Tuesday, August 28, 2012

Author Ellie Mack Carves Out Her Own Identity

Author Ellie Mack is my guest blogger this week and she shares with us her account of her struggles to write the way she feels inside she needs to write, and not how others think she should write. Amen, Ellie!

The assignment for this week's post of the virtual blog tour is to share a deleted scene, or explain why you don't have one. Wow, this is a hard one for me. In the past, when I deleted a scene I really deleted it. I was dissatisfied with what I had written and unlike in my handwritten notebooks, I could hit the one magic button and it all went away.

I have a complete book that I have scrapped. I was trying to "fit in" with the writer's group I was part of. They were writing Christian fiction, so I wanted to write Christian fiction as well. I had twelve chapters of a story that I felt needed to be told. A romance between a sweet girl that had never known love and a man who had loved and lost, and was scarred from it. I had the characters in my mind. I knew them as if they were people that lived up the street. I proudly brought my first part to the meeting, cleared my throat and began. At the close of the meeting, one of the ladies presented me with the CBA guidelines of words that aren't allowed in their publications.

When I returned from the restroom  there were comments about failing. None of these seasoned writers would use the word "epic" but it was implied by the iciness in the air. I returned home and cried, a failure at my dream. I looked over the list, comparing it to the short bit I had and realized I couldn't do it. I couldn't write to their guidelines. I live a real life, not a candy-coated, sugary sweet life wearing a false face. The friends I have, the people I know, have real issues in their lives. Real problems that polite society would like to brush under the rug and pretend doesn't exist. I felt like a failure and a traitor. My personal struggle with reality and what other people saw as acceptable were a constant conflict for a while. I had to come to grips with one of two realities. Either I forced myself into the mold of decent society, or I lived as the real me. The real me that is gritty, blunt, matter of fact, and yes, have lived a less than perfect life. I couldn't betray the reality of the life I've lived and the struggles of those around me. If I was judged harshly so let it be. Behind those plasticene masks the other members of the group wore, I knew were lies and hidden secrets because we all have them.

I abandoned that first book, but not the characters. They begged and pleaded for their stories to be told. Sweet innocent Lexy does in fact meet with Kyle McIntyre, a man who's been burned by love's flames, but it's not in the sugar-coated world that I originally tried to put them in. Theirs is a world of chaos, a world of supernatural affairs, and ancient magic that will either tear them apart - spirit from body, or unite them in the bonds of love for eternity.

Here's the opening scene for that book:


Kyle McIntyre was drowning. Waves crashed over him as he struggled to stay afloat. Lightning crackled through the black sky, allowing him to see the monstrous wave that threatened to bury him in its icy embrace. Stinging pellets pricked his skin like thousands of needles. As he struggled desperately to keep his head above water, his hand touched something floating in the water.

He strained to reach the object. It was solid in his grasp, a large chunk of what used to be his sailing ship. The clouds of confusion were beginning to part, and he realized what must have happened. Panic tightened its grip. The slithering tentacles of fear invaded rational thought, enveloping him to drag him under forever into the black abyss. Where was LeAnne? What had happened? The mental fog made his head ache. In fact every cell in his body ached. Just then another bolt of lightning shot across the sky, and thunder rumbled so loud that he could feel it in his bones, and he was surrounded by water! His head threatened to explode with the lightning, and his mind muddled even more. His vision was blurred, but Kyle couldn’t decide if it was because of the rain, the salt water, or whatever led to his being in the water. Another crack of lightning. That was soooo not good. He turned around trying to catch the outline of shore. Another flash and he could see the faint outline of boulders ahead. Had he been so careless to run into the boulders?

Moments earlier, or what seemed only moments he’d been laughing and smiling with his fiancĂ©, discussing plans for their future. He’d seen the clouds building and decided to head back to the docks. It was his last memory before gasping for breath, in danger of drowning. He called out for LeAnn turning in circles, trying to scan the sea that surrounded him. A tension built in the air, it almost hummed with electricity. Another crack of lightning with blinding light. Too close! He had to get to shore. He felt something against his leg, and grabbed for it with his left hand, still holding onto the debris of the boat, he pulled it up in front of his chest.

NO! It can’t be! Please God, NO! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Kyle startled out of his dream. He’d had the same dream many times since the accident. It haunted him when he started feeling stressed. He let out an exhausted sigh, realizing that his schedule was booked for the next five to six months without any breaks. He really needed some down time. That was a problem. Kyle had agreed to this project at the urging of his Dad. A two year project that would become his Master’s thesis and guarantee a full time position at The University. It was his Dad’s idea, not his. Kyle didn’t have any real aspirations of his own, much less a plan for his future.

Le Anne’s death had left him hopeless and alone. He was 26, in great physical shape, had a brilliant mind, but lacked the zeal or passion to make his own destiny. He hadn’t been excited about anything in his life since her death.

Deep down he blamed God for her death, for robbing him of his chance at happiness, and his future children. He never gave voice to those thoughts, but they were there. Buried so deep it was easy to deny them, easy to hide them under a carefully crafted veneer of indifference. He didn’t allow himself to feel anything, that way there wasn’t any pain.

The investigation had been heart wrenching. Kyle clenched his teeth, staring out the window as he remembered the accusations, the headlines. How could they accuse him of murdering her? He was tried and acquitted, but not before leaving bitter resentments over the whole ordeal. He was through with love, through with plans, and through with unfulfilled dreams. Kyle had given up on life, on himself. Nothing inspired him.

Emptiness. That was his constant these days. Everything else was just a big waste of time as far as he was concerned. Not like time in the gym. That was time well spent as he could see the results, feel the strength in his own body.

No, he hadn’t given up on God, God had given up on him. Maybe that’s why he’d agreed to this crazy project of his Dad’s.

After the trial, he’d thrown himself into this, glad to be leaving Scotland. He shifted in his seat, glancing at the woman asleep in the seat next to his. He turned to stare out the window again, into the pale blue sky. Below was a dull brown carpet of dead grass. A sarcastic chuckle escaped as he thought of the similarities to how he felt. Cold and dead. It was all just mindless motions.

Kyle let out a slow, steady breath and ran his fingers through his hair. His thoughts raced around inside his head. Trying to focus on just one seemed impossible as the jumble of thoughts seemed to move en-mass in a blur. He hated the down time he spent in flight. It allowed time for all those crazy thoughts to push their way to the front and demand attention. Thoughts of LeAnn, thoughts about this project, but mostly thoughts about what he would do once this project was over in roughly six months.

He knew that everyone expected him to be “over it” by now. How could he be? Life all but ended that day. Sure, he was still breathing and walking, but he was hollow. Keeping up the image expected of him, was wearing him down quickly.

He’d traveled throughout the UK, Canada, and across the U.S. It didn’t seem to matter how far he was from home, his thoughts always caught up to him eventually. All he could see was a dull, dry - dead like the winter grass in the fields below - future. Alone. Forever. He had wealth and a good bit of it but what good was that with a lonely existence?

Sure, he could find companionship. There were always plenty of ladies willing to fulfill his pleasures, for a time. He wasn’t interested in that. Fool that he was, Kyle was an old-fashioned sort. He was a one woman man, and his woman had died.

Kyle paused and blinked back the emotions trying to escape. ’Wha’ am I suppose to do? I’ve been dead in the waters since that day. I can’t seem to kick start myself, can’t muster the strength to even try.’ He tugged the chain out from inside his shirt, staring on the gold band dangling from the end. ’I don’t have any sense of direction or drive. What’s the point really? Is it too much to have asked for a wife and children?” He stopped, his teeth clenched, lips tightened into his usual scowl, angry at the world. Letting the unspoken words wash over him. “Well, apparently it was!’

Carefully he eased the ring back inside his shirt, resting his hand on top of it, he gulped down the swelling emotions that suddenly seemed overwhelming. Bouncing his knuckle against his tightly clenched lips, an action that had become habit long ago to stave off emotional release, he made a decision. Whether it was desperation, or the result of hitting a personal rock bottom, he couldn’t say.

Kyle dared to squeak out a whispered prayer “If you are up there and have plans for me - lay it on me. I‘ve got nothing so if you‘re listening, I‘m open for ideas. And if you do have another lass for me, could ya kindly speed it up. I doona care if she‘s . . .” He thought about it then corrected himself. “I only ask that she love me.”

Hearing himself say it was almost a relief. The barely audible words were out there now. The core of his troubles laid on the line with that simple statement it had taken him so long to speak. “That’s all I’ve got.”
Kyle continued to stare out the window. Moments later the announcement came that they were landing at Lambert International field in St. Louis, Missouri.

Yeah, I think the rewrite is much better.

Write on my friends, write on.

Thank you Ellie Mack for sharing your experiences with us. I am sure you will convince some aspiring authors to write from the heart and not be afraid to abandon the textbook approach. Best wishes on your future writing.

Ellie Mack lives in a small town near St. Louis, Missouri. She graduated from Southeast Missouri State University with a BS in geography/cartography. She has worked for Department of Defense, county government, as a substitute teacher, and various other jobs.  Her hobbies include reading, bicycling, playing Tombraider, and Dance games such as Dance Dance Revolution, and Zumba. Between being a mother to two teenage girls, a wife, homemaker, and a mortgage loan officer, Ellie writes paranormal romances.
Ellie’s first erotica piece is appearing on http://storytimetrysts.blogspot.com/

Saturday, August 25, 2012

Saturday, August 18, 2012

Author Raymond Frazee - Imagination Deluxe

Today's I have had the pleasure to interview Raymond Frazee, an author with an imagination I could not even imagine. Welcome, Raymond!

Interviewed in Time and Space

Why did you start writing?

Because I grew tired of reading sucky stories and seeing sucky entertainment.  No, really.  I felt I could create a story as well as any other person, and that’s what made me want to write.  Yeah, big ego here!

How long have you been writing?

I began writing when I was a teenager.  I was probably sixteen when I first tried my hand at storytelling.  But I was horrible:  I couldn’t type, my handwriting was terrible, and I couldn’t spell to save my life.  It wasn’t until I was in my twenties that I tried writing for real.  Off and on I’ve gone, but this last year, I’ve been at it almost every day.

Your website is called Wide Awake but Dreaming. Why did you select that name?

Writers are dreamers; it is the trade we deal in.  Writers are always working, which is something I said in a blog post this Saturday morning.  If you’re not writing, you’re editing.  If you’re not editing, you’re thinking about your next story.  There is always something going on in your head, and you find yourself in something of a waking dream when you get into that grove that says, “Yes, this idea is a good one:  I think I’ll write this story.”

What do you dream about when you are wide awake?

My dreams always are about me being someone else.  I don’t like who I am, so I’m off being different people, doing different things, living different lives.  Usually I’m a creative sort, too:  never anything like a CEO of a company—unless that happens to be something for a story.

Or I’m dreaming up stories.  Or, better yet, envisioning movies for my favorite stories.  You should have seen my dreams for how I thought I could do After Worlds Collide.

What do you dream about when you are asleep?

They are generally strange, and dark.  Of late, however, I haven’t remembered them.  It sort of pisses me off, because I used to enjoy remembering my dreams.

What is your favorite writing project and why is it your favorite?

At the moment I don’t have one.  I just finished up my current novel, and I can’t say it was a “favorite”—if anything, it was very, very hard to write.  Mostly because there was a lot of things happening in my life at the same time, and the stress of both things together—not good.

But my favorite will come.  I know it will.  Some day, my princess will come . . .

I understand you are working on two novels. Care to share with us some details concerning each one of them?

One of the novels I just finished is Diners at the Memory’s End.  The other you are probably referring to is Her Demonic Majesty.  Both are excellent, probably award-winning stories if there ever were any!  Now to publish them . . .

Diners takes place in a future I created for my very large novel, Transporting, a novel I started over twenty years ago.  One of the main characters not only comes from the past, but from a parallel dimension.  His current home is a planet that is known for having some of the best colleges in what passes for the galactic empire, and the time is the late 32nd Century.  He lives with a woman who is not only of nobility, but someone with powerful psychic abilities.

With all that, there are still human issues.  Problems with school; problems with his relationship; problem with who he actually is.  The story deals with, at heart, coming to grips with being different, accepting that, and not being afraid to show it to others.  It’s fun, it’s interesting, it’s sexy, it’s depressing.  It’s life.

Her Demonic Majesty was written during the 2011 NaNoWriMo.  It was an idea dreamed up very quickly, and fleshed out a few weeks before I began writing.  It also deals with parallel dimensions, but this time the main character finds herself—well, lets say, it’s a huge case of mistaken identity.  There’s magic, there’s a modern steampunk feel, there’s paranormal stuff everywhere; yet, at the same time, it’s a very human story.  It’s the ultimate, “If I found myself in a huge amount of trouble, and I only had forty-eight hours to fix things so that I don’t die, what would I do?”  One of these days I’ll get the novel published, and you can see for yourself.

What types of short stories do you prefer to write, and why?

I’m not very good with short stories.  The shortest story I’ve written is ten thousand words, and it was an erotica piece.

I prefer science fiction, but I’ll go horror and paranormal as well, and I’ve also written some erotic fantasy as well.  Straight up fantasy is not my bag:  I’d never be able to write a Song of Ice and Fire type series, only because my mind doesn’t work that way.  But I could write something along the lines of the Foundation series.  It’s how I am.

Where do you hope your writing career leads you?

Where I can do this full-time.  That’s my real dream.

How are you finding our current blog tour?

I find it a lot of work.  But then, writing has always been a lot of work.  So buck up and enjoy the madness!

To learn more about this intriguing author visit his website at 

Friday, August 17, 2012

David Chislett's Poetry from South Africa

I would like to welcome a guest blogger from a thousand plus miles away. David Chislett is a very versatile writer and speaker, and it is a pleasure to have him as a guest today.

Poetry from Johannesburg, South Africa

My name is David Chislett and I am a poet. Well, a writer all round really, but most recently I published a collection of my poetry. I live in Johannesburg in South Africa. Right now, it is snowing. It’s not supposed to here, but there you go!

I have been writing poetry since 1981 but never really thought much about doing anything else with it other than write. Then in 2001 I created a series of short story books for unknown writers here in South Africa and by 2010, I had another 4 books out. Suddenly, it seemed like time to publish my poems.

The book is called For You Or Someone Like You and it consists of 90 poems. The 90 were selected from about 250 poems that I wrote and posted on Facebook over and 18 month period. As such, there is no overall subject or theme for this collection. Rather it is a window into my life and mind at a specific period of time.

Broadly speaking however, I deal with ideas and issues around identity, meaning and purpose in my writing. These I explore either as internal landscapes or by reflecting on the natural world around me.

I grew up during Apartheid in South Africa, did military service here, voted for freedom in our 1st democratic elections, have travelled extensively and studied further. Being a New South African has given me an interesting and unique perspective on life and I like to think my poetry reflects this.

I am a serial entrepreneur as well as writer and as a result I have gone the self-publishing route with my last 2 books (including this one) This means I can do all sorts of cool things with my books. If you visit www.foryouorsomeonelikeyou.com you will see what I mean!

One of these cool things was to get a group of established song-writers here in South Africa to take a poem each and turn it into a song which I have released on an album as a limited edition, web-sale only value-add to the book. As you can see, it’s all set up with PayPal so you can buy from anywhere in the world and I will send to anywhere too!

I also have my own website for all the other stuff I get up to which you can find at www.davidchislett.co.za

But enough of me talking about me, here is a sample of my work. One of the poems you’ll find in For You Or Someone Like You

Walking God At Emmerentia

Speaking in tongues
Among the burning hot bushes
My eyes skate across the mirrors
Of three still lakes
The highveld sky
Arches overhead
In purple greyness
Jacaranda blooms reaching skywards
From beds of verdant green
Atop this grass
I see the city’s reaches
Towers piercing heaven
The multitude of voices
I cannot understand
Reflect my inner turmoil
As I walk these red dirt paths
Watch the dogs and their owners play
The cogs of mind joggle
Find the right gears
Something inside my heart
Burns easier
A firm hand upon
Racing emotions descends
And I feel I am in control again
I swear the lake winks at me
I head back under the trees
Toward my car
The life I am carving
A message remains
From a green and blue reverie
That the living is the story
The rest will come right alone.

You can buy the book at www.foryouorsomeonelikeyou.com

Wednesday, August 15, 2012

Saturday, August 11, 2012

Meet the Multi Talented Martin "Mott" Reaves

Today's guest blogger is definitely not Joe Average. I am not going to let the cat out of the bag. If you want to know more about Martin "Mott" Reaves you must read it for yourself! A very warm welcome, Mott!

Humoring the Muse

When I entered the rather crowded world of blogging, I was a 44-year-old blog virgin. I suppose I subscribed to the advice of countless young virgins since time immemorial: Lay back and think happy thoughts. OK. Fair enough.

 I was told this kind of thing could be addictive...I am still unsure about that.  So far, I have landed on “time-consuming” as the most apt descriptor.  But it is fun, and so far I haven’t gone blind…so I shall continue.  If it does turn out to be addictive, those of you following may consider yourselves in a co-dependent relationship.

So, why "Humoring the Muse"? I suppose it is my way of not writing; or writing when I should be capital "W" Writing. If I may: Muses are these Greek goddess chicks who were supposed to be the source of inspiration for all things artistic or literary. I've always imagined what they would look like and how they would behave; perhaps Charlize Theron and whispered promises of the rewards that come to those who Write and Write well. Or, if I'm feeling retro, maybe a Grace Kelly Muse, or Marilyn Monroe, or...well, you feel me. And perhaps there are those who have such delicate and curvy inspiration. Nicholas Sparks, for instance, could only write what he writes with something soft and gauzy floating nearby.  Kudos, Nick.

My Muse, unfortunately, looks disturbingly like Ramona Quimby (look it up, there are no free rides here) and stands just over my right shoulder poking me incessantly with her grimy, fingernail-gnawed-to-the-quick index finger, repeating over and over in her five-year-old nasal: "Shouldn't you be writing? Shouldn't you be writing? Why aren't you writing right now? Why? Huh? Whyyyy????"  If I didn't feel on some level that I actually do need her irritation (like the grain of sand in the oyster, don'tcha know), I'd clock that little bee-ahtch into next week.

Anyway, there are times (like now) when I feel like Writing, but not so much like Plotting...so I figure if I can write (small "w") here, then maybe, just maybe, that little snit will leave off poking me and go watch Cartoon Network for a while. I will have humored her and flexed my writing muscle a bit and can go to bed with a clear conscience...and that's worth a bit of literary deception any day.

A few questions, if I may be so bold? 
How has blogging enhanced your world? 
Has it enriched you, or simply become a way not to Write that Great American Novel you know you have hiding within?
What does your Muse look like?

I’m interested, I really am.  Discussion is good for the soul.

*     *     *

 Martin Reaves is a writer primarily of suspense/thrillers with a psychological edge. And sometimes horror...or humor...heck, even romance. (Aren't all these things connected on some level?).  Upon turning 48 he realized he was no longer 47...he wasn't sure what to do with this information so he moved on.  Martin is very happily married to his childhood sweet-patootie, and has two incredible adult daughters who he considers among his best friends.  Reading and Writing are twin first-loves, followed by music (he is a musician and singer and has been performing semi-professionally for longer than he'd care to think about).  When not selling plastic to pay the bills, he (and his books) can be found here:

Thursday, August 2, 2012

Nikki Noffsinger Gives Us A Peek Into Her Novel Cursed Awakening

This week I would like to welcome fellow on-the-edge author Nikki Noffsinger who has agreed to share an interesting excerpt from her novel Cursed Awakening. Take it away, Nikki!

Sneak Peak Exclusive: Cursed Awakening

By Nikki Noffsinger

            Author’s Note:
            I had so much fun exploring the story for this book. I hope you enjoy what you read. Nyx Wahpeton was fun to create as was his world. I loved creating for him who I believe is the perfect mate: a girl that’s going to give him a run for his money and who accepts him for who he is not what. Thank you for taking the time to visit Doug Simpson’s Blog and for reading an exerpt from Cursed Awakening.

                                                            Nikki Noffsinger

Ivy was sitting on a large boulder that was just inside a thicket of trees behind the pizza parlor. She had to breathe because the memories of her own brothers and sisters were too much! They were for the most part half brothers and sisters, but they had looked at her as nothing her whole life. The only one of her sisters that had ever really cared about her was her sister Danielle. Danielle was younger than her but they had spent happy times together until Danielle got sick before she was ten years old. Danielle suffered from leukemia and because of her commune’s belief’s she was denied treatments and medicines that would have maybe saved her. When Danielle died, her mother had blamed Ivy for her death because Danielle was her mother and father’s favorite. Ivy wiped at a tear that streaked down her cheek. She didn’t hear Nyx as he approached her.
“Ivy, I’m sorry I brought up something unpleasant. Are you okay?” he said as he knelt beside her.
“Oh, it’s alright, really. I, I don’t talk much about my family.” She said softly.
Before he could stop himself, he reached up and caressed her cheek. His eyes were full of warmth and longing. Ivy’s breath caught in her throat at his touch. Normally she would have jerked back from such a touch but she found herself leaning into his palm. Nyx looked into her sad eyes and the compulsion to kiss her was more than he could stand. He had only just met her and she was everything against his very nature but he found himself wanting her like no other female he’d ever wanted before.
Time seemed to stop as they just sat there looking at each other. Finally Nyx stood and offered Ivy his hand. She slipped her hand into his massive one and he smiled and they walked back to the pizza parlor. Lorna and Xander were just walking out.
“Ivy, I would like to see you again.” He said softly. Ivy smiled she wanted to see him too.
“I would like that!” she said as she took out a piece of paper from her purse and scribbled her number and address down. He took it and put it in his pocket.
“Hey, where’d you get off to?” Lorna asked with a big smile on her face.
“Nowhere particular, just had to get some air.” Ivy replied as she opened the van door.
Ivy waved to Nyx and his brother as Lorna hopped in and started the van. Nyx waved back as he settled his sunglasses back on his face. He watched the blue minivan pull out of the parking lot.
“So, I take it you and the female hit it off?” Xander said with a smile.
“Yeah, sort of I guess.” Nyx replied.
“You ready to take off or do you want to stand here and stare at the parking lot some more?” Xander mused.
Nyx slugged his brother in the arm and gave him a scowling look. They both headed towards their bikes and headed back towards the Res.

Lorna and Ivy both sat on the couch. Lorna was reading a book while Ivy sat watching the TV not really paying attention to the show she was watching. Lorna put her book down and looked over at Ivy. Something was definitely troubling her and Lorna knew all too well what it was. Ivy was lost in thought as images from her past were running through her mind as well as Nyx. 

“Ivy, what’s going on in that head of yours chick?” Lorna asked as she moved closer to Ivy on the couch.
Ivy sighed. “Nothing really Lorna, I was just thinking about no matter how much I change I can’t wipe out the past. Then there is that guy we met tonight. I mean that is the last thing I need right now is to get all caught up in some guy.”
Lorna knew that sadness all too well! She grabbed the TV remote and turned the TV off and took Ivy’s hands in her own. She waited until Ivy looked at her and she had her full attention.
“Ivy, you’re right; you can’t erase the past and I know how really difficult it is living with everything you’ve been through. However, it will get easier! Trust me; it’ll get easier each day that you live for today and tomorrow instead of yesterday! Bit by bit you’ll be able to let go and look at how far you’ve come! You’ve made great progress! Don’t you think it still doesn’t bother me about all twenty-six of my brothers and sisters? It does but I have to live my life not the one I was born to live and you have to do the same in your own time! As far as that hottie from the pizza parlor goes, c’mon girlie that’s one fine guy right there and every single gal needs a friend like that!” Lorna always knew the right thing to say.
Ivy still was feeling anxious about giving him her phone number. “Lorna, I wish I could be as strong and as confident as you!”
“Listen to me Ivy, you are strong and you are confident! Besides, with a guy like that Nyx…I bet he could show you a few things to help that confidence issue along!” Lorna teased while wagging her eye brows up and down. Ivy slapped at her shoulder and turned beet red.
“You are so bad, Lorna!” Ivy mused.
“Oh you have no idea Ivy! I’m completely wicked!” Lorna shot back.
Both of them fell into laughter as Lorna turned the TV back on. She slung an arm over Ivy’s shoulders and gave her a gentle squeeze. A little after midnight, Ivy climbed the stairs to her room. She showered, brushed her teeth, and brushed out her hair. Ivy took her pill that helped her to sleep and snuggled under the patchwork quilt that Lorna had given her. The only reason she loved the quilt was that it was sewn with neon colored pieces of fabric and zebra print. Nothing in Lorna’s house looked anything like the old antique stuff she’d grown up around and she loved it like that! The last thoughts she had in her mind were of Nyx. She wondered if she would hear from him again and wondered what it would have felt like to kiss those full and powerful looking lips of his.

Nyx was making a run through the eastern glen around the perimeter of the reservation. He and his clan protected the people of the New Hope Reservation. The people there knew of the protectors that kept them safe. Seventy years ago, nearly half the reservation had been slaughtered from a pack that had been living up by Canada. The truce was forged especially when Nyx’s older sister Khloe had found her mate with the Beta of that pack, Cinjin. Cinjin was just as respected as the Alpha of the pack and they resided in South Dakota. However, there were other enemies that Nyx’s pack protected the gentle people of the Res from. One of those threats being the Chupacabra. Their attacks had been less and less over the years but then again the packs from all over North America had united in their eradication. The current and most immediate threats were from local rednecks that lived to raise hell with the Native American people living there and it was up to Nyx and his clan to whip some serious ass of any one that came within a mile of the reservation with those kinds of intentions.
Even though Nyx was in his wolf form and running the perimeter, he still couldn’t get Ivy off his mind. She was tall, nicely built, curvy and soft in all the right places and those big bright eyes that burned a hole into his chest was all he could concentrate on! He wondered what she was doing and if she was safe. It took every bit of self-control he had to not break out of his pattern and go and find her to check on her. Suddenly just as he was debating on it, he felt a sharp nip at his hind quarter. Nyx yelped and turned around on the fool that had decided to get the drop on him.
“Yeah come on little brother! You’ve been running around in a complete circle and acting like some pup that’s in need of his mother’s teat!” Bodhi barked that almost sounded like he was laughing.
Nyx rolled his eyes. His brother Bodhi made it his life’s mission to pick fights with him. Actually all his older brothers did. That was okay though because out of all of them Nyx knew he was the fastest, the most cunning, and the strongest of the pack. “I think you’re the one that’s never latched off of his mother’s teat!” Nyx retorted.
Bodhi crouched and bared his teeth and Nyx did the same. In a split second Bodhi was pouncing on his younger brother. It wasn’t in a fighting or defensive way, but a playful one. They’d snarl, claw and bite here and there but that was how male wolves played. Bodhi’s gray and silver fur shone brightly in the moonlight while Nyx’s jet black fur made him almost invisible in the night except for his blue eyes that seemed to glow like two blue flames. He was eerie! Their grandfather had the same blue eyes and black fur as Nyx. It was an uncommon color. Most wolves had either yellow, copper, or brown eyes. Nyx’s grandfather was full blooded Sioux and shaman on top of being a wolf.
“Are you two Scoobys done yet or would you like me to find you a rubber ball to chase?” Caleb taunted as he came upon his brothers.
“Scooby? That’s the best you can come up with brother? I was thinking I was more of a White Fang or at least Rin Tin Tin.” Nyx said in total smart ass fashion.
Bodhi growled, “Why do you get to be White Fang? More like Black Fang. Hey Caleb, what are you out doing, playing bitch or something spying on others?”
Caleb phased back to his human form and laughed at his brothers. “You’d know more about being a bitch than I would, Bodhi. Naw, I was coming to find you guys. Gramps needs us back at the house. Something is up.” Caleb said casually as he reclined against a tree.
Caleb was tall and unlike the rest of them had a head full of curly brown hair. It hung just past his ears. Bodhi was like Xander, he had golden blonde hair but other than that he was all native with deep brown eyes and tawny skin. Nauru and Dakota looked the same seeing as they were twins. They were identical in their appearance but their personalities were night and day! Nauru was all business and had little room for “fun” and Dakota was forever irritating the death out of all of them being the clan’s “clown”. Bodhi was a lot like Dakota but his version of “fun” was usually being wrapped around some female or wolf swan. Bodhi definitely lived for the carnal pleasures in life and relished in being the male ho that he was. He wore it with a badge of pride. They all phased to human and dressed. They couldn’t go through the reservation as wolves. No, they had to resume their human forms. Their grandfather’s house was right smack in the middle and even though the elders knew of what they were; they still had to keep their secret. It was a matter of keeping the people of the Res and their own pack safe from those who would do harm.
“Where’s Xander?” Nyx asked Caleb.
“Now brother, where do you think he’s at?” Caleb snickered.
Nyx raked a hand through his hair, of course he knew where Xander was and if his father caught Xander not doing what he should, there would be one unhappy wolf tonight! Xander had fallen for a wolf swan named, Jacee Redwood. Jacee and her mother had joined the pack about five years ago when their own pack had been killed off by the Chupacabras. Their pack had gone to give aid but it had been too late except for Jacee, her mother, father and her two brothers. Xander was head over heels for her. She was great though and Nyx couldn’t have approved more of their relationship.
Jacee was petite and had dark hair that reached below her waist. She was Navajo but she had golden-amber eyes. Xander like the rest of the boys were supposed to spend the nights running the perimeters but here lately Xander had been dividing his time between guard duty and Jacee. She was going to college and so naturally being a bonded male, Xander was going to college too. Nyx took online courses only because he didn’t much like the complications and distractions of the busy modern world. He liked his freedom and the quiet of the woods that he called home. While he was thinking about how free he felt he began thinking about Ivy. Her friend had said that Ivy had been through a lot of suffering and that disturbed him. He knew in that instant that he would tear someone to shreds if anyone even thought about making her suffer now! He was going to ask Xander for a big favor when he got home. Well considering Xander was there at all!

Ivy tossed and turned in her bed. For some reason her medication didn’t seem to be working! She kept seeing the faces of the commune and Papa Paul looming over her as she was being purified. She had snuck off the grounds to go see one of those baby doctors and maybe get a picture of her baby. When she had come back home he had been waiting for her. It didn’t matter that she had gone to the doctor or had a picture of their six month old baby son; she had defied him and the punishment was purification. The terror of what would be done to her was nothing; the fear for her unborn child was everything!
Ivy sat straight up in bed covered in sweat with her mouth open as if it were screaming but no sound was coming out. She felt a rush of heat flood her body and Ivy bolted from the bed and ran to the bathroom across the hall. She barely made it to the toilet where she heaved. Lorna was there in a matter of moments. Lorna held her hair back and grabbed a wash cloth off the shelf and got it wet with cool water. Lorna crouched next to Ivy and waited for the heaving to stop. When it did she wiped Ivy’s clammy face and put the rag on the back of her neck. Ivy was breathing in ragged breaths. “Was it the dream again?” Lorna asked truly concerned.
Ivy nodded her head up and down unable to speak. Lorna pulled her into her side and rubbed her arm with her free hand. She laid her head against Ivy’s and whispered reassuring and soothing words to Ivy. Ivy shook for a while and even let her tears fall. Lorna sat there and let her roll through the emotions she was having. There really wasn’t anything that Lorna could do. Ivy had been having terrible nightmares and had even been diagnosed with PTSD which was not unusual. Lorna had gone through a similar experience when she first had left the commune.

Cursed Awakening is now available through XoXo Publishing.com in E-Book format and through Amazon.

About the Author:

Nikki Noffsinger is a newly published author who has always had a passion for writing as well as for books. She is a mother of two and lives in the same small town she was born which is also noted for being the birthplace of James Dean. A lover of many different genres, paranormal romance is one of her favorites and she loves fantasy because of the freedom it allows her to create her stories.