The Scariest Night of the Year by Joan Donaldson-Yarmey

 

 https://www.bookswelove.com/donaldson-yarmey-joan/

https://books2read.com/Romancing-the-Klondike

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

https://books2read.com/Rushing-the-Klondike 

 

 

It is Hallowe’en evening

The scariest night of the year.

My friends and I are trick or treating

When suddenly we hear.

 

A screech and a shriek

And out of the sky

A witch on a broom dives

At my friends and I.

 

We duck and we scatter

Consumed with great fear

For it is Hallowe’en evening

The scariest night of the year.

 

“Don’t be afraid” she cackles.

“I’ve only come to see

If you want to go flying

On my broom with me.”

 

We stare at the witch

Not sure what to do

Her hat is all black

And her dress is, too.

 

Her nose is hooked down

With a wart on the tip

But there’s a gleam in her eyes

And a smile on her lips.

 

“Don’t be afraid,” she says

When we still hesitate

“My name is Kathy

And I don’t have time to wait.”

 

We look at each other

Then without any frowns

We nod and we grin

And jump up and down.

 

“How will we fit?”

I ask skeptically

For the broom is too short

To hold us all perfectly.

 

“Just hop aboard,” she crows.

“And you will see.

Climb one at a time.

Right up behind me.”

 

We all leap on easily

There is plenty of room

For the handle grows longer.

It is a magical broom.

 

When we are all settled

She gives a laugh and a hoot

And up into the sky

All of us swoop.

 

We zig through the buildings

Of the lighted downtown

We zoom up the Whitemud

And then back on down.

 

We stop at Fort Edmonton Park

An historic place that is so vast

The board sidewalks, the steam train

The covered wagons of the past.

 

There is a Ferris wheel

And a merry-go-round

With lots of pretty horses

Going up and down.

 

Kathy calls out with delight

“On to West Edmonton Mall.”

And with cheers and shouts

We whizz through the halls.

 

The stores are all decorated

The children dressed in creepy gear

For it is Hallowe’en evening

The scariest night of the year.

 

We streak through the night

Down to the Edmonton zoo

To see the zebras and lemurs

And the pelicans, too.

 

But instead of the tigers

The camels and gibbons.

There are zombies and ghouls

And skeletons and goblins

 

They stretch and they reach

They lunge and they grasp

Trying to catch the broom

While my friends and I gasp.

 

But Kathy the Witch

Laughs out with glee

As we dodge and we dart

And get ready to flee.

 

“Come back, come back,”

One of the ghouls bellows.

“Yes,” pleads a skeleton.

“We are really nice fellows.”

 

Kathy turns the broom

As we cringe in fear.

For it is Hallowe’en evening

The scariest night of the year.

 

“Ah, ha,” yells the goblin

And as we fly by

He scrambles to reach us

But Kathy stays too high.

 

“Nice try,” she chortles

And she waves goodbye

As we fly safely away

We all give a sigh.

 

“Where are we going now?”

I ask, looking around.

Then I see we are arriving

At our favourite playground.

 

My friends and I laugh

As we dip and we glide

Through the net climbers

And backwards up the slide.

 

We loop de loop

Holding on tight

Zagging through the swings

As we enjoy the night.

 

“On to your school,” Kathy calls

And we head on our way.

Flying to the building

Where we spend our days.

 

The doors swing open

Letting us in

We swoop down the hallway

Making a din.

 

Our teachers jump sideways

As we draw near

For it is Hallowe’en evening

The scariest night of the year.

 

The flight finally ends

Kathy the Witch slows her broom

We all climb off easily

For there is plenty of room.

 

“Good night, my dear children.

It sure has been fun.

But I have to go now

It’s time that I run.”

 

“Thank you,” we call

As she flies out of sight.

We look at each other.

Wow, what a flight!

 

But our bags are empty

So to a house we scurry

All yelling trick or treat

We really have to hurry.

 

Someone opens the door

Their face full of fear

For it is Hallowe’en evening

The scariest night of the year.

It's A Snow Day by Victoria Chatham

 

AVAILABLE ON THESE PLATFORMS

We knew our long, hot summer would not last forever. For the past week, I’ve been watching the weather forecast, mindful of the falling temperatures and gathering cloud cover.

Yesterday was one last brave hurrah of sunshine and mellowness, this morning we woke up to a winter wonderland with snow ten inches deep sitting on top of the cars. It doesn’t matter that what is falling now is a mix of snow and rain, today is the demarcation line between seasons.

My children, who all live in England, do not understand how their mother, who is so not a winter person, ended up in a country where there is so much of it. All I can say is that I make the most of it. On clear days I’m happy to go snowshoeing, but mostly I’m with the bears – hibernation sounds good.

I like to have a stack of books to read, titles by my fellow Books We Love authors, or thrillers by numerous authors like Lee Child, Anthony Horowitz, or Ken Follet.. I’ll compile a list of movies I’d like to watch, oldies but goodies (Casablanca, anyone?) as well as more recent heartwarming romances. Hot chocolate and a cozy fire add to the ambience, and on days when it really is too miserable to venture out of doors, it is time to get down to writing.

My next book, a contemporary western romance, is already underway, so being indoors writing will take up much of my time. Before I know it, the release date of September 1^st, 2023, will roll around, and I will have another title under my belt. I have to say, I love the writing life, whatever the season. How will you prepare for and deal with winter?

Victoria Chatham

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Connecting with a reader

 In "Deadly Mixture", the spouse of a character is presented with a breast cancer diagnosis. I'd hoped it would balance the somewhat dark plot, with the reality and compassion of the medical situation. I spent A LOT of time researching the breast cancer diagnostic process, treatment, and the psychology of the patient and her family. After the book went into print, I mentally set aside that subplot and the work that went into creating it. 

Until a book signing last week.

After discussing the writing process and offering a preview of the follow-up Pine County mystery "Fatal Business", I asked if the attendees had any comments or questions. A gentleman I recognized from a previous talk raised his hand. He'd enjoyed "Deadly Mixture" and wondered if I realized how close to reality the breast cancer subplot was. Before I could answer, he added that his daughter had been diagnosed with breast cancer shortly before "Deadly Mixture" was released. After reading it, he passed his copy of the book to her, hoping she'd enjoy the story. 

With tears in his eyes, he went on, explaining that his daughter breezed through the book, then called him. "Dad, who wrote this book? Do you realize how exactly the author described the pain of the diagnosis, the cycle of surprise, denial, dread, and fear I am going through?"

I know the reader thanked me for my genuine representation of the character's experience with breast cancer, and her psychological response to the diagnosis and treatment. Beyond that, I was left speechless by the depth and sincerity of his comments. I hope I provided adequate thanks for his comments and praise, but to be honest, I was somewhat in shock and don't remember how I responded.

In the days following the book event, I reflected on the man's comments. What had inspired me to include the breast cancer subplot? Obviously, the hours I spent researching the details of the medical treatment and psychology were well spent. But what inspired me to delve into it?

A woman approached me after a different book event sponsored by a local church. She'd read all my books, across all three series, and told me that God must be inspiring me. I believe my response was flippant, joking that I was reasonably certain that God didn't care what happened to my fictional Jill and Doug Fletcher characters.

Now I wonder why I'm drawn from my bed with the characters swirling in my brain, screaming at me to get onto the computer and capture their words before they're lost. Why spend the effort and time to research an obscure plot twist to make sure it's absolutely correct? 

Perhaps the answer is in the words of that reader's comments about "Deadly Mixture". I/we do it because our words have meaning. They're fiction, but there are times when we touch our readers. Sometimes we hope to make them laugh. Other times our words bring tears. Either way, it's become
a humbling responsibility.

Check out "Deadly Mixture" at Hovey, Dean - BWL Publishing Inc. (bookswelove.net)

The Ghosts of Brittany France by Diane Scott Lewis

 

 Isabelle is likable heroine, and I enjoyed watching her make the best of a bad situation. Anyone who enjoys historical romance with a paranormal twist might want to check it (A Savage Exile) out.
~ Long and Short Reviews

Could vampires have roamed the island of Napoleon's final exile? Will a young maid discover the truth, or become a victim?

Purchase HERE

In writing a WWII novel set in Brittany, France, I learned more about their culture. Since October is the time of ghosts, I wondered how the Breton's felt about the otherworld. The most shocking revelation was, they believe the dead are always with them: two worlds in perpetual relation to one another. If the dead rustled the fallen leaves, this was expected, not surprising.

Also, they believe the dead are doomed to return to the land of the living up to three times--though the souls of the damned were usually lost forever. In rare cases, a damned soul might return to scold a loved one, warning them to change their ways before it's too late. People who died violent deaths were forced to linger between life and death until the natural course of their life would be over. These poor souls wandered the seashores and hedgerows awaiting Divine Judgement.

It was once thought the dead didn't immediately enter the Otherworld, but remained near their families for nine generations.

People were warned not to be out at night, and especially not to whistle. This attracted demons and the dead. One man in Northern Brittany was traveling home after dark and whistled to keep up his spirits. Then he heard an echo of his whistle, but this one was clearer and sharper than his. The whistler came closer and the man quickly realized the Devil was on his tail.

Working outside after dark was also a dangerous task. One farmer in Northern Brittany continued to sow his buckwheat after the setting sun. When he heard the cry "leave the night to whom it belongs," he stopped and hurried into his house.

In Southern Brittany, anyone who gazed too long on a will-o'-the-wisp, would go blind. And never look upon the ghostly white clad girls who carried blessed candles in the woods, doomed for using them in a profane manner.

In earlier times people carried rosaries and lanterns if they had to be out after dark. Or they could challenge the dead: "If you came from God, tell me your desire. If you came from the Devil, go on your way as I go mine." 

Information provided by Bon Repos Gites; Ghosts and Revenants of Brittany

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

To find out more about her and her books:  DianeScottLewis