Friday, July 12, 2013

Not Again (from secrets and sin)

Katie kept her back to Jerry, determined not to see his charming smile. “Hey,” he whispered as he leaned forward. “Are you going to Frankie’s party?” he asked, knowing it was taking all of her strength to ignore him. If he kept up with the questions, she wouldn’t be able to resist acknowledging him for much longer. “I might.” Her head slightly turned in his direction– he had her. “But I’m not sure.”

“Only if your girl goes, right?” she snapped with her eyes straight ahead. She was pretending to be listening to the professor very well.

Oh, that’s what this is all about, he thought with a laugh. “I have no girl.”

“Whatever,” she spun in her seat to spit the word in his face.

“Excuse me,” the professor interrupted. “Mr. Dallas, since you’re so eager to talk why don’t you explain today’s lesson.” He rested on his heels and crossed his arms over his chest. “Well, we’re waiting.” He motioned to his staring classmates.

“An,” his eyes drifted to Katie, she now wore a smirk on her full lips. She was enjoying this way too much in his opinion. He raised his left brow as he leaned back in his seat. “False.” He shot the professor a carefree grin.

His face darkened as his eyes narrowed. “You make a perfect example of your generation,” he sighed. “As I was saying.” For the rest of his lesson his eyes would pause on Jerry to make sure he was listening. “See you people on Monday. I suggest you read chapter six, because we will be discussing it.”

Great, he thought, gathering his books and binder. “Hey Kat.”

“Katie,” she corrected him as she continued to walk away.

“Katie.” He stopped, sighing at the ceiling. She was gone. Damn it, he lipped without a sound. He dropped his chin and headed out. In defeat, he went home.

“Rover,” he called as he entered his house. “Rover, boy– I’m home.” He dropped his books on the table as he passed by it.

His best friend jumped on him, demanding the attention only a being with two hands could give. “Who’s my boy?” He scratched behind his ears. “Who’s my boy?” His petting stopped when he saw the pile of dog poop in the center of living room. “Damn it, Rover!” He slapped the dog away. “Why do you do this?” Anger fueled him as he cleaned up the mess, once again. He was always doing this these days. “Damn mutt,” he muttered, too tired to yell anymore.

He washed his hands before he went to the couch. He flopped on it and pulled out his weed. Staring at the small sack, disappointment filled him. “What a fucking day I’m having.” He threw the weed onto the table. “What a fucking day.” Running his fingers through his hair, he looked at the far wall, not seeing it.

Sensing his master’s sadness, Rover jumped onto the couch, determined to make him feel better. Wagging his tail, he pushed his way onto his lap.

“Get away from me,” he pushed the mutt off the couch. “Stay the hell away from me until you learn how to use the bathroom outside.” He sat back as depression overtook him. His head dropped into his hands. Sighing, he decided to let it go. “All I need is weed.”

“No, you don’t.”

“What?” His head snapped up as he eyed the room. “Who’s here?” No one was. Rover wagged his tail at him. “Whatever,” he shook his head, as he dismissed what he had heard.

“And the day I learn to use the bathroom is the same day I grow big enough to kick your ass.”

“What?” He jumped up, as the words echoed in his mind. Wide-eyed he stared at Rover. “What did you say?” Please say nothing, his fear pleaded.

Anger drew the dog’s features back as he took small steps towards him. “If you were to shit on the floor you would at least get a chance to explain yourself, before being punished.”

“What?” Fear pushed him back a step and then another. “You talk?” Shaking his head, he looked at the floor. “This can’t be real. It must be the weed.”

“You smoke too much weed.” Anger moved the dog forward again. “And I hate that.” Spit dripped from his mouth. The rage in his eyes pushed Jerry back another step. The chair lay behind him, unseen. “When you get high you always blow that shit in my face and well, Jerry. I must admit I don’t appreciate it at all.”

“What?” Stepping back, his knees hit the chair and knocked him back. “Shit!” He tumbled into darkness.

Rover watched him slip into his world. “Humans,” he breathed. “I should’ve listened to my mother when she said they’re not worth the hassle.” Shaking his head, he followed him into his world. He legs stretched as his arms fell to his sides.

The cold concrete pressing against Jerry’s flesh woke him up. With a heavy head, he pushed himself up. “What the?” He didn’t remember going outside. He was surrounded by plastic buildings and walking animals. “What the fuck?”

The dog couple walking past him stared as if they had never seen a human before. His brows frowned when a cat sniffed the air as it walked passed him. This can’t be real– he shook his head. It can’t.

Costumes, he told himself as he placed a smile on his lips. “Of course, it’s one of those hidden camera shows.” Feeling better, he rose to his feet.

Another cat slowed its pace when it saw the human. Arching an intrigued eyebrow, it continued on its way. Jerry pulled his shoulders back as he faced the striped being. “Great costume.”

“Excuse me pet,” he hissed. His lids lowered with disgust.

He took a step forward to face him. “You heard me, great costume.”

“Costume?” His head fell to the side in thought. “What’s a costume?”

“This is.” Without warning, he lunged forward to rip the head off the costume. Hissing, he extended his claws. Jerry felt them dig into his upper arms. “Shit,” he cursed. He desperately searched for the bottom of the mask. There was no bottom. Zipper, there has to be a zipper, he told himself. Fear gripped him.

The cat’s hair stood on end as it snapped at his neck. Ducking, he circled around it. No zipper appeared. Before he could rip off his shirt, he bounced around to face him. “You shall pay for that human. How dare you touch me!” His eyes filled with burning silver fury.

“Human? We are both human man,” he smiled, shock numbing him.

“How dare you!” He rose to his full height to tower over him. His claws rose into the air, ready to strike. “You shall die.”

Swallowing his fear, he had no idea what to do. His blood was already dripping down his arms. “There he is,” a deep voice yelled. Jerry heard footsteps rushing towards him. He was too scared to turn away from the enraged cat before him.

“He attacked me,” the cat pointed at him.

With his brows frowning, he finally turned. Stern dogs in uniform and carrying nets, glared at him. “We’ll add it to his charges,” one assured the cat.

Pleased, the cat nodded.

"Charges? What,” stunned he stared up at them. “Where am I?” It’s a dream, he thought, still refusing to believe.

One of the dog cops tightened its hold on the net. “So human,” he snarled the title. “Are you going to come along with us easy or not?”

“Come easy?”

He smiled, making him appear scarier than before. “Good.”

Slowly, they moved in on him. They’re going to take me in, he realized. Fear shot through his body, making him move. He ran the other way.

The dog cop’s smile dropped from his lips. “He’s going to make it hard.”

“Don’t they always?” The other one sighed.

Jerry turned many corners, in hopes of losing them. Fear filled him every time an animal person pointed at him. Stop it– they’re going to get me, he wanted to yell at them but instead he just turned another corner. The streets started to empty, allowing him a moment to breath and look around.

The buildings looked hard– smooth and most were colorful like legos. No, he told himself as he refused to believe what he was seeing. Feeling overwhelmed, he moved forward, up the stairs. His legs pinched in protest. Years of sitting on the couch hadn’t helped him in his run. Staring at the shiny surface, he couldn’t help himself from moving towards it. Reaching out, he watched his hand slide down the cold plastic surface.

“Oh my God.” He leaped back, regretting the sudden movement the moment he did it. “It is plastic.”

“Of course it is,” a seductive voice laughed. “Did you believe we would be as barbaric as you humans, and use wood?” Questions painted his face as he drew closer to the curtain door. “We would never destroy trees for our own selfish needs.” Pushing the soft cloth aside, he was faced with a saucy female cat, spread across a sofa. “Hello,” she smiled up at him. Stunned, he was unable to move. “Come in, before the pound finds you.”

He walked in, letting the curtain fall behind him. “What are you?”

“A pussy.” Gracefully she pushed herself up, allowing a white furry leg to slip out of her satin nightie. “Cat.”

“Where am I?” Since his blood had slowed, he was able to feel the wounds on his arms. The deep cuts, that were open to the world, stung.

She smiled, un-nerving him with the willing sex he saw there. “My place.” He watched her body move as she climbed the stairs, moving towards him. Her flesh that was exposed (if you call it that) seemed to move on its own, like water. He couldn’t take his eyes off of it.

“On what planet,” he breathed arms stinging.


He shook his head. “I’m from earth,” he pointed to himself. Looking down, he was stunned to see the blood dying on his arms. Those cuts are going to get infected, shit, he thought, distantly.

“There are many worlds on earth.” She was halfway across the floor now. She couldn’t wait to touch him. Her last pet had died on her. But this one looked stronger–– the deep wounds on his arms didn’t seem to bother him at all. “You, what’s the word?” Her body was close enough to brush his with her fur. “Primates are not ready to know of them yet. But perhaps, one day, you will be.”

His breathing slowed as he pressed his back into the wall. “Why am I here?”

She smelt good. She laid her hand against the wall, pinning him. “You must have pissed one of us off.”

“What? Who?” His eyes darkened in thought.

“But don’t worry– I never let anything happen to my pets I don’t do myself.” Her green eyes slid over his toned body, pausing on the lower parts before rising again.

“Pet?” Thought left his eyes as anger filled him. “I’m a person, not a pet.”

“In this world you are,” her eyes laughed at him.

“No, I’m not!” Gathering his strength, he pushed her away. Her roar sent chills up his spine. Oh God, crossed his mind more then once as he tried to runaway.

“Where are you going?” she hissed as she jumped onto the wall ahead of him.

“Ahhh,” he fell back a step.

Her claws dug into the carpet, holding her place. Her lips pulled back into a dangerous grin. “I didn’t say you could leave pet. Though I must admit I like your spirit."

Horror pushed him back a step as he stared. She leaped off the wall, knocking him back. Frightened, he watched her rise to her full height. “I will enjoy breaking you. Why so frightened,” she asked in a light tone, mentally playing with him. “Don’t you like me?” She frowned at his shaking head. “Well, you should. While your women only have two nipples, which I know you humans like.” A smiled curved her lips, revealing her dagger teeth. “I have eight.” She ripped her nightie open to show him the truth of her words. “It shall be great fun for both of us.” Her nails shot out.

“No,” he whimpered, tears filled his eyes. He pushed himself up onto his elbows. In the middle of the room, hanging from the ceiling, was a huge ball. A ball he could move.

He looked at her as he gathered his strength. Her lips were pulled back in an angry snarl. Her upper body was lowering, and it was the only warning he had of her attack. He rolled back as he kicked her away. Twisting around, he took off to the ball– the big beautiful ball.

Her roar moved him faster than he thought was able to move in his tired state. He dropped underneath the ball as he tossed it behind him. It caught her in the chest and knocked her out of the chase. A curtain that was hanging around the corner caught his eye. He could really escape. Climbing over the couch, he got out. The cold air was the best thing he felt all day, hell, all his life.

“Get him!”

“Huh.” He was yanked off his feet.

The dog cop smiled. “You’re mine.”

The other dog cop locked his hands behind him. Tired and sore, he gave up. Keeping his head down, he allowed them to easily lead him away. This sucks, he silently whispered to himself as he was pushed into a cage built into their truck. Other stray humans stared at him. No words were spoken just their fear was shared between them. This really sucks, he thought again.

“I don’t know why I’m here,” Jerry tried to explain to the court, feeling helpless.

The pit bull judge slammed his gavel onto his tabletop. “Hush human, I shall tell you why you’re here. Now,” his eyes narrowed on him. “Sit.” Looking away, he sat down. “Bring in the plaintiff,” he told the snake bailiff.

Plaintiff? His head turned to see who had put him on trial. The door opened to reveal a well-dressed weasel lawyer leading a dark brown mutt. “Rover?” He shook his head with disbelief.

They took their seats across from him. Jerry couldn’t take his thoughtful eyes off of the plaintiff. Angry fire filled his eyes. How dare he accuse me?

“Hank.” The weasel nodded to the judge.

“Sam,” he smiled back.

Great. He slumped in his seat as he realized– a fixed trial.

“So Sam, what are the charges?” He clasped his paws in front of him.


“Ah,” he nodded. “Such a common charge these days,” he mumbled to himself. His face and eyes hardened as he looked at Jerry. “How do you plead?”


“Yes– plead.” Jerry stared up at him, trying to be patience. “Do not play coy with me human. I know you understand, after all, this court system is based on the one from your world. Though you are an uncaring race, that is blind most of the time, you are an intelligence race none the less.” He looked down on him. “Now, tell me your plea.”

“Not guilty,” he managed to whisper.

The judge sighed. They always pleaded not guilty. At the core of all humans, they were basically the same– blind, stubborn, and just down right insensitive. “Okay Sam,” his thick eyebrows rose. “Present your case.”

Smugly, he smiled as he nodded. “I call Rover to the stand.”

“Rover,” the judge repeated, shaking his head at the name. “Humans, we should name them all Hairless.”

“Place your hand on the book,” the bailiff ordered, as he held out their book of laws. Rover held his head high as he laid his furry paw on its cover. “Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth or your life be gone?”

Strange, Jerry thought.

“I do,” he whispered, struggling to keep his head high. He didn’t want to do this, but he no longer wanted to be mistreated. Oh, what a sad day this was turning out to be.

“Sit.” With his job done, the bailiff turned to walk away.

Sam rose. A cocky smile lightly pained his features. “Rover.” His paws were clasped in front of him as he strolled to the front of the court. “I don’t wish to waste anymore time of this court’s than I have to.” He tilted his head in Hank’s direction. “Why don’t you explain for this court why you are pressing these, all too common, charges against this,” he glanced over his shoulder to look at Jerry. “Human.” His eyes narrowed as he turned away.

Sadly, he looked at his four-fingered paw. He ran his right paw over his left one. “I’m tired of him mistreating me.”

“How so?”

"When he comes home.” Distress covered his face as he remembered. “Upset. I want to make feel better.” A smile lifted his thin black lips. “Let him pet me for fun.”

“And what does this human do?”

The smile left his face as his eyes filled with a far away gaze. “Push me away.”

“How does that make you feel, Rover,” he asked in a soft, understanding tone.

“Hurt.” His head dropped in shame.

“Does he care?” He accusingly pointed his claw at Jerry. Staring at his paws, Rover shook his head. “I did not hear that.”

“No,” he choked, too hurt to sit here any longer. He was stuck. Their law bound him in his seat until Hank released him.

Sam nodded to himself as he rounded on his heels. “So, he neglected,” he made sure to emphasis the word neglect. “How you felt?”

“Wait.” Jerry jumped up. “I remember that day as well.”

“You should– it was today,” Sam joked as he pulled his head back.

“It was,” he paused. “Yeah, well, I wasn’t neglecting him. I was punishing him.” His shoulders fell, he suddenly felt bad. “He shit on my rug again, and that can’t be allowed.” He met the weasel’s eyes. “You must understand the concept of punishment.” He saw no mercy in them and knew this weasel wanted his blood. “I mean,” he shrugged. “You have trials.”


“Yeah.” He raised his head.

"Did you shit on his rug because you didn’t like him?”

Questions wrinkled his face. “No.”

Sam kept his eyes on Jerry as he continued his questioning. “Then why?”

“He wasn’t there to take me out, and in that world I’m unable to open the door myself.” He bowed his head, not liking how many eyes were on him.

“So, he neglected you?”

“Yes,” he whispered.

“I was in class,” Jerry whined, feeling very small right now.

“How long are your classes human? One hour? Two hours? All day?”

“What?” He pulled his head back. He did not understand his line of questioning. “I’m not on stand here.” He pointed at Rover. “He is.”

He smiled, revealing his pointy teeth. “Of course you are. In fact, you’re the only being in this world that is.”

“But,” he shook his head, not understanding. He looked up and met Rover’s big eyes that had always trusted him to do the right thing. Did I, he asked himself. Would he have put me on trial if I had been true to his trust? “I didn’t know.”

“I’m sure you didn’t.” Sam rolled his eyes. “But you should have. Animals, all animals,” he stepped forward, demanding that the human look at him. “Just as you are one, have feelings and thoughts. And just because your kind is at the top of the food chain.” A hiss escaped him. Jerry suddenly wanted to run. “Because of your guns, and only because of your guns.” His lips pulled back as his jaw opened.

Wide-eyed Jerry stepped back. He’s going to attack, rang in his head.

“Sam,” Hank calmly intervened. “Get control, and make your point before I throw this case out.”

Reason re-entered his eyes. “Sorry,” he tugged on his tie. He relaxed before he looked back at the human. “Doesn’t give you the right to neglect our needs, and natural rights. So, my point,” he bowed his head at Hank. “Is that– not knowing is not an excuse he can use in this case.”

“Agreed,” Hank said, ruining the trial for Jerry with that one word.

He smiled because he had made his point. “I have nothing more to say.” He walked back to his seat.

“Human,” he called in a cold voice.

“Jerry,” he corrected, as he kept his eyes on the plastic wall.


Tired, he looked up. His arms were starting to hurt again, the medicine they put on it was wearing off. “My name is Jerry. If you’re going to condemn me at least have the decency to use my given name.”

“Decency? Do not speak to me of decency. Your species has driven whole breeds of animals into hiding in this world, because of your lack of that word, so do not expect it from us.”

Sighing, he looked away. He knew he was screwed.

“Is there anything you would like to add before I announce your punishment?”

No, he thought. Rover, the name drew up memories from deep within his mind. “Yes.” His head rose as hope filled him. “Do you remember the game we play?” Blankly, Rover stared at him. “The one where I go hide under the blanket.”

His eyes brightened as his tail gently hit the floor. “Yes.”

“Describe it for everyone.” The evil look Hank gave him, made him add the word please at the end.

“You hide under the blanket and call me name.”

His brows rose. “And then?”

He smiled as his tail hit the floor again. “And then I try to eat it off of you. Sometimes I find my way into it so I can lead you out.”

“Do you like this game?”

His tail slammed against the floor. “Oh yes, I love it.”

His face softened, making him look like the master Rover had always followed. “Is there any other game we play that you like?”

“Yes.” He leaned forward, his tail pounding into the floor now. “I love it when you throw the ball– or when you hide from me then call my name, so I have to find you hiding in the house.”

“Is that all I do for you?”

“No. You feed me and provide me with water. When it’s sunny, you walk me.”

Jerry smiled. “Do you truly believe I neglect you?”

His face sobered as he thought about it. “No,” he admitted, slowly.

The room gasped as Jerry proudly smiled. “Thank you, that’s all.” He bowed his head to Sam. I’ve won and he knows it, he thought as he sat down.

He rose from his seat. “Rover.”


“Drop your pants.”

“What?” His eyes grew as he looked at the judge for help.

“Sam.” He looked at him, wanting this case to be over already. “What does that have to do with this case?”

“This case is about neglect, not games. By dropping his pants he will prove, for all to see, that this human, while entertaining him at times.” He turned on his heels to look at Jerry. “He neglects his natural rights, such as breeding.”

Shit, was all Jerry could think.

“Is this true,” Hank asked Rover.


“See,” his paw spread as he circled the room– Making sure horrid understanding was in everyone’s eyes. It was. “Neglect.”

“I see,” Hank nodded. “Rover, you may step down.”

Fear held him in his seat. “But I don’t want to press charges anymore.” His big eyes looked up at him.

“Too late– now step down.” Bowing his head, he did. Hank waited until he was sitting before he addressed the human. “Human, we do understand the concept of punishment.” Pride pulled back his head. “Perhaps better than your kind. As your punishment you shall share in the fate you, yourself, have bestowed upon our brother Rover. You shall have your natural rights neglected. You shall have your ability to breed taken away.”

“What?” His head fell to the side. He didn’t understand his meaning. His eyes grew as realization dawned on him. “What?” He rose from his seat, his body tense with fear. “You can’t.”

He smiled. “We will. Guards,” he glanced at the line of waiting men, against the wall. “Restrain him.”

“No.” As they rushed forward, he acted. He grabbed a chair to toss at them, buying him enough time to turn and run.

“Stop,” the cat from the street lunged at him. “You must pay for what you did.” His nails dug into his flesh.

“Ahh,” he cried out as he fell. “Shit.” In his mind, he could see the guards coming after him to take him to the clippers. “Get off!” Pushing up with all of his strength and weight, he managed to get the cat off him.

“Stop him!”

“Grab him!”

He heart raced as he spotted the curtain that was un-doubtfully his way out. “Fuck!” he yelled when claws dug into his back. He covered his nuts with his hand as he tumbled forward. The curtain brushed against his flesh as he fell through it. Darkness stole him into its embrace. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the fall.

When he opened his eyes he was staring at his ceiling. Thank you God.

My balls! He sat up too quickly and sent blood rushing from his brain. Dizzy, he checked his groan area. “Thank God.” They were both there.

His body was sore as he pushed himself up. He rubbed the back of his neck. He made his way to the bathroom. His dream had left him feeling dirty, sore, and down right tired. Rover circled his legs, stopping him. Jerry’s body tensed. Am I afraid? He wondered.

Cover grinned up at him. With wide eyes, he bobbed his head at him.


The dog glanced at his empty food bowl.

Swallowing, he looked away. I don’t have time for this. He took a step and then Sam’s furry face flashed in his mind. The weasel’s hard eyes narrowed as he hissed the word human. Fear made him turn around him. Rover’s bright eyes dimmed as he realized his master might not feed him.

“Shit,” he gave in. He hurried across the room to pour him his lunch. “There.” He rushed off to think. He knew he would be able to in the shower. He closed the door.

Rover walked to his food, happily staring down at it. “Humans,” he laughed as he begun to eat.

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Wednesday, June 12, 2013

What's Going On

I had to remove my covers because No Boundaries Press has closed. I have been picked up by another publishing house, Nevermore Press, but that means new covers. new edits, and new release dates. I will update my blog as I get the covers, etc :)

Wednesday, June 5, 2013

Interview I did in Feb.


SJ: Every writer has some sort of process. Give us a glimpse into yours. Do you meticulously outline? Do you write depending on what calls are out there?

TD: When I decide what to write I always go with what I’m feeling most; horror, chick lit or romance. Once I know what I’m writing I do an outline of just the key points. When I know how I want it to begin and end, I do an outline of the chapters before I write them.  It’s a pretty fast process because I plan everything before I write a single word.

SJ: Bonus question – Do you put on a cape and do a chant before hunkering down to work? Sacrifice anything? Along with your process, what’s your quirkiest writing habit?

TD: I sometimes act out scenes when I need to figure out how to describe it for the reader. My finance usually gives me the weirdest looks lol.

SJ: Are you a meticulous planner or do you believe in the muse? Where do your ideas come from? Do they filter in through your dreams? Do they show up at inopportune times and whap you upside the head? Do they result in a shady deal with a dark power? 

TD: I have a lot of ideas that I want write. Some came from ‘what if’ situations while others are inspired by events in my life. I also get inspired (at times) by true crime shows, and non-fiction books about different cultures and beliefs. It doesn’t take a lot to get my imagination going.  

SJ: bonus question – If your muse had a physical manifestation, what would he or she look like and how would she or he act? Is it a sexy superhero version of Callisto? A sharp-tongued rogue? A reptilian alien? Do they have a catch phrase?

TD: My muse would be dark and strange.

SJ: What’s the book/story that’s closest to your heart? Is there a piece that you clearly feel is a piece of you? Do you play favorites?

TD: My short story collections are closest to my heart because I have more freedom when I write them. My first one ‘Secrets and Sins’ should come out later this year.

SJ: If you could only write one genre ever again upon pain of being sacrificed to Cthulhu, what would it be and why?

TD: Horror. It’s the kind of novels I am most comfortable writing.

SJ: What’s your biggest frustration as a writer? What do you consider the downside, or is there one? Is there any cliché that makes you want to wring people’s necks?

TD: Editing is pretty difficult, since it takes longer than the actual writing. I work on computers all day so I can’t stand sitting in front of them when I’m off of work.  

SJ: If you had to be stuck in one of your own books/stories for the rest of your life, what would it be and why? If you had to stick a loved one in one of your own books, what would it be and why? An enemy?

TD: An enemy would be dropped in Awakening of the End my current WIP, because it’s about the end of the human world. My loved one I would drop in ‘Diaries of the Fag hags’ because it takes place in today’s world. I would hang out in ‘Will of the Waves’ my pirate novel, coming out later this year.

SJ: Do you think it’s possible to develop a sure-fire recipe/formula for success as a writer? Would you want to, or does that compromise the art or the fun of it?

TD: To be a successful writer you have to write.

SJ: Everyone has words of wisdom for young writers, so I’m not going to ask you about that. With a few unknown writers becoming success stories, a lot of people seem to think it’s an easy career choice. What would your words of wisdom be to these people?

TD: It’s a lot of work. Even when you get a book deal and have a book out you still have to promote and work to make it a success.

SJ: It seems like everyone likes to gang up on certain genres as being inferior, less meaningful, or cheap entertainment (especially if it’s speculative in nature). Make a case for the genre you write.

TD: As a multi-genre writing I give my readers a little taste of everything and hopefully introduce them to something new as well.

  • What do you want people to instantly think of when they hear your name or your work mentioned?
  • TD: That my novels are well written and entertaining.

  • SJ
  • Please tell us about your latest/favorite work or a little bit about what you’re working on right now. It’s plug time, so go for it
  • TD: My latest novel to be released is Diaries of the fag Hags. It was the first chick lit I wrote and it was fun to do. When I read it I find it amusing and it always makes me smile. 
  • First review for Will of the Waves

    Sarah's Review (From Girls with Books Blog):  This was my first pirate book I've ever read so I didn't know what to expect.  But I really enjoyed that the female lead was a strong one. I do enjoy those!  Gem had a lot of guts to do what she did in that era and I enjoyed reading about her and her growth as a pirate.


    Thursday, May 16, 2013

    Open letter to SAVEMART

    Last night my boyfriend Cj and I came into the store in merced toget chicken liver because we were going night fishing. Your employee David, a bagger, once AGAIN gave Cj dirty looks and when we walked to our car and he was gathering shopping carts, he made the comment like he ALWAYS does to Cj 'You're lucky I'm at work." Since this is a threat and not something I expect from a company like SAVEMART i askeed him what his problem was. He processed to talk trash to CJ and thjreaten to beat him up when he wasn't at work. We went into to complain to the manager on duty Melissa Sesmon and she went outside we us. Then instead of hearing us out because this is an ongoing issue w/ this employee at your store she dismissed us and said take it up w/ the main manager Peter on Friday. This is NOT okay. I expect manager and a company to respect their customers and address their concerns not push it off on someone else. We called the cops to file a harassment complain against the employee in case he followed up on the threats and your manager tried to say I WAS DRUNK to dismiss the whole thing to the cops. 1) I DO NOT DRINK. I have been clean fopr three years and i am very pride of this fact. If I were drunk the officers who we filed the complain with would NOT have allow me to drive off. I was allowed to leave because I was clean. The fact that SHE SAID this is upsetting. She should have spoke with us about your employee instead of brushing it off and dismissing it. I am disgusted at how this was handle and will post this letter as an open letter on my blog so the world will know how you treat your loyal customers, and how you allow your employee to harass customers in your store and protect their poor behavior because they wear the name tag. My job respects our customers and would never allow something like that to happen

    Tuesday, April 30, 2013

    Police KILLED my brother

    In July of 2012 my little brother was gunnde down by the Turlovck, Ca police. I have not talked about it because I was not sure what had happened. There were a number of rumours and hearsay. After NINE months I was finally able to get the police report released to me. I knew I was going to cry when I read it, I was not aware I was going to be disgusted and angry as well.

    On that July day my brother was chased by the police because of a shoplifting incident the day before. They were on the lookout for the car he was in.

    He hoped out of the car when it was disabled on the Bradbury exit ramp and tried to get into another car. The cops surrounded him. In the report a number of offciers stated they did not see the gun, which they would have seen had he pointed it them.

    The officers fired at my brother, Joe Davis, and took his life. One was using a shot gun which to me implys they intended to kill him, I mean why else use a shotgun. The bastards. A number of shells were found at that scene that belonged to the officers. In the report it reflects a number of cops there were trainees, and though they didn't SEE the gun they fitred because the other officers yelled 'Gun" or Crossfire"... BAstatrds he had two kids and a family that loved him. My brother was everything to me. Once my older brther Jimmy died when i was 15 Joe stepped up to be there for me and protect me as ony a brother can. Those cops are killers and got away with murder :(

    Book Trailer for Will of the Waves

    Check out my new book trailer :

    Thursday, April 11, 2013

    Book Tour: Blood Witch by Ellie Potts

    Welcome to the Opposite Side where monsters really do roam the night, but The Supervisors make sure that the monsters don’t get noticed by the normal humans. Meet Leslie, a Supervisor and a blood witch, one of four in California. Blood witches are said to have powers that rival gods, that’s why they were almost hunted to extinction. Leslie came into her power late, and fell in with the wrong crowd before she became a Supervisor. Nathan is king of the local werebear clan, and he has plans for the future of his pack, the other local shapeshifters, but also has his eyes set on Leslie. She is not your ordinary Blood Witch, and together they can stir up power that the world has never seen. But nothing is as it seems in the Opposite Side, and Leslie’s already different world is going to be shaken as a new case starts a chain of events that can lead to a feud war.

    “I’m glad you and Nathan are getting along. I know he wasn’t very happy about me working or living with a blood witch. You guys are the equivalent to the bogeyman to the werechildren.” He swiveled towards her in the chair. They sat on two old wheeled stools. Bored, they were twisting and turning on them, waiting for the new vampire to rise. Sometimes they didn’t at all; if the other vampire had been weak the body would just die.

    “Sheesh, thanks for sharing. I already feel bad about what I am, but I get reminded daily on what a monster I am. So maybe I get a bit wild once in a while, it’s not like I go all furry once a month and crave fresh meat.” She sat in her own swivel chair, arms crossed, pouting. Earlier they had raced around the room. Now they were just bored, after getting caught making gloved balloon animals.

    “Les, you know I don’t mean anything by it. I was just telling you.”

    “Sure,” she said making a paper airplane with a discarded piece of paper she had found on the counter. She finished and let it glide. It dropped near the door, crumpling on the floor. The mortuary assistant walked in followed by two men who looked at each other, startled. Leslie felt her chest lurch as her eyes fell upon the shortest of the men.

    “I’m sorry, I must have gotten the rooms mixed up,” the assistant said to the two men.

    “Leslie,” Rich said, trying not to sound as surprised as his brown eyes were letting on. She noticed his dark brown hair not only had some grey, but was also thinning. He pushed his glasses up on his nose, a sign of nervousness, his weakness in the wereworld. Jonathan hated when Richard showed his nervousness around the wolves. You can find him scolding the witch every so often about it like he was a naughty child.

    She said nothing as the assistant led them away. The door closed. “Well, that was awkward,” Patrick said as Leslie got to her feet and went to the body.

    “Patrick, why hasn’t the vampire risen yet?” She grabbed the sheet covering the body and pulled it off. “I’m sure it would have already.”

    Patrick came to stand beside her and they looked over the body. “It’s rather old to be vampire bait don’t you think?”

    “Where is the vampire bites?” She moved the head looking at the neck. She then pulled the sheet fully off the body. Her eyes looked lower for a bite, scanning every inch of the body.

    Their eyes went to the door when a scream erupted in the hall.

    Author Bio:
    Somebody told Ellie Potts you had to be rich to be eccentric otherwise you were just crazy. She set out to prove them wrong doing things she was told she couldn't do like dressing like a pirate, get her books published, playing video games, planning to survive a zombie apocalypse, and other antics most women stay away from. Her love of books motivate her and movies captivate her. She loves almost everything from Disney to George Romero. She lives in California's Central Valley where most of her stories and books take place. Her and her husband are owned by their attack Bugg (Boston Terrier/Pug), and her two red eared slider turtle minions who live in the backyard.


    Tuesday, March 5, 2013

    Walter (From Endless Dreams)

    Christy sat in her car and watched the scene play out before her. While on her way to the weapons shop a car chased erupted on the freeway behind her.  She had got off on the next off ramp, and so had the person being chased. She had no choice but to pull over onto the shoulder to let him, and the officers, by.
    The driver in the Honda lost control of the car during a turn and was forced to get out and run. The officers stopped as well to get out of their cars. Christy knew this was never a good thing. She hated officers.
    The white male ran towards a black truck on the side of the road, in hopes of getting a new ride to get away. Christy saw the .45 glock in his hand, and knew this was not going to end well for him.
    The eight officers on the scene had their guns pulled out as well as they slowly approached him. Christy tightly gripped her steeling wheel. She didn’t want to see what was going to happen. She had done some things people may described as horrible, but it was to individuals who deserved it. Individuals who thrived on making other people lifes hell with their smug attitude and crude comments. This gentleman was on the run; he was not insulting people or laughing at their flaws.
    The driver of the truck locked his door, and refused to let the stranger in. Frustrated, the runner fired his gun at the driver’s door, wounding the bystander in the processed. As a killer herself, she knew he had not purposely harmed this man. Emotions had taken over and he pulled the trigger. She understood, though she knew the officers would not. They did not live their lifes like regular people. They were all about the brain and no heart.
    The officers raised their weapons and yelled their orders. “Freeze!” “Drop you weapon!”
    The runner rubbed his head in thought. His body tensed and Christy could sense his hostility. He was looking at a long list of charges; attempted murder, fleeing, speeding, resisting arrest, gun charges, and a number of others. He must of known he was caught and going away for a number of years. His car was disabled, and he was stuck on the overpass. He had nowhere left to run.
    Out of options, he turned. Christy watched as he raised his gun at the officers. An eager officer pulled his trigger on the runner, and two others’ quickly followed suit. The runner’s body rocked as the bullets hit him. it was over in a matter of seconds, and the runner laid dead in the middle of the road. Blood leaked from his torso and head. Christy felt for him.
    She looked at the officer who had first pulled his trigger. Unlike the others, who went to check on the wounded bystander and runner, he stayed on the sideline. She saw a faint smile on his lips, and a glint of pride in his brown eyes. He was glad he had killed this desperate man on the run. His hand hovered over the handle of his gun that was not holstered. In his mind she knew he was reliving it.
    Christy’s eyes narrowed on him, as anger filled her. This officer was just like all the others that visited her chamber of pain. Smug, arrogant, and thrived on others flaws. She took a calming breath as she decided her next move. She would continue on to the weapons shop to get something special for this Minster officer, and then she would track her prey.

    It was easy for Christy to take the officer when he was off duty. Her look of innocent never failed her. She dropped him in a room in her basement, and went upstairs to watch his reaction on the cameras. She felt like making him suffer a little before she took his life.

     Walter woke up in a strange room. The stint of decay hit him first. He sat upright as fear and alarm coursed through him.
    His gun was missing. “Shit,” he mumbled. The floor and walls were stained with blood. Chains and blades hung on the walls. He was in a place of torment.
    Slowly, he became aware of the body lying against the wall. It was the source of the stint. Bale crept up his throat as he walked towards it. The smell told him it was too late to help this person, but the way they died may give him a hint of what awaited him.
    The body was naked. It was a woman whose mouth had been sewed shut. He recognized her face; this was Joyce Riggs, the missing sales clerk from the local mall. Judging from her wounds Walter would say she died from the cutthroat after weeks of salvation. The killer showed her mercy in the end.
    “Crazy bastard!” he yelled, knowing that serial killers loved to feed on the fear of their victims. “I will arrest you!”
    “Then come find me,” a voice softly said, from the tiny speakers on the wall.
    He was surprised to surprise to hear it was a woman who taunted him. He eyed the speakers. “You will go to jail.”
    Laughter rolled out them. She was enjoying his threats. “You’re cute.”
    Anger bubbled inside of him as his hands curled into fists. “Damn you woman, you will pay for this!” The cold laughter came again.
    There were three doors in this room. He found one was locked. The second door opened to a narrow hallway that had spikes sticking out of the wall. When he took a step he found there was a level in the floor that was triggered when he stepped on it, that caused the walls to start to move towards each other. He would be dead before he had a chance to make it through.
    The third and final door was not much more pleasure than the last one, except it offered a way out. The small hall had wire criss-crossing throughout it. On closer examination he found the barbwire was razor sharp.

    “Fucking hell,” he shook his head. He didn’t want to cross this but there was no other way out. He stripped out of his loose t-shirt so it wouldn’t get stuck on the barbwire. It was a difficult task. He got cut a number of times, but he made it through. He was relieved that the door on the other side of the hall from hell was unlocked.

    “Thank God,” he whispered as he turned the knob. He was one step closer to catching this sicko.

    He froze when he was faced with a petit woman. She wore dark liner and red lipstick. She had on blue caprices and a white tank-top. She was very attractive. “Found me,” she said with a smirk. “Congratulations.” She lifted her hand to reveal a bottle. She sprayed a mist in his face to knock him out.

    Walter woke up a second time this day. He was in another room, strapped to a table. The woman stared down at him. Her eyes were cold and heartless. “Who are you?” he asked, as he tugged at his restrains. He was hoping he could pull them loose.

    “Death.” She inclined her head in thought. “Just like you.”

    “I’m a cop,” he corrected. There was a part of him that wanted to get lost in the fear he felt, but he couldn’t. He knew he would die if he did that.

    She gave him a single nod. ‘Oh yes; a cop.” Her curved brows slid up with amusement. “I forgot. You didn’t appear to be a cop when you gunned down that man this morning.”

    He froze. He had forgot that had happened this morning. “That junkie deserved to die.
    Rage flared in her eyes. She lifted a hatchet and slammed its blade into his shoulder. He cried out in horror and pain. “That junkie was a man in need of help, not a bullet! That junkie was running from his problems and life!” She hacked him again, driving the blade deep within his flesh. “That junkie was a victim of this blind, heartless society that is ran by men like you! Men who sees a hurting man,” she swung her hatchet again. “As nothing more than a junkie!” She brought the hatchet down on the base of his neck.

    Walter choked on his blood as he struggled to breath.

    Disgust distorted her face. She bent down to whisper in his ear. “That junkie had a family.” Tears glistened in her eyes. “He may have been lost in a world of drugs, and blinded by pain and despair but he did not deserve to die by your gun, alone in the road.” She hacked into Walter’s face, determined to end his life. The blade ripped the eyeball from its socket. “He did not deserve to believe WE did not love him! He deserved the world.” Hack. “He deserved to grow old and be happy!” Hack. “And now You,” hack. “And your kind will pay for taking that from him!” Hack. “You took my Brother from Me!” Tears ran down her face as she hacked into him. “You stole my happiness!” Hack. Hack. Hack. “I hate you all. I WILL KILL YOU ALL!!” She dropped the hatchet, feeling numb inside

    Walter’s face was gone. Blood and gore covered her brother’s white wife beater. Christy wasn’t one to get emotional attached to things. She wasn’t the one to cry, but her heart hurt.

    That junkie was no junkie at all; he was her life. The only person who understood her and allowed her to be herself. Now she was unleashed; thrown into the world filled with hurt, pain, and rage. People like Walter would die. The people who laughed at other people’s flaws and made their life’s hell would suffer. Christy would hurt them all; and bring them to her chamber of pain. The beast within her would be released. Until now she only took a few souls, but thanks to Walter, she would take them all.  

    Thursday, January 31, 2013

    Review: Flights of Delusion by Ellie Potts

    Flights of Delusion is my favorite type of book: a short story collection. The stories range from weird to horror, and the author Ellie Potts did a great job at creating worlds that were easy to get lost in. 'Shotgun Weddin' ' was a glimpse into a bus rider's nightmare, while 'Goo' was a look into a depressing future with the last two people on earth. You find yourself relating to the characters, and the touches of humour do not go by un-noticed. It is a good read for all. Four out of five stars.

    Review by Toy Davis, author of 'The Last Resort' and 'Diaries of the Fag hags.'

    Friday, January 25, 2013

    Interview I did for Sabrina's Paranormal Palace

    When did you know you wanted to become a writer? I have been writing all my life, but it wasn't until I was in my late teens that I decided to be an actual writer thanks to my friend Author Ellie Potts

    How did the idea of series come to you? My ideas usually come from 'what if' questions; example what if zombies were real? Then I will base an story line on that question.

    Are any of your characters based off people you know? In Diaries of the Fag Hags when I read it to edit I realized a couple of the characters did remind me of some of my friends. They somehow snuck their way into my novel

    How many books will be in the series? Right now the two novels I have are solo books, my WIP is the first book in a series though. I imagine it may be five or six books.

    How do you over come writer’s block? I always work on two projects at once so when I get tired of one I can work on the other. It keeps me from getting stuck on one of piece.

    What is your writing process? I decide on what to write, write out the key points that I want to happen, and finally draft up an outline of each chapter before I write them.

    What is your favorite paranormal being? Vampires are fun to write about but so are elemental beings so I'm torn between the two.

    What was the first paranormal book you read? R.L Stine and LJ Smith were the horror/paranormal books I read I was younger.

    Who are some of your favorite authors? S.E Hilton, Ilona Andrews, and LJ Smith

    Can you give us any hints about future books? I have a pirate novel and short story collection coming out this year so keep your eye out.

    Is there a writer or writers that inspire you? S.E Hilton and HP Lovecraft

    What paranormal being would you like to be? Elemental being

    If you were stranded on a deserted island what character would you want with you and why? hmm is this mine or someone else's? If it is from any character I will say Superman so he can fly me out of there. if it is from my characters then Gentina from my pirate novel because she's a pirate.

    What would you do in a zombie apocalypse? Try to survive, ha

    What 3 people would you like to have dinner with and why? Obama, because I wonder how he is when he's not in front of the caremas. My brothers Joe and Jimmy bcz they are no longer here and I would like to talk to them one more time.
    Color: Pink
    Pets: 3 cats; Socks, Teller, and Caddy plus three turtles named turtle
    Food: Thai Food
    Drink: Pepsi
    Holiday: 4th of July bcz I love the fireworks
    Music: I love all music
    Movie: Dead Alive, 27 dresses, Blade 2 and LOTR

    This or That; This
    Night or Day? Night
    Theater or Rent? Rent
    Fall or Summer? Fall
    Music or Reading? Reading
    Pet Dragon or Pet Gargoyle? Pet Gargoyle
    Flip flops or Tennis Shoes? Flip Flops

    Wednesday, January 23, 2013

    On Writing, Reading, and Loving Different Genres

    Get to know my Guest Blogger Selah Janel author of In the Red
    I’ve said it ten million times and I’ll say it again: I love stories. Stories entertain, stories teach, stories warn, stories comfort, stories tell us where we came from and they give us varying answers as to where we’re going. I grew up lucky enough to have a lot of different influences: a mother who insisted I spend a lot of time at the library, local access shows featuring storytellers, Reading Rainbow, people in the community who could tell a good yarn, and all the glorious and outrageous programs of the 1980s.

    Through the years I’ve learned to appreciate a lot of different forms and genres. I read a little bit of everything, from all types of fiction to comics to nonfiction. I love that there’s always a fresh take on an idea to experience or a new concept to learn. That curiosity has probably kept me going more often than not, especially when it comes to my writing. I’m one of those authors that has a hundred ideas gnawing at me at any given moment, and they don’t pay attention to what I think my strengths and weaknesses are. In their primeval little minds, a story is a story is a story. So what am I? A horror writer? A fantasy author? A speculative fiction-type person? A writer of young adult and children’s stories? A literary writer? A chick lit author? I usually answer yes to all of the above. It’s a great thing to say at parties; people never know how to respond.

    The thing is, I get why we’ve divided ourselves up into certain types of authors, but a writer is a writer is a writer. We all go through similar processes, we all care about the stories we’re writing…I don’t understand why some genres are held over others as being “real fiction,” “real literature,” or “harder” to write than anything else. I get that people may like reading certain things over others, and some authors like writing only certain genres. That’s awesome – I’m all for people going with what suits them. For better or worse, I’m one of those people that likes to get into everything. If an idea wants to happen, it’ll happen.

    I’m curious about a lot of things, and even just going about my business on a given day can inspire me. You never know what would happen if the flowers you pass have fairies living in them or if a vampire resides in the old abandoned barn off the side of the highway. Sometimes all it takes is a certain turn of phrase from someone to kick my brain into high gear. I may test the idea out on a trial basis, but if it’s persistent, I know I’ve got to find a way to do justice to it. I usually know pretty fast where it belongs, though: horror, fantasy, urban fantasy, and on and on. It helps that I genuinely like a lot of different genres; I don’t think there’s anything that I absolutely hate to read.

    I admit to having varying comfort levels, but I think it’s important to not be biased about genre. Horror can entertain, but it also sheds a lot of light about the nature of fear and can act as a powerful metaphor. Fantasy in all its many forms connects us to something deeper, to legends that go back both to older tales and the invention of new myths. Sci-Fi makes us think about where our world is headed and what we’re doing to get it there. Literary fiction gives us a look at a lot of real-world situations and the emotions that go with them. Kid lit and young adult fiction not only help kids learn and grow, but they also provide a safe haven for us adults who like to curl up with some nostalgia from time to time and remember what it was like to be a kid. Chick lit and all forms of romance definitely give us a chance to live vicariously, but they also make us think about how we would act in some of those situations. What I love about all these is that they can all start off as entertainment, but they can be used for so many other purposes. I’m not about to look down on readers of any of them just because it’s the genre they like. I may not agree with an author’s ideas or execution, but it works and people connect with it, then the author has obviously done their job well.

    The thing is that all have their place, and I like being able to play in all of those playgrounds. Sure, it may be a little harder for people to categorize me, but I can’t help but think that it’s a benefit if I’m popping up in more than one place. It’s good to have a lot to say and a lot of options to express it… …And if being diverse keeps the little nibbling ideas from gnawing me raw, then so much the better!
    Catch up with Selah and all her ongoing projects at the following places: Blog – Fandom Scene Column – Facebook Author Page – Facebook Book Page – Goodreads - Amazon Author Page - Twitter –

    Tuesday, January 22, 2013

    Sneak Peek: Awakening of the End (unedited)

    Her knees gave way as she sunk to the steps. She looked at the empty street. The noise of a trig snapping stole her attention. A squirrel ran across the ground as if looking for food. She watched it and smiled. A zombie raced out from the side of the cabin, trying to catch the small animal. The squirrel climbed a tree and made its escape.
    Brenda reached for her gun and found she had left it in the bedroom. She dropped it while getting sick. “Shit,” she whispered. The zombie turned.
    Hungry shined in his eyes as drool rolled down his chin. She was in trouble. Slowly getting up she hoped he would not attack. He growled then lunched himself at her. She raced into the cabin with him close behind.
    Her heart raced as she looked for a weapon. He tackled her from behind and she painfully hit the ground. “Fuck me,” she said as she struggled beneath his weigh to turn around. She positioned her forearm against his neck as she tried to push him off of her. He snapped at her, dripping spit onto her face. “Gross.”
    Without looking, she reached out with her other hand to find anything she could hit him with. The zombie clawed at her, ripping into her flesh. Outrage and scared, Brenda screamed. She felt a cold handle of a hammer. Please, she prayed to the Goddess as she struggled to wrap her hand around it.
    Hammer in hand she swung on the zombie. When the flat part didn’t seem to stop the zombie’s attack she turned it around and used the claw on him. His skull was torn open as blood rained on her. Disgusted, she kicked him off. Enraged she beat him until she was sure he was dead.
    Drained and numb she tossed the hammer aside before she went to get her gun. Outside she ran to her car, jumped in and locked the doors. Eyeing her surroundings she was relieved she was alone. That zombie wasn’t a part of a mob.   

    Monday, January 14, 2013

    My Writing Process

    I am not the best at blogging because all I have to talk about is my writing, ha. With 14 novels completed and another one in the works I stay rather busy with it. Since I did not want to swamp you with sneak peeks, and my last crafting project was an epic fail I decided to share my writing process with you. It will also give you a look into my upcoming work.

    First I decide what am I going to write; horror, chick lit, romance or adventure. It ususally depends on my moods; example if someone makes me mad I'm writing horror so I can kill them.

    Then I write out only the key points of the story like in Full Moon it was very important to me for the werewolf to pee and mark his territory. It was also important for my main character to be clumspy so I made bullet points of examples that I wanted to add throughout the novel.

    Once I actually start writing the novel I refer to my key points before I outline my chapter. I only outline one chapter at a time because I want to allow the story to flow naturally, and I add the key points throughout it, until I come to the ending I planned from the beginning. It seems like a lot but its very simple and keeps me on track.

    Sunday, January 13, 2013

    Sneak Peek 'Awakening of the End' (unedited)


    Dionsus slipped out of Ragana’s warm embrace as he whispered in her ear; "I will get us the wine." He stopped walking away when she didn't let go of him. Her delicate hand held his in an iron grip.

    She was beautiful, especially now that the candlelight was playing in her wild mane of curly honeydew hair. It made her normal bluish silver eyes look a flame, and her light complexion look a fire. He yearned for her.

    She wore a simple white dress that hung off her curves perfectly. Her pink shawl had been discarded on the back of the sofa. I do not think I will be able to do this, he silently told himself, feeling his resolve start to fade.

    Uncertainty filled her blue eyes as she gently bit her bottom lip. "Dionsus," she whispered softly, as if she were too scared to speak her words out loud. "I have not had many people in my life whom I could trust. They were all using me, or worst; working for Mandrake." She didn't notice that he looked away at the mention of her nemesis’s name. Her eyes narrowed on the far wall as she envisioned his smug face. The strength she had always displayed in the hard times was now replaced with raw dread. “I must know; can I trust you with my secrets, my love, and my life?”

    He met her wide eyes as he spoke his lie. "Yes; you can trust me." With that said, he made his escape to get their wine.

    Out of the room, and her presences, he felt the pain in his heart start to decrease. Am I really going to do this? he wondered. Could he really do this should have been the question.

    Reluctantly, he walked to the cabinet to get the wine. He slowly placed two glasses on the table and poured it into them. He saw her trusting face and heard her loving voice ask again: "Can I trust you?” The wine hit his shoe, bringing him back to reality.

    He cursed himself for his foolishness. Damn it. You have to pull yourself together, he mentally ordered. He was careful to keep his mental walls up so she wouldn’t hear his thoughts. Just put the spell Rusalka made into her wine and be done with it. Think of the power that is promised to you for doing this.

    He longed for power, and finally he had a chance at it. He was promised he would be the head of the west coast vampires, a job he knew he would be excellent at. The Wild West intrigued him. The humans here were bold, and the vampires were violent. He knew he could tame them, and make this coast his own paradise. To achieve this beautiful dream all he had to do was pour the spell into Ragana’s drink.

    He pulled the cloth bag out of his pocket and untied it. The fine powder within it smelled awful. He hesitated one last time before pouring it all into her glass. Here goes, he thought as he picked up their glasses.

    She rose to greet him. He held her eye contact as he handed her the glass. Love shined in her eyes. "Let us toast to our love.” She held up her glass.

    "To our love," he repeated, feeling empty inside. He tapped his glass to hers before taking a sip. Out of the corner of his eyes he watched hers quickly disappear.

    She licked the sweet liquid off his lips. “Delicious,” she purred. The joy she felt faded as a nerve numbing pain coursed through her body. Clenching her fingers, she shattered her glass. Her stomach knotted as her knees went weak. A thick fog filled her mind and chased away her thoughts. She doubled over as her hands shot to her stomach. He saw her eyes widen with realization to what was in her wine. She stared up at him with eyes burning with blame and disbelief.

    Emotionlessly, he watched as she fell to her knees. Tears clung to her lashes as her body started to shut down. Her eyelids were becoming heavy. She barely felt her body hit the floor. How could he? she thought, as she felt herself sinking into the longest sleep she would ever have. How could... Just then the answer walked into the room.

    Mandrake came in, grinning at her. He had two of his followers with him. She recognized one and her anger flared. Mahr’s face held a blank expression as he stared at her.

    Mahr had once been the love of her life, and now he was just one of Mandrake’s puppets. Both men she had given her heart to had betrayed her for the man who killed her parents. A hiss escaped her. If she had the strength she would have ripped their throats out, and painted this room with their blood. But instead, thanks to this spell, she was their prey.

    Dionsus didn't acknowledge Mandrake. He couldn't take his eyes off of Ragana as she tried to stay awake, and fight the magic of the spell. Hatred colored her face now. There was no longer a hint of the love that had been there a moment ago.

    "Good job, and now you shall have all the power I promised you. You will be the head of the west coast," Mandrake assured him with a pat on the back. He noticed Dionsus wouldn’t take his eyes off of her. "She is a beautiful sight." He smiled at the truth of those words. His face sobered as he knelt beside her. "Do not worry; I will take care of you. You can trust me with your secrets, your love, your life." Her clouded eyes followed his movements as he stood up laughing.

    The tears in Dionsus's eyes dried up as hatred covered his face and soul. The hatred he would feel for Mandrake replaced all of the pain and tears he felt for betraying Ragana.

    She looked at him, and with the last of her strength she breathed; "I loved you." No longer able to withstand the magic of the spell she gave into the sleep that took over her body.

    "Oh," Mandrake gasped, covering his mouth with his hand. It slid to rest on his chest, as he tauntingly looked at her. "That was really just so...sweet." The tone of his voice turned serious as he looked at his puppies. "Let's get her and go."

    Monday, January 7, 2013

    Interview I did for I Heart Books

    Tell us about yourself… I write a lot. I enjoy exploring the ‘what if’ of situations and challenging myself as a writer to try new things. When I’m not writing I am at work (I still have a day job) or spending time with my loved ones.
    What inspired you to write your first book? The first book I ever wrote is ‘Awakening of the End’ which I am finally editing. I wrote it because years ago I mentioned to my friend author Ellie Potts that I wanted to write a vampire book, and she why don’t you then. Those four words started my writing career.
    Do you have a specific writing style? No
    How did you come up with the title? The titles to my books are usually pulled directly from the books. ‘Diaries of the Fag Hags” is exactly that, diary entries by the three main characters. 
    Is there a message in your novel that you want readers to grasp? It’s okay to be a strong woman, and embrace you friends.
    How much of the book is realistic? About half; I used to be a hag myself and party a lot so I drew on my own experiences.
    What books have most influenced your life most? S.E Hilton, her writing really touched me
    If you had to choose, which writer would you consider a mentor? L.J Smith and S.E Hilton
    What book are you reading now? Flights of Delicious by Ellie Potts. 
    Are there any new authors that have grasped your interest? Ilona Andews, though I don’t believe she’s that new a writer.
    What are your current projects? Right now I am editing ‘Awakening of the End’ my first book in my series ‘The Dark Past’
    Do you see writing as a career? I hope I can my a career out of it.
    If you had to do it all over again, would you change anything in your latest book? No
    Do you recall how your interest in writing originated? I’ve always enjoyed writing. I would write songs, poems, comics with stick people, and fan fic before did whole novels.
    Is there anything you find particularly challenging in your writing? Editing. It’s a little bit of a pain because I have a very short attention span.
    Who is your favorite author and what is it that really strikes you about their work? S.E Hilton, “The Outsiders” and “That was then This is Now,” made me cry. Her stories are harsh but real.
    Who designed the covers? Dakota Trace
    What was the hardest part of writing your book? Editing, I would rather move on to the next book.
    Did you learn anything from writing your book and what was it? To be yourself. Cheesy message I know, but it’s a good one to always remember.
    Do you have any advice for other writers? Don’t be afraid to be weird in your writing. Remember, you are writing for yourself so go ahead and explore the worlds within you. Also don’t let rejection discourage you. 
    Do you have anything specific that you want to say to your readers? Thank you for reading my books and liking my page. I hope to bring you more novels that you will enjoy.

    Link to Page:!/IHeartBooksOfficial?fref=ts

    Wednesday, January 2, 2013

    Will of the Waves chapter 1

    The Death of the Girl

    The wall painfully met her shoulder as she crashed into it. She was sure it was going to leave a bruise. She grabbed the top of the oak cabinet, trying to steady herself. This storm was much wilder than expected. The door opened, stealing her attention. Sinn walked in. It took the weight of his huge body to shut it again.

    “Sinn.” She stumbled towards him. “How be me father?”

    He ran his hand over his wet, baldhead to sweep the water off. His lips turned into a smirk. “Well, as always.”

    Her body slumped in relief. “And t' ship?”

    “A sail be down.” He shrugged, showing he was not worried about it. “It be nothin' we cannot handle.”

    “And t' crew?”

    He laughed. His lids lowered, hiding his amusement. “I be happy t' hear you care.”

    Gentina scowled at him, her hands going to her hips. A wave hit the boat and knocked her to the side. She threw out her arms to balance herself. “I care.”

    “Only after t' ship and your father.”

    She shrugged playfully. “Of course.”

    He shook his head as he lovingly watched her approach him. His muscled arms crossed over his chest as he forced his face to harden. ”What be you doin'?”

    “Goin' out t' t' deck.”

    His eyebrows rose with interest. “Oh, you believe you can better me?”

    She stumbled some more. If only the damn boat would hold still she’d be fine. “Of course.”
    His chest bounced with laughter. "You be an arrogant one.”

    She fell but caught his arm before she hit the ground. Her smoky eyes met his. “I be me father’s daughter.”

    He had never heard truer words spoken at sea. “True,” his eyes softened as he pushed his chin up. “But you still be not goin' out thar. Your father will feed me balls t' t' sharks as he nails me feet t' t' wood meant t' weight me down.”

    She laughed because she knew it were true. “You be silly.” She held onto his forearm as she swayed with the ship.

    “Am I?” his brows wrinkled with disapproval.

    Her face sobered. She knew her father just as well as he. “Why be you not gettin' knocked around?” She inched closer to the door.

    “It takes more than our precious sea t' get t' better o' me.” His lips pinched together stubbornly as he noticed she was still trying to get out.

    Her hand settled on the knob. She felt Sinn’s presence close behind her. “I just want t' glance outside once. I want t' know how it be t' truly be a pirate instead o' a protected lass.” She stared at the door. She wanted to open it but wouldn’t until he said she could. Her feet were spread, holding her steady for the moment.

    “Okay,” he softly gave in. “But only a look.”

    “Only a look,” she promised, turning the knob. The wind threw her back into him.

    His strong hands grasped her shoulders, determined to keep her safe. The rain attacked her face. She turned her face away from it slightly but refused to turn completely away.

    The sky was gray and ugly as the waves battered the ship, tossing it left then right. A few men fought to control a loose sail. They didn’t want to lose it since it was the center one.

    Her father stood with his back to the rail as he shouted orders. She saw Jove slip on the wet deck. She took a step forward, wanting to grab him before he slid off the ship. He saved himself by grabbing the rail. His feet were off the ship, but thanks to his hold, he was still on board. Her father was the only man to look at him and see what had happened. The others were too busy trying to save the sail. Jove’s left hand slipped.

    “No,” she screamed, unaware she did it. One of the men was going to fall to their death, and all she was allowed to do was stand there and watch. She struggled against Sinn’s hold, to no avail; he was much too strong.

    Her father’s eyes met hers. Her brows lowered in distress. His face was a stone. He knew what he had to do for his daughter, if for no one else. He braved the slippery deck for another man’s life. "Continue with that sail," he yelled to the crew.

    She calmed as she watched her father play hero. Jove had a hold of the rail with both hands again. His feet slid and kicked off the side of the ship. It appeared he was going to fall. Her jaw set with worry as she watched her father only slightly struggle to pull him up. Both fell back onto the deck of the ship. She smiled, resting her body against Sinn’s.

    “Let us close t' door,” he said over her head as he stared out the opened door.

    “Just a moment more,” she pleaded.

    His eyes drifted to hers. She was seeing her father as a hero, a way no pirate should ever be seen. Except, perhaps, by a daughter his mind whispered. “A moment more,” he caved.

    Her father shouted at Jove, chasing him away. He proudly rose to his feet as he watched his men. He knew they would beat this storm as they had done many times before. He met his daughter’s smoky eyes through the rain and gave her a small, reassuring smile. She was the best thing in his life; no pirate should ever be as lucky as he.

    When he broke their eye contact, she chanced a look at the sea. It had calmed. Her feet swayed less. We have won, she mentally told it. Her lips curved smugly.

    If she had heeded the past warnings of her shipmates, she would have known better than to tempt the sea. She was a moody bitch. In the distance, the water gathered beneath the surface. When none expected it, she struck.

    Fear closed Gentina’s throat as the wave rose out of the deep blue sea. Her father turned as the wave crashed down on him. She almost collapsed as she watched in horror as he was knocked off his feet. If Sinn hadn’t had a hold of her, she would have fallen, possibly tossed around as the sea raged on.

    “No,” she screamed when her father disappeared over the rail. Sinn’s fingers dug into her flesh as he held her back. “Father!”

    The crew froze. One of them let go of the rope as he stepped towards the rail. “Our captain,” he mumbled, feeling and looking lost.

    “Let me go,” she screamed, her throat pinching in protest.

    “He be gone.” Sinn bowed his head with respect. Lost in thought, he wasn’t ready for the pain that exploded in his shin. “Shit,” he mumbled, holding his leg instead of the girl.

    She slipped and stumbled to the rail. The wind tried to push her back, but she tightly held onto it. Below, her father was nowhere to be seen. Her warm tears merged with the rain hitting her face. Her anger rose like the wave that stole her loving father. She reached down, violently snatching a piece of wood from the broken mast to throw into the sea, wishing to hurt it as it had hurt her.

    Her fingers painfully dug into the rail as she fought to get her breathing under control. Her eyes burned with tears that hadn’t fallen yet. She was a pirate no matter what anyone else said, and pirates didn’t cry. They cut their losses and moved on.

    Sinn stayed back as he gave her the space she needed. She squared her shoulders as she got ready to face the others. When she turned he saw a difference in her. Strength not there a moment ago; a distance no one could cross. A mist formed over her eyes, closing her off from everyone.

    “Get back t' work,” she yelled at the men. She took a step and slid a few feet. She refused to acknowledge it and continued forward. “Hank, get t' rope and help t' others get control o' that sail. If it be lost, it will be on you!” She clenched her fists at her side as she dared him to challenge or disobey her. He did neither.

    Sinn stayed where he was, watching the girl become a woman before his eyes. The wind sent her brown hair this way and that, but it could no longer toss her. Watching her father die had steeled her back. She could do this.

    The sail was tamed and tied to the mast. It was secure. “Go down below everyone, except you, Pevake. You will stay with me at t' helm.”

    He obeyed. They all obeyed; only Chicory paused to look at her. He stared at her with narrow, angry eyes. “Is somethin' amiss?” Sinn asked, stepping in his way so he couldn’t watch Gentina.

    He forced himself to look away from her, to look into the bigger man’s eyes. He pushed his resistance aside; now was not the time. ”No, Sinn.” His feet shuffled as he went below deck with the other men.

    She braved the rest of the storm at the helm, as any good captain would. Sinn stayed as well and was amazed that she held herself together. She had never been so hard. What happened within her he could only imagine, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to.

    The stars slowly came out, filling the sky. Her skin goosed as the cold settled around them. She swallowed. “All is calm,” Pevake told her, feeling awkward. He glanced uneasily at Gentina. “Captain.”

    Her eyes dropped at the sound of the title. Her father was Captain, not her. Your father is dead, her mind reluctantly reminded her. A knife twisted in her chest. “Good,” she replied.

    “Captain,” he turned toward her. “You can go rest. It has been a long day for all o' us but especially you.”
    Her fiery eyes snapped to his face in warning. He dropped his chin to look at the deck. “Sorry, ma’am.”

    Her eyes drifted to the calm sea that now appeared like glass. Now it was beautiful where before it had been terrifying. She suddenly felt sick. “Are you sure you will be okay?”


    “If you need any help then come and get me.” Though she wouldn’t know what to do. He father hadn’t taught her much about running a ship.

    “Do you want me t' come?” Sinn asked as he took a step toward her.

    “No,” she said softly. “I can take care o' me self.”

    She went to the cabin she and her father had shared. Her bed was in a small private room, while his was in the main one. Everything looked different to her after she lit the candles. His stuff was everywhere.

    The bed she chose for him while in Italy. The table he had forced someone to carve for her in France so she could decorate herself the way all girls do. Her eyes drifted to the top of the table. The diamond-laced necklace he had taken from a Spanish ship shined up at her. A strained smile touched her lips. The jewels were cool against her hot flesh when she picked it up. She carried it with her to the bed, his bed.

    With her free hand she gently caressed the blanket as she slowly circled the bed. Her feet stopped when there was no more room to walk. She stared at the pillow, the pillow his head had been on every night. The pillow he would no longer use.

    Her knees gave way as she slowly sank onto the bed and stared at it. The mattress was curved to match his body. She caressed the silky fabric of the pillow, surrounded by his scent. His pipe smoke laced the walls. He had enjoyed his tobacco.

    She raised the necklace to her chest, to her heart. Her brows met in sorrow as she rested her head on his pillow, staring at the wall he had always stared at.

    Never again would he lay here. Her face crumpled as her strength left her. On this one night, she would not be the woman she had to be now. She would be the girl one last time, one last time to grieve for her father properly. One last time to weep for the love she had lost. One last time before she buried that side of her for good to embrace the strong, brave, possibly cold being she was going to have to be to make it at sea.

    Sinn woke her the next morning with a heavy heart. He wished he could let her sleep. He wished he didn’t have to watch her go through all she was going through. He wished he could do more for her than hand her father’s old, deadly sword. He wished for many things, but at sea all that meant nothing except weakness. The strong never wished because they took what they wanted as she was going to have to learn this day.

    “Come, young one; it be time t' prove yourself worthy o' this room.”

    She wiped the sleep from her eyes as she pushed herself up. “What be you sayin'?”

    “Our captain be gone. He left no first mate.” She stared up at him with a blank expression. He rolled his eyes as he looked at the wall above her head. “One has voiced a challenge against you t' be captain. You and him must settle this before t' crew does.”

    She rose to her feet to stare him, still not taking the sword from his hand. “Who would do that? I am rightfully captain!”

    His eyes burned into hers, with a fire she didn’t understand. It was the pirate’s fire; she didn’t have it yet. But she will, his mind purred, if she lives long enough. ”Chicory believes he should be captain.”

    “He would,” she whispered, pushing her hair off her forehead. “T' others?”

    “Are choosin' t' stay out o' it. Not all agree you should be captain, but all have too much respect for your father and all he’s done for them t' betray you.”

    She nodded to herself. “So if I take care o' Chicory, I will not have t' worry o' them?”

    “Probably not, but no one really knows t' mind o' another man. No matter what he says.”

    She sighed as she dropped her shoulders in disappointment. “I suppose I have t' go out thar.”

    “I suppose you do.”

    Her eyes slid up to meet his. A sheepish grin touched her lips. “No matter what, you will stand beside me?”

    “I stand beside whoever has t' ship,” he said with curved lips.

    She raised her chin with pride as she took the waiting sword. “That will be me.”

    “Then I be beside you.” He inclined his head as he bowed like her servant.

    She buckled the belt around her waist as she walked to the door. Before walking out to face Chicory and whoever else wanted to stand against her, she took a deep strengthening breath. “Father, be with me,” she prayed.

    “He is,” Sinn whispered, standing close behind her.

    She nodded to herself as she turned the knob. Outside, the sun was bright and harsh on her just awakened eyes. When the crew saw her, they parted just enough so Chicory and she could see each other

    His feet were spread, and his hand rested on his sword. A cocky smile touched his lips as he watched her approach. She slowly, calmly walked toward him. She eyed the crew as she did. Their eyes fell with shame. She placed one foot in front of Chicory and then the other. Her chin rose as she looked up to meet his eyes. “Chicory,” the name was crisp coming from her lips. “Do you disagree with somethin' that you would like t' bring t' me attention?”

    His lids lowered with distaste. “No, perhaps you do since I now be captain.”

    Her brows rose as her head inclined to the side. "Oh, really. How so?”

    “No one knows this ship and crew better than I.” He eyed the men with a confident smile. His hand was still resting on the hilt of his sword. “And I can sail.” His eyes fell on her. “Can you?”

    “Me father was captain!”


    Her brows fell with dismay; she felt herself sinking. “What?” Her brow smoothed as she collected herself.
    “What o' last night?”

    His smile dimmed. “What o' it?”

    “No one but I took control. No one but I was able t' lead us out o' t' storm.”

    “I,” he started to protest.

    She cut him off with her own cocky smile. “Were starin' after me father like a lost child. If not for me brains, t' sail would have been lost.” She crossed her arms as she leaned back on her heels. ”See, Chicory,” she spoke as if he was a child. “If thar be nothin' here,” she tapped her skull. “Then t' sailin' really be pointless, be it not?” Her eyebrows rose and fell in acknowledgement that she had won. Her point had been made. She eyed the crew; only their thoughts mattered. They looked at her with acceptance and him with distaste. She was captain.

    “Fine. If words will not prove my point then this will.” He drew his sword. He bowed as he spoke his next words; “See, little sea princess, brains do not matter with pirates if thar be no fire. And I do not believe you have it.”

    The sight of the unsheathed sword startled her, but she quickly regained herself. Slowly, she drew her own. “We do not have t' do this,” she said calmly.

    He grinned at her wickedly. “You mean you do not want to?”

    She held her sword to his, her eyes darkening. “But I will.”

    The crew stepped aside. The winner would be captain, and the loser would be whatever the captain chose. This was a deadly dance meant for two. He tried to lead, but was not strong or swift enough. Her father had not taught her to handle a helm, but he did teach her how to handle a sword. All women should be able to defend themselves, especially at sea, he had said.

    She blocked his sword with her own. Putting her body weight behind hers, she pushed him back a few steps. His anger took charge of him, making him act without thought. He raised his sword and opened up his mid-section. It was only for a second, but that was all she needed. She stepped aside and lashed out with her blade. It cut the skin above his ribs.

    His chin dipped so he could look at it. She cut me, he realized as blood appeared on his shirt. She used the tip of her sword to raise his head so she could meet his eyes. “Drop t' cutlass,” her voice held no emotion.

    His wide eyes stared into hers with disbelief as he dropped his sword. His hands rested at his sides. “Now what?” He breathed a soft, mocking laugh. “You kill me?”

    Her lids lowered as her hand tightened on the hilt of her sword. “Step back.” His thick brows frowned in question as he did as he was told. “And another.” She kept her sword to his throat and added pressure to keep him going. He stopped when the rail pressing against his back refused to budge.

    His throat pushed into her point, and his skin was cut when he swallowed. “Now what?”


    He cocked his head to the side, not understanding what she meant. “What?”

    She pushed the tip deeper into his flesh. Her eyes were cold. “Climb,” she repeated.

    He eyed the others for help, and saw they weren’t going to help. At sea you were on your own. He straightened his back before doing as he was told. Holding onto the rail, he looked at her because he didn’t want to look over his shoulder into the sea below. He had seen enough during the climb. “Now what?” he whispered.

    She flicked the sword to the ocean. “Take a walk.”

    “We be miles from land. There be sharks in these waters,” he pleaded, his pride now forgotten. Her eyebrows rose, not amused. He had never seen her this cold and uncaring.

    “Then I suggest an early start, and as for t' sharks,” she smiled a heartless smile. There was no hint of her old self in it. “Walk quietly.”

    Their eyes held as he tried to find mercy in hers. Finally, he smiled. “All be well, sea princess, I will walk. But when we meet again, I will be takin' back this here ship.”

    “Never,” she promised him in a heavy voice.

    He took a breath before releasing the rail. She looked down to watch him hit the water. She didn’t lower her sword until he was swimming away. She forced herself not to care about what was going to happen to him. I am a pirate her mind commanded of her.

    She turned to face her crew. Sheathing her sword, she rested her hands on her belt. “Anyone else disagree that I be captain?”

    “No,” numerous shouts said as their heads shook.

    She nodded. “Hank, take t' helm. Pevake, you can go rest.” She walked along the deck, her deck, to Sinn. She eyed the crew as they eyed her back. Her face relaxed as she rolled her eyes. “T' rest o' you get t' work. There be a fallen mast that stills has t' be removed from this ship, and Hank cannot sail this ship by himself.”

    Feet ran as they got to work. She and Sinn stood next to one another. “Well done.”

    She licked her dry lips. “Thanks.” She didn’t feel like she had done a good job.

    “Now what?”

    “Now,” she stared into the horizon. “We continue on t' way me father would.” A smile touched her lips.
    “Did he not say t' Spanish treasure ship would be on route soon?”

    His lips curved in return. “Aye, I do believe he did.”

    “Then let us go make our names.”

    He laughed loudly, glad to see she seemed okay and up to the task of being their captain. “You heard her, men, time for another lootin'.”

    Howls of encouragement filled her ears. I can do this; she knew deep inside herself that these words were true.