Tag Archives: paranormal

Why Do You Write That Stuff?

You might as well ask me why I like black licorice. I just do. And I like Stephen King’s answer to that question. “What makes you think I have a choice?”

But why do I write paranormal stories?

As a kid, I had experiences I couldn’t explain and got few answers to my questions. So I went in search of knowledge, reading all I could find on the strange and usual. The Bermuda Triangle by Charles Berlitz pushed the needle in that grove for me. I was obsessed with what happened to Flight 19, and traveled through The Triangle several times. Nothing happened, as if someone saw me coming and thought it would be funny to order up the most perfect days on record. Not a white cap on the horizon or a cloud in the sky. But that didn’t make me any less addicted to the idea of experiencing something amazing and unexplainable.

I had written traditional stories for years, but none of them sold. The trending advice was: “write what you read.” I had trouble finding new fiction of interest outside the teen section. How did that happen? I wanted paranormal for grown-ups, not dreamy infatuation and delusional super powers. And I wasn’t alone. This need for more mature paranormal stories spawned a genre called New Adult.

I read literary works, and am painfully aware that serious literature gets better press. But when reading for recreation, who really wants to be mired in situations so steeped in reality? Where is the fun? Where is the escape? And I don’t mean the wrist-slitting kind. I enjoy intellectual book discussions as much as anyone, but I my hackles went up a little when a guy asked me with a crinkled face, “Why do you write that stuff?” He sounded as if he was spitting out a bitter slice of something only the Bizarre Foods guy would put in his mouth.

“People remember a good story,” I said, resisting the urge to pick a fight.

For centuries, people have passed their history and knowledge through oral stories. Never mind that the first written stories were pictorial.

Paranormal writing suffers the stigma of being viewed as dime novel or pulp fiction. Popular fiction isn’t necessarily written for the purpose of teaching, but it can. Although genre work might not garner the respect of literary fiction, escapist stories can heal and inspire while they entertain. Isn’t it more fun to be entertained without realizing that you might be learning through the relationships of the characters and their circumstances?

I like to think I’m attracted to the paranormal because I’m open to new ideas. There is so much we don’t know about the mysteries of the universe. I enjoy exploring what I think and believe about the unknown. Anything is possible, if not necessarily probable. The paranormal might not be everyone’s cup of tea, but it can open a closed mind to a new world of possibilities.

I write that stuff. It’s what I enjoy.


Sheila Englehart is the author of Warning Signs, published by Second Wind Publishing


Filed under books, fiction, fun, writing

Reaching for the Stars by Sheila Englehart

As a writer, I’ve never been much of a planner. As a writer new to marketing, I’m fast learning that the art of selling a novel requires a bit of preparation. I don’t have a massive online marketing platform so I decided to find influential readers interested in my genre who did. I thought if the right person with a longer reach than mine praised my book, their fans might check it out. Ask any author who caught Oprah’s eye.

 Warning Signs is an afterlife suspense, who better to target than the people who seek out – or even talk to – dead people for a living? Ghost hunters, monster chasers, and psychic mediums topped my list. And where could I find them in the broad daylight? Paranormal conventions. October is Dead Season, when those in the paranormal field hit the black and orange road leading up to Halloween.

Paracon was holding its second annual convention in Mahnomen, MN. When I saw their guest list, I put it on my calendar and bought tickets the minute they went on sale. This event was playing host to the stars of SyFy’s series Ghost Hunters, Haunted Collector, Ghost Hunters International, and Destination Truth along with famous medium Chip Coffey from A&E’s Paranormal State and Psychic Kids. Each show had a star who had penned a memoir about their life or their show. Paracon was going to be an all-in-one stop for this paranormal novelist.

My plan? Take the books I owned by these already- famous authors, get them signed, and give them a copy of my book. No pitching, no begging them to read it, no asking for reviews.  Who is going to turn down a free book? Not the most elegant plan. But what was the worst that could happen? They throw it in the trash before they head for home? I was starting with nothing, and had nothing to lose. I told myself, “You must boldly go where you never imagined you would, or you won’t get anywhere.”

I had five specific targets: two mediums and three television stars. The first two graciously accepted my offering with congratulations. I felt awkward and silly, but I managed to create a little small talk hopefully without repelling them. The remaining three presented more of a challenge. One medium was so busy that she was impossible to pin down. I was smart enough to grab her card to contact her later. Another TV star was a no-show. The guy chases monsters for a living in the most remote places on the planet, and what took him down? Poison oak. The star I thought would be a sure thing told me that she didn’t read fiction. What? It took me a moment to recover, but when I did she shared that she enjoyed history, true crime, and genealogy. That’s tough competition.

Striking up conversation about my novel with other attendees proved even harder. Celebrities are always the big draw at conventions. Booths manned by unknowns hawking books and services were largely bypassed by the herd. People had come to touch the heroes they invited into their homes for an hour each week. Unless I was connected to one of those stars, they didn’t care about my book. That didn’t stop me from discreetly leaving my bookmarks around for people to find: in hotel rooms, seat pockets of the plane, magazines, beneath tips in restaurants. I did resist planting them in the bestsellers at the airport bookstores.

Was it worth it? Absolutely. I’ll go as far as I can reasonably afford to get my book in as many hands as I can. I wish I could have hit all my targets, but I did my best to get my book into influential hands.  Couldn’t hurt to have a famous fan. I would have loved to hit another convention before the season ended, but ran out of time. Lesson learned for next year.

As the Ghost Hunters used to say at the close of each episode, “On to the next.”



Filed under books, fiction, marketing, Travel

The night the moon sang

My husband, two little boys and I had driven 7 hours north through snow and ice from Connecticut to Maine to see his favorite cousin, Susan. She and her family were house-sitting in a large, lovely 18th Century sea-captain’s home whose sloping lawn stretched down to an inlet of the sea.

The whole world was electric blue twilight when we piled out of the VW and waded the last few feet of their driveway. We stomped our feet to get rid of snow in the unheated  mud room. The kitchen was wood fire piecemeal hot, and Susan was belatedly beginning to work on a sink full of dishes. The family lived for the winter in a few downstairs rooms, and kept the pipes warm for the owners, who were off sailing in the tropics, very upscale and almost unimaginable to us. Sue’s husband was a potter, and while he made beautiful things, from dinner services to exotic display pieces, they were not exactly flush with cash. Beans or spaghetti and homemade bread were probably supper that night; I don’t remember.  It was Susan’s birthday, so she’d made a delicious, heavy, scratch chocolate cake, and I’d brought up Grandma Carol’s family famous “Cowboy Cookies.”

Night grew deeper. Finally, the kid cousins were extinguished; the adults all talked out. We retired to couches and sleeping bags. It was cold as the hinges of the 9th Circle of Hell in any room without a woodstove, an utterly clear and magnificently dark sky starry night—at least, until the full moon got up over the tall black pines. Then it was like day out-of-doors, the moon balefully glittering down on those crisp, fresh pillows of snow. Susan and I had agreed to wake up later, because we’d consulted the almanac and learned that there was to be a lunar eclipse around 1 a.m. It was the night between our birthdays—mine would be tomorrow. We were a kindred pair of magical-mystery-tour women, both Pisces in the cusp, and not about to miss such a grand celestial side-show.

Exhausted from carbohydrates and driving , I’d fallen into a deep sleep, but in what seemed only a few minutes, I heard Susan urgently whispering.

“Juliet! Get up! Get Up!”

I sat up groggily. I could see her quite well with the moonlight pouring in the windows; it was amazingly bright.

“Get your boots and get downstairs—quick—quick–hurry!”

I did as she asked, for she sounded almost desperate, as if something was terribly wrong. Not only that, but she enforced the idea by rushing out of the room as soon as she finished speaking. I heard her feet going down the stairs rapidly. I got my boots on and followed, fast as I could. When I reached the kitchen, there she was, my coat in hand.

“Is it the eclipse? What’s up?”

“Come on—quick! You have to hear this! It’s crazy!”

I threw the coat on and followed her out the door. The first breath, as we stood on the back steps, froze my nose and made me choke. It must have been zero—or lower—outside. She gestured upward toward the moon, sailing high now over the forbidding, snow robed pines.

As we stood there, trembling, it acquired a halo of dull red as the eclipse began. The weighted branches randomly cracked. I had an odd feeling inside my head; I seemed to be looking up through water.  Next came a kind of hum, a low tone that reverberated through the scene, and then I heard sweet round tones, like a flute or an electronic instrument, ring across the sleeping, snow shrouded land and across the icy ocean at the bottom of the hill.

The veiled moon grew redder; the sweet little song repeated. Susan grabbed me by the shoulder.

“Do you hear it? Do you?”

“Yes! Yes! What on earth…?” I kept looking up and down and side to side to see if anything else was different, but nothing else in reality was in any way unusual.

“Thank God!” Susan giggled. It was a beautiful, melodic –and normal–sound. “I thought I’d completely lost it.”

Well, when the “singing” stopped, we went back inside and attempted to wake our respective spouses, but that was hopeless. Neither of them wanted to leave the warmth of their beds—besides, they knew that the two Pisces women were engaged in some weird, annoying folie à deux

Now if you are thinking about “Close Encounters of the Third Kind,” go right ahead.  Our brush with the other happened in 1973, four years before Spielberg’s blockbuster.  In fact, when I heard the tones in the movie, all the hair on the back of my neck stood straight up, as I remembered the night the moon sang to Susan and me.

~~ Juliet Waldron





Filed under writing

Return to the Marfa Lights by Norm Brown

For quite a few years now, my brother and I have made an annual trek on our motorcycles out to west Texas during August. We spend a week camping at Balmorhea State Park, Fort Davis State Park, and sometimes Big Bend National Park. Compared to the rest of the state, the arid mountains are cool and pleasant at that time of year. From Fort Davis State Park it is an easy half hour ride down to Marfa, Texas, site of the famous Marfa Lights. Each year from 2006 through 2009, we rode from our camp in the evening to try to see the mysterious phenomenon. Rain stopped us a few times, but on a moonlit night in 2009 we thought we had succeeded. I published a blog about that particular trip. Below is a link to that article. Check it out. I’ll wait for you here.


Marfa Lights Observation Area

Marfa Lights Observation Area

That year, we saw odd lights the first night, but returned the next night only to be let down. The winking white points of light we had watched drift along near the dark horizon were only headlights of cars maneuvering along a twisting road on a distant mountain. There was a man there that second night with all sorts of camera equipment. Turns out he is probably the most enthusiastic researcher of the Marfa Lights. He has a book and  a website with lots of photos.


He explained we were looking in the wrong direction and told us the “real” Marfa Lights were very rare. We rode away that night feeling a little embarrassed and a lot more skeptical. I didn’t really think we’d ever go to the observation area again.

In 2010, we made the usual trip out to Fort Davis, but stayed in camp at night. Then in 2011, with nothing else to do on a beautiful clear evening, we decided to head down to Marfa again. Whether the lights truly exist or not, we both agree there is something about the Marfa Lights viewing area that just makes it a pleasant place to mill around with dozens of other visitors and gaze out across the rolling land. Call it an unexplained energy or whatever, it’s simply a nice place to be. So, with low expectations we rode down there.

I was glad we had returned. The night sky over the desert looked amazing. Living near a city, I sometimes forget how spectacular the Milky Way can be on a dark clear night. The trip was worth it, just for that. And then–I saw it. A dim spot of red light, straight out from the viewing deck, nowhere near the mountain road with the car traffic. It was fairly close, hovering just behind and above a small pump house. It was visible for only a few seconds, then faded away. I looked around the observation deck. Probably a couple dozen people were walking about and talking . Behind us, cars were coming and going from the small parking lot. There were a lot of taillights and brake lights, but they were all in exactly the opposite direction from the mystery light. For a moment, I thought I was the only one to see it, but the members of the family to our left were whispering excitedly and several still held cameras pointed hopefully at the exact spot. Even if I had brought my camera, I doubt it could have captured the dim, brief glow. All I can say is that it was round and appeared to be maybe a hundred yards out.

I looked over at my brother, Curtis. He was still staring in the direction of the little white pump house. He suddenly turned his head and asked, “Did you see that?” When I replied that I had, he pointed to the group to my left and added, “So did they.” That’s all the evidence we’ll ever have.

So, we saw something. I’m just not sure what. Could it be somehow related to the car taillights behind us? Maybe. Other than being the same color, I couldn’t see any connection. There was nothing beyond the pump house to cause reflection. And this time there was no “expert” there to explain away the sighting. The feeling at that moment was strange. After what had happened last time, I wasn’t really excited or convinced that anything paranormal had occurred. But I was oddly pleased. I think simply because now there would be a reason to return to this fascinating place with its unexplainably pleasant vibes. I’ll be back.

Norm Brown is the author of the suspense novel Carpet Ride, published by Secondwind Publishing, LLC.


Filed under Travel, writing

Share to win!

Ghost Mountain was released this month and I had my first-ever book signing.  What an adventure!

The reaction to the novel has been interesting.  The back of the book says:

Moving is stressful enough, but when Cerri Baker moves with her family to the Black Hills of South Dakota, she begins seeing things—things like murder. Named after a pre-Christian Celtic Goddess, Cerri has spent her life trying to avoid the spirituality and “hocus-pocus” her mother embraces. Once in the Black Hills, Cerri doesn’t seem to have much choice as her spirit guide insists she find justice for a murdered man.  As she struggles with her own destiny, Cerri must also convince the FBI that she is getting her information from another realm and not from first-hand knowledge of the murder.

Some people read that and put the book down.  Walked away.  Maybe they don’t often read mysteries.  Maybe they don’t appreciate the beauty of the Black Hills like I do. Other people said the book sounded interesting and purchased a copy.

One woman really questioned me about it, though.  “So.  You believe in the paranormal?” she asked, almost accusingly.  I admitted that I do believe there are things out there we humans can’t see or can’t explain. My answer must have been okay, because she bought two books — one for herself and one as a gift.

The conversation got me thinking, though, about the things we can see and those we can’t and why people believe what they do.

It seems obvious to me that people believe things similar to what their families believe.  Their beliefs may not be exact, but they’re usually pretty close.  At least that’s my experience.  I believe there are many things which can’t be seen by the naked eye, but that still exist.  Heck, I can’t see an atom, but I believe it exists.

I also know there are places in the world which feel different.  Cemeteries often have an air of solemnity about them, for example.  There are places in the Black Hills which lighten my heart when I visit them.  The feeling is, for lack of a better word, amazing.

As if that isn’t enough, almost every culture in the world has such similar myths and legends.  Almost every culture shares beliefs in unseen helpers and life after death.  The details are different, but the basics are all there.  Isn’t that amazing?

The beliefs of individuals and cultures has always fascinated me.  Even the ideas I don’t completely agree with are interesting to me.  I think that’s why my mysteries have a paranormal slant — because there is so much in this world of ours which just can’t be explained.

In honor of the release of Ghost Mountain, I will give away a copy of the book.  To enter, leave a comment.  On April 1, I’ll draw from all the comments and contact the winner.  I’d really love to hear your thoughts on the paranormal, your beliefs, or even your comments about the book.




Filed under books

Nora’s Soul Excerpt

“I don’t want there to be any misconceptions or hurt feelings between us, Nora.”
The sound of his harsh voice snapped her attention back to him. “Misconceptions?” she repeated, confused. “About what?”
“About what you and my sister expect is going to happen here.”
“I don’t – “ Her protest died on her lips when he placed a fingertip over them, silencing her. She nearly choked on a shallow breath at the fireball of sensation that roared down to the pit of her stomach at that minute touch. Thankfully, he withdrew the finger before she could do anything really damaging to her pride – like suck it into her mouth – but the fiery sensation lingered in her stomach, quietly banking a fire of old sensations into full life.
“I don’t need a social secretary,” he said, seemingly unaware of her reaction to him. “If I did need a secretary, I’d find one through a headhunter, not my sister.”
“And I certainly wouldn’t take one whose background is in social services.”
“Well, then, it’s a good thing I’m not here to be your secretary.”
“Good. Now that we’ve got that established, let’s move on.”
“Please do.”
Kyle ignored that last comment as he launched into his speech. As he spoke, he made a leisurely circle about Nora, pausing to lean toward her in punctuation of each sentence.
“I’m not looking for a wife or a new mother for my children – “
“I’m not – “
“ – so if that’s the little scheme you’ve got going with my sister, you can just forget about it now.”
“I don’t have any ‘little scheme’ going with Joelle – or anyone else, for that matter!”
“Glad to hear it,” Kyle said, his tone belying his words. “Let’s move on, shall we?”
“Oh, please do.”
“I live alone. I like that.”
His breath skimmed her right ear as he leaned in close to her, front to front. She tried not to shudder at the pleasurable sensation it sent shimmering down her neck and into her stomach, where it joined the fire still banked there. She feared that she failed miserably. She almost didn’t hear his next words in the aftermath of the sensations he aroused in her.
“I throw my clothes on the floor when I undress.” He slipped around her right shoulder, but circled close to it – too close. “I leave the toilet seat up. I squeeze toothpaste from the middle. I sleep in the nude.” He leaned over her shoulder. His lips pressed to her ear, his breath searing a path down the left side of her neck now that, oddly enough, brought chills to her spine. “I like that.”
As the chills rippled through her, Nora swayed, slightly off-balance. Kyle righted her equilibrium with a quick, painless jab of his knees to the backs of hers. Then he pulled back, abruptly, completed his circle as he drilled home his point. “I don’t want anyone picking up my clothes. I don’t want anyone putting down the toilet seat or telling me where to squeeze my toothpaste.” He paused to quirk his lips in what could almost pass for a smile at the suggestive statement. “And I don’t want anyone buying me silk pajamas. I don’t want to be reformed.” He leaned his face so close to Nora’s then that his features filled her entire realm of vision. “Got that?”
Well, of all the arrogant, insufferable – !  Nora was trembling with rage by the conclusion of Kyle’s little speech. Just who the hell did he think he was, anyway, making demands like that?
“That’s what I missed about you all these years, Kyle,” she said with hard-won calm. “That charming personality.”
Kyle smiled then, but it was just a flexing of the muscles; there was no warmth to it. He leaned nearer to Nora, the tip of his nose in a position to touch hers should either of them make the slightest movement. It was an oddly intimate pose; a slight twist to the left, or a slight twist to the right, and their lips would be touching, even if no other parts of their bodies were. But the heat of his body – emanating from his skin in a wonderfully male scent that reminded her of warm summer days at the beach – did touch her; like a brand, searing another impression of him on her heart. The urge to melt into him wasn’t as hard as the urge to pull away; it took all of her strength to resist it. Oh, no, she wouldn’t give him that.
“Oh, I can be very charming.” He dropped the smile. “Or not.” Withdrawing, he stared down his nose at her, pointed a finger toward her collarbone. “Your choice. Just remember this – I don’t want to be seduced.”
“Oh, I don’t think there’s any chance of that,” Nora said, her voice so thick with sarcasm she nearly choked on it. She thought she detected a flicker of something – admiration, perhaps – in his eyes when she stated, “I’m here to take care of your children’s needs, not yours.” But whatever she thought she saw in his eyes was gone before she could name it. Must be my imagination, she decided.
“See that you remember that.”
“Oh, I will.”
They faced off for an eternal moment, two battle-scarred warriors at an emotional impasse. Each waiting for the other to flinch first. When that didn’t happen, they simultaneously relaxed their stances, as if by some silent agreement.
Kyle took a wary step backward. His eyes never left her face. “Good. Then there’s nothing left to discuss. Is there?”
“Just one thing,” she said when he would’ve turned away. She ignored the annoyed look he cast over his shoulder as he paused on his flight up the stairs. She started down the hall toward the sounds of merriment emanating from the kitchen, but paused when she came abreast of Kyle on the stairs. “I take my responsibilities very seriously.” She hesitated, for effect, then drove the statement home with, “All of them.” And then she was gone, leaving Kyle to stare after her in wonder.

Coming Soon from Second Wind Publishing, LLC

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Interview: Mortals, Gods, and a Muse, Aphrodite

Interviewer: What’s your name?

Aphrodite: Depends on whom you ask.

Interviewer: I’m asking you

Aphrodite: I am Aphrodite, Goddess of love

Interviewer: What would others call you?

Aphrodite: Sherry called me Star, thinking she could just make up a name for me.

Interviewer: Why didn’t you tell her your name was Aphrodite?

Aphrodite: When I tried to talk, she couldn’t hear me. It was very frustrating.

Interviewer: She couldn’t hear you? You were quiet?

Aphrodite: Idiot, no! She physically couldn’t hear me. The words were coming out of my mouth and she looked at me as if it was my problem?

Interviewer: Okay you rude goddess, what is your role in Sherry’s story?

Aphrodite: If I still had my powers, you’d be a frog right now. I, of course, had to fix her little love life. How was I supposed to know she was his true love?

Interviewer: Sherry was whose true love?

Aphrodite: Lysander’s, of course. The Eros family line. Don’t you understand anything?

Interviewer: I understand that talking to you is like talking to a stubborn mule. Let’s take this one step at a time. Who is Lysander?

Aphrodite: Lysander was the last male born to the Eros family line.

Interviewer: Good, now we are getting somewhere. So, you made a love match of Sherry and Lysander since you are the goddess of Love?

Aphrodite: Not me! They did that all on their own. Well, he did that from Hades. I took away the love of Eros, God of Love, and kind of cursed the family and well…I don’t want to talk about that.

Interviewer: Well, please sit down and stop pacing around the room. We can talk about something else.

Aphrodite: Fine! I wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t for Sherry, the insufferable twit.

Interviewer: So what did you do to the Eros family?

Aphrodite: You said we wouldn’t talk about that.

Interviewer: I didn’t know the Goddess of Love could shoot flames from her eyes. So, what would you like to talk about?

Aphrodite: I thought I was here to talk about me, not them!

Interviewer: If you don’t want to talk about their love life, how about yours?

Aphrodite: I have no love life since Eros put me in that stupid box. He really is a hot head you know.

Aphrodite: You’re calling him a hothead? Um, I mean, so… why did he put you in a box?

Aphrodite: I said I don’t want to discuss that. I’m done.

Interviewer: Where did she go? She just disappeared. Well, I guess this interview is over. Note to self: remove Sherry Duncan and Suzette Vaughn off my Christmas list for this.


Eros: Thank Zeus she’s gone, Miss…Miss, please snap out of it.

Interviewer: Oh my, it’s warm in here. I’m feeling a little dizzy

Eros: I get that all of the time. You’ll be fine in a moment.

Interviewer: You promise? I’d like to know how you’re going to make it fine?

Eros: Stay on task now Miss…you were asking about Sherry and Xander?

Interviewer: Ohh yes, those people. Okay, Sherry and Lysander, but first, please tell me your name? You look like a god.

Eros: I am a god. You want an interview do you not?

Interviewer: Interview? I can think of better things to do with our time together. Sorry. You’re a little distracting. Was that your girlfriend that just poofed out of here?

Eros: My ex by about three millennia.

Interviewer: So you’re single?

Eros: Yes my dear, I am, but we are not here for me, are we?

Interviewer: We can be.

Eros: I am getting nowhere here.

Interviewer: You could be.

Eros: Now listen here. I came to talk to you, not for you to be looking at me like that.

Interviewer: How could you love that vicious Goddess? Sorry, I mean, how did she get out of the box? And is there a way we can put her back in… forever?

Eros: I could put her back but she is serving a new purpose. Xander let her out, he figured out the riddle to the box, so he was the one to break the curse.

Interviewer: So that’s where Sherry comes in? She had to put her back?

Eros: Well the way it was supposed to go, Aphrodite was to find Sherry and lead her to Xander. But there were… complications, and well…Xander ended up in Hades.

Interviewer: Aphrodite sent him there didn’t she, that bit.. er.. bites. That bites.

Eros: Well in a way, yes, and then it was up to Sherry to bring him back

Interviewer: How did Sherry get him out?

Eros: She had to figure out how to open the box herself.

Interviewer: Did she shove Aphrodite in it when she got it open?

Eros: No, she got her second chance with Xander, which we all should know, second chances at love don’t always happen, and still the story didn’t end there. For once Aphrodite was smart and stayed far away.

Interviewer: Anything else you want to tell me, perhaps over dinner?

Eros: And drinks. Have you ever seen Mount Olympus in the fall?


Mortals, Gods, and a Muse written by Suzette Vaughn


Filed under fun, musings, writing

My extended family

I am surround by family. I have a husband, son, sister, mother, and brother. I have more cousins, aunts, and uncles than I could count, even using my and your toes. Oh did I mention in-laws.

I have friends that count as family. Those that call me after months of not hearing from them…

“Hey, Suz. I need your couch.”

I hope I’m not unique in that.


I have a very special extension of my family too. While we all have some things in common, we are as different as… well snowflakes come to mind. Mostly because of the flake part. 

We are creative, smart (at least we think so), loving, and friendly. We are also testy at times, each have moments of “duh”, and get hurt feelings, even when it was not intended.

We are unique in the fact that, while we work together, hardly any of us have met. We know more about each other than some of our blood. We talk, we share, we agree, and sometimes must agree to disagree. 

I am of course talking about the authors around me that have found their home in Second Wind. I’m talking about writers that range from Mainstream Fiction to Paranormal Romance. We also range from thirty years-old to past retirement.

We live from coast to coast and everywhere in between. We also love to read, love to write, and create in ways that amaze me from day to day.


And though we all write, our books are as different as we are. We have different voices, different genres, and different ways of looking at each. And through it all we will stand as family, like any family; with love in mind, and stories to tell.


Suzette Vaughn

The Second Wind Publishing Family

Author of Badeaux Knights and Mortals, Gods, and a Muse


Filed under books, fiction, life, writing