Consultant and Author, D. K. Christi

http://www.mobipocket.com/en/eBooks/eBookDetails.asp?BookID=221583

A mysterious orchid is central to a story of love, lies, and redemption.

Once more before I die…the haunting mantra of a lonely woman. A woman grieving more than one loss. On her regular walks amongst the splendor of the Audubon Society sanctuary, situated at the edge of the Florida Everglades, the sights and sounds of nature filled the void in Mel’s soul.

She found peace here. No tears for what might have been. Only joy for having experienced the ecstasy of a great love. Her secrets stayed buried.

In another part of the world an exquisitely beautiful young woman also found peace by immersing herself in nature, capturing its beauty on film for National Geographic.

Educated in Europe’s finest boarding schools, Neev became a model at fourteen, but after four years of posing and false smiles she knew she wanted more out of life. She quit modeling to study Philosophy at Oxford University.

Neev’s love of photography brought her to the other side of the camera lens, and to exotic locations around the globe. Working on assignment with famous photographer Roger Andrew, she often trekked deep into the jungle in search of rare flowers.

Having a young, beautiful woman as a partner seemed like a good omen, and Roger thought their travels together could lead to a unique discovery. In spite of the age difference, their shared passion soon blossomed into a loving relationship. He wondered why someone so young would crave this nomadic, isolated lifestyle. Although Neev did share bits of information about her family, she always kept parts of her past a secret.

When a Ghost Orchid began to bloom at the Audubon Society sanctuary, Roger knew this was the opportunity he’d been waiting for. Neev was reluctant to visit Florida, for personal reasons, but he convinced her to accompany him on the trip.

After a series of odd coincidences, they soon discovered this sensuous flower wasn’t just rare and beautiful, it also had a strange, mystical power…

_________________

"All I know is in this moment."

www.dkchristi.comwww.authorsden.com/dkchristi

Ghost Orchid Love,lies & redemption;a mystery unfolds.

Arirang: The Bamboo Connection High adventure laced with love.

The World Outside The Window Anthology "Rose's Question"

Romance of My Dreams Anthology "The Ice Storm" & "The View From the Balcony"

Amazon Shorts - "Author to Watch" - eight short stories

September 12, 2009, 1:25 pm

What's in a Cover? I thought when Arirang: The Bamboo Connection was published it had the most beautiful cover I could imagine for the story. The romance of Greek mythology figures throughout the novel, and the Parthenon on the bright red cover, two gold bamboo rings representing the unrequited love , and the deep red of the Orient combine to intrigue the reader to delve into a story of international travel set in exotic, foreign locations. The gold rings are the beginning and the end. It's all right there, on the cover. At least, it's there once you read the novel, all 500 pages of action, agony and ecstasy.

Amazon Shorts did a great job of quick covers for the short stories they posted at Amazon.com. Each cover, though extremely simplistic, gave a glimse of the short story found inside the digital reads. With a couple exceptions (they became busier than the number of staff involved), each cover was unique.

 L & L Dreamspell covers on the Romance of My Dreams anthologies call the reader inside. RJB's windowpane on The World Outside the Window gives clues to the content of the nineteen stories from every genre inside. All of these covers are good. My short stories fit well between the covers.

This morning, however, the cover for my latest novel, Ghost Orchid, brought me to tears. Ghost Orchid is an immensely personal story to me because of my own obsession with the ghost orchid blooming at Corkscrew Swamp Audubon Sanctuary in the Everglades. For three relentless years, I tracked the blooming of the singular, rare and exotic ghost orchid from its first blooms near and on my birthday in July through its third blooming and demise in September. Each year the blooms were more beautiful and plentiful than previous years, 2009 has been the best yet.

In 2008, the Naples Daily News reporter actually walked with me on the boardwalk to experience my fascination and put my photo and story in the front page of their Neopolitan section among other people equally obsessed. Yes, Susan Orlean wrote about the obsession with ghost orchids in general; but she never saw one. The ghost orchid of Corkscrew Swamp took possession of my soul and wrote its story.

Ghost Orchid, the most recent novel by D. K. Christi is on the verge of release. The beautiful Irish girl Neev and the rare and exotic ghost orchid that weaves its magic through the mystery of Neev's quest grace the cover. A celtic cross blends in the night sky as the tendrils of the ghost orchid embrace one of the stars. The ethereal beauty that flows through the novel is felt in the grace of the cover's painting. This mystery of love, lies and redemption unfolds, one puzzle piece at a time, touched by the spiritual quality of the Everglades and the cycle of life represented there. Of all my covers, this one is my favorite and touched my heart.

August 22, 2009, 5:30 am

I found a new toy! I'm caught between writing and playing. Jingproject.com is a free piece of a larger piece of software that allows me to capture anything from my screen into a video. Just like that! Pull down their little sun, park it on my screen, and presto! I have a five minute only video. I can use free stock photography, free stock music, and my own collection of photography, music and video clips. I can add my own video cam shots with a mini-cam and my own or anyone's voice with a mike.

Five minutes is plenty. I am losing sleep, working toward the perfect five minutes. For a very small amount of money, less than a meal in a family restaurant, an upgrade assists with uploading the little magic clips to anywhere on the internet. Of course, it's addictive; and for the true mini clip addict, I believe they have the deluxe version.

I first stumbled on this little gem as a teaching tool, a way to capture pieces of lessons that are repeated ad nauseum and make them available to students at home, at their leisure and any place they access the internet. All the previous software I have attempted was just too involved for me to spend the learning curve time. This one is instant. For authors who might want to make their own book trailers, five minutes and it's done. Well, not five minutes for me. I discovered the software yesterday, and I'm still clicking that sun and seeking perfection. The teacher in me has to share when I find something so inexpensive, useful and fun!

August 29, 2009, 7:06 pm

A great book for the beachThe Gulf was emerald green as far as the eye could see, only turning a cerulean blue in the deeper water approaching the horizon. Sand bars of powder white sand sparkled in the sun. Highway 30A took me through one imaginative beach town to another until I reached Seaside, the setting for filming The Truman Show, a sort of sci fi with Jim Carrey. I found the show equally imaginative in its fascinating setting.

I enjoyed Water Color and Alys, too, with architecture entirely different from Seaside but recently constructed as little villages to attract those seeking homes by the sea with the ambiance of a small town, even if created. In between were nestled little old beach towns, ancient trees hanging with moss, wooden siding weathered from the sea.

However, I walked around Seaside to enjoy its homes with picket fences, white porches and brightly colored wood siding. I also found the town center, a bit less elaborate than in the film; but one store stood out, Sundog Books.

Sundog books is an independent book store with loads of character located in the central square of the town of Seaside, Florida, my little town of the day for walking. It is a bustling store with a great variety of books and gifts, including music upstairs that includes vinyls. The manager said there are current groups who are recording on vinyl and record collections are quite the "in" thing.

She also bought the recently released Romance of My Dreams from me. I had just received my author's package from my publisher that was still in my trunk. She'll order more as she needs them for her "local author's table." She encouraged me to contact her when Ghost Orchid is released soon to set up a book signing. She was absolutely gracious, and the store was candy for the book lover, an accidental find.

So, if you happen to wander along the Emerald Coast on Highway 30A just east of Destin and west of Panama City, please stop in and support this exceptional, independent book store. The independents support us.

August 11, 2009, 2:36 pm

August 11, 1971, my son gave his first cry for life in this world. His skin was alabaster, his surprisingly thick hair, ash blond. Later, his little eyes started to exhibit a brilliant blue. This child, this gift from my Creator, was the full joy of my existence. His little mouth at my breast to nourish his body was an experience akin to no other. The bond between us was one of perfection. His every cry, every smile, every little spurt in growth, was religiously recorded in the baby book. He was poddy trained on schedule, walked and was weaned from the breast at 13 months, and was vigorously healthy. He laughed more than he cried and took a long nap.

We were lucky. Great grampa, in his healthy late 80's, was a willing sitter during those long naps. I started taking a college class nearby, schooling interrupted by motherhood; and great grampa pulled a chair next to the crib where he would still be sitting upon my return, except once. Great grampa came from a generation where mothers cared for children and dads worked. He had never fed, diapered or bathed a new baby. He could, however, sit by the crib. One day I walked in the door and saw my son standing in the crib and great grampa standing also. My son had on a diaper and was standing in a mess of bedding that would have won America's Funniest Video if it wasn't for great grampa's serious and concerned explanation.

"He woke up and his didy was dirty. I couldn't leave it that way. I stripped him naked and held him in one arm while I scooped up the covers and diaper that you'll find in the garage. I ran the spray hose in the kitchen sink on his bottom until it was clean with him just a screaming away because I know the water was too cold as I was so afraid of getting it too hot. I put him back on the plastic mattress crying while I found some bed sheets in your closet and a diaper. I couldn't find any more pins so I got the masking tape from the garage. Once I got that diaper in one place, I sort of piled the sheet, but he refuses to lay down so I'm just standing here talking to him, and he quit crying."

The diaper had dropped into sort of a skirt with the masking tape holding around the waste. My son was thoroughly enjoying his chat with great grampa, jumping up and down in the sheet mess under his feet. I hugged them both and released great grampa to head home for his evening paper, probably grateful to get away. He had thoroughly cleaned my son, but the diaper was a useless disaster; and I changed the sheets to the ones for the crib. I couldn't help but smile the whole time, and my cheerful natured son was having his own giggles. I wondered if he knew that something was out of kilter about that whole diapering and bedding operation.

Birthdays are celebrations of life. I've actually spent very few of my son's birthdays celebrating with him, but I could tell about each one in detail from the pizza parties to the Japanese steak house with a pineapple holding a candle instead of a cake. Birthdays included hotels in foreign lands and ships and sailing yachts and homes abroad with friends from every country and culture. We all celebrated birthdays; we all celebrated life. I have an independent son who now travels on his own so often I seldom see him. I do have wonderful memories, especially today. Perhaps he'll call. I don't have a number to reach him.

Happy Birthday D. K. Christi - Ghost Orchid Gift

5:02 PM PDT, July 8, 2009

Consultant & Author D. K. Christi

The Ghost Orchid of Corkscrew Audubon Sactuary bloomed again this week, just as it has faithfully bloomed for my July birthday for the last two years.I could request no more beautiful gift than this rare orchid, the only one found in this sanctuary, discovered in July 2007.

That was the year I first began my novel, Ghost Orchid, soon to be released by L & L Dreamspell. The mystery of this delicate white orchid that dances high above the Everglades' canopy found its way to my heart and tore out a mystery of its own, a tale of love, lies and redemption that could only be told with the blooming of this rare flower.

Each year those of us obsessed by its rare calling wonder if it will show itself again, and this is the third summer opening of the season's first bloom. If the pattern holds, it will produce eight to ten blooms that will dwindle and die after a great dance in the swamp breeze and then spring forth again with new blooms in August and again in September. The July blooms are the most magnificent; yet the last smaller blooms of September carry their own dignity.

If you haven't looked at a Ghost Orchid, you may have missed a chance to have its mystery touch your heart. Some say that Ghost Orchids are associated with graves; I say it's because they represent the flight of the soul to eternity. See what you think.

Regency Resort Health Spa, Home Away from Home June 28, 2009 3:00 PM

Consultant and Author, D. K. Christi

Suddenly, I knew the weekend required a special place. I had writing to complete for a short story submission and a novel, The Virgin Odyssey that seems to be coming together in bits and pieces. I threw some casual and work out clothes into a pretty big suitcase, gave mybird food and water for two days, and drove East to where the sun rises in the Atlantic instead of setting in the Gulf.

I could feel the calm settling in as I saw the Hallendale exit and knew that my trip through thunderstorms and an endless Everglades was nearing its end point. The Hallendale water tower was a welcome site as memories flooded my senses. I had not been to the Regency in years; I was grateful that it was still there, an unassuming old, Florida hotel/motel squeezed between highrises on the Atlantic side of Ocean Drive.Its red tile roof still says "old Florida." as well asits two story motel row leading to a three-story hotel on the beach. How they have held out against the rise of high rises is beyond me; but my gratitude is immense. A left turn under the second floor work out room into the driveway is like stepping through a mirror.

Once I parked the car, the rest of the world disappeared along with its cares and distractions, its obligations and its memories. This was a place of pure, unadulterated indulgence in health and well-being. It still is. I hauled in my suitcase to register. I was early. The room was ready. My folder for my brief, weekend stay was also ready. I noted that the doctor and the chef were still the same; the doctor a reknowned person in the field of chiropractic and nutritional health through a vegan diet; the cook a master of taste sensations oozing with healthful vitamins and minerals and no animal products: none.

Check in is such a casual affair. It's just a cut above moving in with Aunt Sally for the weekend. They are just too pleasant and accommodating to be a real hotel. A white board in the lobby announced the day's activities and dining times. A menu also displays the weeks dining masterpieces. To me they are masterpieces because they are so delicious yet so good for health. Nothing on their menu is found in the television adds except for the Saturday morning cartoon characters (vegetables) on public television. The room key is real, the old fashioned kind of key that hangs on hooks and may be left at the desk if a swim is in order.

Swimming. The view out the dining window takes the guest across a tiled courtyard, past a small pool and a deck to the Atlantic in all its calm wonder and storming fury. Dining has three choices, the sun porch, the darker dining room and private tables for silent dining in the lobby area. Most diners sit at the communal tables where people of all ages, generations and ethnic backgrounds meet with one common goal: improve their approach to a healthy life.

Personal backgrounds may be left behind or discussed; but the conversations are in the present for the most part, "Did you take the 7:00 a.m. walk? What did you think of the aerobics instructor? Wasn't that water class fun! Are you going to the health lecture?" Wherever people began, they drift into an easy camaraderie at the table where breakfast is a fruit buffet, lunch is a salad buffet and dinner may be as many as four courses, delivered by wait staff who will turn the kitchen upside down to meet a special need. The daily schedule can be grueling if followed to the letter. However, each person picks and chooses their own pace and fills in with massage or special sessions with doctors and spa services. An excellent weight room provides the opportunity for personalized training. And Friday nights, the good doctor and his friends still play rock and roll and blues to the delight of guests who want to dance a little. During my stay, a young woman guest joined in with a deep, throaty Liza Minelli sound that perfected the evening.

The morning Atlantic was the best, floating in the sea with wispy clouds above and cumulus threatening in the distance. I knew I had arrived even though I live near the Gulf and have even warmer water. What made the difference? The staff at the Regency, without exception, including every service from food to exercise, know how to provide gentle and unobtrusive comfort to each guest. The atmosphere is casual and totally non-threatening. No one is a stranger; no one steps over bounds. Each person with the help of staff seems to find their friends, their dining companions, their daily plan, their rest and their choices for better health naturally.

I have been to other health spas. The buildings were pristine, the help in crisp uniforms, the exercise students were in their workout clothes with their headbands and wrist bands perfectly matched, and we dressed almost formal for dinner with assigned dining partners. The guest rooms were up to date, perfect decor, new fixtures in the marble baths. The whole experience was very expensive, very stiff, and it wasn't for me. I lived on a sailboat three years, traveling from Ft. Lauderdale to Venezuela and back along the islands. I lived in undeveloped countries and sophisticated European nations where accommodations variedand might be considered, "quaint" for their differences from expectations and part of the elan of foreign travel. I would put the Regency in that category. It has its "quaint" elements: furniture that's a little dated, evidence of renovations that cover aging sins but not all of them. Some of the rooms are small with their own air conditioning unit. Some look out on an alley instead of the Atlantic. I was fortunate to enjoy an Atlantic view room. It was a little piece of Heaven itself. No, it's not the Ritz; but it has a price that's affordable and value that's immeasureable.

Summer guests tend to be a different group than those I've encountered in the winter months. Summer guests are often working people with a summer vacation when they can take advantage of the reduced summer rates. Winter guests are often escaping the northern cold and with the higher prices bring a more formal atmosphere, more often bringing their friends with them and staying in their little familiar groups. Winter is still special; the Regency staff is still the same; I just prefer the more casual air of summer and the warm Atlantic. Aunt Sally's house was like the Regency. Itwas an older homebut tidy and special because no one could make you feel as welcome as Aunt Sally. That's how I feel about the Regency House Resort and Spa. For me, returning after many years was like going home. A few pieces of furniture changed, but enough remained the same, includingseveralwonder members of the staff,for a perfect weekend to regenerate my promises to myself for healthier living. I made a few new friends, too.

About the writing; well, there's tonight.

Communication 101

by D. K. Christi at 8:03 AM PDT, April 25, 2009

A Walk on the Beach The World Outside the Window Arirang: The Bamboo Connection Consultant and Author, D. K. Christi

I have joined so many forums and social marketing venues that I need a spreadsheet for my ID's and passwords. I also need one to keep track of the many places on the Internet where I should be posting. At the same time, I need to learn about the quirks and idiosyncracies of each site. In fact, if I was thorough in this new way of communication, I would have no time for the true core of my existence: writing novels and short stories.

Internet communication has become worldwide, cross-generational and universal in its appeal. Forums, the posting communication areas long before Twitter, are a study in themselves. How people can become so heated with each other over simple disagreements and end friendships that have never known a tear or a handshake in person escapes me. I have seen entire forums fall apart because of a conflict among members who never spent a minute over a cup of coffee yet feel they are well enough acquainted to make accusations and insinuations about every modicum of personality and character in their adversary. They even stoop to expletives and representations of words unspoken for their graphic, heinous meanings.

I propose that we step back for a minute and remember that we are flesh and blood with heart and soul, human beings with needs and desires to be understood, to be accepted, and to be loved. The world is already a cultural hot bed of disagreements and international strife, hatred, medical woes and poverty. If our comments on forums are so harsh that we create distress with people we have never met or broken bread with, why do we post there? Is it our desire to let out the beast?

Let's remember the power of words, especially words that lack the forgiveness of eye contact, body language and a common personal experience. Hold back on stereotypes, words that are known for their flash points, generalizations and accusations. Instead, choose words that create an opening for harmony, a stage for understanding, a search for meaning in an uncertain world. Let's apply the golden rule to Internet communications and use our words as carefully as we would like to see communications sent in our own direction. Don't post the spiteful pictures on the My Space sites and describe in hateful detail the horrid inflictor of grief in a relationship breakup. Instead, move on. Post the future hopes and dreams, the pictures of the open doors and the new horizons.

The moment words are seen or heard, they create an emotional response. My motto is, "All I know is in this moment," and I'd rather it be a moment of curiosity and understanding, woudn't you?

Coming soon: Ghost Orchid and Romance of My Dreams anthologies I and II

"It's coming; Atlanta is just ahead.  I'm so glad it's late and the freeway traffic will be clearing some.  Here it comes.  Oh my!  It's like a Disney ride with lights, maneuvering the lanes at high speed and hoping to make it out the correct freeway!  I wish I could look, but I don't dare take my eyes off the road."

6:44 AM PST, February 27, 2009 Arirang: The Bamboo Connection The World Outside the Window Affairs of the Heart - The Rulebook Consultant and Author D. K. Christi

Ah, the relationship between free television, reading and writing has become very clear to me. I bought two conversion boxes and two antennas for my two ancient but excellent televisions. One is a 32 inch flat screen at least. The magic night arrived. The antenna and the box was correctly connected to each television. "No signal" is what I have for one perfect connection. NBC is the only station I am receiving on the other, and it digitally breaks down at the most dramatic point of any program.

Previously, both televisions brought in five stations each. With a little wiggle on the rabbit ears, some were clear as cable. I had FOX, CBS, NBC, ABC and PBS. Sometimes, when the weather was right and the moon and stars were in order, two or three additional channels would come into focus. I do not watch television very much. My mother is visiting this winter. She is 90. She doesn't watch television in the daytime. However, she considers it her night time entertainment to pick one good television program each night. Sunday night is Desperate Housewives. Monday night is The Bachelor (I know, at 90 she still has an eye........). Tuesday is open. Wednesday is Lost. Friday is 20/20. I favor news in the morning; news at 11:00 p.m.; an occasional PBS special and Lost on Wednesday night. If you don't have the drift by now, I'll let you know with irritation that ABC gets most of the attention from my mother and me. We no longer receive ABC.

Since I am rather sophisticated in electronic gadgets, I feel as if a thief came into my house and stole my televisions. What happened to the "conversion" for which I paid and tore apart my wall unit to install? Is this just happening to me? Is it happening across the country? It was bad enough that all my emergency, hurricane televisions on my Jeep all encompassing television, radio, flashlight, mosquitoe repellant, siren and emergency flasher no longer work. I took some comfort in the closed up laundry room during hurricanes and tornadoes by watching the 5" x 7" image of the weather reporter following the weather's destructive path. My mother reminded me of my nephew's statement during a power outage as he turned up the gas flame to boil water for coffee, " Without the microwave, this is like camping." Except where I camp, my Jeep emergency gizmo did work in the days of free tv.

So, Mother is now reading Arirang: The Bamboo Connection, my debut novel about adventure and travel, laced with a light romance and The World Outside the Window anthology that includes my short story, Rose's Question. She read the final manuscript of Ghost Orchid, my next novel of mystery in the Everglades scheduled for fall release and my short story, Ice Storm that will be released soon in the anthology Romance of My Dreams. I've downloaded all eight short stories at Amazon Shorts from Affairs of The Heart: The Rulebook to A Walk on the Beach.

With no escape to news (not much of an escape anyway) or the the Lost island, I have no choice but to push forward with more short stories and novels; after all, Mother needs some entertainment. I even started reading some books and stories by colleagues that I had put away for a "rainy day." It's not raining; I've simply returned to the 1940's and no television. The thought of ordering cable is beyond my comprehension. I barely watched the programs I had for free; why should I pay for more that I don't have the time to watch? Yet, this "DTV Conversion" for free tv has denied me the news and the very programs that provided a safety net and an occasional escape.

At least with free tv, the weather faithfully played on the screen when all the cable connections were down in threatening weather. If you see me at Target this weekend, I'll be there with my antenna and my converter box listening to them insist that they work and that I must have installed them wrong. I'll work very hard at remaining quietly professional as I explain that I am not an idiot; and I know how to install. The problem is that the whole conversion propaganda was an expensive joke: there is no conversion for my previous experience with free tv. I'm faced with no tv or cable. I wish that had been made clear in the first place. Now I know why televisions are lined up along the street on garbage day. Their owners made the same discovery. Free tv is now a myth, an urban legend, a piece of history. However, until I break my resolve and become a cable subscriber, I am reading and writing when I might be watching. At least there's still free radio - or is that next?