Strange Intruder

The other day, I was busy editing my first novel. Sitting at my desk in the living room, my cat curled up on the coffee table taking his midday constitutional when a noise disturbed both of us.

There was a growl in the dining room.

A long low growl as though some very large dog had gotten into the house and was trying to hide under the dining table.

The cat immediately yowled and headed for the nearest exit, staring warily into the dining room trying to locate the intruder.

Hearing the sound in the otherwise quiet house was a little unsettling and I wondered if perhaps the kitchen door had been left open – or blown open knowing the condition of the old door – and went into the dining room to investigate.

There was nothing there, hiding under the table or behind the hutch. Nothing.

Looking into the kitchen, I saw the door was closed as tightly as it should have been on a chilly day.

I listened again, cocking my head one way and then the other, trying to listen for any more growling, breathing, or anything else that would lend a clue to where or what it was.

No luck. The sound did not repeat.

The cat came over to rub against my leg, waiting for some reassurance that sanity did, indeed, prevail.

Soon, the strange moment passed, and the cat and I resumed our familiar perches to get back to what we had been doing. He sleeping and me, editing.

It was the first instance of an animal sound in the house. Except, of course, for those sounds made by our cat.


Just Another Haunted House

We live a very old house in an historic district in Northern Virginia’s Mosby country.

There is a window in the upper room that opens and closes itself on occasion, and without apparent regularity.

However, there are “repeaters” in the house.

Every morning at 9:15am, regular as clockwork, you can hear footsteps going up the staircase.

They don’t go all the way up, just a few steps and then stop.

But it happens every day.

And, every so often, you can see a ghostly figure moving through the dining room. Usually out of the corner of your eye. But if you look quick enough you can see the figure before it fades completely out.

There have been a couple of ghost hunts done in the house and visitations by a couple of psychics but we have never been able to “make contact” with whoever is still hanging around the property.

We are quite comfortable living with whoever it is. We don’t interfere with them and they don’t bother us, unduly.

Well, except on those very cold days when that damned window opens and the arctic blast drifts down the stairs.

I Haven’t the Ghost of a Clue

I don’t really know why I’m blogging just yet.

I don’t have a book actually published (though it is in the editing stages) and am not normally a very talkative person.

And small talk and chatting? Forget it!

So, I probably won’t be saying anything too productive or useful at the present.

The editing? Well, it is going slowly. There are so many things that can be said differently and that is really what the writing is all about, I suppose: how to say something in the best way possible to get the point/picture/action across to the reader.

I’m just having a tough time trying to decide which version of a statement sounds best.

That reminds me of voice actors working on an animated feature. Most of the time, the director has them say the line a dozen different times with different inflections so they can choose which versions fits the story better from their own vision of it.

Writers have to do the same thing. Which version of a statement makes the point or action in the best manner possible in relation to the rest of the tale?

At times, I just wish I knew what I was doing!

The writing was easy.

< evil grin >