Blog Archives

Halloween Fun Facts

10/30/2013

Halloween Eve I thought I'd present you with some fun facts.

* Think you can carve.
According to the Guinness Book of World Records, the fastest time to carve a face into a pumpkin is 20.1 seconds, achieved by David Finkle of the United Kingdom. He completed the feat on Oct. 7, 2010, while filming a Halloween show for the BBC.

Halloween, USAFor some towns in the U.S., the Halloween theme lasts all year long, thanks to their names. A few that would be especially fun to visit for the holiday: Frankenstein, Mo.; Scary, W.Va.; Spook City, Colo.; and Candy Town, Ohio.

Since its invention in 1898 by the Herman Goelitz Confectionery Co. of Fairfield, Calif., (now known as the Jelly Belly Candy Co.), candy corn has been wildly popular—so much so that today, more than 35 million pounds of candy corn are produced each year.

Trick-or-Treating is a custom where children go door-to-door asking for a treat (candy). This act is derived from the custom in modern Ireland of people “guising” or going house to house in costume reciting songs in exchange for food.

Carving pumpkins, or “jack-o-lanterns” started with people carving turnips and hollowing them out to act as lanterns displaying faces meant to represent spirits or goblins. These were meant to frighten evil spirits.

Thanks to Pinterest for my images and facts. The weather prediction is a stormy one. The perfect time to stay home and watch a scary movie. Win movies or a Kindle to read a scary book. Contests are ending on Halloween night.

Kindle Giveaway

Classic Horror Movie Giveaway

Amazon Gift Cards and Fairy Lamp Giveaway

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Sneak Peek Initiation

10/27/2013

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Pagan Eyes is a series about the Carpenter family. An ordinary family for the most part with two parents, three kids, and an outspoken grandmother. Oh, and they happen to be witches, except for the father.

They wrestled with bullying, sexual identity, rape and religious persecution. There is also an issue about being pulled back in time unexpectedly. Each book focuses on a family member.

Initiation is Leah's book. All she wants is to graduate high school and go

to a college where her worth isn't measured on the cost of her clothing or

who she knows. She would like to go out with Dylan, the son of the local

Pentecostal minister too.

The only thing in her way is her natural shyness as far as getting to know Dylan

better. Then there is the issue of being sucked back in time and chased by people

who want to kill her. Not a good deal.

Here's an excerpt.

Leah clapped her hands, turning the light off. As a kid, she’d been so enamored of the clapper lamp that her parents had bought her one. Most people would label it hokey, but she still liked it.

“Good girl," her mother admonished, before tacking on, “Love you.”

“Love you, too, Mom,” she called back, closing her eyes, easing into sleep. Tomorrow would be another day, just like so many others. The image of the man in the throne-like chair flickered into being. Sitting up, she shook her head to shake the offending image out. “I refuse to dream about him. I’ll think of something pleasant, such as Dylan asking me to the homecoming dance.”

Lying back down, she let her eyelids flick closed. Maybe Dylan didn’t dance. She’d heard some of those religions had rules against it. Something about if people danced, they’d end up having sex like rabbits. As she drifted off to sleep, her last thought was she couldn’t remember ever seeing a dancing rabbit.

* * * *

The smell struck her first. The acrid, smelly odor reminded her of her fourth-grade field trip to a pioneer village. The candle maker had intrigued her by dipping wicks in what she had assumed was wax until the woman explained it was made of animal fat from butchered animals. That’s what it smelled like, along with the campfire aroma of burning wood.

In the misty night sky, a clouded crescent moon shed meager light on the surroundings. Turning slowly she examined the primitive thatched hut behind her. In the small front garden, a split log supported by two stumps served as a bench. An oaken bucket sat by a door that flew open. An elderly woman hobbled out, dressed in a black cloak. The woman reminded Leah of her grandmother, but instead of a look of fierce determination, terror pulled her face into an anxious mask. Reaching Leah, she tugged on her clothes, pushing her toward the woods. “Flee, flee, they come. Smell the torches.” The woman pointed to a path winding toward the east.

A dim glow was coming from that direction, along with the sounds of voices and snapping branches as dozens of feet marched in their direction. An overwhelming desire to run after the unknown woman came over her. Another part of her wanted to see who was coming down the path. It was only a dream, right? People couldn’t be hurt in a dream, or could they? She struggled to remember what her psychology teacher, Mr. Schaeffer, had said. He’d said either people couldn’t be hurt by their fears or your fears could kill you by bringing on cardiac arrest.

A few men came into view, burly men garbed in shapeless garments, with wild hair and ragged beards, Held high, flickering torches illuminating a small circle around them. One held a curved knife, reminiscent of the scythe the grim reaper carried. It didn’t bode well. One of the men spotted her, yelled, “Witch!” and charged her way. It was a definite bad sign, causing her to sprint toward the woods in the same direction as the old woman. Sticks, rocks, and briars pierced her feet, reminding her of her shoeless state. At home, she excelled in cross-country, but she had shoes, sunlight, and a feel for the course with no angry villagers behind her. The running men drew closer. Leah stumbled over a tree root, wasting precious time.

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HOLDING ON TOUR STOP

10/25/2013

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Holding On by Mel Morton

Title: Holding On
Author: Mel Morton
Genre: Contemporary
Publication: September 25, 2013
Goodreads: Holding On

Book Description:

‘There were certain events, things that happened to you in life that were best forgotten about. If you didn't think or talk about them then they didn't have power over you, did they?’

Set in the village of Heatherton, the entwined lives of Beth and Peter Scott and Charlotte Gardner are disrupted by changes beyond their control. When their pasts catch up with them, their lives and relationships begin to unravel…

Beth has boxed and buried away her childhood secret. When award-winning war photographer Don Meadon returns to the area to promote his autobiography, Beth has to confront the damaging effects of her abused past.

Since the death of his mum, Peter and his dad, Edward, have been exceptionally close, working together at the family carpentry business. When Edward retires to Spain and meets Fiona, Peter struggles to cope with his dad leaving him.

When Robert Armstrong arrives in the village as her temporary deputy, Charlie, head teacher of Heatherton Junior School, finds herself attracted to him. But she’s been hurt badly in the past, so when Robert tries to pursue a relationship, she is reluctant to take a chance.

**Warning** This book is intended for a mature audiences, ages 17+**

Buy Links:

Amazon US: Holding On
Amazon UK: Holding On
Barnes and Noble:Holding On
iBooks:Holding On

Excerpts:

Chapter One – Beth

It was the first committee meeting of 2012 and the Harrises’ dining room buzzed like a beehive as they waited for their chairman, Mike Harris, to formally open the meeting and the year.

During the previous months they had set initial dates and plans for the Heatherton Jubilee Fête and Olympic celebrations. But now that the village’s Christmas decorations had been stored and the New Year empties recycled, the Heatherton Events Committee were free to focus on the momentous occasions of the coming year.

Sat in front of patio doors furnished with sweeping, red velvet curtains, Mike settled in the carver chair at the head of the table and studied his agenda.

Beside him Beth Scott sipped overly strong filter coffee and eyed the plate of biscuits, wondering if there was time to ask Tom to pass them to her.
‘Welcome and, once again, Happy New Year,’ Mike said, glancing around the table.
Beth returned his smile and looked back at the assortment of chocolate biscuits, no doubt leftovers from Christmas; knowing she was too late, and would now have to wait for a suitable pause in the proceedings.

Chapter 3 – Peter

Peter Scott locked the back door of Rose Cottage and headed along the driveway to the high street, boots crunching against the gravel. It was brisker out than he’d expected and he considered going back to grab his scarf, hat and gloves, but decided against it. It wasn’t far to the Scott and Son workshop at the edge of the village, just under a mile.

He also didn’t trust himself. If he’d gone back inside, he might not have left a second time. After waking this morning he’d felt his good mood plummet like a brick in water at the prospect of going into work, and had taken far longer than necessary polishing the family shoes, then sorting the recycling and cleaning the bins.

But a week ago today, he’d made a private New Year’s resolution to face the workshop paperwork: the quotes to raise and send out, outstanding invoices to chase, and the bills that needed paying. And he never liked going back on a promise.
It was still only 10:00 and the empty hours stretched ahead. He knew Jen and Beth wouldn’t be back for a while so he didn’t need to be home any time soon. But what about lunch? And milk? Was there any left in the workshop fridge for a coffee even?
Peter looked along the curved high street ahead of him, to the village shop in the distance, squeezed between the surgery and the White Hart Pub. He’d pop in and grab a sandwich and some milk just in case.

Chapter 4 – Charlie

In her office at Heatherton Junior School, head teacher, Charlotte Gardner, studied the coming term’s timetable, circling in her favourite pink pen the days and classes in which there would be a shortfall of available staff.

She felt the tic beneath her eye begin to flutter at the thought of another stressful term. She’d barely managed to recover from the last one. After flopping gratefully into the Christmas holidays, she’d spent the first week in pyjamas refusing to go out.
How she had ever coped before online shopping and next day delivery, she didn’t know.

Christmas itself had come and gone with little ceremony. She’d not had the energy to bother with her Christmas tree, and had declined all holiday invites, even Beth. Instead, she’d snuggled beneath a blanket on the sofa, content to watch the village from her window enjoying Christmas without her.
Her only excitement had been on Christmas Eve when she’d had to dismantle her Dyson to rescue a field mouse, which one of the cats had brought in and dropped long enough for it to escape.

About Mel Morton:

Mel Morton was born in the 70s' and raised in Wiltshire, England. Her childhood inspiration came from the 80s' Brat Pack movies: St Elmo's Fire, Pretty in Pink, The Breakfast Club and, later on, Top Gun.

When reality hit and she realized that real life would never be like the movies, Mel turned to books, relying on authors such as Jilly Cooper, Nora Roberts and Jackie Collins for both her education and a welcome distraction from the realities of life.

In hindsight, Mel now sees that if she'd revised for exams rather than reading fiction, her grades may have been better. That said, without the down-to-earth, emotional education of Maeve Binchy and Joanna Trollope novels, she's not sure how she would have got through the growing up years and beyond.

Today, as an author, Mel strives to offer the same emotional exploration in her own writing, choosing to peek beyond the still, smooth façade and get knee-deep in the emotional grunge, picking at the bones of a situation or relationship.

Perspective, a collection of short stories, does just that. As does Unravelled, Mel's first novel, which will be available on Amazon Kindle later this year.

If you'd like more information about Mel Morton, you can visit her website at www.melmorton.com or find her on Goodreads.

However, due to her irrational dislike of social media (yes, she says she has tried it,) you won't find her on Twitter or Facebook.

Contact Mel Morton:

www.MelMorton.com

Goodreads

Amazon Author Page

FeedaRead

Book Blitz Coordinated by Everything Marie

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Nancy Gideon's 3rd Annual Haunted Open House Blog Hop

10/23/2013

14 Comments

What Scares People the Most?

Apparently, it isn’t the Zombie Apocalypse. I went to the Internet to find out what the ten most common fears and phobias are.

According to Live Science, the top ten phobias are:

10. The Dentist- 20% of the population never visit the dentist because of anxiety.

9. Dogs-fear of dogs is a very real. Ironically, 70% of dog bites are from purse-sized dogs.

8. Flying-25 million people do not fly because of their fear of crashing or being confined for hours.

7. Thunderstorms- this fear last through adulthood.

6. The Dark-this is usually associated with the unexpected.

5. Heights- 5% of the population fears heights.

4. Other people-this fear usually shows up at age 13. It prevents the person from public speaking and even eating or drinking around strangers.

3. Scary Spaces- this includes elevators, trains, buses, subways, malls, sporting events, bridges and airplanes.

2. Spiders-girls showed an aversion to spiders as early as eighteen months, while boys didn’t.

1. Snakes-this is thought to be a holdover from primitive times when people encountered snakes daily.

List Verse gave the top ten fears as opposed to phobias.

10. Loss of freedom-this could be jail or a country takeover.

9. The Unknown-this explains the saying “Better the evil you know.”

8. Pain-we do a great deal to avoid pain.

7. Disappointment

6. Misery-this can be defined from poverty, sickness, even living in a bad marriage.

5. Loneliness- People fear dying alone.

4. Ridicule-no one likes it.

3. Rejection- this can be everything from a loss of friendship to a relationship breakup.

2. Death

1. Failure

Comment on your favorite scary movie or not so favorite fear to win this collection of 50
classic horror films. ( This is for US only. I might be able to ship it from Amazon UK)

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Character Interview: Esmeralda Hare

10/22/2013

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Buell, her future husband, took this picture back in 1972. Esmeralda was a hit on the carnival circuit. She only told good fortunes.

THE INTERVIEW

Today, we are talking with Esmeralda Hare. She’s the family matriarch of the Carpenter Family, an integral part of the Pagan Eyes series. For those unfamiliar with the story, she is a feisty granny who is never afraid to speak her mind, and then some.

(Esmeralda clears her throat.) Esmeralda: Excuse me; I am the matriarch of the Hare family, not the Carpenter. My daughter happened to marriy a Carpenter, but that does not change who she is or who I am. The matriarch of the Carpenter family took off with the visiting evangelist. You could try tracking her down, but I doubt you’d have any luck with that.

(Interviewer is flustered.) Well now, Mrs. Hare. Tell me about your family.

Esmeralda: You can call me Madame Esmeralda like my clients. Since you are so young, I might even let you call me Nana like my grandchildren do. My husband Buell and I only have one child, Maura. She’s exceptionally precious to me. Family is everything to the Romany. With Buell disappearing, I held my daughter and her family very close.

Interviewer: Your husband disappeared.

Esmeralda: Yes, he did. Left me a note about having to do something. Don’t get the wrong idea. He’s didn’t take up with some traveling evangelist like some. If he had to do something, then I believe it. Still, it’s been hard on me. Having the love of your life blink out of existence is a shock.

Interviewer: Did you search for him?

(Esmeralda glares at the interviewer.) Esmeralda: Do you think I would not look for my soul mate? I did. We did. Brought in the police, the ceremonial magicians, even a psychic who knew him well astral projected, but no sign of Buell anywhere. There was no sense of his essence.

(Interviewer covers heart.) Interviewer: Do you think he might be…

Esmeralda: Dead. I thought of it. Even got my friend, Trisha to do a séance. The spirits have not seen him, which means he’s not dead. My only explanation is he has slipped into another dimension or time.

Interviewer looks doubtful.

Esmeralda: I recognize that expression. You think the old woman has gone around the bend due to grief over her loss. Think again, missy. There is a lot that goes on in this world that you miss because you refuse to believe. Ever wonder about people who mysteriously disappear?

Interviewer: I always assumed they were victims of crime or simply ran away.

Esmeralda: Some do, that’s true enough. Others stumble into time portals that are scattered throughout the planet. Maybe you heard of Einstein.

Interviewer: What does Einstein have to do with your husband?

Esmeralda: Buell met him once, but that’s beside the point. He described time being folded on itself as opposed to being linear as most people believe. With that in mind, there are times when we can experience other times or even slip into it. I believe people leave emotional imprints. Have you ever visited a place of suffering like Alcatraz prison or a Nazi death camp?

Interviewer nods.

Esmeralda: You probably felt a sense of oppression or hopelessness pulling at you. Some are more sensitive than others are. I believe that need often pulls people in. That might have happened to Buell, but unfortunately, I don’t where he went.

Interviewer: That must be rough on you.

Esmeralda: It is. More so now.

Interviewer: Why is that?

Esmeralda: My youngest granddaughter, Leah, is being pulled back in the past. The Burning Times to be more exact.This was when thousands of women, and a few hundred men, accused of witchcraft were put to death.

(Interviewer looks shocked.) Interviewer: What are you going to do?

Esmeralda: I am not sure there is much we can do if it is her destiny. I bestowed protective amulets upon her. Amelia, another talented friend, is creating her an enchanted garment, but other than that, there is no alternative. We can pool all our intentions and focus on a successful conclusion.

Interviewer: It seems like so little.

Esmeralda: It is more help than most get. In the end, everyone has to walk their own path no matter their age.

Stay tuned for the release of Initiation in December 2013, the first book in the Pagan Eyes series. Want to be an advanced reader? Contact Rayna Noire at raynanoire@juno.com

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Historical Romance Rocks Video Montages

10/17/2013

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Famous historical romance characters set to contemporary music. These are well worth watching.

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ESCAPING WEST MINI TOUR & GIVEAWAY

10/13/2013

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Two stops for Escaping West and you chance to grab two free books and a $10 Amazon card at each stop.

Monday
Fiction's Our Addiction: (posting on the 14th)

http://fictionsouraddiction.wordpress.com/

Ramblings of a Writer: (posting on the 16th)

http://definingjjdevine.weebly.com/ramblings-of-a-writer.html

a Rafflecopter giveaway

EXCERPT

Why did she do such an impulsive, stupid thing? She knew why even if she didn't want to admit it was something in his kisses. Then there was his voice, low, intimate calling her name.

“Kit, where are you?”

She could even hear it as if he was nearby. Amazing, Kitty shook her head bemused until she heard the voice again.

"Kit."

Her imagination must be working overtime. Duke whickered loud and hard. She started to tell him to hush when she heard boot steps on the gravel. Freezing in place, Kitty strained to hear the approaching footsteps.

"Kitty, it's me, Nick. Where are you?"

Letting go of the breath she'd been holding, Kitty took another breath before calling out. "I'm over here in the hole. Be careful."

"I'm coming, sweetheart." He called back, his boot heels scrambling for purchase over the rocks.

He'd called her sweetheart. She sighed then she accidentally put her weight on the wrong foot. "Ouch!"

"What, honey?” Nick called out in a voice that sounded a little closer.

"Hurry," Kitty managed through clenched teeth. He was there before she knew it. Deftly jumping into the hole and wrapping her in his arms, accidentally battering her already savaged ankle.

"Ouch, watch it," she complained.

"I didn't expect undying gratitude, but something like my hero might not be out of line," Nick commented laughingly.

"Thank you, Nick. I am grateful. I hurt my ankle when I fell into the hole." Kitty snuggled into Nick's shoulder appreciative of his warmth and inhaled deeply, enjoying the smell of worn leather and clean male.

Nick paced around the small hole with Kitty in his arms. He dragged his boot toe around the edge trying to find a way up or out.

"Well, darling, looks like I am going to have to toss you up," Nick acknowledged.

"What," Kitty squeaked. "Toss me where?"

"I looked, and there seems to be no easy way out of here. It’s up to you. Once you're up, I need you to tie the rope to the saddle horn on Duke's saddle and back him up. Once I get a hold of the rope, pull me up. Can you manage?"

Kitty had her doubts as she felt Nick's voice vibrate through the clothing separating the two of them. In the end, tossing seemed to be her only hope of getting out, and she imagined Nick was a good tosser. Naturally, he would be good at everything.

"Okay, are you ready?" Nick's voice rumbled against her ear.

"I guess. What do I need to do?" Kitty hoped she sounded braver than foolish, scared and half-frozen, except for the part of her touching Nick. He moved closer to the rock face.”

"I’m going to push you up the rock face. Grab on the ledge and I will boost you over. Can you do that?"

"I guess I'll have to if I don't want to freeze to death," Kitty agreed grudgingly, willing herself to do so.

"Good girl," Nick replied a hint of laughter in his voice.

He dropped a brief kiss on Kitty's hair before disengaging her arms from around his neck.

"Feel the wall," he ordered as he put his hands around her waist and lifted her up with a small grunt. Her face flushed as she realized Nick was struggling to lift her. It wasn't as if she was heavy, but she wasn't exactly petite either.

"Grab the lip."

The growled order had Kitty's hands skittering across the rock wall until she finally felt the edge. She put both hands on it and pulled herself up a little. "Got it," she huffed.

"Uhm," Nick managed while putting one hand on Kitty's posterior.

"Hey, watch where you are putting your hand!" Kitty squealed when his large hand covering her butt cheek.

"Honey, it's necessary to get you up," Nick huffed as pushed upward with both hands.

The sudden boost had Kitty up over the lip of the hole. She grabbed for the trailing reins of Duke's bridle. Another shove from below pushed her all the way up.

"Don't remember you kicking up such a fuss last time I touched you," Nick grumbled more to himself than Kitty.

"I can hear you," Kitty hissed back. Pulling herself upright by holding onto the stirrup and moving her hands up the side of the sturdy horse she was able to stand with a minimum of pain.

"Don't forget I'm down here."

Kitty winced as she set her foot gingerly on the ground. "Keep your pants on. I'm getting the rope."

"It's tied onto the pommel," Nick instructed.

"I know. It was practically under my leg the whole ride here," Kitty grumbled wondering why Nick had to ruin a perfectly good moment by being such a know-it-all. Surprisingly, being out in sub-zero weather, inappropriately dressed with a banged up ankle was a good moment. What was she thinking? Of course, Nick came to her rescue, only to kiss her on the hair like a wayward little sister and bark orders like a domineering big brother. Not a good picture, but he did call her sweetheart and honey.

Escaping West US Kindle

escaping West UK KINdle

Morgan K Wyatt, raised on a steady diet of superheroes, believed she could fly at a very young age. After using trees, barn lofts, sliding boards, and even a second story window as launch pads, she found her flying skills were limited to fast and downward. By the age of nine, her dreams to be a superhero needed some modifications, which caused her to turn to writing and horseback riding as alternatives to flying.

At the age of twenty, she had another chance at superhero greatness as being one of the few female soldiers trained for combat. The fact that women will be able to serve in combat soon indicates that all the witnesses to the grenade incident have retired. The grenade incident didn’t prevent her two sons or daughter-in-law from enlisting in the service. Having different last names probably helped.

Morgan recently retired from teaching special needs students to write full time, instead of in the wee hours of the night. With the help of her helpful husband and loyal hound, she creates characters who often grab plot lines and run with them. As for flying, she prefers the airlines now.

Morgan K Wyatt

Web: www.morgankwyatt.com

Facebook: www.facebook.com/AuthorMorganKWyatt

Twitter: www.twitter.com/morgankwyatt

Blogs
: www.writerwonderland.weebly.com

www.datingafterfortyeight.blogspot.com

www.frugaldivatellsall.blogspot.com

www.novelspot.net

Pinterest http://pinterest.com/morganwyatt/

Goodreads http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6936818.Morgan_K_Wyatt

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Morgan-K.-Wyatt/e/B008EEC4EY/ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_2?qid=1370798169&sr=8-2

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Sneak Peek at Initiation

10/12/2013

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Nana hobbled into the living room dragging her left leg behind her, waving the evening newspaper. Red-faced and out of breath, she drew everyone’s attention. Mother ran over to her, wrapping one arm around her, and urging her to sit down.

“Please, mama, you must calm down. It’s not good for your heart.”

Father nodded from his place in the kitchen doorway, drying a plate. Leah’s brother, Ethan, watched his grandmother with expectant expression and drawn breath, probably certain she’d fall to the floor, as she had only a couple of months before. Lucky, they all lived together. She’d never have survived the stroke on her own. The doctor instructed them to keep her calm, but often Nana demonstrated the high drama associated with a teenaged girl.

Leah stood up and walked over to her grandmother, taking the newspaper from her hand. “What is it, Nana?”

Her brother announced from his spot on the couch. “It’s the cyber bullying article on the front page. I’ve no worries, Nana. No one bullies me.” Ethan pushed up his sleeve and clinched his fist to display a meager bicep, though probably more than most ten year olds could lay claim to.

A smile crossed the lined woman’s face. “No sweetheart, no, this is much worse.”

Leah’s mother, Maura, managed to get Nana to sit in a chair with some difficulty since only one leg worked right. Leah looked away. It reminded her of the time she’d watched a three-legged dog lie down. The dog never acted like it minded, but it still made her feel bad watching it.

Crouching beside the chair, her mother took Nana’s hand. “Tell me, tell us.”

Pointing with one hand to Leah, who still clutched the newspaper, she commanded. “Read it to them. Let them know the barbarians still exist. There is no justice, no fairness, no equal rights, and no protection.” Her voice became louder and stronger with each word. Her body shook as she half rose from the chair.

Mother cut her eyes meaningfully at her husband, who nodded at Leah, who paged through the paper.

Leah searched for what could be upsetting her grandmother. “Lead story was local boy signing with an NFL contract.” Both her father and mother shook their head no. She kept paging through the paper. “A huge storm is predicted for the Northeast?”

Grandmother waved her hand in a circle to keep going.

“Ah.” She knew that wasn’t the right story, but what could it be? On the back page of the front section near the fold was a small article. She knew instinctively it was the one her grandmother meant. “Yesterday, in Papua, New Guinea, a twenty year old woman accused of being a witch was burned alive. The young widow and mother left two small children behind.”

Her grandmother shook off her daughter’s hand. Stabbing the air with an emphatic index finger, she crowed, “See, see they’re at it again.” Her dark eyes darted around the room to make sure she had everyone’s attention. “That poor girl. What was her crime, really?”

Maura sighed. “Just twenty, so young. Could be she was too pretty and attracted another woman’s husband’s eye. Calling her a witch is always a good way to get rid of her. It worked countless times before.”

Her father laid down the plate and towel and walked into the living room to join the conversation. He sat down on the couch on the other side of Ethan. “Something happened in their village. Chickens weren’t laying or a goat died. It’s always easier to blame it on the evil eye or a hex, than accept it for what it is. Just life, luck, usually both. People always seem to believe life owes them more than they deserve. The only way to rationalize not getting it is to blame someone for blocking it.”

Ethan joined in. “Just like calling someone a cheat, a liar, or even a bully.”

“In a way,” Maura agreed. “But not exactly. People don’t feel it is okay to kill people for telling a lie or even being accused of telling a lie. The hatred goes bone deep, associated with fear and helplessness. Even the simple fact she had no man to stand for her would be enough to persecute her.”

Leah stood silent, thinking that only a few years separated her from the young woman burned alive. Yesterday, her history teacher, Miss Santiago, grew as animated as Nana talking about human slavery in the US. Her voice became shrill as she spoke of undocumented workers not receiving any pay for their work and kept in unheated garages, treated no better than animals. After class, the popular girls, Lauren, Brianna, and Alexis joked about Miss Santiago’s behavior, even pretending to be her, waving their arms and bugging out their eyes, spitting out the words. Most of the other students pretended to enjoy their performance. Leah didn’t. Besides being mean, she had no reason to appease the girls. She already knew she was on their short list.

Yeah, she knew her teacher went overboard, but she knew without having it spelled out that it was personal. Often Leah knew things without words, just as she knew someone close to Miss Santiago died under such conditions. Leah knew all about taking things personally.. A woman burned as a witch was personal for her family. How could it not be when her entire family followed the old ways? Her family circled her grandmother, trying to calm her down without much success

Her back up against the wall, the offending newspaper still in her hand, she wanted to throw it to the ground and flee. An image took shape in her mind. It was dark, most likely night. The sound of running, yelling, and then screaming, a long prolonged scream as if whoever uttered it felt absolute terror. A spark charged the night, then caught fire and became a flame, growing into an orb of light. It illuminated sweaty, dark faces with feverish eyes and determined countenances. Two strong men stripped to the waist held a woman between them. Her long hair covered her face as she struggled.

Want to be an advanced reader for Initiation? You can get a free digital copy by emailing your request to raynanoire@juno.com

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Lessons from Substitute Teaching

10/10/2013

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Writing Lessons Learned from Subbing

Not all writers are wildly successful and raking in millions. Many are like me at the beginning of their author journey plugging every cent they make into book tours, swag and books for giveaways. In fact, I need more money finance my career. With that in mind, I substitute teach. After a particularly grueling day, I tell myself I made enough for a book tour.

Still, subbing was taking me away from writing. I needed to make better use of time. I decided to learn from the experience. Here are a few things I did learn.

That bossy diva chick who gets on your last nerve started early. I met several in primary school, kindergarten, and even pre-school. (It made me think of flashbacks I could do of the heroine and the diva character in their early years to establish the relationship.)

Personalities form early. I watched in pre-school class, a dedicated future engineer rebuild a block home that another student kept knocking down. That other student will be a demolition expert or just annoying. (This would be another great flashback scene.)
There is a truckload of new names for me to use for my characters. I took the unusual name of Caulb from a second grader for a pivotal character.
Laughter isn’t always hurtful; sometimes it can be a rainbow after the storm. I worked with one somber disabled child who never smiled until I started pushing him in a swing and he laughed. (It showed that something rare has more impact.)
Mean girls start early. I observed one kindergarten girl mock her classmate until she was in tears. (I could work this into a story in a dozen ways.)
Some children will love you for no more reason than you smiled at them or praised them. (This allows me to shape the children in the story too.)
Others will fear you because you are an unknown quantity. (An unknown character could be a threat until proven otherwise.)
Teachers come in a variety of flavors. There are the ones who write lesson plans that detail every minute then there are the ones who leave no lesson plans. (When writing about secondary characters, especially teachers, it is always a disservice to adhere to stereotypes.)
Disorganization makes life hard on everyone. My job was to assist one teacher who didn’t have any of her materials ready for class. She was irritable due to not being ready and barked at the children in response. (This encouraged me to clean out my file cabinet to be a more organized writer.)
Going to schools I have no clue as to their location and what I will be doing that day allows me to understand the challenges my characters face as they trod unfamiliar settings.
Attitude is everything. I am not just talking about the kids here. I walked into a room late when an assistant was trying to calm a class down. Her attitude was she didn’t expect the students to listen to her. It took a while to dial them down. (This also shows me how a situation can easily get out of hand fast.)
As a sub, sometimes I don’t have anything to do because a teacher has a planning period. The best place to go when you don’t have anything to do is the library. The librarian always needs help and it helps me catch up on my children’s literature.

By subbing, I discover a variety of people to use for characters from the positive principal who motivates students and teachers with praise to the pint-sized diva who puts her hands on her hips and instructs the boys how it is going to be. If you’re wondering, they followed her instructions without a protest.

Any situation can be used for writing purposes. It is one of the few professions were eavesdropping can qualify as research. Today, I write, but tomorrow I may be trying to memorize a conversation between two teens as they casually gossip in front of the sub.

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Treats for Treasured Readers

10/8/2013

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Welcome,

It's October and I have to hit the ground running. First, you have several chances to win books and gift certificates with the Seeking Shelter tour.

10/7 Monday Link
Musings From An Addicted Reader

10/8 Tuesday Link
Straight From the Library

10/9 Wednesday Link
Tina in Toronto

10/10 Thursday Link
Regina May Ross's Blog

10/11 Friday Link
It's Raining Books

10/12 Saturday Link
Long and Short Reviews

Upcoming Events

• Currently, Souls Around The World Tour for the month of October is at Souls Around The World Blog Hop (Win a Kindle using Rafflecoptor. You must comment to win site prizes.)

Souls around the World Tour is also at the Rayna Noire site. Rayna NoireRemember you must comment to win the Amazon gift cards.

• Last week of October is Hardback Therapy tour of Incognito. Keep checkingwww.morgankwyatt.com for more details • November 9-11th is Secret Cravings Blog Hop.. Check it out at Writer WonderlandThe blog hop contributes $30 toward the Wounded Warrior Fund. The participants get excerpts, books and prizes.

Looks like October is all about treats for the reader. Make sure you take advantage. :-)

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