December 12, 2015 by Effrosyni Moschoudi

Saint Spyridon, patron saint of Corfu: his life and miracles

Today, December 12, The Greek Orthodox Church commemorates and honors St Spyridon. In Corfu, it is a special day of joyous celebration, seeing that St Spyridon is the patron saint of the island. As you may know, Greeks don’t just have birthdays; they also celebrate their name days with parties, offering sweets and receiving gifts. If I tell you that every Corfiot family has at least one member called Spyridon (Spyros) or Spyridoula (Loula), you can imagine how much partying goes on around the island on December 12!

My family always had my granddad, Spyros Vassilakis, to honor on this day, and so, it’s always been a special day for me, and even more so now that Granddad has passed away. I thought I’d blog about St Spyridon this year and share a few facts and legends surrounding his name…

Who is St Spyridon?

St Spyridon was born circa 270 A.C. in Askeia, Cyprus. He was a pious man and a shepherd. When his wife died, he entered a monastery and, later in life, became Bishop of Trimythous. He died peacefully of old age in 348 A.C. It doesn’t sound like much, I know, but what if I tell you about the miracles performed by this legendary man, both when he was alive and centuries after his death? In his life, he performed many miracles and even brought people back from the dead with the fervor of his prayers!

St Spyridon was present in the First Ecumenical Council of Nicaea (325 A.C.) where he took an active role. It is said that he converted a pagan philosopher into a Christian there and, according to legend, he performed a miracle in the process. While talking with this man, he took hold of a potshard to make a point that one thing can be three things at the same time (like The Holy Trinity can be Father, Son and the Holy Ghost). As he held the potshard, it is said that it burst into a flame, water dripping down his hand. It is said that all that was left from the shard of pottery in his hand was dust (while others say he held a brick). It is because of the specific account that St Spyridon is regarded the patron saint of potters (as well as Corfu).

This story is just one of many that testify for this pious man’s sanctity; some of them date from when the saint was still alive and others began whole centuries after his death.

For example, when the Arabs took Cyprus (648 A.C.), St Spyridon’s remains were disinterred with the purpose of taking the sacred bones to Constantinople. However, to their surprise, the Cypriots saw that the relic was intact, and a scent of basil emanated from the grave. They took this as a sign of St Spyridon’s sanctity. The relic was taken to Constantinople and when the Turks took the city in 1453, a Corfiot monk called Kaloheraitis took the relic to Corfu and that is where it is still held today, in St Spyridon church.

The Corfiots adore their saint, and that is no surprise, seeing that he has saved their island and its people many times. For example, when a plague swept through the village of Marathias in the 1600s, it is believed that St Spyridon was sighted there and performed a miracle to drive out the plague. There is a big mark like a cross on the ancient walls of the Old Venetian Fortress and, legend has it, that the plague made this mark out of spite for being made to leave the island. The locals know where this mark is and point it out to tourists, although nowadays it’s not as clearly visible.

Another legend related to the plague has it that St Spyridon was sighted in the air dressed as a monk. He was chasing the plague that looked like a cross between a lion and a monkey with bat-like wings. The saint chased her away while beating her with a cross. When they reached the Old Fortress (Capo Sidero), St Spyridon made the plague scratch the sign of the cross on the wall and swear she’d never return.

The Old Venetian Fortress in Corfu Town that is said to carry the mark the plague made on its way out of the island…

This miracle is commemorated on Palm Sunday. The church procession stops in Corfu Town on high ground, faces the south towards Marathias and sends a blessing as a thank you to the saint.

This is the side of the fortress that bears the plague’s mark…

I asked Gran Antigoni about it the other day; she said the mark is visible on the wall under the cross from the Mouragia side (Mouragia is the picturesque coastal way lined with ancient Venetian buildings that leads to the old port). The other interesting bit Gran said is that the plague killed all but one man in the village of Marathias. In time, he had children with many different women, spreading his name across the village over the generations. She couldn’t recall the name but says many people in Marathias still carry this man’s surname today.

More annually celebrated miracles of St Spyridon:

During the second siege of Corfu by the Turkish fleet in July 1716, the Turks managed to take over a couple of forts on the island, including the ones in Mandouki and Garitsa. At the time, the island was under Venetian rule and fights between the rulers and the invaders went on for a month while the Corfiots prayed to their saint to save them from the Ottomans. On August 9, a terrible storm (highly unlikely in the Greek midsummer!) destroyed a great part of the Turkish fleet while several Muslims reported that they saw St Spyridon in the form of a monk rush out of his church, a torch in hand, threatening them. This sighting, along with the freak storm in midsummer and the damage to the fleet, caused panic among the Turks. It spread up the ranks and finally resulted in them leaving the island two days later.

This miracle is commemorated annually on August the 11th. A grand procession takes place in Corfu town and at night brass bands play music in Spianada square by Liston. All over the island, several varkarola (boat processions) take place too, with fireworks and singing, while the locals treat the visitors to fried sardines in many cases. Paleokastritsa and Petriti are two of the places that annually organize a varkarola.

On another occasion, St Spyridon is said to have saved the island from famine. How? He created a storm that caused three Italian boats filled to the brim with a cargo of wheat to change course and come to Corfu to save themselves. The precious cargo saved the people of Corfu from starvation and everyone knew it was a miracle because the men on board reported they saw a monk in a vision speaking in a booming voice, urging them to drop anchor at Corfu. This miracle is commemorated annually, again around Easter, this one on Holy Saturday – perhaps the most greatly sought after day for a Corfu holiday because of the pot-breaking custom that follows the procession.

And this is where the legends about St Spyridon end.

The following are actual events that happened without a doubt, some in my lifetime, and which were relayed to me. They are well-known all over the island:

The steeple of St Spyridon Church in Corfu town

A man was working on the top of the steeple of St Spyridon church once… He lost his balance and fell to the ground but stood back up, unscathed. I’ve heard this so many times that every time I look at the steeple I can almost see that poor man fall and I cringe 😀

Corfu airport is situated very near the sea. As the planes approach to land, if you look out the window, it almost feels like you’re about to land on water – it’s that near to the runway. Back in the 80s, this was out in the papers: a plane was having a hard time landing on Corfu airport (weather or technical trouble, cannot remember) and it was so scary and such a near miss that when the passengers landed safely they headed straight to St Spyridon church to light a candle and thank the saint for saving them. It was also reported that when they next opened his casket in the church, they found seaweed inside…

This is the private place in the church where people are periodically allowed to come in and pay their respects to the saint. Most of the time you leave a kiss on the casket, but I’ve actually kissed his velvet slippers many times too – a rare occasion where the priests actually open the casket and let you get that close to the saint!

A little girl who couldn’t walk was taken to St Spyridon’s church to attend Mass. Her parents had brought her from afar, hoping for a miracle. All of a sudden, the girl stood in a trance and began to walk. Her parents were overjoyed and after their excitement had subsided they asked their girl what had happened. She said a monk had come to her in the church and asked her to stand up and walk…

Back in the 40s, Corfu town was bombarded numerous times by German planes. My grandmother Antigoni was a teenager then, and she and her loved ones ran to St Spyridon church for protection one fateful morning. It was daytime. Gran said to me the Germans used to drop bombs in the day and fire at night… That morning, as the bombs dropped, the church was full. The people were huddled together, terrified, their eyes pinned to the ceiling as they listened to the bombs dropping and exploding. All at once, they saw the ceiling open up, down its whole length. They saw the blue sky for split seconds and then… just like that… the ceiling was restored. The locals still talk about it in Corfu town. My grandmother, at 91, still remembers it vividly as if it were yesterday.

: Gran Antigoni (left) and her sister Eleftheria were both present at St Spyridon church that legendary morning. Here we are pictured with the Old Fortress back in the 90s

: A photo from the 70s – Gran holding my hand as we exit St Spyridon church. Cousin Lilis (Nathanael) is gracious enough not to laugh at the trouble I’m having!

The Corfiots think of St Spyridon as a living being who walks among them, listening to their troubles, protecting them, providing for them. This is why many jump at the chance to own a tiny piece of his velvet slippers… Periodically, the church replaces the slippers placed at the saint’s feet and the fabric of the old ones is fragmented and offered to the people as a ‘fylakto’ – i.e. a protective charm, if you like. It’s the tiniest bit of red velvet inside a paper envelope with a drawing of St Spyridon on it.

The remains of St Spyridon are carried out of the church and taken around town during many religious processions throughout the year. The most famous perhaps is the one on Holy Saturday just before The First Resurrection (of Christ) at midday – a joyful pot-breaking celebration all over Corfu town.

I hope some of you will leave this page feeling a little enchanted today. If this is so, then my work is done. I feel lucky to have experienced this kind of magic all my life and still can’t get enough of it. I love St Spyridon with all my heart, and like every Corfiot, I speak his name every day. “Agie Spyridona!” is something I tend to say when surprised, annoyed, amused, but especially when needing comfort.

To any of you who have a Spyros or a Spyridoula in your lives, Chronia Polla! I’ll be lighting a candle for my beloved granddad today.

Gran Antigoni and Granddad Spyros Vassilakis photographed in Mandouki (a picturesque area of Corfu Town near the new port) back in the late 80s

For me, it’s no surprise I wrote about St Spyridon and his miracles via my character Mrs Sofia, in my debut novel, The Necklace of Goddess Athena. Below, you will find a short, exclusive excerpt from the book that was originally included when the book was first published but was edited out in the second edition. I thought it was apt to publish it here today for posterity.

I hope you will enjoy it.

Mrs. Sofia’s face brightened. “Spyros? Your christian name is Spyridon? Oh, psyche mou, what a beautiful name you have!” She was ecstatic to hear the boy was named after her protector saint. It was a name that had followed her all her life, like every other inhabitant of Corfu.

Everyone on the island has a bunch of family members called Spyridon or the female equivalent, Spyridoula. As baby names in Greece are carried from grandparents to grandchildren, they’re always reminiscent of precious members of one’s family, some of them—as in the case of Mrs. Sofia—no longer living. In Athens, the name is not as common, so it was a special treat for her to hear it, and to be able to savor its sound again, so far away from home. She didn’t let the chance go wasted. She loved to talk about her beloved saint, and when she offered the boy information about him, both he and his mother stood eagerly to listen. Soon, she was telling them about the two miracles he’s mostly revered for on the island: the one where he saved the city from the plague, and the other where he turned his cane into a snake. She told them he still appeared through apparitions to cripples and other patients who prayed to him, curing them beyond any logical explanation. She looked into their eyes, saw wonder, and so she carried on, telling them this time about the miracles she’d witnessed herself in the town of Corfu.

She relayed the story of the worker who’d lost his balance while on the steeple of St Spyridon’s church. He fell to the ground and stood again, unharmed. Then, she recounted the story of that terrible day during the bombarding of the city by enemy planes in the 40’s. She and many others had rushed to St Spyridon’s church for refuge, praying to him to save their lives, their eyes pinned to the ceiling, brimming over with terror. For one terrible moment, they all saw the roof of the church blow up. They saw the sky, and then, miraculously, the roof closed in again within split seconds. Shocked, they asked each other and, to their amazement, they’d all seen the same thing.

The little boy’s mouth was now gaping open, and his mother seemed equally fascinated, her eyes huge and glazed over. Mrs. Sofia had a melodic voice and the unique talent of storytelling. It charmed her listeners and her two new guests couldn’t have been an exception.

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December 7, 2015 by Effrosyni Moschoudi

Interview with Effie Kammenou

Today, I am thrilled to welcome a Greek-American author from New York, Effie Kammenou. Effie’s debut novel is Evanthia’s Gift, a dramatic family saga that’s responsible for my recent bouts of insomnia… I’m finding it impossible to put it down. The more I read, the more I am intrigued about what happens next. I will be reviewing it when I’ve finished, but for now, here is the stunning cover before my chat with Effie begins!

In the year 1956, Anastacia Fotopoulos finds herself pregnant and betrayed, fleeing from a bad marriage. With the love and support of her dear friends Stavros and Soula Papadakis, Ana is able to face the challenges of single motherhood. Left with emotional wounds, she resists her growing affection for Alexandros Giannakos, an old acquaintance. But his persistence and unconditional love for Ana and her child is eventually rewarded and his love is returned. In a misguided, but well-intentioned effort to protect the ones they love, both Ana and Alex keep secrets – ones that could threaten the delicate balance of their family.

The story continues in the 1970’s as Dean and Demi Papadakis, and Sophia Giannakos attempt to negotiate between two cultures. Now Greek-American teenagers, Sophia and Dean, who have shared a special connection since childhood, become lovers. Sophia is shattered when Dean rebels against the pressure his father places on him to uphold his Greek heritage and hides his feelings for her. When he pulls away from his family, culture and ultimately his love for her, Sophia is left with no choice but to find a life different from the one she’d hoped for.

EVANTHIA’S GIFT is a multi-generational love story spanning fifty years and crossing two continents, chronicling the lives that unify two families.

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Hello Effie and welcome to my blog!

Hi Fros! It’s great to be here!

Tell me, is Effie short for Effrosyni by any chance?

No, actually, my name is Efthemia!

Oh, a lovely Greek name! What has inspired you to write your book?

The inspiration to write Evanthia’s Gift came from a couple of sources, but it was my mother’s passing that put me on the path to writing. In 2012 my mother passed away after battling pancreatic cancer for two and a half years. I was trying to be the strong older sister, a compassionate mother and aunt, and a supportive daughter to my grieving father. I never allowed myself to fully express my emotions. One night I sat at the computer and just started writing. It was my way of working through my grief.

I’d heard stories all my life of my mother’s childhood in Athens, and her experiences during WWII as a child. My father had his own stories growing up in NYC, his tales of how his family came to America and for what reason, and his own experiences as a flyer in WWII. I took all those stories and gave life to several characters.

I knew there was a lot of truth in this book! It’s palpable as I read; I believe the best books are those that contain honest feelings and true experiences from their authors… Yours embodies both. Do you see yourself in any of your characters, or do any of them have traits you wish you had?

I see myself, or parts of myself in several of the characters. As an author, when you develop a character, their voice comes from within you. Sophia lives in my timeline and has had some of the same experiences that I had. Her emotions come from me, although her traits and talents are modeled after one of my daughters. Anastacia is my mother, and the inspiration of the story. However, I do see parts of myself in her as well. Most of the characters, even some of the men, have a tiny piece of me—a trait, a point of view, or an experience.

Which are your favorite authors, and what do you love about them?

I have a background in theatre and studied all the classic playwrights from ancient Greece to modern day, but Shakespeare still holds my heart. As for fiction, I love the classics there as well. Jane Austen and John Steinbeck are my two favorite classic authors. I enjoy women’s fiction and contemporary romances. Nora Roberts, Jude Deveraux, Sophie Kinsella, Adriana Trigiani, and Sylvia Day are among the novelists I read most often. But the one contemporary author who has captured my attention more than any other is Sylvain Reynard who wrote the Gabriel series. His beautiful use of language is breathtaking, and he keeps me intrigued with his knowledge of literature, religion, art, history, and culture.

You mentioned a couple of my favorites, Effie. And thanks for the tip about Sylvain Reynard! Do you have any advice for other indie authors?

I continue to take all the advice my fellow authors are willing to share with me. But I will say this: I have never met a community of professionals so willing to help each other. Every author I’ve reached out to has responded, and was more than willing to help and steer me in the right direction. My advice? Reach out to authors. They will help you. But the most important piece of advice I can give anyone looking to publish or self-publish, is not to rush. Take your time and do everything as it should be done. Make sure your manuscript is ready for publication. It took me almost three years to write EVANTHIA’S GIFT. It’s a long book – 548 pages. Get a critique partner and beta readers. Their suggestions will improve your work. When you think you are done and you think you have tightened your manuscript as much as you can on your own, get a professional editor. And don’t skimp on the cover. Get a professional designer whose work you admire.

I couldn’t agree more with all the points you made! Choose a male and a female character from your book and tell us which actor and actress you’d cast to play them in a film adaptation.

This is an amusing question for me because where I work we spend much of our free time casting the movie version of the characters in the books we are reading. It’s a little more difficult with my own work since I have visions in my head that are not inspired by movie stars. The other issue here is that the book spans fifty years. So, do you use two different actors for each character, or simply age them?

For the adult Anastacia I could possible see Melina Kanakaredes. I see both of them as elegant, beautiful women. For the teenage Sophia I see Mia Sara as she was as a teenager. She is actually exactly what I had in mind. Dean is harder for me. Maybe Zach Efron or Stephen McQueen (Steve McQueen’s grandson). I would rather the reader have their own vision and not be influenced by the appearance of stars, unless of course the book was made into a movie.

Zach Efron as Dean sounds ideal, so thanks for that, I’ll remember when I resume reading tonight, LOL! Tell us about your website/blog. What will readers find there?

I do not have an author blog or website at this time. I do write a food blog where I not only share recipes, but also traditions and stories that reflect the food. Between some of the chapters of Evanthia’s Gift, I’ve added recipes, ones that will enhance the Greek experience for the non-Greek reader. Since publishing the novel, I have been posting these recipes on my blog with an excerpt from the story that refers to the food.

Well done, Effie! I also find that recipes work well to promote fiction. People love to try new tastes so you get a lot of interaction from readers on the blog and on the social media. Next question: If you could have one superpower what would it be?

I would like to have the power to speak every language. The idea of being able to communicate fluently in every country would be not only useful, but also enlightening. How wonderful would it be to fully immerse yourself in a culture?

What a wonderful answer, I love it! What were your most and least favorite subjects in school?

Without a doubt, Drama and English were my favorite subjects in school. In my last year of high school, an Independent Creative Arts Program was piloted. It was a wonderful experience. The theatre group within this program performed children’s plays for the district, improv theatre and classic plays—all of which were produced, directed and acted by the students. In college, I was a theatre major and I enjoyed the literature classes as well as the acting classes.

The subject I liked the least was science. It was my weakest subject, which is ironic since my dad was a chemist. This was also the reason I did not do well. I would ask him a simple high school level question and get a PhD-worthy answer. His answers were way over my head, and it wasn’t until I stopped asking him questions that I started to do marginally better.

If you could choose another profession, what would that be?

Without a doubt, I would be an actress. It was what I went to school for, and had always hoped to be. I think I needed a lot more nerve and a thicker skin at the time, and I never pursued this dream properly.

I can see you’ve come with lots of photos! How delightful! Can we have a look?

Sure!

Oh! This one looks intriguing! Is there a story behind it?

Yes! The girl in the grad. cap is my niece, Athena, who had always struggled in school, but my mother encouraged her to go to college. When she was fighting through her pancreatic cancer, my mother spent time with each grandchild. She told Athena not to quit, no matter how long it took to finish. She made Athena promise to graduate. If it wasn’t for her yiayia she would have given up. She put that message on her hat because she thought she would see it from above and be at her graduation in spirit.

Oh that’s so sweet… and what about those two stunning young ladies at Paramount Studios?

They are my daughters. Eleni, 29, is a 6th grade teacher, ballet teacher and tennis instructor. She is currently doing her PhD in administration. Alexa, 25, is a graphic designer and video art director for Real Simple Magazine. She has aspirations to someday work at Paramount or Disney studios.

I hope she succeeds. Best of luck! And this one’s in the States too?

Yes, that’s me, my sister, Athena, and Alexa at EPCOT food and wine festival. The other photos are various ones with my husband, friends and family.

Love them! Thank you for sharing these and for this wonderful chat, Effie!

Thank you for this opportunity, Fros, to talk about my work.

Effie Kammenou is a first generation Greek-American who lives on Long Island with her husband and two daughters. When she’s not writing, or posting recipes on her food blog, cheffieskitchen.wordpress.com, you can find her cooking for her family and friends.

Her debut novel, EVANTHIA’S GIFT, is a women’s fiction multi-generational love story and family saga, influenced by her Greek heritage, and the many real life accounts that have been passed down. She continues to pick her father’s brain for stories of his family’s life in Lesvos, Greece, and their journey to America. Her recent interview with him was published in a nationally circulated magazine.

As an avid cook and baker, a skill she learned from watching her Athenian mother, Effie incorporated traditional Greek family recipes throughout the book.

She holds a Bachelor’s Degree in Theater Arts from Hofstra University.

Visit Effie’s Amazon page US UK

Visit Effie’s food blog

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/EffieKammenou?ref=bookmarks

Twitter: https://twitter.com/EffieKammenou

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/26069535-evanthia-s-gift

Have you enjoyed this post? Follow the blog (see right sidebar) and miss no more posts! Sign up to Effrosyni’s newsletter to keep up to date with her news and special offers (very sparse emails). Interested to read more? Head over to Effrosyni’s Blog, where you’ll find her earlier interviews, book reviews, author tips, travel articles and even Greek recipes!

November 30, 2015 by Effrosyni Moschoudi

Interview with Inderjit Kaur

Today I’m pleased to welcome the lovely Inderjit Kaur from India. Inderjit writes inspiring, spiritual non-fiction that uses positive language to help people face life’s difficulties and to adopt a new outlook on life that will guide them to a happier, more fullfilling existence. As you will see in our interview below, Inderjit speaks from experience. Having reached rock bottom after a painful divorce, she had an epiphany that brought her closer to her faith and, as a result, restored peace and joy in her life. Eventually, she wound up writing to inspire others in the same way.

The four elements of life, Air, Water, Earth, Fire are the only truth which can render the whole meaning of being as a human. Are we authentic? Are we living in courage? Are we kind and in patience? Are we grateful? How we face life and respond to life is all that matters.

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The author highlights all the probabilities of life that we deal with and how we can simplify, how we can add more meaning to our lives, which is the gift from the divine supreme, by just understanding the different aspects of our problems, searching broader avenues, encouraging our inner souls to seek good, think good, render good, and ultimately feel good and happy.

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Hello Inderjit and welcome to my blog!

Hello Fros, thank you for inviting me.

Which are your favorite authors, and what do you love about them?

I read a lot of authors and some favorites are: Paulo Coelho, Dr. Abdul Kalam, Khaled Hosseini, Richard Carlson and Robert Schuller.

The books of these authors have been a light of hope in my gloomy days, like the period in my life where I had to face a painful divorce. The book, Leaning into God When Life is Pushing you Away by Robert Schuller has been a huge inspiration.

Sounds like a great book, Inderjit. Thanks for the tip! Being an author involves a lot of sitting around. What do you do for exercise?

I do morning walks five days a week, and I also practice Yoga and Meditation.

Oh my goodness, if that’s the kind of place you go to for a walk, I envy you! If you could have one superpower what would it be?

I don’t know if that’s a superpower, but I’d love to be able to relive my childhood so I can spend time again with my father.

What has been the most important lesson you’ve learned so far in life the hard way?

That you should never give up when facing the hardships of life. We all feel tempted to give up at times, but when we give up we miss the opportunity to learn. Some people prefer to dwell in self-pity or blame the entire world for their failures. But when playing the victim we run away from responsibility. Every person’s life is the outcome of their choices in life. It’s the power of choice that makes us ordinary or extraordinary.

I believe people should face life’s challenges by finding strength inside. Strength lies in our thoughts. Positive thoughts does wonders in creating positive results in people’s lives.

As a firm believer in The Law of Attraction I can only agree with you, Inderjit! Do you have any advice for other indie authors?

Work on your craft, write from your heart, read a lot, and polish your manuscript the best you can. Last, with all the above, exercise patience!

Great advice! I also think patience is key, as well as perseverance. If you could choose another profession, what would that be?

I would have loved to be a college teacher. I love to teach. Back in school I loved Zoology and Chemistry… I gave up my plans to get a degree in Chemistry due to marriage.

How would you like to be remembered?

I don’t know how I’m going to end up in life, but I’d love it if, someday, an author wrote my memoir and finished the book with the words, “And she never gave up.”

I love that! Would you tell us a little about that place you love visiting for a walk? And do you have more pictures to show us? It’s magical!

(*laughs*) Yes, it’s a place on the hills not too far from where I live. It’s caled Matheran. I don’t visit it every day, but I try to go as often as I can.

Such an enchanting place! Have you brought any other photos to show us?

Two more… My bookshelf and my workstation at home.

Thank you for sharing these images from your home, Inderjit. They are lovely, and equally serene, as one would expect of you. It’s been a pleasure having you here today. Thank you for your time!

Thank you very much, Fros. I appreciate this opportunity.

Inderjit Kaur is an author and inspirational guide with a powerful voice, who spreads positive quotes through her tweets. Following a life-changing epiphany from a poet at the young age of nine, she marked the page as an editor of her college magazine during her post-graduation in Science at Mumbai University.

Writing, being a passion, made her perceptions change forever. After a series of adversities she launched her debut book, Living a More Meaningful Life, which is now available globally.

Considered as a positive, peace messenger through her tag line “keep smiling, keep shining”, she has inspired thousands to make positive choices that impact not only their lives but also those of others. Her blog, “A Living Series”, brims over with positive quotes that her readers can draw inspiration from.

A domestic violence survivor, single parent, full time writer, author, blogger, book reviewer, Injerjit Kaur resides in Mumbai.

Visit Inderjit’s Amazon page US UK

Visit Inderjit’s blog, “A living series”: https://inderjitlmml.wordpress.com/

You Tube channel: http://youtu.be/wArIlTl5CIw

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/inderjitkaur

Twitter: https://twitter.com/inderjitlmml

Have you enjoyed this post? Follow the blog (see right sidebar) and miss no more posts! Sign up to Effrosyni’s newsletter to keep up to date with her news and special offers (very sparse emails). Interested to read more? Head over to Effrosyni’s Blog, where you’ll find her earlier interviews, book reviews, author tips, travel articles and even Greek recipes!

November 27, 2015 by Effrosyni Moschoudi

Book Review: Sewing Can Be Dangerous by Sarah Mallery

Sewing Can Be Dangerous was an utter delight to read because it felt like an exhilarating time travel journey. Each short story takes us to a different place and time in history. The element of sewing is always present, sometimes it’s someone’s work, other times a hobby, or a matter of life and death – a means to save a life. Mallery’s storytelling is compelling and often haunting, the unexpected twists in the end delightful. I highly recommend this book to readers who love short stories, especially to those who enjoy delving into worlds long forgotten in the mists of time. The first short story was my favorite. It haunted me for a few days after reading it; it felt incredibly real.

My rating:

5 stars

A compelling journey around the world and through history!

Do you enjoy short stories? How about historical fiction? Check out this gem now!

Amazon US UK

Would you like to meet the artist behind the book? Check out my interview with Sarah Mallery and marvel at her various artistic skills!

Have you enjoyed this post? Follow the blog (see right sidebar) and miss no more posts! Sign up to Effrosyni’s newsletter to keep up to date with her news and special offers (very sparse emails). Interested to read more? Head over to Effrosyni’s Blog, where you’ll find her earlier interviews, book reviews, author tips, travel articles and even Greek recipes!

November 23, 2015 by Effrosyni Moschoudi

Interview with author Daphne Kapsali

Good morning peeps! Today I’m pleased to welcome Daphne Kapsali, a Greek from London who fell in love with the forlorn landscape of the Cycladic island of Sifnos. Leaving the mad bustle of London behind, she moved to Sifnos to live there on her own for 100 days writing a memoir. Now, people who seek solitude like this feel like kindred spirits to me so I made sure to connect with her only to appreciate her even more. An eager supporter of indie authors, Daphne is here with us today to tell us all about her writing journey!

How far do you need to go to find yourself? What do you have to give up?

Daphne didn’t go very far. After too many years of living as a writer who didn’t write, she gave up her life in London to spend 100 days of solitude on the remote Greek island of Sifnos, off season, and find out, once and for all, who she really was. Her challenge: to write every day.

One hundred days and one hundred entries later, her question had been answered in more ways than she could have imagined, and the things she’d given up never mattered in the first place. This book is her story, as personal as it is universal, of the most obvious and most fundamental quest of all: to be happy; to do what you love.

Part memoir, part fiction, part philosophy and part travel writing, 100 days of solitude is a collection of one hundred stories, all of them connected and each one self-contained. One hundred essays on choosing uncertainty over security, change over convenience, seeing things for what they truly are, and being surprised by yourself; on love, loss, death and donkeys; on reaching for your dreams, finding enlightenment on a rural road, peeing in public, and locking yourself out of the house; on dangerous herbs, friendly farmers, flying Bentleys and existential cats; and on what it feels like to live in a small, isolated island community through the autumn and winter, to live as a writer who actually writes, and to live as your true, authentic self, no matter who that turns out to be. And to write your own story, the way you want it told; to find your voice, and the courage to let it be heard.

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There are certain things that time cannot touch. Very few. Metal it turns to rust and bones to dust and the souls of those we’ve loved into ghosts and memories. Ancient temples fall to ruin and gods fall from grace, and people fall out of love and forget. Very few things can withstand the passage of time, its ruthless continuity, always moving on, always leaving moments behind, but in Anna’s short lifetime there was one thing that did.

Was it hubris to wrench apart what destiny had conspired to unite? Could there be atonement for such a thing?

This story begins at the end of a thing that hasn’t ended, and travels in orbit in the space between then and not yet, circling questions unanswered and unasked, alternative endings and futures that never came to pass, looking for a place to land. It is the story of Anna and Jack and it’s a love story, because all stories are, essentially, about love and the inexplicable things we do in its name and in its absence, in its pursuit and in its wake.

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FREE!

I’m all for spiritual development. I’m all for awareness and mindfulness and loving kindness. Looking after yourself, mind, body and spirit. It would be lovely if we all spoke a little softer, if we took a little longer to think before we act. If we were all a little enlightened. The world would be a better place. Like the tote bag I carry on my shoulder proclaims: Yoga will save the world.

But who will be there to remind us, gently, that we’re taking it a bit too far? When our facebook feeds are inundated by inspirational quotes and we’ve lost the ability to say things in our own words. When gluten is the devil and eating cake is tantamount to suicide. When we boast, daily, of our dietary restrictions and post snapshots of ourselves in the course of a practice that was designed to be personal. When every yoga class is an opportunity to open our hearts, to acknowledge the pain, the frustration, the sadness within, to welcome it, to go with it. When we consult spiritual healers and gurus and medicine men and forget to talk to our friends. When we ostensibly strive for balance, and fail to notice the irony of seeking it in extremes.

I cannot be the only one who’s getting a bit tired of this.

FREE! VISIT AMAZON US UK

(Double check it’s FREE before your purchase)

Hello Daphne and welcome to my blog!

Hi Fros, very thrilled to be here!

So, tell us about 100 Days of Solitude. How did this book come about?

100 days of solitude is a strange book, in that it was never meant to be a book at all. It began about 18 months ago, when I quit my job in London and moved to Sifnos, a small Greek island, to spend a few months living alone and writing. The idea was to produce a novel, but I didn’t know how to start or how to keep myself motivated to write ever day, so I set up a blog – which I named 100 days of solitude – to give myself a sense of accountability. I wrote one post every day, for 100 consecutive days, just recording thoughts and experiences that came up through this process of rediscovering myself, and this blog that basically began as an exercise in self-discipline ended up being the book I wrote.

Sounds like a genius method to write a book! What other writing have you done? Anything else published?

Actually, I did manage to also write a novel while playing the reclusive author on my little island. It’s called you can’t name an unfinished thing, and it was published this summer.

What are you working on at the moment? Tell us a little about your current project(s).

What I’m mostly spending my time on at the moment is promoting my published books, and trying to navigate my way through the world of social media marketing and do the best I can to get myself and my work out there, without losing touch with who I am and why I’m doing this. It’s tough, and it’s exhausting, but it’s also very interesting and I’m learning a lot. I don’t do anywhere near as much writing as I’d like, but I have a few projects going round and round in my head, and I manage to produce a little piece every now and again, and that keeps me going. This is a phase, and I’ve come to accept it’s almost as big a part of being an author as the writing itself. Not quite as rewarding, but just as important, if you want your books to be read.

Well said! Do you have any advice for other indie authors?

Be yourself. Be genuine. Be a little bit crazy. It’s a crazy thing that we’re trying to do, so do it fully and joyfully and with as much confidence and obstinacy as you can muster. Have fun with it, no matter what the outcome.

Excellent advice! What do you enjoy the most as an indie author that you imagine you wouldn’t if you were traditionally published? If you had a choice would you still go indie?

I’ve really enjoyed being involved in every single part of the process, from the writing itself, to editing, typesetting, cover design and publishing, and all the way through to marketing and promotion. Though it’s a lot for one person to take on, and it really does take over your life, there’s something very rewarding in knowing that you’ve made this thing yourself, all of it; that it’s 100% you and that, for all of its flaws, you can stand by it proudly, because you’ve put the best of yourself into it. As for whether I’d choose to go indie over a traditional publisher: I don’t know. Yes, for all the reasons above. No, because perhaps a traditional publisher could help my books reach more readers than I can, and that’s ultimately what a writer wants: for their work to be read.

Being an author involves a lot of sitting around. What do you do for exercise?

In theory, yoga. In practice, I am a self-confessed reluctant yogi, which means that even though I love yoga and I know it’s unequivocally good for me, physically, mentally and spiritually, I am sometimes very reluctant to actually do it. But I’m still a big believer in yoga, and I think there’s something about it that’s very complementary to writing. Another thing I do, when the crazy in me builds up to dangerous levels, is play really loud music and dance like an idiot. Again, it’s an excellent physical and mental exercise for writers: all that pent up energy we collect needs to be released somehow, and it’s amazing how quickly moving your body in that way gets it all out.

LOL, I know what you mean, Daphne. I do both yoga and ‘crazy dancing’ at home! What has been the most important lesson you’ve learned so far in life the hard way?

That you can do anything you want; that you can choose to be happy. That it really is as simple as that, and everything else is just fears and excuses in various disguises. But I have to confess: it wasn’t hard. Taking my life apart in order to write full-time was terrifying to begin with, and a hard decision to make, but once you start doing what’s right for you, it’s easy. Everything works out, somehow.

How right you are. Again, I agree 100%. Fear, and the ego making excuses are the only obstacles in one’s way. What are the things in your life that you’re most grateful for?

People. All the incredibly kind, generous and supportive people I am lucky enough to have in my life. And also for the fact that I’m able to see all the possibilities that are available to me, and recognise, every day, how much there is to be grateful for.

An exceptional answer, Daphne, love it. How would you like to be remembered?

As someone who made a few people’s lives a little bit happier. If people think of me after I’m gone, I’d like them to smile. Or laugh. That’s all.

I love your answers. Actually, I’d love to keep you in my pocket and carry you around with me! I’d never have another frown on my face, that’s for sure. Who is your favorite poet? Quote a couple of lines from your favorite poem.

That’s a very tough question, but I’m going to say Philip Larkin. And the final lines from The Mower: “we should be careful of each other. We should be kind, while there is still time.”

Daphne, I’m so pleased you could be here with us today! Thank you!

Thank you too, Fros, it’s been a pleasure.

FELLOW AUTHORS: Daphne Kapsali supports indies on INDIE BOOKS ROCK.

Head over there and submit your books! All she asks in return is a share on the social media and to spread the word a little. Everybody wins!

Daphne Kapsali is a writer, reluctant yogi, pathological optimist and probably one of the luckiest people alive. In May 2014, she gave up her life in London to spend the autumn and winter writing on a remote Greek island; the result is a book entitled 100 days of solitude – 100 separate and interconnected stories on claiming the time and space to live as your true self and do what you love – published in March 2015. She has since published another two books: a novel entitled you can’t name an unfinished thing, also produced during her stint as a reclusive author, and This Reluctant Yogi: everyday adventures in the yoga world. All three are available on Amazon.

Daphne is a big fan of the law of attraction, the universe, and all things positive, and hopes her story will keep inspiring others to overcome their fears and limiting beliefs, and live the life they want.

Visit Daphne’s Amazon page US UK

Visit Daphne’s website

Visit Daphne’s blog

Social media links:

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/daphnewrites

Twitter: https://twitter.com/dafiniduck

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/13837460.Daphne_Kapsali

Have you enjoyed this post? Follow the blog (see right sidebar) and miss no more posts! Sign up to Effrosyni’s newsletter to keep up to date with her news and special offers (very sparse emails). Interested to read more? Head over to Effrosyni’s Blog, where you’ll find her earlier interviews, book reviews, author tips, travel articles and even Greek recipes!

November 20, 2015 by Effrosyni Moschoudi

Book review: Girl Gone Greek by Rebecca Hall

I loved this book! Rachel felt so real to me and I empathized as I read about all the quirky Greeks she encountered. Among all the locals mentioned, the young students seemed the most likable. Rachel’s girlfriend ranges from incredibly rude to just loopy and although I howled to read her antics I didn’t manage to warm up to her at all. The owner of the Greek school was one tough cookie but Rachel handled her wonderfully, I thought. By the end of the book, I found myself admiring Rachel, not only for managing to live alone in a tiny, basic flat while co-existing with a series of awkward foreigners and showing incredible stoicism, but also for the way she bloomed through the experience, finding strength in herself enough to stand up to her horrid, judgmental sister back home. Well done Rachel! I highly recommend this delightful book for its insights into the Greek way of life from a foreigner’s perspective, especially as it contains very interesting facts on modern Greek history. I look forward to the next book in the series.

My rating:

5 stars

A delightful story!

Are you interested to gain insights on the Greeks and their way of life? Do you enjoy stories of young expats living an adventure abroad? Try this book, I think you’re going to love it!

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Check out my interview with Rebecca Hall on this blog!

Have you enjoyed this post? Follow the blog (see right sidebar) and miss no more posts! Sign up to Effrosyni’s newsletter to keep up to date with her news and special offers (very sparse emails). Interested to read more? Head over to Effrosyni’s Blog, where you’ll find her earlier interviews, book reviews, author tips, travel articles and even Greek recipes!

November 19, 2015 by Effrosyni Moschoudi

A great giveaway and a FREE gift from me

Hello peeps! Big day for me today so this is short – I am touring with eNovel Authors at Work and this is part of a month-long tour of eNovel in association with Choosy Bookworm. Choosy is playing Santa for all bookworms out there throughout November!

There’s a rafflecopter on their site where you can enter to win 2 x $250 paypal cash! Below that rafflecopter, there’s a second one that changes every couple of days, featuring a set of three eNovel authors at a time. What doesn’t change is the opportunity to win fabulous books! As I mentioned earlier, it’s my turn to tour today so if you visit the site of Choosy Bookworm now you can enter the eNovel rafflecopter for my tour (as well as Choosy’s main one, of course!)

I’m touring with terrific authors Julie Frayn and A.J. Lape – they’re both offering books via the rafflecopter so make sure to enter! Also, you’ll be pleased to know that all three of us have our featured books on FREE right now! Make sure to grab them all!

VISIT CHOOSY BOOKWORM TO ENTER THE TWO RAFFLECOPTERS. GOOD LUCK!

Keep this link handy so you can follow the tour and see all the FREE/99c offers that eNovel authors do this month. Also, the more rafflecopters you enter, the better your chances that you’ll have fabulous books to read this Christmas!

As I stated earlier, today I’m pleased to give everyone a FREE gift! My time travel fantasy, The Necklace of Goddess Athena, will be free for five days starting today! Make sure to grab your copy now, especially if you enjoy mystery interwoven with sweet romance. If so, this is definitely your cup of tea!

FIND THE BOOK ON AMAZON HERE.

GRAB YOUR FREE COPY & MAKE SURE TO TELL YOUR FRIENDS! HAPPY READING!

Have you enjoyed this post? Follow the blog (see right sidebar) and miss no more posts! Sign up to Effrosyni’s newsletter to keep up to date with her news and special offers (very sparse emails). Interested to read more? Head over to Effrosyni’s Blog, where you’ll find her earlier interviews, book reviews, author tips, travel articles and even Greek recipes!

November 16, 2015 by Effrosyni Moschoudi

Interview with Aurora Springer

Hello! It’s Monday again and I’m pleased to welcome another fabulous member of eNovel Authors at Work for today’s interview. Aurora Springer was born in the UK and has been writing science fiction and fantasy stories since childhood. Grand Master’s Pawn (Book 1 in the Grand Master’s Trilogy) is FREE today! Check it out below with a couple of Aurora’s other books.

The Grand Master’s Pawn is FREE on these dates in November: 16, 17, 28, 29 and will be 99c on all other dates until the end of the month. Double check the price before you place your Amazon order!

One young woman challenges the super psychics ruling the galaxy, and finds an impossible love. Science fiction adventure melded with fantasy and romance.

Young empath, Violet Hunter, travels through the galaxy on missions for her mysterious Grand Master. Life-threatening cracks appear in the vast web of portals and Violet agrees to investigate the disruptions. When she discovers the perpetrator comes from within the ranks of the Twelve Grand Masters, she must penetrate their curtain of secrecy to fulfill her task. Her challenges escalate when she meets the enigmatic man behind the griffin avatar. Armed with only her erratic powers and a mishmash of allies, she must challenge the most powerful beings in the galaxy.

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Psychically linked lovers fight the powerful Grand Masters dominating the galaxy.

In the wake of the Red Queen’s destruction of his castle, the rebellious Grand Master, Athanor Griffin, devises a risky plan to defeat his nemesis and solve the life-threatening portal crisis. He is joined by his loyal pawn and lover, empath Violet Hunter. They spin across the galaxy in pursuit of his strategy, contending with portal failures, hostile aliens and Grand Masters. Success will depend on Violet. But, she wrestles with erratic psychic talents and her doubts about their unequal partnership. She must surmount her insecurities and recruit allies to survive the inevitable battle with their enemies. Their worst nightmares lie ahead.

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Fight for freedom. Fight to survive – For refugees from an overcrowded Earth, dreams of a better life on an alien planet transform into a terrifying battle for survival.

Nothing will stand in the way of Tiger Lily’s dream of escaping the subterranean slums of Terra and visiting the stars. She enters the fierce competition for a place in the scout team on the next spaceship to the remote planet of Delta, where an earlier colony disappeared. Before the ship departs, the arrival of a mysterious message from Delta suggests that the descendants of the first colonists may have survived.

A dangerous mission to seek the lost colony exposes the team to unexpected dangers, and they encounter a grim warrior in the isolated valley. Has Tiger Lily met her match in the tortured man? Where is he leading them? And who are the real rulers of this strange world?

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Hello Aurora and welcome to my blog!

Hi Fros, thank you!

What has inspired you to write the Grand Master’s Trilogy ?

My inspiration arose from Alice Though the Looking Glass by Lewis Carroll due to my idea of combining several short stories. The pawn is a young woman, Violet, who travels on missions to different planets under the command of a mysterious Grand Master. Once I set the main characters in motion, the story expanded into a trilogy.

Two of my short stories and skimpy notes about a dragon morphed into Violet’s first three missions. Following the chess analogy, each mission is a move in a game of chess. Assuming Violet makes the first move, after four missions she reaches the seventh square of the chess board and can be promoted to queen in her next move. At that point in book 1, Violet enters the secret world of the Grand Masters, although she is not fully promoted until the end of the trilogy.

Sounds very intriguing! What other writing have you done? Anything else published?

As an indie author, I have published five novels, two novellas and two short stories since 2014. I am a university professor in my “day job” and have published more than two hundred research papers in science journals. The majority of these papers are co-authored with one or more students and researchers, sometimes from other countries.

You’re so prolific – I’m impressed! Do you see yourself in any of your characters, or do any of them have traits you wish you had?

Of course, I recognize hints of myself and many other real people in the characters I create. Most of my stories are told from the point of view of a female character, and she is usually more athletic than I will ever be. Many of my characters share my determination, curiosity, optimism and sense of humor.

What are you working on at the moment? Tell us a little about your current project(s).

Currently, I am concentrating on finishing the third book in my Grand Master’s Trilogy. This trilogy could be described as the adventures of psychics in space and mixes science fiction with supernatural powers. The protagonist(s) travel through several planets, often with exotic environments and alien inhabitants. The twelve Grand Masters include humans and aliens, such as an amoeboid and two plants. I thread in mythological references, often humorous. The Master Smith has his forge in a volcano. The Chair of the Council of Grand Masters calls himself the Lord of Lightning, although his juniors may refer to him as a pompous fool.

I have several other works at different stages: the start of a couple of science fiction stories and a novella with superheroes and their animal companions. Can you tell that I love animals, plants and nature in general?

Of course! I trust you have pets?

Yes – I have a dog, Augustus, and two cats. I’ve brought pictures to show you and your readers…

Oh, thank you for sharing! They look lovely! But I see only one cat here?

Yes, that’s Ollie. My other cat is too shy. As she is black, we often just see two eyes staring from under the furniture!

LOL! Which are your favorite authors, and what do you love about them?

I draw inspiration from the novels of Jane Austen and Andre Norton. I enjoy Jane Austen’s insight into real people and her ability to describe characters in a few words. Andre Norton wrote imaginative science fiction and fantasy stories where loners struggle through perils and find a home. My ambition as an author is to combine the creative world building of Andre Norton with the caustic humor and romance of Jane Austen.

What genres do you read mostly, and what are you reading now?

My personal preference is science fiction and fantasy, although I also enjoy mysteries. I like to read adventures in strange places with a happy ending for the protagonists.

Do you have any advice for other indie authors?

Don’t expect your first draft to be the final one. Writing a good story takes hard work and there are many other aspects involved in publishing and marketing a novel. Join a group of authors and learn from their experiences.

Good advice! Oh, if I had a dollar for every time I edited my books… LOL! Tell us about your website/blog. What will readers find there?

My website/blog has information on my books such as excerpts and background as well as the buy links. Often I host other authors for guest posts about their new releases. On the weekends, I post snippets of my work in two writers’ groups: Weekend Writing Warriors and Science Fiction and Fantasy Saturday.

What do you enjoy the most as an indie author that you imagine you wouldn’t if you were traditionally published? If you had a choice would you still go indie?

I enjoy being in control of the whole process and having the ability to make changes, for example update the book cover or blurb. On the other hand, I have not ruled out the possibility of publishing more traditionally, since it might be an advantage for marketing.

Well said! Being an author involves a lot of sitting around. What do you do for exercise?

My regular exercises are walking the dog for one or two miles almost every day, and climbing five flights of stairs to my office at work. Occasionally I do yoga to improve flexibility. When we visit my family in the UK, we generally hike several miles a day, sometimes in the Welsh mountains.

It all sounds like great exercise, good for you! Before the end of our chat, I must ask: I hear you make extraordinary quilts, like my recent guest, the lovely Sarah Mallery. Is this true? And are there any other artistic talents you may have?

Lol! Yes, I do make quilts, although I used to do this a lot more in the past. I’ve also done a bit of acrylic painting.

Hey! Fantastic! You’re one talented lady, I knew it!

Thank you Fros. I’ve brought two more photos…

Oh my goodness, such a pleasure to have an author so eager to share photos. I normally have to pester you guys. Thank you, these are wonderful. Would you tell us a little about them?

Yes, of course. This is me with a griffin statue at Bletchley Park in the UK. You can also see the Cliffs of the Isle of Angelsey, again in the UK. The last photo is of an America Lotus flower.

Delightful images, Aurora! Thank you so much for being here with us today. It’s been a blast.

Thank you very much, Fros. I really enjoyed our chat!

Aurora Springer is a scientist morphing into a novelist. She has a PhD in molecular biophysics and discovers science facts in her day job. For as long as she can remember, Aurora has imagined adventures in weird worlds. In 2014, Aurora achieved her life-long ambition to publish her stories. She writes character-driven action stories in fantastic places, science fiction and fantasy with romance and a sprinkle of humor. Some of the stories were composed decades years ago. Aurora was born in the UK and lives in Atlanta with her husband, a dog and two cats to sit on the keyboard. Her hobbies, besides reading and writing, include outdoor activities like gardening, watching wildlife, hiking and canoeing.

Visit Aurora’s Amazon page US UK

Visit Aurora’s website: http://AuroraSpringer.blogspot.com

Social media links:

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Aurora-Springer/885945434752937

Twitter: http://twitter.com/AuroraSpringer

Google+: https://plus.google.com/u/0/101087717415198221200/posts

Have you enjoyed this post? Follow the blog (see right sidebar) and miss no more posts! Sign up to Effrosyni’s newsletter to keep up to date with her news and special offers (very sparse emails). Interested to read more? Head over to Effrosyni’s Blog, where you’ll find her earlier interviews, book reviews, author tips, travel articles and even Greek recipes!

November 2, 2015 by Effrosyni Moschoudi

Interview with Sarah Mallery, author of Sewing Can Be Dangerous

Hello peeps! Today I’m pleased to present a friend and co-member at eNovel Authors at Work; the lovely Sarah Mallery. I’m currently reading her short story collection, Sewing Can Be Dangerous; if I was to describe the book in one word, I’d definitely choose ‘haunting’. The stories revolve around sewing or quilts, exploring different places and times in history. They all linger in my memory and are absolutely fantastic. Check out Sarah’s books below. She could very well be your next favorite author!

WHEN HISTORY, MYSTERY, ACTION, and ROMANCE ARE ALL ROLLED INTO ONE!

These eleven short stories range from drug traffickers using hand-woven wallets, to a U.S. slave sewing freedom codes into her quilts; from a cruise ship murder mystery with a quilt instructor and a NYPD police detective, to a couple hiding Christian passports into a comforter in Nazi Germany; from an old Salem Witchcraft wedding quilt curse to a young seamstress in the infamous Triangle Shirtwaist Factory fire; from a 1980’s Romeo and Juliet romance between a Wall Street financial ‘star’ and an eclectic fiber artist, to a Haight-Ashbury love affair between a professor and a macramé artist gone horribly wrong, just to name a few.

“This is a box of bon-bons, every story an eye-opening surprise. Eat one and you’ll want to devour the whole box.”

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A TRUE AMERICAN FAMILY SAGA: Can we learn from our ancestors? Do our relatives’ behaviors help shape our own?

In “Unexpected Gifts” that is precisely what happens to Sonia, a confused college student, heading for addictions and forever choosing the wrong man. Searching for answers, she begins to read her family’s diaries and journals from America’s past: the Vietnam War, Woodstock, and Timothy Leary era; Tupperware parties, McCarthyism, and Black Power; the Great Depression, dance marathons, and Eleanor Roosevelt; the immigrant experience and the Suffragists. Back and forth the book journeys, linking yesteryear with modern life until finally, by understanding her ancestors’ hardships and faults, she gains enough clarity to make some right choices.

“It simply is one of the best books I’ve ever read. I wish I could give it six stars!”

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Curl up and enter the eclectic world of S. R. Mallery, where sad meets bizarre and deception meets humor; where history meets revenge and magic meets gothic. Whether it’s 500 words or 5,000, these TALES TO COUNT ON, which include a battered women’s shelter, childhood memories, Venetian love, magic photographs, PTDS fallout, sisters’ tricks, WWII spies, the French Revolution, evil vaudevillians, and celebrity woes, will remind you that in the end, nothing is ever what it seems.

“Mallery’s endings keep me holding my breath until the very last word… I tried to anticipate where it was going, only to suffer whiplash at the end—19 times! I should be wearing a neckbrace.”

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Hello Sarah and welcome to my blog!

Thank you Fros! It’s great to be here!

What has inspired you to write Unexpected Gifts?

I have always appreciated looking at photographs from both my grandmothers’ photo albums. As I studied my individual relatives, I wouldn’t just think, ‘Oh, that’s my Aunt So-and-So!’ I would scrutinize their outfits, their faces, their postures. Were they sad? Happy? Bored? Annoyed at suddenly being put on display? That strong ancestral interest dovetailed nicely with my love of U.S. history, so when I decided to write this novel, putting those two themes together just kind of clicked.

What was the first thing you ever wrote and how old were you then?

Actually, I started writing when I was around fifty years old. But the germ of my first story, “Sewing Can Be Dangerous”, came a couple of years earlier. When my father told me about the infamous Triangle Shirtwaist Factory fire of 1911, I had already been a quilt designer/teacher for over twenty years. So, in doing my research on that horrific event, I was particularly drawn to those hapless immigrant seamstresses who, in spite of their overworked hours and low pay, were often the only ones in their families that could find work in the U.S. I also enjoyed thinking about the sewing aspect, surrounded as I was by so many quilts and fabrics in my studio. I therefore decided to continue writing short stories, connected only by one element of sewing/crafts. That actually helped me focus on future stories. In other words, no matter what time period I was reading about, that context kept me asking questions like, how would sewing/crafting ‘fit’ into a story that takes place in this time frame? Who would be the likely characters?

Sarah, I must say, the short story about the fire haunted me the most! And thank you for these photos. You’re a multi-talented woman! What are you working on at the moment? Tell us a little about your current project(s).

THE DOLAN GIRLS, due for publication shortly, has been a blast to research. Someone suggested that I look into writing about the Wild West, seeing as I was so drawn to history, and I will be forever grateful for that advice! I had always enjoyed watching westerns growing up–the atmosphere, the history, and of course, the HUNKY men! Yes, even at ten, I had my crushes on certain actors in movies/TV series…

But in doing my research, I couldn’t believe how much I enjoyed reading about the politics, schoolmarms, whorehouse madams, ‘soiled doves,’ Pinkertons, horse trainers, Annie Oakley, Buffalo Bill, desperados, and the lingo––talk about colorful. Just fantastic!!

Sounds highly enjoyable. Good luck with the launch, Sarah. Which are your favorite authors, and what do you love about them?

I appreciate so many writers, but the ones that I feel had a strong influence on me growing up were Harper Lee, Betty Smith, Mark Twain, O. Henry, Margaret Mitchell, and William Styron. I loved their great story telling, their clarity of prose, and all their vivid descriptions without ever being overly verbose.

What do you enjoy the most as an indie author that you imagine you wouldn’t if you were traditionally published? If you had a choice would you still go indie?

Since I started out being traditionally published, I am fully aware of the problems that can go along with that. I found out that unless you are a big name writer, many times small publishers don’t do much promoting, so you end up doing most of it yourself. Besides that, you don’t have any control with changing things, such as Amazon “keywords” or seeing your royalties. Recently, I had some interest in my THE DOLAN GIRLS, but although I was flattered, I sat back and thought about it. That would mean that if this big agency did pick me up and if they did sell it to a big publisher, it probably wouldn’t get published for at least two years. I would have no say about my cover and I wouldn’t necessarily get long term promotional help unless the book was doing very, very well, etc., etc. So I decided I’d take my chances and remain indie.

Good for you, Sarah. Although I bet it felt good that an agent actually reached out to you. Being an author involves a lot of sitting around. What do you do for exercise?

I use my treadmill as I watch countless movies and TV series. I also do some ‘peddling’ on my daughter’s old, little portable stair-climber as I watch the news with my husband. And recently, I’ve been trying to build up a habit of dancing to Pandora as I do household chores. Stacking the dishwasher or dusting the house does take longer this way, but hey, I have fun! BTW, Disco, Bollywood music, Latin dancing, and the Andrew Sisters are fantastic for that! Talk about a great mood lifter!

Oh I love dancing and movies too! Well done for combining mundane chores with exercise! I always have blaring music playing when I do housework – helps to keep me moving, LOL. Is there anything you like to do to get the creative juices flowing when you write?

I have been known to write entire scenes in the car, a fast food joint, or in a doctor’s waiting room, but in general, I write at home, either on the computer or at my desk, scribbling away next to a chirpy-purring cat named June (although we tend to call her June-Bug). Her brother Rocco is usually nestled at my feet. Recently, however, I have been starting my day on my bed, with a “Cuppa Joe” and Rocco crunched against my side, as I write scenes longhand, do some editing, or answer questions such as these…

June-Bug is gorgeous! Give her a cuddle for me… If you could choose another profession, what would that be?

Well, I’m already an ESL teacher and having that as well as my writing is a perfect combination for me. One is solitary, introspective, and self-absorbed; the other is social, outgoing, and philanthropic.

Sounds like a great combo, Sarah! I’ve so enjoyed our chat but, before I let you go, can I pester you for more photos of your handiwork please? And I hear you’ve done calligraphy in the past. Have you brought a picture on that?

Sure, Fros! Since it was Halloween only recently, how about this one?

Wow, fantastic!

And here are more quilts to show your readers…

Oh my goodness, these are terrific, Sarah. I am amazed…

Thanks Fros; the shelf one is what I call a “Memento Quilt.” I used to make these for money. People would give me their loved one’s cherished clothing and I would work with them to design any quilt they wanted using clothing–buttons, zippers and all!

You’re one terrific lady, Sarah! Thank you so much for being here with us today, unfolding your many talents to us all.

Aw, thanks so much, Fros, for inviting me and for your kind words!

Well, before I display my ‘official’ bio, I thought I’d present something a little different. Something that might make you understand why I’ve had such varied careers!

I happen to be a Gemini, and in writing this for some reason I suddenly decided to look up the personality traits for that sign. Now, please understand I have always scoffed at those pickup lines, “What sign are you, baby?” and would never base my future on astrology, but I was flabbergasted to read the following list which explained so much of whom I am.

According to this list, Gemini’s are socially outgoing, adjustable, restless, creative, sometimes unable to pay attention to details, good with their hands, easily distracted, anxious, humorous, and love to share. Suggested careers for this sign include writer, teacher, inventor, and craftsperson. Well, that sure fits me to a “T”! Now here’s my bio:

S. R. Mallery has worn various hats in her life. First, a classical/pop singer/composer, she moved on to the professional world of production art and calligraphy. Next came a long career as an award winning quilt artist/teacher and an ESL/Reading instructor. Her short stories have been published in descant 2008, Snowy Egret, Transcendent Visions, The Storyteller, and Down In the Dirt.

Visit Sarah’s Amazon page US UK

Visit Sarah’s website

Facebook:

Personal page: https://www.facebook.com/sarah.mallery.3

Fan page: http://facebook.com/pages/SR-Mallery-Sarah-Mallery/356495387768574

Twitter: https://twitter.com/SarahMallery1

Google+: https://plus.google.com/u/0/107388739382996104658/posts

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7067421.S_R_Mallery

Pinterest: http://www.pinterest.com/sarahmallery1/

(Popular boards on history, vintage clothing, old films and lots more!)

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October 30, 2015 by Effrosyni Moschoudi

A spooky post for Halloween

Image created with PhotoFunia

Double, double toil and trouble; Fire burn and cauldron bubble! As you can see, I’ve put my funny hat on and I’m ready to treat (or trick you!) for Halloween! I’m early – I know – but I’ve got a great recommendation and a special treat for you and I can’t wait to share! My recommendation is a Halloween-themed gem that’s just launched out of Amazon’s magic cauldron! I’ve had the rare pleasure to beta read Amy Vansant’s latest cozy mystery, Pineapple Mystery Box, and here it is, now available for download in time for Halloween:

When a giant inflatable Halloween witch goes missing in the Pineapple Port retirement community, Charlotte’s eager to nab the culprit. Before she can lift a fingerprint, someone threatens to kill a new neighbor who looks like an adorable Pomeranian but possesses a disturbing talent for revenge. Moments later, a stranger demands the return a mysterious wooden box… or else.

Charlotte’s boyfriend, Declan, isn’t having a great morning either. His calculating ex-girlfriend has returned to claim she’s the rightful owner of his pawn shop. She’s livid he’s found a new lady, too.

Eh. Things could be worse. At least Charlotte doesn’t know that a mojito-swilling killer who fed his grandmother to a cat is on his way to Pineapple Port…

VISIT AMAZON US UK

I’ve read all books by Amy Vansant, or rather, devoured them, and I’m a big fan of her work, especially her Pineapple Port Cozy Mysteries. They are intriguing and the humor is plentiful. Howls of laughter guaranteed!

Image created with PhotoFunia

Now, on to my special treat: a free short story that’ll spook you enough to get your heart pumping for Halloween!

If you’re an avid Twitter or Facebook user, you may recall author Danica Cornell of the Dark Star sci-fi series. Earlier this year, this talented author and blogger decided to let go of her pen name and to relaunch her brand, this time with her real name.

Nowadays, as Donna Manobianco, she works on a terrific short story anthology, Alternate Realities. I’ve had the honor and the pleasure to beta read this book and I can say this: Donna Manobianco’s scifi & fantasy short stories are a delightful mixture of intrigue, spookiness, humor, spicy romance and incredible twists. The anthology includes three bonus features: The first chapter of the first book in The Dark Star Series, a short story by the masterful scifi & fantasy author Nicholas Rossis, plus a short story by yours truly – my first attempt at writing dystopian fantasy/scifi! (Indeed, miracles never cease – LOL)

Donna isn’t ready to announce a launch date yet, but, being the sweetie that she is, she was more than happy to let me publish here one of her spookiest tales (a dark fantasy) to treat you for Halloween. As it’s longer than you’d expect from an average short story, grab a cup of coffee first, get cosy, and get prepared to come face to face with a demon, no less!

Daniel

By Donna Manobianco

It has been said that within each of us lies a chamber of secrets. It’s a place where dark feelings linger. Where they fester and grow. Those who’ve made this journey into their own shadows call it a harrowing and crushing experience. They say it changes a person’s soul forever.

My name is Delilah Delaney. I took that journey into my own shadows one year ago.

It all began at 11:27 p.m. when a storm, made up of rolling balls of thunder and massive lightning bolts, ripped its way through a swollen, agitated sky.

Jolted awake by the ruckus outdoors, I rolled over and grabbed the TV remote off the nightstand. Just as I suspected, the weather radar indicated Los Angeles County was in for another hour of mayhem. Maybe two.

I clicked off the TV. Wide awake and with nothing to do, I threw my legs over the side of the bed. Next, I grabbed my robe and cell phone and headed downstairs. The first thing I noticed strolling into the kitchen was the familiar fragrance of cinnamon-scented pine cones. I switched on the lights.

It took a couple of minutes for the CFL bulbs to warm up and reach full lighting capacity. Even so, I was able to see enough to know everything appeared normal. The cookbooks remained just as I had left them. The fruit bowl on the far countertop still boasted an assortment of citrus.

I had always felt safe in my home. It was my sanctuary. I stepped further into the room. Something was different. A negative feeling nagged at me, prodded me. The sensation was powerful. Visceral. My pulse quickened. I wanted to run. Instead, I remained in place. A couple of minutes later, the lights in the kitchen ceiling blazed brightly. I carefully examined the room. The French doors leading outside to the pool were closed and locked. There were no footprints on the tile floor. All the windows were intact. No broken glass. No signs of forced entry anywhere. I looked back across to the opposite side of the room. The emergency light on the wall next to the refrigerator would have been activated by one of the guards outside in the event of a property breach. Much to my relief, it remained unlit.

Other than the storm raging outdoors and the violent thump, thump, thumping of my heart, nothing unusual appeared to be going on. And yet, I felt the need to look around the house. An uneasiness tugged at me. Something wasn’t quite right.

It was in the breakfast room where I discovered my original Andy Warhol remained untouched. Of everything in the house, I knew this painting would have been the first item to be stolen by an experienced thief. Despite this encouraging sign, a feeling of terror grew inside me. It gripped me. My mouth was dry. My heart punched me. Deep down, I understood my fear was primal. Maybe, even, irrational.

I stood for awhile at the far end of the breakfast room, studying the painting. Eventually, my eyes roamed back into the kitchen. Of the entire house, these two rooms held a special place in my heart. They were the center of my home. The place where family and friends gathered. And yet, at this very moment, this part of the house frightened me. Something simply felt off. I decided to continue my investigation.

As I entered through the arched doorway of the butler’s pantry, I noticed not a single thing was out of place. Not on the counter tops. Not in the glass-fronted cabinets. And definitely not in the stainless steel sink which had been polished to perfection. Stubbornly, my heart refused to calm down. Sweat formed on my forehead and just above my upper lip.

I went on to inspect the remaining rooms downstairs. Everything from the billiard’s room to the formal dining room to the library and the home theatre, were fine. Nothing was amiss. Afterwards, I returned upstairs and looked through the house’s eight bedrooms and their corresponding bathrooms. All the windows remained locked. Nothing had been stolen. Nobody had gotten into my safe. None of the towels were out of place. None of the other beds were mussed up. It was at this point that I had to face the fact that nobody else was in the house. And yet, my mouth was a dry as the Sahara. I felt a chill saunter down my spine. It did so repeatedly. Almost as if it wanted me to be certain something wrong.

Maybe what was wrong was the fact that I was alone. I was a thirty-two year old woman who lived by herself in a mansion in the Hollywood Hills. Maybe that was the real problem. Maybe I was finally reaching the point of wanting a husband. Of needing one.

“This is insanity,” I said out loud. Annoyed with myself, I made my way back into the kitchen.

No sooner had I fixed myself a cup of chamomile tea when, much to my astonishment, I heard the voice of an unknown man—an intruder.

“You know, Delilah,” the stranger said, “this situation of ours bears a striking resemblance to a revolving door, wouldn’t you say?”

I flinched and dropped my cup. It shattered into a thousand pieces. I spun around. Ignoring the mess strewn across the floor, I focused my attention on the tall, shadowy figure twenty feet away. He was standing at the edge of the breakfast room.

The man made his way towards the granite-covered island where I stood with alarming speed. A feeling of terror ignited inside me.

“Who—who are you?” I stammered.

“I’m glad to have finally gotten your attention, Delilah. My name is Daniel, but I can assure you that somewhere in the dark recesses of your mind, you already know me.”

My first instinct was to bolt out of the house, but I knew I’d never outrun him. I took a deep, wavering breath. “How’d you get past my security detail?”

Daniel’s eyes never left mine as he moved in closer. His stare was penetrating. The way he focused on me, it was as if he didn’t hear the crunchy, broken, bits of porcelain underneath his shoes.

“I understand how frightening this must be, but let me assure you, I’m not here to harm you,” he said. “If it makes you feel more comfortable, go ahead and frisk me—you’ll see I’m not carrying any weapons.”

What followed was an uncomfortable silence. Awkward as I felt, I forced myself to look at Daniel. I mean really look at him. His body language was relaxed. Based on what had been happening to other Hollywood actresses, I suspected he had stalked me—possibly for months. The longer I studied him, the more I realized he was as a cross between Jack Reacher and James Bond. He gazed at me in a manner which suggested this situation excited him intellectually as well as emotionally. I drank in his stormy eyes.

A flicker of empathy darted across his face. It was a brief flash—so brief that had I blinked, I would have missed it. Without warning, Daniel looked away and eyed the chocolate chip cookies on the counter. “Mind if I have one of these?”

“Take as many as you want,” I replied, confused by his sudden interest in food.

As he reached into the glass jar, my right hand franticly searched for the security system’s panic button located on the underside of the island. After a moment, I remembered it was a few inches behind where I was standing. As much as I wanted to step backwards, my intuition told me not to do anything which might rile this man up.

Daniel went in for cookie number two.

I nervously eyed the butcher’s block of knives on the adjacent counter. Far as I could tell, he hadn’t noticed them.

After he polished off cookie number three, Daniel grabbed a clean napkin, dabbed the corners of his mouth, and rotated back towards me. He cleared his throat. “You know how sometimes the one thing we’re looking for is the very thing we can’t seem to see?”

“Sure,” I said, wondering where he was taking this.

“Well, that’s what’s happening here—with you and me.”

A lump formed in the back my throat. “I don’t quite follow.”

“Look, Delilah. The way you and I have come full circle—it was never supposed to happen like this.”

“I’m sorry,” I replied, careful not to agitate him. “I still don’t understand what you’re saying.”

Daniel took three steps forward. He leaned over and brushed his lips against my ear. “Okay, let me put this another way. Over and over, you and I have stood the test of time. Surely you remember something—don’t you?”

His smooth, baritone voice reverberated in my mind. I slowly pulled away. One more time, I studied his face. That’s the moment when it happened, when I walked deep into Daniel’s eyes. The way the light glinted off the golden specks embedded within his slate-colored irises, left me breathless. In a flash, my memory was serenaded with fragments of a half-forgotten song. It was poignant. Bittersweet. Somewhere, somehow I already knew Daniel—knew him with every fiber of my being. I had recognized the sound of his voice the instant he’d first spoken. Now, I remembered what it felt like to be with him. The softness of his lips. The vigor of his chest. I was certain how he would respond as I reached up to run my hand across his five o’clock shadow. What I didn’t see coming was how my hand would go right through him. Shocked, I jerked back. “What are you?”

Daniel wore a slight smirk. “Probably the best way to think of me is as an inter-dimensional being.”

I was stunned. Floored. Suddenly, the passion I felt for this familiar stranger collided with a frightening, new reality. I wasn’t sure how to reconcile this situation. Wasn’t sure if that was even possible.

Daniel broke me out of my thoughts with, “I guess now’s as good a time as any to tell you why I’m here.” There was a discernible shift in his attitude. Instantly, the temperature in the room dropped twenty degrees.

I was cold. Nervous. “Go on,” I replied, teeth chattering.

“Very well, then. Delilah, I’m here to inform you that you’ve been living in a spiritually-devoid house. This has created far more problems than you realize.”

I blinked dumbly. “Spiritually-devoid—is that what you said?”

“Yes.”

“Is this some kind of sick joke?”

“No, far from it.”

“Did my friends send you?”

“No.”

“What about my agent. Did she send you?”

“No.”

“Well then, I have no idea what you’re talking about. It’s not like I worship the devil or anything.”

Daniel yawned. “I realize from your perspective, this is all very strange. Nevertheless, what you’re living in is what’s referred to as a God-damned mansion.”

I was now ready to do battle. “I may not be religious, but that’s the most obnoxious thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Delilah, you need to take that fragile, eggshell mind of yours and accept the fact that God is spanking you.”

“Spanking me? You’re a liar!” I said pounding my fist on the island. “Do you even know how ridiculous you sound right now?”

“Of course I do. I get this reaction all the time.”

“It’s time for you to leave,” I said pointing towards the front door.

“Not gonna happen.”

“Of course it is! I own this house and what I say goes—period.”

“And just how do you propose to rid yourself of a demon?”

My body froze. I felt the color drain from my face. My legs wobbled like gelatin. “You’re a demon?” I asked.

A red light flashed in Daniel’s eyes. “As a matter-of-fact, I am.”

The lights in the kitchen ceiling flickered. Slowly, steadily.

That’s got to be an omen, I thought. Through the windows, I could hear the storm outside was gathering strength. It felt as though a magnanimous one was about to erupt inside as well. Even worse was the fact that I was fighting a migraine. Through my aching eyes, I could see Daniel was wearing a triumphant grin.

“Delilah,” he began, “I think it’s important for you to understand that demons are misunderstood by a large percentage of the population. Let me put it this way, calling the Ghost Busters won’t help. Neither will dousing your lips in that blood-red lipstick you’re so fond of.”

I wanted to get as far away as possible—needed to do this more than anything, but my feet wouldn’t move. I was cemented to the floor. Shaking all over, I responded, “This situation makes no sense.”

“Generally speaking, nothing does when you’re dealing with a demon. But then again, that’s the way the cookie crumbles now, isn’t it?” As soon as Daniel spoke, the chocolate chip cookies inside the glass jar disintegrated into crumbs.

My mouth dropped open. Presently, there was zero doubt in my mind about two things: Daniel was supernatural and I was completely at his mercy. My lower lip quivered. “I always thought demons were metaphorical. I had no idea you guys were real.”

“And yet here you are, non-metaphorically facing your very own and very real fallen angel. So, how does it feel?”

“Not great,” I sniffled. “I know I’m not one of those spiritually-enlightened types, but I’m not an axe murderer, either.”

Daniel let out a chuckle which made my skin crawl. “I know you’re not a murderer.”

“Let me guess—you were. Is that how you became a demon?”

“I didn’t kill anybody to become a demon. What I did do was believe in the Prince of Darkness.”

“And now?”

“Let me put it this way, when demons deal with the devil it’s always nasty business. But when demons deal with humans, it’s often nasty busy-ness.”

“Busy-ness? You mean, like right now—the way you’re eating into my time?”

“Yes, but let’s not forget the way you eat into your own time. Believe me, there’s a difference between being spiritualistic and wearing spiritual lipstick.”

“What on earth are you talking about?” By now I was sure this demon was insane.

“You and I both know that behind all that perfectly applied make-up is where the real Delilah resides.”

“What?”

“Do you remember that party you threw last year?”

“Sure. I celebrated winning my first Oscar. I was on television that night. Millions of people all around the world watch the Academy Awards—hence all the make-up.”

“Indeed. That’s also the night when I first came to know you—through that cocaine-loving, drummer, ex-boyfriend of yours. The minute I sensed you, I knew I’d hit the jackpot.”

“Uh-oh.”

“Uh-oh is right. Physically, you’re the perfect woman for my kind of work. You possess a beauty from a bygone era. You come off as innocent, intelligent, approachable and sexually-charged—spiritualistic and spiritual lipstick, as it were. No wonder you’re raking it in with all those film deals.”

“I see. Ordinarily, I’d take that as a compliment, but seeing as you’re—”

“Not part of the God Squad—yeah I get it,” Daniel interrupted.

“I don’t understand why you’re making a big deal about this so-called spiritual lipstick. It’s simply part of my job.”

“We’ll get to that in a minute. But before we do, I think it’s important to reiterate that seasons aren’t the only things that change. Under the right circumstances, people change. And believe it or not, so can demons.”

“Seriously? Then why don’t you apologize to God and fly away to heaven?”

“Unfortunately, it’s not that simple.”

I looked at Daniel with folded arms and raised eyebrows. “Why not?”

“Think back, Delilah. Don’t you remember all those dreams where you gave yourself to me—where we gave ourselves to each other?”

And there it was—the reason why he seemed so familiar. The reason why I had experienced déjà vu. “My dreams are my own. They’re private,” I replied, trembling.

“I hate to tell you this, but our mattress boxing matches are not as private as you think.”

“Of course they are—they’re in my mind!”

“Not if they’re not a dream. Unbeknownst to you, you paired up with a demon—at least in a spiritual sense. That makes us not only spiritually-connected, but soul mates. But hey, like I always say, ‘If the spirit moves you, let me groove you.’”

Nervously, I reached into my robe’s pocket. “Okay, I’ve heard enough, I said, fumbling for my cell phone. “I’m getting a pastor in here—pronto.”

“Well, this is an interesting development, Daniel cracked. “Think it through carefully. Are you absolutely certain you want to go through the church’s pasteurization process? It can be a lengthy ordeal—not to mention, quite embarrassing.”

“Of course, I want to get rid of you. At this point, I’m prepared to do whatever it takes,” I snapped.

“Okay, fair enough. So, what are you going to tell the pastor?”

“The truth, of course.”

“What—that you made spiritual love with a demon? C’mon! Of course, if you want to chance it and go with the ‘dream theory,’ I suppose you could call your shrink. No doubt he’ll think your sanity’s hanging by a thread.”

“I’m not that weird,” I said.

“True. But if you open up that can of worms, you risk getting thrown into your local hospital’s psychiatric ward. Oh, and lest we not forget the field day the tabloids would have with a story like this.”

“So? What do you care?”

“Believe it or not, I see so much in you—so many things you don’t see in yourself. That’s originally why I was drawn to you. I wanted to keep you from reaching your full potential, but then—”

“Then what?”

“I saw how you handled yourself when the world closed in on you—when you broke things off with your ex. The media was unkind, to say the least. I tried to overtake you then, but you were much stronger than I realized.”

“Wait—what?”

“Listen, Delilah. Our worlds collided, plain and simple. If I have it my way, nobody will ever tear us apart again. As far as I’m concerned, the fact that we bumped into each other one more time, means you and I are fated to be together—forever.”

“One more time? Forever?”

“Don’t you remember? We were lovers over the course of several previous lifetimes.”

“What? No way!”

“It’s true.”

My face flushed. “Is this another one of your riddles?”

“Nope, no riddles this time. I guess when all is said and done, I’m a hard habit to break, right Sweet Lips?”

“I—I can’t believe this,” I stammered. “I mean, I have so many questions…”

“And as much as I’d love to take a stroll down memory lane with you, our time together—at least where you can see me like this—is limited. I simply wanted to make you aware of this situation, so you could straighten out a few things in your life.”

“What things?”

“I don’t want us to ever be apart again, Delilah. And based on our not-so-private moments together, I know you feel the same. That’s why I’m going to ask you to stay away from the likes of your ex-boyfriend. You need to understand that as your career continues, you’re going to be tempted and tested in all sorts of ways.”

I was exhausted and confused. “So, what happens next?” I said, sobbing softly.

The demon smiled gently. “Don’t worry, my dear. Daniel is never far away from his Delilah.”

Before I could respond, Daniel began swirling like a tornado. Faster and faster he went. His physical form faded. This was replaced by tiny, black pixels which flew past my robe and into my body. Eyes wide, I screamed, “What are you doing? Get out of me! Get out of my house!”

Daniel’s diabolical laughter rang inside my ears.

“It’s not so easy to get rid of a demon, Delilah. Haven’t you ever read the Scriptures? Oh wait a minute, of course you haven’t—you don’t even pray.”

All at once, I experienced a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach. It felt rancid. Foul. Intuitively, I knew Daniel would do everything he could to control me. I recited The Lord’s Prayer three times.

“It’s amazing how quickly it comes back, isn’t it?” Daniel taunted. “Kinda like riding a bicycle—for all the good it’ll do you.”

“Why are you here?” I whimpered. “I’m not a bad person.”

“Isn’t it obvious? I came here to serve Satan. Don’t you remember inviting me in last year—at your party? Once I saw those long, luscious legs and that dazzling, party-girl smile of yours, I knew I was in for a really good time. In case you hadn’t noticed, I’ve been lurking around ever since.”

“I did no such thing as invite you here, you parasite.”

“You’d be amazed at the lengths some people go to in order to rid themselves of their loneliness, Delilah.”

“Wait a minute. Are you inferring you have the right to possess me because I was lonely?”

“I’m not suggesting it—I’m stating it outright.”

“That’s preposterous!”

“Is it? Surely, you’ve heard the term emotional isolation before, right?”

“Right…”

“Well, it can make a person say, feel, and do things they might not ordinarily—even if they’re rich in social capital, or social connections, as you might like to call it.”

“Once again, I don’t understand where you’re going with this.”

“Listen and learn. You and I both know you didn’t want to do cocaine the night of your party. However, in order to fit in and connect with your ex and the other guests, you snorted that line like a champ. Then to make matters worse, you pulled out the Ouija board. You gotta be careful what you wish for, Delilah. Summoning spirits can get you into a whole heap of trouble.”

“But, I didn’t know—I honestly had no idea!”

“Precisely. And you know what’s even more interesting to me?”

“No, what?”

“I’m amazed that none of your so-called friends in attendance that night had a clue just how lonely you’d been. Do you see the problem here?”

“Not exactly.”

“Then allow me to enlighten you. It’s important to address the issue of emotional isolation before it has a chance to take root.”

“Okay, and how does one do that?”

“In your case, you shouldn’t have bowed down to your mother’s wishes. That’s the reason you’re facing a demon here tonight.”

I raised my eyebrows. “This sounds a little far-fetched.”

“Just hear me out. Going back in time, if you had chosen to pursue a career in journalism—like you originally intended—there’s a good chance you’d have made more genuine friendships.”

“Okay…so?”

“So, you probably would not have been emotionally isolated. In other words, by choosing a different career path, you might have been able to avoid this entire mess altogether.”

Daniel’s words burned into me.

Finally, I responded with, “Once my first big film gig was booked, my mother wanted to be my manager. What was I supposed to do? She needed the money every bit as much as I did—except she was older. She lacked a college education. She didn’t have any work experience in a decent-paying field. I couldn’t just leave her high and dry. She’s my mom for God’s sake!”

“Do you see what happens when we allow people to take control of our lives? Bad feelings set in and before we know it—Poof! A demon appears.”

“But, I didn’t know anything about this stuff—at least not until now.”

“What’s a matter, Sweet Lips? Is the thrill gone?”

“Get out of me,” I hissed. “I mean it. Right now. Get. Out. Of. Me!”

“My, my. You sure are a fickle one, aren’t you? I distinctly remember how much you enjoyed my company the other night. What did you call it? Oh, that’s right—mystical. In fact, you went so far as to say you wanted to have my baby—which is interesting, considering how a pregnancy could impact your career.”

“I thought I was dreaming!”

“Not even close, Delilah. As such, let me be the first to welcome you into your real-life nightmare known as Purgatory. Now, let’s keep this train moving, shall we?”

All at once, I heard the familiar sound of cameras flashing. Click-click. They were snapping pictures of me. Click-click. Except there were no photographers in the house. Click-click. Every press of the camera was synchronized with each beat of my heart. Click-click. Click-click. Click-click.

Once again, Daniel’s voice rang inside my eardrums. He monopolized the conversation. “From here on out, with each individual picture anyone takes of you, I will control your heartbeat.”

I stood frozen in fear. Click-click. Click-click.

“You know what that means? Whenever a photographer snaps several pictures in succession—so will go the beat of your heart muscle.”

Click-click-click-click-click-click-click!

“It’s a pity you’ve taken such a liking to cocaine. It kinda makes me wonder how strong your heart muscle really is. Say, I’ve got an idea; let’s take it for a test drive!”

That’s when Daniel really let me have it.

Click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click-click!

My heart struggled to return to normal. I put my head in my hands and sobbed uncontrollably. I had always been afraid to die. Now, I almost welcomed it.

“Don’t get any bright ideas like summoning a priest for an exorcism,” the demon warned. “Because I can promise you this: I’ll do the same thing all over again—except I’ll do it for longer. And the minute you die, I’ll possess him and kill him, too.”

At this point, I did the only thing I could. I cried like a baby. Eventually, I murmured, “I thought you said you didn’t kill anyone.”

“The devil’s in the details, Delilah. What I actually said is that I didn’t kill anyone to become a demon.”

I stood silent.

Daniel continued with, “Unfortunately, in this particular situation, you really only have two choices: live with me or die trying to get rid of me. Either way, your career is finished. Oh, and don’t even think about enrolling in journalism classes. By the time I’m through with you, all of your hopes and dreams will be crushed. You’ll be homeless, penniless, and forgotten.”

“Get out! Get out of me right now you piece of garbage,” I yelled. “You’re not welcome in my mind, body, or soul. Get out of my house! Get off my property, and don’t you ever come back, you hear me?”

“Didn’t you know, Sweet Lips? Deliverance is never an easy journey.”

“I will not tolerate this. As of this minute, you and I are finished!”

Daniel was silent. He then resumed speaking. “Delilah, you should always, I mean always speak softly when conversing with spirits. We don’t take kindly to being screamed at. You’ve gotten off easy thus far, but believe me, now that Lucifer’s angry, that’s about to change.”

A cold sweat broke out all over my body.

Daniel continued to crow inside my ears. “Unfortunately, because of your latest screw-up, you should expect nothing less than all-out spiritual warfare.”

For me, that was the last straw. Without so much as missing a beat, I reached for the panic button under the island.

“I wouldn’t bother with that if I were you,” Daniel said.

“Why not?” I responded sharply.

“Because, I’ve disabled your security system. Also, in a manner-of-speaking, I own your security detail.”

“Get real. I hand-picked each of those men myself!”

“And to your credit, you did a fine job. Nevertheless, all three of them have weaknesses which have been easy for me to exploit.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Each of those men are as ethical as the day is long!”

“Okay, then. Let’s examine where each of them are at this very moment, shall we? As it turns out, Charlie is busy getting it on with your ex’s teenage daughter. On the other hand, Jack decided to hightail it to Vegas for an evening of black jack and slot machines. Oh, and get this. All it took to distract Van was a bottle of vodka. I guess the Twelve Steps are kind of meaningless when you’re staring at a bottle of Stoli’s.”

“You’re just trying to trick me.”

“I’m afraid that’s not the case. What I am doing is making the point that little by little, I’m isolating you—which has been surprisingly easy, especially considering how in-demand you’ve been over the last ten years.”

“Stop trying to scare me.”

“Notice how you broke things off with your ex? Now you’ve got no boyfriend.”

“I chose to do that. He was too wild when he was on the road. I didn’t trust him.”

“That’s because when you were sleeping, I told you about all those women in all those different towns. The very next day, you broke up with him.”

“You’re lying.”

“You wish. And as for your mother, she’s currently out of town on vacation.”

“She hadn’t taken a trip in over two years. I told her to go.”

“Once again, I suggested this while you were sleeping.”

“No you didn’t.”

“Yes I did.”

“Well, you’re either lying, crazy, or evil. Frankly, I think you’re all three.”

Daniel chuckled. “I’m glad to see you’ve gotten your sense of humor back, Delilah.”

“Speaking of humor, I could go for a good laugh right about now. So, why don’t you tell me how you became a demon? You said you didn’t kill anyone, but still, you must’ve done something pretty horrific.”

“I should have you know your attempts at deflection serve no useful purpose.”

“I am not deflecting.”

“Sure you are. You’re stalling while you try to figure out what to do. Believe me; I see this all the time. It’s the same with all you humans.”

“I am not deflecting.”

“Yeah, well I happen to know better—not that I can blame you. Once we demons get a hold of you humans, we basically run you in circles. After awhile, your existence feels like it lacks any meaning. That’s when a lot of people decide to end it all.”

“I wouldn’t give you or Satan the satisfaction.” I said, reaching for my cell phone. “In fact, if the devil wants spiritual warfare, then that is precisely what he shall get.”

“Your wish is my command,” the demon said, floating out of me.

He resumed his former human configuration and pointed his index finger in the direction of the gas cook top. Flames instantly erupted.

“Welcome to hell, Delilah!” he said, pixilating himself and flying back into me. The demon somehow squeezed both of my temples. “Delilah’s gonna burn in hell… Delilah’s gonna burn in hell… Delilah’s gonna burn in hell on earth!” he chanted.

Struggling to concentrate, I charged past the blaze and out through the French doors. The storm was still pounding the city. Standing on the far edge of the patio and past the swimming pool, I frantically called the pastor from my mother’s church. I used my robe to shield my cell phone from the elements.

“Hello, is this Pastor Patrick O’Malley?” I said, struggling to catch my breath.

“Yes it is.”

“Pastor, this is Delilah Delaney—Sharon’s daughter.”

He let out a stifled gasp. “The movie star?”

“Yes.”

“Well, my goodness. Hello, Delilah. It’s been awhile. Do you realize it’s almost 1:00 a.m.?”

“Yes. I’m sorry to call at this hour, but to be honest; I really need your help.”

“Go on, I’m listening.”

I went on to briefly describe my encounter with Daniel, including the highly personal things he had said. The pastor responded with, “I just need to clarify one important point here. Are you communicating with Daniel inside your head, or are you speaking to him out loud?”

“Out loud.”

“So, both sides of these conversations are not taking place inside your mind. Is this correct?”

“Yes—correct.”

“Okay, that’s an important distinction, because it rules out mental illness.”

“Pastor, I have no history of mental illness. I promise, I would tell you if I did.”

“I believe you. Listen, Delilah. Don’t say another word to the demon. Don’t engage him in any way. Just sit tight; I’ll be right over—and call 9-1-1. Get the fire department and an ambulance.”

“An ambulance?”

“That’s right—while demons aren’t nearly as powerful as God, they aren’t to be taken lightly, either.”

“I understand—and thank you.”

“You bet.”

I clicked off the cell phone and looked at my house. Despite the pouring rain, it glowed like a towering inferno. With my mind spinning, I quickly glanced away. Something was moving in the distance. A mountain lion? I squinted my eyes. My heart pumped wildly. To my surprise, it was my ex-boyfriend. He was sprinting in from the northern edge of the property. It was apparent he’d seen the fire from his house a few doors down. He was screaming my name over and over.

“Bob, I’m here!” I yelled, running. I desperately wanted to reach him before he went into the house.

Without warning, Daniel flew out of me. At this point, I was starting to get used to him using my body as some kind of door. Or gateway. As if by magic, he once again took on his human form. With outstretched arms, he set fire to the rain. The sky lit up. Ghosts of yellow-orange swirled. Dancing, twirling, they moved erratically, yet in parallel with the weather’s fury. The lawn seared. Trees and bushes burned. The scene felt Biblical. Fifteen seconds later, Daniel flew back inside me.

I stopped abruptly and scanned the property for my ex. I couldn’t find him. I removed my robe before grabbing one of the patio chairs. I used it to smash the family room’s window. I hit it several times. Eventually, I was able to break through. As I climbed into the house, shards of glass sliced deep into my arms. Streaks of crimson ran down my skin. The interior of the dwelling was wrapped in a dark, infinite smoke. I took several steps further into the structure. Black, rolling shadows lurked amongst raging, torrid flames. I was barely able to identify the faint outline of Bob’s body. He was ten feet away, partially crouched over the arm of the sofa.

“Bob, I’m here—I’m okay!” I yelled.

He couldn’t hear me above the roar of the flames. Never in my life had I felt so close, yet so far away from another person. I watched him go deeper into the house. He evaporated into nothingness. The scorching blaze melted the walls and floors, blending them into a thick, black, smoke. Everything felt charred. Lifeless.

Choking and wheezing, I screamed, “Bob! Get out!” Desperate for air, I dashed back outside. The sky continued to spurt fire. My only saving grace was that I was dripping wet from the rain a couple of minutes earlier. I watched the wind whip and whirl the flames. The scene was stirring. Haunting. I couldn’t live with Bob’s death on my conscious. There was no way that man was going to die. Not tonight. Not on my watch. I reached down and grabbed my robe off the patio’s pavers. It contained a few small burn holes from the fiery-rain, but it remained mostly intact. I sprinted several feet to the pool, dunked the robe, and placed it over my head and body. Tearing back over to the window, I once again climbed through the broken glass, its jagged edges wedging deep into my arms, adding to the existing wounds. I looked down. Blood was pooling on the hardwood floor. It was gushing from my arms. I caught a whiff of it. The metallic smell gagged me. I re-secured the robe and ran deep into the family room. The house was making strange, moaning sounds. It was as if the fire was causing the structure to feel physical pain. Beams crashed from the ceiling. Over and over I yelled, “Bob! Bob!”

There was no response. Several moments later, I heard someone scream. It was loud. Shrill. The sound repeated several times. Wait—no, it wasn’t a scream after all. It was a pack of sirens. They wailed endlessly.

“Bob!”

Still nothing but sirens. My vision was blurring. Smoke was everywhere. It was acrid. Abrasive. It made my eyes tear. Nearly every corner of my home was being licked by flames. The kitchen was gone. The dining room—gone. The butler’s pantry. The bar. The living room and library. All gone. And now the family room was nearly gone as well. The flames were wrapping fast around me.

“Bob! Answer me!”

Still nothing. Suddenly, a violent rage grabbed hold of me. I sprinted through smoke and fire to the staircase located nearly at the other end of the residence. Gritting my teeth, I held back a cough welling up from deep inside my lungs.

“Bob! We’ve got to get out of here!”

I sprinted up the stairs. As I approached my bedroom, I heard Daniel’s thunderous laugh. I was now barely able to breathe. Noise and chaos surrounded me. My visibility was a couple of inches. In a moment of irrefutable clarity, I remembered how the pastor warned me not to directly engage the demon. I wanted to curse Daniel, but decided against it.

“Bob!” I spattered.

BOOM!

CRASH!

An explosion came from downstairs. The walls shook. The windows blew out. The floor creaked. And then the unthinkable happened. I experienced everything in slow motion. The walls gave way. Firemen shouted. Sirens blared. I slipped through the crumbling floor and into the flames below.

“Welcome to hell, Delilah,” Daniel bellowed.

I tried to scream, but nothing came out. Everything grew black.It was all over.

I awoke to my boyfriend saying, “Baby, wake up.”

He gently shook me.

My heart was pounding.

I opened my eyes and blinked several times. The lilac-painted room was filled with blinding sunshine. Disoriented, I remained lying against the pillows for several seconds. As the dream faded, I slowly sat up and placed my back against the headboard. Shaking my head, my gaze darted around the master bedroom of my Hollywood Hills mansion. To my astonishment, Bob was fine. My bedroom was intact. Everything appeared normal.

Bob’s expression was one of concern. “Delilah, that looked like one hell of a nightmare. Wanna talk about it?”

“No, that’s okay,” I replied, studying the front of my night gown. I was thankful the long sleeves weren’t ripped or singed—not to mention, blood-stained.

“Okay, well is there anything you wanna talk about?”

“Nah, it was just a dream. Everything’s fine,” I said determined to put the experience behind me. Without warning, my stomach protested. Loudly. I let out an embarrassed chuckle. “But what I would like to discuss is breakfast. I’m starving! Are you up for French toast?”

“Sure,” Bob answered hesitantly. “But if you change your mind, I’m here for you, okay?”

I swung my feet out of the bed. “Of course you are, silly goose. That’s why I love you so much.”

“I love you too, babe. By the way, I was thinking about having the band over for a cook-out tonight. Is that all right?”

I stood on my tip-toes and stretched. “You bet,” I said yawning. “Just do me a favor; no drugs and no more Ouija boards. Okay?”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. Let’s mix it up a bit. How about martinis and jazz under the stars instead?”

Bob popped out of bed and kissed my forehead. “Mmm. You’re sexy when you take charge, you know that?”

I reached up and pulled him closer. “And you, Mister, are sexy when you play those drums,” I said, kissing him on the lips.

Bob beamed, warmly. “Uh-oh. Right now, I’m not sure what I want more. You or that French toast.”

I unbuttoned my night gown. “Really?” I said with a sly grin. “Okay, in that case you’re in charge of the coffee and strawberries.”

“I know that look anywhere. The beautiful and talented Delilah Delaney is once again trying to seduce me.”

I giggled. “Sorry to disappoint you, but not this time. Actually, I was thinking we’d go for a swim before breakfast. You don’t mind, do you?”

“No, but aren’t you hungry?”

“What do you think? Of course I’m hungry. I haven’t eaten since lunch yesterday. You know how Hollywood is,” I said, rolling my eyes.

“Oh, right. Heaven forbid you should put on two pounds.”

“Exactly. So, fifty laps and then I’ll get right to cooking.”

Bob shot me a flirtatious wink. “That assumes I can keep my hands off of you.”

I slid the night gown over my shoulders and grabbed my robe off the chair. “Oh, please. You’ll be too busy trying to keep up with me. They don’t call me the Cardio Queen for nothing, you know.”

“That’s true. Hey—what happened to you?”

I followed Bob’s gaze to my arms. I was stunned to discover they were both covered in abrasions. A shiver shot down my spine. The wounds appeared to be about a day-old. Many of them were shallow. The deeper ones looked like they could pop open and bleed without much effort. A feeling of light-headedness descended on me.

“Oh, those? They’re nothing,” I lied, slipping the robe on. “C’mon, let’s go.”

Bob didn’t budge. “They don’t look like nothing to me.”

I shook my head. “You’re making too much of this. You know what a klutz I can be—especially when we’re partying. Remember how I fell in the bushes a couple of nights ago?”

“You did this by falling into the bushes?”

“They’re rose bushes. They have lots of thorns.”

“I guess I’ll just have to limit you to two martinis tonight,” Bob teased, swatting me on my rear. “Besides, any more than that and you might have to jog a couple of miles.”

“Ooooo! You’re a rascal,” I squealed, chasing him out of the bedroom.

The light-headedness was quickly resolving. Even so, I had no illusions. Something was very wrong. With my right hand on the glossy, curved railing, I followed Bob down the staircase to the first floor.

We entered the kitchen. Everything was just as it should have been. Grapefruit and oranges spilled out of the oversized fruit bowl on the far counter. There were no broken bits of china on the floor. The cookies inside the jar seated on the granite island, were intact. I breathed a sigh of relief.

It wasn’t thirty seconds later when I heard Daniel’s booming voice echo inside my head. “Good job, Delilah. You really are a great actress. Now let’s make Satan happy and keep this train rolling.”

I halted. Leaning against the wall, I squeezed my eyes shut.

“What’s wrong, babe?” Bob asked. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Oh, it’s nothing. I’m just a little hungry.”

“In that case, we’re eating and then swimming.”

All at once, I felt grateful for this man. “Okay, sounds good.”

Within a few minutes, Bob had ground the coffee beans and set-up the percolator. As he busied himself with washing off the strawberries, I reached into my robe and scrolled through my cell phone’s contacts. “I’m running to the bathroom,” I said. “I’ll be right back.”

Bob didn’t turn around. “I’ll be here.”

I scurried into the powder room, closed the door, and called my mother’s pastor.

“Is this Pastor Patrick O’Malley?” I asked.

“Yes. To whom am I speaking?”

“Pastor, this is Delilah Delaney—Sharon’s daughter.”

He let out a stifled gasp. “The movie star?”

I felt as if I were living in some kind of bizarre, parallel world. “Yes,” I answered.

“It’s been a long time, Delilah. Is everything all right?”

“No, it’s not. I was hoping to discuss a matter of great urgency with you.”

“Certainly. What’s going on?”

“I think it would be best if we met in person. I’d bring my mom, but she’s out of town on vacation.”

“Yes, she mentioned she was going away on an extended trip. Hold on a moment, let me check my calendar.” I heard the sound of paper in the background. He then resumed speaking. “Okay, it looks like I have an opening at one o’clock this afternoon—will that work for you?”

“Absolutely. Thank you, Patrick.”

“You’re welcome. See you, then.”

Bob and I finished breakfast an hour later, leaving the dishes in the sink. Afterwards, I swam, showered, and dressed for the day. I descended the stairs and cut through the kitchen. Bob was seated in the family room, busily looking over sheet music for his band’s upcoming tour.

“Honey, I’m heading out to run a couple of errands,” I told him.

“Good luck with that,” he said. “Hopefully the paparazzi won’t give you too hard of a time.”

“No worries,” I replied. “I’m taking my new car and going out the service entrance. Plus, I’ve got a wig and sunglasses.”

Bob looked up. “Hey, I don’t even think I’d recognize you dressed like that.”

“That’s the whole idea.”

“Promise you’ll call if you run into any problems. Those damn photographers are like a bunch of rabid beasts.”

“I promise.”

I exited the house and made my way to the detached five-car garage. Typically, there were a half-dozen members of the paparazzi camped just outside the front gate. Today there were at least twenty. Everyone scrambled to their feet when they saw me, but quickly relaxed once they realized I was a member of the house staff leaving the premises. Must be a slow news day, I thought. I slowly drove down the driveway and out through the rear gate. After a half hour spent careening through the back roads, I pulled into the church’s parking lot. The time away from the press’ prying eyes had been exhilarating. Rejuvenating. After a decade of life in the public eye, I’d forgotten just how much I missed my privacy. I walked through the church’s heavy, wooden doors and met with the pastor. He listened patiently as I recounted everything that had happened.

“Delilah,” Patrick began, “is Daniel willing to speak with me right now?”

I paused and waited to hear from the demon. “I’m sorry. For whatever reason, he’s not saying anything. In fact, I haven’t heard from him since earlier this morning.”

“Okay. One thing I know from all of my years as a pastor, is this problem won’t go away on its own. Mind if I follow you home? I’d like to take a look around. We need to get to the bottom of this situation.”

“Of course,” I replied. “I really appreciate your help. Obviously, I’m worried about what Bob will think, but I cannot possibly deal with this on my own.”

Patrick and I both climbed into our cars and made our way through Hollywood Hills’ winding roads. The traffic had picked up considerably. Forty-five minutes later, we pulled into the service entrance of my property.

“Patrick, can I offer you something to drink?” I asked.

“Just some water,” he replied. “Thank you.”

I approached the sink and was stunned to find there were no dirty dishes sitting inside of it.

“What’s wrong, Delilah?” Patrick said, settling in beside me. “You look as if you’ve seen a ghost. Did the demon say something to you?”

There it was again, that strange, parallel world.

“No. It’s just that Bob and I left our dishes in the sink. He never does the dishes. Even if he had, he wouldn’t have dried the pan and put it away. This is totally unlike him. It just doesn’t make any sense.”

“How about we check the dishwasher?”

“Great idea.”

I immediately reached down and opened the door. To my astonishment, the dishwasher was empty.

The pastor took my hand. “How about we go and sit down?”

“Sure,” I said, feeling slightly faint.

We entered the family room. Sun was streaming in through the white, sheer, window treatments. Patrick glanced at the floor. “Is this Brazilian hardwood?”

“Sure is,” I said, my eyes firmly affixed on the cocktail table. “Wait a minute. Where’s Bob’s sheet music?”

The pastor wore a baffled look. “What are you talking about?”

“Bob was here this morning—remember how I told you about breakfast and swimming? When I left to come see you, he was looking over his sheet music.”

“Delilah, we need to sit down and talk.”

“Okay,” I said, sinking into the cool, white leather. I had the sense I wasn’t going to like what he had to say.

The pastor sat next to me. He then reached over to the cocktail table and lifted up a day-old copy of a popular tabloid. “Look at this and tell me what you see.”

I studied the picture of my boyfriend on the cover. After several seconds I said, “That’s Bob.”

“Exactly. Now read the headline to me.”

“Drummer Bob Patterson Caught Leaving Concert with Other Woman.”

I set the paper in my lap and burst into tears.

“Delilah, I think you saw this yesterday and afterwards, your mind started playing tricks on you. The brain is an amazing organ. It can do all sorts of things while we struggle come to terms with difficult situations. Let me see your arms again.”

Sniffling, I rolled up my sleeves. Patrick took hold of my hands and studied my arms. “I’m not a medical doctor, but if you ask me, it looks like those welts were caused by your fingernails.”

“What?”

“Delilah, I think you scratched yourself in your sleep.”

All of a sudden, everything came flooding back. “Oh my God. Yesterday, the paparazzi bombarded me with questions at my movie premiere. One of them handed me this paper. They all started taking my picture.”

“Have you spoken with Bob?”

“No,” I sobbed.

“I think it’s important you find out the truth. Why don’t you call him and ask him if the photos were doctored? You know how the tabloids are. They lie all the time to make a few bucks.”

“Yes, but in my experience, they don’t always lie.”

“True. But Delilah, even if he did cheat on you, wouldn’t you rather find out now than after you got married? The only reason this story’s so big is because the two of you got engaged right before his band went on tour.”

I looked down at the ten-carat diamond on my left hand. “I suppose you’re right.”

“Even though I haven’t seen you for several years, I’ve known you since you were a little girl. I know what kind of person you really are. If it turns out this story is true, you are still blessed. Your mom loves you. You have a thriving career and a beautiful home. And from what I can tell, you and that actress—what’s her name?”

“Kate Brown.”

“That’s right. You and Kate Brown have become close friends. Am I right?”

“Yes. She played a small role in my latest film. She was quite brilliant, actually. By the way, for a pastor, you sure seem to know a lot about Hollywood.”

“I keep an eye on the tabloids. As you know, a number of our parishioners are quite famous. You wouldn’t believe how many times I’ve counseled people in your situation.”

“You’re a good man, Patrick.”

“And you’re a very talented actress. I’ve seen all of your films.”

I managed a slight smile. “I appreciate that.”

“Listen, I’ve noticed one thing time and again with these kinds of situations.”

“What’s that?”

“Often, it’s the not knowing, that’s the hardest part. Either he cheated or he didn’t. Once you find out the truth, you can move forward.”

“Thank you, Patrick,” I said standing up. “I feel so much better. I believe you’re right. This has gotten way out of control in my own head. I started thinking back to all sorts of things that had been bothering me for awhile. It was just too much.”

“That’s not at all unusual. These situations have a tendency to unearth a lot of other unresolved issues. Best thing you can do is deal with this directly, forget all the other stuff, and move on with your life. None of us can change whatever has happened in the past. No sense dwelling on it.”

“That’s great advice.”

“So, do you want me to stay here while you call Bob?”

“No, I can take it from here, Patrick. Thank you, again for all of your help.”

As it turned out the tabloids had gotten it right. Of course I was upset, but I moved on from Bob—and much faster than I would have expected.

Today, I’m thankful for the people I do and do not have in my life. Also, whenever a difficult situation comes up, I now take a deep breath and remind myself that in the end, the only thing worth fearing is fear itself. For it was in my very own chamber of secrets—in my private hell of fear, that I came face-to-face with a demon named Daniel.

THE END.

Who is Donna Manobianco?

Donna Manobianco is an American writer of suspenseful science fiction and fantasy. She draws upon her B.A. in psychology to develop flawed and complex characters, while her background as a nanotechnology start-up owner, serves as the foundation for her sci-fi’s futuristic technologies. Donna resides in New York with her husband John and their spunky, little dachshund Hugo, and is busily penning a science fantasy series known as DARK STAR.

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So here you are, folks! And if the old hag’s face below doesn’t spook you, nothing will – LOL As you can see, I’ve been playing around with the free site, PhotoFunia. Highly recommended for your social media posts to make your friends giggle and get plenty of likes. If you’re an author, you’ll find there a host of images that will get your book cover a lot of attention! See? I can’t write a single post without giving a tip, but I thought you wouldn’t mind – LOL

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Saint Spyridon, patron saint of Corfu: his life and miracles

My family always had my granddad, Spyros Vassilakis, to honor on this day, and so, it’s always been a special day for me, and even more so now that Granddad has passed away. I thought I’d blog about St Spyridon this year and share a few facts and legends surrounding his name…

More annually celebrated miracles of St Spyridon:

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NEW! A historical paranormal romance box set. This is the timeless love story that will stay with you forever. Set in Moraitika, Corfu and Brighton, England. Visit Amazon: https://bit.ly/3HEvMPG

Clean romance short read, FREE with Kindle Unlimited. It’ll transport you straight to Corfu to experience summer in an idyllic Greek seaside village. Visit Amazon: https://bit.ly/3pAP3rf

Kelly ran a marathon and wound up running a house. With a ghost in it! Both humorous and moving, with delightful sweet romance, it’s just the ticket to lose yourself reading! Read more on Amazon

Summer love and a mysterious haunting in Corfu! Effrosyni’s debut romance, The Ebb, has received an award from Amazon! Check it out here

Beach fun and sweet romance mixed with magic spells and bird shifters… The Raven Witch of Corfu is an original story that will rivet you with its unrelenting suspense. The final twist will blow your mind!

Available in paperback , box set or 4 kindle episodes!

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Interview with Effie Kammenou

Interview with Inderjit Kaur

Book Review: Sewing Can Be Dangerous by Sarah Mallery

Interview with author Daphne Kapsali

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Book review: Girl Gone Greek by Rebecca Hall

A great giveaway and a FREE gift from me

Interview with Aurora Springer

Interview with Sarah Mallery, author of Sewing Can Be Dangerous

A spooky post for Halloween

I’ve read all books by Amy Vansant, or rather, devoured them, and I’m a big fan of her work, especially her Pineapple Port Cozy Mysteries. They are intriguing and the humor is plentiful. Howls of laughter guaranteed!

Now, on to my special treat: a free short story that’ll spook you enough to get your heart pumping for Halloween!

Have a wonderful Halloween!