Oct 25, 2017 |
by Jacqueline Patterson @jacpatterson
You feel the silence like a weight on your soul. Above you, a hiss of wind shifts the moss dangling from the rows of dying oaks.
Witches’ hair, the locals call the moss.
Tonight, in the heavy atmosphere, you’re almost ready to believe there are faces on the other side of the moss.
One of the South’s most haunted cities, Savannah allegedly has a ghost on every corner. Tourists who know nothing of the legends call police when they run into a distressed soul, only to later discover the one seeking their aid has disappeared.
Frankly, My Dear . . . : Savannah Spooks
When you walk through downtown, you are trespassing across stolen land and forgotten graves. Uneven rises in the sidewalk are said to be caused by collapsing coffins beneath. Squares rich with history coax you into exploring them, trapping you in their ethereal atmosphere before they reveal their true history. It took months of exploring my favorite spot, Wright Square, before I discovered it was actually the “hanging square,” haunted by the ghost of accused murderer Alice Riley.
I heard the story like this:
Alice Riley arrived in Savannah two months before she became a murderer. Nothing is known about the life she left behind her in Ireland, but certainly she was desperate to get out, given that she had indentured herself as a servant in return for passage to the colonies. When the ship finally arrived, the indentured servants aboard were storm-tossed and nearly starved.
Despite the dire circumstances, Alice must have been hopeful when they landed.
A new country.
A new start from whatever she left behind.
But instead she was sent away with the worst of masters: abusive degenerate William Wise.
According to legend, he used Alice in any way he pleased. She was forced to bathe him, while her lover and fellow indentured servant Richard White combed Wise’s long hair. Wise used his fists and words with brutal regularity.
In March of 1734, according to legend, Alice and White had enough: they would kill Wise and escape together to Charleston, where they could begin a free life together. They came as usual to begin Wise’s morning grooming. Alice set the bucket of water behind Wise’s head, and White moved in position to begin combing his master’s hair. Instead, White grabbed Wise’s neckerchief, strangling him. Then Alice plunged Wise’s head into the bucket. Already in frail health, Wise died quickly.
Alice and White fled the scene of the crime. When Wise’s body was discovered, the Savannahians’ suspicions were raised, and a manhunt ensued. White was caught first, then Alice. White was taken immediately to the gallows, but a discovery halted Alice’s execution.
She was pregnant.
Some claim the baby was White’s, created in love, and others that the pregnancy was forced upon her by her wicked master. In either case, pregnancy only delayed her eventual fate. Alice gave birth while awaiting execution.
On January 19, 1735, her baby was ripped from her arms, and Alice was taken into Wright Square to be hanged, protesting her innocence and cursing the city for not believing her.
Her body swung on the gallows for three days.
Her baby, James, died two weeks after.
Centuries after the hanging, we still don’t know the full truth of the story. Was Alice a forced accomplice in Wise’s death? Or was she the instigator, tired of Wise’s rapes and abuse?
Perhaps we should ask Alice herself.
Her ghost is said to haunt Wright Square to this day, one of the most often reported ghosts in the US. It’s said she appears to pregnant women and mothers with infants, in an attempt to take their babies.
As for the curse? People have many theories, but one thing is clear: to this day, Spanish moss doesn’t grow on the trees in the park. After all, the legends say the moss won’t grow where innocent blood was spilled.
Who knows? Maybe one day I’ll do an investigation myself.
TWEET THIS: #Savannah Spooks: The Legend of Alice Riley @MollyJoRealy @jacpatterson #aliceriley #haunting
And Frankly, My Dear . . . That’s all she wrote!
Jacqueline Patterson
Dragon Tamer. Ancient Rome fanatic. Writer living on the edge of fictional worlds. J. A. Patterson attempted to teach herself to write at the age of four, wrote her first book (featuring eerily violent chickens) at age five, and has been immersed in books ever since. Sometimes literally. When she isn’t writing, you can find her studying music, reading, and searching for portals to new fantasy worlds. Talk to Jacqueline about books, and she will be your friend forever. You can connect with her through her website and blog J.A.Patterson, on Twitter and Instagram.
Oct 24, 2017 |
by Molly Jo Realy @MollyJoRealy
Last week it was cloudy. Windy. A bit rainy. And, yup. A carnival came to town. Did I go? Puh-leese. Do ducks eat hippopotamus? Of course not. I’m all for a good scare, but on my own terms. I certainly don’t need my own version of Something Wicked This Way Comes.
But all y’all know I love thriller suspense and ghost stories, yah? I’m not talking those icky, gory, demon-possessed movies, although I wouldn’t mind seeing Stephen King’s IT before it leaves theatres. [Note to self: buy movie ticket for friends. There’s safety in numbers.]
So for those moments I can’t find someone to go to the movies with, [translate: Ain’t no one wanting to sit next to me when I get scared. I go home still scared. They go home with bruised and decirculated limbs.] it’s safer for everyone when I hunker down in the soft chair and read a good book.
Frankly, My Dear . . . : Two Books to Read
This time of year, my two go-to favorites are The Haunting of America by Jean Anderson, and Great Southern Mysteries by E. Randall Floyd.
I didn’t have a passion for the South (that I know of) until the last five or so years. It tickled into me as I began to write NOLA, and grew into my lifeblood as I attended the Blue Ridge conference and met so many wonderful Southern people I now consider family. But looking back, it’s evident I have always been a displaced Southerner. [Read: By The Pricking of My Thumb.] It’s spooky how something from my childhood could be reclaimed with such impetus; how something I was unaware of took root decades before I recognized its force in my life.
I’ve been reading The Haunting of America since I was in grade school. I used to check it out of the libraries regularly. Remember when you’d sign your name on the lined card and the librarian would date stamp it so you’d know when to return it? My librarian always joked I should just keep the book for as often as I checked it out. The card had my name, my name, my name, someone else–wait, what?! Someone else dared to borrow my book from the library? I was appalled. Worse, I was restless. There was no substitute. It was a long two weeks before I had my treasured book back in my hands. Some years ago I was thrilled–no pun intended–to find a used copy on Amazon. Needless to say, it was a short two days before I had my treasured book back in my hands.
Frankly, My Dear . . . : Marie Laveau
The Haunting of America is a collection of 24 “true” ghost stories. It’s written for children, but adults will appreciate it as well. It’s where I first met the Gray Man and Marie Laveau. It affirmed what I already knew about Lincoln, and orbs. And it’s where I first visited the Winchester Mystery House. Each story is just a few pages long, making them easy to read, and just as easy to thrill.
Great Southern Mysteries is another collection of short ghost stories, but this is written for adults. The Riddle of the Mounds and In Search of Cofitachequi are just two of the unexplained happenings that fill the book. Lost islands, Flight 19, ghost lights.
Frankly, My Dear . . . : The Riddle of the Mounds
The Gray Man and Marie Laveau are here, too.
The beauty of short story collections is you can reread only the ones you know will raise the hair on all y’all’s cackles. Which, come to think of it, is every story.
What do you like to reread this time of year?
TWEET THIS: Two books to read this week. @MollyJoRealy #amreading #mystery #haunts
With a reading lamp and security blanket,
Happy haunts!
~Molly Jo
And Frankly, My Dear . . . That’s all she wrote!
Oct 13, 2017 |
by Molly Jo Realy @MollyJoRealy
Frankly, My Dear . . . : Five Things Friday
It’s late. It’s always late when I blog. And for the last few nights, Catford Manor’s hallway has been the feline focal point of things unseen.
You cat lovers, y’all know what I’m talking about. The furfamily pricks their ears, squints, and scurries into the shadows to meow at . . . nothing. At least I hope it’s nothing. Every night, I hope it’s nothing. When we first moved in so many years ago, the cabinet doors and drawers liked to open on their own about once a week. Until I let who–or what–ever it was, such antics were not acceptable.
The ravens love my rooftop and a few times throughout the year, they like to peck at the chimney cap and make more noise than I’m comfortable with. It’s all very Hitchcockian.
And very timely for today’s Five Things Friday: My favorite ghost stories.
Frankly, My Dear . . . : My Favorite Ghost Stories
So, I grew up in a small town in the midwest. The kind where kids rode bikes to the mini mart to buy sodas and candy bars before we took ourselves to the lake during summer, or the golf course after school. Mind you, we didn’t play golf. But the area was wooded, and lent itself to spooks and Bigfoot hunts. Growing up where and when I did was a great catalyst for my imagination. What follows are stories I have heard–or experienced–that have stayed with me.
- The Winchester House. Are y’all familiar with Winchester rifles? Sarah Winchester was the widow and heiress to rifle inventor, William Wirt Winchester. She built the mansion after his death. It was said to have been haunted by spirits of those killed by his lever-action repeating rifle. The house, now a tourist trap and historical landmark in San Jose, was built with odd rooms, doors that lead to nowhere, and windows inside that looked into other rooms. Sarah filled the home with representations of spiritualism, the number 13, and spider webs, all in attempts to appease the victim spirits of her husband’s weaponry.
Frankly, My Dear . . . The Winchester Mystery House
- The Queen Mary. This is one of my favorite, well, haunts, if you’ll pardon the expression. Balmy summer nights under neon port lights, walking the wood decks, there’s a definite feeling of more than meets the eye. A guided tour and literature detail past and present encounters. There are many rumors of ghosts and otherworldly events on the docked ship. [Note to self: Don’t stay in Room A128.] This old photo is out of focus, but captures the sentiment perfectly.
Frankly, My Dear . . . : Queen Mary Prediction
- Disneyland’s Haunted Mansion. I’ve heard many a rumor, but have yet to experience anything myself, except for the occasional unwarranted chill up my spine. It’s been said since the Haunted Mansion was built in 1969, there have been many unexplained paranormal activities. A pilot who died in a nearby crash haunts the dark hallways. Employees never work alone. Sounds, strange movements, and shadows all infiltrate the structure in a way not inspired or designed by Disney.
Frankly, My Dear . . . : Ghost Carriage at Disneyland’s Haunted Mansion
- The Grey Man of Pawley’s Island. I first read about him when I was nine. It was in a book, The Haunting of America, that I was so enamored with, I borrowed it from the library over and over and over. In fact, just a few years ago, I found an out-of-print copy and it still gives me the chills. The Grey Man appears on the island to warn residents of impending hurricanes. But the most chilling aspect is that he has no face. He wears a grey suit, a grey hat, and his skin is the grey of storm clouds. His faceless appearance in the sign to residents to leave immediately, or hunker down.
Frankly, My Dear . . . : The Grey Man of Pawley’s Island
- Stephen J. Cannell. Now, y’all may not believe this. Sometimes I wonder if it ever really happened. But this is my own personal story, so I know it to be true. In 2007, I sent SJC an email asking for writing advice. He turned that inquiry, and his response, into a short video for his website. Over the course of the following three years, we had a quasi-mentor relationship online. Facebook, Twitter, a few emails here and there. He was the first professional writer to acknowledge me, and to call me “Molly Jo”, not just “Molly”. And then in 2010 we met at a book signing. He died a few months later and it hit me hard. Oh, we weren’t close friends, but he was important to my writing. He inspired and encouraged me. And one morning about two weeks after his death, in the middle of October, I woke up to an email from Stephen J Cannell. It was the same email he’d sent me over three years earlier, the first response to my inquiry. And that same email, with the same video query encouraging me to write every day, kept showing up in my email inbox every day for a week. Until I started writing again. #truestory
Frankly, My Dear . . .: Meeting Stephen J Cannell
So there you have it. My five favorite ghost stories.
Curious: What are yours?
TWEET THIS: Five Things Friday: My Favorite Ghost Stories @RealMojo68 #haunted #fivethingsfriday #franklymydear #ghoststories
With a bright flashlight and a glow-in-the-dark notebook,
Haunted writing!
~Molly Jo
And Frankly, My Dear . . . That’s all she wrote!
Oct 26, 2014 |
Sometimes I feel I haven’t done enough to advance my writing, but looking back at the two months since I started my GoFundMe campaign, I realize everything’s a matter of perspective.
Go Fund Me: #DoingTheWriteThing
You can click on the link or photo above to follow my progress with #DoingTheWriteThing, without having to make a donation. I truly appreciate support in all forms!
At the beginning of the year, my only resolution was to do life better.
BETTER! 2014
Of course I haven’t accomplished everything on my list, but I have kept that drive alive to push forward no matter what.
I’ve been diligently working on NOLA for over a year. Almost two, if you count those months I formulated everything before writing a single word, and only worked intermittently. I drafted a few ideas, but only started writing the current story just over a year ago.
NOLA Inspiration
With the help of my writing mentor, my critique group, and the local writers club, the story has become stronger, tighter, and ~ dare I say it ~ more mysterious. In the back of my mind, I always knew NOLA was a mystery, but it wasn’t until a few months ago I realized the fullness of the mystery.
My style of writing is both discovery and intuitive. That means I write the story as it comes to me, letting it write itself, letting the characters dictate their own actions for the most part. I don’t know the technical terms for how I do what I do. I just know what works and what doesn’t. That’s the intuitive part.
For a while I got myself wrapped up in trying to follow a structure. It didn’t work. I ended up writing a new introduction to NOLA that told a good story, but it wasn’t my story. It wasn’t my NOLA. So I took the elements I liked and tossed the rest. I combined the best of the first and second drafts and now I’m working on a new NOLA. Thankfully, I have a clearer vision of how to fill in the blanks so the rewrite should only take me a few more months before this draft is fully completed.
In September, Megan departed from The New Inklings due to scheduling conflicts which means, unfortunately, the writing partnership for The Grenalia Chronicles was dissolved. While I’m sad we aren’t working together, we each have great stories to tell and intend to tell them well. I look forward to getting back to writing a fantasy next year, after NOLA.
Beckie has joined The New Inklings and we meet together at least twice a month. She’s well versed in magazine submissions and query letters. She’s a great asset to the NIP Team.
Nip’s Favorite
I’ve been speaking with Beckie as well as my friend Pam about publishing their works next year. Both have amazing stories to tell for young and old, and I’m delighted that they trust me with these writings.
November will be a busy month for writing. I’m attending three Writing Salons, co-hosting another one with Aaron, attending the writers club and the Howl At The Moon Conference.
My friend Tess has signed up for NaNoWriMo. I participated three years ago, and I applaud her determination. Writing 50,000 words for a first-draft novel in thirty days is an amazing accomplishment.
NaNoWriMo 2010 Participant
NaNoWriMo 2010 Winner
I know my writing limits, and since NaNoWriMo requires a new story, not the furthering of an existing one, it’s not on my radar this year. Maybe next year. I have quite a few stories in my mental queue, just waiting to be put into words.
For now, I’m thankful for the progress I continue to make while #DoingTheWriteThing.
Thanksgiving Table
And Frankly, My Dear . . . that’s all she wrote!
You may also enjoy reading:
BETTER: Thanksgiving
Why I Write. Every Day.
FIVE THINGS FRIDAY: #DoingTheWriteThing
New Meaning to Ghost Writing (Journal, 10/19/2010)
Oct 29, 2011 |
by Molly Jo Realy @MollyJoRealy
Okay, I’m not one to go all in about spirits and things. I believe there are supernatural forces, but as a Christian, and a scaredy-cat, I ignore; nay, resist, such topics.
Most of the time.
Just over two weeks ago, I journaled about the death of my mentor.
We weren’t that close. He was someone I respected as a writer and creator. He encouraged and inspired me to continue in my own writing endeavors. Big words for what boils down to: I like what he said and did, and he saw potential in me.
And then he died.
I don’t know what to do with this void. Do I write about my personal loss? What personal loss? It was a peripheral relationship. So why let others in on my tears? Because he told me to. He told me to write. Every day. No matter what. In joy. In pain. On vacation. Write. Every day.
But for a few days of mourning, I stopped.
I guess that didn’t make him happy. I guess I still have potential. Because in the middle of the night, during a rare thunderstorm no less, I received an email from him. Last night. Two and a half weeks after his death.
I’m not joking.
The interesting thing is, it was the very first email he ever sent me. From years ago. I’d asked his advice as a writer, never thinking he’d respond. But he did. And so our writer’s relationship began. I’d had it saved on hard copy. Saved in my email inbox. And suddenly it pops up on my blackberry like a brand new message.
“Molly Jo… I will give you an answer which is the absolute answer. Write every day and write for at least a couple hours. … What you have to do is make writing a very high priority in your life … Writing is like weightlifting. The more you do it, the stronger you’ll get. … That’s the best advice I can give. If you want to be a writer, you gotta write.”
So. Here I am. Still feeling silly about being affected by the loss of someone who was not yet a dear friend. Still wondering what I could possibly have to write about. Thinking of my unfinished projects.
And in the middle of the night, the heavens opened to wash away my clouds; and he reminded me of what’s important. I write because I am a writer.
True story.
“I write for the same reason I breathe. Because if I didn’t, I would die.” ~Isaac Asimov
