- Me and Snow…
The weather here in the south of England has turned really cold. A bitter wind from the Arctic is doing its best to freeze our toes off.
It is almost too cold for rational or creative thought, but I am doing my best and managing to enjoy working on the current WIP.
Our year probably won’t start just yet, as my next hospital appointment is just next week and should answer a few questions, and hopefully, a miracle cure for my back pain.
I did try to regroup after last year’s writing muddle, make new plans, or find any inspiration that might be hanging around waiting for takers, but one way or another, it was a case of no can do.
There has been a promise of snow over the next few days, which is one hell of a coincidence, really, for I have been working on Swan Song, my latest Detective Snow story. I concluded last year that my problems, very similar to Snow’s, were somehow slowing down my writing. And that if I could sort out my problems, I could help him with his.
Turns out, it works both ways, and helping him is helping me, I am very happy to say. And I now know the ending!
I am also working on a post about the upcoming Chinese New Year, the year of the Horse, which begins on February 17th. It is forecast to be a very special and productive year for many of us, which will make a change from the year we will be leaving, the Year of the Snake. I love the way you can almost guess what kind of year you will get, just by the name!
- Review for Living Vicariously in Wyoming… #US Short Stories @AbbieJohnsonTaylor
As defined in the first story, living vicariously means living your life through someone else’s. You’re invited to live vicariously through the lives of the people in these stories. There’s the lawyer who catches his wife in the act with a nun. A college student identifies with a character in a play. A young woman loses her mother and finds her father. And a high school student’s prudish English teacher strenuously objects to a single word in her paper.
In Wyoming, as in any other state, people fall in love, and sometimes relationships are shattered. Accidents, domestic violence, prejudice, and crimes all occur. Lives are torn apart, and people are reunited. Ordinary people deal with everyday and not–so–everyday situations.
The 25 stories in this collection, most of which are set in Wyoming, are about how the various characters resolve their conflicts—or not.
About the author
Abbie Johnson Taylor
Abbie Johnson Taylor is the author of three novels, two poetry collections, a memoir, and a collection of short stories. Her work has appeared in various journals and anthologies. She is visually impaired and lives in Sheridan, Wyoming, where for six years, she cared for her late husband, who was totally blind and partially paralyzed by two strokes soon after they were married.
Before that, she spent fifteen years as a registered music therapist, working in nursing homes and other facilities that serve senior citizens. She also taught Braille, facilitated a support group for the visually impaired, and served on the advisory board to a trust fund that allows people with blindness or low vision to purchase adaptive equipment.
Our Review
I thoroughly enjoyed reading this fascinating collection of true-life stories from Abbie Johnson Taylor. Each one is an extraordinary reflection of life, seen through the eyes of ordinary people.
Real-life situations conjure many memories for me. How many of them matched my own reactions? So many lessons remembered.
Such a variety of stories, each one beautifully written, and just long enough to be read in one sitting.
I especially enjoyed ‘Triggered by an Irish Setter’ and ‘Welcome to Wyoming.’
- Wildacre Review #Ghost Horror @shani_struthers
Home is where the heart is: a place where memories are forged, a refuge from the world. But what if those memories are painful? And the refuge becomes a prison?
Jessica Lockhart is in need of a live-in carer over the Christmas period; Isla Barrow is the woman who takes the job. After a fraught journey to reach her along remote country lanes, Isla arrives to find the old woman in distress, and the house strangely unnerving.
With the weather hostile, no phone line or mobile signal, and her charge growing increasingly frail, Isla realises death is waiting. And something else besides: vengeance.
Jessica is clearly a woman with secrets, but then so too is Isla. Together they must work out a plan of redemption before what stalks Wildacre destroys them both.
Christmas, a time of joy and wonder.
The darkest time of year.About the author
Shani Struthers
In Shani Struthers’ latest novel, reality meets fantasy in a dark and thrilling retelling of the Arthurian legend with Morgan the Fay at ithe epic heart of it. She is also the author of over 30 supernatural thrillers and ghost stories, including the popular Psychic Surveys and Reach for the Dead series, as well as a collection of festive ghost tales.
For readers who enjoy romance blended with the paranormal, don’t miss Jessamine and its heart-wrenching sequel Comraich, both set in the hauntingly beautiful Highlands of Scotland. There’s also Summer of Grace—a sizzling psychological thriller with a supernatural twist.
What binds all of Shani’s books are her compelling, often flawed characters, richly atmospheric settings, and twist after twist that will keep you turning the pages.
Our Review
Any thoughts I had about cuddling up on the sofa, reading a cosy Christmas ghost story, rapidly faded as I started reading Wildacre by Shani Struthers.
One step inside that house and all my childhood fears arrived. I kept looking over my shoulder, expecting the worst.
As the suspense carried on building, I didn’t want to continue reading, but somehow I couldn’t stop. I was an emotional and nervous wreck by the time I reached the end, desperate for some relief for both me and the two women.
Wildacre is a very strange Christmas story, where you end up rooting for the ghosts!
- Sunday, Sunday…
Morning everybody!
It is really cold here in the UK now, unusually cold for us, with temperatures as low as -5 in the south and a staggering -10 in Scotland. We cannot keep the house warm, and we are walking around like Eskimos!
There is a bright side to all this weather; we have been promised some snow. May not be much (as usual) but I hope we get a little, even if it doesn’t stay long…
- Time Heals all Wounds…
Back in the saddle, and a very Happy New Year, everyone!
There once was a majestic bonsai tree, regal and noble, the best in my bonsai collection.
Then something happened to me, and I could no longer take care of any of them. Members of my family took turns watering, with me watching helplessly from a window. It broke my heart to be unable to care for them.
Over the Summer, all of my trees went a little crazy, such abundant growth!
This is when my sister decided that they all needed a haircut, and my protests went unheard.
When I struggled to the window to see the results, I cried.
All those years of careful pruning had been removed. The majesty was gone. They looked awful.
Worst of all, there was nothing I could do about any of it. They must continue to grow until the autumn, and when all the leaves fall, maybe then I could see and try to rectify the damage.
For the whole of the summer months, all I could do was imagine what the future held for both of us. Would I ever be able to care for them again?
When the trees finally changed colour, ready to shed their leaves and get ready for their long winter sleep, I looked forward to seeing the bare branches, hoping against hope that I would be able to find their majesty once again.
The autumn prune is the most important, for it always amazes me just how much straggly growth there is to remove. All those too long or downward branches, and the ones that cross with another, should be trimmed back. This is the time to check for those unwanted visitors too…
Thankfully, I can now manage to totter outside, and with the help of my trusty kitchen stool, I will be able to sit and decide the best way forward.
I waited patiently for a day without rain and made my way outside. It took me a while to get into pruning mode, as it had been so long. And I suspect that I couldn’t bear the thought of doing any more damage to any of my trees, especially the big one.
Eventually, I picked up my pruning clippers and worked on the easy removals. Then I had to try to remember how it once was, and this was difficult, faced with the shape it was now.
I ended up doing the best I could, hoping against hope that once the leaves appear in the Spring, it will look more like its old self…
And that will be something to look forward to…
- Remembering another New Year…
Big Ben has always been a very special symbol in my life. I grew up in London, and the deep resonant tones of the bell and the imposing majesty of the building are one of the most enduring memories of my time there.
London has many such landmarks and I love them all, but that tall clock tower on the river Thames embankment is far and away my favourite. By rights, my favourite should be the river itself, feeling as I do about water, but no. Very close though.
‘Big Ben’ is really just a nickname for the great bell itself, inside the famous clock tower at the north end of the Palace of Westminster in London. Built in 1858 and 96 metres high, it is the largest four-faced chiming clock in the world. But the big bell itself is not the biggest. St Paul’s Cathedral has a slightly bigger one, weighing in at 17 tonnes.
Scarily, the tower leans slightly to the North West, apparently caused by the tunnelling for the Jubilee Line Underground train.
I came across this picture of Big Ben a few weeks ago, and I was instantly transported back to another New Year’s Eve so many years ago.
That particular year, my friends and I had decided to celebrate the coming of the New Year in style. We would attempt some kind of pub crawl, visiting as many bars and public houses as we could manage, despite the volume of people all doing the same thing, ending up at the embankment for the fireworks and Big Ben’s majestic chimes.
We had such fun that night, even though I knew I would not contemplate doing it again, as the number of people all seriously intent on having as much fun as possible, created more madness and chaos than I ever thought possible and a lot of the time I was scared to death.
You see all the crowds on television, but could you imagine being there?Of course, there should have been so much more trouble than there actually was; that many people, most of them hysterical with excitement and booze, should have deteriorated into a riot. But it never seems to. No matter how squashed, drunk or freezing cold you happened to be, there was some kind of reverence going on, as if it would be a sin to ruin that night in any way.
Our journey around London that night was exciting, but I was glad when we found ourselves by the River Thames just before midnight. We had left most of the throng behind, and it was almost eerily quiet by the water. The fireworks were further upriver, and we seemed to have Big Ben all to ourselves.
It was very cold that night, but at least it wasn’t raining. I was one of the few people in our group who didn’t have a partner, something I knew I would be wishing to change in the New Year. I had no idea where my life would take me. No plans and not many dreams either, for I had already learned that dreaming was futile.
So that evening ended up on quite a solemn note, and as the hands of the clock above us moved closer to the 12, the tears were not far away.I had never been that close to Big Ben before and was not prepared for how loud the chimes would be. First came the melody, and the vibrations seemed to travel up my legs until my whole body seemed to be humming. When the big bell started to chime the hour, the vibrations became longer and deeper and it felt as though my heart would break.
More than fifty years later, the sound of that bell has the same effect, instantly transforming me into that lonely young woman who had already taught herself not to believe in dreams.
I obviously knew a thing or two back then, for my life has not been full of the stuff that dreams are made of, rather the opposite. But I am still here, not quite ready to give up…A Happy New Year folks! and may 2026 be all that you wish for!
Jaye Marie and Anita Dawes 
