Since tomorrow is my cover reveal for Far Away (Gypsy Fairy Tale Book Two), I'm sharing this post a day early.In my novel Incarnate, we get a glimpse of the Civil War era romance between Becca and Alastor before their tragic deaths.  This is the love affair that started the bond between Alastor the ghost and the modern reincarnation of his wife.

July 30, 1863

 My Dearest Alastor,

I have not received any more letters from you so I can only assume that you are too occupied with the rebels or God forbid, dead.  I won’t let myself believe that.  I keep it in my heart that you are alive, fighting, and will write to me as soon as you can.  I try to believe that you would not abandon me.

The news came of the battle in Pennsylvania and I can only hope that you were not there, but with no letters coming, I can only fear the worst.  Please be safe, be alive, so that you can come home to me!

I apologize that it has taken me so long to write you again, please do not think that I have forgotten you!  The past few weeks have been rather terrifying as some of the miseries of war were at last felt here in Corydon.  On July 9^th we were paid a visit by Morgan and his band of horse thieves.

We heard news Tuesday that they had crossed the river and our home guard rushed to meet them.  Most of the town was already hiding at Cedar Glade, but still the rebels fired upon the town and cannon balls landed in the yard very near the house where we were.  I do not know the details, but by morning we were all prisoners of war.

I believe that will always be the most awful day of my life.  I remembered how you promised that you were fighting this war to protect me from the rebel invaders, but by the time that they had moved on and when I went home and the bastards had been inside our home, touching our things, I knew there was no protection for such tragedy.

My love, please write and let me know that you are living!  I cannot take that disappointment too.

 Your Faithful Wife,

Becca

It’s no secret that out of all my characters, Alastor from my Spiritus Series is my favorite.  It’s not something I really try to hide, but I’ll admit that while finishing Far Away (Gypsy Fairy Tale Book Two), Kieran is gaining some serious ground!

Kieran is a member of the Tuatha De Danann, an ancient tribe that once ruled Ireland.  That itself isn’t that exciting, but the people of this tribe a near immortal, aging very slowly and healing at a rapid rate.  Since the Tuatha De Danann are hunted by another tribe, they hide within the closed society of Irish Travellers.

Okay, he’s starting to get my attention.  What about personalities?  Where Alastor was a possessive ghost obsessed with his one true love, Kieran knows the challenges that a life with him brings and always leaves the choice up to Harmony. 

He’s starting to grow on me, but it wasn’t until this last book that I really fell for him.  Kieran stops being a passive hero and really steps up in this last installment.  Gotta love a guy that can take a beheading and keep on ticking....

So to my fellow writers....Do you have a favorite character from your books?  Readers...What character has left a lasting impression on you?

So, I'm in the last push of finishing the second book in my Gypsy Fairy Tale series.  I'm close enough to the end that I can taste it...Of course that means I can come up with a thousand other things to do rather than finish it.

All it takes is a self-imposed deadline and a little self control.  Well guess what, I suck at both!  I said long ago that I was the Queen of Procrastination, but this is even worse!  Now I'm the Queen of Self Doubt!

Will it be good enough?  Will fans of book one appreciate where book two takes the characters or am I a complete hack?  Will people like the cover?

I keep telling myself that all I have to do is sit down and write the damn thing!  Anything wrong with it can be fixed in editing....And then I remember that it's time to take Alyssa to dance...Or to go shopping for school clothes....Or to take Alyssa for some new dance shoes....Or I need to cut the grass....Clean the refrigerator...Anything other than what I really should do which is just put my butt in a chair and write!

Yeah....deadlines and self control....I suck.

I was doing so well...Really I was, and then it happened, the block.  When we came back from my daughter’s nationals for dance, I dove back into my work and was able to hit my word count on most days.  I was feeling great, proud even, that I was able to go cheer on my biggest fan for a week and then return to my normal routine so easily. 

I shouldn’t have gotten cocky.  For the past few days, all I have managed is three pages of poo...Not even good poo (word or idea fertilizer)...Nope just poo.

I have to admit it.  I have the dreaded Indie Writer (or any writer for that matter) Curse.  I have... (Cue dramatic music)...WRITERS BLOCK.

So, since I’m not writing anything useful, I thought I might as well poke some fun at this wretched curse and share:

10.  Take a Break and Watch Some Television.  This really works because what could be more helpful to a writer than watching a lot of pointless, plotless, reality shows about people that, let’s face it, if you met them in public you’d probably just smack them.  My personal favorite was last night’s Say Yes to the Dress, or as I now call it, I’d Slap That B**ch.  Yeah, big help, all my character development issues are now solved.

9.  Spend Time With Family.  I love this one.  Nothing brings a family closer together than spending time with a cranky writer.  This is a personal favorite mine too since my daughter weighed in on one of my recent  habits.

8.  Play A Few Games of Bubble Popper on My Kindle.  Those crazy little bubbles!  I don’t know what it is about them, but nothing makes me feel less like I’m wasting time than popping a bunch of color codes bubbles on my Kindle screen.  Productivity at its best.

7.  Go Ahead and Write Poo.  Yeah, you remember from above how well that one worked.

6.  Free Write.  Wouldn’t I just love to poke the eyes out of whoever invented that idea!  If I could “free write” I would “write write”.  What sort of joke is it to even suggest that?

5.  Research Your Setting.  Oh, spending time trolling Google always helps.  I don’t care how committed to your project you are, it’s only a matter of time before you start searching “Celebrity Plastic Surgery Disasters” and watching cat videos on YouTube.

4.  Talk with Other Writers on Facebook.  You start off with good intentions, talking about the craft and world building, but then Candy Crush starts calling or you just have to stop and share that awesome e-card you just read.  If you’re working straight down the list, you could also pass on those pictures of Celebrity Plastic Surgery Disasters and a few cat videos.

3.  Go For A Walk.  The peace and quiet of a walk really helps you get in touch with your characters to where you can really visualize what it is that they want to say....And now you’re the crazy person talking to these imaginary characters out in public and scaring everyone else.

2.  Go Have A Drink.  Same as above, except now you’re the drunk crazy person.  That’s how you clear a room!

1.  Write a Blog Post About Beating Writers Block.  Do I really need to explain this one?


So, there it is, I'm still stuck and the poo is still poo.

Anyway, I'm trying hard to finish Far Away (Gypsy Fairy Tale, Book Two) and I want to thank everyone for all the e-mails I've been getting about the sneak peek!  I'm loving all the feedback!

I've been hard at work on Far Away (Gypsy Fairy Tale, Book Two) and now I'm so excited to offer my readers this sneak peek!

The light of the campfire pushed at the cold, wet, darkness. Still, I shivered inside my damp clothes.

Alec threw another branch on the fire and then sat down next to me. He rubbed his hands over my arms and shoulders, trying his best to warm me.

“Stretch your feet out towards the fire,” he suggested as he took my hands in his and exhaled his hot breath over them.

“I had no idea it would be this cold,” I stuttered as my teeth clicked together.

He turned and crawled into the open tent, pulling out one of the thick down sleeping bags. He unzipped it and wrapped it around my shoulders.

“See if this helps,” he said.

“Thank you,” I mumbled and moved closer to the fire. I could already feel the smoky warmth spreading over me.

Alec stared into the fire, poking at it now and then with a long stick.

“I know the cold sucks,” he said. “But hopefully it’s so cold whoever owns this property won’t come out and run us off.”

“Do you think they would really do that?”

“How do I know?” He said with a shrug, “We’re about a mile from the Hill of Tara; it was too dark when we stopped to really see anything. For all I know, we could be camping in someone’s back yard.”

I looked out into the darkness, straining to see anything. “We’re only a mile away?”

“According to the GPS on my phone we are.”

“Shouldn’t we be able to see or hear something of we’re that close?”

Alec poked at the fire and frowned, “Maybe your gypsy friends are just lying low.”

“It seems strange to think that Kieran could just be a mile away.”

Alec tossed his stick into the fire, sending orange sparks up into the air.

“Look,” he huffed and glared into the flames. “I’m trying real hard to do the right thing here. I’ve betrayed my family and my heritage for you, so can you try not to rub my face in it?”

I shrank away from him, embarrassed and ashamed.

“I’m sorry,” I mumbled. “It’s just—“

“I don’t want you to explain anything,” he snapped. “I just want to ask you one question.”

My stomach fluttered and my throat grew tight, not sure I even wanted to know his question.

“What is it?” I forced myself to ask.

Alec turned the full force of his gaze on me, his eyes glittering in the light of the fire.

“Why not me?” He asked.

“What?”

“You heard me,” he said. “Why not me?”

I looked away, thankful that the shadows would hide my expression.

“I don’t understand,” I lied.

Alec turned back to the fire, “I just want to know, why him? Why not me?”

“Alec, I—“

“I was there,” he interrupted. “Day after day, I kept thinking you’d look at me, that you’d really look at me, but you never did.”

“Alec...”

“Just be honest,” he said. “Why not me?”

How could I explain it to him? How could I describe that overpowering wave that was falling in love to someone that hadn’t experienced it?

One look at him though and I knew...Alec had experienced that feeling.

“Alec,” I began, too ashamed to meet his eyes. “What do you want me to say? For whatever reason, it was Kieran and I can’t change that.”

He flinched as if I had slapped him and glared into the fire.

“I know,” he said with a bitter smile. “I guess I just had to hear it for myself.”

I hated myself for hurting him, “If you want to leave, I’ll understand. You’ve already done so much to help me.”

“And what am I going to do?” He snapped, “Walk all the way back to Dublin in the dark?”

“I didn’t mean—“

“I promised to get you to Tara safely and that’s what I’m going to do.”

I looked down at my hands, knowing that I didn’t deserve his friendship or his company. It would serve me right if her would leave me here and catch the first flight back to America.

“Why are you still willing to help me?” I asked.

Alec tossed another branch onto the fire, “Because that is what you do when you love someone. You do things that make them happy, even if it breaks your heart.”

“Alec...”

“That’s something that your gypsy needs to learn,” he said.

Before I had the change to say anything else, he turned and crawled into the tent.




**WARNING** Since I do not write my stories in order, this sneak peek may change slightly by the time Far Away reaches publication.

First off, let me just say WOW!  How beautiful is this cover?  I got this book last week and I'm absolutely loving it!  Second let me say that I'm so excited to be able to share some of it with you!  Branded is a dystopian novel that has just kept me glued to the page!


Blurb:
Twenty years ago the Commander came into power and murdered all who opposed him. In his warped mind, the seven deadly sins were the downfall of society. He created the Hole where sinners are branded according to their sins and might survive a few years. At best. 
Now LUST wraps around my neck like blue fingers strangling me. I’ve been accused of a crime I didn’t commit and now the Hole is my new home. 

Darkness. Death. Violence. Pain. 

Now every day is a fight for survival. But I won’t die. I won’t let them win.
The Hole can’t keep me. The Hole can’t break me. 
I am more than my brand. I’m a fighter. 
My name is Lexi Hamilton, and this is my story.

 
Excerpt:


I’m buried six feet under, and no one hears my screams.

The rope chafes as I loop it around my neck. I pull down, making sure the knot is secure. It seems sturdy enough. My legs shake. My heart beats heavy in my throat. Sweat pours down my back.

Death and I glare at each other through my tears.

            I take one last look at the crystal chandelier, the foyer outlined with mirrors, and the flawless decorations. No photographs adorn the walls. No happy memories here.

I’m ready to go. On the count of three.

            I inhale, preparing myself for the finality of it all. Dropping my hands, a glimmer catches my eye. It’s my ring, the last precious gift my father gave me. I twist it around to read the inscription. Picturing his face forces me to reconsider my choice. He’d be heartbroken if he could see me now.

A door slams in the hallway, almost causing me to lose my balance. My thoughts already muddled, I stand waiting with the rope hanging around my neck. Voices I don’t recognize creep through the walls.

            Curiosity overshadows my current thoughts. It’s late at night, and this is a secure building in High Society. No one disturbs the peace here—ever. I tug on the noose and pull it back over my head.

Peering through the eyehole in our doorway, I see a large group of armed guards banging on my neighbors’ door. A heated conversation ensues, and my neighbors point toward my family’s home.

It hits me. I’ve been accused and they’re here to arrest me.

My father would want me to run, and in that split second, I decide to listen to his voice within me. Flinging myself forward in fear, I scramble up the marble staircase and into my brother’s old bedroom. The door is partially covered, but it exists. Pushing his dresser aside, my fingers claw at the opening. Breathing hard, I lodge myself against it. Nothing. I step back and kick it with all my strength. The wood splinters open, and my foot gets caught. I wrench it backward, scraping my calf, but adrenaline pushes me forward. The voices at the front door shout my name.

 On hands and knees, I squeeze through the jagged opening. My brother left through this passage, and now it’s my escape too. Cobwebs entangle my face, hands, and hair. At the end, I feel for the knob, twisting it clockwise. It swings open, creaking from disuse. I sprint into the hallway and smash through the large fire escape doors at the end. A burst of cool air strikes me in the face as I jump down the ladder.

            Reaching the fifth floor, I knock on a friend’s window. The lights flicker on, and I see the curtains move, but no one answers. I bang on the window harder.

            “Let me in! Please!” I say, but the lights darken. They know I’ve been accused and refuse to help me. Fear and adrenaline rush through my veins as I keep running, knocking on more windows along the way. No one has mercy. They all know what happens to sinners.

            Another flight of stairs passes in a blur when I hear the guards’ heavy footfalls from above. I can’t hide, but I don’t want to go without trying.

Help me, Daddy. I need your strength now.

My previous desolation evolves into a will to survive. I have to keep running, but I tremble and gasp for air. I steel my nerves and force my body to keep moving. In a matter of minutes, my legs cramp and my chest burns. I plunge to the ground, scraping my knee and elbow. A moan escapes from my chest.

Gotta keep going.

“Stop!” Their voices bounce off the buildings. “Lexi Hamilton, surrender yourself,” they command. They’re gaining on me.

I resist the urge to glance back, running into what I assume is an alley. I’m far from our high-rise in High Society as I plunge into a poorer section of the city where the streets all look the same and the darkness prevents me from recognizing anything. I’m lost.

            My first instinct is to leap into a dumpster, but I retain enough sense to stay still. I crouch and peek around it, watching them dash by. The abhorrent smell leaves me vomiting until nothing remains in my stomach. Desperation overtakes me, as I know my retching was anything but silent. My last few seconds tick away before they find me. Everyone knows about their special means of tracking sinners.

I push myself to my feet and look left, right, and left again. Their batons click against their black leather belts, and their boots stomp the cement on both sides of me. I shrink into myself. Their heavy steps mock my fear, growing closer and closer until I know I’m trapped.

Never did I imagine they’d come for me. Never did I imagine all those nights I heard them dragging someone else away that I’d join them.

            “You’re a sinner,” they say. “Time to leave our society.”

I stand defiant. I refuse to bend or break before them, even as I shiver with fear.

“There’s no reason to make this difficult. The more you cooperate, the smoother this will be for everyone,” a guard says.

I cringe into the blackness along the wall. I’m innocent, but they won’t believe me or care.

The next instant, my face slams into the pavement as one guard plants a knee in my back and another handcuffs me. A warm liquid trails into my mouth. Blood. Their fingers grip my arms like steel traps as they peel me off the cement. The tops of my shoes scrape along the ground as I’m dragged behind them until they discard me into the back of a black vehicle. The doors slam in unison with one guard stationed on each side of me, my shoulders digging into their arms.

Swallowing hard, I stare ahead to avoid their eyes. My dignity is all I have left. The handcuffs dig into my wrists, so I clasp them together hard behind me and press my back into the seat, unwilling to admit how much it hurts.

 Did they need so many guards to capture me?

 I’m not carrying any weapons, nor do I own any. I don’t even know self-defense. High Society frowns on activities like that.

The driver jerks the vehicle around and I try to keep my bearings, but it’s dark and the scenery changes too fast. Hours pass, and the air grows warmer, more humid the farther we drive. The landscape mutates from city to rolling hills. They don’t bother blindfolding me because they escort all the sinners to the same place—the Hole. Twenty-foot cement walls encase the chaos within. There’s no way out and no way in unless they transport you. They say the Hole is a prison with no rules. We learned about it last year in twelfth grade.

To the outside, I’m filth now. I’ll never be allowed to return to the life I knew. No one ever does.

“All sinners go through a transformation,” one of the guards says to me. His smirk infuriates me. “I’m sure you’ve heard all kinds of stories.” I don’t respond. I don’t want to think about the things I’ve been told.

“You won’t last too long, though. Young girls like you get eaten alive.” He pulls a strand of my hair up to his face.

 Get your hands off me, you pig. I want to lash out, but resist. The punishment for disobeying authority is severe, and I’m not positioned to defy him.

            They’re the Guards of the Commander. They’re chosen from a young age and trained in combat. They keep the order of society by using violent methods of intimidation. No one befriends a guard. Relationships with them are forbidden inside the Hole.

Few have seen the commander. His identity stays under lock and key. His own paranoia and desire to stay pure drove him to live this way. He controls our depraved society and believes sinners make the human race unforgivable. His power is a crushing fist, rendering all beneath him helpless. So much so, even family members turn on each other when an accusation surfaces. Just an accusation. No trial, no evidence, nothing but an accusation.

I lose myself in thoughts of my father.

“Never show fear, Lexi,” my father said to me before he was taken. “They’ll use it against you.” His compassionate eyes filled with warning as he commanded me to be strong. That was many years ago, but I remember it clearly. My father. My rock. The one person in my life who provided unconditional love.

“Get out,” the guard says while pulling me to my feet. The vehicle stops, and I’m jerked back to reality. The doors slide open and the two guards lift me up and out into the night. A windowless cement building looms in front of us, looking barren in the darkness.

The coolness of the air sends a shiver up my spine. This is really happening. I’ve been labeled a sinner. My lip starts to quiver, but I bite it before anyone sees. They shove me in line, and I realize I’m not alone. Women and men stand with faces frozen white with fear. A guard grabs my finger, pricks it, and dabs my blood on a tiny microchip.

 I follow the man in front of me into the next room where we’re lined up facing the wall. Glancing right, I see one of the men crying.

“Spread your legs,” one of the guards says.

They remove my outer layers and their hands roam up and down my body.

What do they think I can possibly be hiding? I press my head into the wall, trying to block out what they’re doing to me.

“MOVE!” a guard commands. So I shuffle across the room, trying to cover up.

One

Two

Three

Four

Five of us sit in the holding room. One by one, they pull people into the next room, forcing the rest of us to wonder what torture we’ll endure. An agonizing amount of time passes. I lean my head back and try to imagine a place far away. The door opens.

“Lexi Hamilton.”

            A guard escorts me out of the room, and I don’t have time to look back. As soon as the door closes, they pick me up and place me on a table. It’s cold and my skin sticks to it slightly, like wet fingers on an ice cube. Then they exit in procession, and I lie on the table with a doctor standing over me. His hands are busy as he speaks.

“Don’t move. This will only take a few minutes. It’s time for you to be branded.”

A wet cloth that smells like rubbing alcohol is used to clean my skin. Then he places a metal collar around my neck.

Click. Click. Click.

The collar locks into place, and I struggle to breathe. The doctor loosens it some as I focus on the painted black words above me.

The Seven Deadly Sins:

Lust ¾ Blue

Gluttony ¾ Orange

Greed ¾ Yellow

Sloth ¾ Black

Wrath ¾ Red

Envy ¾ Green

Pride ¾ Purple

 “Memorize it. Might keep you alive longer if you know who to stay away from.” He opens my mouth, placing a bit inside. “Bite this.”

Within seconds, the collar heats from hot to scorching. The smell of flesh sizzling makes my head spin. I bite down so hard a tooth cracks.

“GRRRRRRRRR,” escapes from deep within my chest. Just when I’m about to pass out, the temperature drops, and the doctor loosens the collar.

He removes it and sits me up. Excruciating pain rips through me, and I’m on the verge of a mental and physical breakdown. Focus. Don’t pass out.

Stainless steel counters and boring white walls press in on me. A guard laughs at me from an observation room above and yells, “Blue. It’s a great color for a pretty young thing like yourself.” His eyes dance with suggestion. The others meander around like it’s business as usual.

I finally find my voice and turn to the doctor.

“Are you going to give me clothes?” A burning pain spreads like fire up from my neck to my jaw, making me wince.

He points to a set of folded grey scrubs on a chair. I cover myself as much as I can and scurry sideways. Grabbing my clothes and pulling the shirt over my head, I try to avoid the raw meat around my throat. I quickly knot the cord of my pants around my waist and slide my feet into the hospital-issue slippers as the doctor observes. He hands me a bag labeled with my name.

“Nothing is allowed through the door but what we’ve given you,” he says.

I hide my right hand behind me, hoping no one notices. A guard scans my body and opens his hand.

“Give it to me,” he says. “Don’t make me rip off your finger.” He crouches down and I turn to stone. I don’t know what to do, so I beg.

 “My father gave this to me. Please, let me keep it.” I smash my eyes shut and think of the moment my father handed the golden ring to me.

“It was my mother’s ring,” he’d said. “She’s the strongest woman I ever knew.” With tears in his eyes, he reached for my hand and said, “Lexi, you’re exactly like her. She’d want you to wear this. No matter how this world changes, you can survive.” I turned the gold band over in my palm and read the engraving.

You can overcome anything… short of death.

 “You’re going to take the one thing that matters the most to me?” I say, glaring into the guard’s emotionless eyes. “Isn’t it enough taking my life, dignity, and respect?”

A hard blow falls upon my back. As I fall, my hands shoot out to stop me from smashing into the wall in front of me. The guard bends down and grabs my chin with his meaty fist.

“Look at me,” he commands. I look up and he smiles with arrogance.

“What the hell?” He staggers a step backward. “What’s wrong with you? What’s wrong with your eyes?”

“Nothing,” I respond, confused.

“What color are they?”

“Turquoise.” I glower at him.

“Interesting,” he says, regaining his composure. “Now those’ll get you in trouble.”

Reality slaps me across the face. I have my father’s eyes. They can't take them from me. I twist the ring off my finger and drop it in his hand.

“Take the damn ring,” I say. I walk to the door. He swipes a card and the massive door slides open to the outside.

“You have to wear your hair back at all times, so everyone knows what you are.” He hands me a tie, so I pull my frizzy hair away from my face and secure it into a ponytail. My neck burns and itches as my hand traces the scabs that have already begun to form. Squinting ahead in the darkness, I almost run into a guard standing on the sidewalk.

 “Watch where you’re going,” he says, shoving me backward. His stiff figure stands tall and I cringe at the sharpness of his voice.

“Cole, this is your new assignment, Lexi Hamilton. See to it she feels welcome in her new home.” The guard departs with a salute.

“Let’s move,” Cole says.

I take two steps and collapse, my knees giving out. The unforgiving pavement reopens the scrapes from earlier and I struggle to stand. A powerful arm snatches me up, and I see his face for the first time.

 

Author Bios:

Abi Ketner Is a registered nurse with a passion for novels, the beaches of St. John, and her Philadelphia Phillies. A talented singer, Abi loves to go running and spend lots of time with her family. She currently resides in Lancaster, Pennsylvania with her husband, triplet daughters and two very spoiled dogs.

Melissa Kalicicki received her bachelor’s degree from Millersville University in 2003. She married, had two boys and currently lives in Lancaster, Pennsylvania. Aside from reading and writing, her interests include running and mixed martial arts. She also remains an avid Cleveland sports fan. 

Abi and Missy met in the summer of 1999 at college orientation and have been best friends ever since. After college, they added jobs, husbands and kids to their lives, but they still found time for their friendship. Instead of hanging out on weekends, they went to dinner once a month and reviewed books. What started out as an enjoyable hobby has now become an incredible adventure.

Links:
twitter @abiandmiss.com 

website and blog www.abiandmissy.com

Facebook https://www.facebook.com/AbiandMissy

goodreads http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/17402117-branded

Today, in 1863, the Battle of Corydon took place.  Now normally, this would not have anything to do with paranormal romance, but in the case of my Spiritus series, it has EVERYTHING to do with it!

Below is an excerpt from Haunted (Spiritus Series Book Two), where Becca undergoes hypnosis with Dr. Langdon and her revelations take her back into her past life...To the Battle of Corydon and beyond.

Excerpt:
As intriguing as this glimpse into her fantasy was, it provided
no promise of a cure. I was still amazed by her level of detail, but it wasn’t  getting us anywhere.
     
"All right Becca," I said. "I want you to imagine that your life is one big book and all of this that you see is just a single page in your life. When I tell you to, I want you to turn the page. Do you understand?"
        
"Yes," she mumbled.
         
I took a deep breath and crossed my fingers. I had no way of knowing what would be coming next. Part of me was excited, but another part of me was worried what would be unveiled. Somewhere in the midst of all this fantasy was the reality that drove her to this point.
 
"All right Becca," I commanded. "Turn the page."
     
Instantly her face changed and her expression darkened. Against her legs, her fingers drew into tight fists.
        
"They're coming," she whispered soft and low, her entire body beginning to tremble. I could hear the click of her teeth as they chattered together.
 
"Who is coming?" I asked, unable to believe her change in reaction. 
 
I could see her stress and tension drawing her in tight, every vein and tendon bulging under her skin. Tears began to escape her eyes and slid down to wet her hair at the temples.

 "The Army," she whispered. "They're coming. Where do I go? What do I do?"

 I could hear the panic in her voice, making her sound so much younger than she actually was, and debated if I should awaken her or try to continue.

 "Becca? Can you still hear me?"

 "Yes," she whimpered.

 "Where are you?" I asked, again not sure if what she was remembering was fantasy or reality.

 Becca began to gasp for air, "I am at my home, but everyone tells me that I have to leave because the soldiers are coming, but I'm not sure what I should do... Tell me what to do... Tell me what to do...I don’t know what I should do…"

 "Becca, calm down," I commanded, a bit alarmed by her intensity. I had never seen a patient react in such a physical way under hypnosis. "I need you to calm down and tell me what happened next."

 At first I wasn't sure that she heard me, but gradually her breathing slowed almost to normal.

 "Becca, where are you now?" I asked.

 Her tiny fists drew smaller and her voice was barely audible.

 "I'm at Cedar Glade," she said in a frightened whisper. 
 
“What is Cedar Glade?”

 “It’s the big house just outside of town.”

 “Why are you there?”

 "The entire town is here."

 She began gasping again, "I can't breathe... There's too many people... Oh my God!"

 Over and over, her entire body flinch in her hands went over her ears.

 "Becca, what's happening?" I asked. "What do you see?"

 "We’re all here, pushed together," she whined. "It's so hot and it smells, there's a baby crying-- Oh my God!"

 "What is it?"

 "Cannons... The cannons..." She mumbled over and over. "They're coming for me... They're going to get me... Alastor, where are you? Why don't you stop them? You promised that I would be safe…You promised…"

 She sounded so afraid that I almost put an end to the session again, but I forced myself to remain neutral. As painful as this was to watch, it was necessary for her treatment. We had to get through the fantasy to the
reality of what actually happened to her.

 "Where is Alastor?" I asked her.

 "Fighting the war," she said. "He promised I'd be safe... He promised... He promised..."

 I needed to move her past this, "Okay Becca, I want you to turn the page again."

 Again, she quieted. I settled back in my chair again, "Okay Becca, now where are you?"

 "At home," she said with a sigh, her voice ragged and tired. "Look what they did... The bastards... They touched my things... They ruined it... They ruined everything... Alastor will be so disappointed..."

 "Who are you talking about? Who ruined everything?"

 "The soldiers," she spat out. "They got into the house... They took things... They touched things... I have to wash it... I have to wash all of it..." 

I could see her anxiety growing again. I needed to get her out of the past and into the present. "All right Becca, let's move forward, turn the page. The war is over, turn the page again and tell me what you see."

 "Alastor asleep in the study," she said flatly. "I can smell the whiskey on him; the smell is even stronger than the stench of his whore. The gun is so heavy; it takes both hands to hold it.”

 “Why do you have a gun?”

  She ignored me. 

“He lied…He promised he wouldn’t hurt me…He promised he’d keep me safe…”

 “Becca,” I said loudly. “What are you doing? Why do you have a gun?”

 “He's looking up at me now,” she said. “Saying something, but I can’t hear him. My ears are screaming and there is smoke in my eyes. I smell copper, like when I put water in the copper kettle... Alastor... I killed him... Alastor..."

So Alyssa was watching Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets on DVD and it got to the part where Harry tells his friends about hearing the strange voice right before finding the petrified Mrs. Norris. Hermione tells Harry that even in the wizarding word, that hearing voices isn't good.  Alyssa turns to me, serious as can be, "See mom, even Harry Potter isn't supposed to hear voices."

It got me to thinking that 1) Alyssa listens waaay to much to what I say about the writing process, and 2) Maybe all writers are a little crazy.

For weeks now, I've been struggling to finish the second book in my Gypsy Fairy Tale series while Alastor (the disgruntled ghost from my Spiritus Series) keeps filling my head with his ramblings.  Because of this I'm having a terrible time trying to connect to my characters.

Now did you get that?  I'm finding it difficult to connect with imaginary people because an imaginary dead guy keeps talking to me.  Let me phrase it another way.....My new imaginary friends won't play with me because my first imaginary friend is a big bully.

Doesn't really sound any better, does it?  It all boils down to the simple idea that writer's are crazy.  We live in worlds that we create in out own minds, we populate those worlds with imaginary people, and then share our insanity with the rest of the real world.  So not only are we nuts.....But we contaminate the "normal" people with our sickness.  If we're really successful, we even spawn our own epidemic (Fifty Shades of Grey, Twilight).