All posts by philgiunta@ptd.net

After Action Report: Mindful Writers Retreat – Autumn 2024

After a year’s absence, it was pure joy to return to Ligonier, PA during the third week in October for the Mindful Writers Retreat nestled in the Laurel Highlands region of the Allegheny Mountains.

Everything about the Mindful Writers Retreat is magical, the gorgeous fall foliage that surrounds us, the amazing writers who have become my tribe since I began attending in 2018, the guided meditations we practice each day, the peaceful sunrise walks through the woods, and of course, the hours of quiet writing time each day.

All of these elements come together at the Ligonier Camp and Conference Center, resulting in an extraordinary experience that keeps me coming back almost every autumn (I’ve missed only two since 2018).

My Home for the Week: Room 8 in Lamont Lodge
My Home for the Week: Room 8 in Lamont Lodge
Lamont Lodge

On Tuesday and Wednesday mornings, I took sunrise walks through the endless woods and trails of the Ligonier Camp. As always, these beautiful excursions bring enormous peace to the mind, heart, and soul and, of course, they’re excellent for the body as well.

I spent the first two and a half days editing works written by fellow members of the Greater Lehigh Valley Writers Group. Every odd year, our group publishes a themed anthology of short stories, essays, and poems. I’ve been on the editing team for these anthologies since 2016.  We’re gearing up for our 2025 anthology, Writing a Wrong. I managed to finish all nine pieces that were assigned to me by Wednesday morning.

The latter half of the week was spent on a sequel to a novella that I’d published in 2018 called Like Mother, Like Daughters. As I did with my first two novels, Testing the Prisoner and By Your Side, I plan to reissue Like Mother, Like Daughters along with its sequel in one omnibus edition. That might happen in 2025, but more likely the year after.

On Wednesday afternoon, I ventured into town with another writer, Lilan Laishley, to ship some items I had sold on eBay the previous Friday. While there, we took the opportunity to cast our votes in the town’s scarecrow contest. It’s a Ligonier tradition that some of the local businesses set up scarecrows around the center of town. Residents and tourists are then afforded the opportunity to vote on their favorite.  In this case, there were about 25 scarecrows to choose from.

      

   

Afterwards, we stopped for ice cream at the Ligonier Creamery before heading back to the lodge for more writing time.

On Thursday afternoon, I walked down to the local creek where I meditated for a brief time and basked under the autumn sun.  Thursday is our last full day at the retreat and in what has become a tradition, most of us took a break from writing to gather around the hearth in the evening.

Thursday night by the fire.
Thursday night by the fire.

However, one of our longtime members, Lori Jones, had the brilliant idea to take a night walk through the camp to some of the cabins scattered about the property. This turned into a quasi-paranormal investigation that ended in a breathtaking star gazing event.

Night walk through the Ligonier Camp and Conference Center
Lori Jones checking out the Alexander House like Nancy Drew!
“Ghost hunting” in the Alexander House.
“Ghost hunting” in the Alexander House.
The Mindful Writers Paranormal Investigators. Any evidence we find can and will be used in a story.

This year’s Mindful Writers Retreat was the most magical one yet. The weather was gorgeous for the entire week (it usually is), our group participated in our usual hijinks and shenanigans,  and I managed to accomplish everything I’d planned for the week.

The only time I ever dislike a Friday is when I’m at the retreat because that is the day all of us part ways and return to reality. Deepest gratitude to Kathie Shoop and Larry Schardt for all they do to organize the Mindful Writers Retreat twice a year. I already look forward to next October!

About This Writing Stuff…

This month, Emily Inkpen explains why context is as important as motive and conflict and why the consequences of trauma must be addressed in character-driven narratives.

Crystal King serves up a lesson on the importance of food and drink in world building, Ellen Buikema shows us how to develop well-rounded characters by including their hobbies and interests, and Kathryn Craft reminds us that even bad novels have something to teach us.

Looking for a writing prompt? Sarah Gribble encourages us to try pictures (personal note: I’ve done this twice and one of the stories was nominated for a Pushcart Prize) while Kelley J. P. Lindberg coaches us through writing those torturous loglines.

All that and a lot more writerly knowledge. Enjoy!

Why Context is Key in Character-Driven Narratives by Emily Inkpen

Why Trauma MUST be Recognised in Character-Driven Narratives by Emily Inkpen

Food and Drink as Essential Elements in Fiction by Crystal King

4 Questions to Strengthen Lean Manuscripts by Lisa Fellinger via Jane Friedman

5 Reasons to Use Pictures as Writing Prompts by Sarah Gribble

6 Ways Reading Bad Novels Can Make Good Writers by Kathryn Craft

7 Important Things I Wish Every Writer Knew by Rachel Toalson

Words of Wisdom on Writer’s Block by Dale Ivan Smith

How Characters’ Hobbies and Interests Affect the Narrative by Ellen Buikema

Pacing in Writing: 10 Ways to Master Pace and Keep Your Readers Riveted by Joslyn Chase

Loglines—One-Sentence Torture Devices for Writers by Kelley J.P. Lindberg

Draft2Digital 2024 AI Training Survey Results by Kris Austin

 

 

Book Review: Beneath the Yellow Lights

Beneath the Yellow Lights anthology cover featuring a young man sitting on a park bench on a city street while fairies and dragons fly overhead.For their second genre anthology, the amazing folks at Oddity Prodigy bring together 20 remarkable tales of witches, wizards, fairies, gods, trolls, werewolves, vampires, and many other fantastical creatures who roam the city streets both the day and night. Some are cruel and malevolent, others benign and helpful. As urban fantasy anthologies go, this one is a treasure.

In the Span of a Heartbeat – Short Story Acceptance!

Excited to report that my Friday morning began with an email acceptance of my science fiction adventure tale “In the Span of a Heartbeat” by Black Cat Weekly online magazine!

My story will be featured in a January or February 2025 issue.

I’m thrilled and honored to work with editor and publisher John Betancourt, who has an extensive list of writing and editing credits for original works as well as media tie-in, including Star Trek. Stay tuned for more details! 

By Your Side – We Are Live!

By Your Side Front Cover featuring protagonist Miranda Lorensen carrying a young boy while two ghosts stand behind her.It’s go-live day for By Your Side! The paperback and ebook versions are now available! Click here to pick up a copy and thank you for supporting small press and independent authors.

“Phil Giunta’s paranormal novel, By Your Side, is a superb introduction to his work. Think ‘Ghost Hunters’ … but more realistic. The characters are thoroughly believable, the plot is expertly constructed, and the twists and turns keep you flipping pages. If you enjoy reading ghost stories, you’ll enjoy this novel. Highly recommended!”  —Weldon Burge, Author of Harvester of Sorrow

I hope you enjoy the following scene from Chapter Nine – The Fate of the Vernons


“I’m almost afraid to ask, but how could two dead girls end up neatly tucked in their beds?” After turning off the lights, Amy sat against the edge of Elias’s desk and leveled her IR camera at the opposite end of the room where Miranda had seen the Vernon girls lying in bloody repose.

From the comfort of the suede office chair, Miranda shrugged. “I have no idea.”

“It’s interesting that you had visions in specific rooms, as if what happened back then occurred in this house.”

“Well, anywhere we go here, we’re in the vicinity of those events,” Miranda said. “For example, the basement in my vision wasn’t laid out like what’s down there now. It was the Vernons’ basement. At least part of this house occupies the same space as theirs did. From what I saw, their house was perpendicular to this one. It faced the woods, not the street, but there was still a second-story room right about where we’re sitting.”

“Maybe Eddie was right earlier,” Amy said. “Maybe Jeff Vernon doesn’t know that this isn’t his house.”

Miranda held up her digital voice recorder. “Now would be a good time to ask him.”

“Ask me what, ladies?”

She jolted at the new voice, which should have sent her rolling backward if the chair still had casters instead of worn wooden legs. She slid from the orange vinyl seat and backed into what should have been Elias’s desk, but it was gone—as was Amy. The mint green dressers had returned.

Miranda dragged the chair toward her, a protective barricade between herself and the murderer in the doorway. Jeff Vernon didn’t acknowledge her at all but smiled at his daughters sitting on the floor, books strewn about.

Yellow walls were aglow with daylight from open windows. A warm breeze rustled mint green curtains as Jeff entered the room. Heat flared in Miranda’s face, as one might experience when turning a corner and nearly colliding with a sworn enemy. Rubbing his bloodshot brown eyes, Jeff joined his daughters on the floor.

“It’s the last week of summer reading club,” one of the girls said. “And we’re learning the planets, but Natalie’s having a hard time keeping them in order.”

“You didn’t get it right either,” her sister cried.

Jeff held up his hands. “OK. Settle down. Did Mrs. Prembel teach you a trick to memorizing the order of the planets?”

“Yes,” Natalie said. “It goes like this, ‘My Very Excellent Memory Just Served Up Nine Planets.’”

“Right, so what are they?”

“Um, Mars, Venus, Earth, Mercury, Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, Neptune, Pluto.”

“Almost right,” Jeff said. “You just need to swap Mercury and Mars. Mercury is closest to the sun. Think of it like this. When you’re sick and we take your temperature, you know that silver stuff in the thermometer? That’s called mercury. When you have a fever, the mercury rises because of the heat. So when you think of mercury, think of heat.” He raised a hand toward the windows. “The sun is hot, and the planet Mercury is closest to it.”

It occurred to Miranda that all she knew of Jeff Vernon came from tragic newspaper articles and a cryptic warning from his wife’s ghost. Here and now, Jeff was a human being, a caring father. He was also a broken man with slumped posture that signified resignation to the suffering that life had inflicted upon him. Long sideburns extended from an unkempt mane of chestnut hair and ended in dense stubble. His gray shirt sagged from his gaunt frame while the waistline of his navy blue pants was bunched up under a white belt. Rapid weight loss from the stress of the embezzlement trial and despair at the loss of his son, no doubt. Miranda sensed his detachment from the world and knew he was no longer engaged in living, which could only mean one thing.

This was the day.

“You know, girls, I’ve been thinking a lot about Adam,” Jeff said. “I miss him and I know you do, too.” Tears welled up in his eyes. “I, uh… I was thinking maybe there was a way we could be with him again. Would you like that?”

“Adam was sick, Daddy,” Carla said. “You and Mommy said so.”

“They took him from me. From us.” Jeff struggled to catch his breath. “I wasn’t there when he died because they lied about me. People I trusted for nine years turned on me and because of them, my son died alone. They destroyed my family.”

By this time, he was mumbling to himself. Everyone else was frozen in place, staring at him, including Miranda. Jeff wiped his eyes. “Someday, they’ll get theirs, but I know a way we can be together again with Adam.”

“What about Mommy?” Natalie asked.

“She’ll join us later.”

“What do we need to do?”

Jeff pulled himself to his feet. “Just close your eyes.”

Miranda shrank into the corner and slid to the floor. “No, please. Don’t make me watch this. I know what happened. I don’t need to see it.” The twins exchanged confused glanced before shutting their eyes. “If only I could grab you both and run away from here.”

That was impossible, of course. The history that played out before her was immutable, a permanent scar on the land. It was no different than what she had experienced at the Emery Zoo a few days ago and a hundred places before that. Miranda had long since become inured to glimpses of violence in her visions, but never to the horror of watching children die.

While birds sang and curtains fluttered in a summer breeze, two ten-year-old girls sat on the floor, oblivious to their fate.

In the doorway, their father reached around for the pump-action shotgun.