Saturday Snippet – Savannah’s Bluebird

bluebird_small webHere’s a snippet from my brand new book, Savannah’s Bluebird.

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She strolled down to the beach of Lake Pontchartrain and found a quiet spot on the bank. She stared at the ripples of water lapping the shore, mesmerized by the sound, which was accompanied by seabirds whistling and cawing as they flew overhead. She closed her eyes and let the sounds wash over her, attempting to block out the awful world she now lived in. The noise of someone clearing her throat interrupted Savannah’s reverie. She looked around and saw an old woman emerging from the tree line behind her. The woman was covered in layers of bright and ornate scarves and wraps that curled around her in the breeze. Her dark red hair was in a bun on top of her head, but stringy ringlets dripped around her face and neck, tangling themselves in her large hoop earrings.

“I thought I’d find you here.” The old woman cackled as she approached.

“I’m sorry, ma’am. You must have me confused with someone else. Do I know you?”

“No, I don’t have you confused with anyone else, dear, and no, you don’t know me.” The old woman had a bulge of tobacco in her cheek, and she spit some sweet-smelling brown juice on the dirt.

Savannah started to rise to leave, made uncomfortable by the weird old woman.

“No, chavi, you need to stay and speak with me. I came down here from Biloxi because I have a gift for you here in my bujo.”

“Your bujo?”

The woman held up her large bag.

Savannah reluctantly sat back down, now curious about the woman.

“You’re from Biloxi?”

“No, dear, I’m from New Orleans, but I’ve lived in Biloxi a few years.” The woman plopped down next to her and began digging deep into the bag. She fished around for a long time and eventually pulled out a small object wrapped in a dirty handkerchief. She looked at it strangely for a moment, and then held it toward Savannah, who did not reach for it.

“Here.” She thrust it into Savannah’s chest. “This is for you. Take it.”

“I’m sure I don’t need any gifts, ma’am.”

“Just open it. It’s baxtalo. You would say…lucky.” She placed it in Savannah’s hand.

Savannah stared at the handkerchief and didn’t move.

“Open it,” the crone demanded.

Savannah placed it on her lap and tried to touch the filthy handkerchief as little as possible as she unfolded it to reveal a small blue object made of glass. She held it up between her thumb and forefinger and saw it was a two-inch-tall bluebird. She turned and awaited an explanation from the old woman.

“I knew you’d like it.” The woman smiled through missing teeth. She twisted her chin to the side and spit more tobacco juice onto the ground.

“But why?”

“I know you’ve had a difficult time since coming here, and I thought this would make you feel better.” The woman turned and stared at the water. Her expression grew solemn and she continued speaking without looking at Savannah. “Fate may not be kind to you, young lady, and you will need this item to face your future.”

“Ma’am, I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, you don’t, do you? Tell me about Thomas Blakely.”

“What?”

“Your father.”

“What do you know about my father?”

“I met him about fifteen years ago…right here on this very beach.” She thumbed a direction over her shoulder. “Right over there at a little watering hole I worked at. He was courting your mother at the time.” She smiled. “I was young then, too, and I must admit, he was a handsome man, and I had eyes for him as well. He was working on those railroad tracks my people destroyed. They were angry that the train was going to go through their homes. I don’t mean near their homes, I mean right through the middle of them. My people have always lived off the land, not in those fancy houses like you live in. It was because of us that your father was here working at the time. It was because of us he met your mother, so I guess it was because of us that you were born.” She paused and kept staring at the small wavelets. “He sure was a handsome man. Too bad he wasn’t one of us.”

“You’re a gypsy.”

The woman nodded.

“Do you live on the beach in Biloxi?”

“Sometimes. Sometimes I live here.”

Savannah looked down at the glass object in her hand. “You’re the one who told my father the bluebird story.”

“Yes, child, I am.” She turned toward Savannah. “The bluebird is magical, and it can do some surprising things.”

“Yes, my father told me.”

The woman didn’t acknowledge her comment. “Sadly, I didn’t plan on him seeing the bluebird while he was with your mother. I was hoping he would see it while he was with…oh, never mind about that. Things happen and life goes on. We all have our own private destiny to live out, even if it affects others.”

Savannah stared at the woman’s face, realizing the woman wasn’t as old as she initially looked. She carried herself like an old woman, but there wasn’t a crease on her face, not a wrinkle around her eyes or lips. She was actually quite pretty in an exotic way.

“So, you were friends with my father?”

“You could say that.”

Savannah didn’t like the cryptic answer. Did this woman love her father? Was the bluebird story a spell to make her father fall in love?

“Tell me about August.”

A shiver went up Savannah’s spine. “How do you know about August?”

“I know everything, child. I know the past, the present”—she looked Savannah in the eyes—“and the future.”

“Are you a fortune teller?”

The woman shrugged. “No, I am no drabarni—fortune teller, as you say.” She spit again and shrugged. “Some people call me a witch, but I’m no witch, either. I just know things. Some people around here call it voodoo, but it’s not voodoo. My people come from a faraway land and some of us have special gifts.”

The woman slowly climbed to her feet with a few grunts and groans. She leaned forward a bit, half hunched as if her back was aching. Her scarves blew wildly around her head as the wind picked up, giving her a mysterious aura. She looked like a witch.

“I will tell you one thing before I go. My son, Bernard, and your August will meet someday, and you will need that little bluebird when the time comes. Keep it close to you. Remember the magic your father told you of the bluebird, and know that this one holds even more power than the story. It is a mulevi. It will make your deepest wish come true if only you will ask. But be careful how you use it, and don’t use it frivolously. You will know beyond a shadow of a doubt when the time comes, and it will be the most powerful thing you will ever witness.”

“What’s a mulevi?”

“An item to reach the dead.”

***********************************

Lori Crane Books at Amazon

#Hashtags for #Writers

twitbirdHASHTAGS ROCK MY WORLD!

Here’s a huge list for you authors on Twitter. It was compiled by a bunch of people, and I compiled it further. Print it out and enjoy!

 

 

 

 

BASIC WRITING STUFF

  • #AmWriting
  • #AmEditing
  • #AmRevising
  • #Author
  • #Authors
  • #AuthorLife
  • #BookMarket (Thursday’s at 4 pm ET)
  • #CopyWriting
  • #EditGoal
  • #Editing
  • #ePubChat
  • #IndieAuthors
  • #LitChat (every M/W/F)
  • #MemoirChat (every other Wednesday at 8 pm ET)
  • #NaNoWriMo
  • #PBLitChat (picture books only)
  • #PoetTues
  • #ScriptChat
  • #TenQueries
  • #WordCount
  • #WriteGoodNews
  • #Writer
  • #Writers
  • #WriteChat
  • #WriterWednesday (or #WW or ##WW)
  • #WritersLife
  • #WritersRoad
  • #Writing
  • #WritingBlitz
  • #WritingParty
  • #WroteToday
  • #YALitChat
  • #ZineChat

BOOK GENRE

  • #amreading
  • #Biopic
  • #Book
  • #Comedy
  • #Cookbooks
  • #Cooking
  • #Crime
  • #DarkFantasy
  • #Dystopian
  • #Erotica
  • #KidLitChat
  • #FanFic
  • #Fiction
  • #FlashFic
  • #Food
  • #Historical
  • #History
  • #HistFic
  • #HistNovel
  • #Horror
  • #KidLit
  • #Literature
  • #LitFic
  • #MGLit (Middle Grade Lit)
  • #MemoirChat
  • #Mystery
  • #NonFiction
  • #Novel
  • #Paperbacks
  • #Paranormal
  • #Recipes
  • #Regency
  • #RomanceWriter
  • #Romance
  • #Romantic
  • #RomanticSuspense
  • #RWA (Romance Writers of America)
  • #SCBWI (Society of Children’s Books Writers and Illustrators)
  • #Science #Fiction
  • #ScienceFiction
  • #SciFi
  • #SciFiChat
  • #Short
  • #ShortStories
  • #Short #Stories
  • #ShortReads
  • #ShortStory
  • #SteamPunk
  • #Suspense
  • #TrueStories
  • #UrbanFantasy
  • #WomensFiction
  • #YA

INDUSTRY INFO

  • #AskAgent
  • #AskAuthor
  • #AskEditor
  • #BookMarketing
  • #EBooks
  • #ePub
  • #ePublishing
  • #GetPublished
  • #HowTo
  • #IAN1 (Independent Author Network)
  • #Indie
  • #IndieAuthor
  • #IndiePub
  • #IndiePublishing
  • #IndiePubChat
  • #PromoTip
  • #Publishing
  • #Pubtip
  • #PubWrite
  • #SelfPub
  • #SelfPublishing
  • #VSS (very short story)
  • #WebFic
  • #WebLit
  • #WritingTip
  • #WriteTip
  • #WLCauthor (World Literary Cafe)

 

CONNECT WITH WRITERS

  • #AmWriting
  • #AmEditing
  • #EHFA (English historical fiction authors)
  • #WordCount
  • #WriterWednesday
  • #WritersLife
  • #YALitChat
  • #LitChat (every M/W/F)
  • #MemoirChat (every other Wednesday at 8 pm ET)
  • #BookMarket (Thursday’s at 4 pm ET)
  • #ScriptChat (Screenwriters)
  • #PoetTues
  • #ZineChat
  • #WritingParty
  • #IndieAuthors
  • #WriteChat
  • #NaNoWriMo
  • #PBLitChat (Picture books only)
  • #Tweets4authors

 

CREATIVE JUICES

  • #1K1H (one thousand words one hour)
  • #140Poem
  • #Creativity
  • #StoryStarter
  • #WIP (work in progress)
  • #WordAThon
  • #WriteGoal
  • #WriteMotivation
  • #WritersBlock
  • #WritingPrompt
  • #WritingSprint

CONNECT WITH READERS

  • #99c
  • #99cents
  • #Amazon
  • #AmazonKindle
  • #AmazonLikes
  • #AmazonPrime
  • #AmReading
  • #BestRead
  • #BookBuzz
  • #BookBuzzr
  • #BookGiveaway
  • #BookMarketing
  • #BookReview
  • #Books
  • #BookSpotlight
  • #BookWorm
  • #Borrow
  • #eBook
  • #eReaders
  • #ff (Friday Follow)
  • #Free
  • #Freebie
  • #FreeBook
  • #FreeDownload
  • #FictionFriday
  • #FictionFridays
  • #FridayFlash
  • #FridayReads
  • #GoodReads
  • #GreatRead
  • #IndieThursday
  • #IndieTuesday
  • #iPad
  • #KDP
  • #KDPSelect
  • #Kindle
  • #KindleBargain
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  • #KindleeBooks
  • #KindleFire
  • #KindleTouch
  • #KindleTweet
  • #Kobo
  • #LendingLibrary
  • #LitChat
  • #MustRead
  • #MyWANA (We Are Not Alone writer’s group)
  • #New
  • #Nook
  • #Novel
  • #Novelines (to quote your own work)
  • #Novelists
  • #Novels
  • #Paperbacks
  • #Poetry
  • #PoetryMonth
  • #Pubit
  • #Read
  • #Reader
  • #Readers
  • #Reading
  • #Reviews
  • #SampleSunday
  • #SeriesBooks
  • #ShortReads
  • #Smashwords
  • #Sony
  • #Special
  • #StoryFriday
  • #StoryTelling
  • #TeaserTuesday or #TeaserTues
  • #GreatReads
  • #WhatToRead
  • #WriteQuote
  • #WeekendReader
  • #WLC (World Literary Cafe)
  • #WLCbookbuzz
  • #Wordathon

PROMOTE, NETWORK, MARKET

  • #ASMSG (authors social media support group)
  • #AuthorRT (author’s retweet group)
  • #BYNR (book your next read)
  • #CR4U (clean reads for you)
  • #FollowFriday
  • #free or #freebie
  • #FreebieFriday
  • #FreeReads
  • #HSFCA (historical fiction authors retweet group)
  • #IAN1 (Indie author network)
  • #IARTG (indie author retweet group)
  • #RT
  • #Share
  • #WLCauthor (World Lit Cafe)
  • kinds of books – #Kindle #Nook #ebook #paperback #epub #amazon #kdp #audiobook #audible #trailer #excerpt #pdf1

Saturday Snippet – Okatibbee Creek

okatibbee_cover frontIt’s been a while since I posted a snippet. The following is from my book Okatibbee Creek. The heroine of the story is my 3rd great grandmother. She barely survived the Civil War and typhoid running rampant through her family. In this scene, the war is over and disease has passed, she is older and having a discussion with the slave who raised her.

*************************************************************

I look up and see Bertie slowly walking up the road toward daddy’s house. She’s wearing a dark blue dress and a floppy straw hat covering her eyes.

“Hi, Miss Bertie,” I yell to her as I wipe away my tears and put a smile on my face.

“Hi, baby girl.” She waves back.

“What brings you out on this lovely morning?” I ask when she finally reaches the porch and plops down on the step. She takes off her hat and reveals her gray hair tied in a bun. She sets her hat next to her and wipes beads of sweat off her forehead with her handkerchief.

“I was just on my way to your house to see the babies and to see how you are doing,” she says as she tucks her handkerchief back into her sleeve.

I can tell by her demeanor that there is something more on her mind, but I figure she will tell me when she is ready.

“Well, it’s nice to see you. We are all doing fine at home,” I reply.

“That’s good to hear, baby girl.”

“Bertie, I’m forty-one years old. How long are you going to call me baby girl?” I tease her.

She laughs. “You have been my baby girl since I came to your daddy’s house when you were six years old. You will always be my baby girl.”

“Aw, you know I love you, Miss Bertie.” I reach over and pat her bony hand.

“And I love you, too, baby girl. You know, you have always been the smartest and most beautiful of your momma’s children. And with everything you have been through, you have become the strongest and most courageous woman I have ever known.”

She pauses and looks out across the yard as her mind wanders to another time and place. After a moment she adds, “Your momma and daddy would be very proud of you, but it was a blessing they were not around to witness all the pain and loss we went through.” She pauses again and looks out across the yard. “You’re also a wonderful mother.”

I can tell she’s leading up to something.

“I don’t know what I would have done without you, Bertie. You helped me through so much.”

“I know what you went through, baby girl. I witnessed it all. I have seen you stand strong in the face of disaster and death and sickness and hunger. You have faced every adversity with courage and every defeat with dignity and grace. I’m very proud of you, more than you’ll ever know.”

My eyes well up with tears as I feel a mixture of being touched by her kind words, and trepidation that she is going somewhere awful with this talk.

“Bertie, your love has been one of the reasons I have been able to be strong and steadfast. Together, we have laughed and cried through so much,” I say as I stare straight ahead at the field.

Memories come flooding back, along with the sadness and the happiness. Rice, Daddy, Momma, Monroe Franklin. I shake the memories off and look back at Bertie.

“I have the feeling you weren’t headed all the way to my house just to tell me you’re proud of me.” I stop and wait for her to speak.

“Well, baby girl, like I said, you have always been the smartest of your momma’s children.” She takes a deep breath and exhales. I wait patiently as I watch her build up her courage. “Well, I have not been feeling very well lately and I saw the doctor. He said he can’t do much for me and I may not be around much longer. You know I have raised Tony as my own since his parents died of the fever. He’s only thirteen and not quite ready to face the world on his own just yet.” She looks away. I can tell she is trying to get through this speech without crying. Finally, she turns to me and looks me straight in the eye. “I want to ask you to take care of Tony when my time comes. I can rest easy if I know you will do that for me.”

“What? Bertie, of course I will take care of Tony. But I don’t want to hear anything about you being gone. We’ve been through too much together and everything finally seems to be turning around for the better.” I pause, wondering if that is really true. Is everything going to be all right?

I continue, “We’ve walked straight through the midst of hell and we are just now starting to find our way back.”

“I hope you’re right, baby girl, but we can’t control what the good Lord wants to do. We just have to handle it the best we can when it comes.”

I nod and quietly say, “Bertie, I will do whatever you need me to do.”

“I know you will, baby girl. I just thought it would be nice to ask.” She winks at me.

Using both arms to lift herself, Bertie slowly rises from the step. I stand up, too, and she gives me a long hug. She puts her hat on and carefully steps away from the porch, heading toward the dirt road. I yell “goodbye” to her and she waves her hand behind her head without turning around. She walks very, very slowly, favoring one leg more than the other, and I watch her until she shuffles out of sight.

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Lori Crane Books at Amazon and on audiobook at Audible.

STUCKEY’S LEGACY Sneak Peek

As I was writing “The Legend of Stuckey’s Bridge,” I came across the most amazing fictional character. He is eccentric, charming, rich, and good looking, mixed with a heaping tablespoon of psychopath. I am completely obsessed with him and his story. What if someone in the story is not as impressed with him as I? What if that person would rather see him dead?

unnamedThere is an undeniable sequel to “The Legend of Stuckey’s Bridge”  – “Stuckey’s Legacy: The Legend Continues” – available June 1st in paperback, Kindle, Nook, and iBook.

For my dear friends and faithful readers, here’s a sneak peek. It will give you a flavor of my new favorite psycho Levi.

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December 31, 1911 11:59 p.m.

“…five…four…three…two…one…Happy New Year!” the crowd chanted in unison and the orchestra began to play “Auld Lang Syne.” Balloons fell from the ceiling and confetti was tossed from the mezzanine. It fluttered to the floor, covering couples who clung together on the ballroom’s massive dance floor. Wine flowed and lovers kissed, and twenty-two-year-old Levi stood off to the side, sipping his champagne, observing the festivities with a mixture of apathy and loathing.

A gentleman in a crumpled tuxedo, heading toward the bar, staggered by him and nodded. Levi coldly nodded back, hoping the intoxicated man wouldn’t stop to chat. He was here to observe and mingle, not to spend the evening listening to a slurring drunkard. It had taken him a decade to get into this elite circle and he wasn’t going to let some sot spoil it. He downed the remaining liquid, plopped his empty champagne glass on the nearest table, and quickly moved across the room.

Following a magnificent dinner of pheasant and turkey in the Grand Dining Room, he had thus far spent the evening strolling around the luxurious Jekyll Island Club, chatting with people with familiar surnames—Firestone, Carnegie, Rockefeller, Vanderbilt. He introduced himself to them as Levi Temple, a business partner of the late Cornelius Bliss.

Temple wasn’t his real name, though he had been using it for the last ten years. Most people in his hometown of Meridian, Mississippi, would remember him as Levi Stuckey, the boy who’d mysteriously disappeared following the hanging of his father from the iron rails of Stuckey’s Bridge. His father was Thomas Stuckey. He wasn’t Levi’s real father, but when someone back in those days assumed he was, Levi never bothered to correct them. As a matter of fact, Stuckey wasn’t that man’s real name, either. He took it from one of his victims, a man named Carter Stuckey. Carter Stuckey had spent the night at Thomas’s inn on his way to deliver a trunk to Vicksburg—a trunk full of gold. Not many visitors ever left that inn, especially visitors who carried great wealth. Carter Stuckey fit that description, meeting his demise for being a deliveryman. Thomas Stuckey never got to enjoy the gold he stole, though. He was strung up for murder before he even viewed the sparkling contents of the trunk.

Following Thomas’s hanging, twelve-year-old Levi disappeared with the trunk. He took a horse and wagon and rode away from Meridian with the trunk, and he didn’t leave a trace.

After he fled, he dropped the name Stuckey so he’d never be associated with Thomas, Carter, or the missing trunk of gold. He considered taking back his given name, but he didn’t want to be linked to the sack of crap who owned that name, either. It had been so long since he’d used his real name, he could barely remember what it was. So, after a quick deliberation, he took the name of the only man he’d ever trusted, the sheriff of Lauderdale County—J.R. Temple. Yes, Temple was a good name, a good name from a good man. Levi always felt a tinge of remorse for disappearing and leaving Sheriff Temple to wonder what happened to him, but at the time he didn’t have a choice. He deserved more in life than a stolen name and a tainted past with murderers, drunks, and whores. The gold could give him the future he wanted.

Since the moment he left Lauderdale County, Levi had spent every waking hour infiltrating the inner circle of high society, and as of tonight, he had finally arrived. So far, this seemed a very good place to be. He sipped imported sparkling champagne as he socialized with gentlemen in expensive tuxedos, beautiful women adorned with exceptional jewels, and even a few servants who scurried around catering to the social elite. Though he wasn’t born into this circle, and he thought most of them idiots who were beneath him, he felt at home here. He was finally receiving the respect he deserved.

As the orchestra struck up a lively ragtime tune, Levi walked toward the patio door to step outside and get a breath of fresh air. His heels clicked on the marble floor as he passed velvet chaise lounges and crystal chandeliers. The leaded-art glass was a sight to behold and the classical details of the mansion were breathtaking. He would have a house this fine someday.

He found the patio alit with lanterns and twinkling holiday lights, flanked by sweeping staircases that led down to the beach. The half moon shone brightly in the winter sky, and an ocean breeze rustled through his dark blond hair. He closed his eyes for a moment and enjoyed the gentle wind on his face. He took a deep breath of the ocean draft. It smelled like fresh linen hung on the line. He opened his eyes and looked around. Baskets filled with late-blooming roses were spaced intermittently around the cement patio. Other than the fragrant flowers, he found the patio nearly empty. Everyone was inside on the dance floor celebrating the arrival of the new year. Everyone except that brunette he had been eyeing all evening.

He had noticed her hours earlier, the moment she entered the front door. She was petite but floated into the room like she owned the place, all willowy with a smoky air about her. Her charcoal-lined eyes were dark and seductive, hiding playfully behind the rim of her extravagant black velvet hat. When she walked, the long, white ostrich feather on top of her hat danced with each step. He found her movements intoxicating.

She wore the most luxurious mink stole he had ever seen, and when she removed it, she looked like a Grecian goddess. Her empire-waist dress flowed to the floor, the black velvet bodice cut low enough to make every man in the room stop and stare. The black fan she fluttered in front of her face made her even more exotic. Levi had attempted to approach her a few times throughout the evening, but she was always surrounded by admirers and he couldn’t get close enough to utter a single word. Out here on the patio, she was again with a gentleman.

Levi stepped to the edge of the patio and placed his fingers on the railing. She had her back against the railing, being courted by some wealthy boy in a man’s suit. Levi snickered. These rich boys don’t know how to seduce a woman, he thought. They think they can have anything they want, including a woman, simply because their fathers gave them money.

He remained still and looked out to the sea. The moon illuminated a path of white on the dark water. The reflection went all the way to the horizon. He absentmindedly reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his silver lighter. He flipped it open and closed over and over with one hand. He kept stealing glances to his left at the couple, wondering if he should interrupt them. The rich boy stumbled forward a little, almost falling onto the woman. He seemed to be more than a little drunk. Levi held his breath and waited for the woman to say something, hoping he’d be able to tell whether or not she needed him to intervene.

When she spoke, her voice had a deep rasp with the slightest Southern drawl. Why did that not surprise him? He felt a stirring in his loins and glanced again at the couple.

“Mr. Goodyear, I’m flattered by your attention, but don’t you think we should be going back inside now? Your friends are surely looking for you.”

The boy caught his balance, stood up straight, and countered, “No, they’re not looking for me. They’re having their own fun…just like we should.” The boy leaned in for a kiss, but the woman turned her face to the left and looked directly into Levi’s eyes. She smiled faintly.

It was not the plea of a woman needing assistance that he’d been expecting to see. The expression he saw on her face was one of confidence and power. This woman didn’t need his help. She was more than capable of fending off a drunken suitor. Levi watched her as she scowled and playfully pushed on the boy’s chest to back him away.

“Really, Mr. Goodyear, that’s enough for now.” She pushed harder on his chest.

The boy shrugged and mumbled something Levi couldn’t make out. The woman pulled her fur around her shoulders and narrowed her eyes at Levi, suggesting he should mind his own business. She turned the boy toward the open doorway, tucked her arm into the crook of his elbow, and led him toward the ballroom. As the two made their way to the door, a woman’s bloodcurdling scream came from the direction of the beach.

Levi and the couple turned toward the ocean, attempting to see the source of the screaming through the palm trees that lined the patio, but it was impossible. The screaming continued. People began streaming out of the ballroom, asking what was going on, and men sprinted down the stairs on both sides of the patio, hurrying toward the sound.

Levi turned and looked at the alluring woman, whose young suitor had left her standing alone while he joined the other men heading to the beach.

She stared into Levi’s eyes with no expression.

******************************************

Just for kicks, I think this is the woman Levi was watching, and I think she’s going to be trouble with a capital T.penny fisher

Lori Crane Books at Amazon

Stuckey’s Bridge on News Channel 12

Stuckey's cover_webI got a call from this reporter a couple weeks ago about my book and the making of this segment, but I was nowhere around the county to do a live interview, so alas, no publicity for me. It’s a cool story none-the-less. My book “The Legend of Stuckey’s Bridge” is based on this story.

Click here to see the video segment – Channel 12 WJTV Jackson, MS – The transcription below is from their website.

In Lauderdale County, no one knows what “Stuckey’s” first name is but people know where to find his bridge over the Chunky River. Now it’s mostly used for a Halloween party spot but local legend holds it’s also the site of Stuckey’s lynching and haunting. NEWS CHANNEL 12’S Jacob Kittilstad looks for signs of ghosts -where dozens have been reported – in this week’s MYSTERY MONDAY.

Wayne Smith said he lives (with his dog Joe) on the property Stuckey is said to have owned in the mid-1800’s. “Everyone that comes here that does see something, They’re frightened by it. And they’ll tell you that they’re frightened,” Smith said. “Murdering people, disposing of their bodies, gold buried along the banks of the river,” Smith said – shortly summing up the story. “We have found through the years of talking to people that he was probably a serial killer,” Smith said.

Legends tell that “Stuckey” operated an inn where he killed as many as 20 people who were waiting to ferry across the Chunky River. After the bridge was built and his crimes discovered, locals held a Kangaroo Court and made an example of the former Dalton Gang member, according to local legend.

“They hung the man and his helper from the bridge. Left him and come back after three or four days to cut the bodies down. And they splashed into the water of the river,” Smith said.

Some people say they can still here that splash nightly (although beavers are the suspected noise-producers). But it’s the other sounds and sighting that are more disturbing.

“It’s more mist-like with a silhouette of a human being or you’ll see a mist with a face in it,” Smith said.

“There have been people who have heard women screaming. And it normally occurs at night,” Smith said.

Paranormal Investigation groups have shared what they call evidence of violent spirits online but some neighbors dismiss the videos as staged. Then there is also the fact that the bridge was built after that story would have taken place. At that point, the legend starts to fall apart but the myth carries on. 

(Note from Lori: the bridge was built in 1901, REPLACING the original wooden bridge built around 1850.)

“People come here and they see, well, we have had some sightings here. One as recent as this weekend,” Smith said. “You have to live here to see what we see and hear what we hear because when we first come here we were skeptical. There’s something here that people are seeing and feeling and when we come to the bridge, We feel it,” Smith said. “I haven’t seen anything but we feel it,” Smith said.

Other neighbors tell NEWS CHANNEL 12 that they have actually met relatives of “Stuckey” who claim their ancestor was accused of murder after a dispute over a hog. But, again, the evidence is lacking.

Vote Vote Vote – I ♥ you all!

book-contest-semi-finalistTWO of my books are up for public opinion – the scariest thing in the whole world, no?

The 2013 AuthorsdB Book Cover Contest has placed the voting in your hands. I have TWO, yes, TWO books up for awards in THREE categories.

1) An Orphan’s Heart is a semi-finalist in the history category – VOTE HERE

2) and is a semi-finalist for COVER OF THE YEAR – VOTE HERE!

3) The Legend of Stuckey’s Bridge is a semi-finalist in the mystery/thriller category – VOTE HERE!

I can’t thank you enough for supporting indie authors and all the crazy work we do. Today, I’m wearing my publicist hat! It looks good, huh?

I’d like to send out a HUGE thank you to my book designer ELITE BOOK DESIGN who created BOTH covers. I’ve been contributing a bunch of blogs over there as a thank you, so pop over and show them some love. If you need any indie publishing work done, from video trailers to website banners to book covers, ELITE is the company to use!

Cover Reveal! “Legends of Windemere: Allure of the Gypsies”

LEGENDS OF WINDEMERE: ALLURE OF THE GYPIES

by Charles Yallowitz

Allure Final CoverThe epic adventures of Luke Callindor and Nyx continue after their journey down the L’Dandrin River in Legends of Windemere: Prodigy of Rainbow Tower.Reeling from his failures in their previous adventure, Luke leads his surviving friends to his hometown.  With his mind frayed and his confidence fractured, Luke must face the family and fiancée he left behind.  It is a brief homecoming when the vampire Kalam attacks the village, forcing Luke and Nyx to break into his lair for the key to resurrecting a fallen warrior.  It is a quest that will force both young heroes to reach new heights of strength and power that they never knew they had.

Can Luke and Nyx escape the lair of Kalam?  And, what role will the orphaned gypsy Sari play in their looming destiny?

Coming December 1, 2013

PREVIOUS BOOKS BY CHARLES YALLOWITZ

Legends of Windemere: Beginning of a Hero (Volume 1)  http://www.amazon.com/Beginning-Hero-Legends-Windemere-ebook/dp/B00BL9GBU2/

Legends of Windemere: Prodigy of Rainbow Tower (Volume 2)  http://www.amazon.com/Prodigy-Rainbow-Legends-Windemere-ebook/dp/B00E8WUD5S/

BIO

Charles Yallowitz was born and raised on Long Island, NY, but he has spent most of his life wandering his own imagination in a blissful haze. Occasionally, he would return from this world for the necessities such as food, showers, and Saturday morning cartoons. One day he returned from his imagination and decided he would share his stories with the world. After his wife decided that she was tired of hearing the same stories repeatedly, she convinced him that it would make more sense to follow his dream of being a fantasy author. So, locked within the house under orders to shut up and get to work, Charles brings you Legends of Windemere. He looks forward to sharing all of his stories with you and his wife is happy he finally has someone else to play with.

BLOG
COVER ARTIST

Book Cover Contest – please vote!

Hi Kidleys! Big favor to ask of you. Please vote and pass along to your friends. Repost, Share, Tweet, Shout from the rooftops!

AOH%20cover_webMy book cover for AN ORPHAN’S HEART is up for an award in the 2013 AuthorsdB Book Cover Contest in the History category. It was created by Elite Book Design and is definitely one of my favorite covers. You can vote on both Facebook for COVER OF THE YEAR and on AuthorsdB in the History category. You can vote once every 24 hours. Please bookmark it and do so!!

Stuckey's cover_webMy book cover for THE LEGEND OF STUCKEY’S BRIDGE is also up for an award in the Mystery/Thriller category. It too was created by Elite Book Design. Please vote at AuthorsdB.

I guess #1 entitles me to a new title…

Ranking is EVERYTHING…for the next hour or so anyway!

Not only am I “Award Winning,” apparently now I’m “Best Selling!” And, you better believe I’m running over at lightening speed to change my “About” page to reflect that. 🙂 After frustration and turmoil over a story line, the least I can do is add a title in front of my name. I wonder if you need to specify exactly how long you were at #1. “Best selling author for ten and a half minutes.” That has a ring to it, don’t you think?

The highest rank I’ve ever reached on Amazon was back in July when The Legend of Stuckey’s Bridge was released and I hit #23 in the top selling historical fiction authors. It only lasted a couple weeks. I typically hang out around the #100 mark, just low enough to jump on and fall off the “Top 100” list over and over.

elly hays no 1On November 15th, my book Elly Hays, which was released November 4th,  hit #1 in the Native American Literature category on Kindle and #2 in the same category in books. These numbers are updated hourly, so one minute your #19, then an hour later you move up to #4, then #1, then back down to #283. Eventually you stop looking, but I’m glad I was home with my camera ready when it hit #1.

With my sincerest gratitude and thanks to my readers, I am happily putting the title of “Best Selling” in front of my name. Maybe someday I’ll hit it again. 🙂

I wonder if Miley will let me borrow her foam finger. We’re #1! We’re #1! We’re #1! download

ELLY HAYS book tour – Last Stops: Reviews and Twitter Chat!

elly cover_webThe last stops of the ELLY HAYS book tour are for reviews.

One is on the other side of the pond at author Christoph Fischer’s and the other is right here in the U.S. at author PC Zick’s. They are both amazing and talented authors, and I’m thrilled they both liked Elly. I respect their opinions greatly and feel a huge sense of humility and thankfulness for their kind reviews. Pop over and tell them both Hi. Check out their books while you’re there.

 

 

 

 

 

twitter-chat-tree-11The very last stop of the tour will be tomorrow (Saturday, Nov 16, 4-5pm Eastern) for a LIVE Twitter chat. If you’ve ever thought about putting your own stories out into the world, come chat with us and we’ll be happy to point you in the direction. I’ll be joined by authors PC Zick, Anna Belfrage, Pat Fitzhugh, Beem Weeks, and book cover designer/formatting genius/video trailer producer/swag guru Rob Hess from Elite Book Design. Come asks us questions and hang out.

Join us through www.Tweetchat.com and use hashtag #ellyhays. If you’re not familiar with Tweetchat, it is a live, single-conversation Twitter feed, so you don’t have to surf through other Tweets. Also, you only have to put in the hashtag to join the conversation and don’t have to add it with every Tweet – Tweetchat will automatically do it for you. Gotta love technology!

See you tomorrow!!! ♥