Ginger Simpson's Blog, page 44
December 23, 2015
The Writing Process by Connie Vines
Thank you Ginger and Juliet for including me in Dishin’ It Out. I must confess that I am just a tiny-bit-star-stuck. After all, I have followed Ginger’s blog for years. While I am projecting the persona of total dignity now, inside I am shouting: I get to post every Thursday. Every. Single. Thursday. Yay!
Since my post on Christmas Eve Day, I have a holiday wish for you and yours. May your family feel the love, peace, and joy that come with the spirit of Christmas.
The Writing Process
1. What am I working on right now? I work on multiple projects at once. Is this a good thing? Probably not—but rebel that I am, I do it anyway. I’m finishing up the Second Act in my novella, Bell, Book, and Gargoyle and I’m three quarters through my anthology: Gumbo Ya Ya (an anthology for woman who like romance Cajun). While all this is going on, Rand, Book 3 in my Rodeo Romance Series in bumping around in my head.
2. How does my work differ from others in the genre?I write in multiple genres and each of genres have a different “tone and focus”—in other words, a different ‘voice’. My YA novel, Whisper upon the Water (Dream Award Winner, Nat’l Book Award nominee), is told in the 1st person. The novel is complex; not only a coming-of-age but also a transformation of society as a whole (Tay is Apache, Nde). My heroine begins as a girl on the verge of womanhood, a member of her band, speaking her native tongue. Kidnapped, held hostage, and manages to escape. Taken to a Native American boarding school, Tay learns a new language, skills, and encounters prejudice but also experiences kindness. Later, she must make a very difficult choice. Her decision will influence her life, as well as the lives of others. The novel is written for YA level and is reading selection for the G.A.T.E. program in numerous SoCal schools, and was selected as a “Teen Read” at libraries at the time of its release.
In my Rodeo Romance Series: Lynx, Book 1 , is a contemporary western romance and set in Montana and Texas. This book is lively. Rachel is spirited and Lynx is hot and sexy—but both have had hardships in life. My secondary characters add elements of comedy and unexpected plot twists. (Winner of the Award of Excellence, Finalist: H.O.L.T. Medallion, Orange Rose and Rocky Mt. Gold contests). Brede, Book 2, is a western romantic suspense, set in New Mexico. Since the novel is romantic suspense, I do not wish create a spoiler in this blog post. I will say everyone one loves old Caldwell, the ornery old cook, and his cohorts. Brede is strong-willed and caring; Amberlynn is beautiful and in mortal danger. Rand, Book 3, is told in the 1st person: ChickLit meets the Wild West and goes straight to Hollywood. Lights, Camera, and a boot-full of Action! I am having, fun, fun with this novel!
My stories are diverse, because, like most of us my life experiences are unique.
My stories take place in places I have lived, or where I have vacationed. I know my subject matter. My father rodeoed while in high school in Texas. I grew up in a career military family and my childhood was nomadic. I have been involved in Native America culture and educational programs. My husband is a Louisiana country boy. I now live in SoCal—where, of course, I have met Hollywood television stars and facilitated workshops.
3. Why do I write what I do?The story calls to me, it is that simple. I have a feeling of time and place. Then I begin hearing snatches of dialogue (like when you are sitting in a coffee shop and you over hear snippets of conversation). The story invades my life (well it does, just ask my husband). Today, I’m listening to Zydeco music and I have gumbo in my crockpot. I am compelled to complete the story. Native American culture says, “The story comes to the Storyteller. The Storyteller must bring it to life.”
4. How does my writing process work?For short stories, novellas and anthologies, I utilize the basic W-plot with extra twists and pivotal points. When I am writing a novel, or a novel series, I plot in acts and work with three chapters at a time (1-3, 4-6, etc.). With the exception of short stories, I compile detailed backgrounds, motivation, and personality traits. I also conduct interviews, research, and immerse myself in the ‘culture/environment’ I am creating. It is then I begin the first draft of my novel. This will change as my characters begin to take over the book. Any writer will agree with me, under no circumstances can you force you characters to act against his/her will. You can, however, place huge obstacles in the way and see what happens.
Is my first draft perfect? No. Is my third draft publishable? It’s probably close. At this point in the writing process, if I have any bumpy spots, I’ll have writer friend look over those pages. She will give her opinion and suggestions—that I may, or may not follow (though I always give the input careful consideration). Writing, after all, is subjective—as is a reader’s preference for one novel over another.
To read the first chapter teasers of my novels please follow this link: http://www.amazon.com/Connie-Vines/e/B004C7W6PE Visit my website: www.novelsbyconnievines.com to watch my book trailers!
Thank you for stopping by. I hope you have enjoyed my first Dishin’ It Out blog post.
Connie Vines
Since my post on Christmas Eve Day, I have a holiday wish for you and yours. May your family feel the love, peace, and joy that come with the spirit of Christmas.
The Writing Process
1. What am I working on right now? I work on multiple projects at once. Is this a good thing? Probably not—but rebel that I am, I do it anyway. I’m finishing up the Second Act in my novella, Bell, Book, and Gargoyle and I’m three quarters through my anthology: Gumbo Ya Ya (an anthology for woman who like romance Cajun). While all this is going on, Rand, Book 3 in my Rodeo Romance Series in bumping around in my head.
2. How does my work differ from others in the genre?I write in multiple genres and each of genres have a different “tone and focus”—in other words, a different ‘voice’. My YA novel, Whisper upon the Water (Dream Award Winner, Nat’l Book Award nominee), is told in the 1st person. The novel is complex; not only a coming-of-age but also a transformation of society as a whole (Tay is Apache, Nde). My heroine begins as a girl on the verge of womanhood, a member of her band, speaking her native tongue. Kidnapped, held hostage, and manages to escape. Taken to a Native American boarding school, Tay learns a new language, skills, and encounters prejudice but also experiences kindness. Later, she must make a very difficult choice. Her decision will influence her life, as well as the lives of others. The novel is written for YA level and is reading selection for the G.A.T.E. program in numerous SoCal schools, and was selected as a “Teen Read” at libraries at the time of its release.
In my Rodeo Romance Series: Lynx, Book 1 , is a contemporary western romance and set in Montana and Texas. This book is lively. Rachel is spirited and Lynx is hot and sexy—but both have had hardships in life. My secondary characters add elements of comedy and unexpected plot twists. (Winner of the Award of Excellence, Finalist: H.O.L.T. Medallion, Orange Rose and Rocky Mt. Gold contests). Brede, Book 2, is a western romantic suspense, set in New Mexico. Since the novel is romantic suspense, I do not wish create a spoiler in this blog post. I will say everyone one loves old Caldwell, the ornery old cook, and his cohorts. Brede is strong-willed and caring; Amberlynn is beautiful and in mortal danger. Rand, Book 3, is told in the 1st person: ChickLit meets the Wild West and goes straight to Hollywood. Lights, Camera, and a boot-full of Action! I am having, fun, fun with this novel!
My stories are diverse, because, like most of us my life experiences are unique.
My stories take place in places I have lived, or where I have vacationed. I know my subject matter. My father rodeoed while in high school in Texas. I grew up in a career military family and my childhood was nomadic. I have been involved in Native America culture and educational programs. My husband is a Louisiana country boy. I now live in SoCal—where, of course, I have met Hollywood television stars and facilitated workshops.
3. Why do I write what I do?The story calls to me, it is that simple. I have a feeling of time and place. Then I begin hearing snatches of dialogue (like when you are sitting in a coffee shop and you over hear snippets of conversation). The story invades my life (well it does, just ask my husband). Today, I’m listening to Zydeco music and I have gumbo in my crockpot. I am compelled to complete the story. Native American culture says, “The story comes to the Storyteller. The Storyteller must bring it to life.”
4. How does my writing process work?For short stories, novellas and anthologies, I utilize the basic W-plot with extra twists and pivotal points. When I am writing a novel, or a novel series, I plot in acts and work with three chapters at a time (1-3, 4-6, etc.). With the exception of short stories, I compile detailed backgrounds, motivation, and personality traits. I also conduct interviews, research, and immerse myself in the ‘culture/environment’ I am creating. It is then I begin the first draft of my novel. This will change as my characters begin to take over the book. Any writer will agree with me, under no circumstances can you force you characters to act against his/her will. You can, however, place huge obstacles in the way and see what happens.
Is my first draft perfect? No. Is my third draft publishable? It’s probably close. At this point in the writing process, if I have any bumpy spots, I’ll have writer friend look over those pages. She will give her opinion and suggestions—that I may, or may not follow (though I always give the input careful consideration). Writing, after all, is subjective—as is a reader’s preference for one novel over another.
To read the first chapter teasers of my novels please follow this link: http://www.amazon.com/Connie-Vines/e/B004C7W6PE Visit my website: www.novelsbyconnievines.com to watch my book trailers!
Thank you for stopping by. I hope you have enjoyed my first Dishin’ It Out blog post.
Connie Vines
Christmas by Roseanne Dowell
Our Christmas celebration begins tonight. Every year my siblings and I get together to celebrate. A lot has changed over the years, what started out at my parents soon got taken over by us kids. As my parents aged, and our families grew, it got to be too much for them. Between us six kids, there were 23 grandchildren. Quite a crowd. What started out
as a traditional Christmas Eve dinner soon turned into snacks like potato chips and pretzels.
Each of my siblings and I took turns hosting, which wasn't too bad actually. We only had it once every five years - one of my siblings wives opted out. I guess the idea of 14 adults and 23 kids was too much for her to handle, but the rest of us participated.Of course our families grew, the grandchildren married and one by one dropped out, having in-laws to visit. Soon there were just me and my siblings and a few grandchildren whose in-laws lived out of town. Alas, now it's just my two brothers and one sister. My parents have passed on as well as one brother and sister. This year we're down to just the eight of us.
What started out as a joke many years ago soon became a tradition in our family. Joke gifts. We decided early on since there were so many of us not to give the traditional gift, other than for my parents who we bestowed a real gift. Not that my mom was excluded from the joke gifts. Far be it from us not to include her. I think we all get our sense of humor from our mother. She loved to play tricks and jokes on people. Every year my sisters and I would get together a week or two before
Christmas to come up with ideas to give my brothers. Often our gifts would include letters composed by our three minds put together. Often our gifts consisted of something to wear. Once the group shrunk to just my siblings, we began giving serious gifts also. Many times my gifts were homemade, quilts, embroidery, photos my husband took. After all, finding something for people who virtually had everything was quite a feat. Eventually, that became too difficult and we stopped, but the joke gifts continued. At least they did until this year. One of my sister in laws and my sister ran out of ideas. So this year, there won't be any joke gifts. In fact, this year will be the last with my oldest brother. They've purchased a house in Florida and next year will spend Christmas there. It saddens me to think we won't all be together, but at least my younger sister and brother will still participate. We'll be down to six.No matter how many of us there are, it'll still be a fun evening. I hope everyone has a Merry Christmas.
as a traditional Christmas Eve dinner soon turned into snacks like potato chips and pretzels.
Each of my siblings and I took turns hosting, which wasn't too bad actually. We only had it once every five years - one of my siblings wives opted out. I guess the idea of 14 adults and 23 kids was too much for her to handle, but the rest of us participated.Of course our families grew, the grandchildren married and one by one dropped out, having in-laws to visit. Soon there were just me and my siblings and a few grandchildren whose in-laws lived out of town. Alas, now it's just my two brothers and one sister. My parents have passed on as well as one brother and sister. This year we're down to just the eight of us.
What started out as a joke many years ago soon became a tradition in our family. Joke gifts. We decided early on since there were so many of us not to give the traditional gift, other than for my parents who we bestowed a real gift. Not that my mom was excluded from the joke gifts. Far be it from us not to include her. I think we all get our sense of humor from our mother. She loved to play tricks and jokes on people. Every year my sisters and I would get together a week or two before
Christmas to come up with ideas to give my brothers. Often our gifts would include letters composed by our three minds put together. Often our gifts consisted of something to wear. Once the group shrunk to just my siblings, we began giving serious gifts also. Many times my gifts were homemade, quilts, embroidery, photos my husband took. After all, finding something for people who virtually had everything was quite a feat. Eventually, that became too difficult and we stopped, but the joke gifts continued. At least they did until this year. One of my sister in laws and my sister ran out of ideas. So this year, there won't be any joke gifts. In fact, this year will be the last with my oldest brother. They've purchased a house in Florida and next year will spend Christmas there. It saddens me to think we won't all be together, but at least my younger sister and brother will still participate. We'll be down to six.No matter how many of us there are, it'll still be a fun evening. I hope everyone has a Merry Christmas.
December 22, 2015
Merry 2015! Wow...where did the year go?
As I was looking through my files for something "Christmassy" to post, I came across this old 2007 newsletter I put on my blog. I'm going to update it in RED so you can see how time changes things and people. The sentiment is the same. Happy Holidays to you and yours.Happy Holidays,I can't believe that 2015 is almost over. Wow....does time fly. I can’t believe that 2007 is almost over, although I can’t say I’m sorry to see it go. As far as my writing career, the year was a waste. This year wasn't a waste. I managed to re-release several books from another publisher, and now all my work is at Books We Love. I still have a Novella in the works that is scheduled to be released for a Valentine's day promo, and also am trying hard to finish Sarah's Soul. Whew. I'm tried just thinking about it. I had no new releases, surrendered associations with two agents and negotiated myself from a contract with a publisher with personnel practices that I found offensive. Oh, if only I could share all the details, but that would take us well into 2008. J
I'm still finding most publisher's offensive, but it's too much trouble to pull everything and try self-pubbing. Besides, Jude at BWL works harder than any publisher I've ever been with and I have high hopes that before I die...I might become somewhat known. :)
Wow...we haven't lived with my son and his wife for several years...there have been three different roofs over our head and we are now enjoying a new home in Baxter. I swear this last move will be my last. I told hubby I'm not budging from this house until Neptune comes and carries me away. I mean it. As for the weight...it's not as bad as it once was, but I've come to the conclusion that I'm never going to meet the standards of the weight chart doctors use. According to the current one, I need to be 7'8".
On the home front, things are status quo. We are blessed to be healthy, have a roof over our heads and plenty to eat…as our weight can attest. The only person in this house who is skinny is Spencer and I have a hard time finding something he likes to eat. The doctor assures me that Spence won’t starve to death, although I do wish I couldn’t count his ribs. He’s getting tall, but still is very young for a five-year-old. Can you believe...Spencer is thirteen and in middle school. He's still skinny as a rail, but thank God, he's healthy and happy. As far as his autism, I don't think he'll ever really be like a traditional child, but he's making good progress, goes to Karate, plays in the band, and his Mom drives a school bus now so he stays with her most of the time. I don't see him nearly as much as I'd like to now that we've moved an hour away. But...now I'm here to help out my sister when it comes to our 91 year young mom. Glynda actually got to take a vacation this year for the first time in a long while. She went to Panama.
He’s made great progress with his speech. He and I can actually communicate and that is such a great thing. Spencer talks up a storm now, but too fast. I have to remind him to slow down so NeNe can understand him. He’s gone from a vocabulary of approximately ten words to well over a hundred, and sometimes in whole sentences. We have every hope that he will eventually mainstream into regular classes because the one he’s in isn’t where we want him to be. His developmental delays and degree of autism is not nearly as bad as his peers, and we’ve had problems with him mimicking his friends. Progress, not regress, is our motto. J ####@@@@@!!!!!****
Just playing above. If you type after the smily face...you get all kinds of symbols. Anyhow...The school has been great with mainstreaming Spencer. He has a CDC homeroom, but goes to regular classes for his main subjects. Don't know if he'll ever be able to live on his own, but we all continue to pray that he'll overcome his autism.The best news is that Brett, Carrie, Kelly and I have refrained from killing one another this year. It isn’t easy living with family, especially when the house isn’t yours and you don’t feel a sense of entitlement to anything… Oh, I’m wrong about that. I own the kitchen when the dishes need washing or the laundry room when it’s stacked with clothes, but other than that, Kell and I try to dwell in our one room. I can’t complain, because I made the decision to devote my efforts to helping my grandson, but I can grumble at times. J Kelly grumbles all the time but takes it all in stride. I know this has to be very hard for him. What a great guy I’ve got, although at times I’d like to strangle him. That’s normal, I think. No longer share a home with my kids, but we do live in a basement with no windows. I take lots of Vitamin D but have become pretty much a hermit. I just celebrated my 70th birthday, and for that I'm truly grateful. I always expected to die young like my dad's entire family, but I guess God has other plans for me. Kelly still grumbles, but this year, bought a 1956 Olds which is in Reno being prepped for Hot August Nights 2016. I can't wait to see the finished product and remind him that he now has back the classic car he missed.
I live with one son, but don’t hear from the other often enough. He and Jeni still live in Sacramento, which is way too far away. I keep connected with him by reading his MySpace Blog. I wish someone with connections would realize what a humorous talent he is and recruit him. If you want to check him out, his web address is: http://www.myspace.com/skidjones
Now that I don't live with one son, I don't hear from either of them often. Brett, Carrie and Spencer do visit, but if I want to know what's going on with my oldest son, I have to visit his FB page. Isn't it funny how Myspace died out and FB took over? Scott has a huge following who all think he's brilliant. He is, but he takes after his Mom. *lol* I wish all his followers would buy at least one of my books. I'd be rich.
By the way, if you want to keep up with me, I’ve switched my newsletter to a blog. You can find me at http://mizging.blogspot.com and read my daily drivel. According to ‘people in the know’, one must blog, so I do. Still blogging, as you can see. Roseanne Dowell is my new blog partner, and I love her dearly for stepping up to help out. For western readers, I also started Cowboy Kisses, a blog that features an array of talented western authors. Check it out. http://cowboykisses.blogspot.com
Well, let’s see if I can sum up this year for you like I used to do:
January – Scheduled and cancelled a bone density test. Still haven’t had it. Had my bone density test. My bones are fine, as evidenced by the many falls I've had. Stairs and I aren't friends, but I'm lucky, my bones must be in fine shape. Scheduled for a colonoscopy and endoscopy in a few weeks, and eek...having a Biltmore lift on my face as my early Christmas present. Too many sagging chins. *lol*February – In my hunger for friends, I visited a local chapter of the Red Hat’s Society. Decided I wasn’t that hungry…or old. I'm old enough for the Red Hat Society, but I don't look good in hats...plus I may be a senior citizen in numbers but in my head, I'm not. That's sad, isn't it.Still don't have any friends close by, but I'm still hopeful I'll find a way to connect.March – Spent two days in the hospital. Shared a room with a woman that I’m positive hacked up a lung while I was there. So much for sleeping. I've been in the hospital a few times, but the last several have been in a private room. I have scar tissue from stomach stapling in 1991 and have to go in every now and then and have the opening stretched so I can get food down. You'd think I'd be skinny, but I guess there are calories in the air.April – Got the bill for the hospital…I REMEMBER that. My oldest son turned 40! Geesh! Thanks for Medicare, I don't see many horrid bills, but my oldest son is now 47. My baby is 40. Yep...I'm 70.May – I think I signed up for Water Aerobics. Went three times and quit. Whose idea was it to surround the swimming pool with mirrors??? Kelly and I went to Tunica and met his brother and wife. It was nice to get away. Part of my health insurance is Silver Sneakers, so hubby and started water aerobics in Gallatin before we moved. We enjoyed the classes, and most of the people didn't look any better in their swim suits than I did. (horrible). We moved and started at the YMCA here, but Kelly doesn't care for the classes, classmates or instructor, so we've taken a hiatus. I can't do anything but low impact, so, I sit and eat. *lol*June – I think we went camping, but it’s a blur. We took Spencer so it wasn’t very relaxing. Camping is my salvation. We bought a motor home last year and I totally enjoy getting away. We joined Diane and George Parkinson in Pigeon Forge this year, and I hope we get to do it again. We are planning a long trip in July and August, and maybe even going to Alaska again in June. Being a senior has it's perks. Looking forward to seeing places I haven't seen, and visiting FB friends. Watch out, Rita Karnopp!July – Traveled to Southern California for my sister’s wedding. Got to see people I hadn’t seen in a while and had a fun time. Tried to convince myself that everyone look as old as me. Boy...that time went by fast. We had a spat, didn't speak for years, her husband passed and now we live together .August – Kelly and didn’t celebrate our eleventh anniversary. He worked, I wondered where the time went. Applied for Social Security. Worried the Social Security won't last my lifetime, let alone for my kids. Kelly and I celebrated 19 years of marriage, but have actually been together 20. If you count my first marriage of 32...I qualify for the Golden Anniversary gift. *lol* Feel free to mail it. :)September – It’s a blur. Scheduled and cancelled mammogram and bone density. Just had a mammogram and found out the positive results. I'm having a "Biltmore" face lift in December to get rid of my saggying neck. The plastic surgeon promises I won't look like a snake. *lol* I have no lips and it seems stretching my face will only maximize the slit where there supposed to be. God, help me...I don't want those "duck lips" everyone is sporting these days, either.
October – Halloween. We bought lots of candy and had five trick-or-treaters. Wasn’t that just yesterday? Still have the candy. Will try to pass it off as Santa’s offerings in the kid’s stockings. November – Turned sixty-two. Having a hard time dealing with the age thing. Oh, sixty-two is so young. I'm still having a hard time dealing with the age thing, but I think that's because I have a 60-year-old husband. Of course, he's going bald, has legs like a bird and a belly like an old man. *lol*December – Here I am…trying to be creative with a Christmas letter when I have no memory or sense of humor anymore.
I still have a sense of humor. You have to have one to get through life. Sadly, I believe the world is beyond repair. People tend to think posting on FB is going to change things, but the violence continues and all we do is pray. Last year we rode in two Christmas parades with my son. He drove a jeep and pulled a decorated trailer. We threw candy to the local kids, and loved it. Talk about a great way to get into the spirit. I hope we do it again this year. In fact...I bought a new coat and scarf. *lol*
Although it looks pretty dismal on paper, I thank God for everyday I’m here. I pray that we all have a bless 2008 and that I’m still around to bore you next year.No changes here, but life isn't so dismal if you don't count what's going on because of our President (oops...I promised not to be political.) I'm still praying to be around next year, and look a lot better. I promise to share before and after pictures on my blog, and as dismal as things looked in 2008...they look much brighter if we can find peace among ourselves. So...there you have it...another year in a nutshell.
Merry Christmas & Happy New YearGinger & Family
http://www.bookswelove.com/authors/simpson-ginger
December 21, 2015
My Make Believe Worlds by Roseanne Dowell
I live in a make believe world. Okay, not literally, but vicariously through my characters. I decide where they live, name their towns, and sometimes I let them live in a real city/town. I prefer small towns, maybe because I’ve always wanted to live in one. I especially like towns with Victorian houses and apparently so do my characters, because I use them a lot. I often say I must have lived during the Victorian area, probably as a mean old nanny. I’m sure I wasn’t the lady of the house, and by house I mean mansion. Queen Anne homes are my favorite. I love the round turrets, all the gingerbread, and wrap around porches. It was always my dream to buy one and restore it. Unfortunately that wasn’t to be and I’m past the point of wanting one now. Back to my make believe world. I say I decide where they live, but that's not entirely true. Mostly my characters make that decision.I’d also like to say I choose my characters, but truthfully, they choose me. Sometimes I even get to name them, but if they don’t like the name, well believe me; they misbehave until I change it. And, yes, that’s happened several times. Just because I like a name doesn’t mean they do. The last time it happened it wasn’t even a main character. She was only in the story for a short time, but boy was she stubborn. She refused to talk to me and anything I wrote was garbage, better known as dreck in the writing world. As some of you know, I write many different of genres, from Women’s Fiction to Romance to Mystery and even Paranormal. Most of my books are a combination of romance and another genre. As a reader, I’ve always favored mystery and romance, so it only made sense to combine them. Mine are classified as cozy mysteries. I also love ghost stories – not evil mean ghosts though. One such story is Shadows in the Attic and another Time to Love Again.
In Shadows, two ghosts are discovered – yep you guessed it – in an attic. During a renovation, Anna Hughes and her boyfriend uncover a hidden room complete with furniture. Two shadows hover over a trunk, beckoning to Anna. Of course she's the only one who can see the ghosts. At least she is until her sexy contractor arrives on the scene.
Fifty-eight year old, Rose Asbury is a recluse in Time to Love Again, not that she care. She just wants to be left alone. Enter the man next door who insists on speaking to her causing feelings she doesn’t want. Then her sister’s ghost shows up and well….you’ll have to read it to see what happens.
. I’ve always been fascinated by ESP, hence my story Entangled Minds –
Rebecca Brennan experiences strange, realistic visions and dreams and she’s determined to find who shares her mind. Her search leads – where else – to a small town filled with Victorian homes filled with interesting people and puts her life in danger.
My character’s range from their mid twenties to middle age and even into their seventies. Yes, seniors need love, too. Geriatric Rebels is a favorite. A humorous story about seventy year old Elsa Logan and seventy-two year old Mike Powell. Their middle of the night escapades soon turns into a loving relationship and the discovery of deception and fraud. It’s fun working with different characters, and I especially like when they add a bit of humor. I really form an attachment to them. Once a character chooses me, I make a character worksheet to discover everything about them, not just what they look like. I love creating my characters, discovering their careers, anything from housewife, authors, teachers, floral designers and interior designers. Sometimes their careers play a part in the story, sometimes not. The character in my work in progress (WIP in the writer’s world) is from a previous story, Aunt Beatrice Lulu. It’s the third book in the Family Affair Series titled It Is What It Is.
Aunt Beatrice Lulu first appeared in All in the Family but not as the main character. Callie Johnson returns to her hometown to take over the police chief’s job. Aunt Beatrice Lulu decides to play matchmaker. What ensues is a string of unsuitable suitors.
Of course that didn’t sit well with her and she insisted on her own story – All’s Well That Ends Well – Known for being a busy body, Beatrice Lulu Eberhardt lives up to her name and then some. Too many things happening for Beatrice Lulu to ignore and she’s bound and determined to figure things out on her own, usually dragging her sister along for the ride. This time, she might have bitten off more than she can chew.So there you have a bit of my make believe worlds. You can find all of my books at Amazon.
In Shadows, two ghosts are discovered – yep you guessed it – in an attic. During a renovation, Anna Hughes and her boyfriend uncover a hidden room complete with furniture. Two shadows hover over a trunk, beckoning to Anna. Of course she's the only one who can see the ghosts. At least she is until her sexy contractor arrives on the scene.
Fifty-eight year old, Rose Asbury is a recluse in Time to Love Again, not that she care. She just wants to be left alone. Enter the man next door who insists on speaking to her causing feelings she doesn’t want. Then her sister’s ghost shows up and well….you’ll have to read it to see what happens.. I’ve always been fascinated by ESP, hence my story Entangled Minds –
Rebecca Brennan experiences strange, realistic visions and dreams and she’s determined to find who shares her mind. Her search leads – where else – to a small town filled with Victorian homes filled with interesting people and puts her life in danger.
My character’s range from their mid twenties to middle age and even into their seventies. Yes, seniors need love, too. Geriatric Rebels is a favorite. A humorous story about seventy year old Elsa Logan and seventy-two year old Mike Powell. Their middle of the night escapades soon turns into a loving relationship and the discovery of deception and fraud. It’s fun working with different characters, and I especially like when they add a bit of humor. I really form an attachment to them. Once a character chooses me, I make a character worksheet to discover everything about them, not just what they look like. I love creating my characters, discovering their careers, anything from housewife, authors, teachers, floral designers and interior designers. Sometimes their careers play a part in the story, sometimes not. The character in my work in progress (WIP in the writer’s world) is from a previous story, Aunt Beatrice Lulu. It’s the third book in the Family Affair Series titled It Is What It Is.
Aunt Beatrice Lulu first appeared in All in the Family but not as the main character. Callie Johnson returns to her hometown to take over the police chief’s job. Aunt Beatrice Lulu decides to play matchmaker. What ensues is a string of unsuitable suitors. 
Of course that didn’t sit well with her and she insisted on her own story – All’s Well That Ends Well – Known for being a busy body, Beatrice Lulu Eberhardt lives up to her name and then some. Too many things happening for Beatrice Lulu to ignore and she’s bound and determined to figure things out on her own, usually dragging her sister along for the ride. This time, she might have bitten off more than she can chew.So there you have a bit of my make believe worlds. You can find all of my books at Amazon.December 19, 2015
Sunday Snippets from Ginger Simpson
Today, rather than a snippet, I'm sharing a story I published in a magzine a few years ago. I posted this same story on the BWL blog on the15th, but in case you missed it, I'm re-posting it here. Consider it my gift to you:
Impounded HolidayGwen Spencer scanned her cheery living room and sighed. The place had lost its appeal. All the time she’d spent decorating in her favorite southwestern motif now seemed a waste. Snuggled in her sandstone-colored easy chair, with knees bent and feet tucked beneath her, she stared at the telephone. If wishes came true, it would ring at any second and she’d hear Brad’s voice. She raised her gaze and peered through the window. An overcast sky hid the sun, and gray shrouded the fall-colored trees in the front yard. A few leaves drifted to the ground, carried by a light breeze. Within weeks, the branches would be bare—as empty as her heart felt at the moment. The visual hint of the late October chill made her shiver. Where was Brad? Was he warm and safe? The fire she’d started earlier flickered bright beyond the hearth and kept the room toasty. She hoped her husband had a coat. Tennessee nights were cold this time of the year.The silence overwhelmed her and, with a sigh, she stretched out her legs, stood, slipped her feet into her fuzzy slippers, and shuffled to the stereo. She flipped through the plastic CD covers housing her music collection, the ones she and Brad had selected together. She paused and let them fall back into a neat row. The songs held recollections of happier times. Today marked ten years since she and Brad had married, and she’d never expected to spend such a special occasion alone. Favorite tunes would only enhance her pain. She forced a smile, remembering what someone once told her. “If you play country music backwards, you get your dog back, your house back, your man back, your life back.” If only retrieval was that simple. Her heart clenched with fear, and the momentary glee faded. This time Brad wasn’t coming home. He’d been gone for over a month. The personal time she’d requested from work had almost expired, and it was time to get on with life. Time to get back to the job that financially sustained her. With a shrug, she wandered into the kitchen and opened the bottle of wine she’d purchased a few months ago for their special day. She filled a glass and went back to her favorite spot in the living room. Carefully plopping down, she took a long, slow draw from her goblet, favoring the light, fruity taste she favored over the more bitter offerings.“Happy friggin’ anniversary,” she muttered and raised her glass into the air. Her gaze drifted back to the phone. Did he even know what day it was?Deciding to watch television, she reached for the remote. The TV screen flashed to life with the evening report and more bad news: Floods, murders, rapes. Was there no end to life’s disappointments? Her mind wandered, and the anchor’s voice became only a murmur in the background.Visions of her wedding flashed before her. She’d been the happiest bride in the world. Brad stepped into her life to fill a void left by another man. She never dreamed of finding love a second time, let alone discovering someone who treated her like a queen. Although divorced for two years between weddings, saying vows to Brad felt like the first time. She recalled how her heart fluttered with excitement.What had gone wrong? Somehow during the years, drugs became the “other woman” and held more appeal than Gwen did. When had he started taking them, and why hadn’t she noticed? The first five years were blissful, but afterwards, telltale signs were there. She obviously chose to ignore them. Because Brad always came home, she continually accepted his pitiful excuses for any short disappearances. Relieved to see him, she never questioned his sincerity until the truth became crystal clear...the day a packet of pills fell from his pants pocket on laundry day.When questioned, Brad at first denied the pills were his, but then relented. He swore he only used methamphetamines to get through a stressful time at work and promised his problem had nothing to do with her. Funny. Then why did it his drug addiction spill over and make her life miserable? Eventually, he couldn’t hold a job...or didn’t want to. His excuses always made him the victim.Gwen lowered her head and grasped the back of her neck to ease the growing tension. All this time and no word, when would she get a clue and move on? His dependency had a far bigger hold on him than she ever could. If he gave a damn about her, he would have at least called to let her know he was okay.She reached for her wine glass and took another gulp. The smooth sweetness passed through her lips with ease, but struck a sour cord. She clenched the slender stem and gazed into what remained of the rosy liquid. A grimace tightened her mouth. Was drinking pink Chablis to ease her pain that much different than Brad taking pills? She stood, marched back into the kitchen in bare feet, and emptied the wineglass and bottle contents down the drain. Faith in God would be her strength, not alcohol or drugs.She started upstairs for a hot shower. The phone rang. Her heart seized, but she patted her chest and took a deep breath. If she answered, she’d probably find it was her mom. She called every day, but not usually this early. Still, Mom knew Gwen wasn’t working right now.“Hello.”“Mrs. Spencer?” The man’s voice on the other end wasn’t familiar.“Yes.” She held her breath.“This is Officer Gilliam from the Dickson police department. I believe we have a vehicle in our impound lot that is registered to you.”Gwen exhaled. “Is…is it a white pickup?” The words stuck in her throat, but she pushed them out. Brad drove the Toyota she’d purchased before they married. She’d never bothered to re-register it in both their names.“Yes. A 1999 Toyota long bed. You should make arrangements to pick it up as soon as possible as fees are assessed everyday it’s here.”It was her truck, but fees were the least of her worries. “Why do you have it? Did you arrest…” Her knees wobbled and she sank into her chair.“I don’t know the particulars, ma’am. I’m just the person in charge of notifying the owners. When you come to claim it, be prepared to pay whatever fines are owed. We don’t accept checks, but will take money orders and credit cards.”“How could I possibly bring a money order if I don’t know the amount?” She vented her frustration on the wrong person and immediately bit her lip. “I’m sorry, that was rude.”“No problem. I should have told you each day your truck remains impounded, we charge one hundred dollars. Since it’s taken me some time to track you down, we’ve already had your vehicle for ten days. Are you aware you haven’t changed your address information with DMV and that your registration has expired?”“Yes, and I’m sorry about that. I guess it slipped my mind.” Her thoughts raced with what might have happened to Brad despite the caller's scripted rhetoric.“Well, before we can release your property, you’ll have to pay the renewal and accumulated fees when you come in.”“How do I find out what happened to the person who drove the vehicle?” She balanced the phone on her shoulder and wrung her hands.“You can either call back tomorrow and ask to speak with Sergeant Calhoun, or come in and see him personally.”Gwen thanked the man and hung up. Her mind was a whirlwind of worries. If Brad didn’t have a vehicle, how was he getting around? Was he in jail? The hospital? Dead? A cold chill peppered her with goose bumps. Brad couldn’t be dead, but still, she wouldn’t know for certain until tomorrow.***
Gwen felt as though she’d been drugged when her alarm sounded. She slapped at the button atop the clock and struggled to open her eyes, wondering how anyone could enjoy a self-induced fog. She hadn’t mentioned anything about Brad to her mother when she called. Everyone in the family assumed they were doing well in their new home state, and Gwen didn’t want anyone to know her second attempt at marriage was another train wreck. She glanced at the empty pillow next to her, wishing her problems with Brad were all a bad dream.Most of her night had been spent tossing and turning, trying to find answers to all her questions. She didn’t know what time she’d finally fallen asleep, but recalled seeing strands of light creeping through the blinds.She stood, stretched her hands high over her head and rocked from side to side. Her spine crackled and released some of the pent-up stress. A visit to the police department didn’t count high on her list of favorite things to do, but Sergeant Calhoun was the only ones who could confirm her worst fears. Although she vowed to get on with her life, she wasn’t ready for bad news about a man she still loved. Gwen dropped her arms to her side, and with shoulders slumped, headed for the hot shower she’d planned before last night’s upsetting call.Afterwards her shower, she dressed, stood in front of the mirror and pulled a hairbrush through her tangled locks. She was barely forty and already strands of gray frosted her brown hair. God, she didn’t want to grow old... and alone. Her eyes misted with tears, and she decided to forgo makeup for sunglasses. As she dried her eyes, her room brightened. Evidently yesterday’s clouds had moved on… at least those in the sky.
***
Gwen’s hands felt clammy on the steering wheel. Traffic was light on the back country road to Dickson and now that the phone call had sunk in, she wondered how her truck ended up in such a rural community. Nerves and breakfast had never been a good mix so she’d passed on her morning meal. Her stomach clenched and rumbled but most likely not from hunger. What news would she hear today? Was she strong enough to face the truth? Morbid thoughts blurred the trip.
***
A city limits sign proclaimed she’d arrived in Dickson and, drawn back to clarity, she scanned both sides of the street, looking for the police department. The old brick building marked as her destination looked more like a library. She parked in front and went inside, inhaling the mustiness of years past. Her brief conversation with Sergeant Calhoun didn’t provide any new leads. The pickup had been found on the side of the road with a flat tire and towed to the impound lot. She jotted down directions to where the Toyota was kept and was allowed to view it before paying her fines. Pain stabbed at her disappointed heart as she drove the two blocks to an old gas station where more than a dozen vehicles were parked. She used the code the sergeant had given her to open the lock on the gate. In the far corner, she spied her truck. She walked to the dirty, white Toyota on leaden legs.Tears filled blurred her eyes as she opened the driver’s door and gazed inside. The seats and floor were filthy—littered with trash and remnants of how Brad had lived for the past month. His scent lingered in the air. The fence surrounding the impound lot gave off an eerie vibe, and Gwen shivered and summoned memories of happier times to fill her mind. This wasn't how things were supposed to end. For years he’d been her caretaker when she was ill, her partner, her lover, her best friend. Why couldn’t she save him? Why couldn’t her love be his salvation?Gwen reflected on all she had left of their relationship—the collection of teddy bears he’d bought her over the years: one holding a Valentine Heart, one wearing a St. Patrick’s Day vest, and the big white panda he'd brought back after he’d disappeared for three days the last time. That one had been the harbinger of what was yet to come, with its furry paw raised in a farewell wave. But the clue went unnoticed in her joy to have Brad home.Shaking the negative image from her mind, she returned to picking through the rubbish on the floorboard. She fingered a tiny ring, cheap and discolored, but engraved with the letter “G”—her initial. Her throat burned with restrained sobs as she tossed it back, wondering where it came from and why he’d had it. She didn't need one more thing to remind her of him. What she needed was to forget.Stoically, she forced herself to continue the inspection, hoping for, yet knowing there would be no clues to answer her many questions. She heaved a deep sigh and pulled the seat forward. Beneath more refuse, she found yet another bear. The fur on its small face was dirty and the body contorted from being smashed beneath weight heavier than its own. She picked up and cuddled the toy, hoping in some way her embrace would transcend the atmosphere and let her husband know she still cared what happened to him. A tear trickled down her cheek. Gwen held the treasure away and stared at it through blurred eyes.Should she throw the bear away? What use was it? Each time she looked at it, she would only remember no matter how close you hold someone and love them, there is always something stronger that can pull them away. This tiny stuffed creature was like Brad in many ways. Once it was clean and bright and brought a smile to a face. But burdened by a weight heavier than it could manage, it became dirty, unrecognizable and not quite so loveable. She could launder it, but that would only take care of the surface. She had washed his clothes and kept his home clean, yet his problems were so deeply imbedded she couldn’t fix them.There was nothing in the truck she wanted. Gwen put the bear back where she found it and gently closed the door. She didn’t need one more piece of memorabilia, one more link to heartache and bad memories. Instead, she resolved to hold onto images of a healthier and happier man and know she had truly tried to make things work.A momentary feeling of defeat washed over her, and then a realization dawned. She hadn’t lost. He had loved her as much as a troubled man could love, and she’d cherished him in return. The agony was in knowing the drugs had won the battle, but strength came in realizing she’d won the war. She could finally let him go, praying he found himself and happiness again…somewhere, someday. Surely the pain would linger for a time, but a weight lifted from her burdened shoulders as she walked through the gate, leaving behind the truck and all it represented. The City of Dickson could donate the vehicle to charity for all she cared. She wiped away the last tear she planned to shed over Brad and, squaring her shoulders, walked back to her car.
***
Gwen hung the last piece of tinsel on the Christmas tree, shocked at how quickly Halloween and Thanksgiving had come and gone. Although not much in the mood for festivities, she’d forced herself to drag out the decorations and focus on the spirit of the holiday. In an attempt to move ahead with life, she’d invited co-workers and neighbors over for a party. Maybe she couldn’t face her family with the truth, but she’d confided to a few friends that she and Brad were finished. The reasons why weren’t important… and actually, she didn’t know herself what drove Brad to drugs. She still struggled to close the chapter in that book.The log in the fireplace crackled and popped as fiery fingers stretched up the chimney. Gwen lit the pine-scented candles on the mantle to provide the smell missing from her fake tree. She’d spent all of Saturday preparing food and getting things ready for tonight. She stood back and surveyed the room. The tree shone in radiant beauty and the garland around the doors and windows added the perfect festive touch.She glanced at her wristwatch and realized the guests would be arriving in less than an hour. She’d already showered, so all she needed was to change clothes and fix her hair and makeup. As she turned to go upstairs, someone knocked at the door.“Oh, brother. Who could that be?” She crossed the room and opened the door.Her heart seized.“Hi, Gwen.” Brad flashed a sheepish grin.She stood rooted to the spot, her breath failing her. She moved her mouth but no words materialized.“I’m sure you weren’t expecting me.” He stepped forward and pulled her into his arms. “Darling, I have so much to tell you… so much to explain. Please give me one last chance, and I promise you won’t regret it.” His clothes were clean and he smelled of fresh laundry soap.Her pain from the past months bubbled to the surface and steeled her resolve. She pushed him away. “I’m happy to see you’re alive, but I don’t think you have anything I want to hear.”He took hold of her hand. “I totally understand how you feel, and I’d act the same way in your shoes. But…”“No buts.” She jerked free. “You’ve put me through hell. All this time, I’ve had no idea if you were dead or alive. You couldn’t bother to pick up a phone and call me? Now you have the nerve to show up on my doorstep and expect me to act like nothing ever happened?”He lowered his head and stared at the ground. “I couldn’t call. At least not after I hit rock bottom and accepted help. Before that, everything is a drug-hazed blur.”The cold air pouring through the open door sent a shiver through her. She recalled using almost those exact words to explain her sleepless night. His statement piqued her curiosity, and she couldn’t turn him away without hearing his explanation. “Come in. It’s freezing out there.”She perched on the edge of her chair and gazed up at him. “What do you mean bottomed out?”“May I?” He motioned to the sofa. When she nodded, he removed his jacket, draped it over the couch back, and sat. He took a long breath. “Where should I start? Let’s see….”Gwen listened in earnest as Brad revealed the whole story. How he’d given in to the drug high until he ran out of money, begged on street corners for a fix, and finally landed in jail. During his incarceration, he suffered a minor stroke and found himself hospitalized. A visiting pastor invited him to accept the Lord and an offer of help through a local drug treatment center. Brad had agreed and spent all this time getting clean and sober. One of the caveats of the program had been the stipulation that there would be no contact with the outside world. He’d passed on the opportunity to phone her beforehand because he didn’t want to get her hopes up until he knew he had defeated his demons. Here he sat, claiming he had.“I don’t expect you to forgive me.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I’ve put you through the wringer. It makes me feel better to know that I’ve apologized. It’s part of my program…to make amends with those I’ve wronged.”Tears burned the back of Gwen’s eyes. She’d never stopped loving him, just trusting him. How could she get her faith back based on one story and an apology, no matter how convincing? “Like I said, Brad, I’m relieved to see you alive and well. I cried myself to sleep too many nights wondering where you were and how you fared. I appreciate your apology….”“I understand. I’m not asking for another chance. I’m only asking that you let me prove I’ve changed. Something different happened this time. I realized how much I had to lose: my life, you….” He paused for a moment, his gaze locking with hers. “It dawned on me that without you, life wasn’t worth living.”Brad’s face looked drawn, and he was much thinner, but he still had that tall, dark and handsome appeal that drew Gwen to him.His words warmed her heart, but didn’t heal the wound. She wanted to believe him but needed time. She nibbled at her bottom lip and flashed back to all the broken promises, the times she forgave only to be hurt and disappointed again.He glanced around the room. “Everything looks so nice.” His gaze rested on the dining room table and the festive plates, glasses and bowls of snacks. “Are you expecting someone?”“Yes, I’ve invited a few people over for a holiday celebration.” Gwen wondered how she’d explain his presence, and hoped maybe she wouldn’t have to. “Would you like to stay?” She held her breath for his response.“No, thank you. I don’t believe I’m quite ready to face the world yet, but I would like to come by on Christmas Day and bring you a gift.”A silent whoosh of air fluttered past her lips. “That would be nice.”Brad stood. “Is one o’clock okay?”As he slid his muscular arms through his jacket sleeves, Gwen recalled the times he’d held her and how wonderful it felt. Although she wanted to fall into his embrace and forget everything that had happened, she resolved to take baby steps. “One is fine. Would you like to have Christmas dinner with me?”“I’d love to. I always look forward to your honey-baked ham with mashed potatoes and gravy.” He trailed his hand down her arm and smiled. “Goodnight, Gwen.”He opened the door and stepped outside, but turned. “I do love you, you know?”She covered her heart to quell the pounding in her chest.His eyes shone with unshed tears making her want to soothe him until his hurt went away. She stepped forward yet hesitated.Brad’s gaze lifted to the mistletoe hanging over her head. He leaned in and placed a gentle kiss on her lips, then stepped back, snuggled into his jacket and zipped it to his chin. “You’ll see. I’m a changed man. From now on, the only drug in my life is going to be the love I feel for you. If I need a fix, I’ll steal a kiss.” He turned and walked toward the street.Gwen closed the door and slumped against it. She touched her fingertips to her lips and smiled. She hadn’t asked for a gift for Christmas, but it seemed Santa had come early. She had a party to dress for, and now, a real reason to celebrate.
***Gwen’s hands felt clammy on the steering wheel. Traffic was light on the back country road to Dickson. Now that the phone call had sunk in, she wondered how her truck ended up in such a rural community. Nerves and breakfast had never been a good mix so she’d passed on her morning meal. Her stomach clenched and rumbled.When a city limits sign proclaimed she’d arrived in Dickson, she scanned both sides of the street, looking for the police department and parked in front of an old brick building that looked more like a library. Her brief conversation with Sergeant Calhoun didn’t provide any new leads. The pickup had been found on the side of the road with a flat tire and towed to the impound lot. She jotted down directions to where the Toyota was kept and allowed to view it before paying her fines. Pain stabbed at her disappointed heart as she drove the two blocks to an old gas station where more than a dozen vehicles were parked. She used the code the sergeant had given her to open the lock on the gate. In the far corner, she spied her truck. She walked to dirty, white Toyota on leaden legs.Tears filled blurred her eyes as she opened the driver’s door and gazed inside. The seats and floor were filthy—littered with trash and remnants of how Brad had lived for the past month. His scent lingered in the air. The fence surrounding the impound lot gave off an eerie vibe, and Gwen shivered and summoned memories of happier times to fill her mind. This wasn't how things were supposed to end. For years he’d been her caretaker when she was ill, her partner, her lover, her best friend. Why couldn’t she save him? Why couldn’t her love be his salvation?Gwen reflected on all she had left of their relationship—the collection of teddy bears he’d bought her over the years: one holding a Valentine Heart, one wearing a St. Patrick’s Day vest, and the big white panda he'd brought back after he’d disappeared for three days the last time. That one had been the harbinger of what was yet to come, with its furry paw raised in a farewell wave. But the clue went unnoticed in her joy to have Brad home.Shaking the negative image from her mind, she returned to picking through the rubbish on the floorboard. She fingered a tiny ring, cheap and discolored, but engraved with the letter “G”—her initial. Her throat burned with restrained sobs as she tossed it back, wondering where it came from and why he’d had it. She didn't need one more thing to remind her of him. What she needed was to forget.Stoically, she forced herself to continue the inspection, hoping for, yet knowing there would be no clues to answer her many questions. She heaved a deep sigh and pulled the seat forward. Beneath more refuse, she found yet another bear. The fur on its small face was dirty and the body contorted from being smashed beneath weight heavier than its own. She picked up and cuddled the toy, hoping in some way her embrace would transcend the atmosphere and let her husband know she still cared what happened to him. A tear trickled down her cheek. Gwen held the treasure away and stared at it through blurred eyes.Should she throw the bear away? What use was it? Each time she looked at it, she would only remember no matter how close you hold someone and love them, there is always something stronger that can pull them away. This tiny stuffed creature was like Brad in many ways. Once it was clean and bright and brought a smile to a face. But burdened by a weight heavier than it could manage, it became dirty, unrecognizable and not quite so loveable. She could launder it, but that would only take care of the surface. She had washed his clothes and kept his home clean, yet his problems were so deeply imbedded she couldn’t fix them.There was nothing in the truck she wanted. Gwen put the bear back where she found it and closed the door. She didn’t need one more piece of memorabilia, one more link to heartache and bad memories. Instead, she resolved to hold onto images of a healthier and happier man and know she had truly tried to make things work.A momentary feeling of defeat washed over her, and then a realization dawned. She hadn’t lost. He had loved her as much as a troubled man could love, and she’d cherished him in return. The agony was in knowing the drugs had won the battle, but strength came in realizing she’d won the war. She could finally let him go, praying he found himself and happiness again…somewhere, someday. Surely the pain would linger for a time, but a weight lifted from her burdened shoulders as she walked through the gate, leaving behind the truck and all it represented. The City of Dickson could donate the vehicle to charity for all she cared. She wiped away the last tear she planned to shed over Brad and, squaring her shoulders, walked back to her car.
***Gwen hung the last piece of tinsel on the Christmas tree, shocked at how quickly Halloween and Thanksgiving had come and gone. Although not much in the mood for festivities, she’d forced herself to drag out the decorations and focus on the spirit of the holiday. In an attempt to move ahead with life, she’d invited co-workers and neighbors over for a party. Maybe she couldn’t face her family with the truth, but she’d confided to a few friends that she and Brad were finished. The reasons why weren’t important… and actually, she didn’t know herself what drove Brad to drugs. She still struggled to close the chapter in that book.The log in the fireplace crackled and popped as fiery fingers stretched up the chimney. Gwen lit the pine-scented candles on the mantle to provide the smell missing from her fake tree. She’d spent all of Saturday preparing food and getting things ready for tonight. She stood back and surveyed the room. The tree shone in radiant beauty and the garland around the doors and windows added the perfect festive touch.She glanced at her wristwatch and realized the guests would be arriving in less than an hour. She’d already showered, so all she needed was to change clothes and fix her hair and makeup. As she turned to go upstairs, someone knocked at the door.“Oh, brother. Who could that be?” She crossed the room and opened the door.Her heart seized.“Hi, Gwen.” Brad flashed a sheepish grin.She stood rooted to the spot, her breath failing her. She moved her mouth but no words materialized.“I’m sure you weren’t expecting me.” He stepped forward and pulled her into his arms. “Darling, I have so much to tell you… so much to explain. Please give me one last chance, and I promise you won’t regret it.” His clothes were clean and he smelled of fresh laundry soap.Her pain from the past months bubbled to the surface and steeled her resolve. She pushed him away. “I’m happy to see you’re alive, but I don’t think you have anything I want to hear.”He took hold of her hand. “I totally understand how you feel, and I’d act the same way in your shoes. But…”“No buts.” She jerked free. “You’ve put me through hell. All this time, I’ve had no idea if you were dead or alive. You couldn’t bother to pick up a phone and call me? Now you have the nerve to show up on my doorstep and expect me to act like nothing ever happened?”He lowered his head and stared at the ground. “I couldn’t call. At least not after I hit rock bottom and accepted help. Before that, everything is a drug-hazed blur.”The cold air pouring through the open door sent a shiver through her. She recalled using almost those exact words to explain her sleepless night. His statement piqued her curiosity, and she couldn’t turn him away without hearing his explanation. “Come in. It’s freezing out there.”She perched on the edge of her chair and gazed up at him. “What do you mean bottomed out?”“May I?” He motioned to the sofa. When she nodded, he removed his jacket, draped it over the couch back, and sat. He took a long breath. “Where should I start? Let’s see….”Gwen listened in earnest as Brad revealed the whole story. How he’d given in to the drug high until he ran out of money, begged on street corners for a fix, and finally landed in jail. During his incarceration, he suffered a minor stroke and found himself hospitalized. A visiting pastor invited him to accept the Lord and an offer of help through a local drug treatment center. Brad had agreed and spent all this time getting clean and sober. One of the caveats of the program had been the stipulation that there would be no contact with the outside world. He’d passed on the opportunity to phone her beforehand because he didn’t want to get her hopes up until he knew he had defeated his demons. Here he sat, claiming he had.“I don’t expect you to forgive me.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I’ve put you through the wringer. It makes me feel better to know that I’ve apologized. It’s part of my program…to make amends with those I’ve wronged.”Tears burned the back of Gwen’s eyes. She’d never stopped loving him, just trusting him. How could she get her faith back based on one story and an apology, no matter how convincing? “Like I said, Brad, I’m relieved to see you alive and well. I cried myself to sleep too many nights wondering where you were and how you fared. I appreciate your apology….”“I understand. I’m not asking for another chance. I’m only asking that you let me prove I’ve changed. Something different happened this time. I realized how much I had to lose: my life, you….” He paused for a moment, his gaze locking with hers. “It dawned on me that without you, life wasn’t worth living.”Brad’s face looked drawn, and he was much thinner, but he still had that tall, dark and handsome appeal that drew Gwen to him.His words warmed her heart, but didn’t heal the wound. She wanted to believe him but needed time. She nibbled at her bottom lip and flashed back to all the broken promises, the times she forgave only to be hurt and disappointed again.He glanced around the room. “Everything looks so nice.” His gaze rested on the dining room table and the festive plates, glasses and bowls of snacks. “Are you expecting someone?”“Yes, I’ve invited a few people over for a holiday celebration.” Gwen wondered how she’d explain his presence, and hoped maybe she wouldn’t have to. “Would you like to stay?” She held her breath for his response.“No, thank you. I don’t believe I’m quite ready to face the world yet, but I would like to come by on Christmas Day and bring you a gift.”A silent whoosh of air fluttered past her lips. “That would be nice.”Brad stood. “Is one o’clock okay?”As he slid his muscular arms through his jacket sleeves, Gwen recalled the times he’d held her and how wonderful it felt. Although she wanted to fall into his embrace and forget everything that had happened, she resolved to take baby steps. “One is fine. Would you like to have Christmas dinner with me?”“I’d love to. I always look forward to your honey-baked ham with mashed potatoes and gravy.” He trailed his hand down her arm and smiled. “Goodnight, Gwen.”He opened the door and stepped outside, but turned. “I do love you, you know?”She covered her heart to quell the pounding in her chest.His eyes blurred with tears, making her want to soothe him until his hurt went away. She stepped forward, yet hesitated.Brad’s gaze lifted to the mistletoe hanging over her head. He leaned in and placed a gentle kiss on her lips, then stepped back, snuggled into his jacket and zipped it to his chin. “You’ll see. I’m a changed man. From now on, the only drug in my life is going to be the love I feel for you. If I need a fix, I’ll steal a kiss.” He turned and walked toward the street.Gwen closed the door and slumped against it. She touched her fingertips to her lips and smiled. She hadn’t asked for a gift for Christmas, but Santa had come early. She had a party to dress for, and now, a real reason to celebrate.
Although I didn't submit anything to BWL suitable for Christmas, you can look for The Pendant coming near Valentine's Day. meanwhile, you can take advantage of the BOGO sale and stock up for the holiday. Buy One Get One Free.http://www.bookswelove.com/authors/simpson-ginger
Now...for the time being...hop on over to my fellow bloggers and check out what they have to offer:
http://connievines.blogspot.com (Connie Vines)
http://yesterrdayrevisitedhere.blogspot.com/ (Juliet Waldron)
http://triciamg.blogspot.com (Tricia McGill)
Bad News and Good News
As many of you may know, I've been ill and unable to blog for a week or so. Let me tell you, a hospital is no place to get rest. Someone was constantly in my room, drawing blood, taking xrays, or monitoring my vitals. I was so glad to get home, but then you worry if you are going to relapse. I just saw the doc day before yesterday, and my pneumonia is gone. Hooray, but now I'm battling asthma which in a lot of ways is more incapacitating. I had great plans to help a homeless family for Christmas, but I fear my good intentions got waylaid.Then to add to my woes, Roseanne, my blog partner, notified me, she is leaving Dishin' It Out. Crap! I really enjoy her posts, and she's been an awesome match. I really appreciate how she filled in for me. Of course, I understand. Blogging can present an additional burden, and I know she has more books to write. Thank you, Ro, for hanging in with me.
But there is good news. I've found not one, but two replacements, who've indicated an interest. Juliet Waldron, a top author for Books We Love, and Connie Vines, another great talent from the same house.
After the holiday, I hope to be up to snuff...whatever that is, and I'll post our new schedule.
Right now, I'm off to hopefully entice Connie to join the team. This is an established blog, and I hope to keep providing you with interesting and enticing posts.
In the meantime...Happy Holidays to each of you, and thanks for being part of Dishin' It Out.
Ginger
December 16, 2015
I Smell a Story by Roseanne Dowell
Did you ever notice that unless something smells especially good or particularly offensive, we tend to ignore it? Because our sense of sight and hearing are dominant we tend to ignore every day smells. We see the trees, hear the traffic, and look into each other’s eyes as we speak.
But we take our other senses, touch, taste, and smell for granted. We often ignore them. Oh sure, we feel, taste and smell, but not with a lot of awareness. While the smell of bacon makes our mouth water, and we may say it smells good, or that it’s making us hungry, we don’t elaborate on it. On the other hand if we smell something offensive, say askunk, we go on and on about the distasteful odor. Same thing with taste.
The bacon and egg tastes good, and we enjoy them, but we expect to enjoy them so we don’t say much about them. On the
other hand, the sour taste of vinegar or a lemon has us spitting and complaining about the acrid flavor.
The same applies to our sense of touch. We feel something soft or silky, it’s comforting, and we might make an off-handed remark. But, if we burn, cut, or hurt ourselves, we complain and make a big deal about the pain.But in writing all of these senses are as important as sight and sound. We describe the setting, the background. But by using all of our senses we bring our stories to life. We can go from the real world to a new world of make believe. But we also need to make our story realistic. In both fiction and nonfiction, a richly described setting will pull your readers out of the real world of pressure and tension and into your world of make believe. So we can’t ignore these senses in our descriptions?We need to become more aware of these senses in our everyday world? Go outside, look around you - listen to the sounds. Close your eyes. Inhale deeply, breath in the odors. What do you smell? The flowers, exhausts from cars, it depends where you are. You can do the same wherever you go. Walk into a department store at a mall. Inhale the scents. What do you smell, the lingering scent of someone’s perfume or the perfume counter, if a smoker walks past you, you detect the odor of cigarette smoke. At a movie it will probably be the smell of popcorn. Restaurants have many smells, garlic, onions, rich sauces or maybe coffee. Remember these smells. Use them in your writing.Next time you eat, savor the food. Hold it in your mouth, relish the experience and texture of bread and the slight aroma of yeast. Feel the surface of the tabletop or tablecloth. Ingrain them into your memory.Use these senses in the story. Let your reader hear, see, feel, smell and taste the story. The story and characters will come alive through these senses. It’s not enough to tell us what something looks like. SHOW US!! We want to feel it, smell it, and maybe even taste it. Readers won’t notice that you included them, but they will notice if you omit them. Without them, your world will be flat, boring, and unrealistic. No, you don’t have to add them to every sentence or even every scene. Maybe your characters are in a situation where they don’t notice smells or textures and there’s nothing to taste. That’s often true of tense scenes. If someone is attacking you, you certainly aren’t going to notice the sweet smell of roses. On the other hand you might notice the offensive odor of his sweat. And you’ll certainly feel the beads of perspiration on your own forehead or the taste the nausea building up from your throat to your mouth. Other times we might be deep in thought and won’t even notice our surroundings. That’s fine, but make sure to include them when they are needed. If your characters walk into a restaurant, we want to know what they smell as well as what they see and hear. Too often, as beginners these senses are ignored.Remember also, that some odors will smell different to different people. Some smells are “Universal”. Dog poop and the smell of garbage are offensive to everyone. Flowers, freshly cut grass or fresh baked bread usually evoke memories. We can all picture a garden, or remember the first spring mowing and of course Mom or Grandma in the kitchen baking. Use these scenes to help show us the scene or bring out an emotion of our characters. Some smells scents are less universal. Cauliflower will smell differently to me than you. If the reader loves it and you hate it, the scene will be all wrong. What you want to make sound delicious might make your reader go yuck and you’ll have lost the realism. Stick to the universal smells.Pick up your favorite novel. Go through it page by page. Highlight the senses with different colors. What an amazing array of colors on the pages. No, you might not see all the colors on every page, but enough to make it colorful. So how do we use these senses in our scenes? Imagine your character on a beach by the ocean. Put yourself there. Close your eyes. Picture it. What do you hear? Are the seagulls squawking, children playing? Can you hear the swish of the waves? Let’s take it further. Inhale, take a deep breath. What do you
smell, the fresh air, salty water? How does your skin feel? Can you feel the wet spray from the waves? Can you taste the salty ocean? Wiggle your toes in the gritty sand. Is it hot, does it burn your feet? Are the waves coming on shore and flowing over your feet? Can you squish your toes in the wet sand?
How much stronger your words will be describing these feelings and tastes as well as the sights and sounds through your characters. Your story and characters will become more alive.The senses are as important to non-fiction, as they are critical to fiction. If you’re writing a how to article about baking bread, the reader needs to know that they should knead the dough until it blisters for a better, lighter loaf, and that it should be smooth to the touch. No the smell of the yeast is not important. Some things are not important in non-fiction, but if you are writing a nostalgic piece about the memory of Mom or Grandma baking in the kitchen, add those senses. They’re an integral part of the article.Start today, right now - observe these senses in everyday life. Pay particular attention to the feel, smell, and taste. Sometimes you can taste something just from the odor. Have you ever experienced a particularly bad odor? It smelled so bad you could almost taste it.
Remember these senses. Concentrate on the feel of the smoothness of a baby’s skin or the texture of your sheets, vegetables, everything you touch. Make a mental note of these feelings. Use them in your stories. Make your characters real to the reader and enjoy the senses that we take so for granted.
But we take our other senses, touch, taste, and smell for granted. We often ignore them. Oh sure, we feel, taste and smell, but not with a lot of awareness. While the smell of bacon makes our mouth water, and we may say it smells good, or that it’s making us hungry, we don’t elaborate on it. On the other hand if we smell something offensive, say askunk, we go on and on about the distasteful odor. Same thing with taste.
The bacon and egg tastes good, and we enjoy them, but we expect to enjoy them so we don’t say much about them. On the other hand, the sour taste of vinegar or a lemon has us spitting and complaining about the acrid flavor.
The same applies to our sense of touch. We feel something soft or silky, it’s comforting, and we might make an off-handed remark. But, if we burn, cut, or hurt ourselves, we complain and make a big deal about the pain.But in writing all of these senses are as important as sight and sound. We describe the setting, the background. But by using all of our senses we bring our stories to life. We can go from the real world to a new world of make believe. But we also need to make our story realistic. In both fiction and nonfiction, a richly described setting will pull your readers out of the real world of pressure and tension and into your world of make believe. So we can’t ignore these senses in our descriptions?We need to become more aware of these senses in our everyday world? Go outside, look around you - listen to the sounds. Close your eyes. Inhale deeply, breath in the odors. What do you smell? The flowers, exhausts from cars, it depends where you are. You can do the same wherever you go. Walk into a department store at a mall. Inhale the scents. What do you smell, the lingering scent of someone’s perfume or the perfume counter, if a smoker walks past you, you detect the odor of cigarette smoke. At a movie it will probably be the smell of popcorn. Restaurants have many smells, garlic, onions, rich sauces or maybe coffee. Remember these smells. Use them in your writing.Next time you eat, savor the food. Hold it in your mouth, relish the experience and texture of bread and the slight aroma of yeast. Feel the surface of the tabletop or tablecloth. Ingrain them into your memory.Use these senses in the story. Let your reader hear, see, feel, smell and taste the story. The story and characters will come alive through these senses. It’s not enough to tell us what something looks like. SHOW US!! We want to feel it, smell it, and maybe even taste it. Readers won’t notice that you included them, but they will notice if you omit them. Without them, your world will be flat, boring, and unrealistic. No, you don’t have to add them to every sentence or even every scene. Maybe your characters are in a situation where they don’t notice smells or textures and there’s nothing to taste. That’s often true of tense scenes. If someone is attacking you, you certainly aren’t going to notice the sweet smell of roses. On the other hand you might notice the offensive odor of his sweat. And you’ll certainly feel the beads of perspiration on your own forehead or the taste the nausea building up from your throat to your mouth. Other times we might be deep in thought and won’t even notice our surroundings. That’s fine, but make sure to include them when they are needed. If your characters walk into a restaurant, we want to know what they smell as well as what they see and hear. Too often, as beginners these senses are ignored.Remember also, that some odors will smell different to different people. Some smells are “Universal”. Dog poop and the smell of garbage are offensive to everyone. Flowers, freshly cut grass or fresh baked bread usually evoke memories. We can all picture a garden, or remember the first spring mowing and of course Mom or Grandma in the kitchen baking. Use these scenes to help show us the scene or bring out an emotion of our characters. Some smells scents are less universal. Cauliflower will smell differently to me than you. If the reader loves it and you hate it, the scene will be all wrong. What you want to make sound delicious might make your reader go yuck and you’ll have lost the realism. Stick to the universal smells.Pick up your favorite novel. Go through it page by page. Highlight the senses with different colors. What an amazing array of colors on the pages. No, you might not see all the colors on every page, but enough to make it colorful. So how do we use these senses in our scenes? Imagine your character on a beach by the ocean. Put yourself there. Close your eyes. Picture it. What do you hear? Are the seagulls squawking, children playing? Can you hear the swish of the waves? Let’s take it further. Inhale, take a deep breath. What do you
smell, the fresh air, salty water? How does your skin feel? Can you feel the wet spray from the waves? Can you taste the salty ocean? Wiggle your toes in the gritty sand. Is it hot, does it burn your feet? Are the waves coming on shore and flowing over your feet? Can you squish your toes in the wet sand?How much stronger your words will be describing these feelings and tastes as well as the sights and sounds through your characters. Your story and characters will become more alive.The senses are as important to non-fiction, as they are critical to fiction. If you’re writing a how to article about baking bread, the reader needs to know that they should knead the dough until it blisters for a better, lighter loaf, and that it should be smooth to the touch. No the smell of the yeast is not important. Some things are not important in non-fiction, but if you are writing a nostalgic piece about the memory of Mom or Grandma baking in the kitchen, add those senses. They’re an integral part of the article.Start today, right now - observe these senses in everyday life. Pay particular attention to the feel, smell, and taste. Sometimes you can taste something just from the odor. Have you ever experienced a particularly bad odor? It smelled so bad you could almost taste it.
Remember these senses. Concentrate on the feel of the smoothness of a baby’s skin or the texture of your sheets, vegetables, everything you touch. Make a mental note of these feelings. Use them in your stories. Make your characters real to the reader and enjoy the senses that we take so for granted.
December 15, 2015
I Think I Hear Sleigh Bells... by Ginger Simpson
I share this every year as a tribute and reminder of a father who made the holidays so much more special by being present. We miss you Dad.
“I think I hear sleigh bells,” my dad would say every Christmas. We’d scurry to our bedrooms and pretend to be fast asleep. Being the oldest of four, I knew Dad was the one who went outside and attempted to make reindeer tracks in the dirt. We didn’t have a fireplace, so Santa had to come in through the door. The important thing was that he came.
How my mom and dad managed to give us such joy and the very thing we wanted when the raft shop where my dad worked at the local air force base paid ninety cents an hour. We thought we were in hog heaven when he brought home the canned rations every now and then. Each one had a candy inside, and the crackers weren’t bad either. I can’t recall a Christmas those special treats didn’t put a permanent smile on my face and joy in my heart.
Although Dad was Jewish and didn’t believe in the reason for the season, he was always the first to shake the presents beneath the tree. We always vowed to wait until Christmas morning to open gifts, but he was the culprit behind the “let’s open just one.”
Sure, one turned into two, and before we knew it, we sat amongst opened boxes and a landslide of wrapping paper, happy with what we’d received, but disappointed that once again we’d failed to wait until morning. So the tradition continues. Christmas eve is our time to celebrate, and I’m always urged on by my father’s voice in my head, telling me now from heaven, “just open one. What harm can it do?” Oh, we still have our Christmas dinner on the day of, and as a Christian, I celebrate the birth of Jesus, and I will be forever thankful for the parents he gave me.
We weren’t rich in the financial sense, but in love we were millionaires. I’d give anything to have one of those Christmas Eves over again, and hear my Dad’s sweet voice talking to me for real. He’s been gone for over twenty five years now, but if you’re listening Daddy, your “not so” little girl loves you with all her heart, and I miss you still. You’ll always be in my heart, and in your honor, I’ll always open just one on Christmas Eve…or maybe all.
“I think I hear sleigh bells,” my dad would say every Christmas. We’d scurry to our bedrooms and pretend to be fast asleep. Being the oldest of four, I knew Dad was the one who went outside and attempted to make reindeer tracks in the dirt. We didn’t have a fireplace, so Santa had to come in through the door. The important thing was that he came. How my mom and dad managed to give us such joy and the very thing we wanted when the raft shop where my dad worked at the local air force base paid ninety cents an hour. We thought we were in hog heaven when he brought home the canned rations every now and then. Each one had a candy inside, and the crackers weren’t bad either. I can’t recall a Christmas those special treats didn’t put a permanent smile on my face and joy in my heart.
Although Dad was Jewish and didn’t believe in the reason for the season, he was always the first to shake the presents beneath the tree. We always vowed to wait until Christmas morning to open gifts, but he was the culprit behind the “let’s open just one.”
Sure, one turned into two, and before we knew it, we sat amongst opened boxes and a landslide of wrapping paper, happy with what we’d received, but disappointed that once again we’d failed to wait until morning. So the tradition continues. Christmas eve is our time to celebrate, and I’m always urged on by my father’s voice in my head, telling me now from heaven, “just open one. What harm can it do?” Oh, we still have our Christmas dinner on the day of, and as a Christian, I celebrate the birth of Jesus, and I will be forever thankful for the parents he gave me.
We weren’t rich in the financial sense, but in love we were millionaires. I’d give anything to have one of those Christmas Eves over again, and hear my Dad’s sweet voice talking to me for real. He’s been gone for over twenty five years now, but if you’re listening Daddy, your “not so” little girl loves you with all her heart, and I miss you still. You’ll always be in my heart, and in your honor, I’ll always open just one on Christmas Eve…or maybe all.
December 14, 2015
Avoiding Adverbs by Roseanne Dowell
Writing without adverbs? Then how can we describe people, tone of voice? Some writers think adverbs are the only way to add description to a story.Wrong – the use and over use of adverbs distracts from your story. It puts YOU, the AUTHOR into the story. And we never (one of the few nevers in writing) want the author in the story. There are better ways to add description. Let’s take this sentence for example: Roy walked leisurely down the street. – Okay. You, the author, just TOLD us how Roy walked – you interfered with the story. How much better if you would have showed us how Roy walked.Example: Roy strolled down the street. (Notice how just changing the verb and taking out the adverb shows us how Roy walked.Roy is not in a hurry - strolled implies leisurely without the author saying so, but it’s still telling. So, let’s take it one step farther. The author can show more.Roy breathed in the spring air. What a great time of year with the trees budding and the smell of fresh cut grass. Just looking at the sky put him in a good mood. Now the author hasn’t even told us that Roy strolled. We know Roy’s not in a hurry because he notices everything around him. People in a hurry don’t take the time to notice the buds on the trees. They wouldn’t stop to look at the sky. The author has shown us something about Roy besides the fact that he’s not in a hurry. He loves spring, and he loves nature. Other people wouldn't necessarily notice the buds on the trees, even when they’re not in a hurry. They react in different ways to show us they aren't in a hurry. Maybe they'd lollygag along watching the traffic or kids playing. That shows us something different about them. People see different things and so should our characters.Adverbs can never replace strong verbs. As in the above example, strolled is a much stronger verb then walked in showing us how someone went on his way, but showing him works so much better.Adverbs combined with strong verbs – John ran quickly – are repetitive. We already know John ran, that tells us he’s moving fast, why repeat it? The adverb has the same meaning as the verb. By adding the adverb, we weaken the verb and the sentence, and it shows us nothing. Avoid the use of adverbs whenever possible. When you feel tempted to add an adverb, stop and think about what you want the reader to know. Is there another way to say it? Usually there is. Adverbs to describe how someone speaks are also interfering. Example: “Stop, just stop,” John shouted angrily. Well, I don’t know about you, but if someone is shouting that usually means he’s angry. Why not show us the anger? “Stop! Just stop.” John slammed the cupboard door. Now that shows us he is angry much better than the adverb angrily? And, we didn’t have to use the tag line he shouted. We can say, he shouted and slammed the cupboard door, but does that reinforce the anger? Not really. The action works better alone.Now don’t get me wrong – there are places to use adverbs, but the key is to use them sparingly. Readers want detail, they want to see and hear the story. They don’t want someone to tell them what happened. They want to feel the anger, sadness, happiness, laughter, and tears. Readers want to feel our character's emotion. Characters who display emotion are strong characters. And readers remember them. They become real, believable. And if we have believable characters, readers will remember us.So next time you write, she hurried quickly down the street, STOP!! Reread what you just wrote. Do you really want to repeat that he was in a hurry? Hurried already implies he was going quickly. And next time you write – “I can’t do this anymore,” John said sadly. Rethink it – is there a better way to show John sad? “I can’t do this anymore.” John wiped the tears from his eyes. Notice I didn’t say John said as he wiped the tears. You can also eliminate the he said/she said tags and insert action tags that shows us more of what’s happening. By saying John said sadly, we know John is sad – but we don’t know he’s crying.
We add so much more to the story by eliminating needless adverbs. We all enjoy reading strong stories, why not write them
December 12, 2015
Sunday Snippets by Ginger Simpson #sundaysnips
I'm baaaack! and this week sharing a sample from a Novella coming soon from Books We Love, The Pendant. This is going to be a re-release and probably one of the hardest works I've done because there really is no hero or heroine...just a story about an inanimate object. Enjoy:Sheila Townsend hauled open the heavy cathedral door and slipped inside. She scurried up the long aisle into the safety of the confessional and collapsed. Panting, she creaked open the little sliding door. The priest’s outline loomed on the other side.
"Father, forgive me, for I have sinned.”She swiped at her bangs, wet from the fog outside. “How long has it been since your last confession?” The priest’s voice filtered through the mesh between them.“Six months, Father.” “Tell me of your sins, my child.” “I-I’ve had evil thoughts and fear I’ve done something horrid.”“What have you done?”“I might have killed someone because of the curse.”“Curse?” His deep voice climbed an octave.“Yes, the one that plagues this necklace.” She dangled a chain close to the screen. “I must leave it here with you and stop this madness.” Sheila rose, dropped the silver pendant onto the shelf separating parishioner from priest, and fled without another word. She paused at the door long enough to secure her scarf over her head and pull her coat collar higher. The stained-glass window, an image of the Holy Mother, she’d seen before looked far less impressive at night than when the sun shone through the tinted panes. Sheila pressed her weight against the door, allowing the breeze to flicker the candles at the altar. The gripping hatred that had consumed her for the last month melted away like snow in springtime. Gone was the unexplained need to hurt the same person whose picture she’d displayed in the locket. Now she was free—free from everything except the guilt and memories of plunging a knife deep into her boyfriend’s back. Stepping into the misty night, she headed toward the river. She hadn’t been totally forthcoming with the priest. Her ‘might have killed’ was totally misleading. The police were sure to soon find Andre’s body in her living room, and she no longer had a will to live. She’d made peace with the Lord; now she needed to find peace within herself and what she’d done.****Father Finnegan’s brow furrowed at the woman’s sudden departure. “A curse?”He stood and pushed through the curtain at the rear of the confessional, walked around and opened the door to the parishioner’s side. There on the shelf lay the necklace the woman had left. A silver locket hung from a long chain, and when opened, displayed a picture of a handsome young man wearing a black sweater. Father Finnegan pinched the locket closed. The pendant looked entirely harmless—nothing more than a delicate piece of jewelry. “What have you got there, Father?”The priest turned to find Sister Mary Catherine standing behind him, her brow raised as always when something stirred her nosy side. “A necklace…supposedly a cursed one.” He laughed. “Me thinks ‘tis the soul of the person who left this beauty behind is the one who needs the blessing.”“The piece looks to be a great match for the fund-raising bazaar, if you’ve no other plans for it.” The nun smiled and opened her hand.
*************************You can find all my books available on my Amazon page. I hope you'll enjoy one.
Now, if you'd be so kind as to check out the following links and make sure I still have some playmates on Sunday:
http://connievines.blogspot.com (Connie Vines)
http://yesterrdayrevisitedhere.blogspot.com/ (Juliet Waldron)
http://triciamg.blogspot.com (Tricia McGill)
