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Quetzalcoatl: Man-eating Deity

Mesoamerican Deity is Threat in Dark Fantasy

Excerpt from “Lemurian Medium” a Rachel Blackstone Paranormal Mystery

by G G Collins          (Copyright 2016)

Rachel Blackstone confronts the man-eating deity Quetzalcoatl in her Santa Fe kitchen in “Lemurian Medium.”
Available at Amazon.

Available at Amazon.

Rachel stared at the piece of jewelry lying on the floor.

“I’m sorry,” Chloe stood and started to pick it up.

“No, don’t,” Rachel stopped her.

“Why not?” A second later she remembered Rachel’s earlier experience with the necklace and took a step back. “Is it doing anything?”

“Not yet.” Rachel thought for a moment it had all been a ghastly delusion, until it began to move.

Chloe saw Rachel react, looked again, but it was just lying on the floor.

“Don’t you see it?” Rachel implored as the necklace began to stir and change shape.

“See what?” Chloe kept watching the harmless piece of jewelry and couldn’t figure out why Rachel looked so afraid.

Within seconds the serpent stood up and filled out as if he’d been formed from air blown in from a bicycle pump. But he wasn’t a balloon and didn’t float away. Chile Pod watched with huge eyes. Her fur stood up on her back, ears flat, she dove under the tablecloth and onto a chair. The snake didn’t miss a thing and knew exactly where she hid. He made sure Rachel saw where she cowered by slithering across the floor and nosing at the tablecloth. Then he turned his attention to Rachel.

“I am Quetzalcoatl,” he said as the green substance dripped from each of his fangs. They were six inches long and dagger sharp. The odor of sulfur emanated from his hobnail skin as it grated against itself. He was constantly in slow motion. The stench itself was enough to make her want to flee, but the continuous shifting of his spine beneath the scales was sinister.

Quetzalcoatl feathered serpent form as depicted in the Codex Telleriano-Remensi. Wikimedia Public Domain

Quetzalcoatl feathered serpent form as depicted in the Codex Telleriano-Remensi. Wikimedia Public Domain

“I know who you are,” Rachel tried to say it with strength. Everything in her told her to run, but she couldn’t leave Chloe or Chile. She resisted the urge to recoil, feeling intensely this time the reptile’s desire to harm her. He barely controlled his desire to destroy her.

It rippled and swelled in both height and width. His feathers unfolded around his head, back and tail. The effect was even more menacing this time.

“Screaming won’t help you,” it said reading her thoughts.

“How do you know?”

“I am a deity,” Quetzalcoatl said in a deep hoarse voice. Add a little cinematic CGI and he would make Bruce Willis run and hide. Only this monster was real.

“Rachel,” Chloe stood in the doorway not understanding why Rachel was talking or to whom. “Who are you talking to?”

“Can’t you see the snake? He’s right here in the kitchen.”

“No, I can’t see it, but I can see you and you’re. . .”

“Never mind,” Rachel stopped her not wanting the self-proclaimed deity to know she was about to freak.

“What do you want?” she asked Quetzalcoatl.

“Once again, you called me?”

“Are you sure about that?”

“I do have a message,” it said.

Oh god, she thought, what now?

The snake’s head began to morph before her. In a few moments, it took on more human characteristics, but the fangs remained. She wondered how many more tricks he had.

“Does this look make you more comfortable? You know, lions eat their own kind.” It deliberately turned its head to look at the small tortoiseshell cat peaking from beneath the table; the only thing that separated her tiny cat from this snake-god was a piece of fabric.

“Chloe, would you please take Chile out of the room.”

“Of course.” Chloe reached under the table and pulled out the scared kitty, cupping her tiny body in her arm. Before she could exit the kitchen, Quetzalcoatl rose up and struck out in their direction.

“Run Chloe!” Chloe did, all the way to her car where she locked the doors and held Chile Pod in her lap. She petted her with shaking hands. “Did you see it?” she asked the cat, but couldn’t understand when Chile told her she had.

Back in the kitchen Rachel said, “Tell me the message and get the hell out.”

By Jami Dwyer [CC BY-SA 2.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0)], via Wikimedia Commons

By Jami Dwyer [CC BY-SA 2.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0)%5D, via Wikimedia Commons

“My dear, you must not speak to a deity in that manner. You know I’ve eaten Homo sapiens many times. You’re all quite tasty.” He was eyeing her as something on the menu. He sniffed like a dog checking out a piece of meat. “You have my favorite blood type: red. I find it to be as satisfying as a fine Bordeaux.”

Rachel shuddered. She softened her tone. It pissed her off to do it, but she had to get rid of this raw material for making boots. “Please tell me the message.”

“Much nicer. Was that so hard? I said before they want the artist, but that was diversionary. They want you. You were supposed to enter the picture, not the other woman.”

“Is Stella all right?”

“For now, she is safe. I see you are perplexed. Humans get confused easily. It is a defect.”

“Why do they want me, and who are they?”

“Enough for now. I’ll allow you to digest this information.”

Rachel wanted Quetzalcoatl to go and never return, but she had to know.

“Please answer my questions.” And she blanched when she heard her voice break.

That was when she heard the low growl behind her. She was certain it was the wolf, but took a moment to check for him. Nothing. And when she turned back to the snake, there was nothing but a necklace lying on the floor. “Stupid, stupid!” Rachel berated herself. “Of course it was the wolf. He was warning me to be careful and what do I do? Take my eyes off the monster!”

Her hands shook as she opened the front door and motioned to Chloe that it was safe to return.

She took Chile from Chloe and held her in arms that continued to tremble. Tears threatened. Chloe guided her gently to the sofa where they sat quietly for a few minutes. Rachel began to shiver uncontrollably.

“Are you okay?” Chloe asked.

“Yes, I guess.”

 “Of course you’re not okay,” Chloe said softly. “You’re scared half to death. I’m scared half to death and I couldn’t see a thing, only you reacting to it.

“What did you see on the floor if you couldn’t see the snake?”

Temple of Kukulkan, closely related to Quetzalcoatl. By ATSZ56 (Own work) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

Temple of Kukulkan, closely related to Quetzalcoatl. By ATSZ56 (Own work) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

“All I saw was the necklace.”

Rachel felt defeated. How could Chloe understand if she couldn’t see it?

“It told me something. They, whoever they are, want me—not the artist.”

Chloe gasped. “But then why did they take Stella?”

“Apparently, she couldn’t resist the pull of the painting.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t take a chance on astral travel,” Chloe said. “I’m getting a real bad feeling about this whole thing.”

“But doesn’t this make it even more imperative that I learn to do it? We can’t just leave Stella there, wherever that is. We have to try to rescue her and discover what this is all about.” Rachel wiped angrily at a tear.

“I’m not leaving you tonight,” Chloe said. “We’re going to have some of that weed right now and then I’m sleeping here on the couch. No protesting.”

“No problem. Would you go replace the necklace in that damn envelope?”

“Will we be safe then?” Chloe asked.

“I don’t know if we’ll ever be safe again. The rules have changed, I fear irreparably.”

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Copyright Laws Apply to All Countries

Copyright Infringement is Against the Law Worldwide!

I can’t believe I’m having to do this. Take time away from writing to attend to someone who is stealing content from my blogs (Reluctant Medium at Large and Parallel Universe at Large) and posting them in another country. Copyright Infringement is against the law worldwide. Please respect all the time and hard work that goes into anyone’s blog and DO NOT STEAL! 

The Digital Millennium Copyright Act (DMCA) is a United States copyright law that implements two 1996 treaties of the World Intellectual Property Organization (WIPO). It criminalizes production and dissemination of technology, devices, or services intended to circumvent measures (commonly known as digital rights management or DRM) that control access to copyrighted works. It also criminalizes the act of circumventing an access control, whether or not there is actual infringement of copyright itself. In addition, the DMCA heightens the penalties for copyright infringement on the Internet.” Wikipedia.org

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Digital_Millennium_Copyright_Act

The World Intellectual Property Organization (WIPO) is one of the 17 specialized agencies of the United Nations.

WIPO was created in 1967 “to encourage creative activity, to promote the protection of intellectual property throughout the world.” Wikipedia.org

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/World_Intellectual_Property_Organization

For more information on copyright infringement please refer to my COPYRIGHT/CONTENT/PRIVACY POLICY page on both blogs.

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Character Interview: War Merchant

An Interview with Dydre Rowyn,War Merchant Protagonist

Character interviews are so much fun. We get to see how authors and their protagonists interact. They can be lighthearted or dead serious. Today, meet Dydre Rowyn, Patrick Parker’s lead in the War Merchant. I wouldn’t turn my back on her! GGC

by Patrick Parker        (Copyright 2016)

War Merchant is available at Amazon.

War Merchant is available at Amazon.

War Merchant is a suspense-filled novel that crosses the globe in a world of corrupt politics, a ruthless greedy opportunist, terrorists, and a pawn with deadly skills. First a little about Patrick.

Patrick says his goal is to entertain you. He wants you to be thrilled and on the edge of your seat all the time, wondering what is going to happen next.

After retiring from the Army, he worked in the defense industry for fifteen years. Now writing full-time, he draws from his military and corporate experience to write fast-paced, suspense novels. Inspired by authors like Ken Follett, Robert Ludlum, John le Carré and, of course Tom Clancy, his books will keep you on the edge of your seat.

His previous title, Treasures of the Fourth Reich, is based on actual events that occurred at the end of World War II.

  • What is life really like in your line of work?

Hmm. That one is a bit hard to explain. I deal with some of the world’s worst people. I want out of this business. It is a bit tense at times and you have to be as tough as woodpecker lips, if you’re going to survive. Other than that, I live on the edge, not knowing sometimes if I’m about to take my last breath or not. I travel all over the world, often at a moment’s notice. Most of the people I deal with would just as soon kill me as look at me; I only meet with them on my terms and from a position of strength—I have something they want. I don’t like doing business with the fanatic Muslims and they don’t like doing business with me. Most of the others I deal with are dictators, thugs, and terrorists. There’s not much difference in any of them, actually. I look forward to a long hot bath after I meet with those slime balls.

  • You’ve given your business title as international business development consultant. I know Zsigmond took you in but how did you wind up doing his dirty work?

I needed some kind of title and that one doesn’t raise eyebrows. It started out very benign. At first, I just made phone calls and ran errands for Clay. That increased to a few simple meetings in low threat environments. Although most of them were in third world countries and the people I met with, you probably wouldn’t invite them to Christmas dinner. It wasn’t long until Clay was quite busy and wanted me to do more. The next thing I knew he was hiring people to train me in weapons, explosives, as well as escape and evasion techniques. I was young and it was a bit of an adventure. The money is damn good. I’m very accomplished in jujitsu, you know. That, in itself, gave me a lot of confidence. I had a lot of instruction in hand-to-hand combat, too. I didn’t realize how dangerous it was until it was too late.

Author Patrick Parker

Author Patrick Parker

  • Do you always wear a disguise? What’s that all about?

Yes, usually.  It’s about staying alive. In school, I was very active in the theatre and learned a lot about makeup and disguise for the stage. I got the idea during one of the escape and evasion classes. Intel agencies around the world use disguises, so I applied the same technique. Early on, when Clay sent me out in the field, I was quite naive but smart enough to conceal my identity. I knew several people who wound up dead because of miss communications, something didn’t go just right, or wanted out. Most of the cockroaches I deal with would track you down and kill you. So, I disguised my appearance and identity. I even kept my house in Italy a secret.

  • Zsigmond kept a dossier on you? Would he really turn it over to Interpol?

Yes. Clay changed after his wife, Johanna, died. I loved her like a mother. I tried to quit and suffered Clay’s wrath. He threatened to kill David, my son, if I tried to leave. He made it very clear to me that if I did manage to break free from him, he would send my dossier to the authorities and hunt me down. He’s crazy. I knew he would.

  • You’ve worked with many notorious and ruthless people. What was the scariest situation you’ve been in?

The scariest? Good one. There were a few. I guess it was when Clay screwed things up with the terrorists and told them I betrayed them when the Ranger devices didn’t work. I had to convince the terrorists I was going to fix the problem. I really thought I was going to die. If I didn’t address the issue, they would come after me. If we didn’t fix those devices, I was dead. Honestly, I didn’t have much faith that we would fix them.

  • Why did you kill Mac? Didn’t you have feelings for him?

Mac. I liked Mac. Ruggedly handsome guy—a professional and no-nonsense. Unfortunately, he was a loose end. He was the only one, outside of Clay, that could tie me to the assassination of President Juvénal Habyarimana of Rwanda.

  • Ludwig Stäbler set you up. Didn’t you see that coming?

No, I didn’t. I’ve known Ludwig for a long time and he owed me. Besides, he didn’t care for Clay. Looking back, I might have been too focused on getting David. Ludwig is a soldier of fortune, and money talks.

  • Did you sleep with Anthony Mangiano? Are you involved with someone special?
Available at Amazon.

Available at Amazon.

I don’t think it’s appropriate to discuss whom I may have slept with. I might ask you if you slept with someone; would you tell me? Next question.

  • Are there any romantic plans in your future?

 

I hope so.  I want to have a family and be like normal people—David, me, and a father for David.

  • You seem fearless. What scares you?

A lot of things. Clay, Muslim fanatics, and, believe it or not, Anthony. He can be cold and is always one-step ahead of me. Silverfish and lima beans, well they don’t scare me, I just don’t like them.

  • What does the future hold for you? Will we see you again?

That is a very good question. I understand a number of people want to see me again. Patrick has talked to me about it several times. It is possible. I do think he likes me.

 

Amazon Author page: http://amzn.to/1izsnBH

Facebook page: http://on.fb.me/1pnfAoM

Google+: http://bit.ly/1y8cCI5

Twitter: https://twitter.com/pparkerntx

Goodreads Profile page: http://bit.ly/1pnLth0

Blog: http://bit.ly/1tTUjjv

Webpage: http://bit.ly/1ZEoYGu

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Meet Spirit Animal: Walk a Labyrinth

The Story of the Spirit Wolf

Excerpt from “Atomic Medium,” a Rachel Blackstone Paranormal Mystery

by G G Collins          (Copyright 2016)

Rachel Blackstone, the Reluctant Medium, counsels with her friend former priest Eddy O’Brien. He advises her to walk a labyrinth to gain insight to her predicament. While doing so she sees the dead shaman Joseph and learns the story of her spirit wolf, Kiyiya. We pick up where Eddy encourages her to walk.
Labyrinth in Santa Fe, NM

Labyrinth in Santa Fe, NM

“The labyrinth will guide you. I’m going to wait here in the car. If anyone comes, I’ll delay them so you can complete your walk. It is your journey.”

“Should I ask a question?” Rachel asked, stalling. “Something specific?”

“Just walk and see what happens?” Eddy said.

Rachel nodded. At first she looked down at the heavily trod path edged in stones. The ground was hard and dry beneath her mocs. She was grateful for their thick lug soles. The red sun was sinking deeper into the cosmos. The sunset colors played across the labyrinth mixing with the dust in the air. She thought it must be what star dust looked like; fine particles in magic shades drifting through space. The shadows of nearby piñon crossed her path here and there, moving as she did. As she strolled the first circuit she was aware of not really wanting to do it, but as she moved deeper into the labyrinth she became more engrossed.

Like yoga, she found as her concentration increased, the distressing concerns of her day faded away. Rachel had heard of walking meditation and attempted to do that. There had to be some presence in the moment or she might stray from the path, but yet she needed to allow her mind to quiet.

As she finished each track a little more of the environmental noise dropped away: traffic, construction, all man made sounds. She was no longer aware of the rustling leaves or chirping birds. Rachel closed her eyes. For a moment she felt as if she floated among the enchanted airborne particles.

But as the quiet settled, another noise began to intrude. It was familiar. Just she had experienced in her living room months ago when she performed the ceremony to return the dead, she picked up on some subtle crackling almost as if the air overflowed with electricity. Yet she felt no evidence of it. Rachel held her ground and closed her eyes. There was a faint rattling.

Available at Amazon

Available at Amazon

“Oh no,” she whispered and opened her eyes, fearing what she would see.

In the gathering dusk, fog seemed to flow from all directions, despite the persistent dry air. She hurried.

“Should I get the hell out of here?” she muttered to herself.

By the time she reached the center, the vapor was meeting and began spiraling upward, each strand wrapping around what appeared to be an empty center, but it created a perfect human-shaped mist.

It’s happening again. And she was afraid. She closed her eyes once again and fought down the panic. Grappling for control so she wouldn’t run, she tried to prepare herself for anything. Would there be another Nazi to manage? Or was she dealing with another evil entity?

Calm down. Take a deep breath. Rachel tried to do this simple breath, but with her fight or flight instincts all amassed and at ready, she could hardly inhale.

Open your eyes. Slowly, looking down first, she glimpsed a pair of bare feet. Having expected something military in nature, this confused her. When she raised her line of vision, there was Joseph standing before her, smiling with some amusement. His skin was brown from decades in the sun and his eyes laced with lines from squinting. He was a slight man, but a giant spiritually. Rachel could see aura glowing around him. Usually he wore the white aura of a spiritual guide, but today he it was the purest of blue which she knew to represent harmony and great understanding of people and other creatures.

While he never spoke aloud, he was telling her a story. At first, she didn’t get it, but then it became clear he was talking about her spirit wolf, Kiyiya. The white wolf had been different all his life. Although his parents had been alphas in his family pack, and therefore he was deserving of respect, he had been aware that others judged him as unusual.

One day while drinking at a stream he took a moment to look at his reflection. He felt both exhilaration and shame at his differentness. He wanted to be like the other wolves. Troubled, he asked his mother why his fur was white as snow. She recognized his need for reassurance and told him white wolves were destined for greatness in the spirit world. Someday, he would understand why he had been created this way.

For several years, he lived with his pack, hunted with them, played with his siblings and howled into the night. It was a good life, but something seemed to be missing. On a particularly cold, crisp winter day, he arose early and strode up the rocks in search of food. Just as he was about to catch a rabbit he felt a sharp pain in his chest.

Meet Yikiya, Reluctant Medium's White Spirit Wolf Photo Public Domain

Meet Yikiya, Reluctant Medium’s White Spirit Wolf
Photo Public Domain

The falling was more frightening than painful, but as he continued to fall his rate of descent slowed and the terrain changed from mountainous to cloudy and then to night. He slowly righted himself as if he were a cat and landed on his feet in a place he didn’t know. A woman stood outside of a car in the middle of a big road. Confronted by a ghostly figure, she was alarmed. Instinctively, he knew she must be protected. His presence frightened the spirit away but also the woman. When he showed her no aggression she returned to her car to continue her way. Somehow he knew her journey was important.

In his new world he would shield others as well, but this woman was to be sheltered at all times. As he grew in the wisdom given by the Great Spirit, he learned ways of helping her when she was confused. His body could glow when light was needed. His shadow could change in size and shape. When he howled she knew that danger was near. She had much to learn, but he felt she had vital work to do.

And so he came to understand what his mother had told him. He was destined for greatness and he would do his very best to make her proud.

Rachel became cognizant of where she was and the tears streaming down her face. She began to sag but strong arms caught her.

Let me help you. Joseph found this way into her mind again. She felt sleepy and foggy and tried to shake it off.

“But what about the threshold?” Rachel said aloud. “Should I cross it?”

You will receive a message from the other side. It will come from an unlikely source. Be open to it. It will be true.

He was gone.

Rachel stepped over the stones and sat on a nearby bench. She was exhausted, drained. After resting for a few minutes, she returned to the parking lot where Eddy waited.

“Did you get what you needed?” he asked. “Was there an answer?”

“Yes,” she said. “It wasn’t the answer I was looking for, but it was something I wanted to know.” She described meeting Joseph and what he said.

“That’s the way labyrinths work,” Eddy said. “In mysterious ways they channel knowledge we need.”

“I’m so tired.”

“You had a spiritual experience,” Eddy replied. “You have arrived.”

All the Rachel Blackstone Paranormal Mysteries are available at Amazon. Thank you for reading.

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Murder U.S.A. Anthology Coming Soon

A Crime Fiction Tour of the Nation

Reported by G G Collins

Coming Soon

Coming Soon

 

Welcome to a country of mystery, mayhem and murder. Thirty-one mystery writers from all over the US joined forces to wreak havoc. It’s a virtual mystery candy store with everything from Cozy to Procedural to Paranormal. North, south, east or west; we’ve got you covered. No region was spared from the grip of terror.

And the really big news? It will be FREE! Free to try new, known and emerging authors. Edited by Kristen Elise, PhD.

More clues are forthcoming.

From Murder Lab: http://www.murderlab.com/

Book Review: Heat by Stuart Woods

It Ain’t the Heat, it’s the Humidity

Reviewed by G G Collins     (Copyright 2015)

***** Stuart Woods, bestselling author of Santa Fe Rules and Foreign Affairs, proves once again he’s a great storyteller in Heat. Definitely a one-sitting read.

Available at Amazon

Available at Amazon

Jesse Warden is a convicted criminal biding his days in solitary confinement in the Atlanta Federal Prison. He is recruited by his former employer (DEA) to ferret out information in a small Idaho town. Two agents have already been killed in an attempt to infiltrate a dangerous cult called Aryan Universe. In exchange for this good deed—if he lives through it—he will receive a presidential pardon for a crime he didn’t commit.

With a new identity, Jesse drives to Idaho in a pickup truck equipped with hidden cellular phone and some hard cash. St. Clair, appears to be the perfect Disneyesque idea of small-town America. Every house is new paint clean with meticulous lawns and flower beds permanently held in a much earlier era. All is not right in this flawless community. Mysterious disappearances have occurred, but crime is rare due to swift and deadly punishment. The local police station is a high-tech marvel with all the bells and whistles money can buy.

The community’s children are taught at the First Church School where they are indoctrinated to hate people of other ethic groups. There are no excuses for absences and children are encouraged to tell on their parents if they speak against the teachings of the First Church.

Jesse is sent to the widow Jenny Weatherby who rents out one of her bedrooms. Jenny is far from the elderly widow-woman Jesse expected. He falls for her fast.

Another referral results in Jesse’s employment at Wood Products—the only business in town not owned by the cult. His ascent is swift at the plant and soon the sect invites him into their midst persuading him to give them financial information about the business so they can take control.

As Jesse passes one test after another he makes his way into the hierarchy of the treacherous Aryan Universe. On once such occasion he is brought into a vast underground armament. The bunker is extensive and fully stocked with food and water, huge amounts of ammunition and explosives, infirmaries and the latest equipment.

Jack Gene Coldwater, the Aryan Universe cult leader, fought until he ran out of wars and then proceeded to stockpile arms at a staggering rate preparing for his own hostilities which he teaches is inevitable. He dispenses death to his followers without blinking, tightening the ever shorter rope on those who remain.

Jesse doesn’t trust the DEA—a fellow agent set him up resulting in his incarceration. He fears for Jenny, her daughter, and his own daughter who was adopted after his conviction. In an interesting subplot Jesse obtains fraudulent passports as plan B, but the First Church foils his attempt at flight.

The climatic scene has all the explosive features of an action movie providing for a fun read. Woods reaches out and grabs one by the throat hauling the reader into a riveting adventure with an all too familiar and frightening theme.

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De-Stress With Crystals

We All Have It: Stress!

by G G Collins     (Copyright 2015)

Crocheted Anti-Stress Medicine Bag & Crystals

Crocheted Anti-Stress Medicine Bag & Crystals

Leave it to a friend to come up with something so lovely. I received–just in time to charge in the Super Blood Moon–a medicine bag and crystals from my friend M J Trantham. You’ll remember her from the interview she did earlier Interview with M J Trantham in January.

To make your own Anti-Stress Medicine Bag, you need a pouch or bag. Four crystals are added: Amethyst, Malachite, Orange Calcite and Sodalite. In addition, a tablespoon of dried lavender. (There have been some toxic warnings regarding Malachite, so please wash your hands after handling and limit contact.)

Crystals Charging

Crystals Charging

Before you put it together, you’ll need to charge the crystals in a full moon. Place them in a small container. I like a small cup or bowl that is clear. Then set it in a window or in a safe location outside for a night during the full moon.

If you haven’t read Dorothy Morrison’s book “Everyday Magic: Spells & Rituals for Modern Living,” here’s a short excerpt to help you prepare your anti-stress bag:

Place the lavender inside, as you say: Lavender for great protection.

Add the sodalite, saying: Sodalite for psychic connection.

Add the malachite, saying: Malachite to bud and sprout.

Add the amethyst saying: Amethyst to calm throughout.

Add the orange calcite, saying: And orange calcite to amplify.

Their power mix and unify to relieve stress and aggravation, racing heart and irritation.

Bring me peace and calm relief.

Book Everyday MagicThen carry the pouch with you. Morrison calls her spells and rituals “modern magic for busy folks.” It covers many modern issues from abuse to money to wisdom.  Just click on the book for more information.

If you don’t have a peace symbol you can attach to the bag, use a marker to draw one on the pouch.

After your bag is complete, why not make one for a friend?

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Interview with Horror Writer Michael Frost

Don’t Go in the Basement!

Caution: Profanity if it offends you.

I “met” Michael Frost on Twitter. He’s noticeable because instead of hawking constantly for customers, he supports other writers through a #ShoutOut, #FollowFriday and #TerrorTuesday which he created. As a horror writer he has some scary pictures to go with his Tweets, but also a sense of humor about it all. You’ll love the last question about children and monsters in the closet.

Pub Date Spring 2016 Courtesy ARO Publishing

Pub Date Spring 2016
Courtesy ARO Publishing

1.   First, the question you likely always get: Why write horror? What motivated you to take this direction in your writing?

For the amount of times I have been asked this, I should have mastered a simple and direct answer, but I find myself retreating back to the overly used factoid of ‘Kangaroo’; to be quite honest I really don’t know.

I didn’t seek it out that’s for sure. It more or less found me.

As a kid ANYTHING horror scared the piss out of me, and just catching a glimpse of the latest Friday the 13th commercial teaser would have me up all night watching the shadows that my small lamp didn’t fill. Yes, I slept with a light on religiously; damn near until I was thirteen.

When I started writing on the level of actually finishing a story I was eleven, and then until I was seventeen it was always fantasy having completed my first 389 paged book just shy of my 17th birthday.  I was a big D&D and J.R.R. Tolkien fan long before any of the movies took to the screens (save the animated ones which were rather good and followed the books pretty well).  Then, one day in March of 1990 while sitting in front of my typewriter and suffering from recently having my tonsils and adenoids removed, the horror in me just woke up.  I know how it sounds, but I cannot be more honest and direct than that; the horror woke up and began to whisper to me, and boy did it had a lot to say.   

Besides venturing across genres here and there depending on whatever story came to mind (of which many forming their own identities and voices in my noggin to suit those genres [and there are a few of those clamoring around in there]), I’ve never looked back.

2. Are you more King or Poe? What writers have influenced you?

Neither one or the other; a bit of each when it pleases me, but I have favorites from both of them.  Older King stories of course; some, but not all of Poe.  There were writers who influenced me, but not much in the guise of horror.  Authors like Pearl S. Buck who wrote The Good Earth, Tolkien naturally for my pursuit at the time of fantasy and Shakespeare in my early years; Philip K. Dick and the works of Margaret Mead came later in my teens, with plenty of Terry Pratchett, Spider Robinson, Isaac Asimov and Douglas Adams thrown in. However, when I consider the real Whom I would have to say my father who was a published author during the Civil Rights 60’s.

I know that’s an ‘Aww’ moment, but my father was both supportive and not all too supportive of my writing at the same time, taking a somewhat backwards approach to it.  Sure he got me my first typewriter for me: a big, black and heavy Royal that strengthened the hell out of my fingers, but often when I asked about publishing I was just handed that years Writer’s Market Guide and a new box of carbon paper.  He was obsessed with duplicates.  I guess he encouraged me the most because I had something to prove, and once I got past trying to prove anything to anyone, then I truly started to write.

I miss the hell out him though.

3. “When in doubt, have a man come through the door with a gun in his hand,” has been attributed to Raymond Chandler. He was talking about crime fiction.

Finish the sentence, as it applies to horror: “When in doubt . . .

When in doubt on whether or not you’ve killed the bogeyman, keep hacking away at the fucker until its head comes off.  Then it’s dead, the nightmare’s over and you can go home.

PublicDomainPictures.Net

PublicDomainPictures.Net

4. How do you translate terror into words so the reader can feel the fear of your character? What is the difference in terror and horror?

Good one…favorite one…most hated question of all, so I will somewhat combine my answer.  I have a usual response to this, one of which is in my blog under About Michael, and it’s one I have said for years now, but for this let me try a different approach.

Terror can be best expressed in a single thought, an idea which can invade every single person’s life and soul without will or want not of the reader.  It can easily relate to the masses, and to the individual experiencing it, they can feel the breath of the beast on their neck.

A quick example of Terror would be: You are taking a shower and you live alone, keeping the bathroom door closed so to trap the heat and then suddenly, there’s a knock on the bathroom door.

To me that would be terrifying to say the very least, and you are in the perfect place if you wish to piss or shit yourself.

When one looks at Horror and Terror, they are relatively the same thing save the delivery.  When writing Horror, I have pages upon pages to set the stage, to keep the reader on edge while dreading the very next line, however I want the reader terrified, so I deliver the blows which are either expected or not, but they last for a very long time.  Sure the pages might be filled with some very horrifying stuff which makes the reader want to slam the book shut and go watch Babe so to clear the mind and spirit, but like a drug they cannot.  When you as the author can feel it, damn near taste the terror’s climatic surge, you give the reader both barrels with extreme prejudice.  This is not the climax of the story, no; you just keep delivering it over and over unexpectedly like a blindfolded roller coaster rider entering a loop.

I think that covers it, or I can revert to my usual response by stating:

To understand Horror is simplistic really. You never open the closet door…you never look under the bed…you never fall asleep in an unfamiliar place and you never get into a strangers car. Out of all of these I must add, you most certainly never—EVER—run into the woods.

To understand Terror, however, is much more far reaching; darker.  That scratching you hear during the night at the window’s glasscould be nothing more than a branch in the breeze just as your mind has convinced you that it was, or, there really is something standing just on the other side of the glass with sharp claws and it’s watching you—only you—and come morning you never discover which one it ever was.

Old and new, new and old; same ice cream, just different flavors; take your pick of the one that suits you.

5. You are a great champion of writers. In a social medium like Twitter where most everyone is shouting “Look at Me!” you bring attention to writers over and over again through Tweets and Lists. What made you want to take this route?

I smile that you have noticed this about me, G.G, but in all truth I do this because I care; I truly care about each and every writer out there who is hunting for their voice, and if already found, to give them honest support if they are willing to take it.

I can honestly say that during my whole career of writing that no one ever stopped to help me; not a single one.  Whether it was family or friends, significant others along the way, not any of them did.  I envied all those around me who had family and friend support in their pursuits of their dreams, always wondering what that felt like…what it tasted like…was it real or Memorex or more like some Cosby Show episode.

I was completely alone in my pursuits to find my voice, and despite all the spite and rage of being ignored and left to fend for myself, I eventually did find it and came to peace in all my endeavors of doing so.  I was used to people only noticing when I failed, when those rejection letters came one right after the other, and of course I would get the sympathetic comments followed by the soft murmurs of ‘I figured as much’or ‘I told you so’s once the back was turned.  Screw that.  That surmounting lack of support gave me all the strength I ever needed to keep on pushing, ignoring the odds of ever publishing a single thing, and I formed my steadfast motto: If you want Sympathy, just look in the dictionary between Shit and Syphilis and you’ll find it.

It was harder in many ways back then to engage in the act of writing and attempting to publish.  There was no internet to speak of at the time; the world of the web was at its infancy with BBS’s (Bulletin Board Services) and basic dial-up through ISP’s like NetCom.  Hell, AOL and CompuServe were still in their developmental programming stages with only the hopes that they would catch on.  No, then it was query letters and submissions via snail-mail, the demand of Times New Roman 12pt font, double-spaced, proper surname with numbering in the upper right corner of each page following the first (you never numbered the your first page), and all your pages were secured by a small piece of paper in the upper left hand corner with a paper or binder clip so not to dent or crease the pages. And of course, there was the wait; that damn, damn, damn long wait.  Six weeks if you were lucky to get a response, eight at max, and if accepted YAY, and if not, you were then able to submit elsewhere for there was no simultaneous submissions allowed (which thankfully is still the norm).

For all those on Twitter many have never experience this and see only the new age of writing and publishing, and to be very understanding of them, only the process has changed for the most part.  It is still a very hard thing to do, writing is; to delve into your own soul and cleave it apart so to distribute it amongst the masses is a very hard thing to do.  I still find it hard to do even to this day regardless of how long I’ve been at it.  For this I commend each and every one of them, and if promoting them in lieu of promoting myself is what I have to do to show them that someone is behind them, then that’s what I will do.  If I can be there for just one who is floating down that turbulent river alone in the dark, then I have redeemed my own demons in parting of such memories.  Perhaps my support might very well be that light in their distance assuring me that despite all my struggling endeavors that I have earned my place to call myself a writer, and that I have truly learned to listen.

PublicDomainPictures.Net

PublicDomainPictures.Net

6. Many children see monsters in their closet or under their beds. As someone well-acquainted with monsters, do you have any tips for parents trying to reassure their little ones.

For this I have a fun and happy story to tell regarding my own daughter.  When she was just a tot, she swore that there were monsters in our closet and under her bed, and although this story might be a little long-winded, there’s a solution within and a quick summary to follow.

When she was nearly five years old, there was a span of several weeks that she complained about monsters, and unlike her mother’s approach that there were no such things—I having been my daughter at her age in spirit before—I damned well believed her!  So, each night I would do the daddy thing and check for her in all the places she pointed, and although I was brave for her in my searching, it was all a façade because I dreaded the idea of What if she’s right?!

Anyway, one day I got an idea.  I got a box about the size one might get a new microwave oven in and I brought it into her room.  I sat down on the edge of her bed and explained that I know the monsters seem scary and mean, but they are actually scared themselves.

“Why would monsters be scared of me?!” she questioned wholeheartedly with a doubtful undertone which I feared she figured me out before I began, but I continued bravely.

I had expressed that the reasons the monsters were scared is because they wandered too far away from Monster Land and didn’t know how to get back, and what seemed like big mean monsters were actually frightened creatures who just wanted to get back home hence why they hid in the closet and under her bed.

So, I showed her the box and said: “This is a magic box that can send all the lost monsters back to Monster Land.”

“How?” she asked with genuine wide-eyes of wonder and belief to my fatherly lies.

“Easy…magic,” I put on my show, standing while opening the closet which I had previously made sure the floor had space for the box. “See?  We put this inside the closet and call out to the monsters that we have a magic box which will take them all home.  We then leave the room because monsters are shy creatures and when we come back after a while, all the monsters should be inside the box with the lid closed.”

Let me tell you, she was very excited about the possibility of this, so I gave her the honor of sliding the box inside, then—by her good-natured insistence—we placed a pillow inside so that they would be comfortable.  When I told her we were ready, she did the one thing I will always remember and get misty over.  She told me to wait, little paws extended up to me, dashed off to her bed and collected up a little bear and placed it inside.

“This will make them feel safe,” she smiled and I nodded, wanting to pick her up and hug her.

Okay, back to my parental lies and deceit!

We left the room and shut the bedroom door behind us, moving to the living room to play her most favorite movie of all: Aladdin.  After a few minutes and offering her Stix-Sticks (how my 4yr old pronounced fish sticks), I left her to play with her blocks as she sang along with the movie to heat them for her, but not before quietly sneaking into the bedroom.  I quickly removed the little bear from the box and hid it, folded in the flaps and crossing them so they clocked together, quietly closed the closet door then exited away from the scene of deceit.  Then, minutes later returned to the living room with her stick-sticks for her to munch away.

Oh she did inquire about the monsters and I insisted that we give them time which she simply nodded in-chew and back to the singing genie she went.  After a little while, the true magic began.

“Did you hear that?” I quickly said after a little while, sounding excited above a whisper.

“What?!” she beamed just as excited.

“I think I heard the closet door shut!” and before I could breathe after the last word, she was up and dashing to the bedroom with me in pursuit.

“Hold on,” I slowed her as I took hold of the knob. “Now we have to be very quiet so we don’t scare them anymore than they are, okay?”

PublicDomainPictures.Net

PublicDomainPictures.Net

A nod and a ‘thumbs-up’ was my response and I slowly opened the door.  There sat the closed box to her widening eyes as she slowly inhaled with excitement.

“They went inside!” she bounced wanting to scream it, but she mimicked me with a forefinger to pursed lips as I knelt.

“Alright, they’re all inside,” I whispered. “Now, there are some magical words we must say which will send them back to Monster Land, okay?”

“Okay, daddy,” she nodded her understanding.

“Okay, now repeat after me,” I did my best not to giggle as I held my hands over the box like some half-baked magician in a mall’s food court.  “Monsters, monsters, go away; go back home where you can play.”

There in the mouth of the closet we repeatedly said the words I pulled out from thin air, her little palms circling over the top of the box as she copied the actions of her silly dad.  I began chanting it louder with her in suit until we were nearly shouting it and then I slapped my hands down on the top followed by her mimicking and we knelt smiling at each other.

“Are they back home?” she whispered.

“I don’t know,” I replied, leaning an ear towards the top. “I don’t hear anything, do you?”

She leaned in and listened with one finger up signalling for me to stand by, and then rose back to her kneeling posting with a shaking head.

“Well let’s open ‘er up and take a peek!”

Letting her do most of the work, the flaps were pried apart and there, in the glow of the overhead light of the closet sat the void of the box and the pillow.  She squealed her joy and clapped, lunging into my chest for a vise-like hug and clapped some more.

“It worked, it worked!” she bounced on her knees repeatedly as I clapped and agreed.

“It sure did, baby,” I smiled and simply watched her pass the little milestone in her young life.

That night she climbed into her bed and got her hugs and kisses from her mother and me, never once asking for me to check under the bed or the closet or any of the darkened corners for any monsters.

We left her then, my then wife and I, leaving the door opened just enough to let some hallway light in and sat on the sofa for a little adult programming on the tube.  A few minutes after we were settled on some show I don’t remember, I heard her little voice call out across the bedroom: “Goodnight monsters in Monster Land!”

I smiled…not feeling guilty in the least.

To summarize my long winded story?   Well, we were them once—little and afraid—and if for one moment, just one itty-bitty moment we adults put ourselves back into their shoes we can see what they see and feel it as well.  Sure it might be annoying because we know (think)nothing is under the bed, but taking a little effort to prove it and resolve it with their assistance can be the difference of a good night’s rest or bed-hogging toddlers in your bed later on because they can’t sleep.

Children are honest little-folk even if that honesty steams from the realms of imagination, and if they believe monsters are real then you better be damned-tooting they are real and you should feel just a little bit scared yourself!  Yes, I know, you don’t want to humor such nonsense, but have you ever asked yourself this: If you tell them they are not real, and If they just so happen to be real, what then?  Think on that the next time you turn off their light and close their door leaving them to fear the darkness without checking the nooks and the crannies. There might be something lurking there and now it knows exactly what you look and smell like.

<Wink!>

OH! What happened to the little bear from the story you ask? Well, she was rather happy that they took her bear with them to Monster Land, but she also missed it that night come bedtime.  That was quickly resolved by morning.

Early before she woke I retrieved the bear from behind some shoes along the base of the closet and placed it back inside the box.  Before closing it up, I collected a sheet of paper and one of her Crayons and using my left hand—I’m a righty so I wanted it to look more ‘kid-speak’—I wrote a simple note and placed it inside with the bear.  I woke her not too long afterwards saying that I heard something coming from the box in the closet that sounded like her bear.  She dashed inside, pulling open the box, exclaimed “MY BEAR!” and I retrieved the note and read it to her.

It read:

Thank you for sharing your teddy!

It made us very happy during our trip!

We’ve sent it back to you so you can cuddle it.

Think of us when you do!

Love,

The Monsters

Seventeen years later, I still have the monster’s note and her bear.

♦          ♦          ♦

Keep up with Michael and his works on Twitter: @MichaelFrostChi and on his Frost Bitten Blog: http://michaelfrost.wordpress.com where you can sample his stories and poetry.

Author Michael Frost

Author Michael Frost

About Michael Frost: Before writing exclusively in late 2012, I was a senior Wide Area Network, Microwave and Satellite Platform Communications engineer who worked his way up from a lowly help desk geek from the 90’s before there were real degrees in Computer Science and mice were optional on computers (it was still a DOS and OS/2 Warp world for the most part then in the business environment with Windows 3.11 spread throughout).

Father of one fantastic multi-talented, multi-lingual senior University daughter who is my Light.

I have been writing for nearly 32 years (over 25 for horror) and currently write under 5 other published names which I will keep to myself their identities.  Sorry for that, but they are rather selfish-folk inner writers are.  I have published numerous stories over the years in regional magazines across the US, Canada, Australia and Europe, including visual flash fiction. I work for an educational publisher Nelson Education for digital supplements to their high school language arts printed books.

For horror books I dragged my feet to publish for reasons unknown, and although I have written 8 of them in the genre, the very first will be available in print early 2016 (announcement date will be available in October of this year): Eleanor’s Creek. 

Did I mention the selfishness of those other inner-writers?

Michael Frost releases scheduled for 2016: Sowing Seeds, Murder Black, Staad and three novellas Bane of the Black Witch, When Madness Calls and The Fall of Illeana Dubois. And a collaboration with Canadian artist Carrion Trilevel; a “wicked vicious book of dark literary horror and stunning graphic art.” You can expect a “teaser” in the coming weeks.
 

Omnimystery News Guest Blog by G G Collins

Paranormal Mystery Writer G G Collins Blogs

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Explosive Tale Pits Psychic Against Nazi Terrorists

Available at Amazon

Available at Amazon

Omnimystery New Guest Post Icon

Check out my guest blog and learn how Atomic Medium came to be. It’s a little bit supernatural, a little bit history and all fun. Join reporter Rachel Blackstone and friend Chloe for their latest adventure in the Rachel Blackstone Paranormal Mystery Series. No lines at TSA for this trip, but no map or directions either. Travel back to 1945 when the most feared weapon of mass destruction was developed in Los Alamos. Will Rachel stop two evil men intent on changing history? It’s no small task for the two friends; just save the world!

  Amazon 5-Star Review: “I loved that the suspense lasted right up to the last page.”  — Mojo

Atomic Bomb Trinity Test 70th Anniversary July 16, 2015

Atomic Bomb Test Successful 70 Years Ago

 

Trinity Test July 16, 1945 Courtesy Dept of Energy

Trinity Test July 16, 1945
Courtesy Dept of Energy

The Trinity Test had to be pushed back to 5:30 a.m. due to rain at the Alamogordo Bombing Range at White Sands in New Mexico. The area was known as the Jornada del Muerto or Journey of Death. As early risers went about their ranch chores, sorted mail for delivery and stocked grocery selves, none knew their world would change drastically in minutes.

Those who would be watching this scientific achievement huddled in bunkers made for that purpose. Earth and sand covered the concrete bunkers on three sides and on top. There were viewing holes in the wall facing the test site.Welding goggles were handed out to protect eyes.

The atomic age began with a pinprick of light so bright it lit up the desert with the power of several midday suns. It could be seen for 180 miles. If you closed your eyes, you could still see the light. The energy sucked up tons of desert sand, the dust muddied the light as it rose and churned into a fireball.

Bunker at Trinity Site Courtesy Dept of Energy

Bunker at Trinity Site
Courtesy Dept of Energy

Heat came next to those huddled in the bunkers. It was as if someone had opened an oven door. People dropped to the ground the heat was so intense. Then came the sound wave, as the earth beneath them shuddered with the force of 21,000 tons of TNT. This was followed by the now familiar mushroom cloud. The cloud created by fission rose and undulated to the substratosphere and spread across the heavens.

Some people were temporarily blinded by the light. Others who rode out the blast outside the bunkers had been knocked flat as the super wind rushed across the desert basin. Those who witnessed this first splitting of an atom had various reactions. Some slapped their knees and cheered; others laughed or cried. Still others showed the horror on their faces at what had been unleashed. Although no humans were harmed directly, livestock and wildlife did not fair as well.

Scarred Earth After Test Courtesy Dept of Energy

Scarred Earth After Test
Courtesy Dept of Energy

The atomic bomb that The Manhattan Project developed was both an incredible human feat and the monster that would hide in children’s closets for generations to come. Although the bomb would end WWII, nothing would ever be the same. The era of fear had begun.

For more information: 109 East Palace by Jennet Conant, The Manhattan Project edited by Cynthia C. Kelly, The Making of the Atomic Bomb by Richard Rhodes, http://www.losalamoshistory.org, www.atomicheritage.org/bios, www.lanl.govhttps://www.osti.gov/opennet/manhattan-project-history/Resources/photo_gallery/photo_gallery.htm

 

Copyscape Do Not Copy

 

Note on photos: From the U.S. Department of Energy. “To the best of our knowledge, all text and images on this web site are in the public domain. Almost all of the photographs were generated by government agencies, or by contractors working for the government, and as such are not subject to copyright. Most of these photographs were acquired from government web sites or government publications. In a handful of cases, photographs were used whose copyright had expired; these were acquired from the Library of Congress’s web site.”

New Release: Atomic Medium by G G Collins. Historical Fiction with a Twist.

Atomic Medium

 

Click on the book cover to read more about the new Kindle book. Takes the reader to 1945 Santa Fe, location of The Manhattan Project  office, the Atomic City of Los Alamos and to White Sands, New Mexico to experience the Trinity Test. Third book in the Rachel Blackstone Paranormal Mystery Series.

 

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