Why do you love Paranormal Romance?
Alright folks, it’s that time again. I am preparing for my next book release so in celebration of this, I am having a book giveaway! My plan for the next month is to give away 4 signed paperback copies of my available titles! All you have to do to enter is email me a response to this question, “Why do you love reading Paranormal Romance?” Winners will be chosen according to their responses, so don’t be afraid to get creative! One winner will be chosen each week and there are no costs. I pay for the shipping and the books! The last winner will be drawn on the full moon in June, also known as the Strawberry Moon. My only rule is that you must be at least 18 to enter!
Please email your responses to… firstname.lastname@example.org
Okay, I do a lot of walking. One of the reasons I walk is for the stress relief. I work a highly stressful job and my walks are my last hold on sanity without medicinal aid.
Unfortunately, today my walk backfired. My average walk is about four to five miles from my house. It starts with a beautiful wooded path that leads me to the public park, on the other side of town. We have a gorgeous park, with a half mile long garden path that rambles in a gentle figure eight, through the old growth maples, alongside the river and over a beautiful vast green lawn.
Today the park was filled with children and mothers utilizing the swings and taking advantage of the spring sunshine. Regrettably, these were not the only members of our community taking advantage of the park. I started my usual circuit with Titan in tow when I came across two young guys sitting on a park bench overlooking the river. Both men quickly tried to hide the beers they were drinking, in their backpacks. Since I didn’t care that they were drinking, I said nothing as I walked by, enjoying the warm sun and cool breeze coming off the river. On my second pass one of the guys tried to hide his beer again, only this time he nearly dumped it in his lap. I smiled and told him he needed to work on his subtly. Angrily he yelled, “Subtly, I don’t need to work on my subtly! I’m of age, Bitch.”
Since I work with crazy and I know it when I see it, I kept walking but his insults kept coming over the sound of clanging bottles, as the two men quickly packed up and carted off the mobile tavern. I remained in the public facility of the park for the next hour, for fear that I’d run into them again. So, since I’m all about lessons this is what I learned today.
I should keep my sense of humor to myself. Not all people are born with a personality or the maturity to drink alcohol, in public, on a park bench, on a Tuesday afternoon, while surrounded by children. I may be a bitch, but there is a reason why people aren’t supposed to drink in public, and that reason is because some of those people,e transform into giant assholes when they do. So, thank you very much humorless, drunk man, you fucked up my walk, but I’ll be thinking about you. I’ll be thinking about you the next time I am writing about a random act of asinine, intoxicated behavior, in one of my books. Every person who reads this book will smile as I smear your face across the pages. Who’s the bitch now? Thanks for the inspiration, asshole.
This is an excerpt from my short story erotic comedy, Taming the Cougar.
“Lynn, do you mind checking on Oreo for me?” John called from the bathroom.
“Yeah, I’ll get right on that.”
I took my time getting dressed and trying not to think dirty thoughts about John in my shower when
Oreo raced by down below my bedroom window carrying something in his mouth, and that something looked suspiciously like it that may have fallen out of Samantha’s sale, box from the day before. Suddenly getting dressed became a timed challenge. Samantha, my best friend, is the area’s premier sex toy saleswoman and if success is judged by what you drive, Samantha is driving a brand new Mercedes.
I nearly fell down the stairs on my way out the door, just as Oreo was making another pass with his
new toy dangling proudly from his mouth. It was Samantha’s display piece. At least, that’s what she
called it when I’d first laid wide eyes on the eighteen-inch-long black rubber dildo.
“Oreo?” I called as I chased after him. We were on our third lap when he finally stopped to face me.
“Oreo, come here boy.”
He growled and stuck his butt in the air, shaking the dildo violently.
I took one step closer, but then Oreo backed up a step, hopping and shaking his head. I lunged
forward, grabbed the end of the dildo and yanked, but Oreo wasn’t giving up his prize that easily and
he yanked back. “Oreo, let go. That’s mine!” He suddenly dropped his end and raced behind me to greet his master, fresh from the shower.
I turned around and tried hiding the object behind my back, but from the surprised look on John’s
face I knew he’d already gotten a clear view of his dog’s find. “It’s not mine.” I said stupidly.
He grinned wider, “You told Oreo it was.” He said, his eyes flashing mischievously.
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Lynn is a thirty-something, single woman who has just inherited her great aunt’s crumbling old Victorian. Lynn has a lot of work to do before the old place is ready to be called a bed and breakfast and her eyes are on the prize.
Unfortunately, her eyes are also firmly glued to the posterior of her twenty-one year old foundation expert, John Dillard. She finds herself drawn to the younger man like a moth to a flame. Lynn decides that if she is a cougar, she isn’t a very good one, but John has other plans and they involve a little game of chase.
Just because Ceres is being told she’s now a Grim Reaper, doesn’t nessesarily mean she’s going to be very good at it.
We marched like this until we were in front of the apartment door. There was yellow tape over the door, announcing that the apartment was condemned and only authorized personnel were allowed to enter. Clearly, we were going to ignore this. Gavin twisted the knob and it opened.
“They didn’t lock the door?”
“They never do; they figure if there is yellow tape over the door, that’s good enough. Plus anything anyone takes from this place will only help those who have to clean it out.” He looked away quickly, obviously having forgotten that he was ignoring me.
We ducked into the apartment and I looked around at the wreckage. There might have been order amongst the horder’s rubble at some point, but the owner had lost the capacity to care for it a long time ago. There was a stink like nothing you’ve ever smelled before, and I was beginning to worry that they hadn’t been able to find the body hidden beneath the garbage and had given up searching for it.
My eyes started to water as I waded through the lower piles of junk. I found the Soul… he kind of glowed a little bit. He was trying to look through a pile next to a chair or bed – I couldn’t tell which. In his frustration he was swinging his arms wildly and wailing, but he stopped as we angled around the corner and came into view.
“Say his name,” Gavin whispered into my ear.
“Ernst Willard?” I asked.
“Get out of my home!” he screeched, looking around at his stuff with something vaguely resembling embarrassment on his features.
“You’re going to have to come with us,” I said, holding my ground.
His eyes bugged out in panic. Frantically he looked around and seemed to quickly arrive at the conclusion that he wasn’t going anywhere without his stuff. “Get out!”
“Send your Hellhound, Titan,” Gavin suggested quietly.
I looked at him to make sure he was positive that that was a good idea.
He nodded and pointed to the infuriated Soul. “Go ahead; he’s not violent.”
“Titan,” I said in a level tone, as not to alert Ernst to our plan. Even non-aggressive people can become violent if they are cornered, and we had definitely cornered him. Of course, considering the condition if the apartment, the whole place was a giant corner.
The little dog jumped around behind Ernst, effectively surrounding him. Only the tips of his ears showed as he worked his way around the rubble as quietly as possible. Ernst didn’t hear anything; he was too busy ranting and raving about his shit… literally. He’d been saving bags of his own excrement for nearly a year and he was proud of his progress, despite the fact that having piles of crap in his living space had probably added considerably to the cause of his death. He was saving them just for this very occasion. He thought we were robbing him. He reached down for one of the reeking bags, and before I could react, he launched it at me. I batted at it but the full bag had split wide open under its own weight. Most of the sewage landed at my feet but I was pretty sure some of it had gotten onto my hands. Another bag was headed towards me when Gavin knocked me out of the way. Titan had finally managed to make his way through the rubble and latched onto the spirit’s glowing hand as he reached down for another shit bomb.
The pressure in the room changed suddenly and my ears popped. My first spirit was successfully captured.
A Paranormal Romantic Comedy
Book 1 of the Reaper Series
What would you do if you woke up in the snow with absolutely no memory of who you are or how you got there?
What would you say to your savior when she tells you that not only are you now dead but you’ve been chosen to become a Grim Reaper?Ceres is working to piece the slivers of her former life together from fractured memories, all while learning how to stay off her demon Mistress’ radar.
Ceres may have been qualified to become a Reaper, but that doesn’t mean she’s very good at it. From her catastrophes in becoming a Reaper to her inability to maintain a day job, Ceres and her tiny Hellhound aren’t doing much to impress anyone in the house, especially Gavin, the head Reaper of their Wake.
Gavin and Ceres may have gotten off on the wrong foot but there is something about her that he can’t ignore. The problem is he’s not the only one interested in her.
What Ceres soon finds out is that their Demon Mistress has laid claim to Gavin and she’s told Ceres it’s hands off.Does Ceres accept the fact that their Mistress is trying to force Gavin into her own patiently waiting arms or does Ceres risk her afterlife in order to save his?
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I haven’t posted one of these in a while, and since I am drawing a blank on what to write about, I figured I’d post a writing game. You can see the instructions below, and please feel free to try it for yourself The game comes from the Write Brain Workbook.
Terrible Twos Game,
You are two years old. Write from this perspective. Be childlike!
Give yourself a name, initials CAT…Cherry Autumn Tenor
Eye color: Dark Brown
Hair Color: Brown
Favorite Food: McDonald’s French fries
Siblings: None yet
How parents treat you: Spoiled.
Thoughts on toilet training: Scared of the toilet and falling in again the water was cold and I’m pretty sure if it was flushed I’d end up getting sucked in.
Here I am stuck in my crib, This is stupid. Not only am I stuck in my crib way past the crack ass of dawn, but I have one chubby leg jammed through the bars. I was going to have to either cut back on the milk or cut down to skim. In a hissy fit about being held captive, I threw every single toy out of my crib. Now my nursery is littered with plastic keys, a chew ring, and a bright assortment of teddy bears and blankets. Since this failed to get parental attention, I tried disrobing down to my pamper and tossed my footies across the room. The only thing I had left was my monkey, but in a red furry I tossed her out too, then panicked as I watched her sail through the air, far out of reach. After which I took to screaming my head off for what seemed like forever. I decided my neglectful mother wasn’t coming to my rescue after all and if I wanted the monkey back I was going to have to get her myself. Hence my current predicament with having my limb lodged in a crib that I’m quit certain should have been recalled. I wiggled some but it only hurt so I flopped back in my bed and contemplated a life without a leg and how bad my mother would feel for sleeping in. I jammed my thumb in my mouth and sucked on that while I planned my next move. Slowly my eyes started to slip closed and I thought about how mad my monkey was going to be at me. At least she landed on a blanket which was more than I had at the moment.
Okay, writer’s block. You don’t have to be an author to know what it is. You sit down to write an essay or update your status on facebook and…nothing. As far as your, brain to fingers, connection is concerned, you have absolutely nothing positive to contribute to the world. Is it writer’s block or is it the fact that we are trying to force the situation?
In my personal experience I’ve found that writer’s block is just the fact that I’ve gotten stuck in a story and it’s time to put it away for a while. This doesn’t mean I stop writing all together, though. At this current time I have eleven works in progress and I’m focusing most of my attention on two of these. I go back and forth between them periodically, and when I become stuck again, I try to focus on some small idea I’ve written down in the past.
Part of me did start to worry that, I was wasting my precious time, when I was unable to turn these, “small ideas,” into brilliant full length novels, but I knew the ideas were good. So one day I sat down at my computer with the list of unfinished works, some of which I haven’t touched or looked at in months, and I came to the conclusion that maybe they weren’t the problem, I was. Maybe these ideas were never destined to be full-length novels and I was trying to force it.
But Cree Walker is a novelist, not a short story writer. Well, that’s the thing with writers. We are able to juggled dozens of different made up people, with made-up histories and personality traits. So after brief deliberation with myself I came to the conclusion that, if Cree Walker didn’t want to write short stories…someone else would. So, because of writer’s block, a new author was born, and one by one, my, “small ideas,” are becoming their own stories, just under a different name.
In conclusion I’ve discovered that, sometimes you don’t have to change the story, and force it to become something it’s not. Sometimes you just have the change the writer.
Quite recently I’ve made the embarrassing realization, that I know absolutely nothing about comma usage. The time to find this out should not be after one has already published four, full length novels and one short story. Thank God for editors, because I’ve been able to get by thus far. But a girl can’t get by on her story telling skills alone. Being a writer is being able to tell a coherent story, and sadly that involves comma usage.
Yesterday, I sat myself down at my beloved computer, and went on YouTube to find out the mystical secrets of commas.
I went to school and college, and I did amazingly well in all of my advanced English courses, but I think it may have been because my teachers and professors were all willing to overlook my comma problem. But no more! According to the YouTube tutorials, I was missing at least 80% of my commas, but the warnings of a 7th grade English teacher, echoed in my memory: “Most people, use too many commas! Just put one when you would take a breath, in the sentence.” Um, she was wrong. Thank you very much Mrs. Cyr. So, due to total confusion I kind of ignored commas from that point on.
From there, I went online and took a number of comma usage tests, with tragic results. Two hours later, I think I’m doing slightly better, but I know in my heart that I’m going to have to continue with my studies…for a while. At least until commas become second nature to me, and the dreaded words of Mrs. Cyr stop ringing in my head, every time I put one in a sentence.
So, this is a formal apology to the humble comma. I’m sorry I neglected you, and I promise to learn more about you, so we can form some kind of normal, working relationship. I hope one day you’ll forgive me, and we can be friends, but until then, I’m, probably, going, to, put, you, where, you, don’t, belong, a, lot, and leave you out sometimes too but I realize I need you and I promise to be better.