Isobelle Cate's Blog, page 5

I'm over at Margie Church's blog talking about writing, my inspiration, and my love for scotch.

http://authormargiechurch.wordpress.com/2013/11/23/welcome-mysterious-isobelle-cate/comment-page-1/#comment-182

FOREVER AT MIDNIGHT - BOOK 2 OF THE CYNN CRUOR SERIES - OUT NOW!

When a love thought lost for centuries returns and is under threat of being destroyed

The only thing left for Roarke to do is to fight and never let go.

FOREVER AT MIDNIGHT - BOOK 2 OF THE CYNN CRUOR SERIES - COMING OUT SOON!

When a love thought lost for centuries returns and is under threat of being destroyed

The only thing left for Roarke to do is to fight for it.

Rapunzel, The Demon Tales - by Ms Kerrianne Coombes

Rapunzel Demon Tale 4 by Kerrianne Coombes
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

This is the fourth book in the Demon Tales series by Ms Coombes, about demons loaded with sex appeal, brawn, and especially, heart - something one wouldn't associate with a demon.

Blane cannot forgive himself for the death of his family, especially his mother. Chloe, an iron fey, feels she isn't worthy of anyone's love, thinking herself weak. Both feel unworthy of finding happiness, both drawn together by circumstances.

Both entwined by destiny.

Ms Coombes as always has a unique way of retelling classical fairy tales. She uses these tales as the backbone of her stories but gives it a twist - something that we wouldn't expect. Who would have thought that Chloe's hair was made of iron? Reading the fairy tale, we knew that the prince was able to climb up to Rapunzel's tower because of her hair. Ms Coombes takes it further in Chloe and Blane's story, giving it a delightful twist.

I liked the way Chloe developed into the strong woman she was meant to be. By giving herself up to free Blane, she became the woman worthy to be Blane's mate. Strong, loving, loyal, and true. It was also a refreshing twist to read Chloe rescuing Blane instead of the other way around. In a fairy tale, Blane would have rescued Chloe. But this isn't a fairy tale.

This is a tale that shows that even a demon has a heart and deserves his happy ever after.

View all my reviews

How far are you willing to go for a story? Part 2

Castle Hill: Street to the right leads to Edinburgh Castle, street to the left leads to GrassmarketThe Gothic structure to the right used to be Tolbooth Kirk now known as The Hub

The Hub

I made my way up the Royal Mile to Castlehill, the statues of Adam Smith and David Hume the only witnesses to my trek. It took me five minutes to get to the Esplanade not because it was far, but because even before the crack of dawn, the mystery of Edinburgh seeps through the cobblestones and the cracks of the facades of old buildings that line the Royal Mile. I was initially joined by two joggers who arrived at the Esplanade (where the Edinburgh Military Tatoo is performed every year) ahead of me. A few minutes later, they left the area and I was left alone, in the middle of the huge lot. To my right stood Celtic Cross monuments to the fallen, the statue of Earl Haig, and the tomb of Ensign Ewart, the most illustrious of the Scot Greys for having taken the Eagle of Napoleon's French 45th Regiment. To my left was the view of the city sprawled below the Castle.
The place was quite eerie even though I knew that dawn was fast approaching. I took pictures of the place from all angles, where the sun rose, imagined how it felt to be the only one in this vast place or what it would be like unable to see the sun because you've been damned to remain a creature of the night.
The castle was dark. In the early evening, the castle is often lit up; but this time it wasn't save for a solitary light in one of the windows.
Castle window on the right
Part of the Esplanade
And that's when I felt the warmth in my back again. I knew that behind me was the Witches Well Wall Fountain, a marker close to where women accused of witchcraft were burned at the stake. Right! I made my way out of the Esplanade putting a respectful distance between the font and myself and continued walking down Castle Hill.  The warmth in my back didn't dissipate until I was several meters away from the Esplanade. With my back to the Castle, I continued walking until I reached the Witchery by the Castle. It's been said that the ghost of one of those burned at the stake haunts the place.  I wanted to take a picture of the place but something was stopping me from doing so, no matter what I did. Heat centered on my nape and my hands felt heavy. So yeah, I took the hint and continued on. As I moved away, I heard clanging against the grills, louder than when I stepped on Dorothy's bench. The farther I was from that area on Castle Hill and as soon as I left the area of Tolbooth Kirk (The Hub), the lighter I felt.
So how far will I go for a story?
Quite far from my comfort zone. I think.

The Royal MileOct. 19, 2013

How far are you willing to go for a Story? Part 1

As writers, our main goal is to entertain our readers, to keep their interest in the stories we craft. On a personal level I love to write the stories that crowd my mind, eagerly waiting for their turn to get out.The Cynn Cruor series of books posed some challenges and I had to return to Edinburgh to get the feel of the place.

Even Starbucks looked eerie...
Scotland is a country steeped in myth and yes....some virile alpha males. More than that, the country is built on legends that stand the test of time. From ruined castles, haunted manors, and even connections to the Fae, this country is a veritable source of information that any writer can use to write.
I just didn't expect that I'd have my own ghostly experience without the benefit of paranormal tours such as Auld Reekie or Mary King's Close. Heck, I wouldn't even want to see the ghost of Mary, Queen of Scots! Despite her execution in London, her ghost still haunts the castles she lived in. And the brutal death of her Italian secretary, David Rizzio, in the hands of her husband Lord Darnley in Holyrood Castle? Signore Rizzio was stabbed 56 times. I noticed that the blood stains still remained on the wood and when my sister and I made this comment to one of the staff and she said it wasn't possible because the floor had already been replaced.
Ruins of Hollyrood Abbey attached to the Castle
Either she didn't believe it, or she was afraid that if she was left alone Signore Rizzio would appear. To say the least, my sister and I said a short prayer on the spot for the repose of his soul.
As a paranormal author, the world I create lives mostly in the dark, in the in-between, in places that are haunted. My recent visit to Edinburgh was no exception.
I needed photos of the Royal Mile at night, well....specifically around dawn - when people are either rousing from sleep or just about to go to bed. I only had a day left in Edinburgh and I was anxious to get the pictures. I wasn't sure whether it was safe so I asked the concierge if it was okay to go to the Royal Mile at that time. He gave me something like a Duh? look before nodding. Yeah, he probably thought I came from another planet. :D  
So I woke up at exactly 4:44 am. It took a while for me to leave the hotel. Not being local, I couldn't be too careful. Assured that the Royal Mile was safe, I took the short cut through the close, up the steps, an voila! I was bang on the Mile.
It was one of the best decisions I made. For a story, that is.
The cobble stoned street shined underneath the lights dotting the Mile.  The shops were still shut except for Starbucks and Cafe Nero.  Gusts of wind not only ruffled flags with St. Andrew's Saltire dotting some of the establishments, but also the trees along the Mile meant to put a little greenery in the all too commercial street.
And so my ghostly encounters begin, starting with St Giles' Cathedral.
   St Giles' picture I took while standing atop the wooden bench.

St. Giles from the MileBut I digress....

While in Edinburgh, I finally finished In Dusk's Embrace, a stand alone for the Darlings of Paranormal Romance Anthology. Departing from the world of vamps and weres, I opted for ghosts. The year: 1901. I had named one of the secondary characters Dorothy, the ghost's sister, finishing the story two days before.
Anyway, in order to get the picture, I had to stand on the wooden bench facing the kirk only because I'm short. As I clicked away taking the Kirk's (Church's) picture, the upper part of my back became warm and felt someone behind me. This was impossible because the bench was flushed against grills that surrounded the building and I was the only one there. At least I thought I was until I heard the soft sound of clanging behind me. Just like when you take a pen and let it run across a metal fence. That sound. I muttered, "Please don't scare me. I'm just taking a picture." several times and the heat and trepidation I felt only subsided when I hopped off the bench. Call me weird (which I sometimes probably am ;) ) but I decided to thank the bench and whoever had been behind me.  On the bench was a brass plaque of the donor.  When I saw what was written, I smiled.  The last line of the dedication read:
The parents of Dorothy
Ghostly? Coincidence? You be the judge. Be that as it may, I said a short prayer and left.

Sable Hunter's Halloween Blog Hop Countdown

I'm on Sable Hunter's Halloween Blog Hop Countdown today!
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For a chance to win a £10.00 Amazon Gift Card, drop by my blog and leave a comment. Good luck! http://isobellecate.blogspot.co.uk/

The Ghosts Around Us

Image credit: fotoknips / 123RF Stock Photo

I come from a culture where we believe that our clan's dead still remain with us or come back from wherever they are to guide us through this mortal plane.
It was over a week ago that a favourite aunt of mine passed away. She figures in this story I am about to tell you.
I think I was about 7 or 8 years old when I first met my granduncle, my grandmother’s brother.  I have to make this distinction because I have granduncles who are not related to me but are close family friends. 
Anyway, my family and I visited my aunt, his daughter who lived with her best friend, Theresa. Theresa had been diagnosed with cancer and my aunt decided to stay in her house so that she could take care of her.  Back then, not many cancer treatments were immediately available. I think Theresa had to go to the States to find a cure but it was too late. 
She was dying.
It was late afternoon when we arrived at the house. I can still remember the heat of the day shimmering off the pavement.  The sun was at the two o’clock position in the sky.  The air was dry and dead leaves crunched underneath our feet. Still, the heat was bearable despite it being in the middle of the dry season in the tropical country I called home then.
My aunt opened the door for us, greeting my grandparents, my sister, my mom and my other aunt. That was when I met my granduncle.  He had this slight smile on his face. He was well dressed in a suit and I thought that he must be on his way out. He just stood there by the door while everyone filed past to enter the house.  Not even my grandparents said a word to him. To think that he was their matchmaker when they were in college!
So! Everyone had gone inside except me. I hung around because as I neared my granduncle, he smiled. I happily greeted him and asked him where he was going. He looked down and said he wasn’t going anywhere.
“So come inside,” I said. Then I added, “Let’s both go inside.”
He said that he would stay out for a while but he would come inside the house soon. I nodded before entering the cooler confines.
I went to sit with the older people before my sister and I started running around the house until we were shushed by my grandmother. Night had already fallen. I was getting bored and wondered where my granduncle was. I went to the door and opened it. He wasn’t there. I went back to the living room where the rest of my family still kept on talking.  I asked my aunt where my granduncle was. My aunt gave me a quizzical look. I told her that her father said he would be inside the house soon but he hadn’t arrived. So I asked her again. Right after I said those words, my grandmother stood up to take me away and scold me.  My other aunt told me not to make up stories. I said I wasn’t making up stories. I told all of them that I had spoken to him when we arrived because he was at the door. It hurt that they thought I was lying. I didn't speak about this incident for a very long time.
More than a decade later, during one of the clan reunions, we sat around the table telling ghost stories. I told them about meeting our granduncle. My aunt, the one whose best friend had died, asked if she could talk to me. We sat at another table wondering what she wanted.  She asked me if I could still remember how my granduncle looked like. I said yes and told her how he appeared to me – that he was in a suit and that he looked as though he was about to go somewhere.  She asked what color. I said brown.
She spoke softly. “That suit that you describe is what he wore when we buried him more than twenty years before you were born.”
No wonder everyone thought that I had made it up. But children wouldn't lie. So when children say that they have seen someone you know has passed away, don't scold them. Who knows? They might just really have seen the dead.
Up close.

Autumn and the Paranormal

Fall is the one time that I feel I’m in my element. I love it when the trees change colour - greens turning to hues of orange, burnt sienna, or brown; there is a nip in the air that beckons you to rake piles of leaves only to scatter them all over the place as you jump into it and whirl around like a dervish. Autumn for me is also a time for romance. Warm fires, cozy gatherings for two, a thick rug by the hearth, glasses of wine, and strawberries, and chocolate. Then the strawberry’s juice drips by the side of your mouth and your man moves in for the…..
Enough of that. ;)
Autumn is also the time when people of earth-base religions prepare for when nature sleeps, cloaked in the white blanket of winter. I had the pleasure and privilege to be invited to this kind of celebration during Halloween last year. For many non-Christians, Halloween or Mabon is their equivalent of Christmas. Jack-O-Lanterns didn’t necessarily have to be pumpkins. Our very creative host, carved lanterns from orange peel so when the candle was placed inside, it gave out a beautiful scent. The party was well represented. People from several denominations and countries came over to celebrate this time of the year while the children in their Halloween costumes pranced and squealed in between eating marshmallows, crisps, cheese to down these with juice or tea.
This is also the time when the veil between the living and the dead is the thinnest. November 1st and 2nd, while work days here, are official holidays in several countries steeped in the Catholic religion. These are the days when people go to the cemeteries to pay their respects to the dead, gamble or tell stories by the crypts as though the dead were among the living. It has been said that if one wanted to speak to the dead, to ask them help for something they wanted here on earth, they could speak to the departed during these two days and the dead would hear them.
Ghosts abound during this time. And for those we see in costume, we never know if that’s really a costume or if they’re the real deal.
Would we?

First Radio Interview

I had my first radio interview with Victoria Valentine at blogradio.com. Nervous to say the least and yes, I finally said my true identity.

http://www.blogtalkradio.com/aww1/2013/10/02/author-isobelle-cate-rapture-at-midnight