Melissa Snark's Blog: The Snarkology, page 118

5 Star Review from Vampires, Werewolves & Fairies, Oh My!

I'm going to take a moment to interrupt our regularly scheduled programming. I've received my first book blogger review from Vampires, Werewolves & Fairies, Oh My!  I'm so excited I had to share.

5 Star Review from Vampires, Werewolves & Fairies, Oh My! by Wendy on 4/10/2013.

Blurb: "Help me! Please. The child thief has stolen my son."

Valkyrie Victoria Storm has werewolf hunters hell bent on revenge trying to kill her. She can barely keep her own downtrodden pack alive, let alone respond to the pleas of a murdered mother.

Can she set aside her differences and work with her sworn enemy to save a little boy from a Christmas nightmare?


LT’s REVIEW: How to sum this is all up? Victoria Storm is a shape shifting wolf & Valkyrie, she also has spirit sight. This means she can see and hear dead people. Victoria is torn between saving her pack from hunters who used to be allies and saving a missing child, whose dead mother came to her for help. I loved this short story and so wanted more, it ended way too soon. When the son of the hunters died Victoria and her pack were blamed which caused the death of her parents. But it seems only Victoria has the answers to what happened because she was lovers with Daniel, the now dead son of the hunter.
RATING: 5

Read the original review here.

Probably not PG-13

Things in erotic fiction are always hard...except when they're soft. They're wet, supple, burgeoning, erect...you get the picture.

What they seldom are is funny.

A few years ago, I recall reading an amateur fiction account of a lovemaking session where the clueless male determinedly groped for the woman's clitoris deep inside her vagina. You see, the budding author had mistakenly swapped out the poor lady's clit with her G-spot. Maybe it was an honest mistake, or maybe he'd merely seen Deep Throat one too many times and grown confused.

Whatever the case, my friends and I laughed until we howled, and then we cried. To my eternal regret, I no longer have a copy of that particular scene because it was truly priceless.

I've never forgotten that experience, and it has shaped my writing ever since. I strive to bring at least a degree of anatomical accuracy to my sex scenes. Of course, I write paranormal fiction where a 180-pound man can shift to a 250-pound beast, but I do try for honesty where I can manage it.

Now, I have a confession to make: I'm sitting on a finished manuscript, too scared to submit it to my publisher, because I'm terrified that my Scarlet line editor will die laughing. 

I admitted as much in a Wild Rose chat and Rhonda Penders, Editor-in-Chief at The Wild Rose Press aka "The Boss", offered advice to the effect:

"Don't worry. Angela would never laugh, not to your face anyway."*

"Gee, thanks."

*Not a direct quote! I'm paraphrasing, loosely.


You see, The Mating Game, a paranormal erotic story about werewolves, contains a threesome. Writing it was a clit-in-vagina experience for me. I didn't really know what I was doing and I would simply feel terrible if an unsuspecting editor died of a laughter-induced stroke or heart attack.

Most of the time when real life experience fails, I use my vivid imagination to fill in the blanks. Or I simply drag a very happy Mr. Snark into the bedroom, explaining, 

"We must have sex. I need to do research."

"Well, it's a sacrifice but I do what I can for the sake of science," Mr. Snark says.

Unfortunately, the scene in question involves the M/F/M dynamic. If asked to cooperate in an experiment, Mr. Snark would no doubt doubt sputter, turn red, and reply, "No f*cking way!"

If it involved two girls and a guy, Mr. Snark would be a happy camper.  But since I can't go back and rewrite it as F/M/F, I'm stuck and so is my poor heroine... 

Right there between one hard place...ahem...and another.

Author Spotlight: Derek Odom

  Please tell us about yourself and your writing.
Well, I’m 38 years old and live in SoCal. I finally got sick and tired of having an actual job and quit it all to write full time in 2008. I like dark fiction, mostly, but I’ll write just about anything if I’m in the mood.
What inspired your current book?It was an assignment I was doing in 2009 for a creative writing course. I wanted to really disgust the people in my group, so I wrote some real sicko stuff. Turns out, it isn’t half bad! 


Blurb:A young chess hustler goes on the supernatural adventure of a lifetime when he meets Mortimer Blackwell, a strange elderly man, who grants him an irresistible gift.
Visit Derek on the Internet:Website and Blog   Facebook   Twitter

Buy Link:Amazon Kindle



Excerpt:

He noticed an older gentleman near the back wall who smoked a cigar. The thin man wore a black sweater with a pair of black slacks, darkly tinted sunglasses, and a dark gray derby that sat atop well-groomed, white hair. He was a sharp contrast to Sam's greasy, unkempt long black locks and casual attire. Sam easily spotted him as a mark and approached in hopes he'd make a few dollars.“Hi, want to play chess with a real master?” Sam asked. “Dollar a game, and I’ll play without one of my knights.”“I’ve been waiting for you,” the old man said. A spiral of white smoke plumed from his cigar.“Oh, yeah? What for?”“Have a seat, Sam,” he said. “The name’s Mortimer. Mortimer Blackwell.” The old man’s smile was disarming.“Nice to meet you, Mortimer. Now just how the hell do you know my name?” Sam asked, still standing. “Please, sit,” Mortimer said. He placed his hand out, palm up, and gestured at the empty seat across from him.Sam squinted. A look of suspicion crept onto his face.“You have two minutes. I don’t deal well with creeps,” Sam said. He plunked down and looked rebelliously at Mortimer.  “I would like to see you at full power,” the old man said.“Full power? What does that mean?” Sam asked.“I have seen how you shred your opponents out there. Some of them are masters themselves, but you beat them as if they were beginners.”Sam forgot the old man had known his name. There was something about Mortimer that put him at ease.“Oh, that. Yeah, most of the people I play are amateurs. The masters are so rough around the edges because of the booze and drugs, they can’t see me coming,” Sam replied.“Precisely. So if you can wipe the board against other masters in the park, just how good are you at full steam? Do you know?”“I guess pretty good.”“One of the best?” “I don’t know. Maybe.”“Listen,” Mortimer said, “you have the right idea, but hustling chess for dollar bills is beneath someone of your skill level. You could be so much better.”“Oh? And just what did you have in mind?” Sam asked. “I’m talking World Chess Champion. I’m talking more money and power than you’d know what to do with. I’m talking about total freedom, Sam.”

Do Men See in Monochrome?

As an observer of the human condition, I'm solidly convinced that most human males can only see in 8-bit color palette. (Maybe 16-bits if he's really evolved.)  The essential guy is like: "Yeah, I know all the colors: white, black, blue, green, yellow, red, green, purple and orange."

Honestly, I don't understand. Little boys have access to the same box of 64 Crayola crayons as little girls. Yet, my two-year-old daughter is already more color sensitive (and aware) than her father. 

On occasion, an outraged toddler shout has emerged from Miss Bear's bedroom over Mr. Snark's faulty fashion choices.

"What? What?" Mr. Snark bellowed. "What's wrong with what I picked out?"

"No!!!!!" Miss Bear sobbed.

"Really, Mr. Snark," Mrs. Snark said, rushing to the rescue. "You should know that Miss Bear does not like to wear that shade of blue."

My teenage son has an entire wardrobe composed of exactly three colors: black, green and red. As a child, the boy wore an entire spectrum--he was a rainbow of Skittles. However, as he's gotten older, his wardrobe has grown increasingly homogenous. 

I tried buying him a nice white tee shirt once but he never wore it.  "What happened to your new shirt?" I asked a few weeks later.

"What new shirt?"

"The white one."

He shrugged, claiming no knowledge of the item. 

I performed a thorough inspection of his closet but it appears to have disappeared into a black hole in the far back. I'm afraid to go in too deep for fear of falling in. As he gets older, I suppose eventually everything that's not black will be sucked in also.

Out of curiosity, I Googled it and here's actual scientific evidence to support women perceiving color differently than men, and also: some women may see 100 million colors.

They're expending time, money and effort to conduct tests that reach a conclusion any wife or mother of boys could've told 'em--most men can't tell apricot from peach, and I ain't talking about fruit.

Recently, the Snarks went carpet shopping at Home Despot, and Mr. Snark's color perception deficits became glaringly clear. Before the ordeal was over, Mrs. Snark wanted to scream in frustration and pummel the man to death with carpet swatches.

After the installation, Mr. Snark stood in the living room, proudly admiring the shiny new carpet.  Then, he exclaimed, "Hey, the new carpet matches the cat tree!"

"Yes, dear. I noticed that too!" 

Actually, the cat tree is tawny whereas the carpet is chocolate, but shhh, don't tell Mr. Snark...

Midlife Carpet Crisis

Men and women have markedly different ways of looking at things.  

For instance, Mr. and Mrs. Snark have a dream. It involves the entire Snark household being thrown into chaos so that the ragged, dirty downstairs carpeting can be replaced with new flooring.

Mrs. Snark is practical. She wants something new that's easy to keep clean.

Mr. Snark's goals are loftier. Mr. Snark entered matrimony with expensive high-end furniture. He fantasizes about sleek hardwood floors and textured sandstone tiles that properly display his fancy fixtures.

Mrs. Snark entered marriage a veritable furniture-impoverished peasant, bringing with her a couple red Lazy Boy recliners, two scratched end tables, and a pair of lamps that Mr. Snark grudgingly accepted but only after they were re-shaded.

Recently, the Snarks ripped out the living room carpet and had a new pad and carpeting installed by Home Despot. (We paid to have it professionally done, so naturally there's no story here...sorry.)

Mid-day, an excited Mr. Snark called his wife. 

"How does it look?" he asked.

"It looks good," Mrs Snark said.

"How does it look next to the old carpet?" he asked.

"What do you mean?" Mrs Snark asked.

"Does the old carpet look better?"

What he meant: I believe that the new carpet's aura of plush newness will somehow spill over onto the dingy, twenty-year-old carpet, magically transforming it into something nicer.

This is the sort of faulty reasoning that leads middle-aged men to purchase bright red convertibles and take up with women young enough to be their daughters.

Somewhere in the male mind is the unshakeable faith that being next to something (or someone) young and beautiful will transform his sorry old-goat self.

Mrs. Snark sighed. "No, dear. The old carpet in fact looks even more beaten and worn compared to the new, but I know it'll make you happy. After my European book tour, we can discuss a red Corvette, but so help me God, you'd better not let me catch you with a college co-ed."

Book Review: Swoon by Rolynn Anderson

Blurb

Her dead clients won’t rest in peace.

When the dead tell tales, Jan Solvang’s first reaction is to RUN! But then she gets caught up in their mysteries.

Jan’s a boutique funeral planner, new to risk, hired to bury a missing woman and memorialize an infamous man. Yet when she digs for clues to write their eulogies, she disturbs family secrets and unmasks killers.

Roman Keller, hard-driving documentary writer, is in complete control of his life and his stories, until he falls for Jan, a woman who trusts her dog, her faint-dreams, and her instincts more than she trusts him.

Can they make the sacrifices necessary to cement their relationship or will the mayhem caused by the dead ruin their second chance at love? 




***
“Don't miss SWOON by Rolynn Anderson! If you like an interesting cast of characters, a heavy dose of mystery and a lot of fabulous surprises, you'll be happily turning pages late into the night.ˮ
~ Brenda Novak, NYT and USA Bestselling Author of WHEN LIGHTNING STRIKES

*** “I need you to make me feel like a healthy, sexy woman, Rome. I must have known that when I put this halter on and went out to weed.” She blinked. “It brought you to me: that’s a miracle.” She whispered in his ear, “I almost died Roman.” He tightened his hold on her. “Our problems seem petty in that light, you know?” Roman pulled away from her to look into her eyes. He teared up. “I know.” “I love you, Roman.” “Jazz,” he said, the word spoken with reverence. “I love you.”
Rolynn Anderson crafts more than mere words in her unusual romantic tale. Her storytelling is complex and interesting with plot twists as sinuous as any serpent, taking the reader on a wonderful ride that delivers one surprise after another. Mystery. Murder. Missing people. Menacing stalkers. Man, oh man, I'm running out of "M" words.
Mind-blowing.  Oh wait, maybe I'm not. 
Boutique funeral planner Jan Solvang has unusual problems to go with her extraordinary professional. A grieving husband hires her to memorialize his missing wife, and a shocking discovery leaves her with the ornery task of writing the obituary of a man widely despised. Jan's search for information on the deceased leads her into danger as secrets are revealed.
Roman Keller is a determined documentary writer and Jan's former lover.  The chaos that seems to follow Jan around like a little dog thoroughly threatens the orderliness of his life. The hero embodies many swoon-worth qualities—courage, compassion and protectiveness—adding a whole new meaning to the story's title.  
At the heart of the story, Jan's complicated relationship with Roman, serves to illustrate her deep-seated inability to trust. The heroine is smart and savvy, but seems to lack faith in her own judgment. Her deepest attachment is to her black Scottish terrier, Elwood. Through the course of the story, Jan must make difficult decisions and learn how to put her faith in both Roman and herself.
Swoon is a fast-paced engrossing story with great plot development and wonderful supporting characters. I especially enjoyed Jan's interaction with her father, Walter Solvang, "The General".  The love scenes are sensual, focused more on the characters emotions than physical details. Rolynn's prose is information-rich, so this is not a novel for skimming. The reader's attention needs to be fully engaged to absorb every nuance and capture every plot detail.
Five stars all the way.


Buy links:
Amazon Paperback *** Amazon ebook
Barnes & Noble Paperback ***  Barnes & Noble ebook

"Your Honor, that's when I killed her."

My habit of baiting my husband goes back to the very beginning of our relationship. I've never before met a man who is A) so literal and B) takes himself so seriously.

He's practically begging for it.

Mr. Snark is a few years older than Mrs. Snark so he's an authority on pop culture. Mrs. Snark don't know nuthin'.

"Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds is very obviously a drug song," Mr. Snark said. 

"Don't be ridiculous. The Beatles didn't sing about drugs."

One eyeball turned toward Mrs. Snark and glared. "LSD.  Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds. The initials stand for LSD." DUH

 Mrs. Snark snorted. "Everyone knows the song is about an Australopithecus fossil they found in Ethiopia."

"You're fucking with me, aren't you?"

or

"I think it's a shame they didn't have the budget necessary to colorize the opening of the Wizard of Oz," Mrs. Snark said.

"That was a stylistic choice! It was done on purpose."

"Don't be silly, dear."

Mr. Snark spent the next twenty minutes trying to convince his wife that the opening black-n-white sequence had been done with intent. Eventually, however, his eyes narrowed and he said, 

"You're fucking with me, aren't you?"

Of course, there are times when Mrs. Snark doesn't even have to work for it.

"Dear, will you grab my wine glass? It's over by my computer."

A second later, Mr. Snark returns clutching Miss Bear's tippee cup full of milk.

"Why did you bring me milk?" Mrs. Snark asks. "I don't drink milk."

As Mr. Snark flushes red, Miss Bear rushes over with her hand out. "My baba, Dada."  DUH

"Dada is going senile, Miss Bear.  And yes, Mr. Snark, I'm fucking with you."

A Werewolfy Promotion!

Where wolf? 
There wolf!
But do not forget to ask who- what- when- or why-wolf!

*** 
Be sure to read the blurb at the bottom for information of today's ebook promotion. Leave a comment for a chance to win!


***
Wolves have fascinated me for as long as I can remember. They are fierce predators, and yet loyal mates and devoted parents. Entire packs cooperate in the care and protection of their young. Through teamwork, wolves bring down prey many times their size. For centuries, they have been hated and feared by people, and hunted to the brink of extinction.


My first foray into writing about werewolves took the form of an erotica novella. In A Cat's Tale, sassy Siamese werecat Josephine lures an alpha werewolf, Jared Kohl, into a trap. Imprisoned together in a vampire's dungeon, the pair must learn to trust one another in order to survive and escape.
 
I learned a lot from A Cat's Tale, but the novella format did not really require me to do much world building. I wanted to find my own unique take on the werewolf origin story. An interest in mythology led me to Norse legends and lore.
Wolves occupy an important and often sinister role in Norse mythology as rivals and enemies of the gods. A wolf, skinned and flayed, hangs suspended from its rear legs outside of the gate of Odin's Valhalla.
The great wolf Fenrir is the child of Loki the Trickster. As a pup, Fenrir experienced rapid growth that alarmed the Norse gods, so they decided to imprison him. The gods commissioned the dwarves to fashion the ribbon Gleipnir from six impossible things: the sound of a cat's footfall, a woman's beard, the root of a mountain, the sinew of a bear, a fish's breath, and the spittle of a bird.
Of course, today we know that some of these impossible things are quite possible. Some women have beards; some fish have lungs. Still, it is a rich and interesting tradition.
Norse myths became the inspiration for my very own urban fantasy universe. My werewolves are sired by Fenrir and live in a world where Norse mythology collides with modern technology. As a method of world building, I try to incorporate these mystical elements into my stories.
In The Child Thief, Valkyrie Victoria Storm has werewolf hunters hell bent on revenge trying to kill her. She can barely keep her own downtrodden pack alive, let alone respond to the pleas of a murdered mother. She must set aside her differences and work with her sworn enemy to save a little boy from a Christmas nightmare.
 In May 2013, expect the release of The Child Thief's sequel.
Hunger Moon is an intense urban fantasy that follows the story of Valkyrie Victoria Storm as she evades hunters and battles a Norse winter witch intent upon enslaving her people. Victoria desires nothing more than to provide her wolf pack with a safe haven, but her position as priestess to the Goddess Freya also brings with it certain... obligations. Not to mention complications.

War with the Barrett family resulted in the deaths of her parents and most of her pack. Now, hunters are hot on the trail of the remaining pack members. Sawyer Barrett, a human hunter hell bent on revenge, is convinced that Victoria murdered his brother. He will stop at nothing to see her dead.

Victoria must defend the survivors and somehow lead them to safety. Months on the run has weakened the pack, and there are newborn pups to protect, making swift travel impossible. Ahead, the promise of refuge beckons.

Their best chance for survival lies in Sierra Pines, California: Arik Koenig, a powerful, dominant male wolf. He promises to protect and provide for the pack, something Victoria knows the pack needs for survival. His mysterious past is riddled with violence and death, including the slaughter of his entire family twenty years before. His wife died under mysterious circumstances and his son, Logan, is rumored to be her killer.

What is truth? Who can she trust? The desperate spirit of Arik's murdered wife calls out for help, and Logan begs for assistance in clearing his name. Victoria must solve a murder that has pitted father against son, rooted in a mystery reaching back two decades. Her quest starts her on a journey from the human world to Odin's Valhalla and back again.

Victoria will find salvation or face destruction beneath the Hunger Moon…

***
As part of today's promo, I'm giving away two Kindle copies of The Child Thief and two ebook copies of A Cat's Tale. Please leave a comment, including an email addy, on today's blog post for a chance to win. I'll be drawing winners from a hat on Wednesday afternoon and notifying them via email.  

Like a Bent Hose

As any parent can attest, there are moments in public when your child is an angel. It just so happens, when Miss Bear is good, she's Perfection Personified. Mr. and Mrs. Snark receive compliments:

      "She's an angel."
      "She's so cute."
      "She's adorable."

Typically, Mrs. Snark responds to such flattery with a simple thank you, but other times, she tries to enlighten the uniformed. "She may look cute, but she's pure trouble."

Mr. Snark uses the analogy of the bent hose. "Miss Bear is like a bent hose. When she's being good, the hose is bent and all of the trouble is building up under pressure."

People look at us like we're nuts, but it's the truth. When Miss Bear is bad, she's the Devil.

For example, Easter brunch resulted in a Miss Bear explosion of
badness. Mrs. Snark requested a table against the wall to exercise damage control, but Mr. Snark was still heard to shout mid-meal: 

"MISS BEAR, NO! BALLOONS ARE NOT A WEAPON!"

Our Scottish waiter, Dave, walked past snickering. "I have a new favorite quote now," he said.

Brunch set the tone for the rest of the day. Much mischief was made. 

During the season finale of The Walking Dead, Miss Bear came to her mother and said: "Stuck."

Several times.

"Not now Miss Bear! Mommy needs to find out whether Andrea ever manages to pick up those damn pliers with her toes!"

Miss Bear departed to other rooms.

A short time later, pounding came from the garage door.  Mrs. Snark paused her show again and went to the garage, where she found a scowling Mr. Snark locked outside.

"Why did you lock yourself out?" Mrs. Snark asked.

"I didn't lock the door!"

Miss Bear smiled. "Stuck."


***
I'm hosting a giveaway tomorrow, April 2nd, and I'll also be talking about my stories. Please stop by and leave a comment on Tuesday's blog entry for a chance to win.

Cat Love

In a cat's heart, nothing says "I love you" like a dead rodent or bird on the welcome mat.

As much as the gifts of my felines makes me cringe, I have to admit--I think maybe our female cat loves me less than the boys do. This morning, Clio left the following offering on the patio: a bird head, a beak and a handful of pin feathers. She didn't leave me so much as a bite to eat. ((sniff))

Luckily, Jake, our youngest cat doesn't hunt...or at least doesn't catch anything. He is the most civilized of pussies--drooling, purring and licking fingers to demonstrate his affection.

Now, I've complained about Rocket Squirrel, but as a point in his favor, I will say this:

Most of his presents are still alive. Thus, returnable.


During the summer, Rocket often comes home after dark. Mr. Snark unwittingly throws open the patio sliding glass door without ever looking at what the damn cat has in his mouth. The pair of them are a real dynamic duo when it comes to bringing home the vermin. 

Eventually, Mrs. Snark fell into the habit of shouting, "Don't let that cat inside without looking to see what he has in his mouth first!"

Over the course of one summer, Rocket carried inside ONE living mouse and TWO live rats.

Rocket plays catch and release. The second he sets foot inside, the cat opens his mouth and BOOM--the rodent runs free. Then the pussy loses interest and walks off. Bored now. But wait, this cardboard box is fascinating...

The poor mouse lasted a couple weeks, surviving by nibbling the stems of house plants to stay alive, before Mr. Snark found the half-starved thing and took it back outside.

The rats were a whole 'nother story. One eventually fell prey to the cats and was found dead within the bathroom. Imagine if you will, Mrs. Snark balanced on one foot, the other poised directly over the rat corpse, screaming at the top of her lungs. Not Pretty.

The second rat incursion resulted in an epic Rodent Hunt. Mr. and Mrs. Snark cornered the terrified creature in the downstairs bathroom and spent a solid forty-five minutes chasing it around the room, trying to corner it. Finally, Mr. Snark grabbed the rat by the tail (he wore heavy gloves), carried it outside and tossed it over the fence.

In addition, three live birds have been carried into the house, grasped tenderly by the back of the necks like kittens. Thankfully, two flew away after every window in the house had been left wide open. The third wound up being taken to an animal rescue and set the Snarks back fifty bucks.

Still, those presents were whole and intact.

There's really not much very appetizing about a bloody beak...