ISBN#:  1-60154-171-6
Paranormal

Now in print, order from Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Target.

Available in e-book format:

Fictionwise   The Wild Rose Press    Amazon

E. G. Parsons

http://egparsons.com

What type of villain do you prefer when reading a story? Would you rather be told up front and center just exactly who the villain is? Or would you rather be kept guessing? My favorite villain is someone who lives a seemingly normal life, a likeable or even lovable character with a dark side.

I love trying to guess who the bad guy is. In genre romance it pretty much goes without saying that there will be a happy ending, but in general fiction endings can be anything and that to me is what keeps the suspense high. You never know who will fall victim to the evil ways of the villain and I’ve read some books where the villain wins in the end. Of course I’m not much of a fan of killing off the good guys in a story, but will admit sometimes I like the surprise of it happening because it’s unexpected. Being a romantic at heart though, I prefer the good guys to prevail.

When creating the villain in your story, think about how far you want to go. Are you writing a genre romance and want to have a happy ending? Do you want to keep his evil activities on the light side? Are you willing to push the envelope and have the villain do things that may offend some readers? Is he/she handsome/beautiful, charming? Or are they ugly and monstrous? Do they have a specific motive for what they do—revenge, an axe to grind, or mentally unstable? Do you want your reader to have empathy for them or just be waiting anxiously for them to get what’s coming to them? Do they have a sense of humor? What is their personality like in every day life when they aren’t being naughty? Give your villains a past that ties into the reason for their villainous activities.

In my book, BLACK ROCK: A TIME FOR LOVE, Bradford Wellman is a villain who has specific reasons for what he does, but I had one reviewer who didn’t understand why he did specific things. On the surface Brad loved his mother. Although he didn’t realize it himself, he also despised her—thought her weak. This caused a loathing disrespect for all women, thus his acts of cruelty towards Roxanne.

Write down all the personality traits that you find appealing and then write down all the ones you find offensive or appalling. Give your villain both good and bad personality traits and you’ll have a better character. Also pay attention to the things you have them do. Is doing a specific thing or crime out of character for them? Just as in real life, not all criminals commit all crimes.

Have fun creating those villains…until next time.
 

© Elizabeth Melton Parsons

http://egparsons.com

After my last rant, I was sitting here writing a nice cheerful post. Unfortunately the atmosphere just isn’t conducive to that kind of writing this morning. I should be writing on Night Terror, one of my works in progress. It’s as dark as midnight with sullen thunder, flashes of lightening and torrential downpours. A perfect day for writing horror and suspense. In fact, the weather is exactly like it is in the opening of Night Terror except it’s morning rather than night.

As a writer, I don’t have to have atmosphere to match the subject matter, but it sure helps to inspire that ‘just right’ feeling and saves time. I don’t have to imagine the storm, the eerie light or whatever. My pen flows with the words and emotions of what I’m experiencing. The wind has now picked up in intensity, thunder booming and although I didn’t think it possible, it’s grown even darker.

Marti, in Night Terror is a flawed, tortured character, stalked and hunted–pushed to the edge of reason. She’s like a cornered animal and is about to take that fatal step into the darkness of insanity.

I’m veering away from the romance genre with this one and returning to the writing I love. Hopefully once it’s polished, I’ll find a home for it.

Elizabeth

http://egparsons.com

I Won’t Be Voting For Barack Obama

I love getting emails from the readers of my blog, even if some of them are less than complimentary. Recently I’ve gotten a few asking why I’ve never written about my political views, especially with such a historic primary election taking place. After all, they said, “It’s clear you’re rather opinionated”. You can normally tell by the tone of a letter whether the person is being complimentary or insulting and at least a couple of these emails were insulting in tone. Not that it matters, insulting or complimentary—they were correct. I am opinionated.

The reason I don’t use my blog as a stage for my political views is simple. They’d be no more than raging rants and although perhaps entertaining for some, would simply annoy and offend most. But since you asked (and I’m sure you’ll be glad you did), I’ll give you an abbreviated and watered down version.

I’m what many would term an independent voter, I vote for the person I feel is best suited for the job. Considering my voting habits over the years, I’d probably be a Democrat, but I don’t support any individual political party. To me this would be akin to supporting some vast criminal organization. That’s pretty much my view of politics—organized crime. And the criminals sitting in Washington DC are sucking the life’s blood from the American workers. By American workers I’m not referring to corporations, those who run them or to those who are paid exorbitant salaries such as professional athletes, movie/music stars, famous authors, ect… I’m speaking of the normal workers, the farmers, factory workers, waitresses, nurses, secretaries, teachers, cashiers, truckers, and all the others whose backs this country is resting on.

Those backs are now bending like a sapling in a windstorm and I wonder how much more pressure they’ll take before breaking. While the so called ‘experts’ talk about people cutting back on summer vacation plans, turning down thermostats and making other cutbacks, a large number of these hard working Americans are trying to figure out what bill they can forgo paying in order to make a trip to the grocery store. And to all you guys who have your heads up your ass, it’s not because they’ve always lived beyond their means and are now paying the price. Although some have and do, most of these people have always lived below their means, driving used cars and living in fixer uppers or renting. They don’t entertain, take vacations or spend money frivolously. In the past some have done relatively well, even being able to put back money for their children’s education. Those days are fast coming to an end.

Those who have savings accounts are watching them dwindle or they’re already gone. Since most of them are already living a life style in which cutting back and scrimping are normal, they are now desperately seeking to find where they can cut back once again. The middle class is now becoming the ‘poor’ in America, and the poor? God help them.

As I stated above, I’ve always voted independently, but to be honest, I’ve only voted for two Republicans in my twenty years of voting. I have however, had a great deal of respect for many Republicans in office. The Republican Party itself has generated no such respect. In terms dictated by our society, my financial situation has gone from poor to upper middle class over my adult life. The American dream, start at the bottom and work your way up. It was no easy task climbing that ladder and now I can almost feel it being ripped away from my feet. Since I’ve never been wealthy, I rarely vote for the Republican Party in an election as important as the office of president and won’t be voting in the upcoming presidential election at all. I’ll not vote for our Republican candidate, even though I have nothing against him. He’s simply another politician whose party is well known for stomping the guts out of the poor without giving it a second’s notice.

Then we come to the Democratic candidate, Barack Obama. I’m still pondering the love affair America is having with this man. I don’t understand it. I’ll admit he can be charming—could sell air conditioners in the middle of a blizzard. But it’s all surface charm, without substance. This country needs change and if OB wins the election, I’ll be curious to see if he can be the savior everyone seems to think he’ll be. To me, he’s simply another elitist Republican dressed up like a Democrat in order to win votes.

Like many of my comrades, I’m hurting financially and regardless of all the bull shit being spouted by the experts, everyone knows deep down that if things don’t take a drastic turn, more and more are going to be hurting and badly. No one likes to lay blame, but in this case, all these present financial woes can be placed squarely on the shoulders of the present administration.

Elizabeth Melton Parsons

http://egparsons.com

After getting Katie down for a nap, I went back to the nurse’s station. Janice was just finishing her paperwork. “Why was Katie still up?”

Janice raised her head, a blank look on her face, as she tried to switch her thoughts from what she’d been writing to my question. “I don’t know. She wouldn’t let anyone touch her. She wanted her ‘Bubble Girl’. Why does she call you that anyway?”

“Because I chew bubble gum and I blew a bubble one day and she saw it.”

Her face wrinkled in distaste. “That’s a disgusting habit. You shouldn’t be chewing gum on shift.”

“Ill mannered perhaps, but not disgusting and there are no rules against it. Who was on day shift?”

“Barb and Kevin here on the west wing, why?”

“Just curious.” I’d had my suspicions about Barb for a while now and the fact that Katie didn’t want the woman near her only strengthened them, but why hadn’t she let Kevin put her to bed?

“Here comes Pat. I’m out of here. Have fun.” Janice hurriedly draped her sweater over her shoulders, grabbed her purse and was halfway to the time clock before Pat had even reached the desk.

“Where’s she going in such a hurry? Got a hot date or something?” Pat turned and watched, as Janice rushed down the hall.

I laughed and shook my head. “Just happy her shift is over. Katie’s been difficult today.”

“Katie’s always difficult unless you’re here. But I don’t blame her for that. You treat her like a queen.”

“I don’t treat her like a queen. I treat her like a human being and that’s no different than I treat anyone else.”

“Not true. You broke the fundamental rule of elder care. You bonded—got too close and not only to Katie, but others like Ben.”

“Ben’s a doll. I can’t help it if I like him.”

“He’s a crotchety old man and has half the aides scared witless. Do you know some won’t even go in his room?”

“It’s all bluff. He’s the sweetest man ever. They need to tease back with him and when they see that silly little grin sweep across his face, they’ll know they’ve won him over.”

Pat laughed and went behind the desk, pulling the day reports out and looking them over. “I know that and you know that, but they don’t and I have to admit, I get a kick out of seeing how intimidated they are.”

“Meanie.”

She grinned and handed me a paper. “Here’s a list of the showers that weren’t done on day.”

My heart sank, as I saw the long list. “Goodness, did day shift do any showers?”

“Only two and don’t ask me why. I wasn’t here. And something else, you’re on your own tonight. Sally called in.”

“What a surprise. I’d better get going if I’m going to give twenty showers before supper.”

“I’ll help, as soon as I finish meds. We can save some to do right before bed time.”

“Thanks, Pat.” Sighing heavily, I hurried down the hall in answer to the blinking light over Mr. and Mrs. Paulson’s door. The couple was self-reliant, so I hoped whatever they wanted could be quickly dealt with. It was going to be a long night and I needed to find time to question Katie about Barb in such a way that she wouldn’t know I was fishing for information.

To be continued….

©Elizabeth Melton Parsons

http://egparsons.com 

Author Interview with Tammie at Nite Owl Romance. These guys do great interviews, I always enjoy reading all the interviews at NOR.

Thanks so much Tammie. http://www.nightowlromance.com/nightowlromance/interviews/EGParsons.asp

A Father’s Gift

Straightening, I stretched my back and wiped the sweat from my brow. The seemingly endless rows of corn offered shade, but blocked any breeze that might offer relief from the sweltering mid summer heat. I longed for the shaded coolness of the creek bank—could almost feel the cold rush of water flowing over my feet, as I delved into the fantasy world of the book I’d began reading the night before. The image lasted no more than a moment before reality reasserted itself.

Grumbling, I once again bent to the task of removing the morning glory vines from the fully mature stalks. As I contemplated the insanity of the chore, anger moved over me the way a dark cloud covers the sun. It swelled in intensity with every vine I pulled. By the time I’d reached the end of the row, a raging storm had brewed within me and it’s fury begged for release.

Dad stood at the end of the field, leaning on the handle of his hoe. He watched me, as I pulled the vines from the last corn stalk. To my anger-shrouded mind, he seemed an evil overlord and I imagined he’d invented the chore simply to torment me.

“I could hear you mumbling all the way down that row.”

It was embarrassing to know he’d been listening to my grumbles and I had the most absurd feeling that he’d somehow invaded my privacy. This of course only added to my anger. “It’s too hot and I don’t know why we’re doing this. It’s crazy and useless.”

“If we don’t pull the vines, they’ll choke the corn.” He spoke reasonably, as though any idiot would know this.

“The stalks are fully grown. Those vines aren’t hurting it at all.”

“The ears aren’t fully set.”

“I don’t care. I love morning glories and I’d rather see their beautiful flowers blooming than this ugly corn.”

“Morning glory flowers won’t feed the pigs come winter.”

With every word of this argument, I could feel my peaceful afternoon of reading on the creek bank slipping farther and farther away. My anger wanted to shout out at him, but I pushed it back. I was only fifteen, but far from stupid. If I went so far as to scream at him the way I longed to do, he’d only think of some other way to torture me tomorrow. Glaring at him with an emotion very closely resembling hatred, I turned my back and started down another row. Maybe if I worked fast enough, I could still salvage part of the afternoon.

Unfortunately, the work continued till the sun began to set before we trudged wearily to the house when hearing Mom’s call to supper. Every day for the next five, my younger brother and I followed Dad to the field, pulling vines from dawn to dusk. My brother worked quietly while my complaints about pulling the colorful flowers grew louder and more frequent with each passing day. Dad never said anything. I suppose he figured as long as I was getting the job done, I could grumble away.

On the last day, I walked lightly to the field, a spring in my step. There was a cool breeze, compliments of the night’s passing storm. It blew over the stalks causing them to sway and ripple in one mass of beautiful green. It was like watching waves rolling over the sea.

“It’s lovely.” I said aloud.

I thought of the coming autumn and the chore of picking all that corn, throwing it into the wagon and then riding the wagon back to the corncrib in the barn. It brought a smile to my face. It was a chore I loved and never tired of. There would be no complaints coming from my mouth during those workdays. Dad stared at me for a moment before heading for the far side of the field where there were only a few rows left to weed. There would be plenty of time today for reading and my mood brightened even more as I followed behind him.

Two days later I stood on the front porch and watched, as Dad dug holes along the garden fence that bordered our drive. He’d been gone all morning and just returned. I couldn’t imagine what he was doing. It was too late in the season for planting. Mom came out and stood beside me.

“What’s your dad doing out there?”

“Looks like he’s going to plant something.”

“Well, go tell him lunch is ready before he gets too far along and forgets to come in.”

I sauntered across the soft grass, enjoying the feel of it on my bare feet and stopping short of the gravel driveway. “Mom says to tell you lunch is ready.”

“Okay, I’ll just be a minute.”

Being a teen, I was loath to show interest in what he was doing, but my curiosity got the better of me. “What are you doing?”

“Planting morning glories along the fence for you.”

My mouth fell open. “Why?” I could barely get the one word out around the fist-sized lump that had formed in my throat.

He continued to work, not looking at me, as he answered. “You said you love them. I can’t have them choking the corn, but you can enjoy them growing here along the fence.”

Moisture gathered along my lashes and I rapidly wiped it away, hoping he hadn’t seen. My voice was thick with emotion, as I asked, “Will they live, being planted this late?”

“They’ll live, I’ll see to it.”

Dad wasn’t the type of man to show outward signs of affection, and I’d often doubted his love for me. But with every vine he put lovingly into the ground along that fence, I could feel my heart rejoicing and hear the words, I love you, loud and clear in my mind. I never really understood this man who was my father and at times the distance between us seemed much too wide to bridge, but I understood this gesture. Every morning for years afterward whenever I’d step onto the porch and see those lovely purple blossoms, the gulf between us shortened. Today when I see morning glories, my heart swells with the memory of this gift of love given by my father.

Copyright ©Elizabeth Melton Parsons

http://egparsons.com 

Anyone remember that old song by The Capenters?

“Nothin to do but frown,

Rainy days and Mondays always get me down…”

Well it’s a Monday and it pouring, but I’m not down. I am a little irritated because my trash pickup came at 7:15 AM instead 10:00 AM, as they’re supposed to. There’s really nothing quite like the feeling of exhuberance one feels while wrestling three large bags of trash down the drive in the pouring rain. Love it.

I do like the rain though and have been known to walk, dance and sing in it. But the way the lightening is streaking from the sky this morning, I think the walk down the drive was enough for me this morning. I have good news on my brother who had the massive stroke. He’s making steady progress and doing so much better than they had expected him to. So thanks to all who offered prayers on his behalf.

I have another author interview this morning at Debby Allen’s blog. A big thank you to Ms. Allen for a wonderful interview! Check it out:

http://authorinterviewspromotion.blogspot.com/

Check out my author interview with Sheila at Wild On Books: http://www.wildonbooks.com/interviews/2008/e_g_parsons.htm

While you’re there be sure to read some of their book reviews. It’s a great site–very easy to browse. These guys do a fabulous job with their interviews and reviews. A great big thank you to Sheila for such a wonderful interview!

Katie Blue Eyes

Gail…! I could here her calling for me before I’d made it halfway down the hall leading to the west wing. I made a right at the nurse’s station and headed for her room.

“She’s been calling like that all day. It’s given me a splitting headache. I’m sure glad my shift is over.” Janice continued to grumble, as I just smiled and continued to Katie’s room.

Janice was a nursing supervisor and I often wondered why she’d entered geriatrics. She was short on patience and had a decided lack of compassion for the elderly and disabled in her care. She did her job though, and did it well. She was dependable—someone you could count on in any situation. For that reason, I was sorry she’d had the day shift and I’d be working with another nurse during the evening. Katie’s voice rose to a crescendo and I hurried my steps.

She stretched her arms out to me when I approached. “There you are, Bubble Girl. Will you lay me down for a while? I’m so tired.”

She sat in her special chair, the high back leaning backwards a bit so she couldn’t topple forward. Pillows were stuffed down beside the arms to prevent leaning too far to the left or right. Katie did look tired and uncomfortable. Had she been sitting in that chair since breakfast? Taking her hands, I gave them a gentle squeeze, careful of the soft papery skin that could tear so easily.

“Of course I will, but why are you still up?” I was annoyed. All the residents who couldn’t fend for themselves were supposed to be put to bed for a couple hours rest before the evening shift arrived.

“I called and called, but no one came. I’m sorry I called your name, but I was so afraid that other one would come.”

My hands stilled on the coverlet I’d been turning down. This wasn’t the first time Katie had made reference to ‘the other one’, but when questioned, she’d clam up. Bending over her chair, I looked down into the biggest, bluest eyes I’d ever seen. Eyes so beautiful, they didn’t seem real, but the fear and confusion within their depths were real enough.

“What other one, Katie?”

“I don’t know. Are you going to lay me down, Bubble Girl? I shouldn’t call you that should I? It’s rude.”

“You know I don’t mind a bit, Katie.” I felt it best to get Katie to bed and let the questions go for now. Eventually I’d get to the bottom of who this other one was and what they’d done to generate such fear in the helpless ninety year old.

To be continued….Part 2: http://elizabethmeltonparsons.wordpress.com/2008/06/27/katie-blue-eyes-2/

©Elizabeth Melton Parsons

http://egparsons.com