A Ghostly Excerpt from Shadow Across the Sun

Shadow Across the Sun is my first memoir of a 1960s childhood, idyllic for some years until tragedy struck in the form of breast cancer which took my mum. Grief stricken, when someone at school told me you could talk to dead people by doing a seance my ears pricked up instantly. I could talk to Mum! Talk to her I did but it wasn’t without its scary moments. Here’s a short extract from the book.

Shadow Across the Sun

We’re driving home up Ash Bank after taking some flowers to the crem. It’s late afternoon and an eerie dusk is gathering; that time of day when it’s neither dark nor light. The sky is a heavy, oppressive ochre and mournful grey clouds slide across it, moving ever so slowly in the almost non existent breeze.
I feel a chill, a tingling in my skin; cold prickles in the back of my neck making the hairs stand on end. Emily and I are in the back of the car and something draws my eyes to turn and look behind us through the window. The road is empty of cars, but there is Mum, floating along behind us. Her flowing white robes have tattered edges soiled by the grave, and the hand outstretched towards us is no longer soft and tender, but thin and bony. There is a wildness about her eyes, a hollowing out of them, the sockets large and sunken. I have a strange taste in my mouth, smell in my nostrils, the taste and smell of decay. I tear my eyes away to turn and tell Dad.
“Dad, Dad, it’s Mum!”
He raises his eyes to the rear view mirror and I turn my head to look again through the back window, but the road is empty. The apparition has gone.
We are home, back safely in the lounge, lights on, curtains drawn. There is a tap, tapping on the small window as if by bone. I dare not move the curtain to look out. I think of Cathy and Heathcliff in Wuthering Heights, of her ghost tapping on the window.
It is Mum, I know it is. She has followed us and now wants us to let her in. She is tapping on the window with her bony fingers. I dare not look but I have to, I must. I move the edge of the curtain and peep. There she is with sunken, expressionless eyes, long, matted hair, ragged robes. She stares back at me, her skin sallow, her mouth a gaping O, her hand raised as she continues her tap, tap, tapping.
I drop the curtain and my eyes snap open. It was a dream. Thank God it was only a dream. I can’t move, my limbs are frozen but my eyes stare through the blackness into the corners of the ceiling. I know why I’ve had this dream; it’s because of the séance and what Dad told me afterwards. I want Mum back, but my mum, the mum that I loved, not a hollow eyed ghost.
I continue to stare as if daring any apparition to appear but none does and slowly, slowly my limbs regain their movement. I stretch my legs down to the end of the bed, ease myself up on my elbows and look around the room. My eyes are becoming accustomed to the dark and I can see through the open door into the hall, lit silver by moonlight.
I sit up and carefully lift the edge of the curtain alongside my bed. My heart is racing after the dream but I have to do this to satisfy myself that there is no ghost. There’s nothing, no-one tapping and as I lift the curtain further I can see the moon, a beautiful, shiny full moon riding high in the Heavens accompanied by a dusting of stars sprinkled onto the backdrop of black night sky.
I love the moon. I love to watch it as it sails up there, bright and bold, sometimes obscured by clouds bowling across it, sometimes not, holding the stage itself in the leading role. What can it see as it watches the earth below? There are sinister tales about the moon, werewolves and things but I can’t think about them now; I don’t want anymore bad dreams.
What was it Mum used to say when I had nightmares as a child? ‘Turn over and think of fairies.’ I lie down, turn on my side and pull the covers over my head.

http://www.sherrielowe.co.uk/shadow-across-the-sun—amazon-number-1-bestseller.php

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Shadow-Across-Sun-Sherrie-Lowe-ebook/dp/B007V42ON4/ref=sr_1_10?keywords=sherrie+lowe&qid=1558176969&s=digital-text&sr=1-10

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Critiques and Opinions

Following my recent blog tour, which I thoroughly enjoyed, I’d like to thank all the bloggers who took part and welcomed me onto their blogs. I appreciate the time you took on my behalf, and to Rachel at Rach RandomResources @rararesources for organizing it. There were some lovely reviews and some of you have very attractive blogs.

That brings me onto critiques and opinions. They’re something we all have to face as authors and they are often quite difficult to accept. Those wonderful reviews whose glow we bask in really lift our day but that one negative comment festers and makes us question our abilities. We all know why we write the way we do, why we choose our particular genre, how much of ourselves comes through in the writing etc, but everyone is different and just as we all feel drawn to different people – or not – so it is with writing. Our stories won’t appeal to everyone; what pleases one irritates another.

I’m not much of an actor so there is a lot of me in my books and my author voice. I’m not confrontational unless crossed, then I can give as good as I get. I generally like a peaceful, quiet life but that doesn’t make for a good story in either fiction or memoir. As far as memoir goes I’ve had plenty of struggles: loss, relationships, ill health, and in fiction I’ve given them to my characters, but I’m wary about inflicting misfortune upon them as so many times with aspects of my stories life has mirrored art.

Whether it be reading or writing my own particular preference is for a lighthearted easy read with dashes of humour and a hint of the supernatural. I wouldn’t purposely choose graphic horror, violence or sex; I’m a gentle person, I like gentle stories, even the crimes in my books have been gentle, if you can call a crime that; maybe less savage would be a better description. I don’t do blood and gore or Christian Grey, my love scenes have to mean something, they are sensual not steamy, so if this is the style of story you like mine might seem a bit quiet; I like a conversational tone and a family saga. I think my stories fit the cuppa and a cake book, something to curl up on the sofa with beside a roaring fire on a winter’s day or lie beside the pool in the hot sun in summer. They won’t scare you witless but I hope they’ll keep you wondering and feeling a kinship to the characters within the pages.

N.B. I am in the process of reformatting all of my earlier books. I have only just discovered The Book Khaleesi who have formatted the three books featured below and I am going through my others one at a time so it will take a while; I hope you will bear with me.

http://www.sherrielowe.co.uk/

Free Promotions? Or not?

Free promotions. Do they bear fruit? It’s so long since I ran one I can’t remember so I thought I’d give it another whirl.  I’ve recently revised Angel Breaths and A Lapse of Sanity to publish with Smashwords and Draft2Digital when my KDP Select enrollment expires so time to give them a little outing methinks.

Angel Breaths was inspired by a news item on abortion laws that asked the question, ‘At what point does a baby have a soul?’ It set me thinking. Was it as soon as the two cells met and began to divide? If so how would it feel about being rejected or miscarried?

Angel Breaths is narrated by Angelique, the spirit of a miscarried child as she watches over the earthly family she can never be a part of. She also watches over her soulmate Louis as he treads his earthly life, connecting to him on a spiritual level.

A spin off from this is my award winning short story Into The Arms of Angels which was runner up out of 900 entries in our local newspaper The Sentinel’s Too Write competition in 2017. It can be found in my short story collection Just A Moment, priced at just 99p

Angel Breaths is free from 24th-28th August 2018 so enjoy a read on me. A Lapse of Sanity to follow shortly.

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Angel-Breaths-Sherrie-Lowe-ebook/dp/B00AET1KRE/ref=sr_1_7?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1535016608&sr=1-7&keywords=sherrie+lowe

If you do enjoy it I’d be very grateful for a review please.

Many thanks.

 

The Weekend Guest

I’ve got two fur grandsons, Rooney and Ralphy, belonging to my sons and their families and I look after the dogs – separately – when they are away. It was the turn of Ralphy to stay for the weekend this time while his Mum and Dad were at a wedding.

Ralph garden

He usually brings a few toys to add to the ones I’ve got here and one of his favourites is a parrot which has got a look of a window cleaner I had doing my windows many years ago so I named it Doug after him.

Ralph and Doug

Ralphy is a quick learner and soon got used to the new command of ‘bring Doug’ and he’d fetch the parrot for me to throw so that he could catch it, his favourite game. His other toy is a moose which was a goodbye present from his much loved dog walker when they moved house. I named it Milly. It took him a while to get used to ‘bring Milly’ not so easy a sound as Doug but he was learning. Here are his thoughts on the matter.

Ralph and moose

Ralphy: I’z back here at Nana Shuffs house. Not much goes on here and I does a lot of sleeping but it is my meditation retreat – she sits in her recliner chair, I snoozes until somebody rings the bell or walks past the window then I sez ‘I iz here and in charge. Nobody passes unnoticed.’ I need to tell Nana Shuffs of their presence you see. How duz she know else?

When Nana is  playing with those light up boxes that all hoomans play with I know there is no point in me bestowing a toy upon her – doesn’t she understand what an honour that is – but as soon as she takes her glasses off (I hear them click when she folds them) time to stretch, yawn and select a toy. Which to choose? I az a green thing with a big nose, Nana calls it ‘Bring Doug’ so that must be its name like I iz Ralph. As well I az a soft thing with a big nose that az lovely stuff that I can rip out of its innards and make patterns all over the floor – she throws this stuff away, I never knows why. I did az a nasty mishap today and a bit of the stuff got stuck in my throat and I coughed and coughed until my eyes watered but it went in the end. Nana Shuffs calls this soft chewy creature ‘Bring Milly.’

I az to say I iz a mite disappointed. I heard by dog grapevine that she put live entertainment on for my cousin Rooney, a running creature that he chased down the garden.

Ratty in the snow

I’d love to have done that! All I’ve ever chased have been flapping creatures on the fence or a thing with a bushy tail. Not close enough to have a little nip at but quite fun, especially when Bushy Tail had to disentangle himself from the tree, woof woof!

Squirrel feeder

Ah well, it’s tiring jumping round the room after Doug and Milly. Time for bed methinks. Nighty night.

Ralph snoozing

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