The fault, dear Brutus ….

Tags

Cornwall, Cursed families, Curses, The Brontes, The kennedys, The Romanovs

 

May everything you touch wither to dust.’ Cursed? Or just unlucky? Shehanne Moore

    ‘The question is this. I cursed you. I cursed you and your brothers –” 

   “One of whom—” 

   “Blew his brains out at midnight. Do you seriously think I didn’t trouble myself to find out?”

     “Oh, I’m sure-“
 

     “May everything you touch, turn to dust.”’ 

   Cursed? Or just unlucky? Nice to think it’s the latter but legends of curses permeate practically every culture in history. from entire families to items—jewels especially—but places too. It would be good to say we just like someone to blame misfortune on but then again, some folks don’t seem to have a lot of good fortune, do they? 

   Let’s take my new heroine, Destiny who is the victim of just such a curse…

   “But the fact was that curse uttered for nothing had killed Ennis, as surely as if Divers O’Roarke had pushed his carriage down that ravine that night.” 

   It’s very convenient to believe that all the loss and tragedy that follows Destiny about like a bad smell is the result of that curse, when it was probably on the cards anyway. Also, at the time she was cruising for the proverbial bruising, causing besotted men to shoot each other, this could just have been a wind change in her life, a what-goes-round-comes-round time. But then again, the loss of a mother, father, brother, husband and more in the space of two years, not to mention another brother becoming an alcoholic, does seem the kind of misfortune that would give the Kennedy family a run for their money in the cursed stakes. 

     And I think that is where curses have their power—superstitious–but even so. Would you really want to flout a curse by wearing the Hope diamond for example? Or indeed by then touching someone who was cursed? 

   “From Land’s End to Launceston people avoided her like she had the plague. In fact it was probably from Land’s End to John O’Groats. She couldn’t get another husband even if she wanted to.” 

     Whether it is balderdash or not, if something goes wrong after you flout a curse, well, you are probably going to blame the curse and wish you hadn’t done it, even if curses may, or may not exist. The Rhodes family aren’t alone in being cursed. Other famous families, in addition to the Kennedys, include the Hapsburgs, the Grimaldis, the Hemingways. I guess the Romanovs weren’t exactly what you might call lucky either.

     Of course big families like that, in terms of being newsworthy, of having wealth etc., are always going to find their bones being picked over by the ‘lesser mortals.’ And the Rhodes family have that local standing.

     ‘She was a Rhodes and Rhodes were all about living life to the hilt.’

     Big old house, family tree going back centuries, suggestions of links to pirates, definite links to smugglers. Legends surround them, like Raven’s Passage, said to stretch from their family seat, Doom Bar Hall, all the way to the beach, a fabulous place stuffed with golden treasures.

 

 It’s easy to say that some of these real families were cursed when you can point to the actual curse itself, how it came to be uttered and who was responsible. Rasputin, of course gets held responsible for cursing the Romanovs but as a family they had plenty of misfortune before that. Nicholas II’s father and grandfather didn’t exactly fare brilliantly either and Rasputin never cursed them. But then the times they were living in were pretty explosive. No pun intended actually. Just pointing out the possible carnage/ill heath rate which brings me to the Brontës, another family that might be construed as cursed. Equally fame eventually touched them, so we know of their lives. But their deaths were the lot of entire families especially given the unsanitary conditions of the time. 

     The thing about curses? I honestly think you pay your money you take your chances…NOW go open the voddie and do Cossack dances.

.

 “He cursed you, me, Chancery. You most of all. Think how different your life would now be if he hadn’t uttered these damnable words. When Chancery loved Rose. Wanted to marry her, for God’s sake. That Divers O’Roarke didn’t know is no damned excuse.”

     “I am thinking. And I’m thinking we are the life we live. Its graces and its pain. And while we may not always have any control over it, we can control what we do about it. But if you want to believe in a load of old gypsy mutterings and superstition and hold it responsible for the fact you can’t walk past a drink, without feeling obliged to down and then drown in it, that’s your choice. This is mine.’

O’Roarke’s Destiny Shehanne Moore.

In print and in deepest Berkshire….

Tags

Berkshire, Bisham Abbey, Black Wolf Books, Catherine Cavendish, Elizabeth Hoby, ghosts, haunted Berkshire, Loving ady Lazuli, Shaw House, Shehanne Moore, the Chandos Bride

 

Dark Doings in Deepest Berkshire – with Shehanne Moore

 

Catherine Cavendish….. ‘My guest today is historical author Shehanne Moore. I love her books, which combine adventure with feisty characters, humour and a flavour of the Gothic: ‘

 

   “As God is my witness, this property shall ne’er be inherited by two direct successors, for its sons will be hounded by misfortune.” 

                                                                                By Shehanne Moore.

As God is mine I must say I was heartily glad to read the following….

‘Berkshire is a place of mystery, myth and legend. The county abounds with strange tales of ghostly phantoms, ferocious creatures,

kings & knights, witchcraft, treasure and more.’

Why was I glad?

Because it’s never easy coming to the wonderfully chilling blog of Gothic horror writer, Catherine Cavendish. Certainly NOT when you write romance,  even when it’s slightly Gothic romance.  Thank you so very much Cat for inviting me. despite this.  

Not only is my recently re-released book Loving Lady Lazuli set in Berkshire where the heroine has gone to ground – phew- there was a ton of tales to choose from. 

I am glad to hear it. I thought you sort of chewed tails to bits, cut them right down the middle…  So it said online anyway–I mean about Berkshire of course– which was why I was initially drawn to the ‘most haunted’ Shaw House but the most interesting thing there I could find was the true story of how the Duke of Chandos took as his wife, a beautiful chambermaid who was being sold off by her husband in an inn yard with a halter round her neck.   (Something you hamsters dudes should try for size.)

Not just shades of Thomas Hardy’s, The Hamster…00OPS… Mayor of Casterbridge but proof that the business of dukes marrying what might be construed as women a universe  below their social status….as happens in Lazuli and Splendor and indeed in a hell of a lot of historical romance… is not as daft as all that.

 Moving on though, through covens of witches and headless men, I came to the story of Bisham Abbey…I guess apposite again as Barwych Hall in the book is based on Mount Grace Priory in Yorkshire.  However, the Bisham monks were so furious at Henry VIII for ‘dissolving them,’

 

they cursed the ancient building.  

And indeed…as in another follow through from the book, sort of anyway…the sons of Bisham’s many different owners didn’t just fall down dead, they were beheaded, they died young, they were killed in world wars—and, as in the case of young William Hoby, they had some help from their mama. In this case, the widowed Lady Elizabeth who had such high standards of education,  she not only beat young William to bits and locked him in the Tower Room to do his lessons all over again, she quite forgot, despite being so brilliant herself, that she’d done it, clearing off to Windsor for several days of dancing and banqueting. A very merry widow to all accounts.  After all, weren’t there servants for tiresome things like children after all? Hamsters too……

At least Lady Elizabeth thought so, so she was really quite astonished on returning home to find that everyone thought William was with her…. 

I think we all know what’s coming next.

But did William exist at all? There’s documented evidence for Anne, the Chandos’ chambermaid bride. But William? 

Well, firstly the fact that there’s no genealogical evidence to show he did exist, doesn’t always mean a thing. Not all records survive.  And the Hobys had other estates where his birth could have been recorded. 

“Proof” of William’s existence is sort of provided by the discovery in 1840, during renovations, of copy books containing blots on every page, corrections

by the ‘wicked lady‘ herself and the name, William Hoby. Alas, I say ‘sort of’ because these copy books sort of then disappeared. Maybe Lady Hoby stole them…? A bit like my jewel thieves in the book. 

However 1840 was the point where the son first became known as William. Till then he’d just been a nameless son, like you get these nameless, headless hamsters….oops, horsemen. Lady Hoby did indeed have a son…Francis…who died young in unknown circumstances, at the time she had remarried and her surname was then Russell. 

You pays your money you takes your chances, I’d say on truth and legend mixing to become one…or the other.

Whether or not Lady Hoby caused her son’s death as said,  the Abbey is known to be one of the most haunted houses in Britain, certainly the most haunted in Berkshire and that haunting is done by her apparently grief-stricken self, dressed in black lace and white, washing her hands  a la  Lady Macbeth.  

She tears curtains, throws things. But mostly she just sobs and leaves lights up in the Tower Room.. a bit like Silv in the purple hat there.  Some people think she causes the mists that wreath the Abbey and until 1936 she especially liked to come out for coronations.  

I hope you’ve enjoyed this little venture to the darker side and won’t be afraid to visit the Abbey… 

Talking ghosts… here’s the blurb for Loving Lady Lazuli.

  A woman not even the ghost of Sapphire can haunt. A man who knows exactly who she is.

Only one man in England can identify her. Unfortunately he’s living next door.

Ten years ago sixteen year old Sapphire, the greatest jewel thief England has ever known, ruined Lord Devorlane Hawley’s life by planting a stolen necklace on him.  Now she’s dead and buried, all Cassidy Armstrong wants is the chance to prove she was never that girl. 

But her new neighbor is hell-bent on revenge and his word can bring her down. So when he asks her to be his mistress, or leave the county with a price on her head, Sapphire, who hates being owned, must decide…  

What’s left for a woman with nowhere else to go, but to stay exactly where she is?

And hope, that when it comes to neighbors Devorlane Hawley won’t prove to be the one from hell.

And here’s a snippet from the bit where a past ‘ghost’, Gil,  turns up unexpectedly and proceeds to ‘haunt’ the supposedly dead and buried, Cassidy— further than she’s just been haunted this evening already.

Hastily she tugged a shawl round her shoulders—the first thing to take care of was the fact she faced him half naked, with her undergarments on the floor. Silk ones.

“So? What do you want?”

Apart from staring at her drawers and corset? Well, he was welcome. It was all he was going to get to do with them–whatever else happened here, whatever he’d said. Maybe she wasn’t going to be able to dominate this situation with them on the floor, as much as she’d like, maybe her options were as numerous as one-legged chickens, gathering the garments up would show she knew it.

“Nice that.” He dragged his gaze from her corset. “What did you just say?”

“What do you want?”

“Hmm.” He screwed up his face, stuck his thumbs in his waistcoat pocket, looked at the ceiling. “Well now, to quote Hamlet, by that fellow, what’s his name again, William Shakespeare and all that, that is the question. Whether it’s to suffer the there them slings of outrageous fortune, or, you know, take up arms and all them things what you take up, and do what you can, to actually end this protracted situation what you is in. Or is it, the them there stings of outrageous fortune? You know, I can’t remember. But, see, what I am hoping is that I ain’t going to have to end them. Thinking how awful that would be for certain for those concerned, see? You get a big soddin’ arrow sticking in your—”

“Jesus, Cass.”

“Evenin’ Rube.” He sniffed loudly. “Hope it’s a good ‘un.”

“It soddin’ was till yer soddin’ showed yer soddin’ ugly face.”

“Hmm.” He strolled around the copper tub, sniffing the stone cold suds. “Personally I think ugly sodding face is what you might call a better arrangement of the words. See, it has what you might call, a more them there poetic ring to it.”

“The only soddin’ thing I’d like to ring is—”

“Hmm. Well … Sure you ain’t alone there. Still, not to put too fine a point on it, not just you here, Rube, to bid a good and wondrous-to-behold, evening to. Pearl, Sapphire, jewels of the Orient. Here, don’t you think this is just like them olden days what we did have together, them happy times in … what was the name of that place again … Lanthorne Street?”

 

Amazon.com

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Black Wolf Books. – Kara imprint

Vienna’s Street of blood and some dudes.

Tags

Basilicks, Blood Streeet Vienna, Catherine Cavendish, fiction, Horror, Kensington Lyrical Press, New book, The Knights Templar, The wrath of the ancients, Vienna

Blutgasse, Vienna’s Street of Blood by Catherine Cavendish.

 

( Please insert picture 1.)

 

My latest novel – Wrath of the Ancients – is mainly set in the endlessly fascinating city of Vienna, Austria’s imperial capital and one of the most architecturally beautiful cities in the world. This is largely due to the efforts of one of its most famous Emperors – Franz Josef – who reigned from the turbulent revolutionary year of 1848 until his death in 1916.

It was Franz Josef who ripped up the cramped, unhealthy and unsanitary heart of the walled city and replaced it with the famous Ringstrasse, encircling inner Vienna and flanked by magnificent neo-classical Greek edifices housing the parliament, opera house, post office and much more besides.

Yet some of the narrow, winding cobbled streets remain. No longer unsanitary, these provide a romantic evening stroll and a peaceful daytime wander, away from the hustle and bustle of the main tourist areas.

 

One of the oldest of these streets is Blutgasse – Blood Street – which lies in the heart of the city, near to St Stefan’s Cathedral.

The street is home to a number of picturesque courtyards – most of which are open to the public to wander around. At night, with few people around, the silence can be quite uncanny. The tall buildings effectively soundproof the street and, with no traffic allowed, the sound of your footsteps can be the only noise to puncture the quiet. It becomes quite easy to believe some of the many legends surrounding this unique place.

It is said that, in 1312, the Knights Templar were brutally slain in this street. So many were killed that its cobblestones ran with blood, giving it the name it has been known by ever since.

 

The men had tried to hide, but in vain. It is said that they did manage to conceal their treasure there which, to this day, has never been found. Maybe this is why they return, still searching for that which was theirs.

Their headquarters can still be seen at Blutgasse 9. This leads to a courtyard called Fähnrichshof (Ensigns’ Court)  Here stands an ancient plane tree, said to house the remains of a Knights Templar’s sword, embedded deep within it.

For many years, those who were condemned to death had to walk along this street to their place of execution.

No wonder their cries echo as whispers to this day and take people by surprise. The ghosts don’t wait for nightfall. Many of them can be heard and even glimpsed in broad daylight.

Another legend which refuses to go away is that of a fearsome basilisk, which lived in a deep well along the street.

Such creatures were greatly to be feared as they could kill with one glance and their venom was so powerful, it left a deathly trail in its wake. Whenever anything went seriously wrong, you could be sure the basilisk was at the heart of it.

For one small street, Blutgasse packs a mighty punch. Stroll along it, stop, listen. Is that the sound of swords clashing? Or the hiss of the mighty basilisk, arising from its slumber?

 

 

Destiny In Death

Egypt, 1908

Eminent archaeologist Dr. Emeryk Quintillus has unearthed the burial chamber of Cleopatra. But this tomb raider’s obsession with the Queen of the Nile has nothing to do with preserving history. Stealing sacred and priceless relics, he murders his expedition crew, and flees—escaping the quake that swallows the site beneath the desert sands . . .

Vienna, 1913

Young widow Adeline Ogilvy has accepted employment at the mansion of Dr. Quintillus, transcribing the late professor’s memoirs. Within the pages of his journals, she discovers the ravings of a madman convinced he possessed the ability to reincarnate Cleopatra. Within the walls of his home, she is assailed by unexplained phenomena: strange sounds, shadowy figures, and apparitions of hieroglyphics.

Something pursued Dr. Quintillus from Egypt. Something dark, something hungry. Something tied to the fate and future of Adeline Ogilvy . . .

Wrath Of The Ancients

Available from:

Amazon

Nook

iApple

Google

Kobo

About the Author:

Following a varied career in sales, advertising and career guidance, Catherine Cavendish is now the full-time author of a number of paranormal, ghostly and Gothic horror novels, novellas and short stories. She was the joint winner of the Samhain Gothic Horror Anthology Competition, with Linden Manor. Cat’s novels include the Nemesis of the Gods trilogy – Wrath of the Ancients, Waking the Ancients and Damned by the Ancients, plus The Devil’s Serenade, The Pendle Curse, Saving Grace Devine and many more. She lives with her long-suffering husband, and a black cat who has never forgotten that her species used to be worshiped in ancient Egypt. She sees no reason why that practice should not continue. Cat and her family divide their time between Liverpool and a 260-year-old haunted apartment in North Wales.

 You can connect with Cat here:

Catherine Cavendish

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In the Vampire’s Lair with the dudes and Carolee Croft

Tags

Book review, Carolee Croft, New book, New Concepts Publishing, Paranormal, Paranormal Romance, vampires

http://amzn.to/2dghe9G   http://amzn.to/2dzftaM

 

Carolee   – My writing is usually cute and funny, so I wanted to venture into the dark side as a sort of challenge.

Carolee – It still came out kind of cute, I think. I can’t help it. But I’d like to write more stories about demon hunters or vampire slayers one day, though I’m sure they’ll be funny and cute too.

Carolee – Yes, I love their style, mostly because it looks historical. I actually still have a couple of Goth outfits which I used to wear when I was younger.

Carolee – Yes! I think gothic hamsters are even scarier than regular hamsters, and I’d like to have a scary pet so it could double as a guard-dog… guard-hamster? My other pet would be an Italian greyhound, and they’re not very scary, so the gothic hamster will have its work cut out for it.

Carolee – Definitely. This is why I’ve stayed away from Scotland for so many years. It’s probably still out there among the trees… Though maybe it’s left its lair and is hiding somewhere in the shadows, watching us right now…

 

 

 

Carolee –Dameon is a vampire who is depressed and thinks he has nothing to live for, but of course he’s immortal so he has no choice but to live on. I think he may have had a tragic love affair that made him very solitary. But one day, he hires a maid to clean his house, and he starts to fall for her. Of course, she doesn’t believe that he’s a vampire even though he tells her so. She thinks he’s just a goth with a big imagination. He’s also a little kinky…

Carolee – I really liked Buffy the Vampire Slayer. I generally like movies where vampires are the bad guys, but I also liked the Twilight series.

 

 

 

Carolee – I like a good Bloody Mary, so this one seems appropriate:

6 ounces of quality vodka (approx. 6 fingers of spirits. hehee.); 6 ounces of tomato juice; 6 ounces of beet juice; 3 fresh lemons, juice of; 4 teaspoons Worcestershire sauce; 12 drops of Tobasco sauce; 1 teaspoon celery salt; 1 teaspoon prepared horseradish; ice. 

The “fingers” are made of purple carrots!

 

You can get all the detailed instructions at http://www.boredpanda.com/bloody-mary-halloween-cocktail/

Carolee – I’d like to dress up as a pirate because it’s pretty much the coolest costume ever, in my opinion. You can accessorize it with a sword or an eye patch or a pirate hat. It gives you lots of options. 

Thank you so much for having me! A pleasure to hang out on your blog, as always :

My review.

Never judge a book by its cover they say, which is kind of hard with a cover like this one!   I also know if it’s got Carolee Croft’s name on it it’s going to be certain things. Her other books are well crafted ‘shorts’ and this is no exception.  Liv Fairhaven needs a job and she’s not remotely fazed by her new employer’s strange habits, or his sleeping arrangements–a coffin. She might think them a little unusual but he couldn’t possibly be  a vampire, could he? Dameon is indeed a Lord of Darkness. However, Carolee Croft’s wonderful touches of humour make him a truly loveable one. This book may be a break from her historicals, she still creates a compelling, at times funny, world and  believable, completely fleshed out characters in a short space. I loved every page of this book and whether or not you’re a fan of paranormals, I’m sure you will too.

BLURB. Liv Fairhaven is intrigued by working for a man who calls himself Dameon, Lord of Darkness. He says he is a vampire, but he seems just an ‘adorkable’ guy. When she realizes that Dameon really does have supernatural powers, it is too late to back out as she is seduced by his dominant personality.

Links: 

My blog: http://caroleecroft.wordpress.com

In the Vampire’s Lair:

Amazon UK: http://www.amazon.co.uk/Vampires-Lair-Carolee-Croft-ebook/dp/B01LZ4Z9H3

Amazon US: http://www.amazon.com/Vampires-Lair-Carolee-Croft-ebook/dp/B01LZ4Z9H3/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1475067757&sr=1-1

Smashwords: http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/661766

Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/31815922-the-vampire-s-lair

Ghost pirates and vanished ships. Gosh, it’s Halloween in…Italy.

Tags

Halloween, Halloween in Italy, Halloween recipes, Pirates, recipes, Romance, Shehanne Moore, The Unraveling of Lady Fury, writing

 

 

Dudes, can we kindly stop arguing, so you can get ready for the special Halloween party  that will be the culmination of all your work? You know the business of  asking each of my fictional couples about Halloween where they are from?

 

We are blogging Italy today because Lady Fury lives there for most of the book.

Fury and Flint hero and heroine from the Unraveling of Lady Fury  are here, so how about you roll with the questions?

 

Lady Fury : I thought you said they were funny, sweetly articulate creatures who would make every effort to ask us interestingly worded  questions?  

Captain Flint : I have been known to lie.

Lady Fury : And you said they weren’t aggressive?

Captain Flint : If I told you the reason I’m down to nine fingers and they bite worse than you, you would never have agreed to this.

Shehanne : Okay, dudes…. Before she strops off can we maybe have a question? Or better still an answer?

Lady Fury :  Putting aside the fact that there is trick and treating,  and talking historically, Italy celebrates All Saints on November 1^st and All Souls on November 2^nd.

It’s an ancient tradition that can be  traced back to Ancient Greece and it is celebrated differently from region to region. In some they leave an empty chair, in others, they light bonfires……

That is a picture of The Beans of the Dead biscuits, fave dei morti, an Italian biscuit, eaten at this time.  But since it involves using your pointer finger to make them and you are likely to have eaten those, I am giving you this other recipe instead because there are rules about these things.

 

My recipe card is, of course,  so much better than these other trashy heroines of Shehanne’s brought along to bore you with.

 

• 
• 
• 
• Excuse me,  are we doing this or not?

• Witches fingers

• 350g (12 oz) plain flour

• 1 teaspoon baking powder

• 1 teaspoon salt

• 100g (4 oz) whole almonds

• 1 tube red decorating icing

• Combine the butter, sugar, egg, almond extract and vanilla extract in a mixing bowl. Beat together with an electric mixer; gradually add the flour, baking powder and salt, continually beating; chill for 20 to 30 minutes.

• Preheat oven to 160 C / Gas mark 3. Lightly grease baking trays.

• Remove dough from fridge in small amounts. Scoop 1 heaping teaspoon at a time onto a piece of greaseproof paper. Use the paper to roll the dough into a thin finger-shaped biscuit. Press one almond into one end of each biscuit to give the appearance of a long fingernail. Squeeze biscuit near the tip and again near the centre of each to give the impression of knuckles. You can also cut into the dough with a sharp knife at the same points to help give a more finger-like appearance.
• 

Arrange the shaped biscuits on the baking trays.

• 
• Bake in the preheated oven until the biscuits are slightly golden in colour, 20 to 25 minutes.

• Remove the almond from the end of each biscuit; squeeze a small amount of red icing into the cavity; replace the almond to cause the icing to ooze out around the tip of the biscuit.

 

Captain Flint.  Of course we will be. Here’s the lanterns. Fury here sculpted them with her teeth,

Captain Flint : That’s a pity, I was going to leave them for your party. This one kind of reminded me of you guys.

 

If it had ears that is.

Lady Fury. Why don’t you shut up? You can see they don’t think it looks anything like them. We want to get back to the children,  alive.

Captain Flint  : This here’s the napkins.

Sorry.  You know, next to Fury, you’re my favourite critters. Of course I meant….

Lady Fury : And here’s something else from me. A little spell…..

Lady Fury :You know, I think I did that rather well. Now, do we have any spare boxes?

Just when you thought it was safe….Halloween in Scotland.

Tags

Ghost stories, Halloween, Halloween in Scotland, His Judas Bride, recipes, Romance, Shehanne Moore, treacle scones

 

 

 

The Black Wolf : Rough and violent. We carve up things to make lanterns.

The Black Wolf : In the old days it was turnips, or neeps, now it’s pumpkins. They’re so much easier to chop…..

Kara : Callm, they seem so scared of us. Do you think someone has said something about us to them? 

The Black Wolf : I can’t think what. I mean, I’ve killed everyone who might say something. From the 16th century in Ireland and Scotland, the festival included folks going about dressed up, reciting  verses, or singing a song. Nowadays it’s called trick or treating, or guising. We also have parties.

Kara ; Oh aye. We’re not savages you know. We  are very sociable. Fallon, Callm’s wee daughter plays knife throwing. She can hit a hamster at 20 paces. That was a joke by the way. Although she can. She takes after her father that way. No we play ducking or dooking for hamsters, I mean apples in a basin of water, and then there’s  the treacle game.  That’s where we hang a treacle covered hamster, sorry, scone,  on a string from the ceiling and you have to eat it with your hands tied behind your back as it swings back and forward.

 

The Black Wolf : Princess, did I ever tell you how scary you are?

Kara : When I went to the bother of getting the little sods a recipe?

 The Black Wolf :  You’re not exactly a cook. Anyway, they’d probably sooner spread treacle on your shoes and eat them.

Kara : Just the same. Here it is.

Treacle scones.

Ingredients:
8 oz self-raising flour (all-purpose flour with baking powder in USA)
2 oz butter
1 oz caster sugar (fine granulated sugar)
Half a teaspoon of cinnamon
2 tablespoons black treacle (molasses) or golden syrup (light corn syrup)
Pinch of salt
Approximately quarter pint of milk

Method:
Sift the flour and salt into a bowl and rub in the butter. Mix in the sugar, cinnamon, treacle or syrup and enough milk to make a soft dough. Knead this on a floured surface until it is both moist and elastic. Cut into rounds. For hanging, the rounds, need to be large and flat. Hamster Dickens sitting  on them as opposed to eating them would give the idea shape.

Grease a baking sheet (cookie sheet) and place the rounds on this. Brush with a little milk and bake for 10/15 minutes in an oven, pre-heated to 425F/220C/Gas Mark 7 until golden brown. Allow to cool on a wire rack and hang. covered in treacle,  voila —to quote by late father’s (courtesy of yourself Callm), French friend–  from the ceiling.

 

The Black Wolf. Better hamsters than you have asked me that. But gather round,

let me finish this with a Scottish ghost story about a man who did.

Several versions exist, but they all involve the Earl Beardie, thought to be the 4^th Earl of Crawford playing cards at Glamis  Castle. One of Scotland’s most haunted castles.

The clock struck 12. Midnight. It was now the Sabbath so no-one would play on.

The earl was angry. He said he would play with the very devil himself.

The door flew open. A tall man dressed in black walked into the room.

The stranger was, of course, the Devil, who won the nobleman’s most precious possession – his immortal soul. After his death, Earl Beardie was condemned to gamble with the Devil for all eternity. Often, at night, the sound of raucous play emanated from the fateful chamber.

Eventually, the occupants of the castle had it sealed up.

In the autumn of 1018…. Halloween, the Vikings and the dark elves

Tags

All Soul's Day, Halloween, Halloween recipes, October, recipes, Regency, Soul Mate Publishing, The Viking and The Courtesan, Viking Halloween, Vikings, writing

 

getty images.

 

Lady Malice : Not  a great deal. I’m not from Viking times.

Lady Malice: What is this? Twenty questions? Calculating how many pairs of shoes I can have from a hundred guineas is much more my forte.

Sin : Do let me help you out here, sweeting and let you get back to counting your shoes. Elves represent the souls of the dead that still reside in the world. The dark elves are those in purgatory, the fair elves are those souls  who are immortal .

Lady Malice : Elves wear such hideous shoes.

 Almost as bad as Viking ones.

Sin : I’m going to ignore that.

Also at the start of the winter…the date was later moved to All Soul’s Day… we hold a feast, and a sacrifice for a good season. An animal sacrifice.  Midwinter is  the time of ghosts and spirits, and more importantly of placating them after all. It’s nothing personal.

Sin : And we wear masks…. Animal masks…

Lady Malice : Sin, you scared them. They probably thought they were going to be the sacrifice or something…..  Well, never let it be said, we didn’t come bearing gifts for their Halloween party.

Masks.

  

A very special recipe….. Just the the thing to make them come back out of hiding.

Or maybe not……….

Blod Kaker (Filled Cake)   5 egg yolks 2 cups sugar 2 cups flour 1 tsp. baking powder 1 tsp. cold water   Beat egg yolks very thoroughly, until pale and thick.  Fold in other ingredients.  Bake in buttered cake pan for 1/2 hour.  Cut in 3 layers.  Moisten with sherry or lemon juice and water.  Fill with fruit, chocolate, or custard.  Cover with heavy coating of unsweetened whipped cream.

And of course because they are my favourite things after you my dearest, some Halloween shoes for them to put their little paws into …

‘Not that I have murdered anyone..’ The April Author Interview

Tags

Accent Press, Alice Cooper, anthologies, Chinese Opera, David Cassidy, In a word murder, Jane Risdon, Pamela Anderson, Shiver, Wishing On A Star

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Okay Jane Risdon, firstly, ignoring all the rude dudes,  PLEASE tell us a little about yourself.

Shey, thanks so much for inviting me to tell you something about myself and my writing journey.

My early years were spent in Singapore where my mother and I joined my father who’d been posted there after serving in the Korean War. 

Go on Jane

He was a stranger to me, having gone off to war soon after I was born and I didn’t see him until I was 3. We lived in what is now the city of Singapore, so different to the country you see today; it was still mainly jungle back then.  Dad actually worked over in Johore Bahru, Malaya, where the British were battling bandits trying to wreck the rubber plantations.

As an Army family we were posted all over the show; I recall living in Dortmund in the late 1950’s with bomb sites at the end of the street, and kids living in the rubble.

My best friend was a much older black American girl called Marika, and she and I were on our roller skates all day.  I have the scars to prove it. 

But it wasn’t me dudes. So…the writing when a large chunk of your life has been spent on the music biz? Spill….

I’ve always wanted to write but life with a musician was far too hectic, besides I was the main bread-winner in the early days  Years later when my husband’s band broke up we both went into management of singers, songwriters, record producers and actors, and with all the studio time, touring and crazy life we led, it was not possible to sleep let alone write. We worked internationally, living in America, Taiwan, and Singapore mostly; constantly on the road and worn out. 

So, it was not until recently that I’ve been able to do something for myself, when I was not promoting and creating a career for someone else.  If anyone is interested in reading about some of my music business experiences do pop over to my regular blog spot with Creative Frontiers.  I write every fortnight about some of my experiences. The early says when my husband was playing to our days working with the guys from Queen, Alice Cooper, David Cassidy, David Hasselhoff, and Pamela Anderson, and many others too numerous to name.

Working with Rock, Pop, R&B, and even Chinese Opera; television programmes such as Baywatch to Power Rangers, and movies like The Jersey Girl, we’ve had a long and varied career in the entertainment business.  So lots of fodder for writing.

One word. WOW! Once you’d settled down, how hard was it to get published?

A friend I made via my blog is Margot Kinberg, an Associate Professor at an American university, a mystery writer and blogger.  She liked my work and when she wanted to publish an anthology of Crime stories by successful crime writers, in memory of her friend and Crime writer/editor and blogger Maxine Clarke, I was thrilled she accepted two of mine.  In A Word: Murder came out in print and eBook and has proven very successful.

In 2014 I decided to try my hand at finding a traditional publisher and after trying six I was turned down by three, and didn’t hear back from two, until last month when one of them wanted to take things further.  Fortunately for me, unfortunately for them, I was contacted by Accent Press in the summer of 2014, who’d read some of my short stories and asked if I’d like to contribute to two anthologies they were publishing for Halloween (Shiver) and Christmas (Wishing on a Star).

I sent in the stories and in September 2014 I signed a publishing contract with them, the reviews for the book have been good and I have received some 5* reviews personally. They’re waiting for my novel, Ms Birdsong Investigates, which is part of series and so I am working hard to finish it.

You’ve written for quite  a few anthologies? Is Mrs Birdsong to be longer?

I have a back-log of short stories and novels which I need to go back to and finish.  Last count there were about 26 WIP waiting to be tidied up.  Most are crime or espionage themed and some are in other genres, such as humour and observational stories.  I have all 3 Ms Birdsong Investigates books almost completed.

Lavinia Birdsong is a young 40 something former MI5 Officer who is ‘voluntarily’ retired after a mission goes wrong.  Finding herself in a rural village in the Vale of the White Horse she tries to make a life for herself. Soon she finds herself involved in a missing person investigation involving a Russian Oligarch and other villains, which brings an old flame – a former colleague -back from her past, complicating her life.  Before long murder is foremost in her mind as she helps track the killer down.

 

 

What are your Easter plans?

This Easter I shall be working on Ms Birdsong Investigates and awaiting news of another book I’ve been working on which is to be published later this year – not crime strangely enough!

Any advice for an aspiring writer?

Just go for it and write.  Don’t let someone put you off.  Get it down and go back and tidy it up afterwards, having taken a few days away from it.  I do think writing about something you are familiar with helps, not that I have murdered anyone,

 

but I think the words and scenarios come easier and are more believable if you know what you are writing about.

Thanks so much for inviting me to tell you about my life and writing.  I do hope you will provide fed-back and if you are feeling very generous, please do check out my work and blog, letting me have your thoughts.

Amazon Author Page with links to all my books:http://www.amazon.co.uk/-/e/B00I3GJ2Y8

My Author Blog:http://wp.me/2dg55

My Facebook Author Page:www.facebook.com/JaneRisdon2

My Regular Music Blog over on Creative Frontiers:http://creative-frontiers.com/blog/profiles/must-criminal-mind/#comment-20529     about my writing.

http://creative-frontiers.com/blog/writing-desk/snore-poison-ill-remember/ Snore Poison so I’ll remember it…..

http://wp.me/p3YvQS-14Q  The Auditions …..

Part three is due in the next week…..Don’t forget to take the paper bag with you…..

Also you can find me over on:

My Author Page on Chill with a Book:http://chillwithabook.blogspot.com.es/2015/02/wishing-on-s

From Bear Mountain to Wolf Creek…Happy Halloween

Tags

Capro, Etopia Press, Halloween, Honor's Debt, Ireland, Let Angels Fly, Noelle Clark, Rosamanti, Secret Cravings Publishing

 

Dudes….is this wise? I mean, I never let that delusional hamster in here.

 

Dudes, can we seriously quit sounding like Fury and Flint and get with the program for the rest of the Spooktacular. It’s Halloween and time is running out.

 

For when you go to visit her blog…yes..

Look….the bear picture was an honest mistake. Lace sent that weeks ago. I forgot it was there.

After Noelle invited you, Cat Cavendish invited you AND Lace Winter gave you a lovely blog award.

Of course she didn’t. Lace deeply regrets that photograph which she sent you in good faith.

For your own safety…….I have shed buckets.

But, if you cannot find it in your hamstah hearts to welcome Noelle to the last post in the Spooktacular, well I shall just have to do it myself. AND swipe the blog award. AND have a hamstahs week.

I know. But as they say, it is not raining either. Now then, Noelle Clark is an Aussie author and a wonderful supporter of other authors.

In another few weeks she has a new book coming out, which I know she worried about ever seeing the light of day.

Nice huh?

But you do, cos it’s not. Anyway Noelle isn’t here today to talk about that. What she drew out the cauldron wasn’t a recipe, it wasn’t an interview, it wasn’t a spooky place, or character. NO…What she drew was the following…

 

‘Whilst my generation of Aussies don’t really celebrate – or understand – Halloween, the younger generation are embracing the Trick or Treat fun with gusto.

These days, supermarkets are decorated in ‘scary’ stuff, pumpkins, and witches, and I have to ensure I buy some lollies to hand out to the local kids in my street. Heck, don’t want them to egg my car!

But if I had to choose the singular most scary movie that I’ve ever watched (through slits in my fingers because my hands covered my face), then I would choose……

Sorry dudes….the Australian movie Wolf Creek. Scared the you-know-what outta me!

There’s now Wolf Creek 2 out, but I haven’t seen it yet. Not sure I will either.’

Check out this trailer and see what you reckon.

http://youtu.be/8S13W69FQhs

 

 

And for more Australian Halloween-ish scary movies, check these out:

‘Top 10 Aussie films to scare off tourists’

Happy Halloween everyone!!

 

Noelle Clark
www.noelleclark.net     Facebook page      Twitter

Coming soon

 

The Lady of the Lake

Tags

camping, Chelan, hiking, Lace Winter, mountains, North American lakes, outdoors, Stehekin

 

 

‘The air is rent by a blast of the boat’s horn, and with a surge of power the Lady of the Lake pulls away from her dock and sets off into the morning mist. Mighty engines push her hundred-foot hull through the cold waters, and yet at full steam she makes a sedate fifteen miles per hour, carrying passengers, cargo, and the US mail uplake into the heart of the wilderness.

Stehekin

High overhead, patches of blue sky shine through gaps in the October clouds, the promise of a brighter day ahead, but for now I still shiver as I stand on the aft deck, watching the town of Chelan slip away like the last promise of civilization. Vineyards cover the dry lakeside hills in a patchwork quilt, while million-dollar summer homes and vacation resorts dot the shoreline, private docks bereft of watercraft now that summer’s last gasp is ending. The unused waterslides and absence of jet skis foretell the tale that autumn’s chill crispness promises. Winter is coming.

Midway up the lake

The miles slip by, the homes and hotels grow more sparse and more spartan, and the lakeside roads disappear up into the surrounding hills or simply come to an end. An hour into the voyage the last bar of cellular coverage drops away, and a certain calm falls over me. There will be no more email. Nobody can call or text me now.

No status updates or instant messages. Briefly I wonder if it was wise to leave so much behind, no laptop, no e-reader, phone now relegated to the role of camera, but soon such worries drop away. The mountains beckon.

Looking back downlake:

The hills crowd the narrow lake, growing more rugged, more rocky, steeper, taller, and closer as we press north by northwest into the mountains. The vineyards and ranches are long gone, thick evergreen forested slopes in their place to the southwest, while bighorn sheep roam the steep, grassy cliffs to the northeast. The south-facing slopes still show the desert dryness we are leaving behind us, while the north-facing slopes are lush with the hint of wetter climes ahead. We are far from the sea, the bulk of the Cascade range between us and salt water, yet seagulls flit about the lakeshore, and Canadian geese make a mockery of our stately progress.

Two hours in, and we are over the deepest part of the lake. Fifteen-hundred feet down the glacier-carved gorge’s bottom lies in perpetual inky blackness, where the sun’s warmth and light can never penetrate. What treasures or horrors lay there will remain unknown, perhaps forever, as the lake refuses to give up her secrets. Only two lakes in North America go deeper.

Halfway to our destination the boat eases toward the northeastern shore. A small dock juts out from the steep shoreline, with a small but cozy cabin just beyond. The dock is too small for our vessel, but the captain noses us up close to its end, where an elderly couple await, the man holding a long pole with a bag on the end. On the bow, a crewmember holds an identical pole, and when we are close enough the poles are extended, the bag passing from one to the other. The crewman puts another bag onto his pole, extends it out, and thus the weekly mail is delivered almost to the door of this remote, off-the-grid home. Neither snow nor rain, nor gloom of night…

Mountain peaks reveal themselves through gaps where deep, narrow valleys wind their way down, often ending in waterfalls. Distant patches of persistent snow shine in the weak sunlight. Again, we edge our way to the shore, but this time there is no dock, no cabin, only a faint footpath winding away from what passes for a rocky beach. The captain knows his boat, however, and he knows the lake. We have a thick steel-reinforced bow, and the captain pushes us right up onto the beach. I feel the gravel and driftwood crunching beneath us, reverberating through the steel deck.

The same crewman as before lowers a gangplank over the bow, and half a dozen backpackers, heavy packs on their backs, carefully walk across and leave us. Most of them will be walking for several days in the wilderness, their destination the same as ours, though we will be there in just over an hour. The last three to cross, however, carry an ice chest between them, and fishing rods. My travel companions and I wonder aloud if they really intend to backpack with a cooler full of beer (for such it is), but no, it is quite obvious they will be camping on shore, fishing and drinking until the boat returns to retrieve them in a few days time.

Full reverse thrust, and with a last crunch of gravel we are off, afloat once more, our bow pointed north to our destination. We round the final bend and we can see it, Stehekin, the way through of ancient Salish lore, where the fifty-mile-long lake becomes a narrow valley between steep-sided mountains. It is a three-day walk from here to Cascade Pass, from whence one can look west toward the more populous lowlands of north Puget Sound.

We pull up to a small wharf, unload our cargo and mail, and I step onto the shore. Stehekin village, population sixty-one, unreachable by any road. I breathe deeply of the mountain air, look across the lake to the thickly-forested slopes opposite, and let my eye be drawn upwards to the orange splash of larches high on the mountainside, standing out among the evergreen cedar and Douglas fir. I shoulder my pack and walk up the path, leaving the world behind.’

http://lacewinter.com/

Shehanne, thanks for asking me. I hope the hamsters like the picture I sent you for them.

A few visitors for the hamsters to play with.

———