Happy is he who...writes from the love of imparting certain thoughts and not from the necessity of sale-who writes always to the unknown friend.

Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803-1882)

Wednesday, November 28, 2012

Author Interview: Paul Freeman


For those of you that may not know him, I’d like to introduce Paul Freeman, author of the epic fantasy novel Tribesman. Paul is from Dublin, Ireland, where he works, plays and writes. In the past he has lived in Germany and America but is now content to keep his roaming to the worlds he creates and writes about.
Q: As your bio says, you've lived a lot of places. Have you incorporated your travels into your writing?

 There haven’t been that many places, but they have been pretty far apart, and very different. So yeah, I think everything you experience in life is reflected in your writing. Living in different places and experiencing other cultures is something I’m really glad I did, I wish I’d done more. It has not only helped me in writing, but in life in general. It’s a real eye-opener to see how differently things are done everywhere, and how attitudes can be so different. 

Q: I love the blend of myth and lore in Tribesman. Can you tell us a bit about the world that you have created and the characters that inhabit that world?

 A lot of my characters are based on Celtic Myth, and history. Culainn is a warrior from the Northern Clans, a land of lush forests and snow-peaked mountains. I think he would feel quite at home in ancient Ireland or Gaul, or any northern European country. I wanted a Celtic feel to the story, I grew up on the myths of Tír na nÓg, and Fionn MacChumahill and Na Fianna, Cú Chulainn and Queen Maedbh. My world is full of druids and dark gods. But the story is set to the south, in a land very different to his own. He has been banished from his homeland, from his clan, and finds himself in a dry, dusty country. I remember reading about a band of Viking mercenaries who were employed as elite bodyguards in Constantinople, and thought, they must have felt like they were on a different planet. I tried to capture a little of that in Tribesman, with Culainn feeling like a fish out of water.
Q: Is Tribesman part of a series? And if so, what are you plans for it?

 I am currently writing a second book. I think it is something that could go on further if it is well received. Culainn has some unfinished business from the first book. After that I haven’t planned anything, but like I said if there is a call for it, and I’m enjoying it I’ll keep going. 

Q: I've talked to a lot of writers about when they knew they wanted to write. Most of them will say there was never a time when they didn't want to be a writer. What is the very first thing that you wrote? What is it about?

 The very first thing I remember writing of any worth, although I’ve lost it now, was about a soldier, a warrior. He was paraded through the streets of his city as a hero, rewarded by his king with titles and riches, all the while the cheering crowd were oblivious to his insecurities and unhappiness. In the end he fell on his sword under a cloud of loneliness.  

Q: As a child, what did you want to be when you grew up?  

 I could never make up my mind. My problem was that no one told me you could work at something you loved, so I spent my time searching for the wrong things. 

Q: What inspires you to write?


Q: Who is your favorite character that you have written.  Why?

 Oh that’s so difficult to answer. I wrote a short story about an Irish pirate reminiscing on his life, and the very poor and abusive background he came from. As a boy he was press-ganged into the Royal Navy. He felt the sting of the lash on his first day on-board ship, cowered in the corner during his first battle, but eventually led a mutiny and became captain of the ship. He was certainly an interesting character. I’ll pick him, if there can be only one.  
Q: Thinking of all the books you have read, who is your favorite character and why?

 The questions don’t get any easier, I should have studied for this. The character that has stuck with me even twenty years after reading the book is Thomas Covenant, from The Chronicles of Thomas Covenant, The Unbeliever. I like my heroes flawed, even tainted. Thomas Covenant is deeply flawed, both physically and mentally, he is a reluctant hero. A sufferer of leprosy, he is transported to a fantasy world he does not believe exists. Which is sort of unfortunate as he is the only one who can save it, it’s a great story examining the darker side of a hero. 

Q: Is there a particular topic or genre that you want to tackle but haven’t yet?

I’ve tried my hand at a lot of genres while writing short stories, in books I’ve written fantasy, horror, and general fiction. It’s enough to be getting on with, for the moment anyway. 

Q: I’ve read several of your short stories. You seem to have a gift for encapsulating all the elements that pull a reader in. What are some of your favorite short stories? Have you considered making any of them full length novels?

 The aging pirate I discussed earlier I think would be well worth examining in more depth. I have already expanded a couple of short flash pieces into longer short stories, though none have made it to novel or even novella length yet. It is definitely something I would like to do. I enjoy writing short stories, there is something rewarding in sitting down and finishing an entire story in one sitting. 

Q: What are you currently working on?

 I’m over halfway through the sequel to Tribesman, and am in the planning stages of the second Season of the Dead book.

Q: Tribesman is your first published work. Do you have any other works that have been published or are about to be?

Yes I have a short story in the recently published steampunk anthology from Kristell Ink. And a zombie apocalypse book I wrote with three other really talented writers will be published by Spore Press in spring 2013, it’s called Season of the Dead… you may have heard of it…
Q: Woody Allen once said that “80% of life is just showing up”. Writing is a bit like that, the more you do it, the better you become. What one piece of advice would you give a writer who has yet to put pen to paper?

Just do it for fun, and choose wisely who you listen to.

To purchase your copy of Tribesman" 

Sunday, November 25, 2012

Excerpt from Erato: Book 2 of the Sophia Katsaros Series


Wolves know nothing of revenge. They know love, they know fear and anger, and they know sorrow. The great black wolf that had been born as one of three was now alone. And yes, he knew sorrow well.

For three days he traveled, losing himself to the rhythms of the wolf. This was the way his life had begun and it was easy to revert.  In wolf form the beast ruled. The man was repressed, relegated to the role of observer. The longer he stayed in wolf form the more dispassionate that man became, slowly dissolving into the recesses of the wolf’s mind until humanity was nothing but an elusive dream.

In 5,000 years this was the first time he had ever been alone. Oh, he and his brothers had separated for short periods of time, to hunt, to fight, to mate. But those times were always short-lived and tempered with the assurance that one or the other would return soon. There was no assurance this time, and for that, the wolf grieved.

He traveled north as it seemed the thing to do. Skirting the Great Lakes to the forests beyond where the stench of mankind lessened. He hunted, and slept, and ran. His world narrowed to the now, for a wolf did not ponder the future. The ache of loss began to diminish as the wild called. He heeded its siren song and joined a pack that had lost its alpha. The female needed a mate, but did not find the beta favorable and so resisted him.

When the great black wolf appeared she supplicated herself and whimpered low in her throat in submission. The grey beta challenged the black though the cinder beast was twice his size. The battle was soon over. The grey left bleeding in the snow.

For the next several days he ran with the pack and mated with the female. On the seventh day, his third with the pack, he took them out hunting. They were hungry and winter would soon be upon them. They needed to eat and store up fat to make it through the lean months when food would be scarce.

During his travels he had passed many fields full of fat cows. And that was where he led them. Three young males, his female, and her two daughters. This pack was lean, hunting had been hard for them and they were hungry. Raised in captivity they had been ‘re-wilded’. But there is a difference between not being caged and being wild. They were struggling.  He knew what it mean to be wild and he would teach them.

As the sun set and the moon’s cool fire reflected upon the blanket of snow he began their first lesson. The females fanned to his left, he would take the males. They circled the herd looking for the youngest or the weakest. The bovines huddled together for warmth, their breath misting in the chill. Content in the illusion of safety afford by fences, they slept.

Complacency. It was a man’s word, but the wolf knew it well. In the wild prey slept with one ear twitching, listening for the sound of predators on the hunt. Even the hunters never truly let their guard down. Complacency would feed the pack this night.

At twice the size of the other wolves, his ebony coat made him stand out against the blazing whiteness of the snow. If this had been a herd of deer he would never have been able to get so close. As it was, his jaws were closing around the young cow’s neck before the rest even noticed he was there.

She was white with black spots, and young. Her meat would be tender, and her blood potent. She tried to cry out, a lowing of agony. In the still of the night the herd erupted. Stampeding.

The youngest of the male wolves howled when his foot was trampled. His yelp of pain caused the females to come running. His mother was the alpha, she cared for him. But if the young male could not walk, even she would leave him behind. The young wolf knew this and struggled to stand. The black wolf saw his struggle, the inner man nodded and approved and thought that the pup would make a good alpha someday if he survived his foolishness.

With combined effort the small pack dragged the cow into the forest and fed. Crows gathered in the trees as dawn appeared. Turkey vultures circled overhead waiting for the pack to disperse. As the sky changed from pink to blue and the moon hid her face once more, the pack ran together seeking a safe place to sleep off their feast.

They awoke covered with a dusting of snow that added an ethereal incandescence to everything it touched. The black wolf’s fur was tipped with diamond while his small grey female had been painted with frost.

The youngest of the pack woke first, bounding through the snow. He watched them, letting his tongue loll out of his mouth in a wolfish grin. His female stirred and rubbed her flank against him in greeting. As the winter sun shared its meager warmth they played and romped, yipping in happiness and the success of the previous hunt. 

A wolf does not keep time. He notices the days, but does not count their passing. With each dawn he took them hunting. They found deer, fleet footed-rabbits along with an unfortunate fox who dared to encroach upon their territory.

He taught them to hunt geese, and search for warm places to sleep. He wrestled with the males and taught them to fight. The youngest with the injured paw was the most skilled. And, as the black had surmised, he would make a strong alpha. The black focused on this wolf, teaching him, training him. Showing him what it meant to be wild. What it meant to be wolf.

And then one evening when the landscape became a nighttime spectrum of greys they made their way back to the farm. The cows had been penned closer to the homestead. The great black wolf did not like this, but years of experience made him bold.

The females circled round, and the males advanced on the herd. The wind shifted, a cow snorted and bellowed, waking the rest. In their panic they trampled the new fallen snow into the mud, narrowly missing the wolves that ran among them. 

Suddenly, night was flooded with light and the boom of a gunshot rent the air. The youngest wolf cried out and fell to the ground. A grey blot on the pristine snow. The females panicked and ran towards their Alpha. He barked at them, but they didn't understand the warning through their fear. Another shot rang out and his mate joined her son in death.

He snarled low then, and snapped at the remaining females urging them to run for the trees. The two males ran with them. The black looked back towards the house and snarled.

Once more a shot echoed in the night. Pain ripped through his thigh, splattering the snow with crimson drops. He howled, stumbled and fell. Rolling to his feet he followed his pack. He glanced back once towards his mate. She had been a good mate and he would mourn her.

As he ran his leg burned. That fire awoke the man that slumbered within. “Shift,” he urged. “The pain will lessen.” He heeded the advice and ran towards a copse of trees. Where a massive black wolf had been, now stood a man. The chill of the night met the heat of his body cloaking him in mist.

A slug of metal fell from his thigh. The bleeding slowed. He shifted again, once more Wolf. But this time the beast did not rule. The man was thinking. Coupled with the strength of the wolf, it was a dangerous combination.

Taking his pack far from the farm he found them a secluded place to sleep and left them there. They would wait for him, but in time they would forget and move on. He had taught them well, and the young wolf would become their alpha. They had also learned to be leery of man. Hopefully, they would be the better for it.

He shifted once more, standing naked and shivering in the snow. A pink scar was all that remained of a wound that was barely more than a day old. He stretched and ran, the snow burning his bare feet. With a powerful stride he leapt as Man, landing as Wolf. Lifting his muzzle he scented the air, changed his course and headed back towards the farm.

His mate had been skinned, her pelt hung on the fence, a warning. He walked up to it, inhaled her scent, still evident over the reek of death, and growled. After a moment he sat back on his haunches, threw back his head, and howled. It was a howl filled with pain, but also a warning. I am here, be afraid.

He found the farmer in the barn. The old man lifted his gun and prepared to shoot. The wolf shifted, rising as man on two legs. The farmer paused. Unable to believe what he was seeing.

“You have hundreds of cattle. What would it have cost you to lose the weakest of those?” The Man asked before he wrapped his hands around the farmer’s neck. The snap of bone echoed in the barn as loud as any gunshot.

The farmer’s wife was next, and then the boy that was tending the herd. When all was quiet save the lowing of cows the Man reminded the Wolf of his brother and the woman that killed him. With a growl he shifted once more and ran back towards the city he had fled.

It took him four days to get back to the city and most of another to find the stash of clothes he had left so that he could walk into his hotel room. A naked man would draw attention. This has been true centuries ago. It was no less true in a day and age when the women often went nearly nude in their day to day lives.

He had never been to America before. The only reason being is that his Alpha never sent him there. The beta claimed America as his territory, and the Pack was content to leave it so. But the brown beta was the Alpha now. He had called them, they went.

It was always strange walking upright after so many days on four paws. He was exhausted, and hungry. The refrigerator in the expensive hotel room their Alpha gave them was stocked with food. He diminished those provisions significantly before falling asleep on the bed, face down.

37 hours later he woke, rested and once more hungry, but he would hunt this night and so left the human food alone. A cell phone lay on the table. Touching the screen he played the message.

“Physius,” said their alpha. “The hunt is off. There has been too much attention. Leave the woman to me. We have lost 5 of our brothers. Do not jeopardize us all for the sake of one.” He ended the message then, deliberately disobeying his alpha. The 4 other brothers did not concern him. If asked he would deny he received the message. The woman was his.

It had begun to snow, a subtle sifting of delicate crystals that blanketed the landscape in powder. The hospital where she worked was only one block over. He made his way there, on foot, as man.  He would hunt as Wolf.  Hiding in the park across the street he watched as the snow tipped his fur in white. He waited for hours, she never came, but the pup that she spent time with did. The wolf watched the young man. He stood in the cold hugging a young woman. She laughed and pushed her blond hair behind her ear. The wind shifted carrying their conversation to him.

“Thanks for bringing me dinner, Simone.  I really appreciate it.”

“Sure, Arthur,” she said smiling again. “ I've got to get back to work. Call me later?”

“See you later,” the pup said. The woman giggled, kissed the man on the cheek and left. The wolf that watched would have liked to hunt the man, but he chose to go after his mate. Just as his mate had been targeted.

Slinking along the shadows he followed her as she walked. The city had lots of alleys to conceal himself. A 200 pound wolf is hard to hide, and easy to see if anyone looked hard enough. No one did. The brain does not want to see such things, and so it doesn't.

She turned a corner, going around to the back of the building where a door said employees only. The light overhead had gone out, casting the alley in gloom. She knocked on the door. “C’mon guys, let me in. I’m freezing out here.”  Rummaging in her purse she searched for her keys in the dark, accidentally dropping her purse in the snow that was accumulating. Cursing softly under her breath she knelt to gather her things. The snow had softened his footsteps, but some ancient instinct made her look up. A scream died in her throat as her breath was cut off. He dragged her behind a dumpster just as the door opened.

“Hello, Simone?” A man said. “Anyone here?” he called again. The wolf watched keeping his jaws clamped securely to the woman’s throat. She was already dead, and couldn't cry out. But the beast had control of him, the blood called to him, he couldn't release his kill, and growled low around his prize.

The guard closed the door with a shrug. The wolf opened his jaws, letting the woman’s head fall to the ground with a thud. His stomach rumbled, demanding he eat, so he did.

No, a Wolf knows nothing of revenge, but a Man does. 

**This is an excerpt from the upcoming novel Erato. Book 2 of the Sophia Katsaros Series. **
***Lykaia: Book 1 of the Sophia Katsaros Series is available in e-book and paperback at all the major online retailers***

Saturday, November 17, 2012

Embers At Galdrilene" By A.D. Trosper

Get The Re-release Of "Embers At Galdrilene" By A.D. Trosper For Only $1.99 From 11/17/12 Through 11/24/12 - Don't Miss The Dragon's Call!

Embers at Galdrilene has undergone a huge transformation! It now sports a beautifully  redesigned front cover, spine and back cover. It also has an awesome custom designed interior and has been professionally edited. All thanks to the incredible team at Blue Harvest Creative. And as an added bonus, when you read the final page of Embers at Galdrilene, you'll get an exciting sneak peek for the prologue Tears of War, the second book in the Dragon’s Call series.

In celebration of its re-release, Embers at Galdrilene will be available for only $1.99! But this price only lasts from November 17th to November 24th. Embers won’t turn into a pumpkin at the end of its re-release promotion, but it will return to its regular price of $3.95. Don't miss out on this bestselling fantasy book. Wrap up the holidays with the gift of reading!

Click HERE to buy at Amazon
Click HERE to buy at Barnes & Noble

“A ray of light, a stain of shadow, shall endure to breathe life and death into the future” 

The war between the Guardians and the Shadow Riders ended in total devastation. The final battle killed all the dragons and left nothing but fields of ash. A small clutch of dragon eggs was all that remained to provide hope for the future.
Five hundred years later, the ability to use magic is a death sentence and dragons are remembered as a curse. But the unhatched dragons sing for their riders...and soon six lives will be changed forever.
The elements of magic are drawn together as the dragons’ call leads them on an epic and dangerous journey of discovery.  They soon learn everything they’ve been taught to believe about magic and dragons is wrong.
With the last of the dragons and the world at stake, they will risk everything to heed the call.
But an evil from the past soon threatens their discovery and newfound joy. Shadow Dragons ride the dawn once more...


“Evil lurks at every corner and eventually bursts, bringing forth a vivid confrontation that kept me at the edge of my seat, turning page after page.” ~ Annamaria Bazzi

“The characters are well thought out, and the plot is great. I loved Galdrilene itself, and the idea of the dragon eggs singing to those who are meant to hatch them.” ~ The Crooked Word

“I was so impressed by this excellent story! The characters and setting were vividly detailed, and the storyline was unique and enticing. I loved that the characters had strong bonds and connections to other beings, and Trosper did a magnificent job with pacing and stringing together the plot.” ~ Katie Jennings (author of the Dryad Quartet and When Empires Fall)

“There is something about dragon stories that is truly captivating and Trosper has certainly encapsulated this in her novel. This story follows the lives of young men and women as they escape a life of control and fear to find their true talents and true selves… Expect to be entertained with dragon fights, romance and witty comebacks in Trosper's creation of an idyllic world. You are even given a rare insight into the workings of a dragon's mind.” ~ Elizabeth Wright of Bestchicklit.com

“Anne McCaffrey's Legacy… I was extremely wary when this book was immediately evocative of every story Anne ever told about dragons, their 'Impression' on their destined riders, and the immutable bond between the two. Like Asimov's laws of robotics, Pern's dragon lore is indelibly etched as 'fact' in my psyche and anything markedly different does not sit very well with me at all.

I am immensely pleased to say that A.D. Trosper did not let me down. There was enough of Pernish dragon-lore to satisfy my need for continuity, whilst at the same time enough differences to make this clutch of dragons her very own. Well done Ms. Trosper!” ~ Richard King

Here is where I'm supposed to talk about myself in third person for whatever reason. But, even though there are a lot of people in my head, referring to myself in third person still sounds too strange.

Born in Kansas, I spent a lot of my childhood moving around. I lived in Kansas, Oklahoma, Washington State (around Seattle), and southern California. I had many great adventures growing up. I'm now settled down in Kansas with my wonderful husband, three children, my wonderful dog Katie, assorted cats, and small flock of chickens.

I've been an avid lover of fantasy since I was young child. Dragons, elves, fairies, dwarves, and other denizens of the fantasy world as well as magic have always fascinated me. As I grew up, I developed an interest in vampires, zombies and my interests branched out to take in paranormal and urban fantasy.

I don't have any special writing credits to my name other than a wildly active imagination and the ability to form that imagination into written stories.

Want to know more or connect with me? Follow the links, I promise there is no wicked witch of the west at the end…most of the time.


Thursday, November 8, 2012


It is no secret that I love mythology. Over the years I have read and re-read many myths, and yet I still recall the very first one. It’s about the crow. Let me share it with you….

She was princess Coronis, daughter of Phlegys, King of Lapiths. And yet she stood on the dias, speechless. He told her father that he loved her and wanted to be with her. On some level she recognized that he never mentioned marriage, but she was too shocked to give voice to it.

Had any other come to the palace and made such an offer, to have the daughter of the king as a concubine, his head would be gracing a spike along the palace walls. But this was no mere man. This was Apollo, the god of medicine and healing, music and poetry. And he desired her.

So she did as her father commanded. She submitted to Apollo. He was handsome enough and the novelty of it all glimmered like gold for many months. Eventually she became pregnant. She shared this news with Apollo who seemed genuinely happy about it.

But he was gone so often. Apollo had eternity, an so did not realize what the separation did to his new consort, a human, confined to a finite span of years.  Any peers that she had were no more. She was the consort of a god. And those she counted among friends now visited her with tongues filled with poison. They cast their darts, wicked words that stung and left her in tears. She was so lonely It was this loneliness that led her to the arms of Ischys, son of Elatus. He was kind and gentle. And she loved him. She had never loved Apollo. She had been fascinated by him, but she had never loved him.

They kept the affair quiet. But such things are hard to keep secret. Apollo had given her a pair of crows as a gift. Her name, Coronis, meant crow. She could tell no one of her love for Ischys, but she could tell her crows. She loved the birds and would often stroke their soft downy white feathers while she extolled the virtues and virility of her lover. Those confidences would be her undoing

The crows, being the pets of Apollo, took the news back to him, but he did not believe them. So, he cursed the crows for telling lies, instantly their feathers turned from downy white to deepest black.

The seed of doubt had been planted, and so the son of Zeus watched. He watched as his beloved Coronis met Ischys in a glen. He watched them lay down together. Then he could watch no more. Devastated, he poured out his anguish to his twin sister, Artemis.

Artemis, enraged on behalf of her brother, killed Coronis and threw her body on the funeral pyre. Apollo killed Ischys in the glen where he and Coronis had been meeting. Coming to stand beside Artemis at the funeral pyre Apollo took sympathy on the unborn child and saved it from the fire. He was sure it was his, but did not have the heart to raise a child by her.

He gave the child that he named Asclepius to the centaur Chiron. He instructed Chiron to teach him about medicine and healing. To the crows that he had cursed he made the bird sacred. Giving it the task of announcing important deaths in an effort to make amends for his disbelief.

In all of my reading I have yet to find a happy ending in Greek Mythology. And still the stories call to me, and hold me in thrall. The next story to capture me was the myth of King Lykaonas of Arcadia.

Lykaonas was the father of 50 sons. They were bold and proud and thought themselves better than most, and denied themselves nothing. They invited Zeus to a dinner party. Zeus came, but he had neglected his people. They were angry and they wanted a sign of his blessing. Proof of his divinity.

A human child was sacrificed and baked into the pie that was served to the god. Upon tasting it the god immediately knew what it was. He became enraged. ‘Because you have behaved like an animal, so shall you become!’  Then Zeus spoke the curse that had those gathered at the party shaking in fear. Where once the mighty king stood, now sat a great shaggy beast. Wolf. 

Because the king had been a faithful follower, Zeus granted him a small reprieve. If the king abstained from eating human meat for nine years he would be returned to his human form.

Then Zeus collected all the pies, but there was not enough left of the sacrificed boy to revive him. And so, the father of all the gods made a memorial to the boy in the heavens. A constellation that the king would see whenever he hunted at night. Forever reminding him of his foolishness for attempting to trick a god.

It is from this myth that the term Lycanthropy takes its name. And it is this myth that inspired my novel Lykaia, book one of the SophiaKatsaros series. In Lykaia, Dr. Sophia Katsaros receives a cryptic phone call from Greece. Her brothers that had been vacationing there are missing. In an effort to find them she becomes entangled in a 5000 year old mystery surrounding the ancient king of Arcadia. Along the way she is forced to accept that there are more things in the world than can be explained. Including the possibility that one or both of her brothers have become Wolf during an ancient ritual call the Lykaia.

I had a great time writing Lykaia and am now working on book 2: Erato. In this book Sophia is back, as is the Lykaonas pack. In book 2 the wolves are being hunted and based on the events of the last book, Sophia is the main suspect. The pack’s enforcers are sent to eliminate her. In an effort to protect those she loves she makes a deal with the alpha to help find the killer. 

What remains to be seen is if she can find the killer before the enforcers find her....

Monday, November 5, 2012

Bonus # 3


117 Tweets
Following: 0
Followers: 12
“Bear with me. I’m new at this!”
“I am standing outside her house. She’s inside. About an hour now. Can’t see her! Going to the back.”
“ In the back yard now. No shades! Yay! She’s watching TV. Looks like she’s wearing a t-shirt and sweats.
She still looks hot. Lol!”
Guess what I’m carrying?

Tweets: 120
Following: 0
Followers: 27
went upstairs.
I’m putting on the mask. Feels weird.
Tonight’s disguise.... Comedy!
{picture attached}
I have rope and a hammer. It’s going to get messy/
She left the back door open! Didn’t even need the key!
{picture/kitchen attached
Drinking OJ! LOL!!

Tweets: 124
Following 0
Followers: 72
She’s in the shower Can’t see her right now.
I’m already hard! Feel free to Re-Tweet!!
In her closet now. Nice shoes biatch! LOL!
{picture attached}
Next time I’ll shut down the electricity. That will be different!
{Direct Tweet} Seeker@EmmaT Hi! Guess who??
{Direct Tweet} EmmaT@Seeker Idk. Who are you?? J

Tweets: 127
Following: 0
Followers: 222
Looks like I might be going viral! LOL! My fans!
You people are funny.
Still in the closet. She’s in bed. Hot!
{picture attached}
Don’t worry guys. This is only a game Feel better? LOL
I think she’s sleeping.
Time to play.

Tweets: 139
Following: 0
Followers: 992
I took off my pants Made a little noise but she’s still sleeping. Yay!
Guess where I’m standing now ??
{picture attached}

Tweets: 135
Following: 0
Followers: 2,021
Oops. Forgot to turn off the flash! She’s still snoozing though!
Going to move the blanket
oh Man! She’s naked! T-shirt and muff! Sweeeeeet!
{picture attached}
Sigh. Hammer time. Guess she was a light sleeper. Not anymore! lol!
Moved her head. Doesn’t look so bad now.
{picture attached}
She feels awesome. And still breathing. Yum!
That was intense!! I came like a hurricane. Still Hard!!
Hey hey hey hey. It was the DNA!
Hey hey hey hey That made me this way!
LOL! NO DNA TODAY! (Galoshes)
Guess I better get going.
She Tivo’ed “Project Runway” I LOVE that show. Lol
Doesn’t she look hot in my mask. Check it out.
Took her phone. Just in case.
{direct tweet} wildman@seeker What time?!
{direct tweet} scareys@seeker You didn't use the rope. And yes you can upload video!
{direct tweet} Linalina@seeker You're a sick fuck.
{direct tweet}
{direct tweet}
{direct tweet}
Tweets: 155
Following: 0
Followers: 127,031

Sunday, November 4, 2012

Bonus # 2:

Stephanie Pazicini Karfelt

It’s hardly a castle, just a shell of one. Most of the leaves are off the trees. Bare tree trunks twist, their branches vein against the November sky. My tires bounce over bumpy courtyard stone. I park my Jeep in front, and a rear tire juts higher than the rest. It feels like I’m sliding forward into the doorless entryway.

Blowing leaves swirl, settling thickly. My first real kiss happened inside that castle. It looks the same, except a historical plaque has been mounted near the entrance. I already know the story. Back in the 50’s, an Earl, or a Count or a Squire had it shipped stone by stone from the Carpathian Mountains. He had it reassembled right here in Norman, Ohio, for his bride. The story goes that she died and he never finished it. Teens sneak in the park after hours and build campfires inside it, and graffiti their names on the walls, and fall in love.

That’s what Jon and I did.

It is a long drive home and I should probably leave. Instead I sit and stare at the castle, fiddling aimlessly with the radio. Not aimlessly. I know exactly what I want. I want to hear Bon Jovi on the radio. I want to hear our song. I want to time travel into the past and see my husband again. Most of today has been useless attempts at forcing myself into the past, but this one I want too much to give up. My finger spins the dial. A Temper Trap marathon sounds from my favorite station. Light silhouettes the trees, and I sit back and sip on a chai latte until only cold dregs remain, planning what I will say when my Time Travel Jeep cooperates and takes me where I want to go.

Static and piano music crinkles faintly from the radio, pulling me from a fantasy involving Jon and a summer night long ago. Automatically I reach for the dial. My brain catches up and I shiver, the day vanishes and I’m plunged instantly into darkness. It worked, but I don’t think this is where I want to be. I flick on the headlights. A long black car, resembling a hearse, is parked just inches from my Jeep. There is a door in the castle, and glass glints in the windows. Thick snowy evergreens tower over the stone walls, and for the first time I’m genuinely afraid of where the Jeep has taken me. This is definitely not Norman, Ohio.

“I can get back,” talking out loud makes me feel braver. I open the Jeep door and slam it shut again quickly. “Once more, and I’ll return.” I open the door, but someone grabs it, stopping me.

“Come out,” A heavily accented, Count Chocula voice murmurs, pulling the door wide. “I command you to obey me.” Inexplicably I obey. Automatically nabbing my car keys, I slide out. Instead of landing on leaves, my heels hit paving stones and slushy snow. The dome light reveals a small dark haired man wearing a horribly outdated suit and an actual cape. Eyebrows half-way to his slicked-back hairline, he’s staring wide-eyed, not blinking. It reminds me of my cat when it wants inside.

“Vladimir vants to suck your blood,” he whispers, exaggerating each word and apparently referring to himself in third person. He’s a very tiny man. Clutching his cape in a fist, he’s peering up at me over the crook of his arm. “I vant to, I vant to, okey-dokey?” A faint snort escapes me. Disapproving eyebrows almost meet his smooth hairline. Eyes widening ridiculously, he moves his head slowly back and forth in what I suspect is his idea of a hypnotic gesture. There is not a community theatre in the country that would have him. I bite the inside of my mouth, hard, determined not to laugh at him.

“Vy you not listen to Vladimir? Give me bite.”

“Um, I have some chocolate in the car if you want that,” I offer.

The little freak actually hisses at me, head and eyes still rolling, reminding me oddly of my cousin’s pet Pug. I reach inside the Jeep and tug my purse towards me, fishing inside. Vladimir starts slowly waving his hands at me, old vampire-movie Bela Lugosi style. I expect him to hiss, “Open Sesame”. I produce the chocolate bar, Norman Ohio’s claim to fame, dark with a touch of sea salt. I’d almost rather get bitten than part with it. I hold it up.

He straightens, hands falling to his sides. “Vy you no afraid of Vladimir?”

“Where I come from vampires aren’t so scary.”

“Vot?” He puts hands on narrow hips and bares his teeth at me.

“21st Century vampires are kind of buff, and good looking, or at least sparkly. Would you please stop doing that?” Grimacing, he opens and closes his mouth a few more times. There are definitely creepy fangs in there. I hold the chocolate bar towards him. He sighs dramatically and nabs it from me.

“Vot is buff?” He unwraps the bar.

“Fit, muscular.”

Sucking in his stomach, he looks affronted. “Vladimir buff!” He takes a big bite of the chocolate and glares at me. The paunch slowly expands as he chews. He takes his time eating the chocolate, bug-eyes traveling rudely from the top of my head to the tip of my booted foot.

“Who you?” It comes out sounding like ‘voo-yoo’.

For some reason I admit my first name. “Lizzy.” A gust of icy wind blows over him. His cape swirls, but his hair remains slick against his head. The wind blows my hair back, cutting through my sweater. It rocks the Jeep and the driver door slams shut, almost taking my fingertips as I reach desperately for it, a shout of protest dies in my throat. The dome light vanishes and I know the Jeep will return to my time without me.

Then I’m back inside it. Once more it is daylight and I’m staring at the shell of the stone castle again, my icy fingers clutching my car keys. Once my heart stops thundering inside my chest, I brave opening the door and slide out. My feet slip on damp leaves littering the paving stones. I trot to the empty archway of the castle and read the plaque.

Convoy Castle was transported from the Carpathian Mountains in 1950, by Squire Vladimir Convoy. Convoy’s intended bride, the Lady Lizzy Buff never arrived, and the castle was never completed. Vladimir founded the Norman Chocolate Company, in honor of his lost love.

Racing back to the Jeep, I twist my ankle but keep running anyway. Climbing inside, it takes me three tries to shove the key into the ignition, and I’m afraid to look around. By the time I reach the state line, I’ve received two speeding tickets. No small feat driving a Jeep. I don’t believe in vampires, but I do believe in creepy stalkers. That is what I tell myself, but just to be safe, I’m never going back to my hometown.

Friday, November 2, 2012

Bonus #1

The Monster Within
Katherine Rochholz

I flip the channels on the television. I am sick of all these black and white monster movies. They were big in the 1940’s. Now that was a time to live in for a monster. They started to romanticize us; I had a blast. I miss those days. Where I could at least be myself; until they started to romanticize the monsters, we were hunted.

And a hunt is how I ended up the monster I am. This is my story.

“Henry,” my wife called out to me. “Lord Baron is at the door.”

I looked up from my journal. I couldn’t stand that man, but he was the leader of our little group of monster hunters. “Coming, love.” I stood up from my desk and threw my journal in the drawer locking it.

“Henry! Old man, how are you?” Lord Baron greeted me as I walked into the drawing room.

“Jacob.” I said in a way of greeting. “What has caused the pleasure of your company?”

“Heard about a monster or two, werewolves I think. I am not sure if it is only one or two, but it seems like a lot of death for just one.”

“They are nasty things to hunt during the full moon cycle. Do we have an idea who their mortal host is?”

“No.” Jacob stated simply as the maid set down our tea tray, a tray I knew would sit untouched, but it was the proper thing to offer.


“How about a nice brandy?”

I knew he would ask, so I walked to the bar and poured him a good portion. “Here you are.” I stated and sat down across from him.

“So when do you want to start the hunt?”

“Tomorrow night is the first night of the full moon.”

“Fine. You contact the others?”

“Of course. How is that little project to try to increase our strength going?”

“I am going to test it on myself later.”

“Shouldn’t you try it on a servant first?”

“Should the servants really have that much strength if it works?” I said, though I was a fair boss and didn’t believe my help was below myself, I didn’t want to endanger their lives, however Lord Baron thought otherwise.

“Fair point. Let me know how it goes.” Jacob finished his brandy and stood up to leave.

I stood with him. “Jacob, until tomorrow.” I stated and showed him out.

“What did he want?” My wife asked.

“Love, just business. We are going to have a meeting tomorrow night. I won’t be back until late.”

“I hate your meetings.”

“I know, but they must happen.” I kissed my wife’s check and retreated back to my study.

I pulled out my journal once more and started to look over my notes. I had brewed the formula yesterday, and let it set. It was a moment of truth. A moment that would have defined our hunting expeditions.

I drank it. At first nothing happened and then a burning sensation traveled through me. It threw me to the ground; I thought I for sure was going to die. But I didn’t. I stood up. Nothing about me had changed. I was upset. I tried to pick up the desk but could not; that meant the last three months were for naught. I would have to start from scratch again another day.

The next night I took my horse and rode off to meet up with Jacob and the rest of the group of hunters. When I got there they were all there looking quite worried, the town had already been destroyed by the monsters. The moon wasn’t even up fully yet. What type of being were we dealing with? “What happened?”
I asked.

“We do not know. The moon isn’t even high in the sky.” Jacob responded.

“What are we dealing with?”

“A monster of the likes we have never seen before.” An older man came up to us.

“Lord Earle.” I said in way of a greeting.

“Henry, my man. Did your potion work?”

“Richard, it did not I am afraid. It is back to the beginning.”

“Pity. I have a feeling we could have used it with this beast.”

“Well, let’s get to it.” Jacob stated and mounted his horse.

We rode in silence. It seemed like days, but only hours before we heard the howl. We knew that it was only a matter of time before it was upon us. We jumped off our horses and prepared for the beast. We waited only moments but it felt an eternity.

The beast came into the clearing, and I gasped. It was huge. It was larger than any wolf we had hunted before; about three times the size! Its teeth dripped with blood, it walked on hind legs like a man, but was quick. Before I could figure out what had happened he had Byron and Richard both on the ground at its feet. Their throats were ripped from them, and they chocked on their own blood.

I was upset. So upset that the feeling of death came over me, just like the day before when I had taken my potion. The next thing I knew was blackness. When I awoke the next day I lay in a pool of blood. The bodies of all the hunters as well as a new body, which must have been the wolf, lay dismembered and scattered around me. There was blood on my hands, in my mouth, and in my hair, all round me there was blood.

I stood and discovered I was naked. I quickly grabbed a blood stained coat and ran. The horses were even killed. I could do nothing but run. I ran all the way back to town. I ran to my house and threw myself into my study. I had no idea what happened. No clue but I knew I would be labeled a coward. Because I had lived.
I stayed in my office for days. I only came out to eat with my wife. Soon Lord Baron’s nephew and heir came to see me. I answered the door. “Lord Baron.” I said as a greeting.

“Lord Jekyll.” He came into my foyer, and removed his coat. “I came to talk about what happened to my uncle. I take it you were injured which is why you haven’t came out with the rest of the hunters.”

“Yes. Please come with me to the drawing room. We can discuss it there.” I walked into the drawing room and right to the bar. I poured both of us a large brandy. “Here you are Lord Baron.”

“Thank you Sir.” He said and accepted the drink; he took a large drink before speaking.

I sat down across from him and waited. I was unsure of what he would say.

“I will get to the point. You are the only one that lived. What happened?”

“The wolf was larger than any we had ever seen. It was about three times the size. It walked upon hind legs. It attacked. I ran to attack it, upon seeing Jacob and Richard killed. The next thing I knew I woke up in a pool of blood.”

“Why did it let you live?”

“We were able to kill it somehow. I don’t know when or how.”

“It is interesting that you were the only one that lived. Especially since you tested your concoction on yourself that night my uncle came to tell you about the hunt.”

“I don’t like you implication.”

“You don’t have to coward.”

“I am no coward.” My blood began to boil. I, again, felt death upon me. Before I knew it my world had gone black, the last thing I heard was a scream.

I came too just hours later. I lay quite nude in my drawing room. Blood and body parts all around me once more, and worse my wife stood in the doorway. “Love?”

“Mr. Edward Hyde says to congratulate you on find a woman such as me.” She stated.

“Mr. Hyde?”

“He said that was his name. The monster you became.”

“I… A monster?”

“Yes. You killed Lord Baron when he called you a coward.”


“Well, you did not this Mr. Hyde did. But he is really you…”

I just stared at my wife. At that moment I knew that I had made a mistake. In an attempt to play god, God had turned me into the very thing I hated… A monster…

“We will return after these messages.” The announcer states bringing me back to the present. I sigh. My love had long since passed. She had lived a normal mortal life, by my side. She loved me no matter the monster I became. She was the last person to truly accept Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde as one in the same.

I turn off the television. It is playing the 1940’s version of the movie based upon a romanticized version of my life. My friend Sir Stevenson had written my life as a short story and found his fame. I sigh and know that one day Mr. Hyde will be back and there was nothing I can do to stop him… Nothing I want to do to stop him… I have finally embraced the monster within…