Lightning Strikes Three Times, Not Twice - #ParanormalRomance #BlackLove #OwnVoices #Harlem

 

By Anna M. Taylor (Guest Blogger)

It’s a myth that lightning doesn’t strike the same place twice. At least it’s a myth with me and my writing muse. Writing lightning struck me three times thanks to the Hamilton Grange, the home of Alexander Hamilton between 1802 until his death in 1804.

The first strike happened in 2012, the year I began writing erotic romance. I was working with a church in Harlem. St. James is in the Hamilton Heights neighborhood, down the hill from The Grange’s new location in St. Nicholas Park. One afternoon I found myself staring at the lot on Convent Avenue where The Grange used to be. Alexander Hamilton’s statue frowned over me on my right, perhaps displeased how untamed foliage crowded the lot. The brick walkway sported tufts of grass like unruly cowlicks. In my mind’s eye I could still see the Grange, standing behind the iron fence. I conjured its yellow and white façade, not boarded up, but not looking exactly accessible either. A definite “Keep-Out!-This-Means-You” vibe emanated through the fence’s black bars.

I imagined a weary heroine, on her way home from work. She stops and gazes upon the forlorn structure. “What if…” played in my mind. What if she’s not weary because of an unsatisfying day at work, but because an equally unsatisfying night awaits her at home? What if Alexander Hamilton’s statue stokes her desire to have a man like him in her life. Suddenly she senses she’s not alone. A longing comes from the house, reaches for her, pulls her forward against the bars and whispers oh so seductively, “Let me.” Terrified and aroused, she acquiesces to the plea and experiences a mind-numbing orgasm.

That imaginary encounter became the seed for my novella, Permission. I wrote a few chapters then put it away. I couldn’t get behind the ghost of a horny or lustful Alexander Hamilton stalking the Grange. Nor could I figure out why a ghost not Hamilton would haunt the Grange, giving women toe curling orgasms. Fast forward to 2015 and the steamy Show Me How To Say No To This, Alexander Hamilton’s adultery set to music by the brilliant Lin Manuel Miranda. Needless to say Permission is no longer collecting electronic dust in a folder on my laptop.

My second lightning strike occurred when I’d finished reading Joyce Carol Oates The Accursed. Once again I found myself outside the Grange’s original location. The alternate universe parts of Oates’ story occupied my thoughts. I looked through the iron bars at the empty space and played “What If…” again. What if the spirit of a relocated house refused to relocate with it? What if that spirit prevented anything else from being built on the original site? What if a spirit-conjured alternate-universe version of the house occupied the lot Brigadoon-like for twenty-four hours? What would happen to a heroine who enters that alternate universe, a heroine who believes happiness resides in the past? Could the love of a committed partner give her a reason to choose the present instead? Would that love come in time to get her out of the spectral house before it disappeared with her into the past? Thus, The Grange inspired 10,000 Midnights Ago. Unfortunately I lost that story to a computer crash and not doing regular back-ups.

Fast forward to June 2020 for the third lightning strike. I’d contracted a cover for the second novella in my Haunted Harlem series. I’d sent my cover designer photos taken on my trips to Harlem to give her some ideas. She chose the one of Grange’s empty lot pictures. Memories of what had been 10,000 Midnights Ago re-emerged. I’ve no idea where my copy of The Accursed went, but I binge-watched Brigadoon for inspiration. I outlined that story again, fleshed out new scenes and hopefully created a better story arc. 10,000 Midnights Ago rests on the drawing board, slated for self-publication in 2021. And this time I backed up my work in the cloud for safe keeping.

Three strikes but I’m not out.

There’s another aphorism that my experience proves is no myth: nothing happens before its time. I believe this is true of my lightning strike stories. Both Permission and 10,000 Midnights were ahead of their time. Now that I’m self-publishing, their time has come.

What’s been your experience? Share your lightning strike stories for a chance to win a $10 Amazon gift card. I’d love to hear them.

The Hamilton Grange isn’t the only Hamilton Heights locale that can conjure up ghosts for my haunted version of Harlem.

 

Haunted Serenade

All the women in Anora Madison's family have lived haunted by the curse of Poor Butterfly: women still longing for but deserted by the men they loved. Determined to be the first to escape a life of abandonment, she fled Harlem for Brooklyn, not only severing her ties with her mother Angela, but also ending her relationship with Winston Emerson, her lover and the father of her child.

Six years later, Anora comes home to make peace, but an unseen evil manifests itself during the homecoming and targets Winston and their little girl Cammie.

With nowhere to run, Anora must confront the evil now trying to destroy her life. She vows to protect her daughter at all costs, but if that protection can only be found with Winston back in her life, how will she protect her heart?

Excerpt

“I never understood how you and Elizabeth could stay here after Diana...” I couldn’t bring myself to say the word. My mother didn’t finish my sentence for me. Apparently she couldn’t say the word either.

Suicide.

We waited in the shared silence, unable more than unwilling to offer terms of peace.

“A person can will themselves to die,” my mother said. Her gaze drifted to the album cover in my hands. “It’s not so hard where unforgiving spirits reign.”

My gut clenched. “Do you really believe you’re dying, Ma?”

“According to my doctor I’m sound as a dollar. But when you’ve got more days behind you than in front of you, that’s not saying much.” She directed her gaze to me. “That’s why Cammie is so important. She’s the future. I feel better just having been in her presence a little while.”  

“I should have known.” I gripped the album cover with fingers trembling with anger and disappointment. “All that display of affection...you’re only using her to make you feel better.”

“No, Anora.” My mother came over and grabbed my arm with an earnestness that surprised me. “It’s not like that. I—I want the ghosts keeping us apart to die. Don’t you?”

I wanted it so much it hurt. I grimaced, but nodded.

“Cammie took one look at this house and asked if it was haunted.”

My mother snorted. “Out of the mouths of babes.”

“Exactly what I thought.” I returned the album cover to its resting place.

Resting place.

The term troubled my mind. Can the spirit of anyone who dies the way my aunt died ever rest?

The question went unanswered, interrupted by my daughter’s screams.

Buy at Amazon: https://amzn.to/3aXifyu

About the Author

Anna M. Taylor is the women's fiction and gothic romance penname of Anna Taylor Sweringen, a retired United Church of Christ and Presbyterian Church USA minister. She has been writing seriously since joining Romance Writers of America in 2003. She also writes inspirational romance as Anna Taylor and erotic romance as Michal Scott.

Website: https://annamtaylor.webs.com /

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