Wendigo

I believe in monsters. Real monsters. They live among us. We read about them in the news.  They are difficult to contemplate because they are human, and we shudder to think that our race, much less our co-workers or neighbors, can sink to such depths of depravity.  

That's why I write about creatures. I take a human, one with psychopathic tendencies, and then make him supernatural. Probably not all paranormal or horror writers do this, but it seems a natural progression for me to start with the human characteristics and then twist them.

In the first book of my paranormal series, Song of the Ancients, the creature is witch-gone-to-the-dark Nuin Ash. He's trying to open a portal in a Sedona vortex sealed for centuries, release his demon Lord from the Underworld, and loan the demon his human form.

How does Nuin make himself strong enough to withstand demonic possession? By stealing power from other witches. Since a witch's power resides in the blood, he is killing the most powerful witches he can find and eating their flesh.

There's a name for a monster like Nuin: Wendigo.

Legends of this creature date back centuries, and are almost always associated with the act of cannibalism. In fact, one persistent tale details the Wendigo's origin as a human who was forced to resort to consuming his fellow travelers in an unfortunate Donner Party-esque situation in order to survive a particularly brutal winter.

Nuin's plan, however, is intentional. And once he delves into such dark magic, it consumes him. The man becomes the monster, in mind and corporeal form, driven to hunt without remorse. The classic definition of a psychopath driven to the extreme.

I think the most memorable killers in fiction are sociopaths, able to mask the monster within, at least initially.

My 'good guy', Nicholas Orenda, is hunting Nuin because the monster is killing off his family. But embedded in both of these characters is the theme of becoming the thing you most fear. The Wendigo was once a hunter, a human warrior who gave into his own selfish temptations for power and became the monster he once hunted. For Nicholas, the hunt itself has released his own darkness. He wants revenge and personal vengeance more than anything else. Left unchecked, his obsession could turn him into the kind of person he most despises.

Here's a book excerpt where Nicholas gets his first clue that Nuin has abandoned his humanity:

Why would someone sneak into a cemetery and bury a body? He could think of a number of mundane reasons, but why would a witch do so? Unless he defiled the body and didn't want anyone to know. His hole grew deeper and his unease increased.

Only three feet down his shovel hit something firmer than the soft soil, connecting with a muffled thud. Digging carefully down one side, he cleared a space to stand beside the box. He removed the crowbar from his sack and pried the coffin nails from one side, muttering softly, "Coffin nail, familiars of maggots and unsavory creatures of the kind. Do my bidding, my evil works, when I so command." Blowing on the nails, he pocketed them and opened the lid.

He held his breath and shone the flashlight on the body, a young woman, barely past her teens. Her hands had been folded on her chest. He ran the flashlight further down, illuminating several places on her right arm where jagged chunks of flesh were missing.

Burning bile rose in his throat, making him gag and cough. "Something chewed on this girl. Oh, Goddess, tell me she died first."

Yes, there's a demon in the story. But I think Nuin is the scarier creature of the two. He's a handsome, flirtatious, functioning human going through the mundane motions of everyday life.

Until he's not.

Much like the people we read about in the news headlines.

Sandy Wright moved to Arizona 17 years ago and fell in love with the southwest desert, including its Native American influences. After a trip to Sedona, the germ of a novel was born.

“I love to take ordinary characters and put them in extraordinary situations that change their view of the world.”

Her first novel, Song of the Ancients, introduces witchcraft and shamanism seen through the eyes of an ordinary woman.  Readers interested in witchcraft—or just a dark, eerie tale—will enjoy this paranormal suspense, written by a real-life Wiccan High Priestess.

Song of the Ancients is available on Amazon in print and ebook.

Vampires Anyone?

The word vampire conjures images from Bela Lugosi, the most famous Dracula, to Tom Cruise as the Vampire Lestat or the monstrous Nosferatu of the silent film era.  The vampire legend exists in most cultures around the world.

Everyone knows that vampires fear the cross, cannot abide garlic (too much and I can't either), do not have reflections in mirrors, turn into bats or steam and sleep in coffins.  Of course, they must be invited in.  Anne Rice's novels revolutionized the traditional vampire, opening the door for authors to create their own vampire mythos.  In my books, vampires are mutations.  A blood-borne pathogen transforms mortals into immortals with superhuman strength and arcane powers.

Below is the first part of a free read on my website.  If you enjoy the sample, please visit http://www.lindanightingale.com for the continuing vampire story.  Now, without further ado, I introduce Morgan, the hero of Morgan D’Arcy: A Vampyre Rhapsody, now available from The Wild Rose Press.

*~*

I am Morgan Gabriel D’Arcy, an English lord, a concert pianist…and a vampire

VAMPYRE INTERLUDE

I studied my reflection in a golden mirror.  Long hair, blond.  Eyes blue. A handsome countenance, I’d been told.

“’od’s Teeth, I’m pale as a vampire.”

As I shrugged into a black sweater and jeans, a quiet knock at the door announced my manservant. I pulled on black boots of soft Italian leather. “Come.”

Always the perfect gentleman in his black suit and bow tie, Avery stepped into the treasure chest of art and antiques that was my bedroom. “Good evening, Sir.”

“Good evening, Avery. I’m going out.”

Last week on the telly, a talk show, Vampires Among Us, had peaked my curiosity. Five attractive young mortals circled the show host and claimed to be vampires. These real vampires plunged hypodermic needles into their veins, extracted a thimble of blood and squirted cardinal sin into their mouths directly from the syringe. Not my idea of pleasure.

“Imagine, instead,” I wanted to inform them, “pressing your lips to the throat. Open your mouth, run your tongue along the throbbing artery. Sink your teeth into that river of sheer delight. Your whole body vibrates with satisfaction more acute than sex. That’s what it means to be a vampire.”

The very prospect of telling these vampire children chased away the Hounds of Hell named Boredom nipping at my heels.

“Excellent. I hope you’re going hunting.” He folded his hands in front of him. “Sir, you should have waited for my assistance.”

I laughed. “Avery, at three hundred plus years, I think I’m old enough to dress myself.”

It had been an easy matter to run the little coven to ground. The five TV vampires shared a three-room flat in Maida Vale near an Underground station. Several evenings, I’d stalked the children at play. Among them was a flower of a girl—wild auburn curls free as the spirit that flashed in her blue eyes. Her long legs drew my gaze each time she pranced out of the flat in very short skirts. I imagined those legs in all sorts of erotic postures. Jaime was tonight’s entertainment.

Avery interrupted a vision of sinking my fangs and another part of my anatomy into Jaime. “Shall I fetch your coat, Milord? It’s another rainy night in London Town.”

I smiled at the old gentleman who’d served me for over twenty years. “Yes, I’m off on my vampire hunt. Don’t wait up.”

“Vampire hunt?” He chuckled. “Shouldn’t you wear a cross?”

My fingers in a cross, I bared my fangs, hissing like a horror flick fiend.

~*~

This is my initial post.  I hope you enjoyed Morgan's snippet.  Have a Fab Friday and a Wonderful Weekend. And an early Happy Halloween!

Linda

Love Aliens? By Diane Burton

Since I write science fiction romance (usually lumped in with paranormal romance), I don’t do ghosts, dragons, or vampires. My creatures are aliens. Not creepy ones, mind you. I’m not into scary. (I still haven’t watched Alien). Still, I love the costumes kids wear on Halloween. I wonder how many Reys, Kylo Rens, or Stormtroopers we’ll see this year.

  

The main characters in my SFR stories are human. Some of the secondary or tertiary characters aren’t. Characters can have purple skin and curly, indigo hair or resembling a Tasmanian Devil, like the ones in Switched. What about reptilians?  Think T-Rex with longer, stronger arms. That’s how I see some of the henchmen in The Pilot (An Outer Rim Novel: Book 1).

One of my favorite TV shows last year was Jim Henson’s Creature Shop Challenge where creature designers created puppets and animatronic characters competing to win a place with J.H.’s Creature Shop. That’s the place where designers created the aliens for Labyrinth, The Dark Crystal, and—my favorite—Farscape.

Farscape had such amazing aliens I can’t imagine trying to describe them for a story. It would take pages to accurately describe Ka D’Argo or Pilot. The adage of a picture being worth a thousand words is certainly true here.

In my stories, I can’t use a whole page to describe a creature. Readers will skim or close the book. Instead, the reader gets a brief comment or two, enough to imagine the character. A couple of weeks ago, at the Alpena (MI) Book Festival, I met the most amazing graphic artists. Not only do they write great science fiction, they illustrate the stories, too. I stand in awe of those who can draw. Painting a picture with words seems pale in comparison.

While building the worlds in my Switched and Outer Rim series, I made a conscious decision that the inhabitants of the various planets would look different. Even the human ones. Keeping all of them straight necessitated detailed notes. Not only did they look different, they had different religions, expressions, and mannerisms. Did this enhance the stories? I hope so. Our own world is diverse. Surely those who lived on different planets would also be. Do all the aliens celebrate diversity? That would be amazing…and probably impossible. Racism, ignorance, fear, suspicion. We know them well. Why would the future be any different? We can hope our main characters, at least, would not only be tolerant but embrace the diversity of others.

Switched: Kidnapped by aliens? By mistake?

When wise-cracking Jessie Wyndom is beamed from her farmhouse in Ann Arbor, MI aboard an Alliance starship, she meets a regular Mr. Spock. Captain Marcus Viator's well-organized life is turned upside down by a free-spirited Terran. Fate brings them together. Treachery tears them apart.

The Pilot: There’s no place like home . . . and he just confiscated hers. 

Life on the frontier of space is hard enough so when pirates stole Celara d'Enfaden's cargo, she vowed not to be tricked again. Determined to make an example out of indie pilots who disobey orders, Coalition Administrator Trevarr Jovano impounds Celara’s starship and cargo. If he backs down, he’ll lose respect. If she can’t deliver her cargo, she’ll default on her loan and lose her only home—her ship. More important than her ship, though, is her brother. To rescue him from a galactic gangster, she’ll even work with Jovano who is bent on avenging his wife’s murder.

Both Switched and The Pilot are on sale for 99 cents. See my Amazon author page

The Temptation of Dragons

I never thought I’d be writing about dragons. Don’t get me wrong; dragons are cool. They were just never my “thing.” They seemed so overused in fantasy (the genre I thought I’d be writing in forever) that I always steered clear of them. I didn’t want to write what everyone else was writing, and everyone else seemed to be heavily influenced by Tolkien. The Hobbit’s Smaug (and to be honest, Tolkien in general) never really grabbed my interest, though I’ve always had a soft spot for Eustace Scrubb in Lewis’s The Voyage of the Dawn Treader. Scrubb’s transformative moment of waking up as a dragon because of his own greed and discovering how lonely he was in his self-centered bitterness was one of the more touching storylines in the Chronicles of Narnia.

When I shifted my writing focus from fantasy to paranormal romance, I figured dragons were permanently out of the picture. After all, they aren’t so much paranormal creatures as fantastical ones. But when I started writing a series set in the Arizona Desert Southwest—the last place I would have expected it to happen—I somehow stumbled into writing a world of dragon shifters.

In the first book in the series, the hero is a scion of Quetzalcoatl. I hadn’t thought of the Aztec god as a dragon. Technically, he’s a feathered serpent. But as I read about Quetzalcoatl, it dawned on me that a serpent with wings was pretty much a dragon, and the more I looked into dragon lore around the world, the more the idea of dragons grew on me. Still, I stuck with Quetzalcoatl because he was so different from traditional dragon lore—and he was a god, which was all the better. But then I started on Book 2, and found myself with a bonafide traditional-fantasy-style dragon in the middle of my heroine’s living room.

Dragons can be found in the mythologies of just about every region of the world, from snake-like beings with stubby legs that slither close to the ground to fire-breathing reptiles with webbed wings that hoard gold and speak the language of humans. It kind of makes you wonder if a few remnants of the dinosaur age may have lasted into early hominid times, sticking around in the collective unconscious and passed down through oral storytelling as human language developed.

The dragon myth can also be found in the Judeo-Christian creation story, with the serpent in the Garden of Eden tempting Eve—the concept of the Christian nemesis in serpentine form repeated in the tale of St. George defeating the dragon, and eventually to return as the seven-headed beast heralding the end of the world.

It’s the Eden story that influenced the idea of temptation in my series, Sisters in Sin, in which a group of sisters are fated to fall in love with dragon shifters. Book 1, Waking the Serpent, due out in December from Harlequin Nocturne, is available for pre-order on Amazon and Barnes & Noble.

The Millionaire's Redemption… 

When Sedona's most eligible bachelor is accused of murdering a local psychic, medium Phoebe Carlisle finds herself drawn into the danger that surrounds him—by the meddling of the shades she channels and by his irresistible charms. A public defender and a gifted medium, Phoebe is devoted to justice—and not just for the living. Proving Rafe Diamante's innocence means conjuring up two shades who were former lovers and now ignite the chemistry between their hosts.

Rafe can't afford to lose control and act on his feelings for Phoebe. His unfulfilled sexual tension begins to stir something inside him—the legacy of Quetzalcoatl. But as these newfound abilities awaken a dormant power in Rafe, can he stop the real murderer in time to claim his true destiny?


Excerpt from Waking the Serpent:

Rafe Diamante wasn’t at all what she’d expected. Waiting for him in an interrogation room, Phoebe had been picturing a man in his sixties with a beer belly and a receding hairline. Apparently she was thinking of his father. This Rafe Diamante was perhaps thirty, tall, hard and lean—a fact accentuated by the white T-shirt hugging his abs—his skin a deep coppery brown, as though he worked the construction sites himself. Far from a receding hairline, he had a rich, dark head of hair with a wavy curl to it, tied back in a short ponytail, while penetrating brown eyes glowered at Phoebe from under some serious eyebrows. Damn. He could excavate at her place any time.

When he spoke, the illusion of hotness was shattered. “You’re Phoebe Carlisle? Un-fucking-believable.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You’re a goddamn Girl Scout.”

Dropping the hand she’d extended when he was escorted in, Phoebe sat across from him, taking her tablet out of her bag and flipping the cover open before making a point of tugging her bouncy ponytail tighter behind her head. “I made Cadette, actually. But the uniform doesn’t really fit anymore and I got stuck on the goddamn deportment badge.”

Diamante wasn’t amused. “Do you even have a law degree?”

“Mr. Diamante, I’m an assistant public defender. You don’t get that position without having a law degree and having passed the bar. But I’m quite certain you’re aware of that. You’re the one who called me, if you remember.”

He folded his arms—such an impressive display of his biceps she almost expected him to beat his chest—and deepened his glower. “You were recommended to me.”

“So you said. I have to confess, Mr. Diamante, I don’t understand why you wouldn’t already have a lawyer who represents your family and your business—someone who I’m sure has the requisite gray hair to satisfy your age requirement. And a penis.”

The corner of his mouth twitched and his glower warmed as if he would have smiled if he wasn’t concentrating so hard on being on the offensive—a tiny sign he might not be a complete douche. “I can’t use my family’s lawyer. It’s complicated. But I can certainly afford exceptional legal counsel. Your recommendation, however, involved a specific unique skill.”

It was Phoebe’s turn to stifle a mouth twitch. “What skill would that be?”

“I was told you’re…” Diamante paused and the tips of his ears turned an adorable pink. “A step-in.”

Her amusement at his boyish blush dissipated instantly. Phoebe flipped the cover back onto her tablet as she rose. She remembered now why his name seemed familiar. It wasn’t just the construction signs. The outline of his pendant was visible under the shirt—she’d been thinking it was some kind of saint medallion. It was a pentacle. He belonged to her sister’s coven.

“A step-in, Mr. Diamante, as you well know, is an unanchored shade. Not the vehicle. That’s an offensive term for someone who does what I do, and I won’t sit here and put up with your bigoted insults just because you’ve gotten yourself into some kind of metaphysical bind and can’t use Daddy’s money to get you out of it.”

Phoebe turned on her heel and headed for the door, anger at Ione making the blood pound in her ears. Ione had never had any respect for her younger sister, imagining herself morally superior because she had the backing of a group of twelve equally uptight jerks behind her. And now she had the gall to tell this rich-boy witch Phoebe could defend him because he’d murdered a psychic?

“Wait. Ms. Carlisle.” Diamante rose and came around the table, grasping for her arm before she could open the door.

Phoebe moved out of his reach with a smooth sidestep and turned the handle, facing him as she did a quick twist to go through the door. “I’m sure you won’t have any trouble finding another lawyer with your charming personality.” The multilayered insult was probably lost on him.

“Not one who can talk to the people I’m trying to help.”

Phoebe paused. “What people?”

“The shades.”

He was full of crap. “Exactly how would someone of your affiliation be helping shades? I think you’re confusing ‘help’ with ‘persecute.’”

“I don’t share the majority opinion of the Covent.”

The name always annoyed her. They couldn’t just use “coven” like normal people. They had to be snooty about it.

Diamante was unconsciously rubbing the pentacle through his shirt—an unfortunately sexy quirk. “If you’d come back in and close the door, I’ll be more candid. And I apologize. I didn’t realize that was an offensive term.” He looked annoyed, as though he’d never needed to apologize before. Which strained credulity.

Phoebe stepped back inside and shut the door, leaning against it with her briefcase in front of her as if to ward off any underhanded spell-casting. “All right. I’m listening.”

Things that go bump in the night

Things that go bump in the night

I know you've heard those words before. I want to remind you that when Things go bump in the night they are not always paranormal in nature, although they frequently involve characters who are paranormal. (grin)

Hello I'm Gary Stillman and I write as G.E. Stills. This is one of my first attempts at a blog post so bare with me (bare misspelled intentionally). I'm glad to be here in the company of so many talented authors. Most of them are new friends while a couple I've known for…several years.

    

I don't have a lot of experience with ghosts, none in my personal life. I can only think of one instance where I included one in a book I wrote. Her name is Marla and she is a friend of Gail's. (a main character in my Gail and Jeff series.)  Marla is the spirit of Gail's murdered girlfriend and pesky as she can be. She torments Jeff and Gail frequently. (Jeff is the other main character in the series.) Marla invades the body of one of Gail's girlfriends (Isabelle) to further torment in physical form. Marla's teasing is often humorous and usually naughty. Marla is present early in the series but she takes on a lager role in book four (The Ancient Book). This series is intended for the 18+ reader

When a smart mouthed witch with a fiery temper and a death merchant with a dark past get together, things often go bump in the night.

Read the Gail and Jeff the witch series

Book 1: http://smarturl.it/Awitchandherman (A Witch and Her Man)

Book 2: http://smarturl.it/ToKnowYou  (To Know You is to Love You)

Book 3: http://smarturl.it/TheShiftersgestills  (The Shifters)

Book 4:  http://smarturl.it/TheABbyGEStills (The Ancient Book)

Book 5: http://smarturl.it/otherworldgestills (The Otherworld)

Book trailer for The Ancient Book. 

Excerpt from The Ancient Book

Gail has little chance of resisting when Isabelle (nicknamed Isa) and the ghost, Marla, join forces to seduce her. 

"So how are your studies going Isa?" she said in an attempt at light conversation.

Not answering, Isa came to a halt in front of her. She wasn’t prepared when Isa’s hand flashed forward, Isa’s palm cupped her sex. Jolting back Gail felt her back slap against the kitchen counter. Even as her hand ripped Isa’s away from her she knew it was too late. She shoved Isa away from her and gasped.

The breath caught in her throat. A burning need for sexual gratification instantly materialized within her. It roared through her shredding any resistance she could muster. Almost, her knees crumbled beneath her as an intense climax surged through her. Her panties became soaked. The orgasm didn’t leave her satisfied but only longing for more. The burning desire between her legs was nearly unbearable.

Through blurred vision, she saw a smile stretch across Isa’s lips. Not Isa’s smile.

Marla’s. 

Isa winked and for the first time spoke. "Isa is no longer the sole occupant of this magnificent body. And it is wonderful and sexy you must agree. She was more than willing to share it with me when I told her I intended to use it in making love to you. You are in big trouble now little witchy," Isa said in Marla’s voice. She chuckled with Marla’s musical laugh.

"Why Marla? You know I love Jeff."

"Because I miss your touch. If I hadn’t been killed before my time there would never have been a Jeff. What we shared was fantastic. We will continue to make love. I’m selfish. I will not give up what we share. It will be even better now that I can physically feel you when you respond to my touch."

"Goddess! Marla you are being cruel."

"Perhaps you think so now but in the end you won’t."

On shaking legs, she increased the distance between her and Isa. The next voice coming from Isa’s lips was not Marla’s

"I’m sorry Gail, I know I promised to never make the first move and I’m still trying to honor that promise even with Marla here in me but it’s very difficult. We both want you and she has no such agreement to not make the first move." Isa walked away with Marla’s lusty laughter drifting over her shoulder. As she left the kitchen she sashayed her hips seductively.

Dashing down the hallway, she slammed the bedroom door behind her. She took off her pants and nearly ripped her saturated panties off, tossing both down the laundry chute. Sitting on the edge of her bed with her legs crossed, she waited for the strong feeling of arousal to pass.

"This is not fair Marla," she breathed into the air. "It is hard enough to resist the urge I feel when either of you is around. With the two of you working as a team and you Marla using your abilities I have little chance."

The feeling of intense desire and the nearly unbearable heat between her legs persisted. I have to do something. In this condition I’ll probably rape the first person I see.

Racing across the room she burst into the bath and opened the cold water tap in the shower. As she stood under the frigid spray the feeling of need slowly subsided. It didn’t go away but it lessoned. When she left the shower, Goose bumps covered her body. At least the heat between my legs is reduced to something I can contend with.

"Damn you Marla." She slipped on the most conservative bikini she had, one with a full bottom and then wrapped a sarong around her waist. Striding back into the pool room she resumed her duties as hostess. When asked, she indicated the changing room and the group took turns changing. She knew Stella had informed each of them to be conservative in respect to their dress so as not to make Jeff feel uncomfortable Conservative was a relative term though.

http://amzn.com/B0143UCYYM

The books written by G.E. Stills dabble in many different genres, science fiction, and paranormal, mainly (witches, vampires, or demons) with occasional jaunts into contemporary. One thing they all have in common is romance. Most of them are highly erotic in nature. One of his readers has said they should be accompanied with a fan and a glass of ice water. (That's just a warning.)

  
Meet G.E. Stills

 Website |  Twitter |  Facebook |  Goodreads |  Amazon author Page 

I See Pumpkins!

It’s October already! Where did the summer go? Sigh… pumpkins are everywhere I look.

Fall is upon us and though I dislike this season more than any other, it brings with it one of my favorite days—Halloween. Guess there is no chance we could move this day to June, July, or August? No? Alright, I’ll have to live with it being in a month where trees delight many with their new outfits of red, yellow, and orange leaves.

Where, when did pumpkin carving start? An Irish custom, it seems carving began with turnips, potatoes, or beets which were then placed in windows and by entrances to scare away a ghostly character known in Irish tales as Stingy Jack. Seems this Jack pulled a few dastardly tricks on Satan keeping the devil from taking his soul after Jack died. When Jack succumbed, he wasn’t allowed into Heaven because he’d been unpleasant and he couldn’t go to Hell because of his ruses and was sent into the night by the devil with a lump of coal to light his way. Called Jack of the Lantern by the Irish, the name became shortened to ‘Jack O’Lantern. If interested, you can find more here: http://www.history.com/topics/halloween/jack-olantern-history.

I’m an admirer of those possessing skills to carve pumpkins into horrific toothless, or toothy, faces. Not a great one for carving pumpkins, I’m a huge fan of the Food Network Halloween Wars and for years have watched some remarkable artists render figures and scenes using some of the largest pumpkins I’ve ever seen—they need carts to move these monsters around the set! Check out this short Food Network video. Teams consisting of carvers, cake decorators, and pastry chefs, come up with beautifully creepy displays. I work when it’s aired but I binge on episodes later. I’m looking forward to this season! Tune in to Food Network to find out more and you’ll be amazed at what these folks do with flour, sugar, and monstrous pumpkins!

And since Paranormal Romantics is showcasing ghosts this month, I’m sharing a pic from one of the

past shows with a pair of ghosts perched atop a tree stump. Thanks Food Network for bringing us Halloween Wars. You all know I’ve touted this network before—I simply love it! Ooh, they also do Cake Wars… lol.

My Halloween story from the Paranormal Romantic’s archives:

CARVER

Gone… all gone.

Years, he’d waited years to prove himself by taking his father’s place, and if his truck hadn’t broken down, he would have made it. Shoulder to shoulder with others like him, he’d have stood with the best of the best.

Clouds covered the full moon casting ghostly shadows across the barren patch of land. His chest heaved up and down, lungs burned with each labored breath of air. He’d run for over three miles dragging the cart behind him. But there was nothing left. Still wheezing, trying to catch his breath, he climbed the highest peak and looked across the flat land. The glow of light from the building, easily another two miles away, teased him. They’d all be there, working their magic, preparing to be judged. Another year, he’d have to wait another whole year. It was his turn to carry on the family tradition, but he stood gazing forlornly across the patch. His father’s words echoed in his mind, drenching him in sadness.

“We’re better than the best, we’re better than the rest.”

A scurrying sound to his right drew his thoughts back to the present. Still grasping the handle of the heavy cart, he turned, moving slowly down the hill, back to his truck to stow his cart. It would be damn near a fifteen-mile trek home. Home to give father the bad news.

“Here.” Stopping dead in his tracks, he cupped his ear. Nothing. He was hearing things.

“Here!”

He’d distinctly heard the word this time. Following the direction it came from, he headed back up the embankment. Dragging the cart behind him, he went to the right side of the hill and peered over the edge. Air hitched in his throat at the sight before him.

One, there was one left. And it was perfect.

But he’d run out of time. No way could he drag his monstrous find to the judging place and complete his task before midnight. Again, his father’s words rang in his mind. We’re better than the best, we’re better than the rest. A sharp gust of wind moved the clouds and bathed the hilltop in moonlight. Enough light for him to work his magic. Loosening his backpack, he pulled out all his tools. His knives were sharp, his chisels ready for the hard work ahead. Maybe he wouldn’t make the judging but if it killed him, he’d take his finished prize to the building anyway.

Digging, cutting, shaping he performed his magic, did what came naturally to him. A sense of calm washed over him as he finished fashioning his piece. It weighed close to two hundred pounds but with strength and agility he’d never felt before, he hoisted his prize onto the cart and eased it down the hill. Years and years of this very same competition had left a well-worn, but rutted, path to the building he needed to reach before midnight. Glancing up at the moon, seeing its position in the sky, he knew there was little time left. Running as fast as he could without toppling the cart, he began the trip along the winding path. His lungs were on fire, air wheezed through his lips, but he didn’t let up. Turning the final corner, light blazed through the open barn doors, voices filled with awe seeped out, into the night. There must be great works there to cause such adulation. Would his measure up? Was he truly part of these people and did he have what his father had, and his father before him? At least he wouldn’t have to wait another year to find out.

Tonight he would know if he could carry his ancestor’s last name.

The clock tolled midnight as he wheeled his heavy load through the doors and dropped to his knees in exhaustion. A hush fell across the room. Standing, he hauled his cart to the circle and removed his prize, placing it in the one spot left. Reaching into his bag, he pulled out candles and began lighting those he would need. Careful not to blow them out, he put each one in place and stepped back, out of breath, unable to speak.

He was last to be judged.

Elders, men who had earned their name long ago, walked around his work, peeking through the tiny windows he’d so lovingly carved. They touched the orange pointed spires and whispered to each other. “We’ve never seen a cathedral carved so intricately and so perfect.” The head judged looked at him hard, then smiled. “Welcome Mr. Carver.”

Jack had earned his name and it could never be taken from him.

He was a true pumpkin carver.

Growl and roar-it’s okay to let the beast out. – J. Hali Steele

You Say Witch like it's a Bad Thing

My girls don’t want to grow up. They sometimes act as if they must squeeze all the fun, leisurely things in life into the last few years before they graduate from high school. 

I often contemplate their unusual desire, since I thought I’d been eager to grow up at that age, but then I realize, a lot of the time “Adulting” just stinks.

Things Adults Miss

The things we wanted to get grow out of all those years are what we now strive to recapture:

•      We never wanted to go to bed- adults kill for nap time
•       We couldn’t wait to see the world- most adults favorite thing is staying home
•        Kids complain when they have nothing to do- adults rejoice when they have nothing to do

 Halloween Lets You Be a Kid Again

But there is one magical time of the year in which we can all be a kid again—or whatever we want and that time is now, Halloween. 

Halloween gives us the opportunity to become the character of our choosing, if only for a day.

Although part of me realizes I write paranormal/fantasy—and often about witches—is the ability to rebel against the adult responsibilities and vicariously create a life free from the boundaries adulthood brings all year long. 

A little magic can go a long way.

The witches in my stories are just normal people with a little more.

• Lucy, from Witch You Were Here: Well, Lucy’s just a little more…everything.
• Hope, from Destiny Calling: Emotions 
• Sabrina, from Forget Me Not: Visions 
• Carman, from Grandma Must Die: Unpredictable, Powerful 
• Celeste, from That Magic Moment: Healing 

Yet in all my years of celebrating Halloween, I don’t remember ever dressing up as a witch. (Here’s a pic of one of my costumes from a post of Halloween past.)

According to the National Retail Federation’s 2016 Halloween Consumer TopCostumes Survey a witch costume the #1 costume for 35+ year olds.

Costumes for 35+ year-olds:.

1 – Witch                                  13.7%

2 – Pirate                                  4.7%

3 – Political                               4.1%

4 – Vampire                              3.9%

5 – Batman character                 3.5%

6 – Animal                                 3.2%

7 – DC Superhero or Star Wars  3.1%

8 – Ghost and Zombie               2.5%

9 – Scary Costume/Mask           2.2%

10 – Marvel Superhero               2.0%

 Proving once again, that the older you get, the more you want to believe in magic. Or perhaps you’re seeking a spell to cast.

Yet, despite my girl's resistance of approaching anything resembling adulthood, this year they hesitated when I asked what they were going to dress up as this year. 

They’re starting to worry they’re too old to dress up. 

Too old for Halloween?! Never. 

I hope they’ll change their mind, because who doesn’t love the magic of being whoever, or whatever you want for at least one day?

So maybe this year will be my witch costume year? 

How about you, what’s your favorite Halloween costume?

About Maureen
Maureen writes stories in the beautiful state of Pennsylvania that boast laughter, light suspense and something magical in the hope of sharing her love of finding the extraordinary in the ordinary world. She writes Paranormal Romance and Fantasy.

Find Me:
Writing on my Website
Tweeting on Twitter
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An old book lives!

One nice thing about self publishing is that your older books never die.

My first contracted work is now a short story on Amazon(Faunication), and the world it was written in has inspired new stories, soon to be published. 

My second published work, Her Accident Angel, has quite a history! I wrote an erotic romance angel/demon paranormal because I wanted a break from vampires. It was fun and action packed, and it placed in a contest. That was exciting. Unfortunately, the publishing company I contracted with went bankrupt and it was caught up in the muck.

Later I sold it to a little new epublisher. Sadly, Katrina happened. The publisher never recovered.

Publisher number three was viable for a few years and my book actually made a little money. But then that publisher died the death. I had the file, of course, but epublishers were dying like flies. I suddenly had the rights to about seven books!

Self publishing on Amazon seemed like a plan, so I started uploading. To my surprise, I made much better money than I did with small publishers. That was a nice bonus. All those older books still sell. Not huge sales, but they LIVE.

Since self publishing became my thing I've developed a Photoshop obsession. One day I decided to recover Her Accidental Angel. I have a fondness for the old thing! This one will be available for print soon, because, pretty.

You can find my books on Amazon. My website  has a newsletter sign up!

Getting Down to Writing After a Break with @MeganSlayer

There has been a lot of things going on in my life. Lately it seems like I can't keep up with everything. I had surgery a little over two weeks ago and getting back up to speed afterwards is taking its toll on me. I thought I'd just bounce back. I'd be up and running after a few days. 

Physically, I'm up and running. For the most part, I'm healed. It's nice, since I'm a mom and keep up with the tot requires me to be on my toes. 

But the writing part...that's where I feel like I'm falling behind. I don't have a huge schedule or a ton of deadlines set up for me. What I do have is a few deadlines set up for me. Now usually, I thrive on deadlines. I need that structure. I was that dork in school who loved to know ahead of time when everything was due and what was expected so I could get them done. On the writing front, I even worked myself hard to meet all of my deadlines ahead of time so I knew when I healed I wasn't going to have stuff hanging over my head.

I had this crazy notion that while I was in the hospital, I'd write in my notebook. Yeah, that didn't happen. When I could keep my eyes open, I wasn't thinking about stories. Nope. I was thinking about going home and keeping something down. 

Then I thought, I'm home, so I'll get all of this writing done. I didn't. I watched movies, slept a lot and read a couple of books. But writing? It wasn't happening. I'd open the notebook or look at the laptop and lose not only interest but enthusiasm.

I hated it. 

I'm back on the horse, so to speak. I've gotten words written and pages down. I've got two notebooks full of more words that need to go into the computer. It's happening. Little by little. Baby steps. 

What did I realize though as I healed was that I needed a break. It wasn't that the words weren't there. It wasn't that I'd lost the touch. I needed a break. My body said, um, yeah. Time to heal. 

I listened. I took those two weeks off. I didn't force myself to write. I didn't allow myself to feel guilty because I wasn't writing. To my shock, it worked. I don't make myself write just yet. If the words flow, I jump on the feeling. If they don't...I find something else to do until they do.

What about you? Have you ever had this happen? Ever felt like you were falling behind or failing? Did you ever need a break? I'd love to know. We can commiserate. 

~ ~ ~

Here's a little bit about my latest release, Unleashing His Roar. Check it out!

Unleashing His Roar  

Sanctuary, Book 7

Megan Slayer

M/M, Anal Sex, Masturbation

Paranormal, Contemporary, Lion Shifters/Panther Shifters

From Resplendence Publishing

Cover art by Kris Norris

** An AllRomance Ebooks Bestseller!**

Wanted: a shifter. Must be caring, understanding, open-minded and looking for a shifter in return.

Zeus knew from the beginning he was different. Where the other lion shifters had paired up, he was still single. All he wants is a partner and finds a dating app on his phone. Will the app lead him to the man of his dreams or to a disaster just waiting to happen?

Justin isn’t where he wants to be. He knows shifters aren’t supposed to work for the humans, but due to a circumstance that spiraled out of his control…he’s in over his head. He wants out and when he spies Zeus on the dating app, he’s willing to risk everything to get to the lion shifter. He believes Zeus might be the one to help him move beyond his past and unleash his roar.

Will the panther and lion find each other or will Justin’s past keep them apart?

Available at:

Resplendence Publishing: http://www.resplendencepublishing.com/m8/834-978-1-60735-961-6--unleashing-his-roar-sanctuary-book-seven-by-megan-slayer.html

BN: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/unleashing-his-roar-megan-slayer/1124662652?ean=2940156781256

AllRomance Ebooks: https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-unleashinghisroarsanctuarybookseven-2099613-340.html

Amazon:  https://www.amazon.com/Unleashing-His-Roar-Sanctuary-Book-ebook/dp/B01M1FJTO4/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1474634559&sr=8-2&keywords=Megan+Slayer

EXCERPT:

©Megan Slayer, 2016, All Rights Reserved

His phone beeped and vibrated in his hand. He tensed at the sound. The noise came back. He should look at the screen. Should. His heart hammered, and the lion clawed at him from within. He turned his attention from the big cat to the phone. A gigantic arrow with Justin’s photo in it bounced back and forth on the screen. He touched the arrow and held his breath. Justin had replied.

Hi. Saw you, too. I’d like to talk. Tell me about you.

Holy shit. Excitement rippled through him. The lion stood at attention within him, equally thrilled. Zeus blew out the breath he’d held. What should he say? He didn’t want to sound silly.

I’m thirty-three. Single. I work @ a shelter. He paused. What else should he add? I’m looking for love.

He hit send before he could delete the words he’d typed. He probably sounded ridiculous. When Justin replied, Zeus yelped. He glanced over at Joe, who didn’t seem to have noticed.

Love, huh? Are you a romantic?

A romantic? More like a horny bastard who wanted sex that might become love. He drummed his fingers on the desk. Answering would be smart.

Justin replied first. Oh. You’re unsure? I’m a romantic. There’s someone out there for everyone, and I’m looking for my someone.

Damn. Justin was a romantic or, at least, came across that way. Maybe, the sweetness was a little much, but oh well. He’d never know if he didn’t try. Want to meet? You sound like my kind of guy.

~~~~~

Megan Slayer - It's Always Fun to Squirm
http://wendizwaduk.com/indexMegan.htm

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