Living the Dream

Welcome to the end of February and Tuesday Tales. What can go from -15 C to +15 C in four days? The weather this year! This week will be a tough one for me as we lay my mother to rest. She’ll be reunited with my dad. Eternal rest? Reincarnation? The stuff paranormal romance novels are made of. Will they find one another in a future life? I’d like to think so.

Our word prompt this week is ICY. Is it icy where you are? It certainly isn’t here. The snow from last week is all gone, making things spring-like once more. I’m continuing with my Contemporary Paranormal Romance Suspense, Listen to the Stones. Enjoy.

Some believe that on Samhain, what you call Halloween, the veil that separates the realm of the living from the afterlife is at its thinnest, allowing the souls of the dearly departed and the Cat Sith to cross into this dimension and roam the land once more blessing or cursing people.”

She shivered as an icy draft made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. James was so serious. Just how much of this did he believe?

Marina shrugged. “I’m okay with the blessing, but the cursing? Not so much. How does one get blessed or cursed by Cat Sith?”

James licked his lips, drawing them to Marina’s attention. They were full, rosy, but not unnaturally so. How would they feel pressed against her own?

What’s wrong with me? For years, I’ve been content to lead a solitary life, my bed as virginal as a nun’s, and now I want … damn these hormones.

“It’s actually quite simple,” James answered. “You feed the beast. To be blessed, people need to set out a saucer of milk or cream. Those who do, prosper; those who don’t, risk seeing their cow’s milk dry up among other things.”

Deciding to play along in the hope that her common sense would make a comeback, Marina nodded.

“How will I know if Raven is an incarnation of this Cat Sith?”

He smiled. “The Cat Sith is easy to identify. It’s all black except for a small white spot in the center of its chest … oh, and its eyes glow in the dark.”

Marina laughed. “Now I know you’re teasing me. Since she’s finished her toilette, I can see that she’s black, which is probably why someone put her out in the storm, expecting her to die or be eaten by some predator.”

“There are no animal predators on Lewis, although we do have eagles, but they wouldn’t have been out in that storm.”

She straightened. “Really? No wolves or foxes?”

“Not a one.”

Marina leaned toward the kitten, but since she was now washing her chest, it was hard to see if there was a white spot there.

“As for the eye shine, that’s perfectly natural for all cats. The tapetum lucidum is like a little mirror in the back of the eyes of some nocturnal animals. It helps them see better in the dark and it’s what causes the glowing eyes.”

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 word prompt is WOOD. I’m continuing with my Contemporary Paranormal Romance Suspense, Listen to the Stones. Did I just add suspense to the title? I did and soon you’ll see why. Enjoy!

James led the way back into the Hall’s main room. In her earlier perusal of the room, she hadn’t noticed the two chests near the fireplace. James opened both chests. One contained small pieces of wood cut in roughly two-inch by six-inch boards. He laid six of the boards flat on the fireplace grate, then used four more atop them the way a child might to build a castle. He reached into the chest once more and brought out a box.

“What’s that?”

“Firestarter blocks. We use them and the wood to get the fire going.”

She watched as he added more pieces of wood to form a crude tepee, and then removed larger blackened chunks from the second chest and laid them across the wood.

“This is the peat. It’ll catch fire from the wood.”

He grabbed four more pieces of wood, put them upright in the center and then reached for the tall matches on the mantel. He struck the match and dropped it into the center of the wood and peat.

“Watch.”

Within seconds, an orange glow appeared in the center of the fireplace. The wood caught fire and then, so did the peat.

“Do I need to use wood again? I mean when this burns through.”

“If you let it burn out, you’ll have to repeat what I did. If you feed it chunks of peat, it’ll last until you’re ready to go to bed.”

The kitten in her arms roused and wriggled her way out of the towel, settling on the sofa beside her and began to wash.

“Raven must be feeling better. You said something when we found her, gave her an odd name.”

“Odder than a cat named after a bird?” He chuckled befroe sitting on the chair across from her. “I told you she might be Cat Sith. We Scots are superstitious and animals, in particular cats, often feature in our myths. Some see the Cat Sith as a fairy creature; others consider it to be a witch who can change into its form nine times, perhaps the origin of the belief that cats have nine lives.”

“Really?” She grinned and stared down at the kitten. “No doubt this little lady used one of them to escape the storm. What else can you tell me about this Cat Sith?”

“Well, if this is one of its reincarnations, she’s a few days early. Beware Cat Sith.”

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

Mid-February has me wondering what’s going on. We have spring-like temperatures and the snow is all but gone. A friend evensaw a robin last week. Hope the little guy has alternate housing. Reguardless of what the rodents say, I don’t think Mother Nature’s fiished with us yet.

Welcome to this week’s Tuesday Tales. The dedicated authors who post weekly do so based on a word prompt which is incorporated into the current work in progress. This week’s prompt is HAND. I’m continuing with my Contemporary Paranormal Romance, Listen to the Stones. Enjoy!

“Hang on to me,” James ordered . “As I said, it’s quite slippery, and my size twelves offer more purchase than your tiny shoes.”

They were halfway to the door when the wind suddenly died, the silence so profound that Marina stopped in her tracks and blinked. Hadn’t she heard the wind never stopped on Lewis? She was about to say something when she heard a faint sound, a mewling cry.

“What is that?”

“What’s what?” James words were gruff as he stopped beside her.

“Listen. It seems to be coming from over there on the right.”

She closed her eyes and focused on the sound. It couldn’t be a child out in this weather, but some other animal? A sheep, a dog, or perhaps a cat?

In the dim light, she watched the quick play of emotions dance across James’s face.

“Whatever it is, it sounds weak and in trouble. It’s coming from over there.” He indicated the side of the house. “Let me–“

Before he could stop her, Marina pulled her arm out of his and hurried toward the sound, one hand held out in front of her anticipating danger in the dark. The long, sparse grass beneath her feet was as slippery as the muddy laneway had been.

“Wait for me.”

James hurried behind her, his cell phone providing a tiny circle of light piercing the blackness. The beam rested on a recessed doorway.

“There it is.”

Wedged against the door, trying to hide from the storm, was a tiny kitten. The poor animal was so wet, that it was impossible to tell what color it was.

“Stay here. I’ll get the wee thing.” He chuckled. “Perhaps the beast is the latest incarnation of the Cat Sith.”

James approached the creature, but as he reached for it, the animal hissed and lunged away from him, racing toward Marina. She bent and picked it up.

The animal’s heart pounded with its recent effort, and it shivered.

Heedless of the kitten’s wet state, Marina opened her jacket and tucked the animal inside.

“Come on. The poor thing is terrified. No doubt it smells your cat on you. That would explain its odd behavior. By the way, what’s your cat’s name?”

James returned to her side, the cat burrowing deeper into her chest.

“Mittens, but do remember Aunt Mary named him.”

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

Welcome to February. The month’s a day longer this year thanks to it being a leap year, but that doesn’t seem to have slowed anything down. I was able to enjoy a ten-day cruise last month in the Caribbean, and while I only had five days in the sun and heat, it was heavenly. Now, it’s back to work.

This month’s question, What turns you off when visiting an author’s website/blog? Lack of information? A drone of negativity? Little mention of author’s books? Constant mention of books?

What turns me off are links that don’t work and inaccurate information. I realize that we aren’t all technical wizards and sometimes the gremlins out in the ether can muck things up, but since I’m one of those non-savvy peope, I have someone to look after that for me. If someone finds me on the Internet, I want everything to work as it should. What’s on my website? My books and links to my blog, my X account, my FaceBook, and my Amazon page. That’s pretty much it. It’s my business side of things. I reserve the more personal stuff for my blog which can be accessed there. It’s linked to my newsletter, but that’s been a dead end for me.

That’s it for this month. Want to see what others think?

https://www.insecurewriterssupportgroup.com/p/iwsg-sign-up.html

Welcome to February 2024. This week’s Tuesday Tales Is based on the word prompt RUN. I’m continuing with my Contemporary Paranormal Romance, Listen to the Stones.

A shrill whistle pulled Jerome back to the present, alerting him to the crewman waving at him, indicating it was his turn to move the car out. He followed the man’s directions, and within minutes, he exited the ferry to join the long queue of vehicles driving onto the pier, each one tailing the red lights of its predecessor as they left the port. The storm hadn’t let up; if anything, the rain pounded the streets and sidewalks relentlessly, creating huge puddles of water, almost as high as the curbs.

Common sense told him that he should be calling Nathan and begging for a bed for the night. Technically, he had no right to go out to Fraser Hall. His reservation wasn’t for another two days, and yet … Essentially, he would be trespassing. Would some well-meaning crofter call the police on him? He could well find himself out there alone and unwanted, especially if her flight had been grounded, or MacIsaac had the wrong date. His plan to show up and rescue her from a night without heat and lights seemed idiotic now. Given the fact that Donald MacIsaac and Brian Lennox, the only two people who might remember him, were away looking at a ram, who would believe him?

He could be taking a long ride for nothing and run into the kind of trouble he didn’t need, but a sense of urgency gripped him, the order to get to the Hall screaming through his mind. Something wasn’t right and fear clawed at his gut. Hadn’t he thought his mystery woman in danger? What if it wasn’t her but the stones themselves he had to save and protect? The stones who’d shared their stories with him as some kind of pre-payment for his help? Raping the land for wealth was nothing new as the clearcutting in the Amazon rainforests had proved.

Refusing to debate the matter a moment longer, he drove through the streets of Stornoway and headed up the highway toward Fraser Hall. There were few cars on the road, adding to the sense of danger and isolation.

The storm continued to pummel the island, the gusts of wind strong enough to move the car sideways. The sense that time was running out got stronger and stronger as he approached the Hall, and then, just like that, the wind dropped. Was he too late?

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. This week our word prompt is STRONG. I’m continuing with Listen to the Stones. Enjoy!

“I wasn’t going to tell you this, but someone is interested in buying land on Lewis, specifically where there are unprotected menhirs. They’re working through a numbered company, but whoever they are, they’re Scots. They’re not the ones who run the Tarbert Quarry on south-western Lewis, nor are they involved with the quarrying on North Uist, Banacula, South Uist, or Barra, but they are after Lewisian Gneiss. The stone is in high demand by the building industry. The monoliths are pure gneiss, and if there are stones above the earth, there has to be more beneath it. If those standing stones are your inspiration, then you may be running out of time. Calanais and a few others will be safe enough since they’re part of the National Trust, but the old laird made a point of keeping his stone circle private.”

The blood drained from his face, and the whisky soured on his stomach.

He squeezed the crystal tumbler, fear and fury warring within him.

“You can’t be serious. There would be strong opposition to such a move. The authorities would never allow it. All of those stones are a sacred part of our heritage.”

“I’m not so sure there’s anything they can do. By not allowing his stones to be registered, the old laird may have dealt them a deathly blow. There are two potentially destructive possibilities here. First, you fail in your bid to secure the stones for yourself, and Lady Fraser sells the land to them when her year is up, or second, she fails to remain the year, and some distant relative with no love for Lewis stakes a claim to it under the ancestral act and sells it to the highest bidder.”

Jerome had drained his glass. “That can never happen.”

“In the words of Charles Dickens in the Pickwick Papers, ‘Never say never.’ I looked up the obituary for Hugh Fraser. There was no mention of Eileen or Marina, although there was a photograph of the woman taken near those stones of yours in one of Hugh’s articles. She wasn’t a beauty like the woman you drew, but she did have red hair and blue eyes. Who knows? Maybe she’ll look enough like your mystery woman to get you to reconsider your position on courting her—that is unless some enterprising younger man doesn’t get to her first.”

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. This week. we’re writing to the prompt WATER. I’m continuing with Listen to the Stones.

As he waited to debark, Jerome’s mind wandered.

The other night, after one too many scotches, he’d described the woman and twin boys who populated his dreams. Nathan hadn’t laughed, but he’d maintained that Jerome was describing characters from his books. He’d quoted the description of the wizard’s wife and her twin boys in Traitors in the Mist.

“You know, if I thought for a minute that you believed those stones were enchanted and that the ideas for your books came from them and not your fertile imagination, I’d have you locked up for your own safety. When she was a child, Nadia’s grandfather used to tell her stories about the stone circles. No doubt yours did, too. She claims she sees bits and pieces of his tales in your books. Her father swore the stones were magical prisons created by a ruthless wizard who wanted to punish those who disagreed with him.”

Jerome had stiffened. “Are you accusing me of plagiarizing old Scottish tales?”

“Plagiarizing? Of course not.” Nathan shook his head and added water to the scotch in their glasses. “There’s no such thing as an original plot. Every author gets his or her ideas from the world around them. No one owns the copyright to myths, legends, and folktales. Those stories, not some talking rocks, are your inspiration. You’re a brilliant storyteller. You just need to believe in yourself.”

Jerome shook his head. “You don’t understand. When I’m at the stones, it’s as if I’m there with the characters. I’m not just listening to them speak, I’m part of the story, interacting with them at times, watching the events occur at others, and rooting for one side or the other. It’s so real that when it’s over, I can draw the images with as much realism as I can draw you, Nadia, or young Nathan.”

The man laughed. “Fine. Prove it. Draw this woman you plan to marry.”

Jerome reached for the paper and pencil on the desk.

“It’ll be a rough sketch since I don’t usually get a close look at her, but…”

Within a matter of minutes, he’d finished the drawing, surprised to see that the woman he’d illustrated bore a strong resemblance to the one he’d seen at the airport in London.

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