Monday, March 26, 2018

Fact or Myth, it depends on which site you choose for your research—Tricia McGill

Find all my books and where to buy here on my BWL Author page.

My next book due out later this year is set in two time zones, the Viking era, circa 850 AD, and the present day. It is not a time-travel but more a reincarnation story, hence the different times. The original idea for this book came from a friend, I confess, but we share this interest in Vikings, and the idea of lovers though time intrigued me.

Why I keep returning to the Viking era I have no idea. They just seem to fascinate me. Because they didn’t leave a lot of written history in the early days, so much that has been written about them is based on what has been garnered from the excavation sites around Scandinavia, Britain and elsewhere. Of course every new book has to be researched, especially when you are returning to a subject such as the Vikings. During my research for this book, I found out facts unknown to me before.

Fact one—Norse weddings. These it seems were extravagant affairs, and planned well in advance.   So much tradition was tied in with the ceremony, partly to please their gods and partly to please the families of both parties. A lot of haggling went on between relatives of the bride and groom. Considering the Vikings gained a reputation of being a coldblooded lot of invaders who ransacked and ravaged their way through life their respect for the treatment of women was one of the reasons so much haggling went on. Marriage was a way to control sexual activity and reproduction in the community. Both important to them, as marriage was the heart of family structure in their culture, a fact that surprised me.

Weddings were held on a Friday, the sacred day for Frigga the goddess of marriage, and the proceedings generally lasted up to a week. Family and friends often travelled far to the wedding hence accommodation had to be provided for them, which took planning, not to mention the provision of food and drink for all these guests. A special ale was drunk by the bride and groom during the ceremony so this had to be brewed in advance.

The couple were separated before the big day and for the bride this entailed being stripped of old clothing and any symbols of her virginity, the main one being her ‘kransen’, a gilt circlet. This was handed down through generations of daughters. The bride wore a crown during the ceremony. Apparently the Norse women were not worried too much about the bridal gown but more about their hair, which indicated her sexual allure, and therefore was kept long and flowing. This crown was an elaborate article, decorated with silver and rock crystals, crosses and even leaves.

The bridegroom also didn’t worry too much about his outfit, but might carry a symbol of Thor to indicate his mastery of the universe. This symbol also ensured a fruitful marriage. It seems this was their main consideration, producing offspring. Sometimes the religious ceremony began with a sacrifice, probably to the gods of fertility. A poor hapless goat might be slaughtered and his blood collected, and then sprinkled on the happy couple, so ensuring the pleasure of the gods. Another fact that surprised me was to learn that the couple traditionally exchanged rings during the ceremony.
Find lots more on Viking wedding rituals here.

Fact two—Vikings were good seamstresses. Their thread was usually the same texture as the woven cloth they were stitching together. I have always wondered how their clothes were made, as when you see pictures of them, either during everyday activities or in battle, it is obvious their outfits must be stitched by someone.  They were pretty handy with a needle, actually using different stitches for differing fabric thicknesses, such as silk, wool or leather. Because their traders travelled far and wide bringing back silks and treasures from perhaps Byzantium, Cordoba or Alexandria they were never short of fabrics to work with. A coin dug up in Jorvik (York) that was from a town near the Himalayas signifies how far they travelled. Anything about the Vikings’ decorating of their garments technique is sketchy but they possibly liked gold thread.  

My thanks to this site for the above information: 

Fact three—Viking burials. A lot has been written about how the warriors and chieftains were buried with their slaves, all their weapons and jewellery etc. and how they were sent off to Valhalla in their flaming ships, but I was more interested in learning how the ordinary folk were sent on their way.   It seems that most were cremated on a funeral pyre, and then their ashes buried. Some of the wealthier would have been buried along with a wagon, perhaps for transport to wherever they were going in the afterlife. Not a lot is written about the lower classes so we are left to presume they were cremated along with any meagre possession they might have treasured.

Find more here:

If, like me, you enjoy learning new facts then have fun, as I do, while exploring the wonderful WWW. And, if like me you are fascinated by the Vikings or reincarnation, then keep an eye out for my next release, Powerful Destiny.

My Web Page


Saturday, March 24, 2018

White Raven - a paranormal short story by S. Peters-Davis


Hello everyone – thanks for stopping: ) I belong to a short story writing group on GoodReads and I’d like to share one of my paranormal stories – a favorite genre of mine. Hope you enjoy – White Raven



            We met when I was thirteen. The cool morning mist lifted off the water, my parents had already launched to fish, and I was left tending the campsite. My book lay open on the picnic table and I was totally absorbed in the paranormal romance of shifters when a white bird the size of an eagle landed on the table in front of me.

            It studied me, cocking its head side to side, stepping to the right then the left of me.

            Watching it watch me might have been unsettling to someone else, but I found comfort with its interest in me. I studied it right back; a Raven, only white and a huge size, with deep purple eyes and dark lashes. So, it wasn’t an albino.

            “Where did you come from? You’re amazing.” My words must have startled it because it stumbled off the table, hitting the ground with a loud thud. I shot to the other side where it lay unconscious. “You can’t die. I’m sure you’re one of a kind.” I touched its soft feathered head. A tingle vibrated through my fingers and up my arm. The bird shivered and its eyes opened. “Oh, my gosh, you’re alive.”

            “And you, Lacey, are nothing like I was told you’d be,” a masculine voice spoke inside my head.

I jumped back landing on my backside. My heart beat erratic as I gasped for air. We stared at each other. “You just spoke inside my head. You know my name.” I croaked the words, still working to breathe. “What are you?”

* * *



            Blaze glared at me in the moonlight, his purple eyes glowed. “What are you doing? You’re supposed to be practicing.” His straight white hair fluttered around his broad shoulders, his lips pinched together. “You’re eighteen and should have full access to your powers. Now is when you need to be trained.”

            We stood on the edge of a Picture Rock cliff, he expected me to jump, gain my wings and fly. Only I’d never flown on my own, even though I could make feathers appear randomly on my body, it wasn’t like launching myself into the abyss of Lake Superior just to prove I can’t fly. He swore the full moon would give me insight on what would happen if I jumped off the cliff, but I definitely wasn’t feeling it.

            “Come on, Lacey. Your parents were strong flyers, both of them. You’ve spent too much time with the human family and lost your instinct to the Avian way.” He stepped closer, his palm rubbed across my shoulder blade, warming my insides and making me feel safe. “It takes a nice dose of adrenaline to get those natural abilities firing through your system.” He shoved me and I tripped off the ledge.

            The moonlit water was not my friend. I closed my eyes. The rocks below would kiss me dead.

My body jolted as his talons slipped around my upper arms. I opened my eyes, his strong wings worked to save us from the crashing waves and rocks.

            He sighed. “Enough for tonight, we’ll try something else tomorrow.” He flew toward the forest.

Blaze had introduced me to the Avian race of people on my sixteenth birthday. They told me that I looked like my mother, who I didn't remember. They also spoke of my parents as royalty, which made me giggle. My parents had left me, a newborn, at the campsite of a human couple. Perhaps to save me from the hunter that had killed them. My human parents never shared I wasn’t biologically theirs.

My ventures with Blaze and our people were in secret. The more I learned about our kind, the more difficult it became to live in the human world. Especially knowing my aging process had slowed, upon turning eighteen I aged one year for every one hundred human years.

But perhaps part of my draw to the changeling world was Blaze. He knew me like no other.

            Blaze flew us deep into the forest, where our people lived in a small village settlement far off the beaten path, a place no human would ever consider living. He set me on my feet outside his home then he changed into human form. He’d insisted as my mentor and protector that I stayed with him.

            “Maybe you should change out of that tiny bathing suit.” His gaze wove a web of sparking prickles from my chest to my toes and back again and then our gazes connected. Those sparks on the outside of my skin scurried into my veins like a hyper-wave of lava. He stepped closer, his head tilted toward me, breath brushing my lips.

            I lifted my face toward him, my heart spiraling, eyes closing.

            He kissed my forehead. “Go, change, sleep. We’ll start again tomorrow.”

            My spiraling heart dropped as if knocked-out with a punch. I opened my eyes and watched him walk into the house, no need for lights with our excellent night vision.

My human mother came to mind. She had worried about my deep teal colored eyes and the distance I could see…miles away. I learned at ten years old to keep certain things to myself after running through a ton of tests. Thankfully she kept me from becoming a lab rat. I never shared my ultra-fine hearing or my ability to feel the minutest vibrations of insects and small creatures.

Like now. Vibrations and sound, snapping branches and twigs, I scanned into the forest at my left.




A gun fired. I saw the flame, fumes ripened the air. I sensed the vibration of the bullet as it passed my shoulder and slammed into the side of Blaze’s home.

“Umph.” His groan echoed in my head, then a thud loud enough to be his body.

My heart hummed, blood pumping through my veins with force. I stretched tall, my body automated. My bones and muscles snapped into a new place. I stared downward at talons instead of toes.

Another shot fired, again just missing me. My wingspan freaked me out momentarily, wider than Blaze’s, and brindle in colored. I lifted effortlessly into the air, soaring around tree branches, ascending then diving, hearing the ragged breath of the hunter. He was reloading his firearm.

His look of surprise told me he’d never heard my approach. I knocked him down, used my talons to grab his gun and snap the night vision goggles from his face. The Avians swarmed overhead, all sizes, ascending and lifting the unconscious hunter. With flying stealth, they carried him away.

I flew back to Blaze’s home; the door was open. My body morphed into human form as soon as I landed. Arianna, the Avian medic, was already leaning over his prone body, her glowing hands spread across his abdomen.

“How is he?” I ran to his side. His eyes were closed. “Is he unconscious?”

She stared at me with a look of awe. “You are the one.”

Not the response I expected, nor a clue on what it meant.

Blaze shuddered, his eyes opened. “Lacey?”

“I’m here. It was a hunter. He’s been removed from the area. How are you feeling?” I brushed a tendril of hair from his eyes. My fingers vibrated at the touch of his skin.

Arianna slid her hands away and inspected the area. A bullet clinked on the wooden floor. “Looks like you’re going to make it, my King.”

My King? I’d never heard anyone call Blaze that before.

“A little rest ought to finish the tissue healing.” Arianna rose from the floor, pocketing the bullet, and reached out a hand. I did the same and we both helped Blaze to his feet.

“What happened?” His eyes narrowed, brows drawing inward.

“Your owling came into her own. She protected first and foremost, like a true leader, my King.” Arianna bowed her head toward Blaze, then to me, and said, “We’re honored by your presence.”

I shook my head in disbelief, not quite sure what she was talking about. Nor why she was calling Blaze “my King.”

Blaze’s wide smile took my breath away, and as his gaze connected with mine my brain stopped considering anything else.

“You morphed?” He pulled me in, wrapping his arms around me. I nodded. “You morphed,” he whispered.

Arianna clicked the door shut on her quick exit.

Blaze tilted my chin up. “You have no idea how long we’ve waited; I’ve waited. Your timing is perfect, my Queen.” He closed the gap between our lips, crushing mine to his in a smolder of passion.

I held his face between my palms, our chests pressed together and our heart rhythms matched as one. An owl and a raven…


To see books by this author – check out author pages below:

DK Davis BWL Publishing Inc. Author Page: http://bookswelove.net/authors/davis-dk-ya-paranormal/

S. Peters-Davis BWL Publishing Inc. Author Page – http://bookswelove.net/authors/peters-davis-s-suspense-paranormal/

Hope you enjoyed the story…and please take a moment to join our FB Reader’s Free Book Club  https://www.facebook.com/groups/BooksWeLovebookclub/  


Friday, March 23, 2018

Giving in to Emmaline by Victoria Chatham



AMAZON AND ALL MARKETS
When I first saw Emmeline Devereux, my heroine in His Dark Enchantress, she was soaking wet with her long black hair plastered to her head and her dress cloaking her like a second skin. I saw her clearly, I knew her name, I knew she liked horses, I knew she was venturesome and then…what was I going to do with her? She really didn’t tell me anything more about herself and each time I put her into a story, it just didn’t work out for her or for me.

I’m sure there are many authors who will know exactly what I mean just as I’m equally sure that non-writers will shake their heads in disbelief or despair that anyone could be so fanciful. But it’s being fanciful that gets books written and on the shelves for readers to enjoy, or not, as the case may be.

Emmaline bugged me for weeks. I first gave her a Lara Croft type role. Anyone not familiar with that name might be more familiar with the Tomb Raider video game series that morphed into the 1993 movie starring Angelina Jolie. A remake featuring Alicia Vikander is currently playing. That role wasn’t quite right for Emmaline nor were any of the more contemporary settings I tried putting her in. A western romance didn’t work at all as she didn’t like the clothes. Once I knew that clothes had to be right for her, I started dressing her in different costumes. Maybe she was a Regency belle all along because as soon as I dressed her in a muslin gown, spencer jacket, and wide-brimmed bonnet everything fell into place and the words just flowed.


They weren’t necessarily good words, but first drafts rarely are. The purpose of a first draft is to get the story out of the author’s head and into a working document. Making it pretty and interesting comes with rewrites and revisions, help from critique partners and beta readers and a whole village of people. Here is an excerpt from His Dark Enchantress. I hope you enjoy it.

***

With Emmaline gone to the village, Lucius took a gun and two of his spaniels and set out across the park for a far covert where he hoped to flush out a brace of pheasant. 

The September afternoon basked under a clear blue sky. The gentlest of breezes occasionally buffeted his face and ruffled his hair, and all was as perfect as it could be. He traipsed through the fields, clambered over walls and fences that he would be jumping over once the hunting season started, got his feet wet in the trout stream that ran close to the southern boundary of the Park and the Beamish estate, and returned home well satisfied. 

He cut through the stable yard after leaving the dogs in the kennels and noticed the carriage house door ajar. Curious, he pulled it open. 

The place where the gig should have been was still empty. 

Puzzled, he closed the door and checked Sadie’s stable. It was also empty. He looked up at the stable yard clock. It was gone five. 

Panic gripped his heart, almost stilled his breathing. 

He charged up the stairs to the grooms’ quarters, two at a time bellowing for Noble who met him at the door. 

“What time did her ladyship leave, Noble, and who accompanied her?” he barked. 

“She left a little after noon, my Lord, and insisted she drive herself.” 

“Did she indeed?” Lucius seethed inwardly but paused for a moment, holding his temper. “And you let her go alone? Where were your wits? Saddle a hunter, Noble, I’ll go to Nettleford across country.” 

As soon as the horse was ready, Lucius set off at a steady gallop across the park, scattering the herds of fallow deer and sheep that grazed there. 

Damn her. The pig was one thing, but driving off without a groom? Who did she think she was to drive herself unaccompanied? And how could Noble have been so foolish as to let her go alone? 
He steadied the horse for a post and rail fence, soared over it and picked up the pace across the next field. A gate and two hedges later he was pounding along the road into the village where he pulled up abruptly and dismounted outside the inn. 

“Jackson.” he roared as he pushed into the taproom. 

The landlord had already heard him and sent a boy to take the horse and now met him in the corridor. 

“What’s amiss Milord?” 

“Have you seen her Ladyship?” Lucius demanded. 

“Put the gig up here while she did some visiting, left about mid-afternoon.” 

“Then where the devil is she?” Fear replaced the panic in Lucius’ heart and he cursed himself for not having asked the whereabouts of those she planned to visit. 

***











Thursday, March 22, 2018

A Mountain To Climb




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A Mountain To Climb

Okay, so I have a new project; the Good Vibes Film Production Group. Consisting of well, me, writer, Courtney Ross, website designer and Melanie Neilson, Marketing Manager, part of the successful team that put on the First Chilliwack Film Festival.
To cut our teeth in this cut-throat business; a short film. A fish out of water meets bucket list. The moral is you’re never too old and never, ever, give up on your dreams, however unattainable they may seem.
We meet seventy-year-old Rose Anderson, successful career woman. Having lost her partner, Fred, she finds her life suddenly bleak and meaningless. At the monthly meeting of the Ladies Wot Lunch Club her girlfriends try to help her get her life back on track.
A chance comment from one of the ladies makes up her mind. She will climb a mountain. Rose has always wanted to, but never found the time, or the inclination, or (to be honest) any reason to get off her butt and just do it. But this is different. She will do it for herself and for Fred.
Finding zest and meaning in her life again, she visits a bookstore, an outfitters and begins her crash-course training. After several bungling and humorous attempts, we witness her increasing aptitude at surviving in the wilderness.
The great day dawns. Standing alone at the trailhead, eagles screeching in the background, she looks up. Way, way up. Rose begins to realize just how crazy an idea this is and the misgivings set in. But she thinks again of Fred. How he loved the outdoors. How he would have happily bounded up the trail if it weren’t for his rheumatism. Her fierce determination re-emerges. Now undaunted, Rose puts on her lipstick, as she feels naked without it, and, designer handbag on her arm, where it has always been (as Queen Elizabeth II never goes anywhere without) she takes her first steps up the mountain, becoming more confident with each one.
Her day is filled with misadventures, trials and tribulations. At night, alone in her tent, the sounds of something skulking outside awakes her. Terrified she clutches at her locket; Fred is with her. What would he do? Would he stay here hiding in terror or would he go down fighting?
Does Rose survive her night of terror and make it to dance in joy on the mountain top?
Well, only the bears know for sure and they aren’t talking.
Hang on, bears don’t talk. They growl a little. Okay, a lot. And smell really bad. Who writes this stuff anyway?




We would be honored if you would like our facebook page and so doing support out Storyhive webpage. The more likes and support the better the chance we win a grant from Telus for our movie. And the more we are liked the more we know we are loved. Come on people, what isn’t there to like? Positive vibes, seventy-year-old spunky lady, designer handbag, hiking, the outdoors and achieving your dreams. Gotta love it. WIN, WIN all around. Hey, I’m tearing up, where’s the Kleenex?

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The pitch for the video is below (I tried to download it, but the file is too big. View and enjoy).





To purchase from Amazon


To Purchase from Amazon





Sincerely

Frank Talaber

Frank Talaber’s Writing Style? He usually responds with: Mix Dan Millman (Way of The Peaceful Warrior) with Charles De Lint (Moonheart) and throw in a mad scattering of Tom Robbins (Even Cowgirls Get The Blues). 
PS: He’s better looking than Stephen King (Carrie, The Stand, It, The Shining) and his romantic stuff will have you gasping quicker than Robert James Waller (Bridges Of Madison County).
Or as is often said: You don’t have to be mad to be a writer, but it sure helps.





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