Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author K.R. Morrison @KRMorrison2 @darc_nina #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

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Mudding 
by K.R. Morrison 

Francis played out his line in the twilight of a hot day in August. He couldn’t relax; a day of mudding on the slough had left him too excited to stay onshore. He knew full well that the main rule for mudding was never to go out alone. But what a haul he had had today! A gold watch, several bits of jewelry—even a few old coins. He only had a weekend to do this, and time was wasting.

He had bought the best-and-brightest of the magnets built for mudding, and he didn’t regret a single dollar he had spent. What he had found in just one day had more than made up for the expense.

That instrument weighed heavily in his hand, but it was a comfortable weight. With all his strength, he threw the magnet as far out into the water as he could. With everyone else off the rapidly-receding slough, he saw no reason why he couldn’t get some real treasure now.

And he was rewarded almost immediately. The line drew taut with a twang of the cord.

He grinned as he pulled at the rope. There was a lot of resistance; if there wasn’t real booty at the end of this line, he would be very surprised.

Bubbles came up lazily from deep under the water, which meant that the object was quite heavy. He was positive that this was going to be the best catch ever.

But what surfaced made him fall backwards in the boat. He blinked, rubbed his eyes, and looked over the edge again.

His eyes had not deceived him. There in the water was a woman. Her face, beautiful as a spring day, surfaced slowly, and she looked up at him and smiled.

Francis was caught in her gaze, and felt himself craning further and further over the edge. He smiled back.

Her arms came out of the water and she wrapped them around his neck. He was enthralled and immediately in love.

Funny how it can all change in a moment.

She smiled wider, and he suddenly saw her in her true form. He pushed back as she sank back into the water, but he was already off-balance.

There was hardly a splash as she pulled him under with her. The pool of red that followed mixed with the water in the cooling evening.

 

The next day, as people walking along the shore came across shoes, clothes, bits of flesh, and a magnet, she readied her lures along the mud and sank back under the surface. She waited patiently, next to her cache of hearts and other treasures.

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Fiction © Copyright K.R. Morrison
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com.

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More from K.R. Morrison:

Enoch’s Return: Pride’s Downfall Book 4

All hell broke loose, as demon fought saint, and undead fought mortal. Fangs and swords, fire and light, mingled in a cacophony of noise that would have awakened the dead — if they hadn’t already been in the pitch of battle.

Toby was looking forward to celebrating his 21st birthday with family and friends. However, the day is shattered by the arrival of his sister, Erica, fresh out of the juvenile detention center, where she has lived in isolation most of her life. There is something very wrong with her still; witness her biting the ear of her taxi driver and licking the blood from her lips, and the way she antagonizes everyone around her. The other thing that is very off-putting about the day is a gift he receives – a musty tent and a few iron spikes that have been lying in the ground for years. Toby faints at the sight of the “treasure,” while Erica reacts violently and runs off to who-knows-where.
While he is unconscious, Toby learns who he truly is, and of his mission.

Available on Amazon!

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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Erin Sweet Al-Mehairi @ErinAlMehairi @darc_nina #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

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Tangerine Tears in the Sky 
by Erin Sweet Al-Mehairi 

Tangerine skies so beautiful

They are like the freshest juice

Running down my chin. It’s

.

Been forever since I tasted one.

We don’t have fresh fruit now,

The city is overrun by people

Only built for the packaged….

.

Anything. Only built for their

Needs of iron-clad schedules

And military awakenings of

Rules that clench most by the

Gentlest parts of their throats.

.

I ran. We ran. But there is only

Me now. Only me to fight for

Freedoms that should be innate.

The cost of liberty was too high,

The murders as harsh as the French

Revolution, which most of them had

Never heard of these days,

.

With blood rushing like overflowing

Rivers and body parts strewn on the

Ground, on the banks, nothing spared

Because our bodies are not our own

And how dare we fight for them, love.

.

I miss you, my dear. I wish you could

Be here to help me taste the fruit again

Because I am determined there will be.

I overlook the city now, and I see waste

And want and how it’s divided us, and

.

How it made me lose you, to their greed.

I know borders as such can’t break our

Invisible and forever bond, but to touch

You again would have been bliss, my child.

.

In your name, I will stop the killing and the

Petulant selfishness, the control, the chaos.

I lie awake at night calling your name out;

In your name, I fight for freedom of living.

.

In the sunset, I can feel your warmth, the

Joy we used to share, the laughter and the

Tears. I remember your heart and grace. I

remember you, and your defiance for the

deliberate pain people cause others. For

The way your kindness was a blessing and

.

A curse; and I curse them, then and now,

For the loss of you from this world, from

My life. For my sanity at its razor’s edge.

.

You are the best of me, my deep power from

This will pour into our war and I will emerge

Relentlessly driven to expunge the indifference.

You will never be forgotten – you’re sunshine.

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Fiction © Copyright Erin Sweet Al-Mehairi
Fiction Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More about Erin Sweet Al-Mehairi:

ErinSweetAlMehairiErin Sweet Al-Mehairi is an author, editor, journalist, and publicist with thirty years of experience in communication fields and Bachelor of Arts degrees in English, Journalism, and History.

Breathe. Breathe. was her debut collection of dark poetry and short stories in 2017. She has poetry and short stories published in several anthologies and online, and was co-editor of a half-fiction, half-poetry Gothic anthology. She’s currently compiling and writing several poetry collections, an essay collection, a short story collection, and a novel.

She is a chronic pain warrior, the mother of three humans and several spoiled rescue cats, and while born in England, now lives in a forest in Ohio while managing her editing, writing, and PR business.

Find Erin at her website Hook of a Book or on most social media platforms.

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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Kathleen McCluskey @KathleenMcClus4 @darc_nina #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

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The Voice From The Water 
by Kathleen McCluskey

Dr. Evelyn Clark was once a respected scientist, known for her pioneering research on water purification. Her dedication was unparalleled, often blurring the lines between passion and obsession. It was during one of her late night experiments that everything began to unravel.

It started with a strange discovery. One evening while analyzing samples of polluted water, Evelyn noticed an unusual movement under her microscope. The water seemed to ripple and swirl on its own. At first she dismissed it as a trick of the light, a symptom of her fatigue. But the movement persisted, almost as if the water had a life of its own.

Curiosity soon turned into a fixation. She began conducting more experiments, spending long hours observing the samples. The more she watched the more she was convinced that the water was trying to communicate with her. She began to hear faint whispers, just on the edge of perception, calling her name.

“Evelyn…come closer…”

She decided to test her theory in a more personal, private manner. She filled the bathtub in her home with the contaminated water, She sat on the edge and peered into the murky depths. The whispering grew louder, more insistent.

“Evelyn…we need you…”

She cocked her head to the side, and closed her eyes. She listened intently. She strained to hear the voice clearly, but could only make out a few disjointed words through the murky whispers: “Evelyn…save…us….come…with…”

Against her better judgment, she submerged herself, letting the water envelop her. For a moment she felt an eerie calm, as if the water was welcoming her. But then she heard it clearly: voices, multiple voices all speaking as one collective unit.

“You can save us, Evelyn. Stay with us…”

From that night forward, Evelyn refused to drain the tub. The water became her obsession. She stopped attending work, and stopped responding to her friends’ and colleagues’ concerns. Her once pristine bathroom turned into a fetid, stinking chamber. The water grew more and more rancid with each passing day.

Despite the stench and filth, Evelyn spent hours in the tub, listening to the voices. They told her secrets, showed her visions of a hidden world beneath the surface. They promised her understanding, power and companionship. Her mind, already fragile, began to fracture under the constant whispering.

One night the voices became frantic, almost desperate.

“Evelyn, we need you now!”

Driven by her overwhelming compulsion, she climbed into the tub and laid back, letting the foul water cover her completely. She opened her mouth, trying to speak to the voices, to understand them fully. As the water filled her lungs, she felt a strange sense of peace, convinced she was merging with the entity that inhabited the water.

Her lifeless body was found days later, submerged in the stagnant tub. The house reeked of decay, the water black and viscous. Her colleagues, horrified by the state of her home and her tragic end, couldn’t understand what drove her to such madness.

It wasn’t until a team of investigators drained the tub that the true horror was revealed. As the last of the water swirled down the drain, a strange residue was left behind. The slime pulsed and writhed as if alive. Microscopic examination revealed a bizarre, never before seen organism capable of influencing the mind and creating auditory hallucinations.

Evelyn had been right. The water was alive. It had called to her, driven her mad and ultimately claimed her life. The discovery sent shockwaves through the scientific community, a chilling reminder of the unknown horrors lurking in the natural world.

Evelyn Clark’s name would be remembered, not for her brilliance, but for the haunting tale of a woman driven to madness by the whispers in the water.

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Fiction © Copyright Kathleen McCluskey
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com 

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More from Kathleen McCluskey:

The Long Fall: Book 1: The Inception of Horror

Lucifer always cunning and intelligent challenges father to a battle of wits. Being the angel of light he casts a judgemental eye upon mankind. He begins a war with his fellow archangels and God. Michael, along with his siblings defend their home and mankind from their deranged brother. Broad swords and hand to hand combat drench heaven in blood. The four apocalyptic steeds are released, each having their own destructive power. Betrayal and lust are at biblical levels. Understand the very creation of evil and the consequenses that transpire in the first of THE LONG FALL series.

Available on Amazon!

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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Amanda Worthington @AmandaW58679588 @Darc_Nina #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

To Blessed Henna do we give thanks
by Amanda Worthington

These are the last eggs a chicken will ever lay

Because there are no more chickens now

The last of the blood has been scrubbed

From the floor of the coop

And my hips throb from being stooped over

For what feels like a lifetime, but was probably just hours

Time doesn’t flow the way it used to.

The kept animals have all been slaughtered

In hunger-induced rage

Some free-roaming, some in cages

All of them with that glassy, expectant look in their eyes

Like they’ve grown weary of being afraid

And have resigned themselves to waiting for the blade

That will end the nightmare of their days

I grow weary of being afraid

Feel myself recede

Regard the eggs sadly as I go

Ask her to do what I cannot.

She obliges

Rising from the depths of the subterranean sea

That ebbs and flows beneath the impassivity

Of a face whose stillness belies the anxiety

Of an unstoppable tide

The gaunt men begin to wake

Henna’s meat still on their lips

Her red-orange feathers sticking in their beards

And I am meditating on a beach

When the braver girl’s knife

Tears into the trespasser’s flesh

Cracks the eggs

Makes us breakfast

To Blessed Henna do we give thanks

Her words bring me back

Just in time to eat

“To Blessed Henna do we give thanks”

I repeat

For without her we’d not enjoy

Such tender meat.

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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Loren Rhoads @MorbidLoren @darc_nina #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

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Smooth as a Trout, Slippery as an Eel 
by Loren Rhoads 

The night had been a bust. Alondra had poked around from the highest peak in the attic to the depths of the cellar, finding no indication of a haunting whatsoever. Anyone who had died in this house had moved on and left not so much as a bloody fingerprint behind.

After everyone else wished each other good night, Alondra felt she had gone past exhaustion into some nether realm where she knew sleep would never visit. She hauled herself up the stairs once more, turned down the covers in the room she had been assigned, but there wasn’t any point in lying down. Morning would be dawning soon. With it, she would get a second wind. A long bleary day stretched ahead of her.

A bath might feel good, she decided. She hoped the pilot on the water heater was lit. She hoped the elderly pipes wouldn’t groan in protest and wake the others. Still, the thought of a warm bath was enticing. She couldn’t resist.

She helped herself to a bath sheet from the linen closet and closed the bathroom door behind her. The lock was a flimsy hook and eye. It didn’t matter. She felt like the last sentient being in the house. She set the hot tap to run and sat on the edge of the clawfoot tub, watching the water pour from the spout. It was hypnotic. She could almost nod off right here…

She shook herself awake and added some cold water to the mix, before she scalded herself. Then she peeled out of her dusty, cobweb-covered clothing and eased into the water. She adjusted the temperature – less cold, more warmth – then turned the taps off and settled back, resting her head against the tub’s rim.

Warmth seeped into her bones. This was absolutely the right choice to have made. She closed her eyes.

Something seemed to plop down into the water. Alondra felt the waves surge up and down her skin. She looked around, but saw nothing out of place. She settled back once more.

When she had almost dropped off into sleep, something grabbed hold of her ankle. It yanked her deeper into the water.

Alondra realized she wasn’t dreaming when her nose went under the surface. She shouted, but the water swallowed the sound. Something slithered past her thigh, something sinuous and heavy.

She kicked her feet, trying to gain enough purchase that she could get her face out of the water. She struggled to grasp the edge of the tub, but the invisible something grabbed her arm and pulled it back into the water.

Whatever it was moved up to her chest, pinning her down. Alondra thrashed, trying to force her way to the surface. On accident, she conked the back of her skull against the floor of the tub. Blackness flickered at the edges of her vision.

Finally, she got hold of whatever it was as it fought to force open her mouth. She caught it in both hands: smooth as a trout, slippery as an eel. She couldn’t see anything but water, but she hefted it out of the tub and whacked it as hard as she could against the tiled wall. Water splashed everywhere.

While it was stunned, Alondra scrambled out of the tub. Without reaching back into the water, she pulled the plug, then stood naked and dripping in the middle of the bathroom floor, waiting for another attack.

When it didn’t come, she didn’t relax. Instead, she toweled herself off roughly and wound the bath sheet around herself. The attacker was a water elemental, she realized. She didn’t know its kind, but she could guess that the well from which the mansion drew its water was infested with them. They were lucky no one had swallowed one today, while they were gulping tap water after their exploration.

Or maybe not so lucky, she thought. Were they all who they claimed to be, or had they ingested the elementals? She’d have to devise a test for everyone, come morning.

Alondra sighed. It was going to be a long night indeed.

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Fiction © Copyright Loren Rhoads
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More from Author Loren Rhoads:

LorenRhodes_ExperimentsCover

Alondra’s Experiments

Alondra DeCourval travels from San Francisco to Prague to Olso, encountering magical creatures and searching for the limits she will go to for love.

Available on Amazon! 

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Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Alex Grehy @indigodreamers @darc_nina #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

The Knowing  
by Alex Grehy

Saint Bede told the king that life was a bright feasting room, 

and man merely a little bird flying through the light between

the obscurity of the unknown void before birth 

and the endless shadow of death beyond.


What he meant by this has been the subject of debate 

among the wise, a cause for joy among the careless 

living free in the moment, and a driver for war among 

those who perceive they have little time to conquer.

But none have the Knowing.

I stand in the darkness that is life, feeling the sparrow’s 

desperation, its tiny heart beating fast, too fast, as it

strives for meaning in its all too brief flight.

This is the Knowing

That life is the nightfall between two blissful states,

where the bird glides and hovers, smooth motion like

stillness, a perfection of peace in a dream landscape

where the only disturbance is the glorious splitting 

of light through the prisms of dewdrops, 

I give the benefit of my Knowing to the hapless ones,

who cling to life, not understanding that it is a sham,

not understanding that this futile struggle is not the

pinnacle of their existence.

I free their souls from their toiling bodies, 

I offer mercy beyond measure,

but no king calls me Saint.

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Fiction © Copyright Alex Grehy
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

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More from author Alex Grehy:

Last Species Standing

Last Species Standing: Poems on the edge of nature and technology by Alex Grehy is a captivating exploration of the intricate relationship between humanity, nature, and the ever-evolving realm of technology. Through a collection of thought-provoking poems, Grehy takes readers on a poignant journey that delves deep into the complexities of our modern existence and the consequences of our actions on the world around us.

Grehy’s use of vivid imagery and evocative language creates a rich tapestry of emotions that resonates long after the final page is turned. A poetic prowess that shines brightly in this captivating work, making it a must-read for anyone seeking to better understand our place in the world.

Available on Amazon!

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The Ladies of Horror Flash Project – #Horror #author Marge Simon @Darc_Nina #LoH #fiction

The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!

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Sarah With Lobsters in the Bathtub 
by Marge Simon 

Party time in her high rise, Sarah’s lobsters in the bathtub for the celebration. Someone will be tossing them in the pot after she rinses off the bubble bath, but Sarah always forgets what time it is and what’s on the stove when we pass the pipe around.

Sarah’s friend with long clean hair is there to play the Irish flute. Puts us in the mood to groove… I guess that’s right, whether it happens or not, Sarah doles out mescalitos and everyone sees her art more clearly when gently taken by her hand to hear her liquid voice describe her two-dimensional visions

of a marshmallow universe                                                                                                            dotted with purple stars                                                                                                                           bubbly smiles and happy faces;                                                                                                             Sarah uses templates                                                                                                                               for just about everything                                                                                                                         except toilet paper collage.

Whatever said isn’t going very far and won’t be remembered in our mush-muddled brains so who cares when Sarah leans out to sea on the ledge over an ocean of traffic. She thinks she’s a goddamned Super Goddess, but about then the flute dies, the smoke alarm goes off and the lobsters are burning when she jumps confirming she is yet another of the unsolved mysteries of the universe.

End of the world,                                                                                                                                  party over                                                                                                                                                    just like that.

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Fiction © Copyright Marge Simon
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com 

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More from Marge Simon:

MargeSimon_CastFromDarkness

Cast from Darkness
by Marge Simon and‎ Mary Turzillo

Cast from Darkness is another triumphant collaboration between award-winning Speculative poets, Marge Simon and Mary Turzillo. The poetry includes themes running the spectrum of the speculative genres and forms ranging from the haiku through many nuances of vere libre to the prose poem

Available on Amazon!

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Read ‘Always Haunted: Hallowe’en Poems’ by LindaAnn LoSchiavo free on NetGallery! @Mae_Westside – #NewRelease #Halloween #Poems #Poetry #book #booktour

Available for FREE on NetGalley!

Always Haunted: Hallowe’en Poems
by LindaAnn LoSchiavo

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Trick or treat, twisted with treachery.

Haunting and harrowing visions of All Hallows’ Eve here include horrific crimes committed on October 31st, a honeymoon homicide, mysterious witches, amorous vampires, dead serious poltergeists, along with a pageant of autumnal imagery sure to evoke goosebumps beyond the spooky season.

Wearing the cunning costume of a Hallowe’en poetry collection, 24 poems reimagine macabre true crimes and explore injustices.

Available to read for FREE on NetGalley!

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About the Author: LindaAnn LoSchiavo

LindaAnnLoSchiavo

LindaAnn LoSchiavo is a dramatist, writer, and poet.

A native New Yorker, LoSchiavo has received nominations for the Pushcart Prize, Rhysling Award, Best of the Net, the IPPY Award, CLMP’s Firecracker Award, Balcones Poetry Prize, and Dwarf Stars. She is a member of Science Fiction Poetry Assoc., The British Fantasy Society, and The Dramatists Guild.

Her poetry chapbooks include “Conflicted Excitement” [Red Wolf Editions, 2018], “Concupiscent Consumption” [Red Ferret Press, 2020], “Women Who Were Warned” [Cerasus Poetry, May 2022], and “Messengers of the Macabre” co-authored with David Davies [Audience Askew, October 2022].

Her full-length collections include Elgin Award winner “A Route Obscure and Lonely” [Wapshott Press, Dec. 2019] and “Apprenticed to the Night” [UniVerse Press, 2023].

Three of her short stories appear in “A Feast of Narrative,” Vol. 1 [Idea Press, 2020], edited by Tiziano Dossena.

Instagram@paranormalpoet

X/Twitter@Mae_Westside

Amazon Author Page – LindaAnn LoSchiavo

Posted in Blog Tour, book release, Books, Collection, Dark Poetry, Halloween, Poetry, Release | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

An Interview with LindaAnn LoSchiavo – ‘Always Haunted: Hallowe’en Poems’ @Mae_Westside – #NewRelease #Halloween #Poems #Poetry #book #booktour

Shared from Rebecca Linam 

LindaAnn LoSchiavo’s “Always Haunted: Hallowe’en Poems”

LindaAnnLoShiavo_AlwaysHaunted_med

Rebecca: A Halloween collection is not the usual collection of works, is it?

LindaAnn:  Actually, Hallowe’en poetry and story anthologies are popular and have been  compiled and published every year by Penguin, McFarland & Company, and other publishers. These volumes are usually substantial —  more than 250 pages.  Amazon and Barnes & Noble online sell these as well as bookshops.  

Rebecca: I had no idea! I wish I had know that earlier! Thanks for that tip So what sparked the idea for your “Always Haunted: Hallowe’en Poems” then? Inspiration from those volumes?

LindaAnn: My illustrated collection, Always Haunted, has an intriguing origin story. As an October Scorpio, I’ve always loved Hallowe’en and everything about the “spooky season.” However, a few years ago, I started writing poems and sonnets on cold cases, hoping to raise awareness about unsolved murders.   EX:  My “Lady of the Dunes” sonnet focused on an unidentified corpse found on July 26, 1974, in the Race Point Dunes in Provincetown, Massachusetts; the victim has finally been identified as Ruth Marie Terry, age 37, who was murdered by her husband.  My sonnet gets no credit for solving the case.  But if, by any chance, my sonnet kept people talking and posting about her brutal 1974 murder, then . . .  mission accomplished.

       My previous cold case poetry inspired me to merge these two themes: Hallowe’en tropes and injustice.
       As you probably noticed in my NYC-based poem “The Hallowe’en Homicides on October 31, 1981,”  the victims were a male and a female:  Ronald Sisman, 39, and his college coed girlfriend Liz Platzman [1961-1981].  But most of the poems in “Always Haunted” turn on decades long injustices towards women

         As Robert Browning explains in “The Ring and the Book”  —
                          “Art,” he states “may tell a truth / Obliquely, do the thing shall breed the thought.”

Rebecca: Have you been a fan of Halloween since your childhood?   

LindaAnn:  As an October Scorpio, I’ve always loved Hallowe’en and everything about the “spooky season.”  As a child growing up in NYC, I loved the costumes, masks, mystery, traditions, carving a jack-o-lantern, the autumn leaves changing.  And also celebrating my birthday in late October, a beautiful time of year.

Rebecca: Halloween is also one of my favorite times of year, both beautiful and haunting. On that subject, why do you focus on danger, death, and the afterlife in your writing? 

LindaAnn: Naturally, many poets are drawn to death for its universal relevance and emotional depth.  Death and dying  serve as a poignant lens through which poets can explore life’s fleeting nature, prompting deep contemplation on mortality and the human experience.

          The twist is:   I grew up with psychic parents who communicated telepathically. 
          My parents, both ordinary run-of-the-mill NYC high school graduates, never thought of telepathic communication nor mind-reading nor ESP as an “extraordinary” ability – – – and certainly not  “exceptional.”
          It was expected that any child could communicate silently in this supra-normal fashion.
          Since I inherited these abilities, and since I’ve been communicating with the living and the dead for a long time, my experiences with the deceased — and my family members’ experiences with ghosts — have given us somewhat of a different perspective on the “finality” of death. 

                       Nonfiction ghost poems in “Always Haunted
            Ghost experiences my Uncle Larry had are recounted in “Poltergeists on President Street.”
            Ghost experiences my Aunt Frances had, after Uncle Larry died, are recounted in “The Widow’s Missing Necklace.”  Several of us went to my Aunt’s apartment to search for her missing jewelry.  She was distraught, believing that someone had stolen it — until my dead Uncle had the clasp fixed and casually dropped it off one night.

           My parents [now deceased] were still alive when my ghost uncle resurfaced in his widow’s Brooklyn, NY bedroom – – –  and they never thought this ghost encounter to be “extraordinary.” 
           My parents were, I guess, not easily impressed by dead people running errands.   (smile)

         Despite my own experiences with the dead, I’ve only started committing these to paper recently.

         But in the days before cellphones and Wi-Fi, communicating telepathically was a real problem-solver. 🙂

Rebecca: My favorite piece was the modern-themed vampire piece  “An Ideal Lost in Night-Mists.”  Could you share more about the background of the piece?  What inspired it?

LindaAnn:  “An Ideal Lost in Night-Mists,” my intricate three-part hybrid, set in a New York City college dormitory, was first published in my Elgin Award nominated book “Vampire Ventures” [Alien Buddha Press, Oct.  2023].  Jessica Dickinson did a long interview with me on why I decided to write an entire collection focused on vampire folklore and here is the link.
* * *    URL:  <https://jessicadickenson.wordpress.com/2024/02/01/author-interview-lindaann-loschiavo/>

              After doing months of research on vampirology, in order to see if there was anything new to add to this niche, I realized, for example, that no one had written a vampire narrative (or poem) told BACKWARDS.  So I envisioned “An Ideal Lost in Night-Mists,” as a tour de force.
          I challenged myself to plot a drama in reverse order and create each section in another format and time-frame.
                 Thus my 16-line poem went first — a dramatic monologue from Annabelle’s point-of-view:
                                 Blood’s Kiss  —  November 2nd    nightfall. 

                The prose section went second —  now from Megan’s point-of-view:
                            Missing, Classified as Undead —  November 2nd  afternoon
              The dialogue section went third —  now from Count Dracula’s and Annabelle’s dating app discussion on October 29th,  an important conversation that, obviously, incited the whole episode, right?
                              Dating the Undead  —  October 29th   evening

              At 1,550 words,  “An Ideal Lost in Night-Mists” was the longest piece in “Always Haunted.” 
              Thanks for asking me to explain because some book reviewers for “Vampire Ventures” only seemed to notice the modern dating app aspect to it – – – instead of its other nuances such as P.O.V. changes and format variations. 
             In any story told in reverse chronology, the introduction reveals WHAT happened, leading a reader to wonder HOW it happened.  By November 2nd, vampire-Annabelle has transformed into a worldly opportunist — quite different from the naive college co-ed of three nights before, who had believed Count D was only joking about living in a castle in the Carpathian Mountains and yet who had the supernatural power to be at her window in a flash.

             He replies I must never worry — he can be at my doorstep in a flash.
            Sure. Ha-ha, I type, playing along. Send pics of u with yr castle, I repeat.

Rebecca: Any plans for another Halloween collection? Maybe next year?

LindaAnn: In October 2022 my book “Messengers of the Macabre: Hallowe’en Poems” was released by Audience Askew.  (It’s available on Amazon, B&N, etc.)  Yes, I do have plans to write another book dedicated to Hallowe’en.  I’m glad you were left feeling, “I want to read more.”  That’s thrilling news for any poet. 

Rebecca: Thanks for stopping by “The Writing Cat” to tell us more. Always Haunted will be released in October by Wild Ink Publishing. Be on the lookout for it!


Always Haunted: Hallowe’en Poems
by LindaAnn LoSchiavo

LindaAnnLoShiavo_AlwaysHaunted_med

Trick or treat, twisted with treachery.

Haunting and harrowing visions of All Hallows’ Eve here include horrific crimes committed on October 31st, a honeymoon homicide, mysterious witches, amorous vampires, dead serious poltergeists, along with a pageant of autumnal imagery sure to evoke goosebumps beyond the spooky season.

Wearing the cunning costume of a Hallowe’en poetry collection, 24 poems reimagine macabre true crimes and explore injustices.

Available on Amazon! 

line

About the Author: LindaAnn LoSchiavo

LindaAnnLoSchiavo

LindaAnn LoSchiavo is a dramatist, writer, and poet.

A native New Yorker, LoSchiavo has received nominations for the Pushcart Prize, Rhysling Award, Best of the Net, the IPPY Award, CLMP’s Firecracker Award, Balcones Poetry Prize, and Dwarf Stars. She is a member of Science Fiction Poetry Assoc., The British Fantasy Society, and The Dramatists Guild.

Her poetry chapbooks include “Conflicted Excitement” [Red Wolf Editions, 2018], “Concupiscent Consumption” [Red Ferret Press, 2020], “Women Who Were Warned” [Cerasus Poetry, May 2022], and “Messengers of the Macabre” co-authored with David Davies [Audience Askew, October 2022].

Her full-length collections include Elgin Award winner “A Route Obscure and Lonely” [Wapshott Press, Dec. 2019] and “Apprenticed to the Night” [UniVerse Press, 2023].

Three of her short stories appear in “A Feast of Narrative,” Vol. 1 [Idea Press, 2020], edited by Tiziano Dossena.

Instagram@paranormalpoet

X/Twitter@Mae_Westside

Amazon Author Page – LindaAnn LoSchiavo

Posted in Blog Tour, book release, Books, Collection, Dark Poetry, Halloween, Poetry, Release | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

Spotlight: Book Release – ‘Always Haunted: Hallowe’en Poems’ by LindaAnn LoSchiavo @Mae_Westside – #NewRelease #Halloween #Poems #Poetry #book #booktour

Always Haunted: Hallowe’en Poems
by LindaAnn LoSchiavo

LindaAnnLoShiavo_AlwaysHaunted_med

Trick or treat, twisted with treachery.

Haunting and harrowing visions of All Hallows’ Eve here include horrific crimes committed on October 31st, a honeymoon homicide, mysterious witches, amorous vampires, dead serious poltergeists, along with a pageant of autumnal imagery sure to evoke goosebumps beyond the spooky season.

Wearing the cunning costume of a Hallowe’en poetry collection, 24 poems reimagine macabre true crimes and explore injustices.

Available on Amazon! 

line

About the Author: LindaAnn LoSchiavo

LindaAnnLoSchiavo

LindaAnn LoSchiavo is a dramatist, writer, and poet.

A native New Yorker, LoSchiavo has received nominations for the Pushcart Prize, Rhysling Award, Best of the Net, the IPPY Award, CLMP’s Firecracker Award, Balcones Poetry Prize, and Dwarf Stars. She is a member of Science Fiction Poetry Assoc., The British Fantasy Society, and The Dramatists Guild.

Her poetry chapbooks include “Conflicted Excitement” [Red Wolf Editions, 2018], “Concupiscent Consumption” [Red Ferret Press, 2020], “Women Who Were Warned” [Cerasus Poetry, May 2022], and “Messengers of the Macabre” co-authored with David Davies [Audience Askew, October 2022].

Her full-length collections include Elgin Award winner “A Route Obscure and Lonely” [Wapshott Press, Dec. 2019] and “Apprenticed to the Night” [UniVerse Press, 2023].

Three of her short stories appear in “A Feast of Narrative,” Vol. 1 [Idea Press, 2020], edited by Tiziano Dossena.

Instagram@paranormalpoet

X/Twitter@Mae_Westside

Amazon Author Page – LindaAnn LoSchiavo

Posted in Blog Tour, book release, Books, Collection, Dark Poetry, Halloween, Poetry, Release | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment