grand daughter in a fix

hope i haven't messed up anyone's schedule, but here is the photo i've been trying to get online. my 16 month old grand daughter, kenli.

Glen Ebisch

Today's scheduled post was an interview with Glen Ebisch, but we weren't able to make the necessary contacts. However, that doesn't mean you'll miss the chance to hear about Glen's latest Avalon book.  Here it is. Great cover! Don't you agree?

Here's a little something about the story:

When Marcie Ducasse, newly promoted associate editor of Roaming New England magazine, gets a call from Steve Rostow, an old college friend, telling her that the ghost of a girl killed twenty years ago on the night of her senior prom has returned seeking vengeance, she knows this is the right material for her “Weird Happenings” column.

As Marcie and Steve investigate further they find that one of the richest men in the town of Arbella, Connecticut, who was a suspect in the girl’s murder, is trying to hush up the ghost’s attacks. He would also like to keep Marcie and Steve from writing their story in order to protect his own political ambitions. As the attacks reach a murderous crescendo, it becomes clear that they can no longer be concealed, and Marcie and Steve are forced to unearth events that happened twenty years before, in order to understand who killed the girl on the night of her prom and who—or what—has returned to avenge her.

And a little something about Glen:

Glen Ebisch lives with his wife in western Massachusetts, where he teaches philosophy at a local college. His leisure interests include yoga, reading, and discovering New England tales of the supernatural.

When the Last Dance is Over is far from Glen's first Avalon book. Some of his other titles are: Ghosts from the Past, The Crying Girl, Grave Justice, A Rocky Road, Unwanted Inheritance, To Breathe Again, and Woven Hearts.

Maybe another time, we'll hear from Glen himself. With all those books to his credit, I'm sure he'll have something interesting to say.

Lover's Eye

In my upcoming release A Grand Deception, the third installment for the Gentlemen of Worth series, there is a trinket bestowed upon the hero called a Lover’s Eye.

Even those who read Regency novels may not be familiar with these miniature paintings popular between the 1780s and 1830s.

Lover’s Eyes were small portraits worn as a pendant, ring, brooch, or stickpin of a loved one.

A wisp of hair or the bridge of the nose would hint at the subject’s identity thus preserving anonymity. Quelle jolie, n’est pas?

The intent was to keep the lover’s identity secret by not revealing the whole face. The focus was the eye, often with an eyebrow and lashes.

It is said the Prince of Wales, the future King George IV, and his mistress Maria Fitzherbert exchanged gifts of one painted eye as tokens of love. Prinny wore Mrs. Fizherbert’s eye portrait under his lapel. Once it was known the Prince Regent possessed such a trinket, it became quite fashionable.

This is Lady Muriel Worth's Lover's Eye I used in A Grand Deception.

Upon researching this topic I found a recent flurry of activity.

A new book as been released:

Look of Love: Eye Miniatures from the Skier Collection

Here are some other URLs that might be interesting:

Vanity Fair: A Lover’s Gaze

New York Times: Cultivating a Love of “Lover’s Eyes”

Birmingham Museum of Art

The Birmingham Free Press

PBS: Gazing into a Lovers’ Eye

Candice Hern . . . a Regency author

Chapter Five of ALONG FOR THE RIDE

Here's the scoop: Several Avalon Authors have come together to write a novel for fun. Every author contributes one chapter. There is no pre-arranged plot; there are no rules except that we follow Avalon's guidelines of writing family-friendly material. If you missed the first three chapters or if you would like to refresh your memory, please click on "Avaloner Online Novel" in the column to the right.


By Elisabeth Rose
Chapter five

Stan didn’t try to hail a cab outside the restaurant he bundled me along the sidewalk and around the corner, icy pellets stinging my cheeks, feet slipping and sliding in my clumsy rubber boots which had unaccountably grown a size or two.

I was getting very, very sick of this. In fact I’d had enough. Along with the whole incomprehensible Stan situation I’d been chased, frightened to near babbling hysteria, grabbed at by a strange scary man, lost my phone, probably ruined my designer dress, coat and shoes, been drenched, frozen and deprived of a meal -- unappetising though it may have been, it was food and I was hungry. A girl could not and would not endure this.

I stopped in the swirling wet, miserable slush that passed for weather in this city and announced, “I’m not doing this anymore. I’m going to my hotel to collect my suitcase and I’m leaving.”

I peered up and down the street looking for a cab. If he wasn’t hailing one I sure was.

Stan had forged ahead a few paces before he realised I’d dug in my new second hand rubber boots and wasn’t following like an obedient dog. He strode back and grasped my arm.