Note: I’m posting this for AJ since he’s unable to access the blog board.  

I found life imitating art when, like my character of Martin Grey in the Mr. Grey Ghost Hunter series, I met and fell in love with an American woman. Cindy and I have been in a relationship for over eighteen months now. It began in friendship when we met through a mutual love of writing and developed from there as we found so much more we had in common. Now we’re engaged!

I’ve yet to meet any of Cindy’s family, so Martin Grey’s ahead of me there…

Lady in White

by AJ Matthews

Now available at Liquid Silver Books: http://tinyurl.com/3nzu7k

Synopsis:

What’s scarier than ghost hunting? For Martin, it’s meeting Claudia’s branch of the Clan Mackenzie for the first time.

When Claudia brings Martin home for Thanksgiving dinner, he gains first hand experience of how family tensions can affect even the most joyous occasion.

Just when is seems Martin has soothed Claudia’s overprotective father, her sister Caroline confesses that she’s seen a ghostly lady in white, plunging Martin and Claudia into the dark world of the Daniels LaRoche hospital, a mental health facility with a shadowed history. Martin soon finds that there’s an evil presence at the old hospital, one so powerful that even he might not be able to vanquish it.

Distracted by family squabbles and the saintly Caroline’s increasingly strange behaviour, Claudia and Martin have their work cut out to preserve their relationship and get to the bottom of the mystery surrounding the Lady in White.

* * * *

Chapter One

Claudia negotiated an intersection, and then glanced at Martin. “So what do you think of Indy?”

“Nice!” Martin smiled, peering out at the strip malls and the huge bulks of the major chain stores, the clumps of dark woodland between the commercial blocks. “It’s a lot different than what I’m used to.”

“Nice? Different?” Her lips twitched. “Is that all?”

“Oh, it’s much more than nice.” He grinned.

She laughed as she glanced in the mirror and flicked her dark copper hair over her ears. “Darling, your typical Brit reserve is showing again,”

“Sorry, but it’s a bit overwhelming, shopping in those huge stores. I feel like someone from the old Soviet Union, coming to the West for the first time.”

“Hey, I understand.” She peered up at the road signs as they neared another intersection. “Look, the Mug n’ Bun’s not far from here. It’s one of my favorite places. Let’s go eat. I’ll treat you to a root beer and a Coney dog.”

“What’s a Coney dog?”

“You’ll see!”

* * * *

“Mmm!” Martin wiped a dribble of beef sauce from his chin with the napkin, then reached for his iced mug of root beer. “This is good!”

“I’m glad you like it.” Claudia smiled. She gestured through the windshield. “Mug n’ Bun’s been here forever. I used to come here all the time with my girlfriends after school and college. My parents used to come here; my grandparents used to come here, back in the early sixties. There used to be quite a few of these places; now this one’s all that’s left. It’s sad.”

Martin sipped his wonderfully refreshing beer and regarded the establishment.

Mug n’ Bun was a simple, blocky building with a gray wood-shingled roof, a canopy around two sides and a covered fair-weather eating area at one end. A bewildering range of drinks and foodstuffs was printed on menu boards fixed to the wall. Customers would pull up under the canopy, flash their lights for service, then wind down the window and give their orders to a server who came out to their vehicle. The teenage girl or boy would fetch the order on a metal tray with lugs attached and fix it to the door, and then take payment when the meal was finished. It was simple, effective, and typically American. Martin loved it.

He squeezed her thigh and she stroked his hand. “What’s on the schedule for today?” he asked.

“Shed-yule?” She poked her tongue out at him.

“Sked-yule, then.” He responded in kind.

Claudia chewed a French fry and thought briefly. “Well, I’ve got to go see the folks at Emerson Realtors this afternoon and reactivate my license.”

“Will that be difficult?”

“Nope. When I phoned John Kaminski from New York, he said he couldn’t see me soon enough. He was glad I arranged to go in today before he heads out of town for Thanksgiving.”

Martin watched as she dipped a fry in the little pot of ketchup and popped it into her mouth. Her lips moved sensuously as she ate, and he ached to kiss her. She must have sensed his mood as she looked at him and winked.

“Oh, I’ll have some paperwork to fill in,” she went on. “I can’t get away from that. But basically once it’s reactivated, I’ll hang my license on the office wall at Emerson and be open to trade property. That’s what counts, lover. The desk is there waiting for me. I’ll start next Monday.”

“It works out nicely.”

“Don’t it just?” She hesitated. “Marty, I was going to raise this with you later, but this is as good a time as any. Honey, I’ll be earning serious bucks in real estate here in Indiana. With my contacts here and in New York commerce, I can move property like few other brokers in this state.” She shrugged. “It’s the main reason John wants to see me back so soon. I’ll be bringing big money into the business.”

Color rose in her cheeks, and she reached over and squeezed his hand. “Marty, what I’m basically saying is you could come live here with me.”

Martin stared at her, so surprised he couldn’t react at first. She flushed a deeper shade of red and looked at him anxiously. “That’s… a lot to swallow all at once,” he eventually managed to say, his mind whirling. “You’ve been thinking about this for a while, haven’t you?”

“Yeppers. Ever since I knew I was coming back to Indy.” Her grasp on his hand tightened, and she looked at him with imploring eyes. “Marty, do say yes! I love you!” she said fervently. “I can see us being together from now on. I can commit if you can.”

She looked apprehensive, as if afraid of what he might say. Joy rose in his heart and he clasped both her hands. “I can, and it’s what I want more than anything else in the world! I love you, Claudia!” He breathed deeply, let his breath out slowly, and leaned across to embrace and kiss her. “Sorry if I seemed hesitant, but I was so overwhelmed I couldn’t think straight for a moment. It’s just wonderful to know you feel the same about me!”

She stroked his cheek and gazed at him fondly. “Did you ever doubt it? Even though we’ve only been together a few weeks, I know I want to spend my life with you. All we’ve done together, the experiences we’ve shared and will share; it makes me feel complete for the first time in my life. Even if you don’t want to live here, I’ll be happy to be with you wherever we are in the world.”

“I feel the same, my love,” he said softly. “I never realized quite how empty I was without you in my life.”

They kissed, long and slow and warm, and only became aware of the ordinary world when a discreet cough came from outside the car. The smiling waitress asked if they wanted anything else, and Claudia blushed and ordered two more root beers.

“So,” she said when the girl had brought the order and departed, “with the realtor job, the kind of money I’ll earn will give me lots of flexibility. I only need work six months of the year if I choose. The rest of the time I can take off when I please, so long as I clear my work load.” She clasped his hand. “We can find someplace of our own to live, and fix the matter of a permanent visa for you; there’s an office for that here in Indy. Marty, you can quit the tax office back in England and take up paranormal investigation full time, if you want. We’ve got more than enough ghosts and spirits here in the US to keep you busy for a lifetime.” She smiled. “Why break your heart in government service when you can follow your calling? Suits?”

Martin nodded emphatically and kissed her again. “Suits me!”

She stroked his cheek. “I’m going to make a Hoosier out of you, Mr. Grey!”

“I’d be totally delighted–if I knew what that means.”

“We’re a friendly bunch around here. We take an interest in the folks we meet and want to know all about them.” She grinned. “Hoosier mommy? Hoosier daddy?”

He laughed around a groan. “Oh, dear me!”

* * * *

After lunch they headed for the Seacombe Field short-let apartments on the outskirts of Chapel Hill, where a realtor friend of Claudia’s had found them a pied a’ terre. Once inside, she wrapped her arms around his neck and gave him a long, lingering kiss. “You go ahead and get comfortable. I need to take a shower and get ready to go see John.”

“Will do.”

He made a cup of tea in the small kitchen and took it into the sitting room to drink on the sofa. With a contented sigh, he stretched out and picked up a book on paranormal research he’d bought earlier at Barnes and Noble. In the bathroom Claudia was running lustily through her Madonna impression, and he grinned.

After some time the water stopped running, and a few seconds later he looked up to see her watching him from the doorway as she brushed out her wet coppery hair. Tall, lissome, curvy in all the right places, those curves temporarily hidden by a large, fluffy white bath-towel, wrapped around her with the ends tucked high between her breasts, Claudia looked as sexy as she’d ever done.

Her lips twitched. “At least I’ve distracted you from thinking about damn ghosts!”

“You’d distract a Trappist monk, my dear!”

She grinned, took the book away, and cuddled him. “I’m content just to distract you for now.”

He kissed her neck and stroked her back through the towel. “How did you know what I was thinking?”

“Oh, I think I know you well enough by now, Martin Grey,” she said, turning her head and kissing him full on the lips.

He drew her closer, and she sighed with contentment as they kissed. Everything around them seemed to fade into nothing as they kissed until, many moments later, Claudia sighed again and drew away.

“Marty, I’m going to find some creative ways of ravishing you tonight,” she said, in a husky voice. “So stay put and relax. For now, I’ve got to go see a man about a job.” She kissed him briefly, then rose and went to the bedroom to change. “Don’t forget we’re going to my folks for Thanksgiving dinner tomorrow night,” she called.

“How could I forget that?” he replied with a laugh and settled back on the sofa.

He drank his cooling tea and let his quickened emotions settle. A small nub of trepidation remained that would not go away, like a pocket of trapped wind.

For the following night, Martin Grey was going to meet the parents…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lady in White is book three in the Mr. Grey series. Book one is Mr. Grey and the Hotel Ghosts and book two is Mr. Grey and the Spirit from the Sky

Lady in White is one fantastic book that takes you on one rip-roaring, page-turning ride with lots of intrigue, ghosts, romance and enough hot sex to make this a ride you will never forget! –Rated 5 Angels by Janean of Fallen Angels Reviews

See what Amelia of Joyfully Reviewed is saying about this hot, sexy, erotic romance book. . .

“I love a good ghost story and this one was well crafted and wonderfully creepy in places… An all around great read. Rating: A silver laughing rabbit

Buy it now at Liquid Silver Books:

http://tinyurl.com/3nzu7k

Like Veronica, Halloween is my favorite time of year. It isn’t just about the holiday, it is about the weather and the crisp feel the air starts to get. I’m the gal who only recently stopped trick-or-treating!

When I saw the announcement for the Halloween Treats anthology I couldn’t resist!! To me, Halloween is the time of year for the paranormal: ghosts, witches, zombies, and all the other creatures that lurk in the night.

Here is a little bit about my part in Halloween Treats…

Familiar Magic – AJ Hampton

With only two days until the full moon Trenton Gregory realizes he’s got a lot more to worry about than being the area enforcer. Samantha Monroe, his destined mate, wants him to be her familiar. Fighting hormones, a pack of wolves who want him dead, the real challenge will be making it to Halloween in one piece.

An excerpt from Familiar Magic…

Trees rustled along the edge of forest that lined the western side of the bar. Through the cars and trucks, he watched branches sway. Leaves crunched, giving off a subtle sent. He tilted his head, studied the shadows that appeared between the trees. As the hunger inside him mounted, the scents around him shifted. A tight sensation puckered the skin below his fur, and his hackles rose.

If Trent could have grinned, he would have. It appeared the wolf pack he’d tangled with earlier was just as ready as he was to finish their business. He sprinted forward. Pleasure filled him, made his blood sing. The air caressed his fur. Each strand that moved tickled his skin, invigorated him. The faster he ran the more scents he took in. Their mixing changed the taste in his mouth with every inch of earth he passed. All those smells stayed with him, told him where to go, when to hide, and when to hunt.

He stopped at the edge of the clearing and let out a bellowing roar that reverberated through the night. If they wanted to play, he was more than willing to unleash his anger. One by one, the glimmering sheen of their eyes pierced the darkness. Padding forward, he drew them out, into his sight. He’d either have to drag their bodies deep in the woods to bury them, or save himself the trouble and drop them right where he wanted them. This was going to be a dirty fight. Once an animal tasted blood, it only spurred on the need for more. No, this was a fight to the death. They closed in around him, filtered out through the trees in wolf form.

Trent moved in a circle, baring his teeth and eying each one of his prey. He swatted– razor-sharp claws gleaming in the light of the moon. The pack began the dance. They snarled, advanced, and then retreated. Power leaked into the air. It was potent, unsettling. It should have been a warning, a sign that he might be outclassed. At six to one, he knew he was being foolish. Everything went silent, as if the earth sensed the danger and backed off. Pride wouldn’t let him bow out. He was Alpha. Male. Stronger, quicker, more powerful than these dogs, and he’d show them.

The first wolf attacked, jumped into the air. He pushed off the ground with his hind legs and sprang to meet him. His tail moved, lashed against a solid body before they collided in air. The rest was just a tussle of fur and teeth. The wolf went straight for his neck. He was quicker. Blood filled his mouth, the rich, salty taste just whetting his appetite for more. The ground crashed under his feet, and he rolled, pulling his attacker with him. The wolf yelped, a pitiful cry that was silenced when he dug his teeth into its neck and shook. Bones popped. As the wolf’s heart thudded into silence, Trent’s heart beat harder.

Two wolves jumped on his back. The sting of claws forced him to drop their brethren. He reared back in an attempt to throw them off. Two more leaped, sharp teeth dripping with saliva, aiming for his neck. As he pulled on his strength, a fierce snarl ripped from his throat. He shook the beasts off his back, curving his neck enough to grip one of their napes and pull. The wolf crashed to the ground, yelping before it sprang upright. The wolf growled and limped forward, blood dripping to the ground.

They circled, never taking their eyes off each other. He swatted, his paw colliding with solid muscle. The wolf tumbled to the ground. He watched its snout slide through gravel. Triumph gave him a burst of adrenaline. The wolf didn’t get up. Teeth pierced Trent’s thigh. It forced him around in a circle. He tried to shake off the attack. Another wolf jumped, hit him on the opposite side. Pain shot through his lungs and made it hard to draw in a breath. He staggered, thrashed with claws and teeth to fight free. His tail twitched, sliding through dirt. The beast biting him shook its head, tried to separate muscle from bone. Heat pierced his leg, spread into his back.

Crying out, he swung and managed to take down another wolf. For every one he threw to the ground, another rose. It was becoming hard to breathe. Adrenaline coursed through, kept him upright. Blood dripped from the wounds along his back and limbs. The pack surged, fed off the doubt that began to crawl inside him. They lunged, knocked him to his side.

The world grew black, the sound of snarls dampening out everything else. Sam. He shouldn’t have been such a coward. He would jump headfirst into a fight with a pack of bloodthirsty beasts, yet he wasn’t man enough to take her, to claim her as his own. A guttural cry rent through the night, and teeth closed around his neck. Heaviness pressed along his back and legs. The pack howled, the jaw at his neck tightened, teeth piercing his skin. Trent was too weak to move, to fight them off. Samantha…

I love Halloween. It’s my favorite holiday and I’ve never understood why there aren’t more “classic” Halloween movies and songs, like with the already overloaded Christmas. So you can see what inspired me to take the movie “It’s A Wonderful Life” and tweak it a little – well, okay, a lot – to come up with a witchy Halloween version. Yep, that’s right – my story “It’s A Wonderful Fright” just came out in LSB’s new HALLOWEEN TREATS!

Willow’s always been a good witch … until a bad witch hexes her sex life on Halloween. Now she’s ready to throw her old life away for the thrill of working dark magic on every man she desires. To convince her otherwise, a pair of ghostly guides give her a taste of her life as a cruel and sexy hex mistress–a life of necromancy, debauchery, and some very submissive male slaves. But when
Willow falls for the one man she can’t have in her powerful new world, she realizes that her old life was a wonderful fright indeed.

 And here’s an excerpt….

All of the rooms were dark, lit only by flickering candles, and smelled of sex, alcohol and lubricant. At last they passed from the house. The withered leaf-strew back yard of the old mansion was now a stunning garden of stone statues and a reflection pond, a crooked yew tree extending its branches to the moon. The biting October night was cold on Willow’s bare breasts but she was too excited to receive Drake’s mouth again to care. He led her past the copulating couples of the garden and around the side of the yew tree. Then he kissed her very gently and looked in her eyes, surprising her.

“Willow, it is an honor to be your slave,” he told her quietly and sank to his knees.

Slave? she repeated to herself with silent mortification. He had to be kidding, right?  So far she had learned that in this world she was a grave-robber, necromancer and occult drug-dealer. If she found out she possessed sex slaves as well, she wasn’t sure she could handle it.

Then Drake stripped off his shirt before her. In the light of the moon she could see a series of small tattoos across his chest and as she leaned closer, she could see they were letters spelling her name.Oh good Goddess. Drake had actually gotten her name tattooed on his chest.

“Uh – Drake, hold on.”

Too late. He tugged her skirt down to her feet, rendering her completely naked and shivering in the October chill except for her spike-heeled boots. Yet as his dark eyes pierced hers, a deep flush of arousal permeated all of her body. At that moment she forgot that she was bad Willow and this was only happening because of her dark spellwork. She only knew that she had Drake Morgan kneeling before her and the anticipation of their sex to come blocked out every sensation but the warm excitement spreading through her pussy.

Shaking, she spread her thighs before his waiting face. He kissed her soft hair as if in a sign of obedience. A moment later, his mouth embraced her tender flesh. With lingual skill he ran his tongue over her sex lips, awakening her every nerve. A crowd was beginning to gather; the unfamiliar public exposure made her stomach plunge. Good Willow would never go naked at a party, she thought, let alone stand outside in just a pair of boots while a man licked her before a fascinated group. But now that was exactly what was happening and the aroused gazes locked on her body excited her to a feverish extent. She caressed Drake’s long dark hair with her fingers and moaned as his tongue flicked at her clit.

Three other men approached from the admiring crowd. “You look gorgeous tonight, Willow,” the youngest told her fervently. He was only twenty or so, with tousled chestnut hair and the smooth chest of a very young man. His eyes drank in her naked curves with a hunger that reminded her of a dog straining at the leash. “Would you like us to assist?”

Assist? What exactly did that mean? Another man, this one about twenty-five, spoke up. He had blond hair cut short and the clean good looks of an Abercrombie and Fitch model. “Let us touch you,” he urged, his voice tight with need. “I’ll make you come like you’ve never come before, Willow.”

“We’ll all make you come,” said the third. He was in his early thirties, with experienced green eyes that promised the fulfillment of her every erotic wish. “We’ll make you come over and over and over…”

Drake’s tongue thrust inside her, making her squirm. It was getting harder and harder to stay steady on these boots as sexual bliss swam through her head. “Touch me,” she ordered dreamily. “Now.” 

Today is officially the celebration of the discovery of America by Columbus. In New York, they celebrate with parades with the Italian American groups showing off their pride in their history. Growing up in New York, a city founded by so many diverse groups, I learned early on to treasure the diverse history of my city.

October was chosen as LGBT History Month because National Coming Out Day already was established as a widely known event, on October 11, and October commemorated the first march on Washington by LGBT people in 1979. LGBT History Month is intended to encourage honesty and openness about being lesbian, gay, bisexual or transgender.

To learn more about the month and to celebrate it check out this interesting and fun link

 

Come flash with me

Today’s challenge:
100 words

Today’s theme:
Sci-fi/Fantasy

It could be a name, a place, a setting … whatever you dream up.

Here’s my first one for the day:

I held my breath, counted to twelve, then leapt to my right. I overbalanced, and drew a sharp breath when the blast vent spewed mere inches from my foot.

As soon as the super-heated acid stopped shooting skywards, I started the count again.

Just then a shrill screaching rent the air, distracting me, causing me to shift into the path of the next gyeser. I tried to edge back, but the firey liquid burst upwards … then dribbled to a stop.

The shrieking dropped to a lower tone. One I recognized as my mother’s.

“I said; it’s time for lunch.”

—————————————————————————————
Now it’s YOUR turn.
(leave your flash in the comments section)
—————————————————————————————

Lisa Andel
http://www.lisaandel.com
http://lisaandel.blogspot.com

Okay, so we all know our own personal triggers for what gets us “in the mood.”  Whether it’s scented candles, an entire night of decadence leading up to something special, or just the right look at the right time.  But what about what we read?  What about the characters in the stories we love–what gets us in the mood to read about them getting in the mood?

In writing, that’s sometimes identified as pacing, tone, mood, or setting, depending on what angle you’re looking at.  I tend to also think of it as “sensibility” as in - is it sensible that the characters are thinking about sex right now in the story?  To be honest, there are some stories I read (and/or write) where the characters have such chemistry between them that they can plausibly, at least to my mind, get lost in each other as the bullets are flying.  Other times, I encounter characters (both as a reader and as a writer) where their attraction just doesn’t feel proper in that particular part of the story.  When I’m writing it, I can then go back and edit until the pacing makes sense to me.  As a reader, since I can’t edit, I have to decide whether or not I buy the scene, and if it’s enough of a jar to pull me out of the story, or just a stumble I can skip over and sink back into the fun.

I’m curious.  When you read, are you more likely to need to be “sold” on intimate encounters between the characters?  Or are you an “anytime they want to dish it up, I’ll take it” kinda reader?

I’m a completist.  Don’t know what that is?  It’s when you absolutely have to have the full set of something, or watch *all* the episodes of something, or something along those lines.  Like…when I decided I was going to watch Smallville in season 5.  I couldn’t just start watching.  Oh, no, I had to Netflix all the previous seasons and watch from the beginning so I could know everything that had happened to that point.

With books, it means I try and collect as many versions of a favorite book as possible, or that I get entire series because I just can’t start in the middle or walk away.  I have some oddball books in my collection as a result, that’s for sure.

Why do I bring all this up?  Well, yesterday, I got something I’ve been wanting forever.  My favorite romance hero of all time in print is Jamie Fraser from Diana Gabaldon’s Outlander books, and the books rank among my favorites.  I’ve had a full collection for a long time, and even got the 28 cd, unabridged audiobook of Outlander as a birthday gift from my in-laws.  Yesterday, the hardcover edition of Drums of Autumn, the fourth in the series, arrived in the mail.  It’s in pristine condition, adds to my collection, and I got it for a song.  All this means now is that I need the elusive, non-bookclub edition, hardcover Outlander, and my collection will be complete. And I’m absolutely thrilled about it.

This doesn’t make me weird, right?  There are others of you out there who do this, too, I’m sure of it.  Tell me what kind of things you absolutely have to have all of!  Or tell me why you’d never do it!  At the end of the day, I’ll draw a random name from everyone who commented to win a free Vivien Dean book or a free Jamie Craig book.

 

Here’s something I wasn’t aware existed: a personalized romance novel. That’s right – the book itself, from plot to setting, is already written out but you can insert your and your man into the book. “You co-author Pirates of Desire by selecting the heroine, hero and heroine’s best friend - and even your dog or cat!” says the site. 

To me, it would be a little jarring to read about characters with my and boyfriend’s names. It wouldn’t be personal or meaningful at all, because the characters wouldn’t speak or act or relate like us. It did get me thinking, though, about writing out the story of our relationship. Not a fictionalized version but a real memoir. It would be something we could collaborate on together, since no doubt our memories differ on some things, and it would be something special we could look back on later in life. Memories blur and fade, after all, as the years pass. And it’s only occurring to me now how odd it is that as a writer, I create novels and stories but never use language to document my own life.  

How do you document your life? Do you rely on photos and videotapes to revive your memories, or do you keep diaries and journals? Have you ever looked back on your most important events and wished you had written more about it at the time? In this age of Myspace and digital cameras, it’s easy to let a photo capture the moment. But as a writer and a reader, I think there’s a lot to be said for putting our favorite memories down in words.

It’s October, and I’ve been thinking about the spooky stuff. Of course, it doesn’t have to be October for me to be thinking about creepy things. I love to be spooked. But Halloween has always been my favorite time of year. I love the month of October. I love scary movies and books. I love anything supernatural.

I’ve been thinking about my own fiction. Somehow, especially when I’m writing anything spooky, sex always creeps in. Sex and horror just always seem to work well together. I’ve been wondering why this is. I think back to so many spooky books I’ve read and the sizzling hot scenes in them. Somehow, sex just works with being scared. I’m talking about real fear and horror here.

Sometimes the sex is more of a suggestion rather than an overt, erotic scene. Stephen King is a master at this. In his short story The Raft, there’s a pretty erotic scene where the lead character is stuck on a raft with a pretty girl. They can’t jump into the water because there’s a man eating, oil spillish looking creature waiting to swallow anyone who jumps or falls in. Just before something really bad happens, there’s a scene that really got my motor running. It wasn’t particularly graphic or detailed, but more sensual and suggested. But it was erotic. In most of his fiction King leaves us with a few sexy images that are powerful enough to stay with us, but which aren’t at all graphic.

Today there’s a ton of spooky, supernatural erotic fiction out there. Really sexy, hot stuff. Many of these writers don’t consider themselves to be writing “horror”. Still, there’s an element of fear in their fiction. So shy does sex and fear work? I think it might be because fear and sexual desire are both so intense. It’s natural for one to just bleed into the other.

What do you think? What are some of your favorite sex scenes in books or movies?

Wow, it’s finally here. My first book at LSB. I couldn’t be more thrilled. I feel like a “publication virgin” all over again.

Second Moon was started last year, made it to the halfway point, then just sat there. I had other stories that had to come first, but I always loved it. Then my editor said, “LSB is looking for Halloween stories” and the microwave in my head dinged and I thought…”Hey, I have a Halloween story….”

So with the goal of finishing the story, I picked it up and hammered through it. I sent, they asked for revisions, I revised, I re-sent, they accepted. And right then, one of my goals for 2008 had been met - being published with more than one epublisher. What a rush!

I’m not sure if I hadn’t set that goal for myself at the beginning of 2008, I would have branched out, said, “Hell, yes, I can do that” or if I’d have just continued the path I was on. It’s a good path, I love that path, but I want to be able to travel down lots of paths. Some look dark and dangerous, others look like they’d be a hoot. Some look as if I don’t belong there, but I want to try them anyway.

I started writing about three years ago. The first year I wrote. And wrote. I spent so much time on the computer, my husband thought I was having an internet affair. My goal was to finish a manuscript. I finished 5 manuscripts and started half a dozen more. It was great. I felt as if I’d met and exceeded my goals. I was heady.

Then someone said, “You should try to get published.” A new goal, shiny and bright, lay before me. That year, I entered contests, I went to conferences, talked to agents, talked to editors, submitted, got requests, sent chapters. At the end of the year, I had offers from three epublishers - and choose one. In February of 2008, I published my first ebook. Goal’s are good. I floated on a first sale high.

Now, a goal junkie, I needed another hit… and set a new goal, my first for 2008. I wanted to publish six books this year. Six. “Set your sights high,” I said. Even if you do half, it’s damn good. Second Moon makes my fifth book this year. And I have two more scheduled before the end of the year. It’s powerful stuff, goals.

But 2009 is looming.

And I need some new goals. There are so many paths I could take, so many goals hanging within my grasp, some just on the edge, and some dangle way out of reach. Like being published by a big NY house. At least it’s probably out of reach for 2009. Probably… but who knows. If I don’t try, it won’t stand a chance of happening.

Without goals, I ‘d just be floating around on the endless sea of publishing dreams.

What are my goals for 2009? For one, I want to publish 8-10 ebooks. Seems a lot, but it’s not much more than I did this year. It’s within my grasp, I just have to make it happen. Also, I’d like to add another epublisher. It’s doable.

As for what’s on the edge of my field of dreams? I have a request from a big NY publisher. I just have to get the first chapters cleaned up, and send it by the end of the year. Who knows? It could happen. But if I don’t get off my ass and do it, I won’t stand a chance of getting there.

What about long-term goals? Those way out of reach goals? I’m working toward writing full time. Not this year, not even the next, but within five years? Yeah, I might pull that off.

Each book I write has several goals - to be the best I can write. To get published. To get good reviews. To sell well. Some of these are not in my control, I admit that. It makes me crazy, because I’m a control freak. But some are and it’s up to me to do what I can to make it happen.

Damn, goals are good. A writer needs goals, even if it’s just to finish the damn book. But be careful. Goal success is addictive. The highs are phenomenal. The lows suck. And they are constantly changing.

But that’s cool. Bring it on. 

This is an excerpt from Second Moon, one of my favorite scenes:

They got in their cars and she followed him toward Meridian. After a few miles, they came to a small subdivision and turned in. The sign read, Pine Forest Estates. Wooded lots. One to five acres.

Enough land for a wolf to feel at home, she guessed. Not like his dad’s place, perched in a state park, trees everywhere, no fear of being discovered.

She followed him down the street, made a few turns and then pulled into a long driveway. The house sat back from the road. It was long and low, with rough-cut light stone blocks around the entry and the rest of the façade was a terra cotta brick. A For Sale sign stood in the yard.

She parked on the side of his truck and got out. He met her at the back of her car and helped her with her overnight bag. She followed him to the front door.

Stepping inside, she looked around. She didn’t know what she expected—lots of wolf stuff—but there was nothing there to make you think a werewolf lived there. The living room had a brown leather recliner, matching sofa and ottoman, all facing a wall mounted flat screen television that had to be fifty inches across.

“Nice TV.”

He shrugged. “Not much to do out here but watch television.”

“When did you decide to sell?” She sat on the couch trailing her hand over the soft as butter leather.

He sat next to her and took her hand. “A few months ago, when I finally admitted I was dying. Wanted to get my affairs in order,” he whispered.

“You’re not making this easy for me, Duke.” She reached out, unable to stop herself and ran her fingers through his hair. Soft, silky, and definitely not falling out. Maybe the wolf would succumb before the man did. What would happen if Duke’s wolf died? She didn’t want to know.

“Your home is lovely.”

“Grace picked everything out,” he blurted. “I didn’t care. I just wanted whatever made her happy.”

Sam looked around at all the leather and masculine accessories. “And I’m thinking she picked what she thought you’d feel comfortable with. She must have been a wonderful woman, Duke.” Why were there tears in her eyes? She blinked them away before he could see them.

“She was.” He stood and faced away from her. “I’ve never brought anyone here before, Sam. It’s…I don’t know. Maybe I shouldn’t—” His hand stole to his face for a moment, then dropped. His broad shoulders couldn’t hide his pain and uncertainty from her.

“I’m sure she won’t mind, Duke.” She stood, went to her bag, and picked it up. “Is there a guest room I can put this in?”

Duke took a ragged breath. Sam was so incredible. She’d sensed his discomfort and made it so easy for him, even suggesting she take the extra room.

Not their bedroom.

He led the way to the back, and opened the door. “This is the guest room.”

Sam stepped in and looked around. A queen sleigh bed, covered in a homey quilt sat against the wall, a small mismatched table at one side. “It’s very nice. I can see that Grace had fabulous taste.” She smiled at him and set the bag on the bed.

He led the way back down the hall to the kitchen. “Do you want something to drink?” He stood in the middle of the kitchen, completely lost. Now that he’d brought Sam home, he had no idea what to do.

“No, I’m fine. I thought you were going to show me around town.”

The look of relief that passed over his face almost made her chuckle.

“Sure. But first, do you mind if I get cleaned up and change my clothes?” he said.

“Of course. I’ll just wait in the living room.” He turned down the hall and she kept going straight. Along the wall of the hallway, she could make out several clean squares where pictures had once been and a terrible sadness came over her.

Duke had taken down pictures of Grace or perhaps of him and Grace together. Wedding pictures, perhaps honeymoon photos. They must have been a painful reminder of what was and could have been. Sam could only imagine how he might have felt walking down this hall every day, seeing them.

Settling into the couch, she sat back to think. Or not to think. Thinking was too hard, reasoning didn’t seem to work for this. This was more about feelings than about common sense and she didn’t know if she could work her way through it all.

Closing her eyes, she let her mind drift away from thoughts of werewolves, death, and life-altering decisions. For awhile, she cleared her mind, but thoughts of what they’d done to each other last night kept intruding, making her core dampen.