Bayou's Lament by Cheryl Owen-Wilson - Book Tour + Giveaway
Bayou's Lament
A Labyrinth of Souls Novella #9
by Cheryl Owen-Wilson
Genre: Dark Fantasy, Horror
Veya Marie St. James has vowed to never again set foot on the Island of her birth—a strip of land buried deep in the swamps of southern Louisiana. Her childhood memories are rampant with ancient superstitions and the bizarre rituals of her estranged mother. Veya long ago rejected that life and those beliefs, but when a mysterious illness threatens her daughter's life, it all leads to the Island. Veya swore she would never go back, but the Island calls to her, and now it's calling with her daughter's voice.
My October Friends
By Cheryl Owen-Wilson
Fall is my favorite time of the year. There’s such a
crispness in the air, I want to take a bite out of it and feel its sweet juices
flow slowly down my cheeks. Like many of you who enjoy fall, I too welcome the
cooling weather and the rainbow of leaves that dress the trees. But for me
there are other elements, which make this a treasured time of year. It is
October, and in this month alone, I can unpack all those friends of mine who
normally live only in the dark recesses of my brain, or within the confines of
my stories. In October, they come out into the light of day, and play.
In October they become tangible, touchable things, as
they gleefully sit on my mantle, tumble from the windows in my kitchen and
greet visitors at the threshold of my door. The vampire nutcracker hides in the
vines of my trailing ivy plant. Witches fly from my front porch. Headless
bodies recline in my lawn chairs and skeletal bones become wind chimes lulling
me into slumber each night. Gone are the classic books that normally line my
bookshelves, replaced by titles such as, Voodoo Hoodoo, The Everyday Book of
Spells and A Witches Kitchen. In my kitchen, the counters no longer hold
the usual fruit or bread. They are now filled with jars of pickled brains,
baskets of leathery bat wings and any number of colorful glass bottles with
labels such as: Love Potion, Wart Remover or the one most requested this
season; Politician Expeller.
I too transform during this month, when I host my
annual book club party. This year I will greet my guests as, E. She’s my
Day of the Dead Meets Steampunk painting.
Not certain how I will conduct a meeting with my lips sewn shut, but
I’ll manage somehow. As you can imagine, my ghoulish menagerie has taken
some time to collect. This year, I will be adding yet another friend, he
will reside in a 3 ft. coffin (thanks to the skill and willingness of my
daughter, Shawnacee). The casket will lie upon my hearth and he will be
nestled in its velveteen black folds. He is my Victorian clad, top
hatted skeletal muse of the month, his sharp fangs, when caught by light,
glisten with tiny drops of liquid crimson. I call him Edward.
I am always heartsick after October 31st,
has come and gone and I reluctantly begin packing away my many friends. But, a
thought occurs. What if this year, I don’t put away all my friends? What
if I keep Edward in the dark corner of my office behind that big potted plant?
The neighbors, or the occasional visitor would never look there, would they?
Edward, with his sharp-toothed grin and long, bony fingers clutching at a heart
that no longer beats. Edward, whose tattered black waistcoat reminds me of
genteel days gone by. I sit and stare mesmerized at my new friend and begin to
smell the damp earth still clinging to his casket and see the Spanish moss that
covered the trees around his ancestral home. Without warning, he begins to
whisper into my ear and a story unfolds. Yes, fall is my favorite time of year
and once again I find myself wanting to take a bite out of something and have
its warm, sticky juices flow ever so slowly down my cheeks…
Friends are so very important in this solitary life as
a writer. What friends do you have; things to entice those stories hidden in
the dark corners of your brain to come out and play, so they can jump into your
story and live on the written page?
The writing bug first snagged Cheryl Owen-Wilson through the penning of a personal essay, for which she received an award and publication. Today what drives her writing life is Southern Gothic fiction. Since her biological roots are buried not only in Oregon, but also deep in the bayous of Southern Louisiana the genre is a natural fit.
When not writing she can be found at an easel covered in oil paint. “When I write I usually have painting in mind to go with the story. The same holds true when a painting forms, a story generally follows.” In that vein one of her paintings is featured on the ShadowSpinners: A Collection of Dark Tales, book jacket. You can find her short story: Swamp Symphony, in the book’s collection. This is Cheryl’s first published novella.
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