Samhain Publishing Ltd. Weblog

"It's Not the Juice, It's the Squeeze"

A couple of weeks ago I attended my stepdaughter’s high school graduation and during the valedictorian’s speech she said those words, “It’s Not the Juice, It’s the Squeeze.” She was talking about the journey she and her classmates had taken over the last four years and I loved it!

The writer in me immediately grabbed my trusty notebook and pen (two things I am never without) and quickly scribbled down her words knowing I would use them someday in a book.

But her words have taken on a personal note to me over the last week. And what a week it’s been!

An Inherited Gift?

When I look into the mirror, I see my father’s nose and when I look down at my keyboard I see my mother’s hands. I am messy like my Aunt, my mother’s sister. My daughter is neat as a pin like her Aunt, my sister. I can get myself anywhere with least amount of directions like my grandfather and my sister can’t drive her way out of paper bag without getting lost like my father.

Inherited gifts? If so, where did I get my love of writing?

The Best Christmas Gift Ever

Ghosts and Christmas? Do they mix? Well, I can’t say these were two things I ever put together before, but now they do for me because of the gift my father gave me one Christmas morning.

Eight years ago my father passed away just after Thanksgiving while in the hospital waiting for bypass surgery. It was a shock to us all and that holiday season was more subdue that normal.

My mother and younger sister were planning to come down to my house (about an hour away) on Christmas Day, but called around dinnertime on the 24th asking if they could come that night. It was just too hard to be in at my parent’s house.

Of course, my husband and I said yes and when it was time for bed, he and I got comfortable on the pull out couch and gave our bedroom to my sister and mom.

As the sun rose Christmas morning, I woke up to sunshine streaming through the windows and the sound of someone singing. It was coming from the bathroom, which was just off the living room.

I knew that voice.

Neither Rain, Nor Sleet, Nor Snow, Nor Wind, Nor Dead of Night…

A writer should write.

No, wait…that’s the trusty US Postal Service creed, but the same could be said of writers. Add, of course, nor day job, nor needy spouses or sick children, nor broken bones, nor the lure of American Idol or Days of our Lives, nor…

Well, you get the picture.

A Promise Is A Promise

When Christyne told me I could say a few words here today, I asked her if she was sure. After all, the woman’s been putting words in my mouth, literally, for a while now. She gently reminded me that she’s just the storyteller who was compelled to get my story told and since my name is on the cover on her first release, REILLY’S PROMISE, I should be able to pop in and introduce myself.

The name’s Reilly Murdock and I believe love of country is unconditional, right is right and wrong is wrong, and there are two things a man—hell, for that matter a woman too—should both keep and give away…his word.

My word is my bond. If I say I’m going to do something you can be damn sure I’m going to do it. So when an old friend, a man I’d trust my life with and have on more than one occasion in the past, asked me to do a favor for an old friend of his, I promised him I would.

Then he told me about Cassandra Van Winter.