tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-89651139773303667542024-02-21T08:36:00.576-05:00The End of NowhereI'm a writer currently rewriting my urban fantasy novel, Where Demons Fear to Tread.Anaquanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07042174346386705985noreply@blogger.comBlogger39125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8965113977330366754.post-38428823071891179362011-08-16T15:52:00.002-04:002011-08-16T15:52:55.259-04:00We're MovingI'm just letting everyone know that at the end of the month I will no longer be posting to this blog. I'm moving everything over to Wordpress. You can find the new blog here -- http://anaquana.wordpress.com/Anaquanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07042174346386705985noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8965113977330366754.post-72348227322629331562011-08-15T13:41:00.000-04:002011-08-15T13:41:59.590-04:00Manic MondayToday was definitely manic. After taking two weeks away from everything, today was back to work for both hubby and me. It's nice getting back up on the writing horse now that my creative well has been refilled. However, that giddy feeling was replaced with abject terror when I went looking for what I'd written in the weeks before our trip to Vegas and found the file EMPTY! *cue racing heart and hyperventilating* Thankfully, WriteorDie saves a copy of each session in its own separate folder. *angels start singing* It doesn't have any of my later additions that I made in the word doc, but that's okay because I have the main body of work.<br />
<br />
Reading through it, this small snippet made me smile:<br />
<br />
<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:DoNotOptimizeForBrowser/> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--> <br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">"Don't get cocky there, boy. You're still the junior partner here."</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">"Yeah, yeah. Go ahead and admit it. I'm doing good."</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">"You are, Vic. Give it ten or fifteen years and you might be as good as Luka when he first started."</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">"Wounded. I've been grievously wounded to the core!"</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">"Drama queen."</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">"Hey now, I may be gay, but I'm definitely not a queen. You see this grease under my nails? It's auto grease, not stage grease."</div>Anaquanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07042174346386705985noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8965113977330366754.post-42345997643826333352011-08-13T14:33:00.004-04:002011-08-13T14:48:31.478-04:00Vegas, Baby!I spent a full week basking in the 100+ degree heat of Las Vegas. Some dear friends decided they wanted to renew their wedding vows in Vegas in front of Elvis so we planned a group trip out. More than a dozen of us from all across the country (and even one from Australia) descended on The Tropicana for a week of fun and relaxation. It was wonderful. We left the laptop at home and were pretty much incommunicado for an entire week... except for the one morning when when of hubby's employees called the cell phone at 8am Vegas time with a question for hubby instead of asking the big boss. That phone call did not go over well.<br />
<br />
The tri-couple wedding vow renewal was so much fun. I highly recommend The Graceland Wedding Chapel for anyone who wants to get married by Elvis. Their Elvis was fun and funny (even if he did mistake us all for a group of swingers) and the video and photographs of the ceremony were gorgeous.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLKdRSg_tKumtsGgCi-iWlhmY-nEbk2ss9fdOJrxKlweJo-Ro3_F41Nfh4leI0Ct2yJisvMliH1CpKHtJIJLNj8vxtaGRs0b-onDqdE5w73svSX9-0CEAZhXIYz0Cgz_N4AGXw9uxeEHpc/s1600/Vegas.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLKdRSg_tKumtsGgCi-iWlhmY-nEbk2ss9fdOJrxKlweJo-Ro3_F41Nfh4leI0Ct2yJisvMliH1CpKHtJIJLNj8vxtaGRs0b-onDqdE5w73svSX9-0CEAZhXIYz0Cgz_N4AGXw9uxeEHpc/s320/Vegas.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>My husband and me at the wedding chapel (no we weren't one of the couples to renew our vows).<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGk7kBSeLfXP7w26bLDk-Jm61c2uzXmnIzMnjjQ53X4At8b1Lwm4ZsbB6hyMtvdHCQg6ilVDyUjtB-3GwS3Pyvi3HodaXs1z-m1JAiNYn7W6VFCSpUn9_qDiEy5HPuGNccd_bnqKE5rvUs/s1600/100_2808.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGk7kBSeLfXP7w26bLDk-Jm61c2uzXmnIzMnjjQ53X4At8b1Lwm4ZsbB6hyMtvdHCQg6ilVDyUjtB-3GwS3Pyvi3HodaXs1z-m1JAiNYn7W6VFCSpUn9_qDiEy5HPuGNccd_bnqKE5rvUs/s320/100_2808.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvMYiVUCfYwKWp-pCiFW9IkqQaFLln8AYYKfGjviRok6sNfHM3vr2h2tEUscRQjvRfjArAPty_8JrTU_WaesoxjMOU_ANeEAkfnI6czbDNAoKN1fuB0AYe8ukXmMHOJZ8FROtrmL5xLcD6/s1600/100_2807.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvMYiVUCfYwKWp-pCiFW9IkqQaFLln8AYYKfGjviRok6sNfHM3vr2h2tEUscRQjvRfjArAPty_8JrTU_WaesoxjMOU_ANeEAkfnI6czbDNAoKN1fuB0AYe8ukXmMHOJZ8FROtrmL5xLcD6/s320/100_2807.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>The pool area at The Tropicana. This is where we spent most mornings lounging about.<br />
<br />
Other than the wedding, we didn't have a whole lot planned. It was just about hanging out with friends we don't see very often and being able to relax. There was quite a bit of walking The Strip with people and spotting the wonderful street performers. Especially Miss Cotton Candy:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh89NS9uOmJZ8LAJlSqd__fvKw6KiX39prON0U698o3xIgdBn4yXg3bcfQCmwvo0w3LGxGgzatuLhOItd2CBBDdt98aFx3DAfyqR9whYNbAvs6XveblzaXEu4syNzDiDYJ28UwN9w6MdmYR/s1600/Cotton+Candy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh89NS9uOmJZ8LAJlSqd__fvKw6KiX39prON0U698o3xIgdBn4yXg3bcfQCmwvo0w3LGxGgzatuLhOItd2CBBDdt98aFx3DAfyqR9whYNbAvs6XveblzaXEu4syNzDiDYJ28UwN9w6MdmYR/s320/Cotton+Candy.jpg" width="238" /></a></div><br />
<br />
Most people flew home on Sunday, but hubby and I stayed until Tuesday morning. We didn't get home until after midnight Wednesday morning. <br />
<br />
<br />
Anaquanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07042174346386705985noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8965113977330366754.post-2929314350397635642011-08-01T22:52:00.000-04:002011-08-01T22:52:24.976-04:00Manic MondayOn Friday, my agent and I had the following Twitter conversation:<br />
<br />
<a class=" twitter-hashtag" href="https://twitter.com/#%21/search?q=%23FF" rel="nofollow" title="#FF"><span class="hash"></span></a><span class="tweet-user-name"> <span class="tweet-full-name">Ana Ramsey</span> </span> <br />
<div class="tweet-corner"> <div class="tweet-meta"> <span class="icons"> <div class="extra-icons"> <span class="inlinemedia-icons"></span> </div></span> </div></div><div class="tweet-row"> <div class="tweet-text pretty-link"><a class=" twitter-hashtag" href="https://twitter.com/#%21/search?q=%23FF" rel="nofollow" title="#FF"><span class="hash">#</span><span class="hash-text">FF</span></a> love to my dear agent <a class=" twitter-atreply" data-screen-name="BookCannibal" href="http://twitter.com/BookCannibal" rel="nofollow"><span class="at">@</span><span class="at-text">BookCannibal</span></a>. You should follow her because she's my agent and she rocks. :-)</div><div class="tweet-text pretty-link"> </div><div class="tweet-text pretty-link"><span class="tweet-user-name"><span class="tweet-full-name">Cameron McClure</span> </span> <div class="tweet-row"> <div class="tweet-text pretty-link"><a class=" twitter-atreply" data-screen-name="anaquana" href="http://twitter.com/anaquana" rel="nofollow"><span class="at">@</span><span class="at-text">anaquana</span></a> Thanks! When a woman with pink hair in her photo tells me that I rock, that's the kind of compliment I take seriously!</div><div class="tweet-text pretty-link"> </div><div class="tweet-text pretty-link"><span class="tweet-user-name"> <span class="tweet-full-name">Ana Ramsey</span> </span> <div class="tweet-row"> <div class="tweet-text pretty-link"><a class=" twitter-atreply" data-screen-name="BookCannibal" href="http://twitter.com/BookCannibal" rel="nofollow"><span class="at">@</span><span class="at-text">BookCannibal</span></a> *grins* Well, I hope the fact that the pink is only photoshopped on doesn't make you think less of the compliment. ;-)</div><div class="tweet-text pretty-link"><a class=" twitter-atreply" data-screen-name="BookCannibal" href="http://twitter.com/BookCannibal" rel="nofollow"><span class="at">@</span><span class="at-text">BookCannibal</span></a> I *am*, however, seriously contemplating dying it purple for Vegas next week. :-D</div><div class="tweet-text pretty-link"> </div><div class="tweet-text pretty-link"><span class="tweet-user-block-full-name">Cameron McClure </span> <div class="tweet-row"> <div class="tweet-text tweet-text-large"><a class=" twitter-atreply" data-screen-name="anaquana" href="http://twitter.com/anaquana" rel="nofollow"><span class="at">@</span><span class="at-text">anaquana</span></a> Oh no! I do think that somewhat diminishes your rock star cred, and, by association, the credibility of your compliments</div><div class="tweet-text tweet-text-large"> </div><div class="tweet-text tweet-text-large"><span class="tweet-user-name"> <span class="tweet-full-name">Ana Ramsey</span> </span> <div class="tweet-corner"> <div class="tweet-meta"> <span class="icons"> <div class="extra-icons"> <span class="reply-icon icon"></span><a class=" twitter-atreply" data-screen-name="BookCannibal" href="http://twitter.com/BookCannibal" rel="nofollow"><span class="at">@</span><span class="at-text">BookCannibal</span></a> Oh dear... Guess I'll have to take some of <a class=" twitter-atreply" data-screen-name="ChuckWendig" href="http://twitter.com/ChuckWendig" rel="nofollow"><span class="at">@</span><span class="at-text">ChuckWendig</span></a>'s advice abt how to become a writing rock star. http://terribleminds.com/ramble/2011/07/27/turning-writers-into-motherfucking-rock-stars/</div><div class="extra-icons"> </div><div class="extra-icons">So, yes, dear readers, I have gone and turned myself purple. It took 3 bottles of Splat Lusty Lavender hair dye to get it done, but I now look like a damned Faery. </div><div class="extra-icons"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0aOkaSGwMwUmnU-EzkvPQYpNbEK8NUce7_79MKar6kvDBBDuxZTQ-zij1G9td_DKBGW1lJ-R0mXgEsBMuZxURpG08imTE3sjJSNr5XfMDBnRDjScq9kOnq-u87DR_rZTW-5sRuHi_0_Gm/s1600/100_2791.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0aOkaSGwMwUmnU-EzkvPQYpNbEK8NUce7_79MKar6kvDBBDuxZTQ-zij1G9td_DKBGW1lJ-R0mXgEsBMuZxURpG08imTE3sjJSNr5XfMDBnRDjScq9kOnq-u87DR_rZTW-5sRuHi_0_Gm/s320/100_2791.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxRbFL2e2uwUNd2T9dEn0erMNM7amTEUNJHwOyweuxTBQpZy4JWJdY_2WI5AsCzJqPM_x8-lrmlM-lCU3qBIUdMW6Sq2WmVjIiCIX0ruu8ZW09vzbSVregvWOc3Za-0y9nz2wzXTcl4Ipd/s1600/100_2789.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxRbFL2e2uwUNd2T9dEn0erMNM7amTEUNJHwOyweuxTBQpZy4JWJdY_2WI5AsCzJqPM_x8-lrmlM-lCU3qBIUdMW6Sq2WmVjIiCIX0ruu8ZW09vzbSVregvWOc3Za-0y9nz2wzXTcl4Ipd/s320/100_2789.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="extra-icons"> </div></span></div></div><a class="twitter-timeline-link" data-expanded-url="http://terribleminds.com/ramble/2011/07/27/turning-writers-into-motherfucking-rock-stars/" href="http://t.co/wMSUFJv" rel="nofollow" target="_blank" title="http://terribleminds.com/ramble/2011/07/27/turning-writers-into-motherfucking-rock-stars/"></a><div class="tweet-row"> </div> </div></div></div></div> </div></div> </div></div>Anaquanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07042174346386705985noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8965113977330366754.post-400166687466182872011-07-28T15:55:00.000-04:002011-07-28T15:55:22.676-04:00Agents as PublishersThere's been a new controversy brewing lately in the publishing world -- <a href="http://accrispin.blogspot.com/2011/06/agencies-becoming-publishers-trend-and.html">literary agencies taking on the role of e-publisher</a>. <br />
<br />
For those of you who don't know, an agent is a writer's best friend. They're your advocate when dealing with publishers. They negotiate with publishers in order to get the best deal and the most money for the writer. They are also the mediator when things aren't going so well between writer and publisher. <br />
<br />
This, obviously creates a conflict of interest when that agent puts on a publisher's hat. Where does the line get drawn between an agent's duty to get the best deal for his/her client and the publisher's duty to make money? How hard is that agent going to work for his/her client at getting those good deals when they can simply steer them towards e-publishing through their company? <br />
<br />
My personal feelings about this match those of many other agents and writers. I have no problem with agents opening up their own publishing arm AS LONG AS their clients don't overlap.<br />
<br />
Actually, I lie, I do have a problem with it. And that problem lies in the area of time management. As it stands now with agents simply being agents, they're pressed for time to get everything done. Where is the extra time going to come from? Who is going to get skimped for attention? The agent's clients? The publisher's clients? Those poor, desperate souls hopelessly querying trying to snag an agent? <br />
<br />
Romance author Courtney Milan has <a href="http://www.courtneymilan.com/ramblings/2011/07/27/agency-publishing-and-conflicts-of-interest/">a fabulous post on her blog</a> about this whole fiasco. Go check it out and give her some love because she is one intelligent, classy lady.Anaquanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07042174346386705985noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8965113977330366754.post-55040096913446203692011-07-25T20:40:00.001-04:002011-07-25T20:49:40.538-04:00Manic MondaySorry for such a late posting today. Hubby has today and tomorrow off, so my schedule is all messed up. We spent a good portion of the day ripping up linoleum that had been laid over beautiful hardwood floors. Right now I'm an aching, tired mess so I'm just going to squee a bit because Ghost Story, Book 13 of the Dresden Files, will be out tomorrow.<br />
<br />
Also, <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ykCExCla1tE&feature=share">Old Spice Duel</a>! Even though I'm in complete lust with Isaiah Mustafa, I hate the Old Spice commercials. That said, Kick Fabio's Ass Isaiah!!!Anaquanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07042174346386705985noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8965113977330366754.post-23976224626829656752011-07-22T13:46:00.001-04:002011-07-22T13:47:10.936-04:00Throwing in the Towel (Then Picking It Back Up)My guest post over at <a href="http://blackinkwhitepaper.wordpress.com/2011/07/22/guest-blogger-ana-ramsey/">Black Ink, White Paper</a> is up. Head on over, take a peek, and maybe hang around for a bit. It's a great site filled with awesome people.Anaquanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07042174346386705985noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8965113977330366754.post-91574945619278902972011-07-18T12:26:00.000-04:002011-07-18T12:26:38.729-04:00Manic MondayDue to a miscommunication, my guest post over at http://blackinkwhitepaper.wordpress.com/ was pushed to this Friday.<br />
<br />
This round of rewrites have been sent off to the most excellent of agents. <br />
<br />
And since this heat has melted my brain, I'm going to leave you all with some <a href="http://www.buzzfeed.com/fjelstud/20-alcoholic-beverages-inspired-by-the-harry-potte">Harry Potter themed alcoholic drinks.</a>Anaquanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07042174346386705985noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8965113977330366754.post-10625670729876806482011-07-11T16:45:00.000-04:002011-07-11T16:45:35.896-04:00Manic MondayThis weekend I realized that the book I had planned as Book #2 in my series is actually Book #3. Lucky for me, I also figured out the plot of the new Book #2. Now to just let the plot bubble away in the cauldron of my brain for a bit.<br />
<br />
My friend K.B. Wagers asked me to write a guest blog for <a href="http://www.blackinkwhitepaper.wordpress.com/">Black Ink, White Paper</a>. After looking over the interview questions she sent, I opted to go for a regular blog post instead of just answering questions. So look for that on the Black Ink, White Paper blog this coming Friday, July 15th!<br />
<br />
I was lamenting on Facebook today how woefully neglected this blog is and K.B. subtly made the suggestion that I pick one day a week and make a habit of posting on that day. So, I'm going to take her up on that challenge and do my very best to post something every Monday. And if I don't have a new post on Mondays, I give you all permission to threaten me with spiders. :-DAnaquanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07042174346386705985noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8965113977330366754.post-49491816235021450072011-07-03T20:46:00.000-04:002011-07-03T20:46:10.979-04:00Happy July 4th WeekendI finished the rewrites for <i>Where Demons Fear to Tread</i>. Now I'm just waiting to hear back from a couple readers to make sure I didn't miss anything and didn't leave any embarrassing threads dangling then it's off to my wonderful agent. <br />
<br />
In the mean time, I read over a story for a friend. OMG! It was so good. I can't wait for some agent and then publisher to snatch this up because it made me laugh, cry, love her and hate her all at the same time. I was supposed to be beta'ing it for her, but I got so caught up in it the first time around that I couldn't do anything but read it through to the end. The second read through was just as engrossing as the first time, but so much more difficult because I knew what was going to happen. Damn you, Katy!! *sniffles*<br />
<br />
<br />
Today I started to poke at a story I began in high school. This story started out as a horrible Mary Sue wish-fulfillment. The first several rewrites over the years didn't do much to alleviate that problem, but now I'm proud to say I have three dimensional characters with flaws and personalities all their own.<br />
<br />
Have a little snippet:<br />
<br />
<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:DoNotOptimizeForBrowser/> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--> <br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;">Trent didn’t answer, he only stared at her. His blue eyes were cold as ice, but she refused to be cowed into submission. She crossed her arms over her chest and stared back in defiance. He turned away first, but it was by no means a victory for Kit. Somehow she had the feeling it had been a calculated move on his part. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Damn him!</i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Fine, then where are my chambers?”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He smirked and she knew she was not going to like his answer.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Right here, my love.” He gestured with his hand, the movement taking in the entire room. His room as she very well knew. “Even if there is to be no sexual contact between the two of us, you will still sleep in my bed.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“The hell I will!” </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He raised his eyebrows, clearly bemused.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Like an indulgent parent would look at an unruly child, she thought crossly. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“You will either sleep in my bed or on the floor.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>What a choice, but she knew which one she would ultimately choose.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“All right then,” she huffed, crossing the stone floor to the bed. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He smiled at his victory until she snatched a pillow off the bed and walked over to the fireplace. She stretched out on the brown fur rug hoping it was free of bugs. Deliberately rolling over and closing her eyes, she told him silently in no uncertain terms how much regard she had for him and his orders. Inside she knew his clenched jaw and expression of unadulterated fury would give her nightmares.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The roller-coaster ride of emotions took their toll and she drifted off to sleep despite the hard stone beneath her and the lack of a blanket. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>When she awoke she was warm and comfortable, a tanned male arm encircling her waist. The bastard had waited until she had fallen asleep then picked her up and put her in his bed. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The hard length of his body curled against her back, a sheltering presence. Of course, those things that shelter can also trap and that was exactly what this was. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Her eyes scanned the room looking for anything she could use as a weapon. He was battle trained, so any attack she made had to be fast and deadly while he was still asleep. She wouldn’t get a second chance. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: justify;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Slowly she rolled onto her back and his arm tightened around her, restricting her movements. </div>Anaquanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07042174346386705985noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8965113977330366754.post-37507951717034505202011-05-09T16:30:00.000-04:002011-05-09T16:30:06.379-04:00It's a Delicate BalanceRight after I quit a job that had me working 70-80 hours a week at all hours of the day and night I vowed to myself that I would never again let a job get in the way of my life. Unfortunately, I am having the exact opposite problem right now. I'm letting life get in the way of a potential job. <br />
<br />
I was doing so well before the move. I'd get several hours of writing done almost every day and not spend so much time distracted by other things. But this move, everything that needs to be done with the house, and the bout of depression I went through this past winter seem to have sapped what little willpower I have. I spend too much time flitting between websites, wandering around the house cleaning or just staring in dismay at the mess, and occasionally poking at these rewrites.<br />
<br />
In the last few weeks I've managed to add another 5k words and tweak the first dozen chapters (two and a half of them today), but I feel like I should be going faster. I look at the speed of some professional authors in the urban fantasy genre and I know in my heart that I'll never be successful if I can't pick up my writing/editing pace. I'm just not sure how to do that and it is so discouraging. Anaquanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07042174346386705985noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8965113977330366754.post-63526925347773662972011-03-28T13:31:00.000-04:002011-03-28T13:31:43.577-04:00Spring Is Here!I've been tracking an interesting peculiarity about myself for the last several years -- my creativity is tied to the cycle of the seasons. All Winter my brain feels like it's full of cotton. The words are there, but they're muffled, distant, not within my grasp. And my yearning to write is diminished as well. I'm easily distracted, irritated with the entire process, and too easily discouraged.<br />
<br />
Now that the warmth is returning, the flowers are starting to grow, and the snow is gone I'm getting back into the swing of things. I *want* to write. I have ideas bubbling up through the mud and demanding my attention. I can concentrate again.<br />
<br />
I wonder if my Muse is affected by SAD... It's definitely something I should look into for next Winter.Anaquanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07042174346386705985noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8965113977330366754.post-27593894168322839112011-03-16T13:46:00.000-04:002011-03-16T13:46:43.556-04:00Strange Coincidences and WritingWhen I started writing Where Demons Fear to Tread, I set a specific date for things to happen. I chose 2012 as the year for the Fall (but NOT 12/21/12) and the start of Demons is May 2028. I didn't do much research into future astrological events with the initial writing, but now that I'm doing these intense rewrites for my agent, I've decided to mold this to actual dates and events for that month. As I was doing research, I came across <a href="http://astrotransits.blogspot.com/2010/03/global-crises-in-2014-2021-revolution.html">this site</a>. "Accordingly, to its cycle, <span style="font-weight: bold;">this will provoke a revolutionary wave in US and around the world in 2028</span>. This often happens when Uranus transits Gemini. Hopefully, this will be a revolution for the best, for the environment and for human nature."<br />
<br />
Yeah, um... that's kind of cool.Anaquanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07042174346386705985noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8965113977330366754.post-81024800846306906542011-01-03T16:28:00.000-05:002011-01-03T16:28:50.546-05:00Happy New Year!I've been silent on here for far too long, I just haven't had the motivation or brain-power to think of anything to say. My agent asked me to take a few months away from my book before starting rewrites so I could look at it with a fresh eye, which I've done. In the meantime, I've been busy working on the new house and just letting my brain relax and refresh itself.<br />
With the new year has come new motivation and it's now time for me to buckle down and get these rewrites done. I know what needs to be done for most of the rewriting, I've got that all figured out. There are some things (major things) that I'm still struggling to sort through in my head. I'll figure them out and pull through this. I have to. *wibbles a bit*Anaquanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07042174346386705985noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8965113977330366754.post-69502435309986522192010-08-21T22:13:00.000-04:002010-08-21T22:13:32.347-04:00OH MY GODS!!!!I have an agent!<br />
<br />
I am so very excited to announce that yesterday I accepted representation from Cameron McClure of the Donald Maass Literary Agency! She loves the story and the characters and is very excited about it, which makes me ecstatic. She does want me to do another rewrite, but I can handle that.<br />
<br />
Oh my gods, oh my gods, oh my gods!!!<br />
<br />
*pinches self*Anaquanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07042174346386705985noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8965113977330366754.post-35148609862088231192010-08-14T19:24:00.000-04:002010-08-14T19:24:55.960-04:00QuietI know I've been quiet lately, but that's because I'm so busy and stressed out right now I can barely think. My husband and I are buying a new house and that is taking up most of my time and energy. On the advice of one of the agents, I have set the book aside and am not thinking about it at all for a month. In the meantime, I am busy working on a few fun projects, several of which will never see the light of day because they are simply for my own personal amusement.<br />
<br />
I should have some good news to share shortly, but until then, there's not much to say. Anaquanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07042174346386705985noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8965113977330366754.post-50282115568396623532010-07-09T11:58:00.000-04:002010-07-09T11:58:25.698-04:00DoubtsAnd the doubts have set in with a vengeance...<br />
<br />
I finished the revisions and sent them off to the agent who requested them. Now I'm worried that I didn't take them far enough. That I didn't do enough to make it good enough for her. I'm so worried about this my stomach is tied up in knots.<br />
<br />
The three people who read it over for me before I sent it out all raved about it, but I just can't help but doubt.<br />
<br />
Too many awesome things have been happening for me and I can't help but think that something has to give. I've NEVER had so many good things happen to me all at once and I'm a little wary.Anaquanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07042174346386705985noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8965113977330366754.post-9916470351480543802010-06-28T20:42:00.001-04:002010-06-28T20:44:24.467-04:00Link StewI'm exhausted from a summer solstice party yesterday that turned into a surprise wedding! So, instead of actual content, please enjoy this selection of links:<br />
<br />
Hannah Moskowitz on Professionalism ~ <a href="http://hannahmosk.blogspot.com/2010/06/professionalism.html">http://hannahmosk.blogspot.com/2010/06/professionalism.html</a><br />
<br />
A contest! <a href="http://www.theoddshots.com/2010/06/demon-blood-giveaway/">http://www.theoddshots.com/2010/06/demon-blood-giveaway/</a><br />
<br />
Another contest! <a href="http://bittenbybooks.com/?p=26914">http://bittenbybooks.com/?p=26914</a><br />
<br />
Cat Valente on why The Ending is not a satisfying end ~ <a href="http://yuki-onna.livejournal.com/588977.html">http://yuki-onna.livejournal.com/588977.html</a><br />
<br />
Sherrilyn Kenyon's story of how she got published ~ <a href="http://www.facebook.com/note.php?note_id=406682535809">http://www.facebook.com/note.php?note_id=406682535809</a>Anaquanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07042174346386705985noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8965113977330366754.post-27609431446378436382010-06-26T17:52:00.000-04:002010-06-26T17:52:10.276-04:00Success!!!On Tuesday I had my conversation with the second agent. It was a much quicker call than the one with the first agent. The second agent gave me a few revision suggestions (far fewer than the first one), then told me a little bit about herself and her agency. I explained to her that I was doing revisions for another agent and asked if she wanted me to send her the new version when I was done with it.<br />
<br />
She said she would love to take a look at it, but her offer of rep would still stand!!!<br />
<br />
I have an official offer of representation from an agent!<br />
<br />
I'm going to finish my revisions for agent #1 and see what she says before making my decision. However, no matter how this plays out, I'm going to have an agent!Anaquanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07042174346386705985noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8965113977330366754.post-63289020236654632342010-06-17T15:13:00.000-04:002010-06-17T15:13:28.756-04:00When No Means MaybePersistence really does pay off. I found that out first hand this week.<br />
<br />
After emailing back and forth with the agent who rejected my revisions, she asked for a phone conversation to talk about further revisions. We spent an hour and a half talking on Monday afternoon. She offered me a LOT of very detailed crits about what she did and didn't like. After thinking about them for a bit, I agree with most of them.<br />
<br />
I'm going to spend some time doing these revisions for her and then she wants to give it a third read-through. A THIRD read-through!!! So many writers don't even get a first read-through and here I am getting THREE! From an agent with one of THE top agencies.<br />
<br />
Hear that, subconscious? If an agent of that caliber likes the novel, then you are not allowed to bad-mouth it any longer!<br />
<br />
Also, I have another agent who is nearly done reading the full and wants to talk and offer suggestions.<br />
<br />
*dies*Anaquanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07042174346386705985noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8965113977330366754.post-41898063168404150252010-06-07T10:13:00.005-04:002010-06-07T10:26:38.876-04:00Rejected Again<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">The agent decided to pass on my book. She doesn't think I took her revision suggestions far enough and she still doesn't connect with the main character. She said the story is adequate, but not good enough to compete in today's market and, based on my past revisions, she doesn't think I'm up for the amount of rewriting required to make it better. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">She's the second agent to tell me that my book just isn't up to competing in today's market, yet all of my beta's have pretty much loved it. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"> </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">I am so discouraged right now and have no idea what to do. Should I have <i>another</i> person read it and tear it apart for me? Should I keep querying with what I've got and *hope* somebody will love it as much as I do? Should I just give up and start something new? </span></span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><br />
</span></span>Anaquanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07042174346386705985noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8965113977330366754.post-874194981286155602010-06-06T10:38:00.000-04:002010-06-06T10:38:34.986-04:00Magic Bleeds - Ilona AndrewsI've been an Ilona fan since the very first book, Magic Bites. Ilona (comprised of the writing duo Ilona and Gordon Andrews) has the ability to create very real, very colorful characters and infuse them with life. <br />
<br />
Magic Bleeds is book four in the series and just as fabulous as the first three. The storyline built up in the first three books moves along quite nicely here. We find out more about Kate's past, more about her family, and more about the mythology of the world.<br />
<br />
Aside from a few editing nit-picks (there are a few places where it shifts into present tense) and a nowhere near long enough Kate and Curran scene, there is nothing about this book I didn't like.<br />
<br />
Kate grows as a person, she accepts things for what they are and forges ahead with what she wants anyway. Her relationship with Curran and the Pack is taken to a whole other level. And her job within the Order changes as well. As with the rest of the series, nobody gets a free pass. People die, relationships are broken, trust is shattered.<br />
<br />
The snippets from book five that have been posted on <a href="http://www.ilona-andrews.com/blog/">the blog</a> are enough to make me salivate for the next one. I guess I'll just have to be content with Bayou Moon, book two in her Edge series, which comes out later this year.Anaquanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07042174346386705985noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8965113977330366754.post-50723530075671185002010-06-04T18:48:00.005-04:002010-06-04T18:50:23.288-04:00Poem ~ Mother<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 26.0pt;">Mother<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 26.0pt;">Golden luminous light<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 26.0pt;">Trickling down<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 26.0pt;">Into my soul<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 26.0pt;">Into my Self<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 26.0pt;">You scream into being<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 26.0pt;">Back arched and fingers splayed<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 26.0pt;">Mother<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 26.0pt;">Soul of my Self<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 26.0pt;">Wrapping me in translucent power<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 26.0pt;">Give of your Self<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 26.0pt;">That which is infinite<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 26.0pt;">Take it and string it<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 26.0pt;">Like pearls<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 26.0pt;">Around the necks of<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 26.0pt;">Your children<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 26.0pt;">Your lovers<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 26.0pt;">Your Self</span><span style="font-size: 26.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>Anaquanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07042174346386705985noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8965113977330366754.post-73234198476413903392010-06-03T14:15:00.000-04:002010-06-03T14:15:03.863-04:00NormalcyMy life has finally returned to some semblance of normalcy. After a couple of days de-stressing and getting some much needed sleep, I should be ready and raring to go again.<br />
<br />
I'm still waiting to hear back from the agent who requested revisions. She said she'd get back to me in two weeks and it's now been almost four. I'm going to give her until Sunday and then give her a gentle nudge on Monday.Anaquanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07042174346386705985noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8965113977330366754.post-73431440601596644492010-05-18T15:58:00.001-04:002010-06-04T10:35:50.769-04:00Where Demons Fear to Tread ~ Chapter 1<b>Chapter 1</b><br />
<b><br />
</b><br />
People appearing in my office without an appointment are always a sign of bad things to come. Today was no exception. <br />
<br />
A useless morale-boosting meeting had eaten the better part of my morning. Useless because people who work in blood and death on a daily basis aren’t much for the “Rah rah rah!” speeches used to raise morale. Those of us who work in the Violent Crimes Division are more subdued, and none of us chose this line of work for the kudos. We did it because it needed doing. Because we possessed the abilities to get the job done. <br />
<br />
But what did I know? I didn’t have the title of doctor or a string of fancy letters after my name. Just a gun, some ass-kicking skills, and a nasty demonic heritage few people cared to mess around with.<br />
<br />
Back in my office, I was writing up a report for my supervisor, Tommy. Outside my open door, Stella and Paolo Dante were wrestling their latest capture, a homicidal troll, to the common room floor as a group of agents rooted them on. Stella’s long arms wrapped around its throat in a chokehold, while Paolo quickly bound a silver chain around its thrashing legs. <br />
<br />
Encouraging cheers from the watching agents strove to outmatch the creature’s deafening bellows. I couldn’t help the smile that tugged the corners of my lips upward. The Dante twins, hard-nosed Italian fata, were the best violent crime agents in the New England Vamyraset Agency. It was always a pleasure to watch them in action. <br />
<br />
A break would be a welcome relief, but I needed to hand this report in before the end of the day. Without my partner to take some of the load, I was rapidly becoming overworked and turning into a very grumpy girl because of it. <br />
<br />
I looked over at Luka's empty desk. If he weren't out on disability he would have been out there cheering the twins on with everyone else. But I wasn't Luka and I needed to get some work done.<br />
<br />
I tapped out a tuneless beat on the arm of my chair, trying to ignore the cacophony. An echoing bellow rattled my window and set my teeth on edge. I tossed the file onto a teetering stack of paperwork with a sigh. I’d never be able to concentrate in this din.<br />
<br />
Just as I rose to close my door against the noise, the temperature in my office plummeted. Rows of goosebumps pebbled my bare arms. I couldn't contain an involuntary shiver. <br />
<br />
Ripping pressure stabbed at my fingertips as diamond hard claws replaced my once perfectly manicured nails. My gun was in my hand and pointed at the door before the first twinges of alarm had fully registered. The claws hampered my grip, but not enough to throw off my aim. <br />
<br />
A grey-cloaked figure towered just inside my doorway. I could still see the two fata struggling to get the belligerent troll under control, but could no longer hear anything outside my office. <br />
<br />
<i>Damned silencing spell. Am I supposed to be impressed? </i><br />
<br />
It took a moment for me to realize that yes, I should be impressed. We were on the fifth floor of the Vamyraset Building. Dampening spells built into the foundation suppressed the magical abilities of non-agents. <br />
From the very first moments, I had been gathering information and using it to build a mental profile of him. Whoever this was, he had access to major power and wasn't to be trifled with.<br />
<br />
Stillness cloaked by movement was my overall impression; a core of inner immobility surrounded by flowing folds of cloth that rustled and stirred as if by an inner wind. The cloak hood was pulled low over his face, hiding his features in black shadows, but I caught a hint of sunken cheeks and bony chin. Possibly a lesser member of the High Sidhe; one with an affinity for Winter, judging by the cold rolling off him in almost visible waves.<br />
<br />
So far he’d made no threatening move or gesture; I couldn’t continue to hold a gun on him without justified provocation. Scaring the hell out of me and being as powerful as he was didn’t count. There were no laws against silencing spells being used in the building; they were used by agents all the time to protect victim confidentiality. That he was powerful enough to override the dampening spells couldn’t be held against him. <br />
<br />
Anyway, I was a fully-trained agent, if I couldn't hold my own against one person, I deserved whatever beating I received. There was nothing to be done except make the best of the situation. Holstering my gun and pasting a smile on my face, I walked to the front of my desk, hand extended in greeting.<br />
<br />
“My apologies. You startled me. I'm Agent Alexis Powers. How can I help you?”<br />
<br />
A black-gloved hand emerged from the folds of cloak and gripped mine, taking care to avoid my razor-sharp claws. I gave no outward sign that I noticed the chill seeping through the leather glove. Definitely not human.<br />
Politely dropping the icy hand, I clenched and unclenched mine, attempting to return some warmth to it.<br />
<br />
“I am looking for something.” The sound emanating from beneath the cloak was more the howling of an Arctic wind than an actual voice. Lances of sub-zero cold swept over my body, stealing all warmth and moisture from my flesh. I grit my teeth to keep from whimpering. <br />
<br />
“I'm sorry, you've got the wrong department.” I briskly rubbed my arms and stepped further around the desk to guide him out. “This is the Violent Crimes Division. Ryuu Inoue on the third floor is the best Finder in the Agency. Just tell him Agent Powers sent you down and he’ll be more than happy to assist you.” <br />
<br />
If he’s not still pissed at me over that Atlantean Ring of Power debacle, I thought, ruefully. Just thinking about that case again raised my hackles. It wasn’t my fault the thief had gotten himself murdered, which transferred the case to me. Ryuu had no right to interfere and snatch the dwarf and ring from my custody. <br />
<br />
Pushing the incident, only one of many such encounters between the two of us, from my mind, I flashed my visitor a bright smile and extended my arm to direct him back out into the common area of the department. <br />
Ashen fabric blocked my way. There had been no movement on his part, but there he was standing in front me, cutting off my route to the door. He loomed taller than my five-foot-ten frame, forcing me to crane my neck to look in the direction of his concealed face. <br />
<br />
“You are the one I have chosen to help me find what I am looking for.” <br />
<br />
His words were a physical force beating down on me, willing me to obey him. With a focused application of my own will, I ignored the not-so-subtle compulsion. I had gone head-to-head with the toughest of Mom’s demonic friends. How much worse could this be? <br />
<br />
The temperature in the room continued to drop. A thin layer of ice had formed on top of a glass of water and my lucky bamboo was drooping and turning brown.<br />
<br />
“Why me?” I demanded. “I don’t know anything about being a Finder. I deal with violence and death, not lost trinkets.” I couldn't believe I was standing there arguing with this guy. He was really starting to piss me off.<br />
<br />
Sinister chuckles raised the hair on the back of my neck. “I am not looking for a mere trinket.” <br />
<br />
I shook my head. I had too many other cases on my plate. I wasn't going to take on a case meant for another department.<br />
<br />
“I'm sorry.” My voice was hard, my words final. “You're going to have to speak with Agent Inoue. I cannot help you.” <br />
<br />
“Alexis Rachelle Powers, you will help me find what has been lost.” The ice-laden threat hissed out from the lightless depths of the hood. <br />
<br />
An almost palpable sense of menace pervaded the room, raising new goosebumps on my arms. The temperature dropped another ten degrees and the breath whooshing from my lungs came out as a fine white mist in the freezing air.<br />
<br />
Without warning, blackness tinted with red overwhelmed my sight, leaving me blind. Anger and adrenaline rushed through my system as my body tensed for an expected attack. Seconds later, my vision returned. I knew I needed to destroy this creature standing before me. He posed a danger to me and I couldn’t let that threat continue. <br />
<br />
My teeth had sharpened into points that scratched shallow furrows into my tongue as I licked my lips. The sweet, coppery taste of blood filled my mouth. The anticipation of the battle to come was overpowering. I wanted to tear his limbs from his body and paint my office with his blood.<br />
<br />
An instant before I would have attacked, some small, sane voice in the back of my head held me in check. Why was I in such a high state of blood rage? <br />
<br />
Anger, violence, destruction, death – they were food for my soul. Or at least half of it. I had spent my entire life building my defenses up to be nigh indestructible. They had stood up to concerted attacks by high-level demons intent upon making me lose control. They shouldn't be failing now.<br />
<br />
The grey hood cocked to the side.<br />
<br />
“Impulse control issues?” He knew what was happening to me. <br />
<br />
“Stop it. Whatever you're doing to me, just stop it.” I gasped as a choking wave of anger flashed through me again. “I am an agent of the Vamyraset and this is an unwarranted attack.”<br />
<br />
He chuckled again. “What is happening is not deliberate, I assure you. Your fragile human life withers in my presence.” <br />
<br />
Recognition fluttered at the edge of my consciousness. I grasped at it and, as realization dawned, my heart sank. There was no way I was getting out of this case.<br />
<br />
Missing items might not have been my department, but if Death was searching for something, I'd be forced to make an exception. <br />
<br />
“All right, then.” I swallowed the lump of fear in my throat. I had to get away from him before I completely lost my hold on my humanity.<br />
<br />
Demons feed off chaos and destruction, and death was a type of destruction. As my human life-force slowly died away from Death’s inexorable pull, my demonic side would grow in power until it consumed me. I had spent far too many years learning how to control my demonic impulses to have it all come crashing down now.<br />
<br />
<i>Take a deep breath. Hold it for a count of five. Slowly exhale</i>. <br />
<br />
My carefully maintained façade of civility was beginning to crack. I had to hurry this meeting up or my co-workers were going to have a long-repressed half-demon rampaging through the office.<br />
<br />
Not that I was overly concerned for the safety of my fellow agents. They were more than capable of defending themselves. My concern was for myself. The Vamyraset’s zero-tolerance policy against violence in the workplace meant if I fucked up and lost control, I was toast. They would not hesitate to kill me. <br />
<br />
“What are you searching for?” <br />
<br />
I rubbed irritably at the tattoos on my neck. They were starting to burn even though my office was fast becoming intolerably cold. The skin around the base of my claws was a deep purplish blue and my lips had cracked and bled. Wispy strands of neon-pink hair floated around my face, crackling with static in the cold, dry air.<br />
<br />
I sank into my chair and pulled out a pad of paper and a pen. I was going to jot down some notes, hoping the familiar act would help calm my nerves, but the claws made writing a challenge. <br />
<br />
I snapped the pen between my fingers in frustration. Black ink splattered across my desk and files. Curses streamed from my mouth as I wiped at the stains with my sleeve.<br />
<br />
“I am searching for a soul.” <br />
<br />
I whipped my head up and stared at Death, gaping in astonishment. My first thought, well, you can’t have mine, was suppressed as soon as it popped into my head.<br />
<br />
“A-a soul?” How on earth could Death lose a soul? “Where did you lose it?”<br />
<br />
Death did not answer right away. The silence stretched so long it seemed he was loath to answer the question.<br />
<br />
“I did not lose the soul. It was stolen.” <br />
<br />
This time, it wasn’t Death’s voice that knocked the wind out of me. I couldn’t conceive of how somebody could steal a soul from Death. Death was the Harvester of Breath, the proverbial shepherd leading spirits to their next destination. To steal a soul from Death and hide it away would take an extraordinary amount of talent. Not to mention quite a bit of chutzpah. <br />
<br />
A pulsing beat started to creep up my spine and down my legs. My skin throbbed and itched as it hardened into scales. Gritting my teeth again, I loosened the fists I had unknowingly made. Blood streamed down my left hand. I had inadvertently slashed my palm open with my claws.<br />
<br />
I pulled every last shred of self-preservation I had left around me and forced my instincts down as far as they'd go. They were still there, a low thrumming in my blood and bones. My entire body ached to let go and give in to my more destructive urges. <br />
<br />
“Whose soul was it?” <br />
<br />
Did I even want to know? Not really.<br />
<br />
I was tempted to pass this off to one of the other agents once Death left. Even if I had the balls to do something so phenomenally stupid, the entire Agency was short-staffed. Nobody had the time to devote to a case as important as this one. <br />
<br />
With Luka out, I didn't either, but what was I going to do? Tommy had better have some answers, because I surely didn’t.<br />
<br />
Death spoke again, drawing my attention back to him.<br />
<br />
“The soul belongs to Father Rupert Callahan of Sacred Heart Cathedral.” <br />
<br />
A spasm of pain wracked my body. <br />
<br />
Holy words and objects are anathema to demons. My humanity had given me some measure of defense against the pain they caused. Or at least it had. With my human life slipping away, that protection was diminishing as well.<br />
<br />
I was so screwed. <br />
<br />
Of course. It had to be the soul of a Catholic priest. Nobody would steal the soul of some regular old joe-schmo. Oh no, they really had to up the ante with this one. <br />
<br />
“Let me get this straight. The soul of a man of the cloth was stolen and you don’t know where it is, so you need me to find it for you?” <br />
<br />
Death’s slow, silent nod sent shivers down my spine. I closed my eyes for a moment to regain my equilibrium. When I opened them again, Death was gone. <br />
<br />
“Dammit! Why me?” <br />
<br />
I screamed in frustration at my empty office. My voice had roughened to a rumbling growl – not a good sign. <br />
A few of my co-workers gave me curious looks through my open door. Only then did I notice that the normal sounds of the office had returned. <br />
<br />
I got up to close the door, thankful for the small bit of privacy. I flipped off the lights and sprawled out on the floor, closing my eyes and breathing deeply. It was a calming exercise Mom had taught me. It wouldn’t give me complete control over myself, but it would keep me from ripping the head off the next person to look at me funny.Anaquanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07042174346386705985noreply@blogger.com1