A haunting history – #Mystery #Ghost #RevolutionaryWar

Lisabet: Your blurb localizes The Misremembered Lighthouse in "southeastern North Carolina". That's pretty specific! Why there? Is this story based on a real lighthouse? Is that where you got the inspiration for the book?

p.m. terrell: Yes, and thank you for having me! The lighthouse was inspired by the Ocracoke Light Station along the North Carolina coast, which was only in use for less than twenty years due to shifting channels. In The Misremembered Lighthouse, historian and author Hayley Hunter rents an isolated lighthouse converted to a rental property near the coast to serve as a base while she researches her next book and continues her genealogy research. The Corbyn Lighthouse, named for its only keeper, Jonathan Corbyn, was only in use for twenty years, ending shortly after the Revolutionary War ended and the channels shifted.

I knew the mystery of the lighthouse, which is haunted by Jonathan’s ghost, would lead Hayley to the Moore’s Creek Battlefield, where a pivotal scene plays out. Due to the location of this real battlefield, which is now a National Park, I had to move the lighthouse further south than the Ocracoke Light Station.

I was also interested in Scottish immigrants who migrated to North Carolina after the Battle of Culloden in Scotland, only to be called up to fight for the British during the American Revolutionary War. At Cross Creek, which is now Fayetteville, the Scots were ordered to assemble and march eastward toward Wilmington to put down the revolution. I placed the lighthouse in a channel that would effectively reduce the time needed for the British to transport additional troops from Wilmington to meet up with the Scots from Cross Creek. The intention was to use a pincer movement, in which two units come from opposite directions to squeeze the opponent in the middle.

The Corbyn Lighthouse is along that channel, and Jonathan discovers he can either aid the British or sabotage their efforts. He really wants to live out the rest of his life in peace, having fought the British in his youth in Scotland, but the war is coming to him.

By the time Hayley rents the restored property, it is in an isolated area surrounded by swamps. When she finds Jonathan’s journal and realizes he haunts the lighthouse, she sets out to discover what has compelled him to remain there even after death.

Blurb

While researching her next book, historian and author Hayley Hunter rents a lighthouse in Southeastern North Carolina. The modern lighthouse and vacation home replaced an original wood structure that only functioned during the Revolutionary War. The old lighthouse may be long gone, but the lightkeeper’s ghost remains.

Hayley becomes increasingly obsessed with finding why the spirit of Jonathan Corbyn lingers between realms. Joined by her lover Shay MacGregor, her search will take her into a world of spies, double agents, and espionage at the dawn of American democracy.

Excerpt

As the waitress returned with our meal, I said hesitantly, “I’ve been experiencing some activity.”

“Activity?” Shay repeated, puzzled.

As we leisurely consumed our meals, I told him of the white German shepherd, the Native American, and my discovery of Beckett Dikshita outside my door. I held back from mentioning the disembodied voice I thought I’d heard. For some reason I couldn’t explain, I felt that discussing Jon was a betrayal of him. He might have died over two centuries ago, but he felt very much alive to me.

When I was finished, Shay’s eyes were narrowed in thought. “I’m relieved you changed the locks and set up the cameras,” he said thoughtfully. “I think we should make it a habit for the locals to see us together, don’t you think? Give them the impression that there are two of us there. As isolated as you say it is, I don’t fancy the idea of the village folk believing you’re there all alone.”

“I agree, though the locals so far have consisted only of Argo and Beckett Dikshita.” I didn’t want to ask exactly how long he would remain before he was due back in Ireland for his job at the university. It seemed that doing so would hasten his departure. “And what do you think of the—unexplained—” I hesitated.

“Ghosts?” he offered. “Apparitions? You didn’t believe a Native American and disappearing dog would get past me, did you? Well, you’ve come to an expert on that as well.”

“Oh?” I chided. “You’re an expert?”

He chewed his food thoughtfully before becoming serious. “The Irish have a different mindset when it comes to spirits, they do,” he said, his voice softening. He cleared his throat. “You Americans have such a physical approach to life; you tend to think that when a person’s body ceases to function, their soul is taken away as well.”

About the Author

My full name is Patricia McClelland Terrell, and I have been writing under the pen name p.m.terrell ever since a publisher presented me with my first fiction book cover. The graphic designer had also entered my name in lower-case letters; my editor hated it, and I loved it. It’s been p.m.terrell ever since.

I began writing when I was nine years old, inspired by a schoolteacher and elementary school principal. Scott-Foresman published my first book, a computer instructional for universities, in 1984. Scott-Foresman, Dow-Jones (Richard D. Irwin branch), Palari Publishing, Paralee Press, and Drake Valley Press have published 26 books to date.

Before embarking on a full-time writing career, I founded McClelland Enterprises, Inc. in the Washington, D.C. area in 1984, specializing in computer instruction for employees in the workplace. I opened another business, Continental Software Development Corporation, in 1994, which focused on custom application development, programming, website design and development, and computer crime.

I was honored to be the first female President of the Chesterfield County/Colonial Heights Crime Solvers. I also served as the Treasurer for the Virginia Crime Stoppers Association. Since moving to North Carolina, I served on the Robeson County Friends of the Library and Robeson County Arts Council.

I launched The Book ‘Em Foundation with Waynesboro, Virginia Police Officer Mark Kearney, and assisted in Virginia, New Hampshire, and South Carolina events before establishing the Annual Book ‘Em North Carolina Writers Conference and Book Fair, chairing it for several years before turning it over to Robeson Community College in Lumberton, NC.

Social Links

Website: https://pmterrell.com/

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pmterrell.author/

Buy Links

Apple: https://books.apple.com/us/book/the-misremembered-lighthouse/id6749962807

Barnes and Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-misremembered-lighthouse-pm-terrell/1148042055

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0FM4D9YTB

All other eBook formats: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/1832068

p.m. terrell will be awarding a $25 Amazon/BN gift card to a randomly drawn winner.

The past is the present – #TimeTravel #Romance #Dystopian

Blurb

A time traveller absconds to the past in search of her lost love.

One word: my name. A call from Origin through the neural lace grafted to my brain and nerves, connecting me to another place in another time. A reminder of what I’m here to do.

I clutch a bottle cap; its sharp metal edges ground me in the present. It’s funny, don’t you think, to consider this moment the present, as if the past and future I came from aren’t supposed to exist? If you were here, I’d ask. You’d smile and kiss my forehead and say you love my nonsense questions.

But you’re not here. They want me to forget you ever were.

Available now at most e-book retailers.

Excerpt

Connecting me to Origin, the Lace works like any other organ—unthinkingly, like lungs breathing and the heart beating. It’s a sense tuned to an imperative beyond the five. At baseline, it’s a hum so deep inside my body, I barely catch it. It’s an ache in the feet I’ve gotten used to, grit in the nose that goes unnoticed until it triggers a sneeze. It’s the constant love for another person, even when attention diverts elsewhere.

At peak, the Lace is fire from within, lightning inside a tree. It consumes, overwhelms, contained within my brain and body. And for that brief moment, there is only Origin.

Back in the Annex, I climb into the tank while it fills with gel. Albert optimises the temperature and buoyancy for my body this morning. Slightly cool, a blessing on a day so warm we feel it even in this underground cavern. It’s already too hot to travel overland.

Waiting in the tepid gel, I search for Tarkan through the Lace. But all I get back is the flimsy sense of his fingers around my hips, and his mouth on a mole that might not have always been there. Origin yields some data at last, there but not there, not really pressed against my body, sucking at my skin. It hums through the Lace, vague and disconnected. It could be someone else’s gasp I hear, someone else’s fullness in my mouth, someone else’s tongue darting into tight spaces.

Qing.

Origin’s call delivers the countdown. Fifteen seconds to traversal, and details of the task ahead.

Deep vibrations ascend. Last night surfaces. We’re naked on a sweat-soaked bed, the body’s water rising from skin as outside air drifts from one vent to another, as inside air moves from panting lips across my collarbone, as a still-hungry mouth finds mine. We glisten under captured solar light while I twist the sparse strands of hair on the tops of fingers—your fingers, Tarkan’s fingers, one and the same for fleeting seconds.

Ten seconds.

The Lace peaks, I peak. It ravages my body, igniting my nerves. Muscles tighten. What air remains inside me bubbles through the gel. The Annex falls away and scattered dreams take over. I run my thumb over my own tingling, nail-bitten fingers. The fingers feel, and I feel.

Five seconds.

The past is the present. Another history becomes my own, a future yet promised. We are particles in superposition, collapsing into a moment. Memories rush into me like water. A face like Tarkan’s turns to me. His smile is your smile.

And then it’s gone.

Until We Met Again is available now.

About JL Peridot

JL Peridot writes love letters to the future on devices from the past. She's a qualified computer scientist, former website maker, amateur horticulturist, and sometimes illustrator. But most of the time, she's an author of romantic science fiction. She lives with her partner and fur-family in Boorloo (Perth, Australia) on Whadjuk Noongar country.

Visit her website at jlperidot.com for the full catalogue of her work.

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This book is amazing. I'll be posting a review soon. ~ Lisabet

Love, desire, and desperation ... #NewRelease #lgbtqromance #MFRWHooks

Sometimes writing is like breathing; you don’t even have to think about it. Ideas crystallize into prose, in a process that is as effortless as it is mysterious.

On the other hand, there are the times when you have wrestle with every sentence. You emerge from a writing session aching and mentally bloodied, wondering how you’re ever going to get the story out of your head and onto the page.

Writing Free Fall was like that. I started it back in April of this year. These days I don’t have much time to write; my day job sucks up huge amounts of time. Still, 33K words in seven months is pretty sad. My online crit group was a huge help, but given their feedback, I found myself doing significant rewrites to every chapter.

Aside from the work, I was dogged by uncertainty. Until the very end, I really didn’t know how I was going to bring Rain and Mariel’s story to a satisfying conclusion and tie up the loose ends. Anxiety, frustration, a sense of inadequacy – that’s how I am going to remember the process of writing this book.

Still, now that it’s done and published, I am fairly happy with it. When I view the cover, which was my original inspiration, I feel I’ve captured the mood and brought the two women seated at that table to life. Love, desire and desperation: that’s what the cover says to me, and I think that’s what I’ve written.

Blurb

Welcome to Xanadu. For its elite customers, a space-based paradise of pleasure. For the slaves who work there, hell orbiting Earth.

Innocent and inexperienced, Mariel Linderman sells herself to Xanadu to rescue her farming family from starvation. Streetwise Rain Delgado accepts assignment as a Pleasure Rep in lieu of a prison sentence for murder. In a world that strictly prohibits same-sex relations, the passion that flares between them brings terrible risks. Their unexpected heart-and-soul connection turns their already precarious existence into a clandestine struggle for survival. 

 

The Hook

Mariel arrives at the cafeteria at 1245. It’s bustling. She scans the rows of tables and locates Rain in the far corner, in a less crowded area. Using her wristband, she orders a soy-cheese sandwich and reconstituted orange juice, then takes her tray over to Rain’s table. Her heart slams against her ribs as she approaches her lover.

Rain is dressed for work, in pale, lace-trimmed lingerie that highlights her tawny skin. She’s so desirable that she steals Mariel’s breath and makes it hard to speak.

“Uh—do you mind if I sit here?” Mariel feels shy and flustered, despite their history.

Rain’s mouth quirks in the hint of a grin. “Of course not. I’m happy to have company.”

Mariel takes a chair across from Rain. She is dying to tell Rain how much she has missed her, how she dreams about holding the other woman close, how she wakes with the memory of Rain’s taste in her mouth.

Does Rain feel the same overwhelming longing? Her beautiful, exotic face gives nothing away.

Mariel wonders if Rain has had any ideas about how they can get away from Xanadu. She wants to ask if her friend has had further contact with the technician who’s infatuated with her. Stuart, that was his name. Apparently he doesn’t have a lot of responsibility, but he seems to be skilled at ferreting out useful information.

Of course she cannot talk about any of these topics. Instead she addresses herself to her sandwich. The silence grows along with her frustration. Their times together are so rare, but this feels like a waste. It’s almost like punishment, to be so physically close to Rain and be forced into this distance.

She remembers wondering about Rain’s past. Would that be safe? Would Rain be willing to share?

“Where did you grow up?” Mariel asks. She hears the uncertainty in her own voice.

Rain skewers her with a sharp look before answering. “New York. Manhattan. But I was born in Dominica. Gangs and riots. Blood and hunger. My mother and I escaped. She sold the only thing she had to get us to America.” She glances down at her seductive costume and shrugs. “I was seven—less than a year before Enbro came to power.”

“So—so you’re not a U.S. citizen?” Mariel remembers how it was, in the months after the coup, when the Army had swept up tens of thousands of “illegals”, dumped them onto boats and pushed them into the sea. “How did you…?”

“My mother got a job as a cleaner at the New York Public Library. The board let us live in the basement. They’re all billionaires, but none too fond of Enbro Marks and his crew.”

“You were lucky.”

“Luckier than some, anyway.” She seems to sense Mariel’s concern. “Couldn’t go to school, but I grew up surrounded by the world’s knowledge. I probably got a better education than you did.”

Mariel giggles. “Likely so. I was more concerned with cheerleading and make-up than chemistry and math. Though I did win the Miss Witchita beauty contest in my senior year.”

Rain’s expression melts into tenderness. “I’m not surprised. You’re a true all-American beauty.”

Mariel drains the last of her ersatz orange juice and grimaces. “That didn’t do me much good, did it?”

“Ah, but you wouldn’t have gotten this prime job as a Xanadu Pleasure Rep if you’d been less gorgeous.”

They laugh together, the precious moment of shared intimacy confirming their bond. Mariel is dying to reach across the table to grasp Rain’s hand. With the greatest of difficulty, she suppresses the urge.

Rain catches and holds her gaze in a long moment of potent silence. In her lover’s dark eyes, Mariel sees desire and need that mirror her own.

“It’s getting late,” Rain says at last. “I’ve got a client at 1500.”

“That’s when I go on duty, too.” Despair settles like a damp blanket on Mariel’s spirit. She feels suddenly exhausted.

“Let’s leave separately.”

Mariel wants to scream, to protest, to beg for another few minutes of Rain’s company. She knows that’s impossible, though. “When…?”

“Soon,” her companion murmurs. “As soon as I can. I’ll let you know.” For an instant, Rain drops her guard and Mariel understands: she’s just as desperate for them to be together.

 

Books2Read UBL: https://books2read.com/u/mKeK0E

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/242662867-free-fall

BookBub: https://www.bookbub.com/books/free-fall-escape-from-xanadu-by-lisabet-sarai

Be sure to visit the other authors participating in today’s Book Hooks!

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Who would kill a burro racer? #CozyMystery #RockyMountains #Giveaway

Blurb

Roxy’s spending her summer with burros and jam, but there’s a murderer in the mountains.

It’s burro racing season in the Rockies, and Roxy Constantine is all for it. Now if she can come up with a good recipe for tomato jam, her summer will be complete. But when Roxy finds a body on the burro race course, she’s suddenly plunged into a murder investigation. And when her innocent friend is accused of killing her ex, Roxy must challenge a corrupt police chief who wants to shut her up. Now she needs to find the real killer and save a neighboring town from a plot to ruin its mountain magic.

Excerpt

“Peggy Sue, don’t you dare!”

Peggy Sue turned soulful brown eyes on my friend Laurel Beacham, who was a few feet behind her. She looked like she really, really wanted to go through the gate leading to Laurel’s front yard.

“Peggy Sue, you listen to me.”

Peggy Sue took another tentative step forward. Clearly, she was weighing just how much trouble she’d be in if she kept going. The gate to the front yard of Laurel’s cabin was slightly ajar and Peggy Sue would likely be able to step through it in just a moment or two. On the other hand, based on her tone of voice, Laurel clearly meant business.

“Peggy Sue, I will lock you in the barn, so help me.”

Peggy Sue gave her another of those tragic looks that conveyed, How can you be considering something so cruel? So inhumane? All I want is some grass. And it’s just sitting there.

Laurel picked up her pace, but she was still a little far away from the gate. I, on the other hand, was right there. I quickly stepped forward just as Peggy Sue started to push the gate open. I gave it a quick shove so that the latch caught, and the gate snapped closed.

Peggy Sue stared up at me, eyes narrowing. I had no idea if donkeys bit people who annoyed them, and I didn’t want to find out. I stepped back. “Sorry, Peggy Sue, but I think you were about to get into a space where you aren’t allowed.”

Laurel moved forward and grabbed the burro’s halter. “Oh, she was definitely heading for a space where she isn’t allowed. And she knows it full well.” She pulled Peggy Sue away from the fence. Shaking her head, the burro gave my friend a look that should have broken the strongest heart. She had some of the longest eyelashes I’d ever seen, along with those great big brown eyes. Puppy eyes are nothing compared to burro eyes.

About the Author

Meg Benjamin is an award-winning author of romance and cozy mysteries. Meg’s cozy mystery series, Luscious Delights from Wild Rose Press, concerns a jam-making sleuth based in the mythical small town of Shavano, Colorado. Her Konigsburg series is set in the Texas Hill Country and her Salt Box and Brewing Love trilogies are set in the Colorado Rockies (all are available from Entangled Publishing and from Meg’s indie line). Along with romance and cozies, Meg is also the author of the paranormal Ramos Family trilogy from Berkley InterMix and the Folk trilogy from Meg’s indie line. Meg’s books have won numerous awards, including an EPIC Award, a Romantic Times Reviewers’ Choice Award, the Holt Medallion from Virginia Romance Writers, the Beanpot Award from the New England Romance Writers, the Carly Crown Jewel of Books from the Mid-America Romance Authors, and the Award of Excellence from Colorado Romance Writers.

Personal Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/meg.benjamin1

Author Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100063609878239

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Threads: https://www.threads.net/@meg_benjamin

BlueSky: https://bsky.app/profile/meg-benjamin.bsky.social

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/2869971.Meg_Benjamin

Bookbub: https://www.bookbub.com/profile/meg-benjamin

Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.com/megbenjamin/

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/stores/Meg-Benjamin/author/B0030F12FY

YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/@megbenjamin1396

Website: http://www.MegBenjamin.com/

Amazon buy link for The Tomato Jam Murder : https://amzn.to/4oj93e5

Meg Benjamin will be awarding a $15 Amazon/BN gift card to a randomly drawn winner.

Halloween at Last! #Giveaway #Magic #FreeReads #Lovecraft

Halloween has arrived at last.

Who will you become tonight?

What magic will transform you?

My own plans are still fluid. I’m waiting to see what serendipitous enchantments ensnare me.

Meanwhile, it’s time to announce the winner of my Haunted October grand prize.

Congratulations to Jana, who has won a $25 book store gift certificate. And a big thank you to everyone who participated in my celebration.

As a Halloween treat, I’ve got two free stories for you.

Click here to read Dirty Laundry on my website. It’s a sexy vampire tale with an unusual hero.

And if you go here, you can download my H.P. Lovecraft parody The Shadow Over Des Moines from Smashwords, absolutely free.

Wishing you excitement, satisfaction and new revelations on All Hallow’s Eve.

Almost Halloween – #HauntedOctober #MFRWHooks #PNR

Only two more days until Halloween!

Are you ready?

For today’s Haunted October Book Hooks post, I have a bit from my Halloween-themed paranormal erotic romance Rendezvous. Leave me a comment and you could win a free copy. Plus every comment is an entry in my Haunted October giveaway. I’ll choose the winner on Friday.

Blurb

I am who I am, and I know what you want.

Rebecca believes in magic. She has never lost her childhood love of Halloween, when she can don a costume and step away from her boring, ordinary self. For one night, she transforms into someone else – someone mysterious, daring, sensual and seductive.

When All Hallow’s Eve finds her stranded at a seedy motel a hundred miles from her friend's annual party, she is desperately disappointed. Then she discovers that her room is haunted by the invisible but unquestionably virile ghost of a rake who seduced local women nearly half a century earlier.

The Hook

It was as though I'd been cursed.

First, my boss sent me on an out-of-state sales trip for the day. That effectively nixed my plan to leave work early and help Christie get ready for her party. Then, as I was rushing to get back to the city, the trusty Taurus blew a gasket on an empty stretch of I-35 south of Emporia. The mechanic told me that the problem wouldn't be fixed before noon the next day.

The next day? I couldn't believe my bad luck. I was stuck until November 1st in some dinky town nearly a hundred miles from Kansas City. If the car had been my own, I would have found a bus or a cab home and come back after Halloween to pick it up. But of course it was the company's car, and I knew I'd catch hell if I abandoned it in some no-name garage.

The motel was the last straw. Maybe I could have consoled myself in a nice modern Holiday Inn or even a Super-8: taken a long hot shower, relaxed on the king-sized bed, and wallowed in self-pity while eating take-out pizza and sampling the mini-bar. The Rendezvous Ranch Motel, though, was the kind of relic that you’d think only exists in horror movies. The fake pine paneling was warped by damp. Staring at the wall, you felt that you were looking in a fun-house mirror. The furniture was pure Ozzie and Harriet, right down to the twin beds with their faux-colonial bedposts. The shower head dribbled even when shut tight; streaks of red stained the bottom of the bathtub. Rust, of course, but I couldn't suppress a little shiver at the gory appearance.

The grizzled desk clerk shook his head when I asked about restaurants, bars, any kind of local entertainment. “Closest food is the diner in Cottonwood Falls, eight miles back. But they don't deliver past six.” He looked alarmed when he realized that I was on the verge of crying. “There's vending machines 'round back, Miss.”

Seeing that this did not reassure me, he reached under the counter and brought out an unopened half-pint of cheap scotch. “Here, you can have this. Help you relax. And we've got satellite TV, too. Works most of the time.”

I managed to swallow my tears and take the bottle. “Thanks. What about breakfast, though?”

“If you're awake by six tomorrow, I can run you into Emporia at the end of my shift.”

“Thanks, I'd really appreciate that.” I paused at the screen door, surveying the empty parking lot. “Expecting anyone else tonight?”

“Nope. Might get some late-night trucker, but they usually want a place with better —amenities, I think you call 'em.”

“Yeah, that's right. Amenities.” I tried not to be sarcastic. The old guy was working hard to be nice.

I strolled across the gravel on the way back to Room 7. It was crisp and breezy, but warm for October. A golden crescent of moon hung near the horizon, across the fields of stubble that stretched in all directions. If I strained my ears, I could hear the distant hum of traffic on I-35. Otherwise, it was as quiet as the proverbial grave.

An appropriate comparison for Halloween. I threw myself down on the chenille spread, tears threatening again. Damn, damn, damn. Why tonight, of all nights? I checked my watch; it was just seven. Christie would be in costume already. She'd be lighting the candles, dumping the brandy into the witches' brew punch, laying out the tarot cards in preparation for her guests' arrival. I wanted to be there, more than I'd ever wanted anything.

You have to understand. For me, Halloween has always been special. When I was a child, I'd count the months and then the days. I'd spend weeks working on my costume, thrilling with anticipation of the moment when I'd actually put it on and transform myself into someone else. For a few glorious hours, I'd be a witch or a black widow spider, a gypsy or a pirate or a creature from outer space. On November 1st, I'd already be planning who I’d become on the next All Hallow's Eve.

I haven't changed. I still believe in magic. The air is still full of possibilities on Halloween. As I've gotten older, I've realized that some of the thrill is sexual. On Halloween, I become someone more exciting, more daring, more willing to take risks. I exchange my dirty blonde hair and B-cup breasts for raven tresses and a voluptuous cleavage, my suits and sensible heels for fishnets and stilettos. On Halloween, I flirt, I fascinate, I bewitch. I draw my lovers to me, attract them with the pure power of my lust.

Of course, I hadn't actually had a lover for nearly a year, since Jim packed up and moved to San Francisco. On Halloween, though, anything could happen.

 

Find the buy links here: https://www.lisabetsarai.com/rendezvousbook.html

Be sure to leave a comment. You could win a copy of Rendezvous—or a $25 gift certificate!

And I hope you’ll visit the other authors participating in today’s Book Hooks hop.

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Healing a fractured family – #WomensFiction #Giveaway

Blurb

A haunting, lyrical exploration of family, silence and the secrets we inherit.

Years of avoidance and blame have left the McLaughlin clan fractured and ill-equipped to face the critical illness of one of their own. When long buried memories of a neighborhood child’s death while in their care resurface the family truly begin to unravel.

Told in alternating voices, Look Over Your Shoulder reveals how secrets ripple through generations, and how healing begins when someone finally dares to speak the truth.

Excerpt

ANNE

Here’s what I’m willing to accept: my family is made up of a pack of chronically disconnected, emotionally crippled individuals. Full stop. I can also accept that taking a three-month break from it all twenty-six years ago was a really bad idea.

What I can’t accept: jackasses who come along claiming they know exactly what’s wrong with us, and then promise they can fix our crazy in Ten Easy Steps.

Okay, I appreciate how at first glance you might think my walking away was what put everything into motion—the kids getting lost at the river, and Carrie Morrison falling to her death. But you’d be wrong. If you want to know the exact moment things went sideways, you’re going to have to go all the way back to the day Ed refused to help me paint the bricks at the front of our house.

That’s not to say I think I’m blameless. I don’t, and I’m not. Every single day, I replay every single cataclysmic mistake I’ve made over and over. Even now, after all this time, when I hear how one of my kids has screwed up their life in epic McLaughlin proportion, my sins bear down on me, and fully knowing the price they continue to pay for my selfish blip, brings me to my knees. That, I’m still trying to accept.

About the Author

SHARON OVEREND, is an award-winning author whose fiction, creative non-fiction and poetry has appeared in the Canadian, American and British literary journals and anthologies including Antigonish Review, Avalon, Descant, Grain, Matter of Time, Spirit of the Hills, Surfacing, Wild Words, Word Weaver, UK’s Dream Catcher, CafeLit, The Best of CafeLit and A Coup of Owls.

Sharon and her husband live on a 156-acre rural property in Ontario, Canada where she has found inspiration for many of her projects.

Website: http://www.sharonoverend.blog

Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/sharonoverend

Instagram: http://www.Instagram.com/sharonoverend3971

Bluesky: http://www.Sharonoverend77.bsky.social

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/LOOK-OVER-SHOULDER-Sharon-Overend-ebook/dp/B0FR2P6SWY

 

Sharon Overend will be awarding a $20 Amazon/BN gift card to a randomly drawn winner. Enter using the King Sumo widget below.

And don’t forget to leave a comment, to enter Lisabet’s Haunted October contest – winner announced on Halloween!