Happy Halloween
PATRICIA CRANDALL
AUTHOR OF MURDER, MAYHEM & GHOST STORIES
"This is wonderful, Marcia."
Karen C.
"Thanks for so many nice comments. What great publicity for my books."
Elizabeth C.
"Wow, Thanks Marcia, Inspires me."
Gary S.
Blog Host, Marcia Rosen
Author of “My Gangster Father and Me,” will be published in 2024. Also, author of 11 books including My Memoir Workbook, has presented numerous Memoir Writing Programs and Encouraging the Writer Within You Presentations for over 16 years.
This Blog* and My Memoir Workbook is meant to encourage, inspire and motivate you to write your unique story.
Don’t keep your memories hidden or secret any longer
My Newest Book, "Murder at the Zoo" is now available
A LifeStory Memory
Submit yours with your name and email to MarciagRosen@gmail.com.
October 1, 2023
GHOST OF A CRUSIE
“Great job, Tipper!” Sebastian Woodrift praised his tuxedo-garbed companion as they stole across the deck of the luxury liner where vacant chairs were strewn every which way.
Tall and elegant, fortyish Tipper Shamus, glanced at his portly black companion and grinned confidently. Passing themselves off as a well-to-do Floridian land developer and a topnotch Honda dealer from Vermont on a one-week S. S. Martina Cruise in the Caribbean came easy.
Tipper pulsated with renewed energy as he felt in his jacket pocket, the heirloom trinkets his rapacious fingers had removed from the safe in Lady Maleady’s boudoir moments before.
He winced at the thought of Lady Maleady and weaved hurriedly through the chairs as if she were at his heels. Tiffany Maleady was the most unlovable creature he had met. She would do anything for attention and was not liked by most of the people on board ship. The torment he had endured paying her amorous attention had been worth it, however. Soon he would be on the affluent roster.
As Tipper and Sebastian approached the railing to descend to a boat secured to the ocean vessel, they turned at the sound of intensified whispers and were startled to see deck chairs sailing in mid-air.
“Hey what’s… !” Tipper’s voice faded as an icy hand gripped the back of his neck. He was whipped backwards and then thrust onto the hard floor.
“What the devil!” Sebastian screamed, upended by a spinning chair. He was tossed into space and landed flat on his back.
There was a raucous shriek. “They stole my jewels. Catch the thieves!” Lady Maleady’s cumbersome form puffed toward the twosome. She was followed by the ship’s Captain and his mates.
Tipper and Sebastian were thrown into the brig wondering what went wrong.
On deck, after everyone returned to the game room for shuffleboard awards, the chairs were in place, each occupied by an avenging supernatural spirit.
Patricia Crandall, Author of “Murder, Mayhem and Ghost Stories”
Now available on Amazon and at Independent Book Store
Writing Your LifeStory Hints, Tips, and Advice
*Start writing in a journal or notebook
*Make a list of important dates and events in your life
*Make a list of your life experiences
*Jog your memory with photos and mementos
*Gather pertinent information
*Research as many details as possible
*Determine your goals
*Write what inspires you
*Decide if you want to write about a part or all of your life
*Prepare to tell the truth
*Relate to all your life senses: sight, sound, smell, touch and taste
*Read at least several “memoir” books
*Don’t let the negative opinions of others deter you
*Keep writing
*Get help editing, proofing, marketing and selling your book
Following is part of my LifeStory:
My Gangster Father and Me (Excerpt)
TAKE ME OUT TO THE BALL GAME
We sat behind home plate.
Each season in the 1940s and 1950s, the Buffalo Bisons took to the field in a stadium located on the east side of the city. From the time I was six or seven, my father would sometimes take me with him to see baseball games. Buffalo was not a major league team, but as part of the minor league it was popular to locals. Sort of like the Bills are now. I’m not a football fan; it doesn’t have the rhythm of baseball. Baseball can be like a beautiful dance, the bodies and movements of the players stretched and incredibly flexible as is needed. They move around the ball field often with grace, accompanied by skill. Of course, some of those guys are real hunks. While I watched the men out on the ball field, the men with my father talked about things only an older me would understand. Still, I absorbed much of their conversations. Perhaps it is part of what made me grow up believing men had so much more interesting lives than women did back then. They did.
The ballpark is a fun place to eat junk food and be convinced it tastes delicious. I ate hotdogs and other wonderful treats. I don’t recall ever being told no. I was tiny and slim and often fussed over. That was very confusing for a long time, growing up with fuss about my looks and never about being smart. Once, when I was a teenager, I was told boys didn’t like girls who were smarter than they were. What? It only made me want to be smarter. I wanted to have adventures, take chances, and be like the men in the ballfield challenging themselves to be winners.
Going to baseball games with my dad was not only about the ballgame. It was about my dad and I spending time together in a world consisting of almost all men, on and off the field. More dads should do that with their daughters. Perhaps, it is why in business, at least, I’m so comfortable relating to men. I know, I could have done better on a romantic basis, but as I’m aging it really doesn’t matter so much. Yet the demon of loneliness does rear its head at times.
Baseball is a simple game filled with a complicated history. Not all of it is good, but I believe if we started going to ballgames when we were young, we would probably have a love affair with the game. I do. My dad loved baseball more than any other sport. My dad loved me. He loved my sons. It’s like baseball. It’s simple.
For more stories about me and my gangster father, check out the book The Gourmet Gangster.
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This is an excellent blog! I enjoy reading the various authors and their life happenings each month.