Happy Release Day: The Ghosting of Gods and Author Guest Post With Cricket Baker

Cricket Baker has kindly agreed to guest post here about her work, and share her inspiration for becoming a writer in honor of her newest release, The Ghosting of Gods.


 About The Author:

In 2001, Cricket began a journey to fulfill her childhood dream of being an author. Somewhere between raising three sons, moving 3 times, pondering the mystery of life and death, and obtaining a Masters of Education, she found time to develop her writing craft. Many seminars, workshops, and book drafts later, she found her voice with The Ghosting of Gods.
Cricket’s writing combines her appreciation of strong storytelling with a passion for haunted settings and deep spiritual questions to create fiction that is both entertaining and thought-provoking. She especially loves books which are either supernatural or dystopian, so her first novel incorporates both these genres.
In addition to working as a counselor for teens, Cricket spends time developing her next writing project as well as sharing her thoughts on writing and spirituality through her author website at http://cricketbaker.com and on her Tumblr blog, Mystical Scribbles of the Scribe, at http://cricketbaker.tumblr.com.

Find Cricket Baker on the Web:
| Official Page | Goodreads | Facebook
 Guest Post:

My inspiration for writing The Ghosting of Gods

~Cricket Baker
Poetry, Horror, God.
Those three things are the life’s blood of the supporting character Poe in my novel The Ghosting of Gods. We’re a lot alike, me and Poe. I’m in love with word play. I’m entranced with graveyards. And I’m most especially intrigued with the Mystery of all things unseen and unknown.
This is what happened. One day when I finished the last page of a novel, and grief struck the way it sometimes does when the book is so good you could die but now it’s all over, it came to me. If I write my own story, it doesn’t have to end. Not if I don’t want it to. I would be In Control. And so I remembered my childhood (childish? will people roll their eyes??) dream to write books. It’s a simple equation, really: Being in Control of What Happens = Being an Author. More specifically, being in control translated into my right to created haunted, spiritual stuff with words. As I said: poetry, horror, God.
Well, I’m not so much a poet, but I appreciate the power of arranged words. It’s thrilling–a true high–when I can write something that I think will make you (the reader) forget you’re sitting on a couch in suburbia, reading about fictional people in a make-believe world. If I can write words  just right, you’re taken away. The couch is gone. Instead, you’re standing in a dystopian landscape, gripping a crucifix and speaking Latin in a fit of anxiety. That’s cool. It’s freaking amazing to make it real for you.
Personally, nothing entices me more than a ghostly scene in which moonlight spills over a lonely road, tree branches creak in a bitter wind, and a decrepit house comes into view. Hence me creating an entire haunted world with my novel. I should clarify, though. Outright horror is no longer my thing, though I liked that when I was younger. It’s the shivery, chill-up-the-spine in the face of the supernatural that I can’t get enough of. Weirdly, lots of people are just like me in this. I bet you are. It’s inexplicable why we like to be scared. But we do.
To be honest, I avoid the word “God” in real life because it stuffs into a box what I consider to be infinitely Mysterious and Unknowable. Let’s just say I love spirituality. And to quote Gaga, I was born this way. As a small child, I stared into the night sky and knew there was MORE. I sensed it. I still do. And so stacks of books on spiritual stuff fill my house. I don’t just read them. I contemplate them. Also, hours of my day are spent on Tumblr, working my Mystical Scribbles of the Scribe blog. Needless to say, spirituality plays a large part in my writing…more important, it makes it meaningful. It makes it personal, from me to you.
Listen. The whole poetry, horror, and God thing is different. I realize that. But writing a suspenseful, twisted, creepy story that blends the haunted with the spiritual, and (hopefully!) writing it well, is my contribution to the book shelves of the world. The Ghosting of Gods is my AUTHENTIC contribution. I hope it changes you a bit after reading it.
  The Ghosting of Gods:

Title: The Ghosting of Gods

Author:Cricket Baker
Publication Date: May 31st 2013
Publisher:John Hunt Publishing

Jesse is an apprentice exorcist who defies his priests when he learns his sister is in danger even though she’s dead. When he’s exiled to a haunted world, Jesse must unravel the mystery of ghosts if he is to save her. He plunges into a deadly game of hide-and-seek. The players include denizens draped in monkish robes, ghosts with matted eyes, the dead who tunnel underground in terror, and…Elspeth.

A coven scientist, Elspeth is both respected and feared for her abnormal spiritual powers. Jesse needs–craves–the knowledge of ghosts which she possesses. Elspeth tempts him in other ways…but is she a spiritual prodigy, or dangerously insane? The coven scientist begs him to trust her. He doesn’t. But he wants to.

Caught in a world on the brink of spiritual evolution, Jesse struggles to understand Elspeth even as frightening contacts from his sister force him to face the secret, shattering meaning of a verse he knows well: Blessed are the poor in ghost.

Find The Ghosting of Gods Online:  

 Book Excerpt – Chapter 1:

 First Chapter Excerpt from The Ghosting of Gods:

My secret fear is the priests are right to doubt me.   
Cemetery. Octobre winds have piled up dead leaves to cover the names of those sleeping here, like they don’t matter. The iron gate resists me. I coax it open and knock over an abandoned lantern. It jingles, and I see that tiny bells are tied to its handle with wire. No doubt Poe placed the lantern there last night, a makeshift alarm to wake him if I showed up, but last night I was sleeping.
I ignore all the tombstones I pass so that I don’t get distracted. 
My gut tells me not to be here. But I have to act.  
A storm front seeps across the northwest sky, bruising it purple. A spiritual color. This is just the sort of weather that will entice Poe outside, to write a few lines of poetry, and then he’ll almost surely come after me.         
            Sinking to my knees, I take a steadying breath before facing my task. Her name on the stone helps to strengthen my resolve. Dead leaves stir, one in particular scratching at the carved date of Emmy’s death. I set aside my hammer, place both palms down, and feel the grass on her grave. “It’s me,” I whisper. “It’s Jesse. I’m still your big brother, and you have to listen to me. You have to come, Emmy. Now.”  Faint rumblings of thunder give way to a hush that falls over the graveyard. A pellet of hardened dirt strikes me on the cheek.
            This is how it begins.
            I make no move to shield myself as a bigger clod jiggles free from the earth to fling itself at my face. The sting of it sharpens my vision, helps me to focus on my sin so that I attract more of the dirt. Small eruptions of yellowed grass and black soil splatter my body until I’m covered in the same earth that buries my sister. This is justice.
            The tragedy, as everyone in towne calls it, happened.
Because I didn’t protect her.
            There’s dirt in my eyes. I wipe at it. My sister’s grave is a mess; little grass remains rooted. The cemetery around me fades as my hands begin to tingle. There’s a heavy calm, then the earth over my sister’s grave percolates gently. I can’t wait any longer. Pawing clumsily at the ground, I seek what I need, sifting grave dirt like a demented archaeologist.
            This is day nineteen. It started with me needing to see her, but then I realized she was trapped, in need of salvation.
I have a new plan.
I have a hammer.
            Looking around, I make sure there are no witnesses. Other visits were late at night, to be careful, but Ava and Poe take shifts during the dark hours to make sure I’m not committing transgressions when I should be sleeping. If someone does happen along, maybe they’ll believe I have good reason to be here since I’m employed by the priests. Everyone knows what I am.
A glimmer against the dark earth catches my eye. I swallow. Lean down to see better. It’s a sphere. An orb. A time capsule containing the past.
            A crystal ball.
            This is what inspires the priests with dread, I’m certain of it.
The purple storm has arrived to conceal my actions. Squinting into the blur, I hesitate. A sheet of rain blowing off the caretaker’s shed resembles the flowing robe of a priest. I consider the risk I’m taking here. The church will not forgive my attempt to unravel the mystery of ghosts. I accept this risk.
But what will do they do to my friends?


Happy reading until next time!