I've been amiss posting. I have been AWOL - Missing in action. Not here. Absent. Skipped classes and went to the beach.

Actually, I changed blogs and post at Sam's Spot (got a cute design too!) It's easier to post there and they let me post photos (most of the time, lol)

Here is the link for anyone who wants to come visit: SAM'S SPOT

I will be updating my links and transfering those I have here over there. Hope to see you soon!

HUGS

Jenn

It's sunny out and I'm looking through the window at the kids playing outdoors and I know it's time to close down the blog and go play!

I might start up again this fall - I might not.

Thanks for stopping by.

I will continue to post photos & comments on my Daily Photo from Montchauvet so change your bookmarks accordingly!

Have a great spring - summer!

So rry I haven't posted, I've been a little busy. I got edits back from my agent and wanted to finish those, and I'm determined to finish May's story before I head off to Germany.

Number one son is getting ready to join the volontary fire department. He has had lots of meetings and tests, and soon will be starting training. He's excited. Number two son is in the US in college and had an infection - went to the hospital, and got a 700$ bill. Thank goodness we were insured. My question is, how do Americans do it???

My daughter is on vacation and her cousin is here visiting. It's nice to have the two girls, they entertain each other and get along famously.

I have an English lesson this morning - so I'm off to find some books to read with my student!

Have a lovely day!

 I just got word that Virtual Murder is available at Powells!

(here is the note I got in my e-mail this morning!)

Psst!
Virtual Murder
by Jennifer Macaire
is now available in TRADE PAPER at $14.95. To learn more about the book, please proceed to:

http://www.powells.com/cgi-bin/check_avail?inkey=61-1596321520-3&title=Virtual%20Murder&author=Macaire%2C%20Jennifer

Your best chance to get this book is to order it online immediately -- phone or
walk in ordering will not be as effective as the lightning fast power of the
internet!

OK - a word or two about this book. It's science fiction, it's not romance, although it's pretty hot and sexy, lol. It's for ages 16 and up. It was a finalist for the EPPIES and in the paperback version it's paired with a never-before-published novella called 'A World Between' that is more romance but is definitely sci-fi and is a really, really cool story if I may say so myself.

Here is an excerpt of Virtual Murder:

CHAPTER ONE

Where are you off to, lady? For I see you,

You splash in the water there, yet stay stock still in your room.

~Walt Whitman, Song of Myself

He had blond hair, bleached almost white by salt water, and turquoise chips for eyes. Dressed in the Virtual Tours uniform of khaki shorts and a white button-down Oxford shirt with the sleeves rolled up, he also wore a whistle around his neck for no other reason than aesthetics. A red bandana flirted insolently out of his back pocket.

He put one hand over his eyes, shading them from the bright sun. With the other, he motioned to the gangplank, calling in a loud voice, "Welcome to Virtual Tours. I'm Mitch, your tour guide for this leg of the voyage. This way, ladies, please watch your step. The boat will be leaving in five minutes. Take your assigned seats. The number on your ticket corresponds to the seat number, clearly indicated on the front of each chair. Can I help you, ma'am? That's right, third seat on the left. You'll have a magnificent view of the island as we cruise by Redhook."

When all the tourists were boarded, he waved to the captain and jumped into the cabin. He strolled down the aisle, making sure everyone was seated. Pausing in front of a woman wearing a red sundress, he flashed a brilliant smile. "Hello, Rhonda. I saw you in the sending room at the tour headquarters. I hope you have a pleasant trip. If there's anything you need, don't hesitate to ask."

Rhonda blushed and leaned over to the woman next to her. "My, isn't he a nice-looking man?"

The woman smiled at her in a conspiratorial manner. "They're all gorgeous! The Virtual Tours Agency goes out of its way to please their clients, in this case overworked career women, like us."

"I still can't get over it. I feel exactly as if I'm sitting on a boat, speaking to you. I can even smell suntan lotion, sea air, and the diesel fuel from the boat's engines. I'm having a hard time believing it's all an illusion!" Rhonda gave an amazed laugh.

"Okay, I'll prove it. What seat are you in?" the woman asked.

"The first seat on the left, window seat, with plenty of leg room and a superb view. Why do you ask? You're sitting right next to me, in the aisle."

"No, dear. I'm sitting in the first seat on the left, next to the window, and you're sitting on the aisle. We both asked for the same seat, and the Virtual Tours gave it to us."

"Well, I'll be! I'm Rhonda, by the way, from Nashville. You must be a regular virtual-traveler. It's my first trip," she said with a nervous smile.

"My name's Veronique. I'm from Paris," she said. "If you have any questions, don't be afraid to ask. I've been doing these trips for three years now, once every six months."

"That's wonderful." Rhonda settled back in her seat. "Oh, look at that view! The sailboats in the harbor, the sunlight sparkling on the waves and the islands in the distance, it's all so romantic. I can't wait to get to Tortola. I'm staying in the Sea Cow Hotel. Are you staying there too?"

"No, I'm going on to Virgin Gorda, but I've been to the Sea Cow. It's wonderful. Ask for the stuffed grouper, it's divine."

"How do they make everything seem so real?" asked Rhonda.

"Everything is real, in a way. Even this boat, the 'Bomba Charger', is an actual ferryboat making its way from St. Thomas to Virgin Gorda, stopping in Tortola. It's extremely sophisticated from what I gather, which is why virtual tourism costs nearly as much as a real trip does."

"It's a two-week adventure, with all food and drinks included in the deal!" quoted Rhonda.

"You're getting everything intravenously, chérie, don't forget. And in reality, it only lasts for two days. On your virtual trip, you won't sleep but a few minutes a 'night', although you'll feel as if it's been a full, eight hours. We won't get stiff either; electrodes take care of stimulating our muscles for us while we sleep."

"I know," Rhonda giggled. "I was nervous when they explained that part to me. I hate thinking of my body lying back at the institute, with all those wires and tubes in it. But I always wanted to go to the Caribbean, and this seemed like the perfect plan."

"It's a great idea. Especially for people like me, who work practically non-stop. You cram two weeks into only two days. I feel so refreshed after these trips. I'm even more relaxed and toned than after a real vacation, believe me. The scenery is unspoiled, no waiting in dreary lines, and we can do anything we want from scuba diving to hang-gliding in total security. Our guides take care of our slightest wish."

"Our slightest wish?" Rhonda felt a spark of interest and twisted in her seat to get a better look at the blond man. "Do we get to ask them out on dates?"

"No!" Veronique shook her head emphatically. "You can't even get near them. I've tried, believe me. But they don't let you touch them; it's against Tour rules. It's frustrating, especially at the beach, when they're strolling around in their bathing suits." She sighed. "But there are other people. I've met a few other tourists and even dated one for a while after I got back from the virtual trip."

"You exchanged names and addresses?"

"Of course."

"And he wasn't, you know, disappointed?" Rhonda asked.

"Why?" Veronique sounded amused. "Don't tell me you've chosen a virtual body for your trip?"

Rhonda nodded, reddening. "I'm not as young as this! When the tour operator asked for a photo of me, I sent them one of me in my twenties. I wanted to feel young again. It's amazing what the brain can do. I feel as if I've gone back in time." She hesitated a moment. "Forgive me if I'm being rude, but...is that your real body?"

Veronique shrugged. "Give or take a few pounds, wrinkles and gray hairs. It's true our brains can imagine us young again, but we can't choose a completely different body. It would be impossible to keep up the illusion. As soon as we saw something that captured our attention, we'd change back to the body our brain was familiar with. That's why the tour guides are all so young and handsome in real life, too." She winked at Rhonda. "You'll meet many people on your virtual trip. The trick is learning which ones are real and which are simply computer-generated images. There's nothing as embarrassing as finding out you're flirting with a figment."

"A figment?"

"That's what people created from a computer program are called. Real people's projections are called virtuals."

Rhonda was dismayed. "How can I tell the difference between a figment and a virtual? I thought everyone was based on a real person!"

"Well, figments usually wear white uniforms. The best way to be sure is to ask, but if you don't want to appear rude, just ask if he's been on many trips before. A figment will reply that he's part of the program."

"I can't thank you enough for your advice," said Rhonda. "Can you touch someone in this, um, world?"

"Of course. Try, touch my arm!" Veronique grinned, patting her arm.

Rhonda reached over and touched her forearm. She could feel everything-the woman's skin, her gold bracelet and even the fine hairs on her arm. "Amazing," she murmured. "How do they do it?"

"Sensor devices, implants. It's all done through the brain, all highly sophisticated. You'll taste the food, feel the sand on the beach, splash in the ocean and burn in the hot sun. The only thing that isn't the same is making love." Veronique lowered her voice. "As you probably have heard, it's a Net prohibition. It's about as exciting as filing your nails."

OK - I wanted to add that the whole first chapter is on excerpt at my website www.jennifermacaire.com - just click on 'My Books' and 'Virtual Murder'
Thanks!!

Well, it's Easter time again? Lent is drawing to a close, and spring is here. I can wake up now and leave the back door open, letting in a nice breeze instead of an icy wind.

Today I'm spring - cleaning the house and my son is going to mow the garden...(he doesn't know this yet...) So that tomorrow everything is sparkling clean. My husband is in the south of France and won't be back until Monday. He's playing polo there in the sunshine - lucky!

It's vacation and everything seems to have slowed down. The village is very quiet. A lot more people go off on vacation now than at Christmas time. The roads are better, there is still snow in the alps, and springtime is lovely anywhere - at the shore or in the mountains. We spent Easter break at the sea-shore one year and it really was lovely. France had a wonderful coastline - from the rocky shores of Brittany to the high cliffs and large sandy beaches in Normany, and the south, of course, with its deeply scalloped coastline with alternating sandy beaches and rocky bays. And although swimming is still out, it's warm enough for kids to wade and play in the warm sand.

In the alps there is still snow at the high stations, and lower down, there are lovely hikes to take around steep trails to see old castles and monestaries hidden in the valleys. We went to see 'les Chartreuses' one year in the spring. The monks were just moving the cows from the winter stables to the first level pastures, and there was no sound but the cows lowing and the birds chirping, because the monks of the Chartreuse monestary have taken a vow of silence. And along the trail are signs asking for hikers to respect the quiet and not speak. So the whole valley in encased in a deep silence. It's quite lovely.

At any rate, have a wonderful Easter weekend no matter where you spend it!

Like most people, I read the news, and the news this week has all been about flight 93 and the terrible fate of its passengers.

But one thing bothers me. Cell phones don't work in planes. Here is part of a report done in 2003 (flight 93 crashed in 2001 - so even earlier) Read it and see if anyone can explain how the passengers allegedly called their families on their phones...

I don't believe they could have called. So what really happened? Unless people start asking real questions and demanding straight answers - we'll never know.

"...It cannot be said that the Faraday attenuation experiment (Part Three) was complete, in the sense that the operator normally held the phone to his ear, seated in a normal position. This meant that the signals from the test phones were only partially attenuated because the operator was surrounded by windows that are themselves radio-transparent.

Although we cannot say yet to what degree the heavier aluminum skin on a Boeing 700-series aircraft would affect cellphone calls made from within the aircraft, they would not be without some effect as windows take up a much smaller solid angle at the cellphone antenna. Signals have a much smaller window area to escape through, in general.

As was shown above, the chance of a typical cellphone call from cruising altitude making it to ground and engaging a cellsite there is less than one in a hundred. To calculate the probability that two such calls will succeed involves elementary probability theory. The resultant probability is the product of the two probabilities, taken separately. In other words, the probability that two callers will succeed is less than one in ten thousand. In the case of a hundred such calls, even if a large majority fail, the chance of, say 13 calls getting through can only be described as infinitesimal. In operational terms, this means "impossible."

At lower altitudes the probability of connection changes from impossible to varying degrees of "unlikely." But here, a different phenomenon asserts itself, a phenomenon that cannot be tested in a propellor-driven light aircraft. At 500 miles per hour, a low-flying aircraft passes over each cell in a very short time. For example if a cell (area serviced by a given cellsite) were a mile in diameter, the aircraft would be in it for one to eight seconds. Before a cellphone call can go through, the device must complete an electronic "handshake" with the cellsite servicing the call. This handshake can hardly be completed in eight seconds. When the aircraft comes into the next cell, the call must be "handed off" to the new cellsite. This process also absorbs seconds of time. Together, the two requirements for a successful and continuous call would appear to absorb too much time for a speaking connection to be established. Sooner or later, the call is "dropped."

This assessment is borne out by both earwitness testimony and by expert opinion, as found in Appendix B, below. Taking the consistency of theoretical prediction and expert opinion at face value, it seems fair to conclude that cellphone calls (at any altitude) from fast-flying aircraft are no more likely to get through than cellphone calls from high-flying slow aircraft."

http://www.cerridwenpress.com/productpage.asp?ISBN=1-4199-0420-5

Available as an e-book - it will be in paperback in August 2006

This book is for ages 16 and up

An Excerpt From: ANGELS ON CRUSADE

Copyright © SAMANTHA WINSTON, 2005.

All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave Publishing, Inc.

The nurse in charge of freezing my molecules inserted a glowing needle into my arm and had me count backwards from ten. I got to zero and stared at her, perplexed. “Now what?”

“Again.”

I obeyed without question. Ten years of prison had left their mark.

Then a cold wave washed through me. I felt my blood freeze. No one had told me it would be so painful. My teeth chattered and the place where the needle was inserted into my arm ached and ached. The pain grew. Frost bloomed in silver flowers on my hands and face.

The pain was so intense I passed out. My last thought before I fainted was wry. The program was going to lose their corrector. I was dying.

* * * * *

I didn’t die. I woke up lying on my back in the middle of a large mud puddle. Rain pelted my face, and my body convulsed with painful tremors. For several minutes, I felt so awful I wished I had died.

Groaning, I rolled over and propped myself up on my forearms. My clothes were drenched and filthy. I tried to stand up, but my legs wouldn’t hold me. I crawled off the road and collapsed behind a large bush. I had no idea why I’d been beamed into the middle of a road. I could have been killed. I looked closer at the road and sighed. If anything were going to come down it, it would probably be an ox plodding before a heavy farm cart. The farmer would have been able to stop in time.

Unlike me. I hadn’t been able to stop my car in time. I’d killed a child, and I’d been punished with life in a reproduction prison where I spawned one hundred and twenty possible children. Every month an ovule was taken from my body and fertilized and the egg was implanted into an artificial womb. For ten years, I reproduced. I lay on a metal table once a month and donated an ovule, and in between, I worked at the prison library, copying ancient paper books onto gel matrix for safekeeping.

Then I’d been given a choice. Go back in time and change a mistake, or continue to live in a prison, in solitude, where my only jobs had been to produce eggs and reproduce books.

My mission now lay before me. I closed my eyes and tried to remember exactly what it was I had to do. Unfortunately, there seemed to be an empty space in my brain where all that information was supposed to be. I couldn’t remember the first thing about it. I shivered with panic and cold. If my mission failed, the Time Correction Foundation, the omnipotent TCF, would erase this portion of time and I’d be erased along with it.

I took several deep breaths and calmed my nerves. All right. It was coming back to me. I had to convince a young boy not to join the ill-fated Eighth Crusade and therefore save the future crown of France. 

I huddled in the gorse bush and wiped the mud off my dress as best I could with my hands and thought of my mission. It had all happened because of a mistake. Time travel was reserved for a select few—highly trained journalists chosen to go back in time and interview famous people. The journalist who’d caused the error I’d been sent to correct had spoken of the crusade in front of a boy who should never have heard about it.

The careless man had taken holograms, as the regulations instructed, but he hadn’t checked to make sure nobody else listened to his interview with Queen Marguerite. Jean de Bourbon-Dampierre had been near enough to hear. On the hologram, he looked up from his reading as the journalist began to speak. Because of what he’d overheard, the boy had slipped out of his bedroom one night and run away to join a ragtag gaggle of youngsters on their way to save Jerusalem.

Jean would not do anything of note during his life, but his descendants would eventually rule France. By running away, he changed the course of history dramatically. I was supposed to find him and bring him back. If I succeeded, I’d be allowed to live the rest of my life in the thirteenth century. If not, I’d be erased, along with all the mistakes the journalist had wrought in only two sentences.

Just two little sentences which had been approved for the interview, for the queen, but not for Jean de Bourbon-Dampierre, visiting with his mother and sister at the court. “My Queen Marguerite, what have you heard of the crusade your husband, the king of France, has embarked upon? What about the group of youths calling themselves crusaders who have nearly reached the sacred Cathedral?”

The words had echoed weirdly around the room, and that evening Jean packed his meager belongings in a leather bag and clambered nimbly down a castle wall in search of adventure and a way to get out of his Latin studies.

I bought my regular package of sugarless fruit and fibre cereal and lo and behold, there was an exercise CD within. I decided it was fate - it's vacation here and my gym class won't start for another two weeks. So, I put my gym clothes on, moved the coffee table, and put the CD in my computer. First two little cartoon heads came on - Monique and Dave - and they told me about my new gym program - complete with a healthy diet (consisting mainly of the sugarless cereal, I imagine. I sort of skipped that part.) Then they asked me some questions about my height, weight, age, etc. Being a pathological liar, I put down:

Name - Princess Noodle (now everyone knows what name I use in the gaming sites)

Age - 25 (of course!) (d'oh!)

Height - 175 cm. (a lie, a lie!)

Weight - 55 kilos (an even bigger lie - oh, I'm in for it now.)

I hit enter and waited for Monique and Dave to die laughing. They didn't. The cartoon talking heads then asked me to peruse their profiles and Choose One of them as my Personal Trainer! (gasp - my own personal trainer from a cereal box!) I chose Dave, only because he was cuter than Monique (who needed something done with her hair) and in his profile the word 'fun' appeared more often than the word 'serious', which Monique used too much for my comfort. So, I chose Dave and Monique whined something about being disappointed but if I changed my mind, she was always there...which kind of creeped me out for a minute until I remembered they were just cartoons on a CD. OK.

I then got to fill out my schedule with this little calendar I keep on my desktop which will beep or do something annoying to remind me "It's Time to Exercise with Dave!" (Oh, I wish.) Anyhow, I finish that and then chose the "Exercise Now!" button. Let's Go!
Dave appears, all buff and holding a whistle and a towel - he looks like a life-guard. He tells me that my training session is divided into three parts, the warm-up, the work-out, and the stretching. I hit warm-up and off we go. Dave says, "Stand up straight. Lift knees as if marching in place." I wait for him to do it along with me, but he only does it once and stops. Some trainer. I do that for about two minutes and switch to warm up number two. Something about deep knee bends. Then I click, click, click ahead to see what joys await me and see sit-ups, leg-lifts, etc. etc. I'm disappointed. Dave is no fun at all. Where are the aerobics and rock music?

So, I keep Dave on the computer while I load Bon Jovi on my cassette player and off I go. I decide to try to remember my work out from the gym. I start with the easy step-touch. OK - that's fine. But what does my teacher do next? And what do I do with my arms? I can't remember. I realize that during gym my brain switches off and I simply copy what the teacher does like a mindless robot. I move my arms up and down (I feel like I'm about to take off) and my daughter comes in, sits down with the dog in her lap and watches for a few minutes. I put some extra effort into my moves, hoping to impress my daughter with the importance of a good work-out.

"Mom," she says after about five minutes. "You're traumatizing the dog."

Over on the computer screen, Dave watches impassively. I'm starting to like him better than my daughter. "Don't you have any homework?" I puff, as I step-touch and wave my arms.

After half an hour I'm tired and do my sit-ups with Dave cheering me on, then my stretches, with Dave offering advice (don't strain yourself. If it hurts, you're doing it wrong.) Oh, well then, I better stop Everything! I finish my 40 minute work out and turn Dave off. He waves goodbye and says, 'See you soon!'

Maybe Dave. Maybe.

It tends to come around every 7 days or so, doesn't it?

Last night I dreamed it snowed and Paris had a huge black out. I backed up all my work this morning and cleaned out my freezer. Not that I believe in dreams. It's bright and sunny (and cold) today, but there are some rather large clouds on the horizon. I've been working on my WIP (work in progress) so I haven't had much time to do much else. I'm a slow writer (I have come to that conclusion after looking at my little word count pill I made three days in a row. Only about 2 or 3k per day. (Between 8 and 10 pages). I give myself all kids of excuses, but the truth is it's spring and as soon as the sun shines I want to be outside in my garden (I've been planting seeds and transplanting geraniums) and I also have to keep my house cleaner because the sun just Shows all the Dust more, lol. In dark and gloomy winter, you can have an inch of dust on your bookcase, nobody notices. So I keep getting up to mop, dust, and do laundrey, which is never ending here.

My husband has been in the south of France these past two weekends but he says the weather there isn't that great so I'm not jealous. I'm getting ready to go to Germany for a convention (on the 27th) and I'm quite thrilled because I get to judge the Mr. Romance Cover Model Contest! My husband asked me how I was going to choose, and I told him I hadn't thought of that yet...LOL. Here is the website for the convention if you want to see - it's very small but a lot of fun!

www.booklover.de