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Chatter, talk, gossip . . .

A quick post with an enticement to talk!

As we get the pre-ball notifications and nonsense under way, we invite you to click on the Masked Ball tab at the top of Mesmered’s home page and read away.  We also want you to leave all coyness at the door and comment as much as possible prior to, through and after the Ball.  The programme (subject to moving faster or slower as the case demands) will be posted for your edification in two days.  Our stomachs are fluttering with excitement.  I may need smelling salts as Mesmered, but as Lucia Brabante, writer and lover of Ser Niccolo de Fleury, I am fearless.  Can’t speak for my co-conspirators!

Gaia de Blanche . . .

This is another back-story entry, this time from Maria Grazia of www.flyhigh-by-learnonline.blogspot.com in Rome.  Maria says she doesn’t speak english fluently and asks to be forgiven for any lapses, but I think she has done a wonderful job and as we expect from Maria, the lady who has on her blog the wonderful RA Friday, she has perfectly caught RA as we have come to know him.  Read on . . .

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Parthenope’s Bindery . . .

(Parthenope seated at her workbench, Bacigalupo in an easy chair by the fireplace.)

Bacigalupo: ‘May I speak?’

Parthenope: ‘One moment. Counting.’ (pause)

Bacigalupo: ‘Is this one of the very tiny ones?’

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The Charmed Circle . . .

The Masked Ball rapidly approaches and I thought that you may like to know a little about the friendship that is the foundation of the ball.

I am mesmered and this is the blog I set up in late November of last year, ostensibly to talk writing, my books and the dream of publication.  When The Stumpwork Robe was published in Dec of 2008, I had contacted Bo Press to buy a tiny book called The Silk Road for a friend of mine who had just turned 60.  I talked briefly via email to the artist because in a previous life I had created artists’ books including a couple of miniatures of my own.  As we communicated initially, I told her that I had just been published in the UK, whereupon she immediately bought my book and reviewed it on Amazon. This was Pat Sweet.

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Chance encounters . . .

Rebecca’s next chapter:     

 

Sarina alighted from the gondola, stepping onto the rather narrow walkway that ran in front of Via della Principessa, one of the most exclusive shopping streets in Veniche. Today’s errand was to select trim for the shoes she was having made for the ball.     

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Monsieur de Guerre and Madame de Milo . . .

Scribbler59’s entry in the backstory competition:  read on and enjoy the romp!

“But, Marsie, it’s The Must Have Invitation of the Year,” I pouted. “And I toiled to persuade the Direttore of the Museo di Veniche to grant me an invitation … for the two of us, of course,” I added quickly as I squeezed close on the loveseat and caressed a lock of his blonde hair off his furrowed brow.

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No Ball-talk today . . .

No ball post today.  Today, Sunday in Australia, has been a superb day in my neck of the woods. One of those days where the sky is blue and the river is calm and there is an autumnal somolence that is best illustrated by the amount of time it takes a leaf to flutter to the ground on such a still day.

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Men!

I am quite over the dramas of the moment.  I am sick and tired of my heart flipping back and forth like a fish on the hook every time the door opens.  I am seeking out Parthenope and Sarina because when we are together the three of us, we have many laughs and besides I want their advice on my gown.  My dressmaker has completed it and it is divine.  I was a little concerned that the white wouldn’t become me, but as my hair is chestnut coloured and my maid has streaked it with lemon juice to provide highlights, I am confident that this at least, I can pull off.  As to the confidence of having de Fleury as my partner and having Blakeney stalking him like a hunter stalks deer . . . well that is a whole other thing.   

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POD . . .

Just lately as I revise upon revision in the hope that my third novel, a stand-alone story, will be called in by mainstream publishers post assessment, I have been musing on the last eighteen months in which I had the experience of POD publication.

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A charming friend . . .

‘Percy!  My maid didn’t announce you!’  My heart crashed.  I now knew things about Percy Blakeney and I felt shocked, uncomfortable.  Even scared until I recalled the numerous kindnesses from he and Marguarite when I first moved to Veniche.  

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