Sunday, July 26, 2015

Book Tour: Dancing to an Irish Reel by Claire Fullerton

Twenty five year old Hailey Crossan takes a trip to Ireland during a sabbatical from her job in the LA record business. While there, she’s offered a job too good to turn down, so she stays.

Although Hailey works in Galway, she lives in the countryside of Connemara, a rural area famous for its Irish traditional music.  When Hailey meets local musician, Liam Hennessey, a confusing relationship begins, which Hailey thinks is the result of differing cultures, for Liam is married to the music, and so unbalanced at the prospect of love, he won't come closer nor completely go away.

And so begins the dance of attraction that Hailey struggles to decipher. Thankfully, a handful of vibrant local friends come to her aid, and Hailey learns to love a land and its people, both with more charm than she ever imagined.

Claire Fullerton is an award winning essayist, a magazine contributor, a former newspaper columnist, and a four time contributor to the “Chicken Soup for the Soul” book series. She hails from Memphis, Tn. and now lives in Malibu California. “Dancing to an Irish Reel” is her second novel.

Make sure to check out her pages.


I read somewhere that the entire story waiting to happen is contained within the first moment of contact. Perhaps this best explains the uncanny feeling that shot straight through me the first time I laid eyes on Liam Hennessey. He sat holding an accordion upon his knee, lovingly fingering its round, black buttons. With subtle gestures: the nod of his head, the tap of his foot, a swift indiscernible glance, he set the pace for the other musicians on stage as if by telepathy. For some inexplicable reason, I felt familiar with his dark, good looks: black Irish, as the locals say, and the feeling absolutely haunted me. I stood trying to recall when I had ever been so intrigued with the look of a stranger. He had an almost feminine beauty: tall and graceful with straight, jet-black hair and dark eyes beneath thick brows like etchings on porcelain. His face was pensive and defined, with a transported gaze as if he were peering beyond the room and into another world. I couldn’t shake the feeling I’d either seen him somewhere before, or perhaps presciently, would see him somewhere in the near future. For a few days afterwards, the image of the accordion player sprang to me unbidden, for he was that memorable. Then, as you do, I put him in the back of my mind and carried on with the rhythm of my life in Ireland.


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