Category Archives: Uncategorized

Drinkable Wine Labels

I’m heading off to another haunted hotel soon, and stopped in the wine section at my local grocery store for a bottle of Pinot to take with me on the trip. I’m not a big drinker, so I’m not very adventurous when it comes to alcohol. I find a favorite and stick with it.

However, if I selected wines based on their labels, there’s a good possibility I would be drunk a lot. Look at these beauties…paranormal, Sci-fi, weird, cutesy, you name it…

Asylum Wine

Black Hole Wine (LOVE)

Caricature Wine

Dark Horse Wine

Divining Wine (AWESOME)

Dream Wine


First Wine

The Gift Wine (Paranormal)

Girly Girl Wine (Pink Hair!)

Gnarly Head Wine (Gnarly)

Handprint Wine (GHOSTLY)

Petit Wine (Anything Elephants)

PLungerhead Wine

The Red Room Wine

Repeat Offender Wine
(Well behaved women rarely make history – Marilyn Monroe)

Sin Wine

Sisterhood Wine (Girl Power!)

Spellbound Wine (Speaks for itself)

Octopus Wine
(Doesn’t get cooler than a giant, red octopus)

Castle Wine (Dracula lives in a castle)

Hard to choose a favorite, but for me, in Third Place: Divining Rod. Second Place: Educated Guess. First Place: Black Hole.

By the way, if you have a chance, author interviews go nicely with a glass of wine –
Author Spotlight Interview

Tuesday Tease

If I had an alter ego, she’d look something like this…

reality brilliant

She’d probably be the type to spill wine on a completed manuscript, without flinching. The cost of printer ink bothered her the same as the mole on her abdomen. She wasn’t crazy about it, but she learned to accept it.

And in light of the Batman cape, I’d bet she’d be braver than me. She’d wear high heels with shorts, be the first to jump on a Karaoke stage, and even order spaghetti while in her favorite, white, form-fitting dress.

She might also offer an early introduction of her next sensual, paranormal mystery novel…

Medium Crossing Tease

By the way, this isn’t the cover… She wouldn’t do that…

Be sure to check back for updates, or visit my website at

Lighthouse: Midnight Road

My latest release is here! Lighthouse is the first in the Midnight Road series (each book is a standalone, too). Residents on this long stretch of asphalt are united by an extraordinary calling, and divided by individual tales of love, lies, secrets, and uncoiling mysteries.

This story began when I joined a group of fellow authors for a box set project. We had a reasonable deadline, but with a nearly completed novel and a trip to Chicago on my plate, the due date crept up on me. Two weeks left to meet my story goal and I had no clue what to write about.

Simultaneously, someone had recommended a free phone psychic. And, well, why not?

I called the intuitive advisor named Bernard, and sorted out a few personal questions. Afterward, he said: There’s a woman. She’s someplace rural, like a ranch or a farm, and she’s alone. It’s night and she’s on a hill, crying. Oh, and she sees weird lights in the sky. Bernard questioned: Any idea who she is?

“Uh, none, whatsoever,” I said. “But do you mind if I use that premise for a novella?”

“No,” he said. “You have to write her story.”

So I did.

Initially I intended to create a series about weird places. Author Linda LaRoque suggested a continuation on the people and houses of Midnight Road. Loved the idea and when the titles broke away for independent sales, I revised, expanded, and renamed the novella.

I’m working on the next in the series, and honestly, this is the most fun I’ve had with storytelling.

Find out what’s happening on Midnight Road…

Available on Amazon!



Humming…in her ears, chest, blood. How is that possible? They’d fallen asleep, but this moment, she lay awake, startled by the strange vibration existing inside her bones.

Dominic sprung up. “Holy shit.” He massaged his forearms. “My body feels weird,” he said, half asleep.

She sat, sleeping bag creasing around her waist, veins trembling beneath her skin. “Mine, too.” The lightning bugs had retired. She strained to see through the darkness. She clicked on the flashlight, which offered little help.

The ceaseless hum came from out there, somewhere, and synced with her entire body.

Dominic wiped the dreams from his eyes. “I’ve got to see what’s going on.” He stood.

“Not without me.”

She and Dominic put on their shoes, and descended the ladder. Drew sliced the blackness with a beam of light. The two investigated the yard and shed. Nothing unusual.

“The rocks,” Dominic said. “The nucleus.”

Drew and Dominic trudged up to the boulders, plowing a path between darting raccoons and rabbits.

The humming vanished, yet she couldn’t recall hearing it end. If she had to describe what just happened, without knowing why, she’d insist the sound absorbed into the ethers or their flesh or both.

They continued on, nature crackling underfoot.

Drew aimed the flashlight at the rocks, the garage, Dominic’s car, and the Sycamore tree.

The flashlight’s yellowish ray striped the initials they’d cut into the bark earlier.

She jolted surprised by new pewter-colored indentations. She crunched across dry grass and sticks, checked the fresh marks next to their letters.

Imprints seared into the trunk.

Her heart clomped. “Dominic. What does this look like to you?” Her breath snaked in the chill.

He examined the impressions. Slack-jawed, he said, “Definitely, not human.”


For another Lighthouse excerpt and the blurb, please visit my website

Balls of Light

Several years ago, on a balmy, summer night in Florida, my girlfriend stepped outside to take pictures of the full moon. She walked her yard, snapping her cell phone camera at the sky from various angles. When she peeked at her neighbor’s trailer house, she witnessed transparent orbs floating around the home…

Orbs from Terry

Provided everything else has been ruled out (rain, dust, etc.), supposedly, there’s a ghostly explanation for orbs. We will never know for sure, but upon further investigation, my girlfriend had learned the elderly woman who lived there was scheduled to enter hospice.

If the hovering balls of lights were, by common definition, spiritual, the romance writer in me chooses to believe they somehow represented the woman’s ancestors or guides helping her transition.

I’ve been asked where my ideas come from. The answer always boils down to, they come from everywhere.

“The supernatural is the natural not yet understood.” – Elbert Hubbard

Want to connect? Find my social media links and book details at:

Fort Worth, Haunted Hotel

In between writing, revisions, and signings, I’m forging ahead with my third blog-site reboot (lost everything…twice). This time with an emphasis on creating a space for pure, paranormal fun, and of course updates and author promotions.

Recently I scrolled through my photo library and collected images from a few previously posted favorites.

One of the most memorable was an RWA local chapter group trip to the Fort Worth Stockyards for an overnight stay with ghosts. April, 2014, I believe.

Stock Yard

I’m a hands-on writer when it comes to research. While I make good use of Google, I’d rather interview people with actual experience in a particular arena, or try something myself to better understand whatever it is I’m writing about. For this reason, for me, ghost exploration is not only fascinating, but informative. Even in observing the fear associated with hauntings. Many of my characters are naïve when it comes to supernatural occurrences. It helps to see how different people react.

Anyway, our destination was a quaint historical remnant called, Miss Molly’s.

MM Entrance

Nothing says eerie like a steep, creaky staircase…

MM Stairs

Antiques in the communal area transported me to another time period, and the guest books on the coffee table inked with ghostly encounters of everyday people who had visited the hotel reminded me why we’d driven two hours north.

Guest books

Authors Nese Lane and Susan JP Owens…

J & S Reading Guestbooks

According to the Inn Keeper, Miss Molly’s was an old bordello whose occupants died of the plague.

The Madam, Miss Josie (pictured below) adored rose scented perfume which wafted throughout the hotel when least expected.

Miss Josie

Author Debra Jupe and I camped out in Miss Josie’s room. On occasion the door would close and required muscles to open. Eventually we realized if we asked nicely, the stubborn door would open without anyone breaking a sweat.

D & L Miss Josie's Room

Miss Amelia’s room…

Miss Amelia's Room

Miss Amelia had a daughter named Emma, and Emma had a beloved doll. The mother died before her daughter and supposedly, Emma suffered from incurable heartache before she too passed away from the plague. Today, when the doll is placed on Emma’s bed, a child’s imprint appears next to the toy. I had a photo of the indented sheets, but can’t seem to find it.

Emma's Doll

Other spooky rooms complete with unexplainable shadows and out of nowhere odors, such as, pancakes and cigars…

Room Seven

Another Room

We took a break for dinner and margaritas.

Nese Lane, Lorelei Buckley, Debra Jupe, Linda LaRoque & Susan JP Owens.

And woke up to hot tea and coffee in the morning…


While the hotel is riddled with activity, the atmosphere wasn’t creepy with the exception of this room…

Creepy Bathroom

Records state a bordello customer had dropped dead of a heart attack in this bathroom.

During one of our check-ins, the pull-chain started circling by itself. When I accepted what was happening I thought to get my phone. Click on the ghost video link and you’ll see the tail end of that phenomenon, as the chain slowed down…

ghost video

I’ll be heading to another haunted hotel soon and I’ll have more to share.

Want to connect? Find social media links and book details on my website:

Undead at Sea

It’s summertime, season of beaches, ocean, and ghost ships.

Twenty-something years ago I traveled the Caribbean on a forty-foot, eighteenth century designed schooner with some girlfriends and an Italian Captain named Gianni, also known as Son-of-the-Sea. A nickname earned by his ability to woo oceanic creatures and single handedly manage a four man ship.

Captain Gianni

We sailed the American Virgin Islands starting in St. Croix, visiting St. Thomas, and finally anchoring in an isolated cove off the shore of St. John, a breathtaking unspoiled rock.


Wasn’t smooth sailing either, we pushed through a soul-refining storm determined to feed us to Poseidon, skipped daily showers to conserve water, and rationed meals, just in case. We also watched tear jerking sunsets while Italian opera blared in the background, observed the Son-of-the-Sea partake in games of tag with schools of barracuda, and slept under a zillion diamond chips sparkling in the pitch black sky. One of the best experiences of my life.

Nikka and I couldn’t get enough of the salt-scented breeze, so we slept on deck. Everyone else snoozed in the cabin. There we were, anchored and silent in REM.


Sometime in the middle of the night, bells chimed. I opened my eyes. Another sailboat anchored nearby. As I crawled from my dreams, I noticed a crew of men descending the vessel onto a dingy, which then headed in our direction.

My skin numbed. I sprung up and screamed, “Gianni! Gianni!”

Nikka woke up, spotted the sea thugs, and yelled, “No!”

Within seconds Captain Gianni emerged. “Lorelei, what is it?”

“Pirates!” I turned and pointed at…nothing. The ship, the dingy, the terrifying crew had all vanished.

Nikka’s mouth fell open. She stumbled to the side of the boat in disbelief.

Captain Gianni nodded and said, “You two witnessed a ghost ship. They’re common.”

Even stranger, Nikka and I had identical sightings and described in specific detail the dark bandana around one guy’s neck and the thick, brillo like mustache of another. Truth be told, when we realized what had happened, it was exhilarating.

Years later, in fact, not long ago, I attended a fundraiser with my husband. The speaker, the brave and engaging Captain Phillips, had inspired a movie of the same name about his endurance during a hostile pirate siege. He shared several stories.

Captain Phillips1

Naturally, I couldn’t pass up an opportunity to discuss ghost ships. The abandoned but tangible vessels wrapped in seaweed, floating wherever the wind blew, and those of a supernatural form, spontaneously visible beyond the veil that divides life and the unsettled dead.


Interested in connecting? Find links on my website:

From Life to Paper

Last trip home to Chicago, I visited one of my childhood neighborhoods. This particular area was special to me because we spent more years there than any other place we’d lived. Four or five, I think. Plus, I ran with a pack of memorable kids. Together we caused premature aging in every adult who’d witnessed us jumping rooftops, smoking cigarettes at the ripe old ages of nine and ten, and carting off dead animals–hamsters, birds, a feline or two, whatever lifeless creature we came across–to our makeshift pet cemetery, which happened to be some unknowing person’s plush back yard.

The other unforgettable aspect about this time was our apartment. We lived in a three flat, on the third floor, beneath the attic. The running rumor was, a man had hanged himself in the attic, and on full moons he could be seen in the circular window, dangling from his noose. I’m not sure what the moon had to do with it. Better lighting?

Anyhow, even as a child, the idea of ghosts didn’t frighten me. I always seemed to handle the matter quite simply, you died and stuck around or went somewhere else. So the attic became my clubhouse, my peaceful refuge from the chaotic world. I’d bounce on the old queen size mattress in front of the window, climb the wood beams, and play with a family of cats who resided in the attic. I even named them. The three I recall were, Sweetsauce, Gray, and Midnight.

Later the attic would inspire a short story titled: Girl in the Attic, a somber tale about a young girl with an extrasensory gift and a body succumbing to leukemia. In 2008 the story was published in Doorways Magazine, issue 6.

Before my last visit, I hadn’t seen the apartment for at least two decades. As an artist, per se, it was interesting to see what the illustrator created, based on what I extracted from my mind’s eye, stored from reality. Did that make sense?

Girl in the Attic art by Azim Akberali

childhood apartment 2
Home, Sweetest, Home

Another notable crossover from the attic to the page… a cat reimagined on Abigail’s shirt.

To all of us devoted to our cubicles, studios, offices, or glued to a computer, maybe this post can serve as a reminder to get out once in a while and soak up the goings-on around us. Feed the brain and the subconscious in hopes we might better enrich our art forms.

Ghost Hunting

For a while now, I’ve been meaning to transfer some of my older, paranormal related blogs/images to this site. For fun’s sake, and since I write paranormal, call it creative continuity.

This feels like a good start…

On tour with the McLennan County Paranormal Investigative Team. No ghostly activity this night, but we did film a few orbs.

ghost hunting 2012


Hello there. I’m Author Lorelei Buckley. This is where you’ll find me when I need a break from writing fiction. I’m not a prolific blogger, but at the very least I’ll try to adhere to once a month postings. I’m new to WordPress, so many of my older Godaddy blogs will eventually be transferred here.

Mainly, I write contemporary, paranormal romance novels. Sensual, modern day ghost stories orchestrated by imperfect people struggling with extrasensory gifts and tripping on the sharp bends in the roads they’re compelled to travel. I like my characters gritty and troubled with plenty of heart and a touch of wonderment. The result of broad experiences, lots of travel, various occupations, and the cultural diversity of growing up in Chicago. Other influential paraphernalia include Alfred Hitchcock, The Twilight Zone, and the adrenaline rush of rollercoasters.

If you’ve found this blog by way of then you’re probably aware of my last novel Direct Strike. If not, be sure to check it out. Direct Strike is a great introduction.

Meanwhile, I’m shopping my next completed manuscript, getting ready for the release of my Midnight Road series, and working on Second Strike, the sequel to Direct Strike (updated 7-20-15).

When I’m not working, I’m just living life…paranormally.