Writing, Rock and Roll and All Things Wings

Purple Sword Blog Party: Liron's Melody

2011-08-31T17:40:00.000-07:00

My latest release from Purple Sword, Liron's Melody, had an interesting beginning.

After my personal life inverted and blew up and I had to deal with quite a bit of stress, I ended up with a year-long writer's block, which is the worst case of writer's block I have ever had. Writing is my therapy and my stress relief. When I can't write, I feel like I'm going to go crazy. So it started to get to a point where I had to create something, ANYTHING, or I was gonna lose my mind.

But there was nothing. Zilch. Nada. All my ideas had dried up like sprinkles of water in the Arizona desert in August. So I resorted to what I always do when I can't figure out what to do about a problem. I bothered the ever-loving crap out of anyone who would listen to me. Mainly, my mother, and a good friend of mine. My mother finally tuned me out after awhile, I think. After all, what could she do aside from strangling me? I'm pretty sure my friend probably wanted to strangle me too. He couldn't do much either. But I kept text messaging him asking for help with music I could listen to. Music has always been able to get me over writer's block.

That night, I decided I was going to lay on my bed, listen to music, burn some candles and just try to envision something, see what would come to me....

Nothing came for a very long time. I could actually hear the crickets in the poor, abandoned recesses of my mind.

But then a song came on. This song: Tarja Turunen-Oasis

I remembered an idea my friend (the one I'd been pestering) had bounced off of me one night in a conversation. And his idea, coupled with the haunting melody of the song, sparked a vision of a weathered piece of music that had the power to transport the heroine into a different realm.

After some development, the muse Liron was born, as well as an entire world of muses...and my writer's block was broken.

So, thanks to a patient, creative friend and a beautiful song, I am happy to share an excerpt from Liron's Melody with you:

Buy here

Art heals, and one woman learns the true power of music.

A Julliard graduate and former member of the Philharmonic Orchestra, Melody hasn’t played anything since her parents were killed in a tragic car accident. But when her friend buys her an old, weathered music score that seems to call to her, she is intrigued.

She knew that playing again would be a freeing feeling, but she never expected the action to open up a gateway to a world where creation and the arts are dominant and emotions are not frowned upon, but embraced. And she definitely never expected to be tossed into the living room of a muse—a man who lives and breathes music, who can calm her with a touch and make her hear symphonies.

As Melody learns of Liron, his world, and his own loss, she begins to heal, feel whole, and find herself again. But when the connection to Melody’s world and the muse world is severed, will the music Liron inspired, as well as the power of her love, be enough to reunite them? More importantly, can Melody find the strength within herself to face the past she has been running from and do what needs to be done for the future she longs to have?

EXCERPT:

It was a mournful song, slow and dark, Gothic almost. She had planned to stop after the first few measures, but once she started, two things happened. Wondrous ecstasy coursed throughout her entire body as the music filled her soul once again, and her fingers moved over the keys with grace and ease, like she had never stopped playing. For one beautiful second, she felt like she’d come home. That reason alone was enough to keep her there, but something else happened. Something strange and all consuming.

While the sorrowful notes echoed through her empty house, her mind conjured up the image of a man sitting at a piano, alone in a candlelit room. She was looking at him from behind as he hunched over the keys, lost within the same notes she was currently playing. Long, shining, chestnut-colored hair spilled down his back and around broad shoulders that seemed burdened, as if they carried weight. That particular thing struck her because she noted that his shoulders looked the way hers felt. Heavy, tired, sad…

She focused on the image in her mind, more than happy to devote her attention to whatever her imagination conjured instead of the grief of missing her parents. The music filled her, swirled around her, along with the unbearable loneliness that emanated from the man at the piano. It was almost as tangible as hers, and her heart connected to him, whoever he was. An embodiment of her own pain and sadness, she imagined.

A chill ran the course of her body and the temperature in the room seemed to drop, which she thought was strange considering it was the middle of the summer. She ignored it as she continued to play, driven on by the gorgeous music and the enigmatic image in her mind. She found she wanted to know more about the person in her subconscious, the man brought to life by this aged score. It seemed he had a story to tell, and the only way to know it was to continue playing.

So, she did. She gave herself over to the notes and chords, lost herself within the vision in her mind until it seemed almost real. The temperature in the room continued to cool and the hair on her arms bristled. She felt a strange, tugging sensation around her heart, as if it wanted her to reach out to the man at the piano, touch him, soothe him, let him know he was not as alone as he felt, and maybe assure herself that she wasn’t either.

As the music coursed through her and around her, she played with abandon. It was only when she shivered that she realized her eyes were closed, had been closed for quite awhile. With a start, her fingers fumbled on the keys, causing the pristine notes she had been playing to falter. How could she be playing the music in front of her without looking at it? Had she just improvised the last few minutes? She stilled her fingers, but the melody of the music continued on in her mind, echoing as if through a long tunnel. If she didn’t know better, she would have thought it wasn’t in her mind at all, but close by, and real.

Dampness touched her bare arms, and she swore she could smell the ocean, which made absolutely no sense considering she lived in Colorado, and nowhere near the sea. She looked toward her front door, wondering if she’d left it open and some kind of strange storm had rolled in.

She gasped and jumped so hard she almost fell straight off her piano bench. She squeezed her eyes shut and rubbed them with the heels of her palms. When she opened them again, everything was as it should have been, and the temperature in the room went back to normal. She stared at her empty living room, trying to figure out what she had seen. For a second, the half of the room she wasn’t in had looked like some kind of stone structure, like a room in a castle. It had felt cold and foggy, dimly lit with flickering candles, and in the corner where the door should have been, sat the man her imagination had conjured while playing the music. Only, she’d stopped playing, and he had continued.

“What in the world?” she whispered. Her heart pounded and her mouth felt dry. She glanced at the score of music and eyeballed it. She had never been an exceptionally creative person. Not visually anyway, in the way of dreaming up strange visions. Even if she had daydreamed now and again, they had never been so vivid that they had taken up residence in the room she was in.

Maybe she’d finally lost her mind. Or maybe she was so exhausted from Rob’s hike of death that her brain was playing tricks on her. That had to be it.

But even as she convinced herself that was the only logical explanation, her heart still ached at the sorrow she had felt while gazing upon that man. She glanced at the keys, part of her longing to play again, to see if she could glimpse him a second time. Part of her was afraid to. What if she really was losing her mind? Had grief and isolation finally caused her to crack? If so, it probably wasn’t healthy to continue entertaining the fantasy.

But…

The desire to play again was overwhelming, no matter how irrational it was. No matter if he was a complete hallucination of her deluded mind. She just wanted to see him again. She wanted to see him because, in their shared sorrow, for one brief moment, she had not felt completely alone.

Exhaling slowly, she placed her shaking fingers back over the keys.

Musical Blog Party: The Book (And the songs) That Started it All

2011-07-26T09:10:00.000-07:00

When I was thirteen years old, I was at my eighth grade end of the year party up at some resort at Lake Tahoe. It was rainy and miserable and most of our class was either shoved into the hot tub or playing Foosball in the lodge. Before I took off running after a boy, slipped on the deck and bashed an enormous hole in my knee, and before my history teacher came charging in like he was back in Vietnam yelling about shrapnel and not bleeding on his sweatshirt, I had seen this video:

Aerosmith: Hole in My Soul

It sparked an idea for a story character, but nothing really came of it at the time. He just sorta stayed in the back of my mind, hanging out until I was 18 and heard this song one night:

The Sound of Silence

This song seemed to wake that character up and I saw a vision of him walking down the street in the middle of the night after a rainstorm. I knew he was shy. I knew he was lonely. And when I heard this song:

Fastball: The Way

I knew I had to take that poor, socially awkward character and stick him on a crazy road trip with a bunch of random strangers.

As the ideas for this story progressed, more songs contributed to more characters and more situations until I had five completely different characters all shoved in a car on their way to a rock concert in San Francisco. Thus, the Road Less Traveled was born.

The Road Less Traveled was my first published work and is still my best selling today. It's fun, lighthearted and romantic while dealing with real problems and outrageous situations. If you'd told me that day when I was 13 that the smidgen of a character Aerosmith had created would one day be the one to launch my career, I would never have believed it.

But it was true all the same.

Read about my character, Maxim deBoer, in The Road Less Traveled:

Buy here

Five concert tickets won on a radio contest seem to be the perfect
solution for Alyx to get away from her abusive ex boyfriend and turn
a new page in her life. Quiet, antisocial Maxim is not the sort to
want adventure, but when his brother volunteers him to go on the trip
to the concert with Alyx and her best friend he suddenly finds his
world turned upside down, especially when it comes to the way Alyx
affects him…

Taegen is having trouble dealing with the death of her brother and
finds herself wanting to shut out the world, until she meets a
mysterious stranger who shows her that she can, in fact, still feel
something inside her wounded heart.

Thrown together in a bizarre and hilarious set of circumstances,
these five strangers come to realize the true meaning of friendship,
love and being true to oneself.

Musical Blog Party: Beyond the Invisible...And Beyond What You Can Only Imagine

2011-07-14T16:51:00.000-07:00

When I was a little girl, one of my favorite things to do was listen to music. Even as a child, it inspired stories and pictures and creatures in my mind. Back then, it was mostly really obscure and bizarre music. Well, actually, even now it's still a lot of the time really obscure and bizarre music, but that's not the point.

The point is, music has always been my main source of inspiration and the main fuel for my creativity. Almost all of my books have been inspired by songs either because of their composition or for their lyrical content. I hear songs driving to work and I still see whimsical lands and strange creatures in my head. Sometimes even a battle scene, which can be quite distracting while driving. I do not recommend this.

As a child, this song was one of my favorites, and it's one of the first songs I can remember creating an actual story for. I imagined fairies and gypsies and dancers all performing in a procession through the forest while their queen was carried behind them on a litter. It was nighttime and all the villagers had come out to throw rose petals and greet her. It was very Midsummer Night's Dream-esque. lol. I never did elaborate on the story. Maybe I should...

Mannheim Steamroller: Fresh Aire 3 Mere Image

Along those same lines, and around that same time, I also created a race of cat people who I played with in my imaginary adventures. This idea, many, many years later, turned into my novel Beyond Wild Imaginings, a story about the power of imagination and how one should never lose their childish innocence and creativity.

Kelly’s outlook on life is bleak. Car accident, bad break up, controlling sister — even her creative muse seems to be MIA. And she keeps having strange dreams about a sexy, winged man that seems familiar to her…

Kelly has always written about the extraordinary, but when she suddenly finds herself saddled with a see-through, imaginary man she had created when she was a child, the lines of reality and fantasy become blurred.

Can she keep him? Prove that magic and fantasy can exist in real life? Or will the man she comes to love be torn from her forever by the self-centered world’s lack of belief?

You can find Beyond Wild Imaginings in ebook and print HERE

And you can read an excerpt HERE

This song always reminds me of this novel, as well. Enjoy. :)

Enigma: Beyond the Invisible

Character Interview Blog Bash- Interview With Jaide

2011-04-30T21:17:00.000-07:00

Wanna win some awesome prizes and get to know the characters of some amazing stories? Join the authors of Whimsical Publications, Purple Sword Publications and Astraea Press for out month long blog bash scavenger hunt! Would you like to participate? Email Robyn and promorobyn@gmail.com to get a question sheet!

****

I sat down to have an interview with Jaiden Sideth from my book Amaranth of the Wild Things, which was a rather difficult thing to manage considering he adamantly refused to do it, insisting that his personal life is nobody's business. However, after I firmly reminded him of all the trouble I went through to get his story told, he grudgingly obliged.

He is scowling when we sit down, which is nothing new to me. I spent quite a bit of time while writing Amaranth with Jaide scowling at me. He doesn't intimidate me any longer. He's dressed in black, which is also not a great surprise, and while I know him well, the malevolent power that radiates from his strong frame is almost tangible, making the air in the room slightly more difficult to breathe. His beauty is also a thing of wonder. His face is stern, harsh, full of strong lines, and every move he makes it etched with primal elegance. His piercing green eyes seem to see straight through me, into me. While this may be unnerving to most, I find it to be one of his more endearing qualities.

J: (With a heavy, almost growling sigh) Can we make this quick? I have duties to attend to.

I squelch my smile, which is almost uncontrollable, and get down to the business at hand, not wanting to torture him longer than necessary.

B: Thank you for taking the time to do this. I know it is against your wishes, but I do have many readers who I am sure would like to know more about you.

He gives me a noncommittal noise.

B: First of all, for someone who is such a private person, why did you contact me in the first place? Why did you want to have your story told?

J: (He looks up at me, and for a second, his harsh expression fades.) Because it needed to be told. Not because of me. My history is not important. But the world needed to know...about Amara. (He frowns and averts his gaze, visibly uncomfortable.) Others need to know that not all in existence is blackness.

B: Tell us quickly how you met Amara.

J: I was working as an assassin and one of my regular clients gave me a healthy amount of gold to kidnap her.

B: What was your first impression of Amara?

J: (His lips twitch only slightly, barely discernible.) That she was much more trouble than she was worth.

B: What was it about her that finally got past your defenses?

J: I still don't really know. Her blind acceptance of me, I suppose, and her all-encompassing goodness. I had never thought anyone so selfless and kind could exist in the world I lived in. It was foreign and horrible, and at the same time, divine. (He shifts in his chair, gaze still averted, obviously uncomfortable with this subject.)

B: Tell us about the amaranth flower. Why has it always been so important to you?

He heaves a sigh and I feel a twinge of guilt for my interrogation. He really is the most private person I have ever known, and I regret putting him in the spotlight this way.

J: The amaranth is the only thing that mattered to me, before Amara. It was the only beauty in the world, the only good thing. It was the only thing that offered me solace or peace.

B: Can you tell us more about your past?

The glower he shoots me should have murdered me on the spot.

J: No.

B: (With a sigh) Can you at least tell us more about why the amaranth matters to you? That was the vaguest response ever. These people are going to read the book anyway. What’s the point of keeping it a secret?

J: Aren’t you supposed to be tactful and agreeable?

B: In the time you have known me, have I ever been tactful and agreeable when you’re trying to bully me?

J: No. It’s aggravating.

B: Too bad. Answer the question.

To my shock and amazement, his lips quirk slightly at the corners and his eyes glint with something almost mischievous. It is uncharacteristic, and a side of himself he only shows those allowed in his inner sanctum. All two of us. I am honored to be one of those people.

J: When I was a boy, I was forced to train at a mercenary barracks. It was unpleasant, to say the least. Outside of it was a field of amaranths. At the most crucial moment of my life, those flowers offered me beauty when all of it had been abolished. They helped me hold on to the last sliver of the man in me so the monster couldn’t have complete domination. Because of that, I was able to have Amara (he averts his gaze again, almost shyly.)

B: Would you say Amara is similar to that flower?

J: Completely. Entirely. She embodies it in every way.

B: Tell us how your life is different now.

J: It has meaning to it, a purpose. It is more fulfilling. And my nightmares no longer haunt me. I know what it means to love, and in effect, I know what it means to live.

To me, this answer is the most satisfying to hear, and I decide to leave it at that. I have bothered him enough and do not wish to make him more uncomfortable than he already is. I thank him for his time and wish him well. He stands abruptly, ready to bolt, but I am almost as fast as he is, although not quite as graceful. I force him to hug me because I know it irritates him. He stiffens at first, his strong body still and ramrod straight, a soldier, a warrior. After a short moment, he relaxes slightly, and with a defeated sigh, he wraps one arm around my shoulders and squeezes just a bit. When I pull back, I am granted a rare and fleeting smile and a curt nod before he escapes as quickly as he can manage.

***

If you would like to learn more about Jaide, you can buy his book Amaranth of the Wild Things here

Story-Worthy or Not? Union Square and The SF Ballet

2011-04-08T21:51:00.000-07:00

The whole day had been soggy, of course. It had been raining on us since we’d gotten there, and we had braved a Saturday in Union Square after eating at the weirdest little coffee shop. I can’t remember the name of it now, but the waitress was Chinese, we could barely understand her, she messed up our orders completely, and we had to sit directly next to a half-crazy guy who kept playing an acoustic guitar and talking to himself. The music was kind of nice, but the random outbursts of gibberish were generally unnerving.

I have no idea why we even dried off after getting out of the shower that morning. It probably would have been better to just go out wet since we got wet immediately anyway. Coffee in Union Square was nice while we wandered, checked out things in stores we would never be able to afford in this lifetime, got yelled at by a security dude in Louis Vuitton because my friend was trying to text and he thought she was trying to take a picture of the merchandise, and witnessed a very large anti-war protest and parade.

All in all, the morning wasn’t too bad, but by the time we were ready for dinner and the ballet, we were through with being cold and soaked. We weren’t taking any chances with getting lost either, so we decided to just take a cab to the restaurant.

As a frequent patron of the Stinking Rose garlic restaurant whenever I am visiting San Francisco, I knew the food would be good if not slightly deflating to my wallet. And while my grilled Portobello mushroom and roasted veggies was tasty, I once again found myself missing the mushroom ravioli in porcini mushroom sauce that they had removed from the menu years prior. But the bagna calda was divine, the wine was good and the service was friendly. We were seated next to a window with a view of the hustle and bustle on the street, enabling me to people watch and let my mind wander, and by the time we were ready to leave, I was stuffed and content.

We took a cab to the Opera House. It was drizzling, but not too bad. We were able to sit in the theatre and listen to an interview with one of the dancers, which was cool, and then were ushered up to our seats in the nosebleed of all nosebleed sections. Like, I actually got dizzy at one point.

The theatre was beautiful, golden and ornate with all the grandeur one would expect when going to a ballet or an opera in San Francisco. The ballet itself (Coppelia) was very entertaining for the first two acts, but the third found me fidgeting and yawning, for it was somewhat random and had little to do with the actual storyline. My friend had gone out to smoke a cigarette right before the beginning of the third act and had mentioned how hard it was raining, but I paid the information little to no attention, figuring it would let up during the never-ending third act.

It got ungodly hot in our section during the last act and I started to feel like I was suffocating, which started to make me feel like I was going to have a panic attack. Needless to say, I was a little frazzled and spazzy as we made our way back out to the lobby. Our plans were to get a cab and head to a bar I had been to several years before, but when I saw the torrential, pounding, relentless, hurricanlike, horizontal rain outside, I almost had a heart attack.

My friend went to smoke while I tried to call a cab company to no avail. I asked directions to Geary Street from two different people, who were relatively useless, and finally flew outside to where my friend was hunkered against a corner of the building attempting to smoke with a security guard. I had a small freakout moment, due in part to the lurking panic attack, annoyed that every time I ever went on vacation with said friend, something always spoiled the things that I had my heart set on. I told her I was getting to the bar if it freaking killed me and the security guard told us the bus stop across the street would take us to Geary, where the bar was located.

My friend and I went into “get it done” mode and she shoved everything we owned into her ginormous bag. I was so thankful she had brought it with her. Armed with only our two flimsy umbrellas, we bolted across the street to where about 40 people were huddled together at the bus stop, attempting to shield themselves from the driving, freezing downpour. The wind was blowing so hard that both our umbrellas kept turning inside out, and about 25 of the 40 people were girls who kept screaming like pre-teens. Like THAT was going to accomplish anything of worth.

My friend shouted at me (shouting was necessary) that we needed to help the man behind us. I turned to see a man with a cane, probably in his late seventies, standing there like a sentinel as he got soaked to the bone. We both immediately moved to shield him with our umbrellas in the best attempt we could make. My umbrella sucked. It kept turning inside out and I had to hold onto both sides of it like Batman while icy water slithered down the sleeves of my pathetic excuse for a jacket until I was went from head to toe.

When the bus finally arrived, we all invaded it, causing the full bus to be packed probably past capacity, and all of us got a free ride to Geary. The rain had not let up, however, and we still had about ten or so blocks to walk to get to the bar. Walking was not an option at this point, and I was steadily getting more and more aggravated, which generally leads me to become more and more determined.

I tried to hail a cab, which flew past me and got the dude next to me. This prompted a scraggly homeless guy to start jumping out into traffic and annoying people left and right as he claimed he was “hailing cabs for tips.” At that point, I didn’t care where the cab came from. I was gonna pay the dude. It didn’t even matter. I was freezing to death. But while he was over on the opposite side of the street bothering someone, I jumped out into the middle of the road like a native New Yorker and waved my arms until a cab took pity on us.

I have never seen a homeless guy move so fast. He actually tried to grab the door as my friend got in and insist we tip him when it had been ME to flag down the cab. I’m pretty sure she almost cut his fingers off in her insistent slamming of the door.

By the time we got to the bar, Swig, we looked like drowned rats and were in dire need of a drink. A couple beers and a few shots of Jager later (and after dodging an old, washed up version of Fabio) and we were dancing to old school hip hop tunes and contemporary pop songs, and had almost forgotten about our harrowing experience…almost.

So, on an average rating of the five star system, I will rate the places we visited as follows:

Union Square: 3.5 (I’m not huge on brand name stores)

Stinking Rose: 4.5

SF Ballet: 4

Swig: 4 (Love the place, but the drinks are very pricey)

And the overall experience gets: STORY-WORTHY ALL THE WAY

Who Wants Some Sexy Rockstar?

2011-04-04T09:03:00.001-07:00

Come on now, who doesn't?
Buy me

High school teacher Sophie has always been rational and practical, not prone to fanciful notions. Only in private does she entertain the idea of rocking it on stage with a bass guitar.

Famous rock musician Zane has never had any other dream but to compose and play music. But lately, all of his inspiration has died. He can no longer create, and he feels as if his life is greatly devoid of something he can’t put his finger on.

When Zane and Sophie are thrown together unexpectedly, sparks fly between them like lightning. But will their two opposing lifestyles drive them apart, or create a perfect balance?

EXCERPT:

Zane took a step closer to her. “Then you disappear from the crowd and apparently discard the beer I gave you.” He made a disgusted noise and rolled his eyes. “Some kind of fan you are.”

Her mouth fell open in feigned offense. “I didn’t discard it! Someone crashed into me, and I dropped it! I couldn’t exactly pick up the pieces and put them on my wall like a warped mosaic.”

He waved his hand as if her words were meaningless. He took another step closer until their bodies almost touched. “Then you try and put out my eye. That’s a long list.”

She smirked at him, and some of her self-consciousness dissipated at his teasing. Heat radiated from his body, and it made electric tingles run along her skin. He was sexy, smooth, and playful…and a musical genius. She would be lying to herself if she tried to deny her attraction to him. Heck, she had always been attracted to him in posters and TV interviews. Standing this close to him in person was just that much more powerful.

She put her hand on her hip and tried to seem cocky. “Yeah, well what do you want, music man?” It came out more of a sarcastic challenge than she had meant.

He arched an eyebrow in surprise. His green eyes stared into hers for several heartbeats of silence. She expected a quick, snappy response to leave his lips, something tinged in arrogance that would prove the fact that women never turned him down. It was what she expected, but not what she received.

Instead, his eyes turned soft, scanning her face in a glance that was brief, but left warmth in its wake. “My muse,” he murmured.

She frowned. “Excuse me?”

He smiled. “What I want is my muse.” He reached out and placed his hands gently on her shoulders. The air caught in her throat, making it impossible for her to draw in a decent breath. He bent his head and brought his mouth to her ear. “Inspire me,” he whispered.

Her heart began to beat out erratic patterns, and delicious, sensuous tremors ran along her spine. The breathy laugh that left her sounded foreign to her ears and would have embarrassed her if she hadn’t been concentrating so hard on the waves of warmth passing between the two of them. “I make no promises,” she managed to get out.

He pulled back and grinned down at her. “You don’t understand. There’s a reason I singled you out in the crowd. I don’t know why, but when I look at you, I hear music.”

She blinked. Dang. If that was a line, it sure was a good one. Worked for her. She bit her bottom lip, at a loss for words, and suppressed a shiver as one of his hands descended along her bare arm and played idly with her fingers.

“I’d like to explain,” he continued.

She met his gaze and nodded like a mute. Really, what was she supposed to do? Tell him no? Yeah, right.

If it was possible, his stunning grin grew even brighter. His fingers tightened on hers. “Do you have a name?” he prodded.

She cleared her throat and tried to remember how to function like a normal human. “Um, Sophie,” she replied.

“Sophie,” he repeated. “I’m Zane.”

She snorted. “No crap.” She couldn’t swear. She was too used to teaching kids. Euphemisms were her best friends, even if they sounded slightly lame in situations, say, like this one.

He chuckled and tugged on her hand, pulling her closer to him. “Have dinner with me.”

It wasn’t a request, wasn’t a question, and she knew she would hate herself if she said no. Part of her was skeptical; part of her didn’t understand. She was plain. She was ordinary. Why was he flirting with her when he could have been at some after-party kegger with a bunch of hot blondes?

“Because hot blondes are average at best,” he stated.

She blinked in bewilderment, looked up at him, and felt the color leave her face when she realized she’d spoken her thoughts aloud.

“And you’re not plain,” he continued. “Not in the least. If you were plain, I never would have noticed you. You stood out in the crowd, Sophie. Your face made me falter in my playing. Your lovely face. A plain person wouldn’t cause that reaction.”

Her mouth and throat went dry, thus preventing her from speaking. So, instead, she just stared at him like a moron. She counted her heartbeats as they thundered in her chest. One…two…three…four….

Four beats and her senses returned. She shook her head and backed away from him. “Dude,” she stated, sounding entirely too much like one of her high school students. “What the heck is this?” She looked around the still-deserted parking lot and wondered what kind of alternate universe she had fallen into.

She pulled her fingers out of his grasp and slashed the air with her hands. The delightful electrical current that had been passing between them dissipated as she moved away. “This is insane.” She fixed him with a critical eye and put one hand on her hip while she brandished the antenna ball with the other. “Reality check,” she said. “This kind of stuff never happens to people like me. What are you up to?” He raised his eyebrows and opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off by taking a daring step up to him and stabbing the now frazzled-looking antenna ball at him. “You said you wanted to explain all that mumbo jumbo about hearing music when you looked at me. So get to it, because I swear, if you’re just trying to put a notch on your belt for laughs, or someone made a bet with you or something like that, so help me, I will put out your other eye.”

He held his hands up and retreated slightly. “Whoa, calm down!” he exclaimed. “No one bet me anything!”

“Then what are you telling me all this junk for?” She shook the ball at him again. “I’m a nobody, a forgettable face in the crowd. You say hot blondes are average at best? What, are you on crack? Do you honestly expect me to believe that you actually feel that way, or do you think I’m a gullible idiot? Well, let me tell you something, mister. I’ve been around long enough to know that men like you, who do what you do, do not try to pick up girls like me without some kind of motive. So what’s yours?” She flung the ball down again. It bounced once on the asphalt and rolled away in dejection. As if to punctuate her sentence, thunder rumbled ominously in the distance. Sophie put her hands on her hips and stared up at him in a blatant challenge.

Story-Worthy or Not? Tommy's Joynt in San Francisco

2011-03-27T14:10:00.000-07:00

In 2007, I traveled to San Francisco with my friends to see The 69 Eyes and Cradle of Filth in concert. In true Brieanna travel fashion, we didn't have any hotel reservations and we were winging most of the trip. The only thing we had for sure was a car and the concert tickets. So we found a random hotel that was sorta close to The Fillmore, didn't cost and arm and a leg and a firstborn, and checked in. The concert was awesome, but one of my friends got blitzed on whiskey and the rest of us were friggin hungry after the show. Considering it was midnight, there wasn't a lot to choose from.

By some miracle, we managed to end up at a hotel that was right across the street from a hof brau called Tommy's Joynt. It looked a little seedy, maybe a little sketchy, but it was open, and we were starving. Little did I know at that point that Tommy's Joynt actually has quite a reputation for itself. I just knew it had really good food (which my blitzed friend dropped all over the hotel floor once we got back, almost flattening an unsuspecting cricket that was skittering by...and then he tried to still eat it. The food, not the cricket.) and a new tradition was born. Tommy's Joynt became a staple for any concert trip that we took to San Francisco for the next couple years. It was always an after-show stop and has wonderful memories associated with it.

This time was no exception. While I hadn't been back to Tommy's Joynt in awhile, it still had all of the charm and greasiness of my memories. Hearty, fantastic food, good prices, amazing portions and a strangely European atmosphere. It's a place I could seriously imagine sharing a pint with the guy at the other end of the table and starting a chorus of "Whiskey In The Jar."

My friend had never been here before and I was anxious to show her the place that had become an integral part of many of my trip stories. She was not disappointed. Happy with the food and enthralled with all of the strange memorabilia on the walls and the ceilings, she ate in silence while we drank Elephant beer from Denmark--the beer her father had toasted with the night he'd married her mother.

Because of the exhausting day we had had, we didn't stay as long as I would have liked, but that was all right. I made a second stop back in the last night we were in town. While my friend wanted to relax in the hotel room with some ice cream and the TV, I felt restless and wanted to let my mind wander.

Armed with a notebook like an old-school writer before laptops and Ipads and what-not, I headed back over to Tommy's Joynt for some people watching, idea sorting, and a Guinness or two.

I sat back and took it all in, as is my way, and saw stories in every corner. The people were eclectic, from a group of club-bound girls to what I'm pretty sure was an honest-to-goodness vampire sitting at the bar. I had never seen such a motley group, but that is what gives Tommy's Joynt its appeal. It's never a disappointment and always makes me feel warm and happy. It's a place that really is good for the soul, and I would recommend it to anyone.

Story-worthy all the way.

Story Worthy or Not? Fisherman's Wharf in San Francisco

2011-03-23T19:51:00.001-07:00

How This Works:

So, I’m starting this feature where I’m going to critique things. Places I eat, places I visit, experiences I have, etc. Mainly this will happen when I go on trips or go to restaurants, or have crazy, unforgettable adventures. You may use this guide if you ever find yourself in the places I have gone, or you can just read it for your own entertainment.  I’m mainly doing it for my own entertainment. Lol.

The rating system will go as follows:

“I would never write this”—That means it’s bad. Do not go here. The food was awful, or the people were awful, it was boring as heck, or I had an all-out terrible experience. Me not wanting to write about something means it’s so bad that I want to forget about it as soon as possible.

“I might write about this if I had no other material”—This means it was ok, but not great. It’s basically middle of the road and a last resort.

“This is going in the vault”—This means it was pretty all right, but not extraordinary. I might use it for a future work.

“This is story worthy”—This means it is definitely worth writing about and you will probably hear about it in an upcoming novel of mine.

Keep in mind that this system is going to be weird and probably backward. Because sometimes the most horrendous things make for great writing. So, I may have a nightmare of a time, but it may still be worth writing about. Lol. So, now that I have thoroughly confused you, let’s get to it.

THE CABLE CAR SYSTEM AND FISHERMAN’S WHARF IN SAN FRANCISCO, CA

I have been to San Francisco more times than I can count. And I’ve been to Fisherman’s Wharf so many times that my eyes cross every time I go there. I know where everything is, and I know all the shops on Pier 39 and all the back walkways that take you to the secret restrooms where there is no line. Given that, you would think I’d give this an “I might write about this if I had no other material” rating, but that’s #1. Totally not fair, and #2. Not really true even though I could navigate it in my sleep.

The fact that I have been there a bazillion times does little to quench the charm of the area. As I boarded a cable car on Powell Street in the cold, soggy, relentless drizzle, and sat my wet butt on an equally as wet bench where I got even more wet because I lacked adequate shelter from the elements, I chatted with various tourists and had a front row seat to the beautiful city. Even in the gray overhang, it was enchanting. And with so many people of all walks of life on the streets and around every corner, how could I not be inspired?
The fact that the cable car was stuck at an intersection for a small eternity because another one had broken down did little to ruin my mood, although I was slowly freezing and starving to death.

Once we finally arrived at our destination, I took a look around at the view of Ghirardelli Square and the Aquatic Park across from it and felt at home and in my element. I ate my lunch at Cappurro’s, which had an amazingly good clam chowder bread bowl lunch special. And while the service was a bit lacking, I found the food above average. It was definitely a place I would eat at again.

After refueling, we made our way to the Aquarium of the Bay. While small, it offers a great look at aquatic life and is worth the price of admission. There is also a touch pool and learning center for those who are more scientific in nature, or who just want to have fun with creatures.

The Blue and Gold Fleet Bay Cruise was definitely worth the money--an hour long boat tour of the bay that went under the Golden Gate, around Alcatraz, and offered spectacular views of the city and its surrounding areas. The seagulls cavorted and played behind our boat, we got a front row view of the Pier 39 sea lions, and were offered reasonably priced cocktails and snacks. While it was a little chilly because of the rain and cloud cover, it had a spirit of peaceful adventure about it.

Pier 39, of course, is the mecca for shopping and has something for everyone. I, personally, did not shop much on this trip for the lone fact that I have been there so many times. I would definitely recommend Pier 39 to anyone who has not been to San Francisco before, or who has been there minimal times. There are usually street vendors and performers lining the walkways all the way from Pier 39 to Ghirardelli Square, and rest assured you will not be disappointed with the lively atmosphere. Because of the dismal conditions the day I was there, it was a bit abandoned, but I actually found that refreshing for a change.

Over all, I would definitely give this a “story-worthy” rating. There is so much beauty and so many different people on the wharf that, regardless of how many times I have been there, I can see stories around every turn. I have difficulty entertaining the idea that anyone would find Fisherman’s Wharf boring, and would recommend it to anyone—tourists and natives alike.

Nostalgia

2010-08-11T19:48:00.000-07:00

San Francisco, August, 1998: a 14-year-old girl stands inside a hotel room, watching the rain that hasn't stopped since around 7 o'clock. She watches the lights from the cars and the buildings create shimmery, colored patterns on the wet pavement below, and the mist from the ocean fog that has come in with the storm blankets the rooftops in a dreary kind of heaven. If she leans out far enough, and looks past the closest buildings and the yellow cabs skittering on the street below, she can just make out the marquis of the Curran Theatre advertising the Phantom of the Opera, which she has just seen.

Though she has seen one Broadway play (Cats) before, it had been nothing like this breathtaking performance in which she had been both filled with elation and sorrow. Elation because she had been blown away by the amazing, magical story, and had been able to converse for just a moment with several of the performers afterward. Sorrow because she was only there because her best friend was not. Her best friend, who had passed away a year and a half prior. Her best friend, who had loved the play more than probably most any other thing in the world. Her best friend, who was gone.

And though she had been to San Francisco before, none of the other trips could quite compare to this one. After all, she hadn't come on a bus with a bunch of other smart, geeky kids like herself. She had flown on a plane, with a classy theatre lady who drank wine and ate Italian food that looked alien to her and walked through the city the girl loved more than any other place she'd been to as if she lived there, herself. She hadn't just seen museums and Pier 39 and architectural wonders. She had seen Geary Street. The Theatre District. She had been to Union Square, downtown San Francisco, where only the locals and the people who knew the city went.

As she watched the rain and listened to the honks of distant horns and the constant hum of the city, the girl's mother came up next to her and started to sing Journey's "Lights." And for some reason, it felt like something significant had happened. Like a chapter had started, a page had turned...

I still can't watch the beginning scene of Phantom of the Opera, in play or movie form, without getting the chills and wanting to cry. It still touches me like nothing else ever has and I am instantly transported back to that night, coincidentally on my 14th birthday, so long ago. I say so long ago because it seems so much longer than it actually has been. In reality, it's been 13 years. But to me, it feels like another place, another era, a whole other time.

I remember so well the excitement of everything. I felt so out of my element, so confused. My family, while not destitue, was not on the wealthy end of the spectrum. My family worked for what they had. I had an amazing childhood because my family worked for what I had. We could have been better off financially, but that would have meant my mother would have had to work a full time job. She sacrificed financial comfort to stay home with me. And because of that, I am a very confident and well adjusted person. I am so very grateful to my mom for that decision. But also because of that, I had not seen the so-called "finer things of life." And now, I look back on that trip and realize it wasn't really that grandiose in the spectrum of things. In fact, I ate Italian food for dinner tonight and drink a glass of wine every evening almost. And seeing a play is not any more expensive than going to a rock concert. And taking a trip to San Francisco for a couple days is a very feasible option.

But I'm an adult now. I pay my own rent and I own my own car and I work my tush off every single day so I have food in my stomach. I understand all of that now. At 14, I was still blissfully naive. And being taken to an upscale Italian resturant for dinner and seeing a real, honest-to-goodness Broadway play, and flying on a plane instead of driving in a car to the most amazing city I had ever been to was the most spectacular adventure I had been on up to that point.

I look back on my life and realize that event was the starting point for so much in my life that has become normal for me. I remember looking at my best friend's mom and thinking she was the classiest woman I had ever met in my life. She was involved in the THEATRE and she drank WINE with dinner. And she dressed like an artist, which she was. I was enamored by her life and her occupation and the people she knew. I wanted to be an artist and go to San Francisco whenever I felt like it. I wanted to fly on planes and drink wine too.

And I have.

I have been to San Francisco probably more times than I have been anywhere else. I have been drinking wine and cooking my dinners (mostly Italian when I can get away with it) and listening to Celtic music in my flowy hippie/artists skirts for years. I have flown numerous times. To New York, Ohio, Huntington Beach, Houtson, to Arizona and back more times than I can count (although I still prefer drvining most everywhere because it's so much more of an adventure). I have sat in the airport drinking my coffee concoction, typing on my laptop, feeling like a real businesswoman. Because, actually, at the end of the day, that's what I am. I AM an artist. I may still be slightly starving depending on what month it is, but I am making a living partly off of what I love. I have done business with rock stars. Not just any rock star, mind you, but THE rock star. IN FINLAND. I have accomplished everything that seemed so untouchable and amazing to me at age 14.

And it's funny to me, when I think back on my life, how much of what I am now started with that one innocent moment in August of '98. It started me on a path that led me here. Any little deviation along the way and I would not be who I am. I would not have done the things I have done.

I miss my best friend. After all this time, I still miss her every single day of my life. But if anything good could come from the tragedy of losing her, it had to be my insatiable love for life and adventure. I don't believe in taking anything for granted, and I live by the CARPE DIEM philosophy (within reason. I have friends who take that to a whole other level. Ahem..Travis..;) ). Life is a precious gift and should be treated as such.

So as I drink my glass of wine and watch Phantom of the Opera and think back to a time that seemed so much more innocent, I smile to myself, and have bittersweet emotions. I miss the life I once knew and I miss the newness of the things I experienced, the wonder and the amazement.

But I cherish the life I have, and the opportunities I have been given, the people that I love.

And at the end of everything, if I had to live my life over from that day my friend passed away in April of 1996, regardless of the pain and drama that ensued in years to come...

I don't think I'd change a thing.

Fiction Worthy Moments

2010-07-30T18:17:00.001-07:00

The key to writing any good piece of literature is conflict. And before the hero or heroine of a novel can find their happy ending, they have to go through some kind of trial or journey. That's what grips the reader, what makes the story interesting, what keeps them reading til the end of the book.

Real life, unlike fiction, does not come with a style guide. And sometimes you have to go through several bouts of conflict or several different trials before you can find any sort of semblance of a happy ending. And even then it's not really a happy ending. More like a "happy for now." And again, even that is not usually what it would be in a novel. Odds are, after whatever trial you end up going through, at the end of it you do not have a hot stud with long, dark hair and washboard abs come up to you on the beach at sunset and pledge to love only you for the rest of your days. Sometimes you're doing pretty good if, at the end of it all, your happy ending is a large pizza and a cocktail (or several).

Over the last couple years, I have been journeying through my own conflict. And apparently the novel of my life would be one the size of War and Peace because this conflict has been lasting for awhile. But on the journey through my trials, over the mountainous issues and into the deepest parts of myself, I've realized something about the "real life" happy ending.

It's not even about the ending. It's about the moments. The perfect moments. Because while a perfect, happy ending may not exist in this world, perfect, happy moments do. And sometimes they can be really huge. Like accomplishing a task or a goal that seemed impossible, surviving something so painful you thought you might never recover only to find yourself stronger at the end of it all, or standing up for what you believe with such conviction that you surprise even yourself.

And as great as those dramatic moments may be, sometimes the perfect things can be as simple as laughing until you want to pee your pants, getting lost on some harebrained adventure, rocking out to good music with good friends, being accepted for who you are without question, good company, letting go, peace and quiet, good conversation, having a moment to sit down with a good dinner and a glass of wine and take a breath without feeling like you have something pressing to do, and the small, priceless and glimmering moments where, in any scenario, you feel like you can recapture a small piece of yourself that you thought was lost. Maybe it only lasts for a moment, but in that moment, it is everything.

Moments when you feel like everything is new again, when beauty is everywhere, when you can be stupid and carefree without wondering who's looking and what they're thinking, when you can recapture just a sparkle of your childish innocence. When you feel for just one heartbeat like everything is not broken, and that everything you've been through has not been for nothing.

Those moments are like fireflies. Catching one is wondrous, even though you know you're going to have to let it go again. And as small as they sometimes are, and as fleeting as they sometimes are, those moments make all the trial and conflict feel like it has a purpose. Because how could you appreciate those things otherwise?

And the good thing is that, even though you have to let the fireflies go, you can always catch more the next night.

On The Super Hero Complex

2010-07-26T09:47:00.001-07:00

It's awesome, as a writer, to have control over your characters like some kind of giant puppet master. Because then you know (if you're not sadistic, or writing horror or something) that you can make things all right for your characters in the end of the story. You can have the most messed up, whacked out, jaded, crazy, immature, bizarre, whathaveyou character, and somehow, by the end of the book, they are okay. Or at least moderately better. They've had some kind of life-altering epiphany because of the journey they went through in the 200+ pages of the novel and the reader leaves the book with the sense of satisfaction that everything is going to be A-OK for the character from that point on.

Life is not like that.

I wish life was like that. Because, in novels, your characters know you know what's best for them. You're the writer. They don't have a choice. Sometimes they might be unruly or stubborn and not want to comply, but in the end, they have to. If they don't, they'll never go on their life-altering journey and they'll never have a story at all. They might be difficult through the course of the writing process, but in the end, the writer always knows what's best.

People are much different. People don't like to listen. And regardless of how much more you know on a subject, or how much more experience you have in a certain area, no one is really going to care because they think that their way is the only way and that's the end of it. And if you don't agree with them, you must be a complete idiot. Because how can you not see that the self destructive way they live their lives is completely healthy? Completely warranted? I mean, come on! Because that lifestyle is making things soooo much better for said person. (Insert any person you know into this scenario. There are lots of them and I'm sure you know a couple.)

And while I love being a writer and would never want to be anything else, it kinda sucks because I think that may be what has given me a super hero complex. The desire to charge into people's lives like some kind of white knight and attempt to save them from themselves and their dragons, also known as issues. It works in stories. Not so much in real life.

In stories, the hero vanquishes the dragon, saves the person in distress and rides off into the sunset in a nice Happily Ever After. In real life, I have come to find that, more often than not, when I attempt to vanquish someone's dragon, they leap in and start attacking ME in order to defend their dragon. Apparently, some people like living in darkness and flames and like being chained in a dungeon that is guarded by fierce beasts. This makes no sense to me whatsoever. I have never read a novel where the victim WANTS to remain the victim. Why do real people do that so often? It baffles me.

And I could sit here and figure out all the psychological reasons for people wanting to remain in their safe, destructive darkness. That's not the point. The point is, why do they so often want to attack the one person who is trying to bring them just a little piece of light? Why do they resent the one who is attempting to help? They scream out they want someone to save them, yet when someone tries, they launch arrows. It could seriously make any novel hero want to retire.

This white knight's gleaming armor is getting rusty. And I'm tired. The sword I used to weld in fierce protection of one and all is starting to feel exceedingly heavy. And the thing I find startling and disturbing is that, if I fall from my horse or I get wounded, would I have any hero to come and save me? Would someone write my story with a happy ending the way I always try to do? Or at the end of it all, would I be the one left to fight on alone, regardless of how many others I have tried to save?

It's a disturbing concept that I don't like thinking about.

Maybe I'll just stick to fiction. At least then I know that the ones I save truly appreciate the effort put forth. Even if they don't actually exist. Though sometimes, as distressing as it is, the fictional people who are saved are far more appreciative than the real life ones.

My 2009 in Retrospect

2009-12-31T15:17:00.001-08:00

I can’t believe another year has gone by already. This one seemed to go faster than most. There was some good, some not so good, and a whole lot of craziness. Here are the things that 2009 taught me.

-Sometimes, packing up a box can be the most excruciating thing you will ever do.

-A half-filled studio apartment can be both an oasis and a prison.

-Nightwish saves all.

-There are times when the lines between happiness and sorrow blur so completely you can’t tell the difference. Like eating your favorite Italian meal, drinking a wine that you love, and watching one of your favorite movies, all while crying your ever-loving eyes out.

-People will tell you your dreams are impossible. DO NOT LISTEN.

-Persistence, diligence and a vision can get you something that seems unattainable. One second you’re a no one, and the next, you’re dancing with the stars.

-Sometimes, the most intimidating-looking people are the nicest you will ever meet.

-Stardust is just that. At the end of the day, even gorgeous rock stars are just people.

-The George Bush International airport in Houston, TX is ridiculous.

-Don’t ever book a 1.5 star hotel on Priceline just to save money.

-IHOP in the middle of the night can be the best food you’ve ever eaten.

-Serious anxiety, facing the biggest moment of your life thus far and Starbucks don’t really mix well.

-Courage can manifest when you least expect it.

-The closing door on a tour bus can shatter your entire existence in one brief moment. Letting go of a dream when it is finished is more painful than the entire process of achieving it.

-Problems don’t ever really go away. They just get recycled.

-It IS possible to make your friend laugh so hard they pee their pants.

-Don’t ever go on a road trip with a woman who just had surgery the day before. Regardless of how minor that surgery was.

-Despite the drama that can sometimes occur, a road trip with your best girlfriend is one of the most satisfying experiences you can have.

-It is possible to love a person too much, to care too much, and to lose yourself so much within that care that you risk never coming back out.

-Life has more than one starting point.

-26 years can sometimes feel like 40

-Sometimes nothing in the world is better than watching some stupid show with a kindred spirit, drinking, and laughing so hard you scare the crap out of the neighbors.

-There are moments when people really do surprise you for the better.

-Within hardship, liberation can be found.

-There are times when the darkness is not a scary chasm. It is a refuge.

-A person is much stronger than they ever think they have the ability to be.

-There are still beautiful people in this world.

-Not all hope is dead. Not everything exists only in shades of gray. Some things bring color back.

-It’s ok to be cynical. It really is. Sometimes, you deserve it.

-But once you’ve exhausted your cynicism, find something lovely in life before you risk being stuck in that bitterness forever.

-Adventures can be found anywhere. You just need to keep your eyes open and pay attention.

-Parts of yourself that you thought were lost forever can be revived.

-The alcoholic beverage entitled a “zombie” can apparently transport you to the 10^th planet on the 9^th level.

-Sometimes, a good pity party is necessary.

-Laughter is the most incredible thing in existence.

-Things that sparkle too much are probably fool’s gold.

And my most important lessons lie in the fact that one whole year spent in blackness, only surviving to the best of your ability, can end with a small smidgen of hope for the year to come. Your whole world, your entire existence, as well as your identity, can be stripped down to the barest nothingness there is until you’re staring at a stranger in the mirror living a stranger’s nightmare. That’s not the end of it all, even though it feels like it. You can crawl again. And after you crawl, you can stand. After you stand, you can walk. After you walk, you can run. And sooner or later, your wings remember how to fly.

You are only what you can make of yourself. No one else should have the right or ability to tell you who you are and what you should be. Seize your own day. Seize your own dream. Even if everything is backwards, sooner or later, you’ll find your way out of the labyrinth.

My goal for 2009 was to survive and live. What is it for 2010?

FLY

The Phoenix is back, baby. Watch out because she’s lifting her wings. Back up if you can’t handle the heat because this red bird is ready to blaze.

Exploding Computer

2009-12-23T23:34:00.000-08:00

Well, it happens once a year just about and this year is no exception. Everyone starts contracting colds and viruses in the winter, and so does my computer. This one was a doozy and I ended up losing all of my stuff. C0mputer completely crashed. So please forgive me if things have been a bit dead around here lately. I am struggling to try and get everything back on track and out from the archives of my backup discs. Please be patient with me and know I haven't disappeared. :)

Brieanna's Black Friday Sale

2009-11-24T17:21:00.001-08:00

Books make excellent gifts, and since Black Friday is going to bring about shopping madness across the country, I thought I would start my sale a couple days early. The good part about this? You don't have to rush through crowds of hostile and insane shoppers to take advantage of this. You can get in on this sale from the comfort of your own home. :)

From now until Saturday morning, buy ANY of my full length titles and receive a FREE ebook download of your choice OR a signed print book. Buy one of my novellas and receive a free ebook download. TWO novellas and you will have the option of the signed print book, as well.

So what are you waiting for? I have everything from romantic comedy to mystical fantasy available for your reading pleasure. Go to my website www.brieannarobertson.com and check out my titles. If you see something you like, go to any of the online sellers my books are available at and then email me your proof of purchase at brauthor.editor@gmail.com.

I will immediately hook you up with your free gift.

Hurry! This only lasts until Saturday! Get movin' ! :)

The Most Ridiculous Night Ever

2009-10-31T22:02:00.000-07:00

All right, so I had to blog about my night because it was insane, and stupid, and something worthy of fiction.

I'm house sitting for a friend of mine who has a Jack Russel terrier that likes to make mad dashes out the door. I have house sat for them before so I know about Roxy the Escape Artist and am usually pretty prepared. So I'm over there, hanging with the dog for a couple hours and watching a really terrible horror movie. I was really feeling sorry for myself, actually. I was totally depressed and emo.

So I go to leave and, right as I'm closing the door, Roxy decides to make a break for it. As I watch the white streak fly up the street I'm thinking to myself, "I'm dead....I'm really dead." I drop all my stuff on instinct and take off on foot after the dog. Yes, I just left the door open and left my purse and laptop hanging out in the middle of the road. Luckily, it didn't take me long to realize #1. That was really stupid and #2. I was never gonna catch up to Grease Lightning on foot.

Trying to grow a brain for a second amidst my terror, I ran back to the door, yanked it shut, picked up my stuff, hurled it into the car and took off like a bat out of hell trying to remember what my friend had told me about Roxy's chosen route when she did these stunts. As I'm thinking about this, I immediately back into and over a wooden curb thingie that is in their neighbor's yard. Ignoring that, i drive off of it and take off, driving like a friggin' drunken sailor down the road, in the middle of the night, dodging college students in Halloween costumes a-plenty trying to get to their next party. I almost hit Abe Lincoln. Almost ran over a fairy. And I'm thinking to myself, "What kind of movie did I fall into?!"

I continue driving, or swerving is a better word for it, trying to call my mom, my friend's mom, anyone who might be able to help me, as I pass a man in a bright yellow toga text messaging someone on his driveway. I pull up and roll down my passenger window and shout, "Have you seen a Jack Russel terrier?" He says, "Yeah, I just saw her a second ago." I scream, "Oh my gosh, really?!" He peers down the street a ways and goes, "Yeah, she's right there." I scream again, "OH THANK GOD! HELP ME!" So Knight in Shining Yellow Toga runs down the road until he finds Roxy while I pull my car around. I open up my door when I spot her, call her name and the dog just runs up and jumps into the car like she was out for a midnight ride.

I turn the car around and got back to Toga-Man, gushing my thanks. He goes, "No problem. I saw her and thought she was too big to be a cat." He tells me to have a good night and off I go. I tote the dog back into the house and finally get to go home.

However, about halfway home, all my nerves are still on high alert from my super adrenaline surge and I start to wonder if I'd locked all the doors and turned off the stove. So, of course, I had to go back and check.

I squeeze my way into the back gate this time, managing to get the busted gate latch to let me in. I check everything, make sure it's good, and go back out the back door. I go through the gate and stick my hand through the slat to make sure the latch hooked. My hand gets stuck. I really thought I might just have to stand there all night.

When I finally detach myself from the gate, I make my way back home, past the man in the bright orange wet suit, and almost get creamed by some idiot A-hole who decided to disregard traffic laws. That's the second time today, by the way, that I was almost killed on the friggin' road.

I pull onto my street, avoid running over the trick-or-treaters, and as I'm walking through my neighbor's yard to get to my house, some Einstein decided it would be an awesome idea to set up a two by four for the heck ot it across two things right at my eye level. Can we say clotheslined? I almost took my effing head off!

I have never been so happy to get into my apartment in my life. I almost didn't think I was going to make it. You can have all your scary horror/slasher flicks. I almost met my maker at the hand of a crazy dog and a friggin piece of wood.

But enormous thanks goes out to Yellow Toga Man. He renewed my faith in the human race.

Find Me On Smashwords!!

2009-10-30T17:29:00.000-07:00

All of my print titles are now available in ebook! The wait is over! Now you can download The Road Less Traveled, Better Than Chocolate, Dark Masterpiece, Amaranth of the Wild Things, or Warrior's Rise on Smashwords

Haven't heard of these titles? Check them out below, along with their mini-blurbs. If they catch your eye, head on over to my Website and read more! Maybe you'll find something you want to put on your wish list!

SERENDIPITY BOOK ONE: THE ROAD LESS TRAVELED

Thrown together in a bizarre and hilarious set of circumstances,
these five strangers come to realize the true meaning of friendship,
love and being true to oneself.

SERENDIPITY BOOK TWO: BETTER THAN CHOCOLATE

Can the presence of a passionate musician who reminds her of her past show Kat that not all men are cruel, and that life can still be beautiful and worth living?

SERENDIPITY BOOK THREE: DARK MASTERPIECE

There is more than meets the eye to the dark, brooding artist with the painful past, and spunky, outspoken Evie plans on finding out just exactly what the man is made of.

AMARANTH OF THE WILD THINGS

She could be his greatest downfall…or his greatest treasure.

WARRIOR'S RISE

It's safe to remain the self absorbed, shallow man he's always been, but can a gorgeous fairy queen and a passel of eccentric kids help Logan find the courage to reach inside and find the true warrior he was destined to become?

EXCERPT: Amaranth of The Wild Things

2009-10-30T10:44:00.000-07:00

Here is an excerpt from my fantasy novel, Amaranth of the Wild Things. If you like what you read, you can find a copy for yourself at Whimsical Publications or Amazon.

He had no idea what to do with this woman. No idea whatsoever. She defied any kind of preconception he’d had. Currently, he was soaking in the cool water of the pool she had bathed in that morning. He had secured her chain underneath a large rock that she would not be able to move by herself without quite a bit of fuss, and she had washed his shirt at the far end. It was drying in the sun, and she sat atop a large boulder, combing her fingers through her long, lustrous, golden hair.

She looked very much like royalty at that moment. Elegant, graceful, noble… He would be completely lying to himself if he didn’t admit that she was beautiful. It didn’t greatly matter, but it was true nonetheless. It only intrigued him because he had never before found a woman alluring in any way. He knew pretty women when he saw them, but that was all they were. Amara’s beauty was different. It seemed to shine from within like a luminescent light. He had never before encountered a human with that kind of light. But then again, his entire world existed in dank darkness.

He watched her as she stretched her arms above her head and the sunlight illuminated the silhouette of her body through the sheer fabric of her white chemise. He swallowed and frowned as he realized his throat was dry. With a scowl, he averted his eyes. He rested his head back on the rock he was leaning up against and sighed, closing his eyes.

"Jaide!"

Her sudden exclamation made him jump and he jerked into a sitting position. "What?" he barked. "What’s wrong?" He looked over to see her scrambling down off of the boulder, and he glanced around to see if there was a wild animal or some other kind of threat anywhere nearby.

"Jaide, look! I told you they were real!" He frowned as he watched her kneel down at the base of the boulder and point at a small, dark crevice in between it and a smaller rock. She looked up at him and grinned. "It’s an amaranth!"

He sucked his breath in and his whole body went rigid for a moment before the tension dissolved into shivering ripples.

"Come and see!" she urged, motioning him over with childlike glee.

He forced himself to get out of the water. He didn’t want to go, but he couldn’t make himself stay. As much as the amaranth pained him because it made him remember a past he’d like to efface from his mind, it also called to him like an enchanting spell that he was powerless against. It was the only thing that he’d never been able to resist.

Amara moved aside as he approached and pointed down to where the tiny flower grew. He gazed at it, his heart reminding him that it still existed by twisting painfully. Most of the time, he didn’t feel it at all. Only a dull, empty chasm where a heart should be. But now, it reminded him.

He hated the reminder.

He frowned as he looked down at the one flower that had always been his only beauty, and his only weakness. It grew in the shadow of the boulder and looked as if the petals on one side were being marred by an unyielding rock that trapped it. He reached out on instinct to try and dislodge the rock.

"What are you doing?" Amara asked, grasping his wrist to stop him.

He pulled away from her touch instantly. He didn’t like to be touched. His frown deepened. "That rock is going to crush it." He reached out to the rock again, intent on getting rid of it if he had to pry it out of the ground.

Amara shook her head and grasped his wrist again. "No, stop. It’s not going to crush it. It’s protecting it."

Jaide wished he could frown harder, but it was physically impossible. He yanked his wrist out of her hand again. "Stop grabbing me," he grumbled.

She ignored him and pointed back down at the flower. "Don’t you see how it’s growing? The rock shelters it against the elements." She looked up at him with her large, gray eyes. A graceful smile curved her full lips. "It may seem harsh and unyielding, and it may look like the flower is being crushed, but it isn’t. It’s being protected. Don’t remove the rock. The amaranth needs it to live."

For some reason, her words made his stomach clench in a way that was almost nausea, but not quite. It was something different. Something foreign…and he didn’t like it. He glanced away from her and back down at the beautiful flower. So perfect, so pure… He reached his fingers out to caress the petals and warmth washed over his blackened heart.

He saw Amara watching him out of the corner of his eye. "You lied to me, didn’t you?" she questioned softly.

"How so?"

"When you said amaranths didn’t exist. You’ve seen them before, haven’t you?"

He nodded slowly. "Yes," he whispered. "Long ago…" Her eyes remained on him and he glanced up at her, his gaze meeting hers. Her eyes were filled with quiet curiosity and a gentleness he couldn’t handle. There was nothing gentle in his world. Nothing soft at all. His entire existence was, and always had been, made up of things harsh, cruel and painful. The gentleness in her stormy-eyed gaze made him feel filthy, like he wasn’t even worthy of looking at her, like he wasn’t worthy of touching the flower below him. He was surprised the ever-blooming petals didn’t wilt and turn black. He was so full of taint. He did not deserve gentleness or beauty in any fashion.

Slowly, Amara’s gaze traveled lower and her eyes widened in alarm as she must have just come to realize that he was completely without apparel. She let out a shout of surprise and covered her face with her hands, pulling back so quickly that her foot caught on the edge of a small stone and she went tumbling toward the ground.

Jaide reacted on pure reflex and caught her by the wrist to keep her from falling, but he pulled harder than he’d meant to and she crashed into his body, overturning his balance and sending them both into the water. He landed hard on his back, and because of the shackle around her wrist, Amara twisted slightly as she fell, her shoulder planting itself with force right into his sternum.

Pain sliced through Jaide’s body and water splashed in every direction. He winced and let out an annoyed, growling grunt. "For goodness sake, you act like you’ve never seen a naked man before," he muttered between clenched teeth.

"I haven’t!" she cried.

He looked down at her, lying half on top of him and flopped the other half of her body in the water to try and sit up. The position made it so that she was almost nestled against him and it was, quite possibly, the most uncomfortable moment of his entire life. He would have even taken the merciless beatings he’d received at the barracks over the feel of her soft, velvet skin rubbing against his. "Kindly get off of me!" he barked.

"I’m trying!" The tension of the chain attached to her shackle made it almost impossible for her to do anything useful with her right arm, so she wiggled around, trying to get some kind of footing. She attempted to pull herself out with the chain, but it went flying free at the pressure of Amara’s body weight, sending her crashing back into him again. This time, her elbow made contact with his stomach.

Jaide wasn’t sure if he was angry, or just completely overwhelmed and bewildered. It didn’t matter much either way considering anger was the only emotion he was actually capable of showing. It was the only one that hadn’t been eradicated from his being. "Get off of me!" he bellowed. He couldn’t handle her nearness. It made him feel like he couldn’t breathe. Physical contact made him feel like someone was slowly choking the air right out of his body.

To make matters worse, she didn’t even seem to register what he’d said. She didn’t retreat at his command, fearful of what he might do if she didn’t obey. Instead, she did something so unexpected and strange to him that all he could do was stare.

She dissolved into laughter.

And she rested her forehead against his chest.

Like she was comfortable with him.

Like he wasn’t evil incarnate.

Like for one short second in time, she completely forgot who he was and why she was there with him…

I'm Featured In An Article

2009-10-30T10:08:00.001-07:00

At Sexy Women Read!

Check it out here:

http://sexywomenread.blogspot.com/

Help The Starving Artist Not Starve

2009-10-26T17:22:00.000-07:00

Because I'm not above begging at this point. LOL.

Listen up all my faithful readers and friends! I have an assignment for you, and if you help me out I will be eternally grateful.

Everyone who knows about my books, has read any of my books, or just wants to support me, please refer me to someone, as many people as you can. Tell them to sign up for my newsletter by emailing me at brauthor.editor@gmail.com. In that email tell them to put the name of the person who referred them (That would be you.).

Your incentive in all this?

I will run this project/desperate plea/whatever you wanna call it for the next two weeks. The person who gets me the most referrals will win a signed copy of any of my print books! :)

Even one referral will help me break into a wider networking circle. Thank you so much!

Poem- Rebel Black

2009-10-21T18:51:00.001-07:00

Here's another one. Kind of the sequel to Golden Years.

REBEL BLACK

At the end of all days
When the shadows have passed,
Minutes tick fast
‘Til we breathe our last.
Will we remember
When the lightning crashed?
When our infernal passion turned all into ash?

At the end of all days
Who will we have become?
Since the time we were young,
And heard the beat of the drum?
Will we still stand strong,
Or will we be struck dumb
By the many who tell us when to go and to come?

What happened to the song
We all used to hear?
When we knew no fear,
And our brethren were dear?
We ran in a pack,
A sacred ship with no pier.
We roamed where we would,
No one told us to steer.

The black was our ally,
The darkness, our home.
We lived on the wild sea's writhing foam,
Our destination always distinctly unknown.
Rebel pirates, we fought
Normality's skill to turn all hearts to stone.

But one by one
As the pages turned,
Many forgot the way their hearts used to burn.
For the fallen, I yearn
And my stomach turns,
For I know the lesson they all must learn,
And how they will ache to go whence they cannot return.

Those who forgot,
Those who turned their back,
Will remember the things their life will lack.
They will look to see
How the few never went slack,
How they sail on with resolve uncracked.
They will remember the days of the rebel black.

At the end of all days
Where will I be?
Captaining a ship of refugees.
The ones who battle Mediocrity
Upon life's crashing, twisting sea.

This is the song for you and for me,
The ones who refuse to bend at the knee.
And there will be a day when all will see
It is we who are truly, completely free.

They are the ones
Who for slavery resigned
Instead of manning the course they helped design.
Their hearts will twinge at how they used to shine
And they'll cry at the loss
Of their souls misaligned.

But we will stay steady,
Our course never off track.
For we never have,
Nor ever will
Leave the true rebel black.

Poem- Golden Years

2009-10-21T18:29:00.000-07:00

Some of you may have read this one of mine before, but a friend inspired me to post it again. Enjoy. :)

GOLDEN YEARS

What became of the innocence
We all once knew?
When the word “friend” had no gender,
And everything seemed so bright and so new.
When the weekend meant adventure,
An escape from the grind.
All hearts beat in tandem.
All shared the same mind.

What became of the passion?
That invincible feeling?
When love was a drug,
To set your soul reeling.
When rebellious independence
Was what you lived and died for.
And you were yourself.
Nothing less, nothing more.

What became of the ones
Who rolled through life like the thunder?
Who swore always and forever,
Naught will tear us asunder?
Who were blood brothers, blood sisters,
Best friends, kindred spirits.
If you listen, the wind holds the answer.
Can you hear it?

It speaks of a time
When all was perfection.
When no one had need
For rehearsed affection.
When boy could love girl,
And friend could be friend.
But all things so beautiful
Come to an end.

Day turns to night,
Night yawns to day,
And slowly the tides of time
Pull us farther away.
We’re corralled into limits
Set up out of fear.
And we gradually abandon
All we at one time held dear.

We break our backs daily
Toiling for pointless existence,
And those fiery rebels we once were
No longer put up resistance.
We’re shoved into molds,
Live life like the others,
And forget what we stood for
In those golden years we were brothers.

Then one glorious sunset,
At the end of a hot summer day,
Makes us pause for a moment
As our life wanes away.
We remember a time
When all was exciting.
When love was for real,
And the world seemed inviting.
Before we’d been tarnished
By what we’d hoped could never be true.
When I could be me.
And you could be you.

On Flying the Freak Flag

2009-10-17T19:14:00.000-07:00

So, as I was wallowing around at home like a couch potato I started watching an episode of the TV show MADE on MTV. This zombie-loving, pink-haired girl wanted to be made into homecoming queen because deep down she always wanted to fit in. My first reaction to this is the same reaction I always have: "WTF?! WHY? Ugh there are enough horribly shallow people in the world as it is. Fly your freak flag proudly!" But I know that the reason that reaction is typical of me is because I have ALWAYS been ok with flying my freak flag.

I was raised to embrace my individuality, my creativity and my imagination. For some reason I have yet to figure out, I was the world's most amazingly confident little kid and teenager when it came to embracing myself. I give credit to my mom for this. She raised me to love myself, to accept myself, and to never listen to what ignorant people said. So, because of my healthy self-esteem, I went through school wearing gothic, lace up shirts with blue sparkly tights, or reggae wear, or my letter jacket over a tie dyed dress, or button up shirts that were a size too large and looked like a Picasso painting. I was involved in the arts, yet I played volleyball. I was a drama geek and a smart kid and I had friends from football players to the nerdiest nerds. I defied all stereotypes and absolutely loved high school because of it. I never had to endure the awkward pressure most kids do.

To this day, I am an advocate for individualism. I am anti-trend and anti-conformity. But I do understand that not all kids grow up with the same kind of confidence I had. And it got me thinking. If I was a MADE coach, what would I tell my kid? If I was assigned to make some "freaky" girl into homecoming queen, what would I do?

After cringing, I would put my own issues with conformity aside and I think that the first and most important thing I would do is try to teach my student that it isn't about being blonde and skinny and on the cheerleading squad. You can be an intellectual, a goth, a punk, a skater, whatever. What you are and what you like doesn't matter. The key to succes in ANYTHING is confidence and belief in yourself. If you like you and are happy with you, other people are going to like you and accept you. Even if what you like is against the norm, if you fly your freak flag with pride, people will say, "Well, so-and-so sure is quirky and eccentric, but they have so much confidence and are so much fun to be around." People may not "get" you, but they will accept you.

In my book, Better Than Chocolate, the main character is a musician who was teased and picked on in high school because he was different. In the dedication I wrote: "To everyone who dances to the beat of their own drum. The artists, the musicians, the eccentrics. You are the beauty of the world. Sing your song proudly." And I mean that. Those who have the courage to stand up and be you, you have my undying respect. And those who struggle to find the courage, don't be afraid. There are far too few true individuals in this world. Anyone can be "normal." Those who decide to step out of the box are true gifts and should be treasured.

Dreams On Paper

2009-10-10T17:41:00.001-07:00

Today I received my first shipment of my book Dark Masterpiece in the mail, and after figuring out what went where, I took a copy over to a store where I have all my books for sale and stuck it on the shelf. This was after last night when I had my Finnish class at the same store and the owner said to me, "You're the one who writes books, right?" To which I replied, "Yeah." She asks me, "And why aren't we selling them over here?" I said, "You are selling them" and pointed over to my shelf. It had all my books lined up, in a nice display, with my author bio and picture set up next to it. It made me feel so proud (not to mention warm and fuzzy) to see them up there. To know that I was actually being sold in a store.

I mean, ok, sure, you can go to a Barnes and Noble or a Borders or whathaveyou and go up to the information counter and tell them, "I'd like to order such and such by Brieanna Robertson." And as cool as that is, it isn't nearly as awesome as actually getting to stand in The PepperTree and physically see my books chilling out on the shelf.

So after dropping Dark Masterpiece off at it's new home I went back to my house and put my own copy up on the shelf next to my other ones. Now, because I'm not the world's most organized person and I live in an apartment the size of a shoe (and even that is a generous estimate) my bookshelf doubles as a nightstand. I usually try to read a little of something before I go to bed and sometimes I even thumb through my own stuff just because. So, everything was in chaotic disarray while I tried to put Dark Masterpiece on the shelf. Everything decided to purge its contents and books flew everywhere. The Nightwish biography went sailing to the floor, Amaranth of the Wild Things apparently decided to reproduce because I had more copies of that thing stashed away than I would have ever guessed, Warrior's Rise tried to escape down the back of the shelf, Christine Feehan decided to take a trip to the bathroom while Breaking Dawn perched precariously on top of Sherrilyn Kenyon and the first edition, self published copy of The Road Less Traveled.

As I was attempting to put all of my books back in their rightful places, I lined my books up in order and took a second to look at them. I couldn't help but smile and get that warm, fuzzy feeling again. I've been published in print for about two years now and I have five print books available, but it never gets old to see my babies, all bound with pretty covers, hanging out on my shelf. It's like being able to glance over and see physical evidence and proof that my dreams are a reality.

And when I stop to think about it, I realize that I have managed to accomplish (by accident, chance and sheer determination and stubbornness) more than I ever would have imagined at this stage in my life. And while I have moments where I get discouraged because I am a consummate overachiever, I do have other moments where I stop and go, "Dang, Don't Stop Believin' indeed. Who would have ever thought this would be where I am at age 26?"

The lesson in this is the one I keep handing out every day of my life. Don't EVER stop fighting for your dreams. Never give up and never surrender. Maybe one day you'll get to see them lined up in front of you too. :)

October Newsletter

2009-10-02T10:10:00.000-07:00

10-2-09

Fall is officially here! Time to get out the sweaters and hot chocolate! Anyone have any plans for this fall/winter season? None on my end. The only thing I have planned is winterizing my car and trying not to freeze! lol

PICTURE OF THE MONTH:

So I put a picture of Finland up here because I've decided to start learning the language. Every week I go to a Finnish language/culture class. It's awesome! Very interesting, but difficult since I've never spoken anything but English and some Brieanna-ism jibberish. LOL!! Who knows, though? Maybe one of these days you'll catch some Finnish in one of my books! ;) OR maybe one day I can actually visit the country and write all about it. That would be an amazing experience! Hyvää päivää newsletter subscribers! :)

NEWS:

*SERENDIPITY BOOK 3: DARK MASTERPIECE IS NOW AVAILABLE!

Get your copy at Whimsical Publications or Amazon

Art student Evie Austin has spent the last several years idolizing the famous and elusive painter, Traevyn Whitelaw. After an agonizing final report on the man, who also happens to be the most private and secretive person Evie has ever tried to do research on, her professor picks her for the once in a lifetime opportunity to be Traevyn Whitelaw's apprentice for the summer.

Ecstatic, Evie knows that her summer is going to be amazing, filled with lengthy discussions on art and beautiful things with the man she admires above all others. What she doesn't expect is to get stuck taking her sullen, sarcastic, seventeen-year-old brother with her at the last minute, and she definitely doesn't expect Traevyn Whitelaw to live in an isolated Gothic mansion by the ocean. What's worse is that the man she imagined to be so cultured and refined is no more than a sinister, snarling ogre who acts like having Evie and her brother in his home is the worst intrusion imaginable... He's also the most gorgeous man Evie has ever laid eyes on.

There is more than meets the eye to the dark, brooding artist with the painful past, and spunky, outspoken Evie plans on finding out just exactly what the man is made of.

Here is an excerpt for you!

She guided her car down the winding coastal highway and turned onto the remote dirt road that was practically non-existent. They were somewhere in Big Sur, hours and hours away from Ashland. She felt like she had been driving for eons and the last portion of it had been on Highway 1, which was only a two-lane highway right next to the ocean that twisted and curved for miles. She had been battling Seth for control of the radio for half the journey, and he had appealed to her about five times to let him go back home. She just wanted to get where she needed to go so she could be away from her brother and away from the road.

The road took her down toward the cliffs overlooking the ocean, and the trees began to get denser and more foreboding-looking, their thick branches jutting out in awkward positions that looked like gnarled fingers. Wisps of fog slithered through the branches like serpents and Evie suddenly felt like she had ventured into a horror movie. She continued to drive, the fog getting thicker as she went along.

“Dude, Evie, this is kind of creeping me out,” Seth muttered.

Evie rolled her eyes. “It’s just fog.” But she did have to admit, everything felt dark and foreboding, and that was an ominous feeling.

Without warning the road widened out and an enormous, Gothic-looking house came into view. Evie gasped in surprise and slowed the car to a stop as she stared at the structure. It was dark, nestled in a grove of eucalyptus trees, sitting like a lonely sentinel. The architecture much resembled that of a sixteenth-century manor and she briefly felt like she’d traveled through time.

“Holy crap,” Seth said. “What kind of guy is this? A friggin’ warlock or something?”

Evie shook her head to regain her senses and unbuckled her seatbelt. “Come on, he’s an artist. It makes sense that his home would be artistic.” But she couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something horribly lonely and tormented emanating from the dark edifice.

She got out of the car and started toward the front door, shivering as the eerie ocean breeze blew gently across her skin. She heard the forlorn cry of a seagull as she approached and, behind it, the rhythmic pounding of the ocean waves. The breeze rustled through the leaves of the eucalyptus grove. Evie had to take a deep breath to calm her nerves before she knocked on the heavy, oak door.

“Seriously, Evie, let me go home,” Seth whispered, stuffing his hands in his jacket pockets. “I can hitchhike, or take a bus, or something. If you want to stay here in Edgar Alan Poe land, that’s cool, but I’d rather not if you don’t mind.”

Evie scowled and shushed him just as the door swung open. She raised herself taller and prepared a smile, but it promptly faded upon seeing the man in front of her.

He was very tall and had thick, black hair that fell in shining strands all the way past his waist. His hair alone made her stop and marvel. She had never seen such long hair on a man. At least not on a man who wasn’t a sleazy, old biker, or a Native American. Then again, maybe he was Native American… She wouldn’t know… And his hair wasn’t frizzy and scary like those eighties rockers. It was shining ebony that looked like it would feel like silk.

“Can I help you?” he queried.

Evie opened her mouth, but nothing came out. He was absolutely, breathtakingly…beautiful. Beautiful like art, like the covers of fantasy books with the rugged, manly, yet gorgeous hero. His features were harsh, all hard lines and sharp angles, undeniably masculine, but there was a strange, elegant beauty around his sensual lips and light green eyes that made Evie feel like she was looking at a living masterpiece.

Seth cleared his throat discreetly, which brought Evie out of her stupor, and she gave a nervous cough. “Excuse me, I am looking for Traevyn Whitelaw,” she murmured.

His facial expression remained impassive, and he merely shifted his weight in a lazy manner. It was a languid movement, like a jungle cat stretching. He sighed. “And you are?”

“Um…I—I’m Evelina Austin,” she stammered. “I’m—uh—supposed to be studying with Mr. Whitelaw for the summer… As his apprentice.”

His pale eyes seemed to look her over for a moment before they fixed on her own. “I am Traevyn Whitelaw,” he stated.

She swallowed.

“Who is your companion?”

“Oh, this is my brother, Seth.” She flashed a nervous smile. “My parents dumped him on me last minute. There was no one else to watch him all summer. I called Professor Roth and he told me it should be okay if I brought him with me.”

His dark eyebrows drew together in a frown and he stood up straight. “Oh he did, did he?”

It was almost a snarl. Evie retreated a step as his presence seemed to suddenly fill the entire world.

“It is most certainly not okay,” he spat, his voice a menacing growl. “Let me make one thing perfectly clear to you, Miss Austin. This apprenticeship program was not my idea, or my doing. Professor Roth approached me with it, and it was out of respect and gratitude for him that I reluctantly accepted. If not for him I would never have made it to where I am now. So, yes, you will be my apprentice. I will teach; you will learn what you will. What you do with that knowledge is entirely up to you. It is not any fault of mine if you fall flat on your face in your desired career. Professor Roth recommended you, so you must have some talent, but I want to get one thing straight, Miss Austin. I have better things to do than entertain a starry-eyed college student and her delinquent brother.”

Seth frowned. “Hey,” he protested.

“I am doing this out of obligation,” Traevyn finished, “not by choice.”

Evie stared at him, dumbfounded. He moved quickly, making her jump, and motioned her inside. She hurried to obey, grasping Seth’s wrist and hauling him in after her.

“Follow,” Traevyn commanded, shutting the door.

*Beyond Wild Imaginings Gets Reviewer's Top Pick at Nightowl Romance!

Beyond Wild Imaginings

Street Date: June 2009

Author(s):	Brieanna Robertson Website
Genre(s):	Fantasy/Sci-Fi/Futuristic (Rom)
Review Date:	Sep 17, 2009
ISBN:	978-1-935348-42-9
Print Book Price:
E-Book Price:	$6.00
Publisher:	Amira Press
Score:	(5 out of 5)

Brieanna Robertson’s latest release, Beyond Wild Imaginings is a fun, spicy, and creative paranormal book that you won‘t want to put down.

Kelly’s outlook on life is bleak. Car accident, bad break up, controlling sister- even her muse seems to be MIA. And she keeps having strange dreams about a sexy, winged man that seems familiar to her. Kelly has always written about the extraordinary, but when she suddenly finds herself saddled with a see-through, imaginary man she created when she was a child, the lines of reality and fantasy become blurred. Can she keep him? Prove that magic and fantasy can exist in real life? Or will the man she comes to love be torn from her forever by the self-centered world’s lack of belief.

Ms. Robertson has written a delightful story with strong characters and a fun and inventive plot. Her characters are intelligent, well thought out and quirky. The sexual tension between the main characters is steamy and addicting. The characters reach out, grab your attention from the very beginning, and holds it right to the very end. The plot to me was really creative and fun and Ms. Robertson blended everything together perfectly. I will definitely be adding this book to my keeper collection and I am more that happy to recommend this book to others.

Get your copy at Amira Press

*Interview with Jaide from Amaranth of the Wild Things!

I did a character interview on my blog with my favorite, most sinister and most complicated hero. He's Jaide, my assassin in Amaranth of the Wild Things. Check it out on my blog and learn more about him and his story: Here

*Website updated

My website has been updated so all the links are finally working. Some of the ones on the LINKS page are still in the process of being converted, but all review links and buy links should now be functioning properly. And everything is up to date. So, check it out and see if you find something you like!

*Book Signing Success

I wanted to express my thanks, once again, to everyone who came out, said hello and supported me at my book signing at The PepperTree. It really meant a lot to me and it was great to see everyone.

For those of you who don't live in my area, you can still check out some of the great gifts and baked goods that are in My Scandinavia by going here. Online ordering is now available so go and look! :)

For those of you in Reno, my print books are now available to purchase at The PepperTree!

*Honey Wine is now on Fictionwise

And is doing very well! Check it out! Here

When Autumn finds a sexy, winged statue amongst her deceased uncle’s belongings, she thinks he’ll make a great decoration for her bedroom, as well as her solitary life. What she doesn’t expect is to wake up in the middle of the night and find her statue replaced by a living, breathing, gorgeous man made up of the four elements.

Gabriel’s been a statue for 500 years. He’s lost, confused, and wreaking havoc on the human realm.

In an effort to get Gabriel home, Autumn experiences adventure she’d never even dreamed about. But will they be able to survive the greatest adventure of all- falling in love?

All right everybody, I think that's it! Take care and I'll see you next month! Näkemiin! :)

Beyond Wild Imaginings Gets Reviewer Top Pick!

2009-09-17T22:00:00.000-07:00

Here's what Night Owl Romance had to say about my book Beyond Wild Imaginings! Get your copy at Amira Press!

Beyond Wild Imaginings

Street Date: June 2009

Author(s):	Brieanna Robertson Website
Genre(s):	Fantasy/Sci-Fi/Futuristic (Rom)
Review Date:	Sep 17, 2009
ISBN:	978-1-935348-42-9
Print Book Price:
E-Book Price:	$6.00
Publisher:	Amira Press
Score:	(5 out of 5)

Brieanna Robertson’s latest release, Beyond Wild Imaginings is a fun, spicy, and creative paranormal book that you won‘t want to put down.

Warrior's Rise is Now Available in PRINT!

2009-09-17T08:49:00.000-07:00

Get yours at Amazon!

And check out the blurb and an excerpt below! :)

Logan Savage is a man’s man. His idea of a good time has never included watching over and entertaining a bunch of kids at a summer camp. Especially when that camp happens to be full of kids with a love for mythology and medieval fantasy. In other words—a bunch of geeks. Unfortunately, in order to avoid a jail sentence for assaulting a cop, that’s exactly what he has to do. Head counselor and owner of the camp, Willow Avaris, is a nice surprise. Beautiful, fiery and sexy… Too bad she loathes his very existence. Plus, the kids are making his life a living nightmare. Could the summer get any worse?

Bravery and strength were things Logan always thought he had in spades, but as the summer goes on, and strange, surreal events take place around the camp, Logan is forced to look within himself and figure out what’s important to him. It’s safe to remain the self absorbed, shallow man he’s always been, but can he find the courage to reach inside and embrace the true warrior he was destined to become?

EXCERPT:

It was a strange sensation in Willow’s chest when she was pulled from sleep. It felt like alarm mixed with arousal, and it made her eyes blink open in confusion. She gasped as she stared up into Logan’s eyes and realized that he was looming over her, planted on all fours. Her first
instinct was to scowl and smack him a good one, but something in his eyes stilled her. They were steely cold and burning all at the same time. She drew in a shaky breath. “Logan?” she murmured. Something in his gaze seemed far away, not himself.

Shivers tingled up her spine as his lip curled and a feral growl rumbled from his throat. He lowered his head and placed his mouth against her neck. “You’re mine,” he snarled. “I will be the one to protect you.” He trailed his fingers down the other side of her neck and dug them gently into her shoulder while he buried his nose in her hair and drew in a deep breath.

She blinked in bewilderment. “Logan?” she questioned again. “Are you out of your mind?” Something really bizarre was going on. She moved her head so that she was looking into his eyes. She recoiled at the fierce possessiveness they reflected, but quickly forced herself to frown and seem stern. “Logan, what are you doing?” she snapped.

He blinked and the strange look in his eyes vanished. He blinked again and focused on her, then let out a shout and jerked away, tumbling backwards off the bed.

“Logan! Oh my gosh!” She jumped up and moved to the side of her bed, looking over to see if he was all right. She flicked on the light on the nightstand. “Are you okay?”

His bewildered eyes glanced up at her. “What was I doing? Did I just growl?” He winced and brought his hands to either side of his head with a groan. “I feel like someone’s trying to split my melon with an axe.”

She frowned and scrambled off the bed to kneel beside him. “Did
you hurt yourself?”

He shook his head. “No, I just—” He looked around. “What am I doing in here?”

“I think you were sleepwalking.”

He groaned again and rubbed at his temples. “I was having the weirdest dream.”

“What was it?” She took his arm and helped him back up on the bed.

He shook his head. “I’m…not sure. It was so strange. There was this woman, this beautiful woman with black hair and weird, amber-colored eyes.”

Willow drew in a sharp breath and stared at him. “A woman with black hair and amber eyes?” she murmured.

He nodded. “Yeah, and she was watching me sleep. It was like…like I could see myself sleeping on the cot and I could see her too. It was like I was outside of my own body. She watched me for awhile, then knelt down next to me and put her mouth to my ear. She whispered…” He frowned. “She whispered, ‘You’re next, dragon warrior. Say goodbye.’” He shook his head. “Man, too much talk about those warrior guys.”

Willow’s throat was dryer than a desert in mid-summer. She licked her lips, but it didn’t help. “What else happened?” she rasped.

His eyes narrowed as if he was trying to remember. “My head filled with all these awful images of people dying and villages burning. It was horrible. I felt terrified, like I was stuck, like I was next. I felt like I was going to die and there was nothing I could do about it. I heard that woman’s voice through all of the images and she said, ‘She’ll die alongside her warrior… How poetic.’ I got the feeling that she was talking about you and…something weird happened.” He looked up at her.

She forced herself to stay calm when everything inside of her was screaming and trembling. “What?” she whispered.

“I got…really pissed. I felt like something took over my body. It was like fire. All I knew was that I had to protect you. It was more important than anything else, more important than my own life. I suddenly had all this anger and vengeance surging through me like blood and I turned to the woman with this deadly resolve to end her life. I must have caught her off guard because she ran lickety split, man.” He shook his head. “Then I went looking for you. I had to make sure you were all right… It was so real.” He tangled his fingers in his hair. “It was the worst dream I’ve ever had. It felt like two complete opposing forces had control over my body and I was powerless to stop either one of them.” He let out a ragged breath and snapped his attention to her suddenly. “I didn’t… say anything weird to you, did I?”

He looked horrified and she knew he had to be referring to the “you’re mine” statement. She forced a small smile and reached out to touch his uninjured shoulder. “No, Logan,” she lied. “You just scared the wits out of me, that’s all.” That wasn’t the only thing that scared the wits out of her…Cyrcinus had been in her house. She’d called Logan dragon warrior… Why in the world would she do that? The Alveda d’Kai were extinct. She’d seen to that personally.

“I’m sorry, Willow. I don’t think I’ve ever done that before.” He let out another shaky breath. “That was the freakiest dream ever.”

She threaded her fingers through his hair and tried to give him a comforting smile. “It was just a dream.”

He glanced up at her, still visibly shaken. “Yeah…”

She patted his arm. “Come on. Go back to bed.”

His eyes flashed that possessive fire again for a split second. “I’m not leaving you by yourself.”

She frowned. “Logan—”

“Screw that, Willow! I don’t care if it was a dream!” he exclaimed. “It was friggin’ freaky! Either I’m staying in here or you’re coming out there with me! I’m not leaving you by yourself! That woman wanted to kill you!”

A lump of emotion clogged her throat, and she felt tears sting her eyes. It was made up of about a hundred things all at once. Fear at knowing that Cyrcinus had located her in the human world. Alarm and concern for her family. Confusion at why she had thought Logan was a dragon warrior. Compassion for Logan, who had been directly on the receiving end of a subconscious mind assault, and surprise over the fact that he was more concerned for her than for himself. That was definitely out of character. She blinked back her tears and plastered on her forced smile.

“Come on, now,” she said in a sad attempt to sound playful. “You couldn’t see her or touch her. She wasn’t real.”

The look in his eyes was deadly serious. “Willow, I saw and heard her well enough. I don’t care if she was a manifestation of my stupid, drug-induced brain. It scared the crap out of me. Now, am I sleeping in here, or are you sleeping out there?”

Okay, she could tell he wasn’t going to budge on this one, and some small part of her felt flattered. She rolled her eyes. “I’ll come sleep out there. It’s warmer.”

He gave a decisive nod. “Fine.”

“But I’m sleeping on the floor. You’re the one who’s injured.” She grabbed her pillow and a blanket and followed him out into the living room. She lay down and listened as Logan got situated on his cot. She waited until she knew he was sleeping, then flung the covers back and
stood, going to her couch where she pulled a long, sharp sword out from underneath it. She sat down and set the blade across her legs, adrenaline making her entire body tingle.

She would wait out the night there

Interview with Jaide from Amaranth of the Wild Things

2009-09-15T13:23:00.000-07:00

I sat down to have an interview with Jaiden Sideth from my book Amaranth of the Wild Things, which was a rather difficult thing to manage considering he adamantly refused to do it, insisting that his personal life is nobody's business. However, after I firmly reminded him of all the trouble I went through to get his story told, he grudgingly obliged.

He is scowling when we sit down, which is nothing new to me. I spent quite a bit of time while writing Amaranth with Jaide scowling at me. He doesn't intimidate me any longer. He's dressed in black, which is also not a great surprise, and while I know him well, the malevolent power that radiates from his strong frame is almost tangible, making the air in the room slightly more difficult to breathe.

J: (With a heavy, almost growling sigh) Can we make this quick? I have duties to attend to.

I squelch my smile, which is almost uncontrollable, and get down to the business at hand, not wanting to torture him longer than necessary.

B: Thank you for taking the time to do this. I know it is against your wishes, but I do have many readers who I am sure would like to know more about you.

He gives me a noncommital noise.

B: First of all, for someone who is such a private person, why did you contact me in the first place? Why did you want to have your story told?

J: (He looks up at me, and for a second, his harsh expression fades.) Because it needed to be told. Not because of me. My history is not important. But the world needed to know...about Amara. (He frowns and averts his gaze, visibly uncomfortable.) Others need to know that not all in existence is blackness.

B: Tell us quickly how you met Amara.

J: I was working as an assassin and one of my regular clients gave me a healthy amount of gold to kidnap her.

B: What was your first impression of Amara?

J: (His lips twitch only slightly, barely discernable.) That she was much more trouble than she was worth.

B: What was it about her that finally got past your defenses?

J: I still don't really know. Her blind acceptance of me, I suppose, and her all-encompassing goodness. I had never thought anyone so selfless and kind could exist in the world I lived in. It was foreign and horrible, and at the same time, divine. (He shifts in his chair, gaze still averted, obviously uncomfortable with this subject.)

B: Tell us about the amaranth flower. Why has it always been so important to you?

He heaves a sigh and I feel a twinge of guilt for my interrogation. He really is the most private person I have ever known, and I regret putting him in the spotlight this way.

J: The amaranth is the only thing that mattered to me, before Amara. It was the only beauty in the world, the only good thing. It was the only thing that offered me solace or peace.

B: Would you say Amara is similar to that flower?

J: Completely. Entirely. She embodies it in every way.

B: Tell us how your life is different now.

J: It has meaning to it, a purpose. It is more fulfilling. And my nightmares no longer haunt me. I know what it means to love, and in effect, I know what it means to live.

To me, this answer is the most satisfying to hear, and I decide to leave it at that. I have bothered him enough and do not wish to make him more uncomfortable than he already is. I thank him for his time and wish him well. In response, I am granted a rare and fleeting smile and a curt nod before he escapes as quickly as he can manage.

To read more about Jaide and Amara please check out their story Amaranth of the Wild Things, available at Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Borders or Whimsical Publications.

He was hewn from cruelty and violence.

He felt nothing, he was nothing.

He was wild, untamed, a shadow, a hand of death, a law unto himself. He had never known love. He had never felt love.

Except…

For the amaranth flower. Perfect, undying, beautiful. The only soft thing in his hardened world. The only thing he had ever held in reverence, and the only thing to ever offer him solace.

He had never faltered in his assignments as an assassin. His hand had never wavered. But that was before he’d been ordered to kidnap her. A woman of unique disposition, undaunted in the face of her adversity. A woman bearing the same name as the immortal flower he so cherished.

She could be his greatest downfall…or his greatest treasure.

Video of the Day- The Rasmus: In the Shadows

2009-09-10T21:34:00.000-07:00

Thought I'd share some music with you.

G0 here!

Memoirs of A Domestic Goddess

2009-09-10T16:42:00.000-07:00

All right, most of you know what my day job is. It's the so glamorous occupation of toilet scrubber AKA housekeeper. Every once in awhile you have one of those days where you go, WTF? lol. This was one of those days.

My mother (who is also a housekeeper) and I have many times discussed writing a book of memoirs of all the absurd things that have happened to us in the last ten or so years we have done housecleaning. If we actually get around to it one day, this day will absolutely be in there.

I had my first job at nine, which I do by myself. This house is what I like to call my cursed house because the most bizarre crap happens to me there. I'm always breaking something or injuring myself or there is some kind of drama going on. About a year ago I had had this incident with the vacuum. The prong had gotten stuck in the outlet and detached from the cord. Now, picture this if you will: Me in rubber gloves (because I assumed those would keep me safe from electrocution) with a pair of pliers trying to get this prong out of the socket. Pretty ridiculous. Since then, my client has replaced the vacuum cord and everything seemed to be fine.

So I'm vacuuming, minding my own business. Next thing you know, I turn around and there's this horrible pop sound and all these sparks shoot out of the electrical socket. My response: "OH MY GOSH!! HOLY S***!" My client comes running in going, "What happened? What happened?" I say, "Your socket exploded!"

Apparently the socket was fine, but the guy who had put the new vacuum cord on had not done it right and the wires had crossed, causing said explosion. My client looks up at me and says, "Geez Brieanna, what is it with you and this vacuum?" It's out to get me, that's what.

So I head on over to my second job, which I do with my mom. It's hot, we haven't cleaned this house in two months, the dust is unbearable and I have to clean about nine panels of glass on top of my usual work. Inside and outside. We are listening to music and about halfway through the job my mom comes out of the hall bathroom, looks at me and goes, "Huh?" I'm like, "I didn't say anything." So we keep working and I hear this weird noise. I look up and Mom comes out of the bathroom again. She goes, "Huh?" I say, "I didn't say anything! I thought you said something." So we go back to work. Same weird noise again. Mom comes back out of the bathroom. She says, "What IS that? Is it on the CD?" So we stand there and we listen and we hear what sounds like a man's voice saying, "it's hot! it's hot!" We go and turn the CD down and look out the front window, but we can't see anything. Mom shouts out, "Is somebody out there?" Mysterious, floating man-voice answers, "Yeah!"

"Oh!" Mom says. "It's Scott!" (Scott is our client's name.) This seemed to make sense so we keep going back to work, thinking the "It's hot" was actually "It's Scott." Not two seconds later we keep hearing mysterious, floating man voice and the doorbell rings. I'm like, "What the?" so I go an answer the door. Nobody there! I stand there for a second, trying to figure out what the heck is going on when a random stranger finally pops around the corner. He says, "You guys are losing your minds!" I just about died laughing. Poor guy. He was there to do something for my client, but my client was late. He'd been trying to ask us if we knew where Scott was. It was like a classic 3 Stooges moment or something.

Then, when my client finally gets home, he looks at all the glass I've cleaned and says, "That looks awesome. Did you go outside?" Of course I'd gone outside. I'd tramped through a bunch of bushes and crap trying to get to the glass. He says, "There are a bunch of brown recluse spiders living out there." HOLY CRAP! Oh well, ignorance is bliss, right?

Geez Louise, I need to quit this day job.

Vacation Lessons Learned

2009-09-07T19:15:00.000-07:00

Taken from my experiences over this summer.

- Do not vacation in redneckville unless you're prepared to deal with ex-cons and drug dealers.

-Plans sometimes change. Don't have a heart attack when this happens or later on you will feel like a neurotic freak because you stressed out so much you threw yourself into a panic attack.

-GPS sometimes is NOT worth the effort.

-Flying sucks.

- Starbucks employees can't hear to save their lives. Either that or they just like to see how far off they can actually make your name.

-Houston is ungodly hot and humid.

-Sometimes the "cheap" deal is just that.

-Don't let your friend come with you on a trip last minute if she just had surgery the day before.

- Don't wear the "cute" shoes when you know you're going to be walking a billion miles unless you WANT your feet to bleed.

-Cherish the time you spend with your friends and try to let the small stuff go.

- Stand up for yourself and your right to be who and what you are.

-A long-awaited moment can be both exhilarating in the most amazing sense and cripplingly painful.

-When you blow a guy off who is trying to pick you up, don't laugh about it with your friend until the guy is OUT of earshot.

- When you blow off a guy who is trying to pick you up, don't go and sit in the hot tub the next night with his sister unless you're prepared to explain yourself.

- Sometimes bliss can be as simple as a pair of overpriced socks, drinking a glass of wine in a favorite location, getting back to the basics of your own beliefs and laughing with old friends.

-You're never too old to be so nervous you spew.

-Sometimes courage appears out of nowhere and, before you know it, you're conversing with stars.

-Don't continuously hold people at a distance. Try and pay attention to the ones who are really making an effort to get close to you. Those people are worth more of your time.

- Not taking your depression medication for over a month is BAD!

-Four alpha females all in the same house together for four days is not a good thing.

-Contrary to popular belief, rock stars do not always stink like sweaty man after a show.

-Everyone is entitled to their own screwed up life. No one is going to understand it and they may look at you like you're insane because of one thing or another, but you know what? Your relationships are your business and your choice, and your issues and ailments are just as valid and real as everyone else's.

- Eating is important. Like, really.... Feed your friends if they come to stay with you.

-Houston freeways are a deathtrap Jetsons ride that will nickel and dime you for everything you're worth.

- The world does not revolve around ANYBODY and no one should have to put up with that mentality. Everything should be equal and fair between all parties.

- Sometimes, family disappoints you.

- In and Out Burger is the best thing ever invented.

- Try and remain optimistic and understanding. If that method fails, use that irritation to get yourself home in record time.

-When crap happens, expect it to roll downhill very quickly.

- Metal music saves all.

- Tribbles DO exist!

And last but not least....

There is always going to be something ridiculous that happens. No trip is every going to be pristine and perfect. Learn from the experiences that go bad and try to find the humor in them. Most of the time, there is always humor to be found. Cherish the time spent with your loved ones, even if they annoy you. They are in your life for a reason. Pay attention to the little things that bring you joy. Those are the things that will matter the most.

Always, always seize the day. No matter what grates on your nerves, you will be able to look back fondly later and smile.

It's been an interesting summer! I've seen some awesome sights and done some incredible things. Makes me wonder what the fall and winter are going to be like!

Might Be MIA

2009-09-04T14:26:00.001-07:00

Til Monday. I am going out of town. If I'm able to access the internet while I'm there I will say hello. Otherwise, I'll see you all when I get back!

Some Song Lyrics

2009-09-03T22:54:00.000-07:00

And they aren't even Nightwish! I know, amazing, right? lol.

Lyrics are so important to me and so inspirational. This is an Audioslave song and I think the lyrics are just beautiful. Listen to the song and read the lyrics as you go.

Pearls and swine bereft of me
Long and weary my road has been
I was lost in the cities
Alone in the hills
No sorrow or pity for leaving I feel

I am not your rolling wheels
I am the highway
I am not your carpet ride
I am the sky

Friends ans liars don't wait for me
I'll get on all by myself
I put millions of miles
Under my heels
And still too close to you
I feel

I am not your rolling wheels
I am the highway
I am not your carpet ride
I am the sky
I am not your blowing wind
I am the lightning
I am not your autumn moon
I am the night

September Newsletter

2009-09-02T20:42:00.001-07:00

9-2-09

Well, another month has gone by already and I'm starting to feel a slight nip in the air in the morning. Reminds me of when I was little. Whenever I felt that early morning chill I knew it was time to go back to school. lol. I do have to say that I'm looking forward to fall. As much as I love the summer, I'm ready to get out sweaters and blankets again.

PICTURE OF THE MONTH:

Ok, I'm sorry, but this pic is just too beautiful for me to keep to myself. LOL. For those of you who don't know who he is, Criss Angel is this super amazing illusionist who has this gigantic show in Vegas and a TV show on A&E. He's extremely talented, a little creepy and a whole lot gorgeous. And, of course, we all know I have a wing fetish so those really don't hurt. :D Anyway, feel free to drool. Just remember to mop up when you're done. lol

NEWS:

*I Have a New Blog!

Most of your probably already got the special notice I sent out, but for those of you who didn't, I have a new blog! Blogspot ate my old one. That was really weird. And I wanted to open a blog that everyone could participate in and not just the people on myspace. So, the address of my new blog is:

Writing, Rock and Roll and All Things Wings

I try to keep it updated daily or at least several times a week. Stop by and read excerpts, stories about my life, my opinions on...everything, lol and just have fun! I would love to talk to each and every one of you!

*Two Book Signings This Month!

I am very excited about my two scheduled signings for the month, and while I know alot of you can't be there because you don't live here, for those of you who do, they are as follows:

9-12-09

Signing at Dreamers Coffeehouse in downtown Reno from 2-5 pm during the Wine Walk

9-26-09

Signing at The Pepper Tree/My Scandinavia on Wells in Reno. (Specific time unknown presently)

Feeling Left Out?

Don't! Please check out My Scandinavia's website. This woman makes the best baked goods! Online ordering is not available at the present moment as the site is still under construction, but I am sure if you contact the owner she would be happy to answer any questions you have.

My Scandinavia

My print books will also be available soon to purchase at The Pepper Tree/My Scandinavia. So if you're a Reno resident, be sure to check it out!

*Warrior's Rise is now Available in PRINT!

Bravery and strength were things Logan always thought he had in spades, but as the summer goes on, and strange, surreal events take place around the camp, Logan is forced to look within himself and figure out what’s important to him. It’s safe to remain the self absorbed, shallow man he’s always been, but can he find the courage to reach inside and embrace the true warrior he was destined to become?

This book has gotten awesome reviews! Order yours soon at www.amazon.com.

You can also get it in ebook at Purple Sword

Well, that's it for now. Not a whole lot going on. Hope you guys have an awesome month and I will be sure to see you all next time!

My Summer At A Glance

2009-09-02T08:14:00.000-07:00

When this summer began, my life was a mess. Pretty much everything I had known for the last several years exploded and I suddenly found myself living in this tiny little apartment barely making ends meet and working myself into the ground. This was quite a contrast from last year's summer. Last year I went on a week long road trip to Idaho and Montana, went to Vegas, went to San Francisco, flew to Ohio to see one of my best friends for a week and went on an epic road trip to San Francisco and LA while I followed Nightwish around on tour. Last summer was, quite possibly, the best summer of my life. I was monetarily stable, I was able to travel and I felt so free. That all came to a screeching halt this last year and I suddenly found myself back to "starving artist" status. Needless to say, I really thought this summer was going to suck and that I was going to spend most of it working my butt off.

And I did spend most of it working my butt off. LOL. But I was also able to do several awesome things. And, while most of them were on a smaller scale (instead of road trips across the country and flying to the east coast) they were just as memorable and just as epic.

The summer really started with my trip to Houston, TX, which was, by far, the most epic trip of the year, if not the most epic trip of my life. This was made possible by some generous assistance by someone I love very much. Otherwise I would have had to have generous assistance from my credit card. LOL! But, yes, Texas was a crazy, hectic and stressful adventure, but it brought the final fulfillment to a year long project and I was able to hand deliver a copy of my book, Amaranth of the Wild Things, to the man whose music inspired it. After working all year long to get copyright permission to use his song in my book, this was the ultimate ending to an extraordinary journey.

There's nothing like getting your book signed personally to you by your all time greatest muse. And there's really nothing like being able to have a piece of that amazing artist's work in my own novel. This trip started my summer out on an amazing note.

And while this trip was, by far, the most elaborate, the others were just as awesome in their own right. Next I went on a road trip to Sonora and San Francisco with my best girlfriend. There was drama and stupidity and TONS of laughter. All of the weird and stupid junk can be overlooked because, in the end, there's nothing like being able to laugh with a friend. So what if our plans were shot to hell and one of us was having bathroom problems and we all had variations of panic attacks? In the end, it was female bonding at its finest.

Shortly after that I went back to San Francisco for a three day religious convention. That was very uplifting and I had an awesome time with my family and close friends. I also climbed a guitar, drank wine on the pier, paraded around in a very bright blue scarf and bought some extremely overpriced socks.

And last but not least I was able to go on an awesome camping trip with my brother and his wife. And even though I had a massive panic attack (seems I had a lot of those this summer) and my brother left the rest of us lost and alone in the woods while he chilled out at the lake with the dog, it was nice to relax and enjoy the good company of friends. And Captain Morgan.

And that wasn't all. There were also renaissance faires, local live shows, lots of girl's nights and quite a few extremely good friends who have carried me through a difficult time in my life by making me laugh, being support beams to lean on, and letting me forget everything for just a few hours.

This weekend will be the last trip of the summer. I am going back to Sonora with my best girlfriend. I think it is a fitting way to say goodbye to the summer. I know it will be just as memorable as all the others.

Thank you to everyone who has helped me survive this summer. You are all such amazing people and I don't know what I would do without you.

My Roots In Scandinavia

2009-09-01T08:18:00.000-07:00

Anyone who's been around any of my public forums for any extended period of time knows that I have a very strong interest in Scandinavian culture. Alot of people think this is mainly due to the fact that I love Finnish metal music and am obsessed with the band Nightwish. While these things are true, they aren't my reasons for being interested in the culture. And, in fact, I was involved in Scandinavian things long before I even knew what Finnish metal music was.

If you go back with me to the years 2002-2004 you will find me once a week in a motley group of people like this:

And this was only a fraction of those involved.

I belonged to a historical re-enactment group called Hammerstorm. We re-created the Viking culture and time period and traveled to renaissance faires throughout the summer, held our own combat competitions and immersed ourselves in the history and lore surrounding the culture. We all had our own personas. I was Sifka Agnarrsdottir and I was one of the few women involved in combat because, let's face it, can you see me sitting around and waiting on the men folk? I think not. I'd so much rather be wielding a sword or throwing a knife.

During one of our more elaborate competitions, we participated in archery, spear throwing, axe throwing and knife throwing. I was average at best in archery, I was ok at axe throwing and I cracked myself in the back of the head while trying to throw a spear so I think we can tell how good I was at THAT particular event.

But on that gloomy, overcast day, as I went up against around six men who had been doing this longer than me, were much stronger than me and much larger than me, you can imagine my utter shock when I managed to win first place in the knife throwing event, and my best friend Tawny (known as Kadlin) came in second! That is a day I will never forget, and a day when I won the respect of a bunch of guys who were my extended family for two years of my life.

Those two years were two of the happiest, craziest and most fulfilling. I loved my band of warrior brothers and still carry them fondly in my heart even though we have since all gone our separate ways.

So, long before that fateful day in Chandler, AZ when I saw that HIM video "Join me in Death" that obliterated my writer's block and introduced me to the amazing world of Finnish metal music, I was already throwing missile weapons like a Viking, bickering with Scottsmen, hanging with belly dancers and attempting to eat authentic Viking cuisine (which, by the way, is disgusting and works much better as weapons for a food fight than actual sustenance).

I guess maybe part of me will always remain Sifka Agnarrsdottir and maybe it's that part of me that keeps me going back to My Scandinavia for baked goods. Who knows? lol. All I know for sure is that my life would have been a lot less interesting and a lot more boring if I hadn't spent two years living as a Viking.

Memories of Childhood Creation

2009-08-31T11:07:00.001-07:00

I was looking at a friend's pictures this morning of her son and his first day of first grade. It made me start thinking about my first day of first grade. I still remember what I was wearing- this white and blue petticoat dress thing that I called My "Diana" dress from one of my favorite characters in Anne of Green Gables- and I have these pictures of me standing out in front of my house holding a bouquet of fake flowers. lol. I had probably eaten oatmeal for breakfast... I was always eating oatmeal for breakfast.

I remember first grade fondly, but then again, I remember most everything from my childhood fondly. I think it was in first grade, though, that I created my imaginary friend. And yes, I say created my imaginary friend because I was very well aware of the fact that she was imaginary. I had already gone through the phase where I had an actual imaginary friend. Two, to be precise- Arnold and Folks were their names. They liked to go camping with me and my family, they always rode in the bed of the truck and they always ate all of our eggs. But I had long since retired Arnold and Folks. Me at six totally knew the difference between reality and fantasy- I just liked the fantasy better.

I was fascinated by this corner of the playground over on the soccer field. It was all overgrown with ivy and there was a drainage pipe for when it rained. For some reason that looked mystical to me. Who knows why. I decided that imaginary friends were cool and that I wanted another one. So I created one- a giant cat woman named Katrina. She lived in a world I could only get to through the soccer field and I would go on grand adventures with her and her friends (roughly all inspired by Lisa Frank folder pictures). For a while, my real friends thought this was a fun game and we would all play together. But after awhile, I still kept on playing and they all started to think I was nuts. LOL. Some of them stopped playing because they wanted to go hang on the monkey bars instead. I didn't care. I have come to realize throughout my life that I was the world's most confident little kid and I was perfectly content to play by myself in my make believe world. It was more fun than any day hanging on the monkey bars.

For years I existed in that world when I would play. In my backyard, in my grandma's backyard, even at school til around the fifth grade when the kids went from thinking I was weird to thinking I was outright mental. I realized maybe it was time to stop being so public about my daydreams. LOL. But they were still real to me when I was by myself, and those fantasies were part of what made my childhood so happy. Looking back now I realize they were stories and characters. I have always had stories in my head. I thought everybody did, which was why I could never understand why other kids looked at me funny.

Now, twenty years later, I'm still talking to imaginary people. lol. And people are still looking at me funny. But those years of innocent imagination have stuck with me all this time as some of the best memories of my life. I believe we should never lose that part of ourselves that can imagine the unseen. We chould be open to a moment or two of childish fun. I think it's important to retain some of that innocence that the world tries to stamp out of us.

This was the basic inspiration for my novel, Beyond Wild Imaginings. And my dear, old cat woman friend made a cameo apperance in it, as well. ;)

Check it out:

Can she keep him? Prove that magic and fantasy can exist in real life? Or will the man she comes to love be torn from her forever by the self-centered world’s lack of belief?

Available in ebook at http://amirapress.com

The Death Of My Old Blog

2009-08-31T09:40:00.000-07:00

Actually, my old blog isn't really dead, but sort of in a state of suspended animation. For some reason, my old blogger account froze me out of my blog and all this weird crap happened with my profile. I tried for quite some time to outwit the system, but to no avail. So, my old blog remains locked in time until somebody from tech support or something decides to delete it. And I opened this new one!

The purpose of starting this blog is so that people without myspace accounts can actually read what's going on in my life and learn more about my books. For the longest time I have been operating my blog only out of my myspace, but that's really not fair for those of you who don't have a myspace. Thus, the reason for this one.

This isn't just another avenue for me to dump promo on you. That's not what it's all going to be about. While I will share my books with you, I will also share stories about me, my life, and other random nonsense. This is for you to get to know me better, as well as my work. Let's just hope I don't get locked out of this one too!

I look forward to talking to both old and new friends!