Author's Note

Have you ever walked into a room and felt sure there was someone there with you, but you were quite obviously alone?  Or heard something fall in the next room, and this time you can’t blame it on the cat because she’s curled up in your lap?  Congratulations, you may have experienced a ghost. 

Ghosts are popular topics for writers of all stripes, and why not?  A ghost can bring all kinds of goodies into a story – the spark for the story to begin, a way to impart information to your main character, an obstacle for your main character, spooky atmosphere, the list goes on and on. 

But I think ghosts are popular in story for another reason; because we all wonder what’s past the veil.  We’ve discovered the globe.  We’ve discovered the stars.  We’ve even discovered amazing worlds on the microscopic level.  But the one door that remains stubbornly shut is the one that opens onto the afterlife.  Is there a Heaven and Hell?  If so, what determines where you go?  Do we come back for multiple trips on this plane, or is corporeal life a one shot deal?  Does the afterlife exist at all, or do we just wink out when we take our last breaths?

Who better to answer these questions than someone who has been there?  Like Lewis and Clark mapping out the unknown wilderness, a ghost can being back reports of what’s on the other side.  What’s it like?  Are you happy?  Does it hurt? 

But why would a ghost even come back anyway?  The going reasoning is that the ghost must have “unfinished business” to want to hang around.  It’s usually something important, like fingering the person who murdered them or saving that last bit of energy to warn a loved one of danger, but I wonder if some ghosts stick around for more mundane reasons.  Can you imagine being stuck on this plane because you still have some checks in your purse that you meant to deposit, or you meant to clean the bathroom and never got around to it? 

Ghosts do make an appearance in some of my stories, and in both of the stories I have for available with Echelon Press, their unfinished business is very important.  In “Tony Came Home,” a ghost attends a birth, and in “Over the Hogmanay Threshold” a ghost works to save his grandchild. 

Buy them both here. 

Happy Reading!

Are you wearing green today?  Are you making plans to go out tonight to drink cheap beer gussied up with green food coloring?  Are you ready to claim to be Irish, even if you’re not?  This seems to be the way many Americans celebrate today, St. Patrick’s Day.  But my mind turns in a different direction…. 

Many of my stories are inspired by folklore and fairytale.  There are rich treasure troves of ideas in every culture around the world, just waiting to be mined for story ideas.  I’ve written about Baba Yaga from the Russian tradition, The Morrigan from Celtic tradition, and the Tooth Fairy, using bits and pieces from multiple world cultures (did you know the Tooth Fairy is connected to rodents in France?).  And yes, I have written about leprechauns of the Irish tradition.  A troop of proud leprechauns make an appearance in my short story “In the Town of Henry’s Fence” (as yet unpublished). 

One of the things that really fascinates me about these folk tales is that if you read the old versions, they often differ drastically from what we hear in our modern culture.  Quite often, the older tale is deeper, or more frightening, or just plain more interesting than the modern one.  Leprechauns of old wouldn’t be caught dead shilling for sugary children’s cereal or fresh smelling soap, and they aren’t just happy-go-lucky little men waiting to give you a pot of gold.  The leprechauns of old were solitary fairies, usually appearing as wizened old men, but only as tall as a child.  Leprechauns were cobblers, making or repairing shoes.  They are portrayed as mischievous spirits, and very fond of playing practical jokes.  Some of them did indeed have pots of money, but the old tales tell that the leprechauns recovered it from pots that humans had buried in times of war, and then either forgot about  or were unable to come fetch them.  But there’s nothing said about rainbows or forcing a leprechaun to reveal the location of his stash.  But the part that would probably sit most uncomfortably with modern American audiences is how leprechauns dress.  In virtually all the old tales, leprechauns did not wear green – they wore red. 

So this brings me about to my original point about my mind going in a different direction on St. Patrick’s Day.  I’m not thinking about corned beef and cabbage or green beer; I’m thinking about how I can place an old-fashioned leprechaun in a modern story, and how much fun it would be to watch the characters interact and have to change their preconceived views of each other as the story unfolds. 

While I’m working on that, you might enjoy some of my other tales -

Check out In the Land of Plenty under the Freebies tab on this site, OR

For an old-fashioned feel, try Hounds of Winter and Over the Hogmanay Threshold

For more modern stylings, try Tony Came Home and Frankie’s Diner

Happy Reading – and Happy St. Patrick’s Day!

Romance.  What is it about that word that sets most men I know quivering in fear?  Not all of them mind you, but enough that it makes me wonder if it’s a gender-linked trait to avoid hearts, flowers, and all things mushy. 

Sometimes I wonder, “Is it so hard to make a small gesture?”  Even just a grocery store bouquet would do.  What about that rare man who makes the grand gesture without social prodding?  Perhaps it’s the hopeless romantic in this female’s heart, but I’d like to think such men exist – the type of man who will sweep a woman off her feet without reminders like Valentine’s Day. 

One of the advantages of being a writer is that I get to indulge in my love for the grand gesture without having to wait for someone else to do it.  Not all of my male characters are sensitive romantics, but at least some of them are. 

In “Hounds of Winter,” Devlin is a taciturn, but sensitive, man who lives deep in the forest with his beloved Faylinn.  When Faylinn disappears in the bitter depths of winter, Devlin’s love for Faylinn drives him out into the treacherous night, where even the wind has teeth, to find his lady love.  But restoring the status quo, even if it does mean fighting beasts of the other world, isn’t as grand a gesture as Mel Hippos makes in my short story “In the Land of Plenty.”   You see, Mel is no ordinary man.  He masquerades as one under the wide Montana sky, but he’s really one of four brothers who must ride forth to bring on the end of the world.  His brothers want him to ride but he refuses for one reason, and one reason only – Janie.  For the love of a woman he would stop the Apocalypse.  How’s that for romantic?  (Read it for free here)

So with Valentine’s Day not far past, and a little romance still hanging in the air, why don’t you curl up with Devlin and Mel, and see just how romantic a man can be if he just tries.

A season for joy,
A season for sorrow,
Where she’s gone
I will surely, surely follow

Those words, sung in a mournful wail by Sting, were what got my creative juices flowing for the short story that eventually became “Hounds of Winter.”   Sting’s song was all about a man missing his mate in the depths of winter, and I wanted to capture that feeling of aching sorrow and cold loneliness that he’d captured in song with a story. 

In “Hounds of Winter,” the main character, Devlin, finds himself alone in a frigid winter landscape.  His beloved, his Faylinn, has disappeared.  Most assume she has died, victim of a walk in the treacherous winter wood.  But then Devlin finds clues showing that all is not as it appears, and his Faylinn may yet be alive.

I’ve always known that when it came to stories, to read or to write, I was a fantasy kind of girl.  It’s all because of my dad.  My father was a voracious reader (and fast too!) and because of his job he had to fly a lot.  So he would come home from his business trips with big paper grocery sacks full of paperback books, and he’d spill them out over the coffee table for me and my older brother to squabble over.  Dad was pretty evenly divided between fantasy and science fiction, but early on I showed a preference for fantasy and my brother for science fiction, not that we wouldn’t read the other genres, we just knew what we wanted to go for first.  Because of my dad, I soared with Anne McCaffrey’s dragons, I skulked through the dirty alleyways of Robert Asprin’s Thieve’s World, I rode along for Garion’s epic adventure in David Eddings’s Belgariad, and I loved every single minute of it.  So it only seemed natural that I would write fantasy when I figured out that being a writer was all I ever wanted to be. 

But heroic (or high) fantasy, which is what made up the bulk of my dad’s fantasy reading, wasn’t quite the genre for me.  Sure, I’ve done a few pieces that worked quite well in that genre, but it’s not quite “home.”  Every writer has a genre that for him or her is home base.  I found my home in my late 20s, courtesy of a co-worker at my dayjob.  I’d already been writing in this genre for a little while because I’d figured out in grad school that stories without some kind of supernatural or mythical twist didn’t suit me.  But I didn’t know what to call it, it’s just what I did.  Then Sarah told me I should read Charles de Lint.  I was stunned.  Here was home.  Here was someone with enormous talent, and quite a bit of success, doing exactly the type of stuff I yearned to do.  I was completely hooked.  Welcome to urban fantasy, my genre of choice.

Whoo-Hoo!  The fourth short story I sold to Echelon Press Publishing is up and ready for your reading pleasure as an ebook download.  This one is called “Hounds of Winter” and is one of many of my stories that has been inspired by one of my all time favorite musicians, Sting.  Here is the teaser description:

Winter is a treacherous season.  The ice can cut, the snow can blind, and the wind has teeth.  But some winters are even more perilous, some winters are inhabited by malevolent spirits.  Devlin finds himself alone in such a winter, his lovely FayLinn gone missing.  And when The Wild Hunt shows themselves in the area, he has an idea of where she’s gone.  What would be more dangerous: the winter wind and vicious hunters or the pain of abandonment and a broken heart?

It’s only $2!  Go download it now and get a good shiver!

http://tinyurl.com/houndsowinter

The holidays seem to require traditions, the comforting rituals you associate with warmth, good cheer, and family.  Everyone has some holiday tradition to remember fondly, whether it’s allowing one special present to be opened on Christmas Eve, or that the youngest child lights the candles of the menorah, or setting off fireworks at midnight. 

One of the traditions that fascinates me is that of the first footer – a popular New Year’s tradition in Scotland and other parts of the United Kingdom.  The tradition holds that the first person to cross the threshold of a home after the stroke of midnight on New Year’s, called Hogmanay in Scotland, determines the luck of the household for the year.  A tall, dark-haired man is said to bring the best luck, whereas red-heads and women are said to bring bad luck.  And you had better be sure the first threshold crossing is in instead of out, or all your luck and prosperity will flow out of the house all year.  And the best luck is brought by a first footer who also brings small gifts – bread or cake to ensure no hunger in the coming year, a few small coins to ensure fiscal prosperity, or whiskey to bring good cheer. 

The first footer tradition is especially important to my character, Agnes Milton, in my short story “Over the Hogmanay Threshold.”  Agnes lives alone on a sparse Scottish heath and cannot depend on a wandering stranger to help her fulfill the tradition, so she has to come up with creative ways to ensure her luck in the coming year.  How does she do it?  You’ll have to read the story and see.

May you and yours have a happy, healthy, and prosperous New Year.

Not all winter holidays revolve around gift giving.  New Year’s traditions focus on reflection before looking forward, and doing something to make the coming year a little bit better than the one just ending.  My mother always said that what you did on New Year’s Day was what you would be doing for the year, which is why no matter how late I am up celebrating with my friends the night before, I always make sure that I write on New Year’s Day, even if it’s only a paragraph or two.  Some cultures call for a lot of noise at the turning of the year to scare away malicious spirits, and others hold that all chores and debts must be taken care of before the stroke of midnight so that you don’t drag any dirty laundry, literal or metaphorical, into the New Year. 

The Scottish culture in particular holds New Year’s traditions in high esteem.  For about four or five hundred years, the Protestant movement prevented the celebration of Christmas in Scotland (it was seen as too “Popish” or Catholic), so the Scottish people focused on the turning of the year, called Hogmanay in thier culture.  Even though Christmas is now regularly celebrated throughout Scotland now, Hogmanay remains one of the biggest celebrations on thier calendar.  Despite frequently frigid temperatures, the Scots people gather in town squares or go from home to home celebrating at multiple parties throughout the night.  Gifts are given and good cheer is shared.  And nearly all the Scots people participate in the tradition of the first footer. 

The first footer is the first person to cross a home’s threshold after the stroke of midnight, and this person influences the household luck for the coming year.  A tall, dark-haired man is said to bring the most luck, while red-heads and women are said to be bad luck.  The first crossing of the threshold should be in instead of out, to make sure that your luck and prosperity do not flow away from the household throughout the coming year.  And if the first footer comes bearing gifts, that brings the most luck of all.  Some bread or cake keeps the household from hunger, while a few coins ensure prosperity, and a bit of whisky brings good cheer with it. 

But what’s a woman to do when she lives alone in the middle of a lonely Scottish heath?  This is precisely the problem that my character, Agnes Milton, faces in my short story, “Over the Hogmanay Threshold.”  Agnes is quite possibly the most superstituous woman in all of Scotland, and she uses all of her whiles to make sure her New Year will be blessed.  But things don’t go quite as planned, leaving Agnes in danger.  

To find out what happens to Agnes, read my story, “Over the Hogmanay Threshold.”

Ok, now that I have your attention…. I am participating in the 12 Days of Reading ebook promotion with my publisher, Echelon Press. Starting December 1st and running for 12 days there is a new holiday or winter themed short story released every day. The first 3 days have seen a horror story, a thriller, and a YA piece perfect for your tween reader. I have drawn the 6th position in the promotion, which falls this Sunday. I know Sunday is not usually a high traffic day, what with people having busy lives to begin with and now there is football and holiday preparations on top of it. So, I am running a promotion.

On the day my story debuts (this Sunday, 12/6) I will give away a free copy (pdf download) of my story to the most funny/touching/creative response to my blog post on the Echelon Shorts website (http://echelonpressshorts.wordpress.com/) posted in the first 24 hours.  I hope you’ll take a few minutes out of your busy Sunday to come visit my blog and make a comment, and maybe even win a copy of “Over the Hogmanay Threshold”!