The Witch of Moon Hollow

Tomorrow (actually at midnight tonight) Halloween begins. It’s the time of year when the veil between this world and the “other side” is the thinnest and therefore spirits and ghosts are able to communicate more effectively.  Personally, I don’t have any trouble talking to spirits regardless of what date is on the calendar, but I love Halloween just the same.  Why? The answer may surprise you: I really don’t know.

We  didn’t celebrate Halloween that much when I was a kid due to location.  We lived in the sticks (at that time) where houses weren’t close together. Children never came to our door trick or treating. Mama drove my brother and me into town if we wanted to go on the yearly candy fest. Then things got weird and razor blades in candy and apples started showing up. Mama put the hex on everything. But we always craved a pumpkin and put its candle-lit face on the front porch.  I still do.

 In High School drama class I played a lying possessed little brat in the play, The Crucial.  I lived in Salem, Mass. for over five years, and walked in witchy energy every day, but it wasn’t until I moved back home to Arkansas that my interest in the paranormal started to grow.

 I became a Tarot Card reader, a Ouija Board nut and loved things that went bump in the night. Then I matured. The Ouija Board is hidden deep in my closet never to be fooled with again, and I just as soon not meet anything that rattles around in the dark.  

 I still read the cards, however and love the ambience of the paranormal. I know I was a witch in a previous life and was murdered because of that. I believe in reincarnation, ghostly encounters, Big Foot, aliens, black cats, astral travel, Voo Doo, ESP, visions, basically all things paranormal. The “Truth is out There,” somewhere and someday I will learn all of it.

Another reason why I love Halloween is the weather.  The air is crisp, the stars shine brighter, and the night is black as sin. Trees wear coats of yellow, red, and orange. Leaves jump from their branches and scurry across the yard. My blood sizzles. I feel alive.  Everything feels Twilight Zone-ish.  I like that.

About two years ago around Halloween, I had a wonderful dream about a witch. She stood in a clearing, wild wind whipped the trees, lightning bolts scarred the sky.  She raised her arms to the night and conjured.  Wow! I loved that dream. Actually, I don’t think it was a dream. It was me in a different time.  That vision haunted me for months until I finally took the hint and wrote a short story about it.   

The Witch of Moon Hollow has won first place awards and hopefully will continue to do.  Here is just a taste:

A hooded figure stood tall in the middle of the clearing, arms raised high to the star-infested sky. I stood frozen to the spot.

Wind, crisp as a bite from a red, juicy apple, nipped my face and bent tree tops to the ground only to snap them back into place. Thunder cracked. The moon bobbed between the clouds like a silver cork in an inky ocean. Yellow lightning zigzagged to the ground and caught the figure’s face in its flash.

Morrigan!

Coal-black hair, loose and long, whipped about her face. Hairs on my arm stood straight up. Lightning tore the sky again. Her voice, clear and strong, cut through the night and rang like a crystal bell through the frosty air:

“I, Morrigan, Warrior Goddess, do hereby command and summon thee:

        From the Sun, I take strength and stamina.

        From the Moon, I take beauty and grace.

        From the Wind, I take power and speed.”

She clapped her hands together three times. For a heart beat everything stood still.

Something came up behind me. Goose bumps crawled up my back like thousands of red ants. No way was I going to turn and look.  

Happy Halloween to all that dare to dream and believe.

The Legend of Danny O'Shea



Dyamite





Here is my flash fiction for this Friday.

The Legend of Danny O'Shea

Danny O’Shea loved his emerald-eyed Kathleen and promised her a land of milk and honey in the land of the Americas.

“The mountain seams are full of gold, Katie, my love,” he’d laugh low and musical. “One blast can change a poor potato farmer into a king.”

“Tis a grand dream.”  Kathleen smiled. “And what is life without them? Go to America and claim ye fortune.”

“I’ll send for you my love.”

Danny O’Shea was never heard from again.

Some say his ghost haunts the hills still searching for the mother lode and golden dreams, that the sound of dynamite and laughter is carried on the wind.  

 But tis’ only legend.

Or is it?

Halloween by Pan Cat

All year I gaze out into the starlit night, waiting . . . waiting.  

Crisp air makes my blood boil and skin itch.  My tail and whiskers twich.  Restless, I pace from room to room on silent paws only to return to the window.  “Is it time?” my emerald eyes ask.

She understands.  
She sits beside me, her gentle hand stokes my slick coat.  “Soon, Pan. Soon,” she promises.

The pumpkin is carved. The candles are lit.  She strides toward me on pointy-toed boots, onyx skirts whisper with each step, black hat on her head, broom in hand.

The clock chimes midnight—the witching hour.  The waiting is over.  Time to fly.

She calls me to her side.  Beside her I ride.



Pan Weeks

 Halloween has begun.  








All Hallow' s Eve by Ruth Weeks



REDNECK EX by CLAIRE CROXTON

Do you like romance?
Do you like snark?
Are you looking for the next Jodi Thomas? Nora Roberts?
Then Redneck Ex is perfect for you.
Claire Croxton's new novel has it all: laughter, tears, snark, hot men, and wild sex.
Croxton's writing voice is a breath of fresh air that will leave you wanting more!

With one twang of a banjo string, Summer Leigh Johnson's tidy, organized life in Barrow, Alaska is jolted back to the Ozarks when her coon-hunting, tobacco-chewing, bull-riding, redneck ex-husband asks for her help. She has two options: turn her back on him like he did to her eleven years ago, or help. Burdened with the curse of every southern woman--What Would Mama Do?--she goes to his aid. And what does she find? The man she fell in love with all those years ago and a second chance at love and family. The last time she gave her heart to Dwight, he flicked it aside like an empty can of Skoal. This time he's cradling it as gently as he would a speckled pup. It will take a lot more than Dwight's southern charm and good looks to convince Summer to stay.

Coming January 20,2012 from The Wild Rose Press: Redneck Ex by Claire Croxton
for book trailer go to:www.youtube.com/watch?v=ImFfBlroGbE

Tripping the Circuit Breaker

Here is the picture and my story for this Friday's flash fiction.  It is the first thing that entered my mind when I saw the picture. I confess however, I had several Captain Morgan's!

It was one of those days—the cat yakked in my shoe, coffee overflowed the pot, work fornicated and multiplied before my eyes, the phone wouldn’t shut up! My brain smoked, dangerously close to overload.

That’s when the circuit breaker tripped—I lost my marbles.

“Lost-marble-syndrome” happens to me so regularly that I never panic. The little guys always roll home after a few moments of running amok. The pretty glass orbs show up in various places: my purse, coffee cup, even on the desk top right in front of me.

Contrary to popular belief, losing one’s marbles isn’t a bad thing. Just like circuit breakers in the home they trip-out for your protection.

Roll on, little marble.  Roll on!

Do Not Weep for Me

 
My writing friend, Madison Woods has started the "Friday Fictioneers".  Each Friday she posts a picture on her blog and we write a flash fiction story (around 100 words) about it.  http://madisonwoods.wordpress.com/
Here is her picture for this Friday. And my story.

                                                   DO NOT WEEP FOR ME
I didn’t always look like this—sagging, aged, yellowed, and sad.

In my youth, I was wanted, needed in fact. The first purples and pinks in the swirling autumn skies signaled the arrival of dawn, of a new day fresh with knowledge. 

Laughing children would run to my door. Excited to learn, they’d push their way into my one room; sit at wooden desks, surrounded in scent of quill, parchment, and caulk.The black board against my side offered up sums and letters. Primers in worn jackets whisked their young minds into a world of poetry and prose.

My time is over now. Obsolete. But do not weep for me.

My purpose is eternal.   

Coming February 2012:The Rook and The Raven by R.H. Burkett

The Rook and The Raven, my paranormal romance, will be released by The Wild Rose Press on February 8,2012 in e-book form.

 

Ancient law forbids the Rook from interfering with human destiny, but Roark defies all to rescue Raven from certain death. Now her soul is forever tied to his. In his heart, he knows she will never understand the bond they share or the constant longing to be together, yet he is helpless to sever the bond.

Raven discovers unbridled passion in the strength of Roark's embrace, even as she struggles to accept that she'll never live in his world or he in hers. Only when she uncovers Roark's God-given purpose as a Sentinel does she realize the torment she causes him with her possessiveness.

Love is a power unto itself, but is the love Roark has for Raven strong enough to transcend dimensions? Or will their love be forever lost between the shadows of time and space?

The Good Guys



This weekend I did a lot of thinking about the “good guys.”

The good guys are easy to spot in the movies and TV. They’re the ones that wear white hats and save the day at the last possible moment. Men like NCIS Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs, Superman, and The Lone Ranger.

In the real world, however, the good guys aren’t so easy to spot. They don’t wear white Stetson’s, don’t have a cape and fly or strap six guns on their hips. So how do you recognize them? Easy.

                          
                            The good guys are men who:

   *Jump out of bed at 1:00 in the morning without complaining to change a flat tire. 

   *Kill spiders in the shower no matter how small or how big.

   *Take their wives shopping all day then carry the grocery bags in the house.

   *Respect women.

   *Cherish their wives, kids, and relatives.  

   *Hold hands with their sufficient others.

   *Mow the grass.

   *Hold doors open.

   *Take the car for an oil change.

   *Place family above work.

Good guys come in a variety of shapes and sizes and have ordinary names such as: Jim, Greg, Dan, Ned, Kevin, Brian, and Neal.

And while it may be true that “good guys” finish last, they are number one in the hearts of the women they protect, support, and cherish.

Confessions of a secret shoe-box hoarder

   I have heard said that confession is good for the soul. If that be the case, my soul is about to whitewashed clean.   

I’m on vacation this week. One of the things I decided to do while away from the 8-5 lunacy I call a job, is clean-out my closet.  That in itself is insanity.  I work all year for seven days off and I want to spend my precious free time cleaning closets? I’ve gone over the edge, people!

What I discovered this morning while knee-deep in clothes and shoes is that I’m only a few steps away from being a slob. I hate to admit this. It conjures such unsavory pictures: newspapers stacked to the ceiling, dishes in the sink, cups and plates hiding in the bathroom, laundry crawling out of the hamper trying to make its own way to the washing machine.  I’m not really that bad even though my ex-husband would disagree.  Maybe that’s why he’s my ex.

The problem is, I just can’t bring myself to throw things away. Take shoe-boxes for example.

On the floor in my closet I had ten empty shoe boxes.  Ten!  The shoes that came in them are gone, but I saved the boxes. My thinking is that I might need them to wrap Christmas presents in, or store stuff in.  However some of those boxes had been there since I moved, five years ago. And can you believe it? I packed those bastards and moved them to my new place! Lord, God what is wrong with me?

Then there are gift bags. I love gift bags. Their colors are so pretty. The pictures that grace their papered frames of horses, kittens, witches, and wizards are works of art. How can I throw art away? Besides you never know when you might need a gift bag. They aren’t cheap, ya’ know. The bags are like the shoe boxes. I might them to wrap things in.

And the clothes! 

I had a shirt that I bought in Jamaica over six years ago. It didn’t fit when I bought it. But it so pretty—dark blue with the moon, sun, and stars. Every witch needs a blouse like that, right? And some day I might be a size 6 again. So it hung in my closet next to the tan cowboy shirt with the fringe that is also too small.  I did bite the bullet and throw the Jamaican voo-doo shirt away, but I kept the cowboy one.  Because one can never have too many cowboy shirts and one day I might lose 60 pounds.  Right? Hey, it could happen. And when it does, I will have a shirt that Buffalo Bill Cody would kill for.

I ended up with seven garbage bags full of clothes to give to the Salvation Army. The shoe boxes and old gift bags ended up in the dumpster.  I can see the floor of my closet now. So what did I do to celebrate this cleansing?

I went shopping and bought more stuff!

Tomorrow I plan on cleaning out kitchen and desk drawers. Oh boy! I haven’t looked in them in five years. No telling what treasures I will find that need to be tucked away in some shoe box.

Damn!

I knew I shouldn’t have thrown those boxes away.

REDNECK GODDESS now available on Amazon.com

“I slam the boot sideway, the pointy toe catching the gator behind one iridescent gold eye. The beast isn’t deterred, nor does he seem amused. He turns that flat head toward me. I have a fraction of a second, a lifetime, to think the hitting an alligator in the head with an ostrich skin cowboy boot will be my last stupid act on this earth.”

This excerpt is from Redneck Goddess written by a wonderful new author and friend, Pam Foster.

Redneck Goddess is about a Southern girl, (named after a candy bar) that has the nerve to fall in love with a hot Latino man from The Republic of Panama and bring him home to Noisy Creek, Georgia to met her family of backwood rednecks.  From gators, bears, and The Redneck Goddess beauty pageant, this book will keep you laughing from beginning to end.

Redness Goddess is available on Amazon.com..

Buy it.  Read it. Laugh!

We're caught in a trap!

It has been quite awhile since my last rant but the time has come to ask:  WHAT THE CAT FUR?

It all started five years ago.

When I moved to a rural area, I wasn’t able to get cable TV even though I was told I could. This lie started a round of arguments with COX cable. To make a long story short, and to put it mildly . . . they were rude.  I swore I would never-ever go back to them even if they came to my front door and begged me—which was exactly what happen. However while installing the cable, the contractors cut my phone line.  Not once, but twice. It doesn’t take much imagination to guess where I told them they could stick their precious cable.  

I ordered DISH instead.  My bill started out at $45.  I really thought was too much to pay for the horse-racing channel, food channels (I don’t cook), home shopping channels (my money goes to pay the TV bill, I have none left over to buy needless crap), but that is what came with the package that had the channels I wanted.

OK.  I have a problem with these “packages.”  I think some half-ass executive sits up all night and thinks of ways to give a subscriber the channels they want BUT only with a bunch of crap they will never watch in a million years.  However if we want to see the programs we like, we must agree to this insanity.  Oh . . . the local channels are an additional cost.  Why?

Ok.  I suppress my urge to kill the installer and agree to this package just so I can watch eight hours of NCIS on Saturdays.   Good thing I like Mark Harmon and I guess I can swing $45. a month.  

BUT WAIT!

Because I occasionally like to watch TV in bed, I must pay an extra $7. for the privilege.

AND

Just in case something happens and I have to call a repair tech out, which costs over $100. just add $6. more for protection.

My $45. package has morphed into $58. plus tax resulting in a bill of $61.

Enough is enough.

I go on line and notice DISH has a package with all the channels I want for $29.95.  Even when I add in the cost of the local channels this comes up to half of what I’m currently paying.  Perfect. 

I call DISH.

I get Anna in East Jesus on the phone who speaks some kind of language other than English.  I think this is a plot as well.  Get someone to help the customer that frustrates them so bad and they will hang up.  Problem solved.

I tell Anna I want to downgrade to the $29.95 package advertised online.  “That is only available to new customers” is her reply.

“What are you doing for the old customers,” is mine.

No comment.  (no matter the language, zero is zero)

Anna and I try to communicate for a few more minutes until finally she finds a package for the “veteran customer” that works.  I repeat the package back to her and what channels they include as well as the new price.  Correct.  Everything is cool.  With a touch of a button, the new package goes straight to my receiver.  HOWEVER, even though the changes are made right away, I still have to pay the old amount because it takes a month for billing to catch up. 

Really? 

I come home.  Switch on the TV.  I only get local channels.

I call DISH.

This time I get Tony in Mexico City. 

Tony and I click. He understands my frustration when he tells me I have only the basic package that includes nothing.  (another plot)  

To make a long story short, Tony puts me back to the where I started from.

What the cat fur is wrong with this?????????????

Why do we put up with this insanity????????????

How do “they” get away with so much control???

When I was a kid, we had a TV with an antenna and a rotor.  Got every channel we wanted and didn’t pay squat.

Just like ol’ dad said,

“Livin’ ain’t easy no more.  There’s too many gadgets.”