Shehanne Moore's Blog, page 16
May 14, 2017
Art, poetry and dudes, with Ka Malana
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Ka Malna – No, but that sounds like a good idea. I’ll chew on that.
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Ka Malana– I never thought of it. I’m sorry, dudes.
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http://kabrinimessage.blogspot.com/2017/05/welcome-back-author-shehanne-moore.html?spref=tw
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http://poeticparfait.com/2017/05/12/t...
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Ka Malana -Art for Art provides glimpses of my personal mind/body/spirit journey in the format of poetry. The contents spans over a couple of years of time. Most of the poems started out on the blog but they wanted to be in a book,
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so a book was made to give them a home. Almost all of them were edited, and some of them now look like new poems – some divided, some grew.
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Ka Malana –There’s also quite a bit of new content, and of course the arrangement was naturally put together in mostly the order of its occurrence (poem’s birth). That said, friends came in to help this new budding author (me), and that really made it happen, and inspired me that “I can do it.” For years, I had been talking about writing a book, so many different kinds of books. I used to make handmade art books of different types for friends throughout the years, and have gotten myself interested in and busy with different types of skills. For some reason, this book was born the way it was, when it was. What surprised me was I started my blog on astrology, and then I remembered that I was a writer, and had a love for different genre, format,…etc.
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Ka Malana –Oooh, I can’t really stop being inspired. I think when I see that I’ve made a difference, or an impact, or when I’ve led someone to their next step in their own process, that is a particular compliment to me that sort of fuels me on to be more expressive and creative in my own expression. Does that make sense? When people say, “your book really inspires me.” I’ve heard this many times now, so I believe Art for Art will bring that ‘something’ into your life that helps you ‘go.’ Also, people are very nice – they were inspired all along and maybe I helped remind them. That’s inspiring.
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Ka Malana – The original name for my blog was Fiestaestrella.com. I was living in a different state (2011) – not of consciousness – a U.S. state. Anyways, I was taking my first Spanish class in person with this adorable old Cuban engineer retiree. It was unconventional and conversational right from the beginning, a unique format – it was teaching formal Spanish (and basically though now I can’t speak or write, or understand Spanish) because I went to Hawaii and my life got transformed, and I was whisked away into doing other things and living in other places – all very long stories — in and of themselves. So that Spanish class and language in general, I appreciated for the way it sounded. “Fiestaestrellas” to me, means “star party.” Then years later, I was uncertain of whether I wanted a literal translation because I was uncertain of a lot of things, like my audience. Who are they? So, I figured, I’d make it plural to be more comprehensive of many celebrations, many stars, and just because it happened that way.
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Ka Malana. My blog tag line has changed many times throughout the years. After answering this question, a new more updated tagline made itself known to me, and I will switch it shortly. That said,
Magic, as I am thinking of it now, is the part of the experiment that doesn’t exactly botch our work, but also doesn’t go the way we planned on. It’s that mysterious guidance system that shows us the next step in our projects, or provides miscellaneous inspiration along the way. It might be something that we intended long ago, but then had forgotten. Magic is also intentional and developmental, and I think that I love the word because I think it belongs with Science. In the way that Science is a process, Magic is also an element. Science helps us work through our curiosity and (just now as I’m writing, my font changed and one word was highlighted: curiosity). Magic helps us stay on task with the Great Work, while taking us deeper into what interests us, until we are utterly lost in it.
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Ka Malana –Yes, dear. I will write another book. And, thank you for mentioning my photographs earlier. I enjoy photography very much – in many ways I ‘see’ through photography and map the world in my head through it. Sometimes my brain feels like a lens. I think I have a poem that hints about that.
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all photographic images and artwork copyright of Ka Malana.
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Ka Malana –Oh, that’s so difficult to answer. I have a new favorite place from memory to memory, and visit to visit. Angkor Wat in Cambodia (back in 2001 there were virtually no tourists! I felt like Indiana Jones. Do you dudes like Indiana Jones?)
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Ka Malana —Currently I’ve been working through a rigorous graduate program as an acupuncture associate intern. I’ve got a couple years yet to go, so that’s been my main project. I try to keep myself open, even when I am extremely busy, to the possibilities, which is why my new blog tag line will play with the idea of,”living on the edge of infinity.” I’d also like to get back into painting some more. Maybe I’ll try to draw a hamster? But please do not hold your breath little dudes: That kind of cuteness is hard to capture!
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Do you dudes ever meditate? I’ll meditate, and what’s next… we shall see
May 6, 2017
Writing a book review. A hamster dude’s guide.
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According to Romance Writers of America, romance books garnered $1.08 billion in sales in 2013 and accounted for 34% of the fiction market. With stats like that, I’m wondering why I didn’t choose the romance genre but then I remembered — I have no talent for it. Ah, but Lady Shey does. Loving Lady Lazuli is the classic storyline of boy meets girl, boy loses girl, boy meets girl again, but told as a relentless, breathy romantic mystery.
It’s been decades since I read a bodice-ripper if you don’t count the Outlander series by Diana Gabladon which markets itself as romance, but is really a hybrid — the love child of Romance and Historical Fiction — and I may have never read another one if I didn’t chance upon Shehanne Moore’s blog and struck up a friendship with the Lady Shey.
Now, announcing your desire to read a virtual friend’s book and write a review can be a tricky process even if they don’t live across the street from you because, well, the blogosphere has limits, too, writer’s tend to travel in the same circles, and you just don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings. Thank GOD that I just adored this book because all that worry is now a moot point. After reading a few chapters of Loving Lady Lazuli, I was hooked. Moore writes a self-described brand of romance that she calls “smexy”— a cross between smutty and sexy — a classic pot-boiler of a book with the trademark characteristics of historical fiction adding to its allure.
Loving Lady Lazuli is the story of Sapphire, the renowned London jewel thief who no one has ever seen. Sapphire’s greatest defense has been her invisibility. Her many costumes and identity changes have allowed her to remain elusive and because of that, the most successful jewel thief in England. But one evening Sapphire makes a terrible mistake. Her “mark”, the famous Wentworth emeralds, are in her grasp, but the escape route is not. Her partners have let her down and there is no way out except a long trek across an open field in winter, and in an evening gown, no less.
Complicating matters, there is a witness, the rich, young, handsome Devorlane Hawley who happens upon the bewitching Sapphire while driving by in his coach. The unsuspecting Hawley has no idea what’s happening when he offers Sapphire a ride. It all happened so quickly, that kiss, that hand where hands should not be when strangers are involved, the pawning off of the Wentworth emeralds into Hawley’s pocket without him even knowing, and her alighting from the coach before he could catch his breath and clear his addled brain. Months later, he’s been enlisted into the army, the rich man’s version of punishment for a theft, preferable to hanging from the end of a noose, but still a high price to pay for a crime he didn’t commit. She caught him all right, with a breathy kiss and a swift goodbye and he will use all his resources to exact revenge.
For ten years Devorlane harbored his enmity, for ten years, he replayed the events of that night, and for ten years he swore that one day he would find and catch Sapphire and make her pay for ruining his life. Ten years of feeding and nourishing that hatred which festered like the wound to his leg when, upon his return, he is met with a sight that makes his heart both soar and shatter — it’s her, Sapphire, sitting in his drawing room. Now who’s caught?
Want to find out? Then read Loving Lady Lazuli, a romantic page-turner of first order. You may want to ditch the tea and crumpets for something stronger!
Want more? Go here to read an INTERVIEW with Shehanne Moore.
About Pam Lazoz.
[image error]P. J. Lazos is the author of the novel Oil and Water, about oil spills and green technology, and of Six Sisters, a collection of novellas; a blogger for the Global Water Alliance (GWA) in Philadelphia; on the Board of Advisors for the wH2O Journal, the Journal of Gender and Water (U of Penn); a member of the Jr. League of Lancaster; a former correspondent for her local newspaper (Lancaster Intelligencer Journal now LNP); a literary magazine contributor (Rapportage); an editor; a ghostwriter; an author of a children’s book (Into the Land of the Loud); an environmental lawyer; and, because it’s cool, a beekeeper’s apprentice. She practices laughter daily.
https://greenlifebluewater.wordpress.com/
Filed under: book tour, writing Tagged: Book review, Book reviewing, Loving Lady Lazuli, Oil and Water, P.J.Lazoz, Tips for writing a book review
April 28, 2017
The loneliness of the long distance author
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I’ve been a fan of Shehanne Moore’s work since The Viking and the Courtesan. Now she brings us the Writer and the Rake, which is even better! I absolutely loved the concept. For certain people who happen to be Time Mutants, a kiss can take them backwards or forwards in time to a completely different century. This is what happens to struggling romance writer Brittany Carter, who is frustratingly whisked away into the past just as she is about to make her ex-boyfriend’s life a living hell.
I think I mentioned before how I hate romance heroines who are the paragon of all virtues. Well, Brittany is definitely not. This heroine is a vindictive, manipulative, chain-smoking alcoholic, and I love her. If romance heroes can be rakes, why shouldn’t the heroine be a ‘rakette’?
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Brittany arrives in 1765 dressed in nothing but a bathrobe, landing in Mitchell Kilgower’s teenage son’s bed. Mitchell, a long-suffering, brooding gentleman thinks his son has finally stopped being such a milksop and become a man, or rather the kind of man his father wants him to be. Brittany is just confused. She thinks her ex-boyfriend has murdered her and she is now in some sort of strange afterlife. Mitchell thinks she’s insane.
[image error]Of course, one can’t blame him as for all he knows, a woman has appeared out of nowhere and keeps babbling on about him being good fodder for her next romance novel. Mitchell’s uncle and slightly incestuous aunt (or former sister-in-law) show up, and the only way Brittany’s presence can be explained is in a lie hastily concocted by Fleming, Mitchell’s son, that she is Mitchell’s new God-fearing wife.
Hilariously unsuited to the role, Brit goes along with is because she needs to figure out a way to get back to the 21st century. She may be a romantic novelist, but unlike her naive heroines, she’s not going to swoon and fall into Mitchell’s arms just because he has a gorgeous body and amazing cheekbones. All the same, there is an attraction simmering beneath the surface of her pretense.
[image error]As for Mitchell, he starts out wanting to get rid of her, but he is by turns enraged and captivated by a woman the likes of which he’d never seen. A modern heroine unleashed on an unsuspecting 18th century world is a force to be reckoned with.
Brittany wreaks havoc everywhere she goes. She is a truly comedic heroine, though Ms. Moore deftly alerts the reader to how easily things could turn tragic if these characters don’t find love very soon.
Mitchell treats Brittany terribly, though she’s no picnic herself. However, she shows real resiliency and even keeps writing while in her 17th century imprisonment. One of the most beautiful lines of the book is, “A writer could write without paper, without ink, without hope.”
Time is working against them as Brittany can’t control her travels between centuries, but love might just bring them together in the end.[image error]
About Carolee
Enchanted by romance on page and screen, I have always tried to write my own numerous versions of the perfect fairytale. No matter whether the story takes place in Ancient Rome or on one of the moons of Jupiter, romance always beguiles and charms us with its fairy tale magic. My first inspiration to sit down and write came from watching the movie The Princess Bride.
This was a “modern” fairy tale with plenty of action, humour, and of course, true love. I resolved that my stories should have the same light-hearted, fun, and romantic spirit.
As for real life… I believe I may have already found the man of my dreams, but I still haven’t found the dog of my dreams. Currently, I am obsessed with greyhounds, but I live in an apartment that doesn’t allow pets. I guess this means my perfect dog is still a fantasy, and I hope it is a story yet to be told…
I usually live on the west coast of Canada, but I’m currently in Oxford, UK, not actually attending the university but absorbing all the smartness that emanates from its general vicinity.
https://caroleecroft.wordpress.com/
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Filed under: blogging, book tour, heroes, heroines, Romance, time travel, writing Tagged: being an author, Book tour, Carolee Croft, Reviews, Shehanne Moore, The Writer and the Rake, writing
April 22, 2017
Beguiling something far more dangerous. The non-villainry of the Hellfire Club
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The tail end of Brittany’s little scene with Sir Francis Dashwood which takes place just after she finds out, not just how to get home to her time, but to stay there to. Oh, and her feet just happen to be killing her
“Anyway, whatever is said of us, we’re not as bad as all that.” Sir Francis’s muddy brown eyes held a slimy twinkle. “Just different. There’s one shoe on. Let’s get the other one for you.”
“Yes.”
“You know Mitchell thought you had come to us?”
“What? When?”
“Recently. He seemed to have trouble finding you.” He lifted her other foot. “Do you know he virtually accused me of stealing you?”
“Real—? Well.” She cleared her throat. “He was probably just . . . desperate. I left him a note because I was in such a hurry, but obviously it never reached him. The servants Christian sent are so unreliable.”
“Christian?”
“Lazy, lying, conniving. What? You didn’t know she sent them to spy and report on everything we do, to her? They probably hid that note on purpose from him. She had to know though. She went and arranged this whole evening the second I was gone, in the hope I wouldn’t be here and Mitchell would be left high and dry. You have no idea of the spite of that creature.”
“Hmm. Well, I daresay it’s something we’re all capable of.”
“I’m sorry?”
“I said, didn’t I, that he used to come to our humble, little meetings?”
“I’m sure they’re anything but humble.”
“Well . . . Anyway but then he stopped. Maybe, you’ll be the one to bring him back?”
She might. But then again she wasn’t staying. She rose above her agony to fix on her warmest, most ingenious smile.
“Who knows what the future holds for any of us, Your Grace.” Unless you were Mort. Then it probably did hold certain non-existence. “But, who is to say indeed?”
“Of course he never really forgave us for Gabriella as such. The fact she preferred others to him. Silly, when he preferred so many to her.”
“You’re not saying that Gabriella pretended all that in order to make him jealous?”
“If she did, she did it well. Nor would you ever call Mitchell the jealous kind. No. That was a forced marriage of the worst kind. Still, why don’t you ask him?”
She offered her most enigmatic stare. “Why don’t you?”
“I would like to, my dear, but Mitchell and I don’t really get along any more, which was why I was so surprised he abased himself by visiting me. Here is your dear husband now. If you don’t mind, I shall make myself scarce.”
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Francis_Dashwood,_11th_Baron_le_Despencer
https://www.readyclickandgo.com/…/legend-and-history-the-hell-fire-caves-west-wyc…;
Filed under: blogging, book tour, heroes, time travel, villains, writing Tagged: secondary characters, Shehanne Moore, Sir Francis Dashwood, The hellfire caves, The hellfire club, The Writer and the Rake, Writing tips
April 15, 2017
Music That Means Something Challenge.
Right dudes, that’s enough. Paul Andruss, in the short time I have known him, has proved to be a wonderful author and a very kind and supportive friend. I love his blogs. They are fun and informative and I’m enjoying his choices too. http://www.paul-andruss.com/music-for...
Paul is also writer in residence over at Sally Cronin’s blog
Writer in Residence- Paul Andruss https://smorgasbordinvitation.wordpress.com/writer-in-residence-writer-paul-andruss/
The posts are always a treat.
So? Without further ado, here’s my five and why out of all the music I’ve listened to and loved– and music has always been a huge thing in my life– I have chosen these pieces. The first I’ve got here twice because the first vid is only the tap dance–I can’t find the whole thing. But the tap dance? Well, let’s just say they don’t do them like this any more. AS to why I have really chosen this…read on.
Why did I choose this piece? It’s not of my era at all. Because the music I grew up with was these oldies. We lived in a tough sink scheme and we had an old gramophone
No, it wasn’t. Shut yir gub. And piles of old 78s, which the wee boy next door and me, used to drop paper and plastic astronaut figures from the Rice Krispies box on and watch them spin to see what would happen. ( Usually a whack. ) Yeah of course vinyl was invented but these oldies were the background to my life. People had very little. My dad, who was high up in bomb disposal, had come out the army. He’d come back with my mum and sister from what was probably quite a glitzy life in Hongkong, to nothing. This music reminds me of my mum and dad who originally belonged to THIS 30’s glamorous era, at least on the surface when in fact they were from far, far, worse tough and harder, than what I grew up in. It was an era where cinema was a great escape and my hometown had a ton at that time.
Not long before my mum died, I had complimentary tickets to a special showing of Top Hat and I took her. I’m glad I did because she was enthralled. Before I get too sloppy..
‘I’m sorry I ate your fish,’ she said to him one night in the middle of a heated row after he’d weaved home from the local with a fish supper.
“So am I. I hope it chokes you,” said he.
It’s that dynamic I try to get at in my books.
Next.
Let us NOT underestimate this NOT written by The Beatles song when it was sung by them. Forget everything they went on to do. Imagine that we have NEVER known of them and what they gave the world. Okay? On that same ‘Radiogram’ Elvis was banned. We were not allowed to listen to ‘certain’ kinds of music. The staple diet was, ‘Bali Hi’ ( WE LISTEN EVERY NIGHT, EVERY DAY) ‘Shall We Dance,’ –nothing wrong with that as I once helped demonstrate to a hall full of kids to the horror of my own when I re-enacted that scene for a giggle. AND to quote the words in that musical, our staple diet was etc etc., and crooners.
SO my big sis goes away for the summer to work and she comes back, having met her future hubby, an art student. (Get this, the now world famous photographer, then just another art student, Albert Watson, was the best man at that wedding. ) And she whispers , ‘Come here.. .listen to this… You HAVE to listen to this. THIS is what is out there.’ And she puts this sound that I have never heard –a very quickly snatched and scratched sound when our mum came in. I have to tell you, laugh all you like, but it was like a window on another world.
Talking windows, I include the above. It’s music that means something after all. I preferred T. Rex in their folksie days but then you could not dance with your pals when your folks were out, the music blaring, the lights down, the neighbours complaining to the police, to that. Hot Love and Jeepster now? A few years back at a Hogmanay Dance I bumped into a friend I have known since I was 6, (CLEARLY FROM THAT ERA) but don’t see often and the DJ was asking for requests. So I gave him those for a laugh. And know what??? Yep. My pal rushed over and we got on the floor. I like to think folks stepped back cos we could still do all the steps to both, from those days. Hell. Once danced, never forgotten. We did it for a challenge.
It was like how you will always be certain things inside, no matter what. Not always easy in life but vital as breathing. Forget that and you forget everything. I still love to blare out Jeepster when I am cooking and do all the steps, with the carving knife and all……. ( Neighbours can complain all they like. Big mistake.)
Give this next choice a moment…
Ok. So sometimes life takes a hard twist. Hell, show me the straight path and I will laugh. That is why I won’t bore you with the details. I have two versions here because it depends if you like noisy-ish or quiet.-Let’s just say I found something in the words and the tune.
So now we move on. Talking dark twists, Nick Cave’s life has had a few. A few years ago my younger girl came to me one night and she said, ‘I have something to tell you and I don’t know what to do.’ And I couldn’t be happier or more blessed about what she did do, despite being in the middle of a law diploma, despite having no money, despite her partner just having set up for himself and having no work. I have a lovely wee grandbaby who leaves me breathless every single time I see him. He stills everything in me. AND, the funniest thing? He first heard this favourite of mine on my last birthday and he went, ‘ Nina, we dance,’ and every time he hears it, he goes, ‘ We dance,’ and he stands there and takes my hands. He has had my heart since I first saw him at half past three in the morning of the difficult night he was born.
Nominations? Please. All of you try boiling your life to five songs, cos in a way that is what you are doing, have a go and post your choices. it is harder than you think. Even the dudes have shut it for once.
Filed under: Lists of, Musicians Tagged: Dishwalla, Music, Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds, Paul Andruss, Sally Cronin, T.Rex, The Beatles, Winnie Shaw
April 11, 2017
The Ba Bridge Monster and the Interview with the Rake…..
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Mitchell Killgower. Vie? I’m sorry? Oh right. I have no idea. But if I was to hazard a guess, it’s probably because Brittany, my worst half, has told all kinds of lies about me.
Mitchell. Indeed I could. But as I said to Brittany, when she asked me if the tedious old bastard who runs it, beguiled women, ‘No, he beguiles something far worse. Ideas.’ I don’t know if Shey would be too pleased if you got any.
Mitchell. I know. But as you’ve so often said yourselves, it’s not raining either.
Mitchell. The one who kept Shey’s latest heroine offering in about. Next?
Mitchell. I wouldn’t know. You’d have to ask her but she’s dead. Whatever way I seem to have with women does not extend to wives, or pretend ones. But she squirmed whenever I went near her. So I didn’t.
Mitchell. A friend.
Mitchell. Frankly? If you gentlemen helped me secure my inheritance, you could stay where you damn well wanted. In fact, if I’d known you gentlemen and ladies were so helpful I’d have paid you, not Brittany to sort out my ex sister-in-law, Christian and her husband, (also my uncle) Clarence, and ruin my son, Fleming. How does that sound?
Mitchell. The question is, does she want to marry you?
Mitchell. I think you’ll find the word is ‘thought ‘and I also thought, I’d be –
making the mistake of his life to let her back in.
Mitchell. But then of course, I’m assured that women from your time are not all like her, you understand?
Anyway, dudes it has been nice meeting you all.
Mitchell. Not what Brittany found out. Well… not as you seem to think.
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Filed under: blogging, book tour, Glencoe, heroes, Romance, time travel Tagged: Contemporary Romance, regency Romance, Shehaanne Moore, The Hell Fire Club, The Writer and the Rake, TIme Mutants, Time travel books, time travellers
April 7, 2017
Non interview with the rake.
“Excuse me? My footman lover?”
“Your. After all, it’s not as if I didn’t offer to pay you for your help, Miss Carter. Now, if you don’t mind.” He picked up the brush. “You’re blocking my light.”
“But I’m not even in your bloody light.”
“Maybe not my bloody light.” He peered at the canvas. Another blob needed fixing. He reached for the royal blue. “Certainly my ordinary one.”
What the hell was that flying past his nose? A splattering pot of water? The jug of hyacinths? Whatever it was she’d minced right up to his masterpiece, grabbed something from the side table. Water spattered into his eye. Dribbles ran like ants down the canvas.
“There. Now, it doesn’t matter a bloody damn about the light.”
So? The ice had fire, the tiger showed its claws. He’d wondered when that was going to be. Actually, now he flicked the water from his eye, the painting was a slight improvement. She was waiting for a reaction. It was time the wind rattled her bones.
“You know, you might be right if I can make some money with this.”
“Oh don’t be ridiculous, that kind of shit never makes any money.”
“And you’d know this, would you?”
“Me?”
He was sorry he couldn’t help it but he couldn’t. “‘You will scream your pleasure and pain and worship me every day of your wretched life, oh wretched maiden,’ Roof,’ please do tell me how to pronounce that by the way, I wasn’t entirely sure and Ruaf sounded like a dog would. ‘Roof glared into the face of the woman who had given him this trouble—’”
Her eyes stood out like sparkling granite. “Where did you get that?”
“Where you keep these things you busy yourself on and what I see of them in passing is not important.” He pushed the chair back, crossed to the empty hearth. “I’m done with this.”
“Why are you grasping the bell pull?”
“Why do you think?”
“You’ve often told me I don’t.”
“Then let me put you out of your misery.” The tug he gave was satisfying. “To summon your lover, Miss Carter, since you seem incapable of leaving of your own accord.”
“I’d sooner you didn’t.”
“And why is that? Because he doesn’t know what you’re up to?”
Filed under: blogging, book tour, Guest bloggers, heroes, time travel, writing Tagged: Character facts, Romance, Shehanne Moore, The Writer and the Rake, time travellers, writing
April 3, 2017
The dudes meet Brittany Carter and the Ba Bridge Monster
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Brittany : Darlings, I don’t steal. It’s called re-appropriation. And I am very generous towards myself that way.
Brittany. Mitchell is fanciful. It’s a family trait. You don’t want to believe a word he says.
Brittany. Me? Three slices of pork? What do you think I am? Desperate? As for anyone helping themselves to anything, I hope you are going to ask him about my six packets of fags. All right it was three.
Brittany. A recipe? Are we kidding here? What do you think I am Mrs Beeton’s cookbook?
Brittany. I thought I had. I mean this speaks for itself doesn’t it?
[image error] [image error]Brittany. Well darlings, where else would you be kept? I mean let’s face it, you have everything there, lovely little beds of straw, nice corners where you can play with your balls all day. What’s the problem? If Sebastian hadn’t done that I would have run a mile I tell you.[image error]
Brittany, Oh now then dudes, there really is no need to get your little hamster knickers in a twist assuming you wear them. Why do people always want to throw things at me? Oh very well. So long as you don’t eat my fags or drink my voddie we’re good, little dudes and I swear to uphold the rights of little hamster dudes to fight for world domination. Do we have a deal here?
Brittany. All right darlings, it’s been lovely meeting you too. Now I really must go, you know pop off down to supper, even though it’s unlikely there will be anything to eat there… Unless…
[image error]Brittany. What’s that? Some sort of exotic cocktail? You know I thought you lot welcomed writers here?
Brittany Well darling here’s what I think.
Brittany- and that goes for hamster dudes too. Unless you’re going to you know– open the vodka and do the Cossack dance for me like you do for everyone else? Hmm?? I don’t know about you but I am gasping. A shot of that Uzi would be nice…
Filed under: Author Interviews, blogging, book tour, Glencoe, heroines, Romance, time travel Tagged: Glencoe, Incy Black, New book, Romance, Shehanne Moore, The Writer and the Rake, Time-travel 
March 30, 2017
Welcome Blithe Spirit. Hamstahs too.
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Welcome Blithe Spirit by Shehanne Moore
Do ghosts wander the face of the earth?
And if they do, would they be welcomed?
I guess that depends on the writer. Noel Coward certainly turned the idea into a farce in Blithe Spirit, when the dead wife turns up.
Daphne du Maurier did something quite different with Rebecca. Rebecca may not appear as a ghost but her presence clings to every scene. And there is no doubt she casts a huge shadow over her husband, Max.
And yes, I welcome both these ‘spirited’ ladies because I find them much more interesting than the wives currently in situ, although I might not say that if they came to tea.
Ghosts are said to be restless spirits and the interesting thing is that they exist in every culture, ancient ones especially. Look at the idea of Halloween being the Day of the Dead, where people left spaces at the table for their loved ones who were no longer with them.
Ghosts are invariably bound up with the idea of an afterlife—blame the Greeks for the Underworld, and rivers that we cross. But what if we don’t? Because also invariably, ghosts have unfinished business.
The heroine of my new release [image error]
is not a ghost but she does go to bed in 2017 and wake up in 1765. And, after her initial, ‘it’s a dream and think of the book she can write from this, scenario’ she comes to the conclusion that her ex fiancé has murdered her in her sleep, after she moved into his spare room with a random guy, in a bid to get her name off a joint mortgage. (As you do.) The afterlife, of course, isn’t what she thinks—how do any of us really know what it might or might not be?—but she is certain that the possibility of getting back to haunt her ex isn’t that daft. Just think about the kind of ‘dead’ person you might be here in terms of unfinished business. Is there anyone you would want to haunt and why?
While there’s not any ghosts in the book, I suppose that the spirit of the hero’s first wife—where did I get this idea about wives?—
hangs over him. I never thought about that when I was writing it. But he never loved her, she hated him. His family insisted on the match when he was too young to argue.
Okay and he’d er… got a servant into trouble.
Because of that he’s gone to hell in a handcart since. Her clothes, her shoes, are all lovingly kept by their son, Fleming, who resembles her in every way and consequently is the daily reminder that everyone holds him responsible for her death.
As if that’s not enough about ‘ghosts’ in someone’ s life, because let’s face it, we don’t need to see or feel them, they don’t even need to be there, for the dead’s influence to taunt and haunt from beyond the grave, her sister, Christian, went and married the hero’s old uncle. Why? So she can stop him inheriting what is rightfully his, of course. And not just that. She has the ’hots.’
To say [image error]
is saying how much he is capable of sinning, because he’s plenty sinned against.
Here’s an extract from where Brittany, having fallen out a first floor window and broken a priceless Ming dynasty vase in a bid to escape the carriage she thinks had come to take her to hell, does a quick bit of re-thinking. You can tell that despite the title of this post she’s not welcome….
“Wife? Mitchell?”
As Christian spoke, Brittany strove to look composed, serene. She’d fallen down the rope, somehow broken that vase, nearly broken her neck, except she couldn’t break her neck. She’d already been murdered by Sebastian. These things were bad enough. Had she mentioned that Mitchell Killgower was transfixed with horror?
“She is not—”
“But she is very, very nice, Aunt Christian, the mother I never had, so we are all getting along . . .getting along quite famously in fact.”
Brittany struggled to her feet, dug in her pocket, fished out her fags. What a bloody awful thing it was being dead. Even her fag was so bent, getting it between her lips was such a mammoth task, it took three attempts. Five if she counted keeping her hand steady enough to ping her lighter and suck long and hard, wreathing herself in delicious, such needed smoke. She sucked even harder, while she considered her next move. It wasn’t biting her nails, or being pushed into the carriage. She’d a new slant on the carriage. The fag was just what she needed to find her cool and face down whatever these things were. She’d already come to think, ‘ghoul one’ and ‘ghoul two.’ Mitchell made it ‘ghoul three.’
“Are you sure your new mother is nice, dear, only . . . only she looks . . . Well, I really don’t know what to say.”
“Believe me, darling, the feeling’s mutual.”
Mitchell‘s eyes were icy as polar caps. “May I say, for the benefit of those who are hard of hearing, this woman is not—”
“Your wife?” The uncle’s shining, silver cravat pin nearly pinged from his cravat. He grasped his cane so tightly his knuckles were white as his hair. “I should sincerely hope not. You know our terms and conditions on that. If this is the best you can do, then we should redraw our will now. Unless you’re going to try telling us she’s Fleming’s wife?”
“Well, Uncle, now that you come to mention it. At sixteen, it is about time. Half the boys in the county, if not the country, are already—”
“Oh, really? Mitchell . . .” Brittany took a deep breath and pinged her fag beneath the withered hydrangea. The afterlife wasn’t what she’d thought. If this wasn’t heaven, or hell, then it was some sort of place of atonement. Look at all these ghostly shrubs and trees for a start and those stone dragons poking out of the walls.
Ghosts did wander the face of the earth. These must be the ones with unfinished business who’d managed back. She wouldn’t rest till she’d done whatever it took to do that and make Sebastian’s life hell. Mitchell would know the way. Whatever this was about, put out her hand to the weary traveller and he’d owe her big time. Besides why should she suffer all these stinging cuts to her pride? She was the perfect homemaker. Look at all these rugs and pot plants she’d bought for Sebastian’s. The ones he’d thrown at her when there were rows.
“All right, you win. So you were right. Your aunt and uncle can’t take a joke, but are you really going to let them talk to me like this? We both know I was locked in that room by . . . by a certain person and that person wasn’t you, my dearest. With hardly any clothes to speak of too? All for a joke? Hmm? Fleming, what do you have to say? Let’s hope it’s interesting?”
“No, I never. How would I do that?”
“Very, very easily, darling. Don’t lie to your great-uncle. It’s so unbecoming when he’s such a nice man.”
“You mean, Fleming, you never had any clothes on either?”
Fleming flushed scarlet. “Uncle. They took my clothes. They put me out wearing a bed sheet.”
“But, you just said to your great aunt that your new mother was very nice. Well? Which is it to be? Are you lying to me, boy?”
“She . . . she is nice, Uncle Clarence. But, I didn’t lock her in my room. How could I?”
Filed under: blogging, book tour, heroes, heroines, Romance, time travel, writing Tagged: Blithe Spirit, films, ghosts, New book, Rebecca, Shehanne Moore, The Writer and the Rake
March 27, 2017
James Bond and the Dundee connection
AH and aw in equal measures. Firstly AH because this the long awaited third book in the Hard To series featuring Incy Black’s own special Black ops. Aw, because she says trilogy although I hope that the exciting Freya Dervish will feature somewhere along the line in another book. No pressure there now Incy, just saying. Although I’ve read the other two books in the series, in many ways this book is a standalone.
In true spy honey trap tradition, Will Berwick, secret agent hot and complicated, is asked to seduce the secret of her brother’s whereabouts, from Dr Treherne, ice angel extraordinary. Not the best thing to ask him to do when she’s been evaluating him for months re his suitability to return to service. Trust me when I say that you just know that in the not too distant future Angel will be evaluating other aspects of his suitability because it’s plain they are under one another’s skins. However, Incy Black’s skill lies in keeping them at one another’s throats. This couple don’t give an inch for very personal reasons and it makes for great chemistry. You want to know they will heal one another’s pain. A pain they don’t admit to. Add this to a plot full of twists and turns, Incy Black’s own unique voice, and the result is explosive.
Filed under: Glencoe, Scottish, writing Tagged: Ba Cottage, Catherine Cavendish, Dundee, Glencoe, Hard to Protect, Ian Fleming, Incy Black, James Bond, James Bond and Dundee, Newport-on-Tay, Peter Fleming, Robert Fleming, Shehanne Moore, The wrath of the ancients, The Writer and the Rake
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