Catriona’s Curse

by A. T. Weaver

Catriona's Curse - A.T. Weaver
Editions:Paperback: $ 19.99
ISBN: 978-1470039168
Size: 6.00 x 9.00 in
Pages: 332
Kindle: $ 3.99
Pages: 343

When Sunny Nelson walks into the house built by an ancestor at the beginning of the Civil War, strange things start happening.

First, he senses an attraction to April Davis. He hasn’t been attracted to a woman since he discovered the difference between boys and girls. Of course, as soon as he sees her brother, Jeff, he forgets April.

Later, as he works to turn the old house into a B&B, he starts having dreams and visions about people who lived in the house. Although Sunny was raised in a dual theology family, neither he nor Jeff believe in reincarnation. Through hypnosis, they and April are all regressed to past lives where they discover they have known each other before, and find out the secret of the curse placed by Catriona Davis.

Along the way Sunny and Jeff fall in love. Jeff finds Sunny’s Pagan practices and the idea of reincarnation unsettling at first, but eventually decides to accept them if he wants to be with Sunny.

Together the three search for a way to dispel Catriona’s Curse.

A question remains. Was the curse revenge or justice?

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I arrived at the house about six Tuesday evening; Jim was stripping paint from the mopboard in the library. I asked, “Is Sunny here?”

“He went toward the orchard about an hour ago with a backpack and Fetcher.”

“What’s he doing out there?”

“Sunny is the only one of us kids who still sometimes practices the Pagan rituals our mother’s mother taught us,” Jim explained. “You and April were probably raised on Mother Goose and the Brothers Grimm. We grew up on tales of Queen Maev, Connor mac Nessa and Cuchulain. Today is Mabon or the Autumnal Equinox; he’s gone to commune with the Goddess and celebrate the harvest.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I got the idea from Sunny he was Christian.


“Well, we were raised to believe in Christianity, but the family also honors the religion of our ancestors Mother’s mother taught us. We try to observe the holidays in some manner. It’s usually just in the foods we eat and the color of candles we burn, but sometimes Sunny takes it a little further, especially if something’s bothering him. Lately, something’s seemed on his mind besides remodeling. I don’t think it’s only the dreams either.”

I frowned and said, “Maybe I shouldn’t interrupt him.”

“Go on. I doubt if he’ll mind. In fact, I think he’s expecting you.”

I wondered at this because I hadn’t planned on coming out tonight. It was a spur-of-the-moment thing.

I knew it would be dark before I got back, so I grabbed the flashlight out of my car and headed across the pasture. When I got to the brook, Fetcher lay on a blanket spread on the grass. I smelled the scent of cinnamon from the candle burning on the witches’ stone. Also on the stone was a bottle of wine, two glasses and some food. Sunny stood totally nude in the middle of the brook facing away from me toward the west. In the glow of the setting sun, he looked like a god. Although I didn’t know much about Celtic gods, I seemed to remember the name Lugh as a being similar in nature to Apollo, the Greek God of Light.

Fetcher gave a soft woof as I approached and Sunny turned.

I caught my breath at the sight of Sunny’s muscular body. I thought him attractive Labor Day in his surfer trunks, but seeing him totally naked and aroused, I realized what made the front of his jeans fit so snugly. Droplets of water dripped from his hair and ran down his chest like shiny silver ribbons in the rays of the setting sun. My body responded at the sight of him. A feeling of anticipation caused my stomach to flutter.


About the Author

My real name is Julia Flowers. I am a 70+ year-old great-grandmother and live with my two cats, Cleopatra (who is 15 years old) and Kiyah the devil cat (who is not quite 2), in downtown Kansas City, MO. I either tell people I live next door to the church with the gold dome, or I live at the northwest corner of Bartle Hall. I have four children, nine blood grandkids, two extra, and one great-grandson.

Two questions I am often asked are:

1. Why a pen name and where did it come from?

When I began writing at the age of 60, I didn’t want my kids to be embarrassed by their friends knowing their mother wrote gay fiction, so I decided to make up a pen name. When I got my first computer and set up an email account I had a hard time finding a username that wasn’t already taken. I’d been a member of the Society for Creative Anachronism for several years, and my SCA name is Alisaundre Muir, and I dye, spin, and weave wool. Alix is a nickname for Alisaundre and I came up with alixtheweaver. Thinking about a pen name, I thought, ‘Weaver is a good last name’, and so I became A(for Alix) T(for the) Weaver.

2. Why would a straight great-grandmother write gay fiction?

When I was growing up, the word gay meant happy and carefree and homosexuals were called queer or ‘one-of-those’. However, I never heard those terms or knew what they meant until I was married and a mother. When two men moved in down the street from us in St. Charles, MO, I didn’t think anything about it until my then husband told me they were ‘queers’. I didn’t know what he meant.
Later on, after moving back to Kansas City in the late 1960s, two men moved across the street from us. Again, I thought nothing about it. One was an actor, and we went to several of his plays. I was later to learn that one of them was the driving force behind the gay movement in Kansas City. Of course, at the time I knew nothing at all about the LGBT Community.

In 2003, there was a TV show on Bravo called Boy Meets Boy. Having watched The Bachelor and Bachelorette and being totally disgusted, I decided it couldn’t be any worse and watched. In the middle of the show, one of the ‘contestants’ set up a Yahoo group for fans and I joined. I have to admit, my record with guessing who was gay and who was straight wasn’t all that good.

At the peak, there were over 3,000 members of the group. After the show as over, several of us continued to ‘talk’ daily. These men educated me as to the inequalities suffered by the LGBT community, and started me reading gay literature and watching movies. On a trip to see my mother in Turlock, CA, I visited one of the men in San Francisco who lived just up the street from the Castro. As he showed me around, we stopped in front of what was once Harvey Milk’s camera store. My question, “Who was Harvey Milk?” started my education into Gay history. When I mentioned I’d like to try writing. His response was, “I’d like to read a book where the boy gets the boy and they ride off into the sunset together.” I said, “I can do that.” This was in 2003 – before Brokeback Mountain, and before the advent of gay erotica.

I was unable to find a publisher who would even read my story and paid $500 to have it published. Since then, I use self-publishing. My first few books were mildly erotic, but since, I have chosen to put the sex behind the bedroom door.

I’ll never make even a little money, but if I can move you in some way, whether you laugh or cry, love it or hate it, I’ve accomplished what I aim for.

Better to write for yourself and have no public, than to write for the public and have no self. Cyril Connolly (1903 - 1974)

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