The Wacky Misadventures of Four Romance Writers Run Amuck

WARNING: This post breaks most of the writing rules. Every rule broken was done on purpose.

Chapter Three

The four women pushed on past the carnage of the decimated bear. Fur and entrails dripped from the forest around them.

"That’s just gross!" Brenda picked up her dainty booted feet and gathered her silky drac cape closer.

Tabby tried to put on a brave front, while forcing back her rising nausea.

"Let's get a move on, ladies. Ya'll are on my last nerve."

Cindy did a little heebie jeeby dance and dashed past the bear parts strewn about. Strange hissing sounds came from her. Looking like a foil wrapped baked potato, she ran past Penny.

Rolling her eyes, Penny skillfully avoided the worst of the goo.

"Ok, does anyone have a map?" Penny asked.

The forest around lit, with the four separate cell phones accessing the web for links on  how to get through the forest of writers block.

"Lions and tigers and  ... Oh, no more bear," Brenda laughed.

Penny and Tabby smiled, thinking the worst must be behind them.

"I got a bad feeling," Cindy said.

"Nonsense, the map on my phone said all we have to do is press on." Penny told them all.

Tabby wrinkled her dark brows. "Mine said, close my eyes and take a nap."

"The map I found said, go read my favorite book again," chimed in Brenda.

"Yeah, well, I think they're all full of crap. My map said you have to do a little dance." Cindy sneered.

Penny walked ahead of the group, eyeing the quiet forest looming around them. "Cindy is right. Something is not quite right…"

A small sweet voice called out from the distance.

"Grammy." Its haunting sweetness called to Penny. Her body swayed toward the sound.

"Ri?" The voice beckoned, luring Penny into the darkness of the forest.

"Help me, Penny. Help me." The voices changed, echoed eerily. "Edit this, crit that."

The forest morphed into huge dancing punctuation marks. They swirled around her, forming a spinning hypnotic image. Lilting music filled the air. A long squiggly line like those under a misspelled word coiled and danced like a cobra to a flute. The words, it must be perfect, formed in the leaves of the trees, and held Penny spellbound. She began to chant.

"Backspace…backspace… backspace."

"No, Penny. Don't. It’s a trap!" yelled Tabby. She moved forward to stop Penny from the siren's song calling her.

Tabby almost made it to Penny, when her ankle was grabbed by a shiny blue wire.

Wild shrieks ripped from a Tabby's throat. The forest around her was suddenly alive with wires in a myriad of colors, all weaving, and twining around Tabby. She tried in vain to free herself from the electronic ambush. It tugged and pulled at her, hanging her like an ornament in the branches.

Brenda screamed. She wanted to help her friends from the traps that held them. Looking down at the forest floor beneath her, rich dark soil sank into a pit under her feet. The smell of sweet flowers and ripening fruit invaded her senses. From the dirt below, she heard the faint crow of a renegade rooster. It was too late. The soil crept and crawled up her legs, sucking her down into its depths.

Cindy stood like one of the trees around her, frozen in place by terror. How could she help the others? She leaned one way then the other. Unable to fully commit to helping any one individual, she helped none. Just then she was knocked to the ground by a pair of kids' sneakers. One after the other she was pelted by shoes and laundry. Grocery bags wound around her wrists and ankles, and one gagged her. The only sound from her was the muffle grunts when she was stomped on by the endless pairs of kid's shoes.

It looked like it was over for the four. Each one tangled and pulled under by their own personal demons. When it seemed darkest, and our girls were beyond help, four pulses of light glowed. From the light nearest Penny stepped four people. Two looked like they belonged in an ad for corporate life. Mick held his hand out to help Jo step into the spongy forest floor.

"This isn't exactly the best place for these heels. They're Italian."

Mick, ever the gentleman, picked her up in his muscled arms. Behind them came another couple. The woman's arms, laden with delicious smelling baked goods. Raef ran his hands through his hair.

"Not again… Penny... Penny… "

Grace moved toward Penny. "She is in some sort of trance."

Mick, carrying Jo, walked in front of Penny's unseeing eyes.

"Penny? Honey?" Jo reached out to put a gentle hand to her shoulder.

All four turned toward the abyss of the forest were the haunting voices and hypnotic punctuation held fast to their Penny.

"Grace, toss me a fresh loaf of bread," Raef said.

He caught the warm loaf and waved the fragrant bread beneath Penny's nose.

Then together both couples yelled, "PENNY!"

Waking from her dream, Penny shook herself. For the first time, she looked into the faces of the four.

"You had us worried there," Mick told her, readjusting Jo in his arms. He leaned toward her and whispered in her ear.

"Do you think you could write a pair of gym shoes into Jo's bag?"

Penny smiled, and seemed to relax in the safety of her characters.

"Sure Mick. I just did."

Jo looked into her large purse and pulled a nice pair of jogging shoes from the depths. Grace dumped the rest of the baked goods into Raef's arms and went to help Jo.

"I love those pumps. Where did you get them?"

"Macys, twenty percent off. They are comfortable and they make your calves look great."

"You know, I am moving to a small town. Do you think we can go shopping before I move?"

"We have to bring Penny. She is the one who picked out this skirt. It was one of the things that caught Mick's eye," she laughed.

From the second pulse of light nearest Tabby emerged Zan. His tanned skin glowed as if he stepped from a Giorgio Armani commercial. The wind ruffled the half-open silk shirt tucked into his well-tailored trousers. At the site of Tabby, trussed up like a Christmas turkey, he smiled revealing his pearly white fangs. Caprice came up behind him. Her small golden sequined, shift dress glided over the curves of her slinky body. She scrunched her perfect face when she saw the state Tabby was in.

"Move it, angel boy. Can't you tuck those things in to get through the door?"

"Woman, don’t give me your lip."

Lyric and Craigen stumbled from the light.

"Dearest Lord," Craigen exclaimed, rushing to Tabby's side. His mouth fell open as he circled. Tabby hung in the trees by her arms and legs. She was wound tightly with wires and cords from electronics of all kinds.

"Ge ma oot off here," Tabby mumbled. Her eyes flashed angrily, the blackberry stuffed in her mouth making her words difficult to understand. Craigen pulled a small glowing dagger from his belt he wiped the blade across his denim clad leg.

"How the hell did you get yourself into this mess?" Lyric asked. Her arms crossed over her dark business suit.

She threw Craigen a surprised look. "Well, what are you waiting for? Cut her loose. You too, Choppers."

Zan's deep chuckle brought a blush to Caprices face.

"You going to help? He asked her. His smoldering gaze undressing her in his mind.

Caprice looked away from him. Her face burnt with thoughts of Zan. "Let the FBI chick do it. I just had my nails done." For effect, she blew on her perfectly manicured fingers.

Zan leaned close to her sniffing the air around her.

"Those better be dry by the time were though here, or you're going to smudge them on my back."

"Cut the crap, Sauvé, and help me get our Tabby out of this," Craigen said.

Lyric pulled a well-concealed switchblade from inside of her blouse. She cut the wires imprisoning Tabby. Craigen's brows came together in concentration. Each slice of his dagger, gently done with care for Tabby's safety. Zan sauntered up to Tabby. His gaze locked with hers. He moved with deliberate sensuality. Dipping his head toward Tabby's neck, his warm tongue pulled a wire from her skin and his fangs sliced it cleanly. He growled and went after another.

"Good Lord vampire, you're not being graded on this." Lyric smirked.

Caprice stamped her Prada flats and warned Zan with a look that could have lit the sun.

Zan laughed and shrugged his shoulders. "I can't help it. I'm that good."

Tabby finally breathed a sigh of relief as the three of them freed her from the last of the wires. Craigen pulled her into his comforting arms, and kissed the top of her head.

"All safe, precious."

Brenda's head was just slipping beneath the shifting dirt. Her hands clawed wildly at the ground. Mel threw himself to the ground followed closely by Breeana. The two of them desperately tried to dig her from her impending grave. Mel shoved his hands deep into the earth and pulled with all his might. Brenda's head pulled free of the ground. She sucked in a huge breath, choking and spitting dirt from her mouth.

"What the hell is this?" Breeana pulled a potato from beneath the ground.

A rag tag group of vampires dropped down beside Mel and joined in the fight against the dirt that was still trying to pull Brenda away.

Kal watched from the sidelines. A plate of nachos balanced in one hand. The other hand dipped a chip into the cheese and popped it into his mouth.

"Kal! … A hand here? Mel complained.

Kal passed the plate of nachos to Ace and pulled a small garden shovel from his back pocket. He joined the crew of vigorously digging vampires.

"Ace!" yelled Mel.

"What? Save a human or a plate of nachos?"

"Ace," the others warned.

"I'm thinking," he snarled back.

Sin swore and fell back as he pulled a screeching rooster from the dirt.

"What the bloody hell is this?" He directed the comment at Breeana.

"Why are you looking at me?"

"You’re the vet."

"So, I didn’t put the damn rooster there."

Mel tugged harder, readjusting his grip under Brenda arms. Brenda cried, her arms wound around Mel's neck.

The small silver shovel in Kal's hands pitched the dirt away from Brenda's body. The speed of his hands helped uncover her. Mel continued to tug her from the cloying ground. Sin and Black's grasp on Brenda helped Mel pull her from the ground.

Breeana let out a blood-curdling scream as the head of a small miniature horse broke free of the mud and reached out to bite the back of Brenda's jeans.

Brenda and Breeana shrieked in tandem as the horse's teeth tried to pull Brenda back into the ground.

Kal thumped the horse on the face with the garden shovel.

"Stop that. You'll hurt him," Breeana moaned.

"He is trying to eat Brenda," Kal exclaimed. "What do you want me to do, give him a reward?"

"Kiwi, let go," screamed Brenda as her legs flayed to gain purchase on the shifting ground.

At last, the group of vampires pulled Brenda from the dirt and dragged her away from the pit where the horse and chicken still eyed Brenda. An evil laugh echoed from a group of raccoons at the edge of the forests, strawberries, and raspberries clutched in their paws.

"That is just freakin weird," Kal said to Mel

Ace threw the empty plate toward the raccoons, scattering them.

Wiping his hands on his jeans, he crouched down where Mel still held Brenda in his muscled arms. His large hand picking chunks of mud from her hair.

Brenda wiped her mouth on her dirty arm and immediately spit the dirt from her mouth.

"Ack.".

Ace looked into Brenda's dirt smudged face.

"You’re a mess, human."

"Thanks for the help, jerk," Brenda grumbled. "Just wait," she warned, pulling debris from her scraggly tangled hair and smoothing the bedraggled cape over her legs.

The last of the lights flared as an endless horde of people spilled forth. Miles, barefoot, skipped to where Cindy was drowning beneath shoes, laundry, and backpacks. The trees around them jingled with the sound of car keys. Each key lit with an address... an eerie sick green light cycled on and off in the branches, spelling out the words taxi. Andros pulled a pulse rifle from his belt and one by one picked off the car keys from the branches. They dropped harmlessly to the forest floor.

Miles leaned over Cindy, flashing her a bright smile and a wink.

"Got yourself in a bit of a pickle, eh?"

Georgia shook her head and began to pull the shoes off the heaping pile.

Tally took a laser scalpel and carefully started to cut away the plastic grocery bags from Cindy's wrists. The pungent odor of burning plastic tainted the air.

Miles pulled out a tennis racquet and began to toss shoes in the air and swat them away…yelling, "Fore," as he did.

"I've got a hell of a serve," he boasted. Georgia laughed up at him and gave him the next shoe to smack.

Rory set up a perimeter around the whole group, signaling to a group of commandos to lay low and keep their eyes open.

Jonas stood behind Andros and scored his shots.

"4.5, 3.7," he laughed

"Close your face, boy scout."

"Like you know what a boy scout is," Jonas smirked.

"I am capable of reading your human script. Now let's get that fool out of the way and see if we can't uncover Cindy."

Andros and Jonas joined Miles in pulling the hundreds of shoes off her. Once free, Andros held out a hand and pulled Cindy to her feet. Dusting herself off, she surveyed the group around them. Each of her fellow writers was pulled free of their troubles by the very characters each created. The voices of the characters refused to be ignored. The humans, vampires, and aliens gathered around their writer and jealously guarded them. Now flesh and blood, none of them would go unheard. Whatever lies ahead in the dangerous forest of writers block, they would all go as a group. There was safety in numbers, and the characters were not about to let the forest swallow them up. Even if it meant holding the hand of their writers, this dedicated and boisterous group would not be put back on a shelf.

"Let's head out. I'll take point," said Rory. An enormous gun, skillfully handled. She aimed into the dark recess of the forest.

"We're all in this together, and need each other," Tally put in. Her gentle look passed over the whole, strange lot of writers and characters.

"Me wanker is yodeling. I've got to drain the hose," Miles remarked.

Andros, shaking his head, walked past him. "Idiot."

By Cindy Pahl

The Wacky Misadventures of Four Romance Writers Run Amuck

Chapter 2

WARNING: This post breaks most of the writing rules, lol.

Penny, Cindy, Brenda, and Tabby, gazed past the brick wall into the thick forest beyond. Fir and cedar trees towered over them, lining both sides of a gravel path.  Branches interlocked to form a canopy overhead, allowing only intermittent patches of blue sky to peek through the tightly woven cover. What little light penetrated the needles struggled to reach the forest floor.

The four women glanced to their right, then left. Odd trails, possibly made by animals or other writers who came before them, meandered past the wide tree trunks in all directions, only to be swallowed up by the gloom. A feeling of danger permeated the heavy air.

Penny shouldered her large purple backpack and walked to the beginning of the rocky passageway. She stopped. “Did any of you think to bring a flashlight?”

“No,” Cindy said as she took a step back.

“Figures.” Penny turned to the group. “We need some light.”

Brenda laid a soothing hand on Cindy’s arm. “Hey, if we’d have known we were going to be roaming through the lost freaking woods, we’d have brought a damn flashlight.”

Tabby brushed past Brenda and Cindy. One of her white feathered angel wings skimmed Cindy’s cheek, and her halo made from green Christmas garland, bounced with her quick stride. She stood beside Penny and pointed to a wooden sign. “It says, follow path to unblock writer’s block.”

The group stared at the sign.

“Do we have to go in there? It’s so dark,” Cindy stated.

Penny jerked her thumb toward Cindy’s rhinestone studded belt. “What’s that?”

Cindy unhooked a plastic sword from her belt. “It’s my light saber.”  She pushed a button and the sword let off a blue glow.

As Penny reached for the light saber, she said, “That’ll have to do.”

“It’s mine.” Cindy hid it behind her back.

“Fine. You go first then.” Penny moved to the side, giving Cindy a better view of the sinister woods.

Cindy tossed the sword to Penny.

As they made their way, Cindy whispered to Tabby, “What is this place?”

“I think this is Writer’s Block Woods. I’ve heard of it, but I thought it was only a legend.”

“I’ve heard tons of writers have lost their sanity in here,” Brenda said. “I wonder if their minds are still floating around, waiting for unsuspecting victims.”

Cindy covered her mouth, stifling a scream. The silver glittery balls held up by pink pipe cleaners, swayed above her head.

Brenda held her Dracula cape out to the side and opened her mouth to show off her set of dollar store plastic fangs. They fell out. She quickly picked them up and put them back in. “Maybe the lost minds will try to suck out your brain.”

Cindy’s body, clad in a silver jumper, trembled. “Do you think they could?”

Tabby shoved Brenda. White feathers from her angel wings fluttered to the ground. “Stop scaring her.”

“Will you idiots hurry up,” Penny called. “Unless you want to be left behind.”

The three caught up and they continued on with the journey.

After walking a short distance, the foursome stopped.

Tabby glanced around. She noticed a dark shape slumped against a mossy tree trunk beside the gravel lane. “What’s that?”

They stepped closer.

Cindy screamed and covered her eyes.

The shape was a mummified woman wearing a moldy yellow sweater and dirt encrusted tan slacks. Her skin looked like dried leather, shrunken to her bones. Moss grew around the black eye sockets.  Boney hands lay in her lap with her fingers curled into balls. Sticking out from between her fingers were long strands of blond hair—the same color as the hair on her head. Bald patches showed against the dried scalp.

Brenda glanced at Tabby. “Yikes.”

Tabby gingerly touched the bald spot on the back of her own head, and then ran her fingers through the brunette strands, pulling out a clump. Her wide eyes filled with panic. “Oh shit.”

“What . . . what do you think happened to her?” Cindy asked as she peeked through her fingers.

Penny knelt beside the corpse and rummaged through her backpack. “Pretty obvious. She got lost in Writer’s Block Woods and couldn’t find her way out.” She pulled out a silver hat with red and green flashing lights on the rim and placed it over her dark hair.

Brenda laughed. “What the hell is that?”

“It’s my thinking cap.”

Tabby and Brenda laughed so hard tears streamed down their cheeks.

Penny narrowed her eyes. “Are two fools done?”

They wiped the mascara from under their eyes and nodded.

“We should move on.” Penny hoisted up her pack. “I have a bad—“

A menacing growl filled the eerie woods.

Cindy squeaked and grabbed Tabby’s arm, almost knocking them both to the ground. Cindy peered over Tabby’s shoulders. “What was that?”

The growl sounded again. The hair on all four women stood on end as if a static charge had surged through them.

Penny stepped forward. “I’ve no clue, but we should check it out. But stay quiet.”

Tabby grasped Penny’s arm and jerked her to a stop. “Are you insane?”

Cindy sunk to her knees, mumbling something about kittens and butterflies.

“You want to get over your writer’s block, don’t you?” Penny asked.

“Yeah, but I can’t write if I’m dead!”

Brenda drew her cape around her. “Yeah, maybe we should head back.”

Penny walked ahead. “Just know if you turn back now, you’ll never get over your writer’s block.”

Looking at each other, Tabby and Brenda knew Penny spoke the truth. They reached down and helped Cindy to her feet.

Cindy stumbled away from them.  “Please tell me we’re going back. I don’t want to know what made that sound.”

“Come on,” Tabby murmured. “We have to keep going.”

The four women continued down the trail. They came to a deep bend, stopped for a moment to gather their courage, and then slowly trudged onward. When they rounded the corner, they halted once more.

Stretched across the path was a large deadfall, and sitting on top was the largest bear any of them had ever seen. Blue ribbons of electricity wormed through the bear’s silky brown fur like snakes. The bear turned its enormous head toward the women, electricity snapped and crackled with its movements.

The scent of ozone clung heavy in the air. The taste tingled on the women’s tongues.

Penny cleared her throat. “We’re looking for the way out of this forest. Can you help us?”

The bear lifted a massive paw and inspected its razor sharp claws. “It’s back the way ya came.”

“Begging your pardon, but no it isn’t. We just want to get to the other side.”

The bear growled a deep sound that rumbled the ground beneath their feet. Its red eyes narrowed to deadly slits. “This is my last warning, turn back.”

The women huddled together.

“Now what?” Brenda whispered.

Penny thought for a second. “Maybe your characters can help.”

Tabby smiled and nodded. “Craigen, we need your help.” A dark, sexy angel materialized beside her. He stretched large white wings above his head, flapped them twice, then folded them over his back. His white robes shimmered in the dim light.

“Mel, we could use your strength,” Brenda said. Beside her, a tall vampire appeared. His shaggy black hair reached his broad shoulders. His cunning silver eyes turned serious as he gazed at the bear.

For the first time since they passed the brick wall, Cindy laughed. “Andros, help us please. Oh, and bring the biggest gun you have.” The sexiest alien alive took shape behind her. His orange tinted skin enhanced his dark hair and rich mysterious eyes. In his hands he held a futuristic gun the length of his muscular arms. The barrel was clear, showing the inner workings. The words, Wunderwaffa, DG2 were stamped on the side.

The bear roared with laughter as its red gaze took in Craigen and Mel. “Oh, this is just perfect. You two answer to the God of light, while I answer to the God of darkness. You both have no power here. This forest is made up of my master’s emotions: fear, doubt, and despair.” The bear inhaled. “Ahhh, the air is ripe with it.”

Craigen’s face blanched. He turned to Mel. “He’s right. Our powers won’t work in this evil place.”

Mel’s brows lower. “Shit.” He glanced at the women. “Sorry, ladies, but there’s nothing we can do. This is your battle to either win or lose.”

“Well, then, it’s up to my Andros.” Cindy hugged him around his waist then stepped back. “Blast that bear to smithereens.”

Andros pulled an energy cell from his pocket and screwed it into the top of his gun like a light bulb, then flicked a switch. Blue electricity course through the barrel. He raised the gun and pointed it at the bear. “Say goodnight, Johnboy.”

The bear stood on its hind legs and spread its paws wide. “Go ahead. Shoot me. I’ll absorb the energy and become even stronger.”

Just before Andros pulled the trigger, a dark haired, sexy human man materialized beside Penny. “Stop,” he shouted.

Andros lowered the gun. “Why?”

Raef addressed the group. “Think for a second. The bear seems to be made of electricity so it won’t hurt it.”

Brenda smacked her forehead. “That’s right. Like an electric type pokemon, electricity won’t work.”

Raef frowned. “Ah, yeah, something like that.”

“A water type pokemon would.” Brenda looked around. “But we don’t have one—I mean any water.”

Raef gave Penny a sideways glance and smiled.

Penny smiled back and reached into her pack and pulled out a super soaker.

The smug look on the bear’s face faltered. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh, wouldn’t I?” She aimed her water gun and pulled the trigger, shooting out a powerful stream of water.

The liquid hit the bear between the eyes. Its body jerked and did the funky chicken as water and electricity mixed. The men grabbed the women and pulled them to the ground as the bear exploded in a shower of sparks.

When it was over they all stood.

Penny placed her gun back in her pack and zipped it up. “Thanks Raef.”

“Don’t mention it,” he replied. “Call if you need me.” He disappeared.

Andros looked at Cindy and touched one of her glittering balls. “What the hell are you wearing?”

Cindy smoothed her hands over her silver jumper. “It’s my space suit. All people in space wear this.”

“If you ever dress me in something like that, you’ll have writer’s block for eternity.” Andros disappeared.

Mel kissed Brenda’s cheek. “Until we meet again.” He vanished.

Tabby hugged Craigen before he too vanished.

Brenda walked over to Penny. “Hey, Troll. How come you packed a water gun, but not a flashlight?”

Penny laughed. “I’m not sure.” She adjusted her thinking cap. “We should get a move on,”

The women climbed over the large deadfall and continued with their journey.

To be continued . . .

Come back for part three written by Cindy Pahl on Tues. the 21st.

By Brenda Dyer

The Wacky Misadventures of Four Romance Writers Run Amuck

WARNING: This post breaks most of the writing rules. Every rule broken was done on purpose.

Chapter One

Tabby walked into her office determined to get some writing done today. Nothing was going to stop her. Opening the door, her mouth dropped. Sure nothing was going to stop her but that giant brick wall looming before her. Releasing a sigh as tension radiated up her spine.  The computers were on the other side. This was just great. Backing up into the wall she slid to the floor and entangled her fingers in he hair.

“Hey…what the hell is that?” Brenda asked wide-eyed.

Looking up, Tabby, noticed her partners in crime had arrived.

Sarcasm spewed from Tabby’s mouth. “Ahh…looks like a brick wall.”

“What are we going to do?” Brenda questioned as she looked to Tabby.

“I don’t know. My first reaction was to pull out my hair!”

“I don’t think that is going to do anything.”

“Well, too late.” She turned to show the ladies a huge bald spot on the side of her head. The light bounced off her shiny scalp.

Laughter echoed off the walls of the large office.

“Hey fang girl, shut it. This isn’t funny!” Tabby looked down at the clump of hair on the floor.  Tears pooled in her eyes. No, damn it. She was not going to cry!

“Well at least I don’t come to work in angel wings and a halo.” Brenda put her arms out and flapped them like a bird. Her black cape fluttered with her movements.

Tabby pointed a finger at Cindy. “She’s the one wearing the silver jump suit and glittery bouncy balls on her head. She looks like a bad SyFy movie threw up on her.” Three sets of eyes glared at Cindy.

“What? It inspires me. I have to engross myself in the world I write.”

A laugh came from the back of the room. “I’m the only normal one here.” Penny smiled.

All three ladies squinted at Penny. “Shut up!”

“Guess the truth hurts.” Penny shrugged. “How are we going to get over that wall?” She glanced at Tabby.

“Hey, why do I always have to fix everything?” Tabby pushed to her feet and blew out a breath.  “Never mind I will do it.”

Tabby smiled. “Watch and learn. As paranormal and SyFy writers we have other worldly characters with amazing powers. You only have humans in contemporary.” Smug satisfaction tugged at her features. “Craigen can get us through that wall.” A sexy angel appeared. Tabby stared as her breath stuck in her throat. He was gorgeous. Tall dark and handsome didn’t even begin to describe him. “I need you to teleport us through that wall. I’ll go first.”

Craigen nodded his head and wrapped his arms around Tabby. Mmm…he smelled good. She closed her eyes and trusted her strong angel would do as she asked. He could do this she just knew it. Craigen lifted her into the air and they started to levitate towards the wall. Tabby hit the wall with a loud thud and bounced off landing on the floor. She lay sprawled out on the carpet. Her head ached and she looked up to find Craigen gazing down at her.

“Sorry, Tabs, that’s one strong wall. I have never had that happen before.”

“Yeah, whatever. Just go.” It was bad enough everyone was laughing at her.

“My turn! My turn!” Brenda chanted as she jumped up and down. “My vampire can do it. Mel.” A tall sexy dark haired vampire appeared. “I need you to break down that wall.”

Mel smiled. “No problem.” He cracked his knuckles as he stepped up to the wall and proceeded to punch the bricks.

Tabby felt her blood boil. Why did vampires have to be so sexy? It was so easy to fall head over heels in love. She was jerked from her thoughts by Cindy’s cry.

“Oh my God!” Cindy ran to Brenda. A brick had hit her right between the eyes.

“Is she okay?” Penny asked.

Brenda grumbled and sat up. Her hand flew to the large lump forming on her forehead. “What happened?”

Tabby rolled her eyes and glanced up at the ceiling. “Your big bad vampire didn’t break the wall. He only managed to knock you on your ass with a flying brick.” All eyes turned to Mel. He just shrugged his shoulders and disappeared. Tabby reached a hand down to helped Brenda up and tossed her the vampire fangs that had fallen from her mouth.

“Okay, I got this.” Cindy replied.  “My alien and his high tech equipment can take down that wall. Andros.”  A very sexy orange tinted alien appeared. “I need you to demolish that wall.”

Tabby wondered how an orange alien could be so sexy but damn he was hot as hell. She snapped her mouth shut and looked around to see if anyone had noticed. Nope they were all starry eyed too. Lost in their own personal fantasies. Penny was the only on that didn’t seem to drool at the sexy Andros.

“No problem.” He withdrew a sliver gun from a holster on his hip and pointed it at the wall. It made a hissing sound as it warmed up. He rolled his shoulders as a cocky grin graced his chiseled features.

“I don’t think this is a good…” Tabby and the others were struck with bolts of electricity that bounced off the wall before she could finish her sentence. She shook the fog from her head and glanced around. “Damn it, Cindy!”

Andros put his metallic gun away. “What the hell is that wall made of?”

“Sorry.” Then Cindy burst into laughter. “Its made of all the stresses that we let get in the way of our writing.”

He raised a brow as his eyes bore into the four women. “You ladies have some serious issues. I’m out of here.”

Tabby then realized their hair was standing on end and smoke was wafting off their heads. Penny’s body spasmed as the electricity dissipated. “Well that’s what you guys get for laughing at my bald spot! Now we all are having a bad hair day.” Tabby burst out laughing as she watched the ladies all get to their feet.

Penny shook her head. “That’s it. Time to call in the human. Evidently none of your guys can get the job done. And I am not letting any more of this insanity continue. I may write with you guys but I’m not dying with you!” She stood and dusted off her clothes. “Raef.” A very handsome dark haired man appeared.  All the women’s mouth’s dropped. A smug smile tugged at the corners of Penny’s mouth. “He’s not too bad for a human, huh?” Everyone just shook their heads. Raef cleared his throat. “Oh, sorry, I need to know the best way to get through that wall.” Penny replied.

“Why do you have to go through it? Can’t you just go around it?” He raised a single dark brow and crossed his arms over his chest.

All the ladies looked at each other. “Hmmm…why didn’t we think of that?” Cindy laughed.

“Yeah, that’s a great idea. See, humans use logic, not powers. Lets go!” Penny looked to the right of the looming brick wall to find a long winding road that disappeared into a dark forest.

“You want us to go out there?” Tabby pointed and shook her head. “No way! There might be lions and tigers and bears out there.”

Penny ran her hands trough her crispy hair. “We have an angel, vampire, alien and if need be a human with amazing reasoning skills. We will be fine. Plus it will be a great adventure. We can’t just sit here and hope that wall disappears. We have to be stronger than the wall.”

The ladies all looked at each other.  “I don’t think we have a whole lot of options here. Looks like we go through the forest.” Tabby reached out shaky hands to Brenda and Cindy.

To be continued…

Come back Friday the 17th for part two of our crazy journey written by Brenda Dyer.

Happy Reading and Writing,

Tabitha Blake

On Critiquing

I glanced in the mirror this morning, and my eyes are green today. A mossy, greenish brown. You might think that's totally irrelevant, but bear with me. My eyes are normally brown. They shift colors with my emotions, what color I wear, and according to what kind of light I'm in. They always have. Depending on how I feel and what I'm doing, they will be anywhere from a golden brown, to deep brown, to green.

My daughter has green eyes, my son has brown. I've seen hers darken to almost brown, and his lighten to almost green. Their father has hazel eyes that change with his moods too.

My mother, my sister, a long-ago boyfriend, and my husband are the only people that have ever commented on my changing eye color. I don't think it's something just anyone would pick up on. You'd have to pay pretty close attention to catch it.

What does my eye color, and that of my offspring, have to do with critiquing? Well, I saw a critic comment to a writer, that eyes don't lighten, darken, and change color. Maybe, she just hasn't witnessed it, because I can tell you they do. Some say eyes just reflect colors around them, that the color appears to change. I've seen mine go from brown to green in a minute, same lighting, same clothes, same mirror, different emotion. I'm also sure that until she witnesses it herself, she'll remain convinced that eyes don't change color. Maybe hers don't. Maybe she's never looked at them that closely. Maybe my offspring and I are weird.

Even if she were right – and my chameleon eyes are some figment of my imagination, the story she was critiquing was fiction. Fiction allows for whole bodies to morph into strange beings. I think eye color could run the whole gamut in any one fictional character, and nobody should bat an eye at it. That is, if it's intentional.

I’m always nervous the first time I crit for someone. Not everyone takes criticism well. Even for those that do, what they know to be true may not be true in my experience. It's subjective to education, to experience, to our own personal understanding of what we've been taught. Like the he said/she heard concept – sometimes lessons are misinterpreted.

Maybe some writers go in expecting a pat on the back for a wonderful story. When instead they get suggestions about where to tighten and polish, it stings. Too many stings, and they get defensive. We don't realize how bad we write before we've suffered under properly wielded crit knives.

Our novels are kind of like our children; we are more intimate, see their traits in a different light than the rest of the world does. What I think is my son's wonderful sense of humor, one of his teachers sees as mouthy disrespect. It’s important to try to phrase things – not sappy or gushy – but in a polite tone. Remember, you're picking on someone's baby.

On the flip side, I’ve seen some crits where the suggestions actually make the work worse. The critter gets the rule confused and insists on changes that actually go in the wrong direction. Probably because someone critted for them and told them wrong.

You have to be able to put in the study time to make sure you understand why you make a change in your ms, don’t just do it because a critter said so. How do you know that the critter truly understands why they make a suggestion? You can’t know, so you have to educate yourself.

I remember the first piece I submitted for critique. I learned a lot from the feedback. I could pat myself on the back for having near perfect grammar and punctuation, my fictional girl and boy were lovable, my narrator's voice rocked. I didn't even know I had a 'voice' on paper. I also learned that I hadn't clue number one about POV, plot, or tension. According to my critics, I got pacing right, but I had no idea how I'd done it.

I hopped right on Google and started studying these foreign concepts. I wanted to write fiction. I enrolled in a class. I discussed my errors with more educated writers. I've spent the last year and a half learning and studying so much that there's been little time to write. I wouldn't have even known what I needed to know if it weren't for my CPs.

So… I got some critiques of my work. They showed me how much I didn't know. I had to return the favors. But, I didn't know anything, how could I help them? My solution – I shared my impressions as a reader.

Reading was what I did best, so I’d let them know what it made me feel, what it made me curious about, what didn’t make sense. I didn’t know back then why these things happened or what to do about them. I left it up to the writer to decide if everything they conveyed was on target – and what to do to hone in on the reader’s emotion they were going for. A lot of times, that's all an author wants, to see if they are making you feel what they want you to.

I think we can all help each other, no matter where we are on the learning curve – we just have to be aware when we crit of what we can help with, and what we can’t. Here are some things I've learned along my critiquing voyage.

If  your strong point is grammar – and the novel is at the polish stage -  go for line edits. But, if you aren’t sure what a crutch word or dangling participle is – why they are considered such, and what to do about it, you should probably just leave it at, “It sounds wrong to me.” Or leave it alone.

If you know the difference between showing and telling, and which works where – because they both are appropriate at times - point it out. If the concepts have you lost, you’re not the best person to help with those issues.

If you naturally see how the tension and pace can be tightened, focus on that. If plotting is what you do best – by all means suggest a twist or point out a hole.

Each element helps tighten a story, but no one of us is an authority on them all, and the writer doesn’t expect us to be. If we were – one critic's eyes on our work would be enough. We wouldn't need groups. Help where you can; skip what you struggle with.

I’m willing to get pretty detailed and take a lot of time doing a crit. That said, if I open an MS that I think really needs ripped into, I’ll leave it. If I get a couple pages in, and it looks like I’ve slaughtered it – I’ll delete it and go on my way. One time I didn't, and I ended up with a nasty troll in my inbox. Never again… If it reeks, it reeks. It's only my opinion and sharing that isn't always helpful.

If I owe them a crit, I may explain a few issues – and summarize - but I won’t keep repeating myself and stabbing at their work. The writer has to learn to spot and fix those issues, so doing it every instance down the page doesn’t help them, IMO. (Unless I’m critting for Brenda – then, I will gleefully throw red all over her MS and explain very little – it’s what she expects from me. Plus I know, without a doubt, she knows what’s wrong when I point it out, and she knows what to do about it.)

There's a humongous wealth of free information on the web about writing fiction – some of it's wrong too – a lot of it is reputable. Make sure you're learning from a reputable source. And by all means, if you found the resource that made showing versus telling finally make sense in your head, share the link when you point it out in someone's work.

I've saved the biggest for last. DO NOT let a critic's word for a concept replace good, old fashioned hard work. Look it up, learn it, then you can explain it when you see someone else struggle with it. DO NOT repeat what a critic told you unless you've researched it and know it to be fact. That little tidbit alone could save a lot of learners a lot of grief.

Happy Writing and Happy Critting Folks! See ya next week.

Writing Sex

I can't resist an intriguing prompt. The prompt was write a sex scene that takes place in a given local. I wrote a sex scene -- no love, romance, or emotional bondage intended.

Jo, a no-fear femme fatale, barred no holes in her pursuit of the object of her desire.

Mick, the tasty morsel she shared an office with, played hard to get by throwing out the morality roadblock. Mick lusted after Jo, maybe even more than Jo lusted after him. He obstructed her path with arguments about office dating, and the prerequisite rules that society demands.

That didn't hinder Jo, since she wasn't after romance, a relationship, or even morning coffee. Jo knew the backlash Mick feared would only come into play if they tried to sustain their tryst in the real world. Jo wasn't about to sweat the petty stuff. She itched to get naked and pet Mick's sweaty stuff.

She thumbed through her list of feminine wiles, and chose the tricks that would demolish his blockades. She used her brain and her charms to end up sandwiched between his solid heat and the icy bite of a metal railing. No promises, no excuses, no consequences. Hot, horny sex with her chosen stud muffin... She wanted it; she got it; she was gone.

It was a fun piece to write. Jo was no wimpy, whiny, abused damsel in distress. She could navigate her way in the world without help. It was liberating to play in her head awhile. Unfortunately, some of my readers didn't share my sense of adventure.

There were comments like "not romantic". Good, I say. I wasn't writing the great American love story. I was writing a sex scene.

Another didn't like the way Jo dallied to her point. An old fashioned tease-and-tempt was, in Jo's mind, the best route to her destination. It was her buildup to the big moment; foreplay, if you will. She was careful to choose the psychological warfare most likely to topple Mick's defenses. His body was willing. Only his psychology kept them apart.

I took the opportunity to flex narration muscles I don't normally use.

My scene was written in first person, to see if I could make a sympathetic character narrate her own story. First person makes it tough for the reader to identify with a character. In order to help the reader establish a connection with my leading lady and gent, I avoided any identifying physical traits. I was happy with the feedback I got concerning the characters. I think I pulled that off.

I wondered if I could make it go real time and be believable. I used present tense. This, it seems, I didn't accomplished so well. With words like dallying, and a comment about forgetting they were even in a stairwell… well, I think I fell flat there. It was still fun to do something different.

The last part of my experiment was to make it sizzle without using any harsh words, while escaping the purple prose trap. I think I managed to check those two items off.

Even though I missed my mark with my audience, the experience was enlightening. The best part is the responses got me thinking about rules for writing sex. I've read them before, but they really sink in when you have something personal to relate them to. We all struggle with our sex scenes a bit, so I thought I'd share my thoughts.

Number one on my list: Know your audience. If your readers expect the raging inferno of raunchy sex in exotic locals – that is what you must give them. Dish up a helping of that course to an audience hungry for a sweet shaky first kiss to plant the seed of forever love; you'll spoil their appetite.

Number two isn't very far from number one. Understand what the sex is about. People have sex for all varieties of reasons: Because it feels good. Maybe they are looking for love, starved for a human connection, or they can't help themselves – as in addiction. For some, it's a way to get what they want, distract a lover from their true purpose, ease some emotional pain, or even because they are bored. And once again - it's my favorite - because it feels good. There's a whole host of sexual motivations I haven't touched on, but that isn't my point. You have to understand why your characters are about to lose their laundry. And, refer back to rule one, and decide if your audience can connect with your reason.

List item number three: Avoid the ick factor, but don't slip into the so-so everyday boring rut of tameness. Be open-minded, but know when to slam the gate before that train of thought derails. I'm not able to elaborate on this one much. I hope that we'll know it when we see it as writers and critters.

Number four: Last, but absolutely not least… switch it up and have fun. Live vicariously through your characters. Put on the Goddess Gown and play with attitudes that may be out of your reach, but so within the grasp of your fiction-vixen. Explore, dream, and give your reader something more than they get in the confines of their reality. Fiction is fantasy.

Thanks for visiting us here at Tabby's!

Wicked Word Wednesday - Episode 4 - Voice

Wicked Wednesday, fellow followers of TNN.

Today's game consists of trying to say a lot with as few words as possible. Dreamer? Inspiration? In tribute to yesterday's fun exchange, I think I will call it…

Voice

On you go, sharing your latest scheme. I love your schemes. The way your mind works is captivating. To me, anyway.

You're a dreamer. Not the typical, lost in a fantasy world dreamer, you have focus. You aim it at real goals. You plan, and scheme, and detail your world so well.

I can see it. Vividly.

Your voice snagged my attention. It draws pictures that are infinitely irresistible, even inspiring.

I can see your world, the beings that exist there, the way you fit it all together.

I just know you will accomplish volumes.

Wicked Word Wednesday - Episode 3 - Farewell

Rational talks, insane screamfests, and more sadness than she cared to recount hadn't won her his respect or trust. Five years and over a thousand soul-shaking orgasms later, it's time to pen The End and close the book. Jeff and his bossy, pushy, clingy, controlling attitudes were about to be history.

Grace couldn't force herself to remain committed to a relationship that filled most of her waking hours with misery. At some point, she hadn't had the strength to leave. Back when she was still familiar with the concept of hope.

Now, walking away had become easier than staying. Sure, there'd be tears – but they'd be the last Jeff would ever cost her. Small price to pay for the return of her self-respect, dignity, and confidence he'd held hostage.

Jeff's car pulling into the garage set her knees to trembling. Grace glanced around the room cluttered with boxes of his belongings, and for a microsecond, doubt tickled her resolve. She took a deep breath, and squared herself to the door when she heard the rattling knob announce his entrance.

Their eyes locked as he crossed the kitchen. Jeff eyed the boxes stacked in the living room, and laid the cut flowers on the top of the nearest pile. "You were serious."

"Very."

"I love you."

Grace took his hands in hers. She hated the slump of his shoulders, the pain in his eyes. Flashes of all the times he'd left her dejected flitted through her mind, and bolstered her courage. "Maybe you do. You don't trust me. You don't respect me. You don't encourage or understand me. I love you; I can't live with you."

"I've got nowhere to go."

"You've got the rest of the week to figure it out. I'm going to visit mom. I'll be back Saturday night, you need to be gone."

"I will. I'm sorry."

"Me too. It's not enough."

Jeff pulled her close, and wrapped her in his arms. His breathing stuttered and the tremble in his voice stole her breath. "I know."

Grace closed her eyes, and tried to still the fuzzy brainwaves and boiling blood their bodies always created on contact. If only their emotional bond rocked like their physical connection did. If. She locked with his gaze, and swam away in desire. She couldn't stop the pounding of her pulse or the stiffening of her nipples any more than she could stop breathing.

He covered her lips with his, and the sensations continued to swirl until her knees were weak. He took her hand and led her toward the bedroom; she never considered resisting.

Grace sat on the edge of the bed while Jeff rifled through her vanity. The idea barely occurred to wonder what he was up to before he emerged holding a fluffy blush brush. He wore the sexy grin that captured her heart in the beginning.

He tossed the brush on the bed, and pulled her to her feet. Time ticked in reverse as he peeled her clothing, and tossed each piece aside. He turned her to face the bed, pressed his body to her, and nuzzled her neck.

Mesmerized by his touch, she gave up any attempt at coherent thought, and willed herself to memorize this moment. With every caress, the heat of his lips slipped beneath her skin to awaken all of her senses. Every breath she took ground his spicy scent into her memory. Each place their skin kissed, flames of desire raged.

Jeff's gentle touch urged her down to the mattress, and she did as he bid.

Every feathery touch of the brush up her leg stoked the fire rising inside her. She arched against his caresses, wanting more, needing his skin on hers. He painted desire over her entire backside, with sadistic slowness. Time moved backwards, while she writhed and moaned below him and the ache inside swelled.

Grace sighed at the feel of his hands on her, and bit back disappointment when she discovered they were only there to turn her over. Without hesitation, he moved to her feet and began his delicious torture anew. By the time he painted his way to her breasts, her grip on sanity had lost a lot of ground.

She grabbed his head and brought his mouth to her nipple. The motion brought most of his body in contact with hers, and the need to have him inside of her made her dizzy.

Jeff dropped the brush, and continued exploring with his fingers. Grace wriggled closer to him, and positioned her opening against his erection, but he didn't accept her invitation. She ground her hips toward him, but he had her pinned in a way that limited how much of him she could consume.

Grace put both hands against his chest, pushed, and rolled on top of him. She straddled his thighs, and began a smoldering exploration of her own. The soft curls on his legs yielded to her touch. Her eyes locked on his hard cock. She would miss it, but first, a kiss goodbye was in order.

His closed eyes and rocking hips spurred her on. She teased and licked for an eternity before she brought her mouth all the way to the base, and moaned against him. Unable to resist herself, she climbed up to mount him.

Something snapped in Grace the instant she had him buried to the hilt. Her desperate bid for happiness and independence surfaced. She no longer focused on giving him pleasure. Grace ground into him with a furious appetite to reach her peak. She didn't care if he came along for the ride or not.

She rode his stiff body until the wave hit, every muscle in her body quivered to the beat of her heart, and still she ground against him. Her world got more colorful; the scent of sex that hung in the air invigorated her. Every sound of release and joy they shared pushed her further and harder until she collapsed spent.

When her knees stopped quaking enough that she trusted them to carry her, she climbed off the bed and put her clothes on.

"Where you going, baby?"

"We're done here. I'm leaving."

Jeff's only response was to meet her eyes.

Grace didn't bother to analyze everything she saw there. They'd gone beyond all that. She took one long last look at his body, remembered how he had brought her so much pleasure, and remembered the pain it had cost. She picked up her bag from the floor, and whispered, "Thanks, sexy." Grace stepped away, and closed the door behind her.

Wicked Word Wednesday - Episode 2 – Fantasy

Falling doesn't hurt, landing does. No matter how prepared you are, landing impacts you. In flight, you don't register the blows. The euphoria of falling hangs around a while to mask a laundry list of bumps and dings you you collected along the way. Your head was in the clouds. Each collision left a mark. When you land, you'll feel them.

Safer than falling in love, is falling in fantasy. You never land. You keep falling-falling-falling, no landing in sight. Close your eyes; see his face. Lick your lips; taste his kiss. Search your mind; his name is in front.

Slow motion intensity of a first kiss never fades into the boredom of a ten-thousandth peck. It's fantasy. It's all yours. Reality can never take away what's in your head. You decide where you go, how long you stay, and when you will step out of your comfort zones. The boundaries are fuzzy when they aren't real, infinitely easier to hurdle.

Electricity tingles under your skin, ignited by his touch. Desire explodes when his body is near, and he's as close as your imagination. Fantasy doesn't have any use for self-consciousness. Embarrassment won't exist in fantasyland. Kickin' curves pressed against rock hard proportions that flip all of your switches simultaneously. Every caress sizzles. Every glance rocks. Every encounter blazes. Always.

Fly with Mr. Fantasy; kiss him. Embrace him. Lose yourself in sensation. Memorize the paths his caresses engraved on your skin. Savor his essence. Give him your lips, your touch, your body, your mind. Fall, and keep falling. If a landing approaches, raise the sky. Soar back up, and go explore.

Wicked Word Wednesday - Episode 1 - Kiss

Welcome to the first installment of Wicked Word Wednesday. Today, I'd like to hit you right in the kisser with the wonderful, and wicked word, kiss. Mwah!

If smooching with a number wiz is high on your list of things to do, you might know that osculation is a term for kissing. Osculation happens in mathematics when there is contact between two curves or surfaces at three or more common points. They call this a kiss.

Though the origin is unknown, and at least one respected wordsmith reference has called it archaic, the word buss is interchangeable with the word kiss. Buss equals kiss, as bussed, bussing, and busses align with kissed, kissing, and kisses. I didn't find anything that said a busser would be a kisser – but if you're going to use such an obscure word, I guess the rules are yours to make and break at will.

Does anyone else notice how many food terms creep into the sexy stuff, and vice versa? Food can be sexy-sexy-sexy. Honey licked from a lover's body, whipped cream covered naughty bits, shots from a navel, trading mints during a kiss, all very erotic. It's no small wonder we have cookie kisses, chocolate kisses, meringue kisses, and scotch kisses.

Before all of this kissing, bussing, and osculating gets you all worked up, let's look at the seedier side of the kiss. Kiss ups, or kiss asses are everywhere. Don't you just want to tell them to kiss off? Just be careful if you do, so you don't kiss away something important, like your job. We cautious types like to avoid those kisses of death. Although, you might find that the new job you land in its place is the kiss of life that resuscitates you.

There are kiss similes to consider, like the kiss of perfume on your skin. In contrast to that, might be that little kiss you gave your co-worker's bumper in the overcrowded parking lot last week. Combination kisses are good too. Kisses and hugs at the end of a note, abbreviated with those darling X's and O's always encourage fuzzy warmth. A snog is a kiss that includes cuddles.

Don't forget the band, KISS. Who could? Still, they merit a mention. Also worth mentioning, are all the acronyms that are made from KISS. There are dozens, but since space and attention spans are limited, I'll only share my faves. Keep It Simple Sweetie would be number one on my list. Keep It Super Simple is a great reminder when you're introducing a new concept to someone. Keep It Safe & Sound is hard to argue with, no matter what 'it' may be.

A smack is enthusiastic, like a smooch. Smacks can also be light, like pecks. It depends on the context, and more than likely, on the recipient. These are usually reserved for those people we love, not the people we desire. That doesn't mean we can't plant a peck on the object of our desire - we can, and should. But, that's not the lip-lock we've been holding our collective breath for.

What we want, what our characters want, what our readers want our characters to want … is that deep, slow motion, set the world afire, soul kiss. Otherwise known as the French kiss or deep kiss, it's the Queen of Kisses. This kiss, it steals your breath, vanishes the outside world, erases common sense, makes your knees weak, your pulse race, your body quiver, and it has got to be shared. So, go hit your favorite hottie right in the kisser with one now. Kiss and tell; disguise it as fiction, but do kiss and tell.