Be prepared is the Boy Scout motto. But it’s hard to be prepared for winter in central North Carolina. The weather can be unpredictable and when snow is in the forecast, people flock to the grocery stores for milk and bread as if bread will never be made again and every cow on the planted is going to keel over and die. Usually, we get little more than a pretty dusting.

NC blizzard of 2000

Of course, there was that big blizzard in 2000. We got at least two feet of snow. At the time, I worked at a Developmental Hospital as an x-ray technologists. Since I was the department manager, I had to go in to work later that day. So, I packed my emergency weather kit: flashlight, blanket, water, snacks, and a shovel and I headed out. The first exit off the interstate had been shut down due to stranded cars but I made it to the second exit, got off, and drove the three extra miles to the hospital. The state shut Interstate 85 down twenty minutes later and I was stuck at the hospital for three days. That first night, I couldn’t get my car out of the parking lot and I ended up sleeping on an x-ray table.  The second two days, I was able to make it to a friend’s house at night. She and her husband lived less than two miles from the hospital so it was a much safer drive. Coincidentally, they moved that same summer and we bought their old house. Strange how things work out.

Fast forward to February 12, 2014 and the big Arctic blast that has been dumping snow on practically everyone this year. The forecast was for 4-6 inches of snow and possibly another .25- 1.5 inches of ice. It wasn’t supposed to start snowing until 4:00. As I now work as a mammographer/x-ray technologist in a county hospital about 20-25 minutes north east of my home I had to report to work. I knew it would start snowing before I headed back home, so I packed my emergency weather kit: cellphone with flashlight app, snacks, water,  and a blanket. I also packed a 2 pound jug of kitty litter rather than a shovel as I’ve learned it works just as well in NC with a lot less effort. I was prepared. North Carolina was NOT.

The snow started 2 or 3 hours earlier than predicted. It came in hard and fast and the hospital went to Code Black. All employees not designated to stay overnight were sent home. Apparently, this happened all over NC as there was a mass exodus on the interstates and major thoroughfares all over the state around 2:00 that afternoon. I headed home around 2:15 and encountered my first accident less than a mile from the hospital.

I took a detour and drove around it, heading for the interstate. I contemplated taking the back roads home, but figured they’d plow and throw down sand on the interstate first. Plus, some sections of those back roads are somewhat deserted. I didn’t want to be stuck out in the boondocks in a possible cellular dead-zone if I happened to slide into a ditch my kitty litter couldn’t get me out of.

So, I took the interstate, which turned out to be a lot more congested than I expected. After about 10 minutes and 3 miles, everything came to an abrupt halt at the rest area. My co-worker and friend was stranded just a half-mile ahead of me. So, we kept one another updated with pictures and texts.

Apparently, two tractor trailer trucks had jack-knifed and several other cars had run into ditches and into trees a mile or so up the road and traffic was shut down completely in the south-bound lanes with only a trickle of cars headed north. Normally, I don’t blame drivers who turn around and drive across the median to get to the other side so they can go back the way they had come to reach another exit. But at this particular point on the interstate, there is a double line of guard rails blocking the median for at least two miles before there is another exit and/or place to turn around to head north. And from what I heard on the news, the north bound lanes were blocked too. Soon, the other side of the road was completely deserted as traffic was blocked in the north bound lanes about 20 miles south of the rest area. So, no cars could get through heading north.

Occasionally,cars would pass by me on the right hand shoulder to drive up the exit ramp to the rest stop and get off the highway. I was tempted to do that too the first time I felt the urge….if you know what I mean. But that’s a sketchy rest area and I wasn’t about to leave the warmth of my car. So I sat. Then the idiots started driving in the wrong direction on the right hand shoulder, headed north in the southbound lanes. I don’t know where they think they were going as it was two miles to the last exit. The fire truck coming up on my right hand side on the shoulder had to wait for cars driving the wrong way on the shoulder to get out of the way so it could get to the accident.

Cars driving north on the south-bound shoulder

Then, people started driving down the left hand shoulder heading in the wrong direction. I could understand people driving up or down on the shoulder to get to the rest area, but I was sitting right next to the off ramp and I could also see the entrance ramp in my rear view mirror. And these people weren’t turning in from either direction.  Apparently, they intended to get off that interstate anyway they could, even at the expense of those who may or may not be injured up ahead.

About 45 minutes after the firetruck passed, an ambulance was trying to drive on the south-bound shoulder but kept meeting impatient people driving the wrong way on the same shoulder.

Don’t people realize that in an accident, arrival time of EMS can often mean the difference between life and death?

It seemed as if stupidity became contagious that day and cars started driving down both sides of the interstate, heading in the wrong direction for an exit ramp or access point to the north bound lanes, heedless of the stopped cars they were approaching or the EMS workers trying to get to the accident.

Some even zigzagged between stopped cars in their impatient quests.

Zigzagging the wrong way through traffic

Trucker turning around to head north on south-bound shoulder

If that wasn’t bad enough, a transfer truck did the same thing. Somehow, the driver managed to turn that big mother around so he could head north in the south bound lanes. And when he met another car trying to drive south on the south-bound shoulder, he just turned between the stopped cars and aimed his rig for the opposite shoulder. The jerk nearly took off my front bumper with his rear tire!

Walkers…

As night began to fall, people got out of their cars. Some wandered up to the rest area on foot. Others just wandered around on the interstate, looking like zombies from The Walking Dead.

It seemed as if the night would never end. And the snow kept falling.

Yes, I thought I had come prepared but I had never considered the possibility of being stranded on the interstate for 5 hours. What should have been a 20 minute drive took me 6 hours and 10 minutes.

The cup I had to throw away. 😉

In the end, I learned one valuable lesson from the 5 hours spent sitting on the interstate. A girl needs more than just water, warm clothes, her smartphone, a shovel or kitty litter and some snacks in her emergency weather kit. She needs to be a bit limber and she needs tissues, hand sanitizer and some sort of—container. Um, let’s just say that is not Mountain Dew you see on the rim of my favorite travel mug and leave it at that.

#CoverReveal:  BATTLE CRY by Melissa Snark

 BATTLE CRY by Melissa Snark

A Victoria Storm novel 

#3 Loki’s Wolves series 

Genre:  Paranormal/urban fantasy 

Coming in June 2014  * * *  Add to your Goodreads Shelf

“We meet Valkyrie Victoria Storm in the middle of a blood bath, and we did continue on from there. I must say Melissa Snark has all the makings of an awesome story teller.”

Gloria Lakritz

Sr. Reviewer and Review Chair for the Paranormal Romance Guild

“A definite must read for anyone who enjoys urban fantasy.”

Lisa Lester

Fight For Your Write Blog

Just when you thought it couldn’t get any better…

 Blurb:

 War with human hunters has devastated the werewolf pack of Sierra Pines. Only Valkyrie Victoria Storm and a handful of female wolves still live. With her mate dead, there is no one to protect her or her unborn child. An unwelcome attraction to a hunter complicates her life even further.  She reluctantly agrees to attend peace talks with Jake Barrett, the notorious Hunter King, a man who believes she murdered his son.

 Hunter Sawyer Barrett has been trying to kill Victoria Storm for so long, he doesn’t know whether he loves her or hates her.  Desperate to end the war he started, he’s willing to take chances with everything but his heart, but he harbors a deadly secret he’s determined to keep. 

 When peace talks fail, Victoria does the only reasonable thing an angry Valkyrie can do: she kidnaps her worst enemy and makes her escape in a fire engine red convertible muscle car. All along an ancient evil plots the destruction of wolves and hunters alike.

 Add BATTLE CRY to your Goodreads Shelf

THE CHILD THIEF (LOKI’S WOLVES #1) is free on Amazon and Goodreads. 

Author Bio:

Melissa Snark is a paranormal and romance author with a particular interest in werewolf and Norse mythology. Her Loki’s Wolves series combines elements of both in a contemporary fantasy setting. She lives in Northern California with her husband, three children and glaring of cats.

Connect with Melissa

Website

The Snarkology

Email:  melissasnark at gmail dot com

Facebook

Twitter: @MelissaSnark

Goodreads

Amazon Author Page

A missing person or crime drama in books and television is always exciting. A body is found or a crime is committed and the case is solved. And unless you’re watching Cold Case or reading a true crime novel, the case is usually solved in less than a year. The victim’s family doesn’t age, the cops don’t retire, and the DA never leaves office with the case unsolved. But real life is different. Despite forensics and DNA, cases go unsolved, bodies go unidentified, and families are left grieving, never knowing what happened to their missing loved ones.

Other than having my home broken into four times between 1984 and 1987, crime never directly affected me. It still hasn’t, but on March 4, 2003, I witnessed something that left a lasting impression. It wasn’t a murder or a mugging, but it bothered me nonetheless.

That day in late winter, 2003, I checked my girls out of school to take them to the orthodontist. At the time, my oldest, Jennifer, was sixteen and Lauren was thirteen. After the appointment, we stopped at McDonald’s for milkshakes and then went shopping before heading home on Interstate 85 in north central North Carolina. We were almost at our exit when we came upon what at first glance, looked to be the scene of an accident.

Traffic slowed to a near crawl but I couldn’t move over into the next lane. So, I slowed down as we passed the emergency vehicles. Out of respect, my oldest daughter reached over and turned off the radio. As we turned to look out the passenger side window, we saw EMS workers carrying a black body bag strapped to a stretcher up from the ravine next to the interstate. There was a collective gasp followed by silence. This was no accident.

There was no wrecked car on the side of the road and apparently, no rush to get the victim to the hospital. Even before we saw the news that night, we knew someone had discovered a body.

Earlier that afternoon, a man driving toward Durham pulled off the side of the interstate when his vehicle overheated. That section of road is next to a wooded area where Ledge Creek overflows into a somewhat marshy area between mile-markers 192 and 193. The driver spotted a beaver pond and when he walked toward it to get water for his radiator, he discovered a partially decomposed female in a semi-fetal position by the water’s edge.

I can’t imagine how horrifying that must have been for him. Just seeing her body being brought up from the pond haunted both of my daughters and me for years.  We later learned the victim was an unidentified mixed race female between the ages of 13 and 16.  Authorities said she didn’t appear to have been beaten or stabbed. She also had no form of identification on her. She didn’t have any scars, marks, or tattoos, and her ears were not pierced. It also appeared that she had been dead four to six weeks before she was discovered.

Authorities sent her body to the Medical Examiner’s office in Chapel Hill, but it would be years before she was identified.

In November, authorities sent the skull and details of the case to the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children for facial reconstruction. The Granville County Sheriff’s department posted the image on its webpage and elsewhere on the internet, but the mystery remained unsolved.

As spring turned into summer and summer into fall, I couldn’t drive passed that section of interstate without thinking of that young girl and her family. Had they reported her missing? Did the authorities know who she was or how she died?

Due to weather conditions at the time of her death, determining how long the body had been there and how she died seemed impossible. By the following winter, the crime remained unsolved and the crime scene tape was still in place. Every time I drove passed, a chill would settle in the pit of my stomach. Had anyone even reported her missing? Who was this forgotten girl?

When found, she was fully dressed with a sweatshirt and socks but no shoes. There was no evidence of drugs or sexual assault and no evidence that she had been shot or stabbed. The body was too badly decomposed to tell if she had been strangled. So, I suppose the hyoid bone was still intact or the authorities would have speculated that strangulation was the cause of death, but I never saw any news articles about the remains being identified. Despite nationwide attention and local officials’ best efforts, Granville County’s Jane Doe remained unidentified and people seemed to have forgotten about her.

Years passed and I heard nothing more about her or her case. It wasn’t until recently when I decided to look for information about her on the internet that I found out her remains had finally been identified–in April 2007–more than four years after her body was found. The body’s discovery made the news as did her reconstructed image when authorities released it in November 2003. And in 2006, there was a newspaper article written about her, detailing what little information was available. Then in  May 2007, http://doenetwork.org/cases/identified7.html  identified her as Chrystle Edmonds of Waldorf, Maryland. The link states that identification was made through DNA and that a member of the Doe Network assisted in the identification. There is no other information.

To this day, I can find nothing about her or how she might have died. I can’t find any news articles on the case other than a link about her body being found and another about her being identified. I’ve learned her name, but I don’t know who she was, why she was in NC, or how she died. I do not know if she had a family that loved her or if she truly was one of the forgotten. And to me, that is one of the saddest facets of this case.

It’s as if she has been forgotten twice.

More details of this story can be found at http://z13.invisionfree.com/PorchlightUSA/index.php?showtopic=4788

And, if you’d like more information on missing and exploited children, contact  https://secure.missingkids.com/HowYouCanHelp

I’s time for another Character Corner Interview. Today’s guest is Dr. Clayton Montgomery from the novel UNCHAINED MEMORIES by author Maria Imbalzano.

LG: Where were you born?

CM: Princeton, NJ where I still live and work.

LG: What do you do for a living?

CM: I’m an ER doctor at Nassau General Hospital in the borough of Princeton. I can actually walk to work, although I usually don’t. With my long hours and shift schedule, by the time I leave the hospital I’m too tired to walk.

LG: Shift work sucks, especially in a large hospital. I’ve been an x-ray technologist for 30 plus years, and I worked third shift at a Level One Trauma center for three years way back in the day. Now, for the day job, I mostly do mammograms. So, other than working all the time, what else is going on in your life?

CM: I’m head of the ER and I’m trying to get funding to add two doctors. We’re really busy and all of us work more shifts and longer shifts than we should.  But obtaining funding these days is difficult given the poor economy.

LG: Health Care isn’t what it used to be, that’s for sure. I don’t think there’s a hospital in the country that’s fully staffed at the moment, but let’s not get into that! Too many hot buttons on all sides of the issue. So, let’s move on to your personal life. Do you even have one? *laughs*  Is there a special someone at the moment?

CM: Funny you should ask.  I just ran into an acquaintance from ten years ago at a charity gala. She just moved back to Princeton, although I think it’s a temporary move. Her sister’s husband died suddenly, so she relocated to help her sister and her niece and nephew.  Not a happy homecoming, but I’m glad she’s back.

LG:  From the tone of your voice, it sounds like there’s a story there. How did you two meet?

CM: Ten years ago, Charley – Charlotte – was a patient at the hospital and I was an intern. She’d been in a serious car accident and both of her parents were killed.  She was in the hospital , then re-hab, for months. One of my fellow interns and I not only tended to her physical problems, but we tutored her in calculus and physics so she could graduate with her class. She was a sweet girl. Now she’s . . . more than sweet.

LG: Ah…I see. So, what’s keeping you two apart?

CM: Let’s start with the fact that she’s a medical malpractice lawyer. She represents patients against doctors and hospitals.

LG: Ouch! That could be a conflict of interest.

CM: Our philosophical differences on the benefits and detriments of costly lawsuits are interfering with our friendship. She’s clearly not going to give up her career and neither am I. It’s just a matter of time before she’ll be involved in a lawsuit against one of my colleagues at the hospital.

LG: And there’s one of those hot buttons. Geez. It’s sometimes hard to know what’s right when perception and emotions often carry more weight than fact. So, how would you like to see this situation resolved?

CM: She can always switch sides (smiles). Represent the good guys, the doctors.

LG: I’ve seen some major medical screw-ups over the years. And sometimes, the patients don’t even know a mistake was made. But I’ve also seen good doctors get sued when they’ve done everything right and the patient dies anyway. They’re not Gods, but some people are just sue happy. And some people are just grieving and need someone to blame. It’s not always easy to know who the good guys are. But that’s another conversation best left for another time. What other obstacles stand in your way?

CM: I have a feeling Charlotte chose to practice medical malpractice for a reason. I don’t know that reason yet, but I hope to spend more time with her, get to know her now that she’s an adult.

LG: Wonder if it has something to do with the death of her parents. Hmm. Sounds like a bit of a mystery there. Is there a happily ever after in your future?

CM: Up until now, I’ve been too busy practicing medicine to get involved in a significant relationship.  Besides, I’ve been helping finance my younger sibling’s education over the past ten years.  I have two brothers and two sisters. I’m the oldest and have been able to help the most. As each one graduates, they start to pay me back and help with the next one.  My brothers are CPAs in town. My sisters are both in their last year of grad school; one is in med school and the other law school.  Once they’re done, maybe I’ll consider a relationship. I’m not getting any younger.

LG: Geez, you’re still young and sexy in my book! *chuckles* So, any last comments before I turn this interview over to Maria Imbalzano?

CM: Wish me luck with Charley.

LG: You got it!

Maria Imbalzano is a matrimonial lawyer in central New Jersey where she not only uses her law degree to navigate her clients through the court system, but her psychology degree to guide them through their personal struggles. While writing motions, legal memoranda, and briefs is fascinating, it pales in comparison to creating memorable characters and taking them on their emotional journeys.

In addition to practicing law and writing fiction, Maria enjoys spending time with her husband and two daughters either at home or at the Jersey Shore.

Blurb:

As a rising medical malpractice attorney, Charlotte Taylor believes in standing up for the injured, giving them a voice, and advocating for their rights. She couldn’t do it for her mother, so she does it for others, even if it means losing the love of her life.

Dr. Clayton Montgomery believes in working hard and playing even harder, until he reconnects with Charlotte. Barely noticing her crush when he tutored her ten years ago, Clay has a chance to make up for lost time when the beautiful lawyer comes back into town…until he discovers her chosen career path.

Now, philosophical differences soon become a reality and Charlotte is faced with the choice of representing a client against the hospital and against Clay. Will Charlotte give up her career and her tribute to her mother for a second chance with the man who got away?

Excerpt:

Red. Hot. Sexy.

Like magnets, Clay’s eyes clicked on Charlotte, unable to repel the force holding them. Her chestnut hair was held up in a loose, sexy do that had him itching to pull the pins to release it. Her strapless dress showcased a long neck and creamy shoulders that called out to be kissed. His involuntary focus on her lovely traits throughout the evening had made him a rude dinner companion, unable to answer even the easiest of questions.

He had come here tonight to socialize with the powers that be at the hospital, to talk up the ER, to lay the groundwork for future requests. But his concentration had been directed elsewhere. Since he’d squandered his opportunity to network, he should leave. But here he was at the bar at ten-thirty, waiting for a scotch and soda. The band was heavily into their Motown set and many of the revelers packed the dance floor.

Across the room, Clay zeroed in on Charlotte talking to a group of men, her red gown like a flame in a sea of black. He smiled. She sure knew how to turn heads. His included.

But he knew her better than those clowns. He knew the sweet, tough eighteen-year-old who’d lost her parents within hours of each other. The broken girl whose emotional health had worried Dr. Collins, their chief of surgery, much more than her physical wounds.

As the band segued into a slow song, Clay covered the distance between them. “Excuse us, gentlemen, but the lady promised me a dance, and I’d like to claim it now.” He deposited his drink on an empty table and guided her toward the dance floor.

“I don’t recall promising you a dance.” Her beautiful face held the hint of a smile.

“You don’t? I must have dreamed it.”

He pulled her into his embrace, and moved with the music around the floor, feeling like one of the luckiest men there. Although she hadn’t promised anything, she glided around the room, following his lead. Her perfume intoxicated him more than any drink ever could, and the movement of her graceful body against his had his heart palpitating.

Little Charley Taylor had certainly grown up, and he couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to know her now. As an adult. Ten years removed from the time their lives had intersected. He called on his memory, pulling up their very last encounter.

“I’m leaving for college today.” She stood tentatively in his office doorway, her crystal blue eyes so expressive in their sadness. “I wanted to thank you for all your help, especially with physics and calculus. I never would have done so well without…you.” She avoided his eyes as her voice trailed off, choked with tears.

His heart constricted, startling him. He hadn’t anticipated the day she would no longer be around; trailing him at the hospital, asking incessant questions, teasing him for being so serious. His life was on overload with his internship, not allowing him to realize the time he dedicated to her was not just tolerated, but treasured.

He walked around the desk, intending to give her a friendly hug, but when he took her in his arms something changed. Her familiar flowery scent awakened his senses as if he’d been in a deep sleep and he closed his eyes to heighten the aroma. Her body fit against his like a shadow. He fought the confusing stimuli. This was Charley, his former patient and pupil. But that wasn’t who he held close, who he breathed in. When had she become more than that?

Charley hugged him hard, laughing through tears. “I hate good-byes.” Before making her escape she added, “Dr. Collins has my information at school. Call me sometime. Let me know what you’re up to.”

Clipped, hasty words said with a matter-of-factness meant to cover up the emotions she plainly felt. The same emotions that had just blind-sided him.

Then she turned and walked away, her new life ahead of her.

Clay’s lips touched Charley’s forehead as they circled the dance floor. He closed his eyes, taking in the smoothness of her skin. Before he could stop himself he asked, “How’d you like to go out to dinner one night next week?”

For more information, go to www.mariaimbalzano.com

To purchase UNCHAINED MEMORIES go to http://amzn.com/B00FDZ6HWM or

https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/unchained-memories/id792433770?mt=11

Today, I have Wild Rose Press author, Tricia Schneider on my blog and a link to the 25 Days of Christmas countdown for The Wild Rose Press where you can enter to win some great prizes just in time for the new year.  Please visit The Wild Rose Press blog  today where I just happen to have a blog post and emotional video posted.  In the mean time don’t forget to click the Amazon link below for a FREE copy of Tricia’s new release, The Witch’s Thief.  Yes, I said FREE! But just until tomorrow. So hurry and get your copy. And help me welcome Tricia.

Hi Lilly,

I’m a pantster, meaning I write by the seat of my pants. Some authors are plotters. They plot and outline their novel before they begin writing. Most of the times, I know where I’m going in my head but I rarely write it down unless I’m afraid I might forget it. Like a small detail or turning point of the story. Personally, I think being a plotter is the wisest decision and I envy those writers who can do it. It makes sense to have a guideline or map so you know where you’re going when writing your novel.

But, for me, it just doesn’t work. I learn about my characters and their destinations along with the reader. I feel like a reader when I’m writing the story. What’s going to happen next? If I’m excited about that question, then I hope my reader is, too. But then comes my trouble…sometimes even I don’t know what happens next!

It’s almost as if the characters stop ‘speaking’ to me. They sort of just stand around looking at me with accusing glares and yell, “Well, aren’t you the author? You tell us what to do!”

When times like that occur, I need to step back and think about the story in a different way. Most times I’ll brainstorm. I imagine at least three different paths or possibilities scenarios for my characters. Then I’ll choose the one that seems the most unlikely or unexpected. Usually, that’s enough to keep me going.

That’s how I wrote my newest release, The Witch’s Thief. There were two spots in this story when I wondered what was going to happen next. I had to think about it for a week before the characters began to ‘speak’ to me again. It’s my way of working through a tough spot.

The Witch’s Thief is being offered FREE on Kindle from December 17-21. Hurry over and grab your copy!

Here’s a blurb and excerpt for The Witch’s Thief:

To save her sister’s life, Julia Grey seeks a spell hidden somewhere within Merriweather Manor. Her position as a lady’s companion affords her the freedom to search the house. But time is running out. The necromancer she’s bargained with is growing impatient. And an unexpected appearance of a man from her past makes matters worse in an already complicated situation.

Basil Merriweather returns to England after ten years abroad to discover his childhood sweetheart living in his home. But, he’s no longer the carefree man of his youth and she’s hiding something–deadly secrets Basil vows to uncover even as he hides a dark secret of his own.

While neither Basil nor Julia will trust in the other, their hearts speak a truer language.  In a grand attempt to save Julia’s sister and Basil’s life, the two must finally confess sinister truths. Will their admissions help or hinder any future they may have together? Or will the necromancer destroy all in a vile attempt at revenge.

Excerpt:

“What are you doing?”

He ignored her frantic questioning. Instead, he blocked out the sound of her voice and raised his arms into the air at his sides, his fingers splayed out as he extended his senses to scan the area. His power eased out, like extensions of his fingertips, stretching into the corners of the room, seeking, searching for the source of the magic he sensed.

It was here…somewhere.

He had sensed it earlier on his arrival, but being that his aunt and siblings practiced magic on a regular basis he’d never given it a second thought.

This room, however, stank with it. He smelled the odor, something strangely like sulfur…

“A spell has been cast in this room,” he muttered. A strange spell. Odd. A spell he’d never sensed before, something new. It felt off is some way he couldn’t explain. Who would be working new magic of this kind in his home? And, in this room in particular. Aunt Petunia worked her spells in the privacy of her rooms upstairs, or sometimes in the gardens, but never in this room. And his siblings each, practiced in their own private settings, places where they could concentrate without the threat of being disturbed. A fairly difficult task with the number of people normally in residence at Merriweather Manor.

He took a step closer to the center of the room where he sensed a surge of power. He shivered as coldness seeped into his skin. It wrapped around his arm, sinking into his flesh, right down to the bone. This was not right.

The magic in his house was always full of warmth and gentleness. Goodness and love. This magic chilled him to the bone. His heart skipped a beat. There was fear, terror, pain. This spell was full of darkness.

About the author:

Tricia Schneider is a paranormal and gothic romance author. She worked as an Assistant Manager at a bookstore for several years. Now she writes full-time while raising her 3 young children in the coal region of Pennsylvania. For more information about her books visit:

Website: http://www.triciaschneider.com

Blog: http://www.shadowsofromance.blogspot.com

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/authortriciaschneider

Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/triciaschneider

Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/triciaschneider

To buy her books:

The Wild Rose Press:

http://www.wildrosepublishing.com/maincatalog_v151/index.php?main_page=product_info&cPath=191&products_id=5437

Amazon:

http://www.amazon.com/Witchs-Thief-Tricia-Schneider-ebook/dp/B00G8HXMJK/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1386035934&sr=1-1&keywords=the+witch%27s+thief

When I was growing up, Thanksgiving Day was spent at my paternal grandparents’ home. We had the traditional holiday meal served in my grandmother’s large formal dining room on fine china with real crystal and real silverware.  The children ate in the kitchen on less-formal dishes at a still properly set table.

Then on Friday or Saturday, we’d head to Virginia to spend time with my mom’s family. The food was just as good but the family atmosphere was much less formal. Sadly, my mom’s parents died within one year of one another before my fourteen birthday. So, it’s my paternal grandmother’s traditions that have stuck with me over the years.

My dad’s folks lived on a farm in a large two story home with six bedrooms, a large formal dining room, huge country kitchen and a formal living room my grandmother called a parlor. My dad’s mom was a real Southern lady, which isn’t to say that my mom’s mom wasn’t a lady. She was just as Southern and just as much the lady, but she was much more down to earth. She and my my maternal grandfather were a bit more country, despite the fact that they lived in town. But it’s those formal family gatherings at my paternal grandparents’ house that I fondly remember around the holidays.

My grandmother insisted we know proper table manners and how to set a proper table. She even placed the food in serving dishes on the table. But she had four sons who each had wives and between them, they produced nine children. Eventually, she  started serving the food buffet style, but she still set the table with fine china, even if we did have to pick up a plate and go get in line for our food.  As the family grew and expanded, tables were eventually set up in the parlor and in my grandmother’s bedroom with the youngest children still eating in the kitchen. And still, she used her best dishes and sterling silver flatware.

By the time my daughters were preteens, my grandfather’s health was failing and there were fewer and fewer formal meals.  After he died, my grandmother still served food, but the crowds were smaller and the tables were much less formal. Even before his death, traditions had changed as my dad, his brothers, and their families started their own traditions. Then ten years ago, my grandmother died and the family gatherings stopped. I suppose she was the glue that held my dad’s family together. We still see one another off and own at weddings, reunions, and the occasional cookout, but not like we did when I was growing up.

After my dad’s folks died, mom hosted Thanksgiving for her own children and grandchildren. My brother, younger sister, and I are married with children, but our older sister was severely, physically handicapped. After she went to live in a group home, I occasionally hosted Thanksgiving at my house. With such a large crowd, it was informal and everyone contributed to the food with dad cooking a ham or turkey. It was a bit reminiscent of those times at my maternal grandparents’ home, but with more people.

As the next generation has grown, married, and begun having children of their own, more have split from the group. Then two years ago, my older sister died. But, we still manage to have a crowd at Thanksgiving and for the last two years, I have hosted it. And while a less formal meal is easier, for the last two years, I think I’ve been channeling my paternal grandmother. And I’ve discovered something about myself. I love hosting dinner parties!

I love cooking traditional Thanksgiving food and using china and stemware. I also love using my grandmothers’s monogrammed sterling silver flatware I inherited when she died. And I love setting an elegant table. 

Of course, I don’t use linen napkins the way my grandmother did. I do own cloth napkins, but I don’t use them. However, I did add a creative touch with the paper napkins, by folding them into little fans and making turkey tail feathers and stuffing them into the napkin rings.

I even set an elegant counter place setting for the overflow. There was even a children’s table set up in the sun room for my nephews and cousin’s daughter.

I loved hosting Thanksgiving so much that I’m now wishing I had a formal dining room like my grandmother’s.

I have a dining room, but it’s more of an eat-in kitchen. No wall separates the kitchen from the dining room–just a bar. It’s nice for those informal meals because the room is big enough for everyone to eat together. But for larger gatherings when I want to pull out all the stops and serve Southern style the way my grandmother did, it would be nice to have a large, old fashioned dining room like hers.

Of course, there were a few differences in my meal and the ones my grandmother served. Although I had under twenty people dining, neither my table nor my dining room are big enough to place serving pieces on the table, so the food was set out buffet style on the counter. And, there was wine, something I don’t remember my grandmother EVER serving…although, she did make a mean rum cake.

Incidentally, the hutch and white table I have on my sun porch was on my grandmother’s utility porch at one time. So, I guess in a way, I really am a bit more like my paternal grandmother than my maternal one. I know I look more like her than I did my mom’s mom. My sisters were both more like her. So is my youngest daughter, even though she’s blond. She swears she doesn’t even want to own china when she gets married.

My oldest daughter, on the other hand, is more like my dad’s mom, my mom, and me. She collects lead crystal and Polish pottery, and she loves her formal dining room. So I know when I am too old to serve Thanksgiving meals, my oldest will step up to the challenge–if she isn’t still living in Germany by then.

Until then, I’ll try to make everyone happy. I’ll have my formal, sit down meal with my good china and then, we’ll add a little family fun and craziness, just like we did this year. Who says you can’t have a bit of non-traditional fun at a traditional Thanksgiving dinner? 

The summer of 2007, I realized it had been eighteen months since my last mammogram and clinical breast exam. As a mammographer, I felt I should practice what I preached.  So, I made an appointment with my doctor for a physical. My clinical breast exam was normal so my doctor wrote an order for a screening mammogram, which I had the Friday before father’s day.

The hospital where I worked still used film-screen technology then. So, after my co-worker performed the exam at the end of the day, I waited with her by the film processor and watched as she hung up each film. And there, right next to my chest wall was a tiny, spiky lesion that was not there on prior exams. I knew from having seen other lesions like it that it was most likely cancer, and my heart dropped.

The radiologist had already left for the day, so I had to wait until Monday for him to read my films.

The following Monday, I went into his office and told him I wanted him to be honest. By then, I’d had the entire weekend to consider all possibilities and I was prepared for the verdict. If this were cancer, we’d caught it early. There was NOTHING there eighteen months earlier.

The radiologist said he was 80% sure it was going to come back positive for cancer but he wanted additional imaging before he suggested a biopsy.  On June 21, 2007, I had a diagnostic mammogram that confirmed the radiologist’s suspicions. He recommended a biopsy.

Because I work in a hospital that performs breast needle localization procedures and biopsy, my doctor and radiologist worked with the surgeon and got me on the OR schedule for the following week. And on July 3, 2007, I got the confirmation I had been dreading. I had breast cancer.

For the next five months, I underwent more surgical procedures, a breast MRI, chemotherapy, and radiation. I had a surgically implanted port-a-cath and I lost my hair.  But all treatments ended the week before Christmas 2007 and I was declared “cured.” Which really means, I didn’t have any known cancer in my body.

Since being declared cancer-free, I have spent the last six years following up with oncologist and surgeons. I’ve had two more biopsies (done stereotactically with no visible scars) that were both negative, and I have x-rayed hundreds of other women’s breasts. I’ve heard their stories, assisted with their needle localizations before their surgeries, and I have read countless women’s pathology reports.  And at the facility where I work, it seems as if breast cancer is on the rise.

Since 2007, most hospitals and imaging centers have changed from analog film to digital systems, which is more sensitive. I like to tell my patients that the good thing about digital mammography is that is shows everything. And the bad thing about digital is that it shows everything. More patients are being called back for follow up (diagnostic) studies following screening mammography because the radiologist is seeing more on the images than was clearly visible on film screen. With digital mammography, the radiologists are also able to use a computer software program called CAD–computer aided detection–which highlights possible abnormalities on the mammogram. It’s commonly known as a “second look” and it’s like having two doctors look at the images and decide if additional images  are needed.

Since 2007, there have also been medical advances in imaging studies and increased sensitivity of tests used by the pathologist when looking at specimen slides and cells to determine the presence of cancer cells. This could possibly account for the increase in breast cancer diagnosises. Then again, can we discount the increase use of hormones in our food supply? Or the pharmaceuticals that have been flushed into our rivers and streams for decades?

In 2007, 70% of new breast cancers were in women with no family history of the disease.  In 2012, the percentage rose to 80%. Is the rise due to an increase awareness and more women having mammograms? Or something else?

One thing is clear. Knowing your family history, performing self breast exams and having a yearly clinical breast exam is important,  but it cannot replace a mammogram for the early detection of breast cancer. Although a mammogram cannot detect all breast cancers at an early stage, a mammogram in conjunction with a breast ultrasound and/or breast MRI when needed can increase a woman’s odds of catching breast cancer sooner.  Once a breast cancer is palpable, the disease has already taken hold.

So, when should a woman have a mammogram?

With or without a family history of breast cancer, screening should begin at age 40, with yearly mammograms thereafter.

In patients with a mother diagnosed with breast cancer, an initial screening mammogram should be performed 10 years before the age at which the mother was diagnosed and every year thereafter following the patient’s 40th birthday.

In high-risk women–women with a BRCA gene mutation, women with a history of chest irradiation between the ages of 10-30, and women with 20% or greater lifetime risk of breast cancer should begin screening at age 25-30 or 10 years before age of first-degree relative with breast cancer was diagnosed or 8 years after radiation therapy, but not before age of 25. Mammography and MRI are complementary examinations, and both should be performed in high-risk patients according to the American College of Radiology guidelines for screening.

There are reasons doctors do not order mammograms on low-risk women under 35 without a palpable lump and why they normally request an ultrasound first on women under 25 before proceeding to a mammogram. The breasts of women younger than 35 are extremely dense and “lumpy.” The images are more difficult to read accurately and while radiation doses on mammography are low, it is still direct exposure to the breasts. The younger the patient, the more sensitive the tissue is to radiation.  In most cases, palpable lumps in women younger than 35 are going to be cysts or other benign nodules such as fibroadenomas. These can usually be seen on an ultrasound and are most often diagnosed without the need for mammography. However, any woman 35 or older–regardless of family history should have a mammogram followed by an ultrasound if they feel a new or enlarging lump in their breasts. An any male who feels a lump in his breast should see a doctor immediately, as 1-2% of breast cancers are diagnosed in men.

Are you at risk for breast cancer? Use the breast cancer assessment tool to find out.  http://www.cancer.gov/bcrisktool/ . And as always, if you are not happy or reassured by your physician’s recommendations, seek another opinion. It is your life and your choice.