Recently, I got back in touch with an old friend from college and she was really happy to hear that I was now a published author. Of course, a discussion on books and writing ensued, during which she asked me why I write. I thought about it for a few minutes and then I answered, “It’s an obsession.” She looked at me kind of strangely, as if she hadn’t heard me right, so I repeated myself. Writing is most definitely an obsession with me.
I carry a notebook and pen with me everywhere. My brother told me I should keep a small recorder with me. If I did that, though, people might get the idea I was crazy or something. My head is constantly filled with what if scenarios. I see a movie or read a book and something, maybe a snippet of dialogue or a plot point, sprouts ideas in my mind’s eye and the old imagination is off and running. People watching is also a source of inspiration for me. I stare at them(discreetly of course) while at the mall, the museum, the train station, etc. making up stories about them in my head; who they are, where they’re going, what they’re doing.
I don’t remember exactly how or when this compulsion to tell stories started. When I was a kid, I whiled away hours reading books, getting lost in the pages of C.S. Lewis, Georgette Heyer, Judy Bloom and other authors. Novels were my friends and helped me escape. In my mind, I could travel far away from the noise of my over-crowded house. The churches and steel mills of my neighborhood gave way to exotic locations as I turned the pages. One day I found myself wanting to create my own fantasies, to be the captain of my journeys rather than tagging along on someone else’s. So I began writing tales for personal enjoyment, never imagining that someone else out there might read them one day.
Fast forward about twenty years and here I am with my fourth release, Maxie Briscoe: Werewolf. I am definitely getting to live a dream and I couldn’t be any happier or more grateful. I’ll leave with you with a little snippet. Enjoy!
The name's Maxie Briscoe and I am a werewolf…
That’s right, a real live, full moon-loving, Halloween icon. It’s hard out here for girl like me. To survive, I hide my true self and act the part of a normal human, all while discreetly indulging the Beast within. Talk about walking a narrow ledge. And that’s not even the worst part. Sex is. You see I can bench press a pick-up truck and that spells disaster in the bedroom. You can’t have any real fun knowing you might accidentally crush a lover while in the throes. Kind of kills the mood.
When a friend’s murder shatters the careful existence I’ve carved out, I come face to face with Damien and Noah, two of the hottest men I’ve ever laid eyes on. They are also the first werewolves I’ve run across since my conversion. The attraction is instant, but complicated, the sex… explosive.
Too bad there’s a killer out there with his sights on me …
Maxie is out with friends, looking for some fun…
Meat market is, in fact, the only term that comes to mind when
I step through the doors of the Red Dragon four hours later. The DJ
spins the latest club tune, its bass-heavy beat thumping through my
veins like a seductive, primal mating call. My blood heats, and my
nipples start to chafe against the silky lace of my strapless bra. It’s
been a couple of weeks since I’ve had the pleasure of a man
between my thighs.
Of course, the intensity of what I’m feeling right now is
nothing compared to what I experience on the night of a full moon.
That’s when it’s a real bitch, no pun intended, to be me. I go into
super monster mode. I’m so crazed, so animalistic, I want to hump
anything that moves. Unfortunately, I could hurt or kill any human
man I have sex with.
Mom and Drea have to lock me away all night because I am so
strong. My mother came up with the locking-me-away thing after
my first full moon, when I ripped through the walls of my room,
tore a hole in the ceiling and threw her car across the driveway.
Thank God we lived on a farm at the time. And you thought your
PMS was a nightmare.
I scan the crowd, checking for some possible action. Men are
like parts of a cow, really. First you have your obvious top
sirloin—men who are cut and fit, with lots of stamina, confidence
and great personality. Then you got your round steak—guys who
can keep up, but are a little too much on the beta side of things.
Rump roasts are your basic teddy bears…cute geeks and others
who’ll let you do whatever you want to them because they can’t
believe they’re going home with you. Finally, you got your ground
chuck. You know the type: total dorks, octopuses, Hoovers who
suck your face off when they kiss. These are guys you don’t even
want to think about until you’ve had four or five shots of tequila
and a Jagermeister chaser.
Visit me at My Space