Wednesday, August 20, 2014

I Got Nuthin'

As I was picking through my slush pile (bits of scenes) I realized that everything I had in that fold had already been shared, was too dumb to allow another person to see or... looked like something I should smoosh into another story I was working on. I started this process about 5pm last night and made myself go to bed a little after 1 am. I literally worked on four different WIPs, three that had already been in progress and one that started out as eight--yes eight--separate unrelated scene flashes. I don't really want to share any of the stuff I was working on, though, because all of them look like they'll be submittable and publishers are getting very picky about that sort of thing.
So, what to post. Hm, random pictures with micro flash scenes? That sounds like fun, right?

"Ok, Thor, you hold the door still while I get up on the stool and balance the bucket of ice water."

"I don't think this is going to work, Loki. Mom takes showers all the time and she doesn't melt."

"Yeah, but this joke isn't for Mom, though, is it? She doesn't use this door, only Dad does. He opens the door, the ice water falls, and then it hits the melted witch prop conveniently place just to the side of the door. It sets off the dry ice and Presto! Best prank ever! What could possibly go wrong?"

"You guys did a good job out there today. Why don't you head home easrly today. You've earned it, especially you, Mooney. Thanks for taking one for the team in cleaning up all the mammoth scat. Go spend some quality time with your mate and pups."

"Awe yeah, Dante! You don't have to tell me to go twice! I'd just about kill for a hot shower right about now!"

"Dad, can we come out of our room now?"

"Dad? Dad?.... Mom?"

"Mom, can we come out of our room now?"

Tuesday, August 19, 2014

Ride the Roan Stud ~ First Chapter of Manuscript

Summer howls and yowls, shapeshifter lovers.

So, with the hellephant down for the peanut-allergy count, here's a change of pace. This is the first *unedited* chapter of a shapeshifter paranormal erotic romance I've penned under the name of Stevie Klark. Later on, I'll explain why. Right now, I'm polishing said manuscript for submission.

Anyhoo, if my buddy authors would like to suggest improvements, please, I'm all ears. As well, any comment that offers a way to improve this first chapter, again, thanks for the help. I found this difficult to write, and it could certainly be awkward in spots.

Ride the Roan Stud

Chapter One:
Ghost Walker

Badlands, the Four Corners
Late Spring 2013

Not so much despair, Ghost Walker thought. A seed of desperation clawed at him, yes. No, it was a profound sadness eating at him like winter's starving wolf.

He'd failed. Once again.

The medicine man, Bear Feather, had taken every care with his lessons, teaching him the shamanic way. Even so, on this third, this last chance to complete his vision quest, Ghost had been unable to withstand the challenges Earth Mother placed in his path.

With his mouth parched, and his skin burning as if he'd been set on fire, shade from the sun's relentless heat beckoned Ghost Walker. Struggling, he hopped on one foot from boulder to sun-baked boulder.

Hours ago, his physical strength had been sucked away by the trials of surviving in the badlands. Now he dragged his broken ankle along the gritty cracked floor of the red desert.

Ghost Walker didn't need his sacred gift from the Great Spirit–foreseeing the future while walking the shadow spirit realm–to know his final fate.

Death walked with his shadow.

Ghost felt the skeletal hand cling to him as he continued hopping toward the patch of shade beneath giant layers of rock. Should the Great Guy in the Sky, as Bear Feather grinned and spoke, granted a miracle–if Ghost was  rescued, belonging to the tribe would not be denied to him.

Yet, he'd remain on the fringe–only tolerated like a pathetic stray. Worse, Ghost Walker had no family.

As a young child he'd been adopted by the Olaloxie tribe. His single mother had lost her battle against injuries suffered when she'd fallen from a cliff ledge. There'd been no relatives to claim him, and with his odd ghostly coloring no one else stepped forward offering to care for him.

After several months of grief and loneliness as his only companions, a representative from the mysterious Olaloxie arrived, and claimed kinship. However, as Ghost soon learned, rather than blood lineage, the tribe had been formed by the medicine men and women from many tribes–during the time when the white man advanced westward.

From Canada to Mexico, the wise ancestors had gathered in the Colorado regions of the Four Corners–having failed to persuade their tribes to negotiate alliances with each other. As westward expansion grew, the Olaloxie realized  destiny wheel-turned against their survival.

After days of smoke ceremonies, the Olaloxie shamans and their followers journeyed to the badlands. Upon arrival, they made their home inside the ancient abandoned caverns of the Far Sky People. To this day, the tribe hid themselves, careful to remain undiscovered by the outside world. 

Using the last of his strength, Ghost Walker willed himself to keep moving. He'd find some relief if he could get to the jagged tower of rock, a desert formation he'd never seen before.

He struggled closer, his vital spirit lessening with each step. Hours ago, the stabbing pain of his ankle had deserted him. Only numbness remained.

Ghost silently mocked himself with laughter, the madness brought on by the blazing heat and his pitiful circumstance. Yet the voice of life called to him.

Despite the searing heat of the large boulder, Ghost grabbed hold, pulling himself forward. He gasped for breath now.

Pausing, he gazed at the car-sized slabs of rock, and the inviting patch of shade. Struck by the sight of an odd dark slit between a monolithic stone, he stared even as he collapsed, held up only by the boulder.

If his bleary gaze wasn't deceiving him, the shadow–not thirty feet away–appeared to be an artificially constructed opening.


Ghost blinked rapidly, and prayed to the Great Spirit to know the truth. His answer arrived as the slant of the sun's rays strongly illumined the rod like cut between two monolithic slabs of rock. Intrigued despite his near-death condition, Ghost pushed himself up enough to fall on his bloody abraded knees.

His palms stung painfully as he crawled through the narrow passage to the opening. Using the juts in the boulder as handholds, Ghost pulled and shoved himself to a standing position. Stiff as a zombie, he moved toward the unnaturally dark opening.

Ghost realized the Great Force was at work as a rush of cool air struck his face–as the darkness faded and a golden illumination took its place. Astonished, dumbfounded, he simply stared.

A fanciful mirage? Had his mind leapt over the edge of sanity and into the chasm of wishful thinking?

Ghost tried blinking several times. Only the Great Spirit knew why his fevered brain conjured a scene out of a Steampunk novel–like the ones read by some of the older children he tutored.

Because he'd never been drawn to those stories, Ghost had to ask himself, were the Victorian-age steam machines filling the enormous cavern somehow real? His jaw slackened and his mouth hung open.

A sleek yet full-bodied vessel hovered above the cave's floor. Grand in structure, the airship dominated.

If this was real–and not his delirious imagination–how?

Perhaps, a fold in the weave time, as Bear Feather might have explained it. Ghost snapped his mouth shut. What if...?

Shock coursed through him chilling his blood as if he'd dived into an icy stream. However, a medicine warrior stood his ground when shone the wonders of the Great Universe. He learned whatever his senses, his spirit could tell him. 

Ghost focused, studying the phantasmagorical scene beneath the air ship. He had no frame of reference, given most things mechanical remained a mystery to him–even his uncooperative car. Glistening brass wheels within ever-larger wheels obviously powered various devices, which ranged from the size of a toaster to the size of an old VW Beetle.

Overhead, several different types of aircraft hung from the ceiling in a manner Ghost didn't understand. Fascinated by the smaller plane with bat like wings, he committed the beautiful flight craft to memory. 

What captivated Ghost the most though was the river steamboat at the far end of the cavern. Without thought, wanting a closer look, he hopped a step inward.

Instantly, an unseen force slammed into him. Like a plate glass window had been blasted into him, Ghost thought. The sensation of being hurled through the air was the last thing he remembered before darkness stole his mind.

Regaining consciousness, Ghost tasted the grit and sand of the desert floor. The afternoon heat baked his back, and Ghost hazily wondered if he was now as red as a cooked lobster.

When he tried to roll over, a moan escaped him. Agony rushed through the length of his body like an angry river. Still, he forced his bruised body to obey. Turning over, Ghost collapsed on his back, relieved when there was no flare of pain.

The strength of Father Sun's light blinded him for an instant. At least, he knew there'd been little passage of time, given the sun's position.

Silence, the soul drumming inside. In that moment, Ghost Walker realized he no longer heard the call of his spiritual path.

But where was death?

Ghost shuddered inside, a freakish nightmare of sensations assailing him. He could not fathom why he remained almost lifeless upon the parched skin of the Mother.

Somehow life clung to him, holding him hostage.


Wishing you love and passion on the wild side ...


Savanna Kougar ~ Run on the Wild Side of Romance

Monday, August 18, 2014


Cochrane glanced around Talbot’s Peak’s center square and tried not to let his horror show. It looked like the whole misbegotten population had turned out. To honor him, the wolf-man Dante said. Yeah, right. They were still shapeshifters, and they still outnumbered him, and they had still confiscated his weapons after the fight was over. This better not be the honor accorded the victim right before the sacrifice.

At least they’d left him his clothing this time. That was a step in the right direction.

A lean, gangly man with a twitchy nose stepped up to the podium. He’d been pointed out to Cochrane earlier as the current Mayor. “Fellow Peakites,” he spoke into the mic, “by now you’re all aware of the monster that threatened us and our town. We came together in the face of peril, and we triumphed. I’m proud of all of you.

“Today we honor those who directly risked their lives and safety to defend us. Dante.” The wolf man seated near the podium stood and bowed modestly to the cheering crowd. “Duff McDuff and his cohorts.” From out of the crowd the Scotsmen and -woman raised tankards of liquor and roared something in Gaelic. “Rafael Golden.” The Mayor nodded skyward, where an eagle circled. “The Turkle family, who politely declined to join us this afternoon. Ditto for Syprelli, a newcomer to Talbot’s Peak, who nevertheless put her life on the line for us. I hope you all help to make her feel welcome here in the days to come. May I also extend our gratitude to a young man who played a vital role in our defense, yet chooses to remain anonymous.” Cochrane spotted Deuce standing with a bunch of glowering wolves dressed like Twilight wannabes. He was the only one smiling.

“Ewan Carter and Maureen Starkey.” The blond man standing at the front of the crowd hastily yanked his hand off his girlfriend’s rack. The girl in the glasses just laughed and left her own hand where it sat comfortably on his ass. Cochrane tried not to scowl directly at them. That damned coyote still owed him for that bite on the wrist, even though the cast had come off a while back. And her. She was a hunter, or supposed to be. She’d clearly thrown in her lot with the enemy. Women. Couldn’t trust ‘em.

“And a special thanks and our undying gratitude to another stranger to our town, who nevertheless literally leaped into the jaws of hell to save us all. Abel Cochrane.” The crowd broke into thunderous applause. Numerous hands propelled him toward the podium. The Mayor stepped back and motioned to the mic.

Cochrane stared out at the sea of faces confronting him. Shifter faces. Monsters, every last one of them, hiding behind faux human features. Clapping and chanting his name.

“Just doing my job,” he mumbled into the mic, and tried to make his escape.

“Just a moment.” The Mayor caught his arm. “I’ve been told you initially came to Talbot’s Peak for a specific reason. We’d like to help out. Mr. Lincoln? Mr. McMahon?”

Cochrane stiffened. He recognized those two old geezers stepping out of the crowd. Purple paint, cardboard fairy wings, public nudity and the cops. He wasn’t going to forget those sons of bitches any time soon.

“Mr. Cochrane,” the aged ape who’d once been Mayor of Talbot’s Peak boomed within earshot of the mic. “Last time you visited our fair hamlet, Vern and I—well, we did something mean that I know now we shouldn’t’ve. We’d like to apologize for that. No hard feelings?”

He held out his hand. Cochrane just stared at it. “Take it,” Lincoln murmured through a politician’s smile. “Otherwise Vern here’s liable to shift, and that’ll put his big wolfie jaws right in line with your dingle. We wouldn’t want any accidents to happen in front of the children, would we?”

Goddamn shifters. They’d trapped him good and proper. Cochrane seized the ape’s hand and pumped it once, then repeated the gesture with the grinning old wolf’s. The audience went wild. Short trip for them, he thought scathingly.

The high school band raised their instruments and broke into the ceremonial music from the end of the first Star Wars movie. That appeared to signal the end of the gathering. The crowd broke up, most headed toward the center square’s various eating establishments. Better that than him, Cochrane reckoned.

Oh Christ, here came the coyote, with Maureen at his side. Probably after the rest of his arm. The hunter tensed for battle.

“Mr. Cochrane,” Ewan said, amiably enough. “As long as everybody’s apologizing, I want to say I’m sorry for the bite. You sorry you tried to kill me?” Cochrane didn’t respond. The coyote shrugged. “Told you,” he said to Maureen.

“That’s why I didn’t take the bet. Sir?” Maureen addressed Cochrane. “I quit.” She walked off arm and arm with the coyote, now and forever a traitor to humanity. Picked a monster over her own kind. Typical woman.

Once he got his weapons back, she could die along with the rest of them.

“Mr. Cochrane.” Now that the mic was shut off, the Mayor also shut off his joviality. “You saved a ton of lives at the risk of your own, and we’re forever grateful. Just the same, I think it would be best all around if you left Talbot’s Peak right now and never came back. I’d even go so far as to say stay out of Montana altogether. There are plenty of other places in the world for you to ply your trade. I’m sure you can find one.”

Cochrane studied the Mayor’s hard eyes, then those of Dante, just beyond his shoulder. The Scottish contingent had clumped together and watched the hunter warily. The two old bastards went on grinning, like they couldn’t wait to get their mitts on another bucket of paint.

“How can you do this?” he muttered at the Mayor. “You know what these things are.”

“Better than you can imagine,” the Mayor growled back. “I was born human, Mr. Cochrane. We have more in common with ‘these things’ than you believe. I’ll take their kind over yours any day.” He smiled thinly. “Thanks again. Have a nice day.”

The Mayor, with Dante and the Scots as backup, escorted Cochrane to his car. He got in without a word and drove out of Talbot’s Peak. And that was that.

For now. In spite of everything that had happened, the basic threat posed by a town full of shapeshifters remained. As soon as he replenished his weapons stash, he’d be back.

One final tribute awaited him as he drove down Route 15. The Turkle clan had gathered at the side of the road. As Cochrane motored past they raised various weapons in salute. A grinning Abram Turkle hefted his newly-arrived bazooka.

Cochrane slowed and saluted. When he returned to clean up the town, he would spare this bunch. He would never hunt turkeys again. They were true Americans.

Sunday, August 17, 2014

SNEAK PEEK SUNDAY: Her Midnight Stardust Cowboys ~ Chapter Twenty-eight

Her Midnight Stardust Cowboys

Note: Sherilyn and Zance are purchasing her gown for the New Year's Eve grand opening at the Midnight Stardust Supperclub, when a woman from Sherilyn's past shows up -- a woman who will likely rat her out to an enemy, who is ruthlessly determined to steal Sherilyn's horses, and destroy her.


First SIX paragraphs from ~

Chapter Twenty-eight:
Zance's inner wolf hackles raised... 

Zance's inner wolf hackles raised painfully in warning. "Odds?" he demanded as he whipped around to see who his mate looked at.

"You gotta call." Sherilyn grabbed his hand. "Make certain everything is okay at the ranch. With my horses."

Figuring that was his best move, Zance tucked her arm beneath his. "Sure, sweetheart," he answered, propelling her toward a room where Dante kept old landline phones available.

The garage-sale phones only operated through a bank of electronic scramblers. Zance hadn't bothered bringing the cell phone he used in public inside the Pleasure Club.

They were fairly deep underground. Besides, Dante's team made certain all mobile devices were blocked.

"Awesome," Sherilyn quietly spoke, as he let go of her arm.


For more Sunday Sneak Peaks


Blurb & Excerpts for HER MIDNIGHT STARDUST COWBOYS are on the page above.

Wishing you shapeshifting cowboy love on the wild side...


Savanna Kougar ~ Run on the Wild Side of Romance ~

Friday, August 15, 2014

Cheezeballs Unite!

Ziva held her burgeoning belly as she laughed at Loki & Thor’s “newscast” of the Mammoth invasion.  Those boys were naturals and would, one day, make excellent on the air personalities.  She also wondered if Nick could find a place for them at the paper.  Considering their ages, it would be to do little things that line their allowance pockets and perhaps to pick up a bit of newspaper knowledge, here and there.  She couldn’t wait to broach the subject with him.

Hefting herself out of the chair she stood at the deck rails for a couple of minutes surveying what was left after the rampage.  Banta poo, for sure, and there was her man, shovel in hand, to do what needed to be done for the town he loved.


Back in Sin City…

“Here, this is it!” Greely stopped and looked at the name of the tattoo and piercer shop in the window.

Clamp It & Stamp It?  Oh, Gree, you really are a cheezeball, aren’t you.”

“Pish, Karma.  You know you want to go in and get your very own work of art done.  Something tasteful, perhaps?”

“Tattoos don’t stay, you know.  Once you shift the ink is gone unless you see Rox back home.  His ink is sik and it stays no matter how much you shift.”

“Yeah, Karma, I know it will go away soon, but I’m considering it a test run to see if I really want what I have in mind.”

“No.” Erol scooped her up and made to leave, mumbling dragony swear words if she had to guess.
“There will be no inking or marring of your beautiful skin. This I cannot allow.”

“Stop.  Erol, stop it, right now and put me down.” Greely ordered, pounding at the arm secured around her waist. “I’m doing this!”

“Why, Fair One? Why do you want to deface yourself?”

“It’s art, Erol, not defacing.” Greely insisted. “And for the first time in my life, I feel safe enough and loved enough to live out some of my dreams.”

Greely’s feet hit the sidewalk and she smiled.  She could tell that he finally listened and heard what she was trying to tell him.

“I make you feel this way?”

“Yep, you allow me to fly, Erol.  In all parts of my life.  You make me happy and whole.”

“And this art will make you whole?”

“Nope, this will make me happy!”

Well, just a shorty from me today to keep track of what's happening in Sin City and up on the hill away from danger.

I know exactly what Greely's looking for in a tat, now I hope I can find a good graphic for it.  :)

Have a great weekend!

Thursday, August 14, 2014

Transcripts from the Battle of Schitt Creek

Sorry this is so late. I got busy double checking all the details of this battle and ended up re-reading all of the posts about it. Enjoy!

~ Rebecca

[Transcripts from the Battle of Schitt Creek]

Loki: Tango Helo Oscar Romeo, check check

[burst of static]

Thor: Who?

Loki: TANgo HEEEEElo Oscar RomEO! Check CHECK!

Thor: Dude, everyone knows who we are. Just say m’name.

Loki: Whatever, catbox breath. Clearly you can hear me so the radio check is a go.

[five minute silence]

Thor: Contact!

Loki: What? Where?

Thor: Dude, someone just drove Dante’s ride into a giant pile of bantha poo!

Loki: Ok, I see it now. Yeah, that does kind of look like a bantha except it has a trunk—

Thor: DUDE! DUDE! Did you just see what Ewan did?

Loki: Yeah! He went fishing for hellephant while Duce distracted the bugger by nipping its heels! That was totally awesome! Dad, can I go chase the hellephant, too? [muffled sounds] Why not? Uncle Bo and Uncle Nick let us nip at their heels when they play chase all the time!

Thor: —PLAT! Right into the poo with you!

Loki: What’d I miss?

Thor: If you’d not hold the transmit button while begging Dad for something you know he’s not gonna go for, you’d know.

Loki: Just tell me!

Thor: Well, Ewan used that big fishing pole like a long range grappling hook to climb up on the bantha or hellephant or whatever.
Loki: Saw that part.

Thor: Yeah but you missed seeing Ewan duke it out with the mutant werewolf on the hellephant’s back while the skinny chick tried not to fall off the thing’s head because the mutant just kinda tossed her away when it went to go after Ewan. And then Ewan flat out NUT SHOTTED the mutant with the fishing pole and then it fell off the hellephant and landed right in the middle of fresh steaming pile of poo!

Loki: Dude, that’s awesome. I wanna be like Ewan when I grow up!
[muffled sounds. Mooney smacking his pup over the head?]

Loki: Fine. Dad said to repeat Ewan’s coyote call since not ever’one can understand it. He is saying that the hellephant’s going to be in range of Schitt Creek in les than five minutes and that he didn’t see where the mutant escaped to after it got out of the scat pile.

Thor: Moon-Moon said it headed towards the tiger compound.

Bo Ewing: Say again? It headed to the tiger compound? Not the Hankock Packlands?

Thor: That’s right, Uncle Bo. It went east toward the tigers, not southeast toward the other mutant wolves.

Bo: Good to know. Tell Dante we’ll reshuffle the secondary line to protect the northwest edge of town, as well.

Dante: Got it. Keep up the good work, pups.

Thor: Who’s on the secondary line?

Loki: I heard Dad talking to Uncle Nick about it. If the wolves can’t stop the hellephant before it reaches town, the herds are going to try to redirect it.

Thor: Uh, I don’t think that’s going to work. Uncle Bo and Han are pretty big and Aunt Mary and Grandma are pretty tough, but there’s no way a heard of Big Horns is going to be able to turn that thing.

Loki: That’s why it’s called a last ditch effort, butt-sniffer. And it’s not just the Ewing herd. The oxen, the mustangs, even the elk are waiting on standby.

Bo: That’s right boy. If the offence fails, our only hope of stopping that monster is to try and appeal to its herd pachyderm herding instincts.

Thor: It’s bigger than most of the trees, Uncle Bo.

Bo: That’s why it’s a last ditch effort, fuzzball. No how about an update on the battle field?

Loki: Ok, Ewan just howled that Atcheson is ‘lergic to peanuts. Who’s Atcheson?

Thor: Moon-Moon says that’s the hellephant’s name.

Bo: Allergic to peanuts, got it. What’s the beasts ETA?

Loki: Dad said it’ll be to Schitt Creek in about three minutes ‘cause its speeding up. A flying hourse just shifted and has somebody on its back. Dad said it looks like they are headed for the Turkle spread, pro’ly because Mrs. Turkle stock piles peanut butter.

Thor: It just bugled. Looks like the fight’s about to begin.

Loki: Mr. Turkle just lit it up with a grenade launcher! The hellephant has stopped charging… Mr. Turkle is still firing granades…

Thor: Dude! The monster just batted that grenade away like it was a baseball!

Loki: It just  charged again. It just grabbed Mr. Turkle with its trunk!

Thor: It’s gonna eat him!

Loki: calm down! Look, that human with the huge gun is shooting at it.

Thor: Oh my GOD! There’s a bunk of dudes in skirts with swords charging the hellephant’s hind legs!

Loki: Calm down, butt munch! We’re supposed to be reportin’ on the battle progress.

Thor: Eat that, you ugly bantha monster! Woooo!!!!

Loki: looks like Mr. Turkle just shot his way out of the hellephant’s mouth.

Thor: That’s a spicy meata balla!

Loki: Dude, cartoon references?

Thor: Airborn!

Loki: Ok, the human just got thrown by the hellephant and the flying horse is back. It just plucked him out of the sky before he hell.

Thor: Dudes in skirts kick tail! Oh! OH! Ah-wooo!

Loki: My brother to doofus just wolfed out and the flying horse is making strafing runs on the hellephant while the guys in dresses distract it. [muffled sounds] Kilts. Dad says it’s guys in kilts, not dresses. Oh now that was just cool! The flying horse swooped in and the human jumped into the hellephant’s mouth, rubbed something all over its teeth, and then jumped back out just in time for the horse to catch him! And then the hellephant tried to puke but it can’t ‘cause its tongue is the size of—

Mooney: And that’s all for the Loki and Thor comedy hour.

Dante: That it is. I’m calling this battle a wrap. Call in the witches to do triage on a prehistoric monster in full anaphylactic shock due to peanut allergies. Get clean up out here for all the monster poop. And has anyone seen my car?