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| Article from July 2015 RWR (trademarked) But the article was only a little over two pages long... so I've got time to see if everything worthwhile in the book is cramped in there. Anyway, the writer (Sheila) summed up a few things she learned from the other writer (Julia). What caught my attention was the tool of "morning pages". Basically an artist will write 3 handwritten pages every morning to connect on a spiritual level with her creativity. Just write. And for writers, we aren't supposed to use those 3 pages as part of our WIP (Work In Progress). I admit I winced at that one because if I'm writing I want it to count as something substantial. But no, WIPs are to be set aside and this is free forming. Julia claims that will make our WIPs more productive later when we let everything on our mind flow out. So bright and early before I had to head out, prepared to sweat while helping out with my son's band's parade. And yes I did get wet and sticky. Not because I did anything strenuous, but because I was outside in Texas in July. Don't know why I bothered with showering. 
Keller Central High Band
Where was I? Oh yes, bright and early I pulled out one of my notebooks, grabbed a pen and wrote. Oh my gosh, I am shocked, simply shocked, at the spew of mucky roadkill that flowed onto my 3 pages. From "I am an introvert and would rather stay home from this parade" with a side helping of "I miss my son." and all sorts of random resentments on top of things I'm grateful for and plain old things that don't really matter at all. It was strange, I'm telling you. And those pages need to be shredded. Anyone who came across them would think I've lost my mind. Did it clear my mind well enough that my WIP flowed better? Well, I don't know yet. I haven't gotten to it yet. Have to take a second shower first after the parade. Maybe I better read that book. Have a wonderful Fourth of July!!! |
Morning Pages
Tradition of the Wedding Garter
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| garter from ExclusivelyWeddings |
Tossing the garter used to be a custom called Fingering the Stocking back in the old days (Fourteenth Century thereabouts) in England.
Back then, especially among families that were bent on getting the next heir as quickly as possible, making sure the marriage was properly consummated was a big deal. Big enough to have the entire wedding party come into the room (hopefully afterwards, but in some cases not) and take a good look at the stocking for, um, I guess some sort of evidence because apparently it was too easy to spill wine on the sheets.
If that wasn't bad enough, the guests would then fling stockings at the couple for good luck. Because what is more lucky than stinky socks being thrown at you? Bonus points if you're the guest that gets a sock on top of the bride's or groom's head because you were then the next to get married. Has to be true, the socking said so.
But in France, the socks didn't even make it to the wedding bed. Once the bride uttered "I do" (Or rather a form of ‘I receive you as mine, so that you become my husband and I your wife'--only in French', the guests thronged her, tearing bits and pieces off her marital gown because what's more lucky than leaving your loved one in tatters at the altar? Kim Kardashian's idea of having three wedding gowns for the occasion gains a little more merit here. One gown for being torn apart and at least one other for the reception.
At some point, I'm sure in desperation, some brides decided to start throwing pieces of their attire out, hoping to avoid most of the rampaging at her and her clothing. Which went to finally the groom started taking the garter off and tossing that out. In my romantic nature I like to think of it as the protective groom stepping in to stop the mob in this manner, but who knows, it could have been the brides' idea for self-preservation. Either way, this new less-aggressive, less-invasive tradition began. Thankfully.
At this point the tradition of tossing the bouquet also
There are also traditions that state that the garter represents the bride's virginal girdle so when the groom takes that off it's symbolic of what the bride is giving up to him. Who knows who connected the dots on that one but I guess it fits.
But for our modern times, there is little sock throwing and the wedding guests don't go into a frenzy to ruin that $5000 wedding dress.
Many brides will wear two garters both on the right leg above the knee, one for the toss and the other to keep.
The bouquet will be tossed first, followed by the groom removing the garter and tossing it out.
I read that the single male guest who catches the garter then places it on the leg of the single gal who caught the bouquet and superstition states that they will be the next to marry...and to each other. I've personally never heard of that part of it or seen it done, but, hey, they say going to weddings is a great way to meet people. Why not?
~~~
Why my sudden interest in bridal traditions? I'm researching for my up-and-coming Chantry Inn series, which will feature several weddings and one long-lost wedding gown. To be notified when these books will be released follow me on Facebook or my newsletter. See my post on the Traditions of the Wedding Ring.
Meditation
So I've been trying to learn more about myself as a person, be more positive, that kind of stuff. I've never ever meditated, but I found this on Mindvalley Academy and thought it was a good way to start going about it. At any rate, I'll have a few moments of quiet during the day and if it can help me sleep, win/win.
Writing The End
There's not many better things than writing "The End" on a manuscript you've been working on for months.Second to that is getting through your first round of edits and sending the thing off to your editor. That's where I am now with Highland Illusion.
Out of all the Highland Sorcery novels this one has given me the most grief to write and I'm really not sure why. It's just been a bear. It's also a little different than the rest so maybe that's it.
First, it's less action and more relationship building than how I tend to write. I love action. About 90 percent of this book takes place in the same building. The Same Building!
Also for a little switch-up, the hero in this one tends to be the damsel-in-distress more so than the heroine. But he's the only human in the midst of a colony of vampires who are all stronger, older, and predatory. Plus there is no hiding anything he is feeling. The heroine--vampire, also stronger and older than him--can sense every nuance of what's going on internally with him so when he's feelin it for her, there's no hiding where the drop in his blood pressure has gone to.
I also go into religion more in this one. I couldn't help it. In the previous book Highland Son where Lance was first introduced, he is the son of a religious fanatic who preaches that anything with magic is as evil as the monsters running around eating people. Well guess what, Dad? Lance has magic. He can cast illusions, the same illusions that have been saving your butt. So dad tries to kill him. Try coming out of that with an intact love of God and religion. I don't think so.
So who does he become attracted to? A Christian vampire. Yup.
Anyway, it's written, it's off to edits. Want to read an excerpt?
Out of all the Highland Sorcery novels this one has given me the most grief to write and I'm really not sure why. It's just been a bear. It's also a little different than the rest so maybe that's it.
First, it's less action and more relationship building than how I tend to write. I love action. About 90 percent of this book takes place in the same building. The Same Building!
I also go into religion more in this one. I couldn't help it. In the previous book Highland Son where Lance was first introduced, he is the son of a religious fanatic who preaches that anything with magic is as evil as the monsters running around eating people. Well guess what, Dad? Lance has magic. He can cast illusions, the same illusions that have been saving your butt. So dad tries to kill him. Try coming out of that with an intact love of God and religion. I don't think so.
So who does he become attracted to? A Christian vampire. Yup.
Anyway, it's written, it's off to edits. Want to read an excerpt?
Highland Illusion
New
York City
Lance stared up at the octagonal tower
at the top of St. Michael’s Chapel. The moonlight slashed down upon it,
creating intricate shadows across the ancient building. The chapel had survived
more than three hundred years, withstanding the great fire, the fall of the two
towers, and also the air strikes the navy threw at the city in their attempt to
slaughter all the monsters that had flocked to the once densely populated
island.
It was almost fitting
that the oldest enclave of vampires in America had taken up shelter there.
To say he was nervous
to walk inside, even with Deverell vouching for him, was a chasm of an
understatement. They’d driven in the old jeep for days, abandoning it when it
finally gave out, and then kept to the shadows and traveled mostly at dusk and
night to stay out of the sunlight on Rell’s behalf. The sun’s rays wouldn’t
outright kill vampires, but rather acted as radiation poisoning to their
sensitive flesh, a terminal effect just the same.
Once they had the
vampires onboard, their numbers and swiftness of attack in getting the
anti-rift serum into the Sifts’ population would give their world—their
future—the advantage they desperately needed.
“Are they in there?” he
asked around the growing lump swelling his throat.
“Oui.” Deverell’s gaze scanned the roofline and then the columns
supporting the portico. “They are all around us, dozens of my brethren. I sense
their presence.” Which meant they also knew about them being on the street just
outside, unprotected, yet what human really had protection around a colony of
vampires? Would the old treaties between mankind and vampires still be honored?
Or were they long ago forgotten, a casualty of the Sifts’ uprising.
Taking a wary step
forward, Lance squared his shoulders, trying to look confident, knowing the
vamps inside would detect the frantic racing of his heart. “Well, let’s get
this thing done.”
“Hello. You inside.”
Deverell spread his arms wide, showing he held no weapons. “We come in peace.”
His long coat fluttered beneath his outstretched arms.
Lance crooked a half
grin and copied the vampire’s pose, stretching his arms wide. “We come in
peace?”
Deverell shrugged. “It
seemed fitting.”
“Fitting and
ridiculous.” An amused voice spoke right behind Lance’s shoulder, causing him
to flinch. Damn, vampires moved fast. He hadn’t felt or heard the approach from
behind. He twisted his head to look at a rangy vampire grinning at him, two
long eye-teeth pressing against his lower lip. “And you brought lunch.” His
nostrils flared, sniffing Lance as though he was meat rotating on a spit.
A hiss of irritation
bristled off Deverell. “He’s my friend, August. Under my protection.”
August leaned back,
disappointment quieting the eagerness of his breathing and dismissed Lance from
his attention to focus fully upon Deverell. “Why have you come then?”
“To help you,” Deverell
stated blandly. “To help us all. We’ve a means to rid ourselves of the Trogs
once and for all.”
August’s eyes narrowed.
He smoothed his hair back from his distinguishable widow’s peak. “You don’t
say.” Shrugging, he turned on his heel toward the old church’s entrance. “Come
along then. And bring your pet. Don’t want it left unattended out here all
alone.” He grinned at Lance. “There are predators about.”
Trogs? Lance mouthed
behind August’s back. The humans had first labeled them as Sifts but Trogs was
as apt a name for the horrible carnivorous beasts as any.
Deverell shrugged,
eyeing the vampires slinking in the shadows around them.
“I thought they’d show
a little more enthusiasm at a chance to be rid of the Sifts,” Lance admitted.
“I as well.” Deverell
frowned. “They must not believe us.”
“You did say they’d be
hard to convince.” They passed through the doors into the muted interior of the
church. Light from a dozen tall candles rubbed a low shine upon the large
chapel, throwing dozens of marble angels scattered about in shadow and light.
Sculptured faces seemed to follow their progress through the considerable space.
Most of the pews were gone, the few left were pushed back against the wall or
arranged in clusters for sleeping or conversing, rather than in neat rows
facing the pulpit and large cross for worship.
Lance blinked, stumbling
a step at a flash of memory pushing behind his eyes. Kneeling between two long pews, no, not kneeling, hiding, his small
body curled over his knees, his sister pushed up against him, trembling, their
mother whispering, “Be still, be silent,” as she dragged them into a church for
refuge as though church walls could keep out hungry salivating monsters.
“Deverell,” a feminine
voice, brimming with welcome pulled Lance back to the here and now. She glided
toward them with the sinuous grace of a cat. Satiny black hair fell to her hips
as straight and still as glass. She took Deverell by the forearms and kissed
his cheek. “You’ve returned to us after all.” Violet eyes tilted. “I admit I
believed you perished beneath the teeth of the troglodyte beasts as so many of
our brothers and sisters have.”
The dozen or so vampires
within the chapel were gathering closer, fluid of movement, detaching from the
walls like fog rolling in from the sea.
Grinning, Deverell ran
his hands down the female’s arms until he was clasping her wrists. “Lost to the
monsters, Oriana? You know me better than that.”
She smiled demurely.
Standing beside her,
August watched them steadily. “Deverell claims he has the means to rid of us
the Trogs.” He shared a meaningful look with Oriana.
“Oh?” A sleek brow
lifted. “That is…interesting. And unnecessary. We’ve come upon means of our own
to rid us of the foul beasts.”
“Means of your own?”
Deverell tilted his head, dipping his long dark hair along his shoulder. “And
what would those means be?”
“A discussion for
another time.” Oriana glanced pointedly at Lance. The vampires obviously didn’t
want to discuss anything in front of him, an unimportant human. “For now, you
will be our guests. August, be a lovely and show them where they can refresh
themselves.”
It took every ounce of
Lance’s restraint to remain quiet and let Deverell take the lead. Sometimes
playing unassuming was the best course. They hadn’t traveled all this way to be
summarily dismissed. They had a way to stop the Sifts and the vampires would
listen.
The signs of his
frustration must have showed through the rhythm of his pulse or the flash of
heat beneath his skin for every gaze turned on him curiously. Deverell’s
grimace warned him to get it under control. He couldn’t forget that he was in
the midst of predators every bit as dangerous as the Sifts, old treaties with
humankind remembered or not.
“This way.” August
indicated they go ahead of him through the adjoining door to their right into a
narrow corridor.
Coming from the other
end of the hallway, a female stormed toward them. Head down, every muscle of
her lithe body was tight. Fists clenched, she wasn’t paying any heed to her
steps until she was nearly upon them, stopping short before crashing into
Lance.
Mere inches shorter
than he, her face snapped up to almost the same level. Shiny dark eyes took him
in, a flash of scrutiny before they slid away to focus on August.
Lance wasn’t as eager
to cease his own scrutiny of her. It would take a lifetime of practice to be
able to manifest an illusion as captivating as the reality before him or the
expressive qualities of the downturn of her lips.
“What is it now, Celestine?”
August asked with the tint of annoyance.
Celestine. Lance stared at the slight blink of inky
lashes against dusky skin.
As though feeling his
perusal, her gaze fell back to him, and damn if his pulse didn’t set off to win
a speed record. The quirk of her brow proved she detected the change in rhythm
and understood the cause of it.
Caught, he decided to
roll with it and gave her his cheekiest full-of-himself grin.
Amusement curled her
lip and she leaned in close, her breath a whisper at his neck and glories help
him, if his fate was to be devoured by a monster, let it be her.
“Petit chat.” Indulgence purred through her husky voice and then she
was pushing past him and Deverell, tossing back to August, “I need to speak
with Oriana.” She paused, cautious. “We haven’t enough. It’s too soon to…” She
shook her head, setting soft black curls to swaying about her shoulders, then
clamping her lips shut, she strode off.
“Problems within the
ranks?” Deverell arched a brow at August. “Come on, August, whatever it is
you’re planning, you really need to hear us out first. What we have to say may
be of a benefit to whatever it is you have cooking. You know me, you know my
history. I would never come here if it wasn’t important.”
August stopped, lips
flattened, and indicated they go through one of the doors near the end of the
hallway. “Yeah I know you. That’s why we’re going to have you wait right in
here until Balius returns.”
“Balius is back with
the colony?”
Standing outside the
room, August’s grin turned predatory. “Back. And in charge.” He swung the door
closed in their faces.
Deverell turned to
Lance as the bolt locked into place. “Balius. That is unfortunate.”
The Calm After the Storm
The Calm After the Storm by Mya O'Malley
Can true love shine through the darkest storm?
The storm of the century raged through the northeast, causing destruction and despair, millions were left without power and hope. Weeks later, countless people were still devastated by the destruction of Hurricane Sandy, Emma Riley among them.
Determined she didn’t need the help of a man, Emma was convinced that she could brave the aftermath of the storm on her own. That is, until Jake came into her life.
After having suffered heartbreak and embarrassment, Jake Mack, a utility foreman, volunteered to travel north from small town, Georgia to assist with the aftermath of the storm. Jake was decidedly done with women. But he didn’t count on meeting Emma or falling in love so quickly. Can he trust this woman or will his past get in the way and ruin the relationship with the one woman he truly loves?
Excerpt from The Calm After the Storm:
Jake and his crew had now been in the suburbs of New York for a few days. His first thought upon entering this area was his surprise at the devastation. Sure, he had heard about the destruction on the news and had seen footage of the aftermath of Sandy, but it still hadn’t prepared him for the actual sight of Sandy’s rage. Telephone poles were down, trees were snapped in two, and houses were completed destroyed by the storm. Seeing all the destruction only strengthened Jake’s resolve that it had been the right thing to come. He felt proud to be able to help out and be a part of the solution to the horrible aftermath of this disaster.
As the day was wrapping up. Jake and Chris met up with some of their crew in the next town to finish one more area before calling it quits. The chill in the air was something that Jake had prepared for, but was not accustomed to. Clutching the new flannel he had purchased right before his trip, he put it on over his thermal shirt. Thankful for his thermos filled with hot coffee, Jake grabbed it but quickly tossed it aside.
“Come on, Chris! I asked you to stop drinking my coffee. Now there’s none left,” he said as he shook his head, irritated at his friend.
Chris looked up at his boss sheepishly. “Sorry, man. I didn’t sleep well last night. I needed some caffeine.”
“Well, that makes two of us.”
They rode until they approached the utility pole that needed attention. Jake and Chris were among the first to arrive and got busy setting up for the job. Within minutes, the rest of the assigned crew trickled in. The workers were now familiar with the details and routine of this job, so for the most part they worked in silence, focused on getting this last job done so that they could grab some dinner and hit the sheets. It was cold and dark, the night chill settling in upon them. Jake supervised and helped his crew perform their individual duties as quickly as possible. As they were just about wrapping things up, Jake headed over to Steve, one of the older guys directing traffic. He looked frail and tired.
“Hey, Steve. I got this. Why don’t you call it a night, huh? We’ll meet you at the hotel for some dinner.”
“Nah, Jake, we’re almost done here. I’m good,” Steve said as he looked up at Jake with glaring dark circles under his eyes.
“Steve, go. I’m serious. Get in a hot shower and we’ll meet up for dinner. Boss’ orders. Now go and take Andy with you,” Jake gestured toward another man on the crew who looked like he was ready for bed.
Shrugging his shoulders, Steve made his way to one of the smaller utility trucks, calling for his co-worker to join him. Jake took over the responsibility of directing traffic, slowing people down and stopping cars when necessary. Yawning, he waved a small SUV along, noticing that the approaching driver was slowing down, much more than necessary. Jake squinted his eyes to get a better look. The car came to a stop when Jake stepped up to it and its window rolled down. Looking back at Jake was a woman who appeared pretty, even in the diminished light. Wait, scratch that—she was stunning, with long, wavy hair and piercing eyes. His heart faltered just a bit.
“Hi. I wanted to thank you guys for all of the hard work that you’ve been doing. We really appreciate you guys coming up here. I think I speak for everyone,” she said as she smiled widely. Her smile hitched his breath ever so slightly. Jake smiled back. This was certainly a change. Since he had been in this area, some people waved, some people smiled, others remained with their eyes straight ahead, but nobody had yet offered any thanks verbally. So different from the Southern hospitality way of life where he grew up, Jake mused.
Here it was different, the pace of life was much faster. People always seemed to be in a rush, and they minded their own business for the most part. Sure, being so close to the big city must be nice and the landscape was quite beautiful at times, but he didn’t think this lifestyle was something he could ever get used to. It seemed too stressful, too impersonal. He would be glad to be back home when his job was finished.
The woman leaned over and offered Jake a box of donuts, disposable coffee cups, and a box of hot coffee. Jake was impressed.
“Thank you, that was very thoughtful!” Jake gushed, thrilled at the idea of hot coffee. He thought he felt warmth spread across his cheeks despite the chill in the air.
The woman stared back and smiled at Jake for a minute and then set her eyes on the road ahead. She waved as she pulled away.
“Wait!” Jake called out. “Wait, what was your name?” But the words were lost. The mysterious woman with the coffee and donuts was long gone.
“Guys!” he called out as his crew worked on cleaning up for the night. “Guys! Our guardian angel just appeared, and she brought coffee!”
The coffee and donuts were gladly received, but the idea that someone would go out of their way to show a random act of kindness truly touched Jake. He felt the warm liquid slide down his throat and knew that he would always remember the woman’s thoughtfulness. Who was he kidding? That woman’s beautiful face was what he would most remember. He just wished that he had gotten her name.
Author Mya O'MalleyMya O’Malley was born and raised in the suburbs of New York City, where she currently lives with her husband, daughter and three step-daughters. The family also consists of two boxers, named Destiny and Dolce, and a ragdoll cat named Colby. Mya earned an undergraduate degree in special education and a graduate degree in reading and literacy. She works as a special education teacher and enjoys making a difference in the lives of her students.
Mya’s passion is writing; she has been creating stories and poetry since she was a child. She spends her free time reading just about anything she can get her hands on. She is a romantic at heart and loves to create stories with unforgettable characters. Mya likes to travel and has visited several Caribbean Islands, Mexico, and Costa Rica. She is currently working on her sixth novel.
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