HAPPY HALLOWEEN

Simply Beautifull

As I work on constructing my books, especially with the visuals, I like to listen to audio lessons of some sort, whether it be learning how to be a better writer, letting go of limitations, or some kind of awesome science stuff. Tonight I found a very unique and beautiful soundtrack to listen to. Being that I am a Celtic mystic, I often will go see what is offered in that particular area, but tonight to my delight, I came across a soundtrack that I will be definitely listening to again, and again. I hope you will enjoy it too!

Her Last Breath

After enjoying a lovely dinner I had prepared for my children and their friends, we ended the evening with table chit chat about being at scary Halloween houses. The Deadmonton place on Jasper Ave. to be precise. This lead my eldest daughter, her friend, and I to talk about real ghost stories, which of course led us to the stories that are in my upcoming book Flight of the White Crow. It was a fun hour of do you remember that? Or ya, that was really freaky. But I also talked about some stories they have never heard about, particularly of a place that I lived in while in Toronto. While reminiscing my stories, I actually encountered one moment that I had totally forgotten about. I don’t know if it was a repressed memory, because it was strange that I would forget to include it in the draft of my book under the chapter “Some Other Really Strange Shit”.  Tonight I quickly wrote the tidbit of my experience and slipped it where it needed to be.

Since Halloween is coming up, I would like to share with you my first ever ghost story that happened to me when I was a little girl. This is from the chapter “Spirits Among Us”.

HER LAST BREATH

"Hey, will you two get to sleep. We can hear you all the way from in here." hollered my mother from the old part of the house. We referred to it as the old part of the house because that was exactly what it was. It was the original part of the house. Our home was on Carmel road, Centreton, the Northumberland county, Ontario. It was an old 1940's country house that was located in the middle of cattle ranches, tobacco farms, and forest.  

The old building had a new addition built onto the back of the original foundation. The new addition resembled a small apartment. As you walked in there was one large room that acted as a living area  space and an attached kitchenette. On either side facing the large room was a bedroom. There was also a full bathroom at the far end beside the kitchen. The door leading outside was beside the bathroom, but it was always locked as my parents didn't want us using it.

A large mud room separated the old part of the house from the newer part. The mud room was where my mother kept the large freezer, the washer and dryer, and a large coat rack. There was a step in front of the wooden door that led into the old house. The door opened into a short hallway. To the left was a bathroom. To the right the entrance to the kitchen and my parent's living quarters. Straight ahead from the door entrance was the dimly lit stairway leading up to the attic. Also straight ahead was the door that led to the basement. When ever I would enter the old house I would run straight into the kitchen to avoid having to look at the basement door. Behind it was creepy old stairs leading to a dirt floor basement.  

My brother and I had the bedrooms in the new half of the  house and our parent's bedroom was completely at the other end of the building. We couldn't be any further apart.

"Yes mother," we synchronized our voices for good effect and began to giggle some more. We were enjoying each other's company and the novelty of having to share a bedroom for the next few weeks. Our mother was in the middle of renovating my older brother's room and had installed a bunk bed in my room. We were glad for each others company because neither of us had felt very comfortable alone in the house. Especially at night. The strange thing was that although the old part was creepy with its spooky attic and the decaying dirt floor basement, it was the new part that sent shivers up our spine. 

Once again a voice of reason bellowed from the old part of the house. This time it was our father. We understood we had reached our limits at this point. Our giggles and small talk turned to hushed whispers. As I began to settle in, my brother quietly asked if I could hear 'that'?

"Hear what?" I asked."Shh, listen." he replied.

Lying in my bed I strained my ears to hear what my brother was referring to. Through the closed bedroom door, I could hear the faint sound of someone gently walking across the common room floor. "Sounds like Mom or Dad is checking in on us." I finally answered.

"Yeah, I guess." exhaled my brother from the bed above.

As we lay quietly in the dark, the sound of the light footsteps slowly made their way to my room. "Dad is that you?" my brother asked. The footsteps stopped but there was no reply. There was a deep silence.

"Mom is that you?" I giggled nervously. There was still no reply.

"Well one of them must be out there." my brother whispered to me.

For the next few moments we were content with the idea that one of our parents was merely checking on us to make sure we were going to sleep. Either that or our father was up to one of his tricks again. Although he was a man of discipline, he was also a bit of a trickster.

Then just as we were beginning to relax, a faint but detectable breathing came from the corridor. "Did you hear that!" Concern was rising in my brother's voice.

"Uh huh." I managed to whisper. "But I am sure it is probably just Dad trying to be funny. Maybe he is testing us to see if we are asleep?"

The breathing stopped. Our hearts raced as we hung onto the silence that filled the corridor. Not even our own breath could be felt or heard. Then it started again right outside the bedroom door. It wasn't a heavy breath such as someone gasping for air, but rather light and fluid. Regardless of it being a parental hoax or not, my brother and I were becoming very uncomfortable. I'm sure to this day that my eyes widen as I stared at the door expecting it to open. I could feel the bed above me shift as my brother sat upright. "Ok, they are taking this too far." my brother whispered in half annoyance, the other half fear.

"Okay Dad. You're not funny." growled my brother towards the closed door. "I'm scarred." I admitted.

For the next brief moment we sat frozen in our place, I with my soft blanket wrapped around me, and my brother positioned like a tiger ready to pounce from a tree limb. The light breathing commenced once more. And then the unthinkable happened. The breathing came through our closed door and into the bedroom.

"What the heck!" shouted my brother. Leaping from the top bunk, he flung open the door and ran out of the room. Too petrified to move, I pulled my blanket over my head and prayed to God to take away whatever it was that was in my room. Gathering courage, I unwrapped my head and listened. The only sound I could now hear was the clamber of feet coming from my brother and parents running towards my room. My father searched the room and the rest of the house but found nothing. Perhaps if it wasn't for the sheer look of terror on our faces, our parents would have passed it off as a child's prank. Instead our parents tried to rationalize it as the settling of the house. In the wisdom of my youth, I turned to them and announced, "Houses do not breathe."

Years later, I came across an Ouija board and inquired about the ghost of the old Carmel house. It revealed to me that the ghost was an old woman. I then asked my mother if she knew who the previous owners had been. She confirmed that the resident before us was an old woman that had passed away in a hospital. This made a lot of sense because the room that the ghost had walked to and entered had pretty wallpaper that was covered with tiny pink roses. This was my room at the time. It made me wonder if the old woman had passed away of a respiratory disease.

I also find it interesting that years ago, when we were living at the farm, while we were digging up our garden in behind the house, we came across old coins and one rusted out old handgun that had been long buried. From what our elderly neighbors had told us, back in the 1800's there was a military group had made camp in the area. Perhaps it wasn't just an old woman walking in our halls of our home.

 

Who is Amara?

Amara The Oracle

Since Netflix has uploaded the latest episodes of the popular series Supernatural, one of my kids is concerned that people will now think that my book Amara the Oracle will be considered dark and evil. Why is that? Because the newest character to be introduced to season eleven is named Amara, and she is no angel. I must be honest and tell you that I was quite surprised to see any character named Amara as it is not a popular name. But I can tell you this, my Amara is in no way evil or dark. In fact, she is funny, wise, and encouraging.  Perhaps I should share how I manifested Amara into this world.

In 2009, I was finishing up my last year of university at Grant MacEwan. I only had to complete the practicum so that I would graduate and get my Applied Bachelor in Professional Writing and Communications. In the beginning of my studies, I had chosen the path of Rhetoric over Technical writing, which then led me to fiction, nonfiction and screenwriting. At the end of my studies it was time to dive into the work practicum. After a period of long deliberation, I decided I did not want to be employed by a firm or corporation because that route did not resonate with me. I wanted to create books, and I wanted to be true to my nature and calling. I decided to base my practicum on the business of self publishing. Back then, which was actually only eight years ago, the self publishing industry as we know today was just getting started. My university did not have a program in self publishing, therefore this was truly a new field for me to explore.

As I started my journey on self publishing, I began to research what was available to me for very little cost. I found Blurb. Back then, Blurb only had the BookSmart program to work with, but the single start up cost was the price of one copy of your book. This still stands today. At that time, my main interests were children’s stories. Being  a bit ambitious for getting a decent grade, I also decided to incorporate another angle to my project. I hired a friend who was just starting out as a motivational coach to work with me. The second part of my project was “Can a motivational coach help a writer to succeed as a Self Published Author?”  And so my journey began. Seemed pretty simple and straightforward. Ya right!  What in life is simple and straightforward?

A few weeks into my project, I began to receive strong inspiration to begin a third book. But it wasn’t a children's book. It was something that called to me from my personal and private world of being a mystic intuitive. An oracle called out to be created. And as any mystic knows, you cannot fight these kinds of things because you know Spirit is knocking on your door and most likely will not be walking away anytime soon.  Intrigued, curious, and even excited, I began to listen to what I needed to do.

Although I knew about the art of using a book to reveal a message from the Spirit, it wasn’t until I was creating this book that I learned this art of divination was called Stichomancy.  Stichomancy has been used for a very long time. (The oracle seems to think it has been thousands of years, lol, and who am I to argue.) It is the act of seeking answers to one’s questions by randomly picking a passage or excerpt from a book. Amara has been designed for the sole purpose of being an Oracle.

Finding the name for the Oracle was a small challenge. I knew the voice of the book was definitely female. And before I could begin, it was important for me to find her name. Intuitively, I also knew it began with an ‘A’. So I went on line searching female names beginning with the letter ‘A’. At first I began to second guess myself because none of the names were resonating with me. Then I saw it. AMARA; Grace, Eternal, Immortal. Covered in goosebumps and a profound Aha moment, I knew my search had been resolved. Amara it was.

Right from the beginning, I understood that Amara needed to be very simple. No long explanations, no fancy jargon, and keep it to the point. However, at first I was surprised at how the format of the book was shaped. On the left page was a quote from someone who had been or was somewhat famous, and the right page was where the Oracle spoke to the inquirer of how the quote pertains to them. So, both the left page and the right page work together. Most of the quotes are from people who have already passed on. For some reason, the only people who are among the living that have a quote in the book are; Ellen DeGeneres, Bob Dylan, Richard Bach, Alex Collier, and I. Everyone else has left planet Earth.  And that is an interesting point because there was one deceased person in particular that made a point of getting my attention in order to have his quotes put into the book. His name, Ralph Waldo Emerson. Surprised, ya, so was I. But I soon became comfortable with having Ralph as one of my muses. It got to the point though where I had to tell him to stop trying to influence me because the book was not about him. There was even a day when I came home and found a bookmark with his quote on it sitting on the floor in the middle of the living room. There was no one home and no way it could have gotten there on its own.  I was a bit confused why someone so famous as Ralph would chose someone who was incredibly not famous, like me, to creatively influence. I decided to put away my kit of self destruction and researched him.  Like everyone else, I knew of Ralph Waldo Emerson, but I did not actually know about his personal details. But then as I read more, an understanding began to form. Ralph and I actually shared many values and philosophical concepts. Ralph was also raised and influenced by the women of his family. He liked and respected women. I was honored. But still insisted he was limited to his amounts of quotes.

Once finished, I had sent the book off to press. When the time came to hand in my projects, my teacher was quite shocked to see three books; two children’s books and one oracle. I received a good mark in return. Since that time, I have revised the cover of Amara and confident that she is now complete.

But I must share the strange thing that happened one day while I was working in a retail store. While I was assisting a customer she asked me what else I did with my time. Well of course that was an invitation to begin talking about being a writer and my books. When I told her about Amara, she gave me a strange look and said that she heard about my book because a Psychic had talked about it on her tv show. Unfortunately she could not remember the woman’s name. I was shocked. It made sense though because the views on the book had spiked at a certain time frame and I had no idea why. Amara was definitely making herself known. Synchronicities were a wonderful thing.

Amara the Oracle is unique and there are no other books like her. I hope others will see her as a kind and wise energy that has been created and manifested to help inspire and entertain people.  

Patricia Travers

Reading From AMARA

quote: When I look back on all these worries, I remember the story of the old man who said on his death bed that he had had a lot of trouble in his life, most of which never happened.
~Sir Winston Churchill

AMARA replies: DON'T WORRY, BE HAPPY.....if you know this song...sing along!

More Please

This boy could eat an entire bag of dog food in one sitting. But today, Charlie feasted on turkey livers and gravy with his food. He's always hopeful for more.  

Thanksgiving

Wishing all my fellow Canadians a Wonderful Thanksgiving weekend! May you openly receive and recognize the beautiful abundance that surrounds you, and hold gratitude close to your heart. 

Snow in October

For the past three days it has been snowing here in Edmonton, Alberta. And it is only October 9th. In some ways it is a nasty reminder that nature does what ever the hell she pleases and follows no true schedule. And on the other hand, the first snowfall has a nostalgia of being cozy and beckons us to curl up and read a good book or start working on another writing project. Perhaps both. I'm hoping in a weeks time this will all have melted and warmed up a bit for the little trick or treat'ers that will soon be knocking on my door.  Either way, I do believe it is that time of year to restock the Irish Cream.

Autumn

From Moments in Time, distilled Poetry&Prose.

Photo by Patricia Travers (that's me too!)

Amara the Oracle Reading

Quote: "Hope only turns into Reality when followed by Action" ~ Anonymous

AMARA'S RESPONSE: "Do some Research. Make a plan. Follow it through. There are things that Holy Grace cannot do for us; brushing one's teeth in the morning is an example. 

Amara the Oracle