Witchy Chicks

The End, The Beginning & Turn Out The Lights

2011-01-01T00:01:00.001-08:00

It seems only fitting that Linda and I post the last post, together, because we started the blog. We've had so many wonderful guest bloggers come through, so many things happen in our lives...but to all things there is a season and time. So my friends, here we go: our combined goodbye to all of you, at least from the Witchy Chicks Blog. ~~Yasmine~~

Linda:

I won’t say good-bye. That’s way too final and I never liked that word anyway. I like to say an ending is just a sign for a new beginning.

I can’t believe it’s been a little over five years since the Witchy Chicks wrote their first posts.

I felt a connection from the first moment I ‘met’ Yasmine on a writing blog. We started chatting so much we moved from the public posts to private. I loved it when she suggested the idea of the Witchy Chicks blog to me. We talked about what we wanted and that was the easy part. We visualized a positive and comforting place where we all could settle in and talk about pretty much anything. Friendships were forged that I hope will never go away.

I’m realizing just how difficult this is to write even if I do refuse to use the farewell word.

I thank Yasmine for her love and friendship that I know will go on forever. I thank all the chicks for the same and I hope I’ve given as much as I’ve received from each and every one of them.

Thank you all for visiting the henhouse over the years. Like the others, I hope you’ll visit my personal blog and yes, I’ll be keeping an eye on the other chicks.

As I said, it’s not good-bye. Just ‘see ya around’.

Linda

Yasmine:

And so, we come to the end. And it’s hard to say goodbye. It’s hard to turn away from this group of extraordinary women with whom I’ve spent five years of my life. Hard to say “it’s time” when it hasn’t expired on its own. Hard to say “Let’s walk with dignity rather than see the blog go downhill from everybody’s divergent lives and careers and lack of time.” Hard to say, “The End.”
So yes, the Witchy Chicks Blog is ending. But the Witchy Chicks—we are not. We will each have our own blogs and our careers and we’ll go on writing the books you love. But we just won’t be sharing that together online. We’ll remain close friends and call each other and make sure everybody’s okay, but we’ll also be off adventuring and charting new territory. We’ll all be making new beginnings. And that’s what life is about.

One thing I’ve realized is that, while you have found us here, we each have so many other exciting posts on our blogs and websites that may never get seen because we have been a “group” and not “individuals.” So now, we’re simply letting go of the group dynamic to reform, regroup, and explore our own paths.

Into the woods…On a path in the deep dark woods…Down the shady lane…There was once a young woman in a far distant land…all of the adventures start off with an individual—even Dorothy, in Oz, started off alone and it was only through her journeys that she met the Scarecrow and Tin Man and Lion. It’s that individual journey that defines a writer, defines their work. While blogging together has been a wonderful, lovely thing, it’s also narrowed the field of what we could discuss here, and sometimes—at least for me—posts that I would have loved to put up on the WC blog had to go on my own because it wasn’t my day to post, or because it wouldn’t fit the theme.

On a path, leading into the deep dark woods, there was a fork in the road, going eight different directions. At that fork, stood eight women, holding hands. Sisters, all, but each one with different needs, with a journey of her own to take. With notebooks and netbooks in hand, and cell phones to keep in touch, they waved to their beloved readers who had witnessed their journey over the past five years, they whispered “You can follow my adventures, if you like”…and stepped onto the eight paths. And then…and then…well…that story hasn’t been written yet.

Dear friends, dearest readers: we truly are sorry to say good bye like this, but there’s no easy way. And I’m glad you’ll miss us, because it means we made a difference in your lives. But we can go on making that difference, on an individual level. We’ll miss you too, and I really hope you follow us on our paths as we close this blog and set off into cyberland. The blog itself will stay up—but comments after the next couple of days will be closed.

You can find me on Twitter, my website and personal blog.
And on the bookshelf stores.

Brightest Blessings, and to my Witchy Chicks: I love you, dearly, seriously, and wish only the best for everyone and their lives. And I expect you to call, to write, to drop notes. Because we truly created family here. Family by choice, and that's the strongest kind.

Yasmine (turns out the light, locks the henhouse door, and silently exits the garden gate)

Farewell from Anya

2010-12-31T06:57:00.000-08:00

I was sorry to hear that the Witchy Chicks blog is saying goodbye, but everything in life changes. Evolution and transformation comes from change, after all. And, anyway, it’s not really goodbye. All of us will still be around on the ‘net and happy to talk with you.

As the most junior member of the Witchy Chicks, I just want to take this opportunity to thank all of you for the opportunity to be here. I had a blast getting to know you all and sharing a little bit of my life with you.

This is a time to say goodbye to the old year and hello to the new. I was proud to spend 2010 with you and look forward to happy and bright things for us all in 2011. In 2011 I’ll be working on attaining joy and peace in my life. This is a continual project for me. To be happy with what I have and find happiness in what I do every day.

One of my professional goals is to blog more often on my website. If you want to connect with me after Witchy Chicks goes dark, you can visit me there: www.anyabast.com or talk to me via Twitter or Facebook, two social networking sites that I’m on way more than I should be. :)

So instead of goodbye, I’ll say see you later!

~ Anya

So long, farewell, auf Wiedersehen, goodbye

2010-12-30T01:30:00.000-08:00

Adieu, sayonara, aloha, ciao...

I could go on and on with goodbyes in languages from all over the world (and I know dozens of them) - because I know Witchy Chicks readers span the globe - and you have been wonderful. I'll miss you, miss reading your funny, smart, poignant comments, miss hearing what's happening in your life, what you're reading or watching, what your pets or your kids are up to.

We've become a family - not just the Chicks, but you - and I'll miss that - and you - even though I know you'll still be out there in the world being your wonderful selves. It just won't be the same without you.

I feel privileged to have been part of the Witchy Chicks, to have shared my life and my writing with you, to have been part of this amazing group of women. I've made friends I know I'll have for the rest of my life. I've come to know these women, these Witchy Chicks - some of whom I've never met except online - in a way I know few other women. We've shared our lives, our joys and sorrows, our fears and our triumphs. And I've grown to love them.

So most of all, I want to say thank you. To you who have read the blog, who have followed our adventures, and most of all to my fellow Chicks.

Thank you, Yasmine, for giving me such wonderful advice at the beginning of my writing career and for choosing me; Linda for welcoming me with such open arms, Lisa for becoming the dear friend you are; Candy for being my idol - I only wish I could do half of what you do; Cathy and Anya for joining us and fitting in as if you'd always been here; Maura for saving my technical butt more times than I can count. And Terey and Madelyn, who I miss every time I read the blog; and Annette, whose humor and joy for living continues to inspire me;

Please, don't be strangers -

I'll miss you all.
Kate

http://www.kateaustin.ca/

Not goodbye...not really.

2010-12-29T04:13:00.000-08:00

Wow. It's so hard to think of what to say that hasn't already been said by the other Chicks. I knew Yasmine and Candy for years before I was invited to join the group and I remember thinking when Yasmine asked me to come aboard, "Wow! What an amazing blog that must be!" Because both of them were amazing: amazing women, amazing writers and wonderfully kind and nice. When I met the others, I realized I'd been right. It was the sort of place where you found yourself plopping down in the nearest cozy chair, picking up a cup of warm cocoa and letting out a pleasant sigh.

And while the blog is ending, I'm not leaving the chair and refuse to give up my cocoa cup. Because individually, we're not going anywhere. We'll still be on the shelves just a reach away. I can still be astounded by the skill of the other Chicks anytime I want. I can still reach out to all of you who have followed the blog to say hi and please don't hesitate to contact me in return on the blog off my website or Twitter or MySpace. I'll be the first to admit I'm not as social as some others but that doesn't mean I don't like to hear from people. I do! I just plain forget. That was one of the nice things with this blog. I got reminders...like today, to write this blog. I sort of need a keeper to stay on top of things. Heh...

So join me in a toast with your frothing cocoa cup: "To the Witchy Chicks! Long may they grace our shelves. And our hearts."

But not goodbye. Not really. Not ever.. :)

Love you all, Cathy

The Circle Is Open Yet Unbroken

2010-12-28T08:01:00.000-08:00

I remember when Yasmine called me to say that she and her friend, Linda, were starting a writer's blog. After answering my initial question - What's a blog? - she described what they were trying to create and I thought, Wow. What a lovely concept.

A support group, a sisterhood of kindred spirits, a professional network, a place to share the writer's journey.

Count me in.

I've been a Witchy Chick since the inception of the blog and I'm sorry to see its end. But I've watched the evolution of the group and its members and I know we're all ready to leave the cocoon and migrate out into new, amazing adventures. And we can do so fearlessly because what we've created here, what we've learned and the friendships we've forged will always be part of us.

Like Candy, I won't let any of you Chicks fly off my radar. You're stuck with me for life, so get used to it!

Over the years, we've had some amazing readers whose comments and participation have made this blog sparkle. I want to thank you all for adding your energy to the magic we've created here, and invite you to follow me at LiveJournal. I've been hit and miss with my blogging this month, but come January, I'll be back with weekly posts on writing, musings on astrology, gardening and life in general, and Friday blogs about my other great passion - cooking!

It's been a pleasure and a gift being a Witchy Chick. Thanks to all of you who made it such a powerful, wonderful experience.

Love and light,
Lisa

I'm Not Saying Goodbye

2010-12-27T04:36:00.000-08:00

As you've heard, the witchychicks blog is no more. It's sad for me, as I've grown to love and adore these women. They are strong, brilliant and some of the best friends a girl could ever have. They're always the first to show their support in any situation and I hope our friendships will continue long after the blog is gone.

They've also taught me a great deal about life and the business of writing. We've had the opportunity to learn from one another and to share the good and the bad. I've experienced their highs and lows right along with them and they've done the same for me. It has been an incredibly rewarding experience hanging with these chicks.

So there's no way I can say goodbye. I'll be all up in their business wanting to know the details of what's going on in the world of writing and life in general. I'll continue to celebrate and commiserate with them.

I also want to thank you guys for hanging out with us all these years. I've been on the blog for at least five years, possibly six, I can't remember when I joined. (Did I mention I'm getting old?)Many of you have become dear friends and I will be forever grateful for that.

I hope you'll continue to hang with me on Twitter/Facebook/LiveJournal. The one good thing about this, is that it leaves me a little more time to do some personal blogging.

This has been a wonderful experience and I'm so happy to have shared it was such amazing women.

Hugs
-Candy

Merry Meet Again

2010-12-26T00:01:00.000-08:00

Being one of the most junior Witchy Chicks has been an honor and a priviledge. I've greatly enjoyed the fun of interacting with my fellow Witchy Chicks and our readers over the last several years. Comraderie, caring, humor, professionalism and friendship - I've gained all these by being invited to join this blog.

This year has been one of many changes but the month of December has definitely presented some personal challenges. From being rear-ended in a car accident on the second to having to put one of my beloved cats, Alex, to sleep on the 21st, it's been a very dark time for me. I'm sorry to see this blog go but it may be time for a rest and certainly Yasmine and Linda are insanely busy, so I completely understand.

For the new year, my focus is going to be on organization. I want to get my house, my office, and my professional life in better order. I think the chaos of the last month has really whetted by appetite for calm and order. This includes a better presence on my own blog!

That's it for 2011, my New Year's Promise is MORE ORDER!

I'd be thrilled to have you keep in touch with me and up to date on my New Year's Promise on my own blog Realms of the Raven. I am only occasionally on Twitter but there is a Facebook link there as well.

So instead of saying goodbye, since we cannot predict what the future will bring to any of us, I will give you a traditional Merry meet, merry part...Merry meet again.

A Witchy Chicks Announcement

2010-12-25T00:01:00.000-08:00

"The time has come, the Walrus said, to talk of many things...

Of shoes and ships and ceiling wax, and cabbages...and kings..."

Today is a day where we are announcing change. The Witchy Chicks are hanging up the closed sign on the henhouse. We're packing our nests and taking them--and our lovely memories of the past five years--and moving onto our separate paths.

Over the next week, beginning tomorrow, we'll each post our own special goodbye to you--our readers--who've been with us in joy and sorrow. We'll give you our links to follow us separately...and we'll spend a little time remembering why we did this, and what we got out of it.

Linda and I started the Witchy Chicks in 2005, we hoped to create a supportive blog, one that wasn't just full of self-promo, but where our readers got to know US. We think we've accomplished that goal. We have done more that that--we have become a family. And it hurts to think of saying farewell, but the WC's will always have a special bond, no matter where our separate paths take us. And we like to think we have left you for the better, for knowing us.

And now, as the year changes...so it's time to move on. We'll be leaving this blog up, so you can read the archives, but after this week, we're taking off the ability to post comments. No spammers will feed on our memories! :)

So join us for our last week as a group--be part of our ending, even as some of you were part of our beginning. I won't say we'll never be back--I've learned not to say 'never'...but this phase of the Witchy Chicks...this group as it stands now...is poised on new paths, new adventures, and it's time for the chicks to leave the nest and head into the deep dark woods on their own.

Thank you for making this journey with us.

Yasmine and Linda, and all our lovely Chicks, past and present.

Happy Winter Holidays!

2010-12-18T00:01:00.000-08:00

Happy Holidays and we'll see you on the 25th!

Many Blessings To You This Winter

2010-12-17T00:01:00.000-08:00

So far, the holidays have been good to us this year. It's our first year in our own house (yay!), life is pretty good--with a few exceptions, but there are always exceptions--and for once, I realized that I have what I want. Presents? Love 'em but I'm content with my belongings, my home, my 'stuff.'

So this year, I think my wishes go toward: rebuilding my health. Making sure our cats stay happy and healthy. Fussing over friends who are not feeling up to par. Sending help to the local Humane Society, to Northwest Harvest for people who aren't as lucky as I am.

There are a lot of Ch-ch-ch-changes, as Bowie sings, in the air, coming down the road. Some I'm not so sure about, others I know in my heart are right. Life evolves, it should never stagnate. And so I'm looking forward to 2011 with a smile, and a hope that I can put into effect the changes and transitions I want to in my life.

What I wish for you: peace of mind, inner clarity, a sense of purpose, joy, quiet time for yourself, and the knowledge that you're on the right path.

Blessed Winter Solstice to you, (and may whatever holiday you celebrate be bright and beautiful).

Yasmine

It's The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

2010-12-16T13:35:00.000-08:00

And now that song is traveling through my head.

But I feel that way. Very up, singing all the fun songs and carols that make up the season.

Since I live in California we don’t have the snow even if we have the cold weather.

But there are all the colors, the music, and houses all lit up.

But I also see a frenetic pace with some. The need to get out there and find just the right gift for everyone. That desire to have the family home decorated to the nth degree. Still, how many lighted decorations can your front lawn handle? Or deck roof? Even the roof? Is there that fear Santa won’t find the house? And if he does, will there be room for the sleigh and reindeer to land?

Sometimes we need to slow down and smell the candy canes. Enjoy the poinsettia displays, and admire the pretty lights twinkling on the trees.

Maybe take an evening and drive around the neighborhoods to enjoy the decorations. Or even walk in your own area to see what’s been done.

I take roundabout routes even when I go to the nearby grocery store, so I can see different houses and do the “ooh” and “ahh” routine.

Trust me, I’m not always real good on slowing down either. I’ll change the decorations around inside the house, think about the baking I need to do, double check lists to make sure I have all the gifts, and tell myself I’ll be better organized next year.

This year I’m not as well organized as I can be, but so what? I know what needs to be done, I won’t stress over it, and I’d much rather enjoy this time of year.

What about you? Are you enjoying the holidays or stressing over them? What do you do to get pleasure from them?

Linda

Happy Holidays: Getting in the Spirit

2010-12-15T05:57:00.001-08:00

Lately I've noticed I struggle with getting in "the spirit" of the season. I do all the right things, from buying gifts to decorating to being kind and generous but it's just going through the motions. I know it's stress. Unfortunately, even though I know, there's not much to be done about it. We're understaffed at the day job, I've committed to writing projects and other things in life don't stop.

So what to do?

Well, for me, I found my spirit this last weekend. It was hard coming. I had to immerse myself in full-sensory overload. I put ten holiday CDs in the stereo, set it to All Disc-Shuffle and cranked up the volume. I lit scented candles. I wrapped packages and went all out--from hand-curled ribbons and bows to folding every edge and using double-sided tape to give it that "right from the professional" look.

And guess what? It WORKED!

I'm all cheery and fuzzy now. I'm still tired and frustrated by the work stuff and other personal things that will eventually resolve themselves, but it's faded into the background, beneath the surface cheer. I'm humming carols in my head ("Home for the Holidays" is a particular favorite, along with pretty much anything on the "Celtic Women" holiday CD!) If you haven't heard these ladies sing, you're really missing out! They're AMAZING, whether or not you're a fan of carols.

I spent the weekend decorating the outside, including dragging out the lights for the fence and the lighted deer and got everything just so.

It's only ten days away for those who celebrate with a decorated tree. Are you in the spirit? If not, do you hope to change it soon and what works for you? I think it was the scents for me, combined with the music. Cinnamon and spice and pine everywhere. Just perfect and just in time. :)

Happy Holidays: Gift Giving

2010-12-14T06:36:00.000-08:00

No matter if you celebrate Hanukkah, Yule, Christmas or Kwanzaa, chances are you've been doing some shopping this holiday season.

There are only twelve days before Christmas, but I'm mostly done. I just need to buy one more present. I planned ahead this year for various reasons, but usually I'm one of those last minute shoppers. The bad thing about buying your presents ahead of time is that I think you actually buy more. I keep seeing little things I think my dad, mom or daughter would like and pick them up.

I think there's an art to gift buying and I love the challenge of it--to deeply consider the person you're buying for and try your best to get them something they'll truly enjoy and be happy to receive. For me it's about honoring the person to whom you're giving. It's about saying to that person, "I care enough about you to have spent time and effort selecting this for you." Or crafting this item for you (if you're crafty), ect.

Of course the holidays are about more than just giving gifts. For me the holidays are about my family and friends--spending time with them, feeling thankful for them, and honoring our relationships with each other. Buying them presents is only a very small part of this for me.

Some people are harder to buy for than others, of course. There are lots of really difficult people in my family, including my husband. *groan* Buying gifts for him is usually a trial, although this year I have the perfect thing for him. I think he'll love it and I'm really excited about it. I've been taunting him all season with the gift and it's driving him insane, which, I have to say, is kinda fun.

I can't wait for Christmas morning to see my little girl's face light up when she sees what Santa has brought her and how my husband will react to his gift (for the first year EVER, I think I SCORED!).

Their happiness and excitement will be the best gift I can receive.

Holiday Decorating Henfest: Fake or Real?

2010-12-13T08:06:00.001-08:00

We've always had real trees. For a few years, back when we lived in the country, my husband bought potted evergreens and planted them on New Years Day. (I was shocked to see how big they were when I drove past our old rental house last spring. Guess they've had plenty of time to grow...)

When we bought a house and moved into town, I realized that I wasn't up for a forest in my back yard, so we considered buying a fake tree. My father strenously disapproved. He felt his grandson deserved a "real tree" - so much so that he showed up one morning, strapped the car seat into his pickup and took my toddler off to the tree lot. And a tradition was born, one that lasted a dozen years.

I won't lie. I love going to the lot and finding the perfect tree, love bringing it in and decorating it with tons of lights and our favorite ornaments. Most of all, I love the smell.

Unfortunately, it doesn't love me. I spent the last three holiday seasons on allergy medication going through box after box of tissues. Finally, I said enough. This year, we bought a lovely, pre-lit fake tree. If you don't get right on top of it, you'd swear it's real. And not having to string lights every year gets a big thumbs up in my book.

I will miss piling into the truck and heading off to the tree lot to find The One and yes, I miss the smell. But I sure don't miss the sneezing!

What kind of tree adorns your house? Real or fake? Have any fun tree-cutting, gathering or trimming traditions to share?

Lisa

Winter in Photography

2010-12-11T14:02:00.000-08:00

I love photos of winter but in the Pacific Northwest, it's more often soggy than frosty. Right now we're in the midst of a serious rainstorm that has lots of places on flood alert and makes me less than inclined to stand outside with my camera. So Instead I'd like to share my favorite winter photo with you. This photo was taken my myself two years ago at the duck pond down the road from my house.

We'd just had a snowstorm and the entire world seemed to be still and almost holding its breath. A small break in the usual craziness of our world. I had put on my winter boots and slogged down the private gravel road from my house to just feel and enjoy the stillness when I saw this view.

To me it looks like a view into a cold fairy world of a frost queen.

This is, by the way, a COLOR photo. No work was done after it was taken to turn it into a black & white. The color is as I saw it that day. Doesn't it evoke the still of winter to you, too?

Holiday Stress Busters

2010-12-10T00:40:00.000-08:00

Ways to relieve stress and anxiety is a favorite topic of mine at any time of the year, but during the holidays stress just seems to amp right up out of control for many of us. It's a pity since we should all be having fun at this time of the year, right?

The experts have lots of helpful advice for beating stress during the holidays, like delegating your work load (think enlisting your husband or kids to write out holiday cards), planning your shopping ahead of time, and not expecting perfection from yourself or others. All very good stuff. However, in this blog, I would like to focus more on stress in general. Specifically, how to stop that annoying nervous twitch in your right eye or that panicky, jumpy feeling in your chest.

I have a formal sitting meditation practice that helps me deal with stress and anxiety. I also keep a mala (prayer beads) that I use if I’m feeling anxious or stressed. I sit with it and repeat a mantra. In my case that mantra is “Om Mani Padma Hum,” which is a prayer of the Tibetan Buddhists (not easily translated). By the time I have touched every bead of my mala and said my mantra, my mind feels focused, clear and I’m much more relaxed.

Of course, you don’t have to use a mala and a mantra. I know not everyone meditates. But you can tailor this activity in any way that suits you. Maybe you can create a positive affirmation, find a quiet place, close your eyes, and repeat it a dozen times or so. Anything to get you out of the chaos for a few minutes so you can refocus and bring yourself back to center.

I’m also a big fan of “meditation in the moment”. This is when you simply tune in, wholly and completely, to whatever it is you’re doing. It doesn’t matter if you’re walking the dog or scrubbing your toilet. Just be there totally and completely in that moment. Don’t think about what you’re going to buy at the grocery store or how you’re going to deal with that issue at the office. Just be in that moment and nowhere else. Feel your feet in your shoes and the breath flowing in and out of your lungs. Concentrate on the dog leash in your hand and the sound of the cars going by, or whatever it is you’re doing at that time. I try to remember to do this as often as I can and it really helps me.

Knitting is also a great stress buster for me. Taking up a length of yarn and purling a scarf immediately calms me down and focuses me. Of course, I know not everyone knits. But maybe you have another craft you can find a little time for? I know, I know…not much extra time during the holidays, right? But if you can find a few moments to engage in your chosen hobby, it will definitely be an aid in reducing stress.

Maybe at least you might find a few minutes for a cup of tea. Celestial Seasonings makes a tea called Tension Tamer, which actually does seem to help me get the stress out, at least for a little while. I buy boxes of it during book releases. ;)

These are my best ways to reduce stress and I hope I’ve given you a few ideas that you might be able to use. Ultimately, I think we all have our ways to reduce stress. What are a few of yours?

Happy Holidays!

2010-12-09T00:01:00.000-08:00

It's getting closer and closer to Yule and it still seems like I have SO much to do. I was in a car accident one week ago today (on 12/2) and was rear-ended by another car while I was stopped behind a another car at a crosswalk. Hit so hard I was pushed into the car in front of me and my airbag went off. I'm relatively unharmed - a huge hematoma on one leg, some scrapes and bruises on the other and a severe case of whiplash.

Needless to say, this has derailed my elfing in an unacceptable manner! I am trying to get caught up but this year I'll be less extreme than other years. Every year I say I'll cut back and yet, every year, I fail :)

Part of this is because I love elfing but partly because I love to let my family (both by blood and by choice) that I think about and care about them. Not because I spend a lot of money (I've got a reasonable budget) but because I love to pick out the perfect thing. I want their presents to suit them and be something they will like and use.

This car accident has curtailed my normal shopping frenzy and reminded me of something. The most important thing I can do this Yule season is tell those I love and care about how I feel and what they mean to me. The accident a week ago was completely NOT my fault, I was following the law and safely stopped. But I couldn't control the other driver's action and the outcome could have been different. A brush with mortality can certainly color how you look at life.

So, this Yule, tell your loved ones what they mean to you. Write a note, tuck a letter into a gift, write a personal email. It's important and it matters and I guarantee that it will make the holiday special.

Movies For the Season

2010-12-08T10:53:00.000-08:00

Every year, we talk about holiday movies we love on the Blog here. Some people are surprised that, being Pagan and celebrating the Solstice, I watch Christmas movies—but here’s the thing: whether you celebrate Solstice, Christmas, Kwanza, or Hanukkah, or just the secular ‘Christmas’…the nature of this holiday comes down to home and hearth, beneath the varying beliefs. It’s a time to express love and joy for family and friends, to reach out to others not so fortunate (though we should be doing that all year, not just this time of year). It’s a time to celebrate the winter and look forward to warmer months. So yes, I love Christmas movies, because though my religious views of the season may differ, the moves are so often about love and acceptance and the mayhem of family gatherings—whether it be family by blood or by choice.

So movies: I think this year, I’ll just list the ones that we’re all familiar with that I like, but actually talk about a few of the ones not usually thought of at the holidays and why I associate them with winter/Yule/Solstice.

First: Men in Black and MIB 2: We decorate our tree starting the day after Thanksgiving. Every year, I’d be starting to decorate and I’d turn on the TV and somehow, every year I’d run across Men in Black on TV. And then the second movie would be on. It became a fun little tradition: to go searching for the MIB movie when we were ready to decorate. Well, about three years ago, I turned on the TV and it wasn’t on that year. Or we’d somehow mistimed it. I realized I missed watching MIB while putting ornaments on the tree and so before the year was out, I ordered the movie so that now, every year, without fail we have Men in Black for the decorating orgy.

Lord of the Rings: Every December I watch the LOTR trilogy—I think because the movies came to the theatres during December, I just started associating them with the holidays. The same with the Harry Potter movies. Also, for me, Winter Solstice is a magical holiday—very magical. The sparkling lights and pretty decorations all help, but also just that feel of the Wheel turning to make the huge shift back to the waxing half of the year. So LOTR and Harry Potter come into play during this season for me.

I think these are often associated with the holidays, but I’m not sure. However, *I* always associate these two with the season: An Affair to Remember, and The Ghost and Mrs. Muir. Both beautiful love stories that touch my heart (I always cry over the Ghost and Mrs. Muir, even though I try very hard not to—I’m not a crier at movies and always feel vaguely embarrassed when the tears start pouring).

And of course, my stable of favorites:

A Christmas Story is my absolutely, hands-down, favorite holiday movie. I love the loving dysfunction of the family, the insanely wacked out Darrin McGavin, and let’s face it, the plots that Ralphie comes up with in order to get his Red Rider BB gun are so sadly and delightfully lame that I can’t help but empathize. I also love the maniacal Santa.

The 1951 Alistair Sim version of A Christmas Carol is my favorite version of this movie. Alistair Sim brought life to both the nasty Scrooge, and the childlike wonder when Scrooge finally realized what it meant to be part of the human race. I love it when he gives his housekeeper a present and she realizes that he’s not crazy. And when he goes to beg forgiveness from his nephew/nephew’s wife.

The rest, in no particular order, that I love are:

It’s a Wonderful Life (I love Jimmy Stewart), A Charlie Brown Christmas, Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, How the Grinch Stole Christmas (the cartoon), Holiday Inn, White Christmas, and of course—Frosty the Snowman, and The Nightmare Before Christmas.

What are your holiday favorites? What movies epitomize the season for you?

Yasmine

Happy Holidays

2010-12-07T01:30:00.000-08:00

The best part of the holiday season for me is the music. I love Christmas songs - from the old and classic (Handel's Messiah - we have a singalong Messiah in Vancouver every year and I go though I sing like a pig with a cold) to the new and crazy (whatever they're playing on QMFM this week - the radio station that's been playing all Christmas all the time since December 1).

So when I started this post, I got this song in my head...

Happy holidays, happy holidays
All the merry bells are ringing
Happy holidays to you.

And then there's my favorite YouTube video - okay, I have two, but the other isn't really a Christmas video. But this one I play as soon as Christmas begins, which as you know is somewhere around November 1, and I play all season. I love the story behind this video.

Sometime in the far distant past Bing Crosby was in England doing a Christmas special. Why he was in England is beyond me, but that doesn't really matter. He was staying, so the story goes, just around the corner from David Bowie (who Bing did not know or know of) and the producers wanted to get the two of them together for a song. So Bowie shows up at Bing's castle and says the owner always lets me play his piano and the two of them sit down together for what I consider the perfect Christmas song.

It's funny, it's poignant, it always makes me cry, and the singing, as you can imagine, is absolutely amazing. It's contrapuntal - a word I've only just learned from my friend Heather as she wants the two of us to learn how to sing a particular song (Doris Day, I think) this way - Bing singing The Little Drummer Boy and Bowie singing Peace on Earth.

Here is my Christmas treat to you - the link to this amazing video.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wKS0GngztOo&feature=fvsr

Enjoy and have a wonderful, joyous and safe holiday season.

Kate

Linda's Holiday Treats

2010-12-06T00:01:00.000-08:00

The holidays are all about color, music, lights, laughter, family, and friends. But wait a minute! That’s not all. There’s something wonderful to bind it all together.

Good food and fun treats.

Everyone knows I love to bake and there were been years I’d felt as if I spent days in the kitchen. Still, the end results were always worth it and I shared with friends.

I have my usual recipes and I try a couple new ones every year. Some remain in my recipe files and some don’t.

Is there anything better than walking into a house that smells like a bakery? Cinnamon, cloves, ginger, chocolate, cream cheese, peppermint. Whatever gives you that warm and fuzzy feeling?

The following are a few of ones I enjoy making this time of year.

One cookie that’s fun to make. Buttery cookies rolled in cinnamon sugar that come out rich and chewy. And it makes the kitchen smell so good while baking them.

Snickerdoodles

1 1/2 cups sugar 1/2 tsp baking soda
1/2 cup margarine, softened 1/4 tsp salt
1 tsp vanilla 2 tbsp sugar
2 eggs 2 tsp cinnamon
1 3/4 cups flour 1 tsp cream of tartar

400 oven
In large bowl, combine 1 1/2 cups sugar and margarine until light and fluffy. Blend in vanilla and eggs. Blend flour, cream of tartar, baking soda and salt into creamed mixture. Combine 2 tbsp sugar and cinnamon. Shape dough into 1 inch balls, roll balls in sugar-cinnamon mixture. Place 2 inches apart onto ungreased cookie sheets. bake at 400 for 8-10 min or until set.

chocolate snickerdoodles -- 1/2 cup cocoa can be substituted for 1/2 cup flour. Bake at 400 for 6-9 min.

These cookies are sooooo good! Time-consuming to make, but the end results are worth it. Yes, you could make them to share, but after you eat a few, you won’t want to.

Chocolate Peanut Butter Cup Cookies

Filling -- 1/2 cup peanut butter
1/4 cup powdered sugar

Cookie -- 1/2 cup firmly packed brown sugar
1/4 cup sugar
1/2 cup margarine, softened
8-oz. pkg cream cheese, softened
reserve 2 oz. for frosting
1 tsp vanilla
1 egg
2 cups all purpose flour
1/4 cup cocoa
1 tsp baking powder

Frosting -- 1 cup sifted powdered sugar
2 tbsp. cocoa
1-2 tbsp milk
reserved 2 oz. cream cheese

Combine peanut butter and powdered sugar, blend until smooth. Chill while mixing cookie dough.

Cream brown sugar, sugar, margarine and 6 oz cream cheese until light and fluffy. Blend in egg and vanilla. Blend flour, cocoa and baking powder into creamed mixture. Shape dough into 1 inch balls, place 2 in. apart on cookie sheets. With thumb, make imprint in center of each cookie. Fill with 1 tsp filling. Bring dough around filling to completely cover. Bake at 350 for 9-12 minutes. Cool.

Mix frosting ingredients together and spread over cooled cookie.

Mine usually come out larger than they say. And I seem to only make them at Christmas time since they're so addicting! They've become addicting to my friends and family too!

These candies aren’t just for holidays. If you like Snickers bars you’ll love these.

Choconut Caramel Bars

2 pkg milk chocolate chips
4 tbsp shortening
2 14-oz pkg caramels
4 tbsp water Choconut
2 cups peanuts, chopped

Melt 1 pkg choc. chips and 2 tbsp shortening-takes about a minute or so in microwave. Stir until smooth. Pour into 9x13 foil lined pan. Refrigerate until firm. Melt caramels and water-about 2 to 4 min. in microwave. Stir until smooth then fold in the peanuts. Pour mixture over the cooled chocolate, spread evenly, and refrigerate until firm. Top with remaining chocolate and refrigerate until it’s set.

Halve recipe if using 8 in. square pan, but do you really want to do that?

I discovered this recipe several years ago and it was an instant hit. If you love dreamsicles you will love this fudge.

Marbled Orange Fudge

1 1/2 tsp plus 3/4 cup butter—divided (it also works just fine with margarine)
3 cups sugar
3/4 cup whipping cream
1 pkg vanilla or white chips
1 jar marshmallow creme
3 tsp orange extract
orange food coloring

Grease 13x9 pan with 1 1/2 tsp butter. Combine sugar, cream and remaining butter. Cook and stir over low heat until sugar is dissolved. Bring to a boil, cook and stir for 4 min. Remove from heat, stir in chips and marshmallow creme until smooth. Remove 1 cup, set aside. Add orange extract and coloring to remaining mixture. Stir until blended. Pour into pan. Drop reserved marshmallow mix by tablespoonfuls over top. Cut through mixture with a knife to swirl. Cover and refrigerate until set. Cut into squares.

I’ve tried other flavors and while they taste great I always return to the orange/vanilla combo. You can try chocolate and mint, chocolate & coconut and put coconut in the coconut part, lime extract and vanilla, peppermint, maybe even cinnamon!

The holidays are all about the senses, so with this we have smell and taste. How great is that?

Linda

Holiday Safety Tips for Your Pets

2010-12-04T10:22:00.000-08:00

Just a few holiday pet tips to keep your pets safe during the upcoming merriment. The last thing you want is for your decorating or parties to make your furbabies sick. So here are a few basic tips:

Remember: tinsel on trees can hurt cats. They tend to try to swallow it and it can get wrapped up in their intestines and cause all sorts of grief and damage. One of the ways I avoided tinsel for many years (before finding other ways to just do away with it altogether) was to buy those long strands of larger metallic beads and cut them into 18" lengths. These are wonderful for draping over tree limbs and they give the sparkle of tinsel but my older cats tended to leave them alone. However--my young babies, especially Calypso, will try to go after any ribbons so I ditched these and content myself with sparkling garland up high near the ceiling where they can't get at it.

Be cautious when putting out chocolate treats--chocolate is poisonous to cats and dogs, and especially with the way dogs will gulp down treats--it doesn't take much to hurt them.

If you have a real tree instead of an artificial one, make sure they don't drink the water in which the tree is sitting. And watch them around holly, ivy, and mistletoe--all which are poisonous to animals.

If your cats tend to play with the ornaments, put the unbreakable ones on the bottom. I like to hang bells on the bottom limbs of our tree (which is artificial) and when the cats sneak beneath it, they ring the bells and it sort of adds to holiday spirit.

During holiday dinners, watch out for bones. Don't leave your turkey or chicken bones around, and watch out for lamb chop bones too, which can be sharp. Don't let kitty have many bites of people food--the best idea is, if you want to give them a special treat, by kitty treats or really delicious canned food and give it to them for their holiday meal.

Ribbons can be dangerous--cats can swallow them and again, like tinsel, it can get wrapped up in their intestines and bring them to grief. (Same with any thread or dental floss). If this happens and you see the end of a thread or ribbon poking out of their butt (to be blunt), do NOT pull...take them to the vet because it could be wrapped around something inside and you could hurt them by pulling. Your best bet is to take all ribbons off the packages before you put them under the tree, or use very thick ribbon that lays flat against the presents.

Look around your house as you decorate in the mindset of your pet. If YOU can imagine them playing with something or eating something, chances are, THEY can find a way. :) With some thought to caution, both you and your pets can have a safe and happy holiday.

Yasmine

Here Comes Santa Claus!

2010-12-03T04:47:00.000-08:00

Last Saturday, my family and I bundled up against the rain and cold and stood on the beach waiting for Santa to arrive.

That's right. I said beach. Because we were in Santa Cruz, aka Surf City, where Santa doesn't show up on a firetruck at the end of the Main Street parade. He comes in over the break.

Unfortunately, due to the weather, Surfin' Santa and his reindeer couldn't catch a wave to shore. Instead, the wet-suit clad, antler wearing reindeer ran out from the shadows of the wharf and jogged down the sand toward the crowd with their boards under their arms.

As for Santa? He caught a ride in on Team O'Neill's outrigger canoe.

That ominous sky opened up before they hit the beach, but no one seemed to care. The kids were screaming and cheering as Santa jumped out and helped pull the boat ashore. Then he turned and gave the crowd a booming, "Merry Christmas!"

Check out that slimmed-down physique. The Big Guy has clearly benefitted from all the exercise. And the beard proves it - you're never too old to surf!

A crowd of munchkins trailed Santa up to the Capitola Plaza, where Whole Foods was handing out free organic hot chocolate and cookies, and Santa's throne awaited. He settled into the folding chair draped with red-striped beach towels and started receiving requests. Everyone was pretty wet by then, so it's a good thing his suit was made of neoprene.

This is apparently a long-standing tradition, and it's one we'll look forward to from here on out. I'm hoping next year the weather is better, because it'd be awesome to see that quartet of "reindeer" catch a wave and watch Santa ride in on their wake.

Happy Holidays, and may all your traditions be creative and fun!!

Happy Holidays

2010-12-02T04:50:00.000-08:00

I friggin' love this time of year. Unless you are shopping people seem a little kinder and happier. I love the twinkling lights and the cooler temperatures. I love finding the right gifts for those I love and wrapping them. Well, I love wrapping until I get to present 39, and then I get kind of tired of it.

But my favorite thing about Christmas, beyond on the peace on Earth, and loving family stuff, is the tree. I love Christmas trees. I mean love them. I can sit and watch the lights on a tree for hours and I'm someone who has trouble staying in one place for very long.I've been this way since I was a little kid. I used to fall asleep under the tree all the time.

Part of it is the lights. But I also love the ornaments. Our entire life is on that tree. The ornaments the kids made with they were little, the various ornaments we and others have bought for us, hanging on there.

I have a little elf that sits on my tree that my parents had when I was born. I love that elf. Beyond the craft ornaments my kids and cousins made for me, it is one of my most precious gifts. When that elf goes on the tree then it's Christmas for me.

We also have a lot of Christmas traditions in our house. We always do a big Christmas Eve with tons 'o food. We sing carols and maybe open one or two presents. Some of us go to candlelight service, which always makes me cry. There's something that happens that night in our church that is such a feeling of peacefulness and beauty. Everyone sort of leaves in a hush so as not to break the spell.

Then we come back and just hangout.

I heard a little girl, who was six, on the radio the other day talk about what she liked best about Christmas. She said, "I like the week leading up to Christmas. Everyone is so happy and I wish it could always be like that."

Me too.

So tell me what makes the holidays, no matter which one you celebrate, special for you.

Walking in a Winter Wonderland

2010-12-01T01:30:00.000-08:00

We don't get a lot of winter in Vancouver - unless you count rain - so one of my favorite places to go in the winter is about two hours inland nestled in the mountains.

We almost always go in the winter because the hot springs - which end up right in the Harrison Hot Springs Resort Hotel - feel even better when you drop your robe at the side of the pool, shiver in the cold air, and then walk into the steaming hot water.

Harrison Lake and the mountains surrounding it are often are only real winter experience. We walk on the boardwalk by the lake and watch the sun set over the snow-capped mountains. We enjoy the old-fashioned carol singing, the hot chocolate and gingerbread,, the huge fire in the lobby, the families wandering the hallways, everyone, from 3 to 95, in their white robes and on their way to the hot springs.

This is what my winter wonderland looks like.

What about yours?

Kate

'Tis the Elfing Season!

2010-11-30T00:01:00.000-08:00

Last week was a lovely Thanksgiving with my husband's family. It was my first Thanksgiving after being diagnosed as a celiac and between myself cooking my own turkey and making my own gravy and my in-laws being careful and consulting, I'm happy to announce that I never got sick at all. WIN!

But now we're into my favorite season of all - the Elfing Season!

I have to confess, I have a problem. I have a lower tolerance for delayed gratification than your average two year old. It's not just when it comes to presents FOR me but presents for other people, too. I love to see people open their presents and what they think of them. It just about kills me to wait for Yule.

We have some of the strange mixes of holiday traditions. My husband and I are pagan but our relatives are Christians. We don't get together with my in-laws a lot, but Christmas tends to be one of those times. A smallish dinner is eaten on Christmas Eve and after all the cleaning is done, presents to each other are opened. This can be a many-hour affair as each person takes a turn with a present, they show it off (or try it on) and then on to the next person.

Needless to say, the plethora of cookies comes in handy to fuel the openings.

On Christmas morning, stockings are full and there's a tradition of a large present as the "Santa" present. This usually involves assembling things at midnight or one am to evade the VERY intent ears and eyes of the younger kids. They get up at the crack of dawn and race down to see what they got while the parents stumble out of bed and blindly search for the coffee.

The women of the family seem to be the ones that are in charge of organizing present lists, buying presents and wrapping them. If my husband is an example, the men would be content with shopping at midnight the day before and sticking a lame bow on whatever they came up with. So my sister-in-law and myself started referring to ourselves as the Elves.

THE most fun I have at this time of year is selecting presents for others. I LOVE the thrill of the hunt, the searching out the perfect gift. I love the challenge of having someone telling me that they would love something in particular for Christmas but know there is no hope because no one can get it. I already succeeded in one mission this year. Now I'm working on a second.

Do you like the finding the perfect present for someone? Who does the present shopping in your family?

Go Elves!

Cathy's Post-Holiday wrapup

2010-11-29T03:25:00.000-08:00

Thanksgiving is officially over and the "holidays" have begun. I don't know if that means this is a "post" or "pre" holiday wrapup.

I spent my Thanksgiving doing what me and my DH prefer. We have no children and my parents have passed. His parents are hours away and that leaves holidays to . . . just us. And I like that. I'm not a big family person. Never have been. So while some people are adding leaves into massive tables to hold all the food, my DH and I eat at a table that fits only two. It's actually a combination chess board and backgammon board (we're both huge board game fans) built into a small table with drawers to hold the playing pieces. But we call it the "dining room table" because I presume that's why there's a chandelier hanging from the ceiling. LOL!

DH is a former chef in mountain resorts and has held the positions of sous chef, pastry chef and executive chef, as well as food and beverage manager for various locations. Hence, when we feast, people would, and HAVE, paid good money for the recipes. Yum!

We'd planned to smoke the turkey, but the weather had other plans. It was only 40º with a 20+ mph wind (so felt like 20). Roasting the turkey in the oven added a nice warm feeling to the kitchen and allowed us to stuff the turkey, make real gravy and homemade rolls and a pumpkin pie. We've been eating turkey leftovers ever since, and I'm a happy girl!

I did hit the Black Friday sales in nearby San Angelo (our nearest city, 70-ish miles away.) Mostly, I did my "angel shopping." One thing that's always been a tradition for me is to take those paper---or in our town, wooden---angels from a tree in a shop to buy gifts for the less fortunate kids. Since I don't have any kids, it's the only chance I have to spend money in the toy aisles and I relish it each and every year! Every year the number of angels following me home have increased. This year I'm up to 14, and each one has at least a $25 price tag. In Denver, I used to adopt whole families and provide everything from decorations to the tree to food and every gift for every person. The spirit of giving isn't lost on me just because I'm lacking in family to shop for. :D

Then it was off to the charity catalogues for my next round of angel shopping. My in-laws and we decided to only donate gifts in the name of the others for major holidays, to remind us material wealth is fleeting. Heifer International is my favorite. Because I raise goats, I tend to donate them, but sometimes also give flocks of chickens and rabbits and such. If you've never looked them up, you should. You can donate a flock of chickens to a family with NOTHING for less than the cost of a new video game. You can give TWO pregnant goats to give milk or fiber for clothing for a whole family for less than an iPad. At least consider adding someone you don't know to your shopping list this year. You'll be surprised how much the holiday spirit infects you after that.

I also got out my Christmas cards. It's my holiday of choice and every year, I use the long weekend to prepare my cards. Not only do I do a yearly newsletter, but a page of photos of our life from the past year. I'd planned to post some of them for you to see, but as I was typing this last night, our internet went out so I couldn't upload the images. It's still out this morning so I'm finishing this up at work. Sigh... I'll try to post them later.

The one thing I didn't get done was the outdoor decorations. We have a HUGE front yard, so we have room for lots of lights on trees, blow-up ornaments and garland everywhere. But no time and it was, as I said, COLD! So that'll be next weekend.

How about the rest of you? Do you use your Thanksgiving holiday (if you get a long weekend) to prepare for the next round of holidays? Tell me about what you like to do. :)

Happy Thanksgiving!

2010-11-19T00:01:00.000-08:00

We'll see you on the 29th! Happy Holidays!

Thanksgiving Traditions: Henfest

2010-11-18T00:01:00.000-08:00

We don't have family nearby, so we always host Thanksgiving for friends in the same boat. We've had as few as 5 at the table, as many as 12. This year, we anticipate 8-11. I love Thanksgiving--to me it's a day that transcends religion and politics--it is what it is, a day to formally stop and acknowledge the good things in life. Yes, we should do so everyday, but I do like that there's a formal 'stop, breathe, think' day for it.

I'll make the cranberry sauce the day before, and I often make gravy the day before and then we just reheat it. Tif and her sweety are bringing the pies, though I'll buy a gluten free one for me, and Brad and his partner are bringing a fruit tray. Jenn and her fiance will be bearing the gluten free bread, and anybody else that shows up can bring beverages and chocolate/nuts. We always provide the turkey, gravy, cranberry sauce and potatoes.

Like Anya, I get up and turn on the parade. But since we eat around 3:00, I get started on the turkey by 10 AM and try to have it into the oven by 10:30. This year, I'm working on a gluten free stuffing and it's going pretty good. Going to make one last batch this weekend with some tweaks, but so far, what I'm making tastes pretty damned good. I'll put the recipe on my personal Gluten Free blog when I am happy with it.

Anyway, since I don't stuff my turkeys, the dressing will go into the upper oven--I'll make this the day before and it can be ready to go in the oven.

This year, we have a small upper oven, and a bigger lower oven, thanks to being in our new home. And a kitchen that I can put a LOT more people to work in. With our house the past eleven years that we rented, it was hard to have one other person in there working. Now I can have plenty of minions.

We'll sit around, talk, watch the parades, munch, and then sit down to a lovely formal dinner at the table. We always have the tradition of holding hands before dinner and going around, talking about what we're grateful for.

And after dinner, after people have digested, our friends help us put up the Yule tree--we don't decorate Thanksgiving night, but we get the tree up and ready. (Two trees this year, the large on in the living room, a smaller one for the family room). And sometime on Thanksgiving, I watch the Winona Ryder version of Little Women, which for me is just the perfect Thanksgiving movie.

And this year, Samwise and I have much to be grateful for. Our kitties are healthy and happy. We have a new home. Samwise just got a new contract. My books are selling well. We're together--and still madly in love. Life, while never perfect, is good.

So what are your thanksgiving traditions? What do you do that's special for your family? For us, it's bringing together our family of choice. It's spending a day with people we love and choose to have in our lives, and re-affirming that friends are family too.

Yasmine

Thanksgiving at My House

2010-11-17T07:32:00.000-08:00

Thanksgiving is one of my favorite holidays. To me it has little to do with the traditional Thanksgiving story, (which is revisionist history at its worst), and everything to do with the straightforward name of the day—giving thanks.

Every Thanksgiving is the same for me, has been for years. I get up, make coffee and curl up on the couch to watch the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. It’s a yearly tradition that has grown sweeter with the addition of my daughter, who sits rapt beside me under a blanket, staring at the floats and waiting for the Radio City Rockettes to do their rendition.

Toward the end of the parade, I’ll be getting up occasionally to prepare the turkey and put it in the oven. We always host Thanksgiving because we have a large Amish-made dining room table that seats many. I don’t mind hosting, since I love to cook and I love having my family over. I’m never alone in the food preparation, however. I do the turkey and the sweet potatoes (recipe below) and others bring side dishes and dessert. I make the sweet potatoes the day before not only to save time, but also because the ingredients taste that much better when they’ve had time to thoroughly blend in the fridge overnight.

Sometime around noon my family shows up. The wine and conversation flows freely. Before dinner we talk about all the things we’re thankful for. My list goes a little like this:

I'm thankful for our continued ability to help others less fortunate make their Thanksgiving plentiful.
I'm thankful for the good health of myself and my family.
For my daughter, who makes my world shine brighter than I ever thought possible.
For the roof over our heads and the food in our cupboards.
For my ability to find joy, peace and happiness in simple things and simple acts.
For my cats, who never fail, not even one day, to make me laugh and my heart to swell with affection and love.

We eat. YUM. Turkey, stuffing, scalloped potatoes, sweet potatoes, steamed veggies, biscuits with melted butter.

Then comes dessert. Usually we keep it traditional. Sometimes my mom bakes a pumpkin pie, but oftentimes we choose instead to purchase a few gourmet pies instead (the pros can do it so much better than we can). I warm the pies up a bit in the oven, top the slices with whipped cream or drop a dollop of ice cream beside it. You can’t beat that for dessert.

Thanksgiving is always a day filled with good food and good company. I look forward to it every year. May your Thanksgiving be filled with all the things and all the people you love.

Anya’s Sweet Potatoes
Ingredients:
4 cups sweet potato, boiled and mashed
4 tablespoons butter, softened
1/2 cup milk
2 eggs, beaten
1/2 cup white sugar
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract
1/2 cup packed brown sugar
1/3 cup all-purpose flour
3 tablespoons butter, softened
1/2 cup chopped walnuts and/or pecans

Directions
1. Preheat oven to 325F.
2. In a large bowl, mix together the boiled/mashed sweet potatoes, sugar, eggs, salt, butter, milk and vanilla. Mix until smooth. Transfer to a 9x13 inch baking dish.
3. In another bowl, mix the flour and sugar. Chunk in the butter and the walnuts/pecans. Sprinkle the mixture over the sweet potato mixture.
4. Bake for 30 minutes.

A West Coast Thanksgiving

2010-11-15T22:51:00.000-08:00

I cannot believe it's almost Thanksgiving! Where did 2010 go? For me Thanksgiving is a celebration that revolves around gathering a horde of family and friends around a table groaning with food and celebration. We all bring dishes to contribute and eat most of the day.

When I grew up (in Southern California) the weather was warm and it never felt much like fall but now that I live in Washington state, the weather plays a greater role. We got HAIL today! Thanksgiving is often a time for windstorms and rain, sometimes snow here. Our house has a wood stove (like a cookstove that is wood-fed) that we have been known to have to reheat T-day food on and I'm grateful to have it.

I've always loved Thanksgiving but this will be my first year to have a gluten-free Thanksgiving. I'm a little nervous but I started to look at my Thanksgiving favorites and I *might* be okay. I hope so.

Eggnog - I LOVE eggnog. The real stuff, not "light" or reduced fat. Full octane eggnog. But I don't like it with alcohol (I don't like much alcohol at all and it ruins my eggnog). The last few years I've taken to having my eggnog in my coffee. Only two years ago, I discovered that eggnog freezes really well and I tend to stock my freezer with a few half gallons. It's the first sign that we're really getting close to Thanksgiving and Yule and every single year, it startles me!

Turkey - I also love turkey. I'm a white meat and skin fan, myself but I grew up with huge turkeys that we made sandwiches with it for days and then had homemade soup about a week or so later. Because I can't have stuffing anymore and my family loves stuffing IN the turkey and I need to beware of any gluten that might be in the basting, I'm wondering if I need to cook a small turkey or turkey breast to bring with me to the family gathering.

Stuffing - I think I'll just pass on it this time. I do like a nice stuffing with dark bread, cranberries, apples and nuts but I'd have to make my own and cook in a pan.

Gravy - I love gravy and I think I can make some with a non-gluten flour thickener. I'm going to try.

Cranberry sauce - My mother-in-law makes the best homemade cranberry sauce. It's gluten-free so I'm looking forward to it.

Mashed Potatoes - My husband makes these and he calls them the "Heart-Attack Potatoes". Roasted garlic, sour cream, cheddar cheese and mashed potatoes with bacon & chives. I force him to make an extra pan of them for just us.

Candied Yams - I hate these but my husband loves them so I make them for him. It's a sacrifice, I know.

Pumpkin Pie - My favorite dessert ever. But I can't have the crust with gluten and I know our family pie-maker will bring regular ones. I think I'll have to look for a crustless gluten-free recipe to make for myself because I am NOT giving up my pumpkin pie.

This year we'll be at my sister-in-law's house for Thanksgiving and she's a huge decorator and hostess. I love visiting there but she does intimidate me a bit :). I'll get to see my niece and nephews and a bunch of my in-laws. Then over the weekend we usually have a second Thanksgiving with friends where we all bring our leftovers to the party and share those with maybe a new turkey if we've already eaten ours. That will be Saturday and I love it for its relaxation and ease!

Happy Thanksgiving to everyone! What's your favorite dish and why?

Henfest: An Attitude of Gratitude

2010-11-12T10:21:00.000-08:00

I would maintain that thanks are the highest form of thought; and that gratitude is happiness doubled by wonder. ~G.K. Chesterton

At the risk of sounding Scroogish, I'll admit it. I have never liked Thanksgiving. I'm not into football, sprawling family gatherings or tryptophan induced food comas. Besides, I don't need to mark one particular day as the time to give thanks, because I maintain an active practice of gratitude all year long. It makes me feel like the richest woman on earth, since my list - while mostly full of extremely basic things and simple pleasures - is always long and varied. That's why this Thanksgiving will find me sitting by a fire on a beach in Santa Cruz (if it's raining, I'll bring a tarp and umbrella and bundle up, since my fire plan will fizzle), watching the waves as I drink a good glass wine and count my blessings.

You say grace before meals. All right. But I say grace before the concert and the opera, and grace before the play and pantomime, and grace before I open a book, and grace before sketching, painting, swimming, fencing, boxing, walking, playing, dancing and grace before I dip the pen in the ink. ~G.K. Chesterton

I am so grateful for my amazing community of friends and companions, for the security and warmth of my little house, for the love of my husband and sons, and for our good health. I'm thankful for all the art, literature and music that brings such joy and richness to my life. I'm blessed by the presence of nature - thriving, blooming, fluttering and singing - out in my garden. And I am always, always thankful for the creative flow in my life, for the stories and characters that come to me, for the words that bring them alive, and for the joy that writing brings me. I'm grateful to have found the courage to stick with it even when it's hard, and to keep putting myself out there, doing whatever it takes to reach my goals.

That's just the beginning of my list. I haven't even gotten to the really fun stuff yet - like great wine, the rumble of the Pacific and sunset over beautiful beaches. But I will, I promise.

And I encourage you to do the same. Count your blessings, right here in the comment stream or on your own in a quiet moment. It doesn't matter how or when you do it, you'll still end up feeling happier - and richer - than you did before you started.

Besides, as everyone knows, it's always polite to say thanks. ;)

Hem your blessings with thankfulness so they don't unravel. ~Author Unknown

Linda's Writing -- Evolution of a Writer

2010-11-11T00:01:00.000-08:00

My first book was published thirty years ago this December. A year after my agent called me with the news that a brand spanking new publisher called Silhouette Books wanted to buy my first two books.

The best part was I wouldn’t be a one book writer and it was time to see if I could write more books.

Obviously, I could, and what a journey it’s been

Just like the transition from childhood to adult, it’s all an evolution of a writer and a person.

Back in the late 1970s I wrote books with a single point-of-view, alpha heroes who were usually quite a bit older than the tender-hearted virgin heroines and we won’t even go into the bitchy ‘other woman’ that tended to crop up. And love scenes were behind closed doors. Yawn!

And romance writers always wore pink, smiled constantly, ate bonbons, and chirped instead of talked. So not me at all.

Even back then I knew I wanted to write ‘more’ and I pushed the envelope any way I could. So many of us felt the same. It meant coming up more with more innovative storylines, and strong characters that stood out.

It meant writing hero oriented plots, role reversal stories such as my male housekeeper book, Caution Man at Work and Guardian Angel that featured a female bodyguard, and other books that offered a reader more.

Yes, it meant a lot more work, but it was worth it, because it allowed me to grow as a writer and even as a person. It always hasn’t been easy and times I wondered whether I should continue writing, but every writer will tell you it’s not something you can easily quit. Your imagination won’t allow it.

We never remain stagnant. I mean, how boring is that? And no way I want to be the same person I was 30 years ago. I want to move forward, change my hairstyle a few million times, the way I dress and how I think.

I know I couldn’t write what I wrote in the beginning because I’ve progressed so far. And I’d like to think it’s all for the better. That my evolution knew what to do with me.

Even now, I wonder what my next evolution will bring me.

What about you? Do you feel you’ve evolved over the years? That even if there’s been bumps in the road, you’ve kept going?

Linda

It's all about the salt

2010-11-10T01:30:00.000-08:00

Or the sugar. Maybe it's the pepper or the texture of a steak or the aroma of a good glass of red wine.

Do you ever have one of those days when no matter what you eat, you're not satisfied? For me, it's always about a specific thing, a small thing. The problem is I often can't identify it and so I keep on eating and eating and never getting what I want.

Life is kind of like this.

You work and work and it often feels like you'll never be satisfied. This is true about any kind of work whether you work at home, in a factory, in an office, whether you're a writer or an accountant or a waiter. We're always striving for more, as if we want just that one tiny thing we can't identify.

Maybe it's something that seems so minor - like a thank you from your supervisor or a good rejection letter - that we don't even consider that it might what we need to make our day. To give us what we really want, what we're craving.

I've been reading a few studies in the past couple of weeks, studies about how we spend our money and what really makes us happy about the way we do.

The thing that struck me about all of these studies is that what makes us the happiest aren't, generally, the big things because human beings tend to get bored quickly and we also become complacent quickly. Of course we love our new dining room chairs or house or car or the #1 place on the New York Times list. But it isn't long before we get used to these things and though they don't make us unhappy, we're content rather than ecstatic about them.

Scientists who have done these studies suggest that, despite what economists or financial planners might say about this, we're more likely to be happy about that perfect latte we have every week, or the new paperback we buy ourselves, or the walk in the park, or the new pair of shoes, or a phone call from a dear friend, than we are to gain lasting happiness from the big things.

So that's what I'm going to try to focus on - those small things that I love. I'm going to celebrate those small things, things like:

the $1.99 bowl of oatmeal I have at Tim Hortons for breakfast two or three times a week
the fact I can now buy mandarin oranges for a month or two, just like the ones I had in my Christmas stocking as a child
the friends I say hello to on my walk through the mall
the new bright pink stickies I have on my desk
the gorgeous Russian stacking doll my friend Nadia brought back from Sochi
the Thai tuna wrap from Starbucks
the peppermint tea I have after breakfast every morning
the beach I get to walk on all year round

The list could go on and on but I know that these small things make me happy. They light up my day.

What about you?

Kate

Jeweled

2010-11-09T04:57:00.000-08:00

I've talked before about how sometimes stories come easily to me and sometimes they're harder to write. One of the hardest books for me to write was Jeweled, which just released a couple of weeks ago. Its sequel, Jaded, flowed like water even though it's a similar book in tone and set in the same world.

Why was Jeweled was so difficult? I think several factors combined to make it so, but the major factor was Evangeline, my heroine. She was the inspiration for the novel, but she was also one of the hardest characters I've ever written.

Evangeline has not experienced her own emotion since she was a child. Her magickal gift is stealing emotion from others, trading it, and “manufacturing” feeling in others. A part of her gift is the ability to build strong walls against emotion for herself and after a very traumatic experience as a child, she did just that.

But when the palace where Evangeline lives is taken over by a mob during a bloody revolution and she’s turned out into the street, penniless, all her walls coming tumbling down and Evangeline is forced to learn how to feel again.

There to help her is Anatol, an adept of light and illusion. He is also a “Jeweled,” one of those with enough magick to earn him a precious jewel set into his flesh and be considered good breeding material for the royal family, (that, over the years, has bled out all the magick from their line through inbreeding).

The backlash of Anatol’s gift of being able to sculpt illusion is the ability to see truth. He sees that Evangeline is a very special person, but she needs lots love and support to get through the sudden changes in her life. He has loved for her for a very long time and is willing to give her anything she needs.

Anatol loves Evangeline because he can see through to the truth of her. If a person can't do that, it's hard to find affection for her in the beginning of the book. Until those walls holding back her emotion fall, she is a petty, selfish, cold-hearted person. Once the walls fall, she's vulnerable and, really, a mess. Primarily, Jeweled is Evangeline's story about how she finds love and also finds her true self.

Complicating matters is Gregorio Vihkin, the scholarly mastermind behind the revolution that has disrupted Anatol and Evangeline’s lives. When the upheaval in the streets threatens Anatol and Evangeline’s lives, he takes them in.

At first Evangeline hates Gregorio for what he’s done, but when she gets to know him and sees the truth behind their former pampered lifestyles and how it hurt the rest of the people, her feelings for Gregorio warm. Warm a little too much for Anatol’s taste. Soon both men are in love with Evangeline and Evangeline has more than she can handle.

Together, in a world gone mad, they must find a way to come together.

Jeweled, like Jaded, is a very emotional book. It was Evangeline, a very complex character with a complicated arc of development, that made this one a bear for me to write. But I like a challenge, so I enjoyed every minute of it. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Candy's Journal

2010-11-08T04:57:00.000-08:00

I just finished writing two books in three months. It isn't something I recommend. I also had to do some serious revisions on a third book during that time. I just told my classmates in grad school that I felt like my brain was going to fall out of my head any second.

I'm better now. I feel like I can breathe even though I have some big papers to write for grad school and a lot of work to catch up on. But my next deadline isn't for a couple of months and I should be able to take some time off to rest and relax.

The problem is, I don't want to. My brain doesn't want to relax at all. In fact, pushing it so hard the last few months is probably the best thing I've ever done for it. I have so many ideas right now for books, it's insane. And their good ideas. The kind where I can see the beginning, middle and end, which doesn't always happen with me. Usually I sit down to write and I'm surprised by what turns up. I'm what they call a pantser.

But these new ideas. I wrote an 11 page synopsis for one of them and I HATE synopsis. You know they say the human brain is capable of so much more than we ever imagined, and I agree. It seems like the more I push myself with school and writing books, the more active my imagination becomes.

There are side effects, besides being incredibly tired. :) I'm having the craziest dreams. Every night it's zombie apocalypse, dragon fete, me trying to help a boat full of orphans to some island where the vampires can't get us. Really crazy stuff.

Every once in a while those dreams give me an idea for a book. But man, I have to write it down right when I wake up. There seems to be a deadline for books inspired by dreams. About 20 minutes after I wake up if I don't have it down, it's most likely gone forever.

I'm calling this wave a creative binge and I'm taking advantage of it. Now I wish I could have a cleaning binge. After all those weeks of writing, my house could use a good scrubbing. :)

Do you ever have times like this? Not just for writing but maybe crafts you do? That reminds me. As soon as school is over, I want someone to teach me to knit. So if you have easy patterns, send them my way.

Just a Moment to Breathe, Please...

2010-11-05T00:01:00.000-07:00

You’re going to think you’re reading a duplicate of Cathy’s post yesterday in some ways. Today’s my ‘journal post’ but my life has been all about the work lately and that’s all there is. Really. We bought a new house this summer but the work has been looming large in my mind.

Four days ago, I sent off NIGHT VEIL, the second Indigo Court book. I was a month late on it—because, yah, we bought a house and moved this summer and that just ate up time that you can’t get away from. But all the time, I was panicking over being late on the work, and feeling terribly guilty, and every time I quit to go to sleep, or stood up because my eyes were twitching from eye strain, I felt like I should be at the keyboard--when you've got a contract, you honor it, even if your editor is sweet about the extension.

Despite being sick for the past two weeks, I finished, finally, and the book did what I wanted it to do, although I didn’t expect some of what happened—as per usual—and I emailed it off to my editor but couldn’t stop to breathe because I had page proofs of BLOOD WYNE due today, and so had pretty much three days to go through 353 pages with a fine tooth comb. I did it. It got done. I’m exhausted (it’s Thursday night as I write this). I just sent them off via email and they’re done.

But no rest for the weary—the next book’s deadline is not too far off—and so after a couple of days to decompress, I’ll be diving right into writing COURTING DARKNESS.

HOWEVER…I will take at least two days (which will still be spent working on some promo stuff—it never, ever ends, folks, there is no ‘down time’ for the working writer) in which to play at least a little. To breathe. To celebrate the fact that thanks to my fabulous readers, HARVEST HUNTING hit #23 on the New York Times list for its first week. (And there was much rejoicing!)

Because really, you have to take the celebrations where you can.

And maybe I’ll be able to sit back and enjoy the new house a little…instead of feeling chained to my desk. It’s a beautiful house, and I love it…but it’s still very new to me and I still feel weirdly transported from the old place to the new one.

And, as Cathy said yesterday, maybe I can come out of the fog that was this summer…because it’s been one long blur to me—a haze of moving and paperwork and stress and inspections and writing and rewrites and copyedits and page proofs…and I think I need to just sit at the kitchen table, look outside at the birds and squirrels, and drink a cup of raspberry tea…and breathe.

Yasmine

Cathy's Journal - Emerging from the fog

2010-11-04T05:55:00.000-07:00

This past weekend, I faced the daunting task of completing a book that has been kicking my tail. Things that sounded great in my head looked awful on paper and kept trapping my character in corners that the reality "rules" wouldn't let her get out of. I sat down at 4:00 a.m. on Saturday morning to stare at the blinking cursor with the realization I had 30,000 words to write. By Sunday night. The book was already a month overdue. The publisher has been so excited about the series that they wanted to rush this fourth book into production and cleared a date in October of 2011 to feature it. Originally, it wasn't going to come out until 2012. But October is a golden month for paranormal, and that meant I had to crack the whip on myself to get it into the production chain.

Think about that. 30,000 words. In two days.

Now, I type fast but even for me that's a rough weekend. I knew what I wanted to do. Sort of. But until the dialogue and narrative is on the page, it's hard to know whether it works as a scene. By the fourth cup of coffee, I needed food in my stomach. And see, that's when the guilt kicks in.

People just beginning writing don't really "get" the guilt associated with writing under contract, and when they're already under an extension of time. I feel guilty for getting up to make a sandwich. I feel guilty for going to the freaking bathroom! Every moment away from the keyboard is time lost and there is no more time. None.

By 2:00 a.m. on Monday (okay, so I didn't make midnight Sunday. It's still the previous day until sunrise . . . right? And the editor isn't at her desk anyway) I'd finished. I pounded out 27,000 which is still completely acceptable for a 100K contracted book. 97K is good. And the book is good. I'm happy with it.

But was that the end? Oh, no. Then the little demons in my mind took advantage and for the next three hours, I was forced to remember all the things I'd forgotten to wrap up in the book. "What happened to the little girl in the hospital?" #%@^! That's right. I got so wrapped up in the finale that I didn't deal with a subplot. So back to the keyboard at 2:30 to add in the text. Then at 3:00. Then at 4:00. Then at 5:30

Sigh.

But the final product was on a flashdrive by the time I straggled into my day job at 8:00 and the email went out.

Oh, sure. I'm STILL remembering things I forgot to insert. But that's for the first edit pass. All things can be fixed in edits, which is something I've happily learned.

And now I'm slowly coming out of the fog. It's sort of like moving to a new house. You pack and pack and pack and then unpack and unpack and unpack. And when it's all done . . . when everything's in place, you come out of the fog and remember that there's still a world out there. And there are more books to write. :)

When's the last time you came out of a fog and re-emerged, blinking, into the light? Tell me your story!

It's NaNoWriMo Month!

2010-11-03T12:39:00.000-07:00

November is the annual National Novel-Writing Month. If you've not heard of it or participated in it before, you can check it out at http://www.nanowrimo.org. The website is a bit slow at the moment, so be patient.

NaNoWriMo encourages you, for one month, to free up as much time as you possibly can and use that time to write the first draft of 50,000 words (or more if you so choose).

Now, I'll state this up front, I am NOT a NaNoWriMo participant. I tried it once and it does not work well with either my writing style, the other demands on my time, nor my already-existing deadlines.

But I think NaNoWriMo does some very worthy things overall and the greatest of these is that it can act as the impetus to get people who feel they have a story within them to spend just a month to get it on paper. That very act of writing one story can teach an aspiring author that they DO have what it takes. It can also teach someone that it's not something they really want to do again but they still have the reward of having done it at least once.

NaNoWriMo can provide an instant support network, both online and in person in a lot of places. These are groups of people struggling to do what you are struggling with also. You can talk to others - or not, if you don't want to. Nothing is enforced and no one beats up on you.

If you think you have a story in you, NaNoWriMo may provide the support and encouragement you need to get that story onto paper and write that book! No one can tell you what will happen because of your experiences in writing a book or whether you will like it or not or whether you are good at it or not. But you WILL have a story and the experience to guide you in the future!

Check it out and give it a try - I know it's the 3rd but it's not too late!

Linda's Journal

2010-11-02T10:31:00.000-07:00

It used to be that my muse changed according to the book I wrote. It would cover what book genre I read, movies I’d watch, even to how I’d feel inside.

Once I started writing the witches, Fluff and Puff, my fangy bunny slippers tended to whisper in my ear more and more. They claimed they were relaying what the witches had to say, but I think sometimes they were more into making sure they showed up on a regular basis. Shy and humble are not words in their vocabulary.

My muse likes to work in visuals. 3D movies inside my brain seem to be the norm lately. Sometimes Fluff and Puff are the guides, sometimes a future witch shows up to say “let’s discuss my story, shall we?”

But I need to work on the present book, not a future one! That muse is there, an arrogant Persian cat named Cleo, short for Cleopatra … yes, THAT Cleopatra. At least, that’s her story. And she doesn’t whisper in my ear, she speaks loud and clear, wanting to make sure I hear every word.

Perhaps that’s why cats are showing up at the house. They sense Cleo’s lure.

A muse is helpful. They tell us things we might not think of. We have someone to blame if it doesn’t go right. ‘I just did what my muse said to do.’

I like the idea of having a muse. Someone perched on my shoulder and giving me that much needed nudge when I need it.

Still, why can’t my muse be gorgeous and male? Am I asking too much to want that?

And what will turn up as my next muse? Will I finally get lucky and end up with a sexy male whispering all sorts of sexy suggestions in my imagination or will Fluff and Puff bound back demanding their share of chocolate and licorice root?

Tell me about your muse? You don’t have to be a writer to have one.

‘My muse told me I needed this top because it makes me look very sexy and ten pounds thinner.'

What does your muse do for you?

Linda

Lisa's Writing

2010-11-01T09:44:00.000-07:00

I write for the same reason I breathe - because if I didn't, I would die. ~ Isaac Asimov

At the risk of making people cranky, I'm going to say it. Writers are born, not made. We're not born writing perfectly or even well - it takes hundreds of thousands (maybe even millions) of words, reams of paper and years of blood, tears and soul crushing ego bruises to get us to the place where we're publishable. But we're willing to do what it takes to write those words, to find and tell that story.

Writers write. Maybe they're squeezing it in during their lunch break, or giving up sleep to write once their kids are in bed for the night, or they're getting up way before the sun to knock out a few pages. Writers do it, and just keep doing it no matter how frustrating it gets, or how many rejection slips they've collected. They don't give up, they just dig their heels in and work harder, until they get it right. Until they write the one that will make it, find their agent, sell that book. Writers must write. It's a compulsion, a madness in the heart. It's our One True Love. Our calling.

So we write. We. Just. Can't. Help. It.

I choose to believe we're born this way. Otherwise, I'd have to think we're masochistic or completely insane. It's a tough job, a very hard way to make a decent living for most of us. But writers love writing. We feel empty and dead inside if we're not doing it.

So we write, because like breathing, it's what keeps us alive.

Blessed Samhain & Happy Halloween!

2010-10-31T15:16:00.000-07:00

HenFest

2010-10-30T02:22:00.000-07:00

I wrote a blog earlier in month for Harlequin about some of my favorite memories surrounding Halloween and my Dad and Grandpa coming up with crazy homemade costumes for me. When my kids came around, I dressed them in costumes before they were ever able to walk. They were dragons and ducks and little devils.

But Autumn isn't just about costumes and candy. It's one of my favorite times of year. I'm in Texas so it is such a blessing when the temperatures cool and you can walk outside and it doesn't feel like a wall of heat. I know this sounds crazy, but I seem to sleep better in the fall. I have no idea what that is about.

That's also when school starts, and now that I'm in Grad school that comes with a bit of anticipation and stone cold fear. One never knows what one is going to run into in Grad school. These professors work you to death. :)But I love it.

I also like the colors of fall. The amber, golds, deep chocolates and that red that you only see on leaves. We don't have a lot of fall color here, but it's enough for me.

It also seems to be a creative time of year for me, which is good because I've been through the ringer this fall. :) Two books in the last four months and I'm already onto more projects.

And I like fall TV. Granted, that's part of my day job, but I still love the medium. I'm always curious to see what new shows will work and which won't, and I love seeing the return of my old favorites.

Movies are better this time of year. At the end of September and the beginning of October we start to see the films that are going to be up for awards this season. It's a welcome respite from the crap we had to watch in August. My job gets a little harder the closer it gets to Christmas, because sometimes we're seeing three and four movies a day. But that's the job. :)

I want to know what Autumn means to you? What are some of your favorite things about the season?

Photography in the Witching Season

2010-10-29T17:00:00.000-07:00

I had been planning to regale you with photos I've taken of the season ...but... The weather and my obligations elsewhere have been less than kind. Thus the lateness of this post and it's lack of more specific pictures :)

Apologies.

October is always a bit iffy to photograph because of the variables that weather, cold and such introduce. I love the look of autumn leaves on the trees and the myriad of colors they display. Something about the mix of dark green, orange, reds and yellows just evokes the fall to me. There are several trees I've tried to get photos of in the last few years near my house and this year I thought I would succeed - only to have pouring rain and wind rip the half-yellowed leaves from their branches

Fall is a time when I like to take photos of the change from leaf-laden branches to bare stark branches. The story of the coming of winter is told in those pictures.

The lofty trees once so green start to turn to gold

The small animals are intent on food and nests

The moon hangs in the sky in the midst of the day

All preparing for this - the rule of the Holly King over his frost-laden world

I love the stories in these pictures and hope to capture more of the stories of Samhain soon.

Mortuary Man

2010-10-28T12:37:00.000-07:00

Not all monsters forego the shape of man...

Mortuary Man by Yasmine Galenorn

“Ken, can you hear us?”

They whisper to him. He knows their kind, inside and out. Knows them intimately, as a lover. Touches them in all their secret places. They think they can fool him, pretend to sleep the sleep of the ancients and hide their cold thoughts behind still colder eyes.

He reaches for the phone. There is one person he can call to shake their words out of his thoughts. One person who understands him, like a mirror, reflecting. She is brilliance to his vacuum, light to his darkened candle.

*

The phone rings. I know who it is before I reach for it and it scares the hell out of me. Every night since he found out I got divorced, he’s called. He talks, endlessly, his words spiral around, catch me up in their chaos. I loved him once, would have ripped out my heart for him. Salome’s sacrifice. But it’s been fourteen years and even though we’re still linked, I fear that connection. He’s going mad.

“I need to hear you say my name.”

Again and again, always the same. “What’s wrong?”

“They whisper to me. They want me to do things I shouldn’t do.”

The Slim Fast shake I had for dinner sours. He’s hinted before. I never take the bait, never want to know what he does in the dark corners of the mortuary in which he works. There are some roads even my jaded mind refuses to walk.

“You need to get out of there. Are you still on your meds?”

“No,” his voice is slow, a wisp of silk on skin. He can make me melt with the whisper of my name. “Lithium makes me go numb. I take it and can’t remember what you sound like. You’re the only one in this world I trust.” A pause. “I wish I could come visit you.” Plaintive, a little boy eyeing the most beautiful chocolate drop in the world.
I swallow the lump in my throat. “Ken, I know you—”

“What are you wearing?”

Close eyes, lean head against the refrigerator. Every night his questions get more personal, more prying. He scrutinizes me in words, pries me open, comes dangerously close to puncturing my heart. I cry myself to sleep, both longing to help him, and fearing that someday, he’ll show up on my doorstep.

“What are you wearing? I want to see you in my mind.” His breath is slow; I can hear his anticipation.

“There’s someone at the door. Bye.” I slide the receiver back onto the cradle. Sweat drenches my palms. I race outside, force air into my lungs. Slowly, the world returns to normal, but he’s out there and he’s thinking about me, and his ghosts are whispering to him in the night.

*

Ken…we know you can hear us…Ken, wake up.

His eyes flutter. He has beautiful lashes; any woman would be jealous of them. As his head leaves the pillow, rhythms shift, the world changes. There’s a flicker of electricity when the night descends, a buzz that signals the sleeping of the waking world and the waking of the dead.

Ken…come tend to us.

Oh, how they call, those beautiful bodies, waxen and pale. Alabaster brilliance under the light of perpetual slumber. He slips down the stairs, into the display room where the caskets rest on their podiums. Then, into the back. Here, in the chamber of the dead, they wait. He opens each vault and pulls out the slabs one by one.

Here he straightens a tie, there—shifts an elbow. As he makes his way down the row, he comes to her bed and hesitates a moment before venturing to wake her. She looks very much like his Mia, long dark hair, eyes brilliant pools of chocolate. But the life is hidden now, secreted away in recesses beyond the touch of the living. Except for him. He runs his hand along the silken strands, wondering what shampoo she preferred, hoping that he made the right choice. He’ll go out, buy sweet shampoos and conditioners, lotions to soften cold skin. He spends money out of his paychecks to do this and never begrudges a dime. Her hair is long, reaching well past her shoulders, and he leans down to inhale deeply. Below the scent of honeysuckle is another sweet scent. Cold, cloying, it’s the last perfume her body will make.

His lips are near her own and he looks into the dark eyes that will be shut for tomorrow’s service. Her family will never know his hands cleaned their loved one, that his careful arrangement made her beautiful for the last time. No, tomorrow they will whisper good-byes and regrets, never realizing that she still lives, that Ken can hear her, and that when they consign her to the earth, they trap her forever. Ken alone will give her the memories to last her throughout the time her body lets go of form and slides back to the primordial ooze. And now, he gazes at her beauty. He intends to give her a night to remember, to hang onto when the worms are eating their fill.

*

“Mia, help me.” He always calls me Mia.

I wipe the water where it runs out from under the towel and shake my long tresses free of the damp turban. “Are you on your meds? You need to take your meds or you are going to have panic attacks like this—”

“No! You don’t understand, they talk to me. I can hear them whispering all night sometimes. Do you want to know what I hear?”

Trembling, I want to slam the phone down, kill the connection. This is more serious than I thought, and with an instinct honed by experience, I know that he’s moved out of my league. I make a decision that I’ve avoided for weeks.

“Ken—”

He knows what I’m going to say, of course. Because he knows my thoughts, just as I know his. Right on cue, he starts babbling. I can feel his resistance. “Ken—listen to me.”

He pauses. I don’t want to say this, I don’t want to let go of the only man I’ve ever loved like I loved him, but every heart has its limits and sanity is a precious commodity.

“What do you want, Mia?” The extra emphasis on my name—is he warning me? Begging me? Whatever he wants, it’s no longer mine to give.

“You have to stop calling me. I’m too tired to deal with you, this is too much and I can’t be your strength anymore.”

“I see,” he says.

I hear a quiet click and the line is dead. I stare at the receiver, then quietly replace it on the cradle. Instinct takes over, I run to the door, lock it. Can it really be over so easy? But inside, I know it’s not over. And I know he hates me, as much as he loves me. And this is the first night of many that I spend watching the doorknob, waiting for it to turn.

Copyright 2010, Yasmine Galenorn
DO NOT REPRODUCE--all rights reserved

Movies for the Season

2010-10-27T03:49:00.000-07:00

I love scary movies and Halloween episodes of my favorite TV shows this time of year. One of my great guilty pleasures is to sit for about six hours the night before Halloween and watch my favorite witchy movies from Practical Magic and Hocus Pocus to The Witches of Eastwick and The Craft. I’ll also be watching all the Halloween episodes of my favorite shows this week.

My friends on Twitter and Facebook have helped me compile a list of their favorite shows and movies to watch around Halloween. You may see some repeats, as I took their answers straight from the social media sites. Please share with us some of yours.

The Exorist, The Thing –Cassidy Web
Halloween, Dracula – Lisa DeGross
Rocky Horror Picture Show –Donna Antonio
Bambi –Alison Laleche
Tracie Wilcoxson Ortaliz – The original Halloween
Trick R Treat – AprilRose McLemore Holman
Practical Magic – Jenny Fallon
Old Stephen King Movies Silver Bullet, Pet Cemetary –Debbie weaver
Halloween episodes from my favorite shows: Buffy the Musical, Friends, this year we’re throwing in the old Saturday the 14th movie for monster movie madness –Heather Long
The Grinch Who Stole Christmas – @Gracie Lestrod
Beetlejuice, Shaun of the Dead – @EveSilver
Donnie Darko, Army of Darkness, Got to have Bruce Campbell @Jesrosenbooks
The Worst Witch –Heather Mitchell
The Shining, Carrie, Psycho – Carol Shrembek
Every year on Halloween I watch the Rocky Horror Picture Show. It’s going on 15 years now. – @SeanPatriKernan
My DH and I always watch the Universal Monster movies - dracula, wolfman, mummy, frankenstein and all their derivatives. Sometimes we go all out and figure out the release order and watch them that way instead of by series. – Nicole Jarboe-Paxson
The Worst Witch, Harry Potter, Charlie Brown The Great Pumpkin, Halloween Town (Harry Potter! Woot! And Halloween Town is a guilty pleasure of mine.) Nicole Jarboe-Paxson
Twilight – Barb Han
Teen Witch with Robin Lively. Ultimate teen fantasy movie –Molly Harper
Tremors and old Buffy episodes –Jody Wallace
Scream, Charlie Brown and The Great Pumpkin, Hocus Pocus and Scream – @reelvixen
The Shining. I love that movie. It’s just creepy – @papercutreview
Beetlejuice X 3 @techsurgeons
Nightmare Before Christmas –@jamigold
IT, Rocky Horror, Trick R Treat, Children of the Corn, Hocus Pocus – @trnsrlobrf

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!
-CANDY

Me and My Mummy

2010-10-26T00:35:00.000-07:00

No Halloween is complete without a shambling mummy or two, although mummies as a spooky staple is a relatively new thing. I guess it’s no surprise how they became an integral part of the horror tradition, however, since mummies have a natural creepy factor built right in.

The Ancient Egyptians were, of course, the people who made mummification famous. They believed that the Ka resided in the body and, so, the body was necessary for the Afterlife. Embalmers prepared bodies by removing internal organs and wrapping them in resin-soaked linens. The process puts me in mind of our own contemporary way of burying bodies, wherein the blood is replaced with embalming fluid to preserve the tissues. In a way, we also “mummify” our departed.

In popular culture, the myth of the mummy didn’t really catch on until Jane C. Loudon, an early pioneer of paranormal fiction, wrote a book entitled The Mummy! in 1827. This was the first time anyone had used the mummy in the horror genre.

The idea of the mummy’s curse didn’t catch hold until Howard Carter opened and excavated King Tut’s tomb in 1923. The odd and unexpected death of Lord Carnavon, Carter’s sponsor, two weeks later, is what gave rise to the idea that anyone who dared to open the tomb would suffer the wrath of the mummy. Lord Carnavon’s death was strange, but probably not the work of a curse. In actuality it was an infected mosquito bite that killed the unfortunate man.

Urban legends and superstitions swirled after Lord Carnavon’s death, eventually sparking the iconic horror film, “The Mummy,” starring Boris Karloff in 1932. Readers may be more familiar with the film The Mummy, starring Brendan Fraser. The plots both involve an ancient Egyptian priest, Im-Ho-Tep, who spends centuries guarding the mummy of his lost love, Princess Anck-es-en-Amon.

The modern version of mummies (as seen in the Brendan Fraser version) move fast and are hard to kill. The traditional mummy is a slow, unstoppable, lumbering thing with flapping bandages hanging from its limbs.

In my book, either way, they’re creepy and undoubtedly deserving of their traditional placement during Halloween.

Spooky tale of horror: Lost in the Drywall

2010-10-25T01:30:00.000-07:00

Somehow, being lost in the drywall seems so much worse than being lost in the barrens (ah, a literary reference) or the Antarctic (a scientific reference) or in space (a TV and movie reference). Spencer wishes he could transform himself into one of those other stories but he’s well and truly stuck here in the drywall.

He isn’t sure how it happened. What he does know is that, if he gets out, he will never say yes to helping with renovations again. Even if the person asking for the favor is the woman he’s been trying to get next to for almost five years.

He said yes because of her big brown eyes, her silky hair, her jaw-dropping breasts and perfect hips. He said yes because he’s been in love (or lust, at least) with Leanne for what feels like forever.

He didn’t know much about drywalling when she asked, but he’s a quick learner and the drywall guy at the Home Depot down the street was a genius at telling him what he needed to know. He and Leanne had no trouble lifting the big slabs into place and he was damn good – if he said so himself – at the taping and filling. But then something went wrong.

And here he is in some limbo between her apartment and his, surrounded by slabs of perfectly taped and filled drywall, the dust on the floor silencing his footsteps and making his eyes water each time he moves. He has tried yelling but the dust and the drywall throws his voice back at him. He tried pounding on the walls with the same result. Finally, he sits in the dust and ponders his situation.

The last thing he remembers was filling the final nail hole while listening to the chant Leanne crooned behind him and smelling the oddly scented candle she had lit to celebrate the completion of the job. It was an odd-sounding piece of music, certainly nothing he’d ever heard before, and an unusual scent. Together they made him a little dizzy. Maybe he fainted.

Spencer lifts his head and looks around one more time. He swears he’s been in this space for weeks but he’s neither hungry nor thirsty. And he swears he’s walked miles and never once re-crossed his footsteps. When he looks behind him, the indentations in the dust are clear but when he tries to step back into them, they disappear.

Something is keeping him here. Be realistic, he tells himself. Someone named Leanne is keeping him here. And he doesn’t know why. Except maybe she was a little upset when he accidentally brushed against her breasts for the fifteenth time. The look in her eyes scared him to death. He remembers that.

And he remembers occasionally thinking that he should maybe give up this job but each time he thought that, Leanne would say something or make a slight gesture with her hand, and he would forget all about it. He would remember how much he loved working with Leanne and how the sight of the drywall he helped her with, would ensure his success with her.

But it wasn’t too long after the chant and the candle that the dizziness started. He picks himself up off the floor and starts walking again. This time, he follows no plan, thinking that a completely random walk might lead him somewhere. Anywhere.

And it does. It leads him to a big black metal door. It’s slightly ajar and he pushes at it until it swings all the way open. There is a fire flickering in the room he enters and it’s warm. There is no dust. And there is no drywall.

Spencer carefully sits himself down in the leather chair on the hearth and takes a sip from the glass of water on the table beside it. He is a bit worried about poison but suddenly, the thirst he has been denying seizes him by the throat and poison becomes the least of his worries. He crams the meat on the plate into his mouth and swallows it without chewing. Spencer groans in relief.

A tall woman, taller than he and Spencer is considered a tall man, materializes at his elbow.

“Spencer. Have you figured out where you are? And why you are here?”

He shrugs and continues drinking and eating.

“You are here,” she says in a stern voice, “because of your bad attitude.”

“I figured it was something like that,” he says around a gob of meat. “I’m sorry, but I’ve been attracted to Leanne for years. I couldn’t help myself.”

The woman smiles at him, her teeth shiny and bone white. Spencer feels a frisson of horror but thinks about the days in the drywall and shakes it off.

“Go home, Spencer.”

And just like that, he is in his dining room, drywall dust falling from his clothes and hair and skin onto his mahogany table and matching floors. He can hear each droplet as it hits. Each time he inhales, dust invades his nostrils and his throat. He shakes himself like a Labrador puppy coming out of the water and the dust flies around him, coating everything in the room.

Spencer listens carefully but there is no one else in the apartment. He leans against the wall and hears nothing from Leanne’s apartment. He drops his clothes to the floor – no point making another room messy – and hurries into the shower.

The Chinese food – five different dishes – is delivered just in time to stop him from fainting again. He sits in his recliner and repeats his new mantra. Just say no. Just say no. Just say no. But the thought of Leanne in the apartment across the hall has him rushing through his shower. He wonders what he might help her with as he steps outside his door and into the dust.

The Well

2010-10-22T01:50:00.000-07:00

They’re fighting again. She bolts before the screaming dissolves into violence, before the neighbors call the cops and her parents get hauled away. She runs, stumbling over the pocked asphalt separating the clusters of dilapidated houses and rusted-out doublewides that barely hold back the forest.

Live Oak Preserve. That’s what the sign at the end of the road says. But it’s not what the locals call the place.

Haunted Holler. Spookville. Witch Woods.

Between the hanging tree at the north, the old slave cemetery in the east and the burned out remains of Old Lady Simmon’s cabin, the place is loaded with history – and none of it’s pretty. Most folks avoid the woods, especially at night. Even the party crowd from school takes their homegrown weed down to Johnson’s meadow instead.

Jess isn’t afraid here, though. The woods are hers. Hers and Casey’s.

They’ve been sanctuary and sanity for each other for most of their lives. Neighbors since kindergarten, best friends since first grade, and ever since that one long, cold night two Octobers back, so much more. She can’t believe he left without her. They had a plan, had been saving up money for nearly two years. They were going to get out of here and head west. He’d be eighteen in a week, she’d catch up with him a month after. That’s what they’d been waiting for because they knew what would happen if they got picked up and dragged back. Their parents have zero tolerance for ingratitude.

Jess staggers to a stop by the lighting tree, dragging air into her aching chest and trying get her bearings. Her world hasn’t been straight since she woke up a week ago Tuesday, alone and in her own bed. She’d thought maybe they got lucky, maybe this was one of those rare nights when both of their houses were quiet, when their parents were too tired – or too drunk – to do anything but pass out, so she and Casey didn’t have to seek refuge in the woods and each other.

But Casey wasn’t waiting on the porch that morning and he wasn’t at school. When she went by his house on her way home, his brother said Casey ran into the woods the night before and never come back. Jess looked for him, but he wasn’t in any of their usual places.

Their things –the sleeping bags, the dinged cooking pot, and the army backpack stuffed with canned food, flashlights and batteries – still wait in the cavity of the crumbling fireplace. Casey didn’t take their money, either. It’s still in the coffee can under the fallen cypress tree out by the old well.

Jess is done waiting. She’s going to take the money and hit the road. Maybe she can catch up with Casey, find out what happened that night. It must have been bad, because he did something he never does. He broke his promise.

You and me, Jess. Forever and ever.

Reaching into the rotting corpse of the tree, she pulls out a flashlight. The beam is weak, cutting a meager line through the gloom. The clouds crackle overhead, but woods are otherwise still; no bullfrogs, no owls, no crickets. The silence feels wrong, almost wrong enough to send her running for home. But she keeps pushing forward, one step at a time, until she’s standing beside the twisted bones of the cypress. Balancing the flashlight on one of its branches, she crouches down, reaching for the coffee can.

“Jess.”

She jumps at the sound of her name, knocking the flashlight into a pile of moldering leaves. She sees the outline of the figure standing by the old stone well, but it’s too dark to see details. She doesn’t need to, though – she knows that face by heart, knows that voice as well as her own. Joy pushes her to her feet.

She’s almost there – almost in Casey’s arms - when lightning flashes directly above. She freezes, her heart flying into her throat, choking the breath right out of her. Casey’s covered in slime; it soaks his clothes, drips off his shaggy, dark hair. His neck lists slightly, resting against the stark white of his collar bone, thrusting up through gristle and skin. His face is gray under layers of blood and bruises, and his right eye oozes from its socket. But the left one is fixed on her, bright and blue.

You and me, Jess. Forever and ever.

His words – his voice – echo up from the well. They’re followed by the hollow splash of coins hitting murky water. She remembers that night, the night they made the pact to get out of here. They’d tossed pennies into the well to seal the deal, laughing as they made a slew of hopeful, happy wishes. Then Casey had kissed her, and promised her forever.

She turns to run, but his stiff fingers grip her arms. The cold, mossy stones of the well press against her legs, their dampness seeping through her jeans. Casey’s hands slide across her shoulders and up her neck, like they always do when he’s about to kiss her. But his lips are black and torn, and his fingers leave wet trails against her skin. He’s pushing her back, leaning her over the stone casing as he lowers his rotting lips to hers. The scream shreds her throat and she starts to struggle.

You and me, Jess. Forever and ever.

She shoves against him, unbalancing them both. Dank air rushes up to meet her and her shrieks bounce off the wet stone walls. It feels like she’s falling forever, but it’s over too soon. She lands face up in the slimy water. Takes one last desperate breath, one last look at the sky so far above them. Then Casey’s weight hits her, pushing her under, taking her down.

She hears the frantic pumping of her heart, the thick gurgling of the dark water as it sucks her down. Beneath that, she hears a voice. An old woman’s voice, whispering in her head…

Careful what you wish for…

Copyright 2010, Lisa DiDio.

Halloween Hunks - Adopt a Fox

2010-10-21T06:49:00.000-07:00

Ooo...those supernatural cuties! There's nothing like an otherworldly hero to get the blood pumping. I have to admit that when I was growing up, nothing made my heart beat faster than the first prime-time vamp, Barnabas Collins! He had that whole 'homely-cute' thing going that made me (and millions of other teens and women) swoon.

I admit to a fondness for vampires. Shifters come and go, but those vampires keep me coming back for more.

Of course, no fox report would be complete without the bad boy we wanted to love to hate (and hate to love): Angel. His first appearance as Angelus on Buffy the Vampire Slayer made me drool!

I know there are a lot of Spike fans out there, but he's not really my thing. Guess I just like those brunettes. :)

A recent favorite is (pitta-pat!) Mick St. John from Moonlight. Yowzers what that guy did in a single season to grab the audience. I was really surprised when the series was canceled. I figured for sure it would last a little longer.

So how about the rest of you? Who's your favorite Halloween Fox? I just love me some bad boy vamps, but who makes you drool?

The Harvest Moon

2010-10-20T00:01:00.000-07:00

First, the science:
Technically, the Harvest Moon is the full moon occurring closest to the autumnal equinox (Mabon). If the full moon happens to occur on the equinox, it's called a Super Harvest Moon.

Harvest Moons appear bigger and redder than most full moons. The size is because of something called a moon illusion - the fact that people perceive a low-hanging moon to be larger than a moon higher in the sky. The red color is because light reflected from the moon passes through more atmosphere at the lower angle and the bluish color is dispersed, leaving the redder color light to travel straight to our view.

Then some of the more common myths or legends:
Harvest moons are said to be named because there is no long period of time between sunset and moonrise, thus farmers working to bring in their crops had extra time since they could continue to harvest by moonlight even after the moon had set.

A Harvest Moon Festival is celebrated in Chinese culture, usually in September, and celebrates the lady living in the moon.

Because the Harvest Moon is tied to the autumnal equinox, it's often seen as a time when what you've sown can be harvested in full. Mabon is the time to celebrate the bounty of the harvest and the love of our ancestors and dead. This is the time of the wicker man and the burning of the fields after harvest to insure the bounty for the next year. This is also the time when Persephone returns to her husband Hades in the Underworld.

This is the time when day and night are equal and we sit poised on the tip of the balance, ready to start our slide into winter.

For me, this is the time when I enjoy the apple harvest and turn my focus inwards. Now is the time to remember, reflect on the year and what I harvested from what I worked toward this year. I want to plan for the future and what I want to plant for the coming year.

Linda's Scary Tale-- Miss Pickles Prefers A Single Room

2010-10-19T00:01:00.000-07:00

Miss Pickles was an icon as the fifth grade teacher at the Malcolm Rutherford Primary School for the last 57 years.

The last thing she expected was to be not only retired but to have to find a new place to live after she broke her hip.

“I prefer a single room,” she told Ms. Fallon, head of the Sunrise Home for Active Seniors.

Ms. Fallon’s round face stretched in a smile.

“We do not have single rooms here at Sunrise, Miss Pickles,” she informed her newest resident in a perky voice that the elderly former teacher didn’t think was appropriate for a woman who was clearly over the age of 50. “We encourage our guests to make new friends. At this stage in your life it is always good that you are surrounded by people. I would think you, especially, would enjoy the company of adults instead of all those children you taught over the years.” Her lips pursed displaying what she thought of anyone under the age of 80. Not good at all.

Miss Pickles was not happy to hear this, but she didn’t allow her emotions to show. After all, you couldn’t show them when you dealt with children. Like feral animals they could capitalize on weakness.

“I did not come here to make friends, Ms. Fallon,” she said in her slow even tone that always kept her students in line. “I am here because my doctor said I can no longer live on my own.” Arrogant man thought he knew best when it was clear Miss Pickles knew her strengths and weaknesses better than anyone else. Managing to get Social Services in on this actually FORCING her to move here was reprehensible. But then, she did have to fail him in English when he was in her class. The boy never knew his grammar.

Ms. Fallon studied her computer screen. “I see we have a lovely corner room available,” she chirped. “Mrs. Timmerman is a wonderful woman. She lost her husband a year ago and came here to stay. She’s a favorite of everyone. Very warm and friendly, she’s heavily involved in our Tuesday morning knitting club, Thursday afternoon reader’s group, twice a week yoga class, and she recently organized a bridge club.” She beamed.

Miss Pickles didn’t beam back. She thought knitting was a waste of time, she read enough while teaching, she couldn’t imagine sitting on the floor forcing her body into odd positions, and cards, well, no thank you.

She allowed Ms. Fallon to escort her out of the office and into the building that housed the living quarters. She noted the walls were painted pale peaches, pinks, and greens. She was positive the staff thought the colors were meant to be soothing, but she only found it annoying just as the constant smiles of the staff members who always greeted her with a cheery smile and words.

“Mrs. Timmerman!” Ms. Fallon trilled the words as she tapped on the door and walked in without waiting to be admitted. “I brought you a new roommate. This is Lavinia Pickles, our newest guest.”

Miss Pickles didn’t like that. Does this woman not have any manners? She entered at a slower pace and almost reeled back at the explosion of color that abounded about the room. Lace doilies were everywhere along with splashy handmade quilts on both beds, embroidered samplers covering the walls, and seated at a comfortable reclining chair near a window was a spritely looking woman with silver hair set in tight curls.

“Hello, Lavinia,” Mrs. Timmerman greeted her, popping out of her chair with spry movements with one plump hand outstretched. “I am so pleased to have company. I’m Maisie”

Ms. Fallon looked at the look of horror on Miss Pickles face as she gazed around the brightly colored room and escaped with a murmured “I’ll leave you two to get acquainted.”

Miss Pickles wanted nothing more than to flee from the chattering woman who sounded like a demented bird. This was why she never wanted even a parakeet.

She suffered through a day of seeing photographs of Maisie’s children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren, meeting other ‘guests’ of the home, and turning down invitations to join a shuffleboard tournament, learn to play badminton, and so many groups and classes that her head fairly spun.

Didn’t anyone understand she really preferred to be alone with her thoughts and not scampering around this place like an energetic mouse? She really would have to do something about securing a single room. This was just not acceptable.

****
The screams then a strangled silence had the staff running to the rear room.

Mrs. Timmerman stood next to Miss Pickles’ bed. The latter’s throat was coated in red due to Mrs. Timmerman’s knitting needle sticking in it. Mrs. Timmerman was busily wiping her hands with a damp cloth.

“She didn’t want to join in,” she said with a deep sigh. “You know, we really can’t have someone like her here. Besides,” she uttered a giggle that really didn’t go with her advanced age, “won’t a coffin be like a single room?”

Cathy's History of Horror Novels

2010-10-18T06:28:00.000-07:00

There's nothing like October to make us think of things that go bump in the night. We hope you've been enjoying the Witchy Chick's additions to horror fiction this month. But where did it all start? When did authors start writing books and stories for the sole purpose of scaring the readers?

Books that we would most likely consider horror by today's standards were actually the "women's fiction" of the time. In the late 1700s, women wrote books for a primarily female audience that featured kick-butt heroines (of a sort) fighting off creepy creatures in a gothic setting. Vathek by William Beckford (Arabian woman who is captured by the demented, demonic Vathek and forced to marry him instead of the man she loves--shades of Phantom of the Opera!) came out in 1786 and then a series of other similar works, including The Italian by Ann Radcliffe (lovers trying to escape The Inquisition) followed throughout the rest of the century.

But what contemporary readers consider to be the first "true" horror novel is Mary Shelley's Frankenstein - Or the Modern Promethesus The first edition was a three book set bound in leather (and a copy sold at auction in 2007 for an estimated $125,000.)

Frankenstein, of course, was a morality play of the 'evils that men do'. But then along came Bram Stoker, who took horror into the supernatural range with Dracula and Robert Louis Stevenson's The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll & Mr. Hyde and H.P. Lovecraft added in ancient, other-worldly evil with his Cthulhu reality.

There was a swelling of the genre when Stephen King's Carrie hit the stands and a thousand other writers from Peter Straub's psychological terror, to Robert Bleiler's grisly, gory slasher stories took center stage.

But then the genre changed. Other genres started stealing pieces of horror's homestead. "Dark Fantasy" was born that complicated the story and added romance, drama and angst. Laurell K. Hamilton was an early addition to this new genre, before it really was a genre. Her first works in the Anita Blake series were actually spine labeled as horror.

Now there's paranormal romance, urban fantasy, dark fantasy taking up the space where "horror" used to reside. But I doubt it's done. The pendulum has yet to swing again. What's your favorite horror novel, the one you go back to time and again to raise the hairs on your neck?

And who wants to get back to the old style of horror, where it's just man against . . . well, against things that go bump and scream in the night? Raise your hand. Mine's up! :D

Welcome to Creepy Hollow

2010-10-16T00:01:00.000-07:00

Hello! My name is Grizelda and this is PooPoo, my panther, although she’s decided to go kitty size tonight for the tour of Creepy Hollow.

I’ve lived in Creepy Hollow for the last 800 years and while we’ve gone with the times, we still keep our own unique personalities.

When I want to play I love to hang out at the carousel. It’s only open after dark, but that’s much better.

As you can see we have a lovely mortuary and graveyard. I would advise you don’t go near there the nights of the full moon. You never know what might pop up.

And don’t you love our cinema? They played all the Mummy films last week. I would advise you don’t try Percy’s popcorn unless you don’t mind there are maggots in it. He likes the extra crunch factor.

We are not without culture as you can tell with our opera house. The Phantom is one of our big stars.

I love the Cauldron Café! The food is excellent, especially the ribs. Seymour's were especially delicious.

And could any town not be complete without a belfry? Plenty of bats can be found there. They’re so much fun to hang out with.

Igor left the science lab to drop off a delivery to the Skeleton King and his wife. I don’t go over there too much. The dragon has a habit of singing my shoes and I love my shoes!

I love our train depot! The train comes every dark of the moon. Funny thing. People might get off, but no one gets on.

We’re known all over for our medical ghoul school. I heard they can dissect a body in five seconds flat.

I told you we keep up with the times. That’s why Boris started his car lot. ‘Course, all he sells is hearses. But you can get one in any color you want. Mine’s a pretty pink. His prices are kinda high. At least, I didn’t have to give up my liver.

So that’s my town. I hope you’ll come to visit me sometime. I love company. Seems most who do come don’t live very long. Maybe you’ll be luckier.

Grizelda

Dracula and the iconic vampire

2010-10-15T01:30:00.000-07:00

It's ironic that this is my blog today because, I have to tell you, I'm not generally a fan of vampires and that may be because I came to the reading of the classic vampire book, Bram Stoker's Dracula, at a very young age. It obviously made an impression on me because, even now (I bought the book again last week to read it for this blog) after so many years, I remember it very clearly.

I remember the darkness of the setting, the frightening scenes lit only by flickering flames. I remember the panic Harker (and thus the reader) feels when he realizes he can't escape, when he realizes that Dracula cannot be seen in Harker's shaving mirror. I remember most of all the violence inherent in almost every paragraph. I remember the underlying sexual violence - when Dracula bites you an uncontrollable lust overtakes you. Yes, yes, the lust is for blood, but it's lust nonetheless.

Dracula likes "the shade and the shadow" and this, for me, defines the iconic vampire. And his violence, the way he craves and loves the pain that he engenders, the way he creates slaves to his bloodlust, also defines him.

Yes, there are vampires on TV and in books today for whom this is no longer true. As with all archetypes, we change them over time. We update them. We make Dracula accessible to readers or viewers who have a different sensible than the reader of the Victorian era.

Because Dracula, more than anything else, is a villain of his time. He is, it seems to me, the perfect Victorian. And because he is all about sex at a time when sex was meant for men, when female sexuality was unspoken, and in many cases, unheard of he must be a villain. That is no longer true because we no longer have the repressions of the Victorian era to live with.

So the iconic vampire now? I'm not sure. I might speculate that the change came with Barnabus Collins in Dark Shadows or with Anne Rice. Vampires became less beast and more human and as the world changes, so too does the vampire, becoming more and more human with each rendering.

Kate

Locked from the Inside

2010-10-14T00:00:00.000-07:00

Amber tucked her head against her Aunt Sofia’s chest and closed her eyes. Tears from her tired, red-rimmed eyes plopped onto her jeans. She was amazed she had any left since she’d been crying all day. Didn’t tear ducts eventually dry out?

Holding her close, Sofia dropped a kiss onto her head.

“I’ll miss her blueberry pancakes and” —she gave a gravelly laugh, wiping at her cheeks— “all those misshapen scarves she used to give away at Christmas.”

“Yes,” came Sofia’s raw voice. “Me too.”

It had been a Saturday morning like any other morning. Had been only this morning it had happened? It seemed so long ago now. Amber had woken, made coffee and sat down in front of the news with a bowl of cereal and waited for her aunts, Sofia and Cynthia, to get up too. Both of them were notorious for sleeping in late. Sofia had risen about an hour later, but Cynthia had remained in bed.

Around eleven am, far past the time Aunt Cynthia usually slept, Amber had knocked on her door. Hearing no answer, she’d entered the room.

Another wave of grief overwhelmed her as she remembered the sight and she sobbed harder into Sofia’s chest. She’d approached the bed, thinking to wake her aunt…then she’d seen the blood. It had soaked her aunt’s entire left side, sheets, blankets and all. It had dripped onto the floor, pooled there, congealing into a lake of dark brown. Blankets drawn up, head still on her pillow, her aunt had simply looked asleep except for the waxy, ashen cast to her skin.

The police were baffled. When they arrived the house had been locked from the inside, as it had been all night. The house alarm system had never gone off. There were no broken windows, no sign anyone had tried to enter the house from the outside. No blood had been tracked from the body despite the presence of so much of it, though that wasn't so unlikely considering the nature of the wound. Cynthia had been stabbed once, hard, and very cleanly, right through the heart. What they assumed was the murder weapon had been found in the kitchen, a knife that had been cleaned and laying neatly on a cutting board.

The police had questioned them both at length, of course, since it was pretty suspicious no evidence of a forced entry had been found. The police were now investigating anyone who had possessed a key to the house, but they’d concentrated pretty heavily on Sofia and her relationship with her sister. Like all siblings there had been issues, disputes, rivalries. More than one evening had ended with slammed doors and hurt feelings.

Amber raised her head and studied her aunt. She was the beneficiary of Cynthia’s life insurance policy, too.

Her aunt cocked her graying head to the side. “What is it, Amber?”

She gave a shaky smile, remembering her youth, how both her aunts—but especially Sofia—had taken care of her after her parent’s deaths. Her mother, sick with bronchitis had died in her sleep one night, having suffocated somehow. Not long after, her father, confused with grief, slipped down the stairs late one evening and had broken his neck. She'd arrived at her aunts at the age of fifteen, devastated and inconsolable. They’d tucked her into their lives and she’d wanted for nothing. There was no possible way that Sofia had killed Cynthia during the night.

No way.

“Nothing.” She smiled. “I was just remembering her…remembering you both. You were so caring after my parents died. I never could have wished for better aunts.”

She smiled. “As we never could have wished for a better, more loving niece.”

Amber stood, walked over to the door and made sure all the locks were thrown. Shivering, she turned, hugging herself. “At least we’ll be safe here.” Too afraid to stay in the house, they’d moved to a hotel for the night.

Sofia glanced around her. “I hope so.”

Amber's gaze landed on one of the queen sized beds in the room. “I don’t know if I can sleep tonight.”

"Well, we need to try and it's late." Sofia stood and moved toward her suitcase. "We have a funeral to plan tomorrow, after all." Her voice broke on the words.

Amber bit her thumbnail. She couldn’t imagine any of the trusted few who had possessed keys to the house would have killed Cynthia. So, if it hadn’t been any of them, or Sofia, well, that left precious few possibilities. Her mind had gone through every supernaturally themed horror movie she’d seen, every creepy book about demons and ghosts she’d ever read.

Was it possible some kind of poltergeist was following her? After her mother, her father, and her aunt, Amber wasn’t ruling out the possibility. It was just too much tragedy in one person’s life, all trailing after her.

Later, standing under the shower, she tipped her head into the stream of water and closed her eyes, her face crumpling as she sobbed. “Please, please,” she prayed, “please protect us from whatever evil is attached to me.”

After her shower, she re-entered the room to find Sofia sitting up, tucked under the blankets of her bed. Her eyes glittered as she stared at her, totally focused yet seeming far away. Amber’s gaze locked on her aunt’s stony face, coldness creeping into her belly. “Why are you looking at me that way?”

The hardness that had settled over Sofia broke after a moment and she smiled. “Oh, sorry, I was just remembering back, too. Remember how hard it was after you came to us? How you kept waking up in the middle of the night, wandering through the house, sleepwalking?”

“Yes, that was awful.” According to the psychologist she'd seen, it had been a reaction to the trauma of her parent's death. She moved to her own bed. “I’m glad I don’t do that anymore.”

It took her aunt a moment to answer. Finally, she smiled warmly. “Me too. Good night, dear.” Sofia clicked off the light and turned on her side.

Quietly, Amber unzipped her duffel and extracted a long knife. Laying it on the bedside table, she stared it for a moment. A weapon. It made her feel better. If anything came creeping in the night, she'd be ready.

Unless it was a poltergeist.

Somewhere around midnight Amber’s eyes opened yet remained unseeing. Caught in the throes of a dream, she slid from the covers, sat up, and sought the handle of the knife ….

Autumn Decorations: A Labor of Love & Ritual

2010-10-13T00:01:00.000-07:00

I love decorating. I love decking out the house for each season, though spring and summer seem to blur in my home, but come autumn and I’m scrambling to fill the house with the feeling of bonfires and hearth embers and crisp autumn leaves and apples and venison and pumpkin pie. To that effect, I thought I’d developed quite a selection of decorations.

But this year, something wonderful happened. The decorations aren’t enough—time to find more!

Because, in August, on Lughnasadh (one of our holidays, the first harvest), Samwise and I drove by a house that really caught our eye. I grabbed the flyer. The next day, our realtor showed it to us, and five minutes in, I knew this was our house. It’s beautiful, white brick on the outside, with incredible floors and granite counter tops and it sits on over a quarter acre, but is still inside the city. Oh, we moved to Kirkland from Bellevue, but by only about fifteen minutes away on a good day in traffic. We put in an offer, and the dizzy world of housebuying unfolded. We closed on the second harvest—Fall Equinox, and now it nears the third harvest—Samhain.

We moved in a little over two weeks ago. I was determined to be unpacked within a month and we almost are, barring about seven-ten boxes that are waiting for new furniture, which has been ordered. The house is spacious compared to where we were living (and trust me, spacious here means 2000 square feet and a pretty penny), and we soon realized we’d need extra furniture, which was the fun part—choosing what we wanted our home to look like. The house is perfect for our needs, perfect for Sam’s disability, and it sings to me of a haven in the storms.

So today my assistant Jenn and I decided to decorate. Here are the results. I’m putting the pictures on my website so I can retain their size and make this blog post short and sweet.

And believe me, I was determined to use my post on decorating for the autumn to show some parts of our new home—as we nestle in before Samhain—the beginning of the Pagan new year. Samhain is the pagan holiday for remembering our ancestors, for honoring our shadow sides, and for giving a nod to all who walk in the Underworld, including the cyclic Holly King—lord of the waning year—who now greets the Crone Mother on his way to rebirth at Yule, when he will return as the Sun King/Oak King. Spirits walk this time of year, they come to visit, they pass by as shades in the night, and we decorate to light their way, to rejoice in the season of fire and ice, and to honor the turning of the Wheel.

So how do you decorate for autumn/Samhain/Halloween? Do you enjoy it? Just do it for the kids? Is it a ritual in itself for you? Tell me all about it.

Yasmine

Werewolf Moon

2010-10-12T00:45:00.000-07:00

A frigid wind whistles through the trees, and the moon gleams on a trail of human footprints tracking down the muddy creek bank. Near the gnarled old cedar tree, the footprints blur and fade, becoming something else entirely. The wolf lifts its head to the stars and howls, singing its eerie song to the night...

In the debate between vamps and weres, it's werewolves for me all the way. They're so much cooler - and hotter - than vampires. I'm not talking about the Lon Chaney version (you know, the guy in bad need of a razor) or the cheesy upright man-beast you find in so many movies and TV shows. (Sorry, Oz. You were an awesome dude, but that suit was not a good look on you.) The shapeshifters close to my heart always transform completely, leaving their humanity behind and embracing the animal within - and without.

That's one of the many reasons I love Maggie Stiefvater's take on werewolves. In Shiver and Linger, she presents a heartbreakingly haunting twist on the mythology, pushing away the man-beast and diving deep into the wild heart of the wolf.

I'm also loving the werewolves on The Vampire Diaries. I saw some clues about the wolf angle late in season 1, and I admit - I was nervous. It's hard to pull off the transformation, and I hate CGI wolves every bit as much as I hate the fuzzy man suits. But TVD is doing werewolves just as well as they do vamps. The first (and so far only) transformation happened off-screen, since Mason Lockwood scrambled into his SUV in the dark woods and attempted to lock himself in when his underground full-moon prison cell was invaded by a couple of horny (and morbid)teenagers. The SUV rocked, there were some impressive groans and shrieks and then WHAM. The back window shatters and a wolf launches itself into the darkness.

A real wolf. Like this.

Now that's what I'm talking about. And when Mason returned to himself in the woods - breathless, buck nekkid and OMG built - I wasn't griping either.

Are there any other werewolf lovers out there, or has the whole world gone to the vamps? Am I alone in thinking that lycans - or any other shifter for that matter - would default to their pure animal form? And that they'd never really lose that wild edge? (Which is what makes them so much sexier than a cold dead guy, IMO)Are you reading or loving any werewolf books right now? And how about The Vampire Diaries? Doesn't it rock??

The Witches

2010-10-11T03:42:00.000-07:00

Gray tossed the body in the trunk and slammed it closed.

“She’s going to be pissed.” His sister slid into the back of the Bentley, the door of which their chauffer and sometimes butler, Mr. B, held open for them.

“It couldn’t be helped.” Gray took the slightly damp towel Mr. B. held out for him and he wiped the blood off his face and hand. There hadn’t been much. The woman, well really no more than a girl, clawed deep gouges in his arms and face, but the wounds would heal before they reached the castle. The girl had gone down without much of a fight. “Once Mom hears what happened she’ll be fine. She knew we were going out to recharge.”

“Master Gray is correct,” the chauffer shut the door and climbed into the driver’s seat. “The girl followed you to the circle, you could not have known. And there is no doubt she was possessed. We all saw her eyes glowing bright red.”

“Mr. B., if mom goes ape, you have to say something this time.” Megan opened her spell book.

The older man nodded. “I spoke with your mother the last time, but you had a choice with those goblins. You could have run. This was a different situation.”

Megan shrugged. “I wish I were strong enough to do the incantation myself. There still might be time to save her. You could do it, Gray.”

Gray glanced back at the trunk. “I could, but that would send mom over the edge. Besides I don’t have the tools I need to trace a demon with me, and if it were to escape… You know we have to get her to hallowed ground before the sun comes up or she won’t have any chance at all.”

Megan nodded solemnly.

Gray watched her pretend to study her spell book with the tiny flashlight she kept in her pocket. The slight tremble of her hand the only sign of the trauma she’d just experienced. He reached over to tug a piece of her hair. “Everything is okay. You did well out there. I’m very proud of those spells you threw at her. You slowed her down long enough for me draw the circle.”

She lifted her head tears brimming. “I was freaking out. If Mr. B. hadn’t run up and told me to chant the Granelde spell, I’m not sure I would have thought of it on my own.”

“I beg to differ, Miss,” Mr. B interjected. “You were excited but you already had your hands and feet in position. You would have done whatever it took to protect your brother. And let it be noted that you knew the Granelde spell, which is something most fourth years don’t know.”

His sister shook her head. “Yes, but they don’t have my mother, do they?”

“Megs, you’re fifteen, and you’ve only had your powers for three months. Give yourself a break. You’ve already learned more than I did my first year. I don’t know that I could have done what you did with only three months training. You pushed back a demon. That was pretty balls.”

“Master Gray,” Mr. B’s British accent was clipped. He didn’t like it when Gray used slang of any kind.

“Sorry sir.”

“No,” the older man’s voice was hushed as he slowed the car. “Call your mother now.”

Gray glanced out the front windshield to see the dirt road filled with about thirty red-eyed demons. They could try to plow through, but then they’d be harming the innocents the creatures possessed. They wanted the girl back. He was certain. Of course, killing everyone in the car would be their first order of business. He could handle several of them, but he couldn’t protect his baby sister and Mr. B. while he fought.

He closed his eyes and sent his thoughts out to his mother.

Gray hoped she made it in time.

Henfest: In Costume

2010-10-08T01:14:00.000-07:00

My mother was an amazing seamstress. Early each October, she'd take me to the fabric store. We'd pour through the pattern books and peruse the racks of sparkly, shiny Halloween materials. Then she'd turn to me and ask, "What do you want to be this year, Lisa?"

The hopeful gleam in her eyes would fade with my annual - and non-negotiable - answer. "A witch."

Heaving a noisy sigh, she'd grab some black sateen or a roll of lace to tack onto the bottom of last year's costume if I'd just gotten taller, or pull down a bolt of black muslin if I'd completely outgrown the prior model.

Oh sure, sometimes I'd vary it a bit - add a mask or a wig, or get crazy and go for the purple hat and cloak. But it was Halloween, and as far as I was concerned, Halloween was all about being a witch. (FYI, My opinion on this has not changed much over the years.)

It took Mom a while to finally came to grips with my spiritual path and get past the W word, since it had some negative connotations in her mind. But a few months after my nephew shoved me out of the broom closet (goddess bless him), Mom and I were at the fabric store. It was mid-September and they were setting up the Halloween displays. Me being me - and wanting to keep things light and positive - I swiped a black pointy hat off the shelf and stuck it on my head. "What do you think?" I quipped. "Is it me?"

The light of comprehension dawned in my mother's eyes. "Well," she huffed. "That explains it. Don't even think of asking me to make you one more damned black dress." (A few years later, she did make me a gorgeous gold medieval-style dress and a beautiful velvet cloak. By then she'd also taken to showing up on my doorstep on the morning of the full moon with a plate of cookies or a pan of brownies, "For your moon thingy tonight.")

Unlike Mom, I'm not a seamstress - and I have boys. Costumes around here are purchased, and they generally involve superhero masks, lightsabers or pirate swords. But every year, I wander by the witch costumes and think of Halloweens past...and my poor mother, making yet another get up for her little witch.

Did you have a favorite costume? Something you wanted to be but never got to? Do you still dress up? (I do, but my kids claim that dressing as a witch isn't really a costume in my case!)

Guest Blogger: Marcella Burnard

2010-10-07T00:01:00.000-07:00

I originally met Marcella when we were both members of our local RWA chapter. I was SO excited when I saw her first book was coming out that I asked if she wanted to guest blog for us!

When Things Settle Down by Marcella Burnard

I’m Marcella Burnard. I write science fiction romance for Berkley Sensation. Maura invited me to write up a guest post and I told her I’d come up with something about how living aboard a boat influences my science fiction. I lied. I’m climbing up on a soapbox instead. Blame email.

A friend recently acquired a brand new, delightful, labor-intensive, golden retriever puppy. She’s been posting short videos and adorable pictures of his puppy antics for days now. Another friend admitted she had a raging case of puppy envy. Oh, how she’d love to have a dog, but her life is a mess right now. Maybe when things settle down.

Did you shake your head in sympathy for the envious woman, knowing she won’t be a dog owner any time in the foreseeable future? I did, because it doesn’t matter what your life is right now. It’s your life and it’s ticking away. What do you want? How long are you going to put off going after what you want? So many people tuck away their dreams for the day when things settle down, or for the day they get organized. It’s classic approach-avoidance. I’m gonna…just not right now.

What secret ‘it would be fun to try’ projects have you hidden beneath the crushing weight of ‘when I have a little more time’.

When will that be, exactly?

Your life will settle down on the day you DIE. Look around you. The mess, the noise, the drama, and the dust bunnies under the beds that occasionally go galloping across your floors – that’s life. Your life. My life.I just finished major revisions on a book – revisions I had a mere two weeks to accomplish. The boat where my husband, an unspecified number of cats, and I live looks like a bomb filled with cat hair, kibble and cat litter exploded in the middle of the salon. Accept it. Embrace it in all of its mental, emotional, and possibly physical untidiness, then clear five minutes a day for your secret project. You don’t have to tell anyone or show anyone or explain your five minutes. (If the people in your life demand an accounting of that five minutes, it’s time for professional intervention I am not qualified to provide.)

I used to say, “I’ll work on that book a little later, when things calm down.” Except that things never did. Graduating from college and struggling to make ends meet gave way to the drama of a family member’s addictions which gave way to my parents’ health issues which gave way to meeting and marrying a terrific man which meant marrying into a whole new series of dramas. Maybe it was while I sat wrapped in terror in a hospital while my father underwent heart surgery that I looked around and realized the truth.

This is it. Life doesn’t calm down. It can’t. Not if you actually live your life and love other people, pets and causes. The point is to honor yourself enough to value your goals, your dreams, and your secret ‘just for fun’ desires. Maybe don’t start with a puppy, which is going to require FAR more than five minutes a day of your time. Five minutes a day of two or three lines will eventually write a novel. Five minutes a day of vocal exercises might not land you on American Idol, but your vocal strength, your breath control, and your ear will all improve. Sure, you might never achieve every last one of your goals or make your wildest dreams come true, but you certainly won’t if you go to your grave without having tried. And heck. You might find you’re having more fun along the way whilst the un-vacuumed dust bunnies multiply beneath the living room furniture.

Whatever your dreams, or your wishes, pull them out, dust them off (rescuing them from the clutches of the fanged dust bunnies as needed) and give yourself five minutes a day to dedicate to what you want out of this life. No more than five minutes. Not initially. After all, you’re busy living a messy, complicated life.

Bio: I blame my father for my love of science fiction and fantasy. We watched many a late night science fiction movie together. I was five. By the time I was six, I was having raging nightmares inspired by The Omega Man, The Fly, and The Incredible Shrinking Man. The sum result seems to have been that I wouldn't walk into a dark room until well after I'd turned ten.

Growing up an Air Force brat, I moved often and traveled all over the US. We spent two years in Iceland, watching blue whales migrate, volcanoes erupt and geysers spew steaming, superheated water into the cold air. The whole family did plenty of reading. When the tiny base library ran out of interesting books in the kids' section, and wouldn't allow me in the adult section yet, I began writing my own stories.

My family finally settled in the foothills of the Cascade Mountains in Western Washington. I graduated with a BFA in acting from Cornish College of the Arts in 1990 and promptly went to work for a large software company.

I live with my husband and our cats aboard a sailboat on Puget Sound.

The landscape of autumn

2010-10-06T00:01:00.000-07:00

It isn't easy finding autumn in Vancouver, especially thisa week. It took me five hours and dozens of photographs to find this small piece of fall colors - and that's because, here in the Pacific Northwest, we really only have two seasons. We have summer and we have the rainy season which lasts from sometime in October until sometime in April.

Oh, we might have a few sunny days, even a sunny week or two, but basically, from October until April, it's grey here in Vancouver. The good news? We don't have a lot of snow.

The other reason that it's hard to find fall in Vancouver in that almost all of the trees are coniferous trees and they stay green all year. Not much shedding of leaves, not much changing colors. But what we do have? On a day like yesterday? We have the most beautiful days on the planet.

And yesterday was one of them.

So these pictures are my landscape of autumn, the landscape I choose to remember in the depths of the grey winter, the landscape that makes those short gloomy days bearable. I'll look back on the day I took these photographs and I'll thank the Witchy Chicks and our readers - because if it weren't for you, I wouldn't have taken these pictures and I wouldn't have the memories of this day - this perfect October day - to remember.

Kate

Oh, yeah, and there were even pumpkins.

Lord of the Crows

2010-10-05T00:01:00.000-07:00

Here's a short for you to enjoy. I have a fascination with all the corvidae family. Sometimes my fascinations show up in the oddest ways :)

Lord of the Crows
(c) 2010 Maura Anderson

The earth clothes itself in the brilliant icy breath of the coming winter and breezes wash through the lands, carrying the sharp, bright scent of snow to all who dare to be outside this night. A blanket of thick fog fills the valleys as if preparing them for the coming months of snow and slumber.

Cast by the eerie silver light of the full moon, the thick shadows stir and writhe. Trees seek out to grasp the unwary and vines reach for a chance at an ankle or foot. The veil grows thin between the land of the living and the land of the dead as the world seeks to enter its fallow time, the time of waiting, of fear and of hope.

In one secret clearing, the final rays of the setting sun vanish. Shadowed against the Samhain moon and the roiling mist, the shape of a crow appears, cawing and screaming an otherworldly summons to the now still sky. The crow’s red eyes glisten like drops of blood in the moonlight. Then another appears, and another, until the sky is filled with their ebon shapes, diving and rising in a terrible chaos.

As one, they scream a last time and dive to the ground, disappearing under the thick fog layer. It is time. It is his time.

A few breaths pass, then another few in the now silent clearing. Finally a huge male figure stands up through the fog. His skin glows a midnight blue-tinged black, shiny and smooth as a raven’s breast and his long hair trails down his back as if formed of a thousand crow feathers. A mighty stretch and he tilts his head back and screams a demand, his crimson eyes bright with anticipation.

“I summon thee.”

First one, then two, then more and more appear. Ravens and crows alight on his shoulders and arms and whisper to him the secrets they have learned and the sights they have seen. He takes their knowledge as his due and murmurs back to them their new task, what his creatures will do in his service for the next year. Each one’s eyes glow with a brief flash of red, then return to black as they wing their way to the next task.

For he is Corvus, Lord of the Crows.

Eons have passed and his creatures have roamed the earth, gathering knowledge for him and even serving others at his behest, only to return to his ear to tell him what tales they have learned in that service. Some of his own served the One-Eyed God, Odin and some served the Goddess Morrigan as her battle-standard. Others have appeared as gods to peoples not yet named by their future conquerors.

Yet even the gods fear him and the creatures he commands for he can see clearly through the veil between the worlds. When one is called, be it god or man, his creatures are there to gather the final knowledge and thoughts of the dying before they traverse the veil. Even the eyes of the dying can be taken in order to steal their final visions before they fade from the flesh or their tongue taken to rob them of their final words.

Yet he searches on, searches for a way to remain in a single being, in this body he can take but for one brief night. Already dead, he cannot remain longer in the land of the living. Yet the magic of his birth leaves him unable to remain in the land of the dead. Cursed to this existence, his only desire is to find the knowledge he needs to become whole for all time.

Finally the last crows have taken their leave of their master and the faint hint of sunrise brightens the horizon. It is time. Samhain night is over and so is his time here for this year. The first ray of light strikes his ebon skin and a great scream of rage and pain erupts from his throat only to trail off as his body disintegrates into a mob of hundreds of crows, red eyes blazing. Flying, spiraling and diving through the air, they caw in anger as their eyes fade to black and they take flight again to their homes in the graveyards and cairns of the world. There to watch and wait for another year.

Linda's Haunting Treats

2010-10-04T00:01:00.000-07:00

Did you really think Fluff and Puff wouldn't get involved since food is involved?

Linda

“Not enough chocolate!” Fluff protested, after dipping an ear in the bowl and taking a taste. “More.” He headed for the container of cocoa. “And sugar.”
“Stop that!” Stasi scolded, picking up the mixing bowl and cocoa, while nudging the bag of sugar out of his reach. “As if we want you on a sugar rush.”
“Tell me again why we’re doing this?” Maggie poured a cup of mudslide flavored coffee along with a shot of toffee syrup then perched up on the counter. Her short Nordic blonde hair was brushed loosely behind her ears while she wore her usual uniform of worn jeans and a dark pink tank top.
“Because it’s fun.” Jazz did the same with her coffee. “So what do you want me to do?”
“Stay away from cooking utensils,” Blair said, pulling a large plastic bag out of the shopping bag Jazz brought with her. She squinted at the contents. “Are you sure these bat wings are fresh?”
“Medlin assured me they were.” Jazz looked over her shoulder and wrinkled her nose. “Those are totally disgusting.”
“And very good when mixed with my special cupcakes.” Stasi took the bag from her friend. She opened the bag and dusted the wings with powdered sugar then shook it to better coat the wings.
“I do hope I will not see your spider cookies this haunted season,” Elle, Maggie’s bejeweled black widow spider observed from her silken web in a corner of the kitchen. “They are very politically incorrect.”
“But tasty.” Horace popped an eyeball in his mouth and chewed noisily. He suddenly spat it out. “Hey! It’s got peanut butter in it! I thought it was real.”
“Not at the price they were asking.” Jazz picked one up and nibbled. “White chocolate and peanut butter is better anyway. Not as chewy”
“As if you’d eat one anyway,” Puff scoffed, stealing a ghost finger cookie.
“Soooo, are we dressing up in black complete with peaked hats, striped stockings, and those ugly shoes or can we go wild with costumes?” Maggie pulled out her favorite knife and idly wiped it on her top. As a top member of the supernatural services, she wasn’t happy unless she had a weapon, or ten, on her person.
“Nick’s going to the party as Sam Spade.” Jazz rolled her eyes. “How clichéd for a vampire private investigator? What about Trev and Jake?” she asked Stasi and Blair.
“Trev wants to be Rhett Butler and I be Scarlet O’Hara,” Stasi said. “I was hoping for someone either more glamorous or evil.”
“And Jake’s thinking of,” Blair paused for dramatic effect, “Frank N Furter.”
Laughter exploded throughout the kitchen.
“You are kidding!” Maggie howled the way Jake tended to howl when he was his Border collie self. “Damn, I almost snorted coffee out my nose.” She rubbed her face. “How does he look in the corset and fishnet stockings?”
“Actually, not too bad.” Blair raised her eyebrows. “Are you bringing anyone to the party?”
“As in ‘hey Maggie, have you met a sane guy in the past hundred years?’” The blonde witch shook her head. “The last male I dealt with was a totally pissed off boggle. Very very messy. I think you three got the last good ones. I intend to remain free and fancy free. Not interested.”
“Oh.”
The four witches turned as one and stared at Horace who tried to look innocent but totally failed since innocence wasn’t in the gargoyle’s DNA.
“Meaning?” Stasi’s voice turned dangerous.
“Well, his name is Reginald. He’s a wizard. Single. Brown hair, brown eyes, and can’t wait to meet you at the party,” he blurted out, slowly backing away. His gaze swept in a wide arc to keep them all in sight. “You met him on SupeMatch three months ago. I sent him that picture of you from the Memorial Day.”
Maggie’s eyes practically popped out of her head. “Not the bikini one.” She huffed a breath. “Of course, the bikini one.” She threw a spark of magick in his direction.
“He’s a nice guy!” Horace yelped. “Okay, so he still lives with his mother, but that only means he’s sensitive. And he plans to find a place of his own. And he doesn’t drive. And sometimes his magick sputters a bit, but he claims to make a nice crème brulee.”
“You are so dead,” Maggie snarled, stalking the gargoyle. She reached out, finally grabbed him, and tossed him upward until he was snarled in Elle’s web. In no time, Horace was wrapped in spidersilk with no chance of escape. “You thought it was bad being turned into a gargoyle? Wait until I finish with you.”
“No more goodies for you,” Stasi stated, showing no sympathy.
“Or going to the All Hallows party,” Blair said.
“Even better, maybe he should clean out Eurydice’s fireplace for the next hundred years,” Jazz said. “I only did it for six months and it’s a really big fireplace.”
Horace struggled but the web only tightened around him.
“That’s the last time I try to find you a date!”
And now for one of the witches’ favorite treats. Enjoy!

Eyeball Nummies
Ingredients
1 1/2 cups creamy peanut butter
1/2 cup butter, softened
2 1/2 cups confectioners' sugar, sifted
1 tablespoon vanilla extract
12 ounces white chocolate, chopped
2 tablespoons shortening
2 drops blue food coloring
1/2 cup miniature semisweet chocolate chips
red food coloring (optional)
1. Beat the peanut butter and butter with an electric mixer in a large bowl until smooth. Beat in the sugar and vanilla. Cover and refrigerate for 30 minutes. Roll chilled dough into small, eyeball-sized balls and place on 2 baking sheets lined with wax paper. Refrigerate for another 30 minutes.
2. Melt the white chocolate and shortening in a microwave-safe glass or ceramic bowl in 30-second intervals, stirring after each melting, for 1 to 3 minutes (depending on your microwave). Do not overheat or chocolate will scorch. Dip each eyeball into the white chocolate and transfer to the waxed paper until the chocolate has set. You can chill them in the refrigerator.
3. Stir a few drops of blue food coloring into the remaining melted white chocolate. Make a round "iris" on the top of the cooled eyeball and press a mini chocolate chip in the center for a "pupil." For an extra spooky bloodshot eyeballs take a toothpick dipped in red food coloring and make squiggly lines on the eye.

Cathy's Spooky Tale of Terror

2010-10-02T05:11:00.000-07:00

The screams should have stopped us. But for some reason, hearing screams in a graveyard on Halloween night only made us grin at each other like fools.

“Dare ya.” Mark’s eyes were bright, fueled by the line of coke we’d shared at the party. The skeleton paint job on his face made his face disappear into the shadows so that he really did look like the creature he pretended to be.

Another scream reached our ears. “I dunno.” I bit my lip nervously. The wind was howling, whipping my cheap Dracula cape into a frenzy of black nylon. I tasted chemical laced sweetness from the fake blood on my tongue. “Ya think it’s safe? What if it’s some weirdo doing Satanic rituals and crap?”

Mark rolled his eyes. “No way that scream is real. It’s just a CD to scare people. Geez, Jason. It’s Centerville. We haven’t had a murder in this town since my Dad was a kid.” He waited, tapping his foot on the ground. He finally threw up his hands. “Then stay, scaredy-cat. Wait’ll my friends on Facebook find out what a wuss you are.”

He braced himself and climbed the narrow iron bars like the ropes in gym class. With a flip of his hips, he was over, without even hooking his pants on the spiked tops. The moon came out from behind a cloud then and freaky shadows seemed to flow over the ground like mist. They were right behind Mark and he didn’t see them. “Mark! There’s something behind you!”

But the wind was too loud and then full darkness returned. He turned and cupped a hand to his ear but I couldn’t hear his response. He took a step backwards and . . . disappeared.

Another scream sounded and this time it was Mark’s. Crap. Had he fallen into an open grave? I should have run for help. That made perfect sense. What would have made more sense was to bring along a stupid cell phone. But nooo . . . that would spoil the costumes. Damn him anyway. We were going to get grounded for a month if he’d broken a leg.

Getting over the fence wasn’t as easy as Mark made it look. I eased forward slowly, feeling my way along the dark, leaf-covered path, feeling my heart pound and my breath turn to frost into the frigid air. If he was pulling my chain, I was going to kill him myself. “Mark? You okay?”

“Oh, God, Jason. It hurts! It hurts so bad!” I raced forward at that, because he wasn’t kidding. In a few steps, I saw him and bile rose to my throat. He was covered with what looked like invisible people. The ghostly creatures flowed in and out of his skin and with each fly-by, another chunk of flesh was removed. He couldn’t seem to get up. The ghosts were holding him down, leering at him as he screamed and then taking another bite. His wails turned to whimpers and then to rattling moans. I would have run, but I couldn’t because the invisible hands were now pulling me down too. Hands scrabbled and teeth bit until I couldn’t think anymore from the pain that made my vision go red and my mind turn to putty.

The screams should have stopped us. I could only hope it would stop the pair of girls I saw on the road. I hope they sto...

Welcome to the Witching Season!

2010-10-01T00:31:00.000-07:00

Welcome to the Witching Season. And nobody can rock this time of year like the Witchy Chicks. This is our time of year. Most of the year, we keep the henhouse in order but during October, anything goes. The ghosts come out of the woodwork and we come out of our coffins and caves to greet the haunted nights. All month long, we’ll be regaling you with things that go bump in the night.

The year is waning, Samhain and Halloween approach. The leaves are changing color—to burnished reds and golds—and are beginning to fall. Crisp mornings replace lazy summer days, and here—in my country—the rain clouds gather and let loose their storms. Mist rolls along the ground at night, cloaking your feet, and the haunted moon rises full and golden in the dark of night.

For some of us—the witching season calls to our souls. Autumn and its secrets promise stories of witches and vampires, of trolls and goblins and star-crossed lovers, of the Fae, creeping out of the shadows, and nightmares riding the violent wind. I love this time of year—it makes me feel alive.

This year, we’re changing up our Round Robin Ooo-Spooky Tale o’ Terror. Instead of one continuous story, the Witchy Chicks will be weaving individual vignettes for you—scattered through the month like treasures, we’ll each present to you a short tale in entirety, woven from hay and pumpkin vines, scented with cinnamon and nutmeg, crafted from our imaginations run wild.

So welcome, friends, to the Witching Season. Sit back all month and let the Witchy Chicks take you on a wild ride beneath the harvest moon, as we go hunting ghosts and headless horsemen.

Yasmine

Adopt-a-Fox

2010-09-30T07:58:00.000-07:00

I hereby nominate Joe Manganiello. He plays Alcide on HBO's True Blood.

Why?

Erm....

I think pictures speak louder than words in his case, don't you? He really looks the part of a werewolf in this picture, doesn't he?

I have to admit that I go for the scruffy look and I love the dark hair and eyes. In any case, Joe Manganiello has made a big splash on True Blood and I think it's clear why that is. Here are a couple more pictures to send you to your Hunky Guy Happy Place.

On his Wikipedia page it says that Joe's favorite TV show was True Blood before he was cast as Alcide and in order to prepare for the role, he cultivated that scruffy look and trained for five months to add muscle for the role. Hey, Joe, you're doing AWESOME!

Moving

2010-09-29T00:01:00.000-07:00

I moved this weekend. We bought a house, moved in, and I’m on deadline. This is short and sweet. Well, short at least.

Hard things:
I hate moving. HATE the transitional periods.
I hate the chaos. I do not do well in chaos.
I hate the settling in and getting used to new things.
I’ve had more meltdowns than my share the past week and have cried in frustration and exhaustion far too many times.

Good things:
The house is gorgeous and I am looking forward to making it ‘ours.'
I didn’t have any meltdowns today. I didn't cry today.
We needed to move and got a great interest rate and we've wanted this for a long time.
We have GREAT friends who helped us through the saga.
The movers were great and only messed up one thing, and it can be fixed.
We have room for a king sized bed now. We HAVE a king sized bed now.
Comcast download speed rocks!

If you want to read my moving saga, it's on my blog.

Here’s the view from my office. Purty, ain’t it?

But…since I had enough meltdowns to fuel a reactor this weekend, and since I’m dragging butt, this is all you get today. LOL Tell me, what was your best or worst moving experience? Do you love moving around? Hate it? Talk to me, people.

Yasmine

It's all about the "voice"

2010-09-28T05:27:00.000-07:00

I'm in the process of proposing a YA paranormal series to Tor based on a short story I wrote for them. One of the things my editor mentioned was that I need to plan for a "teen voice" which is apparently different from a Young Adult voice. After asking a number of people what the difference was, I'm thinking it's more a "tween" thing---that murky water between childhood and adulthood, where there are equal thoughts of playing with dolls and dressing like one. LOL!

It doesn't seem that long ago since I swam in those same murky waters, even though I know it has been. But I think I'm stuck in a sort of permanent adolescence because many of the shows I watch on television are tween and teen ones. I recently admitted to liking reality television. Well, I also like cartoons and nearly anything offered on Disney or Nick. Fairly Oddparents and Spongebob are just as likely to be on my house as House or 24. Fortunately, my husband is more than happy to plop down with a plate of food and watch the Simpsons or Phineas and Ferb. (Yeah, we're sort of weird.) I like Hannah Montana and Wizards of Waverly Place and a host of others.

So I guess I'm more confused about how to write "adult" some days. In many ways, being a kid is less complex than being an adult. You get to let some decisions be made by those older and really don't WANT to be the one to make them. I know many adults who didn't have a real childhood (and I don't mean the Michael Jackson sort, but those who were missing a parent or were forced to become the parent for younger siblings.) I've always felt bad when that happens and even though I write angst in teens when I write them, I like them to have some stability, some sense of family that those reading can cling to.

I've had teens tell me they can really relate to my characters and that's probably because I know where they're coming from--even though I don't have any kids of my own. Yes, life has changed and has gotten more complicated for kids now, but it's also gotten easier in some ways. It's pretty evenly balanced from when I was their age.

My "voice" in writing wants me to create kids who struggle with the obligations of being a kid, and are thrust into situations that are scary, but always have someone strong rooting for them and helping them with a hand up out of a mess. Life is hard enough without having nobody to count on. Y'know?

How about you? Did you have a strong adult role model when you were growing up or were you the "adult" in your family? Would you change it if you could? I'm interested to know! :)

Being Time

2010-09-27T05:45:00.000-07:00

This is a busy time of year, and not just for squirrels. I don't have some of my blogmates' insane work schedules, but I do have deadlines, two growing boys, a house and garden that require attention, and a husband with a big job and a commute that has him gone 60 hours per week. I also live in the same town as my family and my in-laws, have friends I like to see occasionally and a home that is frequently filled to the brim with every teen in the neighborhood. (FYI, that's fine with me. If they're here playing guitars or video games, doing their homework or skateboarding in my driveway, I know they're all safe...and well fed. But we won't talk about my grocery bill...)

As fate would have it, I'm a very private person. I require plenty of alone time on a regular basis. Since I'm a writer, I get that - but my alone time is always (or nearly almost always) spent working. That doesn't qualify as personal time off, or as I like to call it - being time.

Thanks to the self-awareness I've cultivated through years of spiritual practice, I know my limits. I can feel the pressure building, can feel my need for space and quiet rising to a head. I've learned to put up my boundaries, say no even when it's hard, and carve out time to get still and refocus before I explode, unleashing the bitch from hell on everyone in a ten mile radius.

Simply setting boundaries and stealing time (10 minutes to half an hour/day, depending on what's going on with school, the hub's work, my work) isn't enough to stave off the eruption. It's too easy to spend that time fretting myself into a coma, feeling angry and bitter at whatever - or whomever - is encroaching on my right to be.

Again, I turn to years of spiritual practice for direction. I've learned the value of simple personal rituals, and I've developed a few that really work for me. I know being outside and connecting with nature is key to my sense of well-being. So when things get crazy busy, instead of turning on the computer and checking e-mails bright and early, I take my first cup of coffee outside and sit in my comfy chair on the patio, watching the sunrise. If it's too cold or wet, I pull a volume of Mary Oliver's poetry off the shelf and let her writing take me deep into the wonder of the world.

If mornings are out of the question, I'll take time at night. If often doesn't happen until everyone is settled, but the garden is lovely in the moonlight, and a retreat to a tub full of bubbles never hurts either.

Of course, even in the right setting, I can still suffer from busy mind. Sometimes it feels like there's a whole herd of hamsters chasing a fruitloop through my head. When that happens, I meditate. Every day, for 10 minutes before I begin writing, for as many days, weeks, months as it takes to get my head on straight. I set the timer on the stove, and settle into my favorite chair. I use a mala (Tibetan prayer beads) and the Green Tara Mantra at first, then sink into silence. I follow my breath when my mind starts to wander; I don't judge myself when a though passes through - I just release it and refocus on the oxygen moving in, and the carbon dioxide moving out.

For me, that's all it takes. A 10 minute meditative recharge, or a nice, quiet cup of coffee (or tea, or a glass of wine) alone in the garden. What do you do when you need a time out? If you don't take them - why the heck not? Even when life is frantic, you can give yourself 10 minutes. Go ahead. You're totally worth it.

Writing short/writing long

2010-09-24T01:30:00.000-07:00

I tend to be a writer who writes short rather than long.

I'm never going to be one of those young men (think Robert Jordan at 20) I meet at conferences who write fantasy (a piece of advice from one who knows: remember never to ask them what their book is about) and who have written a series of 4 or 5 or 7 books with a total word count of somewhere around half a million to three quarters of a million words.

I think part of my writing style comes from writing essays and manuals, writing for newspapers and magazines, writing short stories for many years, and so having word limits.

But there are plenty of writers who have that same background and plenty of them write long. So it's more than that - it's the kind of stories writers chose to write.

I tend not to have a huge cast of characters - more characters make a story longer. I tend to write in this world, so I don't need to do a whole of lot of world building, setting up the background to the story.

And I think, most of all, that I write the way I write - not like James Joyce - but in some ways because of James Joyce and the way he saw epiphanies as crucial to the art of story telling. He celebrated those sudden flashes of perception or insight that could change the life of a character and as a short story writer, this is often where a story ends - with that flash and the possibility of change.

So, even though I mostly write novels now, my first love - both to read and write - will always be short stories. And one never forgets one's first love.

What about you? Short or long?

Kate

Henfest: Falling for Fall!

2010-09-22T00:02:00.000-07:00

I love autumn. Those of you who've been following the Chicks for awhile know that I'm not alone here. We've blogged our affection for this season since our first year together.

Each season has its own gifts (and challenges). But autumn has been my favorite time of year since I was a child - and yes, Halloween was always my favorite holiday. I've always loved the flavors of fall: the cinnamon, apple, pumpkiny goodness. The scent of a crisp fall morning after the season's first rain. The color of turning leaves and ripening pumpkins, and the haunting beauty of a full, harvest moon.

I also always loved the beginning of the school year. New opportunities, new beginnings. In many ways, it feels like the real beginning of the year, more fresh and full of possibilities than January 1. I love it even more now that I'm the parent. My sons' return to school means the re-establishment of routine after the chaotic fun of summer. It means a quiet house and daily writing time. It means dinners burbling in the Crockpot or the oven; warming, comforting foods that help me ground after a big burst of creativity. It also means the annual release of Bogle vinyards "Phantom" wine which, along with honeycrisp apples, pomegranates and delicata squash is one of my most anticipated autumn treats.

Fall also brings the return of my favorite TV shows and a slate of upcoming movies that usually are more appealing to me than the summer blockbusters. This fall, I'm watching Glee, The Vampire Diaries, Supernatural and the final seasons of Smallville and Friday Night Lights. I can't wait for Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, and I'm dying to see Let Me In. It looks so good and so creepy!

Your turn! Tell us - what has you falling for fall? What is it about this season that gets you happy? What shows are you eager to see return, and are there any upcoming films you can't wait to see?

There's so many reasons to love this season and now, today, it officially begins.

Happy Equinox, from the Witchy Chicks!
Yasmine, Linda, Lisa, Kate, Cathy, Candy, Anya, Maura and Annette

Endings and Beginnings

2010-09-21T00:00:00.000-07:00

I recently sold a couple more books to Berkley. I sold the fourth and final book in the Dark Magick series, MIDNIGHT ENCHANTMENT, and also the first book of a new series that will be called (tentatively) the Brotherhood of the Damned.

This will mark the end of my second paranormal romance series with Berkley and the beginning of a third. It's always bittersweet for me to end a series. I become attached to my world and my characters and it's hard to say goodbye. On the other hand, I'm really excited about venturing into a brand new world with brand new characters. The end result is a roller coaster of emotion.

The Brotherhood of the Damned series will draw from Norse myth. I know a little about this subject, enough to have a good grasp of the shape of my new series, but I'll have to do a lot of research before I start the first book. I'm excited about that too--learning new things and incorporating them into my worldbuilding. :) I'm a geek at heart. Give me research and I'm a happy girl.

I intend to use Loki, the Trickster god, in the new series and, oh, I also intend to torture the men of the Brotherhood BIG TIME. I'm REALLY looking forward to writing those dark, tormented men. Is that wrong? ;)

Before then I've got to write the end of the Dark Magick series. I just started MIDNIGHT ENCHANTMENT, (it will be Niall's book). In this final installment I need to not only give Niall the love of his life, I need to end the saga of Piefferburg and decide what happens to Gideon Amberdoyal, my villain. I know what happens to Piefferburg, of course. I know whether or not the fae break free (I'm not telling). I'm still mulling Gideon's fate. He has been a fantastic bad guy and I have really enjoyed writing him.

Ah, see, there I go getting all sad at seeing the end of this series and I've only just started the final book. :)

Be Careful What You Wish For

2010-09-20T00:01:00.000-07:00

Have you ever experienced a time where you thought of someone and they either called or emailed you? Or you’ve made what you feel is an impossible wish and it’s come true? Even worse, you tell yourself “If I do this, I’d be better off” and it happens, but not quite the way you expected it to.

I realized my days were taken up running too many errands. Bad planning on everyone’s part where my husband needed me to do something during the week or my Mom asked me to run out for her.

I wanted all my writing time back! I said what I’d love is Monday through Thursday for writing and I’d use the other three days for errands.

Two things happened at once. My husband’s truck was dying and the lease was almost up on my SUV. No way had we wanted two car payments, so we traded in the truck and bought my SUV. That meant one vehicle for now. Since he has furlough days, he works Mon-Thurs. I switched around appointments and now I have those four days I claimed I wanted. Good in many ways, since I can’t escape the house except to walk Barney.

And what I asked for. Sigh!

Then this past Friday I joked “I have my baby! I can go out and be wild and crazy! Do what I normally wouldn’t do.” I had errands all planned. Had a pedicure then drove to Walmart. I just parked when I got a call.

My husband was trimming tree branches and fell, slicing his hand open on the clippers. I drove home in record time and took him to Urgent Care, where we lucked out and was only there for 3 ½ hours. Good thing I had my Nook with me since they had sports on TV. He left there with 12 stitches in his hand.

I said I wanted to do something I normally wouldn’t do. That definitely is it.

So now I completely understand why they say ‘be careful what you wish for, you just might get it.’

And I’m going to think a lot more carefully the next time I wish for something!

Linda

Candy's Journal

2010-09-17T03:48:00.000-07:00

I had a chance to go on a massive road trip up the East Coast for 11 days the past two weeks. It was one of the most amazing experiences of my life. My friend Shannon is coming upon a milestone birthday and she wanted to spend it visiting sites she never had the opportunity to, or to go back to them. I had research and some other business I needed to do on the East Coast and Shannon had business along the way too, so it was a work/fun trip but a great one. Some of the trip is super secret so I can't say much but I thought it would be fun to show you some of the things we saw along the way.

The big boon of this trip, other than quality time with a dear friend, was the story it inspired in my head. I came home with a bucket load of stories and series ideas and I'm spending part of today writing those down more formally than the notes I have in my iPhone. :)

We made stops at Greensboro, NC, Williamsburg, VA, Charlottesville, VA, Philly, Greenwich, Conn., Mystic, Conn., Brimfield Conn., and several points along the way. While I can't put photos from all the places, here are a few. Please enjoy the view. :)

Colonial Williamsburg

The pet cemetery at Sherwood Plantation, the home of President John Tyler.

Berkley Plantation, home of Presidents William and Benjamin Harrison. Taps was also written here and Benjamin was one of the signers of the declaration of independence.

I was charmed and fascinated by Thomas Jefferson's Monticello. This is the backside of this incredible home. I want to live there I loved it so much.

I also loved Mystic Seaport. The fishing town is wonderful and you get to see how they lived back in the day, and sitting here watching the ships and boats is something I could do forever. This particular ship is the Joseph Conrad.

Food, diners and cool restaurants were a big part of this trip. I had to share my first Whoopie Pie with you. I'm desperately searching for them in Texas. I also had my first lobster roll in Mystic, which is where we found the Whoopies, and I want more.

The last three days of our trip were spent in Sturbridge and Brimfield Mass. There's a huge antique show in Brimfield Shannon wanted to go to. This is one of the things I really, really wanted but did not buy as it was $500 and in not so great shape.

A true henfest

2010-09-16T01:30:00.000-07:00

Today it's all about chickens - not just hens but roosters as well.

There's just something about chickens - as a kid, they fascinated me. We'd go to the petting zoo and I'd be watching the chickens. Now this may be because I've never had to harvest (is that what you call it?) the eggs, nor feed them or look after them. So my fascination is a pure one.

I remember this book from my childhood and I'm pretty sure this is the exact version I had. And look at her beautiful face - who could resist that?

And then there's Foghorn Leghorn, another remnant of my childhood. Hard to find a better looking rooster than Foghorn and he knows it. The hens love him, they don't care if he's as dumb as an ox. And why, do you think, do we call oxen dumb? Are they?

At my last family reunion a whole bunch of us kids (none of us kids any longer, by the way) went to the movies one afternoon and saw Chicken Run. We sat in the front row of the theatre - as we would have done as kids - and roared. Instead of the grown-ups telling the children to be quiet, the children were telling us to shut up so they could hear the movie. First time out, this is one of the funniest movies I'd ever seen. And I loved the movie references - especially Rocky throwing the ball in the coal bin. And who knew you could make a chicken romance?

And finally, there's the chicken who convinced almost everyone that the sky was falling - Chicken Little. Who couldn't love a chicken with the courage of his convictions? Yeah, he was wrong, but he believed. He truly believed.

Who's your chicken?

Kate

Writers are Voyeurs!

2010-09-15T00:01:00.000-07:00

I think writers can be the ultimate voyeurs but more than in the traditional (sexual) sense of a voyeur. We are almost the voyeurs of the human condition. How often have I found myself overhearing a snippet of a conversation in a restaurant, then having my imagination take off and fill what brought about that snippet. Sometimes I fill in what it leads to.

I can watch someone in a shopping mall and my mind will start to create a character in that image. What causes the woman to act shyly around those older than herself? What makes the young man have something to prove to his companions?

This may be a product of my desire as a writer to put meaning to someone's actions and to give them a full, rich backstory and develop them as characters. If I don't know them, I create them around the framework provided to me in terms of their physical description, their mannerisms and their words.

My husband often rolls his eyes when he figures out I'm eavesdropping. He's always amused by what I find interesting (though his geek talk I often tune out instead of in).

If stories we write contain little bits of the writer in them, I think they also contain little bits of people our lives intersect with. They may not be in the form they are in "real life" but what writer hasn't worked things they see in friends into characters in stories. If you're lucky, your friends find it amusing! Later it may only be the writer who can tell you where an aspect of a character came from and it may be just imagination or it may be rooted in a real encounter or person.

These are also what makes our characters feel real -- the touch that takes a created character from a two dimensional cardboard facsimile to what seems to be a three dimensional person a reader can believe exists or could.

Writers are as much students of humans as they are entertainers of people. What was the last thing that really struck you as real about a fictional character that just brought that character to life?

It's all about the next test

2010-09-14T05:02:00.000-07:00

I scheduled this post in advance to load today because I'm not around today. As you're reading this, I'm sitting in the conference room of a law firm in Dallas taking a test. I hope to be a Certified Abstract Examination Associate by the end of the test (well, okay, probably several weeks later when they grade my paper.) Abstracting is part of doing land title work, which is part of my day job. I'm a real estate geek. Have been for years and years. Abstracting is the process of looking through the public record to see whether a piece of land is free and clear of problems and liens before someone buys it (or someone gives a loan on it.)

But it's not just about being an abstracter, because I do that right now. It's about being a CERTIFIED abstracter. I like being a certified something. I'm a Certified Professional Legal Secretary, a Certified Legal Assistant, a Certified Real Specialist, a Certified Intellectual Property Specialist and (hopefully!) soon a Certified Abstracter.

I don't know why certifications are important to me, where formal schooling just isn't. I don't have a college degree and have no desire to have one. But I love taking those tests. Maybe it's the demonstration of knowledge, versus the process of learning that appeals to me. Dunno. I've had attorneys ask me why I've never gone to law school (because I do have the legal ability.) My answer is that I have no desire to go to school for it, but if I could sit for the bar exam without the Juris Doctor behind my name, I'd be happy to.

Weird.

Who else has an illogical leap like mine? Anyone else actually enjoy taking tests? What's the strangest test you ever had to take?

Re-Reading Books

2010-09-13T00:01:00.000-07:00

I’m a re-reader. I re-read books that I love. Some I may only skip through, reading parts that particularly fascinated me. Others, I’ll read cover to cover, over and over, year after year. For me, they’re old friends, worlds in which I lose myself, characters who’ve become ingrained on my memory.

So I thought I’d make a list of the top five books I’ve re-read as an adult. They aren’t all classics, by any stretch of the imagination, but in my life, they’re all comfort reads that welcome me in, leave me no surprises, except by how much I still enjoy reading them. I’m not sure if they’re in order, by now I’ve re-read them so many times I’ve lost count.

1. Lord of the Rings by JRR Tolkien: I haven’t read it in a few years, but the trilogy (which I count as one book) is one I’ve read year after year—every autumn, for at least twenty years. And as Frodo heads off, unaware of the magnitude of his journey, I feel a catch in my throat because I know the trials that await him. Also my third top favorite book.

2. Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier: My second favorite book. Du Maurier’s tale of the nameless wife, haunted by the memory of her husbands late wife, captured me heart and soul when I was young and still does today. The movie, as well, is one I watch over and over again. I love the brooding feel of the book, and I still think, as I read, “I’d tell Mrs. Danvers to pack her bags!” From the breakfast in the drawing room, to the crashing of the sea on the Cornwall Coast, I love every scene in it. “Last night I dreamt I went to Manderlay again…”

3. Watership Down by Richard Adams: My favorite book of all time. The story of Fiver and Hazel, and the stalwart group of rabbits captured my heart when I was fifteen and never let go. This book, truly a retelling of the Odyssey (I know, I had to contrast/compare the book in school), is a tale of vision and courage, an epic journey that crosses from the underworld to the safe haven that shelters and protects the chosen “people”…and it is one book I freely admit crying my eyes out over. Every time, at the end of the book, I’m in tears, both of sadness and joy. And again, as with Rebecca, the first line sticks with me. “The primroses were over.”

4. Valley of the Dolls by Jacqueline Susann: Okay, so it’s very different sort of classic. And I don’t really like most of the characters, although I really did like Jennifer North. So why do I go back? Compelling storytelling. The book sucked me in and for some reason, I just go back to it over and over when I need mind candy. I think the characters, while I’m not fond of most of them, are so vividly drawn that it just pulls me in every time. It’s my People magazine, or Entertainment Tonight.

5. The Shining by Stephen King: The book (and the miniseries) yanked me in and again, would not let go. The Shining stands out as King’s shining opus to me—it’s brilliant, horrifying, and rivets my attention every time I pick it up. From the moving topiary to the sinister unseen presences to the slow disintegration, King manages to nurture almost every fear I’ve ever had. And he does it so well that I still find myself afraid of going into dark bathrooms and hotel rooms. At least if the shower curtain’s closed. ~grins~

A few of the other books I’ve read and re-read more than 3-4 times (there are many):

Something Wicked This Way Comes by Ray Bradbury
The October Country by Ray Bradbury
The Illustrated Man by Ray Bradbury
Anything else by Ray Bradbury
Hyperion by Dan Simmons
A Canticle For Leibowitz by Walter Miller
The Snow Queen by Joan Vinge
The entire Darkover Series by Marion Zimmer Bradley
Bestseller by Olivia Goldsmith
Childhood’s End by Arthur C. Clarke
The Jungle by Upton Sinclair
The Good Earth by Pearl S. Buck
Middlemarch by George Elliot
Letters From Menabilly, edited by Oriel Malet (nonfiction)
Pilgrim at Tinker Creek by Annie Dillard (nonfiction)

So tell me, do you re-read? What are some of your favorite books that you turn to when you need to know how it ends before it even begins?

Yasmine

Research Is Fun!

2010-09-10T00:01:00.000-07:00

Over the years I’ve gone traditional ways to make sure what I write is correct. When I wrote a romance based in Australia I carried a mile high stack of books out of the library. Yes, children, once upon a time there was NO Internet, just libraries where you had to stay there to read reference books and check out the others. I wrote a ton of notes and didn’t use a fraction of them, but that was fine. After the book was published I was asked by more than one reader if I spent a lot of time in Australia.

I did the same with another book with an archeologist heroine I liked to describe as “if Indiana Jones had a granddaughter’. I sat at a library table covered with books on the subject and took so many books home where I’d sit on my office floor surrounded by books about ancient countries and cultures. Again, I wouldn’t use it all, but I felt as if I had the flavor of the subject all the way through my bones. I learned a lot and increased my love for ancient history.

But it’s not just books that make research fun, but meeting people along the way. While writing romantic suspense I talked to police officers, learned what it was like for a woman working for the California Highway Patrol when female officers were still new to the force. I spent time talking to FBI agents, a former CIA agent, and even a Secret Service agent. One FBI agent told me he couldn’t believe someone who looked as sweet and innocent as me could sit there and happily talk about serial killers. What can I say? There’s many a deranged bone in my body.

I also learned that talking to people as part of my research is a great way of adding more depth to my characters. I find out how they think, how they look at situations, and get some fantastic stories in the process.

The Internet has made it easier to do research. You hit your favorite search site and type in whatever you’re looking for. My personal library of reference books keeps on growing along with a long list of bookmarked sites online.

As a kid who’s always loved to read and enjoyed reading history books, I’ve incorporated that love into my books. Especially now when I can insert pieces of historical fact into each book. I dig in to find out when Catherine Medici was alive. When the first car hop was introduced to American culture. Checking dates and locations for various wars. You name it.

So what about you? As a writer, do you enjoy doing research? Is there a favorite book or site you turn to a lot? And as a reader, do you like it when a writer sprinkles fact with their fiction?

Linda

Henfest: Living Vicariously Through Others

2010-09-09T05:02:00.000-07:00

I've recently discovered the joys and frustrations of reality television. I have satellite television. No cable available, and no free networks where I live. So what I really have are a whole bunch of sports channels, a whole bunch of news channels, a whole bunch of infomercial channels, plus a few kids' channels and reality TV. It's amazing how many formerly sane channels have taken up the "reality" banner. The Weather Channel has Storm Stories (fictionalized real life tales of surviving tornadoes and hurricanes), History Channel has Pawn Stars, A&E has Gene Simmons Family Jewels, and Bravo has a whole host of American Idol clones, including Project Runway, Top Chef and others. Even BBC has Kitchen Nightmares.

The sad truth is . . . I love them all.

Okay, I admitted it! I think it's awesome to watch wannabe chefs get browbeat by Chef Gordon Ramsey, have wannabe designers slammed by the gorgeous Heidi Klum and got a kick out of watching a bunch of amateur gun lovers compete to become the very first Top Shot.

What is it about reality that grabs us so much? I think it's the fact that it's someone else's reality. I have no desire to jump into swamp water to latch hooks onto a log while kicking away the alligators like they do on Swamp Loggers. I'm happy to sit in my warm living room watching the guys from Deadliest Catch freeze their tucuses off on the Artic Ocean. (If you don't recognize that word, look it up. LOL!)

I realize I like living vicariously through others. It's fun to watch a Kiss concert (who I ADORE) backstage through the eyes of Gene Simmons' family. It's interesting to see what goes into creating a high fashion gown on both a budget and a time deadline.

Several stations will broadcast a whole season of shows on Saturday or Sunday and, yes, I really have sat there glued to the tube for hours on end to find out which model will become America's Next Top Model.

Oh, the shame...

So who else is there with me in their own living room? Since reality shows are among the top viewed shows on every station, who else will admit to their secret obsession? Share your fave with me.

In Concert

2010-09-08T06:00:00.000-07:00

Last weekend, I did something I hadn't done in a long, long time. I went to a rock concert. I went to college in San Francisco during the 80's. In addition to the Red Hot Chili Peppers playing free in the Student Union on a regular basis, I saw free performances by R.E.M. and U2 in the downtown plaza (one of the few perks of working as a receptionist at a big accounting firm) and too many other paid-for-it concerts to list here. After leaving school, life changed. I caught R.E.M.'s Automatic for the People tour when they played Arco Arena in Sacramento and after that...nada.

Sure, I saw lots of world music performances (including two phenomenal shows by The Chieftains), some symphonic and jazz concerts and caught the occasional live blues or singer/songwriter show at a bar. But nothing - NOTHING - equals the crazy coolness of a rock concert. How could I have forgotten?

6,500 packed into the Shoreline Amphitheatre. Dark skies sprinkled with stars above, and a black stage below. Then one voice - just one - singing the haunting prelude to 21st Century Breakdown. The crowd goes wild, the lights go up, and Green Day rocks the house. For three plus hours.

Best. Concert. Ever.

Not just because I haven't seen one in so long, and not just because I adore Green Day. You always go into a show wondering if the band will sound as good live as they do recorded. Green Day sounds better. They clearly love playing live, and they were on fire Saturday night. It was the last concert of an 18 month tour, and they were finally home. (They hail from Oakland.) The bulk of the playlist was from 21st Century Breakdown and American Idiot, but they pulled older numbers from their catalog, too. And then, mid-concert, they did a medley of classic rock songs that was simply incredible: Zepplin's "Rock and Roll", AC/DC's "Highway to Hell", The Who's "Baba O'Riley" and more. Didn't matter what they were playing, Green Day tore it up, and so did we.

I remembered what fun it is to dance (and discovered it's even more fun with my husband and sons.) I remembered how cool it is to have the band get quiet and hear a sea of 6,500 voices singing the chorus. I remembered how the light shows, pyrotechnics and stage antics are so much cooler in person than they ever are in broadcast or recorded concert performances.

And I remembered most of all what it's like to be young, to walk out of a concert with your throat burning hot and your ears ringing dully. To want to listen to the band's CDs over and over for the next few days so you can relive the moment in your memories. It was my sons' first show, and they're still riding the high. It's a wonderful thing to watch.

(My first show was The Go-Go's We Got The Beat tour. *grins*)

Tell me - what was your first concert? Your best? Who would you go see again? I'll definitely be seeing Green Day next time they come around! And hey - there were lots of people much older than I in the audience, so I'll fit right in! ;)

Favorite VINTAGE MAGIC MYSTERY Fashion Quotes

2010-09-06T19:00:00.000-07:00

Some of you might know that part of the format for my mystery series is to put a fashion quote at the beginning of every chapter, a thought that connects in some way to the chapter. At any rate, some of them have become favorites, because they contain amusing grains of truth. Enjoy.

"I base most of my fashion taste on what doesn't itch." -Gilda Radner

“A dress makes no sense unless it inspires men to want to take it off you.” -Francoise Sagan

"Women dress alike all over the world: they dress to be annoying to other women." Elsa Schiaparelli

"Unmentionables--those articles of ladies' apparel that are never discussed in public, except in full-page, illustrated ads." -Changing Times

"A dress that zips up the back will bring a husband and wife together." -James H. Boren

"Clothes make the man. Naked people have little or no influence on society." -Mark Twain

"I don't know who invented the high heel, but all men owe him a lot." -Marilyn Monroe

"It's not what you wear - it's how you take it off." -Author Unknown

"Fashion Law: If the shoe fits, it's ugly." -Author Unknown

"Did you hear about the Scottish drag queen? He wore pants." -Lynn Lavner

"Brevity is the soul of lingerie." -Dorothy Parker

“I find that it is vital to have at least one handbag for each of the ten types of social occasion: Very Formal, Not So Formal, Just a Teensy Bit Formal, Informal But Not That Informal, Every Day, Every Other Day, Day Travel, Night Travel, Theater, and Fling.” -Miss Piggy

"Never let your frog outdress you." -Miss Piggy

“The leading cause of death among fashion models is falling through street grates.” -Dave Barry

When Albert Einstein's wife asked him to change clothes to meet the German Ambassador: "they want to see me, here I am. If they want to see my clothes, open my closet and show them my suits."

"I love those bras that “enhance” shape, although (when all is said and done) they can be deceiving. But, by the time I have a girl's bra off, I'm so happy just to be there, I'm willing to live with the deception." —Rich Santos, Marie Claire Magazine

"The origins of clothing are not practical. They are mystical and erotic. The primitive man in the wolf-pelt was not keeping dry; he was saying: Look what I killed. Aren't I the best?" —Katharine Hamnett

"And by my grave you'd pray to have me back so I could see how well you look in black." —Marco Carson

"The erogenous zone is always shifting, and it is the business of fashion to pursue it, without ever catching it up." —James Laver

“My vision: a nymph who, in her heart of hearts, is a leopardess.” -John Galliano

“1972: The first woman falls off her cork sandals. Millions follow.” -Vogue

“Goddesses live in the heavens. They do not stand, they do not walk, they glide and sway. The goddesses are laughing and balance on heels as slender as the tip of a little finger.” -Lola Pagola

"After breathing, eating and sleeping—and excluding a couple of delicious optional extras—one of the fundamental pleasures of the human body is to clothe it." ~Linda Watson

"Beauty is in the eye of the beholder and it may be necessary from time to time to give a stupid or misinformed beholder a black eye. ~Miss Piggy

Smile,

Annette Blair

It's kinda like love...

2010-09-03T01:30:00.000-07:00

Writing is kinda like being in love, at least for me it is.

You really can't plan for it (though I admit that some people try to). Love just happens.

You really can't say, Today I'm going to fall in love (though some people do). Because the person, THE ONE, may not show up until next week, next year or into the next decade. For some of us, for a whole bunch of reasons, THE ONE never shows up.

You really can't decide who you're going to fall in love with (though some people do). Because what if that person is married? Or a movie or a rock star? What if that person isn't at all interested in you?

When you think about love, about being in love, when you think about that one special someone in your life, you don't really analyze it. You could make a list of the things you love about that person:

* their sense of humor (always at the top of my list)
* their sense of style
* the way they think about the world
* the way they look at you
* the way they'll hug you when you most need it
* the way they've introduced you to music you'd never otherwise listen to

The list could be endless, but no matter how hard you try, you're never going to get it all down on the page. Because love isn't one thing - or a hundred things. It just is.

Individual.
Unquantifiable.
Indescribable.
Intense.
Emotional.

And writing for me is just like that.

I could say I'm a writer, that I love writing because:

* there's just something about words and sentences and commas and paragraphs
* I'm addicted to books
* I read Black Beauty as a child and I fell in love
* I want to get at some feeling, some image, some idea
* I have a character stuck in my head who has to come out before he or she drives me crazy

There are a thousand more reasons I could write about why I love writing but no matter if I did write down all one thousand of them I still couldn't get you to feel that feeling, to be there with me.

Because writing, like love, is:

Individual.
Unquantifiable.
Indescribable.
Intense.
Emotional.

Kate

A View of Summer

2010-09-02T15:08:00.000-07:00

It's only the very beginning of January but fall is already creeping up on what little summer we've had here in Seattle. Though we've had some warm days (a few even "hot" by our standards), it feels like we've had a shorter summer than usual. The last week was a mix of moderately warm days with chilly ones (I had to dig out a coat) and two days of deluge.

I was debating the merits of a kayak during one - not real flooding but enough rain that it was strong and steady all day long.

As many of you know, one of my hobbies is photography and I've been really enjoying taking pictures of flowers and some insects (no spiders, I promise) this summer. I wanted to share a few of these visual memories of summer with you as fall's chill is starting to creep in.

Goodbye, Summer. I hope I find a whole host of fun subjects for Fall. I always miss the flowers and the busy bees, though.

Henfest: Obsession Songs

2010-08-31T00:01:00.001-07:00

I have OCD, and one of the aspects is that I get obsessed with songs at times. Especially when one just hits right. I end up listening to it over and over for--sometimes--several days straight. And if it fits the mood of a scene? I'll replay it till I'm done writing. I know this would drive some people crazy, but for me, it's like an exploration of the music, there's something there I'm listening for--and tracking down, and it's usually a part of myself that the music appeals to.

So, my latest obsession song was apparently a big hit a couple years ago but I never heard it then (it was on a commercial and I guess I just didn't tune in at the right time). But I heard it on a documentary the other night and just fell into the music, and the song swept me away. Music affects my body--I feel it in my core, I get high on it (on the music itself), it affects my moods and I feel like I'm riding it like I'd surf on a wave. And combine enough caffeine with high impact music and I'm riding happy on Cloud 9.

My latest obsession song is Around the Bend, by Asteroid Galaxy Tour.

So, does music become a sensual, whole-body, soul-bending experience for you, too? Do you get obsessed with songs? If so, tell me what was the last one that caught you up, swept you around, made you dance through the night.

Yasmine (still dancing around the galaxy)

Why I Write

2010-08-30T06:20:00.000-07:00

I don't write to become rich and famous. (Though if that happens to fall on my doorstep, I most likely won't complain.)

I write because I love a good story - and the challenge of telling one.

I write because nothing else makes me happier than the dance of words in my head, the tap of my fingers on the keys and the spill of black letters across a white screen.

I come to to my desk - or my journal - almost every day because, like Lord Byron, "If I don't write to empty my mind, I go mad." Or at least get unbearably cranky and impossible to live with.

I write because it allows me to touch feelings, thoughts, memories and wishes buried deep inside myself, lets me bring them to the surface and share them with others. Or not.

To paraphrase Whitman, I write to fill my paper with the breathings of my heart.

I write because as much as I wish differently, I simply can't draw or paint. But I can create pictures with my words.

I write for love of the perfect metaphor, for the way a character's experience can reveal something I didn't know about myself and for, as Truman Capote said, "the inner music the words make."

I write because it transports me, teaches me and thrills me like nothing else ever has. Writing makes me feel alive, wakes up some secret flame at my center that, when I cease writing, gutters its way to oblivion.

I write because it's my bliss, and I'm following it.

Guest Blogger: Laura Bickle

2010-08-26T00:01:00.000-07:00

Please welcome Laura Bickle talking about her hot series!

The Care and Feeding of your Magickal Familiar
by Laura Bickle

The idea of the magickal familiar isn't new. The idea of a magick worker having a helpmate has appeared frequently in fantasy and urban fantasy. Oftentimes, these familiars take the shape of creatures that occupy our own homes. I'm owned by four semi-reformed feral cats in my non-writing life, and I can fully appreciate how intertwined these delightful creatures become with our own lives.

When I set out to begin writing the Anya Kalinczyk series, I wanted my heroine to have a familiar, some bit of unconditional love in her chaotic world. By day, Anya investigates suspicious fires as an arson investigator in Detroit. By night, she works as part of an eccentric group of ghost hunters. Anya's the rarest type of spiritual medium - a Lantern. Where other mediums allow spirits to use their hands and voices to communicate, Anya incinerates malicious ghosts.

I'd established a theme centering around flame....and decided to give Anya a fire salamander as a companion. Salamanders haven't gotten much press since Paracelsus' time. They are the elemental avatars of fire. Our ancestors assumed that they were the spirit of fire, as they were often seen crawling out of logs tossed into hearth blazes. The salamander was probably annoyed to have his peaceful woodland home turned to tinder, and was making a fleet-footed escape. But alchemists and sorcerers made the link between salamanders and flames, and the association has endured.

There's not much to find about salamanders in the literature, beyond their origins. They're rumored to be capricious, destructive, and unpredictable as fire itself. That made a salamander a perfect sidekick for Anya. And Sparky hopped out onto the page, wiggling his tail and looking for trouble.

Sparky was handed down to Anya by her mother. When he's taking a nap or disinterested in Anya's work, he's housed in a salamander-shaped torque she wears around her neck. When he's feeling peevish, or in the presence of danger or ghosts, he's unleashed from the necklace. Most often, he takes the form of a five-foot speckled hellbender. Only Anya and ghosts can see him, but he makes his influence felt in the physical world: he can disrupt electrical fields. He's prone to chewing on cell phones, shorting out fire alarm systems, blowing up microwaves, and wreaking havoc on nearly anything he can get his paws on. He's not a bad salamander...he just manages to find trouble, wherever he goes. In SPARKS, he manages to get the fire department called on him at a baby superstore and sets off the sprinkler system at the crime lab while playing with a Bunsen burner.

And no, he doesn't have a leash.

Sparky is fiercely protective of Anya. He's not fond of the idea of suitors entering Anya's bedroom. He spends his nights curled up at the foot of Anya's bed, cuddling his Glow-Worm toy. Like a possessive pet, he doesn't want to share.

Anya, as you can see, has her hands full with Sparky. After introducing him in EMBERS, I decided to give Anya a few more headaches in SPARKS. While Anya's tied up with a spontaneous human combustion case and exploring her feelings for a fellow ghost hunter, Sparky decides to bring a bit more chaos into Anya's life...by laying eggs in Anya's bathtub. Fifty-one of them.

If Anya thought she had problems keeping just one salamander under control, she's going to be up the creek with fifty-one.

EMBERS, the first book in the Anya Kalinczyk series, is available from
Amazon and Barnes and Noble. SPARKS, the second book, is available for pre-order, and will be released August 31. More information on the series is available at Laura's website: www.salamanderstales.com. She also writes urban fantasy as Alayna Williams. More information about her work as Alayna Williams is here: www.alaynawilliams.com.

Passion and Chemistry

2010-08-25T05:00:00.000-07:00

In CRUEL ENCHANTMENT, the hero, Aeric, has an intense passion for the heroine, Emmaline. At first his passion is distinctively negative and with good reason. Over three hundred years ago, back when the fae were free in the world, Emmaline killed the woman he wanted to marry. When Emmaline re-enters Aeric's life, he captures her, convinced he wants to take revenge on her for this act.

Yet something stops him. Emmaline isn't the cold-hearted woman he presumed she would be and even though she admits to the killing, he senses there's more to the story than she's telling him. He begins to suspect he's never known the full truth about his fiancée's death. To top it off, he's attracted to Emmaline. There's something about her that fascinates and draws him to her. He hates it, but he's powerless against it. Aeric's already passionate nature is soon inflamed by Emmaline's presence and his negative feelings toward her become fiery and nearly uncontrollable.

Emmaline also has trouble resisting Aeric. She's been living among humans for over three hundred years, yet she could never forget him. Try as she might to hold herself away from Aeric, she just can't do it. The result is a hot mess of desire and emotion as they do a push-and-pull tango toward love.

I love it when my characters have this dramatic energy in their relationships. It doesn't always work this way with the characters I create. Oddly, bringing fictional characters together is a lot like observing a true life couple. Sometimes they have chemistry, sometimes not. Aeric and Emmaline have chemistry in spades, explosive chemistry. I really enjoyed spinning their tale and it was an easier book than most to write.

Anyway, all this got me thinking about passion, not necessarily the romantic kind. I have passion for lots of things in my life--my family, my writing, food, dreaming, my cats. That's just to name a few things.

What do you have passion for?

From Space Cowboy to James Patterson's Poker Buddy

2010-08-24T07:32:00.000-07:00

The genius of Joss Whedon never fails to amaze me, even if I tend to get behind the times on occasion, like this one.

Imagine my surprise when I discovered that besides my highly anticipated date with Richard Castle every week, I could find an entirely different world, a world full of Serenity, in which I could meet Captain Malcolm Reynolds.

Nathan Fillion is, relatively speaking, a new actor on the circuit, as far as I'm concerned. Okay, so I'm behind the times. There isn't much time available when you spend it all writing. I fell in love with Castle the first day it aired and I watch it in reruns during the new season. I love it. I love Nathan Fillion. He has such a streak of imp in him, and I might have gone on thinking of him as a nice guy who's a great writer if my son hadn't brought me up a stack of DVDs and said, "Mom, you have to watch these." Which we did every evening for about five days, ending with Serenity, the movie. Ahhh. "Let's watch them again!"

Yes, my son introduced me to Firefly and as soon as we started watching, I was hooked, and not just because of the hunky captain, because Firefly is awesome storytelling, as is Castle, and they're played by the same man, though they take place, literally, worlds and galaxies and moons apart. Their characters are as different as well, one a take-no-prisoners, hard edged space cowboy, the other a rich, pampered writer, a New York Times bestseller who always gets what he wants, whether he has to buy it or charm his way into it.

These two stories, especially their hunky main characters, are a study in characterization, the best kind. The kind that is so good, you forget who the actor is, the kind where you can take the same man and turn him into two distinct, and believable characters, and make your viewers or readers, fall in love with both of them for entirely different reasons.

What do you love best about each of Nathan Fillion's characters in these programs? What secondary characters stand out in one or both? And like me, do you flippin' wish that Firefly would return to TV and continue where it left off?

Happy Reading and TV Viewing.

Annette

Staring at the Walls

2010-08-23T11:35:00.000-07:00

I spent a lot of time this weekend doing what my hubby calls “staring at the walls.” As a writer, I’m a plotter. I don’t type a single word until I’ve created a scene in my head. That includes the sights, sounds, smells and tastes of the environment—as experienced by the character. In order to do that, I’ve got to spend time creating that scene in my head. I’ve never seen myself from the outside, but according to my husband, my eyes sort of glaze over and I tend to forget to blink for long periods (no kidding! He’s had to remind me more than once to actually blink so my eyes don’t dry out too much. LOL!)

I was starting on a new book this weekend, the fourth book in the Blood Singer reality. I’d just finished doing copy edits for DEMON SONG (book 3) so I was well poised to start book 4 (tentatively titled MORTEM SONG). But where to start?

The scene I’d planned to start the book opened in an elementary school and I plotted an action-packed scene. My character has to evacuate the school before a magical bomb goes off. But when it went onto paper it became page after page of text that rolled by with backstory and pleasant things that went along with the scene in my head. They were well-written pages and . . . boring! Even to ME, who’d imagined the scene. Sheesh. So, I chopped them off and tossed them into the electronic dumpster and started again.

That happened twice more before I realized what the problem was. I was starting the story too early. Sure, readers want to know she arrived at the school and want to know that the kids are happily playing on the swings (to make it important to keep them from being harmed.) But they also want ACTION. When the principal refuses to act just on her word (because her source is anonymous), that sets the whole stage for the event.

So, poof! I discard once more and realize I should start at the END of the argument between Celia and the principal, after both are frustrated and angry. The tension is immediate and both feel they’re doing the right thing. Celia wants the kids safe. The principal wants the kids safe, but Celia doesn’t mind that a hundred families would be inconvenienced if she’s wrong. The principal isn’t willing to take that chance and suffer the fallout of terrified parents and panicked kids.

Ah... that’s the ticket. All of a sudden, the whole scene fell into place and the long hours of staring at the blank wall until I needed eye drops to blink, my fingers poised on keys until they were stiff were worth the price. I didn’t get many words on paper this weekend, but the scene is hovering in the back of my mind, just waiting to leap onto the page the next time I sit down.

How about the rest of you writers? Any people who stare at the wall like me? I’d love to know how you create!

Cathy

Summer's End

2010-08-20T03:21:00.000-07:00

My kids are back to school. The last few mornings, bright yellow leaves were scattered under my sycamore trees. My autumn sages are bursting into bloom and it's been cool enough for slippers and cardigans when I climb out of bed. An owl has been hooting nightly in the live oak out back, and there are painted lady chrysalis on the horsetail in our pond. If the calendar didn't say AUGUST, I'd swear it was early fall.

Since I love autumn, I'm enjoying the preview. I'm looking forward to pumpkin bread and apple pie, cinnamon spice scented candles, steaming cups of tea and bubbling pots of soup.

But we're not quite there yet. There are still heirloom tomatoes and bushels of basil to eat, and my mother-in-law's pool is still warm. The organic farm at the edge of town is offering up the most amazing melons, and the squash in the garden is going nuts. I want to savor the tastes and experiences of summer, enjoying it while it lasts - even as the siren songs of autumn beckon.

I'm calling this transition time, when I'm balancing between the the best of both worlds. I'm taking full advantage of the last few weeks of our local farmers market, and we're barbecuing like crazy. We've instituted the school time schedule though, so it means cooking earlier. I'm writing while my kids are at school and running errands on the weekends only; but those errands are often followed by ice cream stops or an hour of play at the park or a swim in the pool. Yep. Best of both worlds, and I'm loving it.

I posted my version of a honey-do list early in the season, and I'm happy to report I ticked nearly everything off. I didn't have a water gun war, but I did engage in a Nerf gun battle, so it's a fair trade. I never got to walk by the river in the early morning, but there's still time for that. What I did do was spend lots of quality time with my kids, my husband, my extended family and friends. What I didn't do much was write. But I'm back to it now, and that's one of the things I love best about fall. It tends to be a very creative, productive time for me. Summer, for all its happy chaos, is quite the opposite.

How was your summer? Did you savor every bite? Are you ready to let go and sink into fall or, like me, are you enjoying the balance point and embracing the transition?

Lisa

What's in a name?

2010-08-19T01:30:00.000-07:00

So much of what we do as writers depends on what type of a person we are. I can tell you that I write in exactly the same way I live my life - stepping out into the fog without having a single clue about where I'm going to end up. And that's true for not just ten years down the road, but for a big piece of tomorrow as well.

Yes, I have a calendar for the things I have to do - deadlines and appointments - though I have to admit that I often forget to check it and rely on the calendar that's in my mind. No, I don't - though I've tried to - write a certain number of pages a day or get to a certain part of the book (mostly in the second case because I have no idea about the coming parts).

I'm a fogwalker in my writing life, my work life, my personal life. I've realized that's just the way it is and I've learned to live - and happily - with the complications fogwalking brings with it.

I think naming your characters (and maybe your book, though this depends, often, more on your editor and your publisher's art department than it does on you no matter how much you love your title) may be one of those things that depends on what type of person you are.

First and foremost, remember that I'm a fogwalker.

I have only once - during the writing of hundreds of stories and poems and twenty or so novels - looked up a name for a character. Yes, in my efforts over the years to be something other than a fogwalker I have bought baby name books - three of them, in fact. I've used them once in twenty or so years. I never did sell that story.

I'm much more likely to find a name in a newspaper or a magazine or - my favorite place - during the end credits of movies. Those people have the best names. I have a personal book of names and I've only ever used a few of those names and those only for minor characters.

Where do the names of my characters come from? You're asking the wrong person - they arrive, full-blown and with characters attached, out of the fog. I usually have the name of the main character before I finish page 1 and it almost never changes. If it does change, it won't be me changing it.

But other writers want names with particular meanings or particular resonances. Maybe they want names that echo Norse mythology or names that are sweet or bitter to match - or adamantly counterpoint - their characters. They might want names with a particular ethnic heritage. They might want flower names or stone names or heroic or villainous names.

And they go right out and find them. They research the meanings of names or the history of names. They make up names for the worlds they're creating.

When you're reading - or writing - your next book think about the names in it and then think about how the writer came up with them. How you would come up with them. Are they right for the character? How much do they influence your take on the character?

What is in a name?

Kate

Candy's Journal

2010-08-18T04:30:00.000-07:00

The other day on Twitter I saw a desperate plea from another writer. She wanted some advice on how to come up with a title for her book. She was having a heck of a time thinking of something fun and creative.

I wanted to tell her that I'm the last person to ask. Actually, I'm not so bad with helping other people come up with titles, but I don't have much luck when it comes to me.

All of my titles so far have come from my editors. My first book, "Charmed & Dangerous" was named by my first Editor at Berkley, Gail Fortune. (I still miss her!) After my agent did the deal, Gail called me to talk about the book. She said there would be no revisions that she loved the book as it was, except for one thing. She didn't like my original title.

When it came time to title the second book in that series, Gail had left to raise her babies and my new editor Anne Sowards took over. She asked me to come up with some ideas that went along with Charmed &, and then she came up with Charmed & Ready which was better than anything I had to offer. I think with Charmed & Deadly she told before I ever wrote the book what it would be. Those titles were perfect.

With Kira's spin off series she said she wanted to keep the word Charm in there. I came up with several options, but ultimately she and marketing created Like A Charm and I found a way to make it fit the book.

Side note about covers: Since we had a cat on the first three books, my editor thought it would be cool if Like A Charm also had a pet. They asked me if I could write a dog into my story so they could put it on the cover. Well, I did it and I did it my way. There were two ghost dogs in the story. Ultimately, that cover had no dogs. But I still loved my ghost dogs. :)

With the Demon King and I, I didn't even try to come up with a title. I sent Anne the first 100 pages or so as I was working on it, so they could start working on covers and titles. (My books with Berkley were always fast tracked. It was usually less than nine months from the time I turned it in,until it came out.) I received an e-mail from Anne one day saying that she had come up with The Demon King and I. She wanted to play off old musicals, and I thought that was a brilliant idea. The second book Dragons Prefer Blondes is still one of my all-time favorite titles.

When I made the move to Harlequin I told my editor that I wasn't so great at coming with titles. She told me to try any way. I sent some suggestions and she told me that after talking with Brenda Chin, that they had decided on Take Me If You Dare. Which, honestly is a great title – way better than anything I could have devised. With the upcoming books, I think she figured out that maybe I'm not so great with the titles, and she just told me the second one would be She Who Dares, Wins. It fits that book perfectly.

I just want you to know I sympathize if you're having trouble with a title. The truth is even if you come up with a great one, the publisher is going to change it. That's the way it is. I figure they know what they're doing so I don't mind so much.

Now, if you want to help a girl out I'm working on a new project about a psychiatrist for the supernatural. Please feel free to share any ideas you might have.

AND if you have a way of devising titles, please share it with us.

The Fourth Wall

2010-08-17T00:01:00.000-07:00

Today is my day to talk about writing and, partly because it's been too hot for me to get many words in, I'd like to talk a bit about one of my pet peeves in writing and something I try really really hard to NOT do myself.

This is a concept borrowed from theater and it's called "the fourth wall." This is the based in the idea that the performers in a play should never seem to know the audience is present and, thus, never address them. Addressing the audience directly (unless your story is a narration or such, I'm only talking about plays here) is called "breaking the fourth wall." The audience is the observer but the players are ignorant of the presence of any audience.

What happens when your character is merrily thinking and talking to other characters and then suddenly makes an aside to the reader? It jars the reader, badly. It pulls them out of the suspension of disbelief they need to be immersed in your story. It's really NOT a good thing.

Usually this happens because the author feels the audience needs to know something but, honestly, it's a lazy way to convey it. There are plenty of other ways and authors should always strive to find them instead. You can even use the need for that knowledge to introduce new bit players or a new sub-plot, or a new wrinkle to the plot you have.

In a way, this is a cousin to one of my other pet peeves - head hopping. Yes, I know, some authors do it pretty well. But I hate it, even from them. Maybe it's because I have an editor pacing around in the back of my brain constantly asking "should he know that?" or "no one thinks that about themselves."

Either way, the character steps out of what I expect of a "real" person/character and don't behave correctly. They do something that doesn't make sense and I can no longer buy into them as "real" people to me.

So, on my rereads of my work to tighten it up, I try to question everything with a distanced eye of "does this seem plausible?" before I send it to my editor. Maybe I have broken the fourth wall - how can I fix it? Does my character have insight no real person would have about themselves? Does he somehow know the history or thoughts of another character with no reason why he would?

Whenever I find my errors (and plenty of authors make them in drafting stories), I try to turn them into an opportunity to deepen my story or my character. Or maybe I even discard them entirely because what I think the reader needs to know isn't really important. I'd encourage every author, published or pre-published, to consider scanning their work in process for instances of breaking the fourth wall or head hopping and remove them.