HoundsGood: Chronicles of a Virtual Volunteer

Last weekend, it was 95 degrees outside. I darted from air conditioned building, to shade tree, to awning just to get some relief. Today, it is drizzling, and if it is 65 degrees, that would be saying something. 65 degrees is pretty balmy, but when there is such a rapid drop, your body thinks that it is 47 below zero. If this were fall, I would be taking off my coat, but today, I have a sweater on. Such rapid changes make me crave a good cup of hot chocolate and a good book. Particularly when it gets to be around Halloween, I pull out the Poe, or anything with creaky doors and shadows. At a young age, I became fascinated with the classic mystery and suspenseful novels. I reread Jane Eyre one Halloween as well, even though that is not your typical fare.

I was never the type to scare easily. Granted, I do not like slasher films, but give me a novel or movie where my mind has to work, or jumps to conclusions about what happens next. I had a bowl of popcorn on one side, and my dog in my lap on rainy Saturday afternoons, or was the only one awake at a birthday sleepover. Everyone was hiding their eyes or bored senseless over an old fashioned movie. What finally made me jump was a friend’s sleepover party. After a rousing game of Ghost in the Graveyard, we retired to my friend’s basement. The neighbor, who was a teenager, knew that the party was going on. The slider at the back of the house was not in a main thoroughfare, and overlooked the lake. All of the sudden there was a small noise at the door and we were all completely startled by a green face. The neighbor put a Greedo mask on and jumped in front of the slider, and then ran away. Of course, we realized who it was later but we weren’t expect that at one in the morning.

When I was a kid, my parents used to rent a VCR for our birthday sleepovers, and I stayed awake while the rest of my friends were hiding under the co

I always like to support new writers, as I am a writer myself.  First books are so important to support as a book publisher is taking a gamble, and often don’t come asking for more from even the most skilled writers unless the book sells well enough.  Mary Shelley got to enjoy her royalties in her day, and now we should support good writers of our time who are up and coming.

The new Christopher Ransom (pictured at right) book was recommended to me, because it has the quintessential element for a good suspenseful yarn. Old Victorian house? Check! Big city characters moving into “the middle of nowhere,” at least relative to them? Check! Character in a “in between sleep and awake state?” Check!  The Birthing House is Ransom’s debut novel, and is inspired by Ransom’s own home.  He and his wife moved into an old home that had a haunting sepia photo left behind.   Ransom learned that the home had actually been a birthing house, a haven for unwed mothers to come give birth.  Ransom talks about his nightmares in the following video:

When I was in first grade, we lived near an old stone farm house. The house next door had probably been the original house, and then the acreage had been sold off and turned into neighborhoods. It had creaky glass windows that were clouded and etched over with age, and the owners seemed to have 42 cats and 12 Dobermans. Not really. they only had four cats, and the two Dobies were as sweet as pie and really nice. We did, of course, have to let our imaginations run wild with a house looking the way it did. Nothing ever really happened, but I can imagine the home itself begs its story to be told just like Ransom’s. If you live in the Metro Detroit area, I can probably tell you where it is, but it probably won’t be as scary as I remember.

Have you managed to pick up a copy yet?  I would love to hear what you think.  You can actually read chapters one and two online. In the meantime, I am adding this to my list to pick up to prepare for my Halloween week reading spree, as after reading, I want to see what happens next.

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