Mother Ann

Ann, a non-believer in all things supernatural, has decided to spend the night in a hotel that is supposedly haunted.  No one really addresser the rumors, but as Ann enters the hotel, she can see why people would think that it's spooky.  The lady at the front desk, the old woman, and the old gentleman all seem like they're hiding something, and all Ann wants to do is disprove the rumors.  Welcome to The Norman hotel.

I got the idea for this back in March?  April?  My mother was reading about a haunted house and how people with the same name as one of the ghosts had encountered said ghost.  My mom wondered how the ghost would react to me, since I too have the same name as the ghost.  So, with this in mind, I decided to write a short story based on this conversation.

Here is an excerpt:


The older woman looked up at me with a sweet, warm, grandmother smile.  As she walked up beside me, she and the old gentleman stopped.  She folded her hands in front of her.

"Good afternoon," the older woman greeted, "I hope you have found your room to be satisfactory?"

I nodded.  "I did".  I looked around at the walls.  "This is a very lovely building."

She beamed at my compliment.  "Yes, thank you.  It has been in the family for generations."

I looked at her and smiled.  "You're the owner?"

"Yes, I am" she answered.  "Would you like a tour?"

I smiled at the thought that I could possibly ask her about the stories I had heard.  "Yes, I would love one."

The older woman returned the smile as she ushered me down the stairs to the next level.  As we walked, the old gentleman followed close behind, listening to the stories the older woman told, as if he had never heard them before.

She pointed out various ancestors as we continued onward to the next level.  Here she dug deeper into the family, expanding on their role in the family tree.

"And this is Ann," the older woman said, pointing to a picture of a young woman sitting in a chair beside a fireplace.  It was like looking into a mirror.  Her hair was tied up, but her face was familiar.  I was mesmerized by how similar we looked.  

"Oh, my name is Ann," I replied, pleased to have the same name as such a lovely lady.

The older woman turned to me, as if she were surprised.  "Your name is Ann?”

"Yes," I replied, wondering why she had asked in a horrified tone.  Her stare was as chilling as her body language: stiff, defensive, and fearful.  I looked at the old gentleman, who looked half as fearful as the woman; concern filled the other half.

I didn't quite understand what the tension was about.  I looked from the old gentleman to the woman, and back again.

She turned to the man, then back at me.

"Oh, well dear..." she began.  She folded her hands in front of her.  I looked back and forth once before she finished.  She gave a slight smile.  "It's just, I'm always so surprised when we get an Ann here.  It's such a wonderful treat."  She looked to the man, then tittered.  "Well..." she began, then smiled nervously and motioned for us to continue, possibly to direct my attention back to the tour.  I thought nothing of her reaction after that---she herself did not seem to think anything of it, maybe there was a chill in the air---and we began to descend once more.  As we reached the final level, she had one last story to tell.

~~~

I also recorded a video, which includes a couple more excerpts, and random talking about things that may or may not relate to the book.

And, without further ado, here is the link to Amazon, where you can buy the short story!

Thanks so much for checking out my blog!  Stay tuned for my next post.

Good night, good morning, good everything!

My Writing Journey (Thus Far)

Hello, my name is Sarah.  If you know me, you know that I have told my writing story many times.  If you don't know me, then you don't know my story.  So, here it is again, but a little more in depth.  Let us begin.

I am an only child, and with a mother who worked many jobs at one time when I was young, you can imagine how often I was alone.  I had to entertain myself quite a bit, and that I did.  I came up with stories every day, sometimes they were new, and sometimes they carried over.  The first story I remember creating was, I had an imaginary sister named Hailey, who was not very nice.  I also had another sister, but she passed away at one point.  I also had a boyfriend named John.  We were together for a while, if I remember correctly.

I remember writing my first story while at my mom's work.  She worked at a golf course as a waitress for the banquets they held there.  I went into my mom's boss' office and I wrote something alone the lines of: There once was a boy who went into the woods.  He saw a lake and in it was...  My mother loved it so much that she kept it (and we still have it).  I made my mom happy with something that I wrote.  This made me think that I was good at story telling, and writing.

Fast forward to 1999, my birthday.  My mom had a boyfriend at the time, who I watched play The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time.  I loved it so much that my mother bought it for me.  I played the crap out of that game.  I even read the crap out of the Verses strategy guide.  I took it with me everywhere I went: school, the store, I even read it in bed.  That thing is so ripped, and torn, and tapped.  I love it.  It told the story of the game, but it also read like a story on its own.

In fourth grade, we had to write a story that would be made into a book.  Yes, hard cover, cover art, name on spine, we even got to draw our own pictures.  I wrote it about Link.  I wrote such a long story, that I couldn't even fit all of it into the book, so I had to cut it down to about one-third of what I had.

In fifth grade, we had to write adventure stories.  At that time, I was playing Link's Awakening.  How fitting!  When my teacher read the first line, she was so excited that she read it to the class, and told them, "This is how you write an opening!"  Bang!  Boom!  Flash!  That's what I wrote.  And my teacher was excited?  I saw her reaction, and I really thought I was good at writing.

Some time after that, I wrote a poem which I entered into a contest, and it was chosen to be published in a book.  So somewhere out there, this book is floating around with my little poem way in the back (I have a copy, which I haven't looked at in years).

In eighth grade, my class was going to Washington D.C.  We all had the option to write a paper/an essay on the tomb of the Unknown soldier, for a chance to lay a wreath on it.  I was one of four that was chosen for this rare opportunity (I have the pictures to prove it).

In highschool, I wrote poems, lots of them.  I also wrote for the school's newspaper, and while a Senior, I was the yearbook copy editor (I think I also wrote something in there as well).  In my college English class, I wrote a paper that had everyone speechless.  No really, when I got done reading it, the room was silent for a minute.  Wow was all one person could say.

College, let's talk about that for a minute.  I went to college for audio production.  If it has to do with sound, I probably know a thing or two about it.  But while sitting in class in November of 2010, trying to learn about post production, I was at my computer writing a story for NaNoWriMo.  I only went to college because I couldn't get a job.

Summer of 2012, I went up to Michigan to visit my dad.  I remember staying up till who knows when, and I realized, I love to write, even when I hate it.  And I decided right there, that I was a writer.  I went back to Tennessee and I told my mom, "I want to quit college and be a writer."  She took it very well.  "Start with a blog," she said.

And so I did.  I went to school at the beginning of the quarter, I told them I quit, and I started a blog.  I have been writing on it ever since.

In 2012, I did NaNoWriMo again.  The characters were chatty, the setting was awesome, the plot came together quite nicely.  It was a success.  I won, but I didn't finish the story.  After quitting college, I got a job.  I didn't like it, but it kept me away from something I didn't want to waste time on.  My job got to be so stressful, that I stopped writing.  When I came home, I was so drained that I had no ambition to continue on with my story.  I was tired, went to bed, got up, and went to work.

That cycle continued until June of 2013.  My grandma, my mom's mom, who lived in Virginia, became very ill and wanted Mom and I to move in with her, and take care of her.  In August, we made it official, and in September, Grandma passed away.  In November, Mom and I took a trip to Texas, and while there, my characters from my 2012 NaNo decided to show up and tell me some important news: there's a second book.  I thought they were crazy, I hadn't even finished the first one!  But, they made me write the end of the second book, and when I got home, they made me start on the first one again.

In March of 2014, I got a job at a deli at a gas station.  Hey, it's the closest place to where I live.  I had a little accident that caused me to be out of a job for a little over two months.  Let me tell you, during that time, I couldn't do anything.  I couldn't do anything...but write.  And so I did, which led me to self-publishing my first short story, Mother Ann, and I finished my 2012 NaNo, titled Times.

I am a writer.  I write.  I tell stories.  This is my life, this is what I am meant to do.  Not a minute, an hour, a day goes by without the thought of a story running through my mind.  I see scenes, and characters, and situations everywhere I look, and in everything I hear.

And you are about to join me from here on out.

Welcome to my writing journey.