A Bright Darkness, by J.C. Kavanagh

 

A Bright Darkness
Book 3 of the award-winning Twisted Climb series

Next month, the final book in The Twisted Climb series will be published. I have to tell you that writing and researching this book has been an epic journey. When I was in school, Native Indian history was largely ignored. What a shame. It's my hope that A Bright Darkness will provide the reader with a glimpse into their phenomenal energies. 

A Bright Darkness speaks to the history of the Ojibwe people and their long tradition of balance and respect for all things - human, animal, nature. The book also describes the Seven Fires Prophecies which were foretold thousands of years ago. Details of these prophecies were reverently intertwined into A Bright Darkness and I applied creative interpretation to justify the characters' involvement in fulfilling the Sixth Fire Prophecy. 

Also included in A Bright Darkness is The Seven Grandfather Teachings, a code that the Ojibwe/Anishinaabe Elders instilled in their children. Like the 10 Commandments, the Grandfather Teachings were espoused as basic principles in life:

Love

Wisdom

Respect

Honesty

Courage

Humility

Truth

Below is an excerpt... Enjoy!

And make sure to order your copy from your favourite retailer.

Chapter 1

Patty pressed her body against the dream world’s cold rock wall, her hands searching for outcroppings and niches. She was close to the top. The ghostly rays from the moon illuminated more footholds on the rock wall above her and she climbed higher. Though the cliff wall was about 40 metres tall, the many ledges and footholds made it an easy climb. Within moments, Patty’s fingers touched the smooth flat surface at the top and she peered cautiously over the edge. It has to be a surprise attack.

There they were – her teenaged daughter, Jayden; the handsome dark-haired fellow; the carrot-haired guy, and a young child. They were at the opposite edge but close – just a stone’s throw away. The flat rock surface at the top of the cliff spanned a mere five metres across to the other side. Beyond that, a yawning blackness dropped into a steam-filled volcano vent.

Ah, and there... there was the boy she followed so relentlessly. “Dick” they called him. The boy with the thick red scar etched across the top of his sickly, bald head. She was going to get rid of Dick once and for all. She lowered her head slowly, remaining out of sight.

It was almost time.

She waited, panting with excitement, hands and feet braced, heart racing.

Now. Patty slowly raised her head and then gasped in astonishment. The carrot-haired boy and the child were gone. Had they jumped into the volcano? Dick was standing at the edge, his long, scarecrow-like arms dangling by his sides. At his feet lay the cable cutters that he carried as his personal weapon. Maybe he pushed the kids into the abyss?

Her gaze shot over to Jayden and the handsome guy. Jayden was whispering and emphatically gesturing toward Dick. Before Patty could pull herself over the top, her daughter and the young man clasped hands. She watched as they sprinted forward and picked up the scarred boy in an arm-tackle manoeuvre, much like the ‘red-rover’ game she used to play as a child. Dick struggled but he was helpless to untangle himself from their grasp. The duo leapt off the cliff, taking Dick with them.

Patty scrambled onto the rock surface. All was quiet. White wisps of steam floated up from the hot volcano vent. She was alone.

“Fools!”

Walking to where the kids had jumped, she picked up the long-handled cable cutters. Holding the tool up to the light of the full moon, she shook it angrily. A primal howl erupted from deep within her, the high pitch gaining intensity until she could hold it no more. Before she could take another breath, a pack of wolves began a matching chorus of howls. Their voices echoed eerily across the valley.

Patty smiled – a cold, soul-less, unholy display of emotion. She manifested neither joy nor love, not even sadness for the fate that must have befallen her daughter and the others. Instead, her green eyes were dark and malignant, their gaze excreting a menacing hatred. She slapped the cutters across the palm of one hand and stepped toward the volcano’s edge. Steam and an orange glow came from below. She peered into the depths and the pupils of her eyes reflected the hellish glow swirling beneath.

“Fools!” she repeated. “Dick was mine to destroy.”

* * * 

Ancient depiction of Mishibeshu,
the mythological Sea Monster / Underwater Panther
of the Anishinaabe tribes.
Photo from the National Museum of the American Indian.

The mythological Thunderbird, 
crest of the Anishinaabe tribes

Until next time, stay safe everyone :)

J.C. Kavanagh, author of 

The Twisted Climb - Darkness Descends (Book 2) 

voted BEST Young Adult Book 2018, Critters Readers Poll and Best YA Book FINALIST at The Word Guild, Canada 

AND 

The Twisted Climb, 

voted BEST Young Adult Book 2016, P&E Readers Poll 

Voted Best Local Author, Simcoe County, Ontario, 2022 

Novels for teens, young adults and adults young at heart 

Email: author.j.c.kavanagh@gmail.com 

www.facebook.com/J.C.Kavanagh 

www.amazon.com/author/jckavanagh 

Twitter @JCKavanagh1 (Author J.C. Kavanagh) 

Instagram @authorjckavanagh

 

If there’s MAGIC, is it still a MYSTERY? By BC Deeks, Paranormal Mystery Fiction Author

 

From the time I read my first Nancy Drew Mystery, I was hooked on the puzzles that are at the root of every mystery book. From Nancy, I moved on to my brothers’ stack of The Hardy Boys, dived into my best friend’s collection of Agatha Christies, and the rest is history. Now I’m a career author, and my stories always have a mystery at their core, but I don’t stop there. 

Mysteries form the PLOT, but what about CHARACTER and SETTING. There’s nothing that says I can’t add more layers to my story through the other elements while staying true to the bones of a good mystery. Why can’t I let my imagination run wild and weave in magical spells, alternate universes, and portal magic? …As long as I still follow the rules of a good mystery!

Mysteries are stories that have, as their base, a crime (most likely a murder) and someone who strives to solve the crime or catch the killer.  I’m not the only author running amok with the genre fiction. Today's mystery and suspense writer can go literally in any direction, genre, and sub-genre.  Romance, Science Fiction, Paranormal, and Mainstream novels routinely tap into the elements of mystery fiction. This has opened the doors to some new and exciting direction like the cozy paranormal mystery series from authors like Mary Stanton or Heather Blackwell. That doesn’t mean that you can throw out the traditional bones of a mystery. The tried-and-true formula still applies along with many of the other fundamentals we’ve relied on for decades.

Mysteries must meet the expectations of its audience, but are its components really so different from other genres?

· Strong Mystery PLOT

· Depth of CHARACTERS

· Multiple sources of CONFLICT

· Strategic Placement of CLUES

·Creative use of RED HERRINGS

With the exception of the last two, not so much.

The mystery form is not as rigid as in the past, although you need to observe some accepted boundaries or readers tend to get upset with you. The crime must be serious enough for the reader to want it solved, and there must be a penalty for NOT solving the murder. There must be detection--a crime cannot solve itself. You must play fair with the reader. Every clue discovered by the detective/sleuth must be available to the reader somewhere in the book and clues and red herrings must eventually lead to solving the crime. If it is a whodunnit there must be several suspects and the murderer must be among them. If is a whydunnit, you will know the murderer and the question becomes which of the motives is the reason the crime was committed.

In my paranormal mystery, WITCH UNBOUND, two murders bring Marcus Egan, a magically powerful Guardian Warlock to the mortal realm. The daughter of the murder victims, Avalon Gwynn, is an untrained hereditary witch who is a danger to herself, and both the mortal and supernatural realms, without his help. Together they battle dark forces while trying to find her parents’ murderer. It’s a traditional whodunnit wrapped in magic and romance that I hope readers will enjoy.

I write heartwarming stories of mystery and magic. WITCH UNBOUND is the first book in my paranormal mystery series Beyond the Magic and is available OCTOBER 1. To learn more about my Beyond the Magic series or my author life, please find me on my website at www.bcdeeks.com or on Facebook.

Walk In Beauty

 Find my BWL books here

Dine Woman, 1905

In beauty I walk

With beauty before me I walk
With beauty behind me I walk
With beauty above me I walk
With beauty around me I walk
It has become beauty again
It has become beauty again
It has become beauty again
It has become beauty again

Hózhóogo naasháa doo
Shitsijí’ hózhóogo naasháa doo
Shikéédéé hózhóogo naasháa doo
Shideigi hózhóogo naasháa doo
T’áá altso shinaagóó hózhóogo naasháa doo
Hózhó náhásdlíí’
Hózhó náhásdlíí’
Hózhó náhásdlíí’
Hózhó náhásdlíí’

Here in the US, Columbus Day has ben replaced by Indigenous Peoples' Day, celebrating the first peoples of lands throughout the globe.

I am so grateful to my Huron and Chippewa grandmothers and all the native people who have welcomed me into their lives and shared their culture. I could not have written these novels without their guidance and encouragement. 

Deep gratitude and a hail and farewell  to our precious John Wisdomkeeper who has been such a friend to all of us here at BWL publishing.  He walks in beauty.

Ageism in Writing

 

Please click this link for author and book information

Some years ago, I read an award-winning novel about intergenerational family relationships. Every character in the story over age fifty was physically or mentally decrepit, and often both. The author was in her thirties. This was a comic novel and I realized she was exaggerating the characters for laughs. As an official senior citizen, I didn't find it funny. 

Physical and mental problems do tend to creep in with age. Aching joints, dementia, type two diabetes, high blood pressure, clogged arteries, and a host of cancers strike seniors in large numbers. I know several seventy-year-olds who have broken bones from a simple fall. In their youths, they'd have escaped with a scratch, which healed quickly. I find recovery from injuries and medical procedures takes longer now and my body parts don't always completely return to their former normal. "You're only as old as you feel" would be nice, but it isn't quite true. Portraying seniors as no different from fit twenty-somethings only works in science fiction and fantasy -- my fantasy, in particular. 

But I also have many friends over age seventy-five who regularly spend full days hiking up steep hills, over rocky and rooted terrain. And don't try to put something over on my ninety-year-old uncle. He's as sharp as many people decades younger, although he needs a wheelchair.  

Look closely to see a group of seniors hiking - they're specs on the landscape

I think one trick for writing realistic older people is balance. For each character brought down by the trials of advanced age, show another senior in peak form. I wouldn't have minded that award-winning humour novel as much if one character over fifty, and preferably over seventy or eighty or ninety, climbed a mountain, clobbered a skilled opponent in chess, or published a successful humour book. 

It's not easy to avoid ageism in writing. A friend, who is a few years older than I am, once admonished me for a having character in her mid-fifties struggle to rise from sitting on the floor. I'd thought this was realistic, since most people in my seniors' gym glass hoist themselves up awkwardly from the mats. Kudos to my friend for being able to leap to her feet.  

   

My Aunt Edith mastered the internet in her nineties

The Problems of Having a Genius in the Family, by Karla Stover

 

Visit Karla Stover's BWL Author Page to purchase Parlor Girls

     "Ineffectual," "Inept," "A consistent failure." This are just a few of the ways Ernest Hemingway described his brother, Leicester. Harsh comments from a bullying brother, so what could Leicester do to make his mark on history? How about work hard and create and become president of a foreign country--a made-man country built on a platform in the Caribbean Sea six miles off the island of Jamaica which he called New Atlantis.

It's hard to know how serious Hemingway was about his enterprise but perhaps very serious. He used his own money, money earned from the proceeds of his book, My Brother, Ernest Hemingway, and waited for three years after his famous brother's death before launching  the kingdom.

"Anything we build there is legally called 'an artificial island,'" he said of a spot in international waters. Interestingly enough, the ocean floor was only fifty feet down there, an anomaly from its normal 1,000 feet. There he put down a foundation made from used steel, iron and cables, a ship's anchor, a railroad axle, steel wheels, an old Ford motor block, and assorted other scrap metal. Attached to it was an 8 x 30-foot bamboo log platform. He claimed half for Atlantis and half for the United States government, based on the U.S. Guano Act of 1856. To quote Wikipedia, "The Act enables U.S. citizens to take possession of unclaimed islands containing guano for the U.S., and empowered the President to send in armed military to intervene. This encouraged American entrepreneurs to search and exploit new deposits on tiny islands and reefs in the Caribbean and in the Pacific."  Guano was both a fertilizer and a necessary ingredient in gunpowder. Leicester wasn't interested in guano, though. He planned to found an International Marine Research Society on the island. He hoped to raise money for further marine research, to build "a scientifically valuable aquarium in Jamaica, and to help protect Jamaican fishing."

            One of the island's stamp.

The island's flag.

The first residents were Leicester, his wife Doris and their daughters seven -year old Anne and three-year old Hilary and Lady Pamela Bird, a Brit holding two citizenships. A letter from President Lyndon Johnson addressed to Acting President and Republic of New Atlantis inadvertently gave the fledgling republic an act of formal recognition.

     None of his plans came to fruition. In 1966 a storm destroyed New Atlantis and Leicester, who was diabetic, began experiencing bad health. After two operations and fearing the loss of his legs, he committed suicide in 1982. Like his brother, he took himself  out with a shotgun.

What Happens Next? By Barbara Baker

Baker, Barbara - BWL Publishing Inc. (bookswelove.net)

After the release of What About Me? I panic. Do I need to post another ad on social media? Or have I done enough? Do stories and reels attract more viewer traffic than posts? Is Facebook, LinkedIn and Instagram sufficient? Should I try Pinterest or Booktok? Don’t get me going about hashtags. There are so many to choose from. How and when do you know if any of them work? With my first novel, book trailers were in. This time round, they’re old school. It’s hard to keep up with the trends.

I don’t want people to stop following me because they’re tired of hearing about my new release, so I resist all of the above and post a picture on Facebook of a pelican coming in for a rough landing.

Even Google waffles about which is the best approach to increase sales. Have you found the right way to get your book more exposure?  And, as if advertising isn’t frustrating enough, checking views, likes and comments becomes addictive and my thumb aches from scrolling.

I move on to counting down the days until I can check my book reviews. So I don’t drive myself (and my husband) bonkers about what readers are saying, I only check reviews on the 17^th of the month. I embrace my vacuum and give the floors a good workout if I’m tempted to peek earlier than said date.

Yes, I realize readers have a life. And when they get to the end of a book, they carry on with that life. Most readers never leave reviews. If they only knew how much they meant to authors, my vacuum wouldn’t be so exhausted and I wouldn’t cringe when I ask them to post a review (the reader, not my vacuum).

When I’m done fretting about what’s next and the fact the 17^th of the month is still a week away, a different worry sneaks in. Can I write another story about Jillian and her adventures in Banff? If so, what will be the crack in her world that makes the story unfold?

As I insert a fresh cartridge in my favourite pen and grab a brand-new notebook, words from an editor replay in my head. “You need to be a more prolific writer. You need to get out of Banff and find new characters.” I look up prolific - producing much fruit or foliage or many offspring. I must have picked the wrong definition. I'm done having kids. Grandkids are way more fun.

A tarot card reader told me “Stop playing it safe. Write what you really want to write about.” What the heck does that mean? Is it a coy way of saying get out of Banff? Ditch Jillian? Who are these people and why do they insist on taking up space in my head? They certainly aren’t paying rent and they bring on a wave of imposter syndrome.

Should I even write another book?

The perfect solution to all these chaotic thoughts about writing – a colourful fall road trip. Maybe Jillian will tag along. Maybe she’ll meet someone new and start an adventure somewhere else. Or maybe she’ll only come for a mini-vacation and return to Banff after all. Regardless, road trips inspire me. And yes, I realize I’m procrastinating but is that a bad thing?

For all those celebrating Thanksgiving, have a fabulous feast and enjoy the fall colours. In Calgary we haven't had snow yet and there's none in the forecast. Although I already have my ski pass purchased, I'm loving the unseasonably warm weather. I hope you are too.

  

What About Me?: Sequel to Summer of Lies : Baker, Barbara: Amazon.ca: Books

What About Me? | Universal Book Links Help You Find Books at Your Favorite Store! (books2read.com)

Fascinating & Fun Facts about Babies by J. S. Marlo

 

Wounded Hearts

"Love & Sacrifice #2"

is now available  

click here 

 

 

  

J. S. Marlo's BWL Books

Two weeks ago, I was blessed with a second grandchild. Another gorgeous baby girl. I'm counting the days until I get to hold her in my arms.

The new parents didn't know, and didn't want to know, the sex of their first baby. They picked two names which they didn't share until after baby was born. If anyone had any objections, no one would dare to share it once it had already been given to the baby.

While I was searching for the meaning of her name--it means weaver--I stumbled onto fun facts about newborn babies. Whether I believe all of them is different story, but one of these will eventually appear in one of my stories  LOL

- Newborn babies' kneecaps are made of cartilage, not bones. The cartilage will harden into bony kneecaps around six months of age.

- Babies born in May are the heaviest. Apparently someone looked at the average weight of babies born throughout the year, and discovered that babies born in May are 200g heavier than babies born in any other months. That's 7oz bigger. That's actually a big difference.

That being said, I have no idea how many babies were parts of that, but that's a fun fact.

- Newborn babies have no tears. Babies' tear ducts aren't fully developed until three weeks of age, so they won't shed tears in these first few weeks, but it won't stop them from crying.

I wonder if the tear ducts start to develop three weeks after they are born, or three weeks after they should have been born...

- Babies are born with 300 bones. An adult has 206 bones. Over the years, baby's cartilage will harden and bones will fuse together. By the time she reaches early adulthood (20-25 years of age), she will have 206 bones.

- Most babies are born with a birthmark. They are different types of birthmarks. Most of them are harmless, and a few will fade as the child grow, but most birthmarks will be permanent.

- Babies' hair falls out. A newborn tends to lose the hair she was born with and grow new hair over the first year of her life. The new hair may be very different from the one she was born with.

One of my daughters was born with red hair. By the time she was a few months old, she was blond.

- A newborn baby is born with around 70 reflexes.

I'm impressed, and I bet they are faster than mine too LOL

- Babies know your taste in music. Unborn babies start hearing sounds and music at around seventeen-eighteen weeks. By the time they are born, they apparently recognize your taste in music.

The research doesn't say if they also acquire your taste in music, but it may explain why my daughters love ABBA as much as I do.

- Babies are born with taste buds throughout their mouths. By the time they reach adulthood, about a third of these taste buds will remain, and they will be mostly on their tongues.

- Babies' eyes change colours. At birth, a baby's eyes may appear grey or blue due to a lack of pigmentation. Once exposed to light, the eye colour will start to change, but it may take six to twelve months until baby has gorgeous blue, green, hazel, or brown eyes.

- Babies grow fast. Most babies will double in weight the first six months, and quadruple in size the first two years.

Yeah, they grow way too fast. Next thing you know, they start having little ones of their own.

I'm enjoying every moment of grandmotherhood because I know it will be over in the blink of an eye.

Enjoy the small blessings that life brings every day & stay safe!

JS

 

 

J. S. Marlo's Website

 

Autumnal Thoughts by Eileen O'Finlan

 

Click here for purchase information

Click here for Eileen O'Finlan's website 

There's something about autumn. It's gorgeous, mysterious, spooky, and magical all at once. It conjures up thoughts of trees ablaze in red, gold, yellow, and orange, of Halloween ghosts and goblins, harvests of apples, pumpkins, and winter squash, of simmering soups and hearty stews, the swish of leaves underfoot, and crisp, tangy air. Yet it has a tinge of sadness as well. The year is dying. That lovely, slightly fruity scent in the air is created by the decay of leaves and vegetation.  For many of us in New England, autumn is bittersweet. It is stunningly beautiful, but also the harbinger of the long, cold winter that's surely on its way.

Getty Images

Autumn is a special time of year for me. Each of its months brings a different emotion. In September, I mourn the loss of summer's warmth and freedom. By October, I've usually made my peace with summer's departure, and I'm ready to embrace autumn in all its beauty and bounty. And in November, I'm consumed with the coming holidays.

The high point in my current work-in-progress takes place in a Vermont October. Working all of that month's enchantments into the story is both challenging and rewarding. Since I am close to that point in the writing now, at least I won't have far to look for inspiration. A glimpse outside my window will do.

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My inspiration for writing about the effect of being judged based on sexual orientation by Jay Lang

 

Storm

Jay Lang

Click link to purchase 

http://bookswelove.net/lang-jay/

My inspiration for writing this first chapter was to show how devastating it is to be judged negatively based on our sexual orientation.

Dark clouds cast a dreary mood over the morning as the prison gates shrink in the rear-view mirror. Even though the deafening silence in the car is fueling my anxiety, it’s nothing like the months of hell I’ve just lived through. 

Time served—nine months in a cement jungle while my captors went to work at reprogramming my flawed character. My father, Clay Stewart, the reluctant chauffeur for my freedom ride, always before emanating a youthful presence, now has wide brush strokes of silver streaming through his brown hair and deep, severe lines around his eyes and mouth. A by-product of the stress brought on by the immense disappointment he feels over me—his only child. 

On the ferry, I shuffle behind my father as he maneuvers through throngs of tourists and hunts for vacant seats. After some luck, we find two seats across from each other, and he predictably opens his newspaper and does his best to ignore me. Lines of people walk by, looking down at me as they pass. I slouch my shoulders and lower my gaze. An hour into the turbulent sailing, my father asks me if I’d like something to eat. I shake my head and he stuffs his paper under one arm, gets up, and walks down the aisle. 

Looking out over the churning sea, I feel overwhelmed with hopelessness. I never thought I’d miss the six square meters of my cell. My mind escapes to a memory of when I was in a school play and my father was sitting proudly in the front row. The bright stage lights shone in my eyes and obscured most of the audience, but I could see my dad clearly, shoulders back and wearing an appreciative grin. I felt ten feet tall that day. That was a long time ago.  

When the ship’s whistle blows and the overhead message—“Thanks for travelling with BC Ferries”—plays, my father and I make our way back to the car deck. As we follow the traffic the ship, my dad turns on the radio. The song “My Girl” by The Temptations plays through the speakers. I immediately reach out and turn it off. 

It’s the song that Storm always hummed to me, and she's the last person that I need to be reminded of right now. 

My father glares at me. “I was listening to that. Why did you shut it off?”

“I’m sorry. I just really can’t stand that song.”

He turns his attention back to the road, makes a few audible grumbles and then takes the north exit onto the Island Highway. 

Here, I wanted to show how the protagonist, Paisley had been affected by her time in prison and how she felt wayward and alone after being released. While doing research for this novel, I interviewed a female inmate who was a repeat offender. She told me that while she was in prison, she yearned to get out, but once she was released, she yearned to be back in. She explained that “when in prison, you know what’s expected of you, as opposed to being on the outside where you have to try to  figure it all out yourself.”

 

Thoughts About Writing Novels by Rosemary Morris

 

To learn more about Rosemary's work please click on the image above.

If I had a pound from every person who said he or she could write a novel it would add a worthwhile sum to my income. At a party, a man I met for the first time found out I am a published novelist. He pursued me relentlessly to find out how to be published. Years ago, he wrote a textbook and now wants to write fiction. I became more exasperated by his belief that I could give him the means to write a novel and find a literary agent or publisher.

“There is only one way to succeed,” I said, trying to conceal my irritation.

“What?” he asked eagerly, obviously thinking that I have a magic formula.

I resisted the temptation to say: ‘Get on with it instead of talking about it’.

“Write,” I told him.

Writing is demanding work. It requires dedication. Except for Christmas Day, I get up at 6 a.m. With a short break to eat breakfast I work until 10.a.m. After dealing with mundane tasks, working in my organic garden, and cooking, etc., I write form 4pm to 8p.m. with a short break for afternoon tea.

During the hours set aside to concentrate on my career as a novelist, I divide my time between writing, research, dealing with business, receiving, and answering e-mails, working with on-line constructive critique partners, and publicising my books.

Among other activities related to writing, before covid struck I attended a writers ‘group where I met published and unpublished writers. Members read extracts from their novels, non-fiction, poetry etc., and received useful feedback.

If someone chats to me about finding time to write, my advice is to have a routine, whether it is as little as fifteen minutes every day carved out from a busy life, or time set aside to write once a week. The important thing is the routine which separates real authors from would be ones.

Rosemary Morris’s novels

 

Medieval novels set in Edward II’s reign.

Yvonne, Lady of Cassio

Grace, Lady of Cassio

Early 18^th century novels set in Queen Anne Stuart’s reign, 1702-1714.

Far Beyond Rubies

Tangled Love

The Captain and The Countess

The Viscount and The Orphan to be published soon.

Regency novels.

False Pretences.

Loosely Connected series which do not need to be read in sequence.

Sunday’s Child

Monday’s Child

Tuesday’s Child,

Wednesday’s Child

Thursday’s Child

Friday’s Child

Saturday’s Child

 

The first three chapters of each novel may be read on my web site. www.rosemarymorris.co.uk

 

Links to online bookstores. http://bookswelove.net/authors/morris-rosemary