Welcome everyone including those accidental stumblers who were looking for something unrelated, and came across this post. Stay! I love company!
It has been a while since I posted. Given that, you’d think I’d be refreshed and raring to go. Nope. I’m telling you this so you keep your expectations reasonable.
Spring and summer were busy for me. Mr. Quinn and I sold our condo in Victoria, BC and moved to the Okanagan, which is also in BC, but not on an island, so no more ferries! I love our new home. The weather is beautiful, I’m closer to family, and the people here are very friendly and welcoming. And of course, there’s wine!
Having said that, I almost ran over a bear a week ago coming back from my toque-making workshop. Fortunately, he (or she) was faster than me, so there was no actual impact. Also fortunately for me, I was in my car and not on a bike, skateboard, unicycle or in a restored, cherry red ’66 mustang convertible. However, because of the incident, I learned I was a coward and now am too afraid to walk outside without an escort.
Where is Ryan Reynolds when you need him?
And speaking of the new world in which we live, my stalking is currently on hold. That’s been rough for me and I’ve found myself following random men on motorcycles (in my car with a mask) just to add a little spice to my life.
I also went ATVing, kayaking, and sailboarding, though I can only recommend the kayaking. The sailboard kept bucking me off and the ATVing was like being in a dirt pit with a windwalker.
What a wonderful segue, Jasmin! And also an Easter egg.
Forbidden had been released!
As you may or may not know, Forbidden is Leah and Lucien’s story in the Shifters of Darkness Falls Series.
A boy and girl meet in the forest and discover that they are fated mates. Trouble ensues. Evil lurks. Horses whinny. There’s even an Old Mother.
I’m not kidding!
Leah’s story was both a blast to write and a nerve-wracking experience for me. I love the character of Leah, but I’ve never been inside her head (POV-wise).
From a writer’s perspective, to know a character you have to truly understand her. And Leah is probably the most complex character I’ve ever written. She’s also an innocent, but I didn’t realize that until I started writing her story. She’s tough, resilient, and loyal, but her bold personality hides a woman who carries the weight of the world on her shoulders.
And how to write the shifter male who mates with Leah? Carefully! When I begin this series, some of you speculated that Leah would be paired with Gideon, but for me, it was always going to be Lucien. Leah is fire and I worried about matching fire with fire. Lucien is a gentle snow storm, which is what Leah needs in her life.
That’s a wrap, folks!
The Shifters of Darkness Falls series is complete, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t a whole lot more shifter stories to tell. Originally, I planned to have eight books in the Darkness Falls series, but sometimes characters don’t cooperate. I needed to wrap up the whole serial killer storyline and I couldn’t do it without Leah and Leah is a hard act to follow.
Sooooooooo – new series.
There are four packs in the Darkness Falls area. The next series will focus on the Mountain Pack.
The Mountain Shifter Pack is led by Ren and his mate, Cherime. They have a small, but hardy group of shifters who prefer the solitude of their own company but come together as a community when needed. While the pack is small, they are a force to be reckoned with. They are strong, hardy, and territorial. And they don’t like outsiders.
If you’re anything like me, you love a big strong mountain man (that bathes regularly of course) and who better to start with than Oz. If you’ve read Basic Instinct, Oz was introduced as Adrienne Powell’s boyfriend, and also an early suspect in her murder. He showed up briefly in Fierce Intentions and after that, was practically an unmentionable.
But all this time, he’s been on his mountain, keeping his head down because he’s a loner with a hate on for the real world. In fact, he could have been the serial killer, but if you’ve read Forbidden, you know he wasn’t. And if you haven’t read Forbidden, he still wasn’t. I don’t think that’s a spoiler.
The great thing about this new series is that we’ll get to stay in touch with everyone from The Shifters of Darkness Falls series (friends and foes), because they will regularly make cameos.
Dark Promises (Darkness Falls Mountain Shifters) will be out early in 2022. I’m working on it as we speak (or will be after I hang up).
What’s it about? I’m happy you asked!
Betrayed by her mate and left a widow with a newborn, Mara of the Darkness Falls Lodge Pack vows never to mate again.
Oz, a solitary mountain shifter, is still grieving the death five years ago of his fated mate. Though he’s moved on, he refuses to betray the memory of his woman by loving again.
Oz and Mara’s worlds collide on a hostile mountain on a horrific day that will have long-lasting repercussions. In a moment of mercy, they make a promise that will forever tie them together. As they struggle to honour that commitment, tensions flare and sparks fly, but can they let go of their pasts to find love again?
… is a foreign concept, but I did clean the top of my newly inherited stove today. Also, I discovered that my oven is not self-cleaning! I cannot abide an oven that doesn’t clean itself, so it and I are now in a war of wills. I fear it will win, because my only weapon is my credit card. Mr. Quinn is siding with the oven and while I’ve told him that he can clean the oven if he loves it so much, I’m afraid his will is much more steely than mine. I will break down first.
That was a tangent and if you are actually still reading, I apologize.
What I meant to talk about was…
Why I went wide and failed
I’m back to publishing solely on Amazon and thus, kindle unlimited. Administratively, it was difficult for me to manage five platforms. I know many authors who do it with grace and aplomb. However, grace and I have never been paired together in a sentence and I don’t actually know what aplomb means.
I also didn’t find that my sales increased by doing so (although I am well aware that I was supposed to do more than put the books up and say, “There.”). In fact, I was recently told of this concept called “marketing” and will explore it one day, probably after bear season and before snowshoe season. There are a few days between the two.
Before I go (I know you’re rolling your eyes by now and wailing, “Will this never end?”), if you haven’t already got a copy of my free book, Fearless, you can get it by signing up for my newsletter.
To all the people I’ve deceived, which is everyone who thinks I’m nice. On the outside, sure, but on the inside I’m a roiling, seething mess of fury and curses, thirsting for vengeance and sour gummy bears. I’m lying again, except about the curses. I’m generally laid back with a totally cool vibe. Fuck, more lies. We should move on – this greeting is getting far too long to qualify as a salutation.
My point (just when you were beginning to think I didn’t have one) is that Duplicity (Running with the Devil Book 11) is on the digital bookshelf (yahoooooo!), with the paperback to follow. Once the proof of Duplicity arrives in the mail and I give it the thumps up, it too will be available on Amazon.
Speaking of papyrus, did you know, the ‘thumbs up’ expression originated in Roman amphitheaters and the gestures were opposite of today’s? So, back then if I gave the thumb’s up, the lion ate you. If I gave the thumbs down, you ate the lion. These days neither happens unless you’ve pissed off a lion and its pride gives the thumbs up. Moral of this lengthy aside is don’t piss off lions.
If I wasn’t so lazy doing other things like writing and drinking lattes (yes, you heard me, lattes from my new latte-making machine, which I had to order because my Starbucks is closed), I would have all my books in paperback. There are just a few remaining, and once done, I’m going to have them reproofed and reposted.
The proofing won’t be done by me, because my proof reader extraordinaire tells me I can’t proof my own books, which is a lie because I have proof of my proofing, but it’s bad proof because my proofing sucks – and not in that good way.
That was a long-winded start to my amazing blog, which, at the moment, lacks a bit of focus.
I just finished up the last of my four fabulous interviews with my favourite authors (lot of Fs, my favourite letter), DeeDee Prince, Annabel Joseph, Nikita Slater, and Bijou Hunter), all of whom I am now on a first name basis, except maybe Nik. She’s a bit deceptive about her true feelings towards me – she loves me, I know she does, though she avoids the topic (and me) when I want to cuddle with her.
There may be more interviews in the future, because I have more favourite authors, but as you know, I’m shy in that ‘I love you, I stalk you, I might even kidnap you’ way, and my fear of rejection prevents me from approaching head on. Another lie, the only thing I fear rejection from is ice cream and so far, it has never let me down. In fact, I trust it without reservation.
As you may have heard, the only two things in life you can count on are ice cream and red wine. But I’ve learned how wrong I am about wine. It lies, offers promises of increased intelligence, happiness, and beauty, but really is just a mean, bitter sack of grapes, who after two bottles, impairs my vision, makes me trip over my feet, sway from side to side, and gives me headaches, sometimes of epic proportions.
So while I’ll never break up with Red Wine, the only thing in life I can count on is ice cream.
Enough about whatever I’m talking about (even I’m not sure anymore). Let’s discuss the man of the hour, Mr. Jackman (aka Dimitri L’vovich Mikalev, Rusya Savisin’s nemesis, and also, cousin, and Brook Lafferty’s love interest in Duplicity)!
I love this man, I want this man, I was thinking about buying a 3-D printer (but the good ones are beyond my paltry budget) and making this man. It took much patience to hold off writing his story until Book 11, but at the same time, as long as I held off, he was still attainable.
Don’t get me wrong, I also love Rusya Savisin, and my loyalties are torn, but if I had to choose, Jackman would be my guy. Why you ask? Well, maybe the Jackman camp didn’t, but I know for sure the Rusya Savisin camp asked.
For starters, I’m terrible at small talk, and so is Rusya Savisin, so we’d never talk. I know what you’re thinking. So the fuck what – there are other things that we could be doing, and that’s true, but he’s dangerous in a way that would make me fear him like Esma never did. He needed a woman that would swing at his fast balls (I just made that up – it’s a baseball analogy, but it kind of sounds dirty, doesn’t it?).
Jackman, on the other hand, is my opposite in some ways, because although I can get bossy and bitchy and even demanding, I often get shy around men (except for Mr. Quinn because we’ve been married long enough that he thinks it’s okay to burp loudly while I’m on the phone).
I’m okay with some men like BiL (generic name for all 11 of my brothers-in-law), former colleagues, etc, but men like Rusya and Jackman would keep me tongue-tied for months.
The difference between the two handsome devils, is that Rusya doesn’t have the ability to bridge my discomfort because he is the tall, dark, silent type. Jackman is tall and dark, but he rarely hesitates to speak his mind.
Originally, I titled Duplicity, Mr. Master – it was always Mr. Master in my head, but then fucking Brook Lafferty walked into his life and I knew that Mr. Master wouldn’t work, because this story was as much about Brook as it was about Jackman.
I had also planned to pair Jackman with Emmaline Hawthorne (of Fallen Angel fame), but Robert Creed had his sights set on that girl and there was nothing I could do about it. Fortunately (or unfortunately), Brook came along, all reckless and difficult and I realized this was the right woman to take Jackman on.
Having said all that, I love all my men and while I’m sad that Duplicity is Book 11 of the RWD series, which means that Book 12 (working title is House of Shadows, but I think it will change before publication) is the last of the series. BUT… I have been waiting to write book 12 since I wrote The Darkest Hour (Book 1). I had a haphazard plan when I started the series and it didn’t always play out as expected, but it was always headed towards Book 12, which, dear readers, is going to be explosive (or a dud and everyone will go ‘meh’)!
Big News Announcement now!
Not to brag (okay, maybe a little bragging), I caught Mr. Jackman while he was on a covert trip to Moscow and he agreed drop by my room at the Lotte Hotel for an interview. I was so fucking excited I nearly peed myself. Fortunately, I was in the shower when he called (my phone is shower proof) and well, you know….
The Lotte Hotel has appeared in my books a couple of times – it is a real hotel in the heart of Moscow and has some awesome suites. When I’m writing, unless the hotel/motel room is a standard room, I always find a real hotel and try to stick close to the description of both the hotel and the suite. Anyway, I’ve digressed yet again. Where was I?
Oh yeah, peeing in the shower.
I used a false name like Brook did as it seemed to work for her. Unfortunately, Mr. Jackman saw right through me, mostly because I was wearing a sheer raincoat when I answered the door.
He narrowed his eyes and refused to look beyond my nose, which I’ve often been told is absolute perfection, so I understood the attraction. But then, he pointed his finger towards the bedroom and told me to put on appropriate interview attire.
I’m an obedient girl and so I changed into my French maid outfit, then joined him on the sofa in the living room. He was drinking the scotch I bought for him. It wasn’t his usual brand, because I am a poor writer who had to pawn Mr. Quinn to get the money to go to Moscow and rent the hotel room.
Surprisingly, Mr. Quinn is worth more than I thought – it’s possible I underestimate the value of a long, loud burp.
I opened a bottle of cheap red wine and emptied it into a giant wine glass (I have an emergency travel kit with a corkscrew, the giant wineglass, a thimble, and some moldy cheese) and sat next to Mr. Jackman, alluding that I might have a hearing problem and needed to be within snuggling range.
He didn’t seem to mind, although he questioned my French maid outfit, which I assured him was what journalists these days were wearing (which is a lie, because I’m not a journalist although we have a lot in common, because I write fiction and oftentimes, so do they).
We tapped our glasses and took a drink. I tried to snake my arm through his, like they do at weddings, but Mr. Jackman got all grumbly about me being too close to his scotch. Rejected, I drowned my sorrows (and also, a small black fly that had been buzzing around the room) in alcohol.
I put on a brave face after swallowing the fly and wondered if I now needed to swallow a spider. But Mr. Jackman was getting impatient, and so I started the interview.
Interview with Mr. Jackman
Me (which stands for Jasmin Quinn for those of you who are still uncertain why you’re reading this blog): Mr. Jackman, thank for joining me in this hotel room where we could do absolutely anything we wanted and no one would ever know. May I call you Jackman or do you prefer Dimi?
Mr. J: You may call me Mr. Jackman or Master Jackman or Mr. Master.
Me (swallowing and getting wiggly): How about Mr. J?
Mr. J (narrowing his eyes): Did you think this was a negotiation, girl?
Me (not sure what the right answer is, I hedge): Possibly.
He sighs heavily as he drains his scotch. We’re off to a rocky start, but I’m not some two-bit hack who doesn’t know how to deal with aggressive men (all of it lies—I am a two-bit hack).
Me: Mr. Jackman, I understand that while you run a business that on the surface seems legitimate and even, dare I say, philanthropic, you’re really a criminal with a body count higher than Cheech and Chong, and your sole purpose in life is to piss off your cousin, Rusya Savisin.
Mr. J (fiercely scowling): Was there a question in there.
Me: Yes. Is it all true?
Mr. J (leaning towards me with a stern expression): Yes, it’s all true. But you won’t tell anyone, will you, Jasmin?
Me (licking the fly-infused wine off my lips): Umm. I might have mentioned it in the unauthorized biography I wrote of you.
Mr. J (surprised and unhappy): You wrote a biography of me?
Me (nodding seriously): I’m afraid I did.
Mr. J: Who the fuck authorized you to do that?
Me (wondering if Mr. J really is as smart as I portrayed him in the book): It’s unauthorized, which means no one authorized it.
Mr. J: Are you telling me you wrote a book about me without authorization?
Me (starting to really doubt my ability as a writer): That’s what I’m telling you.
I sense that things are about to get ugly.
Mr. J: Who the fuck do you think you are, Jasmin Quinn?
Me (shoring myself up. Sure I’m broke, weak, and shy and Mr. Jackman is a rich, murderous, sexy motherfucker, but this is my interview and he’s fucking it up): I’m Jasmin Quinn (yep, I’m all about the repetitive emphasis). And just so we’re clear, I made you. (I do the whole stabbing the index finger first at me, then at him, to emphasize who made who – or is that whom?) You would be nothing without me. Do you hear me, Mr. Master (that was a slip of the tongue, but once it was out there, I couldn’t take it back)?
Mr J (not yet willing to back down): You have a smart mouth for a maid. What the fuck did you tell the world about me?
Me (deciding to try to mollify him): I told your side of the story. Your cousin, Rusya, didn’t describe you in a favourable light in his unauthorized biography, so I thought it only fair that you get a chance to redeem yourself in the eyes of my readers.
Mr. J (appearing mollified ashe pours a couple of fingers of scotch): Then, I guess I should thank you.
Me: Yes Sir, you should. I also had some influence on Brook meeting you.
Mr. J (softening – just his face, the rest of him stayed rock hard, including his… uhm… you know… his joystick): I guess you’re not as bad as the rumours I’ve heard.
Me (outraged): What rumours have you heard about me?
Mr J (shrugging dismissively): Unlike the Blue Jays Baseball Team, I’m a closed book.
Me (feeling validated): Aw, that’s so nice that they’re still talking about me.
Mr. J: My sense is that they miss you.
Me: I miss them too.
I think briefly about dropping by for a quickie visit on my way back to BC, but then remember Mr. Quinn is waiting for me to retrieve him from the pawn shop.
Me (changing the subject): How’s Brook?
Mr. J (smirking like he has a secret): Pregnant
Me: How can she pregnant already? The book was just released and last thing I heard was—.
Mr. J: Stop. No spoilers! And how the fuck do you know anything about anything?
Me (getting frustrated with this hunk of man): Sources, Mr. J, and I won’t reveal them, even under the threat of… uhm… spanking.
Mr. J: Trust me Jasmin, you don’t want me to spank you.
Me (licking my lips and trying to catch his eyes with my gaze): But I do, Mr. J. I really do.
Mr. J (staring at my nose): I promised Brook I would stop spanking women.
Me (disappointed and pissed off at Brook, who always ruins the fun): You didn’t answer my question.
Mr. J: What was the question?
Me: How can Brook already be pregnant?
Mr. J (grinning smugly): I guess I have supersonic sperm.
Me (also grinning smugly, but with eyes narrowed as I go for the jugular): Kind of like your cousin’s fast balls? Runs in the family, does it?
Mr. J (apoplectic): I have nothing in common with my fucking cousin, including fast balls. That implies premature ejaculation, which I believe he practices.
Me (calming him by stroking his… uh… shoulder): I don’t think one practices premature ejaculation. I’m sure it just happens. And let me assure you, Rusya is not a premature ejaculator.
Mr. J (calmer now, thanks to my stroking): How do you know this, girl?
Me: Girl talk, Mr. J. Esma told Astrid, who told Kelsie, who spilt the beans to Olivia, who mentioned it in passing when I ran into her in the line-up at Costco (though I can’t say where, because she and Hugo are hiding from Jack Creed, who wants to call in the favour Hugo owes him).
Mr. J (losing interest in the girl talk): Do you have any other questions?
Me: A couple more. You know that snowmen-without-the-head bun that Brook ate?
Mr. J: Russian Mennonite zwieback. It’s quite delicious.
Me: I know. I’ve made it before.
Mr. J: Have you? (looks at my nose again) Are you Russian?
Me: Mr. Quinn is Russian.
Mr. J (sounding a little jealous, not of Mr. Quinn being Russian, just generally of Mr. Quinn, though it’s possible I’m wishful thinking): And where is this Mr. Quinn?
Me: I pawned him.
He narrows his eyes at me like he can’t understand what I’m about.
Me: It’s a cultural thing; it’s perfectly okay in Canada to pawn your husband if you need travel money.
Mr. J: Will you get him back?
Me: I hope so. I’ve invested a lot of time in him and I’d like not to have start over with a new man. Unless of course… well, I guess you’re not available anymore, are you?
Mr. J: No. Besides Brook will kick your ass if you try to sexually harass me.
Me: Is it sexual harassment if I throw myself at you like a power ranger on Rita Repulsa?
Mr. J: Don’t use that fucking mumbo-jumbo girl-power shit on me.
He raises from the sofa and heads for the door as I tag after him. I beg for a kiss, but he refuses, citing his devotion to Brook, who I now wish never existed.
As he strides down the hall, a hotel attendant mistakes my French maid outfit as one of the hotel’s uniforms and puts me to work. I don’t complain and, in the end, earn enough money to buy Mr. Quinn back from the pawnshop.
He’s traumatized by his experience, but his burps are quieter now.
***END OF INTERVIEW***
Barring any unfortunate and unanticipated events in my life (like getting stuck in an elevator for several days), Unleashed will be unleashed (see what I did there?) on June 26. I’m so excited by this book, because it’s my first full-length standalone book, and also, because I loved writing it. I’m thinking that I may turn it into a three-book series but of course, each series will introduce a different couple, with happy ever after’s and all that good stuff.
But I’m still deciding, mostly because I have so many books in progress and I want to write them all, but I also want to read all the good books other authors write and I’m not sure how many years I have left in the rest of my life, but I’m pretty sure I can’t do everything (I also want to learn to speak Spanish, which is coming along really well). Como lo estoy hacienda (Otro engaño. Estoy usando el traductor de Google). But I’m not lying about wanting to learn.
Somewhere in that last paragraph is my segue into telling you about Nikita’s and Bijou’s new books, both released in May. If you haven’t read them yet, I recommend both (I read them and loved them, which is why I can recommend them).
Enough about other writers. Let’s get back to me.
At the end of August, I’ll be releasing another Shifter’s of Darkness Falls book! Book 4 already, which is hard to believe! I love my life right now, doing my favourite thing (writing if you haven’t already guessed). It’s what I’ve always wanted to do, but never thought it was going to happen. Yet here I am, doing it.
Back to Savage Hearts, Book 4 of Shifters of Darkness Falls. This is Cherime’s and Ren’s story and I’m so freaking excited about the pairing.
Did you know Ren is 6’6” tall? He’s completely uncivilized, unlike my shifter men in the first three books, who are led by their instincts, but are at least house-trained. Ren is a mountain man, Alpha shifter, and has little tolerance for mouthy babes. Enter Cherime, who doesn’t know how to shut up or play nice. Doesn’t matter though, she’s one hot shifter princess who thinks she can take on Ren and win.
Will Ren fall for Cherime? Will he tie her up and gag her? Will he drag her to his mountain home and make her pregnant? Hang in there until August, when the shift hits the fan (even I’m groaning, but also giggling – I swear I haven’t been drinking).
Finally, to round out my year, Book 12 of Running with the Devil will be released in November. I’m sad and thrilled at the same time. More to come on this book in future blogs.
It’s time to call it a blog and move on to the more important stuff, like opening my release day bottle of wine and celebrating.
Cheers to you all,
PS. In case you were wondering, I’m not avoiding the topic of COVID-19 in our lives. I’m doing the best I can to embrace the changes necessary to cope with the new now. It’s better than reading the constant barrage of contradictory information in the media and getting worked into knots over things I can’t control.
In my little piece of the world, Mr. Quinn and I do what we can to be part of the solution, such as wearing masks and practicing social distancing when we’re out, isolating unless we need to go out, staying in touch with family and friends over social media, and eating too much.
I thank the health care professionals, the service industry, the Canadian federal and provincial governments, and everyone else who recognizes that we live in a shared world and our actions are the deciding factor in how our future will look. Thank you to us for doing our part to make our world the best place to be.
Except the baseball players. I don’t thank them because they’ve left me high and dry.
Dear everyone I’ve loved before, and now, and also in the future. And the rest of you too!
There is so much happening in the world right now that it makes me want to focus on the little things, like how Greek yogurt tastes with a splash of maple syrup, and my tablet full of e-books written by fantastic indy authors. Add walking in the sunshine, cold smoked tuna, and a cozy bed and I’m a happy girl.
We all know what’s going on outside our front doors so there’s no need for me to reiterate. All I can do is impart my limited wisdom on how to do your part to lighten the burden.
Share your toilet paper unless you don’t have enough.
Stay home if you can.
Have sex to pass the time, but don’t get pregnant.
Take the opportunity to have sports-free conversations with your loved ones.
Make sure to profusely thank the delivery people who are bringing to your doorstep what you need.
Don’t go to Saskatchewan because it’s brutally cold there.
Speaking of Saskatchewan, guess what today’s blog is about? Yes! You guessed it. My one and on one with Nikita Slater, where we hit all the gritty topics! In your face Barbara Walters. I’ve got Nik twice now and you, well, you’re a ZERO (imagine taunting laughter).
Who is Nikita Slater?
She’s this awesome dark romance writer, who despite her protests, is incredibly nice and sometimes even helpful. She’s a darling girl who pole dances, eats chocolate, and has regular meltdowns.
Fortunately for me, she lives in Saskatoon, Saskatchewan in the great country of Canada, so I rarely see her in crisis (I also block her number during her meltdown moments). I’m very fragile and she can be mean despite her niceness.
But, as an intrepid interviewer, I will go anywhere and do anything to get my story (I’m like Clark Kent that way), so I hauled ass to Saskatoon* in the dead of March to get the goods on Ms. Slater (not the real goods, she doesn’t give up those to girls).
We met in a pub rather than her home because she claimed her llamas ate the couch. I’ve had a similar encounter with goats, so I sympathized. The pub was an Irish one, which seemed fitting, since we celebrated St. Patrick’s Day (March 17th for those of you who have been in a coma your entire life) this past Tuesday.
I love St. Paddy’s day. Why (I know you’re not going to ask, so I’m just going to say)? Because March 17th was also my mother’s birthday. Quite a coincidence given that she’s Romanian; okay, that’s not really a coincidence, but my father was English and Scottish, which also isn’t Irish although my mother said that Grandpa Quinn was a happy drunk who danced like an Irishman and liked to brawl. Also, we always got green birthday cake on March 17th.
Speaking of the luck of the Irish (a term, by the way, that has to do with early 1800 American miners), I met my girl at O’Shea’s Irish Pub, where we ate chicken wings and drank green beer. I tried to order the green wine, but Nikita cautioned against it. Something about projectile vomiting and hives.
It was freaking cold outside and Ms. Slater was dressed weather appropriate in a big parka and snow boots, a toque on her head that practically obscured her vision, heavy mittens on her hands, and a scarf tightly wound around her face. It took me three drinks before I realized I was interviewing Jan Arden, not Ms. Slater. I was not impressed that Canada’s most-loved singer (if you don’t count Celine Dion, which I never do) tried to elbow in on Nik’s interview.
I finally tracked down Nikita, sitting in a corner with five empty shot glasses in front of her and a boy toy under the table. I accidentally kicked the boy, who seemed to like it, but decided to leave the two of us alone until after the interview.
The real Nikita has pink hair, long and fluffy, with a fair amount of static in it. Each time I tried to stroke her head, I got shocked. She was also wearing leggings and a blouse with skulls on it, and black wrist cuffs with metal gears and other shit.
We ordered a fresh round of drinks, the Stuffed Leprechaun Platter and a side of calamari that came with feet and faces, which I refused to eat. Nikita advised me that the green wine was perfectly safe to drink and had no clue what Jan was yapping on about. Nik’s a sweetheart that way.
I started the interview with some soft questions, getting her warmed up for the down and dirty ones.
JQ: You and I’ve known each other for several years. Is there anything complimentary you’d like to say about me to your readers? Perhaps, I have nice knees?
NS: I’m so glad you asked, I have so much to say on this topic! You are so freaking good at breathing. You are incredibly here and fabulously alive. I really particularly love how you exist. I really can’t say enough about your lovely peopleness.
JQ: Gosh, I’m blushing. Right back at you, girlfriend. What about my knees?
NS: Ummm, your knees are super bendy?
JQ: Thank you. Mr. Quinn says that too. We have so much in common, don’t we? We’re both writers, we both drink copious amounts of wine, and also, neither of us skis. Do think it’s a coincidence or a cosmic intervention?
NS: I’ve cut back on the wine because weed is legal now and less damaging to my liver. And I think people who ski are batshit insane. What kind of a mentally responsible person straps slippery things to their feet and hurtles themselves down a slippery mountain? People in need of some serious intervention, that’s who.
JQ(noting that Nikita didn’t really answer my question about cosmic intervention. This writer has truly mastered the art of evasiveness): I understand you like to eat chicken wings. Are you at all dismayed at how your predilection contributes to the wingless chicken problem currently taking place in various parts of Kansas?
NS: No. Next question?
JQ (noting that Nikita seems a little of out of sorts. I’m concerned she’s heading for a melt down). Regarding calamari, it appears you’re an all-in kind of girl. I recall an incident where you were only able to eat the calamari that was disguised as regular food and left the rest of the squids on the plate.
I feel a little green as I watch her pick up a little calamari body by one of its legs and stuff the entire thing in her mouth.
NS(after she chews and swallows – her manners are impeccable): I used to feel squeamish about eating the calamari legs and stuff, but since embarking on a career in writing many a bloody scene in my dark mafia romances, I eat those motherf@cking legs like a champ.
She insisted on adding the @ in fucking even though I told her she didn’t have to. She’s so wonderfully aware of other people’s sensitivities.
JS: I know there are some things that you find repelling, so I want to know how you’d react under extraordinary pressure. If you found an abandoned child eating bell peppers drenched in marshmallow syrup and there was no one around to rescue you, what would you do?
NS: I would get some big tongs and put her in a transporter and send her to Willy Wonka.
JQ: Speaking of birthdays, are you excited about turning 40 this year? Do you have any plans? Will this be the year I finally get invited to your birthday party?
NS: Ouch. This got personal fast.
JQ: It’s always personal, Nikita.
NS (staring at me as she tests the sharpness of the knife she’s holding): I plan on partying with a whole lot of legal marijuana, unlimited wine and nudity. Of course, you’re invited. I like BC weed best, so be sure to bring as much as you can carry.
JQ: I can’t help but think that you are only inviting me because I have access to the BC bud. I need to feel wanted too, Nikita.
NS: Can you also hit up some Kelowna wineries on the way here? I like Mission Hill and Quail’s Gate.
See what I mean about evasiveness?
JQ: Here’s another personal question. I’ve been told by my secret Nikita source that your face looks funny when you wear earrings. Can you describe what it looks like in hoops? What about studs? Is there a particular earring you’d consider wearing despite the effect it has on your face?
NS: Who told you this? Did you read my diary?
QS: A serious reporter never reveals her source. And no, I would never read your diary because it would involve a trip to Saskatoon, which I’ll admit is lovely in the summer except for the heat, mosquitoes, and Broscht.
NS (appearing defensive – you know, the whole crossing her arms across her chest, frowning sternly, wrinkling her forehead): Okay, yes, my face looks weird with earrings. All earrings. Hoops, studs, danglies. Maybe it’s because I’m not used to seeing them attached to my head. I no longer have holes in my ears. That’s a whole other traumatic story. But I would definitely consider wearing earrings if they were extremely expensive and gifted to me, and I could pawn them immediately after wearing.
JQ: Speaking of holes in your head, what happened to the one that your brother drilled into it when you were four?
NS: I have no memory of that. But I do remember cracking his head open when we were playing hide and go baseball bat in the dark. That was the fastest I’ve ever run away from something. He and I are probably even now.
JQ: Have you considered a nose ring?
JQ: Will you be getting a nose ring? Or a nipple ring?
NS: Oh, I want both now!
JQ: I find the earring thing fascinating. Are you also aware that when you wear shoes, they make your feet look funny?
NS: I did not realize this. In what way do they look weird? Like, cool weird? Or weird, weird?
JQ: Depends. If you’re wearing hooker boots like the ones you currently have on, it’s definitely cool weird. But if you’re wearing little socks with matching canvas shoes, you appear to be wearing condoms on your feet. Either way, like the package on a hot guy, it’s hard to look away.
NS: I choose to be flattered.
JQ: You have brilliantly high self-esteem. Let’s talk about your tattoos. How many do you have? What are they? Which is your favourite? Which is the cherry popper? How old were you when you got it? What did you parents think about it?
NS: I have three tattoos, but I want more. One on my shoulder, one on my forearm and one on my lower back/hip. My favourite is the grim reaper with a rose on my forearm. My first tattoo was a baby lion on my shoulder, I think I was 20 or 21. I don’t think my mom cares much. My dad doesn’t like them, but he’s used to them now. My brother has way more than me and he started younger, so he set the bad example.
JQ: What are you thinking for the next one?
NS: I want to get a sugar skull bride on my shoulder that merges with the grim reaper. She’ll hold a bouquet of dead roses and she’ll wear a crown. Above the crown it’ll say “The Queens”.
JQ: It sounds… urm… painful. I should have asked this earlier, like around the time you insisted that I fly out for the interview. Saskatoon, Saskatchewan. Why?
NS: Once upon a time there was this incredibly talented, beautiful and naïve young woman of 26. She met and married a guy from University. That man decided he should get a job in the one of the coldest most prairie-like, barren places on Earth. The beautiful heroine followed her heart. Skip ahead thirteen years and the incredibly talented, wonderful young woman is now a beautiful divorcee who asks herself every single day between the months of October and May WHY THE F@CK she doesn’t move someplace warmer. The end. (Did I mention how beautiful the heroine of this story is?)
JQ: Yes, you did mention the heroine’s beauty, but are you going to answer my question?
NS: Uhm. See above.
JQ: Let’s move on. You have an obsession with jealous possessive males in the books you write. What traumatic experience do you blame this on? Which one do you love the most? Least love?
NS: I’m not sure why I’m attracted to a certain kind of male character. I’m definitely not attracted to jealous possessive in real life. I love Reyes from Scarred Queen the most. He was just so extreme and brutal but lived for Casey. He’s also a little atypical from my usual male characters. He’s Bolivian, he’s shorter than my other men but no less fierce. I don’t think I have a least love since they’re all pretty awesome. But if I had to choose, I would probably say Mack from In His Sights. That guy was pure mean with very little sense of humour (which only made him hotter!)
NS: Ummm, yes, but only because I’m now moving onto Mateo in Born a Queen.
JQ: Thank you so much. I’ll make space in my closet when I get home, then send for them. Next question. You recently released Loving Vincent. Is it autobiographical? Are you secretly a prison nurse?
NS (laughing her ass off, though I’m not sure why. I check my teeth for parsley): No, although I worked as a GED instructor and a counsellor in a prison. The stories I could tell about prison life would make your hair stand on end.
JQ(trying to touch Nikita’s hair): Like yours is doing right now. Ouch (no, not shocked. she bit me!)!
NS: Sorry, thought you were a spider.
JQ: If Loving Vincent isn’t autobiographical, then is Scarred Queen a fictionalized version of your life? Is Casey your secret twin? Who is Reyes modelled after?
NS: Scarred Queen is not a fictionalized version of my life and Casey is not my twin. Scarred Queen is my re-imagining of what might’ve happened to Elvira Montana’s character after the events of the movie Scarface. Reyes was sort of a combo of Tony Montana and Sotza from Scarface.
JQ: Which book(s) that you’ve written to date is your favourite and why?
NS: I think my absolute favourite book is Scarred Queen. I wrote it at a very tough time in my life and it was extremely cathartic. When I think about that time in my life, I think about how Scarred Queen was such a lifesaver for me. Among my other favourites are all three Sanctuary books, Burning Beautyand Savage Vendetta. I don’t think there’s a particular reason why I love those books, I just have warm feelings when I think about them.
JQ: Tell me more about these warm feelings. Are they also wet? Where in your body are they most apparent?
NS: (staring at me and allowing an uncomfortable silence to develop, but I don’t really get uncomfortable, so it was a 15-minute silent standoff that only broke when I forgot the question I asked)
JQ: What are you currently working on? When will you unveil it to the world? What else should we know about.
NS: I’m currently working on a few different projects. I’m editing The Princess and Her Mercenary, a Driven Hearts Novella starring Ndari and Keane from Capturing Victory. This book will release on March 28, 2020 and is up for pre-order. I’m also working on a vampire charity novella for the NOLA Bookstars signing in May. That one is almost done; it’s quick, bloody and sexy. And finally, I’m working on my next big release, Born a Queen. I don’t have a release date for this one.
JQ: All of us Nikita fans are so looking forward to the release of these books. Let’s switch to something more controversial. I heard that you’ve become a pole-dancer. Are you in it for the money? Do you plan to be certified in it and go pro? Do you like it better than stripping and hooking?
NS: First of all, I have never stripped and hooked. Except for that one time, but we don’t talk about that. Honestly? I love the feeling of flying when my feet come off the ground and I’m spinning around the pole. I love seeing what my body can do. I’m not very young and I’m not particularly small or flexible, but week-by-week I’ve been building muscle tone and flexibility. Sometimes it’s frustrating when I can’t do something I badly want to do, like flip upside down when I’m spinning, but there’s nothing like nailing a move I’ve been working on for months. When I first started pole-dancing I couldn’t imagine doing the things I do now. I can climb that pole like a spider monkey and strike a (deeply unsexy) pose. I will probably go pro if the book thing doesn’t turn out.
JQ: Uh huh. So you deny that you slept with a man in exchange for money? And maybe not a stripper, but I’ve heard you give one hell of a lap dance.
NS: How did you know I slept with a stripper for money? The things you know about me… it’s creepy.
JQ: So’s my secret source, but he gets the job done. Next question. What do you find attractive in a man?
NS: His brain. Literally. I’m probably actually a zombie.
JQ: Can you please elaborate on this. Do you find brain’s attractive or tasty? If attractive, explain. All the men in your novels are tall, built like brick shithouses and menacing. Are you telling me that the only thing about them that gets your jellybean quivering is their brains?
NS: In reality, I do tend to be more attracted to brains than bodies. My man-friends have all been a wide variety of sizes, shapes and heights. I’m attracted to people who are kind, open-minded and treat me like the princess I am. Fantasy is different though, and that’s where I love building my “brick shithouse” men.
JQ: Do you think you’ve insulted all your man friends by saying they are unattractive?
NS: Umm, did I say that? Or did you?
JQ: How could I say it? I don’t know all your man friends; there’s way too many. Also, if you find brains tasty, how do you prepare them?
NS: Have you seen iZombie? I get my recipes from that show. I would say brain smoothies are probably my favourite, although brain pizzas are pretty epic too.
JQ: Is Hannibal Lecter your father?
NS: No, he was my mentor.
JQ: What’s the biggest difference between Canadians and Americans (note – not Canada and America)?
NS: I would say Americans can be more straightforward. Canadians tend to keep their assholiness on the inside. We pretend we’re all nice and polite, but really, we’re complete dicks. If I get pitchforked by one or both nationalities mentioned, I blame you.
JQ: I’m a big girl, I can take a little pitchforking, but not in the face please. Preferably the ass. It has the most resistance to pitchforks. My next question is a little more personal. I’ve been told by a secret source that you hate Chinese 5 Spice. Is it because you don’t like their brand of music?
NS: Give me my diary back! And Chinese 5 spice is a spice for seasoning food, not a 90s UK girl band. The reason I don’t like it is because in my early 20s, I had this boyfriend who was obsessed with that stuff. It was in all our food. Now I can’t even smell it without gagging. Luckily, most people don’t use it so I can easily avoid it.
JQ (wryly, but Nikita seems not to notice): Perhaps Chinese people use it.
NS (changing the topic): These calamari are so f@cking good!
JQ(also changing the topic): Would you sleep with an alien who looked like an alien (providing you had a hall pass)? If you did, what physical alien trait would get you the most fired up? If it’s alien penis, what makes it different from human penis?
NS: Tentacles. I don’t know if those are technically penises, but those are what I like. I heard DD Prince is totally into them too. I try to keep my tentacle obsession on the down low. Ha! Down low. Get it?
JQ: Oh yeah, I got it, you dirty girl. So you and DD Prince bonded over alien dick? I’m a little jealous.
NS: So you should be.
JQ(sighing and jealous): Describe your ideal penis.
NS: I have a dream where I’m tied to a bed and penises are jumping all around me. Big penis, small penis, here and there a penis, everywhere a penis. They rub all over my body and in my hair. Did I answer the question?
JQ: Wow, are you currently seeking professional help? Do they… you know… do they do the hokey pokey? Do they shake it all about?
NS: Yes! That’s what it’s all about! Also, yes, I do have a therapist, but she’s small, hairy, sleeps a lot and doesn’t say much. She’s also my dog.
JQ: Speaking of dogs, what do you fear?
NS: Tiny dots, spiders, crusty things, cardboard scraping against cardboard (like when you fold a box – yuck!) and flying.
JQ: I don’t know how we can continue to be friends. I collect boxes. Could you please elaborate on what you mean by crusty things. Are you referring to men’s underwear after several days of use or the stuff you get in the corners of your eyes after you’ve been sleeping (BTW, spiders love the taste of that fluid and will suck it up while you’re sleeping) or the hard cover of snow in the winter that you think you can walk across but then it breaks and you sink into it up to your pearl of pleasure?
NS: Wow, I hadn’t thought about many of these crusty things you brought up, but yeah, I also don’t like those things. What I mostly mean by crusty things are like dirty showers (shudders dramatically). Or the bottom of a sink that gets all that crud in it and then doesn’t get washed out, so it dries on and becomes all crusty. I’m super grossed out right now thinking about this stuff.
JQ: I momentarily forgot my name. It might be your mention of dirty showers. I’m going to explain to the readers that Nikita Slater is not referencing a kinky sex act, but the actual physical shower that is unwashed. Is that correct?
NS: Oh, yes, that’s what I meant.
QS: Are you winking at me? Rhetorical, you don’t have to answer. But here are some quick questions you do have to answer. Please feel free to provide quick answers:
QS: What is your secret superpower?
NS: I can tell a dog’s breed just by looking at it.
QS: That’s awesome. What breed is your dog, Friday?
NS: I have no idea.
JQ: I’m starting to understand why it’s a secret superpower. What’s the difference between making love and fucking?
NS: Making love is about connection, fucking is about getting off.
JQ: If animals could talk, which would be the rudest? Explain.
NS: Parrots. They can already talk and they’re usually complete assholes. I was once bitten by a parrot that called me Shakira. It was weird.
JQ: I’ve met that parrot. You should be flattered; he called me a weed whacker. Peanut butter, maple syrup or Nutella in your belly button?
NS: Nothing in my belly button! Seriously, what is wrong with you!?
JQ: It’s a perfectly legitimate question. Belly buttons are erogenous zones… aren’t they? What are you most likely to get arrested for?
NS: Public nudity.
JQ: Hopefully it’s summer when that happens or you’ll freeze all your girl bits. Famous man you’d like to see naked?
NS: Jason Momoa.
JQ: I seriously tried to find a nude of him. I think he might be a saint. What will it say on your tombstone?
NS: Death by cupcakes.
JQ: No doubt about that. Thank you Nikita Slater for indulging me today. I’d like to stay and chat, but Jan Arden looks like she wants to body slam me, and I’m a pacifist. Not really, but I’m delicate and prone to screaming. Anything you’d like to add before I get the hell out of Saskatchewan?
NS: Take me with you.
*Disclaimer: Saskatoon, Saskatchewan is a beautiful city surrounded by vast prairies and the occasional tree. It has winding rivers separating the downtown core from the rest of the population. Also, it’s a frozen wasteland in winter and I’ve twice made the mistake of visiting during this season (once was work-related so that doesn’t really count). Thus, while the interview is real, the meeting place was not. And Jan Arden, she was never there (she made me say that).
Nikita Slater is the International Bestselling author of The Queens series, Fire & Vice series, The Sanctuary series, Driven Hearts series and several standalone novels. She lives on the beautiful Canadian prairies with her son and her crazy awesome dog.
She has an unholy affinity for books (especially erotic romance), wine, pets and anything chocolate. Despite some of the darker themes in her books (which are pure fun and fantasy), Nikita is a staunch feminist and advocate of equal rights for all races, genders and non-gender specific persons. When she isn’t writing, dreaming about writing or talking about writing, she helps others discover a love of reading and writing through literacy and social work.
For more information on Nik’s upcoming book releases, giveaways, works in progress and her insane cupcake addiction check out her Facebook page and join her private Facebook group, Nikita’s Underworld: https://www.facebook.com/groups/1853193748048614/
You can also keep up with her by joining or following her social media profiles.
In April, I’ll be posting my interview with the lovely and talented Bijou Hunter who is an author of Romantic Comedy and Suspense. Living in Indiana with her three sweet sons, three wacky cats, one super mom, she loves 1970s rock, Call of Duty, Phelan Porteous, and sitcoms canceled before their time.
I was introduced to Bijou’s writing by my proofreader, Sheri, to whom I’ll be forever grateful. Bijou is a binge-worthy writer of the MC romance genre, but her books are unlike any you’ve ever read. She’s also a one-click for me. She hates ass-kissers, so I’ll stop now although inside I’m still gushing.
At the end of May, Mr. Master (Running with the Devil Book 11) will be published. It’s not for the faint of heart as Jackman shows his true colours, and even though I created him, I also dig him… a lot. Seriously, I want a 3-D printer so I can bring him to life.
Late June, Unleashed will be unleashed! See what I did there? (Yeah, I’m out of cleverness). This full-length book has been a labour of love that I’ve been working on in my spare time for well over a year and I’m excited to see what readers think of it.
A few last words
I tried to find an alien sex joke on Google to pair up with Nik’s and my chat about alien tentacles, but there seems to be only one silly joke in cyberspace, so Mr. Quinn kindly made one up:
A female, being tortured by an alien, was loudly groaning and moaning.
The Alien’s general walks into the room. “Why are you still torturing the human woman?”
The torturer replies, “Because the last one was faking it.”
Hmmm. It sounded funnier when he said it.
Moving along, I want to end this blog by acknowledging the health care front line professionals who are working to ensure patient health and comfort, no matter the illness. We don’t say thank you often enough.
Don’t you just love 2020! How could you not? We’ve all survived 20 years past the year 2000, in which the world was set to self-destruct. See how resilient we are? We also made it through the dreadful Mayan crisis of December 21, 2012. There were several thoughts on how the world would end on that day including but not limited to an Alien invasion.
Alas, the aliens talked it over and decided they weren’t interested.
February 4, 2020 is also said to be a possible world ender. I don’t care about this one because I’ll be on vacation in sunny climes with Mr. Quinn, my sister, who also happens to be the medical advisor for my books (who knew strippers were so smart?) and her partner, who is just like Mr. Quinn and uses my sister’s last name (yep, they’re all Quinns). By the time February 4th rolls around, the four of us we’ll have been together for 10 days so it’s possible that we will welcome a world-ending break from each other.
Having said all that, I’m quite confident that we’ll be around after February 4th.
Do you know why?
Because there are several future cataclysmic events predicted. By logic, if the world ended on February 4th, that would mean all the other predictions would be wrong, and so far, none of the past predictions have come true, so we can only put our stock in future predictions.
Why am talking about the end of the world?
Because DD Prince once said hell would freeze over before she’d let me interview her. And yet here we are, all still standing, hell’s still burning, and I’ve bagged an interview with the famous indy author, DD Prince! Un-effing-believable!
Not really, because it happened, unlike the end of the world bullshit predictions.
Let’s get right down to it. My Interview with DD Prince!
Ms. Prince and I met at her house, a lovely bungalow surrounded by white snow in a city called Niagara Falls, which is quite odd given that I thought Niagara Falls was a waterfall. Who knew a name could be a town and also falls (that’s irony for those of you who haven’t read my shifter romance series)?
Thinking I was going to a party in my honour, I wore a bright red leather figure hugging skirt, four-inch stilettos and a sexy red smile. And a top too, in case you were wondering. It just wasn’t noteworthy.
When I arrived, Ms. Prince and her Phat Cat greeted me at the door. No one else appeared to be present. Perhaps it was a surprise party, but after five minutes of awkward lingering silence while I hovered in the foyer, I realized it was just going to be us: me, DD Prince and Phat Cat.
However disappointed I was that there was no party, I reminded myself that this interview wasn’t about me. I had to do that several times over the course of the interview because yes, I am that shallow.
Ms. Prince looked a vision in her jeans and bright pink flipflops, which she wouldn’t let me borrow for my vacation. Her ponytail hung neatly down one side of her head, the other side, however, was only partially tucked into her hair tie. She didn’t seem to notice so I simply praised her on her unique hairstyle.
Her eyes twinkled like she’d been drinking or smoking something, both of which I had no objection to unless of course, she chose not to share.
I complimented her on her pink flipflops and asked where I might obtain a pair. She told me to eff-off with the sisterhood bullshit and sit down, which I promptly did (sat down only, because it is literally impossible to eff-off and sit down at the same time).
There was a mountain of huge platters of food on the dining table, including the moistest radish rosettes I have ever touched my lips to. Cheeseburgers, cabbage rolls, vegan sushi rolls and other unidentifiable consumables filled the table and the two extension leaves. All of it was intended to be washed down with an abundance of red wine, Starbucks Caramel Macchiatos and Tim Horton’s steeped tea.
Her alien Phat Cat (aka Tucker) kept mewing at me about the cruelty of Ms. Prince who was regularly underfeeding him.
Apparently, I gained the ability to speak alien Phat Cat – either the radish rosettes or the unidentifiable consumables triggered the hidden talent.
After I was appropriately sloshed, I asked my first question.
JQ (as in Jasmin Quinn, as in me): Ms. Prince, should I call you DD or DeeDee?
DD (for brevity’s sake): It’s all in the enunciation. DD is easier to pronounce, so most people use it like a nickname. Facebook forced me to use DeeDee.
JQ: Those bastards. I feel as if you and I could be soul sisters.
Phat cat (clawing my dollar store thigh highs, with surprisingly little effect):DiDi already has a sister.
Apparently, there’s no translation in alien for DD.I ignore the cat
DD (watching the interaction, whispers): Just go with it. He’s been declawed but keeps forgetting.
JQ (winks with complicity): I see. Oh, ouch, bad cat. Ouch.
DD (popping a grape into her mouth): About the soul-sister shit? I’m not feeling it and I don’t know you well enough.
I take a delicate sip of the wine as I contemplate my next move… er… question.
JQ: Yet that’s exactly what happened with Deacon and Ella. I heard you had a hand in getting them together. Yes?
DD seemed surprised at my question. Despite my reputation, I do know how to lob the hard balls.
DD: Well, yeah. I love happy endings. Often my heroines are reluctant at the start, but my heroes are nothing if not determined so we’re all committed in the end😉(yes, DD is smiling and winking).
JQ: Moving on. Facebook has done us both dirt. I like it when others validate my disdain for giant privacy stealing whore conglomerates.
DD: Crackbook. Yeah. They jailed me for copy/pasting a pic of a ball gag once. It was just a picture of a head! That was when I knew how badly I was addicted. Being able to scroll without liking or commenting.
JQ: I’ve never been to Facebook jail. I guess I’m not naughty enough. Let’s talk about all the things we have in common.
DD(looking sceptical): Such as?
JQ (pursing my lips professionally): This is your interview, Ms. Prince. I don’t want to put words in your mouth.
DD sighs as she exchanges her Starbuck’s tea for an 8-ounce glass of wine, which she mixes with a Vex Vodka cooler.
DD(thoughtfully as she drinks the concoction in her glass): Well, I do hate pirates!
JQ (gasping): How can you hate pirates? They have parrotlets. Saying you hate pirates is like saying you hate parrotlets.
A loud squawking from the other room distracts me.
JQ: What’s that?
DD: My parrotlet. He doesn’t like it when people are mean to me.
JQ (loudly so the parrotlet can hear): I meant no disrespect. Is that why you hate pirates? Because you had to rescue the parrotlet from a viscous, horrible pirate who was mistreating it?
DD: No, I hate internet pirates who violate copyright by stealing my books and making them available to everyone.
JQ (nodding fake-sagely): I hate them too now.
DD: And Goodreads trolls who review books they haven’t read or the book pirates who 1-star everything but keep reading every single book.
JQ: I have a couple of those too.
DD: And turnips. Blech. Who thought that was a good idea? Not mother nature, that’s for sure. Had to be a man.
JQ (a little dismayed over DD’s hatred of innocent vegetables): Not even in stew?
It’s like she doesn’t hear me.
DD: Musicals and pumpkin spice, hate them so much.
JQ (my head is spinning so I pop an unidentified purple consumable): At the same time? Like if you took pumpkin spice to a musical? Or do you simply hate musicals, with or without pumpkin spice?
DD (on a roll now and not listening to me): I also hate when people come into my space while I’m in The Zone(she said it like Chandler does) and then apologize when I make crazy noises and throw my arms up in the air gasping about being interrupted and this makes them want to slink off with apologies but they’ve already broken the spell so they might as well tell me what the Eff they want.
JQ (quickly changing the subject): I understand you’re married.
DD (gulping her wine-cooler concoction): Yes. I lived in sin for six years, then got married. 24 years now.
JQ: So that would make you old then?
DD (coldly): 47 is not old.
DD seems agitated and I think it’s at her husband. Perhaps they’re fighting over the Parrotlet. I want to ask why she would get married after trying someone out for six years but decide that might be a sensitive topic. So instead,
JQ: Describe your husband’s penis.
DD: After this much time together and the fact that I’ve had 2 c-sections and I’m no longer 105 pounds soaking wet, the lights are definitely OFF for The Business. I haven’t seen what it looks like in a while. He recently started cleaning the house. I think it’s sexy AF. LOL
JQ (thinking about Mr. Quinn’s penis and his lack of emptying-the-dishwasher skills): Does it droop?
DD: I have no idea. He’s not droopy around me.
Chagrined, I decide to have a chat with Mr. Quinn and change the subject. Not change the subject about Mr. Quinn’s skills in the kitchen, but move on from DD’s husband lest I stray into sensitive areas.
JQ: Do you like purple penises?
DD: Why yes. Yes, I do. I have a purple Lelo Ina 2.
JQ: How fortuitous that I asked that question! What about purple snakes?
DD: I’m afraid of snakes. I also fear heights.
JQ: Based on those fears, I’m guessing your least favourite movie is Snakes on a Plane. What shows and movies you do like to watch?
DD: I’ve just finished bingeing Peaky Blinders and Carnival Row. I loved them. I loved Game of Thrones (before the last season) and am still not over the ending. I loved Lost and am still not over THAT ending. Why do they keep fucking up my shows? I tend to watch just one thing at a time. I don’t watch a lot of TV. I’d rather read. Or write. But I try to watch an hour of TV a night with my husband so I don’t spend all my non-sleeping/non-cleaning time in my home office.
JQ: It’s good that you’re keeping the spark alive. Mr. Quinn watches hockey and I bitch about it. Same thing, different show. Next question, DD, what’s your peculiar power?
DD: I don’t have one.
JQ: A moment ago I would have said it was your ability to replace bad words with fake ones, such as effing for fucking. But you just said fucking in your last answer, so I too am stumped.
DD: Unless it’s maybe cooking or writing. Though, you’ve barely touched the food I’ve made and those Goodreads trolls are at it again, so maybe I’m talentless. At least I have my cat.
DD reaches for Phat Cat but he snottily wanders offto troll the internet.
JQ: Your cooking is delicious. I find these little gummy bears particularly addictive. And you’re writing is fantastic! Trolls don’t get a say because they’re not human.
JQ: Explain your hatred of scrunchies. Did you have a traumatic childhood experience like I did with ponchos?
DD: It started with Jason Momoa.
JQ: Ah. Aquaman’s alias.
DD: I think it’s the other way around.
JQ (justifiably condescending): Yes, I’m sure it is.
DD: And I don’t hate scrunchies. I loved scrunchies, especially soft velvet ones for my own hair with no pulling as they were roughly yanked out during sexy time. I also had a thing for banana clips. Thank GOD men haven’t started wearing those! Scrunchies on a guy? On an alpha? Mm, no. Maybe I do have a scrunchy trauma that I’ve buried deep, I don’t know, but tell me about this poncho thing (pats chair). Tell Auntie Dee what happened.
JQ: The poncho incident is still too traumatic for me to discuss without more wine.
I hold out my glass as she opens another bottle and empties the entire thing into my goblet. Girl knows how to buy wine glasses.
DD: Have you discussed it with a therapist?
JQ: He thinks I compensate for my childhood by drinking, but I had to quit seeing him. I couldn’t afford both him and the wine.
DD is clever, avoiding my questions by talking about me. The ruse works almost every time.
JQ: Let’s move this convo back to you. What I hear you saying is that you don’t hate scrunchies, but you hate men who wear scrunchies.
DD: My top celebrity crushes are Charlie Hunnam and Jason Momoa but Jason is in a time out because of his scrunchy love. His love for pink hair scrunchies has made me realize my love for him is not unconditional. Sad but true.
JQ: Does Charlie Hunnam wear scrunchies too?
DD: No, he does not. I love everything about him. Dat ass! That sexy smile. And those eyes. Unf.
I’ve lost her again as she gazes off longingly.
I look at my notes and shuffle my papers around like I’ve seen Barbara Walters do when she gets confused but doesn’t want to ask. I do anyway.
JQ: What is Unf?
DD: Unf. You know. UNFFFFFFFF
DD makes a face that I think means to be sexy or wise, but it comes off looking like she might be constipated. I am confused by her expression and also embarrassed by my lack of knowledge of modern words. Stay woke, Jasmin. Stay woke.
JQ (changing topics yet again): My next question is about Phat cat. Why?
DD (looking down at Phat Cat, who looks back at her with an evil glare): I guess I like being dominated. I get immense satisfaction from feeding him, scooping his poop, and getting completely ignored unless he’s looking at me with disdain. It must be why I also chose to get married and have kids.
Phat Cat (not a happy Phat Cat): She’s talking about my shit. Why doesn’t she talk about her own shit? And she wonders why I look at her with disdain.
JQ: Mr. Quinn is afraid of cats so I don’t have one. But truly, Phat Cat sounds delightful.
Phat Cat takes another swipe at my leg and tells me to change the subject. I do, because he’s scary when he’s angry.
JQ: Speaking of parrotlets, according to Wikipedia, they don’t understand that they are a tiny bird, and have little trouble challenging other animals and humans. Parrotlets in general are feisty, affectionate, and willful.
True or False, Ms. Prince. Many of your female heroines are based on your parrotlet.
DD: I think it’s safer to say my heroes are based on my parrotlet. My parrotlet thinks I’m his girlfriend (even though I insist I am not) and he is willing to rip apart anyone who comes near me.
JQ: How old is your parrolet and what is his name?
DD: We named him Captain Jack Sparrow and he’s 8 years old. We call him Jack. He also calls me Jack. Or cutie patootie. Or silly bird.
JQ (squirming on my chair): OMG, he’s a pirate.
DD: I see you’re fanning yourself. I, too, get all aflutter with the notion of a sexy pirate.
Captain Jack Sparrow whips into the room and lands on DD’s shoulder, his unexpected swooping making me jump and knocking over Phat Cat, who is not amused.
Captain Jack Sparrow (staring at me with sexy eyes): Cutie pattootie!
JQ (blushing and fanning myself): Jack, you have such great taste.
DD(also staring at me with narrowed eyes and a cute little pout): Back off you red-lipped hussy. I’m his girlfriend.
I think about getting up in her face, but then remember that I’m not supposed to get physical with my interviewees.
JQ (trying to avoid the Captain’s sexy stare): According to the internet, Parrotlets can live between 20 and 30 years. Does his long lifespan concern you at all? I understand that children also have long lifespans, but they eventually leave home, forgetting to call or text unless they need money. And dogs and cats have the good grace to die when they’re teenagers.
Phat Cat throws me the stink eye and digs his teeth into my ankle bone.
DD: A little concerned, especially with Jack’s possessive tendencies. This bird was bought for my son, but Jack decided that I was his, so I’m pretty much in a committed relationship with him whether I want to be or not (kind of like some of my darker alphas).
DD: This was an actual conversation between me and my mister last night. We had an electrician over dealing with something by the front door and so due to draft worries, we moved Jack to the great room.
Mr watches Jack do a funny wiggle against the rope while going ‘peep peep peep’.
Mr: Is Jack getting ‘off’ on his rope perch?
me: Oh yeah, he always does that.
Mr: Stop that, you lil perv.
me: Don’t stop that, Jack. Self lovin’ is good lovin’.
Mr shakes head at me.
JQ: You have children. How have you kept that fact hidden from everyone?
DD (taking another long swallow of her drink): It’s not a secret. I’ve already mentioned it to you before.
I rifle through my notes, which are more like scribbles on paper, looking for the elusive “fact”. Since I can’t find it, I take a different tact.
JQ: Let’s talk fish. You and I have been invited to a party (I’m so excited!). We go, there are so many really cool people there (like Jason Momoa in a scrunchy) as well as a fish tank with all sorts of swimmers. You’re being pressured to swallow one of the fishes live. Which one would you swallow?
I look at Phat Cat who gives me a subtle shake of his head.
DD’s lying about the translator failure, but I let it go, mostly because Phat Cat answered the question.
He said he would swallow the shark.
JQ: Time for my Barbara Walters’ questions.
DD checks her watch.
JQ: What’s new for DD Prince in 2020? What are your writing plans? Do you intend to involve yourself in illegal activities? Will this be the year DD Prince becomes a convict? Does orange suit your colouring?
DD: This year, I’m hoping to write my ass off, make lots of money, get ONLY positive reviews, and become wildly popular and beloved by all. Err… is that early January enthusiasm for a new year? Probably. I’m hoping to have a great year with plenty of new releases. 2019 was light on releases for me (though I did work my ass off with a lot of business stuff related to my books). I write books in multiple romance genres and this year I hope to have releases in all those genres. Biker book. Dark romances. Paranormal. I have readers that read in all those genres and ones who follow me for specific books so I’m hoping to have something for all of them this year.
I fist pump a happy ‘yas’!
JQ: Why did you decide to become a steamy romance writer? Was it because your name wasn’t conducive to becoming a porn star? Or a stripper? Did you not want to change your name so you could pursue these other professions?
DD: My birth certificate says they named me Tasty Taint, so I totally needed a pen name to dial it down a notch. 😉 DD works. Daddy Dom? Double D boobs? It was a nickname when I was a kid and maybe it was a self-fulfilling bra size prophesy.
My eyes get caught up in Ms. Prince’s bosom as she adjusts her over-the-shoulder-boulder-holder. I adjust mine too.
Captain Jack Sparrow (squawking on her shoulder): Her eyes are up here.
JQ: You seem to have a split personality. I haven’t decided which of you is the evil personality, but I think it might be DD. Scarlett Starkleigh is just too darn sweet. These next questions are for her.
JQ: Would you fuck an alien who looks like an alien – the kind with tentacles, protruding horns, and scales and other possible stuff (presuming your husband didn’t object)?
ScarStar: Have you been checking my late-night browsing history? Because that’s totally wrong and I admire you for it. <Whispering> I am into monster porn as a guilty pleasure. Tentacles not so much. Then again, in the monster porn I like I really don’t have a choice. What the monster wants, he gets <shivers>.
JQ: Are you married to a human or in a torrid affair with an alien?
ScarStar: I’m always having affairs with whatever book boyfriend I’m writing 😉
In Zane’s and Tanya’s Hot Alpha Alien Husbands book’s epilogue…small spoiler, she finally achieved her dream of publishing books and wrote an alien romance series from Planet Phallyx and her hot alien hubby used his super tech skills to get her published on Earth.
Now, I’m not saying I am Tanya and my husband is Zane and I really live on Planet Phallyx and am just pretending to be DD Prince, a 47 year old mother of two in Niagara Falls, but I’m also NOT saying I’m NOT really Tanya Zenith who lives on Planet Phallyx with her 7 ft tall hot alpha alien husband.
JQ (narrowing my eyes. I think she’s trying to confuse me): Planet Phallyx. Wherever did you come up with that name?
ScarStar: It was a play on words for a phallic symbol. I wanted everything about Project D to be utterly ridiculous in the light and fun read that Daxx and Jetta’s book was designed to be.
JQ: Is there life on other planets or are you just making shit up?
SS: I think the real question is, do you think I’m making this shit up?
It’s a bit of a trick question because all romance novels are based on real life events and the authors’ life experiences. But is Scartlett/DD having torrid love affairs with aliens or does she just think she is? Either way, I give the only answer I dare with Phat Cat staring at me like I’m his next meal.
JQ: No, absolutely you’re not making this shit up.
JQ: This question is for DD. Will your alternate personality, Scarlett Starkleigh, survive the year or are you currently seeking therapy to become whole again? Do you plan to exorcise that unstable… uhm… doppelgänger?
DD: We’ll see what happens with her. She’s momentarily repressed. Shh. You might not want to wake her.
JQ: We’ve worked together on an anthology, haven’t we?
DD: Yes. That was so much fun. I mean, we got an orange banner together. That was awesome. I thought all five stories were great.
JQ: Me too! I loved Holden, although his lack of head at the beginning made me highly suspicious of his skills as a lover. How did you find that experience, working with me? Like on a scale of one to ten, if you were comparing me to the other contributors. I was the best, wasn’t I?
DD (totally sidestepping the question): I thought this interview was about me… speaking of me… you scarred me with the ending of your book in that anthology. I had a full-on head to toe shiver. You totally shocked me when you were the first of five of us to finish because you were like, “I finished mine. Is it bad if the hero kills the heroine?” And people say I’m dark…. Does your hatred of happy endings have something to do with your poncho trauma?
JQ: No. My happy ending phobia is related to my hatred of houseplants. Moving on, and let me preface the question by saying you don’t have to answer this one until you’re good and drunk, but would you consider a future collaboration if someone came up with a brilliant idea?
DD: Definitely. That was my first anthology but overall it was a lot of fun.
JQ: I want to ask you the murder, fuck, marry question because it’s one of my favourites, but you may have trouble answering it since you have very awesome Heroes. Although I know from the books I’ve read of yours, who I would murder, fuck and marry. So I’m asking you and if you can’t find it in your heart to murder anyone, I’ll gladly fill in the blank at risk of getting stoned by your readers – it’s Canada though. Getting stoned is legal now.
DD: Sorry, what were you saying? I was busy counting cannabis gummy bears. Damn, lost count again.
JQ: Oh, those unidentifiable consumables are cannabis gummy bears?
DD (narrowing her eyes like I’m the alien): What was the question? Oh… murder, fuck, marry….
I’d fuck all of them. In fact, I have! Out on the astral plane as I wrote those books. Marry? Tommy will always be my number one. I could be wrong but can’t see writing another H that has more of an impact on my life than Tommy has.
Murder one of my alphas? No way. Shut your dirty mouth. Wait. Before you shut it, which of my alphas would you murder? <Watches ScarStar shoot Jas the evil eye>
JQ (trying to stay on the good side of ScarStar, realizing she’s far more freaky than DD, and not in a good way): I would not kill your gorgeous Daxx or Zane. I’m afraid it would be Alessandro Romero of Saved fame. He stayed with me long after I read the book, and not for the reasons Daxx or Zane did.
I shiver for effect.
JQ: Which of your male characters would be most likely to kidnap you?
DD: Well, all of them because I am a goddess but I have a strong suspicion Tristan, my vampire from Nectar, would be first. My blood is probably delicious, and I bet he can’t stop thinking about it.
JQ: Which of your male characters would try to rescue you?
DD: Probably those beautiful bikers of mine. They’d put their heads together and come up with a plan to get me back.
JQ: Who would win?
DD: Tristan. Those bikers are hot and muscly but my immortal vamp—He’s got SKILLS.
JQ: Who would you want to win?
DD: Tristan, for sure. He can keep me in his lair indefinitely, catering to my every need while feeding from and fucking me around the clock. He tastes like DESSERT. But I wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to my bikers.
JQ: I have some quick questions for you. What is your preferred murder weapon and why?
DD: My keyboard. I can be as brutal as I want to with no actual repercussions.
JQ: Smart answer. Describe your ideal penis.
DD: I’ve been looking at the same penis since I was 17 years old. How about… one that’s IN me?
JQ: What are your thoughts on Nutella?
DD: I never get to eat it because I live in a house full of boys who demolish it as soon as I buy it. <Alexa: add Nutella to my shopping list and remind me to hide it>
ALEXA: Adding Nutella to shopping list. Reminding you to hide it.
JQ: Hair-pulled, throat gripped, or wrists restrained. Pick one. Explain your choice.
DD: Yummmm. Oh. Pick one. Wrists restrained. I’ll explain later. I just got a mental picture and I need a minute. 😉 And my charging cord. Shitbuggerdamn. How is this thing dead again?
JQ: I penciled your explanation into my appointment book, two weeks from today. Moving on. You’ve met an ugly baby. How do you compliment it without lying?
DD: Funnily enough we have a code word among my group of friends for an ugly baby and it’s “precious”
JQ (glancing nervously at Phat Cat): If your cat could speak (like your parrotlet), what would it say if I asked it for a reference?
Phat Cat (jumping in with his comments):No more than 2.5 stars.
She’s all right, I suppose. Though, sometimes she misses my cues that my bowl is nearly empty, and I have to give her affection to get her attention when she’s looking at that laptop. She doesn’t understand my preferred wet food to dry food ratio and likely never will and lately has started using a measuring cup for my dry food, which is entirely unacceptable (I preferred the previous method of keeping the bowl full at all times) but in lieu of an alternative and the males in this house, she makes a passable slave. She’s adept at sidestepping me when I try to trip her down the stairs.
Here are my recommendations to increase her rating:
Buy more treats.
STOP closing the bathroom door when she goes in, preventing me from entering. I do not like being restricted.
Find a noiseless vacuum cleaning machine.
Stop stepping on my tail. She’s stepped on it 4 times in my 10 years and I won’t ever forgive her. The more it happens, the more I’ll try to trip her down the stairs.
JQ (gently toeing Phat Cat to shut him up; Phat Cat bites my shoe): Never mind. Ms. Prince, is there anything you’d like to add before we wrap this interview up?
DD: I’m so glad you came. Eat some more food. I made so much. I want to say that I love readers who take the time to review. And especially those that recommend their favorite books and authors. It really helps a lot. Can I get you another plate of food?
JQ: Is there anymore wine?
DD (shaking her head): No. But would you like a gummy bear?
Gummies are the next best thing and I pocket a handful.
JQ: Thank you for your time today. I appreciate the evasiveness of many of your answers. It makes me feel like once this is published, I will get more respect in the journalistic circles I run in.
I don’t really run, it’s idiomatic expression. Also, none of the journalistic circles will have me.
DD (evading my comment as she packs up a bunch of food to take with me): Thank you again for coming.
Phat Cat sees me to the door and slams it behind me.
DD Prince is an International Bestselling Author who writes Dark, Dangerous, and Deliciously Addictive Romances with Alpha Antiheroes. DD is also Canadian, although she is an easterner.
Keep up with DD Prince’s latest news by following her on social media and signing up for her newsletter and visiting her website.
That was so much fun and as you know, I’m all about the fun! Thank you DD Prince, for indulging me and being my first author interview in 2020. Once I get the silly out, I’m usually good for another month before I need to act out again.
Which works out perfectly, because Annabel Joseph’s interview with moi (!) will be posted on February 14th. Why, that’s just in time for Valentine’s Day! 😉
Annabel Joseph is a NYT and USA Today bestselling romance author. She writes mainly contemporary romance, although she has been known to dabble in the medieval and Regency eras. She is known for writing emotionally intense storylines, and strives to create characters that seem real–even flawed–so readers are better able to relate to them. She also has a fantastic sense of humour, which comes through in her videos.
Hope the rest of your January is blues free. If not, drop by my Facebook group, Jasmin’s Dark Side, and let me know. I’ll write you a poem!
Dear fellow readers who collect pictures of sexy men and put them on your computer in a folder labelled Tuna Casserole recipes, and also those of you who don’t.
Did you know I’m awesome at Texas Hold ’em?
“Why aren’t you rich then?” you ask.
First, I have no poker face. Seriously, the minute I have the potential for a winning hand, my knees start to shake, my hands start to perspirate, my voice starts to break, my feet start to aspirate (it’s really perspirate, but I’ve taken poetic licence with the lyrics).
Back to my unrealized dream of being a world-renowned Texas Hold ’em player and all the booze, men and fame that goes along with that. Unlike Mack Welling (see what I did there? No? Guess you’ll have to read Wild Card ), I’m an open book when I’m excited, which is a lot of the time – not just when I’m playing poker.
I’ve played online poker, which is where I discovered my Rainman genius (just kidding, I’m not Rainman, although I can do simple math in my head as long as I can see my fingers and toes), but I still get overstimulated, and not in a “please don’t stop” way. When things aren’t going my way, I sometimes melt down like a nuclear reactor in Nikita Slater’s Sanctuary on Fire (I don’t think that was a spoiler).
Long story short, that’s why I write books.
And speaking of books, Wild Card is in a virtual book store near you (provided you have internet, a computer or tablet and a kindle app). Paperback will also be available right after I proof the Proof, which will take a couple of weeks because the Proof comes from the U.S.
Which brings me to the United States (literally). I was in Seattle recently because the Toronto Blue Jays were in town playing the Seattle Mariners. That’s baseball for you folks that either don’t follow the sport or ignore all other teams unless they’re yours. The Toronto Blue Jays is the only major league baseball team in Canada and they are east of my house (West Coast Canada) by several provinces. So when Seattle hosts the Blue Jays, it’s one big British Columbian migration south of the 49th parallel.
I love men in tight white pants (sigh).
I also want to shout out to Seattle and Washington state, in general. The people are incredibly friendly and the city and state are beautiful.
Also, there’s an outlet mall that’s to die for. Clearly, I didn’t die, but that’s because I was forced back to the car by my sister and her husband. My hub knows better than to do anything but observe while I’m in my natural habitat. There were a few hurt feelings and some scratches that bled, but we’re all back to being civil. I even shared my popcorn with my sister at the baseball game (but only because it was bottomless).
Okay, enough about my shit. Let’s get on with the real news.
Wild Card (Running with the Devil Book 9) is the next installment of my Running with the Devil series. Mack Welling is in trouble and only Astrid Bure can help him (not true, but for the sake of the story, let’s go with that). Then Mack gets out of trouble and Astrid gets into it and only Mack can help her (also not true – see previous sentence).
Mack is a cool, sexy character that I based on my husband (also not true – am I becoming a compulsive liar?). Mack has so many demons he could keep an exorcist in business for 20 years. But of course, everyone lives happily ever after except the bad guys. Wait? What? Which bad guys? Guess you’ll have to read to find out.
The second installment in my Darkness Falls series, Fierce Intentions, is what’s next! It will be hot, dangerous and uh… hmmm…. just hot and dangerous. Eva, spunky female cop from Basic Instinct (Book 1 of Shifters of Darkness Falls)and Aztec, broody mountain pack shifter also from Book 1 will find trouble when Aztec’s past comes back to bite him the ass.
Fierce Intentions will be released October 25th, 2019.
Fallen Angel (Running with the Devil Book 10) will also release this year on December 27.Fallen Angel picks up where Wild Card leaves off. Wild Card DOES NOT end on a cliffhanger, but the last line in the epilogue segues to Fallen Angel, and that’s all I’m going to say about that right now. More to come. Always more to come.
What does that mean?
(I think that my use of questions to transition to the next topic is becoming a habit, although not necessarily a bad one. I only have one habit that really bothers my husband, but it’s not my fault that my incisors are as sharp as they are. He just needs to learn to lie still.)
Including Fallen Angel, there are only three more books in the Running with the Devil series. However, I’m in process of writing a free bonus book related to the series (hoping to release in January) as well as a prequel and a postquel (postquel is now an official new word!), both of which will be about 50k in length. The entire series will be wrapped up in 2020.
The Shifters of Darkness Falls will have 10 books in total. If all goes according to plan, I will release 4 Darkness Falls books in 2020.
AND… I want to start an MC series as well as write a few standalone books and another dark romance series. I’ve started quite a number of books in the past couple of years and so I want to finish some of them.
Ambitious? Absolutely. Crazy? Without a doubt!
I may have to make sacrifices such as giving up stalking. Geez, just the thought of giving up RR makes my knees start to shake, my hands start to perspirate, my voice start to break, my feet start to aspirate.
I hope you all had an amazing summer and I look forward to reconnecting with you in the fall.
In the meantime, I leave you with this little bit of wisdom. Always make sure you cite your source in case the passage comes from Frankenstein by Mary Shelly and you don’t tell your sister, who then uses it in your father’s In Memorium passage.