Here's another Six Sentence Sunday piece. I hope you guys like it. Please check out other great writers who contribute to this Sunday event by searching the hash tags #sixsentence and #sixsunday on Twitter.
In time, he'd know...come to understand the ways of carnal desire – fulfillment. He'd understand the pleasure of pushing his flesh up against that of another. The moist, slippery way that his skin could slide against that of a lover's when covered in perspiration. The salty taste of skin as his tongue run's over a throat's throbbing artery. The way his fangs could slide so effortlessly into the tender meat of the person he's penetrated with his manhood. Yes, in time he would know...come to understand what it means to be a vampire.
OK, found my old youtube channel and my old videos (they're quite random )
Here's a video from Christina Aguilera's "Back To Basics" tour. I layered the song from the album over her actual live singing because my camera just picked up feedback and noise when I was taking the footage. Either way I hope you enjoy.
PS: I swear I'll post something more appropriate tomorrow :)
Here's a great read for your Tuesday! Author, A. F. Stewart, has kindly written a guest blog for this site's readers. She has a book out called Chronicles Of The Undead.
Please make sure to check out her site and give her book a read. And remember, author's love reader feedback. If you do go and grab a copy of her book, please go and give her some feedback...we rely on you to nourish our fragile egos :)
I have always loved books and have been scribbling stories and poems since I could pick up a crayon to write. I gained an interest in fantasy and sci-fi young, when I found short stories by Ray Bradbury and Harlan Ellison in Scholastic (a Canadian publishing company for children) magazines. My love of all things fantastic was firmly established when I saw Star Wars at age ten and then discovered comic book writers like Frank Miller and Neil Gaiman; there was no turning back after that. What intrigues me most about writing fantasy is the whole “what if” factor. I like to ask and answer the questions of a supernatural world existing just beyond our own. Who, or what, would live there and what would their lives be like? And since I’ve always thought tragedy makes a more memorable story, I gravitate to the darker aspects of fantasy in my writing.
The idea of writing as a career came slowly. I dabbled with the notion, writing my first book (as yet unpublished) and sending a few stories in to contests and magazines, but life got in the way of writing as a serious pursuit. Then I found the concept of self-publishing. I thought “why not?” I could see if readers would be interested in my work and test the waters of the writing world. I self-published a book or two of poetry and story collections and began marketing the books. That’s when I discovered the whole “traditional vs. self published" controversy.
Now, I think the whole debate is silly. The fact is there are advantages to being traditionally published, but it is an exclusive club, hard to break into to, even if you are talented. And some well-written books just have little or no chance of being accepted by a publisher because they are not that commercially viable. Self-publishing is not a rival for the traditionally published; it is just another option for some authors.
The worst argument against self-publishing is the “all self-published books are bad” nonsense. Of course bad books get self-published, but so do good books. And you can say the same thing about traditionally published books. One advantage with self-published books is that it is easier to find online excerpts to weed out the bad from the good. I’ve reviewed several excellent independently published books on my blog (http://afstewartblog.blogspot.com/).
I’ve also found the independent writing community very supportive and they’ve received my writing efforts positively. Their encouraging feedback was one of the reasons I decided to publish my vampire horror novella, Chronicles of the Undead.
The book came about one day when the thought occurred to me, “what would happen if someone found out their neighbors weren’t what they seemed?” My mind went straight to the paranormal and I thought, “what if they were vampires, what would happen?”
I played with those ideas, setting the whole story in Georgian England (between the years 1795 and 1825) in the city of London. Then I got my brilliant (or ill-advised, depending on how you look at it) idea of writing the book as diary entries, from the point of view of three different members of the same family. It sounded good at the time, but I had no idea how complex it would be to write a novella length book of journal entries without a word of dialogue.
I started with the research, studying the historical facts, lifestyle, and calendar dates of both eighteenth century Georgian England and Regency England, and examining the folklore of vampires. Then I had to find the voices and motivation of three characters (including one intractable character) and work out the intricacies of the linked plotline that spanned decades. And all that before I even started trying to write enough diary entries to create a 168 page book. It was a challenge, but I think it turned out well.
Here’s the book blurb:
Chronicles of the Undead
Family Secrets.
Three generations of one family share their intimacies with the world of the vampire. Inside the personal journals of the Harrington family, a dark and dangerous odyssey unfolds. Three members of this tormented family, Samuel, his son Edmund, and Edmund’s daughter Charlotte, struggle during the 18th and 19th century in London, England, as the lives of this family intersects with supernatural forces. Two intriguing vampires befriend, manipulate and play with all three souls, altering their lives forever.
Their fears, private confidences and weaknesses are revealed as one selfish act ends in horrific tragedy, with far-reaching consequences. Who succumbs to the seduction and danger of the vampire? Who grapples to combat the evil influence that permeates their lives?
I hope you all had an amazing Halloween and for my pagan friends, a blessed Samhain.
I have another guest blog/interview for today and I'm sure you all will find her fascinating. Her name is Lauren Curtis. She's a fascinating photographer/artist and her images invoke beauty out of darkness.
After you read her post, please be sure to check out her websites and artwork.
Without further delay, I give you the talented, Lauren Curtis.
Lauren:My father started teaching me to draw when I was a child and ever since the 7th grade, I knew I wanted to be a professional artist. Initially I was inspired by nature and as soon as I started learning about art history and mythology in high school, ancient cultures such as Greek, Roman, Egyptian and Celtic have had a huge influence on my work.
Marcus: How do you visualize a concept so that you can "create" it? How do you bring an idea into creation?
Lauren: It all starts with an idea from something I saw, read, experienced. I then do rough pencil sketches (if it's a drawing, painting or mixed media piece) or I shoot photographs of the subject. It may then take months before I feel the right "mood" to create the final piece but sometimes it can be within days or weeks.
Marcus: Why do darker feelings/tones translate into your artwork so readily?
Lauren: I've been involved in the Gothic scene since I was about 17 and have been a practicing Eclectic Wiccan for 23+ years...these often misunderstood cultures value the mystical, mysterious and the Occult, although they in NO WAY represent the demonic sides of things for MOST practitioners. However, we do see that you need darkness in order to have light, and death to have life...these are natural cycles in nature and are to be respected so this translates into a lot of my work, especially my new photo collages series, "X-Rayted" & "Curio-cities" which utilize images photographed from x-rays, bones, Victorian woodcuts and more.
Marcus: Do you have a "Dream Project" that you hope to one day work on? If so, what does it consist of?
Lauren: I LOVE to travel and do so as often as I can afford to (which is tougher these days!) so it would be amazing to travel the world for a period of time shooting photos and sketching ideas. Egypt, Greece & Italy are 3 places I haven't been yet that I would really love to visit and experience their mythology and art 1st hand!
Marcus: Anything else that you would like to talk about concerning you, your artwork, and your field, or plans for the future?
Lauren: Two years ago I finally took the leap to do art full time. I've been doing freelance illustration and graphic work as well as exhibiting in a minimum of 2 shows a month across the US. I've been expanding my social network promotions and sales and hope to continue to build on my career, both in my personal work and commercial work. To me it is in no way "selling out" to do commissions for clients...I always do my on work as well and I'm honored that people like my work enough to pay me to create something for them! I also have a line of original greeting cards and T-shirts so those with smaller budgets can still buy artistic items even if they can't afford originals. It's a great way to get my work out there! You can view my work on:
Feel free to email me with any questions about my art!
Thanks to Marcus for inviting me to guest blog on his site...he will be a guest blogger on mine as well.
I want to thank Lauren for allowing me to introduce my readers to her amazing talent and once again, I encourage all of you to check out her sites and to drop her a line about anything you may want to ask her or to inquire about some of her awesome creations.
His teeth sink deeper into the warm, tender, flesh of his victim. Moans escape him as he sucks at the hot, flowing, blood that streams out of the deep punctures. His tongue travels down the side of his victim and then back up, to circle around a hardened nipple. Lightly, he flicks his tongue back and forth across the tip and then he gently rolls it between his teeth. Unable to restrain himself any longer, he once again plunges his teeth down into the flesh – taking the nipple into his mouth and suckling on the blood that wells up around it like a demonic infant. He hadn't planned on bringing death to this one, but the blood is too sweet...too enticing to walk away from, so he draws every last drop from his prey as he's thrown into a sinfully delicious orgasm.
I recently had the honor of conducting an interview with the amazingly talented author, Jeremy C. Shipp. His list of publication credits include having short stories appear in approximately 50 publications which includeCemetery Dance, ChiZine, Apex Magazine, Pseudopod, and Withersin.
Some of his published books areVacation, Cursed, and Sheep and Wolves.This November, Jeremy will have a new book hit the bookshelves called,Fungus Of The Heart. I had the pleasure of reading an advanced copy of this book and I must say that the stories are unique and keep the reader thinking.
Please read the interview with Jeremy C. Shipp below and go grab a copy of his bookFungus Of The Heartwhen it comes out this November.
Hardcover and paperback copies are available for preorder now through Screaming Dog Press. Click here to preorder yours!
Marcus: Why do you write? What is it that compels you to formulate a story and put it down on paper?
Jeremy: Writing keeps me sane. Writing allows me to use my imagination to connect with others in a fun and fascinating way. Also, if I stopped writing, my creative energy would go supernova, and that would definitely smart.
Marcus: What is it that inspires you to write about darker stories and subjects?
Jeremy: On a personal level, writing dark fiction helps me to process and cope with reality. Also, I believe that shining a light on the darkness is important, because problems are more dangerous when they’re ignored. That being said, my work isn’t simply about the evils of our world. I give my stories heart. The world may be a horrifying place at times, but it’s also a wonderful place, full of humor and love and friendship.
Marcus: What genre do you consider your writing to be a part of? I feel like you cross several genres and maybe even create your own to a degree.
Jeremy: When writing a story, I give myself as much freedom as possible and write about whatever world that forms in my mind. In the end, my tales tend to be some combination of horror, fantasy, Bizarro, mystery, and sci-fi.
Marcus: Can you tell me a little about "Fungus of the Heart" (the book) and how it came to be?
Jeremy: In my life, there’s nothing more important to me than relationships. And this reflects in my writing. I love writing dialogue and character interactions. With “Fungus of the Heart” I wanted to write stories that focus on the power of relationships. The power of respect and love. The power of disrespect and hatred.
Marcus: Why did you pick the short story "Fungus of the Heart" as the title of your book?
Jeremy: I’m one of those people who believe that human beings are inherently good. I believe that most people have good intentions. However, there are times when a “fungus” can grow in people’s hearts and souls. This “fungus” can take many forms, and can cause many problems. Sometimes we find ways to cure ourselves or to cure each other. And sometimes we don’t.
Marcus: I read the whole book and I must say, I loved "The Haunted House". What was the inspiration behind this story?
Jeremy: Every horror writer is required by law to write a haunted house story. So I thought, if I have to write such a story, I might as well put my own twist on the idea. I decided to write a story where the ghost isn’t the one doing the haunting. The ghost is there to help.
Marcus: This question is a little random, but what was the last good thriller/horror movie that you saw?
Jeremy: I’ve seen quite a few slinkster cool films recently, including Carrie, Sick Girl, Ink, The House of the Devil.
Marcus: What do you want your readers to walk away with after reading "Fungus Of The Heart"?
Jeremy: After my readers finish the book, I want their hearts, minds and spleens to tingle. I want my readers to feel both disturbed and heartened.
Marcus: How did you decide on which short stories to include in your book?
Jeremy: I wrote most of the stories with the collection in mind, though I did choose some older stories to include, such as “Just Another Vampire Story” and “Monkey Boy and the Monsters.” I felt that these tales fit with the overall theme and flow of the collection.
Marcus: What are you tired of reading about in present day fiction? What would you like to see more of?
Jeremy: Just when I thought I was tired of reading about vampires, I read Let the Right One In. And so, I believe that any archetype or topic can be written about in a fresh way. I’d love to read more dark fantasy and horror tales with a heart.
Marcus: What was the last book you read?
Jeremy: I read books in clusters. The last cluster of books I read included Little Women, Never Let Me Go, We, and The Hunger Games.
Marcus: Any advice for aspiring authors who want to see their work published?
Jeremy: Write every day. Read every day. It might take you a while to write publishable stories, and there’s nothing wrong with that. Just keep writing and honing your craft. When submitting your work, be sure to follow the submission guidelines.
Marcus: Any advice you can give new/aspiring authors in regards to rejection?
Jeremy: Rejection letters are high in vitamin C, and you can also use them to create papier-mâché statues of Charles in Charge characters. Also, receiving rejection letters simply means that you’re on the road toward success. It’s impossible to travel such a difficult road without hitting a few potholes.
Marcus: Anything else you'd like to say? Any last words for our readers?
Jeremy: If an attic clown ever offers to give you a giggle massage, just say no. Trust me.
Marcus: Thank you so much for taking the time to conduct this interview and I wish you luck on your book tour. Please feel free to stop by anytime and discuss your work or to do a guest post even. Bye, Jeremy, and I can't wait to read your next book!
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To find out more about Jeremy C. Shipp and his writing, visit his official website: http://www.jeremycshipp.com/
OK, I couldn't help myself. I just had to post a quick, brief, excerpt from the new Khet Chronicle book I'm working on.
This excerpt has Kalin and Kora in it. If you read the free sample that's posted online through Freado.com from the first book, then you'll know who these two are.
This passage is rough and unedited (the book is still in its first draft stages) but I hope you enjoy it anyways.
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Excerpt (Ch. 1)
I found Kora outside. She was sitting on the ground under a huge oak, playing with a small twig. I watched as she twisted it between her fingers and then slowly started to break it into tiny little pieces. Her gaze was focused on the ground in front of her, I don't think she even noticed my approach.
“What's going on lady?” Her head shot up in surprise. Yup, I'd caught her off guard.
Her irises swirled with small red streaks from the beginnings of her phase. With a visible shake, she disbursed her energy, letting it leak off into the surrounding air and then smiled faintly at me. Her eyes were now their normal dark blue.
“Oh, nothing.” Her voice said otherwise. There was a note of sadness beneath her words.
“Kora...seriously, you know you're no good at lying. What's going on K.T.? You look like somebody just called you the meanest name in the book and then laughed at you.” K.T. Was my nickname for her. Kora Twymkowski...K.T., get it?
I sat down next to her, leaning my back against the massive oak, noticing the huge shadow it cast on the grassy ground in front of me. I bumped her shoulder lightly with my own, getting her attention. She looked at me and I noticed the beginnings of tears. Oh shit...what can of worms did I just open?
She sighed visibly and reached up, wiping the tears from her eyes before they could fall. “I was thinking about my family—about my mother, my father...my brothers.” She glanced over at me from the corner of her eyes and then quickly back to the ground...
OK, So I was stalking one of my favorite authors on their website (don't tell anyone), and I came across her new cover for the next book in the "Hollows" series that stars a spicy, red haired, witch, named Rachel, who doesn't mind kicking butt (human, demon, or other). Yes, I'm talking about the amazing Kim Harrison.
I am so excited! I love her books and her characters, and every time a book comes out I'm first to stand in line to buy it (slight exaggeration) and then I read it in a day and wind up feeling bad that I didn't stretch my reading over two weeks so that I could savor the story slowly *sigh*
From what Kim Harrison's website says, the new Hollows book should be released in February of 2011, which means I can convince someone to buy it for my birthday! Woowho!
Make sure you check out Kim Harrison's books if you haven't already, they're everything that a good Dark Urban Fantasy series should be.
The pain tears into me,
Pulling my soul out from beneath my body's flesh,
I'm tortured by the emptiness,
By the lack of feeling...the feeling of being loved,
Your face was my anchor,
But now the absence of your presence hurls me into oblivion,
There's no bittersweet ending for me,
Just the pain and lonliness of a heart still breaking.
Well, just submitted another short story to an online magazine called Niteblade. I've heard some cool things about this periodical and, after reading it's current issue, felt that it would make a great home for one of my stories...now if I can only convince the creator/editor Rhonda Parrish of the same thing we'll be in business!
I'll give you guys a hint...the short story is one of the ones that have been posted on this site :)
Anyways, I'll keep you posted and hopefully my little bundle of horror will be picked up for publication.
OK everyone, sleep well (it's currently 12:12am where I am) and I'll try to post a vlog tomorrow to update you on what I did this weekend.
Greetings and salutations all. I'm pleased to be here today, meeting new folks. Maybe even making some new friends.
I'm Raven Corinn Carluk, author of All Hallows Blood and Stories With Bite o,.,o. I write paranormal romance/urban fantasy, and dark fantasy stories. These were easy, and obvious, genres for me to slip into, because I'm way into paranormal and fantastical creatures. I'm also a romantic at heart. I enjoy people falling in love, and long for the happily ever after. But I also like bad guys to win, and the dark anti-hero.
So I'm all around a mixed bag.
I'm an indie author, and I support self-publishing all the way. Which is a completely different tone than when I was writing All Hallows Blood a couple years ago. Then, I was fully of the belief that if your story was good enough, it would be picked up by a publisher, and no need to self-publish.
So I finished my book, polished it up, and started working on getting a publisher. I signed with a small press, mostly ebooks, and I started looking into how the publishing industry really worked.
Now I regret signing my book away.
Being published, especially if you're not Stephen King or James Patterson or George RR Martin, is like becoming a rented mule; you do all the work writing and editing and publishing, then all the work getting a contract, and then all the work marketing. All to have someone else make way more money on the book than you, and take all the control away from you. It's painful and sad, and ton of work.
There's the same amount of hard work to do with self-publishing, but you remain in control. You can pay for your cover art and layout, or learn it like I have. As a creative person, I really enjoyed learning to do the formatting work, and had a blast putting stories with bite o,.,o together. And that book's success or failure is entirely on me. I set my price, I do all my marketing, and no one else is making money off my hard work and creativity.
I cannot advocate traditional publishing anymore. It's a giant machine that spews out only stuff that can make a profit, not writing that's skilled or artful or even mildly different. Nor does it support the new talents it chooses to pick up. If you're going to struggle, you might as well stay in charge of your own destiny, and go self-publishing.
The most important thing to self-publishing is to write damn well. Write a good story, and people will follow you. For me, a good story is well-written, without technical faults. It should be obvious, but I've seen it happen. Other than that, I just want something gripping. Totally subjective, I know, but I don't care if the story's totally unique, or if it takes place in the real world, or if there are pages of fight scenes. I just want to enjoy it, and that means so many different things depending on what mood I'm in.
For my own writing, I usually start with the idea. I don't force it, or sit and really brainstorm. Something will come to me when I'm listing to music, or watching a movie, or even reading someone else's stories. Sometimes it's even just a weird dream. Then I flesh it out in the first draft, all hand-written in my Orlando Bloom notebook. I'll usually edit as I go, choosing different words, or changing how a fight works out.
When I'm ready, I'll transcribe it into my computer, editing it further. If it's a short story, I usually just give it a once over. When it's a novel, it may end up with months of work spent polishing it. I just keep working it until I feel it's ready to do something with. All Hallows Blood, for example, took a little less than two years from first draft to submission.
Being a storyteller is damn fun. I encourage anyone with a tale to tell to get into it. Just don't expect anything right away. Even in this digital age, fame and fortune don't come at the speed of the internet. Boy, I wish they did. Not that I got into writing for the money, just for the fame. I want people to hunger for the worlds I create, and to get lost in my stories. I want to be the author that people get rabidly impatient waiting for the next book.
As such, I've got a bunch of free stories on my site, and I'm taking part in Twitter's #FlashFriday, so stop by my blog to keep up with those. Sure, I'm a little dark and twisted, but I'm also a little bit fun. I'll only bite if provoked. o,.,o
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Here's another vampire Six Sentence Sunday post. Enjoy!
Dark Goddess
by Marcus Twyman
His arms wrapped tightly around his mate – his deathly cold flesh pressed up against hers. They writhed in a crimson puddle of blood that their victim's body still pumped, even though its heart was finally beginning to stop. His tongue traced patterns in the blood against the ghostly pallor of her flesh, making her purr like a large, predatory, cat. Together, they had hunted...and together they'd feasted, making the man yell out in both pain and, as he had come closer to death, ecstasy. She liked letting them feel sexually aroused before their death...apparently she felt less monstrous – more humane. With her jet black hair and her ruby colored eyes, she was anything but a monster...she was a dark goddess, his eternal goddess – of death.
Linkedin Member, Darlene Quinn, posted a question on a writer's group page asking: "Where do you find inspiration?"
I posted this as a response to her post:
My writing inspiration comes from EVERYWHERE. Seriously, I could be driving and listening to a song on the radio. A line from the song's lyrics might really grab my attention...pulling the seeds of a story from my mind. Usually, after something like that, the story just avalanches and becomes something that demands to be written.
I also get inspiration from my daily feelings and experiences. I might be upset, or maybe I'm angry...infuriated even. I try to step outside of my "box" and view myself in the third person so that I can "see" how I look and react to these feelings and experiences. Then I might ask myself, "What can you turn this into? What can you turn these painful, hurtful, or happy emotions into?" This method has inspired many stories to be born in the cramped spaces of my mind.
I try to find my inspiration in everything. I want life to be inspiring and waiting for a "thing" to inspire can leave a writer waiting for something that may never come.
When your heart speeds up, or your stomach knots...when a chord is struck and you're saddened by something you've witnessed, use it! That should be your inspiration...Life.
I’m known as Autumnforest on my blog, “Ghost Hunting Theories” blog. I’m a ghost hunter, a psychic and a horror writer.
I write horror, but more specifically I enjoy writing atmospheric paranormal horror and erotic horror. I was a storyteller as a child, but later when I learned to type in my teens, I found myself writing fiction all the time. I couldn’t stop. I started out in romance and then went into doing a lot of published self help nonfiction, but then settled for the thing that has always been the constant in my life; horror.
I’ve entered a lot of short story contests and won a few at online magazines and a printed one, as well. I won the short essay contest for “Ghost Adventures” show last October having to do with their stay at Trans-Allegheny Lunatic Asylum. Right now, I’m in the semifinals of the Kreepy Krawlys essay contest. It’s a really exciting one. One of my things on my bucket list was to have a hand in a haunted attraction’s creation. That’s what this contest is about; an essay that will be the basis of a haunted attraction.
I grew up in a 250-year-old mansion in Northern Virginia. It was taken over by the North during the Civil War and used as a field hospital and then the South took it over again and used it for the same. The wood floors were still stained from the blood. I grew up digging up relics and NBC did a special on the house’s ghosts and mediums came to do séances and newspapers did articles. At one time, it was considered to be one of the most haunted houses in America. It was during that childhood that I not only experienced many paranormal happenings, but I also developed my psychic talent for touching objects and reading their history. It began with relics I dug up around the grounds. I never knew it was a psychic skill until I was well into adulthood. I thought everyone did it.
A Short Story By Autumnforest
Wolves At The Door
They raced the pathways through the woods by moonlight. The lunar cycle didn’t matter. Clouds or rain, snow or new moon, they owned the forest. In a pack, the beasts kicked up dirt, tore at hiking trails, and pursued the abundant deer and wild turkey. Their haunting howls resonated back and forth from hillside to hillside.
“Coyotes?” The hitman pressed his face to the cabin window to glance out at the murky moonlight outside.
He stepped away and finished off the glass of Jack Daniels as he studied the gym bag. He had to think clearly about where to hide the cash just in case he was followed.
Collapsing back in an overstuffed chair, the criminal turned on the TV. The local resort’s channel touted the Olympic-sized swimming pool at the main lodge and went on to brag about how it was a giant preserve where hunting was not allowed and wildlife abounded. They encouraged the visitors to enjoy the woodland paths in total privacy.
Privacy. He chuckled at that. The resort was a nowhere place, a dead end mountain no one knew about. The criminals knew that cabin #5 was a special location. It was not only completely isolated by the woods, but the resort had a policy. If you were willing to shell out the cash, they’d protect your privacy completely. They had no records of a #5 cabin and no housekeeping. They liked to say, “this is the place to get lost.” In fact, the key was sent to him in the mail so he didn’t have to go further up the mountain to the lodge and be seen in public.
The hitman’s associates knew the in’s and out’s. He was learning them, but admittedly he wasn’t the brightest of the batch. He was no alpha dog, but he could provide a service when requested. Making hits was easy. Cash was plentiful. He never made this kind of dough in construction.
He ran a meaty hand over his grizzled face and sighed. The howling outside the cabin reached a crescendo. It unsettled his already taut nerves. He had no guilt about the kill, but he sure had fears about the cops finding him.
He got up and flicked on the front porch light. It shone on the pine trees nearby. Something shuffled by the side of the cabin and thumped the wall. He flicked the light off and held his breath.
“Just a raccoon.” He told himself, but his mind was seeing that strange black car that was following his car the last 10 miles to the mountaintop resort. Sure, they kept going on to the lodge, but they did see him turn down this road.
“I should check.” He grumbled as the howling stopped outside and he cautiously opened the door. Thinking about the coyote pack and their calls, the killer felt a bit of nostalgia. He missed his gang in Philly. It had been a long time since he could go home and run with them, intimidating everyone on the streets. No, his work in Jersey took him away from there and it was too dangerous to go back.
“Yeah, I’m a coyote without my pack now.” He commented sadly.
The area near the cabin looked clear in the half moonlight. His car was tucked in behind the building out of sight. The cabin itself was completely engulfed by huge rows of wild bushes and brambles. No one would ever guess it was there. Even the ground was gravel strewn and showed few tracks. Just in case, he walked over into the circle of moonlight and kicked at the gravel to be certain no car treads could be seen.
The hairs on his neck tickled. He knew he was being watched! He spun around, squinting into the woods nearby, a bead of perspiration rolling into his eye and stinging him blind. He backed up towards the cabin, surveying the area cautiously.
“Who’s there?” He called out, his voice cracking.
Something thrashed the bushes nearby and the hitman backed up a step, squinting into the darkness of the shrubs.
“You’re not gonna catch me.” He vowed under his breath.
Without warning, something yanked his shirt, pulling him to the ground with a thud. Shaking off the stars in his head, the hitman studied the dark figures above him. The half moon settled between their heads, casting them in silhouettes. There stood five man-like figures, hunched over, long snouts sniffing, smelling of wet dog and snarling lowly in threat.
“What in the hell are you?” He cried out.
The leader stepped forward and lifted him up easily with one gnarled furry paw as if he weren’t a 6’2″, 250-pound man. Claws dug into the hitman’s shoulder and he winced. When he braved opening his eyes again, he looked straight into the fiery red eyes of the beast, fangs exposed and glistening in the light. For a panicky minute, the hitman remembered the cries of his last hit. The man had been on his knees, begging to pay him cash, do anything to just live.
He whimpered hysterically just as his victim had.
Behind him a beast snarled loudly, another howled. Then the leader bent, teeth sinking readily into the hitman’s shoulder with a crunch. As his knees went weak beneath him, the beast leader grabbed the hitman by the hem of his shirt and dragged him deep into the blackened woods as the criminal lost consciousness.
The resort manager came the next morning, grabbed up the bag of cash, the traces of the occupant, and used the car key to move the vehicle to his cousin’s car shop where it would be parted out. It never failed; crooks were looking for an easy out. He provided it for them. The pack of other thieves-turned- werewolves brought the criminal into their fold. They had all the fresh deer and wild turkeys they could want and the resort manager continued to give them new members. It was an amicable situation that helped both sides, as well as cut down on the uncontrolled population of wildlife in the preserve. In fact, he was feeling pretty pious about his life mission as he drove off in the criminal’s Mercedes Benz at sunset.
A stealthy creature followed not far from the bumper, eyes of fire, fangs exposed. He wasn’t the brightest of the batch and he was no alpha dog, but he served his pack well as he stalked their next member.
OK, so I should be asleep, it's freakin' 3:35am and I feel like my eyes are full of sand...but I did a search for "Vampire Music" and guess what came up!
Well...just watch the video below. I don't know what I just witnessed...all I know is that I'm tired and I'm going to sleep.
OK, so here is another #SixSentence/#SixSunday creation that I've linked to on Twitter. I hope you all enjoy it and please check out the other wonderful writers who post to this hash tag!
Best of Everything,
Marcus
***************** Vampire Love
By Marcus Twyman
She savored the taste, rich and metallic. His arms squeezed her tighter as her mouth worked at pulling the coppery blood from the vein she'd tapped. His moans rumbled through his chest and he worked himself up to a faster rhythm, as her lower muscles squeezed him, bringing him close to experiencing euphoria. Their eyes shone with inhuman brightness in the dimly lit room as they took turns biting each other to savor the rich fluid that mere mortals could only taste in their dreams. True immortals, children of darkness...vampires. She placed her arms around his neck as they reached their climax, both of them ripping their fangs from the other's body to gleam wetly in the darkness of their den.
It's the poison that stills the heart,
The violent memories that tear love apart,
With a chilling touch the blood will cool,
Reignited by rage, remade the fool,
Never happy, always a skeptic,
Strangers' eyes do wander, that's to be expected,
Though with you, possession is law,
They are yours, and for you they should crawl,
Then one day they up and leave,
Enough was enough, so they cut you free,
Couldn't stand your insecure tendencies,
So they washed themselves clean of your jealousy.
I'm holding a contest for people who would like to read my rough manuscript and provide feedback on it within a month.
The prize is a Sony DVD Camcorder. It has an extra battery and a leather carrying case. It is in top condition and records onto DVD as well as takes still photos.
**********It is the same camera pictured on this post.**************
Let me know if you're interested in being a Beta reader. I need all contestants to send me an email to Marcus.Twyman@gmail.com by next Wednesday, October 13th, 2010. The contest will end on Nov. 10th and the contest winner will be chosen on November 17th.
I tried not to include any spoilers for the first book.
By: Marcus Twyman
Three mutts greeted me at the bottom of the stair's landing. Their nails clicking noisily against the hard marble of the floor. Che had found them running around out back in the woods that surrounded the estate. They had been half-starved as well as flea and tick ridden. She'd brought them in, cleaned them up, and made them the brats of the residence.
Chloe, is a large female pitbull with large dark brown spots that encircle each of her eyes, making her eyes stand out with their light gray coloring—giving her the impression of always being surprised. The rest of her fur is a fawn color. She weighs a little over eighty pounds—all of it solid muscle, thanks to Che's care and attention—but she is the biggest love-bunny you'll ever meet. She'd be more liable to lick a serial killer breaking into the mansion than attack him.
Bobo is a little terrier mix of some sort, standing no more than a foot at his shoulder. His fur hangs down in dark gray wisps, making him look more like an oversized, dirty cotton ball than a dog. He has bangs that cover his beady little eyes, and his tongue hangs out of his mouth every minute of the day, dripping drool in his wake.
Lobo, well—looks like a lobo. He looks like a damn wolf. His eyes are yellow-green, and the only thing that would make you think twice about his heritage is his fur color. He's the warm, blondish color of a yellow lab. He's huge standing three feet at the shoulder and weighing in at one hundred and ten pounds. I'm still up in the air concerning his lineage. I'm almost positive that he's a big, wild, snarly, beast of a wolf. His coloring is probably just a fluke. All I know is that as long as he doesn't eat me, I'm fine with him. He' extremely playful, and loves everybody in the house, but...sometimes I catch him staring at me—like he's thinking. Yeah, I'm gonna keep my eye on that one.
The three mongrels—I say this with compassion— were jumping up on me, making it impossible to move ahead towards the front door. Let me tell ya', half the time I had to move around the house using the inhuman speed of my race, just to get from room to room. They were adamant about having your full attention when in your presence.
“Shane!”, maybe he could take them outside or something. That would help them let loose some of their pent up energy. “Hey, bro! You around?” My voice echoed through the massive rooms of the mansion.
“I'm here, what's up loud-mouth?” Shane spoke into my mind using telepathy, or as he called it—as well as everyone else now that he's been pushing the term on people—brain-tapping.
Rolling my eyes at his name calling, I told him out loud, “Come take the pooches out, mutt!” Shane was half sape and half khet. Some of the other khet called him Half-Breed, I called him dork, boob, bobblehead, and lately, Mutt. He knew I wasn't serious, we always call each other names—we have a snarky relationship.
“Why can't you do it? I'm watching a cool show—some guy just got eaten by a shark and now his shipmates are tracking it through the ocean via the GPS on the dude's cell phone—Ooh...oh that's just wrong...Kalin you've gotta—”
“Shane!” God, he could be such a twit! Running my hand through my hair I shouted, “I'm leaving...take them out!” Before he could make an attempt at another mental rebuttal, I threw up my mental shields.
Che had been teaching me how to guard my thoughts. Living in a household full of telepaths and having other telepathic beings around who knew my energy signature—like the Sidhe and some of the witches—I had needed to learn how to deflect unwanted intrusions. One time Saru had reached out telepathically from New York and entered my mind while me and Krysia were...occupied. Needless to say, that was the equivalent of a parent walking in on you doing the bump unexpectedly. He was the one who requested that Che teach me how to block against intrusions. He was like an uncle to me and Shane and finding not-so PG thoughts flying at him like that must have been just as awkward as it had been for me. Krysia still blushes when I bring it up.
Shutting the door quickly so that the dogs didn't push past me onto the walkway, I tossed my keys into the air, catching them as the gravity pulled them back down towards the earth...
I'm bad about making time for this but I wanted to make sure that I posted something this Sunday. Here is my contribution to "#SixSunday" as they say on Twitter.
I hope you all enjoy it and if you do please feel free to contribute as well by posting on your blog and then labeling the post with the hash tag "#sixsunday" on your Twitter account.
The force is shearing through my being-- through my very essence. It's intangible blades hot against the fabric of my metaphysical mind. His attack is relentless but I am not so easily subdued. I am the darkness that the night imitates, the bitter cold that has made hunters huddle close to their camp fires for millennia. I am the fallen, the sentry that has prevented the light from burning through the darkness for all remembered time. There's a reason they call me “Devil” and now I'll have to show this pigeon-winged fool why his kind should stay in the light where they belong.
If you touch my spirit, you've accomplished a miracle,
My eyes have cried and my voice has erupted,
I could cut a diamond with the sharpness of my soul,
Life's pains haven't made me stronger...they've made me meaner,
Take a glance into my eyes and you will see not a glimpse of emotion or pity,
You will only feel the heat generated by lies and deceit from experiences long past,
You reach for my hand and I'll reach for your throat,
Trust, I give to no one,
My tongue shall spit acid words at any would be rescuer,
For, you can't rescue what has already been lost.
Do you know what it's like for the dark to touch you?
I appreciate the quietness of midnight's virtue,
When the light comes in the morning, will I still be alive?
For, my soul's in eternal mourning no matter how hard I try.
Could it be that I'm unknowing of how my love should be released?
No one knows how I feel, maybe that's why I can't reach for peace.
*I have three dried rose petals pressed between the pages where this poem is written.
I thought I heard you walking in the hall,
But when I looked, I knew I hadn't heard anything at all,
It must have been my mind playing tricks on me,
Life's been hard, keeps giving me grief,
But your perfume's scent still lingers on the air,
That's impossible since you aren't even here,
And why do I feel a gentle breeze?
Like someone just brushed past me,
Chorus:
Is it your spirit floating past me?
Clinging to the love it feels in me?
I know you'll always be near,
In this life you left so easily,
Late at night while I sit quietly,
I feel you there, but your image I can't see,
I tell myself that this can't be,
But it's true because your spirit lives on in me,
I never completed this one...it's only a partial entry in my journal.
I'm tired of waiting,
Tired of sitting by myself alone in the dark,
Tired of hiding,
Hiding my eyes and hiding my heart,
Which road should I of taken?
The one in the shadows or the one with a spark,
This is something I had no choice in,
I was thrown into the darkness that's corrupted my heart,
Chorus:
I'm clawing my way back up,
I'm tearing through my early gravestone,
Tried to break me, had some luck,
But the light's been captured, now I know where I'm goin',
I've lived before,
That life was a poisoned dose,
For this life I have the cure,
It's when your arms hold me close,
For years I've been dying,
Dying from the loss of my soul,
Life was full of hating,
And cryin' for a life that had nothing to show,
Then I met you,
A being who could set me free,
I found the missing clue,
Now I'm the person I was meant to be,
Chorus:
I'm clawing my way back up,
I'm tearing through my early gravestone,
Tried to break me, had some luck,
But the light's been captured, now I know where I'm goin',
I've lived before,
That life was a poisoned dose,
For this life I have the cure,
It's when your arms hold me close,
I'm getting through the pain,
Slowly but surely I'm on my way,
I'm feeling no more shame,
A bright future is on the way,
Please stand beside me,
I know I can't do this on my own,
You won't ever lose me,
You're the only good I've ever known,
I want to share a cool contest available for all Paranormal Romance and Urban Fantasy writers. Check it out at the link below and feel free to visit the main site for cool writing info.
I love this song. The title is "Żałuję" which means "I Regret" in Polish. The artist's name is Ewelina Flinta and she became popular in the Polish version of the show "American Idol", where she came in second.
This song was released in 2003 I believe, and it made a huge impact on the Polish radio charts.
As stated earlier, I love this song. I love it so much that I decided to translate it into English for those of you who do not speak Polish. The only problem I encountered (like with any translation) is that the Polish words do not translate exactly as they are meant, which means I had to improvise with parts of the song and re-create some verses in order for the song to make sense. I kept as much of the song intact as I could.
I hope you enjoy the English version of this song and, if I can find the time, I will try to record the song to music so you can get the full feel for it. Until then, you'll have to make do with the original video!!! :)
Żałuję
By: Ewelina Flinta
Zacieram ślady twoich ust, ukrywam żywy ciągle gniew,
Udaję, że to już nie moja sprawa
Obdzielam sobą każdy dzień, sprzedaję myśli byle gdzie,
A wszystko po to, by upewnić się, że umiem
Sama sypiać, sama spędzać każdy czas, spojrzeć sobie w twarz
Żałuje, że cię znałam, żałuję, że kochałam,
Bo nie wart jesteś żadnej łzy, nie chciałeś wierzyć im
Żałuję, że cię znałam, żałuję, że ufałam
I powiem to, choć szkoda słów, że będziesz kiedyś sam
Całkiem sam i bez żadnych szans
Całkiem sam, tak jak kiedyś ja
Całkiem sam...
Znowu szare dni dopadły mnie, ciało snuje się jak cień
Słowa bolš dziś jak dawniej, idę
Ślady ust zmieniajš się, ślady stóp, co depczš mnie
Choć zacieram je, upewniam się, że umiem
Sama sypiać, sama spędzać każdy czas, spojrzeć sobie w twarz
Żałuje, że cię znałam, żałuję że kochałam,
Bo nie wart jesteś żadnej łzy, nie chciałeś wierzyć im
Żałuję że cię znałam, żałuję ze ufałam
I powiem to, choć szkoda słów, że będziesz kiedyś sam
Całkiem sam i bez żadnych szans
Całkiem sam, tak jak kiedyś ja
Całkiem sam...
Mogłeś mnie dla siebie mieć,
Mogłeś, ale czas nie ten
Mogłeś wszystko, tylko jedno słowo twoje
Mogłeś więcej niż byś mógł
Mogłeś być na zawsze tak
Mogłeś być...
A teraz bądź ze sobą sam...
All Alone
Original by: Ewelina Flint (Polish)
Redone by: Marcus Twyman (English)
Faint are the traces of your mouth, I'm still alive but in doubt,
I pretend you're not my business, but I fail
I readily gave to you all this time, I pass on thoughts that say you're mine,
All this to make sure that I can sleep at night,
I spend all day, trying not to see your face, in the shadows of my mind,
I'm in pain 'cause I knew you, I'm in pain 'cause I loved you,
But you're not worth these bitter tears, You'd only laugh at them,
I wish I never knew, the pain that comes from trusting you,
I'm moving on, but know this thing, one day you'll be alone,
All alone, no more chances for love,
All alone, the same as I was,
All alone ...
Again, a gray day falls on me, shadows trace along my body,
Today holds the same pain, but I know,
Parts of the story have been changed, the footprints of life lead away,
The past grows blurry, as does your face, it's comforting
I spend all day, trying not to see your face, in the shadows of my mind,
I'm in pain 'cause I knew you, I'm in pain 'cause I loved you,
But you're not worth these bitter tears, You'd only laugh at them,
I wish I never knew, the pain that comes from trusting you,
I'm moving on, but know this thing, one day you'll be alone,
All alone, no more chances for love,
All alone, the same as I was,
All alone ...
We could have lived in each other's arms,
We could have, but now that's gone,
Thanks to you and your selfish, cruel ways,
With me you had so much,
Now your left without your crutch,
Now your standing all alone...
All alone, no more chances for love,
All alone, the same as I was,
All alone, no more chances for love,
All alone, the same as I was,
All alone ...all alone
OK, I'm gonna try to keep up with this little experiment each Sunday. We'll see if I can stay focused enough to write roughly six sentences each Sunday that can relay a compelling story and catch a reader's attention.
*Sigh*
Come on creative brain cells...fire up damnit!
Oh, well. Hopefully you enjoy this little morsel of fictional nonsense :)
********************************************
Six Sentence Sunday
By: Marcus Twyman
That last hit was a real wallop. I could still hear the ring sounding through the tight confines of my skull. Pushing myself back up into a standing position, I took my fighting stance, feeling my weight distribute evenly across the balls of my feet. Fucking Fae, they always cheated with magic...well, if they couldn't keep their word then I wouldn't either. I felt my power trickle into being, warming a spot deep within my body. Several pair of power laden eyes were fixed on me, waiting for me to make my move...I didn't keep them waiting for long.
Khet Chronicles: Sunset Over Bloodied Waters
Chapter 2
By: Marcus Twyman
Chapter 2
As expected, the paparazzi were waiting for us outside of the mansion's giant iron gates. I pressed the button on my sun visor that signaled the gates to open and putting my dark aviators on, I slowly crept out onto the street, trying to avoid running over the legs of the clambering men. Kora already had her big lensed, red, Dolce and Gabbana shades on, anticipating the bright flashes of the psychotic crowd. That's right, psychotic—what would you call them?
They shouted questions through the glass of the car's windows like, “Are you going out to battle other Nebu Khet?” or “Kora—is it true that you are an ancient Grecian goddess? Do you have a lover, a consort?” I'm telling you, they're like a plague. Kora is only twenty six years old. Where the hell did these rumors start? Ancient Grecian goddess? Oh, please...seriously?
Once I was sure we were safe from the onslaught of sape photogs, I lowered the windows and opened the sunroof, letting the air circulate through the car. I reveled in the smells and sights of summer. After a moment, Kora said while looking out of the windshield, “I honestly don't know if I'll ever get use to them.”
Them? Oh, the paparazzi, “Yeah I know what you mean. I swear one day I'm going to run one over and claim it was an accident. Maybe then they'll stay away...who am I kidding? They'll never stay away, they're like sharks on a blood trail.” Glancing in my rear view mirror I noticed a dark SUV trailing us. I clenched my jaw, these bastards were worse than sharks—they were The Apex Predator.
With a slight grin she said, “You see them trailing us don't you?” She laughed and then looking over at me said, “Your highness is a very important person.”
I felt my eyebrow creep up high on my forehead as I looked at her saying, “Um, OK Grecian goddess.”
She snorted with laughter as she said, “I'm not even Greek.” She sighed loudly before stating, “At least they can't follow me into the cafe.”
I thought about that. It was true, there were laws dictating where they could venture but...I still felt apprehensive about trusting completely in the law. Laws were broken all of the time. All it took was for one jerk to overstep that boundary and someone could get hurt. We're not immune to death, hard to kill yes, but a direct hit to the heart or brain—and no more khet. Krysia was even more susceptible to injury. She was only a witch, she had no superhuman healing abilities. She was stronger than a normal person—three times as strong at least—and she had amazing supernatural abilities, but if she were attacked in the cafe, would she react in time? Would her guard be down while serving customers and running her business? I decided not to take that risk.
“I'm sending over some bodyguards. Just two of them. I don't think it's safe for you and Krysia to be walking around without some sort of protection.”
She looked over at me, both eyebrows arched high in surprise, “You think someone will try to hurt us?”
“No—I'm hoping not. But you never know. Things are different now. We're out in the open, we're vulnerable because so many eyes are on us now. We no longer have the anonymity that we are so use to.” Sighing, I continued, “The last thing I want is for something to happen to either of you, especially if I could have prevented it.” I looked over at her and caught her smiling at me.
“You are such a guy! Me and Krysia could kick someone's ass before they knew they'd wanted to kick ours'. But...if it helps you sleep at night, by all means, send out the watchdogs.” She patted my hand saying the last part of that statement.
“I think Krysia's personality is rubbing off on you.” I laughed at her brazen, playful remarks.
“No...I've always been this way, I'm just able to be myself now...thanks to you and Krysia.” She smiled widely as we turned in to the parking lot of the shopping center.
I maneuvered my way through the busy lanes avoiding shoppers as they crossed through the street to get to their vehicles. I approached the cafe seeing several paparazzi already awaiting our arrival out front. I'm telling you, they're like gum in your hair—you just can't get rid of them. I didn't bother parking and just pulled up as close as the feeding frenzy of photographers and pedestrians would let me. Thankfully, I'd remembered to roll up my windows before pulling into the shopping center. Cameras were pressed up against the glass of the windows, flashing annoyingly into our faces. Even the glasses didn't protect our eyes from all of it. Behind us the SUV that had been tagging us pulled to a screeching stop and more paparazzi tumbled out of it to join the growing mass.
“Do I really have to do this?” Kora asked, her expression grim as she took in the sea of wolves waiting for her to open the door. I couldn't help it, I laughed. She just looked so miserable at the thought of facing off with all of the picture snapping lunatics that it became funny to look at.
My laughter did it for her. With a slight raise of her chin, and a tightening of her jaw, she commented, “I don't see you braving them to go in and say hi to Krysia.” With that she swung the door open, nearly knocking one man to the ground as she swung her legs out of the vehicle and stood up. Instantly she was swarmed by the mob, flashes going off inches from her face. Using one hand she flicked her waist length hair back over her shoulder and smiled like she was on a red carpet. Then she moved forward, a writhing mass of people moving with her as they shouted questions and snapped photos.
Half of the crowd still hovered around my vehicle shouting questions at me through the windows as I thought about what Kora had said. Yup, I was sooo not as brave as her. Hell no I wasn't going to wade through that mess of humanity to say hello to Krysia. I'm sure she'd understand. I'm not too proud to admit when I'm scared. Those crazy, camera happy jerks scared the crap outta me. I watched as Kora made it to the cafe's entrance, pulling the door open and disappearing into the dim interior. OK, that was my cue to get moving. I slowly started to pull away from the curb, moving carefully until there was an opening that I could fit through. I sighed with relief once I made it back to the main road. I drove down 355, headed south towards DC.
I had an important meeting today with some government officials. I had been granted ambassador status by the president himself. They figured that having me as an ambassador could smooth the public's transition into acceptance of the supernatural races. It also gave them a source to go to for advice on all that wasn't sape. I'd gotten a call last night, from the head of the CIA asking if I could meet him for a brief lunch. He'd said that he needed some advice on a situation that could potentially be linked to supernatural roots. Me—give advice to the CIA. Yeah, life was weird—but hey, it's better than life being full of death and fear. I could work with weird.
I passed the state line leading into DC and took in the beauty of the day. Man, I hoped I could find a parking spot. I hated trying to park in DC.
OK, this is by no means a rule book, it's simply a guide...a way to help those that have problems starting a book and writing it to completion.
Writing a Novel is a major project that demands dedication and discipline. The thought of writing three hundred plus pages can seem very daunting to most, which is why I don't think about how many pages my novel is going to be while writing. I write, I don't focus on an end target, I focus on getting the best possible story out onto the digital pages of my laptop and then I move forward from there.
Here's a quick breakdown of my writing process, this may not work for you or it may help you the same way that it helps me.
First, I take my journal and I write a basic non-detailed listing of events that I want to take place in the book. For example, my book, Khet Chronicles: Blood Ties aka The Nebu Khet's Cry, was sequenced via short remarks like, “Kalin has a dream about his deceased family> Kalin wakes up, senses enemy in home> Meets with Shane> Meets Krysia> Attends meeting; it's a trap> Saru saves them and kills ancient> etc, etc...
By placing a sequence of events on paper I ensure that I don't get off track while writing. You want to steer clear of rambling and unnecessary narrative that can take place when a writer is not focused.
Next I sit down at the computer and I start typing. I don't re-read what I write, I don't over analyze the dialogue that my characters use. I just write and focus on getting my main scenes down on paper as well as reaching a set number of words or chapters per day.
Once I finish with my first draft—which I consider the skeleton of the story—and all required scenes are present, I go back and start reading it from the beginning, typing more details where needed and filling out storylines and character descriptions, etc. I add the “meat” of the novel at this stage.
Once I've finished filling the story in and giving it substance, I go back and start line editing it. Then after the line edit, I start reading the story again after a week of letting my brain rest so that I can edit out any unnecessary parts and add others that may give the story more structure.
Once I've completed the main edit, I print a copy of my story and let a TRUSTED source read over it so that they can write recommendations and dislikes on the hard copy. This gives me a different, fresh perspective on the novel. I may or may not take into consideration what this reader says, but it enables me to understand how people who aren't biased towards the story will react to reading it.
After any edits are done that the beta reader remarked on or asked for, I go back for a final read through fixing last minute punctuation issues and overall creating a nicely polished finished product.
That's pretty much it...that's my process. Like stated earlier, this may or may not work for you. Good luck on your writing and please let me know if you have any questions.
Best Regards,
Marcus Twyman
Twitter: NebuKhet
marcus.twyman@gmail.com
Tags: fiction novel, writing a manuscript, urban fantasy, science fiction, scifi, syfy, general fiction, book writing, editing a book, manuscript editing, writing tips, nebu khet, sidhe, fae, fey, faery, fairy, unseelie, seelie, vampires, dragons, werewolves
