to do things better. Maybe she was right, and he really wasn’t the same man he used to be, when all he wanted to do was chase women and have a good time. He knew she cared about him, even if it wasn’t the same way she cared about Hunter, and by damn, he wasn’t gonna act like an ass and make her change her mind.
Fifteen minutes later, Forrest stepped off the elevator, juggling a cardboard tray with three large coffees and a bag of doughnuts balanced on it. He’d planned to eat in the cafeteria, and just take coffee back for Hunter and Willow, but he’d realized that even though he hated being trapped in Jackson’s room waiting for something to happen, he hated being alone even more.
Leaving the elevator behind, he turned down the first corridor on the left, and came to an abrupt halt, surprised to see Hunter and Willow standing in the hallway outside Jackson’s door. Panic gripped his heart, and his feet refused to move. What the hell was wrong, now? Oh, my God! Wasn’t losing their parents enough? He didn’t think he could stand it, if Jackson was gone, too.
Hunter waved him forward, offering a reassuring smile. “Nurse came.”
“It’s okay.” Willow patted Forrest’s arm. “She asked us to leave while she’s changing bandages and taking care of the catheter. It’s probably all right for us to go back in.”
She peeked inside. “Yep. The curtain’s open. She’s just rearranging his blankets and pillows, now.”
They trooped into the room, took their seats, and Forrest passed out the Styrofoam cups. In near-unison, they sipped the tepid coffee as they watched the efficient movements of the nurse.
When she finished, she gave them a painfully cheerful smile. “There. That’s better! He’s resting comfortably now, and all cleaned up for company.”
Forrest fought the urge to smack that perky grin right off her face. It seemed obscene in light of his brother’s condition. While he was contemplating telling her where she could stuff her syrupy sweet attitude, Hunter was contemplating something completely different.
“Where are the police?”
The nurse’s smile faltered. “I’m sorry? The police?”
Hunter cocked his head. “Shouldn’t they have been here by now? To talk to us?”
“I have no idea what you mean. Why on earth would the police be here?”
Hunter’s mouth tightened. “To press charges? Or make arrangements to do so.”
She still looked blank.
To Forrest’s surprise, Hunter, the gentlest of the three of them, lost his temper. “I could be wrong,” he snapped, “but isn’t killing a passenger while driving under the influence a crime? Negligent homicide, maybe?”
The nurse—Millie, according to her nametag—frowned and reached for Jackson’s chart. They waited in silence as she flipped through several pages, scanning back to his admission, then turned to them, puzzled.
“May I ask what your relationship with Mr. Painter is?”
“I’m Hunter Painter, Jackson’s brother. I’ve been here for hours. This is my other brother, Forrest. He’s been here even longer. We need answers. Now.”
To her credit, the nurse’s expression softened a bit. “I’m sorry, Mr. Painter. It’s just that I don’t understand why you think the police should be here at this point. My records don’t indicate anything about a DUI.”
As one, both brothers and Willow rose, all gaping.
Forrest spoke first. “What the hell are you talkin’ about? What do you mean?”
“I mean just what I said. At the time of the accident, your brother wasn’t drunk.”
************************
Author Marcia Meara
Marcia Meara lives in central Florida, just north of Orlando, with her husband of over thirty years and four big cats.
When not writing or blogging, she spends her time gardening, and enjoying the surprising amount of wildlife that manages to make a home in her suburban yard. She enjoys nature. Really, really enjoys it. All of it! Well, almost all of it, anyway. From birds, to furry critters, to her very favorites, snakes. The exception would be spiders, which she truly loathes, convinced that anything with eight hairy legs is surely up to no good. She does not, however, kill spiders anymore, since she knows they have their place in the world. Besides, her husband now handles her Arachnid Catch and Release Program, and she’s good with that.
Spiders aside, the one thing Marcia would like to tell each of her readers is that it’s never too late to make your dreams come true. If, at the age of 69, she could write and publish a book (and thus fulfill 64 years of longing to do that very thing), you can make your own dreams a reality, too. Go for it! What have you got to lose?
Buy Marcia’s Books Here
Novels
Wake-Robin Ridge: Book 1
A Boy Named Rabbit: Wake-Robin Ridge Book 2
Harbinger: Wake-Robin Ridge Book 3
The Light: Wake-Robin Ridge Book 4
Swamp Ghosts: Riverbend Book 1
Finding Hunter: Riverbend Book 2
That Darkest Place: Riverbend Book 3
Riverbend Spinoff Novellas
The Emissary 1
The Emissary 2 – To Love Somebody
The Emissary 3 – Love Hurts
Poetry
Summer Magic: Poems of Life and Love
Reach Marcia on Social Media Here:
Blog: The Write Stuff
Facebook
Email: marciameara16@gmail.com
This morning, I discovered I had the very good fortune to be included in one of Sally Cronin’s lovely “Meet the Authors” posts, along with Debby Geis /D. G. Kaye, and Sharon Marchisello. What a super post, with Sally’s reviews of books by each of the three of us. Hope you’ll stop by to check it out, and perhaps pass it along, too. (I know Debby and Sharon would appreciate that as much as I would.)
Thank to Sally for all she does to promote her fellow authors, and for this wonderful post today, too! 😀 ❤
You can find Sally’s post HERE.
Today, I’m very happy to announce that our guest author is mystery writer Sue Coletta. Sue is well-known to many, many of us in the writing and blogging community, but I’ll bet there are some things in her post today that will make your jaw drop! 😁 With that in mind, let’s get right to it. Take it away, Sue!
Thanks for having me today, Marcia!
~~~
My maternal grandfather was Native American, and he built the house my mother grew up in. After my grandparents passed, my brother and I grew up there. In the back of each walk-in closet was a secret door that led to passageways behind the walls. These passageways led to a side attic with a trapdoor in the floor. Stairs beneath led straight out the back door. At the time, my brother and I had no idea why our house held these secrets. We just thought they made cool forts. It wasn’t till years later that I began to suspect why. Without getting too deep, my grandfather and his parents (my great-grandparents) witnessed the damage done to Indigenous communities across New England, with several tribes decimated by disease, murder, sold into slavery, or imprisoned to steal their land. So, it makes sense that he’d create hideouts and escape routes for his family and friends. Maybe the house doubled as some kind of underground railroad.
When I was a teenager, I lost my mom on December 3rd. Before she died, she told me how difficult it was to lose her dad so close to Christmas. So, after she passed, I flipped through the family Bible. Sure enough, not only did my mom and grandfather die on the same day but so did the vast majority of my maternal line. Freaky, right? Now that I work from home, I rarely, if ever, leave the house on December 3rd. LOL
Most young girls look forward to their sixteenth birthday. One week before mine, my first “lady doctor” diagnosed me with cervical cancer. My mother was so devastated, she wavered on how to tell me for a full week, when I answered the phone on my birthday and one of the nurses broke the news that I had cervical cancer, and the prognosis wasn’t good. Happy Sweet Sixteen! Mom was in the middle of setting up a treatment plan when the doctor breezed through my file one last time. Sure enough, some other poor girl’s paperwork was mixed in with mine. But I’m glad it happened. The wisdom, courage, and inner strength of my mom during our mother-daughter talks have lasted a lifetime. She taught me not to let anything stand in my way, even if some incompetent doctor slaps you with a death sentence.
This also stems from Mom. It’s important to take the time to appreciate all the wondrous gifts that surround us. Sitting in silence in the predawn, hints of color splashed across the horizon before the sun peeks out—to really be in the moment, grateful for another sunrise—starts the day on a positive note. What’s more beautiful—spiritual—than nature?
If you haven’t guessed yet, I’m at my happiest around animals and nature. The two-legged, the four-legged, the furred, the feathered, and the scaled are all welcome in my yard. Everybody gets a name and a quick chat to say hi. Seriously, I’ve even named dragonflies, outside spiders, bees, butterflies…the list goes on and on. My sweet husband memorizes every name. When he thinks I’m not watching, he’ll chat with each one. Adorable! On the flipside, if new humans move to our area, they may never meet me. Unless they’re readers who catch me at a book signing. 😉
When I was in kindergarten, a lady brought her white horse to school grounds. And, of course, I noticed him immediately and rushed over to say hi. The woman asked if I’d like to pet him. After Mom asked the usual — Is he friendly? Will he bite? Does he like kids? — I tippy toed to pet his nose, and he chomped down on my upper arm. For six weeks afterward, I cowered behind an upholstered chair every time the doctor house-called to deliver another rabies shot. Turns out, I was the seventh person he bit. Once word reached the state, they stepped in and killed the horse. To help me overcome my fear, Mom bought horse riding lessons. Took a while for me to feel comfortable around horses. Even then, I refused to go anywhere near the white ones. Still don’t.
From bank robbers to cops, I never judged anyone by their mistakes, skin color, religion, or achievements. Still don’t. We are the sum of our parts.
I married way too young. My 1st husband and I dated in high school. After I lost my mom (my dad died years before), I longed for a family to call my own. And so, when my ex asked me to marry him, it seemed like a good idea at the time. Big mistake. On some level, I knew it, too. I bawled during the entire limo ride to the church and still couldn’t pull it together before walking down the aisle. I was so hysterical, the minister ushered me into his office—alone—where he told me I didn’t need to go through with the wedding. But I’d sent out invitations, guests were already in their seats, I booked a hall for the reception, I loved my gown, and we had honeymoon plans.
When you’re young and alone and shattered by grief, those reasons were enough to get married. The marriage ended five years later. In truth, I barely escaped with my life (story for another time). Fast forward six months, and I’m sitting in a local biker bar with my new boyfriend (notorious biker club member) when this guy slides into our booth. Turns out, my ex-husband hired him to kill me. It’s pure luck that I was with my then-boyfriend. Because he and this guy were friends, the hitman came clean. Otherwise, I might not be here. Years later, when my ex got sober and reached out to make amends, I asked why he wanted me dead. He said, “All I kept thinking was, if I can’t have you, no one will.” Did I forgive him? Yes. For me, not for him.
When I was about twelve or thirteen, I fell asleep on the couch while Mom read on the loveseat. The next thing she knows, I’m carrying on a full conversation in French. Which she knew because she’d taken several courses in French. I, on the other hand, never took one. This continued for years. Freaky, right?
Let me preface this by saying, I don’t consider myself a psychic or possess any psychic abilities. I just have a healthy dose of accurate intuition. Or guardian angels. Maybe both. The first time I became aware of it was in the second grade. A girl named Marla sat in front of me in homeroom. We weren’t what I’d call friends. One night, I woke in the middle of the night, crying that Marla’s father was dead. Mom, of course, told me it was only a bad dream. When I went to school the next day, the homeroom teacher told us Marla wouldn’t be there for a while. Her father died the night before. The newly deceased continued to come to me in dreams, and I delivered quite a few messages to loved ones over the years. The “death dreams” ended after I lost Mom. That’s when my intuition kicked into overdrive.
For example, about five years ago, I was in the shower when a flash rocketed through my mind—FedEx driver strolling down the walkway with a package, my eldest Rottweiler growling, barking, the cable on his run snapping in half—and I leaped out the shower, threw on my robe, and bolted outside to bring my dog in. Within five minutes, the FedEx truck pulled into the driveway. About an hour later, I clipped my dog to his run. I had my hand on the doorknob when the cable snapped.
Another more recent example: Three weeks ago, I couldn’t get an online friend off my mind. Nothing I could pinpoint, but I felt something was wrong. It wasn’t till I was writing to her that I felt an overpowering sensation that one of her fur babies died. So, I reached out. “Are you okay? I have a feeling something awful happened to your eldest cat, and I’m hoping I’m wrong.” Within seconds, she wrote back. “Oh. My. God, Sue! How’d you know?” Her husband found their cat dead when he woke for work that morning. *shrugs*
Latest in Sue’s Mayhem Series
Now Available on Amazon HERE
Author Sue Coletta
Sue Coletta is an award-winning crime writer and an active member of Mystery Writers of America, Sisters in Crime, and International Thriller Writers. Feedspot and Expertido.org named her Murder Blog as one of the “Best 100 Crime Blogs on the Net” (Murder Blog sits at #5). Sue also blogs at the Kill Zone, a multi-award-winning writing blog.
Sue lives in the Lakes Region of New Hampshire and writes two psychological thriller series (Tirgearr Publishing) and true crime (Rowman & Littlefield Group). And recently, she appeared on an Emmy award-winning true crime show. Learn more about Sue and her books at: https://suecoletta.com
Buy Link for All of Sue’s Books
You can reach Sue on Social Media here:
Website
Facebook
Twitter
AmazonAuthorPage
Goodreads
Hope you enjoyed Sue’s amazing #TenThings List as much as I did!
Thank you for being our guest today, Sue! Looking forward
to having you visit more often.
As many of you are aware , I’ve had some ongoing health issues for the last couple of years, including two breakthrough cases of COVID among other things. But as I found out last October, my extreme dizzy spells and heart palpitations were not pandemic related. It turned out that I have a heart condition called “Hypertrophic Cardiomyopathy.” Essentially, the wall of my heart has thickened and is blocking full blood flow through the arteries that lead to the brain. (Not enough blood was getting to my brain, resulting in dizziness, palpitations, and various other issues.)
Good News #1: My cardiologist immediately put me on a beta blocker (Metoprolol) to slow my heart rate down, thus allowing more blood to flow through to my brain again. It worked GREAT from October through January.
Bad News #1: In February the dizzy spells returned and began getting worse and worse.
Good News #2: Saw my doctor again last Tuesday and he added a new medication to the mix: Amlodipine, which is a calcium channel blocker that relaxes the blood vessels so even more blood can get through. Next, I’m to be set up with a heart monitor for two to four weeks to get an exact readout and an overall idea of how it’s all working, and then, we will be doing new imaging, too. So … we’re on it!
Bad News #2: Sadly, I’ve been told to cut back on many of my activities–especially anything that can cause physical exertion–at least until we are done with the testing and can reassess my heath status. I’ve had to cancel my wildlife talks for now, and won’t be doing any gardening, hiking, bending over, heavy lifting or other things of that nature.
Good News #3: After a truly awful day last Wednesday, my new prescription was filled and I took my first Amlodipine that night. Within two hours, the dizzy spells stopped and the discomfort disappeared. And the last few days have been far, far better. I have a good feeling that we are on the right track now, and will find a way to manage my condition. (That’s my story, an’ I’m stickin’ to it!)
The main reason I’m sharing all this is because I may not be around as much as I usually am for a few weeks, However, I’ve already scheduled a lot of posts ahead, so things will still be going on, and I will check in as often as I can. I also wanted to share because it occurred to me that some of what I’m going through might be of interest to anyone else who has heart-related issues, too.
I’ll keep you updated as things progress, hopefully with plenty of good news! For now, I may only have time or energy for “Liking & Sharing” everyone’s blog posts, but I know you’ll forgive me as I try to behave in way that would make my cardiologist happy. And if any of you have similar issues you’ve dealt with, feel free to share your experiences or ask questions in the comments section. Maybe we can learn from each other.
Thanks for reading, and I’ll be back to business as usual as soon as possible. Blogging isn’t on my “Forbidden List” like planting roses in 90 degree heat is, so I should be able to to handle it as my condition stabilizes. That’s my clever plan, anyway! 😁
#
Just a quick note to wish you all a happy St. Paddy’s Day, and let you know that I won’t be around much, if at all. It just so happens that I was born 79 years ago today, and I’ve decided that’s reason enough to take a day off from the computer, writing, blogging, and the whole shebang. Might even get outside somewhere GREEN, like … Green Springs, a spot I’ve been wanting to visit for some time, and so VERY appropriate for today. (Weather depending.) I’ll be around a bit over the weekend and back to my usual tricks on Monday. For now, a couple more memes to amuse you, as you enjoy this day.
(You’ve Been Warned!)
Well, last time, Thor was in a catty mood, but today, it seems he’s decided it’s a dog eat dog world out there. Me, I think he’s doggone crazy. But regardless, when someone says “dog” to me, I immediately think “dachshunds,” because … CUTE!!! So, here’s a bit of dachsie humor for you, compliments of the God of Thunder, himself. Enjoy!
Hope these little stubby-legged sausages gave you a smile or two.
(I miss ours more than I can say!)
Today, I’m happy to introduce a visitor who’s new to The Write Stuff, Alison Ripley Cubitt. I know you will all make her feel welcome as she shares her #TenThings list with us, so let’s get started. Alison, the floor is yours!
Hi Marcia,
Thanks for having me!
1 I would cry in art class at school.
I am so inept at drawing— (even stick figures) meant that I’d wish away the entire lesson, longing to go back and do something I loved—like reading! It’s still the same now. If anyone asked me to draw anything I’d run away and hide.
2 I believed that there were no cars in New Zealand.
Before we emigrated, I’d overheard one of Mum’s friends say, “it was like Britain was 20 years ago.” I immediately assumed that everyone got around on horseback, so I was wildly enthusiastic about going. Imagine my disappointment when we arrived in Wellington, and we piled into a taxi and not a coach and four!
3 I was insulted by a minor celebrity
I was a devotee of Adam Ant and wore a frilly white shirt to a nightclub in Sydney where Elvis Costello’s drummer at the time called me a ‘Spandy.’ (A devotee of Spandau Ballet). I didn’t say what I thought of him!
4 I’m hopeless on skates and skis.
Determined to conquer this fear, I even took rollerblading lessons. My rollerblading dreams came crashing down after I went for a spin around Sefton Park in Liverpool and returned to the bench where I’d left my shoes—only to find they’d vanished. (Luckily, they were £10 bargains, not Jimmy Choos!). I had to walk all the way back to my car in my socks.
5 I once carried a tray of coffees and bacon sandwiches up a fixed ladder up on to the roof of what was the tallest building in London, which at the time was the top of the tower of what was the new extension of Guy’s Hospital.
6 One of my ambitions was to drive the entire London Orbital motorway (also known as the Magic Roundabout as once you get on, it’s challenging to get off it) the M25, and I did that last year—single-handed and in a freak storm!
7 When I first moved to London, after growing up Down Under, I found some of the place names real tongue-twisters and my mispronunciation caused hoots of mirth amongst my colleagues. Cadogan Square and Magdalen College, Oxford, for example.
8 I was so bad at maths I had to retake my school exam to get over the 50% pass mark, yet I ended up in charge of substantial television budgets. Luckily, like Richard Branson, who was similarly maths-challenged, I could read a balance sheet!
9 On a research trip for our first novel, eco-thriller Revolution Earth, my co-writer and I got a tour around a uranium mine in the Northern Territory, Australia, by posing as tourists. It amused us that there was this big sign in front of the crater lake where they disposed of the radioactive waste warning you not to swim because of crocodiles, rather than radioactivity.
10 I’m so addicted to Scandi-noir TV series that I once made a pilgrimage from Denmark to Sweden to cross the Oresund bridge. In every episode there is a helicopter shot of the crossing which marks the border between Sweden and Denmark. We were beaten to the best seats on the bus that ran between the two countries by two elderly Australian women who were devotees of The Bridge. On the way back from Sweden the two women were nowhere to be seen so we bagged the two front seats. You got a better view of the bridge from the Swedish side, so it was a win for us. I’m seriously considering holidaying on an island in Scandinavia which features in another fictional TV series with a few hundred inhabitants where there’s a murder every week!
Author Alison Ripley Cubitt
(Also known by her fiction alias Lambert Nagle)
Alison Ripley Cubitt spent fifteen years working in film and tv production, wrangling actors and mostly cartoon animals. She writes to satisfy her curiosity and likes to jump genres. She’s explored mother and daughter relationships in film and memoir; written a tell-all about what goes on behind the scenes in television; written about art looting and theft in her second thriller, and taken a fictional journey down to Antarctica to try to avert an environmental catastrophe. Her partner in crime and thriller writing, Séan Cubitt, is also her trophy husband.
Check Out Two of Alison’s Books Here
CLICK HERE
CLICK HERE
To find out more please visit: https://www.lambertnagle.com
You can follow her on Twitter: https://twitter.com/lambertnagle
Find her on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/alisonripleycubittwriter
Hop over to Instagram: https://www.Instagram.com/alisonripleycubitt
Pete Springer has a wonderful post today that I hope you’ll check out, and not just because Sally Cronin, John W. Howell, Marian Beaman, and others, including me, are mentioned in it. Don’t get me wrong. That’s great! But the subject of the post overall is a truly positive and uplifting one that I’m very happy to share with others. To see what I mean, check out his post entitled Writer’s Envy, here:
https://petespringerauthor.wordpress.com/2023/02/28/writers-envy/
I think you’ll be glad you did!
Good Morning, Folks! It’s time for our first #TenThings post of 2023, and here to get this series off to a great start is author Liza Grantham. Liza, take it away!
Thanks for having me today, Marcia!
Mad Cows and Englishmen: at large in Galicia
www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B08NTMF38M/
www.amazon.com/dp/B08NTMF38M/
Mad Cows and Englishmen is the story of an English couple who trade the sun, sea and sands of Gran Canaria for a home in Galicia, one of the coldest, wettest parts of Spain. Living in an old stone house in a remote hamlet surrounded by fields and forests sounds idyllic, but as Liza Grantham and her husband, Gary, soon discover, their new lifestyle isn’t quite as tranquil as they’d hoped. Menacing cheeses, reports of hyenas, cows running amok, a bloodthirsty cockerel and a morning when the sun doesn’t rise are amongst the many surprises that rural life has in store.
Mad Cows and Englishmen: at large in Galicia by Liza Grantham | Goodreads
How Now, Mad Cow? The Second Year in Rural Galicia
www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B09NSTK6GT/
www.amazon.com/dp/B09NSTK6GT/
A mystery killer is at large and Anxo becomes a suspect, and when an imposter arrives in the village, Liza begins to think she’s losing her mind. Down in the chicken run the blood-thirsty cockerel’s life hangs in the balance, but Liza’s determined to bring more livestock into the fold. Gary’s busy tending the veg plot, but self-sufficiency turns out to be tougher than he’d bargained for; how long will they have to survive on a diet of eggs and kale?
How Now, Mad Cow?: The Second Year in Rural Galicia by Liza Grantham | Goodreads
’Til Mad Cow Comes Home: The Third Year in Rural Galicia
www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0B5VYWSX3/
www.amazon.com/dp/B0B5VYWSX3/
As Liza and Gary travel further along the road to self-sufficiency the future looks rosy. The chances of a good harvest are high and Liza’s aim to breed meat for the freezer looks like being a roaring success. In Galicia it never rains but it pours and when the couple’s luck changes, it hammers down blow after blow. Just when it seems that things couldn’t get any tougher Fate deals them their cruellest card yet. Liza is plunged into the depths of despair and her typical optimism is suddenly found lacking. As she digs deep to overcome the heartache it’s the magic of a Galician legend that finally pulls her through.
‘Til Mad Cow Comes Home: The Third Year in Rural Galicia by Liza Grantham | Goodreads
Author Liza Grantham
Liza Grantham was born in 1965 in the East Midlands brewery town of Burton-on-Trent. After gaining a BA (Hons) in Linguistics, French and Hindi from the University of York and a PGCE from Derbyshire College of Higher Education she returned to her hometown where she taught at Anglesey Primary School for sixteen years. In 1997 she was awarded an MBA with distinction in Educational Management from the University of Nottingham. After meeting her now husband Gary she moved to Las Palmas, Gran Canaria to teach in a British school. In 2011 the couple moved to a remote hamlet in rural Galicia where they raise chickens, grow vegetables and expect the unexpected in their idyllic yet highly unpredictable rural life.
The peace and beauty of the natural surroundings provides the perfect backdrop for stimulation and creativity, and Liza has plenty of opportunity for writing in a range of genres. She has published three books in the ‘Mad Cow in Galicia’ memoir series: ‘Mad Cows and Englishmen’, ‘How Now, Mad Cow?’ and ”Til Mad Cow Comes Home’. She is also the author of ‘A Play by Any Other Name…’ in which the complete Shakespeare plays are summarised in everyday verse. Her prize-winning poetry has been published in several editions of ‘The Good Life in Galicia’ anthology series (ed. S Bush).
You can reach Liza on Social Media here:
Mad Cows and Englishmen by Liza Grantham | Facebook
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Liza Grantham (Author of Mad Cows and Englishmen) | Goodreads
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