Erinyes—not your average heroines

Deciding to make my heroine in Daughter of Night one of the Greek Erinyes was a bit challenging at first. After all, these terrifying ladies are vengeance goddesses and their only duty is to punish mortal wrongdoers—not your average women. I had to figure out a way to make a female that looks frightening and punishes people into an attractive, likable heroine. With a little magic, I was able to make that happen.

And when I say magic, I mean that Rhea, the Great Goddess, used magic to turn her vengeance goddess into a human.

That seemed like the best way to turn a vengeance goddess into a heroine, considering that the Erinyes, known as Furies in Roman mythology, felt no remorse while enacting justice to mortal sinners. Punishments ranged from tormenting madness to suffering a terrible disease.

According to Hesiod, the Great Goddess, in her aspect as Night, bore these terrifying creatures. “Night bore hateful Doom and dark Fate and Death, she bore Sleep, she bore the Tribe of Dreams...and the Fates she bore, and the mercilessly punishing Furies who prosecute the transgressions of men and gods—never do the goddesses cease from their terrible wrath until they have paid the sinner his due.”

The Greek poets told of the Erinyes pursuing evildoers on Earth, usually as a group of three—Tisiphone, Megaera and Alecto. These Daughters of Night had a frightening appearance with snakes for hair, eyes that wept bloody tears, bronze or bat wings and sharp teeth. The only way to avoid being punished by these ladies was to live a sin-free life. Sounds easy, right? Apparently not for some people that were punished by the Daughters of Night. There is one bright spot—showing remorse can help end the torment.

In my new release, Daughter of Night, Rhea created another Daughter of Night named Becuille. This vengeance goddess had the power to punish mortals, but her main duty was to punish the other gods, the Titans, whenever they disobeyed Rhea. She also served Rhea as a personal guard and became the Great Goddess’s most trusted servant. Rhea uses magic to make Becuille human and sends her to find the Titan that betrayed her and hiding in a foreign land. Even though Rhea trusts Becuille, giving a vengeance goddess human emotions and sending her out into the world might not be the best idea.

Kelley Heckart, Historical fantasy romance author

Captivating...Sensual...Otherworldly

http://www.kelleyheckart.com

http://kelleysrealm.blogspot.com/

http://twitter.com/CelticChick

http://www.facebook.com/pages/Kelley-Heckart/111838455604

Blurb: Two mortals are caught up in the battle between the Titans and Olympian gods.

Buy links for Daughter of Night:

Mundania Press (in ebook formats and trade paperback):

http://www.mundania.com/book.php?title=Daughter+of+Night

Amazon Kindle: http://www.amazon.com/Daughter-Of-Night-ebook/dp/B008OCANEO/ref=sr_1_14?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1343182822&sr=1-14&keywords=kelley+heckart

Barnes & Noble Nook: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/daughter-of-night-kelley-heckart/1112220212?ean=2940015001952

Buy links on author website: http://kelleyheckart.com/daughter_of_night.html

Other books in my Past Lives series:

Not even the wrath of the gods could keep them apart.

http://kelleyheckart.com/BookShelf.html

The hero and heroine—making that connection

There is that defining moment in a romance novel where the hero and heroine finally make a connection. In my new release, Daughter of Night, I used a thunderstorm to help bring the hero and heroine together. Weather can be a useful writing tool and in this story, it was a way to force two people that didn’t really care for each other together in an unexpected situation that brought them closer. It’s those unexpected moments that are the most magical.

Here is a snippet from that pivotal scene from Daughter of Night, my new Historical fantasy romance from Mundania Press.

Blurb:

Their destiny began in ancient Anatolia.

Becuille is a daughter of Night and a servant to the Great Goddess, created to wield Her vengeance. Callileon is a prince of the Hatti, who may be the one she was sent to punish.

When love finds them, they are cursed by the gods and surrounded by tragedy, which even the Fates are powerless to change.

Excerpt, Rated PG:

Another terrace lay below the Upper Courtyard. Curious, she walked down, inhaling the scents of straw and animal smells associated with stables. A sudden forceful wind almost knocked her down and large raindrops fell from low-bellied black clouds gathered above the palace. A loud crack of thunder caused her to jump and lightning danced from the sky, dangerously close.

With nowhere else to run for cover, she ducked into one of the stables just before another dangerous bolt landed nearby with a loud crack. Turning, she was surprised to find Callileon kneeling in the straw, stroking the head of a panting horse. Becuille jumped back, startled to be so close to one of the frightening beasts.

“Inaras, I need your help. She is having trouble giving birth.” His voice rang of desperation and Becuille thought she saw tears shining in his eyes.

That he would shed tears for a beast touched her in a strange way. “I...I will go for help.”

His hand shot out, gripping her forearm in a strong hold. “No, there is no time. Please, Inaras...” His pleading gaze bore into her.

“I do not have magic with the beasts. I cannot help you.” She was in fact terrified of horses, remembering how the northern invaders had ridden down from the mountains on the backs of the snorting beasts, their hooves stamping, their large teeth gnashing. She still had nightmares about them trampling people to death underneath their dangerous hooves. But this beast did not look so threatening now, writhing in pain on the ground.

The animal's soft nose touched Becuille's hand, her soft brown eyes pleading for help. She experienced a pang of compassion for the suffering beast. Callileon’s distressed expression revealed how much he needed her. The prince would never beg her for help unless he had no choice. By helping him, she could gain his trust. “Tell me what to do.”

“I will need you to keep her calm while I help the foal out,” he said. “Stroke her head and talk softly to her.”

She gazed down at the horse and tentatively reached out, stroking the animal’s head. “Does she have a name?”

He caressed the horse’s head. “Blaze, for the splash of white on her head that looks like flames.”

“Blaze, you will be healed soon. Callileon here will help you,” she whispered, stroking the splash of white on her head. The horse let out a strangled neigh and attempted to move.

“You need to keep her calm,” Callileon said, giving her a hard look.

“I told you I have no talent for the beasts and the storm is frightening her.” Another loud clap of thunder shook the stable and a fierce wind wailed through the row of stables.

“Sing to her, Inaras.” Shouting over the noise of the storm, his voice strained with frustration.

She felt like a fool for not thinking of singing as a way to calm the beast. Singing a lullaby in the Cretan language, she gently stroked Blaze's head as she would a small babe in a cradle. The horse relaxed under the spell of her voice, neighing softly.

****

Kelley Heckart, Historical fantasy romance author

Captivating...Sensual...Otherworldly

http://www.kelleyheckart.com

http://kelleysrealm.blogspot.com/

http://twitter.com/CelticChick

http://www.facebook.com/pages/Kelley-Heckart/111838455604

Buy links for Daughter of Night:

Mundania Press (in ebook formats and trade paperback):

http://www.mundania.com/book.php?title=Daughter+of+Night

Amazon Kindle: http://www.amazon.com/Daughter-Of-Night-ebook/dp/B008OCANEO/ref=sr_1_14?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1343182822&sr=1-14&keywords=kelley+heckart

Barnes & Noble Nook: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/daughter-of-night-kelley-heckart/1112220212?ean=2940015001952

Buy links on author website: http://kelleyheckart.com/daughter_of_night.html

Zombies, in romance?

Romance readers never fail to surprise me. I’m still bewildered about the popularity of male/male romances, not made popular by gay readers, but by heterosexual female readers. And now zombies are popular in romances. I can’t get the disgusting image of a brain eating, groaning, slobbering zombie out of my mind. This is not the ideal hero or heroine of a romance novel—at least in my opinion.

Can you imagine anyone kissing or having sex with a zombie? Eew. At least a vampire or a werewolf can hold a conversation and look normal enough to be a romantic lead. Blood drinking vs. brain eating—I would pick blood drinking over brains any day. There is too much of an ick factor involved with zombies. This may be something that affects me personally because I was traumatized by watching the original Night of the Living Dead when I was a child. Nothing frightens or disgusts me more than a zombie. “Barbara, they’re coming for you.” I hear this dialog in my nightmares.

I haven’t read any romances with zombies, but the only way for a zombie romance to work for me is if the hero and heroine are human and not zombies. Maybe zombies terrorize them or maybe they hunt zombies. But I don’t want to read about zombies having sex with other zombies or with anyone. Keep the zombies in horror novels and leave romance to the hunky vampires and werewolves.

Kelley Heckart

'Timeless tales of romance, conflict & magic'
http://www.kelleyheckart.com
http://kelleysrealm.blogspot.com/ Check out my long hair hotties!
http://twitter.com/CelticChick
http://www.facebook.com/pages/Kelley-Heckart/111838455604

Technorati Tags: kelley heckart,nocturnal nights blog,writing romances,heroes,heroines,zombies in romance,romance heroes and heroines,trends in romance

In the Zone with Zee: The Original Dilemma: Show, not Tell!!

Hey beautiful people

26th of the month, and I'm back on Tabby's Nocturnal Nights for the monthly Agony Zee advice column. Usually, I feature 2 queries sent in by writers with 'issues & dilemmas', but today I'll have only one topic up. Why? Because it is a quintessential aspect of writing, made even more resonant in the field of writing romance. You guessed it - how to show and not tell in your story.

On this note, here's today's column:

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Dear Agony Z


I keep being urged to “show, not tell” by my crit partners. They say what I give isn’t enough, but I don’t understand, since I do give descriptions and explanations. Can you please enlighten me here?


Signed — The one who doesn’t get it.

****

Dear I-don’t-get-it,

“Show, not tell” is probably the first line you heard when you joined this career. It is probably the most passed-around piece of advice in writing. It doesn’t really get better with time either though, sometimes droning into a sort of litany you get fed up with.

However, there has hardly been most precious advice in writing. In essence, it is what writing is all about. Anyone can string a few sentences together to give an account of a happening. The author, though, goes further, bringing life to this episode. How? By “showing” and not “telling.”

Let’s go to the roots of this statement. “Show” v/s “tell”. What does it imply? Let’s take an example.

The sky was a clear, powdery blue, and the brilliant sun hung like a golden orb in its vast expanse, bathing the world below with bright rays that could blind the eyes when it reflected off water.

It was summer.

Both of these sentences say the same thing, but which one held more appeal? Anyone can tell you it is summer, but what can you as a writer provide your reader with what summer is like? While the first sentence “shows”, the second merely “tells”.
This can also work into planting the setting and giving your reader a feel of where the story takes place. Your story can take place in summer in England. Good. But where in England? Summer as seen in London is very different from summer as seen in the country. Another example could be what summer is like in a dry area like Las Vegas and summer in a humid place like Miami.

“Show, don’t tell” can deepen your story too, and present your writing voice, as well as your character’s mindset. Take the following statement:

He was as sinful as chocolate.

You can use this to describe your hero, but frankly, any woman can tell you a man is as sinful as chocolate. What does the woman you’re writing about, your heroine, think? Say you have two women vying for the same man. Both can describe him as in the above statement, but do you think this would ring true? How about giving your reader more? This can be done by “showing” them what each thinks of the bloke in question, without simply “telling” what he is like.

One woman can say – he was as sinful as chocolate. Like a Mars bar. All hard and dark on the surface, but take a bite and you get to the heart of him, where he was soft and sweet, with just the right amount of sugar merging with the melting bitterness of the dark cocoa coating that held him as the whole he was.

The other woman could say – he was as sinful as chocolate. Almost like extra rich, 70% cocoa extra dark Lindt slabs. Polished and so smooth on the surface, with a crispiness that remained even after you’d taken a bite. It didn’t end even when the delectable concoction started to melt on your tongue, when you got that potent rush of bitterness that stung the taste buds, making you crave more even as you wince. And then the hint of sugar kicked in, soothing and bringing bliss disproportionate to the sharpness that had just invaded your senses. That’s what he was like, an addiction she loathed yet one which she always gave in to when he overcame all her defenses.

In the above paragraphs, you take the same sentence and expand on it, bringing a uniqueness to the story, to your voice, to each character. It can wrap your reader in a world where they hang on to your every word, where they get lost in the meanders of your pen.

How do you do this? By “showing, not telling.”

Now, let's say you need to describe something - bed sheets. Different people will 'feel' the sheet in different ways.

Look at the following examples, and see how many different women are portrayed through one single description:

Like a soft summer breeze drifting along her skin...

The sensation of smooth white sand trailing along her fingers, reminiscent of a the drifting grains inside an hourglass...

Like the skin of a man after showering off the exertion of exercise, smooth, cool, yet with a hint of lingering warmth that permeated all the senses...

Now let's use something else - a brand. What, and how, can you show with a brand?

Many will say dropping the brand name itself in your work is enough to show, like this:

She was dressed in a Chanel suit. – This shows she has money.

But like with chocolate above, you have this superb springboard to use to bring uniqueness to your work, to immerse the reader even more into the story and characterization.

Look at these examples using the Chanel suit:

She was dressed in a Chanel suit, the tweed, lapelled jacket reminiscent of the first creations of Coco Chanel.
– This shows that the suit is old. Either she clings to old stuff (Miss Havisham-like), or the suit can be an old discard she bought in a second-hand store.

She was dressed in a Chanel suit, the tweed, lapelled jacket reminiscent of the first creations of Coco Chanel, except for the bright, vibrant colours of the fabric and its crease-free treatment which left the lapels crisp even after long, drudging day.
– This shows a brand-new suit, as the crease-free treatment is a new concept and the colours a trend of recent seasons. She has money and uses it to regularly update her wardrobe. She is fashion conscious and consequently, can be thought to be a sophisticated, cosmopolitan woman.

She was dressed in a Chanel suit, the bright colour of the fabric competing with the sparkle of the Swarovski crystals and the blinding gleam of the platinum jewellery at her throat, ears, wrists and fingers. The bling factor was echoed in her strappy silver sandals and the chunky, heavy metal chain on her custom-made, lizard-skin Birkin. An Hermes scarf trailed out of the bag’s opening, the pure silk showing ladders in its weave where the delicate fabric had caught on the gigantic Tiffany diamond ring on her left hand
– This paragraph shows you a woman who has money and loves to flaunt it. However, the fact that she combines so many brands and is so much a show-off highlights that she may be new money or trying hard to show that she has the moolah. She is also a fashion victim, which can suppose a neurotic personality and a ruthless one at that too. Or, it can show a woman who is not self-assured at all and wants to fit in desperately, but awkward and trying too hard, manages to compromise all her chances.

A few details here have helped to present a different picture at every single example. Yet, we started with the same woman and the same suit.

You 'show', and it's this 'showing' that 'tells' your reader what you want to convey.

There you are - 'show, not tell'. I'd love to hear your comments, and if this article was helpful.

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Got a question for Agony Zee? Drop her a line at zeemonodee@hotmail.com with your concern/issue/dilemma.

Zee Monodee
Author of stories about love, life, relationships... in a melting-pot of cultures

Zee is an author who grew up on a fence - on one side there was modernity and the global world, on the other there was culture and traditions. Putting up with the culture for half of her life, one day she decided she'd stand tall on her wall and dip toes every now and then into both sides of her non-conventional upbringing.
From this resolution spanned a world of adaptation and learning to live on said wall. The realization also came that many other young women of the world were on their own fence.
This particular position became her favourite when she decided to pursue her lifelong dream of writing - her heroines all sit 'on a fence', whether cultural or societal, in today's world or in times past.

Hailing from the multicultural island of Mauritius, Zee has been writing for close to a decade and has had 3 novels published so far (under other pen names). After a stint in the publishing industry, on the 'other side of the fence' as an editor, her goal today is to pen wholesome, fulfilling stories and help fellow authors, whether as critique partner or as freelance editor.

Find out more about her by checking her blog

Possibly Impossible

In January, many bloggers write about New Year's resolutions. They write about how to make said promises and which ones to stay clear of for sanity's sake. They'll blog about their own resolution list and the why's of it all.

Not me, though. Sorry. I strive to be different – but not difficult, mind you.

Christmas eve, I lay snuggled up to my husband in bed, tucked up against his side with my cheek on his chest and wrapped up in his big arms. Offshore there's a storm brewing so the wind is picking up and blowing the dead leaves around outside. All very romantic, cuddly type of stuff.

As usual, he falls asleep before I do. Probably because I drink more coffee than him. Just as I begin to drift off however, he rolls towards me and takes my chest pillow and source of warmth with him. Worse, his knee comes up and plows into my belly, pushing me away.

He's sleeping. He doesn't understand what he's doing and he doesn't do it on purpose.

Safely entrenched on my side of our king-size bed, I lay there and wondered how on Earth those romance book heroines can sleep all night plastered against their man. Those handsome, virile men don't push their delectable women away to spread out in skydiver positions.

I have bionic hearing at night. My power came into focus after I had my first baby. Sound asleep, I know who's gotten up at midnight and used the bathroom. I can hear our dogs out back and can tell which of the six is causing the ruckus.

So why is it the heroine will awaken, only to find herself—by some bizarre twist of fate—flung across the hero's body, never having stirred during all that body movement?

They can make love in the morning. Neither one ever has to use the bathroom first. Oh! The joys of not having morning breath either.

Gotta love fiction and the impossible possibilities! What have you tried or experienced that worked in novels but not in reality?

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

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.

Zee Monodee Interview

Please Welcome Zee Monodee To NN. It is great to have you with us today Zee.
Tabby

Hello everyone! Firstly, I’d like to say thanks to Tabitha for having me here today. I love the interviews on Nocturnal Nights and to be featured here is an honor and pleasure indeed!

Why do you write romance?
The real question to me should be, why not write romance? This is a genre with tremendous scope, as sub-genres of romance veer between different and distinct worlds, like contemporary to paranormal and everything in between and out. What’s the limit in the romance genre?
Romance has this feel-good factor – it uplifts, brings a smile to your face, contentment to your heart, hope that the world just might be a better place after all.
This is what I wanted to bring to the world – in my preferred niche of writing, namely Mauritian culture-based fiction, there was too much focus on the drabness of reality, the tedium and the misery. Very literary-type, and all I kept thinking was, life is full of hope so why doesn’t anyone pause to showcase that? Romance sounded like the perfect medium, since I wanted my stories to show what the life of a woman of such culture is like today, how she lives in a drab reality yes, but how she also wants and finds love along her journey to fulfillment.

Are you aware of any themes that run through your stories? If so, what are they?
I write with a strong focus on my heroine. My stories are as much women’s fiction as they’re romances. These women I write about are always on a fence, a wall, a ledge. One misstep and they’d fall. I enjoy writing about how my heroines find their equilibrium on this tiny space high up in the air. In a way, this theme reflects a lot of my own struggle to find my balance. I come from a traditionalist culture and religion, yet I grew up in a world where barriers that contained cultures and lifestyles were tumbling down rapidly. It wasn’t easy to find my place on my own wall, and I know countless other women out there feel the same too. Every woman, just like every heroine, has her own world and conflicts – she looks for a way to find her fulfillment.
I also write about the strong men my heroines will fall in love with. They’re strong, principled, honorable men. Sometimes they’re dangerous, sometimes they’re bad boys hiding big hearts. Yet they’re also ‘real’ men, the kind we could all meet in everyday life. I try to strike a good balance between the dreamy scopes of fiction and the anchor of reality.

What would you like readers to take away from your stories?
Hope. Contentment. A smile. A feel-good buzz and glow that takes them through their day as if on a cloud. I want to show them my world of culture and traditions, take them on a trip to my beautiful island, Mauritius, make them discover a new facet of how people live and exist out there, take them behind-the-scenes of a character’s life.
If anything else, I want them to read my stories and just have a good time in the hectic world of today.

What inspires your stories?
People. There is no better inspiration. Every person has a story to tell – it’s the writer’s job to relate that story to readers. People in culture seem even more facetted, because they are ‘different’, and conveying and explaining this difference is a very good way to find ideas for stories. You can take anyone – be it someone you know personally, someone you bump into while grocery shopping, someone who catches your eye on a crowded bus – and spin a game of ‘what if’ from a small aspect of this person. From this, other elements add to the picture like strokes of color, and with words as your brush, you paint a picture that translates as a story.

Do you recall how your interest in writing originated?
Clearly, actually. Strange as it may sound, my interest in spinning stories came when I received my first Barbie for my 8th birthday. I was like, what’s your story, Barbie? Playing with my friends back in the day, we’d have these make-believe doll parties and everyone had such conventional stories for their dolls. I kept going, no way dolls have such a boring, mundane life – for example, how did Barbie and Ken meet? An aunt brought the proposal for Barbie on behalf of Ken’s family (back then, that’s really how we thought love happened!). I was always the one going, what if the proposal came for Barbie’s sister but Ken saw Barbie and fell head over heels in love and they elope and have a secret marriage? (Very Indian Bollywood movie type, yeah. I was after all, 8!)
Then I started to watch soaps with my mother (Dynasty!) and here was this whole fictional world where Barbie and Ken could evolve.
I was actually creating fan fiction before I even knew the word, and then my dad got me a library card and I discovered Barbara Cartland. It was a revelation, as in, people actually write stories like the ones I think of. From then on, I penned story-telling essays on a weekly basis in my school assignments. The romance bug had bitten, and I’m happy to say I never found a cure for it!

What is your writing schedule?
This clearly depends on when in the year we are talking about – school days and vacation time. School runs January to October in Mauritius, with breaks in April, July and November-December. I have a 7-year-old son and an 11-year-old stepson. When they’re home, you can barely hear yourself think let alone string two words together on a WIP!
So I try to streamline my writing during school days. I will usually have 2-3 days of the week screened out for writing, when I will write between 10 am to 2 pm. I always work from an outline, so I know what my chapters are supposed to feature and when to start/stop. On a good roll, I can get a chapter down every 2 days. I try not to work in the afternoon, when the kids are home and need to have homework checked or just want to hang out, and when I usually have to cook (my worst nightmare!). The evenings I try to reserve for my husband, as we barely get to see each other during the day over the children’s antics when he gets home from work. If I’m in revision mode on a completed draft, I might clock in an hour of editing on the completed draft on some evenings. Weekends are sacred family time!
The rest of the days I dedicate to my studies (completing a BA Communications Science degree), my crit partners’ works, and my editing job. Blogging and networking I tackle every day.
Now if I’m on a deadline, I might shove some stuff aside (yes, the poor hubby too, sadly) to complete the writing. Nothing is really written in stone, as life happens. But the discipline needs to be there, otherwise there’s no way you’d get anything done even if you’re serious about your writing.

What is your favorite guilty pleasure?
Chocolate cake. Any type, but preferably black forest cake with lots of cream! It’s my reward for a job well done, for completing a project, and it’s my booster when things seem down and drab or when the kids are intent on driving me insane.

If you didn’t write, what would you do instead?
Well, I’m pursuing a degree in communications science. My specialization in economic and management sciences basically means I’m eligible to work as a corporate communications person or in fields such as public relations and marketing. It always seemed odd to me (yeah, I know what I’m about to say!) that for someone who is pretty much shy and self-effacing among people, I chose such a people-oriented degree. Recently for one of my final study modules, I had to place myself in the shoes of a PR consultant and work with an organization to create an integrated communications & PR campaign for them from scratch. To my surprise, I loved doing it. It was as if I were a different person in those shoes, a sort of Jekyll-and-Mrs-Hyde moment!
So if I didn’t write, I guess I’d be working in PR and communications. I did do a stint in the corporate world a few years back, but the back-stabbing, biatch-ness, one-upmanship and I didn’t really agree. I’m really glad I’m getting to pursue my dream of writing.

What books have most influenced your life?
Barbara Cartland’s books and Mills and Boon romances, because through them I discovered that one could put stories of feel-good romance out there and people would enjoy them.
Danielle Steele’s and Barbara Taylor Bradford’s early women’s fictions, because romance could be so much more when it showed the journey of strong and indomitable, spirited heroines.
Jane Austen’s whole collection of works, because she showed society and life and people with all their quirks, foibles, and simple and oftentimes funny reality in such a light and unpretentious way.
A Suitable Boy by Vikram Seth, because he wrote an epic story about normal people in a time of trouble and tension, amid a plot that showcased the societal and political upheaval and turmoil of a whole nation, and for how he still, amidst all the detail, managed to create memorable characters who live with you long, long after you close the book. It was the book that opened my eyes as to how I could attempt to bring together characters, culture, and country together under the spotlight of romance.

If you had to choose, which writer would you consider a mentor?
I cannot say I really have one writer as mentor for how I write. I prefer to think storytellers have influenced and showed me the way. I say storytellers because there aren’t just novelists in there for me. A novelist, a cinematographer, a script writer – all tell the audience a story, albeit via a different medium.
Indo-Briton director Gurinder Chadha ranks high on my list of influences. This is the woman who brought culture to the broad audience with a pop culture twist and did it brilliantly through a YA story - Bend it like Beckham. Any young girl knows what Jes, the heroine, is going through. Yet Jes is Indian. Indian culture is portrayed in much of its complexity in this movie, yet it is also done in a way that a non-Indian will completely understand the premise and storyline. Another one where Ms. Chadha manages this stroke of Indian-to-mainstream flow is the movie Bride and Prejudice.
Mira Nair is another director who finds the right balance between culture and mainstream, yet still infuses Indian-ness with all its deep and churning issues in a way that any audience can pick up the story and nod in understanding. Case in point – Monsoon Wedding.
In the world of writing, I saw such strokes of culture v/s mainstream balance in works by author Shobhan Bantwal. Her stories deal with profoundly Indian issues, some very disturbing like the plight of the girl-child in India (plight that happens in other traditionalist cultures too however), in the book The Forbidden Daughter. Yet, Ms. Bantwal conveys her shocking and distressing themes in a tapestry where they are woven in with hope and human resilience.
On a lighter note, Woody Allen always makes me laugh with his light-yet-deep stories featuring a cast of unbelievable-yet-unforgettable characters.
All of these people have shown me a path that I can blaze with my writing, and I only hope I can do their message and ideology justice.

Once again, thanks bunches to Tabitha for letting me ‘talk’ with her readers today. I know, lol, it’s one sided so far but drop me a line or a comment and I will definitely engage in the discussion with you.

Zee Monodee Bio
Author of stories about love, life, relationships... in a place of culture
Zee is an author who grew up on a fence - on one side there was modernity and the global world, on the other there was culture and traditions. Putting up with the culture for half of her life, one day she decided she'd stand tall on her wall and dip toes every now and then into both sides of her non-conventional upbringing.
From this resolution spanned a world of adaptation and learning to live on said wall. The realization also came that many other young women of the world were on their own fence.
This particular position became her favorite when she decided to pursue her lifelong dream of writing - her heroines all sit 'on a fence', whether cultural or societal, in today's world or in times past.
Hailing from the multicultural island of Mauritius, Zee has been writing for close to a decade and has had 3 novels published so far. After a stint in the publishing industry, on the 'other side of the fence' as an editor, her goal today is to pen wholesome, fulfilling stories and help fellow authors, whether as critique partner or as freelance editor.


Find her on the web:

Blog http://zeemonodee.blogspot.com/

Email: zeemonodee@hotmail.com

Facebook & Goodreads: Zee Monodee

Follow her on Twitter @ZeeMonodee

It was great talking with you Zee. Its nice to pick another writer's brain and see how we are wired. LOL! We are all so different in our thoughts and how we write.
Tabitha Blake

Plus And Minuses

I was thinking about some of the men I read about in my paranormal romances. They are strong and very sexy. The dilemma I came across was would we really want our men to have some of the supernatural powers some of them possess? So I decided to way the good with the bad. So here is just a few of the powers I see a lot in paranormal romance.

Empathy

Definition-Cognizant of and comprehending the needs, feelings, problems and views of others.

Plus

Ok, this sounds good. It would be nice for our men to understand the feeling we try so hard to get across to them. They never seem to get it. It can be very frustrating at times. Now we don’t even have to voice our problems they just know. They feel everything we do and just get it. WOW!

Minus

Ok, maybe that isn’t so great after all. Now he knows everything you feel. There is no privacy and you are an open book. You no longer have your private feelings and we all deserve to have some feelings kept to our selves. Your feelings can be so intense at times. Who hasn’t felt something we wished we hadn’t and felt regret for it.

I think keeping them guessing is a good thing. It seems to me if you know everything about someone it would become boring real fast. So personally I don’t think I would like my man to have this particular power.

Telepathy

Definition-The transfer of information on thoughts or feelings between individuals by means other than the five senses.

Plus

Ok, doesn’t sound so bad. He could transfer thoughts and feelings to you without even talking. I think this would be really fun if you had it too. You could carry on conversations without anyone even knowing. Now that would be fun. Secret conversations and maybe a little naughty talk thrown in there too. LOL

Minus

Ok, now the down side. Now you would know how he really feels. That can be good or bad. Admit it ladies sometimes we don’t want to know the truth. A little white lie every once in awhile is ok. The biggest question is do you really want to know what runs through you man’s mind every second of the day.

I think I could deal with this one, if we both had it. It would be fun to be able to communicate without others knowing. Knowing his every thought might be a little hard to deal with but hopefully you aren’t together every moment of the day, and he knows how to control his thoughts around you. If not he would learn that lesson fast. LOL

Memory Manipulation

Definition-The ability to erase or enhance the memory of another.

Plus

Ok, this might be a good one. He could erase all the bad things you have gone through in your life. You know all the thing you wish you could forget. Not to mention the things you have done in your life you wish you hadn’t. LOL We all have a few of those. Hey he could erase those mistakes from others that know about them. WOW! Wouldn’t that be wonderful? It would be like a fresh start.

Minus

Ok, now the negative. He would be able to erase anything he wanted to from your memory. And if he did how would you even know? Scary…that’s a lot of power to give to another. You would have to really trust your man to be alright with this little gem of a power.

I don’t think I would be ok with this one. Some things I have been through in my life would be nice to forget but I don’t know that I could trust anyone that much. Maybe I have trust issues or I’m just a realist. LOL I will leave that for you to think about.

Teleportation

Definition-A method of transportation in which matter is dematerialized, usually instantaneously at one point and recreated in another.

Plus

Ok, this one is going to be good. Being able to just pop in and out, wouldn’t that be fun. Let’s go to Paris for the day and poof your there. Amazing! No packing or planes, just a thought and your at the Eiffel tower. Spend the day anywhere in the world you want in a blink of an eye. Talk about romantic…you could see the most romantic places on the planet on a whim. What do you want to do today? Go to Rome…ok, Poof.

Minus

Ok, there is always a down side. Damn, I hate that! Well let’s talk about it. He could pop in and out at any time. The one thing I think I would really hate would be if you had a fight and he just disappeared. Grrr! That would be very aggravating. You’re in a heated fight and then he’s just gone. You’re left talking to yourself and have no clue where he went. And you know alpha males their temper always gets the best of them.

I am on the fence about this one. I would really like the dashing off to anywhere I wanted to go in an instant. I would be amazing but then there is the abandoning me in the heat of an argument, that would be hard for me, When I am upset I want to figure out the problem. How many times does your man not want to talk? And wished he could just avoid the conflict. Now he has a way to do it and theirs nothing you can do about it. Hmmm?

Immortality

Definition-Endless life or existence.

Plus

Ok, here’s the great part. You are with a man that will never die. You will never lose the love of your life. The great thing is in most cases he can also make you immortal. You would never die and would stay young and beautiful forever. WOW! As women we always worry we are getting old and wrinkled, but now we have found the fountain of youth. These worries have been vanquished from our lives. Wouldn’t that be nice?

Minus

Ok, you knew this was coming. Everything good has to have a bad side. Now you have to come to terms with living forever or getting old while he stays stuck in time. You will grow old and he will stay young and vibrant. Well maybe you are ok with the living forever part and accept his proposal. That’s when your family comes into the picture. They will eventually die and you will watch generation after generation pass on. In one story I read the heroine asked if he could change her whole family. He laughed and said no…I’m sorry it doesn’t work that way. This is a really tough one.

I don’t think I would want to be immortal. Having the man you love in your life forever would be amazing. Being young and ageless a dream of many women. But the fact you have to watch your family pass on would be devastating to me. I think I would say no to this one.

Conclusion

Now that I look at them all, I think I like my life just the way it is. Fantasy is great and all, but then when you analyze it, it’s a lot to take in. There are so many things that are affected by these immortal powers, its startling. Now I think I know why these guy’s women are always so frustrated. So next time your reading and the heroine is getting on your nerves, you know the one you want to just get over it and be accepting. Think about the turmoil her emotions are in. Every good thing has a bad side and these decisions are really hard to make.

Question?

What powers do you find appealing?

What powers do you find not so appealing?

Be creative they don’t have to be the ones I talked about. They can be anything you want them to be. Heck make some up. LOL

Happy Reading and Writing,

When night falls passions blaze.

Tabitha Blake