#FolkloreThursday - The Sandman #European

De Zandman. Frontispice uit de Nederlandse vertaling

'Sprookjes: tweede verzameling', 1847

Most think of the Sandman as a benevolent character from European folklore. Sprinkling magical sand onto the eyes of children, he was responsible for good dreams. His appearance was usually that of an old man wearing golden robes, and carrying a small bag of sand. Innocuous enough, right? But there were other folkloric versions of the Sandman who were quite different, and creatures you wouldn't wish to encounter.

A "less-beloved" version of the Sandman had long fingers, sharp teeth, and discolored skin like a that of a dead person. Hiding in the dark, it whispered, "tik-toc, tik-toc" in order to lure its unlucky victims into a deep sleep. Once asleep, this Sandman would come out of hiding and devour its prey. It only needed to feast once per night, but would sometimes choose to kill for fun.

Yet another version was used to scare children. If a child refused to go to sleep, this Sandman would sneak into their bedroom and throw sand into their eyes, causing them to itch. When the child rubbed, their eyes would fall out onto the floor in a bloody mess. The Sandman would then collect those eyes to feed to his pet bird.
Sleep well, little children.

By the late 19th century, the Sandman had transformed from a monster, into a more benign character. This led to the belief that there were two Sandmen, perhaps brothers. One brought good dreams, while the other had more evil intentions. In some folklore, their powers were even more varied. There were family Sandmen who offered special dreams, power over dreams, or glimpses into the future.

Over the years, the folklore has continued to change due to popular culture. It will be interesting to see what happens to the Sandman fifty years from now.

So...which Sandman will be visiting your dreams tonight?

Thoughtful Thursday - Out of the Mouths of Babes

Eloquent 3-year-old, Luiz Antonio

Thoughtful Thursday-The Things That Scare

Photo courtesy of Anant Nath Sharma via Flickr

It may be because I write paranormal horror, but there are very few things that scare me. What ranks up there is watching my youngest during her horseback riding lessons and wondering why it takes my oldest so long to answer my texts. You know. mom stuff. The things most people find scary don't do it for me any more.

At what point do classically scary things fade into real-life scares? I can't say that I've ever been afraid of the paranormal. It is what it is. The real fear came after I had kids. The first time my 3-month-old spiked a fever, the first time my 2-year-old fell down the stairs, the first day of Kindergarten when I wondered just how far the umbilical cord would stretch. And it got worse. I still remember when my 7-year-old thought it would be a neat idea to do a back flip off the chair. That went well. Fast forward to school dances, hanging out at the mall, first texts and the internet--all scary, scary things.

That said, I do find this picture kind of scary. Not because of the shades of paranormal within it but because the thought of suffocating behind a sheet is freaky. Have a great week everyone...and mind the bed sheets.

#Paranormal Wednesday-What Lies in the Trees

I'm going to toe the line between paranormal in nature and my writer's brain on overdrive. I know you'll forgive me. Last week, I went on a writing vacation to pin down the location and feel for the book I'm working on, tentatively titled THE ISLAND. My agenda was to take an airplane up to Canada, a ferry to one particular island, then kayak to another, smaller island.

It was quite the trek but totally worth it. I was able to get a feel of being on a remote island--which was crucial for this novel I'm working on. Plus, I spent the day exploring and doing what I love to do--hike.

About two hours into my hike I came across a huge tree in the middle of a grove. Its center was burnt-out and the tree stuck out like a sore thumb (there was no fire damage to any of the surrounding trees). Upon examining the tree closer, I was surprised to find a child's tricycle inside. A child's tricycle out in the middle of nowhere...on a tiny little island. A definite WTH?? moment and one that sent my writer's brain in a thousand different directions.
I combed the area to look for a child but found nothing. No adults, no children--there was literally nobody around. Hm. I walked back to the tree, took a picture of the outside and continued with my hike.
That evening when I got back to the mainland, I downloaded my photos onto my computer.

Now, this is probably a trick of the light but I didn't see it when I took the photo. This is the outside of the burnt-out tree. There's a spot on the tree trunk (where the arrow is pointing) that looks like a tribal mask. It kind of brought chills to my spine in conjunction with the tricycle and my location. But again, this could be my writer's brain in overdrive.

What do you think?

**When I was writing this post, my daughter pointed out yet another face inside the tree (where the arrow is pointing. Scroll up to get a bigger picture). At the risk of being one of those people who see the Virgin Mary in their oatmeal--I'm also going to figure this may be a trick of the light and perhaps "just" the way the wood was burnt. One could even go so far as to consider that both masks were carved by a local.
Regardless, I found the whole thing intriguing.

Frightening Friday-Wanted: Babysitter

Photo courtesy of Seemann via morgueFile

I was chatting with my daughter last week about my first babysitting experience. I started babysitting pretty young (12-years-old to be exact) and in retrospect, my first job would have been an excellent opening to a horror movie.

We had just moved to a small town which sat on the border between Alberta and NWT. The town has since grown but at the time it was very much out in the boonies. It wasn't uncommon to see bear and moose roaming down main street. Our first week there, my parents met a young couple in need of a babysitter for their one-year-old son. Knowing I was itching to prove how responsible I was (and to earn some money) my mom caved and allowed me to offer my services.

The evening finally came and I packed my backpack with homework and snacks and hiked through the woods to their house. The couple handed me their son, some instructions and off they went to enjoy their evening.

The baby and I played for about an hour. Eventually, he became tired and I put him down in his crib, said night-night and shut his bedroom door. My job done, I settled down in the living room, turned on television and proceeded to do my homework. About an hour went by with not a peep from the little guy so I decided to check in on him. As I walked down the hallway, I heard a "click" at the same time I saw the light go on from underneath his bedroom door.

Okay, about a gazillion things went through my mind at that point.

1) The baby couldn't get out of the crib and wasn't walking yet
2) Even if by some miracle he had started walking between the time I put him down in the crib and now--he wasn't tall enough to reach the light switch
3) Which meant somebody was in the bedroom.

The light turned on and off twice more before I quietly started to freak out.
I could call the police. But by the time they got there (I argued with myself) whomever was in the bedroom with the baby could easily hurt him. I was in charge of that baby. Me.

In retrospect, I should have gotten the hell out of the house and called the police. In fact, in telling my daughter this story, I told her exactly that. But at twelve, I was trying to prove myself and felt like it was all on me. So what did I do?
I opened the door.

Those that have babies know that even when they cannot walk yet, one-year-old's are ingenious. This little guy was no exception. The little munchkin had pulled himself to standing and quietly rocked the crib (which was on wheels) back and forth several feet along the wall to where he could reach the light switch. Best. Toy. Ever.

I don't think he was expecting me to burst into tears once I saw there was nobody else in the bedroom with him. Which got him crying as well. *sigh*

The parents got home late that night after Mr. Happy Light Switch had long dropped off to sleep. When I told them what happened, they laughed it off with a, "Oh, he does that sometimes."

Parents. Please tell your babysitters if your children do weird s**t like this because you may not be so lucky. Your babysitter may decide to run screaming from your home and leave your kiddos to fend for themselves.

#Paranormal Wednesday-Imaginary Friends

Photo courtesy of jdurham via morgueFile

Did you ever have an imaginary friend when you were a kid? I did. I had one when I was about four-years-old. He was kind of faceless (well, it was blurry when I would try and look. Eventually I just gave up trying) and was always in my peripheral. I was an only child and he would indulge me by playing tag or hide-and-go-seek. Sometimes, we'd play board games. My mom would come into my room and I'd be chatting away and accusing him of cheating (which he did). She would frown and give me a stern talking to about real vs. imaginary.
In retrospect, I think it used to freak her out.

I know some kids blame their imaginary friends for doing things they'd otherwise get in trouble for. I never did that. I think he kept me out of trouble, truth be told. Kind of like a little voice in your head that says things like, "Do you really think that's a good idea?" or "Really? *sigh*"  Yeah, I was one of those kids.

As imaginary friends go, he eventually stopped showing up. I'm not sure I ever forgave him for that. I had a rough childhood and could have used a friend. Such is life.

There are two theories about imaginary friends. One is scientific and pretty cut-and-dry, the other is a little more complex and open for debate.

Theory One: Psychological
A phenomenon-where a friendship or other interpersonal relationship takes place in the imagination rather than external physical reality. 
This is the standard explanation offered by child psychologists. Most young children socially interact with dolls, stuffed animals and toys. But according to one study, only about 37% of children have imaginary friends. When questioned, the number drops even further--only 2% of these children insist they are real.

Theory Two: Paranormal
Children are much more open to seeing ghosts and other entities. Once they hit adolescence, it is no longer widely accepted by society and the phenomena either disappears or is kept secret. 
There are numerous claims that support this as well. Jason Hawes, co-founder of The Atlantic Paranormal Society (TAPS) states, “Many times, when I am contacted by someone having a paranormal situation, I am informed that their child or children are playing with invisible friends and that they talk to things that are not there." Hawes explains that the child could be psychic, and may possibly be “sensitive,” but a better explanation is simply that children have open minds. “They have not been conditioned by society yet as to what is real and what is not,” he wrote. “Over the years they will be told, ‘Stop playing with your pretend friend Bobby,’ and this helps close them off to what they experience. We have done some investigations into this, and the conclusions are outstanding.”

While I understand Theory One and in most cases support it, Theory Two gives me pause for thought. I was convinced that my imaginary friend was real. It was only through constant reprimanding that I eventually learned to keep my experience quiet and convinced myself that my imaginary friend was...imaginary.
Is conditioning children to deny their experiences a parental obligation? I find that kind of sad, really. I always indulged my children when it came to their imaginary worlds and friends. It's what leaves us open to life--in all it's complexities and unexplained madness.

How about you? Are there any stories you would like to share?

Thoughtful Thursday-Work Life Balance

...of which I've been trying to juggle, as of late. My kiddos are tracked out of school this month and I've promised to stay off my computer unless they are sleeping or otherwise engaged. The writing, blogging and promoting has been relegated to the wee hours of the morning, or done late at night. It's difficult because, as a writer, work usually exceeds an 8-hour day/40-hour week. The computer is always there, the ideas are always in my head, and book promotion is never-ending. But, I intend on keeping my promise because my kiddos are more important to me than anything.


Check back tomorrow for a sneak peek of The Island, my novel in progress.

Have a great day 

Artistic Solitude...or, Go Away, I'm Writing.

Oh, happy day! I’ve finished my next supernatural horror novel, STRUCK. One more go-through, and it’s ready to send off the publisher. 

I’ve been writing in fits and starts and grabbing writing time when I can. I love my family and wouldn’t trade them for the world, but, oh my gosh, we’ve been on a busy schedule this past year. It’s a schedule I sometimes find extremely frustrating as an author. Especially when I require a HUGE block of time to read my manuscript from beginning to end—the only way to assure myself of a smooth, cohesive, storyline.

I’ve hinted to my husband, who puts up with much, that it might be nice if I was able to book a hotel room for one night. It would allow me this final time I need, and with absolutely no distractions. No dogs to play door-slave to, no cats asking to be fed/pet/cleaned-up after, no dishes that need doing, no floors rolling with fur balls, no kiddos to be picked up from school and driven here to there, no math homework to help with (ugh), and no breakfast, lunch and dinners to make. I love these things in my life, but when it comes to writing?
Absolute solitude with no distractions would be ideal.

His answer to my hotel request was, as expected, a reminder that hotels can be expensive, save for the sleezy ones, and an offer to look after the kiddos while I went upstairs to sequester myself in our bedroom. 

Sigh. I love him for that, but… Another writer may understand why this doesn’t work. In the midst of wrestling with my protagonist’s decent into madness, my antagonist’s evil complexities, or my layers of Otherworld, there will be a point where my family will pop in to say hello, need to use our bathroom for some bizarre reason (we have three), ask me if I want food (go away, not now), or during a coffee run (more crucial than food, folks), ask me that dreaded question, “How’s the writing going?” 

Forgive me if I snarl and bite, or perhaps stare at you like you’ve spoken some foreign language that I can’t possibly understand, but, “Go away, I’m writing.”  I would be civil and answer you but I’ve pushed all my words and emotions through my fingertips and have none left to push through my lips.

So, I’m left with the possibility of grabbing an all-nighter while my husband is on a business trip, begging one of my pet-sitting clients to do a trade; free pet-sitting if I can spend the night at their house (which may or may not work), or shelling out $40 for a night of solitude at some sleezy motel. 

I’m thinking the sleezy motel may work just fine.

Sewing Like a Sailor

So, sometimes my Mom Stuff takes precedence over my Writerly Self.

For the past month, I have a long-dreaded sewing project that’s been on my “to-do” list. It’s right up there with cleaning out my closets and dusting the attic, actually.

My older daughter is a fan of all things manga and cosplay. There’s a huge event coming up in May and she’s decided that she wants to dress up as an Assassin’s Creed character. And I’ve agreed to sew the costume.

*face palm*

Why do I set myself up for these things? I’m a writer, not a fashion designer. I write about ghosts and demons and things that go bump in the night. I write about what’s under your bed, and what creeps in from the Otherworld. And I have minions. I don’t sew. 

Correction-I can sew, but I hate it with a passion. The last time I sewed something, it was a squid costume. Yes, you read that correctly. When my daughter was in Kindergarten, the class was encouraged to dress up as their favorite character from their favorite book. While the other six-year-olds were dressing up as Angelina Ballerina or Batman, my daughter decided she wanted to dress up as the giant squid from Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea. I was cursing like a sailor trying to sew that baby up. But it rocked, if I do say so myself. 

So, back to Assassin’s Creed. We went to the material store and leafed through countless catalogues looking for a pattern that remotely resembled what you see in the photo. The closest we could come, was a costume if you were dressing up as Jesus. Yeah.

After we decided that was as good as it gets, it took us an hour to peruse the countless bolts of fabric to find the right material. And then, there were the notions…the bits and bobs that would make the fine details. By the time the pattern, the material and the notions were purchased, the costume ended up being roughly $50 total. Ouch. When we got home, I saw that the jacket also requires interfacing.

Off to cut, pin, sew and curse. My minions would be proud.