Birthright

I don't know about you and how you all write, but I've found that whatever I'm reading, my writing tends to lean in that style, whether its Shakespeare (my Dark Love prose), Keri Arthur (Moon lust), Trueblood (Love on the Fly). So I was just wondering if you have saw that in your own writing? The books I've read, I find that I love the authors, their style and storyline and the strength of their characters. I'm not copying what they write, but it's like with my art project I had to do. I had to pick an artist and copy a piece of work which he had done and then do a second piece using that artists technique and create your own...let's say Raphael! Which I did and which I had given to Gaynor, seeing how she herself had done the same picture as I had done in art class. So, is it odd that when after I had read something, my writing tends to lean in that style? or am I just an oddity to the writing world. Mhmmmmm....food for thought it is.

Halloween night, something about this holiday makes me like a kid again. I would wait for night to fall, then the sounds of distant voice yelling out the familiar, “Trick or treat!” It was more than I could stand! Then you’d come home with your bag full of candy and empty it out making a pile of your favorites no one can touch, to the pile that was just gross flavors or never heard of items. Well, I’m all grown up now, boy am I grown up. Had I known that my body was going to develop into something that even Dolly Parton would be jealous of, I think I would have become a nun, as it stands, I didn’t know and no I didn’t hear the calling, visualizing this body in a habit…I immediately made my mind go blank. Anyway, I was invited to a Halloween party, costumes and all. You can imagine my look when Paul, he’s my partner at the law firm, told me I should dress up as a bunny and not the furry kind either. Did guys think they were funny when they said that kind of stuff? Apparently so...

Next thing I knew was I was on something flat, cold and uncomfortable. My ankle hurt, and being not too coherent, I went to feel what was wrong, only I couldn’t. Pain shot through my left arm as I moved it. That wasn’t the only pain I felt either, between my legs felt raw too, God who had their jollies off me without me knowing or being able to partake in the fun, but I don’t think there was any fun to be had in the way I felt. Handcuffs, silver and I must have struggled some without remembering, because my wrists were raw and red. Wonderful. I tried to get my eyes to focus, but whatever was hampering my sight, was also hampering my recovery too, damn. So, the only thing I could do that didn’t require movement or vision was to hear anything that sounded familiar, like maybe…”Lenny?” I said somewhat loud, nothing. “Lenny?” Then a muffle, faint, but nevertheless, it was still something, but not enough to register who it was or belonged too. I had to get out of these cuffs ...

http://www.susanwhitfield.blogspot.com/ Here is my interview that I had done with Susan Whitfield about my novel Birthright. It was most interesting and different being that we had done this via email. Go check it out,and pass it on! Thanks! Sue

It was another one of those hot, muggy summer nights, the kind that made you get angry at the slightest word anyone said to you. My clothes, clung to my skin, wet, heavy…God I wanted to yank them off and go butt naked, but still having my sanity I shrugged it off and went for a walk. The moon was full and the crickets were really singing away. Annoying little buggers. I found the old creek just past town and I sat on its edge, dangling my feet in its cool waters. It felt good, real good and it got me to thinking, skinny dipping. I remember doing that when I was a teenager, not a care in the world and loving every minute of it. Billy, James and Lee would get in on the action too. We’d sneak out at night, just us boys and head on down quiet like. You see, folks back then didn’t believe in them air conditioners, nope, too proud. So, when it got hot like it did then and now, they’d open their windows to let in what cool breeze there was. Laughing at dirty jokes we all heard an...

She’s one of the undead that lives off the blood of the innocent. Her days are our nights and yet she doesn’t seem to mind. She's the seductress; and needs to be, yet it all seems so natural for her. As she walks down the street at night, her long dark tresses fan out behind her like the fan tail of a fishing lure. Its result is the same; it attracts attention. It's like, “Hey pay attention, and look at me”. Similar to a moth that can’t resist a flame; they come not knowing the danger of her burning lips of blood red hue. Yes, those rich full and very inviting lips. They seem to say, come taste my nectar, while her smooth and silky complexion looks warm and yet strangely cool at the same time. Eyes that are wise beyond knowledge, command your full attention. They draw you in and hold you: hypnotizing you with their clarity and color. The look of sophistication and innocence at the same time has you hooked. You can’t look away. Your feet seem to have a mind of their own, a...

Have you ever sat in front of a mirror and wondered what it must be like to be on the other side: looking at the world from the inside? Rather “twilight zone” if you ask me. However, really what would it be like? Would it be different? In addition, how do we know we aren’t already on the inside looking out? Think of it from the chicken or the egg perspective. “As I sat in my study, holding my quill in one hand and a crystal orb in the other; I wondered what my mirrored self was thinking as he stared back at me. Forever trapped inside an environment that never changes, and yet changes constantly with each movement of my hand. A skewed view to be certain and yet how is it that I am sure that is not my view that is indeed skewed? Is the hand that reaches out seemingly touching my own fingertips feeling the warmth of my flesh or merely feeling the cold touch of glass? Does his views differ from mine, or tongue in cheek, do they mirror mine? How does he experience time? Does he age as I do...