For book information and purchase details click the link below
http://bookswelove.net/authors/pittman-jude-mystery-romance/Writing Sisters of Prophecy was an absolute delight. First of all, we had my own ancestor (so legend says) Mother Shipton from 16th Century England, who delighted in scaring the pants off all the locals and of course the political elite. Here's just a brief sample of her writings. See if you can decipher the meaning of this one into 21st Century terms.
These states will lock in fiercest strife,
And seek to take each other's life.
When north shall thus divide the south
An eagle build in lion's mouth
Then tax and blood and cruel war
Shall come to every humble door.
Gail and I turned Mother Shipton into a time traveling, generation hopping meddler who pops in and out of the 21st Century while her great, great, great.... granddaughters are trying to sort out their love lives. Gail and I loved writing this book. Here are a few samples of what happens in the lives of these modern Shipton women when 16th Century grandma stirs the pot.
Kitty-Kat, there’s a
very special lady back in your family tree. A lady with the gift of prophecy.
Her name was Ursula, but people called her Mother Shipton. She helped sick
people and sad people. Legend says she foretold great wonders, lots of things that’ve
come true.
Was she your
grandmamma, Mimi?
Lord, no, child, she
lived generations ago. Four hundred years ago, in a time when kings and queens
ruled. And she’s actually on Poppy’s side of the family, not mine, but I’ve always
loved the stories and I’ve always felt very close to her. And that gift of
prophecy… it’s passed down through the years in the Shipton family, usually to
the women, though not always. A gift from her, a legacy. A connection.
First there's Lillian. She occupied a special place in the family hierarchy. Widowed at a young age, Lillian never remarried and when her older brother died leaving three year old Katherine an orphan, Lillian stepped in to help her mom who was still raising 3 year old Irene. Lillian devoted her life to the family, but she still managed a very successful career in the stock market, so successful that she took early retirement at 40 and thereafter became a full time family trouble-shooter.
As
a professional woman, Lillian had kept the Shipton name, and after she’d retired at forty—she spent her time as a roaming family trouble-shooter. How she always knew which
family member needed her and when remained a mystery to all, especially since
the Shiptons were a large and far-flung clan, spread over a large geographical
area. Sometimes she wasn’t sure herself, but she’d learned long ago not to
argue when that inner voice told her, You’re
needed. Go.
Katherine bit her lip. Moment of truth. Time to stop
stalling. Of course, it had just been coincidence that the picture talked to
her—scratch that. She’d thought the
picture talked to her at the precise time she’d seen Quentin for who and what
he really was. And it was just coincidence she’d had that damn dream again the
night before Quentin’s surprise call out of the blue. Because that hadn’t been
a real surprise; she’d always known deep down he’d call. He couldn’t just let
go. It wasn’t in him. Still and all, her Quentin epiphany came right after the
portrait’s ventriloquist act. The lady in the tower said the portrait had more
to tell her. She had to give it a try.
She jerked the tarp off the portrait. And waited. Nothing.
Of course, nothing. She picked up a brush and loaded the bristles with cobalt
blue.
With the first stroke, roaring filled the studio. Katherine
dropped her paintbrush, slapped both hands to her ears. Well, she’d asked for
it. And she’d gotten it.
“And about time it is, my girl. ‘Tis stubborn you are.” The
same bent crone she remembered stood in front of Katherine’s easel.
“Why are you here? Why did I see you before? And why am I
seeing you now?”
“You know why, child. In your heart, you know.”
“What did you do to me last time? To make me cringe when Quentin
touched me?”
“‘Twas nothing I did. You did it yourself. You opened
yourself to what you already knew was true. ‘Tis in your blood, ye canna escape
it. I just helped a wee bit with the seeing of it.”
“That had nothing to do with blood. I just finally started
putting things together about Quentin.”
Mother Shipton shook her head. “Stubborn. But then all young
folk be stubborn, can’t complain, I was meself.
Then there's Irene. She's engaged to her childhood sweetheart, who just happens to be the current world champion saddle bronc rider and star of the Calgary Stampede. Irene's in a pickle over some dreams she's been having and the young lady's romance is set to go on the rocks. That's when Mother steps in with more delightful meddling when a friend of Irene's fiance Matt gets up to some dirty tricks.
Mother
floated over the line of motor homes that filled the area behind the barns looking for the one belonging to cowboy Chance Mayfair.
Not a very nice young laddie, but perhaps after I’ve had a wee chat with him he’ll come up with a
whole new change in attitude.
Mother
found the trailer, slid on inside the locked doors and pulled a chair up beside
the man sprawled across the folded-out double bed, snoring loudly.
“So, it’s
Chance Mayfair I’ve the pleasure of speaking with today, is it now?” Mother put
her mouth next to the young man’s ear and raised her voice to a pitch that
would easily summon all the cows on Scotton Moor.
“Hey! What the hell!” Startled out of a
dead sleep, Chance leapt out of bed and towered over the old lady sitting in a
chair beside his bed, grinning like a circus clown.
“How’d you
get into my trailer?” Chance bore down on the woman. “You better get the hell
outta here or I’ll be calling security to come and drag you out.”
“You mean
like this?” Mother swooped out of the chair, flew across the room and landed on
top of the television set in the far corner of the combination living and
bedroom.
“Hey!” Chance tossed his hands in the
air. “How’d you do that! What are you doing
in here? I may have had a couple of beers last night but I know damn well I
didn’t ask no old woman to come on home with me.”
“Oh, ye
don’t like the way I look? Well, if’n that’s all that’s troublin’ you lad, why
didn’t you say so? How about I just fix myself up a wee bit.”
In the
blink of an eye the old woman disappeared and a sleek black panther with
glowing red eyes and a mouth full of gleaming white teeth crouched in her place.
“No! Hey!
What the hell! Stop it, back! Get
away from me!” Chance jumped over the
back of the chair where Mother’d previously sat, his face as white as the teeth
of the panther.
The giant
black cat morphed into a tiger. “Well now. You don’t fancy that look either?”
Mother turned from the tiger back into the old woman and floated down from the
TV set to stand on the floor in front of the chair.
“You’re a
witch, aren’t you?”
“In a
manner of speaking. So, are you ready to listen to a few things I’ve got to tell
you or do you want me to invite a few more of my friends to pay you a visit?”
“No! I’m
listening. I’m a real good listener.
You just go right ahead with whatever it is you want to talk to me about.”
“There,
there, now that’s a sensible laddie. So, first of all, we’re going to have an
understanding about the trick you pulled out there in the ring the other day.”
“What
trick?”
“Did you
hear me tell you that I wanted you to listen and not waste my time with any
silly denials? As you’ve already figured, I’m one of the immortal kind, and I
don’t need you to tell me what you did or didn’t do out there the other night.
I know what you did. I know everything you did, and from now on I’m always
going to know everything you do. Do you understand me now, or do you need me to
call in a few more of my friends to help you clear the cobwebs outta that
rather thick head you got perched on top of yer shoulders?”
“No ma’am.
I mean yes ma’am. I mean I understand and I won’t interrupt no more.”
“Good,
then let me tell you what you’re going to do from here on out.”
Mother
spoke for another twenty minutes, and finally, when she’d finished all she had
to say, and just to make darn sure Chance Mayfair would have no illusions about
who he was dealing with, she took time out to change into what most humans assumed
a werewolf looked like. For good measure, she finished with an incredibly ghoulish
eight-foot zombie.
“Oh, it
was powerful fun.” Mother laughed as she told Lillian all about it back in the
apartment. “I suspect he most ‘probly had to change his drawers and his jeans once I left. I’ve been
wanting to try out that Zombie ever since I watched that silly show on
Katherine’s television set.”
And that's just a few of the highlights these entertaining characters get up to in Sisters of Prophecy. I hope I've whet your appetite enough that you'll be tempted to give it a try. Available from all your popular retailers in eBook and Print and from Audible as an audiobook.
Details here on Jude's BWL Author page.
