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.

Writing/Publishing Goals for 2013

When it comes to writing goals they tend to be hard for me to set because I usually don't know what I'm going to writing until I start a new project. I like to go with my feelings. But I know goals keep you focused so here are my writing goals for this year.

Get Confessions of a Serial Dater published.. Now has a release date

Finish editing Awakening of the End - want to publish it as well

Finish writing/edit Endless Dreams - want to publish it as well.... completed the writing in 1/13 will be released oct

Edit Full Moon - want to publish it as well

Write Blissful Nightmares

Edit Going Home

Edit Mothership

Write the good wife

I may add more to this later :)

Reviews by Belladonnas Book Conrner

Diaries of the Fag Hags

Diary of the Fag Hags is just that, diary entries by self-proclaimed fag hags Darnisa, Jasmine, and Faye. I'm assuming these diary entries are fictitious in nature, but regardless if they are fiction or not, they are very amusing. The diary entries include lots of partying, alcohol, and self-imposed drama. Fag Hags have always amused me and the diary entries confirm what we already know; they are nothing short of pure entertainment.

Three stars
~Raven Payne

Tuesday, January 1, 2013

Letting Go

Alisha woke up in the hospital bed. The IVs were no longer in her hands. Her room was empty. She slowly rose to her feet, surprised she had the strength to stand on her own. By her bedside was a vase of flowers. They were sunflowers, her favorite. She loved how bright and happy they were. She reached over to gently caress one. In the last three weeks, as she was fighting for her life, these flowers had brought her joy.

“We have things we must do,” a guy said from behind her.

She jumped and turned. A stranger stood in the doorway. He was six foot with a board build. His brown hair was wild on top of his head, and his dark eyes had a dangerous glint to them. Alisha stepped back.

“Who are you?”

“A friend.”

He didn’t seem very friendly to her. “I don’t know you.”

A sad smile touched his lips. “Everyone knows me.” He turned to walk out. “Come on, we have things we must do.”

She felt complied to follow, even thought she didn’t know him. The halls were empty. Chills went down her spine as she wrapped her arms around herself. “Where is everyone?” she whispered.

“All around us,” he waved his hand. Faint images of people appeared. It was as if ghosts surrounded them.

She sidestepped a nurse. “What happened to everyone?”

“They are no longer a part of your world,” he explained. They stopped outside the waiting room. He glanced over his shoulder to her. “Are you ready?”

"Ready for what?” She was confused. This whole situation was odd and surreal. Perhaps I am dreaming, she thought as she looked down at her legs.

“Ready to finally see what’s in here?”

Questions filled her but she voiced none of them. She had never been in the waiting room. It was where her family had been staying while she fought for her life within these hospital walls. He turned the knob to walk in. She followed close behind him.

Her doctor looked very sad as he stood before her family. “She didn’t make it. I am deeply sorry for your loss,” he told them.

“No,” her mother howled as she doubled over. “Not my baby girl.” Her father wrapped his arms around her as tears ran down her face. Her family huddled together as they demanded to see her body.

“What’s going on here?” she asked. Her emotions were going haywire. She was shocked, upset, sad and confused. The hairs on her arms stood on end. She looked at the dark hair man. “What is all this?”

“It’s the truth.” He stood beside the doctor. “It’s what you need to accept.”

“Accept?” Anger filled her. He wanted her to be okay with her death, and the tears of her family. “I will not accept it!” The anger left her body, and shattered the windows. The ghosts of her family ducked and ran out of the room.

“Every time,” the guy sighed with disappointment. “Come with me.”

She didn’t want to follow him but had no choice. They were now at her parents’ house. Her mother sat at the kitchen table. She slowly flipped through a photo album. The man stood by the counter as Alisha walked to stand behind her mother. She watched her go through the family photos with a heavy heart. He mother cried as she caressed a photo of Alisha when she was a baby.

“It’s okay mama,” she whispered as she tried to run her fingers through her hair. “I will not leave you.” Her mother paused as if she had heard her. Alisha started to smile but stopped when she saw the sadness pool in her mother’s eyes. “She is so sad,” she mumbled.

“Of course she is. It’s hard to move on with your life when they will not let go,” he explained. He shoved his hands deep within his pockets.

“I am her baby girl, why would she let me go?” Heartache was all she felt now. Her mother was going to suffer for the rest of her life because Alisha had died. She wanted to release her from her pain.

“It is you that must let go.”

“What?” Wide-eyed she stared at him. Her? She was dead. She had nothing to let go of, because everything had been taken from her. “That makes no sense. I lost everything.” Her rage was starting to rise. The kitchen lights flickered.

Her stepped away from the counter. “The living can sense when their loved ones are still around. It is a shadow on their hearts that invades their minds.” He shook his head as he tried to get her to understand how important this was. “When the dead hang on it can drive their loved ones insane. The dead’s hold can consume them, make it to where all they think about is their lost loved one. Some avoid sleep in fear of reliving the day their loved one died over and over again.”

“But it’s not fair, I want to stay!” She looked at her mother, who was clinging a handkerchief now. “I want to stay with her.”

“If you stay she will suffer,” he promised her. “Let her go. Release your anger, and trust that this happened because it was your time. Do not cause pain to the people you love because you are too scared to move on.”

“What if they forget about me?” Fear gripped her in its ugly hold. She did not want to be forgotten.

A sad smile caressed his lips. “They will not forget about you.”

“How do you know? Who are you?”

Black wings erupted from his back and spread across the kitchen. A gold fire now burned in his eyes. “I am the angel of death. I am here to take you home, but first you must let them go.”

Tears filled her eyes. She didn’t want to let her family go. She wanted to mourn her wasted dreams, and grieve her lost future. She wanted her family to think of her everyday, and never forget how much they loved her. “I can’t.”

“Then you all will suffer. Death is not for the living. It is not something they can embrace everyday. It breaks their will to survive, and they just fade away one day. Do you want your mother to become an empty shell? Do you want her to cry everyday for you?”

“No.” She looked at her loving mother. She had taken good care of her. She had taught her right from wrong, and how to be strong.

“Then let her go.”

“I’m afraid she will stop loving me,” she confessed.

“She will never stop loving you, and she will never forget. But she will move forward with her life. She will smile again Alisha. She will be the woman you love and respect.”

She did love and respect her, very much so in fact. She took a deep breath as she silently prepared herself for the next step. “Okay. I am ready.” The angel nodded as he held out his hand. She took it. He stopped at the trashcan to grab a dead sunflower. “What are you doing?” she asked.

His touch breathed new life into it. “This flower brought a sick girl joy when nothing else could.” He held it out to her. “It deserves to come to heaven with us.”

She recognized it. “It was my sunflower.”          

He smiled. “Yes it was.” She glanced over her shoulder one more time before she joined him in the light to move on from all she once had.