Tuesday Guest Post: Teresa J. Reasor

First I want to thank Pam for letting me be part of her blog today. I love doing blogs and meeting new people. Pam and I recently met at a meeting of the Kentucky Indies group we both belong to. It was wonderful to meet someone I have so much in common with.

I love writing paranormal stories.  Paranormal, Fantasy and Science Fiction are the only genres that allow your imagination to go beyond the boundaries of the real world and get away with it. The sky’s the limit. And sometimes, depending on what you write, you can go beyond that as well.

Three years ago I saw a special on Kentucky Educational Television about an archaeological dig studying a ship called Belle. Belle lay on the bottom of Matagorda Bay on the Texas coast. She was part of an armada led by the French explorer, Robert La Salle. La Salle and his crew died when the armada sank. To study the wreak and recover and preserve artifacts from the site, which included a skeleton of one of the crew, a cofferdam was constructed around the site and the water pumped out.

The chance viewing of this special, titled Voyage of Doom, sparked an idea for a story that would consume me for three years. It was finished and published in January of this year.  That story is TIMELESS.

TIMELESS BLURB:

Archaeology student, Regan Stanhope, lands the chance of a lifetime when she’s chosen to work on a summer dig in Loch Maree, Scotland. The ancient monoliths hidden beneath the loch are the most important discovery since Stonehenge. And for seven hundred years, they have been waiting—for her.

Saturation diver Quinn Douglas is contracted to recover some of the megaliths from the loch’s bottom. The job will breathe life into the struggling salvage business he and his brothers are building. But from the moment he arrives, Quinn is plagued by dreams and feelings from a past he did not live. Or did he?

Regan and Quinn are drawn to each other as they research the monoliths and the reason behind their shared visions. But both sense something mystical at work, delving into their minds, manipulating their emotions. And when they finally discover the monoliths’ extraordinary secret, they know they must seal them away from those who are desperate to unlock their power. Even if it means remaining caught in a timeless struggle between the past and present forever.

Many other moments of chance went into the writing of TIMELESS. I have always dreamed of going to Scotland and Ireland. A friend and I were researching on where we would like to go on such a trip at the same time as I saw the special about the Belle and La Salle. That’s when I found Loch Maree and fell in love with it. It had everything I needed and wanted for my story. A history steeped in myth and mystery. And a loch that was perfect for my dig. And an island in the middle of the loch where Druids once worshiped. The place was just made for  my story. Here’s an excerpt of TIMELESS to prove it.

“I’ve discovered something you should see, and since it doesn’t grow dark until after nine, we have time to make the trip,” he said, breaking into her thoughts.

He gripped her hand to steady her as she stepped down into the boat. He untied the bow and leapt down behind her seat. With a practiced ease he climbed over the driver’s seat and slid behind the wheel. He twisted the key and the engine fired.  The familiar smell of oily fuel and the loch wafted up to her. He backed the vessel out into the loch then turned the bow down the middle of the channel.

They passed the site. The dark blue steel pilings of the cofferdam looked foreign to the rest of the natural surroundings. Why had they not at least painted the steel to blend into the environment? Not that it would help.

Quinn thrust the gearshift forward and the nose of the Bayliner rose.  Regan perched atop the seat back to see where they were going. He guided the bow toward Isle Maree.

Sudden fear ran along her nerve endings, and she slid back into her seat. She had researched the island, just as she had the loch and surrounding areas. But there was something about the small mound of land in the distance that caught her breath and shocked her heart into a gallop.

Quinn slowed the boat as they approached the northern tip of the island where a small finger of land jutted into the loch. The water appeared blue-black. This was the deepest part of the loch, over three hundred feet.

A shiver raced up her spine. Witches’ Point.  It had to be. She’d read they’d thrown witches into the loch as a test and buried them on the island after they drowned. Coira could have faced that for her beliefs, had she not been murdered. How had she held on to her faith with such strength? How had she faced Braden’s absences, knowing he might never return?

Quinn turned the boat away from the site and motored around to the opposite end of the island.  The wind bombarded them, kicking up the water. The Bayliner rocked so hard Regan’s grip tightened on her seat and she braced a hand against the windshield.

 A bare area with markings where several other crafts had beached came into view.  The hull of the boat made a grinding sound as Quinn ran the bow up on the bank. He killed the engine and leapt out to drag the craft further up and secure the bowline around a large rock.

Silence settled around them, a strange preternatural silence devoid of the normal sounds of birds. Birds nested everywhere—why not here?

A stiff bone-chilling breeze chased them up the wide leaf-strewn path into the trees.

The clustered brush and greenery acted as a break. She paused to rest a hand on one of the large oaks. Most of the trees in the area were pine. But here she saw oak and ash, holly and birch. She drew in scent of greenery, fresh and crisp.

An odd dead tree leaned upon supports just ahead on the path. Coins were scattered about it and hammered into its bark. Regan paused to run her fingertips over the edges of the coins and study them. Had the “money tree” really given up wishes for such payment?  And where was the “sacred well” supposed to heal lunatics?  Maybe she’d drink from it.

Nicodemus’s desperate need to be healed came to mind. Argus’s hope for him as well.

What would she have given to have her mother’s mind whole?  What would she have done to be able to carry on a normal mother-child conversation with her? Their relationship had so often been reversed. She was the one caring for her mother, soothing her fears, and trying to quiet her outbursts.  When Evelyn grew too unstable, social services had come and taken her away.

She’d been hounded by guilt for months because, God help her, she’d been relieved they’d come for Evelyn.

Her mother had died, never knowing peace, or having a clear drug-free thought. What hell that must have been for her. What hell it had been for them both.

And now the fear of following in her mother’s footsteps dogged her. The diagnosis had been schizophrenia, but what if her mother had experienced unexplained events similar to her own? Real events she couldn’t cope with.

A distinct memory rose up to torment her.  She’d awakened from a sound sleep to her mother’s raving about having lost her baby, but she had been there with her the whole time, a child of six. Was that tormented quest tied to Coira, or trapped in her mother’s own demented mind?

Was she reaching for an explanation for her mother’s condition in the hopes of ending the constant fear of following in her footsteps? Probably.

Quinn offered her his hand and she grasped it. They wandered further along the path. If the supernatural occurrences they experienced freaked Quinn out, finding out about her mother’s illness and the possibility she might develop the same condition—Quinn would be right to cut and run. Why would he want to take a chance on a woman who might go crazy some day?

The path expanded into a clearing. Dark mounds of stone created a large circle. Inside the henge, headstones thrust from the ground. Some appeared just misshaped blocks of stone. But others were carved in a more elaborate manner and appeared newer.

Quinn paused just outside the circle. Regan stepped through the opening to the circle and strolled around the perimeter. One particular head stone drew her. A flat stone with no distinct markings, it blended in with the rest. She knelt to brush the leaves away and a wave of grief rolled over her like a tsunami bringing instant tears to her eyes. “Who are you? Are you Braden or Bryce?"

The wind dipped and tossed dead leaves into the air. She twisted around to face Quinn. “What is this place? Why have you brought me here?”

He appeared pale and his hands clenched at his sides. “’Tis both of them, Regan. You’ve found them both. I brought you here so we can say good-bye.”

Places Timeless is available:

AMAZON  (e-book and print)

BARNES AND NOBLE (e-book and print)

SMASHWORDS

For more information about Teresa J. Reasor’s books you can check out her website.

http://www.teresareasor.com

or her blog:

http://mymusesmusings.blogspot.com

Thank you, Pam, for letting me be on your blog!!

Write on,

Teresa J. Reasor