Book Release- “The Dark Side of the Woods”

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How could Sadie have lived so long in this town without knowing it was harboring a very old secret? The dark side of the woods was a place she walked by nearly every single day and it seemed perfectly normal. Until she realized, nothing that walked in there, walked back out.
Curses, wolves, new romance, and a gruesome transformation threaten to change everything Sadie has ever known. It has to end where it started, in the center of the forest.

 

So, it’s only been three months since my last post. Oops. I swear, one day I’ll write regularly.
However part of the reason I’ve been MIA is due to getting my upcoming release ready to go!
I’m so excited to share The Dark Side of the Woods with all of you. The reviews I have received have been very encouraging and even after reading myself many many times, I still enjoy it!
It just went to print and I’m planning the release party and kindle release, so please check out my facebook page or website for more info.

facebook.com/threewitchesinasmalltown

authorwilliedalton.com

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What a week.

What a crazy couple of weeks it’s been! I got word from my publisher that the manuscript for my new novel “The Dark Side of the Woods” has been accepted! YAY! I am so excited to see that story come to life. Of course, with the excitement comes a bit of anxiety as well. This book falls into the young/ new adult genre and I’m curious how it will be received.

Just following that news was a trip to Charleston, SC with some of my best friends. When I say best friends I mean lifetime, could blackmail me for eternity kind of friends. We drank rum on the beach and laughed until we cried, we shopped and dressed up for a fancy dinner at Husk, one of Charleston’s top restaurants. It was perfect and we are already making plans to go back.

I’m not usually a beach person. It had been ten years since the last time I went. I don’t get a lot of inspiration from the ocean but it quiets my mind. Sometimes that’s needed too.

And then yesterday, I had to lay my sweet tortoise shell cat, Munchkin, to rest. I’m not sure what happened to her but after she didn’t come home for dinner or breakfast, I knew. A walk in the woods confirmed my fears and I carried her home through the thorns and leaves to bury her in a corner of the backyard. I’m going to fix a sweet little garden for to rest in with a headstone, maybe plant some catnip and hang a birdhouse in the tree above her. Twelve years is a decent life for a cat but it’s never long enough.

Even though my heart is broken I have wonderful things to look forward to in the coming months and five rambunctious foster kittens who know that I need extra love right now as much as they do.

The three of us crazy ladies outside of Husk. I’m the one in the middle.

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My sweet Munchkin.

Patchwork Hearts

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I had been waiting to share this story on the first day of spring. But due to travel, I missed it by a day. Oh well, happy spring!

 

 

Patchwork Hearts

Growing up, I always wanted the same kind of life my parents had. Their love for one another was like a river, to an observer it looked calm and maybe even boring but just underneath the surface it was powerful, with a current strong enough to carry them through every rock and obstacle they encountered. Together they ran the farm, raised five children and had enough love for everyone.

I was a bit of an odd child but my parents never treated me as such. I spent a lot of time with the animals on the farm and a lot of time with my mom in the kitchen. Cooking was her favorite thing to do for her family and I found it peaceful to watch her work. I’d sit and talk with her while she pitted cherries and rolled out dough, stealing little tastes here and there. My brothers and sisters always seemed to be doing something else. I was never outgoing enough to keep up with them. It didn’t bother me though, I always spent my time exactly where I wanted to spend it.

One day, when I was about nine or ten I noticed odd, fuzzy, colors on my mom’s chest. I thought at first she had spilled something on her shirt. When I asked her about it she had no idea what I was talking about and looked down at her blouse repeatedly trying to dust off whatever she thought I was seeing. I thought maybe something was wrong with my eyes and told her to nevermind.

Throughout the day my brothers and sisters wondered through the house and I saw nothing strange on them, but when my dad came in I was shocked to see the same fuzzy colors on his chest, exactly the same as mom’s. I didn’t speak of it and for weeks I just watched. The colors never faded or changed and over time I began to see colors in front of other people. It was years later when I realized I was seeing love.

My older sister began dating a boy when she was seventeen and I saw new colors start to appear on her chest just over her heart. Not long after, whenever her boyfriend came by I saw the same colors and pattern forming on his heart as well. I observed their relationship quietly and watched as their colors became brighter until one day when hers started to fade and new colors began to form in another place on her heart as she fell in love with someone else. Each love left its mark.

I knew people with multiple colors on their hearts from many loves had and lost, and so the day I saw the fuzzy hue of pink and violet forming on the chest of my best guy friend I knew he was falling in love with me. I hesitated to let our love grow because I had made it known I wanted to stay close to where I grew up and run my own farm as my parents had done. He on the other hand had always dreamed of being a business man in a city away from the Appalachian mountains we called home. In spite of our concerns, our love deepened and when he proposed he assured me he would be happy on a farm as long as he was with me. And for a while, he was.

It seemed like everything we tried to do was an uphill battle. Getting the loan for the farm was a nearly insurmountable feat, as was restoring the old farmhouse we bought. Then working the land itself. Bills piled up faster than the crops could grow but I stayed optimistic. I was so sure our love would see us through this rough patch of life and once we were through it, happiness was just around the corner.

Even though times were hard we still loved each other and through that love, we had two daughters who brought me joy like I had never known. Along with joy though, children bring responsibility and a need for steady income. My husband worked hard on the farm spending daylight to darkness working his fingers to the bone, sometimes almost literally. Anytime I tried to help him in the fields or barn he sent me back to the house, saying that work wasn’t cut out for me. I appreciated the concern but I knew I wasn’t as fragile as he believed.

It didn’t happen overnight. It happened over years. It happened so slowly I was able to steady myself for it coming. I watched the colors of his love for me slowly fade as he began to resent me. I had my contentment in our daughters, but he was always out on the farm and his little time with us was spent hurridly gulping down meals or falling asleep in his chair before bed. This was never the life he wanted. Maybe I should have tried harder to make him love me again, but I didn’t. Maybe I should have told him to leave sooner. But I thought I couldn’t make it without him and so I watched his love for me die and I let it, until one day when our colors were just a scrap of what once was.

I wasn’t surprised when one morning I woke up in an empty bed. He was often out and gone when I got up in the mornings, but this morning something was different.

I started the coffee pot and looked in on the girl’s they were up already playing with their dolls.

“Have you all seen your dad?” I asked.

They told me he came in their room and kissed them on the head before daylight. It was what woke them up.

A short time later, a knock at the door confirmed my suspicion. It was Hal, one of our farm hands. He was wondering if my husband was sick since he hadn’t made it outside yet. I did my best to choke back my tears but a single one escaped and rolled down my cheek.

I was quiet for a minute as I thought about what to say, what to do. I straightened my spine and pulled back my shoulders and did the only thing I could do.

“Hal,” I said. “He’s not here, and I don’t think he’s coming back. I need you to show me how to run the farm.”

His eyes widened with surprise and he started to apologize. I put my hand up and shook my head.

“I’ll be fine.” I said as the last tear I would shed over my husband slipped down my cheek.

The first two weeks were the hardest. My body wasn’t used to that kind of work and it ached in ways I didn’t think possible. My hands were calloused and bloody, my neck sunburnt and my back was in knots, but I made it through.

When the girls weren’t in school they usually came outside to play and talk with me or Hal while we worked. Whenever they asked about their dad I just told them he was gone and they never asked anything more, they were old enough to understand.

One evening I realized they hadn’t been outside that day to visit. I had heard them giggling and making a racket in the house so I knew they were fine, it was just odd they hadn’t been out. So I finished up my work and went inside. To my astonishment the house was clean and dinner was on the table.

My girls smiled and fixed me a plate. “We thought if you were having to do dad’s job, we should do yours.”

I stood there staring at my beautiful daughters and cried. I wasn’t missing a husband, I wasn’t missing anything.

One morning, a couple of months later, I finally recieved “the papers”. I stood by the tractor while I read them. He let me have the farm, house, and everything that went with it. The amount of child support he agreed to was less than I deserved but I’d be happy to get it, so I signed just to be finished with the whole thing. I was hurt and angry. So much was left unsaid, but it was too late now.

It was once again the time of year to plant the flower bulbs of lillies and tulips for the greenhouse that opened in the spring. This had been the one part of the garden I had tended to every year. This year, I was having trouble digging the holes for the bulbs. The ground seemed more rocky and hard than usual. Nearly exhausted after digging three holes, I still had rows and rows to go. I stopped to wipe the sweat from my brow and heard Hal’s voice behind me.

“You’re fighting the earth, you have to work with it.” He said. He knelt down beside me and took my tools. He gently dug hole after hole for me with ease and I followed along behind him dropping in the bulbs.

“You have to think about working with the elements, the earth, rain, sun, how they all nourish the things we plant and harvest and how we appreciate that. If you fight against the elements, like you have some kind of control, they’ll fight you back.” He laughed.

That was the first moment I really looked at Hal. I had known him at least ten years but now instead of a farm hand, I saw something else. Every morning since my ex-huband left Hal had shown up at my door, coffee in hand, to show me how to run this place. I had made his days longer and work harder but he never once complained.

After we finished planting the flower bulbs I walked over and hugged him. He was caught by surprise to say the least. He half laughed but hugged me back.

“Thank you.” I said and kept my arms tight around his neck.

“Why, you’re welcome. You would’ve gotten the hang of all this eventually.” He said.

“Maybe, but you have made it so much easier for me and the girls.”

“You and your girls are my favorite people.” He said.

Slowly, I began to fall in love with the farm again like I had when I was a child on my parents farm. Once I knew how everything was supposed to run and the money started coming in, even more than before, I relaxed. The girls pitched in wherever they could before school and they came to love living there just like I did.

I woke up every morning and had my coffee on the porch with Hal and we’d talk about the things we needed to do for the day. Sometimes we’d sit quietly and breathe in the fresh scent of the garden and damp coolness of the dew. If you were up early enough, you could watch a light mist hover over the grass as the sun rose up behind the barn. There was a stillness and magic to our farm that I never tired of.

One morning Hal sat across from me and for the first time I saw his heart, maybe it was just the first time I truly looked. There were several faded colors and patterns of love in his past and a new one growing.

I felt a heat in my own chest spreading up to my face at the idea it could be me he was falling in love with. But I wasn’t sure it was about me, and I didn’t know how to ask. So I did the last thing I would expect myself to do. I told him about what I could see. I told him about it all from the very beginning and being in the kitchen with mom, to watching my husband’s love for me die. And I told him how every love leaves it’s mark on the heart. When I was finished he sat thoughtfully for a minute and then laughed.

“If every love leaves a mark, my heart probably looks like a patchwork quilt.” He said. There was no judgement, no disbelief, he just sat and sipped his coffee.

I reached over and took his hand, my fingers curling around his. He nodded without ever looking right at me and said. “You can see it, can’t you?” He smiled.

I moved in a little closer to him and laid my head on his shoulder. “I love you too.”

Hal and I grew a love on that farm that was as strong as my mom and dad’s. The next spring, when all the flowers he had helped me plant were in full bloom we were married by the garden. He loved my girls like his own and oh, how they loved him. In time we had a son and then our family was complete. Our patchwork hearts were complete, painful scraps of memories stitched together with faith and hope then finished with love.

 

Mountain Mother

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The mountains are our mother, ever fixed and strict. She teaches us the hard lessons, the pain of birth and death. She makes us earn the roof over our head and the food in our belly through the sweat and blood of a hard days work. She teaches us the unfairness of life by the crop destroying heavy rains and drought.

She sings us to sleep with her gentle winds and distant calls of whipporwhills. She teaches us gratitude when we can sit in the porch rocker at the end of the day and simply be. She teaches us to persevere just as the tiny creeks flow and carve out deeper trenches through the ancient rock that is her foundation.

She gives us rich soil and woods full of herbs to heal what is broken. And when all hope is lost, she reminds you to turn to the Creator of it all.

We grow up saying we can’t wait to get out from under her watchful eye and her scolding switch. When we leave, we find nothing can bring us comfort like she gave. And so, we return. No longer taking for granted her little joys and lessons we once would have scoffed or overlooked.

Those who leave and never return were never hers to begin with. Not truly, for those of us who go back through all our generations know this where our blood started and this is where it will someday end. We will one day feed her with our blood and bones just as she has fed us.

She is our mountain mother who has watched over us with her bowed back and worn hands. She has sacrificed for us, she has let us tear the coal from her body and the trees from her dress so we could live. And as any mother, she loves us, she holds us tightly to her protective breast and when we leave, she lets us know we will always have a home back here with her.

 

Some of us just know

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Some of us just know. We grew up believing in the monsters in the closet and the fairies in the garden like most children. The difference is as adults we just learned to stop talking about them, not believing.

We know the twinkle of lights that catch our eye is not seen by everyone or that the fluttering of a single leaf on a tree is where a fairy is playing. We know by the feel of the breeze if it is signaling a change of weather or if it’s bringing something in or blowing it out. We feel the change of seasons like electricity before the first snowflake falls or first crocus blooms. And try as we might to ignore the nagging whisper of “something’s not right here” it inevitably comes to pass with a much louder “told you so.”

Whether it’s the voice of God, the universe, or our own intuition, it’s there.

Two of my most vivid memories as a child were pretending I was in another realm with the fairies and dressing up as a fortune teller in my grandmother’s long colorful skirts and scarves with a globe from a light fixture as my crystal ball. I have no idea where either of those ideas came from at such a young age.

In the mystery and horror television shows I loved to watch I never wanted to be the main character, I always wanted to be the witch or little old woman who lived way back in the woods. I wanted that wisdom, to know what people needed before they ever even asked.

I’m not the little wise woman in the woods yet, but I’m working on it.

I feel sorry for those who can’t see the nearly invisible web of life around them. How everything is connected, and nothing is coincidence. How there is magic hovering in the air, in the earth, and inside of every living being, just waiting to be tapped into and used to help us through this confusing existence. You have to believe in the wonders of the world to see them, otherwise you will miss out on so many miracles.

 

A Day of Inspiration

cumberland gap I’ve been busy lately.  Busy writing, busy selling books (or trying to), busy planning for Christmas and as always busy looking for inspiration.

A few weeks ago I woke up in need of inspiration. I’ve learned I get my best ideas when I get away from the house and get outside. I checked my phone to see it was going to be a beautiful, warm day, a true rarity for southwest Virginia in December.  My husband agreed to my spontaneous Sunday adventure so off we went to Cumberland Gap.

Cumberland Gap is only about an hour drive from our house and if I had it my way I’d live right downtown. The little town is simply adorable and incredibly rich with history. We did some hiking along my favorite trail and although I had forgotten how much of the walk was uphill, it was exactly what I needed to refresh my desire to write. In fact there is one particular spot along the trail that gave me the idea for the book I’m currently working on.

There must be something special about that one area to inspire an entire book. I told my husband as I stood there I wasn’t sure if the story was coming all from my imagination or if secrets of the land were revealing themselves to me. Either way it’s a pretty awesome feeling. Ever since our walk I’ve been writing like crazy.

We were very lucky that day. The weather was so lovely, some animals came out to enjoy the sunshine as well. We walked right by some deer that were eating among the leaves and made a path around a tiny little snake getting warm on a sunny rock. I always consider animal sightings to be a wonderful thing.

Along the trail there are many other incredibly beautiful places; a little wooden bridge where you can stand over the water flowing down from the mountainside, an old salt cave, and the hand built iron furnace.

Once hiking has made you good and hungry you can walk into town and eat at Angelo’s, a fabulous little Italian restaurant with a charming, cozy atmosphere. It’s one of my favorite places to eat, ever.

We have to take inspiration where we can get it. There are a few places where I always know I can find my muse hanging out. If you have a place that makes you feel that way, appreciate it and go there whenever you can.

Guest Blog by Blake Gardner- The Tea in All of Us

The Tea in All of Us

There is probably a need for introduction. I’m Blake Gardner author of Inhuman Emergence: Innocence http://amzn.to/1MCaGKd you can find it here on Amazon as well as Barnes & Noble. Willie was kind enough to write a blog post for my new blog about her writing, which you can find on my site Inhumaseries.com/blog

There’s a little tea in all of us. It’s the special kind of caffeinating intoxicant that you might find anywhere. I haven’t always been one for tea. I’m American after all, the land of the coffee bean. The culture of tea is not an immediate jolt of energy for a tired morning commute, but one of relaxation.

Why do we drink caffeine to rouse ourselves? It may be more a part of your routine than you think. You need all that brain activity now, you depend on it. But is it beneficial for your workday or daily activities to have excited neurons?

The sense of urgency in our days results in so much stress. To rush is to be careless. Tea is so much more than waking up. It relaxes, and one should not only enjoy it when you wake but in the evening. It’s mild enough to still have a calming effect.

Is your energy drink really waking you up? Do all those chemicals and herbal remedies help you with your day? Have a cup of tea. There’s no better way to become more centered than a nice green tea or a rich earl grey.

With so little time for leisure what better way to unwind than with a cup of tea or four and breathe deep. Ive come to end of my blog with the realization that even if you can’t seem to find quiet, or peace, you can find inner peace within a cup of tea. There is also caffeine in it.

Three Years from Now..

I love writing fiction. I am never at a loss of stories to tell (with my writing, not out loud!) and characters to explore. However when it comes to writing ideas for my blog I am at a total loss. I could ramble about the goings on in my life, story ideas, herbs and lifestyle things but there would be no real rhyme or reason to it and I just don’t feel like it would be that interesting. So I had an idea. Many years ago I bought a book and card set meant to be used for journaling. I did use it for a while and enjoyed the process. The set is called Book of Exploration by Charlene Geiss and Claudia Jessup. You randomly choose a card with a writing prompt, then read the corresponding book page before journaling.  I decided once a week I will pull a card from the deck and that will be the subject of my blog. Here goes nothing.

The card I drew is Three Years from Now.

The things you do or don’t do today are the seeds you are planting for tomorrow.

First of all I would be pretty ok if not much changes in my life in three years. Life is never perfect but mine is good and I’m grateful. Nothing would make me happier than spending my time writing, decorating, tending to gardens all the around the house and doing fun things with my family.  I have hopes my book/s will be successful but I don’t need to be rich and famous. I would like to travel and do a few book signings though, that would be pretty amazing. But three years ago I couldn’t have imagined I would be where I am, so it’s my hope three years from now life will be more incredible than I can picture.

I feel I’m on the right path and I’m going to keep on doing what I’m doing. I want to continue to plant seeds of success and happiness because as far as I’m concerned I already have both.

“Life is a promise; fulfill it.” Mother Teresa

A year of plenty

Since Alafair’s birthday was New Years Day and her party was on Saturday, yesterday was my first real day to reflect on what I hope the new year brings. I’m beyond excited about what lies ahead for me in my writing but I’m also looking forward to enjoying simple things. Spring will be here before we know it and I’m determined to have a small vegetable garden this year and get at least one more room in the house looking the way I would like. I can’t wait for hiking with Josh and trips to the park with Alafair and possibly our first trip to the beach in many years. I’m not a beachy person, I love looking at the ocean and looking for seashells but you can keep the crabs, jellyfish, sharks, blistering sun, seafood and rip tides. A trip every five or six years is sufficient for me, but it will be Alafair’s first trip and she is super excited. If she turns out to be a beach girl I’ll adjust.

I’m don’t usually make resolutions on the new year because I believe we should always be trying to better ourselves and setting a goal once a year seems to be a cop out for most people. If they don’t reach their goal they say “oh well I’ll try again next year” instead of “I’ll try again tomorrow”. However I did make a  resolution this year, to finally be able to do scorpion pose (picture at the bottom). I’m closer than I was last year but still very far away.  It is definitely attainable with daily practice, but I’ll get there before the year is out.

I find the new year to be an exciting time. A new year full of hopes and possibilities, challenges, joy and sometimes loss and sadness, all of it change and motion leading us ahead toward the direction of our choosing. I hope we all choose happiness and health and kindness. My wish for you is a year of plenty, plenty of food and warmth, plenty of new experiences and rest, plenty love and laughter and plenty to give to those who have less.

Carry peace with you throughout the year and don’t let the hard things of the world make you cold.

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It all begins with a question

About a year ago my daughter walked through the house and asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up. Most people my age (late twenties) already have a career or are working toward their goal. I’ve been a massage therapist, helped run a health food store, nearly have my doctorate in naturopathy and for the last several years I’ve been a stay at home mom. Yet, I’ve never felt like any of that was “my thing” I was meant to do.  So when she asked me that question I really thought about it and an image came to mind. An image of me walking into a bookstore and seeing a book that I wrote on the shelf. It was the mother of all epiphanies, it was a peaceful knowing that writing was what I should be doing.

I’ve loved writing since I was a child. The time or two I thought of pursuing it seriously I scared myself away by reading how difficult it is to get published and I wasn’t sure I could handle any criticism that came my way, but I decided to push those fears away and see where it could take me. I set a goal for  myself to write something and get it published by the time I turned thirty.   A couple of months later my mom picked up a magazine that mentioned a publishing contest and said she thought I might be interested. The deadline was a little over two months away but I decided to try my luck. So nearly every single day for two months I wrote at least 1000 words and edited the entire book within one week. At times it was challenging but I loved the challenge and the story I created. I submitted it on the day of the deadline with many many prayers, only to find out they had extended the deadline by three more months! I was frustrated at how much more thought and review I could have put into my story in that time frame but it was done and submitted and I had to hope for the best.

December 1st, I was checking my email looking for a lost password to a site I rarely used and a message from the publishing company was waiting. I won the contest. I am not an overly emotional person, it takes a lot to get me excited. But I screamed and screamed, then cried. So now I am picking out cover designs, writing dedications, creating blogs and twitter accounts and in a few months I’ll see my book on bookstore shelves. If it comes out this summer it will be the best way to spend my 29th birthday I could possibly imagine. Dreams are attainable through hard work and faith and I’m so excited to see where this new journey leads. I hope you follow me on the adventure.