A SPECIAL HOLIDAY OFFER!

A TRIO OF IRISH TALES II will be releasing in the next 48 hours.  And here is a deal you can take advantage of even after Cyber Monday. This Holiday Special is good through December 15th! Yeah, it costs more than a couple of lattes, but it can be enjoyed much longer!

Here's what you get for just $20

• Paperback copies of both the original A Trio of Irish Tales and the new A Trio of Irish Tales II signed by the author (me!)
• Specially gift wrapped, and shipped to where ever you specify in time for the holidays (Sorry, only in the U.S. by the December Holidays).
• The satisfaction of supporting an independent author, a creator/artist, not a cumbersome corporate entity.

How do I take advantage of this offer?

Send an email to simplycreativettown AT gmail DOT com with the following:

• Your name
• The name and address that you would like the books shipped to 
• Special Instructions: who should the book be inscribed to?  What would you like the gift tag to say?

By reply email, you will receive payment information. When your order payment has been confirmed it will be shipped.  

It is as easy as that!

Happy Holidays!

Look for the release of A TRIO OF IRISH TALES II this week!

AN UNLIKELY ESSAY FOR THANKSGIVING

I am taking a brief moment to pause in the final preparations for A TRIO OF IRISH TALES' release to reflect on the nature of being thankful.  Enjoy!

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Managing Life's Glass: 

An Unlikely Essay on Thanksgiving

by Judith Cullen

© 2015

"It was the best of times,

it was the worst of times,

it was the age of wisdom,

it was the age of foolishness,

it was the epoch of belief,

it was the epoch of incredulity,

it was the season of Light,

it was the season of Darkness,

it was the spring of hope,

it was the winter of despair,

we had everything before us,

we had nothing before us,

we were all going direct to Heaven,

we were all going direct the other way

-- in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only."  

~ The opening paragraph of  A Tale of Two Cities, by Charles Dickens

We do it all the time: measure where we are by comparison to another time, another place, someone else's life, the life we desire for ourselves.  Life is full of "Tale of Two Cities" moments, as I refer to them.  They are blips on the fabric of our lives where we know that our proverbial "glass" has both water and air in it, but we often choose the simpler path of acknowledging only one element.  They are both there.  They are always both there.

ALMOST THERE ... "Two Houses" ~ A Preview

We are days from publication of A TRIO OF IRISH TALES II . . . and here is one more preview, this time of the final story.

Two Houses (Preview)

By Judith Cullen

© 2015

“Mark, the top has to be here somewhere!”

Mark Murphy glanced at the tourist map one more time, but it might as well have been written in Greek for all the sense it made to him.  “I know, we both saw it.”  He paused, lowering his voice, “I should have asked for directions, I’ll admit it.”

Cate turned to him indulgently, “I’ll take that admission, and I won’t abuse you with it.  Not much, anyhow.”  Then she laughed and threw her head back in that way he loved. 

This was part of why he had married her – life was just that much brighter, that much “more” when Cate was around.   Like now, when they were lost in Ireland on their honeymoon, looking for a hilltop they had both seen clearly from the front lawn Rathmore House.  It had seemed like such a natural thing to spend their honeymoon exploring their mutual Irish heritage. They were inexperienced as world travelers, at best, and they really should have done more homework than they had.  Still and all adversity can lead to adventure, and so far they had shared that in abundance.

“Look here!  This lane seems to go up.  This could be promising. Let’s try it and see where it goes.”  She was pointing towards a disheveled gate and a scraggly lane of trees leading uphill. What waited at the end of the lane was not clearly in view.

“You call this ‘promising’?”  He eyed the gate and the road that left the main track and disappeared to God only knew where.  It was a single metal gate between two square stone pillars.  They might have been nicely finished once, with an outer coating of sandstone or something to dress them.  The metal had a few vestiges of ornamentation left – tiny metal swirls and flourishes.  But one of the pillars was almost entirely crumbled away, and the gate hung from the remaining pillar by a single hinge.  Squinting his eyes, Mark wasn’t even sure of that.  He had the feeling that the gate was held there by habit alone, not by any actual constructive attachment.

MORE Preview and the Final Book Trailer - for now!

The final Book Trailer has been released, and the finishing touches are going into the final story.  What a wild, insightful journey 2015 has turned out to be.  Look for the release of A TRIO OF IRISH TALES II very soon! When teamed with the first set of tales, they'll make a terrific gift for the Celtic-hearted (or just the story lover) on your holiday list.

And now: more from Liam Killough . . .

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The Fairy Tree (Selection #3)

By Judith Cullen

© 2015

 He soon found himself at a fork on the road he had taken out of town.  One road was bristling with signs and newer pavement.  The other seemed to disappear into the undergrowth as it ascended up a hill.  He tried to peek up it in case it was someone’s drive, for it did not seem to be marked as “private.”  Suddenly the words of a poem came unbidden into his head.

They’d been studying poetry at school, mostly Irish poets.  There’d been a lot of time spent on W.B. Yeats and George William Russell and other late 19^th, early 20^th century poets.  Liam didn’t always understand the politics laced through the poems, but he was working on understanding the struggles behind the words.  The teacher had spent one day focusing on contemporary poets of the period from around the world, and had read several poems by an American, Robert Frost.  The words just popped up from nowhere in his mind and he spoke them out loud, startling himself, “Two roads diverged in a wood, and I - I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference.”