Sunday, September 6, 2020

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

 

Hamilton Grange

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 /

Amazon Author Page: https://www.amazon.com/Anna-M.-Taylor/e/B0894LFCTV?author-follow=B0894LFCTV&

FB: https://www.facebook.com/annamtaylorAuthor/


23 comments:

Debby said...

I have had some while walking. I finished up a coarse I was working on.
debby236 at gmail dot com

aerokorngal said...

Really engaging! Haven't experuenced any myself--not yet anyway.

Lisabet Sarai said...

Thank you for being my guest, Anna, and for your fascinating tale of your personal haunting by the history of The Grange.

Larry Archer said...

Interesting story, thanks for telling it. My writing muse is not near so lofty and tends to live in the gutter. LOL Good luck moving forward with your writing.

DebP said...

I haven't had any personal experience with lightning strikes, but a friend did when lightning hit a flashlight he was carrying. Amazingly, it only knocked him out and didn't cause any other injuries.

bn100 said...

can't think of any
bn100candg at hotmail dot com

Anna Taylor Sweringen said...

Hi all,

Thanks for all the neat comments. I should have added it didn't have to be a literal lightning strike. : )

Anna Taylor Sweringen said...

Hi Debby,

It's amazing how the muse strikes when we're walking. Thanks for stopping by.

Anna Taylor Sweringen said...

Hey aerocorngal,

Something for your bucket list then? Thanks for stopping by.

Anna Taylor Sweringen said...

Thanks for hosting me, Lisabet. Recounting these stories has been a good memory exercise for me. Others are coming back to me as well.

Anna Taylor Sweringen said...

Hi Larry,

Glad you found my post interesting. Good luck with your muse moving you forward too...in or out of the gutter. : )

Anna Taylor Sweringen said...

Hey Deb,

So glad your friend wasn't badly hurt. Real lightning is a beautiful but deadly thing. Thanks for stopping by.

Anna Taylor Sweringen said...

Hi bn100,

No sweat. Thanks for stopping by. : )

JENNIFER WILCK said...

Oh I love this! Can't wait to read these.

Anna Taylor Sweringen said...

Hi Jennifer,

So glad I'm able to pique your interest. Thanks for stopping by.

Fiona McGier said...

I believe in spirits because I've felt them. The house next to ours is the oldest in the neighborhood. My friend who used to live there told me she left all of the lights on in every room at night, because her daughters told her it "kept the voices quieter." Once when my dryer broke, and all of our kids were at school, she told me she was running to the store, but would leave the door open so I could put my laundry into her dryer in the basement. The ceiling was so low that even at 5'3", I had to stoop. As I tossed my clothes into the dryer, I "heard" voices, and a cold breeze blew on me--and chills ran up my spine. I yelled that I was leaving, and I ran up the stairs. I wouldn't get my laundry until she got back, and she never asked why. There's a man living alone there now. And HE always has ALL of the lights on at night, even though he doesn't even have a pet. Must be to keep the voices quieter.

L.C. said...

One time there was a thunderstorm and I heard a deafening sound. I looked outside our window and the tree across the street was on fire.
harperyn (at) outlook (dot) com

DVDgal75 said...

I was at an outdoor concert in an open field

Cindi Knowles said...

What a great post! Thank you for sharing. My car got struck by lightning but it was an old one with a rubber bumper so we were ok. Scared like crazy tho!

Msredk at aol dot com

Anna Taylor Sweringen said...

Hi Fiona, I'm with you. What a spine tingling encounter! Thanks for sharing.

Anna Taylor Sweringen said...

Hi L. Emmaline, Yikes! Seeing lightning strike from afar is scary in itself. Just reading what you've share has my heart racing. Thanks for sharing.

Anna Taylor Sweringen said...

Hi DV Dgal, being out where there's no cover is the worse.

Anna Taylor Sweringen said...

Hi Msredk, sometimes old isn't only better, it's life saving. Glad you were all safe.

Post a Comment

Let me know your thoughts! (And if you're having trouble commenting, try enabling third-party cookies in your browser...)