Wisdom from Zig Ziglar
Wednesday, January 18, 2017
Sunday, January 15, 2017
Fishing stories, you’ve heard them, and the concept has become synonymous with exaggeration. No harm is ever intended, but after countless retelling and adequate time the story often morphs into something much more interesting and exciting than the original. The two pound fish that took several minutes to reel in eventually evolves into an eight pound monster which battled valiantly for half an hour before succumbing to your superior skill. This is how many of my real life adventures have infiltrated my romantic suspense novels.
I’ve explored numerous Mayan ruins tucked into steamy bug-infested jungles in several countries, yet I’ve always managed to avoid ruthless kidnappers; I’ve pondered the current of the Rio Grande, sticking my toe in to test the waters, but have somehow suppressed the urge to jump into the churning mud and attempt an illegal border crossing; and I have ridden horseback down a terrifyingly steep slope while I clutched the horn with all my might and scenes from Man From Snowy River flashed through my mind, all without a single gunshot from a foreign enemy aimed at me or my trusted steed.
So, file them away, every last one of those adventures, big and small, and maybe one day they will resurface, and after enough repetition become the fodder for that next great thriller or epic adventure novel.
Check out all my adventures on Amazon here
Thursday, January 12, 2017
Nuremberg is probably most well-known for being home to the post World War II Nuremberg Trials. But, what many people might not know is that it also has a wonderfully-preserved medieval walled-city. Every time we’ve visited, we find some sort of fun and interesting festival, crafts fair, or flea market in progress. It may not be on anyone’s bucket list, but it is a surprising city to visit.
Tuesday, January 10, 2017
“Here. Let me check your injuries.”
He nodded, but made no effort to take off the souvenir t-shirt he’d purchased in Mexico to replace the shirt destroyed at Señorita Ruiz’s hacienda.
Olivia eased the shirt over his head and dabbed at the scratches on his chest with a warm washcloth. Not until her fingers began tracing some of the deeper wounds, trying to determine if any debris still remained imbedded that might cause infection, did Cash acknowledge her close proximity. He reached up, grabbed her hand, and brought it to his lips.
He kissed her palm so gently that Olivia could taste his pain. Tears filled her eyes and slid down her cheeks. She wasn’t sure why his agony touched her so deeply, but it did. “I’m sorry,” was all she could think of to say, knowing it wasn’t enough.
They sat for several minutes in silence, hand in hand. Olivia hated to free herself from Cash’s warm touch, but she doubted he was ready to talk about Zara, and the guilt and fatigue in his lost eyes tore at her heart.
Olivia stood, easing out of Cash’s grasp. She placed her hands on his shoulders and gently maneuvered him back until he lay on the sofa. He didn’t resist as she unlaced his hiking boots and pulled them off, draped a blanket over him, and turned out the lamp. She touched her lips to his forehead and left him alone in the dark with his demons.