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Tuesday, November 3, 2015
Monday, November 2, 2015
In celebration of the coming season Books We Love has just released five new Christmas novels
SUPERSTITIONS AND SPOOKY OCCURRENCES - MARGARET TANNER
SPOOKY OCCURRENCES - MARGARET TANNER
Here in Australia
celebrating Halloween is not as popular as it is in the US . In fact,
for people of my generation, we virtually didn’t celebrate it at all. The
present generation are starting to get into it though, and I have noticed Halloween
masks and costumes in many of the shops.
I write historical romance, no ghosts in my stories, but
there are some strange, unexplained things that do happen in my novel, Lauren’s
Dilemma. The really weird thing is that these occurrences or ones very similar
did happen, according to my grandmother. I can remember as a child her telling
my sister and I about some of the strange happenings to members of her extended family.
One of her stories dealt with a young cousin who was
terrified of water and could not swim.
She was a sleepwalker and one night she disappeared from her bed. The
parents went in search of her and found her swimming around in a water hole on
their farm. The father jumped into the water to get her, the mother screamed
out, and the young girl woke up and drowned before her father could rescue her. When she was awake the girl was afraid of water and couldn't swim, but when sleep walking she could swim quite well.
“One afternoon in
November of 1918, Laurie was in the homestead alone. Her father and Blair had
gone into town for supplies, and baby Daniel was taking a nap. The windows
stood wide open in the sitting room to let in the early summer breeze. As she
sat in an armchair she drifted between sleep and wakefulness.
“Laurie, Laurie.” She
opened her eyes and Danny stood near the fireplace. He was in uniform. His head
was bare, his brown curls just as windblown and unruly as she remembered.
“The war is over.” He
gave a boyish smile. “You can be happy now.”
“Laurie, great news.”
Blair dashed into the room and pulled her to her feet. “I heard it in town.
They've signed an Armistice at last. The war is over.”
“I know.” She did a
little jig.
“What! How could
you?”
“Danny told me. He
was here a minute ago.”
“Laurie!” Blair was
shocked as he stared into her over-bright eyes. “There's only us in the room.”
“He stood over there,
by the fire. I know it sounds crazy, but I saw him.”
She smiled. Her face
suddenly took on such a serene beauty the breath caught in his throat. She blew
him a kiss. Laughing, he reached out and pretended to catch it.
After Laurie left for
the nursery to attend little Daniel, Blair suddenly became aware of the
bittersweet smell of herbs wafting around the room. Some instinct drew him
toward the fireplace. There on the hearth lay a sprig of thyme.”
Labels:
books we love,
Halloween,
lauren's dilemma,
Margaret tanner.,
spooks,
superstition
I am an award winning multi-published Australian author. I love delving into the pages of history as I carry out research for my historical romance novels. I pride myself on being historically correct. Many of my novels are inspired by true events, with one being written around the hardships and triumphs of my pioneering ancestors in frontier Australia. Outside of my family and friends, writing is my passion.
Sunday, November 1, 2015
LOST TREASURES by Shirley Martin
PURCHASE FROM BWL STORE |
Gold! My latest romantic fantasy, "Magic Mountain". centers around a hidden cache of gold. Princess Olwen must find the treasure to ransom her brother, held hostage by a neighboring warlike country. Olwen has read of a hoard of gold located in a country far away. She's determiined to find the treasure to free her brother.
But do such treasures exist in real life? No telling what you can find with a metal detector....
In 2009, Terry Herbert parked his car and walked across the road, where he opened the gate to farner Johnson's field. Metal detector in hand, Terry Herbert was looking for treasure, having first obtained the farmer's permission. Walking up and down the field, swinging his metal detector, he heard a buzzing sound. Digging into the soil, he found what at first appeared to be a brass object. From then on, the metal detector buzzed oontinuously, and he found more objects, not brass but gold! A fortune in gold! Over time, he found 3,500 objects, 75% of which were gold. Jewels shone through many of these artifacts, gems that turned out to be garnets. There were no feminine or domestic artifacts found, only masculine, military objects and religious artifacts. .
Both the treasure hunter and the farmer knew this hoard was not theirs to keep. Terry Herbert's cousin contacted the Birmingham Museum, and soon a representative came to examine the artifacts. The treasure now had a name, the Staffordshire Hoard, for it was found near Staffordshire.
But how and why did the treasure come to be buried in the field? For the answer to that, we must go back almost two-thousand years.
The Romans conquered the island of Britain in the first century A.D., defeating the native Britons. (Celts.) Their rule lasted for several hundred years. But as the barbarians on the continent encroached on the borders of Rome, the Roman legions withdrew to help protect the Empire.
As the Romans left the island, the Angles, Saxons, and Jutes moved in, having crossed the English Channel from what is present-day Germany. They brought with them their language, customs, and pagan religions. By the 7th century A.D, they had established their own kingdoms on the island. One of these kingdoms was Mercia (meaning "boundary":). King Penda of Mercia was a pagan warlike ruler who spent much of his time and energy battling neighboring kingdoms near and far.One of the kingdoms he preyed on was Bernecia, whose king was Oswiu, a Christian. In desperation, King Oswiu promised an incredible store of treasure and gifts for the price of peace. King Penda spurned the offer; only a battle would satisfy him.
Oswiu dedicated the treasure to God, should he win the battle. In 655, in one final, cataclysmic battle, Oswiu defeated Penda, who was killed. Oswiu kept his prmise to God, and this is how the treasure came to be buried in Mercia.
We owe this history to the Venerable Bede. (672-735.)
As found nearly 1,400 years later, nearly all of the artifacts were bent or broken. This situation prevails in other treasure sites. Historians believe the custom relates to a religious ritual.
Tales of other treasure sites in England might pique our interest. In the epic tale of "Beowulf" we read of the hero's fascination with the treasure hoard guarded by the dragon. After Beowulf kills the dragon (not Grendel, another one), he lies dying of his wounds incurred in the struggle with the dragon. He implores his loyal thane, Wiglaf, to bring the treasure to him:
Away you go; I want to examine
that ancient gold, gaze my fill
on those garnered jewels; my going will be easier
for having seen the treasure, a less troubled letting-go
of the life and lordship I have long maintained.
It's virtually impossible to give an exact replication of this old English (8th-9th century) epic. Many letters have accent marks over them,and we often see the "a" and "e" against each other with no space between. So the following is an approximation:
Bio nu on ofoste, paet ic aer-welan
gold-aeht ongite , gearo sceawige
swigle searo gimmas, paet ic oy seft maege
aefter maddum-welan min aletan
lif ond leodschipe, pone ic longe heold.
Alas, it's doubtful if such a fortune could be found on the North American continent, unless the Spanish conquistadors missed a few places as they plundered the Axtec and Mayan empires. But who knows? Now, if I just had a metal detector...
"Lost Gold of the Dark Ages" was my sourcbook for this article and my inspiration for writing "Magic Mountain."
Please check out my website: www.shirleymartinauthor.com I write historical, paranormal, and fantasy romances. My books are sold at Books We Love,Amazon, Smashwords All Romance ebooks, Barnes and Noble, Kobo, the Apple iStore, and other sites where ebooks are sold online.
I was born and raised near Pittsburgh. Married for 44 years, now a widow.
I write historical, paranormal, and fantasy. . You can order my books from amazon.
Saturday, October 31, 2015
Life's Path by Eleanor Stem
Me in a past life |
What
makes us chose certain things in life, or walk down a particular path? I
married my high school sweetheart after some thirty odd years, but it took a
long time for us to reunite. Apparently, he had things to do, and I know I had things to do. I married a
completely different person, had two children by him. It was a difficult time.
I was glad when he suddenly left.
Back
in high school, I told my sweetheart I wanted to write, but life got in the
way, like the unhappy marriage and subsequent divorce. After almost a decade, I
went from a homemaker to being suddenly thrust into the business world.
Because
of what I went through and the resulting memories, I loathed the area I lived
in with the crime and heat. Suddenly, women started to knock on my door who
said they thought my ex-husband would marry them after the divorce, but didn’t.
“If you want revenge,” more than one confided, “I will help you.”
Life
experiences force us to learn. I wanted nothing to do with revenge, even though
my ‘ex’ had one helluva mean streak. He played ugly mind games, manipulated others,
and lied. I knew to seek revenge would only lower me to his level and harm my
spirit. At any rate, he didn’t care how his actions affected me. Any karma he
garnered, he would have to work out on his own. I would not help him.
I
said, “No thanks” to those women and closed the door. I changed my phone
number, had it unlisted, then when it became too difficult to bear, I sold
everything, lock, stock and barrel, and moved. During a weak moment, the ‘ex’ gave me
permission to take my children out of the country for a year. This generosity didn’t
last, of course.
Me at the psychic's |
The
preparations to leave took a solid six months. I went to a psychic who told me
we would live on a hill and I would find love.
I
retained a few things and sent them to my brother across country. Once school
was out for the summer, I packed the boys in the car and followed my goods to
my brother’s house. From there we flew out of the country.
I
made an effort to separate myself from the hurt, the betrayal. The long
distance helped a great deal. The boys and I settled into our new home, far from
the strife of rejection. I finally started writing that book.
If
one is on their correct life path, experiences come effortlessly, as if dropped from the sky. It was that
way for the preparation to leave and relocate. The area in which we moved was
in a recession. People were out of jobs. For lack of housing, grown children
lived with their parents. Within a week, we found and moved into a furnished
house located on a hill, the owners of which were on a year’s sabbatical in the
country I had just left. Our paths had coincided.
I did what I had wanted to do all my life—write.
The boys could run and play as I had done when a child, and as my parents
demanded of me, I told them, “Return when the streetlights come on.”
Yes,
I may have run away, but the experience was liberating. I was no longer
reminded of my ‘failings’, how ‘stupid’ or ‘slow’ I was. I could concentrate on
my novel. I immersed myself in the past, walked the cobbled lanes, and fell in
love with my hero.
After
a year, the boys and I moved back, but we went to the area my brother and his
wife lived. I had started healing from an abusive marriage. I went to work, and
my boys went to new schools. Life moved on and I eventually ran into my high
school sweetheart. We are now married.
My high school sweetheart & me |
So
what does this mean?
My
high school sweetheart and I were meant to be together, but it took a while. Before
we could be with each other, I had to put closure to a few past life
experiences. One was the relationship with my first husband in a difficult
marriage. Where I had once treated my spouse poorly, this life I was treated
poorly by the same entity. I did not want to make this a cyclical matter (what
goes around, comes around) scenario, just wanted closure to the bad Karma I had
created. I forgave ‘ex’ but I’ll never give him another chance. I’ll never be
with that spirit in another life.
My
high school sweetheart and I did what we had to do between high school and our
empty nest years. I dance through life now because I truly hope the bad slate
from a past life is scrubbed clean. As hard as it was, I feel my spirit is much
brighter for it.
~~~~~~~
Many thanks to Wiki commons, Public Domain
Many thanks to Wiki commons, Public Domain
Labels:
karma,
marriage,
past lives,
reincarnation
Friday, October 30, 2015
A Character in His Own Words: Arthur Darvey
by Kathy Fischer-Brown
retribution on Lord Esterleigh’s daughter…and when I do, I will not squander the chance.
She will know then what it means to be afraid.
Non dolet, indeed!
Kathy Fischer Brown is a BWL author of historical novels and The Return of Tachlanad, her newly released epic fantasy adventure for young adult and adult readers. Check out her Books We Love Author page or visit her website.
I
am not a monster! Think what you will. Actions are not the sole basis by which a man is judged. Like anyone else, I
have feelings. I experience pain, I am amused. Sometimes I act upon these feelings in ways others don't understand. But
that does not make me a monster!
Once my
life was pleasant. I lived at “the hall” with Mama and Papa, and my half-sister Emma. Ours was a life of ease and
extravagance, and I wanted for nothing.
And then one day, he began to cast aspersions on my dear Mama. He said he had reason to
believe that I, who adored him, was
not his son. He said their marriage was a sham, that it had been forced upon him, and that
he was legally wed to another—albeit in
a tawdry Fleet Street affair, without bans or a license—and that he’d been deceived
into thinking the wretched woman was dead.
It all
came to a head when his meddling lackey discovered the whereabouts
of this woman and her bantling girl, Anne, who, he insisted, was his child by that
dubious union. Papa petitioned for a divorce, though Mama had
connections of her own in high places and promised to use them. She'd drag his name and reputaion through the mud before she'd accept his conditions.
While the
battle dragged on in the halls of Parliament, Mama took me to live at
rundown, draughty old Wollascott Cottage—I loathed it there—because she, the bastard, had taken her place in my rightful home. At Esterleigh Hall…as his daughter…with all the benefits
and advantages that once had been mine.
Was I wrong
to feel rejected, unloved? While she—ingrate
that she was—appreciated none of his largesse and went out of her way to make my father miserable. Oh, she languished—poor Anne—mourning her mother’s death,
harboring ill will for our father….
Before
ever setting eyes on that whore's child, I detested her. I dreamed of hurting her…and
worse. Much worse. But, I ask you, I was a child then. Why should I be held accountable for childish
thoughts and whishes?
I must
admit I was frightful at our first meeting. I was bored. Was it my fault? The encounter was unexpected, and I was not at my
best. I'd been having a bit of sport with my new bow and arrows, and a mangy cur of a stray
dog. Who cares about such things, anyway?
They're more of a nuisance than anything else. But she took offense. Who could have imagined
a low-born chit such as she to have been endowed with a bleeding heart?
Years
passed before we met again. At the masked ball at Carlisle House in
February of ‘73. I must say her costume was intriguing. Arria, a Roman woman married to Claudius Paetus, a senator or some such who, having been dishonored in the eyes of the Emperor, was presented with a sword with which he was to take his own life. The story is quite fantastical. When Paetus faltered, Arria took the weapon, plunged it into her chest, and then handed it back to him with the words, "non dolet," which means, "it doesn't hurt." What rubbish! There was a painting on display at the time...by Benjamin West, I believe. A heroic depiction of love and honor. Quite popular among the romantic-minded...or the simple-minded. Being the dolt she is, she became infatuated. She made it herself—the costume—out of old draperies and curtain ties, and a bolt of violet-colored silk. The color matched her eyes...such lovely eyes....
Enough of that. Let me just say it was a simple thing for us to steal away without drawing attention to ourselves. And she was far more trusting and naive than I ever expected. I was overjoyed to find her so...accommodating.
Enough of that. Let me just say it was a simple thing for us to steal away without drawing attention to ourselves. And she was far more trusting and naive than I ever expected. I was overjoyed to find her so...accommodating.
I could
have killed her that night. I wanted to so intensely I could taste it. When I think of the opportunity wasted and the satisfaction postponed, I regret my hesitation most profoundly. I actually had my
hands around her throat. Such a slender neck…. I could have snapped it
like a twig. But I was a cat toying with a mouse. You can't imagine how the sensation empowered and invigorated me.
I do believe I frightened her, but she was too much the fool to show it or admit to it.
We met again a number of times over the next few years. She opened her soul to me. The fool. She took me into her confidence. Those moments, however, never proved auspicious.
I do believe I frightened her, but she was too much the fool to show it or admit to it.
We met again a number of times over the next few years. She opened her soul to me. The fool. She took me into her confidence. Those moments, however, never proved auspicious.
The time
will come, though. I vow on my mother’s good name. The time will come when I take
my
Now BOGO direct from BWL |
She will know then what it means to be afraid.
Non dolet, indeed!
Kathy Fischer Brown is a BWL author of historical novels and The Return of Tachlanad, her newly released epic fantasy adventure for young adult and adult readers. Check out her Books We Love Author page or visit her website.
Thursday, October 29, 2015
CEMETERY STREET
The first house I remember well was on Cemetery Street. The high
windows of our little 1850’s brick house had a view of the historic local
cemetery, complete with the sunken stones of the early settlers and poor folks, as well as Victorian obelisks and
rich-family crypts. It was all sheltered by a fine stand of tall hardwoods—maples,
beech, sycamore, Kentucky bean trees, and oaks. I often stood up on the couch
and peered out the window across the street to see a funeral in progress, the
black cars, the black dresses, hats and sad, slumped demeanor of the mourners. At certain times of year, people arrived and
filled the place with flowers—Memorial Day, particularly. We often walked
there, Mother and I, with whatever dog we had, sharing the peace with our silent
underground neighbors.
Always having an active imagination, I drew many pictures of
the cemetery, my notions about the
underground life of the dead, so thickly tucked away just across the
street. My parents, of course, found that a little odd, but it seemed
perfectly straightforward to me. All those husbands and wives that I’d seen, their
gravestones sitting side by side, I figured, were still there, only now confined
to a spot beneath the ground. I always drew little rooms, with tables with
decorative flowers on top, and sofas and chairs, a picture on the wall and, sometimes, even a
pet. I thought it must be a little lonely and boring for them to never be able
to go outside anymore, to be staying forever in that underground haven, which was
all I could make out of the much talked about “heaven.” It made perfect sense, when I first heard about
ghosts, that the dead might wish to come out and walk around in the cemetery. I
spent a lot of night times looking out the front window around twilight, hoping to see one. After all, I took
walks there, under those aged trees, listening to the birds and
breezes, and it was always pleasant.
(Here's an Egyptian queen enjoying her own little room inside the pyramid, playing Backgammon for eternity.)
For the early part of my childhood, I lived in that rural
Ohio town, with a close-knit family around, which made all holidays great fun,
but Halloween was special in its own way. My younger cousin, Mike, and I were
often dressed to compliment each other—one year we were cowboy and cowgirl, on another we were Raggedy Ann &
Raggedy Andy. Once we were Spanish dancers, complete with hats
with bobbles dangling beneath the brims. My cousin, now a big time politician, had in
childhood a pronounced lisp. I remember him carefully explaining to someone
who’d asked that we were “’Panish-tan-sers.”
Our costumes were hand-made by grandmas and loving aunts and we showed them off at what seemed to us an exciting costume parade for children which
was held annually at the high school.
I also remember one night of trick-or-treating with some older children
who lived up the road, away from the cemetery. They were the kind who weren’t entirely to be trusted with a
smaller kid who wasn’t a family member.
That night's costume had been spur of the moment, so my mother had turned
me into a ghost in an old sheet with a pillow case head. The head, as we ran
door-to-door in the darkness, kept slipping, so I couldn’t see. I was gamely trying to keep up with their
longer legs in the darkness, but they only laughed and ran ahead. I remember
falling and rolling head-over-heels down the steep grade next to the last house
on the block, splintering the warm popcorn ball I’d just been given. Then I
had to untangle myself from the sheet. After I escaped from that, though, I was surrounded by night. The only porch light seemed
about a mile away. It was so scary to be
left alone in the darkness that I abandoned my goodies and ran home as fast as I could.
~~Juliet Waldron
SEE ALL MY HISTORICAL NOVELS:
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Labels:
1950's,
cemetery,
costume,
dress-up,
Halloween,
heaven,
Juliet Waldron,
trick-or-treat,
Yellow Springs
I am in the grandma zone, a long time writer and poet, posting at Crone Henge and BWL these days just because. Wish I could travel, and last year I was lucky enough to get back to the UK, specifically to Avebury to reconnect with the ancient temple. Hiking, camping, lover of solitude, cats, moons and gardens.
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