I was reading a business article a couple of weeks ago, and I noticed the writer using the phrase, “being comfortable in your own skin.” I wondered why such a widely-read business author would use such a trite and overused metaphor.

The term actually became popular many years ago, describing an attitude of acceptance, surrendering to the results of genetic malfeasance while reframing negative attitudes about our physical appearance. Over time, the expression evolved into a popular way of describing a state of personal authenticity—creating and experiencing a sense of flow in our lives, of doing things in a way that makes the most sense, even when our choices are far from the traditional.

After a little research, I learned the phrase is on the verge of making a comeback. Perhaps it’s time. Seems like every ten years, the self-help industry checks the recycle bin for second-hand concepts that can be re-packaged into books and seminars for the next generation. So with the latest re-issue of “finding a personal comfort zone” pre-eminently upon us, I’d like to make a suggestion: Let’s include a context that goes far beyond the reluctant acceptance of situations and issues beyond our control. Let’s make it about the celebration of choice.

Since I often share personal experiences with readers, I’d like to offer an example that is near and dear to my heart. A few months ago, my husband and I celebrated our eighteenth wedding anniversary. But unlike the customary observance, we renewed our desire to continue our relationship for another year. It’s something we’ve done since our first anniversary, seventeen years ago. And while not the traditional box of candy and Hallmark card, it’s a commemoration of truth, of looking back on the years that we’ve shared together and deciding the future is better with each other than without.

Perhaps more important, it’s recognizing the fact that both he and I have many options and choices in life, and yet in spite of those many other opportunities, we agree to continue as partners, best friends, and lovers. To me, it’s a nearly overwhelming concept—to have that choice, and know that I would never choose otherwise. It’s acknowledging that choice is part of commitment—for us, the most important part.

We are together because we choose to be. And we make that choice every December.

But our example pales in comparison to the choices others have made, willingly and without hesitation. I’ll continue with part two tomorrow.

Until then,

Jaye

Join me at Great Minds Think Aloud with interviewer Kitty Bullard and read an excerpt from my paranormal-occult romance novel "The Kure". Kitty's website is a great resource for all genres and is a wonderful place to spend some time to share and receive recommendations for new reads and authors.

Here is the link:

http://www.greatmindsthinkaloud.proboards.com/index.cgi?action=display&board=interviews&thread=1181

Thank you for following!

Until next time,
Jaye
www.jayefrances.com
http://blog.jayefrances.com

According to the Mayan calendar, the current 5125 year-long cycle will end on December 21, 2012. The idea has made for some interesting movies and several best-selling books—most of which are little more than over-dramatized fiction with little basis in fact. 

There is, however, a small group of people who have construed this event to be the literal end of time—and life—on this planet. Other radical interpretations suggest the “end-of-days calendar” is really a kind of astronomic time-table, warning us of apocalyptic changes in weather and geo-centricity that will result in the loss of much of the world’s infrastructure that we now take for granted.

The world’s leading experts have assured us that we have little to fear. And that in all likelihood, December 21 will come and go without incident, with most people’s thoughts focused on Christmas shopping, holiday parties and egg nog.

Seems like a shame, really. To have an ancient civilization like the Mayans—who left us with such a nifty collection of temples and the basis for modern day astronomy—predict such a significant event without attributing some credibility to their efforts.

Maybe our mistake in considering the 2012 prediction is our “all or nothing” context. By thinking only in terms of extreme opposites—catastrophic prophecy or entirely meaningless timekeeping—we might be overlooking a more fertile middle ground.

Just for fun, let’s consider the re-setting of the Mayan calendar with a different mentality. What if, rather than predicting a cataclysmic end to our way of life, the Mayans were encouraging future generations to periodically examine their lives, re-evaluate their priorities, and if necessary, make a few changes? 

Personally, I like the idea. And it got me to thinking: What if, for the next ten months, I decided to live my life as if the world was really coming to an end?  How would I spend my time?  Where would I go? And who would I want to see—what would we talk about—if I knew it was going to be my last conversation with that person?

I quickly realized it would put a different perspective on the way I use my time—a different set of rules to live by. Now I was hooked. I decided to determine what my New Rules would be; little reminders to keep me focused on the things in life that were important to me. These are what I came up with. If you find any of them useful, feel free to borrow, modify or adapt to your own situation and life—not only for the balance of this year, but for all the years to come.

• Go your own way.  Live life by your standards. If you decide to adopt other people’s lifestyles, dictates and doctrines, do so only if it’s right for you. Once we’ve reached adulthood, we’ve earned the right to call our own shots—to live where we want, see who we want, and to spend our time in ways that are personally satisfying. As long as our choices don’t hurt others, we have the right to explore the opportunities of a lifetime.  Choice is what makes life rewarding.

• Use every day to advantage.  Recognize that the days are passing. Our time is limited, so make each day count for something. When we’re twenty, the future is a vague and seemingly endless string of tomorrows. But those with the majority of their years behind them often encourage us to spend our time consciously, and in ways that make us—and others—happy. One of my oldest family friends (now 86) put it extremely well:  “Don’t celebrate your eightieth birthday still wishing you had traveled more, worried less, made more friends, visited family more often, repaired broken relationships, or been more willing to try new things.” Whether you are looking at another fifty years or another five, live every day in appreciation of how you spend your time.
• Remain flexible to change. Remember: Life is what happens while you’re planning your future. It seldom works out the way we think it will. But it does work out. Being receptive to alternative experiences can be a real source of joy and excitement. 
• Regardless of what happens, don’t take it too seriously. Socrates suggested it. Shakespeare said it. And Will Rogers made it a classic. Most recently, it was repeated very eloquently by Bill Harris, a brain-wave researcher at the Centerpointe Research Institute: “We adopt the role of actor, witness or author, giving our hearts fully to the game of life, knowing all the while that it is a great diversion and will eventually end.”

Looking forward to seeing you on December 21, and in the days beyond.

When I was about twelve, my family was visiting relatives in a small town located in the great state of  . . .  well, it doesn’t matter, let’s just say it was one of the contiguous forty-eight. It was a pleasant little town, one of those out-of-the-way places that looked as if it had sprung right off the canvas of a Norman Rockwell painting. The storybook houses were set on deep, perfectly manicured yards, their long driveways sheltered by leafy canopies of oak and maple, while front porch swings buffered the illusion of Victorian propriety with down-home hospitality.

Downtown, the quaint storefronts were filled with displays of merchandise and smartly dressed mannequins, and people moved about their business in a friendly, unhurried way, often taking the time to stop and chat about the weather or the daily special at the local diner. It was one of those places where you would expect Andy and Barney to suddenly appear from Floyd’s Barber Shop, where they had spent the better part of the morning chatting with smooth-talking Gomer and his celebrity-impersonating cousin, Goober. 

One afternoon, my mother and her two sisters talked me into going with them on a trip to the drugstore. My mom needed a half dozen rolls of film for her new Brownie StarFire, and there was no better place to buy film than the drugstore—because of all the other nifty things you could find there.

We parked on the street, right in front of “Drugs and Notions.” As we stepped up to the sidewalk, one of my aunts noticed it first—a hand-lettered sign prominently displayed in the store’s window: “Going Out of Business – everything 50% off.” My mother, concerned that her supply of notions was precariously low, made a bee-line for the front door.

Thirty minutes later, she began placing her items on the checkout counter, and the clerk at the register began to ring-up the merchandise.  Meticulous at her job, the clerk picked up each item, examined it for cracks, tears or other flaws (as notions are notorious for collecting), and then punched the keys on the cash register.  Noticing the prices were being entered at the regular, sticker price, my mother asked when the discount would be calculated.

The clerk answered, “Oh, at the end, when I take the total and divide it by half.  We couldn’t take fifty percent off each item—we’d go broke that way.”

Now, I know not everyone’s a math whiz.  And personally, I have to use a calculator to figure out a twenty percent tip. But here’s what I remember about that experience that keeps it so firmly anchored in the bedrock of my childhood.

No one said anything. Not to the sales clerk. Not to each other.

There was a line of folks standing behind us, most of whom surely heard the employee’s comment.  My mother didn’t seem to think it important , and my two aunts just smiled and reminded each other that dinner was at six that evening instead of six-thirty.

The point of the story is not to poke fun at hard working sales clerks. It is simply to point out that not everyone is going to “get” it.  Not everyone needs to.  And that’s okay.

For example, when I was growing up, I loved the satire of Woody Allen. And yet, many of my friends thought he was nuts—and not in a good way. Here’s another: Some folks read the lengthy sentences of Hemmingway and find themselves drifting off to places and times that keep them captivated for hours. Others read the same page and wonder if he was ever introduced to the concept of using a period.

That’s what makes the current publishing revolution so important—lots of new voices.  And from that rising eclectic chorus, you and I now have the previously unequaled opportunity to choose our favorites.  Here’s to choosing well . . . and often.

A note about your email:

I appreciate (more than you know) the ton of email I’ve received about the recent posts, “Myths, Legends and Lies,” and especially your comments about the The Kure’s realistic portrayal of rituals and spells derived from the dark arts.  It’s made me wonder about my original decision to pull the historical references and source material from the end notes of the book. I left them out intentionally, wanting readers to experience the story with the same abject horror as those who lived in that time period. Now I’m rethinking that.

What’s your opinion?  Do you think The Kure would be a better read—more interesting—if the historical references were included with the book? Or would it spoil the “surprise” factor, increasing the predictability quotient?

If you don’t want to leave a pixel trail on the blog, shoot me an email.

Until next time,

Jaye

Today, I’m being hosted by “Reading Lark After Dark,” a wonderful on-line sanctuary for the 18+ reader where you can explore new books, read reviews, and learn more about  your favorite authors.

In addition to my guest post, the reviewer, Michelle, posted an excellent review of The Kure.

Here’s the link for the guest post: http://readinglarkafterdark.blogspot.com/2012/02/guest-post-and-giveaway-with-Jaye.html

The link for the review is: http://readinglarkafterdark.blogspot.com/2012/02/book-review-kure.html

I encourage you to visit both.

I’m going to leave it short today, with a promise of more tomorrow.

Until then,

Jaye 

During a recent interview on a reviewer’s site, I was asked a question that made me think about the essential differences between the sexes when it comes to things like priority and value.  The question was:

It seems you are quite a shoe shopper, do you think this is really only a female trait or do you think that men can be just as bad when it comes to shoes?

 Here’s my answer:

I’d have to speculate that it’s most likely a singularly female trait—no doubt the result of some quirky twist in our DNA. My husband had long given up trying to understand the relationship between shoes and female chromosomes, until one day I explained the compulsion as part of an inseparable trifecta—a love for shoes, an insatiable desire for chocolate, and the ability to flawlessly apply make-up while driving. He’s never asked me about it since.

Pretty innocuous stuff. An innocent question designed to show the more personal side of an author, and a writer’s attempt at delivering a witty response. Nothing all that unusual, but it got me to thinking . . .

What if the age-old discussion about the differences between men and the fairer sex came down to just one essential ingredient—shoes?  What if all the psychological studies and sociological debate over the inconsistencies and dissimilarities between men and women were simply reflections of how our feet hit the pavement?

My husband owns four pair – black and brown loafers, a pair of tennis shoes and some leather Sperry’s. He says that’s all he needs. But that’s what he’s supposed to say. Because he’s, well, a . . . man. He gets by with four pair because five pair would be extravagant, a waste of money, and . . . un-manly. He—like most men—suffers from obvious shoe deficiency (OSD for short).  But really now, can a simple case of OSD make that much difference in a person’s behavior?

I’m sure of it. Pardon the personal reference, but if you threatened to cut my shoe stash down to four pair, you’d see some changes in my temperament. For example, I might not be inclined to pick my clothes up off the floor (or his either). I’d probably let the dirty dishes sit in the sink an extra hour or two, hoping Alice would decide to abandon the Brady Bunch and suddenly show up at my door. My usually glowing personality and charming disposition would take a dive straight into the dumper.  And men, if you think a woman’s mood swings produced some radical behavioral shifts before we bought both the red and the white pair of the same style stiletto pumps, just take away our shoes and you’ll look back on our previous eruptions of alternative personas—including one of my all-time favorites, axe-wielding Lizzie Borden—as a precious memory you can only long for.

Bottom line, the huge gulf of silence and confusion that currently resides between Mars and Venus could be shrunk to the occasional pregnant pause, if more men made a monthly trip to Macy’s to check out the latest Florsheims. In fact, I’m sure if a man’s closet was stocked with an adequate complement of footwear, he would soon find himself enjoying the advantages of intuition, thoughtful reflection, and sympathetic sensitivity.

Just sayin’. . . .

Until next time,

Jaye

As promised in part one, here’s a little more detail about the historical basis of The Kure and in particular, the ritual contained in the ancient and demonic book of healing the good doctor kept hidden in a secret compartment behind his bookcase. (You can’t imagine all the places I originally considered for a hiding place – the attic, under the floorboards, a hollow bottom in the doctor’s instrument cabinet. But the more I thought about it, I decided the most appropriate place to hide evil was in plain sight – with (and behind) the doctor’s other books.)

My goal was to present the ritual as a derivation of the dark-spirited rationalized explotation of women throughout history, and in particular, young virgin women, who were often used – sacrificed - to serve the sexual pleasure and gratification of men.

As John Tyler (our hard-working, gorgeous hunk of a protagonist) suggested, "Harwell had read the most perverse instructions imaginable, a prescription designed to justify the actions of corrupt and evil men who craved the touch of a young maiden."

So why do satanic texts place such an emphasis on virgins? (And the word “satanic” in this context means any dark or demonic influence, not necessarily the infamous fallen angel, Satan, the CEO of hell.)

Virgins, often referred to as “young virgins” in historical writings, are the popular focus and preferred ingredient in dark rituals because of the “regeneration effect”—the release of energy, thought to be the actual life force. Ancient magicians believed that a living being was a container of stored power, the quality and quantity of which was reflected by the purity and moral character of the vessel. The greatest and purest force was thought to exist in perfect innocence – the virgin.

But what about the sexual connotation?  Couldn’t they just have shaken hands?

Sex is an extremely common element in demonic rituals due to the explosion of energy at the moment of orgasm. Since these would-be sorcerers were all about stealing the life force from others—often called “soul snatching” in folklore—sexual activity was often used as a method to raise the energy levels of a practitioner’s victims to receive maximum energy transfer. 

Demonic books and texts—represented by the ancient text of healing in The Kure—have existed for thousands of years. The rituals of black magic can trace its roots all the way back to ancient Babylon, with the organized practice of satanism rearing its ugly head within the societies of the Sumerians, Phoenicians, Hitites, Egyptians and Canaanites. (There are others, but hey, for our purposes, it’s a start. And it makes it very clear that these bad boys have been around for a very long time, had a lot of influence, and left their mark – both figuratively and literally – on a lot of unfortunate people.)

I hope I’ve answered your questions about the source and inspiration for the ritual contained in The Kure. There’s lots more information for those who want to dig a bit deeper, but as the old adage warns, “be careful what you look for, you may not like what you find!”

Until next time,

Jaye

Okay, I finally get to tell you. I’ve waited for over four months to talk about it. I kept my little secret even after receiving a couple of extremely vitriolic reviews that bluntly confronted the storyline of The Kure as unrealistic, implausible, and so farfetched that it came off as unbelievable – even for paranormal fiction – which by the nature of the beast can admittedly be a bit bizarre.  From calling it “different and disturbing,” (thank you, I liked that very much, as I’ve always believed a good book should shake its reader out of predictable complacency – I mean, isn’t that what paranormal fiction is for?) to comments about a rancid zombie penis (again, thank you – although there is not a single zombie to be found in The Kure, sales of the book jumped significantly the day that particular review was published), the few but reaching attempts to discount The Kure’s believability quotient were misguided and ill-conceived.

As an aside, perhaps one day I will write a book about zombies, their penises, and the angst of the walking dead when faced with an attack of penile disintegration disorder (PDD), but for now, we’ll have to go with the existing character line-up.

Time to talk about the elephant in the room.  It was always my intent to base The Kure on a derivation—or interpretation—of fact. When I started researching background material for the book, I found myself in the unusually fortuitous position of finding an incredible wealth of history, folklore and legend. And frankly, I wasn’t ready for what I found.

Disturbing?  That’s an understatement.  Just ask my husband, who spent more nights than he wants to remember trying to get me back to bed after my nightmares erupted into sleep-shattering screams.  I re-wrote the ritual several times, trying to tone down its graphic nature, hoping to make it more palatable to those comfortably nestled in the upper strata of propriety.  But with each new and diluted draft, I felt like I was cheating – as if I were describing a fatal car accident as a slight mechanical mishap, ignoring  the loss, the victims, and the struggle to adapt to a life that was changed forever.

My readers – and you are the ones who count – deserved more.

So here’s the bottom line: The ritual, and the scene in the barn when Sarah combines the two spells to release the Kure’s power, are based on the recorded beliefs and practices of the “virgin cure” – the medieval concept of having sexually-based contact with a female virgin to cure the afflicted from all manner of disease. The graphic realism had to be there because it represented actual demonic practices of the time. It’s there because the story demanded it. And to ignore the ritual’s source and historical relevance – albeit a dark one – would have been an insult to my readers.

I wrote The Kure with the intent of opening a long-locked door, hoping I could provide a little peek inside a huge room filled with superstition and ignorance.  And yes, I know The Kure has scared the be-jesus out of some of some you. But your laments over lost sleep were usually accompanied by a question, asking me when book two will be out, often expressing the hope that the next installment will be just as scary.  (Don’t worry.  It will.)  It was exactly what I needed to hear.  It confirmed my faith in an intelligent and demanding audience who would not settle for anything short of my best work.  Which is exactly what you will continue to receive.

In book two, “The Karetakers,” I’m going to reveal the source, the linage of practitioners, and the historical practice of red magic. And while The Kure series is fiction, I promise to continue basing the evolving story on relevant and accurate references from some of our not-so-shining moments in human history.    

The nice folks at Night Owl Reviews will be hosting me on their blog tomorrow, and I will go into a bit more detail about the historical relevance of The Kure’s story line. I’ll provide a link so you can take a look, and reprint the post here a week or so after it’s published.

I’d also like to share a bit more of my personal research with you.  So in a day or two, I’ll talk about some of the more interesting aspects of the virgin cure—particularly why virgins were thought to possess healing power, and the rationale behind sexually-based contact enhancing curative powers when applied by practitioners of the black arts.

Hang on, it might get a bit bumpy before we’re done.

Until next time,

Jaye