The Yarnspinners

Writing Workshops Online

2009-12-26T12:36:00.000-05:00

Is your Christmas cash burning a hole in your pocket? Do you plan to make a New Year’s resolution to become a better writer? If so, check out the classes I have coming up at Writers Online Workshops:

Accelerated Fundamentals of Fiction Writing: starts March 11. Develop effective creative writing techniques, believable characters and compelling plots that can be applied to any long or short fiction form.

Advanced Novel Writing Workshop: starts January 14. Continue working on your novel manuscript with help and critiques from a published novelist, and the encouragement and feedback of your peers.

Essentials of Romance Writing: starts December 31. Learn what sets romance writing apart from other types of fiction including the hero and heroine, sexual tension, plot and conventions of the genre.

Focus on the Novel: starts February 25. Work with a published novelist to develop an idea suitable for a novel, develop a working outline for your novel, and write and revise the opening chapters.

Write Great Fiction: Description & Setting: starts Dec. 31. Learn how striking, yet credible, description is formed—and what such description allows you to accomplish in your own work.

For more information or to register, click on this link: http://www.writersonlineworkshops.com/retail/faculty.aspx . Scroll down to my name and click on the course(s) you’re interested in. Hope to see you there!

Liz

Dazzling Dialogue Workshop

2009-11-17T16:01:00.001-05:00

Is your dialogue deadly dull? Do your characters open their mouths and put your readers to sleep?

If your dialogue could use a little dazzle, check out Writing Great Fiction: Dialogue, offered by Writers Online Workshops.

http://www.writersonlineworkshops.com/retail/courses.aspx?r=writing-effective-dialogue

I'm teaching the section starting November 19. The course runs for 6 weeks, and will give you lectures, reading assignments, writing assignments, and group critiques. Soon, you'll be the dialogue king!

Hope to see you there.

Liz

TEST

2009-10-20T09:04:00.000-05:00

I'm having trouble with Blogger, so thought I;d try a test post here.

Chris

New Workshop at AllWriters' Workplace & Workshop

2009-09-01T15:56:00.001-05:00

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE

AllWriters’ Workplace & Workshop brings two more instructors on board!

WAUKESHA – Into a studio already overflowing with creative talent, two more instructors are finding their way. Authors Elizabeth Delisi and Karlyn Thayer are joining the online faculty at AllWriters’ Workplace & Workshop!

ELIZABETH DELISI will be teaching an online course on using Tarot Cards to enhance your writing. Elizabeth has wanted to be a writer since she was in first grade, and probably would have written in the womb if she could have convinced her mother to swallow a pencil. But life hasn't always gone the way she planned, and on her road to publication she worked as a motel maid, waitress, secretary, administrative aide, substitute teacher, and newspaper reporter. Elizabeth's novels include a Fatal Fortune, first in the Lottie Baldwin paranormal mystery series; Lady Of The Two Lands, a time-travel romance; and Since All Is Passing, a suspense. She's written contemporary and paranormal romance novellas for One Touch Beyond; Enchanted Holidays; Holiday Hearts; Holiday Hearts 2; and Cupid’s Capers, and has also published two short story collections, Mirror Images and Penumbra. In addition to her writing, Elizabeth edits for several small publishers and individuals, and besides teaching for AllWriters’, she teaches for Writer's Digest. She's taught at Barnes & Noble online, and for various RWA chapters. Elizabeth lives in New Hampshire.

KARLYN THAYER will be teaching a how-to class in writing the romance and a refresher course in grammar. Karlyn has had numerous romance stories published, along with a few literary-type tales. One story was nominated for a Pushcart Prize. Her work has been published in the literary journal of Ball State University and many more magazines. When not writing, Karlyn takes care of seven former race horses, along with dogs and cats. Karlyn is a member of Toastmasters International and is known for presenting humorous talks. "I try to include a little humor in everything I do. I think the world needs more humor. Sometimes we have to work to find the funny side of situations, but doing so is worth the time and effort if we can bring laughter to our own lives and the lives of others. Yikes, I just realized this paragraph is way too serious!"

AllWriters’ Workplace and Workshop offers on-site and online writing courses in all genres and abilities of creative writing, as well as coaching, editing, and marketing services. A schedule of classes and registration is available online at http://www.allwriters.org or you can call 262-446-0284.

Two Exciting Writing Courses

2009-07-17T10:25:00.000-05:00

I'm teaching two exciting writing courses, starting this month.

ESSENTIALS OF MYSTERY WRITING

Do you love reading a good mystery? Have you always wanted to write one? During the Essentials of Mystery Writing workshop, you’ll have the choice of creating a brand new mystery story from scratch or working with a story you already have in progress.

In this course you will:

* Learn how to construct a compelling mystery plot
* Develop fascinating characters
* Plant clues
* Keep your readers turning the pages, eager to find out what will happen next

Course Structure

The workshop will consist of six one-week sessions. Each session will include online lectures and associated textbook reading assignments, along with a writing assignment to be submitted to the instructor for private review. In addition, work will be posted each session for group review and feedback. Throughout the workshop you will be able to participate in asynchronous lecture discussion and be encouraged to take advantage of ongoing informal discussions and posted self-directed writing and creativity exercises. (1.2 CEUs)

For more info or to sign up, go here: http://www.writersonlineworkshops.com/retail/courses.aspx?r=essentials-of-mystery-writing

ESSENTIALS OF ROMANCE WRITING

Do you yearn to write a romantic story? If so, you need to know what sets romance writing apart from other types of fiction. This course explores why romance is the same, yet different. Some essential components of romance are unique to the genre, while some romance requirements are identical to those of any good fiction story. Neither Stephen King nor Tom Clancy could sit down and write a romance unless he first familiarized himself with the specific factors that create a successful romance. This workshop will help you to understand those specific factors that make up the specialized world of romantic fiction.

In this course you will:

* Learn how the hero of an action novel differs from the hero of a romantic novel
* Master the tricky business of putting your hero and heroine together and keeping them together-yet-apart until the story's close
* Create the sexual tension that will have your readers turning the pages late into the night
* Discover conventions must be followed and what rules can be broken for readers to embrace your work

Course Structure

The workshop will consist of six one-week sessions. Each session will include online lectures and associated textbook reading assignments, along with a writing assignment to be submitted to the instructor for private review. In addition, work will be posted each session for group review and feedback. Throughout the workshop you will be able to participate in asynchronous lecture discussion and be encouraged to take advantage of ongoing informal discussions and posted self-directed writing and creativity exercises. (1.2 CEUs)

For more info or to sign up, go here: http://www.writersonlineworkshops.com/retail/courses.aspx?r=essentials-of-romance-writing

And for those of you who read all the way down here, use this code to get a 10% discount: ED9A

Hope to see you there!

Liz

10% Discount on Writing Workshop

2009-06-08T11:50:00.000-05:00

10% Discount on Writing Workshop

In case you've been waiting to take a writing workshop when the price comes down and you can get a good deal, your time is here.

Use coupon code ED9A when you register, and you can take 10% off any 2009 writing workshop at Writers Online Workshops, the online writing school of Writer's Digest magazine.

Here's the upcoming workshop I'm teaching:

Essentials of Romance Writing, July 23 - September 2, 2009
Description: Do you yearn to write a romantic story? If so, you need to know what sets romance writing apart from other types of fiction. This course explores why romance is the same, yet different. Some essential components of romance are unique to the genre, while some romance requirements are identical to those of any good fiction story. Neither Stephen King nor Tom Clancy could sit down and write a romance unless he first familiarized himself with the specific factors that create a successful romance. This workshop will help you to understand those specific factors that make up the specialized world of romantic fiction.

In this course you will:

* Learn how the hero of an action novel differs from the hero of a romantic novel
* Master the tricky business of putting your hero and heroine together and keeping them together-yet-apart until the story's close
* Create the sexual tension that will have your readers turning the pages late into the night
* Discover conventions must be followed and what rules can be broken for readers to embrace your work

The workshop will consist of six one-week sessions. Each session will include online lectures and associated textbook reading assignments, along with a writing assignment to be submitted to the instructor for private review. In addition, work will be posted each session for group review and feedback. Throughout the workshop you will be able to participate in asynchronous lecture discussion and be encouraged to take advantage of ongoing informal discussions and posted self-directed writing and creativity exercises.

For more information, or to register, go here: http://www.writersonlineworkshops.com/retail/courses.aspx?r=essentials-of-romance-writing

~~~~~~~~

Hope to see you there!

Liz

Guest Blogging

2009-05-18T11:12:00.001-05:00

Hey, everyone, just a quick note to let you know I'm guest-blogging this week at Star-Crossed Romance:

http://star-crossedromance.blogspot.com/2009/05/guest-elizabeth-delisi.html

I've posted an article on how to use your words to enhance the atmosphere and mood of your story. And if you post a comment, you might be a lucky winner of a free e-copy of my suspense novel, SINCE ALL IS PASSING. Check it out!

Developing Your Story With Tarot

2009-03-27T12:22:00.001-05:00

PERMISSION TO FORWARD

Looking for a new way to breathe life into your outlining process, your plots, your characters? If so, have we got a class for you! Registration is now open for the Southern Tier Authors of Romance (STAR) April On-line Workshop: I PREDICT A NEW STORY IN YOUR FUTURE: Developing Your Story with the Tarot, with Elizabeth Delisi.

Elizabeth Delisi, a.k.a. Madame Liz, will teach you how to use the ancient art of the Tarot to develop stories, plots and subplots, heroes, heroines and villains. And more! You’ll learn the history of the Tarot, how to choose a deck, how to read the cards, and how to use those readings to develop and improve your writing.

THE INSTRUCTOR: Elizabeth Delisi’s novels include: Fatal Fortune, first in the Lottie Baldwin paranormal mystery series; Lady of the Two Lands, a time-travel romance, and Since all is Passing, a suspense. She’s written contemporary and paranormal romance novellas for One Touch Beyond, Enchanted Holidays, Holiday Hearts, Holiday Hearts 2, and Cupid’s Capers, and has two short story collections, Mirror Images and Penumbra. In addition, she edits for several small publishers and individuals, and teaches on-line writing course for Writer’s Digest. Visit Elizabeth’s web site at: www.elizabethdelisi.com. Registration begins March 1, and runs through April 1, 2009.

THE CLASS: The class will run from April 2 – 30, and will consist of a mix of lectures, exercises and discussions that will be conducted via a private Yahoo Groups listserv. All writers are welcome. If you know how to send e-mail, then you’ve mastered all of the technical skills you need to participate in our workshops. You will be automatically enrolled in the workshop’s listserv just before the class beings. All of the messages posted by the instructor and other students will be delivered directly to your inbox, although you may also view them from the Yahoo website.

THE COST: $20 for RWA members; $25 for non-members.

TO REGISTER: To register, send a check or Money Order in U.S. Dollars, made out to STAR On-Line Workshop, and mail to: Carol A. Henry, STAR On-line Workshop Coordinator, 90 Dry Brook Road, Willseyville, NY 13864. Alternatively, if you have a PayPal account, you can pay by going to http://www.PayPal.com. Select the “send money” button, enter the amount due, and STAR’s email address for payment: starpay@gmail.com. Then send your registration information to Carol at: carolhenry@frontiernet.net).

REGISTRATION INFORMATION: name, address, phone number, email address, RWA#

NEED MORE INFORMATION: Visit STAR’s website at: www.STARRWA.ORG, or contact Carol at carolhenry@frontiernet.net.

10% Discount on Writing Workshops

2009-03-17T14:24:00.001-05:00

In case you've been biding your time, waiting to take a writing workshop when the price comes down and you can get a good deal, your time has come.

Use coupon code ED9A when you register, and you can take 10% off any 2009 writing workshop at Writers Online Workshops, the online writing school of Writer's Digest.

Here are the upcoming workshops I'm teaching:

Essentials of Romance Writing, April 9 - May 20, 2009
Description: Do you yearn to write a romantic story? If so, you need to know what sets romance writing apart from other types of fiction. This course explores why romance is the same, yet different. Some essential components of romance are unique to the genre, while some romance requirements are identical to those of any good fiction story. Neither Stephen King nor Tom Clancy could sit down and write a romance unless he first familiarized himself with the specific factors that create a successful romance. This workshop will help you to understand those specific factors that make up the specialized world of romantic fiction.

In this course you will:

* Learn how the hero of an action novel differs from the hero of a romantic novel
* Master the tricky business of putting your hero and heroine together and keeping them together-yet-apart until the story's close
* Create the sexual tension that will have your readers turning the pages late into the night
* Discover conventions must be followed and what rules can be broken for readers to embrace your work

The workshop will consist of six one-week sessions. Each session will include online lectures and associated textbook reading assignments, along with a writing assignment to be submitted to the instructor for private review. In addition, work will be posted each session for group review and feedback. Throughout the workshop you will be able to participate in asynchronous lecture discussion and be encouraged to take advantage of ongoing informal discussions and posted self-directed writing and creativity exercises.

Essentials of Mystery Writing, April 23 - June 3, 2009
Description: Do you love reading a good mystery? Have you always wanted to write one? During the Essentials of Mystery Writing workshop, you’ll have the choice of creating a brand new mystery story from scratch or working with a story you already have in progress.

In this course you will:

* Learn how to construct a compelling mystery plot
* Develop fascinating characters
* Plant clues
* Keep your readers turning the pages, eager to find out what will happen next

The workshop will consist of six one-week sessions. Each session will include online lectures and associated textbook reading assignments, along with a writing assignment to be submitted to the instructor for private review. In addition, work will be posted each session for group review and feedback. Throughout the workshop you will be able to participate in asynchronous lecture discussion and be encouraged to take advantage of ongoing informal discussions and posted self-directed writing and creativity exercises.

Writing the Novel Proposal, April 23 - July 29, 2009
Description: Congratulations! For months, maybe years, you've worked diligently to craft well-rounded characters, map out every plot point and intricate sub-plot. You've researched your setting and made sure every detail is accurate. You've written and revised and revised some more and now—finally—your novel is finished. After you've taken a well-deserved break and toasted your accomplishment, it's time to find a home for your masterpiece. But just how, exactly, do you go about finding an agent or editor, and—even more important—getting one of them to say "yes"? If your goal is commercial publication, you need to know how to approach the market the way successful novelists do—with a professionally presented novel proposal.

At the conclusion of this workshop you will have developed a proposal package to submit to agents or editors—including query/cover letter and synopsis. You will also revise and polish the opening chapters of your novel (up to 12,000 words) with your instructor's feedback. In addition, you'll identify appropriate potential editors and agents to send your proposal when you're finished.

This workshop will consist of seven two-week sessions. Each session will include online lectures and associated textbook reading assignments, along with a writing assignment specifically related to your novel, which will be submitted to the instructor for private review at the end of the first week of the session. During the second week of each session, work will be posted for group critique. Throughout the workshop you will be able to participate in asynchronous lecture discussion and group critique sessions, and encouraged to take advantage of ongoing informal discussions and posted self-directed writing exercises. (2.8 CEUs)

Please note: This workshop is ONLY for students with completed novel manuscripts; it is specifically intended to help you market your finished novel with the goal of commercial publication.

For more information, or to register, go here: http://www.writersonlineworkshops.com/retail/courses.aspx?r=writing-the-novel-proposal

~~~~~~~~

Hope to see you in one or all!

Liz

It's Been So Long: Kim's Update

2009-02-16T21:05:00.001-05:00

I'm sorry that it has been so long since I last posted. I just can't seem to get used to writing on a blog every month, every week, much less every day. It seems there's never enough time in the day, and there's not that much to update on these days, but here goes.

Well, the good news is that this is my last semester of college where I'll earn an associate's degree in office systems technology. And I have senioritis as one instructor calls it. I'm ready to be done, but I don't think I'll ever be done completely. I want to keep going part-time. I need four more classes/subjects before I can get a diploma in medical office administration an one more class for the Level I accounting certificate. I also want to take more business and Web design classes. But those classes will have to wait until I find a job.

The job--Yes, I have officially started the search. I would love to work at the VA Medical Center that is only five miles from my house. That is my goal, and I've recently applied for a job there. Both my husband and my father are veterans of the U. S. Army, and I admire the brave men and women who fight for us and protect our country. If I could afford to, I would work for free just to give something back to those who have given so much to me.

And I've started networking. I've joined a few Web sites online. They are AdminsSecret, GovCentral, and LinkedIn. I joined another one about a year ago, but forgot which one it is and haven't been able to find my way back. I've been a member of MySpace and FaceBook for a while now, but since I started classes, I haven't been very active on them.

On the writing front: I started a new Lana Malloy paranormal mystery story a while back and I've been thinking about it a lot lately. I plan to work on it this month and next, and hopefully I can report that it is finished soon.

Thank you for reading my musings . . . Kim Cox

Writing Workshop

2009-01-05T12:02:00.001-05:00

The "How to Be Your Own Editor" Workshop is coming up on Monday, January 12.

WRDF's Online Workshop, The Tipping Point, Presents:

Bungee Jumping for Writers, or How to Be Your Own Editor

Editing for most writers is like diving off a bridge head-first with a large rubber band attached to their ankles…not a pretty sight.. Join Elizabeth Delisi as she shows you a less hazardous approach to self-editing.

In this three-day workshop, Elizabeth will cover seven areas that plague most writers.

Dialogue Dos and Don'ts
Flashbacks: How and When to Use Them
Jean's Jeans: The Difference between Possessives and Plurals
Which or That?
Do Your Chapter Endings Keep the Reader Reading?
Should the Author be a Know-It-All: Choosing Your POV
Trim (the Excess Words From) Your Prose

Join us for this terrific workshop:

Date: January 12-14

Price: WRDF Members $5.00

Non-Members $12.00

(Psst! Hint: WRDF membership is free. Go here to sign up: http://romancewriterandreader.ning.com/ )

There are still a few spots left, but they're going fast, so reserve your spot now!

Paypal Available

To register or for more info, contact Lynda at thetippingpoint@lyndacoker.com

Be there or be square!

Liz

Advanced Novel, Romance Writing Workshops

2008-11-21T12:18:00.002-05:00

I have a couple of courses coming up that I'll be teaching for Writers Online Workshops, the online teaching division of Writer's Digest. Here are the details:

Advanced Novel Writing Workshop: Students who have completed a novel workshop now have the opportunity to continue working on their novel manuscripts with help from a published novelist and the encouragement and feedback of their peers. When you’ve completed this workshop, you will have written—and received feedback on—200 pages of your novel manuscript.

Throughout the workshop you’ll be able to participate in discussion with the instructor and the class in the Lecture Hall, and group critique sessions with other workshop members in the Critics’ Corner.

My section of this course starts December 4. For more info or to sign up, go here: http://www.writersonlineworkshops.com/retail/courses.aspx?r=advanced-novel-Writing-workshop

Essentials of Romance Writing Workshop: Do you yearn to write a romantic story? If so, you need to know what sets romance writing apart from other types of fiction. This course explores why romance is the same, yet different. Some essential components of romance are unique to the genre, while some romance requirements are identical to those of any good fiction story. Neither Stephen King nor Tom Clancy could sit down and write a romance unless he first familiarized himself with the specific factors that create a successful romance. This workshop will help you to understand those specific factors that make up the specialized world of romantic fiction. Weekly lessons will address critical ingredients of romance writing so that you may create a new romantic story or—if you prefer—work with a story-in-progress.

Above all, a story of romance should whisk the reader away to a different place, a different life, a different reality. This workshop will show how a romance is put together to do just that—to allow the reader to escape from mundane cares. You'll learn how the hero of an action novel differs from the hero of a romantic novel. You'll learn the tricky business of putting your hero and heroine together and keeping them together-yet-apart until the story's close. You'll learn how to create the sexual tension that will have your readers turning the pages late into the night. What conventions must be followed and what rules can be broken for readers to embrace your work? You may be surprised!

The workshop will consist of six one-week sessions. Each session will include online lectures and associated textbook reading assignments, along with a writing assignment to be submitted to the instructor for private review. In addition, work will be posted each session for group review and feedback. Throughout the workshop you will be able to participate in lecture discussion and be encouraged to take advantage of ongoing informal discussions and posted self-directed writing and creativity exercises.

My section of this course starts December 4. For more info or to sign up, go here: http://www.writersonlineworkshops.com/retail/courses.aspx?r=essentials-of-romance-writing

And, just because you read it here on my blog, you can save 10% on either workshop by using this code: ED9A

Hope to see you there!

Bungee Jumping for Writers, or How to Be Your Own Editor Workshop

2008-11-19T09:40:00.001-05:00

Workshop Announcement from Writers and Readers of Distinctive Fiction, WRDF

WRDF's Online Workshop, The Tipping Point, Presents:

Bungee Jumping for Writers, or How to Be Your Own Editor

Editing for most writers is like diving off a bridge head-first with a large rubber band attached to their ankles…not a pretty sight. Join Elizabeth Delisi as she shows you a less hazardous approach to self-editing.

In this three-day workshop, Elizabeth will cover seven areas that plague most writers.

Dialogue Dos and Don'ts

Flashbacks: How and When to Use Them

Jean's Jeans: The Difference between Possessives and Plurals

Which or That?

Do Your Chapter Endings Keep the Reader Reading?

Should the Author be a Know-It-All: Choosing Your POV

Trim (the Excess Words From) Your Prose

Join us for this terrific workshop:

Date: January 12-14

Price: WRDF Members $5.00

Non-Members $12.00

(Psst! Hint: WRDF membership is free. Go here to sign up: http://romancewriterandreader.ning.com/)

Payment must be received ten days prior to workshop. Limited registration, so reserve your spot early)

Paypal Available

To register or for more info, contact Lynda at thetippingpoint@lyndacoker.com

Be there or be square!

Upcoming Writing Classes

2008-08-26T14:39:00.000-05:00

I have two new courses starting at Writing Online Workshops, that I’d like to share with you. Maybe you’ll find one to your liking and decide to sign up!

Advanced Novel Writing Workshop, starting 9/11: The focus of this workshop is on writing and critiquing. The workshop consists of five three-week sessions. At the beginning of each session, you’ll submit 10,000 words (approximately 40 manuscript pages) to the instructor for review and for group critique. There will be no lectures, reading assignments or exercises for this workshop, but we’ll give you plenty of tips and reminders along the way. Plus, you’ll have full access to the Library and the Brain Spa for all the supplemental materials and creative exercises you want to take advantage of. Because you’ll be expected to submit your work at the beginning of each session, you should have your first 10,000-word submission AND a short synopsis of your novel (500 to 750 words maximum) prepared prior to the class start date. For more information or to register, go here: http://www.writersonlineworkshops.com/retail/courses.aspx?r=advanced-novel-Writing-workshop

Writing the Novel Proposal, starting 9/18: Congratulations! For months, maybe years, you've worked diligently to craft well-rounded characters, map out every plot point and intricate sub-plot. You've researched your setting and made sure every detail is accurate. You've written and revised and revised some more and now—finally—your novel is finished. After you've taken a well-deserved break and toasted your accomplishment, it's time to find a home for your masterpiece. But just how, exactly, do you go about finding an agent or editor, and—even more important—getting one of them to say "yes"? If your goal is commercial publication, you need to know how to approach the market the way successful novelists do—with a professionally presented novel proposal.

At the conclusion of this workshop, you’ll have developed a proposal package to submit to agents or editors—including query/cover letter and synopsis. You’ll also revise and polish the opening chapters of your novel (up to 12,000 words) with your instructor's feedback. In addition, you'll identify appropriate potential editors and agents to send your proposal when you're finished.

This workshop consists of seven two-week sessions. Each session includes online lectures and associated textbook reading assignments, along with a writing assignment specifically related to your novel, which will be submitted to the instructor for private review at the end of the first week of the session. During the second week of each session, work will be posted for group critique. Throughout the workshop, you can participate in asynchronous lecture discussion and group critique sessions, and you’re encouraged to take advantage of ongoing informal discussions and posted self-directed writing exercises.

Please note: This workshop is ONLY for students with completed novel manuscripts; it is specifically intended to help you market your finished novel with the goal of commercial publication. For more information or to register, go here: http://www.writersonlineworkshops.com/retail/courses.aspx?r=writing-the-novel-proposal

Hope to see you in one or both workshops!

Liz

School's Out!!!

2008-08-07T00:39:00.003-05:00

Yahoo! School's out and I've been lazy. A week ago Monday was my last day, and I've not left my chair much. I did cook supper one night and washed dishes one night, but I've mostly gotten some much needed rest. Problem is I'm not sure what to do with myself. I've not had a moment to myself in ten weeks. Whoever said that the summer semester was hectic may have been understating the fact. I often find myself thinking I should be doing some homework, or something school related. Anyway, I'm happy to report, I got my report card and for the summer semester and I got all A's again. Yeehaw!

I did do some work I've had to put off unitl today. I upgraded three websites that I'm responsible for and researched more backgrounds, templates, and themes for future use. I'm pretty proud of myself for accomplishing so much. My website alone took most of the day.

There's so much I want to do while I'm off these few weeks, but I've got to get my butt out of this chair to do it. The heat hasn't been much help. But this coming week, I will get some things done. Like, late Spring Cleaning. There's so much to do, I'm not sure where to start.

Hope everyone is having a wonderful summer. We're still trying to get the pool water clear and go swimming. That would help the heat lots.

Learn to Write a Mystery

2008-08-05T15:35:00.001-05:00

Do you love reading a good mystery? Have you always wanted to write one? Writers Online Workshops offers an online workshop, "Essentials of Mystery Writing," starting August 14--and I'm teaching it! So I thought I'd pass along the info to you.

This workshop helps you construct a compelling mystery plot, develop fascinating characters, plant clues, and keep your readers turning the pages, eager to find out what will happen next. During the Essentials of Mystery Writing workshop, you’ll have the choice of creating a brand new mystery story from scratch, or working with a story you already have in progress.

The workshop consists of six one-week sessions. Each session includes online lectures and associated textbook reading assignments, along with a writing assignment to be submitted to the instructor for private review. In addition, your work will be posted each session for group review and feedback. Throughout the workshop, you'll be able to participate in lecture discussion and be encouraged to take advantage of ongoing informal discussions and posted self-directed writing and creativity exercises.

To learn more or to sign up for the course, visit Writers Online Workshops.

Another upcoming workshop I'm teaching is "Fundamentals of Fiction Writing," starting August 28. Writing fiction can be an exciting and enjoyable creative outlet, giving voice to the characters who fill your imagination. Putting your fantasies on paper can be a satisfying exercise in and of itself. But at some point, if you're really serious about your fiction, you'll need to acquaint yourself with the techniques generations of fiction writers have used to bring their characters and stories to life. The goal of this workshop is to provide you with an understanding of these fundamental techniques and to encourage—-through the use of creativity exercises, hands-on writing assignments and constructive critical feedback—-the development of your individual style and creative expression.

You don't have to decide yet whether your ultimate goal is a collection of short stories or The Great American Novel, because the focus in this workshop will be on the development of effective creative writing techniques that can be applied to any long or short fiction form. You'll learn how to develop believable characters and let them speak—-and act-—for themselves. You'll learn how to set the stage, and make readers feel as if they're right there with your characters. You'll learn the basics of plot—-enough to prepare you to tackle any kind of fiction project.

This workshop consists of six two-week sessions. Each session includes online lectures and associated textbook reading assignments, along with writing assignments incorporating the techniques learned in the session, which you'll submit to the instructor for private review at the end of the first week of the session. During the second week of each session, your work will be posted for group review and feedback. Throughout the workshop, you'll be able to participate in lecture discussion and encouraged to take advantage of ongoing informal discussions and posted self-directed writing and creativity exercises.

To learn more or to sign up for the course, visit Writers Online Workshops.

Hope to see you at one or the other--or both!

Book Meme

2008-06-11T12:48:00.001-05:00

Found something I thought would be fun to try, with a bit of modification to make it more interesting. Ready? Set? Here we go!

Book Meme:

1. Pick up your favorite book if you’re a reader; if you’re an author, grab your favorite book of all those you’ve written.
2. Open the book to page 123.
3. Find the fifth complete sentence on that page. (Don’t count sentences that began on the previous page.)
4. Starting with that fifth sentence, post the next five sentences on your blog, along with the book info, these instructions, and link back to where you saw it.

That’s all there is to it. Simple, eh?

So here’s my try at this. It’s from my time-travel romance set in ancient Egypt, LADY OF THE TWO LANDS (available here: http://www.amberquill.com/LadyTwoLands.html ):

“What is a circus, Majesty?” Senemut asked, frowning.

“It is held in a tent…there are many strange animals and performers…food is sold and parents bring their children to see…” She waved her arms helplessly. “I cannot describe it better. It is like a festival, I suppose.”

~~~~~~~~

Hope you have fun with this!

Liz

RESTLESS SPIRIT by Elizabeth Delisi

2008-03-30T15:54:00.000-05:00

An Excerpt From: RESTLESS SPIRIT

Copyright © ELIZABETH DELISI, 2008

All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave Publishing, Inc.

This spirit might be Laura’s only means of reaching Brian. Could she afford to turn her back on such an opportunity? Shaking her head, she decided she had to give it a try. After all, how much worse could things get? She’d already lost Clint and Brian.

She returned to the table, resumed her seat and placed her fingers on the planchette. Cautiously, she spelled out—Help you with what? She would see what the spirit wanted and decide if she were willing to help it or not. Maybe a trade could be arranged—she helped this Rafe and he in turn connected her with Brian.

Connect me with Joshua.

Joshua? Laura didn’t know anyone named Joshua. Joshua who?

Joshua Williamson. My little brother. Died last week.

Tears stung the corners of Laura’s eyes. This poor spirit, this Rafe, had lost a sibling, just like she’d lost a son. Life just didn’t seem fair, when the young ones had to suffer and die.

But why would one spirit need Laura’s help to contact another spirit? Especially a loved one. Weren’t they all supposed to be waiting for you when you died? Shouldn’t this Rafe have been waiting for Joshua when he passed over?

Why do you need my help?

The answer came through quickly. Cannot pierce the veil between worlds.

Laura considered. Rafe didn’t sound dangerous. And if she truly could help him contact his brother Joshua…well, he’d owe her one, wouldn’t he?

What do you want me to do? she asked.

Contact Joshua, came the prompt reply. Ask him if he is happy. Surely a spirit so innocent has gone straight to his reward.

A chill passed through Laura suddenly and she shuddered, letting her hands fall into her lap. If Rafe were not with Joshua…and if Joshua had gone to heaven…then where was Rafe?

She returned her hands to the planchette. Are you an evil spirit? she asked. She was afraid of the answer, yet she had to know.

No. Are you? came the reply.

No, she said, though she was confused why the spirit should ask. Shouldn’t Rafe know she was a living, breathing human, not an incorporeal soul? Maybe she should get straight to the heart of the matter. This Rafe seemed a little slow. I’m a live woman and I want you to find my son, Brian. I want to know he’s all right.

There was a pause, yet Laura felt a deep sorrow that seemed to pass through the Ouija board itself and straight to her heart.

I am sorry, she read at last, and a knife pierced her heart. I cannot help you. I am a living man. And I reckon you cannot help me.

Laura’s thoughts swirled and dizziness thrust mercilessly into her head. She slipped sideways from the chair, pulling the Ouija board and planchette down on top of her as everything went black.

If you like this sample excerpt, you can read all five stories by purchasing a copy of ONE TOUCH BEYOND, available from Cerridwen Press http://www.cerridwenpress.com/ in electronic formats.

'NEATH HALLOWED HALLS AND IVIED WALLS by Maureen McMahon

2008-03-18T18:17:00.000-05:00

An Excerpt From: 'NEATH HALLOWED HALLS AND IVIED WALLS

Copyright © MAUREEN MCMAHON, 2008

All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave Publishing, Inc.

"Stacey, do you have any idea how Professor Donalson died?"

I sat down on a wicker chair nearby. "He...well... Didn't they tell you?"

"No. My mother called and said someone from Harvard contacted the house. She sounded upset but she wouldn't go into detail-said she didn't want to run up the phone bill."

I smiled to myself. Peter's mother never changed, even though she probably had enough money at her disposal to buy the phone company outright.

"There's a police investigation into his death," I said, "but it appears it was suicide. He was found in his car in the garage with a hose from the exhaust...you get the picture." I shuddered.

I could tell Peter was shocked too. Such an act seemed totally unexpected and out of character for the jolly, fun-loving history professor we'd both come to know and respect during our college years.

"I wonder what could have driven him to..." Peter's voice seemed even more distant and withdrawn and I clutched the phone tighter, itching to reach out and take his hand.

"Try not to think about it," I said. "We'll find out more at the funeral. Until then, there's no point in brooding. These things happen. Sometimes we just have to accept it."

The desperate, pleading eyes in the sunken face of a dying Afghani mother suddenly filled my vision. I remembered how she held her arms out for her baby. The baby was being removed to a shelter by international medical aid. The mother would remain in the broken-down, dirt-floored hut. She didn't have long. I wanted to grab the baby from the nurse and place it in those skeletal outstretched arms but instead I just backed away, afraid and uncertain.

The sudden, unexpected power of the flashback knocked the wind out of me and I had to bend over and draw deep breaths, holding the phone in my other hand so Peter wouldn't hear. Finally, I put the receiver back to my ear.

"What's wrong?" His voice was urgent, knowing.

"Nothing." It was just too complicated to explain and frankly I felt too shaken by the experience to talk about it yet. "I'd better go," I said. "I've got to get this last article in today if I'm going to meet you by Friday."

"Stace..."

"Hmm?"

"You know how much I've missed you?"

I smiled and sighed. "Yes. Yes, I do-as much as I've missed you. But Friday's only two days away."

"Yes. Two days." He let out his breath audibly.

"See you Friday."

"See you then."

I replaced the phone on its hook on the wall and turned to look out the kitchen window at the Manhattan skyline. It was sunny but cool, with a cloud haze moving in.

A crow landed on the black balustrade of the balcony, tilting its head this way and that as it eyed me through the closed sliding door. Suddenly it let out a piercing squawk, lifted its wings and flew directly into the glass pane of the door. The sickening crack as it hit the window made me cry out in shock, the impact leaving a stain of blood and down on the glass.

I was out the door in an instant but there was nothing I could do. The bird's neck was broken and it lay in a messy heap of feathers on the concrete balcony. I squatted down and reached out a tentative hand. Its breast was still warm but its eye, a mustard-yellow, stared sightlessly up at me. For no reason I could logically name, I drew my hand quickly away, shivering-overwhelmed by a feeling of mortal dread.

If you like this sample excerpt, you can read all five stories by purchasing a copy of ONE TOUCH BEYOND, available from Cerridwen Press http://www.cerridwenpress.com/ in electronic formats.

GET OUT OR DIE! by Kim Cox

2008-03-09T20:42:00.002-05:00

An Excerpt From: GET OUT OR DIE

Copyright © KIM COX, 2008

All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave Publishing, Inc.

Lana walked Dan out, glass from figurines, picture frames and a mirror splintering beneath their feet. "Look. I know you don't want to leave but please, take Ellie somewhere else just for tonight. I'll call you tomorrow and let you know what's going on. I hope by then I can reason with him."

"It really is Uncle Adam, isn't it?" Dan asked.

"Yes, it is."

"This means that my father did...my father is..."

"There's still no real proof."

"Why else would-"

"I don't know. Give me twenty-four hours to find out. I want to sleep here tonight, try to calm Adam down and see if he'll talk to me. Hopefully by tomorrow, regardless of what happened between him and Sean, he'll realize you're not his father."

Dan's sullen face appeared doubtful. "Do whatever you have to do."

Behind them, the sounds of crashing continued. Lana smoothed her wrinkled clothes, patted down her hair and trekked back into the once beautiful home, trying to force a calm she didn't quite feel.

I can do this. The crashing stopped as she entered the chaotic room. "Adam!" she called out. "Let's talk." Only silence answered her plea. Was he ignoring her? Or had the energy his anger fueled within his spirit faded? Run out?

Lana took a break and used the downstairs bathroom to splash water on her face. As she brushed her hair, the faucets turned on by themselves. Hot water splashed into the sink, steam filling the room. Lana turned off the water and opened the door to let out the fog. Then, she read Adam's large script on the mirror, GET OUT OR DIE!

If you like this sample excerpt, you can read all five stories by purchasing a copy of ONE TOUCH BEYOND, available from Cerridwen Press http://www.cerridwenpress.com/ in electronic formats.

Developing Your Story With Tarot Workshop

2008-03-07T10:29:00.000-05:00

***Permission to Forward Granted***

Celtic Hearts Romance Writers Academy is proud to announce an upcoming online workshop for March.

Workshop Title: I Predict A New Story In Your Future: Developing Your Story With The Tarot

Presenter: Elizabeth Delisi

Date: March 17 - 31

Description: Are you looking for new ways to breathe life into your outlining process, your plots, your characters? If so, have we got the course for you! Elizabeth Delisi, a.k.a. Madame Liz, will teach you how to use the ancient art of the Tarot to develop stories, plots and subplots, heroes, heroines and villains, and more. You'll learn the history of the Tarot, how to choose a deck, how to read the cards, and how to use those readings to develop and improve your writing.

There will be four lectures, four assignments to be posted to the list for all to comment on, and naturally all questions will be answered.

Outline: Lecture One: History of the Tarot, and Choosing a Deck;
Lecture Two: How to Read Tarot;
Lecture Three: Using Tarot to Develop A Plot;
Lecture Four: Creating Characters With Tarot

About the Presenter: Elizabeth Delisi has wanted to be a writer since she was in first grade, and probably would have written in the womb if she could have convinced her mother to swallow a pencil. But life hasn't always gone the way she planned, and on her road to publication she worked as a motel maid, waitress, secretary, administrative aide, substitute teacher, and newspaper reporter.

Elizabeth's novels include a FATAL FORTUNE, first in the Lottie Baldwin paranormal mystery series; LADY OF THE TWO LANDS, a time-travel romance; and SINCE ALL IS PASSING, a suspense. She's written contemporary and paranormal romance novellas for ONE TOUCH BEYOND; ENCHANTED HOLIDAYS; HOLIDAY HEARTS; HOLIDAY HEARTS 2; and CUPID'S CAPERS, and has also published two short story collections, MIRROR IMAGES and PENUMBRA. In addition to her writing, Elizabeth edits for several small publishers and individuals, and teaches online writing courses for Writer's Digest.

Elizabeth lives in New Hampshire with her husband, dog and cat. She enjoys hearing from her readers at elizabeth@elizabethdelisi.com and invites everyone to visit her website at www.elizabethdelisi.com.

Deadline to sign up for this workshop: March 14

Fee: $10 CHRW members; $15 non-members. RWA Membership isn't required; anyone can take our courses. Celtic Hearts members receive 2 free workshops a year.

Where to sign up: http://www.celtichearts.org/chwksp.html Please fill out the online form.

Liz

Fallen Angels Review gives ENCHANTED HOLIDAYS 5 Angels

2008-03-03T14:14:00.000-05:00

Enchanted Holidays
Enchanted Holidays is filled with a wonderful collection of stories set around various holidays. Six talented authors each offer their own version of a holiday romance and all are worth reading.

According to an ancient prophesy Alexis Hart is fated to marry the Egyptian god Seth and be murdered so that he may take over the world in the Curse of Osiris by Elaine Hoppe. Zane Ryan has no intention of allowing that to happen; he has come to protect her and he will sacrifice anything to save her. How can a simple man defeat an evil god and why must it be this man that comes to save her; the man who broke her heart four years ago? This tale reminds me of some of the mythology tales I had to study in school, except I found this on more entertaining. Ms. Hoppe has a sense of humor but you must read this story to find the irony!

In Fate's Little Trick by Sheryl Hames Torres, Gemma McKenzie Fuller doesn’t like Christmas, everything bad that has ever happened to her has occurred around Christmas. First she lost her first love and then years later her husband and daughter and her hearing. Gemma’s parents are gone and she is all alone running a small country store and renting vacation cabins. Jared Mittchel and his deaf daughter Emily are on the run. His wife is dead and he believes his in-laws are trying to take his daughter away and they have more money than he can afford to fight. Jared finds Gemma’s cabin and hopes it is out of the way enough that they can’t be found. He loves his daughter and will not just turn her over to his in-laws. Fate’s Little Trick is a wonderful, poignant, story about the hurt some people can inflict on other people. Both Gemma and Jared are wounded souls and none of their pain is of their making; they were wronged and robbed of the opportunity for happiness by the selfishness of another person. Although parts of this story are really sad, it is also filled with hope; hope that love can heal broken hearts. I really liked this tale!

A New Year’s ghost story is an unexpected holiday tale but that is exactly what Ghosts of Auld Lang Syne by Maureen McMahon is. Stacey Christian’s friend Holly and her brother have inherited their grandmother’s old lake house and property and invited their friends down for the New Year’s holidays. Holly tells Stacey an old family ghost story and talks Stacey into trying to help her solve the mystery so the ghost can rest in peace. But something more sinister seems to be going on; there are just too many accidents happing to the people at the lake house. Will Stacey, Holly and their friends figure out what is going on before someone is seriously injured or worse? I always like a good ghost story and this one does not disappoint. The ghost is a sad woman who lost her true love unexpectedly and all the couples at the house have love issues to deal with too. Could this be why the ghost is appearing now? Ghosts of Auld Lang Syne is an appealing story about the power of true love so expect to be charmed but it is also a tale filled with suspense for someone alive now is attempting to harm the people at the lake house! Very well done!

Haunted Hearts by Kim Cox is a charming Valentine’s ghost story. Lana Malloy is a newly licensed private investigator and her great-aunt Lucy wants to hire her to solve a 20-year-old double murder that happened on Valentine’s Day. The only problem is Lucy and her fiancé are the people who were murdered. Lucy has figured out that if Lana can solve the mystery by Valentine’s Day then she and her fiancé will finally be able to leave and be together for eternity otherwise they have to wait another year for this opportunity. I loved this unique Valentine’s story. The ghost characters and their living relatives were all delightful and fun. And of course it is a Valentine’s story, so there is romance as well as the mystery.

Mistletoe Medium by Elizabeth Delisi is a Christmas romantic suspense tale. Lottie Baldwin is new in town and has met and started dating the local sheriff’s deputy Harlan Erikson. Lottie is a psychic and gets periodic images about things, so when Harlan starts investigating a string of strange burglaries, Lottie wants to help. Can Lottie and Harlan work together and solve the crimes; will Harlan be able to believe in Lottie? This is a very cute story. Lottie and Harlan seem like complete opposites. Lottie is a silly, flighty, flirt to Harlan’s serious, straightforward type of personality yet they are attracted to one another. I grinned all the way through this lighthearted romp while these two opposites muddled along trying to solve their mystery. This is a fun story!

In Valentine's Inn by Chris Grover, Rianna Gordon is trying to decide what to do with her life now. She was injured in an auto accident that killed her three best friends and law buddies so she has no desire to return to that life. What Rianna would really like to do is just disappear and hide away for the rest of her life, but first she has to decide what to do with the old family inn. The inn has been in Rianna’s family for over 100 years but she has an offer from a developer who wants to tear it down and build luxury condos for wealthy retirees. The money would allow her to buy the house of her dreams where she could live comfortably and hide from life, but is that what she really wants? Can she let someone tear down over 100 years of her family history? Valentine’s Inn is a really sweet, yet poignant story. I liked Rianna’s character and it was interesting to follow her decision making process as she tries to come to terms with what she really wants to do now. And of course there is a little mystery and romance thrown it to make it an even better tale!

All of the stories in this holiday anthology have a paranormal twist and yet are sentimental romances that anyone would enjoy curling up to read.

Reviewed by: Stephanie B.
http://fallenangelreviews.com/2008/February/StephanieB-EnchantedHolidays.htm

Romantic Times Review of ENCHANTED HOLIDAYS

2008-03-03T13:56:00.001-05:00

ENCHANTED HOLIDAYS
by Kim Cox, Elizabeth Delisi, Chris Grover, Elaine Hopper, Maureen McMahon
and Sheryl Hames Torres

RT Rating: 3 stars
Category: PARANORMAL ROMANCE
Publisher: Cerridwen
Published: December 2007
Type: Paranormal (Anthology)

This collection of tales from six authors who know how to please sets the
tone for several romantic holidays. The blend of ghosts, mediums, prophecy
and tragedy -- most of which take place during the Christmas season -- is a
pleasant read.

Summary: Kim Cox's "Haunted Hearts" pits private eye Lana against spirits as
she strives to solve the decades-old murder of her aunt. In "Mistletoe
Medium," Elizabeth Delisi brings together psychic Lottie and the deliciously
hunky Sheriff Harkin. Chris Grover's "Valentine's Inn" uses a ghost to
convince Rianna to keep her inheritance.

Alexis must defeat a demon-god in Elaine Hopper's "Curse of Osiris." Maureen
McMahon's "Ghosts of Auld Lang Syne" has journalist Stacy in a fight to
discover who's haunting her new home. Sheryl Hames Torres' Gemma is a
first-rate Scrooge until a tragic accident gives her the most important
Christmas wish of all in "Fate's Little Trick." (Cerridwen, Dec., 378 pp.,
$9.99) HOT

-Faith V. Smith

http://romantictimes.com/books_review.php?book=34420

ENIGMA by Sheryl Hames Torres

2008-03-01T16:44:00.001-05:00

ONE TOUCH BEYOND - Second Excerpt
An Excerpt From: ENIGMA

Copyright © SHERYL HAMES TORRES, 2008

All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave Publishing, Inc.

Opening his eyes, he turned on the water to rinse blood from the porcelain before lifting his gaze to the mirror to inspect the damage. What he saw there, however, frosted the blood in his veins. She was there, the silver lady who’d enfolded Amy. Now she floated in the mirror, smiling icily at him, her eyes flashing white fire as she stared at the blood dripping onto his chest.

“I believe I told you to go away.” Her voice was like a blizzard, whirling, icy and absorbing the oxygen from the air. It mixed with the storm outside to create a vortex of panic inside him.

His throat felt paralyzed. A chill rose up his spine and threatened to overtake his shivering body. It wasn’t fear exactly. More deep sadness, hopelessness, as if she were sucking all joy from him.

“I assume you imagine yourself in love with her?” Her voice dripped with mock sympathy. Her heavy dramatic sigh wrapped around him like music, transfixing him, seducing him despite its menacing tone.

Brace shivered again. The term “two places at once” came instantly to mind as he watched her image peel, almost as if it split in half. While one layer threw her head back and laughed, horrible and shrill, another layer rocked back and forth as if listening to a beautiful melody. Still another more terrifying layer stared with winter-white eyes hungrily at the cut on his chin. Brace couldn’t lift his fingers to wipe away the blood that fascinated her. She reached toward him and though she never left the mirror, he felt her touch and watched in horror as she raised her bloodied fingers to her lips, closing her eyes as if the taste of him satisfied her every need. He felt her threat rise around him like a velvet sheet, suffocating and heavy. He had to fight her. He had to push against her force.

“I do love Amy.” His voice sounded strangled, harsh to his ears, ineffective in the roaring storms, inside and out. “And she loves me. I won’t let you hurt her.”

With startling speed, the images melded and her eyes flashed at him. “Fool!” she hissed. “Do you think you can play with me, little man? I’ll crush you like the meddlesome flea you are.”

He followed her gaze as her eyes darted to the scissors lying on the cabinet, then shot back at him. Her laughter sounded like shattering glass. The pressure in the room rose to a crushing level, squeezing against his skull. Blood trickled from his right nostril and dripped on the floor as he bent over from the excruciating pain. It felt as though he was being wrung out like a dishrag. The pressure on his eardrums threatened his consciousness. He concentrated on his breathing, battling her and gasping. “You…won’t…win.”

A scream tore through the house. Amy.

If you like this sample chapter, you can read all five stories by purchasing a copy of ONE TOUCH BEYOND, available from Cerridwen Press http://www.cerridwenpress.com/ in electronic formats.

New Release: ONE TOUCH BEYOND

2008-02-21T18:38:00.001-05:00

First except from the anthology: ONE TOUCH BEYOND

An Excerpt From: BELIEVING IN DREAMS

Copyright © CHRIS GROVER, 2008

All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave Publishing, Inc.

Since Mom's death, I've felt a desperate urge to know more about her and the people who gave her life. This year will be my first Christmas without her and I've been holding on to the thought that by spending the holiday here in St-Stephan, the loss won't seem quite so bad.

Whether it will or not remains to be seen. The real reason I'm here is because I want to find my roots. On my birth certificate, there's a line drawn through the box where the father's name should be and it's always made me feel like I appeared out of nowhere, like my mother bought me in a store. I never told Mom how I felt because after the one time I asked who my father was, just the way her expression changed from happy to sad told me the circumstances of my birth was a subject she didn't want to discuss.

I have no idea why. Maybe it had something to do with breaking with her family; maybe it was because she never got over being taken in by a handsome face. And just maybe she didn't handle the unwanted pregnancy the way society expected back then. I've read the books and seen the movies, so I know that even as recently as thirty years ago, life for a pregnant, unmarried teenager was far from easy, especially in smaller communities. Girls were sent away on some pretext or other before their condition became obvious. This way, by the time they returned home, their bodies were back to normal and their babies given away to new families.

I've often wondered if something like that happened to my mother. If her parents sent her away to one of those unwed mothers' homes that were all the rage back then but instead of going along with the program, she decided to keep me. Or maybe she ran away with my biological father and things didn't work out. Either way, there would have been no going back home to her family. And no better way for her to cut herself free from her old life than by changing her name, pretending her parents were dead and saying she had no other relatives.

I'll never know now what really happened, so I go back to the dream and try to think if the elderly woman could have a reason other then family or friends for bringing me here. If I knew who she was, then perhaps it would offer me a clue or-

"Can I help you?"

The question, posed in English in a husky, masculine voice, catches me by surprise. I turn around fast, my heart thumping so hard against my ribs, I feel like I've been caught doing something wrong.

The owner of the voice starts down the path toward me, then stops. "I realize the place doesn't look like much but it is private property."

I hadn't heard the arrival of the expensive-looking black car parked at the curb and I hadn't heard the sound of the man's fancy Italian leather boots on the frozen ground. But there he is, standing less than six feet away, dressed in slim-fitting dark blue jeans and a sheepskin-lined coat. A tall, tanned, very handsome stranger whose dark brown hair is attractively mussed in the new spiky style and whose eyes are so exactly the same blue as his jeans, I immediately wonder if he's wearing colored contacts.

"I'm...I'm just looking."

If you like this sample chapter, you can read the rest and 4 other stories by purchasing a copy of ONE TOUCH BEYOND, available from Cerridwen Press http://www.cerridwenpress.com/ in electronic formats.

Haunted Hearts by Kim Cox

2008-02-13T16:11:00.000-05:00

Sixth sample chapter from Enchanted Holidays - Valentine's Day - HAUNTED HEARTS by Kim Cox

Chapter One

"How do you like it?" Lucy Ann Malloy, standing at the top of the stairs, turned to the right, then to the left as she modeled the blue and green pastel dress. "I found it in the attic with some of my old things." She lingered in the doorway on the main floor. "Well?"

Lana Malloy glanced up from editing the ad for her new PI business. "Nice," she said and returned to her work.

Lucy moved to Lana's side and gazed over her shoulder. "What are you working on?"

"The ad for the newspaper and magazines. I've got to figure out how to attract some business, or I'll never make it through the first month."

A chill filled the air surrounding Lana and she shivered, pulling her sweater tightly around her.

"I have an idea and it's actually a pretty good one. I know who your first client can be."

Without even glancing away from her paper, Lana asked, "And who would that be?"

"Me."

"You?" Lana looked up, her interest piqued. "What are you talking about?"

Lucy's white hair shone with blue highlights as if she'd just had it rinsed. She was very well preserved for someone who'd been dead twenty years. "Find my murderer so I can rest in peace. How about it?" Lana's great-aunt had been with her since she moved into the old beach house in Charleston, South Carolina, five years ago.

"And who would be paying for my services?" Lana smiled, pulling her reading glasses off and laying them on her desk. She loved her great-aunt, but she could be a card. Lucy had always been a rebel, always tried to be different from everyone else. "Besides, you died over twenty years ago. That's a cold trail for sure."

"I got money, smarty-a lot of money that no one has found yet." Lucy covered her mouth with both hands then removed them. "Oh, well, the cat's out of the bag now. I can't spend it anyway."

"But you died-"

"Let me finish. Shows how much you, or any of those pigs know." She glided back and forth across the room as if she were dancing at her coming-out ball.

"Well?"

"Get out your pen and pad and take notes."

145 Kim Cox

"Not until I'm sure what you're telling me is the truth." Lucy sometimes changed details to suit herself and the moment, but she'd never talked about her death before. Lana never questioned her because she thought it may be too painful for her aunt.

"Have I ever lied? Never mind, don't answer that." Lucy laughed as she stopped in midair, lowered herself down to the desk and hovered in a sitting position just above the surface. Then she crossed her legs. "It was Valentine's Day. The last thing I remember, I was helping Davide eat his dinner. He had been sick the last few days and I went over to visit. He didn't eat much of his potato soup and I love potato soup on a cold winter's night. You know, that kind your mother used to whip up?" Lucy licked her lips. "I miss that since I've been dead. There's no need to eat anymore...no appetite."

"Get on with your murder case."

"Oh, yeah. I tend to get sidetracked now and then." She giggled. "Anyway, I never left that room until I woke up in this house dead and looked down on my body lying on the living room floor, right in front of my sofa. The next morning, your mother came to see me and found me...I mean, my body. That's it."

"Right. You were poisoned, but your murderer was never caught," Lana mused.

"You call yourself a private investigator? Elementary, my dear Lana. Use some logic. How did I get from Davide's house to my house?"

Lana chewed the eraser on the end of her pencil. "So...you believe you were poisoned at Davide's, but someone brought you back here either before or after you died?"

"By golly, I believe she's got it."

"Are you sure you didn't just forget going home?"

"I didn't forget. I was only sixty and not senile. Someone must've moved me while I was unconscious. Can't you see that?"

Lana stood and paced the room. "It's a possibility, I guess. What did the police say?"

"They said, 'the old broad croaked. No suspects.' And they looked no further." Lucy moved up behind Lana. "Clue number two, I've been reading up on my ghostly position as well. Did you know there are specific reasons why ghosts haunt places?"

"No. What are they?"

"According to this, my reason is..." Lucy took out a book, opened it to the bookmark and started to read. "When someone is murdered and the murder goes unsolved, their spirit must wait around until the mystery is solved, usually around the anniversary of their death."

"Where did you get that book?"

"Here, in this house."

Lana sauntered into the library and fingered through the books on the shelves. "I didn't know we had all these books on ghosts." Lana smiled until she saw the look on

146 Haunted Hearts

Lucy's face. She was serious about this and Lana felt badly she hadn't realized it sooner. She loved the woman dearly, but often, Lucy kidded around so much it was hard to tell when her aunt was genuine.

"I found them in the attic, dusted them off and put them on the shelf last night. You believe me now?"

"I don't know. I'll read over these today and see." Lana brought a book back to her desk as Lucy followed. "What exactly did you figure out? And if you've solved it, why do you need me?"

"Not everything. Just what I need to do to get to my resting place. I was killed on Valentine's Day, 1982."

"So?"

"I need to find my murderer by Valentine's Day, or I'll be stuck here until next year, same time."

"Why?"

"Because that's when I died." Lucy placed her hands on her hips. "Haven't you been listening? Anyway, the book says it's the only time I'll have the opportunity to claim my eternity. It's on page fifty-two."

"Do you have any suspects?" Lana flipped through the pages. "This looks interesting."

"That old buzzard I was trying to help."

"Davide? Your fiancé?" Lana glanced up.

"That's the buzzard."

"You two were going to be married in a few weeks. Why would he want you dead?"

"That, I don't know. But I think he's as good a place to start our search as any. If it wasn't him, it was someone in his family. They were against us marrying. Especially his son, Anthony."

"Our search? But you can't-"

"But I can. I read about it in that book. I can leave anytime I want. I just haven't wanted to badly enough until now. Plus, I need to attach myself to something in order to leave. That something, or rather someone, is you."

A few hours later, Lana looked from her book as Lucy drifted in with a tray of food-a tuna fish sandwich with pickles and chips.

"I thought you could use something to eat. Seafood is brain food, you know."

When Lucy floated back across the room, Lana glanced toward the window and glimpsed a terrified face in the window. It was her neighbor, Roxie Thomas, with curlers in her strawberry blonde hair and cold cream still covering her horrified face. When the dress glided toward a filing cabinet, Roxie's eyes widened and her jaw dropped. The closed window muffled her screams.

147 Kim Cox

* * * * *

"Get back! Roxie saw you. I mean, she saw your dress. I'll see if I can talk to her." But as Lana reached the door, Roxie ran away, her screeches fading as she widened the space between their houses.

"Fix this situation before I bring her back." Lana slammed the door behind her.

Lana's house sat on stilts, but the one room joining the carport sufficed as her new PI office. Trotting across the yard, she caught up with Roxie on the other side of the hedge. "Roxie, wait up." Roxie dashed for her house anyway.

"Stay away from me, you...you...you witch! I'm calling the cops." She stumbled up the steps sideways and sank slowly to her knees on her front porch.

"Don't be ridiculous! It's not what you think. Please, come back and see. Besides, how will you explain to the police that you were peeping in my window? They don't like peeping Roxies around here, you know. They've already warned you about it." Lana leaned down to help her up, but Roxie snatched her hand away.

"Don't touch me!" Her eyes glistened with unshed tears. "I know what I saw. They'll believe me this time."

"Okay, okay, now, just calm down. I only want to help you. Where's Ralph? Can I get him for you?"

"He's right inside, he is." Her voice trembled. "He'll be out here any minute, so don't you try anything. I've always known there was something weird about you...about your whole family."

"What's going on out here, Roxie?" A big-bellied man with thinning hair stood in the doorway.

"Ralph, oh, Ralph, I'm glad you're here. She's a witch. I-I saw her."

"Mr. Thomas, I just came to explain to your wife that what she saw was a new gadget I've invented to dry clothes." Lana smiled. "Your wife thinks I twitched my nose or something to make a dress float across the room."

Ralph scratched the sprigs of hair left on his balding head. "Roxie, you been snooping again? How many times-"

"I'm sure Mrs. Thomas wasn't snooping. Were you, Roxie?"

When Lana offered her a helping hand this time, Roxie accepted it. "That's right. I wasn't snooping. I went over to borrow some coffee when I saw that...that thing flying all over her office."

"See? I knew she had a good reason for being there," Lana said.

"Yeah, but she didn't have to spy on you before knocking on the door. Get in the house, Roxie, before someone calls the cops on you again."

Roxie made her way to the door, never taking her eyes off Lana.

"Wait a minute. Don't you still need that coffee?" Lana asked, innocently.

148 Haunted Hearts

"No. I'll just get some at the store," Roxie said in a defeated tone as she reached for the screen door handle.

"But I wanted to show you the gadget. It's nothing, really. I hate to think you're frightened of me. We're neighbors and I really want to show you that what you saw wasn't what you thought." Lana walked up the steps.

Roxie opened the door and moved behind her husband. "Don't let her hurt me, Ralph."

"Stop this nonsense right now! Go with Lana, get the coffee and see the thing that's making you act like an idiot."

Lana felt sorry for Roxie, living with a man who belittled her at every chance. No wonder the woman was a basket case half the time and Lucy acting up didn't help either. Unfortunately, Lucy enjoyed scaring Roxie. Said it served the old snoop right and just might stop her busybody ways.

But Lana suspected Roxie was just lonely-stuck in the house all day with nothing to do but wait on Ralph hand and foot without him showing her any appreciation.

"Really, come on and let me show you."

"Well..."

"Please. I promise you'll be relieved."

"Go on, woman." Ralph pushed Roxie out the door and shut the screen behind her.

Roxie tried to get back inside, but Ralph held the door tight and then flipped the lock so she couldn't escape back into the house. He chuckled when she pulled desperately on the door handle.

Lana's heart went out to her. She eased her way to Roxie's side and took her by the hand. "Come on. I'll bring you right back. If I don't, Ralph will come and get you. Won't you, Ralph?"

"Yeah, sure, I will." He laughed again. "Stupid bitch is afraid of her own shadow, she is."

Lana wanted to yell at him, "You ignorant ingrate, you're not helping. Can't you see your wife's had a terrible fright?" But she kept her mouth shut, knowing it wouldn't help and might only worsen the situation. Roxie's body trembled, causing the curlers on her head to jiggle.

As they entered the doorway, Lana saw the dress hung on a thin clear line and thanked heaven her aunt had known what to do. Sometimes she thought the two of them occupied one mind when it came to fixing things.

Lucy made herself visible to Lana and winked at her, then stuck her tongue out at Roxie. Lana rolled her eyes upward before speaking to Roxie. "See, the dress is hung on a line."

"But...but, how did it move from there to here and over to there."

149 Kim Cox

"See here?" Lana followed Lucy to the desk on the far side of the room. "I pull the string here and move it wherever I want." She pointed above them. "And the line runs from here to the doorway over there, going right by the file cabinets."

Roxie's face turned a bright shade of red. "I'm such a numbskull, just like Ralph says."

"No, you're not. Anyone would've been scared of what you saw. But you know, you really shouldn't peep into other people's windows like that." She glanced at Lucy, who was nodding her head and laughing as she glided by them.

"I know. I don't know why I do things like that. I just wanted to make sure you were up before intruding."

"You're never an intrusion. Feel free to visit any time." Lana crossed her fingers behind her back to counter the little white lie.

"Thank you, Lana. I'm so sorry I acted like such an old fool." Roxie shivered. "It's cold in here. How can you stand having that air conditioner on in winter? It's cold outside."

"Oh, but it's not..." Lana stopped herself, realizing why the room was chilled. "I turned it on instead of the heat by mistake and the darn thing is stuck." She tightened her already crossed fingers. "I was just getting ready to fix that after I finished hanging the clothes."

"Let me send Ralph over to fix it for you. He's pretty handy at fixin' things, you know. It's the least I can do."

Lana edged Roxie to the door. "Oh, no, that's not necessary. The button just fell off and rolled under something. I can turn it off as soon as I find the knob. Or if I don't, I'll just use some pliers to turn it off. But thank you for the offer. I appreciate it."

Lucy put her finger in her mouth and pretended to gag-something she'd learned recently and overused.

Lana pursed her lips and narrowed her brows, giving Lucy a quelling look. When they got to the door, Roxie turned around. "I almost forgot. Can I get that coffee now?"

"Yes. It completely slipped my mind, too. Follow me." Lana turned toward the kitchen.

"I'll wait here," Roxie said, backing up.

* * * * *

Lucy watched as Roxie slipped over to Lana's desk and glanced over the papers stacked there.

Oh, busybody! Lucy hated nosy people more than anything.

Roxie turned the corner of a sheet up with two fingers and tilted her head to one side so she could see what was written on the paper under it.

150 Haunted Hearts

Lucy noticed one drawer wasn't completely closed on the file cabinet. She flew over and pushed it with all her might. The drawer slammed shut with a bang.

Roxie jumped, her eyes wide as she looked around the room for the source of the noise. Lucy whooshed by so fast, the breeze lifted one of the curlers from Roxie's head. Then, she hurried over, opened and slammed another drawer shut.

At this, Roxie ran for the door. "Oh, God! Let me out of here," she cried and struggled with the knob.

"What in this world? Roxie! Here's your coffee."

Without a word, Roxie reached for the cup with one hand and grasped the doorknob with the other.

Lana gave Lucy another narrow-eyed look. "Here, let me help you with that."

Lucy shrugged her shoulders. Could she help it if the woman couldn't handle loud noises? It wasn't her fault. The old biddy shouldn't have been snooping.

Roxie's teeth chattered. The cream on her face now appeared dry and cracked. "What do you have here? Ghosts? Poltergeists?"

"Well, I never. Can you believe she called me a poltergeist? The nerve of that idiot woman."

"Lucy!"

Lucy clasped her hand over her mouth when she realized Lana had said her name aloud without thinking. As Roxie struggled, Lana was able to open the door only after she pried Roxie's hands off the knob.

(c) 2008 Chris Grover - Do not reproduce in any form without the permission of the author/owner.

If you like this sample chapter, you can read the rest and 5 other stories by purchasing a copy of ENCHANTED HOLIDAYS, available from Cerridwen Press http://www.cerridwenpress.com/ in both electronic and print.

Valentine's Inn by Chris Grover

2008-02-07T15:06:00.000-05:00

Fifth sample chapter from Enchanted Holidays - Valentine's Day - VALENTINE'S INN by Chris Grover

Chapter One

To Rianna Gordon's annoyance, the rain that started earlier in the morning had now turned to sleet. Pulling up the hood of her winter jacket, she shoved the copy of the developer's offer into the back pocket of her jeans and limped around the perimeter of the lakefront property, trying her desperate best to imagine what it would look like a year from now. After the inn her great-great-grandfather had built on the shores of Lake Ontario over a hundred years ago had been replaced with the condos and other facilities she'd seen on the developer's plans.

Provided, of course, she went along with those plans and agreed to sell Wilton Homes the property.

She sighed sadly, her gaze lingering on the familiar, large, gray fieldstone building with its high slanted roof of cedar shingles, the old-fashioned six-pane windows and solid wood doors. The summer she graduated from high school, she spent part of her vacation helping her Uncle Bill repaint that white trim around the windows. They also painted the solid wood doors a cheery apple red and for as far back as she could remember it had always been her job to keep a brilliant shine on the brass door fittings. This place had been her family's home for more than a century. All her childhood memories revolved around Valentine's Inn and the last thing she wanted to do was let it go. But there was no way she could keep it and that was that. The sooner she made up her mind about the offer, the less painful it would be.

The real estate salesman said Max Wilton had looked at several other properties in the area and was eager to make a decision, so he gave her exactly forty-eight hours from five o'clock yesterday evening in which to make up her mind.

Sell and the moment the sale went through and all the legalities were taken care of, Valentine's Inn would be bulldozed into extinction and she could buy that cute little cottage in the Muskokas. The one with its own private lake. The one that the owner was willing to-

"Hello? Excuse me, miss, could you please give me a hand here?"

Rianna turned, surprised to see a dark-haired man hurrying toward her from the direction of the lake. Tall, broad-shouldered and probably in his late forties, he appeared to be cradling something inside his black leather jacket.

"Help you with what?" She started edging back toward the inn. "You realize this is private property?"

"Yes, I know." He smiled, his dark blue eyes unexpectedly warm and friendly as he opened his jacket. "Actually, it's this little guy who needs your help."

221 Chris Grover

Against her better judgment, Rianna stepped forward to look and felt an almost forgotten stirring in the region of her heart. With both her life and her emotions in tatters, the last thing she needed was involvement with anyone or anything. But a small black kitten, its fur so wet and full of ice crystals it stood up in stiff points, was nestled against the man's chest.

"I found him a couple of minutes ago huddled under a bush. I think someone must have dumped him."

"Poor baby." Rianna reached for the kitten. Tucking him securely inside her own fleece-lined jacket, she headed for the inn. "We need to get you inside where it's warm and dry."

When she reached the large, old-fashioned kitchen that had once been the nerve center of the inn, she realized the man was right behind her. But it was too late for her to worry about that now. Anyway, a man who saved abandoned kittens couldn't be completely bad, could he? If the kitten had been warm and dry on a day like this, she might have reason to think he was using the animal as a ploy, but it wasn't and-

"Do you have something we can use to dry him off? Maybe an old towel?"

"Try those cupboards over there." She pulled off her stocking cap, then jerked her head in the direction of the far wall as she put the kitten down on one of the steel-topped counters and started checking him over for signs of physical injury. "As far as I know, whatever we have is in there."

The kitten gave a tiny plaintive meow and tried to clamber back inside her jacket. "And hurry up. Spiky here is freezing his tail off." The ice on the kitten's fur had started to melt. Grabbing a handful of paper towels from a roll on the counter, she tried to absorb some of the moisture as she continued checking the cat for injuries.

"All I could find are these." He dropped a couple of thin bar towels on the table. "Don't you have anything thicker?"

She pointed to an open door leading off the kitchen. "The living quarters are through there. Grab whatever you can find from the bathroom."

A moment later, he was back with two fluffy pink bath towels. "How is he?"

"Cold, wet and scared, but otherwise okay. At least as far as I can tell." Taking one of the towels, she rubbed vigorously at the kitten's fur.

"Maybe you should take him to a vet."

"Why didn't you?"

He shrugged. "I'm on foot and the nearest vet is at least five miles away. Anyway, I saw you."

"And the word ‘sucker' written on my back?" She smiled wryly.

He looked a little shamefaced. "You could've said no."

The kitten gave another small cry and made a weak attempt to struggle free. His fur was still damp, but he looked a little less bedraggled. Putting the towel she'd used aside, she quickly wrapped him in the dry one and picked him up. "There's milk in the

222 Valentine's Inn

fridge. Can you find a saucepan and warm some up? He might be hungry. And his fur is going to take ages to dry. How do you think he'd feel about my hair dryer?"

"Terrified, I would imagine."

After putting the milk on to heat, the man turned on one of the big restaurant-size ovens that lined one wall and pulled down the door. Positioning a kitchen chair in front of it, he beckoned Rianna over. "This will help to dry him off. Cats love the warmth."

As she opened the towel, the kitten immediately reacted to the heat by stretching out a paw and giving a faint but appreciative meow.

When the milk was ready, she dipped the tip of her finger in it and brought it close to his tiny pink nose. He sniffed at it a couple of times, but that was all. Curling himself into a ball, he closed his eyes and went to sleep.

The man frowned. "I guess he's not interested in milk."

"I think he's more tired than hungry. I don't have a lot of groceries. But there's canned chicken and canned tuna and also some bread. I'll let him sleep for a while, then try him again with something else later."

"You're sure he's okay?"

"His fur is still damp, but he's far from starving. Plenty of meat on his little bones. He could've gone for a walk and gotten lost."

"I suppose."

The man's hair had started to dry and Rianna felt a stab of compassion as he pushed his fingers roughly through it in a vain attempt to control the mass of curls. Same problem she had when her hair got wet.

"By the way, my name's Josh. Josh Byford."

"Rianna Gordon." She hesitated. "It's none of my business, of course. And whatever the reason, I'm sure you have Spiky's undying gratitude for saving his life. But what were you doing out here? Miles from anywhere and in this awful weather."

"Walking. When I'm not working, I come this way most days. I love walking along the edge of the lake. Gives me a wonderful feeling of being halfway between heaven and earth." He smiled. "Hope that's okay with you?"

"Be my guest. You're the one who's likely to die from exposure. Not me."

He chuckled. "Don't worry, that's not going to happen. But since you brought the subject up, what's your excuse for being here? Have you bought the inn?"

"No. I inherited it from my Uncle Bill. He was my mom's brother."

A look of eager anticipation appeared on his face. "You mean Bill Valentine? That's great." He suddenly sobered. "What I mean is, I'm really sorry to hear he's gone, but glad to know the property will be staying in the family."

"You knew him?"

223 Chris Grover

"Of course. I worked for him here at the inn for several years. But after the fire, when he closed up and moved to Hamilton, I'm afraid we lost touch. So, now the place is yours. Does this mean you're going to fix the old place up and reopen?"

"Sorry, no. As a matter of fact, I'm thinking of selling. A developer wants the property to build a retirement community and I'm just camping out here for a couple of days while I make up my mind."

His eager expression changed to outright horror. "Why would you sell?"

"Because..." She took a deep breath and tried to stretch her injured leg without disturbing the cat. "There are a number of reasons. None of which I really want to go into."

"Your property, so it's your call. I suppose the new owner could always convert the inn into a clubhouse or something like that."

"If I sell, I understand the inn comes down to make way for a fitness center."

"But the inn is over a hundred years old. A genuine piece of Canadian history. If you need the money that badly, surely you can find someone interested in preserving it? If not as an inn, maybe as a restaurant? Even a bed-and-breakfast."

"From what the real estate salesman said, I was lucky to get this offer."

"I don't believe that."

"I do. The fire that forced Uncle Bill to close down ten years ago did a lot of damage. A complete refit would cost a fortune. Anyway, why do you care whether I sell or not?"

"Because I'd hate to see the place disappear unnecessarily. The worst damage is in the reception and lounge areas. I realize it wouldn't be cheap to fix, but surely not that expensive."

"Upstairs suffered a lot of smoke damage, so there'd be the expense of new furniture and linens."

"But the building is structurally sound."

"So the insurance company assured Uncle Bill. But after ten years, there's a great deal that would require either repairing or replacing. Probably cost two fortunes to get it even halfway back to its former state. Then, there're startup costs for inventory and supplies and all new furniture and accessories for the bedrooms and lounge area. And you can just bet the health authorities would insist everything here in this kitchen be ripped out and more modern equipment installed. It's hard to find anyone who has that kind of money to speculate with these days. And what about staff? Who would want to work out here? And where would the customers come from?"

"I'm sure you'd have no problem arranging a loan to cover all that. And people worked here before," he said stiffly. "I'm also sure some of the old employees would want to come back. As for customers, the inn is on the main Toronto-Niagara Falls highway. The dining room never lacked for trade before the fire and it wouldn't if you reopened tomorrow."

224 Valentine's Inn

"Sorry. That's not going to happen, so I won't start cooking," Rianna shot back unable to keep the sarcasm from her voice. What did Josh, whatever his name was, think he was up to trying to bully her like this? "In any event, I can't cook."

"Can't or don't care to?"

She stared at him in surprise. "Excuse me?"

"My mom learned from her mom. She loved to cook...especially for her family. Of course, I realize women today have cutting-edge careers and don't have time for old-fashioned domestic skills."

"If it's any of your business, I don't have a family. Not anymore. But I know how to turn on the microwave, plug in the electric kettle and fry an egg. And for one person living alone, that's bordering on culinary information overload, in my opinion."

"What do you do? I mean, do you have a job?"

"Not at the moment. But I'm... I was a lawyer."

"Was?"

"Was. Not disbarred or discredited, just was."

"As in disenchanted?"

"No. As in retired."

He looked at her for a moment then laughed. A deep, booming belly laugh that set her nerves on edge. "You can't retire at your age. You have to do something. Even if it's only to relieve the boredom of turning the microwave on and off and staring at the walls."

"Not necessarily."

"Okay. So you're financially independent, you'll get a nice chunk of cash from selling the inn, then what happens next?"

"Why are you so concerned about me?"

"From the sound of it, I think someone needs to be."

She gritted her teeth and glared at him. "I intend to buy a winterized cottage on a remote lake in the Muskokas and read, watch TV and generally indulge myself. You have a problem with that?"

"Can't imagine it being much fun if you're by yourself."

Her leg was aching badly from being in one position for too long. Another legacy from the accident that the doctors said she had to learn to live with. She needed to stand up and walk around to relieve the pain. Getting to her feet, she handed him the sleeping cat. "Take care of Spiky for a minute. I have a cramp in my leg."

"I thought perhaps you'd injured it. I noticed you limping earlier."

"Actually, I broke it in a couple of places. But it's fine now, provided I don't sit in one position for too long."

On her second tour around the big kitchen with its long, central island, green-tiled floors and steel-topped counters, she noticed the sleet had changed to snow. Big fat

225 Chris Grover

flakes were whirling in the wind and covering the landscape with a mantle of white. She picked up the electric kettle she'd brought with her and filled it with water. She was being a lousy host and while Josh was hardly a guest, he had saved Spiky from certain death.

"Want a cup of tea?"

"I should be going."

"I don't think so. Have you looked outside recently?"

He went over to the window and grimaced. "When did that happen?"

"While we were talking. Where do you live?"

"A couple of miles east of here."

"Well, you can't walk that far in a blizzard. As soon as it eases up, I'll drive you."

"That won't be necessary. It's only a snow shower. We get lots of them this close to the lake. Wait an hour or so and it'll be like it never happened." He returned to the stove. "Think you can find a box or something to use for a cat bed? Put it here in the kitchen near the stove, where the little guy will be warm and comfortable."

And let him think he's found a new home?

"First, I'll make the tea, then I'll go look. I need to fix up a temporary litter pan for him as well. I noticed there's still some sand in one of the fire buckets. He'll have to make do with that until I go to the store."

(c) 2008 Chris Grover - Do not reproduce in any form without the permission of the author/owner.

If you like this sample chapter, you can read the rest and 5 other stories by purchasing a copy of ENCHANTED HOLIDAYS, available from Cerridwen Press http://www.cerridwenpress.com/ in both electronic and print.

Announcements

2008-01-30T20:05:00.001-05:00

I'm a guest author at www.ashleyladd.blogspot.com Thursday, January 31st. Please join us!

Our (4 other authors and myself) anthology, One Touch Beyond (see cover below) will be released at www.cerridwenpress.com February 21st.

Kim Cox

Ghosts of Auld Lang Syne by Maureen McMahon

2008-01-13T22:23:00.000-05:00

Fourth sample chapter from Enchanted Holidays - New Years - Ghosts of Auld Lang Syne by Maureen McMahon

Chapter One

What house more stately hath there been

Or can be, than is Man? to whose creation

All things are in decay?

--- George Herbert

"Man"

I hadn't expected the house to be so imposing. When Holly Purcell, my friend since childhood, asked me to accompany her to the remote New Hampshire property her grandmother had willed her, I'd expected a quaint little holiday cottage. What loomed before us, as my little blue car slid up the icy drive between twin rows of gnarled, naked willows, was something much more impressive—and much more sinister.

Gripped by unkempt tangles of dormant vines and shrubbery and oblivious to the encroaching forest, the house thrust a multi-peaked roof, complete with stately turret, into a gray, wintry sky. Its windows observed our approach with dull disinterest. I couldn't help but shudder.

"God! You didn't tell me it was so old and spooky," I said.

"Didn't I?" Holly smiled. "Well, it should be—spooky, that is. It's supposed to be haunted."

"Oh, right," I scoffed. "This is beginning to sound like one of those slumber parties where we used to try to scare each other to death. Sorry, Holly, but I'm not so gullible anymore."

"Cross my heart," she said, making the appropriate sign, her expression sincere. "Gran loved to tell us the tale of Miss Clementine Kreen, the daughter of the original owners. She lived here back at the start of the century. She was supposedly jilted by her lover on New Year's Eve and ran off into a blizzard, never to be heard from again."

I stopped the car in front of a ramshackle shed that once must have served as a garage, but was now leaning precariously to one side under the pressure of a huge pine tree that had grown up much too closely. Heavy pine boughs lay across the sagging roof. Holly looked at me, her beautiful, cornflower blue eyes twinkling beneath thick lashes. "They say her spirit still roams the woods—searching."

"Searching for what?" I cocked a skeptical brow, unable to prevent my journalistic curiosity from snapping up the bait.

Holly shrugged. "Some say she's still searching for her lover. Others say she's searching for shelter from the blizzard she was lost in. But Gran always believed there was something else. No one knows for sure."

I turned off the engine and took the keys out of the ignition. "Well, it seems like a mammoth waste of time to me. Maybe while we're here, we can give her a hand and

99 Maureen McMahon

help her find whatever it is she's looking for." I had meant the words to be sarcastic, but Holly was delighted.

"That's just what I'd hoped you'd say!" she said. "I knew if anyone would understand, you would."

"Well…" I began, but she was out of the car and trudging up the path toward the house so quickly that my words were lost and I was forced to run to catch up.

She waited at the foot of the front porch steps. "We'll get the luggage later," she said. "First, I'll show you around. It's positively gorgeous—but needs a lot of work."

I nodded, puffing small white clouds after my brief exertion. The structure's decay and neglect was more apparent close-up. The weatherboards were badly in need of painting and some of the fascia was loose or missing altogether. An old broken porch swing hung askew, its chains rusted stiff. Pine needles and old brittle leaves littered the porch floor.

"Does anyone look after the place?" I asked, glad there was only a dusting of snow on the ground. It was already December twenty-nine and so far, it had been a relatively mild winter. While I had hoped for a traditional white Christmas, I was relieved we'd been spared the inconvenience of traveling through heavy snow.

"Lyle asked Brent Atherton to keep an eye on things," she said. "Brent is a neighbor—he and his granddad live just over there." She pointed off into the woods to our left.

I nodded. I didn't know Brent Atherton or his grandfather, but Lyle was Holly's older brother who lived in Boston, a good four-hour drive away. The house was left to them both, but I suspected that Holly was more enthused by the bequest. Lyle already lived a life of luxury, with a glamorous wife and a high-paying real estate business. He'd have little use for a dilapidated old homestead set on a remote lake in upper New Hampshire. Holly, on the other hand, lived modestly in a one-bedroom apartment in New York, trying to make a living from her art. She was an excellent artist, but work was scarce and often didn't pay well.

"So, come on!" Holly said, producing a set of keys. "Let me give you the guided tour before the others arrive."

"What others?" I asked, surprised.

She smiled mischievously. "Why, Lyle and Clare, Armando, who's bringing up my car and, I hope, Peter."

"Peter?" I echoed.

She dimpled at my expression. "Yes, silly, your Peter. Lyle thought it would be fun to have us all together again. Since Peter's bank handles the trust account for the estate, we can combine business with pleasure. But I'm not sure if or when he can make it."

I scowled, disturbed by the sudden lurch in the pit of my stomach at the mention of Peter Mansfield's name. We'd been inseparable during our college days—even came close to making a permanent commitment—but stubbornness and youth contrived

100 Ghosts of Auld Lang Syne

against us and, after graduation, we went our separate ways. We still kept in touch, but now his work as a partner and financial advisor at his father's bank and my job as a journalist for a prestigious travel magazine, left little opportunity to rekindle old sparks.

It had been pure luck that my New Year's holidays coincided with Holly's invitation to come with her to her grandmother's estate. I had visualized just her and me toasting in the new year in front of a cozy fire, reminiscing about our life growing up in Marblehead, a quaint, but well-to-do, suburb of Boston. I was naturally taken aback when she dropped her bombshell.

"So, you're still trying to play at being the matchmaker, eh?" I griped. "Will you ever give it up?"

She shook her head, unperturbed. "Probably not," she said. "Especially not where you and Peter are concerned." She pushed a stray lock of silky golden hair back from her face and met my glare without flinching, her petal lips set in a stubborn moue. "You know, Stacey, men like Peter Mansfield don't grow on trees. And everyone who ever knew you knows you two are meant to be together. Why won't you just accept fate and live happily ever after?"

"I'll accept nothing of the kind," I said haughtily. "What Peter and I had was wonderful, I'll admit, but we've both changed."

"Yes," she said pointedly, "now you're even more suited to each other."

I opened my mouth to retort, but she didn't give me a chance. Climbing the porch steps, she inserted a key into the lock and pushed the front door open. "But let's not argue," she said. "Peter may not be able to make it anyway. He wasn't sure if he could get time off—so there's no point making a fuss. Won't you please step this way, Miss Christian?" She made an exaggerated sweeping bow and I had to smile.

"Yes, ma'am." I saluted briskly and stepped past her into the dim interior of the house. There was no point arguing with Holly once she made up her mind. Secretly, I wasn't averse to seeing Peter Mansfield again—if only for auld lang syne.

* * * * *

Despite the ancient wallpaper, threadbare carpets and rustic plumbing, the house seemed comfortable enough. The front door opened onto a hallway that ran the length of the house. A set of narrow stairs covered by an ancient paisley runner hugged the right wall of the hallway, then made a left turn from a small landing to complete its rise to the second floor. It seemed there were doors everywhere, many opened into closets or cupboards filled to the brim with products of a lifetime of hoarding. Holly's grandmother had apparently parted with very little in her eighty-six years.

The kitchen was at the back of the house. Originally, it would've been exceptionally small, but someone in recent years had possessed the foresight to modernize and enlarge it. Now, there was room for an oak table surrounded by six matching chairs and a large hutch filled with china and crystal. Double-glazed windows framed a small backyard that gently sloped to the frozen expanse of Lake Catawah beyond. The lake

101 Maureen McMahon

was not large by any means, but large enough to provide a refreshing swim in the summer and good ice fishing in the winter.

"Did you bring your skates?" Holly asked.

"No," I sighed. "Though I practically pulled my parents' basement apart to find them. In any case, I don't think they would've fit anymore."

"Well, I'm sure Gran will have some around here that'll fit you," Holly said. "I know she always kept quite a few pairs—as well as boots and gloves for winter and swimsuits and sandals for summer. Whenever we came to visit, we forgot something. But no matter what it was, Gran always had a replacement." Her voice trailed off into a squeaky sob and I put my arms around her and hugged her, feeling her shoulders tremble as she let pent-up tears fall silently.

"I'm so sorry," I said. "I've been so thoughtless. I didn't even consider all the memories you must be dealing with."

"It's okay," she said. She gave me a quick, tight hug in return, then pulled away, snatching a tissue from a box on a nearby shelf and wiping her eyes. "Gran would hate to think I was crying over her."

I nodded. I had met Holly's grandmother only twice, but both times she struck me as a strong, no-nonsense woman who wouldn't stand for tears.

"Come on," Holly said, her moment of weakness past. "Let's go get the bags and I'll show you your room. I've put you right next to Peter—if he comes, that is." She winked with exaggerated innuendo.

But seeing the warning look in my eye, she squealed with laughter and made for the front door at a run. I followed, happy to see her naturally vivacious nature restored.

* * * * *

My room was one of four on the second floor—two bedrooms, a bathroom and what appeared to be a sitting room. I couldn't be sure of this, though, since the furnishings were draped with dust covers.

I was lucky to have a room of my own. It was modest in size and somewhat stark in comparison to the other rooms in the house, most of which were filled with a hodgepodge of furniture, paintings, photographs and bric-a-brac. The wallpaper was a faded yellow floral and the rug was old and slightly musty, but welcome, considering the cold hardwood floor underneath.

The single bed sagged slightly in the middle, but was made up with crisp white sheets, fluffy blankets and an exquisite, hand-sewn quilt.

A small closet contained a few old coats. Holly had pushed these to the back to make room for my things. Against one wall was a mahogany chest of drawers, full except for the top two drawers that she'd haphazardly emptied into a cardboard box and also shoved to the back of the closet. There was a matching mahogany bedside

102 Ghosts of Auld Lang Syne

table, sporting a lace doily and a rather extravagant lamp, the base of which was a statue of Aphrodite holding aloft a bulb, covered with a yellow, lace-edged shade.

The window next to the bed looked out over the kitchen to the lake and surrounding forest. I gazed out, mesmerized by the sunset colors tinting the frost-tipped trees and casting multicolored fingers across the thin covering of snow. I could just make out another house at the far end of the lake, set against the steep wooded slopes that rose protectively on all sides. But the only real sign anyone else inhabited the area was a thin stream of smoke rising from some hidden chimney in the woods to my right. The scene was lovely and peaceful, but at the same time, lonely and forbidding.

I turned from the window and rummaged through one of my cases for my camera. I wasn't a great photographer, but I'd learned to appreciate the artistic value of good lighting from Arthur Wong, my magazine's resident photographer. Finding the apparatus, I snapped a couple of cursory pictures through the window as the sun set. I intended to be more vigilant at keeping visual records of my holidays and trips. I'd realized sadly that I'd kept few pictures of my halcyon days at college and I was determined not to make the same mistake with the rest of my life.

There was a cursory knock at the door and Holly poked her head in. "How're you settling in? Do you need anything?"

I shook my head. "No. I think I'm okay, thanks. But come in and keep me company while I unpack."

She complied happily, settling herself on the bed and running a reverent hand over the quilt. "You know, Gran made a quilt for every bed in this house. They're all different—all with unique themes. This one is the holiday quilt. You see? Here's a patch with a Christmas tree and another with a decorated egg motif. There's Valentine's Day, Washington's birthday… Look, here's one for Groundhog Day! But I don't know what this one is for."

I went over to look at what she indicated. It was a patch depicting an old man with a long beard, holding a scroll. "That's Father Time," I said. "He often represents the new year—the passing of time. Out with the old and in with the new."

Holly frowned. "Well, he doesn't look very festive," she said.

I laughed. "No. But that's what the new year is all about—you really never know what it'll hold. You can only hope to put the past to rest and move on to whatever the future has in store."

She cocked her head and weighed my words. Then she shrugged. "Well, I sure wish I knew what the future held in store for me." She sighed and I sat down on the bed next to her.

"What about you and Armando? Aren't you happy with him?"

She smiled. "Oh, sure. Armando's fun and romantic and sweet…but he's not going to be here for much longer." At my questioning look, she explained. "He's only here from Peru for a year. His working holiday visa runs out at the end of January."

103 Maureen McMahon

"I see," I said slowly. "But…if you love each other…"

Holly scoffed. "No, nothing like that. We're deeply infatuated, but it's not love. We both know that."

I hadn't met Armando Perez yet, but Holly had told me a bit about him. They'd met at an art exhibit in Boston. He was an artist himself, working at the Boston Art Museum during his visit. They had their art in common and Holly insisted that he had "looks to die for". Because he had no relatives in the U.S. and she couldn't stand the thought of anyone spending the holidays alone, she'd invited him to join us at the lake for New Year's.

"Well," I said, patting her hand sympathetically, "you never know what the future holds."

"I suppose," she said. "And as Scarlett would say, 'Tomorrow is another day.'"

We laughed.

"So, when will the rest be arriving?" I asked.

She glanced at her watch and frowned. "Well, Armando said he'd be down tomorrow morning and Lyle and Clare said they'd be here tomorrow afternoon sometime. Who knows with them! And Peter—well, like I said, if he can make it, he'll make it whenever."

I glanced at my own watch. It was nearing six p.m. and already nearly dark. "What do you say we go find some dinner?" I said. "We may have to go shopping tomorrow. Do you know where the nearest supermarket is?"

"Oh, yes," she said. "It's not too far. We're off the beaten track, but not totally cut off. I brought some food along, but I'll definitely have to stock up to feed everyone. And we have to have champagne for New Year's Eve and ham and turkey…"

"Whoa!" I cried in mock horror. "I hope you know what you're getting into! You do know that my culinary skills are nonexistent?"

She laughed. "Don't worry, I like to cook. But we'll take it day by day. No need to go overboard."

"Good," I said. "Let's go down and see what's available for dinner tonight. I'm starved!"

She agreed and together we headed for the kitchen. But just before I shut the door, I glanced back at the quilt on my bed and the patch with Father Time and felt a tiny pang of regret for all the months since I'd last seen Peter Mansfield.

(c) 2008 Maureen McMahon- Do not reproduce in any form without the permission of the author/owner.

If you like this sample chapter, you can read the rest and 5 other stories by purchasing a copy of ENCHANTED HOLIDAYS, available from Cerridwen Press http://www.cerridwenpress.com in both electronic and print.

RT review for Enchanted Holidays

2008-01-13T00:05:00.000-05:00

Here is the RT review of Enchanted Holidays.

Anthology

ENCHANTED HOLIDAYS

Various Authors

3 stars HOT

This collection of tales from ix authors who know how to please sets the tone for several romantic holidays. The blend of ghosts, mediums, prophecy and tragedy—most of which take place during the Christmas season—is a pleasant read.

SUMMARY: Kim Cox’s “Haunted Hearts” pits private eye Lana against spirits as she strives to solve the decades-old murder of her aunt. In “Mistletoe Medium,” Elizabeth Delisi brings together psychic Lottie and the deliciously hunky Sheriff Harkin. Chris Grover’s “Valentine’s Inn” uses a ghost to convince Rianna to keep her inheritance.

Alexis must defeat a demon-god in Elaine Hopper’s “Curse of Osiris.” Maureen McMahon’s “Ghost of Auld Lang Syne” has journalist Stacy in a fight to discover who’s haunting her new home. Sheryl Hames Torres’ Gemma is a first-rate scrooge until a tragic accident gives her the most important Christmas wish of all in “Fate’s Little Trick.” (CERRIDWEN, Dec., 378 pp., $9.99)

Faith V. Smith (reviewer)

Plotting With Tarot Cards

2008-01-06T14:05:00.000-05:00

I hope some of you will join me for this course! It's a lot of fun.

Liz

Permission to forward granted)

The Online Campus of Hearts through History Romance Writers Present:

Class: Plotting with Tarot Cards
Instructor: Elizabeth Delisi
Dates: January 7, 2008-January 21, 2008

Registration Deadline: January 7, 2008 can be extended to Wednesday January 9, 2009
Fee: $10/HHRW Members, $20/others
Registration: www.heartsthroughhistory.com click on HHRW Mall, then Campus
FMI: classes@heartsthroughhistory.com

Class Description: Are you looking for new ways to breathe life into your outlining process, your plots, your characters? If so, have we got the course for you! Elizabeth Delisi, a.k.a. Madame Liz, will teach you how to use the ancient art of the Tarot to develop stories, plots and subplots, heroes, heroines and villians, and more.

You'll learn the history of the Tarot, how to choose a deck, how to read the cards, and how to use those readings to develop and improve your writing.

There will be four lectures, four assignments to be posted to the list for all to comment on, and naturally all questions will be answered.

Lecture One: History of the Tarot, and Choosing a Deck; Lecture Two: How to read Tarot; Lecture Three: Using Tarot to Develop a Plot; Lecture Four: Creating
Characters with Tarot.

BIO: Elizabeth Delisi has wanted to be a writer since she was in first grade, and probably would have written in the womb if she could have convinced her mother to swallow a pencil. But life hasn't always gone the way she planned, and on her road to publication she worked as a motel maid, waitress, secretary, administrative aide, substitute teacher, and newspaper reporter.

Elizabeth's novels include a FATAL FORTUNE, first in the Lottie Baldwin paranormal mystery series; LADY OF THE TWO LANDS, a time-travel romance; and SINCE ALL IS PASSING, a suspense. She's written contemporary and paranormal romance novellas for ONE TOUCH BEYOND; ENCHANTED HOLIDAYS: HOLIDAY HEARTS; HOLIDAY HEARTS 2; and CUPID'S CAPERS, and has also published two short story collections, MIRROR IMAGES and FENUMBRA. In addition to her writing, Elizabeth edits for several small publishers and individuals, and teaches online writing courses for Writer's Digest.

Elizabeth lives in New Hampshire with her husband, dog and cat. She enjoys hearing from her readers at elizabeth@elizabethdelisi.com and invites everyone to
visit her website at www.elizabethdelisi.com.

Format: Course is conducted via Yahoo Groups email with lessons and Q & A.

FMI: classes@heartsthroughhistory.com

Curse of Osiris by Elaine Hopper

2008-01-05T03:44:00.000-05:00

Third sample chapter from Enchanted Holidays - New Years - Curse of Osiris by Elaine Hopper

Chapter One

The turn of the new millennium ~ the real new millennium

"If you want to live, you'll come with me now." Zane Ryan's penetrating golden gaze intensified on Alexis Hart as he thrust his hand out to her.

Alexis Hart had tried every trick, every remedy she could find to erase the infidel standing in front of her from her heart. As easily as he'd breezed into her life, like a desert sandstorm, he'd stormed out. And for what? Money!

Ha! The American rat didn't deserve her love. Furious with her weak heart, she spat on the floor.
She never believed him when he said she was too young to marry, to take to his homeland, the birthplace of her biological parents. In her adoptive family's clan, she was already an old maid four years ago. She was an anachronism now.

Oh, she could have, should have married. Her adoptive father had fielded many offers for her hand. By now he could be many camels richer, but she couldn't get over the American.

" And I should believe you? All your ever cared about was your precious treasure." She stared at the cowboy's dusty hat and boots, so reminiscent of the movies depicting America's Old West. Squinting in the glare from the setting sun, she jabbed him in the chest, not caring if her adoptive mother was gasping from her impudence around the corner. "Why should I believe you?" A terrible thought struck her and she jabbed him with more force, wishing she was impaling his heart. Perhaps that would finally purge her helplessness when it came to this man. "Unless you're being paid in precious gems and gold to cart me off to who knows where."
The cords in Zane's sinewy neck popped but otherwise, he showed no sign of emotion.

The cowboy just stood stoic in that daring American manner that so infuriated her, so attracted her. Hating to show even a hint of the old love that hadn't been enough to hold him to her four years ago, she anchored her fists on her hips, jutted up her chin and stared him square in the eye.

"This isn't about us." He herded her to the far corner of the ornate room, so that the potted palm hid them from view of the others surely peeking. He swept off his grimy hat and ran his unsteady fingers through his mussed sandy-brown hair. Curses rolled off his lips. "I know you and I have history and we'll deal with that later, but for now, just hear me out and let your head rule. A lot of lives are at stake."

6 Curse of Osiris

Omar, her foster father, joined them. His face gray, his eyes rheumy, he took her hand between his and implored, "Listen to him, daughter. He speaks truth."

"Nay, I refuse to leave you, Papa! Especially not with this infidel." With a swish of her long skirt, she turned and addressed herself to her foster father, wishing to be done with Ryan, wishing her heart would let her.

Despite the rippling anger coursing through her at the sight of the man who had broken her heart four years before, she gazed transfixed at his outstretched hand from beneath her veiled lashes. She thanked Allah she wore the traditional burqa to veil her expression. It was no longer a boy's hand but a man's hand, sinewy with a whipcord strength that could easily crush her smaller, daintier hand. Dark hair curled over the tanned knuckles and the clean nails were clipped neatly short. Yet the calloused pads of his fingers told her that he was still as rugged as he had always been.

Her foster father ushered her out of hearing distance of the cowboy and then spoke softly so only she could hear. "Allah knows the mind and the heart. Ryan is a good man sent by your birth family. I trust him. You must flee Egypt now." Alexis' foster father Omar drew his heavy brows together as he folded his arms across his broad, barreled chest. His thick, wavy hair, dark as midnight, bounced to his shoulders as he nodded. Gaunt cheeks tapered beneath his neatly sculpted beard. His sharp piercing gaze willed her to listen to him.

H er nostrils flared, her protective instincts screaming no. She sucked in a deep breath and then instilled steel into her words. "I fear Allah in everything. But I don't believe that you know His will or that you are here to do His bidding," she said to Zane.
Despite her brave words, sparks exploded in her arm when Zane brushed against it. Alarmed, she scrambled around her papa's ornate desk to put as much space as possible between herself and the overbearing American. In her haste, she almost knocked over a fifty-year-old fern, but caught and righted it. No reason it should be a casualty of their war. Nor would her foster mother thank her for spilling damp soil on her prized Persian carpet.

The large room bespoke a quiet elegance. Heavy ornate furnishings made the room seem smaller and darker than it actually was but it also gave it a homey, secure feeling. A feeling that usually seeped into her, wrapping around her, but which eluded her this night as the shadows deepened and the moon rose high on the other side of the window.

Staring up at the moon, she fingered the gold filigree locket that hung around her neck and which contained pictures of her American birthparents. She tilted her chin regally and glared at Ryan, willing him to leave. Maybe her heart wouldn't ache so badly once he was safely back on his continent, thousands of miles away.

"You must come with me. The safety of the entire world depends on you." Zane's deep voice was deadly quiet. His gaze locked with hers sending chills down her spine. He didn't move a muscle, not even to brush away the unruly burnished golden locks that fell across his furrowed brow.

7 Elaine Hopper

"Don't dare mock me." Seething, her bosom rose and fell heavily.

"Perhaps your motives are mere worldly double-dealing. How can the world's safety depend on me?" She bit her tongue, but too late. She cursed her fiery American blood for tricking her into being too outspoken, too careless. No matter how hard she tried, however, she could not suppress her forthrightness. Oh, how she wished there was a void where her heart dwelled instead of this hammering ache.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her foster mother's shadow cross hers. Several smaller shadows flitted across the floor.

Zane quirked his right brow and shifted his gaze to her foster father, including him in the discussion. "You know of the Curse of Osiris, the Millennium Prophecy. Explain to her how important it is that she leaves with me now."

Omar nodded slowly. Then he glanced at his wife and their five small daughters. "Savvy, escort the children to another room. We have most urgent, private matters to discuss."

Alexis' foster mother curtsied with quiet assurance and silently ushered her family to another room. She strolled with an easy grace, her long robes flowing gently behind her. Curiosity blazed in the sloe-dark eyes of her five younger foster sisters, but they all dropped their gaze hurriedly except Olivia, the second oldest and bravest child, who stared brazenly from Alexis to Zane with a knowing smile on her lips.

When Alexis turned to exit with the others, Omar put a gentle hand on her wrist, halting her. "Nay, Alexis, you are to go with Zane, not the others."

She nodded, folded her hands together demurely and tried to hide her chafing and immense curiosity, even though she could not help but steal veiled glances at the man who had ruined her life. Did he have any inkling how deeply he had hurt her?

"Come along, Olivia. Your father has spoken." Savitri shooed the girl into the adjoining room and shut the door firmly.

Nodding sagely, Omar locked the door behind them. "I know the prophecy well." He gazed up at the heavens and frowned.

"See? Cassiopeia shines brightly, as prophesied." Zane pointed up at the heavens.

Zane's words were frightening, nonsensical riddles to Alexis' ears. She followed the men's gazes, wondering for what she searched. Cassiopeia was a constellation, wasn't it? What significance did it hold?

"Prophecy said the Evil One would return at the dawn of the new millennium and we have safely passed that. I thought we were safe." Omar's obsidian eyes flashed with alarm. "After Alexis' parents told me of this prophecy, I made it my life's mission to protect her."

"Protect me from what evil? Of what prophecy do you speak, Papa?" Her skirt swished around her ankles as she paced with her hands linked behind her back. "The Evil One? 'Tis very bizarre, like some fairy tale."

8 Curse of Osiris

"I wish that's all it was." Zane ambled to the window and pointed at the brightest star. "See that? When the constellation of Cassiopeia appears at the turn of the new millennium, Seth will come back for his bride. And then a new world order will reign." Zane gazed darkly at them, his intense, inscrutable gaze lingering on her. "The calendar got screwed up. Tomorrow night, the new millennium arrives."

Omar strode to the window and he peered closely at the night sky. "'Tis Cassiopeia all right, which means that Alexis must depart Cairo immediately. Egypt is too dangerous for her now. Can you get her out of the country?"

Zane brushed his unruly hair out of his eyes. His unsettling gaze lingered on her. "Great minds think alike. A chartered plane is waiting for us near the Giza port. The sooner we get the hell out of here, the better."

Befuddled, exasperated, Alexis crossed the room to join the men and stood on her foster father's right so that Zane was on his other side. She stared up at the myriad twinkling lights surrounding the moon, fascinated against her will. "Which constellation is Cassiopeia?"

Zane moved over to her and his scent wrapped around her, tantalizing her despite her wariness of him. He smelled of musky American spices that she'd not encountered since she'd last seen him. They were very familiar, very disturbingly erotic scents and she was aggravated that they sent tremors to the very core of her being. She'd thought she had purged his scent from her memory, but it haunted her as if he had never left.

Zane dropped heavy hands on her shoulders and pointed out the window. His hot breath scorched her neck as he pointed to the brightest cluster of lights in the sky. "Look to the south. The brightest group of stars is Cassiopeia."

Uncontrollable shivers gripped her. She told herself that the fateful stars were responsible for her reaction, but the breeze whistling through the window seemed to whisper "liar". "Will one of you please explain all this talk of doom and calamity?"

Without permission or warning, Zane lifted her veil and then the heavy coil of hair off her neck. His rough fingertip tickled her ultra-sensitive flesh. "You bear the sacred mark."

"What sacred mark is this? I know of no sacred mark on my being." Alexis whirled around, scorched by the man's unwelcome but tingling touch.

"You were born with the sacred mark. Your parents, being students of Egyptology, recognized it and sought to free you from the evil prophecy. But they died protecting you before they could tell me how to save you from the curse." Omar shook his head at her and frowned.

" The wicked god Seth will return to wed his promised bride—you—on the eve of the new millennium. If he succeeds, all hell will break loose."
Annoyed at the men's foray into fantasy, she reeled around. She glared hardest at the foolish American. "Curses? Phophecy? Ancient evil? Pish-tosh!"

9 Elaine Hopper

A disturbing thought nagged at her and she lifted her accusing gaze to Zane. "Is the reason you came into my life before only to be my bodyguard? Was I merely a means to accomplishing your sacred mission?"

"I was sent to protect you, but New Year's Eve came and went and nothing happened."

"And then you departed on swift wings. Your twisted tongue bespoke false tales." So, she had been merely a job. His heart had never overflowed with love for her. She had made an absolute and utter fool of herself. This most heinous knowledge cut her deeply.

Omar turned to her, squared his shoulders and lifted his bearded chin. He held out his hand forcefully. "Cease! We both believed you to be safe, daughter. Now, we know we must get you out of here immediately, lest you fall into Seth's clutches. I prayed it would never be necessary to tell you. I kept guard over you and never saw the signs returning—until my friend pointed to the proof in the stars. Seth tricked us into a false sense of security. Very clever, he is."

S he fingered the back of her neck for any indentations or abrasions and found none except the indentation of the chain that was her constant companion. She couldn't wait to locate two mirrors and see this so-called sacred mark for herself. She rubbed her forehead as merciless tension hammered away at her. "I implore you again, Papa, explain this to me before you send me away."
Omar took her hands in his and led her to a buttery-soft leather chair in front of his desk, motioning for her to take a seat. He perched on the edge of his desk and stroked his beard, sighing. "Listen closely, daughter, for time runs short. Seth, who murdered his own brother Osiris, married his brother's wife and tried to take over his brother's kingdom, is prophesied to awaken from his long slumber at the dawn of the third millennium. Because of his portentous misdeeds, he is not fully human, but a viciously sinister creature who will stop at nothing to remake the world in his own vile image."

Omar half turned, sweeping his arm in a wide arc toward the window behind him, indicating the vast twinkling sky. "The constellation of Cassiopeia signals the monster's return. When the stars are fully aligned, he must wed his betrothed in order to fully regain his powers. Then, he will make over the Earth in his vile image and then no mortal can stop him."

Zane paced before them, his hands linked behind his back. Shadows flitted across his chiseled features and haunted his eyes. Instead of their normal honeyed shade, his eyes were the rich deep hue of warm molasses.

Omar's melodious, rich voice continued to weave its spell over her. "'Tis why we must keep you from him and thwart his plans, or it will be the end of this era."

Her mind fogged, Alexis licked her suddenly parched lips and smoothed her long skirt over her knees. She spoke slowly, thoughtfully. "Why am I the chosen one? Was it a lottery? Or just bad luck? And if this monster is really a god, assuming of course the gods of ancient Egypt are not pure myth, is there refuge to be found anywhere?"

10 Curse of Osiris

Zane leaned heavily on Omar's desk. Gazing deeply into her eyes, he said, "According to ancient legend, you are Seth's reincarnated betrothed, Nepththys."

Grimacing, she glanced down at her dour dress. "Me? You think he believes me to be his star-crossed love?"

"It isn't surprising. Your line is descended from the pharaohs of Egypt." Omar held up a picture and squinted at it. His bushy mustache twitched. "You bear the sacred mark. Thus, the evil one will seek you out."

She was descended from royalty? She turned a suspicious gaze on Zane, still not convinced of the truth of their words. "How do we know you're not the unnamed creature trying to trick me into accompanying you? False tales have slithered from your twisted tongue before."

Zane's scowl deepened. "Give me a break. An evil god wouldn't waste words or give you a choice in the matter."

She wrinkled her nose at the sarcastic American and then glanced at her foster father whom she trusted with her eternal soul as well as her mortal body, seeking confirmation. "Papa?"

"Zane speaks the truth. Seth won't wear modern clothing but ancient robes of gold. He won't travel by boat, plane, or car, but ride on the wings of the wind." Omar reached across the table and squeezed her hand. His lyrical voice washed over her. "'Tis fanciful and farfetched, but many mysteries abound in our world. Have I failed in teaching you this?"

He had taught her, but her sensible American side retained doubts, even if she couldn't recall her birthplace. It could be a very troublesome part of her make-up, one that constantly concerned her foster mother and one that she worked very hard to mask. Right now, she had no desire to suppress that side. "So, I'm the chosen one? Once I'm bound to this Seth, I shall also rule over this new cursed dominion?"

The men exchanged troubled glances. "No. Once you are his virgin bride, he will sacrifice you to fulfill prophecy," Zane said thickly.

"Sacrifice? Remove me to my grandparents at once, before this calamity ensues." She rose and headed toward the door.

Omar kissed her on one cheek and then on the other. Then he waved his hand toward the east. "Make haste before the moon is buried in darkness! May you journey on swift wings."

Alexis stopped dead, her hand on the door handle and stared at her foster father. She couldn't recall a time when Omar hadn't been there for her when she needed him. And she needed him now more desperately than ever, if what the men told her were true. "You aren't journeying with us, Papa? But you're my protector."

Omar extracted official-looking documents from the desk drawer he always kept locked. He strode over to her and handed her the sheaf of papers. "Your passport and birth certificate. You'll need these to depart the country."

11 Elaine Hopper

He enfolded her in a fatherly hug and then he stepped back a pace and smiled into her eyes. He took a wad of money from his desk and tucked it into her hands and closed her fingers around it. "I cannot leave your mother and sisters. I shall accompany you as far as the Giza port, but I cannot journey to America. Always remember that my spirit and my love travel with you. You always have a home here, whenever you desire to return."

She turned the documents over in her hand, staring at them. The end of her life in Egypt and as a member of Omar's family suddenly loomed. Dread washed over her.

Zane threw a heavy-looking duffel bag over his shoulder and straightened to his full, impressive height. He stepped out into the star-studded night and was instantly bathed in moonlight. Moonbeams danced on his golden hair, making it appear brighter than the daytime sands. "I'm taking over his job now. The sooner we leave this godforsaken place, the better."

Tightening her jaw, she passed Ryan without looking directly at him. Out of long habit, she made her way to her camel Raheed, stroked his nose, unhitched him and then mounted. She clucked to her steed as she reined him around so that she faced her new protector. "Shall we?"

Zane arched a brow. He gestured to his vehicle, nodding at the far side of the tent where it barely peeked out. "The Jeep is much faster."

"Oh." She felt like a small, foolish child and heat rushed into her cheeks. She dismountd and tied up the camel. She was quite certain the American was delusional. How had she let herself be swept up in this hysteria? "Are you quite certain that legend about my birthmark isn't some silly fairy tale? You Americans are always predicting the end of the world, doom and disaster."

"You're American, too, sweetheart. Or have you forgotten?" Zane's brow lifted and he shook his head. He unholstered a pistol, snapped it open, filled the chamber with bullets and closed it. Then he flipped the safety and stuffed it back in the holster. He repeated the process with a second pistol holstered on his other shoulder.

"Do be careful with those." She eyed the firearms suspiciously, wondering about his prowess with them.

H e grinned wryly. "No fear, sweetheart. I'm a very cautious guy." His glance raked over her. "It wouldn't hurt you to carry a weapon, under the circumstances. Do you know how to handle a firearm?"
Tremors shot down her spine. "Nay! I've never fired a weapon, nor could I slay another living creature."

"We're talking self-defense. I could teach you—if we had time, which we don't." Zane took a sheathed knife out of his pocket and handed it to her. "Here, keep this handy—just in case. It's better than nothing."

"Will guns and knives protect us against gods?" Or demons? "Don't we need weapons of magic? Potions? Incantations? Amulets?" She pocketed the knife and then

12 Curse of Osiris

rubbed the locket between her fingers, wishing it were a magic amulet and gnawed her lower lip.

"Let's hope we never find out." The arrogant American opened the door, swept his arm wide and bowed mockingly. "Your chariot, Princess Nepththys."

She clenched her teeth and narrowed her eyes at him. "I would be most appreciative if you'd refrain from addressing me as such."

Omar climbed in the back of the topless Jeep and leaned over the seat. He produced an ancient book that looked older than time and passed it to her. "Read this on the plane. Perhaps there is a passage in here that will bring illumination. It belonged to your parents and they asked me to give it to you if ever this constellation again appeared in the night sky aligned like this."

Awe washed over her. When she accepted the book, she felt a solid connection to her parents that had been lacking. Here was additional proof they had lived. This was their legacy to her and perhaps a message from the past. "Thank you," she murmured, rubbing her thumb over the heavy gold cover.

The book mesmerized her, bidding her to open its gilt-edged pages. Parchment crackled between her fingers as she slowly turned pages. Her eyes strained to see the ancient scrawl with only the aid of moonlight.

Zane slid a surprised glance to her. "You can read that gibberish?" He pressed the accelerator, fascination gleaming in his eyes.

"I could with better light." She yearned to read it, to learn more of her family and her own fate.

Omar leaned over her shoulder, his chin resting on her shoulder. "'Tis an amazing gift, daughter." A frown knit his brow and his mustache twitched.

She managed to make out a few words with the aid of a small flashlight that Zane extracted from the Jeep's glove box. She underlined the words with her fingertip as she read. "And in the last moments of the old millennium, Seth shall wed his betrothed. Then he will slay the virgin bride as his sacrifice and in so doing, all under the heavens shall be his kingdom and his subjects shall take his form."

Chills raking her body, she stared off into the distance. "Seth," she murmured. "The Evil One. The one who murdered his own brother, Osiris, and tried to steal his throne."

"You're still a virgin, I gather?" Zane asked dryly, his gaze dispassionate once again as if it were an insult.

"What kind of question is that to ask an unmarried woman?" Highly indignant, she clenched her jaw tightly. "How dare you ask me something so intimate!"

Zane chortled in a distinctly American way. "I thought virgins your age were extinct. It is almost the new millennium."

"My age?" She arched her brow at him. "Is twenty-three a spinster in your land?" She tossed her head, snapped the book shut with a bang and laid it on her lap. "We are in Egypt, not America."

13 Elaine Hopper

"Feisty as ever, isn't she? I do believe she's more difficult than I remember," Zane said to Omar, shrugging. Wind whipped his long hair into his eyes and he pushed it away ineffectually, just to have it blow back.

"Vainglorious as ever, aren't you?" she shot back, her eyes narrowed at the younger of the two men. The Jeep rumbled beneath her, bumpy over the uneven dirt road and when they hit a large rock and she was bounced a couple of inches off her seat, she clutched at the door handle lest she be flung against her grumpy savior.

Zane cracked a grin and shook his head as he turned the wheel. Moonbeams danced in the spun gold of his hair, mesmerizing her until she tore her gaze away. "You're not catching me at my best. It's not every day that's the end of civilization as we know it."

"Then let Allah be with us." She kept her gaze straight ahead, pretending a nonchalance she didn't feel. She clutched the handle as the Jeep sped forward at an alarming rate and seemed to home in on every hole and bump in the road. Perhaps it would be a blessing if they died in a motor accident.

Dawn's pink and lavender fingers stretched high into the night sky, pushing it away. Alexis watched, the sun resembling a sorbet floating on the horizon. She stared at it, mesmerized for several long moments before breaking its bewitchment with thoughts. How could evil exist in amidst such beauty?

"I'm well aware of my mission and my duties. It's never left my mind for a moment." Zane nodded at the book. "Now that you have more light, why don't you make it your mission to find a magical solution to our little problem?"

"You always spoke with a flowery tongue, Ryan." She paged through the book slowly, trying to decipher it, losing herself in the fascinating history of an ancient civilization and its allegiance to gods in which she had never believed, but who had supposedly betrothed her long ago.

Omar's hand shot out in front of her face, startling her. "Look out. The sand brews ahead."

Zane swore under his breath and turned the Jeep to go around, pressing the accelerator to the floor. "Hold on tight and close your eyes." He leaned over her lap and fumbled in the glove box until he pulled out a pair of sunglasses.

"Those won't protect you against the sand. You cannot outrun a sandstorm," Omar said direly, wrapping his scarf around his face and pulling his hood up over his head. He leaned forward and helped Alexis to pull up her veil as well.

Zane grimaced, smacking the flat of his hand on the dashboard. "I'm sure going to try. The alternative is to let it bury us alive."

But the storm shifted to the west when Zane moved west and it shifted to the east when Zane turned the car east. The storm more than tripled in size as it closed in on them.

"Faster!" Omar urged, leaning over the front seat. "It will swallow us alive. We need a magic carpet! You do not, perchance, have one?"

14 Curse of Osiris

Zane reached behind him. He pulled a pistol from his holster and held it on the seat beside him.

Alexis stared at the weapon, her mouth as dry as the desert sand. He really planned to use that? Did he expect to do so now? What did he fear from sand that a bullet could cure?

Her foster father shielded his eyes with his hand. The rest of his face remained covered by his scarf. "The next time you come to rescue us, my friend, bring your plane."

Zane palmed the pistol and clicked off the safety. "I wish I had."

(c) 2008 Elaine Hopper- Do not reproduce in any form without the permission of the author/owner.

If you like this sample chapter, you can read the rest and 5 other stories by purchasing a copy of ENCHANTED HOLIDAYS, available from Cerridwen Press http://www.cerridwenpress.com in both electronic and print.

Mistletoe Medium by Elizabeth Delisi

2007-12-25T05:12:00.001-05:00

Chapter One

A New Beginning

Lottie Baldwin glanced in her rearview mirror and frowned. Red flashing lights reflected from the revolving dome atop a sheriff's car, trailing directly behind her. After driving four hundred miles, the final hundred with the afternoon sun glaring in her eyes, the last thing she needed was a speeding ticket. Why hadn't her tarot cards foreseen this? She eased off the accelerator and pulled into the breakdown lane of the small, two-lane highway.

The sheriff's car stopped behind her and a tall, muscular man in a black uniform got out. Lottie watched him in the mirror, patting her tousled blonde curls into place absentmindedly, fascinated by the lithe way he moved. She'd never been interested in the law-and-order type, but this one might be the man who could change her mind. She opened her window, letting in the unseasonably mild early December air.

He leaned down and removed his sunglasses. "May I see your license and registration, please?"

"Of course, Sheriff," Lottie said, smiling briefly to bring her dimples into view as she read his badge?Lake County, North Dakota Sheriff's Department. He was even more gorgeous up close, with dark blue eyes and broad shoulders that strained the top buttons of his shirt. The setting sun tinged his blond hair coppery-gold, a light breeze brought the subtle scent of his spicy aftershave to her nostrils. His proximity made her lightheaded. "What's the problem? Was I speeding?" she asked innocently as she rummaged in the bottom of her purse for her driver's license.

"You were going sixty-eight in a fifty-five zone, ma'am," he said, accepting her license and registration.

"I'm sorry, Sheriff. I've been on the road since six this morning. I guess I was anxious for the trip to be over." She smiled again, more intimately this time.

"Lottie Baldwin," he read from her driver's license. "Blonde hair, gray eyes. From New York?"

"Not anymore." She shook her head. "I'm moving to Cheyenne and I'm so sorry to make such a poor first impression on the local law enforcement. Can we start over?" She extended her hand.

The officer studied her for a minute then grasped her hand in his. "Pleased to meet you, ma'am. My name is Harlan Erikson. I'm a deputy sheriff here and as lovely as you are, I'm afraid I'm going to have to write you a ticket."

186 Mistletoe Medium

As their hands touched, tingles shot up Lottie's arm. Lovely, was she? The man had good taste! "You just do what you have to do," she purred. "I respect a man who does his job." She made no move to withdraw her hand, letting it lie trustingly in his.

Harlan stared at her for a moment, then blinked and dropped her hand. "Do you have a local address, ma'am?"

"Please, don't call me ma'am. It makes me feel old. You call me Lottie and I'll call you Harlan." She toyed with her gold hoop earring. "I'm staying with a friend until I find a place of my own. Her name is Janet Randall and she lives at 501 Chestnut Street, Apartment 3."

"You're friends with?I mean, you're staying with Janet Randall? You don't seem like?" Harlan stopped, a blush creeping up his neck.

Lottie laughed. "Janet is my dearest friend and yes, I'm staying with her. We've been friends since we graduated from college three years ago?though I know you may find that difficult to believe."

"Well, you never know, do you?" He shook his head, a bemused expression on his face.

"I know," she said. "I always know. And I have a feeling about you, Deputy Sheriff Harlan Erikson. I have a feeling we'll be good friends." She winked. "Very good friends."

"Oh?" He grinned and leaned closer, almost taking her breath away. "Well, normally I like to choose my own women, but in your case I might make an?"

"Unit Four." Harlan's portable radio crackled to life, cutting short the rest of his vision of their future.

Harlan straightened, turned away from Lottie and spoke into the radio clipped to his epaulet. "Four. Go ahead."

"We've got a 10-31 at 1910 Baker Street. You copy?"

"Four clear. En route." He turned back to Lottie. "You're a lucky lady. I have to go, so I won't issue you a ticket this time?just a warning to watch your speed."

"Thank you, Harlan. That's very kind of you," Lottie murmured. "I hope you're able to get there before the criminal leaves the scene of his crime."

Harlan's eyes narrowed. "How did you know that a 10-31 was a crime in progress?"

"Madame Carlotta sees all, knows all." Lottie waggled her fingers mysteriously.

"Oh, does she? Well, then, maybe you can tell me?" He shook himself. "Oh, no, you don't. I have to leave. Nice to meet you, Lottie. Enjoy Cheyenne!" He turned and strode to his patrol car.

"I'm sure I will," Lottie called out to his retreating form. "Come visit me at Janet's!"

He hopped into his car and pulled out into the road, lights flashing. As he passed Lottie's car, he turned to her and waved.

187 Elizabeth Delisi

Life in Lottie's new hometown was definitely looking up.

* * * * *

A few minutes later, Lottie pulled up in front of Janet's place. Her apartment was in a large older home with white clapboards and a spacious wraparound porch. True to the street name, two chestnut trees?majestic despite their December barrenness?towered over the front walk. Lottie located Janet's doorbell and pushed the button firmly.

After a moment or two, the door opened and Janet appeared. She looked exactly as Lottie remembered her?tall and slender, with short dark hair, wide green eyes and porcelain skin. Janet stared for a moment, then flung out her arms and pulled Lottie into her embrace. "Lottie! What are you doing here?"

Lottie returned the embrace with enthusiasm. "I'm moving to Cheyenne. Can I stay with you until I find my own place?"

Janet's eyes went even wider. "Wait a minute?you're moving to Cheyenne? Just like that? You make my head spin!" She pulled Lottie into the hallway. "It's so good to have you here?life is too dull without you around. Of course you can stay with me! Come on up and I'll make you a cup of tea. We have a lot of catching up to do."

Minutes later, Lottie was seated at Janet's red and white enamel kitchen table, sipping a cup of freshly brewed mint tea. Janet put a plate of cookies on the table, then sat down across from Lottie. "So, why are you moving to Cheyenne? I have to tell you, it doesn't strike me as your kind of town. It's quiet and sedate."

"I needed a break?quiet sounds good to me." Lottie's smile faltered. "Let's just say, the love train derailed and I had to get away. I couldn't bear another moment there."

"Oh, no! Don't tell me you broke up with Jack?" Janet reached for Lottie's hand and patted it.

"Yes, I did." Lottie ignored the self-pity tugging at her heart. She'd done her mourning and now it was time to move on with her life. Besides, if Janet gave her too much sympathy, she'd start bawling.

"Why? What happened?"

Lottie grimaced. "I should've figured it out a long time ago, but I guess I was blinded by love." She toyed with the spoon on her saucer. "My tarot cards kept telling me something was very wrong with Jack. But he assured me that everything was all right and foolishly, I believed him."

"What did he do, Lottie?" Janet asked.

"He was involved in some?unsavory activities. Apparently, he was fencing stolen jewelry." Lottie sighed. "I should've known?I kept drawing the Seven of Swords when I tried to do a reading on Jack. But like a stubborn fool, I refused to see it."

"The Seven of Swords? What does that mean?"

188 Mistletoe Medium

"Well, usually it indicates someone who's running away from responsibility, afraid to face the music. Someone who would rather go it alone. Naturally, I thought that meant he wasn't ready for a committed relationship with me." Lottie swirled the tea in the bottom of her cup. "But there's another, more literal meaning to the card?robbery or theft. I guess I was only seeing what I wanted to see. That's why I hate to read the cards for myself?I can't be impartial." She shook her head. "Anyway, that's over and done with. This will be the first time I've spent Christmas alone in a long time. But, that's all right. I'm starting over, here in Cheyenne. I'm taking charge of my life again."

Janet rose, came around the table and hugged Lottie. "You won't be alone, Lottie. I'm so glad you're here! You'll spend Christmas with me. We'll have lots of fun! I'll help you find a job and a place to live. Before you know it, you'll be all settled in! You won't regret coming."

"Oh, I can always build up another tarot clientele like I had in New York," Lottie said, waving her hand airily. "I'm sure I'll like it here. I've already met a very eligible man!" She winked at Janet, deliberately thrusting Jack and his deceptions from her mind.

"Good heavens, Lottie, you're certainly a fast worker! Who is he? Maybe I know him."

"I'll bet you do?at any rate, he seems to know you. He's Deputy Sheriff Harlan Erikson." She smiled as she remembered his parting wave. "I think he'll come visit me here before too long."

"Ooh! He's a hunk, that's for sure. But do you think he's really your type? I mean he's pretty straitlaced."

"Don't worry, honey. I'll unlace him in no time flat." Lottie arched her eyebrows.

Janet giggled. "It is so good to have you here! Cheyenne will never know what hit it."

* * * * *

Tall, Blond and Handsome

The doorbell buzzed. "Lottie, can you get that?" Janet called from behind the bathroom door. "I'm not finished with my hair yet."

"Sure, honey, don't worry." Lottie set aside her magazine and stood up. As she walked down the stairs to the front door, a vision popped into her mind of blond hair, broad shoulders, a black uniform. "Harlan, I'm delighted to see you again!" she cried as she pulled open the door.

Harlan's mouth dropped open. "How did you know it was me? I didn't tell anyone I was coming here." He frowned down at her.

"Ah, but you forget, Madame Carlotta sees all, knows all." She grinned.

"Just what does that mean? Never mind!" He cut her off as she opened her mouth. "It's probably safer if I don't know." He paused. "Well, aren't you going to ask me in?"

189 Elizabeth Delisi

Lottie laughed. "Oh, yes, of course! Where are my manners? Won't you come in, Deputy Sheriff Harlan Erikson?" She bowed grandly.

Harlan brushed closely past her and stepped into the hall. "After you, Madame Carlotta," he said, gesturing toward the staircase.

His proximity flustered her. She covered her sudden shakiness by marching up the stairs and into Janet's apartment. "Janet!" she called from the living room. "Harlan's here!"

"I'll be out soon," came the muffled reply.

"Have a seat," Lottie said to Harlan. Her temperature rose as he chose the middle of the couch instead of a chair, crossing his long legs in front of him. "Can I get you some tea?" she asked.

"No, thanks. I just thought I'd stop by and make sure you were obeying the traffic laws," he said, grinning and patting the cushion next to him invitingly.

"Oh, yes, I am, Officer," she murmured as she sat down next to him, closer than was strictly necessary. "I wouldn't want to run afoul of the law!"

"Glad to hear it! So?how do you like Cheyenne so far?"

"Well, it's quite different from New York City," Lottie said slowly. "But I think I'm going to like it here." She smiled at him. "I certainly like the people!"

Harlan uncrossed and recrossed his legs. "I thought you'd enjoy a tour of the town. Such as it is," he said. "Would you like to have dinner with me tonight? I'm afraid there's only one decent restaurant in town?Nicky's?but they make terrific fettuccini Alfredo. Afterward, I'll drive you home and point out the sights along the way."

"Why, Harlan, I'd love to." Lottie smiled seductively. "I'm sure there are lots of things you can show me."

Harlan flushed. "Maybe one or two?"

The phone rang. "Excuse me for a minute, will you?" Lottie got up and went to the kitchen, then picked up the receiver. "Hello?"

"Lottie? That you, honey?" came a smooth voice.

Lottie sighed, her stomach lurching. "Yes, Jack, it's me. How did you find me?"

"I knew you'd go to Janet's. You don't have anyplace else to go. When are you coming back?"

"I'm not coming back, Jack. I told you that when I left." Lottie twisted the phone cord around her index finger. "Please, let's just leave it at that. What we had is over. Let's not make it ugly."

"Oh, c'mon, honey, you know you love me," Jack wheedled. "You're just mad. You can't live without me and you know it."

"Don't kid yourself. I can live without you very well," Lottie retorted.

190 Mistletoe Medium

There was a brief silence. Then he spoke again, all trace of supplication gone from his tone. "Nobody leaves me. Nobody. Have you got that? Now, get your ass home, pronto!"

"No, Jack," Lottie repeated, trying to keep her voice from shaking. She had no intention of letting him know how much he frightened her. "I'm not coming back and you can't make me."

"Oh, yes I can," he growled. "If you don't come back on your own, I'm coming out there after you. I'll drag you back by your hair! You hear me?"

"I'm hanging up now, Jack," Lottie said. "Don't call me again. We're finished." She dropped the receiver into its cradle, then leaned against the counter, trembling. Suddenly, a warm hand stole over her shoulder and a sense of safety and peace flowed through her.

"I couldn't help but overhear," Harlan said. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

She straightened but couldn't face him. "No, there isn't. Though he threatened to follow me out here, Jack's all talk and no action. I doubt he'll make good on his threats. But, thank you."

Harlan grasped both her shoulders and turned her around. "If this Jack character gives you any trouble, I want you to call me and I'll take care of him. Promise me you will?"

She looked up into his eyes?they radiated care and concern. The ice in the pit of her stomach suddenly melted. "All right, I promise. Thank you. But for now, let's just forget about him. He's in the past." She winked at him. "I'm much more interested in the future."

Harlan pulled her hand into the crook of his arm. "Allow me to escort you back to the 'parlor'. I want to hear all about you!"

* * * * *

Lottie's life story had progressed as far as her one-day expulsion from high school when she'd turned over The Lovers card during an impromptu tarot reading for a friend and had been accused by the vice principal of "displaying indecent material".

"His eyes nearly popped out of his head!" Lottie giggled, wiping her eyes. "I thought he was going to explode."

Harlan leaned his head back on the couch, laughing freely. After a moment, he sat up and gasped, "Lottie, I haven't laughed so hard in ages. I think you're going to be good for me!"

"All right, now it's your turn. Tell me about you."

"Not much to tell." He shrugged. "I was born here, went to school here. I did go away to Fargo to get my police sciences degree, but I came back home after I graduated. I've been working for the sheriff's department ever since. I guess I've led a boring life?until now," he said, regarding her warmly.

191 Elizabeth Delisi

"Well, then, tell me more about your job," Lottie urged. "For instance, did you catch that burglar you were after when we met?"

Harlan frowned. "I can't tell you the details, but there's been a second burglary. And no, we haven't caught the guy yet. I don't think he's dangerous?he never takes more than one or two items and leaves the most valuable things behind. Just to be on the safe side, though, you and Janet should keep your doors and windows locked."

"We will," Lottie murmured. A vision nibbled at the edge of her mind and she leaned back and closed her eyes to focus it. Flowers?a strong scent of flowers. Tarot cards floated through her mind?the Seven of Swords and The Moon. Treachery?and deception.

"Lottie? Are you all right?" Harlan's concerned voice pulled her out of her vision.

"Yes." She rubbed her eyes. "There's something about this case that isn't right. These robberies aren't what they appear to be. Flowers are involved somehow."

Harlan snorted. "Flowers? You think it's the local florist pulling off these jobs?"

She shook her head. "No. I mean, I don't know. My visions aren't easy to interpret and sometimes they only make sense in retrospect. I wish I could help more." She spread her hands in a helpless gesture.

"Don't worry," he said stiffly, frown lines etched deep in his forehead and around his mouth. "I may not have psychic abilities, but I assure you, I know how to do my job."

"I'm sorry. I wasn't questioning your abilities. I was just trying to help. These visions appear to me at random. I can't control them." She moved an inch or two away from him and looked down at her feet.

After a minute, he sighed. "I'm sorry, too. I shouldn't have jumped on you. It's just?well, this case is aggravating. There's no apparent motive for the robberies, since the thief leaves behind most of the valuables. The victims don't appear to be connected in any way. It makes no sense. But don't worry," he added. "We'll catch him. We always get our man?or woman."

"I hope so," Lottie said, moving closer at his encouraging tone.

Harlan squeezed her hand and rose. "I have to go now. I'll pick you up at six. Is that okay?"

"Perfect!" Lottie said. "See you then." She walked him to the door and closed it gently behind him.

Janet came out of the bathroom. "At last! I thought he'd never leave."

"You could have come out, Janet," Lottie protested. "You didn't have to stay locked up in there."

"I wanted to give you two some time alone. So?did he ask you out?" Janet arched her eyebrows.

192 Mistletoe Medium

"Yes! We're having dinner tonight?as long as he doesn't change his mind." Lottie frowned. "Maybe I shouldn't have told him about my psychic abilities so soon. It scares a lot of men off."

"Not Harlan," Janet said. "He may take some time to adjust to new ideas, but he's pretty open-minded."

"You think so?" Lottie asked doubtfully.

"I know so! Madame Janet predicts." Janet laughed. "Now, let's have some lunch. I missed breakfast while I was stuck in there and I'm starved!"

(c) 2007 Elizabeth Delisi - Do not reproduce in any form without the permission of the author/owner.

If you like this sample chapter, you can read the rest and 5 other stories by purchasing a copy of ENCHANTED HOLIDAYS, available from Cerridwen Press http://www.cerridwenpress.com in both electronic and print.

2007-12-23T19:48:00.001-05:00

For your Christmas pleasure I am posting an excerpt chapter from one of the stories included in ENCHANTED HOLIDAYS. This sample chapter is from the novella FATE'S LITTLE TRICK - a story by Sheryl Hames Torres, a very talented author. Enjoy!

Jared clicked off the radio. The incessant Christmas babble and hokey country Christmas songs were beginning to grate on his already-frayed nerves.

He looked down at the restless child lying in his lap and wanted to bawl like a baby. The seat belt stretched at an odd angle across Emily's little body. She had to be uncomfortable, but he didn't have the heart to wake her. She was completely exhausted. He watched her signing nonsense words in her sleep and touched the back of his hand to her pale brow. At least her fever was lower.

He cursed the reasons for having to drag his little girl across the country. They should be home decorating the tree and making out Christmas lists. He shouldn't have to do this. He shouldn't have to run. But if his best friend, Rick, hadn't called when he did, they might not have had the chance to run. He still didn't understand how his former in-laws figured they had the right to file for custody of his child. The Daltons had enough money to make the court see things their way. Jared's bank account offered him only two choices, stay and fight for about fifteen minutes, lose Emily and everything else, or fill the car with gas and run.

With a heavy sigh, he drove farther and farther up the ridiculously winding road, deeper into the foothills of the Smokey Mountains. If these were the foothills, he'd hate to see the actual mountains. The intense darkness swallowed the feeble light from his high beams. He'd never seen dark so black before.

A child of the city, he was used to streetlights reflecting against smoggy skies. There were few houses this far back in the woods, but covered in lights and decorations, they were like ornaments in the night. Between the houses, the only illumination was the vast amount of stars twinkling down at them from the inky sky. Maneuvering another hairpin curve, Jared decided he'd never seen so many stars, either.

He wished he could just stop and look at them, enjoy them a bit, but they had to reach the cabins as soon as possible. The devil might not be after them, but the threat was just as dire?and just as frightening.

For the last two hundred miles, in between the innocuous Christmas ditties, the radio announcer continuously touted an early snowy forecast for the southeastern part of the U.S. They didn't know when it would hit exactly as it had stalled several times as it made its way cross-country, just sometime in the next few days. Real specific. The system apparently sped up and slowed down as it crossed the country. At the moment, it was in slow mode. He would have thought snow in the mountains in mid-December wouldn't be a big thing, even this far south.

38 Fate's Little Trick

He didn't care one way or another. Let the snow come and bury them up to the roof until spring. All he cared about was getting to the cabin, locking the door behind them and staying inside for as long as it took.

But how long would that be? Would Emily be a teenager and he a bearded old mountain man by the time it was safe to emerge into the light again? Well, if that's what it took, so be it. Emily was his child, the only good thing from his disastrous marriage to Kirsten. He'd be damned if he'd let those usurpers?those interlopers?take her from him. If Em wasn't good enough for them before, what did they think would be different now? She was still deaf.

As he rounded a corner, the hunting retreat finally came into view. The words uttered by that old storeowner in the valley as he thrust the magazine ad into Jared's hands came flooding back to him.

"Miz Fuller should have room for y'all. She's on up there." He nodded his head toward the mountain with its upper half completely obliterated by the low-hanging clouds and coming dusk. "Now, she's a right bit odd, but she runs a clean place, tight and secure. Reckon folks are a might afraid of her hermit ways, but you needn't worry none. She's just sad. Sadness does that. Makes folks hunt for excuses to avoid anything that'll add more pain to what they already suffer. Made-up fear is just as good a reason as any."

Pulling up in front of a quaint cabin marked "office", Jared squinted through the darkness. A screened-in porch spread at an odd angle across the front of the cabin, following the terrain instead of the architecture of the building. The dim light at the windows was cheery and flickering. Fireplace or candlelight, he surmised. Shifting into neutral, he set the parking brake and cut the lights.

He didn't notice the door open, but suddenly a woman dressed in a long skirt and heavy blanket or shawl stood silhouetted against the flickering light, as though she'd been there all the time, waiting for them.

Leaving the engine and heater running, he slipped out from under his sleeping daughter's head as easily as he could and opened the car door. Standing half in, half out of the car, he called into the dark.

"Hello, ma'am. I'm Jar?Jake Matthews." Fast thinking. He hated lying, but he had no choice. "I'm sorry I didn't phone ahead?"

"You do realize that in a matter of days we could be snowed in here?" Her voice was soft despite her hard tone.

"Yes, ma'am." Jared's defensive hackles rose on the back of his neck. Even in the dark, he felt the intensity of her stare, the sensation that it was cutting through him sent a shudder creeping up his back. "We needed to?um?get away for a while."

"Fine. Two bedrooms, I'm assuming." Her voice was strange, clear but guttural almost, as though it hurt her to speak. Without waiting for his answer, she shoved the screen door open, moved down the two steps and walked away from him.

39 Sheryl Hames Torres

He got back in his car and followed her up the road, actually climbing higher up the mountain to the last cabin on the lane. None of the cabins appeared to be occupied and he wondered why she was taking them so far. Following behind her, they were barely creeping along.

"Ma'am, wouldn't you rather ride up?"

Ignoring him completely, she moved ahead as surefooted as a young mountain deer, though she carried no lantern or flashlight. His headlights were the only illumination in the pitch darkness of the night. A little general store sat halfway up the mountain between the groupings of cabins. Heavy-branched firs leaned over it in a motherly fashion.

He pulled to a stop in front of the last cabin on the lane. She unlocked and opened the cabin door while he lifted Emily from the seat. Stepping into the small house, warmth enveloped him and he noticed that not only were the lamps already turned on, but a fire roared in the fireplace.

Alarm bells rose inside him and he hesitated. He searched the room for the woman, but she had already started down the hall. Jared followed.

If the lights and the fire shocked him, it was nothing compared to finding the room set up to accommodate a little girl. Frilly pink curtains adorned the windows and matched the quilt on the little canopy bed. On the floor, toys were scattered around the walls.

"This is her room," she said, her tone still gruff. She lit a hurricane lamp that sat on the bedside table. As if reading his mind, she said, "Don't worry about the lamp. She's young, not stupid. She won't touch it."

He turned his eyes in her direction, but she was already leaving the room. Emily still in his arms, he followed his new landlady. "Ma'am, what is all this? How?"

"Trail map's on the table. Store opens at eight. Goodnight."

"Ma'am?"

Instead of stopping, she pulled the door closed behind her with a resounding click. Jared stood there in the center of the warm room, staggered. How was all of this possible? It was as though she expected them, but that was ridiculous.

And she hadn't given them any information at all. Not about price?not even about herself. In fact, it dawned on him that he never even saw her face.

What he did see as he scanned the homey little room was a small, unopened bottle of children's fever reducer on the counter. His eyes went back to the closed door and a chill when through him. How could she have known? One-handed, he turned the deadbolt with a click that echoed unnaturally loud against the backdrop of popping wood in the fire.

* * * * *

40 Fate's Little Trick

It was long past midnight when Gemma finally pulled her eyes and mind away from the cabin up the mountain and stepped inside her own. She'd stopped feeling the cold hours ago, but now, as the warmth enveloped her, she shivered violently.

How ludicrous was this? They were just people. Nothing special. A man and his daughter. Oh, how she wished she could convince herself of that. Why had he come back now? And with that woman's child?it was like a slap in the face. Gemma felt like the character in that silly one-act play they did in high school?the one where the woman and her daughter show up at a man's house just as he's about to commit suicide, only to reveal they're the ghosts of his late wife and child.

Of course, they weren't the family she'd lost and she wasn't planning suicide. She learned when Ray and Lila died that she was too much of a coward to kill herself. But the torture of having Jared here with his child might just do the job for her. Perhaps she should call her lawyer and have him draw up a new will immediately. She could just leave everything to him and his little girl and walk off into the woods.

Maybe then it would stop.

Why now? Why after all these years? She came up here to be alone, to simmer in her own soup and not add anyone else's problems to the pot. So, why did they have to come now? Regretting his choices? Well, his choices and his regrets had stopped being her problem long ago. That woman's child had no right to crawl inside her head against her will. And he had no right to come to her for help. Even if he didn't know that he had.

She ran her hands through her wind-matted hair and fought down the desperate urge to step back out onto the porch. Maybe the icy wind would have more effect if she left her clothes inside.

S he could see the headlines in the afternoon paper, Crazy Woman Found Naked and Frozen on Screened Porch. Not many folks around the area would be surprised.
Walking to the window, she turned her eyes again to the lit cabin up the ridge. She wished he would go to sleep and stop thinking. If only he would just shut up. He chose his boss's daughter, her arms and her lips?her money. She didn't want to care. She didn't even want to know what their problems were. But, despite her best barriers, slowly, little by little, his thoughts were seeping into her brain and pretty soon, she'd know everything.

And what was this ruse with the phony name?

Picking up the lamp, she started down the hall. Turning for one last glimpse at the door, she purposely left the lock unturned, the fire unbanked. Why bother? It had all started again and she couldn't control it anymore.

Goodnight. Don't be mad.
The child's clear sweet voice ricocheted off the folds of her mind and Gemma's feet stopped as if planted to the spot. She closed her eyes, fighting against tears she'd long ago forgotten how to cry.

Hush, baby. You need to sleep.

If you like this sample chapter, you can read the rest and 5 other stories by purchasing a copy of ENCHANTED HOLIDAYS, available from Cerridwen Press http://www.cerridwenpress.com in both electronic and print.

(c) 2007 Sheryl Hames Torres. Do not reproduce without permission from the author/owner.

Christmas is Almost Here

2007-12-20T03:13:00.001-05:00

I can't believe it's less than a week away. Yes, Christmas is almost here and I've finished shopping (except for food--to do tomorrow). I hope everyone else is ready. My husband and his brother went to visit their mother Monday and Tuesday while I stayed home to take care of our dog and cat. My husband and I are going back to see her after Christmas while my brother-in-law takes care of our pets. We don't like leaving them alone and they wouldn't do well at a kennel or traveling. But that's another subject.

My decorating is all done, finally. We did some last week, but I finished tonight with the small nativity scene and the kitchen table with center-piece (one word or two, not sure) and table cloth. I need to do more winter cleaning, and except for the cooking for Christmas Day everything should be done. I even mailed out Christmas cards this year. This is something I haven't done in a while--probably 2 or 3 years, except for one to my mother-in-law who insists on a card, and mailing it to her, even when she's here for the holidays. She's not going to be able to come up this year and the reason for the two visits to her home--about 4 hours away.

We'll be spending Christmas Day with my youngest son, a friend and my brother-in-law for sure; and my oldest son will try to bring my grandson for a visit too. I sure hope they will be able to make it, but if they don't, they're on our way to my mother-in-law's house, so we'll either stop on the way there, or on the way back.

I also finished with college for the fall semester, signed up for Spring 2008 semester, and have my books. My first day back will be next year on January 15th. Almost a month off. Btw, thanks to everyone who helped me with information for my research paper for Expository Writing. I'm happy to announce I made 92 on it and I was able to maintain my A average in the class. I passed the final exam which was graded either pass or fail (fail the exam, fail the course). I'm also happy to announce that I made all A's this time, but next semester appears to be much harder than the fall semester was. So wish me luck, or better yet, pray for me. I'm going to need it.

And to top it all off, our book, Enchanted Holidays has just been released in paperback and can be found at the publisher's website for print: http://www.jasminejade.com/default.aspx?skinid=13. Amazon.com also has it and I understand Borders stores should also carry Cerridwen Print Books. Enchanted Holidays is a Romantic Parnormal Suspense with 3 holidays stories, including: Christmas, New Years and Valentine's Day novellas (2 of each holiday). My story, Haunted Hearts is actually a Valentine's Day story.
So everything is looking pretty good on the home front this Christmas. Hope everyone has a very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.

Which Lunatic Am I?

2007-12-08T10:42:00.001-05:00

I came across this fun quiz on someone else's blog:

Which Historical Lunatic Are You?
From the fecund loins of Rum and Monkey.

Naturally, being the...um...eccentric person I am, I couldn't resist trying it out and getting the above result. I have to say, I definitely think that's who I was in another life. ;-) Here's the full description from their web page:

You are Joshua Abraham Norton, first and only Emperor of the United States of America!

Born in England sometime in the second decade of the nineteenth century, you carved a notable business career, in South Africa and later San Francisco, until an entry into the rice market wiped out your fortune in 1854. After this, you became quite different. The first sign of this came on September 17, 1859, when you expressed your dissatisfaction with the political situation in America by declaring yourself Norton I, Emperor of the USA. You remained as such, unchallenged, for twenty-one years.

Within a month you had decreed the dissolution of Congress. When this was largely ignored, you summoned all interested parties to discuss the matter in a music hall, and then summoned the army to quell the rebellious leaders in Washington. This did not work. Magnanimously, you decreed (eventually) that Congress could remain for the time being. However, you disbanded both major political parties in 1869, as well as instituting a fine of $25 for using the abominable nickname "Frisco" for your home city.

Your days consisted of parading around your domain - the San Francisco streets - in a uniform of royal blue with gold epaulettes. This was set off by a beaver hat and umbrella. You dispensed philosophy and inspected the state of sidewalks and the police with equal aplomb. You were a great ally of the maligned Chinese of the city, and once dispersed a riot by standing between the Chinese and their would-be assailants and reciting the Lord's Prayer quietly, head bowed.

Once arrested, you were swiftly pardoned by the Police Chief with all apologies, after which all policemen were ordered to salute you on the street. Your renown grew. Proprietors of respectable establishments fixed brass plaques to their walls proclaiming your patronage; musical and theatrical performances invariably reserved seats for you and your two dogs. (As an aside, you were a good friend of Mark Twain, who wrote an epitaph for one of your faithful hounds, Bummer.) The Census of 1870 listed your occupation as "Emperor."

The Board of Supervisors of San Francisco, upon noticing the slightly dilapidated state of your attire, replaced it at their own expense. You responded graciously by granting a patent of nobility to each member. Your death, collapsing on the street on January 8, 1880, made front page news under the headline "Le Roi est Mort". Aside from what you had on your person, your possessions amounted to a single sovereign, a collection of walking sticks, an old sabre, your correspondence with Queen Victoria and 1,098,235 shares of stock in a worthless gold mine. Your funeral cortège was of 30,000 people and over two miles long.

The burial was marked by a total eclipse of the sun.

~~~~~~~~~~

I noticed right away the day he proclaimed himself Emperor--September 17--is my birthday. So this is most definitely me. The only thing they forgot is, of course, I need an obelisk on my grave. We rulers of the world generally expect something spectacular!

Liz, Queen of the Universe

Happy Thanksgiving

2007-11-21T18:13:00.001-05:00

Thanksgving is one of my favorite holidays. A day set aside from all others to be thankful for what you have, and not for wishing you had something different or more. I would also like to recommend an audio book, Thanksgiving: A Time to Remember by Barbara Rainey about the first Thanksgiving. Barbara Rainey majored in History in college.

So, I wanted to take this time to wish all of you a Happy Thanksgiving. God Bless You All!!!

Kim Cox

New Updates

2007-11-17T02:43:00.001-05:00

Update for Enchanted Holidays
Enchanted Holidays

Romantic Paranormal Mystery Anthology
Coming in Print December 2007
Cerridwen Press

Add spice and a touch of magic to your life with ENCHANTED HEARTS, an intriguing collection of romance, mystery, danger and paranormal encounters. Popular authors Kim Cox, Elizabeth Delisi, Chris Grover, Elaine Hopper, Maureen McMahon and Sheryl Hames Torres provide them all!

Contributing Authors:

Kim Cox, Elizabeth Delisi, Chris Grover, Elaine Hopper, Maureen McMahon and Sheryl Hames Torres

The Turning of the Leaves

2007-11-03T17:11:00.001-05:00

This first picture was taken from my front yard.
We have to enjoy it while it lasts. Soon all the leaves will be gone. I wanted to go up on the parkway and take pictures but I didn't make it this year, so I stood in my yard and took some pictures. I hope you enjoy them.

I love my home and the gorgeous scenic view surrounding it. This isn't to say that I wouldn't love to have some changes of my house, but it's so expensive.

In this picture from my back door, the leaves are in gorgeous color. Up at the top of the hill is our winter garden, not really viewable by this photo. If I go up to the parkway next month, the leaves will be gone, and I'll actually be able to see my backyard--not really the house, but our outside storage shed and Lee's carving area.

This time of season is a huge tourist attraction here in Asheville. We had visitors to our home just yesterday from Michigan who wanted to look at Lee's art. They bought 3 pieces.

This next picture is from my backyard, but off to the other side. What's so nice about this neighborhood, besides being pretty secluded, there's also neighbors who look out for one another. You don't find that much anymore. Our summer garden is actually ours and our neighbors' that lives behind us..

Have a nice day. I hope you enjoyed my photos.

Kim

22 Years and Going Strong

2007-10-27T18:18:00.000-05:00

On the 25th, my husband and I celebrated our 22nd wedding anniversary. Nothing fancy, we had a steak dinner here at home. He gave me a loving card and he cooked dinner. What did I give him? Not much, though when I'm getting ready to go to school, work, or shopping--in other words, when I get ready to leave the house--I put on makeup, fix my hair and wear nice clothes. He always asks, "Who are you looking good for?" So, I did that for him. I got out of my lounge around the house clothes, showered, and spent hours on my hair and makeup just for him. It usually takes me 30 minutes to get ready to go anywhere, but I took my time just for him. He was gone to the store much of this time, and I'd planned to make a banner thing and a card for him, but he came back home too soon, and I didn't have time to do anything more. But we don't just do things for each other on special days, we live to do anything we can for the other. We never let a day go by without meaning and saying, "I love you!" and we almost never leave the house without kissing the other. There have been the very few times when we forgot because we were running late for something, but that is very rare. Not the running late (that’s my middle name) but the forgetting.

To me, the way to keep the love alive is don’t take their love for granted, and to show your respect and love for each other every day. Put the person you love first in your life.

Keep the love alive.

My Brush With Fame

2007-10-20T16:03:00.001-05:00

Recently, I met and had my picture taken with someone famous. Someone who has girls swooning at his feet and has had for years. I'm thinking of saying, I'll never wash that cheek again (where he leaned against it for the picture). Or at the very least, I should have swooned. But what was I doing while we were having the picture snapped? Fainting? Giggling? Flirting? No. I was patting his back. Sheesh. I've been a mom too long, it was on auto-pilot.

Anyway, here's the photo and I'll give you a paragraph or two to see if you recognize him:

Any guesses?

Think 1960s...rock music...British Invasion.

Another clue: think Patrick Swayze in "Ghost" when he's trying to get Whoopie Goldberg to help him.

Yes!

It's Peter Noone of Herman's Hermits!

Feel free to swoon now. :-)

My two daughters bought me tickets to see him in concert for my birthday. They came with me of course, and we had a lovely time. We had great seats, second row right in front of the stage.

Early in the concert, he noticed my younger daughter Helen singing along to one of the songs. He said to her, "You're not old enough to be here. How old are you?"

She responded, "I'm twenty-one."

He said, "Did your mum drag you here?"

She laughed and said, "No, I brought her."

Then he turned to his band and said, "People are crazy here in New Hampshire!" :-)

A couple of minutes later, he said, "Where's that twenty-one year old girl? I want to throw her a CD." So he did. Then he asked her if she had a CD player...yes. Did she have a computer?...yes. "So," he said, "make copies of this for all your friends."

He did throw CDs and t-shirts to others in the audience, but Helen definitely got the lion's share of the attention.

After the concert, he signed autographs in the lobby, and that's when Helen took my picture with him. What a great guy! Helen will definitely remember that concert all her life, as will my other daughter Heather, and me too!

Am I too old to become a groupie? ;-)

Liz

Liz Needs...

2007-06-28T12:50:00.000-05:00

I've gotten pulled into a "meme," whatever that is. Basically, you type "(your name) needs" into Google and then list the top ten things that come up. Minus, of course, all the other people listing THEIR top ten things. So I typed in "Liz needs" and hit the "go" button and here's what I got:

1) Liz needs a man!

2) Liz needs one more taste of her oozing pastry

3) Elizabeth (Smart) needs protection

4) Liz needs help

5) Agent Liz needs catchy slogan

6) Liz needs a hip display name

7) Liz needs to devise a budget and stick to it

8) Liz needs her voice back

9) Liz needs to just SPILL the truth

10) Liz needs to cry more

Hmm. They all seem kind of depressing. I think this Liz needs a psychiatrist! I like the "hip display name" one, though. ;-)

So, try it out yourself and see what you come up with. Who knows...it might inspire you to try something new, just because!

Liz

Tarot Workshop

2007-06-08T08:29:00.001-05:00

Only a few days left to register!

Celtic Hearts Romance Writers Academy is proud to announce an upcoming online workshop for June.

Workshop Title: I Predict A New Story In Your Future: Developing Your Story With The Tarot

Presenter: Elizabeth Delisi

Date: June 15 - 30

Description: Are you looking for new ways to breathe life into your outlining process, your plots, your characters? If so, have we got the course for you! Elizabeth Delisi, a.k.a. Madame Liz, will teach you how to use the ancient art of the Tarot to develop stories, plots and subplots, heroes, heroines and villains, and more. You'll learn the history of the Tarot, how to choose a deck, how to read the cards, and how to use those readings to develop and improve your writing. There will be four lectures, four assignments to be posted to the list for all to comment on, and naturally all questions will be answered.

Outline: Lecture One: History of the Tarot, and Choosing a Deck; Lecture Two: How to Read Tarot; Lecture Three: Using Tarot to Develop A Plot; Lecture Four: Creating Characters With Tarot

About the Presenter: Elizabeth Delisi has wanted to be a writer since she was in first grade, and probably would have written in the womb if she could have convinced her mother to swallow a pencil. But life hasn't always gone the way she planned, and on her road to publication she worked as a motel maid, waitress, secretary, administrative aide, substitute teacher, and newspaper reporter.

Elizabeth's novels include a FATAL FORTUNE, first in the Lottie Baldwin paranormal mystery series; LADY OF THE TWO LANDS, a time-travel romance; and SINCE ALL IS PASSING, a suspense. She's written contemporary and paranormal romance novellas for SHIVERS AND SCREAMS, VISIONS AND DREAMS; ENCHANTED HOLIDAYS; HOLIDAY HEARTS; HOLIDAY HEARTS 2; and CUPID'S CAPERS, and has also published two short story collections, MIRROR IMAGES and PENUMBRA. In addition to her writing, Elizabeth edits for several small publishers and individuals, and teaches online writing courses for Writer's Digest. Elizabeth lives in New Hampshire with her husband, dog and cat. She enjoys hearing from her readers at elizabeth@elizabethdelisi.com and invites everyone to visit her website at www.elizabethdelisi.com.

Fee: $10 CHRW members; $15 non-members. RWA Membership isn't required; anyone can take the courses. Celtic Hearts members receive 2 free workshops a year.

Where to sign up: http://www.celtichearts.org/chwksp.html
Please fill out the online form.

Deadline to sign up for this workshop: June 12

Liz

Oh, The Benefits!

2007-05-29T12:29:00.000-05:00

Whenever someone asks me what I do for a living and I say, "I'm a writer," they get all starry-eyed and excited. "Oh, I've never met a writer before!" they say as they crush my hand in theirs, and I try to keep my eyes from watering.

I guess being a writer sounds like a glamorous occupation, second only to being a rock star or Oscar-winning Hollywood actress, and I have to admit, there are bits of it that are really fun. Like oh, for instance, getting to say, "I'm a writer."

:-)

But like any other career, writing is hard work and primarily involves the less-than-glamorous application of your behind to the chair, your fingers to the keyboard, and your brain in gear for many hours a day in order to get anything done.

Writing involves creativity, which is the fun part of it, but also many hours of research, constant education and learning, a good business sense, and many other less-fun things.

"Ah, but the royalties!" you say. "What about those big royalty checks? Surely THAT at least is glamorous."

Let's just say, most royalty checks are closer to allowing me to live in the fabled garret of nineteenth century fame than in a crystal palace with a yacht moored in the private lake in the back yard.

Case in point. I received a royalty check today for...anyone wanna guess?

Time's up.

Sixty-two cents.

Yup. Sixty-two cents.

Now, admittedly that's for a six-author anthology, so the royalties have to be split six ways. And also admittedly, it's for a HOLIDAY anthology and we're at the start of summer, so sales at this point aren't expected to be high for this book.

But still...anyone see me retiring to the Riviera on sixty-two cents? ;-)

"Okay," you persist, "so why do you write for a living, then?"

Good question.

Like most things in life that are worth anything, writing grabs you by the throat and won't let you go. It sucks you in with siren promises of wealth, fame, changing the world through your immortal prose. And once you get in deep enough to realize the unlikeliness of those things occurring...well, you've seen your name on that book cover and you're hooked. You're committed. You're addicted.

So, you keep struggling away at your day job, and in your "free" time you keep putting pen to paper (or fingers to keyboard), writing in the eternal hope that THIS book will be the one to crack the bestseller list and put your name on everyone's lips.

Off I go to cash my sixty-two cent check and get...um...one sixth a cup of coffee, one fifth a gallon of milk, or maybe an entire candy bar. Woo hoo! And then, it's back to work and back to writing. Because after all of the above, there's still no career I'd rather be in. And maybe THAT'S the glamour of writing, eh?

Liz

Review: Shivers and Screams, Visions and Dreams

2007-05-12T16:20:00.000-05:00

Shivers and Screams, Visions and Dreams
Kim Cox, Elizabeth Delisi, Chris Grover, Elaine Hopper, Maureen McMahon and Sheryl Hames Torres

Paranormal romance

Available from DiskUs Publishing

ISBN: 1-58495-831-6

October 2006

Get Out or Die by Kim Cox

This is a delightfully comedic story about the adventures of Lana Malloy, a young woman who is able to communicate with the ghost to help them move on. When suddenly ghosts are able to possess her body, things get more out of hand than usual.

Restless Spirit by Elizabeth Delisi

Using her deceased son’s Ouiji board, a grief-stricken mother tries to contact him. Instead she reaches a living man using an Ouiji board in the same room in her same house but more than a hundred years in the past.

Believing in Dreams by Chris Grover

When a young woman’s mother dies suddenly, she begins having dreams of the grandmother she never knew existed calling her to travel to a hometown she’d never heard of to meet her destiny before it is too late.

Aliens Among Us by Elaine Hopper

Two teenaged heroes have trouble conceiving they are the only ones who realize aliens are taking over the bodies of the townspeople and it is up to them to enlist the aid of a disabled veteran who owns some weapons to save the town and possibly the world.

Neath Hallowed Halls and Ivied Walls by Maureen McMahon

Two old college buddies who went their separate ways are reunited for the funeral of their favorite professor. His death was ruled a suicide but they believe it was murder. As they investigate the death of their beloved professor, they realize these feelings they still have for each other are love.

Enigma by Sheryl Hames Torres

A policeman falls in love with his suspect. He works to prove the innocence of a young blind woman who has been found every five years, sobbing and covered in blood, sitting beside the brutally butchered, bloody body of a murdered victim. She doesn’t know how or why she came to be there.

Each of the stories in the Shivers and Screams, Visions and Dreams anthology were based on a paranormal thread. The book is a showcase of the vivid imaginations of its authors making this anthology a delightfully stimulating read. If you are the least bit interested in Science Fiction or the Paranormal this is a must read. Even those who don’t particularly care for the genre will find they enjoy these stories. I highly recommend Shiver and Screams, Visions and Dreams.

Sensuality rating: Sweet/Mildly sensual
Reviewer: Karen H.

March 20, 2007

Deadlines

2007-03-29T10:39:00.000-05:00

No one has posted recently...I think we've all been busy writing, reading, editing, teaching, not to mention our "other" jobs, whether they're outside the home, or taking care of family and household. Heck, I have a deadline (tomorrow, and the story is not nearly done) breathing down my neck.

So why am I writing here?

I dunno. Procrastination, I guess. I've reached the point in the story where I don't want to write the next scene. It just makes me uneasy...too personal. And that begs the question, Do writers work out their personal issues in their writing?

I suppose writing can be very therapeutic. But if you write too closely to what you experience in your life, you're inviting lawsuits. ;-) So you skirt the issue, beat around the bush, changes names and places and a few of the salient details. And what comes out ends up being fiction...which, of course, is what you set out to write in the first place. And it all works out in the end, so that solves the emotional issue.

But that still leaves me with the deadline looming over me.

I think what I need to do is change my image of a deadline. Just say it to yourself: deadline. DEADLINE. DEAD...line. "Dead" does not provide a warm and fuzzy feeling, does it? It sort of hints, "You miss this date and you're dead, buster." Not exactly inspirational, especially when you're struggling to write, fast.

There's a similar word from a different area of my life. In knitting, when working on a complex lace pattern, it's easy to make a mistake, and very difficult to rip out a few rows back to the mistake without losing dozens of those tiny, precise stitches. So when knitting a complicated lace pattern, many expert knitters recommend weaving in a "lifeline" every few rows. This is a separate piece of yarn you weave through the stitches of one row, so if you have to rip it back, you know when you reach that point you can easily put the stitches back on the needle from said lifeline. Thus, you're never completely and totally "dead."

I think we writers need to think of "deadlines" as "lifelines" instead. Something to grab onto, something to shore us up, to help us keep writing. Something to help us keep track and not lose any stitches, and come out with that beautiful lace romance or mystery at the end of it all.

So I'm heading back to my writing, after giving one last tug on my "lifeline" to make sure it's secure. See you on the other side!

Liz

HAVE FUN!!! Steal this and put it on your Blog Today!!!

2007-02-21T10:02:00.000-05:00

I stole this from someone else's blog. I saw it and I thought it looked like fun, so....

It’s only words.
You.
Can.
Only.
Type.
One.
Word.
No.
Explanations.

Change to represent you, post on your blog, and have fun with the responses!

1. Yourself: Serene
2. Your boyfriend/girlfriend, spouse, significant other: Reliable
3. Your hair: Auburn
4. Your mother: Amazing
5. Your father: Empathetic
6. Your favorite item: Chocolate
7. Your dream last night: Disjointed
8. Your favorite drink: Coke
9. Your dream car: Altima
10. The room you are in: Livingroom
11. Your ex: N/A
12. Your fear: Tornadoes
13. What you want to be in 10 years? Rich
14. Who you hung out with last night? Dan
15. What you’re not? Energetic
16. Muffins: Coffeecake
17. One of Your Wish List Items: Yarn!
18. Time: 10:07
19. The last thing you did: Stairs
20. What you are wearing: Jeans
21. Your favorite weather: Fall
22. Your favorite book: Watchers
23. The last thing you ate: Toast
24. Your life: Chaotic
25. Your mood: Peaceful
26. Your best friend: Necessity
27. What are you thinking about right now? Breakfast
28. Your car: Sable
29. What are you doing at the moment? E-mail
30. Your summer: Gorgeous
31. Your relationship status: Steady
32. What is on your TV? Jameson
33. What is the weather like? Cold
34. When is the last time you laughed? Evening

Consider yourself tagged!

SO copy and take it over to your blog NOW!

New Cover

2007-02-01T17:16:00.000-05:00

I'm taking it upon myself, and my turn to blog, to let you see the new cover for our anthology, SHIVERS AND SCREAMS, VISIONS AND DREAMS. The old cover, while nice, was too dark and hard to see, especially when reduced to bookmark size. Here's the new one:

So, what do you think? If you squint hard enough, you can see the book the ghost is reading is actually the old cover of our book. Clever, eh?

The relatively minor troubles we had with our original cover made me think about cover art in general. The cover art is the first thing a potential buyer sees, so it has to grab his attention, stand out from the hundreds of other books on the shelves, and of course also give a hint what the book's about, its tone, etc. Not to mention having that indefineable "something" that intrigues the reader. If the cover art fails to seize the reader's attention, he'll pass on to the next book without ever giving your prose a try.

The problem is, the person who knows the book best is the author...but the author usually gets little input into the final cover design. We've all heard horror stories about cover art where the heroine has three arms, or the hero is blond and smooth-shaven instead of dark and bearded. How many sales does it cost the author when the cover art doesn't do its job?

If you're an author, do you have cover art horror stories to share? This is the spot! We'll pull up a chair and sympathize.

Readers, do you have favorite cover art? Or art that turns your stomach? Share! C'mon, dish. ;-) We want to know.

Liz

HOLIDAY TRADITIONS? by Maureen McMahon

2007-01-22T17:11:00.000-05:00

We all have holiday traditions, some universal, some personal. Some years ago I started a tradition of painting an egg each Christmas – to give a picture-image of what happened in that particular year. Some are more creative than others – like the one with all eight of our very first chickens, or the one with our first protea bush.

The tradition of making a New Year’s resolution is universal. Don’t we all see many more joggers, bike riders and gym attendees after New Year? Cigarette companies probably see a massive drop in sales for the two weeks after New Year. Of course, resolutions rarely succeed, but it’s a nice tradition.

This year, a couple days after New Year’s Day, my husband and I went to a house-warming for new neighbours. It’s one of those events you automatically think: “How can I get out of this?” Since it was an unexpected invitation, and since it was delivered in person, and I had no immediate excuse on hand. So we went. It was wonderful. We spent a great evening communing with many neighbours we’d previously only waved and smiled to in passing.

Unfortunately, as always, I managed to do a bit of entertaining I hadn’t intended to do. This time it was taking a nosedive off the small step from our neighbor’s entry hall into their living room. Thankfully, I wasn’t carrying a glass of red wine or strawberry punch to stain their brand new, light-blue carpet. But I did manage to badly sprain one wrist, bruise the opposite hand and wrench a knee.

Not wanting to embarrass the hostess, however, I leapt up and assure her I was “…just fine!”, hoping blood wasn’t spurting from severed arteries to stain their couch. Every part of my body throbbed and I felt as if I’d need a gurney to get me out to my car. But I smiled, and chatted and nodded inanely for another ten minutes before I was able to make my escape.

While I couldn’t use my right hand and was hobbling on my left knee, I was happy enough and certain everything would be fine by morning.

Unfortunately, in the morning, the previous evening’s ‘anaesthetic’ (read: wine) had worn off and I could barely move. I couldn’t use my right hand at all. This is not good news for an author and online instructor with a slew of 10,000 word assignments coming in for critique. We managed to get in to the doctor, and he sent me for x-rays of my wrist. While the hand wasn’t apparently broken, I was to wear a splint for at least two weeks. So much for my New Year’s resolution to swim daily.

Last year at this time, I fell and broke my left elbow. I’m thinking perhaps I’ve inadvertently started a new ‘holiday tradition’.

CHRISTMAS CHEER by Maureen McMahon

2007-01-15T17:27:00.001-05:00

What’s happened to Christmas cheer? Christmas and New Year have now come and gone. Why is it they seem to come around so quickly as we get older, yet take forever to come around when we’re young? I remember sneaking down the stairs at night on Christmas Eve to gaze in awe at the piles of wrapped boxes. There was a golden glow, with the snow in the deep black of night beyond the windows, and only the tree-lights shining. It was magical.

Here in Australia the feel is different. It’s hot, to start, and usually green. The gifts are very different. No sleds, mittens or electric blankets, but beach balls, surfboards and air conditioners.

This year, due to unprecedented drought conditions, there was no green – only the yellow, brown and cream of dead vegetation and the reddish-pink dust. Most of the trees, bar gums and pines, are leafless skeletons. Bushes and shrubs are stripped and bare. The irony of a red-coated-fur-trimmed, bearded, booted, fat man in a sleigh landing on our searing-hot roof to come down a chimney is ludicrous. But Australia hasn’t changed the picture of Santa. They’ve stuck tenaciously to his traditional northern climate image.

Christmas has come and gone, now, and I still wonder about the Christmas cheer. Why is Sanda always saying ‘Ho, ho, ho!”? Doesn’t he realize what a huge amount of work he has to put in each and every December?

I succumbed to my usual last minute panic over gifts, money, time etc. I ranted about having to write the annual newsletter for cards, plan the meals, schedule the events etc. etc. But I also discovered having adult children can be handy. While they don’t patter down the hall and gasp in awe at the delights under the tree anymore, they’re great in a perceived crisis, and will take charge of many responsibilities previously left up to me. Of course, when they pat me on the shoulder and say: “Don’t worry, Mum, I’ll get the dinner.” and “Mum, it’s okay, I’ll help with the cards.” and “Dad and I can go find a tree.” I know I should feel relief and blissful relaxation. Instead, I feel a sinking sense of redundancy, and dissolve into tears babbling that the ‘magic of Christmas’ is gone.

So, perhaps Christmas cheer is all a state of mind. Perhaps if I turn off my automatic worry button, put my mind on cruise control and take deep breaths while droning ‘Ohhhmmmmmmmmm”, Christmas will change back to the magical holiday of my youth. Or perhaps I should simply take up drinking and hope my liver survives.What’s happened to Christmas cheer? Christmas and New Year have now come and gone. Why is it they seem to come around so quickly as we get older, yet take forever to come around when we’re young? I remember sneaking down the stairs at night on Christmas Eve to gaze in awe at the piles of wrapped boxes. There was a golden glow, with the snow in the deep black of night beyond the windows, and only the tree-lights shining. It was magical.

Here in Australia the feel is different. It’s hot, to start, and usually green. The gifts are very different. No sleds, mittens or electric blankets, but beach balls, surfboards and air conditioners.

This year, due to unprecedented drought conditions, there was no green – only the yellow, brown and cream of dead vegetation and the reddish-pink dust. Most of the trees, bar gums and pines, are leafless skeletons. Bushes and shrubs are stripped and bare. The irony of a red-coated-fur-trimmed, bearded, booted, fat man in a sleigh landing on our searing-hot roof to come down a chimney is ludicrous. But Australia hasn’t changed the picture of Santa. They’ve stuck tenaciously to his traditional northern climate image.

Christmas has come and gone, now, and I still wonder about the Christmas cheer. Why is Sanda always saying ‘Ho, ho, ho!”? Doesn’t he realize what a huge amount of work he has to put in each and every December?

I succumbed to my usual last minute panic over gifts, money, time etc. I ranted about having to write the annual newsletter for cards, plan the meals, schedule the events etc. etc. But I also discovered having adult children can be handy. While they don’t patter down the hall and gasp in awe at the delights under the tree anymore, they’re great in a perceived crisis, and will take charge of many responsibilities previously left up to me. Of course, when they pat me on the shoulder and say: “Don’t worry, Mum, I’ll get the dinner.” and “Mum, it’s okay, I’ll help with the cards.” and “Dad and I can go find a tree.” I know I should feel relief and blissful relaxation. Instead, I feel a sinking sense of redundancy, and dissolve into tears babbling that the ‘magic of Christmas’ is gone.

So, perhaps Christmas cheer is all a state of mind. Perhaps if I turn off my automatic worry button, put my mind on cruise control and take deep breaths while droning ‘Ohhhmmmmmmmmm”, Christmas will change back to the magical holiday of my youth. Or perhaps I should simply take up drinking and hope my liver survives.

My weight loss journey

2007-01-14T18:03:00.000-05:00

Some of you may know that I lost 95 pounds about 4 years ago. I had my weight loss journey journaled on my website, which brilliant me, lost when my site crashed.

Also, brilliant as a I am, I've allowed myself to regain 30 pounds. Yikes! That's still 65 pounds less than I started out, but oh my god, it's so easy to regain. Just blink and voila! You can be four sizes larger.

I had been pushing a size 22 and then got down to a size 6. Now I'm back up to a 12.

Obviously, I got way too smug. At first I blamed Hurricane Wilma. Hurricane stress is a great thing to blame bad eating habits on. Of course, after Wilma struck and our power was out for weeks, all the Chinese restaurants managed to stay open, and a goodly number of pizza places, so that it was so much easier and a whole lot more comforting to eat Chinese takeout and pizza than eating out of tin cans and grilling chicken - every day. Of course Pollo Tropical was one of the first places to reopen, too, and I LOVE fried plantains, so when we got off work early daily, I swung by Pollo Tropical almost every evening.

Okay, so I'm TERRIBLE!

I got hold of myself to a point after that. We put our then 11 year old into taekwondo for behavior modification and when they told us that three other family members could take class also for the same price, my daughters and I joined. It's great exercise and I'm now a blue belt, just four belts away from becoming a black belt.

But ya know what? Even if you exercise a lot and eat wrong, you gain weight. Especially on the days you can't exercise as usual.

I love taekwondo (tkw from now on for short). Oh yeah, I love it when my son pukes on the floor after too much exertion and the instructor blames me that he threw up - like excuse me, how could I make him throw up or why would I want him to? Or when my lungs feel like they're about to explode after 100 jumping jacks. Or when my wrists feel like every bone is breaking every time my partner kicks the board I'm holding for her. Or when my instructor yells, "The other right foot, Mrs. Hopper!" (Yeah, I'm blond sometimes). My ultimate favorite (well, second only to my son puking all over the mat and yours truly having to clean it up) is when my daughters kick me (HARD) in the back during sparring. Oh yeah, I LOVE tkd! Surprisingly, after my lungs recover and my asthma attack dissipates, I really do feel better, more nimble, and younger. Amazing!

I've also rejoined Weight Watchers, but it's a lot more difficult the second time around. I feel less motivated. Size 12 doesn't seem as bad as size 20 or 22. Okay, so I'd rather be a size 8, or 10. Mainly, I don't want to keep going up up and away! It's soooooo easy to gain. But when the hunger monster strikes at night (I'm a nighttime eater), I'm such a powder puff.

Today, my 16 year old and I went to the gym and I walked 3 miles on the treadmill and biked 8 miles, burning about 400 calories. Pretty darn good! I'm proud of myself. I would have biked at least 2 more miles and I really wanted to stay another hour working out if Missy wouldn't have been glaring at me, her way of saying "I'm borrrrrrred, Mommy!" (she gets bored sooooooooooooo easily)

So I'm publicly flagellating myself and vowing that I will lose at least 20 pounds (and keep them off) from this point, even if I have to walk an hour nightly after tkd, AND snack on apples and fruit. I was told that I was too skinny and drawn when I had reached the 95 pound mark.

If it's not obvious, I will state that my main concern is to be healthy and stay young and agile for as long as possible. I never want to go back to feeling 70 years old again, even when I'm 70.

I will journal my weight loss battle here.

Before, it was so easy to lose. I was so ANAL, so driven, that the pounds seemed to melt off. So this time, I fear, it will be a lot tougher, a lot more like the average weight loss warrior.

Anyone with me?

Anchors away!!!

Chats and Newsletters and Listservs, Oh My

2007-01-11T15:58:00.000-05:00

I have a question to ask all you readers out there, and I'm anxious to hear your responses. What kind of publicity from authors do you like best? What is most likely to make you run out (or surf over) and buy that author's book? Assuming, of course, the book is of interest to you in the first place.

I have a newsletter I send out periodically; I maintain a website; I have blogs; I do chats; I participate on listservs; I run contests; and I offer free bookmarks and other promotional material. I even do the occasional booksigning or conference. But in the end, it's difficult, if not impossible, to tell what works and what doesn't.

So I'd really like to hear what works best for YOU. And while you're at it, is there something you'd like to see from an author that you haven't seen yet? I'm always interested in new ideas!

Liz

What A Weird Winter

2007-01-04T13:19:00.000-05:00

The weather this winter sure has been unusually mild here in New Hampshire. We've had exactly ONE snowfall, of less than an inch, the Saturday before New Year's, and an ice storm the next day. As for winter, that's it! Other than that it's been in the 40s or 50s, sunny, very pleasant but definitely not winter-like.

I was pretty disappointed not to have a white Christmas. This is supposed to be a winter wonderland! So what the heck is going on?

My personal theory is Global Warming. You know, greenhouse gasses holding in the pollutants, melting iceburgs, the whole thing. And the El Nino effect doesn't help.

Not that I'm a scientific type, as I'm sure you can tell by my disjointed meanderings above. ;-) I just know enough to be dangerous. But...global warming IS dangerous. Besides the lack of a white Christmas, it raises ocean levels that causes flooding, creates tsunamis, hurricanes of unbelievable strength, droughts in some places and torrential rains in others. Not a good thing. And eventually, if it goes on unchecked, I suppose it could make whole regions of the world uninhabitable.

I heard an expert in this topic speak once, and he said if each of us only makes one little change, that can do a world of good. He suggested as that one change the simple act of replacing our standard lightbulbs with energy efficient compact fluorescent lightbulbs. Check them out here: http://www.energystar.gov/index.cfm?c=cfls.pr_cfls

So I say, go for it! It's a simple change to make and every time you flip on that light switch, you'll feel good about yourself. Who knows, by next year we just might get that white Christmas!

Liz

Technology...should be a four-letter word...

2006-11-30T23:19:00.000-05:00

The Yarnspinners

Hi all.
It's Thursday...for another 46 minutes. It's not Wednesday. Wednesday is my blogging day. I've missed several Wednesdays in a row...sometimes because I've been uber-busy(making changes in one of the two manuscripts I'm working on has created the cutest little jigsaw puzzle!)(I'm also working on restoring a Christening pillow in Polish needle lace made by a 17 year old girl in Poland in 1912)...sometimes because I couldn't think of anything to say.

Okay, I'll admit that some of those are excuses...I'm not a lover of blogging. I have a hard time getting past the thought that there's anything I could possibly have to say that people would want to read. Kind of an interesting attitude for a writer, wouldn't you say? LOL

However, this is the second week that technology has been the culprit. I don't even pretend not to be the most computer stupid human on the face of the earth. I am. I'm professionally computer stupid. So when my darling husband said we just had to have this new thing called a router so someone else could be online at the same time as I--like I'd ever try to hog the Internet--fritzed on me at 8:00 AM Wednesday morning, I suddenly wanted to do nothing more than to blog.

I had so much to say. Things I was sure had the potential to change the world...I've completely finished all my Christmas shopping...My son plays in his first concert next Tuesday night after a mere 12 weeks of instruction...My daughter has a 4.4 GPA...Our Thanksgiving was perfect...Earth shattering things. Or maybe just this great new recipe I found for tequilla chicken with cashews.

Now, granted, with this object, everyone in the house really can be online at the same time if they want. However, when I got the error box saying Aol couldn't make the connection and my server said it was that router, the walls started closing in on me. I couldn't be still. My editing skills hid under the bed and refused to come out. I called my mother and two of my sisters just to talk. I gave the dog a bath. I cleaned out the fridge. I washed, dried and ironed curtains. The only thing the lack of Internet didn't force me to do...strip and rewax the floors. I hate doing that. I had a technological panic attack. Technology did this to me and it was then I decided it should be a 4-letter word. I don't think I'll ever change my mind.

Of course, should someone invent a self-stripping/self-waxing floor, I'm there baby!

Hugs and a glitch-free week to you!
Sher

My Home

2006-11-12T23:01:00.000-05:00

I was standing on a lookout on the Blue Ride Parkway, looking down to where my home is located. So, where I'm standing is practically my backyard.

I love my home and the gorgeous scenic view surrounding it. This isn't to say that I would love to have some changes of my house, but it's so expensive.

In the picture, the leaves are just starting to turn and now they're almost all gone. I wish I could've gone back up when they were in their full colorful beauty, but it turned cold and I was almost in hibernation.

Now, if I go back up to this spot with the leaves gone, I can actually see my backyard--not really the house, but our outside storage shed and dh's carving area.

Have a nice day. I was happy to share this photo.

Kim

Shadow Boxing by Maureen McMahon

2006-11-06T17:28:00.000-05:00

Let us look at the shadow. It’s darkness. It’s the absence of light. It’s the space left where sunlight should be and therefore cold. There’s no substance to the shadow. It exists only because something of substance is too dense to allow light filtration. If I were to become "overshadowed" by you, does this mean that I am less tangible? Are you more valid than I? If I was to "walk in your shadow", would I walk in cold and darkness, in a void left by your passing? And would you bask in the light and warmth aware but uninterested in my vacuous mimicry? And God forbid, if I were to become a "shadow of my former self", would I merely be that cold, dark space left where once I was? If I was already overshadowed by you, or walking in your shadow, how could I become a shadow of my former self? Is it possible, I ask you, to become less than nothing?

The night, my friend, is one large shadow. The earth shutting it's eye to the sun. The moon, in turn, basking in it's rightful glory. In shadow, creatures sleep. There’s life in light, sleep in darkness -- death in darkness. "Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death...". Is death, then, merely loss of substance? If death is shadow, what casts it? What wondrous entity holds dominance over animation? And what monumental lustre allows the shadow of death to be cast? Is this what is meant by God? There’s always a light at the end of a tunnel, people who have come back say, a blinding, comforting light. Perhaps, then, death is like the night, a time of repose, for rest and sleep, but temporary, waiting only for the bulk of mortality to move aside and allow the blinding warmth of paradise to shine through.

So you see we must not be afraid of the shadows. They are merely spaces for rest and if I "walk in your shadow" or you "overshadow" me or I "become a shadow of my former self", I will pause with relief and lie down to wait for the cycle to complete and the light to return.

Halloween

2006-11-01T18:52:00.000-05:00

Seems there's some reason why I can post every other week. Someone's ill, someone needs me, someone at the cable company is messing with my internet fiberoptics. We're on a first name basis and they think I have an attitude problem. I think they need to work on my fiberoptics when I'm sleeping, not when I'm working Seems reasonable to me.

This week we have Halloween.

Now, I have five younger brothers and sisters. My sisters live close and we each have 2 or more children a piece. For the last twenty-something years, my youngest sister has thrown the blow-out Halloween party to end all blow-out parties, with each year's affair outdoing the last.

Last night's to-do was no exception. The nutcase has baked for days...one of her passions. I'm considering starting a telethon...stopped only because her goodies are always to die for. Has anyone ever had orange brownies? We're talking a week with Johnny Depp good! Then she feeds us...every year something different--homemade soups, chilli, sandwiches, etc. This year...pasta, with several different sauces, salad and garlic bread.

Now, she never lets anyone bring anything, and the guest list includes many others than simply family. Her house resembles the Camden household from Seventh Heaven. People were filing thru her house last night just to eat! And they all called her Mama.

A wonderful time was had by all.

So, you'd think I'd have been all set to start Nano this morning...Nano, for those who don't know, basically requires you to write like an insane person with spasmodic fingers in order to pound out a 50K novel in 30 days.

So what did I manage to pound out today? Counting this blog? 657 words. (I didn't count my son's excuse or the grocery list.) So for the first time, I'd like to thank the person who came up with the blog idea. Without you, my word count would for today...well, there wouldn't be a word count.

Till next week...or week after next...
Be safe and look out the window!
Sher

Skinker, Slinker, Shrinker and King

2006-10-30T03:33:00.000-05:00

My favourite cat, Sibyl, is a skinker. That’s right, skinker. Unlike our other three cats, she doesn’t stalk birds or rabbits or mice or rats. No, she spends her entire day with her nose firmly embedded in the dirt searching for skinks. I’m forever finding skink tails here and there – minus the skink. Sometimes we find the skink under the mat in the laundry – of course, by then, it’s too late. Today she brought one in, and as usual, let me know in no uncertain terms. “Mffflllrow!” The sound of a cat crying with a mouthful. She lets it go in the laundry and it promptly runs under the washer. Great! With some well-appreciated help from my daughter’s boyfriend, we managed to capture the poor thing and release it – still with tail intact. I have no idea what makes Sibyl a skinker. Her nose is forever dirty from snuffling in the dirt, so I have to clean it. But she seems very proud of her achievements, so I won't complain.

It never fails to amaze me how different one cat can be from another. They all have their own little personalities. Another weird thing about Sibyl is she hasn’t quite figured out that our labrador, Jasper, can’t feed her. She’ll come in and head-butt him continually to try to get him to get up and go to the refrigerator. He’s a bit worried about this, since our other cat, Percy, will come in and lick him as though cleaning him, then unexpectedly take a bite out of him. Sibyl’s sister, Piper, has her own little oddities. She's a slinker. She doesn’t like her head touched by anyone but my daughter and her boyfriend – her true owners. This despite the fact she’s lived with us for almost all her adult life. Once she went missing for over 9 days. We were sure she was gone for good – even had a small funeral service for her. Then one evening there she was, up on her perch looking for food. We still have no idea where she was for all that time, but aside from looking slightly skinnier, she’d come to no harm.

Jessica, our long-haired tabby, is a shrinker - overly skittish. If there’s the slightest sound while she’s on someone’s lap, she’s off like lightening; usually leaving welts and screams of pain behind.

Percy is the king of the house – though I’ve never seen him swipe at, bully or abuse any of the females. He must have some secret code that keeps them all subservient. But I do believe he teaches them bad habits. As a kitten, Percy brought in frogs and crickets and moths. He quickly advanced to mice, then rats and finally large rabbits. I wouldn’t be at all surprised to find the remains of a cow in our living room one morning.

Daily I’m bemused by the foibles of all our felines. I don’t think I could ever live without a furry four-legged friend in my life.

Just My Day

2006-10-29T23:03:00.000-05:00

Just my day to blog, so I'm chiming in officially before the stroke of midnight on my day. I noticed no one had posted our newly released anthology, so I posted it below. Not sure what to talk about. Maybe how much I love when daylight savings time ends.

That's just it, I love when it ends because of the extra hour of sleep. It's just for one night, but it seems it lasts until the time changes an hour ahead again. Dh didn't like it too much though. He had to work last night and instead of 12 hours, he had to work 13.

Another thing to talk about: I heard on the news the other morning about more women over the age of fifty starting a family. Can you imagine? I turned fifty this year and I'm glad that part of my life is over. Now I can spoil my grandson, keep him a couple of weeks at a time and send him home to terrorize his parents (evil grin).

One more thing: Dh and I celebrated our 21st wedding anniversary Wednesday. He was off that day and grilled steaks and the largest baked potato I ever saw. I ordered me a new laptop for a present and I'm getting him a tiller.

Rant: My laptop was supposed to get here Saturday. Around 7pm I called Fedex (who I usually love) and asked about it. They told me I could still get it and the driver was probably just running late. I usually always get deliveries before 5pm when it comes from Fedex. So, I called them back at 8:30pm and they said it could still get here. My son and his friend got here about 11pm and called them and they said I wouldn't get it until Tuesday.

What!!! Tuesday, why not Sunday or Monday. They did say if it was on the express truck it could possibly come on Sunday but not Monday. I still didn't get an answer as to why not Monday.

We talked to the Supervisor of all of the company today. They said as it turned out the truck never left on Saturday and they would find out why. They tried to get in touch with someone at their office here without any luck. So, it will still be Tuesday, but I get a refund for shipping costs.

The funny thing is, it's going to take longer to get to me from my local office than from Mobile, Alabama to the local office. My package was loaded on the truck for delivery at 7:45am Saturday morning but never made it to my house. We waited on it all day. I had someone here until I could get here. I jumped up from my chair every time I heard a car/truck go down the road. And the local office is closed on Monday and that's why it will be Tuesday.

Trying to keep it short tonight, though I may have failed. Have a great week everyone.

SHIVERS AND SCREAMS, VISIONS AND DREAMS

2006-10-29T22:51:00.000-05:00

Now available at DiskUs Publishing .

Get Out Or Die By Kim Cox

Restless Spirit By Elizabeth Delisi

Believing In Dreams By Chris Grover

Aliens Among Us By Elaine Hopper

'Neath Hallowed Halls and Ivied Walls By Maureen McMahon

Enigma By Sheryl Hames Torres

Some of the best and brightest names in the e-publishing field gathered together for your Halloween frightful fun! In this thrilling anthology, spooky hauntings,time-travelling spirits, alien invasions and Satanic cults await! Then, there's a few recipes you can whip up in your kitchen for dessert!

Get Out Or Die By Kim Cox

Since the news of her first case, Lana Malloy's Private Investigating/Mediator business is booming. At one pro-bono job, Lana helps a widow communicate with her late husband and learns of a frightening new ability she wasn't aware she possessed-an ability that could give the spirit the upper hand if she's not careful. Lana struggles for control when she encounters the angry ghost who doesn't want to leave and who doesn't want the occupants of the house to stay. Will Lana be able to control the situation or will the ghost sense he can overtake her? Does she have other abilities she can rely on to save her?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Restless Spirit By Elizabeth Delisi

Laura St. Clair lost her eight-year-old son to a rare disease, and lost her desire to live along with him. When she tries to contact the spirit of her son with a Ouija board, she reaches something...but what? Can the entity she gets in touch with help her talk to her son, and if so, what will it expect from her in return?

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Believing In Dreams By Chris Grover

Nicole James has always believed in dreams. So when she dreams about a house she's seen in an old photo and an elderly woman who seems to be expecting her, she has to check it out. Nicole knew her deceased mother was born in Quebec and that she had esp, but that was all she knew. Now, with her mom gone, Nicole is all alone, so when she discovers, St-Stephan des Pins, the name on the back of the photo is a small village in Quebec, she figures someone somewhere wants her to find her roots. She'd never really believed her mom's story about being all alone in the world with no brothers sisters or family of any kind, and this is the perfect opportunity for Nicole to find out.Within a few hours of arriving in St-Stephan, Nicole finds out everything she ever wanted to know about her mother and her family. But on her way back to the hotel, she hears someone say: "Now that you know about Maxine, just be content with the knowledge and leave it alone. That's not why you're here." Nicole looks around for the speaker, but there's no one there--just a gray and white tabby cat sitting on the hood of a car.

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Aliens Among Us By Elaine Hopper

Heath Connelly isn't the hero type. He's one of the slow kids in his high school, most likely to be a loser than a winner. But when everybody in his town begins to act weird, even to molt and stop being human, Heath, his friend Justin who is also challenged, and a disabled and grisly old Viet Nam Vet, are the only people left uninfected by the unknown threat. It's up to them to save Heath's brother, their town, and maybe the world.

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'Neath Hallowed Halls and Ivied Walls By Maureen McMahon

Stacey Christian and Peter Mansfield come together again to attend the funeral of their beloved Harvard history professor, Bertram Donelson. Stacey’s emotional stint as a reporter in Afghanistan, and Peter’s exhausting high-profile business takeover, make them even more vulnerable to the chemistry that’s always been between them.Little do they know their old Alma Mater holds an evil and deadly secret that will propel them into a whirlwind of ghostly, shocking and even deadly experiences. Will this adventure be enough to finally bring their love to fruition?

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Enigma By Sheryl Hames Torres

When Brace Adams, Detective in the Macon, Georgia PD, stumbles upon blood-covered Amy Cassidy, he is convinced she is as much a victim as the dead man she's kneeling beside. Though he discovers she's "awakened" beside the mutilated body four other times, not knowing the victim, what happened or how she got there, it's not the lack of forensic evidence that convinces Brace of her innocence, but simple logic. Little blind girls don't qualify as your typical garden variety serial killers. When inexplicable and dangerous things start happening, it's Brace's job to not only prove that Amy's not causing them, but protect her as well. Can he solve the puzzle before becoming the next victim.

Sneaking In A Post

2006-10-29T11:07:00.000-05:00

Today is not normally the day I post here, but gosh darn it, the last two weeks I've either been out of town or have just plain forgotten! So I thought I'd sneak one in.

First, do check out my webpage as I have FINALLY updated it: Fiction With Flair!. What do you think? Be gentle now, HTML and I don't get along together well. ;-)

Second, it's fall back time! I.e., turned the clocks back an hour last night, which means I have an extra hour to get things done today. Hmm, wonder if I'll catch up on all the work that's piled up the past couple of months? Hah.

Third, are you already planning for Christmas? If so, you're one of those disgusting...er, I mean, wonderful...people who plan ahead. If so, of course I'd recommend buying copies of books from my website as Christmas gifts. But other than that, what have you got in mind? Do you hand-make your gifts--like me with knitted items, or maybe something painted, baked, crafted with silk flowers and a glue gun? Do you give money or gift certificates, or do you prefer to choose a gift and wrap it? Do you ask the recipient for ideas, or just go shopping and wait for inspiration to strike?

And...what are your funniest Christmas gift disaster stories? Do share!

Liz

Planet Peril by Maureen McMahon

2006-10-23T18:20:00.000-05:00

At the moment we’re experiencing the worst drought we’ve ever had. We’ve been short of rain for over ten years, but now it’s becoming an emergency situation. The reservoirs here in Victoria are less than a third full. We live in a country renown for its dry climate, but, until now, there’s always been water to sprinkle our gardens, wash our cars, shower, do laundry. In some areas they’re trying new recycling plants. These plants actually recycle sewage for drinking water. It sounds foul, but the end product has been tested over and over and no signs of any toxins or organisms are evident. It’s pristine. But it just goes to show how desperate the situation is.

Melbourne has a population of roughly 3.6 million people. Already the city is on stage two water restrictions. An expert has been quoted as saying by the year 2010 we will be out of water completely. What will happen to these 3.6 million people? And the other millions living in rural areas, like us?

We all take many things for granted. We take it for granted the sun will come up each morning, the moon will come out at night, the seasons will change. Man can’t change these things – at least not yet. However, we can change our planet drastically so people, animals and plants will suffer.

Treasure your water, your food, your shelter and be pro-active in saving our planet from a slow death. One day, if things don’t change, many of the things we take for granted will no longer exist.

Halloween Memoirs

2006-10-21T13:39:00.000-05:00

I'm so so so so soooooooooooooooooooooo very bad. I'm just a baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaad girl.

It's been forever since I've posted here. I work waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay toooooooooo muuuuuuuuch! I have a day job and two other jobs, plus kids, a hubby, baseball mom...

I've slowed down this week due to a virus.

Anyway, onto more of the fun stuff.

October is a FUN month! Yeah! I mean really really really FUN! When we get the shivers and shooks and spooked out of our gourds and we LOVE it!

What are some of YOUR favorite Halloween memories?

I'm from the outskirts of Cincinnati where there's always a chill in the air (and occasionally snow on the ground) and beautiful changing leaves every Halloween. I grew up with the same kids who intermarried (yeah, one of the neighborhood punks had the nerve to marry my cousin! The worst one, the one that always called me "Boo Boo" as in my best friend was "Yogi Bear" and me as the little sidekick (or is that "hero support" nowadays?) got stuck with "Boo Boo") - and then we called him "Cindy") and most of those "kids - who are now in their 40's and 50's ) still live on that LONG road). I'm one of the few who moved away - blame dh, as I would have stayed there forever and ever and would run back now if given half the chance.

Anyway, I loved trick or treating door to door when the moon hung high in the sky, the toilet paper ghosts swayed in the brisk fall breeze, and the punky boys jumped out at us from the shadows to scare us to death. I loved weaving in and out of the spooky woods that framed our neighborhood. I loved being with my extended family, Cindy included - if anyone tells him, I will emphatically deny it and hunt you down!

It wasn't about the candy, although I wasn't about to give that back or not take it. It was the sheer fun, the wildness, the hint of evil which comparative to nowadays was so squeaky clean and wholesome.

The church apple-bobbing was okay and I think better in retrospect than at the time. I miss that, too. That old dilapidated house we held the parties in probably was really haunted, and truly about to tumble down on us. It's long gone now, except in my memory. That was at the end of our road. Those poor homeless ghosts probably moved into our woods and hang out there now.

Halloween sure seems tamer and less fun in South Florida than in Cincinnati. Maybe because I'm not the kid going door to door. Or perhaps at my church we have "Trunk or Treat" and go trunk to trunk in a well lit parking lot without any woods. Even when I take the kids door to door, there are no dark and spooky woods, and being Florida, no chill breezes, no colorful leaves, none of that spooktacular stuff Halloween is supposed to be made of.

Someone please get me a time machine and transport me back to those days, or almost as good, just whisk me back to Cincinnati, to the best place to Trick or Treat in the world.

Perfect

2006-10-18T21:00:00.000-05:00

Have you ever been in that place? The place where everything feels absolutely perfect? That's how our vacation was.

We left for the Smokies on the sixth of October and stayed in Maggie Valley for nearly a week. Granted it rained for a couple days, and I had the quintessential sinus cold from hell, but from beginning to end, it was perfect.

It had been nine years since we took our last real vacation...you know...when you are able to go away somewhere...away from home without it having to do with dead or dying relatives or friends. Five years since we were able to go away for more than overnight. The kids were out of school for Fall Break. Mark took an entire week off.

Now to understand the significance of that you need to know that my darling husband works all the time. He's on call 24/7, literally 365 days a year, and has for 13 1/2 years. Yes, he's been called to work for some problem or other on birthdays, anniversaries, Christmas and all other holidays. Plan is known as the 4-letter P-word around out house. We don't make them, and when we get cocky enough to try...they're almost always ruined by "the call."

But not this time. He left his pager home, programmed his phone not to take any work calls. He relaxed and had fun. It was an amazing sight to behold. Imagine, an entire week of husband smiles. We documented it.

Saturday we got up and decided it would be a great day to take Dusty to this skateboard park in Asheville he and his friends were having fits over. (Kimmy, honey, I wanted to come see you but I was feeling just this side of death and figured the last thing you'd want was my cold. LOL) The park was just as wonderful as he'd heard, and worlds different from any around here. Dusty spent several blissful hours on the verts, hills, bowls and rails while his daddy sat in the "bleachers" and watched, and Courtney and I dozed in the jeep. Occasionally, I'd wake up and watch the storm clouds scamper over the mountains. Two days later, Courtney went on a two-hour horseback ride up the mountain in Maggie Valley. If you're ever in Maggie Valley, Queen's Ranch is the place to go horseback riding. Everyone was great! It was the first time since Courtney'd been able to ride since before she became ill five years ago. I've never seen a smile so big. It was the final verification for her that she is truly well.

We took one trip over the pass to Gatlinburg to the most amazing bead shop, O2 Bead Experience, Inc. If you do any kind of jewelry making or beading, go see Glen. It's so worth the trip. And he mail orders...it's so much nicer to pick up the phone and talk to someone face to face than to order over the internet.

The rest of the time, we spent mostly "looking." Now, I live in Northeast Georgia...well at the foot of the foothills. Let me tell you, beautiful as it is here, there is NOTHING to compare with the real thing. There is magic in those mountains. I'll swear by it well after I die. You can feel it the second you arrive...it's in the strength of the river, the quiet of the roads through the Parkway, the gentle wisdom in the faces of the residents who are never too busy to offer you a smile.

When we arrived, the hillsides were still mostly dressed in their summer greens with a sparse sprinkle here and there of fall jewels. After a day and a half of rain, the kaleidoscopic effect spread into the beginnings of a an amazing Autumn quilt with scarlets, golds, oranges splashed across a myriad of green shades. The view changed daily.

By mid-week, and despite all the clothes we'd packed, the kids' "special" jeans and t's needed washing. I and my pen and notebooks settled into this little room with two washers and two dryers. No chinzy Laundromat here, girls...I washed two loads of clothes on a dollar...and dried them on another dollar! Blue jeans! I digress...I settled into this little room on a comfortable vinyl lawn chair and stared out at the mountain. I came to the conclusion that I could never live there and hope to get anything done. I'd be so busy just WATCHING everything, my pen would never slide across the paper in any controlled way.

Vacation is over now. We came back to the same old house, the same old jobs and schools, the same old bills(and a few new ones) the same old problems(and a few new ones). But we're all a little more rested and a lot less stressed. The kids went back to school and Mark back to work on Monday, and I spent the day sorting all the information I collected for my next novel into some semblance of order. I'm still not over my sinus cold, but I'm better. Less tired, a LOT less stressed and oh so inspired. And it's nice to be home. Though I don't think I'm going to put up with waiting 9 years to go back, even if it's just for a weekend. The holidays, taxes and good old orthodontist visits are all coming up, but you know, something tells me, I might need to go back in the spring for more research. LOL

Hey, come to think of it...my best friend is moving up there in a few months...

Until next week...peace and security.
Sher

Blogging Fears

2006-10-15T19:18:00.000-05:00

You might ask, why would anyone fear to write in a blog? My main fear is: what if I don’t have anything to say? Which is the case most of the time for me. I can write fiction forever. Making stuff up is easy for me. But to write about something or someone I know comes very hard.

I remember when I first started writing seriously, and then began to put my stuff out there for publishers, contest, etc to read, a lot of friends and acquaintances would say, “Hey, you can write my story. It would be good because I’ve been through a lot of stuff.” Of course, I didn’t want to say, no one wants to read about you or your life, so I’d just say I write fiction.

Because actually, they’ve been a lot of interesting people who have been through a lot of interesting things that would probably make a good story. And even though I said I write fiction, it’s true. I do. And I have a hard time writing non-fiction such as a blog. I don’t even keep a journal which most writers do.

Also baring the soul is hard for me, even if it’s in a journal that no one will read but me. There are a few exceptions. Like if something is really bothering me, I can write about it. See my last two posts here. Probably about 4 weeks ago was my last. I want to write every week, but most of the time I can’t think of anything to write about or I do write it but never post it because it didn’t turn out the way I wanted it to turn out.

Another reason to fear blogging is what if I say too much about myself. If we’re really honest, we don’t want everyone, especially strangers, knowing too much about us. I know that just in conversation, I’ve regretted telling too much, not only about myself, but maybe about my family or people I work with. The what-ifs pop in my mind about what if they repeat what I said to others. And they probably will.

And the times I do blog is when something is weighing heavily on my mind. What if someone takes what I said and gets angry too, then goes out and does something terrible and it all started because I was ranting about something on a blog. Or what if it depresses them or makes them feel bad. I’m the type of person who will go out of my way not to make someone feel bad.

So anyway, if I don’t blog, most of the time it’s because I can’t think of anything to blog about and if I do and it’s something heavy, don’t take it to heart. It’s just my feelings at that point and time and once I’ve written it, I’ll probably never think about it again. Well, I shouldn’t say never. I will, but it won’t be as bad as it was at that time.

Good day, and happy thoughts to everyone.

Kim Cox
www.kimcox.org
Suspicious Minds Available at Amber Quill Press
Enchanted Holidays Anthology - Haunted Hearts Coming in December from Cerridwen Press
Shivers and Screams, Visions and Dreams- Get Out or Die! - Coming in October from DiskUs Publishing

Food, Food and more Food

2006-10-10T18:50:00.000-05:00

Canadian Thanksgiving 2006 a.k.a. a 4-Day Pig-out:

Thanksgiving in Canada happens on the second Monday in October, and like most other Canadians, we always have our turkey or whatever on the Sunday, and then have the leftovers on the actual Day. But this year the eating started on Friday and continued right through to Monday.

It all started when one of the women I work with, the one who is in charge of our monthly office potluck lunches, picked last Friday, Oct.6 as the day to do it for this month, and suggested a harvesty/Thanksgivingy theme.

We had everything from chicken stew, sweet ‘n’ sour meatballs, foccaccia bread with savory spreads, quiche, salads, perogies, and finished off with chocolate amaretto cheesecake, apricot-pecan cookies and apple crisp, all helped along with 3 kinds of potato chips and a couple of bottles of wine.

By the time I got home, I figured I wouldn’t eat again until the next day. But dh wanted his dinner, so out came the pots and pans. Then our daughter called—she has a new boyfriend and could we switch Thanksgiving dinner from Sunday to Monday because it was his dad’s birthday and they were all going out. But don’t cook the lamb—the new boyfriend doesn’t like lamb. Can we have salmon instead? Oh sure, whatever you want, honey. But then dh got upset—we only have roast lamb on special occasions and he’d been so looking forward to it.

Me, I was still stuffed from the potluck lunch and the thought of having two big dinners two days running sounded like a whole lot too much to my mind. So, we agreed that I’d make roast leg of lamb on Saturday with all the trimmings—green beans, brussel sprouts, roast potatoes and gravy plus mint & apple sauce, plus a strawberry cream dessert. Sunday we’d eat leftover lamb, and then Monday I’d make a big salmon tail with all the trimmings which included a cauliflower and cheese casserole, potatoes and a pear, blue cheese & pecan salad followed by a 3-fruit crumble with rum and raisin ice cream.

Now, it’s Tuesday, I feel fat, bloated, and probably don’t need to eat again until next weekend, but dh needed his supper when I got in from work, and since he’d been slaving over a hot computer playing games all day, what could I say? I took off my coat and out came the pots and pans, again.

I wonder what would happen if women everywhere put their cooking spoons down and their feet up, and told their hungry families to get themselves the same thing my mom once told me—the old Depression Days standby, bread and pullit--meaning a slice of bread and whatever you can find in the cupboard to pull on to it.

Chris

Life's Ups and Downs by Maureen McMahon

2006-10-10T18:23:00.000-05:00

It seems when things go right for very long, something comes along to knock them askew. We all want to have a happy, easy-going life with no crises or major problems, but life just isn’t like that. It’s easy to get into thinking God or the Universe or Fate just ‘has it in’ for us when these things come along to mess up our contentment. But it’s not true. Unexpected things happen – they’re part of life. We don’t like them, but we can be sure they’ll come along. It’s human nature to fall into routine …to find comfort from a known set of circumstances. When something unknown and unexpected disrupts our normal routine, we become unsure – we feel threatened or fearful. We lose our sense of security.

While it’s very difficult to retrain our natural responses, it’s sometimes helpful to consider these things when our life turns upside down:

1. Nothing is permanent. Whatever it is will change.
2. Life naturally goes in peaks and troughs – ups and downs. We can be certain there will be ups again if we can weather the downs.
3. It’s okay to be fearful – we’re human. But worry and fear won’t change the situation, so if we can find one hopeful thought and stick to it, we can carry that with us until things improve.
4. Adages are around for a very good reason – they’ve withstood the test of time. An adage here is: Time heals all wounds.
5. Remember the good times. There will be more if you can just be patient.

For everyone who’s going through a difficult time in their life, don’t despair. Life is precious even if it’s difficult. In time, this too will pass. You’re not alone.

Greetings from Sher via Liz!

2006-10-07T13:10:00.000-05:00

There are days when I think my name should be Murphy. Days when everything is planned out, and LOOKS like it's going to go well. Then it doesn't.

For the last 9 years, the only time we've taken overnight trips there had to be a sick or dying or dead relatives. My husband's job requires him to be on call 24 hours a day, 365 days a year. That's right, you read correctly. Even Christmas. And he takes his job very seriously. But he works way too hard and gets way too little time off. Because they shut down all the operating systems of of all five plants to put in new equipment and tanks,--- guess who's in charge of all the electrical systems, running new and incorporating everything into the old systems? --- yep, you got it. Himself...and because of that..he's not had but one day off in over three weeks.

But now, today, we're supposed to be heading to the mountains. I managed to finish all my assignments by mid week. Cleared my calendar for next week. Bills are all paid. House clean, no dirty laundry, fridge cleaned out. Everything is washed, ironed and packed. The jeep is loaded and we're waiting for Courtney to finish her Science test at school and then we're good to go.

And I'm sitting here...thinking...why does my head hurt so? I've caught a cold. The first vacation in nine years and I have a cold. Come to think of it, our last vacation was to Savannah for some kind of street festival of food. Food was wonderful...turned cold as anything and I got pneumonia. LOL

Fun fun fun...

Sher

Fall, Or Get Off Me

2006-09-28T20:05:00.000-05:00

What's your favorite season of the year? For many people, it's summer, because that's when they get their vacation. Iced tea, t-shirts and shorts, and long days lend an air of relaxation. Spring is a lovely season, bringing new leaves and flowers, warming temperatures, not to mention young love. And winter, of course, is the harbinger of many holidays, and when there's a newly-fallen coverlet of snow, the world looks like a picture postcard.

Not many people claim fall as their favorite season.

For school children, fall is the least favorite season, dredging up images of going back to school for another endless, tedious year of learning. My birthday is in September, so that mitigated the childhood dread of fall for me somewhat, but once the celebration was over, I wasn't crazy about the rest of the season.

Now, though, I love fall. Especially since I'm back in New England. There's something special about the sun on a New England fall day. It's brighter, sharper. It reflects off the scarlet and russet leaves, the white steeples of churches, the numerous ponds and rivers, and almost seems alive. Fall glitters, it sparkles. It's so full of beauty, it's hard not to let the tears flow. Fall is perfection.

Some of you may have caught the story on the ABC News a few nights back about how the fall leaves...er...fall. Apparently, the leaves don't fall so much as they are pushed. The tree can't handle the weight of snow on all its leaves in the winter, so it shoves the leaves off in order to protect itself, in effect saying, "Get off me." In the news story, they suggested fall could more accurately be named the "Get Off Me" season of the year. That gave me a chuckle. ;-)

But--when I'm out in the beautiful New England fall, I want to soak it up, breathe it in, clutch it to me and wear it home. No way could I call fall "Get Off Me." I want it IN me! So I guess the closest I can get is, "Come On In."

How about you?

Liz

Cat People and Dog People by Maureen McMahon

2006-09-25T04:08:00.000-05:00

Are you a cat person, or a dog person? Why is it cat people can be dog people, but dog people rarely want anything to do with cats?

Cats are independent. Dog people call cats ‘sneaky.’ They don’t like the idea cats can figure out how to get up on the kitchen counter while you’re not looking and make off with the entire fish you were preparing for dinner. They also don’t like the fact cats are nocturnal and can actually see pretty well in the dark. Fear of the unknown leads dog people to mistrust cats. “Will that damn cat decide my bare feet are prey on my way to the bathroom in the middle of the night?” or “Why do cats have to terrorize their victims to death?”

Dog people are offended at the thought of a creature enjoying the torment of another. But cats don’t consider this one way or the other. To them, it’s just another wind-up toy to chase. If there’s a God, then God made them that way. Perhaps mice are really people who’ve terrorized others in a previous life and must now reap their just rewards. The next cute, furry mouse you see may, in fact, be the reincarnation of Hitler.

Dogs. Well, what can I say about dogs? They’re blissfully ignorant side-kicks who don’t really care about anything except their reproductive organs, where and how often they can urinate, food, a chewed, slimy rubber ball, and their unfounded adoration of two-legged creatures they don’t even understand. Most people say dogs aren’t sneaky. This may be because they make enough noise to alert an entire neighbourhood if they get up on the kitchen counter to steal the fish. What’s worse, if they do manage to grab the fish, they’ll end up having to be rushed to emergency before they choke to death on the bones. They’re not nocturnal, so if they try to chase your feet in the night, they’re libel to run into the wall instead. And they don’t terrorize their prey, they simply rip them to shreds or leave them maimed and wishing they were dead.

As you’ve probably guessed, I’m a cat person. That said, I do have (and love) dogs – but I don’t expect them to be as smart as cats. Cat’s can look after themselves. If they aren’t fed on time, they can find some small creature to eat. If they’re dirty, they give themselves a bath. A dog would starve to death or die of filth without us.

But whether you’re a dog or cat person, we all still have one thing in common: Having a furry friend to love when we get home makes life a lot more pleasant.

Motherhood by Maureen McMahon

2006-09-18T18:27:00.000-05:00

Mothers down through the years have been lauded, applauded, pedestalled, crowned, sung of, painted, poemed and enshrined all in an attempt to show we recognize the enormity of their influence and responsibility. There is no pre-requisite for motherhood. One does not have to pass exams, or be of a certain ethnic background, religion, financial status or temperament. The only requirements for motherhood are those dictated by mother nature herself and even these are no longer hard and fast. Basically, the traditional requisites for becoming a mother are:
A. Be of the female sex.
B. Be reproductively mature.
C. Have had at least one sexual encounter with a male of the same species.
All of which can go without saying if one has:
D. Given birth.

Nowadays, however, many of these requirements have been adapted to our own needs. No longer is physical femaleness as important as MENTAL femaleness. There are thousands of mothers out there stuck in a male body! And as far as physically giving birth, well, many people find the whole process either too disgusting, too inconvenient or just plain impossible. These people can still attain motherhood through adoption, surrogacy or kidnapping. In the end, it all comes back to the fact that motherhood is a state of mind.

This is the universal link between all mothers, regardless of their individual personalities or conditions of life. Mothers all have one goal in life: Control.

In the beginning a mother must control her child simply for the child's well-being. The innocent little dears would certainly never survive without a mother's controlling influence. One would think, however, that once that child reaches adulthood the instinct to control would diminish. It doesn’t. Instead it merely assumes a new name: Manipulation.

Take the case of the 15 year old daughter going out with her friends wearing something her mother considers inappropriate. Mother can control this behaviour by saying: "You will not leave this house wearing THAT, my girl. Go up and change immediately!"

Then look at the same daughter 25 years later going out for her 20th wedding anniversary, once again wearing something mother doesn't approve of. Mother smiles sweetly and says: "Oh my, I thought those fashions went out of style years ago! DO have a good time, dear. Are you going somewhere dark?"

Mothers don’t acknowledge adulthood in their children. When Mom comes to visit her 40-something year old son, she will still covertly check his fingernails, hair, ears and underwear – if she can get her hands on them. Anything amiss will automatically be blamed on his wife, who obviously wasn't raised well enough to know how things should be done.

When Mom comes to visit her 40-something year old daughter, she mutters things like, "I see you've forgotten everything I taught you." or "In my day, we took pride in our work!" as she interferes in every facet of the household duties. Daughters and daughters-in-law apparently become threats to a mother's sense of autocracy. How dare they be able to cope with things differently? Sons, on the other hand, will always be pitied, clucked over, coddled and lovingly chastised for trying to manage independently. They can never pose a threat, for they were kept blissfully ignorant of anything remotely resembling domestic duties. We don't want to make sissies of them by having them do women's work!

Mothers learn to adapt their control messages to suit the age of their child. What once were out and out commands become subtle hints, martyrdom and/or reverse psychology as their child matures. Some key manipulative phrases are:
"When I was your age..."
"I'm just too old to argue with you."
"Your poor, dear father would roll over in his grave..."
"This is all the thanks I get after all the things I've done for you."
"I don't want to interfere dear, but..."
Mothers use their seniority like an atomic bomb – bringing it out as a last resort. There is nothing you can do to win your point once Mother starts dropping lines like:
"I've been around a lot longer than you."
"When you get to be my age..."
"You can't put an old head on young shoulders..."
"You young kids these days...!"
This seniority excuses any amount of tactless behaviour. Mother is the only person in the world who can say to you:
"When are you going to lose all that weight?" or
"That hair colour looks hideous with your complexion." or
"Ever since you married that horrible person, you've just let yourself go."

Mothers develop selective memories once they acquire grandchildren. You will be told things like:
"I was in labour for ten days with you and was out picking cotton on the eleventh!" or:
"When are you going to toilet train that child? All of you were out of diapers by the time you were five months old!" or:
"The trouble with your generation is you don't discipline your children. No wonder there's so much crime these days!"

Of course if you take exception to any of these statements Mother will simply say: "Don't argue with me. I've been on this earth a lot longer than you." So don't bother.
I suppose, if the truth be told, motherhood is a position that demands respect, and it’s not fair, and can be somewhat dangerous, to criticize too much. Luckily, after pondering all the annoying indiosyncracies that accompany motherhood, I feel I have a more open mind. I can look my own children straight in the eye and say:
"Despite the fact that I am your mother, I will hereafter try to approach every situation in a fair, unbiassed and calm manner, and if your rooms are not immaculate in one hour, I will set fire to them."

Love, Loss and Regret

2006-09-17T23:15:00.000-05:00

I wanted to write something uplifting this time, but I couldn’t think of anything at the moment. What’s dwelling on my mind this week has been the loss of a loved one. The reason is there have been two women whom I work with that have lost their husbands, both in the last two weeks. One was very unexpected and the other, although her husband has been ill for some time, he was still quite young.

To me, it’s unbearable to even think of losing my husband or one of my children, but it happens. Ten years ago, it was unbearable to think of losing one of my parents. Since, I’ve lost both and still I’ve managed to carry on. Both, my parents and my husband’s parents lost a child during their lifetimes. My sister-in-law lost her husband, and I lost my brother from one tragic accident. I think I related to my sister-in-law’s feelings most at that time. As unbearable as it was to think of losing a husband, it was doubly unbearable to relate to my parents’ feelings. I remember them all going through the tragedies.

Misfortune happens to us all. When and where is out of our hands, the only way to deal with such heartache is with faith. Yes, faith. My faith in Jesus Christ helped me deal with the death of my brother in 1989, my mother in 1996 and my father in 1997, not to mention other family members not as close. There are still times I miss them. And there are things I can’t do. No, that’s not completely honest, it’s not that I can’t, it’s that I haven’t done them yet, not even after 10 or 17 years.

My brother was a wonderful man, a good man. I don’t think I ever saw anyone with as many people attending their funeral. There was standing room only in the large church where it was held. At visitation, there wasn’t time to even sit as the line out the door was so long that it took the entire two hours to get everyone through. Many loved him and I never even realized it. My brother was an engineer on the railroad for more than fifteen years; he was the superintendent of the Christian softball league and an ordained preacher.

David was a writer too, and a pretty good one. I feel bad that I never really read anything he wrote until after he passed. His articles on faith were published in our local newspaper. His wife’s sister found his writing (written by hand and some typed) and cassette tapings of his sermons while cleaning out the attic in the church he attended. She made copies for my parents and me. While I’ve read his articles, I still haven’t brought myself to listen to his sermons. Fear of how hearing his voice will affect me has stopped me from hearing his words.

My parents were also good people of strong faith. My mother was loving and honest. She would do anything to help anyone in need. But she also had a strong sense of right and wrong and of people, if they could be trusted or not. I never knew her to be wrong in that respect. Striving to be the best person she could be is what made her happiest. That and her family. My father on the other hand was much more relaxed and outgoing. He never met a stranger and his faith, like the other two, was also strong. I remember him studying his bible all the time. I regret tuning him out sometimes when he tried to talk to me about it. I remember stories of his childhood, exciting stories. His family moved a lot and he was always the new kid who had to defend himself against bullies. Being the youngest of eight children prepared him in protecting himself against who wanted to harm him. I can only remember living in three different houses growing up. And even with that, he kept us in the same school district, because he knew how hard he had it.

Dad had a lot of sayings. You know those as children we hated. Like the answer to the question why was always “because I said so.” And “if your friend jumped off a bridge would you?” But when you grew up, did you find yourself saying the same phrases you swore you’d never say? I know I have. There’s two phrases/quotes of wisdom he said I know I’ll never forget: “Never loan money that you can’t afford to be repaid.” and “Never charge to your credit card more than you can pay off in thirty days.” Living by these is much harder though.

There are videos of my parents at church that so far I haven’t watched. Again “fear” is what has stopped me, but I will watch them one day. Also my dad was talented. He taught himself to play the guitar and piano by ear, and he sang. I remember playing and replaying the Kenny Rogers song “Lucille” so that he could learn the words to it, play it and sing it. I have cassettes of him singing that I haven’t listened to either—same reason as before. My husband has listened to them. When country music changed though, he began listening to only gospel. He loved his music loud and he sometimes would play the guitar and sing when mom and I was interested in a movie infuriating us at times. But he loved to play and sing and show off.

My parents and my brother were all very giving people, financially and they gave their time to what they believed, and I only hope to be half as good as they were. I used to think it was only their bad habits and problems (not that they had many) I inherited. And I did get those, but I like to think I received their good abilities and habits too. I didn’t get daddy’s talent for music, that’s for sure, but whereas I can’t carry a tune, I have always had pretty good rhythm for dancing which doesn’t do me much good except every once and a while it offers me some exercise. I inherited my mother’s love of reading and watching the World Series, also of the Atlanta Braves. Actually both parents loved the Braves.

I think I’m a pretty good person and I love helping others when I can. My faith is strong. One day, I will listen to my brother’s sermons, watch my mom and dad on video and listen to my dad sing again, and I know that day will be soon. One of my greatest faults is putting off anything I deem unpleasant or upsetting.

Time is short, and I know that from my life’s experiences. So, it’s time to do the things I’ve been putting off. Besides the above, I need to redo my will, cancel AOL and give more of myself to others. I told my husband the other day that if we ever “won the lottery” even though I would quit my day job, I would like to volunteer my time to help the elderly and the sick in some way. My first thought was Mana Food Bank.

I guess the moral of this story is: Don’t put things off, even when you think they’re unpleasant or upsetting. And I hope this hasn’t depressed anyone. It’s just my thoughts for the last few weeks.

Slave to 21st Century Technology or Maybe I should get an offline life...

2006-09-15T05:59:00.000-05:00

You know how people ask, "If you could live in any other time, which would it be?"

In the past, I'd given this a lot of thought. I adore everything Tudor, homes, clothing of the era, the political and religious rammifications that surrounded one man's libido, among countless other things. I eat it up! Did a term paper on old Henry and his women in high school that was a hundred pages long and had almost 2000 note cards and a 30-page bibliography. I got a hundred on it, but I'm pretty sure my instructor didn't read all the way through it--I've since found dreadful grammatical errors. What can I say? Commas have always been my bane.

There are other eras in history I find roughly romantic and wouldn't mind spending an hour or two exploring: The Flapper Era,
Pioneer Era, the first Fashion Week, sometime during Roosevelt's presidency in order to meet Eleanor.

Okay, all that changed Wednesday. I've decided I am truly a 21st Century Woman. I'm chained here and it's not pretty. Seems the Southern United States has gotten so used to drought that when it finally rains any significant amount, the South shuts down. Rain, a little thunder and my internet went out. Other things went out too that kept me virtually cut off from civilization...trust me, I am not a woman who does quiet well. My kids go to school and the radio AND TV come on...but being without the internet was the worst.

I knew that I spent a lot of time online...I'm a writer, so that goes without saying...but until I couldn't get online, I'd not realized just how dependent I am on the internet. I research. I contact friends. I get recipes. I check weather (eye roll).

Okay, there are phones, TVs and cookbooks. There are days I don't sign on at all. Days when my needlework deadlines are stricter than my writing deadlines. It wasn't as if I had nothing else to do. Hey, I have a husband, two kids and two furry creatures all living in my house with me. There's ALWAYS something to do. I could have worked on my pending needlework restoration. I didn't HAVE to sign on. But I COULDN'T sign on. Enter anxiety attack.

Now, okay, granted, I'm a card carrying conspiracy theory member, but I never considered myself to be paranoid in any way. But I just knew something important was happening that I didn't have access to, something that was going to be life altering. There was some weather occurance that wasn't showing up on cable...which by the way, along with cell, phone and power took turns fritzing out on me. And the cable company chickie said the ENTIRE SOUTHEASTERN UNITED STATES WAS WITHOUT INTERNET! Honey, that goes way beyond conspiracy! That's sabotage!

The cable company who shall from this moment forward be referred to as The Wicked and Uncaring A, couldn't tell me when it was going to be restored. "We hope sometime this week." Sometime this week, we HOPE??? No no no...not acceptable. Do you realize what's going on in my life?? I have a new crit group starting. I'm having a virtual Mary Kay online sleepover. I have two novellas coming out in the next month or so!!! I have to BLOG!!! I have my local news channel's weather radar on loop!!! I need my internet access, Cable Chickie! DO SOMETHING!!!!!

I was offered credit, and nothing more. How rude. How inconsiderate. I mean, come on, if it wasn't for me and others like me, they'd be working asking if I'd like fries! What has happened to human kindness?

But scarier....how did I survive prior and during the War Games era? Didn't Matthew Broderick teach me anything about life and computers?

I was so depressed. I took a nap.

Funny, I'd forgotten what sleep felt like.

Til next week....
hugs,
Sher

Love Them Little Mouseys

2006-09-14T15:25:00.000-05:00

Lately we've been involved in waging war.

A couple of weeks ago, we heard noises in the walls. Yup...mice. Well, I guess when you live in a house over a hundred years old, you have to expect mice. And really, I have nothing against them. But I'd like them to understand this is MY house; they need to get their own. Preferably outside, preferably far away. Because although they're adorable, they DO carry diseases, and they DO chew on insulation, wiring, and other vital parts of the house.

My husband said he'd set some traps. Right away I said, "Oh no, I want them out of our house but I don't want to kill them." He sighed and said he'd look around to see if we still had the Havahart mousetrap I bought several years ago, when mice were getting into the garage of a house we used to own.

Later, he came up from the basement, trap in hand. He held it up, looked at me seriously and opened his mouth to speak.

I cut him off. "Yes, I will set the trap and yes, I will check it every day, because I know your working hours won't allow it and all those little mouseys will die if left in the trap too long."

He looked astounded, opened and closed his mouth a few times, said "Okay, then," and left the room. ;-)

So every day, I've been going down to the basement to check the trap, releasing any mouseys I catch (I like to think of it as repatriating them to the woods across the street) and resetting the trap. Not as easy as it sounds, because the basement "door" is set flush into the laundry room floor. So first I have to move the cat's litter box, the vacuum cleaner, the birdseed, the mop, etc. off the door. Then I haul up on the heavy door by the little metal ring embedded in it and prop it open on the cat litter container. I turn on the light and either back down the stairs or limbo down, as there's not much head room. Then I slouch over to the trap as the "ceiling" of the basement is shorter than I am. If I catch somebody, I take him across the street and let him go, then rebait the trap with peanut butter and put everything back together for another 24 hours.

I've caught seven little mouseys as of today, and I hope and pray they're seven separate mice and it's not the same one I'm catching over and over! They're just adorable, with their brown fur, white tummies, round ears, big black eyes, and little pink feet. I'm glad we're not killing them, though I know we must be fighting a losing battle to keep them out of the house. But I like to think of it as storing up good karma to fight off the bad stuff that falls into everyone's life.

Why, you're probably asking, am I calling them "mouseys"?

It's because when I was in college, I remember a popular little cartoon that was on mugs, t-shirts, etc. It showed a cat playing a guitar and singing, and here's his song:

Love them little mouseys,
Mouseys what I love to eat.
Bite they tiny heads off,
Nibble on they tiny feet.

While I can't imagine a more disgusting meal, somehow the rhyme has stuck with me all these years. So to me, they'll always be mouseys. But I have a new rhyme:

Love them little mouseys,
Mouseys what I set free across the street.
Hope they don't come back here,
And nibble on my tiny feet!

What do you think?

Liz, the Mouse Whisperer

Wrong Turns Part II

2006-09-14T15:03:00.000-05:00

WRONG TURNS PART II

I’m always fascinated in hearing how other writers transform an idea into a finished work, and after reading Liz and Maureen’s comments on my Tuesday blog, I started thinking about how, after years of trial and error, I’ve learned to do it.

When I first started to write back in the early 80’s, I met a HQ author, Elaine something, it’s so long ago I’ve forgotten her last name, but Elaine wrote great stories. She’d start off with a single sheet of paper and then keep taping on extra sheets, spread sheet style, until she had long, detailed plans that would put an engineer to shame. Her plans included character bios, character arcs, story graphs and every other little trick we’ve learned in writing class. And when she was finished, she went back, connected all the dots, and hey presto! her story was done to perfection—no saggy middles, no unanswered questions. (I just remembered—Elaine Stirling, back in the mid-80’s she wrote a great HQ Intrigue, Call After Midnight).

Elaine made the whole process look so darn simple, I gave it a try…and wound up with the worst mess imaginable. After that, I tried writing an outline—10/20 pages of this happens and then that happens. Another disaster because I was treating my characters like puppets and once I started the actual writing, I kept deviating from the plot--at least, I thought it was me until I realized it was my characters rebelling at being forced to do stuff they did not want to do. I then tried the start, middle and finish approach—to which my characters replied: okay, maybe, and ABSOLUTELY NOT.

For a short story, I don’t bother with outlines or lists. I know I have to wind it up within 10-20k, so I have a fairly good idea of where the story is headed and how I need to bring it to a satisfactory conclusion. I don’t often take a wrong turn, but if I do, it’s usually not that difficult to fix. The problem I had with JUST ONE LOOK was because I’d added a subplot that kept growing and growing. The basic subplot is fine, but I kept getting these additional good ideas that I didn’t think through properly and thus wound up with a scene that didn’t work.

With a full length book, 100K+/-, I find keeping everything on track is not so easy. I start off with a main thread for the principal characters and a couple of minor ones for the supporting cast--my ideas usually come with a great opening scene that just drops into my head. I then do a couple of pages on where I think the story should go, do short character sketches, figure out the GMC and any back story, and complete any necessary research. By the time the opening scene is written, I have a loose idea what will happen next, but no clue at all how it will end because around the middle of every book, my characters unfailingly take over.

To combat this takeover, I make reminder lists about things that need to happen or not happen etc. etc. I’ve also discovered a marvelous little trick to keep everything heading in the right direction: At the end of the first third of the book and again at the end of the second third, I have a story conference with my characters to determine their respective states of mind. What they want or want not to happen; how they feel about the other characters, and so on and so on. It’s really quite illuminating once you start treating your characters as people rather than puppets.

Chris

Wrong Turns, Dead Ends and Brick Walls

2006-09-11T23:19:00.000-05:00

Wrong Turns, Dead Ends and Brick Walls

I guess every writer has, at one time or another, no matter how perfectly they’ve plotted their story, wound up taking a wrong turn, or facing a dead end or a brick wall and asking themselves, “What happened? And where in heck do I go from here?”

It’s happened to me in the past, and will probably happen again in the future. Some people call it Writer’s Block, I call it “Taking A Wrong Turn”. True Writer’s Block is something else entirely.

Over the past couple of weeks, I’ve been writing up a storm on a novella that is supposed to be finished and turned in by the end of October. I had about 12k words written and everything was moving along like a well-oiled machine. I was so pleased with myself, I began hanging out with dh and the kitties, watching TV and patting myself on the back—all I had to do was another 5-6k and I’d be finished well before Oct.31. No sweat.

At least that’s what I thought until yesterday morning when I read over what I’d written and discovered I’d gone so far off track I’d written the hero out of the book. With absolutely no way that I could see of getting him back in, there was I, facing a very blank brick wall with no idea which way to turn.

I don’t do a lot of detailed plotting for a short story. I know roughly where it’s headed, and then add and incorporate new twists etc. as I go along. Anyway, after thinking about my dilemma, I realized I would either have to come up with another idea for a brand new story, or fix what I had by dumping about half of what I’d written and starting again from the point where I’d suddenly got this “really great idea” for a plot twist.

It’s always hard to admit you’ve screwed up. It can even be harder to trash what you’ve written and start over. But since I know this is part of being a professional writer, this morning, I cut and pasted out the part where I took the wrong turn—I’m the cautious type, so I put this part in a new file of its own--just in case, decided the “really great idea” was probably one of the stupidest ideas I’d had in a long time, and started over in a whole new direction. The story is moving along perfectly now. The hero has to take a back seat temporarily, but it’s still his and the heroine’s story, and he’ll be back with guns blazing (only figuratively speaking, of course,) to rescue the heroine from the villain, so they can ride off into the sunset together.

Oh yes, I guess I should mention that “really great idea” has not only managed to weasel its way back into the new version of the story, it works even better now.

The story is called JUST ONE LOOK. It’s a contemporary erotica set in Provence, in the South of France, and will be published by Amber Quill--probably some time early next year.

Chris

Christmas in Oz by Maureen McMahon

2006-09-10T23:41:00.000-05:00

The weather here is still pretty cold, even though it’s now officially Spring. I’ve lived in Australia for 24 years, and have become somewhat used to the odd switch in seasons. But Christmas is still not right. For 30 years I lived in Michigan, and winters were fraught with snow-drifts, ice, blizzards, freezing winds, road salt and all the other hazards of a northern climate. The perfect Christmas there included mounds of pristine snow covering the ground and tree limbs outside, with frosted windows, a toasty fire and a Christmas tree glittering with lights and ornaments inside. Under the tree there’d be all variety of winter gifts – mittens, boots, coats, sleds, ice-skates. There’d be warm drinks or eggnog, and always a sprig of mistletoe.

Here in southern Australia Christmas is very different. December is scorching – and usually dry. School holidays bring thousands of city-dwellers to the coast, to enjoy the sandy beaches and splash in the clear waters of the Southern Ocean. Department stores still have fake snow decorations and Santas in heavy red suits and long, white beards. It all seems incongruous considering the climate. Christmas dinner is often served on the patio, a barbecued ham, accompanied by a variety of salads, and the inevitable plum pudding or fruitcake. Gifts consist of summer things – beach towels, swim-fins, pool toys, tanning lotion. Fruit baskets abound. Christmas trees still twinkle with lights and ornaments, but seem oddly out of place considering all the greenery and flowers abloom outdoors.

I love Australia – the people are wonderful and the land is beautiful. But I can’t deny I occasionally miss a good old Michigan Christmas. Still, this year I’ll go for a dip in the pool before dinner and we’ll sit on the back deck and enjoy the summer breezes as we have our meal al fresco. Christmas isn’t just about the weather, I suppose – it’s about good company. I hope, wherever you are, you have a holiday filled with joy, contentment and the company of family and friends.

Safe or Paranoid?

2006-09-07T09:34:00.000-05:00

My motto for life has always been, "Better safe than sorry." (And also, "It's better than a poke in the eye with a sharp stick," but that's another story.) So yes, I'm the type who doesn't like to take chances. I prefer things to be safe.

I think it began with my mother. I remember as a child, dipping little plastic toy soldiers into a mud puddle, which inspired my mother to launch into a lecture on what to do if I ever found myself in quicksand. ("Float on your back." Yeah, right, like I'm going to fall into quicksand in Connecticut.) My mom was a great mom, but very cautious. I reached adulthood with nary a broken bone.

That carried over into my own mothering skills. "Don't climb that tree, you might fall out!" "Don't ride your bike on the street!" "Be careful with that glass, it's breakable!" I had the kids trained...if something broke, I yelled, "Don't move!" to keep them from impaling themselves on broken glass before I could get to them. My kids reached adulthood without any broken bones, too.

Now an empty nester, I still prefer caution above all else. Doors? Always locked at night, someone could break in and steal something. Why would a door have a lock on it, if it wasn't meant to be used? (My husband keeps telling me to leave the doors unlocked; he's hoping someone will break in and steal the dog.)

Candles? Never lit, they could start a fire. Stashed around the house, looking decorative and dusty, but never ever burned.

Handrail? Always clutched firmly when going up or down the stairs, otherwise I could fall and break something. Hey, that's what it's there for, right?

Because...once I got out from under my mother's sheltering wing, I did a few "crazy" things. And I did have a bicycle stolen from an unlocked basement. I did set my hair on fire once with a lit candle. And I did fall down the stairs when not holding the handrail, and broke my foot.

So you could say another of my mottos is, "Once bitten, twice shy." Hey, I'm not hopeless, I can be taught. ;-) It appears, as I should have known, Mom was right.

But this caution, a valuable life-preserving trait, can also be life-stifling. I'm afraid to fly. (Well, I always say, it's not the flying I fear. It's the plummeting.) I'm terrified of tornadoes. (So don't expect me to be a storm-chaser. I'm a storm-flee-er.) I'm too timid to ride a bike. (Hey, there's too much traffic, and the bike doesn't come with an airbag.)

My husband thinks I'm missing out on a lot in life by being so cautious. But I always counter with, I don't crave excitement and wild adventures. To me, going shopping for yarn or a new outfit is an adventure. Eating out is an adventure. Turning on the TV and finding my favorite movie is on is an adventure. Being cautious means it doesn't take much excitement to keep me happy. My home is my favorite place to be.

So, what about you? Are you a thrill-seeker or a risk-avoider? Why have you chosen the route you've taken? Would you change if you could? And, the most important question: anyone want an 11 year old dog who barks his brains out and is stupid but lovable? I'll leave the door unlocked. ;-)

Liz

Greetings from the Sleep Deprived

2006-09-06T15:49:00.000-05:00

Okay, all warring governments have it completely wrong. Sleep deprivation as means to garner essential information is completely illogical. Sleep deprivation is the key ingredient in the CRS disease. For those who aren't familiar with that ailment, the first two words are "Can't Remember..." and I'll leave the final initial to your imagination.

I am definitely a member of the sleep deprived, the utterly exhausted, a card carrying member of the CRS population. In the last week I've averaged about four hours sleep a night...now that doesn't count the days before the New Orleans trip when I was trying to finish edits for Enigma, packing, and keeping family fed, clean, on track...when I got 6 hours sleep in 72. Which is probably the reason I'm so tired now. Usually I get up at 5:30am, go full-tilt until about 12:30-1am, go to bed, get up at 5:30 and get going again...M-F. I catch up on weekends. But this week, I'm falling asleep every time I get still.

Now, I managed five hours last night, awoke feeling like I had everything under control. By ten this morning I'd managed to get the hubby and kids up and off to work and school, picked up the held mail, finished the last of the laundry, taken the dog to the vet, made out the month's budget, paid all the local bills, and got groceries. I thought, "Okay, I'm on a roll...I can do my blog, eat lunch, do my last crit for the week and get to work on my chapter edits."

By 10am...then I remembered. I was supposed to be at a new crit group at 9 this morning...a new crit group we'd been planning to start for two months. Two months!!! Two months, and I lose a little sleep and poof! Right of my mind it goes! Then I was so upset, I completely floundered for an hour, ate a bacon sandwich and fell asleep. On the couch. With the alien cat on my chest...the same alien cat I left with my sister and who now has transformed into the "why aren't you holding me???" cat. Blog? No. Crit group? No. Crit finished? No. Anything else? NO! I didn't wake up until the middle of As the World Turns!!! (it wasn't Mattie, by the way. It was Eve. And Casey survived. Course Gwen and Will are still on iffy ground, but that'll work itself out as soon as someone runs Jade over with a train. ))That was 2:30.

So, here it is, 6pm, and my babies are home, homework is done, Himself is on his way home, crit group apology note written, have transferred Alien WAYHM cat to my daughter's arms, dinner on, and crit open and waiting.

All in all? Pretty much everything is right with the world...and I'm going to be in bed by 11...probably asleep by 11:05!

Hugs till next week when I hope to be more coherent.
Sher who doesn't believe in the word normal.

Racism, Prejudice & Bigotry - Alive and Thriving by Maureen McMahon

2006-09-04T16:53:00.000-05:00

Last week I received one of those emails sent from one group of people to another that end up finding their way all around the globe. This one was in regard to a postage stamp the USPS is purportedly going to introduce. It had a Muslim symbol and the word “Greeting” at the bottom. The email ranted and raved in huge red letters – saying this stamp must not be allowed. It said that Muslims had killed thousands of Americans and to ‘honor’ them in any way would be to denigrate the loss of the many lives. It called on every recipient of the email to boycott the stamp, to show their hatred of Muslims.

Normally I’d just delete this sort of email, but this one made me very angry. Why should I hate all Muslims? Were ALL Muslims responsible for the terrorist attacks listed in this email? Could it be possible that there were some Muslims living their lives, raising their families and trying to survive on this planet just as me? Could it be there are Muslims, living in Western countries, who are trying to exist peacefully, yet are faced with generalized hatred of this sort daily? I questioned my ethics. I questioned my silence on this matter. Sure, it would be easy to simply delete the email and forget about it…cause no waves. But something in me made me hit the ‘reply-all’ button and voice my opinion:

“I don't believe ALL Muslims were responsible for the attacks mentioned - just as I don't believe all Americans were responsible for the war atrocities committed by certain U.S. soldiers in Afghanistan, or that all Americans were responsible for the genocide of Native Americans in their own country, or that all Germans were responsible for the death camps, or that all Cambodians were responsible for the genocide there, etc. etc. Before we paint a race with one brush, we need to remember we are all citizens of the planet Earth, first and foremost. Some of these 'citizens' do evil things, some do good things, or simply trying to live their lives honorably, raise their families and be good neighbors. This sort of email is how we promote prejudicial thinking and cause even more terrorism and evil in the name of some warped sense of revenge.”

Well, the list my view of the email went to was far-flung and many – and I knew no one on it except the person who sent it to me. Opening a can of worms is an understatement. The next day my inbox was filled with emails regarding my stand on this matter. Some were in total agreement, but many accused me of a lack of patriotism, blindness, stupidity and other things not mentionable here. I was shocked and horrified. One particularly vitreous fellow – who had MD after his name – told me I was all of the above, and I should ‘remove my head from my ass.’ Another wrote to say he was glad someone said something. He said he’s worked at a Mexican mission for years, and the prejudice against Mexicans is appalling …but no one who hasn’t been there understands the conditions they live in.

I responded to the medical doctor’s rude and insulting email by saying I noticed he didn’t address any of the atrocities committed by the U.S. and Western countries. His reply? “The United States of America is one of the most moral countries on this planet.”

Well, that’s his opinion. My question is: What about the attempted genocide of Native Americans? What about the centuries of abuse and torture meted out to Black Americans? What about the rounding up of Japanese Americans during the war to be placed in camps? What about the bombings of innocent civilians in the Middle East? The list goes on and on.

I am a U.S. citizen and proud of it. I’m not, however, proud of everything the various U.S. governments throughout the years have done. I also don’t agree with a great many things that other governments or radical sects around the world do, or have done. But to blame an entire country and all its citizenry – to blame a race – is and always will be bigotry and prejudice.

Some of the emails I received asked me: “What would you do if your daughter came home and said she wanted to marry a Muslim?” Is this not reminiscent of the old question: “What would you do if your daughter wanted to marry a Negro?” or “What if your son wanted to marry an non-Catholic?”

Prejudice and intolerance is alive and thriving. It is evil – and evil breeds evil. The terrorist activities in the world are abhorrent, but let’s place blame squarely where it should be placed: On the perpetrators - NOT the race and NOT the country we believe these people are from. It’s time the silent masses of citizens in this world spoke out for peace and unity and a belief that we are all made from flesh and blood and all intrinsically the same. I’ve heard people say the horror that occurred on 9/11 helped to unify the world against terrorism. Did it? Or has it, instead, driven a greater wedge between East and West? Is this not exactly what terrorists want to do? The bigots and racists who are rife in every country are overriding the silent majority of fair-thinkers who wish only for peace on this planet. Please don’t promote racism by forwarding prejudicial emails. Speak out against them and become active in healing our planet.

Cover suggestions

2006-09-01T07:48:00.000-05:00

Raise your hand if you're an author and you've ever had a book cover. Yes you.

Now raise your hand if you're a reader and have ever seen a book cover.

Have you ever thought what goes into making a book cover?

I only know the process from the author's end. Most publishers give us a cover request form in which we fill out the hero's and heroine's physical characteristics, a couple scenes from the book that we think would make for an exciting cover, and a synopsis and/or scene from the book.

Some publishers don't ask and some don't give specific questionnaires.

It's much harder to decide on the cover when two or more authors and stories are involved. Trying to make a cover specific, yet generic, enough, is tough. That's where our anthology group is at now for our next release.

It's a happy problem and one for which I feel blessed. What's the alternative? Not having our anthology published?

Our next anthology is a paranormal with lots of shivers. There are six stories some ranging from downright horror to sweet paranormal. Kinda hard to come up with an idea to span that.

So, does anyone have any cover ideas for us?

We were sort of thinking something dark and misty, but not Halloweenish. Rather vague, I know. This isn't a romance. In fact, my story has absolutely no love story and you'll see that my secret desire is to be the next Stephen King (well, Stephanie King).

Shoot away! No promises what we or our publisher will decide but our thanks for all shared ideas.

Ashley
www.ashleyladd.com

Wednesday's Keywords of the Week

2006-08-30T10:27:00.000-05:00

Okay, the title says it all. It's Wednesday. It's the middle of this week, nearing the end of the third of three very long and painful weeks. And it's not over, yet.

Stays....My daughter says I take in strays. I guess she's right. It seems all her friends, and most of Dusty's tend to gravitate to my house, call me Mama and eat right out of the pickle jar. My home is never quiet, rarely straight, and always full. This can be a good thing. For one, I only had to go through labor twice and I have lots of kids. And sometimes those strays will include their parents.

Bittersweet...I've spent the better part of the last three weeks worried to death and trying to provide what comfort I could to Courtney's best friend and her family. Holly's twin baby brothers were born three months early, two weeks ago tomorrow. One of them, Vincent, died the following Monday, and was buried last Tuesday. Funerals are never easy, but when it's a baby's funeral, any strength you think you have...well, you quickly learn you don't. Whatever you have left, you spend on hugs and listening. Strange tho, afterwards, you feel stronger with each smile and bit of good news. The remaining twin, whom I hope will be another of my strays someday, is holding his own quite well. He's off most of his meds, off the ventilator and breathing on his own, and taking small amounts of breast milk. Because of his bigger(2.4 lbs) brother's sacrifice, Little David (1lb 14 oz) has a very good chance.

Perspective...Two days after the funeral, my husband was rushed to the hospital in horrible pain. They couldn't tell me as I was driving like a mad woman the 30 miles to the hospital exactly what it was...could be a stroke or heart episode or a blood clot. Turned out to be kidney stones. Now, I thank God constantly that he's okay. I've never seen him in that kind of pain before...never want to see him like that again...but I did show him the difference between that smaller-than-a-bb stone and our son's watermellon head.

Blessings...Yesterday, my stepfather (hate that word...he's my mother's second husband and just our Dad) had laser eye surgery. He's without glasses for the first time in his life, yes, Dad, you're pretty. He tickles my mother by walking thru the rooms and batting his eyes at her until she tells him how beautiful he is. These are the two youngest people I know. They're always talking about how "old people bug" them. LOL My son argued me down in the floor until he was 12 because they weren't old, so they couldn't be grandparents.

Typical...Now, my edits will be done and turned in by 10 tonight...can't miss Project Runway...best comedy on tv. LOL Before that, I have to pick up the kids from school, drop one off here to get the pet "stuff" ready, while Dusty and I take my 3-year old Beagle/French Charles Spaniel puppy, Auggie, to the vet. Then we come home, collect Courtney, Dargo and the "stuff" and haul it all to my sister's for the weekend. Then we come home, I make dinner...tuna something...help Courtney with her book binding for Art, get everyone to gather what extra stuff they want to take to New Orleans. Tomorrow I spend cleaning, shopping, washing, ironing and packing.

Legacies...We're going to New Orleans. We've not been since Katrina, and on one hand, my husband is dreading the trip like a tooth ache. But we need to take care of some business for Mark's grandmother who is showing signs of Alzheimer's. Last time we went as a family, his grandfather, Felician, first generation American citizen from Madrid, had had a stroke. Shortly after that, he died. It was the first time in their married life they had spent the night apart. She refuses to move to Florida to be with Mark's brother's family, or here to GA with us. She won't leave him. She won't ever be able to sign herself out, call a taxi and go to her house for the weekend, or meet up with her girlfriends to go juking. She won't ever get to go home to Italy. But she knows she'll be buried beside the man she's loved for the better part of her life. While we're there, we're collecting the irreplacable things, the family Bibles, photo albums, scrap books, and GrandPapa's paintings, proof of the source of my kids' artistic talent. The things of our childrens' and my niece's heritage.

So, if I forget to blog next Wednesday, consider the word of the day to be...Exhaustion.

Stay Safe,
Sher

Happy+upbeat=uplifted,

2006-08-29T20:22:00.000-05:00

Finding something interesting to blog about can be beyond difficult. One of my fellow bloggers suggested I write about men’s buns—unfortunately, that subject can be dealt with in one short paragraph:

All men have buns. Some men have nice buns, and some men don't.

What else is there to say about them?

Someone else suggested I should write something uplifting. After a hard day’s work, I definitely need some uplifting myself, but what does “uplifting” mean exactly? According to my Family Word Finder the verb uplift means raise, elevate, advance, better, improve, refine, upgrade, cultivate, civilize, edify, inspire. And by way of an example the book says: Listening to the sermon should uplift your thoughts.

Most sermons I’ve heard are more depressing than uplifting, but since the flip side of depressing is happy, upbeat, and yes, uplifting, too, I started to think about what makes me feel happy+upbeat=uplifted, well…

My youngest kitty, Toby, has his basket on the extension of my desk, and when I turn in his direction, he smiles, reaches out for me with a paw, and it makes me feel great because I know I’m the most important person in his little world. And his big brother, Texas, sends me kisses by looking at me and crossing his paws. Those two always know how to make me feel good.

However, when it comes to humans that can be a whole different ballgame. Do nice things for friends and co-workers and all too often you’re repaid with a stab in the back—I’m not being cynical, just honest, it’s happened to me so many times it’s started to get boring. But do something for a total stranger and sometimes their appreciation can be overwhelming.

Back in the eighties, I was traveling in France with 3 girlfriends. We’d spent the day in Aigues-Morte, the Mediterranean port from whence the Crusaders set out on their travels to the Holy Land. To get back to Marseilles where we were staying, we needed to change trains in Avignon which is on the main line between Paris and Marseilles. As the train left the station and we settled ourselves in our compartment, we discovered the other two people in the compartment, a Dutch couple, had mistakenly boarded our southbound train, first stop Marseille, instead of the one going north to Paris that would take them home to Holland. For them it was the last straw in a vacation from hell—their trailer and car had been totaled in an accident in Spain, they didn’t speak a single word of French and now here they were, tired and stressed out, on the TGV, the French super express, traveling at 186 m.p.h. in the wrong direction

To say they were frantic is an understatement. The woman was so upset she fell down the steps when the train reached Marseille and was badly shaken up, while her husband looked to be on the verge of a heart attack. Fortunately, the husband spoke English and we all spoke French, and I knew the train they were supposed to be on wouldn’t even arrive in Marseille until after we got there, so things weren’t really as black as the couple believed. The four of us did our best to calm them down, and when we arrived in Marseille, we sent the husband off in search of an official to explain the problem, while we did what we could to comfort his wife with coffee and cognac.

The husband had no problem getting an official okay for himself and his wife to board the northbound train, but we could see they were still very shaken up, so we decided to stay with them and make sure there were no more mishaps. While we were waiting for their train, we got to talking about other things and in the course of the conversation the husband discovered we were Canadians. He stared at us for a moment, then his eyes filled with tears, and he said (I’ve forgotten the exact words), but something to the effect that he couldn’t believe how history was repeating itself--during WWII, Canadian soldiers had saved him and his family from being killed, and now all these years later, Canadians had again come to his rescue.

They didn’t tell us their names, and we didn’t tell them ours, but I guarantee they didn’t forget us anymore than we forgot them. And yes, it was a very uplifting experience. All four of us were so proud to know that by helping that couple we’d also helped to keep alive the memory of those brave Canadian soldiers who liberated Holland in 1944-5.

Chris

THE TRIALS OF MENOPAUSE by Maureen McMahon

2006-08-27T23:16:00.000-05:00

I’m going to talk about menopause, so all you men out there can go: “Eeeeuw!” and run away, or maybe you can stay and learn a thing or two about what your wife or partner is experiencing, or may experience.

Prior to menopause I can’t say I was a perfect, happy-go-lucky person, but I was tough, resilient, enjoyed life, had no qualms about trying new things, could eat, drink, dance until the wee hours, was a good mother and managed my home and family well. I exercised daily, and laughed a lot.

Then peri-menopause hit…well, it didn’t really ‘hit’ as much as it ‘snuck up’… I began to notice I was feeling lethargic – apathetic. Nothing really excited me, and I found myself totally unenthusiastic. I went to a doctor who decided I must be agoraphobic and gave me antidepressants. One pill later and I was a total basket case. I had my first panic attack. It was that pill that sent my ‘apathy’ over the edge.

Who says panic attacks only affect mentally disturbed people? This first panic attack, since I had no idea what it was, sent me into a tail spin – foetal position in bed for nearly two weeks. I was lucky to have a friend who was also a counsellor for women. We began having sessions and she suggested I read a book called: “Complete Self Help For your Nerves” by Dr. Claire Weekes. That book saved my life then, and continues to do so during this unbelievably difficult transition.

Peri menopause and menopause can create such a that. It’s like a horrible tunnel of terrors. You burn with hot flashes, then you shiver with cold flashes. You can be in the middle of baking a cake and suddenly a wave of panic will flood you and you’ll descend into a fiery pit of fear. You have no idea what you’re afraid of, but your adrenals are telling you to run or to be very afraid. Along with this, you’ll have muscle spasms – tension that comes like a squeezing fist, making it feel as though your neck, shoulders, jaws, head and face are being stretched beyond endurance. Your ears begin to ring. This is frightening in itself, since you automatically assume you’re going deaf. Some days you’ll have heart palpitations (erratic heart rhythms) that lead to anxiety over heart problems. Some days you’ll have headaches – and some headaches last for weeks or longer. Exaggerated fears are rife. You will wake up mornings thinking you’ve got a brain tumor – or a heart condition. When you’re at your worst, you may believe you’re truly losing it – and end up at the ER. Inevitably you’ll be sent home with nothing truly resolved, other than reassurance you’re not physically dying.

In between all this, when the anxiety, tension and/or temperature fluctuations have decided to take a few days off, you may descend into depression. Again, for no apparent reason. Depression is like a dark pit where you’re looking out at the world, instead of actually being part of the world. You feel isolated and alone…and very, very confused. Doctors will want to put you on anti-depressants, but, if you’re like me and they make things worse, you persevere by finding support. You’ll read lots of books on menopause. You’ll refuse to listen to so-called medical experts who tell you menopause doesn’t cause mood fluctuations or all the symptoms you’re having. Proof of this is a visit to the Power Surge website (http://www.power-surge.com) Literally thousands of women post on the message boards there and describe an enormous variety of like-symptoms as they journey through this tunnel of terrors – and they receive many messages of support from others who truly understand.

If any of you are wondering if your symptoms might be due to menopause, here is a list of the 34 signs of menopause: http://www.power-surge.com/educate/34symptoms.htm. Keep in mind that many menopausal women will not experience all of these symptoms, but many will experience most of these and more. I developed Burning Mouth Syndrome and it took me some months of anguish to find a specialist in Melbourne who knew what it was and knew how to treat it.

I would like to add that am disgusted and appalled at the medical profession in general for being so blasé about the suffering of so many women. I feel it’s a sign that they just don’t know what to do, so they ignore it. Some say if it’s not life-threatening, then it’s not worth researching. I believe that the significant removal of at least ten years of a woman’s life is more than worthy of research and assistance. One of the most helpful things for a menopausal woman is validation – knowing that what she is experiencing is real and not ‘something in her head.’

I want to end this blog with encouragement for those who are suffering with menopause or peri menopause as I am. I want you to know that this DOES end. That one day you’ll feel better and you’ll see the glimmer of light at the end of the tunnel. Ask a woman in her 70s and she will probably not even remember her menopausal symptoms.

Here are some books I’ve found helpful during my menopausal journey:
1. Complete Self-Help for your Nerves by Dr. Claire Weekes
2. The Seven Sacred Rites of Menopause by Kristi Meisenbach Boylan
3. You Can Heal Your Life by Louise L. Hay
4. The Power of Now by Eckhart Tolle
5. From Panic To Power by Lucinda Bassett

I’m sure there are many more some of you could include. Please add comments to this post if you’ve had difficult menopausal symptoms and have found relief. Or if you just want some support. And be sure to visit Power Surge – I guarantee it will help you feel less alone.

The Power! Who has it? Who doesn’t? – Just something to think about

2006-08-27T19:09:00.000-05:00

Note: The below are only my thoughts, ramblings and opinions. Nothing more or less. It’s my turn to write here and this is what I’ve been thinking about lately.

The government has power. The media has power. The power is supposed to belong to the people since we have the ability to vote. So, who really has the power?

The government? Sometimes, yes and sometimes no. The media has the power to make or break politicians. So, I guess it comes down to who has the most power. Both are powerful.

We’ve all watched as criminal cases have been both won and lost in the media. And talking about criminal cases, are people actually innocent until proven guilty? It all comes down to who has the most evidence, whether it is the prosecution or the defense. Or is it the most one most capable to charm a jury. Remember when you didn’t think you needed a defense attorney if you were innocent. That has definitely changed over the years—at least in public thinking. It’s probably always been true that you needed a lawyer whether guilty or innocent.

Okay, the media can change popular opinion; but recently in a poll, the media came up short in believability. Although television news was the most watched out of all news sources, it was the least believed. The media can get things into the public eye that may have been covered up otherwise, but it seems most news is put out there for all to see before the details are checked or verified. How often, especially during a crisis, have they come back and reported the first report or a portion there of was wrong?

Sports figures have charm, and they are loved and even worshiped by some. But when they fall from grace, they fall fast and hard. And usually this comes from the media finding out some secret or problem the athletic person has or faces.

The people have the power? They would if they could believe what they hear and then vote accordingly. But so much is fake or made up. Rarely do politicians follow through with what they promise. Possibly they’re side-tracked or something else took their immediate attention, and sometimes they just don’t intend to follow through. It’s hard to know for sure what stops them from being totally honest. We can’t believe politicians, commercials or the media. Who can we believe? Who or what does what they say it will do?

The trouble with faraway places...

2006-08-22T18:13:00.000-05:00

The trouble with faraway places is that the moment you've got the layout straight in your mind, some idiot comes along and changes everything...

I love to write stories set in far off places—to share with my readers the smell of exotic spices and all the other colorful sights and sounds as my characters wander through the souk in Tangiers, or maybe it’s a romantic night-time stroll along the Seine with the hero of my story, or, if the heroine is in jeopardy, a race for time through a confusing maze of back streets and narrow alleys in Moscow, Madrid or Marseilles with the hounds of hell snapping at our heels.

Even with extensive research, using locations you’ve never visited can be tricky--there's bound to be a helpful reader who just has to tell you that you've got it all wrong. Using locations you think you know well can also be tricky—especially if you haven’t been to that particular spot in several years. I was born in London, England, and thought I knew it pretty well. The last time I was in the East End, once the home of the London Docks, it was full of ancient, crumbling wharves and warehouses, so, when I wrote WHERE’S MICHELLE (a romantic suspense involving the kidnap of a 9-year old girl) an old abandoned wharf seemed like the perfect place to set the opening scene. Fortunately, I’d made the exact location of the wharf very vague which was just as well because on my next visit some years later, shortly after the book was published, I discovered huge changes had occurred. There are still a few pockets of decay awaiting rejuvenation and historically significant sites have been preserved, but most of what I remember has gone. The streets are still there, but most of those old warehouses have been replaced by expensive Thameside condos.

In WITHOUT A CLUE—a romantic suspense set in Paris, I was the victim of what I can only describe as absolute and outright sabotage on the part of the French people. I’ve visited Paris many times and, since I prefer to walk rather than ride, I’m familiar with the layout and have visited all but one of the famous tourist attractions on more than one occasion. So imagine my shock the last time I was in Paris and I found an expressway running through part of the Tuileries Gardens--the exact spot where my heroine was to finally make contact with the “mystery woman” in the plot. At this point, Clue hadn’t been published, so it was simply a matter of finding a new location for the scene. I finally decided on the Palais Royal which turned out to be an even better choice because many of the boutiques in the Palais gardens have both front and back entrances and this allowed me to escalate “the chase”.

I’m currently working on SEEING CAN BE DECEIVING, the second Liz Moretti mystery. But when I started the research, once again I discovered that what I remembered is not the way it is now. In the opening scene, one of the main characters has just been released after spending 20 years in prison. The London train takes him to St. Pancras Station and, since I was in England visiting with my sister, I thought I’d go over and check it out. I hadn’t been to that part of London in at least 20 years, so I figured that would be the perfect opportunity to see it all again through Kenny’s eyes. As it turned out, we both got the shock of our lives. The St. Pancras Station we knew and loved is no more—the old brick station, black with smoke from the days of steam trains has been torn down and replaced with a brand new shiny glass and steel building to help with the increased Chunnel traffic. My character thought he’d gone to the wrong station and for a moment, so did I.

And the moral of this story is, when it comes to details, rely on what you saw this morning with your own eyes. Otherwise, be vague—very very vague.

Chris

Lost Smiles by Maureen McMahon

2006-08-22T00:39:00.000-05:00

When do children stop being children? When do we put away our sandcastles, skipping ropes and giggles? When exactly do we change from ‘being’ a child to having an ‘inner’ child?

I remember lying in long grass, the sun warm on brown limbs, the coolness of the earth against my back, my older brother next to me as we watched in awed amazement as the cotton ball clouds changed ever so slowly into a myriad of new shapes – a dog, a bird, a ship, a fat lady…Giggling over the fat lady who became fatter and fatter, then seemed to twist herself into first a cupcake, then an elephant.

And when we got tired of watching clouds, when our energy surged, we’d be off, running full-tilt through the fields in anticipation of our next adventure, perhaps to make boats out of walnut shells, sticks and leaves to race down the trickling stream in the forest behind our house, perhaps in search of crayfish and frogs or perhaps to climb the old mulberry tree so we could look out over the beauty of our world.

There were afternoons in the summer sun gorging on wild dewberries or strawberries. Watching storm clouds gather, sensing the electricity in the air, awed by the approaching flash and rumble - waiting just that little bit longer before dashing for the security of home as the rains broke. Raking leaves in the autumn so we could leap into a huge pile and lie cradled in the brittle crispness, nostrils filled with the acrid, pungent smell. In winter, lumbering as fast as we could through knee-deep snow to the pond next door, ice-skates clutched firmly.

And when we were called to come in for dinner, we’d moan and plead, “Just a few more minutes?”

My daughter is twenty-one. When she was young, her laugh made us laugh, her smile made us smile, her giggle filled us with joy. Now she doesn’t laugh or smile very often. And her giggles are no more. I see her struggling under the heavy demands of university, work, personal demands and relationships. It saddens me to know that the child she once was is no more. She’s now an adult with all the attendant responsibilities and worries.

When does it happen? When do we “put away childish things?” And more importantly, why do we put them away?

When was the last time you built a sand castle? When was the last time you lay on the ground and watched the clouds? When was the last time you fell into pristine, sparkling snow to make an angel? When was the last time you giggled? When was the last time you woke in the morning anticipating all the fun the long day would hold?

When was the last time you looked into the mirror and smiled?

I had it all figured out and then ...

2006-08-20T01:29:00.000-05:00

My place of employment announced what had been rumored for about six months before that it would be moving operations over seas. On Valentine’s Day of this year, we had a meeting about what they would offer us if we stayed until they closed their doors here. It all sounded pretty good to me. I would receive at least 4 weeks pay, and unemployment benefits while at the same time pursue a college degree for up to two years. That was my plan.

A couple of weeks before that, they laid off two of their long time employees. One had been with the company for about twenty years and the other for at least fourteen years. That had made us all nervous and we wondered if the rumors of one to two years were false and they would be closing very soon. Now, this was two weeks before the meeting I mentioned above. So the meeting made us all feel much better about it. It would be at least a year and six months before any major lay offs. However, shortly after the meeting my boss came to talk to me and they were letting me go that day at the end of my shift. I was floored. But I would still get the same weeks in severance and I thought I could also get the same deal about school.

While I was off, I checked into school and found out it would have to be a different program for school than I first thought, and I would have to go through the school to get it. I bought a self help Algebra book to refresh myself for the entrance exam, checked out the college website, sent for my college transcript and tried to choose a curriculum and I’m still stuck between two, but I think I’ve figured out a way to maybe get a degree in both. All I had left to do was to sign up, get the financial stuff done, take the entrance exam and go back to college.

However, they called me back within a week and a half to work from four to six weeks for someone having surgery, and then asked me to stay another six weeks for another employee who had to have surgery. That was five months ago from when I was first laid off. And I hear that they’re telling new employees that it could be anywhere between six months and two years before they move. That’s a long spread between the two. They are moving though, as they’ve been moving some machinery already. Their building overseas is finished and they’re already training the office and plant personnel.

So, how long will my job last? I have no idea, but I'll work there as long as I can. Will I go to college? Yes, but I’m still not sure which program I’ll fit into. They hired me back as temporary. I’ve already received my severance, so will I still get stay pay? I don’t know. The Human Resources manager jokingly told me that I may be there to lay him off, but we both know he’ll be one of the last ones to leave. Should I take the curriculums I chose before or should I try to find something that will guarantee me a more plausible job.

I wanted to get a degree in Business Administration and Computer Programming. But how will that help me find a job? I do want to learn more about computers, if not for a job, for myself and the clients I have that rely on me to maintain their websites. I’m pretty happy that I can go back to college, but there's a lot of fear connected with being jobless, as well as the, “What if I can’t do the school stuff?” My memory isn’t what it used to be.

Contracts and Contests

2006-08-17T16:05:00.000-05:00

I have been absolutely snowed under lately with work, most of it NOT writing. Had to send back some contracts today, and you wouldn't believe how complicated those things are and how many pages they entail. I'm glad I'm not a lawyer and I just write fiction! At least I can understand what *I* write.

Also, I've been judging in a contest and had FIFTY books to read over the course of two months. Yup, full-length books. That's about a book a day, which is way more than I can read under normal circumstances, at least if I plan to get anything else done during the day.

There were more than the average number of great books, which made it more difficult and slower. I stayed up until 3 a.m. last night to finish them off, and mailed back the two winners today, to go on to the next round of the contest. Whew! One thing to check off my list.

So now I'm just down to about five editing jobs, four classes I'm teaching, the usual PR work, and oh yeah, finishing up the dang novella. ;-) That's next on my list!

So what do YOU do when you have too much work to do? Do a little of each task? Tackle one at a time? Do you make lists and cross things off, or work plans, or wing it? Or just close the door, lock it, and go on vacation?

Liz

Heavenly Hijinks

2006-08-16T21:57:00.000-05:00

My newest book, Heavenly Hijinks, was released today at Ellora's Cave www.ellorascave.com.

It's part of the Planetary Passions zodiac series. If you're up on the zodiac, you'll know this is Leo the Lion's time to shine.

Thus, my story is about Leo, THE Leo, The Nemean Lion of the zodiac.

In my story, Leo gets bored and comes down to earth - where he gets stuck to teach him a lesson. At 3,500 years, Leo still has some growing up to do. When he sees, and then feels guilty, that his Leo-born babies are running amuck without his heavenly guidance, he learns the value of responsibility and yearns to get back to his post.

Except for one thing...Clestie. This lovely Scorpio is the only person on Earth that can help him return to his heaven, but this delectable mortal is also the reason he wants to stay on Earth.

This is a paranormal, romantica comedy.

Midweek computer cat alien blues....

2006-08-16T10:03:00.000-05:00

Good morning all...
I imagine this might have been posted a lot earlier if it weren't for computer cat aliens.

My problems first started last Wednesday, so I've been suffering for a week now. First, Yahoo starts bouncing all my group messages...I have about 72 groups. That's a lot of bouncing. Some aren't important; others are... Shortly before that, 350 saved emails from my main email address...ALL important...mysteriously disappeared--but only from that one email address. None of the other five addresses were bothered. Then I worked for three hours last night and another three this morning trying to get signed on to the blogger. Thank you Liz. She also worked for about thirty minutes...doing the same thing I'd done several times. She succeeded.

Now, I can sit here wondering why my computer account likes her better, or I can blame it on alien computer cats. Don't laugh. If you've never seen one, you can't be sure they don't exist. Granted, I'm not a big in-the-house-pet lover. I am a firm supporter of DOG houses, CAT houses (the kind that house actual cats.) If they came up with nice ones, I'd be out there buying TEENAGER houses, and there are times I'd be checking into HUSBAND HOUSES (like when he mows down the lantana because it "looked like a weed to me!"). Unfortunate, I'm the minority in my home.

Now, the dog, Auggie, feels the same way I do about the cat. The dog by the way is the ONLY creature in this house the Dargo actually likes. I get constant "Why???" looks from our poor canine. Until the addition of the cat to our family, I only tolerated that poor dog. Now I buy him huge bones at the butcher. I figure he needs it...and I'm hoping someday he'll just bonk that little furry demon over the head...no more irritation and we'll have a nice little catskin rug.

Over the weekend, my son and I watched a couple documentaries on widespread alien sightings in Mexico. The commentator noted that Mexican residents reported computers, cell phones, and several electrical systems in cars going down for several minutes at a time, along with flicker of lights, and blinks in radio and television service.

Monday the children started their second full week of school. After I let the cat out of his kennel on Monday morning, the problems started. Cable and lights flickering during a storm...a mild one...Yahoo bouncing...etc. Now all those things corrected themselves, but I've had to chase that cat out from behind the TV center about 10 times, and even more from under my computer desk. I've refilled the spray bottle about five times this morning and I'm on my second fly swatter. (the first one is behind the freezer) And now, this blogger thing.

Does anyone know how to say, "Leave my computer alone, you fur-coved alien!" in Mexican?

Until next week, take care. Dargo's in her kennel. I'm off to the butcher for a big bone for Auggie...and a huge chunk of chocolate for Mama!
Stay safe!
Sher

When I was a little girl...

2006-08-15T18:19:00.000-05:00

Although it’s my day to blog, I haven’t a clue what to blog about.

I guess I could tell you a story about when I was a little girl growing up in England and I thought Snow White was a real person. I really wanted her to come and live near me and bring the dwarfs and the prince. But I didn’t know her address or phone number and no one I knew did, either—come to think of it that was way before ordinary people even had phones, at least they didn’t in England. Anyway there were no empty houses for them to live in, so I got myself an imaginary friend instead—a panda bear (I’ve always loved black and white and still do—I have two black and white Persians). The village school I attended had this big old beech tree in the playground and in the bottom of the tree was a hollowed out space like a small cave. I told my mom the baby panda bear lived in there and all the kids took it in turn to bring it bamboo shoots to eat. Where one would find bamboo shoots in England, I cannot imagine, but my mom, bless her heart, just swallowed it all whole and said, “Really, lovie. Isn’t that nice.”

Needless to say, the panda bear thing soon lost its appeal since I couldn’t take it out and show it around to my friends. So that’s when I took up with kitty cats—a neighbor’s cats to be precise: Martha, a pretty tortoiseshell, and her husband (I was a very moral child), Basil. Basil and Martha had kittens and I was ecstatic when I was allowed first choice. I chose a black and white female and named her Mischief. What happened to her siblings, I dread to think—getting pets neutered was unheard of even if the pet owner could afford it. Anyway, I lived in a country village where farming was the main industry and the life and death of animals accepted as the natural order of things. A bucket of water and a lid was the usual form of cat population control back then.

Unfortunately, the next winter, poor little Missy, as I called her, had a nasty encounter with a rat and became terribly sick. I remember my aunt wrapped her in blankets and put her in a basket so I could take her to see the vet. But that day, we had one of the worst snowstorms England has ever seen. It was 7 miles to the vet’s office and the busses had stopped running, and since there was no way I could make the journey through the snow drifts on foot, I returned home. Like all kids, I thought all I had to do was say my prayers, tell Missy how much I loved her, and in the morning all would be well. The next morning, Missy was dead and I cried for days.

Over the next few years, I had an assortment of cats. I loved them all, but none of them made up for Missy. When we came to Canada, then were so many rules about apartments and no pets, we didn’t bother—until the day I discovered Chinchilla Persians who are the most beautiful cats in the world: turquoise eyes, pink noses, and long white fur that looks as if it’s been stroked with a sooty hand.

We got our first chinchilla when we lived in Montreal, and we called him Moustique. But Mouki died of kidney failure when he was six and literally broke my heart. Then we had a shaded silver, Dondi, another chinchilla, Raja, a black Persian named Koko who liked to wrap himself around dh’s head once he was in bed, then Furrari—a cream Persian who we bought as a male and turned out to be a female. Currently, we have two black and white Persians: Texas aged 12 who was born in Fort Lauderdale, lived in Dallas for a few months, then flew to Canada on American Airlines; and my baby, Toby, who is 4 this Saturday and the most affectionate, cuddly little guy I’ve ever had.

If you’ve made it this far, thanks for letting me ramble on about my babies, but now it’s time for me to wind up this little cat-tail and go do some real writing.

Chris

If you want to see some pics of The Boys go to www.chrisgrover.ca

Writing, Blogging - Not For The Faint of Heart by Maureen McMahon

2006-08-15T01:49:00.000-05:00

Blog, blog, blog…Okay, so sue me, I’m not all that crazy about blogs. Who knows whose going to read them? What if your blog attracts a cult of crazed mass-murderers? Or suicide prone individuals who need just that one word to push them over the edge? It’s dangerous, in my opinion. That said, I’ll do my best… and with determination not to encourage murder or personal mutilation.

It’s not easy being a writer. People seem to think if you get paid to write, you’re the luckiest person alive. But it’s not easy. Of course we have our days when it just flows – when the words just tumble out one on top of the other and it becomes like a stream then a river and you simply can’t stop. But those days are most often surrounded by days when the words just won’t come and we have to pry them one by one from the dark, tight recesses of our creative minds. And then they don’t often fit properly. A hodge-podge of words that just don’t work together the way we want them to. “But,” we say, “never mind. Tomorrow might be better.” It rarely is.

Then of course we have editors waiting and tapping their feet. Will we have the story finished in time? Will it be any good? So on top of our own pressure to perform, we have the added responsibility of a deadline. After all, it’s not just our story anymore, it’s meant to bring income to a great many people. No dilly-dallying! Evolving creativity can’t hold a candle to the push and shove of the giant publishing machine.

But, okay, let’s face it, making money from our thoughts is one of the best ego-trips around. If you make money, that is. Gone are the days when publishing a novel will put you on Easy Street. Publishing a novel every six months might make life a little more comfortable, but it’s not a ticket to the limo or prime seats at the opera.

This is not meant to put anyone off writing. On the contrary, if anything it’s meant to encourage writers to follow their hearts. Don’t get caught up in the glamour or glitz you may think goes along with writing. Stick to your personal voice and style. Keep learning. Like what you write. When those days come along where the words simply don’t want to come, keep writing anyway and know it’s natural. And if your work is accepted by a publisher, enjoy it, but don’t lose track of the real reason you started writing in the first place. Most of you will realize in the end that you write because you love it. It’s part of you. And without it, you simply wouldn’t be the same.

And if you’re a mass murderer, or suicide prone, please take up knitting instead of reading blogs. G’day.