Technical writers or non fiction writers scribble to pay the bills and for the love of the analytical or the exercise of truth or deception.

Fiction authors write to illuminate their world or escape it.

Whichever kind of writer, it's all about staying alive and helping or entertaining others.

The Writing Life

Like most writers, I have a love of reading and the power of words. When I was younger, I read everything I could get my hands on, but I don’t consider myself well read. I consumed books like a starved person, so quickly I hardly knew what I had read. By some strange process of osmosis, I learned from everything I read, but I cannot give you an erudite discussion of characters, plots, or authors. I can only tell you it’s lodged some where in the core of my being and informs my writing.

In addition to reading, I’ve spent a life time writing---from that first elementary school composition to my college days when I studied French literature and wrote explications de texte. Along the way, I fell into technical writing--to put food on the table and pay bills. In the 90s, I had the good fortune to take a dialog class with Sol Stein, former owner of Stein & Day publishers in New York and a prolific author. That led to his California-based writers’ group, Chapter One. It was a rigorous, ego-bruising experience, but I was intent on learning everything I could about fiction writing. A few years ago, I also had the good fortune to study with another writer, Louella Nelson, an experienced romance writer and teacher of fiction writing. She provided a different perspective and balance to my writing.

My novel, DREAMING OF LAUGHING HAWK, a mainstream, Sixties era novel, is available on Amazon in print and ebook (also available in Canada, Europe, Japan, and Brazil). Download a free sample. If you like it, I hope you'll download the book and post a review on Amazon.

Monday, August 31, 2015

Short Fiction: The Seer (Part 2)

This is a continuation of psychic Celia's readings. (Click here to view the first part.)

* * *

Large drops of rain, cold and unrelenting, pelt the window and drizzle down the steamy panes. I button my sweater and put a pot of tea on the stove, wondering why on a day like this my client is so insistent on having an appointment. A psychic should know why. I laugh at myself. In a flash I see a woman carrying some sort of bundle in her arms.

The kettle whistles and I fill my tea pot. The client will want a cup, I’m sure. I start a fire to take the chill out of the house and set my tarot cards on the dining room table. The doorbell rings as I light candles.



When I open the door, I am surprised to see an older woman clutching a small baby in her arms and trying to manage a dripping umbrella.

“Mariska,” she says and I usher her in.

“Such a cold miserable day.” I gasp when she reveals the pink angelic face beneath the swaddling of blankets.

“My grandson Chad.” She gives me a sheepish look “He’s very good-natured. He will play quietly on a blanket.”

I smile and touch the baby lightly. “He’s a beauty. Will you have some tea, Mariska?”

“I’d love it. I’m chilled to the bone.”

“Make your grandson comfortable while I get the tea.”

Soon there are steaming cups of black tea on the dining table and little Chad is safely tucked into the back of a large easy chair and cooing over his rattle.

We begin. I close my eyes and request God’s guidance. I let a moment of silence hang between us before I open my eyes. “What troubles you?” Why did you bring a baby out in this weather, I wonder.

She withdraws her hands from mine. “I want a reading for my grandson.”

I pick up the deck of tarot cards and show them to her grandson. He stares, he touches, he tries to grasp. His eyes grow wide as I show him the cards.

“Now we shall see what the cards say.” I shuffle the deck and pull an Ace of Swords and lay it face up on the table. “We will call this card the significator. In relationship with the other cards, it tells us something important about Chad. We will do a Celtic cross layout.”

She stares at the cards as I lay them out and mutter brief explanations—present condition, obstacles or assistance, past influence, possible future . . . My voice trails off. I have lost her. “The relationships of the cards paint a picture. My spirit guides interpret.”

She doesn’t trust me.

I look into her in the eyes. “Your grandson has been consecrated to St. Michael.”


She blanches.

“It is his destiny to carry the sword. He could choose to break this covenant, since it is you who have sworn him to St. Michael, but I think he will not renounce the sword. I want to tell her to breathe. She is so pale. I run my fingers over the cards and glance at Chad’s innocent face. “He is born to the sword. I stab the next card with my finger. “And he will be the Emperor of whatever endeavor he chooses. You will have long left this earth when he comes to manhood.”

She focuses her eyes on mine. She already knows she is dying.

“Let me meditate a moment.” I close my eyes and let the pictures run across the screen of my mind. “Soon the world will be looking for a new home and Chad will be the adventurer-explorer who will lead the way.”

She frowns.



“I am talking about the end of this world and the necessity to find a new world.”

She does not know what to think of such preposterous information. I shrug. It is all too complex to explain. I can hardly wrap my mind around it either. “Rest assured, in the final battle of good and evil, your grandson will be a great warrior.”

She hangs her head and wipes a tear from her cheek.

“It will be okay. He is in St. Michael's hands.” It is enough for her to know.

1 comment:

  1. Linda,
    So exciting. I'm intrigued and can't wait to read more! I've had my cards read and I was a lot like Mariska, clueless. :)
    Excellent writing, your setting perfect. I was there!

    ReplyDelete