Reading an excerpt from Angels Cry

Hey, folks!

To celebrate the release of Angels Cry, I did up a book trailer and actually read an excerpt from it! I hope y'all enjoy this. Angels Cry dropped last week, and I see that Angel Of The Morning is back up to #9 on the Noble Top 10, so thank you to everyone who made that possible!
I'm also hanging out at http://tabithablake.blogspot.com today, so come by and check that out as well.
Enjoy the excerpt, and don't forget to pick up your copy of Angels Cry!

Until next time,

Best,

J.S. Wayne

Interview With An Angel

I wanted to do something different today. So, just for fun, I thought I'd sit down with Moradiel, the main character in "Angels Would Fall" and the forthcoming Angels Cry, to get his take on what's going down in his world. He's a very literal sort of chap, so you'll have to excuse him sometimes; interviewing him was a bit like interviewing Data, the android from Star Trek, before he got his humor chip!

So, ladies and gentlemen, I give you:

Moradiel!

JS: Welcome, Moradiel. Uh, should I be kneeling or something?

M: That will not be necessary. As I am no longer a member of the Host, there is no need.

JS: Erm, er, thanks. So where do you come from?

M: The place would mean nothing to you.

JS: Ooo-kay. How old are you?

M: I am older than your earth by such an immense span of time that your mind would melt trying to comprehend it.

JS: *Coughs* What are some of the highlights of your career so far?

M: My proudest and most sorrowful moment was assisting with casting Lucifer and his minions out of the Otherplace. It was that act that earned me my place as Azrael's lieutenant. I was the angel who collected the souls of Moses, Methuselah, and many of the most celebrated names of your culture and delivered them to the Otherplace.

JS: You didn't have anything to do with that business with Sodom and Gomorrah, right?

M: No. Azrael undertook that personally, along with Michael. I also was forbidden to move against Egypt; Azrael said he was getting bored and needed to "stretch" himself.

JS: Backing up a little, the Otherplace is what you call Heaven, right?

M: Heaven is what you call the Otherplace.

JS: Hoo boy. *mutters something about how this is going to be a LONG interview* So, Azrael sounds like kind of a jerk.

M: Azrael is what he is. And I am what I am. I would not say that Azrael is a jerk; he performs a needed function in your universe.

JS: Yeah, talking about that: What's the deal with Ariel? I've seen pictures, and she's nine kinds of hot, but what was it about her that inspired you to walk away from Heaven?

M: I cannot explain what has passed between Ariel and me. She is a good, honest, kind woman who did not deserve such an arbitrary demise. The fact that she is quite lovely physically is of less import to me than the nature of her soul.

JS: She must be something else on a stick if you gave up Heaven for her.

M: Change the subject. Now.

JS: *holds up hands* Changing, changing. So tell me about Lucifer; I hear that he's been awfully unhappy with Azrael for borrowing Benoth for consultation on how to find you.

M: Benoth knows the way I think well. His advent on the scene would be the most alarming development to date, if it were not for the fact that I know how much he loves Aurora and how much it pains him to have to be away from her. As such, Benoth may well prove one of my greatest allies in keeping Ariel safe and out of Azrael's grasp.
With regard to Lucifer, he is exquisitely angry about Azrael's blithe borrowing of his minions. Unfortunately, Lucifer owes Azrael a very great service, one which appropriating even a legion of his servants will not answer for.

JS: Why?

M: Azrael had a chance to destroy Lucifer utterly and failed to avail himself of the opportunity. Why he did not finish Lucifer then and there is known only to the two of them, and perhaps Adonai. I was otherwise engaged at the time and did not learn that Lucifer had survived the encounter with Azrael until he had already been cast down into Infernos.

JS: It sounds like you've got some very powerful enemies. What are you doing about keeping Ariel safe?

M: Right now, my best hope lies in laying false trails for Azrael. We are somewhat hampered by the effect that angelic travel has upon Ariel's body; for some reason, her nervous system does not cope properly with stepping outside of time. So we lie in wait, hoping that Azrael will not . . . excuse me.

*Moradiel vanishes and reappears*

M: I must go. Ariel is in danger.

JS: How did Azrael find her?

M: I do not know.

*Moradiel vanishes and doesn't come back.*

JS: Hmm. Well, folks, there you have it.

Even though Moradiel had to go, I'm over at http://tabithablake.blogspot.com today too. Come on by and say hi!

Until next time,

Best,

J.S. Wayne

Want to know why Moradiel had to leave so suddenly? Check out Angels Cry, scheduled for release September 12th from Noble Romance Publishing!

MORE Big Doings!

I've been a busy boy lately!
Anyone who knows me is rolling their eyes and saying, "Yeah, so, what else is new?"

First, I'm going to take a moment and indulge in some unabashed bragging: My "first" story, "Angels Would Fall," received a 5-star review from Happily Ever After in June. To my surprise and shock, it also got a nod for "Best Book of June!" I hope "Angel Of The Morning" does half as well, but what a great set-up for Angels Cry! Which, by the way, is scheduled to release on August 29th. 
In addition to being here today, I'm also being featured in this month's G-Spot Newsletter. The interview scared me to death when I first saw it, because she asked A LOT of questions. And very insightful ones; this lady really did her homework, and didn't let me get away with simple answers. These were questions that really made me think. The interview took me an unheard-of three days to complete from download to upload. I hope y'all enjoy it!
Here's the link for that:
http://www.authorsden.com/visit/viewnewsletter.asp?AuthorID=623

I've already got interviews and blog posts scheduled at EPIC, paranormalityuniverse.blogspot.com, and Bodacious Babes Book Buds scheduled from August through November! (Disclaimer: It's a cinch that I've omitted at least two important places I'm supposed to be. Apologies to anyone who got left out of that list.) Plus, I'll be attending the inaugural EAA Conference in Las Vegas in September. Oh, the blackmail photos that'll produce *cringes* I'll be the guy in the chef's hat!

In addition to all that, I'm making sacrifice to my fiendish plot bunnies, who have been multiplying faster than I can keep up. I've had to stop a couple of projects to jump on new ones, because I got sick of the bunnies turning over my truck every couple of days! I've got several works in progress that I expect to be putting through the submission grinder shortly, so keep your eyes open for those.
I'm also starting work on the November Noble Romance Blog Tour, and my novella for the companion anthology, "Timeless Desire." I've already got nearly two thousand words, and I think that vampire fans are going to enjoy this one. . .
Also, I've got a whole slew of guests coming up on my blog at www.jswayne.wordpress.com: H.C. Brown, Indigo Skye, and others will all be coming by!

And as if all that wasn't enough, a move to Las Vegas has just become imminent. Like, days away imminent. This is strangely fitting when one considers that one of the critical scenes in Angels Cry is set in none other than Sin City!
They say that you've gotta be a little crazy to want to be a writer. If that's true, bring on the straitjacket: My schedule and life are insane, and I wouldn't have it any other way.
But I've said it before, and I'll say it again: I'm lucky to have an understanding wife!

Until next time,

Best,

J.S. Wayne

Stop The Press!

It’s been a month full of accomplishments and anxiety for me. I’m not even going to TRY to lie about that.

Since the beginning of June, I’ve accrued a host of truly amazing reviews. Red Roses and Shattered Glass was given a very nice review by Whipped Cream Reviews, primarily due to the efforts of H.C. Brown, Justine Elyot, and Indigo Skye. “Angels Would Fall” received a five-cup review from Happily Ever After. I’ve found myself queried for permission to quote blogs and responses to articles I’ve written. My fellow Noble authors have kept my personal blog jumping with interviews and guest blog posts. 

That’s the accomplishment side. On the “anxiety” side of the ledger is the three works in progress I’m juggling in tandem. The Evil Day Job, which finally managed to push me one step over the edge, launching a search for something else. ANYTHING else. Anyone hiring in the wilds of Texas?

The biggest nail-biter in my world, however, has been a full-length novel that I started in April and completed in Mid-May.

Well, as of last night, my cuticles are safe. For now. (Yeah. I used the word “cuticle.” In proper context, no less. And that’s as close to a manicure as I’m ever likely to come.)

A lot of readers had a lot of wonderful things to say about my writing, especially my “Angel” stories. A few in particular I actually printed out, so that I would have them at convenient eye level in my more self-critical moments. The only major criticism, and the one that became a resounding chorus in the back of my skull, was: PLEASE tell me there’s more!!

You, the reader, asked for it. I heard you loud and clear. And unless something catastrophic occurs, on August 1^st, your wish will be granted.

I’m proud to announce that Noble Romance has accepted Angels Cry, the full-length novel tying together the threads of “Angels Would Fall” and “Angel Of The Morning.” A lot of new characters will be entering the scene, and all Hell is about to break loose. 

This is a rough draft of the blurb, so don’t be surprised if there are some changes in the final version. But it’ll give you a taste of things to come, I hope you enjoy it!

Angels Cry

Moradiel, the Soulbearer, and his human consort, Ariel, are barely managing to stay ahead of the wrath of the Angel of Death. Azrael is growing more impatient by the moment; he wants Moradiel punished and Ariel dead once and for all, and is not particular about how the task is accomplished. Knowing this, Moradiel’s fellow angels will offer him only limited aid, if they don’t try to kill him outright. In desperation, the fugitives seek refuge in the last place in Creation any sane being would look for an angel: Sin City. Las Vegas, Nevada.

Maddened by Moradiel’s defection from the heavenly Host, Azrael isn’t sane. When he arrives in Sin City to exact vengeance on Moradiel, he leaves Moradiel with a chilling warning: He intends to use Ariel for his own twisted pleasure before consigning her soul to Infernos.

But darker news still awaits them: Because Ariel did not die at the ordained time, Moradiel has started the entire universe on an inexorable countdown to oblivion.

A countdown that began with the first breath Ariel ever drew on Earth. . . .

Until next time,

Best,

J.S. Wayne

Writing Through The "Hard" Parts*

*Yes, the triple entendre was intentional.

     One of the most commonly held misconceptions about erotic romance writers is that they've only got "one thing" on their mind. 24/7/365, sex, sex, sex, is all we think about. While this may be true for a lot of erotic romance authors, I'm not one of them.
     Something that people often forget to take into account is the fact that I have a household to keep running, bills to pay, and the ever-present and oft-lamented day job to deal with. I'm a human being, and so am subject to all the frailties of the flesh. That means that I get tired. I get injured.
     And sometimes, to my utter disgust, I get sick.
     Most times, illness isn't that big a deal; a few days of discomfort, a day in bed, and it's more or less sorted. But what happens when the ailment is more serious? Like, say, a kidney stone?
     If you've never had one, I highly recommend, given the chance, you take a pass on the experience. Trust me when I say it's not the kind of thing you'd mind forgetting, if you ever could. If you have had one, and are currently squirming in remembered anguish at your computer right now, I feel your pain.
     Literally.
     The trouble is, I can't write an erotic scene if I can't feel it. I have to be able to experience it with all five senses, regardless of whether or not I actually have the real-life experience or capacity to do so. I have to be able to feel it and get turned on by it myself if I'm going to write it; otherwise I'm going to read it and it will feel hollow and unsatisfying. If it feels that way to me, how will it read to my audience? Simple. It'll look exactly the same. Result? That scene will never see daylight.
     As evidence, I refer you to "Espiritu Sancti." Although I'm not a lesbian, not being a female, I can and do appreciate the female form to a degree that borders on...well, not obsession, because that would be unhealthy and make me out to be some ooky stalkerish type. Which I'm not. Last I checked, anyway. But you get the idea.
      Now, the problem with any illness concerning the male plumbing is that it makes you feel about as unsexy as you can get. That sounds odd, coming from a guy, but bear with me here. A woman has a bad hair day. A PMS day. A just generally "I feel like Hell, look worse, and don't want to be bothered, so don't even think it!" day. And I'm going to let you in on a little secret.
      Guys have their own version of this. If you've seen Bill Engvall talking about "bad weiner days," believe me, he's not exaggerating. I have days when I get out of bed and every hair's in place, I'm sporting just the right amount of bad-boy stubble, and all my clothes drape over me like they were tailor-made. Those are the good days.
       The next day, I may wake up, look in the mirror, shake my head and say, "Jesus. Does your undertaker know you're up?" Those are the days when it doesn't matter how close the shave is, how much gel I put in my hair, or how much I spent on my threads. I look and feel like shit, at least in my own eyes.
       Now, let's take the latter day. Add in the feeling of having been kicked in the testicles. Repeatedly. From the female point of view, you've been kicked in the side. Repeatedly.
       How sexy are you going to feel? I'm going to bet the answer is, "NOT!"
       I'm no different. When the idea of getting aroused causes me physical pain, I can't write erotica. It's not that I don't want to; I'm a guy. Anything that has to do with sex, I'm good with. When I'm on my game, then I'm the 24/7/365 guy I talked about earlier. But I shy away from anything to do with it when I don't feel sexy. My equivalent of the "so what if my hair's in curlers, I'm not wearing a smudge of makeup, and my sweatpants were last a color I could define when Reagan was in the White House?" day.
     But just because I'm not feeling sexy doesn't mean I can't still offer up a little something for your reading pleasure. So, since I did an excerpt from "Angel Of The Morning" not that long ago, I'm going to leave you with this sexy little vignette from Red Roses and Shattered Glass. I hope you enjoy it!

      Until next time,

      Best,

      J.S. Wayne

             Excerpt from "Espiritu Sancti"

             It was a fine night, cool but not unpleasantly so, and the stars and a sickle moon hung in the sky as if placed there specifically for their benefit. It was then, while they stood next to each other, not quite touching, that Lilliana began to speak of her loneliness.

            "It has been a long time since I've had a lover. My last love affair ended badly, and ever since, I've kept people at a distance. Have you ever been wounded by love?" Lilliana turned the full force of her eyes on Isabel.

            Isabel thought it over. "I . . . think so," she said. Her fingers clenched, belying her apparent hesitancy. "My last boyfriend was a real bastard." She added bitterly. "He was a football player and fucked his way through the entire cheerleading squad while we were together. I thought he was going to marry me." She  finished, her tone changing from venomous to pensive as she thought of how foolish she'd been. She dropped her gaze to the floor as a hot flush spread across her sharp cheekbones.

            "Bah!" Lilliana waved her hand dismissively. "Men will say whatever will make a woman do what they wish. There is no more truth in men's words than those of a mockingbird. Only a woman can truly speak with complete candor to a woman. May I be candid?" Her eyes bored into Isabel's.

Lilliana's eyes seemed to gather the light of moon and stars and transmute into silver. They were the most striking eyes Isabel had ever seen; Isabel's knees went weak for the second time that night, this time with desire.

            Unconsciously arching her back a little, revealing her throat, and pushing her full, firm breasts outward, Isabel let out a quavered, "Y-yes."

            "I want you tonight." Lilliana reached out one cool finger to trace it gently down Isabel's cheek. "I want to love you. Will you allow me?"

            Isabel's eyes slid closed, and she gasped a little at the sensations stirring deep within her. She made a tiny whimper of a sound; whether it was acceptance or negation, she could not have said. But Lilliana allowed her no chance to consider the matter further. Pressing her lips against Isabel's, she lightly flicked her tongue against the soft gates. As if she had spoken a magic word, Isabel's lips parted to permit Lilliana full access. Her tongue darted and probed. She caught Isabel up in a fierce yet tender embrace, crushing her breasts against Isabel's. Lilliana's arms ratcheted around her, as if the woman feared Isabel would fly away if the grip were loosened.

            Isabel was interested in going nowhere except deeper into Lilliana's embrace. She'd experimented, certainly; who hadn't tried it on at least once with a member of their own sex? It was almost a rite of passage. But she had never been kissed like this before. The arms which held her were feminine and shapely but in no way weak. The woman's mouth touched her as light as a breeze but seething with passion the likes of which she had never known.

            She moaned against Lilliana and pressed herself more fully into her mysterious lover's arms, her blood singing at the wonderful feel of another female body against her own. Lilliana deepened the kiss, as if trying to inhale Isabel's very soul.

Sexy Angels?

     Yeah. Why not?
     The second most frequently asked question I get is, "What on earth possessed you to write erotica featuring angels?" (The first, for those of you who are curious, is "Are you gay?" The answer to this one is no, as my wife will attest. I am, however, secure enough to claim a gay man among one of my best friends and have no issues going into a gay bar and ordering a drink. Jack Daniels tastes the same, no matter the orientation or gender of the hand pouring it. Trust me.)
     To answer the second question: I've read erotica featuring vampires, werewolves, ghosts, and every other damn thing. But I'd never run across erotica featuring angels. I had to wonder why. I knew it had to be out there. After all, the idea of angels and mortals falling in love and even procreating is as old as human civilization, and for all I know, might even predate it.
     For the skeptic, I refer you to Genesis: The mighty men, the men who were of old? You may know them as the Titans and demigods of Greek mythology. The Greek pantheon seemed to have a fairly strict "hands off the humans...unless I'm horny" mindset. Then all bets were off. Zeus himself took the form of a bull, a swan, a shower of gold...shall I continue? All in the service of getting himself a little on the side, much to Hera's (understandable) irritation. And that was one god.
     Now, let's take that and translate it into Judeo-Christian terms. According to the Bible, the Torah, and yes, even the Qu'ran, there is an angel for every rock, tree, and blade of glass. There is an angel for every human quality and virtue, and a demon or fallen angel for every vice. To the student of comparative religion, the gods of the Greek, Norse, Roman, Egyptian, and other panthea bear a striking resemblance to the angels we recognize today.
     Hence, the idea of humans and godlike or godly beings being intimate is nothing new. But there seemed to be a distinct silence on the subject in the erotica I came across. Why? Too taboo? Surely not. Because it may offend people? Perhaps, but that still didn't feel quite right.
     The popular concept of an angel is either a benign, cute little cherub (properly pronounced kehr-OOB, if you're curious) wearing a diaper a la Cupid.

Aww, how cute.

Or a menacing. awe-inspiring being with the power to lay waste to whole continents, like Michael, here.

Yeah, I really don't want to piss this guy off.

     There seems to be no middle ground in these concepts. I had to wonder why.
     Now we get to the meat of the matter. I like to shake things up. I ignore the "Don't Walk On The Grass" signs because, simply by virtue of them being there, I have to walk on the grass. I have to find out what's so damn special about this grass here versus the signless grass across the street. And I love to hear people say, "You can't," just so I can find out why.
     I admit it. When I wrote my first angelic erotica story, "Angels Would Fall," I wanted to shock my reader. I wanted to do something just taboo enough to make them think twice. I wanted to do something off the edge of the map, something new. Then I reread Genesis and found out, to my chagrin, that I wasn't doing anything of the sort. Mea culpa. As I got more immersed in the erotic romance community, this was only reinforced; as evidence I hold up Bryl Tyne's Zagzagel series.
     But the idea of angels being sexy, and especially angels of Death being sexy, simply would not die. Since I am something of a scholar of angelic lore and comparative religion, I decided to take a step back from Moradiel and Ariel and turn the long lens on the broader implications of their love. What better way than by bringing beings from Heaven and Hell (or the Otherplace and Infernus, as I call them) together and making them lovers?
      I can't take full credit for the idea, though. Something similar had been percolating in my mind for a while, but then my friend Jane Ellis decided to throw down the gauntlet on a writing contest. Just her and me, mano e mano, if you will. She set the prompt: A demon's day off.
      Thus was born "Angel of the Morning." The original picture that I used in the contest was this image, which I saw and immediately fell in love with:

     I have a thing for redheads. What can I say?
     We assigned a judge and a timeframe of one week. To my delight, my story won; but give Jane credit. She wrote a very good, very macabre little piece to put up against mine. To my intense relief, we're still friends; the competition got a little heated at points, complete with smack talk.
     After Noble told me they wanted to publish "Angels Would Fall," I decided to take a chance and sent off the story. I nearly fell out of my chair when the email hit saying that it, too, had been accepted. And then, just yesterday morning, I got an email from Noble's resident cover artist, Fiona Jayde, containing this breathtaking cover:

     So, just to whet your appetite, I'm going to offer you just a little taste of things to come:

     

              She turned to see a stocky red-haired man with a wild beard standing there. He was wearing blue jeans and a black T-shirt that was stretched nearly to ripping over his thickly corded muscles. His bottle-green eyes glinted with good humor. 

            “Benoth!” she cried, throwing her arms around him.

            “Aurora,” he whispered, leaning into her embrace and taking a moment to appreciate the scent he had been so long denied.

            “I still can’t believe you got away,” she murmured, savoring the feel of his body against hers.

            “Wasn’t easy,” he assured her. “Demons--” He pulled a hand away to wave it over his body. “--Don’t get days off, paid holidays, or sick leave. I had to tell Gaap that Azrael wanted to speak with me.”

            “Azrael!” Aurora recoiled in revulsion. “What’s he got to do with you?”

            “He’s looking for Moradiel,” Benoth said quietly. “Apparently he fell in love with a soul he was supposed to take. Azrael’s been looking everywhere, but apparently lost their trail in southern Illinois. He reckons they probably came here.”

            “What did Gaap say to that?” Aurora asked, astounded. There hadn’t been a case of a death angel falling in love in her memory, which spanned millennia. They were a cold and stoic lot who didn’t bother with emotion of any sort as a rule. For Moradiel, one of the best and most efficient Soulbearers, to fail in such a disastrous way could only augur ill things ahead.

            “Azrael’s beyond furious,” Benoth pointed out. “Even Gaap doesn’t dare go against him. Lucifer will probably rant and rave about Heaven’s minions interfering with the structure of Hell for the next six months, but so what?” He shrugged to emphasize his unconcern with the situation. “No one ever sees him anymore, anyway. Gaap’s in a fair state about it; he’s been trying to become a Regent.”

            Aurora chuckled. “Not much chance of that. Gaap’s a manipulative little toad and Lucifer knows it. How much time do you have?”

            “I’ve as long as it takes, my love,” he assured her. “You?”

            Her blue eyes darkened a little. “Only until twilight. Then I have to go.”

            “Who’s minding the store?” he queried.

            She smiled again at the memory. “Metatron. He and I had a wager, and he lost. If I’d lost, I’d have to bear the entire sum of human knowledge for a day so he could go look at a supernova somewhere around Vega.”

            Benoth’s bushy eyebrows went up. “What was the wager?”

            She laughed throatily. “It was almost too easy. We cut a deck of cards. I told him if he could tell me what card I was holding, I’d give him a day off and the other way around. I pulled a three of diamonds, he swore it was the jack of spades.”

            He gave a full-voiced laugh that rang off the marble-sheathed walls and floor. 

           

     Keep your eyes open, folks. There's plenty more angelic hotness where that came from, and "Angel of the Morning" is coming soon!
     Thanks for coming by. See you soon!

     Until next time,

     Best,

     J.S. Wayne

A Legend In The Making

     Before you look at me that way, no, I'm not talking about myself.
     I don't have nearly that much self-confidence.
     What I am talking about, I hope, is the story arc I've just "officially" begun with "Angels Would Fall."

     See, the inside of a writer's head is an awfully funny place. I don't mean Monte Python or the Swedish Chef funny. I mean, the men in white coats should be arriving in about ten minutes funny. And they're bringing a very special sport coat. It's unisex, in a very flattering off-white (used to be white, but ten thousand washings later, there's not enough bleach on the planet) and a unique design that fastens in the back.
     My own head is no different. Thanks to an article that a fellow Noble author linked to from "Scientific American," I can now take comfort in the fact that although yes, my mind is a sometimes-alarming place, it's really not my fault! But I digress.
     Inside my head, you could liken it to a carnival. There's the midway, with the rides and the games. There's the funhouse, the haunted house (in my own particular carnival, the haunted house is the biggest attraction-- go figure), the freak show, and, because my carnival's old-school, the peep-show. (Second biggest attraction. Um, wow. Is there a doctor in the house? I think I might need some meds. . .)
     This particular carnival also features a petting zoo. I wouldn't get too close to the llamas, though. And those cute little bunnies you're looking at? With their long lap-ears, twitchy little pink noses, and fluffy little tails?
     (Pardon me while I snicker.)
     Those little bastards are the reason that a writer's work is literally never done.
     You see, those aren't just any cute little fuzzy bunnies. They're PLOT bunnies. And, just like the more commonly known breeds. . . well, they breed. A lot.
      Some of them come up with sweet, dear little offspring that inspire poems about trees and lovely lyrical little vignettes about the perfect anniversary. When I got mine, though, I'm pretty sure that the guy who gave them to me had a telltale whiff of brimstone. Or really bad aftershave. Because my plot bunnies change after dark. Think Gremlins, only I didn't start out with Gizmo. I got Stripe right from Jump Street.
      Um. . .what?
      Okay. Moving right along. I wrote a sweet little short story called "Angels Would Fall." A couple of revisions later, I called it good and started hunting for a home for it. Enter Noble Romance (Thanks Jill, Bryl, Irene, Sara, and the rest of the crew!) and the official beginning of my career.
      Then the three-hundred ring circus (thank-you note to Dean Koontz; please don't sue me!) that I call my mind started revving up again. And to the slightly sinister sounds of the calliope, the plot bunnies started up. "Well, yeah, all's well for now. . .but you're not seriously going to leave it like that, are you?" My inner moron asked.
      "Why?" I snapped. "What's wrong with it?"
      "Oh, nothing," he said, scuffing his foot. "It's just--"
      I tapped my foot and looked pointedly at the clock.
      "Um, you left an awful big 'what if' at the end there."
      I read it over. I hate that guy. He's annoying when he's wrong, and infuriating when he's right.
      So I wrote another story. Kind of a follow-up, zooming away from Moradiel, my angel of death, and Ariel, his human paramour, to consider the ramifications of what he'd done to the Supernal and Infernal realms. (Heaven and Hell, in case I lost you there.) And lo. I wrote it. And beheld that it was good. And left the angels to their own devices with "Angel of the Morning," slated to be released May 16th. Time for another vampire story. . .
     Not so fast, Chuckles. Now here comes my inner moron again. Mumbling about, it's a good story, but. . . there's still something missing.
     I'm in the middle of a blog tour. Red Roses and Shattered Glass is about to debut any day now. I'm up to my ears in edits and don't have time for this. Never mind the "real" world drama. So I did what any stressed-out, caffeine-crazed writer would do.
     I took a baseball bat to him.
     He retaliated by throwing another plot bunny at me. This one was pregnant and ready to pop. Funny son of a bitch.
     Maybe they aren't plot bunnies at all. Maybe they're actually Tribbles. Furry vermin YiH'mey. (Pronounced YICK-may, that's the Klingon word for them. For the love of God, don't ask.)
     So I sat down to do another short. And I wrote. And rewrote. And facepalmed, headdesked, WTF!?ed, and generally, yes, whined. Because it wasn't working. I couldn't figure out what the problem was, but no matter how I tried, I couldn't make the thing mesh.
     Finally it hit me. I asked one person one question. The answer was what I expected, but confirmation from someone who knows is always good. I lit a cigarette and got to work.
     And now, honored readers, a full-length novel revolving around the events set in motion in "Angels Would Fall" is in the works. Whether it will ever see daylight is another matter entirely.
     But even if it's in my own head for now, I truly think I might be creating a legend in the making.
     Time will tell!
     Don't forget that Red Roses and Shattered Glass and "Angels Would Fall" are both available now from Noble Romance, and come see me and some of your favorites, and soon to become favorites, on the Noble Romance Authors' Blog Tour at http://www.nobleromanceauthorsblogtour.blogspot.com/! Win a few prizes and have some laughs with us!

      Until next time,

      Best,

     J.S. Wayne

     Writer: (n) A supernatural creature with the ability to alchemically transform caffeine, nicotine, and a dictionary into literature.