Raven and the Writing Desk

We're free! Well, our short story/poetry collection is

2012-01-18T06:30:00.000-08:00

Once upon a time, in an Internet that is everywhere and nowhere, blogging writers joined keyboards and computer screens to create a blog of free short stories for the masses. Themes, ideas and morning coffee were plenty. A noisy Siamese cat was let outside. A flute trilled over young students’ heads. A library book was carefully placed in the proper shelf.

With an idea and a dream, Raven and the Writing Desk blog was born. Lisa Rusczyk, Cherie Reich, and Aubrie Dionne created these short stories and poetry within, now in book form.

We hope you enjoy them.

The Best of Raven and the Writing Desk is now free on Amazon through 1/21. Go grab your copy now.

The Best of Raven and the Writing Desk is now available!

2012-01-17T09:42:00.000-08:00

Aubrie Dionne, Lisa Rusczyk, and I would like to thank everyone who has supported Raven and the Writing Desk. We closed our doors last year due to the inability to keep up this blog with everything else in our lives, but we appreciate all who read during the year and a half we were open.

We went through our stories and selected some of our very best work and compiled them together in The Best of Raven and the Writing Desk. We also contributed some never-before-seen bonus stories. Now, we bring you our short story and poetry collection, which is now available on Amazon.

Thank you, and we hope you enjoy.

The Best of Raven and the Writing Desk

A short story and poetry collection

by Cherie Reich, Aubrie Dionne, and Lisa Rusczyk

To purchase on Amazon, click here.

Closing Our Doors

2011-09-23T20:50:00.001-07:00

After a fun, good run, we have been too busy to continue. We plan on releasing a book of our favorite stories sometime in the next few months. Thank you, followers, for keeping up with us. I am thrilled to have had the joy of working with Aubrie Dionne and Cherie Reich for such a long time.

May we all continue to write and bemuse our muses.

Book Review: PARADISE 21 by Aubrie Dionne

2011-08-19T04:00:00.000-07:00

Our very own and very talented Aubrie Dionne has a new book out. It's Paradise 21, book one of the New Dawn series published by Entangled Publishing. It's science fiction romance and a fantastic read! Go get your copy today. *grins*

Title: Paradise 21

Series: A New Dawn, Book #1

Author: Aubrie Dionne

Publisher: Entangled Publishing (August 2011)

Format: eARC

Source: Publisher

To Purchase: Amazon B&N

Description: Aries has lived her entire life aboard mankind's last hope, the New Dawn, a spaceship traveling toward a planet where mankind can begin anew- a planet that won't be reached in Aries' lifetime. As one of the last genetically desirable women in the universe,she must marry her designated genetic match and produce the next generation for this centuries long voyage.

But Aries has other plans.

When her desperate escape from the New Dawn strands her on a desert planet, Aries discovers rumors about pirates - humans who have escaped her before its demise - are true. Handsome, genetically imperfect Striker possess the freedom Aries' envies, and the two connect on a level she never thought possible. But pursued by her match from above and hunted by the planet's native inhabitants, Aries quickly learns freedom will come at a hefty price.

The life of the man she loves.

Review: In Aubrie Dionne’s Paradise 21, the chance for freedom resides where the heart is.

Aries is a Lifer, residing on the New Dawn and bound by whatever fate test scores and a computer cook up for her. Longing for a life of her own, she escapes to Sahara 354, a land of eternal day, sandworms, lizard-people, and a smoking hot space pirate named Striker. When her betrothed-to-be lands on the planet in search for her, Aries may have to give up her long-lost freedom for the man she loves.

Paradise 21 is beautifully written. Each word sings on the page and lends importance to the plot, setting, and characters. Ms. Dionne brings to life new worlds from cold, deep space to the desert planet and its strange inhabitants. We feel the heat and the isolation within the universe. As a science fiction novel, Paradise 21 explodes with action-packed drama; as a romance novel, it oozes with sweet romance. The strongest part of this novel resides within the characters. They are flawed and wonderful. Their issues and how they overcome them moves the plot forward. There is never a dull moment! Each character shows growth in who they are, although some characters never change, like people. Ms. Dionne yanks the reader into the worlds she creates and doesn’t let them up for air until the last page. Best of all, Paradise 21 reminds us freedom is sacred, sacrifice involves love, and every creature is important.

Aubrie Dionne’s Paradise 21 catapults me into outer space where anything is possible, but most of all love, and I love this novel and highly recommend it.

Summer Reading

2011-08-08T04:00:00.000-07:00

When I went to school, I used to love summer because without school work, I could read all I wanted. I miss the days where I could lay around and read all day and night. I would binge on books, often forgetting to move for hours at a time, as I was lost in imaginary worlds.

I love reading books, but summer reading always seemed the most fun and most guilt-free.

My book reviews blog is hosting a Favorite Summer Reads Blogfest from August 24-27. All you have to do is sign up and talk about your favorite read--doesn't have to be one you read during the summer--on your blog between August 24-27. You even get a chance to win some awesome books. Click here for more information and to sign-up.

By the way, you even have a chance to win our very own Aubrie Dionne's newest book Paradise 21 and many others!

So what season do you read more?

Short Story: "Cursed Isle" by Cherie Reich

2011-08-03T04:00:00.000-07:00

CURSED ISLE

By Cherie Reich

Waves surged over Mer’s head. The sea god’s wrath raged fierce and powerful. She spat a mouthful of brine and dived down, attempting to move below the surge. Another swell grasped her, dragging her toward the surface. A strange current refused her entrance to her ocean home.

A jagged lightning bolt ripped across the blackened sky. It blinded Mer and she blinked back spots before her eyes.

She was rising higher and higher. The wave crested and dropped below her. She gasped as she hung in the air before plummeting like a boulder into the cement-like water.

Pain radiated from her body. Fear gripped her throat and she tightened her fingers around the pearl necklace. Her theft started this roaring tempest, yet she still was reluctant to release her prize.

Her world tumbled around her, and she angled her tail to stop it. The mermaid thought she would lose her kelp dinner, if this kept up. She slowed and broke through the surface once more.

“Mine.” His voice carried within a thunderclap, and she shuddered, her ears ringing from the sound.

The ocean receded around her, as if a thirsty whale satiated itself with it. She twisted and gasped at the tsunami lifting to greet her.

“No.”

Mer had nowhere to outrun the monster.

Water crashed into her like a battleship. She swirled and twisted amongst the foam. Her body scrunched up, attempting to be smaller. A plastic bag tangled in her hair. Her arms scraped against coral. Her mind screamed when she could not. Over, under. Around and around.

Smack!

Mer slammed against sand.

She didn’t move, could barely breathe as the ocean tugged on her. The necklace yanked from her fingers. Magic burned along her magnificent tail, splitting it down the middle. She cried out in grief, anger as air rushed into lungs instead of gills.

Soft rain tickled her bruised flesh. Waves gently lapped on her feet where her tailfin once was. The sky grew lighter, a paler gray with a glimmer of blue peeking from the clouds.

“Mine.” The sea god whispered in a final thunder rumble.

***

Sun burned her sensitive flesh. She curled upon the hot, dry sand. A whimper pushed from her lips, causing tears to squeeze from her tightly closed eyelids. Why wouldn’t she die upon this sandy beach? She craved death like a fish craves water, and she did need water too. Even the waves wouldn’t reach her newly formed toes.

Something poked her shoulder. It felt hard, remind her of driftwood. She became aware of others around her, and she held a breath in her new lungs. Fear closed in on her like a net, ensnaring her from moving or escaping its clutches.

“Is she alive?” A voice questioned, dry, soft, and older woman’s tone.

“I don’t know. Maybe.” Younger, masculine, strong.

She felt him kneel beside her. His energy radiated towards her like sea lava. It burned as much as the sand. His hand grasped her shoulders, turning her over. She moaned and fluttered her eyelids.

“Quick, she’s alive.”

Arms dug under the sand beneath her, lifting her in the air. She wanted to see who her savior was, but sand particles crusted her lids together, preventing her from opening them more than a tiny bit.

When they lay her down, something soft cushioned her. Gentle water trickled over her face, dribbled into her mouth. It was surprisingly sweet. She opened her eyes, taking a few moments before she could see in the shaded light.

An older woman with hair whiter than a seashell crouched over her and dabbed the water upon her skin. Wrinkles crinkled around her blue eyes. She reminded her of her father’s grandmother.

The man loomed beside her. Golden hair flowed to his shoulders. His skin gleamed like the sun-kissed sand she previously rested upon. She noticed his honey-colored eyes. He seemed familiar to someone she once knew. Her mind wouldn’t give up the name, though.

The sea god, the necklace, and the tempest memories slammed into her, and she gasped for breath as she sat up.

“Who are you? Where am I?” She scooted away from them, wondering if they were truly friend or foe.

“I am Aqualine.” The woman touched Mer’s foot. “I was once like you many years ago. How did you anger the sea god?”

Mer pulled her legs away. Legs, such strange things. She’d seen them from sailors lost at sea, but she didn’t like them one bit.

“And you?”

“I am Kale and you are on the cursed isle.”

She shuddered at his words about this island. Then his name and appearance shocked her. “You’re the sea god’s son . . . his lost one.”

“My father knows where I am, since he put him here. I’m afraid I’m not as lost as you think. What did you do to piss him off?” He crossed his arms.

“And your name, dear,” the old woman asked.

“I’m Mer, and I . . . um, took a necklace, the pearl one. I thought he wouldn’t notice.” She felt a sheepish smile curl her lips. Her cheeks grew hot, but she didn’t know if it was from embarrassment or the sunburn. “So how do we get off this isle?”

They laughed.

“You don’t,” Kale said. “Trust me, we’ve tried. Father won’t tolerate betrayal of any kind. You’re stuck here forever.”

Forever. The word struck her in the heart like a harpoon. Tingles flowed over her skin and tears pricked her eyes. She pulled herself up by a palm tree. Her legs shook, barely able to keep herself standing. The ocean waves splashed against the beach, although she couldn’t see it from the foliage. She ached for the water.

“I can’t stay here.”

“I’m sorry, Mer. It’s not easy, but it gets better.” Kale reached toward her, but she dodged his arm.

Her feet tumbled her forward as she staggered through the plants to the beach. The sun was lower on the horizon. More gentle on her skin and eyes than before. She collapsed into the water. Her legs and arms moved awkwardly like a fish on dry land. She pushed herself farther in. The ocean welcomed her, dragging her into its warm, wet embrace.

“Mer!”

“Stop!”

She heard their cries, but then she dunked her head into the sea. The salt stung her eyes. Air left her lungs. She sucked in water. Freedom drained from her with each lap of water. She was drowning, dying.

She’d never be a mermaid again.

A wave lifted her, tossing her away from it. Hands grasped her. Her head broke the waves, and she coughed up water.

Sand greeted her, and she looked up into Kale’s eyes.

“Are you crazy?”

She smiled weakly before she turned her head to the side and threw up more ocean water. The sand felt nice this time. Cooler, gentler. She didn’t want to die by the sea’s hand. She wanted to live, but could she live like a human? She didn’t know.

The sea god had banished and deserted them to this island.

Forever.

Wagon Hiest Part III

2011-07-30T10:11:00.001-07:00

Rosalind took the opportunity to roll over and hide behind the wagon. Her head ached from hitting the ground. She hadn't even seen the men that threw her off her horse. The battle happened so fast and turned out the opposite of what she'd wanted. She fought through the dizziness, trying to focus her thoughts on the present.

"I had a heart. You stole it. Marvin Harris, you're the biggest thief of them all."

Silence. She wondered how badly he'd been hurt. Was he shot? Could she live with herself if he died? Even though he'd left her and broken off their engagement, the only thing she thought she could steal from him was his money: money that was supposed to be hers anyway.

Rosalind peaked over the rippling cloth of the wagon as a breeze blew through the valley. A shot whizzed by her head, sending her falling backward.

Marvin was healthy enough to send her to the grave. Scrambling up, she crawled around the wagon until she could see his feet. One of his legs bent at a hideous angle. The other bled in a streak down to his spurs.

That leg had wrapped around hers at one point, many nights ago. The memory still blazed in her heart, and she squashed it down. How many girls had he promised to wed before her?

No, it had to stop here. Rosalind sniffed up her tears and raised the gun, aiming for his chest.

Marvin's words stopped her finger from pulling the trigger. "You should have taken the silver I left you and settled for that."

The meager pittance he'd left on the nightstand made her feel like a prostitute, not the daughter of the Sheriff. She bit down a clever retort.

That's what he wanted. He could tell by her voice which part of the wagon to shoot.

No, this time she couldn't talk back, even though all she wanted to do was tell him off.

Rosalind decided that money was hers. Her fingers shook as she pulled the trigger.

Wagon Heist Part II

2011-07-28T14:19:00.000-07:00

Everything in the ground and air settled. No need describing the havoc Rosalind wrecked.

Some died, some ran off into the hills. The wagon fell over almost instantly.

But two survived. Mr. Harris and Rosalind. And they were deadlocked within gunshots of each other, blood pouring down Rosalind's face, making it more beautiful in the sunlight.

"You thief."

"You fool."

"You have no heart."

For some reason, this simple comment made Mr. Harris's finger trigger waver a bit and his aim was off.

"Wagon Heist" Part I by Cherie Reich

2011-07-25T04:00:00.000-07:00

WAGON HEIST

Part I

By Cherie Reich

A small puff of dust appeared upon the horizon. Rosalind shifted from her position. Rocks bit into her arms, and the summer sun fried her dark hair. Perspiration trickled between her breasts as she fanned herself with her hat. The dust plume increased in size. They had little time left before the wagon would enter the canyon valley.

She pushed herself from the cliff’s edge and stood, her spine crackling from the movement. After she pressed her hat to her head, she twisted around, staring at the five burly men and six horses.

“They’re about upon us, boys. You know what to do.” Her voice was sharp, tough, hiding the rapidly beating heart bouncing against her ribcage.

“Yes, ma’am.” The men spoke and nodded in unison. She trained them well.

She turned again toward the trail. The wagon bounced and shuddered toward them. Wheels squeaked and rattled over the rough terrain. A glint of silver, or something like it, twinkled in the noonday sun.

“They may be armed, but we give ’em hell.” She stalked over to her horse and felt his velvet muzzle. He blew air against her hand, and she smiled and whispered against his soft flesh, “We won’t let him win.”

“We’re stealing the gold. Try not to kill anyone, unless necessary. I want Mr. Harris alive and well at all costs.” She snatched the reins and leapt upon her horse. Her skirt bunched at her waist, revealing man’s trousers underneath. She touched her gun’s handle. Its weight felt heavy upon her hips. She hoped Marvin wouldn’t put up too much of a fight. She’d hate to see her former fiancé killed.

Glancing into her men’s hardened faces, she nodded and squeezed her ankles against the stallion. He shot off, galloping along the slope toward the valley.

“Let’s go,” she said, gritting her teeth afterward as they raced toward the wagon.

Organizing a Book

2011-07-22T13:22:00.000-07:00

One of the hardest things a writer does is organize a book in a creative way. We have to lay out the plot and character development in a way that makes sense, but still entices a reader. There are a few ways I try to do this when structuring a book.

I usually read a large portion of my MS before writing each time I sit down. It lets me remember little details I came up with and forgot. It gives me ideas as to how to progress the story. It also helps me retain the voice of the book.

Some people use outlines. This is especially a good idea if you're writing mysteries or thrillers. Even if you don't write well under the guidelines of an outline, it can be a useful tool when you do an outline of the parts you've already written. It can help you see the big picture, almost like an unfinished synopsis.

Be true to your characters. Get to know them. Think about them when you're trying to fall asleep. If you understand your characters, then plotting and organizing a book comes much more naturally. Make sure they're following the rules of the personalities you give them.

Finally, read lots of books and get ideas and a feel for the structure of books. They are all different, but one thing is the same: they are succinct and organized.

Book Review: CREEP by Jennifer Hillier

2011-07-18T04:00:00.000-07:00

Title: Creep

Author: Jennifer Hillier

Publisher: Gallery (July 5, 2011)

Format: Hardback

Source: Purchased from Amazon

To Purchase: Amazon

Description: If he can’t have her . . .

Dr. Sheila Tao is a professor of psychology. An expert in human behavior. And when she began an affair with sexy, charming graduate student Ethan Wolfe, she knew she was playing with fire. Consumed by lust when they were together, riddled with guilt when they weren’t, she knows the three-month fling with her teaching assistant has to end. After all, she’s finally engaged to a kind and loving investment banker who adores her, and she’s taking control of her life. But when she attempts to end the affair, Ethan Wolfe won’t let her walk away.

. . . no one else can.

Ethan has plans for Sheila, plans that involve posting a sex video that would surely get her fired and destroy her prestigious career. Plans to make her pay for rejecting him. And as she attempts to counter his every threatening move without her colleagues or her fiancé discovering her most intimate secrets, a shattering crime rocks Puget Sound State University: a female student, a star athlete, is found stabbed to death. Someone is raising the stakes of violence, sex, and blackmail . . . and before she knows it, Sheila is caught in a terrifying cat-and-mouse game with the lover she couldn’t resist—who is now the monster who won’t let her go.

Review: Jennifer Hillier’s Creep is a chilling must-read.

Dr. Sheila Tao made a huge mistake when she had an affair with her grad student Ethan Wolfe. Now she is breaking off the affair for her engagement with an investment banker. As the wedding date grows closer, Ethan’s plans development into a horrifying twist that might not only ruin Sheila’s career and engagement but also her life.

Creep may be Hillier’s debut novel, but she mastered the art of the thriller. The scenes are so realistic and don’t gloss over any facts. The flawed characters push the plot forward. Everyone has secrets and faults, and Hillier creates wonderful shades of gray. The sprinkling of bread-crumb clues still leave the reader guessing up to the surprising conclusion. The pace is action-packed with never a dull moment. A word of advice though: don’t start this book unless you plan to keep reading until the last page. Creep sticks with you, will follow you around, and just might kidnap your dreams. I loved it!

If you are a fan of Chelsea Cain’s Beauty Killer series like I am, then you’ll love Jennifer Hillier’s Creep. I’m on the edge of my seat waiting for book two.

Book Review: CINDERS by Michelle Davidson Argyle

2011-07-08T04:00:00.000-07:00

Title: Cinders

Author: Michelle Davidson Argyle

Format: eBook

Source: Purchased (Amazon Kindle)

To Purchase: Amazon Paperback Amazon Kindle Edition

Description: Cinderella's happily-ever-after isn't turning out the way she expected. With her fairy godmother imprisoned in the castle and a mysterious stranger haunting her dreams, Cinderella is on her own to discover true love untainted by magic.

Review: Michelle Davidson Argyle expands upon the fairytale’s happily-ever-after—or not—in her take on Cinderella in Cinders.

Cinderella has her prince and everything her heart desired, or so she thought. A mysterious stranger haunts her dreams, the kingdom is in trouble under her parents-in-law’s iron-gripped rule, and her prince is sweet, but she ponders whether or not he loves her or if it is just the spell that fuels his desire. She must find her own magic and what her heart truly desires or she might lose everything she holds dear.

Michelle Davidson Argyle’s Cinders is not your Disney’s Cinderella. Argyle weaves a tale of dark beauty where there is no happily ever after, but dreams can still come true. An ancient, mysterious feel embodies this novella. Fairies, elves, and sprites sprinkle through the pages. Pure magic embodies Cinderella, but areas of gray rule. Cinders is almost tragic. Argyle’s prose entrances the reader, and I’m not sure the spell is quite broken yet after finishing this novella. Cinderella is real, flawed, yet beautiful. I loved how Argyle took me through her “ever after” version.

Cinders is what fairytales should be.

Michelle will only be offering Cinders for a limited time, since it is part of a new novella trilogy coming out in 2013. She's also offering it for $.99, so now is a perfect time to buy and read this novella!

Cultivation Part II

2011-06-29T04:00:00.000-07:00

Part II

By Cherie Reich

The strangled scream startled Mandara. It lifted the hairs on her arms and nape of her neck. It reminded her of a banshee, only lower, masculine.

Peter.

Adrenaline pulsed through her bloodstream as she dropped the croissant she was biting into. Breakfast forgotten, she sprinted through the hallways and into the garden.

Peter sat on his knees as a gut-wrenching "No" burst from his lips.

She skidded to a stop, her dress swishing around her ankles. The words "are you hurt" died upon her lips as she caught sight of his prize-winning roses.

Dead. All dead.

Dried rose petals littered the soil and walkway like autumn leaves. Blackened stems protruded toward the sky. Winter had come early, despite the sun's gentle warmth and telltale bumblebees lumbering through the air.

Tingles of horror washed over her, and she gasped for air while staggering toward him.

"Peter, what happened?" Surely he would know what disease could kill them so thoroughly.

He looked at her, tears sparkling along his cheeks. She hadn't seen him cry before, and it wrenched her heart. She flew to him, meaning to embrace him, but she stopped as his face contorted in rage.

"I don't know." He slammed his fists upon the ground. The cloying rose scent wafted toward her. It smelled tainted, dark.

"I'm so sorry this happened. I know how much those roses meant to you." She touched his shoulder.

His body sunk lower, as if the anger seeped into the soil and left him empty. "Did you see anything last night?"

She considered her nightly wanderings and was about to tell him she hadn't when thoughts of the seed surfaced. A blush warmed her cheeks. Surely a tiny stray seed couldn't have produced such madness. She tugged on her sleeves, yanking them over the thorn scratches.

"I didn't see a thing," she said, "but I'm sure we'll fix this."

He shook his head, dejected, sad.

She had to find a way and that seed. She wanted to bring magic in his life, not this.

Cultivation Part 1

2011-06-27T09:04:00.000-07:00

The seed fell from the sky. It bounced once and landed by Mandara's feet as she slipped out for a midnight walk.

The white casing shone like a seashell in the glow of moonlight, reminding Mandara of the ocean she'd never see again. Looking up to the wisps of clouds, she glimpsed a blur of white feathers disappear into the mist, the wingspan too wide to be any bird she'd ever known.

Peter would never believe me.

But then again, he didn't acknowledge the magic surrounding their everyday life. Only she saw and appreciated the unknown while he buried his nose in his books of numbers and substantial things.

She'd show him. Everyone needed a little magic in their lives, whether they believed in it or not.

Picking up the seed, she smoothed her fingertips over the bumpy surface and wondered where to plant it. Peter's prize rose garden lined the brick wall separating their estate from the forest. She tiptoed over, smelling the sweet scent of the red blossoms.

Thorns pricked her skin as she dug her arm in the bushes. Behind her, a golden light flickered on. He must have waken up and found her bed empty. She thrust the seed into the soil with her finger and smoothed over the hole she'd made in the rosebed.

"Mandara, where have you run off to?" His voice echoed into the night.

Wiping drips of blood from her arm, she jogged into the golden light.

Guest Story: The Rose Garden Ritual by Cher Green

2011-06-21T06:34:00.000-07:00

Melinda floated into the rose garden. Her dark gown shrouded her body from the cool air. She portrayed the image of a goddess, but her emotions betrayed such an appearance. Tears streaked mascara down her cheeks, and her mouth twisted in anguish. Shawn’s hateful words, “I’m through trying to please you. Get out.” showered over her, condemning her to heartache.

Moonlight cast a heavenly glow over the rose garden. Her small altar beckoned her, a circle of dirt - a pentacle. She lowered herself to the ground, pulling in its protective powers. Upon her knees, Melinda lit the four candles, giving each elemental God a short blessing.

“I bless the earth with my body, the air with my breath, the water with my tears, and the fire with my desire.”

With the ritual in place, Melinda spoke, “With thee I make a deal to bring my love to me. An eternal uniting I seek. In return, I offer the Gods my blood, body, and soul. Take away his anger and replace it with unconditional love and truths.”

The candle flames rose, fueled by her words. She lowered her head, exhausted by the connection with the other world. A warming surrounded her as the Gods filled her with their energy. Footsteps in the grass grew near, and a hand touched her shoulder.

Shawn stooped before her, within the circle. “I’m sorry. You make me angry sometimes, but I do love you.” From behind his back, he withdrew a rose, stem and all. “You are as pretty as this rose, but as hurtful as the thorns. You are mine and shall remain mine. The mark of the rose is yours and mine to bear.”

He raised the rose toward her, blood dripping from his hand. He pressed the thorns into her face, slashing downward, yet she stared upon him with love. Pain gathered in the fresh wounds, but the soaring of her heart deafened its cry. Shawn loved her unconditionally.

Their blood mingled, uniting them for eternity.

About the Author:

Cher Green, intrigued by the written word, has made it a life goal to bring her stories to life and share them with others. After years of learning the craft, she writes in many genres. Her romance novella, Escape to Love, is scheduled to release in June of 2011, at eTreasures Publishing. Cher Green also has a variety of short stories published with various magazines. For more information about this writer visit: http://chergreen.com

The Cat Who...

2011-06-13T04:00:00.000-07:00

On Saturday, June 4, 2011, Lilian Jackson Braun died at the age of ninety-seven. She was the author of the Cat Who series, which featured former newspaper reporter James Qwilleran and his two Siamese cats, Koko and Yum Yum.

I started reading this series off and on from the time I was in elementary school. I loved mysteries and cats, so it was a perfect choice. My mom got into the series a little later than I did, and we both own quite a few copies of the Cat Who mysteries. I think reading this series also made me love Siamese cats even more (not that I don't love all cats, but still...).

The Cat Who mysteries started in 1966. Three novels were published in the ‘60s, but she didn’t publish another one for twenty years because of the way mysteries were heading during that time. Yet she found a place for her light, humorous mysteries, and I’m glad she continued writing. A quote from her about publishing is “I don’t pay attention to the publishing business. I just write my kitty-cat stories.” She is also quoted to have said, “I always wrote, first for fun, then for an advertising job, then for a newspaper, and then for The Cat Who readers.” Her greatest regret was not finishing her last Cat Who book for her fans.

"The Cat Who..." novels:

The Cat Who Could Read Backwards (1966)

The Cat Who Ate Danish Modern (1967)

The Cat Who Turned On and Off (1968)

The Cat Who Saw Red (1986)

The Cat Who Played Brahms (1987)

The Cat Who Played Post Office (1987)

The Cat Who Knew Shakespeare (1988)

The Cat Who Sniffed Glue (1988)

The Cat Who Went Underground (1989)

The Cat Who Talked to Ghosts (1990)

The Cat Who Lived High (1990)

The Cat Who Knew a Cardinal (1991)

The Cat Who Moved a Mountain (1992)

The Cat Who Wasn't There (1992)

The Cat Who Went into the Closet (1993)

The Cat Who Came to Breakfast (1994)

The Cat Who Blew the Whistle (1995)

The Cat Who Said Cheese (1996)

The Cat Who Tailed a Thief (1997)

The Cat Who Sang for the Birds (1999)

The Cat Who Saw Stars (copyright, 1998; published, 1999)

The Cat Who Robbed a Bank (2000)

The Cat Who Smelled a Rat (2001)

The Cat Who Went up the Creek (2002)

The Cat Who Brought Down the House (2003)

The Cat Who Talked Turkey (2004)

The Cat Who Went Bananas (2005)

The Cat Who Dropped a Bombshell (2006)

The Cat Who Had 60 Whiskers (2007)

Have you ever read a Cat Who novel?

I Wrote a Book. What Do I Do With It?

2011-06-03T11:40:00.000-07:00

There are quite a few paths to getting your book out there these days. Major houses aren't taking on as many projects, small presses are flourishing, and there's always self-publishing on the likes of Kindle. And don't forget ebook publishers.

Mainstream Publishing

Pros:

Advances. That's the biggest one I can think of. All your hard work doesn't take a million years to rake in the money you get from an advance.

You have the best editors in the business work on your book to make it shine.

Your publisher has the money to promote your book.

Cons:

If you don't sell enough books to pay out your advance, the publisher may not put much effort into another book or they'll pay you a smaller advance next time - if there is a next time.

Mainstream editing can make your book read like every other book out there. It all depends on your editor and what the publishing company wants.

Rumor has it major publishers mainly push bestselling authors in promotion.

Small Presses

Pros:

A personal touch goes a long way. Small presses have publishing passionates who spend a lot of time on each book because they don't have gobs of books they accept. Many of them take unagented manuscripts.

Editing is more back-and-forth and more of your voice will be left intact.

Some pay a small advance.

Cons:

It's difficult to get the attention of a small press. You have better luck if you have an agent, but a small press's slush pile takes a long time for them to go through because they have much smaller staffs.

Most don't offer advances. You get roughly 15% of your sales.

Small presses don't have the funds to promote like big publishers.

Ebook Publishers

Pros:

Most reply back to you pretty quickly.

With how ebooks are going now, your book will be placed in all the typical ebook stations, such as the Kindle and Nook.

You get a higher percentage of your sales, usually around 30-40% of the retail price.

Cons:

The editing at many ebook companies is not as good as the presses.

You will have to make your own hard copy with a free program such as Lulu or CreateSpace if you want to have a physical book.

Ebook companies don't have much money to promote you.

Indie Publishing

Pros:

You have creative control of your story and book cover.

You can publish for free in places like Kindle, Nook and Smashwords. Depending on your price, you can get a good return on your books.

If you like to social network, you can sell a lot of book if you price them low enough.

Cons:

There is a ton of competition. You have to spend money to have your book edited and to have a great cover to stand out from the rest. You may also need to pay someone to format your book for various ereaders.

If you social network, you have to be careful what you say. One bad post can ruin your book's chances of getting read. You can't spam your book, or nobody will want anything to do with it.

You may invest as much as $500-$1000 preparing your book, do all the social networking possible, price your book low and still get no sales. It's a risk you have to determine whether you are willing to take.

Happy Memorial Day!

2011-05-30T04:30:00.000-07:00

Happy Memorial Day!

In the U.S. today is Memorial Day where we remember our soldiers who have fallen in times of war. We may not always agree about the reasons for war, but it's good to take a moment to think of those brave men and women.

The Luck I've Had- Part III

2011-05-27T05:31:00.000-07:00

Lucy brings the red haired woman to the nursery. I feel the moment slipping away. She'll pick a newborn and I'll be stuck here, the lady who was supposed to be my mom with another child.

They always pick the babies. No one picks a twelve year old girl like me.

I rush to my desk and pull out a piece of paper. My fingers shake as I work. I stick my hair behind my ear to get it out of the way and lick my lips as I draw the picture that will decide my life. In the background I hear her melodic voice, laughing. The sound makes me feel warm, gives me hope.

I only have broken crayons, and I'm missing the purple one, but I manage to color a decent house with two windows, a backyard with green grass, and most of all: me with her, holding hands. I've made sure to make her hair a pretty red color, and I draw a smile on each of our faces. That's the most important part. We have to be smiling, we have to be happy. I don't smile much myself. The muscles in my cheeks just can't do it some days. But I'm going to try to today.

I run up to them just as she leans over a baby that came in yesterday. Lucy sees me first.

"Jenelle, go back to the sunroom."

Some sun room it is. More like a dungeon. But I bite my tongue because the lady turns to see who Lucy is talking to. I hold out the picture.

"I did this for you."

"Oh my."

Lucy shoots me a glare and I know I'm going to be in trouble, but I don't care. This is my only chance.

The lady takes the picture in her long, porcelain fingers and I wait with my heart beating fast. I see emotions go through her blue eyes and I wonder what she's thinking. Did I draw the house wrong? Does it have three windows instead of two?

The lady looks at Lucy. "How about this one? Is she up for adoption?"

Lucy gives her a look that says I'm not worth it and I shrivel up inside. "I thought you said you wanted a baby?"

The lady shakes her head, red hair falling in beautiful waves across her shoulders. "No, I want this one." She smiles at me. "This one right here."

The Luck I've Had - Part II

2011-05-25T04:00:00.000-07:00

I peer out the dirty window. It's raining. Adoptions rarely happen when it rains. I hope that lady comes back. I practiced all evening on how I would approach her.

I would take out my sketchbook and draw a happy backyard scene. The woman would look like her, and I would be me. I would write a caption for it and leave it out for her to ever so casually glance at. She would see the perfect match we would make. She would know I was talented and smart and want to take me home.

Forget about the babies. A twelve year old would be wonderful.

She would sign the papers, and we would go home.

I imagined it would be sunny, though.

My breath fogs the window, obscuring my vision of the street. The rain taps and then pounds.

She wouldn't be there today, but that's okay. She'll come tomorrow.

I leave the windowsill and watch my fellow orphans. The rain has them all down in the dumps, but I feel optimistic. Tomorrow will be sunny, the woman will come, and I'll go to my new home.

It's easy to believe such dreams, even though I've had my heart squashed time and time again.

I want to believe.

Ding, dong. Ding, dong.

The door creaks open and I freeze in place.

The lady from yesterday is there. Water drips from her umbrella and I imagine myself talking to her.

Instead I stand and stare.

The Luck I've Had - Part 1

2011-05-23T11:58:00.000-07:00

"Good times for a change
See, the luck I've had
Can make a good man
Turn bad

So please please please
Let me, let me, let me
Let me get what I want
This time

Haven't had a dream in a long time
See, the life I've had
Can make a good man bad

So for once in my life
Let me get what I want
Lord knows, it would be the first time
Lord knows, it would be the first time"

- Please, Please, Please, Let Me Get What I Want by The Smiths

I've been in the orphanage since I was two. I don't remember anything but being here. They said people want babies, and boys, too. I'm twelve now and I'm not a boy.

Today a woman came in looking to adopt. I know she wants a baby, but I could see us together. It was her hair, red and long, and how she didn't have on a wedding ring. I don't want a dad. I do want a mom.

She passed me in the hallway. I stopped and stared after her. She'd given me the prettiest smile. She looked at me, you know? Considering. I think she was considering.

I hear she's coming back tomorrow. She was Approved to Adopt. How can I get her attention?

Time...or the lack thereof

2011-05-20T04:30:00.000-07:00

I often feel like time is spiraling out of control lately. There never seems to be enough of it.

I like to try to keep ahead of time. With blogs, I schedule posts ahead as often as possible. With writing, I try to have stories written well before deadlines. With editing, I space out the pages based on how much time I have. I used to make daily lists of what I wanted to do, but now I make monthly ones. I'm losing track of days because I'm always thinking of future dates. And when you read our talented Lisa Ruscyzk's The Message - coming soon - then you'll see a whole new view of what time is or isn't.

So what do you do about time? Do you take things one day at a time? Or do you plan for the future and what you'll be doing or need to do? Is time the enemy? Or a friend?

Monday Braindead

2011-05-16T13:26:00.000-07:00

I don't have anything to write about because my brain's been occupied with four of these and one of those. Can you guess?

Book Review: TEMPEST RISING by Tracy Deebs

2011-05-09T06:43:00.000-07:00

Title: Tempest Rising

Author: Tracy Deebs

Format: Paperback

Source: ARC

Publisher: Walker Books for Young Readers, A division of Bloomsbury Publishing, Inc. (May 10, 2011)

To Purchase: Amazon

Book Description: Tempest Maguire wants nothing more than to surf the killer waves at her California coastline home; continue her steady relationship with her boyfriend, Mark; and take care of her brothers and surfer dad. But Tempest's mom, gone since Tempest was eleven, abandoned the family for a reason: to return to the sea where she had been born. Yes, Tempest is half mermaid, and as her seventeenth birthday approaches, she will also have to decide whether to remain on land or give herself to the ocean. Even though Tempest loves her life and family, the pull of the water is becoming increasingly insistent. So too is her attraction to Kai, a mysterious and gorgeous surfer whose uncanny abilities hint at an otherworldly identity as well. And when Tempest does finally enter the fantastical underwater world, full of mermaids, sea witches, and even her mother, she finds that a larger destiny awaits her—one that hangs the entire ocean's population in the balance.

Review: Tracy Deebs' Tempest Rising entwines the normal with the extraordinary, the magical and mythical with reality.

Tempest seems like your normal teenage surfer girl. She'd do anything to catch the next wave, but she's more than ordinary. She's half mermaid, and her seventeenth birthday will come to a choice that revolves around Tempest's two worlds. She's made her decision, or so she thinks, but there is something about those pesky best-laid plans…

Deebs has crafted a mature yet teenage voice. I find it refreshing that Tempest doesn't want her mermaid heritage. She craves normalcy, but even she realizes no one always gets what they want. Deebs creates real and fantastical situations for her characters. The descriptions of the undersea world burst with color, beauty, and cold danger lurking in the deep depths. I loved the mythological creatures mingled with the ones we know today. Mermaids, selkies, and sea witches are believable with the sharks, octopuses, and fish. Images of a dark the Little Mermaid float to the surface. If you are looking for a paranormal romance not of the norm, I highly recommend Tempest Rising. I hope there will be another book in the works.

I am also giving away a copy of Tracy Deebs' Tempest Rising on my Book Reviews blog. All you have to do is click here and leave a comment. The winner will be announced on Friday.

Submit to Entangled Publishing?

2011-05-03T08:40:00.001-07:00

I just signed a three book deal with Entangled Publishing for my space opera series, the first book being Paradise 21! Entangled Publishing is a new company, founded by agented authors, with new marketing strategies in mind. They assign each book a publicist, and target certain cities, such as the author's hometown to get sales. Great ideas. Great company.

Now, they're looking for more:

* a dark and steamy urban fantasy romance series, complete with multiple kick-ass hero/heroine couples who get their HEAs at the end of each book
* high-stakes romantic thrillers
* a gritty contemporary series with a military/special ops theme
* YA with protagonists ages 17-21, with story stakes that will appeal to crossover audiences
* an adult superhero/superpowers series reminiscent of Smallville, X-Men, or Hellboy
* dystopians of all shapes and sizes
* witches, psychics, and gods/goddesses
* steamy contemporary reads (erotic elements should not be the focal point, however)
* flirty contemporaries

Here's their blog if your interested in the latest news.

Who's going to submit?

The One Part I

2011-04-27T07:58:00.001-07:00

They waited but no one came.

Always watched from a distance, separated by guards and a protective rope, their powers dwindled as the contact faded. No more did they feel bare hands touch their facades, no more did the children frolic between them.

Cold and deserted, the circle slept.

One misty morning, their air sizzled with anticipation. A tour bus had come and gone, but a woman stayed, waiting, like they did, on the edge of sight.

Her summer dress flipped in the breeze as she rounded their majesty on bare feet. The guards took their leave, conversing at the concession stand. The stones hushed in expectation, a low hum building just below what the human ear could detect.

She looked like she'd come right from the past, spirited across hundreds of years to find her true home. Her head tilted as the drone increased, ears pricking underneath her strawberry curls. Now was the time! She sprinted, bare feet scurrying across the moss laden hills.

Problems with Amazon's KDP

2011-04-22T12:36:00.000-07:00

Sales report for the period 01-Jan-2011 to 31-Jan-2011
Amazon Kindle US Store
21 Lucky Shorts B003HC9A2W 35 97 -62 35% 0.99 N/A N/A N/A -21.70
Total Royalty for Sales on Amazon Kindle US Store (USD) -21.70

This was my report from Kindle's publishing site, KDP, in January. How could I sell 35 books of 21 Lucky Shorts, then have 97 returns? So started the trials. First, posting on the KDP community forum. They said it was a glitch that would be worked out by the end of the quarter. End of quarter came, still the same problem.

I sent an email through a form on the "Contact Us" link. No phone number. Got an email saying it would be fixed in 1-2 days.

It wasn't.

I wrote back.

They sent the exact same email back with the 1-2 days.

Today I posted all over the place about this problem. Kindle Boards and Kindle forums being everywhere. Everyone said, call. I couldn't find a number. I logged into my Amazon account and had them call me. But it was just Kindle support. The rep was nice and seemed truly sorry for my 15 minute hold time and said he'd send them an email. I said I'd done that and I'd wait. Another 15 minutes go by. He comes back basically, in a very nice way, saying there was absolutely no way I was able to talk to a human being at KDP. He'd send the email. He didn't have a phone number.

The book sells a couple copies a day. Maybe $20 every three months doesn't mean much, but I have been planning on self-publishing with them the next book I write.

Oh so frustrated.

Movie Review: Hanna

2011-04-19T07:36:00.000-07:00

A girl lives with her father in a remote cottage in snowy woods. She's growing up and wants to explore the world, but leaving the cottage comes with a high price. The government is looking for her, and she must confront her past before she can be free.

This movie started out so good! I loved the atmosphere of hunting reindeer in the woods and the father reading to his daughter before the fire at night. Hanna is beautifully played by Saoirse Ronan and the father by Eric Bana. The suspense is constant throughout like any good thriller, and the scenes with her and the British family that takes her in are so good. This story goes deeper than I thought it would. Unfortunately, the ending left me feeling empty.

Marketing and Promotion for Writers

2011-04-15T04:30:00.000-07:00

I've heard it takes someone three years to build up their writer's platform. If you start when you have a book signed, it's too late.

Promoting a book is difficult and sometimes frustrating. You can't constantly talk about your book or people get bored and annoyed. You never should spam people with advertisements about your book either. Word of mouth from others is wonderful. Book reviews, people mentioning the book to their friends, that's great. Only, you as the author can't do it as much for your own book.

Then how do you get people to find out about your book or much less want to buy it if they discover it?

I'll tell you a little secret. The key to promotion is promoting yourself.

That's right. Being you will sell more books than talking about your book. You must become recognizable. The reason the big authors sell is because they are a brand name. Almost everyone has heard of James Patterson, Stephen King, JK Rowling, etc. They are a brand. Combine that brand with word of mouth and it will sell books.

How does an author build a platform?

It isn't easy and it takes time. Before the internet, authors would go on book tours, libraries, bookstores, malls, etc. They would talk to people, give talks, make themselves known. Some authors still do that, and if you have a print book, I highly recommend considering donating a copy to libraries, talk to managers at bookstores. It can help.

Now, though, we have social networking. Twitter, Facebook, Blogging, Goodreads, Linkedin, etc. There are many places out there, and you don't have to do them all. It doesn't hurt to pick a one and see how it goes. Be yourself. Find ways to find readers. If you're a mystery writer, join in on mystery reader groups. Fantasy, science fiction, do the same. Be willing to learn and grow. It takes time, but it's worth it.

As for myself, I'm on Twitter, Facebook, Blogger, and Goodreads. I joined Blogger and Goodreads to build my platform, but you know what, I've enjoyed meeting the people on there so much and have learned more from my Blogger friends than I ever thought.

In the end, it's important to find what works for you.

Oh, and don't forget to write the best book you can. That's very important too. *grins*

Achooo!

2011-04-11T09:34:00.000-07:00

I have a non-writing post for the day. Writing is the farthest thing from my mind as my husband and I battle a vicious cold and cough. I've been sick for a week and a half, and he just caught it Thursday last week. It's impossible to get anything done, and I have gobs of stuff to do.

Some of you may know I'm a freelance editor and writer. I edit for Kindle indie authors and write for Demand Studios. I struggled through some work last week between blowing my nose and stopping bleeding nose (it bled for two whole hours on Saturday) and I've fallen way behind in my work. It's frustrating and hurts the wallet. Fortunately, my husband is a brilliant grocery shopper and can buy four meals for $20. Four GOOD meals! And we need them right now.

While I've been editing, I have no desire to read other books. I'd love to review some of the books I've edited, but I feel like that's not really fair. I can't say I don't read for pleasure anymore, because the books I read for work are a pleasure. I haven't disliked a single one. It's simply amazing at how many good writers there are in the world, and now with self-publishing on the Kindle, unique stories and voices finally have an outlet to be read and heard the way the author intended. I'm very excited by all this.

Well, what do you know! It turned out to be a writing-related post after all!

Book Review: The Hunger Games

2011-04-08T05:26:00.000-07:00

After being so highly recommended, I finally got around to reading this and...

I loved it!

Here's my review:

In this post apolocalyptic fantasy, The United States has fallen and from the rubble rises Panem, a Capitol City controling 12 districts using fear tactics and control of food. Each year, two representatives from each district compete in a tournament to the death called The Hunger Games. When 16 year old Katniss's younger sister is selected, she goes in her place. She must battle the other contestants for her life if she ever wants to return home again.

Engrossing, brutal, and strangley realistic at times, this book kept me reading to the last page. The violence surpried me, this is not a book for the faint hearted. Yes, contestants die brutal deaths. Underneath all the violence and desperation is a mysterious love story where you don't know if either one's affections are real, or part of the game.

The characters are interestingly three dimenisonal, with some being not good or bad, but falling inbetween. Katniss doesn't know who to trust, or who will stab her in the back.

I'm looking forward to reading the next book in the series, as well as watching the movie!

Book Review: ACROSS THE UNIVERSE by Beth Revis

2011-04-04T08:00:00.000-07:00

Title: Across the Universe

Author: Beth Revis

Publisher: Razorbill (Imprint of Penguin Publishing)

To Purchase: http://www.amazon.com/Across-the-Universe-ebook/dp/B00475ARSO/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&m=AG56TWVU5XWC2&s=merchant-items&qid=1300122216&sr=1-1

Book Description: Seventeen-year-old Amy joins her parents as frozen cargo aboard the vast spaceship Godspeed and expects to awaken on a new planet, three hundred years in the future. Never could she have known that her frozen slumber would come to an end fifty years too soon and that she would be thrust into the brave new world of a spaceship that lives by its own rules.

Amy quickly realizes that her awakening was no mere computer malfunction. Someone-one of the few thousand inhabitants of the spaceship-tried to kill her. And if Amy doesn't do something soon, her parents will be next.

Now Amy must race to unlock Godspeed's hidden secrets. But out of her list of murder suspects, there's only one who matters: Elder, the future leader of the ship and the love she could never have seen coming.

Review: Beth Revis’s Across the Universe weaves intrigue, science, mystery, and lies within the atmosphere of the Godspeed. Amy may be nonessential cargo, but she is a driving force of change in a place where the crazies are really sane and the normals are really crazy. Elder must decipher the lies and find the truth within and without. The beginning is horrifying, but then the reader learns piece by piece that the start is mild compared. A perfect society the Godspeed is not. The characters are relatable. The story is heart-wrenching. Even when the reader thinks everything is figured out, it’s not. Ms. Revis tells this raw tale of what could be. She clearly researched well. She encloses the reader within the story and doesn’t let them out, even at the end. I had a hard time putting it down until I finished it. Across the Universe is everything a novel should be. To use one of Ms. Revis’s words, it is “frexing” awesome.

Beth's book has influenced me to write even more. I loved getting lost in her world, and I want to write a book that does the same for another reader as hers did for me. I can't wait until the next one!

One Year and Three Days Ago...

2011-03-29T14:58:00.000-07:00

This blog was born!

We were planning on have a book release, but life happens and we didn't get it done on time. Soon, faithful readers and contributors, soon!

We'd love to improve the blog. Any suggestions?

The Stairs and the Doorway by Eric Dodd

2011-03-28T06:03:00.000-07:00

Our Guest Short Story comes to you from Eric Dodd. Make sure you have a warm blanket and all your doors and windows are locked before reading.

The Stairs and the Doorway
by Eric Dodd

I don't feel like I'm a nosy person. No more nosy than the next guy. I just have what my Ma would call an unhealthy amount of curiosity. I was the kid who climbed to the top of the big oak in the back yard, just to see what was in the crows' nest. I was the kid who dug a hole in the back yard so deep that I hit groundwater because I was convinced there was a cave under our house, and I wanted to see it. To see.

My folks aren't dirt poor, but they're pretty close. They're part of that missing middle of America, the people who work forty hours a week until they die, with no savings to speak of. I got my first job at a horse stable when I was fourteen. It didn't last very long. I knew I needed to get a job, because I knew we needed the money, so I bounced around for the next few years, washing dishes, waiting tables, until I graduated high school.

Pop was really tough on me about college. He never went -- nobody in his family had -- so there were a few fights about where I would go after school. It was a huge shock to me when, just after graduation, he drove me down to the Uni. He'd been classmates with the Dean and they'd come up with an arrangement where I'd get a full scholarship, provided I made good grades and worked for the University.

I never felt like a scholar. In high school, I kept my head down and did enough to get by, pulling off B's and a few C's. I wasn't interested in learning, because learning wasn't interesting. Uni was different. I took mainly core classes, math-English-history-science, but they were fascinating. For one thing, nobody cared if I showed up or not. It was entirely up to me to succeed, so I did.

In exchange for my education, I worked security and did some light maintenance duties. Maintenance was a no-brainer. I've always been handy, and most of the fix-it jobs were the type that could be solved with a liberal application of WD-40, or elbow grease, or both. Security was a different story. Security gave me super powers.

The job itself was pretty easy. I got a uniform, a badge, a flashlight, and Ma gave me some keychain mace for my birthday. No, I didn't get a gun -- they weren't allowed on campus anyway. I worked mostly nights and weekends, and doubles during long holiday breaks. I was to walk around the full campus twice in a night, checking the labs, computer center, and library. The rest of my time was pretty much my own.

There were two other guards, Jake and Al, but they worked different shifts from me. We had "overlap nights" on Wednesday nights, where we'd get together for about an hour to discuss any major events or changes. There might have been some beer at those meetings, but I'm underage, and you can't prove anything.

Jake worked mostly dayshift, and Al worked swings and some overnights during the week. Jake was a younger guy, training to be on the local police force, so he took his job pretty seriously. On the other hand, I'm pretty sure Al mostly slept during his shifts. Al was two years older than dirt, so he deserved his rest.

Remember that bit about super powers? My first night on the job, Al gave me a huge keychain with about a thousand keys on it. It weighed nearly five pounds, and was secured to my belt with a heavy-duty metal chain. “Don’t lose that keychain, kid,” Al said. “You got the keys to the kingdom right there. Any door that don’t open, you don’t want to go in it.”

My work hobby, the thing that kept me awake on those long cold winter break nights, was exploring. I made it a point, every night, to open some door that I'd never opened before. I started in the new section, where the library and computer center were, opening each room, each closet, making a map in my head of where everything was. Some nights I might explore two or three rooms. Some nights I might not have time for anything more than an odd, out of the way broom closet.

The Uni is actually a pretty large campus, for having a full student body of only twelve or thirteen hundred. It was built as a Methodist college in 1896, and became state-owned in the thirties. There were three main sections. The 'Old School' housed the Administration offices and a few unlucky classrooms —unlucky due to the lack of central heat and air, and the three-story building had no elevators. The 'Labs' were a Brutalist horror of poured concrete slabs and tiny windows, built back in the 70s when buildings that looked like Soviet radiators were in style. The "New Library" was steadily losing its "new", built in the late 90s boom, and made in that unique red-brick-and-glass style like everything else during those years.

When I think back to those early days, those days before, I think how stupid I was. How naive. I should have thought about winter. I should have thought about the solstice.

By December of my sophomore year of college, I had cleared every room in the New Library. I had opened every door, checked every closet, and had a good mental map of the whole building. It was, ultimately, pretty unimpressive. I found no buried treasure, no secret stash of missing computer supplies cached in a forgotten closet. I did find a small, sweaty stack of bad porno mags in a supply closet in the basement level. “Wicked, Wicked Cowgirls.” Who was I to judge?

December is a slow time for the Uni. After the mad rush of Finals, the campus was suddenly deserted, the remaining few staff seeming lost. The buildings stood silent, and dark, in the thin winter breezes. We had a steady series of snowstorms, but none bad enough to close the campus. I made sure the sidewalks were clear and the entryways salted, and otherwise tried to stay indoors.

Besides, I had the ‘Old School’ to explore.

The main ‘Old School’ building, Downing Hall, was a four-story V-shaped building. It had no elevators, tiny stairwells, and was only exempted from ADA compliance due to its “historical importance”. It had no air-conditioning, save for sporadic window-mount units that were only permitted to be installed on the rear of the building, so as not to spoil the building’s historic charm. The building’s heat came from a massive, ancient boiler in the basement. As far as I knew, Al was the only person who knew anything about the boiler, and he must have kept it in good shape, because I never heard of any complaints about it.

I spent the second week after Finals Week poking through the top floors of Downing Hall. I didn’t have a lot of time for exploring every night, as the snow gave me more than usual upkeep chores, but I made steady progress. I discovered a small room in the attic on the Left Wing that must have been an old Dean’s office, complete with a beautiful antique desk and wardrobe. I checked both, thinking I might find something “historic” to give to the Dean, but the wardrobe was empty save for a moth-eaten wool scarf, and the desk’s contents were limited to a few old newspapers and some tax forms from the 1950s.

A level below, on the building’s fourth floor, I found two dozen small, empty classrooms. In my handyman mindset, I checked the windows for loose glass panes, and for water or rodent damage. I fully expected to see rat-droppings, or at least some insect damage, but I found none. The second and third floors were much the same, except the rooms on the rear of the building were air-conditioned and thus actively used for classes when school was in session.

The main floor was Administration, and included the Dean’s office. I thought it wise not to snoop around in my boss’s office, or in Payroll, so I skipped a lot of these rooms. I made my way to the stairwell to the basement, used my superhero keychain, opened the heavy door and went down.

The basement of Downing Hall was different from that of the New Library. For one thing, it was a lot more cramped. The hallway was narrow, and the ceiling was low, with doorways leading off at regular intervals. I checked every room, flipping the old two-button switches to ON, using my flashlight on the dark corners. I had carried a few packs of spare light bulbs — the fancy new CFC bulbs — in my satchel, thinking to replace any that had burned out, and save the environment while I was at it. The little rooms mostly contained junk — spare desks, filing cabinets full of forty- and fifty-year-old papers, old holiday decorations, and so forth, lit by naked hanging bulbs.

I’m not an imaginative kind of guy. I guess I’m pretty smart — I’d made straight A’s in my college courses. It never occurred to me to be scared. I didn’t think, “I’m alone in a creepy old basement.” This was my place, my job, my hobby, and it all seemed so normal.

By the night of the 20th of December, I had made my way to the boiler room. The furnace was a massive monstrosity of iron and rivets, pipes and gauges. It was hellishly hot in that room, and equally loud. It was, however, neat and very clean. Al kept it that way, because he said “a clean boiler lets you get more shuteye.” The furnace had been converted from coal to gas at some point, but the soot had stained the walls of the room, and the old coal chute still opened in one of the corners.

I had no intention of giving the boiler room more than a glance — I’d been there dozens of times, and there was nothing to see, just a workbench and the furnace itself — when I noticed a small door to the back and left behind the furnace. “That’s weird,” I thought to myself. I had never seen that door before. But then again, I had never stood in that particular spot, beside the workbench, and I had never really looked.

The door was smaller than a normal door — maybe five feet tall, painted in the same non-color drab grey-brown of the walls, and was made of metal, just like the other doors in the basement. I went over to the door, and touched the handle.

I think the body knows sometimes when things are wrong. Have you ever had that feeling, like you’re being watched? When you know you’re totally alone, and nobody can see you, but you feel eyes on you? Have you ever gone left instead of right, because you got a feeling that you just shouldn’t go to the right today? It didn’t work that way for me. When I touched that doorknob, nothing felt any different. My head didn’t hurt, my neck-hairs didn’t stand up, and I didn’t hear an inner voice saying, “Don’t do it!”

The doorknob turned, but the door wouldn’t open. I looked more closely, and saw a small keyhole. I checked my magic keychain, and found three possible matches. Struck out on the first two, and the third worked, of course. Of course.

The hinges squealed like they hadn’t been used in a long time (decades.) My handyman instincts noted it. “WD-40,” I mumbled. I hauled open the door and stepped through, into another small, cramped hallway. The light switch worked, and the single bulb blew with a crack! “Dammit!” My hackles did raise then. I flicked on my flashlight, and quickly swapped out the hallway bulb with a new one. I looked around, and saw this hallway was narrow, straight, and ended a few yards away at another door.

That door opened easily, onto another stairway. “What the hell?” I said. Nobody had ever mentioned a sub-basement for this building. The hairs on the back of my neck were still standing out. I shook it off as nerves from the blown bulb, and walked to the stairwell. It was a standard stairwell, and looked pretty much the same as the others in the building. I walked to the bottom, and met another door. I pushed through it, to see another long, narrow hallway, with doors leading off to either side at regular intervals.

The first door to my left was unlocked, and opened fairly easily, onto a storage closet. There were stacks of late Sixties-era books, a few desks, and a decaying mop in its bucket. The door across from it was unlocked, but did not open so easily. I hauled the door open to find a larger room that looked to have been used as a classroom. There were desks, a blackboard, anatomical diagrams, and posters on the walls. Everything was covered in an inch of dust, and appeared to have not been touched in a long time. “Why would anyone put a classroom down here?” I mumbled to myself, “How would they even convince students to get down here in the first place?” I remember thinking, at that point, that I must have somehow discovered a back way into the other wing of the V-shaped Downing Hall. “Maybe this is where the old Science classes were held, before the Labs were built.”

I moved on to the next set of rooms. They were both classrooms, abandoned, dust-covered, and mostly empty. So were the next pair, and the next. I saw a total of twelve disused classrooms in that hallway, and a small breakroom, complete with a lonely coffee pot. I also found two small restrooms. I didn’t spend much time checking them out, as the lights didn’t work and I didn’t feel like replacing those bulbs. I found myself getting slightly nervous — I was in a strange section of the campus, and I was working alone that night. In the back of my mind I just couldn’t truly justify the existence — the waste — of a whole floor full of unused classrooms.

When I got to the end of the hallway, I met another steel door. I opened it, and saw another stairwell. I was fully expecting this stairwell to go up, to connect to one of the other main stairwells in Downing Hall. The stairs only went down.

This was the point, I remember, at which I began to get scared.

“No way. There’s no way these stairs go down. How would anybody get down here?”

“Here. Here. here,” the stairwell echoed at me.

I should have checked the time. I should have been concerned with finishing my rounds. I should have been hungry for lunch. I should have run.

I started to climb down the stairs.

This stairwell was unlit, and appeared to be much older, and in much worse condition than the others. It was also longer. Much longer. After a few minutes of walking down the steps, I began to count them. At every twelve steps, there was a small landing, a turn, and another set of steps. Down. After ten landings, I reached another door. It was unlocked, and opened easily. The hinges squealed, and the echoes died like lost things in the dark.

I groped against the left wall for a light switch, and there was none. I checked the right, and the wall was equally smooth. I cast the flashlight around, but saw nothing. Nothing forward, nothing to either side, and nothing above. I snapped my fingers, listening for the echo. I may or may not have heard one. I slowly came to realize that the room into which I had entered was enormous, cavernous, possibly the biggest room I had ever physically experienced. I shrank back to the doorway for a moment.

“This room can’t be here,” I said to myself. I started to think about going back. But I also started to think about wanting to know what was in there. I took a step forward, and another, until I was walking steadily into the room. I kept a steady pace, counting my steps. I looked over my shoulder every few yards, using the light from the open doorway to orient myself. I walked, slowly, for a hundred yards, two hundred yards, until I saw a dim glow ahead.

The glow got faintly brighter and larger as I walked toward it. Another hundred yards, and another, and three more passed until I could make out a small dim light bulb near a door.

That door was of a different type entirely. It was huge, fourteen feet tall at least, and half again as wide. The surface was black metal, studded with rivets and bolts, mounted on huge hinges. Across the face of the door, graved into the metal, were words in some strange looping script that I could not recognize. Every surface was carved with that script, or with strange diagrams made of splayed circle-ended lines. In the center of the door was a large spoked wheel lock, and in the center of the lock was a tiny keyhole. Above the keyhole was a sigil, enclosed in three circles.

I looked behind me, and could not see the light from the stairwell. I couldn’t see anything at all.

I held the Superhero Keychain to the dim light, and flipped through the keys. Of course, there was one small, battered key that looked as if it might fit. I inserted it into the lock, and turned it. I heard a click, and a thud, and a sound from within the door like pouring pebbles. Or dry teeth.

I pulled the key from the lock, and grasped the spokes of the wheel lock. My heart was racing, and sweat was dribbling into my eyes.

I turned the spokes to the left, counterclockwise —widdershins, some buried memory in my head said — and kept turning, until the wheel stopped. There was another THUD and a CRACK, and then silence.

The darkness behind me no longer felt empty. In fact, it felt positively crowded, as if I had an audience, watching me. I stepped back from the door and flashed my light around. Still nothing. Dry empty floor. I turned back to the door, grasped the large cast-iron handles, and pulled. Nothing. I tried harder, putting all of my weight into the pull, and at the last moment, at the end of my strength, I heard another CRACK! and the door groaned open on a draft of cool, stinking air.

The smell was heavy, moist, and musky. I had a flash memory of my mother taking me to the zoo as a child, and the smell of the Cat House, with the lions. At the thought of the lions, I let go of the handles and stumbled back a bit. I carefully shone my light into the yawning black crevice of the open door. I saw a short hallway that opened into a small, cramped room. I saw a filthy, rusted metal chair. I saw bones. Small bones. I saw — or heard, or smelled — a form so black it seemed to suck in the light of my flashlight. I saw a black form rushing towards me, running towards me, filling the hallway, howling and laughing and speaking, in a voice that sounded like mountains collapsing.

I remember fangs, and words that turned my bones to rusted glass. I remember feathers, and a hand with too many fingers, jeweled with something unspeakable. And the smell, the stink of something long caged.

I remember wings.

I don’t know how long I wandered in the dark, alone under hundreds of feet of rock. There was no light. There was no way to judge time. My flashlight was dead, and my cellphone, and even the small specks of luminescent paint on my cheap wristwatch were dark. There was something wrong with my right leg. It hurt, but I couldn’t see enough to find out why.

I kept hearing my audience, there in that cavernous room. I screamed at them. I felt one of them touch my face, and I threw my flashlight at it. The flashlight bounced and rattled and became still, somewhere that I was not. Something laughed, later. I raved and screamed but didn’t throw anything else.

I found the doorway after hours or days of crawling.

There were no lights in the stairwell.

After years of climbing, I crawled into that first forgotten hallway. I sliced my fingers on the crushed remains of the light bulbs I had packed in my satchel. I crawled down the hallway, and reached the next stairwell. I hauled myself up them, and finally out into the boiler room.

When I staggered out of Downing Hall, two full days after going in, it was into dim winter daylight and a full police presence.

Five people had been found dead on and around the campus. All had been brutally, savagely murdered, bodies splayed open, viscera missing. The teeth marks suggested a wild animal, but the murder scenes and body positioning also displayed a certain intelligence to them. There was also the writing, carved into the flesh when it was not yet dead meat. The cops wouldn’t talk about the writing.

The cops wouldn’t talk to me, either. Not afterwards. When they first saw me stumble out into daylight, covered in blood, they assumed I was the perpetrator. They quickly changed their assumptions when the medics pointed out the greenstick fracture, the dehydration, the concussion and the obvious shock. The cops asked a lot of questions, and I answered as best as I could. I told them about the door in the boiler room. They couldn’t find it. They showed me the bare smooth wall from where I had crawled, dazed and broken. My tracks stopped at that wall. Two cops tried breaking through the wall in that spot, only to meet old brick, and older earth past that.

The cops wanted to know where the long, black feathers came from, stuck to my clothes by dried blood. I didn’t know. I didn’t want to know. The cops, the medics, nobody, would look at me any more. The scars on my face, the deep, gouged-out writing, was not a sight that most would want to see. I was marked. Whatever I had let out, whatever had killed and eaten five people, and a week later six more, had marked me as a friend.

Equal Opportunity: Part III

2011-03-25T10:26:00.000-07:00

Gelsey watched the little leprechaun disappear over the other side of the rainbow. Once she knew he couldn't hear her, she buried her face in the gold. She took off her leaf shoes and danced on the shining pot of gold. This was the life! She couldn't wait to be able to grant wishes.

In her joy, she didn't hear the human approach.

"I knew it! A pot of gold at the end of a rainbow!" she heard a little girl say.

Gelsey turned in shock to see a red-headed ten-year-old staring at her with eyes as wide as the gold coins.

"What are you doing here?" Gelsey asked.

The little red-head came closer. "My mother is very sick and we can't afford a doctor. Please, can you give me just one gold piece? I have been chasing this rainbow all day hoping for a pot of gold. But you're not a leprechaun."

"Not yet. If I give you a gold piece, I'll never be a leprechaun."

"What do you mean?"

Gelsey didn't answer as she saw tears well in big green eyes. How could she deny the little girl one gold piece to save her mother? And surely the leprechaun wouldn't notice one piece missing.

"Okay, but tell no one where you got it. I'm trusting you!"

She handed the little girl a piece of gold, regretting it even as she did it. The girl's eyes shown with gratitude. "I'll never forget the kind fairy who gave me my mother's cure." And off she ran.

It was night time when Shamrock returned, his breath reeking of whiskey. He'd had a fine time in town, changing his appearance so he could mingle with the humans. Gelsey was sound asleep on the pot of gold, one piece clasped in her hand.

He woke her with a shake. "Now I count my gold," he slurred.

Gelsey looked nervous and kept twiddling her thumbs as Shamrock fingers his treasure. It took him less than a minute to count, some magic of his.

"One piece missing! I never should have trusted you. You will never be a leprechaun." He lit his pipe and smoked furiously.

"There was this little girl. Her mother was sick. She just needed one piece, that's all. I'll work it off. I'll make shoes to work it off if you show me how."

"Shoes, Harumph. Do you know how long it takes to learn how to make perfect leprechaun shoes?"

"Then teach me. Would you have turned the little girl away?"

Shamrock shook his head. "Pesky fairy with your conscience. You know anything about making shoes?"

"I made these leaf shoes. They are good; look at them."

He examined the shoes. "Not bad, but unstable. Leprechaun shoes last forever."

"Just one more chance. Please. And I will make the shoes. Oh, how I want to make the shoes!"

Shamrock eyed her carefully, put his pipe down. Being around the humans has been fun, but he had been so lonely, he admitted to himself. "Okay, but you are not to be turned into a leprechaun until you master a pair of shoes. I'll sell them for three gold pieces and you'll have made up what you gave of mine today."

They looked at each other, then Gelsey let out a squeal of delight. Fairy dust flew everywhere as she spun higher and higher in the air. In time, she knew her wish would come true.

Equal Opportunity: Part II

2011-03-23T07:04:00.000-07:00

Shamrock lit his pipe and settled back against a tree while Gelsey stomped her feet and grumbled. The girl's passion for being a leprechaun impressed him. He'd never seen such a small fairy make such a big noise. Her determination made the gears in his little head move, giving him new ideas. Long days of fixing shoes, guarding gold,and granting wishes had taken its toll. Some good old tavern hopping sounded like gold.

"I'll tell you what." He spoke through plumes of sweet smoke. "If you can guard my pot of gold for two days- every single coin, mind you- when I return, I'll grant your wish."

She paused in mid stomp and her eyes sparkled. "Really?"

"Really. But not one gold piece can be missing."

Gelsey nodded so hard her curls bobbed in her eyes. "Not one piece."

"So the bargain is set."

Shamrock led her over a mossy hill, down a riverbank, and through a garden of toadstools. The rainbow's end touched the grassy knoll in faint light, illuminating a cauldron brimming with gleaming gold. Pictures of monarchs pressed in each coin stared out over them, along with twirling dragons and flags of countries long forgotten.

"Wow, I'd always heard the tales, but I never thought they were true!" Gelsey scrambled down the knoll and dug her fingers in the gold. Coins spiraled down her arms as she held a handful up to the sky.

A moment of fear crossed Shamrock's heart. Could he trust this girl with his gold? What if she changed her mind and ran off with it? And, lastly, what if she did as was told? Would she enjoy the secluded life that was his curse?

Such questions weren't for him to answer, though. He sucked on the end of his pipe and blew out a poof of smoke. In an instant, he disappeared.

Three Part Story: "Equal Opportunity" Part I

2011-03-21T05:00:00.000-07:00

EQUAL OPPORTUNITY

Part I

By Cherie Reich

Gelsey twirled and danced upon the branches. The little fairy flittered from tree to tree. Her eyes focused upon the multiple colors of the rainbow. She loved rainbows and rain, but most of all, she wanted to be a leprechaun, the keeper of such things, including pots of gold and making shoes. She loved shoes.

In fact, she had three pairs of the same leaf shoe design, but she really wanted to learn how to make shoes like a leprechaun. Now they were something.

When she reached the rainbow’s end, she froze and listened.

A whistling Irish tune drifted up to her ears, and she smiled when she finally saw the leprechaun shining his gold.

Gelsey drifted down and grinned at the leprechaun. He was a bit taller than she was. His hair flamed around his head, out his ears, and sprouted into a beard upon his face. He clutched an unlit pipe between his teeth, and his small eyes widened upon seeing her.

“What’s a wee fairy lass doing in these parts? Where are your people, child?” He flicked a piece of gold into the air and caught it.

“I’ve come alone,” she said while curtsying. “My name is Gelsey, and I’m going to be a leprechaun. What’s your name?”

He started laughing and nearly tumbled off his pot of gold. “My name, lass, is Shamrock LuckLeaf, but you’ll never be a leprechaun.”

A frown pursed her pouty lips. She stomped her foot and placed her hands on her hips. “Why can’t I be a leprechaun?”

Movie Review: The Adjustment Bureau

2011-03-18T05:52:00.000-07:00

Much like Inception with a love story at its heart...

The Adjustment Bureau is about destiny verses free will. Matt Damon and Emily Blunt star as two star crossed lovers who were supposed to meet in an earlier version of "The plan." Now the plan has changed, and being together will destory everything they've worked for in their lives. It takes one misstep on the part of the "Adjusters" to allow the lovers to meet.

This movie was a pleasant surprise. I loved the chemistry between Matt Damon and Emily Blunt. They start off with a bang, and their relationship only deepens in every scene. I loved how they were so different: an artsy ballerina and a young politician. In this case, opposites attract.

I would have liked more information on "The Adjusters". The movie is intenionally vague on this, leaving the answers up to the audience. The action is face paced, and the script is well written. Overall, a treat to see.

"Three Wishes" by Cherie Reich

2011-03-16T04:00:00.000-07:00

“Three Wishes”

By Cherie Reich

William O’Connor yanked too hard on the fishing pole. The line snapped, and the fish swam away with it down the bubbling stream. Petulant anger caused him to throw the pole into the surrounding woods. He mumbled curses, since it was the third time this week the line had broken.

“Tom O’Grady, the old cheat! Sold me bad line,” he said under his breath while kicking rocks into the water.

Plunk, plunk.

When he was about to turn around to find his fishing pole, he paused. A rainbow glimmered farther downstream. Ripe reds, vibrant oranges, and brilliant blues lured him. Forgetting the pole, he jogged along the bank.

Unlike most rainbows, this one didn’t skirt away from him. The colors swirled closer, but then he skidded to a stop behind a tree.

“When Irish eyes are a’smilin’ down on me,” a tiny little man dressed in red sang.

William clutched his chest to still his pounding heart. He spied a leprechaun, one of the wee folk. Blinking several times, he noticed that the sprite was still there. He quietly danced a little jig with a grin stretching across his face.

“I dance and sing so merrily.” The leprechaun twirled on his pot of gold.

He rubbed his hands upon his brown trousers and wiggled his fingers. William O’Connor was going to catch him a leprechaun, he thought. Crouching down, he crept through the forest. Birds twittered and flitted through the air. The leprechaun continued his song.

“And when I see a bonnie lass,” he sang.

William stood behind him, waited a second, and then pounced.

“Ack!” The leprechaun shouted and struggled, but William kept his hold on the little man.

“I’ve got you now, I did,” he said, tightening his hold on the wiggling fellow.

The leprechaun put up a fight until he went limp. “I suppose you want your three wishes, right, lad?”

“Aye, I do.” Three wishes, wow! He didn’t know what to ask for, but he made no move to let go of the leprechaun. They were tricky buggers, and he didn’t want to miss out on his only change for wealth and happiness.

“What do you want? Your first wish?” The leprechaun made no move to leave.

William pursed his lips and stared around the forest while in deep thought. His gaze fell upon the gleaming gold coins within the leprechaun’s pot. “Why, I’d be taking your pot o’ gold as me first wish.”

“Granted,” the leprechaun said, “Your second then?”

A gleeful grin plastered itself to his face. A whole pot of gold, and it was all his.

“Your second wish? I don’t have all day.” The leprechaun crossed his arms and glared up at him.

William knew he could buy a lot with that gold. So what else did he want? A vision of loveliness floated through his mind. Elizabeth O’Leary. He sighed as he thought of her. Her clear blue eyes and flowing red-gold hair. It shone so pretty in the sunshine. “I’d like Elizabeth O’Leary’s hand in marriage.”

“Granted.” Boredom filled the leprechaun’s tone. “What is your final wish? You’d best make it a good one.”

The young man considered his choices. He had gold and the fairest lass in the land. What more could a man want? He peered down at the wee man in his arms. “You know, leprechaun, I’d very much like to have your powers.”

“Really now? This is your final wish.” A gleam appeared in his beady eyes.

“Aye, I would.”

“Granted.”

A crackle of thunder split the air. The rainbow vanished along with the leprechaun. William O’Connor perched upon his pot of gold. He now wore a red suit and was no bigger than a small child. In his lap sat Elizabeth O’Leary’s left hand, a Claddagh ring attached to her ring finger.

Promoting a Book

2011-03-14T10:44:00.000-07:00

It's tough to know where to start promoting a book. Some publishers will help you out, but if you're an indie or publish with an ebook company, you may have some work ahead of you.

Getting involved in reading and writing forums is a great place to start. Read what others have done to get their books noticed. Make a blog and invest some time into reading others' blogs and commenting. You'll find tips everywhere once you start looking.

Be willing to give copies of your book away. Word-of-mouth is the best way to get your book sales. If you write a good book, find a few readers and possibly reviewers, get your name and projects out there on the Internet as much as possible, you have a good chance of getting more sales.

What if none of these things work? There's a lot of competition, but many readers are voracious and looking for the next good read. It may be that your book isn't as polished as it could be. It may be in a currently unpopular genre. Try writing or publishing another book.

Contact book bloggers who might be interested in reviewing your book. This will get more word out about your novel.

Don't give up and keep on networking. And keep writing books people want to read!

A Lucky St. Patrick's Day Discount

2011-03-11T05:00:00.000-08:00

My publisher Wild Child Publishing and her sister site Freya's Bower are having an ebook sale! If you purchase $5 or more and use the coupon code "green," then you'll get 25% off your purchase. It's definitely a great time to buy some wonderful ebooks. The sale runs through March 17th.

As a side note, it's also Read an Ebook Week from March 6-12, so it's an added incentive to consider reading an ebook today. *grins*

Book Review: Luna

2011-03-07T07:54:00.000-08:00

A novel that taught me how it feels to be a female trapped in a male’s body.

Regan has a secret sister, Luna, who only comes out by the light on the moon. Regan tries to live an ordinary teen life, but this secret she carries weighs her down, and she feels as if she can never be normal. But she loves her brother, Liam, too much to cast him aside.

Reading Luna, my heart went out to both Regan and Liam, and I truly understood for the first time what it’s like to be a transgender: it’s hell. Because of their close minded parents, Liam is forced to live a lie. This talented, brilliant young man has closed himself off to the world so much, he’s contemplated suicide. Why do we force people into stereotypes? Why can’t we accept them for who they truly are?

Luna is filled with heartache, but it’s also a ray of hope. I would have liked to see more about Regan’s budding relationship with her boyfriend, but Luna’s story eclipsed all that. The book ends suddenly leaving you with the feeling that everything is up in the air. It’s a realistic end, and what would be expected of such a deep and truthful novel.

Guest Short Story: "Too Much Luck" by Nicole Zoltack

2011-03-05T05:00:00.000-08:00

For our second guest short story, Nicole Zoltack has given us her leprechaun story, "Too Much Luck." Enjoy!

"Too Much Luck"

by Nicole Zoltack

Diana Smithson was the luckiest girl ever. Her golden hair was never out of place, the boys all fawned over her, and she didn't have to study to get straight A's. In short, she was perfect.

But being lucky didn't prevent her from tripping over a rock and rolling down a soft grassy hill.

Diana brushed the dirt from her knees and started to stand when she saw it. She laughed and plucked the four-leaf clover. She twirled it in her hands.

"Good morning, lass."

Diana almost dropped the clover as she whirled around. "Who are you?"

A tall clean-shaven man wearing red clothes approached her. His hands were stuffed into his pants. He chuckled, and his belly juggled, reminding Diana of Santa, not that she believed in the jolly old elf. "I live down that a-way," the man said, nodding toward a small nearby cottage. "What are you doin' on me land?"

Diana smiled charmingly. "I was just going for a walk." Diana's parents had finally relented, and Diana had been spending the past month studying abroad in Ireland. She would be here for a few more months yet. Bess, her roommate, had a class now, so Diana had ventured outdoors by herself.

The man glared.

She backed up slightly. "I'll be on my way now."

"No."

Diana opened her eyes wide. "Excuse me?"

"You've taken something from me, and I want it back."

"But I haven't--" Diana remembered the clover in her hand. "Fine. Here's your clover."

The man snatched it back. A green light shimmered around him, and he shortened before her eyes, and a reddish beard grew on his face.

Diana gasped. "Are you a--"

"Leprechaun?" He sighed. "Do you know how many times I've been asked that?"

"But you're so short! And your beard." Diana had never believed in magic but now she wasn't so sure. She did believe in luck though, so it only made sense that she would happen upon a creature know for it.

Diana was careful to keep her eyes on the leprechaun. She wasn't about to let him out of her sight. It hadn't rained for days, so there were no rainbows nearby. Where else could his treasure be hidden?

"I see that look in your eye," he grumbled. "I won't be tellin' you anything. Now get off me land!"

Diana hesitated. The thought of a pot of gold was tempting, almost too tempting. But she thought she remembered that leprechauns were mischievous creatures, some even belligerent. She wasn't about to find out if one could be malicious too, and this little man, though he was comical as he hopped from foot to foot, looked ready to foam at the mouth. "Fine, I'll go."

The short man narrowed his beady eyes. "Just like that."

Diana nodded. "Yes. I'm sorry if I caused you any trouble." She turned around and started back toward Bess' house.

A hand on her shoulder startled Diana. She had assumed the leprechaun would disappear as soon as she had looked away, but he stood beside her. His eyes widen, first with alarm then great delight. "You've finally returned!" he cheered.

"Excuse me? I've never been here before, I'm from America and--"

The leprechaun danced a jig, still holding onto her. "You be one of the daughters of Fortuna."

"You must be mistaken." Diana jerked her arm back. "My mom's name is Rose. I don't know any Fortuna."

"Fortuna. The goddess of fortune."

Diana rolled her eyes.

"And luck."

Diana could feel the blood drain from her face. Maybe that was why she seemed to live a charmed life, why she was always so lucky.

And maybe she hadn't fallen down that hill by accident after all.

"No." Diana shook her head. "This is all a dream. I'll wake up in my too small bed back in Bess' house any second now." Diana closed her eyes and tried to will herself awake.

She opened her eyes.

Instead of seeing the house, or even green hills for that matter, Diana saw clouds. "Where am I?" Diana called out.

"It is time, my daughter."

The voice sounded within Diana's head, but no one else was there. Not even the leprechaun.

"I just want to go home," Diana said desperately.

Diana woke up then. She rolled over and stretched. A dream. It had all been a dream. She opened her mouth to call out to Bess when she noticed something on her dresser.

A four-leaf clover.

That melodious voice she had heard in that cloud place had said it was time, but for what, Diana didn't know. Suddenly, she didn't feel so lucky after all.

Author Bio:

Nicole Zoltack is obsessed with the Middle Ages so it comes as no surprise that her first novel is about a girl who wants to be a knight. She writes fantasy/paranormal, romance, historical, horror, YA… she refused to be boxed in by genre - she might get claustrophobic! She enjoys spending her free time with her loving husband and adorable sons, riding horses, collecting swords, and going to the Pa Renaissance Faire, dressed in period garb, of course! To learn more about Nicole and her works, visit her website at www.NicoleZoltack.com or her blog at http://NicoleZoltack.blogspot.com

Book Review: TWENTY-FIVE YEARS AGO TODAY by Stacy Juba

2011-03-04T04:00:00.000-08:00

Title: Twenty-Five Years Ago Today

Author: Stacy Juba

Publisher: Mainly Murder Press

To Purchase: http://www.amazon.com/Twenty-Five-Years-Today-Stacy-Juba/dp/0615290116/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1298939946&sr=8-1

Book Description: Kris Langley has always been obsessed with murder. She blames herself for the violent death of her cousin when they were kids and has let guilt invade every corner of her existence. Now an editorial assistant and obit writer for a Massachusetts newspaper, Kris stumbles across an unsolved murder while compiling "25 Years Ago Today" items from the microfilm. She grows fascinated with the case of a young cocktail waitress who was bludgeoned to death and dumped in the woods. Determined to solve the case and atone for the death of her cousin, Kris immerses herself in the mystery of what happened to Diana Ferguson, a talented artist who expressed herself through haunting paintings of Greek mythology. Not only does Kris face resistance from her family and her managing editor, she also clashes with Diana's suspicious nephew, Eric Soares - until neither she nor Eric can deny the chemistry flaring between them. Kris soon learns that old news never leaves the morgue and that yesterday's headline is tomorrow's danger, for finding out the truth about that night twenty-five years ago may shatter Kris's present, costing her love, her career, and ultimately, her life.

Review: A guilty conscience is a powerful thing in Stacy Juba’s Twenty-Five Years Ago Today. Editorial assistant Kris Langley pauses upon the news articles of a twenty-five year old unsolved murder. Kris’s determination to solve this crime might bring her closure of her cousin’s murder or it may bring her own death. Obsession, romantic entanglement, and a dash of Greek mythology spin this murder mystery on its head. The newsroom and clippings of the “Twenty-Five Years Ago Today” column add to the authenticity of this novel. Ms. Juba did a wonderful job immersing the reader. I wanted to delve into her world and figure out who killed Diana as much as Kris did. The ending caught me completely by surprise and was as twisted as a Greek myth itself. Twenty-Five Years Ago Today delivers mystery, intrigue, and will hound you like a Greek Fury after you’re finished with it to read more from this fantastic author.

I received this book for review, and Stacy Juba is also having a special contest to promote her book. Here is what Stacy told me about it: "I'm also having a drawing for a $10 Amazon gift card for people who help to spread the word about my books, information you are welcome to pass on to your blog readers to encourage sharing and tweeting of your review. Here's how it works -- if one of your blog followers shares your review via Facebook, Twitter, Stumble Upon, etc., they can leave that information and their email address in the comments of this blog post on my blog and let me know where they are coming from. This is a link to the contest blog post which just went live. http://stacyjuba.com/blog/2011/02/25/enter-for-one-possibly-two-10-amazon-gift-cards-in-buzz-my-books-giveaway/ They can also read my post and do a few more simple things to gain additional entries. The contest will run through March 19 at 11:59 p.m. EST and is open in the U.S. only. I'll add another $10 gift card to the giveaway if I reach 500 blog followers during the event. If you publicize this contest to your readers, I hope it will encourage them to do some extra tweeting and sharing of your post and gain extra word of mouth for your blog."

So, please tweet, Facebook, etc. about this review and let Stacy know it. Help spread the word. This novel was a complete delight to read, and it's always good helping authors out. *grins*

Little Men in Green

2011-02-28T09:25:00.000-08:00

March's theme is Leprechauns, little men in green.

I swear I saw one as a child. Or was that a dream?

Who doesn't need a pot of gold these days? I have a feeling some imaginary character will find one this month. What would you do if you got your hands on a pot of gold?

I'd go on a shopping spree and pay off bills. Nothing too exciting. I'd definitely get a piano.

In a story, nobody has bills to pay or toilets to use. If they do use the bathroom, they aren't using the toilet - they are getting the handcuffs off with the hook in toilet tank.

Fantasy creatures such as Leprechauns are a joy to write. That is, if they're just fantasy. Who knows where tales of the creature came from? We know it's an Irish story, and the Irish have great imaginations - a whole pack of fantasy creatures to pick from. It makes me wonder why they were so creative in their story telling. Maybe it was a big part of their culture.

In the US, story telling is a favorite thing to do for a lot of people when they are relaxing for the day. They may watch a movie or pick up a book. I wonder what some of our legends will be in a couple hundred years.

Osho and Spooky: A Cat Love Story Part III

2011-02-25T08:20:00.001-08:00

Osho woke up one morning to a cold bed. Spooky was gone. He jumped from the floor to the arm rest of the lounge chair, scanning the room. Her hair covered the sofa and the carpet, but there was no sign of her.

He meowed in dismay. The girl-person ran down the stairs and smoothed her hand over his back. Normally it would calm him, but without Spooky he felt empty and alone. She spoke to him in soothing tones, but he couldn't understand what she said. Normally he didn't care to know, but today he wished he had the ability to grasp people-speak.

His meow mix sat uneaten in the bowl. The girl-person offered him tuna fish, but he couldn't bring himself to eat anything. He paced the windowsills, looking for a glimpse of Spooky's black flecked fur among the bushes. Did the girl-person forget to let her back in? Would she freeze outside?

He meowed to be let out, but the girl-person grabbed him in her arms and brought him upstairs, muttering more gibberish. She plopped him down on her bed and closed the door behind him. Osho pounced down and clawed at the door. Why was she being so cruel? He jumped on the widowsill and pulled down the fabric of the curtains, leaving long strings of threads on the floor. Nothing consoled him, even destruction.

Day turned into night and Osho thought the girl-person had forgotten about him. He would die in this forsaken bedroom and never see Spooky again. Drifting off to sleep, he heard the girl person's voice on the other side of the door. The door opened and she called his name.

"Osho."

He snuck up to the crack in the door, suspicious. What did she have in store for him next? As she stood by the door and waited for him to come out, he heard a distant meow, Spooky's voice! Sliding through the crack in the door, he rounded the corner and there she was, curled up in a basket.

Only she wasn't alone.

Beside her squiggled four little kittens. Three of them had Spooky's black flecked fur, and the fourth had his own mottled gray coloring.

Osho and Spooky: A Cat Love Story - Part II

2011-02-23T05:00:00.000-08:00

Part Two

By Cherie Reich

Spooky nuzzled against Osho. He’d grown more than she realized. What happened to the little kitten she loved like a brother? She felt protective of him. He was so little when their human brought him into the family.

Then, he sprouted before her eyes into a handsome, young cat. He’d been with the family a long time. Their humans loved them. She knew it might be wrong, but her sibling like feelings for Osho changed. He would look at her with those bright eyes, watching the swish of her tail and her delicate tongue like her fur. She thought he loved her. She hoped so.

With a half-dead mouse in her mouth, she jumped upon the couch where Osho was. His eyes lit up when he saw her, and she presented the mouse to him.

The little creature moved in a drunken pattern. Then, Osho accepted the gift, sharing it with her.

“Meow,” she said before licking his ear.

Osho purred, and she did too.

Spooky flopped down and laid on her back, displaying her belly to him. Her paw lifted, and she brushed it against his cheek. He licked her nose, and she giggled in a catlike way.

When did he become her entire world? He had changed from friend to something more. Did he understand how much she loved him?

Osho and Spooky - A Cat Love Story Part I

2011-02-21T09:59:00.000-08:00

When Osho was just a babe, the new people brought him to a new house. His sister was terrified, huddling next to him in the cat carrier. As the girl-person opened the top of the carrier, Osho peeked outside and saw the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen in his seven-week life.

Spooky.

She had long, soft fur, black flecked with gray and orange. Eyes like heaven. What a cat, thought Osho. He urged his sister out of the carrier and they approached the beauty.

Spooky sniffed them all over, then laid down. Osho immediately curled up against her soft belly and purred. He thought he'd found his perfect home.

Osho grew a lot that summer and loved exploring outside, chasing bugs and leaves, but he slept with Spooky at least once a day. Spooky groomed him and let him make biscuits on her fur. As he grew older, his feelings for the beauty changed. When she walked in a room, the room got brighter and more exciting. When they bumped noses over the cat food bowl, he felt a secret thrill.

But he was still just a kitten, barely three months old. What were these feelings? Did Spooky share them?

Book Review: Fallen

2011-02-18T05:29:00.000-08:00

Luce is cursed. She sees strange black shadows that no one else can see, and the one night she spends with a guy turns out in tragic disaster. She's sent away to reform school to confront her issues. Little does she know the people she'll meet there hold all the answers she'll need.

The beginning of this book made me swoon! I love how it starts with a previous life and ties it in to the present. The chemistry between Luce and Daniel is sizzling, and the other characters are colorful and mysterious.

As the book went on, I liked it less. The explanations didn't always add up, and we never learn what really happened that dreadful night with the fire. Luce befriends two girls at the school, and the relationships between the two never fully develop because she's always going back and forth. Also, there's a death towards the end which makes no sense to me.

This is one hot read, but lacks unity in themes and direction. Teens will love the reform school attitude, and the mopey characters.

Wind Chimes by Lisa Rusczyk

2011-02-16T05:45:00.000-08:00

I’ve always liked wind chimes, but these are different. Long, sleek metal tubes hang from a wooden disk and the notes they play when I swing the string are dissonant and melancholy, like the song of a ghost that might live in one of these Cape May beach hotels. I stand there listening and each time the song fades, I shake the string again.

“You like those,” a man’s voice behind me says. I turn around. He’s not much taller than me, short, dark hair and eyes as blue as can only be seen in stained glass windows. It’s like there’s light shining right through them.

“Yes,” I say. “I’ve never heard any like them. Usually wind chimes are happier, or nostalgic. But these, they ring with sadness.”

“Do you have wind chimes?”

“None this nice,” I say, having already seen the $150 price tag.

He reaches out a smooth, thin hand and strokes a pipe. “The wind chimes pick the owner, you know. These might be calling to you.” His eyes are back on me and I feel a shiver up my spine, like I’m the chime he’s holding. And quite suddenly, I want to be. I’m not used to this kind of feeling from a complete stranger. Usually, the men I’m attracted to are ones I’ve known for some time. But this man, I don’t even know his name, and he’s making me feel warm inside. I feel a flush on my chest and cheeks.

“Wind chimes,” he continues without breaking eye contact or blinking, “evoke personal feelings in everyone. I’ve never seen anyone react to these as you have.”

“You work here?” I manage to get out, despite my dry mouth.

“Yes. I make them. These have been hanging here for over a year. And then you came in and haven’t been able to move on.”

I look at the chimes shyly. “I can’t afford them.”

His voice is as smooth as a beach breeze. “People are like that too.”

“Like what?”

“Drawn to one another. Unable to move away at first sight.”

“And some people are repulsed by each other.”

He runs his fingertips down to my hand and takes it in his. “Which is stronger?” Then he rings the chimes and the haunting melody fills the shop. I realize we’re the only two people in the store, and I’m very aware of how warm his hand is in mine.

“I can’t buy them.”

“But I can give them to you.”

“I can’t let you do that.”

He squeezes my hand. “I’ll do it for one kiss. That can be your payment.”

As the sound of the chimes fade away, he takes me in his arms and his soft lips press against mine. I feel heat between us as he strokes my back. Then he pulls away as the last chime rings.

“My best work for my best kiss from a stranger,” he says, and he takes the wind chimes down from the rack. He hands them to me. “Remember always how you felt the first time you heard them.”

A Special Valentine's Short Story: "Eat Your Heart Out" by Cherie Reich

2011-02-14T04:00:00.000-08:00

Reader Discretion is advised. This is a serial killer story. You've been warned, and have a happy Valentine's Day.

EAT YOUR HEART OUT

by Cherie Reich

"We make a lovely couple, my dear Melissa." Jim Reynolds placed the framed wedding portrait upon the dining room table. Tracing the outlines of their faces, he ran his fingers along the frame. Husband and wife grinned at the camera, but many things had changed in the ten years since this picture was taken. His dirty blond hair had thinned and gray-speckled. Fine wrinkles etched his forehead and around his eyes. Jim wore wire-rimmed spectacles now.

The woman across from him matched the portrait almost like a mirror image. His wife had silky, dark brown, shoulder-length locks. She was lithe as a dancer and just as graceful. Her eyes sparkled and were a sky blue. The differences between the woman in the picture and the woman across from him were noticeable, though. The woman across from Jim wasn't his wife Melissa.

His eyes broke away from the portrait and landed upon his dinner guest. He smiled, showing small, white teeth. A chuckle bubbled from his thin lips when her muffled cries increased. "You haven't touched your salad. Are you saving room for dessert?"

The chair, which bound her, rocked back and forth, but it was too heavy to knock over. Silver tape, which was across her mouth and tied her arms and legs to the chair, gleamed in the soft candle light. Her eyes widened in perpetual fear.

Leaning across the table, he glanced around as if someone would overhear. "We could be a little naughty and have dessert now. Would you like that, dear?"

Pushing his chair away from the table, he stood and walked over to "Melissa." He touched her soft skin. "Our Valentine's Day dinner can't be complete without some chocolate covered strawberries. They were always your favorite." Prying a corner of the tape covering her mouth up, he asked, "Can you be good for me, love?"

Her nod was small, and a sparkle of hope flitted in her eyes.

"Good." The tape made a loud, ripping sound. "I hope that—"

"You fucking bastard, let me go!" The woman screamed at the top of her lungs.

The palm of his hand popped her right in the mouth. He felt the brush of her lips, spit, and the edges of her teeth when he smacked her. Her lip broke open, and blood beaded upon the spot while he slapped a new piece of tape over her mouth. "We don't yell in this house. And, don't use that potty talk here, or I'll wash your mouth out, Melissa."

Thump-thump. Jim heard the beating of his heart in his head. Thump-thump. Pressing his fingers against his temples, he rubbed them. The pounding faded. "Oh, I almost forgot. We need a picture." He reached over and grabbed a camera from the table.

"Smile, love." He placed his head beside of hers. There was a click, and the flash lit up the room. The camera ejected the sheet of Polaroid paper. "I can't stand those digital cameras. So what if you can see the picture? I want to hold it in my hand." Shaking the picture, he watched it develop. Then, he set it on the china cabinet.

"Beautiful," he said, admiring the picture.

"Stay here." Remembering the dessert, he left the room and went into the small, out-dated kitchen that included a refrigerator, gas stove, a sink, and minimum counter space.

After he took out the chocolate-covered strawberries, he went back into the dining room. Setting the plate on the table, he picked up a strawberry and took a bite of it. "Mm, these are delicious, Melissa." A bit of chocolate tainted his lips as strawberry juice ran down his chin. Using a cloth napkin, he wiped his mouth. "Would you like one, my dear?"

He picked up another strawberry and placed it under her nose. Her nose wrinkled and sniffed. Jim could tell that she was hungry. It had been over twelve hours since he had abducted her. "If you will behave and not scream or try to bite me, you can have this strawberry. Would you like it?"

Her head bobbed up and down, and he ripped the tape off her lips once again. This time, she didn't scream. Pressing the strawberry against her lips, she bit into it.

"I don't quite trust you, Melissa." He speared the rest of the strawberry with a fork and offered it to her. She took the rest of the piece and swallowed it.

"More, please." Her voice was harsh from lack of use and the previous screaming.

"Of course." He fed her three more pieces before he sat down in his seat. "See, we can be civil."

"My name is not Melissa." Her voice was clearer than when she first spoke. Her tongue darted out as she licked her lips, and her wrists arched against the tape. "Please, let me go. My name is Jennifer, Jennifer Sawyers. I'm a paralegal for Schmitt & Jones. I have a cat and a boyfriend waiting for me. Please, just let me go. I won't tell anyone."

Jim shook his head. "Melissa, Melissa, Melissa, don't play these silly games."

"It's not a game! My name is Jennifer. My friends call me Jenny or Jen."

Thump, thump. Jim heard the pounding rise again. He pressed his fingers to his temples and rubbed.

"Shut up! You are my wife, Melissa." His voice rose with each word until he yelled at her. Thump, thump. After a moment, the throbbing quieted.

"Melissa, love, don't ruin our day. It's Valentine's Day. Don't you see the lovely flowers I bought you? Didn't you like dinner?" His hand swept across the table, encompassing the flickering candles, the dozen red roses, the best china.

Her gaze withered. Diamond-like tears shone in her eyes. "Please."

"Would you like some more dinner? We haven't even had the main course yet." Jim smiled. "And, after dinner, we can celebrate our love. It's been a long time, dear."

Jennifer pulled at the tape, loosening it only slightly. "Dear," she said as if the word choked her, "we are having a nice dinner, but I need to use the little girl's room."

"Can't you wait, sweetheart? We're getting close to the final course." He heard the pounding again, but it was a background noise.

She shifted her weight. "I can't. It's been hours. Please, honey. Then, we can have our final course."

"Very well." He sighed like all his victims were on his shoulders. Standing up, he went around to her chair. His lips touched her earlobe as he whispered, "If you try anything, you will regret it." His voice was deeper than his normal tenor tones. He ripped the tape from her ankles and then from her hands. Her hand moved too quickly, and he grabbed her hair, pulling her whole head back in the process. "Let's go."

Jim nearly picked her up by her hair. Her legs were wobbly, but they held as he led her to the bathroom. He tossed her forward, and she stumbled. "Be quick."

"Aren't you going to give me some privacy?"

"No, it's not like I haven't seen everything, Melissa. We are married." His eyes raked over the slinky red dress she wore.

Jennifer stood there, dancing from foot to foot. "Can you at least avert your gaze?"

He huffed but did glance away. A few seconds later, he overheard the tinkling sound of urine hitting the toilet water, followed by a flush. He looked over at her as the dress covered her. "Come on."

"Wait a second, Jim. I need to wash my hands." Her hands trembled under the water. Her eyes darted around the bathroom, and it made Jim uneasy.

"Hurry up."

"I am." She took the towel off the rack and dried her hands.

"That's enough. Come on." He reached toward her when the towel flew in the air and covered his head. The towel blinded Jim, and he ripped it off. There was a sickening crash when Jennifer cracked the ceramic soap dispenser over his head, spraying the towel and floor with liquid soap.

"Melissa!" He struck out, hitting her as they both slipped.

Thump, thump.

She crawled toward the door, and he lunged for her. Her foot caught him in the face, breaking his glasses in two. Jim slipped backwards and cracked his head against the bathroom tiles. Stars exploded in his vision, and the throbbing in his head spiked.

Thump-thumpity-thump.

"Come back here, you bitch!" Her footsteps retreated while he struggled to sit up. An angry red tinged his vision. Stumbling to his feet, he ran out of the bathroom, skidded around the corner, and entered the living room.

The door stood wide open, letting in a blast of cold February air. A light snow covered the ground around the cabin. When he looked outside, he spotted her footprints. They headed into the woods.

"You are only making this harder on yourself." His voice echoed in the silence. After pulling on his down-fleeced coat, he slammed the door behind him. Following the footprints in the snow, he entered the woods.

Less than five minutes in the forest, the footprints ceased completely. He froze and glanced around, trying to spot a flutter of movement, a glimpse of the red dress against the white snow. The staccato beat thudded in his ears like a drum given to a hyperactive child.

"Come out here, Melissa! Why do you have to ruin everything?" He squinted into the woods. Without his glasses, everything was a little blurry. He pressed the palms of his hands against his temples, trying to release the pressure building in his head.

A branch creaked above him, and he snapped his head upward as Jennifer jumped. She slammed into him, knocking him to the ground. His breath whooshed out, and she scurried away.

He grasped her ankle, and she screamed.

Thump-thumpity-thump, thump-thumpity-thump.

"Quiet!" Hand over hand, he yanked her toward him. He ignored how she slapped and clawed at him to release her. Her screeching didn't stop until his hands clasped around her throat. "Shut up, shut up, shut up!"

When her body went slack, he released his hold. Checking her pulse, he discovered she was still alive, and he breathed a sigh of relief. Despite his slight frame, he hoisted her body over his shoulder. Bent almost in two, he carried her back to his cabin.

The pulsating rhythm didn't cease while he bound her to the chair. He didn't bother with her mouth this time. Kicking the chair, he said, "Wakey, wakey."

She moaned and raised her head from her chest. His hand prints appeared around her neck like an exotic collar. Her eyes met his watery gray ones, and she violently shivered. "Let me go," she said in a hoarse tone.

"You ruined everything, Melissa. We had a nice dinner, a Valentine's Day dinner. The day of love, and you destroyed it. You lying, cheating whore!" He slapped her, leaving a crimson hand print upon her pale cheek. Tears clouded his already blurry vision. "We had everything, you know."

Crying, she sniffed. "I'm not Melissa. I'm Jennifer."

He looked at her. The artery in her neck pulsated rapidly. Thump-thump-thump-thump. It grew louder with each beat. He clasped his hands over his ears. "Shut up!"

The beating didn't stop. Her lips moved again. She was speaking, but he couldn't hear her over the pounding.

"It has to stop!" He bellowed over the sound that was going to swallow him whole.

Thump, thump.

"We used to be so happy together." Jim picked up the carving knife. "It's time for the final course."

Thump-thump-thump.

He pressed the cold blade against the dress. The sharpened knife sliced cleanly through the clothing while beads of blood blossomed upon her chest like rose petals. "We could have been so happy."

Thump-thump.

He could only hear the quickening pulse of her heart in his head. As he sliced again, her shrieks filled the air and collided with the terrible thumps. Blood splattered on the table. He didn't stop until both ceased and silence descended.

The scent of cooked meat filled the air. He sat down at the table. The silence was divine. He breathed in, relishing it. Taking a steak knife, he sliced into the meat on his plate. He popped a piece of the muscle into his mouth and chewed. It was a bit undercooked, but he enjoyed the squirt of blood in his mouth. "Delicious."

Patting his lips, he looked over at his dining companion. Jennifer's body slumped in the seat. Her head tilted to the side, and her sightless eyes were wide open. Her flesh was pale and turning a sickly gray, since the blood had run out of her. Her chest was parted like a butchered autopsy, revealing bones and blood vessels. What was missing was a key organ: her heart.

Her murderer sliced into the heart once again and ate another piece. His own heart had slowed to a steady rhythm. Jim felt at peace. "I'm sorry, Melissa. I couldn't let you break my heart again, especially on Valentine's Day."

After finishing his meal, he left the body there at the dining table. He liked knowing she was there. He picked up the Polaroid picture of the two of them. "Beautiful Melissa," he said fondly. Before he left the room, he leaned over, planting a kiss on her slack lips.

Wandering through the cabin, he went into the small bedroom that held a bed and a four-drawer dresser. Kicking Jennifer's jogging clothes aside, he went to the dresser first and opened the top drawer. Seven other Polaroid photos, one every year on Valentine's Day, stared up at him. Each one contained him and a nearly identical female, although only one contained his true Melissa.

"My Melissas." He took the photos and lay down on the bed with them. The pounding had ceased, but Jim knew that it would come back. It always did the day Melissa broke his heart. He kissed each picture and closed his eyes. "You shouldn't have done it, Melissa," he whispered.

Thump.