My Sexy Saturday ~ The Mountain Lion King

Sexy Saturday kisses, everyone.

This week I'm featuring Pat Cunningham's debut, self-published novel, THE MOUNTAIN LION KING. Check the sidebar for Pat's previous books.

Like my romance, HER MIDNIGHT STARDUST COWBOYS, this is a ShapeShifter Seductions Presents novel, and takes place in our fictional shifter/supernatural town of Talbot's Peak, and the surrounding Montana territory. We authors at SHAPESHIFTER SEDUCTIONS have a whole, ever-growing community of  werewolves, werebeasts, and various shifters of every type and stripe, and, yes, including the herbivores. As well, other paranormal beings inhabit the Peak, including gods/goddesses, witches, fae beings, vampires, just to name a few -- and all of them take turns starring in our flash fiction pieces.
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First seven paragraphs from Chapter 1 ~

Nilambari ran as if her life depended on it, because it most definitely did. If her pursuers caught her, she would die, at the hands of her husband-to-be.

She had not said a word since she and her escorts had boarded the plane in India, or during the car ride from the small private airfield to the town of Talbot’s Peak. Shock, she figured now. She’d caught only a glimpse of the town itself before the car turned off the main road onto a long, paved drive. At the end of the drive awaited the destiny Mother had groomed her for her entire life: marriage to a powerful tiger lord, a man she’d seen but never met. Zhere Ghan.

It wasn’t the prospect of marriage to a stranger that finally shook her free of her torpor. It was the wall. Eight feet of solid stone surrounding the palatial compound. Sight of that wall turned her insides to ice. This was no dream, no illusion. This was reality. Once that iron gate closed behind her, she would never emerge again.

With surprisingly steady hands she silently removed her jewelry, gifts from the man who had purchased her. She let the expensive bracelets and necklace and earrings drop to the floor of the car. Her escorts paid no attention. They were Ghan’s men to the core. They had treated her with politeness but no special caring the whole trip. To them she was a package to be delivered to their lord and nothing more.

The car passed through the open gate. Nilambari quietly toed off her slippers. She sat barefoot with her hands in her lap while the car rolled up to the house.

A figure stood before a second-story window, gazing down at them. Nilambari stiffened. Zhere Ghan? One of his minions? A son? She didn’t know, and didn’t care. She gathered her resolve.

Her chance came almost at once. Her escorts held her arms to help her out of the car, but released her for a moment to get her bags out of the trunk. It was enough. In those seconds of freedom she bolted for the wall. Halfway there she shifted to tiger. Adrenaline fueled her desperate leap. Her paws caught the top of the wall. She scrambled up and over and landed running. Her sari unfurled, fluttering to the ground behind her like a discarded bridal train.

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For more of MY SEXY SATURDAY ~mysexysaturday.blogspot.com~

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BLURB: Cougar shifter Rick Donnelly is happy living alone on his mountain and isn't looking for company. Then company literally falls into his lap, in the form of tiger-shifter Nilambari, who's fleeing from her arranged marriage to the vicious Ravi Ghan. Rick has no love for tigers, but for this terrified tigress he's willing to make an exception. Provided he can defend them both from Ravi, who's not about to let his bride-to-be go without a fight.

AVAILABLE at Smashwords Premium Catalog ~ http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/541980

AVAILABLE at Amazon ~ http://www.amazon.com/Mountain-Lion-King-Pat-Cunningham-ebook/dp/B00XIQ2DQM
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Entitled

Before we get started, here’s a little item from my neck of the woods. For the last couple decades I’ve been living, working and writing in Ephrata, Pennsylvania. That’s E-P-H-R-A-T-A, the above sign to the contrary. The above got commissioned, manufactured, okay’d and installed without anybody noticing the spelling error. Your tax dollars at work.

PennDOT says it’ll take about $800-$1200 and a couple of months to fix the sign. In the meantime, we all get to live in the Phart Capital of the Amish Country. Like dodging horse hockey on the roads isn’t bad enough. We’ve got Bird in Hand, Intercourse, and now Epharta. Can’t wait to see the T-shirts.

# # #

Over on my favorite writing forum they’re having a discussion on words everybody’s sick of seeing in book titles. Let’s face it, every genre has its clichés, but sometimes they get out of hand. Advertising them in the title doesn’t help us readers.

Titles of bestsellers follow whatever’s currently big. Next time you’re at the K-Mart, note the number of titles suggestive of 50 Shades of Grey. We’ve got Shades of, Hues of, Tints of, and all the colors of the rainbow. Before 50 Shades got publishers exploring the color wheel, we had The Da Vinci Code and its offspring: Code, Prophesy, Enigma, Templar, Guessing Game. Nicholas Sparks spawned a rash of simple The Noun titles: The Notebook, The Pigsticker, The Colostomy Bag. (Some of the following titles may be made up. You’ve been warned.)

If you’re writing thrillers, you can’t go wrong with a person or place name in your title. The Eiger Sanction. The Ostermann Weekend. The Bourne Identity. The London Derrière. If you add “search” or “hunt” in your titles, you’re Tom Clancy. Better check before you do that; he may have that copyrighted.

Science fiction and fantasy have soooooo many cliche words to pick from. Dragon. Elf. Sword. Quest. Wizard. Witch. Warrior. Mage. And all of them have female relatives for sequel purposes. The Magician’s Daughter. The Wizard’s Wife. The Dragon’s Sister-in-Law. You also get to have fun making up unpronounceable names. The Spawn of Cthulu. Swords of K’ththth. The Warrior-Mage of Epharta. (I knew that sign would come in handy!)

Horror likes simple titles, usually “the” followed by a verb and/or a noun. The Horror. The Haunting. The Killing. Ghostfacers, Hell Hazers and Mannequin III: The Reckoning (thank you, Supernatural!) Words like blood, horror, terror, spirit, wraith, and any monster name (vampire, ogre, Nessie) will work for a horror title. Here’s a Stephen King short list: The Stand, The Dead Zone, The Tommyknockers, The Shining, The Mist. Yeah, I’d say he’s done okay.

And then there’s romance. If any one genre can beat out SF/F for overused words in their titles, it’s romance. I think Harlequin has a title-generating computer program that spits out nothing but permutations of Billionaire, Virgin, Secret and Baby. (I’m still waiting to read Her Virgin Billionaire. Or The Virgin’s Secret Baby. Hey! The second coming just happened! Maybe Dan Brown can write that one. The Virgin’s Baby Code?) Back in the ‘70s we had a rash of Sweet Savage Love, Love’s Tender Fury, and all sorts of Savage, Untamed, Tempestuous, Unbridled, Unhousebroken Love. Those were the days.

Note to horror fans: romance has co-oped vampires, werewolves, and even zombies as well as the one-word title, so you’d probably better read the opening pages to make sure you’re getting what you want. Twilight has vampires in it, but it’s not horror, and the title’s not going to help you. (A lot of people think it was horrible, but that isn’t the same thing.)

With a little practice you should be able to figure out which genre any given book is by its title. Shades of Austrian Silver is mainstream would-be erotica, especially if the cover shows a single item of clothing. The Austrian Code is also mainstream, possibly a thriller. Hunt for the Austrian Code is a Tom Clancy technothriller. Quest for the Swordmaster is fantasy. The Swordmaster’s Virgin Daughter is also fantasy, but The Billionaire Swordmaster’s Virgin is romance. The Blood Sword is fantasy, The Blood Sword of G’narish is science fiction, and The Bloody Dagger is horror. The Virgin’s Horrible Austrian Sword could be anything. Got it now?

I’m going to make a file of all the overused title words from various genres. Then, if I ever get hit by writer’s block, I’ll pull it out, put ‘em in columns, add “the” or “of the” or “for the” and play mix and match. One of those titles is bound to spark a plot.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go write Shades of the Billionaire Templar’s Enigmatic Virgin Vampire Code.

Happy Valentine's Release Day! And Coming Soon...

It’s release time again! This Friday my YA Slayer for Hire comes out from Evernight Teen. It’s a spinoff from my books Belonging and Legacy, featuring the son and daughter of Wallace, Jeremy and Colleen. Basic plot: Rabid fangirl Billie finally meets the lead of her favorite show, only to discover he's a dick. His co-star, however, is one major hottie. The two fall in love while saving the star from real vampires. (BTW: Slayer for Hire is the name of the TV show. It's about two guys who hunt vampires. I should probably be sending Eric Kripke a percentage of my royalties.)

This was yet another case of sequelitis taking over. Once I figured out what happened to the kids, I had to write it down. Sometimes a story or characters just nags and nags at you until you have to commit it to paper. Writers live for those moments.

For those of you who read the first two books, thank you. For those of you who decide to follow this family into the next generation, thank you in advance. Looks like I’ve got a series going. If you want to find out how it finally ends, please see last week’s blog.

A word of warning: the first two books were M/M and M/M/F, respectively. Both contained explicit sex scenes. Slayer is a young adult book. The girl’s 19 years old. There are NO SEX SCENES. Let me repeat that: NO on-screen sex. It’s just two young people, a girl and a boy, discovering each other and finding lasting romance while protecting a TV star from his #1 vampire fan. Happens all the time when you’re that age.

And now, the action-scene excerpt:

# # #

The guy with the cross tattoo shook himself all over like a dog. Then he grinned at me with those big prosthetic teeth. His B.O. hit me with a stench like three-week-old hamburger. “You look tasty,” he said. He started toward me.

All of a sudden my sight of those scary teeth was blocked by a shapeless wool poncho. I never heard Dina run up. She just appeared between me and Tattoo Boy. They started to circle like dogs.

I backed out of reach, but didn’t run. I’d just seen this skinny guy toss Rolly like a basketball. Dina would need help. What I could do with no weapons, I had no idea. Kick, maybe? Worked on the hockey field.

That’s when I noticed Tattoo Boy’s eyes. When he’d grinned at me, they’d been blue. They were red now. I don’t mean bloodshot. I’m talking solid scarlet, with a black pit of pupil in the centers. He hadn’t had a chance to slip contacts in. My gut did a ten-story plummet. Reality had just run off the rails here.

He bared his pointy teeth at Dina and hissed.

She bared her own pointy teeth and hissed right back at him.

Okay. Totally freaked now.

In a move almost too fast to follow, Dina whipped off her poncho and flung it in Tattoo Boy’s fangy face. Under the poncho she had on a scoop-neck top, jeans, and a bandolier full of wooden stakes. She yanked one free. Once Tattoo Boy untangled himself from the poncho and flung it away, she dove in and rammed her stake into his chest.

He looked at the stake. Then he looked at her. His lips started to move. Before any words could form, lips, face and everything else cracked and crumbled and collapsed on the mall’s worn linoleum with a little puff.

I kept waiting for Rog to yell, “Cut.”

Dina calmly plucked another stake from her bandolier. She looked over at me. Her eyes were solid crimson.

“You might want to run now,” she suggested.

She left me before I could speak or scream, or do anything other than pant. I stared around at everything except that pile of ash on the floor, and realized our part of the mall was almost deserted. I glimpsed Matt, recognizable by his height, up at the other end, herding people toward the exits.

What about Dylan? Surely they’d gotten him to safety when this disaster started, right?

I ran, but not for the nearest exit. I headed for the spot where I’d last seen Dylan. Matt seemed to have his own safety under control, but I couldn’t cut out until I knew for sure Dylan was all right. What kind of fangirl would I be if I did?

But first, I detoured for the sporting goods store. I needed a weapon. I grabbed a hardwood baseball bat from the front-of-the store display. Not my first choice, but it was handy. Then I plunged toward the junkyard of abandoned cameras, dollies and cranes where Dylan had last been filming.

I didn’t see anyone around. Maybe they’d all got out. Then two shapes buzzed past me, so fast I only saw blurs, like the vampires on Slayer for Hire, just without the SFX.

Trust me, I did not like how the evidence was mounting up.

The blurs slowed enough to resolve into two of the fang-faced attackers. They grabbed two people struggling to wedge themselves out through an emergency exit. One was Rog. The captain of this flick had stuck with his sinking ship past the last minute. He had Dylan with him, at least until the leather boys yanked them apart. I hefted my bat and pelted toward them.

“Hey, I know you,” one of the Fango Brothers said to Rog. “You were on Leno. You directed RoboSoldier II. Man, that movie sucked.” He swooped in close. He looked like he was biting Rog’s neck.

The other one had hold of a struggling Dylan. “Relax, pretty boy. We’re part of your fan club. Our president wants to meet you. She sent us to pick you up, seeing as how you won’t answer her letters.”

“I don’t see her letters or emails or anything. We’ve got people who do that.” Dylan abruptly stopped struggling. He’d finally noticed the guy sucking on Rog’s neck. “What the hell?”

His captor shrugged one shoulder. “He skipped breakfast.”

# # #

Slayer will be available this Friday at www.evernightteen.com. It should also become available in both ebook and print from Amazon, Barnes and Noble and Bookstrand in the coming weeks. Belonging and Legacy are available from Siren Publishing at www.bookstrand.com/pat-cunningham 

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COMING SOON...  X-Preview of Her Midnight Stardust Cowboys ~

Here's a recently edited *X-RATED* chapter from my very first SHAPESHIFTER SEDUCTIONS erotic romance novel. 

Blurblet ~

COMING SOON ~ A woman desperate to save herself and her prize horses. Two shapeshifter cowboys who have decided she is their one woman. That's only the beginning...
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Chapter Seventeen:
Sherilyn almost believed she dreamed.

Sherilyn almost believed she dreamed. Dontoya thrust inside her pussy, his cock so powerful, she shivered inside. Never had she felt so much like a woman.

He forced her pussy walls to stretch, to take his thick cock as he tenderly plunged deeper. Sherilyn had never enjoyed sex more.

She keened moans of pure pleasure as Dontoya possessed her with a dominance natural to him--obvious in every move he made, obvious in the languid prowess of his body against hers.

Never had she wanted to give herself more to a man.

Dontoya not only took her with his big bold cock, but handled her with care, both emotionally and physically. Her heart swelled with gratitude, and Sherilyn hoped like hell he would continue caring for her this way.

Dontoya, she sang inside her mind. God help her, but the feel of his fine, fine ass was driving her insane with lust. She undulated, matching his slow primal strikes inside her.

"Easy, darlin'," he hoarsely whispered. "Let me do the work this time."

Surprised, Sherilyn slitted her eyes. His smoke-hot gaze met hers, then devoured her face as if he'd found some sort of long-sought heaven.

With a strong thrust of his cock, he pinned her to the bed. "Give me your wrists."

Sherilyn shuddered inside at his command, one that promised more pleasure. He caressed his palms from her head, and she relinquished his perfectly sculpted ass.

After raising her hands high above her head, Dontoya slid his work-calloused hands along her arms. Damn, but he turned her on--got her juices flowing faster than light speed.

He anchored himself on his elbows, and circled his thumbpads on the sensitive skin of her wrists. Sherilyn heaved ragged breaths. Her pussy convulsively clenched his cock, or tried. With his size, she wondered if he felt the small spasms.

As he lowered his head, his gaze scorched her. She trembled when his mouth brushed over hers. He nibbled slow kisses on her lips, the corners, the bottom fullness of her >Okay, she hadn't been with that many men...but, oh, please.

"Promise." The word escaped before she had a chance to stop it.

"Widen those beautiful thighs of yours."

His command and his praise of her, flashed like sexy lightning through her. Sherilyn eased her legs apart, his hand guiding her.

"That's it, darlin'."

Tremors of anticipation filled her womb as he sensually caressed her hip and thigh--as his eyes blazed to a fiery bronze, his gaze penetrating her.

"Promise," he roughly purred.

He fused their mouths, his kiss long moments of exquisite plunder. Then his tongue masterfully slipped between her lips, tangling with hers.

The sultry embrace of his tongue coaxed Sherilyn into complete surrender. Her pussy throbbed, molten, his to do with as he pleased.

Nearly mindless, unable to do anything else, she rocked her hips. Still lanced to the bed with his heavy cock, her mound pushed against his groin, the sensation highly erotic.

God, she adored the feeling of being his sex captive--another surprise to her.

He nipped her bottom lip, then used his strength to halt her undulations. "No, darlin'."

With a possessive rumble, he planted his elbow and raised above her a few inches. He withdrew his hard, hard cock only to lunge deep inside her.

With a power she craved and loved, he drove inside her. First to the hilt, then his shaft plunged inside her pussy. Over and over.

Over and over again. God, could she ever get enough?

Sherilyn continued basking in his slow yet forceful thrusts. No wonder women wanted him.

After she cast aside a pang of jealousy, she succumbed to her orgasmic excitement. Surging like a tidal wave, pleasure-pain rolled from the top of her mound to her clit. "Oh, God, Dontoya."

Ecstasy filled her, emanating from the steady strong glide of his cock--by how he constantly stretched her pussy walls. The next instant, Sherilyn flew, mindlessly soaring...and gone, slipping within a new realm of bliss.

She heard his beastly groan as he speared to her core. With a strong arch his back, he spilled his cum.

"Sherilyn, mate. My mate."

When he let go of her wrists, then tenderly crushed her beneath him, Sherilyn swore no other man had ever felt this good, this fine.

Certainly, no man's cock ever possessed her with such continued virility.

A tiny voice punished her with "he should have worn a condom...what about disease?" Sherilyn dismissed it quickly, her ability to be logical rescuing her.

Hell, she'd been as good as dead. If Zance could heal her with his magic wolf juice...and since they'd both gone to great lengths caring for her, she doubted Dontoya would have done anything to harm her.

Lost in clouds of rapture, Sherilyn combed her fingers though his long, silky smooth hair. He began to rise, and she murmured, "No...please. You feel wonderful."

"He does, does he?"

She started at Zance's already familiar twang.

"I'm not hurting her, am I, pard?" Dontoya asked once he'd swung his gaze toward Zance and raised his chest from her.

At that moment, it smacked her like an icy snowball in the face. She'd lost control of her life, her entire life, just like she'd lost control now, surrendering beneath Dontoya.

"Somethin' wrong, sweetheart?" Zance asked. "Is me being here botherin' you?"

Well, double-dare hell, what did she say to that? Given the sheer immensity of the life changes she faced, Sherilyn didn't have a clue what she was feeling...not exactly, anyway.

"Take that big breeder of yours outta her. I need to check her eyes. She smells fine, though."
With the latent grace of a big cat, Dontoya tenderly withdrew his cock. He planted a sweet kiss on her mouth, then rolled from her, and off the bed.

"She needed," he began.

"Yeah, pard, I know. Her female emotions are raw, and her hormones are donside her.

With a power she craved and loved, he drove inside her. First to the hilt, then his shaft plunged inside her pussy. Over and over.

Over and over again. God, could she ever get enough?

Sherilyn continued basking in his slow yet forceful thrusts. No wonder women wanted him.

After she cast aside a pang of jealousy, she succumbed to her orgasmic excitement. Surging like a tidal wave, pleasure-pain rolled from the top of her mound to her clit. "Oh, God, Dontoya."

Ecstasy filled her, emanating from the steady strong glide of his cock--by how he constantly stretched her pussy walls. The next instant, Sherilyn flew, mindlessly soaring...and gone, slipping within a new realm of bliss.

She heard his beastly groan as he speared to her core. With a strong arch his back, he spilled his cum.

"Sherilyn, mate. My mate."

When he let go of her wrists, then tenderly crushed her beneath him, Sherilyn swore no other man had ever felt this good, this fine.

Certainly, no man's cock ever possessed her with such continued virility.

A tiny voice punished her with "he should have worn a condom...what about disease?" Sherilyn dismissed it quickly, her ability to be logical rescuing her.

Hell, she'd been as good as dead. If Zance could heal her with his magic wolf juice...and since they'd both gone to great lengths caring for her, she doubted Dontoya would have done anything to harm her.

Lost in clouds of rapture, Sherilyn combed her fingers though his long, silky smooth hair. He began to rise, and she murmured, "No...please. You feel wonderful."

"He does, does he?"

She started at Zance's already familiar twang.

"I'm not hurting her, am I, pard?" Dontoya asked once he'd swung his gaze toward Zance and raised his chest from her.

At that moment, it smacked her like an icy snowball in the face. She'd lost control of her life, her entire life, just like she'd lost control now, surrendering beneath Dontoya.

"Somethin' wrong, sweetheart?" Zance asked. "Is me being here botherin' you?"

Well, double-dare hell, what did she say to that? Given the sheer immensity of the life changes she faced, Sherilyn didn't have a clue what she was feeling...not exactly, anyway.

"Take that big breeder of yours outta her. I need to check her eyes. She smells fine, though."
With the latent grace of a big cat, Dontoya tenderly withdrew his cock. He planted a sweet kiss on her mouth, then rolled from her, and off the bed.

"She needed," he began.

"Yeah, pard, I know. Her female emotions are raw, and her hormones are doublin' fast now."

Doubling fast now!...what the 'f'? Yeah, what the fuck? Because that's what they both want. To fuck me senseless.

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~ Have a Magickal Valentine's Day ~ 

Savanna

Savanna Kougar ~ Run on the Wild Side of Romance ~

Doing the Twist

"I see plot twists. They're everywhere."

When done correctly, plot twists can be the deadliest tool in a writer’s arsenal. Your reader’s skimming along, maybe getting bored, when all of a sudden the plot takes a lurch and the smooth sailing of the last fifty pages hits a major tsunami. There goes any chance of flinging that book across the room. Unless the twist is just thrown in with no setup. In that case, kiss the drywall good-bye.

Some twists are used simply for shock value. Characters die without warning, the ex shows up at the wedding, two men burst through the door with guns in their hands (I think Raymond Chandler may have suggested that one). Others may look like they come out of nowhere, but are actually the result of clues judiciously sprinkled throughout the narrative.

Think about The Sixth Sense and its famous tail-end twist. Watch it again to see how expertly M. Night set it up. You may not think so on first viewing, but he plays fair all the way through. J. K. Rowling does it in the Harry Potter books. I mean, c’mon. Remus Lupin? Three guesses what he is. His suggestive name is staring you right in the face. Snape was onto him from the get-go – why else teach his students how to ID a werewolf? Mystery writers do this stuff all the time. The ones who are good at it are famous. The others – well, see those dents in the wall … ?

I’m going to use my novel Belonging again, so I don’t get some other writer mad at me for wrecking their surprise. I can wreck my own surprises, thank you very much. I had a major twist in mind, and made sure I set it up early on to avoid wall damage. Here’s a description of Wallace the vampire from Chapter 1:

Though tall, he had a pumped-up build and thick bull neck. He must have been into serious weight training at the time of his turn. Numerous scars marred his pallid skin, some of them ragged and nasty. Jeremy had always assumed he’d been a soldier of some sort, probably a Marine. The stiff bronze spikes of his close-cropped haircut fit that assessment. Not the tattoo, though. The ink on the vamp’s left bicep depicted a woodsman’s axe. No branch of the service had a lumberjack division, so far as Jeremy knew.

At this point in the story Wallace is going by an alias, Frank Baum. “Don’t sweat it if you don’t get the reference,” he says. His pet name for Jeremy is “scarecrow.” Jeremy assumes it’s because he’s tall and gangly. Though The Wizard of Oz is never mentioned directly, there’s a theme growing here, and discerning readers may pick up on it.

In Chapter 3 the boys go on a date. A vampire recognizes Jeremy from his job at the brothel. He also recognizes Wallace: “Didn’t you used to run down in LA?” One look at Wallace’s tattoo and the vampire panics and takes off. That’s the last clue we get until Chapter 7, the flashback chapter, when this bit of narration occurs:

Death strikes the deathless more than once during Jeremy’s time with the family. Rory. Jordan. Annalee. A litany of comrades and friends, brothers and sisters who went out and never returned. Whispered tales of slayers are passed around like ghost stories at Halloween. Stakin’ Stella, who made unlife hell for the vamps in New Orleans. The Avenging Angel, who stalked the streets of 1960s New York. The notorious Oz Squad, who terrorized Los Angeles for nearly a decade. “I remember them,” Ralph says. “They killed some good friends of mine. The Tin Man was the worst. His eyes—talk about dead.” Ralph shudders. “They’re the reason I left LA. It’s safer here. No slayers. Not so much sunshine, either. Gotta love that.”

Two chapters later Jeremy, who hates slayers with a passion, will find out in the worst possible way just who he’s been sleeping with all this time. See, he wasn’t paying attention. You can’t say I didn’t warn you.

Plot twists work just as well in a romance as they do in the action, suspense or mystery genres. We’ve got to keep the lovers apart until the last chapter somehow, don’t we? Maybe he turns into a jaguar when exposed to the scent of a certain tropical plant, and she can’t understand why he won’t visit her at the flower shop. Maybe she’s a vampire, and he can’t figure out why she won’t stick around for breakfast. If set up correctly, a well-timed twist will keep those readers reading, and those books from wrecking the wallpaper. That’s what we all want, isn’t it?

Magical Cover Art ~ Bad Boys

Now, those are some SEXY Bad Boys!

Smiles, Savanna Kougar

The Magic of Achieving the Dream

Achieving the Dream: Random Thoughts

By Pat Cunningham

This is it – after more years than I’ll admit to, I’ve achieved the dream and published my first novel. Not the first I ever wrote or marketed, by a long shot. I’d put it at #8 or #9 on that list, and that’s not counting all the books I started that went stale and ended up in the closet. This is the first one that got written, finished, sent to a publisher and got itself a contract. Better yet, BookStrand assures me they’ll issue a print version later this year. That’s PRINT, folks. A book with my name on it that I can hold in my trembling, sweaty, dry-skinned little hands and shelve next to my Stephen King hardcovers. I’m doing cartwheels in my head because my body’s so massively out of shape, but I’m sure you understand.

Since I can’t come up with a regular blog, I’m just going to jot random notes. There will not be a quiz and this does not count as part of your grade.

Inspiration: Stuff happens, and that includes books. Sometimes they just come out of nowhere. I was doing rewrites on “Coyote Moon” and trying to think up fresh descriptions for a couple of werewolves. For some reason Warren Zevon’s “Werewolves of London” popped into my head. This segued into memories of director John Landis’s “An American Werewolf in London.’ Twist the title around and voila, suddenly I’m writing a novel. And yes, my hero’s hair is perfect.

The Perils of Pantsing: So I had the situation: English werewolf comes to America. Why? What happens to him here? I think the marriage idea came first, followed closely by the murder plot. I was three chapters in before I figured out who the killer was. Two chapters after that I got an even better idea, and had to go back to make sure I had all the clues and red herrings filled in. This is why pantsers probably shouldn’t try to write mysteries.

In-jokes: I do this to make myself laugh and keep me interested during those long, dry stretches when the words just don’t want to come. Originally Darinda was the granddaughter of Darrin and Samantha Stevens, hinted at but never named directly. I later chickened out and had her named after the character instead. Gotta watch out for those pesky lawyers. Apparently quoting movies is okay, because the editors left in both of my movie references. “The Wizard of Oz” quote is obvious, but brownie points go to whoever spots the reference to “Planet of the Apes.” I love this job.

Revenge is Sweet: I sent this book to Nocturne first. They bounced it in two weeks. I didn’t think the tone was right for them anyway, but I figured I’d take the chance. I doubt if they liked my playing fast and loose with the conventions of the genre either. The alpha male having to be guarded by the love interest? Hey, why not? In a lot of ways she’s tougher than he is. I had a helluva time coming up with situations in which she’d have to be rescued so he could keep his hand in. As for publishers, it found the home it was meant for. Lesson learned: keep sending stuff out until someone says yes. One editor’s reject is another’s sale.

Off the subject, I’m waiting for Harlequin to publish a book called “The Millionaire Vampire’s Secret Baby.” Somebody please tell me when this happens.

Your Turn: How did it feel when you sold your first book? When you held your very own copy of your first published book? What’s it like for you when inspiration hits out of nowhere? Do you sneak little “Easter eggs” into the story to give your friends or just yourself a giggle? Inquiring minds want know! Wishing you all good writing…
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In the mood to vote? Press a paw toe? If so, check out the latest Dark Diva Best Book poll... and if you’re so inclined vote for Pat Cunningham’s BEST OF BREED ~ http://darkdivasreviews.webs.com/bookofthemonthpoll.htm ~
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A LONDON WEREWOLF IN AMERICA
by Pat Cunningham

Blurb ~

British werewolf Roderick Chase has been sent to Philadelphia to get married. Instead he finds himself the target of werecoyote assassins. His only hope: Darinda Lowell, a witch with a low tolerance level for arrogant alpha males. She agrees to act as his bodyguard and use her magic to find out who’s trying to kill him.

There’s no way the pushy wolf and the vegetarian witch can get along, or so Darinda tells herself. However, love tends to work a spell even a witch can’t ignore. Can she claim the wolf who’s won her heart, or will she lose him to a murderer?

"I like comedies. I like murder mysteries. I like paranormals. I like an evenly-matched hero and heroine engaged in snappy dialogue. And I just love me an English accent spoken in a deep sexy voice. I had a blast writing this book. Hope you have as much fun reading it." ~Pat

A BookStrand Mainstream Romance
~~~

EXCERPT ~ A LONDON WEREWOLF IN AMERICA

She set her shoulder bag on the dresser and began to pull vials and drawstring packets out of it. The smug seeped out of Alfie’s face. “Hey. That better not be poison. I got rights.”

“Don’t worry. I’m brewing a truth potion. One good sniff and you’ll tell me everything and be happy to do it.” She smiled. “I would have gotten far less with the touch, but you had to insist on the hard way.”

“Hey. Hey, wait a minute—”

“Too late.” Darinda took a small clay bowl from her bag and poured the contents of a vial into it. Green liquid pooled in the bowl. Into this she sprinkled ground herbs from a pouch. A soft, smoky mist arose from the bowl, thick with the smell of mint. “You’d better wait in the hall,” she told Roderick. “This can have a powerful effect on people with sensitive noses.” She beamed evilly at Alfie. “Just imagine what it can do to a were.”

His imagination was working just fine. She could tell from his worried posture and the way he flinched from the bowl. She swirled the liquid in the bowl, and its steamy billow increased. Anyone other than the spell caster who caught a whiff of it would be compelled to speak the truth. She extended the bowl toward Alfie and watched his eyes glaze over.
And only then became aware of Roderick hovering far too closely over her shoulder. “I said wait in the hall. This stuff’s dangerous.”

“And leave you alone in the room with that?” He thrust his chin at Alfie. His voice slurred over the consonants, and his eyes didn’t seem to be focusing. “He’d kill you the second I turned my back. Fine mate I’d be if I allowed that to happen.”

“Whoa. She’s your mate?” Alfie said in the same fuzzy voice. “Dog, your pack’s standards have fallen.”

“Roderick,” Darinda said, “please wait in the hall. I’ll be all right. He can’t—”

Roderick shouldered her aside to confront Alfie. “You will not speak in that tone to my mate.”

“Holy scat, dog. She’s not even shifter. Don’t you teabags have rules against messing with the lower orders or something?”

“Bugger the rules. Bugger the pack. I never even wanted control of the pack to begin with. Bloody treacherous low-rankers fawning all over you, right before they go for your throat. Rip out your guts soon as look at you. Forget the upper ranks.” He snarled. “Lift your leg too high and it’s taken for threat. You can’t relax for a second. And this is your family. Think what outsiders are like.”

“Dog, that’s rough.”

“This trip is the first chance I’ve had to breathe in years. You are so fortunate,” he said to Darinda. “Free to be whatever you want, mate with whomever you please. I love this country.”

“I’m touched.” She tried to steer him toward the door and away from the misty cloud hovering over the bed. “Roderick, please—”

“I always wanted to be a cowboy,” he said dreamily. “Out in the wide open spaces with no damned pack trailing after you. Like that Eastwood fellow. He’s one of us, you know. A wolf. If he isn’t, he bloody well should be.”

“No way,” Alfie said. “He’s a coyote. Gotta be. He’s got a sense of humor. No wolf on the planet has a sense of humor. That’s why you mutts are doomed.”

“This is all fascinating,” Darinda said, tugging at Roderick’s arm. “However—”

“It would never work,” Roderick said. “The cowboy thing. Horses don’t like me. The predator-prey dynamic.” His wistful smile disappeared, and he seized Darinda’s shoulders. “You like me, don’t you?”

“Um—”

“I wouldn’t blame you if you hated me. You’ve put your life on hold and yourself at risk to protect me, and I’ve been such a perfect brute. I’m a—what’s the Yank word?”

“Putz?” Alfie suggested.

“I was going to say ‘ass,’ but I suppose yours works. Darinda, you’re a lovely, brave, patient woman who’s been kinder to me than I deserve. I’ve never met a wolf I wanted to stand at my side more than you.”

“Roderick you don’t know what you’re saying.”

“The hell I don’t. I’m in love with you.”

“Whoa, dog,” Alfie said.

Darinda got as far as “Rod—” before his mouth closed over hers and smothered all objections. She couldn’t stop her own response. She’d been attuned to him from the beginning, and the emotions that flooded her now through the contact washed away any objections. The female in her surrendered to instinct and rose up to match the male. The cards never lied. This arrogant, overbearing, meat-eating wolf was her perfect mate.

But not here, not now, not under these circumstances. Reluctantly she broke the kiss. “We’ll talk about this later,” she promised him.

“I get her when you’re done,” Alfie said. Roderick snarled, and Alfie recoiled. “Hey. Just asking.”

Darinda turned Roderick’s head to face her. “Do you really love me?”

“Of course I love you. You’re the only she I want.”

“Would you do something for me?”

“Anything, darling.”

“Open that window, stick your head out and take deep breaths.”
~~~~~~

AVAILABLE: Tuesday, March 2nd ~ http://bookstrand.com/a-london-werewolf-in-america ~
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If you haven’t already, take a look at COYOTE MOON by Pat Cunningham ~ Can a half-werewolf woman, unaware of her wolf nature, come to love the WereCoyote determined to free her wild side and make her his mate? ~ http://bookstrand.com/pat-cunningham ~

ALSO available: BEST OF BREED by Pat Cunningham ~ “Confidence breeds beauty, no airbrushing required” ~ http://bookstrand.com/pat-cunningham ~
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STUPID THINGS TO THINK ABOUT

Pic from ~ http://mordantorange.com/images/comics/misc/werewolf.gif ~

STUPID THINGS TO THINK ABOUT

By Pat Cunningham

In writing paranormals – or SF, or fantasy, or any combination thereof – world-building is essential. What are the rules of your universe, and how do they affect everyday life? There are the usual questions to be answered, like how does the population cope in a world where vampires and werewolves and demons walk the streets, and what to do when you find yourself in love with one, as so often happens in our genre.

Then there’s the really silly stuff, the hey-wait-a-minute questions that tend to hit when you’re bored or it’s late at night or you’re right in the middle of a tense action scene. Yes, I do lie awake at night thinking of these things. Such as:

The police have captured a vampire. The vampire’s not carrying weapons, but he still has his fangs. Would he be considered “armed and dangerous”? Do long, pointy teeth count as a concealed weapon? If he’s caught attacking someone, is that simple assault or assault with a deadly weapon? Plus he’s got that rare but specific medical condition (acute and fatal allergy to sunlight). Is he covered by the Americans with Disabilities Act? If you insist on a daytime trial, or lock him in a cell with a window, are you violating his civil rights? Does he even have rights? Technically he’s dead. The person he used to be is legally deceased. Does he still have to pay taxes? (I wish I could remember the author and the title, but I know someone wrote a sequel to Stephen King’s “’Salem’s Lot,” in which the IRS investigated why an entire town stopped filing their tax returns. Even being undead isn’t enough to get you off the government’s hook.)

Now imagine you’re the poor court-appointed defense attorney assigned to Mr. Fangs, trying to get charges reduced. Let me know how the story turns out.

Do werewolves wear wedding rings? Or watches, or any kind of jewelry? If so, what happens to it when they change form? If a female werewolf wears makeup and shifts, does the makeup stay in her fur? If these are traditional werewolves and only change with the moon, then you’re okay because they can plan ahead. However, I’m seeing a lot more of the shift-at-will variety (I write that kind myself) and these questions aren’t always addressed. Either the wolves need some magic so their clothing appears and disappears depending on their form, or they’ll end up looking pretty silly no matter what shape they’re in.

How do you insult a werewolf? “Bitch” and “son of a bitch” won’t cut it. Those are descriptions, not insults. “Dog” works better because of the servile connotations. Call a were a dog and you’re questioning his wolfhood. Humans are apes, or primates, simians, or anything in the monkey family. A Jane (as in “Tarzan and”) is a female werewolf who runs with human males. It’s the werewolf equivalent of “slut.”
How do vampires, ahem, get it up? Doesn’t that require a heartbeat and a functioning circulatory system? Or maybe they (ahem again) engorge by drinking others’ blood. So there’s your vampire with a massive hard-on and a victim in no shape to help him out. Surely some enterprising madam would catch on and provide facilities for freshly-fed vampires. After all, there’s no chance of the girls getting pregnant or diseased (undead, remember) or even bitten because the john just ate. Just a brief but intense bout of incredible sex, no strings attached. You folks who write erotica, feel free.

While we’re on the subject of the world’s oldest profession, I was watching the History Channel the other night. They had a show about sex in ancient Pompeii, which was rife with brothels, sex shops and prostitution. The top brothel was called the Lupanare, or “House (Den) of the She-Wolves.” I know what I instantly thought of. Anyone else?

There ought to be enough story fodder in there to keep me busy for months. How about you folks? What little everyday bits of trivia exist in your created worlds that could lead to a unique plot? All it takes a little imagination, carefully-applied logic, a bit of boredom and a really twisted mind. And they wonder where writers get their ideas.
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Coyote Moon

Blurb ~

It's that time of the month -- the full moon -- when Willy Alvarez's moods go wonky and her dreams fill up with wolves. A time for hungers she doesn't dare fulfill because they lead to violence. She's resigned herself to a manless life, then Cody Gray arrives.

Cody is cute, funny, charming, and a werecoyote. His nose knows what Willy doesn't: she's half werewolf. He's convinced this repressed half-human she-wolf is his perfect mate. Now he just has to convince her. And quick, because her long-lost pack has learned about her existence, and they've come to town to claim her...

COYOTE MOON by Pat Cunningham at ~ http://bookstrand.com/product-coyotemoon-14959-330.html ~ NOW full-moon rising on Siren-BookStrand’s bestseller list.

Running with the Pack by Pat Cunningham

Running with the Pack

By Pat Cunningham

Pic from ~ http://naturescrusaders.wordpress.com/2009/03/07/ ~

I’ve always been an animal lover. As a dog person, I picked werewolves as my supernatural being of choice when I moved into paranormal romances. Fortunately I live in an area with a unique research opportunity – the Speedwell Forge Wolf Sanctuary of PA, right up the road from me, so to speak, in Brickerville, Pennsylvania. The Sanctuary consists of 25 acres and is home to 40-odd wolves, divided into packs/family groups, each with its own roomy run. I stopped in recently for one of their weekend tours and picked up some info and anecdotes to give my howling heroes and their world some verisimilitude. As I discovered, even with wolves truth can be weirder than fiction.
First off, the biggest wolf in the pack doesn’t necessarily become alpha. The sanctuary has a family of four eastern timber wolves, all zoo born. Because the pup was bottle fed and received better nourishment growing up than his parents, he’s the largest of the group. That doesn’t mean Pop can’t make Junior submit when he’s of a mind to. Attitude more than size is what makes an alpha wolf. The smaller wolf dominates the larger because he’s got the drive and the mindset. The Dog Whisperer is right – it’s all psychological. The muscular six-foot werewolf might find himself taking orders, and having to like it, from his 5’2” mate. That could make for some funny scenes.
We’ve all got this picture of alpha wolves clawing their way to the top of the pack and ruling with an iron paw. That ain’t necessarily so. The sanctuary’s pack of thirteen gray wolves is led by Murphy, possibly the laziest wolf on the planet, according to his keepers. Murphy does nothing and makes no effort to maintain his leadership. The pack follows him because they like him and they want to. His brother Winston could probably kick his butt and take over the pack, but he just isn’t interested. As beta, Winston does the heavy lifting in pack administration. He keeps the others at bay while the alphas feed, then determines who eats next and in what order. If your alpha hero’s smart, he’ll have a loyal beta to watch his back so he can focus on running the show.
Another myth blown out of the water is wolf monogamy and the idea of the alpha male in charge at mating time. When a gal’s in season, the keeper said, the boys take notice, regardless of her rank or theirs. “She gets up, they get up. She walks off, they follow. She stops, they stop. It’s hysterical to watch.” She, not the males, decides who’s going to father her litter. She picks the wolf she deems most likely to sire the strongest pups. If that turns out to be the alpha male, and it probably will, so be it.
As long as there’s no alpha female on hand, the pups might even make it. Alpha females tend to kill other females’ litters, both to secure their own pups’ survival and to demoralize possible rivals, to keep them too depressed to challenge her authority. If your story needs an antagonist, you need look no further than the literal queen bitch determined to hang onto her position. And hide your kids.
At the other end of the hierarchy exist the omegas. You can’t really call it living for them because they have to take everyone’s crap. The omega in the gray wolf group was easy to spot: the tips of her ears had been chewed off and the end of her tail was missing. The keepers had to move her into a separate pen or the pack might eventually have killed her. She shared her new home with two other wolves and seemed a lot less stressed. Got any werewolf omegas? Might they be harboring resentment and plotting against your alpha hero?
Finally, take this one for what it’s worth. Glacier is a big handsome gray wolf who comes from a showbiz family (his grandfather played Two Socks in “Dances With Wolves”). He’s also something of a diva. Glacier has been known to go off and sulk if he isn’t the center of attention. His last girlfriend had to be removed from the pen; Glacier bit her because he was jealous that the keepers were petting her more than him. Glacier shares his pen with Chipper, a diminutive male who’s suitably submissive enough to satisfy this prima donna alpha. “We think he’s gay,” the keeper said.
And on that note, I’m heading back to the keyboard. Happy writing!
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Coyote Moon

Blurb ~

It's that time of the month -- the full moon -- when Willy Alvarez's moods go wonky and her dreams fill up with wolves. A time for hungers she doesn't dare fulfill because they lead to violence. She's resigned herself to a manless life, then Cody Gray arrives.

Cody is cute, funny, charming, and a werecoyote. His nose knows what Willy doesn't: she's half werewolf. He's convinced this repressed half-human she-wolf is his perfect mate. Now he just has to convince her. And quick, because her long-lost pack has learned about her existence, and they've come to town to claim her...

COYOTE MOON by Pat Cunningham at ~ http://bookstrand.com/product-coyotemoon-14959-330.html ~ NOW full-moon rising on Siren-BookStrand’s bestseller list.

Lunar Eclipse Magic ~ It’s here... COYOTE MOON

July 7, 2009, night of the full moon and a lunar eclipse. Yep, definitely a lucky omen for Pat Cunningham’s COYOTE MOON. Her first romance shapeshifter romance releases today!

Blurb ~

It's that time of the month -- the full moon -- when Willy Alvarez's moods go wonky and her dreams fill up with wolves. A time for hungers she doesn't dare fulfill because they lead to violence. She's resigned herself to a manless life, then Cody Gray arrives.

Cody is cute, funny, charming, and a werecoyote. His nose knows what Willy doesn't: she's half werewolf. He's convinced this repressed half-human she-wolf is his perfect mate. Now he just has to convince her. And quick, because her long-lost pack has learned about her existence, and they've come to town to claim her...

Coyote Moon – Story Excerpt

Cody sighed carefully, in and out. She wasn’t really in a state to hear this, but… “Willy, listen up. We’re out of time, so I gotta be blunt. You’re a werewolf.”
She stiffened in his arms. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me. Definite wolf. Not all the way, though, just half. From what I’m seeing and smelling, I’d say the wolf’s stronger than the human.”
She lifted her head and stared at him. His eyes were inches from hers, and utterly sincere. “You’re serious.”
“‘Fraid so. You almost shifted tonight, that’s what happened to you. The wolf and the ape are all mixed up and your body can’t make up its mind. I’m betting once you switch all the way, everything’ll sort itself out.”
“Switch? You mean, into a wolf?” Good God, this must be loonie night, and here she was stuck out in the middle of nowhere with a naked one. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
“Wish I could say yes, but you’re showing all the signs. You’re a wolf, and the sooner you own up to that—Hey, where you going?”
“Home.” Willy marched past him, eyes carefully averted, in the direction she figured Coopersburg must lie. The panic had run its course; her brain operated coolly again, all unwanted thoughts and emotions carefully suppressed. Okay, not all, but distance from Cody would take care of that. And maybe by the time she got there, she’d have figured out a way to deal with Beth that didn’t involve homicide. “Werewolf, my ass.”
In the blink of an eye Cody shot ahead of her and planted himself in her path. “I can see you’ve gotten good at this, but you can’t keep running forever. Face facts, darlin’. You’re a wolf, pure and simple, and you better accept it, or what happened tonight’ll happen again. Next time you might kill somebody.”
Like she hadn’t thought of that. Quick, distract herself. She waved her arm at the sky. “Explain why I’m human while a full moon’s out.”
“It only works like that in the movies. We can change whenever we want.”
“‘We’? So you’re a werewolf, too? Well, I guess that explains the lack of clothing.”
“Not wolf. Coyote.”
“Oh? Well, that’s a big difference.” She started walking again.
He got in her way again. She glared at him, seething over the effort it took to keep her gaze locked on his and not let it dip. Her mood swings threatened to swing her in that totally inappropriate direction again. Think of something else. “Okay, I’ll play along. How am I supposed to…switch?”
“First you take your clothes off.”
“That’s what I thought.” She stalked down the hillside. “That’s the sickest pickup line I’ve ever heard.”
She picked the stretch with the fewest rocks and stomped along it. She kept her glare riveted straight ahead, so she wouldn’t have to look at Cody. She could hear him trotting at her side, just out of reach. “Not a line,” he said, “just common sense. You’ll rip your clothes if you try to change in ‘em. Just thinking ahead, is all.”
“Of course,” she said frostily. “And I suppose in order to achieve this `switch’ I have to sleep with you?”
“Well, no. Never heard of it done that way.” His voice lit up. “Might be fun, though.”
“I’m calling the cops when I get home. I’m having you put away.” And maybe herself, right after.
“If that’s what makes you happy. I’m betting it won’t.” He reached for her arm. “For your own good—”
She snapped at him, a move so quick, so instinctive, she had no time to think. Her teeth clicked together just short of his fingers. She followed it up with a snarl that would have backed up a whole pack of wolves. Cody stood his ground and waited her out. The snarl died away when she realized what she’d done. Her color drained off until she was pale as the moon.
“That’s her,” Cody said softly. “The wolf. You don’t let her out, she’ll kill you. Chew you up from the inside.”
“No. I’m not. You’re not. Those things don’t exist.” She would have bolted, but Cody caught hold of her and wouldn’t let go, no matter how much she thrashed and snapped.
“Atta girl,” he encouraged. “Set her loose. I’d rather we didn’t do it like this, but like my daddy always says, any den in a twister.”
Willy ground out a curse and kicked. Her knee fell short of its target. Their legs tangled and they tumbled to the ground. She tried to scramble up, but couldn’t find her footing. Her hands and feet kept sliding all over the carpet of pine needles, and Cody. Like having four legs that refused to cooperate with a brain programmed to deal with only two.
“That’s the spirit, darlin’. Hey, is that hair on your neck?”
She aimed a punch at him, and missed. How dare he make jokes while she—oh crap. While she rolled around on the ground on top of a naked psycho. She shoved away from him and scrabbled back. “Don’t touch me. Don’t come near me.”
“You sure?” His grin infuriated her. “For our breed, this counts as foreplay.”
“You disgusting son of a—”
Coyote. Cody was gone. She blinked and he blurred. The coyote crouched in front of her, forelegs splayed and hindquarters hiked in the air. He waved his tail and yapped at her, an invitation to play.
Willy gulped, hard. I did not just see that.
The coyote lolled his tongue. Cody’s grin on canine jaws. His yellow eyes held Cody’s twinkle. He rocked back on his hindquarters and became Cody again, kneeling before her. “See that? Nothing to it. Now you try.”
I’m not going to scream. Screaming is for sissies.
She fainted instead.
~~~

Purchase at ~ http://bookstrand.com/product-coyotemoon-14959-330.html ~

Sneak Preview ~ Coyote Moon by Pat Cunningham

Cody Gray hiked into Coopersburg just shy of sunset, and right off the bat he smelled she-wolf.
Cody’s mouth stretched in a great big fox-in-the-henhouse grin. If he’d had his tail right then, he’d’ve wagged it. All the way up from Texas he’d been on the lookout for some nice wild country to set up a pack in, and a mate to help him get started. Just when he figured northern California might fill the bill for one, Fate dropped the other in his lap. Chaos, patron of the coyote-folk, must be smiling on him.
He set his nose to the wind. He’d already spotted a bar up ahead, and a couple of houses and a gas station, before the two-laner he’d hitchhiked in on widened out and entered Coopersburg proper. The she-wolf was at the gas station, and plenty riled by the scent of her. He drank in a noseful of her and sighed. Nice and pungent. Alpha, maybe? He liked his girls feisty. Cody quickened his pace.
Closer to the gas station, he spotted a nasty tableau: three big apes closing in on a pair of ladies. The lady in back, getting herded into the dubious safety of the garage bay, was slender, blonde and cursing like a dock hand. The herder had auburn hair and three-four inches on the blonde. She looked fit to chew brass and spit tacks. Cody’s pulse ramped up to a gallop. There was his wolf, and she was about to get herself trounced. Her bared teeth kept the apes at bay, but they wouldn’t hold much longer.
He slowed and came up on them careful and unnoticed, close enough to smell the alcohol on the apes and hear the menace coloring their taunts. The wolf-gal said something. The snarl in her tone announced the apes were in for a whuppin’, but she made no move to attack. Cody crouched behind a parked car. Chaos, only three of them. Why didn’t she just shift and end it?
Then, in a heartbeat, the situation changed. The blonde screamed. Cody’s hackles lifted. The apes had a buddy, and he’d snuck in through the office into the bay and caught the blonde gal from behind. She writhed in his grip while the other apes hooted. The wolf-gal darted in to help the blonde, but the ape in the lead grabbed her arm. Cody didn’t catch his words, but the leer on his face said it all.
So she let him have it. No girly slaps for this she-wolf. She socked him a solid one, right in the nose. The smell of blood joined the odors of liquor and adrenaline that already charged the air. The words she barked at the lead ape weren’t the kind ladies should know, much less repeat in public, but given the situation Cody allowed she was entitled.
The big ape’s face got uglier, no mean feat. If the wolf-gal hadn’t switched by now, Cody realized, she either wasn’t going to, or couldn’t.
That clinched it. This was his future mate getting threatened by those drunk knuckle-draggers. He bared his teeth, revealing canines just a tad longer and heavier than a human’s. Time to get involved. In true coyote fashion, of course.
This being a garage, naturally it had a peck of cars sitting around, and naturally some trusting soul had left their keys in the ignition. Cody slid in behind the wheel of a sporty little Mustang that started up real nice. He took aim and floored it.
The rev of the Mustang’s engine must’ve cut through the boozy haze on their brains because they looked around and finally noticed the car rocketing right at them. They abandoned the wolf-gal and scattered. Cody plowed through the midst of them, then swung a tight U-ey and shot after their leader, the biggest, ugliest ape in this bunch of bananas. The man scrabbled desperately over the tarmac. Cody brought the Mustang right up on his heels before he slewed it aside. He reached out and slapped the ape’s John Deere cap clean off his head. The ape stumbled away, and the car shot on by.
Cody let loose a Texas howl and wheeled around for another go. Chaos, this car handled sweet. “Gotta get me one of these,” he murmured.
And one of those, he added mentally, as his squealing turn faced him toward the garage again. The goon in the bay had let go of the blonde, and now the wolf-gal was all over him like, well, like ugly on an ape. Poor guy couldn’t even land a slap. Too quick and strong for him. Cody’s butt hitched on the seat, wagging a phantom tail.
Since the wolf-gal didn’t need his help, he went back after the apes. They’d made fast tracks across the street and piled into a pickup parked by the bar. They took off down the road without so much as a cussword flung at him. Cody offered up a mental shrug. Didn’t want to dent their truck, most like. Apes had oddball priorities.
He trundled the Mustang up to the garage. The wolf-gal had the fourth ape flat on the greasy floor. The ape contracted into a ball. “C’mon, Willy. I said I was sorry.”
“You’re sorry, all right,” she growled down at him. “I expect cheap thuggery from Les, but you—”
She cut herself off and sniffed the air. She turned just as Cody hopped out of the Mustang. He watched her eyes get big and her body tighten up to full attention.
She knew what he was, all right, but only on some basic, primitive level, not in her head or her nose. She didn’t recognize him. Any she-wolf worth her pack standing would be showing her fangs by now, with a growl at him to git, rescue or no rescue. That’s how your average wolf saw coyotes, pests to be run off. Because your average wolf had no sense of humor.
He stared hard into her eyes. A fine honey-brown shade. Wolf eyes ran to yellow, like his own. This one had a whiff of ape on her. Half-breed? That might explain why she hadn’t switched.
Her stance had shifted into a pose of wary friendliness. She let him get pretty close up before she stopped him with a little twitch of her mouth, not quite the flash of a fang. “Thanks,” she said.
“My pleasure, ma’am.”
“I could have handled it. Those jerks are losers even when they’re sober. But I do appreciate the help.” She smiled just enough to get Cody’s invisible tail wagging again. “Nice moves with my car, by the way.”
Her car? Chaos love it, this just got better and better. Cody flashed a smile wide enough to eat the moon. She didn’t even have her hand halfway out before he seized it. “Glad I could help. I’m Cody Gray, up from Texas. You’re going to marry me.”
~~~~~~

COMING REAL SOON from Siren-BookStrand!!! Git those pinkies ready to click the buy button!

My First Time

My First Time

By Pat Cunningham

No, not that first time. (Made ya look, though, didn’t I? Ha ha!) I’m talking about my first sale of a romance story to a romance publisher. “Coyote Moon” will be available shortly from epublisher Siren/BookStrand. Since my other story sales were all to SF/fantasy markets, this means I’ve successfully crossed over into another genre.

Well, crossed over, at any rate. We’ll find out how successful I was once the reviews start coming in.

To be fair, I cheated. It’s a paranormal (shape-shifters), so there are strong fantasy elements, which kept me well within my comfort zone. It’s a comedy – again, something I’m no stranger to. I had a ball writing the dialogue, but for me dialogue’s the fun part.

Switching focus from a plot-driven adventure to the developing relationship between two people – okay, you got me. That was the tricky part. Still locked in action/adventure mode, I tend to run with the plot and forget the relationship. I need to slow down and give these people a chance to get to know each other. Half the time I have to go back and shoehorn in the sex scene. That’s not how you write a romance, much less keep your characters happy.

So, what have I learned from my foray into a brand-new genre? I love humor and snappy repartee. I should probably focus on romcoms. I need to add more sensory detail. I use variations of “was” far too often. (The editor highlighted every one of them in the manuscript. Yikes! Passive voice was rampant. See what I mean?)

Best of all, I’ve added a new form of writing to my resume. Now I can get rejected in science fiction, fantasy, and romance. Tomorrow, the world.

How long will I swim in my new pool? Depends on how long the paranormal trend stays healthy. I’ve got all sorts of ideas. My current WIP involves a werewolf paired with a witch (she’s a vegetarian – hilarity ensues) to solve a murder mystery. Great, now I’m doing mysteries. Genre number four.

The important thing is to learn the rules, keep them in mind, and treat the material with respect, regardless of the genre(s). With luck and lots of practice, you’re bound to produce a tale that people will read from end to end and find entertaining enough to thank you afterwards. That works no matter what genre you write in.

Looking for Lightning

Looking for Lightning

By Pat Cunningham

Inspiration and I have a love/hate relationship. I’d love to have more of it and hate that I don’t. It’s especially tough when you’re slogging through a story and you hit a wall and you call on your muse for a little help and she’s sprawled on the couch watching game shows and you’re left to fend for yourself. This tends to happen right before a deadline. Makes day jobs seem like heaven by comparison.
When the lightning strikes, it’s magic. I once had a character’s entire backstory come to me while I was vacuuming. Full-blown story ideas have hit while I’m driving without making me swerve off the road. On those days everything works and everything’s golden. You sit at the keyboard, or take up the pen, and the words just pour out by themselves. That’s when the muse redeems herself.
The rest of the time … well, you know how it is. I can go for weeks without a hit. I fly my kite and key through my thoughts and wait for the lightning to strike, but the skies remain clear and cloudless and the muse is off working on her tan. The words dribble out of the pen and lie on the paper like sludge and glower up at me and go, "What?"
I wonder how many writers live like this? Or with its opposite? Stephen King goes to the grocery store, imagines dinosaurs in the aisles, goes home and writes The Mist. He must live in an inspirational strike zone. Me … too often I find myself in Death Valley, where rainfall can be measured in drops and lightning strikes are rare.
Not much you can do in a case like that except fire up the generator and start cranking, and generate your own lightning.
Over the years I’ve discovered I get the bulk of my ideas while I’m already working on something. The act of writing itself becomes the key that draws the lightning down. A character’s offhand remark can spark a sequel, or even a series. Since I’m a pantser, I write myself into a lot of corners, yet somehow, if I keep at it, I find I can write myself out of them. If I work at creating the sparks, the lightning hits on its own.
Just recently I was working on a werewolf story. Out of nowhere the lupine protag starts telling this anecdote about some relative who entered herself in a dog show as a joke, and won. "Hey," I thought, "that sounds like a story by itself. What do you think?" I asked my muse.
"Whatever," she said, and went back to watching Wheel of Fortune.
Nice work if you can get it. For me, it’s back to the keyboard.

REMEMBER: HUGE IMPORTANT NEWS!!!
Pat’s short story the ‘SNAKE IN THE GLASS’ will be featured in the #7 issue of Beneath Ceaseless Skies, NEW YEAR’S DAY edition.
How wintery cool is that for all those hibernating serpents? And kewl for all the humans who want to curl up with a great story this winter.

Note: Pat, wonderful insights about inspiration and similar to my own. Yep, you're driving along and a key piece you need for the next chapter hits right between the eyes. And no, thank goodness, I’ve never run off the road or caused an accident...yet.
And, boy oh boy, do I know about those corners!
Pat, I love that dog show werewolf idea!!!

Savanna
Savanna Kougar ~ Run on the Wild Side of Romance ~ http://savannakougar.com ~