Living the Dream

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Happy reading everyone!

Monday was Thanksgiving Day in Canada, and I had cause to be thankful this year as I had all three of my children home for the first time in almost thirty years. It’s been a difficult year, and we’ve lost many friends as the years creep forward, but I’m still on the right side of the grass, and that’s what matters.

This week’s word prompt for the Tuesday Tales authors is RUN. I’m continuing with The Bonds of Time, my romantasy, and Samantha’s unplanned journey to her ancestral home. Enjoy!

The rocking motion of the train lulled Sam to sleep. A hand on her shoulder and the sound of the conductor’s voice woke her. She blinked, completely disoriented. She must’ve been more tired than she’d thought.

“Sorry, Miss, you looked so peaceful, I’d half a mind to leave you, but we’re just about to pull into Swindon.” The man smiled at her.

Sam nodded, stifled a yawn, and stood on legs that were more wobbly than expected. She reached for her backpack and the coat she’d removed. The train lurched as it slowed. Opening the compartment door, she crashed into a heavy tweed coat.

An electric shock coursed through her, followed by a wave of desire so potent that she almost collapsed. She jumped back to distance herself from the man. An elderly woman shouldered her way past, separating her from the tweed-covered back, giving her a second to regain her aplomb as the departing passengers moved her toward the exit door.

What had just happened? Sam caught a glimpse of him looking back at her, and she felt as if someone had knocked the wind out of her. She knew him, and yet she was certain she didn’t, but there was something familiar about him. The words from the song she associated with Sleeping Beauty filled her mind. I know you, I walked with you once upon a dream.

“Are you okay, Miss?” The conductor held out his hand to help her off the train.

She blinked. “What? … Yes, yes, I’m fine. I guess I’m still half-asleep.” How else could she explain reacting so strongly to a stranger’s casual brush?

She looked around, hoping to get another glimpse of the man, but he was nowhere in sight. Shaking her head, she walked over to the baggage cart, collected her luggage, and looked around. Children rushed around as if the need to run after the hour of inactivity couldn’t be ignored. She sighed. While she might’ve had a nap, she felt anything but rested.

The train station at Swindon, like many buildings in England, was a blending of eras. It consisted of an old brick edifice attached to a multifloor structure, remarkably modern. Somehow, she’d expected something quaint, perhaps with a thatched roof and stucco, but this was the twenty-first century, and time waited for no one. She approached the ticket window.

“Excuse me, can you tell me how to get to Dolmens?” She peered at the man behind the bars.

Don’t forget to check out the other Tuesday Tales.

Well, here we are in October, shorter days, longer, cooler nights, frost even. I am so not ready for this. I want more hot, summer days, more sunshine, more time to relax and unwind–but it isn’t going to happen.

October 7 question – Many people are calling for writers who use AI to disclose it. Most who employ ghostwriters do not admit it – do you think authors who use ghostwriters should have to disclose that, too? (Thanks Melissa Maygrove for the question!)

I’m going to answer this in two parts. Since I am currently a participant in a lawsuit about AI training being done without my permission on some of my books, I’m certain the day will come when the way I write ends up on someone’s “according to AI determining factors, this book was written by AI.” It won’t have been, but since my writing style was used to train AI, there are bound to be similarities. How can I get around that? I have no idea. The best I can do is add a “This book was human created” discalimer, but will that really help? Like so many others, I use the internet for research, occasionally, for grammar and spelling checks, my cover artists uses it to create some of my covers, and my books on audible are narrated by AI. If I had tons of money, I would pay a voice actor, but that isn’t in the cards. So, while AI doesn’t write my books, it does save me hours of research in moldy, old library basements.

If I were to plug in some vague plot outline into an AI program and publish what it spewed out as my work, then it would be a lie. In cases like those, I do think the author should disclose something like, “The main idea was mine, but AI wrote the book,” or “The main idea was mine and while AI wrote the bulk of the story, I edited and revised it .”

Others have probably commented on the invaluable job AI does in medicine and other fields, but I don’t feel I’m ready for it to begin replacing human creativity.

The second part involved ghost writing. Having ghosted the rough draft of a book for an author and been paid, I don’t feel the author needs to discolse that. The story has undergone exhaustive changes since the draft I sent and, in my opinion, is now wholly theirs.

That’s it for me. Check out what others have to say here. https://www.insecurewriterssupportgroup.com/p/iwsg-sign-up.html

Well, October’s here. So far, we’ve had cool nights and warm days, with a sprinkling of frost and fog in low-lying areas, but on the whole, the weather is good. This week, the authors at Tuesday Tales are writing to the word prompt HEAVY. The word reminds me of a Hollies’s song popular my first year of university when I met my husband, “He Ain’t Heavy, He’s my Brother.” That must have been on my mind when I wrote this scene. I’m a few words over, so bear with me, but I wanted to finish the scene. Here is this week’s peek from The Bonds of Time.

While Meg had grown more and more protective of late, Sam missed her. The woman had been her anchor in a storm-tossed sea that had almost overwhelmed them both with grief. She’d leaned heavily on her, perhaps more so than she should have, especially after her release from the hospital. That made this rushing off into the sunset to save who knew whom from who knew what not only unlike her, but far from the most logical thing for her to do. She’d always been so level-headed, and yet given everything that had happened, who could claim logic even existed anymore?

She let her mind drift back to the events that had brought her to this place, alone for what had to be the first time in her life.

Five months earlier, newly granted diploma in hand, Sam had been looking forward to joining her parents’ team on their dig in Barnenez, Brittany, when she’d been struck with appendicitis. Surgery had delayed her trip, and just after her release from the hospital, her parents had been killed in a freak earthquake that had buried the newly discovered archeological site under tons of heavy rubble. Not even the strongest machines could make any headway, as the tunnels they dug collapsed before they could use them.

Sam had spoken to her mother only hours before the accident. Catherine O’Hare had been so excited. Keltoi Manor, the home she had left over thirty years ago to marry her Irish lover, a crime for which her father had never forgiven her, was hers again. What a wonderful surprise to discover that her Uncle William, her mother’s twin brother whom Catherine had met only twice, hadn’t disowned her as expected but had left her everything! She was Lady Catherine! All sins were forgiven, and she could finally go home, go back to the place where she was meant to be. Something about the mysterious uncle and the unexpected inheritance seemed to good to be true, and when Sam voiced her concerns, her mother had laughed.

“There you go, darling, seeing boggarts in the closets again. It’s a gift inherited from your dad’s grandmother. Now, get the rest the doctor ordered, and we will see you next month. These ruins have been here for more than 7,000 years; they are not going to vanish overnight. We can all go to Keltoi together when you get here. Dad sends his love.”

But they had vanished. Buried beneath tons of rock and earth, Kevin and Catherine had become victims of the catastrophe and would never see their daughter nor England again.

Don’t forget to check out the other Tuesday Tales.

Well, it’s the end of September. How time does fly! This week, the Tuesday Tales authors are writing to the word GRAPE. I continue with The Bonds of Time, my romantacy.

The strangest thing about the note was the fact that she’d received it at all. The only people who knew she’d arrived in England were Aunt Meg, Hezekiah, Sir Nathan Vickers, a distant cousin who’d been living and working for Uncle William at Keltoi Manor for the last year or so, and her uncle’s solicitor, Nigel Smythe. He’d been the one to tell her that as her mother’s sole heir, she was also her uncle’s, and as such, the family title was hers. He’d then gone on to say that he and her lawyer would work out all the details, ending with the fact that he was sorry for her loss. None of them would’ve sent the message, so who had?

Sam stuffed the note back inside the pocket of her coat, removed it, and set it on the grape colored velour seat beside her. She chortled. Purple used to be reserved for royalty and now it covered the seats of rail cars.

She chuckled. “How the mighty have fallen.” Her voice echoed in the empty compartment.

Turning in her seat, she focused on the landscape, wishing she could forget what had brought her here alone. England in the fall was quite unlike Canada where she had spent the last fifteen years. Her mother and father should have been with her en route to Keltoi Manor, the place where she’d been born but didn’t recall. Sam brushed away the tears burning her eyes. Though her parents had been dead for almost two months now, the wound was raw, and she choked up whenever she thought of them. She had traveled with them, joining in their passion for history, until their decision to leave her in Canada after her fourteenth birthday. While she’d visited them on summer vacation, it hadn’t been the same and she’d missed them deeply.

It had been hard on all of them, but her parents had insisted on a proper, school-based, formal education. She’d excelled in school, and then had earned her M A in Archeology. She’d had hoped to work on her Ph.D., and she might yet, since England had some of the best universities in the world. Aunt Meg, a close friend of her father’s family in Ireland, had looked after her all these years, and had stood by her when one catastrophe had struck after the other.

Don’t forget to check out the other Tuesday Tales.

Tomorrow marks the official first day of autumn. Personally, I’m hoping for more summer, but Mother Nature has been anything but predictable this year. Our word this week is SIMPLE. I’m continuing with The Bonds of Time.

Hezekiah, a lawyer friend of Meg’s had accompanied her to France and had helped her deal with all the paperwork. The fact that the area was too unstable to recover the bodies had been upsetting, but he would continue to ask the authorities to try. They’d left France for London a week ago, and he’d settled her in a simple but elegant flat in Mayfair while he finished getting her English inheritance settled. Strange how she hadn’t known that she’d been born in the UK or that her mother had a twin brother. As soon as she was healthy enough, Meg would pack up their lives in Canada and join her. The plan had been to travel from London to Wiltshire together, but the note had arrived and changed everything.

After she’d spoken to Meg, she’d called Hezekiah. Her call had gone to voice mail. He had yet to return the call, but her mind was made up. She needed to get to the bottom of this sooner rather than later, and the idea that people she trusted were keeping secrets from her didn’t sit well. She reread the note.

Danger haunts thee both, my Fairie Queen,

Evil threatens the world that was once serene.

Together, ye can save Keltoi and humanity

Act now to protect and preserve thy destiny.

The message, written in an old Celtic dialect, one long dead that few would understand, a language she’d studied in her quest to be an archeologist like her parents, had been slipped under her door three days ago. No doubt she’d mistranslated the honorific Fairie Queen, which was probably more likely my lady or something equally banal. She had no idea to whom the both referred, unless it was her and Aunt Meg, and that made little sense. How she could save Keltoi and humanity was a mystery, but that whoever had sent the missive thought that the danger was real vibrated off the page. From what or from whom, she had no idea, but the poet-messenger had activated her senses of responsibility as well as curiosity. Meg had spent years instilling the idea that “Curiosity killed the cat,” as she often said, but after everything that had happened to her in the last six months, the losses she’d suffered, what could possibly go wrong now?

Don’t forget to check out the other Tuesday Tales.

Here we are, mid-September. I don’t know about you, but I could use another month of summer. This week, the Tuesday Tales word prompt is LIVELY. We’re back with Samantha. The forces of evil have been busy! I’m continuing with The Bonds of Time.

Six months later

England

Sam walked into the empty compartment, stowed her backpack on the ledge above the seat, removed her navy wool coat, and sat down. The blast of the whistle indicated that the train was ready to leave the station. The trip would be a short one since the train covered the distance from London to Swindon in less than an hour.

She settled back in the seat and sighed before taking out the note that had brought her to Wiltshire ahead of schedule. Aunt Meg wasn’t happy with her decision, and their discussion had been a lively one, but for what was probably the first time ever, Sam had put her foot down and insisted she would be waiting for her aunt at Keltoi Manor, the family ancestral home that was now hers, and not in a rented flat in London.

She stared down at the paper, an ancient scrap of parchment. As odd as it sounded, it seemed as if the paper emitted its own energy, and her fingers tingled as she held it. When she’d mentioned it to Aunt Meg on the phone after she’d received the note, her guardian had laughed it off as being someone’s idea of a joke, but there had been something in her tone … why would Aunt Meg lie about something like that? It was true that she’d been different since the accident that had killed the girls, her own life only being spared by an attack of appendicitis that had sent her to the hospital in an ambulance and not in the old Volkswagen she’d driven. Then there had been her great-uncle’s accidental death, a man she hadn’t even known existed. His death had made her mother Lady Keltoi, a peer of the realm, something else that had come as a surprise. Sadly, her mother never claimed her title, since within a few days, there’d been an earthquake near the archeological dig in France that had changed Sam’s life forever. She sighed. If only she’d taken Gabe with her. The cat had been a comforting presence these last few months when it seemed as if there was no hope left in her life. Aunt Meg should’ve been here with her. Unfortunately, she’d caught some sort of bug and had been unable to travel. Doctor Astrid had insisted that the cat stay with her since she found great comfort in him—a strange thing to say, but it was true.

Don’t forget to check out the other Tuesday Tales.