HEART’S JOURNEY

What if you could see the heart of the Milky Way…the Great Central Sun and the supermassive black hole? With your own eyes…no Hubble telescope needed.  And someone superspecial, superwonderful, holding your hand the whole time. A personally Guided Tour at the safe, protective side of your Oversoul, your Higher Power.

I did. It will fill my dreams till my dying breath and beyond.

And there’s more. So much more.

http://www.time-traveler.org Continue reading

FIRST LOVE GROWS OUT OF DISASTER

Think the slave trade stopped with the Civil War? Petra knows better.

Petra, a beautiful Hispanic girl, just finished a snack with her friend at the Pizza Parlor. When the companions separated, Petra headed home to finish her homework. When she was about to cross the street, powerful hands grabbed, shot her with a taser, and tossed her in the back of a van with other female victims. She and the other teen girls abducted that day were about to become slaves.

According to blogger Malika Saada Saar, the executive director of Rights4Girls, a U.S. based human rights organization, about 293,000 American children are at risk for being exploited and trafficked for sex. The majority of these kids are girls, between the ages of 12-14, who are abducted by traffickers, raped and forced into prostitution.

First Love Born of Fire is a short story inspired by Vanayssa Somer’s novel, The Boy Scout, also reviewed on this blog. That book revealed the shadowy world of slave traffickers and a team of heroes that worked with government agencies to put a lid on the heinous crime.

In First Love born of Fire, the teens highlighted in The Boy Scout are scrutinized closely to study the affects of abduction on a group of teens focusing on the relationship of Petra and Jim, a fourteen-year old boy beaten and raped by his abductors.

Somers delves into the emotional effects of abductions on the children and their families while opening the door to the deranged minds of the perpetrators.

The slave trade is real. The problem is palpable where thousands of children and young adults from around the world are sold as slaves for sex, hard labor, or both for the remainder of their lives. The enigma is real and it can happen to any child the instant he or she steps outside their home.

First Love Born of Fire is an eye opener and a must read for teenagers and their parents.

Buy This Book today!

First Love Born of Fire

 

 

THE LOVE POTION

My publisher, Solstice Publishing, puts out short story anthologies at holiday times throughout the year, inviting its authors to send in stories for consideration. I thought about Christmas and asked my Editor if she had a short story collection coming up to release over the winter. After she sent me the deadline and details, I sat around for hours, pacing, muttering, looking things up, trying to think of a topic for a short romantic story suitable for a Christmassy theme.

Almost ready to give up and forget about it, I went out for coffee and asked the server what she might suggest for a Christmas romance theme.

“Well,” she replied, “I don’t know if this helps, but while I was away on holiday I spent a lot of time with my lovely little granddaughter. One day she said she wanted to find a recipe for pixie dust. I asked her what for, and she said, so I can sprinkle it on you, Grandma, and you can fly whenever you want to come visit us. You can just fly without having to come in an airplane. That way, you can come over to see us all the time.”

We talked about how sweet that was, and I told her she must be a really good Grandma.

I took my coffee and chose a quiet table off in a corner, sat down, took off my jacket and my glasses (which I can’t read with) and began to write a little story called The Love Potion.

Learning to write is a complicated endeavour. If you have something in your head and heart you are just gasping to write about, that’s one thing. At least you can get going easily. But trying to imagine a story out of absolutely thin air, that’s not so easy.

However, thinking about the loving heart of this little girl so far away, I got the idea of a brave widow with pretty red hair and a family far away in the U.K., and a lonely, divorced police detective whose wife had given up on the challenges of life with a police officer.

What brought the two characters together, you might wonder?

Well….the little girl in the U.K. brought them together…she found the recipe for true love and sprinkled it all over her Grandma.

Want to get the recipe? You’ll have to wait for the anthology to find out all the ingredients.

Oh! But which stories are accepted for the winter book hasn’t been decided yet! I have to wait to know my luck. I’ll let you know, but no matter whose stories are picked, be sure to look for Solstice Publishing’s Winter Holiday Anthology coming out soon.

 

 

MY NEW NOVEL, “MORNING SONG”

 

 

 

 

MORNING SONG COVER

 

In her fifteenth year, Kathryn Bond’s life was thrown off course by a violent crime. Headed for Olympic glory, she instead began a long journey toward healing, her dreams having turned to dust. One day she sat down to write a romance novel and began a career that would make her the most popular romance author in the world and a multi-millionaire before she turned thirty. But her dreams of romance remained on the computer screen and in her books, for she could not recover from the long-ago attack which had changed the course of her life. She avoided men at all costs, if she possibly could. Her dreams of being kissed, of having a strong pair of arms around her, remained that – only dreams. But her married friends never gave up, sure they could find for her that special someone who would heal those terrifying memories once and for all. One day, her world turned upside down again, when an experienced war correspondent walked into her life. A man who understood everything. And understood her. Just when it was all coming together for Kathryn, a phone call brought life-altering news. A child was coming into her life, an orphaned little girl, whose addicted mother had died. A child who had been damaged by abuse and needed one thing above all else—she needed healing. With her lover’s help, Kathryn has to face her demons once and for all, and rise above them, to meet the needs of this broken child.

http://myBook.to/MorningSong

THE LIFE OF AN AUTHOR: More To It Than You Might Think

In the winter of 2013 I began to write. Being home most of the time, I needed an outlet, preferably creative.

I remembered a few years back when, as a practicing psychic, I had put my shingle out on one of the idyllic islands off the coast of B.C.  I offered holographic, past life readings as well as teacups and tarot cards.

The past life readings had started as a great surprise to me when, one day, I was giving a Reiki treatment and as I worked my way around the body on the table, I suddenly began to see a movie unfolding behind my eyes. Puzzled, I asked the woman if she wanted to know what I was seeing, as I thought it probably had something to do with her, rather than with myself.

She said, Yes, Please! And a new gift had come to life for me. Without warning or preparation, my guides had gifted me with the unexpected ability to access my clients’ Akashic Records and view events from various past lives in the form of a video, a movie. This ability surfaces as I work on a Reiki client and starts usually either at the Top of the Head chakra or else around the knees. Rarely, it starts at the feet.

She was delighted to find that her grandmother, who had died only two weeks prior, had popped in to say hello in the middle of her Reiki treatment. Tears of gratitude at hearing from her beloved Gran filled her eyes. After the treatment she rushed off to tell her husband.

Next day, he came in for a treatment. We talked about what had happened with his wife’s reading and I told him it was a new thing, I didn’t know if it would ever happen again. But we began the energy treatment and I left it up to my guides.

Within a few minutes, an amazing movie unfolded for this man. I saw before me his private offices in Seattle, and the items he had on his wall there. Then the movie went to an ancient time when he belonged to a primitive tribe in a place that looked to me like New Guinea, somewhere like that. He was the tribe’s shamanic healer and he had a sister who depended on him. She was albino, completely white. This branded her in the tribe as a dangerous person, perhaps a witch, so she was always afraid and stayed close to her powerful brother.

At the time the movie showed, he was called upon to make a Vision Quest, and the next hour took us through a long journey, dangerous and frightening, in which he had to find his own way, unaided by supernatural help, through jungles full of predators and across vast gullies, crossing by whatever means he could think of.

He made it through many dangers and finally, reaching the base of an old volcano, he lay down to sleep. As he slept, he dreamed of a hard red ball in his midsection. When he saw this ball in himself, in his dream, it meant he would develop massive new powers to help his people with.

The dream and the movie ended abruptly at the base of that volcano and we left him asleep on his pile of leaves on the ground. We returned to present day reality.

I was nervous he would think I was crazy. I’d never experienced anything like that. I went off and made him the usual end-of-treatment cup of tea. When I brought it to him, he looked at me oddly. He said, “That is the most incredible thing I have ever heard. Everything you said made sense. Those things you saw on the wall of my office, they are actually there. And although we don’t talk about it to anyone, my wife and I are heading out on a trip to China, where we have booked lessons from a Chi Gong Master. He will teach me to place a hard red ball in my midsection, and once I learn how to do that mentally, he says I will have vastly improved power and strength for my life and my metaphysical learning.”

He looked at me in a dazed way and I just stood there, flummoxed. I said, “I don’t know what’s happening. I don’t know if it will happen again, or if that was all for you and your wife. It has never happened to me before.”

Since then, I have given Reiki energy to many clients and narrated to them as they lay on the table, whatever movies and information their guides felt right to show me. When I deliver this information, I am standing inside their previous bodies of their previous incarnation. I smell, taste, see and emotionally feel everything they had experienced in those long ago times, and I tell them everything I experience.

I have no idea why it started. But it only happens when I give Reiki, no other time.

One of those readings involved a young woman escaping from the Inquisition in long-ago Majorca. She had come into the presence of a rare metaphysical teacher who had taught her to change shape, overcome the limitations of the physical world, to defend herself with a variety of martial art moves and many survival skills. She was being trained to be a helper to the helpless, a defender to victims of injustice.

In the reading, I saw this young woman in long-ago Majorca, walking into the room where the Grand Inquisitor sat with his cronies. She exercised the power she’d been taught, and walked through the table itself, steadily and calmly, right up to the cruel men waiting for her at the top of the room, she walked into the wood of the table and strode up to them right through the material of the huge, heavy table.

The Inquisitor and his friends rose and fled in terror, recognizing a being who was infinitely more than they could dream of becoming.

This particular reading held special magic for me. So that winter, in 2013, I decided to try to write a story involving a young woman like this.

The result was my first novel, a paranormal fantasy romance called Pagan Flames.

The next novel was a romance called Sacred Trust, in which the wife of a high level politician comes home unexpectedly at lunchtime and finds her best friend in bed with her husband.  Not the first time something like this had happened. So she decided it’s time to leave, to build a new life. She flees the loveless marriage and drives across the continent to the west coast, where she finds many challenges and also, of course, finds true love.

In the meantime I’d heard from fans who had read Pagan Flames and they wanted more adventures with the hero and heroine of that book…Melchior, the Wizard, and Theresa, his student. I listened to my fans and wrote a book called The Boy Scout, in which Melchior and Theresa become involved, along with a true-hearted Boy Scout, in the rescue of a group of teens about to be shipped into slavery by a band of human traffickers.

Most recently, I wrote Morning Song, a novel about a romance writer who had achieved huge success with her writing skills, but had never experienced a relationship. At the age of fiteen, she’d been attacked during the commission of a violent crime, and had been afraid of men ever since.

Beautiful Kathryn, with millions in her bank account, lived alone with her staff for company and a few friends who knew her secret. At 32 years of age, she’d never been kissed.

Blessed with the friendship of someone who made it their business to see Kathryn gets kissed, she falls in love with a man who is just what she needs. Someone patient, understanding, someone who has worked around the world in many situations and understands the dangers and damage life can inflict on a soul. With great care, he sets about offering healing to this lovely young woman who has spent her early years hiding away in her home, her safe place.

The world opens for her as she dares to take a step outside of her safety boundaries, stepping out in the protection of a smart and caring man.

As her own healing begins, she receives the news that an aunt has died and left her a special inheritance in the form of her little girl, who now is an orphan and needs a stable home. A victim of sexual abuse, the child finds in her aunt a warm, honest, compassionate and knowledgable counselor.

Both find their way to healing and a whole life in a magical journey which is, in fact, much like the pathway many real people have walked on the way to their own real-life healing.

With Morning Song on its way to print at this time, I am well on the way to another, different, novel, about a young woman who is the daughter of a notorious arms dealer. She is very different from her parents, and has developed, on her own, a strong moral code that she lives by. Her great desire is to get her Captain’s Ticket and command a crew on a huge freighter, carrying cargo across the world’s oceans.

Brave, resilient, and daring, she takes bullying from no one and commands, first of all, respect from others as she joins crew after crew on small boats, getting her hours on the water, first requirement on her way to her Captain’s Ticket.

Beautiful and tough, both innocent and fierce, she has to face what her father has become and save the innocent from death and destruction at his hands.

In the process, we introduce our hero, a different kind of hero. Dave, skilled in all things marine, a confirmed bachelor. Working on crew for her father on a freighter, he is, in reality, an undercover operative whose handler is part of a secret federal governmental body. Tracey, determined to change her father’s moral view of life, comes to crew for him also, and Dave has to deal with this modern-day Boadicea, determined to stand for what’s right. As forces so much larger than themselves battle it out around them, these two fight to defeat a growing passion for each other.

In the process of writing these books, I have had to research the most unlikely collection of topics. From the daily life of an arms dealer to the Spanish Inquisition and monarchy, from high-level U.S. politics  to criminal procedures, from wilderness treatment of a broken leg to the geography of Majorca’s famous tourist cave systems, on and on it goes.

When I decided to write up the story of one young woman’s psychic reading and turn it into a story, I had no idea that I would end up spending untold quantities of time poring over reference books and internet sources, trying to gather a genuine grasp of how other people on this planet have lived in the past and live now in the present.

Sometimes I feel it’s too much, I can’t do it. I get scared. I shrink back. How did I get into this? I ask myself as I wander around a library, looking for some archaic information about dinosaurs in ancient China. What makes me think I can do this, I wonder.

But it is like anything else. One step at a time, one day at a time, you commit to do a thing and you just get up in the morning and go do it. Bit by bit, it comes together.

Then, one day, all flags flying, you tell the world that this particular author has another book out there on Amazon. You order some copies, you hold it in your hand, a sense of wonder permeating the day, and you remember a day when this book did not exist. Not the cover picture, not the words, not the plot, nor the characters.

Now they do. Because you got up in the morning and got the job done. Till one day, your publisher sent you a contract, and now you’re, once more, a small star in the firmament of heaven.

And she says to you, “Now start the next one.” And your life is full.

Visit my website: http://www.paranormalfantasyromance.com

See my books on Amazon: Author.to/Somers

 

EXCERPT FROM MY NEW NOVEL, “MORNING SONG”

FROM CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT, Kathryn at her therapist’s office:

Kathryn told her, calmly and in a very detached voice, about Eric leaving. She told Heidi everything she knew about his assignment, which wasn’t much, but was more than she’d told anyone else.

Heidi went silent after Kath stopped talking for a minute or two. She looked grim, sat tapping the eraser end of her pencil on her desk, her mouth set.

“Well. So. But it sounds like you’re wondering if you are being betrayed by this man, or if he’s telling the truth when he says the government has ordered him to go. That he had no choice. Do you think that’s happening? Are you afraid he may have lied, told you a half-truth,to bring the relationship to a stop? Is that what you’re afraid of, Kath?”

“No. Absolutely not. Eric would never do that. If he wanted that, he’d find a kind and supportive way to tell me. It’s his way. He’s not mean, Heidi, he’s not like so many men. I’m not being all Pollyanna here, I mean it. He hasn’t got that kind of nature.

“No, it’s just that. Well, whether he lied or not. It’s just that, fact is, I can’t take it. Heidi, I can’t take it, I can’t. He could die. They could already have killed him. “

She could feel the watertight hinges on her heart’s doors being slowly loosened, could almost hear the creak and groan as they let go, and the dam broke.

She burst out, “Oh, Heidi, I love him so much, what was I thinking, I should have told him. Why am I such a coward. I’ve been pretending I wasn’t sure. I let him go out there thinking I don’t care. But if anything has happened to him, I’m going to die.”

It was the first time she’d ever said the words, out loud, or even to herself.

Heidi, leaning back, relaxed, her hands up behind her head, gazed at her friend and client with interest. “I’m sorry you have to endure this, Kathryn. But it’s significant, the way it’s working out. Here’s The White House, of all things, getting involved in your life. How likely is that? Can you see the hand of a compassionate universe in this?”

“What?” Kath responded, looking confused.

“It sounds as though you’ve been bending your grasp of your own reality into kinks for some time, now, in order to protect yourself from making a mistake and letting this man in. Forgive me, Kath, my dear, but I’m going to lecture you for a minute here. Now, it’s not my job to lecture people, but now and then, we break the rules.

“You know, it’s fine to push back at people, people need to be pushed back at. Or they think you are an overcooked stand of spaghetti.

“But you seem to be pushing back at someone who only wants a chance to get you to fall for him. Trouble with that is, it sounds as though you’ve already fallen and you’re unwilling to get up with the morning sun and reach out for what life is offering you. I’m not saying he’s right for you, Kathryn. I’m saying, you’re pretending, so you don’t have to take a chance.

“Well, not everyone gets damaged the way you were damaged, we can all understand that. But there comes a point, a line you do cross, as time rolls on, and after that point, you are just another person with human needs and longings.

“Are you ever going to open to life? Or when the most perfect person DOES come along, will you also push them back, always, because you are afraid? Afraid because that door has no peephole built into it?

“This is one of those doors you have no choice about. You either open it, without knowing who is out there really, or you don’t ever open it. There’s no peephole in this thing, Kathryn.

“I know you’ve always blamed yourself for opening the door of your home to those men, instead of pausing to look through the viewer your parents had provided for safety.

“But most people, you know, do just throw open their door when someone knocks. It’s automatic, it’s human. You just did the ordinary, human thing when you opened that door that day. You did nothing wrong, although it may be you’ll never accept that.

“But when it comes to romance, unfortunately, nobody, and I mean, nobody, gets to peek and see what’s out there. If you are in love, you’re in love. Face it. He’s obviously in love with you. Even if he’s not The One, he’s certainly no burglar, trying to steal your heart and throw it away.

“You won’t even give him a chance, because you can’t see what’s inside his heart and mind. And if you keep doing that, keep demanding to see what no on on earth gets to see, before you throw your hat into the ring, then you’ll turn away the most wonderful person as though he was just another burglar.

“Again, I’m not saying he’s the right one. I’m saying, if you keep handling things this way, when he does come along, you’ll ignore the doorbell and lose a chance at one of the great experiences of life.”

“So. Lecture over. Where are we at right now? You know certain things, know them in a depth of your own soul.

“Apparently, you do know for sure he’s no liar. He’s one of the truth-tellers. So how about we lay that fear to one side, just for practice? So what else? We know he works where he works, we know he’s been working where he said he’s been working. That one thing, you have gotten to see with your own eyes, on the TV screen. So you have that sound knowledge of the man.

“So we know he’s a hero type, a superman type of guy. One of those. Is that so bad? He’s a powerful person in his own right. If an employer like WNN or the government relies on him to bring home the goods, then he’s very special. That doesn’t mean he is Mr. Right for you, but it’s a lot of information to have about someone. Normally, when we start a relationship, we don’t have anywhere near that much info about the other person.

“So you can proceed into a solid experience with this man and he won’t intentionally hurt you. It is possible you may be hurt. We’d all like to protect you from hurt, Kath, with what you went through. But we can’t protect each other. Not possible. Our friends and loved ones walk out their door every morning into God-Knows-What. We hope for the best for ourselves and others and we use our common sense. It’s not a fair world or a safe one.

“So yes, you may get hurt, much as we all love you, and it’s obvious this guy loves you even more than the rest of us.

“But it won’t be the end of the world if you get hurt. It won’t kill you, Kath, even if he did lie to you. You’d be angry and hurt and so on, but we all get that sometimes, and we all recover. You’d recover better than most, I’d be willing to bet.

“So let’s say that you reach this one goal. You make a decision that you will, or you won’t, proceed with experience of this man. Just make a decision. Don’t be looking over the wall at some possible outcome. There is no viewer built into this door. But it IS a door, and if you don’t open some doors and go through them, you will never have lived your life.

“You’ve hidden in a safe place for many years, surrounded by safe people. But you’re not a hospital patient, Kath. You’re a warrior out there in a big scary world, and you know how to use a sword as well as the next person.

“In a way, you’ve become institutionalized. In my professional opinion, it’s time for you to leave the caregiving behind and thrust yourself into life’s hands and say, Let Me Live.

“I love you dearly, Kathryn Bond, and I know you better than most. And because I care, I have to tell you, you must take that leap. Before he comes back, you must decide. The universe has reached out to you, and has removed Eric Emerson from you. You can’t get your hands on him, you can’t phone him, you can’t email him, you can’t run downtown to the newspaper office and go find him.

“He’s gone. Perhaps to his death, or perhaps to just another successful adventure. You don’t know and no one can tell you. So what is your own part in this aspect of his story?

“Your part is this: You accept the challenge the universe has offered you here. God knows, it had to bring the White House itself into the picture to help you move forward. So somebody up there cares, Kathryn, really cares, about you and your life.

“You simply acknowledge where you are in this. You are in love, and you respond to his love accordingly, without fear or holding back. Sweetie, you have a super-hero here begging you for a chance. If you don’t trust him, tell me, please, who exactly would be good enough for you to trust?”

SOUL RETRIEVAL: Connecting With My Brother

My Brother and Father:

My brother died in March of 2005. He died of alcoholism alone in his cabin. After he died, I contacted him by going to the “tunnel” I see when I shut my eyes and focus on my third eye area. I went to the edge and shouted his name (silently) several times. In the far distance I saw something moving, very tiny and far off, coming toward me. I waited and it came close enough to see it was my brother, lying down flat, hands by his sides, his skin was grey and his eyes were shut.

He was an atheist in his life as far as I know. He probably had expected to just die and cease to exist, so when he left his body that is the pose he adopted, just shut himself down and lay still and grey. I called his name again and he saw me standing there. I took his arm and said, “Stand up, let’s go, I will take you to Dad. He’s in a place called The Park. Come on. I’ll take you. It’s easy.” He stood up, accepting this strange intrusion into his death experience, and willingly let me guide him. He did not speak. He seemed to feel a bit confused but he stayed with me as we entered the Park, where I always picture it with grass and many rose gardens near where I always enter. We passed benches and flower beds and ponds and came to what I call the Picnic Place, by the ocean, lots of benches and usually many people there enjoying the oceanside ambience and eating and drinking coffee etc.  There always seems to be people around there.

I was astonished, nobody there to greet us. Then I was alarmed, thought, ok, I really have been imagining all this and now I have Tom here and I can’t find anyone for him. Help!! So I stood there and hollered for Dad and yelled and yelled for him, and was starting to really panic. Then I got the feeling the whole picnic area was some kind of stage set. Over at the end there were even the “wings” of the set. From around the back “wings” my Dad came. He did not look cheerful about this event. He looked like he had been dreading it. Anyway he came over to us and I said, well, here’s Tom, and neither of them knew what to say. So I said, uh, feeling kind of awkward, this had never happened before, I said Let’s go to Dad’s place, ok Dad? So we shot off to his lovely cabin where he lives with his two dogs and his fireplace and his nice set-up in some green rolling mountains. I walked in with Tom behind Dad. We stood by the fireplace for a minute and the two dogs were lying down in front of the fire. They didn’t seem bothered by us coming in.

Then my brother looked at my Dad and seemed to suddenly really come to life. He said “So, we can build things here?” He was catching on to the new reality fast. Dad said, “Yeah. We can build things.” I said I had to go and excused myself and shot off back to my home in beautiful B.C.

I take some pride and happiness in knowing I rescued my poor brother who really had a sad life and surprised him no end with some really, really great news…his real life was just beginning!

I have caught sight of him a couple times since then while exploring. He has been hanging out with a wide range of wildlife and enjoying the woods and forests there, he was a real outdoors guy when he was sober. He is loving the animals and helping them as they arrive there, trying to offer what healing he can.  I don’t know if Dad or anyone has introduced him to any healers or guides yet…anyway.

That’s my story of retrieving my bro. So cool. One of my happy things for sure. Used Bruce Moen’s method outlined in the appendix of one of his books.

Since retrieving my brother and taking him to The Park, I have visited him a few times. I am not accomplished at conversing with people there much, and hope to improve in that area. A week or so ago, he “tapped me on the shoulder” so to speak while I was doing other stuff, I had not been to see him for quite a while, and so I took a few minutes to go drop in on him and see what he wanted.

First, he wanted to show me that he had built a home for himself, that is, a house type of home. When he first went to the park he built himself a forest, which is what he likes best, but now he has completed work on a cedar shake house, only he has left out one of the walls, overlooking the valley below his forest, so he can be in his house or he can move out onto his cedar deck by just walking out where the wall should be, you know? It’s kind of neat, only you could only do that in a part of the universe where you could control the weather!!

He was sitting out on his deck looking proud when I arrived and he mostly wanted to show me a couple other things, one is, he has of course been looking after traumatized animals since his “demise”, lots of wild and small animals, but now he has been given responsibility for a large herd of horses who have passed in difficulty. I could see them in the valley below his forest, and he had been sitting on his deck watching over them. They were very aware of us, kind of connected to him by some kind of invisible energy field, constantly aware of his caring presence there. One horse in particular drew my attention, must be the leader I guess, and this horse is sort of roughly a creamy color and has a black streak down his handsome nose, a very proud, large horse. The other thing he wanted to show me was, he is now growing marijuana and enjoying it. I guess alcohol does not work very well in The Park so he has been looking for an alternative, I guess to satisfy his cravings, I don’t know since I don’t converse well with them there yet, but he was happy and pleased and also kind of wanted to shock and maybe annoy me a little. Still a brother, ya know?

I have read somewhere that alcoholics who pass over still crave alcohol for a long time and it doesn’t work the same way on that body, which is very frustrating for the addict. I am guessing that my brother has started using marijuana as a way of settling his brain down since he craves alcohol and it won’t work for him any more. They grow all kinds of plants there, so why not mary Ruth, I guess.

When you stop to think about it, addiction is a product of our imagination, just like astral travel to the Park is, and responses to sugar pills, and probably pretty much everything, so if I were an addict and went over there, and discovered how easy it was to build things using the power of imagination, I would for sure start trying to use my imagination to get my substance and enjoy it the same, but of course that body wouldn’t necessarily process any substance the same way as this body does…or this body has been trained to, by our imagination…this is where it all goes off course since our imagination is probably an imaginary thing anyway…I never seem to get any further than that, it implodes right there.

I also don’t know if my brother used marijuana in addition to alcohol but it seems likely he would, he did smoke all his life and deliberately sat down in his cabin alone to drink himself to death after a cancer in his kidney recurred, his body must have been in pretty awful shape when he began this next chapter of his life in the Park.

I haven’t been given any info on any healing time or hospital time or whatever he went through after I left him there the first time.

VANAYSSA SOMERS BOOKS

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MORNING SONG COVER

A woman’s journey to healing from violent crime through the love of a good man

 

LOVE FOOD AND HEAVEN COVERLOVE POTION PICBORN OF FIRE COVER

Three short stories of love and passion: Love, Food and Heaven/The Love Potion/First Love: Born of Fire

 

The Boy ScoutPagan flames

Pagan Flames and The Boy Scout: Tales of Avalon series

**Pagan Flames was listed as one of the TOP SEVEN Young Adult books of 2015.

 

sacred-trust-cover-art

Sacred Trust: A young wife must flee her marriage to begin again.

O BEAUTIFUL EM DASH (to be sung to the tune Olympia and with gusto)

FB often has posts about writers and what strange people we can be, how differently our brains are from more sensible folk. It’s true, I’ve noticed, that writing about paranormal fantasy romance, fairy love stories, wizards and shapeshifting, ( not to mention hot sex) tends to go along with other odd behaviors.

When I started writing a couple of years ago, I had a habit of using ellipses very, very often. Some publishers don’t really want ellipses popping up all over the place, and I had to figure out some other way of ending sentences when unspoken details were meant to be imagined by the reader. (An ellipsis is the three dots you often see at the end of a sentence instead of a period, for example, as in, …, just in case you didn’t know this extremely important factoid.)

The editor assigned to walk with me through the sorting of one of my books encouraged me to use other things. So I began to use two hyphens, as in –, if you see what I mean. One hyphen is for double barrelled words, like, um, high-spirited, for yet another example. Two hyphens are for, well, I am not too sure. But that particular editor taught me about en dashes and em dashes. She wrote me emails which I printed off and tried to understand. All I could produce from my elderly (but ergonomic, I hasten to add with pride) keyboard were two hyphens.

What is it about such simple things that confounds the human brain? How many times did I read about the em dash and then slide the piece of paper into the stash of instructional emails I keep buried in my intray, feeling totally confused?

Finally, while editing the first fifty pages of my current book, I gave in, caved, imploded at long last and looked up “em dash” on Google. Well, I could see that I didn’t have one on my keyboard. I did what Google said, and it doesn’t work on my keyboard. So I went to the place of final authority, and asked my editor, KC Sprayberry, to explain about the em dash and how to get one.

In the end, having tried different ways of achieving this mystical procedure, I did as she suggested as a last resort, which was to get into it via the Symbol function on the Word Insert menu. It worked! At last! A beautiful em dash appeared, slim and graceful, velvety and silky, unhampered by ugly spaces like the double hyphen, and I fell in love with the em dash.

The pleasure I felt in wading through fifty-odd pages of trauma and romance, searching for the dreaded double hyphen was really weird.

I felt it in my body, in my throat and chest and stomach, the joy of erasing that ugly double hyphen everywhere, along with the unwanted ellipses, and inserting instead the graceful, gorgeous em dash.

A single line, made probably of two bits, like two hyphens but so much more perfect, sliding in there, the one on the left kissing the final letter of the word before, and the one that would be on the right, if it WERE a double hyphen, God forbid, that one kissing the first letter of the next word. How perfect is that, in a romance novel?

I had such a good time, it was better than a glazed doughnut. Call me crazy, call me a writer even, if you must, but I LOVED every single experience of inserting those em dashes. When I came to the last paragraph, the end of the manuscript as it stands at the moment, I felt a miserable sense of deprivation.

And I have come to realize, you know, as I just finished telling my therapist this morning, I have just got to GET OUT MORE.

If I didn’t realize it before, I sure realize it now.

But, OMG, the beauty of the em dash. I love, love, love it. That black, shiny, slender line, unmarred by any spaces…

Oops.

Maybe I should start writing non fiction. I mean, sorry, non-fiction.

Anyway.

AND!! (OOPS, no double exclamation marks, please.)

In addition, did you happen to notice how I cleverly slipped in a number of the keywords my very expensive marketer found for me? The ones I was supposed to be putting in ALL posts of ALL kinds for the last year, and forgot until he went in and looked at my blog posts last week and had a fit. No keywords? Where are your keywords, woman?? (oops, there I go again.)

Well, from how on, there shall be keywords. And em dashes, by the Gods of War, as my Norse mother used to say, in multiplicities.

You just watch. Watch me fly. Dashing through the snow, or cherry blossoms, whichever, em dashing forever across the starry wastes of the universe…

I never should have left nursing.