I swear I’ve had this conversation – almost word for word.  It makes a struggling writer want to slit their wrists.  But it’s still funny in a rock yourself in the corner and weeping sort of way.

check out the other films on youtube.

The Bandit and his father were having a conversation and I was trying to eavesdrop.

“Did you buy me my Maserati yet?”  Believe it or not, this was spoken by My

If the boy's buying I think we should get this one.

 Honey.

“No,” came the higher pitched voice of my other favorite male.

“Why not?”  They were picking up about ten thousand Matchbox cars at the time so I guess that was how the subject got started.  I have no idea how long My Honey has been negotiating for a Maserati but this didn’t seem like a new conversation.

“I don’t know.”  Clunk clunk clunk went the little metal cars as they landed in the carrying case.

“Well, you better hurry up boy cause I really want that car.”

The conversation went on in this vein for a while.  I couldn’t always hear the words, but I could hear the deep chuckle of my husband and the higher pitched giggle of the boy while they worked.

After a few minutes I heard little feet running down the hall and then a little mouth next to my ear.

“Momma, how much is a Maserati?” he whispered.

“A lot,” I told him.  “You better get a really good job if you’re gonna by Daddy a Maserati.”

“I could get a job around the house,” he said with excitement.

“No, I mean you’re going to have to do really well in kindergarten and the rest of school so you can get a really good job when you grow up.  Maserati’s are really expensive,” I told him.

He look deflated for about five seconds before he perked up.  “Well, he’s just going to have to want a cheaper car.”

I’m always researching.  I do it at bookstores, libraries and on line.  I can’t even look up a word in the dictionary without getting sidetracked for twenty minutes.  There is always some interesting word that catches my eye and then another and another until it snowballs and I can’t remember what I opened the dictionary for in the first place.  Lord help me if there is a map in there, then I’m really doomed.  I have no less than four thesauruses.  Or is it thesaurusi?  I don’t know, and I don’t have time to look it up.  I just told you what would happen if I did. 

I have picture books for research, too.  I have one on English Gardens and another on English Manor Houses. And just in case the first one didn’t have what I want there is also, Great English Houses and a copied article on Georgian & Regency Houses.  I have several on castles – both how they worked and were built as well as  what they look like.  Apparently, I am quite curious about where people live.

While I was looking up something or other on the Internet, I found this over at Bookninja. 

Isn’t this brilliant?  I love how they are broken down into categories.  And some of them are funny – “a harem of sexbots” for example.  A clubbing of chupacabra.  An itself of Yahwehs.  A choir of seriel killers.

Now I just need a story where I can use “a yearning of Sasquatches”

My mom and I went to see Wicked tonight.   I was so excited to see it and Imost definitely wasn’t disappointed.   I adored the costumes and the set was all steam-punky cool.  The gal who played Glinda was adorable and funny.  I might adopt some of her little kicky moves!  If you get a chance to, go.  It’s a delight.

I was however disappointed with the restaurant I chose to take Mom to.  Once upon a time it was a cute little place, a gourmet deli if you will.  My Honey and I loved the food and the concept but we never thought it would stay open.  We introduced several people to the place, all of whom became fans.  After several years, they altered the concept and became a regular plated restaurant.  We were a little disappointed but the food was still good.  Then last year they moved to a bigger space and, tonight when I took Mom there, I discovered they’ve become a little too big for their britches.

It was 5:30 on a Tuesday.  The place was mostly empty.  However, we didn’t have a reservation so we couldn’t be accomodated.  And the hostess was hoity toity about it too.  I’ll probably never eat there again because who remembers to make reservations on a Tuesday unless it’s something special.

Damn.  They had the best chocolate pistachio beignets.  Alas.

Julia Quinn – my favorite romance writer of all time and a Quill Sister’s favorite – posted a few of these on Facebook and they tickled the hell out of me.  I’ll post ’em periodically. 

This was one of my favorites – from www.betterbooktitles.com.

They made me go up to the snow today.  I don’t know why they continue to make me go outside.  They know I don’t like outside.  Unless there are rides to get to like at Disneyland, I’m not really interested in outside.  An outside shopping mall is really the outer limits of what I’m looking for when I go outside.

I think snow is gorgeous.  Up there.  On the mountain.  Well away from me. It’s also very pretty on TV and in the movies.  Movies like Dr. Zivago that I can watch on the sofa in my climate controlled home.

I do not like it in my shoes.  I do not like it in my pants.  I sound a bit like a Dr. Seuss book, huh?  I do not like it, SamIAm.

But they make me go to the snow just like they make me go camping.  I’m here to tell you, the first time they try to make me go camping in the snow – I’m out.  I don’t care what kind of guilt they try to pull.  That is just way too much to ask of me.  Camping in the snow.  Shit – that sounds like the 9th level of hell – if hell was freezing, freaking cold.

Today wasn’t so bad.  The only reason was my dad was with us.  He’s none to steady since his stroke so I remained the dutiful daughter and stayed very close.  And then he bought me cocoa.  Daddy’s are good. 

Just to recap: Snow = bad.  Daddy & cocoa = good.

Here’s the best part, though.  Sassy was absurdly enthusiastic about going to play in the snow.  By the end of the day, she was damn near hysterical with cold feet and  wet, freezing pants.  I kept whispering in her ear, “See, this is why I don’t like the snow.” 

I may have pulled her over to the dark side.  But it’s warm over here.

Today is an example of how much the world can go horrifically wrong. 

You get up, you go to the grocery store to get some milk, you see your friend, a United States Representative is meeting with constituents, and you stop by to say hello.

And then it’s all over.

You win a seat on your school student counsel and are thilled to meet a real life role model and to tell her how excited you are to begin your political career.

And the rest of us are left to wonder what the hell happened.  We’re frightened.  We’re angry.  We’re confused.  I can’t get over that this atrocity happened in my town.  I am filled with such sorrow for the families.  I don’t know what to tell my children.    I’ve been glued to the television all day trying to keep hold of my emotions.

The true sadness – at least for me – is that I suspect nothing will change.

What a world.

Being a mommy can really mess with your mind.  Is thinking these pictures are hysterical wrong?

hahahahahahaahahahahahaha

Sexy Woody

Oh dear God.  I fully expect a Cease and Desist Order to come from Pixar at any moment.

A Good Historical Romance needs Good History

The second book in my historical romance trilogy – A Prince of Norway – continues the story of Nicolas and Sydney Hansen, which begins in 1820 in the Missouri Territory and travels to Norway and back.

Most of us Americans don’t realize that Norway was under the control of Denmark for centuries: from the late 1300s until 1814. And in order to understand the period of Norwegian history that A Prince of Norway deals with, we must take a brief look at Napoleon.

At one time, Napoleon Bonaparte dominated Europe, defeating Austria, Britain, Russia and Prussia. Suffice to say, the little dude grabbed a lot of power. 

But Napoleon made mistakes. Big ones. Long story shortened: by the end of 1812 Napoleon had destroyed (as in frozen and starved) most of his own army. When the British invaded France in 1814 and Paris surrendered without a fight, Napoleon abdicated as Emperor of France, and hid out on an island.

Now back to Norway.

After Napoleon’s defeat in 1814, the Danish Prince, Christian Frederick, convened the National Assembly in Norway, where he was elected as King. But Austria, Britain, Russia and Prussia all refused to accept this attempt by Norway to become independent, with the Danish prince as their new king. 

Furthermore, the Treaty of Kiel stated that Denmark – because they sided with the defeated Napoleon – must cede Norway to Sweden. Following a brief show of strength by Sweden, King Christian Frederick caved, renounced all claims to Norway’s throne, and fled the country. 

Norway’s Storting (Parliament) reluctantly accepted the shift of control to Sweden. But the new alliance never sat well with Norway – the seeds of independence had been sown.

When I created the setting for A Prince of Norway I backed up a couple of generations to King Christian VI. His son, Frederick V had seventeen children by 2 wives and a mistress – and one short-lived sister. So I gave Frederick a stronger, fictional sister.

My Marit Christiansen married and escaped her brother’s lifestyle by emigrating to the New World. Settled in Philadelphia, she birthed a daughter, the princess Kirsten Sven. Kirsten’s life was saved during the Revolutionary War by a handsome American soldier of Norse heritage – Reidar Magnus Hansen.

These are Nicolas’s parents.

Now we have an unbroken link from the Kings Christian VI and Frederick V to Nicolas. And – thanks to his father – a purely Norse bloodline.

Before I could see which of the seventeen descendents of King Frederick might be involved in the 1814 switch of regents, they needed to be charted, tracked, and fictionalized if they fell off the radar, which almost all of then did. That was fun. (And the family tree is posted on my website: http://www.kristualla.com/)

So in 1818, the oldest and most powerful of these fictionalized descendents sent Nicolas a letter, strongly requesting that he return to Norway (he went there in 1806 at age 19). They wanted one of two things from him: either actively candidate for a reclaimed throne, or sign over his 10,000 acres and his title as Greve (Count) to their cause.

The times being what they were, the letter didn’t reach him until 1820, at which point he had remarried and had a second child.

So. Is it time you found a new brand of hero? Please allow me to help.

For every 10 people who comment here, I will give away one free e-copy of A Woman of Choice – the beginning of the trilogy. And, yes. Commenter #11 warrants 2 copies! Comment #21? I’ll give away three.

BUT WAIT! THERE’S MORE!

 In February at the end of my blog tour, I’ll give away one SIGNED PAPERBACK SET of the trilogy. Here’s how you can get in on that deal:

1. Go to http://www.kristualla.com/ and find the “Secret Word” on my home page.

2. Send an email to ktualla@cox.net with “Signed Trilogy Giveaway” in the subject line. Put the secret word in the body.

3. Comment on any blog at any time in the tour to activate your entry. Each day’s blog location is listed at http://kristualla.wordpress.com/blog-tour-dates-locations/

A Woman of Choice, A Prince of Norway, and A Matter of Principle are all available at http://www.goodnightpublishing.com/

A Woman of Choice – Missouri Territory, 1819

A woman is viciously betrayed and abandoned by her unfaithful husband. She is rescued by a widower uninterested in love. In desperation, she becomes engaged to his best friend. One woman, three very different men. Life is about choices.

A Prince of Norway – Christiania, Norway, 1820

American-born Nicolas Hansen has been asked to candidate for his great-grandfather’s throne. His new wife Sydney isn’t about to let him go to Norway and face that possibility alone. The moment they arrive at Akershus Castle, the political intrigue and maneuvering begin. Can Sydney trust anyone? Will Nicolas resist the seduction of power? Or will he claim the throne for himself? Most importantly: will their young marriage survive the malicious mischief of the ambitious royal family?

A Matter of Principle – St. Louis, State of Missouri, 1821

Nicolas Hansen has returned from Norway determined to change the world. But when he runs for State Legislator in the brand-new state of Missouri, the enemies he made over the past two years aren’t about to step quietly aside. Sydney has made enemies of her own, both by marrying Nicolas and by practicing midwifery. When a newspaper reporter makes it his goal to destroy them, Nicolas must rethink his path once again. But this time, it’s a matter of principle.