Quote of the Week

 

Merry Christmas

 

Quote of the Week

 

Christmas Stories

Looking through some of my older writings, I found two short Christmas stories which I posted on Wattpad this week.

Approximately 95% of my reading material is romance. It would be a resounding 100%, but unfortunately I must read such nonfiction as recipes and news articles on occasion. Much of the romance I read falls into the historical subgenre. My own writing leans toward a contemporary time period with paranormal elements. So, it's noteworthy that often my short works are based in a historical setting.

In "Christmas Dreams," my heroine Allie falls asleep and "dreams" of the past which bears a striking resemblance to her present. "Grace's Christmas Wish" takes place in the regency era. I wonder if a full-length historical novel may be in my future...

Read Now

Quote of the Week

 

Quote of the Week

 

Quote of the Week

I'm celebrating Christmas all December long (I know it's not December yet, but it's close enough) with these classic quotes.

How do you find your Christmas spirit?

Grace's Christmas Wish by @mayatylerauthor

Inspired by my love of historical novels... my attempt at this subgenre.

"My Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen, please welcome Lady Marie Dawson to the Christmas Ball," Grace read the handwritten script on the invitation aloud.

“Ah, the ball is tonight!” Marie screamed in delight, and then looked in dismay at her swollen ankle.  

“I forgot all about this!  You must go in my place,” she implored her friend.

Grace shook her head delicately.  “I have no place at a fancy ball.”

“Well, how am I to get all the gossip?” Marie pouted prettily, her blond curls bounced as she tossed her hair about.  “Oliver won’t be of any use,” she sighed as she directed a dagger stare at her older brother as he entered the sitting room.

“I assure you I am good for many things,” he quipped lightly as he dropped into an armchair next to his sister.  “How is the ankle, sister?”

“Never mind that, Ollie,” Marie shook her blond curls again.  “You must take Grace with you.”

At Oliver’s blank stare, she elaborated.  “To the Christmas ball.”

“Is that tonight?” he drawled casually.

“You know it is,” Marie laughed, swatting her brother’s arm playfully, “and you will escort my dearest friend.”

Grace nervously bit her bottom lip.  She had been Marie’s country companion since they were children but she had always been shy around Lord Oliver.  She had never dreamed of attending a fancy ball and she knew better than to start dreaming of it now.

“So it is settled,” Marie’s firm lilting voice broke through Grace’s thoughts.  “Grace will attend the ball in my place.  I know exactly what you shall wear.”

Grace’s head bobbed up with a wide-eyed startled expression on her face.  “No, I do not look anything like you.”

“It is a masked ball; no one will suspect you are not me.”

Grace opened her mouth to protest but Marie interrupted her, firmly stating, “It is settled.”  Grace knew better than to argue with her determined friend.  She was going to the ball, she thought, as excitement bubbled within her.  She stole a glance at Lord Oliver through her long eyelashes.  He looked dashing as ever.   Her heart skipped a beat.

Dressed in a gown of rich velvet the colour of evergreen trees, Grace swirled around as Marie clapped happily.

“You look perfect, my dear,” Marie exclaimed as she handed Grace a dramatic mask lined with sparkling stones.

Grace put the mask to her face and bowed graciously.

“May I present Lady Marie,” Marie boomed in her deepest voice.

Grace immediately dropped the mask and searched Marie’s face urgently.  “I cannot do this,” she whispered fervently.

“But you want to,” Marie answered sagely.  “Go, have a brilliant time.”

Grace retrieved the mask, concealing her face and her conflicted emotions.  She straightened her spine and headed toward the stairs.

***

Lord Oliver was waiting at the bottom of the stairs.  The last thing he wanted to endure this evening was another tiresome ball.  But his wily baby sister was always able to bend him to her will.  Spoiled and sheltered, Marie had been doted on her entire life.  Today was not the day to stop spoiling her.  As he took in the lovely vision floating down the stairs, he thought, maybe the ball would not be such a hardship, after all.

***

It was out of a storybook complete with a beautifully appointed carriage drawn by two majestic white horses; arrogantly snorting their impatience.  Grace’s heeled slippers clicked on the cobblestoned path as Lord Oliver gently clasped her elbow.  He genially helped her into the carriage and took his place across from her.  She was too excited to make conversation; content to watch the countryside from the small window.  She had the perfect view as the large estate came into a view; an imposing stone structure romantically surrounded in a misty fog.

The horses clomped up the front path and before long, Grace placed her small, gloved hand in Lord Oliver’s as he helped her down.

“Thank you, Lord Oliver,” she murmured.

“Just Oliver, for tonight, my lady,” he murmured back, his breath warm on her neck, sending shivers down her spine.  “I am supposed to be your brother, after all.”

“Right,” Grace agreed, placing her mask over her face, concealing her from Oliver.

Oliver tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow as the footmen took care of the horses and led her to the front door.  She could feel his sinewy muscles and the heat from his body absorbing into hers.  The front doors swung open and they were swept into a brightly lit room where their cloaks were retrieved.  The bright lights, gay decorations and lively orchestra drew them towards the grand ballroom.

The butler bowed gallantly before he announced loudly, “Welcome, Lady Marie and Lord Oliver” as the orchestra began a lively minuet.

Oliver gestured towards the dance floor and led Grace smoothly into the middle of the crush.  Holding her aloof, he skilfully danced her through the crowd until she was breathless.  After the dance concluded, Oliver escorted her toward the refreshments.

“Who is this, old chap?”  A sharply dressed, dark-haired young man asked with a solid clap on Oliver’s back.

“You remember my sister, Lady Marie,” Oliver replied stiffly.

“My Lord,” Grace replied with a curtsy, keeping her mask firmly in place.

“Lord Devon,” he stated, placing a lingering kiss on her gloved hand.  “May I have the pleasure of this dance?”

Grace opened her mouth to agree as Oliver insisted, “My sister requires refreshment first.”

“I would be delighted to quench your thirst, my Lady.”

Grace shot an inquiring look at Oliver whose stoic expression gave nothing away.

“I will take good care of your sister,” Devon said with a wink as he tucked Grace’s hand possessively under his arm.

***

Oliver stared unbelieving as Devon led Grace away.  A feeling akin to jealousy had formed in the pit of his belly and his mouth had curled into an unfriendly scowl.

“Surely that lovely creature was not your sister?”  Oliver looked up to see his friend Andrew grinning at him.  “A little brotherly worry over an eager young lord, hmm?”

Oliver scowled, “What do you think?”

“I think a brandy is in order.  She is in safekeeping with Devon.”  Oliver scanned the floor and saw an animated Grace floating across the dance floor with an unknown masked partner.  His heart thudded painfully in his chest.

“Who is that now?”

Andrew squinted into the crowd.  “Hadley?  Harris?”

Oliver groaned.  “Yes, a brandy is in order.”

After delightfully sousing himself in brandy and winning a few shillings at cards, Oliver stumbled back into the ballroom.  The twinkling lights were blinding to his sensitive eyes and he blinked unsuccessfully until the object of his focus came into view.  Grace, looking like a vision in the dark green gown, was floating across the dance floor like an ethereal angel; complete with a halo atop her golden curls.  He could shrewdly see his were not the only eyes following her dance.  When she got within distance, he grabbed her by the arm.

“You are acting the tart,” he hissed in her ear as he nodded apologetically to her dance partner.

Grace looked at him in shock as if he had slapped her in the face as he unceremoniously hurried her off the floor and towards the terrace.

When they were safely out of earshot, Grace glowered, “What in blazes were you thinking!”

“I was thinking my sister was acting the tart!” Oliver defended as he cornered Grace into the shadows against the stone terrace wall.

“Umf,” Grace huffed.  “Tart, you say.”  She pressed her palms firmly on his chest to push him away.  But his solid chest gave little leeway to her delicate strength.  And his hands tightened their grip on her arms until she whimpered.

“By God, Grace, I did not mean to hurt you,” Oliver slurred, stepping slightly back without relinquishing his hold.

“You are soused!” Grace declared.

“Not a bit, ma’am,” Oliver denied fervently until a hiccup escaped him.  “Maybe a bit.”

Grace laughed and rested her head against his solid shoulder.

Oliver rested his chin on the top of her head and breathed in the light flowery scent of her hair.  She nestled into his embrace as if she had always belonged there.  He did not know how long they stood in the shadows of the terrace but it seemed like this moment, under the diamond night sky, was enchanted and he berated himself for his fanciful thoughts, he was getting daft in his dotage.

“Grace,” he whispered into her hair, “we should return to the ball.”

She looked up at him with such utter trust in her eyes and he couldn’t resist tilting her chin upward and capturing her gaze.

Closing her eyes expectantly, she pursed her lips.  And held her breath; waiting for his kiss.

Against his better judgement, he met her lips with his.  Drawing her closer, moulding her soft body against his muscled one.  She tasted like summer, like forbidden fruit, like innocence.  And shocked at his behaviour, he stiffened and drew back.  “I should not have taken advantage.”

“Nonsense,” Grace murmured, her gaze downcast.

“But that does not mean I regret it, love,” he said cheekily, cupping her face in his hands.

She met his gaze boldly now, curiosity unguarded.

“We should return to the ball now, before the gossip turns to us.”

Grace’s eyes widened in astonishment.

“Do not fear; I will safeguard your reputation.”

Tucking her hand into his, she replied trustingly, “I have no such fear, my Lord” as he led her back into the ballroom.  The blinding lights of the room were overwhelming as was the immense crush of people.

***

The orchestra had begun a lively contradanse and the dance floor was crowded with young couples wanting to participate in the informal country dance.  Grace watched with curiosity as the dancers became more familiar and affectionate with one another.  The air was heavy with anticipation.

“Would you care to take our leave?” Oliver asked.

Grace nodded in relief.

Once outside, Oliver summoned a footman to ready the carriage.  Grace shivered in the night air and Oliver chivalrously wrapped her cloak tighter around her slight body.  Leaning into his embrace, Grace felt protected.  “I had a lovely evening,” she murmured before he assisted her into the carriage.  From the window she watched the lights of the estate grow dimmer and more distant and fervently hoped that it was not symbolic of her future with Oliver.

As the carriage neared the Dawson estate, Grace turned her inquisitive gaze toward Oliver.  He clasped her small hands within his larger ones and looked at her with promise.  And she wished with all her heart that this promise was only the beginning.

How to breathe new life into a supernatural being?

My parents told me there was no Santa Claus. I don’t remember how old I was, only that I always knew he wasn’t real. Ditto for the Tooth Fairy and the Easter Bunny. I never felt like I missed anything in my childhood, but my kids have Santa, the Tooth Fairy, and the Easter Bunny. There’s something special, something magical, about believing. We work hard to keep the magic alive.

How did a kid who believed in nothing end up writing paranormal stories? My parents may have prematurely enlightened me on the most popular of childhood legends, but they encouraged avid reading. Books were more than entertainment to me, they were my friends, and I read everything I could get my hands on. Through hiding my soaring imagination behind a quiet facade, I began writing stories. Writing became a natural extension of my love for reading. I wanted to share the joy books brought into my life with others.

We live in an extreme world where information overload desensitizes us to anything that is less than over-the-top. We need more. And, then, more again. Has the need for more—fantasy, adventure, and stimuli—led to renewed appeal of the paranormal? I write paranormal romance because the possibilities are endless. What other genre gives my imagination free reign, allowing me to create the other worldly and supernatural?

In my debut novella Dream Hunter, I dreamt up Gabe, my guardian angel, and created alien life forms who communicated with humans through their dreams. Dreams have fascinated me for years—starting with my childhood nightmares. My adult dreams are not much better. Far from run-of-the-mill, they consist of the ‘people chasing me’ or ‘I’m an assassin’ variety. Watching scary movies fuels the fire and initiates a total recipe for disaster. What is going through my mind while I sleep? I fear the answer to that question.

I wonder if ‘crazy’ is a prerequisite for writing? What does it take to create the paranormal basis of made-up worlds and beings? Do I have a great imagination or do I describe the real monsters in my head? Does it matter? Do I even want to know?

Paranormal is defined as “next to” normal. The stage is set with the standard lineup. The usual cast of characters. We, the authors, infuse the supernatural element. Human once removed.

Vampire. Shifter. Mystical gods. Angels. Demons. Zombies. Aliens. Fairies. Witches and warlocks.

We know them well. We read the books. We watch the shows. But how do we imprint our mark? Make them our own? We research and apply our findings, with every ounce of our limitless imaginations, to create magic, adding our unique signatures to the supernatural beings we know and love.

How Santa Ruined Christmas

The concept of Santa Claus is a fantastic one. We can all appreciate the spirit of generosity Santa promotes. I too believe that it is better to give than receive. But I don’t believe the act of giving should leave people in debt long after the Christmas season ends.

The idea of Santa puts unrealistic expectations on parents. Children believe Santa can make anything in his workshop. They don’t understand if their toy is out of stock on amazon.com. The letters to dear Saint Nick send parents on a frantic holiday scavenger hunt. Yearly. My kids always seem to ask for the toy of the season. How do they know? We don’t even have cable.

I find the amount of money spent on Christmas, in general, and Santa presents, in particular, shocking. I know parents who spend thousands of dollars on Christmas. Dollars they don't have. Financed by credit cards. Or worse. HELOCs. And I see parents who can't even afford presents purchased on credit.

What message are we sending? We are fulfilling instantaneous wants. We are using presents as a benchmark for good behaviour. We are, in fact, lying to our children.

I didn't grow up with Santa... (or the Easter Bunny or the Tooth Fairy... but those are tales for another day...) so we have adopted my husband's traditions for our kids... with a few updates.

1. Santa is magic.
2. Santa brings all the presents.
3. Santa doesn't bring electronics.
4. Santa wraps presents.
5. All presents are opened on Christmas morning.

Sometimes, I think I missed out. I enjoy bringing a little magic to my kids. Seeing their excitement on Christmas morning. But, I worry that we, as a society, have let 'Santa' ruin Christmas. A simple act of generosity has turned into a commercial circus and a financial nightmare.

How can we keep the magic present without sacrificing our financial futures?

We don't break the bank at Christmas. Do the kids get everything they ask for? No. Are they still spoiled? Probably.

I'd like to scale back Christmas. And, to some extent, we already have. We email our Christmas letter.   We do most of our shopping online. We prepare for Christmas in advance. There is still room for improvement. And it could be worse... at least Santa doesn't put up the Christmas tree on Christmas Eve.

This year, look beyond the stuff.  Think about presents money can't buy. Time. Memories. Experiences. Steer Christmas magic back to its origins... the spirit of generosity.

Cover Reveal - His Christmas Delight by @SummeritaRhayne

His Christmas Delight by Summerita Rhayne

Blurb:

Caught by Santa!

For Myra, Christmas means supporting her friends. They rallied round getting her back on her feet after she lost Pete, her husband, so she's always ready to help any of them. No matter to what lengths the challenge makes her go. Only she didn't expect to find Santa almost catching her in her wrongdoings. Then she finds that the handsome Santa is Jay, her old high school friend. Now he's changed from a gangly geek to an attractive stranger. After missing out on the dating scene for a long time after losing Pete, she feels the first stirring of desire. But Jay is playing hot and cold, refusing to admit the attraction sizzling between them.

He’s back in Goa just for Christmas

Jay knew Myra as his best friend's girl. Now Pete is gone, but Jay is finding difficult to let go of the scars he picked up in Coast Guard service. He’s home only to help revive his brother’s toy shop. When he finds himself making excuses to stay, he knows he’s crossing the limits he’d set himself. What’s the purpose in taking this further when he knows he cannot be the one to give her the happiness she deserves?  But no matter how hard he tries, the scorching flames of wanting only seem to get stronger. How can he keep on denying the attraction between them when she insists on coming close?

……..

Book Link at Amazon:

http://www.amazon.com/His-Christmas-Delight-Romance-ebook/dp/B01BYHO0AI

Goodreads link:

http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/29348614-his-christmas-delight

Christmas Dreams

Merry Christmas from Maya's Musings... I hope you enjoy this short story...

“Al-lie!”

I’d been ignoring my step-mother’s summons since I woke up this morning. It was the holidays, I was only home from college for a few days, and she had to be off her rocker, more than usual, if she thought I would spend my vacation waiting on her hand and foot. I pulled my quilt over my head. Maybe she would call her daughter to help instead. I snickered.

Knock, knock. “Allie, I know you’re awake. It’s not fair of you to laze around while we slave downstairs. We have the annual open house tonight, you know.”

Ah, yes, the annual open house. A time honoured tradition where I could be openly criticized by my step-mother’s friends and repeatedly asked if I was still single. Or worse, if you could imagine, have to dodge being matched up with someone’s son or some other miscellaneous male relative who couldn’t find a date on a calendar. I couldn’t wait. But I also couldn’t think of one good reason to stay in my room. I was sunk.

“Young lady, you better be decent, because I’m coming in!”

Oh shoot. She only threw out the “young lady” bit when she was really pissed. And she knew I hadn’t been ‘decent’ since the day her family joined mine. I was out of options. I threw off the covers and did what any mature, rational college student would do. I hid in the closet.

Peeking through the crack in the door, I saw her stalk into my room and huff in exasperation as she glared at my empty bed.

Well I dodged that bullet; for the moment anyway. I sunk to the floor and drew my knees toward my chest. Now the only question remained. How long could I hide in here?

* * * * *

I opened my eyes and stretched. I was stiff and achy from sitting in the closet. Pushing the door open, I stepped into a dark room. It was later than I had realized, I must’ve fallen asleep. Maybe I missed the open house. I felt a twinge of guilt. I was here for my Dad and he would be disappointed if I didn’t put in an appearance tonight.

Fumbling around for the light switch, I came up empty. I twisted around quickly and banged into a sharp edge, probably my bed. “Ouch!”

“Oh, there you are.” Dim light from a flickering candle filled the room. “Alison, we’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

The voice belonged to a vaguely familiar face, but the candle illuminated an unfamiliar room with stone walls and floor.

“Where am I?” I asked.

The young girl before me laughed. “Oh, Alison, you are so droll!” She outstretched her hand. “Come now, you have to get ready. Father is waiting.”

 “For what?”

“Don’t tell me you don’t remember. You’ve spoken of nothing else for days.”

Like an unstoppable force, she and another young girl piled me into what felt like five dresses and pulled my hair into a gravity defying hairstyle.

“Ready?”

Hell, no. But since she couldn’t read my mind, she tugged on my arm and pulled me stiffly toward her.

“It’s the most exciting night,” she gushed. Either she didn’t notice my reluctance or she didn’t care.

The girl, whose name I still didn’t know, rushed to greet a man wearing a fine looking robe. “Father! I found Alison!”

“Good girl, Meggie!” The man turned to face me.

I gasped. He looked like my Dad.

“I thought you were going to be late.”

“I uh-”

Then I saw him. He looked like a dashing young prince from a forgotten time. His curly black hair fell across his forehead looking like someone tried to tame it and failed. He caught me staring at him. I swear my heart stopped.

“Who is that?” I whispered to Meggie.

“What is wrong with you tonight, Alison?” she whined. “It’s not funny. Stop staring at Robert like an imbecile and go speak to him.”

I didn’t need any further encouragement. I crossed the room and stopped in front of him. Clutching my hand, he pressed it gently to his lips.

“Hi,” I said, my voice taking on a breathless quality. I resisted the urge to tilt my head and bat my eyelashes. Had I morphed into a complete ditz?

“Hello, my love, shall we?” He gestured toward the dance floor.

Not trusting my voice, I nodded. He led me into the throng of people and twirled me close. We moved in time to the lively music. One song turned into another. I was smitten and the possessive way he held me spoke volumes. I didn’t want to break the spell, even though I was getting thirsty.

Without saying a word, he led me toward a punch bowl. Deftly, he poured a cup and handed it to me.

“Thanks,” I said; not sure if he could hear me over the noisy crowd.

Taking my arm, he led me outside onto a wide stone veranda. “Beautiful night,” he murmured, stroking my hair boldly with his free hand.

“Yes,” I agreed.

“Yes?” He leaned in and captured my lips in a kiss I hoped would last forever. He tasted like sweet cherries and I melted against him.

* * * * *

“Allie!”

“What? Huh?” I sat up straight and bumped my head. I licked my dry lips and rubbed my eyes. Stepping out of the closet I saw my step-sister Margaret standing in the entrance to my bedroom with her hands on her hips.

“Mom and Dad are waiting for you,” she huffed impatiently. “You’re ruining everything!”

Harsh and a bit of an exaggeration; I doubt my step-mother mourned my absence.

“Just give me a minute and I’ll be down,” I snapped. Margaret could be such a pill sometimes. I gasped when I looked at the time. I’d lost the whole day. Oh well, it was my vacation. I pulled on a red sweater and a pair of jeans, ran a brush through my thick, brown hair, and splashed cold water on my face in an attempt to look presentable. There. Ready. Or not. Squaring my shoulders, I prepared myself for the onslaught of questions I would encounter downstairs. I would smile, circle the room, grab a bottle of wine, and escape back to my room. Here goes nothing.

Christmas music filled the room. Platters of appetizers were placed strategically. My step-mother was bustling about, wearing a black dress covered in poinsettias, replenishing food and drink. I was so busy zoning in on the bar I almost missed him. Standing in the shadow of our brilliantly decorated tree, he was wearing an ugly Christmas sweater and an equally ugly scowl. He swirled his drink and I was so tuned into him I swear I could hear the ice cubes tinkle. There was something about him, something familiar.

“Did your mom guilt you into attending?’ I asked as I sauntered up to him.

“Yeah. Yours?”

“Nope, mine’s dead,” I quipped.

A look of genuine remorse crossed his face. “God, I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

“How could you?” I shrugged. “I’m Allie.” I offered my hand.

“Rob.” His large hand dwarfed mine and his handshake was firm. “So how did you get roped into this lame party?”

“I live here.”

“Foot in mouth again.” He grimaced.

I smiled and waved the bottle of wine I’d snagged from the bar. “I forgive you. Want a drink?”

“Yeah.” He looked around the room. “Sounds good. A place without all the noise they’re trying to pass off as Christmas music sounds even better.”

“I know just the place, follow me.” I led him downstairs to the den, a cozy room with a battered leather couch and no music.

“Perfect,” he said as he sat down.

I poured the wine. “Merry Christmas.”

 “Cheers.” He tapped his glass to mine, giving me an intense look. His eyes were a mysterious smoky grey and they seemed to see right through me.

“You look familiar, Rob. Were you here last year?”

“Nah. I was off on a shoot last Christmas.”

“A shoot?”

“Photo shoot. I’m a photojournalist.”

“Cool.”

“What do you do?”

“School right now.”

“Major?”

I cringed. “Undecided.”

“What year?”

“Second.”

“I remember those days. You’ll find your way.” He leaned over and brushed a lock of hair off my forehead. “You’re so young.”

“And you’re so ancient,” I teased.

Looking at me solemnly, he said, “I’ve seen a lot; too much.”

He seemed lost and I didn’t know what to say to shake his demons. Without thinking, I leaned over and kissed him. He returned the kiss hungrily, his lips tasting like sweet cherries. Just like my dream; the one I’d had while hiding in the closet. I jerked back and gasped. How could this be? But it didn’t really matter. Fate, magic, whatever, we were together now and it was altogether possible he could be my ‘dream-come-true’. I smiled and leaned in to kiss him again.

THE END