Thursday - What Janet Lane Walters has been reading #amreading

This week there are four since one of them is a short novella.

The Secret Mistress by Mary Balogh - Laughed through this book as Angelina gets her man. I've read the other two Mistress books and did wonder how Angelina ended up with a rather stuffy man. He's not stuffy in the bedroom.

 Perfect Fit by Carly Phillips - A great romance by a friend and former critique partner.Cara and Mike's story, a new one in the Serendipity series - An intense romance that is heartwarmint and a nice read.

The Marriage Mistake by Jennifer Probst - The third in the series and a fun read where Carina uses her Love Spell to gain Maximus. Delightful and heart-warming

Thunder by Taryn Kincaid - Short sexy story of a 1 Night Stand, Really loved when Sean built the bat house for Veronica's attic pests.

Wednesday's Writer's Tip On heroes and heroines #amwriting

Still finding gems to help a story grab reader's attentions and make for a good story using How To Write Mysteries by Shannon OCork. This time there's something she said about heroes and heroines that struck home and something every writer should know.

Give your focus character problems and keep them in trouble. Why? This keeps a reader turning the pages. Make these problems small ones that can be solved but then have the solution lead to another problem. There are two areas where this can occur. There are the outside areas and the inside the character problems. I never realized I've used this method until I read this book. How does this work in genres other than mysteries.

I write a lot of romance as well as mysteries and realized keeping the goal in mind one could rev up the tension by solving one problem that leads to another one that may seem minor. I'll look at two books here.

Murder and Mint Tea was the first mystery I wrote. It's a sort of when will someone kill this not very nice woman. The heroine's first problem involves a broken leg. This led to her son finding a tenant for her first floor apartment. This tenant brings trouble into the heroine's life and each time she thinks she has found a solution another bit of trouble pops up. When the tenant is murdered now the heroine must find who killed her and how can she protect her near and dear when each of them owns one of the murder weapons.

The other is a romance The Doctor's Dilemma. Here the hero has a number of problems. First he doesn't like to stay in one place and works as a temporary doctor. Then he inherits infant twins from a dead foster sister. As he solves the problems of them, a vanished sitter, falling in love with the heroine who wants a settled life. being in a town where he has friends who want him to stay. Each time he solves one of the problems, another results from that solution.

So think about this when you're writing and keep your hero or heroine solving small problems that lead to the big one and the final solution.

Tuesday's Inspiration via Sue Grafton - On Inspiration #aminspired

Am reading essays by authors about this business of writing. In the recent one Sue Grafton talks about Inspiration. How neat to find something that fits the day. I'll give my take on what she says and how I've come to wait for that moment.

You're mulling over an idea and not sure where you'll be going with it. For me this happens frequently.
Here's the quote. "Eventually there is that spark--that wonderful flash--aha!--that mental leap" There's more to the quote but this is the essence. All of a sudden you know where the story should go and you take off running.

For me this often comes during the rough draft stage. My rough drafts sometimes wander all over the place before I find that one thing that gels the story. "Aha" is what I think and I start the words flowing again. The rough draft may be begun again because of that magical moment. Perhaps this is because I think with a pen in hand. My rough drafts are usually written by hand. Just my style and not a must in the writing world. Just a must for me.

Back to the quote. If there is no spark or flash or a mental leap, the story doesn't come about. But when it happens, the story takes form and the real writing can begin.

How about you? Are you hit by a a mental leap and suddenly you know the idea has merit and will become a book?

Meandering on Monday with Janet Lane Walters #amwriting

This is a new year and let's see where I meander today. The first is anonymous posters to the blog. I am getting tired of someone trying to sell medicine on the blog but I also don't want to amke things hard for the real readers and writers who want to post without giving their names. Not sure why they do this. Would I hunt them down and try a hard sell on them. No. I rather go for the soft sell and for showing the work of other authors on the blog. So give me a break. If you're pushing medicines, don't do it on my blog.

Yesterday was 12th night and my Christmas tree did not come down. I'm not sure why. Probably because I'll need a day to pack all the decorations away. Also because it's pretty. Maybe it's because I like the tree. I finally put the Christmas music CDs to rest and am now entering the classical phase of my music listening while I write. But sometimes I write to silence. That's especially true when I'm doing a rough draft.

As to my writing. Today I will finish chapter 8 of a rough draft of a novella expected to finish at between 30 to 40 thousand words. Odd thing is that I know the title of the series but I've been toying with a title for the book. I usually have the title before I begin a story. Sometimes it's the title that brings on the creative juices for the story. There will be 12 stories here with Moon Child as the main title. I have an idea of what I want to do with the series but that will wait until I have at least three of them written and a fourth planned.

As to the Goddesses of Er. Had to go back and type in the missing chapters. They may be in my computer somewhere but I couldn't find them. So glad I print out each chapter when it's finished. Once I catch up on typing chapters 7 and 8, I'll be finished with the rough draft and can type that while I work on some nore chapters in the Goddesses.

The last thing I'll meander on is that I must start doing some promo things. I always hate to take time away writing to do this but I will take at least an hour a day to find some blogs for a post other than my own or do some other sort of thing. One promotes their name as well as an individual book.

3 Blog Visit Sunday discovered by Janet Lane Walters

http://www.dailywritingtips.com/10-tips-about-basic-writing-competency/

http://heatherhambelcurley.wordpress.com/2013/01/04/the-first-baking-fail-of-2013-the-things-i-do-for-my-novel/

http://tinagayle.blogspot.com/2013/01/tinas-gmc-to-career-planning.html

Saturday;s Chapter from Cougar by Skhye Moncrief

COUGAR Skhye Moncrief 2


Chapter One

Post-apocalyptic Earth: after alien invasion, AEI, 2064 AD

Life has gone to Hell in two generations. Extraterrestrials altered the human genome,

splitting humanity into two subspecies of humans, Shifters and Normals. Sometimes Shifters and

Normals work together for survival in cities or remote villages. Other times they war for

dominance. Regardless of the outcome, they must survive and fight against human enslavement.

Hunted by aliens for breeding stock, Shifters understand this the most. Especially, Wolf males.

But every once in a while, a female Shifter is born and her Cougar protected from detection

because nobody knows what the aliens want with Cougars¡¦

* * * *

The gangrene should have killed my half-brother yesterday, Jackal thought. My little

brother, Rattler, would drop dead any minute. But Rattler had no intention of dying before he

reached his mate. So, the others and I followed his ragged brown shirt with cut-off sleeves

tucked into his black leather pants through the whispering forest on this last-ditch wild-goose

chase of June. To the place Rattler lived the past eight years.

In hiding.

Eight damned years.

We.d wondered where he was as he.d come and go to the village, to the clan, a time or

two a year. But we never guessed he had a mate. Everyone just thought he.d lost his mind. Or

went on a killing spree. Nobody could blame him for slipping into a rage with life on Earth gone

to Hell once the aliens arrived. But hiding a mate? That was the last damned thing we expected.

Not from him.

He wasn.t the type to turn down a challenge though. To feel forced into hiding.

Rattler halted, his back to us. Shaking. Elbow jerking. Then, he stepped off again.

Driven onward. Toward love.

That.s what he had secreted away.

Because of the damned aliens. Because Shifter mates were targeted above all else for

abduction.

We should have guessed what he was up to. He was always so damned determined.

¡°Up here,¡± Rattler said over his shoulder without stopping.

Demon shot me another one of his speculative looks.

Like I knew what to expect from my baby brother. Rattler and I shared the same mother.

But hell if there was any way I could make sense out of his behavior. We.d grown up together.

He was the baby five years in my shadow. Actually my shadow until he hit fifteen. But his

father never treated me like his own son, just a step-son, and we went our separate ways

thereafter. I became his father.s right-hand man. Present, yet distanced from Rattler, while

Rattler wallowed in his father.s favoritism. Then, I hit twenty and proved I could beat the best of

the village Guardians. Earned the respect of a man who could enforce village rules among the

Normals and Shifters.

COUGAR Skhye Moncrief 3

With that came rank and duty. Whereas Rattler just lived off the prestige of being the son

of the village.s clan leader. He could kick ass and kill with the best of them. But he didn.t have

to work at making something of himself with his built- in reputation inherited through birth.

Rattler had it all in becoming the next clan leader. Until he mysteriously abandoned the village.

The clan.

Rattler veered toward a thick tree trunk.

A tall ash.

At the tree.s base, he halted, slid his gaze up the trunk, wobbled, thrust his palms to his

hips, and managed to steady himself. ¡°Angel,¡± he yelled almost a little hoarsely.

The four of us stared up at the weathered wooden base of a tree house, with Rattler.

Nothing moved at the rectangular doorway.s tarp covering. Except a breeze making the tan cloth

flutter. A perfect place to sleep with the aliens. blood-thirsty Bounders crawling across the

forest floor, hunting down anyone foolish enough to dare venture out every night after curfew.

¡°Angel?¡± Rattler yelled again, somehow managing to brace his rotting flesh, and waited

for his mate.

Movement flashed to his left set back deep within the wall of tree trunks forming the

forest. First, a bit of bare arm slipped between tree trunks. Then, a leg covered in faded

camouflage and a beige hiking boot. A swath of her honey-colored hair pulled back into a long

sleek ponytail swung into view. Then, she burst fully into our line of sight, running.

Silently. Like she was part of the woods.

Rattler extended a hand. ¡°Hurry, Angel.¡±

She was slim. About five foot six. Ample curves hidden beneath her olive-drab tank top.

Her gaze locked onto Rattler like he magically appeared and would vanish as she gripped

the weathered black strap of the large firearm, something a good sixty years old, looking of

military issue by the two visible ends, thrown over her head and shoulder where the strap bit

between her breasts.

Damn. She had no idea her mate was about to die.

Poor woman.

For the need in her features.

For my brother.s desperation to save her before he collapsed and passed from the living

into the promised world of the fortunate dead.

¡°Come here, Angel,¡± Rattler said calmly.

Probably didn.t want to spook her. The last thing I.d want to do is tell my mate I was

dying. All the better reason for letting the other Guardians take on mates when the opportunity

produced an unmated female. I.d give freedom a few more years to show me what life had to

offer before taking on the responsibility.

Angel crashed into Rattler with the gusto only a lover could display. He grabbed her, his

foothold shifting. Undoubtedly from the pain. But he never let on he felt anything.

He loved her. That.s how Shifters mated. For life. Wholeheartedly. Irreversibly. Until

one of them died and released the other from the bond. He loved her so completely that the

clan.s head, Rattler.s sire, sent out half the village.s best Guardians to bring back Rattler.s mate.

Rattler.s body blocked our view of Angel. All but her hands where she threw them

around his neck. He bent toward her.

For a last kiss.

Shit.

I couldn.t stomach this anymore.

COUGAR Skhye Moncrief 4

But I had to. For Rattler. Brothers owed each other favors throughout life. I.d be

damned if I didn.t hold steady to help his mate through the catastrophe awaiting her in a world

where women needed men for protection. I ground my teeth and exhaled.

Purging. Trying to keep a level head.

She backed away, peering around his shoulder, at us with the palest blue eyes stretched

into wide-eyed surprise. ¡°What happened?¡± She shot him the same owl stare with her finelycarved

features. ¡°Who are they? They.re Shifters. Do you know them?¡±

¡°I need you to listen to me,¡± Rattler began and turned a little to face us sideways, holding

her by the upper arms as if to begin introductions.

I guess, for starters, that.s all you could say in this type of situation.

She eyed him suspiciously.

His knees buckled. His body fell forward, into hers, as he dropped.

She grabbed him under his arms.

He grunted, his pain magnified by her touch at his torso.

¡°What happened?¡± she asked again, her brow furrowing. She knelt, pushing him at arm.s

length from her chest, watching him, fear stretching her mask. ¡°John?¡±

So Rattler told her the Christian name the villagers forced Shifter sires to give their sons.

Insults to us who were deemed abominations by the Normals who feared our geneticallymodified

power. Especially Christians. Were these two truly mated? Did she know he was a

Shifter? Was this woman a Normal who despised Shifters only to learn now that she.d married

the wrong type of man because he brought Guardians to her?

Not Rattler. He wouldn.t have hung on to return to her if he and Angel hadn.t bonded

with blood. Like Shifters.

So, why did she use his Christian name?

Rattler cupped one of her cheeks with a palm.

¡°Don.t send me away.¡± She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and clutched him

tight.

Rattler flinched from her squeezing his rotting flesh beneath his shirt.

She caught the motion, backed away, and ripped his shirt open where she could view his

putrid abdomen. ¡°No,¡± she gasped the most pitiful sounding word I.d ever heard.

I couldn.t watch anymore. I turned to pretend I guarded our back, the indomitable forest,

from the direction we.d arrived.

She just kept crying no.

Over and so god-damned over. Again. And again.

¡°Promise me you.ll go with them, Angel. My father says the clan will take care of you.¡±

Damn. Talk about the miserable truth. She.d have to come with us. Or Normals would

drag her off for marriage, breeding, or worse, trade her into prostitution. That.s the way of

things since the aliens invaded and began jacking with the human genome.

¡°No, John. I.ll find the healer. She.s not far. Wait here.¡± She took a step toward the

forest.

He grabbed her arm. ¡°That old woman can.t help me now. It took everything in me to

bring the Guardians here. You.ve got to promise me you.ll go with them.¡±

She sniffed.

¡°Promise, dammit,¡± he growled.

¡°I promise,¡± she blurted. The response seemed more an effort to appease him than reflect

her true intent.

COUGAR Skhye Moncrief 5

¡°I love you, Angel. Keep Black Betty close. Take the supplies. The clan will need

them. Or trade them.¡±

Suddenly, you could have heard a whisper.

¡°No, John. Don.t leave me,¡± she begged with crackling words.

* * * *

This can.t be happening. Sierra knelt on the ground with her mate clutched to her chest.

She could feel his heart beat. The recognizable scent of him, a familiar comforting aroma of

campfire and leather that kept her warm in her bedding whenever he was gone hunting or

trading. Even though his body rotted.

Those gentle steel-blue eyes he always flashed at me, his stunning grin, all were absent in

his attempt to save me from the isolation he brought upon me. He wanted me to leave the forest.

To leave the little world he.d carved out of the wilderness to safeguard me.

His palm trembled against my cheek. He calmly sighed and planted his soft velvet lips

against mine.

So damned warm.

You can¡¯t die.

He couldn.t.

¡°You promised,¡± he said and closed his eyes.

The warm breath whistled out of his parted lips.

My heart split.

Blinding tears smeared my view of my Shifter.

I couldn.t breathe.

My John was gone.

What did it matter where I went now?

What I did?

He was my life.

My family was dead.

Nobody else even knew I was alive.

Except for these four males.

What did they know about me?

Other than my heart died on the forest floor with the light in John.s eyes.

The whispering scratch of fabric against fabric beckoned before I saw him kneel in my

periphery.

He was tall. The dark stubble on the top of his head and his six o.clock shadow told me

his hair was darker than his brown eyes. John.s brother? I blinked, looking back at John.s

square jaw.

This Guardian was nothing like my John at a ll¡¦

¡°Angel, we can.t stay long. We have to reach our vehicle by nightfall. Rattler, uh John,

wanted us to hurry. For your sake.¡±

Who was the talker with the gentle words?

And how could I leave John?

How? I clutched John.s heavy stiff body against my chest and slid my gaze over to the

scuffed toe of the talker.s combat boot, up his khaki bloused pants, up to his straight- lipped

expression.

I couldn.t leave John.

No.

COUGAR Skhye Moncrief 6

I couldn¡¯t.

¡°I.m Demon, Angel,¡± the talker said where he knelt beyond my periphery. ¡°John and I

have the same sire. Father wants me to bring you back to the clan. I need you to gather your

things quickly. We have to leave now.¡±

The more I tried to open my mouth to say no, the more hot tears blurred my view,

smearing the blank expression on John.s face.

¡°Please, Angel, we.ve got to leave before the Bounders start their night patrols.¡±

I couldn.t leave my John.

Not with the alien.s creatures out to kill those foolish enough to ignore the sunset curfew.

How could these Guardians think I could leave my mate? What was wrong with the fucking

universe?

¡°You promised him. He killed himself making the two days journey back here, Angel.

Hold true to your word. For him.¡±

Demon.s voice remained low and gentle.

Persuasive?

Maybe it was alright to leave?

John told me to leave.

To go with them.

I had promised.

The talkative Guardian skirted me.

Was he going to do what he would with me now? Like all the others. Without John, I

had no protection. Just a goddamned rifle and some ammo. All but the one thing John and my

father made me swear never to reveal. My inner Cougar.

Could my Cougar shifting ability save me now? Or damn me worse than the loss of my

mate if I revealed I was one of the rarest creatures on the planet? Talk about irony of the

Goddess. She would gift me something so powerful and taunt me with its dangerous use. Then

slap me in the face with gang rape and the murder of my parents all to reiterate I damned sure

better not use the power.

Well, I could try to outrun the Guardians. Absolutely impossible in human form¡¦

They.ll probably do what they will with me anyway.

Maybe they.d just rape me and put a bullet through my head. Release my spirit from the

tidal wave of grief barreling down upon my accursed bones.

Hands gently grabbed me under my arms from behind and hefted me up to my feet.

¡°Come now, Angel, we.ve got two hours before sunset. That.s just enough time to reach the

tank,¡± he said softly.

John.s stiff body slipped away from me. Back to the grassy earth while my empty arms

dangled at my sides.

He can¡¯t be dead. Not my John.

A hand nudged under my chin and lifted my gaze to meet those brown eyes. ¡°I know you

feel like you want to die. But John wants you to live. Do this for him, Angel.¡±

And be cursed.

Hell, I promised. ¡°My name is Sierra. Only he calls me Angel.¡± I turned my chin out of

Demon.s grasp and stepped back twice. Away from them. Could they be trusted? John had

brought them. I suppose I had to believe they were my Guardians.

COUGAR Skhye Moncrief 7

The four males, all with the shaved heads of Shifter Guardians, each wearing a mixture of

camouflage, leather, and combat boots, studied me. The pity in their eyes spoke louder than my

dying drumming heart.

Maybe they weren.t going to rape me.

Why would they?

John brought them here.

John said they were his brothers.

And I promised.

* * * *

Jackal watched the pale blue eyes of his brother.s widow glint with pooling tears. But

the tears had ceased flowing as if she realized what had happened. What must happen. She

stared them down. Thinking, undoubtedly. I would. In a world where Shifter mates were

hunted to use as bait to lure their mates into capture for exploit by aliens, a woman as beautiful

as Sierra couldn.t be too careful. She.d wind up on an alien spacecraft, heading for someplace

far far away. Or traded for breeding or just for sex. That.s why only a fool would risk mating.

Risk his mate.s life and the lives of his children. Especially after I.d watched my mother survive

the pains of childbirth to lose four of the children she bore before they were old enough to have

their own children. I.d never put a woman through that torture.

Sierra sighed, lifted the rifle strap over her head, and tossed her four-foot long black AR-

15 rifle at Demon. ¡°If you.re planning on killing me, use this.¡± She abruptly turned to the tree

trunk, grabbed a length of rope coiled around the stump of what was left of a low branch, and

shook out a rope ladder.

She ignored us.

Probably hoped we.d kill her.

With all the horrible things that roaming packs of Normals did to Shifters and their mates,

I couldn.t blame her for uttering that fear. Hell, it was the best reason not to take a mate. Once

you had a wife and children, the level of danger in your life of simple village Guardian elevated

to nightmare. Anytime, your family could be stolen in an attempt to get you to pursue in a

rescue attempt. And that often resulted in your own capture. Resulting in imprisonment on an

alien spacecraft. Talk about a nice one-way trip off world.

Sierra climbed up that ladder like it was the easiest thing she.d ever done.

Demon shot me another one of his stoic how- in-the-hell-did-we-get-caught-up- in-this

stares.

Like I knew what to expect with this whole insane venture. He was in charge. He

needed to make his own strategic assessment. I swear the man didn.t want to take over the clan

for his sire. Most Shifters would jump at the chance. Whatever Demon wanted was a mystery

though. But one would think he wouldn.t want to look like a fool in working toward his goal.

Nobody dared call him on his actions other than his sire though. Still, a man had pride.

¡°He.s your half-brother,¡± Demon muttered.

¡°And yours. More so, you and he both got your sire.s disposition. I was just gifted the

sweetness of our mother.¡±

Demon snorted. ¡°Killing machines are anything but sweet.¡±

¡°You only say that because I.ve kicked your ass more times than you can count.¡± I guess

we shouldn.t be talking about trying to kill each other when our brother.s widow could barely

think due to her loss.

The tarp door flap fluttered overhead.

COUGAR Skhye Moncrief 8

Sierra shoved the end of a large brown duffle bag through the rectangular doorway, and

worked a rope, lowering the bag, hand over fist, to the ground at the base of the rope ladder.

¡°Untie it,¡± she ordered.

Within minutes, she lowered a second duffle with a few steel firearm barrels sticking out

where the zipper gaped. Then she sent down a heavy backpack before climbing down with two

smaller packs and a guitar slung over her shoulder. She stepped off the ladder, turned to face us

with the hardest mask I think I.d ever seen on a woman, and sucked in a deep breath. ¡°I have to

bury him.¡±

Oh shit. There.s no telling how Demon would react. Guardians directly in line to take

over clan leader often were a bit unpredictable. Yet, he called the shots.

Demon claimed a foothold next to her and laid a palm on her shoulder.

She clenched her jaw and stared him down.

¡°There isn.t time. John knew that,¡± Demon spoke softly but firmly.

Her gaze met each of ours in a swoop. ¡°If you.re his brothers, you won.t leave him like

this.¡±

Where¡¯s a gods-be-damned shovel?

Demon scanned the grass and knotted roots of the tree. ¡°We don.t have a shovel anyway,

Sierra.¡±

Good thing he was in charge. I.d already be clawing handfuls of earth from the ground to

ease the pain in her eyes.

¡°I do,¡± she ground out.

Demon sighed. ¡°There.s no time.¡±

¡°Give me the shovel,¡± I ordered.

Demon sighed, shooting me a disgusted stare as she riveted a serious gaze upon mine.

Something unsaid passed between us.

Something impossible to grasp.

Perhaps understanding?

But she dumped her bags in the grass and produced the pointed spade.

My stepbrothers took turns hacking at the hard earth to speed up the process while she

strapped no- frills handguns at her hips and filled extra clips. Probably because she knew her

delay would result in our party being attacked by Bounders. But she never met our gazes with

the knowledge in her eyes that she endangered us all.

I.d do the same in her boots.

Demon finally patted the last clump of grassy earth atop the grave and tossed the shovel

onto the long mound. ¡°Let.s go.¡±

Sunset was close the way the intense orange light bore through the canopy.

* * * *

After strapping John.s favorite handguns to her thighs, Sierra watched as the Guardians

picked up her duffle bags, one by one, and heaved them over their shoulders. They¡¯re carrying

my packs. For me?

Probably to steal everything. That was the way of life AEI. I grabbed my smaller

lightweight backpack of extra clothing and the one containing medical supplies. And hoisted

them each over one of my shoulders.

Just in case the men were out to rob me. It would be tough trying to get at Black Betty if

I needed to. But the old rifle never failed me. I.d carry her close. And the handguns. Like John

said.

COUGAR Skhye Moncrief 9

A wave of smothering sorrow choked me.

The tallest quiet Guardian, the one whose eyes stared me down with empathy, strode over

and extended a wide hand. ¡°I.ll take your packs for you.¡±

He would?

Were these Shifters about to run off?

Leave me here?

Trade me to Normals for even more supplies? ¡°It.s alright. It.s just my clothes. And

medicine. I can carry them.¡± Maybe he wouldn.t care about either bag.s contents. I clutched the

straps at my shoulders and tried not to let the massive musculature of his broad shoulders

intimidate me.

¡°No. You.ve got a heavy enough load to haul without dragging those packs along. And

we.ll travel faster if you don.t ha ve to rest.¡± His strong broad hand waited.

For me to hand over.

Hell, what did anything matter anymore?

Without John, I.d be lucky to last two days without a male trying to claim me as a mate.

My eight years in solitude with a man who loved me to death just ended. Lying to myself was

stupid. I handed over, acquiescing to tote my guitar and Black Betty, and followed the tall

capable forms of John.s clansmen into the setting sun.s reddening orange light .

Night was two steps away. With its monsters.

Bounders had to feed.

And this was the werescape. Earth altered by aliens. There wasn.t anything to fear from

genetically-modified shape-shifting warriors who swore to protect the weak. Was there?

* * * *

Jackal kept lookout behind his brother.s mate as the others led the woman back through

the night.s quiet darkness to the tank. We¡¯d be safe locked away inside the vehicle¡¯s steel walls

if Bounders showed, he thought. Prepared, if we reached the vehicle. The trail we left on the

drive out to the tree house meant we were highly likely to have visitors tonight. But since we

were almost to the tank, we just might avoid a scuffle.

Hell, I just want to sleep.

The day had been too damned exhausting.

I buried my baby brother and followed his widow on a two-hour hike.

The thought of tightening down the tank.s hatch and stretching out until morning

sounded more satisfying than talking to the grieving lover my brother left behind. And for some

gods-be-damned reason, I thought of nothing but talking to her. Maybe it was the fear in her

eyes. Something that pushed me to reassure her she was safe. Or the woman.s sorrow yelled for

companionship. Just someone to speak to.

Maybe Demon was right. I.m too damned soft. Weak.

A shriek pierced the darkness.

The line of Shifters before me halted.

Bounders.

Shit.

Move now, Demon. I conjured up my internal deep hum to pull the change upon my

Shifter eyes. To use night vision to scan the distance for the awkward gait of the squatty fourfoot

tall nocturnal creatures out to hunt the fools who lingered outside village walls.

They probably already had our scent.

Sierra turned to me, extending a hand. ¡°The lighter pack, please.¡±

COUGAR Skhye Moncrief 10

I gave her the bag and kept my gaze on the distant expanse of dark tree trunks spaced out

by shafting moonlight.

¡°Do you see anything?¡± she whispered and foraged through the bag.s contents.

¡°Not yet.¡±

She threw the pack over her shoulder. ¡°Give me the other backpack.¡±

¡°I told you I.d carry them.¡±

¡°Not if you shift.¡±

She was right. My clothes would be shredded. And I.d mindlessly drop anything I

carried. I passed her the bag.

¡°Move,¡± I muttered at my stepbrother, Badger.

Badger turned his burning silver Shifter gaze my direction. ¡°Who stays with Sierra?¡±

¡°Tell Demon and Steel that I.ll stay behind her.¡±

She jerked something over her head, shot me a glance through night vision goggles, and

curled her fingers around the butt of a pistol at her hip.

Talk about one prepared little angel.

The line headed forward again, ushering her along toward the tank.

We had to be close.

Where was the damned tank?

Movement fluttered to the left.

Party time. I closed the space between Sierra and myself.

She whipped the pistol out of its holster to point toward the Bounder.

Four awkward orange-red forms glowing from my night vision pulled black ground

toward their bodies, heading in our direction.

Should I shift to guard her? ¡°Will you feel better with me in were- form?¡±

¡°Do what you want.¡± She didn.t even glance my direction. ¡°Just stay out of my way.¡±

Maybe I should have been insulted about my intelligence when it came down to my

having enough sense to keep out of someone.s line of fire. But the time wasted on being angry

wasn.t going to gain us anything. ¡°Come on. Let.s keep moving. The others will fight them.¡±

She began to trot onward. ¡°How much farther?¡±

¡°We.re close. Just keep moving.¡±

¡°I see the tank,¡± she blurted.

Talk about miracles.

Another shriek sliced through the darkness.

Demon roared.

My brothers. were- forms loped through the forest.s stoic expanse of tree trunks.

Away from Sierra. To intervene with the advancing Bounders.

The bags my brothers carried littered the ground with their boots and belts.

Sierra leapt over the duffle full of firearms.

Leaving them behind would be a huge mistake. I stopped, bent, and heaved the load of

ammo and guns to my shoulder.

Sierra caught my movement in her peripheral vision. She halted, raised her weapons, and

fired into the nearby battle.s clashing bodies of werewolves and Bounders.

Screeches cut through the night.

Only to be snuffed by the burst from each moment she quickly aimed and pulled the

trigger.

COUGAR Skhye Moncrief 11

Like rattling off death blows. With seamless motions. Effortlessly. Not many men

could shoot with one hand the way she used both of hers. Still, she.d be safer inside the tank

instead of engaging in target practice. ¡°Come on,¡± I shouted and stretched my stride toward the

duffle full of canned food.

She followed at my heels, picking off approaching Bounders with carefully placed bullets

set right between their eyes. ¡°Leave the duffles until dawn,¡± she shouted. ¡°There.s so damned

many of the beasts. And Bounders aren.t going to do anything with the supplies.¡±

True. But the guns were the difference between life and death these days. I didn.t want

them damaged. I raced the last six steps to the bulky side of the tank.

She was there, at my back, shooting with both hands, two directions, knocking off

Bounders with every bullet. Damn. Nothing wasted.

But more orange-red loping forms burst from the ends of the tank.

Flanking us. I grabbed her around the waist and threw her up at the hatch.

She scrambled her feet beneath her and fired at anything that moved toward me.

Thank the stars the blood-thirsty creatures couldn.t climb. I shoved the bag of firearms

and ammo on top of the tank and yanked my body up beside her slim kneeling form.

She kept matching the Bounders. shrieks with explosive pops.

I turned the hatch.s wheel, pulled the heavy metal open, and crammed the duffle into the

black hole.

The bulky mass would be in our way. I jumped into the darkness and slid the heavy load

across the tank.s metal floor, creating space for everyone else to move when climbing in to

safety.

But every minute I left her topside she could accidentally shoot a Guardian. So, I thrust

my ass back toward the dark circle of night sky, grabbed her around her trim waist, stuffed her

into the tank.s black void, and closed the hatch behind us.

My brothers roared.

Finally. Or I just noticed them now that we settled down in the blackness.

She backed up against the far wall to sit, checking her ammo clips. ¡°Are you okay?¡± she

asked. ¡°Ready to shift?¡±

My pulse was pounding.

Yes. My arms jerking. And with my heat vision. ¡°I can control it.¡± The Normal woman

didn.t seem upset about my transitional edginess.

She eyed me over through those night goggles. ¡°I can help you if you.re ready to kill the

euphoria.¡±

The last thing I needed was the hands of my baby brother.s mate on me. That skin of

hers, touching mine. It had to feel like intoxicating silk. And she was so damned beautiful. Not

many women reached twenty without looking like they.d birthed a dozen babies and worked

twenty years in the fields.

Every cell in my body screamed for me to utter yes.

My foot jerked.

Thoughts of silk were deadly.

She watched me for one more breath, climbed into a squat, and edged to my side. ¡°We.re

better off with your thoughts on the present,¡± she whispered.

Shit. She was going to touch me. How was I going to just sit there?

My blood was boiling.

Her palm edged toward my face. ¡°Everything.s going to be alright,¡± she whispered.

COUGAR Skhye Moncrief 12

Wasn.t I supposed to be telling her that? Instead, all I could do was sit there with my

cock hardening to stone, licking my lips, with thoughts of her salty flesh moving closer and

closer.

For one bloody bite¡¦

My inner Wolf drooled.

¡°You have amazing control,¡± she said, sliding her palm across my cheek.

Skin to skin, my pulse shot from throbbing to nuclear. If she didn.t get her hand off me, I

was going to shove her onto her back and bite a chunk out of her shoulder.

Friday's How She Does It with Skhye Moncrief #fantasy, #sci-fi, #paranormal

Though Skhye and I have never met, I belong to one of her Triberr groups.



1. I believe there are six elements in writing fiction and often fact. Who, What, When, Where, Why and How. I believe the first five lead to the sixth which for me is the plot. What's your take on this?







I agree wholeheartedly since being forced to write a proposal a long time ago. I suddenly realized writing by the seat of my pants was taking too much effort. I also have always written with a quasi-plot in my head. The problem is I’m too lazy to write it down, or I’d have been an obsessive plotter from the start. Even answering the barest basics for external and internal story conflict has me writing a stronger story from the first line and from the first draft. I rarely have to edit much in goals, motivation, and conflict—those being the plot holes in my work. Now fact…That’s a different ballgame. I’m a factoid reader. So, for me, writing paranormal, sci-fi, and fantasy help me skirt the overwhelming obligation I feel to stick with facts in straight contemporary or historical fiction. So, you won’t find me doing anything but world building with a paranormal, sci-fi, of fantasy bent. Well, my brain won’t stay there. It wants to play with things—the rabble rouser!









2. How do you create your characters? Do you have a specific process?







I find that I just write the story after grasping the basic points mentioned in my previous answer. I usually have a character burst out of page one like a bull rider out of the stall. But that doesn’t always go as planned because I don’t want to write anything like a proposal/outline. I’m extremely lazy. So, I have learned to just write until my character is bugging me and then revise what I’ve written. This kind of writing results in an extremely solid front end of a story. I rarely write a synopsis these days. That would be after I’ve written the story. My critique partners report whether or not they connected with a character. If they didn’t, I have to go check with a synopsis and diagnose the character’s GMC (goals, motivation, and conflict). Usually the problem is that I didn’t state it at the story’s opening. Honestly, I think this type of lazy writing (LOL) results from years of writing and reflects that my subconscious is now working in my favor when I write a story. In other words, anyone can learn/be taught to write. Storytelling isn’t a gift. Neither is learning to speak or read. But you have to pay attention to the audience to learn what gets the reaction you’re looking for. Then you focus on what results in that reaction to write more stores…











3. Do your characters come before the plot? Do you sketch out your plot or do you let the characters develop the route to the end?







No. Characters make a story. I learned that in 2003 at a writing conference in California from Bob Mayer who doesn’t write romance! So, I bought into the Joseph Campbell’s metaphysical moment—the idea that story is about a character rising to a challenge and uniting with a group (no matter the size of that group) by doing something selfless. Even if it’s for love of a mate. So, my characters must work toward the few plot points I have in mind when setting off down the writing path. This is all mental for me. I just have a few turning points in mind (the actual scenes and character behavior/reactions) to go with when I steer those wily and unruly cats toward story obstacles!











4. Do you know how the story will end before you begin? In a general way or a specific one?



Only if I’ve already envisioned that particular part of the plot before writing. See, I really only plot part of a story…I’m too impatient to do more. I just want to write.







5. Do you choose settings you know or do you have books of settings and plans of houses sitting around?







I create settings or draw from the good old memory box. I’ve studied so much with anthropology that I have quite a reservoir of information stored away to tap into.







6. Where do you do your research? On line or from books?







I prefer to research with books because I like to WRITE in them!!! I know. It’s sacrilegious. But I can’t break that habit after grad school. I lose my mind when I can’t find something I know is in a book—something crucial for the factoid reader that I am. However, sometimes an online search solves a problem quickly. Especially if you need a picture of a specific type of jewelry. I’ve just learned that finding what I need online isn’t always easy. That said, I’m really good with search parameters. So, because I’m so lazy, I’d rather just grab a book and flip through the pages. Online research wears me out.







7. Are you a draft writer or do you revise as you go along and why?







I do revise as I go along because of world building. I find one little epiphany or change in a character while writing the story at any point during the process requires I go back and tweak everything. This results in one solid piece when writing THE END. I’m lazy. I don’t want to work too hard after writing THE END. As I’ve said before, this isn’t something I’d recommend the newbie writer to do. Be careful and listen to timeless advice. Don’t think your work is perfect. If mine was, I wouldn’t have to revise at all! But my story pacing seems to be internal now. My brain just makes a book so long. I don’t. It’s my subconscious working to lay down the tracks from all the rules I’ve beat into memory. And the romantic growth, that’s second nature in writing too. I have found that when I get bored with a story, it’s because I’ve forgotten romantic growth and strayed from the path of a story’s plot. A wip then requires a bit of surgery! I don’t wait until I write THE END to set bones or stitch a wound. No. I drop everything and fix the story. ;P







Thanks for raking me over the coals, Janet! ~Skhye







Skhye online http://skhyemoncrief.com

Thursday's Who Janet Lane Walters Has Been Reading #amreading

While sorting through some paperback books to alphabetize them I came across a book I hadn't read. Must have put it on the shelf and forgotten I'd bought it but I sat down and read the book. The two others read this week were both on the Kindle. Love the diversity of what venue a person can choose for reading.

A Christmas Promise by Mary Balogh - This is a really good Regency romance and Ms. Balogh never fails to satisfy my reading tastes and give that warm feeling.

Betrayed Countess by Diane Scott Lewis was an interesting read and the heroine a woman in development. The story begins during the French Revolution and sends the heroine off to England to a life of toil. I do hope there will be more of her adventures since the book left me hanging in mid-air hoping for a happy ending.

Fatal Deception by Marie Force - Really enjoyed the action and adventure in this romantic suspense. I should have begun with book 1 of this series so I could follow the development of the main character. That will happen and I feel I won't be left unsatisfied.

Wednesday's Writer's Tip - Heros, Heroines and Series Or Not

There are series and series. Sounds confusing but it's not. There are series where the same character has story after story. These are often mysteries, but not always. Sometimes they are science fiction, fantasy and even romances can have a series where one character spans more than one book. The other kind of series is where a town, a country, an idea produces books that belong together. This time we'll deal with the first kind of series and the question, how does the writer maintain the same hero or heroine in book after book?

When reading about this in How To Write Mysteries by Shannon O'Cork, it seemed to me that this could be a problem for the writer. Using the same character in story after story can exhaust the writer. I have a series using Katherine Miller as a main character but I'm a strange kind of writer. Yes she's in more than one book, but the stories were written years apart. To have to do the same character book after book could make writing not fun for me, but there are authors who are successful doing this kind of mystery.

One has to love the character. One has to be willing to watch the character grow and change from the character's first appearance. If the character doesn't change, the writer and the reader become bored with the story. An interesting side bit. When some new people joined the tritique group and heard a bit of a mystery, they were bothered by some of the character's actions. Certain traits of a series character must follow through each of the stories. The ones who had heard or read all the stories knew the heroine couldn't act in a defferent manner. She has undergone other changes that haven't bothered other characters

Series usually have an end hopefully planned by the author in advance. Hopefully when the author decides to end the series, the readers won't clamor for more.

Tuesday's Inspiration ala Sue Grafton - Creative Urge #amwriting #am inspired

Any time I meet people and tell them I'm an author, almost all of them say that someday they would like to write a book. Not all of them do, though lately more people are entering the reals of published author. Something I read in an essay by Sue Grafton made me think about what might be missing that keeps these people from penning that book.

"First of all, there is the urge to create, the need that comes to us from some formless state, something stirring that will not let us rest." This urge ahs led Ms. Grafton to write a wonderful set of mysteries.

Has it led you into writing down word after word until you have a story? It has me. I know I feel uncomfortable if too many days pass without my working on a current story. This itch has been in my life for a very long time. From sitting on the porch with friends years ago and making up stories, or putting on plays in a neighbor's garage telling stories had been with me. Of all those story tellers I'm the only one who went on to write books. I often wonder why I couldn't do anything but scratch that itch and put word after word on paper. How about you? Did you have a group of storytelling friends? Did any of them go on to write, too?

Like Ms. Grafton, I also became a reader and explored a lot of interesting and strange works of fact and fiction. Then came the day when I had to try. High school, and I started a lot of books and worked on one and then another. Went to a hospital nursing course. My mother cleaned out my room and threw all those budding stories away. But the itch never stopped and finally I began to painfully start to write.

How about you? Has the itch remained and do you scratch it every time you sit down to write.