Dark Energy! Really??

I never think about the entity known as Dark Energy(connotations of swirling black mists filled with evil intent) other than to give it a cursory glance if there's a question about it during one of my  book presentations. Dark Energy is not in my universe, it is not allowed near me, and in all of my out-of-this-world excursions, I have never encountered it. But it came dangerously close right here on planet earth.
Possession? Are you kidding? No. It cannot, and will not possess any soul, yours and mine included, unless you invite the darkness in. But last week it did it's best to possess my computer and all my life affecting information.
I have always known there are dark people who are filled with malicious intent, and a group of them hacked into, and compromised 60% of my files. I couldn't get online, I couldn't access any of my accounts - my PC was crippled; infected by sick and malevolent people.
Lucky for me, there are geeks on earth who know a lot more about curing computers than I do, and a team of them worked on it for two hours to get it well.
Yes, there are such beings as Dark Souls who inhabit dark people. These are the souls who, when they pass over, step right back into the revolving door and enter a new life. It's my understanding that they keep doing this until a glimmer of light squeaks its way in to warm a corner of that coldness, and hopefully bring them back into the fold of human goodness and love. But in the meantime, they can be found all over the world and in your back yard. Recognize them, exude your own goodness of spirit, and hope that someone, somewhere will someday make a difference in their lives.
And don't worry! It's mostly a wonderful world filled with good people. And my computer's working thanks to the White Knights!  

2000 Year Old Voices?

Hi Everyone,

I'm off to the beach next week to take a break from writing - and my characters who seem to want to chat and hang out everywhere I go!
You see, I've just finished writing a novel whose main theme is reincarnation. It's been an amazing trip through my imagination, carrying me from the shores of the Shenandoah River in this century, to the shores of Ancient Greece in the Golden Age of Pericles. 420 BC.

My constant companions have been my brightly colored, over-the-top imaginary characters. From both centuries. Who I might add, I've become great friends with.

The trouble is, they've taken this story and run with it. And I'm wondering what's going on. There have been times when I sat down to write  a chapter and my pre-conceived ideas of how it would go were tossed out in about five minutes when, all of these guys began jabbering a mile a minute, changing my sentences, voice pattern and incidents. One of them actually said, "That's not the way it happened!"

So just as I'm thinking I need a  mint julep or a sip of ouzo (clearly, I'm working too hard and am in danger of retreating into my undiluted imagination) I came across an ancient map of Athens or Attica as it was known then.

I had already imagined and created the setting for the Greek part of the novel, but I thought I better check my bearings and find out what ancient Attica really looked liked. There's nothing worse than an author who hunts Tigers and Polar bears in Africa, and I didn't want that to happen.

So, I'm staring at my own creation of the ancient city, and looking at the old map - I know exactly where my imaginary Greek lady protagonist lives in a villa at the foot of the mountain, and I know exactly how to get there from the harbor. And as I superimpose the old map on the map of my imagination, I see that everything is exactly where it should be. There is a mountain in the city - just one - as I had imagined.  I had placed the villa and its surrounds perfectly! And  the road from the harbor to the villa  was exactly where it should be, winding among hundreds of other streets that have come and gone over the centuries since Astraia lived there.

That's her name, Astraia.  Daughter of the Stars. Or Shenandoah, as the Indians named the river.

Were these Ancient Greeks talking to me from over 2000 years ago? How else do I know my way around Athens, through the markets, the Turkish quarter, the Arab quarter and on and on? I've never been to Athens. Not yet!

I'll tell you more as we go. Enjoy the sunshine of home!

The Up Coming Book

YESTERDAY, TODAY & FOREVER

The true story of Life before Life, This Life and the Next

 

By Ginny Brock

Author of "By Morning's Light".

 

Is entering the editing stage of its current incarnation, and I hope to have it in circulation within the year.

 

It begins where we all did, in Africa.

 

High on the plains above the escarpment, a white child is embraced by the gentle brown spirit of her Zulu nanny, who introduces her to invisible people of the plains - animal and human - and the all-powerful Sangomas. Those multi-dimensional beings - part human, part wild animal part, spirit who live in the crater; who can fix everything from broken minds and bodies to broken dolls.  

 

Carrying the memories she's always had of "another place - where the light can sing, and animals speak, a place that feels like Sataday morning..." the child grows up across the wide canvas of Colonial Africa, learning to recognize the faces of those people from the Other Side - knowing that she can talk to them, and hear what they are saying.

 

Across the deep valley of the rift, the flooding lowlands of the Great Zambesi, and the far flung Islands of the Aldabra archipelago. The journey continues, to the giddy heights of the Seychelles, whose mountains are alive with gris gris, flaunting a beauty that must surely belong to the Garden of Eden or the devil himself. It is a place of a place of good and evil, languishing in a comedy of errors orchestrated by a lofty British Administration. An Administration, who may as well be wearing red coats in the tropics, as those ostrich plumes waving giddily atop headgear, riding the only Roll Royce on the islands, delivering mandates to a population who could care less; sipping Pink gins, lounging in flappy-legged shorts. "Good God! who ever heard of wearing underwear in the tropics, what!" Chortle, chortle.

 

Funny people make their way through the pages, flanked by funny ghosts and displaced Americans. A love story, that could have been forever, walks beside great human tragedy - walks among the spirits of forever, winding back to the land where it all began, to rendezvous again with the ghosts of Africa - Yesterday, Today and Forever.

 

The book is part memoire - and part entertaining lesson in how to speak to ghosts. A vividly written story, painted with the flame and indigo of Africa, the deep blues and milky greens of Indian ocean and the Persian Gulf and white, white sands of Arabia.

 

It's a trip! One I invite you to take as I begin to litter the blog with tidbits to  to whet your appetite.  Bon Apetit! And, watch this space.

The Ghosts of Williamsburg

Happy 4th, my American friends, and to all my friends who couldn't be  with me in Williamsburg last week.

See what I mean?
I was surrounded by Red-coated and Revolutionary soldiers. Doesn't get any better than that. Handsome fighting men everywhere. And ice cream.
Very cool.
Cannon blasts, smoke, people from 1776  - and their ghosts.
Williamsburg is crawling with ghosts. They like me, and I think they like my friend Cindy. We found three in her bedroom.
"I couldn't sleep a wink," she announced the next morning. "All I did was toss and turn."
That's because they were watching her.
"Are you joking?"
"There were three of them, a husband and wife and the wife's mother."
 The women were dressed in unbleached cotton skirts and scarveswrapped  around their heads, the man in a dirty cotton shirt and three quarter pants. They were slaves - which wasn't surprising because my friend and I were sharing one of the Kitchen Houses - the slave quarters that were built away from the mansion to house the house keeping slaves.
"I'm getting outta here!" Cindy was already packed.
"They're not dangerous," I told her. "Just curious."
 She said, "Good! I'm still leaving".
But if they know you can see them, leaving doesn't help.

*** 

Somewhere off Duke of Gloucester street, behind one of the very large mansions, there's a cemetery fully of revolutionary soldiers. The grass is neatly mowed, surrounded by hedges and trees, but there are no headstones. No markers. It's very quiet back there. The only sounds are the wind in the trees and the birds that fly among them. Unless you stay awhile, and ask, "Who's there?"  
I didn't even do that. As I was staring across the grassy area, I had the clear impression of soldier standing beside a tall sycamore. He wore the tricorn hat, white britches and a long navy and gold coat. I want to think he was a Frenchman; and he wasn't happy.
"That's because he got blown out of his sleep by the canons!" My friend said. "I'm still deaf from the last one!"
"Where are the rest of the men?" I asked.
Long gone, he said.
"What about you?"
I don't know - I'm the only one here...
"Would you like to be with them?" I asked.
What do you think! Of course! he said rudely.
Well, it took awhile. Cindy was shuffling, ready to go while I tried to persuade him that he could go to them - and I knew how to get him there.
He wasn't polite at all. Gave me a lot of rude back chat.
Finally Cindy lost patience."Hey you!" That was my friend. "Get moving! Chop, chop! Now!"
The ghost swung around, went into a crouch and aimed his riffle in her direction.
"Omg! I've never heard of anyone being shot by a ghost!" I whispered.
"I'm just telling him to move! Where are the canons when you need them."
Cutting along story short, he finally got the message and faded through the trees, and into the light - ungraciously, I might add.
I saw his troops calling to him. He heard them too.
You just can't tell a ghost to move his ass. They go when they feel like it.:)
I hope you have fun this Independence Day. And remember the ghosts who fought for what is still a wonderful country.
                                                            ***