{"id":835,"date":"2018-11-27T13:50:00","date_gmt":"2018-11-27T13:50:00","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.victoriasaccentiwrites.com\/?guid=06732f86d92fb30d5359b2a663ae9b30"},"modified":"2023-05-08T15:20:39","modified_gmt":"2023-05-08T15:20:39","slug":"welcome-to-the-watch-rwisa-write-showcase-tour-rrbc-10","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/victoriasaccentiwrites.com\/blog\/2018\/11\/27\/welcome-to-the-watch-rwisa-write-showcase-tour-rrbc-10\/","title":{"rendered":"Welcome to the WATCH "#RWISA" WRITE Showcase Tour! #RRBC"},"content":{"rendered":"
Welcome to the Watch RWISA Write Showcase Tour! Thanks for joining me. The purpose of the blog hop is to feature nineteen talented RWISA authors and offer a sample of their work. The RWISA (Rave Writers – Int’l Society of Authors) is an elite branch of the outstanding Rave Review Book Club, featuring the best of the best in writing. <\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
 <\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
The stage belongs to Beem Weeks.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
 <\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
 <\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
Nightly Traipsing<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/b><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
 <\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
There might\u2019ve been a dream. Or maybe not. Violet Glass really couldn\u2019t recall. Probably, though. A dream concerning some stupid boy\u2014or even a girl.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
Whatever.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
Can\u2019t control what creeps through your sleep.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
Her body stirred awake as the blackest part of night splashed its inky resolve across that part of Alabama.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
Violet stared at the ceiling, tried like the dickens to recall a face, perhaps a voice\u2014anything belonging to the one responsible for this latest agitation.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
Nothing came through, though.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
Even dead of night did little to lay low that sticky heat. Old-timers in town swore oaths affirming this<\/i>, the summer of 1910, to be more oppressive than any other summer since before the war between the states.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
Violet eased her body from her bed; the soles of her feet found cool the touch of creaking floorboards.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
There\u2019d be nobody to catch her\u2014not at this hour.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
Nobody, but Ruthie.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
And Ruthie Sender?\u2014she\u2019d<\/i> never let on of these doings.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
Violet scampered through the kitchen, flung her blue-eyed gaze against the darkened parlor. Only shadows and silence bore witness to her planned escape, a girl\u2019s nightly traipsing.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
The back door gave up with only minor provocation.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
Dripping moonlight splashed the yard with a silvery sheen; promising secrets lingered among the gathered glow.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
Around the rear of the house she skulked, careful to hold close to the shadows, to remain hidden from the ones who\u2019d blab, those others who\u2019d hold it over her head for gain.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
Back behind the barn she found her crouching spot, fell low to the ground, fixed sight on the direction of Ruthie Sender\u2019s place a few hundred yards away. Traipsing just didn\u2019t hold its fun without Ruthie tagging along.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
Violet rushed her granddad\u2019s cotton field without that hesitation she\u2019d known only a summer earlier.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
Shadows stirred and wiggled in the distance. Figures formed, made shapes around a low-burning fire. Even at the center of all that cotton, Violet could pick out words of songs sung by the coloreds, those kin to Ruthie Sender.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
They sang about standing on wood, an old slave\u2019s saying, drawing up recollections of a time they themselves belonged to someone else.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
Belonged to Violet\u2019s kin.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
Wood smoke fogged the night air.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
Violet hunched low, skirted the yard where those coloreds took up with their fire and song and whiskey. Friendly sorts, all of them. Always first with a kind word, an interest in Violet\u2019s family, how the girl\u2019s folks were getting on\u2014even if that interest leaned toward pretend. But that\u2019s the nature of the matter. It\u2019s Violet\u2019s great-granddad who\u2019d once owned all those souls that gave creation to the very ones now singing and drinking.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
She broke through shadows collected beneath an ancient willow tree, found respite behind the Sender family\u2019s privy, and waited for the girl to either show or not show.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
The colored girl\u2019s legs appeared first, dangling from the pantry window, bare feet scrabbling at the air, searching for a solid thing to set down upon. The thud of her sudden drop wouldn\u2019t wake anybody.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
A dingy gray nightshirt clung to Ruthie\u2019s body. Her dark-eyed gaze landed out where she knew to find Violet. If the girl offered a smile, it couldn\u2019t be seen\u2014not from this distance.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
\u201cGo out back of Tussel\u2019s, maybe?\u201d Ruthie asked, finding space in Violet\u2019s shadow.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
\u201cCatch a strap across my butt, I get found by that saloon again,\u201d Violet promised. \u201cDaddy don\u2019t say things twice.\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
Ruthie said, \u201cChicken liver.\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
Violet backed down a notch, weighed her options. \u201cWho\u2019s gonna be there?\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
\u201cFella named Ferdinand something. Plays piano.\u201d Ruthie tossed a nod toward those others out by the fire. \u201cThey<\/i> won\u2019t share us no whiskey.\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
\u201cWon\u2019t share up to Tussel\u2019s, neither\u2014unless you got some money.\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
*      *      *<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
They were born the same night, Violet and Ruthie, back during spring of 1895. Only a few measly hours managed to wedge in between them, separated the girls from being twins of a sort.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
Close enough, though.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
Ruthie came first\u2014if her folks were to be believed.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
 \u201cWhere we going?\u201d Violet asked, following after Ruthie\u2019s lead.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
\u201cLena Canu\u2019s place,\u201d said Ruthie.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
\u201cHow come?\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
\u201cShe got stuff to drink, mostly.\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
Droplets of sweat ran relays along Violet\u2019s spine, leaving the girl\u2019s skin wet, clammy. \u201cAwful hot, it is.\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
\u201cShe a conjure<\/i> woman,\u201d Ruthie announced, laying her tone low, protected. \u201c\u2014Lena Canu, I mean.\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
Midnight\u2019s high ceiling lent sparse light to the path splitting the two properties. Violet\u2019s kin, they\u2019d once owned the entire lot. Her great-granddad, he\u2019s the one took notion to make things right, gave half of his land to the slaves he turned loose after the war.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
Ruthie\u2019s kin, mostly.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
Senders and Canus.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
Couldn\u2019t ever really make a thing like that right, though.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
A small cabin squatted in the brush; the orange glow of a lamp shined in the window. Used to be a slave\u2019s shack, this one here.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
Moonlight dripped on the colored girl\u2019s face, showed it round and smooth, lips full and perfect, eyes alive with life and mischief. \u201cGonna see does she have any drink.\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
Violet leaned closer, her bare arms feeling the other girl\u2019s heat. She asked, \u201cCan she tell fortunes?\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
\u201cLike reading a book.\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
That dark door yawned wide; Lena Canu peered into the night. \u201cI\u2019ll tell your fortune, white girl,\u201d she said.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
Ruthie gave a nudge, guided Violet up the walk and into the shack.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
A table and four chairs congregated at the center of the bare space. Kerosene fed a flame dancing like the devil atop the glass lamp. A pallet in a corner threw in its lot with the scene.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
Lena Canu tossed a nod toward her rickety table. \u201cHave you a seat, now,\u201d she ordered, \u201c\u2014both of you.\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
Violet sat first. Ruthie found perch across from her friend. Beneath the table naked feet bumped and rubbed, each girl assuring the other this would be a good turn.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
\u201cYou one of them Glass girls, ain\u2019t you?\u201d Lena asked, dropping onto a chair of her own.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
Violet said, \u201cYes, ma\u2019am.\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
Lena waved her off. \u201cAin\u2019t no ma\u2019am. Call me Lena, is all. You the one runs wild.\u201d A pronouncement rather than a question.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
Ruthie asked, \u201cYou got any liquor?\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
A clear pint bottle came into the moment; its bitter amber liquid promised that sort of burn a person won\u2019t mind.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
Each girl drew off a long pull, let the heat mingle with their blood. Neither girl had ever gone full-on drunk; only a swig or two is all they ever dared.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
Lena Canu, conjuring woman, spread a pile of bones over the table and commenced to ciphering future happenings a girl might need to know.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
Things about boys and marriage didn\u2019t come up. Neither did mention of babies and such. All Violet heard portended mainly to trouble.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
\u201cQuit you runnin\u2019 wild,\u201d Lena proclaimed, \u201cand you be just fine.\u201d She took up her narrow gaze again, aimed to settle matters. \u201cBut you keep doin\u2019 what you been doin\u2019, things gonna go bad.\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
The suddenness of gunfire echoed through that sticky air. Three quick shots chased by a lazy fourth that staggered along a moment later.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
Lena jumped first, ran for the door. Ruthie followed after, peering into the dark, no doubt expecting to put a face to the one pulled that trigger.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
Violet remained stuck to her chair, attentions tugging between the matters outside and those sayings left to her by that conjuring woman. Did she really believe in such things, or was it all just a mess of nonsense?<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
\u201cWhat am I gonna do to make things go bad?\u201d she asked, supposing it wouldn\u2019t hurt to know\u2014just in case.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
But Lena had other notions to work over. \u201cSounds like they come from over to your place,\u201d she said to Ruthie.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
Ruthie tipped a nod, said, \u201cCould be they gettin\u2019 liquored up too much, huh?\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
\u201cMight could,\u201d answered Lena.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
It happens that way, boys and their whiskey, wandering along crooked paths of discontent, blabbing things not really meant for harm\u2014just boasting, is all.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
But boasting to a drunken fella is as good as a punch on his nose.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
\u201cGonna go see,\u201d said Ruthie, pushing past the threshold, pressing on toward home.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
Violet held her ground, let the colored girl disappear in the night. Attentions ceased their tugging, settled on the one making proclamations concerning bad manners and trouble to come.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
Lena came loose of her thoughts, brought one to words, said, \u201cGo on home now, white girl. Nighttime belongs to devils.\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
*      *      *<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
Clouds laid a brief smudge against the moon, stripped its shine right off the night, left Violet to wonder if it really might be footsteps stumbling along behind her, following that same narrow path toward home.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
\u201cFool boys,\u201d she muttered, tossing nervous glances over either shoulder.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
Footfalls fell heavy\u2014like boots hammering the earth. An eager thing born of desperation.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
Violet bolted left, squatted low behind a pile of brush that had the makings of a snake shelter. She held her breath and waited for the one at her back to pass on by.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
A piece of tree limb came to her hand, a long and heavy thing, able to put a soul right should he come at her with wrong intentions.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
That smudged moon went shiny again, dripped light across the path, showed off the shape of a man loping toward home. Tall and thin, this one; he moved quick with purpose.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
Going the wrong way, though, Violet thought, waiting for the man to pass.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
She gained her feet, charged his retreat, swung that heavy piece of wood and caught that interloper straight between his shoulders.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
\u201cJay-zus!\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/i> the man hollered, hitting the ground like a sack of potatoes.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
\u201cThis is private property!\u201d Violet informed him, fixing up for a second swing.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
The fella pulled up on his knees, tried to reach for that spot on his back no doubt gone swollen. He said, \u201cIt\u2019s private property only \u2019cause I<\/i> say so.\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
Foolishness seeped into the girl. She squinted against the dark, drew recollection of his face. \u201cGranddad?\u201d<\/i> she said, hoping her recollections proved wrong.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
\u201cWhat the hell are you<\/i> doing out here?\u201d he demanded, giving his legs a try.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
\u201cCame out to use the privy,\u201d she fibbed. \u201cHeard gunshots, came to see, is all.\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
\u201cLiar!\u201d the old man spat. \u201cYou been gallivanting again, ain\u2019t you?\u201d He moved closer to the girl, sized her up, made a big fuss over her running around in only a nightshirt and nothing else. \u201cYour daddy\u2019s gonna hit ya where the good Lord split ya\u2014then he\u2019s gonna move you to your sister\u2019s room upstairs. Won\u2019t be no sneaking out from there<\/i>.\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
Her gaze caught that glint at his waistband, a familiar hunk of blued steel. \u201cDon\u2019t matter,\u201d she said. \u201cDaddy\u2019s gonna put you<\/i> in the county home.\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
\u201cOn account of what?\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
\u201cOn account of you\u2019re going senile, traipsing off, bothering colored folks again with that pistol of yours.\u201d Violet leaned closer, continued her spiel. \u201cHeard him and Mama talking just last week, saying how you\u2019re a danger to yourself just as much as to others.\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
The old man\u2019s jaw fell open and slammed shut; intended words went lost to the night. He couldn\u2019t tell on her now\u2014not without personal risk.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
Defeat fogged his eyes. \u201cI won\u2019t tell your business if you don\u2019t tell mine.\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
Violet seized the moment with both hands. \u201cThat depends,\u201d she informed him.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
\u201cOn what?\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
\u201cWho\u2019d you shoot tonight?\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
\u201cNobody. Just meant to scare, is all.\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
\u201cGonna kill somebody one day\u2014if you ain\u2019t already.\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
\u201cAin\u2019t in my blood, killin\u2019.\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
\u201cDon\u2019t have to mean it to do it.\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
The old man pulled back, let frustration have its way. \u201cWe got a deal or don\u2019t we?\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
\u201cYou gonna leave Ruthie\u2019s people be?\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
\u201cJust want what\u2019s mine,\u201d he complained.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
\u201cBut it\u2019s their<\/i> land, Granddad\u2014been so for forty-five years. A hundred guns ain\u2019t gonna make it not so.\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
He never did wear misery well.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
Violet\u2019s arms went easily around the man. She pulled close to him, breathed in that familiar odor of sweat and tobacco.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
He said, \u201cI won\u2019t bother them no more.\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
\u201cThen we have us a deal.\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
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**** <\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
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Thank you for supporting this member along the WATCH “RWISA” WRITE Showcase Tour today!<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
We ask that if you have enjoyed Beem Weeks writing, please visit his Author Page on the RWISA site, where you can find more of his writing, along with his contact and social media links, if he’s turned you into a fan.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
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We ask that you also check out his books in the RWISA or RRBC catalogs. Thanks again for your support and we hope that you will follow each member along this amazing tour of talent. Don’t forget to click the link below to learn more about Beem Weeks.<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
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Beem Weeks – RWISA Author<\/a><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n
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 <\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Welcome to the Watch RWISA Write Showcase Tour! Thanks for joining me. The purpose of the blog hop is to feature nineteen talented RWISA authors and offer a sample of their work. The RWISA (Rave Writers – Int’l Society of Authors) is an el…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-835","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/victoriasaccentiwrites.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/835","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/victoriasaccentiwrites.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/victoriasaccentiwrites.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/victoriasaccentiwrites.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/victoriasaccentiwrites.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=835"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/victoriasaccentiwrites.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/835\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1139,"href":"https:\/\/victoriasaccentiwrites.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/835\/revisions\/1139"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/victoriasaccentiwrites.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=835"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/victoriasaccentiwrites.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=835"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/victoriasaccentiwrites.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=835"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}