My dear friend taught me if you do something three times it’s a tradition. Thus, this is the traditional photo of Fire in Her Blood.

It’s here! Time for the “from first to finished” photo. Below you see the first draft of Fire in Her Blood, so big I had to wire it together, and the final novel, a compact page-turner. I printed the first draft on March 9, 2008, and the final novel will be released February 14, 2017.

I did the first round of edits on paper during a four hour road trip. You can see them in the picture. It wasn’t an easy trip.

The first edition came in at 155,000 words, long enough for two novels. After my road trip a dear friend who edited for her local newspaper took a red pen to it. When she finished I put the manuscript on the shelf. There were dark themes, plots about controlling relationships and giving people what they want only to have it go horribly wrong. I needed a break, some time to get perspective.

When I came back to the story last fall I ruthlessly cut sixty thousand words, taking out a romance for Mark, a subplot about Indigo, and a vampire-porn star. (At least two of those are going to get written into in the next Death Witch book.) I changed the story’s focus, softening one character and making another even more hot-headed. I cut out two crimes and all of the characters they involved. I felt bad about ignoring some of the characters from the first book, but sometimes you have to choose.

Like choosing how one of the best scenes in the book would go. You’ll know it when you read it, the scene with the alligators. It had to be re-worked. A lot. My editor at Wild Rose Press hated it. Eventually, I realized she was right. The story reads better with the final version, but the first version will always be close to my heart. I usually let the rabbit editor shred the original paper copies, but I’ll keep those pages.

When I wrote the first draft of this novel, being an author seemed very simple: write, edit, edit more, write more, edit again, and then get it published. Now I worry over things like advertising (does it work?), social media (is it a time suck?), and if I should self-publish or pursue an agent (???).

I don’t worry about the story. When it’s not right, I can’t write it. I’ll stomp around the house for hours, ignore my laptop for days. I’ll be an absolute monster to the world until I find a way to work out the story. When I mess up the plot, the writing just stops. It makes me crazy. But it makes me love the finished draft.

I loved this story. Some of the funny parts still make me laugh, even after a dozen readings. Amadeus shines as my favorite new character. I loved setting him up as a foil to Mallory, and forcing her to deal with the idea of a vampire sex worker. She fails against his manipulations but her frustration was always fun. I don’t think I’ve gotten him out of my system in one book. I’m already searching for a good way to force the two of them to work together again.

There’s the jeep, Phoebe’s character changing (but not too much), and intriguing developments between Mallory and Jakob. When I remember all the writing I did and all the hours spent editing, I’m glad. The story was worth it. I hope you all think so too.

I don’t talk much about my halcyon days at Flagler College. I cherish them, but keep them close. My best friend from school, Donalyn Frank, died in 2010. The Mermaid and the Murders is actually all about Donalyn, but I keep that close too. When hurricane Matthew ripped through Saint Augustine, I searched out news of the place where I finally fit in, the school where I learned so much, and the hometown I’ll always miss. Pictures of sharks swimming over the sidewalk where I used to walk and my precious college drowning left me filled with a sense of fealty, even as I knew my ties to that idyllic place were slipping. After all, my Flagler College mug is fading.FullSizeRender

About twenty years ago, every Flagler College graduate got a mug with their graduation date written in gold script, beneath our lion mascot. I kept it safe through my many moves, wrapping it in a dishtowel, then putting it in the plastic box – not trusting bubble wrap and cardboard. When it got unwrapped it went on a shelf to be admired, or in one very small apartment, on my writing desk to hold pencils. In nineteen years and nine moves I never drank from it. It was too special.

After a trying day I found myself wishing for a drink. Unfortunately, I wished out loud and an amazing waitress offered to get me one. When I explained that I can’t have alcohol and shouldn’t have caffeine, she summoned the bartender, Patrick, who took my problem as a challenge. He customized not one, but two ‘mock-tails’, cocktails without a drop of alcohol, and sent them to the table. One of them turned out to be bliss in a glass, a nirvana of sweet but not too sweet, garnished with a Luxardo cherry.

IMG_0753

As rare as they are wonderful Luxardo cherries come from one place in the world, a lucky town in Italy. Dark, sweet, and tart without a hint of bitter, there’s no good way to explain the bliss of savoring a Luxardo cherry. The juice is just as impeccable. Before I left the restaurant that night, I’d written Patrick into a novel (he’s on page 68 of Fire in Her Blood), christened the drink a Rachel, and bought my first jar of Luxardo cherries from Amazon. They aren’t cheap – twenty-five dollars gets you about thirty-five cherries – but mixing the sweet cherry syrup-juice they come packed in with club soda is my favorite way to turn a bad day around.

Which brings me back to my Flagler College mug. I reverently wrapped it again for our third move in nine months (2016 had a lot of moves even for me) put it in a box and promptly forgot it existed. I didn’t have as much counter space for knickknacks in the new place. I expected it to stay in the box until the next move. But my cherry cocktail needed exact measurements, a ratio of cherry syrup to club soda that produced the perfect blood red drink sensation, and all my glasses were opaque. The Flagler College mug was unwrapped at Halloween, and ruined by Christmas.

It seems the oh-so-carefully preserved mug was better as a pencil jar than an actual mug. Washing it chipped the gold enamel finish, and after one particularly hot bath of suds, the proud Flagler loin was wiped away by my dishcloth. Gone. The lettering has made it a bit longer, you can still my graduation date but the year is fading. I suspect it will be a nothing but a glass mug in another few months of service.

And I’m glad.

I’ve had more joy using that mug in the last three months than I did carrying it for nineteen years. In all that time it could have been lost or shattered, but instead it remained pristine but spiritless. When I unknowingly began its destruction, I made it part of a ritual to bring comfort on bad days. Happiness has a price, I guess, and I’ll only get to use the magic of my Flagler College memories a little longer. Not using the mug might have preserved it, but I realize now, preservation isn’t the always the best way to honor a thing you love. Sometimes using something up, hugging the stuffing out of the teddy bear, staining the quilt with picnic dirt, and loving something so hard there’s nothing left to love, is the best thing you can do.

In 2014, I challenged myself to track my reading, then last year I upped the difficulty and challenged myself to read more diverse books. I wanted to find great stories with characters who weren’t all white, able-bodied, heterosexuals. Half way through 2016, I realized hunting for books had started to take more of my time than reading books. Worse, in a tumultuous year, instead of being an escape, reading became a source of frustration.

Eager to get back to the way it had been, I let my goals go and started to read whatever struck me. I found some real gems, but also abandoned many, many books along the way. I’ve become addicted to the Kindle sample, a free selection from the beginning of a Kindle book, usually about three chapters long. If the book hooks me in those three chapters, I’m happy to buy a copy. If I have no idea where the story is going, or I’m already finding things to pick at, I move on.

Which explains why my reading is at an all time low this year: only 31 novels finished. (I also moved three times, started a new job, and dealt with some serious health stuff, but I’m blaming the samples). I did find a few things I loved though, and here’s my top five:

I devoured the Ellie Jordan Ghost Trapper series over a few months this spring. They seem to come out fairly regularly, twice a year. I was delighted to pick up the story again with the eighth book, The Keeper, in December. There’s an undercurrent of family drama in this one, and a couple of powerful scary ghosts, along with some heartbreak for our heroine. As always, the minute I finish one of these books I want to read another.

Whispers Beyond the Veil by Jessica Estevao, was a random Amazon suggestion that turned out to be a fun mystery. Set in New England around 1898, the author didn’t flinch from portraying the good and the bad of the time period. The main character is intriguing as well, a young woman gifted with spiritualist powers, but raised by her con-artist father. The mystery takes place in a beach side hotel filled with mediums, spiritualists, tarot card readers, and more. The turn of the century is one of my favorite time periods, so I’m hoping the author follows up with more.

Stumptown Spirits (Legend Tripping #1) by E.J. Russell was my first full length male-male romance. I’m kicking myself for not crossing the aisles and reading gay romance before. The story was amazing. The characters were complex. The ghosts were unique. This book was everything I wanted in a paranormal romance. I bought the second book in the series and finished it less than 24 hours after I closed the first one.

The Uninvited by Cat Winters was the spookiest, creepiest book I read this year, with a curve-ball I completely didn’t see coming. The heroine has always seen ghosts, but over the course of the story her gift forces her to confront the monsters in her family and the town she loves. Strong plot elements of rampant patriotism and citizens being killed for being the wrong type of people (in this case Germans in 1918) echoed the events around me, making it even scarier. It’s a YA novel, so there wasn’t any gore, just ideas and actions that made me wince.

I searched for most of May and June for a book with a cowboy, some thrills, and a touch of romance. I finally found it in December with  Love on the Sweet Side by Mariah Ankenman. This book kept my interest even without ghosts, witches, or vampires! The romance stayed sweet and didn’t turn into a cliché. The crimes and dramatic moments weren’t forced, they made sense for the story.  It’s the kind of book I’d give to a friend getting over a break up – fun, well written, and with enough tension to keep things interesting. It helped that the heroine ran a bakery and talked about her amazing cupcakes throughout the story. Yum! I wish the author had included recipes.

I’ve been invited to join a number of reading challenges this year. I’ve expanded my social network and the new geek girls in my life all read amazing things. I’m not sure what I’ll pick, but I suspect my numbers will go up in 2017. At least, I hope they will.

I was struggling to come up with a blog post this evening, so I checked back on what I posted last December. December 2015 found me apologizing for a late blog post with precious few words, and summing up what was going on in my personal life. December 2014 produced a review of what I was reading and a sentimental post about what was going on in my personal life. December 2013 had only one post and it was about my personal life.

It seems December steals my words and leaves me with nothing creative to say every year. I’d love to tell you “Not this year!” and reveal some great truth about writing, but I’m afraid I’m fresh out. Well, unless you count a few hard learned lessons:

  • Being published does not magically solve all of your life problems.
  • It’s hard to separate yourself from your writing when you get a bad review.
  • It’s hard to decide what the right choice is when you’re writing.

I suspect those are not shocking truths to anyone. Just like I suspect those who know me well can understand why this time of year hits me hard.

(This is the part where I tell you about my personal life – because hey, by now it’s a tradition.)

My father fell into a diabetic coma on Thanksgiving. I will never know what ended his life, rolls? Stuffing? One more slice of pie? Maybe if he hadn’t fallen asleep in front of the TV after his meal. Maybe if someone had thought to check on him sooner. A thousand maybes and unanswered questions and then his ashes were delivered to my house on Christmas Eve.

I’m afraid December has never recovered.

But I’m lucky to have my blog to look back on. It tells me that by January (just a few weeks away) I’ll feel more like myself again. And, of course, February is time to start planning for Halloween (only 7 months!). Then you’re into the good weather months, April and May. The summer is Con season, crowned by DragonCon on Labor Day, which starts of the best time of year – Halloween time! From Labor Day until November 1st, it’s pretty much all skeletons and smiles around here.

I can accept bad reviews, because I know that not everyone will like my books. They still hurt, but they’re part of writing. And I can accept December, it still hurts, but sad times are a part of life.

Sadness and December, like fear, will pass:

    I must not fear.

    Fear is the mind-killer.

    Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration.

    I will face my fear.

    I will permit it to pass over me and through me.

    And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path.

    Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain.

– from Dune by Frank Herbert (One of my Dad’s favorite quotes)

 

So, see you next December to talk about my personal life. Maybe we’ll chat about how I don’t have kids. Or how I can’t decide if it’s more offensive to write characters from other races/genders/cultures (which is basically saying I think I know what they experience) than to only write white cisgendered heterosexual characters (which isn’t diverse, erases other people, and gets boring).

Cover art is an interesting puzzle. Authors don’t have creative control over their cover art. Before the artist begins we’re asked to supply a few details about what we had in mind, remembering that the details may be ignored completely. If we’re consulted, it’s usually after the cover is created.

There are a few cover art rules about what sells and what doesn’t. You may have never noticed it, but there aren’t very many romance covers featuring men with hairy chests. Similarly, the YA book world seems obsessed with white girls with long, blond hair.

When I worked on my debut cover art, I was more than a little clueless. It was super important to me that the girl on the cover look exactly like the character. Her weight, body shape, hair color, all of it had to be an exact match. When I couldn’t get the match I removed the girl, which explains why I ended up with a spooky, atmospheric landscape cover. It didn’t do a very good job of conveying a sense of my story.

Luckily, when it came time to pick cover art for the sequel, Fire in Her Blood, my publisher agreed to give me another chance. Thus, I can reveal the much improved, amazing cover for Under a Blood Moon:

underabloodmoon_w9453_750

The Mallory on the cover is almost exactly as I describe Mallory in the book. Her magic, which shows as lightening, is the perfect highlight. And the moon? The huge blood moon, which inspires a werewolf killing spree in the book, got to stick around. I’m delighted with it!

It feels great to know that both of the books will share a look. I can’t wait to see them on my bookshelf together.

 

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

I turned in my final edits on Fire in Her Blood at the beginning of the month and received in return a wonderful email with my cover art. Author wisdom tells you not to release your cover art until you have buy links and a publish date. I usually try to follow that advice, but I’m too in love this time. I mean, come on, just look at the gorgeous cover:

The cover shows a young woman standing in the center of a city. She's surrounded by flames as everything burns.

The perfect cover for my story about arson and fire witches. (Click to enlarge)

Things I love about this book:

  • It’s got a coming out story, where sharing the news is mixed with witchcraft.
  • Thanks to a fun-to-write Samhain party at the end of the book, I got to show the diverse backgrounds of Mallory’s friends and fellow witches. That means Jew-witches and Latinas, but also a chance to mention Poi.
  • The story includes a supernatural brothel filled with sexy mythological creatures, which means I got to show how sex workers live in Mallory’s world. (Hint: better than in our world.)
  • A short subplot contains my favorite friendly ghost, Marcus. The ghost stories Mallory deals with every few days are a joy to write.
  • I got to drop lots of little hints about the next book. (The draft is in the very early stages.)

Here’s the back-cover description:

Death witch and Detective Mallory Mors arrives at the scene of an out-of-control arson called by a victim who desperately wants to die. Using her powers, Mallory battles the strongest fire witch in town to help the woman cross over. When she’s forced to work with the angry fire witch, she discovers their lives are linked in complicated ways. As all the other fire witches in the city mysteriously lose their powers, the heat is on to solve the case. Saddled with a vampire assault at the local supernatural brothel, a missing person who doesn’t want to be found, and a mess of vampire politics, Mallory struggles to put together the pieces before the city burns.

As soon as I have that precious pre-order link I’ll update this page, and also add a general page to my website.

Oh, and my inbox got a bit more good news: The Mermaid and the Murders  ­­was recently named one of  “5 Amazing Underrated Books”.   I’m working on the sequel now, the Siren’s Stalker, and the encouragement of a good review helps. Actually I’m working on the next in the Death Witch series (no name yet), the Siren’s Stalker, and developing the materials to submit a third manuscript. Lots to do, but cover art like this makes it all worth while.

Save

Save

I recently found myself in the very tiny town of Skagway, Alaska. While there are only about a thousand full time residents, the summer months bring nearly a million tourists (the local paper estimated 900,000 in 2014). To support the tourists a temporary work force comes in each season.

Any quilters or knitters want to run away to Alaska for the summer?

Any quilters or knitters want to run away to Alaska for the summer?

All those people only staying for a few hours, plus nearly a thousand people coming for a few months, in a town that’s only a handful of blocks seems like the perfect recipe for mystery. Within a few hours of touching its gray weathered shores, I knew I wanted to set a novel there. Thick ropy clouds loomed above me while halfway-to-hurricane-force winds tried to knock me over. It was perfect. Thankfully, the town is also filled with ghosts, I learned about them on a “Ghosts and Goodtime Girls” Tour put on by the Red Onion Saloon.

img_0945

The Red Onion Saloon built in 1897 when Skagway a lawless town described by police as “little better than a hell on earth”.

Skagway boomed during the Gold Rush in 1896. At the time there were two ways to get it rich: you could mine for gold or work the miners. The town offered all of the illegal indulgences someone could want. Drinking establishments, dance halls, and brothels made up most of the businesses. Skagway never developed a condescending attitude to its sex workers. Most women worked for about two weeks, using an assumed name to allow them to return to their normal lives untainted. It wasn’t unheard of for a brother or a husband to set his wife up in a ‘crib’ and allow her to work in safety.

That’s a pretty surprising idea but my tour guide, a lovely lady named Rosy Peaks, insisted that in the bleak frontier town people were too busy surviving to worry about morals. The town did have a few shocked folks who attempted to curve the sinful ways, but efforts were often meant with sly derision. Sex workers would often advertise themselves by sitting near the windows of their rooms only partially dressed. To stop the practice morality laws decreed all windows had to have curtains. Lace and sheer curtains became all the rage almost immediately.

img_0934

My tour guide stands in front of a stored historic “crib” where women would have posed in the large window.

But even an open permissive atmosphere can’t stop ghosts. My tour guide was more than happy to take me to the corridor where phantom footsteps ran away from police more than a hundred years after the brothel was closed down. Local wisdom says the runner is a prostitute named Lydia, who never left her workplace. A block away another girl, who died from tuberculosis, can still be heard coughing through the night. Not all of the town ghosts are former sex-workers though. Mary, who haunts the Golden North Hotel, died of a broken heart when her gold miner fiancée never returned to her. She’s still looking for him today, usually by checking the beds of the hotel guests.

img_0929

Coughing still rings through the halls of this building which was been everything from a social house to an orphanage.

I’m sorry that I only got to visit Skagway for a day. After speaking with everyone at the Visitor’s Bureau, the local town historian, and my tour guide, it became obvious that the locals didn’t think there was anything remarkable about their town. I’d love the chance to explore its history more closely, and discover more fantastic stories waiting to be told.

img_0958

As a quilter I couldn’t resist a photo of this crazy quilt made up of the girls’ fancy dresses over a hundred years ago. It’s currently on display in the upstairs Brothel Museum at the Red Onion Saloon.

Save

Save

Save

Save

It’s Halloween Season! That’s the busiest time of the year for me, with a thousand great things to do every weekend and plenty of amazing Halloween shows to watch during the week. On top of that, I’m in copy edits for Fire in Her Blood, the sequel to Under a Blood Moon. Thus, today’s blog is more a photo heavy review of the cool stuff I’ve been doing.

Sunday in the Park at Oakland Cemetery

I’ve talked about the amazing green space/public garden that is Oakland Cemetery before, but I might have failed to mention that they also hold large scale community events. This morning was a 5k race entitled “Run Like Hell”. A couple of weeks back the event was “Sunday in the Park”, which included a picnic, costume contests, tours of the cemetery, a classic car show, along with vendors and community booths.  Here’s a few of my favorite shots:

img_1373

One of the many wonderful classic Cadillac cars on display among the tombs.

img_1376

Civil War reenactors dancing among the unmarked graves while surrounded by picnic-ers.

img_1383

Two local costumers who remind me of the covers from my favorite Steampunk series – Gail Carriger’s Parasol Protectorate.

Atlanta Greek Festival

I’m editing Fire in Her Blood, but I’m drafting The Siren’s Stalker, the sequel to the Mermaid and the Murders.  While I sort of know what happens in the story, I’m still getting to know the characters. Ashley, the queen bee from Mermaid and the Murders is the focus. There’s a lot about her that Danny, the mermaid, never knew. One important thing, Ashley was raised in a conservative Greek-American family. To flesh out the details of her culture, I enjoyed an afternoon touring a Greek Orthodox Cathedral and eating amazing Greek food. Some of the best parts of my day:

img_12941

A Greek YiaYia (Grandmother) teaches the crowd how to roll dolmas (stuffed grape leaves)

img_1301

Candles lit for prayer intentions

img_1311

A mosaic showing the moment on Easter when Jesus either broke down the gates of hell, crushing the devil (according to the tour guide) or went to Hades to free all of the souls trapped there (according to the deacon).

 

Save

Save

Save

Earlier this week I got an email from Eli that said:

“I googled fairy wings and came across your picture. I love what you did and was wondering if you could share how you made them? I’m asking because some friends of mine are shooting a music video and we wanted to have a fairy in the video. 🙂

Best,

Eli”

Unfortunately, the email address Eli gave me bounced back. After feeling sad that I couldn’t help an aspiring fairy make her wings I realized I have a blog. Now it’s a writing blog, and normally I keep pretty close to the topic, but it’s almost Halloween, so…

fairy wingsFairy Wings!

042

Eli probably found a picture of my amazing wings from Enchanted Hearth Designs. More than a decade ago, I bought wings from Deanna at Enchanted Heart on eBay. Now she has a great Etsy shop that produces custom and regular wings. She does amazing work, my wings sparkled brilliantly even after a decade of use. They never tore or ripped despite being worn to the Maryland Fairy Festival and on rides at Disney World. I even wore them to run various Halloween 5ks. (Where I won for best costume, because my wingmaker is just plain amazing).

wings-aloneThe wings are sheer organza surged on the edges with a sleeve that goes over a metal piece which slides between my back and my corset. The metal is a single piece, bent into a square-bottomed u shape. They’re comfortable and travel well in a FedEx triangle box as checked baggage or shipped via ground (they weigh less than 5lbs). A word about cost: wings are not cheap. Enchanted Hearth has wings from $95 to $40. The bigger the wings the higher the price. Mine were around $75.

I also made my DIY Fairy wings using old dry-cleaning hangers and cellophane.

diy-wings

Simple DIY fairy wings steps:

  1. Pull the flat portion of a drycleaning hanger (cheap wire hanger) until it resembles a hoop, with the hook on one side.
  2. Straighten the hook.
  3. Repeat with 3 other hangers.
  4. Twist the hooks together.
  5. Cover the hooks with duct tape or another soft on the skin tape.
  6. Sandwich the wings between cellophane on a safe working surface (so cellophane, the empty wing frame, then another piece of cellophane).
  7. Use a hair dryer set on very high (or a heat gun if you have one) to melt the cellophane. Be careful not to melt the cellophane, or be ready to artfully melt the cellophane so no one thinks it was an accident.

These wings are worn  by tucking the braid hanger hooks between a sports bra and your skin or by tying a ribbon around the braids to make a harness.

Here are some tutorials with roughly the same steps and pictures:

Simple wing tutorial

Complex wing tutorial

The DIY wings cost less than $15 in materials. They took me about three hours to make three pairs. The first two were epic failures. The photo above is my third set of DIY wings.  If you Google “cellophane fairy wings” you can find some really amazing wings out there. Please remember, you’re not seeing anyone’s first attempt.

Also, bear in mind that cellophane wings aren’t as durable as the cloth wings. I wore these for a day at Disney World. By the end of the day they were destroyed. To contrast, my cloth wings made it through multiple Disney days without a scratch.

A word on wing size: I bought my purple wings in size “oh my yes”. I justified it by saying my wings would have to be twice my height to lift me off the ground. This meant that in large gatherings I had to have a ‘wingman’ walking behind me keeping the tips of my wings from gouging someone’s eyes out. As a smaller than average person (61.75 inches/1.6meters tall) I often forgot to adjust for wing height when it came to doors or openings in the crowd.

I’d recommend starting with wings in a more medium height, one less prone to hurting others or restricting movement. While I love my purple fairy wings with a passion I’ve wished many many times that I got a more neutral color – sparkly white gossamer wings or black veined dragon wings may have been a bit more versatile.

Then again, wings aren’t really about making the sensible choice, are they?

So Eli, and anyone else who decides to become a fairy, I hope that helps. My wings gave me great joy. They became a way to introduce myself and my culture – “I’m the girl who wears 6 ft purple fairy wings on the weekends”). I hope your wings do the same. Good luck!

Save

Save

Save

One of the things I love about the Halloween season is the way cemeteries open up to the public. While the Victorian cemeteries were parks for playing in, and other cultures gather as a group in cemeteries, most Americans only visit cemeteries when someone dies. That’s a mistake. There’s a huge amount of history and some great stories to be found. As a bonus, cemeteries tend to be a green space even in very urban areas.

That’s definitely the case in Atlanta, where the “in town” neighborhoods with their small parks are nothing compared to the 48 acres of pleasure gardens and trees that comprise Oakland Cemetery. The space is a certified wildlife habitat, with special bird friendly and butterfly friendly designations. On top of that it’s rather people-friendly with benches, level walking spaces, and very well kept gardens.

Not to mention some interesting headstones.

img_1005

Rosemary bushes and pomegranate trees heavy with fruit were planted by cemetery volunteers who recreated the Victorian look from the cemetery’s first years. While there are always tours, Halloween season brings a special batch. Careful planning netted me tickets to the sold out Capturing the Spirit tours, but some beautiful weather last weekend meant I took the tour of the day. It happened to be right up my alley: “Murder, Mysteries and Mayhem”.

Some stories were not so mysterious but definitely sad, like the playhouse fire that killed several young performers acting as angels. Their paper wings caused the conflagration, so they remained angels forever.

An angels surrounded by rosemary

An angel surrounded by rosemary

Others lived up to the title, like the grave of a maiden aunt who dreamed she would drown the night before taking a boat tour. She claimed to have written a will in her sleep, but insisted on going out on the boat. There was indeed an accident, and her family buried her dress, the only remains ever found, in Oakland. The promotion seems a little suspect, and finding another dress makes me wonder – the garments of the 1890s weren’t exactly easy to get out of. It’s easy to imagine the aunt running away with a lover under the cover of an elaborate plot.

A less elaborate but equally mysterious burial was an unnamed man found after a tornado hit the cemetery in 2008. While his body was found in an above ground vault filled with members of the Holland family, he wasn’t a Holland. No records existed of him ever being buried, and his clothes were modern. More telling of hasty burial, his shoes were facing west. In Christian cemeteries, bodies are almost always buried facing east so they can rise up on Judgment Day.  The cemetery sexton is still hoping someone will claim the poor fellow.

He was found in the upper right most shelf, in case that helps you remember his name.

He was found in the upper right most shelf, in case that helps you remember his name.

The tour ended with a few short ghost stories. There’s a shadowy visage who haunts the bell tower. Maybe he’s waiting for the bell ring again? In days gone past, cemeteries rang the bell to chase away the sins of the dead. Twelve rings for men, eight for women, and only six for children, who were presumed least sinful of all. Down another path over three thousand unnamed soldiers from the Civil War supposedly rise up to a ghostly roll call each Confederate Memorial day.

I’ll be back to Oakland for another tour or two at least. The 5k “Run like Hell” sounds like fun too. If you get a chance, take a walk through your local cemetery this fall. I’m sure the folks there would love a visit.

Save

Save

Save