Sharon's INSPIRATIONAL Short stories of Faith and Romance can be found HERE or visit her
Facebook Page, which also has the links in the comments.)

Wednesday, September 28, 2011

Wednesday Spotlight with Hywela Lyn

Oliver, looking devilishly ethereal in black satin, sits in a halo of soft amber light cast upon him from the moonlight, strumming on a lyre. Beneath a blanket of blue velvet and twinkling stars on this moonlit night, the Nine Muses splash in the lagoon, singing and dancing. A tropical forest of lush evergreens encompass the lagoon as the water nymphs perform. Love Doves quietly coo, their melodic voices floating through the night. A gentle breeze rustles, stirring the sweet scent of roses, orchids and camellias.
Holding a candle, Sharon undulates into the garden, looking elegant as the breeze ripples through the organdy pleats of her plum rose gown. Blowing kisses to the muses, she takes a seat at the gleaming glass table to await her guest. On a tinkering of wind chimes, Oliver swaggers off to greet the guest of honor, stopping to gracefully pluck up a bouquet of yellow roses.

Hello and welcome to Wednesday Spotlight! My special guest today is my dear friend and soul sister Hywela Lyn. Lyn is here this evening to chat about her fascinating book


 Let’s give her a warm welcome!

Thunderous applause echoes through the night as Lyn saunters out on Oliver’s arm, looking elegant in a long billowy gown of lavender blue

Sharon rushes to hug her friend. “Welcome, my sweet darling girl. Please, have a seat in the garden and make yourself comfortable. What beautiful roses, so thoughtful of Oliver to arrange them in this water dish where they can float. How are you, my dear?”

Lyn: My dear, sweet friend, I’m so thrilled to be here, and you look so beautiful , that colour suits you so well.  And Oliver, (Lyn blushes and lowers her eyes) you must surely be the best butler a hostess could ever have, you could charm the birds out of the trees.  Sharon dear one, you are such a lucky lady! How am I? Well I’m fine thank you, apart from a slight trembling of the knees!

Sharon: No need to tremble, my dear. Thank you for the lovely compliment. Might I return it. Lavendar blue is such a flattering color on you.

Oliver materializes with two sparkling goblets of mead, a scalloped platter of juicy red strawberries, raspberries, blackberries and blueberries, a sinfully rich dipping cream and long-stemmed Lady Godiva chocolates. Arranging the treats on the table, he plucks up a strawberry. Dips it in cream and feeds to Lyn, gazing into her eyes, a devilish smile curving his lips.

For you, love. Might I tell you how beautiful you look in the light of the silvery moon.

Lyn: (Blushes again) Oliver dear, you are such a flatterer, and such a handsome devil to boot!  If you keep saying things like that and feeding me cream covered strawberries, I’m likely to forget why sweet Sharon invited me here! (Lyn flutters her eyelashes, a dreamy smile hovering on her lips.)

Sharon: This is such a delight to have you here on this lovely evening. I can hardly wait to get the inside scoop on your book. Do share a little heavenly gossip about

Lyn: Well, let me see now.  The gods of Olympus are a mischievous lot you know, and tend to dabble in all sorts of things, even things that  don’t really concern them.  Zeus, despite being a loving father to his many children,  is a bit of a tyrant, aided and abetted by his handsome son Apollo, they conspire to send Terpsichore to Wales, on the pretext of helping the Celts regain their love of music and dancing.  Of  course there is a hidden agenda and Terpshichore is unaware that her destiny is about to be entwined with that of another legendary figure.

Sharon: Fascinating, so very intriguing. The cover is stunning. Our good friend Miss Mae designed it, lovely. Tell us about the celestial creation behind the making of this cover.

Lyn: Miss Mae must take all the credit for the cover, which I absolutely love! Terpsichore is not only the muse of dance, she is a water nymph, and can’t resist the lure of water, or the chance to bathe in a Welsh waterfall.  Miss Mae read the story and we both knew that a waterfall would have to feature in the cover, and I think she not only found the perfect falls to fit the scene, but also portrayed Terpsichore herself perfectly, hinting at her impishness and her magical gifts, as well as her beauty and seductiveness.

Sharon: Absolutely. I am so in tune with my muse and I know that you are as well. Share with us some intriguing insights about your muse.

Lyn:  Well, my personal muse also likes music. She tends to be more active when I have orchestral, moody music playing.  She’s also very elusive and hides from me for weeks on end, then when she’s ready to play again, she bombards me with ideas until my mind’s a whirl and I’m completely confused,. Other times she ‘plays nice’ and has even been known to write entire paragraphs for me!

Sharon: Yes, our muses are spirited little rascals, aren’t they just. Terpsichore is the muse of dance, and I dare say, a wee bit mischievous. Tell us about this delightful nymph.

Lyn: Oh, Terpsichore is perpetually young and beautiful, and of course dancing and music are her greatest joys – until she meets Myrddin of course, and then he becomes the main focus of her attention.  She tries to be a good muse, to be obedient and to her duty as a goddess of inspiration, but she is strong willed too, and isn’t going to allow anyone to push her around. She’s also sensitive and caring and once she has given her heart she will fight like a lioness to protect the object of her affection, however great the sacrifice.

Sharon: Speak of the angelic devil, look who just danced out of the water to grace our table. Sharon kisses her on the cheek. Such a pleasure, my dear Terpsichore. And here comes Oliver to sprinkle some devilish charm.

Oliver, captivated by the angelic glow emanating from this goddess of the water, kisses her hand, a beguiling smile on his lips.

A pleasure, Terpsichore, you are simply gorgeous. May I offer you a drink, my sweet love angel?

Terpsichore: Oh Oliver, you are quite divine.  Are you sure you don’t have Greek blood?  You would certainly be at home with any of the gods on Olympus.  A little Ambrosia if you please – or some honey mead if you don’t have any Ambrosia.

Sharon: Tell us about your role in Hywela Lyn’s book, Terpsichore. Such a fascinating love story, do share.

Terpsichore: Well naturally I’m the heroine – but you knew that didn’t you! I was sent on a mission by my brother Apollo and my father, the venerable Zeus, to 5th Century Wales.  Of course I’d been there before, quite some considerable time before, in fact, but they were so busy fighting off their invaders they’d quite forgotten about the dancing I’d taught them and had become a morose and miserable lot. My task was to re-inspire them, and it didn’t take long.  Terpsichore pauses, and rolls her eyes dramatically. Of course, knowing my father and brother as I do, I should have known there was more to it than they let on!

Oliver appears, silver tray of drinks balanced above his head. With a sweeping bow, he sets the Ambrosia down, then uncovers a sinfully delicious Devil’s Food cake. With great pizazz, he slices huge pieces.  Winking, eyes twinkling in the moonlight, he feeds a forkful to Terpsichore, then Lyn, overwhelmed by all the beauty.

Sharon: Terpsichore, do share a bit about yourself, the challenges you face in Dancing With Fate.

Terpsichore: I am one of the Muses of Inspiration. I have eight sisters, and we all have a different talent to inspire. Mine is dancing.  Humans need to dance, to free themselves of their cares and troubles, if only for a while.  Dancing is also often a significant part of the courtship process – so you see my inspiration is very important. However, not all gods are as good and peace- loving as I and my sisters. After I met Myrddin there was great danger lying in wait for us, from my own kin, not to mention the evil creatures that inhabited the dark places of Earth. Terpsichore  pouts sensuously before continuing. As if that wasn’t enough, I also had to contend with the irritating fact that my soulmate, the love of my life, was betrothed to another – and Myrddin’s sense of Honour would not allow him to be disloyal to her.

Sharon Poor darling. I’m sure Hywela worked it all out. Lyn, my dear, tell us how you the writer of song and dance solved this dilemma

Lyn: Well, it wasn’t really my doing, I had to rely on my muse for inspiration! She glances at Terpsichore and winks.  Characters can’t have it too easy can they? I can’t give too much away, but I will say that both Terpsichore and Myrddin went through a lot before they finally discovered what the higher gods had plotted and what Myrddin’s real destiny was – and yes, it did involve Terpsichore having to dance with Fate!

Sharon: Question to both of you about the lyre, such a magical and enchanting instrument. As you know, I’m a lover of legend and lore. I know there has to be a myth or two with celestial harp. Ladies, feed my fetish, wink.

Terpsichore: Ah yes, the lyre, I could not be without my lyre. They say the original instrument was invented by the god Hermes, as a child, when he strung a tortoise shell. He traded the lyre to Apollo, who was of course, among other things, the god of song and music, and he in turn eventually gave it to his son, Orpheus, a great poet and musician.
There are many legends about the lyre. One concerns ORPHEUS, A Thracian bard who was torn to pieces by the Bacchantes when they caught him spying on their secret rites. Apollo and  I - and my sister muses - placed him among the stars, as a kneeling man with a lyre. 

Lyn:  This is my favourite legend about the lyre. Once there lived a shepherd. He was an upstanding man, playing the lyre enchantingly. No one knew his name. Then one night the lyre player was caught in a heavy rain storm, and not wanting to wet his lyre, he entered a cave in the mountainside. Immediately, a strange warmth wrapped around him. Out of the pools of water in the cave, rose tall beautiful women who began to dance, in the air - they were flying! The lyre player began to play, accompanying the dance. The hours passed, the dance kept going on, and the lyre player, enchanted  by the fairies kept playing.

He never retuned  - and on moonless nights he still plays with the fairies in the cave and accompanies their dance, and the mountains echo the sound of his music.

Sharon: Thank you both so much for sharing such lovely legends. I’ll cherish them always. Look who joined us, why it’s Myrddin, blows a kiss. Tell us about yourself, your love for Terpsichore. Was it love at first sight when you saw Terpsichore, what drew you to her?

Myrddin: Absolutely it was love at first sight!  She was the most beautiful woman I had ever beheld. Who couldn’t be enchanted by such a lovely creature, emerging from a waterfall, her perfect body aglow with a soft radiance, and dancing as if she was the only woman in the world? For me, from that moment, she was. He puts his arm around Terpsichore and draws her close. Did I mention she was still completely unclothed?

Terpsichore giggles. Not once I spotted you, though.

Myrddin smiles knowingly: Too late - and your swift magical clothing of yourself only made me more intrigued.

Oliver appears: May I offer a drink?

Myrddin:  Oh I see you have mead, that will go down really well. My lady Sharon, may I compliment you on your hospitality,

Sharon: Thank you, Myrddin. How sweet you are.

Oliver is back with mead and Ambrosia and a copy of

Darling Lyn, my sweet, might I have your autograph, please?

Lyn: Dearest Oliver, of course.  Lyn signs with a flourish  
“To darling Oliver, who would surely be an inspiration to the muses themselves. With much love and adoration, Hywela Lyn. XXX”

Oliver accepts the book and departs with a sweeping bow.

Sharon: Sadly, our time has nearly reached an end. Lyn, my dear friend, always a pleasure. And such an added delight to meet the enchanted couple. Over Chai tea and dessert, here’s a teaser and links to DANCING WITH FATE

Thank you all for a fabulous interview.

Terpsichore performs a series of graceful twirls ‘on point’ before draping a beautiful silk himation , sheer as a spider’s web and soft as a whisper around Sharon’s shoulder, while Myrddin  kisses her hand and presents her with a single Welsh daffodil.  He and Terpsichore disappear into the clouds to the plaintive, musical strains of a lyre.

Thank you  for having us here, on your wonderful blog, sweet Sharon – and Oliver too of course. Your hospitality is beyond words. We’ve all had a wonderful time with you. Lyn gives Sharon a huge hug and blows a kiss to Oliver, before accepting yet another slice of Devils Food cake.

When Terpsichore, the Greek Muse of Dance, is assigned to revisit 5th Century Wales, and help the people regain their love of dancing, her task seems simple enough. She is unaware there is a hidden agenda. Before she can return to Olympus her path crosses that of the mysterious Myrddin, and her heart is lost.

But Myrddin is promised to another. His mind is set on the dangerous task that lies before him, and the woman he has sworn to save. Nevertheless, he cannot deny the growing attraction between him and the beautiful stranger he meets along the way.

Terpsichore and Myrddin face a deadly force that threatens to part them forever. Is she destined to lose the only man she has ever truly loved? Is there nothing she can do to save him? Finally, when all seems lost, in desperation she finds herself DANCING WITH FATE.


Shaking her arms free of the silvery drops of water, the muse squeezed the wetness from her long hair, of which she was inordinately proud. Of all her womanly attributes, she loved her hair the best.  It was so fine and silky it took hardly any time to dry. She spread her arms and let the warm air vanquish the last of the moisture from her skin. Oh this land was fair! She raised her arm in salute to Helios, knowing he could see whatever his warmth touched. 
Terpsichore twirled around on tiptoe, bending back her head and taking in the craggy mountaintops, the trees full leafed and swaying slightly in the warm breeze. On an impulse, she began to dance.  She conjured up a silky himation between her fingers and swirled it above her head as she moved to the accompaniment of her own voice.  So involved was she in her dancing she failed to realise she was no longer alone.

She was the loveliest woman Myrddin had ever seen. Spellbound, he watched her step from the falls.  He should have turned away but he found it impossible not to watch her as she dried herself.  When she started to dance, he was captivated by her grace and the eloquence of her movements.  She seemed unconcerned about her nakedness. Not that she had anything to be ashamed of, such exquisite beauty should not be covered. Long, dark red-brown hair fell like a veil of silk to below her knees. Her skin was smooth and flawless, her breasts firm and high, full but not heavy, above a tiny waist. 

            Her rounded hips undulated sensuously in time to her singing, while her upper body remained perfectly still. Her legs were slim and very long and she moved on tiptoe, her small feet scarcely seeming to touch the ground.  Between her fingers, she held a long piece of silky material, which she swirled around her, until it seemed almost like a living thing. 
Myrddin watched enthralled.  He’d never known anyone dance as she did. The way she swivelled her hips had him mesmerised.  Her voice was soft and clear, with a haunting quality.  It reminded him of the musical bells of Maes Gwyddno, the civilisation that now lay drowned beneath the sea:  at times of danger the bells were said to ring from beneath the waves. 
Moreover, it may have been a trick of the light, but she seemed to radiate a soft glow, pure and shimmering.  He shook his head in disbelief.  He must be imagining it. He'd eaten nothing since dawn, this was surely a vision brought on by weakness from hunger. 
Myrddin crept closer and a twig cracked underfoot. Before he could take cover, the beautiful dancer stood motionless. Her eyes, green as the depths of the ocean, looked directly into his.


Hywela Lyn spent most of her life in Wales and the beautiful countryside and legends inspired her to write. Although she now lives in a small village in England, she is very proud of her Welsh heritage and background.
She enjoys weaving romantic tales of the future, and distant, mysterious worlds, stories to truly take you 'out of this world' and beyond. Wherever the muse takes her, one thing remains constant in her writing: The power of love. Love, not only between her hero and heroine, but between friends and siblings, and for their particular world and the creatures that share it.

She is crazy about all animals, especially horses. She lives with her long suffering husband, Dave, and has two horses, two ferrel cats and an adopted Jack Russell terrier called Bouncer. Her pen name is a combination of her first two names. 'Hywela' is Welsh and her first name but it was never used and she has always been called by her second Christian name, Lyn.

Hywela Lyn's first novel, 'Starquest', a futuristic romance, and a sequel, to 'Starquest', 'Children of the Mist' are both available in print or Kindle version. Her fantasy novella 'Dancing With Fate' is also available now as an E-book from Smashwords, Kindle, and in print from Amazon.

Wednesday, September 21, 2011

Wednesday Spotlight with Rachel Brimble

Hello and welcome to Wednesday Spotlight! I’m pleased to welcome back Rachel Brimble. Rachel and I are sitting in Oliver’s pub on this lovely fall day, chatting about her latest book. Please come in and join us for a drink.

Standing tall and mighty in a sky of midnight blue velvet, fiery torches gleam like sorcerer’s flames. The interior of Oliver’s Pub gives chase to a marble staircase with an elaborately turned balustrade and high end sculptures behind beveled glass enclosures. Rushing down the corridor to meet Rachel, Sharon fights the urge to kick off her high heels and walk barefoot down the plush, red carpeting.

The beckoning wail of sax drifts out of the piano bar, the bluesy sound of jazz bristling beneath her skin. After spending the better part of the afternoon at a writers conference, unwinding over a chilled chardonnay sounds like utter bliss. Seduced by the sound of sax, she saunters up the three steps leading to the mezzanine and orders up.

As Rachel struts into the pub, She by Elvis Costello softly plays on the piano. Wildly winking, Oliver stands behind the bar, pumping his biceps.

What can I get you, love?

Rachel: Well, hello again, Oliver! You get better looking every time I see you…I’ll have a glass of your best Chenin Blanc, if you don’t mind. Thank you.

Sharon: Hello, Rachel, how are you on this lovely amber day?

Rachel: Absolutely fine, thanks, Sharon. Although I’m sure “fine” is going to up to “great” once I have that glass of wine in my hand, lol!

The glasses clink. Cheers, my friend!

Sharon: While we wait for Oliver to bring out appetizers and cocktails, tell us about the setting of your book. I understand it’s about a pub.

Rachel: The pub is at the center of the story, yes. It is owned by the heroine’s father but was managed by her mother until her untimely death. Upon the mother’s death, her ashes were scattered there. After her funeral, her husband announces he is selling the pub in its entirety. The heroine, their daughter Grace, begs him to give or sell it to her. He refuses. The battle commences…

Oliver materializes, balancing a bottle of Chenin Blanc and a platter of mini bruschettas above his head. Singing along to She, loudly and quite off key, he pours the wine in a glass and sets in front of Rachel, wildly blowing kisses. Plucking up a bite-size bruschetta, he plops it into her mouth, offering a bone-melting smile

Rachel: Mmm…do you want to come home with me, by any chance?

With great ceremony, Oliver arranges cocktail plates and napkins, singing the whole time.

Sharon: Tell us about the hero and heroine

Rachel: Grace Butler is the heroine. She runs one of her father’s many nightclubs and when the story opens she is tough and willing to work for him. However, the shine of the dangerous side of life is tarnishing. Her mother’s death and following argument with him gives her the push she has been waiting for and Grace leaves. And then the hero arrives…

Jimmy Betts is a social worker desperate to re-home four children, with him as their foster father before Christmas. He is racing against the clock or risking these kids being separated. His only option for quick money is to take a job with bad man, Karl Butler. But he actually ends up working for Grace…

Sharon: Ooh do share about these mysterious ashes

Rachel: The mystery is not so much about the ashes but why Grace’s father is so desperate to be rid of the pub that is his wife’s final resting place. And no, I’m not telling you anything. You’ll have to read the book ;)

Sharon: Oh, after such an intriguing build up, it’s a must read! Sounds like a spooky theme for Halloween. I understand there are a few ghostly secrets in this book, do share!

Rachel: The secrets are all Karl’s, Grace’s father. Once we find out what the secret is, it gives Grace the understanding and power of empathy and forgiveness. That’s all I’m saying. Sorry, Sharon as much as I love you, you’re not getting me to spill the beans. Well, unless I have another glass of this lovely wine, of course!

Sharon: Of course do indulge in another glass. And I know I speak for all readers, we can’t wait to purchase this intriguing book! I love to hate the villain. Tell us about the bad guy.

Rachel: The bad guy is most definitely Karl. He is mean, tough and violent. He wants things done his way or no way. He is a man who is used to being in charge and doesn’t suffer fools gladly. His communication is dire and often leads to upset and heartbreak.

Sharon: Ooo…make me shiver!

Oliver appears, pushing a caddy with coffee, tea and a decadent strawberry cheese cake. With the pizzazz of a French chef, he slices a huge hunk and feeds a bite to Rachel.

Rachel: Oh, my lordy lord! Did you make this Oliver? It is just divine.

Oliver graciously accepts the compliment with a sweeping bow. Plucks up a copy of Rachel’s book from the stack on the bar. With his most dazzling smile, he asks. If I might so boldly have the honor of your autograph, love?

Rachel: Of course, To my favorite man in the world, Oliver…all my love, Rachel x

Oliver: A keepsake to treasure always, thank you, my sweet.

Sharon: Sadly, Rachel, this brings us to the end of our interview. Before we part, my hobby is collecting legends and superstitions from my guests. Can you share one with me from this book?

Rachel: Hmm…not sure there are any legends or superstitions in the book. How about a lesson? Would that be okay? I think the lesson to be learned from Grace’s story is the importance of honesty. If people are honest, no matter how much courage it takes to be so, it causes less hurt that the lie ever can. Do you know what I mean? Lying hurts…and scars.

Sharon: Absolutely, my friend. Where can readers buy this book and get in touch with you?

Rachel: Love, love, love hearing from readers and you can contact me here:

Sharon: Thank you, and thank you for a delightful interview. Best of luck with your book. Here’s a teaser

Nightclub manager, Grace Butler is on a mission to buy the pub where her mother’s ashes are scattered – except the vendor wants to sell to anyone but her. And the vendor happens to be her father…with a secret Grace will do anything to uncover.

Social worker and all-round good guy, Jimmy Betts needs cash to buy a house for three special kids before their care home closes. In a desperate bid for cash, he agrees to a one-time ‘job’ for bad-man Karl Butler. But in a sudden turn of events, Jimmy finds himself employed by Karl’s beautiful, funny and incredibly sexy daughter, Grace.

Their lives are so different except for one unifying thread – they are both trying to escape the binds of their tyrannical fathers. But is the key to their liberty each other?


Rachel lives with her husband and two young daughters in a small town near Bath in the UK.  She started writing short stories about eight years ago but once her children were at school, she embarked on her first novel. It was published in 2007.  Since then, she’s had several books published with The Wild Rose Press, Eternal Press and Lyrical Press.  She recently acquired a US agent with her second Victorian historical. A member of the Romantic Novelists Association and Romance Writers of America, Rachel hopes to have a further two novels, one contemporary and one Victorian published in 2012.
When she isn’t writing, you’ll find Rachel with her head in a book or walking the beautiful English countryside with her family.  Her dream place to live is Bourton-on-the-Water. And in the evening?  Well, a well-deserved glass of wine is never, ever refused…

Saturday, September 17, 2011

Buried Alive

If you follow my blog at all or receive my newsletter, you know that I’m a huge Alfred Hitchcock fan. I was fairly young when the master’s television show aired for one hour every week
But the ones I remember left a chilling impression. While doing research for my latest book, I stumbled upon an interesting summary of one of Hitchcock’s weekly shows. I don’t recall this particular episode and am curious if any of my readers remember this one.


When a man is found guilty of murder and is given the death sentence by the judge, the man vows to come back from the dead and kill the judge.

After the hearing, the shackled prisoner is carted off to state penitentiary to await the death penalty. During his incarceration, he forms an alliance with the graveyard digger. After some persuading, the prisoner convinces the grave digger to help him escape and a plan is orchestrated. The graveyard digger instructs the prisoner to go to courtyard the next time there is a death and climb in casket with corpse until it is wheeled to nearby cemetery for great escape.

A few days later, there is a death. As instructed, the prisoner goes out to courtyard after dark for a smoke. When coast is clear, the inmate climbs in coffin with corpse and tightly secures the lid. Soon he hears clomping of footsteps on cobblestone courtyard and the casket is wheeled to cemetery. Hope soars, freedom is minutes away. But when he feels himself being lowered into freshly-dug grave, first pang of panic rises. When the dirt is shoveled on top of coffin, burying him alive, he breaks out in a cold sweat. Desperate, he tries to pry open the lid but to his horror, it’s locked. Curious to whom he is being buried alive with, he strikes a match. The dead man is the grave digger.

Sharon Donovan
Romantic Suspense with a Twist of Faith

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Sunday, September 11, 2011

In Loving Memory

In honor of all the heros and fallen angels of 911. We salute you.



Saturday, September 3, 2011

Disturbing the Dead

Did you feel the earth move last week during the earth quake? Many might have experienced a little rocking and rolling as it  affected at least 22 states. I live in Pittsburgh, so you can imagine my shock. As most days, I was seated at my computer, typing away, totally amerced in what I was writing, blocking out the world.

As an author, character development is key in making a story come to life on paper. I spend so much time inside my characters’ heads, working out their personality traits, their likes and dislikes, solving their problems, they become as real to me as dear friends and I get attached to them. When I’m having trouble working out a scene or character flaw, I literally place it in the hands of my muse and wait. Sometimes the problem will be resolved through a dream. I spend so much time with them, they often star in my dreams. Or in the case of Michael DeVeccio from MASK OF THE BETRAYER My nightmares.

Setting the scene is equally as vital to the story. It sets the mood and tone of the book after all. For the last several months, I’ve lost myself in research for a romantic suspense starring Detective Oliver. In this book, he works quite closely with a mediator in trying to catch a killer. So last week, there I was, deep in the throws of a murder scene at a cemetery. My characters were tramping through a creepy cemetery rumored to be haunted. Just when they were running past the tomb of a voodoo queen, my computer chair rolled on its wheels and my screen trembled. The hardwood floor beneath me shook and vibrated for a minute. Not knowing we were in the midst of an earth quake, for a fleeting minute, I was convinced that I’d roused the ghost of Marie Laveau!

Have a ghost story? Did you feel the earth move during an earth quake? Tell me whilst Oliver mixes your favorite drink with a wink and a smile.