Sunday, December 28, 2014
Monday, December 8, 2014
"You sign here."
"I'll fill that out for you."
"Here's a check for the co-pay."
"My friend went back three hours ago. They have to laser cysts out of his stomach. I hope he's okay."
"Is that coffee any good?"
Stupid idiot, asking a stupid question. I never drank anything out of a Bunn coffee maker that didn't taste like a waterlogged ashtray. Asstray.
Large man - in the tall, muscly meaning of the word - sat down next to me. Carhartt head-to-toe. He wore a class ring. I couldn't tell what school. He laughed at a bit on whatever gig Kathie Lee has now. Seth Rogan was naked. Later, something about an anaconda not eating someone and how everyone was bummed out about it.
I shifted and then sprawled my knees apart, crossed my ankles. I can take up space, too. Although, I'd like to take up less space, honestly.
I get back into the book. I was buying a red Fiero with Miriam Black when the smell hit me. I reacted. I tried not to, but I couldn't help the watering eyes, the burning nostrils. I thought the woman across from me was wearing enough perfume to cover the scent of a rotting corpse but apparently not.
She waddled down the aisle, sat down catty-cornered to me. It came in waves - the piss and shit smell of someone who is dying. I don't know how else to describe it. This is the smell of nursing homes. No matter what they do, they can never cover the smell of old people who piss and shit themselves. Her name is Candy. She can't be any less than 60, and her name is Candy, and I can smell what they will find when they stick the camera up her ass.
And hours later, I can't get it out of my nose.
Thursday, November 20, 2014
I am also editing like crazy. I received the ARC for the first book of the Camellia series, Wild Rosegarten. I finished going over that while also trying to get through a first round edit on the second book in the series.
Editing books and editing tests. If 24 of Ms. Birdwell's students like reading and 6 do not, what is the ratio of the number of vampires Camellia has killed to the number of men she has slept with? Makes the head spin.
Sunday, November 16, 2014
Sunday, November 2, 2014
Monday, October 27, 2014
Sunday, October 26, 2014
Tuesday, October 21, 2014
Sunday, October 12, 2014
Thursday, October 9, 2014
Sunday, October 5, 2014
Sunday, September 28, 2014
Sunday, September 7, 2014
Monday, August 25, 2014
1) iTunes (eBook)
2) Amazon (Kindle version or paperback)
3) Barnes & Noble (Nook Book, paperback) or in-store paperback print-on-demand
4) Eternal Press (all eBook formats, pdf, paperback)
Skye Daniels knows it isn’t wise to wander alone in the Big Easy, but she hopes the trip will give her a break from the teasing she endures at school and time to sort her feelings for playboy Whit Hastings and his best friend Linc Moore. When a stranger tries to grab her outside the House of Blues, Skye runs for her life and finds refuge with a group of orphans. She can’t reach her father, and not knowing where else to turn, Skye calls on Linc to help her find out who wants her dead and why.
NOTE to READERS,
Thank you so much for your patronage of my novel. If you enjoyed the book, please consider leaving a review of it on the site where you purchased it or on Good Reads. Reviews matter to me, and I appreciate your time and your opinion.
Coming Soon: information on where to get Wild Rosegarten, the first book in my vampire slayer series!
Sunday, August 17, 2014
Monday, August 4, 2014
His request, no demand, sped my pulse. We met at the end of the bed, arms coming around eager bodies to hold and mold until the zippers of our blue jeans scraped. Eyes so dark, the keepers of depths and universes, held mine, challenged mine.
I watched his lashes lace to conceal his eyes as his lips met mine. Simple pressure, lips to lips. Tentative, seeking, but I nipped his lower lip. His eyes flashed open as he tilted his head. Mouths open, now, tongues bumping then slipping past one another, oh, excuse me, pardon me, yes, see, there’s room for both of us to venture here. My vodka mixed with his whiskey. The longing for exploration, the longing to be wanted as much as I wanted made themselves known in the urgency of my sighs and the strength with which I dug my fingers into his arms. The remnants of alcohol burned my eyes and nose as needs burned much, much lower.
Wednesday, July 30, 2014
He'd killed it only two hours before and field dressed it, so it only smelled of blood and wild animal. Gamey. He'd let the dogs in to sniff around, and when he set the body to swinging, the lab licked up the dribbled blood while the rat terrier went berserk. It leapt at the deer's face, snapping until it latched onto the tongue. The dog jerked its head from side-to-side, wrenching the deer's neck in a blur of motion.
"That's enough now," he said to the terrier and herded both dogs outside so he could butcher the deer. "We start with the saw."
He lifted a rusted wood saw and put the blade against the silvery-brown fur of the deer. "Right here, just above what we'll call his elbow," he explained as the saw slid through fur and skin, through tendons and ligaments and the joint. For a moment, he held the lower right front leg by its ankle. With a casual flick of the wrist, he flung it outside the barn, with the result of excited, shrill barks from the dogs. He repeated the process on the other front leg.
When he'd made all the use he needed of the saw, he set it aside and picked up the fillet knife. After poking a small hole in the skin above the shoulder, he slid the knife between meat and skin, being careful to cut off the silver skin as well. "You gotta get it all. It's awful eatin'," he said. "Chewy as hell."
The butchering went in stages - separating skin from meat and meat from bone. All the while, the steady drip, drip, drip of blood and juices giving rhythm to his work and the twitching of the body as friction countered the knife blade. When he finished, he had filled a large Tupperware tub with meat, and the deer was now a stripped skeleton with only its head intact.
"It's not pretty enough to mount," he complained, grabbing the antlers and staring the deer in its filmy eyes. "Here," he gestured to the tub, "take that on up to the house and let the dogs back in for just a minute. I'll let 'em play."
"Yes, sir," I said, picking up the tub.
I heard the yips of the terrier and deep-chested growls of the lab mix in with his laughter as I crossed the yard to the back door of the house. In my hands, the meat was still slightly warm.