Welcome to Munsonville: A Quick Tour of a Fictional Fishing Village in Northern Michigan

In 1985, I had an idea for a vampire story, that I never started writing with any real progress and persistence until the fall of 2007.

That story has expanded into titles for people of all ages, and most (but not all) feature a supernatural theme.

You know the expression "all roads lead to Rome?"

Well, in the BryonySeries, all roads eventually, somehow, lead back to Munsonville, the main setting for the books.

Munsonville is a fictional fishing village in  Beulah County, Northern Michigan. It was founded by Owen Munson (the equally fictional Scottish/Italian mill owner) in 1875 and has not progressed much through the years. 

The illustration at the bottom of this post gives you an aerial view of the drive into the village. The entrance is also the best exit out, if you're able to leave, that is.

It's not just the villagers who get stuck. So, apparently, do my handful (less than ten) of super loyal readers, who can't let the characters go. When they finish one book, they eventually circle back to an older one, while waiting for me to scribble out yet another.

Now Daniel did create driving directions from Chicago to Munsonville, but I wouldn't travel to Munsonville that way. Use your imagination instead. It's bound to be more accurate.

Now as you leave reality and enter Main Street, you'll pass a large, smiling fish on a dented sign that reads: Munsonville. Population: 386. Everyone Welcome Here. 

You'll see shiny blacktop, plank sidewalks, and weathered brick buildings on your left, and Sue's Diner and the fishing cabins to your right.

The painted wood signs on the buildings read Village Hall, Joe's General Store, Harper’s Grocery, Dalton’s Dry Goods, Walker’s Apothecary, and Munsonville Public Library. 

Past the store buildings is Munsonville Inn, which has a three-story turret. 

Sitting further back is Munsonville Congregational Church, a cream-colored, clapboard building with arched windows and an ornate steeple.

Munsonville School, a three-story, redbrick building, is the last building in the row. 

Lake Munson is the "back yard" to Sue's Diner and the fishing cabins. 

A house-lined hill is to the far left, behind the shops, etc.. The hill has only three streets: Pike Street, Blue Gill Road, and Bas Street. All are named for early settlers. 

The houses were built in graduated sizes; the small, four-room houses are at the bottom; the largest houses - a salt box, a colonial, and a Queen Anne - are at the top. 

Beyond the houses is Munsonville Cemetery and the woods. Again, you'll want to avoid the woods.

Now if you continue East on Main Street, you will drive straight into Simons Woods. Deep into the woods and at the top of a hill is a playground and community garden. 

That space is the former the estate of renowned nineteenth century pianist and composer John Simons, who married Bryony Marseilles, a village girl, shortly before the turn of the twentieth century. Bryony died giving birth two years later. It's the village's claim to fame even though John left town shortly after Bryony's birth and never returned, so "they" say.

If you drive into the woods anyway, you should reach the other side, Evansville, in an about an hour, if you're fortunate.

But I don't recommend traveling through those woods.

Welcome to Munsonville!

Illustration by Jennifer Wainwright for the BryonySeries website.

Dubstep Piano on the lake - Radioactive - With William Joseph - 4K

A House Full of Stories: Part One

Anyone who's ever had a conversation with me probably knws my penchant for telling stories. Ask me a question, and I will probably have a story to go with it.

Take the items in my house. Just about every one has a story behind it and warm memories of the people in my life. And this is very true when it comes to photographs and artwork. 

When we could save very few items from our house when we lost it in 2013, I'm glad we saved photographs and artwork, even though I have happily acquired a few more pieces over these past few years.

On Saturday, Jasmine and Rebekah spent some time sorting, separating, and even hanging some of said photos and artwork. 

Here is what they accomplished so far (Jasmine is coming back on Saturday to hang some more) and the stories behind each piece.

Before the era of smart cameras, framed photos were often given as gifts or placed on flat surfaces to keep loved ones close.

Jasmine arranged some of those photos on top of the bookshelves. If you ever visit me, I can tell you the story behind each one.

One tradition in our home that we missed during the nine months we lived with my parents and during the years we lived at The Birches in Joliet was our icon wall/prayer corner.

The reason we never created one there is because we only had one long, deep closet for storage. To go through pictures, icons, and photo books was an arduous process of removing everything from the closet into the living room and putting it all back.

We also have A LOT of icons (and they all have a story). I won't tell them all here. 

But Jasmine did ask if I had any that I especially wanted hung. I wanted the most unusual ones on the wall, and then she could pick from there.

This is what she created.

And then she arranged our "family icon tree." Each icon represents a patron or favorite saint of Ron, me, and all nine children (biological and step).

In Channahon, I displayed them over the archway between the living room and the dining room.

Jasmine arranged them here.

Now for the lake art.

When Rebekah, Daniel, and I had moved into the larger townhome in 2019 at The Birches, I had a long wall - so I put a nice lake painting on my wish list.

I wound up with three. 

The one below, an Old Calendar Christmas present on January 7, 2020, was too heavy to hang on the wall, so it hung out on my grandmother's dresser (another story). In fact, that wall above it was the "wish wall," and it stayed blank the entire time I had the room.

But that same painting now looks terrific on the wall between my bedroom and Rebekah's bedroom:

The second, also from Timothy and also an Old Calendar Christmas present on January 7, 2020, hungh above my closet door in the former bedroom.

It now hangs between the doors of my new walk-in closet and my bathroom.

The last painting was also an Old Calendar Christmas gift and also from Timothy, but for January 7, 2021, in a final attempt to find a lighter piece to hang on that wall (the wall had brick behind it, so it was difficult to hang a picture).

However, work grew busy for all of us. That painting stood between my grandmother's dresser and my closet until the day I moved.

And, yes, I had to move the painting every time I opened the closet door. The original Bertrand the Mouse is seen guarding it.

It now looks very nice over my pretend fireplace. The dresser to the right belonged to Ron's mother, who died the year before I met her. That dresser is one of my most treasured pieces.

See the pillow at the foot of the bed? That's for Faith, my calico, who wouldn't stay off my pillows. So now she has one of her own.

The fake fireplace was a gift from Timothy when Rebekah, Daniel, and I moved into that larger townhome in 2019.

I wanted a fireplace. They did not.

So Timothy bought one for my bedroom.

The leprechaun doll was made for me by a dollmaker I'd interviewed (I ordered and paid for one after the story ran in The Herald-News). This doll has a story all its own for another time.

The blue poncho was a gift from a beautiful lady (now in heaven). That has a special story behind it, too.

Even the gray sweatpants were a gift - from Rebekah.

Oh, and the cat print blanket? Jasmine and Rebekah made it for me - but Faith claimed it.

Onward to my bathroom art.

This first piece was a print I won at a Halloween event at the former middle school in Channahon (now Pioneer Path School). 

A local dentist turned magician for special events put on a spectacular production in the school gym. Ron insisted we all attend, because he wanted us to see how special Halloween was in Channahon. We had only lived there two weeks.

And then I got a nap and got up to deliver newspapers.

I bought this "cancer the crab art" from Spencer's Gifts either in high school or college. I framed it early in my marriage (1981 most likely), and I've hung it in the bathroom ever since.

And here is the art on context with each other and with the waterscape shower curtain (with seahorse and shell hooks), which Sarah sent me for my birthday.

On the opposite wall are the four waterscapes Jasmine painted for my birthday.

All the scented soap on the right (stacked on the middle shelf) were all gifts. I'm slowly using them.

Finally, Timothy bought this beautiful photograph of the Twelve Apostles that Robert Hafey shot when he was in Australia.

Bob's art show at the Book and Bean Cafe in Joliet was one of the last events I attended before the COVID-19 pandemic shut down the world.

It's the first piece anyone sees coming up the third step of stairs.

It goes very nicely with the boat art in the hall.

And that is all: for now.

So everywhere I look, I see reminders of the wonderful people in my life - and feel love.

Their love for me.

My love for them.

The Perfect Birthday Gift: A Shower Curtain

Yes, a shower curtain is a perfect birthday gift.

Especially when the recipient is sixty, loves waterscapes, and will be moving into a townhome where she will have a bathroom of her own.

One's own bathroom probably doesn't sound like a great luxury. But I raised six kids (so a total of eight people) in a house with only one bathroom.

And then when we moved to Channahon, that single bathroom was also shared with up to three stepchildren.

In fact, we never had a "two bathroom" option (and the Channahon bathroom was small - not even large enough for a bathtub. It had a tiny freestanding shower thgat blocked the tiny window) until we began The Higher Ark, a youth group for our church, and the village allowed us to put a porta potty in the backyard on a semi-permanent basis (i.e. seven years).

That porta potty was a real blessing in the last weeks when the well failed, and we had eight people in the home for two weeks without running water or septic while we rehomed everyone.

So this shower curtain...and hooks, and liner...

...and soap dish...

...for the soap Rebekah bought for me a few weeks ago as a "just because" gift...is just perfect for me.

She Took the Time to Paint a Lake

In three blog posts from 2010 here and here and here, I talk about my love for "Woods, Water, and Michigan," of which all three made their way into the BryonySeries.

I mentioned that here because Jasmine has read all three books of the BryonySeries "drop of blood" trilogy, and she understands the importance of lakes.

And ever since we moved to this townhome two years ago (we're moving again in a couple of weeks), I've wanted to fill a long wall in my room with a painting of a lake.

Since them, Timothy has bought three paintings of lakes for me.

This one for Old Calendar Christmas January 7, 2020, that fits very nicely above my closet door.

And this one that Timothy also bought that didn't fill the wall as I had hoped - and that would not stay hung because it's heavy and the wall literally has brick behind it.

Oh, yeah, and a candid of me.

Side note: dresser belonged to my maternal grandmother, who died within days of my seventh birthday at the age of sixty-four. I treasure this piece.

So this is where the painting has stayed since then (with the Larry the Llama photo bomb).

Now for this past Christmas, Timothy bought another lake painting, one that's larger and lighter:

But let's just say 2021 has been extremely busy. I do admire the painting every day when I carefully moved the painting to take clothes out of my closet and then carefully set it back into place.

The goal is to actually hang it on a real wall in the new townhome.

I also have two waterscapes from local author and photographer Robert Hafey. He gave the first one to me as a gift after we collaborated on a project together for WriteOn Joliet. 

And Timothy bought the second one for me from an exhibit Bob held at the Book and Bean Cafe in Joliet right before the pandemic.

Now when I opened Jasmine's birthday present on my sixtieth birthday on July 15, all I saw at first was this really pretty paper.

But when I moved the paper aside, I saw this:

Yes, Jasmine painted them herself.

You know, for my new bathroom, she said. And she will even help to hang them, to help ensure they actually go on an actual wallk.

"She Was The Lake"

Ed Calkins, Steward of Tara, sent me this lovely piece of "fan fiction" earlier this week, and I finally had time to read it on my birthday because I had the day off.

Ed has set this piece as after BeforeThe Blood. But as with all BryonySeries fiction, it's isn't necessary to read the other books to to follow and enjoy a particular story.

His idea is based on Bryony's bonding with Lake Munson in the fictional northern Michigan fishing vilage of Munsonville. Bryony bonds with the lake because the lake is central to the village, because her father is cold and distant, because her mother is dead.

She was the lake, and the lake was she.

From deep beyond deep, it called to her from depths, and her chest rose and fell its answer. Sometimes its waves were gentle and easy; sometimes they were short and choppy; sometimes they were rapid, harsh, and heaving with spume.

So - enjoy!

Dear MOMI,

Once again, I find myself stealing from you. Would it be OK to continue along is line with not only Susan, but Bryony as I can't seem to leave any of your characters in the graves you dig for them.

There were too many empty graves in Munsonville. Susan Betts had clawed her way through the dirt and grass, but she was not buried in the cemetery. The good Reverend would not allow the bodies of known damned planted in the same plot of earth as those just might have been saved.

“For all the good it did,” Susan thought bitterly.

If anyone wasn’t damned, it would be someone that didn’t live, someone that hadn’t died, or someone that never heard of Munsonville. You see, in that village, just like Hell itself, everyone was welcome. All the fires of Munsonville Hell lived below the streets, shops, shacks, boats, barns, and stables that proclaimed the village folk as too plain to be dangerous, too unremarkable to be monsters, too unimportant to be the hosts of Hell.

It was almost morning, and the full sun should melt her like candlewax. She didn’t care, but the heat was like the fire she had earned.

Susan.

Something called. It wasn’t him, but she ran down Blue Gill Road anyway. Anyway or anywhere, it made no difference, but she was scared and so she ran and kept running till anywhere became any road and anywhere was the mansion. She ran too fast for a lady. But now, she stood and stared at the hell that had come to her.

The Simons Mansion was not what it was. Instead it was everything it ever was. A plot of uncut trees; the scaffolds of its construction like a hundred little gallows; the palace where she labored as a servant of her friend, the old hulk of disrepair, decay, and death; The infernal scream of monstrous ruin on fire, the smoldering remains; and the empty plot of nothing; all transposed on the same spot. The greatest part of it was the empty plot, the least was its time as a palace.

This is where the bride got lost and found a locked door that she had no key for. This is where her friend left her in shame. This is where that terrible man…

Susan.

That call again! It was farther than it was at first.

“What!”

She heard her voice snap back impatiently as if she had a right to ever raise her voice.

Susan, run away. Away is lake.

Was it the trees that whispered now?

“I want to go back. I want to go to Fisher Farm. I want to be a summer sister again.”

No one lives there. Dead horses. No blood. Susan, come lake.

“Cowboy?”

Mr. Munson doesn’t ride. No one does. Come lake, Susan. Come me.

“But the Simons Mansion, why is it…”

No good, anymore. Vampires have parties there. Pain, lies, and death. Lake, Susan. Now.

“It was a palace. You were its queen.”

Someone else now. No good. Not her or him. What I am is where I am. Always is everywhere. Come now. Lake.

Knowledge pierced her undead mind.

“Bryony,” And she was there on her sandy shores. Now she could hear the voice of her former friend in full sentences as she spoke when she lived.

“Why did you leave me, Susan? Why, did you go and why did you kill yourself?”

“I never left.”

“You left before you went somewhere else. You never talked with me, not really. If you had, the whole thing would have been different. I lost you to shame and you were dead before you died. We should have stayed summer sisters. Failing that, I should have had you comb my hair instead of Trudi. Then, I would have also combed yours.”

“I am a dirty tramp, ma’am. Somebody tells me to do something, and I do it. That’s the way it is with a girl who lives and dies in bloody filth. Even you. You married a king, became a queen and I had to do what you say.”

“Don’t ma’am me!” Lake Munsonville darkens, threatening to storm.

But Susan was so far beyond caring.

“Ma’am because I worked for you. Ma’am because if you were my friend, you would have taken my baby instead of letting her go to the lowest bidder who was so desperate for a baby that she even could coup with the daughter of a filthy rag. If you’d have taken her, you wouldn’t have insisted on one of your own. You’d still be alive, Ma’am.”

“Fancy talk for Susan Betts,” the lake quipped. Then the waves calmed but the water darkened again. “He taught you.”

“He COMPELS me! I tried to stop him. I killed myself so he wouldn’t turn me, but somehow he did anyway. He said he couldn’t tolerate his blood whore sounding like an urban slut for the work he wants of me.”

“You don’t mean the twins, do you?”

“No. I was depressed. I was ashamed. But I would have lived despite the back and forth with the twins just to have my baby grow. But when he came to me, he made me evil. Do you know evil, Bryony? It’s not the twins’ they’re just hungry. Evil is when the only time it feels is when it hurts someone. Nothing else matters. That’s him. That’s what he’s going to make me when he finds where I’ve gone but I’ve nowhere to go. Kellen Wechsler is a powerful vampire and maybe the Devil himself, but now he’s my master. I can’t be friends with you Ma’am because I am to torment the son of his playthings. He wants your baby to punish John Simons for his disobedience and I have to obey.”

“To be fair, it was the King that refused your baby.”

“Because his husband master made him,” Susan mocked trying to hate the only friend she ever had.

“Perhaps, if you mean, John Simons but Henry Mathews is the father who is also his husband master. None of that worries me. The child was saved by all my many friends who fear nothing and are indifferent to the plans of vampires, ghosts, or devils. It was the trees that saved him, and you shall not harm him even if you must. You could forget all of that. You can forgive me for what I did as Bryony, and I shall forgive all you’ve done as Susan. But will you forgive what I do as Lake Munsonville?”

“What will you do as a lake that’s so terrible?”

“Drown all of the men.”

“You were Bryony then. You were as sad as I was.”

“Susan Betts, put your back to me and tell me what Munsonville looks like.”

Susan tried to comply but once her back was to the water, all she could see was the changing; the same thing she saw when she looked to the mansion.

“It’s always changing. It’s the same, but it’s always different. I don’t know.”

“And now look at me. Am I not always changing too.”

Of course she was, but always there was a limit and regularity to the change. The lake swelled and retreated, froze over and melted, grow choppy and calmed.

“I was once not Bryony, then I was but I was still the lake. One day, I shall wash the sins of the village and drowned everything that is not forest. I do not feel sad when I drown people. I bring them to where they live in my belly. Come inside me, Susan. Your master will never find you and I will never give you up.”

“What about the men that live in your belly, do they have to do what you say?”

“They don’t do anything at all, nor do the fish or the weeds. They just are, Susan. In my belly you will not call me Ma’am and of the men that still fish on top of me, you can whisper to me who I should take and who I should spare. We can be friends again. We shall be indifferent to the place that didn’t love you enough.”

“But you’re cold and I’ll drown.”

“You don’t have to breath anymore. You’ll like the cold once you get used to it. Vampires hide in deep water all the time. Come, Susan. I can’t comb your hair, but I can wash you clean. You’ll never feel ashamed in my belly. Just swim to my center and I’ll pull you in. Stay with me, Susan.”

And for the first hundred years as a vampire, that’s what Susan Betts did.

The Artwork in my Room

Ever since we moved again last October, I've had room to hang some of my artwork.

And during the last few weeks, Timothy has been gradually hanging it for me. Here's what's up so far.

Directly above my desk are all five frontispieces Christopher Gleason created for Before the Blood and the view of Main Street as one enters Munsonville, which was created by Jasmine's sister,w hom I only know as Jenni.

Lake Munson is a fictitious lake in Munsonville in the BryonySeries. it's show to the right of Main Street in the center photo.

This is my miscellaneous BryonySeries all to my left. At the top left is a promo print my mother framed for events after we released the first book in The Adventures of Cornell Dyer series.

Going clockwise, Sue Midlock, the artist for the Cornell Dyer series, gave me this found piece of art because she thought it looked very "Bryony."

Beneath that, is a concept piece for Visage that Christopher Gleason created as a gift. We actually used it as a cover for a special holiday edition of Visage when Matt Coundiff had back surgery and couldn't finish the artwork in time.

Finally, the last piece Cindy created "with" Bertrand the Mouse in honor of last year's birthday. Below this photo is a close-up of the note Cindy helped Bertrand to write.

This is a copy of "Lake Munson," which hangs directly over my large closet, which I can see to my left when lying in bed reading.

This painting and the one below this one were Christmas gifts from Timothy

This last copy of "Lake Munson" is very heavy and won't stay hung because it's heavy and because this wall actually has brick behind it. So for now, it's just sitting on my grandmother's old dresser.

The painting to the right is from my "paint afternoon" with Rebekah. The candle stand on the blue jar is from Lucas.

The photo bomb at the far left is Larry the Llama from the Adventures of Cornell Dyer series. Because that's, well, Larry, and he wants you to know it. Rebekah actually brought him home for me earlier this year.

Candle Sale for a Good Cause

A few months ago when Rebekah was assessing our BryonySeries candle stock (what we had left, sizes, scents, etc), she noticed some of the candles needed fresh labels.

So we reached out to Valerie Burkholder, owner of Valerie's Heavenly Scents, who had made the candles for us, and learned she was recently diagnosed with an aggressive form of lung cancer.

Although Valerie has kept us generously supplied with candles, we are actively trying to sell them all so she can have the money now, when she she most needs it.

The candles are homemade, soy, and come in a variety of sizes and five BryonySeries scents: bryony (a patchouli-like scent), purple rose, Sue's Diner (vanilla pudding), Lake Munson (ocean breeze), and Simons Woods (pine).

The candles burn very cleanly and retain the scent to the end.

The candles and I (along with my books) will be at The Book Market from 11 a.m. to 2 p.m. on March 23. The Book Market is located at 2365 Plainfield Road in Crest Hill.

If you only have money for either a book or a candle, I strongly suggest buying the candle. We will have specials for combos and multiple orders.

If you live out of the area or cannot attend the event and wish to buy a candle, message us at bryonyseries@gmail.com and we will ship candles to you.

Most of all, please send up prayers/good thoughts and wishes for Valerie. 

Thank you. :)

Music, Book, and Candle

Are you planning to read (or re-read) the BryonySeries this year?

Consider two other related products for a complete experience: a CD of ten original BryonySeries piano songs by James Onohan and a soy candle in one of five BryonySeries scents.

First, the backstory behind the CD:

After Mrs. Clements had already returned Melissa’s library card, she reached under the counter. “I almost forgot. Here’s something else you might like.” She handed Melissa a record album. “This just came.”

The top of the cover read, "The Best-Loved Compositions of John Simons," and featured a picture of the musician sitting at a piano. Melissa turned the album over to the back and blinked in disbelief. She was face to face with her grandmother’s music box.

Ladies and gentlemen, James Onohan created the CD for us. For more information on James, the music, and how to buy the CD, go HERE.

Second, we have soy candles in several sizes available for purchase in five BryonySeries scents, all created by Valeries's Heavenly Scents.

The five scents are Bryony, Purple Rose, Sue's Diner, Lake Munson, and Simons Woods.

For more information on the BryonySeries line, including sizes, pricing, and ordering, email us at bryonyseries@gmail.com.

Now try reading the series by flickering candlelight with piano music in the background.

Have a beautiful Monday, readers, writers, and vampire fans! :)

BryonySeries Throwback Thursday: Playing God

Playing God

“God said, 'Let there be light,' and there was light.” Genesis 1:3.

As a Christian, I mostly focus on “God is love.” Except for the joyful experience of carrying seven children (one at a time), I’ve only given “God as creator” a polite nod.

Then I wrote three novels.

With fiction-writing, I caught a glimpse of God’s joy to speak something into being. “Let there be Munsonville,” I cried, and lo! Munsonville was, including Simons Woods and Lake Munson. I breathed the breath of life into my characters, and they lived (and died) at my word.

Anyone who sweats long hours at the keyboard knows building an imaginary world is not that simple, nor is it done in seven days. There's writing, rewriting, editing, and more rewriting. Yet, even God’s creation is not static, but ever-transforming.

But glorious? Heck yeah!