It Started with Dracula: The Count, My Mother, and Me by Jane CongdonIt Started with Dracula: The Count, My Mother, and Me by Jane Congdon

It Started with Dracula: The Count, My Mother, and Me

byJane Congdon

Paperback | October 1, 2011

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ABOUT THE BOOKThe terrifying legend of Count Dracula silently skulking through the Transylvania night may have terrified generations of filmgoers, but the tall, elegant vampire captivated and electrified a young Jane Congdon, igniting a dream to one day see his mysterious land of ancient castles and misty hollows.Four decades later she finally takes her long-awaited trip-never dreaming that it would unearth decades-buried memories of life with an alcoholic mother, and trigger a life-changing inner journey. Unfolding in 18 days as she followed the footsteps of Dracula from Bucharest, to the Carpathian Mountains, and the Black Sea. Dracula's legend becomes the prism through which she would revisit her childhood and lay claim to a happiness she had never known.A memoir full of surprises, Jane's story is one of hope, love-and second chances.Unfinished business can surface when we least expect it. It Started with Dracula is the inspiring story of two parallel journeys: one a carefully planned vacation and the other an astonishing and unexpected tour in repairing a wounded heart. -Charles Whitfield, MD, Bestselling author, Healing the Child Within An elegantly written and cleverly told real-life adventure story proving that the struggle for self-love is universal. An electrifying read.-Diane Bruno, CISION Media
Title:It Started with Dracula: The Count, My Mother, and MeFormat:PaperbackDimensions:356 pages, 9 × 6 × 0.79 inPublished:October 1, 2011Publisher:Bettie Youngs Book PublishersLanguage:English

The following ISBNs are associated with this title:

ISBN - 10:1936332108

ISBN - 13:9781936332106

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I didn't think he was a serial killer, but could this have anything to do with romance? Lucian was cute: tall, lean, muscular, and tan. He was about my age and had close-cropped graying hair, a neat beard, and a deep voice. And I couldn't say that no such notion about my guide had crossed my mind.This was the man who would be my companion for the next two weeks, driving me through the cities, villages, and mountains of Romania; carrying my bags; explaining the sights. He was my protector, my translator, and even my dinner partner. But what did I really know about him?Since our initial meeting in Bucharest, he had been prompt and polite. He seemed to know his way around. He dressed well; so far, his casual wardrobe was neat and stylish. His English was good, but he was not a talker, which suited me. He lived in the city, but had a preference for nature: natural foods, the woods, and the land. I'd seen him walk a distance to throw a tiny scrap into a container. It wasn't much information. Lucian was my connection to the country of my childhood dream-the dream that would not die: the dream of Dracula-and I didn't even know his last name!He was startlingly close to me now in the front seat, his eyes boring into mine. Suddenly I knew I'd seen too many Dracula movies. Nobody had to tell me what usually happened next in Transylvania!There are places in our minds, vistas of the imagination where fantasy and reality come together. The landscapes of Romania were like that for me. I had imagined them so many times from the movies that there was a magic about the land. I'd never seen this country before, and yet I had. Layers of memory tied the Carpathians to the hills of West Virginia, my childhood, and the little movie theater where I first sat mesmerized by one Christopher Lee playing the most enduring character ever created: Count Dracula.This story began on a moonlit night nearly fifty years ago, on the silver screen in a town nobody'd ever heard of. A swish of the cape, a bite to the neck, a full moon rising in the sky: Who knows the reasons for what we choose, or what chooses us?

Editorial Reviews

"... an astonishing, unexpected detour in healing a wounded heart." -- Charles Whitfield, MD, Healing the Child Within