Initial Thoughts on With Fire and Sword by Henryk Sienkiewicz #HistoricalFiction #HistFic #amwriting #amreading #books #novel #mustread #review

I must admit that this next book on my Historical Fiction Around the World series, With Fire and Sword by Polish author Henryk Sienkiewicz, is a difficult read for me. The writing can be difficult to process due to long, convoluted sentences. Add in many Polish and Russian names and words and it’s been a challenge. I meant to spend most of Thanksgiving reading it, to be honest, but didn’t feel up to that challenge despite holding my iPad with the Hoopla app on it! I will read more though and hope it snares my attention more as I delve farther into this history.

Speaking of the digital reading experience, I’m a bit frustrated with the ebook on my Hoopla app. When I stop reading and exit the app, the book gets closed. Upon reopening the app and then the book, it displays the page number where I stopped reading but defaults to the first page of the Introduction instead of to the page where I left off. Now, there are 1770+ digital pages in the ebook; I am up to page 300 or so right now. So I have to scroll through to find the page where I stopped again. Additionally, this ebook format’s header always displays “Introduction” instead of any specific chapter, which the ebook doesn’t have broken out anyway. The Table of Contents only lists four sections, to be exact, with one of those the entire story. Navigating through the ebook just adds to the challenge of reading this story. I’d really rather have a print edition…

I’m sure part of the adjustment I need to make is to the different style of language insofar as the story was written in 1884 and the author was a Polish journalist. Believe me, writing nonfiction is very different from writing fiction and can be a difficult transition. The author wrote for The Word as well as wrote short stories and other novels. He was well known and appreciated in his lifetime, the Polish people even gave him the “small estate of Oblegorek, near Kielce in south-central Poland” according to Britannica.com. Reading his work is definitely worth my time and attention given the acclaim he’s received although the novels are “criticized for their theatricality and lack of historical accuracy, they display great narrative power and contain vivid characterizations.” I’ve noticed the staging aspects of the story, almost as if he were writing a play in places. So I’ll continue reading and let you know more about the story itself next time.

Until then, happy reading!

Betty

P.S. If you haven’t already, please consider signing up for my newsletter, which I send out most every month, including news like new covers, new releases, and upcoming appearances where I love to meet my readers, along with recipes and writing progress. Thanks and happy reading!

Visit www.bettybolte.com for more on my books and upcoming events.

Audrey Harper needs more than home and hearth to satisfy her self-worth despite being raised with the idea that a woman’s place is in the home. Working as a music critic for the city newspaper in Baltimore, Maryland, during the Second World War, she’s enjoyed both financial freedom and personal satisfaction in a job well done. When she uncovers evidence of German spies working to sabotage a secret bomber plane being manufactured in her beloved city, she must choose between her sense of duty to protect her city and the urgings of her boss, her family, and her fiancé to turn over her evidence to the authorities. But when her choices lead her and her sister into danger, she is forced to risk life and limb to save her sister and bring the spies to justice.

Set against the backdrop of the flourishing musical community during the 1940s in Baltimore, Notes of Love and War weaves together the pleasure of musical performance with the dangers of espionage and spying.

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Halloween Flash Fiction: The Bush Indian #amwriting #amreading #Halloween2022 #shortstory #flashfiction #fiction #witches #ghosts #monsters

One more Halloween flash fiction for you all! In honor of Halloween, Poised Pen Productions is hosting a flash fiction giveaway with a prize filled with books, gift cards, and swag. Don’t forget to enter the giveaway simply by signing up with your email, and you’ll be given options for earning additional entries. Good luck!

If you missed it, I already shared my short story, Haunting Beauty. If you missed the others, check out The Hunt and A Simple Mistake, Ghostly Contact and The Witch’s Wand, and Samhain Surprise and Tall, Dark, and Handsome.  And now for the last but definitely not least of the Halloween flash fiction stories!


The Bush Indian

Copyright (c) Cherime MacFarlane

https://www.facebook.com/AuthorCherimeMacFarlane

Author’s Note: There is a tale in that country of a “Bush Indian.” What little I’ve heard of it, people don’t say much, I’ve taken license with. But people do disappear in Alaska and are never seen or heard of again. A few thousand so far. Don’t go out in the bush alone.

Dedicated to: The elders I once knew.

Gunrik sat in one of the old office chairs. The two old men sat in their favorites, each one much the worse for wear. The wood stove warmed the interior of the building the men, hunting partners for years, called their shop. Built into the hillside of the property they had called home for over eighty years, it had one door and one window. He hoped the two Athabaskan elders would flesh out the information on a tale he’d run across while gathering stories for his employer, the Native Corporation.

He’d asked politely if the old men would tell him about the Bush Indian after church several months ago. They had exchanged glances. Some communication had passed between them.

Erik looked past Gunrik’s shoulder, staring at the mountains on the far side of the lake. David sighed. “Maybe. Him and me.” He waved a hand between them. “We’ll talk, send word if it feels right.”

Eventually, he’d had a call from Lila Jones, the great-grands granddaughter. The old men had decided it would be alright to discuss the legend. But they must do it on a Sunday afternoon, after church and when the moon was full.

Erik struck a match and lit a decrepit old pipe. The smoke didn’t smell like tobacco. Gunrik waited.

“Chelth-en-ee.” The word came out of the blue cloud around Erik. “Spell it how ya please. Him and me ain’t gonna say it again. Naw…”

“Once is enough.” David finished Erik’s thought. Gunrik had seen the two old hunters do that often enough. “Ya see spirit’s smoke coming from Wrangell? Tha kay-you-nee-thled-eh? That’s what we was waitin for. We’re thinking maybe we can get clear o trouble now. But we ain’t gonna speak o this again. Get it all now cause it’s askin for trouble to be too loud about that.”

“Yes, sir. Can I record you both?”

“Naw. Ya write this down.” Erik said.

David nodded. “Ya record it an that wrong spirit could hear it. They come after us. Can’t have that trash after DeDe, Alva Mae and the young ones.”

“Trash?”

“Yep.” David spat on the ground while Erik took another puff and blue smoke filled the air. “Evil as evil can be. They stole children. Took ‘em right out of their beds.” David said.

“Ya. Hunters go looking and find bones. Chewed.” Erik shook his white head. “Lost a few to that goo.”

He knew ‘goo’ meant monster. “They ate the children?” Gunrik leaned forward. He understood why no one wanted to talk about the thing he’d been trying to clarify.

Neither old man spoke, but they did nod in agreement. Erik blew another puff of smoke into the air. They exchanged another glance.

“They ain’t above taking a lone hunter, neither.” David said.

“Yup. Never go without ah huntin partner.” Erik took another draw on the pipe.

“Uh huh. They hung out in caves in the cliffs above tha river.” David leaned forward. “Ya know there’s still hunters, hikers go missin and nothing’s found.”

Gunrik nodded. He knew that. “Like that show about the Alaska Triangle.”

Both old men laughed. “They don’t know much. And ain’t no one going to tell them more. Tha only reason you’re hearing about it from us is we know we can trust ya. You’ve seen things here. Stuff ya can’t talk about cause ain’t any of em gonna believe ya.” David grinned at him.

“Ya. His great-great grandpa and his huntin partner followed em and traced tha evil back to their hole.” Erik gestured with the stem of the pipe.

“Uh huh and ran back and got every man, woman, and child in tha camp.” David grinned at him. “Since it was summer, they built fires on the land above the entrance, rolled bundles of brush down to keep tha lot trapped.”

“Collapsed the stuff above. Sealed tha goo in.” Erik said.

“Ya. That time they got most o them.” David looked at his hunting partner. “But we must have missed a few.”

Gunrik understood the ‘we’ to be the village collectively. “You think there are some still out there?”

“We do. Don’t ya be traipsing out there alone. Take our advice and always take a huntin partner. Keep each other safe.” Erik put the pipe stem to his lips.

“Now, we’s done talking. Said enough.” David touched Erik’s shoulder. “Look. Ya see that?”

“Yup.” David pointed out the window. “Wrangell is smoking up a storm. Tha wind’s rising. Storm comin up from tha gulf. Get on home, Gunrik. Stick close ta home for tha next few days.”

The entire drive down the Edgerton Highway to the cabin he shared with his wife, he felt off somehow. But he would call Jay Leighton as soon as he got home. The moose hunt he’d thought to do alone would be put off until he could get a hunting partner. He hoped Jay would go with him.

The old men were right. He’d seen too much in this country to not pay attention. And the hair on the back of his neck rose every time he looked at the big volcano with the plume of smoke above it. Cannibals had once terrorized the people here. As the old men said, evil had once roamed this vast valley and might still be waiting to snatch a lone hunter.


What a great story to wrap up the Halloween flash fiction series! Never go out hunting alone, my friends, whether for moose or candy!

Happy Halloween!

Betty

P.S. If you haven’t already, please consider signing up for my newsletter, which I send out most every month, including news like new covers, new releases, and upcoming appearances where I love to meet my readers, along with recipes and writing progress. Thanks and happy reading!

Visit www.bettybolte.com for more on my books and upcoming events.

Did you know… You can order signed paperbacks of any of my books at The Snail on the Wall   book store!

An unsuspecting Southern town. Ghosts. Witchcraft. Skeletons in the closet. Discover the Secrets of Roseville in this five book series… Undying Love, Haunted Melody, The Touchstone of Raven Hollow, Veiled Visions of Love, and Charmed Against All Odds!

Haunted Melody is discounted for the month of October!

Her love puts a song in his heart…

Paulette O’Connell is determined to provide for her unborn child. She has few skills and nowhere to call home except Twin Oaks plantation. Paulette accidentally summons her grandfather’s annoying ghost but he won’t leave until she figures out why she needs him.

Zak Markel is desperate to create an alchemical elixir to save his brother’s eyesight. Only, captivating Paulette distracts him at the worst possible time. While Zak longs for Paulette to give him a chance, she is determined to stand on her own, even before her child’s father returns. Can Zak convince Paulette to follow her heart before it’s too late?

Barnes and Noble     Kobo     Amazon     Apple     Books2Read     Google Books     Bookshop

Halloween Flash Fiction: Samhain Surprise and Tall, Dark, and Handsome #amwriting #amreading #Halloween2022 #shortstory #flashfiction #fiction #witches #ghosts

I’m continuing sharing more flash fiction with you all! In honor of Halloween, Poised Pen Productions is hosting a flash fiction giveaway with a prize filled with books, gift cards, and swag. Don’t forget to enter the giveaway simply by signing up with your email, and you’ll be given options for earning additional entries. Good luck!

If you missed it, I already shared my short story, Haunting Beauty. If you missed the others, check out The Hunt and A Simple Mistake and Ghostly Contact and The Witch’s Wand.  Two more today, and then one last one next week!


Samhain Surprise

© Teresa Keefer

https://www.teresakeeferromance.com/

The black crow started tapping on her window at the butt crack of dawn, just like it had every day since Mabon drew to an end. Right before she pulled the colorful hand stitched quilt back over her head, Fiona McCann grumbled at the feathered annoyance. “Go away, Demetrius. I’m not ready to get up.”

The bird just cackled at her and continued to tap on the window with his beak. Just like every morning before this one. Fiona didn’t even know why she bothered to try to go back to sleep once his incessant noise making started. And it didn’t matter that she filled his feeder at night because it wasn’t food he was after. And most of the time his food got eaten by Bandit, the fat ass raccoon who lives in the oak tree out back.

“Fine. Fine. I’m getting up, you black feathered jerk.” She looked out the window and watched as he jumped up and down on the branch outside her window. “But I’m not going to do any magick today, either. Or any other day. My magick is broken and my spells do more harm than good.”

That was the truth. The first night of Mabon a storm had come through when she was offering the contents of her simmer pot to the oak tree in the backyard. A shard of lightning struck the ground where she had just emptied the pot of fruit and spices. Smoke spiraled up and she watched in awe as the fruit followed the smoke, turned black, and fell back to the ground. And the stench of rotten egg permeated the air around her. Since then, every spell she attempted ended up having catastrophic results.

First, there was the flat tire on her car she tried to fix. She ended up with the other three tires flat and the one fixed. So, she had to ride her bicycle to work at her mother’s bakery. There, she tried to put away stock in her usual manner of standing back and letting her fingers do the walking. A fifty pound bag of sugar fell out of its midair journey to the shelf and burst all over the floor. After she accidentally burned an entire oven full of scones, both her mother and her aunt shooed her out with their besoms and told her she should use hers to sweep out whatever shadows had infiltrated her magick field.

Well, here she was, a month later with Samhain two days away and she couldn’t even light a candle with her powers. Well, that wasn’t true either. She turned candles into blow torches and couldn’t get the fireplace to do anything but smolder. Fiona groaned and trudged toward the kitchen in the same flannel pajama pants she had been wearing for three days. Maybe four.

After she had a cup of her favorite tea and ate a stale scone, she looked around her quaint little house and shook her head. Not the first pumpkin carved or the first decoration put up. The only food in the house was what her mother or Aunt Agatha brought over in between their own tasks. And they were super busy baking up confectioneries for the various Halloween parties, not to mention preparing for their own family Samhain observance. Which Fiona was going to have to skip this year.

Her cell phone beeped at her. Her mother. Fiona hit the speaker button. “Hey Ma.”

“Fiona, my love, are you still plodding around in those old pajamas with your hair tangled up so bad mice could make a nice home in it?”

As she tried to run her fingers through her hair, Fiona had to admit Margret McCann pretty much hit the nail on the head. “I’m going to take a shower and comb my hair today. I promise.”

“Did you put your crystals out to charge last night?”

“The full moon is tonight. I’ll get them out.”

There was a long pause, then Margret sighed. “I’ve searched high and low for answers to your little difficulty. I keep coming up empty handed. Perhaps if we all joined together this evening our combined powers could bring up a vision in your sphere that could give us a clue how to fix this. We need you back in time for Samhain.”

“I’ve tried the gazing ball and all I see is a fog. And right now, it doesn’t look like I need to be around for Samhain. I think I’ll stay home and hand out candy to the children.” She rolled her eyes when she saw Demetrius prancing in front of the patio door. At least he wasn’t pecking on it. “Which means I definitely have to get around and go buy Halloween candy for the trick or treaters. I’ll talk to you later, Ma.”

Samhain blew in on a west wind that knocked over trash cans and sent a kaleidoscope of color through the air. By the time the sun fell and the moon rose, Fiona was perched on her front steps in a colorful set of skirts, long sleeved black blouse, and a conical hat adorned with flowers and feathers. Her handmade besom was leaned against the porch post and an arrangement of carved jack-o-lanterns were arranged on her steps with battery operated candles in each.

It was a different sort of night not spending it with her mother and aunt making offerings to the goddess and dancing in the shadows of the sky high pines in her aunt’s woods. They invited her but with the way everything she touched went to shit, Fiona felt it best to not spoil their evening with certain mishap.

She wasn’t sure how much longer she could take not having her magick. For as long as she could remember, it had been part of her and she was lost without it. Of course, over the years she wondered what it would be to not have the responsibility which accompanied her powers. To be normal. Normal wasn’t much fun at all.

As the groups of children grew smaller and farther between and her bowl of candy got lighter. The wind died down a little bit and the moon gave an otherworld glow to her front lawn. She couldn’t help but laugh at the children as they played in the leaves. Goblins, spacemen, cowboys and witches throwing the leaves at each other and falling down into the piles like they were jumping into a sea of water. Not a care in the world. And watching them frolic took her mind off her own predicament.

It was getting late and Fiona watched as porch lights started going off. The signal that another year of trick-or-treating was coming to an end. She sat there for a few minutes, looking up at the glorious moon and felt the emptiness of not being with her mother and aunt celebrating Samhain the way they normally did. The street had grown quiet when Demetrius flew down from a tree and started prancing and squawking in front of her.

“There’s nothing stopping you from flying out to enjoy the Samhain festivities in the woods. Go right ahead.”

He strutted for a few more minutes and flew away. Apparently, her company was not what her familiar wanted tonight. All the more power to him. She stood and picked up the almost empty basket of candy and turned toward the door when the crow returned. Only this time, he had a companion. Another crow, but it was wearing a purple bow around its neck.

“Good grief, where did you find this one?” Fiona sighed. “Have you gone and stolen someone’s pet away for your own entertainment?”

A dark shadow fell across the moonlight and closed in on her. A deep chuckle followed. Then the man appeared. Tall, dark, and with the brightest purple eyes she had ever seen. He smiled and held out his arm. “Come along, Drucilla. You’ve done well tonight.”

“Who are you?” Fiona knew only those like herself would have a crow they referred to by name.

“Let me introduce myself.” He made an exaggerated bow and the crow with the purple bow flew up to settle on his shoulder. “I am Derick Sobeinne. I believe you have something of mine.”

“And what would that be?”

“The tip of my wand. A piece of amethyst given to me by my grandfather when I was but a child learning how to turn my cousins into frogs.” He glanced over at Demetrius who had tucked his beak under his wing and was pretending to sleep. “I believe your rascal here swiped it.”

Fiona had to admit, there were times Demetrius came home with various baubles and pranced around to show them to her. But she hadn’t seen an amethyst just laying around the house or yard. “Why do you think that?”

“Let me ask you this…around the time of Mabon, did anything unusual happen around here?”

Fiona snorted. “Other than my powers going haywire?”

Derick lifted a dark eyebrow sardonically. “Around Mabon? Because that’s when this rascal was poking around my window trying to get the attention of Drucilla. Tell me what happened on Mabon.”

“I was out in the yard offering the contents of my simmer pot to the oak tree out back when a storm came up out of nowhere. Then a flash of lightning hit the ground and sent sparks flying. And there was this ghastly odor. The following day, when I tried to use my magick, it didn’t work right. I’ve done nothing but create havoc.”

Derick reached for her hand. “Come. Show me where this happened.”

Fiona led him around the house to the back gate and opened it. The oak tree was the center point of the yard. He tugged at her hand. “See that black charred area right there to the right of the tree?”

“Yes, that’s where the lightning hit.”

Releasing her hand, he knelt down in the damp grass and dug his fingers around in the charred soil. “Ah, here it is.” He held up a glowing piece of amethyst and smiled. Then he snapped his fingers and a shiny black wand with a silver crow on the handle appeared. “Come on over here. I’ll fix your magick.”

“I’m not going to…” Before the sentence was completely out of her mouth, she was standing near the warlock with the purple eyes. He touched the wand to the top of her head and she felt a rush of power go through her entire body. Then he stepped away from her. “Give it a try. You should be good as new. Maybe even better with a little of my own magick in you now.”

Not convinced, she did as he requested anyway and turned toward the fire pit in the patio area. Pointing her hands at the fresh logs, she closed her eyes and imagined the fire roaring to life. When she opened them, the wood was crackling as a normal fire would do.

Derick smiled and touched her shoulder. “No sense in letting a good fire go to waste. I just happen to have a nice bottle of French wine right here.” He held out the bottle.

Fiona grinned and clapped her hands. Two wine glasses appeared on the patio by the fire. “And I just happen to have a pair of crystal glasses to put the said wine in.”

Together, they walked toward the fire and the two crows flew up to the lowest branch on the oak tree. Out of the sight of the two witches, they gave each other the crow version of a high five, Their work was done.


Tall, Dark, and Handsome

© Tina Susedik

https://www.tina-susedik.com/

“Your future looks bright.” Fortune teller, Madam Silver, ran her hand over Kate Sullivan’s palm then eyed the Oracle deck Kate had shuffled and drawn three cards from. “You’ll meet and fall in love with a tall, dark, and handsome man.”

Yeah, right. How many times had the old woman uttered those words? Kate held back a sigh. Why had she listened to her best friend, Bernie? Why had she wasted her time and money?

“How exciting. When and where will I meet this man?”

Dressed in typical gypsy garb with dozens of jangling bracelets, a colorful bandana covering her hair, wide loop earrings, and long, flowing dress, the old crone turned over the third card. “At a hall.”

Well, that was stupid. “Could you be a bit more specific?”

“That’s not how readings work.”

Of course not. Kate bit her bottom lip to keep from calling the woman a charlatan. Instead, she gathered her purse and rose.

“Wait!” Madam Silver called out. “Beware of ladders and black paint.”

Ladders? Black paint? “Yeah. Sure thing. Whatever you say.”

Kate left the quiet interior of the tent to the raucous noise of carnival rides, game hawkers, screaming kids, yelling parents, and the ghoulish screams of costume wearers. Apple Springs’ annual Halloween festival was in full swing. Last night had been the children’s costume party. Tonight, the community center had to be transformed for tomorrow night’s adult Halloween, masked ball. She checked her watch. Only a few minutes before she and Bernie needed to show up for their assigned duties—whatever they would be.

Bernie grabbed Kate’s arm. “So. What did she say? Anything exciting?”

“The usual.” Kate gave her friend the rundown. “Blah, blah, blah.”

“What if she’s right?”

“Huh.” With Bernie at her side, Kate wove her way through the throng of people. “I bet she said the same thing to you. Didn’t she?”

“Well . . .” Bernie blushed. “Not exactly. My man is tall, blond, and handsome.”

Kate laughed. “See? Totally bogus. C’mon. We need to hurry, or we’ll be late.”

***

As much as she didn’t care for the hoopla of Halloween, she had to admit the mural of witches, ghosts, goblins, pumpkins, headstones, and zombies was rather well done. Whoever had drawn it on the community hall’s wall was quite talented. Although it seemed a waste of time and money to paint something for just one holiday. Would it be redone for Christmas?

At the top rung of the ladder, she dipped her paintbrush into the gallon of black paint and reached to the tip of the witch’s hat. The ladder wobbled. Kate grabbed the sides, smearing black paint on a pumpkin and letting out a relieved breath when the ladder stilled.

“Remember, tall, dark, and handsome,” a voice whispered in her ear. “Your future awaits you.”

“What the hell?” She glanced around. Of course, at twenty feet above the ground, there was no one here but her.

“Tall, dark, and handsome,” the crackling voice, sounding a bit like Madam Silver, hissed again as the ladder trembled.

Okay. Maybe the paint fumes were getting to her. Plus, it was getting late, and she was hungry.

“How’s it going up there?”

A man stood below her, shading his eyes with his hand as if the sun were glaring in his eyes. From her height, she couldn’t tell how tall he was, and he wore a baseball hat hiding the color of his eyes and hair. Was he handsome? She shook her head. The old crone’s words were getting to her.

“Fine.”

“He’s the one.”

“What did you say?”

The man removed his hat revealing a shock of red hair and frowned. Tall, dark, and handsome indeed.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Yes, you did.”

“Look, lady, I didn’t utter one word except to ask how it was going up there.”

Kate dipped her brush in the paint. “Whatever.”

The ladder jiggled.

“You’d better stay still.” The man’s deep voice sent shivers down her spine.

“I’m not moving.”

“Well, your ladder is.”

The ladder wiggled harder. “No kidding. Are we having an earthquake or something?” The ladder shook. “Hey, stop it. It’s going to tip over.”

“Lady, I’m not touching it.”

The right legs lifted, tipping the ladder to the left. Kate dropped the paintbrush and grabbed the bucket of paint to keep it from sliding off with one hand and the side of the ladder with the other.

“You need to get down from there. I can’t hold this thing in place.”

Was this a joke Bernie was playing on her? Were there hidden wires making the ladder move like a puppet on a string? “I’m coming down.” Before she put one foot on the next rung, the ladder lifted to the right. Who was doing this?”

“I am,” the voice laughed in her ear. “Enjoy the ride.”

The swaying grew stronger. Side to side, each time tipping a little further.

“Let go!” the stranger yelled. “I’ll catch you.”

Was he kidding? No way was she letting go. The ladder tipped backward. Her hands, now covered in black paint, slipped from the ladder. She closed her eyes, screamed, and fell backward.

“I’ve got you.”

What seemed like an eternity was only a matter of seconds before she landed in the redhead’s strong arms.

“Umph. I said I’d catch you.”

“Thank you. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t been here.” Not anxious to leave the safety of his hold, she wrapped her arms around his neck and glanced up at the ladder. “It was as if the darn thing was possessed.”

“I know. I’ve never seen anything like it. And I swear, I wasn’t touching the ladder.”

“I believe you.” She stared at his freckled face. While not conventionally handsome, he was certainly good looking. His eyes were green. Her heart skipped a beat. The voice had to be wrong. This man was certainly not dark.

A shuffling sound above them drew their attention upward. The bucket slid first to one side of the ladder, then the other, each time coming closer to the edge. Before they realized what was happening, the bucket tipped over, raining black paint over them.

The man set her on the floor and wiped his face with his T-shirt. “What the hell?”

Kate swiped her blonde/now black hair from her eyes. At least he was tall. Well over six feet. And dark. She giggled. Well, covered in black paint, he certainly now was dark. Very funny, Madam Silver. Very funny.

“I told you so. Tall, dark, and handsome. I just didn’t say how he’d be dark.” The voice laughed. “Enjoy.”


That’s your two for this week, Samhain Surprise, and Tall, Dark, and Handsome. The final story comes next week, on Halloween itself!

Happy Halloween!

Betty

P.S. If you haven’t already, please consider signing up for my newsletter, which I send out most every month, including news like new covers, new releases, and upcoming appearances where I love to meet my readers, along with recipes and writing progress. Thanks and happy reading!

Visit www.bettybolte.com for more on my books and upcoming events.

Did you know… You can order signed paperbacks of any of my books at The Snail on the Wall   book store!

An unsuspecting Southern town. Ghosts. Witchcraft. Skeletons in the closet. Discover the Secrets of Roseville in this five book series… Undying Love, Haunted Melody, The Touchstone of Raven Hollow, Veiled Visions of Love, and Charmed Against All Odds!

Haunted Melody is discounted for the month of October!

Her love puts a song in his heart…

Paulette O’Connell is determined to provide for her unborn child. She has few skills and nowhere to call home except Twin Oaks plantation. Paulette accidentally summons her grandfather’s annoying ghost but he won’t leave until she figures out why she needs him.

Zak Markel is desperate to create an alchemical elixir to save his brother’s eyesight. Only, captivating Paulette distracts him at the worst possible time. While Zak longs for Paulette to give him a chance, she is determined to stand on her own, even before her child’s father returns. Can Zak convince Paulette to follow her heart before it’s too late?

Barnes and Noble     Kobo     Amazon     Apple     Books2Read     Google Books     Bookshop

Halloween Flash Fiction: Ghostly Contact, and The Witch’s Wand #amwriting #amreading #Halloween #Halloween2022 #shortstory #flashfiction #fiction #witches #ghosts

I’m continuing sharing more flash fiction with you all! In honor of Halloween, Poised Pen Productions is hosting a flash fiction giveaway with a prize filled with books, gift cards, and swag. If you missed it, I already shared my short story, Haunting Beauty. Last week, I shared both The Hunt and A Simple Mistake. Over the next few weeks, I’ll share a few more stories, all less than 700 words, with you for your Halloween enjoyment! Look for two each week with the final story posting on Halloween itself.

You can enter the giveaway simply by signing up with your email, and you’ll be given options for earning additional entries. Good luck!


Ghostly Contact

© CJ Bennet

https://www.facebook.com/AuthCJB

Years ago, I had a best friend who kept telling me that he had a ghost in his carriage house efficiency apartment. The apartment was connected to a screened-in porch that was as big as the apartment itself.

Even though I had experience with that, I chose to tease him about it because I knew he had a great sense of humor. My friend told me that he believed the ghost was a former slave named Fred. He told me he had seen the ghost while shaving. “I almost cut my own throat when I saw him behind me in the mirror.” He had talked to the ghost when he woke up one night to find it standing on his chest. He told the ghost he couldn’t breathe, so would the ghost please get off his chest. He felt the boots when the ghost moved to step off the bed. He said he could actually see the boots and saw the mattress move as it stepped off his chest and got down on the floor. I still told him I didn’t believe him. That was until I had my own experience with the ghost.

My friend was going to a three-week conference in California, and had asked me to get his mail and water his plants while he was gone. I was happy to help, until the second week in. I’d gotten the mail, and went inside to water his plants. I’d left his mahogany front door open and turned on his radio while I was working. Suddenly… The radio cut off, which was not unusual in the seventies. I turned around in time to see the 200-pound door close all by itself. That was when I realized what was happening. I was terrified, but I knew it was my friend’s ghost, and I needed to talk with it.

I said, “Okay. I know you’re here. I am very sorry that I told Ted I didn’t believe you were here. Ted believes you were a slave. If so, I am very sorry you had such a hard life. I swear that from now on I will never say you don’t exist, if you let me out of here.”

The radio came back on, and the door opened back up. I grabbed my purse, the mail and my keys, then left that place like a bat out of hell.

When I picked up my friend at the airport 10 days later, he asked me how things had gone. I told him I had all of his mail, but his plants might be dead. When he asked me why, I told him what happened. He laughed for the next fifteen minutes.

After that, we had quite a few things happen when I was there, but we knew who it was, and it never bothered us. The ghost would frequently knock on the windows, or pound on the front door, which wasn’t possible because the carriage house was on the second floor above the garage, and the screen door to the porch was always locked, so no one could have come up the stairs, and through the screen door without us hearing them

I learned to never question the presence of a ghost or entity. If you feel or see something out of the ordinary, take it seriously. That belief has served me well over the years.


The Witch’s Wand

© Tessa Russ

https://www.poisedpenpro.com/blog-1

While Jess was shopping at her favorite thrift store, she noticed the old witch statue in the corner. It sat by itself, surrounded by dust and cobwebs. The witch’s eyes were closed, and her mouth hinged open in an anguished expression. Jess thought maybe it could be just a prop for a Halloween display, but there was something about it that felt off. It looked real—like it had been made from flesh-like material and exquisitely painted. But despite the creepiness of it, she was somehow drawn to the thing. She bought it and brought it home to add to her Halloween decorations.

A few days later, as she decorated for her favorite season, words broke the silence. “He’s coming for you.”

Startled, she jumped back and screamed. “What? Who said that? Who is he?” Jess had no man in her life.

The statue she had named Helga answered: “Beware, my darling, you rescued me, now I’m going to save you.”

Surely Jess must be hallucinating. Maybe she needed to quit watching all those creepy movies before bedtime. A statue couldn’t speak, could it? But then again, some pretty strange things had happened to her lately…

***

Jess woke up in a cold sweat. He had invaded her dreams.

Was it really a dream?

“My darling, I am coming for you soon.” Who was this man? She shuddered, she had been seeing him almost nightly in her dreams since she brought Helga home. He seemed so real to her. In her far too realistic dreams, he stood outside her door in a raging thunderstorm with the rain pelting down and illuminated by the lightning piercing the turbulent sky. Even though he appeared as a shadow in the fog, she could see his handsome chiseled features clearly. She had no clue how that was possible. Could this be the man Helga tried to warn her about?

With a shake of her head, Jess laughed at herself. What a crazy thought. She shook the remaining sleep-induced fog from her head and stumbled out of bed to get her morning coffee started. Hopefully, a shot of caffeine would help erase the tumultuous nightmare from her mind.

After finishing up her freelance marketing projects for the day, Jess took a quick trip to the store and ran a few other errands. When she arrived back home later that evening, all was still silent from Helga. Thank goodness. Time to cozy up with a cup of tea and the new mystery novel she had been wanting to read before calling it a night. After all, tomorrow was her favorite day of the year and she wanted to be ready.

***

Jess woke with an uneasiness that she couldn’t explain. She should feel great. After all, this was her favorite time of the year. Her decorations were up and ready to enchant the little trick or treaters that always lined up outside her door. She loved seeing their costumes and remarked on every one of them which put a smile on their faces before they trotted off down the street to the next house.

Somehow, she had a feeling this night would be different. Was it Helga’s warnings that caused her feelings of anxiety? No, it couldn’t be. She didn’t really believe any of it could possibly be true. And who would believe in a talking witch statue. Maybe she was just losing her mind. Maybe that had been a dream too.

Jess sat down at her desk to begin her workday. She took a glance over at Helga, who had been quiet for a few days. Almost like she could read Jess’s thoughts, Helga spoke; “Tonight’s the night, my dear. Please don’t be afraid. I will protect you from his evil magic.”

“Please tell me what’s going to happen,” Jess pleaded, feeling a little desperate.

“You will know what to do when the time is at hand,” Helga responded, then fell silent just as abruptly.

Okay, now that was no dream.

At this point, Jess began doubting her sanity. She tried to put her thoughts back into her work, but it was no use. She couldn’t concentrate. Instead, she paced for a while. Studied Helga. Walked around her, hoping the witch might speak again but she didn’t. Probably because you are losing your mind.

Enough. She had to focus on something else. She decided to check out her Halloween decorations one last time. Before long it would be dark and the little ghosts and ghouls would be out and about. She had a display in her office as well as one outside on the front porch. Her office display held Helga, pumpkins, ghosts, goblins, and other things she had picked up over the years.

Her gaze snapped back to Helga. There was something different at her feet. It looked like a wand of some sort, kinda Harry Potter-ish. Where the heck did that come from? She didn’t recall purchasing it. As she stepped closer to pick it up, she felt an electricity in the air. Sparks started radiating from it. Jess jumped away.

Helga’s red eyes opened again. “Not now, my dear. You will know when the time is right.” Then her eyes closed, and she appeared lifeless once more.

Jess decided maybe work was safer for the moment. She really, really had to figure out if she was losing it or…what? She just didn’t know.

As the day wound down, Jess looked forward to the activities ahead. She dressed in her Halloween costume to await the arrival of the trick or treaters. She studied her reflection in the mirror. What a coincidence that she chose to be a good witch this year.

But it was not to be. As the sun waned on the western horizon and night approached, the sky opened up. It was a storm she had never seen the likes of before.

She had been avoiding Helga in fear of more spooky predictions. But now it was time for answers. Bummed that her well planned Halloween wouldn’t happen, she made her way down the stairs to her office.

“Helga, talk to me. No more of your vague, dire predictions. I want to know what’s happening.”

Helga sprang to life and answered, “Tonight is the night I’ve been warning you about. Listen to me closely.”

Helga spoke with Jess for quite a while, telling her all about how she had been cursed by an evil sorcerer because he was afraid of her powers. The witch had been stuck inside this statue ever since, unable to move or talk until someone found her who had the power to help break the curse. She also told Jess about how her lover, HE remained stuck just on the other side of the veil until the curse lifted. Jess was at a loss. Why would Helga think she could help break the ancient curse? What part did she play in all of this? She had no magical powers.

 ***

The witch and the sorcerer stood face to face; their eyes locked. Thunder rolled in the distance as lightning lashed down from the sky. The witch took a deep breath, her body shaking with anticipation. She could feel her magic coursing through her veins like a raging river. She was ready for this fight—and knew she would be victorious! She had to be.

Jess watched in silent horror as the fight raged on for what seemed like hours, the old witch became weak. She must continue the fight, mustn’t allow him to win this time. With the vestiges of her strength, she attempted one final time to banish the sorcerer back to dust. If she could just hold out for a minute longer, but no, she couldn’t muster the strength needed…. “It is time, my dear.” With that, the wand flew from Helga’s hand into Jess’s. She didn’t know why or how, but she was ready for battle. She took the wand and wielded it high. One push, two… she felt the sorcerer grow weaker. An otherworldly power coursed through her veins, and with a final push of the wand, the sorcerer disappeared into a cloud of dust.

Lying on the rain-soaked ground, a weakened Helga looked to Jess and pointed into the mist. “We must get him; we must get HE while the veil is still thin enough to reach him.”

Looking in that direction, Jess could see him standing in front of her. It was like looking through a fog. Helga reached and stretched, but she didn’t have the strength to pull him through. Without a thought as to what she was doing, Jess grabbed Helga’s hand in one of hers and with the other, using the last of the power remaining in the wand, she tapped the veil, cracking it. Still grasping Helga’s hand, Jess dropped the wand and reached through the broken veil. Grabbing HE’s hand, she somehow pulled him through to their side.

Terrified and exhausted, Jess kept trying to wake up from this hellish nightmare she was caught in. But no, there was no waking up. It was real. As she tried to put everything together in her mind, she glanced at Helga. Right before Jess’s eyes, Helga transformed. Instead of the old broken witch standing there a moment ago, a beautiful goddess stood strong and tall. Her long red hair streamed down her shoulders and the tired red eyes had turned a vibrant shade of green. As HE walked toward Helga, he took her hands and kissed her softly on the lips.

Then HE slowly turned toward Jess. “We know you have questions and some of them we can answer. The rest will come to you in time.”

Helga smiled and said, “You won’t remember this now, but you are one of us. When the time is right, all that you need to know will be revealed. Until then, keep living your life. The time will soon come that you must make a decision that will change your life forever.”

***

With a final goodbye Helga and HE faded away into the mist. In the night’s stillness, Jess could hear them faintly whisper; “We will see you again soon, my dear.”


That’s your two for this week, Ghostly Contact and The Witch’s Wand. Two more coming next week, before the final installment on Halloween itself!

Happy Halloween!

Betty

P.S. If you haven’t already, please consider signing up for my newsletter, which I send out most every month, including news like new covers, new releases, and upcoming appearances where I love to meet my readers, along with recipes and writing progress. Thanks and happy reading!

Visit www.bettybolte.com for more on my books and upcoming events.

Did you know… You can order signed paperbacks of any of my books at The Snail on the Wall   book store!

An unsuspecting Southern town. Ghosts. Witchcraft. Skeletons in the closet. Discover the Secrets of Roseville in this five book series… Undying Love, Haunted Melody, The Touchstone of Raven Hollow, Veiled Visions of Love, and Charmed Against All Odds!

Haunted Melody is discounted for the month of October!

Her love puts a song in his heart…

Paulette O’Connell is determined to provide for her unborn child. She has few skills and nowhere to call home except Twin Oaks plantation. Paulette accidentally summons her grandfather’s annoying ghost but he won’t leave until she figures out why she needs him.

Zak Markel is desperate to create an alchemical elixir to save his brother’s eyesight. Only, captivating Paulette distracts him at the worst possible time. While Zak longs for Paulette to give him a chance, she is determined to stand on her own, even before her child’s father returns. Can Zak convince Paulette to follow her heart before it’s too late?

Barnes and Noble     Kobo     Amazon     Apple     Books2Read     Google Books     Bookshop

Halloween Flash Fiction: The Hunt, and A Simple Mistake #amwriting #amreading #Halloween #Halloween2022 #shortstory #flashfiction #fiction #zombies #ghosts

I’m so happy that fall and especially that Halloween has arrived! In honor of which, Poised Pen Productions is hosting a flash fiction giveaway with a prize filled with books, gift cards, and swag. Last time I shared my short story, Haunting Beauty. Over the next few weeks, I’ll share the other stories, all less than 700 words, with you for your Halloween enjoyment! Look for two each week with the final story posting on Halloween itself.

You can enter the giveaway simply by signing up with your email, and you’ll be given options for earning additional entries. Good luck!


The Hunt

© Jolie St. Amant

https://www.facebook.com/JolieStAmant

New Orleans

Chateau Rouge Hotel

Alcide sipped a whiskey neat as he watched the brainless creature attack an unfortunate human, tearing out his innards like a kid opening a Christmas present.

“Zombies,” he scoffed, rolling his eyes. How they had bastardized the term over the centuries. Oh, there were zombies, the word actually derived from the Haitian word zonbi. A reanimated human corpse.

He pressed a button on the remote, changing the channel. He had seen enough. Brainless? Alcide spoke four languages fluently, including the old language. Latin.

Flesh-eating? Now that part was true. To survive Alcide had to eat flesh. From humans? The thought turned his stomach. Some of his kind did, but he did not. Modern humans put too many chemicals in their bodies these days. Nicotine, prescription drugs, processed foods, the very thought of it turned his stomach.

If he was hard pressed and had to find a human, he preferred a vegetarian. Most times he enjoyed a good rare steak, or sushi. All farm fresh. And organic, of course.

Alcide often strolled the dark streets of the Quarter, watching the underbelly of the town scamper home from late nights of debauchery. However, two weeks ago, he had found a tasty looking morsel. He’d spent several evenings stalking his prey, making sure his potential meal would be everything he was wanting. So he waited. And watched. For the stalking and anticipation was half the fun.

He looked down at his watch. It was time.

He finished his drink and stood, stretching his 6’4” frame. Time to go out and do what he did best. Hunt.

***

I got home tired after a long day’s work and ready for a relaxing night alone. I reached for the light switch, but another hand was already there. I turned my head slowly to the side.

It was him.

I had seen him at night watching me from the murky shadows of the French Quarter as I walked home from my job as a bartender on Bourbon Street. I had noticed him at first because his long black coat was so out of place for such a humid night. It was old-fashioned and elegant, and something you would see at the fancy restaurants or in dining rooms in the Garden District mansions. I wondered if he was an actor, or a tour guide for one of the many ghost tours that trekked through the Quarter every night. Any of these were possible, it was New Orleans after all.

When he got close enough for me to see his eyes, I was mesmerized.  They were a deep, amber color that seemed to almost glow in the dark. And they were focused on me, boring into me with an intensity that made me feel both exhilarated and uncomfortable at the same time.

I had tried to shake him a few times, but he always seemed to be there, a few steps behind me, watching. It was like he was stalking me.

Two nights ago, he had finally caught up to me. I turned to face him, and he stepped out of the shadows into the dim light of the street lamp. He was tall, at least a head taller than me, with broad shoulders and a slim waist. He was wearing the same black coat, and I could see a white shirt and black pants underneath. He looked like he had stepped out of another time.

“Olivia,” he said in a voice that was both smooth and rough at the same time. It was a voice that sent a shiver down my spine. His accent was soft, and hinted at time spent in Europe. How he knew my name, I had no clue.

“Who are you?” I asked, not really expecting an answer.

But he gave me one. “My name is Alcide.” He reached out and brushed a stray hair from my face, his fingers lingering on my cheek for a moment longer than necessary. “And I’m here for you, ma cher.” He had disappeared after that, leaving nothing but the cold feel of his hand on my face.

Now, in my apartment, his hand moved from mine. He covered his lips with one finger, motioning for me to be silent.

I froze.

The hunt was over.


A Simple Mistake

© Sherrie Lea Morgan

http://www.sherrieleamorgan.com/

I made popcorn, whistling a tune from long ago. Setting it aside, I paused as the sky blasted white from a lightning bolt. I grinned and headed down the hall toward the guest room. The sounds of the girl’s giggles interspersed with the storm raging outside. It’s a good night for a movie. I pushed open the door and gasped. What the hell? My twin nieces jumped up and jostled to hide the Ouija board sitting on the floor. My heart pounded against my ribs as I chewed them out for playing with such a thing. Both chimed in simultaneously, saying they’d only started playing. That is before I interrupted them.

With my heart pounding against my ribs, I demanded they tell me what they had done. Both agreed they’d only asked if anyone was around, their name, and got a response. They both promised. Only once did they say hello. Although I never touched a Ouija board, I’d heard the horror stories and shuddered. I scolded both and ordered them to bed. No popcorn movie night now. Grabbing the board and its guide, I rushed downstairs and tossed them into the fireplace. Then I stood watching the flames eat the wicked thing.

As soon as I dropped the girls off at school the next day, I found a local metaphysical shop and asked to see a psychic. We sat in a small room covered in bright-colored scarves and painted pictures of angels. I told her what the girls did last night and asked if there was any reason to worry. Her face paled, and she swallowed several times before responding.

“As long as they didn’t ask the entity’s name,” she said.

“But they did,” I said.

She frowned. “Well, it might still be okay, as long as they didn’t respond.”

“But, they did,” I said, my voice rising along with the speed of my pulse.

She raised her hand and rubbed her temple.

“There’s a good chance they invited the thing into your home by responding. But we could fix it.”

“How? The girls are innocent, and I need to protect them.”

She stood and gathered some herbs from her shelf, along with a small bottle of water. “This is rainwater, she told me. Blend the herbs in the water and pour it on the board within twenty-four hours.” She wrote feverishly on a piece of paper, then handed it to me. “You’ll need to recite these words as you do so. It’ll prevent the spirit from coming—well, staying at your home.”

“After you’re done, you must bury it somewhere. Not on your property,” she warned. “As far away as possible.”

“Can’t I just burn it?” My stomach clenched, waiting on her response.

“No, no,” she whispered. “Don’t burn it, especially in your house.”

“Why not?”

She leaned forward and whispered, “If you burned it, then it would force the entity to remain in the spot of the fire. The board is a portal, and burning it would lock it closed. It couldn’t go home.” She paused a moment, then continued. “That would be the worst thing to do as you’d be trapping it, and entities didn’t like getting trapped. They get angry and search for ways to get revenge. Some even latch onto people for the rest of their lives.”

“I understand.” Boy, did I understand. I didn’t like it one bit, and frowning, I left.

That night, I sat before the fireplace. I’d miss the twins’ monthly visits, but it was too late. I poured a glass of wine and waited. A bubbling laugh forced its way past my lips. As the fire crackled, I laughed…and laughed.


That’s your two for this week, The Hunt and A Simple Mistake. Each week brings a new spooky tale. What will next week bring?

Happy Halloween!

Betty

P.S. If you haven’t already, please consider signing up for my newsletter, which I send out most every month, including news like new covers, new releases, and upcoming appearances where I love to meet my readers, along with recipes and writing progress. Thanks and happy reading!

Visit www.bettybolte.com for more on my books and upcoming events.

Did you know… You can order signed paperbacks of any of my books at The Snail on the Wall   book store!

An unsuspecting Southern town. Ghosts. Witchcraft. Skeletons in the closet. Discover the Secrets of Roseville in this five book series… Undying Love, Haunted Melody, The Touchstone of Raven Hollow, Veiled Visions of Love, and Charmed Against All Odds!

Haunted Melody is discounted for the month of October!

Her love puts a song in his heart…

Paulette O’Connell is determined to provide for her unborn child. She has few skills and nowhere to call home except Twin Oaks plantation. Paulette accidentally summons her grandfather’s annoying ghost but he won’t leave until she figures out why she needs him.

Zak Markel is desperate to create an alchemical elixir to save his brother’s eyesight. Only, captivating Paulette distracts him at the worst possible time. While Zak longs for Paulette to give him a chance, she is determined to stand on her own, even before her child’s father returns. Can Zak convince Paulette to follow her heart before it’s too late?

Barnes and Noble     Kobo     Amazon     Apple     Books2Read     Google Books     Bookshop

Halloween Flash Fiction: Haunting Beauty #amwriting #amreading #Halloween #Halloween2022 #shortstory #flashfiction #fiction #haunting #ghosts

October has finally come around bringing fall’s cooler temps and Halloween! In honor of which, Poised Pen Productions is hosting a flash fiction giveaway with a prize filled with books, gift cards, and swag. More on that in a moment, but first I’d like to tell you about my flash fiction written specifically for the occasion.

Last year I challenged myself—okay, my local writers’ group challenged each of us—to write a short story. That story, “The Perfect Birthday Gift,” appears only in the What A Day! Short Stories by Southern Authors anthology which released in April. It’s also linked to the Fury Falls Inn historical fantasy series, so you may want to get your own copy to read that exclusive story. (Hurry! The anthology will only be available through October 5! You can buy your copy here)

This year I was asked to write a flash fiction story for Halloween. Something under 1000 words. Now keep in mind I typically write novels, ranging in word count from 70,000-120,000. So, what the heck? The short story in the anthology was just under 5,000. Could I write a spooky story under 1,000? After some pondering, I drew from two events in my childhood—exploring a haunted building (or so I believed at the time) and having my dad scare us at a Victorian-style rental one fall—to write a 650-word romantic spooky story.

Writing short is much harder than writing long when you’re used to space to delve and explore actions, reactions, and motivations behind the characters. But writing short also hones the ability to cut to the essence of the narrative, sharpening the focus on what is important to the tale being told.

You can enter the giveaway simply by signing up with your email, and you’ll be given options for earning additional entries. Good luck!

My contribution follows:


Haunting Beauty

© 2022 Betty Bolte

A thump sounded overhead, then another. Footsteps? I shuddered. “We should…go.”

The ancient house moaned, wind whispering past like voices of ghosts in the dark.

“Not yet. I want to see where it happened.”  Cam grabbed my hand, and I squeaked in alarm. “Come on, Georgie.”

I planted my feet, but he tugged harder and drew me close. My heart raced so in my chest I could only hear its thundering in my ears. I stumbled along beside my fiancé toward a back room, stepping over a dropped pillow with what looked suspiciously like dried blood on its embroidered front. No, maybe catsup. I swallowed back the fear rising in my throat. Probably blood.

“They say she died in bed. That’s probably the bedroom, don’t you think?” Cam eased us closer to the scarred door, mostly closed as if trying to keep secrets from escaping but failing miserably.

“I…” I swallowed again instead of revealing the depth of my fear. He’d talked about invading the abandoned house for months to satisfy his morbid curiosity about the decades-old mystery surrounding the remotely situated farmhouse like fog. We do everything together, which I’m usually happy about. Even proud. This Halloween night? Not so much.

A thud behind me had me twisting around to stare into the dusky light of the hallway. Cam squeezed my hand and then let go as he strode briskly down the hall and with a flick of his hand told me to stay put. Alone. “Cam?”

“Shh.”

“Cam!”

He disappeared around the corner. I sucked in a shaky breath and tried to keep my knees from knocking together. I folded my arms across my chest as I stared down the empty hall. Suddenly, a light flared at the far end, illuminating a monstrous face floating in the darkness. Floating toward me slowly, inching closer with its open maw and glowing eyes. I screamed and the face vanished.

Cam guffawed. He clicked on his flashlight and swept the light over my face. “Gotcha.”

He sauntered up and I punched him on the shoulder. “Not funny.”

He pulled me into his warm, comforting embrace and held me tight for several moments. Kissing me lightly, he gazed into my eyes. “I’m sorry. I won’t do that ever again.”

I nodded and snuggled into his chest. “Thank you.”

He’s such a good man. Smart. Loving. Playful. His entire family loved to prank each other. If I weren’t so nervous about being in this reportedly haunted house, I would have laughed at myself. But something about the chilly and foreboding atmosphere of the place had every nerve on edge.

“Let’s just take a peek and then we’ll go have pizza. Okay?”

I nodded and squared my shoulders. “With extra cheese and jalapenos.”

“Jalapenos?” He noted the stubborn lift of my chin. “Fine. You win. Come on.”

Gripping his hand, I followed him through the squealing door as he pushed it open. He stopped just as the door bumped into something, sweeping his flashlight over the area. The bed occupied the center of the far wall, its mattress bare and…stained. The broken-out window let the sighing wind breathe through the bedraggled lace curtains.

“Looks like she really did die in bed.” Cam strode closer to the marred mattress, dragging me reluctantly along. He pointed to the largest dark red blotch. “I bet that’s where she bled out, too. It’s terrible to think about it.”

“See enough?” I hoped he had. I was more than ready to leave.

“Yeah.” He swept his light around the room one last time and then froze. “Uh…”

I looked where he aimed the light, shining on a young woman’s otherworldly figure in a white nightgown, blazing gold orbs for eyes, dangling dark tresses shifting in the eerie wind. She summoned us with a mesmerizing sweep of her ghostly fingers.

I screamed then turned and ran without looking back. Cam’s footsteps followed me down the hall and out the door. We tumbled into his Jeep and sped down the driveway, never to forget the haunting beauty.


This was fun to write, but did you enjoy it? What challenges have you made for yourself?

Happy fall! Happy Halloween! Thanks for reading!

Betty

P.S. If you haven’t already, please consider signing up for my newsletter, which I send out most every month, including news like new covers, new releases, and upcoming appearances where I love to meet my readers, along with recipes and writing progress. Thanks and happy reading!

Visit www.bettybolte.com for more on my books and upcoming events.

Did you know… You can order signed paperbacks of any of my books at The Snail on the Wall   book store!

Fury Falls Inn in 1821 Alabama. A place for ghosts, witches, and magic. A place of secrets and hidden dangers.

Amazon Fury Falls Inn Series Page

The Haunting of Fury Falls Inn (#1)

Under Lock and Key (#2)

Desperate Reflections (#3)

Fractured Crystals (#4)

Legends of Wrath (#5)

Homecoming (#6)

Musings on Generations Equating to Time Span #amwriting #amreading #HistFic #languagefan #fiction #books #novel #genealogy

Before too long, maybe even next week, I’m going to write a 15K story that is linked to Cassie and Flint Hamilton of my Fury Falls Inn series, which you may know is set in 1821 north Alabama. This currently untitled story will be included in a Rescued Hearts anthology along with 10-11 others that will release next fall, to benefit Hidden Acres Animal Sanctuary in Georgia. I’ve been doing the research, reading and interviewing falconers in Alabama, about Harris Hawks which are the featured rescued animal in my story. I’ve chosen a raptor because of Cassie’s familiar, Allegro, being a Merlin falcon. It seems fitting that her descendants would carry on her love of raptors.

The story will be set in the present day but featuring descendants of Cassie and Flint. Which got me pondering how many generations would there be between 1821 and today.

Now I love doing genealogy research and building my family tree on Ancestry.com as well as making timelines in a document so I have ready access to the information without having to seek it out again. So when I wanted to determine the number of generations, I went to my tree and counted back in my own ancestry. For my family, it would be something like 5 generations, which told me the relationship of the present-day character, too. Flint Hamilton would be this character’s great-great-grandfather. But wait! There’s more!

A spin off to my musings along this line is the advertising statement I’ve heard all of my life. Something like “Such-and-such company has served the community for generations.” It got me wondering about how you equate a span of years to a group of people. Mainly because in my family, among my siblings, there are 12 years between when my oldest brother was born and when I was born. So even our single generation of siblings spans 12 years. Not every family has 5 children, of course, so how does one compute the number of years associated with one generation?

According to my handy OED (Oxford English Dictionary), “In reckoning historically by ‘generations’, the word is taken to mean the interval of time between the birth of the parents and that of their children, usually computed at thirty years, or three generations to a century.” So it’s averaged at 30 years per generation, which in my particular case works out exactly 30 years between when my parents were born and my oldest brother’s birth, which is ironic to me. But what the OED definition/explanation tells me is that I need to have 6 generations back, not 5, to be the typical span of time. So, Flint is now this character’s great-great-great-grandfather. I always knew Flint was a great man, but that’s a lot of greats!

The next step I need to do is identify the intervening generations of parents/grandparents in case I should ever want to write another story spinoff from that series. Hmm… Maybe I should make a family tree for Flint and Cassie’s descendants for fun and future reference. Probably just on paper though. I wouldn’t want anyone else using Ancestry.com to think they’re related to my fictional characters! Now where can I find a sheet of paper large enough to draw a family tree?

Thanks for reading!

Betty

P.S. If you haven’t already, please consider signing up for my newsletter, which I send out most every month, including news like new covers, new releases, and upcoming appearances where I love to meet my readers, along with recipes and writing progress. Thanks and happy reading!

Visit www.bettybolte.com for more on my books and upcoming events.

Did you know… You can order signed paperbacks of any of my books at The Snail on the Wall   book store!

Fury Falls Inn in 1821 Alabama. A place for ghosts, witches, and magic. A place of secrets and hidden dangers.

Amazon Fury Falls Inn Series Page

The Haunting of Fury Falls Inn (#1)

Under Lock and Key (#2)

Desperate Reflections (#3)

Fractured Crystals (#4)

Legends of Wrath (#5)

Homecoming (#6)

Musings on Why I Write #amwriting #amreading #inspiration #fiction #books #novel #mustread

I’ve been musing about the publishing industry, first about the entertainment value of novels and then about author income. I was asked by one reader what makes me keep writing, so I thought I’d muse on that topic today.

First, you should know that I’ve been writing since I learned how to spell and make sentences as a child. My older sisters taught me the alphabet before I even started going to school. In first grade, the teacher asked me to read The Little Red Hen to my class. I also remember sitting at my dad’s desk, typing on his manual typewriter the weather report. Which of course I wrote based on looking out the window of his studio office. He was a master photographer and I loved to sit at his desk and pretend to be his secretary or someone else who worked with words, like the weather person.

One of the reasons for this is a love of language that my dad instilled in me by playing word games while we drove around town for him to take portrait photos of children. He’d give me a word from a billboard we’d pass and ask me to spell it. Which I would do while searching out the word on the billboard before we passed it. I had to be quick sometimes to see it!

My parents bought a set of encyclopedias that they proudly displayed in our living room. I would pull out one that had a particular animal in it, like a horse or dog. Then I’d compile my own report, including drawing and labeling the parts of the animal. You know, ears, neck, tail, paw, etc. I used tracing paper to trace the picture in the book and include it in my report.

I also wrote short stories that featured a girl and her horse. I loved horses and actually still do. I’ve written some—probably pretty bad—poetry, too. When it came time to get a college education, I naturally chose an English degree. I’ve earned both a bachelor’s and a master’s in English. I’ve put that degree to work for my writing/editing career, too.

Mainly I’ve written and published over my lifetime a lot of nonfiction types of pieces: articles, sidebars, essays, newspaper columns. I’ve also edited a ton of nonfiction: self-help books, technical manuals and reports, an insurance underwriters guide. Once I even proofread a Civil War diary for the Friends of Ft. Ward, Virginia. Plus all the highly technical documentation while working for SAIC and supporting NASA Marshall Space Flight Center and the Space Launch System (SLS) Program Office. I didn’t even try to count the number of documents let alone pages! So I did my small part to help get this massive rocket off the launch pad this year by editing the manuals, specifications, and guidance documentation.

But now I write fiction for the love of it. I love to write a great story with a bit of history woven into it. I believe we need to understand our past in order to appreciate—really appreciate—where we are today. Or to avoid repeating past mistakes today. Not every novel I’ve written is set in the past. My contemporary series, Secrets of Roseville, is set in a small town in Tennessee in the present but there are some historical facts mentioned here and there.

Despite all the negatives surrounding writing and publishing in today’s market, I keep writing my stories. Why? Because the stories keep coming and I have fans who are waiting for the next book(s) from me. I don’t think I will stop writing for some time yet, although I am starting to think about when that might be. Years from now, not days though. I mean, writing is a big part of who I am. I’ve been writing all my life, essentially. It’s not the writing that wears me down but the marketing and publicity efforts required.

I appreciate every single person who reads my books. I write them for my readers after all.

Thanks for reading!

Betty

P.S. If you haven’t already, please consider signing up for my newsletter, which I send out most every month, including news like new covers, new releases, and upcoming appearances where I love to meet my readers, along with recipes and writing progress. Thanks and happy reading!

Visit www.bettybolte.com for more on my books and upcoming events.

Did you know… You can order signed paperbacks of any of my books at The Snail on the Wall book store!

Fury Falls Inn in 1821 Alabama. A place for ghosts, witches, and magic.
A place of secrets and hidden dangers.

Amazon Fury Falls Inn Series Page

The Haunting of Fury Falls Inn (#1)

Under Lock and Key (#2)

Desperate Reflections (#3)

Fractured Crystals (#4)

Legends of Wrath (#5)    

Homecoming (#6)     

Musings on Book Piracy and Author Income #amwriting #amreading #fiction #books #novel #mustread

Last time I talked about my thoughts on the value of a novel from the perspective of its entertainment value. I suppose the fact that people do love to read means books and their authors are worth trying to scam and for unscrupulous actors to copy and sell for themselves. Should we be flattered??? I think not!

There’s an old saying among authors, money flows to the author not from the author. This is particularly true of those published by traditional publishing houses. Not so much for hybrid or indie published authors. However, all authors who write for publication do so for one of several reasons: to share their vision or viewpoint, establish their credentials, or to try to earn a living. They do not write so that others can copy, in whole or in part, and then publish their knock-off edition to unsuspecting readers.

Believe me, there are many piracy sites out there, most not even based in America so they are difficult or impossible to prosecute under U.S. Copyright Laws. Most authors I know feel like we’re playing whack-a-mole chasing down pirated copies. I ignore them now because most of the time if they’re offering a free version of my book, or at a low price, they don’t actually have the book but they’ll be happy to take the would-be reader’s credit card details. I don’t think they’re hurting my sales since I don’t believe they actually have the content they’re phishing with. I urge readers to buy their books from known retailers instead of shady websites with their own agendas.

Contrary to what many readers seem to believe, most authors are not millionaires living the high life. In fact, the vast majority of published authors do not make a living from their book sales. Just check out this summary by the International Authors Forum of the Authors Guild 2019 income survey and the full AG report here. The fact that the “median incomes have fallen to a historic low of US$6,080 in 2017, down 42% from 2009” should widen some eyes, I think. Put that next to this rather unnerving tidbit: “50% of full-time authors earn less than the federal poverty level of $12,488 (figure of 2019). Other data shows that 80% of all authors earn less than what most people would consider a living wage.” And those numbers are not getting better as the years pass. Trust me on that.

The romanticized view of a published author is that of someone living the good life, jet-setting about and doing book signings with lines of fans out the door. Or of the dashingly handsome author turned expert investigator because he writes murder mysteries, like Castle. (When does he find time to write the next best-seller?) Most authors I know live far more humbly and write nearly every day at home. In their comfy clothes. With a beverage of choice nearby, often a cup of hot tea.

In truth, I am a full-time author and I do not earn a living wage from sales of my books. I do have avid fans, which I’m forever grateful for! But it would take selling thousands if not hundreds of thousands of books to say I make my living from book sales. When you figure how much I earn per book—ranging from $0.30 to $1.75—and assume $13,000 to be above the poverty level, you get an idea of just how many books I’d have to sell. At the 30 pennies low end, my calculator says that would take 43,333 books; the high end, 7,429. But the average book only sells somewhere around 500 copies in its lifetime, so there’s that.

Of course, the best-sellers are outliers on this point. The celebrity authors like Stephen King, James Patterson (and his stable of co-authors), Nora Roberts, David Baldacci, Elizabeth Susan Philips, and the like, have huge followings that they started cultivating decades ago. King has been in the industry for 50 years, according to his recent testimony at the trial on the merger of Penguin Random House and Simon & Schuster. Of course they sell more books mainly because they have more fans. I’m building my fan base one reader at a time, so perhaps one day I’ll have a list-making, international best-seller, too. #FingersCrossed

One other thing to consider when pondering how much authors make. I publish my own books under my own imprint, so I have to pay professionals to create the covers, editors to review my text, and formatters to prepare the book files properly (I’m still learning this aspect but I’m not there yet). All that is money flowing away from me, not to me. So the amount I earn from sales has to fill in that deficit from my bank account, too.

Thank goodness my husband totally supports my efforts in every way possible! He really and truly is one of my biggest fans. I have more stories to tell yet, so I best get busy.

Thanks for reading!

Betty

P.S. If you haven’t already, please consider signing up for my newsletter, which I send out most every month, including news like new covers, new releases, and upcoming appearances where I love to meet my readers, along with recipes and writing progress. Thanks and happy reading!

Visit www.bettybolte.com for more on my books and upcoming events.

Did you know… You can order signed paperbacks of any of my books at The Snail on the Wall   book store!

Fury Falls Inn in 1821 Alabama. A place for ghosts, witches, and magic. A place of secrets and hidden dangers.

Amazon Fury Falls Inn Series Page

The Haunting of Fury Falls Inn (#1)

Under Lock and Key (#2)

Desperate Reflections (#3)

Fractured Crystals (#4)

Legends of Wrath (#5)    

Homecoming (#6)     

Impressions of The Shadow of the Wind by Carlos Ruiz Zafon #HistoricalFiction #HistFic #amwriting #amreading #books #novel #mustread #review

I’ve finished reading The Shadow of the Wind by Carlos Ruiz Zafon. If you missed my initial thoughts, you may want to hop over there to read that post first. Let me just say how much I enjoyed reading this story. It’s a kind of gothic mystery, murder mystery, historical, blended with a coming of age romance of sorts. There’s a lot going on, with lots of red herrings and mysterious doings sprinkled throughout.

The use of the key elements of gothic tales really creates the atmosphere of this story. Not only the large, shadowy spaces featured throughout. There are fallen angels pointing accusingly toward one of those immense buildings, angels made of concrete who outlive the symbol of power and money as it is abandoned by the rich family and falls into ruin. You’ll find disfigured people, too. Strangers who become friends who find out they don’t really know each other as well as they’d thought, or hoped. Families that break apart, and some that come back together. Freaky weather—unusual rain, flooding, and snow, for example—lends an unsettled air to the tale.

One strong thread throughout this entertaining and intriguing story is that of the power of friendship and family. True, not every friendship and family survives the throes of this tale of the 20th century. The ones that do are forged in fire to withstand anything going forward, though. I particularly enjoyed and appreciated the friendship between Fermin and Daniel, Fermin acting as a kind of unreliable mentor at times but with a heart of gold. Daniel grows throughout the story both in size and maturity.

Zafon’s story is memorable and engaging, one I think is worth reading. Some of the descriptions (metaphors, similes, etc.) were a bit flowery for my taste. Not to say any of the writing was bad! Not at all. I wonder though if the somewhat exaggerated (?) terms is because of the translation from Spanish (a romantic language) into English (more a Germanic based language). Someone else will have to determine the answer to my question, since I don’t know Spanish and of course don’t have the Spanish edition to compare to even if I did.

Zafon also created unique and individualistic characters to have to work together, or against each other, in order to help solve or confuse the puzzle Daniel and Fermin are trying to solve. Corrupt police. Killers. Librarians. Booksellers. Housewives. Mothers. Girlfriends. Guy friends. Shady people working in cahoots with the corrupt police. It’s quite a fun mix.

I hope you’ll give this book a chance. I think it was definitely worth reading, which explains the well-worn covers and pages!

I’m going to take a little break from this tour of historical fiction because I’ll be having surgery and treatments for breast cancer over the next few weeks. I don’t expect to have a post next week because the surgery is this Friday. I’ll get back into the swing of it in a week or two, and will most likely start telling you more about my upcoming releases in July and August. But I will swing back to this series because you all seem to be enjoying it as much as me! And I’m learning more and more about nuances to writing from different countries.

Have you ready Becoming Lady Washington yet? If not, in honor of her June 2 birthday, it’s on sale through the end of June 2022. Think of it as a fictionalized autobiography of her life, from when presented to society until she died. I hope you enjoy it!

Until next time, happy reading!

Betty

P.S. If you haven’t already, please consider signing up for my newsletter, which I send out most every month, including news like new covers, new releases, and upcoming appearances where I love to meet my readers, along with recipes and writing progress. Thanks and happy reading!

Visit www.bettybolte.com for more on my books and upcoming events.

On sale for only $1.99 for a limited time!

Patsy Custis manages a large 18th-century plantation in Virginia but as a widow she struggles to balance her business with caring for two young children. When Colonel George Washington takes an interest in her, her life veers in an unexpected direction. But when trouble in the form of British oppression leads to revolution, George must choose between duty to country and Martha. Compelled to take matters into her own hands, she must decide whether to stay home or follow her heart into a dangerous future.

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