Living the Dream

Welcome to this first post for Tuesday Tales in 2024. I still have no idea where 2023 went, but I’m hoping that 2024 will bring good things for everyone–health, happiness, peace, and prosperity.

This week, the talented authors from Tuesday Tales are writing to the word prompt LIGHTS. I’m continuing with Listen to the Stones. I’m a few words over this week. Sorry, but I needed to finish the scene.

Marina sighed, glancing at James whose attention was on the road. A fork of lightning split the sky, momentarily showing the vast, flat fields on each side of the road. Another clap of thunder shook the vehicle. The rain continued unrelenting in its fury. Now that they’d left the city, the only lights she could see were those shining outside and inside the houses that they passed along the way. There was little traffic either going or coming from Stornoway. At times, without the light illuminating the road ahead of them, it would be as dark as it had been inside those caves so long ago. She shivered.

“Is it always like this? I heard that it rained a lot, but no one mentioned storms.”

James reached out a hand to touch hers.

“Not afraid of a little thunder and lightning are you? They can’t hurt you any more than the rain rocking the vehicle can. While we do have storms, one of this magnitude at this time of year is unnatural, but Mother Nature’s been through a great deal these past few decades. You’ll be fine and cozy once we get to the Hall. If you like, I can stay with you a bit and help you settle in, but MacIsaac’s croft is the one closest to the Hall and Brian, your handyman has an partment just above the garage.”

“I’m sure I’ll be fine. Does the power go off in these storms? Do I have a generator?”

“I’ve never known the power to go out, but you’ve several fireplaces. I can make sure they’re all ready to go before I leave.”

“Thank you. Tell me about yourself.”

Hadn’t Nana maintained that there was someone out there for her? That she just had to open her heart and be ready to let love in? Here she was, sitting next to a gorgeous man with a sexy-as-hell accent who liked to cook. What could be better than that?

“I’ve been on my own for almost ten years. That’s when I discovered it was either learn to cook or starve. I spent a lot of time with my Aunt Mary. She was my mother’s sister, and when my parents died, she made a point of staying in touch.”

“I’m so sorry for your loss. I know what it’s like to lose a parent. I may not have known my father or my great-uncle, but my mother, grandmother, and I were very close. Do you still spend time with your aunt?”

He shook his head. “Aunt Mary died during the pandemic, but she left me her home and her cat, so I’m not all alone.”

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

Welcome to the last Tuesday Tales post of 2023. It’s been an eventful year. Wishing you all the best in 2024. This week, fittingly enough, our word prompt is END. I still have several weeks’ worth of work on Listen to the Stones yet to complete. I hope you’re enjoying the story as much as I am researching and writing it. 

Marina chewed her lip. Was James just being friendly or had he asked her out on a date? Did it matter? The man was drop-dead gorgeous, and she wouldn’t mind getting to know him better. It wasn’t as if she had a lot of friends in the area, and since Lews Castle could well be serious competition for Fraser Hall, didn’t it make sense to check it out as soon as she could?

“I’d like that. I know what clotted cream is, but I’ve never had it. It’s not quite like whipped cream or even crème fraîche although they’re all made with heavy cream.”

Seriously? This is what I want to discuss with the hunky man who rescued me?

James nodded. “Aye, but your North American dessert cream is whipped into airy peaks, while our clotted cream is heated until clots form into an almost crunchy layer, while crème fraîche is cultivated with bacteria, in a similar way to yogurt. I used to watch my mother make it back in the day. With its ultra-thick consistency, clotted cream can even be mistaken for butter without the yellow dye in it. People do interchange crème fraîche and clotted cream, but the former is best used in soups, sauces, and similar French dishes, while the latter is a topping. Am I boring you, my lady? I tend to get carried away talking about food preparation.”

“Marina, please. No, of course not. I’m impressed.” She smiled once more. “I’ve spent most of my adult life working as a chef, even though I don’t have the paperwork to prove it, so I love learning all about new foods. Once I decided to accept my inheritance, I spent some time looking up traditional Scottish dishes. Since Fraser Hall is a bed and breakfast, I’ll be expected to serve that meal, but in time, I might like to add tea and possibly even supper to my services. As for our discussion, it’s been my experience that most men, chefs aside, would rather eat the food than discuss its preparation or the cleaning up required afterward. Do you have an interest in cooking and baking?”

Thank you, Fate. After years of making my life miserable, you really are coming through for me. This could well be a match made in heaven. Bob had never been interested in what happened in the kitchen. Most of the time, he’d scarfed down his food so quickly that by the end of the meal, she’d wondered if he’d even realized what he’d eaten.

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

Well, here it is, Christmas Eve in my part of the world and Christmas Day Down Under. May the holiday season bring you peace and comfort, time with family and friends, and good health. The longest night is behind us as the creep slowly and steadily toward the longest day once more. May 2024 be a better year for all.

Welcome to the week’s Tuesday Tales. We’re less than a week away from Christmas. The tree is decorated, the gifts are wrapped and most of the food is ready to be cooked. Wishing everyone a festive holiday. This week, I’m continuing with Listen to the Stones. Marina is back at the airport with Wee James. Our word prompt is CREAM. Enjoy.

“I’ll show you a wee bit of Stornoway as we drive through. It’s only nine minutes away.”

“Then why did it take so long for you to come and get me?”

He hesitated a moment before answering. “I … I wasn’t in the office. As Ewen’s associate, I deal with … clients when he’s away.”

Why did she get the sense that he wasn’t being completely honest?

“But I’m here now.” He put the vehicle in gear and pulled away from the curb.

Marina straightened against the seat. Where he’d been and what he’d been doing were none of her business. What lawyers did with clients was confidential. She should’ve recalled that.

James expertly navigated the vehicle first along the highway from the airport then through the streets of Stornoway.

“That’s Lews Castle.” He indicated the building as they drove passed it. “It was built in the gothic revival style by Sir James Matheson in the mid-nineteenth century. At one time or another, it housed nobility, WWII convalescing soldiers, college students, and even school children, but it’s now essentially a series of self-catering apartments with a terrific view of the harbor.”

She angled herself in the seat to get a better view. “It’s huge, and from what I can see it looks as though all the trees on the island surround it.”

James laughed. “Not quite but you’re close. Sir James and his wife created this forest. It’s got a lot of unusual trees, but many that are native to Northern Scotland. You have lodge pole trees imported from Western North America near Fraser Hall.”

She cocked an eyebrow. “Really? Why from there?”

“The trees are hardy and fast-growing, which is a plus.”

Nodding, she turned back to James. “Tell me more about the castle.”

“There’s not much to tell, but the upper floors have been divided into several contemporary apartments and suites, each one unique and luxurious. The fanciest ones incorporate the towers and turrets. On the main floor, people can enjoy some of the island’s cuisine in the Storehouse Café. At this time of the year, it’s only open Thursday through Sunday from ten in the morning until three in the afternoon—essentially for lunch.”

She grinned. “I’ll have to make a point of checking it out.”

“I’d be happy to take you there for lunch on Sunday,” he offered. “They have the very best scones, served with clotted cream and jam.”

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

As the song says, the heat is on. Welcome to this week’s episode of Tuesday Tales. I’m continuing with Listen to the Stones. In this week’s post, I’m going to backtrack to an earlier point in the story when Marina was visiting the Edinburgh vaults. Remember those two hours she thinks she lost? She didn’t lose them, but it isn’t time for her to recall them just yet.

Mab pulled her along the cobblestone hallway, deeper and deeper into the warren of passageways and vaults. The air grew colder and damper, the scent of mildew stronger. She shivered.

The woman stopped so abruptly, that Marina almost knocked her over.

“Here we are,” Mab held her hand as she spoke into the darkness. “I’ve brought her to you as requested.” She turned to her. “It was a pleasure to meet you, my lady. No doubt we’ll meet again someday. I’ll leave you now.”

“Leave me?” Marina screeched. “Here? Alone?”

She would never be able to find her way back on her own.

The small woman smiled, “You aren’t alone. It’ll be fine. Raven knows what to do.”

Had she fallen for a scam? Would someone come and rob her or worse? Kill her and leave her body down here to rot or feed the rats? Was it possible that whoever wanted Fraser Hall had arranged for her to disappear here, paving the way for him to acquire the land?

Before she could say anything, Mab released her hand, turned, and walked away, leaving Marina alone in the room devoid of light.

“Don’t go,” she cried, but within seconds, all traces of the light the woman carried vanished.

“You’re never alone, Marina Fraser.”

She jumped at her name. “Who said that?”

“I did. I am Raven, the master’s servant.”

A red candle flickered on, the only light in the darkness, but Marina couldn’t see anyone or anything else.

“Show yourself and tell me what you want,” she demanded, her voice trembling.

If that candle went out, she was going to scream bloody murder. Would anyone hear her if she did? She was in the bowels of some kind of catacombs.

“I’m going to die, aren’t I?”

The voice laughed. “We all die, my lady, some sooner than others.”

That wasn’t very comforting.

“Don’t be afraid, my lady. I’m simply going to tell you a story—your story. You used to enjoy sitting with your grandmother as she read to you from a book of imaginative folktales. But not all of the tales are fanciful myths and legends. Many are steeped in truth, and it’s those fables that teach us powerful lessons, teachings we would be wise not to forget, or repeat.”

“My story? How can you know my story? We’ve never met,” Marina argued, growing bolder. No matter what was going to happen, she wouldn’t give up without a fight.

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

Welcome to December’s IWSG bog post. Like many of you, I’m up to my eyeballs in preparations for Christmas. Whether you celebrate the holiday as a religious or secular one makes little difference. What’s important is that you try to bring a little light into this the darkest time of the year.

December 6 question: Book reviews are for the readers. When you leave a book review do you review for the Reader or the Author? Is it about what you liked and enjoyed about your reading experience, or do you critique the author?

Reading is a personal experience, and everyone approaches it differently. While it’s possible that one person loves a book, it’s equally possible that someone else hates it. When I read a book for pleasure, I try to shove my internal editor on the back burner. I’ll admit that sometimes doing that is harder than at others. If the book has too many errors, it’ll pull me out of the story and spoil my enjoyment of it.

That being said, I try to post something positive about the book, not just for the reader to take away, but to encourage the writer. We authors don’t have thick skins, at least I don’t. When I read my reviews, I look for constructive criticism. Let’s face it. No matter how many times you go over a manuscript, there will always be that one typo you miss.

Early on in my career, I wrote a book that was editied to death. Four rounds of painstaking edits, and yet when the publisher put it out there, they used the original unedited copy because the editor had a breakdown and never submitted the properly eited version. Once the book was out there, there wasn’t much that could be done to fix it, although I did beg them to do so. In the end, all I could do was grin and bear it.

I’ll admit some reviewers were able to look at the story beneath the errors, but others were incredibly unkind. As a result, I almost gave up on writing, but instead, I now am supercareful about editing, and since I self-publish, I can be sure the right version gets out there.

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year. Now, go and check out what others have to say on this topic.

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

Welcome to this week’s Tuesday Tales. I trust all of you who celebrated Thanksgiving on Thursday had a wonderful time with your families. It’s hard to believe that this is the last week of November. We’re only 3 weeks away from Christmas. Where has the year gone?

This week, our word prompt is FOOLISH. I’m continuing with Listen to the Stones, but I have another surprise for you. The story has changed since I began writing it and my cover artist agreed it needed a cover that reflected that. Listen to the Stones is a contemporary paranormal romance. Enjoy this week’s scene. I’m slowly but surely getting Marina out of that airport, but she has a lot of other adventures ahead of her.

“You’re just being foolish,” Marina muttered, the words seeming loud inside the empty room. Was the caretaker who’d ignored her watching her? She shuddered and stood. “This is ridiculous.”

Annoyed with herself and the situation, she resumed her pacing. hoping the activity would curb her imagination and take her mind off things. This wasn’t underground Edinburgh with its ghosts and hauntings, witches and covens, and who knew what other paranormal activities she’d encountered that had stolen three hours from her. Something had happened. There was no damn way she’d fallen asleep on a public bench after one glass of beer.

Shivering, she pulled her hands up inside the sleeves of her jacket. When that unfriendly old man had turned off the lights, had he lowered the temperature, too? She paced faster, counting out her steps as she did, hoping the exercise would warm her.

After what had to be the longest half-hour of her life, headlights pierced the gloomy room.

She stopped moving and jumped when the door opened.

Backlit by the car’s headlights, the man could easily have doubled for Hagrid in any of the Harry Potter movies.

Wee James, my ass—if this is him, and not one of the giants who roamed Scotland in the before time.

In Inverness, there’d been a book on the legends of Albion, the name given to Ancient Britain, in her room that had captured her attention. One of the articles, The Glastonbury Giant: Who Did the Mystery Bones of A Nine-Foot Skeleton Belong To? had intrigued her, and she’d read about the ancient race of giants said to have populated this island. No one denied that giants had roamed this part of the world. In 1962-63, Dr. Ralegh Radford, a distinguished archaeologist, examined the ancient giant’s remains and ‘confirmed that a prominent personage had indeed been buried there at the period in question.’ Whether or not the skeleton was that of the legendary King Arthur, no one could prove, but giants in England, Scotland, and Wales? The was no disputing that, and the man coming through the doorway had to be descended from them.

The man-mountain advanced, and she stepped back.

He stopped a few feet from her and bowed his head.

“Lady Fraser, welcome to Stornoway and the Isle of Lewis. I see Jock didn’t notice you sitting here. If he had, he wouldn’t have turned off the lights and lowered the heat. He tends to this place by memory if not by sight.”

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