Barb Caffrey's Blog

Writing the Elfyverse . . . and beyond

#Updated# There’s a New Peter Welmsley Story…in a New #MilSF Anthology from Henchman Press

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Folks, I should’ve been able to find some time to blog about this last week, when the anthology Tales of the E4 Mafia came out, but I was hip-deep in an edit and the bit I was able to carve out for writing I used on the “super-secret” project.

#Update: Here’s a banner for you that my friend Kayelle Allen, herself a proud U.S. Navy veteran, made for the new anthology. Use it widely, not to mention wisely…

Anyway, I am very proud to let you know that I have a new story, featuring Peter Welmsley as a secondary character, in the above anthology. The story’s called “Into the Night,” and was co-written by my good friend Gail Sanders. Gail is a Specialist in the Army Reserves, and as every story in the Tales of the E4 Mafia anthology must feature someone of that rank, Gail had the verisimilitude I needed, along with the experience, to fully flesh out this story.

In other words, her help was invaluable.

Anyway, for those of you who’ve wanted another story with Peter Welmsley, here is just a bit of that story in the hopes it’ll whet your interest:

“Please state your name, rank, and ship for the court record,” requested the JAG officer.

“Peter Thomas Zachariah Welmsley, Master Sargeant, of the HMS Wendigo, seconded to the HMS Hyperion for the duration of this crisis,” he said. “And by that, I don’t mean this inquiry.”

The room erupted in laughter yet again. The judge, looking most put upon, banged her large gavel again. “Order must be maintained,” she said, “even though I agree with Master Sergeant Welmsley’s sentiments.”

“And what is your role on the HMS Hyperion? How long have you been there?” Ryder asked.

“I’ve been with the Hyperion now for the last nine months, as Wendigo needed significant repairs after the last fight with the Bryan pirates. I’ve been told it will be at least six more months before the Wendigo will be fully repaired, and I can go back to my regular ship.” His face, usually merry, scowled.

So, do you want to know more? Such as, what is Peter doing there? Who is he helping? (I’ll give you a small hint; he is helping a Lance Corporal, AKA someone of the E4 rank.)

I can tell you that this is a younger version of Peter Welmsley, perhaps as much as fifteen years younger than the man we meet in the short novella “To Survive the Maelstrom.” I enjoyed seeing Peter in slightly less emotionally fraught days, and hope there will be many more stories ahead as time goes on.

Anyway, this is the first story I’ve written with someone else in my late husband Michael B. Caffrey’s Atlantean Union Universe, and I’m quite proud of it. I think Michael would like it. I also think he’d enjoy the humor of it, and of the anthology overall (as most of these stories are funny).

Mind you, it does feel weird to write in Michael’s universe with him being dead. But that hasn’t stopped me before, and I don’t think it’s going to stop me now either. (Picture me emphatically nodding, here.)

So, do go check out the story, will you? I hope you will enjoy it in the spirit intended, and the rest of the E4 Mafia anthology as well.

#Update: Kayelle also sent along some sample Tweets, and my favorite was this one:

Think you know the military? Think again. 11 E-4 Mafia stories mix sci-fi, humor, and mischief for a reading adventure that’ll keep you on your toes 🤖📚 #SciFi #MilSF #Military #PlotTwist

So, now you’ve got some help if you can’t think up a good Tweet. (And I’ll admit it; I couldn’t think up something this good, much less this pithy. But Kayelle could and I appreciate it.)

Just in Time For Halloween, New Poems and Stories at the TTB e-zine!

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OK, sometimes I just have to rhyme…

Folks, do you want some new and absolutely free reading material? Especially from me? (As you’re here at my blog, I’m going to assume the answer is an enthusiastic “yes.”)

Well, look no further. I have a story, “To Exist within Memory,” and a poem, “Break the Dark Lens,” up at the Halloween 2017 edition of the Twilight Times e-zine. (I abbreviated it above as TTB e-zine because it’s part of Twilight Times Books.) In addition, there’s also a chapter reveal for my most recent novel, the LGBT-friendly CHANGING FACES, and there’s an author interview by Mayra Calvani as well — so if you have ever wanted to know more about me or my writing, here you go.

portrait in garden

Mind, if you like what you have read with regards to CHANGING FACES, you can go to Amazon or Barnes and Noble and pick up an e-book copy for just ninety-nine cents…and I do hope you’ll consider doing just that.

So go check out the TTB e-zine. Read some free stuff. Then go pick up your copy of CHANGING FACES today, and get to getting…who said every treat on Halloween has to be full of calories, hey?

Written by Barb Caffrey

October 31, 2017 at 8:33 pm

Now Available in E-Book: A LITTLE ELFY IN BIG TROUBLE

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Folks, I’m very happy to be able to finally report that my second novel — and the second novel in the Elfy duology — A LITTLE ELFY IN BIG TROUBLE has been released. It’s available right now at Amazon and OmniLit…the latter will be most useful if you need an e-pub version of the file.

Edited to add: Barnes and Noble link is now live as well. Now returning you to your regularly scheduled post…

ALittleElfyinBigTrouble_medIf you have never seen anything at all about the Elfyverse — or read book one in the Elfy duology, AN ELFY ON THE LOOSE — this little blurb may help you with what’s going on:

Young Bruno the Elfy and Sarah, his mostly-human teenage girlfriend, are in deep trouble. Bruno’s Elfy mentor Roberto the Wise is about to be sacrificed by a Dark Elf, and Sarah’s parents have decided to help the Elf rather than the Elfy. Things look bleak and are getting worse by the minute, but Bruno and Sarah have a number of allies — human, Elfy, and ghosts — that the Dark Elf can’t possibly expect. Can young love, desperation, and great unexpected power win out despite it all?

And here’s a short excerpt — note, it first appeared here, as part of the Marketing for Romance Writers Book Hooks blog hop:

Bruno took Sarah’s hand and led her back outside. He looked with his mage senses, and felt nothing; no Elfy magic, no Human magic, and as far as he could tell, no Elf magic, Dark or Bright.

He put up a light shield that should help conceal their voices, and decided it was safe enough to talk for a bit.

“Tomorrow is Ba’altinne, Sarah.” Bruno rubbed his fingers through his hair and tried not to look too hard at Sarah. Goddess, she was beautiful. But he had to stay on topic. “That’s your May Day. Tomorrow.” He shook his head and tried not to frown. “How can we get everything together in time to stop Dennis the Dark Elf?”

“I have faith in you,” she said. Her eyes darkened. Bruno felt as if he were falling, before she gently brushed her lips against his.

————————— End Excerpt ————————————-

If this has intrigued you (and of course I hope it has), but you aren’t sure you will like my book yet, I also have three sample chapters available at Twilight Times Books’ website — here’s the link for that: http://www.twilighttimesbooks.com/ElfyinBigTrouble_ch1.html

A LITTLE ELFY IN BIG TROUBLE continues to make me laugh. I’ve enjoyed writing about Bruno, Sarah, Reverend Samuel and his family, Lady Keisha, even Dennis the Dark Elf…and I hope to write more about them, ’cause I have a hunch their stories are not over.

At any rate, most of you know the labor of love that kept me working on Elfy for years. I’m ecstatic that both halves of my novel have now been published, and I hope you’ll enjoy reading them as much as I’ve enjoyed writing them.

Anyway, both novels are available now as e-books. So what are you waiting for? Go grab a copy — or copies — today! (And be sure to tell your friends. ‘Cause, really…how can you go wrong?)

Written by Barb Caffrey

November 21, 2015 at 7:22 pm

Welcome to the Elfyverse…

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Thank you for stopping by my blog, which is called either “Barb Caffrey’s Blog,” or “the Elfyverse.”

Why two names? Well, I figured it would be easier for people to find me if they used my name. But I’ve been writing about Elfys, Elfs, Dwarves, and more for over ten years — thus “the Elfyverse.”

As for what I do here, it’s simple: I talk about anything I like.

I’ve been blogging now for over five years. (Here’s a link to my first blog post, if you don’t believe me.) Over that time, I’ve talked writing, publishing, music, sports, current events, politics . . . anything that I feel like talking about.

So while you’re here, expect the unexpected . . . because you never quite know what I’m about to say.

Please feel free to stop by any time you like. And tell your friends about all my work, including AN ELFY ON THE LOOSE (Barnes and Noble link is here) and the first two stories of my late husband Michael’s, “A Dark and Stormy Night” and “On Westmount Station,” all available at Amazon.

And remember . . . support a real writer.

Written by Barb Caffrey

June 9, 2014 at 5:21 am

My novel, “An Elfy on the Loose,” Is Now Available

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It’s been a long time in coming, but my first novel, AN ELFY ON THE LOOSE (now with a subtitle of “Book One of the ELFY duology”) is now available at Amazon.com and will be available soon at all major e-book retailers.

**Edited to add: AN ELFY ON THE LOOSE has also “gone live” at BN.com (Barnes and Noble’s website), as Paul Howard told me in the comments. If you have a Nook and want to read AN ELFY ON THE LOOSE, now’s your chance!

Now back to our regularly scheduled post.**

I’m very pleased that AN ELFY ON THE LOOSE is now out, even though I hadn’t expected it to “go live” on Amazon tonight, of all nights — but as it has, I figured I’d best skedaddle and get a blog post up, pronto.

For those of you who want a sample, please go here and read the first five chapters of AN ELFY ON THE LOOSE . . . then, I hope you’ll go to Amazon and get the e-book, as it’s on sale for a limited time at the low price of $3.99.

Because I’m a new author, and because I’m decidedly not well known, it is anyone’s guess as to whether or not AN ELFY ON THE LOOSE will do well enough to warrant an actual “dead tree” edition (that is, a paper edition).

For all I know, this e-book copy is all that we’re likely to get. So I hope you’ll enjoy it in the spirit intended.

In other words, if you want to read my novel because you’ve been intrigued about Bruno the Elfy and Sarah his human companion and want to know all about Sarah’s house (which is an Elfy trap of major proportions), or if you want to figure out why a Dark Elf would go to Northern California, or if you even want to know why Bruno’s mentor Roberto is worth saving despite being more than a bit of an butthead sometimes, now’s your chance.

I also hope that if you read and enjoy AN ELFY ON THE LOOSE, you won’t be averse to letting people know my book exists. Because I need all the help I can get . . . and I’m not shy about saying so.

Written by Barb Caffrey

April 12, 2014 at 12:34 am

Missing Bratty, a Very Sweet Dog (2009-2026)

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I hate to have to announce such things as this, because I wish beloved pets could live forever. But my mother’s sweet little dog, Bratty, died earlier today at the age of seventeen-and-a-half.

My mother adopted Bratty when she was only four months old. Bratty had an intermittent seizure disorder, that came and went as it pleased, and my best guess is that not too many people wanted to adopt a dog that would always have seizures.

That did not stop my mother.

She was right, too. Bratty often went months without a seizure. And Bratty was the sweetest little dog I’d ever been around…she had empathy, always knew what I was feeling or my mother was feeling, and she loved us.

We loved her right back.

Our hearts are heavy, here, and are likely to be for quite some time.

Written by Barb Caffrey

October 4, 2026 at 7:00 pm

Cover Reveal for Jasper’s Promise, Plus Three More Chapters…

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Artist Brad Fraunfelter created this awesome cover for my forthcoming novel JASPER’S PROMISE, written by permission in Chris Nuttall’s Schooled in Magic universe, with a foreword from Chris himself.

I’m not great at showing off covers, as I don’t deal much with pictures. (I hope I sized this properly.) But I am happy to have this cover, as that’s exactly what I was thinking about with regards to Jasper, my main character, and his later love interest, Talinda. Jasper is studying healing, and that is exactly what he’s doing there — healing, not studying. (Minor joke there.)

As to why? Take my word for it that Talinda needs his help, specifically, in this one case due to a unique ability Jasper has that no one else seems to have.

At any rate, the last time I posted, I put up chapters one and two of JASPER’S PROMISE. I’m about to put up chapters three, four, and five…and I do hope you’ll enjoy them. (All of these chapters are meant as “teasers,” also known as things to whet the reader’s interest.)

Make sure to hit the back arrow if you haven’t yet read the first two chapters of JASPER’S PROMISE, then dive into the next three chapters, below.

…and away we go!

Chapter Three

The stagecoach, as my grandma had said, was just down the street. I was heartened to see that it was driven by someone I actually knew, a guy named Warren who had often spent time with Grandma Hannah playing cards or enjoying a good, home-cooked meal. (Sometimes, he even brought food that he cooked himself, and he was at least as good of a cook as Grandma was. Not that I’d ever admit that, even under torture. My grandmother had her reputation to worry about, after all.)

“Glad to see you, Jasper,” Warren said, doffing his cap. “Hop on. Or you can ride in the carriage, if you like.”

“No, I’d rather be up with you and the horses, providing David doesn’t see me.” I did open the carriage up, though, and stored my two bags—the food, and the clothes and books Grandma had given me—inside.

Warren understood, fortunately. “If I see him, I will pretend I didn’t. And if he tries to flag me down, he will regret it.” He patted his pocket, where a smaller version of Grandma’s blunderbuss seemed to sit. “Now, let’s go.”

Once I was up next to him, he clucked his tongue at the horses, and they set off at a steady pace. I didn’t know much about horses. But these seemed well-matched, and they had a flowing gait I could only admire. “How did you find four horses to work so well together?” I asked, trying to make conversation.

“These four were put up for auction by a guy with less sense than Goddess Anujit gave a gnat,” Warren told me in disgust. “I was fortunate to be there. He had gambling debts, I think…I paid him a fair price, and have used them ever since.”

I hadn’t known that Warren had ever driven a carriage before. I guess I’d just seen him as my Grandma’s friend, and the rest didn’t matter…I was fortunate, looking back, that Warren was the carriage-driver as it’s possible someone else wouldn’t have waited until I got there before setting off.

“Hannah told me you’re going to go to a new school, something called a ‘university,’ somewhere near a desert,” Warren said, his eyes not moving from watching over the horses. It was a bit past midday, the air was a bit cool but pleasant, without much in the way of wind.

“It will be a big change,” I told him. “I didn’t know anything at all about this place, Heart’s Eye University, before both my mother and Grandma Hannah told me about it.” I realized I was taking a lot on faith, but I didn’t want to examine things too closely just then. Or I might just have Warren turn around and take me back, which would be a betrayal of the promises I’d made to both my mother and my grandmother.

“I’ve heard that a lot of the New Learning has come from some of the teachers there,” Warren said, skillfully continuing to drive the horses. The terrain wasn’t all that bad, but it did have boulders studded here and there, so the track wasn’t always steady. “I hope they’ll figure out soon how to properly grade roads. You will ask them if you get a chance, won’t you?”

I agreed that I would. And I could see why he was worried, too. A less skillful driver than Warren was could’ve easily broken an axle or foundered one or more of the horses on this trail, as it wasn’t much more than a goat track.

We came to a bigger-sized town, and Warren stopped at a place he seemed familiar with. No one was there, which might’ve been just as well…no one to see where we went, if nothing else. He went into a local tavern to get a few provisions, and gave them to me, these being three hearty beef sandwiches with a slice of good, well-aged cheddar cheese on each. “Take these on the train with you.”

“Thanks!” I didn’t know why I deserved such largesse, but before I could ask, he’d gone on.

“You’re a growing boy. You need more than just what your grandma sent along, no shame to her.” He had a twinkle in his eye, which was both reassuring and disturbing at the same time. I didn’t think I wanted to know what he was thinking about, if that makes any sense.

After driving through the two additional towns, Warren drove straight up to the train depot. That was still a fairly new place at the time, as steam trains had only been in existence as far as I knew for five, maybe six years, and of course it took time to lay tracks to make those rides possible. The railroad had only put in a line to this town, called Trenton after its founder, in the last several months…the depot was made of white clapboard, but I didn’t need to go inside as Warren handed me a ticket and pointed me to the right train.

“This should get you to Heart’s Eye, son,” Warren said. “Go now, and be sure to write to your grandmother on occasion. I’ll be waiting for your news, too!” He smiled, a bit cheekily, as I got my belongings out of the carriage, then he doffed his cap again, bent from the waist in a manner that was oddly formal, then straightened up and clucked his tongue at the horses again.

I watched as he drove away, then went to the train he’d indicated. A man was checking tickets, and I presented mine. “This is the train that will take me to Heart’s Eye University?”

“To Heart’s Ease, anyway,” the man said, thawing fractionally.

“What’s that?” There was no one else behind me, so I felt reasonably safe in asking a question. I also used my magic to sense whether or not the man was telling the truth, for good measure.

“It’s the town outside of Heart’s Eye, and it grew up because of the school there. I don’t know much else about it, except that after Lady Emily beat the necromancer who’d taken the place over, people came back and got the town back up and running.”

The man was telling the truth as he knew it, which was comforting.

“I can see why they’d fled,” I ventured. “No one wants to be anywhere close to a necromancer if they can help it.” I felt like shivering, but refrained.

“Lady Emily fixed it, all right and tight,” the man said. “Now, it’s time to get going…take a seat anywhere you like, and when we stop for a break, I’ll let you know.” He also informed me that there was a privy on the train, but that he hoped I’d not have to use it.

After I thanked him, I went to sit down. I knew the train trip would take several days, minimum, but it was heartening to know that they knew where we were going, and that neither my mother nor grandmother had been misled.

I wonder, I thought. They’ll train me? Me? Why?

Yet I’d promised my grandma, and promised my mother herself, that I would go and do the very best I could to get the training Mom had lacked. No matter how worried I was about what would happen when I got there, I needed to put that aside…and as the miles went on, and as we first went up one mountain, down another, into a valley, then up onto a plain, I did my best to calm my nerves.

The stops we had along the way, I used the way the man (called a “porter”) had suggested, carrying my belongings with me as I went, just in case the train started up again without me.

But I was fortunate. The porter looked out for me, letting me know when we were within a half a day of Heart’s Ease, the town outside Heart’s Eye. I went to use the privy, which stank as much as I’d feared, but it did have clean, running water. I used the water purification spell, too, just in case, before I cleaned my face, hands, and neck as best I could (as everything else was covered, I didn’t have to worry about that). I also put on my best outfit, a cambric shirt with a bit of Mom’s whimsical embroidery around the cuffs (why she liked yellow sunflowers, I’ll never understand, but they reminded me of her) and a pair of tough denim pants of a dark blue indigo. They fit well, because I’d only had them for maybe a month…

The longer I thought about it, the more planning and forethought I saw in my mother’s decision. She wanted what was best for me.

Now I had to go convert on my promise. And hope that it would be possible, as anything else would be unthinkable.

oOo

Chapter Four

The porter, who’d since told me on the several-day trip that his name was Dave (like my stepfather, but as unlike the man as it was possible to be, thank goodness), came to let me know the depot was within sight. I appreciated that, as there were a lot more people on the train than before…at the last stop, at least fifty people had boarded, most with a hatbox and a suitcase in hand.

Dave must’ve known I was nervous, because he blurted out, “Son, you will do just fine here. There’s all sorts of opportunities for a young man with ambition here. And I sense you have that.”

Startled, I looked at him again, trying to figure out if he had magic or some other talent that I wasn’t aware of. As far as I could tell, he didn’t.

“How—Why—What do you mean?” I stammered.

“A young man doesn’t come from so far away unless he has ambition,” Dave said comfortably. “And not much in the way of prospects where he initially came from…am I right?”

I nodded, but didn’t go into any of my story. It wasn’t proper. And if I tried to tell him, I might break down in tears, something not befitting under the circumstances..

“I wish you the best of luck and every happiness,” Dave said with a big smile.

I didn’t know what I’d ever done to warrant that smile, but I smiled back, tentatively, and thanked him. Then I waited in a line until I had disembarked, and saw the many carriages and conveyances waiting there—one had two big wheels on the back, a bigger wheel on the front, and space for several people to sit along with the driver! It seemed to be steam-powered, unless I missed my guess, and I couldn’t help but stare at it in astonishment. In addition, they seemed to be constructing even more train tracks, possibly going up to Heart’s Eye University itself soon…but for now, this was all there was.

There was no way I was going to use that strange wheeled-thing, not now anyway, because I had to conserve money. I’d long since eaten the excellent beefsteak sandwiches, eaten most of the cheese my grandma gave me, and also ate some raisins, though I still had some left of both for another meal in case I couldn’t afford anything else. I had no idea what the prices were here, and couldn’t assume that things would be cheap just because the tuition at the university was said to be free.

After walking in the same direction a number of other young men and women, hatboxes and suitcases in hand, were going, I came along a row of what seemed to be boarding houses, or perhaps a type of inn. I used my nascent magic to see if any of the homes had a welcoming aura, and found that four of them had a warn-off (Don’t touch! Danger!) for whatever reason, but two others seemed worthy of consideration. The first was at the beginning of the row, while the second was at the end…and I could see in the distance what I took to be Heart’s Eye University: a massive school, one that could hold hundreds of people if not even more than that, and it even included a castle with a moat! Most of it seemed made of brick and mortar, with newer, wooden buildings popping up here and there as needed. Several areas seemed to have new construction going, too…there even were barns, which presumably held animals, and grain silos, too! This had to be the right place.

You might be wondering why I didn’t go straight up to the university as the others I saw seemed to be doing. Well, they’d been on the train far less time than I had. They might not be as tired…or maybe they already had instructors that had agreed to take them on.

I felt it was far too risky to do that, because if I did, and if I wasn’t at my best, how could I make a good impression? As it was, I had to find out what was what in a hurry, get the lay of the land (as the saying goes), and also get out of the heat, as it was true that Heart’s Ease, like Heart’s Eye University, was on the edge of a searing desert.

When I walked into the inn I chose, the temperature dropped immediately, enough so I was comfortable and no longer sweating. A clerk at a nearby desk chirped brightly, “New in town?” She gestured to a pitcher of water.

“Yes, actually.” I used my magic and sensed the water was good, so I poured some of the water out into a nearby waiting glass. It was cold and took the grit out of my throat. “My name is Jasper, and I’m here because I am looking into applying to Heart’s Eye’s university.”

“Really?” she asked. Then we haggled over the price, until I gave over a single gold coin. (I was surprised it wasn’t more. I still had more than enough to buy any book I wanted or another night at the inn if I needed it, so I was happy.) She had me sign something she called a “register of guests,” and told me that dinner would be available in a few hours.

I thanked her, went to the room I’d been assigned, and cleaned up using the warm water jug and a hand-towel the inn provided. I sat down on a hard, but comfortable chair, and tried not to think about Mom, dying at home, or probably already dead, with Grandma having to arrange a funeral (as I was sure David wouldn’t do it, the old skinflint).

At dinner, which was a midday meal here (rather than the later time I was used to back in Newtown), there was a lively conversation, first about a musical production held elsewhere in town (something called a “revue,” I guess; a bunch of different singers and actors doing all sorts of different things), then about goings-on at the university. My ears perked up as I heard reference to a young Gorgon woman, and I heard the following:

“It’s weird to be in a store with that Gorgon, you know?” a youngish woman said, sitting alongside the man I thought was probably her husband, as they held hands and seemed to dote on one another. “I kept expecting her to turn me into stone!”

“She doesn’t do that,” a bluff, hearty, older man put in. “She’s the Administrator’s apprentice, so she is. The last thing she wants to do is alienate the townspeople!”

Then the conversation turned to other things, and I tuned back out again.

So, the head of the university was called an administrator. The young Gorgon woman was her apprentice. And it was widely known as to who and what she was…this had to be the person I should approach, as maybe she’d understand exactly why I’d come here, her being the only Gorgon I’d heard reference to whatsoever, living and working among others who weren’t Gorgons.

Yes, she had to be the person to approach. And if nothing else, I told myself, I won’t mistake her for anyone else.

On that note, I went to my room, laid down on the bed, and slept for at least fourteen solid hours.

oOo

Chapter Five

When I got to the university, proper, I saw many people bustling around. There wasn’t an official greeter; in some ways, there didn’t seem to be an official anything. I wandered around, seeing various outbuildings, all sorts of different places being constructed, and knew that couldn’t be where I needed to go. But after some searching, I found a long, low building that seemed to be where newcomers were supposed to go. I walked in, and saw I was in a fairly large chamber with several entrances and exits. There were chairs and benches dotted here and there, and there were staircases going up one side and down the other…it was most confusing.

Eventually, though, I spotted the young Gorgon woman I’d heard about the day before in the inn, and because I knew that the Gorgon was highly placed at Heart’s Eye, she should know what to do with me.

I walked up to her, bowed as my grandmother had taught me, and said, “Madam Gorgon, I am Jasper. I’ve come for teaching, as I have magical gifts but don’t know how to use them very well.”

The Gorgon looked surprised but made a motion with her hand to continue.

I took a deep breath and went on. “My mother was a magician. She was the first in her family, but she was cast out. Only her mother, my grandmother, was willing to help, and they both moved to a town far away from their family. Mom died recently, and her dying wish was for me to come to Heart’s Eye and get the training she, herself, didn’t have that she so desperately wanted.” I wasn’t sure why I was giving the Gorgon so much of my truth, but I wasn’t about to stop now. “I admit I haven’t been to any of the magical schools, and I’m about fifteen years old.”

“I’d have guessed you for at least eighteen,” the Gorgon said in a soft alto voice. “But please, do go on.”

“I have two talents and know a few scraps of spells, but I learn quickly and adore reading.”

“Emily would love you,” the Gorgon mused.

Emily? Lady Emily? The Necromancer’s Bane? Even I had heard of her—but the Gorgon had continued.

“What do you want to do with your life?” she asked.

“I want to live well, treat others with respect, and find a way to help people like my mother, so they don’t die in childbirth.”

The Gorgon raised her eyebrows, impressed.

“I don’t know if I have any healing talents because my mother didn’t have any of those spells. What I know I can do is light up my fingers and teleport a book from across the room.”

“The first, most of us can do. We magicians, I mean, as there are nonmagicians who also study here.”

Yes, my grandmother had told me that. But she went right on.

“The second, though…would you be willing to demonstrate it for me, after some food and rest? There are a few people I’d like you to meet, later.”

I willingly agreed, and she brought me to a well-appointed guest room of sorts. It had a big, wide bed with fresh and clean sheets, more pillows than I’d ever seen on a bed before (I’d only had one when I’d stayed the night before in Heart’s Ease, and it was a thin rag at best compared to these bounteous pillows), and there was a private bathroom off to the side with clean running water. It even had both hot and cold water, something the Gorgon murmured was due to nonmagical engineers.

After giving me some chits for the evening and morning meals and reminding me to follow the arrows to find the mess hall, she promised to find me in the morning so I could demonstrate my book-teleportation talent.

I tried not to be nervous, as I settled on that big, wide bed. It had springs and was very comfortable…I’d never before felt the like. Wealthy people in our part of the world had featherbeds, and those who weren’t as wealthy or who had a skinflint stepfather like mine made do with scratchy straw-filled ones. But this bed was a revelation…and maybe even a warning.

What could my talents possibly do here, in a place swimming with such luxury that they willingly gave anyone who showed up a lovely room like this?

End Excerpt

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed reading the chapters and seeing the excellent cover artwork, too. I’m sure I’ll be back fairly soon to show you a few more chapters.

Written by Barb Caffrey

September 30, 2026 at 4:05 am

“Jasper’s Promise,” Snippet One

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As promised, folks, here is a snippet from my soon-to-be-forthcoming novel, JASPER’S PROMISE, a novel I wrote in Chris Nuttall’s Schooled in Magic universe with his permission and active encouragement.

A quick summary…(these things are hard for me, but I’ll do my best): Jasper, a fifteen-year-old youngster, loses his mother to childbirth, but before she dies, she tells him about the new university at Heart’s Eye, a community near the desert and one at least five or six days by rail travel away from Newtown, where he, his mother, and his odious stepfather live. There, Jasper can get the training in magic his mother never received…he promises to go (thus the name of the book), to do his best, and he finds his talents and starts to learn about who and what he truly is.

Now, without further ado, here’s Chapters One and Two of Jasper’s Promise:

OoO

Chapter One

My children, we must start my story when my life was at its absolute worst.

My mother was dying; she knew it. She’d tried to birth a baby that was way too big for her, and the experienced midwife (who had a hint of magic talent in her blood) was already out on another call. My mother, Eve, was bleeding to death, and there was nothing I could do to stop it. I’d tried.

My grandmother was not present as my stepfather didn’t want her there. This had caused all sorts of consternation in the family. But eventually my mother acquiesced, providing the midwife was sent for.

It didn’t do any good, as I said. And what’s worse, my stepfather wasn’t even there to help…though in one way, I guess that was a blessing as I was able to get away from him (finally).

Where was he? At the bar, of course, celebrating the impending birth. He was no help.

Then again, he never was.

My stepfather, David, was a terrible person. He abused me every day. Mom would send me out on errands as often as she possibly could, along with sleepovers at my grandma Hannah’s place, but somehow, David found a way to be cruel and cutting whether he raised the strap to me or not.

Why did Mom marry David? I don’t know. Yes, after my father died, she must’ve been in a bad state. Yes, as the first-ever magician in her own family, her siblings were not comfortable with her, and had sent her away…and yes, she’d been unable to get the proper training, so all she’d learned were scraps of spells. David owned a green grocery, so was reasonably prosperous; more to the point, as my father had died in one of the endless wars long before I became rational or reasonable—that is, before I hit the age of seven—she’d been alone a long time. What she knew was barely enough to keep her out of the gutter, and me alongside her. She knew she needed to give me a proper upbringing…but David almost killed her several times and beat me so badly on more than one occasion, all my grandmother and the local midwife could do was give me painkilling potion and tell me to rest.

Hannah was my mom’s mother, and had disagreed with her own family over the treatment of Mom. She had brought some wealth into the family, carefully hoarded, when she’d married, and when they sent Mom away, Hannah went with her. They’d settled in a dusty town near the Badlands, a place called Newtown that had only been in existence for a few years. Newtown was reasonably fertile and could grow its own food, but it was not a prosperous enough place for bandits to bother us and seemed a perfect place to try to make a new life. Hannah managed, partly because she was quiet (though never mousy) and people tended to overlook her. But Mom suffered for many reasons until David showed up. Hannah never trusted David, even when he brought Mom flowers and candy and took her out to expensive restaurants. (“Something in his eyes,” she told me later.) But Mom was smitten, and as I said before, she also was desperate. She hated being a leech on her mother (though Mom was working as a scribe, the Scribe’s guild said it was fine and dandy for men to be paid three times as much as women for far less work, so Mom never could get out of what sometimes was called “genteel poverty”), and she wanted, somehow, to send me to one of the magical schools.

Yes, I tested for magic early. I lit the ends of my fingers, somehow, so they looked like fireflies; I also could teleport a book or scroll from across the room, providing I really wanted to do it. (The latter exhausted me for hours, after. I had no idea at the time how much mental energy I was putting out, much less the fact that most magicians could not do what I could do, even if they’d been sent to school early.) Mom regretted not getting the right training for herself, though Hannah had of course offered to pay Mom’s way (why Mom had to be so stiff-necked, I’ll never understand), and wanted to do things in the right order: Marry well. Send me off to school to get the best possible training for my magical gift. Then live peacefully and enjoy life with her second husband.

None of that happened.

Yes, she married. But David was a tight-fisted man, and he had a violent and unpredictable temper. Sometimes, he got mad at Mom for not saving money; other times, he got mad because Mom did save money. (“Don’t you trust me to provide?” he’d ask her after he’d hit her so hard, the bruise on her cheekbone looked purple.) The money was not there to send me to Whitehall, or Stronghold, or any of the others. So he said.

Mom was outwardly meek, but inwardly something had stiffened. She wanted me to be properly trained. She didn’t want my magic to get so out of control that I inadvertently became a necromancer. (We had no idea how necromancers came to be, but we had some vague notion that it was due to a power imbalance.) So she started squirreling money away, giving it to my grandmother to hold, in the hopes I’d be able to go somewhere, even at a later age than most, for training.

When she swelled in pregnancy after eight years of marriage, my stepfather rejoiced. He stopped hitting Mom for the duration. (He hit me all the more, of course, but I bit my lip and endured.) He had high hopes for a son—“One that’s good, not like you, you worthless piece of crap, Jasper”—but of course he’d have to take what he got.

At any rate, when Mom realized she would not survive childbed, she called out to me. (Fortunately, David was still at the bar.) I ran to her; I loved her so much, even though I never said it. “Mom…are you all right?” I asked, knowing she wasn’t. Her overall coloring was bad; she’d gone greenish, somehow, and the blue veins stuck out in her face and neck…she’d lost a lot of blood, I thought, remembering what my grandmother had told me about pregnancy and confinements. And her hair, once her crowning glory, had dulled so much from its original bright red-blonde that it looked like mud, which couldn’t be right, could never be right.

“I will be, soon,” Mom said breathily. “Our ancestors will see me safe, I’m sure.” Then, she struggled, until her voice became her usual one again: calm, measured, and matter of fact. “Son, you need to leave now. You can’t help me, here. You shouldn’t stay, either, for obvious reasons.”

I gulped and nodded, but Mom wasn’t finished.

“Your grandmother has something for you. Then, you are going to head to Heart’s Eye.”

“What’s that?”

“A different type of magical school,” Mom said, gripping my hand with as much force as she had…which wasn’t nearly enough. Still, I was riveted. “They want magicians and nonmagicians to work together—”

“Mundanes? Like David? Yuck!”

“Or like your grandmother,” Mom said, steel in her voice. “Even so. They train people to do all sorts of things, and they’ll help you get the skills you need to live a better life, far, far away from David.”

“You’re sure I…can’t help you? With my magic?” I’d do anything for Mom. Even use my unpredictable magic, if it worked…

“Healing spells are some I never got a chance to study. They won’t work right for me. That’s why I never taught them to you…but son, my time is about to run out. You must leave now.”

I kissed her on the brow and hurried out. I hated having to leave her there. But she’d asked me to go to my grandmother’s house; if that was her last wish for me, I damned well was going to follow it.

I went out through the kitchen door as the cook had already gone home. I hoped I’d avoid David, as he and Grandma didn’t get along, but knew I’d be all right once I got to Grandma’s house because Hannah had one of those new blunderbusses everyone was talking about. That was a type of “gun” – I’d never heard that word before Grandma told me about it—that would shoot David at close range and not miss. While I hated my stepfather and didn’t think the world would mourn him at all, I didn’t want Grandma to get into any trouble, which she might if she shot and killed David. Thus my caution.

As soon as I was out, I realized it was twilight. Good. Easier to hide in the shadows, especially with one of the scraps of spells my Mom had known and had taught me. The toughest thing about using that spell was to stay calm. It was a misdirection spell, and it would not work if you were overly nervous, anxious, or worried. (Later I found there were other versions of the spell that would, but I did not know them at the time.) I concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other until I was at Grandma’s door.

 I knocked…then Grandma opened the door and said, “Jasper! It’s about time!”

Chapter Two

My grandmother bustled me inside and had me sit down. Small, but mighty of heart, she did not mince words. “Your mother isn’t well,” she said, reading the information off my face.

“No, she’s not. And the midwife is out of town doing Goddess-alone-knows-what, while David is drinking in the bar, toasting the other idiots,” I said with disgust. “I didn’t want to leave, though…I wanted to help her!”

“She knows that,” Hannah, my grandmother, said with infinite gentleness. “She had a premonition, Jasper. She knew she’d not survive this birth, one way or another. And she also knew that you must leave this place to get the training you need…the training she, herself, was not able to get.”

“Why aren’t you with her now?”

“I need to give you a few things, and then I’m going over there. With my blunderbuss, if you must know,” she said with a slight smile.

That made sense to me. David was no threat to her, that way.

“Here,” she said, handing me a bag full of coins of various types and denominations. “This should get you to Heart’s Eye.”

“What’s that? Mom said something, but I didn’t understand…why should I go there?”

“It’s a new type of magical school called a ‘university,’ and they take everyone, magicians and nonmagicians alike. They’re trying to build something new. They don’t charge for learning, either, the last I checked.”

Interesting. They could train me? But I had another question for her, as before my mother had mentioned it, I had never heard at all of Heart’s Eye. That meant it must be very far away. “Where is it?”

“It’s in the desert, kind of,” Hannah said. “I have only heard of it. Never been there. But it’s said to be on the very edge of a desert.” Then she handed me another bag full of cheese, raisins, and bread. “This should help you on your way. The less food you have to buy, the better off you’ll be when you get there. Be wary of any food that’s given to you and use the water purification spell my daughter taught you.”

That was one of the few full spells Mom knew.

She then handed me yet another bag filled with my clothes—I didn’t know how she’d grabbed them without me noticing—and a few of my favorite books, before saying, “Now go, grandson. There’s a stagecoach down the way that’ll take you to the nearest train station.”

“But that’s three towns away! How can I—”

“I’ve already paid,” my grandma said. “Go. Now.”

I went, but my heart was heavy. I couldn’t help my mother, who would die…my grandmother was going to be the only one at my Mom’s deathbed…and I felt like a complete failure.

Yet they believed in me, or at least that I deserved a chance to become something else, something other than what I already was. I had to go and try.

But that didn’t mean I liked it. And I wasn’t going to pretend I did.

OoO

So, there you have it. What d’you think so far?

I’ll be posting more in two days. Until then…go, Brewers, go!

Written by Barb Caffrey

September 22, 2026 at 2:30 pm

22nd Sad Anniversary Tomorrow…and Some Talk of My New Book, “Jasper’s Promise” (Coming Soon)

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How is it possible for my beloved husband Michael to have been dead nearly twenty-two years?

Tomorrow, 9/21/26, is the twenty-second anniversary of the best person I’ve ever known’s death. Michael was funny, intelligent, witty, and we shared a soul-deep connection unlike any others I’ve ever had in my entire life. We wrote together, lived together, and worked together…and we never got tired of each other.

I still wake up, even now, and expect to see my husband’s dear face…and am crushed, yet again, when I realize that not only is Michael still dead, that I’ve somehow managed all this time…and for what purpose?

Yes, I am creative. Yes, he was creative. Yes, I want to keep our work alive. Yes, I certainly want to keep Michael’s memory alive.

Michael made me believe anything, absolutely anything, was possible, providing we kept hope and faith alive. It’s at least in part because of him that I continue to blunder onward, stumbling and fumbling though it sometimes is, and try to do whatever I can to leave this world at least a little bit better than I found it.

I know Michael would be proud of me, that I finished up my fourth novel a bit ago. I can give you that information, at least a little bit of it, now: It’s in Chris Nuttall’s Schooled in Magic universe, and it’s called JASPER’S PROMISE.

Jasper was introduced in Chris’s trilogy starting with THE CUNNING MAN, as an antagonist/bully for the hero of that series, Adam. Yet, as I edited all three of those books, I realized that Jasper has a lot more to him than what he was showing.

Why? Well, in the SIM universe, Heart’s Eye University is the first-ever university there, admitting both magicians and nonmagicians. How did a bully get admitted? When tuition is free, sure, he’d not be kept out because of that. But Administrator Irene, a very formidable woman with a ton of strong magic, runs the new university, and she’d just not deal with a guy who supposedly did a bunch of bad stuff.

Adam did not like Jasper because Jasper was a handsome guy, because Adam was insecure about his own relationship with the young and formidable magician Lilith, and because a rival magician (pretending to be a nonmagician), Arnold, stirred up the water and caused a lot of problems for everyone before he finally declared himself the enemy Arnold was.

My take is, for those of you who’ve read Chris’s trilogy, Jasper was not the one who cursed Adam. He couldn’t have been. Something like that would be beyond just about anyone going to that university, as the folks there are trying for apprenticeships, independent study curriculums, and new joint curricula such as the Healer-chirurgeon curriculum (chirurgeon is the old word for doctor, and they’re the nonmagical healers, while Healers have magic and can aid healing that way). Anyone who had that sort of power would already be in an apprenticeship elsewhere. Plus, it wouldn’t have been the first time someone came up with a terrible curse, either…yet this curse appeared to be a one-off.

Bullies don’t do that, you see. They don’t just curse someone once and be done with it. They keep doing it, because they’re getting away with it, and because they get high on the thought that they’re putting someone down.

So, we know that Arnold was a very big bad guy, later on in THE CUNNING MAN. (That’s not his real name, but it’s the only one we learn.) He was awful. He was working for something called The Hierarchy, a bunch of evil magicians, and wanted to stop something positive and new just because he could. He was as powerful as a combat sorcerer, which means he was at the top of the magic scale, like Administrator Irene (has the skills but never went into combat sorcery as she liked teaching too much). It would be easy for Arnold to take Jasper’s guise, pretend to be him, and do this horrible thing…as Adam had no magic, how could Adam know who it was, especially as Adam hadn’t yet met the real Jasper?

That means the flashes of Jasper we get later, such as in the third book THE CONJURING MAN when Jasper at one glance assesses Adam’s energy and tells him to get some rest and eat something, are the true ones.

My conjecture is that Jasper is a lot younger than Adam. Seems the same age, but isn’t. That Jasper not only would not curse someone the way Adam was cursed, but could not…and as Jasper is first accepted by Mistress Irene, then being taught independently by the Gorgon (a young, demihuman woman with snakes on her head), the Gorgon would’ve known immediately if the real Jasper had done something like that as she was fully cognizant of Jasper’s magical signature.

Adam, though, doesn’t say who did it. And if he had, the Gorgon would’ve quickly disproven it, as Jasper was not capable of that. Plus, we learn along the way that the Gorgon saw what the magical signature was, and doesn’t recognize it, which is just very odd.

So, none of the students, including Jasper, did that horrible thing. And Arnold was certainly capable of it. In fact, he enjoyed doing stuff like that, just because he could.

Anyway, three years ago or thereabouts, I wrote a bit about Jasper and showed it to Chris. He then asked me to send it to another of our writer-friends, Leo Champion. They both read it. (It is a prologue that starts with “I was an ass.”) They both told me to keep going. (Chris also told me he didn’t have plans for Jasper, so “have at.”) And I’ve let them know how things have happened since…they were keen on me telling this story.

I hope I’ve done it justice.

So, in two days, I’m going to start giving snippets from my forthcoming novel JASPER’S PROMISE. I hope you will enjoy it.

Getting back to what I started with…I wish Michael were here so we could both celebrate a little bit. (You have to celebrate the small things in life. And finishing a novel isn’t exactly a small thing.) I wish he were alive for a hundred thousand reasons, not just that…he was a wonderful, amazing person, the best I’ve ever known, and I miss him every single day.

This Reblog Fits, so Here We Go Again…

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This post is an important thing to remember as we all continue to get through the dog days of summer into fall. (I do wonder why they call it “dog days,” but that’s neither here nor there. As I love dogs, they can call every day a dog day as far as I’m concerned.)

That’s why I chose to reblog it, in the hopes that more people who maybe didn’t read it the first time will read it now.

There’s a lot of stuff going on in this world that is incredibly frustrating. Maybe that has always been true, but because we didn’t have 24/7 news coverage, much less the internet, we didn’t get inundated with all of the various information out there — some good, some bad, some neutral, and a whole lot of it completely incomprehensible. (Though the cute cat and dog pics can stay. Just saying.)

As far as a quick personal update here, regarding stories and such…my three novels are still in a holding pattern, but I grow closer to getting them back out there, either by self-publishing or through a new small press taking a flyer on me. In addition, the book I wrote in Chris Nuttall’s Schooled in Magic universe, with his permission of course, will hopefully be out in the next month to month and a half. (A cover reveal will be forthcoming soon, too.)

For those wondering about my living situation…it’s the same.

As I said in my last update, I’m doing the best I can. Some days are better than others. Some aren’t. I will be happier, though, once I get past September 21, as that will be the 24th sad anniversary of my late husband Michael’s death.

Books I can recommend: As well as anything by Sharon Lee and Steve Miller, anything by Katharine Eliska Kimbriel, anything by my friend the late Rosemary Edghill, and whatever genre you feel like reading, as Chris Nuttall probably has it and you will almost certainly enjoy it, I can recommend two new-to-me writers, those being Skyler Ramirez and Linzi Day. Ramirez writes mostly space opera, while Day writes mostly fantasy. Both tell excellent stories that I have enjoyed immensely. I’m also big on Carla Kelly’s Regency romances, as she mostly dwells on people other romances have forgotten about, like Naval personnel, middle-class and lower-middle-class women (usually finding a way to pair off with Naval personnel), medical doctors…her novels are a breath of fresh air, and I always enjoy reading them.

Those are just a few of the wide-ranging and genre-hopping books I read on a regular basis.

Oh, yes…and Kayelle Allen has a great new book out called WATCH YOUR SIX. It’s SFnal, dealing with humans, Ultras (genetically made humans that live far longer than regular humans), and “Ghosts,” who have been given Ultra blood and were able to survive otherwise mortal wounds in the same body. Six is the best friend of Pietas, the Ultra leader…and their friendship makes me laugh, sometimes cry, and overall is so much fun to read that I had to tell you all about it.

So, what are you reading? What’s going on that you’d like to talk about? Tell me in the comments!

Written by Barb Caffrey

September 7, 2026 at 9:26 am

Posted in Uncategorized

What I Have Been Doing…

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Folks, I have not been very communicative lately. I realize that. I’ve been struggling with several things, including plantar fasciitis in my left heel that makes walking difficult and painful. (That’s saying something, as I already walk with a cane and deal with pain daily from my knees and back.) I’ve been saving my energy mostly for editing and writing.

Mind, I do have a few things to report in that area. I’ve been very cagey about it, but I am about done with a novel set in my friend and client Chris Nuttall’s Schooled in Magic universe. I have 105,000 words written, and that seems to be about the right length…now I have to go back and smooth out some rough edges, before I can send it to my four chosen readers (two that know the SIM universe, and two that don’t), to see what they think and what I need to do next.

You might be wondering who I’m writing about. I will tell you this much: it’s not about Emily. It’s not about Nanette (though that did tempt me). It’s instead about a minor character in Adam’s trilogy (starting with The Cunning Man) that I felt was getting a bit of a bad rap, whose story just kind of hit me in the head one day.

I hadn’t intended to write it, mind you. But after reading the third novel, where this character acts a whole lot better (and it did make sense), I had a whole monologue show up, in first person, that I wrote down. I showed it to Chris, and also showed it to another good friend who knows the SIM universe well, Leo Champion…they both said I had to keep going.

So, for the last three years, that’s what I’ve been doing. Sometimes progress has been slow. Sometimes it’s been in leaps and bounds. But I now have a viable story, what I hope will be the first of a trilogy of stories about this character.

After my four readers see it and tell me what they think, I’ll have a better idea as to a timeline as to when it may come out. My hope is for early fall, but we’ll see. I do intend to give “teaser” chapters when the time comes.

“But Barb,” I can hear you asking. “What about your three existing novels? What’s up with them? They’re not back out there yet.”

I have submitted them to a new publisher, and they are in that pipeline. So far, they haven’t been rejected yet (I asked about them a few days ago, hoping I wasn’t jogging the publisher’s elbow too much), but I do have a backup plan in case they are. I hope to have them back out again before the novel in Chris’s SIM universe comes out.

As far as other writing goes, Gail Sanders and I wrote a third story about Lance Corporal Marcus McGruder and Master Sergeant Peter Welmsley for an upcoming anthology (no, I won’t tell you exactly what the story is, or when it may come out, as it hasn’t been accepted yet and I’m superstitious that way). I have a backup plan for that, too…lately, my life seems all about “backup plans,” for lack of a better term.

For those of you wondering about my living situation, it’s in the same place as before. I’ll keep you posted, elsewise.

Other than that, I’ve been trying to help several rescue groups — some nearby, some not — to let folks know that good dogs are available in the various animal shelters. Many shelters waive fees for at-risk dogs (“at-risk” meaning they’re on the equivalent of doggie death row, or euthanasia), and most of the time the only reason these poor dogs are at-risk is because of overcrowding at the animal shelters.

This is the worst time of year for that, mind you. For whatever reason, dogs, cats, and other animals end up in the shelters far more often in the summer than any other time of the year, and they don’t deserve it.

I feel for these dogs (usually the cats are more easily placed, so I’m mentioning the dogs instead). They are kind-hearted, loving dogs, well-socialized, many of them get along with other dogs, with kids, some get along with cats, and the shelters notate which ones are especially good at taking treats gently from your hands or don’t pull on the leash.

They’ve done nothing to end up in the circumstances they’re in. They’ve just loved people, sometimes those who’ve let them down, and sometimes those who through no fault of theirs can no longer take care of them.

Being in the shelter is scary for them. They don’t know why they’re there.

I believe in lifelong pet ownership whenever possible. (Longtime readers of my blog know this.) My favorite dog ever, Trouble, was over seventeen when he died (he was a Shih Tzu mix of some sort, gray, black, and white). My mother’s little dog, Bratty, is now over seventeen, and is still as feisty as ever. (I hope Mom will have Bratty for quite some time yet, but of course you never know.) Mom’s dogs Floyd and Blackie were at least thirteen before they passed (Blackie was a bit bigger and a Cocker spaniel mix of some sort; Floyd was “genuine American mutt,” sweet, loving, but don’t trust him around pizza or seafood!), and the only dog I can recall of any she had dying early was Clyde, who was only six years old but had a neurological issue that caused paralysis, and the vets weren’t able to do anything to help him.

So, I see these young dogs — some are only a year or two old! — in the shelter, and my heart just cracks open for them. They could have decades left if they only find the right person, the right family, for them.

My friend Rosemary Edghill, who died recently, rescued Cavalier King Charles spaniels, especially the older ones. I’ve been doing a lot more dog rescuing work (sharing posts, discussing things with volunteers, and such) since she passed. I’m not sure why this is, except that I admired her, and wanted at least one thing I could do to help remember her by. I hope my efforts, small as they are, will do some good…and at least they can’t do harm.

I am not in a position where I can get a dog of my own. (More’s the pity.) But I can share when good dogs are available, and I’ve tried to do that lately, especially on my Facebook page. There are several excellent rescue places that are nearby, including It’s a Pittie Rescue and Chi-Town Pitties, that often feature wonderful dogs. The Chicago area shelters are full, too, as are the folks in Atlanta (I often share for them), and there are so many wonderful and amazing animals there that deserve their forever homes.

It’s something that can break your heart, if you let it, trying to rescue animals. But my motto is, do whatever you can, for as long as you can, and hope that your efforts will do some good.

That’s my motto overall. About writing, about music, about dog-rescuing, about friendship…help as you’re able, do whatever you can, and hope your efforts do some good even if you can’t see it.

Anyway, that’s what’s going on with me here in Chez Caffrey. What’s going on with you? Let me know in the comments.

Why you should still (always, forever) help widows and widowers

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Written by Barb Caffrey

July 24, 2026 at 9:02 am

Posted in Uncategorized

Just an Ordinary Day? Reflections on Grief

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I’ve now been without the love of my life, Michael B. Caffrey, for twenty-one years, nine months, and twenty-three days.

Every day, when I wake up, I think about how long it’s been. Sometimes it feels like forever, and sometimes it feels like I just saw him a minute ago. I’m fortunate, as I’ve said before, that I often feel his love around me, supporting me, giving me a reason to keep trying even on the difficult days.

This is one of them.

See, while Michael never would’ve celebrated it — and I would not have talked about it when he was alive except with my closest friends — this would’ve been his sixty-eighth birthday. He did not like to celebrate his birthday whatsoever, but he liked to celebrate every other day — the unBirthdays, if you will — especially after we found each other and married.

For him, a birthday was no different than any other day. He wasn’t interested in most celebrations. But he was happy to celebrate being with me, and I was happy to celebrate being with him on his natal day or any other day.

Michael was the most positive person I’ve ever known. He had faith, kindness, goodness — though he’d say he was “as pure as the driven slush,” mind you — was faithful, loyal, honorable, ethical, had a wicked sense of humor, and showed me how much he loved me every single day.

I waited a long time before I found him. As I’ve said before, he and I were both divorced when we met, and he pretty much said to himself (not to me, not then) that I was going to be the woman he married. But he didn’t want to scare me off, as he knew I was quite gun-shy by that point.

I don’t know how he got me to hear him. To trust that he was different, that he truly cared, that he would not betray me (not cheat, not lie, not steal, not any of that), to believe that just once, in this life, I had found a mental equal along with a spiritual, physical, and emotional one. But he did, and we had that amazing conversation for thirty-six hours — our first lengthy conversation, and the longest, but it wouldn’t be the last — around Christmas Day of 2001. Neither one of us wanted to go to bed, to leave our conversation, to stop talking, because I think we both feared it wouldn’t be real and it wouldn’t have happened if we went to sleep.

In fact, if I remember right, when I got up the next day, Michael left me an email with a subject line something like, “On Further Review…” So, I opened that email with a bit of trepidation, thinking he might’ve been trying to walk back what we’d discussed the previous evening and throughout the day and night again.

His first line, after saying something like, “Hi, beautiful woman of my dreams,” was this: “I take none of it back.”

This was the first time, and maybe the only time, I’d ever met someone who’d stand by his word. Where the words mattered as much as the actions. Where the dreams we had, that we’d never told anyone about, were safe to discuss. That our creativity could flower due to our deep and incredible connectedness to each other…I had no idea that someone could be this enthused about anything I wanted to do that was positive.

I mean, I’d write music, and he’d read it. He could read all clefs, too. I don’t know if he ever played an instrument, but he read music and understood it.

I’d write words, and he’d sit down with me, read them over, show me some stuff he was doing, I’d read that over…I think we both grew as writers and editors because of each other.

And the wide-ranging interests he had…he knew so much about so many different subjects, and he always wanted to learn more. He looked for deeper and richer experiences all the days of his life, did not suffer fools gladly (or at all), was ethical, principled, constantly made me laugh, was always learning, and was always so present in the moment. (I think that was due to his practice of Zen Buddhism.)

The bone-deep sincerity of him, along with his maturity, his wisdom, his serenity…it was and remains an incredibly attractive combination, one I’ve seen matched nowhere else, by no one else.

(Aside: While I do hope, now, to eventually meet another good man, long-time readers of my blog know this took me almost twelve years — twelve full years — after Michael died to admit I still wanted. It hasn’t happened since. But I know that Michael’s love for me was profound and he’d never want to stand in my way for any potential happiness. End aside.)

So, my grief has been profound for my wonderful, incredible, amazing, sexy, smart, funny, ethical, principled, and intelligent man, my Michael. The three days that are the hardest for me to bear are this one, our wedding anniversary (in June), and the day of his death in September. It’s hard to believe that such a huge presence, someone I still feel around me to the point I wake up and am immediately disappointed as Michael is still dead…well. It’s hard to believe I’ll never hold him in the circle of my arms again.

Grief comes in waves. Some days, it’s like a tsunami and all you can do is try to withstand it however you may, so you’re standing…albeit in a bunch of floating wreckage. Some days, it’s more bittersweet, because the good things that happened make you smile, and knowing that this astonishing person was your husband, is your husband still and always will be no matter what happens to our bodies after this life on Earth ends, outweighs anything else.

Mostly, though, I have a form of PTSD, something my last two counselors discussed with me. I saw Michael fall, behind me, with the first of his four heart attacks. (He was too far away for me to catch, and as I’ve said before here on my blog, I would’ve dislocated both arms had I tried. But I would’ve tried. I would’ve done anything to stop that from happening.) I heard his last words, which were “where’s my wife?” as I’d been sent up to our apartment to get the meds he took, as that potentially might save his life (the guy next door was a paramedic, and he said to do this; it made sense to me). I told him I’d be right back and for him to hold on…but when I got back down there, he was being loaded into the ambulance, no pulse, no breathing.

I knew what that was. Bad, bad, and more bad.

They kept trying, because he was only forty-six. He’d had no signs of this. He’d passed a cardiac stress test earlier in the year — a chemical stress test, granted, as he had significant arthritis in the form of chondromalacia. But he passed it.

The ambulance driver looked at me and asked if I was his daughter. (I can’t help it. Even now, after all the stress and strain of the last twenty-one-plus years, I still look considerably younger than my age.) I said, “No, I’m his wife. Now let’s get him to the hospital!”

After eighteen minutes, Michael’s vital signs returned. They still had some hope, though he did not wake up again. They could tell he was fighting very hard. He then had a second heart attack — out again for over ten minutes — and later, a third. By this time, I’d called my parents and my father was on the way from Wisconsin. (We lived in Iowa, then.) They took him to get a brain scan, to see if he still had electrical activity in his brain, and he did — in a non-standard place, but that happened for my Mom, years ago, after she had pneumonia so bad she went into an eight-day coma. I tried to have hope.

They sent me back home to take my own meds, including my blood pressure medicine. I went online (still dialup, back then) to let our friends know that Michael was dying.

Then I got the call to go back to the hospital. He’d had a fourth heart attack, and they were still doing compressions…his blood pressure fell to 30/10, and he had a pulse rate that was so low it almost wasn’t measurable. But he was trying, he was trying to live, he didn’t want to die, he didn’t want to leave me, we’d both waited so long to find each other…it didn’t seem fair, then, and it still doesn’t seem fair now.

I had to be the one to tell him that if he couldn’t come back as himself, without brain damage, which they thought was going to be likely even if he miraculously woke up from all those manual chest compressions, that he should go into eternity and that I’d try my best to never forget his love, never forget him, never forget what we had, and that I would always try to feel his love.

After thirty more minutes (by this time, my father had made it to the hospital and was there at my side), Michael died, just shy of 9 p.m.

I still see all of what happened in Technicolor (TM), and I can’t do anything other than witness it. I know how much Michael loved me. I know how much he wanted to be with me. I know he wanted to finish his stories and keep working on his other crafts (he was an artist, among his many talents). I know he wanted to hear me play in various bands (mostly concert bands, occasionally in jazz ensembles), to hear me practice, to read the music I composed, and to read the words I wrote, too. (I wrote poetry, too, and still occasionally do.)

Life has been very, very difficult for me since he died. I am not going to lie and say that it hasn’t been. I still try my hardest to hold any sort of positive thought (today, it was petting my Mom’s seventeen-year-old dog, Bratty), or to do anything that is life-affirming, honest, and real. I also do what I can to remember all of Michael — his goodness, his kindness, his serenity, his sense of humor and eternally questing mind, all of it — and not just the way he died.

It’s hard for me to believe, even now, that he is not with me in the flesh. I’d like to think if there are multiple universes (the physicists sure seem to believe it’s possible), that Michael perhaps did not die there, and that the iteration of me there with him is still blissfully happy.

Don’t get me wrong. We never made much money. Our lives were not easy, not separately, not even together. But they were much better, much richer, much more satisfying, because I knew he understood me and he knew I understood him. It was a never-ending series of wonders even on the horrid days, like when we were served with eviction papers when we still lived in San Francisco…even on the last day of his life, before he collapsed, Michael believed we’d find our way into a better situation if we only kept trying and kept our faith in ourselves and in the Goddess Herself (as both of us tended to see the Deity as female).

I’ve done what I can since he passed. I’ve kept his Atlantean Union universe alive, albeit in a different way than he’d envisioned. I’ve been fortunate there that my good friend, Gail Sanders, is a former Army Reservist (now retired), and knows things about the military I just don’t. (We have two stories available in Tales of the E4 Mafia and Tales of the E4 Mafia 2, and we hope to have a third coming out in a new anthology later this year.) So I’ve continued to write. My Elfyverse, which I wrote and conceived when Michael was alive, is still there, and I’ve written some short stories for the Fantastic Schools anthologies. I also have written more music, more poetry, made new friends, kept up with old friends, tried to be there for my family (and am still trying)…life goes on.

Is it what I want it to be? No.

Is it better than it would’ve been had Michael never entered my life? Yes.

Ultimately, what I tell myself every day is, I can only do my best. And my best means I remember the love, the caring, the honesty, the serenity, the bone-deep kindness, and yes, also the flaws (Michael absolutely adored being right, to name one, but I thought that completely understandable). My best means that I do not shirk from the difficult truths. My best means that I have to expect the best from myself, even on a bad day, even on a tough day…and my best means that I have to stay myself, my recognizable self, so that if Michael somehow could miraculously come back to life (I know he can’t), he’d recognize me instantly.

Grief is hard. I don’t enjoy it, to put it mildly. But if this is what I have to deal with due to finding the love of my life and getting a few good years with him before his sudden and unexpected passing, that’s just the price of admission.

I wish we’d had far more time. I wish Michael would’ve been able to write more stories and finish his own novels and write more in the Atlantean Union ‘verse on his own.

But I will never regret the time we did get. It was the highlight of my existence. And I honor it, all the days of my life.

Can Divorce Be Beneficial? My Thoughts

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Ten years ago, I wrote a blog about divorce that was well-received, and I decided to revisit it today for two reasons. One, we’ve got another celebrity divorce that’s in the news, that being between Jelly Roll and Bunnie XO. Two, as someone who’s been both previously divorced and, after blessedly finding and marrying the love of my life, widowed, I know there is life after both things…but most especially after divorce.

As the previous blog stated:

Yes, divorce is painful. But if you and your spouse do not understand each other, have grown apart, or worst of all, he’s brought another child into this world outside of your marriage (which my second unlamented ex-husband did), you need to be gone. It’s not good for you to stay. And if you have children, your children will see all your pain, all your anger, all your dysfunction, and start to model it for themselves in their own relationships…something you truly don’t want.

Mind you, divorce is not easy, which my previous blog also discussed:

My (first) divorce was brutal. I remember eating baby food, because nothing else would stay down. I saw my soon-to-be-ex-husband parading around town with the woman who became his second wife, and I could do nothing but swallow helpless rage. (It took me some time to realize that I was enraged, mind, because at first I was so saddened by all of this, and wondered how it could have ever come to pass.) I played in a group with my soon-to-be-ex-husband and his new girlfriend, the woman who became his second wife, and it sometimes was agonizing…yet I refused to give up the comfort of music, as I knew I needed it to help me somehow get past the pain.

When I was dealing with my first divorce in particular, I had no idea what life would bring. I was still quite young, thought I’d completely failed, and was very frustrated (to say the least). It was extremely depressing to deal with, to know that I’d picked someone who could do what my first ex-husband did. And it wasn’t much better, if at all, with my second ex-husband, as it was difficult, disturbing, frustrating, and quite awful to deal with.

The light at the end of the tunnel, though, as I said in the previous blog, was not an oncoming train:

I found Michael (or, as he would no doubt want to have it, he found me). And finding him, being with him, being married to him, was worth every other pain in my life, past and present. He understood me, he was creative and funny and helped me be my best self, and I did my best to give him all the support, encouragement, laughter and love that I could, too.

Because that is what love is.

So, if you are divorcing right now, try to avoid giving in to despair. Divorce gives you the opportunity to find someone who is truly right for the you-who-is right now, rather than continuing to fight the same old battles in the same old ways.

You have to see yourself as someone who’s survived something difficult, and have come out the other side even stronger, rather than as a failure. It took me a while to figure this out. But it’s absolutely essential for your peace of mind.

I want to say this, too: You don’t have to be bad people in every respect in order to divorce. My exes had good qualities, even if they weren’t good husbands. (I said in the previous blog that they mostly were shining examples of what not to do, and I stand by that.) I wouldn’t have married them at all if I hadn’t seen the good in them. All I could do, ultimately, was say, “Go with God” and hope they’re better husbands to their second wives.

Perhaps I needed them in my life, if only to say, “I don’t need that. But this quality, I liked.” Otherwise, maybe I wouldn’t have ever been able to recognize Michael’s sterling qualities, much less give him a chance to convince me to take a chance on a third marriage.

And that third marriage is really what defined my life in many ways. I’m glad I took that chance. (“Glad” is too neutral of a word, mind. Maybe I should use “ecstatic” instead?)

In the case of Jelly Roll and his wife Bunnie XO, they had a ten-year marriage that gave them much satisfaction at times and much pain at others. It’s possible they may reconcile. It’s also possible they never speak to each other again. I hope for their sake, though, that they can be amicable and always be friendly.

I don’t need to be a personal friend of theirs to know that.

Anyway, I know being friendly post-divorce is possible for some, though it wasn’t possible for me. Michael, my late husband, and his ex-wife were the best of friends. (In fact, I’m still in contact with her today. She’s a lovely person and is remarried to a very kind-hearted man.)

Finally, remember that we’re all just human beings. Some days are better than others. Some days are worse. But we contain both the best and worst in one package, and our lives are up to us.

For good or ill, our lives are up to us.

Blast from the Past, but Still Relevant…Little Things Do Count

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Folks, I wrote this several years ago, but it is still relevant today.

Creativity is a blessing, but it takes nurturing, care, and time, just like anything else. That said, doing little things adds up over time, and eventually will show you that what you’ve done makes more sense than it seemed at the time.

I hope you’ll enjoy this blast from the past. Without further ado…

Written by Barb Caffrey

May 28, 2026 at 12:01 pm

Posted in Uncategorized