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So I’m a little late. What are a few days among friends?
I’m trying to get my fingers moving, get my brain tumbling, get some words on the page. It’s snowy today, and very cold, so my primary impulse is to wrap up in a blanket and sip cocoa while I read what someone else has written. But what about my characters? The ones I set up a few weeks ago and left looking around, wondering what was to happen to them next. They sit there still, no voices, no ideas, no nothin’.
What I had in mind is to follow a thread about what occurs at Wisdom Court now. The three books containing the story arc I began with are now sitting on the bookshelf. (And available as e-books and trade paperbacks at Amazon, Kobo, Nook, Google, and God knows where else.)
What happens at a women’s institute when everyone there admits the place is thoroughly haunted? Sure, they found out why so many terrifying events happened, and how it all got started, but now what?
Don’t you think there would be a long line of spirits wanting their stories told? After all, the way ghosts are usually laid to rest is to find out why they’re ghosts–what evil in their lives made them hang around after they died. Who cares if that creates problems for Wisdom Court as a place where women can come spend a year working on whatever they want to do–have always wanted to do–completely supported financially and emotionally? Ghosts have rights! They deserve to have their stories told.
So the plan: provide a forum for the ghosts, pay attention to them, aid them on their way to the Other Side. Surely the women of Wisdom Court wouldn’t mind helping in their spare time. It’s true that being surprised by entities not totally in control of their abilities to communicate might be a little off-putting. Suddenly seeing an image in the mirror not belonging to the person looking at herself would cause some upset. There are worse things.
I would write the details of these encounters and perhaps collect them in an anthology at the end of the year. A noble goal, right? Well, sure, if I can get my brain functioning, my fingers typing, my will cranked up and humming.
Brrr. It’s cold up here in my garret. I’m assuming that’s because of the snowstorm. I’m alone here except for my noble cat, Oreo. She hasn’t given any indication of other…persons…being present.
I’m going downstairs to put the kettle on for some cocoa.
