Welcome James Hartley, author of Teen Angel and Many Others

Well, hello, Jim! And welcome to This and That. This is a busy man, who is also an author of paranormal short stories, novellas and novels. Just zip on over to his page at MuseitUp Publishing at http://tinyurl.com/87w39nq for a sampling of his work. Good writing and magic abounds. There is not shortage of ghosts, either, but only of the most fascinating kind. Here's a little bit about one of his offerings, Teen Angel:


BLURB: Angie, a teen aged girl, was killed in a tragic accident. As a ghost she became convinced her boyfriend Dickie still loved her, so she decided to return to Earth and win him back. But her timing was a little off -- thirty years off! -- and she found him grown, married, and with teen aged daughters of his own. When she discovered she was stuck there and couldn't return, she figured there was no choice but to break up Dickie's marriage ...

EXCERPT: The roar of a motorcycle coming up the driveway and then the
slamming of the front door finally broke the stasis.

Two teen-aged girls entered the room. The older one, swinging a
pink motorcycle helmet in her hand, called, “Hi, Mom! Hi, Dad!”
then spotted Angel and added, “Hey, who’s your friend over
there?”

Rick and Lois looked at each other, each mentally willing the
other to the chore of explaining this to the girls. Finally Rick
sat up and muttered, “Here we go again.” Then in a louder voice,
“Angel, I’d like you to meet Brenda,” he continued, pointing to
the one with the helmet. “And Rosalie,” he said, indicating the
younger girl. “They’re our daughters. Girls, this is Angel.
She’s a ghost.”

Brenda did a double take, while Rosalie, currently hooked on
videotapes of Friday the 13th movies, gave a little squeal.

Brenda waited to see if her father would get to the point of the
joke. When he remained silent, she gave in and asked, “Okay,
Dad, what’s really going on here? Why did you say she’s a
ghost?” She paused. “I mean, she’s not wearing a white sheet, is
she?” she concluded in a sarcastic tone.

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WANT MORE? HERE'S A LONGER EXCERPT:

As if on cue, Brenda, Rosalie, and Angel entered the room.

“Hi, Uncle Walt, Aunt Barb,” chorused Brenda and Rosalie, while
Angel settled for, “Hello, Mr. Smith, Mrs. Smith.” Brenda, who
was closest, passed sodas to the others and grabbed a beer for
herself, saying, “These are for us, aren’t they? Thanks, Mom.”
The three of them settled on the couch.

Rick said, “Wait a minute, girls. Walt came over here to show me
something special. It might be confidential. If it is, you girls
will have to go in the other room. You know you’re not allowed
to listen in on legal business, especially if clients’ privacy
is concerned. What about it, Walt? Should I chase them out?”

“No, no, Rick. Don’t chase Angel out. What I have to tell you is
really about her. And you might as well let the girls stay too.
I’m sure they’ll want to know what’s going on, and they probably
ought to find out.”

“Walt, what in the hell are you talking about?” asked Rick.
“You’re acting like a CIA agent about to date a Russian spy. Did
you just catch Angel selling defense secrets to the KGB, or is
it something worse?”

Angel bristled at this and protested, “Dickie! I wouldn’t do
that! I would never betray my country, or President Eisenhower
either. I’m a loyal American.”

Walt gave her a strange look, and it was obvious he was prepared
to refuse to believe anything she said. Then he said, “Rick, I
really want you to know I’m your friend. I’m on your side, no
matter what it may look like. I don’t know if you’re the victim
in this scam, or if you got caught up in it by accident, or
what. I just want to help you. But even if you’re in it
deliberately, I don’t blame you. I’m sure you had a good reason,
and I’ll help you.”

Rick looked exasperated, and Lois said, “Walt, you are babbling
like a brook. You’re not making any sense at all. Would you
please stop apologizing and start explaining? I would really
love to know what you’re going on about.”

“Yes,” said Barb from the rocking chair, “I think you better get
to the point, dear, before everyone explodes from curiosity.
Just like this cat.” Blackstone had jumped up on her lap, and
she was gently scratching his ears.

“Okay, okay, okay! I’ll get to the point. The point is this girl
here,” he pointed at Angel, “this girl who claims to be a
cousin. She’s a fake. She’s scamming you, after your money, or
something.” He stopped as everybody tried to talk at once and
waved his arms for silence. When it was quiet again, he
continued, “I checked every Gossett in the state of New Jersey,
and not a one of them has a daughter named Angel. Or Angela or
Angie or anything similar. How do you explain that?” Rick
started to say something, but Walt waved him down again with one
hand, pulling papers out of his brief case with the other. He
spread them on the coffee table and said, “Look at these.”

Everybody leaned forward to look, and even Blackstone trotted
over to sniff at the papers. The cat was easily satisfied and
went back over to the rocker and curled up for a nap, but the
others stared longer at Walt’s treasures. He had gotten a copy
of Angie’s school photo from the year before she was killed, and
a number of old newspapers with stories of the accident and
pictures of Angie. The resemblance to Angel was unmistakable,
but neither the Parkers nor Angel were the least surprised by
it. Lois, trying to defuse the situation, said, “Quite a family
resemblance there, isn’t there?”

Walt retorted, “Family resemblance my ass! It’s far too good.
I’ll bet close examination would show plastic surgery. She’s
here to get something from you; I’d bet on that.”

“Well, one out of three ain’t too bad,” muttered Rick under his
breath. Then, in a normal tone, “Walt, we know where Angel is
from, and why she’s here. Thanks for trying to help, but
everything is under control. Why don’t you just relax?” He
leaned back in his chair.

There was silence for a moment, broken only by the squeak of
Barb’s rocker. Then, suddenly, there was a horrible screaming
hissing noise. Barb had rocked onto Blackstone’s tail.
Blackstone rose gracefully into the air, as cats are wont to do
in such circumstances, in an arching trajectory that ended in
Angel’s lap. The big Siamese landed there with all eighteen
claws fully extended and attempted to dig in for safety.
Unfortunately, this proved a painful surprise for Angel, who had
been paying no attention whatsoever to the cat. She in turn let
out a loud scream, but instead of jumping, she vanished. This
left Blackstone in midair, startled that his support had
vanished, before dropping to the couch. He let out one more
yowl, clawed his way up the back of the sofa, over it, and then
vanished from the room, still spitting and hissing. Once
Blackstone was gone, there was silence until finally Lois said,
“Oh, shit!” Walt was still staring at the empty space where
Angel had been, his jaw hanging open in shock.

Barb had a similar stunned look on her face, but she recovered
faster. She started to rock again and said, “I just can’t wait
to hear this.” Walt nodded.

Rick and Lois looked at each other, and finally Rick said,
“Well, you see, er, it’s like this. Angel is a ghost.” He paused
to see what effect this had had on the Smiths. Both looked a
little strained, but neither had fainted at the information, so
he continued, “Angel is the ghost of Angie Gossett, my old
girlfriend. The one you have all the pictures of…there.” He
waved vaguely at the coffee table.

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Thanks for dropping by, Jim, and good luck with Teen Angel and the rest of your books! Once again, the buy page for Teen Angel and other of Jim's books is: http://tinyurl.com/87w39nq