Halfway through July! How are you doing? Has the weather been kind in your part of the world? I hope so.

This week’s word prompt is BREAD. I’m continuing with Listen to the Stones.

James reached for her hand. “I realize that some of what I’ve told you today was unsettling, but to me, it’s all quite logical. Almost all of our Christian traditions have their origins in pre-Christianity. Think of it. A missionary arrives here to find a fierce, pagan tribe. Why wouldn’t he use whatever he could to his advantage? The stones were here, older than the island’s current occupants. No one knew who’d built them, so why not strike a little terror into the hearts of the savages occupying this land by implying that his God had turned their non-believing ancestors to stone? Within a generation or two, he’s given the credit in the folktales of the day. History is recorded by the victors.”

She frowned, not at all comfortable with the way he was twisting things. The idea that a man of God would deceive people that way in an effort to save their souls didn’t seem right.

“I suppose it makes sense, but that seems more like a twenty-first century rationalization to me.”

He shook his head. “Is it? The Bible itself lays the groundwork for such a thing by recording the way God turned Lot’s wife into a pillar of salt for daring to disobey him and look back. Take Jesus. He’s a man, whose not only the son of God but God himself—the very belief depicted in St Ronan’s cross. He turned water into wine, fed thousands with just a few loaves of bread and some fish, cured the sick, raised the dead, and rose from the depths of Hell to rule at the right hand of God, who is himself. You call them miracles. Do you not see how some would see that as akin to magic and the energies wielded by a powerful sorcerer?”

Marina nodded. “You’re well-versed in the Bible.”

“My Aunt Mary was a believer, a deeply … committed woman. We are all products of our environment, our thoughts and beliefs fed to us by what we’re told and what we learn on our own. Those lessons are often brutal and hard to ignore. Perhaps I’m a bit cynical, but in my life and profession, I’ve learned not to trust my senses and believe in only what I can prove, what I can control. We’ll make a great team, Marina. I know it.”

She smiled. Would they? Suddenly, she wasn’t quite so sure.

That’s it. Come back next week for more. Don’t forget to check out the other Tuesday Tales.

There comes a time when you have to admit that things aren’t working for you any longer, and that time has come. Today, my bathroom renovations begin. In fact, the contractor will be here in less than half an hour.

I keep thinking about all the questions I should have asked, like will you need to cut the power? How long will the water be off? and coutless others. I realized as I removed the curtain that I’d forgotten to get a new curtain rod. Problem solved. Can’t beat Amazon for quick service.

So, what am I having done? Everything. New tub, new toilet, new towel tower, new vanity, new mirror, new lighting, new towel bars, you name it. I’ve even decided to make it a theme bathroom, but you’ll have to wait until it’s finished to see that!

So, as my house gets ready to be plunged into chaos, I dream of what’s to come. Enjoy your week. Mine will defintely be different.

Welcome back! This week, Tuesday Tales’ word prompt is QUICK. As always, I’m continuing with Listen to the Stones. Do you like people who try to force their opinions on you? I prefer to make my own decisions.

“I don’t want to upset you, but my colleague warned me that some of the more superstitious people on the island are talking. We both saw the way some of them looked at you at the castle, and those facts, along with the threats you’ve received, concern me,” James stated. “You could well be in danger and not just from Jerome Morrison and his schemes. You need to keep a level head on your shoulders and remember who you are, a Canadian woman, an heiress of incomparable beauty who’s come back to the land of her birth. You are not some magical sea creature, certainly not the answer to some ancient prophecy, nor the long-awaited messiah destined to save us all. Times have been as tough here as they have been elsewhere. The weather’s changing, the economy took a hit, and crime is on the rise. It’s just as well you didn’t come during the pandemic. People are quick to change sides when things don’t go their way. They could well have stoned you for failing to save the island from the virus.” He laughed. “Don’t let this nonsense go to your head. It won’t be long before some will expect you to step into Bronagh’s shoes and demand you grant their every wish and bless their babies, too. It’s ridiculous, and we both know it. It’s better to disabuse them of that nonsense and set them straight right away. The only magic concoctions you’ll be brewing will be the food you’ll serve your guests at breakfast. While I’ve no doubt it will be delicious, I can guarantee the dishes will have no supernatural qualities.”

Marina frowned. For someone who didn’t like the idea of people foisting their beliefs on him, he was doing a hell of a job of imposing his on her. While they certainly seemed logical on the surface, that nagging feeling that there was more to what he was saying ate at her once more.

“I’ve never considered myself special in any way, and as for powers, magic or otherwise, certainly not something originating in the sea. If I did have some abilities, I wouldn’t even know how to use them. I don’t want anyone seeing me as some kind of savior. I can barely look after myself. I’m here to manage Fraser Hall and the estate I inherited, nothing more. I’ll do whatever I can for the island and its people, but as you’ve so clearly said, I’m nothing special.”

That’s it. Come back next week for more. Don’t forget to check out the other Tuesday Tales.

Welcome to July and this month’s blog question.

July 3 question – What are your favorite writing processing (e.g. Word, Scrivener, yWriter, Dabble), writing apps, software, and tools? Why do you recommend them? And which one is your all time favorite that you cannot live without and use daily or at least whenever you write?

The answer to this question is far easier than last months. The only writing program I use is WORD. I have the latest version and have it updated regularly. I find it easy to work with my decuments and format WORDXP files for Amazon,the only publishing platform I use. In addtion to keying in my stories, I use the grammar and spelling aid and the listening function to hear what I’ve written. It’s an easy way to find the mistake the brain misses interpreting what is there as what should be. All in all, while the occasional upgrades frustrate me until I figure them out, I’m quite happy with the program.

I also use good old fashion paper and pencil to keep track of character names, descriptions, chapter size, and POV in a story to avoid headhopping. By knowing whose head I’m supposed to be in, I can make sure that I don’t stray. I know established writers don’t worry about such things, but I do. I’m also concerned about keeping my chapters more or less equal in size, usually between 4200 and 4900 words. I do most of my plotting in my head–pantser here– but I will occasionally write some down and of course, I keep hard copies of any research I’ve done and used for a story. That’s it.

Have a great second half of summer!

To find out how others feel and what tools they use, check out other answers here: https://www.insecurewriterssupportgroup.com/p/iwsg-sign-up.html

Wow! Here we are in July! To the Canadians who celebrated yesterday, Happy Canada Day! To the American’s celebrating on Thursday, Happy Independence Day! It’s been a wild summer so far. Our Tuesday Tales word prompt this week is COMMON, but there’s nothing common about the path the story’s about to take. I’m continuing with Listen to the Stones.

James laughed. “Build? You truly believe a primitive tribe built this? As I suspected, you’ve fallen into the tourist trap like so many others. Which theory will you espouse? Some claim that none of it could’ve existed without the help of aliens—the Pyramids, the Aztec temples, the great cities in Peru. And don’t forget that according to local legend, the Standing Stones and menhirs are people turned to stone by a powerful Christian mage for refusing to follow the teachings of Christ and scattered across the Outer Hebrides.” He shrugged. “If St Patrick could rid Ireland of snakes, why not have someone who could turn living flesh into dead rock? Of course, those who practice witchcraft and druidism have their own theories. It’s amazing the common drivel some people believe.”

Marina scowled. There was something about the cavalier way he spoke that grated on her nerves, reminding her of the haughty man he’d been when Jerome had arrived at the Hall. As well, he was mixing paganism with Christianity again, as if it was all beneath his contempt.

“I don’t recall my minister telling us about sorcerers who doubled as missionaries.” He couldn’t miss her sarcasm. “Still, a mystery is a mystery. Is it so wrong to want to believe in something greater than yourself?”

Shaking his head, he shrugged. “Marina, I’m not belittling this, I simply don’t see why it’s of importance to so many—like Na Fir Chlis. What others believe is of no interest to me, as long as they don’t try to foist their ridiculous ideologies on me. These stones are nothing more than high quality metamorphic rock. They could’ve been heaved up by the earth during an earthquake after the ice age ended, and their pattern is random. They’re strong, durable, and excellent building materials, but sacred? Hardly. I’m sorry if I’ve burst your bubble as they say, but facts are facts.”

She chuckled. “You really know how to take the fun out of it, don’t you? First, you consider the Aurora Borealis no better than a fancy fart set afire by the atmosphere and now these colossal monuments are nothing but glacial debris.”

“I told you. I’m a realist. You would do well to remember that and forget all this nonsense about the supernatural, the prophecy, and your destiny.”

She stopped walking. “I beg your pardon? I’m not sure I understand what you’re trying to tell me.”

James led her to a bench along the path and sat, pulling her down beside him. His lips were pursed, his eyes cold but determined.

That’s it. Come back next week for more. Don’t forget to check out the other Tuesday Tales.

Welcome to the end of June. 2024 is halfway completed. Where did the time go? This week, the Tuesday Tales crew is writing to the word prompt SEEDS. I’m continuing with Listen to the Stones.

Marina nodded, unable to speak with the various emotions, most predominant of which was a sense of confusion, clogging her throat. Now that she knew the truth about Jerome, she seemed no longer attracted to the man. In fact, the resemblance between him and James that she’d found so compelling was slight at best.

“Yes. I’m sorry that you couldn’t join me. It was fascinating.”

“I do apologize for that,” James added. “I really didn’t expect it would take so long. That man is a colleague. We’ve had trouble connecting so it was a real stroke of luck to find him here. We’re looking for a witness … I shouldn’t have said that. The last thing I want to do is fill your head with sordid crime statistics, especially when you were upset by the report of Bronagh’s death. Have you seen enough? If so, we can go below. They have a gift shop with books and stuff, the usual gewgaws that attract the tourists and bring in a few pounds. Perhaps there’ll be a trinket or two to amuse you and serve as a reminder of your first visit here. I can see by your smile that you’ll come again.”

Finding no fault in his explanation, she nodded. With James by her side now, the vision, or whatever it had been, wouldn’t return even if he did look like the man in it.

“Most definitely. My mind is bursting with the seeds of ideas and questions about the origins of the place. I may even try to sketch it the way my father did.”

He led her away from the Neolithic monument. Once she could drive herself, she would come back and check out the stones again, the price of admission a pittance in the scope of things.

“The Standing Stones of Calanais have worked their magic on you, have they?”

“Magic? I thought you didn’t believe in such nonsense, but they are magnificent.” She made no attempt to hide the awe in her voice. “I’m anxious to see the ones on Fraser land. I understand that they aren’t as grand as these, but having something like this within walking distance is fantastic. I can’t believe neither my grandfather nor my great-uncle registered them. I’m sure they would draw the tourists, and since I plan to expand the inn, a drawing card like this would be a bonus.”

That’s it. Come back next week for more. Don’t forget to check out the other Tuesday Tales.

So far, summer has been promising with heat, sun, and the occasional shower, but not everyone is experiencing good weather and my thoughts are with those who struggle with the heat, the rain, and storms. This week, the authors of Tuesday Tales are writing to the prompt GREEN. I’m continuing with Listen to the Stones as Marina gets her first look at the Standing Stones.

Returning to the circle, she spent a few extra minutes studying the central stone and the prone one at its base. A memory danced on the far reaches of her mind, but before she could focus on it, it vanished. The excavated opening in front of the central stone raised even more questions, especially when she felt more energy than ever coming from it. She wanted to step down into it, but not now, not with all these witnesses. As she inspected each stone, it was remarkable to see the striations on them that gave them human-like faces. There were tiny patterns in the rock face, each one distinct from the other. Some resembled flowers, others geometric designs, but one thing was clear. There was an energy here, and yet it came not just from the stones but from the very earth surrounding them.

Moving from stone to stone, she soon found the one that resembled the mitten, the one in front of which her parents had posed. It was taller than she’d thought and wider by far as if the man frozen in place here had been overly fond of his meat and mead.

Licking her lips, she turned her back to it and leaned against it to look out at what her parents had seen.

Heat filled her, and as she watched, the barren landscape in front of her became a lush, green forest similar to the one depicted by the wallpaper in her bedroom. Over on the far right, a whitewashed cottage with a thatch roof waited invitingly for its owners. Hanging from a tripod over a fire was a large iron kettle. In the distance, a man in a white tunic, his face bearded, his long, red hair billowing over his shoulders, played with two young boys. Was that a cat sitting on the doorstep? It turned to her as if it sensed her watching it, reminding her of Raven.

“Sorry about that. I didn’t expect to be occupied for so long. Are you enjoying your visit?”

James draped his arm around her shoulders, shattering the vision, and yanking her back.

She blinked, but the lush forest was gone, replaced by the grass-covered hills and moors once more, its only occupants the sheep grazing in the distance.

She thought again about what the woman had said. It was easy to let one’s imagination run wild here, but the man she’d imagined bore a definite likeness to the one by her side.

That’s it. Come back next week for more. Don’t forget to check out the other Tuesday Tales.

Welcome to this week’s Tuesday Tales. Our prompt is FLIMSY. I’m continuing with Listen to the Stones. Once again I’m about 20 words over. Sorry.

Moving swiftly along the sidewalk, Jerome reached the door and knocked. It swung open as if made of flimsy particle board and not the heavy oak once used to build the Viking ships that had traded with the island.

“Halo?”

He pushed the door open wider and stopped, stunned to see the level of destruction inside what he would’ve expected to be a strangely decorated but somewhat tidy abode.

Nothing was burned, but there were scorch marks everywhere. Anything made of glass was no longer recognizable, smashed into hundreds of pieces, but those shards were fused together in multicolored lumps.

What could possibly have wreaked such destruction? His level of anxiety rose as he looked around the main room where the sorceress would’ve greeted her customers. He inhaled, the aroma of sulfur strong as if the Gates of Hell had opened inside the place and shut again.

“Bronagh?” he called, eying the mess before him, but there was no answer.

He shut the door behind him and stepped toward the doorway of one of the two rooms off the main one. Looking around what would’ve been the kitchen, he noted the same level of destruction, the plates, bowls, cups, and saucers all smashed.

Bending down, he picked up a spoon, the metal twisted and distorted in a way he’d never seen. The pots on what had to have been the stove suggested she’d been making a meal, but given the rancid odor coming from the floor, it would’ve been a few days ago.

“Bronagh? It’s Jerome Morrison. You knew my mother. She brought me here once, I’m sure of it.”

Silence. His gut tightened. Moving out of the kitchen, he went into the third room in the house, expecting to find a simple bedroom with perhaps a bath. Like the other rooms, the destruction in here was total, every stick of furniture blasted into bits the size of matchsticks. The far wall was gone, revealing what must’ve been Bronagh’s work area.

In the center of the room lay an octagonal iron box, the only item not destroyed. It had two side pieces attached to it, but their purpose was lost on him. The entire thing appeared to be no more than six inches long. He bent to pick it up, yanking his hand away. The box was colder than anything he’d ever touched, and his fingertips showed signs of frostbite.

The mark on his chest throbbed.

That’s it. Come back next week for more. Don’t forget to check out the other Tuesday Tales.