Join me in welcoming our guest blogger, Beverley Bateman.
I am finishing my latest WIP and once again I’m dabbling with the paranormal. In my series the Hawkins Ranch series I referred to the paranormal with the Native American spirits. And I’ve dabbled in it in another book I’m writing with a spirit coming back as a dog, but in The Foundation I have four women who are all part of a team that has different paranormal abilities. I thought I’d share a little of my research on what I learned about the paranormal writing these characters.
The first team member is a sensitive. She feels, sees, or senses things from touching a person, a photo or a letter. This ability is called psychometry. The dictionary defines it as ‘token-object reading or psychoscopy and is a form of extrasensory perception characterized by the claimed ability to make relevant associations from an object of unknown history by making physical contact with that object.’ She receives a letter and can sense the person who sent it, is in danger. It can also be difficult if you touch a friend and see something they don’t want you to.
The second member moves objects by concentrating on them. The ability is called telekinesis. The dictionary defines it as ‘an alleged psychic ability allowing a person to influence a physical system without physical interaction’. Hmm, not sure they really explained it very well and it’s alleged.
The third member talks to ghosts and sometimes sees them. She is also a sensitive, or a psychic medium. She doesn’t do séances. The ghosts approach her and sometimes she pretends she doesn’t see them. She may feel a sudden cold, a breeze or maybe a scent, or see an apparition. Some say the ghosts have unfinished business, want to protect a loved one or may stay because of a traumatic event—say a murder or suicide. She talks to three women who were murdered by the same man and want to prevent him from killing again.
My fourth member of the team is a witch. She descends from a long line of witches. She gets glimpses of the things about to happen, like knowing she’s going to get fired or a woman is about to fall and hurt her ankle. She can also cast spells to help herself and to keep all the team safe. She’s developing her talent to read minds
That’s a few things I’ve learned and put in my WIP. So what about you? Do you have a ‘special talent’ or do you believe in the supernatural and the paranormal?
Blurb for Targeted:
After an eleven year absence Janna Kincaid inherits a ranch and is forced to return to a town she only remembers with unhappiness, a man to whom she was briefly married and never wants to see again, and someone is trying to kill her.
Kye Hawkins has loved Janna since he first met her. They were married but a few weeks later she ran away, without an explanation. He still hasn’t figured out why. Now she’s coming back. Does she still love him? Can he rekindle the romance and also prevent her from being killed.
Janna doesn’t want Kye’s help in anyway, yet he always seems to be there when she’s in trouble. Can they work together to find a killer, save the Native burial ground and home of the spirits, and find romance again?
Excerpt from Targeted
Someone had shot her back tire. Janna gripped the wheel to keep the vehicle on the road. She debated whether to try and outrun the shooter, wherever he was, or find cover. The windshield shattered as a third bullet entered the passenger side.
So much for outrunning the shooter.
She scanned the area and spotted an outcropping of rocks a few feet ahead on her right. She aimed the vehicle in that direction.
Two more shots, and both the back tires went down.
Definitely find cover.
Janna ducked low behind the steering wheel until the vehicle reached the rocks. When the car stopped, she grabbed the keys from the ignition and her purse and dove out the door. Bullets bounced off the rocks behind her as she scrambled for cover. Whoever was doing the shooting was serous. Anyone of the shots could have hit her.
She reached the rocks, keeping low until she got to the middle where she curled up as tightly as possible, her back against a rock. Her heart pounded in her ears, her breathing came in gasps. This was getting to be a habit. First someone tried to kill her in Seattle, and now, out in this god-forsaken country.
What the hell is going on? Why are they shooting at me? Was it the same person who shot at me in Seattle? That doesn’t seem likely, but who even knew I was coming here? Maybe it’s someone just trying to rob a stranger.
Yeah right, be honest, Janna, does this road look like many strangers came this way? And if they did, would they have a lot to steal? You really think this person selected a spot in the rocks where he would have a good shot at my vehicle. Coincidence? Not damn likely.
At least she’d worn boots and jeans—even if they were designer jeans. Now they were filthy, and so was her red sweater and jean jacket.
Another shot hit the rock behind her. She rolled over onto her stomach, shaded her eyes, and squinted into the sun. He must be up on the cliffs straight ahead. She wasn’t sure, but she thought she might have glimpsed a light, maybe a reflection off his scope.
Terrific! Now what? My gun is in my purse. I could fire back, but that would be a waste of bullets at this distance.
She yanked out her cell and punched in 9-1-1.
A pounding pulsed through the ground and came closer. Janna could feel the vibrations. It felt like horses. She glanced around, without raising her head, to see what was coming.
Suddenly there was a hand in front of her face.
“Grab it and jump on.”
The deep, rumbling voice was not asking. It was an order.
Janna grabbed the strong hand. In one smooth motion, she swung up behind a man on his horse. Seconds later, she had her hands wrapped around his well-developed, muscular chest, as the big chestnut thundered across the ground, out of the bullets’ range.
The man wore a leather jacket over a sweater. Her hands slid under the jacket for better grip. Even through the sweater she could feel sinewy muscles. She laid her head against his back and his braid. She took a breath in, inhaling the rich scent of leather, trying to calm her racing heart rate.
She glanced behind her. The cliffs were fading into the distance. The muscles of his well-developed shoulders bunched and relaxed as he led the horse at a gallop across the field. She felt safe for some unfathomable reason.
He had a familiar woodsy scent that made her think of sex under pine trees, not that she’d ever made love there. In fact, her sex life was pretty negligible these days.
They’d been riding for several minutes when Janna leaned forward. “You can put me down any place. I can manage now.”
“Really? And just what are you going to do out here, miles from town, by yourself, with someone shooting at you?”
The voice was deep, but soft, and rolled over her like warmed brandy. It triggered something in the back of her memory. The earthy scent, the sinewy body, the braid, the voice… She knew this person who had ridden up out of nowhere to save her.
“I have my cell. I’ve already called 9-1-1,” she snapped.
“And did you get an answer?”
Janna yanked her cell phone up where she could see the screen again and re-tapped in 9-1-1. And then there was that famous phrase—No Service.
There was a deep chuckle. “That’s what I thought. There’s no service in this area. The mountains block it.”
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