I'm in Spain with Saints who demand flowers - by Rolynn Anderson

I enjoy being the first-of-the-month blogger for Roses of Prose…like an MC opening the curtain on each new month.  November 1 is extra special because it’s All Saints Day and I happen to be in Seville, Spain, where this day has special meaning.  Here I am at the nexus of the clash of religions, Christian vs Jews vs Muslim.  Add the Celtics to the mix with their Samhain celebrations.  I won’t go into these bloody thousand year old battles (which sound anti-religious to me!), but my husband touches on the history of this region in our blog: https://stevena48.wordpress.com  Do take a look if you need to remind yourself of the background.

Anyway, it’s because of this mash-up of religions both conventional and pagan, which led to eclectic dance (Flamenco), art, and architecture here in Seville.  All Saints Day is an eclectic holiday, as well.  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/All_Saints%27_Day   Spirits of the dead are the focus on this special day.  Honor them or appease them?  Depends on your religion.  Some celebrate the dead who went to heaven purified; others commemorate those who haven’t quite reach a purified stage, urging them to new heights.  Still others use the occasion to remember the deceased, especially infants and innocents (the focus in Mexico). In Spain, the occasion is celebrated this way: http://www.donquijote.org/culture/spain/society/holidays/dia-de-todos-los-santos    Besides attending church services, Spaniards decorate their cemeteries with flowers.  Flowers are gifted to the living, as well.

Three of us will be buzzing through the ‘white’ hill towns around Seville on October 31^st and November 1.  I’ll let you know if the spirits are aroused on these special sainted days.  I may carry flowers in case they need appeasing

I’m pleased to announce FEAR LAND is now everywhere.  I’ve taken the book off KDP Select; Smashwords has spirited the story far and wide.  You don’t need to send flowers; a Yippee will do.

This is FEAR LAND:

Tally hates to hear rants from people’s brains.  What does she do when those mind-screams threaten

the man she loves?

****

Tally Rosella, an acclaimed psychiatrist who helps children fraught with anxiety, avoids adults because their brains rant at her.  But the chance to start a second child study and connect her findings to PTSD, sets her squarely among devious colleagues at a big California university.

Army Major Cole Messer, Tally’s new neighbor, won’t admit that trauma from combat tours in Afghanistan, destroyed his marriage and hampered his ability to lead.  As a teacher of college ROTC and single parent, he’s focused on enrolling his highly anxious son in Tally’s study and getting back to active duty.

Someone is dead set against Tally’s presence at the university, and blowback from her battles with co-workers put Cole and his son in jeopardy.  Watch what happens when people struggling with shades of anxiety collide with corrupt, revengeful foes.

FEAR LAND on Amazon http://www.amazon.com/dp/B012JE75ES

Things That Go Bump

by Betsy Ashton

Not all monsters live under your bed. Some do, but more live out in the open for the world to see but not recognize. Monsters come in all sizes and shapes. Some are drooling troll-like creatures that blither and babble and keep you awake. Some shadow you on your daily tasks, causing you to drop things, run into walls and forget why you walked into a room. There's the big pink bubble gum monster, homeless on the streets, that grabs the sole of your shoe and throws you to the sidewalk.

And there are the greeblings. Greeblings are invisible. They live in every house that has a cat. Sometimes they look in a window at night. Sometimes only a cat can see them.

Greeblings cause cats to go nuts long after midnight. 'Long around four in the morning, our dear kitty, Smokin' Mocha Java, becomes the caffeinated cat from hell. She comes into the bedroom on tippy-paw and chirps to let us know she's fine. Sometimes she chirps a whole bunch of times before we rouse enough to acknowledge the princess's presence. Then, she turns and races down stairs, hits the wet-shoe tray, pounces on her catnip mousie, and runs down the second flight of stairs to the basement. Tiptoe back to the bedroom. Chirp, dash, repeat. Last night was no different, except the greeblings began earlier and lasted longer. I counted at least six iterations of the pattern.

Don't get me wrong, She's not the only one who hears things that aren't there. My house has two spirits who visit occasionally. Odd, because the house was built in 2001, but the land was built much earlier. One spirit is male, the other female. Both are benign. Both speak directly in my head and to characters in my books. Both have spoken to friends who've stayed overnight.

I have this image of the man. Native American. Not a Plains Indian, but not dressed in beads and feathers either. More a Daniel Boone figure in buckskins. Kindly face. Words of wisdom shared with me and some, but not all, of my characters. He's pretty busy, so he doesn't come often. When he does, he nudges me to do  or think something new.

The female is a bit more of a cipher. I think she may be an early settler, but she may also be Native American. I've never seen her, but her presence often hovers in my bedroom or office. I never know when I'll feel her until I get a touch of cold air on my neck. I mean, the coldest air imaginable. That's when I know she's in residence. I welcome her touch, now that I've learned it can't hurt me.

Once when she came late in the evening, Mocha came out of a deep sleep, all puffy-tailed, on guard against the thing that didn't go bump that night. After a few seconds, she walked over to the corner of the room and sat down. Tail unpuffed. She stared upwards. I know she was hearing, "here, kitty, kitty."