These days I’ve got psychics on the brain, because the characters in my new work-in-progress series are exactly that. Book one is complete and out to submission (fingers crossed), and I’m well into book two, which has taken kind of a creepy turn thanks to the fact Halloween is once again right around the corner. Yep. Ghosts have entered the picture. And a serial killer. And — wait, I’m not supposed to be telling y’all any of that yet!
Point is, I’m fascinated by all of the research I’ve been doing into the topic of psychics and psychic abilities. Do I believe in psychics? Well, sure. I wouldn’t be writing about them otherwise. But I’ve also grown pretty skeptical about them over the years. Like pretty much everyone on planet earth, I’d love to have advance knowledge of events so I can exploit it to win the lottery, find my soul mate, know when to go to the doctor, and know what career path is going to reap happiness and success. But I also think there are probably a lot of charlatans out there taking advantage of people desperate to know that information in these uncertain times.
Okay, I admit it. I’ve used the services of a psychic in the past, uh, once or twice — when I was much younger and curious. This one psychic had been featured on some forensics TV shows, so I figured that gave him some legitimacy. He was dead on about some things, and dead wrong about some others. For instance, he knew I was a writer — he could tell by my erratic finances, which he said were always up and down (snort) — but he also told me I’d go to New Orleans during Mardi Gras, get inspired to write a book about the place which would later get published, and oh yeah, I’d also meet my future husband while there. He would be older. The psychic thought my future hubby's name was John. The kicker was this was supposed to happen within 10 months — and that was about 10 years ago. Still single. Never been to New Orleans either. John, are you reading this? Call me.
A few years ago, I was given a real "fluff" assignment at the newspaper where I worked. A pet psychic had written a book we were going to feature for Halloween on our “pets” page. I was set to interview her by phone. Well, all righty then. I called her — she was, I think, based in Los Angeles — and one of the first things I asked her was, “Can you offer any proof to our readers that you’re psychic?” She invited me to email her a photo of my cat, which I did while she held on the line. A few minutes later, she freaked me the heck out when she said something that amounted to, “Your cat says you’ve been going through a lot of papers lately — like thumbing through papers, throwing them in the floor, making a mess in her space. She wishes you would stop. She says, 'Tell her to stop throwing junk in MY floor.'” At the time, I had been in de-clutter mode at home, going through old boxes of college papers and newspapers and junk I had kept for whatever reason. Okay, that was eerie. She continued on with my free reading. She said my cat was showing her a photograph of a man placed on the wall beside where my cat liked to take naps, and he was dressed in a policeman’s uniform. Was he my husband? Because my cat really loved him. Uh...actually I think she was referencing an old photo of my dad placed in the hallway. He'd been a cop for 32 years, and he was in uniform in the picture I'd framed. And yes, my cat LOVED him because he fed her lots of kitty treats whenever he saw her.He was putty in her paws.
Funny thing is, my dad’s name is John. Coincidence? Or just weird? Hmmm.
What about you? Do you believe in psychics? Have you ever visited one? Tell me your stories in the comments below. You never know. They might inspire book three of my new series!