Contest, rants and excerpts...oh, boy

Okay, to make up for my ranting and raving, as well as to celebrate the last week of school, I’m going to offer a contest. I will put the names of everyone who responds to my blog this week into a hat and draw. I’ll give the winner a copy of Seeing Me and a deck of the Ellora’s Cave Silver Screen playing cards. I'll announce the winner on Saturday.

Now on to the ranting…

I hate hospitals.

I have the highest regard for doctors, nurses, aides and all the people who work in our health care industry. But I hate hospitals.

I just got out of one. I spent the last couple of days in the local hospital for things that really don’t bear going in to. I’ve spoken openly on my website about having a disorder that causes me to have strokes and TIA’s. Luckily I haven’t had a full blown stroke in many years, but do continue to have TIA’s which are like mini-strokes that don’t leave lasting effects. I had five of them Friday night and so went to the hospital Saturday.

I was less than impressed with the quality of care that I received. I was put in an er room, the curtain shut and no one bothered to check on me for an hour despite the fact that my blood pressure machine was beeping its little heart out because I had pulled off the cuff after it started in inflate and didn’t stop. I have a lovely bruise as a result.

When someone finally came in, it was the doctor who looked at me blankly and said I needed a CT-scan. No shit? Ya think? He left and I went another hour with no one checking on me. I had a sixth TIA there in the ER, not that anyone noticed.

I was finally admitted after a wonderful attempt to put in an IV which would have been easier if the phlebotomist would simply have accepted that I do know my body a bit better than she did. But no, she had to try to put the IV where I told her it wouldn’t work. It didn’t and I had a lump like a golf ball the entire next day.

I am not a good patient. I am not the worst patient. I don’t demand help from nurses and aides for everything (like my roommate who seemed to think they were actually room service staff.) But when I’ve given you my standing at home prescriptions and I tell you I have a migraine starting I expect you to give me my meds not bring me two Tylenol. I was told we had to start with the Tylenol. Twenty minutes later I’m in a ball on the bed sobbing with a migraine and then the nurse says she’ll call and ask the doctor about the meds. I got my meds after forty minutes of hell while my roommate had all the lights on and proceeded to argue with her husband and anyone who called on the phone. Could I have moved she’d have needed surgery to remove her cell phone from her arse and television control from her throat.

Oh, and not to mention that the hospital couldn’t figure out how to give my the meds I normally take for my OCD, meaning I’d been without them for two days and was going through nasty withdrawals.

I ended up doing a very unadvisable thing. I signed myself out AMA. I couldn’t stand it anymore. I came in feeling perfectly fine but with the TIA. By Saturday night I had a case of cold sweats so bad I literally looked like I was standing in the rain. It was running off me in rivulets. I was vomiting. My head throbbed. All of which miraculously cleared up after I got off my IV and home. I took my meds and I’m fine.

Now for a little of the more adult stuff:

EXCERPT FROM SEEING ME

“And then you come…”Cara jerked her head up at the sound of the words. He gave a short harsh cough, took a sip of water and continued. “Sorry, and then you come to the pivotal moment in the story and if you aren’t focused you can ruin what needs to be the payoff for the viewer.” He cleared his throat again, “That’s why it’s important to me to be able to commit myself to one project at a time. It makes having a personal life of any kind hard, but there are often sacrifices you have to make.”

Looking down she realized she’d actually sketched the body of the nude male, no face, but his hands were definitely…

She felt the heat wash over her cheeks and lowered her head letting her hair fall across her face. She flipped the page over on the table and continued her list. She should choose a safer topic, but right now she doubted her mind could focus on anything else.
The questions continued from the audience and she thought she noticed Him grow a bit uncomfortable. True ninety-nine percent of the questions were for him, but that was something she was actually grateful for. God help her if someone asked her a question right now.

She was up to twenty on her new list, having just added the delightfully archaic “deflowering,” when she heard the voice of the angry writer from earlier denounce the idea of film representation of his books as a bastardization of the art, as selling out for the money. “No screenwriter, no director, no actor can do justice to a well written story or character without cheapening it, without robbing it of some essential element that a given reader holds dear,” he’d practically sneered. “So there’s no chance I’d ever sell one of my stories to the commercial Hollywood machine.”

“Are you crazy?” The words were out of her mouth before she realized she had spoken them. “You’d sell your left testicle if someone wanted to make a movie from one of your books with that kind of budget.” She waved her hand at the actor and author who were being criticized.

There was an undercurrent of laughter and she suddenly realized everyone in the room was looking at her. He was looking at her and wearing that wickedly seductive smile that had put him in the pages of many a magazine. Her face flushed hotly and she looked down at her hands. I can’t believe I said that, she moaned silently. The moderator quickly swung the conversation back on track. A quick glance down the table saw that indeed, the offended writer was glaring at her in disgust. Great, just great, she thought. He’s got a twenty times my sales, we share the same agent and I go and piss him off. Well, it was nice while it lasted. My agent is going to kill me.


And so on and so forth…..

If you want a really good blog, go check out some of the folks on the left. They are much better at this than I am.

Four days left and yes, I'm counting

There are only four student/teacher days left of school. One week from today at 3:40pm I will be standing out alongside the highway waving goodbye to this year's crop of seventh graders. They are so tired and done, and so am I. I love teaching, but let's face it, at this point there is very little teaching their tired, summer obsessed little brains will allow me to do.

Summer is coming for them and for me. Summer is when I start my list of books read this year over again. My students are required to read three books over the summer from a prepared list and do a project on each. If they don’t, they have to do it during the first 9 weeks of school. In the spirit of that, I thought I’d suggest some summer reading titles that are excellent for parents and kids.

Touching Spirit Bear- We are reading this as a class right now and this story is a look at a young man who is a juvenile delinquent. Cole Matthews has been in trouble with the school and the law for all of his life. Now he’s made a big mistake. His rage has boiled over and he seriously injures a classmate. Cole has a choice-jail or Circle Justice. Circle Justice is a Native American system of rehabilitation that teaches the individual compassion, empathy and the importance of restitution and healing. Circle Justice is mostly about healing. As Cole heals from the anger and the wounds of his life, he learns that he can never be fully healed until he helps the boy he hurt to find healing too. This is an excellent book by Ben Mikaelson. It’s a great boy book and the survival aspect of it is generally appealing to boys.

Surviving the Applewhites- This book by Stephanie Tolan is about another Juvie. Jake is a scary kinda kit to E.D. Applewhite. No school will take him so he’s sent to live with the Applewhites and attend their unique home school. But only E.D. seems to see that this is a disaster waiting to happen. Her father is producing the local musical, her mother is writing her new novel, her aunt is focusing on cleaning her aura and polishing her chakra while her granddad and uncle are making furniture that looks more like it belongs in an art museum than a livingroom. No one has time for E.D, but that’s okay, she doesn’t really fit in with the creative family into which she was born any more than Jake does. But she definitely doesn’t fit with Jake. While surviving a year with the Applewhites, Jake learns the importance of family, self respect and what it really means to be yourself. It’s a funny and endearing and a generally good read.

Poppy- Poppy is the story of a brave young mouse. Poppy and her family live in a state of weary truce with the great owl that hunts their farm land. The problem is, the owl isn’t always very good at keeping his side of the bargain. The family has no choice but accept that the owl must occasionally punish evil doing mice by eating them even if no one remembers what the mouse did that was wrong. The Poppy hears of a place where there is more food for her hungry family. But to reach it she has to cross the forbidden zone. Defying convention and the large angry owl who actually doesn’t want the mice to move to the new house because he’s afraid of it and won’t hunt there, Poppy leads a triumphant quest to a new and better home for her family.

Homeless Bird- Set in India, 13 year old Koli has just been married off to a young man who turns out to be very ill. As she undertakes her new life with a mother-in-law who doesn’t like her, a new sister-in-law who does, but who is soon to marry as well, Koli discovers a whole new world of wonder. She discovers reading. Always quick with her needle, Koli is equally as quick to learn to read and to appreciate books. But tragedy strikes two blows. First Koli’s husband, who was actually a very sick boy, dies. The family only arranged the marriage so they would have money to take Hari to bathe in the Ganges, hoping it would heal him. A widow at 13, life is over for Koli. No man would marry a widow. She must be bad luck if her husband died so young. But when Koli’s father-in-law who had been teaching her to read, dies; Koli finds herself on a train to a big city. Only she and Sass, her mother-in-law, are left and they must go to Sass’ brother. Tricked by Sass, Koli finds herself homeless and abandoned in a large city. Help comes her way and soon she is earning her keep with her clever needle. Life still holds wonders and the promise of family and love for Koli, but only if she is brave enough to grasp it.

Oh, another great book, but for grown-ups this time:

I’m Okay, You’re Dead by Cheryl Dragon. This release from The Lotus Circle was a wonderfully pleasant surprise. Dr. Deanna Oscar has come to New Orleans to seek a teaching job, not an entirely new life. But the ghost of her recently departed grandmother has other plans. When Deanna’s choice of cabs embroils her in the search for a serial killer, Deanna doesn’t back away from helping. But it will be only this once, right? This book combines memorable and layered characters (the secondary characters are some of the best parts of the book) and a well developed plot. It will keep you turning pages.

I had this book on my ereader when I was called for jury duty. Now jury duty is probably the most boring thing you can ever be forced to do. As I sat for almost 5 hours in the jury pool room with nothing to but sit and read, I found myself so engrossed in this book that I didn’t really mind so much. Fair to middlin’ coffee and this story made jury duty much less of a chore.

Seven Days Left….But Who’s Counting

My school lets out in seven days. That’s seven teaching days which means May 30th is my last day with this year’s seventh graders. They’ve been an interesting bunch, but saddest for me is the group of eighth graders that will be leaving us for high school this coming year. Every now and then comes a group that you bond with a little differently than the others. I’ve had that experience three times since I started teaching.

I’ve taught more students than I could ever possibly count. But there are some who will always stand out.

In my first year it was Neilson and Morgan. Neilson is one of my favorite people. The word eccentric was created for him as was the word genius. So intelligent he can be scary at times, he was one of the few who got my sense of humor and who could hold an adult level conversation with me. I love Neilson. He has gone on to college where he will one day change the world. I just hope he remembers I was always on his side when his moment of world domination arrives…and that he promised me Montana.

Morgan. Sweet, ethereal Morgan. Long blonde hair, straight as a razor and a tall willowy form that made you expect to see her in tie-dye with a peace symbol and little John Lennon sun glasses. Morgan was a writer and a very good one. I’d say she followed the tune of a different drummer, but the truth is Morgan beats out her own rhythm wherever she goes. She faces the world with optimism and the absolute assuredness that it is a good place and that it is beautiful.

A handful of years ago I had the opportunity to follow a group of students through two grade levels. It’s called looping. I taught them in the sixth grade and looped up with them into the seventh. It meant forming a closer bond with them than I might otherwise have done because we didn’t have to do the “getting to know you” stuff in the beginning.

Jesse. Affectionately known as “Tatertot,” Jesse will one day grace the stages of a comedy show like Saturday Night Live. He is born to make people laugh and always knows exactly the right buttons to push to have you giggling despite yourself. Robin Williams is a lightweight compared to Jesse. He ran his mom a merry chase that year and I think I saw her at school as much as I saw him. I still think of Jesse and I’m waiting for the day when he turns Jim Carey into “that guy that was in that movie with Jesse.”

Sam. I’m not sure they come more special than Sam. Brilliant and savvy, shrewd and calculating. These all describe one of the people I will remember all my life. There wasn’t a trick Sam didn’t know—along with the counter move and the counter-counter move. A sharp, dry and sarcastic wit that I’ve never seen paralleled hid a sensitive and compassionate nature. But above all, Sam will never be anyone’s fool. He can look at a person and see past their façade. He knew in a moment who was genuine and who wasn’t. Sam is one of my favorite people because of who he is as a person. Sam will one day make the world sit up and take notice. Again, I just hope he remembers I was always on his side.

This year’s group of eighth graders has produced more than one or two souls that have touched my life and will stay with me. I am sad to see them leave our doors and I am excited at the prospects that await them in the world. Because they are still in school, I offer them by their alter ego’s.

Lord Acorn himself. The Frick to his buddy’s Frack. Lord Acorn taught me something this year. He taught me that you can be who you are, never hiding yourself despite what others may say about you because as long as you are telling the truth to yourself, no one can ever lie to you about your self worth, your place in the world or your humanity.

The Squirrel King. Frack to his pal’s Frick. The Squirrel King is one of the “smart” kids. And what he’s taught me is that you can still be respected for your intelligence without losing your ability to have fun. From entering my room James Bond style, complete with rolling across the floor and finger/thumb gun to the leprechaun dance, the Squirrel King knew that the secret to being happy with yourself and your world was to never forget to have that little bit of fun.

High school awaits m’Lord and m’King. Learn what you can from them, their knowledge is yours by right and you must demand they give it to you. Do honor to yourselves by never accepting second best from anyone around you or from yourselves. As long as you are the best you that you know how to be, you will be a success and I will be proud of you.

Another turning point, a fork stuck in the road

Time grabs you by the wrist, directs you where to go

So make the best of this test, and don't ask why

It's not a question, but a lesson learned in time

It's something unpredictable, but in the end it's right.

I hope you had the time of your life.
-Green Day

More Lonely than the Maytag repairman?

Last September I attended Dragon*Con in Atlanta, Georgia. Those who know me know I love this particular convention. They draw upwards of 40,000 people each year for the Labor Day weekend gathering. It is a terrific way to feed a science fiction/fantasy appetite. There are tracks celebrating every imaginable fandom including the major movie and tv franchises, Gothic (horror), anime, music and almost anything else. The thing about Dragon*Con is that if you can imagine it, it will be there. I even set my Quickie from Ellora’s Cave, Seeing Me, at the event.

They started a YA track about four or five years ago mostly surrounding the Harry Potter craze. It has now expanded to include a wider variety of YA lit and authors including Holly Black who wrote Tithe and The Spiderwick Chronicles. And it’s something that Black said at the appearance that has me thinking today, many months later. Black said that writing was the loneliest of professions. She talked about how hard it can be to be sitting alone at your desk or in your office and just write. How you can’t meet someone for a break at the water cooler or just stick your head over the cubicle to remember that other people actually exist or get feedback.

As I sat and listened to her I thought how very right she was. Most of us write our stories in isolation or at least in a temporary isolation so we can focus on our characters and hear their voices. She talked about the importance of first readers, people who see your work before any editor does. These are the people who keep you honest. They don’t let you cheat. She encouraged people to find writer’s groups to work with for first readers or for critiques.

I agree with most of Black’s comments that day, but I’ve come to believe I missed her point originally. I have to admit, now, several months after my first book was published, I feel differently. I think writing can be the loneliest profession but that it shouldn’t be and it can’t be if it’s good writing. We cannot create in a vacuum and expect it to connect to a reader, let alone many readers.

Writing my first manuscript over five years ago was a very lonely experience. I didn’t tell anyone I was doing it, not even my SO. I did it one summer as I had all day free every day since I was on summer break from school. I hid what I wrote away and no one saw it until I had completely finished it. And you know what? I wasn’t very good. It actually was rather bad. It was a fanfiction filled with every terrible cliché of the genre. It should probably be burned to save mankind from ever reading such a horrible thing again. But I learned from the experience. I learned that I could do this.

I also ended up finding a community of people among the fanfic group that I still have very close ties with today. Many of them comprise my current workshop group and they will be positively honest about my stuff and tell me when I miss the mark. Having a community is also an empowering experience. Once I “came out” as a writer, it was a relief. When someone said, “What did you do last night?” my answer was no longer, “nothing.” I can proudly say, “Oh, I wrote last night.”

I started thinking about all this today as I wrote the final battle scene for my current WIP. I have no military experience and I have no clue how to go about planning a battle. My step dad is ex Air Force, but this was a land battle and he’s a bit busy lately with my mother being ill. But about couple of weeks ago I was thinking ahead to this scene as I sat at lunch. I realized then I had a military expert sitting next to me at the table. Eddie is the teacher all the kids like. He has an affable personality, he’s quick with a joke, and the kids know he always fair. He is also in the Army Reserve. He’s served in Afghanistan. He comes from a military family. Here was this perfect resource, but to use it I had to reach out and admit that I needed help and why. So I did.

I told Eddie I was writing a battle scene and drew it out for him. He looked at it and gave me detailed descriptions of how he would defend the position my hero needed to defend. I took notes on a napkin, listened intently to the why as well as the what. I couldn’t use all of what he gave me, but I could use the gist of it. Because I’m writing a fantasy, there are some things I don’t need to worry about.

“Then they’ll try to wade across the river,” he advised. I put my hand up and said, “No, they can’t. The river won’t let them.” “Ah,” he said, “it moves too fast here.” “No,” I assured him. “But the river won’t let them cross.” I explained it was magic and he simply nodded and went on. I’m not only “out” as a writer, but as a fantasy writer.

The important thing was, Eddie made me see I had to rethink the way I saw the scene happening. I saw it as a writer sees it. Big show downs and lots of cool speeches and comments from people. Very theatrical. But after listening to Eddie talk, I realized if I wanted anything resembling normalcy I’d have to rethink my vision of the battle. It sucks to learn you can’t use the cool scene in your head, but I’d rather have something remotely believable than something cool.

An hour or so later a second military expert crossed my path. Curtis is the kind of teacher I want to be when I grow up. He’s amazing. He always has a smile on his face and he finds a way to connect to the kids we teach. But Curtis was also in military intelligence during his days of service. So I showed Curtis the plan and asked him how he would attack. He pointed out that the mission would most likely be a suicide mission. I explained the bad guys had escape options that included magic and he blinked… then went on. But he had a point. If there was to be any direct hand to hand between my forces, it would be a suicide mission on behalf of the hunters who attack. There was no way they could survive the assault. Those who made their way into the village would have to die and would have to know they were going to die. But was this mission worth that? Was it something that people would get that zealous about? Curtis made me realize I had to tighten up the plot in that respect.

In addition to getting military advice, over the years I’ve had to seek advice on all manner of topics including more risqué issues. *cough* I also have great first readers. My SO will do proof reads from time to time. My friend Steve has been the primary first reader on my WIP to this point. I just posted the battle chapter with a nasty little cliffhanger for him so soon he’ll be ready to throw things at me. I do have that bit of a reputation, cliffies at the end of chapters.

But the community I belong to doesn’t stop with the writing process. I have also been blessed with a tremendous support system for what comes next. Llewellyn McEllis, one of my favorite writers and one day you will all know her name, has been there for me with constant encouragement. Britannia and Barb also have always had my back. Alison and Maureen have been my tireless cheerleaders. And then there are the froggies. The froggies are a talented group of writers who work with the same editor I have at ECPI. They’ve all been incredibly supportive.
Sometimes writing seems like a lonely profession. But no one can produce quality work in a vacuum. We all need the feedback and the support of others.

Rambling about

My cocker spaniel, Shiloh, is crazy. Now this isn’t news to us, we’ve known it since she hooted like an owl the entire way home from the breeders. We’ve known this since we had to run her up and down the hill outside our house as a puppy so she would be tired enough to go to sleep at night. We’ve known this since I had to sleep on the floor next to her little puppy crate with my hand through the grating so she would stop barking and settle down. So this is not new. (She now sleeps in a crate in the bedroom while all other pups are down in the kitchen because if she doesn’t she barks all night.

But tonight she has gone beyond her usual craziness. Tonight she is barking at nothing. She keeps wandering to the short hall between the living room and kitchen and barking at the ceiling. Then she runs to the couch and barks at the hall. There are no mirrors, lights or shadows that we can see to explain her sudden psycho behavior. Then after being hollered at by me, she is wandering back and forth from the kitchen to the living room whining. At present she is staring at the ceiling of the hallway with great intensity, then at a corner of the living room, then back to the hall and so on and so forth.

Perhaps it’s the storm that is trying to break outside that has her stirred up. Or maybe the fact that the alpha dog was up at 4:30 in the morning working. Who knows. None of the other dogs are the slightest bit interested. Two are sleeping on my feet and a third is sprawled out on the couch sleeping.

I’ve been suffering from completion-phobia. I’m avoiding finishing my current WIP. The story is only two chaps from done, but I can’t seem to work on it. I’ve picked up the story that will follow that one and have begun working on it. *shrugs* I just hate finishing things up. I don’t know why.

Now I started writing this blog last night, and it is now the following afternoon. Yep, I’m want to do wild and crazy things like that. Life is so very exciting when you’re me.

Tomorrow is Monday. I truly despise Mondays. They come along just as I get into the groove of being me again and suck all the fun and happiness out of my week. You see I am basically nocturnal. I don’t get going until the sun goes down. Unfortunately my school does not subscribe to this theory and has the horrible demand that I show up by 8am every morning. Not bad you say? Well it wouldn’t be if I didn’t live so far away from my place of employment. I have to rise at the unholy hour of 5am, leave the house by 6am to arrive in time. Ten minutes late and I’ll be squealing into the parking lot at 8:04 am just ahead of the homeroom bell. I hate Atlanta traffic.

In the summers I become completely nocturnal. I am up all night until my SO gets up for work. After seeing my dearest off, I go to bed and sleep the morning and early afternoon away. I awake just in time to welcome home the weary worker and receive the glares and grumbles that are unjustly slung at my obviously just woken up self. I the summers I become the owl I was born to be. But during the year I’m stuck trying to force my body into the mold of the lark.

Yes, I am aware that very little of what I’ve actually typed makes any sense. That’s the beauty of it. I don’t have to make sense. It’s my blog. So to make up for it, I offer an excerpt.

Measure of Healing:

Working together they carried the crate into the small bedroom in the back of the house. Alejandro noticed the Spartan décor. The bed was stripped to the mattress and a couple of blankets were stacked on it. The room had a bedside table and rather than a dresser, a shelving unit. All of it bare. There was one picture, its plastic frame affixed to the wall by screws at all four corners. A small clearing in the Everglades met his eye. Brie opened the door to the crate.

“I cleared everything out of here when I came to get the 4Runner,” she responded to the question he didn’t ask.

“Will it take long to clear out the closet?” Alejandro leaned against the wall of the room. Brie watched him shift slightly against the wall as if he were stiff and was stretching. If he was doing what she thought he was doing she’d slap him.

“I’m not clearing the closet,” she walked over and pulled on the door. The latch was tight.

Alejandro frowned. “You’re not going to give him a place to hide are you?”

“No,” she turned to face him. “We’ll leave the crate with the blanket for a day or two then I’m taking it out as well.”

He opened his mouth to protest but stopped when she glared pointedly at him. “You said you wouldn’t interfere in this.”

“You’re sure about this? That this is the right thing?” He couldn’t help it. His mind kept telling him how stupid it was to trust a human to know what was right.

It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him if he didn’t trust her, she could have him and the boy back on the plane in a matter of hours or just open the back door and toss them both out. Instead she forced herself to see past his skepticism and his suspicion. She counted to ten, twice. She told herself he was worried about Tomás and that that was to his credit.

“I’m sure,” she said through tight lips. “He’ll be better if he wakes up alone,” she motioned to the door.

Alejandro frowned at her again. “Alone in a strange place?”

“Not entirely strange. The scents will not be threatening. He will stay in the crate most of tonight and tomorrow, unless I miss my guess.” She looked pointedly at the man, “And I never miss my guess.

“Then he’ll start exploring the room. Something he’ll feel freer to do if there is no one around.” She walked out of the room and he followed, closing the door behind him.

“What if he hurts himself? You’re just going to leave him in there for the next few hours unsupervised, unmonitored?” This was not right. He was a child, cat form or no. You didn’t leave a child unattended for that long. Especially one you had drugged.

“No, I’m not. That’s where you come in.” She’d been thinking about this on the drive in. If she was stuck with him, he might as well be useful.

Alejandro relaxed. Was she being deliberately obtuse? “You want me to stay with him.” He stated, finally understanding. The woman should have just said so.

“No.” She met his eye unflinchingly. “You are not to step foot in that room until I say you can. Those are the terms, Cougar. Take them or go.”

When he didn’t answer but stared at her, eyes blazing, she snorted angrily, “Look, do we really have to do this crap or is there enough human in you to realize that we’re talking about a living child and not a deer carcass that you’re protecting? Because, Cougar, you are either going to help or stay out of my way.”

She didn’t even blink when the low growl came from his throat. “No one who didn’t birth me or raise me ever talks to me like that, lady. And even they don’t talk to me like that any more.”

“Oooh,” she rolled her eyes. “Big scary Cougar-man is angry.” She stood tall and actually stepped closer to him. “See me tremble.”

She was either the bravest human he’d ever known or the most foolish. His brothers and sisters backed off before they pushed him too far. Even his father seemed to know how far to press him.

“Don’t push me, lady.” He stepped up to her and glared down into her face. Even as he did it, he knew she wouldn’t be intimidated.

“Why? What are you going to do about it?” she smirked at him. A little more, she thought, just a little more and we’ll know.

“Are you stupid?” he moved closer, forcing her to back into the hall wall to avoid making contact with him. He braced his hands on the surface to either side of her head. “Little doctor I could rip your throat out before you could even scream.”

“I’d like to see you try it.” She sneered. Alejandro narrowed his gaze and watched her. She was amazing. She wasn’t afraid of his threats. His proximity bothered her. Hell, it bothered him. But he smelled no fear, no hesitation in her. If he wasn’t so angry he’d damn well be impressed.

“As tempted as I am,” he stepped back and turned away from her. “I won’t.”

There it was. What she wanted to know. “Why? How do I know you won’t get pissed off later and kill me in my sleep?”

“Because I said I wouldn’t,” the words came out loud but he stopped them from becoming a full yell. “On the plane I told you I wouldn’t hurt you.”

“And because you never have,” she said softly.

The change in her tone turned him around. Her face was calm and emotionless but her eyes held a shrewd look. Her voice, when she spoke was almost gentle and it ran down his spine as if it physically stroked him. “You’ve never attacked anyone, have you?”

“I’ve had my share of fights and I’ve got the scars to prove it.” He watched the startling blue eyes watch him.

“But you’ve never attacked. You’ve defended yourself but you’ve never attacked.” She said the words as if she knew them to be absolutely true. With humans that was to be expected. But she could feel it in him. He’d never even attacked another Cougar, never challenged another male.

“What does that matter?”

“It matters a great deal,” Brie smiled inwardly. She didn’t trust him. Trusting a Cougar got you dead, or worse. But she didn’t have to sleep with a gun under her pillow. When the time came that he hurt her it would be because he had no choice or didn’t understand the consequences of his actions. He might be the cause of her death but she now believed he wouldn’t be the instrument of it. Then again maybe that’s why he’s here, she thought. It wasn’t the first time this had occurred to her. Maybe he’s a part of it or maybe he’s just an innocent pawn. She was wondering more and more if the whole thing weren’t a set up. Wondering if the Cougars hadn’t gotten tired of waiting. His presence here would give them all the impetus they needed to finish what they started all those years ago.

In Praise of the Bears

Let’s start with a good review for Mating Stone. Amelia Richard at Sensual reviewed Mating Stone and said:

For her new series, Elyssa Edwards crafts a tale where shape-shifters can seem totally normal yet their lives are definitely fascinating. Ms. Edwards takes the paranormal element of being able to change shapes and tells readers a captivating love story with often poignant emotions. Mark and Sarah are a charming couple with their devotion to each other particularly apparent through their actions and words. With tenderness and passion, this couple expresses how they truly feel for each other, and these sentiments are beautifully shown in numerous ways. The inner feelings of these two come across in a powerful way, whether they are reacting with each other or with another being. There are some disclosures which I found to be intriguing, and each one adds a compelling aspect throughout the story. The only problem with the story is I wish it had been longer as this world fascinates me, but I hope to hear more about this couple and those around them when additional books in the series are released. MATING STONE is a magical story with original characters and an engaging plot to keep readers thoroughly entertained.

Thank you, Amelia. I’ve had a lot of fun writing this series which is officially called The Jewels of Ursus. These are three special guys I’m very happy decided to tell me their stories. The sequel to Mating Stone, Lovers’ Stone will be released in July and tells the story of Luke Ursine, Mark’s twin brother. The final book in the trilogy, to be titled Soul Stone, will tell the story of Tarris Ursine, the incubus who is closer than family to Mark and Luke and who appears in both Mating Stone and Lovers’ Stone. Oh, and the last one will be full novel length.

Oh and by the way, if you are looking for a story in the same world as the Ursines, Measure of Healing from Cerridwen Press may do the trick. Whether it’s Jacqueline or Elyssa, our Weres happily cohabitate the world.

I know the review says The Stones Series and that’s not the writer’s fault. I’ve recently discovered a problem with my website not updating a specific page and the working title is still showing.

Mating Stone:

Our hero:

Mark Ursine

Were

Profession: That's a long story.

Age: 154 (looks about 28-29)

Story: Mating Stone by Elyssa Edwards from Ellora's Cave.

Mark is part of a race of shape shifters that found their way to our world before humans had mastered the use of fire. Respectful of the sentient creatures they believed had great potential, the shifters kept to themselves so as not to intefere with their evolution. When disaster collapsed the energy source that allowed them to remain in phase with our world, they tied their spirits to those of animals so that they could survive and remain. Mark is decended from a group that chose to unite with the bear. They do not choose which species of bear they become, that is determined by birth and largely influenced by family bloodlines.

Mark becomes the great brown bear, also known as the Kodiak. When tragedy, his guilt and his brother's blame drove him to distance himself from his family, he didn't realize his time in the human world would introduce him to the one person above all that he could love with his heart and soul. As the oldest it is he who must replace his grandfather as Amar, the leader of their clan. But will his brother Luke allow him to succeed without a challenge? Will his people accept his choice of mate? And once Sarah finds out what he is, will she still want him?

Excerpt:

The night they met had been her birthday. She’d let her sister and some friends talk her into going to a club to celebrate. “Come on Sarah, it’s February 2. It’s your twenty-eighth birthday, so do what all good little groundhogs do and get out. Even if you see your shadow, at least you had fun before you run back and hibernate some more,” her sister had teased until she’d agreed.
She’d not met Mark at the club but afterwards on her way home. Hitting a pothole had blown her tire and while she could change a tire herself—hell, like any good ol’ Minnesota girl she could change a tire, put on her own snow chains and knew how to use the jumper cables in her trunk—she just didn’t relish doing it in the short skirt her sister had talked her into wearing.

Resigning herself to ruining her stockings and probably the new skirt, she’d been hauling the jack and donut from the trunk when a motorcycle had roared up behind her. The headlight had almost blinded her but not as much as what stepped out into the light. Pulling a black helmet from his head the man had been devastating. His black jeans and leather jacket completed a monochromatic feast for the eyes.

Flashing her a smile almost as bright as his headlight he’d insisted he couldn’t let a lady like her change the tire. He’d made short work of the flat even if she did stand there like an idiot and chatter way. By the time he was done he knew it was her birthday and where she’d been. If it had taken any longer she’d hated to think what else would have come bubbling out of her mouth.
He packed her jack back into her trunk and asked her allow him to follow her home since he didn’t have much confidence in the small rubber tire. When she’d hesitated he’d pulled out his driver’s license and a credit card. He put them in her hands. “Hold on to these. If you get spooked at all you know who I am, where I live and can either call the police or charge a fortune for yourself in compensation.”

When they’d arrived at her place she handed them over and smiled nervously. “Thank you just doesn’t seem like enough,” she nodded down to the damp patches on his knees where he’d knelt in the wet snow alongside the road.

“Then have dinner with me tomorrow,” he’d flashed an encouraging smile and she felt as if her bones melted. “That’s all the thanks I need.”

She agreed and had started to walk away when he called out to her. He was pulling something from the storage compartment under the seat and walked quickly up to her. His long legged strides held her so transfixed she didn’t see what he had in his hands. He stopped in front of her and hesitated. She looked up at him. He suddenly seemed shy and uncertain, grinning up at her through the hair that had fallen over his forehead.

“Happy Birthday, Sarah.” He placed a single red rose in her hand. His quick kiss to her cheek was so soft and so fast that she almost missed it. By the time her fingers rose up to touch where he had pressed his lips to her skin, he was back on his bike, turning it and roaring away. Odd but only now did it occur to her to question where on earth he’d gotten the rose.

Family fun...or not...

Definitely not. Sorry to be so absent, but I have a family crisis at the moment. My mother is in ICU back home and we just got back from spending five days with her and my family. She's doing a lot better than she was as of last Tuesday when she went in, but she's a long way from getting out of the hospital. We could be talking months of extended medical treatment.

So if I'm scarce it's because I'm juggling running 600 miles away as often as possible with writing and work. Thank heavens my boss is a wonderful person.