Give a warm welcome to Bri Clark, author of Witch’s Eternal, soon to release on October 31, 2017! Be sure to read to the end and enter the Rafflecopter giveaway!
Pull up a chair, grab a drink of your choice from the cauldron, a bat wing Chocolate Chip or Pumpkin, or Peanut Butter cookie from the plate. Let’s find out a little about
Three Halloween Points to Consider from a Psychic Medium
There’s a tingle in the air when leaves are changing, even electricity. This transition of the seasons is energetic and has a grand effect on people. For example, the pumpkin spice craze. That’s not just marketing that’s energy. Believe me I should know.
Hi, my name is Bri Clark, I’m an author, marketer and a psychic medium. And you are one of the first people to hear me say that in a written public forum. My deepest gratitude goes to you for taking the time to read these words. With that said, I’m going to share with you some things about spirits, Halloween, and energy that you may not have put together.
- Like Begets Like: When we start getting toward Halloween then you start seeing an increase of shows and media around the paranormal. Usually it’s the scary that sells the best. You don’t have to be afraid of spirits. But if you are and you surround yourself with that feeling by continuing to entertain the fear it’s just going to get worse. You are going to attract what you fill you time seeking. Call it entertainment or not it’s the law of attraction in play.
- There are ghosts everywhere. You can’t escape them. They are at the gas station, the Walmart, the field outback and even in the latest sky scraper. Are they strong enough or even motivated enough to haunt? It depends. But usually not. As someone who is a medium I can turn up and down my ability to see and hear them. You may be saying what does that have to do with me? It has everything to do with you. If you feel your space invaded by energy you don’t want tell it to go! Say it with gusto and passion. It’s your home. Take it back! It’s that easy. You can add ceremony or sage or whatever you want but the two main ingredients is you and your conviction. So take your space back.
- Harvest a new energy. Far before the time of Trick or Treating and The Blair Witch fall was about the harvest. Bringing in the crops, preparing for winter, and celebrating all the fruits of the labor from the summer. Instead of nurturing a time of scares and fear how about nurturing the feeling of the harvest. Research the history of autumn. Look up old folk lore and traditions and start to create your own. Believe me you’ll feel amazing and others will feel better from your example too. You may already have some in place.
Speaking of new traditions perhaps you’ll want to start a new book. I have one I could suggest, Witch’s Eternal. It’s an amazing story of love, pain, magic, community, family and rising to one’s potential.
A Peek between the pages of WItch’s Eternal!
Lucien heard the intake of her breath, and then the soft pads of her steps approach him. He’d not wanted to ask for help but desperately needed it. The wound in his arm shifted between extreme pain to numbness. Both were equally bad and drained his energy. He knew exactly where she had hid. If the pain wasn’t so bad, he would’ve smiled. He was impressed with her stealth. Attempting a deep breath, he looked up to see what quality of wench lived among these woods. She would have to be single—most likely homely at best. No husband would live here much less allow his wife to wander these woods alone. She would become enchanted with him. Mortal women always did and it ended with their broken hearts—which is why he avoided mortals entirely.
An eternal, especially a clan leader, could not connect themselves romantically to a lesser being. To ensure the continuation of the species of purebloods it was why eternals only procreate with eternal. This fact reminded him of Alastair’s betrayal, adding to his pain.
He reluctantly raised his eyes to inspect her. His breath caught. Thick raven dark locks framed an ivory face with flame red lips, while empathetic emerald eyes surveyed his condition. Wearing a white peasant’s dress, she appeared ethereal moving toward him through the mist. His breath came out in a rush, and his pulse seemed to scream within his skull. Without a word she positioned herself under his bad shoulder and bore his weight. He was astonished a body so small could hold him up. Silently she guided him along. He asked her no questions putting all his energy into moving. The pain was good though. It meant the liquid silver hadn’t been released encasing him in a frozen prison.
The scent of plants he hadn’t encountered in years quickly assaulted his nose. Then the source came into view—a small cottage surrounded by herbs. That’s when it all came into perspective. The woman was a witch, and one of the ancient arts. He stiffened with the realization. She looked up at him with luminous green eyes framed by thick lashes with nothing but concern. He considered he might be wrong. His internal alarm had not sounded. Nevertheless, he’d seen ghastly things done by witches and their herbs, especially the three-prominent species framing her stoop. The pain of the silver arrowhead imbedded in his stiffened muscles and screamed in protest and all his previous thought became a blur.
I want to thank my host,Tena of Authors’ Secrets for having me today. If you want to connect with me further my social media links and website links are below.
It was wonderful having you with us today. Please feel free to stop by anytime. Good Luck with Witch’s Eternal!
Posted in Authors' Secrets Blog and tagged ghosts, Halloween, magic, Paranormal, Romance, Witches by firstname.lastname@example.org with 2 comments.
Give a warm welcome to Laura C. Cantu, author of Betwixters: Once Upon A Time, Betwixters Book One !
Pull up a chair, grab a drink of your choice from the cauldron, a bat wing Chocolate Chip or Pumpkin or Peanut Butter cookie from the plate, and let’s find out a little about Laura C. Cantu and Betwixters: Once Upon A Time. Did I tell you Laura has a monster of a true tale too? Make sure you read all the way to the end!
“The old man’s breath came out in puffs of white clouds as he raced through the frigid night air. Wind snaked through rustling branches and caused the forest canopy to sway as if the trees were made of rubber. His muscles burned, but that didn’t slow him down. A portal had opened somewhere nearby, he could feel it in his bones. All he had to do was find it and kill whatever had traveled through it. He hoped it was that faerie he had met in his dreams. What was her name again? Neb? Neev? No, that wasn’t it. He stopped running and plunged his hand into his pocket. “Neevya,” he whispered. “That were her name.” Somehow, he knew she was the cause of all the trouble he sensed coming his way. He had felt it approaching for months—a huge black, storm-like premonition that roiled with deception and danger. It was a storm he was set on thwarting, even if it meant unleashing the chondour he had trapped in his dungeon. He pulled his hand out of his pocket and inspected a small iron trap. “If she comes through these here parts, this ought take care of ‘er.” He stooped, placed the trap on the ground, and covered it with a dry, dead leaf.
An ominous howl echoed in the distance. It was a cry that made him cringe. He’d heard it before, about eight years ago, and he knew death was sure to follow. As much as he had tried, he’d never figured out where it came from or what manner of creature had made it. But there was one thing he did know for sure; a common wolf didn’t make that kind of sound. He started to run toward the howl to investigate, but abruptly stopped to cast a faerie attracting spell over his snare and to make sure his trap was set just right.
The howl came again, this time louder. He glanced over his shoulder and rushed toward it.”
Meeting a Monster – A True Story
When I was younger, a group of newly acquired friends and I tried to think of something eerie to do on Halloween night. Little did we know, that we would see something truly terrifying that would change our lives forever.
Like many teenagers, we decided that visiting a cemetery was just about the perfect way to give ourselves a good scare. I had just moved to town, and my new friends insisted that there was a glowing tombstone in an old, run down graveyard off a gravel road about thirty miles outside of town. So, we piled in a small, two-door car and drove, excited about the prospects of having some good ghost stories to tell on the way.
The road we were driving on was a narrow, two-lane service road with lots of potholes, hills, and curves. The locals had spread rumors that “devil-worshipers” often held ceremonies along that road, and one of the girls, who was sitting in the back seat, seemed to be enjoying herself as she recounted the spooky stories. She spoke of how the Satanists skinned animals alive, and how there were strange sightings in the area. Her last story was about the glowing gravestone; she claimed it was cursed.
We drove farther and farther from town, well over thirty miles, and I fidgeted in my seat. I was beginning to have second thoughts about going so far out into the night, especially since I hadn’t let my mother know where I was going. Back then, we didn’t have mobile phones. If something unexpected or dreadful happened, there would’ve been no one around to help, and my mother wouldn’t have even known where to look.
I shook my head, trying to shake off my growing apprehension as silence suddenly fell over the car like a soft, suffocating blanket. I cleared my throat to speak up but thought better of it. I didn’t want to be the one who chickened out and insist on turning back.
The car’s headlights pierced the darkness of the night and bugs thumped into the windshield as we continued to drive along. That’s when it happened.
The car came to a screeching halt.
There, in the middle of the road, sat a coyote. The driver of the car, a sixteen-year-old girl with short curly hair named Angie (her name has been changed to protect her identity), honked at the coyote. To our amazement, it didn’t move. Instead, it lazily looked in our direction as if it had nothing better to do than sit in the middle of the road, blocking our way.
She honked again.
The coyote blinked. The lights of the car reflected on its retina, causing its eyes to glow a dull shade of red.
When it did not budge this time, Angie yelled and honked again, but this time she held her hand down so that the horn blared into the night air.
It was then that the coyote stood on its two hind legs and turned toward us, a tall looming monster with sharp teeth and penetrating eyes.
Angie’s hand slid from the steering wheel as we all sat in amazement at this towering beast. It seemed to be looking us over, mulling over what it would do next. Was he contemplating eating us?
I couldn’t find my voice. All I could do was sit there, slack-jawed and bewildered.
Just when I thought we were going to have to flee for our lives, the creature turned and ran away, its movements akin to that of a running human.
Everyone in the car finally found their voices to scream! Angie whipped a U-turn, and we hightailed it back to town.
Even today, over twenty years later, the vision of that creature is still clearly etched upon my memory. That was the day I began questioning how magical and mysterious our world truly is – Laura C. Cantu.
Posted in Authors' Secrets Blog and tagged Betwixters: Once Upon A TIme, Laura C. Cantu, Middle-grade fantasy by email@example.com with 2 comments.
Give a warm welcome to Judy Meadows, author of Escape From Behruz released on April 21, 2017! NOW on sale for 99 cents! What a buy.
Pull up a chair, grab a drink of your choice from the cooler, a Chocolate Chip or Peanut Butter cookie from the plate, and let’s find out a little about Judy and Escape From Behruz.
First of all what inspired this particular story?
I love secret baby stories. A woman’s emotions revolving around childbirth—finding out she’s pregnant, being pregnant, giving birth, caring for the new baby—are about as elemental and intense as it gets. And a man’s emotions—finding out he’s going to be a father, watching his partner’s belly grow, feeling the baby move, sharing in labor and birth, getting to know his new baby–are equally intense and elemental. For a woman to intentionally withhold the information that a man is going to be or has become a father is a huge betrayal.
And it’s good material for a story.
What can ruin a secret baby story for me is if the heroine’s motivation for withholding the information is weak (which it often is: i.e. “he would be mad at me”). So…I set out to write a secret baby story that had an unimpeachable motivation for keeping the secret. No one who knows her story will fault this heroine for keeping her secret. (Of course the hero does blame her, but not for long, not when he understands what her reasons were.)
That was the germ that sparked the plot. What could happen that would make it impossible for a woman to let the man she loves know about her pregnancy?
The story is set in a fictional country in the Middle East (located between Iran and Afghanistan). The locale also strongly influenced the plot. I chose the Middle East because I traveled in Iran and Afghanistan in the 70’s and lived in Iran for a year—all before the area was besieged by political turmoil and war. I loved the area and the people. I knew what it was like to be an American woman traveling there. So I made my heroine an American woman and plopped her down in that area.
What secret do you use to blast through writer’s block?
I read! I can open my favorite book on writing, The Emotional Craft of Fiction by Maass, to just about any page, and I’ll be inspired. Good fiction writing, any genre, inspires me. Writing by Rosamunde Pilcher, C.S. Lewis, and Vanessa James all somehow infiltrate my brain with their rhythms and sentence structure and make my writing more fluid.
Did you tell friends and family that you were writing a book? Or did it take a while to come out and tell friends and family you were a writer?
“Coming out” is an apt analogy for what it’s like to tell friends you’re writing a romance novel. I started by telling peripheral people (like someone I met while vacationing in Mexico, someone I was never going to see again). But there came a time when the only explanation for my lack of availability (What was I doing with my time?) was the truth. I’d written a successful nonfiction book by then (Touching Bellies, Touching Lives, about midwives in Mexico) so that helped a little, but what helped the most was joining my local chapter of Romance Writers of America. Being with women who took their craft seriously and supported each other and learned from each other was what gave me the perspective I needed to be proud of the work myself.
What do you want your readers to take away from your books?
First and foremost: intense emotional satisfaction. I want them to really care about the characters and really share in the joy the characters feel when they get their happily-ever-after ending.
Secondly (this wasn’t my intention when I started writing about Behruz but I see it as a possible bonus effect), I hope reading my stories will help readers see past stereotypes about the Middle East. The characters are real people with real puppies and real quirks, talents and dreams.
Do you find it easier to write from a male or female point of view? Why?
Female! I would write from purely the female point of view, but publishers nowadays prefer a balance between the male and female points of view, so I’ve tackled that. I find I can get to know my hero and his motivation by looking at the heroine through his eyes. Why is he attracted to her? What does he long to have happen with her? How does he experience the pain of setbacks? How does it feel to love so deeply? Starting with that, he comes to life for me.
Okay, tell us a little about the story.
Rashid will escort Olivia and the baby through the mountains to Iran in order to escape the violence in Behruz, but he won’t let Olivia near his heart. Not again. Not after the way she trampled it two years ago.
Olivia accepts his help, but she has no interest in his heart. She’s never forgiven him for abandoning her when she needed him most. Still, she has to be careful. He mustn’t learn that the baby the world thinks is heir to the Behruzi throne is actually her son. And Rashid’s.
Can they make it through the trek, sharing a tent each night, without giving in to the attraction that has always drawn them together? Can Olivia hold in the secret that could destroy her?
Ohhh, sounds intriguing. Do you have a sneak peek from the book for us?
Walking toward the tent of her “husband,” Olivia felt like a bride. The mantle framed her face and fell down her back like a bride’s veil, and the long skirt swayed with every step. Rashid stood in front of the tent talking to Saddiq. He was wearing a long shirt and a wool vest like those worn by the other men. He was holding up a rifle, sighting along the barrel. He said something to Saddiq and handed him the rifle; then he turned and saw the procession of women approaching. Time stopped for several heartbeats when his eyes fell on Olivia. He seemed to straighten up, to become taller, and everything about him became very still.
She met his gaze boldly. The petticoats swished around her legs when she walked. She felt the swing of her arms, the sway of her hips, even the slight bounce of her breasts. All the women stood behind her, waiting for Rashid’s reaction.
“Spin around again like you did for us in the tent,” Fatima whispered to Olivia.
Rashid’s nomad clothes made him look primitive and very male. His eyes were intent on her, like the eyes of an animal watching its prey. He was motionless except for a slight quivering of his nostrils.
Olivia lifted her arms slowly, and the women stepped back away from her. Then she began the pirouette. She moved as if in a trance. Everything seemed to happen in slow motion. But still the skirt rose, its colors blurring as she spun, and she felt dizzy and flushed when she stopped. She gave Rashid a smile that came from some new knowledge.
“You are a temptress,” he said in English. His eyes were dark pools that beckoned her to tempt and be tempted.
“The ladies are waiting to see what you think of their handiwork.”
He stepped toward her and reached his hand up to touch her face at her temple. Then he slid it down until it cupped the nape of her neck. A shiver of response rippled through her, but she didn’t move.
“She is very beautiful,” he said in Farsi. “The costume is perfect. She is perfect.” He kissed her lightly on the lips. The speculations and remarks of the nomads hushed. A crow cawed in the distance, and then it was silent too. She was mesmerized. She felt possessed.
About the Author:
I grew up and went to college in Minnesota but now live in a small town in Oregon with my husband Jim. I love to travel, read, hang out at the beach, cook, and play with grandchildren. I’ve always loved cats, but sadly find myself catless at the moment. Our 19-year-old Simba and 17-year-old Tinker Bell both died last year.
I worked as a systems analyst for IBM when I finished college. When I retired from that field, my husband and I bought a farm in northern California. We grew apples, Asian pears, and raspberries for ten years before retiring again, this time to Oregon.
When our only child was a senior in high school, we adopted a 10-year-old girl from a Russian orphanage. I spent two weeks in Moscow finalizing the adoption and then came home to start the parenting thing for a second time.
When our Russian daughter was settled into the family, I trained to become a doula and volunteered to help Spanish speaking women in labor at the hospital across the street from our home. Soon I was very busy. After a few years of doing pro bono work, I made a website and began to work as a doula professionally.
During 20 years of working as a doula, I’ve helped 460 women in labor. My second romance novel, Midwife in Behruz (sequel to Escape from Behruz) features a midwife and uses my experience with childbirth. I’ve just finished Midwife in Behruz and am beginning to plot the final book in what will be a trilogy of stories set in Behruz.
It was wonderful having you with us today. What an interesting life you’ve led Please feel free to stop by anytime. Good Luck with the 99 cent sale on Escape From Behruz.
Posted in Authors' Secrets Blog and tagged Adventures, Behruz, Contemporary, Judy Meadows, Romance by firstname.lastname@example.org with 33 comments.
With its wild and turbulent past, Cripple Creek has a history of unexplained, supernatural occurrences, no wonder it’s earned the reputation of one of the most haunted towns in America. Tales of haunted Cripple Creek hotels, casinos, and homes flourish.
The Imperial Hotel at Third Street and Bennett Avenue known originally as the Collins Hotel, was built after most the town burned to the ground in 1896. As a young man, George Long emigrated from Europe and eventually made his way to Denver. He married his first cousin and together they ran the hotel. The union produced two daughters and a son. The eldest daughter, Alice, was mentally disturbed and the parents were forced to keep her locked in their apartment next to the lobby for her safety and the safety of others. Soon after George fell to his death while negotiating the narrow stairs to the basement. Or some say Alice escaped, waited for him at the top of the stairs, struck him over the head and he crashed to his death from the stop of the stairs. It’s rumored his ghost haunts the hotel to this day.
My experience at the Imperial Hotel was at the performance of Dracula by the Imperial Players in early 1990’s. The performance was excellent, but the strong feeling of someone watching, icy patches and pressure on my arm and lower back, when no one was there. The hair on the back of my neck stood straight up. After meeting the cast in the lobby for an autograph session, my family and I quickly exited the hotel and raced to the safety of our vehicle, thankful that we hadn’t booked a room. Looking back on the experience, was it the performance of Dracula in the supposedly haunted hotel that caused my imagination to run wild, or was there really something there? I admit to having an overactive imagination, but not that time. In the years since, I’ve visited Cripple Creek on numerous occasions, to explore old buildings and mining shacks. My husband and I drive up Hwy 67 to enjoy the turning of the Aspens in autumn, used to camp at the Lost Burro Campground but I haven’t set foot in the Imperial Hotel since that night.
** Next week, more Halloween Haunting with traditions, legends and spooky fun. You don’t want to miss it.
Posted in For Fun, My Say What Blog, The Pikes Peak Region and tagged Colorado, Cripple Creek The Imperial Hotel, Dracula, Halloween, Haunted Towns by email@example.com with no comments yet.