Excerpt
I, the mysterious Mistress Claire, clutch the collar of my aubergine cloak more tightly against my ivory throat while my silken, vermillion tresses undulate on the fog-laden breeze that slips across the bracken moors as my tortured heart and vaunted emotions wrestle with the complexities of the choice that lies before me.

Should I go to the party with Shelly or not?

If I go, Mother will be in high alt and start planning a wedding, but I may be demoralized at the spectacle that probably awaits me—namely Shelly hooking up with some slavering satyr while I continue to cling to an outmoded virtue no one really wants anyway.

But if I don’t go, I’ll sit home, heaping recriminations upon my lowly head and forcing myself to gaze down the long, bitter path of my spinsterhood, waiting until the grim reaper is nigh—while my mother makes my life miserable in the meantime.

The brisk wind suddenly shifts and emits an eldritch wail, the feeble sun disappears behind racing black clouds, the violins weep…and still I know not what to do. Sinking down, sacrificing the delicacy of the fabric of my cloak, of the frailty of my knees, I cry out to Providence for direction.

Wouldst Thou bringest me a gentleman of means (employed), fair to look upon (okay, maybe just passable), and help me to avoid the path of temptation to find him? In fact, if You wouldst place him upon a noble white steed and have him appear over yonder hill, that would workest for me.

My cell phone rings. Blowing out an annoyed breath, I fumble for the phone and answer it to hear my mother shrilly say, “Claire Parnell, Shelly called and said you haven’t returned her calls. There’s apparently some event she wants you to attend tonight? An event with eligible males?”

Ambushed! I have avoided Shelly’s calls for a reason, but leave it to my mother to horn in on the issue.

“Alright, I’ll call her back.” Later. I disconnect and shove the Evil Instrument of Technology into my pocket and sigh as my ludicrous, yet somehow poignant fantasy fades before the glare of reality—namely Langston, Washington where I live with my mother in genteel poverty.

The real issue at hand is the fact that I am a wimp. In olden times, that may have been an attractive feature of a lady. These days, spinelessness is only helpful if one is a congressman. But how to change? How to be brave, to put off the mantle of wimpiness and take charge of my future? I shouldn’t let my mother bully me into anything. I Am Woman! I am brave and resourceful!

My momentary exultation fades. I am not. That’s the problem.

The facts always intrude on my little imaginings; namely that I’m stuck in a dead-end florist job, am several night classes away from my degree, am unwilling to part with my unassaulted scruples, and am still living with mother…hell—o! Reality bites, and then some. I exhale and look around. Instead of a gloomy castle rising from an eerie fog in all its macabre glory, anemic sunlight shines on the quirky little shops peeping through the dappled abundance of trees of Langston Park where I’m walking.

Okay, God, You know I’m just being silly, but I really need Your wisdom. Surely I don’t have to plumb the depths of dissipation to find a decent male in this town. Shelly says she knows a few doctors will be there, but who says they’re not dissipated? Could You help me? I know Mother is trying her hardest—and she also has doctor on the brain—but that’s her plan, not mine—and between You and me, I could do without it.

I sigh, thinking of my ambitious mother.

Go easy on her. She means well. She only wants the best.

Ha. That’s just a cover. I think she has a Dark Plan to make you lock yourself in your room and slowly lose your mind.

Um, too late.