And the playlist for HAUNTED MOON (Camille's 5th book, book 13 of the OW Series):
AJ Roach: Devil May Dance
Adele: Rumour Has It
Air: Napalm Love; The Word 'Hurricane'
Alice in Chains: Man in the Box
Amanda Blank: Something Bigger, Something Better
Android Lust: Dragonfly; Follow
Audioslave: Set It Off
Avalon Rising: Where the Sunset is Golden
Average White Band: Got The Love
Beck: Emergency Exit; Dark Star;
Black Label Society: Rust
Black Rebel Motorcycle Club: Fault Line
Black Sabbath: Paranoid
Blind Melon: No Rain
Bravery, the: Believe
Bret Michaels: Love Sucks
Chester Bennington: System
Chris Isaak: Wicked Game
Cobra Verde: Play With Fire
Cynthia Smith & Ruth Barrett: Faerie's Love Song
David Bowie: Fame; I'm Afraid of Americans; Sister Midnight
David Draiman: Forsaken
Death Cab For Cutie: I Will Possess Your Heart
Dragon Ritual Drummers: Black Queen
Eels: Souljacker, Part 1
Faun: Punagra; Konigin
Finger Eleven: Paralyzer
Fleetwood Mac: The Chain; Gold Dust Woman
Flight of the Hawk: Bones
Foster the People: Pumped Up Kicks
Gary Numan: Dead Sun Rising; When the Sky Bleeds, He Will Come; The Fall; The Angel Wars; Hybrid; Before You Hate It; Halo; Walking With Shadows
Gorillaz: Dare; Demon Days
Gypsy: Spirit Nation; Morgaine
Hanni El Khatib: Come Alive
Heather Alexander: March of Cambreadth; The Garden
Hedningarna: Tuuli; Ukkonen; Raven; Gorrlaus
Hugo: 99 Problems
In Strict Confidence: Silver Bullets; Forbidden Fruit
Jay Gordon: Slept So Long
Julian Cope: Charlotte Anne
Lacuna Coil: Daylight Dancer; Devoted
Lady Gaga: Paparazzi; Born this Way; I Like It Rough; Poker Face
Ladytron: I'm Not Scared; Paco; Ghosts
Lindstrom and Christabelle: Lovesick
Little Big Town: Bones
Loreena McKennitt: Mummer's Dance
Marilyn Manson: Personal Jesus; Tainted Love
Missy Elliot: Get Ur Freak On
Orgy: Blue Monday; Social Enemies
People in Planes: Vampire
Puddle of Mudd: Psycho
Red Hot Chili Peppers: Blood Sugar Sex Magik
Rob Zombie: Foxy, Foxy; Mars Needs Women
Roisin Murphy: Ramalama (Bang Bang)
Rolling Stones: Give Me Shelter; Miss You; Sympathy for the Devil
Simple Minds: Don't You
Stone Temple Pilots: Sour girl
Sully Erna: The Rise; Avalon
Tamaryn: The Waves
Thompson Twins: The Gap
Tina Turner: One of the Living
Todd Alan: Gently Johnny; We Are the Walking Breath
Transplants: Diamonds & Guns
Troggs, The: Wild Thing
Turisas: The March of the Varangian; Hunting Pirates; One More
Who, the: Behind Blue Eyes
Woodland: Rose Red; First Melt; I Remember: The Dragon; Morgana Moon; Golden Raven's Eye
Zero 7: In the Waiting Line
This also means, I’m back to coconut milk sugar free goodies for frozen/creamy desserts. I want to find some recipes to see if I can make sugar-free coconut milk pudding without starch—and also to figure out how to make my own coconut milk sugar-free ice cream. I have an ice cream maker attachment for my mixer and am going to start playing around to see what I can do.
But, I wanted into fiction. That was always my first love and I knew I was destined to be a storyteller. All in all, I accrued over 600 rejection slips on my novels and the massive pile of short stories I had before I was offered a contract with Berkley for my Chintz ‘n China series.
Then, in 2001, after burning out on writing nonfiction—eight books that I wrote primarily on the computer, I wrote Ghost of a Chance, and this time, something worked. I didn’t realize I was writing a mystery until I was mostly through—I was just writing for fun, to recapture my love for the art and craft, because I was so exhausted and tired from the year 2000, which was my ‘year from hell.’
An agent friend of mine helped me learn how to edit/pace it, and I paid attention. Shortly thereafter I found my agent (not the same one), and a couple of weeks later, I had a three book contact with Berkley.
So Ghost of a Chance went from a gritty paranormal mystery/thriller to the first of a cozy paranormal mystery series (cozies were big, it wasn’t ‘the book of my heart’ so I was willing to make the changes when requested). And that was the beginning of my foray back into what I love to write—fantasy and paranormal.
Answers to some common questions:
So, what genres were these books? Tales of the Fae Queen, The Gates of Ouaga, and Dark Huntress were all epic fantasy. The Legacy of Katharine Harriage was a gothic romance. Winterborne and Breakaway Farm—magic realism/contemporary fantasy. The Unwinding Woman was magic realism.
Do you ever write by hand anymore? Seldom. I have bad tendonitis and it’s too hard on my wrists to handle a pen for more than signing books or jotting down a few notes. Typing is much easier. I use an ergonomic keyboard (the old ones Microsoft came out with—the natural elite, I think it’s called, I buy them off ebay whenever I can find them because I don’t like the newer versions). I also use my iPhone’s voice recorder for notes when I need to remember something and am where I can’t really write it down.
Do you journal? I used to journal a lot, but don’t have much time for it anymore. However, when I do journal, I use my Waterman pens—I have three. I love them, and they’re like good friends. And I love blank books, even though I don’t use them much anymore. I now indulge my love for them by buying them for contest baskets.
Why don’t you publish these books yourself? Because they simply aren’t good enough. Not every book written needs to be published, and these aren’t the quality I expect out of myself now. They’d take more work to rewrite than to just write the new work, the work that I love to write. Plus, I no longer have a couple of them. I threw away one of the books along with a pile of short stories trying to appease my ex, trying to make the relationship work. It didn’t help and that is one of the few things I regret doing in my life.
2 medium zucchini, peeled and diced
2 tbsp olive oil
1 cup baby carrots,diced
3 ribs celery,diced
1 bunch green onions, clean and dice
2 cans of shrimp(do not drain)
1 lb. mild sausage links
1 quart chicken stock
1 tsp onion powder
1 tbsp parsley
1 tsp paprika
1/4 cup sherry
2 cups unsweetened coconut milk
1/4 cup dairy free margarine or goat butter
1 cup grated goat mozzarella or soy mozzarella
Makes...a lot.Probably about 10 servings.
We’re counting down to SHADED VISION’s February release with a snippet from Chapter 2!
You can read the first chapter of SHADED VISION in the back of COURTING DARKNESS, or up on Yasmine's site. So we'll be posting snippets from chapter 2 each Monday until the release date. If we find anybody reproducing this on other sites we'll stop and everybody loses out. That means: NO cutting/pasting/copying/sending through email.
Remember, you can pre-order SHADED VISION from Amazon.com or BN.com!
CHAPTER TWO Excerpt #4
copyright 2011 Yasmine Galenorn, all rights reserved, do not reproduce
Excerpts Already Posted
As the elevator descended with a silent rush, a somber mood settled over the group and I stared at my feet, Shade’s hand on my shoulder. I didn’t want to go in— didn’t want to look at the faces of my fallen friends. The Supe Community was tight-knit; everybody knew everybody else.
The doors opened with a swish and we stepped out onto the hard tiled floor, our boots leaving a series of staccato tattoos echoing in our wake. The walls here had been recently painted sterile white. Whether they thought the color made the atmosphere brighter than the pale blue had, I didn’t know, but now the complex felt cold and hollow. As Chase pushed through the doors, Sharah right behind him, I watched them go in.
They fit together . . . they really fit. Both of them had to deal with the leavings of society— the aftermath of battle. Whereas I was on the front lines, Chase was better suited to picking up the pieces and making sense of it all, of organizing the back lines. We’d never found our niche together. And yet we both had our place in the battles we were facing. And we’d become blood brother and sister. No matter what, we had each other’s back.
Chase glanced back at me, his eyes shimmering, and he blinked, then slowly smiled and inclined his head, as if he’d heard me speaking. He was changing, evolving, and none of us knew what he was becoming. Not even him.
He stood back, holding the morgue doors open for us. Sharah headed over to examine the bodies and talk to Mallen, her right-hand man, who was also an elf. He handed her a series of charts and she flipped through them.
I slowly approached the tables— fi ve of them, each covered with a snow white sheet. Or what had started as snow white. Blossoms of blood spread across them, petals staining the undersides of the sheets, and as I watched, the patterns seemed to form the silhouettes of flowers. Or perhaps it was my imagination— like some gruesome Rorschach test.
The bodies were still, no breath, no movement. No fear they’d turn into vampires, like when Menolly had come here to identify victims. Just . . . dead. Cold, forever gone. I took a deep breath and looked up at Mallen.
“How bad are they?” Swallowing my fear, I tried to remind myself that I was a Death Maiden. I escorted— or would soon escort— souls over through the veil as part of my duties. I would be leaving the empty bodies of not just my enemies, but anybody whom the Autumn Lord ordered me to take.
He sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “They aren’t good. It’s not . . . it’s bloody. But the faces are fairly intact. I think they’re recognizable enough. The bodies were pretty mangled and burned. Four of them were right near the blast. The fifth . . . he never made it through the ride to the hospital.”
Menolly and Camille joined me. I reached for Camille’s hand as Mallen pulled back the first sheet. I flinched. I knew the face. “Tom. Thomas Creia. He’s a member of the Verde Canis Clan. They were a group of Weres working for environmental causes. He’s married. Two children.”
Sharah jotted down the information as we moved to the second table. Again, the sheet came down. Again, a familiar face.
“Crap. Trixie Jones. One of Marion’s sisters. Coyote shifter. Single. I think she might have been engaged, but I’m not sure.” The fire in my belly began to burn brighter. Whoever did this, I wanted to find them. Now.
The third sheet. Another man. This one, I knew by name but not to call friend. But his death had not been pleasant, and the grimace on his face told me he’d died in pain.
“Salvatore Tienes. Werewolf. He recently moved up from Arizona. I don’t know what pack he was with, but he’s been staying with a werewolf family up in Shoreline.” I bit my lip, wanting to stop. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I didn’t want to see who was left— an irrational fear took hold, that it would be someone even closer. Mallen drew back the fourth sheet.
I stared. Menolly and Camille squeezed my hands, and Camille let out a little gasp. Even Chase moved closer, hanging his head.
“Exo Reed,” he said quietly.
Everybody in the Supe community knew Exo. He ran the Halcyon Hotel, catering to Supes. He’d called us in on several jobs and was an upstanding member of the NRA and a member of the chamber of commerce for the greater Seattle area. And now, he was so much fodder for worms. Bloody . . . gone to whatever afterlife awaited werewolves when they died.
Tears threatened, but I sucked them back, holding myself rigid. Camille was doing the same, and Menolly had one of those horrific looks on her face that told me she wanted to do nothing less than hunt down the scum who did this and rip them to shreds.
“Show us the last, Mallen. Then we should talk to the survivors.” Chase glanced over at the elf but paused when Mallen held up his hand.
Mallen barely looked old enough to be in high school, but he was far older than most of us. “They aren’t in any condition to talk. They may not be for a long time. But I’ll do my best to have them conscious by tomorrow.”
“Crap. We need to know everything we can about this blast.” Chase looked flummoxed but then shrugged. “Whatever . . . we’ll play it as we go. So, who’s our last victim?” We were all afraid that it was going to be someone else we knew, but this time it wasn’t a Were, but an elf, unfamiliar to any of us. Neither Mallen nor Sharah recognized him, either.
“We’ll have to go through the records of who came over from Otherworld recently . . . track down anybody who might have seen him come through the portals.” I was shaken, and I hated to admit it, but I’d been relieved that our last casualty wore a stranger’s face. Somewhere, he had to have family or friends who would miss him. But for us, he was easier to handle— a cold statistic in what had become a terribly personal crime.
“Did the fire or explosion kill them? I know it’s an obvious question, but is there anything we overlooked? That we don’t know?” Camille spoke up, looking to Mallen for answers.
“Good question,” Chase said.
Mallen consulted his charts. “Toxicology is still out, but the most obvious cause is massive trauma due to whatever explosive device this was, and third-degree burns over most of their bodies. Although . . .” He paused.
“Although what?” I pulled out my notebook and began making my own notes.
“The odd thing . . . when a bomb detonates— a homemade bomb like those commonly used by hate crime groups— they usually make sure it’s loaded with shrapnel. Now, there are injuries due to shrapnel here, but it wasn’t from the bomb. The fragments obviously came from the surroundings. Wood from the beams, metal from the tables that exploded. Whatever blew up doesn’t seem to have left much of a residue.”
“That’s because the explosive factor was canya.” I watched as Mallen’s expression turned from perplexed to horrified. “Yeah, we’re thinking sorcerers. The question is: Who did it, and how did they get hold of this crap?”
“Then toxicity results aren’t going to show anything.” He closed the folder and set it down on the table. “The fact is, the amount of canya needed to blow up a building the size of the Supe Community Hall points to some very powerful enemies. If they have enough canya for that, I wouldn’t put it past them to have other tricks like this up their sleeve. You have to find them, or I predict a body count like we haven’t seen in a long while.”
Chase let out a long sigh. “We so didn’t need that information. Okay, let’s go have a talk with the families. I know some of them are waiting upstairs.” He shook his head, looking resigned. “I’m used to breaking bad news to people, but the sting never goes away.”
Sometimes having cats is an adventure. Like yesterday, when Caly and Brighid decided to get into it.