Living the Dream

Welcome to this week’s Tuesday Tales. I still have no new name for this piece, but it’s coming along. This week, we have a picture prompt, so our scenes are limited to 300 words. I’m continuing with my paranormal romance with its comedic scenes. Here’s the picture I chose.

Aunt Selma was sitting in the recliner. Beside her sat Trisha Lattice, a member of the coven, dressed like a gypsy. Trisha claimed to predict the future, but with the treasure hunt looming over her, Anca was afraid to ask about hers.

While her aunt’s face was still pale, she wore a cotton-candy colored nightgown with a matching turban. Each of her fingers bore a ring, and large hoops hung from her ears visible at the base of her headdress. She was reading the newspaper while Trisha turned over tarot cards.

“Good morning, Aunt Selma, Mrs. Lattice.” Anca hurried over to the chair and gave her aunt a quick peck on the cheek. “I can’t believe how good you look.”

Aunt Selma chuckled and set aside the paper. “Appearances can be deceiving, but I’m in far less pain than I was. Isn’t it a shame that they decided to tear down the original Cole Shipping offices? I’d hoped to convince the town council that it could be saved. The building looks sound enough, but apparently the underpinning is too weak to sustain it.”

Anca’s ears perked up. If there was a treasure, it could be there.

“Did you say the original building? The one on Water Street?”

“Yes.” She showed me the condemned building sandwiched between two larger ones. “Of course, it wasn’t the one Hezekiah used. He simply worked out of Cole Cottage. Trisha, why don’t you go to the cafeteria and get coffee. I want to talk to Anca about last night, and we would just bore you. Take your time. I’m fine.”

The woman pursed her lips and nodded. She’d probably foreseen this in her cards.

“Anca, you let me know when you leave. We want to make sure the priestess has all the company she needs today.”

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

IT’S THE HOLIDAY SEASON AND CHRISTMAS IS ALL AROUND!

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Rebecca York: Christmas Captive – His life was in her hands. Was it attempted murder or a boating accident? Psychic nurse Hannah puts her life at risk by investigating the conniving relatives who want to inherit the comatose man’s fortune. A paranormal romance.

Leanne Banks: The Billionaire’s Holiday Proposition– Falling for her had not been in his plans. Would she believe him? A billionaire romance.

Rachelle Ayala: Nick’s Christmas Ride – Nick Jolly’s antique convertible turns into a wild ride when his best friend and secret crush, Hayley, chooses three social media starlets for his Christmas-promotional dates. Two irascible Texas Hold’em playing ancestors, three social media narcissists, an old-time fiddler, and a flying car seems kind of normal for Nick Jolly and Hayley Brockman’s unexpected Christmas Creek romance. A fun romantic comedy.

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Josie Riviera: Candleglow and Mistletoe – Their unexpected attraction kindles something as warm and sweet as a holiday candle. But the weight of their pasts could turn the promise of their love to ashes. A smalltown, sweet and wholesome romance.

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Welcome to this week’s Tuesday Tales, the blog where you get a peek at what a small group of us are currently working on. John continues to do well, although he’s frustrated by what he considers his slow progress. Still, I think his recovery is amazing. He’s back working part-time and is driving again.

I’m working on a new title for this story, so I can keep Pumpkin Spice and the other cover, which I love, for something else in the Cocktails for You series next fall. The new title should be more in keeping with the paranormal/romance theme. As soon as I nail it down, I’ll share.

Today’s word prompt is PAN, and here is your 400-word scene. Enjoy.

“While we haven’t had any serious damage from a hurricane in years, Nova Scotia got walloped last month. It’s just a matter of time before we get hit again. Even if the storm doesn’t make landfall, we may have rough seas, high tides, storm surge, and coastal flooding. These two properties have never seen much damage, but you never know. The storms can be vicious.”

“Like the one that sunk Hezekiah’s ship?”

Walt nodded. “Maybe. His ship was thought to have floundered off Cape Ann. Never understood why he would choose to sail into a storm like that, but if he heard about Hester’s death and was on his way to seek revenge … It’s probably just as well all those men were dead by then—were they?”

Anca shrugged. “I doubt it since Henley’s wife died a few months after the execution. What if Hezekiah’s ship didn’t sink in the storm? While Fearless Red probably wouldn’t have attacked him, Black Jack Bellamy might have. He was quite the marauder in this area. Sinking a merchant ship would’ve been right up his alley. And if Hezekiah was hellbent on revenge, maybe it was him and not Hester who cursed those men.” She frowned. “The magic is supposed to be on the Cole side of the family, but Hester, who wasn’t a Cole, was the one with the ability to heal.” According to Aunt Selma, she was also an empath, but unless she and Hezekiah were related … if they both had powers, any child of theirs would, too. Sadly, the only one hadn’t survived her birth. “You know, one of the men asked me today if I knew Hester’s maiden name. I don’t. Do you? Was it in the article you read?”

Walt shook his head. “Not that I saw, but I didn’t get to the end of the piece. I do know her mother was a Langford, but that’s all I managed to get from it.” He opened the fridge door to get the milk and then grabbed a pan from inside the cupboard.

“Okay. Maybe Aunt Selma knows. Hester had at least one cousin, Stone’s wife. Maybe there’s another out there who felt slighted, and don’t the Langfords still own that big farm west of town?”

“They do. I’m taking Snap, Crackle, and Pop to the pumpkin patch there on Tuesday to get pumpkins to carve into jack-o’-lanterns.”

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

Wow! November already. Another year whizzed past and I’m not sure how productive or counterproductive it was. Too many things to do, not enough time to do them. It seems lately the more forward I go, the more behind I get. It doesn’t make sense, but it’s a reality.

This month’s question: November is National Novel Writing Month. Have you ever participated? If not, why not?

Yes, I’ve participated in NANOWRIMO three times. The act of writing so many words under pressure is an exhilarating one and, after intense revision, I actually managed to publish the books, although revising them took a lot more than thirty days. Ovrall, I enjoyed the experience and will do it again when I can.

Last year and once again this year, I’m not participating. The reason is simple. Life keeps getting in the way. I can’t commit to five or six hours of writing a day because of family obligations among other things. Plus, I’ve got three books to finish, and no time at the moment to start a new one.

Life’s like that. Lately it keeps throwing curve balls at me, and I keep swinging and missing. Hopefully 2023 will be better for me. How about you? Check out other answers here.

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

As unbelievable as it sounds, welcome to November. For those asking, my husband is slowly recovering from his surgery. The big issue now is how long it will take me to recover from it.

This week, our Tuesday Tales word prompt is STICKY. I’m continuing with Pumpkin Spice.

While there’d been fifty people on the tours, she’d also served twenty regulars who’d each had a couple of drinks and had sold ten bottles of elixir, most of them tonics designed to maintain good health, half a dozen pumpkin spice candle jars, and a dozen bars of soap.

Calliope had dropped in a couple of times, almost as if the cat were keeping tabs on her, which was ridiculous since there was no way a cat could do the work of a buff bouncer if she’d needed one, but the animal had gone out with the last patron. Unfortunately, neither Peanut nor Hester had shown up all evening. While the cat could probably manage on his own, the bird was a different matter.

Now, other than the music playing softly in the background, the bar was quiet. After her initial trepidation and momentary lapse of sanity when she’d arrived, imagining she’d heard Hester’s voice again, everything had gone well. Noticing a smell while she’d gotten things ready, a stench she associated with the water at low tide, not one unfamiliar to her or the area, Anca had lit the pumpkin spice jar candles that served as centerpieces on each of the bar’s fifteen tables. Then, she’d slipped back into Taproom hostess mode as if she’d never left, preferring the intimate nature of what was really a neighborhood bar to the madness of The Gilded Griffon. It had been like having friends around, and she’d loved it.

As she wiped down a particularly sticky spot on the bar, she reviewed the events of the evening. There was no way to describe her relief at seeing Aunt Selma alert and on the mend, if only for a few seconds, and the momentary thrill of being in Walt’s arms, a sensation she hoped to feel again sooner rather than later. Unfortunately, there had been some unsettling elements, too—the open door she’d locked earlier, the missing bird, and Elise Melrose. How long would it be before she could ask Aunt Selma about the trouble and Russell, her brother and Anca’s grandfather. How she would love to see a picture of him, but Aunt Selma had told her years ago that all photographs had been destroyed. She’d never explained how.

She couldn’t get over how chatty Colby had been. Maybe she could enlist him in a search for Hester. The bird had to be inside the cottage.

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

Welcome to this week’s Tuesday Tales, where you can read excerpts from a few gifted authors’ works in progress. We are back to a word prompt and 400-word scenes. Our word this week is MINT. I’m continuing with Pumpkin Spice.

“If Hester’s been in Cole Cottage all this time, why didn’t she reveal the treasure’s location to one of the many family members who’ve lived there over the years?”

Hattie shook her head. “She can’t, not because of anything Hedley did or said, but because of an oath she swore to her husband, to safeguard her secrets and the treasure until he came for her. This year, the planets are aligned the way they were back then for the first time in more than two hundred years. The last time it happened, none of the offspring from either side could get here, but this time, they’re all present. Unfortunately, Hester can’t or won’t tell me who’s who. She is determined not to break her oath. If her descendants find it, then she’ll be reunited with Hezekiah and be able to move on with him to be reborn in time, and the family will never have a financial problem ever again.”

“And if his descendants find it first?”

“They’ll lay claim to the treasure, including Cole Cottage. Hester will have failed Hezekiah and her family. A cruel vindictive spirit is capable of great evil.”

He frowned. “Can’t your goddess help Hester? Selma’s not only a descendant, but she’s also her priestess.”

“True, and that’s why she’s allowed me to tell you this. I’m speaking about the future … your future … yours and Anca’s”

The blood left his face to pool in his feet. “Are you telling me that Anca’s in danger?”

Hattie shrugged and popped a breath mint into her mouth.

“She’s safe enough for now. The cats are watching her. Not even his descendants could get away with two accidents in the same place, and as long as Selma is alive … Anca doesn’t know enough about the situation to put her in danger. The two of you must work together to find the treasure. It’s the only way. If you can’t find it before they do, you’ll lose her, just as Hester lost Hezekiah.”

“Damn it, Hattie, that’s not fair.”

She shrugged. “As they say, who said life was fair? I haven’t been told everything. No one has. You must discover the rest on your own. Anca is safe enough for now.”

He wasn’t going to bet Anca’s life on Hattie’s say-so.

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

Good morning, and welcome to this week’s Tuesday Tales. I’m pleased to report that my husband is home from the hospital and on the med. He’ll be sore for a while yet, but we’re taking it one day at a time. This week, we have a picture prompt, which means we are limited to 300 words.

Here is the picture.

My scene is from Pumpkin Spice. Enjoy!

What the hell? Anca tried to stand but couldn’t. Someone or something behind her was holding her down, preventing her from moving. She tried to cry out, but her throat was paralyzed. Her heart pounded, and her mouth went dry.

The men settled at the table, no one seeming to notice anything amiss. Elvira removed the antique pewter teapot centerpieces, replacing them with huge platters of food. Anca hoped the money Aunt Selma was getting for the rooms was enough to cover the costs of the extra staff and all this food.

“Help yourselves,” the cook uttered before stepping back.

Like vultures coming across a fresh kill, the men attacked the plates.

“Why not just close the bar until she’s on her feet again? I’m sure you’d rather be at the hospital than catering to strangers here,” Ralph continued, loading his plate with bacon and eggs.

Anca was suddenly light-headed. She wanted to reach for her coffee, but her arm wouldn’t move. Was she having a stroke?

Relax. You’ll understand soon enough.

Easy for you to say, she countered.

Her mouth opened of its own volition.

“As much as I’d love to do that, as you said, Ralph, business is business. Aunt Selma needs the revenue now more than ever.”

Especially if these walking stomachs are going to stick around another two weeks. I intend to get rid of them sooner than that, but I’ll need your help.

Was she losing her mind? She’d heard that voice earlier, but now it was inside her head, controlling her, and putting words into her mouth.

“So, as I said earlier, I’ll be opening at four and closing at midnight.”

“Can you just do that?” Frank asked, his fork pausing halfway to his mouth. “Don’t you have to get permission?”

Of its own volition, her forehead creased. “Permission from whom?”

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

Welcome to Tuesday Tales. The second Monday in October is Thanksgiving Day in Canada. This year, I have more to be grateful for than ever since my husband is recovering from serious surgery. He still has a long way to go, but we’ll do it together.

For the past few weeks, you’ve been reading excerpts from Pumpkin Spice. I wasn’t happy with the way things were going–too much saying not enough showing, and I’d somehow backed myself into a corner. So, during my time away from the hospital, I’ve been working on that. One of the problems I find with first-person narration is that it narrows the scope of what the heroine and the reader can know. The book is now third person POV with both Walt and Anca (now with a Ph.D. in Psychology) contributing to the story and Hester starting us off. Poor thing. In this revised version, her accuser was the victor, but believe me, she got her revenge. So, we are now looking at a Mild Paranormal Romantic Comedy. Have a look at this week’s excerpt. Our word is PLANT. I used the verb form with PLANTED. I’m continuing with Pumpkin Spice.

Anca glanced at the clock in the hall. It was past three. Walt would be calling soon.

“I’ve got coffee, buttermilk flapjacks, scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, and lots of that maple syrup you boys like,” Elvira said. “Come into the kitchen.” She turned to me. “Can I get you anything, Dr. Cole?”

The title still surprised me.

“Just Anca, please. I won’t say no to a cup of coffee. I’ll grab it now, and then I’m going down to The Taproom.”

“Why?” The man introduced as Brian challenged me.

Because you obviously don’t want me to. She frowned. And why is that?

Something about these men set Anca on edge. While she’d hoped to close down early, the look on Brian’s face changed her mind. If he and his buddies wanted the bar closed, then she would keep it open.

“I want to make sure everything is ready for tonight. Since I have nothing else to do, I’ve decided to extend The Taproom’s hours.”

“You can’t do that,” Emilio interrupted before she could answer.

“Excuse me? You may be staying here as guests, but this is mine and Aunt Selma’s home and livelihood. What we do or don’t do here is none of your business.”

Maybe she’d been a bit abrupt, but she was way past taking orders from jerks like him and Stu.

“How much later would you stay open?” Ralph interjected in that ingratiating tone of his that turned her stomach.

“Maybe until eleven or twelve. I need to discuss it with Colby and the tour operator. I’ll be opening the bar sooner in the day as well, probably around four. I might even have Happy Hour.”

The scowl on his face would’ve terrified a lesser person.

Every one of the bells and whistles in Anca’s head went off in a jarring cacophony. For the first time in her life, she wished she and the ghost of Hester Cole could communicate. She would give anything to know what was really happening here because she was damn sure it had nothing to do with photographing ghosts and righting historical wrongs.

Holding the coffee mug Elvira had given her, she took a step toward the door leading to The Taproom when suddenly she was jerked around and firmly planted in one of the empty places at the table.

You can’t get answers, child if you don’t ask questions. Listen and learn.

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

We’ve all had days we thought would never end, but yesterday, October 5, 2022, was definitely the longest day of my life. My husband underwent what’s called an AAA repair. It makes him sound like a car with a flat tire, but it’s actually Abdominal Aortic Aneurysm surgery. Luckily, they discovered he had one when they put stents in his heart eight years ago. They’ve been watching it and decided that it had grown large enough, and it was time to do something about it. The joy of Canadian medicine is that all those medical processes cost us nothing. They are paid for in our taxes, and while some might complain about it, knowing you can get the best of care when and where you need it is priceless. Kudos to the surgeons and nurses at the Ottawa Hospital, Civic Campus for taking such good care of him.

We showed up at the hospital at 5:45 a.m. By 6:20, he was on his way to pre-op, and I was on my way back to the hotel where I’m staying and getting a little work done in between hospital visits. It made more sense to do that than to spend two to three hours on the road driving back and forth each day. From where I am, I can walk to the hospital in twenty minutes.

There’s something unique about a crisp morning walk during sunrise. I usually wait until it’s light out, but the muted colors in the sky were soothing and calming. By the time I got back to the room, I was in pretty good shape and able to tackle working on my new book … not quite. My brain started ticking off the minutes. I knew his surgery was scheduled to start at 8:30 a.m. and end at 1:50 p.m. That was a long time to be under anesthesia, but the surgeon had said that his heart and lungs were good. All I had to do was pray and believe that would be true.

I have never had such a slow and unproductive morning, unable to focus, forgetting what I’d written within seconds of doing so. The many messages of hugs and prayers from friends kept my spirits up. My sister-in-law and her friend had come to Ottawa to be at my disposal. I can never thank Marilyn and Donna enough for their support. I went out to get some lunch, ate, and then settled down to wait. When the phone rang at 2:15, my stomach rose to my mouth. I was shaking so hard, I had trouble sliding the button to answer.

It was great news. The surgery had gone well and he was in recovery. I was to call ICU in a few hours. After a good cry, I messaged and called family and friends, and then Donna and Marilyn took me for a walk to admire the fall colors.

After I got back to the hotel, I contacted ICU and was thrilled to hear that he was awake and talking. The nurse suggested I visit in the evening which I did. There’s no describing the joy and relief I felt seeing him sitting up and smiling, the only tubes and wires escaping him the basic ones used to monitor him, what you would expect to find on anyone after minor, not major surgery. What was most amazing was how alert he was. I can recall the aftermath of surgery for myself and I was far from that lucid less than seven hours out of the OR. He was joking, making wisecracks via my phone with our daughter and grandkids, setting me and them at ease. I crawled into bed at 10:15 p.m., ending the longest day of my life, and allowing me to get some much-needed sleep. I can’t thank God enough for getting him through this. He still has a long way to go, but he will come through it, and we will have more time together. Fifty-one years just isn’t long enough. So many people aren’t as lucky as we are.

Now, as I get ready to visit for the day, my spirits are in much better shape thanks to the relief and a good night’s sleep, I’ll be spending the afternoon at the hospital with him and working a bit tonight. Who knows, the book I’ve struggled with thanks to all the stress just may get finished after all.

Never take your loved ones for granted and cherish every second you’re given together. I know I will.