The Inspiration For May Elizabeth Trump

The Inspiration For May Elizabeth Trump

When I first came up with the idea for Dead Medium I was sitting in the living room of a stranger. The television had been switched on just for my own amusement and I had been left to sit there alone. Well not alone exactly, there was an elderly woman sitting in an armchair in the corner knitting. She said not a word to me but looked up at me and smiled on a few occasions before returning her attention to her task at hand.It was the only time I can remember agreeing to take my mother to see a clairvoyant. She was upstairs in an unseen room with a woman in a baggy tracksuit, whom I saw only fleetingly on my arrival. The television had failed to grab my attention so I started to imagine what mystical events were occurring above my head. I could envision my mother sitting at one end of a small table in a dimly lit room. The psychic jogger was sat opposite her surrounded by ghosts all of which were jostling for position around her. Pushing and shoving each other, even overlapping in places as they all tried to grab the attention of the athletic medium.I began to realize that if a living person needed the aid of a clairvoyant to contact the dead then surely it was likewise on the flip side of the coin. If ghosts were freely capable of speaking with the living then we would hear them far more often than we reportedly do. Even if they were merely talking among themselves, wouldn’t we occasionally overhear them as we quietly crept down the stairs in the small hours to fetch a glass of water. A further thought occurred to me: if ghosts also needed the aid of a gifted individual, why did it necessarily mean that they had to still be alive. Was there no such thing as a dead medium? Eventually my mother reappeared from the depths of mystical re-enlightenment with a wide grin, an old cassette tape and an empty purse. I bade farewell to the old woman in the corner who looked up at me and smiled again. The square of wool between her knitting needles seemed no bigger than it had been when I arrived; it was as if she had been merely rubbing two sticks together the whole time I was there. On the journey home I listened to my mother’s rendition of what she referred to as a reading. I couldn’t help analysing her every word and compiling far less fantastical reasons than she, for that which she experienced in the unseen room. It was at that exact moment May Elizabeth Trump appeared in my mind, wagging a bony finger and complaining about how gullible some people could be. I consider myself an open minded cynic. I believe that there is something more beyond the curtain of death but I find it hard to accept the validity of the vague or circumstantial evidence that some people claim to be undeniable proof of life after death. May Elizabeth Trump on the other hand had a firmer view on things; she didn’t believe in anything that she couldn’t poke her umbrella at. She was a hard nosed cynic and the perfect candidate to become the main character in my début novel: Dead Medium. B9raLkKIIAAsvm-

SNEAK PREVIEW! Just Medium, The Sequel To Dead Medium: Not Your Average Ghost Story.


The Spin-Off Sequel To The Dark Comedy Best Seller

Dead Medium: Not Your Average Ghost Story


It felt like waking up but her head was clear, there wasn’t the fuzzy awareness that she’d become accustomed to. Her mouth didn’t feel dry and her chin was free of residue, left behind by her usual nocturnal drool. She didn’t feel queasy yet hungry at the same time. She didn’t have an overpowering urge to drink coffee. She felt as if she’d just woken up, but she hadn’t. She would never wake up again, at least not from a state she would normally consider sleep. She would never need such sleep to wake from, there were many things that she would no longer need.

Doreen Wilson knew she was dead, it had been expected. In fact, her local G.P had been surprised by her capacity to linger on for so long. Doreen hardly considered spending three years trapped within her own bed as living anyway. Forever plugged into respirators and heart monitors, with little strength to move and the nagging dread that her every breath would be her last, scared her more than death ever could. Now it was all over. No more medication, no more hourly injections, no more machines squeezing every last ounce of life out of her frail, dying body.

She stood over her bed and looked upon what was nothing more than an empty shell. Her skin was so thin it was almost transparent. It clasped her bones like tightly wrapped cling film. Her face was gaunt and pale. Her eyes were sunk deep within their sockets and were shrouded in shadow. They looked pained but Doreen had not suffered in her passing. It was probably the cocktail of medication they had pumped into her veins that had saved her from any discomfort but she chose to see her death as a release from such bodily restraints. She had been trapped by life and now she was free. She could move, she could breathe without labor. There was no pain in her joints and, to her own surprise, her feet no longer felt numb and lifeless. She was dead, she harbored no doubt in this regard, but she felt more alive than she’d felt in years. A sense of elation flooded through her. I had feared death. I had expected a curtain to fall on my existence, a last act and the end of the show. She’d often wished that some kind of existence would follow death but had ultimately considered it a false hope. She still existed but most importantly she was still herself. She still had her memories and the same personality; she had lost nothing but the withered body that had imprisoned her.

I’m still me!” She punched her fist into the air as she cried out her name. “I am Doreen Wilson and I’m still me!”

Release Date: TBA

Dead Medium: Not Your Average Ghost Story
The deathly silence is about to be broken. She disliked the company of others and death did little to warm her spirit. She had led an independent life and she faced death in much the same way. She was finally alone, finally free from the mindless babble of others, at least that’s what she thought. May Elizabeth Trump was the rarest of spirits and she was none too happy about it either. She was a dead medium, a ghost who can speak with the living, and her services were to become in great demand. Flung into the limelight and smothered with unwanted attention, May soon discovers that it is not only ghosts with long awaited messages that have taken an interest in her. Something dark was lurking in the shadows, stalking her. Even the dead are not left to rest in peace. Dead Medium: A humorous, character driven story and a unique vision of life after death. Not your average ghost story.
(Just Medium is a work in progress and subject to change. )

Coming Soon! A Debut Suspense Thriller: Bad Memories By Douglas Sandler

Bad Memories By Douglas Sandler

Who is murdering who in Millersburg? John Miller was a doctor at Allendale Asylum. He was sure he didn’t kill three people with the wrong dosage, but the screams haunt him still. The thriller gives you a tangled web of love, abuse, betrayal, double-cross and manipulative people. Miller’s wife Julie dated Doctor Younger but dumped him to marry John Miller.

Douglas Sandler profile

Douglas Sandler born April 13, 1967 in Brooklyn, NY lived there till 1973 then moved to Woodbridge, Illinois where he lived 1973-1975 then to East Northport, NY and lived there 1975-1979. He then moved to Lilburn, Ga. in 1979 where he lived till 1995 when he moved to Metairie, LA till 2000 when he finally moved to Panama City, Florida. He is a abstract realism painter who paints his images of mental illness. Served in the United States Navy 1984-1986 honorible discharge as a YN3.

He has an A.A History from Gulf Coast Community College in Panama City, FL May 2010 and an A.A.S. Paralegal/Legal Assistant from Gulf Coast State College May 2012 and is currently enrolled at Florida State Univ. Panama City, FL. He suffers from Adult ADHD, inner presonal/occupational disorder and scizotypal personality disorder and is a mental health/disibility activist.

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