Showing posts with label haunted house. Show all posts
Showing posts with label haunted house. Show all posts

Tuesday, November 21, 2023

Working on a YA with my granddaughter, by Diane Scott Lewis



To purchase my novels click HERE and scroll down.

I've never worked on a novel with another person, much less a girl who is almost fourteen. Please enjoy the folly and reward of this decision.

At first, Jorja was excited and we planned out the beginning of the story. I put in some suggestions, and so did she. 
I began to write it and gave her the chapters to go over. She'd change a word or two and give it back.
I said I wanted her to give me insight, story changes, different ideas.

We went over the dialog together because she said the main character, Sage, spoke too formally. That was great, just what I needed. Give me some teen slang. Do you like the direction the story is going?

The set up is three children explore a haunted house where their great-great grandmother supposedly murdered her lover. Also, a favorite teacher is found murdered near the manor five months previously. 

New people have moved into the mansion, but there's something odd about all of them. Sage hears strange footsteps and sees other inhabitants that no one else does. Are they ghosts?




Is it scary enough? She said yes. But I plan to make it even scarier. It's meant for kids twelve to fifteen, so I won't go too gory. I've enjoyed the creation of this story and will press her to contribute more. I know she will if we just buckle down in front of the computer.



Of course, Jorja is busy being a middle school teen, different friends, and new experiences. And she's working on her own novel. I love that she is writing and loves to read. She takes after her grandmother.

Diane lives in Western Pennsylvania with her husband and one naughty dachshund.

Friday, November 26, 2021

Time for a story--Tricia McGill

Find links to all  my books here on my BWL page

Deep into research and planning for my next book, I realised that time had run away with me before I decided on a topic for my latest post. I hope this short story that I wrote many years ago will suffice. Sadly, it says a lot about the state of some of our children in these times, and the poor conditions thrust upon them. It is called The Kitten.

The demons were at his heels. He was panting when he reached the house. It stood, dark, forbidding. He knew it was empty. For the past two years since the Grimwalds had moved out no one had been brave enough to occupy it, even for a night. 

           He climbed through the hole in the fence that was well known by all the local kids. He had come here once with the Wells Street gang, but had heard they never used it as a meeting place any more. He was an outcast now, belonging to no gang. His mum was always bad-tempered and drunk most of the time; had been since his dad went away. What was it about grown-ups that made them take all their problems and misfortunes out on their kids?

            The house loomed before him, dark windows glaring down like black glass eyes. Did he have the courage to go inside? Well, there was only one way to find out. A gust of wind sent a carton flying about and it caught him on the shins, scaring him, making him shudder. He felt as if he had stepped into a movie he watched once, where a werewolf lived in the cellar of a house just like this one. His teeth chattered and he shivered wildly. What was he doing here? He must have gone mad.

            Mad or desperate? Where else could he go? His mum had a new boyfriend with her—some pathetic creep she'd picked up. Greg, his best friend, had been ordered to keep away from him. Funny ideas some grown-ups had. They could only get together at school now. Of course he could go and hang about near the station, but all the druggies got there. He didn't fancy getting mixed up with that lot; he'd managed to keep out of their way up to now.

            He wasn't welcome with the gang any more, since he'd refused to take part in their shop-lifting caper—to prove his bravery, they'd said. What was brave about nicking a few silly bars of chocolate and some cigs?

            He reached the tree where he knew he could get into the house through the upstairs window, and began to climb. He reached the second limb up when a pitiful sound stopped him in his efforts. "Meow...." it came again.

"Where are you? I can hear you, but I can't see you," he called in a loud whisper, and received another yowl in response. Up another foot he went until he could get a hold of the branch hanging over the balcony. A scruffy ball of fur began to hiss at him as he sat back on the branch, and he saw a small dirty-white kitten further up, its coat all wet, its eyes wide and staring. It hissed again and he chatted to it for a few minutes in what he hoped was a comforting tone. He didn't know much about animals, for he'd never been allowed to keep a pet, but he felt a strange empathy with this little creature. It looked just like he felt. Lonely. Sad. Miserable, and confused.

            "Come down then and you can come inside with me," he called, and to his surprise the kitten obeyed, dropping onto the branch beside him. "Wanna come into the house with me?" he asked, and it began to wipe its wet nose on his hand. It sniffed at him a bit and then jumped onto the top rail of the balcony, making a sound in its throat as if calling to him.

            He tentatively crawled along the branch and followed the kitten as it jumped down. It turned to make sure he followed before disappearing through a gap in the double doors.  He pushed the gap a bit wider and went after it. The room was so gloomy that he couldn't see the kitten, but then felt it smooching about his ankles. As his eyes became accustomed to the dark, he was able to follow it to the door, which creaked as he pushed it open. The wind whistled mournfully down the passageway. Strangely, he didn't feel so frightened now he had the cat to keep him company. Stealthily they went down the stairs, and then he heard the strange noise. His flesh began to crawl, goose bumps rising on every inch of his body.

            "Who's there?" he whispered, his voice coming out odd and shaky. He'd heard of knocking knees but until that moment hadn't known just what it meant. "Come out, if you know what's good for you," he cried, not having a clue what he would do if a man came out carrying a gun or some other weapon.

            A funny scuffling sound was followed by a dragging noise and if the cat hadn't decided at that moment to smooch round him again he would have fled. His feet felt as if they were glued to the floor. As if in a dream where you couldn't move he watched as the door to what he guessed was the kitchen slowly opened. A scrawny hand appeared around its edge, the fingers bent and twisted, like talons.

            He opened his mouth to scream, but all that came out was a small yowl just like the cat had made. A face, a terrible face, all lined and flabby, with skin hanging in folds beneath each eye followed the hand. The hair surrounding it was like the strings on the filthy mop that his mum kept outside the back door.  He managed a scream then, but before he could turn and run the thing had moved to clamp those long talon-like fingers over his arm. In terror he shrank from the vile smell coming off what he now saw was an old woman.

            "Let go of me," he ordered with as much bravado as he could muster.

            "Not until you keep quiet, silly little dope. What d'you want to do, waken the dead?" she asked, giving an unearthly cackle that made him shudder anew.

            "Are you dead?" he asked croakily as she released him. He thought of running but decided to stay and see what happened. She certainly didn't look like a ghost, and ghosts didn't stink, did they?

            She took out a piece of rag from the pocket of her cardigan and blew her nose noisily. "Not me. Want a bite?" She offered him a piece of bread. "Nice house isn't it?" she asked companionably. "You must have been mighty desperate to come in alone boy. Tell Old Jane your sorry tale and perhaps I'll let you stay."

            She picked up the kitten and stroked its wet fur before sitting down on the floor. He joined her, feeling safe now as he took a bite of the bread.

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Sunday, November 26, 2017

Laurel's Gift by Tricia McGill

Laurel's Gift and all my other books are now available at numerous online stores. Find out where on my BWL Author page
I’ve always believed in ghosts (but strangely do not like horror stories) so for the life of me can’t understand why it’s taken me so long to come up with a story containing one. I am primarily a romance writer and like my stories to have a happy ending. Although my books cross a few sub-genres, including Time-Travel, Contemporary, and Historical they always have romance at their core. I really enjoyed writing Laurel and Eli’s story even though it is a tad different to my usual offerings, and at the beginning really had no idea where it was going to end up. But as usual the characters more or less told me what they wanted to do and led me on a merry chase.

Here’s the blurb for Laurel’s Gift:

The plaintive singing of a ghostly child in the night sets off a chain of events that lead to Laurel learning the dark secrets that dwell in her Great Aunt Maggie’s house in a Melbourne suburb. When Eli comes into Laurel’s life, instead of instantly uncovering the secrets that have been buried in this house for many years, their joint efforts lead them to discover even greater mysteries.

Eli’s past is tied up with the ghost of the child who haunts the house, and there are many hurdles to cross before he discovers just why he also sensed strange vibes in the old house as soon as he entered.

In their search for the answers to an extraordinary mystery they uncover a passionate love affair shared by the people dear to them or those who dwelt in the house at one time of another. Despite their shared psychic abilities can the couple also find such a love?

*~~~~*

As you see this is really two love stories blended into one and this is one of my short poems featured in the book:

My life was dull, my future stark and bare.
Days, weeks, stretched before me with nothing there.
But then you came along.
Not dashing in like some bold knight, 
More like a gentle hint of summer, so good so right.
I’m glad you came along.
Dreams long buried were fulfilled by you.
You did not ask; I gave my heart, my soul too.
When you came along.
Your gentle touch, your sweet lover’s kiss,
Stole this autumn heart, taught me of bliss.
Please stay awhile.
The permanence sought by most is something we may never know.
But my heart is yours, whichever way our paths may go.


To find out about my other books please go over to my Web Page where you will also find links on where to buy from your online retailer of choice. This book and most of my others also now come in Print if you prefer a hard copy.
Tricia McGill's Web Page




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