Beyond the Veil

Got Wraith?

noreply@blogger.com (MK Mancos/Kathleen Scott/Kate Davison) — Mon, 09 Nov 2009 11:52:00 +0000

So, I'm a rabid researcher. I get an idea in my head and I like to read everything I can find on the subject. Imagine my surprise when I decided to make one of my characters in a new paranormal erotic romance a wraith and went to look up the subject online. Can I just say, WTF???

25 pages of RPG references with a little sci-fi and comic book mixed in for seasoning. Gee, could I have chosen any less popular type of phantom to exploit in my book?

I mean, I knew about the Pah-wraiths from Star Trek: DS9 and the Wraiths from Stargate Atlantis, and who doesn't know about the Ring Wraiths from Lord of the Rings, but it seems to me like every Tom, Dick and Deadly game out there has added the spectre just for good measure. So the question is: should I pull back on my character or just go ahead and write it?

My instinct is to write it.

Let's face it, it's an erotic romance so we already know two variables that will set it apart from the majority of wraith plots available out there: lots of sex and a HEA. This alone is enough impetus to push me to the keyboard and make me write like a howling wind. And unlike the wraiths of the aforementioned sci-fi and fantasy, mine will be physically appealing.

Well, I'll just write it and see how it goes.

Have you ever decided to write the most perfect type of paranormal character and then researched, only to find the countryside littered with the corpses of stories gone by?

-Kat
www.mkmancos.com

Free Read! Adult Content! The Next Thrilling Instalment of the PIACT Agents

noreply@blogger.com (sjwilling) — Sat, 07 Nov 2009 05:50:00 +0000

A Lively Lark with the CTR Angel’s

Well, Angel’s. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to garner the assistance of Lively Lark and rescue Prince Humbdub from the secret SPLAT base located somewhere in the South Pole. All I ask is please, please don’t show your bits on YouTube again. This is supposed to be a secret agency you know.
P.S. this dvd will self-destruct as soon as one of you puts it into the incinerator. Thank you. (Apologies for the self-destruct cost cutting procedures.)
P.P.S. I heard the other secret agency the HUNKs are trying to rescue the prince too. PLEASE don’t let that happen, as there is a sizable reward payable on his return and Shimmering Dragon has just seen this new evening dress….
P.P.P.S. In order to help you prevent the HUNKs from finding the prince first we have agree to work in cooperation with them. We are flying the PIACT jet out to Florence, Italy to pick them up, one of you will need to go meet with them. Preferably someone who shows her bits too often on YouTube, since that should be a fairly safe YouTube free mission.
P.P.P.P.S. Oh, and good luck. If any of you are captured, tortured, beaten or killed we will totally deny any knowledge of knowing you. Thank you for your continued loyalty to the agency…

“Well, girl’s what do you say? Are you up for another mission?” Wolf asked, thumbing through her thick pile of papers that had come with the mission dvd. There was definitely a lot to this mission. All five of them, no six, Shimmering Dragon was being drafted in at checkpoint chilly. There was simply too much to be done by five alone.

So there would be six, assuming Lively Lark could be persuaded to join them.

“I’m game,” Otter said.

“Me too,” Lynx added.

“Man, what a cute butt,” Fox summed up all their thoughts as she ogled the snapshots of the kidnapped prince. “Who wouldn’t want a go at that?” She looked up apologetic. “I mean a go at rescuing him.”

“Very well then,” Wolf took the dvd and dropped it in the trash can on her way to the kitchen. “One glass of champagne each to celebrate our new mission then I’ll go see if I can recruit our new lass while you all get ready to leave.”

“No fair,” Fox pouted. “You get to escort the HUNKs.”

“Trust me,” Wolf told her. “I’d much rather not have the most famous bits on YouTube.” It had become such a problem of being recognized she now, every morning, pinned a pair of sunglasses to her pubic hair to try and help disguise herself.

“Maybe if you wore panties…” Otter suggested.

Wolf shivered at the suggestion and broke out the champagne to steer the conversation towards something else. Would you believe it took ten bottles of champagne to achieve that effect?

##

Lark stood in her porch way hesitating. Her front door keys firmly held in her hand, she stared at the front door. She didn’t do this often, regardless of what the neighbors might think. But only when the door was already opened by a few inches and the smell of alcohol—the hint of a 2001 dom perignon champagne—hovered in the air too.

She hadn’t heard of too many uber rich cat-burglar, assassin, thieves lately. But one couldn’t be too careful about these things.

Putting her keys away and taking out her handy little stunner she carefully nudged the door all the way open. Yes, the waft of alcohol grew stronger, so whoever had opened the door was probably still in there. At least Lark should be able to track them fairly easily. She’d just have to see which houseplants wilted the most.

Edging her way down the hallway, Lark took a quick peek in the kitchen. Someone had made free with the coffeemaker and, by the looks of it, already drunk half a carafe of incredibly strong brew—going by the way a few spilled drops of it had curled up the edges of the countertop.

Still, the champagne smell came from a little further on, from the living room of course. If you were going to make yourself at home in someone else’s home, you’d do it in their living room, wouldn’t you?

A quick check of the other rooms proved they were empty, so it was probably just the one intruder which made things a little easier.

Hands firmly gripping the stunner, Lark made her way cautiously to the living room. Waiting outside the door for a moment she listened. A woman’s mumbled voice, no answer. Damn, maybe her visitor wasn’t alone.

Still however many there were Lark would have to deal with them.

Carefully turning the handle, Lark kicked the door open quickly. Scanned the room and focused on the sole occupant. Well, two if you considered her cat as a person, and Tootsie definitely thought she was.

“Ah, Lively Lark, I presume.” The woman had to stifle a giggle, then took a large swig of the coffee she was holding. “Hope you don’t mind. Was feeling a little light headed there. Needed something stiff,” The woman howled with laughter. “Stiff, to straighten me up,” she explained.

“Who are you and what do you want?” Lark demanded, keeping the stunner well and truly targeted on the stranger.

“Oh, oh, yes. You need to know that.” The woman attempted to sit up straighter. “Warrior Wolf at your service,” she hiccupped. “Ferrii, furrous, furryy.”

“Ferocious Furball?” Lark suggested.

“That’s him.” Wolf raised her cup and took another drink of coffee, then tipped it up, there was nothing left in it. “He sent me to send you on a mission.” Wolf pointed to a large manila envelop on the coffee table that Lark had missed earlier.

Lark stared for a moment at the PIACT agent. The woman was sitting, scarcely balanced, on the edge of her sofa. She did look slightly familiar, but years of working with PIACT had taught her to be circumspect about those she took into her trust.

Then Tootsie, her Persian, leaped onto the woman’s lap meowing, sending the woman and her cup of coffee she was holding, flying. The agent landed upside down, legs spread, lying against the sofa, her skirt around her face with no panties.

Lark put her gun away. Everyone knew the YouTube Yahoo!

“Okay,” Lark said. “About time I got another mission.” She bent down to pick up the envelop from the table.

“Could you do me once teensy little favor, before you go?” Wolf’s mumbled voice came through the skirt.

“Sure, what can I do?”

“Put me on a cab for the secret PIACT base. I have a plane to catch.”

##

The series of plane flights was uneventful, though why the farkle anyone would want to make the Falklands Islands their jump off point for any mission was a wonder to Lark. Still it was fairly near the South Pole, maybe that was the deciding factor.

“Hi, you must be Lark,” A slim young lady greeted her as she stepped from the ten seater plane. “I’m Shimmering Dragon, the CTR’s Angels are here and waiting for us a little way down by the coast.”

Lark was impressed. The First Under the Supreme One on Top was in the mission group. It must be a very important mission for that to happen. And it would be an honor to work with the famed Angels. Fortunately Lark had worn her panties today, since they were heading to colder climates. At least she didn’t have to worry about YouTube.

“By the coast?” she asked, wondering why they meet up so far away from the airfield.

“Given that we’re dealing with SPLAT we felt it would be best to make as discrete approach as possible to the target area.” Dragon explained. “A small plane like that is just so easy to shoot down.”

“Oh absolutely,” Lark agreed. Suddenly realizing just how dangerous this mission was likely to be. She shivered, it was dammed cold around here. “Don’t suppose we’ve got anything nice and warm waiting for us have we.”

“Oh, we’ll warm up soon enough,” Dragon told her, leading her to a small beat up Volkswagen beetle parked just outside the customs room. “Our assistant will bring your luggage later. For now let’s go introduce you to the girls.”

The drive to the coast, like just about anything on this island, didn’t take too long at all, and the scraggy little house they pulled up outside looked like it could barely handle the ravages of the sea weather just a few yards further, beyond the cliff.

But the rooms, and the welcome inside, were both warm, and helped to take some of the chill out of Lark’s bones.

The small glass or two of margarita helped with that too.

“For this mission,” Dragon announced. “We’re going to let Lark take the lead, since she’s the most experienced of us with work in the Antarctic.”

“Hey, hang on.” Lark protested. “I was only on a cruise ship that sailed through there once.”

“That’s more than the rest of us have done.” Dragon reassured her. “Makes you practically a veteran.”

Somehow the reassurances didn’t reassure her too much. A couple of more glasses of margaritas did the trick though.

“Okay everyone,” Dragon looked at her watch. “It’s time to head on down to the transport. Let’s Tally ho!”

It probably wasn’t a good idea to walk out into a fall night in the Falklands with no coats but, what the hell, you only live once.

Lark merrily followed behind the others as Dragon led them down a narrow path which slipped down the cliff face to the beach. It was probably only a hundred yards walk but most of them were looking rather blue by the time they hit the shore.

Blue enough that the well-dressed, heavily clothed naval personnel that greeted them just stared in horror.
“C…c…cold,” Lark said.

Instantly one of the men, a lieutenant she thought, dashed forwards and very nicely wrapped his coat around her. All about her the other sailors began to do the same for the other women.

“Thank you,” she smiled at the man. Oooh, he had those wonderful, deep dark eyes. She found herself snuggling closer…for the warmth.

His beautiful eyes popped open even wider when her poor little frozen fingers found something nice and hard and hot tucked neatly upright under his clothes.

“Ahem,” he cleared his throat. “I suspect we might be able to make you ladies a little more comfortable when we get onboard.” He suggested.

“Oh, yes,” Lark agreed, giving him a playful squeeze. “Being comfortable would be much appreciated.

That decided the sailors quickly carried them and put them onboard the small inflatable, being careful not to get them wet in the icy sea waters. She did feel sorry for the poor sailors, having to step into the freezing water to lift them into the boats. The men didn’t seem to mind though, as they all warmed up fairly quickly by sitting next to at least one of the girls. The lieutenant made sure she was by his side at all times.

One of the sailors, somehow, managed to get the small outboard motor running and navigated the small craft back out to sea. What he was thinking, Lark had no idea, though having Fox’s hand situated around his groin area and doing interesting things might have contributed a little to his rather weave-like route.

Not to mention it probably helped cause the rather large bump which indicated they’d hit the transport ship in question.

A bump large enough to tip the inflatable over and have them all tossed into the ocean.

“Not again…” Dragon moaned.

In the first few moments of hitting the water Lark noticed two very pertinent details.

A. The ship they’d be traveling in was actually a submarine.

B. If she were a man, her balls would have frozen off…

##

Well, here I am, Wolf felt overwhelmed with a flood of self-pity. Once again tossed to the side in the event of an exciting mission and given the extremely boring job of escorting a bunch of dull male types on a string of pointless journey’s just so they didn’t get to be part of the exciting mission.

Wow, gee, how much more exciting could that get.

She stood just inside the door of the jet on a small airstrip somewhere in the backwoods near Florence, Italy. The only building here looked a little like an enlarged outhouse, with windows instead of a heart shaped hole in the door.

And now she was just waiting on, she checked the manifesto, ten boring old farts to come waddling out of the outhouse and struggle up the twenty five steps it took to get into the jet proper. Then she’d have to feed, drink and—God forbid—probably even flirt with them to make them forget about joining the mission currently taking place in the South Pole.

Not to mention they were running late. Ten minutes so far. Another five and she swore she’d get out her beach gear and go fly off to the Mediterranean for a while.

The door finally opened and Wolf felt a sense of relief, thank goodness she’d be able to get started on something soon.

As her guests stepped out of the tiny building, one by one, she stopped what she was doing, staring as they crossed the airstrip and climbed the stairs up to her, walking casually into the aircraft as if they owned the place.

As she picked up her jaw and firmly put it back into place she found herself staring at the gang of movie quality hot bods. Each bod, unfortunately, covered by a suit. Damn, but wouldn’t she like to see these guys naked. They were talking amongst themselves in Italian, some of them looking at her now and then.

Hopefully they were thinking the same thing about her that she’d been thinking about them.

Oh, Mother of Mercy, she fanned herself as they began to take off their jackets and ties. Laying them down over one of the spare seats. One of them, he had to be Johnny Depp’s brother, walked over to her.

“Sorry to be late,” he apologized. “Are we ready?”

Wolf felt her herself moisten. So close she could almost kiss him!

“Yes,” she answered, struggling to breathe. “Yes, we’re ready. I’ll go and let the pilot know we can take them off…take off, yes.”

She quickly hurried away before the HUNK could question her slip of the tongue. Oooh, tongue, slip…

Aargh. Couldn’t she think straight for at least a moment. What was she doing now? Oh yes, taking them off for the pilot…

##

It was when it got into your panties that it was really icky. Fox decided. Especially after the nice navy man had gotten her so warm and hot down there, having the icy water seep into it added a kind of torturous pleasure. She was shivering within moments because of it.

“Hang on, just one second,” there was a splash beside her and something fastened around her, underneath her shoulders. In less than a minute she was up on the…the submarine! Kewl!

“Quickly, we’ve got to go down on her.” One of her rescuers said.

“You mean down with her?” Another asked.

Her first devilishly handsome, and most eminently suitable rescuer gave her a heart pumping smile and cheeky wink. “Well, that too,” he agreed.

Fox suddenly felt all warm between her legs again.

She didn’t struggle as they helped her down the hatchway and into the sailor’s quarters. And especially didn’t struggle when they dragged her sodden, freezing clothes from her. Other than to complain about how cold she felt as they wrapped blankets around her.

“I wonder if she has hypothermia yet?” One of the guys asked, they were all giving her delicious massages on various parts of her body.

“No, I don’t think so,” she said, teeth chattering. At least she didn’t think it was hypothermia.

Then looked up blinking as her first rescuer stood before her, naked and definitely flying at full mast.

“Wow,” she said. “Where did that thing come from?”

“Best cure for hypothermia,” her savior explained. “Snuggling up in blankets and soft covers with a warm, naked body.”

Fox licked her lips, her nipples tingling—from the cold, yes, from the cold.

“I’ve got hypothermia, definitely.” She looked at all the other men, noticing their harder than rock erections. She wondered just how long they’d been at sea with, ah, no female companions. “I’ve got hypothermia really, really bad,” she added.

The men surrounding her grinned.

##

Somehow she’d ended up with the Captain. Not that Lark was going to complain too much. He didn’t have quite the deep, desirous eyes of the lieutenant but when she ran her hands over his flesh, hmm, the feel of strong muscles under skin was just, yum. Something that made her body tingle.

“Are you sure this is the best cure for hypothermia,” she asked, still amazed that she’d ended up in the captain’s bed within moments of entering his cabin. Both of them naked of course. “And are you sure I was going into hypothermia.”

“Yes, and yes.” He answered confidently. “After all, look how stiff this poor little thing is,” he plucked her nipple making it ring with intensely sharp sensations. “It must be frozen, poor thing, I’ll need to warm it up.”

Lark almost screamed as his hot mouth closed over it, his tongue and teeth doing things which made spikes of lust strike through her, to reach every bit of her body.

“That looks better,” he said.

All Lark could see was that it was bigger and harder, but he was the expert in these things, she guessed.

“I, I think the other one is even colder,” she told him.

The captain grinned, obligingly warming her cold peak. This time she did give a little scream, or a squeak to be more precise. The sensations made her far too breathless to scream.

With a quick movement he was suddenly on top of her, between her legs, his erection pressing hard against her clit. Each little movement he made blinding her as her body jerked and spasmed in anticipation.

“And we mustn’t forget,” he dipped his mouth to hers, swamping them in a warm, devouring kiss.

Lark’s breath caught, frozen, as her lips continued to mesh with his, and his penis slipped slowly into her, filling her as his kiss captured her soul. Only when he was finally in, all the way to the hilt—when her sex had completely enveloped his, did the wondrous kiss end.

“We mustn’t forget,” he repeated, beginning a slow thrusting that was driving her crazy while bringing her slowly to ecstasy. “To warm you up from the inside as well.”

Relaxing, and now totally warm inside and out, Lark took a long look at the man who had saved her life from hypothermia.

“Just how long does it take to get to the target zone from here?” she asked.

“A week,” he said. “Possibly two, maybe even longer if we develop engine problems, have to do at-sea repairs…”

“Ouch,” Lark said, tilting her head to one side. “I think I just heard the engine fall out.”

The captain looked at her and grinned. “You know, I do believe you’re right.”

##

Wolf was beginning to sweat. Well, could you blame her, being this close to ten of the hottest men in the world, all of them, she was almost certain, sporting hard-on’s that would make a decent stallion jealous.

On top of which, a few in-flight brandies had made the in-flight conversation skew to the, uh, rather risqué.

Well, risqué, maybe not. But hearing how Alfonso, step by step, seduced his latest conquest with no censorship at all, would make any red-blooded woman hot.

And she had a feeling they knew it too. After all they’d been flying now for nearly ten hours.

It was with a kind of relief when the pilot came out and made his way towards her. Obviously with some kind of report to give.

“Madam Wolf,” he spoke softly in a French accent that, if she’d been wearing panties, would have talked them off her in a moment flat. “Is bad news, yes. The vessel taking your team to the Antarctic has it a few problems, is likely to be delayed a few weeks.”

“Damn,” Wolf whispered back. “Weeks? How am I going to delay these guys for weeks?” She sighed then shook her head. “Okay, how long can you keep the jet flying before you need to land for fuel?”

He looked at her, surprised. “Did they not tell you, Madam. This is the special nuclear powered jet. She can fly for five years without stopping for fuel.”

“Really? Oh my gosh, how wonderful.” Wolf started to think fast. How could she use this to her advantage? “It has an autopilot, yes.”

“The most efficient in the world, Madam.”

“We might need to engage that then, and pretend that you’ve had some kind of accident and can’t land the plane.”

“It is already engaged, Madam, and it—“

The airplane suddenly flipped over and back again, bouncing around in a rather large airpocket. When it straightened out Wolf found herself upside down in one of the seats, in her usual, unfortunate position.

“Is it? Could it possibly be…?” One of the HUNKs asked.

“No, surely not. She looks so different.”

“I’ll bet you fifty thousand lira it is.”

“But, she looks so familiar and so, different.”

“Ah, let me try something.”

Wolf blushed bright red as gentle fingers toyed with her pubic hair and removed the sunglasses.

“Ah, magnifico, it is her.”

“At last, all these months…”

“Success comrades, success.”

Wolf gulped as strong hands lifted her up, but didn’t turn her the right way up. Instead they pulled her skirt off so they could look at her face.

One of the HUNKs did a delicious slow lick from her ankle to the inside of her thigh which nearly had her dying from delight.

“We hope you don’t mind,” another HUNK said as he slowly unbuttoned her top, and freed her breasts before gently cupping them and playing with her nipple.

Mind? Wolf thought. Only if they stopped doing what they’re doing.

“It’s just, we’ve been searching for you for months. Ever since we first saw you on YouTube.”

“You are the perfect woman.” Another agreed. “Absolutely perfect.”

They began to drop their pants and shirts, one by one. Wolf noted, with pleasure, that not a one of them wore underwear either.

“So, I’m afraid we’re going to have to ravish you,” Johnny Depp look-alike apologized.

Suddenly there were tongues and mouths everywhere, feasting on her breasts, her thighs, sex, neck… the flood of overpowering pleasure, while hanging upside down, was almost enough to make her faint.

“No problem,” she managed to mumble somewhere in the onslaught. “It’s my pleasure. It’s definitely my pleasure…”

##

It was cold, and bright, too bright for weather that could freeze a soul in less than an hour. Not to mention it would stay bright for far too long this far south. Omniscient Otter looked at her traveling companion, Dragon. The First Under the Supreme One on Top had been quiet, with a huge grin plastered over her face, ever since they’d been rescued by the submarine crew.

Not that Otter suspected she, herself, looked any different. It had certainly been an, uhm, interesting mission so far.

Now the hard work was beginning, unfortunately. Armed only with stunners, a few stun grenades, a couple of powered snowboards and a lot of gumption, she and Dragon had to travel seventy miles across snow and ice to neutralize the SPLAT base’s southernmost defense system. For some strange reason it had been placed in the middle of a known penguin field.

Penguins, ugh, cute things? No way! At least not as far as Otter was concerned. She’d had way too many nightmares of the things since her little brother had dressed up as one, one Halloween, along with blood spattered chain saw and a severed head.

This was not going to be a pleasant mission.

“Come on,” she called to Dragon, activating the gps and setting her snowboard in the right direction. “Let’s get this little caper over with.”

“Right,” Dragon agreed. “But, hey, let’s try and keep away from water, okay?”

##

“What do you think?” Lark turned to her comrades as they all huddled together, lying on the snow and ice ridge a hundred yards away from the small research shack.

This was supposed to be the huge SPLAT base they had to infiltrate.

“It looks kinda small,” Lynx agreed. “Typical of a man, pretending it’s bigger than it is.”

“True,” Fox added. “But SPLAT is full of surprises.”

“Wonder how Wolf is doing?” Lynx said. “I can’t imagine what it’s like trying to keep a bunch of boring officials happy for weeks on end.”

“I’m sure she’ll grin and bear it,” Fox told her. “She’s a tough old gal when it comes down to it.”

“We’ll have to take her out on the town when this is over to thank her.” Lark decided. “Make sure she gets a chance to see some action, you know what I mean.”

“I’m still waiting to see some action,” Fox moaned.

Lark laughed. “Well, I don’t think you’ll have to wait much longer.” And pointed to the shack.

Three rather yummy looking men had just stepped out and were doing intriguing things to a large metal device a few yards from the door.

“Well, let’s go and introduce ourselves,” Fox stood up, adjusting her hair to make sure it looked “just right.” “It’ll be better than freezing our tits off out here, don’tchathink?”
Lark shrugged, having no better plan than that how could she argue.

All three women, quickly checking hair and make-up, made their way down from the ridge and walked the short distance to the, now, very interested men.

Lark was most definitely interested in the blond one. He appeared, well, very nicely developed. And it had been, what, ooh, almost twelve hours since she’d been with the captain. And a girl had to look after her needs, you know. It was a tough world out there if you didn’t.

“Hi guys,” she introduced herself when they were close enough to speak. “My and my friends well, we’re just out for a stroll and was wondering if, maybe, you might have a restroom or something?”

“Onde fêz vêm de.” Blond cast a puzzled look to his friends.

“Nenhuma idéia, mas whoa, olham quentes!” The shorter, chestnut haired one responded.

Hmm, it dawned on Lark that maybe there may be a language communication problem here. Perhaps a little sign language would be helpful. She started to mine the actions of going to the bathroom, washing her hands and so on.

“Restroom, go pee, relief…” she said, hoping that maybe at least one word would be understood in all that.

“Está dizendo-a quer quente, sexo de sopro da mente?” The dark haired man looked at her lustfully, licking his lips.

“Hey, este one' mina de s,” Blond snapped at the dark haired guy. “I' m que vai fodê-la até seu cérebro explode.” He grinned at her, offering his hand.

Bingo! The universal offer of friendship! Lark took the man’s hand, then gasped as she was suddenly pulled in for a searing, lust-filled kiss.

Fox and Lynx were similarly accosted.

“Holy molasses,” Fox ran her hand over the chestnut haired man's crotch. “I think I’ve found the South Pole.”

“Whoa,” Lynx said, feeling a similar sensation as her groin was crushed against Blondie’s. “I think we might need some protection from these guys.”

All three men suddenly stopped and looked at Lynx, then at each other. Then, grinning, all of them pulled a condom out of their pockets.

Lynx smiled, rubbing herself against her man.

“You know what, Lark? I think these guys speak our language.”

##

Caviar hors d'oeuvres and champagne breakfast was ideal. Wolf shifted comfortably, well, as comfortably as possible after, gosh, how many days of constant sex with a bunch of insatiable HUNKs.

“How many days have we been flying now?” She asked Pierre, the pilot, now naked and perhaps the most wonderfully endowed of all the men, was doing things to her nipples that would have made a nun’s toes curl.

“Twenty five days, Madam.” He gave her a sharp nip with his teeth, which sent a jolt through her that nearly made her lose all her breakfast.

Several hands gently eased her back to the floor placed all the food back on her body, and, immediately, half a dozen mouths began to munch on her again.

Oh, yes, caviar and champagne for breakfast was simply divine. Especially when she was the platter…

##

“I don’t like the look of this,” Otter said as Dragon placed the last couple of explosive devices on the defense silos they’d found.

“Don’t like the look of what?” Dragon asked.

“I don’t like the look of the way those penguins are looking at us.”

Dragon looked up as she finished her work. “They’re just penguins,” she said.

“I don’t know, they look, well, rather un-penguin like to me.”

“You know, you seem like you don’t like penguins.” Dragon said. “Personally I think they’re kinda cute.”

“All of them?” Otter asked.

“All of them,” Dragon stated emphatically.

“Even the ones with the miniature machine guns?”

“Even the ones with the…what?”

Otter looked in horror as several dozen of the ugly black and white things stood up, machine guns in hand, and started wobbling, very robot-like, in their direction.

“Maybe it’s time for us to leave.” Dragon suggested, thrusting Otter’s snowboard in her face.

“Uh, yeah,” Otter agreed, somehow managing to set the board up, switch the motor on and start it zigzagging across the snow. All around her small fountains of snow and ice shot into the air as tiny bullets peppered the landscape around them.

“I always knew I hated penguins,” Otter said. “You can never trust a bird which can’t fly.”

“Just keep sliding,” Dragon told her. “Maybe we’ll find some shelter over where those cliffs are.”

Otter saw the tall, white ice cliffs, towering over the plain, probably a distant of four or five miles. Behind them the penguins had stopped firing, mainly because they were now all lying on their tummies and paddling themselves along at a breakneck speed with their feet.

“Full power,” Otter yelled to Dragon, “or we’re never going to make it.”

Slapping her heels onto the controls she set the snowboard motor to full strength, then nearly fell off backwards at the sudden acceleration. It was working though. When she looked back, the small figures of the penguins were getting smaller and smaller.

Now, hopefully they could lose them soon.

As they neared the ice cliffs, Otter could see a fairly large cave entrance nearby. Not a perfect hideout, but it would give them some cover if they were forced to fight the penguins.

“I’m heading for the cave,” she told Dragon, sending up a sheet of snow and ice as she swerved the board in that direction.

“Roger,” Dragon joined her a few moments later.

She did wonder, for a moment, about a cave being out here, in this peculiar set of circumstances. But decided that sometimes it was stupid to question good fortune in bad circumstances.

She reached the cave mouth within minutes of seeing it and tried to brake, but the snow in front of it had become so glassy and icy that the board just skidded on taking her right into the cave and throwing her, face first, into a steaming hot pool of crystal clear water.

With a yell and a squeal, she heard Dragon follow right after.

Fortunately it wasn’t too deep, and Otter was able to stand on the bottom and still have her head above water. She cleared her eyes, blinked and looked around at the well lit cavern, and the two dozen hunky naked men sitting around the sides looking at them with both heads fully erect and alert.

“Oh no, not again,” Dragon moaned.

##

Lark was impressed with the Tardis impersonation. It may have looked like a squinty old hut on the outside but inside the complex was huge, and she wasn’t just talking about the erections.

So far over fifty men had joined them in the, what could only be described as, huge sports hall.

“I’ve got to go rescue the prince,” Otter told the others. They’d pretty much determined that no one here could speak English. “Will you be able to handle all these guys.”

“Mmmph!” Fox nodded, as much as she was able to. Lynx, she couldn’t see under the pink mass of bodies but she thought she heard a “Yes! Please!”

Taking that as an okay Lark mimed, again, to one of the men for a restroom. This time, thank heavens, he seemed to understand and motioned “out of the door right, right, left, right, left, left, right, up, one, two, three, left, right, down.”

Lark, nodded. She smiled and left the room and the hot, sweaty bodies grinding away in delicious ecstasy behind her. Nope, she refused to think about it, she had gorgeous butt, Prince Humbdub, to find and well, introduce herself too.

Actually, in spite of the fact the entire underground complex was huge and very maze-like, getting around wasn’t difficult at all. All the employees, she guessed, were currently entertained in the sports hall as everywhere she went the place was totally devoid of life.

No women worked here either, since all the restrooms she passed were specifically for men. Well, that made her job so much easier too.

She wandered past the nuclear stockpile warehouse, the chemical weapons factory and the biological warfare labs. Nope, nothing interesting to report there. She did find an odd looking tube of water based lubricant that she thought might be handy at some point. One of those that promised ultimate delights with a humming, warming, tingling ultra-sensitizing sensation. Though she had to wander around holding it since, having not a stitch of clothing on her, all of her pockets had vanished.

She also passed by a room full of, would you believe, wind up penguins. Geesh, who’d have thought SPLAT, the “we wanna kill all human life” terrorists would have a thing for toy penguins.

Maybe it was just a local thing, what with the South Pole being a near neighbor and all. It did seem downright peculiar though.

Still, putting her disconcerting thoughts behind her, she began to search the last and lowest floor of the complex.
This would be the one the Prince was on, of course. They always made it like that in the movies.

Damn, Lark had a horrifying thought. She wasn’t wearing panties…she was a prime target for YouTube!

Swearing that she’d put on the next pair of panties she could find she continued into the dimly lit corridors of the complex basement.

Somewhere in here SPLAT was holding Humbdub for devious, nefarious purposes. And Lark was going to give him his release, in more ways than one if she got her way.
She allowed herself a wicked grin as she remembered the photos of him by the palace swimming pool.

Oooh, that smooth, tasty skin just waiting to be licked and nibbled.

Something down the corridor made a little whimpering noise. Lark listened carefully. Yes, the third door on the right. That had to be the one.

And who else could it be, she thought, given that Fox and Lynx were keeping tabs, and everything else, on the rest of the men in the base.

Sneaking carefully along, making sure none of the other rooms were occupied, she listened once more outside the door.

Yes, definitely, someone inside.

Carefully she opened the door, peering inside she let the door slip open wider, staring in amazement at the view before her.

Well, she’d found her panties alright—they barely covered the huge dick that Humbdub was sporting.

##

Wolf could barely stand, walk, think…

Around her the HUNKs weren’t even fatigued, all of them still hard and ready to go. They’d oiled her, massaged her, eaten her for dinner breakfast and lunch, played an interesting sort of tag with her. In fact she couldn’t think of a single thing they hadn’t done with her.

“How long have we been airborne now?” she asked Pierre as HUNK number five began to do something interesting down there with a bunch of ice cubes.

“Four weeks now, Madam,” he said proudly. “Never before has this model flown so long without the engine failing.”

“Uhm,” a chill tingle of warning sent a tremor through her. “Engine failure, but you said it could fly for years…”

“Ah, in theory Madam,” Pierre grinned, nibbling nicely at her neck. “But the engine tends to overheat.”

A loud claxon began to hammer throughout the interior of the plane.

“Like about now?” she asked.

Pierre, pale faced looked at the other worried men.

“Like about now,” he agreed. “But do not worry Madam, we may have only five minutes until the plane destructs, but we have the handy parachutes, yes.”

“Of course,” Wolf sighed to herself. “Fate has to be what it has to be.” She reached over and snagging the sunglasses from their place on a nearby seat, neatly pinned them back in place over her mons. “Let’s go get on the YouTube again…”

##

Lark stared at the handsome hunk strung out before her. Hung from the ceiling by chains attached to his wrists, and ankle clamps keeping his feet well spread apart he was naked, except for the bright red lacy panties, and looked even more delectable than the photographs had made him.

“Nooo! Take it away, I can’t take another naked woman!”

“You’re gay!” she said. “What a damn waste.”

“That all depends, young lady, on where your own proclivities lie.”

Lark spun to face the intruder, recognizing instantly Evil Twin number eight-the gay one.

“So this, it…, Humbdub wasn’t kidnapped at all.”

“Of course not,” Number eight flicked his laser whip from one side to the other in the most evil way he could. “But his parents would never have let him come and stay with me any other way.”

He flicked the whip again, accidently slicing off his ear and nearly parting the prince from his crown jewels.

“Ow, that hurts,” he whined.

Lark seized the moment. Cupping her hand just so, she did a quick spin, flip and jab. Eight’s whine went all the way to a stunned howl as he stared at the point where Lark’s hand met his groin.

“Better start counting those pickled peppers,” she said, snatching the whip from his hands and dashing out of the door before he could respond.

“You won’t get far,” he squeaked. “My friends Mildred and Henry are waiting for you.”

Lark didn’t care, she could handle two people without any problem at all…

…though she didn’t expect to see this kind of mess back in the sports hall.

“We forgot,” fox pointed at all the debris littering the floor and walls. “SPLAT uses androids for staff, they kinda explode when they get too excited.”

“Not all of them are androids,” Lark waved her whip. “Evil Twin Number Eight told me he was setting Henry and Mildred after us.”

Lark began to worry when Fox and Lynx grew pale.

“Henry and Mildred?” Lynx asked.

“Uhm, yes.” Lark confirmed. “Should I be a little worried about that?”

Fox and Lynx began gathering their clothes and throwing them on.

“Let’s just find the others and get out of here,” Lynx said. “While we still have a chance.”

Deciding that maybe experienced heads might be wiser Lark followed suit, except, where the hell were her panties…?

It was a frantic, if pantyless dressing session but all three agents were finally ready to brave the big outside world. All of them armed with, probably useless, stunners.

“Well, duh,” Fox said. “We can always just snowboard back to the pick up site. They’ll never catch us like that.”

Feeling happier with their chances Lark led them back to the surface, laser whip at the ready and snowboard switched on and humming, ready for action.

To be greeted by a thousand armed android penguins, all with their own miniature snowboard. Two of them sporting freshly painted and gleaming chainsaws.

“We’re doomed,” Lark said.

##

It just fricking had to be here didn’t it. Wolf muttered to herself. One naked woman, moi, parachuting down into the middle of the Yankee’s new stadium in the middle of the final of the world series. Inconspicuous, not!

Goodness knows what had happened to the men. Some moments after the plane had made its own little mushroom cloud in the sky she’d been blown way off course from the rest of them and here she was, Network television all the way, baby.

Furball was never going to let her forget this. Ever.

##

“Cavalry to the rescue!”

Lark looked up, scarcely believing her eyes. Otter and Dragon were leading a platoon of interesting men into the midst of the hideous android horde.

All of them armed with Super Soakers every target they hit sparked, shorted and exploded gratifyingly. Loading up on their snowboards, catching the extra weapons the men had brought along, Lark and the others joined in the play.

“You know, I’ll never look at water pistols the same again,” she confided to Otter.

“Hot springs,” Otter sighed. “All you need is a hot spring and the International Male Sauna Olympics Decathlon Team.”

They had a team for that? Okay… Lark decided, that was not a place to go.

It took a little while for the battle to be over. Henry and Mildred managed to affect an escape by simply cutting their way through the ice to the ocean below.

When they finally achieved their goal and arrived back at the pick up site, the long summer sun of the south was just about to go below the horizon.

Lark greeted the captain of their submarine with a sense of relief, a smile and, well, something else that she saved for later. She knew it would be at least a seven week journey to get them home again.

Whatever it was, the tube of stuff was amazing.

##

They all sat nervously around the couch room, except for Dragon who’d soon appear as her famed silhouette on the screen before them.

“Hey Wolf,” Fox said. “Looks like you’ve got some serious competition here.”

“Eh?” Wolf looked over at Fox’s laptop, shocked.

There it was—her infamous entrance into the Yankees world series final.

“Wow, would you look at her,” Lynx added. “And so far she’s got twice as many hits as any of your YouTube movies.”

“Really?” Wolf tried to remain casual.

“Who is she?” Otter asked, pushing Wolf aside. “Does anyone know?”

“Just says mysterious lady making her debut at the Yankees. Other than that no one knows, she vanished before the cops could catch her.”

Wolf stepped carefully back from the couch. Maybe she would be lucky this time…

Suddenly the lights in the room dimmed and the screen was backlit. The famous Furball and Dragon silhouettes appeared on the screen.

“Congratulations ladies, very well done. Using the information you've garnered on the Prince we’ve been able to, uhm, solicit… acquire more funds from his parents—ah, government—in order to aid our mission to secure the safety of the world. For that you will all be receiving a bonus check to enable a short vacation anywhere you’d like.”

“Anywhere we’d like in the world?” Lark squeaked happily.

“Uhm, well, anywhere you’d like in Louisville, Kentucky. But I’m sure you’ll find something exciting to do there. You should all congratulate yourselves.”

There was a rather lame attempt at group applause.

“And Wolf, you have excelled. Indeed, excelled. Our friends, the HUNKs have praised you for their excellent penetration training missions and would like to thank you by offering a short stay to share your skills with other HUNKs over at their offices in Florence, Italy. I have sent the invite and relevant papers to your home. There wasn’t even a teeny little mention in there about the SPLAT mission they missed. Excellent work.”

The screen went black and everyone stared grumpily at Wolf.

“Hey, maybe I’ll ask and see if I can bring some friends along,” she offered, there were a lot of HUNKs to go around. Besides, she could afford to be generous, now she wasn’t famous on YouTube.

Wanna read more... Catch all the previous PIACT Agent missions on my Forum here...

A dose of reality

meg_allison_author@yahoo.com (Meg Allison) — Fri, 06 Nov 2009 16:08:00 +0000

Today is one of those days when I really wish I were ahead of the game. If so, then I'd have a post ready to go and wouldn't have to even think about it. But I was not born organized and, unfortunately, I haven't reached that point to-date.

So what I can possibly say when most of us are still reeling and/or shaking our heads regarding the news this week? As of this morning, we've uncovered one 'new' serial killer -- not the anti-hero, Dexter type, I'm sad to say; a bizarre kidnapping plot; and have faced the fact that not even secure facilities are secure... and sometimes the craziest ones among us might be the ones trying to heal our pain. :\ My thoughts and prayers are with all those affected by the horrors in both Ohio and at Fort Hood.

Yes, as you can probably deduce, I've had a bit too much reality this week. It reminds me not only why I don't enjoy watching the news, but why we're becoming so isolated from one another even as we spend hours on the Internet. Stranger danger has never had a more provocative meaning.

Reality is, however, something we have to face. Meet head-on at times. Even overcome or fight to change. But how do we keep our own mental health from hitting rock bottom in the meantime? It differs, I think, from person to person.

It runs the gamut of those who get out there and help to others who curl up in the fetal position and wait for it all to blow over. Then there's people like me who simply turn off the news and grab a good book...or play a game...or connect with friends and my family. I do face reality, but in small doses... or at least until my brain and heart reach the point of saturation. Then I delve back into make-believe.

Either way, I'm one of those who likes to be in control of their world. When I can't be -- which is often the case -- then I tend to get a bit overwhelmed. But I've figured out ways to deal with that stress so my family doesn't have to suffer my bad moods.

Recently I went so far as to turn on TV-Land and the Andy Griffith Show. Ah, to be in Mayberry again, sitting on the porch with Aunt Bea as I eat a big hunk of apple pie. How I'd love to laze with Andy and Opie at the old fishin' hole, just whittling the hours away in peace and quiet.

All I can say is that this week has reminded me that old-fashioned ideas and out-dated notions aren't necessarily a bad thing. In a perfect reality, neighbors would be friends -- they'd look out for each other; depend on each other without a thought and never regret it. In a perfect reality, my children wouldn't even know the term 'serial killer', and that would be okay. In a perfect reality, the bad guys would wear the black hats so we'd know, on sight, who we could trust.

Ah, but reality is never perfect. Which is partly why I read fiction... and write romance. I have control over that world, at least.

~~Meg

No No NaNo

mk@meankitty.com (Writer and Cat) — Thu, 05 Nov 2009 04:34:00 +0000

NaNoWriMo fever is sweeping the internet with cyberconnected folks from all walks of life competing (mostly against themselves) to produce a 50,000 word novel in the space of one month. For some this is a month of triumph against adversity. For others--not so much with the triumph part.

One of the things I believe about being a writer is that everyone has his or her own path. Except for finding some way to be productive (and defining what you consider productive for yourself and your career), there are no industry-wide best practices insofar as "how" to write a novel is concerned. Sure, one shouldn't plagiarize, clearly, or eschew grammar entirely, but if you write at nights, in the mornings, in long stretches, on week-ends only, every third day at noon, always with the coffee and bagels--it's your pattern. Realize it. Work it. Stretch it. Own it.

As for me, my pattern may or may not allow me to produce a novel in a month, but this year, the answer is definitely no no NaNo.

Why? Because...

1) Heat makes me nauseous, so I'm staying out of the kitchen.

2) Laptop does not compute.

3) I have these other deadlines.

4) Swine flu.

5) Only 45-odd shopping days until the winter commercialism fest is upon us.

6) I'm on a health kick, and it's not healthy to spend that many hours in the recliner with the computer.

7) The cat said no.

8) November is sweeps month on TV and I watch all the latest episodes for a living. (Ok, ok, WHILE I'm living.)

9) I already wrote a novel in October.

10) I have to finish crocheting the lifesize replica of Edward and Bella before the Twilighters charity auction.

11) As a healthy-sized adult human female, I feel I must refuse to participate in anything that means "little" or "one billionth" of anything.

12) That's what they want you to do.

13) All my books have 49,999 words in them, so I'm a loser from the get-go.

Jody W.
So much cyberspace, so little time!
www.jodywallace.com / www.meankitty.com

Happy Celtic New Year!

noreply@blogger.com (Carolan Ivey) — Sun, 01 Nov 2009 14:26:00 +0000

I know, I know. I was supposed to post yesterday. But I knew last night was going to be a blast so I waited so I could share some pictures with you. Last night we went to the first honest-to-god costume party we've been to in ages. Maybe since college! It was held by (deep breath, long-winded explanation coming) our son's girlfriend's parent's neighbors, who bought and are restoring the old farmhouse the girlfriend's father's grandfather owned.

Anyway, the owners were kind enough to invite my husband and me, and I wish you could have seen how much pleasure they took in decorating. Literally no part of the house, barn or outside property was neglected. Everywhere you looked it was like stepping into a macabre version of Disney's haunted mansion. Here are just a few pictures from last night:

Starting off the evening right -- my husband scaring the snot out of little children.

I hurried to snap pictures of the fabulous food and decorations before the party-goers devoured everything. Here we have lady's fingers, bones, and globs of unidentified organ meat. (All cookies and nut clusters)

Eyeball cookies and zombie cake.

I thought the reduced fat Ritz was a nice touch. I'm not normally squeamish, but if that was cheese dip in the body cavity, I didn't try it!

Just one of the amazingly creative decorations. Note the glowing eyeballs in the photos. The skeleton at right was doling out cheese dip from his coffin.

The previous photos were taken out in the barn, where the main party was held, but the hosts' home got equal treatment in decorations. I wish I could show you everything but there isn't room for 500 photos - no part of the house was untouched. They even put Halloween dresses and masks on their doll collection! You had to duck underneath low hanging "spider webs" everywhere. This was the coffee table in their TV room.

Outdoors, each area of their several-acre property was a different scene. I didn't get a good photo of the cemetery in the front yard (complete with a zombie with fog pouring out of its mouth). This is their koi pond, which had a skeleton floating in it. (I'm sure the koi were not amused.)

A screaming banshee bride wails underneath a giant oak tree near the barn.

Me, partaking of a lady finger. Yummmm!!

Hope you had a great weekend! Me, I'm a little, er, rough this morning. But it was worth it!

Carolan
www.carolanivey.com

The Second Time Around

noreply@blogger.com (Sela Carsen) — Fri, 30 Oct 2009 14:02:00 +0000

I’m writing a … what do you call a second story in the same world? Is that a series? Is it a sequel? Because it’s not about the same couple, so ‘sequel’ seems like the wrong word. Anyway, I’m writing a second story. It’s hard because I’m not naturally set up to write series. Once I put a story to bed, that’s it. I’m ready to move on to something else. Maybe it’s a product of my gypsy upbringing. After two years in one place, I’m usually ready for the movers to show up. Time to go see something new.

Unfortunately, my gypsy days are at an end. I live in the Midwest now. In the burbs, no less. I’ve been here for three years and will be for the foreseeable future. Good schools, nice neighborhood, pool, sidewalks, all that American Dream stuff. Writing is the only thing that’s keeping me from drinking in the afternoon.

It’s an apt metaphor for my writing, though. Suddenly, I’m compelled – by forces outside myself, I might add – to write this story that’s set back in Culford, SC. Back in the Congaree Swamp.

I spend a lot of time on my settings. I know where my stories live. I’ve said before that if this place was real, I could walk through it blindfolded and know just where I was at every step. Culford is a great setting. I loved writing that little town.

But I’m having a difficult time with it this time around. Writing new stories in new settings is fun and exciting. Writing a new story in an old setting means that suddenly I have to work much harder to make things interesting for myself.

I worry that the secondary characters I loved in one story will seem saccharine the next time around. I worry that familiarity will breed contempt for all the things that were so charming the first time.

However, this is the hand I’ve been dealt. And much like my current status as a Midwestern suburban hausfrau, I’m going to make the best of it. I just have to dig a little deeper into my setting and my characters to make them feel comfortable, rather than merely worn.

And next time I sign up to write a sequel, shoot me.

A bit of magic

noreply@blogger.com (Ember Case) — Wed, 28 Oct 2009 13:21:00 +0000

There're only three more days until Halloween is here. As much as I enjoy the excitement around the day, I'll admit there's a part of me that will be glad when November 1st arrives.

That's the part of me that's had to watch Halloweentown, Halloweentown II : Kalabar's Revenge, Return to Halloweentown, and let's not forget Halloweentown High somewhere near twentytwelve times each this month.

You see, my daughter has discovered magic. She's still not ready for Harry Potter (oy - I just had to go there, didn't I? Probably by next year, if the Universal Theme Park opens this year.) Yet thanks to Disney's Wizards of Waverly Place and their Halloweentown movie series she loves, loves, loves magic. She has spent the past few weeks practicing spellcasting, chanting made up words under her breath, and trying to turn her brother into a frog.

Now Wizards of Waverly Place is actually a pretty ok show. Selena Gomez is a cute, talented teen, and it's one of the few shows that doesn't have whining, annoying, or too-old-for-their-age kids on it. And the Halloweentown movies aren't too bad either - Debbie Reynolds made a pretty nice granny witch, and the movies are just the right touch of scary for a seven year old witch-wanna-be. But please, please, please stop showing the same things over and over and over. It's enough to make me miss Goosebumps, her scary-season fixation from last year.

The Halloweentown movies will be on Disney no less than 14 more times between now and the end of the month, so if you've somehow missed them you've got plenty of chances to make up for the loss. I think it may be time for me to unplug the satellite though. Otherwise I may never make it until November.

Adventures in Capclave

noreply@blogger.com (Jean Marie Ward) — Sat, 24 Oct 2009 04:23:00 +0000

Capclave 2009, Washington DC’s local science fiction/fantasy/horror convention, was warm, wonderful and didn’t wash away in the rain, despite the very best efforts of the weather. I think we got forty days and forty nights worth of rain in one little weekend.

SF/fantasy radio personality Jim Freund interviews
Asimov Editor and Capclave Editor Guest of Honor
Sheila Williams.

As if to make up for it, there was a banquet of panels I wanted to cover above and beyond my own. A writer’s dream, the con’s motto could’ve been “So many editors; so little time.” To cite only one example, in addition to Editor Guest of Honor and Asimov icon Sheila Williams, the Sunday morning Editors’ Panel showcased:

- John Joseph Adams, who’s been described as “the reigning king of the anthology world”,
- Christopher M. Cevasco, writer and editor of the late lamented Paradox magazine,
- Neil Clarke, editor of Clarkesworld,
- George Scithers, who’s edited EVERYTHING, including the ongoing anthology series Cat Tales: Fantastic Feline Fiction, and
- Sean Wallace, publisher of Prime Books, editor of Fantasy and co-editor of Clarkesworld.

Five of my panels featured at least one acquiring editor—to say nothing of the folks you could meet in the autograph lines. Which just goes to show small local cons can be excellent places to network. That was my selling point to two aspiring authors and would be booksellers, at any rate. It remains to be seen whether they made any useful contacts. However, they were totally won over by the jewelry venders in the dealers room.

The panels and my inevitable quest for brewed iced tea helped deliver me from temptations of the dealers room variety. Mostly. The only book I bought was Hank Reinhardt’s The Book of Swords, which I really should’ve bought at Baen’s DragonCon launch party. (Yes, I was an idiot. Your point?)

Capclave Writer Guest of Honor Harry
Turtledove.

But Capclave has come up with a new way to squeeze money—er, encourage attendees to support the con and its sponsor, the Washington Science Fiction Association. WSFA now publishes limited edition anthologies related the theme of each year’s con. Reincarnations, this year’s anthology, encompassed seven stories by Writer Guest of Honor Harry Turtledove and an introduction by Sheila Williams. The con afforded many opportunities for get GOH autographs, too, and I did not repeat my DragonCon mistake.

Another heartening development was con programming’s efforts to integrate urban fantasy and paranormal romance into Capclave’s literary universe. This represents a real sea change in the local science fiction community. Of course, it helps when the “home team” includes luminaries like Catherine Asaro and Mindy Klasky. Not only do they write fabulous books, as the saying goes, they “give good panel”. Now if I could only figure out where Catherine Asaro buys her rock star boots…

Capclave 2009 also hosted the area’s first Broad Universe Rapid Fire Reading. Broad Universe is a professional organization dedicated to promoting women writers of SF, fantasy and horror. But forget the worthwhile stuff. As far as I’m concerned, the best aspect of being a Broad is participating in the group readings we call RFRs, where all the Broads at a con convene to read their fiction. It’s a fabulous way to meet great writers, discover wonderful fiction, and avoid the scary prospect of reading to an empty room. You never, ever have to read alone. It’s all about community.

Kind of like Capclave.

The Broad Universe Rapid Fire Readers. In the top
row (from left to right) are Dina Leacock (aka Diane
Arrelle), Kelly A. Harmon, Victoria Janssen,
Roxanne Bland. I'm on my own in the lower row.

A New Turn of Phrase...

noreply@blogger.com (Kaye Chambers) — Fri, 23 Oct 2009 20:08:00 +0000

This month has been a wonderful one. My Maggie Award novel, ANGELIC AVENGER, had its digital debut on Tuesday, Octover 6th. I was absolutely thrilled to say I downloaded it as soon as it became available…and yes, I paid for the priviledge. Why? Because it made it real to me. :)

My husband, as the dedication indicates, is greatly supportive of my writing efforts. In fact, one of the most memorable episodes involving Bella’s launch on the world comes from him.

He works at a hospital. One of his coworkers came up to him and asked about my book. The digital release in advance of the paperback had some of his coworkers wanting to know when they could go to the bookstore to buy it.

Well, the coworker asked what genre it was. When my husband, slightly embarrassed, told him it was a paranormal romance, the instant reply was:

“Oh. It’s one of those vibrator books.”

Having met the gentleman in question, I can hear the humor in which it was meant. And the more I think about it, the funnier it is.

Vibrator books. My new turn of phrase for the week.

Well, experts say that a good bit of a woman’s interest in sex comes from fantasy and intellectual stimulation. Isn’t that the purpose of romance novels? A little escapism and fantasy?

Men can learn from that. *grins* And if they took advantage of it, they wouldn’t be called vibrator books at all.

My poor husband may be getting flack at work, but he’s taking it with pride and amusement. Funny, I don’t think he’s complaining, either. *wink*

Where's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown???

noreply@blogger.com (Christine Norris) — Wed, 21 Oct 2009 12:00:00 +0000

I love Halloween. It's the time of year when I get all giddy inside, because I get to play dress-up and decorate the outside of my house, trying to make it look a little spooky. I adore the ghost story, things-that-go-bump-in-the-night aspect of it all. It's FUN. Usually I pull everything out around Sept. 30, to get it up on or around Oct. 1.

But this year, I was late. My cousin's wedding, plus my freelance work, plus my son's football season all conspired against me to keep me from putting up my stuff. When I finally got around to it, around ten days into the month, I looked it over and said, "I need new stuff." Hubby agreed. So my son and I jumped into the car and off we went.

Yeah. The first store we went to was slim pickin's for anything but costumes. But the CHRISTMAS stuff was in plentiful supply. Now, I know that stores don't like to order lots of seasonal stuff because what they don't sell they have to store. But first of all, WHY is the Halloween stuff out on the day after school opens in early September? And WHY do people rush around like mad, buying it all up then, so that at a reasonable time of year, there's nothing left? It was OCTOBER 11.

That's my first rant. I can't stand that retailers force us into thinking about holidays months in advance, especially Christmas. It's not just holidays, but clothing as well. Don't even get me started about how I see bathing suits for sale in Target...in JANUARY, but I can't find a pair of gloves or a warm hat.

But here's my second rant, and this one is really the issue. I finally went with my son to the local Halloween store to see what we could find. Beyond the high prices ($30 for a styrofoam tombstone? Really? It was nice, but still. One good wind, and bye bye thirty bucks.) was the content. Everything, and I mean every last thing, was blood and gore. Disemboweled victims, with rats nibbling their intestines, zombies with their eyeballs hanging on their cheeks, decapitated heads. In other words, really, really gross.

When did Halloween go from being a kids' holiday (I mean American Halloween, leaving aside Samhain for a moment) about being frightened and having fun to the competition for the most disgusting display we can find? How did we get from The Great Pumpkin to Saw VI??? I love scary movies as much as the next person - I will gladly watch The Blair Witch Project, Halloween, and Scream when they come on TV this year. What I like about them is the fact that you never really SEE the bad stuff. It's all left to your imagination. Like with decorations - creepy spiderwebs and flaming pumpkins and motion-activated ghosts give you the feeling of being frightened. What you imagine is supposed to be scarier than what's there. You don't have to actually SEE it, and that's what makes it scary. Not this gross-out fest that seems to have overtaken the industry.

Eventually I found some nice things, on the single shelf left at Lowe's that had Halloween decorations, including two adorable gargoyles. Next year I'll remember to get started earlier.

Meantime...bring on Christmas. Sigh.

Marilyn

noreply@blogger.com (Feavre Dreams) — Sun, 18 Oct 2009 14:08:00 +0000

The pre-dawn air was cool and moist as she
drove Marilyn down the block. Carol Ann’s hair was
damp from the heat and clung to the back of her
neck as she drove along darkened streets with the
window rolled down. I won’t go too far, she
reasoned. Just far enough, but not to the campus,
because he’d get suspicious. No I’ll drop her off at
the Kroger’s and leave it in the parking lot with the
keys in the ignition. That’d do it. She smiled in
grim satisfaction. Yes, that’s perfect. It’ll be close
enough to walk back without him being any the
wiser.
I went for my morning jog baby, I’ll tell him,
Carol Ann conspired. And when I got home the car
was missing. Someone must have taken it out of the
Patricia Snodgrass
84
garage while I was gone. They must have found the
keys in the kitchen and just drove off with her.
Sorry, lover. I must have forgotten to lock up when
I left. My bad.
Marilyn’s radio came on without warning. I Like
it Like That by Chris Kenner blasted through the
speakers. Carol Ann jerked in surprise. She turned
it off, but it came back on at once. Carol Ann
slammed her hand against the console.
“You’re just full of it this morning, ain’tcha?”
she asked Marilyn as she pulled into the Kroger’s
parking lot. She parked the car underneath a dull
orange street lamp.
She killed the ignition and sat for a moment.
I’m doing a bad thing, she thought. Despite how
she felt, Bobby loved Marilyn, and when she got rid
of her, and he found out, he’d never forgive her no
matter how many muscle cars she gave him.
She frowned. Is our relationship worth the price
of a car? She wondered. Why can’t I relent and let
him have the damned thing?
“Because you’re messing with my boyfriend, that’s
why,” she said aloud. “I don’t know how, but that’s
what’s going on and I won’t have it.”
An intense sensation ran up her leg, caressing
her crotch. Marilyn became stifling hot; the aroma
of Chanel and smoke from old fashioned cigarettes
was stifling. A feminine giggle came from nowhere.
Something ran up her right breast, probing her
shirt, trying to find a way in.
Within seconds she was covered with rough
obviously sexual caresses, tiny bites and heavy
perfume. She lingered in the sensation, alternately
frightened and excited at the same time.
After a few seconds of stunned excitement she
bolted from the car, leaving the keys in the ignition
and the door wide open as she ran as quickly as she
could back toward their house.
“I did it, I did it I did it,” she heaved as she
ran, hot and sweaty, back home. She leaned
against the garage door, panting. “I got rid of it; I
got rid of that hideous thing.”
She stepped into the garage and uttered a short
shriek.
Marilyn was there, parked in her usual spot, the
driver’s side door open. Carol Ann looked inside the
car. The keys were in the ignition.
“How did you? How could you? How is it
possible?”
Marilyn seemed to sneer around her horse
collar grill.

Marilyn is available at http://www.whispershome.com

Just Say Never

noreply@blogger.com (Cheryel Hutton) — Sat, 17 Oct 2009 13:56:00 +0000

They interrupt your dinner, they call just as you’re rushing out the door, they invade the private fun time with your significant other, they suck up your cell phone minutes, they leave incomprehensible messages on your answering machine, a computer calls and there’s nobody there. Everybody has a horror story or two. They are telemarketers.

I personally hate telemarketers. But then, so does everybody else in the world. Or so it would seem. I’ve never heard anybody claim to like telemarketers. I’ve never heard anybody admit to buying anything from them. But still they call and call and call until you want to scream.

Okay, I’ll admit it. One time MANY years ago I bought something from a telemarketer. My daughters were young, and a guy offered me a great deal on books for them. Books. My weakness. Turns out he rather exaggerated the deal I could get. I learned my lesson. Never did it again. I refuse to even talk to telemarketers. I tell them I have a policy of not buying from telemarketers. I’m nice, but I frequently hang up on them still doing their spiel. These folks are determined.

There are other issues too. What if it’s not a real telemarketer? What if the guy on the other end is only offering you a too-good-too-be-true deal in an effort to steal your credit card number? Could happen. Yeah, I’m paranoid. It pays to be in this crazy world we’ve built for ourselves.

What’s the answer? It’s simple, really. If nobody ever bought anything from telemarketers they’d soon go the way of the dinosaur—except nobody would dig up their bones and put them in museums. The thing is, somebody is buying from these people. If not, then it wouldn’t be financially feasible for them to keep calling. And keep calling. And keep…

So, logic demands that somebody is buying telemarketing wares. Is it you? How about you over there? Okay, I see you trying to sneak out the back. Somebody, actually a lot of somebodies, are aiding and abetting these annoying folks.

I’d like to say something here. This annoyance is not the fault of those who call (except maybe for the computer, we all know you can’t trust those things). It does no good to yell at—or worse—someone who is simply struggling to make a living. Yes, I’ve yelled, and I feel bad about it. Telemarketing is not a job I’d pick, but it might be the best, or only, choice for many people.
Actually, that’s the only good thing to be said for telemarketing companies, they do offer jobs, and in this economy that is definitely a good thing.

As long as they don’t call me.

What's going on in my life

noreply@blogger.com (Sharon Cullen) — Wed, 14 Oct 2009 05:00:00 +0000

Good morning, everyone! So, fall has arrived, at least in Ohio it has. This morning I heard the dreaded 4 letter word. Snow! Already? I'm not ready for snow. I feel like summer was just last week.

There's been a lot going on in my life lately. This past Saturday I had a booksigning at the Barnes and Nobles in Cincinnati) where I signed my two romantic suspense books, Deception and Redemption. I want to thank everyone who turned out. It was a huge success. Below are some pictures from the signing. I'm on the left and beside me is my very talented fellow Samhain author, Ann Warner who signed her two contemporary romances, Dreams for Stones and Persistence of Dreams.

I'll be doing another signing on December 5 at the Barnes and Nobles in West Chester, Ohio with about 20 other authors including the very popular Lori Foster. When I get more details, I'll let you know.

I've been working hard on my next romantic suspense. This one doesn't have a title yet but its shaping up to be a very emotional read. And for those of you who crave paranormal romance, never fear, the next one in the pipeline for me is a paranormal romance set in 1300 and modern day.

I hope everyone is staying healthy and has a wonderful week!

Sharon
www.sharoncullen.net

ps - If you haven't joined me on Facebook or Twitter, please do! (just follow the links)

Jean Marie's Capclave Schedule

noreply@blogger.com (Jean Marie Ward) — Tue, 13 Oct 2009 05:54:00 +0000

Now that I’ve (more or less) recovered from DragonCon, it’s again time to put on my convention hat and party hard—er, prepare to educate and entertain at Capclave 2009, this Friday to Sunday, October 16-18. Capclave is the Washington, DC, area’s premier science fiction, fantasy and horror convention. Although it focuses on literature, particularly short stories, you can’t bring a bunch of daft writers together and not wind up with a good time.

If this sounds like your thing, you can find us at the Hilton, Washington DC/Rockville Executive Meeting Center, 1750 Rockville Pike, Rockville, MD 20852, from 3 p.m. this Friday until 5 p.m. on Sunday. I hope you’ll join us. I especially hope you’ll attend a panel of mine. Or two. Or all of them. The one thing I’ve learned over the course of my writing career is you can never be too rich or have too many fans.

Seriously, the thin thing is negotiable.

Jean Marie’s 2009 Capclave Schedule:

Friday, 8 p.m.
Fantasy-Mystery – From Harry Dresden to Rachel Morgan to Sookie Stackhouse to Anita Blake, a lot of popular urban fantasies/paranormal romances seem to be mysteries. Why add this element to the mix? What works and what doesn’t when you combine them?
Panelists: Andrew Fox (m), Peter Heck, Victoria Janssen, Jean Marie Ward, Diane Weinstein

Friday, 10 p.m.
Kryptonite for Characters – What do you do to limit your characters and keep them from being too powerful? What flaws do you give them? How do you have them grow and gain without becoming gods?
Panelists: Diane Weinstein (m), Davey Beauchamp, Neil Clarke, Tom King, Jean Marie Ward

Friday, 11 p.m.
Are Vampires Still #1? – Why are vampires so popular? Is anything likely to rival them—werewolves? Zombies? What? Whose vampires are the best and why?
Panelists: Andrew Fox (m), Davey Beauchamp, Darrell Schweitzer, Jean Marie Ward, Lawrence Watt-Evans

Saturday, 11 a.m.
Paranormal Romance—Just Chick Lit? – Why is the main character in paranormal romance usually female? Is the audience meant to be women only? What is the right balance between the paranormal and the romance? (And, the moderator adds, why the heck aren’t there any men on this panel? Hmph! I have a feeling I’m going to have to be a very bad girl on this one.)
Panelists: Jean Marie Ward (m), Mattie Brahen, Mindy Klasky, Victoria Janssen

Saturday, 1 p.m.
Broad Universe Rapid Fire Reading – Join the Broads of Capclave as they read fast-paced excerpts from their latest fictions. There will be chocolate.
Panelists: Jean Marie Ward (m), Diane Arrelle, Roxanne Bland, Kelly A. Harmon, Victoria Janssen

Sunday, 11 a.m.
Paranormal Versus Urban Fantasy – Is paranormal romance just another name for urban fantasy? If not, what is the distinction? How do writers determine the right balance between paranormal and romance? Is it just classic boy meets girl or does being a paranormal make it different?
Panelists: Scott Andrews (m), Catherine Asaro, Karen Newton, Edmund Schubert, Jean Marie Ward, Diane Weinstein

###

31 Days of Halloween

noreply@blogger.com (MK Mancos/Kathleen Scott/Kate Davison) — Mon, 12 Oct 2009 20:39:00 +0000

Yes, I realize it's only one night a year, but from Oct. 1 -31 has always been a spookfest for me. I remember being in elementary school and sitting at my desk and drawing pictures of witches and ghosts and goblins while the teacher played a 12-inch vinyal recording of Pit and the Pendulum, Tell-Tale Heart, or the Raven. I was in my glory.

I remember setting up a haunted house in my friend's old house (her parents owned two of them and one was undergoing renovations while they lived in the one next door)- We'd give tours to the neighbhorhood kids and jump out of closets and grab ankles from under beds. It was Hitchcockian in it's suspense and simplicity. No blood or gore, just plain straight up fright.

Something happens to me when that first leaf turns yellow and the scent of fires drift on the air. I just love it. I can't think of any other time of year when I come as alive as I do in the fall. It breaks my heart that it lasts only a few weeks here in NJ. Not long at all. It really is the shortest season. (Though honestly nothing could be as short as our one week of summer we had this year.)

Is it any wonder that I'd end up writing paranormal romances? As Halloween draws closer, my books become increasingly more about those elements from my childhood that were poised to scare. But it wasn't just the ghost and goblins, but the love of those old black and white Universal Monster Movies - Dracula, Frankenstein, the Wolfman, the Mummy. OMG. Loved them. Ate them up. I mean....who doesn't love the creature from the black lagoon? Or how about the modern Mummy remakes. I'll take two, please.

So, going over my own list of work for this article, I made an interesting discovery,
I've written a total of 3 ghost stories in my career. Not many considering my love of the paranormal. I have 1.5 "Vampire" books. .25 of a shifter story, but alas not to wolf form. I have no mummies, no creatures from the deep. I'm thinking my supply is sadly lacking. Why, o' why is this? And when am I going to find the time to correct it? Let's be honest, some of these characters would make some pretty sexy heroes.

Who here has read The Mummy: Ramses the Damned by Anne Rice? OMG! Can I just say as far as mummys are concerned the guy was very sexy. Hot. Yummlicious. (I'm going to have to find that book again, and read it before Halloween.) With this new push for zombie books, why not a mummy....oh damn, I just stepped on a plot bunny. (Lifts up foot and looks at shoe.)

What are your plans to get ready for the bestest holiday of the year for a paranormal author? Are you going to read scary books, watch scary movies, or write about your own form of terror-inducing, sexy, bad boy hero?

-Kat

noreply@blogger.com (sjwilling) — Sat, 10 Oct 2009 04:08:00 +0000

Another Free Read from the PIACT Agent Archive. (Mostly work friendly)

Don't forget if you want to win a super duper Secret Agent ID card like this one and your own presentation packaged archive superspy mission for yourself, or a loved one, all you have to do to enter the free draw is comment on this thread. Stories can be written in four styles, sex free, romantic, spicy and erotic. Just let me know what you want.

Come along and join us, your superspy comrades are eagerly waiting...

Gentle Jaguar Enjoys the View

Gentle Jaguar was in her apartment, sitting at her computer and browsing the internet when the message came. She felt, at the least, somewhat annoyed. After all, she’d just returned from a five-year deep undercover mission and was currently planning her first real vacation ever. She was going on a tour of Italy—a longed for, dreamed about and fantasized trip of that magical country and even more superlative hunks.

It was a trip she’d been promising herself since she was a teenager and, by dingo, she was going to go. Not to mention she had just been looking at photos from the beaches on the Isle of Capri and, more pointedly, looking at photos of the gorgeous men lying on the beaches on the Isle of Capri.

That was when the PIACT chat logo flashed up on the center of her screen. The PIACT chat logo immediately did two things.

One, it shut down every other program her computer was running to make sure the connection was as safe and hacker free as possible.

Two, it mightily pissed her off because she’d spent ages finding the photos of the beach and its hunks, and she hadn’t had a chance to favorite the page yet.

Like the good agent she was, though, she kept her anger in check. After all, every PIACT agent was trained from the start to know that being contacted this way was only, and they meant only, ever done in extreme emergencies. So whatever they were getting hold of her for, it should be something pretty serious.

She carefully logged in using the ((quadruple x* 4)/√7) ² code word she’d been given years ago—God knows how she remembered it—and was rewarded with the chat window lighting up to show their esteemed leader, Ferocious Furball, the Supreme One on Top, ready to chat.

Well, at least she saw the silhouette of his head and shoulders on a backlit screen.

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” Furball began, looking as if he was peering around her room trying to find the dozens of naked men falling over themselves to service her every whim. Not that the thought wasn’t tempting, but she wasn’t really that sort of girl.

“No, you’re not interrupting anything at all,” she reassured him. Except for a gadzillion dollar daydream about Italy.

“Good, good.” Furball replied. “Because I need a second agent urgently for a most dangerous mission. I wouldn’t ask you normally but I can’t send Shimmering Dragon in alone for this one, and you’re the only agent I have free at the moment. All the rest are involved in a highly covert mission at the YouTube offices.”

Shimmering Dragon? Furball’s personal assistant? The One Beneath the Supreme One on Top? It had to be a very weighty mission indeed if he was sending her to investigate. This could be a very important stepping point in her PIACT career. Suddenly the interruption was beginning to seem much less inconvenient than it had.

“Of course I’ll be able to help, sir. May I know the details of the mission?”

“Too risky to tell you anything but the basics online,” Furball shook his head. “Dragon will be there within the hour and she will brief you. Suffice to say we believe it involves the Secret Party Looking to Annihilate Terra, SPLAT that is, and you’ll be hopping on over to Florence to investigate. Can you be ready in an hour?”

Jaguar held her breath as giddy waves of euphoria washed through her. Florence, Italy. Yes! Yes! YES!

So what if it also involved the most evil, despicable, deadly and corrupt organization PIACT had ever encountered. Jaguar knew she’d get time to visit the Archbishop’s Palace, the Cloister of the Barefoot, wander around the Oricellari Gardens and marvel at the Cathedral of Santa Maria del Fiore. And then, once the mission was over, begin her tour from there ending up, finally, on the golden beaches of Capri.

“Jaguar? Jaguar? Are you okay?”

Realizing she’d been drifting in a daydream haze, and hoping she hadn’t been doing it for too long, she schooled her face into a perfectly neutral expression.

“No problem, sir.” She told him. “I’ll be packed and ready in an hour.” In less, if she had to.

“Very good,” Furball nodded. “Good luck to you both, then. And remember, the fate of the world depends on you.”

She waited until the chat window had shut down and she was certain the web cam was no longer pumping her image across the net before she leaped up, dancing towards her closet.

“I’m going to Florence, I’m going to meet an Italian. We’re going to be best of best buddies!” She sang a silly little song as she threw bikini’s, bikini wax, toothbrushes, sun tan lotion, camera’s, video camera’s, makeup, shoes, her electronic English to Italian translator, more makeup, some very skimpy panties and bras, her passport into a couple of suitcases.

Looking at the three matched sets of luggage the middle one was still empty, though she couldn’t figure out why. She thought about it as she sang again, lauding the delicious Italian who was going to fall in love with her forever in the beautifully romantic city.

Ah, clothes! Yes, she’d need some clothes! What a silly girl she was, but, oh, what a wonderful surprise!

By the time Dragon arrived she’d managed to drag all five cases of luggage—well, she really couldn’t fit all the clothes into just one—down six flights of stairs to the front hallway. And was waiting, as gracefully as one can when feeling in an excited tizzy, dressed in her Donna Karan sequined dress, her Jimmy Choo branded mirror slingbacks and her Rioni mini-on-the-go purse.

This was going to be the adventure of a lifetime, and she intended to live it.

“So, you want to take all this?”

Jaguar didn’t like the tone of Dragon’s voice as she looked at the small collection of luggage. Didn’t the woman realize just how much essential stuff she’d had to leave behind?

“These really are the essentials,” Jaguar insisted. “I simply can’t go on vaca—mission without them.”

Dragon was rude enough to sigh—loudly. “Oh, very well we should have room in the back. Grab those two.”

Jaguar considered complaining that Dragon had left the biggest two for her, but then remembered she was about to reprimand her boss and changed her mind. After all, one sometimes had to suffer a little to get ahead.

Jaguar’s opinion of Dragon dropped even further when she managed to get the suitcases out the front door.

Now, it wasn’t surprising that someone from redneck Indiana had a jeep, but couldn’t it at least have been a red one, or better yet, yellow. And one that had real windows, not just some ugly, plastic stuff.

Dragon dropped two of the suitcases in the back then turned to look at her, rolling her eyes.

“PIACT issued.” Dragon said, reminding her. “Every time we start a mission we’re considered to be in a hostile zone.”

So, Furball was responsible for this was he? Jaguar fumed silently. Like a camouflage paint job was really going to make a difference going down the Trans-Canada Highway.

“Quickly!” Dragon was getting a bit testy apparently. “If you keep standing there like that someone’s going to try and slam dunk a basketball in your mouth.”

‘Hmph!” Jaguar grunted her disgust. Still, at least the dismay was wearing off a bit, and SPLAT did have a dangerous reputation. Just look at Two Toed Turtle—he was still majorly shell-shocked. Probably, once they hit Italy, all of her frustrations would melt away. Just like Italian ice cream. “Yum!”

She ignored Dragon’s peculiar stare.

Deciding to make the best of it for now she hefted her two bags into the back while Dragon fetched the last, and smallest. This was, unceremoniously, tossed onto the back seat. Hopefully her compacts stayed in one piece. There was nothing worse than brushing your teeth and finding the toothbrush full of foundation. Ick!

With the car fully packed Dragon thrust a small plastic box with an antennae into her hands, and then sat behind the steering wheel, starting the jeep.

“What’s…?” Jaguar began.

“We have to locate the secret base,” Dragon told her. “That’s the secret base locator. Just make sure I keep heading in the general direction of that little arrow on the front.”

“You’re not just going to go to the airport?”

Dragon gave her a funny look. “Why have a secret base next to an airport? Far too dangerous. Too many people could discover it.”

“Ah, of course.” Jaguar realized how silly she was being. This mission was so important they would be taking the PIACT private jet, and PIACT wouldn’t want anyone to know where that was currently housed.

“Well, lead on,” she chirped, meeting Dragon’s odd gaze with a smiley one of her own. “We’ve got a mission to finish.”

##

Five hours later and it was dark. Very dark.

Not that the dark bothered Jaguar too much. Rather, sitting in a jeep that was being driven like a demon on a mud track through backwoods country in the Canadian Rockies, without headlights—that kind of bothered her some. Admittedly Dragon had switched on the jeep’s HUD and the dashboard held a pretty detailed map of the local terrain, including the odd owl or bat that decided to flee rather than investigate the huge mass of metal that was ready to tear into the nearest tree it could hit.

Not that she suspected they could hear it. Dragon had also turned on the PIACT patented quiet engine device and even with the window flaps rolled up, Jaguar couldn’t hear a sound from the powerful engine. Nothing except the snapping of twigs and the imminent sound of death by crushing into a tree.

Okay, so she was fixated on trees, but driving like this through a forest at night kind of did that to you. Especially since Dragon occasional had to shift down to third gear now and then and had to slow to fifty mph to do it.

Still, Jaguar couldn’t help but feel that something was wrong, and maybe the full moon had something to do with it. She cast a surreptitious glance at Dragon. Nope, she wasn’t foaming at the mouth.

“This seems like a really weird place to have a secret base,” Jaguar hinted, hoping to draw some information out of Dragon. The One Beneath the Supreme One on Top had barely spoken a word to her since they’d started the journey. Other than “Pass the Cola,” and “Where’s the beef jerky?”

But, of course, Dragon would be waiting until they got on the plane. It would make much more sense to have the briefing where it was both secure and comfortable. Not to mention a few hors d'oeuvre and a bottle or two of Chardonnay.

And to be really honest Jaguar didn’t want to distract Dragon with small talk when the trees had a disconcerting habit of leaping in front of the jeep at a moment’s notice. There she goes again, thinking about trees…

“How much further?” Dragon asked.

Jaguar jumped, not expecting her companion to speak.

“Well,” she peeked at the box which had the number zero point five lit up in green. “I’d say about half a mile.”

She looked up and yelped as a badly painted road sign took a quick swipe at them as they passed. Truly things around here were suicidal.

Jaguar’s blood ran cold. It was only a glimpse, she reminded herself. She couldn’t be certain. But for one moment there she could have sworn the sign said “Florence, Lake O’Hara.”

“Keep giving updates on direction,” Dragon told her, slowing the car to a mere thirty miles an hour as she corkscrewed around the trees.

“Ten yards. Dead ahead.” Jaguar screeched, hanging on for dear life as Dragon stopped the jeep in zero point seven five three seconds and testing the seatbelts to within a three hundred pound square inch of their lives.

“We’re here!” Dragon announced triumphantly.

Jaguar stared at the solitary wooden outhouse, situated in a sixty foot diameter of cleared forest. The dilapidated wood, door almost hanging off its hinges with its cracks and splinters aplenty said it had given up the ghost years ago, even if it had once been an Alpine Club Hut outhouse look-a-like in its youth.

Jaguar took one look at Dragon, looked back at her suitcases, stared at the outhouse.

And cried.

##

“So, Furball told you, you would be going to Italy?”

“Well, no.” Jaguar admitted, dabbing at her eyes with a lace handkerchief and refusing to let them tear up again. “But when someone mentions Florence you automatically think Italy, don’t you?”

Jaguar looked at Dragon’s face.

“Well, if you’re anybody who knows anything then you do.” Jaguar insisted.

Dragon sighed and opened her car door, obviously oblivious to Jaguar’s problems.

“Where are you going?” Jaguar asked.

“Well, this nobody who knows nothing has to investigate that outhouse for signs of hostile activity while she lets someone who is everything daydream about somewhere else.”

“Oh, uhm, I hope I didn’t sound rude.”

“Not at all, duckface.”

With that Dragon slammed the door shut and stalked off across the grass. Jaguar stared at her for a moment then, suddenly remembering why she was here—aside from the not-going-to-happen supreme vacation in Italy—got out of the jeep and, pulling out her small suitcase from the back seat, chased after her.

Jaguar shivered slightly, the air in the Rockies always seemed clearer, and cooler, than the city. A little way down the small slope from the outhouse a falling down, Alpine Club look-a-like hut was falling to pieces. She suspected that even Florence, population twenty-five and a dog, wasn’t even there any more.

“So, I guess this isn’t really a secret base or anything,” She suggested as Dragon pulled out a pencil flashlight and concentrated the beam on the falling-out door.

“The signal came from here,” Dragon told her, concentrating her attention on the door as she carefully lifted it up and swung it outwards. Jaguar had expected to cringe but the inside of the outhouse was surprisingly clean—almost surgically so. “So this may not be the base but it will probably lead us to it.”

Dragon stepped into the tiny cubicle and Jaguar edged closer peeking in around the doorframe.

“Here’s a light switch,” Dragon said. “Strange that such a derelict building has power.”

“Wait! Uhm.”

Jaguar’s protest came too late. There was the click of the light switch and a peculiar hum as the light came on. Without thinking Jaguar leaped into the outhouse squashing herself up against Dragon, it was rather nice really with white tiles on the floor and from floor to ceiling tiles on the walls,. The door, which apparently wasn’t as bad as it looked, slammed shut behind her and some rather disturbing noises, like a huge engine starting up, started up around them.

“Ooops.” Dragon said, as the small outhouse began to shake from the engine’s vibrations.

The vibrations became so strong that Jaguar was shaken off her feet. She fell, butt first onto the toilet seat with her suitcase slamming into her lap. Thank God whoever had been here last had left the lid down. Dragon hadn’t been so lucky, she’d been throw up against the sink and was now hanging onto the faucets as if her life depended on them.

Actually, Jaguar thought, her life probably did depend on them.

‘This could be rather hazardous,” Jaguar voiced her opinion.

“Yes, that is true,” Dragon agreed. “But at least we’ll know where their secret base is.”

Jaguar thought about it for a moment and couldn’t find a flaw in dragon’s logic.

“I hope it’s Italy,” she said.

“You and your Italy,” Dragon snapped at her, glaring. “Will you, for one second, forget about f----“

Jaguar, mercifully, didn’t have to listen to the last of Dragon’s tirade as the noise grew to a massive rumble.

Something slammed around the outhouse, encasing them.

And they started going up.

##

“It really is rather pretty,” Dragon said as she peered out of the small heart shaped hole in the outhouse door.

They’d been traveling for around three hours now and aside from a few booms and bangs, all of which were rather startling, there didn’t seem to be anything in particular wrong with the ride.

“I don’t care,” Jaguar pouted. “I still don’t want to look.”

“Oh, come on,” Dragon told her. “I’m only trying to make the best of a difficult situation.”

“What’s to be made best of?” Jaguar countered. “Here we are, flying three hundred miles above the Earth in a cramped outhouse and no idea where, or if, we’re going to land safely.”

“Well it wouldn’t be so cramped if you hadn’t brought that stupid luggage.”

She held her luggage protectively. “A girl simply can’t travel without her compacts.” Jaguar defended herself.

“Have it your way,” Dragon said grumpily, then continued to stare in silence out of the tiny porthole. After a minute or so she turned back to Jaguar. “Are you going to sit there forever?” She asked, exasperated.

“Probably,” Jaguar answered. “What’s it matter to you?”

Dragon glared at her for a moment longer, then fidgeted nervously.

“Well,” she said. “I need to pee…”

##

Jaguar had to admit there was, almost, a certain amount of enjoyment from looking down at the Earth below. And she’d always wanted to see Italy. Granted, not as that tiny boot shaped thing below but, truly, how many Italian tourists can say they’d seen the country from this high.

She would have kept looking but something, a flash, caught the corner of her eye. She peered as far to the left as the angle of the outhouse would let her, her heart thumping with excitement.

“Oh my goodness!”

“What?” Dragon demanded, from behind her. “You’re getting a tan from the extra solar rays?”

“No, not at all. It’s a base. A huge, massive space base.”

“A space base?”

“Yep, that’s what I said.”

“Well. Dang. No wonder the PIACT patented super secret base sniffer couldn’t figure out where the base was. It wouldn’t work up here.”

“Well, we found the base,” Jaguar said cheerfully. “We can go home now.”

“Yes,” Dragon nodded. “As soon as we can find a way back.”

Jaguar swallowed. Of course, this outhouse was flying on autopilot. They had no way of turning it around. “Well, thank God the autopilot will dock us,” she said.

Suddenly the light in the cubicle began flashing red and a deep voice reverberated in the tiny space and a small panel swung down from behind the mirror. Something that looked suspiciously like an adapted Playstation controller appeared below it. Green squares and images of the docking area started flashing past on the panel.

“Autopilot failed. Prepare for manual docking. Autopilot failed. Prepare for manual docking.”

“We’re doomed!” Dragon shouted.

“No, we’re not.” Jaguar yelled back, slamming her suitcase on the sink and ripping open the zipper. “Now where did I put that mascara?”

Dragon looked at her, and the pile of cosmetics in the bag.

“We’re doomed!” she repeated.

It took a few seconds rummaging for Jaguar to find the Roman Midnight Blue, and a few more milliseconds to pull the brush out of the mascara tube.

A quick search in the cabinet under the sink located the computer unit that controlled the outhouse. Pressing a small button on the brush she pushed it into the nearest data port she could find. The brush began to blink and flash as the screen on the panel began to dance in odd patterns.

“Oh, cool!” Dragon noted. “What does it do?”

“It’s an Instantly Nuked Computer Hacker. An INCH.” Jaguar said. “It should take complete control of the system and then will be able to tale us to the last mile to the docking port and dock us safely.”

“Ah, give it an INCH to take us a mile,” Dragon smiled. “What other cool stuff do you have in here?” She picked up a slightly oversize lipstick which hummed vigorously when she turned the base.

“That,” Jaguar blushed furiously as she deftly took it from Dragon and slipped it into a pocket of the luggage. “We don’t talk about—”

“Ah, Wolf sent you a Christmas present too.”

Fortunately all conversation ended as the INCH beeped in delight. The outhouse lurched to one side. Spun head over heels a couple of times, and sent the contents of her case tumbling. Jaguar noted with satisfaction that the flashing green boxes on the screen were now all perfectly aligned with the base docking port.

As they picked up her bits and pieces, somehow working around each other in the tiny space, Jaguar finally felt she was getting some control over her crazy life.

All of her make-up and other devices were in the suitcase and resealed when Dragon drew her attention to the green boxes on the small screen.

“Should we be uhm, moving that fast?” Dragon asked.

Jaguar gave an awkward little squelp sound then grabbed the controller, frantically pawing at the buttons and the joysticks on it. She did make a difference. The squares were going by a lot slower now, its just none of them were lined up properly when they were doing it.

“Hold on!” Jaguar yelled as the huge metal port of the docking area leaped towards them a little too quickly.

Dragon didn’t get a chance to reply before there was the slamming of metal into metal and their small traveling cage bounced its way along the landing tube, finally thunking to a halt into the docking bulkheads.

After a few moments clanking and grinding the door to the outhouse opened to the fresh smelling air of the space station.

Jaguar grabbed her suitcase and stepped through the door. “I think we need to get out of here before someone comes to investigate.”

“Yes,” Dragon agreed, struggling to her feet. She passed Jaguar what looked like a palm sized water pistol. “The last SPLAT base we visited was populated with androids. This should stop them if they have androids up here that attack.”

“Okay,” Jaguar pocketed the gun, it looked too puny to even de-wing a fly at point blank range. “Let’s move it.”

The small corridor leading away from the air lock was just that, a little too small. Both of them had to lean over a bit to avoid bumping their heads.

Once they were out of the small corridor they appeared into one which was just a little too large.

“Why do I get the impression there’s going to be a corridor that is just right.” Jaguar muttered.

“Right, so what do we do now?” Dragon asked.

“Hmm, how about we find a way of getting out of here, and then maybe blowing up the station before we leave.” Jaguar suggested.

“Brilliant ideas,” Dragon grinned.

At that moment a silver skinned robot thingy wandered up the corridor, then paused to analyze them.

“Greetings humanoid type earth species who are soon to be come the latest casualties caused by SPLAT, how may I help you?”

“Uhm, hi,” Jaguar said. “We were just wondering if, like, there might be a way back to Earth from this place.”

“Most certainly young, soon to die a certain doom, earthling. May I suggest you look into the emergency escape pods in sector three-A on level four.”

“Oh, thanks, that’s great.” Jaguar cast a glance at Dragon.

“How about giving us a quick plot to blow up this place?” Dragon asked.

“Easy, my sweet about to be crushed by the mighty hammers of SPLAT lady.” The machine buzzed for a few moments, then gave her a printed sheet of paper from the general area of its stomach. “Just follow these simple instructions on how to reverse mode the gravitational generators and kaboom in fifteen minutes. Is there anything else I can help you with?” It asked.

“No,” Jaguar jumped in before Dragon could ask anything else, like where were all the handsome hunks kept. “That will be all for now.”

“Then I wish you good day,” the robot bumbled off. “Before SPLAT makes a particularly gory example of you televised before all the soon-to-be-victims currently watching YouTube on Earth.”

“Well,” Jaguar said as the thing went out of earshot. “I don’t think much of the opposition’s IQ rating.”

“Probably just a cleaning bot or something.” Dragon studied the paper it gave her. “Hey, it’s got a map. Let’s go blow this joint, then head back home.”

“Sounds good to me,” Jaguar agreed, following Dragon down the big corridor.

Which soon turned into a corridor which was just right.

“Wow, what a view!” Dragon stopped to look out of the huge porthole that took up one side of the corridor, revealing the other spokes of the space station beyond and the Earth below it.

“Yes, it is,” Jaguar’s mouth watered as she looked across to the other spoke and saw a man looking back. Sleek, handsome, Mediterranean tan. He was everything she’d ever dreamed her love-at-first-sight to be. Her heart pounded under his heated gaze, as her own traced the perfect shape of his body through the tight fitting shirt and pants.

“Perhaps we ought to go,” Dragon whispered in her ear. “It looks like that android has taken rather too much interest in us.”

Android? Jaguar looked at the figure with a slow ache across her chest. Of course, for the moment there she’d forgotten exactly where they were. In the middle of space in a huge space station, most likely completely manned with androids. The man/android, still looking at her, was very quickly making its way back to the main corridor. It, unlike the cleaner bot they’d spoken to earlier, was definitely coming for them.

“We have to split up,” Jaguar rummaged in her suitcase for a second and pulled out two packs of floss. Handing one to Dragon she snapped the other open and wrapped it around her ear and mouth. “I’ll try and draw it off, you carry on with the blow the place apart bit, and we’ll meet up at the emergency escape pods.”

She watched Dragon as the agent efficiently opened and set up her floss headset.

“Okay,” Dragon’s voice echoed in her ear. Good, they were working. “Good luck,” Jaguar said, hurrying on an intercept course to the android, her anti-android weapon in her hand. Hopefully it would work.

She caught sight of the android just as she hit the main corridor, then quickly began to backtrack, looking for any room, or niche she could slip into and throw it off her track.

Unfortunately those kind of tactics tended not to work unless you had a detailed map of the place memorized. Whenever she glanced back the android had always managed to gain on her by a yard or so.

Finally, she decided she couldn’t run anymore, and stepped into a vacant storage room. Leaving the light off as she hid in the corner, gun ready.

Nervously she waited for the door to open. She’d been in trickier situations, yes—but never before against a virtually invincible android.

When the door opened she squinted against the blinding light and pointed her gun, pulling the trigger repeatedly. Water squirted out of the gun barrel, soaking the android to the skin. His weapon did the same to her. Cold, itchy water that was working its way under her clothes and into her bra.

“Hold it! Hold it a second!”

Jaguar paused for a moment, blinking as the android turned the light on. Well, so much for the anti-android weapon. All it had done was make its clothes almost transparent. Jaguar licked her lips. This one obviously liked to go commando. Not to mention it was torturing her with its perfect, musical Italian accent.

“Who are you?” It demanded. “You’re obviously not an android.”

Android or not, if he continued to speak like that her legs would be so weak she wouldn’t be able to walk for a week, at least.

“Well, no.” Jaguar agreed, squirting him again with the water pistol, just in case it took some time for the stuff to sink in and giving her legs chance to grow stronger. “But you are.”

“No, I’m not,” he stepped closer, ignoring the spray. “And if you know what’s good for you, you’d be saving your ammunition for when you did come across one.”

“Well, if you’re not an android…” thank God. Jaguar wanted to throw her arms around him and delve his inner secrets with a lavish kiss. “…you must be one of the bad guys.”

“I’m not one of them either.” He relaxed with a chuckle that suddenly made the room seem awfully hot and stifling. “She pulled at her dress, trying to get some cool air flowing.

“Well, what are you?” She crossed her fingers praying he’d be one of the good guys, and maybe had a bed somewhere nearby too.

“I’m Vincente, a Handsomely Unique Naughty Kisser,” he said.

“Oh Mi God! You’re a HUNK!” Jaguar’s heart did a little double flip. Ever since Flaming Scorpion met her HUNK, Abu wotsit’s, it was all the female PIACT agents could gossip about for months. And now here she was, with her very own HUNK.

“Are you Italian?” she asked, fingers crossed behind her back.

“Bologna, Italy.” He gave her a curious smile. “You’re one of those PIACT girls aren’t you?” Jaguar could see him relax at last. “I’ve seen some of them on YouTube.”

“Uhm, yea,” Jaguar suddenly felt all coy and speechless. “That wasn’t me though.” She’d found him! The man of her daydreams—Italian, dashing, handsome, Italian, and a definite HUNK and even more important, Italian. And she was in love! Oh, be still her beating heart!

His smile turned sexy as he stepped forward, gently stroking one finger down her cheek.

“You know, you look exactly like the woman who has haunted my daydreams for the last twenty years.”

Jaguar felt so giddy, she wondered why she didn’t swoon. Especially when those deliciously soft lips moved slowly closer to hers—

“We have a problem Houston.”

Dragon’s voice over the headset broke the moment, touching his lips gently with one finger she smiled an apology.

“This won’t take a moment,” she whispered. “What is it?” she snapped at Dragon.

“I’ve started the reverse mode on the gravitational generators,” Dragon answered.

“Well, that’s good, isn’t it?” Jaguar hissed, Vincente’s lips were mere millimeters from the most devastating kiss she’d ever have.

“Well, yes, but we’ve got five minutes to evacuate before the place blows.”

“Five minutes!” Jaguars shouted. “The robot gave us fifteen.”

“So it lied.”

“Hmph, never trust a robot… hmmmm!”

Jaguar’s reply was stopped by the softest, most delicious kiss her lips had ever imagined. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer as he held her tight against his body, both devouring each other in their new found passion.

“Uhm, Jaguar? You okay? You know you have like three minutes and forty three seconds?”

“Gotta go,” Jaguar mumbled into the kiss. “Place is going to blow in three minutes.”

“She put the gravitational generators into reverse mode?” Vincente mumbled back.

“Yes,” Jaguar licked his lip, savoring the distinct Italian taste.

“Thought about doing that,” Vincente nipped her lip back. “But the robot looked too sleazy.”

Reluctantly they both broke away from the kiss, breathless and flushed.

“So uhm, I guess it’s to the escape pods.” Jaguar suggested.

“Uh, uh.” Vincente tapped her nose gently and stroked her chin. “We’re going back in style, I have a shuttle waiting.”

Following him as he ran down the corridors, Jaguar had to ask.

“So, uhm, where does this shuttle land?”

“At our secret base in Florence,” he called back over his shoulder.

“Florence, Arkansas?” Jaguar asked, too smart to be caught twice in the same trap.

He stopped for a moment, puzzled. “Florence, Italy,” he said, astonished. “Is there anywhere else?”

“No.” Jaguar grinned, resisting the urge to throw herself on him again. “No, not at all.”

“Won’t make it to the escape pods, but I’ve found an alternative escape route,” Jaguar let Dragon know. “Meet you back on Earth.”

“Will do,” Dragon responded, then with a little hesitation. “It’s been great working with you, you’re a good agent.”

“Thank you, same to you.”

Communications ended and Jaguar drifted down the corridors to Vincente’s shuttle, dreamingly staring at his yummy butt as they ran.

She was going to Florence, Italy after all, and everything had ended right with the world.

##

Not Again! Dragon thought as she landed in the chilly water. The escape pod had disintegrated just over a thousand feet up, and her emergency chute had almost got her down to the ground before, it too, gave up the ghost.

She’d just managed to get her head above water when she heard the voices.

“Ralph! Malcolm! Go make sure she’s alright.”

Treading water, Dragon just managed to clear her eyes when two naked and very well muscled men, swam over to her. Over on the shore she could make out several jeeps and trucks with the Rockie Mountain Rescue Training Corps emblazoned on their sides. At a quick glance she counted at least two dozen of the eager, naked, trainees.

“Uhm, is this Lake O’Hara?”

“It sure is ma’am,” one of the men responded. “I apologize for our attire, we were just taking our morning ablutions. This is supposed to be a private zone, you know.”

“Ah, yes,” Dragon blushed, realizing that every single man she could see was sporting a rock hard, uh, thingy. “Well, my chute—“

“Chute failed to open?” the other man asked, his voice full of concern. “Come, we’ll take you back to shore. We’ve all had emergency training. You’ll need a full examination to make sure everything’s okay.”

“Please,” the first man insisted. “Besides being against our code to leave any emergency victim untreated, it would do wonders for our trainee’s training.”

“Well, uhm, if you put it like that. Are you sure it won’t be a bother?”

The two men grinned at each other.

“Absolutely not,” they said.

If you liked this there are more.... on my forum here www.sjwillingforum.com . So come on and browse. They're all sparkling and free.

S.J.

What color is your sky?

meg_allison_author@yahoo.com (Meg Allison) — Fri, 09 Oct 2009 14:52:00 +0000

As a child I saw things differently. I was afraid of the dark, or rather, afraid of the things that lurked there. I was always afraid of the possibility of seeing ghosts though my best friend for years was a girl of unknown origins and looks. At least to my mother, who couldn't see her.

Like most children, my imagination roamed free. A hairbrush was a microphone. The bed a stage. A shadow could be a monster or some horrible beast that would drag me away, never to be seen again. And of course, I didn't dare look under that bed at night.

But now I'm an adult and things have changed. Um, well, a little. I'm no longer afraid of the dark. I prefer it. I will admit, many of my 'friends' are still invisible to most. However, that shadow near the forest at the end of our driveway is not seen as a monster or beast. Obviously it's the spirit of a long-dead Native American, protecting what was once his people's land. I just might write his story someday.

Children are amazing. They have such capacity for 'what-if' and are willing to accept so much. But as they grow, they learn from us adults that there aren't monsters under the bed or in the forest. The sky isn't purple, it's blue. The grass shouldn't be colored red, it's green. And don't forget to stay inside the lines. Little by little, their imaginations are reined in until many of them forget how to use them. They forget how to dream.

Luckily many of us never quite let go of childhood. We thumb our noses at authority and keep coloring those pictures any way we see fit. And so an artist is born... or an inventor... another Einstein... an actor... a musician... a writer.

Luckily, my mother taught me that there is more to life than what I can see. (Insert a nod to Shakespeare at this point.) She taught me so many things through example and words. So many things about this world and the next. And so I am still a child inside. I hold on to the notion that yes, sometimes the sky is purple. And pink. And blazing orange. Somewhere the grass may be red. And those shadows? They're ghosts... or shapeshifters... or faeries.

My youngest son -- now nine -- is ever the dreamer. He often seems to be immersed in his own, happy world. We once asked him what the color of the sky was in his world.

"Orange," he replied, not missing a beat. I hope he always sees it that way.

So what about you? What color do you see when you look up?

13 Great Reasons to Ban My Books

mk@meankitty.com (Writer and Cat) — Thu, 08 Oct 2009 01:10:00 +0000

Last week was Banned Books Week, and it got me thinking. When books get banned, the banners are attempting to reduce their availability, to reduce the number of readers of that book. They think it should Not. Be. Read. Yet when a book shows up on the banned books list, I wonder if it has the exact opposite effect and people seek it out?

So I have to ask myself. Would anybody ever care to ban one of MY books so people would be more inclined to read them to protect our freedom of speech? I don't know, but just in case, I've compiled a handy list of thirteen reasons why people might want to ban my books.

At last count my books contain:

1) Violence (gnome vs human, fey vs human, human vs human, human vs door, human vs cellphone)

2) Sex (not with gnomes)

3) Cussing (of the colorful variety)

4) 80's music (no, not like those "Sound" cards...you have to imagine it...but still)

5) Drinking (and subsequent disorderly behavior)

6) Paranormal elements (fairies and gnomes and leprechauns, oh my!)

7) The presence of various religions (and disrespect towards them too)

8) Unwise clothing choices (call the fashion police)

9) Somewhat uncivil disobedience (really, a lot of the characters are uncivil)

10) Poor dietary choices (not a good example for health nuts or dieters)

11) Dancing (in sheets, out of sheets, underground, above ground)

12) Mouthy women (who don't get much comeuppance, no indeedy)

13) Puns (I saved the worst for last)

****

Jody Wallace
http://www.jodywallace.com/ * http://www.meankitty.com/

Come check out my current contest to win free books and other prizes! http://www.jodywallace.com/contests.htm

Read about my upcoming Samhain release "What She Deserves" here: http://www.jodywallace.com/books/whatshedeserves.htm

Excerpt time!

noreply@blogger.com (Carolan Ivey) — Sat, 03 Oct 2009 15:28:00 +0000

Following is the blurb and an excerpt from A Ghost of a Chance which released in print last week. Enjoy!

Blurb:

One life hangs on the thread of her imagination.

Legends, Book 2: Sequel to the award-winning Beaudry’s Ghost.

Troy Brannon is a ghost with no time for heaven. Thanks to his well-intentioned meddling, he’s got a missing soul on his hands. Fortunately he’s learned a skill no well-behaved spirit should have—the ability to zip through time and space.

A side trip to revive a drowning woman should’ve been simple. But the moment he locks lips with Carey Magennis, she generates an inner fire he’s never felt before, alive or dead—and his ability to time travel disappears.

When the rising tide closes over Carey’s head, it’s the end—but only of life as she knows it. She wakes up haunted by the idea she no longer fits in, and by the sexy, lion-hearted ghost of the man who saved her. No one wants to hear about the strange things that have been happening to her since her near-death experience, least of all her image-conscious fiancé.

Troy realizes Carey accidentally stole his gift—and she has no idea the danger she’s in. Wherever her imagination takes her, she goes with it. Literally. Plus, that fiancé of hers has an agenda that doesn’t include her survival.

Saving her will be as dangerous to his mission as she is to his heart.

*Warning: This title contains some gratuitous bad language; the sex of your dreams with a professional bad-ass hero; bloody Civil War battles; astral joy rides; and a heroine who “gets it” in more ways than one!*

Excerpt:

Troy had never stayed in a materialized state for this long. The strain tore at him, threatened to separate the layers of his energy field and send them flying off into space like water rings from a dropped stone.

It had taken every atom of his strength to make the three-thousand-mile spatial jump, on top of staying solid long enough to rescue the woman from the flooded cave. He’d intended to bring her all the way to the top of the cliff, leave her there to be found and be on his way about finding John.

But the effort had cost him.

Troy glanced down at the face of the woman in his arms, grit his teeth and held on.
If he lost control of his energy and faltered, she would die.

His superb sense of balance, an asset in life and still now in the afterlife, didn’t fail him as he crouched on the narrow rock ledge, braced so the woman’s body wouldn’t slide off into the roiling sea. Rain slapped them from above, and the wind and waves clawed at them from everywhere else.

Risking precious balance, he used one hand to gently unwind her long, matted black hair from around his arm and away from her face. Her lips were blue and slack, her eyes partially open and dull. He lowered his face to hers, checking for breath. Nothing. He let her head roll to one side and slid his fingers to the pulse point on her neck. If any life throbbed there, he couldn’t feel it for the vibrations of wind and storm.

“Oh, no you don’t. Don’t do this to me, lady…” He tilted her head back and covered her mouth with his.

He blew once, then swayed, dizzy, feeling his grip on his materialized state slipping dangerously with the extra effort it took to breathe for her. He clenched his jaw, tilted his head back and growled deep in his chest, willing his form to stay together, just a little longer. Just until help arrived. He’d seen two people poke their heads over the cliff edge above them, so he knew it wouldn’t be long.

“Not yet,” he muttered, using the vibration of his voice to send binding messages throughout his energy field, reminding it that no matter what the laws of physics said, he was in charge here. Never mind the fact that before now he’d only managed to stay solid for a few minutes at a time, and only in dire emergencies. The last time he’d done it was for the lives of his sister and Beaudry, and for his effort he’d earned a bullet in his shoulder to keep company with the gaping hole he carried around in his chest.

He lowered his mouth and breathed for her again, turning his head to feel her automatic exhale, this time accompanied by a gush of water.

Yes! Another breath into her lungs. Were her lips slightly warmer? He left his own there for a second or two longer than necessary, testing. A faint green color flickered in front of his eyes, like the brief flash of a hummingbird, there and gone. He tore his mouth away from hers and looked up to see what kind of strange lightning this could be, then he ducked and pressed her body tightly to his as a heavy wave broke over them. The water lifted them both off the ledge, and only by sheer will did he manage to bring them back onto the ledge safely. How much higher was the tide going to rise?

He shook water from his face, pressed the woman’s body firmly between himself and the cliff wall and bent his head to hers once again. She had to start breathing on her own soon. He couldn’t keep this up.

A movement off to his right snagged his attention. A glowing figure, winged and silent, stood on a nearby ledge, observing, not moving. Her guardian angel, clearly. He spared the being a two-second glare, then lost patience.

“Hey! Aren’t you going to do anything?”

The guardian’s expression grew thoughtful, then regretful. But it didn’t move, either to help or to hinder.

“Thanks a bunch.” Troy turned back to the task at hand.

Breeeeeeathe…

Without thinking what he was doing, he willed life into her. Closed his eyes and focused his energy inside her body, targeting her lungs, her barely fluttering heart.
This time, he felt her jaw move under his mouth, and her body flex in his arms. The weird, pale green lightning flickered around them again. Her first strong heartbeat resounded like a bell throughout his being, her first voluntary breath sucking in what he’d given her.

Then, before he could lift his mouth from hers, she breathed into him.

Troy nearly lost his balance, and flung out one arm to find a fingertip hold on the rock. Her breath filled his mouth, his chest, and even with his eyes closed he saw the faint green flickers of light strengthen, steady, intensify into a solid glow more brilliant than any Ireland had to offer on its best day. Heat rushed through him, and it took him a moment to register the fact that he felt it at all. As a ghost, normal physical sensations were foreign to him. Now every drop of rain hitting his skin felt like a needle. And his wounds, normally painless, now screamed at him.

He tore his mouth away and stared down at her. Her eyelids trembled, opened, light grey irises expanding as her pupils focused on his face. The same fiery emerald light that flashed round them burned in their depths. Even with their mouths now separated, her strengthening heartbeat rushed around him as if he were a child enveloped in her womb.

What the hell is happening to me?

If he was anywhere else but perched on a narrow ledge, an inch from losing her to the maw of the sea, he would have done a quick about-face and put as much space and time between them as possible. But stay he did, her life force growing stronger and flowing like a river under his hands, into him, through him and back to her. She seemed to be studying him, her mouth moving slightly as if trying to form words. But if she made any sound, it was swallowed by sea and storm. Then her eyes slid closed and her head rolled to nestle against his chest, fitting perfectly under his chin.

He swallowed, trying not to take in any more of the living energy that still enveloped them both. Something about it was as seductive as it was disturbing, and all his instincts screamed to get outside it and look at it from an objective distance before deciding what to do about it, if anything at all.

He took her cold hands, intending to tuck them inside her coat, when he caught sight of the diamond sparkling on her left ring finger.

She belongs to someone. Absurdly, the thought felt like a sucker punch to his gut.

He looked up, and finally, finally, he saw two people rappelling down the cliff, red-and-black jumpsuits making ripping sounds in the wind. A metal litter dangling between them.

“Take her first,” he yelled above the crashing tide as the rescuers reached them. Their reply was lost in the noise, but they quickly assessed the situation and expertly relieved him of his burden.

The instant her body separated from his, he felt himself dissolving, the last of his strength leaving as the green light faded. One of the rescuers cried out in alarm, but could do nothing as his grip on the rock slipped, and the icy grey sea closed over his head.

Copyright 2009 Carolan Ivey, all rights reserved

*Watch the trailer!*

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For more about A Ghost of a Chance and the Legends series, read my TRS Feature Interview!

Bestiary 201: Composite Beasts

noreply@blogger.com (Sela Carsen) — Fri, 02 Oct 2009 14:08:00 +0000

For today’s bestiary lesson, we’re going to talk about a few composite creatures – those that seem to be made of the leftovers of Creation.

First, the Manticore. The Manticore is made of three elements. It has the face of a man, the blood-red body of a lion, and the tail of a scorpion. It’s from India and feasts on the flesh of men with its rows of sharp teeth. Its voice is that of pipes, or pipes blended with trumpets – somewhat incongruous for such a terrifying beast.

The Manticore, because of its human face, is often related to the Sphinx, even going so far as to make its prey answer riddles. Spiritually, it represents fraud because its face hides its true nature.

The Leucrota is another impossible combination made from the offspring of a hyena and a lioness. Now, through countless National Geographic Specials, lots of Animal Planet and, of course, “The Lion King,” we know that lions and hyenas do NOT get along, so unless there’s some kind of interspecies Romeo and Juliet thing that happened along the way, plus a good dose of miraculous genetic coding, this particular beast never existed.

Pliny the Elder went even further than hyena/lion in his description: “The leucrocota is the size of an ass, and has the neck, tail and breast of a lion, the haunches of a stag, cloven hooves, a badger's head, and a mouth that opens from ear to ear, with ridges of bone instead of teeth. It is the swiftest of wild animals, and is said to be able to imitate the human voice.”

The next two aren’t so much composite creatures in description, as much as they’re shown that way in illustration.

The Jaculus is a flying serpent often depicted with a serpent’s body, but the wings of a bird and the haunches of a beast. It waits in trees for prey to pass beneath, then jumps down and kills it.

The Cerastes is very likely a Horned Viper, which is a real snake that lives in the Sahara Desert. The medieval illustration, however, depicts a serpent with the literal head of a horned ram.

My bestiary story has been moved back in my writing queue, so there’s no guarantee on what I’ll be talking about next time I blog. I may continue in this vein, I may go back to pantheons of gods – you just never know, so stay tuned!

Print releases from BtV authors today!

noreply@blogger.com (Carolan Ivey) — Thu, 01 Oct 2009 14:49:00 +0000

One life hangs on the thread of her imagination…

Legends, Book 2: Sequel to the award-winning Beaudry’s Ghost.

Troy Brannon is a ghost with no time for heaven. Thanks to his well-intentioned meddling, he’s got a missing soul on his hands. Fortunately he’s learned a skill no well-behaved spirit should have—the ability to zip through time and space.

A side trip to revive a drowning woman should’ve been simple. But the moment he locks lips with Carey Magennis, she generates an inner fire he’s never felt before, alive or dead—and his ability to time travel disappears.

When the rising tide closes over Carey’s head, it’s the end—but only of life as she knows it. She wakes up haunted by the idea she no longer fits in, and by the sexy, lion-hearted ghost of the man who saved her. No one wants to hear about the strange things that have been happening to her since her near-death experience, least of all her image-conscious fiancé.

Troy realizes Carey accidentally stole his gift—and she has no idea the danger she’s in. Wherever her imagination takes her, she goes with it. Literally. Plus, that fiancé of hers has an agenda that doesn’t include her survival.

Saving her will be as dangerous to his mission as she is to his heart.

This title contains some gratuitous bad language; the sex of your dreams with a professional bad-ass hero; bloody Civil War battles; astral joy rides; and a heroine who “gets it” in more ways than one!

Excerpt and choice of buy links here!

Sometimes a rose is more than a rose.

The Watchers, Book 2

The countdown is on for Louisville, Kentucky’s fireworks show and the Watchers are in place. Rogue vampires, being the ultimate party crashers they are, are expected to join the revelry.

Rosa Bella, standing-room-only singer at the Black Panther Lounge, has her own chaos to manage. As a vampire who manages to blend in with society, she doesn’t need any more complications. But a gorgeous one has just turned her life upside down—Vane, a Watcher assigned to hunt down and eliminate Rogues prowling the downtown streets.

Vane, dubbed “Latin Lover” by his fellow Watchers, fills his nights with his favorite letter of the alphabet, “F”—females and food. But nothing fills his empty heart like Rosa’s soft, sexy body. Still, a Watcher’s life has no room for attachments, even one who can defend herself with a pair of red stilettos.

Then two unexpected players join the game, and Rosa is thrust into the middle as the prize. They never expected their relationship to be a bed of roses, but as the festival-ending horse race looms, the only way to survive to the finish line is to face the dangers—together.

Warning: Contains sex, drugs, rock and roll, and a sexy vampire with a big appetite.

Excerpt and choice of buy links here!

Also, congrats to these BtV alumni, who also have print releases today:
Beverly Rae, I Married a Demon
Melissa Lopez, True Blue Love

The DragonCon Report, 2009 Edition

noreply@blogger.com (Jean Marie Ward) — Sat, 26 Sep 2009 18:04:00 +0000

DragonCon's Steampunk Morgan Le Fay.

A dozen DragonCons, and I still want more.

The 2009 edition of the World’s Greatest Summer Camp for Wayward Adults featured a worthy attempt at the world’s record for number of people dancing to Michael Jackson’s “Thriller”, amazing Steampunk costumes and programming, and four—count ‘em, FOUR—of the biggest stars in the Star Trek universe in the summer they re-launched the franchise.

The headliners included William Shatner, Leonard Nimoy (who was honored with the 2009 Julie Award for achievement in more than one SF, fantasy and horror genres and media), Kate Mulgrew and Patrick Stewart. I’m surprised nobody tried to shoot a movie, but the cost might’ve been prohibitive, especially if the stars charged by the frame.

As soon as Shatner signed on two weeks before the con, the blogs were alive with the sound of outrage—at the $120 fee he and Nimoy were asking for posed autographed photos. Then somebody reported Patrick Stewart’s going rate: $200 per shot. I’m told the charge kept the autograph lines manageable. Ya think?

Monetary concerns in no way affected the stars’ panels, though. The only scheduled Shatner/Nimoy panel started 10 a.m. Friday. Con organizers knew it would be wild, even though it was set several hours earlier than the con’s official kick-off. They had no idea how wild.

It should come as no surprise there were more

Red Shirts than usual in this year's DragonCon

parade.

As my roommate and I exited the Voltaire concert at, um, I think it was a little after 1 a.m. Friday, we nearly tripped over a circle of teenagers in costume sitting on the carpet outside the Centennial Ballroom (the Hyatt Regency Atlanta’s biggest). We didn’t think anything of it, since Voltaire’s biggest hit, “BRAINS”, was written for the cartoon series The Grim Adventures of Bill and Mandy. Then one of the young women asked my roomie Dorie if she was with the con. Dorie said yes. As they guessed from her badge ribbons, Dorie volunteered on the media staff and after hours security.

The young woman immediately brightened. “Oh, then you’ll know—can we stay here tonight?”

Both Dorie and I both went a little white around the gills. “Don’t you have a place to stay?” Dorie asked.

The young woman waved the question aside. “Yeah, we’re fine. But we don’t want to miss out on the Kirk/Spock panel. If we’re really quiet, and don’t make any trouble, do you think Security will let us stay until they open the doors?”

Security was of the opinion no one would be allowed to line up until 7 a.m. I suspect the fans simply retired to the Hyatt’s 24-hour coffee bar to wait it out, because they—or somebody much like them—were at the Centennial doors at 5 a.m.

I’m a bad fan. Dorie and I hooked up with friends, and I don’t think either of us saw the inside of the room until… Well, let me put it this way, I told my husband I got in at 4. Yeah, that’s what I said.

Not that I was worried. None of my eight panels were scheduled for the first day of the con, and after seeing teenagers whose parents weren’t even born when the original show aired in line eight hours before showtime, I knew I wasn’t going to get within shouting distance of the ballroom, much less the actual program.

As it turned out, I did get within shouting distance. At 9:14 a.m., I was awakened by the roar of a bullhorn on the street five stories below my hotel room window: “Attention! Attention! If you’re waiting in line for the 10 a.m. Bill Shatner/Leonard Nimoy panel, the Centennial Ballroom is already one-quarter full. If you are standing outside the Hyatt at this time you will not get to the ballroom. The panel will be televised in the Atrium Ballroom at the Marriott. Please, proceed to the Marriott.”

If I ever cherished the vaguest notion of throwing myself together in time to make the panel, that killed it. Happily, I rolled over and again abandoned myself to the pleasures of Morpheus. Nine minutes later…

“The Centennial Ballroom is full. Go to the Marriott. Now. I repeat, the Centennial Ballroom is full.”

More amazing Steampunk costumes.

Needless to say, I actually made it to a Friday morning panel: the 11:30 “Captain Jack Experience” in the British Sci-Fi Media track, which possessed three inestimable virtues: James Marsters, Gareth David Lloyd (Torchwood’s Ianto Jones) and a location as far from the Shatner/Nimoy panel as it was possible to get and stay on the con reservation. Just so you know, Marsters’ hair was green this year. He dyed it for the occasion—or for his photographs, which were going for half the Shatner/Nimoy rate.

On the other hand, a signed photo of yourself in the company of a green-haired James Marsters just might be worth $60, but I digress.

Despite having my lack of panels, Friday may have been my busiest day. In addition to pimping my new art book (Fantasy Art Templates, coming from Barron’s Educational Series in March 2010) and lining up related programming for next year, I had parties to attend. Lots of parties, including the Time Travelers Ball, the Art Show Reception and the Baen book launch, where John Ringo announced he was separated at birth from Rogue of the Cruxshadows.

From left to right: Cruxshadows singer and frontman Rogue,

back-up singer/dancer (and Rogue's wife) Jessica Lackey, back-up

singer/dancer Sarah Kilgore, and John Ringo.

Words fail to express the complete and utter weirdness of the moment. Ringo’s the guy with the brush cut and utili-kilt. He used to jump out of planes and helicopters—usually with a parachute—for a living, and like a lot of ex-military, he never lost the ‘tude. Rogue is the one with the dancers.

On another level, though, I can see it. Ringo’s latest hardcover, Eye of the Storm, takes its name from a Cruxshadows song. In addition, Rogue was a military brat, and his peripatetic childhood, like Ringo’s, set the stage for the artist he would become.

For regular readers of this blog, however, highlight of the day was the dinner hosted by Samhain Publisher Christina Brashear for the Samhain writers and staff at the con. There proved to be fewer Samhellions than I expected: M/M star Ally Blue, bestselling vampire romance writer Rosemary Laurey (who also writes World War II fantasy as Georgia Evans) and her husband George, Samhain Office Manager Jacob Hammer and his lady Alex Ross.

From left to right: Your fearless girl reporter, Rosemary Laurey

(aka Georgia Evans), her husband George Laurey, Christina

Brashear, Ally Blue, Alex Ross and Jacob Hammer.

With a line-up like that, I knew the company would be first-rate. What I never, ever anticipated was the venue: Nikolai’s on the Roof, the Hilton’s rooftop restaurant with spectacular views of Atlanta and a food-gasm in every bite. If you don’t believe me, check out my DragonCon 2009 Flickr photostream. The last one of Jacob, smiling through his tears of bliss, says it all.

From a trend standpoint, however, I’d have to say the con was all about the Steampunk. Aficionados reveled in a track of their very own (their first at DragonCon), a Time Travelers Ball so well attended latecomers couldn’t get in until someone left, and some of the most exquisite costuming I’ve seen in years. My only regret was not having a fast enough camera finger to document the Steampunk X-Men or do justice to Steampunk Star Wars.

Another key component of this year’s con was the effort to capture the world’s record for the number of people dancing to Michael Jackson’s “Thriller”. The rehearsals started Thursday night—hours before the concert I mentioned earlier. The organizers of the bid dotted all the “I’s” and crossed all the “T’s”—using nine minute version, registering and documenting all nine-hundred plus participants, even filming the dance from multiple angles to verify the numbers. But in the end the Guinness Book of World Records opted to give the palm to the Mexico City event held on Michael Jackson’s birthday, August 29. Even though the Mexico City crowd only danced the short version, they did pull in over thirteen thousand folks to do it.

Thurdsay night's "Thriller" rehearsal.

Once again, I lucked out on panels. All eight were great in their own way, but some moments inevitably linger in the memory—hearing fantasy grandmaster Katherine Kurtz talk about researching Dublin and causing Van Plexico to bury his face in his hands for the second year in a row. (And Van said we didn’t go far enough on the late night “sex panel”…)

I also enjoyed the rush of the first DragonCon Rapid Fire Reading with my buds from Broad Universe, an organization dedicated to promoting women science fiction, fantasy and horror writers. Unless you’re a national bestseller, solo readings can be really lonely; RFRs, never. Even if no one else shows, you still have each other. Our Sunday night reading did better than that: we had more people in the audience than readers—and at eleven readers, that’s saying a lot. Plus, I learned about a lot of new writers to watch out for.

But from the perspective of my inner fan girl, the con saved the best for last: “Under Raven’s Wings: 200 Years of Poe”. You know all that stuff I said about being a bad fan with respect to the Shatner/Nimoy panel? Well, I made up for it at Monday’s Poe panel. I got to sit between the Kat Richardson (author of the wonderful Greywalker series) and Rogue. In case you didn’t pick up on it before, let there be no doubt, I am a music total geek. At DragonCon, I typically take in two or more concerts a night and as many daytime shows as my schedule allows me to catch. The highlight of the musical side of the weekend is usually the Cruxshadows show. To share the stage with Rogue while he’s reciting “Annabel Lee”… well, there was only one way it could be topped.

A woman raised her hand during question and answer period at the end of the panel. She was curious about Rogue’s hair, and wanted to know how hard it was to style.

“It’s a pain in the ass,” he admitted.

“What’s it look like when it’s down?” she asked.

“Really thick. I look like Conan the Barbarian.”

DragonCon's finest Red Sonja and Conan the Barbarian.

Again, words fail.

###

BOOOOO...

noreply@blogger.com (Kaye Chambers) — Fri, 25 Sep 2009 19:59:00 +0000

It's that time again, folks. That's right. Dead men (and women) walking, ghosts haunting, werewolves (and other wereanimals) ducking into shadows.

October is my favorite month on the calendar. Not only do I share my birthday with my good friend Paige McKellan, but it's also the month of my favorite holiday. Nope, it's not Columbus Day. It's Halloween. What other time of the year can shapeshifters, witches, and other things that make people scream come out to play without disguises?

And if you're looking for those dead men walking, ghosts, or shapeshifters running amok, then Samhain Publishing is the place for you this month. The Coming Soon pages are riddled with them!

To start off the month on October 6th, and just in time for my birthday, is my Maggie award winning novel, ANGELIC AVENGER. It's a first person Urban Fantasy in which my undead heroine is out to make her mark on the world by subverting chaos, beating down a shapeshifter rebellion, capturing a rogue angel, and fending off the advances of one very sexy, very much alive, hero.

It's the first book in my Angelic Avengers series. Check it out!

If you're looking for something that's a bit on the lighter side, consider Vivi Andrew's Romantic Comedy follow up to THE GHOST SHIRT, THE ACCIDENTIAL GIGGILO, AND THE POLTERGEIST ACCOUNT, a novella every beit as memorable as the title suggests. *wink* It comes out on October 27th, just in time for the doorbell patrol duty.

The next Karmic Consultants novel is THE GHOST EXTERMINATOR. Here, East meets West, figuratively speaking, in a memorable way. Jo Banks is the Ghost Exterminator and Wyatt Haines is the non-believer who happens to own a very haunted inn.

How much mischief can two ghosts get a body into? That's a question THE GHOST EXTERMINATOR answers in hilarious fashion. If you're looking for a book to sit down with while you're waiting for the mini-monsters to ring your doorbell, this one will guarantee that you answer the door with a bubbling smile.

But, if you're looking for something a little hotter, consider Mary Hughes's Red Hot Biting Love story, BITE MY FIRE. It's also an October 27th release. In this prequel to her book, BITING NIXIE, Mary Hughes brings two things to life that are an essential element in a Halloween Romance: a sexy master vampire and a kick-ass heroine who can't let all the temptation he represents distract her from solving her case...well, not too much, anyway.

BITE MY FIRE has all the promise of being a wonderfully written romp filled with Hughes' trademark wit and wonderful characterization. I know I can't wait to read it.

*sigh* October is never a good month for my bank account, and I think my book budget is officially spent.

In other news, we're looking at putting together a "TRICK-MY-TREAT" contest, so stay tuned for details! If you're an author who would like to participate, please let me know and I'll send you the participation details.

So...there ya go....BOOOO a little early!

Come join me for some spooooky fun and prizes!

noreply@blogger.com (Sharon Cullen) — Tue, 22 Sep 2009 00:16:00 +0000

Running the whole month of October.

The P.U.P strategy: Persistence Using a Plan

noreply@blogger.com (Cheryel Hutton) — Sat, 19 Sep 2009 15:56:00 +0000

I. Snowstorm
You may have heard the story about the guy lost in the blizzard. It’s freezing and he’s shivering so hard he can barely walk. Its dark, the snow is swirling around him. He has no idea if he’s going in the right direction. Onward he pushes. On and on. Until he just can’t go any further. Finally, he gives up and lies down in the snow. He’s exhausted and goes to sleep. The next day, they find the man dead. Ten feet from his front door.

Let’s relate that story to writing, since I’m familiar with that. But I think the blizzard analogy has something to say about life too. What’s that? To just keep going, right? Well...maybe.

II. Mountains

Let’s leave the snowstorm. I’m from Tennessee, so I can’t really relate to that much snow.

Let’s go to the Smoky Mountains. Let’s pretend you’ve been dropped in the woods. You don’t know where you are, where you need to go, or how long it’s going to take to get there. So, is the plan to keep walking and walking — simply to persevere?

A. Easy
It could work. There are people who write their first book, and it sells right away. Or maybe they get a great job and climb the corporate ladder with ease. Or they marry their high school sweetheart and live happily for years. Maybe they have a great sense of direction — or maybe they’re just lucky. But most people, like me, you can wander around out there among the trees for years.

B. Stuck
What if, you write one book, or 2-3 connected books. Maybe in a hard to sell subgenre. Is continuing to revise these books, or continuing to send them out, really the way to go?

What about going from one job to another of the same type, always expecting to actually like this one. Dating the same type of guy, but it never works out. Hmm, maybe you’re wondering around in circles and need to figure out the direction you’re traveling in.

And speaking of direction.

C. Direction Changes
How about the person who goes in one direction for a while, decides that might not be working; changes to another, decides something else would be better, and goes in yet another direction. That would be me, BTW. I’ve written nonfiction, science fiction, horror, humor, mainstream, paranormal romance, contemporary romance, romantic suspense, you name it, and I’ve probably tried it. That, plus an “interesting” life, and is it any wonder it took me so long to get published.

It was actually my frustration that finally got me my first success. I’d gotten a few too many rejection letters, and I wrote a humorous little piece about rejection slips coming alive and harassing the writer. I sent it out, and it got rejected—the only time I laughed when I got a rejection. I ran out of places to send it, so I put it away. A couple of years later, I found out about a small press magazine called The Rejection Quarterly, and I thought if there was ever a place for “The Dreaded Rejection Slip” that was it. I sent it in, and it was accepted.

This experience taught me a lesson. You not only have to be persistent have to match what your strengths to what’s available out there. You have to have a plan.

III. My Plan
Let’s to back to the woods. Let’s say you’re pretty sure there’s a road somewhere toward the north. So you pull out your compass. Didn’t pack one? Okay, so you try to figure it out some other way. But you do pick a direction. Then you go in it. And keep going. No matter what the distractions, you keep your focus on the direction you’re going. But you also keep re-evaluating. You need a plan, but it shouldn’t be set in stone.

Looking back, what held me back for so long, in writing and in my life in general, was not dealing with my weaknesses, ignoring my strengths, and not matching my abilities to where I could most effectively use them — in my case the publishing world.

Everybody has different interests, strengths, abilities, and weaknesses. We’re all different, and that’s a wonderful thing! Don’t fight your differences; put them to work for you.

III. Your Plan
Okay, to get out of the woods, you have to decide on a plan and go with it long enough to really give it a chance.

For writers, the first question is romance, women’s fiction, horror, mystery, etc. Then what subgenre. For me, romance, paranormal, action, suspense, that’s what really gets me going. Look at what you read, and at the movies and television shows you watch. While I was busy beating my head against the wrong doors, I was watching mostly action and paranormal type movies and television shows. When I finally tried a paranormal, I loved the writing process, and immediately got interest from editors and agents.

I recommend looking at what you read and watch (television and movies). That should give you an idea of what would be best for you to write, or what area you should be looking for work. Look outside the box. Like medicine but don’t have years to become a doctor? How about lab tech, receptionist at a doctor’s office, transcriptionist?

Still, you may have to write a lot of books, date a lot of guys, and try a lot of jobs to finally figure out where you belong in the big bad world. Just be careful out there.

IV. Conclusion
Do some soul searching. Decide YOUR direction. Then go and keep going for long enough to give your direction a chance. You may decide later that the road really isn’t to the north, and then you have enough information to decide whether to go south, east, or west.

Whatever you decide, I wish you all the best!

Cheryel Hutton
www.cheryelhutton.com