A promise that will surely come back to bite me in the ass.

ghosts in the burbs

Jamie Walsh is a friend of an acquaintance of mine. A woman who I know through the PTO – hold on, have I told you that I am the Communications chair for our elementary school PTO? It’s the God’s honest truth. And not to toot my own horn, but several people have told me just how perfect my gif selection is for each little section of the weekly newsletter.

Here’s the thing, I like to volunteer, but I don’t want to be in charge of anything. I like to be a worker bee, so this has worked out to be a nice little position. I learned over the years that while it is important to contribute to my community it is equally important not to contribute in ways that make me want to pull my hair out. After trial and error I now know that I don’t want to herd…

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“Kerfol”—A Cool Vintage Ghost Story by Edith Wharton

The Sanguine Woods

C599C419-9A11-42DA-B027-C5308D91EA9CImage: EdithWharton.org


Edith Wharton, 1916


“You ought to buy it,” said my host; “it’s just the place for a solitary-minded devil like you. And it would be rather worth while to own the most romantic house in Brittany. The present people are dead broke, and it’s going for a song—you ought to buy it.”

It was not with the least idea of living up to the character my friend Lanrivain ascribed to me (as a matter of fact, under my unsociable exterior I have always had secret yearnings for domesticity) that I took his hint one autumn afternoon and went to Kerfol. My friend was motoring over to Quimper on business: he dropped me on the way, at a cross-road on a heath, and said: “First turn to the right and second to the left. Then straight ahead till you see an avenue. If you meet any peasants…

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The Sanguine Woods

(Penguin Press, NY 2019)


Mornings can also be places where starlight is stored. Reading some #MaryOliver—Upstream was the second-to-last thing she ever published. I met her in 2006 at the Tattered Cover bookstore in LoDo (Denver lower downtown). I had to hear her readings from another room—the room was packed. Then I waited three hours to have her sign four books. When I got to the front of the line and she saw the books, she heaved the collective sigh of drained emotives and intuitive wordworkers—she nodded at me, stood up; and quietly went out into the dark dripping alley for a goddam smoke break. (She did kindly sign them on her return, smiling, light blue eyes twinkling behind reading glasses on a silver chain.)
This woman woke with the morning. Walked with the doe in her forest. Plucked shells from the sand like diamonds. She loved…

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The Real Treasure of the Caribbean: Haiti, Part 3. Liberty Soup.


The final and the most important installment of this set of recipes (forPart 1, click here; forPart 2, click here) is unique – where else do you see a dish that symbolizes liberty? On January 1st, Haitians celebrate not only the beginning of a new year, but first and foremost, the beginning of their country’s independence, and they celebrate it by eatingSoup Joumou– the pumpkin soup, or yellow soup, as they call it.

The Statue of the Unknown Maroon (runaway slave), by Haitian sculptor A. Mangones, proudly stands in front of the Presidential Palace in Port-au-Prince as a symbol of the Haitian slave revolution that won Haiti her freedom in 1804 and thus created the second independent nation after the United States. No wonder this unique historical event is celebrated by a unique dish, a combination of soup and stew, but more on the…

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The Real Treasure of the Caribbean: Haiti, Part 2. Fried Accra.


Slavery started in Haiti with the arrival of Columbus. Met with friendliness, welcoming gifts, and delicious local fritters called Accra or Akra, he described the native Arawak Taino people as “tractable, and easily led; they could be made to grow crops and build cities” (Mellzer, Slavery: A World History, 1971). And the gentle, helpful natives were forced to do just that, as well as work in the gold and copper mines. Nobody knows how many Taino people had lived on the island before Columbus “discovered” them – nobody bothered counting! – but about a third of the population died of hard labor and European diseases within the first two years, and estimated 92% disappeared during the first ten years (Thomas, The Slave Trade: The Story of the Atlantic Slave Trade: 1440–1870, 2013).

Diego Colon.jpg

Don Diego Columbus, the 2nd Admiral of the Indies, 2nd Viceroy of the Indies and 4th…

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Treasuring Poetry – Meet author and poet Yvette M. Calleiro and a review

Writing to be Read

Today, I am delighted to introduce you to poet and author, Yvette M. Calleiro. I have read and enjoyed a few of Yvette’s lovely books and I am also a fan of her poetry.

Which of your own poems is your favourite?

This is such a difficult question because I’m quite critical of my poems, most likely because many of them come from deep within my soul and scrutinize aspects of my mind and heart which have spent a long time being hidden. One of my favorites is “The Battle Within.”

The Battle Within

I am brave.

I am strong.

I am confident.

My reflection tells me so

Every morning and every night.

I believe her

Until at some point in the day

My inner voice awakens

And slithers through the slopes of my cerebral cortex,

Seeking a soft space to enter

And inseminate her vitriol.

Her termites gnaw


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Haunted Locations:The Bell Witch Cave, TN

Stitched Smile Publications

Welcome back to Weird Wednesday when we explore the haunted and horrifying houses of the dead, the demons, and the dreadful. Today’s trip takes us to Robertson County, TN, home of the Bell Witch. The legend of the Bell Witch dates back to 1804 and has been known as one of the most famous haunted locations in America for decades.

According to legend, the Bell Witch declared herself to be the spirit of Kate Batts, who felt like she was cheated when John Bell bought the land. When the Bell family moved in, they led a peaceful life until sometime in 1817 when bizarre occurrences began to plague the family, both inside and out, as strange animal sightings began to occur on the farm, and violent episodes befell John and his daughter Betsy; they seemed to be the main targets for the occurrences, while the rest of the family had…

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Roberta Writes – Book review: Undead by Mark Brendan

What Amazon says

A collection of the author’s previously published pulp horror novellas, gathered for the first time in a single volume, Undead features three macabre tales of blood, terror and the living dead. In the first story, Exuma, a convicted seventeenth century heretic is shipwrecked along with his galley slave companions on a mysterious Caribbean island, where worse things than the surviving guards haunt the shadows. The second, The Worm at the Feast, is a darkly comedic, Gothic account of the life and misdeeds of an eighteenth century alchemist, who is also by turns a murderer, grave robber, bandit and necromancer. The final tale of historical horror, Temple of the Hyena, follows the exploits of a crew of deserters from Napoleon Bonaparte’s army in Egypt, lured into the deep desert by an ancient treasure map that promises riches beyond their dreams of avarice.

My review


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Guest Blog: For A Horror Writer, Inspiration Can Hit At Any Time


By Kaaron Warren

Most writers have an internal voice that runs day and night, even while we sleep. It’s the voice that points out ideas to us, that says, did you hear that, about a snippet of conversation, or see that, about a piece of grafitti or a stray dog trailing a leash, or new shoes neatly placed in the gutter. As a horror writer, that voice can show up in surprising places.

For me, ideas often come hidden in old magazines. There’s something about jumping into the past (and, in a way, seeing into the future because I can find out what happened next thanks to the internet) that sparks ideas for me.

When The Pixel Project approached me for a story for the important anthology Give the Devil His Due, I knew I wanted to write a story where the abuser truly felt the pain of regret and…

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These gorgeous huge poppies are bloomin’ up The Holler!

Also known as the Matilija Poppy, these are the largest flowers in the poppy family,

and they are the largest native California flower.

The blooms are 8 inches in diameter,

and the bushes grow to about 10 feet in height,

They are a challenge to grow, but so worth the effort!

Cheers to you from The Holler’s Romneya~

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It’s coming.

ghosts in the burbs

“How are the girls?”

“They’re good, really good,” I kinda fibbed. “I mean, one of them got whacked pretty hard with the family anxiety stick, but we’re managing. How about you? How are things there?”

There was a pause. “Quiet.”

“Quiet’s good.”

“Mmm. Speaking of, Biddy mentioned you haven’t heard much lately.”

I suppressed a groan. “Yeah, it’s weird, I’ve had an unexpected break.”

“But you’re still seeing spirits?”

“Oh no, nothing, no one.”

“Even Claire?”

“Even Claire.”

“Same here.”

“Wait, what? You can’t-“

“Radio silence,” Judith confirmed.

“Oh shit,” I breathed.

“Yup. We’re in the same boat. The energy has been wonky for months, but all of a sudden something is working very hard to block us from communicating with those on the other side. Or maybe it’s blocking them from talking to us.”

“My ears have been popping.”

“Go on,” Judith drawled.

“I just like, know it’s Claire…

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I Started a Novel—A Poem

The Sanguine Woods



I started a novel.
It’s scary.
Not the novel. Well, it is going
to be scary
But the act of it.
The writing down things
unbidden things
did not sound realistic
in the how-to books
(it sounded safer)
but seeing it happen
in real-time is
scary. Things start to grab at your
pen things dart about your room
things shadow the paper so
it never remains purely white
or yellow in candle-glow—
but gray and
hard to follow.
I need to
this down;
and so down
write it.


—(c)2022 by Sanguine Woods

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Roberta Writes – Two poems #Poetry

The void of unreciprocated energy


Caring actions


Supportive words


A listing ear


A helping hand




Into the black void

Of unreciprocated energy

Thoughts from your mind


Down, down

Chunks from your heart


Around, around

Pieces from your soul


Into darkness

There is no counterflow

From this churning spiral

Nothing is returned

From this infinite chasm

of take, take, take

Until the relentless pit

Has sucked in


Leaving behind

a dispirited husk

No longer capable

Of giving

by Roberta Eaton Cheadle

My second poem was inspired by a recital, by Rebecca Budd, of a poem called the Crystal Gazer by Sara Teasdale. You can listen to Rebecca’s rendition here: https://ladybudd.com/2022/04/08/the-crystal-gazer-by-sara-teasdale/

My poem, called The Relentlessness of Life was my poetic response. You can listen to it here:


I have poems in a new WordCrafter anthology which also features poetry…

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