Jeffree Wyn Itrich's Blog, page 6

Going Back to School, Sort Of

If you read Call of the Whisperwind then you know that my protagonist, Rachel, underwent extensive training to become a curandera, a traditional healer. What I wrote was authentic. The characters may be fictional, but the practice was not a work of fiction. The traditions of curanderismo are quite real and practiced throughout the southwest United States and Mexico to this day. I did a lot of research to ensure that that what I wrote was accurate.

Not long after CW was published a friend in New Mexico, who read CW, called to say that she took a course on curanderismo at the University of New Mexico. I told her that I sure wished I had been able to take a course like that; it would have helped enormously in the writing of CW. My friend did the next best thing, she sent me her course books which I read cover to cover and took copious notes. Now, an even-better-next-best-thing has happened. She emailed this morning to tell me that UNM is offering a free online curanderismo course! I like "free". It's one of my favorite words. But more importantly, I can now study the craft more in depth by one of the world's most respected authorities on curanderismo, Eliseo Torres. Needless to say I signed up faster than one of those jack rabbits hopping across the high desert in my novels. The only down side is that the course doesn't begin until mid-August and I'm all pumped up and ready to roll now! Patience is not one of my greater virtues. However given that this is completely out of my control, I will wait. Not patiently, but I'll wait.

Till next time,

Jeffree Wyn

News and More News

Some of you know that I live in San Diego in southern California. You have probably heard about the dreadful wildfires that have ravaged our area this past week. Many people lost their homes and businesses and others suffered nearly irreparably damage. It is a scene we face every few years when hot dry winds, called Santa Anas, blow through our region. To make the scenario equally dire this year we are in a multi-year drought. Everything is dry as old hay. In conditions like these the slightest spark will cause a wildfire and that is what happened this past week. Fortunately we do not live in that part of the county affected by the fires, but know many who do. It's been a harrowing week. At this writing most of the fires are out; there were nine at one point! Cooler temps and calmer winds helped our brave first responders conquer the fires.

In happier news I was notified that Call of the Whisperwind is a finalist in the San Diego Book Awards. http://www.sdbookawards.com/2014/05/15/2012-finalists-being-announced/#more-314 I will be attending the awards ceremony in late June to find out the results. Keep your fingers crossed. 

And the best news yet --- the sequel to Whisperwind is humming along. I'm about halfway through chapter two. At this early juncture I have no idea what it will be called but I'm sure a name will present itself eventually.

That's about it for now. Have a marvelous week!

Jeffree Wyn

Where, oh where have the weeks gone?

I am remiss. There I said it. What else can I say except that time slipped away from me and all of a sudden I realized that all my "busyness" (yes, that's a real word, my word) took me away from this blog. I don't know what's going on in 2014. Life seems to be speeding by faster than, faster than, well, you get the picture.

So what you may wonder, have I been doing that I haven't had time to write a simple blog post? First, there have been staff changes at my office which translates into more work on my plate. I could complain, but what's the point? That's life. Change happens. Other than work, I've been reading, a lot. Second, sewing -- working on a new quilt. And third, traveling a bit. In January I was in San Francisco for a meeting.

Earlier this month I traveled to Phoenix for meetings. After Phoenix my husband and I took a little time off to drive up to and stay in Prescott and outside of Flagstaff in the northern part of the state, then over to Second Mesa on the Hopi reservation. Talk about a change in climate and environment. When we left Phoenix and its suburbia it was hot, as in 90+ degrees hot. Small town Prescott was nice and balmy in the 70s and low 60s/high 50s at night. Bliss. Flag came in at least 30 degrees cooler with wind. Not so nice. Unfortunately it was even worse on Second Mesa, icy cold winds pummeled us. Wasn't the best day to visit. Swirling sands sweeping off the mesa hit us like glass shards. The museum was closed but the little restaurant at the cultural center was open, thank goodness. A bowl of red chile and beans warmed me right up, enough to head back down the mesa. We had hoped to spend more time up there however the winds made our plan unfathomable.

That night we stayed at the Navajo Twin Arrows Resort and Casino. What a delight. The rooms were large, extremely comfortable and elegant. Barely open a year the hotel is pricing the rooms and meals at much less than market rate. I assume they are low balling in order to encourage people to stay there instead of Flag. It worked for us. I don't know what I loved more -- the shower that was big enough to hold a family of four or the pinon pie at the seafood bar (which serves an outstanding lobster bisque, by the way). I can't even begin to describe the nirvana experience of that pie crossing my lips. I ate only the inside because gluten makes me pretty sick. I hoped that I didn't ingest any of the crust. At the same time I knew that if I did it would be worth the pain and agony. I decided that if ever I'm on death row or even my deathbed that's the last thing I want to eat before I leave this earth. Yes, it was that good.

We returned to Prescott for one last night where we dined at The Palace Bar. It has a massive, wood-carved western bar that takes up one entire wall, floor to ceiling, and goes back to the 19th century, giving the place an old west atmosphere and food to match. It's one of my favorite places in this small town of 40,000 residents. All together we spent four days and nights in Prescott; could have easily spent another week or more puttering around town, having breakfast at Sue Ann's Apple Pan restaurant, hiking the low hills strewn with boulders and pines, gawking at the Victorians in the Historical District, and hanging out at the quilt shops. Why you may wonder did we visit Prescott? My husband grew up in Phoenix and spent a lot of time in Prescott as a kid; our visit brought back a lot of memories. While the town has changed dramatically since those days he tells me the changes are good. So good that we plan to go back soon.

Till next time........

Where is this going?

The Persuasive Character

I recently saw a post on Facebook from a fellow writer who asked if other writers sometimes get derailed by their characters wanting to take a story a direction that the writer did not originally plan in the outline. Further, she wanted to know what to do about such renegade characters who highjack a storyline. Both I and another writer recommended that she go with the flow and let the character help her take on new dimensions.

I made my statement because that in fact happened in my second book, Call of the Whisperwind. Wolf, the Apache boy, was not in my original outline, was not even a blip on my radar screen. He simply popped up as I was writing a scene. When this happens to a writer you stop yourself and ask, "What the heck is happening here? Who's driving this bus?" In my case, I chose to go with it and see where the character took the story; and I'm so glad I did because Wolf became instrumental in bringing out personality traits in the other characters. Many people have told me that he was their favorite new character. You will be pleased to hear that Wolf will play a role in my next book and a major role in book #4. Love that kid!

Till next time, Happy Reading,

Jeffree

A short story for you!

A Broken Promise

by Jeffree Wyn Itrich

         Hillary looked into the mirror and sighed. She turned her face to the left, then to the right, inspecting the fine crow’s feet lines and bags beginning to settle around her large eyes. She frowned at the small light brown spots marking her previously porcelain-perfect face. Spots that her doctor said are the result of too many sun burns in her child and teen hood years. At the time she ignored her mother’s warnings, that too much sun would cause her to age prematurely, but back then she never imagined it would happen to her. Now, at age 56 she saw she was not immune to the natural order of aging.  Hillary continued to stare at herself in the mirror as she applied her sunscreen and adjusted a broad-brimmed hat on her head.

        “Botox?” she wondered aloud. “No, too expensive, but certainly less than a face lift, which I also can’t afford,” she glumly answered herself. “Guess I’m doomed to age just like the rest of the world.” Then she thought of people like Christie Brinkley who don’t seem to age and wondered how she does it.

        Giving herself one last long look in the mirror she smiled woefully. “Who would ever believe I was a beauty queen?” she asked her mirror image. “Not now, huh?  Now it’s more like Miss La Jolla meets Brunhilda!” She walked out of the room, picked up her purse and shopping bag and headed out the door for the local Farmer’s Market.

        Upon reaching the neighborhood Farmer’s Market she bought produce for the coming week. She reached the end of the first row and stepped up to the last booth where she liked to buy fresh heirloom tomatoes. But this day, there were no tomatoes nor was the usual proprietor working the booth. Instead of the familiar young man there sat an older woman with pristine skin and gleaming silver hair pulled back into a slightly untidy chignon at the back of her head. In place of the tomatoes was an extensive assortment of oils, lotions, soaps and creams.

        “Where’s Henry?” Hillary asked. “And what happened to the tomatoes?”

        “I don’t know a Henry. I rented this spot for today to sell my skin care line,” the older woman answered.

        Hillary frowned slightly.

        “Is there something I can help you with?” the older woman asked.

        “No,” Hillary replied, as she picked up a jar of cream that was labeled “tester”. She rubbed the cream on her hand and smelled the plumeria-like fragrance. “This is a wonderful cream. Did you say this is your skin care line? Your skin is certainly gorgeous.”

        “Yes, I make them at home from natural products. No chemicals,” the older woman answered. “There’s really nothing else like them available.”

        “Really, how so?” Hillary asked.

        “I use my own blend of oils and fruit and flower extracts. They not only moisturize but when used properly they resolve skin problems,” she answered, looking Hillary straight in the eye.

        “That’s what everybody claims,” Hillary quipped. “Even the expensive brands that claim they can work wonders really don’t. “

        “My products can reverse aging.”

        Hillary burst out laughing. “That’s ridiculous. Nothing can reverse aging. I should know; I’ve tried everything.”

        “You haven’t tried my products. Everyone who has ever used my products and followed the rules without fail has turned back the clock of time,” the woman responded reassuringly.

        Hillary cocked her head sideways and looked cautiously at the woman. She didn’t know whether to believe her or not. She seemed trustworthy and her skin was certainly stunning but what she was saying was simply impossible to believe. Nevertheless she felt a tingle in her stomach at the possibility that what the woman was claiming could be true. “What rules?” she asked.

        “They are very simple, “the woman began to explain. “Each night wash your face with this soap and then smooth on the cream, but nothing else. Repeat this regime every night until your skin reaches the youthful level you desire. When you are pleased with it, stop, do not apply more. You should see remarkable results within a week.”

        “This sounds pretty incredulous,” Hillary stated skeptically. “If in fact this works as you say it will, what do I do to maintain my new youthful skin?”

“That is the most important rule of all,” the woman answered. “You must do good.”

“I don’t understand,” Hillary chuckled. “What do you mean by ‘do good’?”

The woman stared sympathetically at Hillary as though preparing to explain something complicated to a small child. “You must give of yourself, but I don’t mean for yourself,” the woman began. “Volunteer for a worthy cause, give back to your community.”

Hillary had never volunteered for anything in her life. She wasn’t sure what the woman meant. The woman could see a look of confusion on Hillary’s face so she tried again.

“Call a homeless shelter and volunteer to work there a couple of days a week. Or clean up your local park or beach on weekends. Volunteer to raise money for disease research. Or become a hospice volunteer. Or read to sick children who are hospitalized. Or help out at an animal shelter. There are hundreds of things you can do. In other words, give back. You have led a comfortable life, now help others.”

Hillary didn’t say a word. She had never heard of anything so ridiculous, that to maintain a youthful appearance created by a soap and a cream that one had to be a volunteer. Absurd. She wondered if the woman might not sell her the soap and fragrant cream if she didn’t agree to her request. The woman did seem a little strange.  Hillary decided she might as well play along because if the products worked how would the woman ever know if she didn’t keep up her end of the deal?

“Yes, I see,” Hillary lied. “It’s good to give back, I can do that. Do I have to sign something in order to buy your products?”

“No, of course not,” the woman replied. “Just promise me.”

Hillary smiled. “Sure, I promise.”

The woman placed a small bar of soap and a jar of the cream in a red cotton bag and handed it to Hillary. “Oh,” the woman added, “there’s one other thing you should know.” Hillary raised her eyebrows and looked at her inquiringly. “If you don’t give back and do what you promised the effects of the soap and cream will not only reverse but your skin will quickly age dramatically, making you look decades older than your current years.”

Hillary stared at the woman thinking she would laugh and say it was joke, but she did not.

“Yes, I understand completely. Now, how much do I owe you?” Hillary asked anxiously, digging into her purse for her wallet.

“$10.00,” the woman replied.

“That’s pretty reasonable,” Hillary uttered. She smiled thinking of the promise the woman required of her. Hillary paid the woman and picked up the bag. “I’ll let you know how it works.”

The woman nodded. “Yes, dear, you do that.”

Before going to bed Hillary washed her face and applied the cream as the woman instructed. Looking down at her hands, she decided to apply the cream to the top of her hands that were beginning to also exhibit brown spots. She burst out laughing remembering the promise and the woman’s insistence on doing good. “What a joke,” she thought.

The next morning Hillary jumped in the shower, and as she was drying off looked in the mirror and noticed that her face in fact looked a little better. A little clearer, brighter, the brown age marks were significantly paler. “Hmm,” she thought. She got ready for work and darted out the door.

Hillary diligently washed her face with the soap and applied the cream as instructed. On the third morning she began looking at her face before she got in the shower because just as the woman predicted Hillary’s wrinkles began to dissolve, the bags under her eyes disappeared as did the small brown aging marks. At the end of a week’s time her skin was taut and looked the same as it did when she was in her early twenties. Even her neck and hands were as tight and firm as her younger years. She couldn’t believe it, nor could her friends and co-workers. Everyone kept asking what she had done. They quizzed her on every conceivable skin care option but she said she wasn’t doing anything different. She admitted to no one what she had done.

Hillary was nearly out of the cream and the soap a week later. She thought about returning to the Farmer’s Market and buying more but she was actually pretty happy with the results. For the next few weeks Hillary reveled in her youthful skin, loving that her friends were shocked at her new appearance which she interpreted as jealousy, for which she was secretly elated. She congratulated herself on having the guts to buy the products even though at the time she was very skeptical that the older woman’s claims would work.

About a month later one morning Hillary noticed that fine lines were beginning to reappear around her eyes. Hillary took a closer look in the mirror and decided it was probably because she hadn’t been getting a lot of sleep lately. She promised herself she would get to bed earlier. She applied a small amount of the cream around her eyes. That night Hillary washed her face with what little was left of the soap and sparingly applied more cream.

The next day Hillary looked in the mirror and noticed that her eyes were a little puffy and the wrinkles were reappearing. She looked at her hands and noticed the veins beginning to pop out and small brown spots returning. “OMG!” she screeched, “This can’t be happening.”  After she showered she applied as much makeup as she could thinking it might cover up the puffiness and wrinkles but it only drew attention. She put on her largest pair of sunglasses and headed to work where she never took off the glasses the entire day. When her co-workers inquired as to why she was wearing sunglasses indoors she said she had a nasty eye infection.

Hillary’s face, neck and hands continued to return to its previous form and with it Hillary’s mental state debilitated into a panic. She called into work sick every day and refused to leave her home. She used the last of the soap and cream, but it didn’t seem to be working anymore. After a couple of weeks her face looked worse than ever. Not only did the brown spots return but this time they appeared as large dark liver spots all over her face and hands. The crows’ feet on the edge of her eyes dug as deep as a woman in her 80s and the puffiness under her eyes developed into large sagging bags.  Instead of the tautness of a few weeks before her skin hung off her face and long lines appeared chiseled into her cheeks. She couldn’t bear to look at herself in the mirror.

“It’s that woman,” she said aloud. “She did this to me!” Then remembering this was the day of the Farmer’s Market, she grabbed her purse and sunglasses and charged out the door.

As soon as she arrived at the market she ran to the booth where she bought the skin care products. Instead of the woman she found the young man selling tomatoes.

“Where’s the woman who sold skin care products here a few weeks ago?” she asked almost shouting at the young man.

 “What woman? I’ve been here every week for the last year. I haven’t missed a single week.”

“But a woman was here. I met her and bought some of her skin care products,” Hillary protested, her voice beginning to quiver.

“It wasn’t my booth,” the young man replied.

“But this can’t be,” Hillary shouted. “I bought the items from her, she was here!”

“I’m sorry,” the young man tried to say consolingly, “but it must have been another booth.”

Tears flowed out of Hillary’s eyes; she began crying uncontrollably. Her shoulders shook and her whole body shook with jerking movements. Alarmed, the young man stepped out and took her by the arm, led her to a chair and sat her down.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“No, no I’m not alright. I have to find that woman.”

“Why?”

“She sold me some products that at first worked and then did a great deal of damage to my face. I have to find her!”

“Stay right here. Let me get some help.”

The young man jogged over the management office, got the manager to return to the booth with him and asked Hillary to explain to both of them what happened. Hillary gave them an abbreviated version of the story. The manager asked for a very specific description of the woman. Hillary told him what she wore, the color and style of her hair, her skin, her approximate height and weight, everything she could remember.

“I don’t know what to tell you,” the manger offered. “Absolutely none of my vendors fit that description. Not even close.”

Hillary burst out in tears again. “This isn’t possible!”

The tomato vendor and the manager looked at each other, perplexed and unprepared how to handle this hysterical old woman. Her tears and hysteria seemed way of out reason for not being able to find the vendor who sold her the items.

“I’ll tell you what,” the manager offered. “Why don’t you give me your name and phone number and if anyone comes into the office asking to sell who fits the description I’ll have her get in touch with you, okay?”

Hillary cried even harder but managed to write down her name, address and phone number on a piece of paper the manager gave her. She handed it over to him and slowly made her way back to her car.

The following week Hillary visited a dermatologist and told him what had happened.

“That’s impossible,” the dermatologist responded. “No product can do that. I think you have to simply learn to live with your aging skin. A woman your age can’t expect to look 20. After all you are not a young woman anymore. Let’s see,” he mused as he opened her chart. “What are you? 75? 80?”

Hillary let out a mournful whimper. The doctor looked her birth year in the chart. “Wait a minute. You say you’re 56?” Hillary nodded. “Well if that’s true then you’ve done something terrible to cause the worst case of skin damage I’ve ever seen or you’re not being truthful with me. Which is it?” the doctor asked.

“I am 56,” Hillary squealed, handing him her driver’s license. The doctor looked at it and all but dropped his jaw.

 “Can’t you help me? Don’t you have any medicines to reverse the damage? What about a face lift?

“I’m sorry,” the doctor apologized, still in a slight state of shock. “I don’t have anything that would reverse that kind of damage. You could try some bleaching creams to reduce the darkness of the spots and yes, a face lift will smooth out some of the lines but you aren’t going to look 56. At best we can make you look around 70.”

Hillary wailed and the doctor stood there uncomfortably. Finally he closed the medical chart and walked out of the room. He wrote out a prescription and handed it to the nurse outside the door.

“Please give this to the patient in this room. It’s for bleaching cream. I’m not sure it will help much but it might make her feel a little better. She did a real number on herself and is trying to blame it on some product she bought at a Farmers Market,” he told the nurse, who smirked in response.

The following week Hillary’s supervisor phoned her at home and asked why she was calling in sick. Hillary attempted to explain to unsympathetic ears. Her supervisor stated matter-of-factly that she was to return to work the following day or she would be immediately terminated. Begrudgingly, Hillary agreed to come back.

Hillary looked in the mirror the next morning, and applied as much makeup as she could to try to mask the dark liver spots. She had been applying the bleaching cream but it hadn’t done much good yet. She put on her biggest pair of sunglasses and headed out the door. Her car would not start. Rather than wait for a jump start from her local auto association, she headed for a nearby bus stop. When the bus arrived she sat in the back hoping no one would notice her. She settled into her seat and sensed someone staring at her. Hillary looked up to see the woman who sold her the skin care products at the Farmers Market. 

“It’s you!” Hillary nearly screamed.

“Yes dear, it’s me,” the woman answered gently.

“You’ve ruined me. I tried to find you and you weren’t at the market anymore.”

“How did I ruin you?”

“You gave me youth and then not only took it away but made me uglier than ever,” Hillary spat out, her voice quivering.

“Ugly? No, not ugly. You merely look older as most women do when they age. Many women are still beautiful as they age.  But you are right, I did give you a youthful appearance. And you made a promise that you broke. I kept up my end of the deal. You did not keep up yours,” the woman stated factually.

Hillary’s mouth dropped open. “What promise?”

“Now really, my dear. You are not stupid nor do you have memory problems, at least not yet. Think about the promise you made to me when I sold you the soap and cream.”

Hillary’s eyes narrowed then popped wide open when she realized what the woman meant. “You don’t mean that silly promise about volunteering?”

The woman smiled softly and looked sympathetically at Hillary. “It was not a silly promise and you know it. You and I had a deal. You did not hold up your end of the bargain and now you are suffering the consequences.”

Panic rose in Hillary’s throat, she went hot then cold and began shaking her head. “No, no. You’re wrong. I didn’t think you were serious.”

“You can go to your grave denying it all you want, but you know just as well as I do that you understood very well at the time what the consequences would be if you broke your promise. Your vanity ruled your decision when it should have been your heart. You chose to skirt your responsibility. Now you are suffering the consequences and you’re acting like you were wronged. But that is not the truth and you do know it even if you won’t admit it.”

Silent tears ran down Hillary’s face. After a few minutes she nodded her head and whispered, “You’re right, I did promise, but I truly didn’t think you were serious.” Hillary wiped at the tears streaming down her face. “I just don’t understand how doing good could have affected my skin.”

The woman shook her head. “Because doing good, helping others, creates an inexplicable joy in the soul. When done sincerely it’s a grand feeling that affects your whole being. Ultimately that joy and the grace you derive from it shines like a beacon through your skin.” 

Hillary still did not understand. It was a concept beyond her grasp; she was sure someone or something was to blame. “Who are you?” Hillary asked. “Is this sorcery or am I stuck in some horrible dream?”

The woman laughed. “It’s not magic, nor a dream, just a physical expression of an arrogant and self-absorbed mind, yours. Had you done what you promised to do the result would have been different. Your skin would have exhibited the great joy that comes from helping others, something you have never known nor obviously want to understand. You were greedy and that greed is now showing on your face for the whole world to see.”

“Isn’t there anything I can do now? What if I start volunteering now? Would my skin return to the way it was?”

“No, it wouldn’t because your willingness is not genuine. You are offering to volunteer only to get your youthful skin back. You lost your opportunity when you scoffed at your promise.  There is a lesson here. Don’t ever make a promise you do not intend to honor.”

The woman rose and got off the bus. Hillary watched her walk down the street and turn into an alley. She lost sight of her and never saw her again.

 

Wishes for the Holidays

Dear Readers,

I expect that this will be my last post of the year so let me take this opportunity now to wish you the happiest of holidays, whatever you celebrate. I hope it is full of joy whether you spend it with family, friends, hiking a mountain, surfing, caroling, traveling to a place you've never been before, eating more than you ever thought possible or you find yourself simply taking a break from the usual everyday rush of life.

Unfortunately, this year we are in the midst of moving homes. Actual moving day is between Christmas and New Year's. Everyday I'm packing like a banshee woman. That is why I have been MIA a lot lately. Yes, I know, lousy time of year to move, but it couldn't be helped. Once we are fully moved and I can find my laptop I plan to get back to my usual weekly schedule of blog posts. And when everything is truly put away and my life begins to resemble something akin to normal, I will definitely get started on writing book #3 in the Bradshaw Family Saga series. I completed the outline months ago, but many life events prevented me from the luxury of sitting down and writing. Ah, the best laid plans -- a nice thought, yet not necessarily practical. That's life, isn't it? We were thrown a few very bitter lemons this year. Rather than have a cry fest over them I decided to make lemonade. Sometimes that's simply the best strategy. I wish you stupendously happy and safe holidays.

Jeffree Wyn

Time to Give Thanks

Dear Readers,

Well, fall just arrived in San Diego last night. It's been in the low to mid 80s the last few days but last night the fog rolled in, blanketed the region like whipped cream out of a can and the temps fell. They now hover in the mid-60s. Okay, no blinding snow or freezing winds but I'll take some lower temps. It's hard to start ramping up for the holidays when shorts and flip-flops are more suitable attire.

Speaking of the holidays I'll bet you're starting to think about your holiday menus or what you might bring if you are a guest. Since we're hosting this year we're thinking about the whole menu. This will be a different year for us. We're moving homes soon and this will be the last in this house. (We start packing right after the last drumstick bone is swept into the trash.)

It will also be a different because earlier this year I found out that I have a gluten allergy. For years I've heard about people having gluten sensitivities but never really knew what it entailed. I do now! I have learned to work around wheat and barley and rye but the holidays makes it particularly challenging. Do you have a favorite delicious gluten-free Holiday Recipe? I’d love to hear about it!

Fortunately I've found lots of great gluten-free recipes and gluten-free products on the market that make eating gluten-free pretty painless. Certainly much less painful than when I was eating gluten. I just need to think ahead for making dressing and pumpkin pie and anything that uses flour. I have lots of alternative ingredients on hand therefore it shouldn't be a problem. I have every intention of eating my fave T-Day foods, only with slightly altered ingredients.

I hope that your Thanksgiving is full of joy and family warmth and lots of willing hands to help you wash the dishes.

Yours in words,

Jeffree Wyn

Witch holiday is your favorite?

Happy Hallowe'en!!!

My very favorite holiday is nearly upon us. Love, love, love this holiday. So witchy. As a child it filled my imagination. I was convinced that magic was upon us and I had only to open my eyes and witness it swirling around me. I was sure that witches inhabited the English-styled house up the street with the sharply pitched roof. But every year when I knocked on the door only a sweet elderly lady answered the door. She didn't seem witchy at all. I decided that she took on the sweet persona so not to scare the children, but I knew that one day she would slip up and I would see her as she truly was. It never happened. 

I was recently in Salem, Mass while on a trip to visit family near Boston. Even though it was a weekday and Hallowe'en was still two weeks away the town was amped up and ready for the festivities. Every shop and business was decorated and ready to take on the big day. Residents were getting into costume mode too. We saw a Wookie making loud noises on a street corner, a warlock (in full regalia) riding a Segway down the street, and a very big skeleton playing a saxophone. And that was a Tuesday in the middle of the day. Wow! I can hardly imagine what Hallowe'en will be like.

A year ago when we were in the same area and we visited the House of Seven Gables. I had toured the house as a child. At the time it seemed so big, so scary. Not so much as an adult, but interesting nevertheless. My husband, who is a little over 6 feet tall, had to duck to pass through some of the doorwells. People were definitely shorter back in the 17th century. Being short myself, the house felt just right. One of these days I'm going to reread the book. I'm also going to reread The Legend of Sleepy Hallow, now that I'm glued to the new show, Sleepy Hallow, on Fox. The TV show doesn't follow the book, but it's addictive nevertheless.

Hope you have a fun and safe Hallowe'en and if you are out driving that night, watch out for those little trick or treaters. Best Witches to you all!

Jeffree Wyn

 

 

Traveling Adventures

Dear Readers,

Unlike many Americans who travel in the summer, I tend to travel in the fall and this autumn is no different. Next week I am heading out to New Orleans for some meetings and then onto Boston to visit family. While vastly different cities, I relish visiting both of these cities for their incomparable history. I adore visiting a place where simply walking down a street fills me with a sense of those who went before me.

The last time I visited "N'awlins" I took a ghost tour with some friends. I've taken ghost tours in many cities (Key West was my favorite) but I have to give it to New Orleans for being the one that filled me most with dread. In Key West I actually encountered a ghost, which was quite freaky, but in New Orleans what I found most bothersome was the sense of evil that pervaded the places we visited. It started in the voodoo shop where we assembled. My friends and I exited the shop quickly. We all got the heebie-jeebies before the tour even started! As we went from place to place I felt a constant chill racing up my spine. Boy, that town has seen some horrific events that have left their mark for generations to come. But perhaps that is also why it is the town it is today; it came out of that history and survived, just like when Katrina struck. I can't wait to go back.

Each time my husband and I visit Boston we try to do something a little different. Last trip out there, also in the month of October, we visited Salem and the House of Seven Gables. I toured the house as a child but as an adult the history was so much richer and more meaningful even though we didn't see a witch anywhere.

On one of my trips to Boston a few years ago we visited a couple of historic cemeteries. I was stunned to come across the headstone for Mother Goose. I still have my childhood book of Mother Goose rhymes and stories and have fond memories of being read the stories and later reading them on my own. Like most people I imagined her as a sweet, elderly woman who embodied the essence of the kindly grandmother. You can imagine my shock when I discovered that Mother Goose died at the young age of 43. I read and re-read the headstone. 43. I suppose for those times that it wasn't unusual for a woman to pass away at that age. Today we would consider that a very young age to die. But life was much harder back then, in the beginning of our country, so dying at 43 was not uncommon. Still, it shocked me. How many more Mother Goose stories would we have today if she had lived 10 more years or 20? Indeed she died too young.

I am not sure what new sights I will see on my upcoming visits to Boston and New Orleans. I'm not a huge planner; I tend to like to wait and see what I find. If time allows I do hope to take a paddle boat river jazz cruise and imagine that I'm floating down the mighty Mississippi, sipping on a southern drink and sharing a spirited conversation with Samuel Clemens (Mark Twain). Hopefully they will be serving mint juleps on board and who knows, maybe I will see the ghost of Mark Twain and have the opportunity to chat up one of my favorite authors. I'll let you know if I do.

Till next time,

Jeffree

Magic in the Autumn Air

Dear Readers,

Although the official start of autumn is still a few days off, and it’s still quite warm here in San Diego, I’ve begun my annual transition to fall. I’m starting to wear more autumnal colors, contemplating and gathering ingredients for soup recipes (I love to make soup), sensing telltale seasonal changes in the air, checking out Halloween decorations and pumpkins in the stores, and in general prepping myself for what is to come. I love fall, it has always been my favorite season and not because my birthday lands in the middle of it. There’s something mystical about this time of year. Just as spring resonates of new life, fall echoes with memories. One has only to listen to the sound of rustling leaves and the whistling wind to recognize what can be.

As a child I lived for Halloween. I was transfixed by witches and magic and ghosts. When I became an adult I read a bit about the Wicca religion and witchcraft as it is practiced today. I found it fascinating but knew it was not for me. Plus, I didn’t know any Jewish American Witches who could serve as role models for me. That said, I have never lost my fascination with magic and the possibilities it offers. Which brings me to the topic of this post.

I finally started penning the outline to book #3 in the Bradshaw family saga. And just so the connection with magic does not get lost here, I will be continuing the thread of magic and all things mystical in the new book, that I began in Destiny and carried through in Whisperwind. In fact, I am pretty sure that the Whisperwind will make a guest appearance in the new book. Like I said, I’m just at the point of writing the first draft of an outline so anything could happen. Oh heck, anything could happen while I’m writing the actual novel. As I get into the meat of writing these books the characters continually give me new ideas and directions to take the story. If I’m not careful I can easily go too far off course and get lost in a tangential storyline. I pretty much constantly edit and rewrite. There is no final until I’ve finalized the final final version.  

For those of you out there who have only recently finished reading Whisperwind and begun asking when the next novel is coming, all I can say is that I’ve started the process. Hopefully I will have the next chapter in the Bradshaw family saga ready for you to read sometime next year. Promise.

Yours,

Jeffree Wyn