As soon as Eve rolled out her blog idea on odes to stationary, I was totally onboard. I’ve loved paper--pretty paper—since forever. This
includes a whole desk full-to-bursting of gorgeous thank you notes, delicate
handmade stationary, and dozens of little bags full of lovely confetti that look so fabulous until you’re the one to open the letter and it dumps all over your floor.

I could talk all day about what I love about gorgeous stationary, but  today I want to dish on a type of paper that might not get as much
airtime—diaries. Pretty diaries. 

Diaries by their very nature harbor secrets. They conjure thoughts of clandestine activities and illicit appetites. I mean, if a particular thought or recounting of events was fit for general consumption it sure as hell wouldn't be written in a private book, right?

I kept a variety of lovely bound forms from my pre-teen years into early college, but I didn't call them all diaries. They were my "journals" - as though using that moniker made them more legitimate. Or maybe less juvenile. Oh, how I freakin' loved those pages. The freedom they gave me to pour my heart out without the fear of shame or embarrassment. Writing in them massaged my creativity, strengthened my aptitude for expression, and allowed me a space to burn off some steam.

When I re-read them from a distance now (the one's I didn't throw away, dammit), I find myself simultaneously amused, bemused, and quite frankly, appalled. I tell myself that the angst that often leaps off those pages will help me to understand and empathize with my eleven year old daughter in a few short years. Because don't we forget what it's like to be a teenager suffering from unrequited love? Don't we forget the overwhelming insecurities of being on the outside of a group of whispering girls, or freaking out about the latest acne flare-up when prom is only days away?

Though I'd spend a lot of time in the store selecting just the right one that spoke to me (one of them sported a lovely inked hardcover of "Scream" by Vincent Van Gogh - do you think that one in particular is full of angst? *snort*), my "journals" were more than lovely jackets on a shelf (or tucked under the mattress). They offered me a safe place to  express my self-doubt and disappointments, but sometimes I wonder if it's not a sad reflection that I didn't have anyone close enough with whom to share those very thoughts. In my novel COME HELL OR HIGH DESIRE, a hunt for a missing diary not only brings my hero and heroine closer together, but its existence causes my heroine's best friend to wise-crack that someone who keeps a journal obviously doesn't have any of the if-you-re-in-jail-I'm-in-jail type of friends.

Looking back, that was probably true of me in high school. I've always kept my deepest fears and insecurities in a headlock (dude, what an apt analogy), not wanting to burden anyone or be a downer. I'm wired to show people nothing but the happy in me.

Then a man came into my life.

He instinctively knew how to read me, even when I didn't want him to. I haven't written in any form of journal since I met him (unless you count my kids' baby books - which are all gorgeous specimens, albeit a little sketchily filled in). I guess that particular thirst for catharsis went away. When he became my husband, I see that he also became my living diary. A diary...with benefits.  :)

So now, I fill my need for lovely paper with linen-bound notepads and ribbon-bedecked magnetic grocery lists. I've traded angst for domesticity, but my love for pretty paper has never gone away.

How about you? Step on up to the mic and share your thoughts on diaries. Have you ever kept one? If so, do you still have it? Is it pretty?

So earlier this month I was all "I know, I have a spare couple of hours - why, I think I'll clean my windows!"

And the next morning I came downstairs to find this:

Hopefully you can make out the spookily fascinating yet slightly yucky impression that a bat left after hurling itself full pelt at my beautifully cleaned window!

To be able to see the bat's ears, eyes, snout and wings like that... it had to have hit hard. Shocked, I unlocked the back door and went outside, convinced the little fellow would be lying dead on the ground, under the window. Thankfully there was nothing there. Perhaps some other creature of the night had taken it.

The bat must have made quite the sound as it hit the window. Made me kind of glad I'd had the TV turned up for company the night before. Hubby was on a lad's night out and I was on my own.

If I'd heard the sound, would I have felt compelled to investigate? Truthfully, I'd probably have remained inside - desperate to avoid even a whiff of appearing TSTL. Nobody does the 'curiously throwing open the door and stepping out into the black night to investigate a noise' anymore, do they? We've all seen the "Scream" films.

These days (and nights) it's rare to exist in complete silence. But then there's always the witching hour, right? When the streets become quiet and most everybody is in bed. That's when the real silence kicks in, the type of silence that heightens your senses. Making you alert to the tiniest noise. The house settling. The tick of the downstairs clock. The hum of the refrigerator. The deep sleep rhythm breathing from the person you share your bed with. And, please tell me someone else hears this, or I'm going to have to add being tested for special gifts to my To Do list - the drone that electrical sockets emit.

If these base level noises already seem louder and more sinister late at night then there are a few more noises, that if thrown in, are guaranteed to make my heart explode in my chest with fright.

They include, but aren't limited to:
1) The rustling sound of that screwed up piece of paper relaxing in the waste paper basket.
2) The banshee-like scream from a sudden gust of wind whistling down the chimney.
3) The eerie sound of foxes baying.
4) The rattle of my side gate as the neighbourhood tomcat scrambles up and over it.
5) The sound of the bad man whispering nursery-rhymes off key!

Okay, that last one I've not heard in the middle of the night. Well, not since I was a kid, and made the mistake of telling my brother about a scary, scary film I'd seen!!!

What sends your heart into your throat when it goes bump in the night? Leave me a comment at the end of my post and 'like' my facebook page:
 https://www.facebook.com/EveDevonAuthor

At the end of the hop, I'll choose someone from the list to win a $10 Amazon Giftcard :)

And if you would like a thrilling read with a touch of the scare factor this Halloween, then try my Entangled Ignite release: The Waiting Game  

Five years ago a madman stalked her. Kidnapped her. Tattooed her.
When security expert Cameron Dexter - the man Brooke Bennet once loved - appears unexpectedly at her door with terrifying news, the former musician discovers she can no longer hide from her past. After five years, a vicious kidnapper is out of prison and on the hunt - for Brooke.
Now he's returned to complete his art.
Cam failed to protect Brooke once before.. Now he'd rather die than let her be captured. With her life at stake, Cam vows to keep her hidden and safe. Brooke, however, is done with running. Unlike Cam, she wants to stand and fight. Emotions both old and new roil between them, but addressing their heated past must wait. Together they set a trap in London to catch a killer. But they soon discover the enemy wears many faces...
And waiting is no longer an option.