The Things that Fascinate

The day is old, but it's not quite time for bed.  I surf the TV channels and find nothing.  I switch to my DVR...ah, here we are.  A collection of some of my favorite movies of all time.  Tonight I press "Start" on "The Lion in Winter."

This is the good stuff.  Kings and queens and politics and treachery and passion and...

If you ever wondered what sets my imagination free, it is watching films with the depth and smarts of this 1968 gem.

I don't suppose I shall ever manage to pen such stirring monologues.  Nor shall I cast the timeless Kate Hepburn as one of my heroines.  I dare not try to step on such toes.

Instead, my muse begins to think about what else may have happened behind the storied walls of the castle.

And so we begin again.

***

You can find my latest exploration into royalty in "The Heart of the Dragon."  Now available for your ereader!

Sneak Peak Sunday: The Heart of the Dragon by S.D. Grady

From my current release: The Heart of the Dragon

Pietro crowded her against the high wall. “Feeling a little braver, my little one?”  She shivered as his rough hand held her neck. His thumb ran up and down her throat in thrilling small circles. She frowned.  The spark of humor had vanished. He watched her. Severe. Angry. Hurt?  Even as she had become more comfortable in his presence, there were still moments when she wondered what he was truly thinking.  She placed her hand over his and offered a shy smile. “Can I take a bath?”
That got him to smile again. “Can I join you?”

***
Available in ebook at Purple Sword Publications and All Romance eBooks

***

CLICK HERE to return to the Sneak Peak Blog Hop!

The Heart of the Dragon now available at All Romance eBooks

You can add a couple title to your shopping cart all at once! ;)

The Heart of the Dragon By: S.D. Grady | Other books by S.D. Grady Published By: Purple Sword Publications, LLC ISBN # 9781612920689 Word Count: 75615 Heat Index Available in: Epub, HTML, Microsoft Reader, Mobipocket (.mobi), Palm DOC/iSolo, Adobe Acrobat, Mobipocket (.prc), Rocket Read More

About the book

At night, he fights. In the dawn, he loves. Only with her, he lives.

Lady Yelena is sent in marriage to Prince Pietro, known as the Vellenican Dragon. Instead of her sisters' elegant beauty, she brings a dowry of swords to the warrior prince. A hard man to love, night after night the prince leaves Yelena behind as he battles against the evil Wasti in a generations long war. Each morning he returns to her bloody and beaten. They despair of ever finding peace for their homelands. Then Yelena discovers treachery in her personal guard and she must find the strength to raise her own sword and fight for her family, her honor and her prince.

An excerpt from the book

Yelena’s arms shook. Sweat trickled down her neck. Her breath came in ragged pants. He crowded her, forcing her submission. She growled and pushed forward. His advance stalled, she danced away from his reach. She laughed. “Again!”

Pietro caught his balance , brought his sword back to prime and nodded his agreement. Yelena stepped forward. Her blade swung in a short arc designed to make him block high. Their blades sang as they clashed.

She worked through the rudimentary attack, sure she did not challenge his abilities one bit. She paused, met his laughing eyes, and ducked. She rolled away and earned a grunt of surprise. She kicked out with her left foot, regained her balance on her right and rose up inside his defense. She punched his ribs. “Do you concede, my lord?”

His elbow trapped her fist. “No. You just nicked my armor and dulled your dagger.” His foot stepped between her legs and lifted.

Off balance, she dropped her sword and grasped his upper arms.

“And now, at my mercy.”

She felt the blush only a second before his lips conquered hers.

The kiss lingered, sweet and hot. When he released her, he stepped back and bowed. “Shall we go again, my lady?”

The practice yard appeared ghostly in the yellow light of the torches. She bent to retrieve her steel from the paving stones, never taking her eyes from his relaxed form. She stood, absently tugged at her leather leggings and kicked at a pebble.

“Why would you ask, my lord? Do I appear fatigued?”

He winked. “No, just flushed.”

In frustration, she raised her weapon and came at him again. He deflected her advance with ease. The truth was she was feeling a bit tired. Fighting beneath the half-moon, parrying his masterful thrusts, she had reached her limit much sooner than she had expected. But she didn’t want to stop.

For the third night, Pietro remained behind as the army marched out against the Wasti. During the hours they spent together, he made every effort to be a civilized gentleman. Laughter came easier to her—and him. She thought the tight lines that carved his mouth had eased.

Her sword went flying through the air and she found herself at the mercy of Pietro’s deadly point. Her lips pursed in vexation and she nodded to him.

“Shall we call a halt?” Still, his sword rested against her breastbone.

“I guess so.”

“You were not paying attention.”

She stepped back. Ashamed, she pulled at her gloves. “I admit to being distracted.”

He sheathed his blade. “Did Captain Sershi not teach you any better?”

Bristling at the insult, she walked toward her corner. “Of course he did.”

He followed her. “Loyalty is an admirable quality, my lady.”

Her annoyance at failing to adhere to practice yard protocol diminished. She took his compliment and savored it. “Thank you.”

He began to lift her light mail shirt over her head. “Where is the good captain? I have not seen him since supper.”

She pulled at her linen shift before reaching for a long, silk cloak. “I gave him leave to seek his own entertainment, tonight.”

Pietro crowded her against the high wall. “Feeling a little braver, my little one?”

She shivered as his rough hand held her neck. His thumb ran up and down her throat in thrilling small circles. She frowned.

The spark of humor had vanished. He watched her. Severe. Angry. Hurt?

Even as she had become more comfortable in his presence, there were still moments when she wondered what he was truly thinking.

She placed her hand over his and offered a shy smile. “Can I take a bath?”

That got him to smile again. “Can I join you?”

Her heart hammered. Was that from the sword play? Or the way his breath drew bumps from her flesh? She swallowed and nodded. “Of course, my lord.”

His other hand grasped her waist and drew her forward. Unable to escape, she squeaked when he sucked the surprise from her mouth.

He kissed her often. There had been few activities where he couldn’t find an excuse to be near her, touch her, taste her.

The heat built. Her limbs grew heavy. She sank into the seductive strength.

He stopped.

She stood, firming the muscles in her legs, and blinked.

“Before or after?” his deep voice questioned. He nipped her ear, her neck and kept moving lower.

“Before or after what?”

Strong fingers pulled at her long braid. “The bath. Shall we go to bed before or after we are clean?”

The Heart of the Dragon is now available!

It's Release Day!

Now available for purchase for your ereader:


The Heart of the Dragon

 At night, he fights.  In the dawn, he loves. Only with her, he lives. 

 Lady Yelena is sent in marriage to Prince Pietro, known as the Vellenican Dragon. Instead of her sisters' elegant beauty, she brings a dowry of swords to the warrior prince. A hard man to love, night after night the prince leaves Yelena behind as he battles against the evil Wasti in a generations long war. Each morning he returns to her bloody and beaten. They despair of ever finding peace for their homelands. Then Yelena discovers treachery in her personal guard and she must find the strength to raise her own sword and fight for her family, her honor and her prince.

What they are saying!

·         In The Heart of the Dragon, S.D. Grady serves up a satisfying tale of intrigue peppered with paranormal romance. The heroine’s loyalty to tradition thrusts her into a world where faith in the familiar may just be the death of her, and the only way to survive is to embrace the most terrifying man she’s ever encountered. I not only enjoyed this story, but look forward to more from S.D.-- From D.A. Kentner

 

   Yelena is thrown into marriage with the Dragon, Prince Pietro to build an alliance against their mutual enemy. Set in an ancient world, S.D. Grady weaves a delightful story of the life of Lady Yelena and follows her doubts and confusion during her marriage to a brutal stranger. With graphic depictions of war, heart stopping conflict, and sizzling love scenes, this is one story I won’t forget in a hurry.

H.C. Brown-Best selling, Award Winning Author

 

 

The Heart of the Dragon is coming March 13th!

Coming March 13th!

 

THE HEART OF THE DRAGON

by S.D. Grady

 

 At night, he fights.  In the dawn, he loves. Only with her, he lives.   

 

Lady Yelena is sent in marriage to Prince Pietro, known as the Vellenican Dragon. Instead of her sisters' elegant beauty, she brings a dowry of swords to the warrior prince. A hard man to love, night after night the prince leaves Yelena behind as he battles against the evil Wasti in a generations long war. Each morning he returns to her bloody and beaten. They despair of ever finding peace for their homelands. Then Yelena discovers treachery in her personal guard and she must find the strength to raise her own sword and fight for her family, her honor and her prince.

 

Stay tuned for more information.

Memories of 09-11 by S.D. Grady

As the 10th Anniversary of the attacks on America come around, I don't think there are many Americans who are not thinking back on that horrid day.  I still struggle to understand what happened.  I still shed tears when I think about it...as it remains incomprehensible to me that humans would do this to one another. I offer up a piece I wrote on the 2nd Anniversary for you to think about.  I don't know that much more has changed in eight years...

Written September 11, 2003

What happened that day two years ago. We all have our own memories. We were all affected in some way by those terrible events. My life since has continued much as it was before, and that might be a good thing in many ways. I have not been forced to bend in fear to the terrorists; a small victory in the war. But for a few weeks in September 2001, that was not entirely so.

It happened on my way to work. I always listen to the radio in the morning, “Matty in the Morning,” something fun and perky while I stare at the traffic. The DJ came on with an odd announcement. “Apparently a plane has crashed into the World Trade Center in New York. That’s a doozy!”

I thought it a curious announcement. Figuring it must be a small craft, but none the less a newsworthy story, I switched the station to WBZ, the local news radio. From the moment I listened to the first live report in Manhattan, life slowed to a crawl.

I was stuck in bumper to bumper traffic. Realizing that it would take forever to reach my exit a mile away, I turned off on the “emergency” exit I use in such cases. This road twists and turns through grave yards, suburban neighborhoods and inner city slums. The scenery passed by as I listened in stunned silence to the surreal report of a major airliner slamming into the first massive tower. The reports were confused, erratic and unbelievable. And then the second plane came.

I knew it then. This was intentional. This was evil. Fear, anger, impotence and sadness rushed through my body.

Rumors of more planes missing. The Air Force scrambling. Maybe we have to shoot down some of the planes. Targeting the Pentagon, the White House, the Capitol building.

I pulled into the parking lot at the theatre, ran into the lobby and dialed my husband at home. He was still asleep. I heard the answering machine pick up. I yelled at him to answer, hung up and redialed. Again the answering machine. I started babbling at the machine. He picked up.

He turned on CNN and MSNBC and relayed the breaking news. The planes had flown out of Logan Airport in Boston and were supposed to fly to the West Coast. A tiny prickle of irrational fear added up some things. My father often worked at the Pentagon, he often flew out of Logan, he often flew to the West Coast. What if…

I had to know if he was safe. Frenzied phone calls to his home in Maine resulted in busy signals. And more busy signals. I could imagine my mother dialing frantically trying to find him. A moment of clarity offered itself to me. He could be on-line. I broke company regulations and sent an e-mail. Five minutes later he called me. We both cried with relief to know that our family was intact.

Meanwhile, another manager had gone back home to get a TV. He watched and relayed news to the floor as the fourth plane went down in the Pennsylvania fields, as the towers fell, as we all stood and stared. And then across the parking lot we spied a small army of children.

Across our parking lot is an office building. A mere 15 floors, but a “tower” anyway. It houses tech companies, a major phone switching station for the city, a police training school and a not so secret FBI office. And in its basement, a day care.

The tower was emptied in fear and the children had nowhere to go. We opened our doors and brought everyone in. A video tape was put on the video wall- that helped to distract. Crayons from coloring contests were dug out. Popcorn and lemonade were dispensed. Cribs were rolled in. Parents were called.

It took almost four hours for all the kids to be picked up. We let them watch a movie to help pass the time.

Over at the tower, it looked like the Army had descended. Fire trucks, bomb squads, police cars and local media. Nobody could enter our parking lot without passing a safety checkpoint. Later that day, a passing Police Officer stopped and said a few arrests had been made around the city. He didn’t say what for.

As the week passed other changes arrived. Our back parking lot became a gathering point for emergency crews. Several times a massive amount of emergency workers from many communities would suddenly appear- to make sure they were ready. The next day the tower was evacuated again because an employee called in a fake bomb threat.

We had to remove promotional material for “Spiderman”. Most of it showed a helicopter crashing into a giant web strung between two eerily familiar towers. Other soon to be released films pulled shots of Manhattan that showed the towers.

A young man on an exchange trip from Germany was noticed taking pictures of the office tower in the parking lot. The other managers wanted to call the cops. I asked him what he was doing. He said, “Taking pictures of the leaves.” While he waited for the theatre to open. Wrong place, wrong time.

I refused to watch the news. They would only show the towers crashing down again.

Almost everyone at work knew or knew of somebody that died that day. A small boy, a distant cousin of mine, was in the tower that morning. My cousin, who is a union organizer, had led the restaurant workers at the top of the tower in their contract negotiations. They were all dead. Entire companies from Massachusetts were on those planes.

We hired a security guard to stand in our lobby all day and check everyone’s bags- for what, I often wondered.

I follow the news and listen to the on-going war with Iraq. Time has softened the edge of my anger, but not completely. A death for a death is not right, either. But, can we just let the evil that led to that day continue to exist? I don’t know.

I still drive to work every day and run the movies, providing an escape from a world that is sometimes very wrong. Perhaps that is something. Perhaps it isn’t.

The sun was shining bright this morning. It was shining two years ago, too.

The Silver Scream

A great many things in my life have inspired me.  Perhaps movies could be counted near the top.  It wasn’t always happy ever after, for me.  As a child, I adored the old creature feature films, many where shadows were the source of all fear.  I watched Mel Brooks’ classic High Anxiety and loved all the imagery, camera angles and hidden characters…all spoofs of the greatest master of suspense, Alfred Hitchcock.

Thus when I decided to embark upon an erotic story that featured gremlins—those unseen creatures that live in the wiring—it should not surprise anyone that I placed the book in an old movie house.  How many tales of fear and love crossed that silver screen in its heyday?  And what of the old wiring?  Does it keep memories of lights and passion? 

The Silver Scream is not a tale of happy ever after, but perhaps lives closer to those suspense films of old where a great many things will happen in the course of time, many of them evil.  This tale releases August 10^th at Purple Sword Publications, and you will find it available at most major ebook outlets shortly thereafter.

TAGLINE:  Trapped in the wiring for decades, this Gremlin desires but one thing…and he can’t have her.

BLURB:  Film school student, Gilda Albright, has taken a job in the newly refurbished Orpheum Theatre as a movie projectionist.  The gem from another era prompts her imagination to take flight, and she invites her boyfriend Seth to a private screening.  Looking like a movie star from the 50’s, she strips in the spotlight, ensnaring Seth’s lust and drawing the eager eyes of another to her buxom figure.  The building takes on a life of its own—fear invades Gilda’s workdays.  Will the unseen gremlin let her go or fulfill its erotic obsession with a vision from the past?

Age and Fandom: A Little Philosophy

Appearing in today's Frontstretch, my Sittin' in the Stands: A Fan's View column I pondered my mortality and the apparent lack of in a young athlete...namely Austin Dillon.  I think I'm falling for this kid.  Hope you enjoy!

"Wishing For Just a Bit of Austin Dillon's Youth"

And after the party is over...

Okay, so the image at left is not New Hampshire, but the sentiment is appropriate.

The sun has set, the engines are silent and all that is left is the purr of the generators in the camping lots, and oddly enough the haunting voice of Tammy Wynnette echoing among the RV's.  A bit surreal, if you ask me.  But soothing, in its own way.

We walked down to the track about 8pm, a mere 3 1/2 hours after the checkers dropped and...

The Sprint display was already loaded into its four haulers, the SPEED stage haulers were idling with lights on and...I admit to being impressed.  We walked up to the track and admired the piles of trash already neatly bagged up at the bottom of the stands.  It seems that those of us enjoying a late supper and chatting idly while the rest of the world rushes off to its own destinations are perhaps taking the lazy departure a bit too far.

This is the other end of the arc.  First there was last Sunday, with a few SCCA cars whizzing around the road course and but a few early RV's setting up in the lots.  A sprinkling arrived Thursday with FanFest and the arrival of the racing haulers.  A determined downpour of people started Friday night, culminating in the final furious storm that is Race Day in Sprint Cup world.  You can even call the race itself the eye of the storm, as just about everybody stills to watch the cars go in circles. 

But there is always the backside of the storm...when everybody runs for their cars and home.  We just take shelter and listen to whatever our neighbors are playing...at the moment some mexican guitar solo...it's intriguing.

Tomorrow morning, we'll take the last of the weather with us...more wailing mexican music...

Well, until we make it back to civilization, enjoy your week.  May it be not quite as overwhelming as a trip to the track :)

Next...

It might be the compulsive part of my personality, but I ask myself, "What's next?" about 30 times a day.  However, the moment that this question really hammers at my peace of mind is when I finish.

Finish what?  At this particular moment, reading a book.  It was awesome, and fun, sparked my imagination, took me to far off lands and times long ago.  And now...I want more.

This is when my better half, if that's what you want to call responsibility, wars with my more creative self.  I want to read another book full of kings, mistresses, war, politics, gowns, glory, deceit but I also have other projects that require attention.  There is The King's Mistress, a new novel, and now a Fairy Tale project--which is finally getting the seeds of imagination it requires to take flight.  There's racing, and commentary and editing.  My job--you know, the thing that pays the bills, gets in the way of all of this.  The house, my lord they really know how to plow you under, those piles of sticks which threaten to fall on top of you if you let them. 

And still, amidst all this reality, the call of whimsy remains.  I want to read another.  There are volumes in the To Be Read pile. Movies in the To Be Watched pile. An afghan in the To Be Crocheted pile.  Paint for the Finish the Living Room pile.

Read? Clean? Write? Play?

My fellow bookworms understand the call of the paperback. They draw you in and threaten to suck your life away, if you let them.

For today, I shall head off to the track, watch some racing, sort some photos and conjure a column for The Frontstretch.

Tomorrow?  Maybe there will be time to read, perchance to dream...

What did I just read? 

Honoring the Medal of Honor Recipients: 2011

Last year during the Coke Zero 400, there was a tiny blip where cameras panned over a collection of men mentioned as Congressional Medal of Honor recipients...but no information given.  Just a, "Hey, isn't that nice!"  Then I felt compelled to share their stories of service and sacrifice.

Well, same thing happened again this year.  So, I wrote another column :)  If you ever wondered where all the stories from Hollywood came from...this is the real deal.  Please enjoy, and thank those around you that serve and have served our great country!

http://www.frontstretch.com/sdgrady/34507/

900 Words

Well, that's what I managed to put down for The King's Mistress, today.  Not too bad.  Why the word count?  Ah, that's a writer thing.  Either you count words or you don't.  For me it's a way to feel like I've accomplished something, a bit of self-reward.

Since some of my stories are a mere 3,000 words, you can see why a number like 900 might get me all riled up.  Problem is, I don't know how long The Mistress will end up...right now it's feeling like a novel.  Oh, big sigh.  Really?  Another novel?  Something else I'll have difficulty editing and getting sold?  Why would I do such a silly thing?

And how long is a novel, you ask?  Start at the big 50k and work your way up from there.  With almost 3,500 in the bank for the Mistress, I am well on my way...and have no idea where I'm going.  That's the funny part.

Oh well.  Such is the whimsical nature of my muse.

And where did I get the inspiration this time?  Like all my historical fantasies, from a real life character.  In this case, Louis XV's long time mistress...what happened to her after he died?  How can a woman wield such fearful power in the court one day, and the next be cast into the street because she was not of noble birth?  That's the launching point.

Why do I do this? Only the muse knows...and she's not telling!

Until next time.

I'm interviewed this week!

This week I am the guest blogger at Jon Michealson's blog! I'm talking about...well, read the blog and find out :-)

http://www.jonmichaelsen.net/

AND

I am featured this month at The Romance Studio! Read the interview by clicking on the link!

http://theromancestudio.com/who8.php

Take care and have a wonderful weekend!

S.D. Grady
http://sonyadgrady.com/