Tennis Anyone?

I love tennis. I play five days a week during the summer and watch as many professional games as I can. Consequently, over the years, I've collected a lot of tennis racquets.  Since my local tennis group was about to have a tournament and I was part of the concession group, I decided to use one of the old rackets to build a clock.

Here's what the process yielded.

I chose the best racquet to use.

I got a small piece of wood from a craft store.

Then I covered it with Deco Mesh using Mod Podge as my glue.

As you can see, a paper plate worked well for me to draw the ball lines.

I checked the centering of the clock face on the racket.

Then I added the numbers and clock hands.

Presently, the clock hangs on the wall next to my computer. 

Ignorance is Bliss

by Shirley Hailstock

I'm doing a simple job -- updating the bathroom from 1980's yellow to something more modern. I got the estimates, chose a contractor and they started work. From the day they came, my life has not been my own.

I realize some things would come up and that I needed to be ready for changes (translated that to more money).  But every day, there is a new crisis, a new concern and a new dollar amount.

Is this a novel or not? Am I putting my characters up a tree and throwing rocks at them to make the story more interesting?  That's all fine and well when it's fiction, but this is real life.

Day One - Think of this as the Opening, the Prologue or if you're into novel construction, the normal world. It was an easy day. They demo-ed the bathroom. No problems, other than dust. Even though they put up plastic sheets and taped them to the ceiling and floors, the dust still found its way in. I got a Roomba for Christmas. It doesn't really pick up fine dust. I had to do it manually.

Day Two - Translated as Act One or Chapters one through three. The bathtub I  bought has the drain at the wrong end. I bought it a year ago when I hired a contractor who was doing such a bad job that I fired him. The current contractors tore the box apart getting the tub out. High stress ensues. I called the store and they agreed to take it back and sell me a new one. I have no truck, but the contractor drove me to the store and we replaced it for almost the same amount -- almost, but not totally.

Day Three - Climbing the tree to get away from rocks. There's a leak in the roof because one of the exhaust pipes had come loose from the inside pipe. I needed a roofer to come and repair a seal around the pipe. It's 30 degrees and snowing. No one can work in that weather, but momentarily hiding from the stones, I found a roofer who would come the next day. The temperature was 40 when they got here and fixed it.

Day Four - Bathroom is making progress. The walls and floor tiles are in, the ceiling has been closed. The light over my shower in installed as is the exhaust fan. While the painting is going on, the roofers returned to do the full inspection and what do they find? I have a squirrel living in my soffit and more in the attic. They can't get it out, so I'm called every animal control business in the region to try and get someone to come. My normal pest company wants a huge amount of money to come and do the whole house. They won't come for one squirrel or one opening.

Day Five is tomorrow. What's in store for the climax of this saga.

Thanks for being my sounding board. It's always good to have someone to bounce your plot idea off. All the while this renovation is going on, I've been working on a Heartwarming novel.  It's due to my editor at the end of the month. So trees, rocks, roofs, leaks, and all, words still need to be on the page.

See you soon. And keep reading.

Just My Luck. . .I'm NOT Irish

by Shirley Hailstock

Everyone is Irish today. I'm in the Northeast and I hear New York City carted the snow off Fifth Avenue for the parade today. Don't ask me where they put it.

I'm not Irish, but I'm decked out in green and celebrating with all those who are.

I do not have a book out this month, but since this is a blog designed for readers, I have a gift for you. Lots of blogs and social media post will center on the creation of St. Patrick's Day or the way the holiday came into being. (Yep, I know that. I researched it.)

But I'm not doing that.

I have a story for you. Surprise, it's a St. Patrick's Day story. So enjoy.

The Magic Touch

A Tale From Blythe Cove Manor

Another St. Patrick's Day, Donahue thought donning his green tie covered in shamrocks and tying it around his neck. Shamrocks were a sign of luck and he needed all the luck he could get today. His shirt was green and his jacket a darker version of the same color. He had to wear this color or people would clap him on the back or grab his arm, demanding to know why he wasn't saluting the Irish holiday.

It began at midnight. And would be with him until another midnight released March 17th into the next day. He would like to spend the day relaxing in his room, staying away from the revelers and binge drinkers. But past years had taught him that didn't work. People would knock incessantly on his door. Most didn't even know why they were doing it. They'd apologize as soon as he opened it and they got a good look at him. So he decided to handle the day by making his own choices.

The first was breakfast.

Blythe, owner of Blythe Cove Manor, had a full array of breakfast foods available to celebrate St. Patrick's Day; green muffins, green tea, green milk shakes, even green eggs and ham for the kids. Donahue refused to even think about how Blythe turned the ham green. But from what he'd heard the manor's owner was a food-wizard.

Donahue needed to be careful. He didn't want to touch anyone, bump into anyone and he didn't want anyone offering him a hand to shake. He wore gloves, but he couldn't eat with them covering his hands. He poured hot coffee into a paper cup and set it in a protective corrugated heat-sleeve. Lifting a muffin with a napkin, and balancing the cup with the tips of his fingers, he left Blythe Cove Manor by the back door.

The garden was empty, its flowers straining for the coming spring. Going to one of the tables set in the sun, Donahue took a seat, even though the Massachusetts breeze off the Atlantic had yet to release it hold on the season.

Setting his breakfast on the table, Donahue turned his face toward the sunlight. He drank in the feel of it despite the air temperature. He was alone for several minutes, thinking is solitude a blessing. Then someone asked, "Aren't you cold out here in this wind?"

Turning, Donahue watched as a woman approached him. Her hair was sunshine yellow and almost disappeared in the eastern light. She, too, was dressed totally in green and she carried a cup and a plate of matching green food. For a moment he thought she was a female version of himself. Her cup was ceramic with a shamrock along the side. The liquid inside steamed in the cool air.

"Not necessarily," he finally answered her question as the ocean wind ruffled his dark brown hair. Unconsciously, Donahue patted it down.

"I'm Sloane Gallagher," she said.

"Donahue O'Dwyer," he introduced, taking a drink from his cup and replacing it on the table.

"Pardon me if I don't shake hands," she said. "Both of mine are full at the moment." She looked down at the coffee and muffin filling both spaces.

Sliding onto a seat opposite him, she said, "I hope you don't mind me joining you."

"You like the cold, too?" he asked by way of consent.

"I grew up in County Mayo. This reminds me of home."

She looked out on the Atlantic. Ireland was well in the distance, County Mayo or Mayo Abbey stood on the northwestern side of the Emerald Isle.

Donahue stared at her. He'd grown up in the same county, yet he was sure he'd never met her. Mayo Abbey was the third largest country, so it was perfectly plausible that they had never seen each other. Donahue had been a hell-raiser in his youth and his reputation covered a large part of the county. Sloane Gallagher didn't appear to have known him, but how coincidental was it that she joined him for breakfast and that they were both on Martha's Vineyard during St. Patrick's Day and staying at the same B&B? Although she looked to be in her late twenties, the same age as he was, he decided to tread carefully until he could determine if all this was due to the universe laughing at him – again, the way she had laughed at him when she gave him his. . .gift.

"Are you new to the Vineyard?" Donahue asked.

"I come every few years, but not often at this time. More in the summer or early fall."
"Are you here for St. Patrick's Day?"

"There isn't much of a parade here, not like in New York City, Chicago or Savannah, Georgia, but it is the end of the rainbow."

Now why would she say that? Why use that particular phrase? He laughed, hiding his concern.

"Is there really a rainbow end?" Donahue asked.

She nodded. "And a pot of gold."

"You're not going to tell me you're a leprechaun, are you?"

She shook her head. "Like you, I'm a Transferer."

"A what?" he asked. He'd never heard it called that before.

"A Transferer. My touch transfers powers – temporarily, but they happen." She announced this as if she was asking him to pass her a napkin.

"What kind of powers?" He leaned forward feigning interest.

"That's the rub. I don't know, but you understand all this. We're the same kind."
"Kind?" he repeated.

"Our touch on this day passes our magic on. It's temporary, but whomever we touch shares in our magic until the stroke of midnight."

Donahue hadn't acknowledged that he had any magic, but he asked the question. "What happens if and I said if, we both have this gift," he paused. "And we touch each other?"
She took a moment to think about that. Her brow furrowed and her face changed into a frown. "I don't know."

"How many other people have you met with this magical ability?"

"You're my first," she said.

"And how do you know I have it?"

She opened her hand. He only saw the green gloves she wore. Removing them, she turned her hands palms up. At the end of her longest life line was a small dark blemish in the shape of cauldron. It was light green, but clearly visible.

"At first I thought it was a birthmark as I'm sure you did too. Remove your gloves." She didn't exactly ask it or command him. Her comment was somewhere in between.

Donahue hesitated. After a second, he pulled the gloved fingers free of his own, and showed her his hands.

She gasped.

There was nothing there, no mark, no blemish. She glanced toward his other hand. He repeated the procedure with slow, deliberate movements. When he presented his hand, again, there was no blemish, only the definition of lines intersecting other lines in his palm.

"I. . .I," she stammered. "I don't understand." She pulled her own hands back, gathering her gloves and slipping them back on. "I apologize," she said standing up. "You're not the one."

She made no attempt to touch him, to impart her magic as she walked away. Donahue watched her hurried steps as she crossed the grass, went up the few steps and into the back door of the B&B.

She'd left her breakfast behind. Donahue reach over, using his bare hands to hug her steaming coffee cup, pressing his palms against the warmth of the liquid that penetrated the cup. The coffee warmed his hands.

As he released his hold  and opened his palms, images appeared, identical twins of a pot filled with a leprechaun's gold.

Donahue watched as the cool air touched his skin and the images disappeared.

The End

Good luck today. I hope you enjoyed the story.  Remember the luck of the Irish is passed from person to person. So offer your own magic touch and enjoy a wonderful day.

Unknown Author

By Shirley Hailstock

I want to be an unknown author.  I went to Barnes and Noble last night, admittedly to buy a new book by one of my favorite authors.  And of course, I came home with more than the one book.  As any reader knows, books are like potato chips – you can’t buy just one.  So I was walking around the superstore, scoping out the books and looking at the guys to see who was just there to hang out.

There were a lot of tables and free standing book carousels and I found myself looking at the titles and authors.  I’m a sucker for a good title, so I look at those first.  These are the tables that publishers pay money to have the titled featured.

I consider myself fairly well read and well informed about books – all books not just romance or women’s fiction.  But what I noticed on these tables were books by people unknown to me.  Of course, I can’t know everyone, no matter now hard I try, yet on many of those tables, I didn’t recognize a single name.

I did recognize the publishers.  And I decided that is who I want to be.  I want to be one of those names that people come in the store find.  My book and my name prominently displayed.  I want to be the books they go home with, spend the night in bed with, and read from page one to The End.

100 Books to Read Before You Die - The Official List

by Shirley Hailstock

It started with a movie, The Equalizer. I like action movies and I like Denzel Washington. In this movie, his wife has died and she was a lover of books. She was reading the top 100 Books Everyone Should Read Before You Die.  He truly loved her and as homage, he's reading the top 100 books.  He's currently on number 91.

I looked for the list since I wanted to know how many of them I had read.  What I discovered is there are countless lists of top 100 books by different groups, organizations or individuals.  I had to choose one, so when I found a list that said it was The Official List, I went with that one.  Click this link (The Official List) if you want to see all 100 titles. I am glad to say that the majority of the books appear on many of the lists. You'd expect to see The Great Gatsby and Pride and Prejudice on any reading list that claims to be the Top 100.

When I counted the titles I'd read, my number was 37. There were some collections like the Harry Potter series and the complete works of Shakespeare.  While I've read all the Harry Potter books, I only get to add one to my total. I didn't count Shakespeare at all since I've only read a few of his books/plays.  I've seen more of his works produced as a play or movie than actually reading the text. However, Hamlet was listed singularly and I included that one. In high school, I had to memorize parts of that play.

Some titles I tried to read and couldn't. The Hobbit is one of them. Even after The Lord of the Rings walked away with multiple Academy Awards, I tried to read The Hobbit and couldn't. Then I got it on CD and tried to listen to it.  Still I couldn't get into it.  There are some books, we're just not ready to spend the time trying to read.

There were also titles on the list I couldn't remember if I'd read the book or only seen a movie of the story. Little Women, Great Expectations, Wuthering Heights, and Anna Karenina have been movies, all with several remakes to their credit, and I can't remember if I ever read the book.

Of course, every list is going to come with surprises.  This one had a few books that I wouldn't choose for people to read before dying. The Time Traveler’s Wife by Audrey Niffenegger and The Hitch Hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy by Douglas Adams are two.  This is my opinion. There are probably thousands of people who will disagree with me, but they will have their own list that differs from mine.

Another surprise came when I saw titles and didn't know a book existed. I thought these stories were made into movies from original screenplays. Far From the Madding Crowd by Thomas Hardy,  Brideshead Revisited by Evelyn Waugh, On The Road by Jack Kerouac, and The Red Badge of Courage by Stephen Crane are a few.

The list was limited to 100 titles, so it stands to reason that some expected titles will be missing.  For example, Middlemarch by George Eliot is listed, but Silas Marner is not.  Neither The Scarlet Letter nor any other works by Nathaniel Hawthorne are included in the list. Heart of Darkness by Joseph Conrad is present, but not Lord Jim.  A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, The Effect of Gamma Rays on Man-in-the-Moon Marigolds by Paul Zindel and The Invisible Man by National Book Award winner Ralph Ellison, and Native Son by Richard Wright were not listed. There were no books by James Baldwin, Toni Morrison or Ernest Hemingway.

So, of the books on this list that I've read, what is my favorite – The Great Gatsby.  A few years ago I read this book for the first time. I wanted to see if it stood the test of time. Would the book be just as interesting and relevant today as it was when it was written? My answer is yes. I thoroughly enjoyed it even though I'd seen Robert Redford and Mia Farrow play Gatsby and Daisy countless times. And I even visited the house in Newport, Rhode Island where they filmed the movie, I was still in the can't put-it-down-mode.

Reading 37 titles is good, but not great. It's only a little over a third of the 100.  Just in case you want to know the 37 titles I have read, they're listed below.

So, like Ricky would say to Lucy, I got some readin' to do.

SPOOKED: A Halloween Dinner

With Halloween just around the corner I went a little overboard this year. While I don't have anyone to take out on the 31st and most of the kids in my neighborhood have grown up and are either in or out of college, the need to decorate should be low on the To Do List.

But it isn't.  I dug out the black plates and the holiday took on a life of it's own.

I started with a napkin. While seeing some of Halloween commercials, I thought about the witches hat and during a long commercial break, I went and got the black napkins and folded one, then another and another until I had enough for the entire table.

Now it was time to go to the store and I found all these wonderful decorations on sale.  The witches hat, needed a pumpkin spray.  This is what I found.

I already had the black plates and the white china.  The placements were hard to find in the number I needed, but eventually I prevailed.

 And how could have set a Halloween table without skulls.  These guys jumped out and I was forced to take them home.

Just a couple more, I said.  At night the candles in the house turn the room to an eerie orange glow.

And finally we were ready for the food.

We're planning to have dinner here on Halloween.  The menu is still under discussion.  Hope you enjoy your time to dress up and collect candy.

Your Face on the Cover of a Romance Novel

Have you ever wondered about the models on the cover of romance novels?  Are they professionals or regular people? You could be one.  I'm running a contest to choose a person to appear on the cover of one of my novels.  You can find all the details here where you can read the official rules and find the entry form.

If you want to be on the cover, know someone who does, have a daughter, son, child, grandchild, niece, nephew, son, or other friend or relative interested in the contest, keep reading...

Before you go to the link, here are some of the perks.  The contest is open to anyone (male/female) 18 years or older, regarding of size, age, color or ethnicity, from the forty-eight contiguous states of the United States of America.  We'll fly you to the Princeton, NJ area.

Add ground transportation to get you around the cities, towns, and municipalities of our state. Then we'll install you in a beautiful hotel.

Where you'll relax and eat at the best restaurants.  (There may be a couple of surprises related to the meals, but I can't say what they are now.) 

At this point, the real fun begins.  First the makeover.  A professional makeup artist will apply your makeup to perfection.

Next is the photo shoot.  (smile.)  We've hired a professional photographer to spend time taking your picture from every angle.  He/She will get the best shot(s).

And a little while later, you'll find yourself on the cover of a romance novel  Tentatively, the romance is titled Having the Genius's Baby.  (Of course, that is subject to change.)

Go to the website http://www.yourfaceonaromancenovel.com  and sign up.  Be sure to read the official rules.

PLEASE FORWARD AND SHARE THIS NEWSLETTER or  LINK WITH FRIENDS AND FAMILY.

Thank you.

And as always, keep reading...