Living the Dream

Eight months down in 2024 and four to go. September is here. In the twelve years since I retired as a teacher, I used to smile when the first day of school arrived since I didn’t have to go to work. What a joke! Once I decided to become a writer, everyday is a potential workday. I work far more hours than I ever did teaching, and yet I couldn’t be happier.

But this September is different because my grandson started university in a different city, moved away from home, and we all miss him like crazy. Growing old sucks when it’s me, but I miss my little grandbabies all grown up now. Hannah, the eldest will graduate with a degree in pharmacy next spring, while Nico begins his journey in Health Sciences. Where has time gone?

Now, enough feeling blue. It’s time to answer this month’s question: September 4 question – Since it’s back to school time, let’s talk English class. What’s a writing rule you learned in school that messed you up as a writer?

I learned all the rules of writing in school, and then I taught them for more than thirty years as an English teacher and a literacy coach. I wouldn’t say knowing the rules messed me up in any way; although, there are definite differences between grammar and spelling when in comes to the Canadian/British system I learned and taught and the American system I use in my books. I refuse to give up the Oxford comma, and that’s that. As well, over the years and with the advent of computers and word porcessing programs, there have been formatting changes to deal with, too.

That being said, there are many things that I taught in my creative writing classes that I’ve thrown out the door. The most relevant of them would be plotting the story,chapter by chapter, scene by scene, and writing character profiles. To be 100 percent honest, when I start writing a new book, I have a bunch of ideas floating around in my head and nothing else. The sky’s the limit. Sometimes, it’s a particular incident I’ve witnessed or read about, a person I’ve seen, a place I’ve visited, a comment someone has made often generate the story. Occasionally, it’ll be a song or a title that pops into my head, but once it’s there, I have to work on it.

My current contemporary paranormal romance suspense novel, Listen to the Stones, arose from the feeling I had when visiting the Standing Stones of Calanais on the Isle of Lewis in Scotland last summer. There was an energy surrounding the place that created a sense of awe in me. When I examined the stones and saw how each one was a little different and yet all of them reminded me of people turned to stone, well, my imagination went into overdrive! To discover that one of the prevalent myths about the place involved the idea of people turned to stone as punishement was all I needed to create my fantasy.

I usually write a blurb before I begin or in the early stages of the story to help me focus. The blurb may change a dozen times before the story ends because, when I start to write, I have only a vague idea of how it will end.

Since my books are character driven, what comes next is usually what the people residing in my imagination want. I research to make sure my facts, even in a fantasy, are as accurate as can be. I describe what I saw and what I want my reader to see, and I make a point of planting clues and tying up loose ends. In short, the only planning I do is a basic plot graph: a setting, characters that include protagonists and antagonists, an inciting incident, rising action that involves a few crises unknown to me until they happen, a climax, and a resolution to the story that ends in a happily ever after for the main characters. The characters are ready to end the story, so the book should be ready for its late October release.

The other thing I do, something considered a major no-no by all of the writing gurus, is that I edit as I write and if something pops into my head, I’ll go back and rewrite it into the story before moving on. Conservatively speaking, I probably edit each chapter a dozen times before the story is finished and ready for it’s final edit. Does that take time? Yes, but it’s the way my mojo works. How about you? Which writing rules to you use or lose?

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See you next month!

Wow. Today is September 3, and my 53rd wedding anniversary. Where has time gone? Today, the authors of Tuesday Tales are working with the word prompt FUNNY. I struggled to find a way to use the word based on where I am in the novel, but then I recalled that not everything one considers funny is humorous. It can be odd and strange, unusual to sat the least. I’m continuing with Listen to the Stones. Enjoy.

He swallowed and the truth tumbled out of him.

“I went to see Bronagh earlier this morning. I was there when her cottage exploded.”

“Oh my God! Couldn’t you have gotten her out?”

“No. It was a miracle that I wasn’t still inside when it exploded and to try to go back inside … The fire was too hot and burned at an incredible rate. I called for help and waited until they arrived, but there was nothing to be done.” He licked his lips. “Before the explosion, I found her door open. That seemed funny to me.”

“The woman’s dead. I see nothing humorous.”

“I wasn’t implying anything of the sort. It seemed off, odd, strange, and incredibly out of character. I knocked on the door, called out to her and heard a moan, so I went inside. The woman had been viciously attacked and badly beaten. The cottage had been searched and something taken, something she’d gone to great lengths to protect, something dark and evil.” He described the inside of the cottage, focusing on the box. “With all the questions I have, her death is simply too convenient. When I touched her—”

She frowned.

“You touched her and yet you didn’t try to save her?”

He shook his head. He was making a mess of this.

“Hear me out, please.” Painstakingly, he explained about his birth, leaving James’s name out of it for now. Then, knowing how ridiculous and far-fetched it would sound, he described the vision he’d had, the thought that Bronagh had taken him into herself and placed the other embryo in the selkie, and then the darkness he’d seen not only at the cottage but at the stones.

Marina didn’t say anything. She stood, picked up their plates, and took them back to the kitchen. Her silence was far more daunting than if she’d laughed at him. A few minutes later, she returned with a slice of cake for him but nothing for herself.

“So was this vision like the ones you had with your books?”

“It was similar, and yet different. Do you agree that someone wants you to leave the island?” She nodded. “The notes, the threats, the vile rubber rodent were the first step. That person would know that eventually Bronagh would seek you out. She’s famous on the island, and I know your housekeeper was a close friend of hers.”

“James called her a crazy, eccentric, old woman who might’ve incited people against me.”

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

What’s the first thing that comes to mind when you hear or see the words, Protecting the Innocent? For me, it’s complicated. As a child, I would’ve immediately considered angels since having a Guardian Angel was something I was told I had, my own angel who would keep me from making bad decisions and watch over me during the night–her job to tackle the monsters under my bed and let Mom and Dad sleep.

As an adult, my protectors have become more flesh, blood, and lethal. Where so many see soldiers and police officers as the bad guys, I see them as the ones who lay their lives on the line to keep us safe. I have friends who are police officers who do what they can to keep our community safe, and other friends whose sons and daughters are in the Armed Forces determined to keep our country safe. In the past, Canada avoided a lot of the violence of other countries, but sadly, the world has found us, and we now have mass shootings, stabbings, and racist/mysoginist killings, too.

When I was deciding on my next few books, I knew I wanted to get back to writing romance/suspense. My Harvester Files Books, The White Carnation, The White Lily, The White Iris, and The White Dahlia, are still my best sellers, but while I may add a book to them … I had planned to, but the core idea simply hasn’t come to me.

I wish I could blame COVID brain, but I can’t since my head is overflowing with other ideas.

I considered adding to my Vengeance Is Mine Series, but the books I had in mind didn’t quite fit there. On His Watch, Fire Angel, In Plain Sight, No Good Deed, and Secrets and Lies do well for me, but I wanted something different.

I had this idea for a series where the person endangered was completely unaware of what could possibly have caused them to require protection. I had one previously written title that fit that idea, Sworn to Protect.

Four years ago, a car accident robbed Nancy Frost of her child and her mother, taking what was left of her marriage with it in the process. A forensic accountant, she agrees to look at a company’s books in a divorce case, trying to find hidden assets, but her meeting with the lawyer goes terribly wrong when the restaurant is attacked.

The moment US Marshal Neil Copeland discovers his wife has been shot in a Baltimore restaurant, he rushes to her side, determined not to let her down again. As the police investigate, evidence suggests the attack was a ploy to hide a specific hit. When a professional assassin tries to kill Nancy a second time, it’s clear that she was the target and whatever’s going on is a lot more complicated than they think.

When Nancy awakes after a month in an induced coma, not only does she not remember the attack on the restaurant, she doesn’t remember marrying Neil. Faced with the challenge of protecting his wife from a powerful, faceless enemy, Neil must bring her up to date, dredging up all the sorrow that tore them apart in the first place, hoping something will jar her memory.

As he races against time, can he save her from an unknown assassin and convince her to give the love they once had a second chance?

Sworn to Protect is currently on sale for $2.99 on all Amazon platforms, or free to read on Kindle Unlimited.

Come October, there will be another book in the series, Guarding Her Heart.

Someone wants him and his daughter dead. Her job is to see to it that he doesn’t succeed.

Former ski champion turned bodyguard Olivia Cummings has been after an assignment with more meat to it than those she’s had, but when her boss offers her just that, she’s not sure she can afford to take it. The job involves protecting a young girl and her father from an unknown assassin. Not only will it mean she has to get back up on skis for the first time in five years after a disastrous accident that claimed two lives, but she’ll also have to marry a stranger, a man who attracts her and threatens the wall she’s erected around her heart. With Christmas right around the corner and the threat imminent, what choice does she have? She can’t let another innocent person die because of her selfishness.

Andrew Robertson, AKA George Stanton, is an international bestselling political suspense author who’s been targeted by an assassin bent on killing him and everyone he loves. A bomb attached to a car killed the mother of his child and injured fifteen-year-old Sheena, his daughter. He turns to family and Anderson Security for help. He’ll do anything for the girl including changing his identity to Greg Stuart and marrying the security guard assigned to protect her to provide an ironclad cover, but will it be enough?

Thrown together at one of the most romantic times of the year, Greg and Olivia soon find themselves giving in to the attraction they feel for each other, but with a nameless, faceless killer after them, will they get their happily ever after or will Olivia fail to keep the ones she loves alive once more?

Guarding Her Heart will be available on October 21, but is currently up for pre-order. You can reserve your copy. It will be available in Kindle Unlimited and in paperback from Amazon after publication.

So, what’s next? I have a few irons in the fire, and I’m already getting into gear for the next Protecting the Innocent novel. Why not get a jump on things and read Sworn to Protect now?

And if you’ve read any of my books, please take a minute to leave a review on Amazon.

Wow! The end of August is upon us. I hope you enjoyed your summer. I did. Last week, I had a chance to meet with friends in the beautiful town of Alexandria Bay, NY. Great way to say goodbye to summer.

This week, the authors from Tuesday Tales are writing to the word prompt QUICK. I’m continuing with Listen to the Stones.

“The estate has to stay intact. That’s the trust and responsibility Great-uncle Angus left me. It’s a sacred obligation that’s been handed down through the centuries, one I agreed to accept even if I don’t understand everything it entails, but I intend to learn.”

Jerome nodded. It was probably the best he could hope for. Whatever closeness they’d had previously now seemed as distant as the relationship in his dreams.

She focused on her meal, eating in silence, her mind no doubt processing what he’d said earlier. She set down her fork.

“As for you being Mage Lewis Harris … you are an exceptional author, and I will keep your secret.” She pushed her plate to the side even though she’d only eaten a small portion of the excellent meal. “But I sense you’re still keeping something from me.”

He heaved a sigh and put down his fork.

“Do you believe in reincarnation, Marina?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “In the past, I would’ve been quick to say no, but a great many things have happened to me in the last few months that I don’t understand. I never believed in magic and sorcery, but even that’s become a gray area for me. My uncle left a letter for me with Ewen. In it, he asked me to visit Bronagh, but I heard on the radio that the woman is dead, some kind of gas explosion. Odd don’t you think that a woman believed to be clairvoyant would make that kind of mistake?”

He nodded and speared a potato more forcefully than he should have.

“Yes, I heard.” He swallowed. How much of what he knew should he share? He didn’t want any more complications between them, but how could he explain the vision he’d had, the journey quest Bronagh had taken him on with her dying breaths?

Raven meowed, the sound annoyed. He looked at her and swore the cat’s face had taken on angry human characteristics.

You said you’d be honest with her. She needs every bit of truth, not just what you seem willing to share. Her life and yours depend on it.

The voice inside his head was loud and commanding, but where had it come from? It wasn’t Bronagh’s voice, but it carried the same tone of command.

He glanced around quickly, his gaze focusing on Marina once more. Had she heard anything?

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 SWEAT. Things are heating up in Listen to the Stones. Enjoy!

Jerome watched Marina leave the room. She’d only asked the one question, but she’d watched him so intently that it had felt as if she were looking into his soul.

He swiped at the beads of sweat on his forehead. If she didn’t believe what he’d told her, she would never accept the rest.

When Marina returned with the plates, the television announcer informed them that the game had been called on account of the rain and that the teams would play tomorrow. The canceled game would be rescheduled if needed.

“It looks like you can call it an early night if you want to.”

He stared at the roast beef she’d set before him, his mouth watering at the aroma.

“This looks absolutely incredible.”

She nodded and reached for her wine glass.

They ate in silence, if you could call the way Marina toyed with her food eating. She set down her fork and spoke, breaking the uncomfortable quietude.

“Thank you for explaining things to me. I’ve never known an author, so I can’t say whether I agree or disagree about your need to keep it to yourself, but I do respect your right to do so. I’ve heard of celebrity stalkings, and they would concern me as well. As to your desire to keep the stones safe, although I have only seen drawings of them, I too feel the need to protect them. James thinks it’s unnecessary, but … how can I go about getting them registered?”

“I can get the necessary documents for you tomorrow. I thought we might go to the stones in the morning,” he continued, confused by her placid demeanor. “Now that I’ve met you and have gotten to know you, I have no interest in seeing you leave here when your year is up.” He swallowed. “I won’t lie to you again, but I would like you to consider selling me the croft closest to the stones. I want to move back to the Isle of Lewis permanently and make writing my sole occupation. Will you think about it? I will study the stones as an archeologist because they fascinate me, but I will need quiet time with them to sit and listen to their stories and a place where I can work undisturbed.”

She shook her head and met his gaze. “Understand this. None of Fraser land is for sale, at least not as long as I live.”

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

We’ve all heard the expression that nothing hurts as much as words, but words also have the power to heal.

When I came across the file folder holding the the poems I’d written almost 30 years ago, I asked myself why I’d stopped writing poetry. Of course, I was involved in writing curriculum at the time as well as teaching, and later I got into writing novels, but it occurred to me that poems have an eternal quality about them. They mean something different to everyone based on their life experiences. I recall telling my students that the only one who truly knows the meaning and context of a poem is the author. I believed it then, and I believe that now.

Sometimes, life had more speedbumps and potholes than smooth roads, and those are the times when we need comfort and understanding. I may be struggling with a body determined to put me on the sidelines, but others are struggling with emotional pain. I can take a pill to soothe mine; there are no pills to soothe theirs.

I wrote “I’m Always There for You” in 1996. Its message is just as relevant today as it was then, and while the people may change, the sentiment remains.

At times like these, when everything seems to be going

Wrong, I long to be able to hold you close and help

Ease your pain. I know that comforting words really

Don’t seem to be the answer now, but just remember,

I’m always there for you.

It’s easy for me to say that tomorrow is another day.

How can I possibly believe such words can take away

The ache of a broken heart, the loneliness of a crushed

Spirit, the fear of the future? But please remember,

I’m always there for you.

I can’t give you all the answers, I can’t even give you all the

Questions, but trust in me, and I can help you search

For solutions that are true and lasting. I want to ease

Your sorrow, see you safely through this time, but please remember,

I’m always there for you.

And when the storm is over, and the sun appears anew,

I’ll be there to share your joy and laughter as the sad memories

Fade, replaced by good ones meant to be cherished and endure;

And then, dear friend, you will know at last that

I will always be there for you.

Have a great weekend and while we’re expecting more rain, someone’s enjoying a nice sunny summer day!

Welcome to this week’s Tuesday Tales. I’m continuing with Listen to the Stones. This week, our word prompt is BURNED.

Carrying it back to the sofa, she reached for the amulet once more. Raven, wide awake, sat beside her. Marina turned the pendant over and held the magnifying glass above it. The handle seemed to hum and warm as she held it. As if by magic, the tarnish vanished, leaving the handle shining as if it were new. The handle clearly depicted exquisitely carved shells, a trident, and runes, what one would expect to see on an item supposedly belonging to the king of the sea. What was even more surprising was the fact that the smoky glass had cleared.

As she looked through it, she watched the runes on the back of the amulet move, rearrange themselves, and grow larger until she could see the message clearly and understand it. The words, written in an ancient language, were from whoever had gifted her the unusual piece of jewelry and explained its purpose. She read the words aloud.

“Daughter of the sea, this is my gift to you. Eyes that have been shrouded from the truth will gradually clear as the time of reckoning approaches. Be open to the truth. Sense it in all its forms, but beware the deceiver. He who believes his lies speaks the truth as he perceives it. When the time is right, wear this against your skin to reveal all that you are, all that you were, and all that you will be. Do not fear the truth, princess. Embrace it. Use it to reveal what must be and free those imprisoned.”

She turned to Raven. “Well, that’s clear as mud.”

The cat meowed in agreement, her small head cocked.

Marina swallowed. What should she do next? She sat back, realizing that the magnifying glass had returned to its original state. Taking it and the necklace into her bedroom, she placed the magnifying glass inside its velvet shroud. She was about to put on the necklace when she heard the voice she’d heard earlier.

“It isn’t time child. Put it away for now.”

Her cheeks burned in anger. “I don’t know who and what you are,” she spoke aloud to the room, but and only because I need to think about all this, I’ll do as you say, but it you are a damn ghost, then you’re going to have to show yourself soon.

The voice laughed.

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

Hard to believe that summer is slowly coming to an end, but the signs are here. Leaves are slowly starting to turn red, a sure sign that fall is getting closer every day. I can’t complain. Summer has been good to me, although the storms did take down a few trees. I’m hoping fall and winter will be good ones, too.

August 7 question – Do you use AI in your writing and if so how? Do you use it for your posts? Incorporate it into your stories? Use it for research? Audio?

If you had asked me this a year ago, I would’ve said no, never, but in the past few months, I’ve come to see and understand a different side of AI. Do I use it in my writing, apparently I do. I use spellcheck, find synonyms, look up information, and use the text to speech function to read to me since I find it easier to pick out errors if I both hear and see them. I’ve tried tthe speech to text side of it, but I’m not impressed. You might say that I think through my fingers and my mouth can’t keep up.

My cover artist has embraced the use of AI in her covers and the new ones are gorgeous. I had AI make me an illustration for a blog post last week because I couldn’t find what I wanted in my own pictures or those that are free to download, so I may use that function again.

But do I use it to actually write, to generate ideas, etc.? Abosolutely not. My content is 100% human thinking. The stories and characters I create in my mind are 100% my own. I give birth to them, nuture them, then let them have their heads and craft the stories they give me. Will I ever have to resort to AI for the actual writing? I hope not, because when I run out of ideas, it’ll be time to shut down the computer for the last time.

Check out other responses here: https://www.insecurewriterssupportgroup.com/p/iwsg-sign-up.html

Wow! August is here already. It’s been a busy summer with home renovations, but I’ve still managed to get some writing done. This week, the authors of Tuesday Tales are writing to the prompt, HOT.

He shook his head. “And again at her hotel in Inverness.” He repeated what Marina had told her about locking herself in her room that night. “I should’ve admitted the truth then. Now, it may be too late. She may not believe a thing I say. There’s something else.” He told Nathan about the notes and the dead rat, ending the conversation about the missing three hours she claimed she’d slept on a bench in Edinburgh.

“Bloody hell. This is a hot mess, isn’t it now? I’m glad someone is taking those threats seriously, but those lost three hours in Edinburgh make no sense. Surely someone would’ve roused her—the police, another tourist—” Nathan stopped and glared at him. “Were you in Edinburgh at the time?”

“No. I went from London straight to Inverness.”

“Then she can’t accuse you of drugging her or what have you, but I’ll wager she was nowhere near that bench for all of that time.” He stood. “I don’t like this, Jerome. It feels as if you’re being set up, although for what, I’ve no idea. Let me make a few inquiries—see where James was while she was in Edinburgh. Ewen told me why her letter almost missed her. It was misaddressed from here. Only someone in his office could’ve done it. He blamed a temp, but I have my doubts. I mentioned earlier that James was raised by his Aunt Mary. The woman went to her grave swearing she was the rightful heir to Fraser Hall, born on the wrong side of the bed, but the heir, nonetheless. The old laws didn’t recognize the rights of those born out of wedlock, and when you get right down to it, Marina was also born on the wrong side of the sheets, although her father did claim her as his own. MacNish is a good lawyer. It’s quite possible that he has no interest in Marina and simply wants her fortune. There are three ways to get it: petition the courts, marry her, or see her dead. Be careful.”

Jerome nodded. None of those options appealed.

Thanking both Nathan and Nadia for their hospitality, he left their home and headed back to Fraser Hall, still not sure what to say to Marina, but aware of the danger of lying. If only he could ask the stones, but it seemed as if they had turned their back on him, too.

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

Back in 1996, I challenged my English class to write a poem based on a disaster. While I can’t share theirs with you, I can share the one I wrote. The disaster I used was the bombing of the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building in Oklahoma City on April 19, 1995. Little did I know an even worse disaster was only five years away on September 9, 2001.

“What a marvelous day,” she says with a grin,

Looking out her window, thrilled with her news as,

Second by second, life continues to tick

For the secretary at her desk, as the hands

On the bomb meet, in a lovers’ caress.

A hush. Time ceases to exist. The bomb lives,

Life ends. Humanity’s ultimate cruelty wins.

No baby for the young wife on the third floor,

No happiness, no regrets; love and laughter destroyed.

“Why?” scream the hearts of families, friends, and lovers

Of one they will never again see, hear, hold, or kiss.

The future, a lifetime of possibilities gone.

No warning, no reason. Amidst the debris of bricks and steel,

A husband left behind shudders, wishing for death,

Anything to ease the burden of facing destiny alone.

A shocked world sits in grim silence watching,

Held prisoner by the gruesome electronic screen,

Creature feeding on agony and despair,

Unfurling the outrage and sin.

And as the soul in purgatory gets its release,

Earth swallows the leavings.

Nothing more to see.

That’s the end of the poem and yet, for all those who have lost loved ones to terrorism, it’s just the beginning of long, lonely futures. Unlike writing a novel, a poem can capture one moment without worrying about the rules and conventions of writing.

Enjoy the coming week.