K.N. Lee's Blog, page 58

In Times Like This- a poem

In Times Like This K.N. Lee
In times like thisI write rhymes like thisCleverly encapsulating A moment I can't miss
Words beckonThen hissBeg me for a kissShuts down dreams And nightmaresFor a second of such blissLike nails on a chalkboardScreeching like a bansheeHovering like a black cloudSmothering like a dark shroud
Possessing my penWhile I frownThen grinSuch wonders words weaveUntil I sketch The end

The Gloomy Dark- a poem

The Gloomy Dark K.N. Lee
The gloomy dark tauntsWhile the constant screaming hauntsMy pitiful soulTattered BatteredAnd spoiled Plans to escapeLostAnd foiled
One might think Redemption awaitsOne might make A dangerous mistake
My sobs of agonySeem to simply fade Into a black abyssSuch pain as thisThreatens to end meSuspend me into pitchEmbers flyingRed hotIn my abyss
No one to listenNo one to careNo wonder I miss youYou were never there

Old Mcdonald by, Andrew Saxsma! Book Blast!

Old McdonaldAndrew Saxsma   Farmer Gene Gibbs should have gone with his gut instead of  his wallet when he purchased his farm's newest livestock.  Guaranteed to be 99.9% like the 'real' thing, Gene quickly  learns just what that margin of error costs...and it just might  be his life.   
Reviews   Are you ready for the farm from hell?

When Old McDonald begins, Gene is in the kitchen making chili. He is afraid of what is hiding in his barn. Something horrible is out there, and he is afraid that it will break into the house. Whatever it is has already seriously injured his wife.

I am a huge fan of horror stories, and this one was great. My curiosity was dying to know what was going on just from reading the description of the book. Once I started, the questions kept piling up in my brain with every page I read. I'm not sure that I would have ever wanted to own cloned livestock before, but now I know I never will.

The main character is one determined man who will go through anything to save his wife. He goes through hell attempting to get medical help for her, and I believe his love for her is what enables him to survive.

The non-stop action, vivid descriptions, and nail-biting suspense were so great that I kept reading even when I exercised on my elliptical machine. I couldn't bear to put my Kindle down.------------------------------------------- The opening two pages.... yeah, wow. Well played, Mr. Saxsma, well played.

Openings are make-or-break for storytelling, grab your reader - or audience - and hold on. Andrew Sawsma nails his opening of Old McDonald. The use of pretty prose, in the opening paragraphs, paints such a lovely image of a man cooking. Home, food, and family; it's peaceful and safe...then...

Things. Get. Creepy.

It's not a kick-the-doors-in-guns-blazing change of tempo but rather a slow boil of something off. Creepy, creepy questions start burning into your mind. "Who and what are they?" "What's with the, near comatose, people in the living room?" "The wife is dying?....what the hell is going on?"

Soon it's one thing after another. I mean it. This is a calculated prize fight with the grit of a street brawl. Hit after hit, relentless. I found myself at the point I was begging that the characters would get a lucky break; a moment to catcher their breath. Like that annoying guy at the theater, I was screaming at the characters, "Don't..."... I'm not going to tell you, what they shouldn't have been doing, You'll just have to read it yourselves.   Available on Amazon

Thicker Than Blood- Three Paranormal Tales

Is this Heaven? Is this Hell? There's only one way to tell.
**Twin sisters journey to a mysterious place...Did I mention that they're dead?
**A little girl is locked in her room. Why are her parents afraid of her?
**A young track star is kidnapped, tortured, and tossed into a lake. I wonder if her kidnapper knew that lake was on a haunted plantation. Will she survive this night?
**Three paranormal stories that will make your skin crawl...** Available on Amazon for $1.99 

Reviews:
5.0 out of 5 stars Exciting and enticing July 15, 2013 By BrittNick Format:Paperback|Amazon Verified Purchase This book of stories was so wonderful to read. K.N. Lee has once again created something wonderful. From the first short story to the third. It's short but of course because they are short stories. They leave you wondering what happened to these people, and the information you do find out leaves you wanting more. I would recommend this book to anyone!

5.0 out of 5 stars Teasing and Twisting Tales June 25, 2013 By Ginger Fox Format:Paperback|Amazon Verified Purchase I knew after her first short story in a creative writing class that K.N. Lee was going to publish. With each story, she brings the dark and the bizarre. K.N. Lee weaves twisted tales via her strong women characters. The settings are eerie, the characters are tantalizing, and the plots are twisted. The stories are brief, but they create a desire from readers for more works from this author. She has a knack for leaving a story open for interpretation and ending with a twist. I look forward to reading more from her.    5.0 out of 5 stars Great collection! June 12, 2013  By eli Format:Kindle Edition|Amazon Verified Purchase I really enjoyed this collection of short stories. Each story paints a vivid picture and leaves you wondering at the end - what happens to the characters next? It's tantalizing in just the right way that makes a story great.

5.0 out of 5 stars Darkly Entertaining! July 9, 2013 By morganjane Format:Kindle Edition|Amazon Verified Purchase Very impressed with this collection of short stories, I read them all at once. K.N.Lee has written three original tales that will give you chills! My heart is racing from all the dark surprises. HIGHLY RECOMMENDED!

A review of Energize, a sci-fi novel.

Book Description:
Publication Date: June 6, 2013

Daniel Quinn, captain and insignificant mercenary, has discovered a secret. Somewhere among the stars there exists an energy source once thought to be myth. Attempting to sell the information for riches, Daniel is cornered by very dangerous people and is forced to travel to an unknown location and retrieve it. In order to find what he’s looking for, Daniel will have to overcome his fears, escape from his pursuers, and explore a mysterious planet. But as he learns more about the energy source he was sent to collect, he will find this job is not so easily accomplished, and the path he chooses will not only be the difference between honor and disgrace, but life and death.
My Review: Energize follows the adventures of Daniel Quinn, a wanted man that happens to have his own ship with a pretty sophisticated artificial intelligence of its own. This is Thomas Ray Manning's first sci-fi novel and you'd never guess it! The character development was strong, the plot was interesting and suspenseful, and the dialogue was surprisingly crisp and witty. I really enjoyed Manning's set up of an entire new world unknown to human man. The culture, appearance, and even the way the natives communicated was a fun discovery. I'd recommend this novel to any sci-fi fan. There was just enough, description, action, and tension to keep me entertained.

Bedside Flowers- a poem by guest poet, Shane Hogan

Fourteenth poem from suspended Animation:
Bedside Flowers 
By, Shane Hogan

I sit here and look at you sleeping
The doctor has spoken and left us to be alone
You awake and smile at me
Without a word
We talk with our eyes
In silence for an hour

Two great writers
We have written at tale of love
 A story to be read
By every individual
In their own way
Together now
We write the last scene

You lay your hand out
And I put mine in yours
I hold your hand
Like you have held mine before
 Those restless nights
You comforted me
With sleep
Now I return the favor
With a settling breath you drift away

It seems life has decided
 I cannot follow you on this journey
Cruel but kind
It grants us a meeting place
It is where long conversations took place
On dark nights
I hear our voices laden with tiredness and tea
I squeeze your hand
Before I say goodnight

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Writing Challenge With Andrew Saxsma!

The challenge: In 3000 words or less, write about a widow/widower that talks to themselves. Are they crazy, or are they still seeing their deceased spouse? What does their child think about it?
The Result :
Field in the Dome by Byline
      I never knew too much about things like artificial atmospheres and fake gravity, things like liquid diet rations, pissing into a tube, and ‘deep sleep’, or things like ghosts…      I grow corn on a ship, hurdling at ninety-nine percent the speed of light.  The only reason I know that?  It was in the brochure.      Slip, that’s what they call me on the ship.  Dad calls me Sprout.  I don’t care for either one, but we’ve been going so long, flying so far, I can’t remember my real name anymore, not that it would even matter.  We’ve got another eight years before we’re back on Earth.  I’ve got time.      I heard, once, things get funny when you’re in space too long.  I heard about guys walking out an airlock, thinking they’re stepping out onto their front lawn, sidewalk, whatever, when, really, their skin crystallizes and all the gases, liquids, and all the body’s juices shoot through their eyes like a ketchup bottle squeezed too tight.  But, as I said, what do I know?  I just grow the corn.      I grew up outside Chicago, working in my Grandaddy’s field, alongside my Pap, pulling weeds with my bare hands.  Pap says that’s what God made ‘em for, for pulling weeds.  Did that for about three years ‘til one really hot summer, Grandpa cooked us supper, let the dog out, then went to bed and didn’t wake up again.  He was colder than a flagpole in January when me and Pap found him.  After that, some deep space trading company bought up the farm and Grandaddy’s back acres, and roped me and my Pap into one of their ‘long’ routes.  Pap used to say it was the least they could do.  If not, we’d ‘a been out on our asses and Pap was much too proud a man to let something like that happen to his family, especially when he could do something about it.  Anyway, Pap talked mom into coming along too, not that he had to pull her arm too hard or nothin’.  She loved us, her boys.  I think it would have killed her to be without us for sixteen years, eight there, wherever it was they were throwing us, and eight back to Earth.        At first, Mom complained about stomach cramps, and she didn’t eat too much either, maybe once a week, if that.  It made Pap nervous, concerned, and he talked her into seeing the ship’s Doc after a few weeks.        Turned out, her gut’d been eaten up by cancer, something wicked, just completely hollowed out most of her insides like a carved up pumpkin.  The Doc said he’d never seen anything like it, thought space might have made it work faster, nuking her like a microwave.  Doc also said the human body, it wasn’t made for space, no matter how you played it.  Either way, he was right.  She didn’t make it two months.  Passed quietly, she did, without a goodbye.        The Captain wanted to pop her body out an airlock but Pap wouldn’t have it, said he wouldn’t have his wife thrown away like space trash.  He buried her, instead, in the soil in the Dome, the ship’s mid-section, where we grew the crops and most of the ship’s food stuffs.  Wasn’t ‘economical’ to fill the ship’s hold with enough food to feed ten guys for sixteen years.  Made it mandatory we grow what we eat.  Made sense, even to a guy like me who didn’t get much farther than the eighth grade.        It busted Pap up for weeks, though, Mom’s death.  He cried so hard, so often, he had no voice.  He had these hitching fits where his body would shake, snot and tears pouring down his face.  I couldn’t watch it.  I mean, I tried, but after a while, it just got too hard.  You can only watch a grown man, your Pap, suck for air because he’s blubbering like a suffocating fish so many times before you say to yourself, I just can’t watch this anymore, can’t do it.  So, that’s what I did.  I stopped.  It’s funny, but maybe that was part of the problem.  This man once hand-wrestled a cow to the ground while hungover as shit, but now he can’t stop crying long enough to eat.       He started disappearing before too long.  Nobody knows where he went.  I got my guesses.  But, he wouldn’t show up to water the crops or check the irrigation lines and nutrition dispensers for the soil.  The way it works, he and I take shifts, me at ‘night’ and Pap during the day.  I say ‘night’ because it’s always sunny in the Dome.  It’s like New York City at New Years, all the time.        So, it’s not like I’d caught him slacking.  I couldn’t.  We didn’t work together, ever.  Well, sure, we crossed paths now and again, but like I said, he’d been doing a lot of disappearing acts, so even that stopped.  But, I knew he’d been doing it, or rather, not doing it when, we started losing whole acres of crops.  Whole fucking acres!  This isn’t like back home, on Earth, where a guy can lose his lot and write it off.  Here, when we lose a crop, somebody ain’t eatin’, simple as that.       I went to the steel closet hutch, near the Dome’s crew quarters, at the back of the corn field after testing the irrigation lines one day, and saw Pap, just sitting there on the bench inside beneath the humming fluorescent bulb hoods.  The room reeked of sweat and bitter, humid body odor.  He had this quiet, sour look on his face, just lost.  He stared off.  If he knew I was in the room, he made no indication.  He just sat, hands entwined, eyes unblinking.        “Pap?” I asked, putting my tool belt into my locker then shutting it.  The hinges squeaked, grinding rust and metal into little flakes that fell to the grated floor.      He looked up at me, like he didn’t recognize me, at first, then he smiled for just a moment, half-assed, before looking back down at his folded hands; lost again.        I sat down beside him and wrapped my arm around his shoulder.      “When was the last time you ate, Pap?” I asked, giving him a good squeeze, feeling his bony shoulders and spine.  The artificial gravity was playing hell with his muscular system, especially without any food to strengthen it back up.  “Feels, to me, like you’re wastin’ away to skin and bones.  Mom would-”      “Sprout,” he said, interrupting me.  He removed my hand from his shoulder and stood, walked over to his locker and stopped, facing it.  “Do you know what happens to a person’s soul when they die out here, on a ship, in dark space?” he asked.  He reached for the locker handle and held it, waiting for my answer.      “Pap, you gotta’ stop this,” I said.  “The Captain, the crew, they all think you’re a couple marbles short of a jug, and I’d wager they may be on to something, what with all the times no one can find you.  Let’s get you back to work, get things back to normal.  That’s what you used to say; hard work does the body good.  We’ve lost another lot this morning, prolly another on its way out tomorrow.  We need normal right now.”        He looked up at the ceiling and I could almost hear him smiling, though I couldn’t see his face.      “Normal,” he said, on the verge of a good ole laugh.  He lifted the handle to his locker and eased it open.  “Tell me, Sprout, did the good boys from the bridge send you down here to talk to me?  Did they beg you to make a lick of sense from what I’ve been doing?  Let me tell you something right now.  There aint’ nothin’ wrong, boy-o.”      “Pap,” I said, standing from the bench, reaching out to him.  “Nobody sent me down here for you.  I got no clue where this is coming from.  I’m worried about you, is all.  It’s been three months.  You gotta’ let her go.  The grieving’s killing you.”      He laughed and reached inside his locker and I heard him lift something heavy from the tool hook inside.      “Grief?” he asked.  “This isn’t grief anymore, Sprout.  No, my boy, this is beyond that now.  I can see it.  I did see it,” he said, turning around, holding a chrome hatchet with a rubber-reinforced grip.  He twisted it around in his hand, testing its weight.  “I saw it.”      He took a step toward me, glaring at me, and I bumped into the bench behind me, falling onto my ass on its seat.  I gulped, nervous, and I could feel my palms, greasy with sweat.  This man, it wasn’t my Pap.      “Out here,” he said, looking down on me, hatchet in hand.  He licked his bottom lip, staring through me.  “In this endless void, it’s got nowhere to go, the soul.  It lingers for too long, doing nothing, vulnerable, becoming something else entirely.  I don’t know what.  Don’t much matter what it is, not to me.  Evil, I suppose, if you had to guess.  But, I don’t care, Sprout.  I don’t care.”  He stuffed the handle of the hatchet into his toolbelt and made sure it was secure.  “It’s not getting me, and it sure as hell ain’t getting you or the crew.”      It’s funny, looking at him while he stood there, prepping to do whatever it was he had planned to do, the only thing I could think about was the first time we’d rolled a cigarette together, underneath the oak tree on my Grandaddy’s front lawn.  I couldn’t get it just right, and when I gave up, he licked the rolling paper, twisted the ends, then rubbed his knuckles on my head with a laugh, fingers smelling like sweet, cherry-scented tobacco.      “Pap, go see the Doc, please!” I begged.  “You look like you’re a stone’s throw away from falling apart.”      “There’s something I gotta’ do first, Sprout, then everything will be okay again.  Then we can go back to normal, eh?”  He smiled.      I felt helpless as I watched him leave the hutch, holding the handle of the hatchet, dangling from his belt, as he walked.  Anger, white-hot, burned in my gut and I felt tears building in the corners of my eyes.  My chest hitched, and for a moment, I thought I might be the blubbering fish, sucking for air for a change.  I held my breath and let it pass, and I waited, thinking about my Mom, my Pap.  I know it hurt.  I’d hurt too.  I read somewhere that people handle death differently, and maybe that were true, I mean, it had to be, right?  Look at my Pap.  He’d taken something, something strange, and he’d ran with it like a Bear’s halfback in a sweet vanilla offense.      Later that day, on my way to lunch, I saw him standing on the edge of the cornfield, staring down a row of stalks, hatchet in his hands.  He gripped it, afraid, and I thought I’d heard him talking, not in English, words sharp and menacing.  It rattled my spine and my blood ran cold.  I got goosebumps as I watched him, talking to nothing, whispering to the field.  He started yelling, the cords in his neck bulging, surging, screaming at the corn stalks.      I took a deep breath and clenched my jaw, wincing as Pap shouted louder, waving the hatchet now, above his head, gesturing with his free hand at something I couldn’t see.       Before I could talk him down or reach out to him, like a son ‘prolly should do, like he would have done for me, he’d disappeared into the field, corn leaves flapping behind him, cackling like a riled jackal.      I considered running in after him for a moment, but him with a hatchet in whatever state he was in, it sounded like a bad shake.  Instead, I headed to the cafeteria, hoping this hold on my Pap would run its course, leaving him the man he was in the start, before Mom died, and he’d be back in the crew quarters by the time I’d get done fixing the broken belt in the west acre.  I’m tellin’ you, it didn’t turn out that way, no matter how much I sit here, amongst the broken piping and leaking hydraulics, wishing it couldn’t have gone the way that it did.  But, a good friend of mine used to say, ‘if wishes were horses, bums would ride’.  So, where’s my fucking saddle?      It was probably two weeks after I’d seen him, Pap, charging into the cornfields with the hatchet.  Things had settled.  He’d gotten back to his routine, ya’ know, testing the nutrition dispensers for degradation, maintaining the water purity levels, regular stuff.  He’d even gotten his appetite back and started putting some fat back on them bones, really fillin’ himself back out.  He was comin’ around, and I even caught him smiling now and again, though he’d never admit it if you called him out on it.        That particular day, he’d spent about two hours trying to get pump one unclogged.  Some topsoil had gone soft and wedged itself something fierce in into the filter, and it wasn’t budging for shit.  He called it a day, figuring I could get it at night.  My hands were smaller, and I was the only one who could fit into the line if I couldn’t get it topside.  I remembered seeing him head to the cafeteria to grab some supper when I was walking to the pump hatch, putting on my toolbelt as I did.  I went in, clean as a whistle, came out stinkin’ like ten-year-old shit and sludgy mold, but I got that bitch unclogged, sure did.   Took me a couple hours too, but the only other things that needed doing weren’t at the top of the list, so I figured I’d grab me a shower before I got back to it.      I’d gone into the crew quarters to grab a fresh pair of pants and a shirt before I headed to the bathroom when Pap threw open the bulkhead hatch and slammed it shut behind him with a hollow clang, planting his back against it, looking like he’d just gone toe-to-toe with the devil himself.  Sweat streamed down his forehead and cheeks, pooling into the collar of his shirt, soaking it a darker color the size of a dinner plate, and I wasn’t sure, but it looked like he had bloodstains on his hands.      He struggled for breath, looking around the room, eyes darting back and forth like typewriter ribbons.      I ran to him and pulled his hands out, palm open.      “Jesus, Pap!  You’re bleeding,” I said.      He yanked his hands back from me.      “It ain’t mine,” he said, turning around and twisting the bulkhead lock clockwise, securing it.  He backed away from the door, panting like a dog still, ruffling the small amount of hair on his head.      He spun around, remembering I was in the room, and grabbed my shoulders, shoving me back against a shelving unit on the far wall, rocking it on its teeny legs.      I stared into his empty eyes, scared shitless, and I couldn’t tell, but I might have shit myself.      “It was gone, but now it’s back, Sprout.  I thought I’d killed it, rammed a hatchet right through its skull, spilling its brains all over the dirt, but God-damnit all, it’s back.”  He reached behind me, grabbing something with some weight from the shelf, and handed it to me.       I looked down at his offer, a hammer.      “God can’t see us way out here, boy, here, where real and not real, I think, are one and the same.  I believe the soul, it’s a portal, boy-o.  When it’s got nowhere to go, it opens.  I don’t know much about heaven or hell, but what I do know is that something’s out there and-”      Something screeched, like fingernails dragged across a chalkboard, on the bulkhead hatch.  Pap turned, listening to the squeal snake along the door, weaving along the outside of the crew quarters.  When it stopped, he looked at me, the color in his face gone.      My heart quickened, heat building behind my cheeks while sweat rolled down the back of my neck.  I didn’t know it, but I’d started shivering.      Pap flung me aside, knocking buckets and boxes off the shelf, searching.  He stopped, grabbing a tin of rat poison, for the small little stowaways we’d find from time to time.  He slammed the tin into my chest and waited for me to grab it.      When I did, he said, “Pour some of that into the vent, there.”  He pointed at the vent covering over my bed.      I held it up, looking it over, hesitant.  A clang echoed from the other side of the vent, where the thing let out no doubt.  Something was scrambling through the vent’s track, following it.      “You wanna’ wait ‘til that thing is munching on the black stuff in your gut, the stuff that never sees sunlight, before you start dumping that shit, Sprout?” he asked.      I stared at the vent cover, hands shaking, the liquid in the tin shifting back and forth, frothing inside.      Pap tore it from my hands, along with the hammer, and buried the teeth of the hammer’s head into the vent cover, prying it open and throwing it to the floor.  He plucked the tin’s lid off with his mouth and turned it upside down.  The dark liquid chugged out in thick waves and I heard a shrill scream from inside the duct.  I ducked, covering my ears with my hands, screaming out while the shrill scraped the inside of my ears.      I saw Pap fall back, tin flying through the air, bouncing along the floor, leaving a trail of dark poison behind.  He crashed, skidding along on his back.  I looked up at the vent duct and my stomach dropped, tears swelling in my eyes.  The air sucked out of my lungs and for a moment, I was dizzy.  What I saw defied everything I’d ever known, and I still doubt from time to time what I’d seen.        It looked like Mom, but the skin on her face sagged away from the bone, her eyes shriveled like rotted raisins.  Piss colored juices bubbled out through rips in her moldy, rotted skin.  She smiled, black, oily slime dripping over her lips and down her chin, and she waved before slithering back into the duct, hiding back in the darkness within.      The ammonia sting in the air from the poison burned my eyes and throat as I crawled over to Pap, making sure he was still breathing.  He lay there, staring at the duct.      “It lingered too long,” he said, over and over.  He looked at me as I sprawled up onto my knees, leaning over him.  “God can’t see us out here, Sprout.  He can’t help,” he said, grabbing my collar.  He sat up and pushed himself up onto his feet with a grunt.      “Stay here,” he said, kissing my forehead.  “Whatever happens, don’t come out there.  Not if I’m screaming, not if I’m pleading for you to let me in.  Whatever I say, you CANNOT open that door.  Got me?”      I nodded, feeling like that boy back on the farm, looking up to his Pap.      He smiled and unlocked the bulkhead hatch.      “Lock this behind me,” he said.  He smiled and slammed it behind him.      I ran, locked it, then slumped to the floor beside the hatch, burying my face into my hands.  Funny things happen in space, I thought to myself.  It could have been my brain playing tricks on me, funny shapes in the reflections of steel and casings and all that shit, right?  What the hell was going on?      I sat, waiting, tapping me feet on the floor, working through the nerves.  Hours passed, yet I stayed put, waiting for my Pap to come, to open the hatch and tell me everything would be okay, that Earth was just around the corner.  My ears popped and it felt like I was a hundred feet underwater, pressure shoving me down against the floor.  Blood trickled down my cheeks, dripping from my ears and it felt like someone was squeezing my eardrums.  When it finally stopped, I stood, hoping Pap would come inside any second.  When he didn’t, I opened the hatch and covered my mouth with my hand.      Whole lots of crops were missing, barren stretches left, ripped up from the soil, like a tornado had whirled through, tossing entire dirt tracks all over the dome.  Stalks flittered through the air like snowflakes.  Nutrition dispensing pipes jutted up from the torn dirt tracks like broken bones poking through flesh.  On the ground, a long trail of field soil stretched from the field’s edge to the forward airlock, where the emergency shutter had slammed shut, sealing it tight.         Pap had opened it, and hadn’t escaped the suction himself.      I stood there, looking around the dome, just as lost as Pap was that first day.      I lied to the Captain, saying Pap had accidentally triggered the airlock on a maintenance check.  He would have wanted it that way, I think.        We’re a few days out from our destination now, and we’ve still got a long way to go before we’re home again.  I don’t know what’ll be there, waiting for me, and sometimes I even forget what Earth looks like.  It’s funny; space has a way of doing that to a guy.  As I write this, I’m having a hard time even remembering what Mom and Pap were like, and I have this urge to go outside, like an itch you just gotta’ scratch.      Maybe that’ll change when we get planetside, maybe it won’t.
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An Interview With Author, Morgan Jane!!

Good evening, Morgan!Thanks for sitting with us and sharing your experiences as a writer. Here at Write Like a Wizard, we love whenever you contribute to the site. Your participation in the Castle of Despair writing prompt is one of my favorites. Today we’re here to talk about your new novel, Sanguis City! I really enjoyed your prequel novella, The Education of Lilanoir Rue! Let’s get started, shall we? Where are you from? I was born in Columbus, Ohio but grew up in the hills of Eastern Kentucky in a small town called Inez. Small means population 600! My Father, Grandmother and other relatives all had businesses in town, and I feel like I was raised by a community of wonderful people. Now I reside in Central Kentucky near Lexington and miss knowing everyone around me.
What inspired you to write your first book? My love of urban fantasy books led me into writing fan fiction for four years. I just couldn’t get enough and wanted to create my own continuation of certain series. I never dreamed of publishing my own work even though fans would tell me to all the time. It wasn’t until someone I know personally read my fan fiction and some of my original work told me about self-publishing that I decided to finish Sanguis City. Do you write full-time or part-time? How do you balance your writing life with your family/work life? I would love to write full time but having three children and a very full life doesn’t allow for it, at least during the summer months. I am hoping with my kids back in school I can devote eight hours a day to actually writing. I need long spans of time to write that it is useless for me to think I can accomplish what I need to in a couple hours. As a self-published author, I do it all, writing, editing, cover design, formatting, promotion, marketing, and the list just gets longer. Networking on social media alone seems to take up most of my day. Then I find myself trying to write when my husband and children go to sleep. I stay up all night writing and am worthless the next day. Needless to say, I am still searching for that balance as this turns into an all-day adventure at times.
What jobs have you held that influence your stories? Blogging since Blogger was invented and being a freelance writer, I had to keep up with the times. Meaning, I had to know a little bit about everything, but that was no big change for me. I have always had a natural curiosity and a wide range of interests. Also, my love of reading and art influences my stories. I have always been surrounded by creative independent thinkers. My husband and I used to publish a paper poetry magazine and post people’s short stories and art online. Write Like A Wizard reminds me of the Psychoponic Press, our old website. Now that I am writing again, I want to start it up again.
How did you come up with the title for Sanguis City? Drinking wine by the fire, I explained my story idea to my husband. He is well read but not in the genre books I love, so I was explaining that I wanted to write a story within a world. My story wasn’t going to be about the world I have created but rather set in it. Long story short, he is in love with the world and thought my city needed a great name. Having both studied Latin we were in love with the word for Blood, Sanguis. I was writing a book about a city made by vampires, it just seemed to fit.
Wow. Great job with the name. I love it! Is there a message in your novel that you want readers to grasp? I didn’t intend to write anything but fantastic fun but social commentary might shine through in my writing. There isn’t anything I want the reader to do but enjoy the ride.
What books have most influenced your life most? I have read all the classics and gone over them in great detail in many classes LOL. I have studied the Bible as literature, Greek plays, poetry, philosophy, and so on. Literature as a whole has been important to me, but Alice Walker’s books really struck me when I was young. Possessing the Secret of Joy was such a compelling read and set me on a path of political awareness, even though the book is more about women. But alas, I have given up activism for Vampire books. A girl needs her fun in life!
What book are you reading now? I am reading a new author, Skye Turner’s Alluring Turmoil. It’s steamy, and I am starting it tonight!
I'll certainly have to check that out!  Are there any new authors that have grasped your interest? I have met so many new and indie authors since publishing Sanguis City. I am just getting a chance to read all their books because I cannot read while writing. I wrote fan fiction and can pick up another’s voice easily. I have to try to stay true to my own voice. There is an author, K.N. Lee, I have read three of her books now and believe she is a talented storyteller. LOL, and I am not just saying that because you are interviewing me. Paranormal and fantasy are my favorite genres, and The Chronicles of Koa blended them perfectly.
Thank you so much! I am so glad that you enjoyed The Chronicles of Koa.  What are your current projects? Currently, I am working on Sanguis City Carpe Noctem, a stand-alone erotica, a standalone romance and two ghost stories for contests. And I admit I am writing some fan fiction on the side for fun.
Name one entity that you feel supported you outside of family members. Book blogs and other indie authors have been wonderful. I feel blessed to work in such a supportive community.
If you had to do it all over again, would you change anything in your latest book?
I reread Sanguis City so many times and included everything that I wanted to add. I guess with a series, I have a chance to add so much more that I wouldn’t change a thing about this book.
Can you share a little of your current work with us? Sanguis City: Carpe Noctem is my main priority and no, no spoilers! I love that readers are dying to know what happens next even though Sanguis City isn’t a true cliffhanger. Many things are resolved, but the story has a clear path forward. One reviewer even said she wanted to chain me to the computer until I finish. What I can say is that all the players are back.
That is too funny! Well, now you have us all really intrigued, and excited! Is there anything you find particularly challenging in your writing? I write what I enjoy to write, so very little is challenging. Personal stories have been challenging before, but I prefer to write fiction now. My first short story of the series was difficult. It was a different style than the other works and it took a lot of effort because of the change.
Who is your favorite author and what is it that really strikes you about their work? Charlaine Harris is my current favorite. I could read all her series over and over. She writes mysteries that are funny, scary and completely engrossing. I would give anything to write like her.
Who designed the covers? My husband W. Solomon Mitchell envisioned and painted the Sanguis City Art on canvas for me after I told him about the book. He also designed all the covers except Sanguis City’s final. I put together that one myself.
What was the hardest part of writing your book? Rewriting the story after writing the two prequels was the hardest part. I had to scrap around 20,000 words that were no longer true.
Did you learn anything from writing your book and what was it? That I can do anything I set my mind to.
What do you think about e-publishing versus technical publishing? Having e-published art and stories on a very small scale before ebooks were widespread, I love the digital format. I know that I am reading more with the ease of my kindle, and it hasn’t stopped me from purchasing actual books. I think paper books will survive.
Do you have an agent or publisher? How did you go about finding one? No, it’s just me. I want to see what I can do without restrictions of any kind before looking for a publisher. I am still growing as a writer, and self-publishing gives me the freedom to do what I most enjoy.
Do you have any advice for other writers? I have been giving my stories away for free for years. I just now started publishing my work. My advice would be to let people read your work and if they enjoy it, go for it – self publish.
Do you have anything specific that you want to say to your readers? Thanks for your support, feedback and reviews. More lemons to come, and I do write H.E.A. don’t worry.
If you could live anywhere, where would it be? Coming back from NYC a few months ago, I want to say I would like to live there… but nah, it’s a place to visit. I used to say Egypt or on an island, but now that I know myself better, I realize I want to live right here in Central Ky. People are friendly, the air is clean and it’s beautiful. I get hot winters and freezing winters and my favorite seasons in between.
If you could have any super power, what would it be? Teleportation, but I could teleport others when they touch me. Then I could travel cheaper and quicker. 
Thank you for joining us today, Morgan!
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Sanguis City by Morgan Jane!!!!

The first full length novel in the adult paranormal romance series with an
urban fantasy edge, Sanguis City.
**For Mature Audiences Only**
Ever wonder what happens after the world ends?
Lilanoir Rue did. 
A mere by product of the destruction, she never knew what
happened before hand either. Banished from the only place she called home,
the Human Reservation, she wipes her tears and never looks back.
In a world gone dead, life has never been so good, for some. While others
live in chaos, the chosen call Sanguis City home. The rich and powerful
found a way to survive The End and enjoy every minute of it, for eternity.
On the brink of a gruesome death from starvation, disease or a hungry
mutant, humans flock to sell their blood for peace.
The city of blood, made for and by vampires, welcomes Noir; her kind are in
high demand. Neither Human nor Vampire, Bleeders take care of the city in
the daylight. Draining humans by day and dating Vampires at night leaves
Noir little time to think about her past, or much else, until it finds her.
Three years in the city has earned her a promising career, future and just
maybe a love life. Noir's chaotic life is finally on the right track. When
Noir falls for her sexy new Professor, an Authentic Vampire she also falls
into a web of nightmares. Unable to escape painful memories, she uncovers
more than her own secrets. Some secrets just won't stay dead, and others are bound to kill her.

Buy link: http://www.amazon.com/Sanguis-City-ebook/dp/B00E7TKHR6/ref=tmm_kin_title_0?ie=UTF8&qid=1376330641&sr=8-1
website: http://www.themorganjane.com
blog: http://www.themorganjane.com
Facebook page:http://www.facebook.com/themorganjane
Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/morgijane
Goodreads Profile page: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6984554.Morgan_Jane_Mitchell
Amazon Profile page: http://www.amazon.com/Morgan-Jane-Mitchell/e/B00CDNX7PM/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_pop_1
Book website : http://www.sanguiscity.com

Little Beauty- A Poem

Little Beauty K.N. Lee
Little beautyYoungWith songsUnsungToo tired of givingToo tired of livingThreatens to say goodbyeWithout a thought Of those left behind
Think of their pain
What will you gain?
A cowards escapeIs your biggest mistakeWhile loved ones grieveBeat your coffin with despairWhy would you leave?It just isn't fair
Little BeautyLife is hardWe all know its trueTrust meWe do!The strugglesThe failureThe heartbreakAnd painCan sometimes be too muchIt's a constant battle To stay sane
It sounds so easyTo run awayTo hideYou just want to Find a hole to snuggle intoAnd cry Or die...
I wish I was there To hold your sweet faceWipe those bitter tearsAnd find a smile to replaceThat cry of agony That fills your soul like a bladeLook at meTrust meThis pain will fade!
Each new morning When you open your eyes To the beauty of the sunRemember that this is a giftYour creator made you wellDon't throw away such an honorGo onLive!You have stories to tell!
Given without expectationsOr a fee Life is freeYour life is precious You are lovedLittle beauty


**For a little beauty I know. Stay strong. You are loved**-K.N. Lee