Author, vegan, and activist Whitney Metz agreed to answer the same questions she asked me. She is a fun person to know. I hope you enjoy reading her interview and check out the first two books in her Black Magick series.

Sigils & Secrets

Myths & Music

1- How would you describe your work?

I’ve always been fascinated by mythology and the supernatural. I truly believe that there is much more to our world than we can currently comprehend. In my work, I like to explore the possibility that all the different myths and legends in the world are real, and just hiding beneath the surface.

I was interviewed by fellow #author and #vegan Whitney Metz, and I think it turned out quite nice. Thank you, Whitney!
Frank Bittinger InterviewI did an interview with fellow vegan, paranormal fiction writer, Frank Bittinger. His answers were wonderful and inspiring. Thank you so much, Frank!


1- How would you describe your work?
My work I describe as “Strange, dark tales.” As a reader, you will find elements from several genres: humor, horror, weird fiction, mystery, etc. I like combining these different elements to create something I would read and something of which I am extremely proud. A story doesn’t have to be just one or the other; it can be many. Although, I have to admit my favorite genre of books and movies is a good ghost story! That might explain why I’m so drawn to writing them.

Several times I’ve been told by readers they find a message or a moral in my books, and that makes me smile because my intention is to write a moral fable every time. Of course, the moral or message the reader gets out of a story may be completely different than what I intended, but I believe that’s what a good story does and the message can be whatever you need to hear at that time.

I stick to “Strange, dark tales.” I think that sounds amazing!

2- When did you first know that you wanted to be a writer? And what led you to that conclusion?

I always knew. The greatest gift I ever received was being taught to read. I could escape a not so pleasant childhood into worlds where anything could happen. It was magic, a life-saver for me. And I wanted to create worlds for others to escape into and enjoy. I wanted to give the same gift of escape to others. I began very young, writing short stories for myself in elementary school. I’ve always written, and I’ve always had the dream of putting my stories out into the world for people to read.

3- What are you currently working on?

Shockingly enough, I am working on another ghost story. I can’t help it. They hold a special place in my heart for many reasons. This one is a little unlike my previous books. It is entwined with elements of an H.P. Lovecraft vein and there is a different kind of darkness there.

I’m also working on a trilogy with a vampire and a ghost and a few other beings. The characters in this series of books make me smile and laugh, I think, more than any of my others. I’m drawn to them; they make me want to create more for them.

And I have almost completed the first draft of the first book in a trilogy of cozy mysteries I want to publish under a pseudonym—to keep separate from my other work. Like a good ghost story, I totally enjoy crawling into bed and reading a good cozy mystery—especially in the winter. I devour entire series of them.

Never fear, I write constantly and at last count I have 39 manuscripts for full length books in varying degrees of completion on my computer.

4- How long have you been vegan? And what inspired you to become vegan?

I have been vegan officially for about thirteen years. Before that, I was a vegetarian who didn’t like cheese, or milk, or eggs. So I suppose in a sense I was veganish since I was a kid. I never liked the idea of a sentient being having its life taken in order for me to consume. It wasn’t necessary, not with all the different food in the world. I adore animals and I do not draw a line between what is acceptable to keep and what is acceptable to eat. We don’t have to kill to eat. And it wasn’t only the killing; it was how animals are treated. I feel the way animals are treated is humankind’s greatest shame. And in the grand scheme of the universe, in the ultimate higher balance of order, we will answer for it. I won’t have that staining my spirit.

I am a big animal lover. I’ve rescued everything from wasps and bumblebees (feeding them and keeping them warm until they can be released) to rats, hamsters, gerbils, birds and cats, a few dogs, several iguanas, fish, even a goat or two, and more over the years. It’s amazing what one person can do. Multiply that by the number of good people out there inhabiting this planet!

I don’t watch any videos or movies or such depicting the graphic nature of animal mistreatment and abuse. I can’t. It literally haunts me if I do. I can’t eat. I can’t sleep. I become physically ill as a result. It just plays endlessly in my head and I’m utterly enshrouded, consumed by it. I know it exists and I’m doing my best to help, but I will never watch any of those videos or movies. Instead, I will continue to work to create a better world for the animals.

5- Do you incorporate activism into your writing? If so, how?

I do. The main character in my first book Into the Mirror Black is a vegetarian and so are a number of the other characters. In subsequent books I think I’ve written all vegan characters and I will continue to do so. I know we are talking about books here, but as a reader I would like to have books vegans can read without having descriptions of animal-based food or clothing, etc. Where they don’t have to even worry about it popping up. I know I would love more vegan books. I would love to have a bigger vegan audience!

Each book is usually dedicated to animals who have touched my life. There is at least one animal featured, some more prominent than others, in every book. My goal is to educate in an entertaining manner rather than beating someone over the head with information. I feel people are more receptive that way.

Also, in my author’s note found at the end of some books I ask people to adopt, not to shop; to donate the change from their vehicle dashes to rescues and sanctuaries because even a small amount of change can save a life; to volunteer time to keep animals socialized in order to make them more adoptable, even a half hour a week; to spay/neuter animals, especially feral colonies; among other things.

Me doing my part may spur someone else and we can use all the help we can get.

6- Do you believe that fictional stories can have a positive impact on the world? If so, in what way?

Most definitely! They changed my world. They showed me there was an entire universe beyond the borders of my existence way back then. Through storytelling we can educate, we can demonstrate and change minds, to illustrate how something is wrong, how it can be righted, and we can use the power of words to be the change. Absolutely. Words are the ultimate vessel. We don’t call it “spelling” for nothing! (If you understand that, we can be friends!)


I wrote my version of A Christmas Carol, a book that helped changed and still helps change the perception of those who may be less fortunate and the ways we can help them, and called it A Christmas Canticle in the hope it would not only raise money for animals in need but would help people understand every bit of kindness toward an animal is a win, a big help. I touched on the fact some animal shelters euthanize the animals before the holiday because there isn’t anyone who wants to come in to care for them during that time and also to make room for the animals who will be turned in after the holiday season, those who have been given as gifts as well as older animals who are being replaced by these newer gifts. I wanted to demonstrate the positive way a group of “feral” cats impacted the life of the main character and also get information across that may not be known by the reading audience.

7- What would you do if you became a best-selling author? What in your life would you change? And what would stay the same?

Honestly, the first thing I would do is pay off as many of my bills as I could in order to focus more on writing and animals. I believe my big mission in this existence is to help as many animals as I possibly can. I’m driven to do it. I’ve said I’m not happy to do it because I fervently wish with all my might there wasn’t a need for anyone to do it, but I willingly do it because I know how many lives I’ve touched and saved.
What would change is I dream of moving out of town. Finding a house and open land where I can have more rescued animals who have nowhere to go and no one to love them. I will take them. That has always been my big dream.

What would stay the same is my dedication to being a force of positive change in the world. I don’t believe in complaining; I believe in doing something. I saw animals who needed homes, and I created a non-profit foundation for fundraising in order to have the financial means to spay/neuter and find homes for animals and worked with numerous rescues/sanctuaries to do so. Every one of my book signings has been linked to raising money and supplies for a charity, usually an animal charity but there have been plenty of human ones, as well. Were I to become a bestselling author I could continue in a bigger capacity to create positive change in the world and to help even more animals in need.

After a number of years, the non-profit became too much for a single person to actively handle and still remain focused on helping animals. I had to close it down, but I am still involved as much as ever with animals in need. My vet tells me repeatedly the love and care is evident because my rescued ferals usually live to be in their twenties and he says that is quite remarkable given the lack of care through the generations and everything they go through as ferals.

8- What is a fact about you that people might find surprising?

Surprisingly, for someone who has been described as boisterous, extroverted, a social being, at home I am uber quiet and calm. I’m ultimately a chilled out spirit. I like silence. I enjoy peace. No loud noises, unless one of the birds gives a shriek, but then that’s acceptable. People may not be able to reconcile the public persona with the personal, private being. They are at opposite ends of the spectrum. Only those closest to me know.

9- What character, or characters, have you written that you felt an especially deep connection with? Please explain.

Undoubtedly, the main character of my first book Into the Mirror Black, Storm Cassavettes. It was entirely unintentional. He wants to be a writer and so do I. We both love animals and we are both kind, introspective guys. People who know me have said as they read the book they heard my voice saying his words. I hadn’t realized I had put so much of myself into his character. In retrospect, I wouldn’t change a thing!

On an interesting side note, I’ve heard from readers of Into the Mirror Black they have had some fascinating things occur while they were reading the book. One reader said her cat, whom she had never heard sneeze before, seemed to suddenly sneeze each time the cat in the book, Shadow, sneezed. Another reader told me an intriguing story about a bathroom mirror that had apparently fallen off the wall one night. Only thing is, you would expect shattered fragments to be everywhere, but the mirror laid on the floor all fitted together like it was a puzzle someone had fitted together! To this day, every once in a while I get a message from a reader telling me about something that had happened while he or she was reading Into the Mirror Black. I think that is completely amazing.

10- Is there anything you have learned in the course of your career that you wish you had known when you started out? If so, what?

I’m just winging it! I had no conclusive idea how to do anything other than write a story. Marketing and all that was and still is completely foreign to me. Mostly I spread through word of mouth, which is really the best publicity!

I did learn I become emotionally involved with my characters, and I didn’t expect that at all. Over the course of writing a book, I become concerned over what will happen to them. Because even if I think I know it all, they sometimes surprise me with where they decide to go, and the storyline changes. Or if I write something I think is good and I continue on, I feel as if one is nagging at me. A “I wouldn’t do that” kind of thing; I listen and go back and change it. Or when one does something I didn’t see coming and I literally say “Why did you do that?”

Yes, I become heavily invested in my characters.

#author #writer #interview #frankbittinger #veganwriter #veganauthor #animalrights #vegan #pagan #veganism #whitneymetz #supernaturafiction #magicrealism #blackmagickseries #paganism #iwanttobeapaperbackwriter #books #veganfiction #greenmagic #naturemagic #environmentalism #witchcraft #mythology #sigilsandsecrets #fiction #paranormalfiction #mythsandmusic

After wanting to go ever since I was a kid and first discovered the strange tale about the grave of a woman known only as the Female Stranger in Alexandria, VA, I've wanted to go. A man and a sick woman, presumably his wife, get off a ship and find lodging above Gadsby's Tavern. She dies and is buried, the gravestone carved into a table marking her final resting place, and surrounded by a wrought iron fence. See my earlier blog entry about the subject for more details.

Finally, this year as a late birthday present for us both, my long-time friend Penny took us on 22 August 2018. It was a gray day. Foggy with a drizzling rain. Penny's GPS took us into the cemetery, along a grassy path, and right to the easily recognizable grave marker.

As an offering, we both placed some change on top the table, as so many others before have done and as so many after us will most likely do. In the concrete surrounding the grave, you can see the remnants of the wrought iron fence that used to surround the grave; it was sawed off, scavenged during World War I.

The cemetery was eerily quiet this rainy day. In fact, other than Penny and myself, there was only one other person in the entire cemetery--a single caretaker who was cutting grass in the rain. Every once in a while, there would be a strike of lightning and a clap of thunder. Creepy. Like I was supposed to be there on that day.

Having waited nearly my whole life to visit, it was well worth the trip, even in the weather.

We had a moment of silence for the woman whose identity no one knew, except for the man with whom she'd gotten off the shop, and then spent some time wandering through the huge, old cemetery in the rain, discovering a lot of other pretty cool gravestones.

Penny decided, instead of heading straight back home after visiting Gadsby's Tavern, we should have lunch there and then visit the old hotel part and see the room where the Female Stranger lay ill and ultimately died. Lunch was tasty. They made me a huge salad with mixed greens, peanuts, grapes, onions, tomatoes, and fresh cut fries that were as crispy as I like them, and also made me a dressing. And then Penny and I went over to the hotel part where they took us on a tour, all the way up to the mysterious and infamous room! I've heard stories where people have claimed to see the spirit of the Female Stranger looking out the window upstairs, but I have to tell you, I didn't feel her presence at all. I like to think she found peace and moved Beyond the Veil.

Our waiter asked if we wanted him to take a picture of us in the dining room of the historic tavern.

Finally, we were shown to Room 8 and the tour guide left us alone to take pictures and just hang out for awhile.

We had a great time, on par with our visit to Point Pleasant, WV, to see Mothman a few years back. We want to make a return visit either next summer or the following.

Greetings, Salutations, and other words of Welcome.

I've been compiling many of my old short stories, ones I wrote over a decade ago before I began working on my first book Into the Mirror Black, when I was creating a universe of my own. While I never intended for anyone other than myself to ever read these stories, I wrote them as a means of fleshing out this world I was creating--so I had an entire canvas from which to draw inspiration, if you will.

And then I realized: I enjoy reading collections of older stories from my favorite authors, so why shouldn't I put together one of my own?

That's how I came up with the idea of the Evangelium Scarabae, although instead of one volume I wanted to slice it into three slender volumes, the first of which is entitled By Gaslight. These are the edits I'm working on as we speak and my hope it to have the book ready in time for my birthday in early June.

But that's all I will say about it for now.

Let's talk about the little black kitty.

Just over a month ago, this tiny black kitty showed up at my house, barely big enough to be away from mama and completely feral--not aggressive but skittish to the point I knew he hadn't wandered away from home but was indeed born outside. Of course, I put out food and water and the kitty stayed close by, making a bed in the leaves beneath a tomato cage on its side. The weather was still warm enough but it was getting damp, so I put a towel down so the kitten didn't have to sleep in the leaves.

I attempted for two weeks to catch the kitten--it would sometimes let me touch it with the tip of my finger, but would be gone in a flash if I attempted more than that--because the weather was getting colder and colder and I knew the forecast was calling for temperatures well below freezing. No matter how I cajoled or what treat I tried to use as temptation, the kitten wouldn't come to me. Neither would it go into the trap--I dislike that word--I borrowed. The kitten was a good little baby and was always in its tomato cage bed curled up on the towel. As the temperature continued to drop, I worried I would find the little baby frozen.

My thought was if I couldn't catch it and bring it into the house, I could make a feral cat house for it so it wouldn't freeze in the extreme cold.

So I built one.

It wouldn't even go in it.

I thought maybe I would hedge my bets, and so I built a second feral cat house.

No dice.

The only thing I could think of was to take an old, heavy hunting coat out and drape it over the wire tomato cage to help provide some shelter for this little black cat. Still, that didn't help my worrying. Numbers on the thermometer kept getting lower and lower, and I just knew this kitten was not equipped--it was too tiny, for one thing.

After a couple weeks, I was standing outside late, late one night and the kitten dared to come up on the porch and start eating. I thought, "This is my one and only chance." Tentatively, I crouched down and reached out a finger to touch it on the head. Deep purrs erupted from it and it miraculously rolled over on its back--cat speak for "rub my belly." So I did.

Surreptitiously, I slipped in my other hand to rub its belly. Then I betrayed its trust, but for good reasons. I knew I was not going to get another shot. I grabbed it tightly and rushed into the house and upstairs to my bedroom, all the while this kitten struggling in my grasp and yowling.

But at least it was now inside and out of the terrible cold.

It hid under my bed, coming out only after I went to bed or to work, in order to eat and drink. It used the litter box right from the very beginning without any issues.

On the third week, it would venture out from under the bed--where it made its own bed in the box spring, like a hammock--and sat close to me, keeping a wary eye on me at all times. Once in awhile, it would let me rub its head, and even rolled over to let me rub its belly a time or two in the following weeks. I don't know yet if he's a he or she's a she, because I couldn't tell when it rolled over. My guess is it's too young to have been neutered--unless it's not old enough to see the boy bits yet--so it is probably a girl.

The kitty has more than doubled in size since it has been in the house the past three-four weeks. My goal is to get it comfy and situated, and then I will take it into the vet for a check up. The name will be either Morgan or Morgana de Montserrat-Montague, depending on what the vet tell me.

Last night, for the first time, the kitty got up on the bed and sat with me while I worked on some of the edits for By Gaslight. Progress bit by bit. He or she is a love bug, and loves pets and belly rubs, and purrs like a big rig engine. Talkative, too. Meows in response to everything I say.

I will keep you updated and post a picture as soon as he or she is more comfortable.

As for the chocolate chip cookies: I need to quit eating so many or I'll be so big I won't be able to fit in or out of the front door. I found a vegan brand I like and I think nothing of eating an entire box while reading a book or watching television. I'm trying to limit myself to one row--a box contains three rows of approximately six or seven cookies per row--but I'm not always successful. I readily admit I lack discipline.

Okay, before this becomes a novel, I shall say goodnight.

Nighty-nightmares...

By Edgar Allan Poe, The Raven is perhaps my favorite piece of poetry. It's very vivid in its imagery. First published in 1845, Poe made several revisions over the the years, small ones, and these revisions are evident in the various published forms of the poem. I read it to myself as I lay on his original resting spot in Baltimore, MD, on 19 September 2015 when I visited.

The Raven
by Edgar Allan Poe


Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore --
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
“ ’Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door --
  Only this and nothing more.”


Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December;
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; — vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow — sorrow for the lost Lenore --
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore --
  Nameless here for evermore.


And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me — filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
“ ’Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door --
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; --
   This it is and nothing more.”


Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
“Sir,” said I, “or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you” — here I opened wide the door; —--
    Darkness there and nothing more.


Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, “Lenore?”
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, “Lenore!” --
Merely this and nothing more.


Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
“Surely,” said I, “surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore --
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;--
 ‘Tis the wind and nothing more!”


Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore;
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door --
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door --
   Perched, and sat, and nothing more.


Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
“Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,” I said, “art sure no craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore --
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”


Much I marveled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning — little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door --
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
   With such name as “Nevermore.”


But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing farther then he uttered — not a feather then he fluttered --
Till I scarcely more than muttered “Other friends have flown before --
On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before.”
  Then the bird said “Nevermore.”


Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
“Doubtless,” said I, “what it utters is its only stock and store
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore --
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
   Of ‘Never — nevermore’.”


But the Raven still beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore --
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
   Meant in croaking “Nevermore.”


This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom’s core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion’s velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o’er,
But whose velvet-violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o’er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!


Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
“Wretch,” I cried, “thy God hath lent thee — by these angels he hath sent thee
Respite — respite and nepenthe, from thy memories of Lenore;
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!”
  Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”


“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil! — prophet still, if bird or devil! --
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted --
On this home by Horror haunted — tell me truly, I implore --
Is there — is there balm in Gilead? — tell me — tell me, I implore!”
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”


“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil! — prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us — by that God we both adore --
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore --
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore.”
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”


“Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!” I shrieked, upstarting --
“Get thee back into the tempest and the Night’s Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! — quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!”
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”


And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted — nevermore!



If you would like to hear The Raven read by Sir Christopher Lee, please click here.
The words are included in the video, or you can play it in the background and follow along with the poem above.
Perhaps you would care to listen to Omnia's version instead.
They have altered a word here and there, but it's still a lovely version. Click here.
Enjoy, all you pretty people out there in the dark...

Almost three years ago to the day I wrote this entry. I've always found this fascinating and I think it warrants a share.

Art speaks to different people in different ways. There are a few pieces of art I like enough to have prints matted and framed so I can hang it in my house and enjoy it every time I look at it. (I'm sure that's a run-on sentence and not quite grammatically correct, but it is what it is.) I don't need my art to speak to me; I hear enough voices. Rather, if it visually appeals to me, then I like it. I realize that may make me sound like a Philistine, but at least I'm being honest. It's the same for me when I'm reading a book or watching a show or film: while learning is wonderful, I don't always have to be educated; it can simply be entertaining. One can like a work of art simply because it is appealing without having to worry whether or not one is learning anything from it. At least, I think so.

The first piece of my favorite art is an oil on canvas work by an unknown 17th Century Flemish artist entitled Plague: Dance of the Rats. Now, being as the artist is unknown, I don't know if that is the title he or she truly bestowed upon it, but it fits it rather well. I love this painting so much I wrote it into one of the books I'm currently writing. I shan't tell you the title of the book; you'll just have to read all of them to find out.
I'm not exactly sure what attracts me to this specific piece. Admittedly, I heart rats in a major way--having adopted several who were in need of homes--but there's something about them standing and holding hands--paws?--as if they're secretly plotting something sinister that appeals to me.
Or, they could simply be dancing. Possibly practicing for the May pole festivities. One would presume they are in the midst of a rousing game of "Ring Around the Roses," which according to widespread belief about the Plague, describing the symptoms and ending with all falling down--or dying. However, the idea the rhyme is associated with the Plague only came into being in the early 1900s so it is highly suspect.
Rats are wrongly branded scapegoats when it comes to the spreading of the plague, when in fact the plague was caused by the Yersinia pestis bacterium, which is usually spread through the bite of an infected flea. The Great Plague of London killed nearly one-quarter of the city's population, an estimated 100,000 people.

The next piece of art is by Edvard Munch. Or should I say pieces? Because the title The Scream has actually been given to four versions of this iconic masterpiece. Well, technically five, because Munch created a stone in 1895 in order for lithograph prints to be made--of which approximately 40-50 were printed and some were colored by Munch--before the stone was resurfaced without Munch's consent and I bet he was not happy.

Francisco José de Goya y Lucientes’s, better known to the world by the mononym Goya, The Great He-Goat is certainly on my list and I would love a life-size version in a great ornate carved wood frame to be hung above my fireplace. Also known as Witches’ Sabbath, but not to be confused with another painting of the same name done by Goya earlier in 1798 and which is also on my list, it was one of the fourteen Black Paintings Goya created on the plaster walls of his home in the latter years of his life and discovered about fifty years after his death; it is not known to have been named by him and if it was, the original name was never spoken or written down.

I love this work by Goya. Sure, it can be construed as being of dark subject matter, but it is enthralling and I can stare at it for hours on end. Completed around 1821-1823, it was cut down from the wall to be preserved. Unfortunately, about fifty-five inches were cut off from the right-hand side, however the painting is still the biggest of the Black Paintings--measuring fifty-six inches high by one hundred seventy-two inches wide. It has been described as "spectral" and "haunting."

I'm a big fan of the work created by Dutch artist Maurits Cornelis Escher, perhaps better known as M.C. Escher. His mathematically-inspired works draw me in visually, especially when impossible buildings are the subject. I used to have an oversize book of his creations I bought during a field trip to Washington, D.C. while i was at university. Unfortunately, it was lost, as so much was, in the fire. While it is difficult for me to choose favorites from his artwork, I have managed to narrow it down to a handful of those which endlessly enchant and captivate me.

I hope you've enjoyed me sharing some of my favorite works of art with you. There are so many others I could have added to this list--such as Salvador Dali's The Sacrament of the Last Supper, 1955, and Swans Reflecting Elephants, 1937--but I shall save them for perhaps another blog entry.
On second thought, take a look at these two glorious works of art and see what you think!

This Dali painting puts me in the mind of an ambigram--I am a big fan of ambigrams and have always wanted to have one of my book titles done as one--and I've always wanted to get a print of this and frame it. It's just a cool work of art.

If I remember correctly, I was enthralled by this painting in a college art history class. The instructor said it was the first time, hopefully I am recalling this information correctly, Jesus Christ had been portrayed as a blond man. Still, I like how Dali had played with the solidity of the scene, or should I say the lack of solidity?

Thank you for taking the time to stroll with me through some of my favorite works of art. I hope i have educated as well as entertained you.
Check out my art, my books on Amazon.com and feel free to spread the word about them. Word of mouth is the most effective form of publicity!
Into the Mirror Black
Angels of the Seventh Dawn
Angels of the Mourning Light
A Christmas Canticle
and
Rhayven House

And don't forget the animals. Donations of time, money, and supplies are always appreciated by shelters, rescues, and sanctuaries. You would be surprised if you knew how many lives a jar of change will save. A few dollars here and there—skip a couple coffees a month or a pack of cigarettes—help save lives of animals people threw away.
            Keep your donations local and you will be able to see first-hand exactly how they are used.
            If you can't donate money or supplies, how about  giving of some of your time? An hour or two a week to play with kittens and cats or to walk a dog keeps the animals socialized, friendly, so they don't cower away from potential adoptive parents.
            Maybe you could volunteer a couple hours here and there to be part of a transport to help an animal reach his or her forever home. If not, how about offering a transporter and an animal a place to stay for the night before they set out on the journey once more?
            There are so many and different ways to help.
            We can make a difference.
            We can do some good.
            We can save lives.

In addition to my novella A Christmas Canticle--my homage to Charles Dickens and A Christmas Carol--being rereleased this season in both Kindle and paperback on Amazon, I've also written a little song for you as a gift.

It's called The Days of Christmas.
 
On the first day of Christmas my true love gifted me:
an alien anal probing!
 
On the second day of Christmas my true love gifted me:
2 ativan and an alien anal probing!
 
On the third day of Christmas my true love gifted me:
3 blue balls, 2 ativan, and an alien anal probing!
 
On the fourth day of Christmas my true love gifted me:
4 wine boxes, 3 blue balls, 2 ativan, and an alien anal probing!
 
On the fifth day of Christmas my true love gifted me:
5 crooked cakes, 4 wine boxes, 3 blue balls, 2 ativan, and an alien anal probing!
 
On the sixth day of Christmas my true love gifted me:
6 mice with fig bars, 5 crooked cakes, 4 wine boxes, 3 blue balls, 2 ativan, and an alien anal probing!
 
On the seventh day of Christmas my true love gifted me:
7 fish in fishbowls, 6 mice with fig bars, 5 crooked cakes, 4 wine boxes, 3 blue balls, 2 ativan, and an alien anal probing!
 
On the eighth day of Christmas my true love gifted me:
8 bars of chocolate, 7 fish in fishbowls, 6 mice with fig bars, 5 crooked cakes, 4 wine boxes, 3 blue balls, 2 ativan, and an alien anal probing!
 
On the ninth day of Christmas my true love gifted me:
9 spiders spinning, 8 bars of chocolate, 7 fish in fishbowls, 6 mice with fig bars, 5 crooked cakes, 4 wine boxes, 3 blue balls, 2 ativan, and an alien anal probing!
 
On the tenth day of Christmas my true love gifted me:
10 saucer sightings, 9 spiders spinning, 8 bars of chocolate, 7 fish in fishbowls, 6 mice with fig bars, 5 crooked cakes, 4 wine boxes, 3 blue balls, 2 ativan, and an alien anal probing!
 
On the eleventh day of Christmas my true love gifted me:
11 inch-tall figures, 10 saucer sightings, 9 spiders spinning, 8 bars of chocolate, 7 fish in fishbowls, 6 mice with fig bars, 5 crooked cakes, 4 wine boxes, 3 blue balls, 2 ativan, and an alien anal probing!
 
On the twelfth day of Christmas my true love gifted me:
12 fresh-baked cookies, 11 inch-tall figures, 10 saucer sightings, 9 spiders spinning, 8 bars of chocolate, 7 fish in fishbowls, 6 mice with fig bars, 5 crooked cakes, 4 wine boxes, 3 blue balls, 2 ativan, and an alien anal probing!
 
On the thirteenth day of Christmas because twelve were not enough:
I moved without a forwarding address!


Did you enjoy my song?
You're so very welcome! And remember, tell everyone you know about my novella A Christmas Canticle available on Kindle and in paperback on Amazon, please and thank you!

My holiday novella has just been re-released in a new edition. To set this second edition apart from the first, because I love the cover so much I decided to use it again, I've chosen a matte finish as opposed to the glossy of the previous edition and this time around the pages are cream rather than white. Instead of 1.5 spacing, I did single spacing and that allowed me to add some additional details to the story and keep A Christmas Canticle at a slender 102 pages, and that allowed the price to be reduced to $5.99--perfect for jingle gifts or as stocking stuffers!

Many thanks to my friend and designer Laura Meese for working with me to alter the cover for my novella. !

This is the review for my holiday tale A Christmas Canticle from A Grave Interest website.

A Christmas Canticle is available on Amazon.com in both kindle and paperback.

Book Review: A Christmas Canticle by Frank E. Bittinger

For those of us who love a good ghost story, no matter what time of year it is, Frank E. Bittinger provides a fun holiday read with A Christmas Canticle.

Channeling Charles Dickens' novella A Christmas Carol for inspiration, Bittinger gives us his version of Ebenezer Scrooge - Bronson Ghostley, a demanding gothic horror author, paranormal television star, and all-around media personality who has no time for sentiment or holidays.

This twist on the familiar holiday tale has been up-dated to the 21st century complete with cell phones, DVDs and the internet. Although the story is predictable as to the purpose of the visiting spirits (And how could it not be?), Bittinger leads us along with enough interesting details that we accept Ghostley as a modern-day Scrooge.

His spin on Marley’s ghost is unique and interesting, especially when you begin to understand the backstory of Ghostley’s childhood. The Ghost of Christmas Past has a unique vision, offering Ghostley “two sides of the same coin.”

The Spirit of Christmas Present provides more illumination into what makes Ghostley tick, reminding him, and us, that “even when we can see, sometimes we are still blind.”

The final spirit, the dreaded Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come, is a “real bite in the ass” according to Ghostley. But the death coach that propels Ghostley into the future does seem pretty cool!

All in all, A Christmas Canticle is an enjoyable holiday read offering a message that transcends religious ideology and simply asks that we treat our fellow man, woman, and the animals, with respect and caring.

[The Youngblood’s 1960s song Get Together kept running through my mind as the perfect soundtrack for this book:
Come on people now
Smile on your brother
Everybody get together
Try to love one another
Right now]

The Author and A Friend
Bittinger originally wrote his book as a Kindle exclusive to raise money for animals in need.  Now available in paperback, a portion of the royalties from A Christmas Canticle are used to assist in rescuing and caring for animals that have been abused and neglected. So go ahead, order the book and enjoy the guilty pleasure of reading a rejuvenated Christmas novella by the fire knowing that you're helping to save lives, too.

A Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good read!

~ Joy


About the Author:
Over the centuries, Frank Bittinger has experienced many existences. In this incarnation, Mr. Bittinger is a vegan who lives and writes in Western Maryland, sharing his home with a menagerie of pets, several alternate personalities, and the occasional ghost. One of his favorite pastimes is taking walks in old cemeteries in the evening. Ancient Egypt holds a fascination for him; he has a scarab beetle tattoo between his shoulder blades as well as a collection of Egyptian items and books in his deep, dark red bedroom. Learn more about the author at his web site: http://www.frankebittinger.com


Book Details:
A Christmas Canticle by Frank E. Bittinger
Published and available at  Amazon   (2014)

            This is Sker House.
            Welcome.
            Dale and Lucy come to the centuries-old, four-story mansion that has been converted into an inn in South Wales to investigate the rumors of paranormal happenings.
            Machen, the present owner, has forbidden Dale and Lucy from investigating the final floor, using the excuse the renovations were never completed.
            Things go bump in the night. Lucy senses things Champ, the old German shepherd, probably sees, and soon she is sleepwalking around upstairs on the fourth floor.
            Is it the Maid of Sker lurking about and staring out windows on the fourth floor?
            There is something about the fourth floor.
            And perhaps something else hidden away deeper within.
            Don’t ask questions you don’t want answered.
            Welcome to Sker House, where even the ground is poisoned and nothing but the most stubborn of weeds will flourish. But there is a mysterious walled garden. Or is there? Perhaps that’s one of the secrets Sker House intends to keep.
            The key to everything is within reach.
            And then a storm blows in from the sea and the power goes out, and confessions are made, history revealed, and secrets unveiled inside the old mansion.
            Magic may be forgotten over time, but time does nothing to dilute it.
            The past will always come back to haunt you.
            The desolate, claustrophobic feel of Sker House is enjoyable to those of us who like our ghost stories full of cold drafts, shadows, and faces in windows. It’s a different but familiar tale, an homage to the classic ghost tales, and that’s a great thing.
            And it’s more.
            Sometimes what happened in the past has dire repercussions in the present.
            I enjoyed every eerie page.
            Consider this your invitation to Sker House. Come and experience it for yourself.