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Sept 10
Vince and I sleep in until 10:30! We get out the map of the ship and find the breakfast buffet where we devour a terrific brunch. After we freshen up we spend the day exploring the ship. There are 18 levels and we can never remember where aft is located or whether forward is...oh, wait that means the front of the ship. But when we are midship, we are uncertain about which is which. We spend a lot of time walking back and forth and up and down which FitBit likes a lot. There's a gorgeous pub called Adagio, a restaurant called Sabintini and oh yah, all the sports stuff. Below that is the Cafe Caribe, the Outrigger and that flows into the Calypso Reef and Pool. Above us here is the movies under the stars, with comfy chairs and an enormous screen. Back on the lower deck is another pool, a pizza place else, an ice cream bar, a bar and a grill. Keep going forward and you can look up to the spa, the sanctuary (you can book in here for a day of pampering). In midship is a huge atrium that expands three floors. There are bars, an art gallery, the casino, services such as Internet (which isn't working well and makes me a bit crazy for a while). Our dining rooms (originally the DaVinci and now the Michelangelo) are back at midship on lower levels. So as you can see, we are winding up and down and everywhere, our little map in hand, trying to figure it all out. Luckily there are workers all over who smile indulgently and point us in the right direction. We marvel at the colors of the sea, the navy and turquoise, and how calm it is. The day flashes past. After dinner (our new waiters are Joquin and Richard) we go to a show in the Princess Theater for a Motown tribute. Later we all agree that the Jolleyballers could've done much better.

Sept 11
This morning we pull into port at Livorno, where the lights still shine in the early of the morning. The sun is orange in the sky. The breakwater appears, strong stone and brick walls around which the water crashes. Our ship turns and backs into the berth as though it's a car parallel parking. We get our first idea of the crowds that will accompany us today when we glimpse the rows of buses lined up on the dock.
We have booked a half day excursion through Princess and are herded in a rather disorganized manner to our buses. As teachers we are highly critical! We are Brown 2 and almost expect them to give out ropes to hang onto. Our guide is Alessandro, a handsome bearded young man who's excellent as a funny but informative leader. He gives us a comprehensive history of Pisa as we head across the countryside. The trees that hover over the roads are called maritime or umbrella Pines - the latter name a perfect description of their shape. These lovely trees give us pine nuts, for which Pisa is famous. Ground up with olive oil, basil, and garlic, they're transformed into pesto. Pisa also has lots of vineyards, but Alessandro tells us if it's less than 10 Euros it's only good for washing the dog. Pisa has three universities, so although the population isn't large, the students swell it to twice the size. There's a basilica to St. Peter who stopped here on his way to Rome, hiding in a Roman villa on the site of the church. The Arno River crisscrosses through here, ambling its way to Florence.
When we alight from the bus we're astonished by the heat and humidity so early in the day. The streets are absolutely crawling with people walking every which way. From above the only difference between us and an anti hill would be the seeming lack of direction or purpose. The town is lovely with greenery, bougainvillea, little stone walls or courtyards. After waiting for a train, we continue our walk until suddenly we can see the leaning tower of Pisa.
The first thing we say is: it really does lean. So much more than I envisioned. A great white block tower defense listing sideways, looking like an enormous mistake. Somehow I thought it would look deliberate; an architectural feat,  but it looks ashamed instead. And we are all here to laugh at it. Stand up on fences and take goofy pictures.
The attached basilica reminds us of the Florence Duomo with its white and green and cream facade. The "new" cemetery is here too: it was built in the 1600's, such a short time ago.
Luoca, Pisa and Florence were enemies in the 1300's with the result that towers and fortresses were constructed everywhere. Castles loom from hillsides, intimidation tactics. In season, the hillsides would be covered in sunflowers. I can imagine such a blanket of orange might be dazzling.
Reaching Florence reminds me of how much I love this city. Pillars,  bridges, ornate window frames, archways. Tall carved wooden doorways. Wrought iron fences as tight ropes for bougainvillea and vines. Brown, white, cream, peach all mingle with nature's colors. Tree lined streets. The river sauntering through. I am amused by the name of a street we pass on the way to the center: Via Malcontenti.
We stop for lunch first, partly to avoid some of the crowds, at a place recommended by Alessandro. It's called Barlovino (I think) and the beer is frigid, the pizza and pasta delicious. Later we walk to Il Duomo and admire its pastel beauty, soft greens, cream, red, brown in marble. Statues and pictures, the huge wooden doors etched with stories - histories. The tower, the golden doorway of the Baptistry. We stroll through quaint streets with an abundance of cafés and shops. Stars up winding alleyways and one lane roads. The ambience is lively, open, busy. The crowds are astonishing. I'm not sure I've ever been in such a flow of human beings. We arrive in the Piazza Signoria, where the David replica and a plethora of other statues glisten in the sun. The opulence of the past is fascinating. If we had such investment in art now, what could we produce?

Sept 12
There's a delay getting into port today, because yesterday's traffic caused late arrivals from the tours. We have to line up for an hour, but once on the smaller hydrofoils we love the sight of Naples in the sunshine, stacked on the hills, an ancient fort on its hilltop. Our ship dwarfs the dock. The wind is soft in our hair and on our faces. The sun is burning off the light mist.

Sept. 9

Our breakfast with Francesco is leisurely and delightful. Later, our driver, Rafael, picks us up in a comfy mini van and we head for Civitivecchia, where the ship will be in port. We pass through the gorgeous streets, bathed in a hot yellow sun. Lattice work around most windows or frames of molded plaster, ornate, stately, old. Red, yellow, pink, purple flowers cascade from window boxes or hedges. Silver green olive trees. Slim straight evergreens and some that spill all over like a child dressed in a green outfit that's far too big. Pigeons perch on statues that are world marvels and add their own opinions about what these are worth.
We leave the city vowing to return, a true arrividerci Roma song on our lips. Now we are following the sea, turquoise, navy blue, white capped. Shores that are rock or sandy or hidden behind condos and hotels. The ocean is dotted with yachts and sailboats, colorful umbrellas dot the shore. Palms, bougainvillea, fishermen, cacti: Civitivecchia is a seaside resort. We're here in a relatively short time, since Sunday traffic is still relaxed here.
The ships takes up the horizon on one side of the docks. She's beautiful; blue and white and massive. Rooms and balconies and floors stacked on each side, a proud crown boasting from the top: I am the Crown Princess.
Check-in is smooth and efficient and suddenly we are making our way through the maze of hallways and doors. We love our room; it's cute and well appointed and has a lovely big bed. Everything fits perfectly.
Our balcony is the best part. Right now we overlook a dull harbor, but that's all right: it's breezy and shady. We can look one door to our left and talk to Mary Jo and Peter! Bless you, Colette.
Our steward comes to introduce himself - Julius from the Philippines. He has a pregnant wife at home, won't get back until after the baby's born, but of course he maintains his cheerful smile.
Mary Jo and I run down to see Maire and John's junior suite and it's gorgeous. Our luggage arrives and Vince and I enjoy putting it away. We always remind ourselves of George Carlin's routine on STUFF when we do this.
Pretty soon we're at dinner in the Botticelli dining room, but they don't have space for Mary Jo and Ken. I make arrangements with the maitre d' for tomorrow night.
The bed is very comfortable but Vince and I both awaken in the middle of the night. We open the balcony doors to an orange half moon painting a silver glow across the dark navy ocean. Clouds flit by and cover the light, but not completely. I remember my favorite poem: "the moon was a ghostly galleon, tossed upon cloudly seas." We marvel a while longer and then marvel at each other as we cuddle under silky sheets.

Sept. 8 Continued

We make several unexplained stops on the bus and are left baking in the relentless sun and humidity. By the time we reach the Colliseum we are hot, tired and thirsty, so we visit the building from across the street. The beer at the restaurant is cold and the sandwiches yummy. We people watch and discuss the Colliseum's checkered history.
We walk to another stop by skirting the Forum, staring at the ruins from the walkways. Across the Circus Maximus, constantly aware of the ground upon which we stand. The echo of chariots and hooves, the dirt mixing with the humid air. The bus is a long time coming so we are hot and tired again by the time we reboard. Now we can see parts of the Forum from above, the ornate bridges embracing the river, the trees arching the streets. The city is stunning, rich with age, beautiful.
As we walk back to the hotel we tell the gang about meeting Maria on the street this morning. She and her borther run a restaurant on this very avenue. We'd been here several times on Kitty trips, and once we reminded her of who we are, she actually remembered. Everyone votes to stop in for a cold beer.
With the sun dancing overhead and gleefully drenhcing us with humidity, it was not a hard sell.
Maria greets us like old friends. The atmosphere is fun, friendly, a joie de vivre that's infectious. Soon we are laughing, chanting, clapping. Brother Julius arrives and we clap for his entrance, urged on by his sister. Maria delivers free pizza and we order more beer.
She introduces us to a young man whom she calls hermano. He's a handsome man with startlingly blue eyes. He relates the story of his capture as he tried to escape Cuba and his subsequent jail time. When he was released he fled to Moscow, but is now a political refugee in Italy. We all remark on his resilience and the glow that emanates from the fact that this young man has found peace. He joins us in "salute" and tells us how the Vikings invented the toast in order to protect their drink and keep their hands on their weapons at the same time.
We are surrounded by the street, sirens howling, cars zipping past, people talking and laughing in our space, but it doesn't matter. A soft breeze cools our cheeks, the beer is cold, the pizza delicious, and we have each other. The atmosphere, the lovely lilting friendliness of the Romans, is intoxicating.
Later we cab out to the Pantheon but it's closed for a Mass so we can only admire its beauty from the outside. There are thick crowds in the Piazza and in the narrow streets, but it doesn't bother us. Everyone seems to have laughter on their lips and energy in their faces. There are several carbinieri throughout the area, just in case those energetic souls become a little too frenetic.
We have dinner in the Piazza Navona, next to the Bernini Fountains, the sounds of water from the marble fish, shells, Neptune and nymphs a soothing backdrop. Stars overhead, pigeons fluttering, moonlight bathing it all in a soft benevolent glow. It's loud and soft, romantic and crowded, cheesy and unique all at once. Overwhelming our senses, making us fall in love all over again, with Rome and with one another.
We visit the artists in the square. Say arrividerci to Helen and Sandy.
Back at the Alimonde we're in the mood for a nightcap. Right around the corner we discover a little German beer cellar which has, of course, limonciello. The perfect antidote to too full stomachs and the wish to make our last night in Rome go on forever.

Sept. 8

Breakfast at the hotel is delightful with Francesco as our waiter. He's good looking, energetic and touchy feely as only an Italian man can be. His manner is so disingenuous that he gets away with it entirely. The rooftop of the hotel is resplendent with flowers and greenery so it's a gorgeous quiet place to eat.
We walk around the tall cement brick walls of the Vatican, so grey and sombre until we reach the pillars of the Piazza. These are towering works of art, white and pockmarked with age, but still so majestic. They announce without humility that the cathedral is here: an enourmous structure designed to initimate and inspire.
The lines aren't bad through the security and the men all get in by pulling their shorts down below their knees. Suddenly we are all inside. It is cavernous, awesome-an overused word, but one that is nevertheless the best description here. The pieta is on our right, enclosed in a glass case that's the legacy of some lunatic.
What I admire about this Michelangelo statue is the madonna's face. How can marble convey the grief of a mother who has lost her child? Yet somehow in her downcast eyes, the way she hold his lifeless body in her arms, tells a tale of sorrow and loss that is universal.
St. Peter's is filled with gold, etched in the ceiling and in the tombs which decorate the walls and enclaves. Priceless painting, tapestries, statues, burial sites. The waxen body of John XXIII. We wander and breathe in the history. The soaring rooftop and duomo make me stumble in the effort to keep my head raised to the structure above.
Outside it's hot and humid but we're ready for the hop on, hop off bus. We clamber to the top when we board and there is a hilarious episode of trying to connect our earphones. Something like Monty Python or one of those TV shows about old people. It's a Seinfeld moment, which Vince luckily records.
The parks and piazzas of Rome are amazing. They make turning every corner an adventure. A surprise. Trees are old but green and budding, long arms shading the people, the benches, the grass. There are huge crowds swarming through every space and it's fun looking down on them. There are so many historical monuments and buildings. Even newer structures like Termini North with its glass and slanting roof are creative. Ornate details splash every one of the older edificies, Cherubs, flowers, and vines. Some of the older buildings show off their age through small red brick, clogged together with mortar, fashioned by hands much smaller than the mechanical ones of today. Horses of brillaint marble and stone, white or black, frozen in the sun. Naked men, muscular, powerful. Fountains spill fresh cold water. Several of them are provided for travelers like us; we bend to fill our bottles whenever we exit the bus.
The National Art Museum advertises Once Were Romans. I fall in love with the title. We marvel at the monument of Victor Emanuel, the first king of Italy.  At least now it has a function other than serving as a reminder of hubris, the bus narrator tells us. Now it is home to the unknown soldier. Mussolini used to occupy the enormous building across the street during the fascist period, as our narrator terms it. We do remember the speeches from the balconies, but only as black and white documentaries of our parents' time and experience. The Roman Forum lies like lego in various forms of abandonment. Those tiny red bricks clinging to the inner structures avoid the clawback from the earth, but just barely.

September 7. 2012

The plane is squishy and somewhat uncomfortable but we have the advantage of excitement and the energy that comes from looking into the future and seeing only pleasure. I switch places with the wife of a chatty man so Vince can cuddle into the window; so can Peter on the other side of the plane. I cuddle into Mary Jo and try to sleep. We have decided not to eat or drink alcohol so we can have a better rest but it doesn't work. I find that the sober times in my life are windows to inferiority so I vow to be more vigilant whenever someone suggests better behavior.

We arrive at the airport to be greeted by Mauro, a tall grey haired handsome man who speaks English extremely well. He and Vince converse all the way. Meanwhile I get a text from Helen and Sandy telling us they are waiting at our hotel. This is why I love technology! When we arrive at the Alimondi where we are quickly checked in and off we go to the Vatican Museum.

It's hard to believe but the Vatican is right next door. From our street we look up a long flight of stairs and there is the very imposing wall that surrounds the museum, the Papal house, St. Peter's Cathedral and the gardens. We are astonished by the short lineup and hustle in. Just as we are about to enter we see Mary Jo Fitz on the street! This is the second time we've had the experience of meeting MJ on the street in a huge international city. The last time was in Paris a few years ago. Ken and MJ are off to check in so we tell them to come to the hotel for dinner. Now we're inside the museum!

We walk quickly through the long corridor to our selected destination: the Sistine Chapel. As jaded as we are by the catholic church we cannot help but admire the enormous talent that was Michelangelo. When you gaze up at the colors and creatures, clouds and hands, babies, women and men, figures intertwined, fingers touching, faces alit with an ideal, it's breathtaking and dizzying. Amongst the admiration comes the sound of voices, followed by the sharpness of a SH! or an admonition, stop talking, the gods require silencio.

When we get back into the hallway we get separated from some of the others and soon it's me, Helen and Vince making our way past marble, gold, tapestries that cling to soaring wall frames. Here and there a soft breeze tickles our scalps wafting in from the gardens. Maire and I have already discussed the feelings evoked by this gaudy ridiculous display of ornate treasures while people go hungry outside the enormous thick walls and locked doors. I feel this again so I force myself to concentrate on the skill of the hands and eyes and vision that created the art. By this time Vince has given up but Helen and I haven't quite had our fill. We discover some of Rafael's exquisite painting - the mix of color and design is enchanting. Inspired. Through rooms occupied by the Borgias, the walls now opulent with priceless art, the way it was in this Pope's time. As it is now, a self centered greed that it ignores the reality of the world beyond. Yet who can deny the art that was created, protected and so beautifully displayed?

Helen and I get lost, with the result that we climb the same stairs many times before we finally burst out of the entrance into the hot Rome sunshine. We find Sandy outside waiting for us so we drag him off to the Hoi restaurant for a cold beer. Soon every one else joins us and we have a great dinner. Reasonable prices, perfect portions. Wine, laughter and memories echoing up the street against the ancient stone.

The people of Rome live right in the pages of the history books we studied years ago. Around every corner is a monument or a museum or the site of an event worthy of someone's attention even centuries later.

We are picked up in our mini bus by Germani. Tons of space and a guided tour in a lovely lilting accent. The evening is perfectly warm with a soft breeze wafting across the hills. We pass through both narrow and wide avenues curtained by plane trees, palms, walls and draped flowers and vines. The history pages fly past: Piazza San Pietro with the cathedral as its stunning back drop. Castell St Angelo looms above the river; every bridge is a work of art. Cherubs, flowers, vines, all stolen from nature and transformed into marble or wood to often outlast the real thing. Unless you believe in the faces of the innocent babies as angels who hover still. Trevi Fountain erupts in the midst of someone's neighborhood, jammed with tourists. Some are loud in their admiration while others snap photos or kiss. In the midst of this crowd the place is still somehow romantic. Probably the energy of so many people, so much hope. We pass through the streets toward the Piazza Navona, where we walk past restaurants and shops alive, bright and joyful. It's infectious. Back with Germani, we stop at the hill of Gianicolo, where we can see the lights of the city in the distance. By this time the fatigue has overtaken most of us, so we drop off Helen and Sandy and sleep our way back to the hotel. A domani, Roma!

My friend (won’t use her real name here, let’s call her Em) is elegant. She doesn’t mean to be. It’s just part of her, like her soft unblemished skin and long legs. She has the soul, wit and mouth (sometimes) of a truck driver, but her outer image causes people to pause. When I first met her (some 40+ years ago, good gawd), I was in awe of the way she walked into a room, that innate gracefulness that has not abated over the years, a kind of haughty air that is her perfume. Little do people know that she is not at all stuck-up or proud. In fact, she is my soul sister inside.The differences between us, however, do explain my initial aversion to the SPA. Em looks totally at home, born to be pampered, gorgeous. Mostly, I answered Spare me, whenever I was invited to go. I attended very sporadically to my hands and feet. I always feel somehow apologetic, hunched over the little bowl with my thick (now veined and wrinkled) fingers � That’s dishwashing liquid you’re soaking in, says Madge. I want to tell the manicurist that I am sorry, I’m an imposter, I’m really not the kind of lady who has her nails done.I am the kind who loves to walk in bare feet (thereby scuffing the toe polish), lies down on a dock at midnight to watch the stars, breaks all the newly shaped nails by clacking on the keys of my laptop all day long. In fact, I’m not really sure I should be spending these couple of hours at the spa, when I could be writing. Or talking on the phone.The key lately has been lunch beforehand. There is a little restaurant next door to the spa, and they are licensed. Two beverages of a social nature later, it’s time to be pampered.Em glides into the massage chair. I plop into one next to her, bumping into the armrest and splashing the water in the basin at my feet. I fumble with the keys to get the electronic massages going. Knead. Slap. Slap? Roll. Vibrate. Really? So many choices. Once I get it going, though, it feels quite divine. Up and down my spine, the unseen leather-clad hands massage every muscle. I close my eyes and continue plotting out my latest book. This is writing, right? (You can see what I write at ).Em and I talk about this and that in between naps. She’s most likely the one I’d be on the phone with anyway, so this is even better, right?I am sooo relaxed. I ask that my nails be clipped right down to the soft mound of my fingers, so they won’t snap from prolonged laptop contact. And they don’t look at me funny � the manicurist thinks this is fine. My toenails are a bright pink and look lovely in my black sandals. I’ve been meaning to buy new shoes, haven’t had time, but this spruces them up entirely. Maybe I can keep them a while longer.Perhaps it’s something to do with the lunch before the spa, but I am starting to get the hang of this.  All I can say is, SPA ME!

Recently a friend of mine (let's call her Florence) lent my book, , to a new acquaintance of hers. (Let's call her Gladys.) When Gladys was finished, she returned to Florence and asked her what kind of person I was. Gladys figured I must be a closet psychopath and how on earth could I be friends with the sweet Flo? Gladys didn't think I could possibly be a lady and depict the scary evil-doing that appears in my book.

Well, I must admit that Gladys is right about one thing. I am no lady. I am a bit of a loud mouth, I have been known to swear, I have even - on occasion - consumed too much wine. I don't feel comfortable with my ankles crossed. I can't cook and I do like calisthenics in the bedroom with my husband. I get incensed when I visit a public washroom and have to choose between "Men" and "Ladies". Why can't there be one for women? I mean, it's even one letter less. Do they think too many guys will make a mistake and miss the WO?

So I write about nasty things that happen, sometimes to good people, sometimes to innocent animals and even children. That does sound gruesome. But it's reality. It's the heart of darkness of humanity. I like to explore it because I find the human race so contradictory, fascinating, and puzzling. I want to see inside the criminal mind and try to explain it. Moreover, I want to punish the bad and reward the good.

I love dark, gritty, meaty mysteries like the kind Minette Walters writes, or sometimes P.D. James. They are women, too, I'd bet.

Or contro-vers-y. Doesn't matter how you pronounce it. I'm surprised that I am surprised by the debate that erupted over . After all, I wrote it with the express purpose of shocking my readers. I wanted to present the dichotomy between the love that two people have for one another (Emily Taylor and her husband Langford) and the twisted lack of love that some people suffer from. To go even further, I wanted to demonstrate the evils of power: the use of physical strength or intellectual prowess over those less well equipped. Such as the abuse of domestic animals, who for the most part are passive, weaker, and not as schooled in manipulative ways...mostly because we've made them that way. I wanted Emily to question her judgement, too. How could she think the mild-mannered caretaker was what he appeared to be? Can people don masks that completely obscure their hideous sins? I think they can. In fact, most of us know they can - look at all the psychopaths who played the part of "quiet neighbors".  Emily wonders if she has been completely duped. Not only that, she's haunted by her own guilt, by the fact that she, too, has a mask, a hidden self. Despite the harshness of the puppy mill and the animal abuse club described in the book, it's essentially a novel of hope and love and the conquering of evil. I guess that's why I was surprised by the strong negative reactions from some readers. They seemed to focus on the evil and forget that, in the end, the bad guys got punished and the good guys were exonerated. Not only that, the puppies were freed. And Emily, though she still hasn't come to terms with her secret past, does achieve some measure of satisfaction. Ah, contrawvessy - good for the soul?

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By day, I am a mild-mannered middle-aged retired elementary school Principal. By night, I am the writer of crime and mystery that often involved gruesome murders and twisted psyches. When people read my books, they usually look at me (or my mild mannered mild aged picture) and ask me where on earth I get the disgusting ideas for my crime novels. I often respond (somewhat sarcastically) have you read the newspaper lately? I must admit that Abnormal Psychology was my favorite subject. Maybe I should try to explain before you call emergency services. I went to university after three years of teaching and many other years of wishing I were a published writer instead. When I planned my degree beforehand, I assumed that English would be my major. Then along came psychology, with its tug toward a topic by which I was mesmerized, not only in my teaching profession, but also in my writing. A perfect marriage.I love writing crime and mystery. I love the fact that there is a puzzle or a problem, and almost always, a good solution. Most of the time, justice is served. The problem is solved, the good are rewarded and the bad are punished. Therefore any social issue can be explored. There’s no place I won’t go if the story calls for me to go there.On top of that, I had taught children. Some of them, to quote Jonathan Kellerman in his book on violent children, were “savage spawn�. Many of them were puzzles that I never solved in my real life. From my point of view, and that of the teachers in my school, the parents often appeared normal, caring, and just as puzzled as we were. Of course, there were times when it was obvious that the home background was fractured or dysfunctional or abusive. Those students we could explain to a certain extent.The ones who appeared to come from average, dedicated and loving parents, and yet perpetrated some pretty wicked crimes, were the children I found fascinating. Sometimes I would look into their eyes and see nothing. Flat, dead, no-conscience, emotionless expressions. A few had a kind of glow that shone as bright and hurtful as a direct flashlight beam when they chose to turn their glare on you. I was hooked on what made them tick!Then there were the kids from abusive, neglectful or insane situations who were sweet, kind, thoughtful people. The sort I employed as Peer Helpers because they knew how to read others and how to deal with deceit and cruelty. There are theories that psychopaths have brains that are wired differently. They feel no empathy, are narcissistic and obsessed. Reader’s Digest once published an article entitled, “Psychopaths among us�. There are those who claim that a great number of CEO’s (those people who get paid millions of dollars to hire and fire) share a great many characteristics with psychopaths and sociopaths. They just use that extra “edge� and lack of sympathy in more socially acceptable ways.The hidden evil in some people � the ability to wear a mask of nice while seething with twisted thoughts underneath � is even more fascinating to me. Once when I was driving through a small Ontario town, I had to wait at an old-fashioned drawbridge that spanned the canal. A man in a checkered jacket was working away at the wheels, a completely blank and bored look on his broad, plain face. I began to think � what if he were a murdered in disguise?Thus was born The Bridgeman, my first mystery novel. “I deserve no more smiles, no friendship, no pity, no love, no feather or silk or fur, no soft skin.� My character had some self-recrimination, and turned out to be capable of love, so he was not completely savage, but he was close. The story explores the man’s ability, however, to wear a mask on a daily basis, while he couldn’t seem to resist abusing the innocent. “If anyone guessed my secret, saw into my dark perverted heart, they would loathe me even more than I despise myself.� His words belie that fact that he went about his life, an ordinary life on the surface, yet was consumed with the thrill, the power of the destruction of another being. “I sliced and cut out the pieces of what had been a living, breathing, laughing, jumping, warm creature. I was its skin, its movement, its shape, its god, its creator, its destroyer.� And you thought Dexter was bad.From my experiences in schools, or from the newspapers, where kids shot and killed other kids, burned down a house (with their families inside), tortured and maimed animals, my character, The Bridgeman, is not so far-fetched. Nor are the other diabolical characters in the ensuing novels of my series very far from reality. They are scary, but these people do exist.However, what I love about the world of fiction � everything turns out all right in the end. Every time!Catherine (Cathy) Astolfo

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mso-level-tab-stop:none; mso-level-number-position:left; margin-left:0in; text-indent:0in;} @list l4:level6 {mso-level-start-at:0; mso-level-text:""; mso-level-tab-stop:none; mso-level-number-position:left; margin-left:0in; text-indent:0in;} @list l4:level7 {mso-level-start-at:0; mso-level-text:""; mso-level-tab-stop:none; mso-level-number-position:left; margin-left:0in; text-indent:0in;} @list l4:level8 {mso-level-start-at:0; mso-level-text:""; mso-level-tab-stop:none; mso-level-number-position:left; margin-left:0in; text-indent:0in;} @list l4:level9 {mso-level-start-at:0; mso-level-text:""; mso-level-tab-stop:none; mso-level-number-position:left; margin-left:0in; text-indent:0in;} ol {margin-bottom:0in;} ul {margin-bottom:0in;} -- </style><span style="font-family: TimesNewRomanMS; font-size: 15.0pt;"><b>SUMMER SIZZLES WITH MYÌýÌýÌýÌý WONDERFUL PUBLISHER</b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: TimesNewRomanMS; font-size: 15pt;"><b>IMAJIN BOOKS</b></span><span style="font-family: TimesNewRomanMS; font-size: 16.0pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: TimesNewRomanMS; font-size: 15.0pt;"><b>July is "Rewards for Our Readers Month"</b></span><span style="font-family: TimesNewRomanMS; font-size: 16.0pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: TimesNewRomanMS; font-size: 15.0pt;">Great things come in threes this July!</span><span style="font-family: TimesNewRomanMS; font-size: 16.0pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 11.0pt .5in; text-autospace: none; text-indent: -.5in;"><span style="font-family: TimesNewRomanMS; font-size: 16.0pt;">1.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">ÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌý </span></span><span style="font-family: TimesNewRomanMS; font-size: 15.0pt;">'Share the Imajin Books Buzz' contest. Share our events on Twitter and Facebook and receive entries into a draw for a KINDLE FIRE or KINDLE TOUGH 3G--winner's choice! Open to US residents (Kindle Fire) and US/UK/Canada residents (Kindle Touch 3G.) Void where prohibited. Draw will take place the first week of August. To enter, use the <a href=" form on our home page</a> from July 1-31.</span><span style="font-family: TimesNewRomanMS; font-size: 16.0pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 24.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo2; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 11.0pt .5in; text-autospace: none; text-indent: -.5in;"><span style="font-family: TimesNewRomanMS; font-size: 16.0pt;">2.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">ÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌý </span></span><span style="font-family: TimesNewRomanMS; font-size: 15.0pt;">'Ultimate Reader' contest: show us your Imajin Books! Post photos on our <a href=" page</a> of you reading one of our titles (book cover must be legible) or a photo of one of our titles on your ereader. 5 prizes of $20 Amazon or Kobo gift cards; plus "ultimate reader" prize of a $100 Amazon or Kobo gift card. Contest open from July 1-31. Photos will be judged by Imajin Books authors. Prizes to be awarded the first week of August. Open worldwide. Void where prohibited by law.</span><span style="font-family: TimesNewRomanMS; font-size: 16.0pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: TimesNewRomanMS; font-size: 15.0pt;">3. Free ebooks all month long. Watch <a href=" blog</a> and check it throughout July to see which book is free.</span><span style="font-family: TimesNewRomanMS; font-size: 16.0pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: TimesNewRomanMS; font-size: 15.0pt;"><b>August is "Meet Our Authors Month"</b></span><span style="font-family: TimesNewRomanMS; font-size: 16.0pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: TimesNewRomanMS; font-size: 15.0pt;">Great things come in threes this August!</span><span style="font-family: TimesNewRomanMS; font-size: 16.0pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-list: l2 level1 lfo3; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 11.0pt .5in; text-autospace: none; text-indent: -.5in;"><span style="font-family: TimesNewRomanMS; font-size: 16.0pt;">1.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">ÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌý </span></span><span style="font-family: TimesNewRomanMS; font-size: 15.0pt;">Meet the talented authors at Imajin Books. During August, our authors will be posting on our blog, sharing interesting tidbits about their lives, their characters and their books. Ever wanted to ask an author a question? Here's your chance. Check <a href=" blog</a>each day to see who's up next.</span><span style="font-family: TimesNewRomanMS; font-size: 16.0pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-list: l3 level1 lfo4; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 11.0pt .5in; text-autospace: none; text-indent: -.5in;"><span style="font-family: TimesNewRomanMS; font-size: 16.0pt;">2.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">ÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌý </span></span><span style="font-family: TimesNewRomanMS; font-size: 15.0pt;">Twitter Party - for three days in August 15-17, we'll be holding a Twitter Party online and giving away prizes (ebooks, paperbacks and gift cards from Amazon and Kobo.) Join us by searching for #ImajinAuthors. Leave us a question or comment by including @imajinbooks and #ImajinAuthors in your tweet. The party begins each day at 10:00 AM EST and goes 'til 10:00 PM EST. Our authors will drop by when they can. Follow us at <a href=" style="text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;"> style="font-family: TimesNewRomanMS; font-size: 16.0pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 48.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="/" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="" width="244" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-list: l4 level1 lfo5; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 11.0pt .5in; text-autospace: none; text-indent: -.5in;"><span style="font-family: TimesNewRomanMS; font-size: 16.0pt;">3.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">ÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌý </span></span><span style="font-family: TimesNewRomanMS; font-size: 15.0pt;">'Share the Imajin Books Buzz' contest - we're doing it again! Share our events on Twitter and Facebook and receive entries into a second draw for a KINDLE FIRE or KINDLE TOUGH 3G--winner's choice! Open to US residents (Kindle Fire) and US/UK/Canada residents (Kindle Touch 3G.) Void where prohibited. Draw will take place the first week of September. To enter, use the <a href=" form on our home page</a> from August 1-31.</span><span style="font-family: TimesNewRomanMS; font-size: 16.0pt;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br /></div><span style="font-family: ArialMS;"></span><span style="font-family: ArialMS;"></span><span style="font-family: TimesNewRomanMS; font-size: 16.0pt;"></span> <div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='' alt='' /></div>