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Friday, October 28, 2016

Who's For Dinner with Nancy Gideon


Once I got over my first thought of cannibalism (hey, paranormal author!), I fell in love with the idea behind this blog topic. Who would you love to share some table talk with? A celebrity? A great mind? A religious icon?  My choice was immediate and not so grand as that. I’d love to share a meal with the one person who never said anything at the table beyond, “Pass the potatoes.” So Gandhi, Einstein, Jeremy Renner (Wait . . . maybe another time), nah. I’d like to sit down and pass the potatoes one more time with my dad.

My dad was the original strong, silent type, easily confused with John Wayne. He didn’t graduate high school, needing to go to work to help support his family, he carried the morphine in WWII in the Philippines, he grew our vegetables, was a  hunter/fisherman for all seasons with always the right tool for the job whether it be loose table leg or timing belt. He laughed at Bugs Bunny and the old guys in the Muppet Show while pretending to read the paper. The dry sink we built together in the garage has made every one of my moves even though it weighs a ton. He was my hero.


My dad died before he saw my sons, before he knew I’d realized my dream of seeing a book come out in a store where we shopped. He would have hated the idea that I now drive a Honda. And he would have pretended not to like my cats, the way he once did my gerbils. I wouldn’t want to sit down in a noisy, crowded restaurant with him. I’d fire up my grill and toss on a couple of really bad for you steaks, crack a Pabst and cut a slab of pie that we could eat outside with a dog begging underfoot. And I’d make him get beyond those few soft-spoken words to hear him talk about the things that made him a strong man – the Depression, his sister who died young, about how a shy farm boy got up the courage to ask my mom to marry him, about being in the thick of battle so far away from home, about those treasured days sitting out in the garage listening the Detroit Tigers on the radio, and how his love of pulp Western novels, hard boiled PIs and Perry Mason sparked my imagination and led to so many, many more words on the page than we ever shared in a lifetime.  I’d thank him for the food on the table, the roof over my head and the chance to get the education, he himself never had.  I’d show him pictures of his grandson. I loved my dad. I’d tell him that, too. And then I’d pass the potatoes.

I wouldn’t be who I am if he wasn’t who he was. Thanks, Dad. Here’s book Number 60. It doesn’t matter that you wouldn’t read, just that you’d be proud of it.


PRINCE OF HONOR
“House of Terriot” Book 1

The hunter becomes the prey, a prisoner to his own desire . . .

Turow . . .
Strong, silent man of integrity content to serve his new king as a prince in the turbulent shape-shifter House of Terriot. A tracker and relentless hunter, he’s used to running trails alone until charged with returning a traitor to their mountain top home to face the unforgiving judgment of their clan. Isolated with the bad girl he’s loved forever, the choice between duty and desire has never been more difficult . . . or deadly.

Could the bargain made to save their lives become reality?

Sylvia . . .
Manipulative schemer or victim caught between a mother’s ambition and a rogue prince’s lust for power? Trust is almost as foreign as the idea of love, but to save herself from certain death, she must risk both on the good man who deserves them . . . from someone worthy. Trapped by the only one who believes in her goodness, she must betray him and run for her life . . . or stay and destroy him with a long hidden truth.

Deadly, Damaged, and Delicious!

House of Terriot
Brothers too H.o.T. to Handle!

Excerpt from PRINCE OF HONOR:
Heat pounding off his body burned against the backs of her fingers as they bunched the bottom of his tee shirt, shucking it off him with a violent pull. Her palms prowled chest and shoulders, pausing for him to identify each unfamiliar scar.
At his collarbone: “Cale’s lesson on how to use a blade.”
At the glorious swell of a bicep: “Stephen. Bar fight he started and I had to finish.” Probably because he was too drunk, though Turow would never say so.
Across the hard ridge of his abdomen: “Sparring with Rico.”
Tongue dampening her lips, eyes glowing, obviously turned on by the catalog of combat, Sylvia let her fingertip follow a thin line across his left pec as she purred, “And this one?”
“You. Where you broke my heart.”



Nancy Gideon is the award winning author of over 59 romances ranging from historical, regency and series contemporary suspense to dark paranormal, with a couple of horror screenplays tossed into the mix, and is currently testing the “Hybrid Author” waters of self-publishing.  When not at the keyboard, this central Michigan writer feeds a Netflix addiction along with all things fur, fin and fowl. She also has written under the pen names Dana Ransom, Rosalyn West and Lauren Giddings.



Thanks for pulling out a chair for me today, Di! Pass the potatoes.

24 comments:

  1. Sorry I made you reach for the hanky, Di! Maybe I should have dined with Mr. Renner!

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  2. That was a wonderful tribute, Nancy. Our dads were very much alike. Although he did see my kids, my dad died before I became published. He, too, kept things inside. A trait of men of that generation? I'm sure your dad has "seen" your boys and grandson and knows about your success.

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  3. Hadn't planned on starting my day teary-eyed but Nancy, your loving tribute to your dad did it. Memories of my own dad will be with me today. Thanks for the memories and for sharing yours.

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    1. Memories are like bringing out a photo album in your mind.

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  4. Yep, you're right, reaching for the Kleenex now. My dad passed when I was very young, but I did have an uncle who was the best surrogate dad one could ask for. He bought me my first Barbie doll, much to my mom's chagrin, beloved comic books, and tires for my first car. We watched Saturday night Shock Theater together and he drove me and my girlfriends to dances before we could drive. He is gone now, too, and I sure do miss him. Men of that time were of a different breed. Loved reading about your dad, and congrats on 60 books. He would be very proud.

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  5. P.S. Can you sell posters of that cover, lol? I would buy one!

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    1. I'm waiting to put all four of them together for a heart attack for the eyes!!

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  6. What a sweet tribute to your dad.
    Good luck and God's blessings
    PamT

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  7. Add me to the list of those who shed tears. Wow, what a beautiful and perfect tribute to your father. He reminds me of my dad, too. He also fought in WWII but wouldn't say much about it, not on a personal level anyway. I lost my dad in '94 and he did see my kids, but did not see me realize my dream of becoming a writer. He was always SO encouraging. He thought I was brilliant and beautiful. :) I took my pen name from him, his first name was Dean. Your book looks fabulous! Congrats on number 60. (I'm with you on the cannibalism thought too :) Twisted minds!)

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    1. LOL on the like minds! My historical pen name Dana Ransom is from my mom's side. Keeps a part of them with you.

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    2. Yes, it does. :) Wow, we do have a lot in common. LOL

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  8. Your story about your dad was so touching. It's clear y'all had a wonderful relationship. He reminds me of my father. A lot. Thank you for sharing this part of yourself. It was beautiful.

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  9. Awesome tribute, Nancy. I didn't have "that dad", but I had "that Mom". My memories run deep & sweet and formed the person I am today. I deeply regret that my son never got to know her. And I can say...Prince of Honor is an awesome read!

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    1. Thanks, Sandra!! Yep, I had that mom, too! I remember how terrifying it was to have her read "those scenes" in my books then compare them to another writers and confide to me "Yours were better." Mother, shame on you!

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  10. Your dad sounds like a real mensch! Nice post and made me think about my own father who came of age during the Great Depression--a farmer who wanted to go to college more than anything but it was the impossible dream. Thanks for a thoughtful post.

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    1. Same with my dad, Susan. He wanted to go to college, too, and couldn't. No money, WWII, a family. So he made sure his children went to college.

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  11. I'm sure your father is very proud of you and loves the way you remember him. Loved the cannibalism comment. :)

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    1. You guys and your cannibalism. LOL I will never get that out of my head.

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    2. Who's for dinner? C'mon, Di! You've got to admit, it makes you think for a second. Thanks for having me to for yours.

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