Loretta Marion's Blog
November 10, 2019
Why I chose Cape Cod as the setting for my Haunted Bluffs Mystery Series
The first summer my husband and I were invited to our friends' summer cottage in Eastham on Cape Cod, I imagined it would be a fun beach getaway. However, I'd not been prepared for love at first sight. More than two decades have passed since that first visit and my love affair has only intensified, especially since I decided to set my Haunted Bluffs mystery series on the Cape.
My decision to create the fictional town of Whale Rock as the setting for House of Ashes and Storm of Secrets, was so I could spend more time on the Cape, even if only in my imaginary world of words. I was touched when a reader wrote to me and said, “I now want to live in Whale Rock.“ There are few greater compliments she could have given me, for when I created Whale Rock in my mind and in my writing, it was in hopes that readers would see it as a place they too might wish to live.
When I’m writing a story, I look upon the village itself as one of the characters and take extra care in creating the book’s setting. My hope is to give it a unique and appealing atmosphere where one could envision themselves settling in for a few hours each day as they read the story.
I must admit, it wasn’t difficult to find inspiration, for the Cape offers it up in heaps with its great natural beauty. And this humble writer is only one of a multitude of artistic types who have found their muses come alive there. In the 1800's Henry David Thoreau described the nearby Outer Beach this way: "A man may stand there and put all America behind him." I can’t argue with his sentiments. When I'm there I can forget about the rest of the world for a bit and readily crawl into the imaginary writer’s space in my mind.
The Outer Beach is also where naturalist writer Henry Beston claimed refuge. In the 1920's he designed a beach cottage atop a dune overlooking the open Atlantic, and it was there that he
gathered experiences for his book, The Outermost House, which was a motivating factor behind the preservation of the Cape Cod seashore. Fortunately, his writings influenced many conservationists: "Touch the earth, love the earth, her plains, her valleys, her hills, and her seas; rest your spirit in her solitary places. For the gifts of life are the earth's and they are given to all..."
The Cape Cod National Seashore was established by President Kennedy as a measure to protect the increasingly popular area from over population and erosion. This national treasure encompasses nearly 40 miles of protected shoreline extending along the Atlantic-facing outer Cape, with pristine sandy beaches and dunes, salt marshes, ponds, woodlands and cliffs as evidence of the success of this preservation enactment.
To quote Beston again, "The seas are the heart's blood of the earth." And indeed, what I find most enchanting is the ever-changing seascape of Cape Cod Bay. With a west facing cottage we are witness to the dramatic tidal range of the bay, transforming the vista every few moments and rewarding us with breathtaking sunsets, strikingly different between the extreme low and high tides. It also makes for interesting beach walking among the tidal flats and pools scattered about at low tide, with the ebbing waters leaving their mark in uniquely beautiful striations in the sand. It's a shame to disrupt Mother Nature's art with our toes, but she'll leave yet another fingerprint in the sand at the next low tide. And as the tide rises, the rhythm of the advancing water becomes a powerfully soothing hypnotic, especially at night as the lapping waves lull us to sleep.
Unspoiled beauty, flora and fauna, a rich historic heritage—the Cape offers more than I could hope for in a tranquil beach getaway. The moment that Eastham Windmill comes into sight, my heart leaps knowing I'm just moments away from my lovely, peaceful Cape Cod writing retreat.
My decision to create the fictional town of Whale Rock as the setting for House of Ashes and Storm of Secrets, was so I could spend more time on the Cape, even if only in my imaginary world of words. I was touched when a reader wrote to me and said, “I now want to live in Whale Rock.“ There are few greater compliments she could have given me, for when I created Whale Rock in my mind and in my writing, it was in hopes that readers would see it as a place they too might wish to live.
When I’m writing a story, I look upon the village itself as one of the characters and take extra care in creating the book’s setting. My hope is to give it a unique and appealing atmosphere where one could envision themselves settling in for a few hours each day as they read the story.
I must admit, it wasn’t difficult to find inspiration, for the Cape offers it up in heaps with its great natural beauty. And this humble writer is only one of a multitude of artistic types who have found their muses come alive there. In the 1800's Henry David Thoreau described the nearby Outer Beach this way: "A man may stand there and put all America behind him." I can’t argue with his sentiments. When I'm there I can forget about the rest of the world for a bit and readily crawl into the imaginary writer’s space in my mind.
The Outer Beach is also where naturalist writer Henry Beston claimed refuge. In the 1920's he designed a beach cottage atop a dune overlooking the open Atlantic, and it was there that he
gathered experiences for his book, The Outermost House, which was a motivating factor behind the preservation of the Cape Cod seashore. Fortunately, his writings influenced many conservationists: "Touch the earth, love the earth, her plains, her valleys, her hills, and her seas; rest your spirit in her solitary places. For the gifts of life are the earth's and they are given to all..."The Cape Cod National Seashore was established by President Kennedy as a measure to protect the increasingly popular area from over population and erosion. This national treasure encompasses nearly 40 miles of protected shoreline extending along the Atlantic-facing outer Cape, with pristine sandy beaches and dunes, salt marshes, ponds, woodlands and cliffs as evidence of the success of this preservation enactment.
To quote Beston again, "The seas are the heart's blood of the earth." And indeed, what I find most enchanting is the ever-changing seascape of Cape Cod Bay. With a west facing cottage we are witness to the dramatic tidal range of the bay, transforming the vista every few moments and rewarding us with breathtaking sunsets, strikingly different between the extreme low and high tides. It also makes for interesting beach walking among the tidal flats and pools scattered about at low tide, with the ebbing waters leaving their mark in uniquely beautiful striations in the sand. It's a shame to disrupt Mother Nature's art with our toes, but she'll leave yet another fingerprint in the sand at the next low tide. And as the tide rises, the rhythm of the advancing water becomes a powerfully soothing hypnotic, especially at night as the lapping waves lull us to sleep.
Unspoiled beauty, flora and fauna, a rich historic heritage—the Cape offers more than I could hope for in a tranquil beach getaway. The moment that Eastham Windmill comes into sight, my heart leaps knowing I'm just moments away from my lovely, peaceful Cape Cod writing retreat.
August 26, 2019
The Ghost and Mrs. Marion? ~ My Personal Experience with the Spirit World...
In anticipation of the launch for the second book in the Haunted Bluffs Mystery Series, STORM OF SECRETS, the following is a blog post from a virtual book tour when HOUSE OF ASHES was first released:
I’m often asked about the inspiration for my books and how I come up with story ideas. As observers of the world around us, writers find inspiration everywhere and in almost every person, place or thing. I jot down observations and ideas in one of the many notebooks I keep around my house, in my purse, in the car — if I can’t find a pen and paper when I see something intriguing, it sends me into a panic.
When I first came up with the concept for the story that became HOUSE OF ASHES, a paranormal element was not in the mix. I knew I wanted to weave together a present-day story with a related historic tale, however bringing Percy and Celeste Mitchell back to their beloved Battersea Bluffs as spirits didn’t come to me until after I’d completed the outline. I had the mystery plotted out and was pleased with the characters and their backstories, but as I began to rough out a draft, it just felt like more spice was needed to bring a unique richness to the story.
I turned to my go-to resource: the notebooks. I flipped through the pages of jotted notes, some so hastily written I could barely make them out, searching for another little gem to add. I was about to give up when in the back of one of my oldest writing journals I found a section where I had documented my experiences with Oswin Dickinson.
You may be asking, who is Oswin Dickinson? And I will answer that he was my very own version of Daniel Gregg, the sea captain apparition from the old classic, The Ghost and Mrs. Muir (1947 film that inspired a television series from 1968-1970). I did not live in a seaside cottage, nor was I a widow, and the ghost who visited me was not a sea captain. Instead, he was a Civil War Union soldier.
Newly married, my husband and I had just moved into our first home together. It was a rustic farmhouse and our property abutted a 300-year-old cemetery. Shortly after we moved in, the strange happenings began. Nothing sinister, but enough to make me question how I’d become so distracted. Why did my favorite jeans end up stuffed under the fluffy bath towels in the linen closet? How did my teacup end up on the fireplace hearth when I’d just set it down on the side table with my book? Who hid all my socks? What were those noises in the attic that sounded like someone playing tackle football? I would tentatively walk up the stairs only to find everything quiet and in order. No evidence of a squirrel or bird that somehow found its way in, as my husband had originally suggested. Our dog, Bartleby the bloodhound, began to bark and growl at empty spaces. I’d often find him pacing at the top of the stairs, afraid to come down. On more than one occasion when I walked up to assist him, I passed through a cold mass — of what? — I did not know.
We eventually learned that our neighboring cemetery was listed in an old book of haunted graveyards, and that’s when I decided we were sharing our home with a mischievous old spirit. Then as Bartleby continued to stop and growl at a certain tombstone in the cemetery, I was convinced our uninvited housemate was one Oswin Dickinson. There were other signs pointing to Oswin being our unearthly lodger, such as footprints in the snow that led from our front door to Oswin’s grave, and a sighting by our niece of a man standing in our kitchen, wearing an old-fashioned blue coat.
My husband once joked that Oswin had a crush on me and that’s why he chose our house. This suggestion took me back to my tween years when my mother and I would watch episodes of The Ghost and Mrs. Muir together. The Ghost and Mrs. Marion does not have the same catchy ring to it, but it was a fun little fantasy while it lasted. I did find Oswin to be a pleasant ghost to have around. As I reveal in the acknowledgements in the back of the book – Oswin is the first mention by the way – I’ve found that I miss having him around since moving from our Connecticut home.
There are plenty more incidents documented in the back of my old writing journal, but the point is, if I hadn’t kept that journal or documented my experience with our otherworldly visitor, I may not have been inspired to include a ghostly element to the story. HOUSE OF ASHES would have been an entirely different book...or maybe not written at all. So, thank you once again, Oswin Dickinson!
Storm of Secrets
I’m often asked about the inspiration for my books and how I come up with story ideas. As observers of the world around us, writers find inspiration everywhere and in almost every person, place or thing. I jot down observations and ideas in one of the many notebooks I keep around my house, in my purse, in the car — if I can’t find a pen and paper when I see something intriguing, it sends me into a panic.
When I first came up with the concept for the story that became HOUSE OF ASHES, a paranormal element was not in the mix. I knew I wanted to weave together a present-day story with a related historic tale, however bringing Percy and Celeste Mitchell back to their beloved Battersea Bluffs as spirits didn’t come to me until after I’d completed the outline. I had the mystery plotted out and was pleased with the characters and their backstories, but as I began to rough out a draft, it just felt like more spice was needed to bring a unique richness to the story.
I turned to my go-to resource: the notebooks. I flipped through the pages of jotted notes, some so hastily written I could barely make them out, searching for another little gem to add. I was about to give up when in the back of one of my oldest writing journals I found a section where I had documented my experiences with Oswin Dickinson.
You may be asking, who is Oswin Dickinson? And I will answer that he was my very own version of Daniel Gregg, the sea captain apparition from the old classic, The Ghost and Mrs. Muir (1947 film that inspired a television series from 1968-1970). I did not live in a seaside cottage, nor was I a widow, and the ghost who visited me was not a sea captain. Instead, he was a Civil War Union soldier.
Newly married, my husband and I had just moved into our first home together. It was a rustic farmhouse and our property abutted a 300-year-old cemetery. Shortly after we moved in, the strange happenings began. Nothing sinister, but enough to make me question how I’d become so distracted. Why did my favorite jeans end up stuffed under the fluffy bath towels in the linen closet? How did my teacup end up on the fireplace hearth when I’d just set it down on the side table with my book? Who hid all my socks? What were those noises in the attic that sounded like someone playing tackle football? I would tentatively walk up the stairs only to find everything quiet and in order. No evidence of a squirrel or bird that somehow found its way in, as my husband had originally suggested. Our dog, Bartleby the bloodhound, began to bark and growl at empty spaces. I’d often find him pacing at the top of the stairs, afraid to come down. On more than one occasion when I walked up to assist him, I passed through a cold mass — of what? — I did not know.
We eventually learned that our neighboring cemetery was listed in an old book of haunted graveyards, and that’s when I decided we were sharing our home with a mischievous old spirit. Then as Bartleby continued to stop and growl at a certain tombstone in the cemetery, I was convinced our uninvited housemate was one Oswin Dickinson. There were other signs pointing to Oswin being our unearthly lodger, such as footprints in the snow that led from our front door to Oswin’s grave, and a sighting by our niece of a man standing in our kitchen, wearing an old-fashioned blue coat.
My husband once joked that Oswin had a crush on me and that’s why he chose our house. This suggestion took me back to my tween years when my mother and I would watch episodes of The Ghost and Mrs. Muir together. The Ghost and Mrs. Marion does not have the same catchy ring to it, but it was a fun little fantasy while it lasted. I did find Oswin to be a pleasant ghost to have around. As I reveal in the acknowledgements in the back of the book – Oswin is the first mention by the way – I’ve found that I miss having him around since moving from our Connecticut home.
There are plenty more incidents documented in the back of my old writing journal, but the point is, if I hadn’t kept that journal or documented my experience with our otherworldly visitor, I may not have been inspired to include a ghostly element to the story. HOUSE OF ASHES would have been an entirely different book...or maybe not written at all. So, thank you once again, Oswin Dickinson!
Storm of Secrets
November 10, 2018
DON'T FAIL ME NOW NANCY DREW!
I thought it would be fun to share this Character Guest Post from the Great Escapes Book Tour for HOUSE OF ASHES. House of Ashes
DON'T FAIL ME NOW NANCY DREW By Cassandra Mitchell, resident of Battersea Bluffs in Whale Rock, Massachusetts (Ghost written by Loretta Marion)
I love a good mystery. It was my Granny Fi who first introduced me to the sleuthing adventures of Nancy Drew when I was a middle grader. Nancy and I had so much in common. She was a boater and I was practically raised on my father’s sailboat. Nancy also painted, and Mama had me standing at my own easel by the time I was five. No wonder I felt an immediate kinship with this fictional heroine.
I was fascinated by the mysteries that befell Nancy’s small town of River Heights. So much so that I’d invent my own Whale Rock mysteries. Lying on the edge of the cliffs, I’d gaze down at the crashing waves, fantasizing about how I would solve them, just like Nancy had. Of course, the Mitchell family had its own lingering mysteries, not the least of which involved a suspicious fire at Battersea Bluffs. My great-grandfather had leaped off these very cliffs, holding the charred remains of his wife while exclaiming, “I am not finished.” Maybe Granny Fi had distracted me with books so I’d not dwell on my family’s tragic history.
After I’d made my way through the Nancy Drew mysteries preserved from my Granny’s childhood, I discovered The Nancy Drew Files at the Whale Rock Public Library, one of Granny Fi’s legacies. She’d been instrumental in raising the funds to restore the crumbling, old building. I recall her saying, “Whale Rock’s future starts in the library. It’s the heart and soul of our town.” It was for me anyhow. Then during my teen years, I became hijacked by LJ Smith’s The Vampire Diaries and anything written by Christopher Pike. Perhaps it had something to do with the unsettling nature of my family home that drew me to those gruesome horror stories. It had long been rumored that Battersea Bluffs was haunted by the spirits of my infamous great-grandparents, Percival and Celeste Mitchell. Though I rarely talk about it, I can attest to the truth of that rumor. Trust me, the lingering presence of ancestral spirits can get under your skin. Especially back then when I hadn’t understood what messages they were trying to get through to me. I trusted then -and still do- that they mean me no harm, otherwise they’d have done so by now, right? Or am I simply naïve? Regardless, you’ll learn more about them and their calling card scent of burnt sugar when you read the book.
I returned to reading mysteries again in my early twenties. When sorting through Granny Fi’s private library after her death, I found a treasure trove: everything written by Agatha Christie, Ngaio Marsh, Ruth Rendell and PD James. Daphne DuMaurier’s Rebecca was a favorite – I could tell by the worn cover and bent spine. Apparently, my Granny favored female mystery authors.
It was bittersweet to find bits of my Granny Fi within the pages of the books she so cherished. I’d come across one of her course gray hairs every now and again, notes she’d written to herself in the margins, a rare photograph of my grandfather - the love of her life and one of the Mitchell family tragedies. It was a rare connection, feeling her with me as I turned every page, and a gift my Granny left behind for me.
When I flipped through the pages of the book left on her bedside table, tucked in as a place marker was a delicate lace handkerchief. I brought it to my nose and nearly wept at her familiar lavender scent. I did weep when I realized it was probably the last page she’d ever read, that she died not knowing how the mystery ended.
These discovered books offered an escape, much needed after my parents died so young, and then losing Granny Fi soon afterward. This left me and my older sister, Zoe, as the only remaining Mitchells…the end of a bloodline resulting from a century’s old curse cast upon my great-grandparents. But Zoe was out on the West Coast and had no intention of ever returning to Battersea Bluffs. For some strange reason, she despised our home and the town of Whale Rock. Could it be the unsettling nature in the bones of our ancestral home? I guess you’ll have to read HOUSE OF ASHES to find out.
Knowing Granny Fi would be pleased, I donated the mysteries I could part with to the Whale Rock Library. There I discovered some extraordinary contemporary mystery authors: Elizabeth George, Tana French, Camilla Lackberg, Arnaldur Indridason. I’m also a sucker for a cozy mystery, especially those that take place in New England or near the shore. Water has been such a big part of my life and I seek it out even in my reading.
Now I’m faced with a real-life mystery, just as I’d fantasized about all those many years ago. Ashley and Vince Jacobson were two wandering souls who came into my life at a difficult time and lifted me out of a very dark place. But they are now lost to me – vanished without a trace after setting off on their bikes for a day trip to Provincetown – leaving behind their precious canine companion, Whistler. It has become clear that they are not who they told me they were, and I’m left with only haunting questions: Why would they lie to me? Who were they really? Are they in danger? I can only hope that I’ve absorbed some of the sleuthing skills of Rendell’s Inspector Wexford, Christie’s Miss Marple or Monsieur Poirot and James’ Adam Dalgliesh—because I am desperate to find out what happened to them.
DON'T FAIL ME NOW NANCY DREW By Cassandra Mitchell, resident of Battersea Bluffs in Whale Rock, Massachusetts (Ghost written by Loretta Marion)
I love a good mystery. It was my Granny Fi who first introduced me to the sleuthing adventures of Nancy Drew when I was a middle grader. Nancy and I had so much in common. She was a boater and I was practically raised on my father’s sailboat. Nancy also painted, and Mama had me standing at my own easel by the time I was five. No wonder I felt an immediate kinship with this fictional heroine.
I was fascinated by the mysteries that befell Nancy’s small town of River Heights. So much so that I’d invent my own Whale Rock mysteries. Lying on the edge of the cliffs, I’d gaze down at the crashing waves, fantasizing about how I would solve them, just like Nancy had. Of course, the Mitchell family had its own lingering mysteries, not the least of which involved a suspicious fire at Battersea Bluffs. My great-grandfather had leaped off these very cliffs, holding the charred remains of his wife while exclaiming, “I am not finished.” Maybe Granny Fi had distracted me with books so I’d not dwell on my family’s tragic history.
After I’d made my way through the Nancy Drew mysteries preserved from my Granny’s childhood, I discovered The Nancy Drew Files at the Whale Rock Public Library, one of Granny Fi’s legacies. She’d been instrumental in raising the funds to restore the crumbling, old building. I recall her saying, “Whale Rock’s future starts in the library. It’s the heart and soul of our town.” It was for me anyhow. Then during my teen years, I became hijacked by LJ Smith’s The Vampire Diaries and anything written by Christopher Pike. Perhaps it had something to do with the unsettling nature of my family home that drew me to those gruesome horror stories. It had long been rumored that Battersea Bluffs was haunted by the spirits of my infamous great-grandparents, Percival and Celeste Mitchell. Though I rarely talk about it, I can attest to the truth of that rumor. Trust me, the lingering presence of ancestral spirits can get under your skin. Especially back then when I hadn’t understood what messages they were trying to get through to me. I trusted then -and still do- that they mean me no harm, otherwise they’d have done so by now, right? Or am I simply naïve? Regardless, you’ll learn more about them and their calling card scent of burnt sugar when you read the book.
I returned to reading mysteries again in my early twenties. When sorting through Granny Fi’s private library after her death, I found a treasure trove: everything written by Agatha Christie, Ngaio Marsh, Ruth Rendell and PD James. Daphne DuMaurier’s Rebecca was a favorite – I could tell by the worn cover and bent spine. Apparently, my Granny favored female mystery authors.
It was bittersweet to find bits of my Granny Fi within the pages of the books she so cherished. I’d come across one of her course gray hairs every now and again, notes she’d written to herself in the margins, a rare photograph of my grandfather - the love of her life and one of the Mitchell family tragedies. It was a rare connection, feeling her with me as I turned every page, and a gift my Granny left behind for me.
When I flipped through the pages of the book left on her bedside table, tucked in as a place marker was a delicate lace handkerchief. I brought it to my nose and nearly wept at her familiar lavender scent. I did weep when I realized it was probably the last page she’d ever read, that she died not knowing how the mystery ended.
These discovered books offered an escape, much needed after my parents died so young, and then losing Granny Fi soon afterward. This left me and my older sister, Zoe, as the only remaining Mitchells…the end of a bloodline resulting from a century’s old curse cast upon my great-grandparents. But Zoe was out on the West Coast and had no intention of ever returning to Battersea Bluffs. For some strange reason, she despised our home and the town of Whale Rock. Could it be the unsettling nature in the bones of our ancestral home? I guess you’ll have to read HOUSE OF ASHES to find out.
Knowing Granny Fi would be pleased, I donated the mysteries I could part with to the Whale Rock Library. There I discovered some extraordinary contemporary mystery authors: Elizabeth George, Tana French, Camilla Lackberg, Arnaldur Indridason. I’m also a sucker for a cozy mystery, especially those that take place in New England or near the shore. Water has been such a big part of my life and I seek it out even in my reading.
Now I’m faced with a real-life mystery, just as I’d fantasized about all those many years ago. Ashley and Vince Jacobson were two wandering souls who came into my life at a difficult time and lifted me out of a very dark place. But they are now lost to me – vanished without a trace after setting off on their bikes for a day trip to Provincetown – leaving behind their precious canine companion, Whistler. It has become clear that they are not who they told me they were, and I’m left with only haunting questions: Why would they lie to me? Who were they really? Are they in danger? I can only hope that I’ve absorbed some of the sleuthing skills of Rendell’s Inspector Wexford, Christie’s Miss Marple or Monsieur Poirot and James’ Adam Dalgliesh—because I am desperate to find out what happened to them.
July 25, 2018
Supporting the Great Work of Best Friends Animal Society
House of AshesThere has been a lot of excitement these past few months as I prepare for the upcoming release of my next book, HOUSE OF ASHES. I am honored to have my new series published by Crooked Lane Books.
It is every writer’s hope to grow a strong following of readers, and I’m certainly no different. But it is also my aim to use my books as a vehicle for good works. Last year, I donated book sales profits to support our local East Bay Food Pantry and the famous Bristol July Fourth Parade, as well as my Ohio hometown public library.
But as a forever animal lover and dog owner ~ you'll find a colorful canine character in each of my books ~ this time I’m choosing to raise funds for BEST FRIENDS ANIMAL SOCIETY.
It's easy and it's free to participate! Check out how on the News, Events & Giveaways! page of my author website: Loretta Marion Website
My goal is to raise $500 to support the important work of this excellent cause! SAVE THEM ALL!
November 8, 2017
Going Home and Giving Back
Hometown Author Event & Library Fundraiser
The Fool's Truth
I am heading home for the holidays – home being the little Ohio town where I grew up. Dover might be a small community, but it is huge in heart and wears its dynamic spirit in the form of a mighty swirling red and gray tornado…the high school mascot.
I left years ago, and have moved around a fair bit, settling in New England for the present time. My mother had always served as the anchor to my Midwestern roots, but it will soon be three years since her sad departure from my life, and I still feel a gravitational pull to my hometown. It is my good fortune to have remained closely connected to a number of friends from my youth. I’m convinced there is a magical element in the Ohio earth, in which the seeds of friendship sprouted and saplings took root, to have nurtured such strong bonds of friendship…for the connection we share is rare.
There is something uniquely special about relationships formed during those mostly fun yet very awkward years when we were stretching toward adulthood. We knew everything about each other. The houses where we grow up. Our parents, our siblings, our pets. The good boyfriends and the bad breakups. Our interesting 1970’s era style. (You can hear a collective groan as we peruse old photo albums, wondering who let us out of the house wearing skirts that short and what had we been thinking with those hair styles?)
And all of that is tightly woven into the soft, cozy yet durable fabric of whom each of us has become. Since those carefree days of our youth, we’ve stuck firmly together through all the good and all the bad. The birth of children and now grandchildren – yikes! Career changes and retirement. New loves and divorce. Health scares and the loss of loved ones.
A few weeks back, a text thread among a dozen of us called the Dover Divas (and not a Diva among us by the way) lasted through the second half of our hometown football rival game with one fantastic game commentator and the rest of us cheering on our old school team. Four overtimes later, those hard fighting Dover Tornadoes lost the game. The taste of defeat is so bitter at that young age. But if they are anything like our class, they will find the true win is in the friendships they enjoy now. And if they’re as lucky as we are, they will hold on to those friendships for a lifetime.
Later this month I’ve been invited to speak as part of my hometown library’s Nights at the Round Table author series. It’s a lovely opportunity to talk about my book and my writing journey, but also it gives me yet another chance to spend time with my friends and reconnect with classmates. And those Dover Divas are going to be right at my side, supporting me and doing whatever they can to make it a special event. Never do I forget how lucky I am!
Equally important to me, is the opportunity to help my hometown public library.
When I first set out on this writing journey, I didn’t know where it would lead. But it was important to me that some good come from the experience, and I began looking for ways to use my book to help others. During the past year the book raised over $1000 for some organizations that are dear to me.
And in keeping with that philosophy, I’m going to try and help the Dover Public Library. During the entire month of November I will donate 50% of profits from my book sales on Amazon to the Time to Check Out Your Future Capital Campaign–to raise money to remodel the library: https://www.amazon.com/dp/0997788607
The Dover Library is, after all, where my love of reading and all things books had its beginnings. If I can find a way to give back in just a small way the huge gift it has given me, I will be a happy writer.
The Fool's Truth
I am heading home for the holidays – home being the little Ohio town where I grew up. Dover might be a small community, but it is huge in heart and wears its dynamic spirit in the form of a mighty swirling red and gray tornado…the high school mascot.
I left years ago, and have moved around a fair bit, settling in New England for the present time. My mother had always served as the anchor to my Midwestern roots, but it will soon be three years since her sad departure from my life, and I still feel a gravitational pull to my hometown. It is my good fortune to have remained closely connected to a number of friends from my youth. I’m convinced there is a magical element in the Ohio earth, in which the seeds of friendship sprouted and saplings took root, to have nurtured such strong bonds of friendship…for the connection we share is rare.
There is something uniquely special about relationships formed during those mostly fun yet very awkward years when we were stretching toward adulthood. We knew everything about each other. The houses where we grow up. Our parents, our siblings, our pets. The good boyfriends and the bad breakups. Our interesting 1970’s era style. (You can hear a collective groan as we peruse old photo albums, wondering who let us out of the house wearing skirts that short and what had we been thinking with those hair styles?)
And all of that is tightly woven into the soft, cozy yet durable fabric of whom each of us has become. Since those carefree days of our youth, we’ve stuck firmly together through all the good and all the bad. The birth of children and now grandchildren – yikes! Career changes and retirement. New loves and divorce. Health scares and the loss of loved ones.
A few weeks back, a text thread among a dozen of us called the Dover Divas (and not a Diva among us by the way) lasted through the second half of our hometown football rival game with one fantastic game commentator and the rest of us cheering on our old school team. Four overtimes later, those hard fighting Dover Tornadoes lost the game. The taste of defeat is so bitter at that young age. But if they are anything like our class, they will find the true win is in the friendships they enjoy now. And if they’re as lucky as we are, they will hold on to those friendships for a lifetime.
Later this month I’ve been invited to speak as part of my hometown library’s Nights at the Round Table author series. It’s a lovely opportunity to talk about my book and my writing journey, but also it gives me yet another chance to spend time with my friends and reconnect with classmates. And those Dover Divas are going to be right at my side, supporting me and doing whatever they can to make it a special event. Never do I forget how lucky I am!
Equally important to me, is the opportunity to help my hometown public library.
When I first set out on this writing journey, I didn’t know where it would lead. But it was important to me that some good come from the experience, and I began looking for ways to use my book to help others. During the past year the book raised over $1000 for some organizations that are dear to me.
And in keeping with that philosophy, I’m going to try and help the Dover Public Library. During the entire month of November I will donate 50% of profits from my book sales on Amazon to the Time to Check Out Your Future Capital Campaign–to raise money to remodel the library: https://www.amazon.com/dp/0997788607
The Dover Library is, after all, where my love of reading and all things books had its beginnings. If I can find a way to give back in just a small way the huge gift it has given me, I will be a happy writer.
April 30, 2017
Lesson Learned Part Two ~ Getting In Touch with My Inner Bad Girl
In Lessons Learned from Writing a Novel Part One I wrote about becoming more compassionate as a result of my writing experience. And now that I'm kinder and gentler in real life, I've given myself permission to be wicked in my writer's mind.
I've always been a people watcher, but becoming a writer forced me to take those observation skills to a much higher level. However, merely observing people doesn’t provide the depths of a personality required to create a character. So I also needed to intensify my research skills.
Aside from stretching our imaginative and creative muscles, most readers would be surprised by the vast amount of research that goes into writing a novel. There's geographical research, demographic research. Dialects and accents. Colloquial phrasing. Law enforcement and legal procedures. Medical and pharmacological details. Delving into the criminal or psychologically troubled mind. Investigating different time eras, unusual professions. Finding the voice for someone not your own age or sex or nationality. Understanding motivations. I could go on. The point is, if you’re going to create a devious, disturbed or deadly character, you have to build a foundation for his or her persona.
But once the research is completed? Then the party begins! To crawl into another character and live vicariously through them for a while, acting in ways and saying things we wouldn't dare in real life? To actually be the one who's creating their fantasy life and determining how they live and what choices they make, for the good or for evil? Now that is really fun.
I've discovered my inner bad girl..and I like her!
April 8, 2017
An Unforeseen Journey...with a Novel Destination
For those with an interest in learning how I became a writer of fiction, below is a link to an article in the Spring Issue of Northern Journeys Magazine which offers a brief explanation of my journey from hospice volunteer to published author. (See page 11)
http://northernjourneysmagazine.com/a...
The Fool's Truth
http://northernjourneysmagazine.com/a...
The Fool's Truth
March 15, 2017
The Lessons I Learned from Writing a Novel and How it Changed Me
People who make the assumption that authors only write what they know couldn't be further from understanding the writer's mind. I shudder to think how boring my books would be if I only drew from my own life. I've never personally known a serious criminal or anyone who was murdered. Nor have I ever committed a crime, besides exceeding the speed limit on occasion. I know. Boring, right? And since I run with a fairly tame crowd - all great people but not a murderer among them - imagine the challenge of creating a suspenseful mystery if I wrote only what I know. And just think, if Stephen King only wrote about his personal experiences, he and Tabitha would never have a house guest. I jest. For though the offer is not likely forthcoming, I'd certainly never turn it down!
I'm sure most authors are amused when someone they know assumes they inspired a certain character or story line. It is true that we seek inspiration from everyone and everything around us. But authors are inventive creatures. We go well beyond what we observe in our surroundings and delve deep into our imaginations to craft unique characters and plot scenarios we hope are fresh and original from the seeds of ideas that have been germinating sometimes for decades in our heads.
An author has to fit into the skin of her characters, to imagine being trapped by unfortunate and sometimes violent circumstances she herself has never experienced. Consequently, I think fiction writers become more empathetic beings from being forced to see the world through the eyes of the disparate characters we create.
The process has made me much more aware of the adversities others face and hopefully I've become a more compassionate person as a result.
And that is one of the best ways writing fiction has changed me.
I'm sure most authors are amused when someone they know assumes they inspired a certain character or story line. It is true that we seek inspiration from everyone and everything around us. But authors are inventive creatures. We go well beyond what we observe in our surroundings and delve deep into our imaginations to craft unique characters and plot scenarios we hope are fresh and original from the seeds of ideas that have been germinating sometimes for decades in our heads.
An author has to fit into the skin of her characters, to imagine being trapped by unfortunate and sometimes violent circumstances she herself has never experienced. Consequently, I think fiction writers become more empathetic beings from being forced to see the world through the eyes of the disparate characters we create.
The process has made me much more aware of the adversities others face and hopefully I've become a more compassionate person as a result.
And that is one of the best ways writing fiction has changed me.
January 25, 2017
Never forget the power of words… or knitting needles!
Saturday, as friends and family participated at the Women’s March on Washington, I was fortunate to receive moving messages and texts throughout the momentous proceedings. Regardless of one’s political stand, it was an impressive rally to remind our government of its role to serve all the people of our great country. And in a democracy, when civil liberties are threatened, we have fundamental rights and a responsibility to speak and be heard.
I looked upon a sea of pink hats, thinking about the determination that went into each stitch. Very symbolic when considering the definition of knitting is to become closely and firmly joined together, as did happen yesterday when well over a million people gathered across the nation to speak in a voice of unity against hate and for human rights and equality.
Although the project was originally intended to send a specific message to our new president, I couldn’t help but think of a deeper significance to those knitted hats. As a knitter, I was reminded of a cautionary lesson the craft has taught me. To borrow a Goodreads quote from Lani Diane Rich, The Fortune Quilt: “When you knit, if you get something wrong and keep knitting, then when you discover it, you have to rip out all those rows of stitching to go back and fix it. Life is like that. Sometimes, it has to rip out all the stitches to go back and fix what’s wrong.”
It’s a simplistic analogy in that dropping a stitch, although annoying as hell, is not a life-changing concern. Whereas mistakes in leading a country can have lasting and devastating costs attached. Which leads me to the second knitting metaphor those hats brought to mind. Just as many stitches went into their creation, they serve as a reminder of the many qualities that are woven into the makeup of a great leader: wisdom and good judgment; openness, tolerance, compassion and respect for all; humility, teachability, accountability and magnanimity; caution, self-discipline, focus and composure; courage, honesty and integrity; the capacity to cooperate, collaborate, motivate and to inspire trust; a master of the art of communication.
Few possess all these qualities, but history has demonstrated that exceptional leaders held a deep respect for the influential substance of words. For what wields more power than what we speak or what we write? Words can be the instruments of greatness, inspiration, progress…or they can be the weapons of divisiveness, disorder and destruction.
We should all be mindful of the intensity of their influence. But our leaders have a duty to use language wisely, to choose their words with the same careful deliberation and forethought as their actions.
“WHAT IS PAST IS PROLOGUE”
December 17, 2016
In Gratitude
As a follow-up to my Thanksgiving Reflection post, I'd like to send out a special thank-you to those who purchased a copy of The Fool's Truth during the month of November. Profits from this promotion have been donated to support the important mission of East Bay Food Pantry. I'm excited to announce that the funds raised will provide eight children with breakfasts and lunches for the entire summer in their Food-4-Kids program. This truly was book buying for a great cause! Read more here: http://www.lorettamarion.com/?p=1216/
It's been a whirlwind of activities these past three months since the launch of The Fool's Truth, and the list of folks to thank is far too long to include here. I have been the fortunate recipient of incredible support and valuable guidance, at times from the most unexpected places. The publishing world can be quite daunting, especially when challenged with the task of making a novel stand out among so many other wonderful books available today. But I have been encouraged by the sincere kindness and generous spirits of so many people through this process.
I am both humbled and grateful.
Anyone interested in reading an author interview posted December 16th can visit https://hungrymonsterreview.com/2016/12/16/a-buried-desire/ The post is entitled A Buried Desire.
The Fool's Truth
It's been a whirlwind of activities these past three months since the launch of The Fool's Truth, and the list of folks to thank is far too long to include here. I have been the fortunate recipient of incredible support and valuable guidance, at times from the most unexpected places. The publishing world can be quite daunting, especially when challenged with the task of making a novel stand out among so many other wonderful books available today. But I have been encouraged by the sincere kindness and generous spirits of so many people through this process.
I am both humbled and grateful.
Anyone interested in reading an author interview posted December 16th can visit https://hungrymonsterreview.com/2016/12/16/a-buried-desire/ The post is entitled A Buried Desire.
The Fool's Truth
