Building Your Mythology

Readers, myself included don't like cookie cutter, cardboard cutouts as characters.  If a character is boring or not dysfunctional enough, I'm putting the book down.

As a writer I learned that the more layers a character has, the better your audience receives the character. That character's bio doesn't have to be explained in detail in the book, but it may be something you want to keep in the back of you head as you're writing.

What's their favorite food? What are their hobbies? What was their relationship with their parents? Do they have tattoos? Did they serve in the military? What type of movies do they like? Who's their best friend? Where did they grow up? Do they have money? If so how much?

The answers to all those questions and everything else you can dream up for your character will influence every challenge they have to face, just like what you faced in the past affects who you are today.

For example, our main character in The Body Hunters, Danielle Labouleaux or Danny as she prefers to be called is biracial and grew up in New Orleans where she had a somewhat antagonistic relationship with her parents in her teens and early twenties. She was bullied as a child, not only for being biracial and also for a zipper scar that bisects her chest from heart surgery when she was six. She has a penchant for hot rods, especially her candy apple red Camaro, named Lucille. She loves to cook, which she learned from her Grandmere and she hangs on to friends for dear life because they were few and far between during her childhood. She also has a thing for buff, tattooed bad boys, who are really diamonds in the rough.

This is how we started our main characters and as Danielle's story progressed, we added layers and layers of back story, fleshing her out as a character. Before long we knew what she'd say and how she'd react in any given situation.

The same technique can be used for the universe your characters exist in. It's your universe, you make it up and mold it any way you want to.

Is it post apocalyptic? If so how did it get that way? Who's the President? Is this the future? What happened twenty years ago?

The more believable your story and character are, the more invested your readers become in your story.

Susan Tepes-Ghost Therapist

Susan Tepes arrived home after a long day of shooting her reality show ‘The Ghost Therapist’.  She hated the name, but for the money they were paying her she could have cared less what they called it.  Flicking on the lights to her spacious L.A. apartment, she realized she was not alone. From the corner of the room a vase flew past her, aimed at her head. It ricocheted off the wall behind her. After having just about all her dishes and vases broken by angry spirits, she only used plastic ones  “Missed me!” She yelled.

A large roar filled the empty space and her body was slammed into the living room wall. His body pinned her with his icy breath chilling her neck sending shivers down her spine. Sometimes being a contact psychic was a harrowing. She could touch the spirits and they could touch her, a fact that many deceased male predators relished and sought out those like her for that reason. The chose not to show himself to her, but she could feel his hands sliding down her body and his engorged ethereal member press into her hips.

“Not today” She said out loud. His growling rang in her ears as he punched her in the stomach.  “Stop it!” She commanded as he knocked to her knees. Reaching blindly at the space in front of her she felt his energy and pulled. A thud reverberated throughout her apartment. “Show yourself now!”

“You don’t tell me what to do! I tell you!” His voice distorted with each word.

Placing her hands on her temples she pushed back on his energy force causing shock waves to reveal his teenaged form to her. He was barely sixteen from the looks of him. “You’re just a kid!” 

“I’m man enough!” He roared back. “Just ask my many girlfriends.” 

Susan walked to her kitchen grabbing a stick of sage from the counter. “You mean the women you raped?”

“They asked for it.”

She continued her questioning, lighting the sage. “How did you die?”

Still leering at her he lifted off the ground and flew forward stopping in mid air as the smoke from the sage hit his ghostly form. “What the fuck is that?” 

She smiled, continuing to wave the smoke in circles around him. “Sage. It will make you tell me the truth and keep you from harming me.”

“Bitch!” He barked.

She ignored the insult. “Tell me your name.”

“Joseph.”

“Joseph what?”

“Joseph Kirby.” He spat on her.

“That’s gross!” She said wiped the ectoplasm off her face with a towel. She shoved his form over to a chair at her dining table.

“Ghosts don’t need to sit stupid.”

“That’s true but I do. I see you acknowledge you’re a ghost so we are halfway there.”

“Halfway to what?”

“Moving you on Joseph. So first things first, tell me how you died.” She said placing herself across from him at the table.

He materialized fully in front of her. “I shot myself, you wanna see?” He turned and parted his hair to show her the massive exit wound in the back of his head where his skull should have been, bloody brain matter hung out of the hole. “I stuck the pistol right in my mouth and pulled. My brains splattered everywhere, I can imagine my bitch mother having to pick pieces of my skull and brain out of the rug.” He laughed with an evil twinkle in his ghostly eye.

“Hmm. That’s a pretty violent ending, Suicide actually tells me you must have felt guilt over what you’ve done.” She commented.”That will work in your favor.”

His angry stare failed to move her. He waved his hand, slamming her cabinet doors in a telekinetic fit. “Why aren’t you scared?”

“Don’t make me relight this sage.” She said. “Don’t you think I’ve seen this for years? You’re not the first one to come to me. Ask yourself Joseph, why were you drawn to me?”

“I…I don’t know I just found myself here.” His eyes downcast he stopped the door slamming.

“You found yourself here because today is November 1^st,  The Day of the Dead and even though you can’t see them, there are five others in this apartment waiting patiently for me to attend to them.”

“There are?” He looked around not seeing any other specters. “You’re lying I don’t see anyone else.”

“You don’t because of your guilt and how you died. Joseph, the loneliness that you feel is part of your punishment to get you to repent. You have to accept your guilt, show remorse and move on.”

“Move on to hell you mean? No!”

Susan removed herself from the table walking towards her bedroom with Joseph following close behind.

“Yeah this is more like it! Time to get busy.” He tried to grab her but felt a shock that sent pain through his energy making him kneel to the floor.

“Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you the sage acts as positive energy to your negative energy, it also puts a shield around me. You can’t touch me till it wears off and by then you’ll be long gone.” She smiled and grabbed a large antique book from her nightstand.

“It’s a little late to save me.” He said meekly.

“It’s not for you it’s for your victims. I have to forgive you in their stead then you can move on to the next plane. Joseph don’t you wonder why you didn’t immediately go to hell? Why you are still here?” She returned to the kitchen table opening the large book.

“I guess I didn’t think about it.” He peered over her shoulder. “I thought this was a bible?” 

“It’s a different type of book that’s been in my family for centuries. I have our family bible too don’t worry. ”

“What language is that?”

Susan swatted him away. “Romanian, now sit down.”

He did as he was told. She ran her fingers down the old text page after page until she found the words she was looking for. Reading aloud she recited the foreign words, once she finished they sat in silence for a second.

“What did you say?” He asked.

Susan sighed taking on a pensive look. “I asked the elders to search your victim’s heart to see if they are open to forgiving you.”

“Well? What happens now?”

“We wait, if the answer is yes then you are forgiven, in the meantime I want to read to you from the book of Matthew  passage 6: 14-15 and 1 John 1:9,  the last one I’ll read is Acts 3:19 about repenting which even though your actions say different I can tell you want to. Open your heart to it Joseph and accept the words.”

As she read the passages his ethereal form started to disappear. “What’s happening to me?” His frightened face started to fade.

“It’s okay Joseph, just accept the embrace.”

“Am I going to hell?” He asked in a child like voice.

Smiling sweetly she answered. “No, you’re going to the next plane where you have to finish the lessons you needed to learn here before you cut your life short and accept what you have done. It’s a good place don’t worry, once you finish your lessons you’ll move on to what we call heaven and be ready to accept God’s love and forgiveness.”

“I’m scared.” He whispered as his form was now almost a wisp of smoke.

“I know Joseph, Look in front of you do you see a man?”

“Yes.”

“He is an elder and will lead you on your path, trust him he is there to assist you till your ready for heaven. Goodbye Joseph.”

“Thank you.” She faintly heard from afar.

Loud banging rattled her doors jolting her from her chair.

“I know you’re in there you hippie freak, open up!”

Rolling her eyes Susan adjusted her tie dyed bohemian skirt and for fun wrapped a matching scarf around her head in a turban. “Yes Mr. Armstrong” She addressed her heavyset, balding neighbor. “Come for a reading? Let me get my crystal ball.”

“Listen I don’t care if you are the Ghost Doctor….”

“Ghost Therapist.” She corrected.

“I don’t care if you’re the fucking ghost proctologist! I’m warning you for the last time to stop burning that damned weed, it’s stinking up the building!” He yelled, veins road mapping on his forehead.

Susan looked beyond him and nodded. “Your grandmother wants me to tell you to lay off the potato chips and soda. You’re heading for a heart attack.”

He huffed as he walked away. “Tell the old bat to mind her own fucking business.”

Susan rolled her eyes at him and shut her door. Turning to the ethereal crowd in her living room she sighed. “Next.”

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Starting From Scratch

For nearly a year and a half we have been living in the skin of our characters, Danielle Labouleaux and Aiden Stone, stars of The Body Hunters series. We know these characters and their supporting cast so well, we know how they would react in certain situations and can even complete their sentences. Right now the third book in the series is with our editor Reggie and we're in the midst of writing the fourth book. After we release the fourth book, tentatively titled The Lazarus Effect, we're taking a break from Danny and Aiden and starting another series. That's where the problem lies.

One thing we've taken note of from our readers is that even though they love the mystery and paranormal aspects of our series, they love the drama between our characters even more. Therefore, we decided to delve into something that was strictly drama in a real world setting. We can promise that there will be plenty of twists and character conflict. The dilemma lies in creating characters who are not just Xerox copies of the cast from our first series. We're not going to cut any corners and we're not taking the easy way out.

Our new protagonist is a biracial young woman and that's where her similarity to Danny Labouleaux ends. We're purposely making her an edgier character who would do things to accomplish her goals that Danny would shudder to even consider. It takes a little work to take your brain out of one character and transplant it into another, especially when you've been in their mindset for so long. We've had a long time to develop Danny and figure out what makes her tick, now it's time to devote that same love and attention to another protagonist. While Danny and company feel like home, these new characters and scenarios have us in uncharted territory where we are free to start over from scratch.  It may be a daunting task, but it helps us grow as writers.

Now we're not leaving The Body Hunters permanently, there's still a lot more stories to tell, as well as a prequel, and the movie script that's currently in the works. One day I'd love to see Danny and Aiden on the big screen. We're just taking a little time outside our comfort zone to develop something else and challenge ourselves. If it's not a challenge is it even worth doing?

Multiculturalism in dogs

Does my Labrador Retriever know that he is? do my Chihuahua's know that they are just that?  At what point do we go from being proud of our culture and ethnicity to ethnocentrism? That we devalue all others and exclude people and other ways of life.
The line is fine and easily crossed. Those of us who are blessed enough to live in melting pot areas of the country like I am, that can find Arabic bakeries and Asian markets along with Polish and Italian meat markets, Soul food restaurants, Mexican restaurants, Indian food and everything in between (My taste buds should never get bored) have an opportunity to enjoy many cultures without ever having to get on a plane. Now you would think that with all these ethnicities I live in a utopia where everyone gets along. Yeah, no! I have heard phrases like 'marry your own culture' and witnessed people who will not talk to you because even though they are living in the land of a really humongous statue that says 'Bring me your huddled masses', huddle only with their own. Birds of a feather.......
My Labrador is yellow and weighs 80 pounds. He is a retired Guide Dog for the Blind. He is smart, playful and loves to...you guessed it....retrieve. He still tries to Guide on occasion forgetting that he is retired and I am not blind. So I wonder what is his culture? Guiding was taught to him so that is not part of his culture, that was his job. Maybe  retrieving, killing and destroying toys is part of his true culture. (hover your mouse over the pictures)

Brooks the ex-Guide dog toy destroyer

My Chihuahua's were there first and Brooks had to adjust to their way of life, much like the Chi's had to adjust to feline culture when they arrived. The Turkish Angora's (Yes we are a multiracial feline/canine household) showed the then 1lb puppies the ropes and how things were done in their feline Arab American household. They grew up speaking cat and had an overwhelming love of them even though cat was not in their DNA.

Cat culture

Brooks never got a chance to learn the ancient and honorable feline culture from the elder statesmen of the feline tribe since all the cats have passed on, but the Chi's have done their best to educate and depart the time-honored feline knowledge and culture of their feline Arab American brothers and sisters to him. Sleeping anywhere he pleases is one of his favorite adopted cat culture activities he's learned.
Now Chihuahua's it's been rumored are not descendants of wolves but from Fennec foxes from Mexico. An interesting theory because that would mean over the many years Chihuahua's have been human's pocket companions we have been forcing a domestic canine culture and silly clothes on a native desert animal. Sound familiar in human history? Do my Chi's tolerate domesticated wolf culture, sparkly shirts that say grrrl power or tuxedo t-shirts for the boy Chi, or do they pine for the desert life of their ancestral homeland? That would explain the burrowing in blankets and sunning themselves in 90 degree temps while their much larger canine companion enjoys air conditioning. Labs are after all from Newfoundland not as the name might imply Labrador, where colder temps are normal.

Psst! We're actually foxes!

Yo no soy un perro! (I am not a dog!)

My 4 legged household companions can teach us all a lesson in diversity and getting along. Enjoying and learning from each other's differences and recognizing that we all share in one universal culture, human culture. We all want ultimately the same things, family, faith, love, a nice place to live and enough to eat, a bright future for our children and to be able to carry on our legacy through them, plus small dogs to dress up. Be proud of who you are and the heritage you came from, take the positive lessons of your ancestors and the good things of your culture and move them forward, share them with others and enjoy the diversity and history of another. Mix it up a little, I'm a firm believer in once you learn about it, you end up respecting it and your world is a richer place for it.
Then again maybe I'm being Pollyanna. (an excessively or blindly optimistic person.)

Part of Chihuahua culture is staring, giving off subliminal messages till you give up the coveted object. Something they learned from their feline Arab American upbringing.

How Much is Too Much?

Last week while in the midst of writing the third book of The Body Hunters Series we had the discussion of how far we really wanted to delve into our mythology. Though our series is about a pair of detectives with extraordinary abilities which they use to solve mysteries; at its heart our story is about two unique people working together while trying to sort out the difficulties of their relationship. What we had in mind was creative and would have made for an interesting story, but was it so far into paranormal mythology that it would turn off the readers?

As an example we referenced the HBO series True Blood. Though I'm late getting into the series, starting halfway through Season 5, the common complaint I hear about it is that they got too convoluted. People miss the earlier episodes when it was a scandalous supernatural tale about who hooked up with whom. I can say the same about a show I enjoyed during its first season ABC's Revenge. The first season was simple; a young woman with a list of names going after the people who wronged her. The second season of Revenge was too far removed from the simple concepts of season one. I gave up watching halfway through and to date have yet to even watch the second season finale.

Keeping these lessons in mind, we decided to scale back on the storyline we were planning. Though the storyline is still present, it's not an all encompassing plot like we originally planned.

While it would have been a compelling story with deeper supernatural elements, we listen to our readers first and foremost. Though our superfans enjoy the paranormal activity that brings our characters together, the thing they enjoy the most is the human connections and relationships. We don't want to alienate our readers by introducing concepts that are too out there. So using these TV shows as examples of what happens when you don't give your fans what they want, we decided to ramp up the drama and a little boom-chica for good measure.

The Trials and Tribulations of Publishing

This was a very eventful week, the release of the second novel, The Body Hunters: Paradise Denied in our series. It's been an exciting week and I feel like a little kid who got what the wanted for Christmas. One of our Superfans is nearly done with the novel and she is loving every bit of it. She's started a chain reaction with our other fans who are just as excited to get their hands on the book and I can't wait for their reactions as well. There is nothing better as an author when someone loves your work and is as enthusiastic about the characters as you are.

 Though we anticipated a release of maybe January or February 2013 initially, due to a few challenges, it was released a bit later then expected.

After our editor sent us her final changes, my co-author, Von did her final read through before sending it on to me last Thursday. I started on Thursday after work, with my personal deadline of Monday at the latest. I had a pretty normal weekend, all the while going on with my final edit. I was two-thirds of the way through in the wee hours of Monday morning, when I had the brilliant idea to close my laptop and move to another room.  Big mistake.

When I got to the other room and started my laptop again, the screen was completely black. No problem, I told myself, I had this little issue before. Like I learned when I had this issue over a year ago, you just hold down the power button, pop out the battery, pop it back in, turn on your computer again and voila! Wait a minute. Let me try it again. Hold the button down, take out battery, put it back in, hit the button, and....
Okay, what the heck is going on here?

Needless to say, my laptop monitor was completely dead to the world. Nearing panic mode, I decided to put my computer repair class knowledge to the test. I open up the thing, take a look around, and still can't get the monitor to work. Ready to throw the dang thing out the window, I put all 1,099 screws back where they belong and decided to just hook the computer up to my tv and use that as my monitor. But I must have rearranged something when I put it back together because now the power button isn't even working.

I'm tempted to text Von and rant to her, but I remember that it's not even 8 o'clock and she has to work today. Borrowing my mother's laptop which has none of my work stored on it, I start looking for computer repair places in my neighborhood. I can't do anything until the computer place opens so I decide to take a nap.

My rest is kind of broken because the computer is on my mind and that's what's plaguing my dreams. How am I gonna get the book out without my computer?

I wake up a few hours later and text Von since it's now a decent hour. I tell her the devil is messing with us, since when you're close to your breakthrough, he has a tendency to throw a few road blocks and spike strips in your path. For some reason, someone was conspiring against us getting this book published. I call my mother and tell her the same thing, she tells me not to give the devil any power and put him under my feet.

I get to the computer store and whine about the issue I'm having and what I'm trying to do today. The clerk sells me a little box that holds my laptop's hard drive and allows me to continue my work while my computer is in the shop. Ecstatic, I spend the rest of the day finishing my edit.

I did have some other internet issues, but late that evening or early the next morning, whichever you prefer, I was able to finally submit our book to Amazon. Exhausted and giddy at the same time, I finally crawl into bed while the digital book and paperback novel are being published by Amazon.

Whenever I decided to get out of bed the next day, the first thing I do is check on our books progress as far as Amazon. The first thing I notice is the size of the file. Take a wild guess as to how many KB made up our file. Go ahead, take a guess. No, go on and guess. Nope, you got it wrong.

Our book was exactly 666 KB. No, I'm not lying. A story this crazy you cannot make up. I told Von and she had the same reaction I did. Somehow weirdness has a way of following us. Knowing there was no way in the world I was going to live with that number, I republished the novel, throwing in a few of our blog short stories for good measure. Now our story is at a robust and healthy 706 KB.

When somebody throws road blocks and road hazards in front of you, just push on through. You never know what's on the other side.

Steph and the Ghost

Enjoy a short side story of Stephania the best friend of Danielle Labouleaux of The Body Hunters


Stephania opened the pantry door in the kitchen to put her mop away.  She turned around and screamed.  The confederate soldier standing before her was a bloody mess and the hole in his temple was an oozing wound where a bullet was still lodged. His blonde hair barely concealed the wound and his grey uniform was tattered and dirty. He was no more than a boy, 18 or 19 possibly.  He didn’t say anything to her; he just stood in his ghostly form with pleading blue eyes gazing at the basement door. 

 She’d seen him a few times before but only for a few seconds at a time. It still jarred her nerves every time he appeared. She had asked her roommate Danny who was a psychic and used to this sort of thing about the spirit and she blew it off saying he was harmless. Regardless, Stephania had enough of his antics and decided to confront him once and for all.

She stood looking at the apparition wagging her finger as she scolded him. “You, stop scaring me! I don’t know this thing you want.” She said in her deep Sicilian accent.  “What you think I can do for you?”  

The ghost to her surprise acknowledged what she said.  He hung his head down in shame for scaring her.   “Look at you! Coming to me this way, all bloody and disgusting! How you expect me to help eh?” 

 The young soldier smiled at her as light shimmered around him. Stephania stood in amazement watching his features change from grotesque to handsome; he now stood before her in a clean uniform and flawless face.  He leaned in closer to her and whispered in her ear.

“I’m Malachi.” He said. “I need you to help me.”  The specter said in his deep southern gentile accent. The air around him was cold. Stephania could see her own breath in front of her. 

“Malachi?  No, no! I no good at this, there are others here they can help Ok? I talk to them for you. They will help you.”

Malachi gave her a frown. He shook his head back and forth.  His voice registering just above a whisper. “It has to be you, please Stephania.”

She stood startled seeing through his frame. But locking into his eyes as he once again came close to her.  “How do you know my name?” she asked.

“I live here.”  He whispered. “I know everyone who lives here.”

“Then you know I don’t do this speak to ghosts thing. I am not psychic. Why you come to me?” Stephania tore her eyes away from his and turned to walk to the kitchen sink where a pile of dishes waited.  Malachi followed her and sat himself up on the counter.

“I like you, you’re very pretty.” He grinned. “I like the way you talk and walk, I like the way you smell.” Malachi leaned over like he was going to kiss her.

Stephania stopped her dish washing and looked at him. The last thing she wanted was to be hit on by a ghost.  She threw a dishrag at him only to see it hit the back of the counter wall. 

“You are just a boy!  You watch your mouth! Or I not help you.“  She stood staring at the ghost with her hands on her hips. “I’m losing my mind; I’m talking to a ghost!” She threw her hands up in the air. “Please go to Danny she can do so much for you.”  She said waiving her hand at him, shooing him away. 

Malachi smiled a boyish grin. “But I do really like you! And only you can help. You are close to me. You are part of my family.”

“What? No no! I not close to you! All my famiglia in Sicily, so tell me how should I be famiglia to you?  You no paisano!” she resumed doing her dishes.

Malachi laughed. “Stephania, just trust me. I know you are in love with Victor and he is my family.”

“Then go to him, why you haunt me?”  She put her hands back on her hips waiting for him to answer.

“You’re so much prettier to look at!” Malachi laughed at his own joke. “Victor doesn’t believe in ghosts and doesn’t see me so I need you to convince him that I need to be found. Please Stephania!”

She gazed at him confused. “Found? But you are here, I see you. What you mean found?”

Malachi jumped down from the counter and walked over to the table. “Please, make yourself a cup of tea and I will tell you.”  Stephania sighed and did as she was told figuring it was going to be the only way her almost invisible visitor would leave her alone. Soon she was sitting at the table with a hot cup of tea and Malachi telling her his history.

Malachi joined the confederates in his home state of Georgia and after one year he decided to desert.  He snuck his way into Savannah under an assumed name where he fell in love with Emily. She was the beautiful auburn haired daughter of a local merchant who helped hide runaway slaves. They had created a false room in the basement of the stately home Stephania now shared with Danny.  When approaching confederate army men came snooping around looking for homes that were part of the Underground Railroad, Malachi would don his old uniform and give misinformation to throw them off the scent. 

The plan worked well till an old school chum recognized him and knew him as a deserter. Luckily the home’s extra occupants were gone and the house was empty at the moment except Emily and her parents. The confederates checked the home’s interior for any evidence of runaways.  Unfortunately for them there was some. Torn and dirty clothing that had been carelessly forgotten in a small cubby hole was found.  Malachi was marched to an encampment where he told a tale of deserting for the love of the beautiful Emily. After hours of enduring torture he stuck to his story knowing he was going to be executed for deserting anyway. He saw no sense in living anymore. Emily and her parents had been executed with a single shot to the head for hiding runaway slaves. His own truth was that he was an abolitionist and tried to sabotage the confederate army from the inside, passing secrets to the Union army and spying for them. He had deserted when his sergeant heard there may have been a mole in their midst. Malachi was brought back to the home where he was executed in the same manner as his beloved and her parents, buried alongside their bodies in the basement. The home was ransacked of all of its goods and left abandoned for 10 years after the Civil War’s end.

Stephania sat stunned by the story. She could have sworn Malachi was crying. He told her that his spirit was stuck in the home and he couldn’t find Emily or her parents.  He recounted the day he felt Victor Turner’s presence at the home and knew he was a descendant. He was some 5 times great nephew or something like that, Malachi told her.  Victor had been recommended by a friend and subsequently hired by the girls to remodel and restore the home. Victors tearing down to the original walls and fixtures  had brought Malachi’s ethereal state to a stronger presence, enough for Stephania to actually see him even though she could see through him.

“What you want me to do for you?” Stephania asked. She had forgotten he was in spirit form and tried to reach out for his hand but hers fell to the table unable to grasp it. Malachi touched her face, his spirit entered into her being, his hand gliding through her like a knife through butter. The sensation chilled her but she didn’t pull away.

“Tell my nephew to find me. Find Emily and her parents, maybe then we all can be reunited and leave.  Well, after the wedding of course.”

“Wedding? Ghosts get married?” Stephania wondered how that would work.

Malachi laughed and waved his hand in front of her. The room spun as Stephania fell into a deep sleep her head now resting on the table. Malachi showed her in her dream state a future that was meant for only her to see.

“Steph, Steph ! wake up!”  Danny shook Stephania in her chair, as she groggily lifted her head and cleared the cob webs from her eyes. 

“Where is he?” Stephania asked as she frantically looked around the room. “Mio Dio, I think I should be losing my mind. All you psychics! Now you got me seeing ghosts!”  Stephania laughed pulling her long hair from her face.

“What ghost?” Danny asked.

“You know I tell you about him before, the grey coated man in the army, except this time he tell me many things. “ Stephania relayed to Danny the story he had told her of his desertion, Emily and the story of his demise. Danny sat with her hand to her mouth stunned at the revelation of the history of her house.

“Steph, I think we should have Victor do it! Let’s dig up the basement!”

“You want me to dig up the basement ma’am?”  Victor Turner said to Danny as he came through the back door. He leaned over and gave Stephania a quick kiss.  “What are you looking for?”

“Buried treasure!” Danny said with a sly smile.

Malachi smiled from his perch on the counter. Danny gave him a discreet thumbs up. The two of them had finally found a way through Stephania to release him from his earthly prison.

More Drama Please!

I grew up feeding my imagination soap operas. My days were filled with the sinister escapades of Asa Buchanan on One Life to Live or wondering how Erica Kane was going to tell her latest beau that secret she'd been holding on to for the past six months. After getting home from school, I'd sit with my mom, engrossed in the dramatic story lines.  

I find that same drama, working its way into our writing.  We're nearing the halfway point in Book 2 of our series.  My co-author and I were doing some writing the other night, when she conjured up this mysterious new character.  She IM'd me the character specifics and a scene she'd written with him in it.  Like a runaway freight train we were barrelling down the tracks with a whole new mythology that could actually stand on it's own. The fantastic feeling of creating and taking new directions is beyond exhilarating!. Oh, and naps help recharge the creative mind when your in a slump. The first soap opera i ever saw was Dark Shadows, the original one on television. The imagery that conjured up in my very young imagination was far more than even than the TV show was airing. I'd sit and create in my head whole episodes that didn't even exist. Who new then I was doing what is now called Fan Fiction. I was too young to put it down in words. Then came all the other wonderful daytime dramas with the twists and turns of love and life. We talked about these characters almost everyday as if they were real, even though we knew they weren't. It fed our innate human need for gossip, drama and suspense. With the demise of some of my favorite soaps, (OLTL, AMC you will always live on in my heart) I am not surprised to see many people turning to even more dramatic shows like Sons of Anarchy or Dexter, True Blood or any number of nighttime dramas and finding the office water cooler talk revolving around them. People want and need the drama and the intensity, the escape and fantasy of our own everyday humdrum lives. It's a formula as old as Greek and Roman mythology. Those stories were told and handed down with just as much twists and turns as any drama today as any real student of mythology knows.

I make no apologies for the drama related in our current and future books. It fills a need. My own. My writing partner and i write for ourselves as any good writer should, but we humbly invite you to share in that ride and hope you enjoy the fantasy.

The Body Hunters (Volume 1)