Stonehenge and other things By Nancy M Bell

Wow, it's February 18th already. Time flies, it seems like only a few days ago I was posting my January offering to the Books We Love blog. I have started an online course with the University of Buckingham on Stonehenge. It is delivered via iversity.org. The information is relayed via video clips followed by a quiz and it very informative. There is a discussion page where students can interact and share thoughts and ideas as well as ask questions. I'm in the fourth week right now and have just completed the first Project which will be judged by my peers in the group and then issued a grade by the course facilitator. I find the topic terribly interesting and intriguing. I've always been fascinated by the huge stone constructions in England, Scotland, Wales and Ireland. There are so many theories of how they were built and why. When I was researching my first novel, Laurel's Quest, I had the opportunity to delve deeper into the reams of data available on stone monuments, structures and effigies. The more I read, the more it seemed there was to find out. Research can suck you in and make you forget you should be writing. I became enamoured with the stones in Cornwall which led me to source a couple of books by Ithtell Colquhoun which have been out of print for decades. The Living Stones deals with Cornwall and the author wrote it while living in Lamorna Cove which figures prominently in my Cornwall Adventures novels, especially my current work in progress, Arabella's Secret. The second is The Crying of the Wind which she wrote while visiting Ireland.

Her writing style is very similar to Canadian west coast author Gilean Douglas.

But back to Stonehenge... the bluestones in the smaller horseshoe have been sourced to the Preseli Hills in Wales.

The mind boggles at the size of the stones and how far they were moved. It is thought they were taken over the steep, rough uneven ground to the sea and then brought by boat up the Bristol Channel and then overland to the Salisbury Plain. The huge sarcen stones were brought from the Marlborough Downs, with the largest weighing more than 40 tons there has been much speculation on how they were moved. Personally, I believe that ancient man, or at least a segment of the society, had an advanced understanding of engineering and of the movement of the stars and planets. There are others who will refute this opinion quite strongly. Buy hey, everyone is entitled to their own opinion.
From Cornwall's multitude of stone circles and Stonehenge I found myself following the earth energy lines across Cornwall and southwest England. From Carn les Boels to St. Michael's Mount to the Cheeswring on Bodmin Moor to Glastonbury Tor and the Vale of Avalon. My research took me to Avebury, which I still have to visit in person, and the huge stone complex there. It covers much of the landscape and is watched over the flat topped conical presence of Silbury Hill. William Stukeley called the whole arrangement the Serpent Temple and believed it had been built by the Druids. I think these stone arrangements are much older. Interestingly, there are stone circles scattered across the prairies of Albert and Saskatchewan. One of the most enigmatic and hard to find is what is known as the Majorville Medicine Wheel. In reality, it is closer to Bow City than Majorville and sits high on a cliff overlooking the Bow River. It is not often visited but is still used by members of the Blackfoot Nation for sweats down by the river and as a sacred place. The stone arrangement sits on the same latitude as Stonehenge. 51 degrees north. The stones and lichen have been dated to before the building of Stonehenge and the pyramids of Egypt. Gordon Freeman has devoted many years to studying the sun dial as he calls it and has drawn many parallels with Stonehenge and it's solar and lunar alignments. His work can be seen in his book Canada's Stonehenge and his later work Hidden Stonehenge. It seems the more answers we find, the more questions and mystery there is.

Majorville Arrangement from the air

Standing on the central cairm and looking toward the Bow River

If you are interested in where all this research led, pick up a copy of Laurel's Quest and A Step Beyond. There you'll find all kinds of things woven into the fabric of the story. My current WIP, Arabella's Secret utilizes more Cornish myth and legend and Lamorna Cove and the cliffs near Land's End feature prominently. You can find Laurel's Quest and A Step Beyond by clicking on the title.

A bit about me;

Nancy M Bell has publishing credits in poetry, fiction and non-fiction. Nancy has presented at the Surrey International Writers Conference and the Writers Guild of Alberta Conference. She is currently working on Book 3 of her series The Cornwall Adventures.
Please visit her webpage http://www.nancymbell.ca
You can find her on Facebook at http://facebook.com/NancyMBell
Follow on twitter: @emilypikkasso

Casting Characters Part 2 - Aquarius

The Sun is the inner self. Here's what the Aquarian hero or heroine's inner self shows. A quiet, patient and determined person with a faithful nature. They are usually refined and humanitarian. They have a cautious intellect with strong likes and dislikes. They often have radical and advanced ideas. While they are easily influenced by kindness they are slow to anger and will not be driven.

The Ascendant is the face shown to the world. The Aquarian hero or heroine will be determined and try to be unnoticed. As a rule they are faithful. The mental world holds a great appeal to them. They can become an active reformer with progressive ideas. He or she is unusually sociable with many acquaintances. They may exhibit eccentric ways.

The moon shows the emotional nature. A hero or heroine with an Aquarian moon will be friendly and courteous. They are sociable but independent. There is an unconventional side to this hero or heroine. He or she likes strange and curious things and events. An interest in the occult and secret societies.

http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss_1?url=search-alias%3Ddigital-text&field-keywords=Janet+Lane+Walters

The Man With the Hat by Roseanne Dowell

I remember moving into our first home. I was so excited it was difficult to sleep the night before. It didn't matter that it was an old house and needed work, it was ours.  My husband worked nights and had taken his vacation to start preparing the house for us. I was six months pregnant, but raring and ready to work and we got the keys on my birthday. Couldn't have gotten a better birthday gift. We spent two weeks scraping wall paper and painting. Moving day couldn't come soon enough. We moved in the first weekend in June and spent the weekend putting things away. Things were quiet over the weekend. We fell into bed exhausted.

It all started the  night Roger went back to work.  We put our children to bed and sat down to watch television until it was time for him to leave.   I had the most uncomfortable feeling someone was staring at me, but ignored it.  Roger didn't seem to notice anything. Our dog curled up next to me and seemed quite content.  About eleven o’clock he left for work, and I went to bed.

Just as I dozed off I heard a noise in the basement.  Our dog started barking. Not sure what to do, I picked up the phone and called my sister, who lived two streets away. She sent her husband, Doug, to check things out.

Doug looked around the house and of course didn't see anything. However our dog refused to come into the dining room.  She remained in the hall growling and barking. Doug went into the kitchen and called her. She didn't move. I went into the living room and called her. She refused to enter the dining room and wouldn't come to either one of us. 

Seeing my fear, Doug suggested we pack up the kids and spend the night at their house. I’m sure he just wanted to go home to bed.

In the morning we returned home and all seemed well. All day our dog ran through the house with the kids like normal..
That night the same thing happened.  I hesitated calling my brother in law again, but the noises wouldn't quit. This time, however, as Doug started down the basement steps, he stopped, came back, and took a knife from the drawer.

I must have looked confused; because he told me he had an eerie feeling like someone was watching him. He checked out the basement and everything seemed normal. And, again, we spent the night at their house. 

This went on for several nights. Doug came over and took us all to his house.  The nights Roger was home we didn't hear anything and the dog stayed calm.

The next night Roger went to work it happened again. This time Doug brought a tape recorder over and set it up in the dining room before we went to his house. I’m sure he was sick of coming over and set it up to prove to me there weren't any noises. Yet, he admitted to having strange feelings especially in the basement. 

The next morning, we played back the tape.  Sounds of our dog growling and barking were predominant, but in the background were sounds we couldn't identify. Sounds like something being dragged across the floor and others noises sounded like scratches and moans.

I knew I couldn't spend every night at my sister’s house so I made up my mind to stay home. Every night the same thing occurred. Somehow I tuned out the noises, quieted the dog and managed to sleep. After all it was my house.

One day, a few weeks later, my three daughters were playing upstairs in their room.  They screamed and ran down stairs.  “There’s a man up there,” they cried in unison.

Since we’d been home all day, I knew that couldn't be. But I went up to check out their story to appease them.  They pointed to the alcove where they said a man with a hat had been watching them.

Of course no one was there.  I explained it was a shadow of a bird going past the window.   Although I had an eerie feeling and the room felt extremely cold and it was a warm June day.

My daughters refused to accept my explanation. They knew what they saw and described him clearly.  He was a tall man, in a brown suit jacket and wearing a hat. They couldn't make out his face, but they said he watched them play.

Of course, hey refused to play upstairs, and I often had a hard time getting them to go to bed at night.

Up until then things remained normal during the daylight hours. Now it seemed our nightly visitor had decided to appear when it was light out, too.

Also until then, Roger thought it was my vivid writer’s imagination working overtime.  That is,  until one day he was working in the basement.  He came upstairs, white faced.

“What’s wrong,” I asked.

“I just saw a man wearing a hat in the basement. At first it was a shadow. But as I stared at it his form became clearer, and I could see the outline of his hat.”

That shook me up. When he described the man the same as the kids, I knew we had a ghost. Roger wouldn't lie about something like that. Now he realized the noises weren't my overactive imagination after all.

About a month after we moved in, I met some of the neighbors. I hesitantly told them of my feelings of being watched.  I didn't mention that my kids or Roger had seen a man.

The woman across the street laughed and said it was probably our nosy neighbor looking in the windows. She went on to explain how when they moved in the woman actually walked in and looked around.  I knew that wasn't the case but hesitated to tell her anymore of our experiences. After all I had just moved in and didn't want people to think I was crazy.

I asked one of the neighbors about the people who had lived in the house before us. It had been sold as part of an estate sale.  So I knew they had died.

“Oh, a nice old couple lived there. The wife died a long time ago. And John lived alone for a long time,” she said.  “He died in the house and it was several days before they found him because he didn't have a phone. When we didn't see him for a few days and his newspapers stayed outside we called his son.”

Later, I found out John died in the very bedroom I slept in.  Eventually I told my friend about some of the things we experienced, but didn't tell her about the man with the hat. I asked about John and she said he was a nice old man, kept mostly to himself. “He loved to work in his garden and yard. Funny,” she said. “He always wore a brown suit coat and a hat.”

So that explained a lot.  John was our ghost. He appeared many times after that. Roger often saw him in the basement, especially when we were remodeling the kitchen. One of my sons said John used to sit on a chair upstairs and watch him play.Strangely enough, my son wasn't afraid of him. 

I never saw John myself, but I sure heard him and sometimes smelled a sweet smell, like aftershave. One day he simply disappeared. I figured he must have approved of us and went on to a better place.

You can find Roseanne's books at Books We Love or  Amazon 

February Author Art Challenge

For this month, I challenged the authors of BWL to take the art process and reverse it.  Rather than me trying to put a picture to their words, I wanted them to draw inspiration from pictures.  To keep things fair and not have a massive time drain, I chose artwork rather than creating a cover mock-ups.

THE RULES:

Authors were instructed to ...

Select one of the suggested images, and tell us what is happening.  

Create a brief backstory, include needed dialog, etc.  

DO NOT FOCUS ON THE TITLE OF THE PICTURE!  

If you need to change the time period - do so, you don't have to keep it as a historical.  The focus should be on your interpretation of the characters, their emotions, etc.  

Now - the challenge?  Keep it to 1000 words or less!

THE INSPIRATION: 

 I am really excited to see what the creative minds at BWL come up with.  Who knows, I might try my hand at one of them as well.

Valentine memories by Sheila Claydon

At the end of my last post I promised to introduce you to Lady Sippington. Unfortunately she has proved to be a little shy and has begged me to keep her secret for a while longer. She will feature on the Books We Love blog eventually, however. Today, instead, I'll talk about something else and what better on 14 February than Valentine's Day because this year it is a very special day for me.

On 14 Feb 1965 my husband and I had our very first date, so Valentine's Day 2015 is the fiftieth anniversary of the first time we went out together. Now although I write contemporary romantic fiction I can't pretend that we are the most romantic couple. Valentine days have passed without us remembering. We've even managed to forget our wedding anniversary on more than one occasion, but I can still remember that first date as if it were yesterday.

I wore a Mary Quant little black dress (if you are as old as me you might remember her...very sixties) and a Mary Quant hairstyle of sharp bob and geometric fringe, and probably too much make-up. I really thought I was something. Fortunately my husband-to-be thought so too.  Also, somewhat shamefully, I was wearing a corsage of orchids that had been sent to me by someone else, but let's gloss over that.

My date, an older man by four years who actually owned a car, took me to a nightclub...my first. I don't suppose it was much more than a couple of smoke filled rooms and a bar that served little more than beer and soft drinks, but to me it felt like the most sophisticated date ever. I remember shuffling around a dance floor that was so crowded that actual dancing was impossible. Shortly before midnight, like Cinderella, it was time for him to take me home, but not before we enjoyed the ultimate in high cuisine...the bacon and egg sandwich with brown sauce which was the house speciality!

It didn't quite end there, however, because on the way home it started to snow. Of course we didn't think of the danger of driving in slippery conditions because at that age we were immortal, nor did we worry that the forty minute journey took almost two hours, but my mother did! She was waiting up for me and I can still 'see' the expression on her face when I opened the door. To say she was displeased is an understatement, especially as I was on a first date with someone she didn't know and he had delivered me home late.

Fortunately she wasn't someone to  hold a grudge and they eventually became firm friends. And in the words of Jane Eyre...reader...I married him...almost a year to the day after that first date. We have travelled a mile or two since then and are well past our sell by date now...but we still remember.

What about you?  What memories does Valentine's Day stir, and what about your first date with your partner? Do you still remember it?

Happy Valentine's Day.

First dates feature in quite a few of my books. You can find many of them at  http://bookswelove.net/# and all of them are available at http://amzn.to/ZSyLpf.  In Saving Katy Gray, Book 3 of my When Paths Meet trilogy, Katy's first date is not at all what she expected.

When it's time to say goodbye... by Sheila Claydon

At the end of my last post I promised to introduce you to Lady Sippington. Unfortunately she has proved to be a little shy and has begged me to keep her secret for a while longer. She will feature on the Books We Love blog eventually, however. In the meantime I'll carry on talking about Australia...well the tiny part of it that we are visiting...and the lessons I'm learning.

We have just returned from the small coastal village of Tea Gardens, a place delightfully and eccentrically named after a failed attempt by the Australian Agricultural Company to grow tea in the area. Situated on the Myall River, it is the southern gateway to the Great Lakes, and its waterfront meanders past sculptures and paintings by local artists, a war memorial that actually plays a tune, huge Norfolk pines, blue, blue water, and an eclectic mix of boats. It's a holiday area too, so thousands of visitors swell the small population of residents in the summer season, filling the restaurants and spending their dollars in the local shops.

We didn't go as tourists though. We went to visit friends who retired there a few years ago and, as is always the case with old friends, we picked up where we left off when we last saw them in 2010. Their lovely dog was the same. She came trotting up with her ball as if we'd only thrown it for her last week.

We did all the usual things you do with old friends: went out for a meal, raised our glasses in various toasts a number of times, talked about family and mutual friends, reminisced, and exchanged views about a whole lot of things. We also learned that they will be leaving Tea Gardens next year and moving into an apartment in a busy town about a hour's drive away. Age and illness are driving their decision and when they first told us we thought they would be sad.  Far from it. They are both excited about the prospect of planning a new home, replacing worn furniture, and leaving behind a garden that is becoming too big for them. They are looking forward to living close to shops, theatres, cinemas, a hospital, and the clinics they will need as their health deteriorates. Their attitude was inspiring and one I hope I can emulate if I ever have to do something similar.

I'm always intrigued by how differently people react to difficult life situations. Some are overwhelmed, others, like our friends, amazingly positive. Only by looking at what has shaped people's lives can we know why they react in the way they do. Our friends have lived  in many different countries during their time together, rarely staying in a house or apartment for more than five or six years, so their hearts are not entwined with their home. What about others though? What about people who have lived in their house for forty years, nurtured their garden with love, decorated every room, seen their children grow up, buried pets, grown old together...how do they move forward? It must be one of the most difficult decisions anyone has to make.

Knowing when to make it is also crucial. We have friends who have left it too late and who rattle around in a home that is far too big for them, fretting about the garden and the housework, but not able to gather the energy to make such a major move. We have others who moved too soon and who feel constrained by their new, smaller home and the fact that they no longer have a garden, and sometimes resentful of each other for making the decision. Then, of course, there are those who have lost their life partner and have to make such a decision alone. I don't know whether that makes it more or less difficult. Only someone who has had to face it knows the answer to that.

I was still ruminating on why and how people respond as they do and wondering if I would ever write about it when I remembered that I already have, in Saving Katy Gray, Book 3 of my When Paths Meet trilogy. Although it's a romance, there are important secondary characters in the book who have to make just this choice. I hope I got it right for them. This and many of my other books can be found at http://bookswelove.net/authors/sheila-claydon/

A Capital Offense by Joan Donaldson-Yarmey

 

I wrote this short story many years ago. It has been published twice, once in a magazine in the US and once in a magazine here on Vancouver Island. The second time it won First Prize in the Flash Fiction Category. Last year I adapted it as a stage play and presented it in the Port Alberni Fringe.

 

 

A Capital Offense

 

I was dusting the living room one evening when Byron stomped down the hall, his housecoat flapping behind. I wrinkled my nose at the smell of beer and body odor as he neared.
     “I printed this off for you,” he yelled, throwing a piece of paper at me.
     I cringed. He never talked to me in a decent voice anymore. I hadn’t liked the changes in my husband while he’d struggled to become a published writer and I certainly didn’t like the person he’d become since getting his book contract.
     He’d quit his job because, “I have to finish my manuscript. I can’t continue to work and write, too.”

     I’d had to take a second, part time job to make ends meet.
     Byron had been using our kitchen table for his writing room but once the contract was signed he claimed the guest bedroom as his. “I need a room of my own where I can have some privacy,” he’d stated. “If I want to work into the night, I can lie down when I’m tired and not be disturbed.

     At first he seemed to be doing a lot of work but then one day I answered the phone and it was Mr. Higgins, Byron's agent. He wanted to speak with Bryon. I knocked on Byron's door and opened it. Byron immediately began yelling. "Would you quit interrupting me. Haven’t I told you not to bother me when I am working. I lose my train of thought."

     I handed him the phone. "Your agent wants to talk with you."

     Byron glared at me and grabbed the phone. He took a deep breath then said pleasantly. "Hello Mr. Higgins."

     He listened and I could see his face turning red. "Yes, Mr. Higgins. I know I am late with some chapters. I will get them to you by the end of the week."

     When Byron hung up he said to me. "From now on, when you have something to say to me, you write it on a piece of paper and slide it under the door. I don’t have time for interruptions." He threw the phone and me and slammed the door.

     Since then, there were many times I wished he’d never gotten that contract and, even some, when I wished I’d never married him.
     Now he glared at me as he said. “I want you to come into my office now and email your sister back.”
     I smoothed the paper and read. `Hi Sis. I thought we could go back to emailing. It’s quicker than a letter and I’m sure Byron won’t mind if we do it two or three times a week.’
     Rosemary lived across the country and we’d kept in touch by e-mail until The Contract when I was banned from Byron’s office. Neither one of us could afford the long distance charges so phoning was out of the question. I had to give up my cell phone so we tried writing letters but they were time consuming and not as immediate as email.
     Now in his office empty beer cans, plates with leftover food, and full ashtrays were everywhere and it smelled as bad as he did. On the floor I saw the many notes with messages from his agent that I’d pushed under the door. Obviously, he didn’t read them.
     “What do you want me to say?” I asked.
     “What do you think? Tell her not to send another email.”
     In my agitation, I hit the Caps Lock key, starting to type in capital letters.
     “Capital letters means you’re shouting, Dummy,” Byron laughed harshly.
     I finished and left the room in tears.
     I was tired and hungry and decided to make something quick and easy for supper. As I put the lid on the macaroni, Byron entered the kitchen and yanked open the refrigerator door. “Is that all the beer?
     “I guess so.”
     “Is it too much to ask that there be beer in the fridge?” He grabbed a can and opened it.
     “I bought a dozen yesterday.”
     “Are you saying I drink too much?”
     Byron had claimed other writers like Dashiell Hammett and Raymond Chandler drank while writing and it made them more productive. From the number of phone calls from his agent about late chapters, I guessed it wasn’t working for him.
     “What’s for dinner?” He lifted the lid from the pot.
     “Macaroni and beans.” I answered.
     “Geeze.” He slammed down the lid. “Can’t you fix anything decent?”
     “I worked all day.”
     “Are you insinuating I didn’t?”
     I sighed and wished, again, that I’d never married him.
     The next evening I put oil on to heat for French fries then went to have a quick shower. It felt so good I spent more time than I’d intended. When I got out, I could smell smoke. I donned my housecoat and hurried to the kitchen. The oil had caught fire and it had spread to the cupboards and curtains. The living room and hallway were filling with smoke.
     I coughed as I warned Byron, then rushed next door to call the fire department. I returned but Byron was not in the yard. When the trucks arrived, I hurried over.
     “My husband’s still in there,” I cried.
     The firemen tried entering the house but were driven back by the heat and smoke.
     An hour later the fire was out and an ambulance had taken Byron’s body away.
     “I set the oil on the burner and went for a shower,” I explained to the police officer who was questioning me. “When I came out there was smoke everywhere.”
     “Then what did you do?” she asked.
     “I ran next door to call the fire department.” I dabbed my eyes.
     “Did you notify your husband?”
     “Oh, yes. I shouted at him,” I said, thinking of the word FIRE I’d printed three times in capital letters on a piece of paper and shoved under his door.

Gold Fever

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00PEOSJR8

 

Books of The Travelling Detective Series boxed set:

Illegally Dead

The Only Shadow In The House

Whistler's Murder

http://amzn.com/B00KF07FQM

http://bookswelove.net
 

http://thetravellingdetectiveseries.blogspot.com/
 

http://www.facebook.com/writingsbyjoan
 

https://www.amazon.com/author/joandonaldsonyarmey