Brother Love 4 — A Domino

Saturday, May 18, 2019

Note:  Last week I mentioned Dan was working on his own post about his part of the inspiration for the Doug Armstrong character.  That is Dan’s Saturday post this week at his blog, No Facilities.

Various names on different colored cards in fancy text

Chuttersnap at Unsplash

Welcome to my sanctuary at the crossroads.  Relax and sit for awhile.  It makes no difference what your name may be.  Although there is oh so much in a name. 

I tend to obsess about character names.  In stories with a real world setting (even if they are also fantasy) I try to add authenticity through the names of some characters.  With Atonement, Tennessee and Atonement in Bloom, I consulted a (public) government database that will show the most popular names, for a state, in a given year. 

Last time in A Hymn, we met two new characters, a woman and a little girl.  I had to give the girl a first name.  To my those ever so handy databases I went.  I chose four names from the 100 most popular names in Mississippi in 1960.  (Since I haven’t established an exact year for the story, that’s smack in the middle of my range of when the story might take place.)

Then I sent my top choices to Dan Antion and asked if he’d mind choosing the name.  He chose from Dorothy, Shirley, Sandra (Sandy), and Tammy.  As you know, he picked Tammy. 

One of Dan’s “things” for Chapter 4 is the number nine.  This song came into the story.  It also inspired a couple of street names.

For Chapter 4, the “things” from Dan are Round Domino and Nine (the number).  The third thing is from V. M. Sang, Faberge egg.  She had not left a comment before my “call for things,” but that’s perfectly fine.

This time I apologize and request your patience.  I was barely able to get this chapter posted in time.  It’s raw.  You’ll undoubtedly see a lot of mistakes, but at least I managed to get it here.

It’s time to go to the crossroads.

Chapter 2.  Doug Armstrong stopped at Birdie Devovo’s house at the crossroads moments after the lights went out.  He said he saw someone moving around on the porch.  Birdie certainly thought someone was inside.   Yet, was it odd that Doug should be there at that specific moment?  Was it random chance?  Or did it happen by design?  If so, then whose design?

Chapter 3.  An unknown woman and a rather odd little girl stopped at the house at the crossroads asking for directions.  They were looking for Brother Love’s Traveling Salvation Show.  The woman said she believed Tammy could be healed of her hemophilia there. 

Brother Love

4 — A Domino

Round Domino, Nine, and Faberge Egg

Round Dominoes, by Dan Antion

Round Dominoes, by Dan Antion

Even after I could no longer see or hear the Ford, I stood there, pondering the strangeness of the child.

Jinx fluttered down near my feet.  He started pecking at something amid the gravels of the drive.  I noticed a small black disk.  With his beak, he tossed it into the air.

Sometimes when the magpie found bottle caps, he liked me to throw them for him to find.  However, that was no metal cap.

I bent down for a closer look.  A black disk with white dots.  It was right beside where the woman had stopped her car.

While she had called the child by her name, Tammy, the woman had not given her own name.  She was awfully nervous.  I guessed that getting lost made her too flustered to think of social niceties.  Although I didn’t feel she had been rude.

Jinx pecked at the disk again.  I picked it up to investigate before he could fly off with it.

Magpie on ground listening_PicturesofScotland Pixaby

Magpie, Pixabay

“Oh,” I felt so foolish that I said it aloud.

I had never seen a round domino.  The game behind the regular kind mystified me.  For the longest, I didn’t even know there was a game.  Dominoes were just something you stood up to watch each one knock down the next.  I wondered what you were supposed to do with round ones.

Jinx acted like he wanted it back.

“I know you found it, Jinx,” I told the bird.  “It must belong to that strange little girl.  If I see them again, I’ll give it to her.”

The magpie made a series of noises then started singing one of his favorites.  He usually just repeated the simple chorus over and over again, but that time he sang most of a verse.

“When I kissed a cop on Thirty-fourth and Vine.  Broke little bottle number nine,” he sang, getting most of the words.

“That’s a much better song than what you sang yesterday.  Come on back to the house and I’ll give you another strawberry.”

That got his attention.  For the next half hour, the magpie serenaded me with Love Potion Number Nine.

***

Church reflected in river Dan Antion

Church reflected in the river, by Dan Antion

The song wouldn’t leave my head.  I was still humming it the next morning when I got dressed to do errands.

I hated going into town.  It didn’t matter whether people were uptown or down, or which side of the tracks, rich or poor, they…  Well, let’s just say they didn’t approve of me.  It’s hard to say which was worse, the spiteful remarks, or the cold, aloof behavior.

Granted, my mother had given them enough fuel for gossip to last several generations.  They speculated about my parentage and then about whether I was legitimate.  They cast doubt on my race, and even my sanity ― all knowing I could hear them.

Other comments spoken in hushed, sometimes fearful tones made me wonder if people really did think I was some sort of devil, just because I lived at the crossroads on the outside of town.

People could be so foolish.  As if there weren’t crossroads all over town.  As if there wasn’t a crossroad anywhere two roads met, I thought.

Regardless, I had things to do that wouldn’t do themselves.  So, I got up and pulled my brown ringlet curls into a ponytail and got dressed.

1948 Nash Rambler-a1-Rex Gray-2-

Birdie’s old 1948 Nash Rambler, by Rex Gray

Women in cities might have started wearing slim cigarette or capri pants out in public, but that hadn’t become acceptable in Parliament, Mississippi.  I already attracted enough frowns and gossip, just from my mother’s reputation, so I didn’t wear those out in public.

I tried to banish the thoughts as I put on a yellow gingham, shirt-dress.  It had a little bow at the neck from the same check fabric.  Then I tied on my blue denim Keds.  New white laces kept the wear and tear from being as noticeable.  Nobody would know the soles were worn slick.

When I drove the old Nash Rambler wagon into Parliament, I turned onto Fourth Street.  That took me past the First Methodist Church.

I noticed several cars in the parking lot.  Among them was a late model Ford.  When I saw a bleached blond head, I knew it was the car from the evening before.

Then I gave myself a mental kick for the uncharitable sound of the word.  Describing a woman’s hair as bleached was insulting, even if that was obviously the case.  I never wanted to treat others the way I was treated.

I saw Tammy getting into the car.  The woman stood near the vehicle, talking to the preacher and some other people.  One of them handed her an envelope.

1950s Hat Purse Gloves ad

Pattern ad circa 1950

For a moment I considered stopping.  I was sure the domino must belong to Tammy so I had put it in my pocketbook just in case I saw them again.  What good was a game with a missing piece?

As the woman put the packet into her white handbag, I realized it contained cash.  She had mentioned Tammy’s medical bills taking all their money.  It was not unusual for families with a sickly child to go to churches in their area for donations.

But they aren’t from around here, I thought.  She must be in terrible need to ask for help outside their own community.  It would embarrass them if they knew I saw.

So, I continued on my way.  I stayed on Fourth Street to stop at the bakery.  A loaf of freshly baked bread was my reward for going into town.  Then I headed to the Post Office on Vine Street.

At the corner I noticed they had put up a street sign for the intersection of Fourth and Vine.  The visual of the sign made me think of Love Potion Number Nine again.  Parliament, Mississippi was nowhere near big enough to have a 34th Street, as in the song.  However, Fourth and Vine was close enough to make me chuckle.

The Post Office was one of the prettiest buildings in Parliament.  It was also one of the oldest.  I liked the cooling marble floors and arched doorways.

"The Hub" at Iowa State University was a post office until 1963. Dan Antion

“The Hub” at Iowa State University was a post office until 1963. Dan Antion

Inside, a policeman removed a picture from the “most wanted” wall.  When he looked up I saw it was Lamar Poole.  He wasn’t originally from Mississippi, but he had been with our police force for many years.

The lawmen weren’t as bad as most of the rest of the people.  Maybe it was because they had seen some truly bad people.  Anyhow I felt comfortable enough to say hello.

“Caught one!” I said in a go-team sort of way.

“Unfortunately, there’s always at least one more to replace the ones that get caught,” Sargent Poole replied in a friendly voice.

He held out a newspaper with an article about “grand larceny” and a valuable Faberge egg.

“Are those things really worth that much?” I exclaimed.

Lamar’s expression showed skepticism, but he nodded.  Fancy baubles were apparently not to his taste.

My mouth dropped open when he showed me the wanted-picture of the criminal.

I knew that face.

End Chapter 4.

***

Thank you kindly for reading Brother Love!  If you want to participate by leaving a “thing” to be included in a future episode, please make a comment.  Remember this is a mysterious story, set in rural Mississippi of the late 1950s to early 1960s. 

I’ll meet you at the crossroads again next Saturday!  Hugs on the wing.

***

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This is a work of fiction.  Characters, names, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.

Copyright ©  2019 by Teagan Ríordáin Geneviene

All rights reserved. 

No part of this work may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission.  Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights.

All images are either the property of the author or provided by free sources, unless stated otherwise.

 

Brother Love 3 — A Hymn

Saturday, May 11, 2019

Brother Love promo image

Brother Love composite by Teagan R. Geneviene

Welcome back to the crossroads everyone!   

 I should probably begin with a disclaimer.  This story is not about religion, nor is it a social commentary — that’s just part of the setting.  I also want you to understand that I approach this aspect of the story carefully.  While the story includes ways that I knew well and was involved in as a child, as an adult I acquired my own unique spirituality. 

That said, last time in A Shadow, now you learned some of the backstory for the Doug Armstrong character.  Today I wanted to tell you how his character came to be. 

You already know that Dan Antion provides photos to inspire me and illustrate this story —  and that he gives me two of the “three things” that drive each episode of this unplanned serial.  Shortly after I asked Dan to collaborate with me, we had a conversation about the Brother Love preacher of the Neil Diamond song.

Dan told me about an evangelist who made an unforgettable impact on him as a young man.  The preacher had a past.  Well, that didn’t fit with my idea of the title character.  However, that preacher inspired my “partner in crime” so I wanted to use it somehow. 

Church reflected in river Dan Antion

Church reflected in the river, by Dan Antion

Our discussion reminded me of a visiting preacher I encountered as a little girl.  He was youngish, and a little doughy, with a ruddy complexion.  He was also a very large, long legged guy.  The man would preach so hard that sweat just rolled off him.  He always had a big white handkerchief to mop his face.  Then when he really got excited, he would go to the back of the church and run across the tops of the pews, sometimes even skipping one, to the front, as the congregation shouted praise!

The Doug Armstrong character is inspired by a combination of the evangelist with a checkered past who made such an impression on Dan, and this astonishing figure from my childhood.  One day soon, at his blog, No Facilities, Dan will do his own post about his inspiration.

For Chapter 3, the “things” from Dan are Fog and Fox.  The third thing is one Olga Núñez Miret suggested, “Hymnal.”

Fog, by Dan Antion

Fog, by Dan Antion

It’s time to go to the crossroads.

Chapter 2.  Doug Armstrong stopped at Birdie Devovo’s house at the crossroads moments after the lights went out.  He said he saw someone moving around on the porch.  Birdie certainly thought someone was inside.   Yet, was it odd that Doug should be there at that specific moment?  Was it random chance?  Or did it happen by design?  If so, then whose design?

Brother Love

3 — A Hymn

Fog, Fox, and Hymnal

Rusted old tractor, photo by Dan Antion

Rusted old tractor, photo by Dan Antion

Jinx soared along a current of air.  Dawn’s light touched his feathers, making the magpie seem to glow.  Watching fog roll into a low area, he knew it would be another hot, humid day.

He alighted on the rusted out remains of an old tractor.  Keen eyes watched for the first morsel of the morning, a beetle, maybe a caterpillar.

Then he heard a guitar.  The sound came from the graveyard.  All thoughts of the insect forgotten, he flew toward the music.  Jinx loved blues that much.

He perched tentatively on a spruce-pine branch.  Dawn’s light had yet to penetrate the fog to illumine the cemetery.  In the shadows below, he could make out a dark figure, sitting on a tombstone.  Long fingers reached intricate, but deeply mournful chords.

A single ray of light found a way through branches and fog to reflect on the polished surface of the guitar.  Coal-black eyes looked up at Jinx.  The musician winked.

“Here, there ain’t nobody going to care how bad you are,” he said with a motion of one hand to include the graveyard.  “So, go ahead and sing along.  I know you could if you wanted to.”

He shifted on his tombstone seat and strummed an upbeat tune.

Jinx swooped down to roost on the gravestone opposite the musician.

With a grin, he looked at the magpie.  His dark eyes never went to the frets or strings of the instrument as he played.  It was as if the guitar was part of him.  Then he started to sing.

Hot tamales and they’re red hot.  Yeah, she got ’em for sale, hey.  Hot tamales and they’re red hot.  Oh, she got ’em for sale…

*********

Morning light streamed through the kitchen window.  Motes floated along the sunbeam paths.

There’s nothing like sunshine to shake off a bad night, I thought, as I poured the last drop of Maxwell House into my coffee cup.

A pecking sound at the window caused me to turn.  I opened the window and the magpie flew across the room to roost on the open door of the birdcage.

“I thought something happened to you, Jinx.  I haven’t seen you in weeks,” I admonished the bird as if he could understand me.

Vintage birdcage, by Dan Antion

Vintage birdcage, by Dan Antion

There had always been a magpie.  My mother said his name was Jinx.  She said her mother gave him to her. 

Jinx came and went as he pleased.  Now and then he would disappear for a while, sometimes weeks or months.  Once he was gone for more than a year.

I knew magpies weren’t usually found in Mississippi.  I also knew it couldn’t be the same bird every time he came back.  The magpie would have been more than sixty years old if that was the case.  Yet he was always named Jinx.

A strawberry was leftover on my breakfast plate.  I saw Jinx eye it, so I gave him the berry.  He started the random noises that he usually made before trying to sing.  I figured he was pretty happy.

Are you washed in the blood?  Soul cleansing blood of the lamb,” Jinx sang.

“Where did you learn that song?” I asked in surprise, as if he could tell me.

I remembered it from the old church hymnal.  It was probably my least favorite hymn.

Pages of a Methodist hymnal, by Dan Antion

Pages of a Methodist hymnal, by Dan Antion

“But it’s better than the sound of hound dogs chasin’ down a hoodoo,” I muttered aloud.

A chorus of distant baying met my ears.  I got up to close the window and shut out the unpleasant sound.  The dogs probably thought they smelled a fox.  However, sometimes I thought the hounds just imagined it for an excuse to bark.

Hoodoo washed in the blood,” Jinx sang, mixing up the words.

“Maybe you should go back outside, Jinx,” I commented dryly.

The magpie flew to perch on the windowsill.

“All right, Jinx.  In or out.  What’ll it be?  I’m going to close this window.”

The magpie leaned out and looked toward the old road that ran behind my house.  Curious, I leaned as well, when I saw a Ford headed our way, on the seldom traveled road. 

It was unusual enough for anyone to take the back road, but that was also a relatively new car.  Most folks in Parliament, Mississippi couldn’t afford late model automobiles.

The car slowed and pulled into the gravel driveway.  A woman stepped out of the car.  She looked ordinary enough.  Her hair was short, curly, with thick bangs.  She walked toward the house, waving when she saw me at the window.

I went outside to see what made her stop.  Then I saw a little girl inside the Ford.  The child seemed to be struggling to get out of the car.

Fox, photo by Dan Antion

Fox, photo by Dan Antion

“Tammy, now I told you to stay in the car.  We can’t be bothering this lady,” the woman called over her shoulder.  “Thank goodness for seat-belts.  I nearly ran off the road when a fox ran out in front of me while ago,” she told me.  “Thank heaven and safety belts, Tammy wasn’t hurt.”

That situation seemed odd.  Not all cars had safety belts, and when they did, most people cut the uncomfortable things out and threw them away.

Jinx flew to the Ford and perched on the side mirror.  The girl trilled with delight.  The magpie stayed just out of her reach.

When the woman saw them, she screamed and ran toward the car.  Jinx made haste up into the branches of the magnolia tree.

“He wouldn’t hurt her,” I called as I ran behind the woman.  “He’s tame!”

“Where did he go?” the girl asked excitedly.  “He talks.  He’s a talking bird!”

“I’m sorry,” the woman apologized for her panic.  “Tammy is a free bleeder.  The least scratch and…  Anyhow, I’m sorry to trouble you, but I’ve made a wrong turn.  We’re trying to get to a revival meeting near Parliament, Mississippi.”

Hemophilia, I thought.  That would make any parent nervous.  I wonder if that’s her mother though.  They don’t seem to look much alike.

Tammy obligingly held out a copy of the same mimeographed flyer that was left on my door.  Inside the car I noticed the back seat filled with pillows and blankets, a drink box and other things.

Antique globe showing the Mississippi Delta, by Dan Antion

Antique globe showing the Mississippi Delta, by Dan Antion

I walked beside the woman when she went to open the car’s trunk.  She extracted a stuffed animal and handed it to Tammy.  I looked down at the license plate.  I didn’t recognize the county name, but I never did know much about the world beyond my home.

“You came a long way just for a revival service,” I remarked.

The woman looked at me with desperation in her eyes.

“They say Brother Love has healing hands.  Last year Tammy got hurt at school.  She nearly died from a cut that wouldn’t have needed more than a Band-Aid for another child.  The hospital bills took everything we had.  But I couldn’t sell the car for one without seat-belts.  I just couldn’t take the chance,” the woman explained through a nervous smile.

I was pretty sure those two were on their own, without much help from anyone else.  I certainly knew what that was like.  So, I invited them to come into the house for something cooling to drink.

Birdie Devovo's house as imagined by Dan Antion

Birdie Devovo’s house as imagined by Dan Antion

“Do you have any hot tamales?  They’re red hot!” Tammy asked a whimsical seeming question of which only a small child would think.

I laughed in surprise.

“What?” the woman turned to the child and asked.  “Honestly I don’t know where she gets these things.  She doesn’t even know what a tamale is.

Maybe Tammy could have seen into the kitchen window.  She looked at the house and then at me.

“I like July better than August too,” she told me.

The woman had the restless expression of someone who wanted to be somewhere else, anywhere else.  I had seen the look in my mother’s eyes all too often.  I wasn’t surprised when she declined my offer of refreshments.

Ready to Travel statue Dan Antion

Ready to Travel, by Dan Antion

I wondered if they had the same PanAm calendar that hung on my kitchen wall.  How else would Tammy come up with that comment about July and August?

As the Ford got back on the road, I looked toward my kitchen window.  The calendar wasn’t visible from the spot where the car had been.

From the branches of the magnolia tree, Jinx started singing Washed in the Blood again.

The sound of the Ford’s engine faded into the distance.  I liked the July calendar better than August, but how could the child know? 

I had an uncomfortable feeling that I couldn’t quite describe.  It was making me irritable.

“For pity’s sake, Jinx.  Sing something else,” I said.

Hot tamales and they’re red hot.  Oh, she got ’em for sale,” the magpie sang.

End Chapter 3.

***

I gave Dan the added challenge of choosing just the right image for Birdie’s house.  It needed to reflect the location, Birdie’s status, and her economic level.  Plus, since I had already mentioned her porch and screen door, that needed to be included.  Dan really rose to the challenge.  He did a fantastic job with the yellow house image you saw above. Kudos, Dan!

Here’s Dan’s Thursday Doors post about Birdie’s house.

Real World Notes — A Hoodoo

When used as “a hoodoo,” in this story the term does not mean a religion or practice.  “Chasing down a hoodoo” was a phrase John Fogerty used when he wrote the song Born on the Bayou.  Fogerty said, “(A) Hoodoo is a magical, mystical, spiritual, non-defined apparition, like a ghost or a shadow, not necessarily evil, but certainly other-worldly.”

***

Heartfelt thanks for reading Brother Love!  If you want to participate by leaving a “thing” to be included in a future episode, please make a comment.  Remember this is a mysterious story, set in rural Mississippi of the late 1950s to early 1960s. 

I’ll meet you at the crossroads again next Saturday!  Hugs on the wing.

***

Universal link to my Amazon Author Page

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USA:  The Three Things Serial Story: A Little 1920s Story Kindle 

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USA:  Atonement, Tennessee

(E-book still on sale at 99¢ )

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This is a work of fiction.  Characters, names, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.

Copyright ©  2019 by Teagan Ríordáin Geneviene

All rights reserved. 

No part of this work may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission.  Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights.

All images are either the property of the author or provided by free sources, unless stated otherwise.

 

Brother Love 2 — A Shadow

Saturday, May 4, 2019

There are many things on my mind that I want to share with you today.  If I had known about the most recent one before yesterday, I would have done a midweek post.  First let me welcome you…

Country kitchen 3 windows_Mariamichelle_vermont-Pixabay

Maria Michelle, Pixabay

Welcome to my sanctuary.  Pull up a chair.  The sanctuary may be found in a quirky Tennessee town called Atonement.  It might be at a diesel-punk train station with an outrageous flapper named Lulu.  Or it could even be found at a steampunk submarine port, with an alchemist named Cornelis.  For now, my sanctuary has moved to a crossroads in a rural Mississippi town sometime in the late 1950s to early 1960s.  So, I also welcome you to the crossroads.

Yes, my blog is my sanctuary — a place where I can feel safe from the world.  It’s a place for me to share stories with friends (old and new).  It’s also a place where I can promote and lift up others.  That’s why I love making serials “interactive” by using things from readers.

That said, I freely admit to being a blog-tater.  I wouldn’t come into your house and be less than hospitable to you.  So, behave accordingly.  Bullying in any form, including passive-aggressive behavior gets deleted. 

Skull of the Alchemist Cover 1

Now the new thing on my mind… Here it goes again — that Creative One-Mind thing!

At the end of the post concluding my Cornelis Drebbel serial, I talked about how utterly undermined I was (in 2015) because I had all the details of a novel outlined (in-depth too, not pantsering). Then I saw a movie with all those same details.  Something similar happened with the new serial here — Brother Love.  Guess what I just found on Netflix… 

I haven’t had time to watch the show on Netflix, but there’s also this article about it.   At least it’s not as bad as the thing with The Skull of the Alchemist, but still I no longer look original… I just look like an unimaginative copycat.  It’s frustrating. 

Onward to the reason we are here.  Let’s get back to my crossroads!

No Facilities blog header photo by Dan Antion

No Facilities blog photo by Dan Antion

This is my new spontaneously written, pantser story, done in my “Three Things” way of writing.  Blogger Dan Antion collaborates with me on this new story.  He provides photos to inspire me and illustrate the posts.  Dan also gives me two of the “three things” that drive this unplanned serial.  The third thing comes from you the reader! 

The things you’ve already sent won’t be used in any particular order.  This week’s reader supplied thing is croquet mallet from Ally Bean at The Spectacled Bean blog.

Without further ado, I’m delighted to bring you Chapter 2 today!   

Previously with Brother Love

Chapter 1.  Birdie crawled half-under the table to pick up the flyer.  The kitchen light flickered and popped, causing her to bump her head.  Then all the lights went out.

The screen door creaked open.  Normally it would bang shut, but it closed softly.  At the sound of footsteps, she scrunched the rest of the way under the table. 

Brother Love 2

A Shadow

Shadow, Rain, and Croquet Mallet

Flash cropped image Dan Antion

Flash, from one of Dan’s photos

The footfalls hesitated.  It seemed like they turned back toward me, although I couldn’t see in the dark.  Then I realized there had been a faint noise outside.  Maybe that was the reason for the pause.

I dared not breathe, but the way I was crouched under the table, I wouldn’t have been able to draw a good breath anyway.

The footsteps moved across my little kitchen to the spot where the PanAm calendar hung on the wall.  I heard the pages rustle.

Then a firm knock rapped against the frame of the flimsy screen door.

Flimsy screen door on a shabby red wall

Photo by Dan Antion

Surprise shot through me like electricity.  My body jerked and I banged my head and shoulders against the underside of the table.

The kitchen light, along with the single light-bulb on the porch flickered and then came back to life.

A shadow lurched outside on the porch, and the knock came again, harder.

“Miss Devovo, are you alright?” came the startled voice of a man.  “Birdie, it’s Reverend Armstrong.  Is everything okay?”

For half a beat I stayed under my table.  Just as I was sure someone had been in the kitchen with me a moment before, I was also certain they were suddenly gone.

The preacher sounded as spooked as I felt.  His voice had the slightest quiver.  Plus, Doug Armstrong never added “Reverend” to his name.  Preacher, or more often Brother Armstrong was how he named himself.

Fist against red Pixaby

Pixabay

His fist banged on the screen door-frame again.  I extricated myself from my hiding spot before Armstrong broke the poor excuse for a door.

That didn’t make it any easier for me to calm myself.  I opened the door, and belatedly thought to straighten my dress.

I was relieved to see anyone including the preacher, but I was too rattled to know what to say.

“What brings you to the outside of town so late, Brother Armstrong?” I asked.

Doug was a big, tall man.  A single stride took him halfway across the kitchen.  His eyes darted around the room, and he took another step, craning his neck to see the living room.

“The Lord’s work doesn’t keep a schedule,” he replied with forced joviality.

I didn’t wonder so much about why he was out long after dark.  Rather, I was curious as to why he took the road on the back side of the house.

Copiah County MS crossroads Google Maps

A crossroads in Copiah County, Mississippi, near the place from which blues legend, Robert Johnson came.

You see, my house sat in a triangle between ways at a crossroads.  There was a street in front and another road in back.  There were also any number of old trails that intersected there.

Old superstitions about the crossroads abounded.  My mother had been able to get the house because no one else would have it.  I kept it because I had nowhere else to go.

Doug Armstrong looked down at me as if inspecting my face.

“Is everything alright here, Miss Devovo?  As I was driving by,” he began but hesitated and shook his head.  “Maybe it was just a trick of light and shadow, but I thought I saw somebody moving around on the porch.  Then the lights sparked and went out.  I was concerned for your safety.”

I gulped.  I wasn’t sure why I would hesitate to tell him what had happened.  Maybe it was just the lifetime of skepticism and outright disdain I had experienced.

Communities on any side of the crossroads, on both sides of the tracks, as they would say, had whispered about me all my life.  They knew my mother would take up with any musician who came through.  After I grew up, she finally ran off with one.

Statue of woman and man kissing, World War II era

The Kissing Couple, Photo by Dan Antion

They never believed the story my mother told when we moved to Parliament, Mississippi.  I wasn’t sure I believed it myself, but she always said my father had died in the military when I was too young to remember him.  It would have been easier to believe if it hadn’t happened before the war.

Heck, maybe it was true.  A few times she got drunk and claimed the government had covered up the real circumstances of his death.  My mother had some wild stories, but conspiracies weren’t among them.

Anyhow, Doug Armstrong was probably the only person they gossiped about as much as they talked about me.

Although Doug made no secret of his past.  His whole purpose in life seemed to be a constant attempt to redeem himself.  Doug was an ex-convict.  He had gone to prison for killing a man.

He was also one of the few people who would even think about visiting the house at the crossroads.

I cleared my throat and then told him about hearing someone in the kitchen.  He asked if he could look around.  I nodded my assent.  Although I was sure we were the only ones there.  I also knew there would be no sign that anyone else had been in the house.

Men's wingtip shoes

Pixabay

Even so, it was a comfort to have Doug look through the house.  He checked every window and door.  He even looked in the closets.

Doug brought a croquet mallet out of one closet, suggesting that I might want to keep it at hand.  However, just as I expected, there was no indication that anyone had been inside the house.

“I guess it was my imagination,” I said awkwardly.

“Then it was mine too,” he muttered.  “There hasn’t been any rain,” he went on in a speculative tone.  “So, I guess there’s no use looking outside for footprints.  Even with a flash light, it would be hard to tell much in the dark.”

I got the feeling that he was nervous.  It made me want to ask him if he was alright.  However, that seemed rude, so I didn’t.

Audience looking at stage with lights

Stage Lights by Dan Antion

Doug looked down at my hand.  I hadn’t realized that I still clutched the flyer I had crawled under the table to retrieve.  It was for Brother Love’s Traveling Salvation Show.

The mimeographed ad boasted of a revival meeting every night for a week, with evangelists from all over the state, and the supposedly famous Brother Love himself.  I’d never heard of him.

“Will you be preaching there?” I asked Armstrong.

“I was invited, but I haven’t decided,” he answered.

There was something strange about his voice and manner when he replied.  I had no idea what was behind it, but it gave the kind of uneasy feeling that makes you want to look over your shoulder.

Then I noticed the calendar.  I had been looking at the July picture and left that page up, because I liked it better than the image for August.  The calendar was turned back to August.  There was a smudge on the square for the coming Saturday.  The mark had not been there earlier.

***

Crow on a high pine branch

Joe Crow in the role of Jinx.  Photo by Dan Antion

Jinx back-winged in his hurried flight when he saw the lights flash and go dark.  He alighted cautiously in the upper branches of the towering spruce pine.  He looked down inquisitively as someone walked across the back porch and into the house.

Curiosity got the better of the magpie when a moment later the big man stopped his old red car and went to the door.  Jinx glided down to the southern magnolia.  He settled amid the glossy dark leaves, next to a big hairy seed pod that had previously been a fragrant snow white flower.

He tilted his head.  Was it random chance that brought Doug Armstrong there at that specific moment?  Or did it happen by design?

***

Real World Notes — Southern Magnolia

Magnolia_flower n foliage Duke_campus Wikimedia.jpg

In 1938 the southern magnolia was named the state tree of Mississippi.  Who picked it?  The school children of the state cast their votes.  The southern magnolia was already the state flower, originally named as such in 1900.

It’s a long-lived evergreen species found throughout the southeastern United States.  The glossy leaves are dark green on top and yellowish to brown on the underside.  In the spring, the highly fragrant showy white flowers, emerge, but may bloom sporadically throughout spring and summer.

When left to grow naturally, southern magnolias have an irregular canopy, with many large twisting branches lower to the ground.  At maturity they may reach 100 feet in height, although that doesn’t happen often.

***

Real World Notes — The Kissing Couple

From Dan:  Those statues are in the Renaissance Hotel in Minneapolis, MN known as The Depot. It’s a hotel built in the renovated Milwaukee Road railroad depot. They kept a railroad terminal theme throughout the hotel. The statue is called “Kissing Couple.” 

Ready to Travel statue Dan Antion

Ready to Travel, by Dan Antion

I imagine this statue as Birdie’s mother when she ran off.  Dan tells more about these images in this post at his blog, “No Facilities.”

***

Thank you for coming to my sanctuary for the second episode of Brother Love!  If you want to participate by leaving a “thing” to be included in a future episode, please make a comment.  Remember this is a mysterious story, set in rural Mississippi of the late 1950s to early 1960s. 

I’ll meet you at the crossroads again next Saturday!  Hugs on the wing.

***

More storytelling by Teagan

Universal link to my Amazon Author Page

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This is a work of fiction.  Characters, names, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.

Copyright ©  2019 by Teagan Ríordáin Geneviene

All rights reserved. 

No part of this work may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission.  Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights.

All images are either the property of the author or provided by free sources, unless stated otherwise.

 

Jazz Age Wednesday or Hidebound Hump Day — What’s going on?

Wednesday, May 1, 2019

Magpie wall mural by marina-salles

Marina Salles, Unsplash

Happy May Day, my chuckaboos!  I hope your month is off to a pos-i-lutely fabulous start. 

I continue to settle into my high desert cottage, painting walls, pulling weeds, and generally getting adjusted. (The weed pulling led to a bad allergic reaction that I’m still trying to get over…  I’m looking a lot like the Creature from the Black Lagoon, particularly around my eyelids.)  So, for the time being, I will not be doing a midweek series.

Crystal n Robs Sunset

Crystal with one of Rob Goldstein‘s images.

However, for you weekday readers, I want to let you know that I do have a new feature!  Each Saturday Dan Antion  and I collaborate for Brother Love, my new spontaneously written serial.  He provides photos to inspire me and illustrate the posts.  He also gives me two of the “three things” that drive this unplanned serial.  The third thing comes from you the reader!  Click here for the first installment of Brother Love.  (In case you missed it.) 

Here’s a video trailer for the serial.   I’ve disabled comments here, but hope you’ll say hello at the serial’s post.

I’ll meet you at the crossroads on Saturday!  Hugs on the wing.

***

Universal link to my Amazon Author Page

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USA:  The Three Things Serial Story: A Little 1920s Story Kindle 

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USA:  Atonement in Bloom

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USA:  The Glowing Pigs, Snort Stories of Atonement, Tennessee

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USA:  Atonement, Tennessee

(E-book still on sale at 99¢ )

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This is a work of fiction.  Characters, names, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.

Copyright ©  2019 by Teagan Ríordáin Geneviene

All rights reserved. 

No part of this work may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission.  Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights.

All images are either the property of the author or provided by free sources, unless stated otherwise.

 

All New Serial: Brother Love — 1 A House at the Crossroads

Saturday, April 27, 2019

Brother Love promo image

Brother Love collage by Teagan Geneviene

Happy weekend, everyone! It seems like such a long time since I did an “interactive” serial with reader participation.  Well, I’m finally back with a new spontaneously written, pantser story done in my “Three Things” way of writing.  I’m delighted to bring you the first installment today!

Blogger Dan Antion collaborates with me on this new story.  He provides photos to inspire me and illustrate the posts.  He also gives me two of the “three things” that drive this unplanned serial.  The third thing comes from you the reader!

Some of you read the original introduction I posted recently, when I shared how this idea began about a year ago.  I’ve revised it to fit this collaborative effort and include the first three things.  Now that part is Chapter 1 — but first I have the Prologue.  On a whim I added a character that suddenly came to mind. Like I said, this is full-on pantser storytelling.

This time, all three things will be from Dan, but after that I will start including reader “things.” 

Oh, and I went pos-i-lutely off the rails and narrated the last part of the prologue as an extra bit of punishment. The sound bite bar is at the end of the prologue and before chapter one.

Without further ado, I present to you…. Brother Love.

Brother Love 1

Prologue — A Sinnerman

Dead Trees mysterious area snow roadside Dan Antion

Mysteriously dead trees, by Dan Antion

On a moonlit night, a dark figure sat on the corpse of a fallen tree.  He touched the narrow brim of his Trilby style hat, pushing it back from his brow.  Patiently he tuned a guitar.  Long fingers deftly twisted the tuning knobs.  Wooden pegs would have been typical.  These were made of ivory.

No, they’re not just ivory, they’re made of bones, Jinx silently reminded himself.  I wonder if they came from one of the old graves here?

Any grave stones were long gone, if there ever were any in the first place.  Only the town’s oldest residents knew the clearing near the crossroads had been a graveyard.  Even they wouldn’t have been able to say whether it was a potter’s field or an old Choctaw burial ground.

African Methodist Episcopal Cemetery

African Methodist Episcopal Cemetery, by Dan Antion

With head tilted, Jinx waited eagerly for the music he hoped to hear.  For a moment he thought he should give some encouragement, ask for a song.  Yet discretion seemed the better course.  Jinx remained quietly hidden in shadow.

Those graceful long fingers caressed the guitar’s neck, and then tested the sound at each fret, every chord.  Casually a thumb strummed across the strings. 

Excited, Jinx leaned forward toward the vibration of the music that emanated from the guitar’s sound hole.

Jinx had positioned his hiding place so he could also see the crossroads.  Yet he didn’t notice the approach of the powerfully built man.  Jinx was too intent in his anticipation of the music.  His heart skipped a beat with surprise, but he didn’t move a muscle.

Foolish! Jinx mentally chided himself.  This is no place to let your guard down.

He watched the approach of the big man in fascination.  Sweat soaked the armpits of the white shirt.  The heat and humidity of an August night in Mississippi didn’t bother Jinx, but Doug Armstrong had never gotten used to the climate.

Preacher inside a church, back turned

Photo by Dan Antion

Long strides slowed as Doug approached the figure who sat in a relaxed pose on the fallen tree.  Though his manner was reluctant, it seemed clear that the encounter was not by chance.  Even so, Doug stopped well out of arm’s reach.

Doug Armstrong mutely watched the man as he finished tuning the guitar.  The sweat of the big man’s brow glittered in the moonlight.

Jinx thought Doug perspired more than most men.  Although he had good reason to be in a nervous sweat.  That place, the crossroads, the dark figure ― Doug would have been stupid to relax.

Abruptly, those dark, graceful fingers stopped strumming the guitar.  He held it out to Doug, offering the instrument.  Armstrong took a step backward.  His arms remained stiffly at his sides.

The other gave him a kind smile.  He chuckled softly.  Then mischief glinted in his coal black eyes and he played the guitar and sang.

With the first words of the song, Doug’s face blanched.  He turned to walk away.  He moved faster and faster until he ran through the night, away from the crossroads.

Guitar head stock BW_Simone Pixaby

Simone at Pixaby

“What about you, magpie?” the musician called up toward the trees.  “Care to come down here and sing with me?”

The figure went back to the song that seemed to frighten Doug Armstrong away.

Oh, sinnerman, where you gonna run to?  Sinnerman where you gonna run to?  All on that day!” he sang and played.

Jinx burst from his hiding place and flew home as fast as his wings would carry him. 

***

1 — A House at the Crossroads

Baseball, Excited, and Pickles

House at a crossroads

Antranias at Pixaby

In the summer, leaves hung down so far, they almost reached the sweet-smelling grass on the ground.  Moths clung to the screen, attracted to the kitchen light.

Earlier that day, sitting in my little house at the crossroads, I listened to the sharp crack of a bat hitting a baseball from the ballgame that had started up in the field next to the African Methodist Episcopal Church.  People cheered their teams and made happy sounds.

From the other side of the tracks, I heard the bell of the First Methodist Church up in the town.  When the breeze was right, I could hear the Wurlitzer organ as the choir practiced.  Folks were excited about that organ.  I preferred the sound of their old piano.

The two churches were on either side of the town.  The crossroads lay between the two.  Nobody from either of them ever came to the house at the crossroads.  Neither group wanted anything to do with Birdie Devovo. By the way, that would be me.

Church reflected in river Dan Antion

Church reflected in the river, by Dan Antion

When the sun finally hid behind the horizon, the heat remained.  I fanned myself futilely with a mimeographed flyer.  It did nothing to alleviate the heat of the night, and the cloying odor of the ink turned my stomach.

I stared at the wet circles on the formica tabletop as the ice melted in my glass of sweet tea.  Absently I wondered if some pickle juice would remove the rings.

At last a breeze! I thought with a sigh.

It rustled the pages of the Pan Am calendar hanging on the wall.  August exclaimed “Back to Hawaii” and boasted a man and woman disembarking a plane while greeted by hula dancers and musicians.  That scene was too far-fetched for my imagination.

I liked July better.  It showed a couple, suitcases in hand, laughing and walking fast.  Yes, I liked that one best.  They could be anyone, going anywhere… maybe the girl could even me.

PahAM to Hawaii ad

Pan Am ad 1960s

The mimeographed flyer floated on the breeze from the table down to the cracked and faded linoleum floor.

For the umpteenth time I wondered who came all the way to the outside of town to leave it, but I was glad I missed them.  They left the ad on the front door.  Brother Love’s Traveling Salvation Show, it read.

Thunder rumbled faintly, very far away.  Maybe there would be rain.

Or maybe not, I thought as I put the damp glass to my forehead.

It had been hot and humid for so long that the heavenly rumble seemed like an empty threat.

I crawled half-under the table to pick up the flyer.  The kitchen light flickered and popped, causing me to bump my head.  Then all the lights went out.

The screen door creaked open.  Normally it would bang shut, but it closed softly. 

At the sound of footsteps, I scrunched the rest of the way under the table.

***

Real World Notes — Hats Back in the Day

I was torn between two different hats when I wrote the prologue. So, in these notes, I’ll share both.  Since I imagine K.C. Collins in the part of the (as yet) unnamed figure with the guitar, I went with the Trilby he often wears in his role as Hale on “Lost Girl.”

KC Collins

K.C. Collins sports a Trilby

Trilby Hats.  The Trilby style has a narrow brim and might be made from rabbit hair, tweed, straw or wool, and pinched on both sides with an indented crown.  The front brim is snapped down, but the back brim is turned upward.  The trilby may be finished with a ribbon and a feather.

The Trilby hat was used in a 1894 illustration for the novel “Trilby” by George du Maurier.  The novel was an international success.  The heroine was named Trilby.

Many say the Trilby is a bastardization of the Fedora.  However, others believe it modernized the look of men’s hats.

Pork Pie Hats.   A small round hat with a narrow and curled brim, finished with a ribbon is known as a pork pie hat.  The crown is either flat or slightly domed, with a crease running along the crown perimeter.  As you may have guessed, “pork pie” is a term used to describe hats symbolically resembling the culinary British pork pie dish.

Early in the 20th century, film star Buster Keaton immortalized the hat for men.  He owned more than 1,000 of the hats in his lifetime.

A slightly enlarged style of the pork pie became popular during the Great Depression of the 1930s.   It was preferred by Frank Lloyd Wright and jazz musicians.  Its popularity grew again during the 1940s.

***

Heartfelt thanks for being here for the first episode of Brother Love!  If you want to participate by leaving a “thing” to be included in a future episode, please make a comment.  Remember this is a mysterious story, set in rural Mississippi of the late 1950s to early 1960s. 

I’ll meet you at the crossroads again next Saturday!  Hugs on the wing.

***

Universal link to my Amazon Author Page

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USA:  The Three Things Serial Story: A Little 1920s Story Kindle 

Amazon UK

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USA:  Murder at the Bijou — Three Ingredients I

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USA:  Atonement in Bloom

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USA:  The Glowing Pigs, Snort Stories of Atonement, Tennessee

Amazon UK

Atonement Video Cover copy

USA:  Atonement, Tennessee

(E-book still on sale at 99¢ )

Amazon UK

This is a work of fiction.  Characters, names, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.

Copyright ©  2019 by Teagan Ríordáin Geneviene

All rights reserved. 

No part of this work may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission.  Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights.

All images are either the property of the author or provided by free sources, unless stated otherwise.

 

It’s about “Time” with Don

Saturday, June 9, 2018

Hello, one and all.  Welcome to my sanctuary.  Sit down on a sofa or curl up on a cushion.  Today I have a special guest — author and entrepreneur Don Massenzio

atonement_in_bloom_1_03-24-2014Don has a twist in his upcoming book that he’s been kind enough to discus with me.  It was not too far afield from something that had been on my mind for my own books. Most of you know that I’m editing book-2 in my Atonement series (Atonement in Bloom).  For a third book I’ve been contemplating how to work with both the present and the past in one volume. There are a number of ways I could do that. So I was curious about what Don did.  I’ll bring you into our discussion now.

Don:  My new book, Extra Innings, did not start out as a paranormal or science fiction novel. Originally published as a serial on my blog, the story started out with the intent of becoming another iteration in my crime fiction writing efforts. As the story took shape, however, my mind kept mulling over the miserable life of my main character, Joe McLean and what his life might have become if he had made some alternate life choices.

Teagan:  That’s what intrigued me, Don. It’s similar but different. The heroine of the books I mentioned has a past life in which she knew some of the other characters.  I don’t want to give any spoilers, but she did bad things in that past life.  So I’m curious about how you handled this.

Don:  I was originally going to include flashbacks and other devices to relay the history of the main character’s family and associates over different timelines that led to his current circumstances, but I worried about being able to do this smoothly and not confuse my readers.

Teagan:  I agree. Flashbacks can be confusing to the reader.  I try to avoid them.

Don:  That’s where the idea of using some form of time travel emerged. It was a difficult decision because I’ve spent the past several books identifying with readers as a crime fiction author. I did publish a collection of short stories in my anthology, Random Tales, that had some science fiction/paranormal entries, but this would be my first novel to explore that part of my writing.

Teagan:  You’re a brave man… I don’t think I could handle that for my book.  But what did you do?  My curiosity is piqued.  Do tell…

Don:  My first step was to research some of the techniques that have been used to convey time travel in fiction.

Here are some of the theories that have been presented: 

Watercolor dreamcatcher with beads and feathers. Illustration fo

  1. PrecognitionThis is the idea of seeing the future during dreams or through the feeling of déjà vu. Abstract black and white design
  2. Time LoopsIf you’ve watched the movie, Ground Hog Day, you’ve seen this time travel plot device in action. Usually the events time loop repeat until the character or characters perform a certain action to end the loop and move forward.De Lorean
  3. Time ParadoxIf you watched Back to the Future, when Marty McFly went back in time and nearly prevented his parents from getting together for the high school dance, you’ve experienced this time travel device.Time Tourism
  4. Time TourismJust like it sounds, when time travelers travel through time to witness historical events as a spectator, this is time tourism.terminator
  5. Time WarThis is the use of time travel to conduct war over time using time travel. It could involve going back in time to change events leading up to a pivotal battle or trying to bring about a reset of events that didn’t play out as planned.Erasing The Past
  6. Changing the pastThis is the notion of time travel that I used in my book, Extra Innings. The idea of changing the past is logically contradictory. Even though the consensus today is that the past cannot be changed, science fiction writers have used the idea of changing the past for good story effect. Stephen King used this method of time travel effectively in his book, 11/22/63, by having his main character, Jake Epping, attempt to go back in time to prevent the assassination of President John F. Kennedy. Though ultimately successful, when Epping returns to the present, he discovers that his actions have had unintended consequences.


If you enjoy time travel and the possibility of going back in time to right wrongs and do things differently if given a chance, follow the adventures of Joe McLean in my latest novel, Extra Innings.Extra Innings

 

Joe McLean hates his life. A lonely, divorced, middle-aged man, stuck in a cramped apartment, the only bright spot in Joe’s life is cheering on his hometown baseball team.

Now, the local stadium, the place of many childhood and adult memories is being replaced. Joe desperately wants a piece of this iconic venue to preserve his memories and have some memorabilia from his happier past.

That’s when unusual things begin to happen, and Joe begins to rethink the direction his life has taken. Can Joe take a different path in life?

Can he use the special ability that he has acquired to change the course of his life? Will he realize the truth about old adage, you can never go home again? Follow the twists and turns in this supernatural story, Extra Innings, to find out.

***

Images provided by Don Massenzio.

Join me in wishing Don huge success with his new book.  Extra Innings is currently available for pre-order.  The release date is June 15th.

Thanks for taking time to visit.  I love your comments, so be sure to say hello. 

Mega hugs!

***

Here’s my own shameless self-promotion…

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Atonement, Tennessee

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Murder at the Bijou — Three Ingredients I

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The Three Things Serial Story: A Little 1920s Story Kindle 

This is a work of fiction.  Characters, names, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2018 by Teagan Ríordáin Geneviene

All rights reserved.

No part of this work may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission.  Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights.

All images are either the property of the author or provided by free sources, unless stated otherwise. 

Announcing — Circumstances of Childhood by John W. Howell

Don’t worry — Thistledown will return next weekend.  When I saw that there were two wonderful things that I wanted to share, I decided it was a good weekend to give myself a much needed break.  Well… sort of a break anyway.  First was the delightful return of blogger Donna Parker of Yadadarcyyada. (I shared that on Friday.)  She even mentioned Murder at the Bijou — Three Ingredients I during her post! I was so excited.

Today I’m privileged to to participate in the launch of an all new novel from John W. Howell.  It’s not part of his “John Cannon” series, rather it’s an all new story. The story begins in Nashville, Indiana and then moves to Austin, Texas and then to Boston.  So hang on tight and enjoy the ride.  Oh! Be sure to take advantage of his generous introductory price too.

Here’s John to tell you more… 

Circumstances of Childhood

By John W. Howell

Click for Amazon Kindle

Shipping on October 1st — Priced at $0.99 for the introduction

This is a different story for John. It is in the Family Life genre and tells the story of brotherly love, riches to rags, redemption and a little paranormal thrown in. Normally John writes thrillers but this time he has stepped into a different place. This book was written with love for the story and the hope it will be an enjoyable read.

Here is the blurb

When a former pro football star and broadcaster, now a Wall Street maven is accused of insider trading, will he be able to prove his innocence and expose those who are guilty?

Greg and his boyhood pal dreamed of big success in professional football and then later in business. Greg was the only one to live the dream. Now the founder of an investment fund Greg is faced with a routine audit finding by the SEC. The audit points to irregularities and all the tracks lead to Greg. The justice department hits him with an indictment of 23 counts of fraud, money laundering, and insider trading. His firm goes bust, and Greg is on his own.

His best friend knows he is innocent but has been ordered under penalty of eternal damnation not to help.

If you enjoy stories of inspiration, riches to rags, redemption, brotherly love, and a little of the paranormal, Circumstance of Childhood will keep you riveted.

Here is an excerpt

I look down at my drink and wonder what will happen tomorrow. My daughter Constance wants to come and visit. She lives in New York, and before all hell broke loose, we didn’t see each other often. I missed her so much, and it seemed as if I had to beg her even to talk on the phone. Now, it’s like she wants to be here every weekend. It’s only an hour’s flight by the shuttle or three by train, so she can come when she wants. I just can’t figure out why she got so clingy. I have my troubles, but it doesn’t have anything to do with her. No use in asking her husband either. Though a nice enough guy, I always wonder if he has someplace important to go when I visit. He never sits still and stays busy on the phone or at the computer. He makes a good living, but it seems a person could take an hour to sit and talk. I’d looked forward to some kind of relationship when he and Constance got married. It’ll never happen with him.

When I take another pull at my drink, I notice the burn feels less. It happens every time. First sip initiation, I call it. It’s like the first puff of a cigarette, hits hard then, after, nothing. I decide to let Constance pretty much have the agenda tomorrow. She and I have not had a chance to talk about anything deep for a while. It could just be that she blames me for her mother running off with that guy with the house on the Hudson. He has a title, and the old gal couldn’t resist, but I think the daughter always felt I should have done something. Her mother’s sleeping with another guy and what the hell can I do about that?

I’ll just go with the flow. If she wants to go out, we will. If she wants to stay in, we can do that too. I better think about getting some food in the house. Of course, we can always order take out. I need to move on to my drink and let this go. Tomorrow will be what it is. I remember the day she was born. I looked down at her in my arms and promised I would do anything for her. I love her more than life itself, and I hope we can somehow get to the root of whatever’s wrong. She sounded strange on the phone this morning, and I feel helpless to do anything about it. I hope she opens up when she gets here.

For some reason, I feel tired. Perhaps I’ll go ahead and finish my drink. Maybe I’ll just go home and forget the burger. First, though, I’ll just shut my eyes for a minute. My hands feel good when I put my head down.

“Hey, Greg,” Jerry says. I barely hear him. “What’s the matter? You taking a nap? Greg?” I can feel him shake me, but I have no interest in waking up. His voice gets further away, and I think he says, “Oh, my God, Sophie, call 911, quick.” Now the room goes silent.

Author Bio

John's Bio

John began his writing as a full-time occupation after an extensive business career. His specialty is thriller fiction novels, but John also writes poetry and short stories. His first book, My GRL, introduces the exciting adventures of the book’s central character, John J. Cannon. The second Cannon novel, His Revenge, continues the adventure, while the final book in the trilogy, Our Justice, launched in September 2016. The latest Circumstances of Childhood a family life story is available as of October 1st, 2017. All books are available on Amazon in paperback and Kindle editions.

John lives in Port Aransas, Texas with his wife and their spoiled rescue pets.

John’s other books

My Girl front His Revenge Our Justice

Available on Amazon at https://www.amazon.com/author/johnwhowell

Thanks for reading, everyone. Please check out all of John’s exciting books. Visit his delightful blog too.  I hope to see you here for Jazz Age Wednesdays.  Remember that Thistledown — Midsummer Bedlam will be back next weekend.  Hugs on the wing!