The Monday Book (series) GUEST AUTHOR WILLIE DALTON

ad picThis week’s Monday Book comes from my friend and fellow cat rescuer Willie Dalton. I don’t normally care for paranormal romance, but her series was so imaginative, based on such an interesting premise, that I read and enjoyed it tremendously.
“You’ll never guess what happens next…”
    That’s the tagline on my logo, and I tend to hold true to that.  In the writing world there are plotters, and there are pantsers, writers that write by the seat of their pants and wing it, I’m the latter. I’m usually just as surprised by the twists my books take as anyone who reads them. I like things this way though, I’d bore myself otherwise.
    My most recent works “The Gravedigger Series,” takes you on the journey of life and death through the eyes of Helena Pierce. Hel, is a small town gravedigger, following in the footsteps of her adopted dad, Ray. She’s tough, both physically, and emotionally from being in a male-dominated line of work. It surprises her as much as anyone when she falls in love with the mysterious Raphael who shows up in her cemetery one day and it makes it all the worse when she meets her own unexpected death soon after.
  Hel wakes up in the underworld and takes on the role of reaper, but there are no black cloaks and scythes, just another shovel. Now she’s digging people up from the other side of the grave so their souls can move on. Vampires roam the underworld, and a new lover has her intrigued but she can’t move past everything she left behind.
  In, “Digging Up the Dead,” and most recently, “Digging to Hell,” the underworld opens up even further and Hel finds herself in the presence of gods she thought only existed in myths. Was chance the driving force behind this life of death and heartache she knows so well, was it love, or was it fate?
  A lot of people ask me how I came up with the idea for this series. Sadly, it came from my other passion as a kitten rescuer. Many tiny kittens come to me each year, too fragile and weak to last more than a few hours, or days. I have spent many hours digging tiny graves and grieving for these lives that didn’t stand a chance. I’ve poured my blood, sweat, and tears into the ground to give these babies a final resting place while their spirits sprint over Rainbow Bridge. I found a solace in writing these books, and a way to channel the heavy emotions that the work brings on. Digging a grave, even for an animal, is humbling and raw. Growing up, it was always men who would bury pets that passed, partly because it was very physical and partly, because men are less emotional. I think the idea of women digging graves adds in that nurturing, emotional element that takes us from the ones who bring new life in, and then see it to the end.
Facebook.com/authorwilliedalton

If You Cried

sketch-of-two-friends-in-a-cafe-at-a-clipart__k23830760If you cried during the Kavanaugh-Ford testimony today, I said a prayer for you. I didn’t know your name, but God does.

You might have cried because you were one of the 1-in-6 men abused during their lifetime. Since that happens to most of you before you leave high school, you were also a child victim. And you’re one of the people who doesn’t get much sympathy because grown men aren’t supposed to cry, and shame is like hot tar; it sticks and burns long after it hits. I’m praying for God’s sheltering wings to cover and cool you.

Or because you were one of the 1-in-3 women who is assaulted in her lifetime. For us it can happen at almost any age. If the words they said made you hear his breathing, smell the background, feel fingers on your skin so that you wanted to rip it off and be nothing but air, I’m praying for God to hide you in the shadow of his hand, and help you feel safe until the footsteps and doors and voices die down again.

Maybe you cried because your tormentor is still out there, and you never got justice. Maybe you cried because you did get justice, but it didn’t make a difference to how much you still need help repairing your life. There are no “shoulds” in recovering from the breech of trust that happens to so many of us before we’re old enough to vote. I’m praying you find peace.

Were you told to be quiet, not embarrass the family, to “just stay away” from the weird neighbor or uncle? Maybe you were unsure who was at fault. Because it had to be yours.

The thing I’m praying most, for all of you who cried, is that you find someone to talk to. You need to. I’m asking God to bring you someone safe, someone who will be there, and point him or her out to you. Talk. Get it out, no matter how long it’s been in there. You need to talk.

Bless you. Be safe. Be strong.