Spotlight on Author Glenn Maynard

In the coming months, on Monday Musings, I’ll be featuring several of my fellow authors. Our first guest, Glenn Maynard, is here to talk about his latest release, Wayward Soul.



While visiting a psychic, Carter Spence and Brenda Raycroft’s reading turns tragic. The psychic touches them, suffers convulsions, and frantically runs into the street into oncoming traffic. Their fate is sealed in a coma and they must use any means possible to reach the psychic in the spirit world as they dodge deadly complications in an attempt for answers.

They pursue the psychic’s message before she can die and take the answers they need with her. When the spirit of the previous homeowner returns, this haunting soul begins tampering with the comatose psychic.

The sequel to Desert Son takes place four years after Carter and Brenda discover they are a couple reunited beyond the grave. The spirit world becomes intertwined with their own as they attempt to tap into these secrets to uncover disturbing truths about their fate in this paranormal roller coaster that will shake your soul.


One day while walking the Pearl Street Mall, they saw a flyer on an outdoor billboard. A psychic listed her services for half-price. Brenda was the one to notice the flyer.

“Carter, check it out,” she said. “Half price readings from this psychic.”

“Wow,” said Carter. “Half price of what?”

“Sessions generally run about a hundred bucks.”

“So…fifty bucks for someone with questionable qualifications to tell us things about ourselves that we already know.”

“No, that’s not how it works,” said Brenda, softly pushing Carter. “Stop being a killjoy.”

“I’ve seen shows and heard stories about psychics who say that you have a sister named Gertrude and she has brown eyes and weighs 250 pounds. How does that help people?” Carter loved to push her buttons, and she loved to push his buttons, but he kept the ball in his court at this moment. “Why can’t these psychics come out of hiding when the bad things happen in the world? There were no psychics available when Jim Jones poured the punch, or when Son of Sam terrorized New York City. Hell, what about Osama bin Laden? With all the psychics in the world, how come none of the great tragedies were averted?”

“That’s not true,” Brenda said. “Psychics help police departments all over the world. You just don’t hear about it because they don’t report it. I don’t know…what could it hurt by us giving it a try?”

Carter hesitated for quite some time. He had his opinion, but he was not really up on the reality of the psychic. He thought about it some more and a little piece of him was curious about what it would be like to have a psychic do a reading on him.

“Half price, Carter.” Brenda began lobbying harder and mixing in a little bit of whine. “Come on…you know you want it.”

“How do you know that I want it?” Carter was laughing when he asked.

“I can see your mind contemplating. It’s churning, processing,” said Brenda.

“I can’t get away with anything with you,” Carter said. “I could just go to you for free and we’d pocket that fifty instead.”

Brenda laughed. “Tell you what,” she began, “if you don’t like it, I swear I’ll never ask you to go again. What will it hurt, huh? Maybe we’ll learn something. You never know.”

Carter smirked and reminded Brenda about the sweet part of the deal. “One time,” he said.

“Goodie!” said Brenda, clapping her hands quickly three times. She ripped one of the fringes from the bottom of the flyer, which listed the phone number, and they had an afternoon plan in place.

When Brenda called the number, she learned that the psychic’s name was Angie, she had a cancellation for her next appointment, and she was only two blocks away. Not 10 minutes had passed before Carter and Brenda came upon the hole in the wall shack, which was actually a very small house with a sign in front which read, “Psychic Readings – A Blueprint of your Life.”

The two new customers stopped, looked at each other, and raised their eyebrows, creating a mirror image. Cars were flying by in both directions on this rather busy street. According to the sign, walk-ins were welcome. They looked back at the house.

“Let’s do it,” said Carter. “We’ve come this far.” Carter noticed reservations within Brenda, but then she casually started to walk up the walkway to the house, holding Carter’s hand. When they approached, the door opened as Carter was reaching for the knocker, nearly getting the wrong knocker.

“Wow!” said Carter. “You’re good!”

“Angie.” The psychic introduced herself with a raucous chuckle. “You ain’t seen nothin’ yet.”

“And confident,” Brenda chimed in.

Carter and Brenda followed Angie into the small nook of a house and they ended up in a small den. Everything about the house was small. She invited Carter and Brenda to sit on the loveseat, then turned and sat in an old wooden chair with a blue, padded seat cushion clinging on with little strips of cloth that appeared to be aftermarket threads.

Carter began to introduce himself. “My name is… ”

The psychic jumped up from her seat and raced toward Carter, yelling, “Ahhhhhhhhhh!” She then pressed her index finger against Carter’s lips, instead of her own, and followed with “Shhhhhhhh! It would ruin my reading if I got your name,” she said with enlarged eyes. “That’s why I only accept cash. Names contaminate readings. I need a moment of silence to get tuned in to you both. No more of that. Any questions?”

Carter shifted nervously in his seat, trying hard to come up with a question. “I’d like to know… ”

“Ut!” yelled Angie. “No questions until after your reading. I told you that I don’t want any outside influences, and a question and answer session in the beginning would defeat the purpose.”

Carter sighed in slight disgust, wondering why she would ask if there were any questions. He sat silently, staring at Angie, wondering why he even came. One and done, he thought. He would never have to deal with her or anyone like her again.

Angie came off as a little abrasive, and this kept Brenda tight-lipped. Carter had never seen this side of Brenda. He looked at Angie sitting in the chair. There was a lot of energy pent-up in that little middle-aged body. She had very big brown eyes, and Carter estimated that those eyes had given Angie the gift of sight for just beyond a half-century. Her brown hair was a little bit wiry and landed near the back and bottom of her heart. It seemed to him that sitting still was a difficult task for this psychic. Carter could read into her a little as well.

Out of the corner of his eye, Carter could see Brenda’s blues locked into Angie’s browns. It was obvious that Angie commanded the room. A coffee cup smoldered on the coffee table in front of her. The walls of the room seemed to shoot out intermittent coffee mist. Carter would not have been shocked if he discovered that Juan Valdez had lived here. The well-defined wrinkles on Angie’s cheeks told of age or stress, or perhaps both. However, the initial greeting exuded a youthful energy. Her big browns opened, and then closed. They opened again, and then closed again. This time they stayed closed.

Angie opened her eyes after a minute. She jumped up and leaped in front of Carter and Brenda, startling them both and forcing them to jerk their bodies further back onto the couch. She reached out with both hands, grabbed a hand from each of them, and squeezed tight. Then she squeezed her eyes closed tighter. Carter looked down at the kneeling Angie as her eyelids fluttered and she began bellowing and talking in tongues. Carter and Brenda exchanged rapid glances. They did not know how to react. The coffee-stained air began to thicken and the oxygen level decreased. The closed shades made the room rather dark for an afternoon.

Angie suddenly went silent and her eyes jerked open wide. She looked at Brenda with a horrified look her face, the bright whites of her eyes glowing in the darkened room. Her mouth transformed into a rectangle as she slowly returned to her feet and inched her way back from them, not once taking her eyes off of Brenda. Her body began to twitch wildly. Carter could not make heads or tails of what the hell was going on, and he and Brenda did not utter a word. Maybe this was a test, he thought, and he would speak and get kicked out for not playing right.

They just let her be, and observed. He looked over again at Brenda, who appeared to be shell-shocked. She didn’t even return his glance. Angie backed up to the front door, feeling the walls along the way. She turned, screamed, and bolted outside. Then came the horrifying sound of screeching brakes and a loud, impactful thud, followed by another thud.

Author Bio

Glenn Maynard is the author of “Strapped Into An American Dream” which details his one-year journey through the 48 continental states, Canada and Mexico in an RV. He was a travel correspondent for three newspapers during his travels. He is also the author of “Desert Son”, which is a fiction book that involves out-of-body experiences, past-life-regression hypnosis, and reincarnation. “Wayward Soul” is a sequel to “Desert Son”, and Glenn is currently working on book three of this trilogy.

Wayward Author photo 101115

You can connect with Glenn at:




Amazon Author page:

Buy links:

Wayward Soul:

Thank you for sharing with us today, Glenn. Best of luck with Wayward Soul and all your future writing endeavors.


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