Can you believe it’s November, already? We’re closing in on the end of 2020.The American Thanksgiving is only a few weeks away and could be quite different because of Covid. I’m Canadian and we had our Thanksgiving in October and it was mostly quiet with little travel and only a few close relatives for dinner. When the public health recommendations for limited numbers and social distancing weren’t followed there were spikes in the disease and hospitalizations. Sigh… Hopefully we’ll get it under control and 2021 will be a little more normal. 


For writers this should be a good thing. We are staying home and have more time to write. Not sure that has worked for me until now, but I have caught up on many things I wanted to get done and even taken a couple of workshops. And I did get that treadmill. I’m using it about 5 days a week so that’s good. I’m writing more, at least 100 words a day, and I’ve signed up to do Nano. I’m hoping to finish Lydia’s Story. We’ll see how that goes. 


Veteran’s Day is on November 11th. For Canadians, but and wear your poppy. And for people in both countries please remember those who have served. For my American friends and readers, Happy Thanksgiving. 


Please stay safe and follow public health recommendations.

Here’s the link to order. 




Here’s another excerpt from Death Southern Style. 


In her room she aimed for the closet. She opened the door and pushed the hangers to one side. Her hands skimmed over the wainscoting about three feet from the floor. It took a couple of tries to find the right spot. It had been awhile. The back wall swung open to reveal a small room, barely big enough to house two people. Julie Ann slipped through the door and closed it behind her. 

It was dark and dusty. Faint moonlight filtered down through a cobweb covered vent in the top corner of the room. It highlighted the tiny dust particles floating down. Against the side wall stood a small cot covered with a gray blanket. Her old worn panda sat on the cot, propped up against a pillow.

It had been a long time since she had been in here. Mom showed it to her when Julie Ann was about two years old. She called it the safe room. She taught Julie Ann that if she was ever scared or thought someone might be after her, she was to go into the room, close the door and wait for her mother to come and get her.

That never happened, although they did practice it occasionally. Julie Ann always thought of it as a game and mostly she would sneak in and have tea parties with her dolls.

She put the voodoo doll beside her panda.

A few years later, she’d asked her mother about it. Perrine said she’d had it built in case of emergencies. Julie Ann never really understood the need for a safe room. No one else had one, but it was fun to play there.

Now she realized her mother had built the renovation for protection. Even back then, after she adopted a child, she was concerned someone might be after them, or after Julie Ann. The renovation had taken a few feet from large closets on each side and a section at the back of the bathroom. The peaked roof gave enough height you could actually stand up. It had been well planned and a lot of work. Her mother had built it for her and Julie Ann’s safety, but from what.  Or who? It sounded like it might be from Julie Ann’s birth mother. Had she also been murdered? 

And the room hadn’t helped Perrine because she’d been killed outside, before she could get up here.

Julie Ann sat down on the cot, pulled her panda into her arms and hugged it tightly against her chest. Her other hand fondled the packet in her pocket Priestess Ava had given her.

A floorboard creaked on the stairs.

She held her breath, clutched the panda to her chest and tiptoed to the door. She put her ear against the panels.

Muffled footsteps moved through the room. The closet door opened and closed.

“Damn,” a husky voice muttered.

The closet door slammed shut. The footsteps moved off.

Julie Ann continued to squeeze her panda. She held her breath, then let it out slowly so it didn’t make a sound. Someone had broken into the house. She hadn’t heard them. If she hadn’t been in the secret room, they might have found her and done…what? She could only guess.

Were they looking for her? Did they want to kill her, like they had her mother? But why? She didn’t know anything.

After several minutes of silence, Julie Ann dug into her bag, pulled out her cell phone and punched in a number.


You can follow me and check out where I’ll be this month – and some have giveaways:   


October 1 – December 1 Holiday Mega Giveaway Rafflecopter with give-aways.  

November 11 Killer Crafts and Crafty Killers  

November 21 Group Blog Review or recommend a book, a short story, or an online article. Check it out on my blog at 

Beverley Bateman Blogger

And you can follow me follow me on my blog Tuesday and Thursday at for how I’m doing, tips, hints and guest authors.