Bucket Lists & Memoirs by Diane Bator

 

To Buy All That Shimmers

A funny thing happened while Victoria Chatham and I were at a Christmas Farmer's Market selling our books. A lovely woman came over to share that people kept telling her to write a book of her experiences because she'd had some interesting ones. When she told us about a Christmas tree her family had when she was a kid, we were both hooked! The longer we chatted, the more intrigued we were. I lost track of how long we talked with her, but came away in awe.

Over the years I've done a few podcasts and blog posts and always find it fascinating how other people actually want to hear my story. I know I'm not alone in that. This woman doubted the validity of how wonderful her stories - and her ability to tell those stories - actually was. The more Victoria and I encouraged her, the more animated she became. I have no doubt she went home and started figuring out how to write her story.

The last thing she told me before she left was how she'd recently turned 70 and decided she wanted to go to Europe. Her husband had no interest in going. So she went alone and had the time of her life! She's also been indoor skydiving (something on my bucket list), and checked off a few other items she's only dreamed about doing. Writing her book will be next.

That got me thinking about my own bucket list and how I've been ticking a few boxes of my own.

I won't lie, 2023 has been difficult in so many ways, but I have done a few things I'm proud of:

• published my 15th book, All That Shimmers
• moving across Canada solo with two cats
• driving from Calgary to Penticton for the Wine Country Writers' Festival, again solo but no cats!
• setting a few personal boundaries
• meeting new people
• meeting people I've known virtually for years
• attending When Words Collide in person!
• started to learn some new skills that will come in handy in 2024
• connecting with writing friends and starting a monthly Zoom chat 
• guesting on several podcasts and blogs and making some great connections
• starting to read other people's book again!
• moving closer to the mountains
• starting to write short stories again and having them published in anthologies
• hanging out with family when we can
• becoming my own cheerleader - something a lot of people struggle with

What's on the horizon for 2024? Probably catching my breath after 2023!

The good thing is, I have a month to figure it out!

What's on your bucket list?

Is there a book you long to write? I'm not only a writer, but also a book coach and can help! For coaching info:  https://www.dianebator.ca/

Have a wonderful holiday season!

Diane Bator

https://bwlpublishing.ca/bator-diane/

Credibility by J. S. Marlo

 

Wounded Hearts

"Love & Sacrifice #2"

is now available  

click here 

 

 

  

J. S. Marlo's BWL Books

Many years ago, I received a message from one of my readers. She was a scuba diver, and she loved stories that took place underwater, but she often found herself disappointed by how the divers were depicted. Still, she gave my novel Salvaged a chance.

Her "well-done" message was to tell me she knew I'd done my homework when I strapped weights to the belt of my female character before her dive.

The story was over seventy thousand words, but it only took five words to give credibility to my character: strapped weights to her belt.

Details are important to stories, and those details need to ring true to the readers who know what you're taking about--and there will always be one reader who knows better.

A beginner writer who's never seen snow asked me to review one of her scenes. It went pretty much like this:

The character left home and drove to the airport in the middle of a snowstorm. Lighting and thunder strike in the dark sky as the snow fell. The character landed an hour after leaving home.

Anyone reader who's ever driven in a snowstorm or flown anywhere is bound to notice the inconsistencies in that scene. Left uncorrected, the scene would have buried the story's, an author's, credibility deep in the snow.

I ended up exchanging lots of messages with that particular writer. Here's a few things any writer should take away from this scene.

Weather or Natural Disaster:

If there's a snowstorm, a tornado, a forest fire, a tsunami, etc... in your story, and you've never experienced such phenomenon, make sure you research it. No one is expected to know everything, that's why google exists.

In the middle of a snowstorm, the sky is kind of white, not dark. There isn't any lighting or thunder, but there can be lots of wind.

Severe weather often affect transportation, any kind of transportation. Plane, ferry, car, train...

If your character is flying somewhere during a snowstorm, his plane will likely be delayed, if not canceled. If if he's flying in the middle of a thunderstorm, the plane won't land or depart until there's no more lighting risk for the ground crew.

Before your character travels anywhere, you want to make sure it can be done under the weather conditions described in your story.

Elapsed Time or Time Zones:

Google Map and Airline Sites are great tools. They will tell you how long it takes to travel from Point A to Point B using different modes of transportation.

If you're traveling by car, and Google Map tells you it'll take ten hours, it's doubtful you'll be there ten hours later--unless you don't need to stop to fill up on gas, don't encounter traffic or construction, and don't need to pee or eat. So, remember to factor in the stops along the way.

If you're flying, and the flight is four hours, you won't arrive at destination four hours after leaving home. You need to drive to the airport, be there at least an hour ahead of time, and after landing, you may have to wait for your luggage or go through custom.

A character flying commercial cannot arrive at destination an hour after leaving home.

The greater the distance your character travels, the more time zones he/she will go through.

A non-stop flight from Calgary to Montreal is around 4 hours. If the plane departs at 2pm, it won't land around 6pm, it will land around 8pm, because there is a 2-hour time difference between Calgary and Montreal.

If a character living in Vancouver wants to chit-chat with his mother living in Finland, then the character may not want to call her after 1pm unless mom is a night owl, or it's an emergency. When it's 1pm in Vancouver, it's already 11pm in Finland.

Time zones affect not only travel but also communication.

The stories may be fictional, but they still need to be credible. The veracity of the details is important. It only takes a few words to hook -- or lose -- a reader.

Happy Reading & Stay Safe! J.S.

 

 

J. S. Marlo's Website

A Ticket to Romance...by Sheila Claydon

 

Find my books here

Since the final book of my Mapleby Trilogy, Many a Moon, was published at the beginning of June I have had to answer a number of questions. They have fascinated me.

The first once concerns Mapleby itself. Convinced that it is a real place, a number of readers have put forward their own suggestions as to where it might be. So far they have all been wrong. They are right, however, at assuming it is based on a real village, although I doubt they would recognise it as I have taken a few liberties with the geography and the history. There really is a derelict watermill though and it was discovering that, quite by accident, that prompted me to write the story.

The second question has been about the heroine, Ellie. Is she based on a real person? Is she someone I know who has told me about her work as a Housekeeper? The answer to that is no. Instead it is based on my observations of how holiday sites have worked when I have been on holiday. They are like miniature villages with all mod cons, including small shops and restaurants, and a dedicated staff team that make sure their guests have an enjoyable and trouble free visit.

The same question has been asked about Will, the hero. As I don't play golf, how do I know about greenskeepers and golf clubs? Well all I can say about that is thank goodness for the Internet, and thanks, too, to the people I know who do play golf and have entertained me at their club in the past.

There have been questions, as well, about the castle, and the remains of the friary. Have I visited them? Are they in Mapleby or have I imported them from elsewhere? The answer is both yes and no. I have visited them.They are in my Mapleby. But anyone searching wouldn't find them because the geography has changed a bit in 800 years! 

Many a Moon has garnered more questions than any other book I've written, and I love it that readers have invested so much of themselves into the story. It has also prompted me to revisit all my other books because nearly every one of them is set in a place I've visited. Once, a long time ago, someone told me my books were like a ticket to romance. It was a lovely phrase which I have often adopted when promoting them, but it is only now that I realise it really is true. Because the chaos in airports around the world is making it is so difficult to travel anywhere at the moment, I am staying at home, but a quick look at all the covers of my books has taken me back to many of the places I have visited, places and experiences which have given me so much pleasure as well as real inspiration: New Zealand, Australia, Italy, America, France,  the Canary Islands, Russia, and then all those places in the UK from London to the Home Counties, from the North West coast to the South, to Wales and Scotland, to villages and towns and cities. It really has been a journey and one that I can take again any time I look at one of my books. Readers can as well if they want to buy a ticket to romance. 

Website

It's a big, big world out there...by Sheila Claydon

Click here for my books and author page

A new year, a new decade, what does the next 10 years hold for us? Only time will tell.

Looking back over the past 10 years, however, I realise how much in my own life has changed, and also how many wonderful experiences I've had. Since 2010 I've visited so many different parts of the world, including the big ones of China, Russia, America and India, that I don't have enough fingers to count them.  I've travelled across New Zealand, I've lived in Australia for 6 months. I've been to Canada and onward to Alaska. I've spent weeks in Hong Kong. I've also travelled to more than a dozen European countries as well as to many parts of the UK, some familiar, some not, and my goodness how my attitudes have changed in this past decade.

Most of my travels have come about because of commitments to family or friends. I'm not an inveterate traveller, even though it might seem like it. I am quite happy with a quiet life walking my dog and meeting local friends.  The travels happened, however, and with them a deeper understanding of different cultures - how different we all are, and yet how similar.

Seeing ragged beggars on the streets of Delhi before experiencing the reverence of thousands of Sikhs at the Golden Temple in Amritsar gave me such an emotional jolt that I began to look at India in another way entirely. The same in China, where everyone is so friendly and helpful, especially if, like me, you have white hair. The respect for older citizens in China is palpable wherever you go. Russian people are mostly serious while Canadians and Australians are laid back and relaxed. Alaskans are just different but then so would I be if I had to live at -30 to -40 degrees for a long, long winter. Then there is busy and overcrowded Hong Kong with its wonderful beaches and museums where life is very good for those who earn well. It has many citizens who are less lucky, however, and it is very noticeable that they don't smile as much as the mainland Chinese.

Then there is America.  Like any large country the people in Washington are very different from the people in San Diego or Orlando or Las Vegas or Key West. What they all have in common, however, is their overwhelming friendliness towards people from the UK, and an insatiable curiosity about our way of life.

Finally there's Europe and that is where there is an even bigger discrepancy. The French are nothing like the Italians who are nothing like the Spanish who are nothing like the Scandinavians who are nothing like the Albanians etc. etc. It is so fascinating eat different food,  listen to different music, travel through different scenery, hear different languages, all the while trying to understand and absorb just a little of the different cultures in such a limited time.

I have been extra lucky that so many of my trips have involved staying with or travelling with local people who always wanted to show the best of their country while also discussing some of its worst aspects.  So thanks to them, this decade has not only broadened my mind, it has broadened my understanding.

In the words of the eminent French novelist Gustave Flaubert : travel makes one modest, you see what a tiny place you occupy in the world or, as the American writer Henry Miller said: One's destination is never a place but a new way of seeing things. 

My views are only my views of course, and other people will see and experience different facets of each culture, but I do know that my decade long journey has changed me unalterably. I am no longer the English woman who first got on a plane aged 40, and who never expected to travel much further than France. Now that I've talked to the indigenous peoples of Australia, native Americans, Alaskan natives, rural Indians of all religious persuasions, communist Chinese and anglophile Russians, to say nothing of the many different peoples of Europe, I know I really am just a speck on the vast planet we call earth.

There must be many, many stories inside me if only I could write them, but somehow the best experiences never translate into the written word. They have to be lived,

I have occasionally used some of my experiences as a background to my books, however, and Cabin Fever is based on a cruise from Aukland in New Zealand's north island to Sydney in Australia. I haven't done it justice I'm sure...but re-reading it has taken me back to what was a truly wonderful experience, although unlike the protagonists in the book, I was lucky enough to visit friends and family en-route and so experienced so much more than the casual traveller.

Now, as a new decade starts, I'm off to Japan and South Korea, both of which promise to be a whole new and challenging cultural experience. I'm busy reading up on them at the moment but as English writer Aldhous Huxley said: to travel is to discover that everyone is wrong about other countries.

Happy travelling.

Afterthoughts and Aftermess in the Amazon by Stuart R. West

Click for the third Zach and Zora comic mystery

Well, all good things must come to an end, I suppose. Even if there were times I didn't think I'd survive the Amazon jungle. Not due to life-threatening situations, mind you, but rather the strenuous activities of hiking through a sauna-like environment in long pants, shirts, and those torturous boots.

Goodbye Peru...

But I made it. Even though the plane trips back were trying--eight days in the jungle and no ailments, but everyone on the plane was hacking and wheezing, sure to be my downfall; also, we had an encounter with an ugly American teenage girl who tried to cut in line (but my wife put a stop to that!)--we began the long, dull process of settling back into routine.

Fun in a germ-ridden flying tin can!

Upon return, Kansas seemed rather...lifeless. Sure, it felt safer and was definitely cleaner, but it lacked the energy, the vibrancy of Iquitos and the unfettered nature of the jungle. Everything about the Midwest appeared so ho-hum.

BO-RING!

Except, of course, for my week-long bout with diarrhea. Yay, TMI! (At least I didn't suffer while in the jungle; I can't even begin to imagine...wait, yes I can).

Wake me when we leave Kansas...

I learned a lot on my adventures. While I'm not quite ready to bunker down in a tent (too many serial killers lurking in the woods), or go backpacking in the Himalayas (too many yetis), or cannonball into a hot tub with Buddha (not enough room for both of us), I've decided to embrace nature as my friend. Finally. Call me ridiculous, but the other day there was a grotesque, hard-carapaced bug skittering down the hallway. I managed to scoop him up and put him outside. In the past, he would've been instant floor-kill.

The incredible power of the Amazon--nature at its wildest, most untainted state--proved awe-inspiring, not only in its beauty and yin and yang of terror, but also in the potential it has as a natural state of energy. If people would learn to coexist peacefully with the river, harness it without doing damage, it has the potential to power a good chunk of the world. It is to be respected.

So are people. After my trip, I've vowed to try and be nicer. A tough chore, but I'm committed. Our visit to Iquitos made me realize just how "rich" we are, comparatively speaking. We saw squalor, miserable living conditions, and even worse health care issues. But the locals' living conditions didn't get them down. On the contrary, they carried on with life, making our trials and tribulations appear petty. We could all learn something from the people of Peru.

I also came out the other side with the pleasure of bonding with new friends and reacquainting with old ones. You can't go through a boot camp of that type, storming the gates of hell, without growing close to those experiencing the trip next to you. And seeing as I write full-time from home, it was the most socializing I'd done in years. Big ol' honkin' baby steps!

New friends/family!

Best of all, I love the fact that "jungle pants" has become a nonchalantly dropped word in our everyday lexicon.

And the stories I heard, the things I saw and experienced, will shape and fill at least one future novel percolating on the back-burner, a paranormal mystery.

Onward and upward, the world's a great big, ol' beautiful and wondrous and scary place, much more than my previously staked-out back yard of Kansas City. I can't wait to explore more. (But, um, just with air conditioning this time).

Peace.

Final Day in the Amazon: Day Drinking with a Shaman! by Stuart R. West

Even more peculiar than the Amazon Rain Forest...

Sniff. The last day of our adventures along the Amazon River...

During our final meal at the lodge, one of the teens in our group mesmerized Antonio, our shaman in tow, with excellent sleight-of-hand coin tricks. Pretty amazing, something I thought I'd never witness: old magic meeting new.

Our new family.

Even more astounding is what transpired on our last day in the jungle, something I never thought I'd do in my lifetime, something that I'd never even considered: day-drinking with a shaman!

Cheers! ("Tink.")

We were told we were visiting the rum "factory." Yay! Something finally more my speed. Still, to get there we had to go via boat, so I blundered into my usual seat (the anchor position), and off we went. Across from our destination, I witnessed entropy in action as a tree toppled into the river with a gargantuan splash. Just another amazing sight, one of many. But the best was yet to come.

Shaman at work in the rum factory.

Calling the rum joint a "factory" was pure embellishment. Our tour consisted of standing around a hot shed, where an old-fashioned press was operated by a horse to squeeze sugar from cane. Antonio passed around the resultant sugar for us to sip from. I figured if I hadn't caught a rare disease by now, sharing germs with my fellow travelers wasn't gonna kill me. 

Victor explaining rum to a thirsty crowd.

Our shaman then dumped the resultant sugar into a fermenting barrel. Once he set the bowl back on the ground, a friendly pig lapped up the rest (I still don't know if he was a family pet or breakfast). Hey, alcohol kills germs! Apparently the pig had too much to drink and then sat on my wife's feet.

Rum-guzzling pig.

We hurried through the rest of the "tour": there's the fermenting barrel, over there's the oven to boil it, bla, bla, bla, let's drink!

All creatures, great and small, love them some rum.

Gathered around a table, three bottles were plopped down in front of us. Again, we shared a shot glass, all of us practically family now. After the first several shots, germs began to not matter so much.

Na zda-ró-vye! 

Ay caramba, dios mio!

The first bottle was straight up "aguardiente," aka "firewater." Akin to grain alcohol, it could strip paint off a wall and melt a clown's face. My chest nicely warmed, we moved onto the next bottle of booze, a ginger-infused alcohol.

To your health!

Antonio nudged my wife, pointed at the bottle, then wound a finger around his ear: muy loco! Didn't stop him from enjoying his rum, though. What's good for a shaman's good for me. 

Here's mud in your eye!

Ay, yi, yiiii, Viagra!

Next came "Siete Raices," which Antonio described as Viagra. For some reason, the factory owner kept pushing it on me. Did he know something I didn't? Hey, who was I to stand in the way of medicine?

Down the hatch!

Soon, our guide Victor filled up his cup by mixing two of the rums. He claimed it was Antonio's fault since he said he needed his Viagra. We weren't about to let him drink by himself, so the men joined him. 

Education can be fun!

Salute! 

Not to be outdone, the women had their turn at the bottles. Again and again. 

Gettin' some good learnin' done about nature!

Cin-cin!

A perfect way to end our jungle adventures, this went on for a while...

Incredibly, my boat balance appeared to have improved by the time we left.

Prost!

All in all, a very peculiar day. Which leads me into an extremely awkward and shameless segue: Have you read Peculiar County yet? Here's what critic "The Cellophane Queen" had to say about it: "Amazingly good. Brilliant. Pitch perfect characterizations and intriguing use of language remind me of the master writer, Stephen King. Dibby is a heroine of the first order taking charge in a very Peculiar County in Kansas." Visit alluring and strange Peculiar County now.

 

Piranha Fishing on the Amazon River by Stuart R. West

One click away from mystery, murder and humor.

Continuing our further (mis)adventures in the Amazon Rain Forest...

After another night of sleeplessness, we... Oh. Wait. Did I not tell you the unfortunate sleeping circumstances of our lodgings?

You see, the Heliconia Lodge is very nice, offers great food, and the staff is top-notch. 

But seeing as we're in the jungle, of course, air conditioning is unheard of. Electricity, too, for the most part, which is why the lodge runs off a generator. Naturally it wouldn't make much sense to run it full time, so they turn it off three times a day, usually when I wanted to shower.

(Side note on showering: Our first day at the Heliconia, we kept going out on excursions and each time I'd soak through my clothes. Not by rain, mind you, but sweat. So I kept showering and changing clothes. Six wardrobe changes in one day, I felt like Cher in Vegas. By the next day, I pretty much just gave up on hygiene. Sure, you didn't want to sit downwind of me, but everyone in our group was in the same boat. Literally.).

Anyway, I could live without electricity during the days. We were never in our room anyway. But then they'd power down the generator every night at midnight. The room fans would stop as the entire compound ground down with a dying, monstrous groan: pretty much an alarm clock to jolt me awake. I usually clocked in a solid 45 minutes before the generator stopped.

In bed. NEVER asleep!

Then nature's sound machine took over, keeping me up most of the night. (And the endless sweat, natch. In fact, I've come up with the perfect slogan for the Heliconia Lodge: "At Heliconia, we sweat the hell outta you!")

What does nature's sound machine sound like, you ask? Kinda like this (ahem)...

"OOOH, OOOH, AHHH, EEEK, EEEK, EEEK, OOT, OOT, AHHH, OOOT, HOOO, HOOOO, OOOOOO, EEEK, EEEEK, AIEEEEE..."

You get the drift. Some kind of unidentified bug/animal/monster took to haunting me right outside our room: it sounded like a blacksmith pounding out metal. Also, I was too busy wondering what sort of varmints were scampering around in our dark room to sleep. The horror stories about scorpions, tarantulas, and snakes didn't help.

So. Sleep deprived, missing the wonders of air conditioning and quiet, we wandered once again into the jungle on a medicinal plant trail, great for pharmacists, exhausting for we mere authors. 

Our guide, Antonio, using his version of G.P.S.: "Great Product of Survival"

However, we did something very cool. We planted mango trees in the Amazon jungle in honor of Earth Day. I'll gladly brave the sleepless nights, nocturnal monsters, and near death experiences by visiting again in five years to eat a mango from our tree.

Cool was the order of the day as later we went piranha fishing. Danger's my middle name (not really, not even close).

Time and time again on our trip, we'd been told piranha were good to eat. I'd never realized piranha was an edible fish, just sort of thought of it as an eating fish (remember: movies are my education). I kinda think it might just be practical on the Peruvians' behalf to eat what they have plenty of (otherwise I'm completely baffled by the choice of monkey's head soup). Oddly enough, though, piranha was never offered to us at the lodge. But we were prepared to catch dinner for everyone.

Off we went on our fishing expedition! I warned everyone I was prepared to fall. They all agreed, hardly a shocker. 

Before the fishing trip with happy and high expectations!

Hooks were baited, lines were sunk, and we waited. And waited. And waited, just merrily bob-bob-bobbing along. The blasted piranha kept nibbling at our bait, just eating it. Our buddy fed the piranha a lot (next fisherman: "Man, that's one fat fish.").

Only one of us snagged a piranha (teacher's pet, teacher's pet, teacher's pet!), a small one at that. 

Expectations dashed!

Still, all in all, how very awesome it is to snootily drop into conversation, pinky finger raised, "The other day we were on the Amazon River, fishing for piranha..."

While we're on the subject of sharp toothed critters, check out the second in the Zach and Zora comic mystery series, Murder by Massage. My hapless heroes face all sorts of shark-toothed, crocodile-teared types such as
dancing cops, ex-radical hippy militants, pompous pastors, and a creepy set of "Furries." What're you waiting for? The party's started and it's a blast!

Spiritual Healing Jungle Style by Stuart R. West

Visit lovely Peculiar County, just a click away.

Here we go again, back into the Amazon rain forest...

As things go, I'm kinda skeptical by nature. Which is a funny way to phrase it: "by nature." Because during our eight day sojourn into the jungle, "nature" challenged some of my earlier, stubborn notions.

Me in all my glory getting dowsed by a shaman!

Jungle Momma, the amazing organizer of our Peruvian trip, is--like my wife and many others in our party--a pharmacist. These days, however, she resides in Iquitos and the jungle, soaking up all the information she can regarding the vast, untapped, and downright amazing array of herbal and plant medicines available in the jungle. She's also been apprenticing with a shaman for the past twenty years.

Antonio, the Maestro!

Which brings me to Antonio, el Maestro Magia! Antonio, one of the last of the red-hot shamans, is a fascinating guy. He carries within him immense knowledge passed down from previous shamans, sadly the end of the line. Since his village civilized and moved into Iquitos with direct TV dishes, no one's interested in carrying on the shamanic traditions any longer, preferring the sparkly, new-fangled allure of Western medicine. A shame.

Antonio's part miracle worker, part doctor, part magician, and a pinch of dirty ol' man. Maybe even a sliver of Catskills vaudeville stand-up comic. Savvier than he appears, he pretends to not speak English at all, although we had our suspicions.  During his stay at our lodge, he was sequestered in the back conference room, down a very long walkway and closer to the jungle, because he couldn't handle all of the city energy in the lodge for too long. 

Yet, the reach of civilization had touched Antonio, too. Wearing an Americanized ballcap, emblazoned with the letter "M," and duded out in designer jeans and stylin' kicks, he resembled a tourist emulating American style (or lack thereof). I so wanted the "M" on his cap to stand for "magic." Alas, it was a corporate symbol for Iquitos' mega supplier of cable TV and cell phone plans.

The stories surrounding Antonio are amazing. With one look he diagnosed someone's cancer with his "MRI vision." He healed someone's growing fungal attack with jungle plants when all  Western medicine failed. Father of many, lover of even more, no one truly knows Antonio's age, but it's guestimated at around 82 or so. Given that, he's in better shape than I am, leaping off boats with ease and (terrifyingly) running through the jungle bare-foot.

El Maestro Magia!

Our first night in the jungle lodge, Antonio arranged a group blessing. This consisted of us donning our swimsuits; one by one, he doused us with a bucket of cold water with flowers stirred into the mix. His blessing went untranslated. For all I know, he could've been singing the Brady Bunch theme song.

We were then given the option of having a personal, spiritual healing session with el Maestro Magia. I waffled back and forth, wanting to experience it, yet fearful of what he might find out about my health. Did I believe in his unexplained abilities? I don't know. But I was afraid enough to waffle. And after the stories I'd been told by intelligent, sane people, I'd be a fool to dismiss Antonio's talents out-of-hand. So, I continued to waffle. Man, can I waffle, more waffling than the local pancake shop, a waffling talent I've perfected over many years of waffling. I mean, if I've got some kind of necrotic skin disease, isn't it better to not know about it until the last second?

At the final moment, I took a giant leap of faith over my waffles and landed in Antonio's domain, off the griddle and into the frying pan. 

I entered the circular room, empty except for Antonio sitting in a folding chair, head bowed. I approached him, shook his hand. Quietly he muttered something, gestured toward the folding chair across from him. I sat. He slapped some kinda nice-smelling oil on my face and doubled down on my head (I kinda think he liked the feel of my slick pate as he gave it a few extra smacks). A cigar was lit as he smoked herbal tobacco, constantly blowing it on me as he whistled a nameless, tuneless song. I closed my eyes, went with it, tried to "get out of my head" as I was instructed (usually an impossible task; I mean where else am I gonna go?), as he brushed palm leaves all over me.

I'm not sure what happened, but something did. The constant rustling of the dried leaves fell into a drum-like pattern. Pungent, rich smoke transported me elsewhere. With my eyes shut, I envisioned the past, ancient tribes beating drums, dancing around a fire, a community of respect for Mother Earth.

A duck-like call at my temples brought me back; Antonio sucking out the bad energy from my head. When it ended, I was disappointed. Eyes still closed, I waited. Finally, Antonio said, "okay," a universal word. I opened my eyes, felt comfortably numb, rested yet exhilarated.

I stumbled out to the communal hammock/nap room and just lay there contemplating my navel for half an hour.

Was I really transported back in time? No. Probably just my writerly senses propelling me into a flight of fantasy. But I felt more rested, comfortable, and at peace than I had for a while. It also made me consider bigger issues than my rather small Kansas City backyard.

Other members of our group experienced different things. My wife felt connected to water. She said, "We're moving close to water." I said, "Okay, as long as there's air conditioning."

Another person felt a shoulder wound heal and the word "metaphysical" kept bouncing around his mind. One woman said it felt like the aftermath of a really great massage. I couldn't argue with that. Another guy shrugged, said, "it was alright."

On the other hand, Antonio also strongly believes in love potions, so there's that.

Speaking of unexplainable and magical happenings, book a trip to scenic Peculiar County, where things are never as they appear.