I love the thrill of ghost stories. I spend an extraordinary amount of time watching the Travel Channel’s Haunted Hotels and other ghost programs. I don’t exactly have an affinity for ghosts; I’m not even sure what I’d do if I actually met a ghost. If he was a good-looking pirate, I’d undoubtedly try to seduce—I really read too many paranormal novels.

My favorite ghost story is the one about the Flying Dutchman. Yeah, you thought that was just a bit from the Pirates of the Caribbean, didn’t you? No, it’s a legend in and of itself.

Over three hundred years ago, a Dutchman by the name of Captain Hendrik van der Decken was said to have sailed around the cape of Good Hope. Instead of pulling into port during a nasty storm, he chose instead to weather it out: cursing a blue streak while he did. Apparently this bit of blaspheming earned him an eternity of sailing the seas without any hope of making port. If you’re out at sea and you see a visible red light, be aware you are in the presence of the Flying Dutchman. Also, be careful what you do aboard your ship after, since a sighting of the Dutchman is typically a death sentence for one of the crew. Look, but don’t look too close.

Some say his curse can be broken, and is the case with all curses, the only way to break it is with True Love. One telling of the story has it that the Flying Dutchman can only make port once every seven years, in hopes he will find True Love (the love of a faithful woman), because only that will free him from his curse. That’s just the way of men, isn’t it? They do one thing to screw everything up, then expect a woman to come and fix it. I’m sure it can’t be any woman either. It’ll probably have to be a virgin.

Tell us your favorite ghost story and we’ll break out the S’mores and hot chocolate. What stories and legends do you know that have made their way into fiction? (Send me in their direction—I love ghost story novels!) Why do you think ghosts stick around? Have you ever seen a ghost? (Do tell.) And do you think you could break a curse, or do you too have the t-shirt that reads: Virgin—this is a really old t-shirt?

So the witching hour is almost upon us and that means the theme on the ship this week has been everything Halloweinie. So, let’s go there. And yes, I meant to spell it that way. You’ll understand if you keep reading.

This is the one time of year everyone gets to be someone or something that they’re not. Unless you’re an actor or actress, then just play along. We all talked last week about what we would want to be and no surprise slutty pretty much summed us all up. Big shocker!

But what about what we’re willing to go for. Paranormals have been sweeping the romance world for a few years now (maybe more, I did no research for this one) so it stands to reason women must be liking those vampires, werewolves and general shape shifters of all kinds. Perhaps lusting after is more accurate. These guys are clearly Alphas, no one would argue that, and we hear over and over again how women want the guy that takes charge. He’s powerful. Has lots of money (shut up Cap’n). But most of all, he’s a warrior. A fighter who can protect us or save us from anything. But would we really want our guy to shape shift?

This is the question for today. In real life, would you really go there? Would you do him even if you knew ten minutes ago he was on all fours sniffing (or licking) who knows what? Would you go down if you knew that too good of a performance on your part could have the man sprouting wings and literally reaching new heights without you. How about those demon killers? Would it turn you on IRL if you knew he’d blown up a dozen or so bad guys that day?

Yes, this is all fantasy. But there’s always a little truth in our dreams. Could you handle the hair balls, fireballs and possible anemia to have one of these bad boys? Be honest, we’ll never tell. Honor among pirates and all that…

PS: I found Ash just for you ladies. LOL! I’m paying PM Lisa back for the lovely pic she sent all of us over the weekend. *w*

Oh, I mean, I’m not a winner… I mean Marnee Jo is a winner. Marnee, please send me your mailing address and I will send you some pirate booty!

Sin was gracious enough to provide some Halloween words to challenge me. What they prompted was a poorly written satire. Hope this helps Terrio with her FRUSTRATION!

The lovely pirate wench stared at Cap’n Jack. He was standing behind the ship’s wheel looking dead sexy. She turned and slapped her forehead trying to pop her lame brain back into joint. What was she thinking she didn’t need the hassle. Sure, it would be a fabulous toss of her skirts, but she was a lass with soft heart. She loved to appear tough and baldy on the outside but beneath her soft flesh she longed for so much more. The life of a seafaring wench was a lonely one, and besides *sniff* Halloween made her melancholy. It all stemmed from that year she swallowed her fake fangs when a peg legged pirate stuck his tongue down her throat in a fit of passion. Even though he walked away with blood dripping from his nose, she never lost the nibbling sensation in her gut.

She sighed and kicked at the jack o lantern sitting at her feet. It spun around and skittered across the deck slamming into the stern of the ship cracking into a million pieces. She shook her head as she made her way below deck to see if any Twizzlers were left in the basket of candy treats. On the way to the galley, she stopped by her cabin to straighten her hair; she slipped inside and looked in the cracked mirror above the washbasin. She brushed her curls away from her face and smiled faintly. She had a pleasant face and a nice set of breasts. She turned slightly and tightly closed her eyes as she groaned. Her backside stuck out causing her skirt to hike up severely in the back. She could still hear the words of her uncle Charlie Brown.

“It’s the great pumpkin!”

She decided that she was going to lose the great pumpkin one way or another. She didn’t have too much time to contemplate her plight when the door swung open and Jack Sparrow darkened the doorway.

“Captain what can I do for you.”

He slowly stalked toward her with his yellow teeth posed in a malicious smile.

“Ask not what you can do for your captain but let your captain show what he can do for you.”

“I like the way you think Jack.”

He took two more steps and pulled her against his unyielding flesh. She sucked in a breath as he lowered his mouth on hers. Although she longed to pull away and offer him an Altoid, she allowed her nether regions to rule her. Passion consumed them as Jack hiked up her skirts and unsheathed his sword. He plunged it deep inside her as she wrapped her thunder thighs around his waist. The motion of their hips mimicked the rocking of the ship. The storm of their passion raged as Jack slammed her against the wall plundering her body as if it was his latest sought after treasure. It was over almost before he got in the room. With a grunt Jack pulled out and let go of her so she slipped to the floor in a heap. He smiled as he corralled his manhood. The wench looked at him in disbelief as she muttered.

“You don’t know Jack about pleasing a woman!”

His smile quickly disappeared.

“I’ve never had a wench complain before.”

“ Well you’ve never had this wench!”

She stumbled to her feet and jerked down her skirts, embarrassed when they caught on the great pumpkin. In frustration, she brushed at the back of her skirt and noticed as Jack cocked an eyebrow.

“What?” she asked.

“If I had noticed the tent in your skirt before, I would have suggested back door.”

The wench’s jaw dropped open.” You are such a scoundrel.”

Jack smiled his dirty grin. “Why thank you lass”

She sighed and tried to push past him to leave. He grabbed her around the waist and pressed his still throbbing member between the juncture of her legs. She gasped in delighted alarm.

He whispered. “You know you want me.”

“I don’t know what it is, you are such a nasty pirate but I still long for you.”

He smiled a wolf grin. “Must be my winning personality.”

She reached up and tried to lace her fingers in his hair but they got stuck “It sure as hell isn’t your dreadlocks.”

“The sweet things you say to me wench.”

“I can’t believe what a slutty sailor I have become.”She grinned.

And they had sex.

Halloween is upon us; therefore, we must be more careful of things that go bump in the night. When I’m not pursuing my freedom upon the seas, I can be found at home in Scotland, snugged up to a brawn Highlander, finding out what he wears beneath his kilt. Leave it to that bonnie nation to make a clever quote, part Halloween, part prayer–and upon which this blog is focused today:

From ghoulies and ghosties and long leggety beasties and things that go bump in the night, Good Lord, deliver us!
~Scottish saying

But I’m never satisfied with just one version of this quotation, much like Andrew Jackson was never satisfied with just one way to spell a word. So I’ve come up with these alternate version. What do you think?

To charmers and pirates and long leggety libertines and handsome rogues that go bump in the night, Good Lord, deliver us!

~Wench saying

From hunters and enemies and long leggety Krakens and things that go bump in the sea, Good Lord, deliver us!

~Pirate saying

To rum stores and lost booties and long leggety wenches and beds where we might bump in the night, Good Lord, deliver us!

~Naughty pirate saying

From writer’s block and plot holes and irate, yelling editors and the slush pile from whence there is no hope of being published, Good Lord, deliver us!

~writer’s saying

I have a Halloween Treat (Pirate Loot) to send one of our guests who puts their own personal spin on that beloved Scottish saying.

Arrrrgh! I love Halloween!

Halloween is a holiday purely made for my little pirate enjoyment. The whole thought of dressing up like someone your not appeals to my devious heart. You can pretend to be anything you want for a whole day. How great is that? You can be a superhero (like Batman or if you’re Hellion, you might like Capt’n Jack Sparrow, and don’t try to tell her he’s not a superhero. She’ll bite you.) Or you could be the heroine, (*ahem* Stephanie Plum or Kiera Knightly’s Elizabeth). Or you could be something complete supernatural… like a vampire.

When I think of Halloween, I think of vampires. In the dark. Making their claim on human prey. I imagine I’m the one being watched, followed, marked to be bled.

“I could tell he was behind me. It wasn’t the steady thumping on the pavement behind me. No, there was no sound behind me, but it was the way the wind whispered in my ear. Giving me warning. Telling me that even though there were shadows behind me, he was still there. Stalking me. Making me his prey. Oh yes, I knew, with a little shock of pleasure deep within my black soul. Once I stepped into the alley, he would push me against the wall and make me his. He was vampire. My blood was all he knew.”

Ever since I was a little girl, I’ve wanted to be a vampire. I’ve always wanted the sharp canines, the ability to kick ass and heal myself, literally do anything within my reach because I’ve been alive so long I don’t have anything to worry about other than the sun (and who needs that anyway). Halloween is that one time for me to dream about being something I can’t be. Writing was that way for me for a long time as well.

Sometimes it just takes that one day for you to get the courage to be the one thing you’ve always wanted to be. It’s the day when you wake up determined to set out on your journey, even if it is just for one day. You have to start somewhere. With every great adventure, there is a beginning. And if it takes dressing up like everyone else to realize that you’re finally ready to break free from the mold and be who you were destined to be (whether it be a vampire or an writer), take that first step. Take that deep breath and walk over the edge. For one day a year I pretend to be a vampire. From now on, for the rest of the days, I will be a writer. I will stop pretending. I will start doing.

Halloween is just one day a year, but use it as a mind set. Be what you want to be. If you want to be a writer, don’t just want it. Be it.

Now, if you could be one thing for Halloween what would it be and how would it affect your writing?

So for the next week, the Pirate Wenches of the Romance Writer’s Revenge have decided to celebrate our one sacred holiday.

Arrrgh Matey, it be Halloween!

Get out your best glass eye and your best black eye patch and get ready for some racketeering! The Pirate Wenches are on the prowl!

I met a pirate writer on the sea
Who seemed quite frolicsome to me.
She claimed she knew the quickest way
To keep your Muse from running away.
“How so?” I asked, quick to know.
My muse was always much on the go.
She whispered, “Tis going to sound trite—
But you have to sit and write.”

Good thing I wasn’t paying money for this advice.
I thought I should go while I could still be nice.
“Thank you,” I said, as I walked away.
I needed to find my Muse while it was still day.
A year passed, or maybe ten more.
My Muse despondent, writing a chore.
“I know I could write this if writing were fun.”
Why scribble when it’s crap that I should shun?

While in port, I passed a cheerful bookseller,
Who had books stacked from attic to cellar.
And the picture on the back to my chagrin,
Was that same pirate writer with a shit-eating grin!
She hadn’t just wrote one book I could see—
But scores upon scores while I’d been at sea.
“But how?” I whispered as I bought one about Jack.
“How does she write these without becoming a hack?”

“Perfection,” the seller said with a quite knowing smile,
“Is completely overrated and on its way out of style.
In yoga, you learn perfection is what you can do today.
So sit and write it all down what it is you have to say.”
He held up a hand before I could argue—was he mad?
Didn’t see I was writing already with everything I had?
“You can’t fix what isn’t written—though many a writer has tried.
But doing so leaves you revising the same sentence ’til you die.”

“But…” I said, and he shook his head.
“I have no interest in excuses, no matter how bad.
We’ve all the same troubles, the same number of hours.
Writing a book was in her, and in your considerable powers.
“You write it or you don’t, it’s simple to plot—
You either tinkle or get off the pot.”
He’s right, I thought, as I read the name of the pirate in skirts—
Lord almighty, I’d ignored advice from the Nora Roberts.

This weekend was an exercise in FRUSTRATION. Yes, that’s the *other* “F” word I’m talking about. Every Friday I have high hopes for the weekend. I have 48 hours to accomplish every single thing I didn’t get done during the week. Emptying the dish washer (picking the pockets of Smelly the Dish Washer), finishing that last load of laundry (a little Whisky on that Rum stain should do the trick), eating that last piece of chocolate cake (now that’s plunder!). Clearly, I have my priorities in order.

This weekend, I had one tiny homework assignment to finish (which I did) and then I could work on the writing. But the more I worked, the more frustrated I became. I realized I’ve only been writing on the surface. No layering. No scenery. Little action between the lines of dialogue. Where I’ve been used to knocking out pages in an hour, this weekend I could barely knock out two sentences in a day. And when I did manage to make it better, feel better about it, I’d page down and find more. More dreck and more work. It feels like treading water but every time I get close to the surface, someone reaches in and pushes me down again.

How do you survive this? How long can I hold my breath? How long before I walk out of the water and say to hell with it? Because I almost did that this weekend. What do you do when it’s not fun anymore?

This is what I’m doing. I’m still opening the file and struggling away. I’m not sure why. Maybe because I’ve put blood, sweat and tears into this thing now, not to mention the money, and I couldn’t live with myself if I gave up. Maybe because if I give up now, Cap’n Hellion will have my ass.

How do you deal with frustration? What do you do to keep from dropping the sails and letting the sea have her way with ya? And if you say you don’t have frustration, prepare to be flogged!