My YouTube channel was experiencing abandonment issues given that my last video newsletter was over three months ago. YIKES! Since I had the day off, I recorded a brief update show today in which I prattle for 20 minutes about recent publications and awards, review a book about Harlan Ellison and a book by Harlan Ellison, and plug two upcoming events in my neck of the woods.
Click the image below to watch the video and thank you for supporting independent authors!
I’m excited to announce that my ghost story “Give Them Peace” will be included in Writing a Wrong, the latest anthology published by the Greater Lehigh Valley Writers Group (GLVWG).
“Give Them Peace” is the first short story featuring psychic-medium single mom Miranda Lorensen from my three paranormal mystery novels (Testing the Prisoner, By Your Side, and Like Mother, Like Daughters).
Writing a Wrong will launch at the Write Stuff writers conference in Center Valley, PA. The conference runs March 13-15 at the Homewood Suites.
I took my beatings in 2024, from being hobbled by severe arthritis in my knee to my mother’s sudden death in June to a home repair imbroglio that is now in litigation for who-knows-how-long. This was one of the most chaotic years of my life, filled with stress, grief, anxiety, and depression.
Despite all of that, I had plenty of reasons to be grateful. So many, in fact, that I filled my gratitude box (pictured below) with slips of paper on which is written all of the exceptional things that happened to me throughout the year. On New Year’s Eve, which is tomorrow as I write this, I’ll open the box and review each slip as a reminder of those wonderful people, places, and moments that sustained me in 2024 even through the darkest days. I’d like to take a few moments to list some of them here.
Testing the Prisoner (second edition) continued to win awards this year, picking up seven more including the spring BookFest competition, an International Impact Award, two PennCraft awards, the Pennsylvania Press Club, National Federation of Press Women, and the Independent Author Network.
By Your Side (second edition) was released in July amid the aforementioned chaos and while I could not give it the promotional attention is deserved, it went on to win three awards in the fall BookFest competition and has been submitted to three other awards. Results to be announced next year.
After a two-year dry spell, my short story efforts also rebounded with the publication of “A Thorne in Time” in Ruth and Ann’s Guide to Time Travel – Volume I by Celestial Echo Press. The book was released in August with a successful book launch at the Philadelphia Science Fiction Convention (Philcon) in November.
In early June, I was stunned when Black Cat Weekly—an online SF, fantasy, and mystery magazine edited by the amazing John Betancourt—accepted my science fiction adventure tale “In the Span of a Heartbeat” which will be published sometime in the first quarter of 2025. Watch this space!
In October, I spent a beautiful five days in Ligonier, Pennsylvania at the Mindful Writers Retreat, an event I attend almost every year. It’s a chance for me to focus on writing without the distractions of life and to connect with a community of writers in the western PA area that I otherwise only chat with on social media. More, the Ligonier Camp and Conference center is nestled in the Laurel Highlands region of the Allegheny Mountains, which is resplendent during autumn and perfect for walking through the woods and along the trails.
In November, my science fiction story “Isaac Geary’s Instant Utopia” was accepted by Oddity Prodigy Productions for their upcoming science fiction anthology, Bright Mirror, slated for a March 2025 release.
This month, my ghost story “Give Them Peace” was accepted by the Greater Lehigh Writers Group for publication in our 2025 anthology Writing a Wrong, also due out in March. Per tradition, the book will launch at the Write Stuff writers conference.
And to cap off the year, I submitted a story to Flame Tree Press yesterday for their Robots Past & Future anthology to be released in August 2025. The deadline is January 1, 2025. I learned about the open call on December 3rd and managed to conjure up a story by Christmas Day. My critique partners were kind enough to turn around their comments within three days.
Although I had to cancel my summer vacation and my appearance at Shore Leave when my mother died, I managed to attend Farpoint in February, the Write Stuff writers conference in March, and the Lehigh Valley Comic Con in August and again in December. As always, they were wonderful experiences and I’ll back again on the con scene again next year, including Shore Leave.
So while life knocked me down this year, it couldn’t keep me down. I’m still moving forward with gratitude, hope, and a determination to thrive in 2025. I wish you much peace, joy, and success in the new year.
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).
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.
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.
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!
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.
