Clarissa Johal's Blog, page 56
March 6, 2014
Frightening Friday-Butterflies
There are very few things in this world that scare me. In fact, I can only name two; werewolves...and butterflies. No laughing.I write about ghosts and demons and things that lurk in the corners, but have no qualms about wandering around in a graveyard at night. I've worked with lions, tigers, and primates, all of which would easily rip your arm off. I never thought twice about it. But butterflies? They freak me out.
Butterflies are the spazzes of the insect world. You never know which way they're going to fly. They lie in waiting, looking perfectly beautiful and innocent. That's their grand master plan. They rope you in with their beauty and "innocence" only to burst forth like aliens the moment they're disturbed. And God only knows what they have in mind. They could just flapper on by and do nothing...or they could eat your face.
My daughters adore these creatures. When they were young, they would beg me to take them to a Butterfly House of Doom, on the oft chance that one of these pesky little creepers would land on their finger. But alas, it was never meant to be. Inevitably, every single freaking butterfly would make a direct beeline for my head. It got to a point where I'd break into a sweat as soon as we stepped through the door. And butterflies can sense fear, you know.
Once I hit my 40's, I decided to try and figure out a way to get over my fear of butterflies. I belonged to a photography site where I would see hundreds of photos of these monstrous creatures. Close-ups, macros; more of the anatomy of a butterfly than you'd ever want to see. A part of me was horrified, but the other part of me was a bit jealous. I decided to make it my mission to capture the image of a butterfly, myself. The camera was my shield.
What I've posted above was my first picture, and I'm quite proud of it.
Here are several more. Needless to say, nobody knew I broke into a sweat and felt the sting of panicked tears as I snapped these photos.Or heard threats the butterflies whispered to me as I slowly backed away.
Thoughtful Thursday-Coming Back from the Dead
I read a news story recently about a man whose pacemaker gave out and was pronounced dead. While in the morgue and due to be embalmed, his pacemaker started up again. The poor man woke up in a body bag. My thoughts go out to this man and his family--something like that would be a gift, but there had to be lingering trauma.What would it be like to wake in a morgue and know you had been pronounced dead? This isn't the first time something like this has happened. In 2013, an Ohio man's heart started beating after having stopped for 45 minutes. Also in 2013, a baby born in Toronto was declared dead. Two hours after the call, the officers waiting for a coroner noticed that the baby moved. The baby, it turned out, was alive.
Many years ago (and on a personal level) my mother had a heart attack and was pronounced dead. The doctors were dumbfounded when her heart started beating again, some minutes later. My mother woke to say she'd experienced a white light, a feeling of peace, and was surrounded by loved ones that had passed. This was surprising to me, because my mother isn't religious in any way.
I find it interesting that near-death experiences are similar, regardless of religion or culture. The pattern seems to be as follows:
An out of body experience
A feeling of peace
Traveling down a tunnel and seeing a light
An intense feeling of unconditional love
An encounter with deceased loved one/s
Receiving knowledge of one's life
Having to make a decision about whether to "cross over" or not
Likewise, there is a pattern to a negative near-death experience:
Barriers that separate certain zones from others
An experience of a void or nothingness
Dark or menacing entities who maliciously taunt the subject
Explicit, violent images. A sense of falling.
*Those who have experienced a negative near-death experience, may still go on to have a positive one.
Whether or not these experiences are hallucinatory and caused by a neurological process is debatable. Cross-cultural similarity can be used to support both religious and physiological theories, for both rely on demonstrating that the phenomenon is universal.
Is this random chance? Do these people have unfinished business? We'll never know, but it gives one pause for thought.
Further reading for those interested in this subject:
Near Death Experiences and the Afterlife
Near-Death Experience Research Foundation
March 5, 2014
Foodie Wednesday-Scottish Oatcakes
Crunchy and biscuit-like, the oatcake is a favored Celtic bread that has many variations. Early Scots survived on a frugal diet that included oatcakes. Oats were mixed with water, sometimes seawater, and baked on hot stones. This is my own modified recipe. These oatcakes are good for dipping in coffee (or tea if you must) and quite addictive, so mind yourself!Mix dry ingredients:
1-1/2 cups oats
1-1/2 cups wheat flour
1/2 cup brown sugar
1/2 tsp. baking powder
1/2 tsp. salt
Cut 3/4 cup butter into dry ingredients until crumbly
Add 1/3 cup water and mix into a dough
Roll out about 1/4" thick. Cut into shapes
Bake on cookie sheet at 350 degrees for about 25 minutes. They can be frozen or stored in an airtight container.
*Beginning next week! I'll be changing my recipe day to #MeatlessMonday and #Paranormal Wednesdays will be reserved for All Things Paranormal. Hope you'll drop by!
March 3, 2014
Mixed-Up Tuesday-Guest Author
Please welcome my guest author, SS Hampton, Sr.
Stan writes horror, science fiction, fantasy, erotica, military fiction, and has even been known to dabble a bit in the Old West and the Classical Romans. Take it away, Stan!
Hello!
Well, let’s chat about scary things—I know it’s not Halloween with cackling witches on broomsticks passing in front of the full moon, or glowing eyed black cats peering at you from the shadows by your front door, as if daring you try seeking safety within your house. Then again, scary things aren’t always confined to a chilly Halloween night. It can be bright daylight when you have a sudden feeling, perhaps a tiny tremor of unease rippling through you, that you are not alone. A quick look over the shoulder will show that you are alone—but then again, are you?
Sometimes you can’t see something unknown slowly drawing closer and closer to you. And something unknown can make for some of the greatest scary stories.
Among the several genres I enjoy writing in is horror. Horror, scary things, are fun. As long as it isn’t real and you aren’t in the middle of something scary. Anyway, as a writer of horror, I hope someday to write something that someone might describe as being scary enough to “scare an owl off a tombstone” (A Memoir of Ambrose Bierce by George Sterling (Project Gutenberg)). I’m almost 60, so there’s still time to reach such a pinnacle, even if only briefly.
That being said, what things scare you, or at least make you uneasy? An inky black night with such deep shadows you’d never know when something is keeping pace with you? A large hairy spider stealthily creeping closer, ready to sink fangs in your flesh to inject venom to reduce your insides to liquid to be sucked out? Snakes that even if they aren’t large enough to swallow you, can still put a deathly squeeze on you? Or maybe a sinkhole opening beneath your feet, and in the gloom of your sudden underground chamber you hear something moving in the shadows? And what about clowns. I know some people truly are afraid of clowns. I guess when you think about it, Stephen King hit the nail on the head with Pennywise the demonic clown from his book and movie, “It.”
As for me—well, sometimes my surroundings give me ideas, scary ideas, to write about. For example, my 2006-2007 deployment to northern Kuwait. We were at a convoy support center a mile south of the Iraqi border. Northern Kuwait and southern Iraq—flat and sandy. Sure, there’s high ground, but not that high. Just an endless, hot, flat, sandy sea. A sandy sea that hasn’t changed in thousands of years. Traveling across that sea at night you sometimes see the pale, distant glow of a village beneath a magic carpet of stars thousands of years old.
The imagination begins churning. What if that glow isn’t from a distant Iraqi village, but beneath silent stars twisting themselves into strange and horrible constellations, the glow is from the torches of a ghostly Sumerian city and temple ziggurats come to life again? What of the demons from that near prehistoric time—did they fade away as mankind grew older and science answered everything, or perhaps they slumber beneath the sandy sea, just waiting for horrible constellations to take shape and reawaken them? And what of the anonymous generations who were born, lived, and died in that land? Did they really crumble into dust and return to the Earth? In the night when a hot wind sweeps across the timeless land, perhaps you might hear a whisper of ghostly voices—or perhaps it’s only your imagination. The same imagination that thinks there’s a rippling shadow in the sand, as if something unknown is moving beneath it…
THE LAPIS LAZULI THRONE
by SS Hampton, Sr.Edited by Stephen Morgan
Musa Publishing, April 2012
ISBN: 978-1-61937-263-4
BLURB: During the Iraq War supply convoys rumbled out of Kuwait every day, bound for Baghdad. These convoys traveled on MSR Tampa, one of the most dangerous roads in the world, battling insurgent ambushes and IEDs. It is on one such convoy that an IED took out a gun truck and wounded Specialist Ken Adams. His gun truck commander took the fight to nearby insurgents, but in the aftermath he committed a disrespectful act. In the following weeks the entire gun truck crew was stalked by something unknown, and they disappeared one by one, until only Ken Adams was left, cornered in Las Vegas…
EXCERPT:
The desert was alive. Damp foul smelling sand exploded in a white flash. Smoky red and yellow tentacles snaked out of the sand. He tried to scream, but the tentacles choked him. Other screams tore through the boiling smoke that stung his eyes and fouled his mouth. He was suffocating. He swung his arms wildly through the heavy hot air as the ground gave way beneath him. He was being pulled into the living desert...# Specialist Ken Adams, the Gunner of his gun truck, picked at his meal of cheeseburgers, French fries, and salad. The mess hall, no wider than a pair of double wide trailers and twice as long, was almost empty. Other than an evening kitchen crew, the only occupants of the mess hall were gun truck soldiers preparing to go out on another convoy security escort mission. They were escorting another supply convoy of forty-five white trucks, the civilian manned eighteen-wheel tractor trailers that had arrived that afternoon at Convoy Support Center Navistar. The small, cluttered, dusty camp a mile south of the Iraqi border, a jumping off point for the 2003 invasion of Iraq, was now manned by mobilized Army National Guard soldiers. After sunset, four HMMWV gun trucks would escort the supply convoy to Cedar, the first CSC on Main Supply Route Tampa. There, they would then turn the convoy over to other escorts, who would take the convoy further north. The gun truck crews would have time for a quick breakfast before they picked up an empty convoy returning to Kuwait. It was just another typical mission for Ken and his buddies. He grabbed a pair of bananas on the way out the door. They met their convoy of white trucks at the Convoy Movement Center, the dusty marshaling lot on the other side of a narrow dusty track across from Navistar. The soldiers checked the drivers’ paperwork and made a quick mechanical inspection of the trucks. It was a tedious but necessary process. Ken alleviated the boredom by raiding the packed bag of bubble gum Lenny had packed for the mission. Lenny loved bubble gum, and whenever care packages were put on the mail table for everyone to help themselves, he was one of the first to paw through them, searching for bubble gum…
Musa Publishing
BIOGRAPHY
SS Hampton, Sr. is a full-blood Choctaw of the Choctaw Nation of Oklahoma, a divorced grandfather to 13 wonderful grandchildren, a published photographer and photojournalist, and a member of the Military Writers Society of America. He retired on 1 July 2013 from the Army National Guard with the rank of Sergeant First Class; he previously served in the active duty Army (1974-1985), the Army Individual Ready Reserve (1985-1995) (mobilized for the Persian Gulf War), and enlisted in the Army National Guard in October 2004, after which he was mobilized for Federal active duty for almost three years. Hampton is a veteran of Operations Noble Eagle (2004-2006) and Iraqi Freedom (2006-2007). His writings have appeared as stand-alone stories and in anthologies from Dark Opus Press, Edge Science Fiction & Fantasy, Melange Books, Musa Publishing, MuseItUp Publishing, Ravenous Romance, and as stand-alone stories in Horror Bound Magazine, The Harrow, and River Walk Journal, among others. Second-career goals include becoming a painter and studying for a degree in photography and anthropology—hopefully to someday work in and photograph underwater archaeology. After 12 years of brown desert in the Southwest and overseas, he misses the Rocky Mountains, yellow aspens in the fall, running rivers, and a warm fireplace during snowy winters. As of December 2011 in Las Vegas, Nevada, Hampton officially became a homeless Iraq War veteran.
Find SS Hampton, Sr at:
Melange Books
Musa Publishing
MuseItUp Publishing
Amazon Author Page
Amazon UK Author Page
Goodreads Author Page
Stan writes horror, science fiction, fantasy, erotica, military fiction, and has even been known to dabble a bit in the Old West and the Classical Romans. Take it away, Stan!
Hello!
Well, let’s chat about scary things—I know it’s not Halloween with cackling witches on broomsticks passing in front of the full moon, or glowing eyed black cats peering at you from the shadows by your front door, as if daring you try seeking safety within your house. Then again, scary things aren’t always confined to a chilly Halloween night. It can be bright daylight when you have a sudden feeling, perhaps a tiny tremor of unease rippling through you, that you are not alone. A quick look over the shoulder will show that you are alone—but then again, are you?
Sometimes you can’t see something unknown slowly drawing closer and closer to you. And something unknown can make for some of the greatest scary stories.
Among the several genres I enjoy writing in is horror. Horror, scary things, are fun. As long as it isn’t real and you aren’t in the middle of something scary. Anyway, as a writer of horror, I hope someday to write something that someone might describe as being scary enough to “scare an owl off a tombstone” (A Memoir of Ambrose Bierce by George Sterling (Project Gutenberg)). I’m almost 60, so there’s still time to reach such a pinnacle, even if only briefly.
That being said, what things scare you, or at least make you uneasy? An inky black night with such deep shadows you’d never know when something is keeping pace with you? A large hairy spider stealthily creeping closer, ready to sink fangs in your flesh to inject venom to reduce your insides to liquid to be sucked out? Snakes that even if they aren’t large enough to swallow you, can still put a deathly squeeze on you? Or maybe a sinkhole opening beneath your feet, and in the gloom of your sudden underground chamber you hear something moving in the shadows? And what about clowns. I know some people truly are afraid of clowns. I guess when you think about it, Stephen King hit the nail on the head with Pennywise the demonic clown from his book and movie, “It.”
As for me—well, sometimes my surroundings give me ideas, scary ideas, to write about. For example, my 2006-2007 deployment to northern Kuwait. We were at a convoy support center a mile south of the Iraqi border. Northern Kuwait and southern Iraq—flat and sandy. Sure, there’s high ground, but not that high. Just an endless, hot, flat, sandy sea. A sandy sea that hasn’t changed in thousands of years. Traveling across that sea at night you sometimes see the pale, distant glow of a village beneath a magic carpet of stars thousands of years old.
The imagination begins churning. What if that glow isn’t from a distant Iraqi village, but beneath silent stars twisting themselves into strange and horrible constellations, the glow is from the torches of a ghostly Sumerian city and temple ziggurats come to life again? What of the demons from that near prehistoric time—did they fade away as mankind grew older and science answered everything, or perhaps they slumber beneath the sandy sea, just waiting for horrible constellations to take shape and reawaken them? And what of the anonymous generations who were born, lived, and died in that land? Did they really crumble into dust and return to the Earth? In the night when a hot wind sweeps across the timeless land, perhaps you might hear a whisper of ghostly voices—or perhaps it’s only your imagination. The same imagination that thinks there’s a rippling shadow in the sand, as if something unknown is moving beneath it…
THE LAPIS LAZULI THRONEby SS Hampton, Sr.Edited by Stephen Morgan
Musa Publishing, April 2012
ISBN: 978-1-61937-263-4
BLURB: During the Iraq War supply convoys rumbled out of Kuwait every day, bound for Baghdad. These convoys traveled on MSR Tampa, one of the most dangerous roads in the world, battling insurgent ambushes and IEDs. It is on one such convoy that an IED took out a gun truck and wounded Specialist Ken Adams. His gun truck commander took the fight to nearby insurgents, but in the aftermath he committed a disrespectful act. In the following weeks the entire gun truck crew was stalked by something unknown, and they disappeared one by one, until only Ken Adams was left, cornered in Las Vegas…
EXCERPT:
The desert was alive. Damp foul smelling sand exploded in a white flash. Smoky red and yellow tentacles snaked out of the sand. He tried to scream, but the tentacles choked him. Other screams tore through the boiling smoke that stung his eyes and fouled his mouth. He was suffocating. He swung his arms wildly through the heavy hot air as the ground gave way beneath him. He was being pulled into the living desert...# Specialist Ken Adams, the Gunner of his gun truck, picked at his meal of cheeseburgers, French fries, and salad. The mess hall, no wider than a pair of double wide trailers and twice as long, was almost empty. Other than an evening kitchen crew, the only occupants of the mess hall were gun truck soldiers preparing to go out on another convoy security escort mission. They were escorting another supply convoy of forty-five white trucks, the civilian manned eighteen-wheel tractor trailers that had arrived that afternoon at Convoy Support Center Navistar. The small, cluttered, dusty camp a mile south of the Iraqi border, a jumping off point for the 2003 invasion of Iraq, was now manned by mobilized Army National Guard soldiers. After sunset, four HMMWV gun trucks would escort the supply convoy to Cedar, the first CSC on Main Supply Route Tampa. There, they would then turn the convoy over to other escorts, who would take the convoy further north. The gun truck crews would have time for a quick breakfast before they picked up an empty convoy returning to Kuwait. It was just another typical mission for Ken and his buddies. He grabbed a pair of bananas on the way out the door. They met their convoy of white trucks at the Convoy Movement Center, the dusty marshaling lot on the other side of a narrow dusty track across from Navistar. The soldiers checked the drivers’ paperwork and made a quick mechanical inspection of the trucks. It was a tedious but necessary process. Ken alleviated the boredom by raiding the packed bag of bubble gum Lenny had packed for the mission. Lenny loved bubble gum, and whenever care packages were put on the mail table for everyone to help themselves, he was one of the first to paw through them, searching for bubble gum…
Musa Publishing
BIOGRAPHY
SS Hampton, Sr. is a full-blood Choctaw of the Choctaw Nation of Oklahoma, a divorced grandfather to 13 wonderful grandchildren, a published photographer and photojournalist, and a member of the Military Writers Society of America. He retired on 1 July 2013 from the Army National Guard with the rank of Sergeant First Class; he previously served in the active duty Army (1974-1985), the Army Individual Ready Reserve (1985-1995) (mobilized for the Persian Gulf War), and enlisted in the Army National Guard in October 2004, after which he was mobilized for Federal active duty for almost three years. Hampton is a veteran of Operations Noble Eagle (2004-2006) and Iraqi Freedom (2006-2007). His writings have appeared as stand-alone stories and in anthologies from Dark Opus Press, Edge Science Fiction & Fantasy, Melange Books, Musa Publishing, MuseItUp Publishing, Ravenous Romance, and as stand-alone stories in Horror Bound Magazine, The Harrow, and River Walk Journal, among others. Second-career goals include becoming a painter and studying for a degree in photography and anthropology—hopefully to someday work in and photograph underwater archaeology. After 12 years of brown desert in the Southwest and overseas, he misses the Rocky Mountains, yellow aspens in the fall, running rivers, and a warm fireplace during snowy winters. As of December 2011 in Las Vegas, Nevada, Hampton officially became a homeless Iraq War veteran.
Find SS Hampton, Sr at:Melange Books
Musa Publishing
MuseItUp Publishing
Amazon Author Page
Amazon UK Author Page
Goodreads Author Page
#Paranormal Monday-BETWEEN Extras: Part One
In the process of writing, I sometimes will write back-story for my characters. In my novel, BETWEEN, there were lots of these back-stories. Prior to Lucinda's life, Cronan and Lucas had been bound together as a Death Spirit and Guardian over the span of 700 years. In order to understand their history completely, I wrote several flashback scenes that weren't included in the novel. I will post two more in the coming Wednesdays. Enjoy!
The setup:
Lucas and Cronan have been bound together since their deaths in 1349. Now, a Guardian and a Death Spirit, they are both responsible for a human life; Lucas must protect the life until it is Cronan's job to take it. It is a cycle that will last through seven lifetimes until their souls are set free. It seems like a simple enough task. However, Lucas repeatedly becomes attached to the lives he is responsible, much to Cronan's chagrin. And every time Lucas steps in to keep Cronan from taking a life, a cycle of seven lifetimes must be repeated.
Flashback #1
1917
Ypres, Belgium
Cronan watched the scene unfold in front of him. His scene. The moment where he would move beyond observer, to participant.
“Not this one too,” the nurse murmured. She straightened the medal the soldier had received that morning.
A perfunctory medal before dying, Cronan reflected bitterly. The fetid smell of gangrene permeated the tent and his gaze slid down to the pus-filled, blackened appendage.
The nurse pressed her nose briefly against the sleeve of her uniform. She dipped a rag into a rusty basin of water and squeezed it out. Attempting to wipe the mud off the young man’s face, her fingers lingered on his cheek. “The doctor will be here soon, I promise. Hold fast, soldier.” She picked a chat from the soldier’s fair eyebrow and absently crushed the offending louse between her fingernails.
Feeling a sudden unease, Cronan left the tent.
****
The distant sound of machine-gun fire filled the air. It was coupled with the wet patter of skittering rats as they swarmed like vultures.
Cronan watched as the doctor made his way along the edge of the trenches. The man slipped in the mud and righted himself. Switching his bag to his other hand, he continued towards the tent. Lucas trailed the doctor like a shadow.
Lucas! A cold fury enveloped Cronan’s senses.
There was a high-pitched whistle. Unseen, Lucas grabbed the doctor’s arm and pulled him down. An explosion lit up the night and blanked out all sound at the same time shrapnel flew over their heads at lightning speed.
The doctor scrambled to his feet and looked around, seemingly unsure how he had fallen. He picked up his bag and continued towards the make-shift hospital tent.
Cronan grimaced as Lucas made himself scarce, his damage done. When we do cross paths again, you will have to answer for that. He followed the doctor into the tent.
“Barely dodged that one.” The doctor held his palm to his ear and winced. “My ears are ringing. Let’s get this done, nurse. Where is Rogers?” He pulled a bone saw from his bag.
“I don’t know, sir." She clenched the rag she had been holding. "He left with Peterson to take that last soldier to the trench wall. He hasn't been back.”
“No time to wait, the artillery is getting closer. Hold him down as best you can while I saw the foot off. With any luck, he'll pass out." The doctor handed her a strip of leather. "I’m out of chloroform,” he added grimly. “But hopefully, we can save him. I've seen too many soldiers die today.”
The soldier’s moans turned into screams, followed by silence.
Cronan stood in the shadows of the tent. He cursed his counterpart for altering the physician’s path to avoid the shrapnel that would have ended his life.
And more importantly, the life of the soldier.
End
BETWEEN
How far would you go to redeem yourself?
As a young girl, Lucinda was able to see spirits, a gift that didn't come without its problems. Now, a dedicated young veterinarian, she is committed to the idea that every life can be saved.
After a devastating accident, Lucinda tries to escape her past by moving to a small town. There, she meets a newcomer and feels an immediate connection with him. But there is another mysterious stranger to the small town, one that stirs within her a mixture of unease and desire.
As Lucinda is drawn into a bitter tug-a-war from the forces around her, she is likewise pulled into a dangerous twist of past and present events. Forced to make difficult choices, she finds that the two men are locked in not only a battle for her life...but a battle for their salvation.
*Second place in the Preditors and Editors Readers Poll 2012
Purchase Links
Amazon.comBarnesandnoble.comMusa Publishing
EXCERPT
The setup:
Lucas and Cronan have been bound together since their deaths in 1349. Now, a Guardian and a Death Spirit, they are both responsible for a human life; Lucas must protect the life until it is Cronan's job to take it. It is a cycle that will last through seven lifetimes until their souls are set free. It seems like a simple enough task. However, Lucas repeatedly becomes attached to the lives he is responsible, much to Cronan's chagrin. And every time Lucas steps in to keep Cronan from taking a life, a cycle of seven lifetimes must be repeated.
Flashback #1
1917
Ypres, Belgium
Cronan watched the scene unfold in front of him. His scene. The moment where he would move beyond observer, to participant.
“Not this one too,” the nurse murmured. She straightened the medal the soldier had received that morning.
A perfunctory medal before dying, Cronan reflected bitterly. The fetid smell of gangrene permeated the tent and his gaze slid down to the pus-filled, blackened appendage.
The nurse pressed her nose briefly against the sleeve of her uniform. She dipped a rag into a rusty basin of water and squeezed it out. Attempting to wipe the mud off the young man’s face, her fingers lingered on his cheek. “The doctor will be here soon, I promise. Hold fast, soldier.” She picked a chat from the soldier’s fair eyebrow and absently crushed the offending louse between her fingernails.
Feeling a sudden unease, Cronan left the tent.
****
The distant sound of machine-gun fire filled the air. It was coupled with the wet patter of skittering rats as they swarmed like vultures.
Cronan watched as the doctor made his way along the edge of the trenches. The man slipped in the mud and righted himself. Switching his bag to his other hand, he continued towards the tent. Lucas trailed the doctor like a shadow.
Lucas! A cold fury enveloped Cronan’s senses.
There was a high-pitched whistle. Unseen, Lucas grabbed the doctor’s arm and pulled him down. An explosion lit up the night and blanked out all sound at the same time shrapnel flew over their heads at lightning speed.
The doctor scrambled to his feet and looked around, seemingly unsure how he had fallen. He picked up his bag and continued towards the make-shift hospital tent.
Cronan grimaced as Lucas made himself scarce, his damage done. When we do cross paths again, you will have to answer for that. He followed the doctor into the tent.
“Barely dodged that one.” The doctor held his palm to his ear and winced. “My ears are ringing. Let’s get this done, nurse. Where is Rogers?” He pulled a bone saw from his bag.
“I don’t know, sir." She clenched the rag she had been holding. "He left with Peterson to take that last soldier to the trench wall. He hasn't been back.”
“No time to wait, the artillery is getting closer. Hold him down as best you can while I saw the foot off. With any luck, he'll pass out." The doctor handed her a strip of leather. "I’m out of chloroform,” he added grimly. “But hopefully, we can save him. I've seen too many soldiers die today.”
The soldier’s moans turned into screams, followed by silence.
Cronan stood in the shadows of the tent. He cursed his counterpart for altering the physician’s path to avoid the shrapnel that would have ended his life.
And more importantly, the life of the soldier.
End
BETWEENHow far would you go to redeem yourself?
As a young girl, Lucinda was able to see spirits, a gift that didn't come without its problems. Now, a dedicated young veterinarian, she is committed to the idea that every life can be saved.
After a devastating accident, Lucinda tries to escape her past by moving to a small town. There, she meets a newcomer and feels an immediate connection with him. But there is another mysterious stranger to the small town, one that stirs within her a mixture of unease and desire.
As Lucinda is drawn into a bitter tug-a-war from the forces around her, she is likewise pulled into a dangerous twist of past and present events. Forced to make difficult choices, she finds that the two men are locked in not only a battle for her life...but a battle for their salvation.
*Second place in the Preditors and Editors Readers Poll 2012
Purchase Links
Amazon.comBarnesandnoble.comMusa Publishing
EXCERPT
Paranormal Monday-BETWEEN Extras: Part One
In the process of writing, I sometimes will write back-story for my characters. In my novel, BETWEEN, there were lots of these back-stories. Prior to Lucinda's life, Cronan and Lucas had been bound together as a Death Spirit and Guardian over the span of 700 years. In order to understand their history completely, I wrote several flashback scenes that weren't included in the novel. I will post two more in the coming Mondays. Enjoy!
The setup:
Lucas and Cronan have been bound together since their deaths in 1349. Now, a Guardian and a Death Spirit, they are both responsible for a human life; Lucas must protect the life until it is Cronan's job to take it. It is a cycle that will last through seven lifetimes until their souls are set free. It seems like a simple enough task. However, Lucas repeatedly becomes attached to the lives he is responsible, much to Cronan's chagrin. And every time Lucas steps in to keep Cronan from taking a life, a cycle of seven lifetimes must be repeated.
Flashback #1
1917
Ypres, Belgium
Cronan watched the scene unfold in front of him. His scene. The moment where he would move beyond observer, to participant.
“Not this one too,” the nurse murmured. She straightened the medal the soldier had received that morning.
A perfunctory medal before dying, Cronan reflected bitterly. The fetid smell of gangrene permeated the tent and his gaze slid down to the pus-filled, blackened appendage.
The nurse pressed her nose briefly against the sleeve of her uniform. She dipped a rag into a rusty basin of water and squeezed it out. Attempting to wipe the mud off the young man’s face, her fingers lingered on his cheek. “The doctor will be here soon, I promise. Hold fast, soldier.” She picked a chat from the soldier’s fair eyebrow and absently crushed the offending louse between her fingernails.
Feeling a sudden unease, Cronan left the tent.
****
The distant sound of machine-gun fire filled the air. It was coupled with the wet patter of skittering rats as they swarmed like vultures.
Cronan watched as the doctor made his way along the edge of the trenches. The man slipped in the mud and righted himself. Switching his bag to his other hand, he continued towards the tent. Lucas trailed the doctor like a shadow.
Lucas! A cold fury enveloped Cronan’s senses.
There was a high-pitched whistle. Unseen, Lucas grabbed the doctor’s arm and pulled him down. An explosion lit up the night and blanked out all sound at the same time shrapnel flew over their heads at lightning speed.
The doctor scrambled to his feet and looked around, seemingly unsure how he had fallen. He picked up his bag and continued towards the make-shift hospital tent.
Cronan grimaced as Lucas made himself scarce, his damage done. When we do cross paths again, you will have to answer for that. He followed the doctor into the tent.
“Barely dodged that one.” The doctor held his palm to his ear and winced. “My ears are ringing. Let’s get this done, nurse. Where is Rogers?” He pulled a bone saw from his bag.
“I don’t know, sir." She clenched the rag she had been holding. "He left with Peterson to take that last soldier to the trench wall. He hasn't been back.”
“No time to wait, the artillery is getting closer. Hold him down as best you can while I saw the foot off. With any luck, he'll pass out." The doctor handed her a strip of leather. "I’m out of chloroform,” he added grimly. “But hopefully, we can save him. I've seen too many soldiers die today.”
The soldier’s moans turned into screams, followed by silence.
Cronan stood in the shadows of the tent. He cursed his counterpart for altering the physician’s path to avoid the shrapnel that would have ended his life.
And more importantly, the life of the soldier.
End
BETWEEN
How far would you go to redeem yourself?
As a young girl, Lucinda was able to see spirits, a gift that didn't come without its problems. Now, a dedicated young veterinarian, she is committed to the idea that every life can be saved.
After a devastating accident, Lucinda tries to escape her past by moving to a small town. There, she meets a newcomer and feels an immediate connection with him. But there is another mysterious stranger to the small town, one that stirs within her a mixture of unease and desire.
As Lucinda is drawn into a bitter tug-a-war from the forces around her, she is likewise pulled into a dangerous twist of past and present events. Forced to make difficult choices, she finds that the two men are locked in not only a battle for her life...but a battle for their salvation.
*Second place in the Preditors and Editors Readers Poll 2012
Purchase Links
Amazon.comBarnesandnoble.comMusa Publishing
EXCERPT
The setup:
Lucas and Cronan have been bound together since their deaths in 1349. Now, a Guardian and a Death Spirit, they are both responsible for a human life; Lucas must protect the life until it is Cronan's job to take it. It is a cycle that will last through seven lifetimes until their souls are set free. It seems like a simple enough task. However, Lucas repeatedly becomes attached to the lives he is responsible, much to Cronan's chagrin. And every time Lucas steps in to keep Cronan from taking a life, a cycle of seven lifetimes must be repeated.
Flashback #1
1917
Ypres, Belgium
Cronan watched the scene unfold in front of him. His scene. The moment where he would move beyond observer, to participant.
“Not this one too,” the nurse murmured. She straightened the medal the soldier had received that morning.
A perfunctory medal before dying, Cronan reflected bitterly. The fetid smell of gangrene permeated the tent and his gaze slid down to the pus-filled, blackened appendage.
The nurse pressed her nose briefly against the sleeve of her uniform. She dipped a rag into a rusty basin of water and squeezed it out. Attempting to wipe the mud off the young man’s face, her fingers lingered on his cheek. “The doctor will be here soon, I promise. Hold fast, soldier.” She picked a chat from the soldier’s fair eyebrow and absently crushed the offending louse between her fingernails.
Feeling a sudden unease, Cronan left the tent.
****
The distant sound of machine-gun fire filled the air. It was coupled with the wet patter of skittering rats as they swarmed like vultures.
Cronan watched as the doctor made his way along the edge of the trenches. The man slipped in the mud and righted himself. Switching his bag to his other hand, he continued towards the tent. Lucas trailed the doctor like a shadow.
Lucas! A cold fury enveloped Cronan’s senses.
There was a high-pitched whistle. Unseen, Lucas grabbed the doctor’s arm and pulled him down. An explosion lit up the night and blanked out all sound at the same time shrapnel flew over their heads at lightning speed.
The doctor scrambled to his feet and looked around, seemingly unsure how he had fallen. He picked up his bag and continued towards the make-shift hospital tent.
Cronan grimaced as Lucas made himself scarce, his damage done. When we do cross paths again, you will have to answer for that. He followed the doctor into the tent.
“Barely dodged that one.” The doctor held his palm to his ear and winced. “My ears are ringing. Let’s get this done, nurse. Where is Rogers?” He pulled a bone saw from his bag.
“I don’t know, sir." She clenched the rag she had been holding. "He left with Peterson to take that last soldier to the trench wall. He hasn't been back.”
“No time to wait, the artillery is getting closer. Hold him down as best you can while I saw the foot off. With any luck, he'll pass out." The doctor handed her a strip of leather. "I’m out of chloroform,” he added grimly. “But hopefully, we can save him. I've seen too many soldiers die today.”
The soldier’s moans turned into screams, followed by silence.
Cronan stood in the shadows of the tent. He cursed his counterpart for altering the physician’s path to avoid the shrapnel that would have ended his life.
And more importantly, the life of the soldier.
End
BETWEENHow far would you go to redeem yourself?
As a young girl, Lucinda was able to see spirits, a gift that didn't come without its problems. Now, a dedicated young veterinarian, she is committed to the idea that every life can be saved.
After a devastating accident, Lucinda tries to escape her past by moving to a small town. There, she meets a newcomer and feels an immediate connection with him. But there is another mysterious stranger to the small town, one that stirs within her a mixture of unease and desire.
As Lucinda is drawn into a bitter tug-a-war from the forces around her, she is likewise pulled into a dangerous twist of past and present events. Forced to make difficult choices, she finds that the two men are locked in not only a battle for her life...but a battle for their salvation.
*Second place in the Preditors and Editors Readers Poll 2012
Purchase Links
Amazon.comBarnesandnoble.comMusa Publishing
EXCERPT
February 28, 2014
TRR March Anniversary Party!
It's The Romance Reviews 3rd Anniversary Party! Join the TRR 3rd Year Anniversary Party on March 1-31st. Play games, join the fun and win prizes!
With more than 450 participating authors and publishers, there are more than 450 prizes up for grabs during the whole month of March. The Grand Prize is a $100 Gift Certificate!
You need to register and be logged in at TRR before you can play the game. Registration is free and easy.
My Q&A and book giveaway for STRUCK will appear on March 18th
STRUCKThe shadows hadn't been waiting.The shadows had been invited.
After a painful breakup, Gwynneth Reese moves in with her best friend and takes a job at a retirement home. She grows especially close to one resident, who dies alone the night of a terrific storm. On the way home from paying her last respects, Gwynneth is caught in another storm and is struck by lightning. She wakes in the hospital with a vague memory of being rescued by a mysterious stranger. Following her release from the hospital, the stranger visits her at will and offers Gwynneth a gift--one that will stay the hands of death. Gwynneth is uncertain whether Julian is a savior or something more sinister... for as he shares more and more of this gift, his price becomes more and more deadly.
Buy Links
Amazon
Musa Publishing
Barnes and Noble
February 27, 2014
Frightening Friday-The Bogeyman
Photo courtesy of Driscoll via morgueFileYou know who I'm talking about--that thing that lives in your closet or, as mine did, under your bed. He only comes out at night and sadly, can only be seen by children. Or those of us that haven't grown up yet.It is the Bogeyman. a mythical (huh!) creature used by adults to frighten bad children into good behavior. Except that it never works. Because even after the "good behavior" is attained, he sticks around to feed off your fear.
Bogeymen may target a specific mischief—for instance, punish children who don't eat their vegetables or who don't do their chores. Mine was called upon to punish me for getting out of bed at night. It wasn't my fault. Not only was I an insomniac, but I was a sleepwalker, afraid of the dark, had nightmares....yeah, I had issues. My parents sent in a Bogeyman to sort me out. Except he didn't. He just ended up taking residence under my bed and feeding on the dust bunnies that lived there. Sometimes, he would hide in my closet. I have no idea what he fed on in there, quite possibly my dirty socks, I was always missing one from a pair. Naughty Bogeyman.
In some Latin countries he's referred to as the Sack Man because he carries little children away in a sack. In the Netherlands, he's portrayed as a creature who resembles a man dressed in black, with sharp claws and fangs. He hides under the bed or in the closet, steals children who refuse to sleep, and locks them up in his basement. In Algeria, he's made up of various animal parts and has eyes that are blobs of flaming spit and a coat made of the clothes of the children he eats. In Belgium he's a cannibalistic shape-shifter that's able to change forms between a human, to that of a black dog.
I imagine these Bogeyman having yearly Bogeyman Conventions. Workshops and classes discussing various ways to terrify little children. But I could be wrong.
Off I go to appease mine. Toss a dust bunny or two at him and he stays under the bed where he belongs. These days, my closet is way too full.
February 25, 2014
Foodie Wednesday-Fabulous Cheese Fondue
Photo courtesy of MaxStraeten via morgueFileRemember the '70s? Not that...um, I would, of course. But fondues were pretty popular back then. In my family, it was a nice way to bring everyone together and share something special. This recipe is super-easy because you can make it in a crock-pot--no fondue set needed.1 T butter
1/4 cup chopped onion
2 cloves garlic
1T flour
1/2 cup vegetable stock (you can use white wine, if you prefer)
1/4 cup milk
8-oz shredded cheddar cheese
8-oz shredded Parmesan cheese
2-oz blue cheese, crumbled
Combine all ingredients in crock-pot. Cover and cook on low for 2-2-1/2 hours, stirring once or twice until cheese is melted and smooth.
Serve with vegetables, french bread chunks, or whatever strikes your fancy!
And while you're enjoying dinner, how about a little background music?
Sorry, couldn't help myself
Thoughtful Thursday-Naming the Bones
I read a news story last Friday night and can't seem to get it out of my head. Have you ever done that? I keep scouring the internet for updates and end up rereading the same story, over and over. In a scramble of rewrites and edits on a book I'm trying to finish by the end of the month, I don’t need to be doing this.It seems they found a 900-year-old murder victim in an archaeological dig at the Scottish Seabird Centre in North Berwick, Scotland. The man's remains are dated from the 12th or 13th century and, from what forensics can assess, he was fatally stabbed four times in the back, twice in the left shoulder and twice in the ribs. The accuracy of the wounds suggest a degree of professionalism and calculation in the killing. Judging by the marks left on the bones, the weapon was probably a specialist military weapon. It's unclear whether he suffered any further injuries, because his legs and some of the right side of the body were missing. The archaeologists say the man was over 20-years-old, had a slightly better build than average, and had wear to his shoulder, which suggests he might have been an archer.
When I read this news story, I got teary-eyed. It was late and I'd been working on my rewrites, so perhaps I was tired. But I kept wondering what could have possibly happened. Was it a military death? A brawl gone wrong? Did someone want something he had? They found artifacts that suggest a community lived at the site. Did anyone miss him? Was someone waiting for him to come home, only to have him never show? The news story mentions he'll be reburied, but he cannot be identified. And without a name, the grave will be unmarked. I keep envisioning forensic specialists, archaeologists and everyone involved, all analyzing, poking and prodding at this man's remains. Carbon-dating his bones, assessing the size, shape and relative positions of the injuries--scientific analysis of an event in history.
On a man with no name. A man that had a life.
So, that's what's been occupying my thoughts, as of late. To the point of distraction. There's a story in there somewhere, but I have to yet figure out what it is. I've given him a name though. Or he's given it to me. I dreamed he tapped me on the shoulder and whispered it in my ear. I wrote it down and it sits in my story file--waiting for him to tell me his story.
