paranormal romance series – Page 4

The End of Nature

Very early in the book I read a sentence that gripped my heart, “My sons may yet experience what Bill McKibben has called ‘the end of nature,’ the final sadness of a world where there is no escaping man.” (Louv 26). It made me sad for the generations that are to follow. It made me think back to my childhood, to playing in the hot summer sun with my brother and sisters, running barefoot through the grass while sprinklers sprayed us with crystalline drops. Those memories, those days spent under the sun and sky, getting dirt under my nails, climbing trees, digging holes in the back yard, those were some of the most treasured of my life. To imagine a world where children don’t do those things, they don’t dig for night crawlers to go fishing or pick sour grass to chew on or clovers to braid into headpieces, would be a dark nightmare.

I have seen the shift that the author talks about. I have seen it not in my own children, for I do not have any, but in the lives of my sisters children and my brothers children. I tried to share my wonder and passion for nature with my niece when she was little, and there were times, when she was seven or eight, where she embraced our walks in nature, in feeding horses at a local ranch and picking wildflowers as they grew along the trails. But slowly that faded away as she became enamored with her new cell phone, her MP3 player, then her iPod and now her iPhone. She spends her free time on the couch watching reality TV, on social networks or hanging out with her friends. She is an intelligent young woman, is socially minded and is driven to join in defending the environment. She is a huge advocate of “going green”, and would rather we all sit in the dark than waste electricity. She recycles, buys organic foods and stands up for her beliefs. But she has no connection to nature. She knows she needs to do something, she sees the world is at risk, but she doesn’t know what she is fighting for. She knows she is missing something, why else would she be driven to be a good steward to this world. But she has found “the end of nature” even though she fights to save it. She hasn’t walked through the world she wants to save, neither have her friends who also fight to “save the planet”. They want to make a difference, but they don’t even realize what they are fighting for.

When I step out into nature, beneath the red woods at Muir Woods, along the shores of the California Coast or into the trees in the Sierras I feel I have come home to a long lost friend. To think that my niece will never experience that, that she never had a chance to swim in a river or lake, hike the shores and collect shells. That she may never do those things makes me grieve for her and her generation. How can they be a part of a world they no longer know? How can they save a world they are strangers in? It’s not all about the “cause” or raising awareness. It’s about experiencing and being a part of the ecosystem they are trying to save. They may save the world and prolong the human race, but trees and plants and animals will only be pretty things on the TV or their computer screen.

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January 16

Starting the Year Write!

2020 is starting off WRITE! Pardon the corny pun, I really couldn’t help myself. Besides, as corny as it is, that’s how it feels for me. I was writing as the year clicked over because I WANTED to start this year ‘Write’. I wanted to begin this year putting my writing first. I’ve spent so many years putting everything else first, work, relationships, STRESS. For so long I’ve kept this part of me in a small Tupperware in the back of my ‘Life Fridge’, pulling it out when I had a free moment. Most of my writing has been done on lunch breaks, or worse in those few short minutes before bed when the world and my own self are quiet enough to think. For so many years I was conditioned to treat it like a hobby, and nothing is inherently wrong with that, EXCEPT, for me writing is EVERYTHING. When I can’t write I feel like I’m suffocating yet most of my life I’ve written in guilty snatches of time. It wasn’t always that way, at the beginning of my writing journey, the 15 year old me who’d scratched out her first novel in a bright yellow binder was SO certain writing was going to be her world. It consumed every free moment and I KNEW I was going to be a writing and live this awesome life creating and bringing my imagination into reality. Then life happened. Or rather my mother and I got my first real hard look at how mental illness can destroy every life it touches. She burned everything, my first two books, all my poetry, every idea I had ever come up with. She BURNED everything. I don’t say this figuratively, I mean LITERALLY. And worst of all, she made ME do it. I had to be the one to put everything, that first precious novel into the fire and set a match to it. It HURT so bad. A part of me died a little. Sounds very melodramatic to say, but it was a first death, the death of my innocence and childhood and within months of that I lost my parents. I was seventeen. For a long time after that my writing was pushed back into a corner, oh I still wrote, like I said, I can’t breathe unless I’m writing, but it lost its place in my life as I tried to rebuild. Over the next few years it came back and I wrote another novel, the first since the BURNING TIMES (as I will forever refer to that literary conflagration). I wrote it in eleven months only on lunch breaks and little stolen moments because my husband (Yes I married VERY young, only a few months after turning 18) felt it was a waste of time and I should be focused on him and the ‘Real’ world. But, I wrote it and I published it my first time out. And that small success became a painful wedge between us. Instead of pushing me to pursue a career and market and make something of this amazing achievement, he became angry and resentful. I wonder how much worse it would have been had I made a lot of money with that first one?

Life continued to intrude after that, coming in the guise of a divorce by twenty two and a full on battle with Bi-Polar that I’ve finally settled in a comfortable treaty. It won’t win, but it won’t go away either. More LIFE, more things pushing to the front and I kept pushing my writing back. I still wrote, I still created worlds but I lost hope that it would be my future and my calling. So MANY things happened and in the center of the WORST of it, I rediscovered my writing. And now, I’m forty (Loving it by the way!) and I’m taking control. I’m finally putting my writing first, because I’m old enough to know I can. I’m the one in control of my life, the good, the bad and if I want something I need to be the one to make it happen.

So, with that said I’m starting 2020 WRITE and it’s been going GREAT! So much so that I finished the book I was working on, Angel Child, which is the 3^rd book of the ShadowGate Series. I wrapped that baby up on January 11, 2020 and now I’m working to find my next book love affair. Usually takes me about 3 months to find ‘The One’ so we’ll see. Possibly book 4 of the series, Sanctuary, or a story I started in 2016 that I never finished (I’ve got lots of started stories waiting to be finished). Whichever book is waiting for me, it’s going to be great, because this year it’s ALL about writing!

Until next time,

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January 8

Pandora and Eve

We find in science that it is the genetic markers in the female that are passed down, making the female progenitors of the human race the ones with the power. It makes one consider if early civilizations feared this power and thus the insurgence of a male dominate sky god bent on supplanting and dominating the earth goddess from which he emerged.

At the beginning of recorded history, of recorded myth and legend, God and Goddess stand united in their power and their being. Using myths for hundreds of cultures as a basis, the hypothesis would stand that humanity began with a Matricentric or egalitarian societies. Matricentric, being societies that were centered on the authority of females, rule and decisions were placed in the hands of women, as males were warriors, hunters and did not live as long, therefore the females of these societies were left to create their own rules and government. Egalitarian societies were more balanced, with power falling on both male and female elders equally. Based on the evolution of mythology one can see how this balance of belief is reflected in the gods and goddesses above. From the matricentric cultures we have the development of the Mother Goddess; the Earth from which all life is born. She is represented by Ki in Sumerian myth, Nertha of the Norse, Danu of the Celts, Kabau of the Akkadians and Gaea of the Greeks. From her was born the gods, Sun Gods who were at once sons and lovers, being born by her and then consumed. As humankind evolved into more egalitarian cultures we see the god become more consort than child, equal and still born of the earth. These representations of the earth honored that life came from the womb of women. It gave honor to both the female and the male, showing that neither was complete without the other. And then evolved the patriarchal societies, and the monotheistic.

In the first book of the Bible, Genesis, one can clearly see both an egalitarian and patriarchal creation story side by side. They were written centuries apart, the myth about Adam and Eve, was written prior to the creation of them both at the same time. God sees that it is not good for man to be alone and so creates him a help meet. He causes Adam to sleep and “the rib, which the Lord God had taken from man, made he a woman, and brought her unto man.” (Genesis 2:22). Bringing Eve out of Adam and presenting her to him places her in a subservient position, the evidence of a patriarchal mentality. And in a more egalitarian version “And God created humans in his own image, in the image of God he created them, male and female he created them.” (Genesis 1:27).

Further evidence of the shift to a patriarchal mentality is the domination of the Sun god over the goddess. Earth becomes subjugated, losing her power and potency, we see this in the evidence of Aphrodite, a reincarnation of the Goddess Ishtar who is fierce and unconquered, but in the Greek patriarchy she becomes a spoiled, haughty, flighty female without the substance of her former self.

Eve and Pandora, once creatrix goddess’ of their cultures, shrink into shadow, losing their power as they become subjects to the male superior societies in which they are surrounded. It is the fear of losing power, of becoming emasculated by the female deity, as seen with Cronos’ castration of his father Uranus at the urging of Gaea, the Earth Mother. It is this fear turns Eve, the womb of life to the “the lance of the demon”, “the road of iniquity” “the sting of the scorpion”, “a daughter of falsehood, the sentinel of Hell”, “the enemy of peace” and “of the wild beast, the most dangerous.” It turns Pandora into the bearer of all the gifts of man, from the holder of Hope, the cause of man’s pain and misfortune. She is the bane of man’s existence, born as punishment for knowledge and civilization.

In the middle ages, this was further advanced, to an almost hysteric level. The church elders draw upon scripture, urging submission and silence upon women, arguing that “Adam was first formed, then Eve. And Adam was not deceived, but the woman being deceived was in the transgression”. It was Eve who was tempted so the early Fathers of the Church blamed her and all women thereafter responsible for sin and the Fall of man.

Woman and Man were created through science and through myth as one; their physical union is the creation of life and in our ancient past both were honored for their place in the catalyst of life and society. But through fear and aggression, ignorance and the need for power, the balance shifted and the union of Male and Female was lost. Even now, humanity struggles to find our balance, to shift the power from one hand to the other, and ideally into both, so that the scales are balanced once more.

Category: Misc Writing, Mythology, Philosophy & Religion, Writing Blog | Comments Off

December 24

A Discussion of Heroes

Heroes? You want to talk about heroes? Ok, do I just get to list one? If that’s the case I do NOT have the ability to decide on which one. Should I list them by genre, era, media? Seriously, I LOVE heroes and have tons of them. OK, let’s do this in a somewhat organized manner:

REAL Heroes (meaning they are flesh and blood, breathing, currently alive heroes):
Nora Roberts – Love her work, though currently her stuff has been a little cookie cutter
Patricia Cornwall – Seriously, her medical thrillers are amazing
Sylvester Stallone – This guy has an amazing work ethic, is a good father and has some amazing talents, he paints, he writes, he directs, he acts…..And anyone who can create an Action Feast like Expendables gets a hero nod from me. Seriously, he’s got CHUCK NORRIS in Expendables II!!!

Real Heroes (Meaning they used to be alive, flesh and blood heroes):
Christopher “Kit” Carson – seriously makes Daniel Boone and Davy Crockett look like pansies
Audie Murphy – 5’6″ and kicked major butt in World War II, got turned away from every Military Division but still didn’t give up until the Army finally enlisted him, was wounded, multiple times, saved his friends and fellow soldiers countless times, received every medal of honor our government can bestow, AND when he came back advocated and fought for soldiers to receive care for Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.
Robert Louis Stevenson – a little bit of a cad, but his work inspired me
Errol Flynn – until I learned more about the man outside of the movies
John Wayne – Who doesn’t love the Duke?
Katherine Hepburn – Never played the damsel in distress, always presented an intelligent, strong and savvy woman, way ahead of her time
The list could go on but I will stop myself here and move to the next category.

Fictional or legendary heroes:
Apollo
Anubis
Ankou
Sir Galahad
Sir Gawain
Sir Wilfred of Ivanhoe
Robin Hood
Zorro – Who makes the sign of the Z (I am giving away my age and singing the theme song right now)
Batman – because he doesn’t have any super powers and he still kicks butt!
Gambit from Xmen
And on and on and on.

Ok, so I have tons of heroes, maybe that’s why it’s so easy for me to be polytheistic, but I have heroes for every aspect of life. Heroes are essential as guidelines of how we should be as people. Their actions and stories lend us strength to do the right thing no matter the cost or the odds against us. We need heroes, the same way the peoples of Ancient Greece needed their gods. Heroes reflect what the human being can achieve if they rise above doubts, fears and weakness. They are who we all want to be.

I totally agree that heroes do not necessarily have to be larger than life, but their purpose is to show and guide us to be more than we are, to be better and stronger than we could ever imagine we can be. That is why many of us have heroes that are personal, not known by anyone other than ourselves. Because they are the ones that enable us to do more, achieve more. They are our heroes because they make us be who we want to be.

Heroes, not just the iconic, larger than life, fictional or spiritual heroes, but the down to earth, everyday people who somehow manage to rise above the chaos and stand out from the crowd, are essential to the fabric of human existence. By our very definition we are creatures of the herd, milling about, reacting only when there is something to react to. I think in our deepest core we do not believe that we have the capability to do more than be born, work, procreate and die. It’s part of our physical nature, but there is more the human animal than just the physical, evolved behavior. We have thoughts, and souls and we want, in our deepest core, to be more than we are. To somehow matter. We are all part of the herd, but every single one of us wants to rise above the crowd and be noticed as something unique. That is the purpose of the hero, whether fiction or fact. They show us, that no matter what, there is more to us as individuals and as a species. They show us that against all odds the good in humanity can triumph. It may be fiction or religious stories that inspire us, but their purpose has been service. To inspire. A culture without heroes has either reached its zenith of spiritual evolution or has simply given up.

It is almost essential that a good hero have weakness’. If they did not, then all of their “grand” accomplishments would mean very little. If they didn’t have to struggle to overcome obstacles they wouldn’t be heroes, they would just be very lucky. The weakness’ of our heroes helps us to relate to them, helps us realize that even we can accomplish great things, that we can overcome our own weakness’ and short comings to be the person we want to be. Without weakness’ there would be no human connection between heroes and the people who admire them. It is the triumph over the adversity that makes them heroic not the final result, it is the battle over themselves and their surroundings. The fact that they will keep going regardless of the Kryptonite is what makes them a real hero.

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December 18

Odysseus Vs the Cyclops

But my return was not to be as speedy as I had hoped. I was waylaid along my journey, met with dangers and frustrations and now, I feared I might never return home. We had been at sea for some time when we came upon the island of the Cyclops, it was a bountiful land, blessed by the gods and its inhabitants lived in a state of ease with no need to till the land or build ships to set out in trade. Everything they needed was provided for them by the earth and wanting to gather some of that bounty to replenish the stores in my fleet, I took a small party and ventured in land to seek out the inhabitants there and partake in their hospitality. We came upon a hillside in which a series of caves opened like yawning mouths and soon realized that the islands inhabitants made their homes inside the mountain. Into one of these we ventured to find that its inhabitant was out for the day. I decided to wait for our host and while we waited we made merry over fresh cheese and milk from his stores. The day passed and as evening fell we heard the approach of our host. First entered into the cave a flock of wooly sheep and we stepped forward to present ourselves to our host, but our words of greeting died before terror. The creature who entered was man in shape, but monstrous in size with a single eye in the center of its forehead where it should have had two. Overcome by a sense of dread we shrank back into the shadows, hiding, and I realized I had made a horrible mistake in coming there. We hid back into the shadows, planning to slip out of the door when his back was turned, but the moment the last of the sheep had entered he sealed up the entrance to the cave with a giant boulder, so large that I knew we would not be able to open it.

I did not know what to do; we were trapped with a monster and had no choice but to hide. But our hiding place was quickly discovered as the creature stirred up the flames of his hearth and the cave was filled with golden light. We were discovered and the monster turned on us with a roar. We froze and the monster spoke, his voice a roar that made the cavern walls shake.

“Who are you and what brings you here? Are you pirates?”

My men cowered back in fear, while my own heart shook, but I spoke though I was sure my voice trembled with my heart. “We are come from the fields of Troy. We are but travelers heading home and seek your hospitality as the gods see fit.”

He laughed at my words. “I do not serve the gods that you serve; I will offer you no hospitality but this!”

And as he spoke he lunged forward, grabbing two of my companions and before any of us could try to stop him or defend them, he smashed them to the ground, crushing them so that blood and brain spattered the floor in a dreadful hot shower. We cried out in anguish and rage, while he stuffed his mouth with the flesh of our companions. He laughed while blood ran down his chin, then left us to our fear and soon sat back in repose. My anger burned inside of me. I would have run him through, but I knew the blade of my sword would be nothing but a pin prick to a monster of his size. So through the long night we waited, planned and plotted and by morning we still had no plan on what we should do. As morning dawned the monster wakened, and grabbing two more of my friends devoured them for breakfast. The cavern was filled with our cries and grind and crunch of men’s bones. He left us then, once he had eaten his fill of human flesh and sealing us up inside left to take his flocks to field.

That whole long day we tried to move the boulder or find another way out, but we were trapped and could do nothing more than wait for the monster and what cruel fate lay in store. Even came and with it the monster and his flock, I tried to plead with him and then to bribe him with a succulent wine we carried to spare our lives. But he drank our wine and still killed more of my men. But the wine sent him into a deep sleep and while he slept we devised a plan. Using a staff of wood we found, we crept through the shadowy cavern to where the monster slept. Then, with the help of those who still remained, I plunged the end of the staff into the monsters eye, gouging out the orb, destroying the flesh while the monster howled in rage. It thrashed in torment, flinging us wide and we scattered to hide while it lurched and stumbled around the cave, shouting and screaming in pain. Blinded it could not see us and so we spent the night unmolested and prepared for the next step of my plan.

Morning at last came and with it our chance for escape. While the monster felt its way over to the boulder that sealed the door, we quickly strapped ourselves to the underside of the wooly sheep that milled about the cavern. They were large and their wool thick, hiding us from him. Though he could not see, he positioned himself before the cavern entrance and when the boulder was removed, he felt along the back and sides of each sheep as it passed between his legs. But one by one we slipped out unseen, hidden beneath the bellies of his sheep and we were freed into the fresh air of the morning. I was the last to leave, I waited until I knew my men were safe and only then did I crawl beneath the belly of his price ram, and clinging to the dark wool, face pressed against it, I let it carry me outside, while above me the Cyclops searched and cursed because he could not find us.

I mourned the loss of my men, but praised Zeus I had escaped. Once we reached the fields in which the sheep were want to graze we climbed out from beneath them and raced back to our ship, praying to never see a Cyclops again.

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October 16

The Peloponnesian War

Sparta still rests upon our threshold, holding us prisoner here in our beautiful city. The people turn to Athene, asking her wisdom now that the great Pericles has perished. The citizens of Athens tremble as another season of war comes upon us. We turn now to wise Cleon to lead us against Sparta and to victory. The death of Pericles lingers with us, the loss of him and his sons are a great loss to the people of Athens. The plague still lingers within the walls of Athens and many sacrifice daily to the wise Goddess Athene and to Zeus to grant us deliverance and victory. The only relief we have received is that Sparta is so terrified of the sickness within these walls it has retreated from Attica.

It has been two years since Sparta rose against us, since they invaded Attica and Pericles sent our fleet of proud triremes along their coast to suppress the unrest growing in the Peloponnese. The audacity of that nation, to have announced their goal was to rid Greece of Athenian oppression. Athenian oppression indeed, are we not the height of Hellas? Are we not the dream to which all aspire? Our achievements have earned enmity from those without, the Spartans are jealous of the heights to which our people have risen. They attack us and force the peoples of Attica to make the long walls between Athens and Piraeus their home, while Sparta, with its thousands of hoplites have taken up the long fields around our city. Our citizens, our soldiers wait on good Cleon to tell us what to do. Fear is a strong current among the people of Athens, and only the gods know what we face in the months to come. Summer approaches and the mass of Sparta’s army swells beyond our walls. Inside the pyres burn as offerings are made to the gods and we wait, always wait for them to answer.

We can still draw hope from the words of Pericles as he addressed our citizens as he spoke the Funeral Oration last year. “We are still willing to encounter danger; we have the double advantage of escaping the experience of hardships in anticipation and of facing them in the hour of need as fearlessly as those who are never free from them.” Pericles knew the greatness of Athens and of its people. We will rise and fight, we are strong in our resolve and we have the might of the great Athene to guide us.

I have been told by my sources in the Council that clever Demosthenes, our new general has plans to lead an attack upon the Spartans, forcing their defeat. Our navy still attacks and defends us; we are not without defense as our military stays strong, even in the face of the death toll the plague has caused. We will strike back even as they plan to attack us once more as the year warms.

But still, our faith in the gods and in our leaders notwithstanding, there is much fear as rumors of the Spartans attacking Plataea spread throughout the city. It is said the King of Sparta Archidamus II will lead the siege against Plataea this year. Plataea it has been said is strategically beneficial to the Spartans as it will enable them to support their allies in Thebes. At this time, these rumors have not been confirmed and we await the answers. War draws nigh and Athens will heed the call, we will be triumphant. Mighty Athene grant Cleon and Demosthenes her wisdom in the battle yet to come.

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June 28

Introducing the ShadowGate

I’m very excited to introduce my new Urban Fantasy series the ShadowGate. I’ve been playing around with this idea for years, ever since I wrote the short story “Fallen Angel” – (Download your Copy). I’ve always been fascinated by angels, demons, celestials, gods and mythologies. Angels have especially appealed to me. The idea of creatures created solely to serve without choice, without free will, has always fascinated and intrigued me. It’s a type of prison isn’t it? To never be able to think for yourself, to serve a God you may or may not agree with.

That’s how it all began, a single question: why should Lucifer be damned for wanting free will? For demanding his freedom? Nothing is ever simply black-and-white. God created Lucifer, and must have known it was within him to question, to rebel. As the Creator God would have know the fate of this angel. How cruel is it to make a creation destined to be damned?

He made Lucifer knowing he would Fall, he made angels knowing which ones would rebel, which ones He would cast out of Heaven. I wondered how that would be, to be rejected from your home, from the love of the parent that had created you. What would it be like for the angels that remained, those that served afraid of what would happen should they ever question their God’s will.

The rest of the ideas, the formation of the series just flowed from there, inspired by these questions, fueled by folk lore and religious myth. Out of it bloomed the first book of the ShadowGate, “Angel’s Gate”. I am currently in the process of the final edit and hope to be launching book one by the end of the year. Fingers cross!

I’ll keep you posted on the journey to its release and on my journey as a writer. So much is happening on that front, I’m almost finished with “Pelican Cove” a paranormal romance which will be novel #43! Almost ready to publish “Angel’s Gate” and launch a series I know you’ll love. It’s an exciting time to be me!

Until next time,

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May 23

Unspoken

The sink is almost full

Of sudsy water and dirty dishes

Her movements are sharp

The water splashes out

Bubbles skitter over the counter

She ignores them

Ignores him.

He watches her

But she doesn’t see

He keeps hidden behind his coffee

The sounds of water, the clatter of dish

She ignores him and it builds

Like a brutal hard fist

The words left unspoken

Scream loud and clear

He won’t say

She won’t say

So they scream and scream

Unspoken.

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May 15

Here we go!

Welcome to my Brain Dump! Hopefully you’ll enjoy this look into my imagination. I promise a little poetry, a little fiction and probably more than my share of rants!

Now to really introduce myself. I’ve been writing fiction since I was seven years old. I’m now much, MUCH older. So I’ve got a few things down, but not everything. Life and art is a continual project of discovery and growth. For me it’s been about learning to get what’s inside my head out in print. To somehow paint with words the weird and wonderful that I dream and night or envision during the day. I’m a fantasy writer, Urban Fantasy and Paranormal Romance are what I write most, so if you’re expecting something deep and meaningful, you’re in for disappointment. I’ve spent many years of my life trying to be something more than I am, trying to be more of a ‘Real’ writer, but I am what I am. I’m a genre writer and I’ve finally come to terms with that.

I hope you’ll enjoy my journey, my words and rants and hopefully a funny picture or two.

I’d love to hear from you all, so please drop a comment, send an email.

Until next time,

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