Tuesday, January 31, 2012

Interview with a......ghost??

Yes, you heard me right. If you're spooked by ghosts, you might want to leave this page right now! I mean, I hope you don't leave and that you choose to stay, read the interview, and even leave a comment, but I don't want to get blamed for wetting your pants, or any such things that might occur while this ghostly interview goes on. I mean, he's not a scary ghost by all means, but I never know the reactions to people if they encounter a supernatural being.

That said, I'm going to shut up and let Rose Anderson begin this haunting interview with Jason Bowen. Let's begin, shall we? Turn down the lights, pull up a chair and have yourself a cup of cocoa, or some tea, coffee even.


An unusual conversation took place the other night. I’d been fighting a cold and feeling under the weather all day, so went to bed early. I dream most nights. Some are remembered with clarity, while others disappear in the light of day. It was no surprise to find myself dreaming that night. I often dream aware, that is, aware I’m dreaming no matter where my dream takes me.

In this particular dream, I was sitting at a kitchen table enjoying a cup of tea. To my surprise, a ghostly presence appeared in the chair directly across from me. At first the spectre was nothing more than an eerie blue light. Before my eyes the light took the form of a translucent figure. A moment later and a solid and very handsome dark-haired, whiskey-eyed, man sat there. I recognized him instantly as the ghost of Victorian physician, Jason Bowen. After pouring him a cup of tea, we had ourselves an impromptu little chat --

Jason, this is a surprise. I know I’m dreaming right now and I know as a ghost you’re able to enter dreams. I take it meeting you like this is no coincidence?

(He smiles.) This is so. You’re actually in bed sleeping. I hope you don’t mind Rose, I wish to talk.

I suppose not. How do you manage to enter dreams like this?

Are you perchance familiar with the work of Wundt and Titchner?

Uh no… I’m sorry. I’m unfamiliar with the names.

No matter. They were both European psychologists of my day. They would say the brain is susceptible in its unconscious state. To put it simply, as formless energy, my essence is able to flow as electricity flows and the sleeping mind is an adequate channel. To live again in the dream world is a bonus. I very much miss being alive, you see. Here I can enjoy a cup of tea and conversation with you. In the waking world, these pleasures are denied me.

So what would you like to talk about?

My house guest. I find the situation hopeless.

I figured that you would eventually.

(He shook his head) I fell into Lanie’s dreams and into the life I’d lived more than one hundred years ago. The problem is, in her dream world she’s a woman of that time, and I find she’s taken me heart and soul. I’ve fallen in love, Rose. Our love there is real, but the dream is an illusion.

I’m so sorry Jason.

There’s more to her dreams, Rose.


(He nodded sadly) Lanie’s dreams have taken us to a point in time mere days from my fate. My wife, her lover, and his sister are still conspiring to murder me…again.”

And Lanie has no idea?

I don’t believe she’s aware she’s actually dreaming while in the midst of the dream. I fear if this second murder takes place, all traces of me will disappear for good. I will be gone from Lanie’s dreams and no longer be the ghost haunting her house.

You do know she loves you, ghost or not…

I know.

My heart breaking for his untenable situation, I watched him fade away. A moment later I found myself awake. I do hope these unlikely lovers find a way to stay together. Unfortunately, the only way this seems possible is through Lanie’s death, and maybe not even then.
:) I hope you’ve all enjoyed this flight of fancy and are tempted to know more. And Dreamscape is so much more!
More than a sensual love story, it’s a ghost story, a time travel (of sorts), a murder, a suspense, and a mystery all rolled into one. What's more, this story is a reader's Easter egg hunt. Peppered throughout are clues leading the reader to a story behind the scenes. Here’s the blurb and teaser:


Unable to deny his own translucence, Dr. Jason Bowen determines his lack of physical substance could only mean one thing—he’s a ghost. Murdered more than a century before, Jason haunts his house and ponders the treachery that took his life. When Lanie O’Keefe arrives with plans to renovate her newly purchased Victorian mansion, Jason discovers, ghost or not, he’s still very much a man.

Despite its derelict condition and haunted reputation, Lanie couldn’t be happier with her new home, but then she has no idea a spirit follows her every move throughout the day and shares her captivating warmth at night. Jason soon discovers he can travel through Lanie’s dreams and finds himself reliving the days before his murder with Lanie by his side.
It took one hundred and twenty years for love to find them, but there’s that insurmountable little matter of Jason being dead.

Dreamscape Excerpt:
Lanie sat on the stairs, pulling old carpet tacks from the bunching old runner and talking on the phone to Lexie about their dinner plans. She had no idea Jason sat on the stair above carefully contemplating how he might reveal himself without frightening her. Discovering her tack hammer misplaced for the third time, she gave up on the frustrating task and went to get ready for her blind date.
Her bath had the same effect on him as it had the other times he watched her bathe. She stood wrapping hair and body in thick towels, looking for all the world like she’d just emerged from the Turkish baths. Over her shoulder, in the mirror, he watched her fascinating application of tints and lash color, though, in his opinion, she was just as beautiful with as without. His cock grew soft once she began to dry her hair with a gadget he had never seen before. Margaret certainly didn’t have one of these noisy electrical hot air blowers. His body roused again when she put her undergarments on. Her pantalets were nothing more than a Y-shaped piece of material that accented her adorable rounded backside. Her brassiere was crafted from very feminine black lace, low enough that the rosy hue of her areolas slightly peeked above the edge. A French milliner couldn’t have chosen better. She dabbed perfume behind her ears, on the inside of her wrists and at the spot above her heart. Although the fragrance was faint, he was surprised he could smell the familiar floral scent on her as she passed. That sense had been dead as long as he. Holding this piece of clothing or that before her, she appraised her reflection in the mirror with each. After four considerations, the dress she settled on was black and short—too short. He found himself frowning.
The frown persisted as the mantle clock stuck ten o’clock and deepened when it struck eleven. By eleven-thirty-two, he was in a fine pique.
Hearing Lanie’s automobile roll onto the gravel drive, he invisibly materialized downstairs to meet her at the door with his arms folded across his chest in irritation. Leaning against the wall, looking her over from head to toe as she came in talking on her telephone, he thought her lips were a little chafed, a little too swollen. She’d kissed the man she’d just met that night, no doubt more than once. The thought annoyed him more than the late hour.
“No really, I had a nice time with Jim.” She laughed. “Yes, nosy, I let him kiss me. Lexie, I know, but please no more dates until I finish the clinic. Please? I have too much to do to get sidetracked.” She laughed again. “I don’t know, maybe I will see him again. He kissed fine! Of course you can set us up again when I get things done here. I don’t know how long it’s going to be—I have the clinic to open! Yes, I know you do. No, when I’m done you’ll be the first to know. I promise. Love you, too.” She hung up the phone shaking her head. “Sheesh,” she said in exasperation, but the over-kissed smile lingered.
Irritated a great deal, he followed her upstairs and watched as she washed her face, brushed her teeth, and changed into her worn, comfortable-looking clothing. Still invisible, he didn’t follow behind her when she went back downstairs. Rather he focused his mind and appeared alongside her at the bottom.  
    Heading to the parlor, Lanie turned on Margaret’s television and took a seat on the sofa directly across. When kissing her date goodnight, the man suddenly had the arms of an octopus. Picking up the remote, she proceeded to flip through channels, feeling wired from fending off her date’s sweet but unwanted attentions.
   Watching her, Jason shook his head. “Oh no, sweetheart, I haven’t waited the entire night for you to lose yourself to this contrivance.” With that he projected his spirit energy into the wires that fed the machine electricity. The screen instantly filled with snow.
Lanie frowned at the snowy screen and flipped through channel after channel looking for better reception. “Oh, come on!” she told the television. After another run-through, she gave up and turned it off. “Damn it. All I wanted to do was unwind before bed.” She ran an exasperated hand over her face. There was a lot to do the following day and she knew it would take hours for her to fall asleep. A thought came to her. Most over-the-counter sleep aides were antihistamine-based. Having seasonal allergies, that was something she had readily available. That would certainly make her sleepy. No, I don’t like how my head feels in the morning. Instead she headed to the kitchen for a cup of chamomile tea.
Jason watched her go, feeling the slightest remorse for haunting her television. He reasoned he didn’t like that noisy box that, for all appearances, put Margaret into a daily trance. He followed her into the kitchen where he noticed her lips again. His remorse evaporated. Sharing passionate kisses with a man you just met! Annoyed, Jason swept his hand across the counter and knocked the spoon to the floor with a clatter.
Lanie jumped at the sound. Frowning, she reached under the chair where a spoon had inexplicably fallen then looked around for anything that might have knocked it on the floor, hoping she didn’t have large mice or, God forbid, rats. Setting it in the sink, she said, “I think I have ghosts.”
Jason’s anger instantly faded as her statement took him by surprise. Testing her, he slowly opened the cabinet door, the old hinges squeaking and groaning. She turned to the sound of the swinging door, and he watched her face carefully. No fear, just curiosity. The whistling kettle diverted her attention. Once more he found himself wishing he were able to sit over a cup of tea and talk with her. He wanted to know where she’d been tonight and why she’d kissed a man she hardly knew. He wanted to know why she haunted his thoughts as surely as he haunted these halls. But moving a spoon and a cupboard door was a far cry from materializing in full form before her.
Taking a seat in the chair across from her as she scribbled small pictures onto her notepad, flowers mostly, daisies and lily-of-the-valley, he read the messages she wrote to herself regarding what needed to be done the following morning. This list was the shortest yet. Occasionally she’d look at the cabinet door to see if it would actually move again. He was tempted, but a part of him was too afraid she’d leave, never to return. Then the moment he had waited the entire day for happened. She yawned.
“You’re tired, you should rest,” he whispered. He could see the suggestion taking root in her mind. Putting her nearly full cup in the sink, she headed to bed.
Watching her sleep, Jason sat beside her a long while thinking on how lovely she looked tonight. He would have loved to have been the man to take her out on the town, to the theater perhaps. Out for dinner, certainly. If his own kisses had swelled those luscious lips, he would have ventured from her sweet mouth to the tops of those exquisite breasts so tantalizingly displayed in the décolleté of her neckline. His entire being desired to lose himself in the living heat of her. There was simply no stopping himself from caressing her, having lost that particular battle of conscience the first night she lay in his bed. He’d convinced himself that as long as he kept his baser needs to himself, touching her while she was completely unaware was a harmless compulsion.
Materializing just under the linens, his glowing form lit the sheet like a Japanese lantern. He whispered to her unconscious mind as she lay curled on her side, “Lay back for me, sweetheart, let me look at you fully while I feel how warm you are.”
Unconsciously responding to his suggestion, she rolled on her back, one arm tossed casually over her pillow.
Once more marveling that he was able to touch her at all, he swept her raven hair back from her lovely face, his thumb lightly tracing the delicate arch of her eyebrow. Touching her skin was like touching a rose petal in his garden, a warm sun-kissed rose petal. Gliding his hands over her warmth, he caressed her trim belly and arms all the while carefully avoiding the dove-soft breasts as any gentleman might unless given leave. Though it was true she hadn’t granted leave for any touching, the fragment of his gentlemanly comportment quickly faded as her living heat seeped into him.

Rose Anderson’s links:
http://www.calliopeswritingtablet.com/ (my blog)

http://www.bookstrand.com/rose-anderson (my books are at amazon, B&N, and here)

Follow Rose here for updates & more:
https://twitter.com/#!/RoseAnderson_ (notice the _ at the end of my name)

https://plus.google.com/117411462633912228541 (google+ circles of friends)

It's been a blast, Rose....and Jason! Can't forget you!   What a fun time here today. I know I enjoyed myself.

I did a review for Dreamscape here on my blog a few months ago and very much enjoyed the book. I love stories that feature ghosts, and the way that Rose wrote this story had me hooked. I had shivers while reading. I also read it late at night and had  a hard time waking up the next morning when my more than chipper toddler son woke up "singing" and being giddy. 

I do hope you'll give the book a try, and I'm glad you came back for another visit here on the blog today!

Until next time,

Storm Goddess


  1. The ghosts in my house don't talk to me.

    Great post and fascinating excerpt.

    1. The ghosts in my house don't talk to me, either. They just turn on and off our TV and stereos. And they make my son giggle. Thanks for stopping by!

  2. It's been fun. Thanks for giving Jason and I a place to sit and talk, Nikki. :)


    1. It's been a blast! You and Jason had an intriguing conversation :)

  3. This is a fabulous book, and I was caught by the story. Rose Anderson is magic with words, and I recommend her books for sensual experiences in the dream worlds.
    Best sales to Rose!

  4. Hi Rose and Jason. Jason, can you come to my house for a talk? Oh wait, Lanie has dibs. ;-) Seriously, just like Michele Hart, I loved this book too. I loved the sensuality, but the ending really grabbed me. In a good way. I highly recommend Rose Anderson books!


  5. Great interview. I have this book to read this weekend. Can't wait...


  6. Very cool! Must look into this book =)

  7. Wonderful interview. He's a very frustrated ghost.

  8. Great interview! I need to read more of this ghost story. Great excerpt!