Shiver

I envy writers who suffer from writer’s block. They probably get a good night’s sleep. As far as I’m concerned, they can have my source of inspiration. Really, who wants to have my nightmares?
I can never tell when I’m going to have a bad dream. My husband says that prior to a really bad one I will say, “My hands are itchy.”

What does that mean, itchy hands? You would think that meant I’d eaten too much salt? Drank too much cola? Whatever itchy hands meant (and it certainly didn’t mean I was getting any money) I’d never noticed. But my husband’s always observant and to my delight, he’s also a light sleeper.

I whimper when my dreams turn into nightmares. My husband also knows that when the whimpering starts, it’s time to rescue me from hell by waking me up.

He has rescued me often.

One night I dreamt of her, at least I think it was a she.
She’d appeared one early morning before dawn’s light had crept across the sky. I huddled next to my husband, his slumbering body was warm and slightly sweaty. The only light in the bedroom came from the muted television screen. But I saw it.

I don’t know how long it had been there.

Jesus, it was so close to me!

The thing stood less than one foot from our bed.  It looked like a shadow, and outline of a human except that it had eyes that blazed like hellfire.

It stared down at me with hatred, but I sensed the hatred was twofold. It had a robust hatred for mankind and a specific hatred for me. In fact, the hatred rolled at me in waves.

It just stood there, an incredibly defined two dimensional thing that seemed to dare me to scream.

Was I awake?

I held onto my husband as I choked down a whimper.

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Here's my first offer. Although the story about the hunky demon is FREE, but if you join my Dreamer Team you will also get the Cesar's Revenge: The Demon Lover's Chronicles Book 2 for FREE too!

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Ghostly Attachment Issues

I have a shiny bike. It’s pink with a little white wicker basket. I call it the grandma bike. So no, I’m not a cycling enthusiast. You won’t see me hunched over the handlebars wearing slick shorts on and a go-to hell helmet while looking fierce and cool at the same time.  I’m the one in baggy jean shorts who’s wearing an uncool helmet. There’s also a sandwich and a bottle of water in the white basket. My mission is to relax and enjoy a pleasant afternoon.

On warm spring days, I love to ride to the nearest cemetery. The Gardens of Stone is quiet. Dare I make a clichéd comment and say that it’s peaceful with the dead? The cemetery I visit on my pink bicycle is, or used to be, segregated. There’s the Jewish section, the Confederate section and the old-moneyed section with its elaborate angels and intricate tombs. The roads beyond the black wrought iron gates are narrow and windy. The headstone engravings, are sometimes brief, at times tragic and endearing or enlightening.

Sadly, I haven’t been there in a while.  The last few times I biked there, I didn’t feel quite alone.

The quiet and solitude that used to be comforting escalated into some creepy what-ifs. Like, what if my solitude is solely my perception? Is someone, or something, reading me as I read the headstones? Remember, humans can only see a limited spectrum of light. Or let’s examine part of a prayer, “…we believe in all that is seen and unseen”.

Am I in an enviable position because I still breathe? Worse, what if some spirit attaches itself to me and I end up taking it home?

Did you know that ghosts not only attach themselves to homes or things, but they can also attach themselves to people? Maybe one sunny day a nasty ghost might decide to cling to a frequent bike rider just to have a little fun?

Yeah, it’s been a while since I’ve been there…

Stolen Prophet (The Prophet's Mother Book 1)

We are taking preorders for my new book 

Stolen Prophet (The Prophet's Mother Book 1)

for just $2.99!

Amazon link: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B01CMHLUPM

Stolen Prophet (The Prophet's Mother Book 1)

Evie is a strong and beautiful single mother with an adoring son. The only thing she ever wanted was a normal life. Her past is filled with pain and blood. She fled a cursed existence where her death was inevitable.

She hadn't meant to fall in love. She hadn't meant to give birth. When Victor's father died, her beloved son became her only reason to exist...and then he is kidnapped. To save her son, she unleashes her power, the dark forces of an angry demigoddess.

She coats the southern city in an icy hell while evoking madness and death. She will find Victor and there's no one to stop her...or is there?

You can get this Kindle Edition on Amazon. Click HERE to purchase this book. Enjoy reading!

Stephen King and I

Stephen King is my friend. He just doesn’t know it. Let’s face it, he just doesn’t know me. But he saved me, nonetheless. I grew up in the housing projects. Enough said, right? Want a dream killer? Grow up in an environment that seems to prep you for prison rather than for college.

I was plain and quiet, let me translate that for you, I was bully meat. I earned straight A’s. Need any more translation than that? Even so, I was overwhelmed by hostile surroundings that had me seeking shelter in my bedroom. Reading was my preferred outlet. I guess I needed pretend horror to help me deal with my reality.

Romance is nice with all the hugging and kissing and blending of bodies, but it was horror that stuck with me. It was the scary  stories that chilled my bones and kept me wide-eyed alert at night. I loved and still love horror stories.

Stephen King offered me the best get out of hell free tickets. Later on I would find other conductors on my horror train.  Anne Rice, Peter Straub and Toni Morrison all could deliver the requisite chills, but Stephen King was always my favorite. Indulging in those chapters was like consuming a satisfying meal. I only hope to be able to do the same.

Let me just say this again. It is an honor to be compared to him. 

Rise of the Priestess (The Demon Lover's Chronicles Book 3)

In the final book of the three-part series, César strips Angelina of everything and everyone she loves except for her daughter, Marie Silverstone. He uses that love to force Angelina into submission.

Marie thrives because of her mother’s sacrifice, but she doesn’t forget. She knows that her dead Aunt Rachel had loved her mother too much, and as a consequence, the demon had gained something more frightening than power.

Marie is consumed by hatred. César is a curse on her clan, and she has to end the curse. The only way she can send César back to hell is to assume her role as a priestess. But she doesn’t want to be a priestess. She wants to live her life without fear.

Pampered, rich, and angry, Marie has inherited her mother’s vampire blood. Her only weakness is that she’s more human than her hybrid mother. She has to decide if she can live as a human, or if she must embrace a fate that she may not survive.

She also knows that once César is dead, the clan can stop being afraid of the dark.

You can buy this Kindle Edition on Amazon.com. Just click HERE to get your copy. Enjoy reading!

Hell Bound

I am hell bound. I must be. Hell presents itself sometimes when I slip into REM. Every so often I have a sense of when gentle sleep is going to descend into a teeth-grinding nightmare. Some internal mechanism warns me that if I attempt to sleep I will wake up choking down a scream.

My husband is of absolutely no help. He dreams about work, conferences and deadlines. He wakes up refreshed and cheerful. There are mornings when I just can’t stand him. I, on the other hand, would’ve spent the same hours trying to get out of hell.  I feel betrayed in my nightmares I am begging him to wake me up. While he’s in board meetings, I’m in a pit surrounded by creatures that want to eat me and not in any symbolic way. The heavy crucifix I wear does offer me some protection, even in hell, sometimes.

Are my dreams prepping me, I wonder, for my eventual fate? Will I die in my sleep and find that I’m not dreaming anymore. If you’ve read my blog, you’ve seen that I’ve circled this question ad nauseam. The nightmares have gotten worse as I’ve aged. I can’t tell when I’m dreaming in them. Time seems more linear and while I try to direct my dreams (lucid dreaming) – I get my butt kicked. Pity me then. I am Alice falling down the rabbit hole, only my hole has a fiery welcome with grunting, snarling creatures waiting to pull me apart and dine on my meat.

What are my options? Trying to stay awake and turning into a sleep-starved zombie who should never, ever get behind the wheel of a car? Or drugging myself with some over-the-counter product that again will turn me into a walking talking zombie because it takes me forever to get that junk out of my system. And the real question is this…why does this keep happening to me. Despite my nightmares, the thought of sleep is never really terrifying. I long to jump into bed after a hard day just like everybody else.

Thank God I write or I would be coo-coo for cocoa puffs. Ok, this will be the last time I write about my godawful nightmares for a while. Promise.

Home Alone, or am I?

When my husband goes on a business trip and I’m usually all alone in a big and old house. It’s been around for more than a century and I suspect folks have died in it. That’s my suspicion and I’m sticking to it.  Late at night, I hear things. If my dog, Cherie, doesn’t respond to those noises then I know everything’s alright. But there are times when she will look up at me as if I was supposed to investigate. Well, I know we have a problem. Because “I’m” not going anywhere. Her response to fear is to piddle and run. That should be my response too! Ultimately I will investigate the strange sound, but with a good deal of caution. I’m not looking for anything natural, you understand. I’m seeking out a supernatural source. I’m looking to see if a humanlike shadow will pinch off wall, or if the woman in the mirror will morph into a fiend or worse will she suddenly stop matching my actions! By the way, was that the wind or a howling scream? I think I hear someone scratching at the door. Hold on a sec. I will be right back…aaaah!

César's Revenge (The Demon Lover's Chronicles Book 2)

They thought they were safe.

She’s a vampire, priestess and zombie crossbreed who struggles to hold onto her humanity. But she isn’t dead. She survived rape and near death, but her will is tested when the demon’s desire for her turns into an obsession. Angelina flees to the Louisiana bayou more inhuman than human. Her sister’s love and Auntie’s guidance kept her from turning into a monster.

Angelina elopes with her childhood, Allen, sweetheart about the Esmeralda. She isn’t the only vampire sailing to France at the start of World War II. Angelina learns that she’s an efficient killer. The young couple arrive and then thrive in Paris. She uses her priestess abilities to tame her vampire, at least until her daughter is confronted by a different kind of monster.

Angelina is a businesswoman, wife and mother. Love isn’t enough to protect them from Cesar’s revenge.

You can buy this Kindle Edition on Amazon.com. Just click HERE to get your copy. Enjoy reading!

Why Don't People Say Good Morning Anymore?

When I get up in the mornings, I'm not asking for too much. I just want to feel the floor under my feet, waddle down to the coffeemaker and eventually enjoy the nectar of the gods--coffee.

I love my uneventful mornings as I wander zombie-like from room to room. If I'm lucky, I can manage a decent morning trot with my canine diva. BUT, what I'm noticing is how folks will look you dead in the eye and not mumble the simple greeting, "Good Morning".

Why am I noticing this now?

Has it always been this way or am I noticing because there are more dog walkers -- but not their poop picker-uppers in my neighborhood. Was I once one of those non-Good Morning Greeters? Perhaps. I'm getting older and my appreciations have changed. I still prefer attaching myself like velcro to the bed in the mornings, I appreciate mornings -- sunshiny or rainy, but what makes my heart glad is a simple "Good morning" piped back to me in return.

César (The Demon Lover's Chronicles Book 1)

A Demon’s Obsession Knows No Bounds 

Rachel and Angelina Thrust are loving sisters, driven from their homeland following the murder of their parents. Although they believe that they are safe, the enemies of their past follow them and strike when the two least expect it. 

Their parents were the leaders of a religious sect who denounced the practice of using dark power. Because of their principled beliefs, they were betrayed and murdered by members within their own clan. Rachel unleashes a firestorm upon the mob, which allows the sisters to escape with their followers. The group settle in Virginia, and a peaceful decade passes. 

Until César. 

Cesar is a handsome but insidious weapon summoned by the enemies of the Thrust family, the Trinity clan. The Trinity clan order Cesar to seduce Rachel and then convince her to either begin to use her dark powers or to kill her. Instead, Cesar focuses his morbid and carnal desires upon Angelina. He seduces, rapes and nearly kills the younger sister, and forces Rachel to use her dark powers to save the life of her beloved younger her sister. Angelina is rescued from death, but she is altered. In exchange for her mortal life, she became a hybrid of a vampire and priestess, the blood of undead pulsing through her veins. . 

Driven to unimaginable depths of sorrow and agony brought about from this unholy change in Angelina, Rachel sends her sister to her mentor and spiritual guide. Rachel hopes that Auntie’s commanding powers are enough to restore her sister's humanity. Demonic and dark urges raging within him, César pursues Angelina to the bayou. His lust evolves into an unrelenting obsession and Angelina’s people become the casualties of his desire. 

Angelina fights to not only to regain her humanity, but also to save the lives and souls of those she loves. It is a battle that will span the course of decades.

Get this Book 1 on Amazon.com for FREE!

Narcissist - The Supervillain Bully

Hey, why don't you have a cup of coffee, or maybe some water and Mio, but spend a few minutes with me to have a serious chat.

I don't care who you are, where you are in life, or how you try to live; I just know that eventually, you will run into a narcissist. I prefer to think of them as ITs. James Bond fights the ITs. They are supervillains who want to rule the world. Their egos are so massive that they sometimes threaten to send out missiles to destroy every man, woman, and child if they don't get their way. Like James Bond, we have to face our supervillains too. Unlike James Bond, we have to deal with them differently.

We may have run into IT while a student in school, or an employee on the job. We may have looked differently or acted differently or said something that may have inadvertently brushed against an ego so enormous yet incredibly fragile that IT immediately felt compelled to crush our dreams or spirits. Understand this, we aren’t human to them. We are insignificant to them. We are like some type of appendage that has to be removed.

As a writer, it is easy to create villains. I can give my characters fangs, or have them cloaked in shadows and make them sexually irresistible, but in the real world there’s nothing alluring about narcissists. Scratch beneath that glamorous surface and you find ugliness and a bloated ego.

I know that it’s hard to face the villain in school or in the office when IT has power over you, when IT flaunts her power over you and try to nibble at your self-esteem.  Remember, essentially IT doesn’t see you as real or significant. When you inadvertently challenged her (you could've asked a question or disagreed with a decision), you challenged her authority -- her ego. After that, IT has one thing in mind and that is to crush you. IT can destroy quietly, while smiling in your face, and you never see the carnage coming. IT may have the ear of those in higher positions, but you don't. So it doesn't matter if you’re an A student or an outstanding employee. By the time IT has finished trashing your character with her near superhuman ability to persuade others, you will be transformed into a liar, cheater or someone incapable of integrity and determination.

WE all know an IT. We may have once liked an IT or believed in IT...until we stumbled into his crosshairs.

What should you do? This is just my blog and my advice is not scientific, but I think it is a good one. Get out of that situation. Immediately. We're not James Bond with gadgets or "M" to help us foil the bad gal. We're just someone who is trying to do a good job, who may have children or mortgages. Or we may be students in school who just want the bullying to stop. 

Pay attention to me, please. Do not engage an IT in open warfare. Get out of the situation. Yes, IT is just that good at a craft she probably honed shortly after exiting the womb. IT knows and plays people and don't forget that you may have been fooled by her too.  So I suggest you secretly plan your exit strategy. Take evening classes, volunteer for the experience, network, and convince your parents that another school environment would help you improve your grades -- yes, I am saying toss in that fluffy towel and get the hell out of Dodge.  Move on. Believe me, IT will find another victim.

Really, Cher?

Dr. Gorgeous’ office called to tell me about a stray dog that needed a home. The receptionist said the staff was reluctant to send her to the local dog shelter because of the low odds of her surviving. Dr. Gorgeous had suggested me. I agreed to take the stray unseen.

As I drove to the vet’s office, I tested out cutesy girl names. And then I met her.

The stray was a mutt that resembled a small German Shepherd. She looked more wolfish than domesticated canine. Her coat was brindle, almost the same color as my skin, with irregular dark markings that looked like zigzag lines of tar. She had wolf ears that she rotated like antennas. The staff gushed about her cheerful personality. Clearly that persona had departed as soon as I had entered. We studied each other cautiously like opposing gunslingers facing off in a dusty western town.

Get this book on Amazon.com. Just click HERE to read about a calculating canine diva. Enjoy reading!

To Sleep or Not to Sleep

I've always been one of those people who either enjoyed sleep or suffered from nightmares. Too many times my dreams turn into nightmares where I find myself fighting for my soul in a hellish abyss. Am I alone? Not according to my Facebook and Twitter Direct Messages.

As I mature -- code for getting crap older -- sleep is more desirable, but the need doesn't make any difference. Desirable yes, but there are times when I'm afraid to sleep.

I dream about monsters, and not the sexy ones (okay sometimes not the sexy ones but that's another blogging it tale). When I dream about the evil monsters, I have the good sense to keep my eyes closed. Somehow I just know that they are leaning over my face. I just know that if I open my eyes and actually see what they look like, the terror would turn my hair white and clean out my brain. I’m safer if I keep my eyes closed. Weird.

Still if the day-to-day stress attaches itself to me and I get worked up, then I know that sleep, good or bad, will be elusive. I can be trapped in this no-sleep cycle for days. Or nights. I will turn into a zombie -- minus the flesh-eating, of course, until I get a good night's sleep. So I need to sleep. It is unavoidable.

Here's the other thing: as I mature (there's that statement again) my ability to tell the difference between my waking and dream worlds have started to blur. I'm losing my reality filter.

I can't fully explain the scariness of the moment when I realized that I'm trapped in a dream. Even if the dream is pleasant, in that moment of deep REM, it will shift into something horrific, like a school bus sized cobra slithering on top of the ocean straight at me. What kind of sense does that make? Doesn't have to...it's a nightmare. 

Is the bleeding from reality into fantasy normal? Or is this a breakdown in my gray matter?

If I died in my sleep would I know it? This is the ultimate question for me. Would my nightmares cause my death and if so, how would I know that I'm dead?