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I’ve finally gone back and performed a little editing on the first chapter of my Work in Progress, tentatively titled “The Demon Guard.”  It’s still rough, but hopefully not too horrific.  Comments/ constructive criticism always welcome!

Cheers!

        Squaring my shoulders, I entered the hallway to wait.  According to my watch, only four minutes had passed when Trent came tearing up the stairs.  He saw me and skidded to a halt, his sneakers squeaking on the hardwood floor.

            “So, what’s up?”  He flashed a white smile and rested his hand on the small of my back.

            “Why don’t we go into one of the bedrooms?” 

            I felt his hand jerk in surprise.  I couldn’t blame him—ever since the debacle, I hadn’t been famous for my approachability.  Even the majority of the students that mocked me feared my razor-sharp comebacks. 

But Trent recovered quickly.  He steered me to the farthest doorway down the hall on the right, and we entered a master bedroom.  I bypassed the attached lounge to plop down on the four poster bed, nervously smoothing my hand over the satin of the comforter.  At least my first time would be in a nice room—I’d heard all the horror stories.

“So, what do you want to do now?  I’ve gotta admit, I’m kind of surprised.  You’ve never seemed very interested.”

            I smiled a sad smile.  “Shows how observant you are.  I’ve had a crush on you for ages.”  In spite of what was coming next, I couldn’t help the warmth that filled my cheeks. I glanced down at my hand, noting the ring now appeared black.

            I bolstered my courage and widened my smile into something I hoped looked seductive.  I could have been off, though—my flirting skills were way beyond rusty.  “Why don’t you take off your shirt?” I suggested, leaning towards him.

            His eyes lit up, then dimmed.  “Are you sure you haven’t been drinking?  Because I’m not the kind of guy who would do that.”

            “Just that one sip of beer.  I hardly think it’s enough to get me loaded.”

            Faster than a gunshot, he yanked the black t-shirt over his head and tossed it to the side.  “Well, okay then.  Now what?”

            Tentatively, I lifted my hand to his chest until my palm rested on the warm skin.  His muscles bunched under my touch, but I could still feel the beat of his heart.  It was distinctive and rhythmic.  Very rhythmic. 

Too rhythmic.

            I dropped my hand, my own heart crashing against my ribcage like a caged tiger trying to escape.  Swallowing hard, I said, “Well, here goes nothing.”  I reached under the hem of my own shirt, and the smile in his eyes changed to something hotter.  I paused. “You know, I really do like you.  That’s why this is so hard.”

            “What’s so hard?”

            “This.”  I whipped my hand out from under my shirt, clutching the thin golden spike I’d grabbed from inside my leather sheath.  Then, without a moment’s hesitation, I shoved the spike straight into his skull.

Another Teaser Tuesday is around the corner.  Since I’m revising right now anyway, I thought I’d go ahead and post early.

This scene is early on in the story.  I think it’s pretty self-explanatory–all except the part where the heroine has already expressed her annoyance over random sayings.  Input appreciated, as always!

“So, I take it you want to talk?” Logan asked.  Today, he wore a brown t-shirt that really accentuated the green of his eyes.  Like they needed any help.  My God, the guy seriously had the most beautifully colored eyes on the planet.  And those lashes?  He could’ve been the poster boy for Cover Girl mascara with those suckers.

          I realized he was waiting for me to respond, so I went with the ever-intelligent  “Huh?”  In my favor, at least it was short and to the point.

          Impatience flitted across his gorgeous features.  “Let’s stop with the games already.  You know I‘m waiting here for you.”

          Say what?  My eyes narrowed at the unbelievable nerve of the boy, and I felt heat rise to my face.  “Me, stop with the games? Talk about the pot calling the kettle black.  Although, I don’t really get that saying, either.  I mean, they’re both black, right?  Or is one ‘ebony’ and the other one, like, ‘darkest night’?”  I shrugged and moved on.  “Whatever.  Anyway, I’ll stop with the games—just as soon as you admit you are following me.” 

I began studying my nails as if I didn’t have a care in the world.  And then took a closer look.  Darn—my polish had started chipping already.  I was going to have to find a better manicurist.  Maybe I could try that one of Angela’s—

          “Hey, are you even listening?”  He muttered something else under his breath that I couldn’t really hear. But I was pretty sure he wasn’t complimenting me on my fabulous accessorizing.  What a grump.

          “Over-caffeinate much?  Seriously.”

          He folded his arms and gave me a stern look, which I met with my best wide-eyed innocent stare.  Studying my expression, he sighed, clearly exasperated.  “Look, we really need to go somewhere and discuss things.  Do you have a minute?”

          But I was once again mesmerized by the beauty of Logan’s face.  Wow.  Even when he was pissed, the guy still exuded major hotness.  His eyes were all flashy and extra green, and his mouth….

          I snapped to when I heard him clear his throat impatiently.  “Oh, um…talk?  Okay, I guess.  Where should we go?”

          “Somewhere private.”

Gulp.   Private?  “Well, I guess we could go to my room.  I have a single.  Oh, but I have to meet Genna in the quad first.  We’ve got some party plans to finalize.  And after that, lunch.”

He rolled his eyes.  “And after all of those urgent matters are taken care of?  Do you think you could spare a minute out of your busy schedule of flirting and eating?”

I knew he meant it as a rhetorical question, but I pretended to mull it over just the same.  The rising annoyance on his face was entertaining to watch.  “Um, yeah, I should be free after that.”

His head jerked in a curt nod. “Fine. I’ll meet you outside the cafeteria in an hour.”  Then, he turned his back on me dismissively and walked away.

And have a nice day to you, too, I thought, then shrugged.  Luckily, I had things to do that didn’t involve trading another round of insults with Mr. I’m-so-gorgeous-I-think-I-can-act-like-a-complete-ass.

Another excerpt today!   This takes place at a frat party in chapter five, when Alex is still not totally sure what’s going on with her strange impulses to help people.  I just tweaked it a little this morning, so hopefully I didn’t mess something up–but if I did, I’m sure somebody will let me know!  She’s talking to Genna and a random frat guy at first.

Happy reading!

“So, I was just asking Stu about that party coming up.”

I nodded like I was enthusiastic, although my thoughts were still with Logan. Stupid.  I gave myself a quick mental tidy and perked up.  “Yeah, I heard it’s going to be a total blast.”

Stu smiled.  “Should be rockin’.  If you two think you’re ready for some serious fun…”

Genna clapped her hands together like a little kid, and a smile started across my face.  I opened my mouth to respond.

           And then it nailed me.  Terror.  The emotion slammed into me so hard, my muscles spasmed and the cup slipped from my hand.  It bounced and landed with a clatter, ricocheting off the floor and spraying beer all over my new sandals.  Sticky wetness trickled between my toes.  But before I could investigate the damage, the feeling struck me again.  Only stronger this time.  Slivers of ice slid down my spine, and I felt my heartbeat accelerate.

“O-ho, check out the party foul!”  Stu yelled, to the cheers of the three other frat guys standing nearby.

I couldn’t even answer.   For starters, my head pounded like I’d been trapped in a car blasting heavy metal for ten hours straight.  More importantly, I was suddenly experiencing an urgent compulsion to find and help the person in danger.  As in, now.

“Sorry,” I muttered finally, looking to both sides, desperate to go.  “Um…I’ve got to run to the bathroom and wipe this off.”  Genna gave me a peculiar look, but I didn’t stop to explain.  I fought back the impulse to sprint and instead took off at a speed walk down a hall to the left, letting my instinct guide me.  I hurriedly passed a bunch of open doors on each side, where guys and girls were hanging out and partying.  At the end of the hallway was a door leading to a staircase.  Without hesitation, I entered and headed down.

The panic was getting worse—much worse.  It clawed its way into my chest and squeezed, making my lungs strain to suck in air.  I shivered again and started to run, taking the steps two at a time.  I didn’t stop to consider what I might find or how I could help.  The instinct just forced me to move. Fast.

When I got downstairs, I entered another hallway.  A couple of doors led to empty rooms with long tables, kind of like board rooms.  Only dirtier and smellier.  My nose wrinkled at the sickeningly sweet stench of stale beer, mixed with the pungent aroma of urine and some other yuck that I’d just as soon not know the origins of.  Seriously–hadn’t frat boys discovered Febreeze by now?   But I didn’t have long to ponder the finer points of air fresheners, since my instinct was urging me past those rooms, to the very end of the hall.  I didn’t see a door, but somehow, I knew she was in there, the girl calling to me.  And her desperation skyrocketed by the second.

Okay, all you dog-story enthusiasts out there–I PROMISE to post another naughty Ridgeback anecdote soon (and I might even keep my promise this time).  But I’ve just joined a writer’s discussion board, and so today I’m supposed to post an excerpt from my manuscript (which, by the way, is currently being read by two agents, so keep your fingers crossed).

This scene takes place in Psych class.  My heroine is an empath and Styler is a particularly nasty professor.  And my heroine is just starting to get these weird urges to help people….

It was bad enough when Styler went after the sorority girls.  But Shelly?  She was meek and shy and a loner, and she didn’t need this.  Being somewhat exiled from normal human connection myself, I could relate to her feelings of loneliness.

         And then it hit me.  I felt like someone had opened a door into my brain and poured their suffocating stew of overpowering ingredients inside.  Embarrassment.  Anxiety.  Shame.

          Talk about your party crashers.

The embarrassment flushed my cheeks instantly, while the shame and anxiety twisted my guts and made my stomach churn.  My head throbbed something fierce, so I kept massaging my temple and glanced over at Shelly.  Her face was a mask of humiliation to match the feelings raging within her.  And something inside of me snapped.  This intense urge to protect Shelly from Styler’s blatant cruelty suddenly overwhelmed me.  I needed, needed to do something to smack that smug look off of his face.  Something that would soothe the rampaging feelings pounding through my head.  But what?

I willed myself to get a grip.  Instead, my hand shot up into the air as if of its own accord. 

Crap.

No, this is not a figment of your imagination.  I’m actually writing a blog post.  Finally, I’ve finished editing, tweaking, and pretty much hashing to bits my manuscript, and I’ve entered the truly terrifying portion of the entire process–querying agents.  Eek.  There’s loads more research involved than I ever anticipated.  Like, some agents love chicklit, while others think it’s the root of all evil.  Some dig paranormal, while others prefer the term “urban fantasy”  (yeah, I’m not really sure what that means, either) or supernatural.  So basically, I have to tailor my query letter to each individual agent.  Luckily, I found this amazing author through Kristen Nelson’s blog posts on query letters who actually responded to my shameless begging via email and assessed mine.  She even responded the next day, if you can believe it, and was unbelievably supportive.  Her name is Sherry Thomas, and her book Delicious is supposed to be great—hopefully she won’t mind me posting a link to it here.

So, anyway, while I wait for my rejection letters to pile up, I’ll probably have more time for the little things.  You know, stuff like feeding the children, letting the dogs out, saying “hi” to my husband on at least a weekly basis.   And, oh yeah, writing in my blog.

  Speaking of doggage, Fergie and her crazy brother Leo are off pretending to be show dogs in Texas right now, but never fear.  Since our home obviously isn’t complete without more dogs than we can possibly manage, we have two geezer Ridgeback fosters right now, Cooper and Sara.   They’re 12 and 14 and apparently, just got to be too much for their owner to handle.  Um, yeah–I can see how all of that sunning and sleeping might pose a challenge.   Grrrrrr………

Anyway, hopefully I’ll post photos of them here soon, and I’ll post a link to Ridgeback Rescue once their photos are up there.

More soon……

Buffy quote of the day:

Evil Swimming Coach–Boy, when they started handing out school spirit, you never even got in line, did you?

Buffy–No, I was in line for ’shred of sanity’.

In non-Buffy related news, I’m making pretty good progress on the manuscript.  Well, all except for the part where, in her frantic attempt to purge the two minuscule raindrops from her coat (because she might have melted otherwise), Skye proceeded to burrow the comforter right into the back of my laptop.  Which would have been fine, had I not been peering closely at the screen at that exact moment, looking for a file.  The end result?  Said laptop crashed down and nearly severed my nose from my head.   There was blood and everything.  I’m okay today, but my nose seriously is still a little crooked.  And painful.  And I have to laugh at the irony.  Skye is, like, the only halfway well-mannered Ridgeback I own.  If she ends up being the one to have broken my nose, which survived countless alteration attempts from Seger, Sunni, Fergie, et al., it’s going to be pretty darn funny.  All except the part where I look like I went two rounds with Mike Tyson, that is.  I guess on the plus side, my ears are intact.

Okay, I know I’ve been a big bloggy loser lately, but I promise–my blog is not defunct!  I’ve just gotten carried away working on a new manuscript.  All of my Buffy and Twilight fetishism has inspired me to write a chick lit paranormal story.  Actually, the story has been pretty much writing itself for months now–I’m just a willing slave to the computer keys. 

So far my story is about as random as they come.  Which I’m sure is very hard to imagine if you’ve ever read my blog before (cough.) 

So, don’t worry–it’s not that Fergie has morphed into the epitome of good doggy behavior lately, or that my husband has suddenly developed obsessive compulsive tendencies towards cleanliness. Nor did our house explode during the extraction of the fifty foot tall Christmas tree (although it seemed that way at the time).  It’s just I’ve been busy.  I promise to get some new photos of the doggage and kiddage up soon.

Of course, soon is a relative term.

So I’m now halfway into my second season of Buffy (for like, the bazillionth time).  And not to be rude but, um, Ms. Meyer?  You ain’t got nothing on Whedon in the tragic romance department.  That Joss–his brain must be twisted in an uber-twisty kind of way.  I’m just saying.  I mean, how else do you come up with a storyline where the vampire slayer falls in love with a vampire named Angel?  A vampire, who, due to an ancient gypsy curse, had his soul restored and has been suffering for the past century until he meets and falls in love with Buffy, the one person who should be his arch-nemesis?  And then, just because he experiences a moment of pure happiness (think true love and teenage hormones and you’ll get the picture of how thatoccurs), the curse is broken and he reverts back to his former soulless, evil, torture-loving alter ego, Angeles.  You know, the one who (and I paraphrase) offered an ugly death to everyone he met for over a hundred years–and he did it with a song in his heart. 

So obviously Buffy, being the slayer and all, has to try to stop him.  But you know, it’s one thing to break up with your boyfriend, and another thing entirely to turn him into a big pile of dust by stabbing him through the heart with a sharp pointy stick.  You think that’d be tear-jerking enough, right?  Oh no, not for Whedon.  Like some gruesome Big Bad from the Buffysphere, he couldn’t stop until our still-beating hearts were completely ripped from our chests and stomped on a few hundred times.  Because, at the end of Season Two, the curse and Angel’s soul are restored—just moments before Buffy has to kill him to save the world.  Talk about future emotional baggage.  So, Joss?  You may be genius-like and all, but please, do me a favor–don’t go writing my future anytime soon.

Seriously, though, for those of you who have never watched Buffy before?  It’s worth a look.  I mean, even beyond the tragediest of tragedies, Whedon has tons to offer.  The Buffy-banter alone–some of the funniest, hippest dialogue ever produced, bar none–makes this show entirely too addicting.  Yes, the special effects in the first season are unbelievably low-budge, but it just adds to the campiness of the whole experience. 

 And how can you resist the supporting cast?  Xander, for instance, the nerdy side-kick who says stuff like,  “I laugh in the face of danger.  Then I hide until it does away,” and “ I don’t know what everyone’s talking about–that outfit doesn’t make you look like a hooker.”  And then there’s always, ”There’s a party in my eye socket, and everyone’s invited.”  (Um, okay, so that last one is sort of a ‘had to be there’ type deal.)

And bitchy, popular Cordelia was always good for a line or two–”What is your childhood trauma?” comes to mind.  Oh, and “Willow–nice dress.  Glad to know you’ve seen the softer side of Sears.”

I could seriously be writing for a week straight if I tried to include all of the great Buffyisms out there.  But since I think the kiddage would object, I’ll just throw out a few more favorites that pop immediately to mind.  If you’re a Buffy fanatic, feel free to leave your favs in the comment section.

Buffy:

“Can you vague that up for me a little more?”

“I think I speak for all of us when I say…huh?”

“I may be dead, but I’m still pretty—which is more than I can say for you.”

Spike is always good for some hilarious lines, but one of my personal favorites is when Buffy commands him to sum up what he’s doing in five words or less.  Spike, counting each word out on his fingers, says, “Out. For. A. Walk….Bitch.”

Or here’s this excerpt from a conversation with Angeles about killing Buffy:

Spike:  Why don’t you rip her lungs out?  That’ll leave an impression.

Angeles:  It lacks poetry.

Spike:  Doesn’t have to.  What rhymes with ‘lungs’?

And of course, some of the best ones are totally random.  For instance:

Vampire Girl:  Does this sweater make me look fat?

Sunday:          No, the fact that you’re fat makes you look fat.  That sweater just makes you look purple.

Girl:  Have you accepted Jesus Christ as your personal savior?

Buffy:  Uh, you know, I meant to, and then I just got really busy.

Buffy:  I seem to be having a slight case of nudity here.

Oz:     But at least you’re not a rat any more.  Call it an upside.

But, I do have to say, Meyer’s got Whedon on the endings. Unless you’re into ‘lonely-ever-after’.  Because when it comes to giving us what we want in terms of a romantic conclusion?  Well, let me put it into Buffyspeak. Basically, on a scale of one to ten—Whedon sucks.

Okay, so maybe I broke down and went to see Twilight for the third time today.  But really, can you blame a girl for needing her weekly dose of vampirey goodness?  It’s so very human of me, after all.  And all that suspense-filled romance serves to stimulate the creative portion of my brain, so in the long run, I’m really only succumbing to temptation for the good of my plot synopsis.  Really.  Plus, I figure I’m simultaneously supporting our flailing economy and ensuring that the producers of Twilight get their butts in gear and get a move on that sequel.  Because even an immortal would agree that it can’t come out soon enough.

See how well I can rationalize my Twilight fanaticism?  It gets easier with practice, trust me.  The trick is trying to look at your addiction obsession harmless little interest in bronze-headed vampires from a positive perspective.  Like, say, me believing that the purchase of my third ticket to the movie isn’t really a waste of time and money, but rather, food for my inner muse.  Delicious, romance-infused food of the Edward and Bella variety.  Unfortunately, my inner muse seems to have a never-ending appetite for this particular story.  Well, that and movie popcorn, at any rate.

Besides, I’m not that far gone.  I mean, it’s not like I’ve entertained notions of kidnapping Stephenie Meyer and holding her hostage until she finishes that partial manuscript she started from Edward’s perspective.  Well, not for any extended periods of time.  And anyway, I’m sure she wouldn’t mind being a prisoner honored guest in our home for awhile.  Um, she does like large brown couch-hogging hound dogs, doesn’t she?

But you’ll be happy to know I’m practicing due diligence on my synopsis for the time being.  At least until my inner muse starts grumbling again.

Okay, I so should not be writing a blog post right now.  What should I be doing?  Well, writing my plot synopsis for the Harlequin romance I started like a zillion years ago, and just recently got around to editing for submission, for one.  Yes, really–a Harlequin romance.  I know–it may sound far fetched, but I’ve been reading those suckers since grade school.  And now, the only thing that stands between me and a rejection form letter is my plot synopsis, which basically amounts to five pages of double spaced hell.

   But actually, I’m writing this post to save me (and my plot synopsis) from myself.  You see, like millions of other females around the world, I’m an addict of everything Edward and Bella-related, and right now I’m desperately fending off the urge to go and see the Twilight movie for the third time in less than two weeks.  Which would be absolutely fulfilling on an I-need-my-daily-dose-of-tragic-vampire-romance level, but not so much from an I-really-need-to-get-my-synopsis-finished-because-it’s-not-going-write-itself point of view.  But the urge is almost too deep to resist.  It’s like a crack addict knowing their next fix is just around the corner–or a vampire knowing the tastiest scent of his existence is free for the taking.  Plus, hello–there’s my own personal brand of heroin involved here–movie popcorn.  In fact, when I put it that way, I wonder if resistance is futile.  Seriously, it’s a good thing that a scenario didn’t arise where I could only obtain the rest of the Twilight saga in exchange for my firstborn, because to be honest, there’s a reasonably good chance my soul would be up for grabs right about now.  Had the scenario involved me throwing in a growling Rottie and a hound dog with a toilet paper eating fetish, well, you can come to your own conclusions. 

  I know some fans of the book hated the movie, but I don’t care.  I mean, do I think the movie is the best ever?  No.  Am I stunned by the astonishing array of special effects?  Hardly.  Do I fail to notice that the screen Bella must have an issue with dust floating into her eyes, since she blinks more than a turn signal at the world’s longest stop light?  Nope.  But honestly, it just doesn’t matter, because whatever the reason, I can’t get enough.  And now that I’ve devoured the books, in record time and on more than one occasion, the only thing left for me to do is soak up the film clips, flaws and all.  Although, to be honest, there are a lot of things to recommend the movie, at least from my perspective.  The chemistry, the score, the scenery, and the emotional intensity?  They’re all there.  So, while there are definitely a few parts I would change, the movie delivers enough of what made the book so compelling to lure this fang-free girl into the darkened theater time and time again.

    Why am I so into Twilight?  Gee–I’m not really sure.  I mean, just because my favorite series of all time, bar none, is Buffy the Vampire Slayer (as evidenced by the fact that I own every single season on DVD and know most of the lines by heart) doesn’t mean much.  And I’m sure it’s not relevant that the common thread of my other favorite TV series (Veronica Mars) along with some of my favorite movies—Dangerous Liaisons, Legends of the Fall, Meet Joe Black (okay, maybe some of the latter two had to do with Brad Pitt, but still)—is tragic romance.   I guess I’m a glutton for punishment–well, at least other people’s.  As Cordelia would say in the Buffyverse–morbid much?

  So, I think the coast is clear for the time being.  My clock now reads 12:48, and since the movie starts at 12:50, I think I’ve sucessfully fended off another attack of Edward and Bella-mania.  I’m going to have to make due with playing my old Buffy episodes in the background while I finish the darned synopsis.  Besides, there’s always youtube handy to catch a glimpse of my favorite scenes, if the bloodsucker lust becomes too strong (although  I can’t say the clip I found on Jasper and Edward being emo kids really slaked my thirst). 

  And, of course, there’s always the 3:00 showing.