Irony...

Wikipedia defines irony as follows:

Irony (from the Ancient Greek εἰρωνεία eirōneía, meaning dissimulation or feigned ignorance)^[1] is a rhetorical device, literary technique, or situation in which there is a sharp incongruity or discordance that goes beyond the simple and evident intention of words or actions. Ironic statements (verbal irony) typically imply a meaning in opposition to their literal meaning. A situation is often said to be ironic (situational irony) if the actions taken have an effect exactly opposite from what was intended. The discordance of verbal irony is created as a means of communication (as in art or rhetoric). Descriptions or depictions of situational ironies, whether in fiction or in non-fiction, serve a communicative function of sharpening or highlighting certain discordant features of reality.

Other types of irony:

Comic irony: Irony that is humorous (whereas much irony is not)

Dramatic irony: When the audience (or reader) knows a fictional character is making a mistake, because the reader has more information than the character.

Tragic irony: A type of dramatic irony. In tragic irony, a character's actions lead to consequences that are both tragic, and contrary to the character's desire and intentions.

Historical irony: A kind of situational irony that takes a long period of years for the irony to become evident.

Socratic irony: When a person asks questions, pretending not to understand, to lure the interlocutor into a logical trap. (Socrates, in Plato's dialogues, was a master of this technique.)

But I think an incident that happened to my daughter this week illustrates it much better.

Youngest daughter is at the left of the picture. She's a  hard-working mom who attacks life at warp speed, often reminding me of a hummingbird by the way she buzzes in several different directions at once.

She's married to her polar opposite. My son-in-law is patient and calm. If he'd come with a description label attached, it would read: slow and steady wins the race. Nothing rattles him.

Son-in-law also works the night shift. So every afternoon before leaving for work, he picks up my granddaughter from the sitters and they share a bit of quality time before he delivers her to my daughter's office. This quality time usually includes stopping by the local convenience store and allowing granddaughter to make a selection from the candy counter along with a choice of her favorite slushy drink. Sounds innocent enough, right? Heh heh heh - wait'll you hear the REST of the story.

Oldest daughter (in the right side of the photo) calls me the other day and asks, "Did you hear about sis and the chocolate?"

I replied, "No. What are you talking about?"

A wicked giggle bubbles out of my phone. "I'm not gonna tell you. Just call her."

Youngest daughter answers my call and when I ask her about the chocolate story, she informs me that my son-in-law has just used up his last free token.

Oh lord. What's he done now? Poor son-in-law. They've been married almost a year and are still "finding" the perfect balance in their relationship.

She reminds me of the daily treat trips to the convenience store and then she regales me with what happened when she returned to the office after meeting a client for lunch.

Daughter drives a smaller car and since she had a passenger, she plopped her purse in the backseat for the trip back to the office. It just so happens she was wearing one of her favorite light-colored skirts - the one she'd splurged on even though it wasn't on sale.

She and her client arrived back from lunch. I should preface this by saying it's now a typical hot and humid summer day in Kentucky with the temperature pegging well above ninety degrees. Anyway, she parks the car, pulls her purse out of the back seat and plops it in her lap to better access the bottomless pit housing cell phone, make-up and other necessities. When she opens the car door and picks up her purse, a large brown puddle is centered in her lap. Her client flinches, points and says, "What IS that?"

Daughter wrinkles her nose as she sniffs. "Oh my gawd...it's chocolate."

She hurries inside, plops her purse in her office chair and stomps to the restroom to try and pry the quickly hardening confection off her skirt before the chill of the air-conditioning permanently sets it. After scraping as much of the muck as she can off her high dollar skirt, she returns to her desk, picks up her purse and discovers her chair is now puddled with the sticky sweet mess.

She roars, "Arghhhh!" then lifts up her purse to discover a part of the wrapper to the chocolate bar stuck to the bottom of her purse along with at least a remaining pound of chocolate.

She texts my still sleeping son-in-law, "If you EVER buy the baby (Yes. She's seven but all of us still call her "the baby") a chocolate bar in ninety-degree weather again, I am going to DIVORCE you!"

It appears that granddaughter had only nibbled one corner off the super-sized treat before nodding off and letting the rest of the bar come to rest in the back seat of the car. The CLOTH covered back seat of the car.

The irony? My daughter has always HATED chocolate. Yes. I know. I've never understood it either but the child can't even stand the smell of it. Now, every time she gets into her car - the lovely fragrance of mocha wafts all around her.

At least my son-in-law did have enough sense NOT to laugh. If he'd laughed, we'd probably still be looking for his body. And I know my daughter. We NEVER would've found it.

Superstitious or just plain crazy?

My family thinks I’m nuts. They’re loving and supportive but 99% of the time they shake their heads in amused pity whenever I share my revelations.

For instance, if you’ve ever met me or seen my image somewhere on the web, you’ll notice my hair is long. It falls down my back about even with my shoulder blades. At one time, it was much longer but I had to chop it off for safety reasons. I kept catching my braid in the car door whenever I slammed it shut. Don’t think THAT won’t jerk you right off your feet. Whew! Anyway, I relented a bit and now keep it trimmed to the safe “can’t get caught in the car door” length.

One day, while brushing my hair, my granddaughter asked me why I didn’t cut it. At the tender age of six years old, she’d already formed the opinion that OLD people were supposed to have short hair trimmed well above their ears. I told her I couldn’t cut my hair. If I did, I’d never be able to write another story because my hair held the magic of words.

My daughter snorted and shook her head. “Mom. You are crazy.”

I shook my finger at her and reminded her of Samson and Delilah. Crazy? Maybe. But I won’t cut my hair short –just in case.

And then there’s this thing I have about dreams. My family tends to fuss at me about my health –or they used to until I informed them that I’ve got a pretty good idea of when I’m going to die, stop fussing over me, I’ve got it covered. THAT stalled their nattering about my should and shouldn’t “do list”. My oldest daughter took the bait and asked how I knew when I was going to die and would I mind sharing the date with them?

I informed them that I have a recurring dream that is more real than any other dream I’ve ever had. In the dream, I’m about eighty-seven years old. (And I might add that I look GOOD) The way I know my age in the dream is because it always starts with a picturesque wall calendar opened to the month of January in the year 2048.

Deep snow covers the ground and I’m upset because I can’t find my little dog. I bundle up, grab a walking stick and forge off into the woods, determined to find my four-legged friend. I’ve walked those woods many times, both in reality and in my dreams, but this time seems much more difficult because of the brutal cold. I finally find my yapping little dog at the base of a sprawling oak. The massive tree grows alongside a washed out gully, its roots exposed and hanging over the creek bed like long arthritic-knotted fingers. The dog won’t come to my call. Not unusual. Every dog I’ve ever loved has always tested my patience. Anyway, there’s something up under those tree roots that’s much more interesting than me. So, I start down the slippery embankment to retrieve the hard-headed little scamp. Yep. You guessed it. The snow and ice layered atop the clay embankment ignore the pointy end of my walking stick and sling me to the base of the gully. I can’t get up. I vaguely remember a painful throbbing in my right hip. It’s funny. Anytime I have the dream, my right hip is always sore the next day. Anyway, I manage to roll myself up against the washed out wall of the embankment because huge fluffy snowflakes have started falling again. First, I’m cold and shivering but then I suddenly feel a delicious drowsy warmth and exhale one last soul-releasing breath with my little dog clutched to my chest. Then I wake up.

Yep. She informed me I was crazy –again.

I told her that if I’m wrong and I die sooner or later than age 87, she can do the “I told you so” dance.

Combine all of the above with the fact that when I write I always wear amethysts and my silver Celtic bracelet. I firmly believe the amethysts help me focus and my bracelet brings me luck. In fact, I usually wear my Celtic bracelet every day. When I don’t, I seem to always end up having a bad day.

So, what do you think? Am I superstitious or just plain crazy? Do you have any quirks…*ahem*…superstitions you’d like to share?

And to think I didn't want to go?

I admit it. The idea of flying to Los Angeles, CA and attending the RT Convention TERRIFIED me.

I don't fly well. Motion sickness and claustrophia make getting me inside an airplane a lot like shoving a cat in a water barrel. I'm also not very good with crowds. Writer = shy + introvert + quiet (squared & multiplied by a thousand). But everyone told me I NEEDED to go. And in my heart - I knew they were right. So with dramimine and barf bags in my carry-on - off I went to RT with Hubby standing right behind me to make sure I didn't bolt.

*Happy Sigh* And now I'm so glad I went. I'll remember those few days for as long as I live. I thought I'd share a few pictures here on the old blog. Some have already been posted on my Facebook page but I thought I'd repeat them here. Yes. I know. But please indulge me. After all, I don't get out very much. ;-) Above you'll see the contestants for Mr. RT 2011 (and me). They were all extremely nice

And here's a picture Stefan Pinto signed for me during the Kensington Mixer on Friday morning. I loved his sense of humor. He was handing out pins that read "Stefan Pinto is my boyfriend" and before my husband realized what Stefan had done - there was a "boyfriend" pin attached to his shirt. Before Stefan put the pin on my husband's collar, he'd whispered to me, "Watch this. It will be very funny." I couldn't help giggling when Hubby asked what the pin said.












I'm proudly displaying my "Kensington Author" ribbon. It all seemed like a wonderful dream. But I've got the ribbon as proof it was real.

I have absolutely no idea what I said after Alicia Condon announced my Writing With the Stars win. I was still tingling from hearing her say that ETERNITY'S MARK would be a Kensington Brava April 2012 release. *Gasp*  When I returned to my seat, I asked Hubby if I said anything stupid. He assured me that I didn't. I also asked him if I'd thanked everyone. He said, "Yep. Everyone except me."  I felt SO bad but by the way he grinned from ear to ear, I knew he realized how much I appreciated and STILL appreciate all his support.

My AWESOME mentor, Rebecca Zanetti. She helped me more than words could ever describe.

Kensington editor Megan Records. SUCH a wonderful person and I wish I had a tenth of her energy.

The rest of the pictures pretty much explain themselves. And I couldn't resist including one of the smartest RTr's of the bunch...especially since I was missing my writing partner, Jasper.

If you EVER get the opportunity to attend an RT Booklover's Convention, don't pass it up. It's like a huge family reunion for true lovers of wonderful tales.

How a heart-breaking revelation gave birth to a touching romance...

I'm delighted to host the talented Mona Risk today. She's written an intriguing post and I won't waste any more of your time with unnecessary intro. I know everyone knows Mona!

Adopting Foreign Babies

If you sort through magazines, you are sure to glimpse a picture of Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt and their brood of children, three natural and three adopted from Cambodia, Ethiopia and Vietnam. I know a couple of young doctors who adopted a boy and then a girl from Russia ten years ago. Their children are healthy and fully adapted to the American way.

But I also heard horror stories about children adopted from Russia by delighted couples who later found out their new children were terribly sick, or suffering from AIDS or diabetes.

During one of my business trip to Belarus, I visited my driver’s wife, Oxana, at the hospital after she gave birth to their baby girl, Anastasia. Upon learning that local hospitals couldn’t afford to provide substantial meals to the patients and distributed only soup, bread and sausage for lunch and dinner, I went with the new dad to buy healthy food and vitamins for the new mother. She chose me to be her baby’s godmother.

One day, I was stunned to see her breastfeeding a different baby, and then another. During the week Oxana spent at the hospital after her delivery, the nurses brought her seven different babies to breastfeed. Yes, you read it right. Seven. She explained that these were babies abandoned by their single mothers. My heart broke at the sight of these babies who would soon be sent to overcrowded orphanages and I used that information in my novel.

In my new romance, Rx IN RUSSIAN, my heroine, the American Dr. Jillian, is faced with a terrible dilemma after she helps deliver a baby girl and the mother absconds leaving the baby behind.

Rx IN RUSSIAN is available at TWRP and Amazon in print and ebook.

An American Pediatrician

A Russian Surgeon


A woman who lost a son and her illusions about marriage and family.


A man with four adorable sons who badly need a mother


Can attraction and love overcome guilt, duty, and a clash of cultures?




 “Mona Risk writes heroes with heart, heroines with spunk in stories and settings that are simply unforgettable!" -- Roxanne St. Claire, Killer Curves, National Bestseller.

Excerpt:

“Single mothers abandon their babies every day in Belarus.” The nurse raised her hand in a fatalistic gesture. “Last month, seven women delivered and ran away the next day leaving their newborns behind. A sad situation. Very frequent here. You will get used to it, Dr. Burton,” Olga said with a sigh.

“No, I won’t.” With a tremendous effort, Jillian controlled the quivering of her lips. A mother abandoning her child? Jillian strove to grapple with the situation, but a wave of bitterness welled in her heart. She would give anything to have her son back. In Haiti she’d forced herself to toughen up and remain neutral every time the Red Cross sent an abandoned baby to a shelter.

“What are you going to do?” Jillian asked Fyodor, who’d remained unusually quiet, his arms crossed, a piece of paper crumpled in his fist.

“Incredible.” His gaze flitted from the newborn to Jillian. He was upset, all right, but she couldn’t read his thoughts.

“Yes, it’s sad. Abandoning her infant to fate.”

“There is more.” Fyodor flapped the paper and cursed with barely restrained anger.

“What? I hope she didn’t leave a suicide note?” Bile rose in Jillian’s throat.

“No. She says she is giving you her daughter.” He scowled at the piece of paper scribbled with the plea he’d just translated.

“Excuse me?” Jillian squinted, sure she’d heard him wrong.

“That is what she has written here.” Fyodor waved the paper. “Dr. Burton. Natasha yours. Take to America.” Although he read slowly, pronouncing every syllable, the words refused to sink into Jillian’s befuddled mind.

Do you know couples who have adopted foreign babies? How are the parents and adopted children fairing?


If you like to travel and love to read, come and enjoy my international romances. I will take you around the world through stories that simmer with emotion and sizzle with passion.



BABIES IN THE BARGAIN winner of 2009 Best Romance Novel at Preditors & Editors and winner of 2009 Best Contemporary Romance at Readers Favorite.

Rx FOR TRUST, winner of 2010 Best Contemporary Romance at Readers Favorite and 2011 EPICON.

Rx IN RUSSIAN just released by TWRP

Learn more about Mona here:

http://www.monarisk.com/

Warm Weather Wars

The exploding blossoms of the crabapple trees lace the warm spring breeze with a soft floral sweetness. Butterflies can't resist the delicious temptation waiting at the center of the flowers.

But don't let this soothing, birdsong-filled scenery fool you.  Don't let the tinkling sound of the wind-chimes lull you into a relaxed complacency. With Spring, with the first greening of the leaves, the warm weather wars begin.

Jasper knows it's time to track those irritating varmints.  He's watched them from his perch on the back of the couch through the winter-frosted window.  They're the ones who've hidden in the shed all winter long, teasing him when they skittered into unreachable corners behind the barrels and tools. The wood flooring reaks of their furry little bodies. He snuffled their tracks until he shook with the cold, grumbling with frustration when finally forced to abandon the chase and return to the warmth of the house.  He knew the enemy lurked in the shadows, snickering as he stomped out the door.

They've moved to the woodpile, tempted by the birdseed and corn scattered for all to enjoy.  He's forced one to dart into a rotted log of the wood.

The evil beast took refuge atop the woodpile and chittered victory from his safe perch among the logs. But Jasper is a seasoned warrior and didn't give up without scoring a final hit in this battle.  While keeping his gaze fixed on the squirrel, he sauntered over to the low-slung watering trough, hiked his leg and "spiked" the enemies drinking water. Let the warm weather games begin!

It’s true. He is my “better” half…

Have you ever had one of those weeks where everything you touched turned to crap? You know the type. Each day something new falls apart or some other trial rears its ugly head.

I just had one of those weeks. To quote the words of “my better half” –my week sucked out loud.

But then everything changed. Isn’t it amazing the difference a thoughtful action can make?

When I arrived home from work, Hubby told me, “Change clothes, we’re going out.”

I glanced down at my comfortable jeans and tee shirt, sucked in a weary breath and asked, “Why?”

“Because you need this and I said so,” he replied.

Hubby’s known for his to-the-point blunticity. It’s one of his more “endearing” qualities. I don’t bother arguing with him, I’m stubborn but I’m no match for his tenacity. However, I can’t give in without a bit of a fight –so I give him the trademark eye roll and exasperated sigh, then stomp off to change outfits.

He laughs. He knows round one is his.

Clothes changed, hair and make-up touched up. I slide into the car and ask, “Where are we going?”

He sounds like our six-year-old granddaughter when he grins and replies, “I’m not tellin’”

I give another eye roll accompanied with an irritated snort.

He chuckles and chalks up his win for round two.

We park at the end of a vaguely familiar street. I fix him with a narrow-eyed glare. “Are we going where I think we’re going? That spot’s just for anniversaries.”

His face lights up with a blinding smile. “You need this. Now, hurry up. We’re late for our reservations.”

We walk through the door of the empty restaurant. The maitre d’ smiles and nods at my husband as we enter. “Everything is just as you requested, sir.”

The smiling gentleman guides us through the candle lit dining room to a cozy elevated table in the corner. A dozen long-stemmed, blood red roses in a lovely crystal vase grace the center of the table.

I tear up. Hubby smiles and pats my hand as he slides into the booth beside me.

I don’t even mind that he just won the entire match.

Congratulations to the lucky winners!!!

Congratulations to Cathy M. She won the signed ARC of FATED from Rebecca Zanetti's blog.  Rebecca has already contacted her for more information regarding her prize.

and

Congratulations to Ruth for winning the digital copy of BEYOND A HIGHLAND WHISPER from Happily Ever After Thoughts blog.  If Ruth will go to my website at http://www.maevegreyson.com/ and use the contact button to let me know her email address, I'll get her copy to her right away!

Thank you both for taking the time to visit the posts and commenting on the blogs! Rebecca and I both hope you enjoy your new reads. :-)