Tag: #amwriting

Solitary confinement: What I learned about it while writing “Robbed of Soul”

We are pleased to welcome author Lois D Brown . She has a new book and a phenmomenal giveaway!
Maria Branson, the protagonist of my latest novel, Robbed
of Soul, sees ghosts. No, she’s not psychic. She suffers from Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome after being in solitary confinement for eight months in Tehran.
Before doing research
about solitary confinement and PTSD,  I worried the whole “seeing ghosts” thing was too crazy to belive. Would my readers  believe my protagonist was really that far gone? But after researching the subject, and learning  how truly awful solitary confinement is to
the human psyche, I knew that my character’s internal struggles were similar to many challenges real people with PTSD face.
 
Take for instance the true story
of Sarah Shourd’s, a 32-year-old hiker arrested by Iranian troops after
straying onto the Iran border. Two months into her incarceration, she began hearing phantom footsteps and seeing flashing lights. She spent most of her day crouched on all fours, listening through a gap in the door. The experience left her with horrible PTSD.
 
Studies show 30 to 40% of veterans with post traumatic stress syndrome report auditory and/or visual hallucinations.  And you don’t have to be
a veteran. There are stories of journalists and television reporters who have PTSD as well, many of whom also experience hallucinations. Months after it happened, one Pulitzer Prize winning journalist kept hearing the voice of an American soldier who’s dead body he had photographed.
 
In Robbed of Soul, the CIA  has put Maria Branson “out to pasture.” She becomes the police chief of a small Southern Utah town called Kanab. (A wonderful place to visit. See your chance to win a vacation there below.) A week after Maria arrives in Kanab, the mayor is murdered and she has the task of finding the killer. Doing so, makes her face fears she had hoped to forget. But things get worse when her ghosts turn real.

Do you like books? Do you like Zions National Park? Join the ROBBED OF SOUL book launch giveaway and you may win 3 nights in a vacation townhome in Kanab, Utah.
(Thirty minutes from Zions.) A $450 value! (Or a $100 Amazon gift card if preferred.) 

a Rafflecopter giveaway

 
Rescued but psychologically damaged from a failed mission, ex-CIA officer Maria Branson takes the job of police chief in the quiet town of Kanab, Utah. Rest and relaxation are the doctor’s orders. She gets neither. Instead, a missing mayor, the spirit of a dead Aztec warrior, and the over-confident-yet-attractive head of Search and Rescue await her in a town whose past has almost as many secrets as her own. As Maria investigates a modern-day murder, she disturbs a world of ancient legends and deadly curses. Yet most lethal of all is Maria’s fear someone will discover just how empty her soul really is.

 

Available at Amazon, Smashwords, and Google Play.

Go West Chapter 3~Aldon

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Go West

by DiVoran Lites

Chapter three

Aldon

As Ribbons pulled the wagon through the open door of the barn, Aldon glanced at Signor Solano’s Ford Touring Car, which was up on blocks at the back. It was now spring and he wanted to get it ready for church tomorrow, since they’d be picking up the boss’s grandson. He hoped that someday, he’d be able to use an automobile in wintertime, but not yet. The snow was too deep, the ice was too slippery, and the hilly roads were too steep. His own flivver had spent the winter on the leeward side of the barn covered with a tarpaulin.

“If you don’t mind, you can take a seat on that hay bale while I put Ribbons up. We’ll have supper in the kitchen, and I’ll come back and get the automobile ready to run us to church in the morning.” He helped Miss Morgan down.

“I’d be glad to assist you with the automobile,” she said.

Reaching for the lantern and turning up the wick, Aldon avoided answering her. He’d never thought about a woman working on a motorized vehicle before. It didn’t seem proper somehow.

She sat where he had indicated while he removed the traces, currycombed Ribbons, and checked her feet for gravel stones. Glancing over at Miss Morgan, he saw that her head was down as she watched him tend to the horse. Even though it was narrow, the brim of her hat shadowed most of her face. He saw full lips, a just right nose, and a purposeful chin. He could tell she had a delicate complexion and planned to get her into a hat with a real brim. He wondered if she would consent to wear a sunbonnet, then recalled his brother, Bill acting up in one. He chuckled.

“Is something funny?” Miss Morgan asked looking up. The light from the lantern turned her blues eyes into sapphires like the ones he’d seen at the Denver Museum.

“I’m thinking about my brother, he’s a real clown.”

“In the circus?” She asked with a smile.

“No, ma’am, but he makes us laugh a lot. Right now, he’s in Hollywoodland working as a stuntman and horse wrangler for the moving pictures shows.”

“I love the movies,” Miss Morgan said. “Before I left, Granddad and I saw Cooper Randolph in ‘Colt 45.’” She tilted her head and examined him. “Come to think of it, you remind me of him.”

“What does this Cooper Randolph fellow do?” he asked.

“He gets rid of the bad guys.” Miss Morgan stood and waited until he retrieved her carpetbag, the only baggage she needed for the night. “Was your brother in the war?” she asked as they left the barn.

“No, he was four F – heart murmur. We couldn’t believe it. He ran circles around the rest of us.” Aldon took her arm and guided her over the straw-littered floor.

“Who lives in the house?” She asked as they exited the barn.

“Right now, Signor and Signora Solano and Molly.”

“Not you?”

“Now that the weather’s warming up, I’ve moved into the loft for the summer.” On the enclosed back porch, he pulled the string of a light fixture. Wiring the house had been easy once he figured out how to harness the creek for power.

“Take off your coat and hat and stay awhile. That’s what my family says when company comes.” He helped Miss Morgan out of her cape and hung it on the peg Molly had cleared for her. The other pegs held coats, jackets, and dusters from the past two generations of ranchers. He liked having them there because they reminded him of family members who had gone on to be with the Lord. Besides, it could be useful even now. A row of galoshes and boots sat lined up, ready for work. No need to buy new ones while these were still good.

Miss Morgan took off her hat and handed it to him. Now he could see that her hair was a beautiful palomino blond. She smoothed curls over her cheeks while he placed the hat on the shelf where he knew his grandmother’s sunbonnet lived. When they entered the kitchen, he drew in the smell of simmering stew.

“So this is a ranch kitchen,” Miss Morgan looked around.

“Yep, that big stove has been here since 1900, but it’s a good stove and can use either coal or wood. Ma used it until she moved to town. After Ma left, I ate mostly biscuits, bacon and beans until Molly moved in, but she loves the stove, wouldn’t use any other.

He pulled out a chair at the long table so she could look at the glimmer of a few lights in the town below.

“What a lovely view,” she said resting back with a sigh.

“So you fix cars, huh?” he said wondering why a woman would do such a thing.

“You read my letter of application?” she spoke slowly, and he nodded. “Well, wouldn’t it stand to reason that if I can drive an ambulance, I can maintain and repair an engine and change tires? Who do you think, did all that?”

“You?” He turned and got her a glass of water out of the spigot. The ranch water came from the mountains and was cold, and delicious. She drank the whole glass as though she hadn’t been watered since Illinois.

“I’ll get Molly,” he said.

When he reached the second floor, He heard soft voices coming from the Solano rooms. At least they weren’t fighting for once. He hated the way the young Mrs. yelled at her husband, who was old enough to be her father, if not her grandfather. He was the kindest and gentlest man Aldon knew. He walked on past to Molly’s door, tapped and waited.

“You took your time,” Molly wore a clean apron over her cotton dress, a sign she was ready for company. A line creased her cheek. She’d been napping, or as she called it, resting her eyes. In her opinion, only lazy people took naps.

Go West Chapter 2~Ellie

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Go West

by DiVoran Lites

Chapter Two

Ellie

 

How do, ma’am.” You don’t look much like a ranch hand, the livery owner said.

Ellie opened her mouth to tell him she could handle about anything but the entrance of a young man captured her attention.

“This is Kenny, Donald Fitzgerald’s son” Mr. Leitzinger said.

“How do, ma’am,” the tall young man touched his forehead in a gesture of respect which usually included tipping a hat. She nodded.

“You’ll have to hold Ribbons back a bit,” the boy spoke to Mr. Leitzinger. “She’ll break into a run the first chance she gets.

“Excuse me, ma’am.” He moved past Ellie and reached for the halter and then backed the mare between the wagon traces.

“Put your cape on, Miss Morgan.” Mr. Leitzinger took the satin-lined garment from her arm, opened it, and settled it over her shoulders. She sighed as the warmth spread through her entire body. Capes had been a godsend in the ambulance corps. They protected the women drivers from the cold during the daytime and in an emergency, substituted for blankets at night. They could also be used to staunch blood.

Mr. Leitzinger watched as she pulled her doeskin gloves from the pockets of her cape and smoothed them over her fingers one by one. He looked away when she lifted her eyes to meet his gaze.

He then got busy setting her cases amongst other parcels in the wagon bed. In one graceful move, he was on the narrow seat with the boy handing him the reins.

“Put your foot on the axle and give me your hand,” he said reaching down for Ellie. When he hauled her up by one arm, Mr. Fitzgerald boosted her bottom from below as if she were a sack of goods. The men were so matter-of-fact about the process that she didn’t bother to be embarrassed.

“Take hold of that bar under the seat until we get out on the road,” Mr. Leitzinger suggested. She groped and felt the cold of the springy steel through her glove.

To her dismay, Mr. Leitzinger handed over the reins while he reached for a leather jacket amongst the parcels in the back. When he had shoved his arms into the sleeves, he took the reins again. A clucking noise from his tongue urged the big gray forward and the wagon moved out of the shed.

“You didn’t pay the liveryman,” Ellie reminded him looking back to see if anyone was coming after them. In her grandparent’s store anyone who didn’t pay for services rendered was a lowlife. She hoped this cowboy person did not fall into that category.

“It’s all right, Mr. Solano has me bring him to town once a month so he can pay the bills. At first he never left the ranch, but he’s getting better now.”

“Has he been ill?” she asked with a pang of anxiety. Surely they wouldn’t expect her to add nursing to her other duties. She had developed such an aversion to pain and suffering she couldn’t even listen to sad stories without weeping.

“Signor Solano came to Colorado to get cured of his tuberculosis, and he is getting well.” As he spoke, Mr. Leitzinger pulled back slightly on the reins.

“I thought TB was incurable,” said Ellie.

“People do get well here,” he answered. “It’s the clean, dry air and good food. They might have to stay a few years, and it’s important to take it easy, but a cure is possible. Signor Solano feels that the oranges he orders shipped from California and Florida are the main healers.

They headed straight for the edge of town toward the snow-topped mountain peaks to the west. They passed several small houses that looked as if they had grown out of the land surrounding them. “Those belong to our family,” he said. “The settlers around here started with log cabins. When they prospered in the cattle business, they built big houses closer to the range. Most family members worked the ranches, but when they got old they sometimes moved to town. We have strong families here. Strong families make strong countries, or so I believe. What do you think?”

“I’m in favor of families though sometimes you have to get away from them,” Ellie said. What she didn’t say was that she was also in favor of as much independence as possible.

“It takes guts to leave, but it feels good to come back home,” said Mr. Leitzinger. “Signor Solano’s grandson is coming from Switzerland tomorrow. We graded the road especially for his visit. It’s a good thing the spring thaw is over. Water rushes through the canyons when the creeks flood and it can destroy the roads and the railroad tracks. A gully-washer has taken the tracks out twice.

“I know what you’re saying, the roads in France were awful in winter and spring.

As the horse settled into a steady pace, Mr. Leitzinger handed Ellie the reins again. She held them tightly, hoping Ribbons wouldn’t take a notion to bolt.

Mr. Leitzinger pulled a mouth-harp from his jacket pocket and cupping it in his hands he began to play “It’s a Long Way to Tipperary.” Ellie hummed along. It was a song she knew well from singing with ambulatory patients and off-duty nurses. At those times, she felt as if she were with family members even though they might never meet again.

“That’s a flier’s jacket, isn’t it? Were you in the war?” she asked.

“The Great War. People don’t want to think we’ll ever have another like it.” He slid the harmonica back into his pocket and re-possessed the reins.

“No sane person wants a war.” Hoping he wouldn’t notice, she inched closer to the warmth of his body.

“I wanted to be in the thick of the dog fighting,” he said. “But they needed men who could read maps and memorize terrain, so they taught me to fly and put me in a surveillance bus instead. A BeBe. That’s a pretty good little airplane. My brother was in the infantry, but he didn’t make it back home.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” She felt the sting of tears at the back of her eyes and dreaded the crying she felt approaching. After the war ended, she had spent five years in the beauty salon at the department store. She fell apart every time a patron told a sad story, war-related or not.

Without saying anything further, he shrugged, handed her the reins and took out his harmonica again. He breathed into the instrument and snappy Dixieland jazz emerged.

The lively tune distracted and soothed her. Now she wouldn’t have to make a fool of herself with her tears.

*                                       *                         *

The wagon turned and dipped under a large wooden board entrance with hieroglyphics burned into it.

“Is that your ranch brand?” she asked.

“How do you know about brands?” He looked at her and smiled.

“My grandfather was raised on a ranch, and he always wanted to go back. He’d tell any callers who came to the house, ‘go west, young man and grown up with the country.” He got that from a man named Horace Greely. I’m Granddad’s first convert, even though I’m not a young man.”

“We’ll have to invite him for a visit,” Mr. Leitzinger said.

“On your sign, I saw an L…? She glanced back, but they were on the other side of it by now.

“Circle L-Z,” he said. “That’s our family brand, but we’re leasing to Mr. Solano for the time being.

They drew up to a large Victorian house with windows across each of three floors. The lights on the ground floor issued a welcome. Large spruce trees grew as tall as the house on both sides.