An ancestor’s tale of betrayal,
murder, and a stolen fortune in silver leads Elise Baxter to Max Holt’s
Victorian inn. She is reluctantly, though
irresistibly, attracted to Max.
Leery of loving again, Max lets passion
overrule caution, tumbling them into an erotic encounter.
Guided by ghosts and opposed by an
evil presence, the couple searches for the treasure. But there are others who
will stop at nothing to unlock the mystery of the Silver Crescent.
The backstory features a group of miners in Leadville, Colorado.
For my first blog with Paranormal Romantics, I’d like to tell you about my first
published book, The Silver Crescent. I love old haunted houses, and I enjoy
using ghosts and witches in my stories. So what better than a pair of Victorian
ghosts in need of help? My setting was my home state of Michigan in the
beautiful Irish Hills. This is an area of small towns, late nineteenth-century
homes, and wonderful ghost stories.
With eager anticipation, I sent the MS of The Silver Crescent off to a
small publisher who responded with the comment, “You have a good story if you
could write it.” Ouch! I worked on her suggestions and sent it back. This time
she thought it was great, except she wanted me to make the ghosts mean.
For me,
as a writer, I can’t change characters' personalities at will. They are who they
are. I told her this, but she insisted I have a mean ghost. So I had to create
an entire new ghost character. This can be challenging because you can’t just
plop an additional character in anywhere. They must blend in with the story. By
the time I was done, I’d added fifteen-thousand words. The editor was right; the
mean ghost definitely added to the story.
This small press has closed, and I
have regained my rights to the book. Like other writers, rereading our first
work can make us cringe as all the no-no's in writing jump out at us. I’m going
to revamp the story, and hopefully my editor with Wild Rose Press will love it,
and it will be reborn.
Excerpt:
Cedar Bend, Michigan 1900
The bullet slammed into Cyrus Mosby’s chest. The pain was quick
and sharp. A dream-like sensation came over him as his body crumpled to the
floor. His eyes fell upon his wife’s portrait. With his last breath, he
whispered, “Virginia.”
“Cyrus, my love, I’m here.”
Cyrus opened his eyes. Confused, he stared at his beautiful wife,
kneeling next to him, silver tears streaming down her translucent face.
“Virginia?”
“Yes, love, it’s me.”
Cyrus took her outstretched hand and slowly sat up. Weightless, he
floated upward until once again he stood. “Virginia, I don’t understand. What’s
happened? How can you be here?”
Virginia brushed away her tears. “I couldn’t leave you. I’ve been waiting
for you to join me, but I never expected it to happen like this. Cyrus, I’m so
sorry. I had no idea of the evil that lurked within him.”
Still bewildered, Cyrus glanced around his library: tall bookcases
holding leather- bound books neatly arranged, the large mahogany desk where
moments before he’d been sitting, an Oriental rug now stained with the blood of
three men. His own lifeless body lay at his feet. And here was Virginia, dead
these past five years, standing in front of him. Tentatively he reached out his
hand and touched her face. His fingers brushed across air that felt cool and
thick. “I've truly joined you in death? Or am I dreaming?”
