Guest Author, Stephanie Burkhart

Today's Guest Author needs no introduction, as she is a regular visitor here at Liana's Place, but I'll take a stab at it anyway :). Please welcome my friend, the multi-talented and prolific author Stephanie Burkhart!

Taking the Journey – It's about the characters, Silly.

I'd like to thank Liana for having me here today. She's such an inspiration, personally and professionally in my writing. My latest release is a paranormal romance titled "The Wolf's Torment." Set in Romania in 1865, Crown Prince Mihai Sigmaringen has a secret – he's a witch. Can his love for Theresa give him the courage he needs to save his family from the werewolf that haunts them?

At first I was going to talk about the Black Sea, but then I got to thinking – it's about the characters, Silly, and bringing out the humanity in them despite their supernatural abilities. So I'll share some cool things I learned about the Black Sea and then talk about my most challenging character – Lady Theresa von Kracken.

The Black Sea is amazing and it's a great backdrop for a paranormal story. They've been writing about the Black Sea for ages and since the Black Sea borders many different countries, there are many different myths. "Jason and the Argonauts" is set on the Black Sea. A Ukrainian legend tells of a violent arrow in the sea. It's so violent that when the sea tries to expel it, there are turbulent storms.

The sea itself has all the properties of an ocean. It has salt water and the various fish include anchovy, tuna, and dolphins. The Winter Olympics in 2014 are going to be held in Sochi, Russia, which is on the coast of the Black Sea.

Romania is one of the nations on the Black Sea and it is also the setting of "The Wolf's Torment." This story is the "prequel" to "Twilight Over Moldavia." The premise of "Twilight Over Moldavia" is that poor Prince Stefan has been cursed to become a werewolf. Can Caroline's kiss free him from his fate? After I wrote it, I just knew I had to write the story about Stefan's parents, Mihai and Theresa, and how Stefan came to be cursed. Which leads me to Theresa, Stefan's mother. How could a mother curse her own child to become a werewolf? It's because of this question Theresa's character is the most challenging in "The Wolf's Torment."

As the novel opens, the reader meets a young Lady Theresa von Kracken on her way to Delfin Castle to become engaged to Moldavia's Crown Prince, Mihai Sigmaringen. Theresa's family is a powerful witching family, but her father saw in a dream that Theresa must never be taught the ways of witchcraft (or she'll die) so she has remained blissfully ignorant of her own heritage. Theresa believes supernatural characters like witches exist and she believes them to be good. When Mihai reveals he's a witch to her, she accepts him as he is.

Theresa's love for Mihai is pure, having been cultivated through their dreams. As the novel progresses, Theresa cannot ignore the evidence that she's a witch as well. She comes to believe that because she is, she can meet any challenge. Viktor preys on her vulnerability after she receives an emotionally shattering loss. Can a heroine do the wrong thing for the perceived "right" reasons?

REVIEWS FOR THE WOLF'S TORMENT

From The Pen & Muse:

A complete werewolf story through and through, Burkhart does it again with an amazing cast of characters, entertaining dialogue and plot. Lovers of historical paranormal romance will enjoy this read, the first in the Moldavian Moon series.

From Reader's Favorites

5 Stars - The Wolf’s Torment has it all, witches, werewolves, a vampire, a princess and a prince. This is paranormal romance at its finest.

Enjoy this Excerpt:

Theresa rushed to Sonia's side as her sister-in-law doubled over, clutching the backrest on the sofa. They were in the library. Sonia usually did her knitting there while Theresa worked on her painting.

Mrs. Nocesti helped Theresa carry Sonia to the couch. She lay on her side, grabbing her distended womb.

"Where does it hurt?" asked Mrs. Nocesti.

"Here," Sonia grunted. She pointed to her side, near the rib cage.

Theresa wrung her hands together, worried. Sonia was in her eighth month and her baby was nice and round. Sonia reminded Theresa of when Victoria had given birth. She hoped that wasn't happening now.

"She's not going to have the baby, is she?" asked Theresa.

"No, the pain is in the wrong place. I'm going to get Dr. Stanza and the willow bark pills."

"Hurry."

"I will." Mrs. Nocesti rushed out the door.

Theresa knelt next to Sonia, rubbing her hand over Sonia's hair. "This is so sudden. Did the baby kick?"

"I don't know...Theresa...am I bleeding?"

Theresa shivered at the thought, but visually checked Sonia's dress. "I don't see any blood staining your dress."

"Thank God. Theresa, it hurts."

"I'm sorry. I wish I could do something."

"Hold my hand."

Theresa offered Sonia her hand. Sonia gripped it so tightly, Theresa's knuckles turned white. Her own pulse accelerated. Spots appeared before her eyes. Theresa's breathing grew rapid. Theresa saw the baby in the womb, kicking the spot of Sonia's discomfort. The baby struck the blood barrier. It was weak, and because of that, was causing Sonia pain.

"Baby, no, don't kick your mother there. You're hurting her. Please, don't kick. Turn around, please, turn around," Theresa said, gasping for air as sweat trickled down her brow. The baby turned. It was a boy.

Sonia let go. Theresa's link with the baby disappeared.

"What did you do?" whispered Sonia.

"I...I don't know."

"Theresa, you made it stop? How did you do that?" Sonia gasped.

"I don't know."

"Are you a witch? I felt your energy -- it pulsed through me."

"I..." Theresa couldn't finish. Her mind reeled in confusion.

Mrs. Nocesti and Dr. Stanza rushed in.

"Sonia!" cried Dr. Stanza.

"The Queen!" exclaimed Mrs. Nocesti.

Theresa knelt, one hand clutching the couch, the other her womb. She wasn't as round as Sonia. Theresa took a deep breath. She couldn't explain what had just happened, but it had rocked her to the core of her being. No human should have the type of experience she just had. She felt the baby. She felt Sonia's pain. She learned Sonia's baby was a boy. Dare she think Sonia was right? Dare Theresa believe herself to be a witch?

Visit the Book Trailer on You Tube and give it a 'like' at:

The Wolf's Torment is available as an ebook only on Kindle, Nook, Kobo, and Sony Ereader. Formats include: PDF, html, and epub which can be found on the Publisher's Website, Kindle, Nook, and All Romance ebooks.

About the Author: Stephanie Burkhart is a 911 dispatcher for LAPD. She also served as an MP in the US Army. Multi-published, she has a children's book, "The Giving Meadow" with 4RV Publishing. She's an avid reader , loves coffee in the morning, and her favorite movie "werewolf" is David Thewlis, Lupin from Harry Potter.

You can find me at my website, blog, and Facebook.

Taking Time Out To Appreciate Beauty

Taking the easy way out today...too much going on. I had a blog post in mind but neither the time nor energy to write it...feeling kinda funky hormonally today...either that or it's allergies. Got this in an email from a faith sharing friend, and it's a message we all could benefit from...

In Washington, DC, at a Metro Station, on a cold January morning in 2007, this man with a violin played six Bach pieces for about 45 minutes. During that time, approximately 2,000 people went through the station, most of them on their way to work. After about 3 minutes, a middle-aged man noticed that there was a musician playing. He slowed his pace and stopped for a few seconds, and then he hurried on to meet his schedule.

About 4 minutes later: The violinist received his first dollar. A woman threw money in the hat and, without stopping, continued to walk.

At 6 minutes: A young man leaned against the wall to listen to him, then looked at his watch and started to walk again.

At 10 minutes: A 3-year old boy stopped, but his mother tugged him along hurriedly. The kid stopped to look at the violinist again, but the mother pushed hard and the child continued to walk, turning his head the whole time. This action was repeated by several other children, but every parent - without exception – forced their children to move on quickly.

At 45 minutes: The musician played continuously. Only 6 people stopped and listened for a short while. About 20 gave money but continued to walk at their normal pace. The man collected a total of $32.

After 1 hour: He finished playing and silence took over. No one noticed and no one applauded. There was no recognition at all.

No one knew this, but the violinist was Joshua Bell, one of the greatest musicians in the world. He played one of the most intricate pieces ever written, with a violin worth $3.5 million dollars. Two days before, Joshua Bell sold-out a theater in Boston where the seats averaged $100 each to sit and listen to him play the same music

This is a true story. Joshua Bell, playing incognito in the D.C. Metro Station, was organized by the Washington Post as part of a social experiment about perception, taste, and people's priorities.

This experiment raised several questions:

*In a common-place environment, at an inappropriate hour, do we perceive beauty?

*If so, do we stop to appreciate it?

*Do we recognize talent in an unexpected context?

One possible conclusion reached from this experiment could be: If we do not have a moment to stop and listen to one of the best musicians in the world, playing some of the finest music ever written, with one of the most beautiful instruments ever made ...

How many other things are we missing as we rush through life?

Enjoy life now....you never know when things will change.

Rediscovering the Feminine Face of God...

Holy cow….here it is Holy Week, and only five days away from Easter. How did that happen so quickly? Life has been a total whirlwind these past 6 weeks, but in a very, very good way. Before Lent started, my life was (once again) careening out of control—not in a destructive way--but in an over-committed way. I was saying yes to too many things, had far more on my plate than I could handle, and was starting to miss deadlines and fall further and further behind.

So I decided that for Lent I would *Just Say No.* I would take on no new projects, meet no new people, make no new appointments, accept no new social invitations, volunteer for nothing new. For the six weeks of Lent, I would only complete projects already begun, honor commitments already made, and spend time with people already in my life rather than seek out any new connections.

One of those commitments was what I call *doing Lent.* This means fully immersing myself in the practice of Lent, in the hope of gaining spiritual renewal and rebirth. Not that I was suffering spiritually to start with. But with all that busyness, I was getting further and further away from what feeds me spiritually, and I was feeling the disconnect, and noticing the drain on my soul.

So I went into Lent with the best of intentions, planning to fully participate in the myriad Lenten activities offered by my parish, immerse myself in reflection and renewal, maybe even blog about the meaning and traditions of Lent.

Turned out I didn’t need all of that. All I needed to find my renewal in Lent was three nights with the parish mission speaker, Edwina Gately, and several evenings with the women's speaker series our parish now puts on annually during the weeks leading up to Easter.

The good news about finding my answers so quickly, was I was able to get right to work on implementing my new spiritual practices, and my, what a difference they have made. (More on this some other time.) Let’s just say that this is one Lenten season that will see me totally refreshed and renewed, thanks to the hard work, dedication, and devotion of so many women of faith, most of whom I am blessed to know through my own faith life and parish.

The creators of our women's speaker series, Sophia’s Circle, are nothing short of amazing. For years untold this faith-sharing group of about a dozen women talked of offering in love something uniquely feminine and uplifting for their spiritual sisters in our parish, and finally, three years ago, they were able to pull it all together and offer their first speaker series.

They didn’t expect much attendance. Spring is a busy time for women in this small town farming community. Winter doesn’t give way to spring gracefully around here, and in March and April you’re just as likely to be driving to church in a blizzard as you are in shorts and flip flops.

So imagine their surprise that first year when each night of the 6-week series, attendance grew, until well over 100 women showed up. Imagine their surprise when they started out big right away with the second year’s series.

Imagine the time, energy, effort, and creativity that had to go into brainstorming, planning, and executing a whole new series this year. Expectations had been raised in the past two years, hungers had been awakened, and now it was time to deliver.

And deliver they did, in a powerful four-week series that centered around the words Purpose, Passion, Power, and Peace. The series was no less effective for being two weeks shorter than before. Easter is late this year, and people are busy with taking advantage of dry roads and growing things. The words they chose to focus on meshed beautifully, and created a cohesive message of renewal and rebirth representative of the positive face of Lent.

Purpose…the speakers encouraged us to look deep into our hearts, find that which we love, and focus on that as our purpose in life. Sometimes our desires are in conflict with God’s purpose for our life, but eventually we come around, be it by the long, hard road, or the quicker and somewhat less painful one. I say *somewhat* because God never promised there would be no pain in our lives, only that He would be there to share our burdens, maybe even turn them into blessings.

So which route you take to find your Purpose in Life depends on your relationship with God. But either way, if you don’t find it—and that’s not to say your purpose can’t change over time—you most likely won’t be a happy camper and your life will not be as full and rich as it could be. You’ll be like a puzzle piece, part of a whole, but with holes in your life that need to be filled if you aren’t connected to the rest of the puzzle.

So go into the silence, search your heart, find your Purpose, and then pursue it with Passion. I missed the week on passion, unfortunately, as that was opening night for the high school musical and I was there to witness my son and several of his friends’ passion for singing and dancing instead. But I don’t think I’m lacking in that department. If you have any doubt, read my PMDD blog post, They Only See Our Failures.

I repeat: Find your purpose, and pursue it with Passion.

The third week, we were reminded of our Power as women. Women as healers, women as caregivers, caretakers, peacemakers and nurturers, generously endowed with the gifts of the Holy Spirit. A candlelight meditation brought the overwhelming amount of positive energy in the room into clear focus. In this week we celebrated the feminine face of God, which goes by many names, including Mother God, Sophia, and Wisdom. We ended the evening arm in arm, singing along with Libby Roderick’s How Could Anyone Ever Tell You (you were anything less than beautiful?).

Find your Purpose, and pursue it with Passion. You have the Power within you.

The final week, our focus was on Peace. Being at peace with ourselves, our relationships, relatives, situations, circumstances and perceived failures, walking in trust with God that all is as it should be and we shouldn’t waste our time and energy on blame, worry, anxiety, and fear. Again, during the meditation, I clearly felt the creative energy and power in that room, as well as a pervading sense of peace that comes to me more and more frequently these days, due in part to my Qigong classes three times a week.

Peace, as it turns out, was the special word I took home from last year’s women's speaker series, and I have made great strides in that area in the past twelve months. Would I have done the same without attending the series? I don’t know, and does it really matter? What matters is that my life seems to be falling into a pattern of Purpose and Passion, Power and Peace that this year’s speaker series has only validated from without, and that is a good and positive thing.

I know where I’m going, even if I don’t yet know how I will get there, but I have the Power and Passion to follow my Purpose, and the Peace of knowing God supports me all the way.

Thank you, women of Sophia’s Circle, for once again bringing us closer to our God, in whatever form we choose to view Him or Her, and to the women we were meant to be.

Keeping Up With a Friend

"Keep your friendships in repair." ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

That's what I was busy doing today...having a spontaneous lunch with a friend who moved away several years ago, and I haven't seen in a while. It was nice to catch up :). Sunday continues to be my day of rest, apparently from the blog, too. While I've been busy since I rolled out of bed, all of it has been spiritually uplifting. Qigong class, Mass, lunch with a friend, some leisurely errands run, a few books browsed and bought, and now it's time to pick up my son, maybe get a walk in, a light supper, and then settle in for Movie Night, which is something we've done for the past 12 years on Sunday nights.

I'm really enjoying my new Sundays...and to think, I almost didn't go to Mass today. I thought it would be too crowded.

Here's another good one: I value the friend who for me finds time on his calendar, but I cherish the friend who for me does not consult his calendar. ~ Robert Brault, Freelance Writer

How Reputations Get Made...

How time flies! Three weeks ago today, I was on my way back from a women’s writers’ retreat I had been looking forward to for months. In the blink of an eye, it was over. You may recall I blogged about the retreat last year—in particular the fun we had at the Martini Bar on Saturday night. The coordinator enjoyed my post so much she posted it on her website to help promote the retreat—which, by the way, was filled to capacity and a huge success this year, as well.

So this year several new attendees came to the retreat, apparently looking forward to a martini, in addition to reading, rest, relaxation, and a wealth of information about writing. When I had I registered, the coordinator had told me there was another woman from my area registered, as well. I recognized her name as someone from church, so I called her and we traveled together.

Thank God, because it was another blizzardous weekend, and if I had been traveling alone, I’m afraid I wouldn’t have gone. Been there, done that, wasn’t too eager to do it again.

But my friend was from this area, and well-used to winter driving conditions, so off we went in her minivan. Good thing, too, because 20 minutes out of town, the weather cleared up and we had no trouble at all. We even arrived a bit early, got her checked into her hotel down the way—the B&B was full up—and managed to stop at Malley’s Chocolates and stock up before heading off to the retreat.

Imagine my surprise, when on a whim I asked the desk clerk at the hotel if there was a chocolate shop around, and he said yes, right down the street. A clear example of ask and ye shall receive J.

So without my friend I wouldn’t have gone. Turns out that without me, she wouldn’t have gone, either, as she’d learned about the retreat from reading my blog. She was looking for one of those martinis. I’ll admit I went back looking forward to a repeat of the experience, myself. I hadn’t ever had a martini before, and haven’t had one since, but suddenly I found myself dubbed “The Martini Lady” and on Friday night was called up to the front of the room and presented with a lovely framed pastel portrait of a martini, complete with olives.

Writing is such a solitary occupation that I have it posted up above my desk, to remind me that yes, writers do indeed get together and have fun every now and again J.

But my, how quickly reputations are born! The others told me I'd made it sound like such a wonderful time they wanted to experience it for themselves, and having a martini was the talk of the retreat. Unfortunately, this year, the Martini Bar was full, so the group I was with visited an Irish pub instead. Seven or eight of us pulled a few tables together at the back of the room, and proceeded to order drinks I hadn’t heard of in years, since my twenties, when ordering such drinks were the norm—white Russian, Fuzzy Navel, Slo Gin Fizz…and my own simple but straightforward vodka tonic.

Not so simple and straightforward, I realized, as in the intervening years, vodka has apparently taken on flavors, and a lot of them. “What kind of vodka do you want?” the bartender asked. “Just vodka,” I said. She indicated the bar behind her, with a couple dozen flavors of vodka lined up in a colorful row. “I know, but which kind?” “Just vodka, I repeated. Don’t you have any kind of vodka that isn’t flavored? The last time I had vodka, Smirnoff’s was the one you got. Don’t they make that any more?”

"You haven’t tasted flavored vodka?” she asked, in amazement. Then treated me to a sample of espresso-flavored vodka. It being after nine already, and me not used to drinking, no way was I going to mix alcohol and caffeine—I’d be up all night!!—so I thanked her ask if she minded if I shared it with the others.

Which is exactly what I did…I never did find out what it tasted like.

Fortunately, she managed to find a bottle of plain vodka under the counter, and fixed me a drink.

We were the oldest patrons in the bar. As it slowly filled with people half our age we listened to a lone guitar player strumming Irish tunes and happily chatted about children and colleges and the things menopausal women discuss when we get together. And, being writers, we observed the room around us. The pick ups, the hook ups, the couples getting friendly as they flirted with each other before moving on to the main event later.

At one point I saw the bartender pull out a fishbowl and fill it with ice. Her hands expertly holding two bottles each, she poured and poured until the ice cubes were covered, then added (in this case) some red liquid to the bowl and stuffed six big red straws in it. The bowl was almost ceremoniously carried to a back table by three young men and one young woman, who was apparently the designated driver, as she didn’t drink. I noticed one of the young men leaning on her heavily as they shuffled out of the bar less than an hour later, the fishbowl completely empty.

I went to ask the bartender about it. Yes, she said, it was called a fishbowl, and was made with gin, rum, vodka, and tequila, and cost $20. Was I interested? No, thank you, I all but gasped, waving my hands in front of me—I just wanted to know what it was. She smiled indulgently and patted my arm reassuringly, treating me like the fish out of water that I was, and kindly fixed this little old church lady another plain vodka tonic.

Around eleven, with the bar packed and the songs getting less and less Irish, the ladies and I happily trundled back to the B&B, where we sat in the foyer next to a cozy fireplace, the area lit only by the small white lights of a still-decorated Christmas tree, and sipped glasses of Bailey’s Irish Cream from a bottle I had brought along. I might not drink often, but I know how it’s done J. The Bailey’s added a nice, quiet nightcap to the evening.

I wonder if this means next year I’ll be awarded a picture of Bailey’s?

Creating A Spark

This week we had a fantastic mission speaker at church, Edwina Gateley, poet, theologian, artist, writer, lay minister, advocate, and single mom. The first night she spoke to us about Trust, as in trusting God, walking in faith, walking in trust that all our needs will be met.

She explained how God is always eager to reassure and comfort us so that we might believe in our possibilities and become a holy people. She told us the original word for “holy” in Hebrew meant “to practice,” as in practicing your faith.

Simply practicing our faith makes us holy…doing the right thing, reaching out to those in need. Holy isn’t reserved for only the special few. Everyone’s hands are holy….it’s what we choose to do with our hands that makes a difference. Do we use them to help—or to hurt--others?

The second night she spoke of personal transformation, how the Holy Spirit is always waiting to s-t-r-e-t-c-h us to recognize God’s presence in ourselves and all people. She told story after story of personal transformation in herself and the lives of the people she has worked with in Africa and on the streets of Chicago, where she ministered to recovering drug addicts and prostitutes.

Last night she challenged us to use our gifts to reflect God’s love in our dealings with others, in particular the poor, the homeless, the abandoned and marginalized people in our world. She acknowledged that bad things are happening the world over, but we can’t focus on that, we need to seek out the sparks of light and help those sparks to shine more brightly. Again, she shared story after story of personal transformation.

And she reminded us that every little bit of good we do makes a difference, to someone, somewhere.

So today was soup making day. I got out the stock pot and opened the freezer and filled the pot with leftover pot roast, crock pot chicken, an assortment of savory sauces and gravies made from previously made roasts, three bags of vegetables, and a magic array of spices. Took me three hours to get it to taste “just right,” but in the end, it all came together beautifully…and the aroma…nothing better than the smell of home made soup wafting through the house.

Unless it’s accompanied by the sweet smell of baking. While the soup bubbled, I baked two cakes, and cleaned the kitchen. Then, after the soup had cooled, I put it into the containers provided by the homeless shelter, and delivered it, along with two dozen pairs of socks I bought at Christmas time, but never got around to dropping off.

Tonight, someone without a home will at least be able to enjoy some home made soup, made with real beef and chicken, a piece of cake, and a clean pair of socks.

It’s just a spark, but it counts all the same. Is there somewhere in your life you can create a spark or two?

Getting back up to speed...

It is difficult to steer a parked car, so get moving. ~ Henrietta Mears, Christian educator

What with being sick all last week, and then going away for a long weekend, I’m so far behind I don’t know where to begin. I’ve got ideas for at least four blog posts, and no time to write them. Too busy trying to juggle all the balls--work, writing, and exercise, cooking, cleaning, and home maintenance, driving my son to and from school, appointments, and practices, and keeping up with church activities, which are moving into full swing with Lent just around the corner.

I’m going to “do Lent” this year. Some years I have not fully participated in the process of Lent. Some years I’ve taken full advantage of all the church offers, and others I’ve missed out completely. I know one year I was too sick to go anywhere or do anything—that was right after we moved into a new home and all the off-gasses from the carpet and such made me so ill I collapsed. Another year time simply got away from me and Lent was over before I knew it, with nothing in me changed or renewed.

But this year I’m going to throw myself into Lent wholeheartedly, which I understand to be a time of spiritual reflection and renewal. There are other, more formal descriptions for it, (and I might even get into the history and practices of Lent sometime during the next couple of months) but that’s what I choose to make it—a time for thinking about the positives in life, and not focusing on the negative.

To that end, we have lots of great speakers lined up at church, including the Women’s Series of spiritual events I wrote about last year, and many soup suppers to enjoy.

Speaking of which, I went to a prayer and potluck supper at church this week that was very nice. Kudos to the ladies who decorated the tables with white linen tablecloths and candlelight. The atmosphere was warm and intimate, the company great, and the food incredible—as always. (I think church ladies are the best cooks around, hands down.) Everyone brought a donation for the food pantry and a dish of some sort, and there was more food there than all 60 or so of us could eat.

I made a double batch of cream of carrot soup, which turned out very nicely, if a bit different tasting. It’s spiced with orange peel and allspice, an interesting combination. To thicken it, I blended two cups of broth with fresh, oven-baked squash. It gives the soup a hearty texture you can’t get short of loading up on more fattening thickeners.

Only half the soup was eaten—there was so much food to choose from—so today I went around giving away plastic containers of soup, and will wait to hear the feedback. I had some for dinner, and it tasted almost sweet, but with a tang from the orange peel.

Really, there’s not much going on here, and I’m just trying to catch up from being so sick all last week. I thought it was a cold, but it turns out it was (and is) seasonal allergies, which I am still dealing with, with mixed results success-wise. But at least I am moving forward this week, no longer sitting still J.