Christian Werewolf Erotica! Yeah!

It was bound to happen, just a matter of time before I sold out. I'm selling out so bad it makes my cavities hurt. What's the best-selling fiction out there? Religious novels. Sex, natch. Werewolves, gotta' love those werewolves. So, I thought, "Hey, Stuart, why not make a gazillion bucks and put 'em all together?" I answered, "Cool idea! Now get out of my head!"

So, you are all witness to my opening salvos into erotic, Christian, werewolf fiction. Put the kiddies to bed and draw the lampshades! Things are about to get holy, steamy and wolfy.

"My thighs quivered like it was the Rapture. The leather-clad werewolf on top of me nipped my ear and whispered, "have you found Jesus?" I moaned, welcoming his wolfy Christian appendage into my holier than thou folds. His tongue bit deep like a devil (but not really 'cause he's  Christian). Licking me like so many lashes from the chosen ones who beat Jesus. My hands stretched across the bed, splayed like I'd been crucified, until I moaned, "You're sexier than Pat Robertson!"

There you have it. Whaddaya' think?

(Pretty sure I've offended tons of folks. Yay!)

 

The Secrets of Men (soon to be a Lifetime network movie)

Gather 'round, ladies, I'm going to tell you some manly secrets that're sure to make you understand your significant other better. I might be breaking the "bro code" but since all of my male friends are illiterate and most of my blog followers are female, I think I can get away with it. For my very few male and gay female followers, shine it on and move onto the next post.

*"Whatever you like, dear." It's a common catchphrase you've probably heard time and again. When you ask a man, "what color shall we paint the walls? Almond White or Pearly Alabaster?" The answer's invariably gonna' be "whatever you like, dear." It's not because we're being cavalier. We just think there's one shade of white. Paint the room the color of the "Scooby-Doo" van, toss us a beer, and we're happy.

*Fights! Men love to watch a good fight on TV or down the block. But we don't particularly care to be in one. Especially with our significant other. When we fight, we want a good, clean end to the affair, no extra rounds. Everything should end on a pleasant note, put a ribbon on it, call it pretty. We just want the damn bell to ring and start a fresh round the next morning.

*Movies! If your guy sits down next to you and says, "hey, let's watch 'Sex And The City' tonight," warning bells should go off. Guys like movies full of explosions and cop "bromances" (the male equivalent to "chick flicks"). Sure, there's tons of homoerotic subtext going on, always a street-wise cop and a wild, young haywire. But you know what makes cop bromance movies muy macho? The bromantic cops always go home to Super Models after a hard day of explosions."

*Romance! We haven't a clue. Our idea of romance is equivalent to sex. Which leads me into...

*Cuddling! It makes us itchy and fidgety. Not that we don't love you. But there're lawns to be mowed and "bromances" to be watched. I know, right? It's ugly. But I'm not going to lie to you.

*Sunglasses! Men don't care about avoiding sun damage and the inevitable "crow's feet" at the corner of their eyes. We wear them to covertly eyeball the sexy jogger along the street without getting chastised about it (not that we'd ever act on it, mind you! We're just wired to look.). Now, if a guy wears them into Costco, that's taking it a little too far. He's looking at "sexy soccer mom." Plus, wearing sunglasses indoors is so...eighties. Uncouth!

*Dirt! We can't see it. When we clean house, it's finished. Um, not according to you ladies. I believe we grow accustomed to it, used to living in filth. It's comfy. And invisible. Don't even get me going on cleaning toilets.

*Love! Finally, the sexes unite! For all of our stupidity and caveman ways, if we say "I love you," well, hell, we mean it. It doesn't come easy for us. Love you Cydney!

Am I An Old Guy?

Well, crap. It hit me the other day. Am I getting old?

Yesterday, I saw a kid on the sidewalk, hair hanging in his face. I was tempted to yell, "Get a haircut!" Gah! Pure instinct, I couldn't help it. I'm turning into that cranky old neighbor I used to make fun of.

Strange things are happening to my body. My scalp is follicularly-challenged, but the hair seems to be migrating toward other peculiar areas. Never have I seen such growth in my ears and my nostrils. Dang bushy, even. Get out the weed-whacker and call it not pretty.

Bumps, aches, creaks and cracks are making their presence known. I'm turning into a walking David Cronenberg biological horror film. The need for embarrassing over-the-counter medicine is upon me. Is it wrong of me (and too prideful) to pay off my daughter to go buy "Preparation H?"

Knees crack when I walk upstairs. My eyebrows are looking like Andy Rooney's backyard. I have wrinkles on my elbows, for God's sake, the least wrinkly of the wrinkliest place in the world! And I'm getting crabbier. Being crabby is the first sign of aging, I think. Bah. You kids get offa' my lawn!

Here's the problem, though. I'm still a juvenile twelve-year-old at heart. Body gas (no matter from what orifice) is still funny. I like alternative rock. Much to my daughter's embarrassment, I fist-bump her pals.

Not too long ago, I had a Hallelujah moment. Buying a six-pack of beer at Quik-Trip, I was carded. The clerk actually asked for my I.D. I grabbed her hand, shook it, smiled, damn near jumped over the counter and kissed her. Her response upon seeing my driver's license? She laughed. Not a laugh with me, mind you. A laugh AT me. Whatever. I had my brief, shining moment of youth, as brief as it was.

In my mind, I'm still twelve; a hard-living rock star. The body doesn't agree, but what does it know? Dang whipper-snapper.

My Sister's Reaper: Book Launch With Dorothy Dreyer

Today's the day when my good friend, Dorothy Dreyer's young adult paranormal thriller launches. Check it out!

Here's what the book's about (and look at that beaut of a cover):

Sixteen-year-old Zadie’s first mistake was telling the boy she liked she could bring her dead sister back to life. Her second mistake was actually doing it.

When Zadie accidentally messes with the Reaper’s Rite that should have claimed her sister Mara, things go horribly wrong. Mara isn’t the same anymore—Zadie isn’t even sure she’s completely human, and to top it off, a Reaper is determined to collect Mara’s soul no matter what. Now Zadie must figure out how to defeat her sister’s Reaper, or let Mara die … this time for good.

Excerpt:

I opened my eyes to the darkness of my room. I wiped sweat from my brow and reached for my bedside light, but I froze before I could turn it on. In the darkness, Mara’s silhouette looked down on me. I swallowed back dryness as I stared into her face. I blinked, unable to tell if I was still dreaming or not. But when I focused, there she was, standing beside my bed in the dark. She stared at me with eyes that seemed to penetrate me, moonlight falling in white shards across her face.

“Mara?” I whispered.

She didn’t say a word. Why wasn’t she moving?

“Mara?” I slowly pushed down my covers. Mara only stared. Was she even breathing?

My heart pounded as I slid out of bed. Mara was only inches from the frame. God, Mara, why are you doing this? I maneuvered around her, afraid to make contact. I stood, keeping my eyes on her until we were face-to-face. Silence screamed in my ears.

Dorothy Dreyer has always believed in magic. She loves reading, writing, movies, chocolate, and spending time with her family and friends. Half-American and half-Filipino, Dorothy lives in Germany with her husband and two teens.

LINKS
Barnes and Noble http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/my-sisters-reaper-dorothy-dreyer/1109686823?ean=9780985029494

My Brushes With Fame (Kinda')

In one of my last posts, I detailed my (sordid) encounter with Frank "The Riddler" Gorshin. It got me thinking (NEVER a good thing). Who are the other famous (or nearly famous) people I've encountered?

Here's a quick checklist:

*SKIPPY from the 80's TV show Family Ties. (Think his name's Marc Price, but I'm too lazy to IMDB him). During the late '80's, my recently post-collegiate friends and I were having a blow-out party time in Florida during Spring Break. Think "The Hangover." Sure, we were a couple years too old to be there, but it didn't deter us. We ran into Skippy at a bar. My brother gave him a double-take, paused, and asked if he was Skippy. Skippy sheepishly grinned and nodded. We tried to kidnap him, force him to pursue other bars with us, but he declined. We did keep running into him, though, through the wee hours of the morning.

*Blues legend LONNIE BROOKS. We saw him perform at The Grand Emporium in Kansas City, Missouri.  We asked him to join us for a drink. He did (he drank orange juice. But we gladly paid for it). Awesome guy and performer. But things didn't end so well. When I asked him if Johnny and Edgar Winter (Lonnie collaborated with one of the twin brothers; the other was famous for a metal instrumental entitled "Frankenstein") were really albinos, he shot me a look and left in a huff.  I know, right? Really dumb and offensive question. But, hey. I was young, dumb and drunk.

*BENJAMIN BRATT. At my brother's bachelor party in Las Vegas, I gambled at the same blackjack table with him. Didn't know it at the time, but it was verified later by several sources. Although in all fairness, I don't think I even knew who he was at the time.

*JAMES MARSTERS (aka "Spike" from Buffy, The Vampire Slayer). I took my young daughter to meet him at a Kansas City comic convention. He was one of her first TV crushes. No real story to tell. But he was a nice guy and treated my daughter like she was a princess.

*JAMES GARNER! During my senior year in high school, my friend and I had skipped the last couple of hours and were endlessly cruising up and down Shawnee Mission Parkway (because, hey, it beat school). I looked over to the car next to me. Dang if the guy didn't look like James Garner. I nudged my friend and he agreed. I rolled down my window, caught the look-a-like's attention and motioned for him to do the same. He did. We yelled "You look like James Garner!" He took his sunglasses off, laughed, and said, "thanks!" That evening on the news, I saw that James Garner was in town for a Kansas City sporting event. GAH!

*WHIZZO THE CLOWN. Whizzo was a legend in Kansas City. We were practically raised on him (back in the day when we had three channels and on a good day with nice weather, a fourth). I worked at a small public relations firm when I first got out of college. Whizzo was someone we represented. It was up to me to drive him across town (he couldn't drive with those huge, floppy shoes) to a radio interview. It was somewhat disillusioning having Whizzo riding shotgun, chain-smoking, cursing, and hawking loogies out the window. He shattered my childhood memories.

*Finally, the big one. The late DR. JOYCE BROTHERS! Not only did I meet her, I saw her in her underwear! At the same PR firm I mentioned above, Dr. Brothers was one of our clients. A female co-worker and I were dispersed to pick her up. When we knocked on her hotel door, she called out, "who is it?" My co-worker identified herself. Dr. Brothers opened the door in nothing but her underwear, saw me, shrieked, and shut the door. Okay. Sure, she wasn't told there was a male outside. But, still. Who would answer the door in their underwear to an unknown person of the same sex? Someone well-versed in psychology, no doubt.

There you have it. Now, I want you all to tell us about your brushes with super-stardom (or people on the perimeter) in the comments below. Go!

World Building With Kai Strand

I'm turning the blog over today to my writer pal, Kai Strand, where she'll be chatting about "world building." Crikey! I have a hard enough time trying to build a household! Anyway, here's Kai:

In a way, this book, BEWARE OF THE WHITE, began with world building. In a post on Mayra Calvani’s blog, I talk about the inspiration behind the story and how dreaming up that one little character – a Molly – made me think…

Where would you find a Molly?

Who would use this Molly?

Why?

When I sat at the computer to start writing BotW, I already knew I had to get Terra underground to use the adorable transportation animal I dreamed up. So I imagined a well-disguised trapdoor in her yard that opened to a long dark stairway. I realized that even at the bottom of the stairs, there would still be a long trip ahead to get deep into the earth. That is when Terra and her Introguide, Hermie, hop onto a Molly.

Having used the initial inspiration so early in the story, I had a lot more world building to do. I had to take into account why Terra was being escorted to the underground city, what role she was supposed to play within the city and how it could get screwed up so that the story was worth reading. Then I had to build a world around it.

Terra comes into contact with so many different creatures as she moves through the new alien city. I had the most fun dreaming them up and figuring out their place within the community. I imagined how Terra would react interacting with creatures. Like when she wasn’t too thrilled about shaking hands with a slimy skinned creature, but hid her concern when she noticed Frank’s hand remained slime free after his handshake. As is always the case with fantasy, so much of the world building got cut in the editing process. There was one classroom in particular that I told my editor I’m making sure gets into the movie version of BEWARE OF THE WHITE (wink.) It was so cool – but didn’t really move the story along.

When building a world – whether it be fantasy or contemporary – it is important that you be present alongside your characters to step through the paths and jump over any obstacles and most importantly to make sure everything there belongs and each reaction and interaction is noted. For example, a Trepidus named Finny, visits Terra in her school. He is an Underworld creature and it was important to note his reaction to the Outerworld girl’s bathroom because even though a middle school bathroom isn’t a foreign location to us, it certainly is to Finny.

In the end, this alien Underworld location of Concord becomes so important to Terra, she is willing to risk her life to restore its peace. The only way to make certain the readers understand Terra’s motivation is to make them understand why she loves Concord so much. It is crucial your reader fall in love with the location if it is the threatened entity of your plot. Show them why it is worth protecting. Make them want to visit too.

About the book:

As is tradition, Terra learns on the Saturday past her twelfth birthday that she is a Natures Spirit. It is her legacy to serve in the peaceful underground city of Concord. Learning she is named in a prophecy and being threatened by the leader of the death tribe…that part breaks tradition.

The Trepidus are the death janitors of the Underworld, responsible for delivering fatalities with a smile and cleaning up after themselves until Blanco, recent leader of the Trepidus, decides the day of reckoning for his species is coming. He begins organizing the creatures and leads them toward an uprising. The prophecy says there is one person who can stop him. Terra.

With Spirit of Security, Frank, protecting her, Terra attempts to complete her training and discover her Spirit talents. Together, they go on a rogue investigation to learn how to defeat Blanco. In the end, it comes down to a battle of the minds. The future of Concord is at stake. Will Blanco, the older, more experienced being win? Or will Terra, the young, new Spirit earn back the peace of the city?

Buy It:

MuseItUp

Amazon

Barnes & Noble

Kobo

Or look for it on iTunes

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About the author

Kai Strand writes fiction for kids and teens. Her debut novel, The Weaver, was a finalist in the 2012 EPIC eBook Awards. She is a (very lucky) wife and the mother of four amazing kids. The most common sound in her household is laughter. The second most common is, "Do your dishes!" She and her family hike, geocache, and canoe in beautiful Central Oregon, where they call home.

To find out more about Kai’s books, download companion documents, find links to her published short stories and discover all the places to find Kai both virtually and in person, visit her website: www.kaistrand.com. She loves to hear from readers, so feel free to send her an email or visit her facebook page, Kai Strand, Author.

To celebrate the launch of BEWARE OF THE WHITE, Kai Strand has awesome book related prize packages. Be sure to enter to win. And return again and again to claim entries as you qualify. Kai will also have Spontaneous Giveaways during her book tour. Those giveaways won’t be announced so be sure to follow Kai’s tour. Only virtual stalkers will have the opportunity at all the fun!

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Day Of The Riddler

Really don't know why I've been thinking about this. But I have.

Kim Dickerson. Ninth grade. My dream girl. At least at the time. With my outta' control hormones and lunatic teenage idiocy, she was a pin-up dream come to life. Probably helped that she was voluptuous and a "bad girl." She loved trouble, and therefore, since I loved her, I loved trouble by proxy.

We had a strange relationship. I don't know if she ever had romantic feelings toward me, but she certainly liked to hang out with me. There was a party once where she sat in my lap and draped her arms around me. But you know what? I was too freakin' terrified to act upon it. Wouldn't've known what to do. My parents never told me about sex. My limited education was based on locker room talk (not TO me, you understand...eavesdropping. Because only terrifying bullies had sex in ninth grade) and National Geographic.

Terrified, titillated and fascinated. Sums up my young years.

And the crazy girl got me in loads of trouble. Exciting, I tell you.

One day at school she said, "hey, let's cut outta' here." Being no fool, I said, "okay."

So. We set off across a multi-hour journey by foot to Missouri. We went to the Plaza, a ritzy shopping district just over the Kansas border. On the way, however, we ran into a local TV station's headquarters.

Out in the front yard, Frank Gorshin ("The Riddler" from the '60's TV show "Batman") was smoking a cigarette. I knew he was in town. Saw the ads. He was performing at a cheezy joint called "The Gold Buffet (even worse than dinner theatre for M.A.S.H. ex-actors, I suspect).

I told Kim who he was. She doubted me at first but taking me up on my dare, we approached him. Kim asked if he was really "The Riddler." Looking somewhat pissed off (and drunk), he said he was. She asked for his autograph, but the only thing she had for him to sign was a "sexually explicit book of the occult" called "Lucien."

Frank had his doubts but signed it anyway.

Long story short: I never kissed Kim; I got busted the next day for skipping school (a teacher drove by us as we walked home); I had to learn about sex through experience; Frank Gorshin's probably turning over in his grave.