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."

The dreaded saggy middle

I tried to pay close attention to the "how" of my writing during the last WIP I drafted. I even jotted the occasional note so I would remember where I stalled, and my thoughts on why I may have stalled.

Here's what I found:

I usually have a lot of enthusiasm when I start a project. I'm busy researching, fleshing out the characters, considering plot points, developing the setting. I'm printing out maps, and photographs, and research info to paste into the WIP notebook. I always keep a notebook chock full of the Stuff of the book, including my jottings, my ideas, my snippets. That's the first month, what I call the Kickoff Month.

My enthusiasm wanes in the middle of a project. This is the Sagging Middle people talk about, and it's not just for the book but I think it happens for the author, too. That's usually Month Two of a project. Here's an Interesting Point I discovered:

This is where craft comes into play. You have to learn the craft in order to write, and it's when creativity is waning the craft comes into play. This is where I relied on my knowledge of how to craft a good scene to tide me over until the creativity reared its head again. I made sure each scene had GMC (Goal, Motivation, Conflict). I made sure each chapter moved the character and the plot forward. I allowed the characters some freedom to shift the plot, but I kept a close rein on them, too.

Month three is where the creativity picks up again. I once again hear those character voices in my head. This is where I go back and start to add in tidbits to the Sagging Middle. I tweak and I fix and I shift things around until it no longer sags. And I have enough momentum by this time to gallop to the finish line with little effort. This is what I think of as the Finale Month because it's when everything wraps up. I am NEVER sorry to see a project end. I think this ebb & flow of creativity helps keep everything fresh.

Once I finish a book, I go through it once for consistency checks (did her eyes stay green for the whole book?) and go through it again for what I think of as Manual Labor: checking for overused words (I have my list next to my computer), making sure the plot hangs together, making sure my motivations were firm for each character and especially the bad guy.

Then I let it sit while I start considering my next project. This may be editing an older book, it may be starting a new one, it may be edits from my editor. I let it sit for at least 3 or 4 months. Then I read it again and I'm always surprised that, wow, I wrote this and it's not so bad. It could use some tweaks, but overall -- it's good.

Then it's off to my critique partner and ... well, you know the rest. More edits, more sitting, more edits, then done.

I never realized how I go through distinct phases during the construction of a WIP. Now that I know it's there, I'm going to keep a closer eye on it, so when I get to that Sagging Middle I can remind myself:

It's just a phase. Persevere. The Finale isn't far away!

Oh Jeez - Am I Being Pushy? by Brenda Whiteside

We're talking about fears this month. I'm not afraid of ghosts, and I do believe in them. I don't like spiders and snakes, but I wouldn't classify my squeamishness as actual fear. I've already covered my claustrophobia. But I do have a real fear of being pushy. There are family members who might laugh their heads off because when it comes to family and getting my way around the house, well, I might be a bit pushy.

The kind of pushy I fear is what is sometimes needed to sell your product or yourself. People don't like pushy and I want to be liked. Years ago, I sold cosmetics in combination with doing colors. Getting your colors done was a fad and I was a trained colorist. Using eye color and patterns combined with hair and skin tones, I could tell you whether you were a summer, winter, autumn or spring. Your season designation told you what colors your wardrobe should be. I would then give my customer a makeover with the proper makeup colors. The whole service was free, but I hoped to sell them skincare and makeup. I operated out of a salon for a while and the owner told me I had a marvelous soft sell approach. Ha. I had a soft sell approach because I didn't like to sell - to ask or close the deal. I had the same problem when I operated a craft business with my sister. I was dynamite at creating the home decor but had a terrible time getting it sold. It just feels pushy to close the deal.

Now, I'm a published author and guess what? I have to sell myself, have to encourage readers to buy my books. See, I say encourage because asking just seems pushy. And I want you to like me. Today is the third day of five free days for my newest release. It's taken all my effort to figure out how to spread the word and remain non-pushy. I went hot and heavy the first day with posting and emailing. I suppose I should continue, but when does it cross the line into pushy? It's been the most difficult part of being a published author - selling myself.

Amanda in the Summer is free still today and the link is below. Just a brief mention. Not exactly soft sell but hopefully not pushy. Is it?

http://tinyurl.com/mb5cwly

One Thing I Fear --- Is Sex by Margo Hoornstra

I do fear sex.....in my writing.

However, I write romance. If you check out my website, I advise; Be Good To Yourself, Snuggle Up With A Little Romance. Or Sometimes sweet, sometimes sensual, always satisfying. That's another line I use to define my stories. Lofty promises, so I'd better deliver.

Though I constantly ask myself, how much is too much? What, exactly, is just enough? How detailed should I be in describing the love scenes? What are the logistics of it all? To paraphrase a presenter at a conference I attended, "We all know what goes where. So, it's a matter of how to get there."

I suppose the amount of sex used in any given work depends on the audience. Case in point.

 

A copy of my first book was on the end table one day. Enter my oldest daughter, who is well over the age of eighteen by the way, who decided to peek inside. Wouldn't you know, she opened to the one and only explicitly detailed love scene in the entire book. One, in my naiveté as a new author, I felt obligated to put there. As far as I know, to this day she has never read another word I've written. For good reason, I suppose. She later shared with a mutual friend her eyes were on fire for days.

 

I took that as a compliment.

 

As I wrote and sold more and more books, I found I preferred to, if not close the bedroom door behind my characters, at least keep some of the details in the shadows. Allow them a bit of privacy in their love scenes.

 

Or maybe I gained confidence my readers will be able to, shall we say, fill in the blanks.

 

A cherished snippet from one of my reviews reads: "Her love scenes are sensual and sexy, but full of sweet romance."

 

My latest work is part of the Dearly Beloved series from The Wild Rose Press. In Only If You Dare my heroine struggles with her own questions surrounding sex, romance and love--in that order.

 

When recently divorced Cynthia Buckingham meets well respected judge Jonah Colt their mutual attraction is immediate and strong. They both believe a one night stand will suffice. Which is so nice, they indulge in  another, then another, and another. Cynthia cares about Jonah, she really does, but isn't ready to share his existence with her only daughter. As their relationship inevitably progresses, neither Jonah or Cynthia is prepared for the quickly growing avalanche of emotions that threaten to sweep them away.

She had no business stoking a fire she never should have started in the first place.

This is an excerpt:

 

“Jonah. I was wrong, and I’m so very sorry.”

 

His hand froze on the gear shift. “About picking up your car? I can just give you a ride home then.”

 

He obviously wasn’t going to make this easy for her, but who could blame him? “You know, I always tell my patients they need to focus on reality, to believe in what is, and go from there.”

 

“I understand you care about your patients. I’m not one of them.”

 

What did he think? That she was creating notes for one of her counseling session? “I was wrong about—I should have admitted to myself how much you mean to me and let you know, too.”

 

“It might have been nice.” He didn’t respond with anything more, just put the car in gear and pulled away from the hospital.

 

The litany of confessions had already formed in her mind and, when she couldn’t contain them any longer, began to gush out. “I tried to pretend what we had together—” She paused when her voice cracked. “—wasn’t incredibly special. I wanted to believe I could enjoy a physical relationship and dismiss my emotions.” Her voice lowered. “As irrelevant.” She laid her hand on his arm, and a bicep muscle twitched then tensed. “And that was my biggest mistake of all.”

 

“You were only doing what was working for you, I suppose.”

 

Squaring up in her seat, she concentrated on the scenery passing by outside. He’d said very little as she went on and on. Because she hadn’t given him a chance to speak? Or because there was nothing he cared to share with her? Either way, she had to go for broke.

 

“I love you, Jonah.”

Only If You Dare comes out on Amazon October 28th. It will be free on their KDP Select December 10-14, 2013.

 

Before you go, I have another issue, sex related. Covers. Covers for my books have included beach scenes with a shadowed couple holding hands, head shots of a man and a woman kissing. A caricature of a knight in shining armor. A chin to waist shot of a very handsome, tuxedo clad hero. All in all though, they have been relatively tame.

Along comes an author friend who knows of such things. She suggests I may want to push the envelope a bit. Go for a tad sexier cover. Anxious to try new things, I took her advice. This is what my publisher and I came up with. What do you think?

 

 

 

My days to blog here are the 11th and 23rd. Information on me and my books, along with the link to Only If You Dare when it's available, can be found at:

 

www.margohoornstra.com  or www.margohoornstra.blogspot.com

 

 

The Jersey Devil lives ... honest! By Leah St. James

Okay, okay, I’ll admit it. I’m afraid of things that go bump in the night.

There. I said it. I’m no Ghost Buster.

I think this first manifested (hahahaha…sorry, couldn’t help it) when I was a Girl Scout and went on overnight camping trips. Like most groups of kids who go camping, we told scary stories. And in New Jersey, there is no more famous scary story than that of the infamous Jersey Devil. Here's one of my, uh, favorite stories of a couple who encountered the grotesque creature of the night.

Two lovers are driving down a lonely road in the Jersey Pine Barrens. It’s after midnight, and clouds obscure the moon—it’s the dark of the dead. Suddenly the car engine sputters, then dies. The man pulls onto the shoulder, gets out and begins to walk for help. The woman stays behind and waits, shivering in the cold and gloom. After a few minutes she hears a scratching on the hood of the car. Panicked, she hunkers down and hopes for her boyfriend’s return, but he never reappears. The police find the car in the morning, with the boyfriend hanging from a tree branch directly over the car, upside down, his fingers just reaching the hood of the car. The Jersey Devil has struck again.

Try hearing that when you’re less than an hour from Jersey Devil country and all you have is a canvas tent for protection. 



Hey, I don’t care what the scientists and skeptics say. I believed then. I believe now.

Still, I enjoy scary stories, reading and writing. I enjoy that feeling of the hair lifting on the back of my neck, my skin crawling with awareness of some hidden danger…as long as I know it’s fiction.

__________________________

Here’s an excerpt from my own scary story—novella Adrienne’s Ghost. (Adrienne's Ghost will be free on Amazon on October 25, 26 and 27.)

Do you believe in ghosts? FBI Agent Jackson Yates never had . . . until now.

Paranormal psychologist Rachael Sullivan has spent her adult years searching for the knowledge of life after death.

Joined by forces beyond their control, beyond their understanding, together they seek a killer. Together they encounter . . .Adrienne’s Ghost.

Rachael set the journals on the table and sorted through the pile until she found the one that began during Adrienne's high school years, figuring it would be a good place to start. Before she could sit, the diary dropped from her hand and fell to the floor. Tsking at her clumsiness, she retrieved the book, resettled herself into the sofa's cushions, and turned back to page one. Again the book landed on the floor, but this time it somersaulted through the air, as though it had been propelled by a force.

The surface of her skin beginning to prickle, Rachael stood and scanned the room, to search for the source of an energy strong enough, other-worldly enough to have caused what she'd witnessed. But the room was empty. Or maybe it only seemed empty because she couldn't see whatever life forces might be hiding just beyond the realm of her comprehension.

Still, she felt like an idiot when she retrieved the diary from the floor, then deliberately closed it and set it on the coffee table, as if she no longer had any interest in the secrets it held. She wondered if the night of passion had scrambled her brains when she sat back to watch, her fingers crossed.

It wasn't long before her hunch paid off. The journal on top of the pile began to tremble, then buck. Fascinated, Rachael trained her eyes on the book, and as its movements became more frenzied, her heart raced to match its pace. Within a few seconds, the book had somehow shimmied itself forward so it teetered on the edge of the pile, like it needed no more than a tiny nudge to take the plunge.

Debating if she was supposed to provide that nudge, Rachael reached forward, and in that instant a shadowy image materialized inches away from the tips of her fingers. She jolted and snatched her arm back as the shadow transformed into a shape. It was a hand, only a hand, like someone was reaching through a split in some cosmic curtain that separated two dimensions. A shriek whipped up Rachael's throat, and she slapped both hands to her mouth to stuff it back down.

Scrambling backward, she found herself pressed against the couch, ready to run, when the ghostly fingers prodded the diary.

It tumbled over the table's edge, landing with a thunk, and Rachael dropped to her knees, inhaling one choppy breath after another until her lungs could take no more. She was paralyzed, mesmerized, watching the hand where it hovered over the open book, less than a foot away. The fingernails, ragged and torn, were dirty and stained with smears of what looked like blood. They waggled suddenly, and the pages of the book began to flutter, making the sound of a hundred birds in flight. The air Rachael had been holding expelled in a burst, and her lungs refilled on another giant breath. But before she could scream, the humming from the FBI's basement, that heartbeat-like pulse, saturated the air.

She didn't realize she'd scrambled to her feet and retreated until the backs of her legs hit the edge of the sofa. As her muscles gave way to fear, she sagged onto the cushions and watched as Adrienne formed in front of her eyes.

Lessons form scary movies by Barbara Edwards

I remember going to the movies. My first clear movie  memory was being scared spit-less by “The Bride of Frankenstein”.  I huddled under my Mother’s coat, peeking out every few minutes to see if it was still to horrid to watch. The creepy music made me shiver. I was about five or six.

The old Mayfair theater was built to hold Vaudeville shows and then converted to movies early in the 1900s. It had red walls and the seats were velveteen. I spent most of my childhood going there to the matinees.

I bet you can tell my parents never asked what was playing. My sister and I saw every movie produced for years. The entrance fee started at 25 cents and gradually crept up over the years. The matinee included a news short, a comedy short by maybe the Three Stooges, a cartoon, and two full-length movies. Sometimes if I begged enough I got to go on Saturday and Sunday. The show changed on Saturday night.

I saw the original Titanic and screamed when it hit the iceberg. I watched the Lon Chaney werewolf change into the beast and Dracula cast his mesmerizing spell over innocent Lucy.

Over the years I keep changing what I consider the scariest. I couldn’t watch the end of Dawn of the Dead or the Shining for years. I jumped out of my skin during that scene in the cellar with Anthony Perkins mother. I used my coat trick during “An American Werewolf in London.”

One I’ll never forget was “The Bad Seed.” I’ve never seen it on TV so maybe it was that horrible.

The experts advise parents not to let kids watch scary movies, but I’m not sure I agree.

I learned a lot of life’s lessons from the movies.

1. Hold onto your friends during the bad times.

2. Don’t go down the cellar to check a weird noise.

3. Listen to the music- it signals the creepy stuff.

4. Pull your coat over your head and don’t watch

Check my scary paranormal .Ancient Awakening 

http://amzn.com/B002TG4NFG

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My Haunted Neighborhood



Laura Breck

I live in an older neighborhood of Saint Paul, and there’s a wonderful restaurant within walking distance that has a well-deserved reputation for being haunted.

It seems that back in the early 1900s, the owner of the house, which is now the restaurant, had a little too much fun with Molly, one of the maids. When she realized she was with child, she hung herself from a chandelier in the third floor parlor.

When we first moved to the neighborhood, I hadn’t heard of the ghost. I walked our dog early every morning, and often came past the restaurant. One misty morning as the dog and I strolled past, I felt a strange sensation, as if someone called to me. The dog wined and stopped walking, tugging for us to go back the other way.



Molly

I looked around but didn’t see anyone or any animal, but when I looked up at the restaurant, there was a figure in the window. Hairs rose on my arms and a sense of panic washed through me. I stared for a few moments then it faded away.

Later, speaking with a neighbor, I learned the story of Molly. Now, I avoid looking at the window when I walk by, but when our dog was still with us, once in a while she’d balk at going past the restaurant.


A few weeks ago, friends came for a pub crawl and we started at the restaurant. After a drink, we walked through the restaurant and ended up in the third floor parlor. Hairs rose on my arms, and my girlfriend started rubbing her arms. The guys just stared. There was a group of young women in the room, and one of them asked, “Do you feel her?”

I nodded. “She’s here.” The girls were trying to call Molly. They wanted to meet her. I told everyone the story of Molly, and I shared my sighting, then my girlfriend turned and headed back downstairs. “Too spooky for me!”

For me, too! I avoid places that are said to be haunted. How about you? Do you crave the excitement? Have you ever seen (or felt) a ghost?

Have a great Halloween!

Laura
~Smart Women ~Sexy Men ~Seductive Romance
LauraBreck.com
~Dancing in a Hurricane is available in digital formats at Amazon, Smashwords, and Barnes & Noble and in paperback at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Createspace
~Love in the Land of Lakes is available in digital format at Smashwords, All Romance Ebooks, Barnes & Noble, and Amazon, and in paperback at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Createspace