If you are just joining me, let me explain the inspiration to begin these posts. In Texas, and all across the country, Taco Tuesday is a popular day when Tacos are usually 99 cents. So, I had the inspiration, or Angel nudge as I like to think of it, to create a Tarot Tuesday. Each Tuesday I will post a different Tarot card and give its meaning. I pray and ask for the right card that will bring a universal message.
I created a short video to demonstrate how I pull the card for the posts. If you’re interested, here’s a LINK.
Last week we had the Queen of Swords. This week, we have another of the beautiful Queens with the Pentacles.
Keywords: Nurturing, practical, providing financially, and a working parent.
The Queen of Pentacles is the nurturing mother of the material world. At home, she shows her love for others by cooking nutritious meals, maintaining a clean and inviting home, and giving warm cuddles to those who need it most. She is also able to work a full-time job and make a financial contribution to the household, often as the primary breadwinner. She is masterful at taking care of the practical needs of work, home and family, while also giving her love and support to those she cares about.
When the Queen of Pentacles appears in a Tarot reading, you are embodying the ultimate working parent archetype. You care for your family and domestic responsibilities while also making a living for yourself and creating financial abundance. You can maintain a healthy balance between home and work by integrating the two and finding your place of ‘flow’ and alignment. You strive to create a warm and secure environment for your family and loved ones while giving your love and support freely.
Similarly, the Queen of Pentacles suggests that it is important to you to live independently, with a stable income and with enough time and space to also nurture your loved ones. You may be trying to strike a better balance between your home and work lives, giving it your all in both domains. At the same time, you find time for yourself and prioritize ‘me’ time in between all of your other commitments.
This Queen asks you to maintain a compassionate, nurturing, practical and down-to-earth attitude when dealing with others and your present circumstances. Focus on creating a calm and balanced life for yourself. Be resourceful and practical, dealing with issues as they arise using straightforward solutions that fix the problem with minimal fuss.
At times, the Queen of Pentacles may represent a mother figure in your life who can provide you with loving support and nurturing to help you get through the influences of your past. She may be a teacher, a counsellor, a mentor or someone who you are very close to. Alternatively, if you are investing a lot of yourself into nurturing and caring for others and creating an established and comfortable lifestyle, she may represent a part of you.
This is such a beautiful card, and I think it is a card that ALL of us will relate to, whether male or female. I have definitely been in this role and embraced it. Thoughts?
As always, thank you for joining me! See you next Tuesday for another inspiring message from the Universe via the Tarot Cards!
The RAVE REVIEWS BOOK CLUB is all about supporting, uplifting and promoting authors. And Shirley Harris Slaughter is a great supporter of others. So, this month, it’s her time to shine!
Not only does she have a newly polished re-release of “Our Lady of Victory,” but she has a birthday on the 28th, which is also the day she co-hosts the RAVE WAVES show, RATERS NOT HATERS.
Shirley was chosen for the Spotlight Author for the month of November, so she is being celebrated in a big way!
If you missed my interview with her on the RAVE WAVES show, #RRBCBringOnTheSpotlight, you can catch the replay below. It was a ton of fun! Especially when her two sisters showed up! 🙂
Blurb: This is a second edition with updates on the state of this historic church. In the original publication files were lost then resurfaced with content altered along with missing photos during transition from one publisher to another. Such is the fate of an Independent Author. This book evolved out of years of frustration at the total disregard and lack of respect for the contributions of Black Catholics in the city of Detroit. The author says, “We are not mentioned in the pages of history along with the other Catholic churches that sprung up during the World War II era, and that needed to be corrected.” The author did fulfill one dream since publication … that this church can now be found on the web even though it has merged with another church. It is now called Presentation-Our Lady of Victory Catholic Church.
I had the privilege of reading and reviewing this book!
I know nothing about the catholic church or religion and I learned a lot from reading the factual account of the establishment and demise of Our Lady of Victory, a black catholic church in Detroit, Michigan. While names and locations didn’t mean anything to me, the main focus of the book was the sense of community and the difficulties that came when there was forced blending. I admired the strength the author’s mother showed, struggling to provide for her children as a single mother and her determination to see that they received a good education and religious background. This is true preservation of a piece of history for future generations to learn from that might otherwise have been lost. It is relevant to today’s society as an example of how racial discrimination can destroy lives. My hat is off to this author for her detailed account of the birth and death of this church and the names, dates, and events she chronicled.
I am super happy to open my blog site today to suspense author, Stephen B. King! Not only does he have one new release, but two in the same week! I hope you’ll join me in sharing his new releases!
Seven women have disappeared from bars only to be found murdered after asking for an Angel Shot. Detective Rick McCoy is handed the case after returning from leave following his wife’s horrific ordeal at the hands of the serial killer, PPP. Criminal psychologist Patricia Holmes lost her husband to the same killer and when her current partner makes her life miserable she jumps at the chance to work with Rick again. When they determine a man currently jailed for the crimes could not have committed them the mystery deepens.
But that is the least of Rick’s worries. An imaginary alter ego appears warning him his wife is suicidal. Will they be able to solve the riddle of the Angel Shot before another victim loses her life and save his wife from taking hers?
Two favorite passages:
“You have been busy, haven’t you? Thanks for interceding on my behalf. The thing is, I’ve been thinking of giving everything up and going back to lecturing. Besides, I won’t work with Pepperdick again, and apparently, all the other sergeants think I’m a liability and won’t partner with me.” She took another drink and looked back out of the window, blinking rapidly.
“Pat, you know as well as I do most cops are a superstitious lot. All you need is one more good investigation, one where you don’t get shot or stabbed, and there would be a long line of guys who would want you as their partner. Do you think if you had another chance, you could get through a whole case and not get wounded or slap your boss?”
She had been swallowing and choked as she laughed at his humor. “Depending who my boss would be, I could try,” she offered when she recovered, then turned her serious gaze on Rick’s.
****
“Yep. So, show me what you’ve got. Let’s say Brandon is not our killer. Have you got enough to profile who is?”
Pat made a pantomime of patting her pockets and looking around her, including under her chair. “What are you doing, Pat?” he asked, though he suspected what her answer would be.
“Oh, I was just looking for my magic wand; I thought I left it lying around here somewhere.”
They both laughed for a moment, and Rick’s heart swelled. They fitted together so perfectly. He shrugged, forcing the feelings down, which he had been doing with Pat for a long time.
“I don’t have much, Rick, but here are some thoughts.” She paused, composing her ideas. “People generally think rape is about having sex, yet we know often it’s not. That is the result, yes, but the cause is more about control, or even to some extent, sadism. Sometimes the rapist cannot achieve orgasm, which makes him more violent, so, we can postulate sex may not be a motivating factor; cruelty is. So, that’s the first point to consider. Second, not only was Ingrid Stapleton brutalized, but then strangled. Strangulation is a very hard, upfront, and personal way of murdering someone. Sometimes we see it in a case of domestic violence, where the killer is angry with someone else to the point of losing control. So, we can draw from that the man was angry with Ingrid, but why? On the face of it, Brandon O’Toole fits that description, he was rejected by her, and that could cause uncontrollable rage, rage enough to strangle, yes, but, in that case, not rape, do you see what I mean?”
Rick nodded slowly. “Yes, I think I do. If we are assuming O’Toole didn’t take Ingrid, then maybe the killer watched her in the bar, perhaps witnessed Ingrid’s altercation with O’Toole, and tried to rescue her. Possibly, he comforted Ingrid after O’Toole left and because he fancied her that could explain the Rohypnol and subsequent sexual assault. But why kill her by strangulation?”
Her brown-eyed gaze bored into his. “Rick, I think we are looking for someone in part with severe issues of anger and hatred toward women, yet in another way, he has a natural desire for them too. He couldn’t let her go because she would identify him. This man could have some sort of dissociative disorder, or dare I say even possible multiple disorder syndrome, and if that’s the case….”
“He’s killed before, or after. Jesus, Pat, you’re saying this could be a serial killer who got away with murder?”
****
Why did you write a Glimpse 4, wasn’t it meant to be a trilogy?
Well, yes, originally this was to be THREE deadly glimpses. I wanted to tell a story of inappropriate workplace desires and the effect on four people during three murder investigations of three different serial killers. I think in the same way good actors like a mini-series to be able to really portray a character, I wanted three books to tell the story with all the nuances two married people would feel who were attracted to each other. I believe I did tell that tale to the best of my ability, but after book 3, Glimpse, The Tender Killer was published, a groundswell of public and reader opinion made itself known by way of emails…..It seemed my readers, including my narrator, and editor wanted to know what happened to my characters next. Quite frankly, I was stunned by the response
I was genuinely flattered, but as a writer, I had ‘moved on’ and had other projects I was working on such as Winter at the Light, and a full re-write of Domin8, yet the calls for more continued. I truthfully never expected that, and was deeply moved that my characters struck such a chord with readers. But, still the ethos of the Glimpse series was to take the reader inside the minds of three separate serial killers and show why they were the they were, so to create a fourth instalment would require another killer, and that wasn’t so easy to do.
I am deeply fascinated by all things psychology, and in particular, what circumstances create the triggers which cause some people’s minds to fracture and create a serial killer. In Glimpse, The Angel Shot I use 3 quotes from one of America’s worst serial murderers, Ted Bundy, to give an indication how these types of people think:
“Murder is not about lust, and it’s not about violence. It’s about possession.”
“We serial killers are your sons; we are your husbands, we are everywhere. And there will be more of your children dead tomorrow.”
“What’s one less person on the face of the earth, anyway?”
For me, this is not only some of the most chilling words I have ever read, but deeply, and yes morbidly, interesting. So, for me to create another serial murderer for Patricia Holmes to profile, wasn’t easy, and it took some time to come up with the answer. My wife inadvertently came to my rescue when we were out one night at a social function and she said to me when she returned to the table, “You’ll never guess what is written on the back of the lady’s toilet door.” I looked up and joked, “Jeez, I hope it’s not my phone number advertising for a good time.”
Obviously, she is used to my warped sense of humor, and gave me a withering stare, until I asked her, “No, darling, what is on the back of the door?”
Her answer was like a bolt of lightning hitting me, and my two all-time favorite words came to mind: “What if…”
My loving wife gave me all I needed to create a man so troubled by his dysfunctional marriage he wants to rape and murder vulnerable women when they asked for help to be rescued from a troublesome date.
One thing about me readers may find interesting:
I am fascinated by how the human mind can fracture and have a tremendous respect for psychologists, and psychiatrists who try to help patients put the pieces back together. A good friend, and his wife are both prominent psychologists, and my daughter has degrees in criminal psychology and justice. I often wish I had studied the subject myself, but at that age I was far more interested in rock music, free love, illegal substances, and telling stories. The Glimpse series is named that because in each book I try to offer the reader a look into the killer’s mind set, and offer an answer to the question most people want answering; why.
One thing about Glimpse 4 I think readers will find interesting:
A character named Jolly appears in Glimpse, the Tender Killer as the evil alter-ego of the schizophrenic serial killer, Bobby Cornhill, whom the media nickname, The Biblical Killer, because of the religious quotes written in blood on the victim’s walls. I received a lot of emails from readers demanding not only to bring him back, but asking the question, was Jolly a real entity or just a figment of Cornhill’s very troubled mind. While I loved creating this character, I was stunned that readers wanted more, and in Glimpse, the Angel Shot, Jolly features a lot more. This time one of the main protagonists, Rick McCoy sees, and talks to Jollly. The question again is: Is Jolly real, or is Rick slowly going insane?
Who is Jolly?
I am genuinely staggered by the number of readers who wanted to know more about my character, Jolly. I wanted the reader to wonder, is Jolly real, or just a figment of a very troubled mind? And boy, did they.
I loved Jolly, and felt I was crossing the border into the supernatural, as if I was writing like my more famous namesake. I put a lot of effort into making Jolly feel real to not only the murderer, but make the reader ask that question, is he somehow real and chooses who he appears to?
I had so many requests, when I sat down to write Book 4, The Angel Shot, I knew I had to bring Jolly back, and, I did with a vengeance. The hairs on the back of my neck still tingle when I read about Jolly, and I know what happens next! I hope those readers who wanted to see him again are satisfied, and they can finally decide if he is just imaginary, or somehow, a sentient character who chooses who he will appear to, and influence. How could he appear to Bobby and make him murder liars in an internet chat room, yet confront Rick McCoy and offer a lifeline to save Juliet, his wife? And, then, when Jolly appears to Juliet and offers a way to find solace, and help to keep her sanity, is he helping, or hindering her recovery?
Suffice to say, my beta readers, my editor and narrator, enjoy the juxtaposition that Jolly creates. While Rick worries, he is losing his mind, supposedly, all Jolly wants to do is save his wife’s sanity, and life.
Could such a thing actually happen? As Pat says to Rick when he finally admits to her he is seeing Jolly “We all need help at different times in our lives, sometimes more than others. Often, speaking about what is inside us helps our fears and anxieties dissipate by bringing them into the open and letting you examine them in the cold light of day. I can see Jolly seems real to you, which of course, he would, wouldn’t he? If it weren’t so real, you’d shrug it off and laugh. A psychosis, no matter how severe, is always real to the person experiencing it. It should never be shrugged off, laughed at, or ignored for that matter. You’ve been under more stress than anyone should have to bear, I’d be amazed if you didn’t come through it without some, shall we say, quirks. It doesn’t mean you’re mad or need locking up or can’t function as you are. But I think the first step for you is to understand why this is happening. Guilt is one of the most powerful motivators there is, and I think once you accept that, work with it instead of trying to fight it, you will see Jolly less and less.
Will Jolly appear in a future story?
Hmm, I am honestly not sure. From my perspective, he is a wonderful, rich character to write for. Intelligent, deep, and he keeps quoting the bible to suit any given situation. So, maybe he will. I’m not saying Jolly is appearing to me, but I sometimes, in the still of the night, hear him whispering to: “Stephen, bring me back…”
I have been asked many times, will there be more Glimpse stories?
During writing Glimpse, The Angel Shot, I believed it was to be a standalone story, and a finale for my characters, Rick, Pat, and Juliet. But, I am frequently reminded of the James Bond quote, “Never say never!”
In fact, there is now a Glimpse 5, called Glimpse, The Dinner Guest, released 13th of November 2020. This is a special project I was invited to submit a story to, and I was humbled to be selected. Me? an ego? Nah, surely not.
The rules seemed simple and interesting enough. 13 authors each publishing a dark thriller, of only 13000 words. It must feature a broken mirror, and use the words, Friday the 13th. I jumped at the chance to make my favorite all time character, Patricia Holmes take a starring role in a scary, stand-alone story, without her protector Rick McCoy to ensure she doesn’t get hurt again.
Here is the blurb:
Detective Sargent and clinical psychologist, Patricia Holmes, has been invited to a murder mystery dinner party at a small luxury hotel located in Western Australia. The dinner is a reunion party for the psychologists and psychiatrists who work at Perth’s largest mental hospital, which treats the criminally insane.
But there is an uninvited guest–a former patient who is hungry for revenge. In fact, he is ravenous. He will stop at nothing until he murders the doctor who gave him painful, electroconvulsive therapy.
Detective Sargent Holmes must stop a frenzied killer on a vicious spree—but can she save the other guests, or will she be the last one left alive?
Here is a short excerpt:
Pat knocked on the door of number ten and hoped she had caught Ruth before she went downstairs to the bar. From inside, she heard a muffled woman’s voice. “Can you get that, Tony,” The next moment, the door was yanked open, and a tall distinguished looking man wearing a tuxedo performed a double take when he saw her.
“Jesus Christ, are you all right?” he said with concern in his voice, and Pat realized the effect her slashed and bloody top had on him.
Pat gave a small laugh, which, when she glanced again at his face, grew louder, and threatened to become hysterical. “I’m fine, thank you. Dress scary, the invite said, so I did. I’ve got to say; your tuxedo isn’t scary at all. I’m Patricia Holmes and would like to have a few words with Ruth, if I can, before festivities get underway.”
He grinned and stepped back, beckoning with his head for her to enter. “Yeah, we don’t do fancy dress-ups, sorry. We’re far too dull in our old age. Come in. Ruth is applying her make up with a trowel. I’m Tony. I don’t think we’ve met?”
“Thanks, Tony, please call me Pat, everyone does. I left Graylands quite a while ago now, and even when I was there, I was only part-time. I consulted to the criminally insane, the lifers, worst of the worst. By all means, call me morbid. These days, I’m with the police.”
He pointed to the chair by the desk for her to sit then turned his head to the bathroom. “Hon, it’s Patricia Holmes. She wants a word with you before we go downstairs. Do you want me to hang around, or can I go down and mingle?”
Ruth Hawthorne stuck her head around the doorway with a lipstick clutched in her right hand. “Hello, Pat, bloody long time no see, how are you doing?” She turned her glance to her husband, “You can leave us girls. We can go down together. Is that all right, Pat? My God, I love your outfit.”
“Thanks, Ruth. I thought I’d have a bit of fun. Going down together works for me. I need a private chat anyway…”
“Sounds ominous. You get off, Tony. Pat joined the dark side and is with the police now, but I don’t think she is here to arrest me.”
Pat shook her head and smiled as Ruth disappeared back into the bathroom. Pat sat down on the seat to wait, and Tony acted like most people do around detectives; nervous and in a hurry to get away.
“Righto, see you downstairs. Nice to meet you, Mrs. Holmes.” He scampered out the door quickly, eager to either get away from her, find a strong drink, or both.
My crazy world of irony:
I love some of the ironies and humor, I created in this short story. Pat, who used to consult with murderers attends a murder mystery dinner, dressed as a murder victim and is the only police officer in the remote location to try to stop a murderer kill all the attendees. I found it funny to write that she is the only guest to use fancy dress as the invite instructed her to do. This once happened to me, many moons ago when I dressed up as Count Dracula, but the other fifty or so guests at the party wore ‘normal’ clothes. I felt like an idiot all night, though I did meet a woman who became a playmate for a while…She thought I was interesting.
In Glimpse 4, Patricia was shocked to learn that most of the other detectives in the Major Crime squad don’t want to partner her because she had been badly injured in two previous cases. In Glimpse 5, she must face a man suffering extreme paranoid schizophrenia, intent on ridding the word of as many psychologists as he can, and Pat is a psychologist.
Why a short story in the Glimpse series?
I am reminded of the adage, less is more, and for writers, that means the less you say, the more impact it can have. So, the challenge for me was only writing 13000 words featuring a character I love writing for, when sometimes I could just write, and write and write… Then, before I know it, I’m approaching 100,000 novel limit. When I read through The Dinner Guest, as I have so many times now, I realize just how much I was able to say, with so few words, and I am thrilled with the result. I am tempted to perhaps write a few more short stories, or novellas for Pat, and Rick, in their own anthology. We shall see how Book 5 is received, and if there is a demand from my loyal reader.
Well, as I said earlier, never say never.
Thank you so much for having me on your blog, and the chance to chat about my Glimpse world.
Welcome to a guest post from the amazing and talented author, Parris Afton Bonds! She has a brand new book release in her Texican Series, and I’m thrilled to have her visit with us today! Take it away, Parris!
When Jan graciously said she would make room for me in one of her blogs to talk about the Paladin clan of The Texicans series, I was reminded of how the Paladin horde had commandeered every inch of room space from my office.
My writer’s cell is four-feet-wide, and here I stumble, fumble, and grumble through writing my novels ~ but here, also, is where I fulfill my soul’s passion. My spirit takes flight and soars.
Here, also, is where the phantasmic patriarch of a founding family of Texas, the English-born rogue, Lord Alexander Paladín, first leaned over my shoulder and whispered in his husky voice, “The Paladín’s and their Texican’s story needs to be told, mi quierda.”
Foolish me. I nodded my assent. Who could resist Alex Paladín? I could tell his story, of The Brigands and how the penniless Baron Alejandro de la Torre y Stuart came to the Mexican colony of Tejas to claim his deceased older brother’s land grant in 1835 and ended up fighting alongside Sam Houston at the Battle of San Jacinto for independence from tyrannical Mexico.
Little did I know that over the next 4-1/2 years, the increasing numbers of the Paladín clan would crowd into my miniscule office, each to tell their own story that clamored of heartbreak and triumph, of risks requiring all, of love that surpassed even death.
Here in my small office arrived the Irish traveler Niall Gorman, who confessed to falling in love with his best friend Alex’s bride. Here, also, into my cubicle nudged for room the Baron Karl Von Hess Lippe, to remind me that the predominant language of Texas had once been German and his desire had always been predominantly for Niall Gorman’s wife, the lovely Spanish aristocrat Rafaela Carrera.
The Tejano Jew Moses Solomon reminded me how he had staked his interests in land and banking to provide vessels for a navy of Tejas’s newly formed Provisional Government. Also, elbowed in Kerry Paladín, to reveal in Volume II of The Texicans, The Barons, how he would lose his left arm in a minor skirmish of the Civil War, lose his libido, and almost lose the love of his life.
If there weren’t enough Paladíns already, Drake the Rake cleared a path to my chair and proceeded to tell how in Volume III, The Bravados, he would clear a path of its debris of bodies, deposited by the greatest natural disaster in U.S. history, the Galveston Hurricane of 1900, to look for the young woman he could never forget.
By now I was feeling claustrophobic and wanted nothing more than to edge my way out of my tiny office. But, oh no, another arrives, the lone wolf Preston Paladín, determinedly insinuating a path through to me. “How can you neglect my cousin Hannah’s courage under Nazi torture, sweetheart? That has to be the heart of Volume IV of The Betrayers!” And, naturally, he revealed how he, the lone wolf, would be no longer lonely.
The Paladíns are completely taking over my office and my life. A horde of Paladíns now camp out in my four-foot-wide office, night and day.
Relentless, they hound me, insisting I must pen Volume V of The Texicans, The Banshees. Byron Paladín faces a nuclear meltdown at Los Alamos, Jack Paladín faces a Russian cold-war torture as a captured U2 pilot, and Sam Paladín faces both a political betrayal and the presidential assassination in Dallas, Texas in 1963.
And, oh, there are so many more Paladín men and women with their both harrowing and happy stories occurring during the Spanish American War, World Wars I and II, and the Viet Nam War. Either I shall have to get a larger office ~ or stop the telling of the Paladíns story with Volume V, The Banshees.
“But, mi amor,” whispers still another intoxicating Paladín voice, as sensuous as sin, “you have yet to tell our own love story.”
Hands on research at the battlegrounds of the Battle of San Jacinto!
About the Author:
Parris Afton Bonds is the mother of five sons and the author of nearly fifty published novels. She is co-founder and first vice president of Romance Writers of America, as well as, cofounder of Southwest Writers Workshop.
Declared by ABC’s Nightline as one of three best-selling authors of romantic fiction, the New York Times best seller Parris Afton Bonds has been featured in major newspapers and magazines and published in more than a dozen languages.
The Parris Award was established in her name by the Southwest Writers Workshop to honor a published writer who has given outstandingly of time and talent to other writers. Prestigious recipients of the Parris Award include Tony Hillerman and the Pulitzer nominee Norman Zollinger.
She donates spare time to teaching creative writing to both grade school children and female inmates, both whom she considers her captive audiences.
This month we have 11 awesome writers on tour, showcasing their writing ability via short snippets of their never-before-seen written works of art. Each day, one author will be profiled on multiple blogs until the next day, when it will be another author’s turn to shine in our spotlight.
We invite you to check out each piece, no matter which blog you find them on, and then let the author know what you thought of their work via the comments sections. After enjoying the piece, we ask that you visit the author’s RWISA Profile Page here on the RWISA site, where you will find more of their work to enjoy.
Today we feature the founder of RRBC and RWISA, Nonnie Jules!
…IN THE WORLD OF WE
We often hear that music is the universal language. It is the avenue to bridge all divides –
racial divides
gender divides
political divides.
But, in the midst of all the division,
each party holding court in their respective corners of the ring,
ears lightly tickled by the sound of the simple “IMAGINE” by John Lennon,
wafting through the musky air of tear gas, rubber bullets and water cannons –
a mist of standstill calms the noise
…and in mere moments, the eyes of “independent” onlookers are pleasantly greeted by the most beautiful and welcoming sight –
…bodies slowly rocking
…hands collectively raised
…waving side to side
…all in unison
…chanting
“Imagine there’s no heaven. It’s easy if you try…”
The 2020 US election has ended. The people have spoken.
What’s left behind? A world of anxiety and angst – wrapped in feelings of wondering when the bombs will drop, or when the other shoe will fall. And although I’d like to point fingers here and maybe even call a few not-so-pretty names, my daughter sits beside me as I write this, an ear to measure the “nice” level in my words, the child guiding the parent. Roles reversed, she gently reminds me that the original goal of this message is unification – therefore, I will stay the course of peace.
In this moment, acknowledging that my conscience of decency is bigger than any emotion that might be stirring the embers of fires that have burned deep inside me for the past few years – neutrality is my cohort, and we will not take sides.
Instead, all that will be allowed to roll off my tongue is FACT…
one reign is ending
and another about to begin.
Some exultant…
others despondent
Yet, now is not the time for either.
Yesterday is gone,
today almost a memory,
but what awaits us in tomorrow
is what WE decide it will be.
This is not the land of us and them –
this is the world of WE.
WE decide what, who and how WE want to be.
Do you resemble love, or, are you wearing the likeness of hate?
What adorns your heart, a choice only you can make … for you.
So, I have made my choice – and it is firm and true!
I choose love.
To love,
to be loved,
to speak love,
to exude love,
to live love.
Because I know that what I send out into the world, will be exactly what the world returns to my doorstep.
It is for that reason that I shall…
remain steadfast in my vigilance –
cognizant of any negativity that might try to seep in or out of my pores –
Skillfully suppressing the desire to gloat in the face of the so-called “losing” side.
I’ve too much pride…to stoop so low.
The 2020 US election has ended. The people have spoken.
There were no losers.
WE are a world of winners.
Remember, WE decide
what
who
and how
WE will be
in this…
beautiful
colorful
everchanging
world of WE.
“Imagine there’s no country It isn’t hard to do Nothing to kill or die for And no religion too Imagine all the people living life in peace…
It’s all easy if WE try.”
Thank you for supporting this member along the WATCH “RWISA” WRITE Showcase Tour today! We ask that if you have enjoyed this member’s writing, please visit their Author Profile on the RWISA site, where you can find more of their writing, along with their contact and social media links, if they’ve turned you into a fan.
We ask that you also check out their books in the RWISAcatalog. Thanks, again, for your support and we hope that you will follow along each day of this amazing tour of talent by visiting the tour home page! Don’t forget to click the link below to learn more about today’s profiled author:
This month we have 11 awesome writers on tour, showcasing their writing ability via short snippets of their never-before-seen written works of art. Each day, one author will be profiled on multiple blogs until the next day, when it will be another author’s turn to shine in our spotlight.
We invite you to check out each piece, no matter which blog you find them on, and then let the author know what you thought of their work via the comments sections. After enjoying the piece, we ask that you visit the author’s RWISA Profile Page here on the RWISA site, where you will find more of their work to enjoy.
“IROKO” In the past, nobody would have taken notice of Iroko, the biggest and tallest tree in the forest. But then, cities started to grow and to eat into the forests. Trees were cut to make way for the growing cities. But the Iroko tree resisted being cut down. Any time an axe cut the tree, the axe either broke or the cut bled, real blood., and cries, ear piercing cries, like human cries were heard coming from the tree. The stories surrounding Iroko were such that settlers decided to let it stand and the town grew all around and away from it. Things went on peacefully for a while, but soon it became clear that Iroko did not like the exposure it was getting from the people surrounding it. After all, this tree was the king of the forest, where both trees and animals revered it. Now, standing in the midst of humans, with no one paying it any heed, all of this would change very rapidly. People, especially those living close to where Iroko stood, started reporting strange happenings around Iroko in the dead of night. Those who were bold enough to come out and watch these happenings, reported seeing dancing and merrymaking around Iroko by people they believed were spirit people. These spirit people went in and out of Iroko as if they were walking in and out of their homes. They sang and danced in merriment from twelve midnight until two in the morning, after which they packed up and walked back into the tree. Those who observed these goings-on, did so from afar and in hiding. The story was told of a young boy who had the misfortune of being seen by these spirit people. He was taken and was never seen again. He had heard the stories of the happenings around Iroko, so that night he snuck out of his house and walked toward Iroko to take a closer look. Voices were heard warning him not to come closer, but he continued walking toward Iroko until he entered the sphere of the tree where everything turned grey. At that point, the boy lost control of himself and was pulled along until he disappeared in the mist and was seen no more. The mother watched everything in hiding in paralyzed shock. The other people who watched in hiding were also mystified. They couldn’t believe their eyes, but they dared not allow themselves to be seen. The next morning, the mother saw a huge striped cow tied to an orange tree in front of her house. The cow was chewing cud. The woman walked around the cow trying to understand how it came to be there. The town people also took notice and started gathering and questioning the presence of the cow. Out of nowhere, a young boy with only a loin cloth around his waist appeared and spoke to the onlookers. “Mama, Iroko says you should take the cow in exchange for your son. Iroko says you should not kill the cow. You should sell it and use the money to take care of yourself.” With that, the boy turned and walked through the crowd and disappeared. Everyone there was seized with shock and they quickly dispersed. The woman cut the cow loose and started shooing it off from the front of her house, but the cow would not budge. The woman started to weep and pleaded with Iroko to return her son and take back the cow. “Iroko give me back my son and take your cow!” she implored. “I don’t want your cow!” The next day, the woman saw the cow at the back of her house, peacefully lying down near her hearth and chewing cud. She ran out toward Iroko. “If you won’t give me back my son, Iroko, take me too!” she screamed at the top of her voice. Iroko’s leaves started to rustle. Suddenly, the old woman in the hut materialized and stood between the woman and Iroko. “Go back, Mama!” the old woman said. “What you seek cannot be done. Your son is gone, dead and Iroko has paid you in exchange for him. Go back or you will meet the same fate!” The woman refused to be stopped. She pushed the old woman down, walked over her and continued to approach Iroko. By this time, people had started to gather and were watching. The woman threw herself at Iroko and just like magic, the onlookers saw sparks of light, like fireworks, all around the woman. They heard her screaming and shouting like someone roasting on a stake. When everything died down and the sparks were no more, the people saw that the woman had metamorphosed. The woman had changed into an animal, something that looked like a dog, or a goat. No one could really tell. The people dispersed but this time they all had one thought in their minds – that Iroko must go. Iroko’s fame continued to grow even beyond the immediate town. The townspeople also became bolder. They consulted with diviner after diviner to find out how to get rid of Iroko. They tried everything, without any success … one attempt took the lives of twelve men. They tried to burn Iroko down, but the fire turned against them and burned them to death. One diviner suggested that the spirit of Iroko resided in the old woman who tended it, and that if the old woman was killed, Iroko would quietly and slowly die. The townspeople burned the old woman’s hut down with the old woman in it. The next day, Iroko started taking souls. People started disappearing from their homes, both in broad daylight and at night while they slept. Finally, an Iroko priest from a distant land told the people how to destroy Iroko. “Humans should not fight Iroko,” he said. “They should appease Iroko. Iroko trees do not live amongst humans. Before you people started building your town, you should have appeased and pleaded with Iroko to leave your town. As you can see, Iroko was simply minding its own business, when you people decided to invade its privacy. Now you have to sacrifice to Iroko to appease it.” The townspeople had to pay this priest to come to their town to perform all that was needed to appease Iroko. There is no need to list here all that Iroko demanded, which included the blood of virgins, before it was appeased. The morning after the ceremony by this priest was concluded, the people came out and watched as the inhabitants of Iroko exited one after the other and disappeared; the birds of various families, the giant ants, red and black, dark dangerous black snakes – all came out of Iroko hissing, grumbling, and then poof, like smoke disappeared. But the king of all the animals, a giant Eke python, refused to be dislodged. The people had to pump inflammatory liquid into Iroko and set the python on fire, to dislodge it. It came out rumbling, twisting, and floundering, until it, too, disappeared. Finally, Iroko was cut down. Mystery upon mystery, not one single hole existed in the cut tree. It was intact with rings showing how many hundreds of years it had stood there. *** Thank you for supporting this member along the WATCH “RWISA” WRITE Showcase Tour today! We ask that if you have enjoyed this member’s writing, please visit their Author Profile on the RWISA site, where you can find more of their writing, along with their contact and social media links, if they’ve turned you into a fan. We ask that you also check out their books in the RWISA catalog. Thanks again for your support and we hope that you will follow along each day of this amazing tour of talent by visiting the tour home page! Don’t forget to click the link below to learn more about today’s profiled author: Joy Nwosu Lo-Bamijoko’s RWISA Author Profile
Releasing a new book is so super exciting and I am thrilled to help a fellow Wild Rose Press author spread the word about her new book, Harmony’s Embrace!
Harmony’s Embrace
Reuniting with the man who broke her heart has never felt so right.
Divorced dad Birley Haynes is too busy raising his children and running his family’s music academy to start a relationship. Then Harmony Holdich, his high school sweetheart, returns home to Willow Springs, Vermont for Christmas and falls into his bed. She brings light and fun back into his life, but he can’t brush aside the threatening incidents around his workplace.
Harmony hadn’t expected a complication like Birley, especially so soon after the death of her unfaithful husband. With her life a mess, she plans to move across the country and start over. All she can offer him is a fling, but her heart yearns for more.
When the threats rise, how will Birley keep his children safe and convince Harmony to give love another chance?
Excerpt: (PG)
Dear God. His heart slammed harder. He’d died and gone to Heaven.
Harmony stretched her arms above her head and danced in the middle of the living room. Her hips pulsated with the beat of the music. Twisty locks of her hair bounced around her shoulders. She winked, then glided her hands across her breasts and stomach, daring his gaze to follow.
Birley licked his lips. The organ pressing against his zipper throbbed. Sweat slicked his nape. He dropped his scarf beside her purse, jacket, and beanie on the coffee table.
“Dance with me?”
Her husky entreaty ricocheted through him like a ping-pong ball. How could he deny her? He gripped her waist. She slid her arms around him. They swayed, their bodies a scant inch apart. She nuzzled his neck, her breath fanning his skin. His hair prickled. The air crackled around them. He shuddered and held her tighter.
“I’ve missed this.”
His chest heaved. He struggled to fill his lungs with air. “Dancing?”
“Dancing with you.” Harmony stroked his clean-shaven jaw. “I’m sorry things didn’t work out with you and Susannah, but I wouldn’t trade this moment for anything.”
Oh, God. He kissed her and swept his tongue past her parting lips. Delicious. The taste of chocolate and wine clung to her breath. He nibbled and licked the smooth slope of her neck.
“Birley, yes.” She ducked her head and claimed his mouth with hers. Then she feathered kisses across his face. “I need your hands, your mouth, your scent all over me. Take me, Birley. Hard, soft, I don’t care.”
Fuck. Her breathy plea wrapped around his heart and shot blood to his groin. She eased back, drawing him with her. The wall halted her retreat, and he trapped her between it and his body. Their tongues dueled and teeth clanked. Heat sizzled through his veins and pulsed through every organ. Her body writhed against his. Was she trying to drive him mad? He snapped open the fasteners of her pants and slid his finger beneath the waistband of her insulated leggings. Silk brushed his skin, then he slipped into her warmth.
Amber Daulton is the author of the romantic-suspense series Arresting Onyx and several standalone novellas. Her books are published through The Wild Rose Press, Books to Go Now, and Daulton Publishing, and are available in ebook, print on demand, audio, and foreign language formats.
She lives in North Carolina with her husband and demanding cats.
This month we have 11 awesome writers on tour, showcasing their writing ability via short snippets of their never-before-seen written works of art. Each day, one author will be profiled on multiple blogs until the next day, when it will be another author’s turn to shine in our spotlight.
We invite you to check out each piece, no matter which blog you find them on, and then let the author know what you thought of their work via the comments sections. After enjoying the piece, we ask that you visit the author’s RWISA Profile Page here on the RWISA site, where you will find more of their work to enjoy.
This piece is in remembrance of my Creative Writing student, Gill Pontin, who suddenly passed away in October 2020. Gill was an artistic dynamo whose enthusiasm, creativity and laughter will be dearly missed. She was a key participant when our group developed a new world, Creedland, and this story is set in Vape Town.
“Whoa, boy.” Blade Driscoll tugged on the reins and pulled his destrier to a halt. He surveyed the outskirts of Vape Town, unsurprised by the ramshackle buildings and pock-marked roads. The air reeked of burnt sugar and the back of Blade’s throat tingled. Between his thighs, Stormbolt shifted, wrinkling his equine nose and shaking his head from side to side. The horse’s plated armour clinked together destroying any attempt at stealth. Blade nudged his mount towards the main street, the sooner he finished his business in this cesspit the better for his sanity.
Pink-eyed townsfolk slunk away from the war horse’s hoof spikes. Pastel smoke billowed from a series of chimney stacks and led him to the front steps of the Crystal Tavern. Scantily clad fairies with tattered wings slouched against the verandah railings. Out of habit, Blade scanned their faces but didn’t recognise any familiar features. He didn’t waste his breath asking after his friend as their vacant stares and pink-tinted irises indicated their minds were lost in a kaleidoscopic haze.
Crystal Pink was manufactured from bog flowers and utterly irresistible to fairies. Its euphoric buzz leached away their magic, attacked the delicate blood vessels in their wings, rendering them flightless, before their bodies swelled to human size. The only way to gain their fix was to enslave themselves to Gurezil Flintsunder, owner of the Crystal Tavern, the unofficial mayor of Vape Town, and the largest whore-master this side of the Despicables. Lowlifes flocked from every dark corner of Creedland to sample the unique fairy delights.
Blade dismounted and left Stormbolt’s reins dangling, ready for a speedy exit. Anyone foolhardy enough to try to steal the stallion would learn how hard the war horse could bite.
Blade checked his weapon inventory. If blood flowed today, he didn’t intend any of it to be his.
Before the saloon doors swung shut behind him Blade tugged a bandanna over his mouth and nose. Steam laced with cotton candy sweetness curled through the dimness. Chunks of crystals simmered in heated ceramic bowls, producing bubbles and sickly fumes. Each table featured glass paraphernalia plugged with multiple hoses. Tendrils of pink smoke escaped from the pipe tips.
Pain pulsed in Blade’s forehead and his eyes watered. He sipped shallow breaths as he scanned the front parlour, counting four patrons slumped in the booths. Their hands grasped the tubes as if they were lifelines. Fools; it was death they courted.
A month ago, he’d rescued Maie Quickthistle from Gurezil’s clutches, sneaking her away while the tavern slumbered. When she’d surfaced from the drug’s grip she’d attacked him like a demented harpy, begging for her next fix. He responded by locking her inside a rented room, but she’d broken out the window and hightailed it back to the Crystal Tavern. After that failure, he decided to change his tactics.
A bartender slumped across the bar and ignored Blade as he slid into an empty booth and shuffled into the shadows. From here he had an unobstructed view of Gurezil’s office door and a ringside seat to the drama he knew was about to unfold. The next bog flower shipment was due within the hour, and he wanted to witness Gurezil Flintsunder’s reaction when he learned his entire crop had been destroyed. The poison had cost Blade his life’s savings but the wizard assured him that this would taint the bog for generations. With one application he’d wiped out the only source of Crystal Pink.
Half an hour later, boots thundered along the passageway and a man hammered his fists on the office door. “Boss, there’s a problem with the latest shipment.”
Gurezil flung the door open and stomped into the hallway. “If those imbeciles have stolen as much as one flower I’ll strip the flesh from their hides and feed it to the fairies.”
“There are no flowers.” The man held out a limp vine. “Something’s wrong with the whole patch.”
Gurezil snatched the vegetation out of the man’s hand, lifted it above his nose, and sniffed it. The blood vessels on his cheeks blazed beetroot. “Stinks of spoiled magic. There’s no time to waste, saddle up the horses and the wagons, we need to salvage what’s left.”
Blade stayed in the shadows until they disappeared outside. Whistling, he ascended the stairs two at a time before gently opening every door along the top corridor. A rush of stale air tainted with the drug’s signature sweetness filtered into the passage. Fairies dozed on bunks, oblivious to his presence as their minds languished in a hypnotic blur. He didn’t desire to be anywhere near Vape Town when their mass withdrawal kicked in. Dealing with one psychotic fairy was enough to test a man’s mettle.
He counted his blessing when he found Maie Quickthistle out cold, making it easier to transfer her onto Stormbolt’s saddle. As a precaution, he bound her hands together and checked her pockets for hidden daggers. Earlier, he’d prepared a campsite in the surrounding woods as he understood the next two days were going to be tough on the both of them.
If he’d known how sharp fairy teeth were he might have reconsidered this rescue plan. Bloody bite marks and grazes marred his forearm and face, and he was sure he was missing a piece of his ear. His ears throbbed from Maie’s constant shrieking, and he hoped she’d have no memory of all the things she’d offered him in exchange for a fix.
After a sleepless 48 hours, his eyes were redder than an addict’s and his thoughts foggy. Maie’s limbs contorted into a fetal knot and whimpers escaped her throat. She was quieter than earlier, but he kept his distance as she’d lured him into striking range before. He yawned and struggled to keep awake. Perhaps he’d snatch a moment’s rest.
Something fluttered against his cheek and Blade wrenched his eyes open. Tiny fairy wings whirred close to his face. He held still as Maie planted a kiss on the tip of his nose. “You saved me.”
Lightness flooded Blade’s soul. “Of course, that’s what friends do.”
Thank you for supporting this member along the WATCH “RWISA” WRITE Showcase Tour today! We ask that if you have enjoyed this member’s writing, please visit their Author Profile on the RWISA site, where you can find more of their writing, along with their contact and social media links, if they’ve turned you into a fan.
We ask that you also check out their books in the RWISA catalog. Thanks again for your support and we hope that you will follow along each day of this amazing tour of talent by visiting the tour home page! Don’t forget to click the link below to learn more about today’s profiled author:
If you are just joining me, let me explain the inspiration to begin these posts. In Texas, and all across the country, Taco Tuesday is a popular day when Tacos are usually 99 cents. So, I had the inspiration, or Angel nudge as I like to think of it, to create a Tarot Tuesday. Each Tuesday I will post a different Tarot card and give its meaning. I pray and ask for the right card that will bring a universal message.
I created a short video to demonstrate how I pull the card for the posts. If you’re interested, here’s a LINK.
It’s been a while since we’ve had a Swords card, so just to refresh, the Swords represent the mental level of consciousness that is centered around the mind and the intellect.
Keywords for the Queen of Swords: Independent, unbiased judgement, clear boundaries, and direct communication.
The Queen of Swords combines the mental clarity and intellectual power of the suit of Swords with the maturity and receptiveness of the Queen. You have the gift of being able to use your intellect and unbiased judgement while also remaining flexible and open to receive input from other sources. As you lead from the head and not the heart, you are better able to discern situations without the influence of emotion or sentimentality. Instead, you prefer to know the how, what, why, where, when and who of everything to help you make sense of your environment and better understand others. It is not that you do not care about others, but you connect with other people through an intellectual understanding rather than an emotional one.
The Queen of Swords notes that you are a truth-seeker. You are open to hearing the thoughts and opinions of others, but ultimately, you filter that information to decipher what is true and what is not. When interacting with others, you will not tolerate mistruths or excessive ‘fluff’. You prefer to get to the heart of the matter without engaging in too much chit-chat or gossip.
The Queen of Swords suggests that you have an innate ability to tell it like it is. You are a quick thinker and highly perceptive, piercing through the noise and confusion to get straight to the point. There is no ‘beating about the bush,’ or ‘softening’ of your comments, opinions and thoughts. You are upfront and honest in your views, and you expect the same from others. For this reason, many people respect your opinion and come to you for advice when they need clarity.
As a determined, independent and resilient person, you have established clear boundaries, and you are quick to call out someone who crosses them. People do not mess with you, not because you threaten them or inflict violence, but because you set expectations up front about how you want to be treated. Some people might be intimidated by you, but once they get past your tough exterior and develop a sense of trust and respect, they see your softer side.
I have always related to the Queen of Swords in many ways and long to be more like her. While I’ve always lived my life from my heart and not my head, many times that’s gotten me into situations I’d been better off to have avoided. So, I take the advice from this card to heart in my efforts to grow and learn. How about you? Do you relate to this card, or know someone in your life who fits this? What is the message for you?
Thank you for joining me! See you next Tuesday for another inspiring message from the Universe via the Tarot Cards!
This month we have 11 awesome writers on tour, showcasing their writing ability via short snippets of their never-before-seen written works of art. Each day, one author will be profiled on multiple blogs until the next day, when it will be another author’s turn to shine in our spotlight.
We invite you to check out each piece, no matter which blog you find them on, and then let the author know what you thought of their work via the comments sections. After enjoying the piece, we ask that you visit the author’s RWISA Profile Page here on the RWISA site, where you will find more of their work to enjoy.
Today we are featuring the work of Patty L. Perrin.
“SUNSET”
Eden backed her Boston Whaler, Eden’s End, away from the dock, swung her nose into the current and gave the outboard a little gas. Still in the no-wake zone, her granddaughter hung over the side near the stern and trailed her hand in the water.
“Leigh, a shark’s gonna bite that thing right off.”
“No, it won’t. See the dolphins alongside?” She pointed her dripping finger at a pair of breeching dolphins. “Everyone knows they protect folks from sharks.”
Eden shook her head, grinned, and watched the sleek bodies leap through gray water until the pod outdistanced them. She’d never heard of a shark this far up the intracoastal, but she enjoyed teasing Leigh, even if the girl didn’t like it much. Besides, she wouldn’t have to put up with it after tonight. Her heart dropped at the thought.
Right now, they needed to get into the channel where she could open the throttle and let her fly. They’d need a bit of speed to get through the chop at the inlet’s mouth.
“Where’d you stash the drinks, baby girl? I’m thirsty.”
“Coke or ginger ale?” Leigh reached into the cooler behind the captain’s bench and waited for Eden’s answer.
“We have any bottled water?”
“Yuck.” Leigh wrinkled her nose and stuck her tongue out. At thirteen, she didn’t care for plain water. She grabbed a coke for herself and tossed the water toward the captain’s bench, where her grandma easily caught it.
“Come up here with me.” Eden scooted over, but Leigh grabbed the canopy support bar and stood next to her to wave to passing vessels.
They entered the main channel and accelerated. “Look at them all!” Leigh held tight to the support with one hand and with the other, pointed out small boats like theirs, yachts and excursion ships heading out to sea. “I’ve never seen so many in the channel all at once. Is all this for the sunset?”
Eden didn’t answer. She glanced at her granddaughter and wished she could keep this moment forever. Evening light bathed Leigh’s face in a gentle glow, the pink in her cheeks showing through the Florida tan she wore summer and winter. Her luminous eyes, the same amber as the natural streaks in her sun-bleached hair, crinkled at the corners as she squinted at the water. She’d be a beauty in a couple years and Eden had looked forward to scaring the sin out of any boys with the wrong idea. Just another thing she’d never get to do.
The chop demanded her attention, so she drove while Leigh held on and whooped every time their bow hit another wave. The sea calmed when they reached the Gulf of Mexico, and they found a spot to drift about a hundred yards out, away from other vessels. The current turned the stern toward the northwest, where they had a perfect view of the horizon to the west and the inlet to the east.
Eden moved to the cushioned top of the cooler in the aft cockpit. Leigh joined her, pretended to push her off with her hip, and settled close. She sipped her coke while her grandma threw an arm around her in a hug.
The ocean breeze played with Eden’s short hair and blew tendrils of Leigh’s long hair across her chest. Eden reached into her jeans pocket and pulled out a hair tie.
“Turn around, baby girl. You don’t want hair in your eyes just as the sun sinks, do you?” Leigh leaned forward while her grandma caught her hair back in a tail. She reached for a blanket bunched on a corner seat.
“Here, Grandma. The breeze is a little cool.” Leigh pulled it over their laps.
A bank of cumulous clouds towered to the east, each layer a living painting, shifting through pink, purple, orange, and salmon in majestic slow motion. A low swell slapped against the hull, a rhythmic percussion to the visual symphony.
Eden took several deep breaths, enjoying the tang of salt air with a hint of seaweed. The scent of grilling fish tickled her nose. Her mouth watered and her stomach rumbled. They’d eat with Leigh’s parents later, at one of the seafood places on the main dock. A special treat.
Leigh snuggled close to Eden, who pulled the lightweight blanket up to cover her girl’s shoulders.
“Are all endings sad?”
Eden swallowed hard before she could answer. “Not all.”
“Like what? Name some happy endings.”
Eden dug past the lump in her heart to find one or two. “When the prince kisses the princess and they live happily ever after. When the hero escapes from the dungeon.”
Leigh slapped her arm. “I mean for real.” She turned her gaze toward the setting sun, now barely touching the horizon’s edge. “I can think of lots of sad endings. Like when we had to leave our friends in Minnesota. And when Scruffy ran away. And when…”
Eden interrupted. “Farmers are happy when a drought ends. And what about the end of an icy cold winter? You had those in Minnesota, remember.”
“Oh, yeah. But the end of snow wasn’t so happy.”
Eden grabbed her granddaughter’s hand and pointed toward the sun, now a half-circle sitting on a dark line.
“Every ending starts a new beginning.” Just saying it lifted her own spirits a tiny bit.
Leigh picked up on it. “School starts at the end of summer. I like school.”
“And cooler weather,” Eden reminded her.
“Morning comes when night ends. I’ll be fourteen when thirteen ends.”
“And we’ll meet in heaven when life ends.” Eden wanted to take back the words as soon as they left her mouth. She sucked air in thick gulps to keep from bursting into tears. She felt her granddaughter tremble.
Eden turned Leigh’s face toward her and kissed her forehead. She kissed each precious cheek and wiped her tears away with her thumbs. “You know I’ll always love you, don’t you? Everything I have is yours, and no matter what, we’ll see each other again.”
“Death is a sad ending, Grandma. I don’t care what the next beginning is. I don’t want you to go.” Leigh covered her face with her hands, bent over her grandma’s lap and sobbed, shudders racking her body and tearing the heart out of Eden.
“Watch, Leigh. Sunset isn’t over yet.”
Leigh sat up, wiped her eyes, and took a shuddering breath. Eden’s heart swelled with love and pride at her granddaughter’s courage as the ocean swallowed the last sliver of sun, leaving the eastern clouds a gray canvas. There should have been more drama.
Eden returned to the console and started the engine.
“Wait, Grandma. Can’t we wait for the stars to come out? I need more time.”
Eden turned the key off and wrapped her arms around Leigh’s slender body. They sank to the deck, neither trying to control the eruption of grief tearing at their cores.
When their sobs turned to hiccups and they let each other go, Eden lifted Leigh’s chin and pointed to the sky. “Look at that magnificence, baby girl. God’s story written in the stars. You’re there, and so am I.”
“What do you mean, Grandma?”
“Our last sunset is an ending, but tomorrow’s a new day for both of us. I’m going home very soon, and you have a long life ahead with happy endings and beautiful beginnings.
Leigh sighed and snuggled close. “And we’ll meet again. In heaven, right?”
“That’s right.” Eden returned to her bench and turned on the engine. “I’m hungry and your parents must be starving. How about you?”
Leigh nodded, stood, and held on to the support. “I love you, Grandma.”
*****
Leigh backed her whaler, Eden’s Dawn, from the dock and headed to the channel where she joined a smattering of fishing boats, her lights joining theirs on the way to the Gulf. Her daughter snored softly, asleep beside her on the bench. Leigh tapped her shoulder to wake her.
“Faith, we’re getting to the chop.”
The child stretched and yawned, jumped to the deck, held on to the support, and whooped at every wave they hit until they reached calm water.
“Now, Mommy?” Faith pointed at the pretty box on the console that held Grandma’s ashes.
“Soon.” Leigh headed out until land was a smudge to the east and cut the engine. “Now, Sweetie.”
Leigh and Faith held the box over the stern together. Leigh kissed it, and they dropped it into the ocean while the sun rose behind a cloud bank, its golden rays streaming out to paint the morning sky pink and orange.
Leigh hugged her daughter as the box sank beneath the waves. “Goodbye, Grandma. We love you.”
Faith reached up and held her mother’s face between her small hands. “Are you sad, Mommy?”
“A little. But every ending starts a new beginning.”
Leigh lifted Faith to the bench, kissed her, and turned Eden’s Dawn toward home.
***
Thank you for supporting this member along the WATCH “RWISA” WRITE Showcase Tour today! We ask that if you have enjoyed this member’s writing, please visit their Author Profile on the RWISA site, where you can find more of their writing, along with their contact and social media links, if they’ve turned you into a fan.
We ask that you also check out their books in the RWISA catalog. Thanks again for your support and we hope that you will follow along each day of this amazing tour of talent by visiting the tour home page! Don’t forget to click the link below to learn more about today’s profiled author:
