The Castle of Blood

Once Upon A Time…

Trembling with every step, I made my way down the dim corridor of the castle. I knew what was ahead and I dreaded it, but one of the noble princes of our land had commanded me to appear there and I could not escape my fate.

At the end of the hall a woman waited, grasping in her bony fingers a long rubber band. I shuddered as I advanced toward her. She wanted my blood.

Where, oh, where, can my fairy godmother be staying these days? Why does she not swoop down to rescue me from this ordeal?

For me there has been no reprieve from this long corridor and this constant bloodletting. Oh, so many times I had to present myself to this woman with the sinister smile. So many times she reached out and took hold of my arm, drawing me into her room. So many times — yet it was never enough. All too soon she wanted yet more.

I cringed as she punctured my vein, laughing all the while. She would take my blood and spin it, twirl it, torture it. Would she love to do the same with my body, I wonder? Thankfully, permission has not been granted her to torture my flesh — and she is not allowed to pierce my jugular vein. So I have escaped with my life.

She drained enough blood to fill three pots, relishing the bright red tone. Then she released me and I fled that terrible enclave. Outside the castle door my knight in shining armor waited to carry me off to his mansion, where I might recover until the next summons comes and they want yet more of my precious blood.

As we walked back to our carriage, we heard a sound like a bull frog and turned to see what odd creature was lurking nearby. At last our eyes located the source of this unearthly sound: up in a pine tree beside the castle a raven peered down at us. No doubt he was disappointed there was no flesh for him to feast on.

My reply to today’s WordPress prompt isn’t quite a fairy tale, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless.

The Wizard of Sherwood Forest?

It seemed to Dorothy that the tornado was losing some of its strength — she and the various things caught up with her seemed to be spinning more slowly. She felt a sensation of descent, like being in an elevator going down. Yes, the twister that carried her away from Kansas was finally dropping her back to earth again.

The tips of her toes brushed some tree tops. Green leaves fluttered around her now. She held tight to her dog, fearful of losing him among the branches that reached for them as they tumbled down in a clearing right next to a brooklet.

Dorothy let go of her small fellow traveler, who shook himself vigorously and let out a few yips. Gingerly she got to her feet and dusted herself off. “Oh, Toto! Are you all right? I don’t think I have any broken bones, but look at my dress! It’s a mess — and so many rips. Whatever will Mother say when I get home?”

She surveyed the clearing. “And which way is home? I’m so glad to be out of that horrible wind — but this can’t be Kansas. We never had such huge trees as this. Which way should we go?” Dorothy climbed onto the trunk of a toppled tree trunk and looked around. “I see a path over there. Let’s go, Toto.”

Half a mile away two men peered out from under a group of sheltering trees. “What a gale! I haven’t seen a wind like that for many a year,” said the taller man. He stood up and grabbed his bow and quiver of arrows off the ground.

“I was certainly glad to be in the shelter of these strong oaks, Little John,” his companion said as he surveyed the litter of small branches around them. “Though I wondered if the wind might have brought them down on our heads before it passed. Then he laughed heartily. “Whatever would the Sheriff of Nottingham say if, when he’s tried so hard to capture Robin Hood all these years, he found me done in by an oak limb?”

Suddenly the two men froze. “Is that a dog I hear?” Robin muttered. “Whatever would a dog be doing wandering here in Sherwood Forest?”

“Where there’s a dog, there’s undoubtedly a master,” Little John replied. “And who is he, I wonder?” He grabbed an arrow and fitted it to his bowstring, ready to take aim.

Robin pointed toward the far end of the road where a young girl was coming into view. “The dog seems to be with that young waif. Look at her dress, will you. Such garments as I’ve never seen on an English child. She’s a real ragamuffin! Must have been fearfully tumbled about in that storm.”

Little John slipped the arrow back into his quiver. “No need to fear a mistress that small,” he murmured. They listened as the girl talked to her dog.

“It looks like the road divides up ahead, Toto. Which way should we go? Oh, how I wish I were home and not stumbling around in these woods!”

The two men stepped out from their hiding place in the trees, startling Dorothy and setting Toto to barking furiously. Dorothy gasped when she saw their longbows and grabbed Toto in her arms so they wouldn’t hurt him.

“Lost, are you, little maid?” the one man asked. “How come ye to be in the forest alone? Where is your home?”

Wherever can I be? Dorothy wondered. I can barely understand what they’re saying. But she answered bravely. “I’m from Kansas, sir. The twister picked me up and carried me away from my home. It dropped me here in the woods and I’m trying to find my way home.”

She tried to hush Toto, who was still barking and wriggling, trying to escape her hold. “Please don’t hurt my dog, fellows. He’s only wanting to protect me.”

“Indeed he is, young maid, and the good Lord knows you have need of some protection if you’re wandering in Sherwood Forest alone. You can set him down; we won’t hurt him.”

“Thank you, sir.” She set Toto down. He stayed right beside her, eyeing the two men dressed in green.

Dorothy frowned. “Say, did you say this is Sherwood Forest? I’ve heard of that.” She paused a minute, trying to recall where she’d heard that name. “Isn’t that where Robin Hood lived?”

“Lived? He lives here right now. Indeed, it’s Robin Hood you’re talking to right now, and this is my good friend Little John.” Robin clapped the shoulder of the man beside him.”Welcome to this part of merry old England.”

“Excuse me, Mr. Hood sir, but I thought you were only a fable.”

“A fable?”

“Yes, like a fairy tale.”

“A fairy tale! Goodness me, girl, that’s even worse.” He sounded huffy. “I hope I’m more than a fairy tale. I was rather hoping with time I’d be a legend.”

“Oh, yes, sir! That’s it.” Dorothy quickly replied, hoping she hadn’t offended him too much. “Legend is certainly the better word. Yes.”

“And where might Kansas be, wee maiden?” Little John asked. “I’ve never heard of it. Your accent is not from this part of England, I’m sure. I can barely understand you.”

“I speak American, Mr. John, sir. Just like my Pa and Ma and all the other people in our country.” She paused a moment more. “Say, if you really are Robin Hood, then do you rob people?”

“Only the rich. No point robbing the poor; they have nothing to take. Well, we do snatch the odd pig or cow now and then. My merry band of men has to eat, too.”

Dorothy thought of her father, a poor farmer. It would cause him grief to have someone steal their cow or one of their pigs. She looked up at the man and stated firmly, “It’s always wrong to steal.”

“A Sheriff’s child, are you? Or maybe the daughter of a Judge?” Robin Hood asked, and the two men laughed.

“It IS!” Dorothy shook her finger at them. “It’s wicked. You should say sorry and give back what you’ve taken.”

“So much you do not know about current affairs in England, little maid. But come with us now and we’ll see if my friend, Friar Tuck, might hap to find a place for you until we can find out where you belong. It won’t do to have you wandering in the forest alone like this. There are wolves — and other wicked men, too, who might sell you for a slave. You wouldn’t want that.” He winked at her.

The prospect of wandering in the woods at night scared Dorothy and being sold as a slave was even worse. So she and Toto meekly went along with Robin and Little John to Friar Tuck’s cottage. There the three men pondered how to get the maid and her dog back to her parents in Kansas — wherever Kansas was — and meanwhile where to get her some decent English clothes.

Written in response to today’s Daily Prompt

Mrs Lot Muses

My conjectures of what Mrs Lot might have thought and felt. Based on the Biblical account given in Genesis 19:1-26

PART II

Next I tell them the art gallery is open until eight tonight; they could probably spend some time there. “The Sodom Art Museum has a fine display of master pieces and there’s also an extensive collection of textile arts, wood carvings and pottery. I’ve also seen some cute miniature statues of the various gods of this land.”

He looked a bit horrified so I hastened to add, “Of course we know they are just silly images, but they are well made and interesting just to look at. I never worship them, though.”

My suggestion was met by sad frowns of disapproval from both of them. Critical types, I gather. For me it’s all relatively innocent, you know — just art.

By this time I’m getting impatient with them. I don’t want these fellows sitting around all evening with their gloomy countenances. So I try again, something totally innocent this time. I suggest that if music and the art gallery don’t appeal, they can maybe just stroll around Sodom and check out the architecture. Our architects have designed some very elaborate temples and an impressive civic center. With inlaid stones and colored marble, they’ve created some really nice patterns so worth seeing.

The one man just looked at me awhile and his face was so sad, like he was pondering some deep dark secret. Goodness, I thought to myself, this young man needs to be on anti-depressants! I even thought of suggesting he might try some for awhile if he was feeling really blue about life, but of course Lot wouldn’t appreciate me being rude to guests. So I just bit my tongue and refrained from suggesting any other attractions. If they want to sit here all evening and play tiddlywinks, it’s okay with me.

Now I will confess Sodom isn’t the greatest place to visit. As I said before, there are some really strange people here, but we try to be forbearing. It’s how they’ve been brought up, you know. We take the chance to say a few words now and then, but mostly we leave people to make their own decisions.

Yes, the people here are a rough bunch and their customs are so discouraging at times. Lot is often horrified by the immoral behaviour going on amongst the younger folks of this town, but I tell him, “We’re old, Lot. We have a different value system. You can’t expect the young folks to be as straight-laced as we were. We need to just love them as they are.”

He tells me it grieves him every day to see innocent children dragged into this perversion and I heartily agree. But what can he and I do except be a good example? “Let’s just live and let live,” I say. And he usually listens.

Though some times he gets so disgusted he even talks of moving back to the hills where his Uncle Abraham lives. I have no ears for that idea. “What?” I say. “Leave our daughters and their families. Lot, you know I’d never be parted from our precious grandchildren.”

I remind him of our lovely home and yard. “It would mean leaving everything we’ve ever worked for! I’m not interested in living up in the hills, and can’t bear the thought of going somewhere else and starting all over again at my age. Think again. Besides, we have no guarantees the next place we live would be any better, so I’m staying right here.”

Lot is a wonderful man, but sometimes he seems a little short-sighted, so I help him take a good look at things. And maybe if I’d been there when he was talking to these young fellows he brought home, I would have realized they would bring us nothing but trouble with the towns folk and persuaded them – nicely, of course– to go on their way to the next town. Maybe not, though, for I didn’t realize just how bad things have gotten here.

To be concluded tomorrow….

Not Such Bad Luck

Once upon a time in far-off China, there lived a farmer who had only one son — one precious heir to whom he would leave his small property. The farmer also had one horse. One day this horse managed to get out of his corral and ran off.

“Such bad luck!” the neighbors said to the man.

“Don’t speak too soon,” said the farmer. “How can you know if this is really bad luck?”

The neighbors were really surprised the next evening when the horse showed up with a dozen other wild horses following him. He led them into the corral and the farmer’s son quickly ran and shut the gate.

When they saw that he now had thirteen horses the neighbors congratulated the farmer. “This is such good luck for you!”

“Don’t speak too soon,” said the wise farmer. “How do you know this is going to be a good thing for us?”

Some days later the son attempted to break one of the wild horses, but the wild stallion would have none of it. He bucked frantically and the young man fell off, breaking his leg.

Neighbors shook their heads when they saw the injured son. “You were right, old man. This has been very bad luck.”

“Don’t speak too soon,” the old man calmly repeated. “How can you be sure of that?”

A few days later a local warlord came through the village and ordered all the able-bodied young men to come with him to help fight in his war. But when he saw the farmer’s son hobbling along, he shook his head. “This boys is of no use to me.”

So the farmer’s son was left behind because of his broken leg. The other young men who were forced to accompany the warlord in his conflict were never seen again. The farmer and his son rejoiced over the “bad luck” that turned out to be their biggest blessing.

There are times in everyone’s life when something constructive is born out of adversity.  – Lee Iaccoacca

Caesar and the Sub

One of Life’s Little Lessons

As usual, George didn’t bother with the buzzer at the main entrance but walked around the corner or the building to knock at the window of his grandson’s ground-floor apartment. When he arrived he saw a huge dog staring at him through the sliding glass door. The great-whatever-it-was immediately announced his presence with resounding woofs.

Kyle rushed to the door and slid it open. “Hey, Grandpa! Good to see you. Quiet Caesar. This is a friend.”

“I sure wouldn’t want to be a burglar and be doing this,” George said as he stepped through the window. “So this is your new hound?”

“Yeah, this is Caesar.” Kyle ruffled the fur on the dog’s head and patted his back. “ Had him two weeks now and so far we’re getting along great. Really, his bark is worse than his bite.”

George chuckled. “I wouldn’t want to put that to the test. I won’t try entering when you’re not here.” He cautiously held out his hand to the dog and let Caesar sniff it. “Who sold you this monster?”

“A breeder south of town. His Great Dane had a litter, but some of the pups weren’t the purebreds he was expecting. Some other genetics got added to the mix somehow. So he gave me a deal.”

“I can see that. Fellow would be hard put to guess his breeding.”

“But, hey, I don’t mind. He’s going to be a faithful friend.”

Kyle walked into the kitchen and came back with a plate overflowing with a humongous submarine sandwich. “I was feeling hungry after our run through the park, so I was just fixing myself a sub. Do you want me to fix you one, too?”

“Sure,” George replied. “But make mine half that size. I don’t run through the park anymore like you do.”

Kyle laughed as he set his plate on the table. “Yeah, I guess this would be pretty big for a lot of people.”

He went back to the kitchen. “Ham, turkey, or both?”

“Just turkey,” George answered as he watched Caesar come and sit beside the table, his eyes focused on the sub. “You’d better hurry up there, Kyle, or you won’t have a sandwich to come back to.”

Kyle looked around and saw Caesar beside his chair, eying the sandwich hungrily. “Don’t worry. He’s well trained. We’ve been going to obedience classes.” Kyle opened the fridge door. “Do you want a drink with this, Grandpa? Cola or ginger ale, or iced tea?”

“Ginger ale would be fine. Obedience classes?”

“Yeah, we’ve had four lessons already.” Kyle pulled a can of pop from the fridge and shut the door. “He’s learned that he must not touch any food I set down until I say, ‘Eat it, Caesar.’ Then he knows he can have it.”

“Oh.” Suddenly George looked back at Caesar. He could hardly believe how fast the dog, hearing those magic words, grabbed the sub off the plate and devoured it.

“Uh, Kyle…I hope you still have enough fixings for another sandwich?”

Kyle whirled around and saw his empty plate. He smacked his head with his hand.

Caesar was looking up at him with eyes full of love and gratitude, his tail thump, thumping against the chair leg.

Kyle sighed. “Guess I can hardly blame him. I did say the magic words.”

George laughed. “It looks like he learned his lesson well. And now you have, too.”

“Yeah, I’ll remember this one,” Kyle said ruefully as he reached for another sub bun.

Making a Man of Himself

…………Two of a Kind………….

Perhaps you have heard this story before
but I’m sure you won’t mind if I tell it once more:
of a farmer who lived in a cottage so fine,
whose one major fault was his love of strong wine.

He’d leave all his work for the slightest excuse
and drive off to town with his team and caboose;
he’d drink till the close of the day was at hand,
then bring home a jug of his favourite brand.

The little brown jug was hidden away
on a shelf in the pen where the hogs used to lay.
One night while imbibing too freely of wine,
he dozed off to sleep in the pen with the swine.

The jug was upset; the pig drank the brew
and soon such a feeling no hog ever knew;
he ran ‘round the pen and he tried to jump out,
then playfully rooted the man with his snout.

The pig became dizzy and soon he got sick;
he laid on the floor and started to kick.
He hit the old farmer right square on the nose;
from the pain of the blow Farmer quickly arose.

“You miserable brute,” the old farmer said,
“If I had a gun I’d blow off your head.”
The hog said: “You see, ‘twas that jug on the shelf,
but I’ll never again make a MAN of myself.”

I thought you might find this poem worth reading.
It was written by Saskatchewan poet Roy Lobb, born circa 1892.

TWANGED — A Regan Reilly Mystery —

Book Review:
TWANGED

by Carol Higgins Clark

This story hinges around a priceless artifact, a violin crafted in Ireland, that has now been bestowed on Brigid, an American singer of Irish origin. But along with the gift has come the curse, as everyone wants to remind her. A few people are quite hot under the collar; the violin was supposed to stay in Ireland or disaster would follow.

When Brigid starts receiving threats, the singer’s alarmed family asks CA private investigator Regan Reilly to act as her undercover bodyguard for a time.

By the time you’ve been introduced to the cast of oddball characters involved you suspect most of them of some sort of skulduggery. Someone sends threatening notes to Brigid; someone plans to kidnap her; several people have designs on the violin; a murderer is lurking. One night Regan finds a woman’s body floating in the pool during a party, with strong evidence she’d been pushed in. It’s impossible to tell who’s doing what, or if they’ll get away with it, until the very end.

This is a classic whodunit, well written, fast-paced, that keeps you turning pages, guessing – and chuckling – until the very end. Carol Higgins Clark has delivered another great read.

Someone writing a review of this mystery series has compared Regan Reilly to Nancy Drew. I feel this is not an unjust comparison; there’s excitement and danger, plot twists and turns, but no real heart-stopping horror.  Much more my speed. In my youth I was very fond of Nancy Drew. :)

 

And He Can’t Even Fly

One morning Skunk was in his burrow brushing every last straw out of his fur with his claws. He did want to look his best before he took his walk in the woods. It wouldn’t do to go about like a ragamuffin. Skunk wrinkled up his nose; some of the woodland creatures showed no sign of self-respect. Like the porcupine. What a mess!

He hoped the broad stripe down his back was spotless. After all, no other animal had such a neat white stripe that contrasted so pleasingly with the blackness of his fur.

The raccoon had that silly mask – and the rings on his tail that he often bragged about. Skunk didn’t find them one bit appealing, but he always agreed with Raccoon that his tail was attractive. No point in being rude.

He left his burrow and ambled along the path through the woods; soon he met up with one of the rabbits.

“Hey, Skunk. Where are you off to?”

“Just taking my morning walk. Good to get some fresh air you know. Keeps a body in good form.” Skunk fluffed his tail and waved it front of Rabbit. He knew all the rabbits were jealous of his beautiful long tail.

What a pity rabbits had only a stump. Oh, well, some of us have it and some don’t, Skunk thought to himself. I must be charitable.

“I’ll join you,” said Rabbit. “I haven’t been around the woods this morning myself.” So the two wandered along the trail together, though it took Rabbit some effort to plod at Skunk’s slow pace.

They came around a curve in the road and there they saw Grouse preening himself in front of his three sisters. When Grouse saw them, he spread out his tail fan and strutted around quite vainly.

“Are you ever beautiful today,” Rabbit told him.

“Well thank you! I think so, too,” Grouse replied.

“Good day,” mumbled Skunk, and kept right on walking.

“Disgusting display of pride,” he thought to himself. He was rather annoyed at Rabbit for his silly gushing. After all, Rabbit hadn’t said anything nice like that to him.
Once they were out of earshot of the grouse, Skunk told Rabbit, “He’s not so beautiful at all. He’s just a bird – and the way he shows off is repugnant.”

“Well… maybe you’re right.”

Fox happened by right then. “Where are you two off to?”

“We’re just out for a walk. It’s such a nice day, even if some creatures do spoil it with their obnoxious vanity. If you continue down this path you’ll come across the grouse clan and see his Highness strutting his stuff.”

“Oh, really.”

“Acting like a peacock, isn’t he, Rabbit?”

“Well, umm…”

“Rabbit thinks so, too,” said Skunk. “He’s just too mousy to say it.”

“I should run along then, and see what you’re talking about.”

“Here comes Groundhog,” said Rabbit. “I wonder how he’s doing with his new burrow?”

“Hi, fellows. What have you been doing this morning?”

“We met up near my place and decided to walk together. Then we came upon a very interesting sight.”

“Oh? What am I missing?”

“Grouse parading around and crowing about his beautiful self. We couldn’t watch him for long; it was too nauseating.” Skunk rolled his eyes.

“Well, maybe it wasn’t…” Rabbit began

Skunk cut him off. “Anyway, soft thick fur like we have is better than feathers any day.” He fluffed up his coat and swished his plumy tail emphatically.

Two crows were sitting in a tree above them eavesdropping. One of them croaked to the other, “How revolting! Do you think we should warn Grouse that Skunk is saying nasty things about him?”

“No. Why ruin his day? And what could he do anyway: run around and tell people they shouldn’t believe the stories Skunk is spreading about him?”

“I guess that wouldn’t accomplish much.”

“Skunk’s harsh tongue will tell on itself. The woodland folk know the truth, or will find out soon enough. They say it’s those who are vain themselves who find it so repulsive in others.”

“Isn’t that the truth,” the other replied. “And for all that, poor Skunk can’t even fly.”

Paula’s Picnic

Part Three

As Derrick and his friend strolled toward the group around the picnic table, Paula took a good look at her. Slim and tanned, wearing a mini-skirt and what was probably a designer blouse, she looked like a million dollars. Paula glanced down at her own very practical clothes and felt like an ugly step-sister in the presence of Cinderella.

“Hey, guys! Have you left some for us?” Derrick called to some of the fellows who were sitting on a blanket.

“Hey, Derrick,” one of them called, “glad you could make it. You’re just in time to say a table grace.”

“You should introduce us to your friend,” Ryan Pinder added, looking quite impressed with what he saw. The blonde flashed him a grateful smile.

“I want you all to meet Kelsey Hallstrom, an old friend…and my new personal trainer.”

“Personal trainer! What kind of training are you needing, Derrick?” Brad asked as he stood up to shake her hand.“I’m Brad Miller. Pleased to meet you, Kelsey.”

“Oh, he needs a lot of training! You’ll have quite a job on your hands, lady!” one of the other fellows joked as he shook hands with her.

“Physician heal thyself,” Derrick countered with a laugh and a playful punch.

“I decided I needed to go join a gym and get into shape. Too much sitting in an office. And who should I meet there but Kelsey! She’s come back to her old stomping grounds and now she’s going to whip me into shape.” He gave her a warm smile.

“You look pretty fit for the job,” Ryan commented, giving her the once over. “Maybe I should get into fitness, too.”

The way he said it made Paula uncomfortable. She wondered, should a Christian be so open with those kind of looks and comments? Maybe Ryan was just paying a compliment, but she would be embarrassed if some man looked her over like that.

Kelsey just winked and flashed another big smile at Ryan. “I work at it.”

Paula glanced at Derrick. He was looking at Kelsey almost as if he was seeing her for the first time. What was he thinking?

The couple arrived at their table and more introductions were exchanged. “Welcome to our little group, Kelsey,” said Anne. “ Shall we make room for both of you here, or are you going to join the guys, Derrick?”

“Yeah, I’ll leave Kelsey in your care.” He smiled at Paula. “I know you’ll be good for her.” And he walked over to join the fellows on the blanket.

Paula moved over to make a space on the bench beside her and Kelsey sat down, smiling at her. A feeling of jealousy flashes through Paula’s mind, followed by the words, “”Let go and let God.” They brought her a moment of comfort. If it was God’s will for her and Derrick to get together, He’d work it out for them. If it wasn’t meant to be, she wanted to let it go.

Anne brushed a buzzy fly away from Kelsey’s arm. “Did I hear you’re back in your old stomping grounds?”

“Yes, I grew up here in Parkerton. I came back here in March, after my divorce.”

Well, I’m sorry to hear that…about your divorce, I mean,” said Sally.

“Yeah. Not nice,” Kelsey sighed. “Derrick and I went to High School together. Actually, we dated a few times, but then Shawn came along and swept me off my feet. I wish I’d stayed on them.”

She glanced toward Derrick and smiled. “I’m sure I’d have done so much better.”

“The burgers are ready,” one of the grillers called. “Everyone gather round and we’ll sing a table grace song.”

“Oh, dear. I don’t know any of that religious stuff,” Kelsey whispered nervously as they gathered in a circle around the table.

“That’s okay,” Paula assured her. Inwardly she wondered about Derrick getting involved with someone who didn’t know “religious stuff”. And I shouldn’t think he’s so involved. He may only have asked her here because she needs friends, she reminded herself.

After the blessing they lined up for the food. Kelsey went to stand beside Derrick in the lineup and Paula watched her talking and laughing with the guys. Disapproval washed through her thoughts. But if Kelsey doesn’t know the Lord she probably doesn’t see the harm in random flirting, Paula thought.

Then she thought of her teen years and remembered the way she’d acted around boys. She blushed, then smiled. You’ve come a long way, yourself, girl — with God’s help!

While she was standing in line waiting for her food, Paula sighed a prayer, “Lord, please grant me a pure heart, free from jealousy, and a love like Yours for those who need to hear about You.”


Hope you’ve enjoyed this story. Sad to say, the rest of the story isn’t written yet, but at least you’ve found out who this new lady is. If enough readers are interested in where the story goes from here, I’ll post some more as time goes on.

In my mind the setting for this story is back in the early 70s, when we were newly married and started attending churches in the protestant evangelical sphere. I was trying to capture the tone of those times as well as the people and the picnics I remember.

 

Travel Tales to Tickle Your Fancy

Since a number of you who read this blog are travellers, I think you’ll want to hear about a new book that’s just gone live on Amazon.com: Travel Tales from Exotic Places Like Salford by Vancouver resident (and Brit ex-pat) Julian Worker. I was asked to write a review for The Story Cartel and here’s what I’ve said:

You need to take your time with this book, savoring it like chocolate truffles, and it’s set up in sections so you can do that. Rather than using chronological order the writer divides his book geographically, describing spots tourists would most likely want to visit and giving directions on how to get there, as well as some encounters he’s had with the locals.

Mr Worker gives some historical background as well as thorough details of the area he’s writing about. By the time I was done reading about some of these places I was ready to pack my bags and go! His description of the soccer/football match had me cheering, too, though I have no interest in that sport. And his last few pages about his trials with customs inspectors and linguistic misunderstandings made me chuckle. There are no accompanying pictures, but most places mentioned will have internet ads and websites if a person wishes to take a look.

I found this book intelligently written, well crafted and well edited. The writer shows due respect and sensitivity to various cultures and customs. If you enjoy visiting other countries or reading about others’ travels, you will really enjoy this book.