Tuesday, April 7, 2015

I Dare You. I Double-Dog Dare You! by Tia Dani



Time's Enduring Love, our historical time-travel is a 
Books We Love 2014 best seller.


The fact we've been writing together for a very long time still amazes us how well we work together. The reason? There's a strong bond of trust between us and, as we've always said, "Our friendship is imperative", beyond any other emotion or personal quirks.

What's one of those quirks, you ask?

Well, we're a bit competitive.

Pushing our limits has become a challenge. For example, we are "dogged" determined to dig deeper and deeper into our current story in progress. Which makes it kind of difficult since, at the moment, we're working on two stories at once. One is a paranormal and the other a futuristic. Talk about opposite ends of the spectrum. Have we mentioned before we're eclectic? Yep, it keeps things interesting for us.
Anyway, back to our competition. We call it our Double-dog Dare. Here's what happens.

An initial story gets written.

So far, we're good with what's on the pages, but it really needs to zing.


Tia, ever thirsty for drama and spine-tingling action, takes off and inserts all kinds of spooky, weird, unusual, and not your run-in-the-mill happenings. "Hmmm," she chortles and rubs her hands. "What disaster can be added to intensify the story?"

Dani, however, forever the romantic, plunges into the protagonists' love quandary. How she can push the boundaries and build their relationships. She loves to dream about how passionate our hero and heroine can have it and build the sexual tension. She smiles and asks…"What incredibly sweet or spicy thing can I do to them before disaster strikes?" With that, she blissfully types away.

Dani calls this the fun stuff. Tia calls it the gooey, hooey stuff. Uh-oh, our personalities are showing.

Working together and daring each other to push harder is how we create realistic characters, strong emotion, and a story line that keeps our readers entertained all the way until the end.


Take for example our paranormal story we're working on right now. The story involves quite a bit of Apache Indian culture and Arizona history. The story didn't start out that way. It originally started with the hero and heroine meeting on a guest ranch in northern Arizona. 

Okay, simple, but not exactly a hand wringer.

Then we into competition mode. And one chapter developed into another.

The hero and heroine soon find themselves drawn into a battle of metaphysical beliefs. Two Apache lovers have been trapped in time by a shape-shifter's curse. The lovers? Well, Dani won that round…lots and lots of emotional and physical love scenes.

Once Tia gives in to Dani, she insists there has to be a twist. Ensnared within her own spell, a jealous Apache woman vows that no one will ever free her captives.



Sounding stronger…BUT…the bar has to be raised higher. Tia pushes for the past-life regressions to be dangerous and scary. Dani agrees, but insists the heroine and hero must find themselves strongly bound together through time and other lives.

Kinda of a draw wouldn't you say? Round one to Tia. Round two to Dani. Round three. A mutual agreement: The love between the hero and heroine must be strong enough break the curse cast by the evil one.

To find out how it happens...you'll have to read the book.

One more thing though.

Before this book is ready to send to our publisher, we have one more step to achieve. Make sure our historic storyline stayed believable all the way through. So, off we went the world acclaimed Heard Museum in Phoenix for research. It ended up being a wonderful adventure. Not only did we discover some Apache objects to enhance our story, we also learned that many of the incidents we wrote were darn near spot on. (Spine tingling and lifting neck hairs hit us both.)

Some of the Native American jewlery on display at the Heard Museum.


 Apache wedding dress.



Navajo blanket robes. The Apache traded for goods and would very likely have blankets like these.


Apache footwear on display.

It was a perfect day to enjoy lunch on the patio and make some notes. We have learned the hard way...write it down while fresh in our minds.

We also enjoyed a glass of Twisted Cedar Native American Wine. http://heard.org/



Final round to the competition? To our powerful channeled spirits who helped us become one with the book.
As far as the futuristic…that's an article for another time…After we manage to say farewell to our Apache spirit guides and attempt to contact our space-aged, highly-advanced guardians for more help. Won't that be fun?


To find out more about the writing team Tia Dani and our books visit us at:
http://bookswelove.com/authors/dani-tia/  
http://tiadanismusings.blogspot.com/

Twitter:   https://twitter.com/TiaDani 

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/tiadani.author


Bio: 
Tia Dani is the multi-published writing team made up of good friends Christine Eaton Jones and Beverly Petrone. Together they create endearing and realistic characters, humorous dialogue, and unusual settings. And…best of all…they’re having the time of their lives.
Storytelling has been a passion for Christine (Tia) since childhood when she regularly enthralled the neighborhood children with make-believe fairy tales and wild adventures.
Always the lover of a good romance, Beverly's (Dani) goal is for you to step into the shoes of her heroine, fall head-over-heels in love with her hero, and most of all believe in the magic of love.
Tia Dani happily calls Arizona home where they play in the sunshine and dance in the twilight of the beautiful Sonoran desert.  

Monday, April 6, 2015

If It's Monday, It Must be Roast Beef by Gail Roughton




Say you’ve decided to get off the Interstate and take a drive along some back country roads.  The road twists and curves through tree tunnels dappled with streams of sunlight, one leading to the next. Bridges provide passage over creeks and streams with fabulous names, names like Turkey Creek, Stone Creek, Dry Branch. Time’s gotten away from you, and the sun and fresh air and changing scenery have made you and your passengers hungry.  You look around but there’s not a McDonalds or a Wendy’s or a Dairy Queen to be found.  But if you’re lucky, there’s something better.  Something special.  Something a Burger King or a Taco Bell or even a Zaxby’s can’t even dream of touching. A small town country café.

Now, I’m a little more intimately familiar with the inner workings of such an establishment than most.  Whether  I consider that a blessing or curse depends on the particular memory recalled at the particular moment I’m reminescing.  See, back in 2006, when my husband Randy was a small-town businessman already running a combo small-town business in a store where one side was a Mom-n-Pop video store (this was before Blockbuster and Netflix pretty much slammed the lid on such enterprises) and the other side was the local laundry, the owner of a cute little restaurant by the name of The Courthouse Café decided to sell it.  Randy wanted to buy it.  I managed to delay the inevitable for a little while. “You’re already breaking your back to break even,” I proclaimed. “A restaurant’d just be one more thing to break your back over!” And he listened.  For about a year.  Until the day he called me up at work and announced he’d just bought it. 

Thus began one of those true love-hate relationships that you look back on with simultaneous feelings of fondness and true horror.  The Courthouse Café occupied a prime piece of real estate in Jeffersonville (aka J’Ville), Georgia – right across from the Courthouse and right beside the local grocery store.  Meals were served cafeteria style.  Judy, the head cook, stood behind the steam counter, spoons at the ready to dish out the patrons’ choice of one meat and three vegetables from that day’s menu.  It wasn’t called all you could eat, but with the amount of food hitting the plates, it might as well have been. Each day’s menu sported two meats and seven vegetables from which to make your choice, complete with either cornbread or biscuits.  Homemade.  With dessert (frequently homemade, though that wasn’t one hundred percent guaranteed).  And choice of beverage.  Soft drinks were available, but down here in this neck of the woods, most folks don’t even consider any beverage but sweet tea (and I do mean sweet) as an option with either lunch or supper.  Some folks even drink it for breakfast.  Pam, Judy’s assistant, kept the kitchen moving, threw more chicken in the fryer, fetched and toted.  Not only were the biscuits and cornbread homemade, no instant or frozen mashed potato would have dared show its face in that kitchen.

Lunch started cooking while breakfast was still leaving the kitchen short order style, frequently by means of the breakfast crowd sticking their head through the swinging kitchen doors and hollering out for two eggs, bacon, grits and a side of hotcakes.  Or two sausage biscuits.  Or whatever.  Big pots of vegetables simmered on the gas range, liberally seasoned with salt meat,  that staple of southern cuisine.  There was a set menu for every day, as dependable as a calendar.  Mondays were roast beef, Tuesdays were beef tips over rice.  Wednesdays were spaghetti, and Fridays were catfish. Every day was delicious, but Thursdays were always Thanksgiving.  Turkey, dressing, sweet potato soufflé, macaroni and cheese, broccoli casserole, peas, collard greens.  If you weren’t in the mood for turkey, you could have fried chicken.  Everybody was always in the mood for the dressing.  That dressing was ambrosia from Olympus.  Judy and Pam tried on occasion to substitute out the Thursday menu so it didn’t just scream “Thanksgiving!”  It never worked, though, not even in the high heat of the summer.  That’s what everybody wanted on Thursdays and that’s what everybody got.   

I formed the habit of leaving for work early enough to run into the backdoor of the kitchen.  First order of business was a hug from Judy and then a hug from Pam.  Or vice-versa, depending on who was closest to the door.  Then I’d head to the dining room and see who among the regulars needed a coffee re-fill.  Grabbing my own coffee, it was back to the kitchen, where I maneuvered to the grill between Pam and Judy, both of whom moved in an intricate ballet between grill, stove, and refrigerator, frequently in time to the black velvet voices of Southern gospel playing on the radio.  The best mornings were the mornings when they joined their voices to the radio.  I’d soft fry an egg, sometimes two, grab a big spoonful of buttered grits from the pot warming on the stove (hot, cooked, fine-grained corn based cereal not generally well-known outside the South and usually truly appreciated only by Southerners), and add several pieces of the bacon standing ready on a corner of the grill.  There was something so decadently luxurious about being able to just grab ready-cooked bacon, you know? 

Before I left, I’d fix my lunch.  Why not?  I was in a commercial kitchen, right?  Fried chicken salads, sometimes.   I’d throw some chicken fingers in the deep fryers and they’d be ready by the time I was done with breakfast.  One of the legendary quarter-pound hamburgers, maybe.  They re-heated just fine at lunch if they were fresh-cooked that morning on the grill.  The fixings for a bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwich.  If there were no left-overs from lunch, then there was no supper waiting at home that night, but there most always was just enough for our suppers and  Pam and Judy’s suppers.  It wasn’t enough to save, and our customers didn’t expect re-heated food the next day.  We didn’t plan to ever give them any, either.  I can taste that roast beef, those beef tips over rice, that spaghetti sauce, that fried chicken, those hamburger steaks now. 


In the end, though, guess what?  Randy broke his back and didn’t break even, though that had to do with the economy that summer more than anything else.  The Courthouse Café was always packed. Customers weren’t the problem.  Gas skyrocketed to over $4.00 a gallon (the first time, I mean), impacting trucking and shipping with the force of a meteorite striking Earth. The potatoes we used went from $19.00 for 40 pounds to $40.00 for $40.00 pounds.  In the space of months.  The rest of the staples followed suit.  Between rent, food, utilities, payroll, taxes, we couldn’t raise the price of the plates enough to cover the costs of putting them on the table even though the crowds remained consistently large.  The Courthouse Café closed its doors for the last time on August 31, 2009.  A few hearty and optimistic folks attempted to start another restaurant in the building. They stayed only a few months each. Small restaurants are back-breaking, heart-breaking businesses.  Y’all remember that the next time you’re lucky enough to be in one.  Even so, in more favorable economic times – say, even the ones in which Randy Branan in a fit of optimism had purchased the thing – I’m pretty sure it would still be open.

But there’s one thing y’all should have figured out by now about writers.  We never waste anything.  We never forget any experience.  We remember bits and pieces of here and there, now and then.  And we blend those bits and pieces into things we hope will be as special for our readers as they were for us.

So, even though the Courthouse Café is no more, other than in these pictures scattered around, it lives on in another world. The e-book world. The Courthouse Café was the glimmer of an idea, the glint in a writer’s eye, that became as much an individual character in a certain novel titled Country Justice as its hero and heroine.  Y’all want to read the Courthouse Café’s full menus?  You can find them in the Country Justice. Y’all have any idea of what goes on the night before an anticipated visit from the Health Inspector? You do if you’ve read Country Justice. Right down to taking the kitchen fans apart and cleaning them with bleach.  Which, by the way, is one of those things I don’t miss. 


I hope y’all enjoyed this little tour of the two cafés, one real, one fictional, but both mine.  Keep an eye out.  There are still Courthouse Cafés scattered around the countryside to enjoy, right along with homemade biscuits.  If you’re lucky, you can find one now and then.  And if you don’t, well, there’s always the Scales of Justice Café.  All you have to do is drop in on Turkey Creek, Georgia, located within the pages of Country Justice and go set yourselves down at a table.  And coming in 2015, I’ll be revisiting Turkey Creek in Black Turkey Walk, the second in the Country Justice seriesSo y’all come back now, hear?  


Find all Gail Roughton titles at
And at Amazon
You can also visit at her Blog
and on Facebook

Sunday, April 5, 2015

Ten Minutes Ago I Met You...A Cinderella Retrospective by Jamie Hill


Holidays are a great time to think back on old family traditions and memories. This year, with the release of the Cinderella remake, I'm reminded of a tradition my family had for a chunk of my childhood.

First, some history from Wikipedia:
**In the 1950's, television adaptations of musicals were becoming all the rage. One of the most popular come in 1955, when NBC broadcast the Broadway musical Peter Pan, starring Mary Martin. It was so popular that the network  looked for more family-oriented musical projects.

Cinderella is the only Rodgers and Hammerstein musical written for television. It was originally broadcast live on CBS on March 31, 1957 as a vehicle for Julie Andrews, who played the title role. The broadcast was viewed by more than 100 million people. It was subsequently remade for television twice, in 1965 and 1997. The 1965 version starred Lesley Ann Warren, and the 1997 one starred Brandy Norwood in the title role. Both remakes add songs from other Richard Rodgers musicals.

After the musical's success as a stage production, the network decided another television version of Cinderella was needed. The 1957 premiere had been broadcast before videotape was available, so only one performance could be shown. CBS mounted another production in 1965 with Richard Rodgers as Executive Producer. This re-make, commissioned by Rodgers (Hammerstein had died in 1960) and written by Joseph Schrank, used a new script that hewed closer to the traditional tale, although nearly all of the original songs were retained and sung in their original settings. 

The 1965 version was recorded on videotape for later broadcast. The cast featured Ginger Rogers and Walter Pidgeon as the King and Queen; Celeste Holm as the Fairy Godmother; Jo Van Fleet as the Stepmother, with Pat Carroll and Barbara Ruick as her daughters Prunella and Esmerelda; and Stuart Damon as the Prince. Lesley Ann Warren, at age 18, played the title role.

The first broadcast was on February 22, 1965, and it was rebroadcast eight times through February 1974. The 1965 debut had a Nielsen rating of 42.3, making it the highest-rated non-sports special on CBS from the beginning of the Nielsen ratings until 2009.**

I think my siblings and I watched all eight broadcasts of this movie, because I still remember the words to some of the songs. When I discovered them on YouTube, I could even sing along. "In My Own Little Corner" was a particular favorite. I've since seen Lesley Ann Warren in lots of other things but this role, one of her first, will always be special to me.

In My Own Little Corner


I'll admit it seems a little cheesy with the passage of time, but it might have been cheesy back then, and we just didn't care. It was a feel-good movie, and the world can use more of those.

I also remember vividly the scenes with the prince (who now just makes me think of General Hospital after his thirty years of portraying the character Dr. Alan Quartermaine.) My brother would dance around the room with my sisters and I as we sang along. (He's not reading this, is he?) 


 Do I Love You Because You're Beautiful?


But my favorite song would have to be "Ten Minutes Ago". That one I could sing to this day, and even got most of the lyrics right. "My head started reeling, you gave me the feeling the room had no ceiling or floor."

Ten Minutes Ago

The age of family-oriented programming is mostly gone and I'll admit, I get into the gory Walking Dead and the breast-filled Game of Thrones. But part of me will always enjoy young adult novels and cheesy movies like 1965's Cinderella. My husband and I were going to watch Frozen just to see what all the hype was about (Let it go!) but sadly, we've just never made time for it. Ah, for another ten minutes...


~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Happy Easter to those who celebrate it!


~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~


It's no Cinderella story, but if you're a sucker for romance check out my Blame Game series, beginning with the first novel, Blame it on the Stars. No prince, but a sexy man we got! Click the cover to read more about it at Amazon, also available at most sites where ebooks are sold.

http://amzn.com/B00EOA5G3I

Find all my Books We Love titles here: http://bookswelove.net/authors/hill-jamie/


Saturday, April 4, 2015

The Head of Sir Walter Raleigh, by Katherine Pym


Buy The Barbers from Amazon




Sir Walter Raleigh
Sir Walter Raleigh was an intrepid explorer. He introduced the potato to Ireland, tobacco to England, and was the favorite of Queen Elizabeth I. His place was happily set until his queen died, and James I came from Scotland to take the throne. Raleigh thought he’d remain high in the new Crown’s esteem, but he was wrong.

Raleigh’s arrogance annoyed England’s new king, and his popularity with the people irritated the powerful Cecil family. Within a few short weeks of James’ succession, Raleigh suggested James was not a good choice for England. That sent the king’s dander flying, and gave the Cecils the opportunity to get rid of Sir Walter. 

Raleigh was sentenced to death in November of 1603, but his popularity with the people wouldn’t allow the execution. Instead, Raleigh was thrown into the Tower where he languished for several years. He stayed in the ‘Bloody Tower’ and walked along the parapets that is now ‘Raleigh’s Walk’. His wife was allowed to be with him, and in 1605, they had another son, named Carew.

It must have been difficult never to be allowed anywhere but within a few feet of your chambers, and three servants. He had to pay for the room and board, plus any coal used to keep him warm. Finally, in 1617, Raleigh was allowed out of the Tower, and sent to South America, where it was believed the Spanish still dug treasure from the earth. The Cecil family took this and ran with it. They betrayed Raleigh to the Spanish.

The trip did not go well. Besides being attacked at the jungle gate by the Spanish, Raleigh lost a son (not Carew), and he became very ill. Upon Raleigh’s return to England, James had him thrown back into the Tower.

Raleigh was still high in regard with the populace. In order to avoid public outcry, Sir Walter was sentenced to be executed October 29, 1618, Lord Mayor’s Day. People would be involved in the Mayor’s pageantry, parties and such, and Sir Walter’s death would hopefully go relatively unnoticed. 

Raleigh being doused by a servant, thinking he'd caught fire
Here’s where it gets interesting. People are really quite unique.

Sir Walter Raleigh gave a long speech, denying any treasonous behavior, then he requested to see the axe. He said, ‘This is sharp medicine but it is a physician for all diseases and miseries.”

“Removing his gown and doublet, he knelt over the block; as the executioner hesitated, Raleigh exclaimed, ‘What dost thou fear? Strike, man, strike!’ The executioner responded, bringing the heavy implement down, but a second stroke was necessary to separate the head completely from the body.”

Normally, the head of a traitor would be put on a pike on the south end of London Bridge, but Raleigh’s was not. It is conjectured Raleigh was too popular, and his head on display would show the king had tricked his people by killing one of their favorites. As a result, Raleigh’s head was put in a red leather bag and given to his wife for safekeeping.

Raleigh’s body was buried in “the chancel near the altar of St Margaret’s, Westminster, but Lady Raleigh had his head preserved and kept it with her for the next twenty-nine years...” There was a belief that the brain held a person’s soul, and to hold the head meant that person was always with one.

When Lady Raleigh died, Sir Walter’s son (Carew) obtained his father’s head. They say Sir Walter’s head was buried with Carew, but no one really knows.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
References & Bibliography
*Geoffrey Abbott, The Gruesome History of Old London Bridge, Eric Dobby Publishing Ltd, 2008
*Picture of Raleigh being doused: Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported (CC BY-SA 3.0) 














Friday, April 3, 2015

Enough Thinking Already!!




My boss, a fourth degree black belt and my Sensei, is always coming up with new ideas and new projects to work on - for both of us. The other day he told me a story about someone shaking their head at him and asking him how all his ideas came to him. His reply was, "That's easy. I don't think about them. Whenever I stop thinking, that's when the ideas come." That struck a chord with me.

I've had so many friends carry on about being "stuck" and having "writer's block." Then there's me. I'm not one of those people who has to force books to appear. In fact, ideas seem to lurk around corners and attack me when I'm not looking for them. My first series, Wild Blue Mysteries, came from a dream one night about a cat. Literally! The entire series developed from there while I walked around town and sat in coffee shops.

As I type this, I have two series in various phases of publication and one more I'm plotting when I get free time (a rare commodity with three kids and a job!!) My second series, Gilda Wright Mysteries, came from my karate training and current job. Lots of ideas stem from learning how to protect yourself from the "what ifs." Isn't that how most writers get their great ideas? From an attack of the "what ifs"?

One of the best things I have learned from is the dreaded deadline. No time for writer's block when you have an agent or publisher waiting for your work. You have to sit and let the thoughts flow.

A writer friend of mine told me she has problems finishing a book. She has great ideas, but has problems finishing writing an entire book. My number one advice to her was to get a glass of wine (or tea or coffee...) and to stop thinking and let the story flow. The ideas WILL come. Stop trying to change things as you go along, there will be plenty of time for that during the editing phase when being stuck will be the farthest from your mind!

Speaking of which, I'm off to my editing cave! Have a wonderful Easter!

Diane Bator

You can find me at:  http://bookswelove.net/authors/bator-diane/








Thursday, April 2, 2015

WILD WEST WHOREHOUSES, NECESSARY OR EVIL - MARGARET TANNER

Buy from Amazon

HISTORICAL WHORE HOUSES - A NECESSARY EVIL? – MARGARET TANNER

The movie, The Best Little Whorehouse In Texas, was made in 1982, and featured Burt Reynolds and Dolly Parton. It was based on a story by Larry King and inspired by the real life Chicken Ranch in La Grange, Texas.

The Chicken Ranch was an illegal but tolerated Texan brothel operating from 1905 until 1973. It was located in Fayette County a couple of miles out of La Grange.

The original brothel that became the Chicken Ranch opened in 1844. It was forced to close during the civil war but later re-opened.

There have numerous books published with a brothel or bordello, as some people like to call them, as a central part of the story, particularly in Westerns. For example. Who can forget Kitty, Marshal Matt Dillon’s “lady friend” in the TV series Gunsmoke? She worked in a saloon. It was never actually mentioned on the program, and I didn’t think anything untoward either as I was young and innocent in those days, but looking back, it is fairly obvious, that being a saloon gal, she would have been, well let’s say, not as pure as the driven snow.

Two of my historical novels from Books We Love have brothel scenes in them.

In Fiery Possession, there is a high class brothel known as Glory’s. In my novel Savage Possession, there is also a high class brothel called the Black Stallion. Both of these establishments figure prominently in my stories. Like the old West, in frontier Australia, there was a huge single male population but very few women. 

THE 1860's BROTHEL IN FIERY POSSESSION

They passed through the almost empty main street of town, and about half a mile further on pulled into the drive of a large house. It was a double storied place, with delicate cast iron lace work on the balcony. An impressive entrance door had a huge fan light with pictorial stained glass side panels. Surely this wasn't where Glory operated from? 

In the cobbled backyard, the man helped them down before depositing the bag on the ground.

“Thank you.”

He acknowledged this with a nod, touched his hat, and drove towards a red brick coach house.

Glory hurried over, her large breasts bulging from the low cut bodice of a bright green dress. “You’re here at last!  Come to Auntie Glory.” She scooped Mark out of Jo's arms, and left her to carry the bag inside. “I thought,” she spoke over one shoulder, “you might prefer to come in through the back entrance because it's private.”

Inside this section of the house, Jo was surprised to find it tastefully decorated. In the hallway stood a seventeenth century, long case clock with marquetry inlay and a glass 'bull’s eye' at the bottom of the trunk. Entering the sitting room, she noticed several miniatures on the walls.

“How lovely.” She tried to hide her surprise at finding such a tasteful décor.

“Surprised, are you?”  Glory might well have been a mind reader.

“It's different than what I expected.”

 “I've had a bath house built recently.” Glory sounded almost childlike in her endeavor to impress. On the back lawn, almost concealed behind tall shrubs, stood a brick building with arched windows and doorway. The central bath had water pumped through pipes from the river.

“It's the latest thing, Jo.”

Out in the daylight, the thick make up could not conceal the deep wrinkles creasing Glory's face.

“It's all very nice, but maybe a bit pretentious, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

The other woman patted her on the shoulder, laughing uproariously. “Don't quite know about pretentious, but I like it. So do the customers.”

They passed a large pond with pink water lilies floating on top. Jo averted her eyes from the centerpiece of a white marble statue of a naked woman mounted on a rearing horse.

“Whereabouts do, well, the girls, work from?” 

“Upstairs. I'll show you around inside now.”

The gaming room had mahogany tables and chairs. Another room, obviously a private bar by the numerous bottles displayed at the back of a circular counter, was upholstered in velvet. Glory did not offer to take her out to the public bar, to Jo’s relief.

In all the rooms, Jo noticed that the ceilings had white plasterwork and intricately crafted cornices. Basket-shaped chandeliers formed the lighting. No expense had been spared to cater for everyone's comfort.

The bar room consisted of a small highly polished dance floor and a large piano set on a raised platform. Frescoes of naked cherubs decorated the ceiling in this room, and one wall was crafted out of beaten copper. Classy, all right, where a local man with money might indulge himself for a few hours, or a wealthy traveler could stay for days.

Glory explained that the girls circulated round the tables, letting the men choose their drinks and a partner if they felt so inclined.

Wednesday, April 1, 2015

FUZZY, FURRY FANTASIES by Shirley Martin

http://amzn.com/B00DPPTLM0
Purchase from Amazon



If you could change into an animal, what animal would you like to be? I'd like to be a wolf, master of the forest, running wild and free.

The process of changing into an animal--fiction or not--is called shapeshifting. When I began writing my shapeshifter novel, "Wolf Magic" I wondered if there were any books on the subject. A trip to the local bookstore proved that, sure enough, someone had actually written a book on shapeshifting. This book was extremely helpful, giving me insight on the life of a shapeshifter.

According to paranormal readings, the physical world is only one of several worlds.
     1. Our physical world is at the bottom.
     2. On top of that is the etheric plane.
     3. The astral plane is directly above the etheric.
     4. The mental plane is on top of the astral.

Esoteric study teaches us that we exist simultaneously on four different planes of existence. And shapeshifting shows us that shapeshifting is a spiritual journey to connect to animal power.

Does everyone have an animal side somewhere in their subconscious? Some people believe so. This animal side is more or less present in the shapeshifter at all times. In a deep kind of mental shift, agility on two legs might be difficult. In this state, the shapeshifter can't appear normal to others. Indeed, shapeshifters may howl or growl at others.

Here's how the shift affects Annwn, the heroine of "Wolf Magic."  Annwn is a nurse-in-training at the druids' hospital.

     "She nearly tripped on her feet as she hurried along, struggling with an overwhelming desire to race on all fours. She didn't want to be in the hospital, longing to go outside and roll in the dirt. Passing other nurses who  greeted her along the way, she responded, shocked to find that her voice sounded like an old man's, low and gravelly.

On the way to the men's ward, she reached the closer where clean linens were kept. She clasped the doorknob but couldn't open the closet door!"

Have you heard of bilocation shifting? Oh, you don't know what that is? Bilocation shifting happens on the etheric plane. At this point, dear reader, it may be necessary to suspend disbelief. But on the other hand, it doesn't hurt to have an open mind.

In normal bilocation, the body that materializes is a carbon copy of the human's own body. (This is what you see when you see a ghost, if you see a ghost!)  Among those who believe in the paranormal, it's accepted that matter exists not only on the material plane, but astral and etheric matter also exist, as explained at the beginning.

One of the characteristics of bilocation shifting is that the body, in its animal and human aspects, exists in two different places at the same time. Any wounds received by the animal body are also, at the same time, at the exact same place on the human body.

How does bilocation occur? First, the person becomes unconscious, as if in a deep trance. The person "acquires" an animal body, such as a wolf, in the etheric form. The etheric body roams freely. Now suppose the etheric wolf body goes outside, running in a neighbor's yard. If someone sees the wolf, he may well throw a stone at it, hitting it in the eye. At the same moment, the human will awake, screaming with pain. (See, I told you that it might be necessary to suspend disbelief.)

Now, ladies and gentlemen, stretch your imagination as far as it will go and ask yourself: What about actual physical shifting? Some people really do believe in this. Accepting that it can happen, physical shifting is one of the rarest types of shifting, but also the most dramatic. The most common shifter types are wolf, fox, cat, and bear. The fifth most common is bird.

So what animal would you like--

Oops, gotta go now. A full moon is rising over the forest, and I smell a rabbit.

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