I'm human . . .

So sue me.

I can't begin to explain in detail what has made the sky dump barrels upon barrels of thundering storms down on me, but let me sum it up in as few words as possible--I went for it and got buried. Help! Someone send in the plows!

And get this--I have feelings. I may pretend that all is well, but I've always been good at playing make believe. So please don't use me, wipe your feet on me, and then cast me aside only to come running back to do it time and time again. My back is starting to get sore from all the boots.

It's hurts. I won't deny it. But this has made me stronger. I'll get over it and the next time it pours down rain, I'll be able to go with the flow, that is if I can get my dingie back from that blasted harbor master.

It's about that time . . .

Christmas.

My decorations are up, my list is made, and my bank account is empty. Actually, it's worse than empty. I've tapped into the overdraft protection just to keep my home lit and warm. This year is slim pickins and get this--my kids don't seem to mind.

I spoil my kids. They usually get what they ask for and go wherever they want. But this Christmas there won't be many presents waiting for them when they run down the stairs. Well, that was what I thought until just recently.

I don't like to ask for help. I won't, unless I'm in so deep I need the entire Dallas Cowboys football team (my boys, hee hee) to pull me out of the hole I'm buried in. My pride seems to get the better of me most days. I'm true to my sign--stubborn as hell. I don't like to be. I just am.

So when my kids tell me that they understand and that they don't need anything for Christmas, I'm more determined than ever to make sure they get something special this year. And they will no matter what I have to do even if it means pushing my pride aside.

Nothin' for Christmas? Bah humbug!

Procrastinate? Me? Never!

And I made it with just minutes to spare.

Teasing will commence this late Teaser Tuesday. I promised vamps so here's a snippet from "Blood Type". Enjoy!



The whooshing of the hunter’s wings echoed through the darkness.
I stood completely still against the tree. I couldn’t outrun them. It had been too long since I had fed from one of my own kind. But I forced myself to press on through the brush.
Though I lagged behind, my friends kept going. They wouldn’t come back for me. If they did, we would all die.
The thirst was overcoming me—my feet heavy, my muscles quivering, and my mind groggy from exhaustion. But I had to keep moving towards the compound. It was a vampire safe haven. Once there, I could rest and hopefully drink till I was so full I could sleep for days.
“Mandy.” A whisper floated in the breeze and a head popped out around a tree directly in my path. Joel. Damn that guy had no sense what-so-ever.
“Get the hell out of here,” I whispered trying to add annoyance in my tone, though I don’t think the message conveyed to Joel because he began to run towards me.
“I need to make sure you’re safe,” he said wrapping his arm around my waist as we moved along. “You’ve waited too long. I can feed you, but we should hurry.”
“No,” I growled. “We can’t do that again so soon. It’s dangerous to bond with one another especially in the situation we’re in. We all know that.”
“I know. But being bound to you doesn’t seem so bad.” His green eyes sparkled as he flashed one of his model perfect smiles. He was decked out in total black—all five of us were—and swirls of dark hair peeked out from underneath his ball cap. He was farmer cute in my opinion complete with male vampire muscular physique.
Joel practically dragged me through the underbrush. Thorns ripped open my skin and tugged at the blonde tresses that had fallen loose from under my hat.
“Faster. They’ll smell your blood.” He stepped up the pace and I stumbled over my heavy boots, reaching up my hands and grabbing him by the back of the pants to keep from falling. My pulse began to race as the thundering sounds of the hunters’ wings came closer.
“It’s going to be okay. Calm down. It’s right over the next crest,” Joel said running even faster. The pounding of my heart was sure to be blazing beacon to the creatures above us.
A branch caught me in the side of the face slicing open my cheek and tearing off my hat. The moonlight caught on my hair sending a glimmer of reflection up into the treetops. The screeching sounds plummeted through the trees and before I could scream, the talon-like nails dug into my flesh.
“Run!” I screamed twisting within the grips of the most revolting thing I had ever seen. Hollowed black eyes stared at me as putrid breath blew across my face, making me gag. It was a hairless, pointy-eared freak of nature without an ounce humanity left. The virus had mutated its human genes into a grotesque creature resembling a large hairless bat—the same virus that had mutated my genes into something super-human—well, more like super-vampire. Not all humans had turned out like intended with the virus’s release. Some were lucky and remained unaffected.
“I won’t leave you!” Joel kicked the grey-skinned beast from off of me sending it flailing backwards into the brush. “Those things are freaking disgusting!”
But the hunter wasn’t down for long. It jumped up into the air screeching so loud my eardrums were searing with pain.
I scrambled to my feet and managed to reach Joel as he focused himself then held his hand toward the creature as it lurched towards us. A sphere of blue light formed in the palm of Joel’s hand. Its brightness grew in intensity—the heat radiating around us as the air was sucked right out of our lungs. With a flip of his wrist, Joel sent a fireball blazing into the creatures face.

Bite Me . . .

Vampires: I love 'em--scary, wimpy, ugly, and yes I'll admit it, sparkly as well. There's just something about the blood suckers that does it for me, and that "something" is dangerous and sensual.

I'm a little reserved. Well, maybe a lot reserved and going out of my comfort zone is a total rush for me. Just getting over the butterflies and taking a chance in asking the guy at the counter at Border's where the fantasy section was took massive guts for me. I haven't gotten the courage to scope out the erotica section yet. But I'm hopeful and I totally realize I'll never get anywhere unless I take chances.

Enter the rewrite from hell. Yes, I'm attempting yet another rewrite of the first installment of my vampire trilogy. I'm striving to get this right but the main reason is, I'm totally in love with my characters (you may get a peek on Teaser Tuesday). These characters are a little like me, and a whole lot of what I'd like to be. I need to tell their stories and the majority of the next couple of months will be spent on doing just that.

I have other works in progress, but my vampire novel is my first love and I'll always keep coming back to it. Just hope it doesn't turn out to bite me in the . . .

Dance with me . . .

Let loose and join me for yet another Teaser Tuesday.

But first, let me blow of some steam just a bit. "Using" and "abusing". The words are closely related depending on the context of their usage. But in this case, they are extreme opposites. "Using" what is available is completely desirable, but "abusing" it . . .well, that's just plain wrong.

In light of the holidays and the vast amount of jobless families with children, community outreach organizations go out of their way to make these times special for as many needy children as possible. I was a frequent donator to these organizations by giving cash, toys, clothing, and food on a regular basis. This year, it seems I may need to receive instead of give. I'm not too happy about that. But I tried. And failed. End of that story.

But something struck a bad chord with me during my giving years and that was when someone showed up to get their box of goodies for each of their five children, smuggly climbing out of their shiny new BMW and texting on their Blackberry. Sound a little off to you too? Users and abusers. I've had my fair share on both extremes of those, but that kiddos, is an entirely different rant.

Speaking of users and abusers, here's a snippet from my WIP "Ride 'Em Hard" Yes. That's really the title (for now). Remember, just a first draft and entirely full of bad, bad mistakes (language, I mean) and the first thing ever I've attempted in 3rd person.


Maggie walked over to the kitchen sink and stared out the window. Eight years. Eight wasted years. She couldn’t believe she’d stayed and let this happen again.
“I’m sorry,” Bill said lighting up another cigarette. “But it’s not entirely my fault.”
Maggie gritted her teeth. She wanted to scream or throw something, but she clenched her fists even tighter and closed her eyes. This was the last straw. She wouldn’t let him do this to her anymore.
“Get out.”
Bill blew a stream of smoke into the air. “Now don’t go getting all upset over this.”
“Upset? Upset!” Maggie turned around to face Bill and gripped the counter top behind her. “How do you expect me to react? This is the third time. The third time!”
Bill put his cigarette out and stood up. He made his way slowly over to Maggie and put his hands on her shoulders.
Maggie didn't even take time to think. She slapped Bill across the face, then slapped him again and again.
“I hate you! Get out of my house!”
“Half mine, remember?” Bill pushed Maggie back against the cabinet and pointed his finger in her face. “I’m getting what’s mine even if I have to run you and your daddy's farm into the ground.” He rubbed his cheek with his hand.
“Of all people to sleep around with.” Maggie pushed past him and paced back and forth, her arms folded across her chest. “And the whole damn town knew about it! Fucking bastard. Get out!” She turned and pushed Bill toward the door.
“What the hell did you expect? You haven’t put out for months.” Bill steadied himself. His breathing was quick and his right arm twitched as he readied his hand.
“Fuck you!” Maggie stepped toward him. Tears ran down her cheeks. “It was too soon. You know that.”
“Bull shit! Can’t expect a man to stick around when there’s no action. So in reality, this is your fault.”
“You’re such an asshole!”
Bill took a deep breath, flaring his nostrils, and pulled his fist back.
Maggie braced herself right before impact. And like all the other times Bill had decided that he would use her as a punching bag, she fell to the floor as the burning spread across her cheek. She huddled into a ball and awaited the worst of him. Bill walked up beside her, his boots so close that she could smell the new leather. She knew what was coming next and she clasped her hands in front of her face.
“I’ll get what I want. I always do.”

Teasing . . . .

It's Teaser Tuesday!

That's right. I shall try to tantalize you with a snippet from one (of nine, Eek!) of my works in progress. Just remember, this is a first draft, so it's likely not perfect by a long stretch. Here goes.

This is a snippet from "Tell Me You Love Me". For those who haven't read about Christine before, she's been kidnapped by a psycho slasher dude. He's left to chase after someone, leaving Christine tied up and Loni (who he thinks is dead or close to it) lying on the floor. There is some bad language in this. Thought I'd warn you before you fall off your chair.


“Bastard,” she said as she sliced through the rope.

As soon as my wrists were free, I grabbed Loni’s hand and ran toward the open front door. Headlights came down the driveway.

“Back door!” I pulled Loni behind me through the make-shift dining room/torture chamber, trying not to look at the assortment of knives, chains, and plastic sheeting.
Loni was looking behind her, slicing the knife through the air as I opened the first door we came to.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” The scent of rotting flesh and vomit poured out.

Loni gagged as we stared at the dismembered women soaking in the bathtub. A chainsaw was propped up in the toilet. A fifty gallon drum of muriatic acid stood in the corner. Meat hooks hung from the shower rod—remnants of flesh still draped on them.

I hoped the next door was the way out.

Loni’s hand clasped her mouth; vomit spewed from between her fingers. I grabbed her arm and ran to the next door pulling it open.

Loni went out first, falling down the four rickety steps into a vat of mud. The lunatic’s footsteps ascended onto the front porch just as I eased the back door shut behind me.

Once upon a time . . .

Once upon a time I wanted to be a writer.

Thanks goes out to my sixth grade teacher Mr. B. for that one. Standing up in front of a class of thirty twelve-year-olds reading a short story that I wrote about traveling into space was enough to make me want to run for the little girls room. But I did it, because Mr. B. told me I had to. And everyone loved it.

That was a long time ago, before I'd even decided what to do with my life. At one point I remember wanting to be a pediatrician and then quickly changing my mind to wanting to be a beautician. I've thought about becoming a mechanic, a computer technician, and even a truck driver (which is crazy since I have yet to learn how to parallel park). I think I could have even pulled off being a lumberjack/cheerleader if I had set my mind to it. You're laughing right now, aren't you?

I love writing, not because I want to be famous, not because I want to be wealthy, and definitely not because I want to rub it in the popular girls' faces at our next class reunion (okay, I lied. Maybe that last one). I love being able to be whatever I want in my stories. I can be the timid child yearning for that one chance to shine, the sexy temptress that gets all the guys, or even the ex-marine turned cowboy (and let's not forget a blood thirsty vampire).

In reality, I guess it's my own personal silver screen. And tonight, I'm Juliet.