Saturday, July 13, 2013


I am working on two different series at the moment, both with strong female lead characters. Both stories are very bloody and have a lot to do with sex. At the same time these two characters are polar opposites and keeping the personalities straight in my head was challenging to say the lest. During the teaser writing, while penning out a very graphic sex scene I wondered of course how this would go over with those of you who have read my other series. Ancient Dreams and Southern Nightgown are pretty graphic, with blood and sex, but they don't really push a lot of envelopes--unless you are massively religious, then they will piss you off. The two I am writing now are extreme and I love it. I find it quite freeing to write like this, I find it comes very easy. Though of course there is the question we have all been asking ourselves for so long that loiters in the back of my mind. When the hell did sex become so taboo? When did the very mention of the act begin to bring on blushes and nervous jitters? And when did all the cool kinky shit become so damn dirty...? In ancient days sex was revered and in many cases considered the ultimate form of worship. Women were forms of beauty and the bringers of such magic. They were the carriers of life and revered by their men almost as much as the act itself. There is really nothing else to blame it on but the bloody knife of Christinaty, which cut most the beauty out of our world. Sex. Something we all want. Need. A part of life so intrinsent to our own personal happiness became filthy and painful. Undesierable. Women, once powerful in many tiers of numerous kingdom fell under the Jewish way of operating --I mean what else did Peter (fisherman illerate) Paul (ugly little man--true story) know?--and lost much of the power they once held. Paul--one of the biggest women haters wrote that women should not be aloud to participate in holly rights, making them instantly lesser than man. His admonition was: That they keep silent. Keep us silent became a battle men would fight and lose for the next two thousand years. Women are sexual beings just as much as men. I believe even more so because sex is intimacy and intimacy is in the mind, it is the substance of our fantasies and a good fantasy for any woman is her raison d'ĂȘtre.

Tuesday, July 9, 2013

AD # 3 Preview

We crested the east hill of the Wynter property and the towers of the manor enveloped in their misty folds. To our left was Wynter Haunt, our family’s graveyard which wasn’t really a graveyard at all, but rather a numinous space on the canvas of earth, a structural break in time where the laws of life and death ceased to apply. Tangible power flowed from the marble of the crypts and headstones that all sheltered empty caskets. Two gargoyles sat atop twined metal pillars, and behind them an arch of the same metal curled around the tree branches that hung low, the rest was shrouded in mists. On these grounds the trees were barren, and grass that grew here died almost as soon as it tasted air, only the roses remained in full bloom year round, and their velvety petals boasted the colors of blood, snow and darkness. I let go of Lily’s hand and walked forward until I stood under the arch. I almost never passed by this place without stopping, there were so many things in the dappled shadows and beyond that called to me. The wind was colder here; any light from the day was sucked up by the mists. I ran my hands over the statue that stood at the entrance of the arch. She was beautifully done in green marble, with ruby flecked hair that twined through the roses framing her; she knelt atop a fountain of gold and held a stone plaque in her hands. ‘Wynter women at rest.’ It read. I always found it ironic, they never rested. Lily walked up beside me and took my hand. Together we stepped under the arch and the mists closed in behind us.

Monday, July 8, 2013

Thank you everyone who came out and bought my books this weekend. SUCH a difference from last year and I felt so greatful that there was enough in the story, writing and art--which took us soooo long to put together--to make you come back for more :) is officially up and running! Go and get my new book Iron & Lace. You know you want to. J.Scott Campbell inks on the cover and Dawn McTeigue sketches inside. Hand numbered and only 100. As always I truly value your patronage!

Thursday, May 23, 2013

Showing skin...

I put up a picture I took a while ago in a red dress and it had an interesting response where a lot of my other photos have not. Now don't get me wrong all the comments felt good, in fact I completely loved them, they did get me thinking. I wasn't a pretty girl growing up, or at least in my mind I wasn't. I was rather thin, straggly and massively clumsy. I loathed taking pictures...I have four beautiful sisters, and compared to them I fell rather short in the beauty department. I had my mind, my art and my writing and I felt those were solid enough to make up for what I lacked in looks. Needless to say I wanted to break into the industry without having to put myself under the camera that often. I realized how wrong that thought was. The Con floor is a place for fantasy, a vehicle of myth facilitating trips into other worlds with dashing nights and beautiful ladies, superheros and goddesses--so of course dropping my clothes (well almost all of them) and smiling for the camera was part of the job. Something strange happened. With all the cameras flashing I started to feel beautiful. The more beautiful a girl feels the more it shows on her face. No my features didn't change but I find myself not cringing at every photo. I accept my flaws, I believe in the end they give us each an unique beauty that is only ours. Maybe it's okay to show a little skin...we are after all in the arts :)

Saturday, April 20, 2013


Oh how long I have had the idea for Southern Nightgown in my head--I am pretty dang excited to see it in print! I know you probably are too but every time I think about it my heart just starts pounding! Thank you so much to Dawn who just took a chance on a crazy girl and to her husband (page troll) who took a chance on two insane women. Life really does have a way of working it's self out. Things come to us when it is the time for it and not before. I could have done this another way. In fact lots of people told me I would fail and fail hard, but it is all about the dream and believing in what you-- as your own god or goddess can accomplish. I think the true definition of living your dream is: No contingency plan.

Thursday, April 18, 2013


Writing a book is a very strange thing. First of course there is the body of the story--what event initially kindled the tale in your mind? When you picture the opening scene can you smell rain, ocean, hot sunlight? Then you realize it is rain you smell and you are seeing the white puff of your own breath through someone else's eyes. You feel cold, a trickle of rain running down the crevice behind your ear sending wet shivers in its wake. Your heart throbs with hopelessness and you feel only terror. Noises in the darkness, haunting pain in your heart--yet also a reason to live, someone to live for. A face in your mind, dark hair, flashing amber eyes...then there is the glowing sword in your hand coated with demon blood, piles of bodies at your feet. You smell them, sweat and rot. The plot forms. You are fully your character and suddenly you know what you are fighting for--know where you are going--the soul who needs rescue and the villain who earned your vengeance. It is different for everyone, yet no matter how it happens for a writer I find the process magical. For someone like me, the ability to be able to retreat into a world of fantasy at will is amazing and probably a necessary ingredient to functioning for the most part like a regular human being, not one of my characters. At the moment I am trying to decipher the laws of the land I currently creating--a justice system to a people who do not understand the definition of the word. It is challenging. Being in contact with so many incredible artists lately I have often found just wanting to draw it. Then I look at pieces like this and remember why I chose writing over art--firstly because I am better at it, but also because I love the passion of words, they way they can create a scene so vivid and alive. Alive because in the mind of the reader it is always seen differently.

Thursday, April 11, 2013