Living the Dream

Welcome to this week’s Tuesday Tales and our gorgeous new logo, created by the immensely talented Jean Joachim. I hope the new year is treating you well. I’ll had to admit that Mother Nature seems to be playing tricks on us, but like everything else these days, things could be worse, so let’s think positive. We have a lot to be grateful for.

This week, as promised, I’m continuing with Selma’s story about her past. We are all the product of those who’ve come before us. Enjoy.

“I can understand that. We’ve come a long way in treating mental illness, just not far enough.”

Aunt Selma nodded.

“True, but sometimes what we see or think we see isn’t the whole story. I was eighteen when Delphine, Mother’s nurse, had a friend in New Orleans, a Voodoo practitioner, come to visit her. Marianne claimed to be related to Marie Laveau, the voodoo queen. The moment Delphine introduced us, Marianne commented on the power in me. At the time, I had no idea what she meant, but I’ve come to understand that both my father and I possess strong magic, as do you—if you would only open yourself to it.”

“I don’t want to argue. I’ll admit I can be a good judge of character. If that’s magic, so be it.”

“It’s a first step. Just as Marianne had sensed power in me, she sensed a dark spirit in my mother, one that seemed anchored to something nearby. Although she and Delphine searched for it, they were unable to find it. She tried to expel the spirit from my mother and used almost a whole pot of sacred oil in the process. It isn’t easy to expel a demon if you don’t know his or her name. My mother and I shared a birthday, St John’s Eve, June twenty-third, a significant day in many religions including Voodoo. Marianne thought it was possible that a dark spirit had entered the child at the moment of her birth, which coincided with her mother’s death. The Summer Solstice is the time when the veil between the living and the dead is at its thinnest. Anything is possible. Marianne believed that my birth somehow changed the balance between good and evil, almost as if I had robbed her of whatever good was in her, leaving only the angry spirit in place.”

“Aunt Selma, I’m no expert, but it sounds to me as if your mother might have had multiple personality disorder, something many people considered demonic possession until we learned more about the diseases of the mind. I’m sorry you had to suffer through all of that. I’m sorry your mother did, too.

“Whatever the cause of her distress, Mother was calmer after Marianne left, spent hours with Sapphire, the parrot, so while Marianne hadn’t been able to dispel the spirit, she’d contained it.”

That’s it. Stay safe, and don’t forget to check out the other Tuesday Tales.

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Where did 2022 go? It flew by despite a rough beginning and now it’s 2023 and here we are once more.

January 4 question – Do you have a word of the year? Is there one word that sums up what you need to work on or change in the coming year? For instance, in 2021 my word of the year was Finish. I was determined to finish my first draft by the end of the year. In 2022, my word of the year was Ease. I want to get my process, systems, finances, and routines where life flows with ease and less chaos. What is your word for 2023? 

My words for 2023 have to be hope and faith. This year, I hope to accomplish many things including traveling to Norway to see my son and his family. The pandemic has made that impossible these last few years, and I have faith that all the hard work and effort on behalf of doctors and researchers have finally paid off, and we’ve turned a corner on this.

On that same trip, I hope to take a cruise around the British Isles with stops in England, Ireland, and Scotland. I hope to see Stonehenge and finally publish the novel I started thirty years ago when I wanted to be a writer. Believe me, it needs a lot of editing, since I didn’t understand that head-hopping was a bad thing back then. LOL. I have faith in myself that I can do it and turn out one of my best books yet.

Finally, I hope for peace in Ukraine, Afghanistan, Syria, and all of the other war-torn countries. There isn’t much I can do to make that happen, but I have to have faith that cooler heads will prevail and that the powers that be can focus their attentions on healing this planet rather than destroying it. Lofty goals, probably impossible, but you’ve got to have faith!

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

Welcome to this week’s Tuesday Tales and the first post of a brand-new year. Let’s hope it’s a good one for all of us. I was going to jump ahead in the story, but since everyone is so interested in Selma’s story, I thought I would give you a couple more posts. Today’s word is PILLOW.

“What happened then?” As much as she wanted to know, she didn’t, and while she could see reliving all this was hard on the elderly woman, she couldn’t stop herself from asking.

“The servants and the police contacted my father, and within an hour, men from the asylum arrived and took her away. I stayed in the house with the servants to look after me, and each night when I buried my face in my pillow and cried my heart out, Hester came to comfort me. Six months later, my mother returned to the house, quieter most of the time, but living here was like walking on eggshells. You never knew what might set her off. My father knew she couldn’t be left alone, so he arranged for a nurse to move in with us. Delphine, a Creole woman from New Orleans, had a calming effect on her. Maybe she reminded her of her old nanny, but it was Sapphire, the parrot she brought with her that made all the difference.”

“That bird must be even older than I imagined.”

“She’s almost ninety, but she’s become a good friend to both Hester and me. By the time I was nineteen, things had calmed down at Cole Cottage, so much so that Russell brought his wife and five-year-old son, David, to visit. Mother spent most of her time in a daze, no doubt drug-induced, but life was pleasant. As long as no one rocked the boat, Mother was fine. Sadly, that changed when Colby and I started courting. The fits and tantrums were back, worse than ever each time he came to the house, or I went out with him. Finally, for her sake and mine, I broke it off with him. I loved him, but in my own way I also loved my mother. Father had died, leaving everything in trust to the estate. We were alone, the three of us, Mother, Delphine, and me. Every now and then, Hester manifested when I was at my lowest moments, but stayed away from Mother unless she thought I was in danger again.”

“She was more of a mother to you than your own was.” At least the ghost had been concerned for her safety.

“In some ways, yes, just as she’s tried to be to you. But don’t be too hard on your grandmother. She was sick. Today, with modern treatment and medication, her life would be far different.”

That’s it. Stay safe, and don’t forget to check out the other Tuesday Tales.

What a year it has been! I started it with my first case of COVID, a mild one thankfully. Things were shut down for weeks, the kids out of school, and my mother’s long term care facility was on lock down. I edited, I wrote, but that was about it. Then, spring came, and we were almost back to normal. By the end of June, I was able to travel again and went on a bus tour of the Gaspe region of Quebec. I did a whole lot of research. Watch for a new romance suspense novel in 2023 called Asleep with the Empress.

Just when things should have gotten better, I hurt my knee and ended up having to walk with a cane for almost four months. While it made things more difficult, i still managed to get away again to New Brunswick and Nova Scotia. Sea Breeze is set in St Andrews by the Sea.

What do you do when your family disappoints you? Run away, of course.

Eva Malone wants two things in life: her freedom and answers about her past. After she inherits a resort from an uncle she didn’t even know existed, she heads to the seaside town where she was born, eager to uncover old secrets.
When she arrives, the timeworn resort is a disaster, the sky’s about to open, and there isn’t a room to be had anywhere in town.
Mysterious and handsome Callum Doyle emerges from the darkness and offers her a bed for the night. But the oh-so-hot tour boat captain, carpenter, and chef may have an agenda of his own. He’s determined to keep his promise to Eva’s uncle, no matter the cost.
Fighting her attraction to the man is impossible, but when she learns the truth, will it drive Eva into his arms or make her run away again?

Come October, my husband had to have surgery to repair an abdominal aortic aneurysm. I spent a week in a hotel going back and forth to the hospital, bad knee, and all. When he came home, he had a tough eight-week recovery. While he’s back to normal, and my knee is working again, it made us both appreciate that as you grow older, nothing is easy, not even recovery.

We finished the year by hosting Christmas and then spending a couple of night in Kingston before taking a trip up to see the lights at Upper Canada Village. The lights get more and more beautiful each year.

So, to wrap up the year, tonight we’ll be having dinner with friends, spending the night at the hotel, and enjoying brunch together tomorrow, followed by parades and football on TV.

Covid is still around, the flu is bad this year as ids the respiratory virus going around. There’s still war in Ukraine, and Mother Nature is on a tear with crazy weather everywhere. Last week, we had the snowstorm of the century, this week, it might as well be spring. Still, we humans are resilient. We do what we do to protect ourselves and then bravely face the future. So, I say, welcome 2023. I have great plans for you!

To all my readers and friends, I wish you all a Happy and healthy 2023.

Welcome to the last Tuesday Tales post of 2022. It’s so hard to believe another year has passed. I hope you all had a wonderful holiday.

Today’s word prompt is STORM. Since I know you’re all on the edge of your seats, anticipating what else Selma will reveal, here you go. Enjoy!

Anca’s heart went out to the grandmother she’d never known who must’ve suffered so horrendously. Had Hester’s presence in the house made things worse? Before she could ask, Aunt Selma continued.

“While Father did his best to make her happy and somehow coax her back to being the girl he married, eventually, her volatile nature, as destructive as any tropical storm, was too much for him. I was ten when he divorced her, moving himself and Cole Enterprises’ head offices to New York City, giving her Cole Cottage and Black Swan, and providing her with a healthy allowance, as well as a staff to look after us and the house. Despite the fact that it was hers, we never returned to New Orleans, almost as if by throwing his gift in his face, she could show how much she’d come to hate him, herself, and us. Love and hate are both sides of the same coin. When Russell turned twenty, he enlisted in the army, unable to deal with the oppressive nature of living here, with Mother’s fits, accusations, and tantrums. She went ballistic, accusing him of abandoning her just as her mother, her father, and Rafe, my father, had done. She terrified me, running through the house, breaking, and destroying everything she could, setting fire to the photographs, Russell’s clothing. Nothing could stop her, not the staff, not even Hester.”

Anca swallowed. “I know you don’t mean the parrot. I heard it belonged to your mother.”

Aunt Selma shook her head. “Actually, the bird didn’t belong to either of us.”

“Then was it the ghost’s fault—and yes, I do believe there is one.” She bit her lips. “I haven’t seen her, but I’ve heard her. Did she fuel your mother’s delusions?”

Aunt Selma nodded. “Good. It’s about time you opened yourself up to the truth. Hester has been here for over 300 years, sharing this house with countless generations of Coles. She’s managed to live peacefully with them, usually by not letting anyone know she was there. To my knowledge, she’d never manifested to anyone until the day my mother attacked me. Before she could hurt me, Hester appeared. Mother fainted. The servants who hadn’t seen the ghosts found me cowering under the table and took me to the neighbors.”

Anca gasped. So much violence, so much misery. No wonder Aunt Selma had never shared this with her.

That’s it. Stay safe, have a Happy New Year’s Eve, and don’t forget to check out the other Tuesday Tales.

Welcome to Tuesday Tales’ December picture prompt post. I’m continuing with my paranormal romance, slowing things down to whet your appetites for more. Since this is picture prompt, here’s my picture.

Aunt Selma smiled. “Everyone controls some kind of energy, Anca, but they don’t realize it or understand how to use it.”

“What was your father’s talent?”

“His ability lay in his unswerving knack of getting the best deals he could and making money, a modern-day King Midas, if you like. The Great Depression destroyed a lot of companies, but Cole Enterprises never faltered.”

“He must’ve been able to tell when someone was lying or trying to swindle him,” she mused aloud.

Aunt Selma smiled. “Yes. I’m sure he could read people as well as you can.”

“What about your mother? If everyone has power, what was hers?”

“Sadly, my mother was a tortured soul. She hated it here in what she called a barren wilderness, but she had a way with plants, an incredible green thumb like no other, managing to grow the most beautiful gardens in the area, herbs and flowers that should never have survived let alone thrived here. I inherited some of that magic, but for many years, her gardens flourished as if she were still tending them.”

“Did she make elixirs, too?”

“No, but she did use some of her herbs for teas and cooking. Mom disliked New England’s weather,” Aunt Selma continued, “and we usually spent the winters at Black Swan, the family’s plantation outside of New Orleans, converted into a hotel a few years after my birth. While she seemed to blossom there, I disliked the place. It was filled with dark energy. Had I been older and more attuned to the Goddess, I’m sure I would’ve seen hundreds of displaced souls struggling there.” Her forehead creased. “I don’t like to believe that something as good and pure as magic can be manipulated for evil purposes, but something bad happened there. Everything burned to the ground shortly after mother died, almost as if she were the chain holding who knows what in place.”

That’s it. Stay safe and don’t forget to check out the other Tuesday Tales.

Welcome to this month’s IWSG blog. Wishing all of you the happiest of holidays. So, far, this year appears to be almost back to normal, and let’s hope it stays that way. While I still wear my mask in certain places and crowded stores, make sure my shots are up to date, and try to keep my distance from others even outdoors, this holiday I will get to spend time with loved ones and friends. I hope you all will, too.

This month’s question is a surprisingly complicated one. December 7 question – It’s holiday time! Are the holidays a time to catch up or fall behind on writer goals?

For me, the holidays are both. Decorating and shopping for gifts takes time–although I still do a surprising amount of that online. My elderly mother’s health has deteriorated, so I’m spending more time with her. Since I will be doing the meal this year, and our eldest son will be home for the holidays, that will add to my day-to-day responsibilities, but after COVID, whatever family time we can get is a bonus. My middle son lives in Norway, so our Christmas visit will be limited to Facetime Christmas Day, but our daughter and grandchildren will be here and that will make the holiday bright.

I’m grateful my husband has recovered from his surgery and although he still tires easily, we will go away for a few days between Christmas and New Year’s.

So where does my writing come into all this? I’ll have stolen moments to work. Honestly, since the surgery, my writing time has been erratic. It’s as if my muse is overwhelmed and needs a break, so I plan to give her one and start fresh in January.

So, wishing you all a wonderful holiday season. I’ll see you in 2023. Check out other posts here.https://www.insecurewriterssupportgroup.com/p/iwsg-sign-up.html

Welcome to this week’s Tuesday Tales. Wow. Only 15 days until it’s officially winter and 19 until Christmas. I find it so hard to understand why time flies so much quicker as we age. Physics tell me it’s exactly as long as it always was, but my reality says otherwise. This week, our word is Spider which inspired me to share this with you. While I’m not a fan of spiders and webs. I like this legend.

This week, I’m continuing with my paranormal romance.

Anca shook her head. “Before your surgery, you said that you should never have made that promise, that you were afraid … What promise? What frightened you?”

Aunt Selma licked her lips and leaned back in her chair, looking older than her years.

“I was scared I would betray my oath and do more harm than good.”

“It doesn’t matter now. It won’t change anything. You can explain it all to me another time.” There was no point in upsetting her when nothing would change. “Did Walt mention that you’d be moving in his home for a little while until you can manage stairs?”

“He did, and I look forward to recuperating there.” She sighed. “But as much as I hate recalling those early days, you deserve to hear the truth. Life is a lot like a spider, building intricate webs to catch her prey. Hester’s family and ours were nothing but momentarily blips on that gossamer web, but we weren’t the only ones trapped there. Sir Walter Scott was right when he said, ‘what a tangled web we weave when first we practice to deceive.’ Our families and others have been deceiving people for centuries, many of us simply to survive. The past with its ignorance and cruelty didn’t accept those who were different well.”

Anca dropped into the chair beside her. “I don’t understand. Isn’t Hester’s family ours?”

Her aunt shook her head. “Yes and no. Let me start with my history and then perhaps you’ll understand. During WWII, my father was a logistics officer for the U S Navy. He visited several cotton plantations in the south, and that’s where he first saw Mother. Althea was a rare beauty with midnight hair and the deepest brown eyes you’ve ever seen. There was something hypnotic about them … He was ten years older than she, but they fell hopelessly, madly in love. He describes her as a friendly, outgoing girl, the life of the party, but somewhat skittish, like a new colt. Within six weeks, they married, and Russell was born less than nine months later. When the war ended, he brought her and my brother back to Salem and returned to managing Cole Enterprises.”

Anca chuckled. It seemed as though this generation wasn’t the first to anticipate their wedding night.

“If your father was the Cole, then he was the one who controlled magic?”

That’s it. Stay safe and don’t forget to check out the other Tuesday Tales.