New Short Story Out: Murder Mansion

Because I love to write, the short story has always been one of those things that I've dabbled in. Somewhat like when I went through my poetry phase. I have to be in the right mood to work on a short story. These are harder to write--yes, for me, at least--than the novel. Novels are fun because I can put so much into it, so many threads and the plot etc. lets me continue on with a story.

The short story is a whole different animal. You have only so many pages/words in which to get that story down, and give it some twist at the end. The endings are the hardest part. I don't like stupid endings that mean nothing. I want to deliver the reader the sensation that they feel as though they are repaid for their time (and money). So I love to twist that ending just right.

In case you didn't know, I now have THREE short stories up on Amazon. Check out My Books above for links and description.

I have trouble placing pictures into my posts, but I will place the link for this latest one at the end of this.
When I wrote Murder Mansion, it was actually an experimental thing. I think it was more of a flash fiction piece, if I recall. The original was shorter, and I didn't quite have the ending. While puttering with it for publication on Amazon, I realized how the ending had to be. In many cases, much like poems, you have to exit the piece in such a way that is satisfying. At least that's the way I look at it.

Murder Mansion is a ghost story. It's premis is centered on the fact that people who have come to tragic or horrific endings, must return to re-live those moments that put them in the grave. What happened to James and Joan was horrific. They both must return to that same house, or mansion, where something horrible happened to Joan, and James was blamed for her murder.

Here is the link for Murder Mansion. Check it out, and if nothing else, hit the like button. Thank you!

Cat Tails ~ Half-Pint Checks in

It's me. Half-Pint. I am runt of litter. But I am strong, fast and I love my mistress and her mate--the man with the beard who feeds us and gives good belly rubs. Makes me make a sound inside, I have no name for it. I only know I can't help but make that sound. It's different from when I call out "Meow" to get his attention.

Today we were busy hunting. Didn't catch nothing. But there were lots of flying things, things with funny tails that chattered at us. I am tired now. Want a huge nap. Might play a little. Teach my stupid older brother who is boss.

I love my mistress' fingers. They taste salty. Her toes have best flavor, but she covers them now. I don't understand that.

Also, my mistress is writer. She is busy, and I do not get to see her much. She didn't come out of their cave after dark, like her mate did. He gave me a good belly rub. I didn't want him to leave. He moved his face closer, so I gave him a kiss on the nose. I gave him three, in fact.
I think that my mistress has been busy putting up her short stories on a place called Amazon. I don't know Amazon. Is that a person, or an animal? I don't know. Anyway, she has been busy putting these up. One is called Holy Devil. That's a strange name for something, but I am only kitten who is three months old. She says its a version on someone named Rasputin, who is not really a holy man, but a vampire. And another one she calls, Vampire, My Own. I have no idea what a vampire is. She told me that story is for a younger crowd. Like me. I thought it was fun to listen to when she read it to me. I liked the girl in it. She was interesting. I wanted her to give me pettings.

She is working to put another one up called MURDER MANSION. Is something that sound scary. I ran and hid when I heard about this one. Is a scary ghost story. My review would be four kitten paws and one swish of the tail. It is scary, and dark and bloody. I am told it should be up on this thing called AMAZON soon. This coming week, in fact. It would be good if you go and buy them. They are not very much. Mast has bought a BIG bag of Meow Mix, now. You buy my mistress' books. It would help feed us wild cats. Think of it as a donation to us ferals. Pweeezzzz?

I think I am tired now. Going to curl up with the others. Mother has been acting strange lately. She whacked me one day when I tried to play with her. I went head over heals. Actually that was kind of fun. Hope you had fun chasing wild things like I did. Good night. Meow.

A Pretty Darn Good Friday (13th)

Well, I had a pretty good Friday. This post is going to be me flapping my gums about it, so if you want to stick around, please go right ahead and put your feet up.

AT WORK:

Just before my second run (I drive transit bus for DeKalb/NIU), and my supervisor came up to the bus with a trainee, and asked if I wanted to read more of the book I was holding in my hands. Well, I didn't get it at first, and he said he was going to do a "live run" with the trainee for two runs.

I said "SURE! YEAH! GREAT! See ya in 2 hours!" I grabbed my things, jumped off the bus, went inside and wondered what I'd do with 2 hours. I felt like a kid let out of school suddenly. So, I decided I'd go into the cafeteria first, grabbed myself a milk (already had my lunch made), and sat down where it was quite, lightly low, and only a few people in there. I read and ate my sandwich. I spent the next two hours reading, grabbing ice from the ice machine on the second floor of the hotel, and read some more. Had a lot of bathroom breaks, since I COULD!

Of course I had 3 hours left on my shift when they got off. But I was able to deal with all the dozens of people who got on. Some asking questions, some confusing our bus line with another and asking for transfers, and had someone thinking we stop somewhere we don't, and another one tried to get on where we don't stop (sorry, no courtesy stops!), and people asking me to let them off at some place and I had to remember that! Sheesh!

But it all went fine. Then, when my husband picked me up he was all newsy. He told me he got to see 2 of the kittens. Someone who works for the forest preserve was there at the house getting well water, and had told him that he spotted them in the hole of the tree, and Dennis got to peek in there. (I got to see one when I got home. Spitting image of the mom with the dark tiger stripes and the golden cast around the face, and soooo tiny!)

We have been in a little dilemma about feeding the mother since we want to take a get away vacation soon. So, my husband also went down to our neighbors down the road from us. He asked the woman, Janna, about how long before the kittens would be weaned and so forth. He also asked about seeing if she could feed her. She's very nice and said she would love to do it.

And, let's see, oh, and my face creams came in the mail. I've been waiting for them a few days. This is Natural Advantage. You may have see the ad with Jane Seymour who talks about it, who uses it, her mother uses it and her grandmother as well, and they all look way younger than they are! Well, my husband had me get it, because I've tried everything on the store shelves and they'll work for a while, and then stop working after a few weeks. I began this stuff 4 weeks ago, and I definitely see a difference now. I don't think you can go wrong with this stuff. Sounds like I'm an ad here, but I wouldn't say something I didn't feel was true. I began seeing the deeper lines on my face and neck and thought GAK! I'm about to turn 58 next month, and I could pass for 49. I didn't like the idea of looking like a grandmother driving around college age kids. I don't mind them thinking I'm their mother's age, but not their granny. So, I think this was well worth the price.

And I've been waffling back and forth working on my vampire books, and my new mystery book. At the moment I'm working on the mystery. Sort of a nice change, but I'll tell you writing a pure mystery is way different. I'm looking into some books to help me. I want to get the book, "Writing Mysteries" by Sue Grafton. I saw it mentioned somewhere and thought that might help. If anyone has any others to suggest, I'll take them under consideration.

Plus, I had word that my short story, "Mother Knows Best", got past the first cut stage with Dark Moon Publishing, and I'll wait to see if it makes it past the second go-through. Since my other story didn't make it "Holy Devil", I put it up on Amazon. I felt I couldn't go wrong either way. But I'd like to see this short story make the cut for another of their anthologies (plus I'll get a little payment and a copy of the anthology!)

So, this was a darn good Friday--I never pay attention to the 13 part!--and now I look forward to a nice weekend! Hope yours went well too!

Teaser Tuesday ~ a page from Holy Devil

I'm definitely feeling lazy in my second week of vacation. But I did work in two new little flower/display gardens under the Colorado blue spruces yesterday and boy was I sore!

But today I thought I would share with all of you--and especially my Russian readers who are Rasputin fans, a page from my new short story that's out on Amazon (it is world wide,btw). This tidbit is merely a portion of the iceberg. The ending has quite a twist.

He sprinkled holy water over Anna who snarled at him. He made the sign of the cross over her. With that, she reared back and spat at him. Spittle hit him in the face and ran down his lips and beard. He immediately wiped the spittle with a sleeve. She grunted and laughed at him. Then she made noises like a pig. Obviously there was a very determined demon inside of her. His voice rose in one of his more powerful prayers, as it was in Latin. It usually worked, but the prayer may have to be repeated several times. Walking a clock-wise circle around the woman, he intoned his prayer. His voice thundered, determined to bring the devil out of her. His voice could be heard throughout the rest of the house, possibly outside, as well.

In the midst of prayer, he wet a finger in order to turn the page of the Gospel when the sound of voices out in the hall reached him. He had to ignore all while performing this exorcism, so continued to focus on his task.

Suddenly the door burst open and an excited looking older woman with a babushka over her head stood and took in the scene. The odor of dinner and the fresh outdoors were ushered in with her.

“What are you doing!” he protested.

“I have found him, Anna! I have found him! He is coming!” the woman announced in a rich, yet excited voice.

“Who is coming?” he asked the woman. “I demand you leave! Can't you see what is happening here?”

Ignoring him, she said to Anna, “The starets! The miracle-worker! He is here for you, my dear Anna!” She turned to look back down the hall.

Heavy boot heals tapped determinedly toward them.

“Oh, father, thank you! Thank you!” the older woman said to the tall, thin man who entered the room, and then backed out crossing herself.

The tall stranger stepped through the door wearing a kaftan over a mauve silk shirt, plush black trousers, and boots of the softest leather money could buy. Clearly the wandering wise-man—the holy starets—had traded poverty for a much richer life-style. Improvement of his social position while in the royal family's circle had endowed him with not only power but money from bribes to buy such things. He should be wearing a fur coat. The weather outside is bone-chilling. Perhaps the starets wasn't very far away.

“This is an outrage! What do you mean by this?” Father Sergei's eyes flashed when he got over his surprise. The red hair and beard and flushed face gave the impression that he might burst into flames at any moment. But his tirade was cut off by the man's watery blue eyes, fixed upon him in a stare that made Father Sergei's verve retreat. He swallowed whatever words had been inside him. This holy man's peasant features were unordinary—ugly, if truth be told—but his whole expression was concentrated in his blue eyes, which were at once penetrating and caressing. Then they became keen and piercing as if he could see to the very bottom of his soul.

Father Sergei took the starets in more properly. He had never met the man before, but rumors of him, and what he looked like, and what he did—especially what he believed in and preached—had been rampaging the countryside. He belonged to the Khysty sect. The very idea that one gained redemption through sin was the satanic lie itself! Weather-beaten face like that of a farmer in the harsh environments of the Siberian steppes, the wild brown beard, and the long brown, unkempt hair, carelessly parted—yes! This was he, the one they talked about endlessly. The one pampered, admired and worshiped by ladies from all classes of society from the highest ranking to the lowest of the low. The one who they say had experienced the miracle of the mysterious death after living a life of vagabondage for many years. His clothes were expensive because of the popularity and gain in his position in the court of the royals.

“Grigori Rasputin?” he muttered, his lower lip trembling with awe.

“Yes, little father, it is I. And I see you have cornered the market on frightening defenseless women in their bedrooms!” he said in a startling charismatic voice. His glance darted briefly to the Bible in his hand, but returned to pinion the Father's eyes once again. “Away with you and your scriptures! Can you not see real redemption is found by sinning first, and then repent! That is the only way we shall drive the evil from this one. The filth must be expelled, you hear, little father?” his voice thundered.

Rasputin's stare felt probing and disturbing at the same time. The room swam around him. Father Sergei's limbs seemed heavy as lead, even his eyelids became overwhelmed by sleep. He tried in vain to utter a sound or move, but could not. Before him he saw Rasputin's eyes. They shone with a phosphorescent glow; they seemed to become a fiery ring. His own eyes became heavier; his body leaned, almost falling over before he summoned the last remaining energy to resist. Father Sergei blinked. It was as though the power which held him so, had vanished.

©2012 Lorelei Bell

Milestone~Forty Years of Writing!

I was digging around in a box of old writings I had--yep, kept stuff from way back--trying to find an older story, and didn't realize the germ of the idea was something I'd written in 1979, for a creative writing class I took in college. I graduated from high school in 1972, but I didn't get my 2 year degree until ten years later in 1982. This piece I had written in 2001, and tried to publish it--but got rejected. It's called "The Unholy Devil", it was a short story about Rasputin--one of my favorite historical figures.

I am a prolific writer, and when my father died, and I had to clean out things that I had left there from the 1970's thru the 1980's, I discovered whole drawers full of my writing. I brought back one box and 3 large paper bags filled with paper--all with my writing on it!

I had to get rid of most of it, some of it was pretty bad. I don't know how many pages this could have been. But piled up it would have probably reached my chin. Novels of my fantasies (non-stop, in the beginning written on Gregg lined notebooks) about the Beatles and me. Other fantasies that might be considered sci-fi, adventure, and LOTS of poetry.

I was an artist turned to a writer. (My 2 year degree is in art.) When I took a creative writing class in my senior year in high school, and took it again (with teacher's permission), I realized I could put down a story in writing much faster than my little cartoons. So, when I was near the end of my senior year (looking forward to not being in school), I told my English teacher that I wanted to become a writer/author. She told me that I would be better off doing something else because my spelling and grammar was terrible.

Can you imagine? She pointed this out, and thank you for that, but she said nothing about my writing abilities. So, in my last year of college I was pleased to see they had a creative writing course and I took it (because I did not quit writing just because someone told me I couldn't spell). Mind you, this was years later, and I had continued to write and tried to work on those areas of spelling etc.

The creative writing teacher in that college class was much kinder. He encouraged us all. Me too! I had a terrible time with teachers who chose to ignore me because they thought perhaps I was a lost cause. I couldn't learn. I had trouble. Duh! I'm dyslexic, come to find out (not until I turned 40, did I figure this out about me).

So, back to this piece I was scrounging around for (and my re-writing of it will probably publish/put up somewhere). Inside the file folder, with this typed up manuscript (2001), I found the ORIGINAL yellowed paper, typed up on two pages. I had dated it April 1979? (the question mark, because I wasn't sure). The title was Father Gregori. It was very different from the story which came from it, but my teacher very lightly circled misspelled words in red, made little notes where it was "good" and one where a line was "vague". At the end he wrote: "Good character sketch - clear conflict - I see this as one scene of a longer story - needs expansion so that the reader has time to develop certain attitudes and expectations"

I wish I could remember this teacher's name, but it escapes me now. He was a writer, as well as an English teacher. Soft-spoken, red hair, and I remember he had this way of wetting his finger to turn pages on the inside of his bottom lip. I remember after that year he was moving, his wife had some sort of military job and he was taking time off to write. He was published in various small publications--which he had given us addresses of and encouraged us all to try them. Which, of course, I did. My first piece was published in ByLine, which back then was not as tough to break into, and allowed people who were just starting out writing to be published. I remember being thrilled about it. I had a few other things published in ByLine over the years, but that first piece had lifted my hopes.

Aside from the writing classes, I did join a writing critique group in 1983-84. I learned much while there, saw one of our members get a contract with Zebra for her historical novel (which thrilled me beyond measure).
After that experience, I took time off from writing, but always had to come back to it. I could not stay away from it. When I did, I missed it. I realized something after a 4-year time away from it (while working on my crafts), that nothing else gave me the sense of accomplishment that writing did.

With that said, you must realize it has taken me all this time to have a novel accepted by a publisher. I joked that I would paper my walls with the rejections slips. When I reached my 40's it seemed like a string of dreams crashed every time I got a rejection slip! By age 50, I decided I'd had enough and would self-publish. The new age of Internet was what brought me around to this. But you still had to pay someone to do this. Now, anyone who has the ambition can publish a novel, short story, etc. How times have changed. I'm still not certain for the better. The jury is still out on this one, because a lot of bad writing is put out there, along with the good.

As for me, I need an editor. I may self-publish my original Spell of the Black Unicorn, again, which is back in my possession and I do want to re-work it and try and put it out on Amazon or somewhere. At this point, if I make a little money, it's fine. For the last 3 years I made $1.79 (not sure how that happened, as the book was for sale at $17.95) from that book, after having made all of my $400, and a little bit more that I had paid them.

So, maybe you could call me the writer who never gave up. I'm like Harry Potter--the boy who lived. I survived those decades, did not give up. I saw times when a writer could still approach a major publisher w/o an agent, and now, you need no agent, no publisher, if you don't wish to go through that headache and heartache.

So, you now know I do know the struggle of getting no where, spinning my wheels, coming up short and wanting to throw out my writing, and give up.

DON'T GIVE UP!!!
I sure didn't give up. I may have taken breaks, which allowed me to come back fresh and excited about it, and things keep on changing. For the better or for the worse, I don't know. I only wish I had had the chances some of you have now. You would wait months to get some manuscript back from either a publisher or an agent back then--only to have to try the next one. That was the only thing I gave up on--traditional publishers and agents.